It Covers the Hillside

Today is my 40th birthday. And it's been a bit of a rough year. Lots of changes. Some of them sad. And yet, I'm still here to document it all. That's what I do.

Continuing my purge of old paperwork, I found some old letters from a friend I had when I was a freshman in college. I met him in philosophy class. Well, met is a strong word. Observed and admired, then slipped him an anonymous note. We weren't exactly fast friends. But little by little, we bonded over shared love of Herman Hesse and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Fast forward to the end of the school year. I joined the army and he found it hard to process. But, we wrote letters over the summer, then through basic training and AIT and continuing on to Fort Carson. Beautiful letters. But something happened. He was going through stuff. I was going through stuff and it all came apart. At the end, I was trying to hold on and he just wanted to get away. He wrote one last letter. It was blunt. It hurt. And I still have it. I have all the letters. Finding them reminded me of something. A pattern of some kind. I haven't quite been able to formulate what it is. I talked it over with my doctor trying to work it out. And she asked me a simple question: Why did I keep it? That last letter. The other ones, fine. They were nice memories. But that last one, what good did it do me to keep it? And I keep it still. It's history. My history. A document of what has transpired, good or bad.

There might be some greater lesson here. I haven't figured it out yet. Something about my obsessive need to record and catalog and process and reanalyze. Kind of like what I'm doing here. Why do I feel things like these decades-old pieces of paper define me? As I get older, my memory is not what it was. I need something tangible to help with things I don't remember anymore. But hanging on to words, will it get me any closer to the truth, or further away? It may actually be the opposite. Once you write something down, maybe it's less true. Once it's fixed in print, all the flexibility of meaning is gone. Or is it like I used to tell my students, a piece of writing is never done it's just due. Subject to change, in the next edition, constantly being revised, updated...like me.

Credit in the Straight World

Recently I had a legal problem due to an old credit card debt. Something that happened when I was unemployed about 6 years ago. It had been charged off, but unlike a few others that had been charged off, I never got around to settling it. This didn't turn out to be a problem when I was going through my clearance investigation, or when I bought Rory last year. But I guess the sleeping giant was awakened by my buying the house. The bank froze my accounts and the creditor put a claim in on a whopping $8000! The debt I actually incurred was only about $3000. Really I had thought since it was charged off that would be the end of it. I mean, you can't get blood from a stone. But unbeknownst to me, they decided to sue me for it a couple of years ago. As a result of the judgement I ended up owing the $8000 due to all the fees. It made me angry really. I mean the big banks are on the verge of failure and they get a bailout from the American tax payers. No such program exists for the individual. Though, if you are unemployed for a long time as I was, and there is no other way to settle your debts, you can file for bankruptcy. If I did that, I'd lose my clearance and then my job, which would make things considerably worse, not better. Fortunately I have an income and was able to settle. They ended up accepting $4000 to resolve the matter. So, there goes my savings. I'll build it back up again in time. But the timing was awful. Right before Christmas and my birthday. I had to come up with half the money. So the year comes to an inauspicious end.

It made me think though about how we are conditioned in this country to live beyond our means, and then when we get in trouble, it leads to profit for the companies that have perpetuated this way of life. We get hit with late fees, overdraft fees, over limit fees, and finally as I was, get sued. Certain members of these industries profit off making bad loans, loans they know can never be repaid. They take the commissions for granting these loans, and then they bet against the borrowers to make back many times what they loaned out. Home ownership was meant to be the end all be all of the American Dream. And it was so encouraged, not so that we could have a more equitable society, but so those who foster it can profit. I get that businesses need to make money. They need to profit. They need to employ people, and in turn those people can buy the products that are produced and have a decent standard of living. But there are those who get greedy. They make bets against people who are trying to live their lives and do the right thing. They make billions, and are still making billions without producing a single product, not giving society a single thing of value. I can't help thinking that's not the way capitalism is supposed to work.

Granted, I incurred some debt. I don't think I was being irresponsible, or living beyond my means, though. I just kept losing my jobs. And as a last resort, used credit to buy things I needed. Real necessities, like food and rent and such. I guess I was unlucky. And so were a lot of other people. Sure, there were those who were irresponsible and took advantage. And the fact is that all around us are irresponsible examples, such as our government's mounting debt, and the near default of several other countries for instance. Even so, most people just had a reasonable expectation that if they worked hard and payed their bills, then everything would be fine. There is no shame in borrowing and paying back. Most people couldn't own homes or get an education otherwise. But I think those who got greedy, they were and still are wrong.

My parents were lucky I was able to get a mortgage and buy their house for them. And I was only able to do it because I served in the military and qualified for a government backed loan. Most people who are severely underwater on their mortgages are not so lucky and lose their homes. I did not undertake the process lightly. I understand that if things go wrong for them, I am responsible. I am ultimately responsible for everything I do. So I settled my debt, mostly thanks to the fact that I have been frugal, and had some savings built up. I will continue to work hard and try to live a decent life. I've had more advantages than some, and less than others. That is not at all fair. Plenty of people get a raw deal, are poor, hungry, with no chance of an education to help lift them out of their situation. We as a society should be more sensitive to that. It's hard to look beyond our own situations; it's human nature to complain and want more than we have. Many, many people though, people of modest means like me, give to charity when they are able, consider it their duty to help others. Unfortunately, there are many more who think the opposite. With them it's, "I got mine, so screw you." It's hard not to be angry at those people.

So yes, I was angry that after all the corporate malfeasance and bad behavior, all the abuse with seemingly little consequence for the perpetrators, that I couldn't get away with a little something. If maybe they could let that go just this once, that piddly little amount I owed. But then wouldn't I be just like them despite the very different circumstances? Taking advantage of my middle class status, to keep working and living well. Plenty of people don't get away with that much. I should appreciate what I have been able to do; grow up in a safe neighborhood, have enough to eat, and clothes to wear, go on to earn two university degrees. That last thing at least is something no one can take away.

Things are fine now. But like so many others, I'm just one disaster away from losing everything. And that is something I hope never to forget again.

Faith

So they have found me. The Mormons. Last Sunday I was on the phone with Mom and the doorbell rang. I looked out the peephole and couldn't tell who it was so I didn't answer it. Then I heard something being wedged into the door jamb. After I hung up with Mom I opened the door to find an invitation with my name on it to a Christmas program they are having at the ward I would belong to. I can't go; it's a Tuesday night at 6:00. But it's not the first time I've thought about going back to church since I moved here.

Fast forward to this weekend: Veterans' Day. And I did something I do occasionally when I remember. I pulled out my dog tags and put them on. Just hearing them jangle around my neck brings me back to those Army days. But this time something struck me. The tags have my name, social, blood type and religion: Roman Catholic. I guess that no longer applies. If it ever did.

I'd been searching for something during my time in the Army. And I tried a few different churches aside from the Catholics. Then I got out, and went back to school and the Mormons found me. Just when I needed them. I wondered if maybe I needed them again now. And I wondered if that was too convenient for me to go back just when I need something. After all, I graduated from BYU. I think I kind of owe them.

When I was in Santa Barbara, and I was in over my head financially, they brought me food. When I moved to a new apartment, and then moved to Provo, and then finally left Provo for Vegas, they were there to help. I know God doesn't care how you come back or when, as long as you do. And he'll tell you that you never owe him anything for all he's done for us. But I don't want to be a hypocrite. If I go back it has to be because I really believe. I know I still believe in God. But as far as being temple worthy, I'm a long way away. It used to be so easy to live the Word of Wisdom. Now I have to do some work, to find my faith, and to see if I can make my life fit that mold again. So many things I haven't thought about for a while. Tithing, the long dresses, but mostly it's the time. I used to spend 3 days a week on church stuff. Even at BYU that became difficult. I didn't want to do my visiting teaching. Never got around to reading the Ensign. I was tired from school and my teaching. And now, I find it hard to make time for things, even with my shorter commute. I wouldn't be able to make it to anything during the week. That leaves Sundays. Giving those up again won't come easy. But maybe the recuperation I need can come from Sacrament meeting. I don't know.

As for Veterans day, I put on my tags, and went to see the CSI exhibit at MGM Grand. Gary Sinise was making an appearance to promote his benefit concert in honor of the wounded warriors. I waited in line for two hours. All the while thinking about the one thing I've always wanted to tell Gary if I ever met him. "Everything will be okay, Gary Sinise is here." Of course when the time came, we were rushed and everything slipped right out of my mind. I gave him the postcard to sign and he asked if I was going to come to the concert. I told him I was a Veteran myself and that my brother is a cop. He said, "Thank you for your service. Happy Veterans Day!" He asked my name and said, "You should come tomorrow, it's a fun show. We'll have some of the wounded warriors in attendance and we'll raise some money for programs that help them." And I think I said I'd come. Which meant I had to. You can't lie to Gary Sinise. Besides, he personally invited me.

I did go to the show. It was yesterday afternoon at Mandalay Beach. The stage was above the wave pool. I stood in the sand of the fake beach. His band, the Lt. Dan Band, played covers, typical stuff. But they were really good. Gary Sinise is an excellent bass player. And his singers and musicians were all top notch. There was a guy on violin that did a fantastic "Devil Went Down to Georgia." I was impressed. And there was a team of Veterans from Ride to Recovery; they'd just done a 100 mile bike ride or something and they were still wearing their team uniforms. Impressive all around. At the end they had a couple of wheelchair-bound Veterans on stage as some large checks were presented for Veterans charities. And I felt good about having served my country. I sacrificed greatly, though nothing that anyone can see evidence of. But every time I go to my doctor at the VA, I'm reminded that it's still with me, no matter how much time has passed.

A Place Called Home

Yesterday I went to see how the new house is coming along. My parents' new house that is. I mean, the mortgage will be in my name and I have to sign all the papers. But for all intents and purposes it's Mom & Dad's. I went to their house yesterday at the tail end of the garage sale they were having. So much stuff to get rid of. Stuff I didn't even remember they had. Some stuff I don't think I've ever seen. And some of my stuff. Still! I thought I'd got it all. But no. My old desk was in the garage sale. I've had that desk since High School. And up until I moved a few months ago, I was still using it. I suggested to Mom that if she couldn't sell it, I could find a place for it in my little house here. Then someone called her back saying they wanted it. I felt a little pang.

So last night I headed home; I'd been watching the World Series before I left. Albert Pujols had just hit his first home run of the series. By the time I got here though, Albert had hit two more! A dizzying display of power, fit for the record books.

Speaking of books, the shelves I put up in the spare bedroom fell down on Friday with a loud crash. I was downstairs and when I heard it, the first thing I thought was "Oh God, not the computer!" I don't know why, the computer is on a perfectly stable desk. But it was the shelves where I'd put my baseball card albums and books and memorabilia items. And my sheet music books. All of it fell on my bass amp, bringing with it little bits of dry wall. I guess the anchors I put in the wall weren't strong enough. The only casualty seemed to be the big Dalek. His eye stalk broke off. Everything else was fine. I've decided to be safe; I won't put up another wall shelf there. I'll get another bookcase instead. I spent part of the afternoon patching up the holes with spackle.

Little by little this place is coming together. Last weekend, I pruned the rose bushes out front. I used this pair of heavy-duty utility scissors since I have no gardening implements. It worked pretty well. But boy those flowers sure are serious about the whole thorny thing. Next time I'll have to find some gloves. I was gonna ask Dad if I could borrow his pruning shears this weekend to tackle that tree in front of the kitchen window. Just to trim it so you can actually pass by on the sidewalk without getting smacked in the face. But when I took a look out there Friday, it had been trimmed already. I guess the landlord has someone come round every now and then.

I also put up a new lighting fixture in the kitchen. Since the cover on the old one broke, I'd been living with the bare florescent bulbs. I got a fixture the same size that fit in the same place, but I started installing it before I realized I'd have to cut the power to the house, and work using only the daylight from the windows. Yeah, that didn't go so well. I took too long, it got dark, and I was standing on a ladder holding this fixture up over my head with a flashlight clenched between my chest and my chin. Then I dropped the flashlight.

I managed to get it fastened enough so that I could let it go. And soon after, the lights were back on. I felt pretty handy. Except for the whole getting hit in the face with the wire leads. They actually drew blood. Not enough though that I had to hide from my parents until it healed, rather than explaining what boneheaded accident I'd had this time. I wore long pants so they wouldn't see the very pronounced burn mark from Rory's tailpipe. Though I proudly showed it off to my Club mates at the Motortober event. My own little MINI branding. And I got a free oil change and lunch to boot.

So a little bit of damage done, but some reward too for good intentions. And as much as I can manage, I feel at home.

Ghost of a Dog

She's only been gone a week, but Dad says both he and Mom have had dreams about her. And then there is the jarring realization of her not being there when you come home. And in the middle of the night, you wake up in anticipation of her wanting to go out. And when you get out of bed, you check to make sure you don't step on her. And her hair is still everywhere.

How come it still makes me cry when I think about her? The way she snored softly when they gave her the sedative. And how her little tongue stuck out. The tongue she'd used so often to lick my feet. I'm her second favorite, I always liked to say.

Miracle had her quirks. She barked and barked for seemingly no reason. Hence the nickname, Miss Barky Bark. She could be sitting next to you on the couch for hours, and then if you got up and came back she would growl at you like she'd never seen you before. She was funny like that.

And at one time or another, she bit each one of us, leaving little scars on hands and legs. No one could understand how we still kept her around after that. But we knew it was just because she got spooked and we'd try to be more careful.

She had many other nicknames too. Mirala, Boo Boo, Grumpus von Puppybottom, Monkey butt, Fluffa, Woofie, Wooba and Woobie. We were always coming up with new ones. It was almost like we loved her so much one name wasn't enough. Though she came with one that was already tough to live up to. She was rescued by firemen days after she was born when she and her brothers and sisters had been left out on a freezing cold New York sidewalk in January. The puppies piled on top of each other to keep warm and those unlucky enough to be on top died. She was saved by being on the bottom of the pile. So the firemen that found her, took her to the pound and called her Miracle.

She was a beauty, everyone who saw her said. Big and fluffy like a lion (Puffy Lion Dog), the black tongue, stout frame and temper of a Chow Chow, the floppy ears and long nose and big paws of a Golden Retriever. She was our Golden Chow. Out in public we had to warn people, she wasn't great with strangers. But when you got to know her she was really sweet. She was chicken when it was storming out, or if fireworks were being launched, or even if it was just windy. But she protected Dad, and her turf 'til the end. By then so much of her hair had fallen out, she couldn't get up the stairs like she used to, and her allergies were unrelenting. But we couldn't bear to part with her any sooner than absolutely necessary. It was the hardest thing trying to decide when her quality of life was at its low point and it was time. She still looked at you with those brown eyes (one of them as ever overcome by eye gook) and her tail still wagged.

But she went peacefully to sleep and now she's in doggie heaven, running and barking and licking. And maybe she'll even run into my little Tiffer up there. Wouldn't they make a pair!

Sunrise

Of course I remember where I was. Don't we all? It was a Tuesday. I was in my apartment in Provo, UT getting ready to go teach my freshman English students at BYU. I didn't often turn the TV on in the morning, but I did for some reason that day. The plane had already hit the first tower. It was just after 7:00 a.m. MST (9:00 a.m. in New York). It was one of those morning shows and at first I wasn't sure if they were showing a clip from a new movie or if this was really happening. Or if it might be a terrible accident. While I was watching, the second plane hit. There was no denying now that this was real and intentional. I sat down. In shock. What was I doing? What should I be doing? All I could do, was watch my hometown under attack. And then there was the Pentagon. And the plane that went down in Pennsylvania.

Memories are fuzzy at this point. I know I got to school for my 8:00 class. But neither me nor my students knew what to do. Should we have a lesson? Go home? The class next door had a TV so we peeked in at the news as the other class was watching transfixed. There wasn't enough room for all of us to join the other class. So we went back to our room. Did we attempt a lesson? I honestly can't recall. I'm pretty sure I let the students go early so they could get to a TV or otherwise follow events. I went next to where my creative writing class met, and our professor gathered us together and took us upstairs to the English Dept. lounge. We were watching in there when I saw the tower collapse. I think it had already happened at that point, but we were seeing it replayed as the footage would be for days and weeks to come. The president of the university cancelled classes for the rest of the day, and there was a prayer session in the Marriott Center for all the students. Speakers came up to lead us in prayer, praying for the victims as well as asking the Lord to give us strength to weather this ordeal. I think it lasted about an hour, by the time we all filed in and then out.

When I got home I called my dad. My parents had moved to Vegas by then, so he no longer worked at JFK. But I thought he might hear something, anything at the airport that would shed some light on things. Air travel would be suspended. Schools closed. Baseball games canceled. It was all news all the time on TV.

Besides my friends and ward members in Provo, I sought out my friends online. Jules was in New York, I think it was a while before we heard from her. The rest of us met on the message boards and in the chat room. I remember writing to Skip seeking some kind of comfort. We were just in the beginning of our correspondence then. But Skip's wisdom and compassion were something for me to hold on to. And I began to pour my feelings out to him. He became sort of a lifeline. I waited for his messages each day. And I continued to rely on him as my primary sounding board. It helped that he, and Jazzie and our other friends in the U.K. and Europe could see what was going on in America and expressed their horror and sympathy and also their calmness in some respects as places like London were no stranger to terrorist attacks, and they were there to say, it's bad now, but it'll get better.

Later, bomb attacks in Madrid in 2004 and in London on 7 July of 2005, and many others, showed that the danger was everywhere. Before 9/11, we hadn't seen anything like this in the U.S. But now we were aware, as our friends in other parts of the world always have been, that this could happen again, anywhere, at any time, to anyone. Security measures changed at airports and other places too. What would have been considered great inconvenience before was now a fact of life. We could never go back to the time when we always felt safe.

Yet, life had to go on. It was early December of 2001 when I first got back to New York. I went to my friend Alina's wedding, and a Starsailor concert with Jules. New York had gotten back to business. But it was still in the air, debris blowing all over the city from the big hole in the ground. Or just the psychic debris. I never went to Ground Zero. I still haven't to this day even though I've been back to New York a few times since. I went instead to stay with my friend Hina and her family. I went instead to Citi Field to see my Mets play. I went instead on a Duck Boat tour of Manhattan. And I went instead to my 20-year high school reunion.

In February of 2002, Salt Lake City welcomed the world for the Olympic Winter Games. There was more security, sure. But we got on with it, and enjoyed the achievements of athletes from countries near and far. That summer I took my first trip overseas since 9/11, to teach in Belgium and to travel around Europe and the U.K. I met more friends, and went to concerts and taught kids and just had a great time. I went back to London in 2007 with my parents and had a great time then too.

In the years since 9/11 I've finished school and taught more students. I've had relationships and changed jobs and moved house a few times. I've had worries and felt anger and seen more sadness, but some happiness too. Ten years on, everyday the sun still comes up.

Space Dementia

Having my own space again...it's great, it really is. But it's weird, it's so quiet. No Miracle to wake me up. No Mom and Dad calling me down to dinner. It's strange how you get used to things. I am still glad I moved out, the commute is so much easier, but it seems like suddenly things started changing at light speed.

Grandma passed away on 7/11. It happened fast. The Tuesday after I came back from New York, she was walking around like normal. Complaining, arguing, making no sense, being her usual self. But she insisted Mom take her to the hospital. After a whole day of tests, she was admitted. She argued, she said, let's make an appointment and come back tomorrow. But no, the doctor said she wasn't going anywhere. We knew she was in Stage 4 of her breast cancer. But no one could tell us what would happen next, or how long it would take. We hurried to try and get her affairs in order. I bought a living will kit, but we never had time to use it. Wednesday night the hospital released her and sent her to a hospice. Mom rode with her in the medical transport. I followed in my car. It was a nice place, she had a big private room. Upon arrival, she was already giving the nurses her demented version of her treatment. She wanted antibiotics, but didn't get them. Or she got them, but they were the wrong ones. Or the doctor tried telling her what her problem was, when she knew it was something else. Just an infection. He was overreacting. She wasn't in her right mind. I felt like apologizing to the nursing staff. She does that, babbles on about stuff that's not true, etc. But it was unnecessary. They knew exactly what was going on. They see it every day.

I took Mom home. It was late by then, so I got to bed. Went to work the next day. When I got home, Mom and Dad said the doctor at the hospice saw her, and finally gave a prognosis. It would be four weeks at most, he said. She could only stay in the hospice for the first 5 days. That's all Medicare would pay for. Mom fretted about what to do next. Where would she go after Tuesday? Would she come home? Go to another home?

The next day was my moving day. I went about it as planned. Dad and I did the heavy lifting until Annette could come with Ryan and Kira. After loading up from the storage and the house, we were on our way. We got to my new place and the five of us made quick work of unloading. I just had them leave everything, with the exception of the more valuable items, in the garage. I could organize and move stuff around later. We headed back home, returned the truck and called it a day. I slept in George's old room, and Saturday got up early to get started on Day 2. I picked up the truck and met George and Heather at their storage. We loaded up the furniture. George and I headed for my place and I had him text/call Nancy and Pedro to see if they could help unload. Me and George actually got most everything off and into the house before anyone else got there. We had to take the couch around through the front door.

Nancy arrived, and then John (Pedro had his violin lesson). They were super helpful in getting stuff upstairs, especially the mattress and box spring. Slowly we took other furniture up, taking dressers and tables without the drawers. We got the dining table put back together. Then we sat down to have some cold drinks and chat. George talked to John about his police work, since John has cops in his family. Then we headed back with the truck. We got caught in a downpour on the freeway and ended up being a bit late returning the truck which annoyed the lady at the storage. But oh well, we were done now. George and I got something to eat and then headed back to Mom & Dad's. I picked up a few more things, including my bed linens, stuffed them in the car and then went off to spend my first night in the new place. Sunday I got up early and cleared out the rest of the storage unit. I didn't look like much was left, but after getting it into the car, we were fully loaded. After unloading and hauling more stuff in from the garage, and starting to unpack the kitchen, Mom called and said she and Dad were on their way. They stopped by for a half hour and then they were off to get back to grandma. I followed a little while later.

When I got to the hospice, Heather and George were there, and we sat there watching Grandma sleep, and sneaking glances at the TV where the Mets were on ESPN. Dad noted she had really gone downhill and it probably wouldn't be much longer.

Monday I meant to go to work, but I was exhausted from the weekend. I called in to let Theresa know, and that things didn't look great with Grandma. Also, I had to wait for the plumber. The toilet had overflowed Sunday night and flooded my bathroom. I had to use every towel I had to soak it up and keep it from seeping into the carpet of my room and the closet. The plumber came quickly though and took care of it. So I used the rest of the day to get some things organized, bring more stuff in, etc. Around 5:30, George called me to tell me Grandma had passed. It happened after Mom had spent the night, and stayed at her side, but had momentarily stepped out of the room. She felt terrible that she wasn't there at the last moment. But Grandma was never alone. Not like when Grandpa died. When I arrived, I told her I was sorry, but that she did everything she could do. Mom, Dad, Heather, George and I sat in the room for a while, waiting for the mortuary guy to come. We each said our goodbyes. Then we headed home.

We ordered a pizza and then George and Heather went home. I slept upstairs with Mom. I had a fitful night and woke up with a weird numbness in my hands. I hadn't been prepared to stay over. I didn't have my meds and I slept in a dress that was still in my closet. After getting up, and watching TV for a while after breakfast, I was still sleepy. Mom and Dad had to go meet the mortuary guy again to make arrangements, but they told me to go back to bed since I was still tired. I think I slept until 2 p.m.

After dinner, I headed back to my place. I needed my meds to sleep and a change of clothes. I took off Wednesday too, but Mom ended up not needing me for anything. I went back to work Thursday.

I'm still slowly unpacking and getting things set up. In the meantime, Mom & Dad are selling the house. They wasted no time, once me and Grandma were gone. They have a realtor and people have already come to look at it. They want to build a new house a few exits away, all on one floor, which is what they've been wanting for a while now.

Next, Miracle will be gone. Dad says he's not ready to lose her yet. And frankly, neither am I. She does have a bunch of health problems. But like Grandma, she's still walking around the house, living like normal. Slower, but just as barky. Whenever I stop by the house, I'm relieved to see she's still there. But sometime soon, she won't be.

And I'll be back at my place. Surrounded by the quietness of space.

The Letter

I haven't really written much of late, but I thought I'd post a rambling letter that I sent to our lovely friend Jake Slichter a few weeks ago. I won't post his response which was characteristically charming and kind. And, despite what follows, he still claims it's nice to hear from me...

Hey Jake,

Silly question, but do you happen to know Jennifer Egan? (Growing up on Long Island I had this fantasy that all writers in Brooklyn knew each other.) I just finished reading "A Visit from the Goon Squad," and saw she mentioned Semisonic and thanked you for your book. And I thought, hey, I thanked Jake in my book too (well, my Master's Thesis). I finished the book on the bus home from work yesterday, a bus that brings me from Nevada Test Site back into Las Vegas where I live now. I work for a government contractor as a technical writer out there. Commuting 4 hours a day, and working 10. I'm just glad to have a decent job. Still, it's a long way from teaching English Composition at BYU. Back then, idealist that I was, teaching your road diaries to my students as personal narrative examples, especially the one about Vegas, it seemed highly unlikely that I'd end up here.

The memories came rushing back of that time, now 10 years ago, the Semisonic bbs, and meeting the gang at the All about Chemistry gigs. And September 11th. That morning I was getting ready to go teach my class, and then everything changed. As I was thinking about this, my bus pulled into the Department of Energy complex and the Security officer was coming down the aisle, checking our badges. He bent down because he dropped one of his ammo magazines, which made me laugh for some reason.

I got in my car and drove home on I-15, passing the Las Vegas Strip where a building-sized banner advertised "The Beatles Love by Cirque du Soleil, Now in it's 5th year!" And it struck me, God how long have I been here?! How did all this time go by? Which of course is what Goon Squad is about. I thought about how no one even writes emails anymore; those are the old days now! Since everything happens in 140 character bursts and Facebook updates. Well, you know, we're all still in touch, but not reaaaally...

It makes books an even greater miracle, just the fact that anyone still has that kind of attention span. I can't manage to write anything more complex than a sporadic blog entry. Everyone has a blog. Everyone's a writer. So to make something stand out from all the noise, that's a lot of pressure. And it's doing my head in. Being a tech writer makes me a WINO (writer in name only). I keep telling myelf that it's because I don't travel much these days, not much adventure to draw from. But that's not it. I wish it was.

So now bin Laden is finally gone. I was watching the Mets v. Phillies game when the announcers broke in with the news, and it spread through the crowd, along with the chanting of USA...USA. The Mets and Phils went into extra innings, and I switched back and forth from ESPN to the President's speech. I pulled for my Mets to win it. Strike a blow for New York, I thought, then just as quickly I remembered the plane that went down in Shanksville. And the fans kept chanting...and I thought wow, something Mets fans and Phillies fans can actually agree on.

Monday, I got back to my office, filled with government workers, all abuzz with the big news, but they're making me sad, my colleagues, with their snide comments about the Pakistanis and Muslims in general; they still don't get it. One particularly ignorant woman actually said the Navy Seals should be let loose on the Mexicans trying to cross the border. She says stuff like that all the time.

I looked at the photo on my desk, me at a Mets game with my best friend's kids, a Pakistani-American family, the kindest most generous people I know. Hina, who is my best friend from high school in New York, she told me that on September 11th, she couldn't get to the kids' school to pick them up because of the chaos, and that she was frantic because there was already speculation about who was behind the attacks. I don't remember the anti-Muslim sentiment erupting so immediately. But the kids go to a Muslim school across the bridge in N.J. and it wasn't the first time they'd met with the ignorance. And it certainly won't be the last.

Back on the bus, a few tears rolling down my cheek, I wondered, would things ever change? Would people ever learn? And meanwhile, would I ever make something of myself? Is there still time? Time really is a Goon.

Still, every once in a while, I wake up excited, because I've dreamt that I finally caught a glimpse of that mysterious Maskipper, though he's always gone just before I can reach him. And by the time I'm fully awake, he's slipped completely away.

So Jake, why am I sending this random and disjointed missive your way? I guess because of all the connections that are coming up lately. And because I knew you'd get it. And because you have helped to bring about some of those great magic times. And because you're still one of the coolest guys I know. I hope this finds you well.

Cheers,

Jennifer :)

Bicycle Race

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike...I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride it where I like....and not fall over.

Girls & Boys

I'm beginning to think that Jemma may need her own blog. Not only has she accepted a marriage proposal from Mo, with the prospect of a full blown Second Life wedding, she has somehow also obtained a girlfriend, Megan. This is all with Mo's blessing, and participation! He actually found Megan, a noob on her first day of SL, wandering on a beach, perhaps on Orientation Island; he didn't say.

This whole thing makes me think Skip may have been the wisest of all, keeping his identity hidden all these years. Well we always knew he was wise, and I have requested his Maskipperly advice more than once. But it goes back to the age old question (well, as age old as the interwebs), "Who are you talking to online? Is it a real person, or someone playing a role, pretending to be someone else?" Or maybe it's that person feeling free to finally be themselves, without the limitations of snap judgments, or a physical body.

Tom Boellersdorf's ethnography of SL discussed the population of residents who have physical handicaps in real life, and yet are free to walk and run and fly like any other SL resident. Does that make their SL identity false, or deceptive? Not at all. Some of these residents choose to have their avatars use wheelchairs or other aids, even though they don't have to. Does this make them more authentic? Perhaps they just remain as they are already comfortable with themselves. Similarly, I've created Jemma in my own image, as a short, full-figured woman. Does that mean it's me doing everything she does, or is she just my agent, able to safely try things out that I would never really do? Whether it be bungee jumping, or a new haircolor, or something more significant.

What makes me (and/or Jemma) uncomfortable then is when Mo and Megan confess about their real lives. "In real life I want this," or "In real life I feel that." They both sound really similar when they speak like this. In fact at first I thought perhaps Mo created Megan as an alt. It just seemed too convenient that a willing noob, still in noob's clothing, could be found so readily. And she also talks like maybe English is not her first language, just like Mo. Now I'm pretty sure Megan is not an alt. Mo would have to be quite a multitasker.

Speaking of Alts, Marshall attended his first SciFri. On his own due to continued sporadic outages of the SL grid on my iMac, he was immediately welcomed by a cute girl there.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Whitechocolatespaceegg

Yesterday I woke up dizzy. Just a little. So that getting up from standing or sitting made my head swim a bit, like my equilibrium was off. And I had a headache. After planning what I was going to do this weekend, I ended up staying home. I watched the Mets, then I lay back down in the afternoon to take a nap. Then I remembered that new Doctor Who was coming on, so I made myself get up. I mentioned the dizziness to Dad, who in turn mentioned it to Mom, who got so worried she came up to my room with a blood pressure cuff. She took my blood pressure which was elevated, and then yelled at me about how I'm not taking proper care of myself. Yeah, she's right. But it's not easy. I finally got around to making a dentist appointment for this week. One thing at a time. But I should go see Doctor Ryan. It's been too long.

Mom went on about how I could have a heart attack with blood pressure this high and I wondered what would happen if I did die in my sleep or something. I wouldn't have time to fix things. And then they'd clean out my room, and find all the new shoes I've bought lately, clothes with tags still on, and the stash of Cadbury's Mini Eggs I have in my closet. Eventually they'd get into my storage unit, and see the piles of shopping bags, and plastic tubs full of handbags, way more than they actually know I have. And they'd find out, sooner or later, that I have MINIfir stashed down at Annette's house. They might look through my stuff on my computers. Find evidence of...what, I don't know. Just stuff that's none of their business. People always find out stuff they really didn't need to know about their loved ones when they are gone. I usually feel like I've nothing to hide. But we all have something. I haven't even thought about the stuff I keep in my desk at work. And since they don't really know any of my friends, would they ever be able to let people know? And would anyone notice that I wasn't around any more; and would they only vaguely wonder why and then forget about me?

Well, enough of that. I guess I'm just thinking about these things because of poor Lis Sladen (Dear Sarah Jane!).

It's Easter. And I feel fine today. I'm just tired. And a new work week begins, and I'll be more tired. And then the weekend will come and I'll make plans, and probably just drop them and stay home. But I do still have things to look forward to. New episodes of Doctor Who and In Plain Sight. The Glee concert next month. AMVIV. Maybe a trip to New York this summer to visit Hina. So I'll take a deep breath, and do what I have to do, and hopefully everything will be fine.

Mohammed My Friend

So Jemma is feeling a bit pressured by her friend Mo. Every time she logs on, he is there demanding her time. It's not just that. He is constantly telling her how much he loves her and thinks about her. Jemma has to be blunt. She doesn't feel the same. How could she? She barely knows the guy. After being offline for a few days this week due to my dead Time Capsule, Mo tells Jemma he was worried about her, and wants to know if she was thinking about him in RL. I have to admit I was thinking about him. I was thinking maybe I should take an even longer break from SL to let him cool off. But then I got a better idea. I created an alt. His name is Marshall, and while he is not as yet fully formed, he's going to have something to say if Mo doesn't stop putting so much pressure on Jemma. Getting Marshall and Jemma online at the same time requires two computers, and since it seems SL is always crashing at least one of my computers, that hasn't happened yet. But it will, hopefully soon.

I noticed when creating Marshall that SL has changed the way you choose user names. You don't pick a first name and then choose from a list of available last names. I guess it got too hard to keep coming up with unique surnames for the millions of residents. So Marshall's name is MarshallMiller (one word). I spent a bunch of time last night trying to dress and style him to somewhat resemble his namesake. But it was trickier than I thought. He still looks pretty generic. I think Jemma will have to buy him some clothes and maybe some different prim hair, since he's not going to have his own money.

Other than that, not much has happened in SL this week. I had to work on Friday, so we missed SciFri, and then by the time I got the new Time Capsule up and running, I was too tired to spend much time there. Jemma kept Mo at arm's length, which he wasn't happy about. And she did chat again with Madame T., her neighbor. I'm trying to see what use the Pocket Metaverse app is on my phone. So far I can log on and respond to messages, but not much else. May come in handy though when I get bored at work.

You're the One for Me, Fatty

Apparently, Jemma has a boyfriend in SL now. Which leads me to believe one thing: Egyptian guys dig fat chicks. Okay, I kid. But it's a funny story, and not really one that has to do with the picture of poor fat Miracle above. But I may get to her later. So I went roaming around last night in this place that described itself as Main Street New York, and seemed more a comglomerate of many downtowns from cities all over. I saw a few people wandering around. Then in one store (at least I think it was a store), I met this guy who said he was from Egypt, but lived in Saudi Arabia. At least this one spoke English. His name was Mohammed, but he goes by Moha. He asked to be my friend and I told him I was going to walk around some more and he could come if he wanted. He followed me for a bit, and kept asking if I wanted to go somplace called Epica. We teleported there and it appeared to be a beach area for surfing and other water sports. I spotted a canoe. I decided I'd come back to try that later. Moha did not seem to want to do any water sports. He just wanted to sit on the beach with me. There were some animation rez balls that allowed for a couple to cuddle and kiss. I guess he had come here before to do this, I don't know. The thing that cracked me up was that he kept saying that he felt really close to me, like even seconds after we met. I was like, "Yeah, you are taking this too seriously. We just met." But he was in a hurry, and soon after we arrived in Epica, he wanted me to come back to his house. I was just curious to see what someone else's house looked like, so we teleported there. Once we were there, he said something like, "Now you are the queen of this place." You can feel free to do whatever. He had a nice sofa arrangment with cushions on the floor. But before I couild sit down, he said, "You can see upstairs too." So we went upstairs and found some more scattered furniture, including a big round bed. It was one of those beds I had seen so many of when I was shopping for the bed at my place. It came with all sorts of sex animations you could do. At the time I had wondered why all the beds seemed to come with these. Doesn't anyone in SL use their bed just to sleep? Apparently, not so much. I mean, obviously, if you were just going to sleep, you would quit SL and go offline. But I always like to put Jemma to bed before I log off. Then when I come back, I find her on the bed, like she's just waking up. Anyway, Moha invited me to try it out. It was fairly amusing. But I tried the canoe today, and got such a kick out of it! It reminded me of the old days in spinchat with Skip and Jazzie. Space Canoe ride anyone? :)

Mothers Talk

With all the havoc Mother Nature has caused lately; Earthquakes in Haiti, New Zealand, Japan (plus the Tsunami), things are pretty calm in this little corner of the world. Here, winter's last gasp comes in a grey, windy weekend, just before the first day of spring. Baseball is in the air, though the boys of summer have yet to make their way north from sunny Florida. And I think it's time to remove the cover of snow from the farm.

Soon it will be dress and sandals season. And I learend this weekend that apparently I've been wearing the wrong size bra for years. I am not a 42C as I'd thought. And despite putting on quite a bit of weight lately, I don't need to move up to a 44. The lady in Nordstrom measured me and talked me down. It took a while to get my head round it, the fact that I should be wearing a 40DD! A Double D is for girls who are particularly well endowed, I always thought. I'm not that big. But apparently the discomfort of the band riding up and the sides gapeing out didn't signal the need for a bigger band, but a larger cup. A much larger cup. How could I have not known this? I'm nearly 40. My cluelessness has reached a new level.

In other news, I'm talking to Mom and Dad about it maybe being time to get grandma her own place. The stress she is causing has got to the point that I spent nearly all of my session with my therapist this week talking about it. I stopped by a nearby senior apartments complex. They are having a special on 2 bedroom apartments. She doesn't need a 2 bedroom. But they don't have any 1 bedrooms available. But $619 for a 2 bedroom, that's just a no brainer. Of course Mom is still conflicted. She kept coming up with reasons. "She can't afford it." Well, she can. All she has to do is quit gambling, and pay her rent instead, then she'll have plenty left over for food and anything else she'd need. "But wait, what about furniture?" Oh, well there's the old couch and everything I gave to George when he moved out. He's got it all in storage again, since Heather had already fully furnished their apartment. The tension in the house right now just seems enormous to me; that's my personal stake in it. But grandma will be happier too, having her autonomy back, her own place, her own kitchen again. Well, so far the jury's still out, we'll have to see what happens. All I can do is suggest.

In the meantime, my quest to crack Second Life continues. I haven't had much time to work on it. Yesterday I spent about two hours trying to get my clothes to fit. Finally I gave up and just went off to find some people. I tried the popular places list from the Dummies book. They were pretty deserted. I guess Saturday night PST is not the busy time. Or maybe it's because of daylight savings? I dunno. I'll try again at a different hour.

Oh well. Here's an extended sigh for the end of another weekend.

Oh My Heart

Friday

It's ironic that it's such a beautiful day outside, I don't have to put in overtime for the first time in 3 weeks, and all I can think about is getting out of the house so I can go sit in a Starbucks and look at my computer screen. Plus, Grandma was cooking something this morning that made the whole house stink. That's how things go.

I'm actually shopping in Second Life right now. My avatar needs new clothes. I never seem to have time to look for anything when I'm in SL, I usually just go to Sci. Fri. Island and listen to the discussion. But my goal for this weekend is to spiffy up my avatar and maybe go somewhere to hear live music, and meet some people. Shopping is fun here. Especially since I've been saving up my $L for months. And I don't have to try stuff on because no matter the size and shape of my avatar, the clothing will conform to me. Wouldn't that be cool in real life? Also, I just met a guy in the shop who only speaks Arabic. Random.

Saturday
Okay, I have to take back the bit about all the clothes fitting, and conforming to my avatar's size and shape. I tried some of the things on back in my Linden Home and the fit was not great. I figured out some of the items can be edited or resized. Options include length, higher/lower waist, tighter/looser fit and more. Though, once the garment has been adjusted as far as the designer specs allow, that's it. It still might not fit. I got a few items like this. I got this skirt that was adjustable but the bigger I made it to fit, the longer it got until it was too long. My feet barely stick out from the hem. Another problem with the skirt is that it doesn't allow sitting. In other words, it doesn't have flexibility built in. These are all things I never thought about before. I have to try to keep an eye out next time to find things which are editable, and flexible.

Since I haven't been able to figure these things out on my own, I got a book. "Second Life for Dummies." Hopefully it will have some hints to make it easier to get around and accomplish things. Otherwise I end up poring over the SL Wikis and maybe not even finding what I want. I think it's a language issue. There is some SL lingo that I haven't caught onto yet.

Anyway, I ended up going to Macy's to see if there was anything decent to get with the coupon that expires this weekend. I tried on everything in 3x straight off. It's official that most 2x don't really fit me anymore. At least in women's. I got the same sinking feeling of frustration I got when I was trying clothes on my avatar. I guess we really are alike. Even in the virtual world I get plenty of disappointment. I suppose it would be easy to correct. I could just make my avatar really hot and have her wear cool clothes. But that would feel like cheating and it's just not me. My aim has never been to escape. I'm just trying to find a connection. Same as in real life. But I want it to be with people who don't mind what I look like. Or at least, who don't judge me for it.

Speaking of connections, I've been thinking that it's nearly 10 years now since I first "met" everyone on the Semisonic message boards. Ten years is longer than I've known pretty much anyone I didn't go to high school with. It seems that most people just kind of wander into my life for a year or two, and then wander right back out. And some of the semi folks have been like that too. There are only a few I still hear from. Jules, Mandy, but most constant is Jazzie. She's really become a good friend. And occasionally Skip. But not really. I just sort of want him to still be there. Even if I don't hear from him, I don't want it confirmed that he's wandered off. I don't think my heart could take it.

In the meantime, Benrik have created an iPhone app called the Situationist. It basically lets you know if there is a fellow Benrikian nearby and if they are using the app it sends them a message that they should find you and perform one of the random acts you have sanctioned in the app. Things like "Hug me for 5 seconds exactly," or "Wave at me like a long lost friend." It seems there isn't much chance of me ever encountering one of these situations. One because there aren't any other Benrikians here in Vegas as far as I know. And Two, even if there were, they'd have to be nearby, and using the app. Highly unlikely. But it's made me wonder how things are going over in Benrikland. I haven't stopped in there in at least a year, maybe two. There are probably a load of new people. And who knows if any of those people I knew are active any longer. I have some of them as Facebook friends, so I occasionally see what they are up to. But that's about it.

Well, it's Saturday night now, and I'm not at all sure another search for signs of other SL residents would bear fruit. I may just skip it and go to bed. The clocks spring forward tonight already, so I've already lost an hour. And I've read none of the things I meant to read. I've got a nice little pile of comics from visits to Ralph's store. But maybe I can get through one if I start...right...now!

A Bad Dream

In the last couple of weeks I've been having some bad dreams. On the bus one morning I dreamt I was driving with a blindfold on and couldn't remove it in time to stop myself from driving off into the railing. I woke up with a start; actually uttered a little scream as I realized where I was: on the bus with my sleep mask on.

Another night I woke up in my bed screaming and actually kicking out at what I felt to be a presence in my room. I remember seeing a large man in a plaid shirt, like the guy on the Brawny paper towels package. I had the feeling I had left a door unlocked and that the intruder somehow immediately knew to come kill me first. I yelled and kicked out, and after waking up I stared into the dark for several minutes not sure if I could still see a face or not. It was more scared than I can remember being for some time.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone.

Location:Mercury Hwy,Yucca Flat,United States

Living Alone

This long weekend I've been watching my friends' dogs Yuna and Jake. They are incredibly sweet. And they like lots of attention. But what I've noticed is that being here reminds me of when I had my own place, except this one comes with dogs! And a home theatre with a wall sized projection TV screen!

I can actually get stuff done without (much) interuption. I can go to bed, and get up and eat whenever I want, and whatever I want without comment. I can take my time, read magazines and watch TV. And sing out loud without anyone hearing. And...well I guess I can do most of those things at home. I don't know what it is. It's not having all the demands on my attention. When Mom comes home from work, I have to stop what I'm doing and pay attention to her or she gets whiny. And I'm supposed to know exactly where Dad and Grandma are at all times. It can wear on me. And just having Grandma in the house makes it a tenser place to be. She causes so much animosity. Between her and Mom, between her and Dad, between Mom and Dad and between her and me. She drives us all crazy. And normally I have to explain and justify everything I do. If I want to take a nap, or if I want to go to bed early, they think I'm sick. If I get up early to go out, where am I going? When will I be home? So this has been like a little vacation from that. And from Miracle's constant barking. Yuna and Jake bark of course. But not incessantly. Mostly Yuna makes a snorfling sound like the Hamburglar from the old McDonald's commercials.

The dogs are snoring now on the home theatre seating. Soon I'll put Yuna to bed in the laundry room where her bed is, and Jake will quietly jump up onto the bed with me and go right to sleep. Then they'll wake me up at 6:30 for breakfast. They do like to get up early, but then I can go back to bed for a little while. And enjoy the quiet of having my own place, for just a little while longer.

Race for the Prize

Today, at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway, Rory had his first track day. It was a fundraiser for the Speedway Children's Fund. About 15 members of SCMini Club met up this morning at Beach Cafe for breakfast and then we convoyed up to the Speedway. We actually had only 14 cars, including one Countryman, but there was another lady in a MINI that just showed up on her own, so they directed her to where we were staging. There was also a small contingent of Smart cars. They ended up lining us up behind them for the laps. There was a pace car, then the Smarts, then the MINIs. It was fun. We only got up to about 84 mph, but it was slightly disorienting to be on the track as it is on a slant. Once we got up to speed, it was pretty good. We were spaced far enough apart that there really was no sense of competition, it was just a fun run.

Strangely Donovan, from Desert MINI, was driving the Countryman with a ladder sticking out from its sun roof. He also had a framed painting in the boot. He said he wanted to have something go around the track that had never gone around the track before.

As we waited to be lined up in our lanes, we did the usual checking out of each others' cars and catching up with those we haven't seen in a while. I was glad I made myself get out of bed this morning. It was iffy there for a while. It's been a long time since I made it to any club events. Usually they are really early in the morning on weekends, or early on weekdays when I'm not back from work yet. Rory really needed to get out on a trip that didn't involve work or running errands. And now he's fitting right in with the other Minis, motoring veterans and newbie's alike.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Starbucks

Life in Technicolor

This time I am going to go on for a bit about technology again. My personal technology. I gave in and switched to the iPhone finally. My brother upgraded to the iPhone 4 so he passed his 3GS down to me. I felt kinda silly about it. I was such a Palm fangirl. I was fond of my old Palm pilot and considered getting a Treo for some time. Then I got the iPod touch, so I had the fun of iPhone apps, without paying for the expensive iPhone plan. And I had my Blackberry for a phone since I couldn't have a camera phone at work.

When the Palm Pre came out, I wanted it, but it was only on Sprint. So I made do with my Blackberry for another year, until the Pre showed up on AT&T. I had to get it, even though it meant adding a second line. But I had fun with it. It was small and cute, I liked how if felt in my pocket, and still had a slide out keyboard for texting.

There were a lot of really cool things about the Pre. It did multitasking better than the iPhone; you could keep several apps open at once and slide easily back and forth between them. I liked the way it pulls all your contacts' information together from Facebook and integrated them with your phone's contacts. So when one of your Facebook friends called, you'd see their current profile picture and if they changed their number or anything else, it updated to the Pre automatically. It used Google Calendar so you'd enter your events via Google, and they would sync automatically over the air. You never had to plug the phone into the computer. It took nice pictures and video. I got a little footage at the Keane concert. I also love the Touchstone charging dock. You just sit the phone on it, no plugging it in. Very cool.

Downsides, the number of apps available is underwhelming. I lost enthusiasm for checking the Palm app store. Most disappointing of all, Pocket Money hasn't been released in a WebOS version. Still. (I used Pocket Money on my old Palm Zire. I've been using it on my iPod Touch since I got it. And now with the iPhone, I can sync my data from one device to the other.) Other downsides, the slide out keyboard is a little tight for my big fat fingers. The size of the screen made web surfing, zooming in and clicking on links a bit tricky. And though I got used to it, the swipe gestures needed to move between apps and pages were not my favorite way of navigating. I'd forget how many times to swipe to return to a previous web page or switch apps. Also, it was slooooow. Slow booting up, and sometimes would not power down, no matter how many times I attempted to turn it off.

Okay, so it was an experiment. Resistance is futile and all that. I am now an iPhone user. I still have to carry my Blackberry on work days. But on my off time, I can make use of some of the cool MINI apps like MINILink, MINI Road Assist and MINIConnected. I think being able to stream internet radio over my car stereo through my iPhone will make the whole switch worthwhile. That and the fact that I don't have to carry my iPod Touch with me all the time. I'll still use it at work for entertainment. But now I can keep track of expenses and purchases using Pocket Money on my iPhone and then sync it to my iPod later. No double entry necessary. And switching data plans didn't cost any more from Palm to iPhone.

So that's that. Though that doesn't end the angst over technology. I saw the cutest little HP netbook at Best Buy (when I was there buying the big 160GB iPod classic for my car so I can have all my music with me at all times). It has a pink plaid design. I wondered if perhaps I should get it for writing. But then, wait, that's what I got this iPad for right? And how much writing have I actually done on it? Not much. A few blogs. A poem at that poetry workshop with Brian Turner. But the blogs have been erratic and poor quality. I have started entries and posted them before they were finished, just as placeholders so I could at least have an entry for that day, even if I didn't finish them until days later.

I'd like to pause here to note that there are three guys at the table next to me in this Starbucks, 3 generations it seems, one elderly gentleman, a guy my age, and one younger guy. I wonder what their relationship is. They asked me about my iPad/keyboard set up. But they keep making jokes using these cultural references to see which ones the others would get, or which would turn out to be too old/too recent for them. So far they have broached politics, music, comic books, art (a Toulouse Letrec joke), football and musical theatre. Seriously corny jokes to go with each one. But I have to say I've been enjoying listening in. Now the older two have left and the younger is on his own. He's drawing a picture of Mystique from X-men.

Okay, what was I saying? Right, the netbook. I like this set up with the iPad and the keyboard, but it doesn't do so well on the lap, you really need a table to sit it on. Hence, most of my use has been in various Starbucks around town. Anyway, I am, as I predicted, using the iPad more for other things, using apps, playing games (Farmville, big surprise), email, movies, reading, etc. So it's more a distraction from my writing than I already had.

So I'm in Best Buy, where I am spending entirely too much time lately, and I see this netbook. I check it out on line, read some reviews, etc. It's so affordable. And I remember Todd saying to me, when I was catching up with him in emails, just get a netbook and get writing. I thought, well with that I could write more often maybe. Then, I went back to Best Buy again this weekend. There was the netbook, but there was also an HP 14.5" laptop with the i3 processor and Windows 7 Home Premium, which would fit so nicely in my Kipling laptop bag that I had purchased months ago in anticipation of getting a new laptop, and doesn't fit my current old 15.4" laptop. It was reduced from $749 to $599. Good deal. But twice what I'd be spending on the netbook. What to do? I stood there, paralyzed with indecision. Maybe I can get both. Cause sometimes I may want to take a full laptop with me while traveling and sometimes I might want something small enough to drop into my purse.

Okay, this is crazy. Two more computers! I really don't need them. My iMac does most of the heavy lifting. And now that I have my new flatscreen, I can actually still see the TV while I'm at the computer. I have my old laptop, which I've mostly used for the MS Money program, and for scanning in those old photos. For some reason, my iMac won't play nice with the scanner portion of my printer/scanner/copier.

Cooler heads prevailed this time. I left without either new computer, resolved to do more writing on my iPad. This old thing. It's a whole 3 months old. How soon we become dissatisfied. Logically I understand how I'm psychologically manipulated by the marketing departments of the world. And yet I'm somehow powerless to resist. Though sometimes I manage. Like this time.

And so I guess this passes for writing. Writing about writing. And writing about not writing. It's so meta. But at least I made myself leave the house. I was up and dressed, and I even did my taxes. Then I came out into the hall, and Dad was playing with Miracle, getting ready to go to the gym, and I joined them on the hallway floor. Then Dad left and I started thinking, you know I really don't have to go anywhere today. I can get cash on my way to the MINI event tomorrow. I can stay home. I can even write at home knowing no one would be around to bother me for at least an hour. But the inertia I was feeling about leaving the house would surely carry over into my plan to do some writing. So I sucked it up and here I am. Now I think I'm done. A good day's work? Maybe.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Starbucks

Song Sung Blue

Yesterday I celebrated Neil Diamond's 70th birthday by listening to a selection of his hits on the iPod in my car. I had been feeling a bit blue at work that morning. But as he says, everybody knows one, every garden grows one. But singing it turns it around. It helped a little.

I wear it proudly, my love of Neil, especially here in Vegas where Elvis is the patron saint, and Neil has often been called the Jewish Elvis. I can relate much more to a Jew from Brooklyn than a southern boy. New York runs through his songs. New York City born and raised... I am... I said.

He also reminds me of my dad. Singing and dancing to the songs on the reel to reel when I was a little girl. Now I'm almost 40 and my dad turns 65 next month, and Neil still brings us together. ....Crunchy Granola Suite...
Hands... Touching hands... Reaching out... Touching me...touching yooooouuuu. Bah bah bah. Sing it!


-- Post From My iPod Touch

Strange Condition

It was like I slept on it funny. But it's been a couple of weeks and my arm just can't seem to work out this kink. Then it was both arms. And a knee. And my feet. When I get out of bed, I can't totally walk until I stretch my achilles tendons, and I can hear my ankles clicking. My muscles just don't want to let me move. It hurts, but more than that, it's just strange. My hip is still sore. Or rather the muscle I pulled is still out of place.

I was thinking of joining a gym, starting to get more exercise. But now I'm worried about getting hurt. I don't quite know what to do next. Should I go to the doctor? How should I explain this? The skin on my left thigh still feels numb more often than not.

And now all I want to do is sleep. And I wonder how my back will hurt when I wake up. Even with the new memory foam, I can't get really comfortable. If it wasn't for the pills, I might not sleep at all. I guess this is what it's like to get old.

Baby It's Cold Outside

I know, weather again, right? Pickings must be slim. But it was so freaking cold at the Test Site today, I wanted long johns. After the little blizzard we had on Monday with people sliding off the 95 and making our bus late, they actually let us go home 90 minutes early.

I guess this counts as a happy blog since I ended last year on such a downer. I didn't mean it really. Things aren't that bad. I spent New Year's at John and Pedro's with their dogs and adorable 2 month old puppy. I had mom over there with me for dinner. And then Annette stopped by with Ryan and Kira for a little bit. After I dropped mom home I stopped at Dan Bunin's to say hi to a few folks and Happy New Year. Then it was back home to the pups. Something a little different, but still good.

Then when John and Pedro got home, I heard their tales of their New Year's Eve on the strip at a fancy party at The Cosmopolitan, complete with celebrities. I'm glad they had a good time. Then Pedro made us all lunch, and we went upstairs to watch the Lady Gaga episode of Glee.

When I got home, I found my birthday presents from George and Heather. A huge box of goodies from Lush. Shower gels, soaps, shampoos, everything smells good enough to eat. It was sweet of him and Heather.

So here we go with 2011, and yeah, it's cold outside.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad