Yes... A Blog

Auld Lang Syne

2009-01-05T10:41:00.002-06:00

Ah. Well. Here I sit - and have been for a couple of minutes while listening to the first couple of spins off the last.fm wheel of fortune: John Hammond - Buzz Federline segued into Ludovico Einaudi - Fuori dalla notte... I don't think there's a better illustration of the flaky layers of my psyche...

The joke was on me this morning when I rushed out the door and to school only to discover school does not start until tomorrow. My two week hiatus had a bonus day. And with that bonus day went any further excuse for avoiding this space and picking the lint out of my navel.

So here I am. Pecking away at the the keyboard trying to figure out how I can summarize the last few months without wallowing in a slough of murky self pity...

It's a funny thing about depression. It's depressing.

Since typing that last sentence, Norah Jones, Eliza Gilykson, Eric Clapton, Johnny Lang and Jarvis Cocker have serenaded me.

I don't seem to be able to wallow. Doggonit...

Doc Watson just sang to me:

...for I thought myself lucky to be alive.

That does a good job of summing up. No need to provide details.

This is a hard bicycle to get going... I've long been out of the habit and discipline of ~~writing~~ (can I really call it writing? I think not - to do so insults those who have that talent and gift - let's scratch that and say, instead) scribbling. It may take me a few pushes to get back up on the wheels...

I think I will leave it at that and, for the time being, point you to a few folks who provide barrels of inspiration for me as Donna the Buffalo reminds me to "wake up and light the tree that you're on" - truer words... I expect to be back here more often now. Hope you'll join me.

The following blogs are consistent must reads for me. I know two of the authors personally - two guys on opposite ends of the life pole who, but for a common passion, might never have met and become comrades at arms.

One channels Hunter S. Thompson and is living life on the razor's edge, honestly and with no apology. He splashes his life onto the canvas with abandon and color and when he gets it - he gets it. Raw and uncensored.

The other uncannily and consistently gets inside my head - he is journalist, writer, photographer, family man, with a rogue-ish side, who lives a private life in a public way.

All four authors have that gift with their writing that elevates their personal experiences to a level of reflection that is universal and relatable. We share their lives through their words and are rewarded with insights into our own. Have a read or two or three while I do a little housecleaning. I'll be back.

Rapid Eye Reality
Tao of Pauly
Waiter Rant
Anthony Bourdain

Me - the disaster movie

2008-10-26T18:55:00.002-05:00

I shouldn't be allowed in a kitchen. If I had a mate, I'm sure I would be eternally banned from the vicinity of anything that is related to food preparation. But. I don't have a mate. I have cats. And they don't care. Most of the time.

I am entering week four of my "new path." A path that is dictated by budget - a very tight budget. I've had to re-examine my spending habits, which included re-examining my eating habits. Being a complete kitchen idiot, ninety-nine percent of my meals manifested out of a to-go box, bag or, if I was feeling daring and adventurous, the micro-wave.

Up until this evening, I was holding my own in the battle between all things food and making it work in the kitchen. I discovered the blessing of pre-roasted chickens in the grocery store and am now able to stretch that sucker for a week and beyond. There are frozen portions of homemade chicken soup nestled next to the homemade tomato soup in the freezer (soups I learned from a brief stint in a sandwich shop years ago - it came back to me pretty quickly).

Last week I made my first ever meatloaf. I know! How can someone reach my advanced years without ever creating one of those wonders???? It was pretty good and provided my school lunches for most of the week.

So I was feeling fairly confident. Confident enough to attempt a pork loin this evening. The recipe came from one of my new favorite sites Sparkspeople*. A simple recipe for a balsamic vinegar glazed pork loin.

That simple recipe ended up creating a scene of purple spatter that would have made an prime case study for crime scene investigation. And before that happened I had to solve the problem of too much meat, get it into my head just how to brown meat, and then do the math on roasting time in the oven...

Once the stove disaster happened (make SURE the pan has cooled to low before pouring vinegar into a pan of sizzling hot olive oil), the balsamic vinegar glaze was off the menu. The pork loin was skewered together (a result of cutting it in half) and popped into the oven.

It's resting comfortably now while an impromptu pot of applesauce is steaming on the stove. I can't screw up applesauce, now can I?

Want to lay a wager down?

A walk in the woods

2008-10-21T18:05:00.004-05:00

I got to put some things in the ground
Even with this season coming around
It's green's last gasp
And leaves brown
And autumn days are winding down
--Sara Hamer - Things to Forget

It's not because I'm going dotty. It has happened twice a year, every year, for many years. So, it's not a symptom of old age creeping near. No, really, it's merely a symptom of the changing seasons.

You see, every spring and every fall I experience a few brief moments when I'm not sure what season it is. It's a deja vu of sorts - when the weather mirrors where it was only a few months before. Are we moving from summer to fall? Or spring to summer?

Whatever it is, it signals my favorite times of year. Beginnings and endings, changing seasons, transition. Change. The air smells different. The breeze is clear. Nature is preparing - for hibernation, for awakening.

Since moving into my house nine years ago, I've witnessed what could be evidence of Brigadoon's annual descension - right outside my backyard. Or not.

It's a morning haze that tells me summer is over. Or winter. Sometimes I have to apply some thought to figure it out...

This past weekend, I went for a two and a half mile stroll in the woods with a friend. She called me up Sunday and said "You wanna go for a hike?" Without hesitation, I threw aside all plans (read: responsibilities) for the afternoon and said "Sure!"

We drove out to the local lake, plotted the "green" and "yellow" paths on the trail and set out. There was a light breeze through the trees, the temperature was perfect... About a quarter of the way down the trail was when I began to open up to the nature around me, lifting my eyes from the path before me.

There wasn't much in the way of wildlife - trail-bikers had ensured that the critters were probably well off the trail in hiding. But there were sounds - birds, crickets, the trees whispering on the wind.

Near the end of our walk, though, we were rewarded with a brief glimpse of one of nature's creatures - a deer who crossed our path, then disappeared into the woods.

As we wound around the trail, I thought of the conspicuous symbolism of the changing season as it relates to my changing life. As cliched as it is, it was inescapable. However, I didn't dwell on it. Instead I opted to just enjoy the walk and take it at face value.

And perhaps that's all I need to do, period. Lift my eyes from the path and just enjoy the walk.

Does Dan-Active Work for an Irregular Brain?

2008-10-12T14:34:00.007-05:00

Wow. It's been a while, hasn't it?

I have to confess: I haven't written in so long because, well, I've been mentally constipated. Truly - with my life (and the times) doing a 180 in the last couple of months, I think the sphincter of my capacity for self expression contracted tighter than prairie dog's butt in a dust bowl (thank you, Dan Rather).

In what I hope turns out not to be a pathetic effort, I'm just gonna get rambling here to see what I can jog loose and, at the very least, get caught up on the doings in my little speck of the universe.

My Life and Welcome To It

I'm a week into what friends have dubbed The Transition. I've been unemployed now for two weeks and started school a week ago.

The day after my last day of work I felt a little discombobulated. It wasn't like a sick/mental health day or a day of annual leave or a holiday. It was a you-are-now permanently-off work day and it felt odd. Not bad, mind you. Just odd.

I haven't been unemployed since my late twenties. Oh, during my starving artist decade of my thirties, there was a smattering of no work here and there, but nothing extended and certainly no length of time that warranted collecting unemployment benefits - not that I could have collected at the time.

I have to pat myself on the back for impeccable timing. Who could have guessed that the collective mutiny at work would have landed us on the unemployment line right at one of the worst economic upheavals in modern times!

Setting the quickly evaporating hope of an actual retirement aside, though, this could end up being a positive thing. Oh, how, you ask, do tell.

Okay, I will.

For the next nine to twelve months, I'm on a fixed - and very tight - budget. I'm fortunate in that I had a nice soft financial cushion to fall back on. I'm relying on that to see me through for the next year while I regroup.

It's limited, though. There's X amount of dollars with nothing else coming in (aside from unemployment benefits which fizzle out sometime in March) which means I have to get frugal. This has forced me to scrutinize my spending and to begin to find ways to to stretch that dollar farther than a peasant on medieval torture rack.

I've mapped out a detailed budget (thank you Google docs - they've got some great templates just for that purpose) and identified areas that needed to cut - some easy, some not so easy.

My biggest area of wasted dollars is in food. I don't, or didn't, regularly cook for myself. I am a fast food and take-out junkie (Sonic burgers my drug of choice) which isn't good for the pocket book to say nothing of the habit's ill effect on one's health.

I've set a target for weekly food expense and am determined that the food I eat will be generated from my kitchen. Period. I've managed to log one full week without slippin' off the wagon - yay me.

One element that helps this effort along is the school I am attending is darn near out in the middle of nowhere, which makes lunch time treks near impossible. So, I bought a lunchbox and have been bringing my lunch every day which, by the way, has garnered some envious looks from other students who've lusted after my homemade chicken soup while they munched away at a box of microwaved, over-processed, and poor excuse for sustenance in the misguided belief that what they are eating is actually better than the fast food fare offered from the school cafeteria.

Speaking of lunchboxes, I'll soon be replacing the one I have with a Bento Box.You may be thinking that that's not exactly frugal, and you might be right - but, my reasoning which lead me to the purchase had to do with efficiency.

justification of purchase/ The Bento Box stores hot food and keeps it hot along with un-hot food. It will allow me to heat up my lunch before leaving for school in the morning and thus avoid the line at the microwave at lunchtime, as well as avoid microwave line social faux pas, like removing someone else's meal before it's done even though the timer'd gone off and it's owner wasn't standing there waiting on it and how was I to know it wasn't finished yet?

With winter coming on, hot meals will be a comfort, plus I prefer to eat my main meal of the day at lunch. The Bento Box will hold more than will my little Target box. Plus, it's just way cool./ justification of purchase

So, unemployment, radical life shift and an uncertain future, in the long run, may just turn me into a kitchen queen and budget diva - not a negative, to be sure. And in the meantime, I'm gaining new skills that just might be in greater demand once this economic crisis subsides - anyone think they might be in need of a newly minted bookkeeper in about, oh, say, nine months?

He Said, She Said, They All Said

How about that economic crisis, huh? How about those presidential campaigns, huh?

I've purposely avoided tuning in to the TV pundits this fall. Their egregious and willful ignorance (to say nothing of their bias) does nothing to keep my blood pressure down. Instead I've been hitting the internets, reading everything I can - pro and con - about the campaigns, the economy, et al.

I am so weary of the partisan shenanigans. How does one party dare to point the finger at the other? No-one has a clean record here. No-one doesn't have a few bones rattling around in their respective closets.

And of course the tail-spinning economy is the Democrats fault. No, wait, it's the Republicans fault. Ooops, no it's Obama's fault for his tax plan (which hasn't been implemented yet because he hasn't been elected yet - surprise!). No, wait - it's McCain's fault because he was buds with Charles Keating.

You know what's really frightening? It's the voters who make up their minds based on a few sound-bites on the evening news. It's the noisome party die-hards who refuse to engage in intelligent and open minded discourse. It's the, excuse me, idiots who can't see past the propaganda and do nothing on their own to ferret out the facts.

Add to that the sorely misguided folks who opt not to vote at all, who do so out "protest" or to "send a message" or, even worse, just don't care.

I have a very good friend who is a political officer for the State Department. In a recent conversation, he stated that he may not vote at all because there were aspects of both candidates' platforms with which he strongly disagreed.

Well, I kinda lit into him. I was appalled that he would so blithely give up this most fundamental of rights. Especially given his position as a State Department employee!

I later got an email in which he stated my sermonizing had prompted him not to waste his vote after all. He found a party more in line with his views - the Green party - and he's voting.

Folks, not voting isn't the way to fix things. Not voting is saying "I don't care. Do whatever you want." Not voting inches the door closer to shut on our basic freedoms. Think about it. Think about the consequences if we all gave up that right.

Shudder.

Okay. Well, I think I've rambled on enough. I certainly hope I'll be back here more regular-ly in the future (pun intended). In the meantime, I'd be interested to know how the economic turmoil has affected you. Have you made budget changes? Lifestyle changes? Let me know in comments.

Thanks for stopping by - before you go, enjoy some pics taken (with the iPhone camera) on the campus where I am attending school. Not bad for a Vo-Tech, eh?

Hard Day

2008-09-11T16:32:00.001-05:00

I haven't forgotten I have a blog here. It's just that life has stepped and taken my attention elsewhere for a bit. My planned post was going to be about my life changes waiting around the corner. About all those things, ups and downs, one faces when at the edge of the diving board ready to jump off. In spite of the upheaval of my personal life events, my outlook is positive and optimistic. But today.... I can't write about those things... yet. Right now, my life's quirks and quakes just aren't important.

Today I was reminded how brutally fleeting life is. I was reminded how fragile we are. I was reminded that no opportunity to let someone know you care should ever be ignored. Today I am broken-hearted. Today I learned that, late Tuesday night, one of the kids in our youth program committed suicide.

He was bright, personable and disenfranchised. A victim of circumstances that left him faced with decisions and responsibilities no one so young should have to endure. An individual who carried a heavy burden of pain no-one close to him fathomed.

I'm doing my best to avoid the what if's. What if I'd stayed in touch more often. What if I'd gotten him to the workshop Tuesday... What if I'd.... Selfish sentiments, to be sure. The thing is, one can never do enough. One can only do what one can. The important thing is to do. Even the tiniest gesture may mean, quite seriously, the difference between life or death.

I will resist the urge to step up on a soap-box here. I will, instead, challenge you to perhaps to get involved in a young person's life. Be a mentor. Take your kid fishing. Get to every ball game. Read to kids at the library. Camp out in the back yard with your niece and nephew. Be honestly interested in their lives.

Listen to them.

Respect them.

Love them.

And let them know you love them at every opportunity.

Snews that's fit to print

2008-07-30T11:04:00.004-05:00

I have to confess. When it comes to local news, I am an ostrich - my head is firmly planted in the sand. Yeah, I know - it's irresponsible, but I have a responsibility to my health to keep my blood pressure down!

Years ago, I gave up on the local TV news. The competition to outdo each other on "Live-Late Breaking," if it bleeds, it leads, so called news wore me out. Rarely was there a story or "late-breaking" news that I felt carried any relevance to my life in general, informed me of something that was compelling or that I needed to know.

However, there are exceptions. During tornado season, you can't get any better weather reports than from an Oklahoma meteorologist. And during a disaster, the local stations step up to the plate - they showed the right stuff at the time of the Murrah bombing, putting the national media to shame. The same was true for the May 3rd, 1999 night of tornadoes that ripped a good part of Oklahoma apart.

Next to go was the local paper. Our city rag is mostly fluff, containing little to no journalistic reporting. From time to time, though, I pull up the online version to check in with what's going on, especially during election season.

Today I was cruising through some local election results and stumbled upon a bulletin board loaded with discussions about our community, relevant news and sprinkled with a few odd musings here and there.

As I scrolled through various postings, I was struck by the similarity to the coffee clatches that can be found in various cafes and restaurants around any smallish community. There was only a handful of posters musing about the this and that's of our town. It was kind of quaint.

There were a couple of items that I pulled to share. One was a link to this video. Although I'm an animal lover, I'm not a fan of PETA - but I loved the ad.

Second was this article about a church that canceled a gun giveaway:

Windsor Hills Baptist had planned to give away a semiautomatic assault rifle until one of the event's organizers was unable to attend.

The event? A weekend youth conference. Yes. A semiautomatic assault rifle in the hands of a teenager - the path to Jesus.

But what got an out-loud guffaw out of me was the list of links at the bottom to other stories. I'll let the screenshot speak for itself:

I'd like to meet the copy editor or programmer responsible and give 'em a high five.

Discovery of the Century

2008-07-26T22:11:00.001-05:00

Happily ever after - surving PC abuse

2008-07-06T16:16:00.002-05:00

It's a funny thing about relationships. For some, they fall into a relationship as easily and gently as snowflake falls from the sky. For others - falling into a relationship is like falling down a rocky slope - thrilling, scary and leaving them black and blue at the bottom.

That rocky slope aptly describes my relationships. With computers, that is.
From the day I abandoned my first computer - a Mac - for the increasingly ubiquitous PC, I've nursed the wounds and bruises those relationships evinced. What would start as a seemingly happy union would end in a bitterly contested and painful divorce. And with no alimony, either - insult to injury.

This weekend I liberated myself from the pain and emotional toll those PC bastards exacted from me. I finally found the strength and the courage to stand up for myself and cry to the winds, "No more!"

I bought a MacBook Pro. I asked forgiveness and found it'd already been granted. Mac took me back, no questions asked. I guess that's what happens when you find your soul mate.

Spinster for Hire

2008-06-27T20:01:00.004-05:00

I've enjoyed a small variety of jobs in my working lifetime. I've been a liquor store cashier, a candy store attendant, a file clerk for a tuna company, a psychiatric attendant in a mental hospital, an assistant stage manager for a summer musical theatre company, a union election monitor, a customer service rep for the water department, an actor, artistic director, sandwich shop minion, waitress, employment counselor, performing arts center director and then employment counselor again - my current job.

Of course, the most satisfying and longest periods of employment were as an actor and then artistic director of the small acting company I'd help to create. Second to that was my ten years as director of the performing arts facility.

But as satisfying as those jobs were, well, this is Oklahoma - a career in the arts will barely keep your cupboards stocked with Ramen noodles, to say nothing of paying the bills. My roots are deep here and, rather than heading for more verdant artistic real estate, I opted to stay and entered the eight to five world of a steady paycheck and health insurance.

That's what I've been doing for the last eight and a half years. Collecting that steady paycheck and setting sights for a longed for retirement. It's what you do when you're my age - and those who don't are just work-a-holic nuts. Or just plain nuts.

I figured I had about three years before even considering jumping out of the airplane (figuratively and literally - I'm planning the sky dive for number sixty). Funny how fast the worm can turn - hell, it can break the sound barrier in it's speed. I'm standing at the hatch and about to be pushed into the great beyond like it or not.

As a Philly friend said this week - I hope my parachute will open. Strike that - I just hope I have a parachute.

So, what happened?

I work for an agency that is funded with federal money (administered by the State) to do what we do. The Feds, as we affectionately call them, decided that the States weren't spending the money given them, which is in turn allocated to entities and agencies - like the one that employs me - to do what they do within their respective state.

Ten million dollars was rescinded from my state. Three million of that was due to an error in a report our state submitted to the Feds. That translates to a deficit of over a hundred thousand dollars in the budget of the agency which employs me. Which leaves us enough green to stay in business until about, oh, December.

There it is - I'm losing my job and the ~~incompetent jackass~~ ~~state official~~ incompetent jackass who sent in the erroneous report gets to keep his. And don't even get me started on our theory of the real reason the Feds took the money back. Can you spell I-r-a-q?

I expect extreme apprehension and maybe a little panic to set in in a couple of weeks or so. Right now, though, I'm fairly calm and resigned. Kubler-Ross's first stage is denial, isn't it?

I will be doing my best to see this as an opportunity - but, truthfully, right now I haven't the foggiest of what I'm going to do.

Do I want to pursue another eight to five? Do I want to strike out on my own? Do I want my lottery tickets to hit?

Well, yeah on that last one.

Oddly coincidental, I'm an employment counselor (for a few minutes longer) working in an agency which is housed in the former veteran's ward of the mental hospital where I worked as a psychiatric attendant - my first job upon returning to Oklahoma. There's some irony in there somewhere....

The One Where I Play Around with Live Writer

2008-06-11T12:01:00.004-05:00

I'm all about geeky stuff. I'm like a mosquito to bare skin when it comes to new internet thingamabobs and tools - I just can't get enough. So, when I read this post from internet neighbor Otis, it was incumbent upon me to check out Live Writer as well.

After a few moments of frustration with install (lovely, lovely Microsoft - still hasn't got the user-friendly part down), I was underway with this post.

This blog uses the Blogger API to publish to my domain. I'm pleased to report that the first test - the blog set-up - was a breeze. Score one!

Currently, I am using the Web Layout to compose the post. It presents a box formatted as my blog is formatted - CSS styles included. That is a very sexy feature. One press of the F12 key, and I have an instant preview of the post as it would appear published. F11 gets me back to writing in a snap. Score two!

I'm thoroughly anal about code, so I am thrilled to see that the auto-italics button codes the proper tags instead of the deprecated and the bold tags win with the instead of boo-bad . Score three!

Next is the image test - the photo at ~~left~~ right is from my recent trip to Philadelphia. I converted it to B&W, resized, selected the "Photopaper" border, added the "watermark" and used drag & drop to position it. Very, very cool. A big score four!

I rarely use tables, so I'll skip that feature. On to the Insert Map. I was impressed with the bird's eye view of Mt. Willis, so much so, I was inspired to go hunting for my current and previous abodes via the map feature which use Virtual Earth:

Mine is the one in the middle...

A snap to do the insert and a big plus is the caption function, but I encountered a problem with the format. I wanted that to be centered on the page. The code is there, but it's not centering in the preview. This could be a browser glitch if Live Writer is using IE for the views. Will have to wait to view in Firefox. Score five with reservations. [UPDATE] The centering affects the caption, not the map.

More abodes:

The little brown house - the house on the right was a crack house.

Just about at the south end of the lot was my little house on Faerie Queen Lane. Owen Stadium (home of the Sooners) is just outside frame to the left.

I'll skip the video embed. I'll accept it on faith that it's a breeze. Auto-score six!

Okay - so far I'm very impressed with the software. Now let's see if this baby publishes!

Score zero on the publish. It uploaded to Blogger, but did not publish to the domain. ~~Will have to troubleshoot to find out why and get back to you later.~~

[UPDATE] I'm still not sure what went wrong with publishing. I've also tried my best to get the maps centered in the post and have been unsuccessful. My attempts at altering the the HTML were obliterated, stripped from the code.

The long way to solve the problem would be to download the map images and hard code them into the post. I'm just OCD enough to do that, but I don't have the time right now.

Bottom line is, I like the software. A big drawback, though, is that it's not web-based which would allow access from anywhere. As it is, it's a download to your local machine, which makes it portable only if you have a laptop and travel with it everywhere. That said, I will no doubt use if only for it's way-cool image inserter thingamajig.

del.icio.us Tags: Live Writer,blog tools,blogging

With apologies to Mr. Obama

2008-06-05T18:01:00.004-05:00

This blog doesn't get many visitors. I'm completely OK with that. I come here to write, ramble, drone on about stuff and to, occassionally, attempt to write something worthy of being read.

I had a very unhappy reader today. He/She left a comment on an old post which, bluntly, called me "a pathetic, jerk-off, time-wasting jack ass". The commenter didn't find what she/he was expecting and just couldn't withhold her/his wrath.

What was the commenter in search of? Dirt. Dirt on the (now) Democrat nominee for the President of the United States, Barack Obama.

You see, that particular post was an attempt to mock the media and the penchant for salacious leads and teasers only to have nothing in actuality to report. It's all designed to keep one tuned in, see. Get it, Mr./Ms. Annonymous?

You can take comfort though, Mr./Ms. A, you are not alone. Approximately 90% of the folks who land here by way of a search engine, are looking for the same dirt. To wit:

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 1 0.31% extramarital affair obama
 1 0.31% obama wife cheating

To all of you out there so desperate to find dirt on Mr. Obama - you're wasting your time. Why not just listen to what Barack has to say? That would be a far more productive use of your time then wasting it on a fruitless search only to land here, the vaste wasteland of a pathetic, jerk-off, time-wasting lazy ass (I have the t-shirt ordered).

But, thanks for stopping by. You're welcome back anytime.

And the Wind Comes Sweeping

2008-06-05T12:10:00.002-05:00

Nearly a week of wind, wind, wind! Forty MPH gusts - almost knocked me on my butt at lunch today. The the tree above caught my eye as I left the building - all the trees are in a perpetual northward lean.

Faces in the Wind

2008-06-01T21:39:00.001-05:00

The iPicture above was taken with my iPhone while enjoying a perfect iEvening with friends and music in the park. Karla Bonoff was singing and the sky took on that lazy summer turquoise and orange color.

This was just a damn good day.

I rhy got thm

2008-05-14T11:34:00.005-05:00

Heart watch update:

Two hours yesterday were spent sitting and lying at the doctors office. Mostly sitting. During that time, I had a rush on iPhone blackjack that earned me a thousand fake dollars and then the battery pooped out.

My battery (read - heart) was kicking along. Another ECG revealed the anomaly which turned out to be premature PVCs (not related to premature ejaculation or premature gray or premature birth or....). Nothing to be concerned about unless it just refuses to subside. Stress is most likely the cause.

So, I'm beating out a syncopated rhythm that sometimes goes:

thump-thump-thump
.....
thump-thump-thump
.....
thump-thump-thump

or

thump-thump
.....
thump-thump-thump-thump
.....
thump-thump
.....
thump-thump-thump-thump

I'm ready for Rockband, I tell you. Bring it on.

How to Enjoy Being a Lazy Ass

2008-05-11T15:40:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, Saturday, I took an intentional holiday from responsibility. I say intentional only to delineate from the weekend days in the last few months I've slothed due to health - mental and physical.

No, yesterday I made the conscious decision to let the bills go unpaid, the laundry unwashed, the cat-box ungroomed, the dishes remain in the sink and curled up with a book. It just felt like the thing to do.

At brunch I brought up that I'd finally seen The Golden Compass (Netflix). I was the last of my group to see it. All of us agreed the movie left us wanting. I felt it moved at such a pace, it left no time for any depth. It was a long chase scene with a lot of CGI animation.

Those who'd read the books said "Read the books." So, after brunch, I went straight to Border's and bought the books. I bought two other books as well. It's been a while since I've read a book - largely due to an inability to concentrate which I'm blaming on the Tramadol. Now off that crap, my voracious appetite for literature has returned.

Here is what's now populating my night stand (which isn't a night stand, it's a desk, but - well, you get the idea):

1776 by David McCullough

Children of Hurin - Tolkien

Gentlemen of the Road - Michael Chabon

The Shape Shifter - Tony Hillerman

His Dark Materials Trilogy - Phillip Pullman

What Every Body is Saying - Joe Navarro

That last book is what took me from my responsibilities. I'm fascinated with the subject due to the hobby that will not be named here and it's a quick read. Today, while at Panera (which, by the way, has become a wifi nazi by now limiting access to thirty minutes and banning access during weekday lunch rush....) I started McCullough's 1776.

This coming weekend I trek off to Philadelphia for a chance to be a tourist and visit the historic sites where our founding fathers tread. I intend to have that book read by then in the hopes to enhance the trip with the relavancy of McCullough's literary depiction. In fact, I'm just about to throw today to the winds and get some more reading done. I have paid one major bill (the credit card) and the cat-box is clean and fresh...

... yup, sounds like a good idea. I'll see you fine folk later!

Of hiccups, zombies & mint chocolate chip

2008-05-06T15:18:00.009-05:00

I took in my surroundings, although a bit difficult since my surroundings wouldn't stop spinning. The signs on the door admonished me to keep my cell phone off, keep the door closed, and to not dare leave before Nurse Ratchet gave her permission.

On my left was a wall chart depicting various stages of eye disease. Staring back at me was a line of progressively worsening red and festering eyeballs. I wondered what zombie volunteered for the photo shoot. That had to be a creepy casting call.

Classic rock boomed from the overhead. "Sugar (ba-da-bum-bum bump-bum) oooohh honey, honey (ba-da-bum-bum bump-bum) you are my candy girrrrl...." Archies. Nineteen and sixty nine.

I checked out the drawers in the exam table. Nothing but cotton gowns and towels. I leaned my head back against the hard wall, closed my eyes and waited.

Nurse Ratchet arrived. I was weighed and BP'd. I gave her the synopsis of why I was there - weird episode of dizziness, clammy and general malaise that took longer to subside than usual. Oh, yeah, and there was this heart skipping thing.

"Ok, the doctor'll be in in a minute." Ratchet closed the door. I was alone again. The minute turned into several. I leaned my head back once more, closed my eyes and commenced with the "what ifs..."

I thought back to the conversation at brunch. "You are all in my ICE list," I'd announced.

"Ice?" queried friend Mark. "In Case of Emergency list," Norman answered. "You're in my list, too." I pulled out my i-Phone and showed Mark how I'd organized the list to be at the top of the contact list.

The conversation progressed to who had wills, living wills, executor's or not. We thoroughly covered the topic with a healthy amount of humor - har, har, as if any of that's gonna be needed any time soon.

Then I got dizzy. Real dizzy. Dizzier even than what's appropriate for a blonde. And clammy. And there was that heart skipping thing. George Clooney was no where to be seen, so it was skipping for another, more sinister reason I was sure.

I'm no stranger to dizziness. My mother and I shared the affliction of BPV - benign positional vertigo. We were in good company. Mamie Eisenhower suffered from it and was even accused of being an alcoholic because of it.

When it strikes, I will have days where walking into walls isn't unusual or I will have very brief spells of intense dizziness.

But this episode was different. The longer it went on, the more difficult it became to convince myself it was nothing. Finally, the indecision was taken out of my hands.

"We're going to the urgent care clinic. Now."

The doc appeared at last. He was affable and informative. He peered into my ears and throat, listened to my heart and my arteries. Good news - no unusual sounds. He queried me on my malaise, general health, et al, then surmised that it was most likely an inner ear thing, buuuut because there was that heart skipping thing, an ECG would probably be a good idea along with a blood panel.

I was left alone, sitting on the edge of the exam table, to wait again. A large, bearded man came in and announced he was there to stick me. Oh boy. A phlebotomist who's a comedian.

I bared the good arm for him - the one with a nice bulging vein. This guy certainly wasn't new school. No pillow on which to rest my arm... didn't glove up... had a nasty nail-biting habit... sported a gaudy gold ring... and just before sticking me says:

"The pointy end goes down, right?"

Take my blood. Please.

Next came the ECG with Ratchet. No nonsense - strip, exam gown on open in front, lie back, get ten electrodes stuck to various body parts and areas.... ECG done, she removes the hookups and instructs me to remove the electrodes myself.

"There's ten of them." I do as instructed, dress, and wait again.

It occurs to me that in the between times, the time waiting for nurse, blood-sucker and physician, I could have died several times. Oh, well.

I started to wonder about hospitals. The part of the earlier "what-ifs" I avoided. I wondered if I'd be able to go home first. Shower. Change my underwear...

The doc returned, ECG printout in hand and begins to explain it. Good news, it wasn't a flat line. Not so good news, there was a hiccup. In one four count bar, my heart fired too early. Percussion was never my strong suit.

"Not unusual, blah, blah, blah, noise, words, not listening anymore... .... .... but you should follow up with your doctor next week for sure."

"Will do," I promised.

I paid the piper then greeted my friends who'd waited it out - about an hour or so - in the appropriately named waiting room. I informed them I wasn't dead yet and actually was feeling better. Which I was.

Mark said something about ice-cream which resulted in a caravan to Target for some cold-stone ice cream. I love my friends.

The really disturbing thing about my little episode, is now when I hear "Sugar, Sugar" on the radio, it conjures up images of puss-filled eyeballs bulging from a large hairy man with a fist full of hypodermic needles cracking bad jokes.

"You are my candy girrrl - and you got me wanting you... heh, heh, heh....."

Make it stop.

Another year....

2008-04-28T16:12:00.003-05:00

It is such a cliche, but I am at a loss for any other way to express it.

Time is moving way too fast.

In a few hours from now, around 12:30 am, April 29, the clock will be at the hour of my birth, which happened fifty-seven years ago. It is not possible that it has been an entire year since I posted that picture to the right.

That's my favorite picture of me. She's a goofy kid who turned into a goofy adult and is now a goofy geezer. I found it in my father's things when we cleaned out his apartment last year.

This past year's been kind of a tough one. A year I don't want to repeat - ever. I'm glad to report, however, that right at this moment I'm feeling better than I have in a very long time.

Today at work during my weekly "relief" receptionist hour, a woman came in who was my age. I know that because part of the process in this office is to validate ID - license and social security card, please.

She looked fifty-seven. She looked like a senior citizen. I felt a pang in my stomach. Do I look like her fifty-seven? Must I accept that I've now passed the threshold and entered fully into senior-hood?

I'm not an overly vain person. My looks aren't that important to me (save for a brief period of girly-ness a while back that resulted in bras and painted toe-nails... I got over that, thank goodness...) ... but, I am concerned about looking old before I'm ready (as if one can ever be ready).

I am fortunate that my parents endowed me with a genetic framework that has kept me younger looking than my actual years most of my life. But, that fountain of youth isn't going to last forever - and it isn't.

The face is sagging, among other things. Wrinkles are increasing and deepening. Gray hair is hiding under the dye job.

I just don't feel it, though. I am way more immature than my years would suggest. Yet I wonder if I'm not breaking some unwritten rule somewhere that says at some point you have to be your age. I feel that I have to be careful not to end up a fool.

These are things that swirl through my thoughts more frequently these days but that I, for the most part, have been successful at ignoring. In spite of my fits of conern, I'm optimistic that, no matter how wrinkly or gray I get, I will avoid becoming an old fuddy duddy.

I may take more naps as time goes on, but I fully intend to rock on as long as this body lets me.

And I have to tell ya' - I was encouraged when I renewed my drivers license today. The agent had to call to get clearance to override the new facial recognition dealio.

My new picture had to be taken with glasses off and the machine couldn't match my face to the old picture. When she called to get the clearance, it almost wasn't granted. The person on the other end of the phone said the old pic and the new pic were two different people.

"Her hair is blonder, there're no glasses and she's smiling."

Finally, it was resolved and I went on my way with my new license. One, as a matter of fact, I don't mind showing. The first license picture I've ever liked. Just as much as I love that goofy kid in the picture above, I'm really liking the goofy geezer in the picture below.

I can haz muziks

2008-04-27T12:30:00.005-05:00

My home town launched a free music festival last night that is hoped to become an annual event. With three blocks of our downtown closed off, two main stages flanked the east and west end with several mini-venues sprinkled within various store-fronts and one larger indoor venue.

The festival ran from noon to 11:00 pm - ~~I'd tell you who the artist's were, but it's website has already erased that info~~ - a list of the artists can be found via this link. But I do know there was a healthy mix of genre's from indie to bluegrass. Word has it that it wants to grow up and emulate the massive SXSW festival in Austin. I'm a bit skeptical of it's chances.

Once upon a time, back in the day, our town was on the rise with it's local music scene. The Campus Corner area at the rim of the University was rife with restaurants and clubs crowded on the weekends with people clamoring to see their favorite local band or artist. It wasn't unusual to see street musicians on the corner in those days.

But the scene fizzled. It's been debated over and over as to what happened, but my guess is one of lack of support from the city 'fathers' and lack of organization from the artists. It just never took off.

I am really out of touch with the current scene in this town, so when I heard about the festival - yesterday, day of - I was surprised (I don't read our local rag, something that an acquaintance I ran into last night responded to by telling me I needed to get my head out of my ass... he may be right).

I was really surprised that the downtown merchants agreed to such a venture. My ten years running the indoor venue taught me just how tight-assed they were about anything that could potentially take money from their pocket without any consideration as to how they may make it work to their advantage.

A lot of those merchants have either moved on or were beaten into submission I suppose, because for twelve or so hours, on a Saturday, downtown was closed off and streams of people flowed in to enjoy the current local music scene.

I arrived about a half hour before one band was set to play. I came because it was a reunion of a hometown band that "made it big" as it were. A band that had also played at the indoor venue during my tenure there which gave me the opportunity to chit chat with some of the band members. They were/are great guys.

The band? None other then the Chansaw Kittens. With proud parents and grandparents at the foot of the stage, they jumped into an hour long love fest with their audience. I recorded a bunch of it with a friend in mind who, perhaps, has made more music festivals in his young lifetime, then I ever could have boasted of in my hippy youth.

This one's for you, Pauly (the beginning is rough, the sound is out of sync for a brief moment or two).

...

Can you hear me now?

2008-04-25T15:39:00.003-05:00

Communication. It’s been on my mind of late and especially in the last couple of days. Due to a couple of friends’ recent discovery and subsequent blogging about Twitter, I’d thought I’d chime in and ramble on a bit about it today.

Since the dawn of the internet and the ubiquitous chat-box, I’ve been fascinated by the ever-increasing facility of instant communication with just about anyone, anywhere, anytime.

I remember just how out of the world cool it was to type a sentence on my Mac and for it to appear - one letter at a time - on the screen of my friend's Mac instantaneously. And I won't even go into how jaw-droppingly awesome it was to use a modem for the first time.

Then there were the early days of AOL member chat, occasionally joining the “40-something” chat-room and actually carrying on a decent conversation with perfect strangers. That lasted only a short while before the chat-rooms became too crowded and the conversations declined to queries of one’s mode of dress, or rather, un-dress, as it were.

The bulletin boards born of the BBS and VBBS systems in the nascent days of the internet were the place to go if chat rooms weren't your thing.

I dabbled in those only very briefly before finding the next generation of forums at the dawn of the century – one in particular that became the birthplace of my online persona of another name.

Then personal vanity websites evolved into web-logs which took about two seconds to be reduced to “blog.” I eventually and serendipitously, along with now about 6,663,642,300 other people, found a small voice in the blog universe. Well, actually two of those voices are mine.

Along with blogs we now have the rapidly growing social-networking trend with MySpace, Facebook, Friendster, Linkdin, ad naseum. Internet popularity contests designed to trigger loads of anxiety in my inner, very insecure, high school self.

So all this has been swirling in my brain of late, triggered by the stream of Twitter tweets which punctuate my day. Twitter is an intriguing little communication tool that I haven’t decided whether or not I like.

On the plus side, I can – and do – use it to notify the hive of twitterers that I have new blog posts ready for the enjoyment and edification, thus driving ~~a stampede of~~ one or two readers to my blog door.

Some “tweets” that trickle by are interesting. Another twittering friend has a habit of sending out obscure “tweets” that seem to come from some odd corner of his mind. They are always intriguing, if not perplexing. I engaged in a Twitter haiku round there for a while which was challenging and a bit fun …

… but, I find myself wondering – to what purpose? And, yet, I’m drawn to it like a magnet to the fridge. Here is a micro-world of people, myself included, mostly sending out spontaneous thoughts to the ether just ‘cuz.

What drives the compulsion to share a thought – right now – with the universe? Are we entering an era of talking at rather than with? Are we already there?

And, intriguingly, why do I have nearly every portal open – IM, SMS, iPhone, e-mail, social-network accounts, you name it – and rarely walk through to say “hello…”

….with the exception of the blogs. And, perhaps now Twitter, which is hailed as micro-blogging, so that makes sense.

And why am I more comfortable spewing out my thoughts in a blog than tapping someone on their virtual shoulder and saying “You wanna do lunch?”

It may have something to do with lack of anonymity, shyness, fear of… whatever. I suppose that would be a few dollars spent for couch time and a brain dusting if I wanted to go that route.

Or I could point to another portal – the comments section of this blog – and invite you, dear reader, to offer your opinion.

So, I do.

Let’s do lunch and discuss this communication thing. I think we have enough for a four-top.

Politics - scattered, smothered, covered and chunked

2008-04-20T11:42:00.006-05:00

Enough of the gloom and doom, dear readers. The sun is out and I've let some light in. I just may be back to my usual self. In fact, I'm darn near perky, if you can believe that.

My appetite seems to have returned in spades. To satisfy it, I paid a visit this morning to one of my favorite breakfast spots in town. It'd been a few months since my last visit due to the initiation of a new diet - one for health, more than for losing weight. I, therefore, had banned myself from...

Waffle House

Yeah. Crazy of me, I know. Who in their right mind would do a thing like that? Well, it's fairly evident that I have not been in my right mind of late...

There are two of these establishments in my fair city. One is Waffle House Hell and the other is, well, not. In three visits to the first one, I've walked out twice after waiting too, too long to get served. In addition to that, it's lack of upkeep would discourage even an in-discriminate cock-roach.

The second, well, I've had only one bad experience with a waitress who had an irrepressible need to give more attention to stocking the silverware than taking my order. Other than that sour encounter, it's rep with me is one of a clean, well-managed establishment. And friendly.

This morning was no different. I was greeted like an old friend when I entered and my waiter proposed marriage after I sat down.

"No, really. You think I'm kidding. You say yes, I"ll leave right now," he implored. I laughed and gave him my order - coffe, OJ, cheesey scrambled, hash-browns, wheat toast and bacon. Crisp.

On my left were a largish man and woman who had just finished what looked like a couple of heaping plates of biscuits 'n gravy and whatever else the kitchen had to offer. They were jovial and chatty with the staff. While I waited for my order, I dove into my Google-Reader subs on my handy iPhone to catch up on my internet neighbors.

Just before my order came, the largish man ordered a steak. The waiter thought he was kidding. "Nope, I'm serious. Cook me up one of those steaks."

One-of-those-steaks was a two handed Waffle House T-bone. Did I mention he was a largish man?

A couple on my right had finished up and, when the waiter brought the check, mentioned they were going fishing.

"I'm going with you," the waiter announced. He turned to the rest of the staff, "Hey, I'm leaving. I'm goin' fishin' with these guys."

There was a general laugh and the largish man said, "What? Ya' not happy here? How long you been workin' here?"

"Four years, but it's about to be none."

The largish man asked him what was going on.

"Well, ya' see, I'm a cook. I kin cook uppa thousand dollars inna night an' this croppa new cooks cain't even manage a coupla hunert dollars worth without screwin' up an order."

He was clearly frustrated.

My breakfast was delivered, whereupon the largish man expressed his desire to possess my bacon. Crisp.

"Kin I have yer bacon? It looks mighty good." He smiled. I thought to myself that this poor man's wife was probably going to find her husband keeled over from a heart attack someday soon.

"Maybe, we'll see how far I get," I answered, but my bacon was going to stay put. I didn't want to contribute to his impending coronary distress.

I gave my attention to my breakfast and my reading and let the rest of the Waffle House world swirl outside my bubble for a bit.

I tuned back in as I was finishing up. The general topic had shifted to politics.

"I'll vote fer her, before ah'd vote fer that Obama," the waiter stated as he cleared the dishes from in front of the largish couple.

"I cain't stand her," largish man protested. "She's a liar and cain't be trusted. I cain't vote fer him either."

"I'm not a democrat, but ah'd vote fer her before him. I couldn't vote fer him ever." Clearly my potential intended was further right than I. And maybe just a bit of a bigot. But, as I learned in the next moment, perhaps not as much of a bigot as my largish neighbor.

"Well, that Obama is full of anti-Amurikin sentiment. He's got no substance. But, he's got the blacks nailed."

It was at that point that I noticed a new couple on my right. A young black man and his girlfriend. I gave them an "He's an idiot" look. They sat quietly waiting to give their breakfast order.

Attempting unsuccessfully to lower his voice, largish man turned to his spouse and scoffed "When you mention blacks it's s'posed to be high praise only..."

I pulled two dollars out of my pocket for the tip and tucked them under the side of my plate. I gave another look to the young couple on my right. I then looked at the largish man.

"Bacon?" He gleefully took my half eaten plate of bacon - crisp - from my hands.

I paid my bill and departed.

Dancing with the devil

2008-04-16T14:50:00.005-05:00

I am posting the following more for my own benefit than for any other reason. If any one reads this and gains some positive use from it, then so much the better.

This is how it went down:

Tues. 4/08: Last Tramadol taken
Wed. 4/09: Withdrawal symptoms start trickling in - restlessness, insomnia..;
Thurs.4/10: Leave work at 1:00 due to inability to concentrate, put together a coherent sentence and to sit still;
The next 24 hours are somewhat of a blur. Very little sleep and any sleep that did happen was out of utter exhaustion;
Fri. 4/11: 6:30-ish pm - felt better after a few hours of sofa snoozing... calmer yet tired, but inspired to visit local gambling establishment for some recreation. Left 3 hours later ($600 richer) when symptoms began to reappear - in spades;
Sat. 4/12 6:40 AM: Finally fall asleep out of exhaustion after a watching the hours tick slowly by while compulsively rocking to try to quiet the nerves and tire myself out, plus thrashing, yelling, crying and sinking into really dark thoughts...
Sat.: 4/12

---11:30 AM: Awake and join friends for brunch. Discover I cannot sit still let alone join in the conversation without stumbling through words and thoughts. Leave in haste and drive straight to the urgent care clinic. Wait an hour or so to see a Dr. who prescribes an ambien and benedryl cocktail and wishes me to have a "nice nap." Doc also informs me the symptoms will take about ten days to get completely out of my system...

---3:40 PM Took ambien and two benedryl, took a long hot soak in the bathtub, then went to bed. Over the next 16 hours I mostly slept, but remember getting up three times - twice to chug some orange juice, once to get my bose ipod boom box for music to listen to in order to distract my mind from its thoughts.

Sun. 4/13: 7:51 AM - Awaken and remember friend Gracie telling me that the best chance of scoring a Wii is to get to Target at opening time on a Sunday. So, that's what I do. I get up, drive to Target and score the Wii. The rest of the day is spent setting up the Wii, playing with Endless Ocean and, apparently - later that night in my sleep - attempting to text message a friend an incoherent message about Leonard Cohen, soul-mates and training manuals. Only it went to Sonic (the burger drive-in), and not my friend. Thank goodness.

The above was the worst of it. I'm still a bit addle-brained and groggy most of the day due to the ambien. I experience anxiety at bedtime because I'm afraid I won't sleep and the withdrawal symptoms will return. I barely have an appetite. But, each day is better than the one before. My optimism is returning and the gloom of Mordor is all but vanished.

So - that was the few days that was. If I've learned anything from this is to a) forget about being a guinea pig for bucks and b) thoroughly question my doc about any prescriptions AND to research them if there's any hint they could be narcotic, addictive or have withdrawal side effects.

Tramadol Ultram is not on the list of scheduled narcotics because it is not considered habit forming. That's what I was told when I started the study six months ago - that it wasn't habit forming. It's a pain killer, but is not a "euphoric" which would put it the the danger zone for addiction.

What I wasn't told was to expect withdrawal symptoms. Even though the drug is not a "euphoric" - I was craving it if only to stop the agony of withdrawal. I'm starting to get angry about all this but, really, I have no one to blame but myself. I didn't do my research so I could ask the questions that needed to be asked at the outset. I was foolish in trusting the research company.

Never again.

My heart-felt thanks goes to those of you who sent support. You are true friends, indeed.

How not to buy a Wii

2008-04-13T17:02:00.002-05:00

It's been a rough few days in the land of Yesablog. I only thought I was kidding about the withdrawal thing. Last week was just a warm-up for the real thing this week. I will never - and I mean never - put myself willingly through anything like that again. I'm about 85% out of the woods. Thanks to a ten day prescription of Ambien, I was finally able to get some real sleep - 16 hours worth - (you read that right) after two and a half days of mind-fucking agony.

During the past three days, I gained $600 via the hobby that will not be named here, ordered a pizza and cheese sticks - but don't remember when - and scored a Wii. So some good came of it, however I don't recommend the method.

I expect to be up to 100% in the next few days and will return to report on all things Wii. Why? Because I'm already loving it. The first game I bought was Endless Ocean and it is the perfect distraction for this shaky time - calm and relaxing.

In the meantime, I'd like to direct you to an internet neighbor's blog. Gene recently returned from a trip to Viet Nam. Take a few moments to read his trip reports. Fascinating and compelling.

From the prescription bottle to the mountaintop

2008-04-09T08:33:00.000-05:00

Due to a cut-back in my drug habit, I've been near to chewing the wood-work for the last week. Withdrawal. It's a bitch. Let me 'splain.

For the last six months I've been a drug whore. That is to say, I've been participating in a drug study and have been a guinea pig for a combination of two drugs with the plan to combine them into one at the end of the study and pending FDA approval.

I agreed to the study because it promised the relief of pain, not to mention free doctor stuff and money in my pocket for my participation. Plus, I was already taking one of the drugs so, what the hell, pile on another. Free drugs, free xrays, free ECGs, free Doctor probings and a little green for things like Flips and such - what more could a girl ask for?

The study was supposed to last for a year, but was cut short because the drug company deemed it no longer profitable. It'd incurred a substantial fourth quarter loss in its bottom line, therefore was cutting its losses. And cutting off my drug supply. Thank you, Bushonomics.

So, I was put on a week of half doses until I'm cut free entirely next week. Now, one of the drugs - the pain-killer - had literature that stated it was non-narcotic. However, right now I'm doubting that claim. When I find myself sitting and rocking - even while I type - while at the same time longing for sleep, as well as wanting to claw my way through the wall.... well, I'm thinking there's got to be a wee bit o' narcotic in that wee bit o' pill to be experiencing withdrawal symptoms.

Of course, I do not mean to make light of what it REALLY means to experience narcotic withdrawal. I'm getting only a tiny, tiny, teeninsie, taste of that. But that tiny taste of hell is enough to reinforce my resolve to never venture into that realm and count my lucky stars I dodged it in my hippie youthdom.

Speaking of which - my co-worker, being an avid NPR fan, pointed out that Friday, April 4th, was an ironic day in history. "Oh, do tell," I'm implored him as we strolled in to work. As it is, on that day in history, forty years ago, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated and the peace symbol was born. Ironic indeed.

I also listened to an NPR report - the day before - on the way to work. I only heard the last part of it, as the Rev. Samuel Billy Kyles remembered, forty years ago, listening as King delivered his portentous "Mountaintop" speech. Kyles was only a few feet away from Rev. King.

I am not religious. In fact, by way of a lifetime of exploring, reading, contemplating, debating, questioning and even being born again, I am now an affirmed atheist. But, I still weep when I hear that speech. It is a transcendent speech. A speech for the ages, while at the same time a deeply personal affirmation of faith. A faith that I cannot and will not question or criticize.

Martin Luther King, Jr. not only had faith in his god, but faith in human nature. He believed that somehow, some day, we humans would transcend. We would get past our differences and find common ground. A simple, but profound faith and seemingly, for the times, an impossible faith.

On April 4, 1968 I was a sixteen year old junior in high-school. I remember shock. I remember fear. I remember the images on the nightly news. Little did I know what that day and another assassination two months later would do to shape the person I was becoming. A generation was poised to set the nation on it's ear and I was one, small, insignificant member of it trying to figure it all out.

As Rev. Kyles pointed out, some would say we haven't progressed very far in those forty years since - that it's worse now then it was then. His response:

...the only reason you can say that is because you were not here then... Think of how far we have come - it was illegal for my ancestors to read during slavery... [my ancestors] came to this country in chains...

And now an African-American has a real shot of being our next president.

But, even with that, Rev. Kyles reminds us that there is still much to do. "Each generation will have it's portion, and that helps to keep the dream alive."

I am fortunate that I lived in a time that had such leaders as Martin Luther King, Jr. A time of great, yet turbulent, change. But, change for the good.

I am fortunate I live in a time of such potential as that of Barack Obama. Time will tell, whether he becomes our nation's next president or not, if he will be a leader who brings change. Change for the good. Change that is desperately needed today.

I would encourage you, dear reader, to take some time and listen to Dr. King's speech. Reflect on where we are now, and what is yet to be done. You can play a part in keeping the dream alive. You just have to figure it out.

Karma

2008-04-03T18:08:00.003-05:00

It's baseball season. The first ball of the season has been thrown. I don't know who threw it, but I bet whoever it was, the ball was thrown better than could I. I'm not good at throwing baseballs, or footballs, or basketballs. What I am good at throwing is conniptions. I threw a good one this evening.

Angry at myself for losing something that was near and dear, I attempted to distract myself by gathering up the items that needed to go to the recycling bin. A couple of Simply Orange bottles, a diet coke bottle, a plastic to-go container, a tuna can and a pile of junk mail. They wouldn't cooperate and, in a flash, ended up on the floor and half-way across the room.

I then slammed into the bathroom and took my displaced wrath out on the clogged toilet that has been holding on to its prize as if it were Gollum with the ring finally in his grasp. I succeeded only in splashing water all over the floor and pumping my blood pressure to the brink of popping a vein.

My only pleasure was in squashing some ants that had dared to invade my kitchen space. I am not a Buddhist.

That is all.