Sunday, December 19, 2010

The Grammar Police

I'm currently having a real problem with poor writing. I'm talking about other people's posts, blogs, commentary, etc. that can be found on line. I could sit here and rattle off a whole list of what I've come across on this fine day, alone, but I'd just get myself all worked up.

I'm no professional writer. I don't claim to spew the kind of prose worthy of the next great American novel. But (groan) I'm self-aware, self-respecting, self... (what is it, exactly?) enough to check and make sure I don't come off as some illiterate and babbling fool if I'm going to send it out there for the world to see.

I get that bad grammar isn't an easy fix. If you haven't mastered the art of verbs in past tense ("I wish I had went with my friends") chances are it's already erroneously ingrained into your noggin and a lost cause. But there is such a thing as spell-check. Click the damned button and give us all a break.

There ought to be a law.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Like a Flash


Weekends are supposed to be all about the rest and recuperation. I'm EXHAUSTED.

I shouldn't complain. It's been a great weekend. It's just that now, at 8pm on Sunday, as I finally get a chance to regroup, it occurs to me that I'm worn out and need another couple of days just to rest from my days of rest.

There was nothing laborious about the two days, it was all really great, which is why I feel guilty even complaining. Saturday, after a growing pain in my left shoulder, and waking with a distinctly pinched nerve, I finally acknowledged that I had to do something about it and left the house in a mad dash to the nearest low-cost massage clinic. It's a Vietnamese set up, very no-fuss. None of this aromatherapy nonsense. You go in, they work on shoulders, neck, back, arms and legs with no need for changing out of your own clothes. What's more, they even put a bath towel over you so that there are actually two layers between you and the working hands.

After much pain and suffering, I was released, to find that the pinched nerve was completely gone, I was able to turn my head completely in both directions, and though I was tender to the touch, it was a different pain that the stiff and achy muscles and bones kind of pain I'd been enduring for far too long.

I then treated myself to pho. Specifically the liver variety. I'm trying to make sure I include more iron in my diet, and have to proactively make choices to remember this. Red meat is something that I just plain forget to eat with any kind of regularity.

I came home just in time to run a couple of loads of laundry before driving to LA for a birthday dinner. Not just any birthday dinner. Conveyor belt sushi. I'd always wanted to do this, so was looking forward, greatly. And it was a true hit. Terribly low cost, more than reasonable quality, and good company.

Dinner was followed by a mile-long trek to a local hole-in-the-wall bar. Not really about getting soused, the pilgramage was worth it nonetheless, if for no other reason than the anecdote that it will someday be combined with the chance to get to better know the others in the group.

Upon arriving at home at a relatively early hour (1am), I joined my parents in watching the last moments of the televised mass from the basilica of Mexico City in honor of the Virgin of Guadalupe's birthday. Then crawled into bed to catch the last two episodes of the second season of Damages.

End of Saturday.

Sunday dawned with a lesser sense of planned activities. I had only one thing really defined: Mexican film with one of my Spanish students. I did, however, fail to recall that the festivities for the Virgin of Guadalupe were to continue throughout the day. Realizing that a trip with my parents into LA to the cathedral in her honor would conflict with the aforementioned movie plans, I quickly put a plan into action to right my oversight. First, I clipped some of the roses from the garden to sort of "tide her over" while I could put something more meaningful together. Then, I set up a little "altar" of sorts in the dining room and left to find a flower shop. My mom said to just clip more roses from the garden, but my view is that such a move would have been too easy. If the point is to thank her and show her appreciation for her love and support, then I could at least show some effort in my gratitude. I want her to see that she deserves my effort, my investment, and my attention.

I made it back from my errand just in time to place her deep red long-stemmed roses in front of her and get some candles ready for the evening. Then I was off to the movie which was just as enjoyable as the first time I'd seen it. We stopped for a coffee on our way out, and then called it an evening.

Still owing the Virgin of Guadalupe a visit, I headed to my church to see if I might catch a mass and also hoping I might find an open flower shop en route. No such luck with the flower shops, but I did arrive half way through a mass and joined it until it let out, not without stopping at her private chapel for a quick chat.

Then, it was time for some basic needs at the grocery store, and then the piece de resistance: close the day with an order of sushi take out.

I'm home now. Getting texts from another client about a tutoring lesson tomorrow and thinking about getting some budgeting done. I feel like I've done nothing productive, yet I've not really stopped to rest either.

Like I said, I need another couple of days.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Monday, August 23, 2010

You've GOT to be Kidding

I'm always appalled at the idea of banning books. Mark Twain said, "Censorship is telling a man he can't have a steak just because a baby can't chew it."

Thursday, August 19, 2010

You Look Like a Monkey, and You Smell Like One Too


My birthday, traditionally, has largely been a source of disappointment. This started out not being too much of a problem, and has slowly deteriorated to the point of preferring that it just plain go unnoticed. You see, the day before my birthday is my dad’s birthday. I love my dad. He’s really someone I would aspire to be like if I didn’t already know there was no way in the world I ever could. Dad’s much loved, and rightly so, by anyone and everyone he comes into contact with. And being that it was just practical to do so, our birthdays were always celebrated together. One party, one cake, that kind of thing.


I’m an old fart now and I don’t need my own cake. If anyone got me balloons at this point, I’d feel like an idiot and project that on to the balloon giver. I hate balloons. But I think when I was a kid, my own balloons, my own cake, and my own party would have helped a lot. It’s about as basic a psychology as I can make out. These tiny details, seemingly petty, are the thorns that made their mark. Growing up, I pretty much always existed in someone else’s shadow. When it came to birthdays, it was in Dad’s shadow. I repeat that I love my father very much, but he and I are individual people. Sharing a limelight robs a person of a tiny moment on a pedestal.


Like I said, growing up it was just practical to share the date with Dad. As I got older, I started being celebrated by friends outside of the family setting and that made a big difference. To them, I wasn’t my father’s daughter. To them there was no one else having a birthday at the same time. This put a twist into who I wanted to celebrate my birthday with… only to be followed by feelings of guilt for preferring friends over family. Guilt was soon followed by the sense of obligation to appear at my own birthday celebration, such as it might be. And guilt inevitably fermented into resentment. So, on top of knowing full well that the birthday dinner/party/outing was only secondarily for me, I had to go, and I had to feign joy.


And now, for the added ingredient. There are people in my family whom I don’t like. At all. If it were up to me I would cease all further contact from this day forward, amen. I’m not saying it’s a simple case of finding someone annoying. I’m saying there is real, actual dislike and a desire to not have that person in my life. Unfortunately, my parents’ son is important to my parents. So this is how birthdays look: dinner out to celebrate “the birthdays” actually becomes a torturous affair for me. This is not enjoyable. This is no way to spend a birthday. This is not a happy, joy-joy, warm-fuzzy celebration . Just knowing that he will be there makes me not want to go, but I have to go because it’s my birthday. So you say if it’s my birthday I should be able to opt not to go? Yes, but, see, it’s Dad’s birthday too, and not going is hurtful to him… on his birthday. And birthdays are for celebrating that person’s wishes. And since our wishes are contradictory, Dad’s wishes win out. ‘Cause he’s Dad and there’s not a person on the planet who would want to do anything to disappoint him.


I guess that what I’m saying is that my birthday has long ago ceased to really belong to me, much less to be in any way a joyous affair. Except for the dinner out with friends and the obligatory card from co-workers, the rest of it is something I not only could do with out, but truly don’t look forward to at all.


I wish it would occur to someone to really look at me and who I am. I wish I could have one birthday that was actually planned for me. I’m not looking for an extravagant affair. I’m saying that if anyone really stopped to think of me, they would know that my joys are simple. That I like simple things, not grand, but intimate. I like peace and quiet. I like softness and security. The easy thing would be to hand my family a list of what I want and how I want to be celebrated. But that’s just pathetic, isn’t it? That anyone should have to do that after so many years of supposedly knowing each other. It defeats the entire purpose of feeling special and only serves to underline the contrary: that the only way I'm going to be properly appreciated is to do it myself. I may as well write down what I want for a gift as well, right?


Just posting this makes me aware that if a given chain of events takes place, this could very well make it to the ears of people in my family who might very well take it upon themselves to “right this wrong” which is a kind and lovely thing to do. But then, we’ll never know, will we? …if they are only doing it because they read about it here or because they had planned something regardless and I didn’t just guilt someone into taking action.


This year, for my birthday, I want to be alone. I want a week alone somewhere away from everyone, reading, sleeping, eating good food. I want to be catered to by people who are good at that. I already know that’s not going to happen. This year, blessedly, Dad turns 80 and there is to be a huge celebration beyond anything we’ve had in the past.


I’ll be there, too.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

The Modern Ark

Today's vet visit is brought to you by:


Three of our star characters have had individual manifestations of the itchies all week. Sola, the calico, who had just had cortisone shots three weeks ago, had another outburst of hives and scabs that confounded us since for the two weeks prior, the shots had cleared up her condition, miraculously.

Cleo's been chewing on her butt something awful such that it seems almost compulsive and I have to put a stop to it when I see her. I feel really bad for her, though, as she looks completely preoccupied with little else.

Coco - we thought - was a different case. He has developed this twitchy leg thing. He's lying around, keeping us company and his hind leg starts to kick like when we scratch him in his ticklish spot along his ribs. But now it happens even though no one is touching him. It looks entirely involuntary, as it happens spontaneously and repeatedly, with no pattern that we could see. In the middle of the night and on our wood floors, it sounds like intermittent but constant drumming. It can drive us batty, but mostly I'm concerned that he's not getting any quality sleep since he wakes himself up with each tremble and so it takes longer for him to really get to sleep.

So, it was time for a family field trip to our local vet, whom we adore. I piled Mom, Coco, Cleo, and Sola (in her crate) into the tiny blue car. Mom's SUV would have been more practical but Coco can't jump up that high any more and we're not strong enough to lift the 90 plus pup. So, little car it was. Right away, we knew the 5 minute drive would be a challenge. Sola cried bloody murder from her crate at a rate of one meow every 4 seconds. Coco tried, desperately, to balance in the reduced space and ended up sitting with his hindquarters on the seat and his front paws on the car floor. Cleo proceeded to give everyone headaches with her squeals and yelps. She's terribly excitable and makes these whistling squeals mixed with grunting that are hilarious for the first three or so minutes. Then the volume gets turned up as we actually start the car. Eardrums are in a very real danger at this point. If another dog is spotted during the trek, then all hell breaks loose and she lunges and barks at the window with a fervor never before seen. Our little psychopath.

Our vets (two fantastic women who work as a team) were happy to see Coco and Sola ("Hey! It's Corn Cob Coco!") and were a hit with Cleo right away, too. These ladies seem to have bought the business from our prior vet, also a wonderful guy, and at first we were concerned but now that we've seen them twice, we're really liking them. One huge bonus for me is that Cleo didn't bat an eyelash at them.

I got Cleo from the pound when she was still a puppy but already large. The first conclusion I came to with her was that whoever had her before me had beaten her. She was terribly skittish and not at all trusting. It's taken lots of work and bonding over the years, but she still sometimes does a double take if she sees one of us holding a broom, as I suspect that this was a favorite beating implement from some inhumane person from her past. The second thing I noticed is that she does not respond well to men. Smaller, leaner men are sort of ok, but tall or sturdy men are a real sore spot for her. At best she is distrustful and she steers clear. At worst, she barks and won't lay off until I have to intervene, either pulling her away from the culprit or (assuming the culprit is friend or family) giving him a hug and showing her that he is "friend, not foe". Even then, she only stays away from that kind. Again, I suspect that this was the body type of the bully who used to abuse her. So, to have two petite women attend to my little ADD child is a happy and welcomed change. She seems to have no problem with them.

We all piled into the examining room and there were hugs and kisses all around. Turns out Coco's kicking might be due to the itchies as well. His dry skin might be just tingly enough that it sets off an impulse to relieve it by simply moving his leg compulsively, like when a fly lands on an ear. His physiology just has him shaking off the itch instead of scratching at it. So we're going to attempt an oatmeal shampoo twice a week for a couple of weeks (I see an after-work project for me) and then see if that doesn't help.

Sola has been declared ultra sensitive to flea allergies such that the strong dose of cortisone only scratched the surface. She will be on oral medication for a while as we see whether she responds to it or not.

Cleo is somewhere between the two. She's allergic to fleas, but doesn't have any and the cortisone shot seems to be able to take care of the sensitive skin for her.

All our pets are on drops. Neither has fleas and I was relieved to have the docs attest to that as they did a thorough inspection of all three. So the fascinating thing was that each of them was manifesting a skin sensitivity in their own way. We're home now. The adventure is over and I have one over-exhausted Cleo sprawled on my bed next to me. Coco is in the hallway and I hear his leg shaking over the wood floor. Sola has run off, likely back to hanging out with the opossums. Mom has gone off to run errands including the purchase of the oatmeal shampoo.

I'm going to be cleaning out the fountain today. I've gotten more presents for the fish and can't wait to see how they take to them. More on that later.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Morpheus, Be Mine...


If you go to the link and hover over the strip, you'll see: "I'm not listening to you. I mean what does a SQUIRREL know about mental health."

Image:http://xkcd.com/

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

I'm Going to Bed Now

Do with that what you will.




Image: http://talesfromanopenbook.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/rebeccamiller.jpg

Funness!

Now I just need to get a nifty 21st Century phone doohikey...

Art App after my very own heart

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Random Thoughts Throughout the Day

I love how Cleo smells.

Today is Wednesday.

They shouldn't make some of the Arizona Tea bottles look like hard whiskey. Makes drinking in the car tricky.

I need more fruit in my diet.

Chocolate.

I have a box full of dead batteries that I know I'm not supposed to throw in the regular trash but take to a proper disposal place. Where is this fictitious place?

The children principle works for dogs as well: If you have two dogs, they will be polar opposites.

I work in a cubicle. How the hell did that happen?

I like my freckles, dammit.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

A Bowl of Kibble A Day...

I've gotten emails asking for an update on Coco and how he's doing after the surgery. He's doing well, thank goodness. Yesterday I took him back to the vet to have his sutures taken out, and he didn't seem to have a bad reaction to being there again. I'd never seen him so miserable as those days before his surgery, so I was wondering if returning there would frighten him in any way.

Instead, he was the Coco that we all know and love, making friends with all the receptionists and nurses. He's still rather intolerant of other dogs in his vicinity, though. At one point there was a small boxer in the waiting area with us, but a huge aquarium divided the area into two sitting lounges and the two dogs couldn't see each other. Somehow, they got wind that the other was there and began a volley of barking. Nothing in the slightest way aggressive, just more informative. Like, "Are you there?" "Yep, I'm here." "Still there?" "Yep, still here." The young boxer had a bit of a yelp in his bark, like "Arf" whereas Coco has a gruff "Big Guy" warbling bark like, "Whorf." So they made quite the duet, taking turns the way they did.

They eventually took away the young boxer and it was just us in the waiting area. Just as I saw a HUGE Great Dane heading towards us from the parking lot, Coco was called in, oh, lucky stars. He'd been petted by every nurse, one had to clean up after him when he peed in the center of the area, and another asked him to shake hands and gave him treats.

All went well with the surgeon. He'll remain off meds for another week so that we can monitor his behavior because he's been sort of sluggish, but we want to be able to identify if it was just aftermath of surgery or if this lack of energy has to do with his med alteration. In general, though, I've noticed that since last Saturday he's getting that spring back in his step. That makes me very happy.

My favorite picture of him:

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Mr. Sandman

I dunno what's up with me lately. I can't seem to shake off this sleepiness. Just finding it hard to clear out the sand in my eyes every morning.

Then, yesterday, I had a plate of pasta with broccoli and I was out like a light. I mean out. I felt like I had been drugged. This is the second time I feel this way after eating pasta. I think that I so rarely include it in my diet that when I do happen to ingest the stuff, it just works like a drug and the carb crash is overpowering. I slept most of the day. I'm not talking about a brief nap.

Today, the effects are mostly gone, though I still feel sort of groggy. I'll be making a dinner of salmon and broccoli salad, so as to keep all food light and fresh.


*Image: http://www.nightclub.com/files/ncb/uploads/nodes/2009/991/RipVanWinkle.jpg

With All Due Respect



I got a question a few posts ago and it coincided with my own inner rumblings, so I'll address it here.

Where do I get my images? Well, I'll tell ya. I get them online. I do an image search on Google, and I also do an image search on deviantart.com, a wonderful site full of fantastic original artwork of truly amazing quality.

Now, having said that, I recognize that most images on line are sort of a free-for-all, though not all of them, and certainly not the ones on deviantart.com. Here lies the conundrum. Some of the images that I've used have the artist or website that they come from already incorporated, so I feel ok about using them, besides which I'm not using the images for any profit or gain whatsoever. And let's face it, it's not like this place gets much traffic. *Snort*.

Still, I'm going to take the steps necessary to be sure and always attribute any images that I use by including a footnote at the end of each post. I'm an Art Historian and a critic at heart. I can't help but have a fascination with images. But if anything gets posted here, I've never done so with any intention of claiming credit whatsoever. If I've posted an image it's because I've found it beautiful and striking in some way, not to mention relevant to my ramblings. So I can only hope that artist would take my "borrowing" as a compliment, as it is meant no other way.



*Image: pageweb.com

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Fragile, Handle With Care

Delicate flower that I am, I'm almost embarrassed to admit the following. Almost, but there is such a thing as being able to laugh at one's self. So here it is.

I work with my brain much more successfully than with my brawn. Yesterday, I was asked to prepare marketing packets for a business convention. You know the drill: go down the line and grab one page from each stack, then place in the pocket of the folder, close folder, stack. I prepared 200 packets.

Today, my hands hurt.

'Nother Day, 'Nother Quake


Apparently this one was in the fives as well, but since I was driving around, doing errands, I remained completely unaware until returning home and switching on the television.

Centered in San Diego, I'm guessing I would have otherwise felt it.

You'd think, by the way, that having grown up in this here region of the world, that I'd have all my ducks in a row. Not the case.

Many moons ago, I had a very organized kit in the car that took into consideration such emergencies as car failure and natural disasters. I had a side of the road kit with jumper cables, flashlight, flares, blanket, radio, and empty gas container. And I had a kit with water, some power bars, a pair of old sneakers, pen, paper, and first aid kit.

Then my old jalopy got broken into. Piss. They took everything in the trunk and I've never gotten around to replacing all those things. I'm guessing it's time to get off my butt.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Friday, June 25, 2010

Owie

I'm watching The Impressionists, episode two. i don't recommend it to anyone with less than an obsessive interest in art. It's highly biographical as well as historical. Dramatic effect is minimal, though the story telling is still "good" if you like the silly little benchmarks of the impressionist movement along the way. There are no plot lines to untangle, no resolutions to look towards. It's just the retelling of a time line that is relatively well-known.

Movies like these remind me that I've seen many other movies - movies that have no intention of reflecting on art - that at some point or other surprise me and pull me out of story mode and show me an iconic pose or position.


I was about to go into a whole lecture and side by side comparison of movie scenes with famous paintings, and I ran out of steam. I'm tired of thinking and want to just lean back and watch the movie.

The "owie" was a reference to the fact that I just ate an unacceptably unhealthy amount of salted pumpkin seeds and my lips and tongue now hurt, and I countered the salt with half a liter of blueberry juice which was too sweet, and now my system is really freaked out and going, "WTF was that all about?! How about some recognizable food, you freak of nature?" Or something to that effect. But it's past ten now and I'm even less energetic than I was around dinnertime when the cooking of some kind of meal would have been appropriate. Now the thought of even turning over in bed has me
grumbling with inner complaints. There should be people one can hire to turn you over and prop up your pillows. That's what I think.

Anyway, I'm going to end here because lying on my stomach with my top torso supported by my elbows and my forearms flexed for typing on my laptop is only enchanting for so long and is quickly losing its appeal.

Puppy Sigh of Relief

Here's how this played out:

Wednesday, June 23
Coco's in the hospital, staying overnight. We're hoping the rib bones pass with no further damage, but there is a small possibility of pancreatic issues, otherwise. Poor, sweet, little guy... he just looks miserable.

Thursday, June 24
6:00PM

Surgery either tonight or tomorrow morning. Seems the little trouble maker may have ingested a foreign object, like a cloth of some kind. He's not eating and what little he's been force fed has been upchucked with no bowel movement to speak of. Something's blocking the whole system.

I'm worried. Not so much about the surgery. I have this feeling that they'll get whatever it is out and he should be fine. But we've talked as a family and if there are any further complications, we are pretty much opting for euthanasia. The fact is he's an old little guy and at this point, with chronic arthritis, seizures, and thyroid issues, prolonging his life doesn't mean it would be of acceptable quality.

What worries me isn't the choice itself. I've been mentally preparing for this for some time. What worries me is that I know this is going to be left for me to do. This is how we function. I'm the zoo warden around here. My parents leave these things to me. I'm the one that's made hospital visits to him in the time he's been interned and I'm the one doing all the consulting and such. In the end, I know that I'm the one that will be with him, whatever the road brings. It's not the first time, as you can imagine. With a constant zoo, pet loss comes with the territory. But except for one occasion, all pet deaths have been natural. Only one cat was put to sleep due to leukemia.

To say I'm not looking forward is, of course, an understatement. But a thousand times over, I'd rather be with him than not have that opportunity and forewarning.

It's seems impossible that 2010 could be worse than 2009, but it's really panning out that way.

7:30 PM
Just now got off the phone with the surgeon and the surgery went well. Corn cob. Yep. The bugger swallowed a corn cob whole and the thing was pretty much serving as a plug. It's out now, Coco's sewn back up and will be fed sometime tomorrow evening. Likely to be back home on Saturday, God willing.

Big sigh of relief around here. =)

Friday, June 25
I just finished visiting with Coco who is doing splendidly. His recovery is going well and the Doctor asked me to take him out for a walk to the grass area so that they could get him up and moving again due to his age and arthritis. The last thing we need is for him to get stiff and rickety from all the laying around.

We've been told he'll likely come home tomorrow and I'm really glad to hear it. I can't wait to have him back in the yard, sleeping in his bed and surrounded by his family. Meanwhile, I'd love to get him this shirt.

Adorkable



I'm sitting here quietly minding my own business.
Fruit fly comes and lands on the tip of my nose.
I whack myself on the face.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Rapunzel, Swept Away


I don't think I mentioned that I cut my hair yesterday. Well, actually, I didn't cut it. I went to a place where you pay a person and she does it for you. A trained person. Presumably. I mean I've not requested any kind of documentation beyond that little license that hangs at her station wall, but I trust her. She's done a competent job in the past.

Anyway, it's short now.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Words Are Tools... and Toys



You already know this. You know this about me. I've made no effort to, in any way, negate my elitist ways. I am a snob. That I'm able to get along with a wide variety of people who don't always fall into my excruciatingly narrow window of judgment, is just evidence that my heart is in a good place and I understand that my demands are largely unrealistic.

But sooner or later a girl just wants intelligent conversation, no? Some simple wit and eloquence would be much welcomed.

Where do grown ups go to make new friends? The idea of on-line anything makes me want to barf and roll my eyes. I believe in the traditional form of friend-making. Face to face conversations and sharing of time and space which develops over time into disclosures of similarities and shared interests. The kind of time investment needed to allow this natural process to happen was a given in the first half of the life experience. Classrooms are breeding grounds for friendships. And each semester opened up a whole new pool of options to delve into.

Now, in adult-land, the workplace is the only place where we spend large amounts of time. And, having taken inventory of our limited cast of characters, I have depleted all options and placed everyone on "just co-workers whom I can get along with" shelves.

The situation is dire, indeed.

¡Si Se Pudo!

Lo malo es que estaba yo en la oficina, sin acceso a tele, radio y hasta al Internet. Lo bueno es que mi compañera del lado, sin temor alguno a las autoridades, se atrevió a poner el juego de México contra Francia en la pagina de Internet de no se quien, y por ese medio nos tenia a todos informados.

Por supuesto, en gran parte, los de la oficina no son latinos ni extranjeros de otras partes, y por lo mismo sin mucho interés al asunto. Pero en las líneas de producción, ¿Qué tal? Ahí, formados los paisanos, esperaban saber detalles de los acontecimientos.

El proceso fue de lo mas sencillo: La compañera “gritaba” en tonos bajos con cada gol, y las dos nos poníamos a hacer llamadas a los teléfonos de la planta baja. Por mi parte, al terminar el juego, había yo terminado un reporte para entregar al gerente de la planta baja, y solo bastó con un inocuo “¡Viva México!” en pluma roja, colocado en el margen de la primera hoja, para diseminar el animo del momento.


El resultado final: Mexico = 2, Francia = 0

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

It's a Living

I'm not a morning person in the least bit. I just don't get it. Why would anyone not want to prolong that warm softness of bed? But duty calls and for this particular assignment, I've been scheduled for a 7 to 4 shift and, well, it's killing me.

I could be romantic and say that it's all for the love of art. That I have some great impending opus that will catapult me into personal fulfillment followed by financial stability. But I'm no diamond in the rough. This is it. This is all there is. It's not so bad, if I do say so myself, but I'm saying that I can acknowledge there are no sudden revelations of genius in my future, and so, the reality is that I'll always have to revert to some practical form of employment, be it in varying degrees of enjoyment.

Still, just in case I do have that next great American novel in me, I can't help but feel warm and fuzzy that I'd be in good company. So many others have had to live in the real world like I do. So many others managed to work around their gray world. I really can appreciate their plight.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Hey, There, No Shoving


Mother Earth has shifted once again to find a more comfortable position. She was generous, only slightly rustling the area, with nothing more than some random barking from the resident canines, and a soft rolling to and fro, almost apologetically so.

'Twas a 5.9, but it felt softer. I would have rated it somewhere in the fours.

Oh, Happy Day!!!

Happiness abounds, I am joy incarnate, bliss is mine!

Mabel (my laptop*) came out of her coma at Fry's like some petulant child who will only respond to an authoritative doctor. I didn't even scold her, such was my euphoria at her strong recovery. Seems she just needed to be reset and is like new again. I even bought her a sleeve to wear when I tote her around in my book bag. And a flash drive. She's not putting me through this shit again.

::skips off to her happy place::

*To anyone who might be interested in the more superfluous details of my life (like that doesn't apply to everything in here...but I digress), yes, my laptop's name is Mabel. I name the more participatory objects in my life, such is my bond with them. For what it's worth, they pretty much tell me their name and I just accept it. Past cars have been Guinevere (license plate had GVR in it), Miep (she facilitated my access to the world), and Blue Boy (very nondescript and generally too anonymous to inspire much more than that). Laptops have only been two: Zelda (an HP of the ZE line), and currently Mabel (IBM backwards with two vowels inserted and the "I" becomes an "L"... work with me, people).

As much as I used to love Zelda, I have to admit, Mabel is a much better match for me. She's more compact and lighter. She's an older-model ThinkPad and not huge like those newer laptops. I also prefer her LED monitor to those new shiny ones. Dunno why, I guess the reflection on those new ones just bugs me. I suspect that when Mabel does meet her tragic end, I'll probably get another ThinkPad. It has lots of interesting features that even the newer models don't have right at your fingertips. It's really well designed. Me likey.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Ready to Rumble

I'd like to thank those of you who have continued to read and have responded either here or to my email about your thoughts. I've been neglectful, I know. But I'm going to try to return to the pattern of updating the Andrum's Conundrum question, the Thousand Words image, and the Wonder, Wit, and Wisdom quote every weekend.
For the time being, I have odds and ends that I have backed up and might try to spread out over some days so as to have a few new things every so often.

Today I'm in a good mood and seem to be inspired, so I can think of a zillion things that I want to post, but like I said, I'll try to spread them out. In the meantime, I'm going to do some writing for all that eventual posting, so stick around if you are interested in my inane ramblings. Those of you who are regular readers either here or in my emails know how senseless any of my tangents can be. So, you have been forewarned.

I don't think I need to elaborate...


*www.xkcd.com - Randall Munroe

Ass Backwards

As usual, though I resist bandwagons, I have been known to arrive at the same place as the mass audience, having taken the long way 'round.

I've decided I like Lady Gaga.

Hear me out.

Considering I come from the corner of the world that encourages originality, and considering that I am actually formally educated in the field of Art, on a down-to-the-core-of-it-all level, I'm a wallflower and thank others to be just as inconspicuous. I resist spotlight people. I know that. I think I'm uncomfortable for them. I think I tend to appropriate the embarrassment that I think they should be feeling.

As it turns out, it's that same non-conformity that I end up respecting. I admire people who are braver than me, who can come up with a new reality and not bat an eyelash at living it.

That she actually has talent just sealed the deal.

Here's the ass-backwards part: I'd been pretty much avoiding her since for the most part I'd concluded she was just another passing rage, working with shock value, etc. But then I saw that video of that kid on YouTube who sings Paparazzi and I liked the song. To be honest, I like his acoustic version better than her ultra-produced one, but I can see the composition at its core and like it. The fact that her techno-like genre is of no interest to me has kept her music out of my radar, but I can see its appeal now that I've been exposed to it.

And then there was the Glee episode. I mentioned a while ago that I don't get the pull about that show. It looks like it's targeted for a teen audience but the music is largely from the 80s and 90s, so in a strange way it's appealing to a larger audience. I'll be honest and admit to seeing a couple of episodes now, but I'll also add that I never really "watch" the episode. I'm usually on another task and only tune in at the songs. I like the nostalgia (again, I wonder what the draw is for the newer generation who largely thinks our music was silly) of it, so I get to hear songs I haven't heard in a long time. But if you asked me who the characters are or what the plot lines are, I'd be hard-pressed to identify any of it. The Lady Gaga episode, however, shone another spotlight on her music, and so I've come to gradually form a better opinion of her, though it's ironic that mostly I like other people's - more acoustic - versions of her songs.

Poker Face, in particular,pulled me in because the chorus is almost identical to a song in one of the Cirque du Soleil productions. I think it was Quidam, but I'm not sure. Either that or Saltimbanco. Anyway, I had the CDs back in the 90s and have since lost them, but if you're familiar with that music, it's very international, often in other languages and I even suspected some languages were completely fabricated. Anyway, Poker Face always reminds me of that song, specifically because I liked that part of the song in the Cirque CD.

Yep. Yet another painfully dissected look into my noggin.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Extensions of Me

What kind of book owner are you?

I don't mean are you a book snob, like me, and would never deign to allow a Harlequin Romance anywhere near even the aura of your Octavio Paz and Umberto Eco. That rant is for another day. I mean tangibly. What is your physical relationship like with your books?

I love my books. I find it very difficult to part with them, having read them. I rarely give books away. Never throw them away. I burned one once because it had reached its end and the trash bin was just not right, somehow. It was George Orwell's 1984. Friend of mine commented that had it been Fahrenheit 451, it would have been really cool. Even so, the reference to the incinerator in 1984 was enough to make it an austere occasion.

That said, I'm no fussy book owner. My books are survivors. Likely this is at the core of my bond. I take my books with me everywhere. Whatever I am currently reading is usually stuffed in my purse at the ready for any down time. This means it crashes into keys, rubs against zippers, and sometimes even gets sweated on by water thermoses. I eat while reading at restaurants, I sit with them at Doctors' offices, I fall asleep and they get buried amongst pillows and one affectionate dog. They get left in cars, the backyard, and work bags. They get stacked up with the mail, the laundry, and the piles of other books that are still finding a home.

I used to think that books were to be treasured. That one should be delicate with them. But I've come to understand over time that books are sturdy and they can take it, both physically and metaphorically. I always remember Ms. Neighbor's pursed lips when I fold down a corner to save my place. My 7th grade teacher would scold and show us her wrath if we didn't use a book marker. But book markers always fall out. Yeah, they have those new paper clip ones or the ones that are magnets, and blah blah blah. Yeah, whatever, just fold the damned corner. The world won't end.

As for writing in them. I used to think this was a big no-no. And then one day I really thought about it. Why not? What, exactly, is at the basis of this rule? Respect for belongings? Well, it's my belonging, so don't I get to decide how to use it? It's an object. It's not going to get hurt. Hell, it's paper; it's practically begging to be written on. So I no longer have any hang ups about writing in mine, though I rarely do. It's just that now it's not about any kind of principle so much as it is a lack of anything to say, most of the time. I have a friend who writes in her books all the time. Big sprawling notes in red, and black or whatever the hell colored pen she happens to have at the moment. There's no hesitation in her approach. She has no qualms about squishing her thoughts along the margins and between lines. Deep, heavy writing. It fills me with joy to watch her do it. You go, girl!

So, after days by my side, coming to work with me, having crackers and tomato juice at the table, getting sprayed by the sprinklers in the backyard, and taking on dozens of dog ears, it's no wonder I've bonded with the little guys. They may not be treated like royalty, but they are very much loved and given a place near and dear to my heart. Any corner of any shelf or surface will do. One day they will make it into hands of friends or a local library for others to enjoy them. Meanwhile, they've become a part of me.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Must re-think that Mensa Membership Application...

Today I tried to change a roll of toilet paper and failed, spectacularly. In my defense, I was at my current place of employment and dealing with an industrially designed doohickey. I finally stepped out of the quarters and announced in no uncertain terms my heartfealt intention for collaboration and pulling my own weight, only to be met with an escalating sense of incompetence. I swear, I have a B.A.

I was delicately informed that the culprit gadget in question was, in fact, a poorly designed commercial vexation which had taken down many a stronger soldier than I. Sufficiently appeased, I retired to my cubicle to run production orders and update company reports, a task infinitely better suited to my mental capacities.