WWJD. . . with his estate?

I heard that if Shakespeare had an estate today (like Elvis does), it would be worth millions. (I also heard that Shakespeare was a capitalist, and while he was famous for his plays, he was wealthy from buying and selling real estate and owning stock).

This lead me to think about Shakespeare's legacy and his timeless insight and witticisms, which lead me to compare him to another man who has quite a legacy and present day influence, Jesus Christ. I wondered which of the two had the largest legacy (probably Jesus, but Shakespeare is an equal contender I would argue). This then lead me to think, if Jesus had an estate, how much would that be worth? (Not to include the estate of the Catholic church or all the money that has been extorted or spent on wars that have been fought in the name of this "love-your-neighbor" man). But if he actually had an estate, WWJ'sEBW?

pOtato, pAtato

You say NeanderTal and I say NeanderTHal. Let's call the whole thing off.

Whistling and Parades

Right now Cole is in the other room whistling "Go Tell It On The Mountain" while he is instant messaging friends on the computer. (I can hear the tell-tale alert sound of new messages and key board tapping mingled with the whistling. You don't have to be a super spy, just a mom, to know what your kids are doing in the other room). He learned this song in band practice at E.V. Cain.

Today Cole marched with the E.V. Cain band in the Veteran's Day Parade through down town Auburn. It was very strange to witness, being a peace minded person myself. Through the sparsely sifting rain, crowds on the sidelines cheered for the war veterans and the young soldiers marching through the middle of town. I clapped along too, out of respect. I couldn't help but get a bit choked up and feel the weight of the event, especially when I saw a car full of women with a banner announcing that they were part of a mothers' organization. I looked at the wrinkled faces of the men and women and wondered how many people they knew had died in a war and how it must have changed their lives. I looked at the pride on the faces of the young soldiers. My oldest son Brent, who came along to support his younger brother, kept commenting too loudly how he would never support a war. I kept reminding him to keep it on the down low, just for now.

I wouldn't have been at this parade if Cole wasn't in the school band. I am glad he gave me the opportunity to see this event and marvel at how differently groups of people can see the world.

I can still hear him whistling in the other room, and it is the best music ever.

David ahhhh Sedaris

David Sedaris just told a story on "This American Life" about people defecating inappropriately in stores or libraries (i.e. not in the restroom). Of course, gross as this topic was, he was hilarious.

Recently a couple of friends and I went to see David Sedaris at The Crest Theater in Sacramento. I had purchased tickets several months in advance and waited anxiously for the day when I could sit admiringly and listen to the man speak in person. However, forty-five minutes in to the reading . . . I fell asleep!! It's not like he was boring. He was very engaging -- prompting a laugh, a chuckle, or an applause from the audience on average every thirty seconds or so to my estimate. How could I fall asleep?! I wondered what the people sitting next to me thought of my sure-to-be gaped mouth and bobbing head ( I didn't get to sit next to friends, they surely would've prodded me awake).

I can explain myself, however: the lights were dim, the chair was (somewhat) comfy and I love being read to. Really, it was a complement to David. I just regret that I didn't get to hear the end. I was told it was great.

OK Yeah

There is a "new" band called Ok Go that my friends and I saw about four years ago when they opened for The Donnas at Sac State (horrible sound at that venue). I must give credit to my friend Jason Adair because he declared that very night that he really liked the band. I, on the other hand, did not pay that much attention to them, except after the show, when just horsing around asked one of the band members to sign the back of my t-shirt, which he did.

Recently my daughter asked me to check out a really funny video from this new band she liked called Ok Go. I said, oh them, they signed the back of my shirt. Yeah, they're pretty good.

Things I Learned Today From Books

Today I learned the term "anthrodermic binding." Anthrodermic binding is when the skin of a previously living thing is used to bind a book about that thing. I learned about this while reading a recounting about an incident in the early 1800's when a murderer was put to death and then his skin was used to bind the book that a reporter (much like Truman Capote) had written about the murderer. . . c-r-e-e-p-y.

I also learned that urine can bleach a Lincoln Log cabin white. This was from a passage about another author's childhood. There are some pretty interesting things to read out there.

Naked Statues

I am really glad that I live in a town that has "naked statues." They make a great point of reference. Today a girl at Kinkos was giving me directions to a Print Shop in town and she said, "so you know where the naked statues are?" I nodded yes without batting an eye and she gave me directions from there. As I passed the statues I thought, just look at those points of reference.

More Quotes

"Like Shakespeare said, droppin' g's from gerunds is always cool," Stephen Colbert, of the Colbert Report, during an episode about today's youth.

"Society praises its living conformists and its dead rebels," Dr. Gunther Von Hagen, creator of Body Worlds, The Anatomical Exhibition of Real Human Bodies, defending his controversial exhibit.

Maybe next time I will post original material of my own. However, don't quote me on that.

Fat Is the New Black

. . . a direct quote from designer Isaac Mizrahi when he was a guest on Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. He said that male actors are chubbier than they used to be. And then he declared, "Fat is the new black."

Fantasy Fishing

Yes, there really is such a thing as Fantasy Fishing. It is a good time to bond with upper-management as your company forms a pool to pick which professional fisherman will catch the most fish (possibly which kind and what size??). Oh, Sign me up!

The Night I Borrowed-Without-Asking The Auburn Police Department's Golf Cart and Did Not Return It Until The Next Day

Ummm, that's all I want to say about that.

A Change In The Air

It suddenly got chilly here. The weather changing always sparks such peculiar sentiments: a mingling of sadness and excitement. Leaves have also started falling off the trees seemingly over night; the long summer's activity of watering the yard (which at spring time I approached with a sense of nurturing and anticipation, I now, months later, tend to with a weary sense of responsibility) will soon be replaced with raking leaves (which I am sure I will approach with an eagerness and enjoyment of the earthy smells that raking stirs up, but then after months, perform with a sense of resentful obligation at the invading leaves).

. . . the changing atmospheric patterns affect more than just centigrades. And more than just seasonal activities change: it reminds me of children growing, loves come and gone, and years added to my life and my friends' lives.

It also really makes me want to buy new sweaters.

More Groups With Slogans

There is an all-male, gay yoga class in New York who's slogan reads: "It's Your Gay Responsibility."

What is your slogan?

Meet the Feds

Hackers from all over the U.S. met for their annual convention in Las Vegas, NV this summer. There are two points I found amusing about this annual convention, besides the fact that computer hackers have an annual convention, and one is the slogan contest.

Two winning slogans: "Society doesn't understand us, technology fears us" and "Where geeks stay sober so you don't have to."

The other point, which is more intriguing, is the change in the climate at the convention. In years past undercover FBI agents would infiltrate the convention in covert operations to bust the more high-profile, threat-to-society Hackers. Now days, the Federal Bureau of Investigation sets up a recruitment booth at the convention.

In a computer driven world (even the enemies use 'em), Hackers are a sought after talent. On a radio program I heard one nasally Hacker stumble out a question to the Feds booth: "what makes you think I would want to go to work for your regime, may I call it a regime?" A thick-neck sounding Fed chuckled deeply "because we make a lot of money and have a lot of fun." (Oh great, that's our Frat Boy Government talking).

Another benefit for a Hacker joining the FBI is that a newly recruited Hacker can have his/her past "sins" pardoned -- one has to have a clear record to go to work for the FBI. Hackers also need not worry about a standard crew cut and uniform dress code, as thick-necked Fed pointed out, "some guys even come to work in black t-shirts!"

Seven Or So Years Bad Luck

I just broke a chain email message a minute ago. Instead of finding riches or love within one hour, three days, etc. (depending on how many people I was supposed to have sent it to), I am cursed with so many years of bad luck.

I don't believe one trashy word of that hog-wash. But for one second, as I annoyedly hit the delete button, cursing my email-happy relatives, I had a moment -- a math filled moment. I did a quick calculation (seven times four-hundred-sixty-seven, approximately, equals . . .). As the saying goes, if it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.

Mpozi Tolbert

The radio aired a program today that photographer Mpozi Tolbert passed away suddenly at age 34. I regret that it was because of his passing I was able to hear of him for the first time, but I was very moved by the story and by the description of him and his work. When I got home, I did some research on the web. People who knew him had this to say of him:

"“He liked looking at things, and he was able to see things in a unique way,” Jackson said. “He was able to see beauty and political value in very common things around him." -- and --

Ryerson said he had "a big heart, and a kind heart. I have seen him several times with subjects he was photographing, and he was, with them, as he always was with us -- totally courteous, with a kind sense of humor."

His photographs are even more moving than these quotes can explain. I found a number on Indystar.com, he was a photographer for The Star in Indiana (check it out! -- sorry I don't take the time to learn how to make the name of the web-site a link).

On the radio, an editor from The Star was being interviewed and told the story about the first time he met Mpozi when he was 26 y/o. He said he just HAD to meet this young photographer who beat out other big name photographers for the coveted position. He asked Mpozi, How did you get this job? Mpozi reportedly answered, "it was the Jedi Force." The editor said he loved him instantly.

Check out more photos by Tolbert of The Roots on Allhiphop.com.

It's A Nice Day For A Snorkel

I come home, body racked, aching as if I had been in a roll-over car accident (Scott said later his body felt like he had played a game of football, but I don't know that experience to compare to). I had a nice red slash across my stomach, a bruised knee, a very bruised tailbone and several other small cuts to commemorate the day. And it was a GREAT day!

With mask and snorkel strapped to our faces, we set out as a motley crew of underwater bandits, menacing our way down the North Fork of the American River. Well, ok, we weren't quite menacing (how menacing can you be with a fat mask smashing your face and a tube of plastic for breathing sticking out of your mouth?). But we were quite the crew. Brent, Cole, Keegan, Scott and I journeyed over two hours starting from the Clementine Dam riding down to the Confluence. Some spots on the river were lush and beautiful, popping with skiddish fish; some were dark and dense, suffocating with mystery; and some were rough and tumbly, throwing us over swift moving rapids.

I found an interesting dynamic of group camaraderie and solitude in the water. You can see your snorkel partners and share some sights, but the thickness of the water and the way you can hear only yourself breathing makes it a very unique, alone experience at the same time.

And although we were shivering, hungry and heavily pruned from spending two and a half hours in river water, we were definitely satisfied to the core at the finish.

New Word of the Day

One of the new words being added to the Webster-Merriam dictionary this year is -- Mouse Potato: any person who spends an inordinate amount of leisure time at a computer.

It is interesting to note how modern technology not only changes our lifestyles, but shapes our vocabulary as we are moved along in the current.

It also amuses me to see how definitions evolve over time. For instance, in ancient times the word "shambles" referred to a meat market or butcher. Now the word's definition is: a scene or condition of great devastation. The connection is obvious.

I could be very modern and say to Hannah (even though I wouldn't, it is probably still warranted): you need to stop being such a mouse potato and clean your room, it is in shambles!

Yes, the meat and potatoes of vocabulary.

A Few of My Least Favorite Things . . .

One of the things I really hate is the phrase "brain fart." Second to that, and not with as much venom, I dislike the term "senior moment." Both are made worse followed by a hardy-harr laugh, such as: Helen had a brain fart - insert hardy-harr laugh. Or, Helen had a senior moment - hardy-harr laugh. (Helen is a fictional character).

I think both phrases are corrosive to society. I know there are a lot more corrosive elements to be concerned with, but since I am overwhelmed with the state of the world right now I like to narrow my focus.

Gone Too Far

This time "they've" gone too far. The newspaper reported that CBS will be printing advertising slogans on the shells of grocery store bought eggs. Soon you will open your carton of eggs (I assume these eggs are not from cage-free chickens, since they are not advertising-free) and a quippy little saying will prompt you to watch TV on a CBS station.

Why can't they just leave some things sacred? Like our chicken eggs.

Not So Convenient Store

Tonight at about 10:00 pm as I was coming out of a convenience store (buying milk for the morning coffee and such -- out of soy milk), I was stopped by a punkish 14-year-old-looking boy. He circled around the parking lot on his mini bmx bike, his curly blond hair flipping up from underneath his helmet. He approached me very politely and out of his pierced mouth asked if I would buy him and his friends alcohol if they gave me money. I looked into his pleading, young blue eyes and actually stuttered for a moment.

I was surprised that it took me a minute to gather my thoughts. I felt so sorry for this kid, he was so young and cute. I have children around his age and it broke my heart to see him out there like this, especially while my kids were waiting at home for me to bring them milk.

After stuttering, I shook my head and told him, No, I can not buy you alcohol. He actually offered condolences and said that it was alright, that I was just trying to be a good person. Then as he started to ride off, I held the milk up high and said, "I have milk however, you can REALLY party with milk". He turned and chuckled. And then I told him to have a safe night.
As I drove off, one of his friends yelled something to me. The tone didn't sound mean, but it could have been because of my nerdy Got Milk comment. I wished I could have brought them home and given them a glass of milk. . .

The Beadiest of Eyes

I saw several crocodiles today, snouts sticking above water, beady eyeballs turning the passerby's direction. I am in Florida where it is oohey gooey sticky, the ponds are thick and green, and the tropical plants are plentiful. I know these are alligators and not crocodiles because a colleague of mine and I asked at the gift shop of the resort that our company is staying at. The woman behind the counter told us they were alligators, and then she warned us not to feed them because they will eat us. Laughing, we asked, why would we feed them? Well, she said, we have found bowls outside on guests' patios. Then she told us about four fatal alligator attacks in Florida in a weeks time. Uh, great.

Our conference was let out early today so I took a bike ride around the area. About two miles from the resort the chain came off the bike and I could not get the damn thing back on, so I started walking the bike back. I passed a pond (there is a pond every couple hundred yards) and I saw the familiar snout and beady eyes. I thought, I would feel a lot safer riding past on my beach cruiser. Just then a Resort shuttle passed by and stopped and picked me and my bike up for a (thankful) ride back.

I am sensing a theme this summer -- reptiles. . .

I Guess I Am Afraid of Snakes -- With Rattles

Running on the trails in the canyon this time of year is always a little tricky -- the poison oak is full and blooming, the overflowing creeks from the winter are just now beginning to dry up, and the snakes are plentiful.

I always thought I was afraid of spiders and not snakes (kind of like someone is good at math, but not reading. Usually a person favors one thing or another). However . . .

This morning I passed a friendly, elderly gentleman who bid me good morning and then said, "by the way, there is a rattle snake on the right hand side of trail just about 100 yards ahead."

He seemed so light-hearted about it, I thanked him for the information and kept going -- albeit a little shaky about what lay ahead. Sure enough the creature was stretched out straight across a very wide part of the trail, rattle and all.

I thought, I'll just walk right past it, no fear. But each time I approached, I lost my nerve. I was sweating and cagey -- pacing closer and then backing away. I couldn't remember if the snake could smell me, hear me, or feel the vibration of my feet. Do I scare it away by tossing a rock in its direction, or will that just piss it off? All knowledge of snakes I had collected over the years flew right out the window. The snake was NOT coiled up or ready to pounce (like the one my dog wanted to play with last spring on the trail), so why not keep moving forward?

Finally I chickened out completely and headed back the way I came -- which would have put me back about 45 minutes. This time I saw an elderly woman walking up the trail. I told her about the snake, and that oddly, I was feeling quite nervous. She admitted she WAS afraid of snakes, but that we could do it together.

"Hi, my name is Pat," she said holding out a dainty, wrinkled hand to shake. "Let's go." As we approached the snake, still in its same position, she said, "when I get nervous I always count . . . 1." I repeated her. 2. And as we walked right up next to the snake, counting together, I impulsively reached up and grabbed the back of her sweaty shirt!!

Why on God's-snake-ridden-earth did I think it was appropriate to grab the back of a complete stranger's shirt for my own protection (and an elderly woman's at that!) I have no ideal. I apologized incessantly for my over-reaction. (The snake never budged by the way. Either it was faking, in a deep sleep, or it was dead and someone lay it across the trail as a sick prank).

Pat didn't seem to mind. She encouraged me to count whenever I am afraid, that it is meditative. I then thanked her incessantly and we both resumed our respective paces -- me running ahead of her.

Later, once I was back on the road heading for home, Pat passed me in her car and gave me a little honk. I love elderly people and their bravery. I look forward to growing older and losing my new found fear of snakes, and maybe helping some younger, pathetic person on the way.

Out of the Mouths of Babes -- About Babes

(Note: I do not have my son's permission to publish this post. This probably makes me a bad parent.)

Today Cole and I were driving down the road listening to music. He was just staring out the window as a song played the chorus: "You were wrong when you said everything was gonna be alright."

(It is actually a clever little tune which also states things like -- "you were right when you said we are all just bricks in the wall. You were right when you said we are all just dust in the wind. You were right when you said we can't always get what we want" . . . and so on.)

Anyway, I wasn't sure Cole was even listening to the song until he said, "I hope that guy is not singing to a girl."

"Why?" I asked chuckling.

"Because," he said, "if you a tell a girl she is wrong, she will dump you."

"Uhhhhhh," I said. Right now I walk a fine line with Cole talking about girls. If he offers up a tid-bit, that's fine. If I begin asking questions, or question further, he will clam up and ask me to just stop talking -- alright!

He went on, "and if you tell a girl that she is wrong, and she is really right, then she really has a reason to dump you."

I wondered where in his fifth grade life he had picked up such information. But I didn't persist. I just tossled his hair and said, "you're a pretty smart kid."

Bach First Ever to Pull Out All The Stops

Johann Sebastian Bach is the first person ever to pull out all the stops -- in fact, that was his job.

Bach was not only a renowned composer, but also worked as a traveling organ tester.
Apparently the first thing he would do to test an organ, which is actually a wind instrument, would be to open up all the pipes and test the instrument's range and sound -- "pulling out all the stops."

FYI. Put that in your organ pipe and smoke it.

In The Comfort Zone

I was looking on web-sites for volunteer vacations where my family and I could go to experience another culture by lending a hand, gain a new perspective on life, and vacation. Some destinations were Costa Rica -- helping a village in the rain forest plant crops (that had been previously eaten by animals that are protected under the U.S. wild life preserve, in fact); Peru -- helping a village in the mountains rebuild a school and teach their children English and how to use computers; and Thailand -- helping the Monks translate songs, care for the elderly and the disadvantaged.

Learning more about the Thailand trip, some of the dangers included the Avian flu and possible human-to-human mutation of the disease. Clicking around on different news topics brought me to a story on Thailand's huge AIDS population. One outcome of this epidemic has been the Temple of Doom, where AIDS infected people are left abandoned to die. Some have been found left on the door step of this temple, dropped off by family members, as if they were an unwanted pet.

Thousands of white sand bags surround a Buddah inside the temple that contain the ashes of the dead who were abandoned there. And even more horrifying was found in this excerpt:

"The temple is also used to engender fear of AIDS. Preserved naked bodies of dead patients encased in glass are on display along with a baby floating in formaldehyde. Sculptures made of bone fragments fill a garden and lopped off body parts - hands, feet, penises - are seen floating in glass jars." -- The Standard. Mon. June 5th. "Where The Unwanted Wither"

Auburn is certainly a cozy little place to stay sealed up in. . .

Bath Soup

Since I was feeling under the weather today, after I took my hike in the canyon to try and burn out any virus lurking in my aching joints, I made myself a hot bath. I put in:

1 cup Dead Sea Salts to try and draw out the achiness in my muscles and tissues
5 drops of Rosemary oil to help clear my stuffy head
2 tbs of olive oil to soften my skin

After I washed up with a bar of mint soap, I realized I could just as well as have been cooking a turkey as taking a bath.

Oh yummy bath.

I say, I say It's a Mosquito Hawk

It's that wonderful time of the year when you walk around the house picking up dead mosquito hawks off the floor. Four this morning. I think the mosquito hawks at my house are dying of gluttony.

I picked a mosquito hawk up today that wriggled a little upon hand to wing contact. I looked at him and said, well buddy, your time is almost up anyway. Then I threw him on the pile accumulating in the trash.

Your Mom's Day

My daughter Hannah and her friend thought they were being clever when they declared that mothers should give their children presents on Mother's Day because without the children, women wouldn't be mothers.

I said, well, with that line of reasoning then, Hannah should give me a present on her birthday. . .

They thought for a second and then decided to leave traditions the way they are.

Shout out to all you Moms out there!

Are you wearing your Freudian slip?

Last night I had a crazy snippet of a dream that was in the format of an ad for a new bank checking program. In this "commercial," the room was all black except for a spotlight on the main character who was a middle-aged woman opening up her bank checking statement. Once she opened it, the document spoke in a friendly, but pleading voice, "Please deposit money in me now," and gave a very sad face.

Words appeared that read -- Checking Personified.

Then a deep commercially man's voice overlaid the scene saying, "Some banks offer personalized checking, we offer personified checking."

And then I woke up, giggling.

I don't know where this dream came from. . . I worry about what my brain is up to when I am not watching it.

I'm not in Kansas anymore

As I am typing, ten of my 13-year-old daughter's friends are at my house. One tiny girl just shouted loudly through the living room "who stole my deodorant!"

I personally just came in the house from explaining to the neighbors down the street that it was a wildly careening skateboarder who hit their car, tripping the car alarm, causing them to come out of their house in their pajamas. They are both police officers.

These kids are funny and full of energy -- and I see my future for the next few years. They ate three large pizzas, watched Dodge Ball with pillows and cups left all over the living room as they raced outside to 1) roll down the street as though it was a grassy hill 2) take turns riding skateboards and scooters full bore down the street (thus one of them running into the neighbor's car) prompting me to hold the phone in my hand with 911 on speed dial 3) climb the tree in the front yard; one of the boys falling out of the tree, landing on the blossoming bush below and rolling out onto the street.

They have not stopped laughing for more than two seconds . . . someone just shouted "slow down Lassy!" More laughing, more antics . . . one of them, who was climbing the side of the house, just popped his head around the corner to say hello. . . more laughing, more antics. . . someone just ran through the house with a big smirk on her face. . . more laughing, more antics. I see a view of many Friday nights ahead.

A Few of My Favorite Things. . .

I chose not to answer any of the personal questions on the profile portion of the Blog site. However, if I were to answer the "Favorite Movie" question, I would say: Name any movie by Wes Anderson, and that is my favorite. (I heart Wes Anderson).

I would also like to say that "The Daily Show" and the Sunday morning radio program on NPR, "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" are a few of my favorite things (as well as the movie "The Sound of Music," but that is besides the point. Although, there really is no point).

I really like to make waffles on Sunday morning -- blueberry waffles, oat-bran waffles with bananas and pecans, oat-bran inflicted waffles with strawberries on top -- drink coffee, and listen to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me." Last Sunday I played Boggle while doing this. At first with Cole, and then solo, as an exerise to pump up in anticipation for next weekend's game ( see photo above depicting weekly Boggle Bonanza) . . . can you hear me Namany?

He is Ironman

Cole kickin' it after school. . .

Pass the salt please

Everyone in my house holds a different religious/spiritual belief than any other person in the house. I think this provides a great opportunity to teach tolerance and understanding. No one is allowed to call anyone else soul-less or declare that that person will die in an impending apocalypse. No one is allowed to call the other stupid or declare that they are unable to think for themselves.

One night at the dinner table we were discussing our differences and the fact that individual beliefs satisfy individual needs. This ideal then led to sharing about what we believe will happen to us when we die. That discussion led, in turn, to what we would want done with our bodies when we die. (This may sound like morbid dinner-time talk, but it was actually quite a lively conversation).

I said I was kind of interested by what Walt Whitman had to say about our decaying bodies becoming the source for other living things to grow and thrive. I wondered if our only choices were cremation or burial in a coffin. I don't think anyone ever requests: I'd like to be tossed in a shallow grave in the middle of a field (it just seems like the best way to fertilize other living things). -Or- what about the element of surprise: I'd like to be dumped on a remote trail up in the mountains and be discovered years later by surprised hikers!

Dinner-time talk indeed . . . but something to think about.

Earth vs. Ersatz (In My Side Yard)

Everytime I look at this mighty flower that has pushed its way through the black-top, I think: Victory! Nature prevails!
But, then, my mind always degrades to the next thought: I paid $x,xxx for that lousy black-top.
Why must the lowlier thought seep up on the loftier first? Why?

Me Myself and I Tunes - or - myTunes

Clever lyrics I heard today:

"opinions were like kittens I was giving them away" -- Modest Mouse


"talking trash to the garbage around you" -- Beck

It's A Cheap Trick

In the last two days I have heard the song "Dream Police" THREE times on the radio! I like it, but I am bewildered by the frequency (both meanings of the word frequency may be applied here).

I don't know what the significance of these encounters are -- probably just that late seventies rock is making a resurgence. I may have been wearing my checkered vans one of those days I heard Cheap Trick on the radio, just like in Jr. High when I first heard the band.

'Cause the're waiting for me.
The're looking for me.
Ev'ry single night the're driving me insane.
Those men inside my brain.

Am I embarrassed to admit that I still sometimes wear checkered vans while cranking "Dream Police" on the radio as though it were 1979? Maybe a little. But I have moved on, however, without forgetting to rock on.

Alcatraz: The most romantic island ever.



Mmmmmm. Napping.

Empty Nest

My family has always had pets: be it chickens, hamsters, fish, kittens, cats, or a dog.

We are currently without a pet and the house feels strangely -- peaceful.

Sometimes I imagine I see a cat darting through the room out of the corner of my eye, but I know it is just an illusion. A remembered image, a left over feeling, like a hiccup when really your hiccups have stopped. Sometimes I feel as though I have forgotten to do something when I leave the house, and the feeling nags me as I close the door. Then I realize it is the feeling that I need to feed a pet, or put one outside. It is a concern that has turned into a reflex.

I don't need to rush to shut the door, fearing the dog will race out, even if just a tiny crack is available. I don't need to share my bed with a stretched out pet, pushing me closer to falling off. I don't need to run to the store late at night because we are out of the pet's food. . . I don't need to play, or cuddle, or be sought out by a pet. I don't need a pet. I hate pets.

Smooot Valley High brought the howse down last night. But their hot, clean-cut rock-n-roll (to melt a fuse), could not withstand the after-partying that the Dead Hensons can throw down. My good God, for Muppet loving people who can move you to tears with the wanting to live in the letter "I" song, which I did want to live in when I was growing up by the way, not to mention "I Dream of Genie's" purple, glass bottle (I still do want to live in that glass bottle, with the circular surround plush, purple couch -- who wouldn't!?), they can sure throw back the booze, drinking out of bottles wrapped in paper bags, and mingle in any crowd.

Any crowd included some random "dude's" pad and a small, loud, spunky girl who kept yelling about her roller derby glory. Yes it is true, her and another friendly, but quieter, girl are part of the roller derby league in Sacramento. They looked like some bad-ass jammers to me.

It all proved too much for me at that time of night, however, and after a terrific night of music and laughter, no back-street party on the chilly streets of Sacramento could hold my attention. Let's go I whined. But the Dead Hensons, they partied on. Smooot Valley High will have a lot to say to them when their hangovers clear the next day.

Unidentified flying Airplanes

My flight home Friday night was delayed first for an hour, then another half hour, and then another half. We passengers stood in line and at each announcement hoped to hear that we would be boarding soon. With not much else to do but wait, naturally conversations sprung up among total strangers.

I happen to be standing next to a late forties male, portly in stature and a young female in her early twenties. We struck up a conversation about various things: where we were heading, how it would've been quicker to drive, and how stressful flying can be. I admitted my fear of take-off and landings, and posed the question "how can this be safer than driving"?! We all nodded and agreed with a chuckle. Then the man, who was on his way to a karate tournament in Sacramento, said "and we have pretty primitive forms of flying. We only fly two-dimensionally, unlike aliens, when you think about their technology, they can fly 3D, even 4D". There was a pause, I politely stumbled an indiscernible answer, while the young woman abruptly pulled a book out of her bag, turned her back, and began reading.

There was a long moment of awkward silence, and then the man began to practice slow, subtle karate moves.

I was glad when the line began to move and we were finally able to board our two dimensional flying craft.

Nuclear Winter Wonderland?

Ahhhhh, I love this warm February weather that happens every year. It is always a surprise to find that one day, at least for a few weeks, instead of layering up against the winter chill, I can simply wear a sweatshirt and break free from the knit-tights underneath my jeans. Hoorah!! The best part of all is the gorgeous blossoms popping out everywhere, bedazzling the landscape -- and fragrant! There is a thick bed of white narcissus that bloom outside my front door every February that smells so delicious my teeth ache as though I've eaten too much candy. I want them to last forever.

And the hiking! Today I took my eldest son Brent and three of his friends, Jonny, Damon, and Ian on a rather challenging hike up the Robie Wendell training hill. As we were working our way up the mile-long steep hill, the sun made its presence known, albeit it was still only a 70 degree sun. Unhappy with what they called "heat," two of the boys, Ian and Damon, shouted to me in video-game-speak, "we are going to destroy you!" and jested shaking fists.

Ian went on further with his curses and said, "damn global warming! What we need is a nuclear winter." Nice, I said to him, is that your solution to global warming, a nuclear winter? You should run for President. He stated his satirical slogan, "fight terrorism and global warming at the same time -- nuclear war."

Bad-Ass Jammers et al

First of all, I feel I must preface why I found myself laying in a hotel bed alone flipping through T.V channels. Well, I couldn't get an internet connection at the hotel, so I could not work; I had brought two great books of short stories and the latest issue of "Medical Laboratory Observer" (because I am a geek like that), but I was too tired to read, and sadly, not in the mood. So, this is how I found myself lying in bed flipping through T.V. channels, and this is what I found: "Rollergirls" on A&E.

It was a heart-wrenching, documentary-style program about the women of roller derby. I tuned in as the team leader, a pretty, but tough looking, blond woman was earnestly encouraging the young, unsure rookie: "You are our bad-ass jammer, you are." She encouraged her soulfully as she gripped her arm, looking into her eyes until the rookie nodded back agreeing that she was indeed,a bad-ass jammer.

The rookie, Venis Envy (spelled Venis, not Venus), earned her team leader's confidence as her team "La Putas Del Fuego" battled and clobbered their rivals the "Hell Cats." The girls careened passed each other, but not without clawing, pushing, punching, and smashing each other along the way. It was nice to see Chola win the first round and her entire family -- mom, dad, young children, even her old, little, withered Asian grandpa -- jump up and down cheering for their roller derby queen. (Grandpa was even wearing a t-shirt with "Chola" in spray painted-style lettering on the front as he applauded). They embraced her success.

Cha-Cha and Veruca Assaulted performed equally as stunning as "La Putas Del Fuego" defeated the "Hell Cats." "Nice Jam!" the girls yelled to each other in congratulations, "Nice Jam!"

The very next station I switched to featured couples WWF wrestling, with the most ridiculous cartoonish-looking characters. This appeared to me like it was just a front for brisk, orgy action and I flipped to the next station, re-runs of Seinfeld, and soon fell asleep.

I am glad I did not dream that night of roller derby, or ridiculous couples staged wrestling -- but I think I did dream of George Costanza. I think I said to him, "you are a bad-ass jammer."

Switch, ooooh, la, la, la

Do you all remember when I suggested we quit our jobs and go in to producing switch grass and selling it as a form of alternative fuel sorce? Well, Jason Adair informed me that in the State-of-the-Union address, ol' W mentioned switch grass -- to what extent I do not know (I try not to listen to those boring things. I wait for the Daily Show summary).

So, are you in? It's the wave of the future -- let's ride.

Don't Let The Message Get Lost On You

One of the many sights that entertains me while driving through Stockton is passing this ridiculous billboard on my way to St. Joseph's Hospital. The first noticeable image from the billboard is a ginormous picture of Pamela Anderson with her large, bulbous breasts mounding over the top of her tank top. The next noticeable feature is her perfectly golden, piled-high, up-do crowning her head and a very posed, performed-sultry smile. This whole picture is juxtaposed underneath the next attention getter, the title: "Boycott KFC!"

The first time I saw this billboard I was passing too quickly to get the full import of the message. All I thought was, "Pamela Anderson is the poster child for boycotting KFC?" What the hell!

A few weeks later I passed the billboard again and was able to prepare myself to investigate further. The rest of the message, in finer print, next to Pamela's breasts, reads: "scalding live chickens, painful beak removal (isn't 'painful' subjective to the chicken?), and over-crowded chicken coops, or something to that effect.

While I have no doubt that KFC mishandles the care and slaughtering of their chickens, I think the larger message here is a societal one: "boycott the unfair treatment of using women as sex objects." What part of this glaring faux sexiness makes one feel empathy for a chicken? One might wonder, however, whether one would like breasts or thighs with that value meal.

A familly that hikes together. . . looks at really pretty views together.