Gonna go play in a different sandbox

Well, my lovelies, I am preparing for a roadtrip. One of our friends is getting married in Bozeman, and we will be attending. Then on Sunday, we watch a race with our old F1 crew (Viva Minardi- always 1st in Last Place!) and then a reunion of my darling former co-workers. Ah. Can you feel the love? It's like being dipped in a chocolate fountain and then licked off by Johnny Depp. As a pirate. Arg. Because he was one hellofa sexy ass pirate. Not an "ass pirate". But a sexy ass pirate. Ass as in adjectival usage. Getting hung up on grammar- not a good sign- must let it go...

So, won't be adding my voice that is the cacophony of Blogger until Monday or Tuesday. So sorry. Miss Otis regrets, etc. (and if you don't get the last one, sit your ass down immediately and listen to some Cole Porter. It's that important.)

Loves and kisses!

Well, shiver me timbers

Just read that Olbermann got a death threat with white powder attached. And that it was covered in scurrolous depth by a Murdoch publication. Sounds like shake down-silencer time to me.

Hope they used softish bristles in the decontamination shower- because the ones that I inventoried last summer weren't looking too attractive. Like it would leave a mark. I'm just sayin.

Oh- and two very foolish men are arguing over the patrimony of Anna Nicole Smith's baby. Like that's not a train wreck in the making...

Crackofy me up

I got to attend a trade show for people in my particular bidness. All revolving around planning events. And such.

Plenty of free food. Some swag. I got a pen with the space needle in it- and a moving elevator. From the space needle people. Imagine that. I ate a date that was stuffed with marzipan. It was almost a religious experience. Then I had another.

The funny part.

There were several "high end" businesses there. Namely a florist and a caterer and a locale. Funny thing about it. Rather than be the good sales crew, and look at my nametag, not my shoes, they totally chilled me. Totally. Must be the converses. It was funny. Because plenty of others saw the nametag and the dollar signs and were just wonderful. I like to think that some of them are just plain nice people, to boot.

Gee- guess who I won't be calling- ever- to host or participate in events in my group? I dunno- the fuckers who live in snobsville.

Seriously- don't they clue in that where I work doesn't have a dress code, per se? Seriously. How would they treat the Dev guys? Some of whom don't exactly "dress" in a fashion that is recognizably dressing. (today I rode in the elevator with a guy in his GREEN outfit- Green Nikes, Green sweat pants, Green sweat shirt. GREEN, I tell you.)

Kenga works across the street from the florist. I should have him leave a bag of burning cat crap on their doorstep. That would be funny. And would no doubt wreak havoc on their Gucci loafers.

The saddest lady was the baloon lady. At the booth with all of the scary baloon sculptures. She was in costume. She was a lady pirate. She was having one of the worst days of her life. No one stopped. She made me sad. But I hated her baloon sculptures. They freaked me the fuck out.

Online interests

Yesterday I was reading Keith Olbermann's online meltdown about the Bush Administration. It's pretty good, I guess, for what it is.

Then on the ride home from work, I was listening to an NPR piece about a NY Times journalist who was vocally critical of the government (with specifics) at a Harvard event.

And I wondered about all of this. The voices are growing in volume and prominence. So what gives? I thought that journalists were supposed to be behind the smoke and mirrors of their words. I thought that there were ethical issues associated with voicing opinions anywhere but the Oped page. I never went to journalism school, but these are the assumptions that I am working with.

Not that I don't agree with both of these people. But it makes me a little uncomfortable. Because if they agree with me this week, when will they lockstep with another group? Is this kind of like when Cronkite turned against the war in Vietnam? Will it have even close to the same effect? Or is it just a couple of lone voices in the wilderness- about to be slammed to the pavement by corporate interests beyond their ken?

I hesitate to call their openly expressed stances brave. Because it's kind of johnny-come-lately in Olbermann's case, and the other lady just seems like she's been mouthy all along. One hell of a journalist by all accounts- but not the most wallflowery of the bunch. Is this the beginning of a backlash against the corporate hacks at Fox, et al?

Dunno. It'll be interesting to watch. I just wonder when they'll get fired. Because I'm paranoid that way.

Crank up the paranoia

There was an article on the Wall Street Journal web site last week that gave me pause. I get a subscription via work, and exercise my right to read it. Several times per day if it's a tad slow.

They were discussing the lack of privacy in the workplace. That it's an illusion. Something like over half of all employers are keeping track of emails and web usage. What they're doing with that information wasn't specified. Just that there is no privacy.

This is why I don't visit blogs or any of my favorite sites (with a couple of singular exceptions) while I'm at work. And I never use my corporate email account for personal things if I can avoid it. Too scaredy pants. I really don't think that I would get fired for buying say, an orchid, online. But for blogging? Depends. I just don't want to lead a trail back home. Not of breadcrumbs or nanowhatevers. When rabbit goes to ground, rabbit wants to stay grounded.

I know for a fact that there was an IT person at the bank I worked at who monitored online usage. My boss heard about my eBay use. She didn't have a problem, though. Reportedly saying, "if she gets her work done, I don't give a damn." And that's why I loved her. Well, that and she was one of the last of a breed of banker that has pretty much died out. The handshake, and your word is good, kind of banker. The kind who used to be a fixture of smaller towns everywhere. The kind who made the Merican dream something accessable to more people than the kind who depend on paper and numbers to make the call. She had the most refined bullshit meter that I have EVER seen. And given a couple of amazing practitioners in my family, that is really saying something.

Anyway, remember. Someone is likely watching. It's just the way it is. And I guarantee it where I work. Because if it weren't the case, I would be absolutely boondoggled.

Confidential to P3

Save yourself some sanity and please, learn how to stop asking "why" when it comes to other people. It'll just fuck you up. There is no answer. Because other people are stupid. And asking that kind of question just leaves you open to their bullshit.

Just working this out

Crisp outside, but sunny-

Like eating a particularly crunchy apple.

The skin gives sharply against your teeth-

and the bite of the tart juice hits your tongue

and it's just a little bit sweet.

Because I cannot leave well enough alone

And because I figured out the scanner, you get to see my sixth birthday. And my little sister. And the Oly beer in the background. Because nothing accentuates a sixth birthday party like Oly.

And in this picture I AM wearing pants. You just can't see them.

No fish were harmed in the making of this image.

The end.

These are my first two fish. That I caught all myself. And yes, I'm not wearing pants. That's now how I caught the fish. I was wearing pants then. But they got very wet, because when I tagged the fish, I ran backwards in the water rather than reeling it in. And somehow I still caught the fish. And then I ate them.

The end.

Snapshot- Detailed edition

My mother and I spent a couple of hours going through old photo albums. I was looking for one particular picture.

And found another.

It is of me in another lifetime. When I was skeletal skinny. No- no health problems, the old metabolism hadn't hit the rock wall of age yet. And I ate like...well...like the metabolism would never hit the rock wall. (that did bite me in the expanding ass a few years later when I discovered Ben and Jerry's.)

It was all there. In the picture. In my mind, the thinness was hot. And the, shall we put it, more rounded curves acquired later are not. But I'll look again.

The thinness was brittle. The eye makeup- a mask. The smile- not shared by the eyes. The hair, very, very Princess Di. Not a bad picture, really- but I've never enjoyed having my picture taken. That hasn't changed a bit.

It was Christmas. Probably around 1986. And no doubt I was waiting for some kind of grandfatherly explosion. Because he always came through with one of those on holidays. Like snow in the winter. Predictable, and a force of nature. Dangerous too.

It's very funny though- looking at the picture- knowing that since then I've gained so much...not just pounds, but also experience. And happiness. And sadness. None of it to be recycled. Nor to be rejected.

Sitting on the table next to me was a Coke, and a very large Toblerone candy bar. And on the floor is a sweater that I have happily forgotten. We'll call those ghosts of Christmas past, and move on from there.

And the photo I was searching for? I'll scan and post later. Because I think it's pretty damned funny.

quote du jour

"You felt they had experienced everything. Their eyes were shocked and dead and alive and glowing like coals at the same time. And I think that was through experience, using your life as a tool. That's the way I wanted to conduct myself."

Surprisingly- Rupert Everett said that. About Brando, et. al. But I think it's interesting. And Everett comes across as a bit of a pratt. But that's enough, I suppose- he is famous, after all.

And doesn't fame conquer all?

Snapshot- exhibit A

It was late. On a schoolnight. But I was there. In his room. I couldn't stop shaking. I felt like I would blow apart. My teeth were actually chattering. I didn't know why. I didn't stop to ask. And nothing was going to get in the way.

I can't really remember why I wanted this so badly. In retrospect it didn't really make much sense. It would only make the situations in my life murkier. And more dishonest.

But back in the room, I was waiting for his move. And once it came, I was able to push it along. To the foregone conclusion. And then some.

I remember being on an adrenaline high for a day after. Despite the shitstorm that waited at my apartment. Because some things weren't all the way over. Just kicking the corpse around the room to finish it off. Because there are no instruction manuals for that kind of thing. And the dying had been going on for over a year.

The crying shame of the entire thing - I hesitate to call it an affair- is that for once, and for all time, I did the stupid thing. I didn't listen to the voice inside that always was right- about who liked whom more, and about if it mattered. And this time I was so far off as to be an idiot. And to this day, it still has a little sting to it when I remember. Myself in that room. Shivering with anticipation- or fear. Not realizing that for him it was just an opportunity. For one thing. And I saw it as an escape. From another.

In case you were wondering

There were over 300 emails waiting for me at work. Fuckity fuck fuck, I say. But at least it all made me feel wanted. And I suppose that's a good thing.

From my window

I can see the water.

Today it's like a mirror- not reflective, but silver.
And it fades into the sky.
And there are no mountains.
And there are no trees.

And soon, from the appearance of the clouds, there will be no water. Just a cold pillow of damp.

From my window.

(and I always wanted to live in England. From what I hear this is close. And on days like today- it bloody well sucks.)

Blogger appears to be kind of broken

Which makes for an interesting day.

Nevertheless, I will try. I am out of bed before noon. I am still in bathrobe and jammies, but this should change soon.

I will try. To fix what appears to be broken. I will try to go to work for a while- if nothing else than to clean out the email box of doom.

I will try.

And if I fail, then I will feebly flop back into bed knowing that my failure isn't likely permanent.

Damn.

So I took some over the counter thera flu stuff last night. Went to bed around 9ish. Probably fell asleep before 10. Just woke up and got out of bed 20 minutes ago. Didn't even get up to pee. No accidents, though. Just slept like I was some kind of corpse.

Had dreams.

1. there was this woman who turned into a bear to help a guy escape a dragon. This one involved stealing a pizza delivery boy's little red car. And breaking into a hotel room.

2. I was working at an enviromental agency in Missoula, and the office was in disarray. It took me plenty of effort to put everything to rights. And my boss was hot.

3. There were sword-fighting people like in Crouching Tiger flinging themselves about. Don't remember much else from that one.

And now I am pretty disoriented- having some difficulty finding the keys. But I have eaten a bit, and yes, peed. And all should be better. I just have what I think are some kind of dream images stuck in my head, and am hoping that they fade quickly. Too creepy to wander around the house with shadows in there, doncha know.

Overnight the trees turned

Like a lightswitch.

And I'll bet good money that analogy has been made before.
By someone far craftier with words than I.

But it's still the truth.
And it rains in Seattle.
Another truth.

And my eyes turned green when I was 11. From clear, light blue.
Now they're clear, light green.
And I suspect that they'll stay this way til the end.

But what they see- not necessarily anything unique or particularly original.
It just feels that way.
On a good day.

Shakedown

Seems that the Turkish GP organizers have been fined $5 million for their audacity at putting the Northern Cypriot leader on the podium after the race. Seems that it's the largest fine in motor sport history, and all truth be told, that they're damned lucky not to have lost the race.

Seems that there's some kind of military shakedown going on right now, as we speak in Thailand. I was under the impression that there was plenty of political stability there. Disabuse me of that notion, I say.

Seems that my primary focus in life right now is producing copious amounts of mucous. All night long. Who the fuck needs sleep when there are fluids to produce from my head? That's what I thought. Thank the dieties above that K was insightful enough to buy the kleenix with the lotion in it.

Do feverish dreams revolve around sleep

I have this fantasy that's percolating pretty heavily in my mind.

I'm in a far away place. Surrounded by cold, dark and forests as far as you can see.

I'm in a warm room, with books and blankets. It's so far that no one can reach me. But I'm safe and secure. I'm alone, and like it that way. It's important.

Being cut off from everyone seems so attractive in this fantasy. Alaska, Norway, Finland, doesn't matter. Any would do in a pinch. Just to be away. In a safe, warm, secluded place. Where no one can find me.

Betcha it's just a fever dream. I'll promise not to make any travel plans. Yet.

Now REALLY

I just can't wrap my head around the situation at hand. I have the flu. Once again- another occurrance in a long line of flu-related illnesses. I am producing volumes of media from my sinuses and lungs, and had a fever for most of the weekend.

Now the issue that I have is that I seem to get sick all the bloody time. And it's not like I'm some frail little thing. I cannot fathom this. People make fun of me. Hell, I make fun of me. It's just blasted pitiful. ehhhhhhhhh....(as she feebly bats away the imaginary hands)

I am going to ensconce myself on the couch and watch tivo. Then I will sleep. And in the meantime, there will be plenty of fluids to cough up and snort out. Because I am a fluid producing machine! At least some parts of my body are being productive.