Dweeb

Quick update

2005-12-16T07:53:00.000-05:00

I postponed the doctor stuff, and copies of Corner of the World are now available at CDBaby. The digital download deal through iTunes and other outlets like Rhapsody and Napster is still being set up. Landystuff like stickers, shirts, hats, and housewares are available at CafePress.

Well, dammit

2005-12-03T03:22:00.000-05:00

Here I am all ready to do all sorts of things down here and I run into a roadblock.

Well, sorta.

I've got this doctor stuff going on at the moment, and lemme tellya, it's a pain in the ass.

Ya see, I had this, oh, how shall I say ... symptom ... yeah. So I go to the emergency room for this symptom. They even put me near the front of the line so my visit there on Monday was only six hours. It wasn't too bad tho, there's a TV in each curtain room.

I was seen by the cutest l'il doctor you'd ever wanna see, with her little white coat 'n everything. But she was marvey, and had me drop my drawers for her and then I got to have some pictures made of my chest and tummy. Whee!

So the cute l'il doctor tells me I'm not gonna die right at the moment and says I need to see a general practitioner to refer me to a gastrologist. Righteo, I hiked up my pants and went home.

Went to see the general practitioner and she was real nice and I dropped my drawers for her, too. (All the girls dig me here.) She said yep, I gotta go see the gastrologist so she made the appointment for me and told me not to worry. So I hiked up my pants and went home.

So today I got to see the gastrologist, a cute little Jewish guy who talked very very very fast. He asked me a lot of questions about my diet, smiled a lot, seemed on the verge of laughing for no apparent reason, and seemed quite impressed that I was able to use the word "abate" properly in a sentence, as in "The symptoms seem to have abated." Maybe he has to talk to rednecks all day, I dunno.

So the gut doc continued grinning at me as he very quickly explained that I'm gonna hafta drink fiber drinks for two weeks in preparation for this test. He said that since both my parents died of colon cancer I should come to see him every five years. I asked if he wanted to examine me and he said no, I'd been examined quite enough for one week, and besides, someday he was going to be in my position and he hoped someone would give him a break, too.

He told me not to worry, to let him do the worrying for me. That was okay by me.

Out of habit, I hitched up my pants and went home.

It's been fun, but ...

2005-11-26T07:50:00.000-05:00

Well I think this particular blog may have run its course, having set a new low with my post about a conversation with a man's ass.

I'm considering changes around here. I'm not going to delete the blog altogether I don't think, but let me explain.

I've taken some baby steps toward playing again, you see. I've gone by Poe's Pub a couple of times and sorta enjoyed performing. It's still physically challenging, hard to stand for three or four songs, and I really need to practice because the timing on my patter is slow and I'm forgetting the words to my songs!

In any event, I'm considering redesigning my website yet again, and I like having the blog for news. However, this blog is too personal for marketing purposes.

These decisions were prompted by the fact that I've signed up for digital distribution of my songs through CDBaby.com. In a week or two I'll have a list of places where people can download and buy single songs including the iPod site. I'm pretty excited. I'm told by a friend that there's more than 20 bucks to be made doing this, even if one is not an actively touring songwriter. He's getting downloads from Japan and Scandanavia from folks who are just curious. Eventually, this curiosity adds up and pays off.

So I'm looking at a new way to promote and profit from my music without having to hang around in bars all of the time.

For those of you who don't know about my music, you can visit my real web site, landymore.com.

You'll still be able to order CDs from my CDBaby page with this digital distribution deal, and if you're interested in ordering from there give it a little time because they're out of stock and I have to mail copies to them this weekend.

So the upshot is, this blog will remain here where you've bookmarked it. If you're accessing the blog through landymore.com, you'll want to bookmark it now. I'll be replacing this blog link with a different one on the web site in a week or two.

Maybe it's not them ...

2005-11-02T03:22:00.000-05:00

Maybe it's me, maybe it's not them.

My FB is in town tonight, and prior to that I had a disappointing date that went just as badly as one of my usual visits with my FB. (FB being fuck buddy, of course).

The FB and I go through periods of professing only physical desire for each other and none of this lovey dovey shit, or at least not until we're face to face.

I have a prob with the FB, cuz he is a huge fan of anal sex and all sorts of anal play, which as far as I'm concerned is fine and normal in most adults if it weren't for the fact that the man can't shut up about it for five minutes. Add to that the fact that he feels it's quite normal to feel the need to drink a half a fifth of vodka before sex in order to feel more amorous. This, of course, is a self-defeating cocktail for a man with hypertension who suffers from chronic erectile dysfunction.

Can you see me leading up to frustration here?

So I'm in bed with the FB, and he's asking me to do various and sundry things that I've told him before I don't want to do, either to have done to me or to do unto him.

In what we'll call an hour long session I, shall I say, gave it my all with the amazing talent he's assured me I posses, in return for 15 minutes of manual reciprocation during which time I was invited to french kiss a part of him I rarely even think about.

This has happened many, many times and I was beginning to think, "hey, I'm a grownup, grownups do kinky things I need to loosen up," but my mouth was saying "you know what, I told you what my boundaries are many times and I'm really tired of you degrading me like this."

At which point my brain, acting in lightening fast speed despite the beer involved that it took to get me into this contorted position replied "uh, maybe you really DON'T like men."

As quicky as my brain had leapt to this conclusion, my mouth blabbed this info into his startled ass.

And he's sleeping, a bit perturbed, and I'm typing in my blog. On a Tuesday night.

Reading comprehension

2005-10-09T12:47:00.000-05:00

I've come to the conclusion that despite the fact that millions are online every day, few men are actually comprehending what they read. I know this because I have placed dating ads online.

I can advertise that I'm a smoker and a chubster, yet I still receive responses from men who bike, hike, canoe, and play tennis and want to know if I'd like to get together for calisthenics.

I can list the things I'm interested in and the shows I watch on tv, and receive a response from someone who wants to have coffee and discuss how I prefer to have sex.

By way of explanation, having briefly given up on the "find me a woman" state of mind, I've resigned myself, once again, to casting about for a man. I know some of my readers may be confused, thinking "I thought she said she was a dyke."

Alas, I'm bisexual and butch, a combination that most find confounding at the very least. Men think all bisexual women are either into group sex or will drop everything for an afternoon of casual sex. Lesbians don't trust bi women because somewhere along the line they dated one who left them for a man. To them, bi women are interlopers in their world and not to be trusted. I'm not sure how that logic works, though, because surely they've all been dumped at one time or another for another woman, so why are other lesbians, then, not to be trusted as well?

So here I am trying to explain myself to strangers hoping that at least one will "get it," but I'm still receiving invitations from folks whose sole purpose in life is to fill every free moment with exercise.

Doesn't anyone relax anymore?

Awakening?

2005-10-06T22:01:00.000-05:00

I have to tell you something. Come over here.

Something is happening to me, something quite exciting. I'm not sure what it is yet. But it's happening.

It happens to me two days a week when I wake at 6 to shower for work. I put on my work clothes; a polo shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, black jeans, black belt, and black shoes that to some degree look like they were designed by R. Crumb. I brush my teeth, comb my short, recalcitrant hair, and spray on my cologne. It is men's cologne, Aspen, and I like it.

I grab my ID badge and keys and go out to the car, tossing my lunch sack and the morning paper, unopened, on top of the other morning papers, unopened, on the passenger seat. It's a modest car, but it's mine.

I start the car, roll down the windows and turn on the radio. I am moving, surrounded by green trees and grass, when the sun is at that "just right" morning angle.

I am sliding down the street, waving at elderly neighbors or other downtown bound workers and rounders and students and mothers. I drive smoothly through quiet suburban streets for just moments before finding myself in the heart of downtown Richmond in all its faded glory.

I walk into the marble foyer at my job, literally singing "good morning, good morning," to the security guard who sings back in answer. I get in the elevator, joking with whomever may be along for the ride to my floor. We float briefly in a sea of our combined morning smells of cologne, coffee, fresh shampoo and tuna sandwiches before the doors open and we spill out of the elevator and to our little corners of this office maze.

I arrive at my desk, leave briefly to fetch a cup of coffee of my own, and set about work. Every two weeks someone brings me an envelope with a check in it. A modest check, but it's mine.

My co-workers are pleasant, sweet people who do a good job of doing their job while not being terribly annoying at the same time. They have fine taste in snack foods, which are all shared.

The day rolls on, all typing and munching and smiling, and it's time to go. I shut down my computer, turn off the light in my little cubicle, and make sure I don't forget my reading glasses. It's the kind of job one doesn't need to take home. There's nothing to fret about, no politics, no reports, nothing to do until the next day, when you do it all again the same way.

I drive back home just as easily and smoothly as I had left, through the same streets in different light. I arrive home. I sometimes see that I have mail, but I always see a cat waiting for me in the window. It' a modest home, but it's mine. As is the cat.

Tonight was a special night, though. I was sitting in my living room after my neighbor had come by and then left and I idly turned on the television. In order to reset the clock on the television, I tuned into a public television station and they were running a show about the life and career of Frank Lloyd Wright.

I will be the last to compare myself to Frank Lloyd Wright, of course, but I won't be the first to be inspired by a great man who lived a great life. He is certainly not the only great man who can inspire me, many have. Ralph Waldo Emerson. W.C. Fields.

During that time I was watching the show, something was bothering me. It was a voice come calling, and I could ignore it no longer.

I picked up the guitar and idly strumbled on the guitar while staring blankly at the screen with equal distraction. A song had arrived to write itself and I was left to wrench my hands around its bidding, words tiptoeing around my consciousness, eventually taking their seats in different stanzas.

It has been five years since this has happened, this little scene of me sitting on the couch writing a song. It is, of yet, unfinished, but it will continue to contort itself as I settle into in my dreams. When I rise tomorrow, it, too, shall awaken and stretch, now whole, and will sit quietly humming itself in my head all day until it can come out and play itself some more.

I write a song when my soul says to me "I have to tell you something. Come over here." I follow the voice down the stairs to where I sit inside myself, learning the song as I go until the song has finished itself.

I have had a career and recorded and performed on stage, but now I want things to be the way they used to be, when I was a lightening rod, a radio tower, pulling in all the signals and passion in the night sky and singing them back to drunks who were amazed at the message I'd found. When I was young. When I used to write.

Things may not return to how they were in the beginning, and they may not return to how they were when my "career" appeared promising. But I am writing a song, and that's what matters. Though it may well turn out to be a modest song, it's mine, and I like that.

Still lovin' it

2005-10-03T23:26:00.000-05:00

Still lovin' my job. The weather has taken a nice turn here, turning fallish and cooler. Not cool, mind you, just not 90 degrees with 90% humidity. It's still warm in the day, 70s and 80s. It's been quite sunny lately which is nice but we sure need some rain.

Made an ass of myself the other day, something I reccommend to all. I asked out a guy at work, but alas, he's seeing someone. I felt a bit foolish but I have a new prime directive these days to go for the gusto and not tie myself in knots wishing someone else would make the first move.

Having been very politely blown off, I posted an ad locally and got a couple of responses. What the hell, it's just coffee.

Sorta lonely, but keeping my eye on that. Need to stay on my meds and stay in the sun as much as possible before the gloom of winter sets in.

Fixin' to get ready

2005-09-12T01:00:00.000-05:00

I'm fixin' to think about gettin' ready to start writin' again.

I'm almost there, really I am. Why, only just last week I removed the guitar from its case.

I'm only half kidding, too. Things are changing in this country and some folks are mighty pissed. Accusation of partisan politcs are beginning to sound really lame in the face of polls that show that even Republicans can't support their own leader.

To me, it's sort of like a turn-of-the-last-century scenario wherein the neighbors have gathered in their Sunday best in the parlor to admire the baby in his baptismal gown. Suddenly the baby shits himself in a loud and messy manner, and in an instant he is no longer an angel.

George, honey, it's gonna take a whole helluva lotta bleach to fix that skid mark ya just smeared across the memory of your presidency.

For future reference, hold your ass tighter and run in the right direction.

Impeach Bush

2005-09-07T05:25:00.000-05:00

There, I said it. Get rid of him. He's an indecisive, mealy mouthed corporate schmoe who thinks he can run the country like he runs an oil business; delegating the thinking to his subordinates, then refusing to acknowledge any failure, and finally blaming his subordinates if failure finally comes to light. Bear in mind, people, this man has a habit of running businesses into the ground.

His "we will prevail" propaganda falls short and sounds a hollow note, making him sound like a local councilman stumping for votes. He's a fool and a puppet, with the arm of big oil shoved up his golf pants to slap his chops together to form words like "freedom" and "pride" in order to placate the citizens and keep them focused on patriotism rather than analysis.

Our best resources, highly trained men and women, are being wasted in a vain attempt at nation building while our own infrastructure is crumbling from obsolescence, and while the Gulf Coast reels from the most catstrophic storm in our history .

Wake up, America. The whole world's watching.

Not like they didn't warn ya

2005-09-02T05:48:00.000-05:00

"If that Category Five Hurricane comes to New Orleans, 50,000 people could lose their lives. Now that is significantly larger than any estimates that we would have of individuals who might lose their lives from a terrorist attack. ... It appears to those of us in emergency management, that the risk is much more real and much more significant, when you talk about hurricanes."
Walter Maestri

emergency management
Jefferson Parrish, La.
Sept., 2002

"Mr. Bush, we need someone to come in and help us. They're raping babies, raping women, we've got no food or water."
Unidentified woman to camera
New Orleans, La.
Sept. 2005

These two quotes speak volumes and I don't think I need to expound upon them much. The first comes from a transcript of a public radio segment, which very accurately predicted what's going on right now. The official expected mayhem, but not the base depravity and horror we're watching. The source of the report might explain why nobody seems to have anticipated a disaster of this magnitude. I mean, who in the Bush administration listens to NPR?

The second comes from a BBC video report on their website. See the sidebar video in the BBC link.

Nero fiddled, Rome burned, and George W. Bush played golf while New Orleans became like a Third World country nearly overnight.

Impeach Bush. Pass it on.

A pretty good day

2005-08-17T22:25:00.000-05:00

Felt pretty productive today. Got the trash taken out, litter boxes cleaned, saw my drug shrink, did bunches of laundry, had some dinner and packed my lunch for tomorrow. Now it's off to bed so I can get up at six and be on time to work.

Mundane to you, absolutely amazing to me.

About Gaza (flame away)

2005-08-17T08:52:00.000-05:00

Israel's pullout from the Gaza Strip continues today as residents are literally pulled weeping from their homes. Israeli soldiers, unarmed and unarmored, are showing tremendous compassion in the process, comforting and weeping with those who must leave.

Many Americans feel that Middle East problems are not our problems, but many don't realize that many Israelis are Americans themselves. According to Facts About Israel, about 30% of the population is "European/American" born. This explains continued American support of Israel.

The semantics of politics never ceases to amaze me. Over time, left becomes right and right becomes left. In news reports about the Gaza pullout, religiously observant residents who were refusing to leave were referred to as "right wing." News reports said many were praying, rending their garments, kissing the ground and weeping for failing to fulfill God's commandment to return to Israel.

Oddly, though, going back to the 30s and 40s in the U.S., the "right wing" was comprised of orthodox Jews, the Hasidim, who at the time of were against settling Israel. In the orthodox view at that time, Israel would become a nation again only when the messiah arrived and they believed it was not man's place to create a Jewish state by secular means.

You can understand more about what I'm referring to by reading this Wikipedia article, or just grab nearly any of Chaim Potok's novels like "In the Beginning," "My Name is Asher Lev," or "The Chosen."

I think the Gaza pullout is a good thing, personally, though many may disagree. I haven't seen much analysis regarding what impact this will have on the nebulously referred to terrorists, who have stated that one of their concerns is the Israeli presence in Palestine. I would hope the pullout is a step in the right direction.

Clarification

2005-08-17T08:49:00.000-05:00

I heard from one reader who was confused by recent posts. "You've got no gas in your house, and no gas for two weeks, and then you go out to dinner?" The simple answer to that is that Husbandman treated.

All the rage

2005-08-11T05:05:00.000-05:00

It's 6 a.m. and I've already had my morning constitutional, cleaned litter boxes, spent quality time with kitties, and put some things in the wash.

It's Thursday, which is trash day in my neighborhood. I'm not feeling motivated enough to drag the can through the garage and out the alley.

I've been thinking about working lately and wondering why it's been so difficult for me over the years. The difference lately has been calmness, it seems. I have a famously volatile temper which has been tamed since being treated for epilepsy and depression. When I try to discuss this with neurologists, however, I'm met with blank stares.

I had a bad "temper day" yesterday, blowing up in public for the first time since moving here in February, and believe me, I've had enough challenges to trigger one of my famous meltdowns. Thankfully, I didn't blow up in the office, but in the sandwich place across the street on my lunch hour.

I'd gone in during their rush and wanted to order a burger to go. I was directed to the register and ordered with a really young kid who was very new and needed help with every single task he encountered. I stood and waited awhile until my back started hurtin', then sat and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly half an hour.

A bag appeared on the counter behind the kid, who was engrossed in the intricacies of taking a personal check. I went to the counter and waited while he gazed at the check, looked at the customer, back at the check, and then looked around for help.

The rest of the staff was racing around the restaurant looking a bit cartoonish, going from table to table grabbing plates so fast it seemed they each had two pairs of hands. More and more the noise of the restaurant was gnawing at me. I covered my ears and closed my eyes. It helped a little, but I was starting to think I looked like a crazy person. (Hey wait a minute, I am a crazy person ...)

The kid, however, was moving in slow motion in his bubble of indecision. I asked if the bag behind him might be mine, hoping he might cop onto the concept of multi-tasking. It was not my food, he said.

I was starving. I was tired. I did not want to be there. The noise and energy of the place was picking and clawing at my skin, my neck, my hair. I was jumping out of my skin. For a nanosecond, it seems that everything went black.

And then I was losing it. I didn't shriek but I was abrupt. "Tellya what," I said. "Keep the money. You owe me lunch if I ever come back. My lunch hour is half gone and I still haven't eaten. I'm outta here." I turned and stormed out, upsetting a chair, hurling myself against the door on the way out, and slamming the gate to the courtyard as I returned to work, surprising the shit out of the folks relaxing in the sun.

I was immediately embarrassed, regretful, deflated, exhausted, and headachy. I wanted to go home. I wanted to cry. I wanted to crawl under a rock. "Who the fuck was that?" I thought. "I thought she was gone."

Looking back I can see how it escalated, how the noise got to me until it became a buzz in my head that made me flee in a panicked rage.

I really hate it when that happens. I really must avoid it in the future. In the past, avoiding that meant avoiding everything. Hiding at home. Shopping at odd hours. Avoiding highways. Not working, but dreaming of some kind of quiet job, something predictable.

But I'm in the world now and have to figure it out. Step one, don't eat my bag lunch for breakfast at my desk ...

It's a gas, man

2005-08-08T05:48:00.000-05:00

I'm thankful today that I have gas again. They came and turned it on yesterday and I immediately hopped in the shower. Nice 'n hot, yes indeedy bubbah.

Husbandman is visiting. We've had a great time going to restaurants. The Nile Ethiopian restaurant here is fantastic! I used to go to the Red Sea, Fasika's and Meskarem in D.C., and the Nile beats 'em all. My favorite dish is Yebeg Wat, a spicy lamb stew, and I was not at all disappointed. Nile uses good cuts of meat for their stews, unlike most of the D.C. Ethiopian places, so the spices are flavorful and not overwhelming.

Husbandman had the beef tibs, (tibs is basically a butter sauce), and it was rich and sweet.

Sunday afternoon we ate at Can Can, a brasserie in Carytown. Real nice place, good food too. I'll take the Ethiopian any day, tho.

Sunday night we met with Husbandman's roommate, Melinda, and our friend Fanny and had dinner at Shenanigan's, a pub around the corner. Good steak. Oh! That reminds me. I have leftovers.

Husbandman is probably joining me for lunch today, and hopefully my new Richmond friend Erika will stop by tonight.

Gotta go. Meat is calling. This is my last week of the full time schedule and then I start the part time Thursday and Friday schedule. Definitely looking forward to that.

Later, kids.

OMG, I'm normal!

2005-08-07T06:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is so weird, man. I get up with the sun and have a job.
I'm sorry, man. I'm still trippin' on this.

Warped mind

2005-08-05T05:26:00.000-05:00

One of the top stories in the state recently was about a woman who was brain dead who gave birth. She had died of cancer and the cancer had not affected her baby, so her family opted for life support until the baby was developed enough to make it on its on.

Quite a sad and bittersweet story.

I saw the headline, "Brain dead woman gives birth," and thought "This is not news. I've been to WalMart and know that this happens every day."

I know, I'm sick.

General brain dump

2005-08-01T20:36:00.000-05:00

Gazing at MSNBC out of habit. Headlines, out of context, in free association:

In major league baseball, an Orioles player is suspended for steriod use. For some reason, this is supposed to be "shocking." Question of the day would be why should I give a shit?

In England, police nab two more men in terrorism investigations. Okay, lemme put it to you this way; if you have roaches in your house it does no good to stand outside the kitchen every night, flip on the light every couple of hours, and stomp on the ones that move. You'll never have any sucess stomping on individual roaches and won't eradicate your problem until you figure out why they're there in the first place, okay? Terrorists are "among us" because we are among them. Get the hell out of the middle east already. It's not rocket science.

Saudi King Faud dies. Okey dokey. Shit hits the fan, film at 11.

Bush sends Bolton to U.N. Anybody here remember "The Peter Principle?" That's the idea posited in the 70s that states that everyone in work and in business rises to the level of their incompetence.

Base closing plan roils National Guard units. Yepper, boots on the ground is all very well and nice, but don't piss off the Air Force cuz they're the ones with da big guns.

This just in, teen smoking linked to metabolic disorder and babies born at night more likely to die. This is news why? Because teens haven't been fucked up since the beginning of time and babies rarely die? Stop the presses, folks, shit happens.

Was talking to someone the other day who said that all "the media" does is report bad news. Mind you, I only hear these vague comments about "the media" (read "those people") when I'm actually occupied in the Fourth Estate and for some reason a typesetter is supposed to interpret and defend news judgement.

The so-called media in question is of course television, and yes, they rarely report cuddly news. What print and broadcast are guilty of is reporting pointless news.

Government, corruption, dirty dealings, unethical behavior, and pointless wars are far from sexy news.

This country has gone to the soccer moms and someone sat back and let it happen.

Gasless (cont)

2005-07-29T20:48:00.000-05:00

Going to the bank tomorrow to see if I can arrange a shuffling of savings.

Meanwhile, I had a bright, if ridiculous idea and it worked.

1. Remove basket from coffee maker.
2. Wash coffee pot.
3. Fill coffeemaker.
4. Turn on coffeemaker.
5. Pour hot water into tub.
6. Repeat three times and run a bit of cold water.

End result, parts of me that needed a splish got a bit of a splash.

I wasn't sure whether to feel stupid, brilliant, or both.

Welcome to the world

2005-07-27T23:43:00.000-05:00

Currently things are a bit hairy for me because I really got this job just in the nick of time. My gas was shut off (over a silly little thing like money, imagine that), so bathing is a brisk experience.

It's been hotter'n hell lately, 109 the other day, so taking a shower isn't nearly as horrific as it would be in January. I'm able to get the teeniest bit of lukewarm water out of the taps at about 6 p.m. thanks to the fact that my water heater is outside of the house in an attached shed. It gets all of the daytime sun.

My sister is about an hour away visiting my brother and I considered hitting her up for some cash, but I'm sure she's pouring money into the ancestral home and I don't want to be a pain. I'm slowly reconsidering my position, because my social security payment isn't until the third, which seems like an eternity. If I shower every other day I only have to go through three more cold showers.

Cooking is right out, cuz I have a gas stove, but who wants to cook in 100 degree weather, eh?

The job is going well. I like the people, it's a real pleasant place, and so far I understand everything. I'm not doing anything yet, though. I'm still in training and spend most of my time reading the classifieds for errors in order to become familiar with the classifications, style, and policy of the paper. About two or three hours out of the day are spent with two other new gals and the training manager going over manuals about policy. Today I almost managed a nap with my eyes open.

The next three weeks of training are on a full time schedule, which is really hard. Yeah, I know, give me shit, everybody works nine to five. But it's been a long time for me. I get home and go straight to bed for a nap. Today I awoke from my nap at midnight. Now it's time to shower, take out the trash, make my lunch for tomorrow and do litter boxes. I'm not even working at my job yet and I'm beat.

Thankfully, when this training bit is over I'll start the part time schedule, just Thursday and Friday nine to five.

Can't sleep for thinkin

2005-07-21T04:51:00.000-05:00

So it's dawn on Thursday and I still can't sleep. I'll have to stay up for awhile and call the human resources department at the paper and arrange to take my tax withholding forms and whatnot on Friday.

This was all very sudden in a way, and one of the biggest surprises of my life. Without naming the paper for personal reasons, I can say that it's the largest-circulation newspaper I'll have ever worked for and one of the top 100 in the country.

Oddly, I had forgotten that this newspaper was on my list when I was imagining my career ladder back in my 20s. It seems that I had scratched this particular outfit off my list in those days when it was unionized, along with the Washington Post. Employment at this place seemed an unattainable goal.

I feel kinda floaty, giddy and more than a bit fretful when it comes to my wardrobe. I'll have to do some fast thinking and sorting through what I have that fits that's appropriate for this place. I won't be able to do any clothes shopping for a couple of weeks.

I feel a bit like kicking myself for having gone to the expense and time of starting the non-profit but I may still be able to make something of it. Hard to say how that might shake out given the fact that I'm serious about this job.

The possibility of supporting myself with a full time job seems more real now, and I'm really surprised at what a long strange trip I've had in the last five years. In a way I feel that I've been a failure inasmuch as I had hoped to get off of disability in two years. However, I'm sorta working the system the way it's supposed to be worked by taking advantage of the help that's available and the time to slowly get back into the swing of things.

There have been times that I have felt so powerless, depressed and disenfranchised that I really didn't care if I ever went to work again, and I was happy to stay home and not deal with the outside world.

No more, though. Perhaps it's just a feeling for today, but today is what counts so I'm rollin' with it.

Well dayum

2005-07-20T21:51:00.000-05:00

Passed the drug test with no questions about my medications and that's a relief, so I'm officially hired.

I'm back in the business. I just don't know what to say. :)))

I got a job

2005-07-19T02:53:00.000-05:00

I was completely taken aback on Friday when I got a call from the local paper. Looks like I've been hired as a typesetter in their classified department. Woot!

I say "looks like" because there's the formality of a drug test, which has me shitting bricks cuz I take a variety of medications that can be mistaken for other things. Can't do much about that but take my medications with me.

From what I've read, anti-depressants can be mistaken for benzodiazipines. Dilantin can be mistaken for barbituates, I think. Not long ago, I briefly took a wakey-wakey drug called Provigil which I'm sure would show up as an amphetamine were I still taking it. Dunno if it's still in my system.

I'm really quite appalled at the stuff ya gotta go through these days to get a job. I mean, a credit check? Uh, if I had great credit and a hefty bank account I wouldn't need a job, eh?

The credit check thing really burns my ass, too, because there are a lot of divorced men and women out there who learned from their former spouses that nothing says "I love you" like emptying the bank account and putting a trip to Tahiti on the family credit cards. That kind of behavior makes me wonder why my gay friends would ever dream of getting married, but I digress.

What does ones credit have to do with their job performance? And what the heck are homeless people supposed to do to become self-sufficient if they can't get a job cuz they don't have credit?

Anyhoo, the gig is very part time, two days a week, with some kewl perks. Half price off the paper, LOL. My commute will be pretty quick, too. I've been down there a handful of time now, and I get there so fast I always miss my turn, LOL.

The first two weeks will be full time training, so that'll be a nice little perk. In general, though, the limited hours and earnings won't interfere with my Social Security benefits.

I never thought I'd see the day I'd be back in the newspaper business. Yeah, baby!

Why I now adore Belgians

2005-07-01T10:56:00.000-05:00

No beer, no meeting. Right fucking on, man.

Tom who?

2005-07-01T08:57:00.000-05:00

I generally don't spend a lot of time thinking about celebrities, but I will admit to occasionally reading the gossip columns on MSNBC. Recent news about Tom Cruise, however, has my attention. This story has leached out of the gossip columns and into what I suppose I will call the collective news-consciousness.

If you haven't heard, Tom has turned into a class A ass, attacking Brooke Shields for taking Paxil to combat post-partum depression. Even his greatest defender and number one fan, Rosie O'Donnell, is puzzled. Critics are blaming Cruise's opinionated antics on his involvement in Scientology. I don't think it's that complex, myself. I think he's just a fucking idiot and we finally noticed.

I wasn't sure how to react to Tom's maniacal tirade in a Today Show interview wherein he lectured Matt Lauer about the evils of psychiatry. I was more than shocked. I was appalled. I also had a flash of recognition.

Tommy boy was acting dead on like a lotta drunks I've met in bars who desperately want to argue for the sake of arguing, and who doggedly repeat an assertion without supporting it. What's scary about Cruise, though, is that he's not drunk while he's doing it and he still thinks he right, goddammit.

Tom tells Lauer that using drugs to treat mental illness is wrong because he has studied the history of psychiatry. Over and over, he says to Lauer, "you don't know about the history of psychiatry. I do."

Okay, Tom, enlighten me. Oops. He's not going to tell Matt, or you, or me anything about this history of psychiatry of which he speaks. He will, however, take a threatening stance toward Lauer and show off his biceps.

For the uninformed, here's a general overview of the history of psychiatry and how mental illness has been viewed and treated throughout modern history. Cruise is obviously hung up on abuses in the name of psychiatry such as electroshock and lobotomy, but fails to realize that these were abuses of institutional psychiatry.

The institutional abuses he abhors (and don't we all), have been abolished to a large degree in the past couple of decades, which is a very good thing for him. Based upon his behavior he would have been a good candidate for a straitjacket at the very least.

I think the most hilarious and telling quote out of Tom Cruise's mouth has to be this: "Before I was a Scientologist I never agreed with psychiatry. And when I started studying the history of psychiatry, I understood more and more why I didn't believe in psychology."

Cruise has obviously been spending time with George Bush, who is widely regarded as the master of nonsensical speaking.

Lemme get this straight, Tom. Before you were a Scientologist, you didn't agree with something you knew nothing about. Now that you've read about it some, you understand why you didn't believe in it. Okey dokey.

A couple of things are wrong with Cruise's statement, aside from the bizarre logic. For one thing, he begins his statement speaking of psychiatry and ends it by speaking of psychology as if they were one in the same, and they are not.

Generally speaking, psychiatry concerns itself with the treatment emotional and mental disorders, (depression let's say, or shizophrenia) and psychology concerns itself with human behavior in a broad sense (how people learn and process information, or things like workplace productivity, for example).

Cruise is opposed to the use of drugs to treat mental illness, but in his study of the "history of psychiatry" he's managed to overlook the fact that psychologists are not licensed to prescribe drugs.

Cruise says drugs simply mask the symptoms of mental illness, and that's true. However, folks being treated for mental illness will be treated with drugs along with talk therapy. I liken it to having novacaine before a root canal. Drugs can alleviate intense depression, anxiety or delusions to the point that the patient can try to understand how they can take control of the demons that have controlled them.

Now, I'm not about to paint Matt Lauer as the foremost intellectual of our times, but for chrissakes, Tom Cruise is sitting there telling a news guy that stimulant Ritalin has found popularity as a street drug. Um, Tom, doncha think Matt already knows that?

Wait a minute. I just went back to the transcript and realized that Cruise asked if Lauer knew that Ritalin was a street drug. Oh dear. I think Tom thinks it worked the other way around.

Listening to Tom Cruise, I wonder if he's ever met anyone aside from the folks on red carpets or read anything other than movie scripts. Maybe he thinks that since he's in this alien movie, he's supposed to act like one.

Cruise also blanketly refers to the drugs in question (Paxil and Ritalin) as "anti-psychotic" drugs. Back to the books, Tom. Paxil is an anti-depressant and Ritalin is a stimulant. Perhaps Tom is reaching for another term and falling short; pychoactive.

Cruise, in his in-depth study of the history of psychiatry, also manages to miss a very important point about many of our currently popular psychiatric drugs. Many of them were originally created in attempts to find safer, more effective, less narcotic epilepsy medications. In studies many of these drugs fell short of expectations in controlling seizures, but had beneficial effects when treating other disorders.

I think I know what's happened here. Tom Cruise has gone through life without a brain. He's gone through his adult life as this handsome actor-robot-puppet put on this earth to pretend to be human. Somehow, something vaguely resembling grey matter has taken up residence in Cruise's cranium and how he's acting all herky-jerky weird cuz he's not yet accustomed to this thinking-walking-talking-all-at-the-same-time stuff that other people do.

Of course, there's something really obvious to me. He's manic and he's gone off his meds. I mean, ask any schizophrenic and they'll tell you that psychiatrists are evil and trying to control them with medications.

He got one thing right in his tirade. Psychoactive drugs are dangerous, and if you stop them suddenly you could end up making an ass of yourself on TV.

You don't know about asses, Tom. I do. I've studied them.

Fuggin' drama, man

2005-06-11T13:18:00.000-05:00

I've recently gone back to hang out in the virtual world of There, but since my return there's been some drama among other folks.

It's all quite complicated. I was really happy to be invited to go in on the purchase of a "fun zone" in this world along with my core group of friends. Unfortunately, almost as soon as we bought the place a couple of people involved in online relationships in There "broke up" and took up with other people in the group.

So rather than spending time all together as a group and developing the great potential of this cool fun zone, many people are either avoiding each other or spending time outside of the zone gossiping about the latest thing that was said to or about someone.

It makes me wonder if these folks behave this way in real life.

I had words with someone in There for no reason last night and it has me quite upset. Basically they were taking things out on me that have nothing to do with me. It's fucked up because I'm trying really hard to maintain a positive outlook in my life, and this stuff is really making me depressed.

Looks like I'm going to have to take a little breather for a day or two.

Wow. I mean, wow. Like, wow.

2005-06-10T08:29:00.000-05:00

I quite surprised myself on Wednesday.

Just about a week ago, I applied for a part-time job at the local paper, a clerk typist position involving typing classified ads. I had applied online and had doubts that they would call me because I only listed my last job while filling in the online form, but I did provide my resume. I was thinking that even the smallest mistake might move them to pass me over.

They didn't, and on Tuesday the paper called to arrange for me to take a typing test the next day. I've been typing my little ass off for years and the last typing test I ever took was in high school. Well, I was stunned to learn that I clocked 72 wpm in the typing test. Wheee!

So they're very interested in me, it seems, and they made some time to interview me and a few others right after the typing test.

I wasn't prepared for the interview at all. Usually, I spend an evening and a little time before hand practicing for an interview. I'll sit in the living room and pretend to answer questions or do it in front of a mirror. They'd made it clear that this wasn't an interview appointment from the outset, though, so I didn't prepare.

The interview was kinda funny. This is a big company, so they had very prepared interview questions that were probably designed with some kind of psychological bent in mind. So I'm sitting there, still in shock at the results of my typing test, and they asked me at one point why they should hire me. And I said "Um, because I'm fabulous? No, because I'm marvelous!" Eventually I settled on "because I'm good at what I do, I love doing it, and I want to work for a real newspaper again."

I wasn't planning on telling them about my disability but the fact that my last job was four years ago seemed to be on their minds. They also said that, based on my typing, I would fall in the $9.50 an hour range. I said "I know you're not allowed to ask me this, but I'm going to tell you anyway in order to explain something. I'm currently on disability and I'm allowed to make up to $830 a month without any impact on my benefits. So a high starting wage isn't a priority."

I called the next day to thank the lady for the interview and said that looking at some calculations, something along the lines of $8.00 an hour would work well for me if I was being considered. She suggested that they have some positions that run a 17 hour week rather than the 25 hours that this position entails.

So it's looking pretty good. The lady is on vacation for two weeks, so hopefully I'll know something soon.

Blame it on tomatoes

2005-06-01T03:11:00.000-05:00

I was pleased to realize when I moved here that I'm close to trains. I'm a train person. My late father was an engineer in the old steam engine days. My late mom and dad were both Depression Era babies, and both lived in coal mining and train areas of the country, areas alive with the rhythm and music of midnight coal trains.

No matter which grandma's house we visited, there was always a smell of coal and the music of trains. Western Pennsylvania and Southwestern Virginia, in many ways, were indistiguishable from each other.

But it's no secret that during WWII the railroads drove the war effort. Some have argued that American railroads won the war.

I'm aware of things, I believe, in ways that others may not, just from being the first gen offspring of Depression babies. I have a sense of time, a sense of history, and an awareness of just hearing my "natural" surroundings whether they be birds or trains.

I'm noticing a lot of railroad traffic here in Richmond and I wonder if this next gen war effort is stepping up a bit.

Trains are running faster, louder, more frequently, more urgently, of late.

"War effort?" Change of retail season? Change of season with perishable fruits and foods?

Odd music from the trains, and off of their usual timetables.

Maybe it's just me. It's been awhile since I've been around trains on a day to day basis. Maybe I don't yet know their seaonal ups and downs.

Then again, maybe it's this "war effort that's not really a war effort." Could "they" possibly be stepping up the production and distribution of more body armor for the boys over there? Are factories actually making more useful weaponry to be distributed among diminishing numbers of recruits?

Nah. It's probably just tomatoes. Assloads of tomatoes flying through the night.

Walmart bound.

Waiting for fireflies

2005-06-01T01:31:00.000-05:00

My life, as it stands now, is unusual compared to the lives of most of my readers and those of my neighbors.

I may meet someone in a store or in the bar, and when asked what I do, I'll eventually get around to explaining why and how it is that I'm not currently working. I used to tell the entire story from start to finish as if I were on a witness stand, but these days I've found that "I had a nervous breakdown after 9/11" works just as well and takes much less time.

As my life is now, it's free of many of the stresses I've been through in the recent past, in terms of being professionally broke and perpetually fucked up and totally ill. My life is also free of the stress I felt of being the self-promoting singer/songwriter always pursing the next gig, i.e. the "folkie prostitute." ("Hey, baby, can I play in your festival/fundraiser? I give good sarcasm. I gotta CD. You got a deck to play it in? Pop it in, honey. You know you want it.")

Living on disability without a visible disability is hard to explain to the kind of folks who willingly torment themselves in cubicle jobs day in and day out in, and harder still to explain to others who are hellishly devoted to working toward the highest possible rung of their chosen career ladder at any cost to their psyche or their health.

Okay, lemme stand back from that last statement for a second as I realize how it describes my flash in the pan music career. -deep breath- Alrighty then. (Did I tell you I have a CD if you want to buy one?) Dammit! Habit. Sorry.

I've told you about how much I love my house and this odd little corner of the world that I've found. I've told you about finding a little bit of peace that I've never experienced before. I've taken you from the depths of feeling broken to describing, as best I can, how I feel that I'm coming alive again.

I recall an evening around about June of 1990 when I lived with my parents in Alexandria, VA in an old suburban neighborhood full of tall trees, my childhood home. I left the house one evening to catch a bus to downtown D.C. so as to perform in a bar. I've always been a naturist sort, always noticing birds and trees and flowers and such, but on this particular evening, around about 7:30, I saw the most amazing thing.

On this marvelous street of post-war Cape Cods guarded by huge oaks and maples, as the sun had just made its exit, fireflies, seemingly numbering in the thousands, rose as if on cue like a sparkling drape drawn up from the ground.

It was the most astonishing thing I'd ever seen. They were everywhere! It was Peter Pan magic right before my eyes. I thought, "How is it that there are people in their houses just steps away and they can't see this happening from their windows? Is it just me seeing this?"

A car was just coming down the street and it slowed to a crawl. It wasn't just me. I had a witness, dammit. I walked slowly down the street, guitar in hand, as the car drew along side me as if to stop and I said to the driver, "Isn't this the most amazing thing you've ever seen?"

He agreed, and his wife said "I told him to slow down because I didn't want us to hurt them."

He was guiding a Buick very slowly through a veritable sea of fireflies so as not to smoosh them.

Everything in my life right now is about attention to moments like that, and to the intention to be there for moments like that. The intention not to be angry, the intention not to be vindictive. The intention to be open to friendliness. The bizarre idea that if you trust people and treat them well, you may very well receive the same in return.

I'm driving a Buick slowly so as not to smoosh the fireflies.

So far, it's working.

2005-05-29T15:47:00.000-05:00

This is one of my thrift store finds and I've hung it on a wall. It's about the size of a saucer and I like it cuz it's kind of Willow Ware-ish. And it's been broken. I have a thing for not quite perfect finds. The illustration is a cottage by a country path and the poem reads:

"As I was wandering o'er the green
Not knowing where I went
By chance I saw a pleasant scene,
The cottage of content"

It struck a chord with me. I really like this little decorative plate.

2005-05-26T19:07:00.000-05:00

I'm struck by the number of murals around Richmond, and I think I said before that this is probably due to the fact that there are a number of art students in the city. I found this little piece of graffiti so stunning and unusual I had to stop and get a picture of it. Bright sunny day, stop sign, Frankenstein. It all makes sense. I think.

2005-05-26T19:03:00.000-05:00

I visited my favorite trift store, Diversity Thrift, today. Diversity Thrift raises funds to be distributed among gay and lesbian charities and causes. Here we have a very cool looking vintage toy box ... with a twist.

2005-05-26T19:01:00.000-05:00

It turns out that this particular item is very appropos.

Wow. Actually did what I said I'd do

2005-05-25T06:27:00.000-05:00

I located my resume without having to resuscitate the old computer. I remembered that I'd uploaded it on a web site somewhere and retrieved it. Woot!

I learned that I can get a replacement Ticket to Work from Social Security. Yay!

Despite having located my resume, I kick started the old computer. It had/has horrific registry problems, but the system restore disks did the trick without wiping out the proggies and data I had on there. Starting an old computer is sorta like opening a shoebox full of pictures. It's a snapshot of my life at a particular time. I suddenly feel that I'm aging (or maturing?) at an accelerated rate.

The trick now is to set up a network. The physical layout here is not conducive to having a hardwired network unless I spend a day removing most of the junk from my office, bringing a different table in, and starting all over again. Right now, the wireless router is in the guest room because the room I've chosen as my office has no telephone jack. I should probably rearrange the office now so that it'll be easier to have a roommate in the future.

The laptop is currently my primary machine and the other one is the HP box. I'm not quite sure how to set up a network using the wireless DSL router or if that can be done. It's odd how a few months ago I could have figured it out but now I feel completely stupid because I haven't set up a network in awhile. Simple things like this are complicated by idiotic problems. I can't just run the network wizard on the HP and store the network settings on a floppy because the laptop doesn't have a floppy drive. And I can't burn them on a CD because the CD drive on the HP has gone tits up for some reason. So that's my task for the day, backwards engineering a network.

When my folks both passed away, there were some bits of unfinished business floating around out there. I did some paperwork this week that will allow me to claim these things for me and my sibs. It required obtaining my folk's death certificates, but that chore was blissfully easy now that I live in the state capital. Just had to drive down the road to get them.

Let's see, most of the nagging discomfort from my dental procedure has subsided but I have a follow up tomorrow. Here's a piece of advice you'll probably ignore but I'll throw it out there anyway: don't neglect your teeth for 10 to 20 years, even if you think you can't afford it. When you finally get to the point that you can't eat a ham sandwich without breaking a molar and you realize that offensive gases are issuing forth from your mouth you'll discover, as I did, that it will cost $7,000 to repair the damage.

The "game plan" devised with my dentist has been altered to eliminate some of the more costly dreams I had for my pie hole, but still I think the new plan will run about three grand. Oy. As it stands now I've had the periodontal scaling and I've been fitted for a mouthpiece to wear at night so that I don't break any more teeth before we finish fixing the ones that are falling apart.

Next Thursday, I will finally meet with a new talky therapist and get started on some major stuff. More on that next Thursday.

One thing that's been on my mind is guilt. I'm really happy here, but feel terribly guilty about being happy and relatively stable. You see, several friends have traded places with me. It's some sort of odd, karmic thing. One friend has cancer, another was busted, and still another lost a limb to diabetes.

If y'all are reading, I'm always thinking about you. And readers, keep those folks in your prayers.

Now go floss and brush.

Taking a little break from my real assignment

2005-05-23T17:50:00.000-05:00

What I really need to be doing, of course, is something towards getting back to work. That requires getting ahold of my resume, no simple task.

I've still not unpacked much of anything. The only things that have been "unpacked" are things that have been yanked out of boxes as the need has arisen. I don't recommend this method of unpacking.

I've just spent about two hours trying to locate a keyboard, a mouse and various cables needed to hook up my old computer.

I pray that my "Ticket to Work" from the Social Security Administration is where I think it is. I dare not look yet.

I've given myself and assignment

2005-05-22T11:47:00.000-05:00

Feeling a little bit better today, although still eyeing my guitar suspiciously.

I've given myself a blog assignment. To read George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four," read and watch national news, and compare the two.

Sounds like shit, take 2

2005-05-21T10:26:00.000-05:00

Doesn't quite sound like horrific shit on a second try. Just utter shit. My voice has changed registers yet again, my hands are weak, but I was able to stand to play and sing two songs. This is, by the way, progress.

When I stand to play and sing, a little community of small, angry, very hot rocks congregates in the small of my back to object to my audacity in attempting this exercise. Elsewhere, the bones, joints, muscles and cartilage in my neck all conspire to decide that now is a good time to do an imitation of an unmoving iron rod. I try to relax my gut and sing from there while at the same time attempting to move my massive ass in some sort of rhythmic fashion. The congregation of "you must be uncomfortable" then steps up its bothersome pain to remind me that my back is in charge, not me.

I stand in the living room, howling a "song." I am not feeling particularly artful.

2005-05-21T07:08:00.000-05:00

This is Mike, quite a cool fella, just moved to Richmond from Charlotte. Had a real nice time talkin' to him tonight about race, class, and other light topics.

I'll take "Sounds like shit" for 500, Alex

2005-05-21T06:50:00.000-05:00

Everyone I know can't wait for me to play and sing again, and I'm quite flattered, but every time I try it really does sound like shit. Really. It sucks. I'm a big old tired fat woman who can't play for shit anymore. Got it? Sometimes I write better with no music whatsoever. 'kay?

2005-05-21T05:46:00.000-05:00

Very blurry pic of a very cool young gal. This is Audrey from Babe's, an energetic, intelligent and dilligent worker bee/hipster. Wish I coulda been like her when I was her age. Yepper.

Am I writing in a vacuum?

2005-05-21T05:32:00.000-05:00

I'm noticing a lack of comment to most of my posts. Either y'all agree with everything I write, you're not reading. or you're afraid to comment. What's up with that?

Nothing wrong with a bit of tit for tat.

Most of the commentary early on in this blog was due to some fraternal feelings amongst a few bloggers who apparently have taken a bit of a respite from the info superhighway.

Any thoughts, gentle reader?

Marvelous little Mother's Day post

2005-05-20T19:49:00.000-05:00

Here's a funny post I found on another blogger's site. This is Addie and her blog is alreadytoofar, "frenzied ramblings of a stagnant epileptic." I about lost it when I read the Mother's Day post.

New look

2005-05-20T05:49:00.000-05:00

I was bored with the old blog template. The links are gone but I'll be putting them back when I feel like fussing with the html.

2005-05-20T05:48:00.000-05:00

The first pic I took with the camera phone was, of course, of one of my cats. This is Dax on the couch.

Random Richmond

2005-05-20T05:12:00.000-05:00

Below are some pics I snapped while driving around Richmond yesterday as I went about some business. These were taken with a picture phone I just bought, so pardon the quality. I sorta like the roughness about these pics. I'm going to be making the rounds with my real camera real soon.

2005-05-20T05:11:00.000-05:00

Very cool mural.

2005-05-20T05:09:00.000-05:00

Ug buys ugly houses. Yep. That's what it says. This billboard is all over Richmond.

2005-05-20T04:58:00.000-05:00

Here's a place I have to check out, the Jerk Pit. Wouldn't it be great if every jerk I'd ever met was there and I could finally say all the snappy comebacks I didn't think of until later?

2005-05-20T04:53:00.000-05:00

The homeless guys at the CVS. The guy on the left is in a wheelchair, but the guy on the right? What, did he bring his own chair?

2005-05-20T04:52:00.000-05:00

A drive-by shooting of Tropical Soul, a restaurant of some sort. Tropical soul foood, perhaps?

2005-05-20T04:50:00.000-05:00

A random empty lot in Richmond.

2005-05-20T04:49:00.000-05:00

The Richmond Bookshop. I stopped by but they were closed.

Speaking of squirrels

2005-05-20T03:45:00.000-05:00

I tripped over this story about black squirrels on MSNBC.com. It speaks of the black squirrel population around Washington, D.C.

Do you see what I see?

2005-05-20T03:12:00.000-05:00

I cruise MSNBC.com news and go to the Michael Jackson Trial section of the site. There's a picture of Larry King and it says he's not going to testify.

Am I the only one who notices something amiss with his hand?

I wonder how long that pic will stay up today.

I'm not digging squirrels now

2005-05-17T14:10:00.000-05:00

You know, I've always been fond of squirrels, but now that I'm trying to feed birds they're starting to piss me off.

I have my feeders on a double a shepherd's hook and had them placed under the crab apple tree. That was too easy for the squirrels to get to, so I moved it into the middle of the back yard. To no avail, of course, cuz the little fuckers just jump off of the roof to get to the feeders.

The chain on the little wooden feeder broke from the weight of the squirrel. I repaired it by screwing two hooks on either side of the roof of the feeder and running a wire across. I imagine that they were filled with joy when they discovered they could simply land on the feeder, making it slide sideways, and dump the contents on the ground.

Further pissing me off is the fact that the squirrels gnawed the little plastic perch on the goldfinch feeder completely, rendering it useless to the birds. I only realized this when I saw two of the little red birds frantically fluttering around the goldfinch feeder with no place to land.

Grackles are a problem, too. They've become the back yard bullies and I chase them away when I can.

Gonna hafta rethink my bird feeding strategy.

2005-05-14T18:07:00.001-05:00

Mr. Cardinal, again. Looking very dapper.

2005-05-14T18:07:00.000-05:00

Mr. Cardinal eyes the thistle seed, apparently hoping little apple slices will appear as they usually do this time of day.

2005-05-14T18:06:00.000-05:00

Buttercups and dandelions I have in abundance.

2005-05-14T18:05:00.000-05:00

Sparrow? Chickadee? My bird identification skills suck. Yes, I'm a bird enthusiast.

2005-05-14T18:04:00.001-05:00

My crab apple tree in bloom a few weeks ago. Pretty, ain't it?

2005-05-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

Dave was really happy to see Dax and couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He misses her and it's sad that she growls at him now. Such a little queen. Dax, that is. lol.

2005-05-14T18:02:00.000-05:00

I'd really like to identify this little red bird

It's Saturday, so let's talk about sex

2005-05-14T13:04:00.000-05:00

Not much happening. The dental thing went just fine. Had a real nice time hanging out with Dave, watching Star Trek just like old times.

I have a couple of personal ads floating around out there and one of them garnered a response. Two emails from her, and I responded both times. Here it is Saturday afternoon and I have yet to hear from her, even though she seemed impatient to meet up. All I know about her from her profile is that she's white, brown haired, and six foot six. I suspect she's a man.

Sometimes I think people do online dating as if it's an online game, and the object of the game is to solicit a response. Once that happens they're no longer interested.

I always attract the ones who have no picture, and I find this disturbing. Since I've never met many of the folks with whom I've played online dating tag, it's hard to tell if they're fugly or just shy.

I put up a couple of ads for a roommate on a couple of roommate services, but I'm not sure if I want to have anyone living with me yet. You see, money is on my mind, as the huge nest egg I had has dwindled to nearly nothing. It's either a roommate or a job. I have my eye on a typing job at a local newspaper, a part time gig.

Sexuality is also on my mind, having come out and decided to identify as a dyke and all. It's a complex thing, sexuality, having freed myself up to possibilities.

Some folks are steadfastly straight and cannot imagine gay sex. I don't understand this. They're either lying or they have incredibly vanilla fantasies. (That reminds me, there's ice cream in the fridge. Mmmm)

I've found that it's not a good idea to tell some lesbians that I like butch gals. They're so entrenched in the butch/femme dynamic that a butch gal with a butch gal seems outright obscene to them. This seems tremedously ironic to me, since homosexual sex is viewed by most of the western world as obscene in and of itself.

As a matter of fact, I was rendered speechless by one lesbian who spoke of an ex-lover as being immoral because she had cheated in the relationship. This chick was all about morality. I was terribly confused and had to stifle laughter. To me, to be gay is to reject a great deal of conventional morality. To be gay and play the morality card doesn't make a lot of sense.

I equate morality with Christianity, and to take it a bit further, gay Christians make no sense to me at all. But that's just me.

I'm sure I've just offended a lot of people, but that's okay because I'm not paid to breathe. You don't like it, I'm sure you'll get over it eventually.

It's definitely not a good idea to tell many gay people that I consider myself bi, also. Bi folks are viewed as being indecisive or just flat out sex maniacs. There's a stereotype among both gay and straight folks that bi people are only looking for sex and prefer threesomes. Some folks think bisexual by definition means group sex. That's just not true.

Other gay folks think bi folks are just going through a phase before coming out completely.

A lot of what I'm going through, I think, is gender identity. I Googled gender identity and came up with a bunch of links for "gender dysphoria" and "gender identity disorder." I do not, however, need or want another damn diagnosis. I don't believe that gender identity outside the binary continuum is a disorder, either.

I don't want to be a man, but I can honestly say that as I child I desperately wanted to be a boy. I hated the idea of being a girl.

As a kid, I had crushes on both boys and girls, but my mother was terribly alarmed if I got too close to girls. I think she knew she had a little dyke on her hands, and she would come up with reasons to end my various schoolgirl relationships.

Mom tried to prevent me from dressing like a boy but she could only go so far. I was nagged, cajoled and bribed into dresses but managed to don pants anyway. I was told over and over that I had beautiful hair and if I prevailed in having it cut, mom acted as if I'd personally driven a knife through her heart and cut it just for spite.

Transgenderism is a complex issue. Transgender, as a word, is no longer synonymous with transsexual. One can maintain ones birth gender and still consider themselves to be transgender. They may practice crossdressing (transvestitism), but it's not a sexual practice inasmuch as many folks don't get their sexual ya ya's from crossdressing. They just feel more themselves dressing in a more masculine or feminine manner.

Over the years I've become used to it, this woman's body, and what I revel in these days is dressing as I please and not giving a flying fig about what anyone thinks about it.

As far as the sex aspect goes, I really don't feel like having sex with anyone. I'm mentally healthy enough at this point to realize I'm just not ready.

Please don't ask me how I can identify as a bisexual, butch, queer gendered gal having never had a girlfriend. It's just too complicated and I'm out of Advil.

Gimme Drugs

2005-05-12T05:48:00.000-05:00

It's about quarter til seven on a Thursday and I'm yawning. I'm surprised to be awake at all. Last night I took, on doctor's orders, a tab of the drug Halcion in preparation for the lovely dental scaling I'm to have later this morning.

I'll be taking two more Halcion about an hour before the procedure. I'm told that I will not remember the procedure at all. Yay! I'm also -required- to stop by Wendy's on the way home and get a Frosty shake. Yay!

Husbandman Dave is in town to help drive me to and from my big adventure at the dentist. He came down a day early so we could go out and play, since I was on orders not to eat or drink after midnight the night before this procedure.

We went to all my favorite places, all two of them. Babe's of course, and the new gay bar in town, Club Z2.

We ran into my friend Dan at Z2 toward the end of happy hour on Tuesday and he introduced us to a gal friend of his. Dave was having a great time with this woman who also has a background in restaurants.

Well there they were, chatting away, and I said yeah, Dave's my ex-husband. She shared her experience of being married before and told us about her hilarious son. She's an out lesbian, knew she was a lesbian years ago, but somewhere in there she married and eventually her husband came out as a gay man.

So she turns to Dave and says "So Dave, when did you come out?" Dan and I burst into laughter and Dave handled it very well, telling our new friend that he's straight. She spent a good 15 minutes apologizing.

Yesterday we went for a drive so I could show Dave the way to the dentist, and we took our time coming back into town. We were looking for a place to eat and found nothing along the way but fast food, so I suggested we try a place I'd seen advertised, Penny Lane Pub, an English pub here in Richmond. Great steak there. Yepper.

After our very late lunch we returned to Z2 on the way home to see some more folks I know and to meet some new friends. Dave's a big hit here, and he's becoming used to being hit on by the guys. My new friend Davie was a bit disappointed to learn that Dave's straight.

Dave's still slumbering in the guest room, but I'll be taking those other two Halcion in a couple of hours before we tool on out to the dentist. Aside from having my gums scraped, thanks to the drugs it should be a rather pleasant day. Too bad I shan't remember it.

Okay, that's REALLY weird

2005-05-04T13:41:00.000-05:00

I'm enrolled in the Google AdSense program here on my blog, something that has grossed me about a dime so far.

More than gross, though, is the way the thing works. If I write about a certain subject it'll grab that key word and show you ads relating to that subject or object.

I was surprised to see the ads that were generated by my previous post about the runaway bride.

Apparently the phrase "abducted by black men" caused the ad program to display advertising links on the subject of sex offenders.

That's fucked up, lemme tellya.

I so totally rock

2005-05-04T12:42:00.000-05:00

It's a rainy day and I'm not at all bothered. I'd gone to Diversity Thrift the other day and picked up some sundry crap that caught my eye, including something like 10 cassettes. I was pleased to have found some old Alix Dobkin, Cris Williamson, Holly Near and Ronnie Gilbert. To some degree they're obscure artists in the big scheme of things but they were big names in Wimmen's Music back in the 70s and 80s when there was such a thing. I also picked up some The The, Midnight Oil, and Dream Academy. I got the Dream Academy because their song, "Life in a Northern Town," is supposed to be about my man Nick Drake.

So I was alternately sitting and laying on the living room floor listening to these warbley old cassettes, intent on my little project of replacing a telephone jack. It was one of many wonderful private moments I've been in the habit enjoying of late.

I've never replaced a telephone jack before, and over the years I've been discouraged from taking such things on by, oh hell, I dunno, someone somewhere. It looked like an easy enough project but I knew if I fucked up I'd be without land line and (gasp!) internet access.

I got the old jack off of the wall with no problems and followed the diagram on the box to match up the wires on the replacement jack. I didn't put the cover on right away but fetched a DSL filter, a telephone cable and the phone from the office.

Then, the moment of truth; I picked up the phone and there was a dial tone. Yes!

I so totally rock.

White people do the darndest things

2005-05-03T10:37:00.000-05:00

I was blissfully unaware of the Runaway Bride story on the news as I sat at Babe's having a burger one afternoon. I really could have done without the knowledge. That's 10 minutes of my life that I'll never get back.

The focus of the story is a 32-year-old white woman who just can't face the prospect of being queen for a day in a lavish wedding and receiving piles of gifts from hundreds of well wishers.

Oh, to have such problems. But it gets better. She thinks a good way to duck the proceedings is to tell law enforcement officials that she was kidnapped by Hispanics.

It's estimated that 40 to 60 thousand dollars was spent trying to find her. Okay, lemme spell this out for ya. Is a woman this stupid even worth 40 to 60 thousand dollars?

Stupid women really burn my ass, especially stupid white women. They give the rest of us a bad name. And that face. Ugh! It screams "clueless."

So I'm reading a Google News search for "runaway bride" and I see these entries: "Runaway Bride in Strife," "A Bit of Sympathy for Runaway Bride," and "Runaway Bride Needs Compassion."

She's in strife? Fleeing the horror of a large party? I think not. Sympathy and compassion? No, not here, not today.

I feel sorry for the poor schmoe who has today come out to say that he still wants to marry her. Oh, the hapless groom. What a mug on that one, too. Yo! Gomer! "We all make mistakes," he says. Yes, dear, and your first one was to ask Maniac Barbie to marry you.

Any time television news gets hysterical about a missing woman, chances are it's a white woman. It's really quite sad and in my mind more than a bit racist, an insidious last vestige of the early part of the previous century, wherein white women were thought to be priceless china dolls who were always in danger of being abducted by black men.

The real story is just that; why is it that television news doesn't get hysterical about thousands of other missing people?

Food fer thought, eh?

Birth of a non-profit

2005-04-08T16:29:00.000-05:00

I'm pleased as punch to announce that I have finally created a non-profit. It only took an hour or so and some money.

In the next few days, www.rainbowtree.org should be online and will be the home of Rainbow Tree, Inc. a Richmond-based non-profit dedicated to presenting an annual gay and lesbian music festival and to providing professional and personal networking opportunities for GLBT residents involved in the arts.

In only a month and a half here in Richmond, I've made about six or seven friends. I'm learning more about the gay community here and have been casting about for some kind of central event. As is often the case, since I didn't find what I was looking for, I've decided to create it.

I found a terrific web site called Legal Zoom and was able to easily answer the questions required for Legal Zoom to prepare and file the incorporation documents.

With that done, all I have to do is find people and money. The people part should be pretty easy, and the money part may not be that difficult since I've located a wonderful web site that allows me to search for GLBT grant money.

What I've accomplished so far is pretty good and certainly not what I expected to do today.

Just goes to show you that I'll go to great lengths to avoid the dishes.

Emerging

2005-04-06T09:30:00.000-05:00

Spring is finally here and I'm ecstatic. I was pleased about the owl, obviously, but I also count among my new feathered friends a red-headed woodpecker, some blue jays, cardinals, and mockingbirds.

A friend of mine turned me onto a program maintained by the National Wildlife Federation wherein an ordinary urban schmoe like me can have the backyard designated as a backyard wildlife habitat. I've applied for certification and will receive a handsome certificate along with a sign for my back yard. Sweet!

My back yard habitat is lacking only water and I'll be creating some kind of bird bath soon. I was going to buy one, but I figured it'd be more fun to make one.

I'm emerging, myself, in this spring of my discontent. I've been taking the drug Paxil for a number of years and for the last two years I've taken the controlled release formula, Paxil CR. The feds recently forced Glaxo, the makers of Paxil, to stop making CR because of irregularities in dosage due to shoddy manufacturing.

As a result, Paxil CR was in short supply and I had to quickly change medications. I'm now taking Lexapro and I have to say the transition was painless. I was frankly scared out of my wits of Paxil, having had a really bad experience of going off of it once. Never thought I'd ever see the inside of a psychiatric ward, even as an outpatient.

I complained recently to my new drug doc down here that while I'm not depressed, I don't feel any joy. This is changing. Small breezes of joy are kicking up the dust that has gathered in the corners of my heart.

At this point, though, I weigh in at about 230 pounds, so I'm not exactly leaping ecstaticly yet. I'm off to an orientation appointment at a gym in just a few minutes and hope to work successfully toward shedding some poundage.

Something that may come as a shock to some readers is the fact that I'm feeling freer to dress in a more masculine manner. I've been letting my inner dyke come out more lately, have learned to tie a tie, and continue to wear men's cologne. I'm spending most of my social time at the local gay bar and I'm making friends there.

I'm happy. I've been waiting all my life to be myself.

More reasons to love Richmond

2005-03-25T07:39:00.000-05:00

I dig this place, I really do. I had such a surprise yesterday when I went to do some car-related things.

I'd received a notice in the mail that my license plates required renewal. This might seem a small chore to some, but for me and my used cars, it usually means a big hassle.

The notice said that I was required to get an emissions inspection, something that comes around every two years. Coincidentally, it has also meant that I replace the tailpipe every two years. It has something to do with not driving often and condensation rusting out the tailpipe.

For many years, actually all the time I lived in Northern Virginia, I could not simply pay the $30 renewal fee and get new stickers for my license plate. No. Even when I drove brand new cars, the nightmare would begin two years into owning the thing.

It always went the same way. Pull into a service station and ask for a Virginia Emissions Inspection and a state safety inspection. Inevitably, my car would fail the test because the tailpipe, or the muffler itself, was rusted in some way. I would often go months without keeping my plates current because it always cost 300 dollars or more every two years to fix the exhaust.

Expecting this kind of problem, but knowing that at least this time I had the money to deal with it, I pulled into a service station yesterday and announced that I needed an emissions inspection. The gal behind the counter stared blankly at me.

"You mean the safety inspection, right? We don't do emissions here." I groaned. "Oh man, I went out of my way to find your shop after I saw you listed on the AAA website," I said. "Is there someone nearby who can do it?"

She stared again. "What do you mean, emissions? You mean when they put the wand up the tailpipe? You don't need that." I thought she was dim. "It's on my renewal notice."

"No, hon, you don't have to do that here. Richmond doesn't require it." Now I was the dim one. "Ooooh, it's because I moved from Northern Virginia and they still have my old address," I said. I explained that in the past I had to shit little green Indians every time I got my renewal notice in the mail. She was terribly amused.

I was off on my merry way, then, to the Division of Motor Vehicles to register the car in Richmond, and while I was at it, to get a new license showing my new address. Again, I was surprised at my experience.

The DMV building is huge. It's the main headquarters for the state. It's on DMV Drive. I was awed at the thought of going in there, imagining lines the likes of which I'd never seen. The thought of such a crush of humanity made me flush with anxiety.

I walked in the place and it was practically placid. It took all of about 25 minutes to get my registration and my new license. I think that in 30 odd years of driving, I've never had such a brief encounter with the driving bureaucracy.

I'm amazed, man. I love this place.

Radio Dweeb

2005-03-05T08:50:00.000-05:00

I'm back to my usual monkeying around in the virtual world of There.com. While hanging out in There does nothing to help me conquer my agoraphobia, it has helped in myriad ways.

A lot of folks who don't spend much time online assume that live, online interactions are nearly always sexual in nature. I can assure you that this is not true. In fact, they're quite mundane, really, and essentially amount to sitting around over coffee at a diner talking about bills, kids, plans and dreams.

Many of the folks I meet online are disabled and homebound as well, and we have enriched each other's lives by sharing stories and offering encouragement.

I'm slowly restoring my former confidence and bravado through activities available in There. It's possible to organize events in There, and I didn't waste any time getting into that. One of my current projects is organizing a coffeehouse and presenting poetry readings and whatever else we can manage to pull off.

We're able to use voice in this virtual world using headsets or those funky little stick mikes that come with most computers. The trick to presenting performance in There, then, is making sure that everyone's microphone levels are set properly prior to a performance, something most folks seem to overlook. Not me. I wanna do it right.

It's also possible to record video in this virtual world and I hope to hook up with some of the better video recordists in There to record these readings once they get off the ground.

The thing I'm most excited about, however, is becoming a dj on an internet radio station. Users in There are able to listen to streaming audio through Shoutcast, and some have their own stations. I've hooked up with some folks who do just that and expect to have a radio show on After Dark Radio this weekend.

You don't have to be in There to listen in on the show, either. Just go to Shoutcast.com and do a search for After Dark to find the station. The streaming audio will play automatically in your Windows Media Player or whatever you have on your machine.

If you'd like to know when I'll be on the air, you can add the user dweebontheair@yahoo.com to your yahoo messenger and you'll see when I'm online.

I'm psyched, yes indeedy bubbah.

Obviously I got the DSL

2005-02-21T07:17:00.000-05:00

I get DSL and what do I do? Stop posting to my blog.

As soon as the high speed internet was installed, I went back to my happy-ish existence in the virtual world of There.com. I was missed, and it was nice to know. Of course, I have one gentle blog reader who likes to call me on the phone at home to let me know that I should post, so I'm missed here too.

I may crumble from the sense of responsibility.

Things are going along nicely in my new digs. A friend of mine came for the weekend with his new girlfriend and we had a real nice time. Went out for dinner at my favorite place for steak, Lone Star, and with the leftovers we had a memorable steak and egg breakfast the next morning.

After dinner I took them to my local gay bar to see an acoustic group called The Orderlies, thinking that they were a group I knew back in D.C. I was a little disappointed that they weren't hometown pals, but that soon faded when they launched into their harmonies. Wow, what a group! I don't think I've ever seen a group absolutely nail "Suite Judy Blue Eyes" any time recently, and certainly not in a bar. Check out their web site. They do a good selection of covers (CSNY to Peter Gabrial) and have great original songs. They are quite multi-instrumental, as well. Amy Henderson plays guitar, bass, and harmonica, the bass player plays mandolin and Chapman Stick, and the lead guitarist swaps between acoustic and slide on a Fender resonator. (I'm sorry, I just can't call it a Dobro cuz it's a Fender, for God's sake)

I felt a little bad about my friend's visit, though, because I ordered an Aerobed for the guest room, and since there's no basement in this house and hence no heat underneath, the bed was really really cold.

Still don't have my furniture yet. I'm realizing that I've spent a lot of money to store a load of crap. Some things in storage I miss, like another computer that needs fixing, a coffee table, pots and pans, and a couple of instruments, but other than that it just amounts to boxes of crap. Oy.

My washer/dryer was finally hooked up the other day, and I never thought I'd be so overjoyed to be doing laundry. The stove was hooked up at the same time, so I'm able to cook foods rather than burn them into submission as I had been doing with a cheap toaster oven.

My mission today is to apply for the permit that will allow me to have the portable storage unit placed on the street in front of my house. I should be completely moved in and furnished in about two weeks, then.

I've started to make some friends in passing down at the gay bar, nice guys and gals all. The place is more like a neighborhood bar than a stereotypical gay disco and meat market. Some of the older gals have a potluck group that I want to join, and there's music down there for me to get involved with.

I chatted with one young gal who does landscaping and she wants to show me how to take care of the azalea's here in exchange for graphics for her new business. She made a point of giving me her number, (grin), and I have called her, (grin), and she was quite pleased to hear from me, (huge grin).

But, oh, the pitfalls of being bi. The very cute plumber dude who hooked up my washer and stove told me I should call him should I need anything. Really, anything. I'll see if I have a chiffarobe handy for him to bust up or some such thing. Actually, I need a blanket put on the water heater, and insulation put around the doors. And I'm sure there's something else. Oh yeah, a bunch of carpeting needs to be taken out to the garage. Yeah, that's it.

Pardon me while I give myself whiplash.

I was very stressed before, but the very long list of things to be done is becoming shorter and I'm really looking forward to having landscaping gal over for dinner at some point.

I apologize for not having deeper thoughts at the moment, but right now I'm deeply rooted in reality.

Bargh!

2005-02-07T10:42:00.000-05:00

I've encountered my first real frustration here, but it's not a critical thing. My DSL won't be on until February 14, Valentines Day. I'm gonna be loving my connection by that point.

I must say that I was completely wrong about the phone problem. The problem was very mundane. I rose at 8 a.m. today and by 8:30 there was a cherry picker in the alley. The phone guy said the line to the pole had a bad connection. Inside, I found a dial tone. Yay!

He double checked the DSL signal in the house and pronounced it excellent. I went straight for the laptop, grabbed my Verizon DSL disc, and started the setup program.

I kept getting a login error at the end of the setup procedure so I called Verizon and discovered that even though there's a DSL signal on the line, the data stream has not started and will not start until they complete the connections on their end.

So here I am back on AOHell dialup again. My appliances should be arriving soon, but in the meantime I have to find out how to put the electric in my name, order my trash cans and start my water account, deal with the POD problem, and get info on registering my car.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'll have more to report tomorrow.

Money changes everything, Part II

2005-02-07T10:26:00.000-05:00

My first morning in my new house found me sitting and plotting my next move with the help of Local Bro and Ex Man.

The only furniture I have in here at this point are some chairs, a TV tray, and of course, the bed. Any of the sitting and chatting has been done in the as yet unfurnished dining room around the TV tray.

Once everyone had coffee in hand and a cigarette going, we discussed all the various little and not-so-little things that needed to be done to the house.

Priorities were to get a fridge and cover the windows. Bro had started measuring the ten windows the day before, so he got back to finishing up on that, and then we debated other issues.

Bro has very good taste and a discerning eye for detail, and he's a stickler for craftsmanship. When I look around, I see a nicely refurbished house with new doorknobs and a decent paint job. Bro sees nothing but fuck ups everywhere. Were it his house, he'd be seeking out an eliminating every single bit of dropped paint and would also remove all the doorknobs to get all the stray paint off. He's also extremely displeased that the replacement doorknob plates have not been properly installed. He's right, but I'm really not concerned that the plates are not precisely surrounded by fill.

After listening to him list all the things I didn't care about, we finally got back to the things at hand. The water supply for the washer is several feet away from the dryer hookup, which means that a plumber is going to have to come in and move them so that the stacked laundry unit can go in one corner.

This is a funky house, inasmuch as it was built in 1951, a time when people had a washer and a fridge in the kitchen and dried their clothes on the line outside.

The previous occupants obviously had a side by side washer and dryer and the refrigerator was in the dining room. I've seen this arrangement in most of the houses I looked at here. In order to have the fridge in the kitchen, then, I have to move those water lines so I can have the stacked laundry center in the corner.

Another plumbing conundrum is that there are two outside water spigots and they both have shut off valves so they won't freeze in winter. Both shut offs are located underneath the house, and I sure as shit ain't going under there. So those two shut offs need to be run under the house to come up in the nearest closet so they can be shut off from indoors.

We haven't located the main water shut off, either, and that will have to be found and relocated to a more accessible location.

There are no appliances, so after Ex and Bro split today I went to Lowe's today to order them. About a month ago I checked Lowe's appliance prices online, but then called the store here to speak to the manager. I'm glad I did, because they had much cheaper Frigidaire appliances in the store that weren't listed online. Brian, the manager guy, saved me an assload of money. One thousand dollars, to be precise. I wrote down all the item numbers and had them with me when I went into the store.

To rewind a little bit, I arrived at the store, put my ass in an electric cart and tooled over to the blinds department. A young man fetched someone to help me, and armed with my list of measurements, we picked out the various blinds. All the while, the guy's cell phone was ringing as he was taking calls from his floor people and speaking to customers calling with questions.

I then realized that I was speaking to Nice Brian the Store Manger in the flesh. I refreshed his memory and once we were finished with the blinds we went to see the appliances.

Now, at this point, Brian realizes that I'm the lady who called from D.C. about outfitting her new house and that I'm there to buy about $50 worth of blinds, $1,000 worth of appliances, about $300 worth of storm doors.

Ain't it funny that he got on his cell phone, quickly and quietly delegated the bullshit to his floor managers, and became my personal shopper for an hour and a half? I was one happy customer.

Money changes everything.

So the appliances will be delivered tomorrow and someone will be coming out to measure my doors. I'm also expecting a visit from the phone guy as well and if you're reading this, he's come and gone and it's all fixed.

I'm having the washer/dryer delivered tomorrow even though I can't hook it up yet. I figure it'd be good to have it here when the plumber arrives so that he can run the pipes accordingly.

I'm happy that I'm getting through all these chores as easily as I have, but I still don't feel quite at home yet without the rest of my furniture.

I haven't ordered delivery of the portable storage unit, the POD, that holds the rest of my shit because I was told by the POD people (my God that sounds strange), that Richmond does not allow street placement of POD units. There's no level driveway here, and while the yard is level, it's fenced in. Ordinarily, the fence could be freed from its posts and rolled out of the way and put back in place later, but the fence posts along the front yard are set in concrete and ripping them out and putting them back in would be a costly pain in the ass. The fence posts are too close together for the POD unit to fit so it's not even an option.

Calling the city to find out if I can get a Special Use Permit for street placement of the POD is a chore for Monday once the phone is in place.

It's been a long, long day

2005-02-07T10:23:00.000-05:00

Saturday was a long day for Ex Man, Local Bro and I.

After getting the news that I was closing on the house on Friday, I called the troops, (Ex Man, buddy Sanford, and Limoguy), to coordinate a plan of action. I had about a U-Haul trailer's worth of stuff in a storage space down the road from the hotel that needed to be loaded into a trailer and then into the house.

It turned out that buddy Sanford wasn't able to come down Friday from D.C., nor was Limoguy. That was a wrench in the works, with only Ex Man to come load and unload the stuff. Bro had said he wasn't going to be available because of work, but I gave him a call and he eagerly volunteered cuz he hadn't seen the house yet. Whew!

I think I pointed out before that Ex Man had used some of his proceeds from the sale of the house to buy a pickup truck with a tow package. He was happy to have an opportunity to use it so soon. (I think it's a guy thing, this need for a truck and desire to tow things.) He arrived Friday night and we treated ourselves to a nice steak dinner at Bennigan's.

Ex Man and I rose early in the hotel to get cracking. I had to pack up my crap strewn all over the room, herd the cats into their carriers, and scoot over to the house to get them settled before they keeled over from stress. While I was doing this, Ex Man had to get his penis, er, I mean his truck, over to the U-Haul to fit the towing accoutrement's.

The plan was for Bro to meet us at the hotel and follow Ex Man to the storage space, but he was late thanks to some local highway strangeness. It seems that Richmonders subconsciously want to prevent outsiders from dropping in unexpectedly, so what they've done is contrive a trick in the highway system; I-95 and I-64 merge into one highway at a certain point and then they quietly diverge, leaving the unsuspecting out-of-towner rolling onward on I-95 toward North Carolina.

Meanwhile, I was trying to herd cats into carriers. Neelix, the one who bites and fights, is young enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book: I tossed a treat into his carrier and he followed it. Dax, on the other hand, is an old pro. She patiently sat under one of the two hotel beds. Calling, begging, pleading, toys, and treats were not going to move her. She knew something was afoot and Neelix's pathetic cries from his box confirmed it.

Dax knows that mommy will eventually resort to the last, obvious drastic measure, and mommy did. In a feat that left me wasted for the rest of the day, I heaved one mattress and box spring off of the frame and against the wall to reveal Dax in the middle, crouched in her meatloaf pose.

In her younger days she would have been out of there and across the floor in no time, but she's a portly gal now. She trotted here and there around the room, under chairs, eluding me. She was elusive only because mommy is a portly gal, too.

I knew she was going to do it eventually and she did; she went for the other bed.

Okay, heave again. Up went the mattress and box spring off the frame, and she took off again. She was beginning to enjoy the game. I was not. She took refuge in the bathroom where I finally cornered her and scooped her up as she vociferously pointed out her various objections.

While Bro was busy being confused on the highway, Ex Man went ahead to U-Haul and promptly had problems acquiring the correct wiring for the trailer. He was directed to another location where he obtained all the right hookup thingies and the trailer. Bro finally arrived at the hotel to learn that the lady with the cats had checked out, but thanks to modern telephone technology he eventually met up with Ex Man.

After a bit of a noisy drive across town and getting the kitties shut into a small room to settle and decompress, I spent some quality time with my house while waiting a couple of hours for the guys. I sat on my front step having a smoke and waving at neighbors. (People wave here all the time whether they know you or not. I love it.) Then I spent some time on my back step having a smoke.

Cats mark their territory by rubbing their faces on the corners of doors and furniture, and male cats will spray and pee. I mark my territory by smoking in various locations, but visitors are pleased that I only pee in the bathroom.

On the way in I had picked up a cordless phone/answering machine at Walgreen's, plastic cups, cold sodas, snacks, etc. I set about hooking up the phone and discovered the line was dead. I called Verizon and they were closed but I used their after hours automated help system and did all the things it said to do, finally taking a telephone outside to the junction box to test it. No signal there, either.

I ordered service for Monday, and I'm absolutely certain the problem is the same as I had in the condo. They turned on the telephone and DSL but did not alter the pair settings in the box at the house. The junction box at the house is still set to receive a conventional analog signal, but the digital DSL signal is coming into a connection in the box that has not yet been made.

Eventually the guys arrived and unloaded the trailer in short order. It was obviously Miller Time. Without a phone book or online access, I called information on my cell but was unable to locate a Pizza Hut that delivered in my neighborhood. Ex Man decided to just go find one on his way back from returning the trailer. Once he returned, we destroyed two large pizzas in short order while quaffing beer and listening to tunes on the laptop, the only music device I have right now.

I only made it through a beer and a half by 9:30 when I finally excused myself and went to bed. Ex Man and Bro dutifully stuck it out until the last beer disappeared at 1:30 a.m.

Lots of things went wrong, but again, I did not go off my nut. I've adopted a more patient attitude and if things look like they're going wrong I just concentrate on what can be done instead of getting upset about what can't. I'm not sure how long this outlook will last, but I'll strive to keep it.

Whoo hoo!

2005-02-05T01:55:00.000-05:00

It's Friday, February 4, 2005, and I'm a homeowner.

The day started with my usual 9 a.m. phone calls to my real estate agent and the mortgage company to ask a simple question: When can I buy the house and move in? "Four o'clock today," was the answer.

First I had to go from the West End of Richmond to the Northside, essentially northeast of the hotel, to do a walkthrough. Why? I dunno. I'd already done the home inspection and was also present on a different occasion when the mortgage company's appraiser did his thing. Still, I showed up at 1:30 for the walkthrough to make sure the hot water and heat were on. I finally got a peek at the garage, too. It's spacious and there's electricity in it. That means that I can get a garage door opener, for one thing, and I'll be able to use my light table in there for drawing and designing, or maybe set up a dark room.

Then I drove all the way back to the hotel to pick up a message from the closing attorney's office telling me the exact amount of the calculated downpayment. I needed the magic number in order to get a cashier's check.

Soon after I was back on the road, traveling east and south this time, to get said check from a credit union service center. I got a little lost but didn't lose my cool. I had a map handy, figured it out, and called the settlement office to say I'd be late. "Let's make it 4:30," I said.

I arrived at the bank to find a huge line. I felt dull ache in the middle of my head when I realized THAT IT'S 3:30 P.M. ON FUCKING FRIDAY and that every public utility, school, and postal worker on the Southside had stopped by to cash their paycheck.

Fortunately for me, the folks at this bank were used to the influx and the line sped along until it was my turn. I stood before a teller and was told that she was not able to connect with my credit union. She tried, and tried again. I pointed out that I wasn't able to access my account via the internet earlier in the day so she was kind enough to call my bank. While she was on hold, I called the attorney's office again. They seemed suspicious that I was having trouble at the bank, but the problem was resolved while I was on the phone. "They got it! I'll be just a little longer," I said.

Once I had the cashier's check for the down payment, I got in the car and stared at it. I may never have this much money in my hands ever again and just wanted to admire it for a moment before handing it over.

Got lost again on the way to the lawyer's office, managed not to freak out, arrived at 5 p.m. and sat in a small room with a lawyer. "Sign here, initial here," was the litany. I'm guessing I put my John Hancock on about 30 documents. One basically stated that my name, indeed, is my name. Others were about the terms of the loan, still others were confirming that I had signed other documents about the terms of the loan. We got down to the last page of his pile of papers. "And sign here, and initial here."

"Oh, you'll want this," he said, and handed me a single, silvery key.

Approaching the finish line

2005-02-03T02:34:00.000-05:00

I arrived in Richmond on January 21st, and here it is February 3rd and I'm still in a hotel. Things should be turning around soon, as I should be closing on the house on Friday. I hope.

I'm posting so late at night cuz I went to sleep at about 7:30 tonight/last night. I was getting down to the last of my Paxil so I chose a neuropsychiatrist out of the yellow pages and had an appointment today. I got a Paxil prescription, which is a load off of my mind. That stuff is evil if you stop taking it suddenly. Psychosis is not fun.

It was a looong appointment. I had to recap four years of my epilepsy treatment, including a veritable laundry list of drugs prescribed over the years, as well as covering the highlights of my psychological profile.

I had hoped that this neuropsychiatrist would be a neurologist and psychiatrist who could not only treat the epilepsy but also deal with the emotional impact of epilepsy. Unfortunately this isn't the case but he can recommend a very good neuro with a strong background in treating epilepsy.

What I'll be getting from the neuropsychiatric practice is a therapist and a drug doc in one office, an improvement over the three doctors I saw who provided the same service back in D.C. The drug doc has a strong interest in neurology and an solid understanding of epilepsy.

After I get settled here in Richmond we're going to look into getting me off of the Paxil and possibly on Lexapro, an anti-depressant related to Paxil that may lift this emotional flatness and allow me a little more enjoyment.

I'm also interested in finding a different seizure medication other than Dilantin, but that may not be necessary if a different anti-depressant perks me up some.

The appointment lasted about an hour and a half, standard operating procedure for this office, so they can get all the pertinent details before coming up with a game plan. Based on the interview I came away with a lengthy diagnosis that I was already aware of: major depression, mild post-traumatic stress disorder, mild agoraphobia, and epilepsy. Whee!

I suppose it's nice to know that I'm only a mild basket case except for the epilepsy and depression.

A nurse practitioner in the office does the talk therapy, and I'll be making an appointment with her once I've moved into the house and get started on a routine. I'd been seeing my previous therapist twice a month and may stick to that schedule once I get started with this new one.

Otherwise, life here is dull so far because I'm in this hotel. I'm far from the neighorhood where I'll be living so any routine that I've settled into is temporary. I've had some appointments that have taken me all over Richmond and I'm beginning to understand the general lay of the land and the major roads.

Highlights of staying here so far have been discovering a cafeteria restaurant next to the hotel called the Piccadilly. It's fabulous! I can get a great homestyle meal for 10 bucks, and it's been a good way to people watch and get a barometer of local sensibilities.

I also went to a drag king show at a little gay bar in an area called Carytown and met a couple of gals there. I expect that I'll show up there once a month for the kings, and they're interested in hearing my CD if I want to pursue a gig there. Gigging is not on the agenda right now, but it's a possibility.

I'm digging the friendliness of folks here and the laid back feel. It dawned on me that what I'm experiencing is southern gentility, and I like it. There's an undercurrent of racism in some people here that's sad to see, but overall I'd say that there's less of a rift between blacks and whites here as there is in D.C.

There's a Bennigan's in the shopping center here as well, and I went there last night and enjoyed a long conversation with a local guy covering all sorts of things about Richmond, from it's racial problems to the best cab companies. I'm still looking forward to exploring the cultural offerings here and finding the good acoustic music places.

I'd say that I had a productive but tiring day. I had a great dinner, a good long nap, and now I'm going to cruise around the net a bit.

More later.

I hate life

2005-01-29T14:17:00.000-05:00

Okay I got a laptop, I've driven miles to a fucking Starbucks to get online, and I've just lost the pithy little post I just wrote because I just HAD to hit the spellcheck button and launch a new blank window.

I'm in Richmond living in a hotel and waiting for the heartless bastards who are selling me this house to let me move in, which they're not going to do until the moment after we sign the settlement papers.

I'm surrounded right now by Starbucks people. It's very noisy and I hate it.

Hugs to all.

Money changes everything

2005-01-21T02:20:00.000-05:00

Look! It's a house! A real house, soon to be my home.

The Cindy Lauper song "Money Changes Everything" has been running through my head of late.

The ex and I closed on the condo on Wednesday, netting a tidy sum of cash. I'm annoyed that Monkey Boy (a.k.a. George W. Bush) has managed to interfere with the dispersement of funds, thanks to the fact that his inaugural is a bank holiday here in the D.C. area.

I've been through quite a lot in the last few years and have had many friends and family help me along the way. We all went through it together, in a way. But with the sale of the condo I'm able to buy a house in a new city, and if it weren't for all the bullshit involved, I'd be ecstatic at this point.

It's 2 a.m. and I have risen from my bed to throw away the last of the crap in the apartment. The Ex and my friend Sanford will toss the last few boxes into the uhaul and we'll be off to the land of Richmond. Both the Davemeister and Sanford knew without asking that the computer would be the last thing in the truck.

I have this mental image of myself clutching the computer table crying "Noooooooo!!!!" I will be offline for a few days and I'm not at all happy about it.

Things are not quite set in Richmond, however. Thanks to the massive incompetence of one particular mortgage company, I didn't receive application papers for a loan and have started anew with a different company. They've been quite accomodating thus far and are trying to expedite the loan. I'm pre-approved ("yes, she's breathing"), and have faxed my income and utility statements to the company.

At issue also is the fact that the realty company that owns the house is unwilling to allow me to move in early prior to closing. My merry little band of three will be crashing at a hotel with cats in tow for at least a night.

After having gone through the selling process and now going through the painful procedure of buying, I think I can safely say that I'm absolutely disgusted with the real estate profession. From what I can see, the object of the game is to piss off the customer as much as possible while niggling over pointless details. The realtor's job is to look like a tough negotiator even when there's nothing of any consequence to negotiate.

It seems that my move into the house is being held up by a pissing contest between my agent and the selling agent over $2,000 in closing costs because a couple of the thermal windows may have leaks in the seals. To this I say BFD. I'll get the windows fixed. The condition of the windows doesn't affect me if I'm not living in the place, for God's sake. It wasn't even my idea. It was my agent's idea. I let him run with it, thinking, "Hey, this guy is pretty good." Now I'm thinking "Hey, this guy is holding up the process."

So hopefully once I get down there I'll be able to grab ahold of the two realtors involved, smack their heads together, and get them to do what I want them to do.

About the house, it has three bedrooms, one of which has a sitting room. Everything is new, the floors, the kitchen cabinets, the electric, and the gas heating and air conditioning unit. It has a great back yard and a detatched garage and workshop. It doesn't have any appliances so I'll be dealing with a lot of guys delivering stuff when I do finally move in.

Its in a really quiet area on a dead end street so there's no traffic. It is blessedly quiet there, no airplanes, helicopters, or F-16s in sight.

I think it's gonna be really cool when I get in there. The trick is making it through until then. Bargh!

Busy busy busy

2004-12-22T08:55:00.000-05:00

Thanks for the encouragement to post more often. I've been dividing my time between There, my online passtime, and working towards moving.

Oh, the drama involved in living in a condo. I certainly won't miss it. I ordered a PODS storage container that was delivered on Dec. 6, and this pissed off on of my neighbors. I spent a couple of weeks embroiled in a condo association power play, being threatened with fines and even the removal of my pod because of one nosey neighbor who doesn't like anything.

The condo people quoted chapter and verse of the condo agreement but could not provide any documentation of a fee schedule for the fines they wanted to levy against me. So they said that they would contact PODS themselves and ask that the unit be removed.

I contacted PODS, said I was having a problem with my association and wanted the unit moved to the street. PODS told me I would need a permit from my county to place it on the street.

Oh the irony of the condo association spouting regulations, only to be trumped by county regulations.

Ultimately, after a bunch of emails, the storage unit left on the date that I originally intended anyway. Energy expended for nothing.

At issue, of course, was parking. I pointed out that we're all alloted one parking space and my car is not here. The container was placed neatly in a corner of the parking lot completely within my customary parking space. Neighbors had no problem parking next to it.

Of course, that argument made too much sense and just pissed them off more.

The upshot, though, is that the thing has been filled and removed and is now sleeping quietly in Richmond awaiting my arrival.

There's still more crap here that needs to be gone through and thrown away. My sister came down from New York, Local Bro came up from Fredericksburg, and buddy Limoguy was here also, and essentially conducted a mess intervention. Limoguy distracted me by working with me in my bedroom while my siblings picked up and packed in the front room. It was pretty difficult at times, as I have an almost physical reaction to people touching my stuff.

A day or two of that desenitized me, though, and I'm a little proud of my ability to pick up nearly anything and throw it away without agonizing about it.

The next step is the painters and then the flooring people. The place will probably end up looking better than it did when me and the ex moved in, and some have joked that I won't want to leave.

After being treated like crap by my condo association, though, I have no misgivings about being on my merry way.

Happy un-Holidays

2004-11-29T09:31:00.000-05:00

I can be a grump about the holidays, it's true enough. But this year I'm gleefully embracing the next few months as I drop out of the holiday season.

Too much is happening with moving, and my siblings are a bit far flung. Big Bro is in China and won't be home until summer, Sister has just moved from Ireland to New York and is taking a well-deserved breather, and Local Bro is busy working. I think Christmas may be a complete non-event and that's fine with me.

Last year, Limoguy and I enjoyed Thanksgiving with my aunt in Richmond and were treated to her Arlo Guthrie Thanksgiving tradition of putting Alice's Restaurant on the stereo during dinner. It was delightful.

But none of that happened this year, and I spent Thanksgiving day doing the usual farting around and was oblivious to the post-Thanksgiving shopping orgy. I don't think I even turned the TV on much. Limoguy's mom sent along some leftovers and Sarge brought some also, but they really needn't have done that. I wasn't feeling bad at all.

I was talking to some of my There friends about their holidays and heard about some of their traditions. Karythe in Canada makes a gingerbread house with her daughter and her daughter's god mothers every year just before Christmas. Moonshadow up in Maine starts baking pies.

This moving stuff is basically a new life for me in a place of my own for the first time in 13 years. I'm not a Christian so the religious holidays make me feel left out, so I'm excited about making new rituals for myself.

What will these traditions be based upon? Hard to say. Most probably seasonal changes in general. I'm not much of a joiner so thankfully I haven't completely embraced paganism or Wicca, but they have their points. Most of our Christian holidays are adapted from seasonal pagan celebrations.

I think I'll adopt the Arlo Thanksgiving tradition, and as far as other rituals go they generally involve family and neighbors. I'll finally have a home big enough to invite family and look forward to meeting new neighbors and making them part of it, too.

But for now I'm on cruise control, mentally clicking through the things that need to be done in which order towards getting rid of this place and buying the new place.

Get it done online

2004-11-29T09:12:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I'm too clever and too dim for my own good.

My phone service went haywire inexplicably the day before Thanksgiving. The line went dead and friends get a busy signal when they call.

I think it's a short or a problem outside the house. I've had this problem before in other places in the past.

I have a pre-paid cell phone that I used on my trip to Richmond and decided that I would wait until today to call the phone company. Unfortunately, I've had a couple of longish incoming calls, and the $20 of time on the phone has dwindled to less than nine dollars.

I was going to ask my ex to pick up a phone card at the store for me this morning in preparation for a long time on hold with the phone company. I'd received my online billing notification from the phone company, though, and double checked it to make sure the phone wasn't disconnected.

Sure enough, the phone wasn't disconnected and I had a relatively modest balance due. I was looking around the billing page for a contact phone number to call to report a problem, and there I found a link to report a problem online.

Whee! Fill in a couple of yes/no questions, give them my cell and email, and wait for them to call me. Serendipity.

This online stuff is way cool sometimes. Why didn't I think of that before? Yeesh.

What burns my ass a little is the fact that in their troubleshooting guidelines they tell you to go to your interface box outside and connect a phone. If you get a dial tone the problem is inside. If you don't get a dial tone the problem is outside.

Please explain to me why I'm supposed to do someone else's job. I dunno, I may go out there and fuss with it cuz I relish any opportunity to use a screwdriver.

But geezy peezy, it's the principle of the thing. It's like going to a garage and having the mechanic ask "Before I fix your car, try removing and cleaning the carburetor and get back to me with the results."

On the brink

2004-11-25T02:42:00.000-05:00

I've definitely decided to make a bid on this house in Richmond. Right now everything is on hold because my current place needs to be sold first.

I had some trepidation about moving away until Jonathon posted that my blog friends would move with me, and I realized that my There friends and Yahoo friends would be going with me as well.

I like the area I've chosen and there are stores close by. Richmond is a college town, so there's a lot of cultural stuff happening there, from the city symphony to little independent theater groups. Lots of art gallery things.

I've always wanted to pursue something crafty or artistic and now I'll have the room to work at a hobby in the house. Richmond has a really good recreation department and lots of community centers. I never thought I'd be in a position to agonize over whether to sign up for weaving, pottery or stained glass. Add to that the fact that I'll have room to work on computers in the house at a table rather than on the floor. I don't think I'll be standing around wondering what to do with my time.

The real estate agent down there lives in this neighborhood which is undergoing revitalization, and that gives me a good feeling. He's active in the neighborhood civic association.

I called him yesterday and said, "Oh, by the way I was looking for the association's web site and didn't find it. Do you have one?" Guess what? They don't have one. I think I know what my first task is going to be.

Cool sights, more hair

2004-11-21T17:51:00.000-05:00

Richmond reminds me very much of Arlington, VA about 20 years ago. In some sections it's sort of collegiate and kitschy, in some it's settled and sedate, and still other areas are just dead zones. These blend in and out of each other in indefinable swashes to make a very cool picture no matter which way you view it.

Granted, I saw some parts of Richmond that boast a degree of blight that Arlington never achieved, but there's something laid back about Richmond's scruffiness that didn't make my danger alarm go off. I'm told there are worse areas of Richmond that I didn't see, but honestly I can't imagine they'd be any worse than Florida Avenue and 8th Street in Northeast D.C. when I lived there at the height of the 80s drug wars.

These may be strange words to hear from an agoraphobic, but I can't wait to get out of here. I realized how tense I am after being in Richmond a few hours and feeling the nasty scrunched shoulders start to relax.

Every block of Broad Street brought forth some expression of surprise from me. Old deco storefronts, bold handpainted storefront murals, and faded signs painted on old warehouses. There's a building salvage warehouse guarded by a huge, bright Woody Woodpecker and 15-foot-tall carved wood gorilla.

I had the digital camera and wanted to take pictures of everything but I wanted to use the camera sparingly on pictures of the house.

Most Richmonders will take tourists down Monument Avenue, a grand boulevard lined with mansion houses, to see Civil War heros on their mounts. I'm a native Virginian, though, and bronze dead guys no longer move me, nor do their horses.

If I were to show you Richmond, though, it'd be a bus stop, a pawn shop, a cluster of tidy houses, a funky row of shops, and a spin past the New York Syle Fried Chicken stand (New York? Fried chicken? Huh?)

The house is cute as a button, in really good shape with a new roof, a good front and back yard, screened in side porch, back deck, nice neighbors, stores up the street, and close to downtown. After seeing the house twice, sleeping on it, talking about it with my friend Limoguy, and showing it to my aunt, I announced that I wanted to do it.

I'll be going back and forth via fax and such with the agent down there to coordinate the timing of the sale here and buy and move there.

Oh yeah, the hair. I forgot to tell you about the hair. For some reason I was struck by the fact that guys down there have longer hair. Around D.C. it's the fashion for guys to have very short or very close cropped hair, the badge of a true metrosexual. A lot of guys have adopted that style more recently in order to look more military, but trust me, it started out as a gay thing and then straight guys realized it was cool.

Anyway, guys in Richmond, whether college guys or working guys, generally seem to have hair like the guys in That 70s Show. Not too long, not too short. Oh, and black guys of any age tend to have good old-fashioned naturals, something I haven't seen in years. I don't remember seeing any do-rags on any of them.

Traffic was light and orderly. I don't remember seeing any cops. There were no fighter jets or Huey choppers right overhead. I saw one airplane the whole weekend.

Other differences include the fact that all service people, from the convenience store, the restaurant, the hotel, or anywhere we went for that matter, were native English speakers. I was in prime comedic form with strangers this weekend, as it's ordinarily unusual for my non-sequeters to make sense to the foreign born.

Pedestrians looked both ways, crossed in crosswalks and went from point A to point B expeditiously. Everyone looked me in the eye and greeted me on the sidewalk, and sometimes waved at me in the car as I passed.

Even the dirty parts of Richmond had a tidiness about them, as if someone had just straightened up the mess and was coming back tomorrow to cart it away.

Richmond is just like parts of old Arlington, old Takoma Park, and downtown D.C. before they become completely overcrowded, overly gentrified and finally upscaled to death. Much of the old architecture is very similar from the industrial to the residential.

The biggest difference between D.C. and Richmond is that Richmond isn't mean. There, I said it. It's about the same there, only more laid back and people aren't mean.

I'll miss my home but I sure won't miss the mean. Maybe that's what's wrong with this country. People in D.C. have become so accustomed to being angry and vindictive that it's become part of foreign policy as well.

I felt as if I were in an alternate universe, and it looks like I'll be boarding the Spaceship Cutlass for a trip to the Planet Richmond very soon.

Big grownup stuff

2004-11-19T09:55:00.000-05:00

Everything is poised to be set in motion now. I'm excited and a little stunned. This is the most grownup thing I've ever done aside from buying this little condo eight years ago.

Most of the requisite inquiries have been made and things are looking pretty good. Me and the ex are going to have to get a loan to paint and replace the carpet, and surprise of surprises, we'll probably get one.

Oddly, if we did not wish to sell and needed a personal loan for anything else, we wouldn't get it. But if we walk into a bank and say we're selling they'll practically throw the money at us.

It think this is what's called house rich and cash poor.

My family is supportive of this moving idea with a few reservations. My boyfriend Sarge is completely against it, arguing that Richmond is a very dangerous city. The biggest argument against it is that I don't know anyone other than my aunt down there. But I think I make friends easily and am able to get involved in things if I really want and need to.

But I'm not planning on buying a house in Richmond sight unseen. My friend Limoguy and I are leaving tonight for Richmond for a few days to see some houses and look around at neighborhoods and amenities. This should be the first of a few trips down there. I can't wait to get down there and see for myself.

Oh, but the guilt. After being so broke for so long and reading the homeless blogs I'm having stupid thoughts about whether I deserve this. I had a conversation with my friend Jazz Babe about that not long ago. She was saying she didn't deserve different things, to live in a better situation.

I'm 44 years old and still living hand to mouth like a college student, seeking out deals on Ramen noodles at the supermarket. It's getting a little old and embarassing.

Ya know what? Screw the guilt. I'm going for it.

Am I happy about this?

2004-11-12T14:33:00.000-05:00

I've tried being frugal, really I have. I've been making my own cigarettes, I rarely buy name brand anything, I don't go anywhere or go to bars like I used to. I don't have a long distance carrier and use phone cards for long distance.

My big expense is the cable bill for the internet at 60 bucks. I'm ditching that for DSL, which has finally become available in my area, and it runs at 29.95. Sorry, I just can't do dialup. Besides, I sometimes do graphic jobs and need broadband for file transfers.

I'm going to ditch the cable TV also. Broadcast sucks here, but I rarely watch TV anyway. As long as PBS and NBC come in fairly clear I'll be happy.

With all my corner cutting, though, it's still not working.

My ex husband is saying he can't keep up with his share of the mortgage on this place and I'm not going to be able to take up the slack, so we're going to have to sell the place. This means I'm going to have to leave my hometown of 44 years.

We should be able to get a pretty penny for this 600 square foot apartment, but I won't be able to afford to buy anything here. Even if I were able to buy something here it'd be just as tiny and the taxes would be quite high.

I can take my pretty pennies to Richmond, VA, however, and get a two or three bedroom house with a screened porch. Yay!

I don't know anyone other than my aunt in Richmond. Boo! I will have to find new doctors and transfer all my social services from Arlington to Richmond. Oy!

The worst part of this deal is having to clean the place and move. Okay, fine, I admit it. I'm lazy. Everybody happy now? lol.

It looks like a hugely daunting task but it's going to have to be done, this business of cleaning and selling the house.

I'm kind of excited about going to a new place. Worst case scenario, I end up being just as much of a shut-in down in Richmond as here, only more comfortably. Better case scenario, I get involved in local arts or music organizations or join a Unitarian church to meet people. Richmond is the state capital so social services is based there, and I'm pretty sure that there are more epilepsy support groups down there than here. I've not been able to hook up with any groups here.

What I'm most looking forward to is having room. Room to put crap away. Having a basement. Having an attic. And a screened in porch, yeah. Room for the cats to get some distance between them so they'll stop fighting and stressing all the time.

The bitch of the deal is where to put me after clearing out the house and putting it on the market. I may have to go to Fredericksburg and stay with my brother, but I don't' know where I could put my two cats, cuz he has a boxer dog.

My ex husband said he could take the cats, but one of them scratches and bites and I don't want to put him and his housemates through that. Perhaps I could leave the gentle cat, Dax, with him and take the crazy cat, Neelix, with me and keep him in my room. My brother has baby gates to shut off certain areas of the house from the dog, so I might be able to use one of those also.

This is all sorta just sinking in as I'm talking to real estate agents, my husband, my family and friends. It's a really big scary thing, but I think I like it.

Return of the silent majority

2004-11-05T07:28:00.000-05:00

Many, if not most, Kerry supporters are bitter and heartbroken this week after our man was defeated in the Presidential election. I was stunned myself because even though Virginia went mostly with Bush, I live in an area that showed strong support for Kerry.

Just now I let one of the cats out and saw a neighbor, Sophia, on her way to work. She waved, and then shrugged, palms upward. A Russian immigrant who takes her civil rights very seriously, she said "I didn't go to work yesterday, I was so sick." I'm surprised she didn't say "Feh!" and spit on the sidewalk before she turned to walk away.

I've been reading some post-mortems on Alternet and other articles that speak of the great divide in this country. I've noticed, though, that both liberals and conservatives are guilty of the same crime: painting each other with bold strokes of broad assumptions.

Talk to any liberal and he'll tell you that what's wrong with this country is the religious right; anti-abortion, pickup truck-driving, gun-toting, bible-thumping, homophobic white folks who follow the likes of Jerry Falwell and listen to patriotic country music.

Sure, those folks are conservative, but I think that we're seeing the rise of the new silent majority, middle to upper class yuppies who yearn for the kind of status quo their parents enjoyed.

Painting a majority of conservatives as religious zealots, then, is inaccurate. Many conservatives I've talked don't drive pickup trucks and they're not particularly religious. What they have in common with the stereotypical bible thumper is a desire for predictability and a distaste for complex issues. I think these people, this new silent majority, are responsible for tipping the balance in the election. They're not rich corporate executives, nor are they country bumpkins wrapped in the flag.

They do have an unrealistic fear, however, that if more rights are granted to a particular group it means that some of their rights will be taken away. This kind of knee-jerk reaction to issues of personal freedom goes straight back to the civil rights movement when people feared mayhem if black people were allowed to swim in public pools, attend integrated public schools, and ride at the front of the bus.

It's a ridiculous fear, really, because gay people are our neighbors, sit on our county boards and boards of education, teach our kids, treat our illnesses, and turn out for community efforts to fund breast cancer research and end homelessness. They have kids, they're soccer moms and dads, and they drive mini-vans that hold that indefinable odor of child, just like their conservative counterparts.

Allowing gay people to marry at the courthouse will not cause legions of cross-dressing pansies to fall from the sky, nor will it cause throngs of biker dykes to blast down Main Street, USA. Shepherds will not take this as a cue to suddenly embrace and demonstrate the practice of bestiality on their front lawns.

You may ask if this is my olive branch in an attempt to bridge the great divide but I'll answer no, it's not. I'm just sick of lies and deception from either side. Propaganda is propaganda no matter who spouts it. Both sides are guilty of generalizing the other as "those people."

Take the stereotypical liberal, for instance. The stereotypical liberal is rich, white, over-educated, and talks too goddamn much. They drive Volvos, are vegetarian, buy organic everything and if they're religious at all they're either Jews or Unitarians. They seek to turn the U.S. into a smoke-free, vegan utopia where cars are banned on city streets and everyone rides a bicycle to public transportation when they commute.

I know this because I used to be a Republican. Liberals bored me with facts. Facts, facts, facts. Argue, argue, argue. They gave me a headache, and I always had a feeling that they were trying to make me look stupid when all I wanted to do was have a beer on a quiet evening.

The fact is, most liberals I've talked to have never eaten tofu and will never be able to afford a Volvo. They're not geeky gadflys always looking for an argument. If they're yuppies, they're just tired of having to put up with hateful people who joke about gays and blacks in the workplace. Those who are not yuppies just want a decent living wage, health insurance, affordable medicines, affordable childcare, and overtime after 40 hours.

I am now one of "those people," with an income under 10k a year (yes I said ten, not one hundred), medicare, and disability. When my epilepsy was recognized, in many ways I was encouraged not to talk about it because it is still taboo and very misunderstood. In a flash of genius, I decided it was as good a time as any to come out as bi-sexual, as well.

I am not rich, I am not overly educated, I smoke like a chimney and eat meat early and often. I am a liberal.

I think both sides have been sold a bill of goods with these stereotypes. We fell for it hook, line and sinker, to boot. The rights of "those people" are our rights: the right to practice our religion and live quiet, happy lives without hassles from our neighbors and communities. Not a lot to ask, really.

I wonder if we can get it right the next time.

It starts with a cough

2004-11-04T08:49:00.000-05:00

So yesterday was doctor day. I'd run out of seizure meds because I'm afraid of my neurologist. Stupid, right? She'd asked me to get a blood test for medication levels several months ago and I promptly lost the scrip. She'd also ordered extensive tests last spring and my share after Medicare left me owing her $700.

I was duly chastised. In her somewhat charming and somewhat broken English she said "I don't want you should die for five dollar in my pocket, okay? I give you sample." She give me sample, I take one now, two later, get level up, yes? I go three weeks, blood test, okay? She also gave me a scrip for folic acid. "I'm not planning on having a baby," I said. "Dilantin is very bad for the gums," she said. "This helps the gums."

"About those tests," I said. "Have you analyzed the EEG?" Yes, she had. I finally have a conclusive EEG and a real friggin diagnosis. Photosensitive epilepsy based in the occipital lobe with some temporal lobe involvement. Why? Who the hell knows. From my reading it's largely believed to be genetic.

In plain English, flashing lights can trigger a seizure. This is in keeping with my experience as I have noticed that any seizures I've had occurred when I was using the computer. Many articles I've found dismiss any connection between computer use and photosensitive seizures, but I've used some really crappy monitors and I tend to use the computer for endless hours. I am so NOT a control sample. I'd venture to guess that I don't fit the profile of any "average" computer user that scientists include in their studies.

All this epilepsy stuff is fascinating to me and since I've been diagnosed I've been wont to say that the brain is a very interesting piece of meat. The brain is divided between a left and right hemisphere, and on both sides of the hemisphere are areas called lobes. Lobes on the right control the left side of the body, and vice-versa.

Information is passed from synapse to synapse in little electrical pulses. When there is a surge in electrical pulses it's like someone threw a switch and said "Okay, arms, legs, head, mouth, eyes, do everything at the same time." Some people fall unconscious and convulse, (grand mal) others space out and chew their lips, and some will hear, see and smell things (petit mal). One particularly embarrassing form of epilepsy will cause some people to take their clothes off (strip mal. okay, just kidding) What happens during a seizure depends on which area of the brain is trying to do everything at once.

So, back to the diagnosis. The occipital lobes are directly at the back of your head. Think of the word ocular and imagine a movie screen behind your eyes. This is the part of the brain that processes visual information. The left and right lobes are beside each other. Occipital lobe seizures can cause hallucinations of various sorts. Things appearing bigger or smaller, dots appear everywhere, or whole areas of vision are blotted out.

The temporal lobes are roughly around your temples on either side. Think of an ear muff on your head but fitted from the back of the head instead of the top. Wrapping partway around each side are the temporal lobes. These govern emotion and oddly enough, religious feelings. Interestingly, many spiritual and political icons of history are now thought to have had epilepsy, and increasingly it's thought that they specifically experienced temporal lobe epilepsy.

Any seizure that is localized to one area of the brain can spread to others, sort of like lightening traveling across the sky. When that happens, other areas of the body will start to twitch (Jacksonian march it's called, funnily enough) or if it goes through the entire brain it causes the classic grand mal seizure.

I had a couple of seizures this month while doing things in There, (there.com, a virtual world). They seemed to have been triggered by a) not being on meds b) being on the computer too long and c) doing things that involved my screen view to spin a lot.

The seizures themselves were kinda funny, actually. It starts with a cough, you know, like when you swallow your own spit the wrong way and you start gasping and gagging? Well, the coughing and gagging won't come under control and there's this funny feeling in my head, a sort of a rising feeling, and all of the sudden I'm having a dream. I never remember the dream but it seems intense. I wake up and realize I've pissed myself and I'm grinding my teeth. There are people chatting on voice on the computer but what they say makes no sense. It could be Latvian for all I know. I open my eyes and my arms are out and a little above my head, and my hands are clenching and unclenching. It's as if I'm revving an imaginary Harley hog. Vrooom!

I joke about seizures like that, but I really do think they're funny. I'm lucky I didn't fall out of my chair both times. Looks like I was pretty smart getting ahold of computer chairs with big arms.

I dunno how to feel about it sometimes and the fear of having a seizure in public probably contributes to my stupid agoraphobia. When I was first diagnosed I thought "Aw man, my brain is broken!"

Over time, though, I've decided that my brain is a radio that just picks up a few more stations than most. And hey, I got a boss Harley to boot.

That sinking feeling

2004-11-04T08:06:00.000-05:00

It's hard to describe how I feel after the election. Maybe deflated is a good word. Anger seems pointless.

I rode in a cab yesterday and had the misfortune to find myself in the company of a very rare species, the white conservative cab driver. I commented that I was disappointed in the election and he asked a simple question: "What's wrong with Bush?"

Questions like this often spring forth from the mouths of people wandering through life with simple minds. Aside from the fact that Bush is crazy, I said, he's snarky, smarmy and full of himself. He is walking, wise-cracking definition of megalomania.

What's wrong with Bush? He's an angry little man who really wants a drink. Is this the man whose finger should be close to the button?

What's wrong with Bush? He thinks he's in charge but he's not. Am I the only one who's noticed that Cheney comes off as much more commanding than Bush? Forget about national security and undisclosed locations. They just don't want monkey boy outclassed by his side man.

I fear that those of use who are not currently wrapped in the flag may have a very difficult time carrying on any civil conversation on the street for some time to come. It's now okay to come out as a Republican, and I suspect that many will gleefully do so.

But how can I tell a Republican, you may ask? By his rhetoric and propensity to ask questions that have no answer. Take my cab driver, for instance. He asked "Okay, so what do we do with the terrorists?"

Oh, hell, I don't know. Put them in the closet under the stairs with the Christmas decorations? Oh no, wait! I know the answer to this one, gimme a minute. It's been awhile. Oh yeah! We're supposed to drop the bomb on them and turn the desert into glass! Yeah! Yeah! That's it! Did I get it right?

I've been saying for some time now that the pendulum must swing back but it looks like now is not that moment.

What saddens me is that, for the press, the election is now a non-story. No one wants a rewind to 2000 and the fracus over ballot counts, and it looks like some ballots won't be counted now that Kerry has conceded.

I'm a bit miffed at the gay and lesbian contingent for bringing gay marriage to the table. I consider myself a part of the gay community and I support gay marriage, but crikey, the timing couldn't have been worse. All it did was fuel the conservative's moralistic fervor and give them the steam to make it to the finish line.

Will someone please stuff Ralph Nader in a box before the next election? Ya don't have to kill him or anything. Just prevent him from running. Tie his shoelaces together or something.

I have a bad feeling about the next four years. Conservatives think that Bush can protect them from terrorism, but I think they're going to be proven terribly wrong.

Anyone know the procedure for emigrating to Canada?

Yes, I'm still here

2004-11-02T07:52:00.000-05:00

Yay! It's election day and I'm set to kick some ass a little later. I have a ride set up to my local polling place, my mind is made up, and I'll be voting with vigor, if such a thing is possible.

Today, I won't be thinking about swing states or whether the media will call it right. I'm seeing a lot of chatter about reporting voting irregularities but that doesn't concern me tremendously.

I'm thinking today of a little documentary short I saw on PBS not long ago. Don't know the name of it, but the featurette focused on a middle aged, working class black woman who talked about why she won't be voting.

She works for an hourly wage, she said, and can't afford to take off of work to vote. My first impression was that her excuse didn't wash, but if you think about it there are folks who spend a fair amount of time getting to work by bus and even getting to the polls at 6 a.m. would make them late for their early morning service jobs.

Add to that the fact that hourly workers who are single parents like this gal are likely to work double shifts that will keep them at work past poll closing times.

I'd like to see state or federal laws that mandate guaranteed pay for hourly workers who want to vote, at least in presidential races.

There I am!

2004-10-16T05:08:00.000-05:00

I was very touched by comments from Pipe Tobacco and Jonathan asking me to start posting again. It's so wonderful to be wanted!

I suppose I should explain that I was recently sucked into another world and it's quite addictive. Pictured above is my avatar, Dweeb, in the virtual world of There.com.

Avatars interact with each other in real time in this virtual landscape via cartoon chat bubbles over their heads, or via voice. People of all ages from all over the world "populate" There, a place which has its own economy, (Tbucks, or Therebucks) industry (object design), and even real estate. Avatars buy furnishings for their homes or for their portazones, buy clothes and accessories, and also auction off stuff they're bored with for more Tbucks.

There are also vehicles in There. I was very much into the hoverboard and raced on player-created courses, and then I got into hoverbikes. There are also hoverpacks that allow you to fly, and structures exist in the sky and also in space.

Just about every interest and point of view is represented There, from political interest groups, hobby groups, AA groups, and anything else you can think of. Christians, Athiests, Wiccans, Pagans and other religious interests are represented, and there's a devoted group of hemp enthusiasts who have staked a claim on Campfire Beach.

The world is comprised of islands with their own "climate." The Tiki Islands are sunny and tropical, Tyr is dark, foggy and other-worldly, sort of like Mordoor in the Lord of the Rings. I can't remember all the names, but there are five zones that are available to members and visitors, and other areas open up to players as they develop skills in socializing, riding hoverboards or bikes, designing clothing and objects, etc.

There is incredibly addictive, but really cool and I've met some really nice people. Thereians, as they're called, are very polite with few exceptions, and even though the whole concept sounds really weird, most chat conversation revolves around mundane real life things like jobs and family.

Even though There can be considered a monumental waste of time, I'm excited about learning how to design 3D objects for the game. I've made a couple of half-hearted attempts at getting into 3D graphics, but I think There holds my interest enough that I may finally be able to get somewhere in understanding how it's done.

Another last hurrah

2004-10-15T14:53:00.000-05:00

Earlier in the day I wasn’t feeling well and intended to blow off attending the last open mike at the Luna Park Grille, but former Husbandman Dave called and offered me a ride. How could I refuse?

I was so glad to be there and see so many old friends. Blues singer and guitarist Denny Buck, seen here in his usual spot in the front window, is talking excitedly about some new musical endeavors.

Melinda Root is a great old friend, and like Denny, I’ve known her for nearly 20 years now. She’s a great open mike host and has always made first time performers feel at ease getting up on stage. With her encouragement, they keep coming back and plugging away at their music, and she can name many “children” of her open mikes who are now out there performing professionally.

Warmth is the word of the day at the open mikes that I enjoy most. We’re a huggy bunch, as you see Melinda in the foreground goin’ for one of many embraces last night, while two others in the background demonstrate how proper hugging is done.

As far as the players are concerned, their primary worry is not what they’ll play or how well they’ll do, it’s whether they can get on The List to play. People sign up for a turn so there’s usually a stampede to reach the list, and it attracts players all night as they check to see when they’re going up.

Once everyone is happy that they’ve got a slot, they usually settle down to the real business of the evening -- chatting and drinking. It was so cool to hear familiar conversation again about guitars, everyone’s ever-developing music careers, who’s in the studio, who’s got the best studio, and all sorts of other marvelous bullshit. I’m convinced that players love open mike not for the music but for the general camaraderie. Bud Wilkinson is most likely animated about some new tunes he’s been working out.

An open mike without an audience is a little slice of hell, and I’ve run some open mikes where the only audience was a lone, unimpressed bartender. A well run open mike that’s had time to develop, though, will build a good crowd of regulars who take enthusiastic interest in their local stars in the making. Such was the case last night as coveted bar seats were few.

A good crowd means a happy bartender. Open mikers have a reputation for not spending much money and drinking water all night, but it’s simply not true. Many bar owners won’t have an open mike because of this misconception, but what makes or breaks most open mikes is the bartender. A bartender can kill an open mike if he tells the owner he’s not making any tips and has no business. But if you’re a smart bartender, like Kelly here, getting into the spirit of the evening pays off.

Kelly was one busy bartender, I tellya what. Co-host Pete Brown sings in the background as folks grabbed up drinks. As hosts of the open mike, one of the perks is getting your own slot when you want it.

Here, Melinda and Pete get the crowd warmed up.

Mel is known to pose spontaneously upon spotting a camera, but I’m not sure why she decided to do a lizard impression.

One should always expect the unexpected at an open mike. On this last night we were treated to men with sticks and hankies. Pete, an avid Morris dancer, invited his cohorts from the Foggy Bottom Morris Men to do their thang.

Morris dancing is an English folk tradition that is often made fun of for a number of reasons. There’s the bells on the legs, for example, and the skipping about in circles waving hankies. Witness a Morris dance, however, and you may be a little envious of guys who have such a great time with choreographed public silliness.

Pat Knudsen pulls a coy face for the camera while Joc appears to be yelling about something, but Alan Byrd is having a good time while keeping his guitar close at hand.

Jack is one of my biggest fans and does wonders for my ego.

Denny takes the stage as the evening draws to a close, singing his heart out and playing his signature Dobro. It’s not often you see a priest having a beer and singing the blues in a bar, but hey, it’s open mike and you never know what might happen.

Mel and Drew Holland, once the hard working duo act Back to Back, were a hit as they sang some of our old favorite country tunes. Mel announced that they may be performing together again, something I’m really happy to hear.

A long list means a good turnout, a long night for the hosts, and lots of music.

“From the glass lined tanks of Old Latrobe …” Rolling Rock has made a fortune off of me over the years as I waited to get on the list. Some were sad last night that the Luna open mike is no more, but having experienced many “last hurrahs” over the years, I figured it was a half full/half empty sort of thing. We may not be back at Luna, but we’ll be out there wherever we find an audience. Count on it.

Time passages

2004-10-06T03:44:00.000-05:00

I've been absent from here thanks to a new addiction to There.com, a virtual world and chat community. It's truly bizarre, very funny, satisfying and addictive.

I saw both debates so far and have some things to say about them. I'll get back to y'all soon when that finally comes together.

Still looking into college, still trying to get rid of some stuff I collected to sell. I'm moving sideways in the house. This can't be a good thing.

The evenings are becoming shorter and cooler, the cicada's undulating and unrelenting afternoon noise has given way to the cricket's familiar and soothing evening rhythm. The crickets, though, are tiring and the volume of their unanimous voice softens as fewer sing, and less frequently.

Time is passing and things change again and again. A pivotal bar in my life, The Luna Park Grille, has been sold or is in process of transfer, according to my sources. I haven't yet been able to speak to owner Eric Ploeg, but it's a big transition time for him and his partner, Heather, who are new parents who are also in the process of moving a little further out.

Eric opened Luna in the late 80's, ran the place with a sensible tasty menu, strong local clientele, and a great selection of music. Luna Park has always supported songwriters and bands in D.C., bucking trends and offering music without a cover while other little venues pursued their "battle of the bands" cover charge schemes.

Many of D.C.'s most respected instrumentalists, singers and songwriters of the 80s and 90s now playing in nationally touring bands got their start there 10 to 15 years ago, without the help of promotional agents or professional management. There were politics involved in getting booked there, but more often than not the band's enthusiasm and a strong turnout influenced Eric more than professional representatives, pop radio trends, or a slick press kit.

I'm told that the last open mike at The Luna Park Grille will be happening next Thursday, for you local folks. It's a mike I founded and a mike I had to leave when I got sick. It's one thing I started and regret that I did not finish. (There's a more primary thing I started and didn't finish but that's another story)

It's not the first mike I hosted, but it's the last mike I started and the last I hosted. Moreover, though, it's the only remaining open mike of any merit in Arlington.

For those of you who aren't local, let me just say it's another whack at the tree I've turned to for so many years. Once upon a time there was a big tree of the local music scene and each little neighborhood was a seedling, growing.

But the cycle goes around again and we're back to disc jockeys, with a good helping of karaoke. The writers and players who can make it will fight on, others will regroup in basements and garages.

Kudos to Eric Ploeg and the Luna Park Grille for standing small and strong all this time. I'll be there for the last mike, and plan to be there early to get a jump on the list.

Put me down for 10:15, my usual spot.

Today he is a man

2004-10-01T12:27:00.000-05:00

My black kitty Neelix has reached a milestone in his growing up.

He's been a pain in the ass since day one, but he's mellowed considerably since I started letting him outside. I'm a firm believer in neuter/spay and keep the cats indoors, but Neelix has never gotten along with my older female tabby Dax and I started letting him out to run his little battery down. Letting him out also gives Dax a break so she can come out of hiding and sprawl on the floor.

Dax is your basic sweetie kitty with an endearing little voice and no annoying habits. Neelix is opposite, nothing but piss and vinegar and a huge, hilarious personality. And a big voice. He talks almost constantly.

Last evening, looking forward to the debate, I decided to prop the screen door open so both of them could come and go, relieving me of the endless whining.

They come, they go, they hiss, Dax runs in and out. At one point I heard Neelix's bells approaching and glanced at the door to see him trot in with something in his mouth.

The last time he came in with something it was just a stick. This was no stick, however, it was something with a tail.

I leapt up after him as he trotted into the kitchen and chased him back into the living room out out the front door again. He dropped his prize proudly at my feet. A very fat, but now flat, vole.

He picked it up and ran off into some bushes with it and then my friend Sarge arrived. A little later I went out to look for the present of death, hoping to find it and dispose of it so it didn't create a stench later.

Apparently Neelix realized I was looking for it and he brought it back and deposited it on the front step. Sarge and I praised Neelix for being the mighty black panther kitty of his suburban serengeti. Sarge then removed the gift to place it at the altar of Bast -- the dumpster.

Today, Neelix rests atop the trestle table with half-closed eyes, very obviously pleased with himself.

Today, he is a man.

You and your house suck, and you're fired

2004-09-29T08:01:00.000-05:00

What is happening in this country? It seems we're being trained to hate ourselves for being bland.

What's on t.v. this morning? A home makeover show. On the surface it seems fun enough, a bunch of designers knock on your door and surprise you with a gift of decorating.

But what does it really say? Rather, what do the designers say? "YUCK! How can you live with this couch? Where did you get this hideous thing on the wall?"

When did it become acceptable to walk into someone's house and tell them that they have no taste? Just once, I'd like to see a victim of these drive by designers wig out on the front step and kick some ass.

It gets worse with the personal makeover shows. A frumpy, unsuspecting girl finds a gaggle of Fab Five wannabes on her doorstep telling her that someone very close to her thinks she's hard to look at.

The ultimate makeover show has to be "The Swan," where women submit to the physical torture of plastic surgery. The message here seems to be not only is the poor girl slovenly but she's so goddamn ugly that drastic measures are in order.

I think the absolute extreme has to be the show "Starting Over," where ladies in crisis live together, work with a life coach, get the requisite wardrobe makeover, and of course they have to lose weight. Not only are these gals told they look bad, but they can't live their life well enough for the Makeover Gods.

It's not bad enough that these folks, primarily women, don't dress well enough, decorate well enough, or live happily enough. No. They're not smart enough, either.

To cap off this relentless trend of improvement, we have "The Apprentice" which is a bit more equal opportunity in its derision. Supposedly successful, well put together young folks team up to try to impress Donald Trump. Perhaps this is where participants of all the above-mentioned shows end up if they toe the line. The point of the show isn't success, however, it's failure. The climax of the show is the moment someone is fired.

Who are these Makeover Gods and who put them in charge? In my more paranoid moods I believe that it's a quiet conspiracy to bring women back in line. That isn't it, though. What it really is, I'm convinced, is a movement to boost consumerism. We hardly have any industries left in this country; big steel, big coal, and the Motor City are all but gone.

What we do have these days is time and money. Not a lot, but just enough time to buy an SUV only to discover that it clashes with our home and wardrobe.

I dunno, I wonder sometimes what history will say about this period. We suffered a catastrophic terrorist attack, pulled together as a nation, and came to the conclusion that there just wasn't enough color in the living room.

Hitting the big five-oh-oh

2004-09-28T08:06:00.000-05:00

I had a nice surprise this morning, seeing my hit counter has reached 500. It feels good, but I wonder what brings people here and if people like what I offer. I've been told by one reader that references to the self-proclaimed homeless guy are boring, but he was part of my daily surf for a couple of years so I'm probably going to keep mentioning him.

By the way, he's started writing again, and is suggesting that people send gifts to his homeless friends. I'd suggest that someone send Kevin a copy of Strunk and White's Elements of Style and a dictionary.

Queen of junk

2004-09-25T08:10:00.000-05:00

I sometimes joke that I'm the neighborhood crazy lady with cats. It took some of my neighbors some time to get to know me, I think. I suppose it must look weird that I'm home all the time. It doesn't help that I trot out to the mailbox in my flannel PJs.

I have a new designation among the neighbors, apparently, as the neighborhood junk lady. Thanks to the fact that I live in a yuppie neighborhood I'm surrounded by great garbage! The D.C. area is very transient; people working on Capitol Hill sometimes only stay here a year before going back to their home state or moving on to bigger things elsewhere.

When they move, these folks tend to chuck all of their belongings down by the dumpster. I'd say about 50% of my furnishings came from next to the dumpster.

Neighbors noticed that I was dragging stuff back up from the dumpster or stopping them before they got there, and now I have neighbors dumping stuff on me. I'm trying to resell these small furnishings online.

It's getting a bit out of hand, though. Right now I have two dining tables I'm trying to dispose of, and a neighbor wants me to resell his computer and split the proceeds. I haven't hooked it up to check it out yet because there's hardly any room here to do it!

Yeah, it's gettin' a little tight in here. I hope I can move this stuff soon!

Blah

2004-09-24T10:46:00.000-05:00

Oh, worries, worries. My living situation is tenuous sometimes. My ex-husaband says he's going to have trouble keeping up his end of the mortgage payment, so that has me stressin'. I'm trying to figure out how we can work it out so that we can keep the little condo apartment. I really don't want to sell it because neither of us would be in a position to buy again. I think it'd be best to keep the place so that we have a place to go to in the future if things get rough.

To offset the negative vibes I'm looking into going to the community college to pursue a certificate in desktop publishing. I've done desktop publishing for many years but have no "paper" to show for my experience. I figure the certificate courses will fill in any gaps in my knowledge of Quark and Pagemaker, and one unit is about editing, another thing I've never formally studied.

One course in the certificate program might be offered soon, a computer literacy course. It covers Word, spreadsheets and powerpoint, things I don't ordinarily use, so that'll be really helpful, too. I called the college and will be going in to apply for financial aid and get back on their computer system. I last went to the community college in 1981, I think.

Not feeling like doing anything today, but I have to motivate to get some banking business done. I discovered a few weeks ago that I job I had 14 years ago owed me money from the retirement fund. I didn't know I was qualified to take the money at the time I left. I inquired and they sent me paperwork to roll the money into a new IRA, which I need to go establish at my bank. It's not a huge amount, but it'd be smart for me to start an IRA now, because again, I may not have another opportunity to do this in the future.

All in all, feeling kinda blah.

Don't blink

2004-09-22T18:15:00.000-05:00

Looks like Kevie-wevvie doesn't want any attention anymore. Jon noticed that one of his blog addresses had a simple message, "fuck you," and Mike and I had left pithy little comments.

Alas, the page is down, but he's still threatening to post his "art" on his Geoshitties page.

I'm trembling with anticipation.

Hey, decent poetry!

2004-09-22T18:12:00.000-05:00

I was about to navigate away from this site I randomly checked out but then realized that inablink actually has some decent poetry. There's no "about me" info for the author so I have no idea where "eric" hails from. I like it, especially this little bit from one unnamed poem:

"the coffee shop philosophers have all gone home
to sharpen their tongues
and all the tired cars gather in
the motel parking lots like a commune of mares,
momentarily forgetting the
momentary feeling of ignition."