YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY! . . .
I am SO having a great quiet night at home right now: THE MISS AMERICA PAGEANT is on television and I have unrotten milk to put in my chamomile tea!
Unfortunately, I do not have the Chief of Staff next to me with whom to share a bag of potato chips and numerous scornful guffaws and "look at her HAIR"s, but myself in flannel pajamas cracking pistachios and sipping tea will have to suffice ...
Besides. I'm still thawing.
Saturday, September 18
THE BIG THAW . . .
It's on. The flannel pajamas have been broken out for the 2004 Autumn/Winter season, thank you very much.
The baseball game this afternoon (yes, I've seen TWO Yankee games in a row now, and God willing, I'll be waking up tomorrow for a third) felt like Opening Day in 1996: freezing, blustery, precipitative (not a word, I don't think), wet and shivering. There's great value to sitting in Row X, the very last row in the Stadium -- aside from being very distant from the bathrooms and food, you can see everything AND the food & beer vendors still venture that far north, saving you the trouble (unfortunately, cheese fries and Italian sausages don't make the walking vendor cut). However, it's a veritable wind tunnel up there. My cheeks are chapped, my hair is mussed, and I am currently suffering the throes of a deep bone-penetrating damp freeze.
Thus, the flannel pajamas. A nice, long, for-once-free Saturday evening ahead of me. What to do first? Eat. Nap. Have a cup of tea. Have a stiff drink. Read a book. Watch a movie. Hmmm ...
It's on. The flannel pajamas have been broken out for the 2004 Autumn/Winter season, thank you very much.
The baseball game this afternoon (yes, I've seen TWO Yankee games in a row now, and God willing, I'll be waking up tomorrow for a third) felt like Opening Day in 1996: freezing, blustery, precipitative (not a word, I don't think), wet and shivering. There's great value to sitting in Row X, the very last row in the Stadium -- aside from being very distant from the bathrooms and food, you can see everything AND the food & beer vendors still venture that far north, saving you the trouble (unfortunately, cheese fries and Italian sausages don't make the walking vendor cut). However, it's a veritable wind tunnel up there. My cheeks are chapped, my hair is mussed, and I am currently suffering the throes of a deep bone-penetrating damp freeze.
Thus, the flannel pajamas. A nice, long, for-once-free Saturday evening ahead of me. What to do first? Eat. Nap. Have a cup of tea. Have a stiff drink. Read a book. Watch a movie. Hmmm ...
RAIN DELAY THIS . . .
Boston 3, New York 2.
What a sad, sad day in da Bronx. Thankfully, we (1) were dry, sitting in the second to last row at the top of Yankee Stadium; (2) endured only two rain delays totalling about an hour and twenty-five minutes; and had left before the Yanks tanked, although I have to say that when I heard "Enter Sandman" from outside the Stadium, I had to severely resist the urge to run back in. Instead, I slumped lower and lower in the front seat of Camp Capio's non-minivan minivan as I listened to my Mo' tank the big one.
Sniff, sniff.
Also, I felt like I was cheating on Cheech tonight. I never go to a Red Sox matchup without him. But now, with him almost halfway across the country, doing something actually worthwhile with his time and money, it's not like I could have asked him to fly back for this game, right? It just wasn't the same, though. No one with whom to eat about $60 worth of food and then get nauseous. No one with whom to subsequently vow, "we are NEVER eating Cracker Jack again, after hotdogs, Italian sausages, cheese fries, peanuts, ice cream and three beers." No one with whom to argue about how Red Sox fans still are human beings, even if they are evil and misguided and simply not intelligent. No one at whom to stare, through bleary beery eyes, and declare, "Hey, you're all beery and bleary."
Sniff, sniff.
***
PET PEEVESTERS . . .
I soooo dislike it when I send an objectively Very Important Email Message to someone in a position of authority who is able to address the issues contained in my Very Important Email Message, and then get no reply whatsoever. Not a "thanks, I got it." Not a "I got it but I have to think about it." Not even a "I got it and I think you're stupid for worrying about the issues contained therein." Nor a "I got it and it's too damn long for me to read in one sitting, so gimme some time."
Grrrrr. What the heck are you doing? Read the Very Important Email Message! Respond, damnit, respond! If I go nuts conjuring up all manner of scenarios and responses and reactions you might be having, it's all your fault.
***
UMAMI ME . . .
Droolie. I know you're reading this. I never address my readers head-on, but I'M IN!
***
IVAN-A . . .
I am truly addicted to "The Apprentice." And I am truly appalled at the behavior and silliness of some of the people on the show. These are the leaders of the future? Ay caramba.
But speak of the devil, Ivan spared the Yankee game ... and now I hear his residue pitter-pattering outside my window. This humid, sticky, gotta-take-another-shower-before-I-go-to-sleep rain is so icky. I can't wait until the weather gets a bit cool and it rains a nice cool, refreshing, throw-on-a-fleece-and-cuddle rain ...
The roads better not be flooded tomorrow. I have a Very Important Massage scheduled.
Boston 3, New York 2.
What a sad, sad day in da Bronx. Thankfully, we (1) were dry, sitting in the second to last row at the top of Yankee Stadium; (2) endured only two rain delays totalling about an hour and twenty-five minutes; and had left before the Yanks tanked, although I have to say that when I heard "Enter Sandman" from outside the Stadium, I had to severely resist the urge to run back in. Instead, I slumped lower and lower in the front seat of Camp Capio's non-minivan minivan as I listened to my Mo' tank the big one.
Sniff, sniff.
Also, I felt like I was cheating on Cheech tonight. I never go to a Red Sox matchup without him. But now, with him almost halfway across the country, doing something actually worthwhile with his time and money, it's not like I could have asked him to fly back for this game, right? It just wasn't the same, though. No one with whom to eat about $60 worth of food and then get nauseous. No one with whom to subsequently vow, "we are NEVER eating Cracker Jack again, after hotdogs, Italian sausages, cheese fries, peanuts, ice cream and three beers." No one with whom to argue about how Red Sox fans still are human beings, even if they are evil and misguided and simply not intelligent. No one at whom to stare, through bleary beery eyes, and declare, "Hey, you're all beery and bleary."
Sniff, sniff.
***
PET PEEVESTERS . . .
I soooo dislike it when I send an objectively Very Important Email Message to someone in a position of authority who is able to address the issues contained in my Very Important Email Message, and then get no reply whatsoever. Not a "thanks, I got it." Not a "I got it but I have to think about it." Not even a "I got it and I think you're stupid for worrying about the issues contained therein." Nor a "I got it and it's too damn long for me to read in one sitting, so gimme some time."
Grrrrr. What the heck are you doing? Read the Very Important Email Message! Respond, damnit, respond! If I go nuts conjuring up all manner of scenarios and responses and reactions you might be having, it's all your fault.
***
UMAMI ME . . .
Droolie. I know you're reading this. I never address my readers head-on, but I'M IN!
***
IVAN-A . . .
I am truly addicted to "The Apprentice." And I am truly appalled at the behavior and silliness of some of the people on the show. These are the leaders of the future? Ay caramba.
But speak of the devil, Ivan spared the Yankee game ... and now I hear his residue pitter-pattering outside my window. This humid, sticky, gotta-take-another-shower-before-I-go-to-sleep rain is so icky. I can't wait until the weather gets a bit cool and it rains a nice cool, refreshing, throw-on-a-fleece-and-cuddle rain ...
The roads better not be flooded tomorrow. I have a Very Important Massage scheduled.
Tuesday, September 14
Monday, September 13
I'M A BIG WUSS . . .
I worked late tonight. Rather, I should say that I worked "late" tonight. And I'm tired! WHINE.
Actually, my 11-hour day was strangely invigorating. When I was a legal assistant at a big white-shoe law firm, it was BAD BAD BAD if you left the office before 8:00pm. (Actually, I think that was because everyone wanted to take advantage of billable dinner and town car transportation home, which only kicked in if you worked until at least 8:00pm.) We kept sleeping bags, changes of clothes, and bags of toiletries at the office, and hoped to God that someone would say "thank you" to us to make it all worthwhile. Come to think of it, it was worthwhile because my year there paid for my first year of law school in its entirety. When I was a paralegal in the D.A.'s office, we were strictly on a 9-to-5 schedule. At 4:55pm every afternoon, we lined up at the clock to punch our cards out exactly at 5:00pm. It became a sport, to see who could punch out closest to 5:00pm, down to the second. In fact, you had to apply to our supervisor to work later than normal; you wouldn't get paid for it otherwise. When I interned after my first year of law school, I was again strictly 9-to-5, which was totally fine by me since the job wasn't all that interesting. When I was at the U.S. Attorney's Office before I graduated law school, I was fortunate enough to be immediately be placed on a trial team. I routinely worked until midnight and on weekends and loved every single moment of it, except for the week that security told us to be extra careful because of suspicious crank phone calls that members of the trial team were receiving.
But those weren't "real" jobs, where I had "real" responsibility. There were always tons of people around to check my work, my research, my multitudinous copying jobs. The things I did made no difference in people's lives, and impacted hardly at all upon the reputation of my bosses or supervisors. Today, however ... Hooch and I held people's very lives in the balance. Granted, we are totally sick of this case and are of the determination that it should have disappeared eons ago. Alas, it remains before us, and has given us cause for much agitation, laughter, crows' feet from squinting at the computer's WestLaw pages, and guffaws of disbelief at the issues that have arisen in the past week. And even so, it was fun. I came THIIIIIIS close to dropping the ball in a major way several times, and each time, Hooch rescued me with her Grand Law Brain. And each time we came back in from the proceedings, we dropped our jaws at each other and rolled our eyes, for truly, that was all that was needed to express how we felt. And we flipped through books and thought up lyrical ways to say something really harsh and made up fake law that WE think should exist.
And then, when we stepped outside to our cars, it was dark. Wow.
I'm so tired now. I am such a wuss. She works an extra three hours and the poor thing is TIRED. But it's all good ... now, Hooch and I know all sorts of things about all sorts of things, and one day, we will compile our wisdom into one handy-dandy volume for all of you. And we will sell nary a copy, but sit smugly in our chairs and giggle at our apparent wit, as we reminisce upon days like today, when we heard the words "take a leak" come forth from El Jefe's mouth, and we fell over in shock.
I worked late tonight. Rather, I should say that I worked "late" tonight. And I'm tired! WHINE.
Actually, my 11-hour day was strangely invigorating. When I was a legal assistant at a big white-shoe law firm, it was BAD BAD BAD if you left the office before 8:00pm. (Actually, I think that was because everyone wanted to take advantage of billable dinner and town car transportation home, which only kicked in if you worked until at least 8:00pm.) We kept sleeping bags, changes of clothes, and bags of toiletries at the office, and hoped to God that someone would say "thank you" to us to make it all worthwhile. Come to think of it, it was worthwhile because my year there paid for my first year of law school in its entirety. When I was a paralegal in the D.A.'s office, we were strictly on a 9-to-5 schedule. At 4:55pm every afternoon, we lined up at the clock to punch our cards out exactly at 5:00pm. It became a sport, to see who could punch out closest to 5:00pm, down to the second. In fact, you had to apply to our supervisor to work later than normal; you wouldn't get paid for it otherwise. When I interned after my first year of law school, I was again strictly 9-to-5, which was totally fine by me since the job wasn't all that interesting. When I was at the U.S. Attorney's Office before I graduated law school, I was fortunate enough to be immediately be placed on a trial team. I routinely worked until midnight and on weekends and loved every single moment of it, except for the week that security told us to be extra careful because of suspicious crank phone calls that members of the trial team were receiving.
But those weren't "real" jobs, where I had "real" responsibility. There were always tons of people around to check my work, my research, my multitudinous copying jobs. The things I did made no difference in people's lives, and impacted hardly at all upon the reputation of my bosses or supervisors. Today, however ... Hooch and I held people's very lives in the balance. Granted, we are totally sick of this case and are of the determination that it should have disappeared eons ago. Alas, it remains before us, and has given us cause for much agitation, laughter, crows' feet from squinting at the computer's WestLaw pages, and guffaws of disbelief at the issues that have arisen in the past week. And even so, it was fun. I came THIIIIIIS close to dropping the ball in a major way several times, and each time, Hooch rescued me with her Grand Law Brain. And each time we came back in from the proceedings, we dropped our jaws at each other and rolled our eyes, for truly, that was all that was needed to express how we felt. And we flipped through books and thought up lyrical ways to say something really harsh and made up fake law that WE think should exist.
And then, when we stepped outside to our cars, it was dark. Wow.
I'm so tired now. I am such a wuss. She works an extra three hours and the poor thing is TIRED. But it's all good ... now, Hooch and I know all sorts of things about all sorts of things, and one day, we will compile our wisdom into one handy-dandy volume for all of you. And we will sell nary a copy, but sit smugly in our chairs and giggle at our apparent wit, as we reminisce upon days like today, when we heard the words "take a leak" come forth from El Jefe's mouth, and we fell over in shock.
Sunday, September 12
BREAK IT DOWN . . .
Sometimes, you just have to let go and turn away for a bit.
In order to be built back up. In order to recover the first love. In order to not lose faith. In order to not lose friends. In order to get a fresh perspective. In order to endure deprivation. In order to long for it. In order to keep focus. In order to prevent destruction. In order to not be debilitated by anger and discouragement. In order to smile a genuine smile. In order to know what you're missing. In order to miss it in the first place. In order to stave off bitterness. In order to have time. In order to talk with friends and reconnect. In order to deny the image. In order to prevent hypocrisy. In order to grow up. In order to try something new. In order to step out of the increasingly large rut. In order to listen. In order to sit with someone. In order to rest your body. In order to be driven by your heart, not a misguided sense of duty. In order to be a servant. In order to step away from badness when it won't step away from you. In order to keep your mouth shut. In order to speak truth.
It's just time to, is all.
Sometimes, you just have to let go and turn away for a bit.
In order to be built back up. In order to recover the first love. In order to not lose faith. In order to not lose friends. In order to get a fresh perspective. In order to endure deprivation. In order to long for it. In order to keep focus. In order to prevent destruction. In order to not be debilitated by anger and discouragement. In order to smile a genuine smile. In order to know what you're missing. In order to miss it in the first place. In order to stave off bitterness. In order to have time. In order to talk with friends and reconnect. In order to deny the image. In order to prevent hypocrisy. In order to grow up. In order to try something new. In order to step out of the increasingly large rut. In order to listen. In order to sit with someone. In order to rest your body. In order to be driven by your heart, not a misguided sense of duty. In order to be a servant. In order to step away from badness when it won't step away from you. In order to keep your mouth shut. In order to speak truth.
It's just time to, is all.
Friday, September 10
THREE YEARS . . .
Today, let us act humanely toward one another. Let us always act humanely toward one another.
And as we consider human sacrifices, a martyr's sacrifice, a fanatic's sacrifice, a soldier's sacrifice, let us also consider the perfect sacrifice ...
How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross
My guilt upon His shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no powr's, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
Words and Music by Stuart Townend
Today, let us act humanely toward one another. Let us always act humanely toward one another.
And as we consider human sacrifices, a martyr's sacrifice, a fanatic's sacrifice, a soldier's sacrifice, let us also consider the perfect sacrifice ...
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross
My guilt upon His shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no powr's, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
GO. NOW. . . .
I just returned from Middletown, NY, where I stepped into the bowels of Webb-Horton Presbyterian Church to see a production of Marsha Norman's "'Night, Mother." Starring Dana Lockhart and Johanna Tacadena. Directed by my very own Hooch. Words cannot describe how riveting, gripping, hilarious, moving, wrenching the play is, or how talented the actresses are, or how precise and fantastic the direction is.
If you're in the area tomorrow, Saturday, go see it. Otherwise, go see it on Broadway in November, starring Edie Falco and Brenda Blethyn.
But you really should go see it in Middletown tomorrow.
I just returned from Middletown, NY, where I stepped into the bowels of Webb-Horton Presbyterian Church to see a production of Marsha Norman's "'Night, Mother." Starring Dana Lockhart and Johanna Tacadena. Directed by my very own Hooch. Words cannot describe how riveting, gripping, hilarious, moving, wrenching the play is, or how talented the actresses are, or how precise and fantastic the direction is.
If you're in the area tomorrow, Saturday, go see it. Otherwise, go see it on Broadway in November, starring Edie Falco and Brenda Blethyn.
But you really should go see it in Middletown tomorrow.
Thursday, September 9
TRA LA LA . . .
My favorite opera, "The Magic Flute," is back at the Met this season, with Julie Taymor doing the set! Wahoo! Ticketmaster, here I come ...
***
GUFFAW . . .
Hooch and I are in constant stitches over the latest trial in our courtroom. Oh. My. Gawd. If you only knew ...
***
WHIP! . . .
Our team is only at 35% of our fundraising goal!
GET CRACKING, TEAM MEMBERS!
GET CRACKING, DONORS!
My favorite opera, "The Magic Flute," is back at the Met this season, with Julie Taymor doing the set! Wahoo! Ticketmaster, here I come ...
***
GUFFAW . . .
Hooch and I are in constant stitches over the latest trial in our courtroom. Oh. My. Gawd. If you only knew ...
***
WHIP! . . .
Our team is only at 35% of our fundraising goal!
GET CRACKING, TEAM MEMBERS!
GET CRACKING, DONORS!
UNITE! . . .
Calling all conspiracy theorists ... check out Margaret's ruminations about 9/11 and the Pentagon.
I confess. I got sucked in by the flash animation.
Calling all conspiracy theorists ... check out Margaret's ruminations about 9/11 and the Pentagon.
I confess. I got sucked in by the flash animation.
Wednesday, September 8
Not my number one season, but who am I to argue with Quizilla?
I particularly enjoy the horrific anime artistry (shoot me if I ever pose in that position for anything) and the typically bad grammar and spelling usually found on Asian stationery objects, such as glamour lunchboxes and pencil cases. You know, the type that read "I look in ice ... thought of you ... the windes blowed" or "Like petals on breeze ... I eat molasses taffy ... chew with smilings." UGH.
You're a Spring. You usually are very close-knit
with your friends and value everyone freidnship
you have. You're a real people person and
everyone loves how friendly you are. You're
good with encouraging people but usually don't
like to be the center of attention. You are a
social butterfly and probably are in several
circles of friends but it's just because you're
well liked and you make people comfortable.
You're both fun and wise but you are very
realistic about life.
What season are you? (pics)
brought to you by Quizilla
I particularly enjoy the horrific anime artistry (shoot me if I ever pose in that position for anything) and the typically bad grammar and spelling usually found on Asian stationery objects, such as glamour lunchboxes and pencil cases. You know, the type that read "I look in ice ... thought of you ... the windes blowed" or "Like petals on breeze ... I eat molasses taffy ... chew with smilings." UGH.
You're a Spring. You usually are very close-knit
with your friends and value everyone freidnship
you have. You're a real people person and
everyone loves how friendly you are. You're
good with encouraging people but usually don't
like to be the center of attention. You are a
social butterfly and probably are in several
circles of friends but it's just because you're
well liked and you make people comfortable.
You're both fun and wise but you are very
realistic about life.
What season are you? (pics)
brought to you by Quizilla
SUPPORT US . . .
Team New Hope For a Cure.
Or visit Komen Greater NYC Race for the Cure to see how else you can help find a cure for breast cancer, fund research, assist those in need.
Team New Hope For a Cure.
Or visit Komen Greater NYC Race for the Cure to see how else you can help find a cure for breast cancer, fund research, assist those in need.
KISS MY ASS . . .
What does it say about your campaign if all you can say at this point is THREATEN your own citizens with what will happen if you don't win?
From the New York Times: Stepping up the battle over national security, Vice President Dick Cheney warned on Tuesday that the country would be at risk of a terror attack if it made "the wrong choice" in November, and President Bush accused Senator John Kerry of adopting the antiwar language of his Democratic primary rival Howard Dean.
DO NOT THREATEN ME, YOU JACKASS.
And don't be stupid either -- we're always at risk of a terror attack. It doesn't matter who's in office. They hate ALL of us, and we best never forget it.
What does it say about your campaign if all you can say at this point is THREATEN your own citizens with what will happen if you don't win?
From the New York Times: Stepping up the battle over national security, Vice President Dick Cheney warned on Tuesday that the country would be at risk of a terror attack if it made "the wrong choice" in November, and President Bush accused Senator John Kerry of adopting the antiwar language of his Democratic primary rival Howard Dean.
DO NOT THREATEN ME, YOU JACKASS.
And don't be stupid either -- we're always at risk of a terror attack. It doesn't matter who's in office. They hate ALL of us, and we best never forget it.
Tuesday, September 7
STICK A FORK IN ME . . .
30 + 30 = 60 went off with nary a hitch. Dinner went so smoothly, we didn't even see the bill! Jackson & Wheeler is a great place for drinks, appetizers, dessert and coffee, and they apparently have a pretty hopping night life, complete with live music ("hopping" by suburban standards, that is). The owners, Len and Mike, are simply superb human beings -- the type whose smiles are never wiped off their faces, whose tone of voice never changes, who remain at your beck and call, and who make you want to come back and have a wine at the bar while chatting with them for hours.
The food, however, is eh. Our supper dishes ran the gamut from inedibly salty to stultifyingly bland. That was too bad, actually. I wanted Soy and Dr.L to have an amazing culinary experience in my sleepy town. Oh well. We'll come back for drinks and dessert some day ... and to say "hey" to Len and Mike ...
***
TWINS-BEGONE! . . .
Kami and Karli are OFF "The Amazing Race."
Thank the Lord.
***
HIGH N' MIGHTY . . .
My bed is here! I don't have to sleep on a box spring and mattress resting on the floor like some pathetic post-college neophyte anymore! A real bed in a real house with a real me in it.
Perhaps, as Soy suggests, I shall sleep better from now on. Perhaps ...
Strangely, as I lay on it for the first time this evening, I felt an odd nostalgia for the "simpler" days, when I could sleep on the floor. Having this complete, dark hardwood bed frame makes me feel like I have to be grown-up, like I have to be responsible, like I have to ... I don't know. Like I just HAVE to.
It also doesn't help that I have to hop to get up on it.
30 + 30 = 60 went off with nary a hitch. Dinner went so smoothly, we didn't even see the bill! Jackson & Wheeler is a great place for drinks, appetizers, dessert and coffee, and they apparently have a pretty hopping night life, complete with live music ("hopping" by suburban standards, that is). The owners, Len and Mike, are simply superb human beings -- the type whose smiles are never wiped off their faces, whose tone of voice never changes, who remain at your beck and call, and who make you want to come back and have a wine at the bar while chatting with them for hours.
The food, however, is eh. Our supper dishes ran the gamut from inedibly salty to stultifyingly bland. That was too bad, actually. I wanted Soy and Dr.L to have an amazing culinary experience in my sleepy town. Oh well. We'll come back for drinks and dessert some day ... and to say "hey" to Len and Mike ...
***
TWINS-BEGONE! . . .
Kami and Karli are OFF "The Amazing Race."
Thank the Lord.
***
HIGH N' MIGHTY . . .
My bed is here! I don't have to sleep on a box spring and mattress resting on the floor like some pathetic post-college neophyte anymore! A real bed in a real house with a real me in it.
Perhaps, as Soy suggests, I shall sleep better from now on. Perhaps ...
Strangely, as I lay on it for the first time this evening, I felt an odd nostalgia for the "simpler" days, when I could sleep on the floor. Having this complete, dark hardwood bed frame makes me feel like I have to be grown-up, like I have to be responsible, like I have to ... I don't know. Like I just HAVE to.
It also doesn't help that I have to hop to get up on it.
Monday, September 6
Sunday, September 5
KIBBLES N' BITS N' BITS N' BITS . . .
I revealed to my pastor today that Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" is one of my favorite songs EVAH. He practically cracked a rib laughing. And then we reminisced about the Christian heavy metal group Stryper, and the yellow-and-black bumblebee outfits they wore. Dang. What was THAT all about?!
***
I went running at one of the Rockefeller properties along the Hudson this morning with C and the Camp Capio Crazy Canine, Popcorn, a/k/a Popstar, a/k/a Attack Dog, a/k/a Poppety Pop Pop Pop, a/k/a She Will Eat Your Dog Even If Your Dog Is A German Shepherd. Halfway along the trail, Popperoni stopped in her tracks, heaved her body and PUKED. At first, I was shocked. I mean, this poor little Jack Russell terrier was all tensed up, puking her brains out, and I thought she was going to die. (She was fine after puking; she kept trotting along as if nothing had happened. Me, I would have needed an extra layer of clothing, a mug of hot water, my bed and my mommy if I puked that hard.) But after the shock wore off, the only thing I could think was: "Her puke looked like melted s'mores."
***
My 'nieces' and 'nephews' are turning one year old already. That's nuts!
***
I don't know if it's going to get exceedingly warm again before it truly gets cold, but tonight, there is a nip in the air, and I sit here with all the windows in the house open, but wearing a loose, long-sleeve NHF shirt and long grey yoga pants. In a few minutes, I'll grab that fleecy blanket over there and throw it around me as I watch some television. In a few weeks, I'll bust out the winter clothes, air them out, start packing the tanktops and shorts and summery skirts away. I'll put on the fleece jacket and zip it up, up, all the way up. In another few weeks, I'll lay a layer of my heavy Korean faux-mink blanket under my flowery duvet, and at night, I'll get under it so far you won't even see the strands of my hair. Man, I love autumn ...
***
Three days ago, I acquired a lucky bamboo plant (which, as it turns out, is not of the bamboo family at all. I feel more than a little bit misled.) Today, I notice that the leaves are wrinkling and the ends are drying. This, despite the fact that I have done everything the instructions told me to do: the black rocks are in the vase, the water is just barely covering the rocks, the roots of the "bamboo" stalks are not choked. What the heck?!
***
The Susan G. Komen Foundation's Race for the Cure 5k Run/Walk is quickly approaching. If you know my full name, support me and my team on www.komennyc.org!!!
***
One thing about HyperW that I really respect: as hyper and goofy as he is and seems, he is also the most possessing of integrity and earnestness of the men I know at NHF. After weeks of my ineffective announcements at NHF about the Komen 5k, he came to my house and happened to read the Race program cover to cover. The program detailed the Komen Foundation, its work, its grantees, and the purpose of the Race. HyperW then went home and, armed with his new and more accurate knowledge about this fundraising event, returned to me the next morning with a check for $100 saying "I now know what you are doing and I know that I want to support you with everything I've got." Who can argue with a man who seeks to satisfy his curiosity, does his research, thinks and prays carefully, then displays generosity that is too few and far between in our everyday lives? I can't.
***
I'm so, so sleepy, but I'm afraid to go to bed in case I can't sleep again. What could be wrong with me? Cheech is safe and sound and loving it in Phoenix. Omma and Appa and Gran are healthy. Work is a bit busier than normal, but the projects are nothing I can't handle, and the dramas are nothing I can't enjoy to the fullest. My bills are paid, my finances are healthy. I have much love in my life. I want nothing and need even less. The only thing I can think ... I'm a dweller. Things that make me angry, injustices in the world, people suffering senselessly, the guy that cut me off on the highway, a friend who tweaked me the wrong way with a careless word, selfish and self-absorbed people, unfairness ... I think about these things all the time. Days, weeks, months after the fact, I could potentially still be thinking about it. I recreate the scene, I interject the phrases I should have said, I imagine what I would have said if I could have. And so I lie awake. Maybe that's it. Maybe I could just change my personality so I can sleep better .
I revealed to my pastor today that Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" is one of my favorite songs EVAH. He practically cracked a rib laughing. And then we reminisced about the Christian heavy metal group Stryper, and the yellow-and-black bumblebee outfits they wore. Dang. What was THAT all about?!
***
I went running at one of the Rockefeller properties along the Hudson this morning with C and the Camp Capio Crazy Canine, Popcorn, a/k/a Popstar, a/k/a Attack Dog, a/k/a Poppety Pop Pop Pop, a/k/a She Will Eat Your Dog Even If Your Dog Is A German Shepherd. Halfway along the trail, Popperoni stopped in her tracks, heaved her body and PUKED. At first, I was shocked. I mean, this poor little Jack Russell terrier was all tensed up, puking her brains out, and I thought she was going to die. (She was fine after puking; she kept trotting along as if nothing had happened. Me, I would have needed an extra layer of clothing, a mug of hot water, my bed and my mommy if I puked that hard.) But after the shock wore off, the only thing I could think was: "Her puke looked like melted s'mores."
***
My 'nieces' and 'nephews' are turning one year old already. That's nuts!
***
I don't know if it's going to get exceedingly warm again before it truly gets cold, but tonight, there is a nip in the air, and I sit here with all the windows in the house open, but wearing a loose, long-sleeve NHF shirt and long grey yoga pants. In a few minutes, I'll grab that fleecy blanket over there and throw it around me as I watch some television. In a few weeks, I'll bust out the winter clothes, air them out, start packing the tanktops and shorts and summery skirts away. I'll put on the fleece jacket and zip it up, up, all the way up. In another few weeks, I'll lay a layer of my heavy Korean faux-mink blanket under my flowery duvet, and at night, I'll get under it so far you won't even see the strands of my hair. Man, I love autumn ...
***
Three days ago, I acquired a lucky bamboo plant (which, as it turns out, is not of the bamboo family at all. I feel more than a little bit misled.) Today, I notice that the leaves are wrinkling and the ends are drying. This, despite the fact that I have done everything the instructions told me to do: the black rocks are in the vase, the water is just barely covering the rocks, the roots of the "bamboo" stalks are not choked. What the heck?!
***
The Susan G. Komen Foundation's Race for the Cure 5k Run/Walk is quickly approaching. If you know my full name, support me and my team on www.komennyc.org!!!
***
One thing about HyperW that I really respect: as hyper and goofy as he is and seems, he is also the most possessing of integrity and earnestness of the men I know at NHF. After weeks of my ineffective announcements at NHF about the Komen 5k, he came to my house and happened to read the Race program cover to cover. The program detailed the Komen Foundation, its work, its grantees, and the purpose of the Race. HyperW then went home and, armed with his new and more accurate knowledge about this fundraising event, returned to me the next morning with a check for $100 saying "I now know what you are doing and I know that I want to support you with everything I've got." Who can argue with a man who seeks to satisfy his curiosity, does his research, thinks and prays carefully, then displays generosity that is too few and far between in our everyday lives? I can't.
***
I'm so, so sleepy, but I'm afraid to go to bed in case I can't sleep again. What could be wrong with me? Cheech is safe and sound and loving it in Phoenix. Omma and Appa and Gran are healthy. Work is a bit busier than normal, but the projects are nothing I can't handle, and the dramas are nothing I can't enjoy to the fullest. My bills are paid, my finances are healthy. I have much love in my life. I want nothing and need even less. The only thing I can think ... I'm a dweller. Things that make me angry, injustices in the world, people suffering senselessly, the guy that cut me off on the highway, a friend who tweaked me the wrong way with a careless word, selfish and self-absorbed people, unfairness ... I think about these things all the time. Days, weeks, months after the fact, I could potentially still be thinking about it. I recreate the scene, I interject the phrases I should have said, I imagine what I would have said if I could have. And so I lie awake. Maybe that's it. Maybe I could just change my personality so I can sleep better .
Thursday, September 2
THUD, THUD, THUD . . .
That's the pounding of my aching head as I ponder the ways of the world.
Why do people lie? Why do people live in an alterna-verse and then impose their madness upon others? Why do people blame others for being selfish then act so selfishly themselves? Why do people think only their lives are busy, only their jobs are consuming, only their hours of sleep are precious? Why do people procrastinate and then freak out as a deadline approaches, and make others suffer stress with them? Why do people talk the talk and never ever walk the walk? Why do people think the world revolves around them? Why do people fail to sacrifice their own comfort and money and time and energy for others, even though they say they do? Why do people sit around and expect others to do things for them all the time? Why do people settle for "being the way they are" and never seek to make themselves better? Why do people always think that someone else will be around to make the arrangements or pick up the slack or get something done that might not otherwise get done? Why do people complain about not having something, then when they have it, don't take advantage of it? Why do people not appreciate a beautiful sunny weekend of leisure? Why do people assume the worst of other people? Why do people go around pointing out the downfalls of others, but fail to see the huge curtain of downfallenness that shrouds themselves? Why do people act holier than thou? Why do people think that what is on the outside of another represents what is on the inside? Why do people not like to see someone else be good at something that they think they are good at? Why do people not take good care of their resources? Why do people think everything is "me, me, me"? Why do people speak so shrilly? Why do people overreact and behave as drama kings and queens for no reason? Why do people fail to see the rational, logical, calm way to deal with circumstances? Why do people fail to grow up and see the world as bigger than themselves? Why do people see the hypocrisy in others and fail to see it in themselves? Why do people like to preach a lot, but don't like to take preached advice directed at them? Why do people know about actual ways to make their lives, their bodies, their minds better, but don't do anything about it? Why do people not want to pay for things? Why do people martyr themselves to look good in front of others, but then go home exhausted and unsatisfied? Why do people not do what they say they are going to do? Why do people not take advantage of their good health, the great outdoors, relaxed company with loved ones? Why do people act rudely? Why do people fail to serve for the sake of serving? Why do people take on a task and then perform it without joy? Why do people spend the majority of their lives in jobs they don't like and then come home grumpy and take out their unhappiness on their loved ones? Why do people stop learning? Why do people become so insecure that they become loud and obnoxious performers who need applause to feel validated? Why do people not associate with those with whom they disagree, simply because they disagree? Why do people not give generously of themselves and their resources to worthy causes, but fritter their resources on unnecessary things? Why do people talk big, walk small?
Thud, thud, thud.
That's the pounding of my aching head as I ponder the ways of the world.
Why do people lie? Why do people live in an alterna-verse and then impose their madness upon others? Why do people blame others for being selfish then act so selfishly themselves? Why do people think only their lives are busy, only their jobs are consuming, only their hours of sleep are precious? Why do people procrastinate and then freak out as a deadline approaches, and make others suffer stress with them? Why do people talk the talk and never ever walk the walk? Why do people think the world revolves around them? Why do people fail to sacrifice their own comfort and money and time and energy for others, even though they say they do? Why do people sit around and expect others to do things for them all the time? Why do people settle for "being the way they are" and never seek to make themselves better? Why do people always think that someone else will be around to make the arrangements or pick up the slack or get something done that might not otherwise get done? Why do people complain about not having something, then when they have it, don't take advantage of it? Why do people not appreciate a beautiful sunny weekend of leisure? Why do people assume the worst of other people? Why do people go around pointing out the downfalls of others, but fail to see the huge curtain of downfallenness that shrouds themselves? Why do people act holier than thou? Why do people think that what is on the outside of another represents what is on the inside? Why do people not like to see someone else be good at something that they think they are good at? Why do people not take good care of their resources? Why do people think everything is "me, me, me"? Why do people speak so shrilly? Why do people overreact and behave as drama kings and queens for no reason? Why do people fail to see the rational, logical, calm way to deal with circumstances? Why do people fail to grow up and see the world as bigger than themselves? Why do people see the hypocrisy in others and fail to see it in themselves? Why do people like to preach a lot, but don't like to take preached advice directed at them? Why do people know about actual ways to make their lives, their bodies, their minds better, but don't do anything about it? Why do people not want to pay for things? Why do people martyr themselves to look good in front of others, but then go home exhausted and unsatisfied? Why do people not do what they say they are going to do? Why do people not take advantage of their good health, the great outdoors, relaxed company with loved ones? Why do people act rudely? Why do people fail to serve for the sake of serving? Why do people take on a task and then perform it without joy? Why do people spend the majority of their lives in jobs they don't like and then come home grumpy and take out their unhappiness on their loved ones? Why do people stop learning? Why do people become so insecure that they become loud and obnoxious performers who need applause to feel validated? Why do people not associate with those with whom they disagree, simply because they disagree? Why do people not give generously of themselves and their resources to worthy causes, but fritter their resources on unnecessary things? Why do people talk big, walk small?
Thud, thud, thud.