November 01, 2003

Nein Belgium

We were both packed and ready to go. Each being really careful not to overdue it at last night's HiFi Cooking event (and also me @ Florian's Cosmopolitan evening soiree'.)

Neither of us would have guessed that we'd end up really ill last night and this morning. Both of us in our separate locations, sick as dogs. There's nothing worse than being sick in a foreign country. You just don't want to do that, but somehow I managed to accomplish this as well. Late today I finally spoke with Holger, who sounded much worse than I did. He slept all day. A mutual friend of ours has the flu but had visited the doctor, got all his meds, and said he was 100 percent better. Perhaps one of those little evil flu critters was lingering ... *sigh*

And to make matters even worse, I had the unfortunate duty to telephone Brussels early this morning so my friends would not venture out to end up meeting ghosts instead of myself and Holger. Zoe, we apologize and we owe you one. Thank you so much for being so understanding. So sorry we're both so ill, but better to have stayed put then to board a plane and make everyone around us sick. Boo hoo! I am SO disappointed. :-(

 

November 04, 2003

Farfurgnugen, Nein!

Note: If you happen to know the proper spelling of "Farfurgnugen" please let me know. I couldn't find it anywhere, and chances are it's misspelled.

Is it me, or is this ... just wrong?

Though I get the gist of what it means (championships, or something along those lines,) I think putting anything in front of historical landmarks is just plain wrong. The other side featured a corral of Volkswagens. Go figure.

 

Catching Up

I'm back in New York City and presently existing in the European time zone, (waking up at 3 a.m. instead of a more normal hour), and you know what that means. It means I can take advantage of the ungodly hour and catch up on blog reading and write up some fodder and give y'all something to read. I decided that writing about my trip may not be the most interesting content to slap up here, so I'll do that ONLY if you really want to know. Otherwise, it will go in the dead letter file, or the "junk" box in my email, or wherever one places things that happened yesterday ... in the memory bank, I suppose. However, I do have some photographs to post at some point. Soon as I catch up with everything else, I promise.

Before launching into my observations about your blogs this past week, I wanted to mention that I am really, really happy that Joanie and her family are okay - see the first boldfaced item below for more.

First and foremost ...

Somehow I missed the fact that Joanie @ DaGoddess and family were right in the thick of the horrendous fires in California. Though I've not finished reading through all of her posts, I feel bad that I completely overlooked this while I was away. Sorry Joanie! Happy to know that you and your family are doing okay. Joanie is simply amazing to me. She is recovering from pneumonia and still went to work at her job as a pediatric nurse at the hospital AND managed to host some 4 fire victims AND post all the hotline numbers for the area AND blog about what was happening there AND take care of her own family. She's quite a woman.

In other news ...

I've kept up with everyone's blog even though I didn't read a few in great detail (like Joanie's.) In some cases, I was highly entertained by what I read in this space. See below:

Naked Bloggers

"... no one gives a shit about what I look like. I don't look like Pamela Anderson or Halle Berry so who the hell wants to see me? No one that's who."
- Nedra @ BitchFest on having a blog that is photoless.

I Might Even Masturbate

"... I like porn. I'm downloading some right now, and you know what; I might even masturbate while I watch it. If it's really good, I might do it twice. If it's exceptional, I might wake up my girl and we'll do it together. It's not inconcievable that I would invite a few friends over and we'll all wind up in one giant slippery pool of liberal goo while we watch the porn. Because that's what adults do; and even if we don't, we'd like to be able to."
- Al @ Fulton Chain on Protection from Pornography Week.

Sex is Overrated

"...Sex is over-rated. Besides, I've stapled my legs together."
- Zoe @ My Boyfriend is a Twat on addictions.

Bionic Dicks and That's the Way I've Always Heard it Should Be

"...Even now, the thing evokes a shitload of thoughts and emotions...."
- Greg @ Mr. Helpful on a Perfect Match.

Still the Neighborhood "Hot Mom"

"...The citizens of the United States and the global community wish to inform you that you've passed your prime and have fallen into the Silly old Fart category. Congratulations for making it this far!" ...
- Kat @ Mostly Fluff on the Beauty of Youth.

Distracted by Her Bending Over

"... didn't have my stick, easily distracted by her bending over, etc, just believe one of my lies, please."
- Paul @ It is Not Within Me to be Silent on The Agony and the Ecstasy.

Not Preggers

"... That's not the first time people have wondering what's going on between Dave & I - when he describes Wendy's eating habits - especially what she likes for breakfast, I have gotten a few quizzical looks! Then we remember to explain..."
- Wendy @ All Seasons on No... I'm Not Pregnant!

Dress Like a Magician's Assistant

"... I told my wife I wanted her to dress more often like a magician's assistant..."
- Chris @ Utter Wonder on Other Things I Did on the Day we Set Back the Clock.

Vain Bloggers

"... a Narcissus of Bloggers is a better term for a group of bloggers. I think the term should apply to those who consider themselves better than others or those who are vain..."
Joanie @ DaGoddess on a standard term for a group of bloggers.

 

November 05, 2003

Peter ?

Though I meant to post about this a while ago, it kept slipping through the cracks of my brain until today. I was going through my bookmarks this morning and came across a blogger who hasn't been around for months. I checked the blog (link not important) and saw that the last update was the end of June. Most likely that was also the last time he posted a comment here. I recall him writing that he and a bunch of pals had decided to travel cross-country. His last missive was from somewhere in Oregon.

I wonder what happened to him and hope he's okay.

 

OS Hug

X's and O's usually mean hugs and kisses. In this case, the X represents the operating system I've been allergic to since the day I bought my Titanium. However, my darling friend Holger has talked me into switching over to the other side. Though I've resisted the OS X operating system for some time now, all the arguments (his logic plus the input of many others) is more than enough to get me to cross over. All I can say about this is ... y'all better be there for me the minute I screw it up, because you know deep down in your souls that I simply don't have the flair for tech stuff that you do. I'll let you know when I begin my entry into being (further) lost in space.

 

Diet for Life

Shelley @ Burningbird's Diet for Life post is one you shouldn't miss. Not only is Shelley a brilliant and gifted writer, she is also an extremely talented photographer, in addition to other numerous talents she possesses. An amazing woman, that Shelley.

 

November 06, 2003

Analogies and Metaphors

My pal Donald sent this via email a while ago. I meant to post it ... and suffered a brain sweeping. Here 'tis, don't know where it came from but it's cute.

Actual Analogies and Metaphors Found in High School Essays

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

The revelation that his marriage of 20 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35mph.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.

"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer night.

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.

Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.

She walked into his office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.

Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it.

 

On My Last Nerve

Months and months ago, in an archive long ago and far away, I blogged about what I call the "little man." I had seen a movie (most likely it was science fiction) where a guy grew this little man out of his shoulder and it would talk to him. Not that I'm saying there's a little guy on my shoulder talking to me; no, I'm not that wacko. However, when I wrote way back when I compared the pain in my upper back and neck to having my own "little man."

So the little man is back with a vengeance. He decided to show up right before my trip to Berlin, and the little fucker has been wreaking havoc, keeping me awake at night. I think I had one night of sound sleep while away; and that was the night I arrived and ran around non-stop all day. I crashed (hell, I even managed to blog before crashing) and it was the type of sleep where the hotel could implode and I wouldn't have noticed. I really love that type of sleep, though I don't get it too often.

Though I had hoped the little man would get lost, he hasn't. He's hanging around, making sleep here next to impossible. When I wake up in the morning, I feel like I need a crane to haul my sorry ass into an upright position. Someone said it might be a pinched nerve. Well shit sherlock, pinch this.

And that's the end of my little rant about the little man. (Don't kid yourself. I'm laughing while typing this, because even though my neck hurts, it doesn't mean my sense of humor isn't fully present. It is, amazingly so.)

 

Horrors!

While running errands this morning, I passed a bank of pay telephones near the entrance of the 79th Street subway station. Something was SCREAMING out at me to look -- it was one of those weird, strange moments where without thinking, you turn your head. I looked, I read, I gagged:

INTERNET PHONE

Yikes.

 

November 07, 2003

Is it Me, or ...?

... is it that an elite name was missing in the From: header of your email?

Back in September, Kat and I exchanged our thoughts about manners and common courtesy when it comes to email. This post combines both Kat's feelings on the subject as well as my own.

When it comes to email, one of the things we both noticed is the lack of response on the part of certain bloggers. If someone takes the time to send you an email, whether it is a congratulatory note about your latest achievement, or a compliment about a story you wrote, or that they enjoy reading your blog, wouldn't it be polite of you to respond? It doesn't take long to hit reply in your email program and type the words "thank you."

Kat and I agree that as a matter of policy, if certain bloggers prefer to hear from their readers through the comments function (if enabled) or that email is reserved for "emergencies only," then it should be stated somewhere on the blog. No one wants to feel as if they're an intrusion, and lack of response tends to generate that very feeling.

Immediate replies are not expected, since people aren't attached to their computers. But if you've sent an email to someone and a week or two goes by (but the recipient of the email is still posting to their blog) then it becomes obvious that you are indeed being ignored.

And that sucks.

 

Cyber-Criminal Bounty Hunters

As the Apple Turns writes in a recent post, Smile for the Cameras, about the Microsoft Anti-Virus Reward Program. A snippet: "... and Microsoft's responsibility for Blaster is even more apparent, since that particular worm only existed to illustrate and protest the very Swiss cheese security that made its spread possible."
- via GDay Mate

 

November 08, 2003

Synchronicity

Underestimation is now my new old middle name. The guy at the Apple Store knew it. We talked a full 10 minutes. A few questions from him, my responses, and he said it... he knew I could wing an operating system change. And you know what? He was right, and I'm so full of myself right now I could gag.

I have mastered it. Yes indeed, this slab of Titanium is my slave, doing everything I demand it to do. There's the hardware: I forgot about popping in an additional gigabyte earlier this year ... I forgot about doing a complete rebuild last year ... then there's the software, and then putting it all together, knowing how to make it all work. Add in some external toys like iPods (a new one!) and digital cameras and, well, it adds up, doesn't it.

I challenged myself. I enjoy doing that - DIY. I can do it. Yup, and I did. No longer little miss damsel, batting the eyelashes a few times, giving the virtual 'come hither' look. Don't misunderstand. I will indeed seek those whose tech talent and expertise I respect and I'll ask for advice, opinions, recommendations. I'll inquire about software, and I'll ask about hardware, and I'll want to figure it all out, but on my own. Why? Because when I do it myself, that's how I learn. It's too easy to get someone to do these things for you. And maybe it works for other people, having someone sit there and help them. For me, learning something is by inhalation. I inhale, and I inhale often.

There are times when all does not sync up. And believe me, those times really suck. But I persevere, because that's what I do. I'll knock my head against the wall a few zillion times before I've got it figured out. I once told someone that I'd be dangerous if I was in a classroom actually learning about technology from someone else. I shudder at the mere thought of it. Can you say rebel?

Today I spent the afternoon inhaling. And I learned. And I did it myself. And it all works. Synchronicity. Thank you very much. I've graduated with honors from the University of Geekette. Got my Ph.D in DIY. You can now refer to me as Dr. G2 ... that would be Gorgeous Geekette, of course. ;-)

 

November 09, 2003

Is That 81 South?

Rundy of Letters From the Homefront shares a tale about his road trip to Syracuse via 81. (I post this as a special treat for those of us New Yawkas familiar with this neck o' the woods.) Before moving on to his story, know that he prefers doing his traveling in the country, not in the city. He wrote that the city driving stresses him out. Even so, his tale is an amusing one, ripe with song, stress, exhaustion, a headache, getting lost and stopping to ask for directions.

To set the scene, he writes, in On the Road:

"It wasn't a conscious decision, but I've found that I sing in the car to combat bored day dreaming.. Yes, I am one of those freaks who sings in the car. Alas, but I think I fulfill the caricature of that man riding down the road alone, bellowing at the top of his lungs. I sing loud, like the star of an opera. I don't sing to the radio. I sing songs that are in my head--either songs that I've made up, or the bits of songs that I can actually remember. The key is that they can be sung loudly and with considerable gusto."

"Perhaps singing in the car could be considered an edifying and self-improving activity if it made up some coherent whole. Unfortunately, I don't think I remember all of the words to a single song. For most songs I remember the refrain, and maybe the first verse. Maybe a little more. So I make up for this by singing what I do remember, over and over and over again. Sometimes I get louder and more forceful as I continue to repeat, as if somehow the sheer volume will somehow trigger my mind into remembering how the rest of the song goes."

Classic. ;-)

 

Google Searches

This has to be one of the better ones I've come across in my raw access logs. For easier reading, I've removed the % sign throughout.

http://www.google.ca/search?q=

I+am+1+inch+tall+and+I+have+
accidentally+fallen+into+one+of+
your+shoes.++ I+am+too+tiny+to+get+
out+on+my+own++ You+eventually+notice+me.+
+Do+you+Laugh+and+leave+me+in+
your+shoe+as+a+prisoner+or+pet+
Get+me+out+and+squish++me+like+a+bug+You+see+

 

PhotoFreakDay

After that post I wrote up yesterday, I figured it might be a good idea to now make fun of myself. For me, carrying on about my numerous talents becomes nauseating after mere seconds. So I decided to post some photographs of myself over there under the "about" section. I wanted to update the page anyway with what I hope is more interesting content. Originally, there was no plan to stick freaky photos in it also. Keep in mind that I don't photograph well. My inner beauty (that would be my sense of humor) doesn't ever show through photographs. And as I get older (mom keeps saying I'm 29 though I told her that I can't pull that one off anymore) Photoshop looks more and more appealing to me.

Though this goes against the principle of reading me because of my writing talent and not my beauty, I decided to make an exception today. I had to dig up a school photo the other day just to horrify Zoe, and it made her laugh so hard that I've included it. In addition, there's the snarky bitch-in-a-hat photo which was taken at my brother's wedding as well as a couple of more current ones.

And because I'm so terribly vain, there's no promise that I'll keep that strip of photos up on that page. Better look quickly because if you blink once, it just might go *poof!*

 

November 10, 2003

Survivors

Mark of LondonMark writes of being mugged:

"I had chosen HSBC because it was close to the Camden Tup, the establishment where I had met up with A and T. I went there, extracted some cash from the bank while watching my ever-depleting balance sink further into the extremely red, and then proceeded to saunter back to the pub. Just as I was about to walk into the pub, I found myself to be spinning around, propelled by the rather large arm of a man whose instructions were simple: "Give me the money or I'll cut you". Clearly a man of Hemingwayesque brevity and clarity of purpose."

Gert of Mad Musings of Me writes about how she was hit by a firework some kid threw into the pub that bounced off the floor and went down her coat. She writes,

"There's a minor commotion further down the bar. Nothing major. Just a shuffle. And the sound of fizzle. And some light. And it fucking hurts and I'm lying on the floor screaming and crying and a woman I don't know is pouring water onto me, holding my hand, telling to me to take deep breaths. She's a first aider. And then within five minutes the police arrive, and a couple of minutes later the ambulance. And I'm at St George's in Tooting."

Both Mark and Gert's stories remind me of being held up at gunpoint here in New York City.

It was a particularly quiet Saturday morning on the Upper East Side, and I'd just finished having breakfast with a good friend at a place nearby. She wanted to stop into a small boutique right around the block from her apartment. We went in and were browsing through racks of clothing. The boutique was quiet; my friend and I the only customers along with the two female salespeople who worked there. I was fully immersed in my browsing when I heard someone behind me, a man's voice, say very quietly, "get in the back." I didn't think much of the statement, because I thought the guy worked there and was talking to the salespeople. I ignored him and went about my business. Then I heard my friend's voice, "Cin, do what he says" -- and then I turned around and looked. I saw the guy, who was not particularly threatening looking. I saw my friend standing in front of him. My brain registered the odd position of the two of them. She stood in front of him, her back to him. Then I looked down and saw it. The guy had the gun firmly lodged in my friend's back.

At that moment, all hell broke lose in my brain. I've recounted the story numerous times since then. All I could say to describe that moment was that my brain went somewhere else. You instantly go into another plane, a level which could only be described as your brain filling with cotton balls and all other brain matter that previously existed is now gone.

I went with them to the back of the store. The salespeople were already in the storage room in the back, and we were instructed to get on the floor. As we sat there, my mind raced. The guy then instructed us to give him our money. He was specific. He didn't want credit cards, or ID or anything else. He wasn't collecting our purses, he wanted cash. I knew I had a $100 bill in my wallet and I knew I wasn't giving it up. I tried to imagine what my brother the police officer would tell me to do, what I should do, and began thinking of how I could save my friend, and the salespeople, from being shot to death. I imagined taking a bullet in my back.

Both my mind and my heartbeat were competing with each other, rapidly racing and going at mach speed. Both were on overdrive and there was no stopping it. While the rest were busy giving the guy their cash, I pushed my purse behind me, trying to hide it. I was the only one not offering up money. My friend said to me, "Cin, give him your money!" With that, I quickly snapped out of the little "this isn't happening" world I was living in and I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out whatever change was in there from breakfast. I handed the crumpled bills to the perp. He seemed satisfied with that, and told us not to move, not to speak, and he walked out of the storage room, closing the door behind him.

The salespeople could see that the guy left the store and the two of them exited the storage room. My friend and I still sat on the floor, as if in suspended animation. Eventually we got up from the floor and walked out into the main area of the store. The store's owner had come in, notified of a robbery-in-progress by a silent alarm he had installed on the floor of the store. The salesperson had been smart enough to step on the alarm before going into the storage room. The police showed up and were asking each of us for a description of the perp. I was amazed to hear the four versions of what each of us saw. The descriptions were all different, and the police then let us leave the store after we provided our contact information.

Once outside, I began laughing. As sick as it sounds, it was hysterical laughter. It wasn't a reaction I expected, nor was it amusing to my friend. I laughed like this for two hours straight, prior to the two us getting so drunk we couldn't see straight. When I began laughing and she saw it wasn't going to stop, she threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't stop it. Regardless of what she said, I couldn't stop. It was uncontrollable, a physical reaction to a dire situation that I had little control over. Thankfully for me and my friend, once we began drinking the laughter finally subsided. I never wept over this incident. Lots of nasty things could have happened that morning. We could have been shot and killed or injured; we could have suffered much worse than we did. It was a long time before I could actually talk about the incident.

All of this took place about ten or more years ago. I remember all the details to this day and vividly. I consider myself quite fortunate that we emerged unharmed and that the only thing that happened was that we had less money in our pockets. I wonder if they ever caught the guy.

 

Bloggers vs Comments-Spammers

The Revolution Against Comments-Spammers Rages On

In the last week I've deleted numerous comments-spam scattered throughout my blog. Thankfully this wasn't as bad as some folks have experienced. A few months ago I banned a few IP addresses from posting in my comments. Later that day I read on someone's blog that banning IP addresses doesn't solve the problem of comments-spam.

Bloggers who have their comments enabled are not sitting back and tolerating the spammers; they're dealing with comments-spammers in their own creative way. Here's a look at what some bloggers are doing about it.

Via Adam Curry: Ernie the Attorney publishes the IP address of Peter the Spammer.

Joseph Duemer's method of dealing with the bottom dwellers is by invoicing them for placing advertising in the comments on his blog. Read the account in his post "Conversation with a Bottom Feeder."

Shelley at Burningbird asks the question in a recent post, Comment Spam? Or DoS? She writes, "If the spammer just did a few comments and I had better comment control, this wouldn't bother me. But the recent multi-post blitzes, well they take down the system and I'm getting right tired of this."

Have we reached the point where there's little else to do but disable the comments function, or will the spammers win out by bombarding all bloggers with enabled comments, thereby forcing us into shutting comments down? Hopefully that won't be the case.

Then There is Email Spam

For a look at how my friend Holger in Germany avoids being bombarded with email spam, read his recent post titled "Enlarge Your W*atever."

 

November 11, 2003

iPod Lounge

While traveling along on the information superhighway, (couldn't resist blast from the past) this caught my eye -- iPodlounge, a site dedicated to Pod people everywhere. The site includes a photo gallery of iPods 'round the world. This photo is funny and this one. That last one got me thinking that Adam should do this. Do it Adam, do it!! Get a photo of your iPod (along with the appropriate tune playing on it) the next time you're in the helicopter!! ;-)

 

November 12, 2003

Lizards' Heads

Mike at Troubled Diva on the royals:

"They've all got lizards' heads if you rip their faces off, as well. Just like the Bush family, and Bill Gates, and Osama Bin Laden ... they all meet up once a year in a secret pyramid, and sup the blood of virgins."

"Oh no! They're coming for me now! I can hear the helicopters buzzing!"

 

Rockin' Blog Offspring

Kat (Mostly Fluff) writes about her son's latest gig in a salvage yard and signing an autograph on some chick's butt.

In the meantime, at Mr. Helpful, Greg's son, aka the Pride and Joy, also plays in a band, The Jezebel Diary.

I wonder what other bloggers have rock stars in the making...

Zoe, does Sproglet play in a band? ;-)

 

We Won't Discuss ...

"... the fact that Santa appeared to be 17 and incapable of growing peach fuzz, much less a full, snowy white beard."

"... the fact that his little elf looked more like she had hopped out of a teen version of Frederick's of Hollywood."

- Joanie (DaGoddess) on Santas in a Store

 

Gobble, Gobble

"Little do they know that this paradise of freedom, good food and plenty of space to run around in, not to mention a warm hut to sleep in is not, in fact, a 5-star hotel."

- per Zoe in her post: I'm Glad I'm Not a Turkey

 

November 13, 2003

80s Music

80s Lyrics Quiz: People are What? - via Zoe.

ARGH! I know all of these, I really do, but I failed miserably. One thing I can do is name that song just by hearing the opening notes of a tune. In this case though, I was a complete and utter loser. I didn't bother to continue, it was all too frustrating for me.

 

Anti-Bushism in the UK

And this is a surprise?

"America is now something of a rogue state, a pariah nation."

"There was a lot of goodwill to tap into and it took the incredible talent of George Bush to piss it all away in two years." Reuters story.

 

Today's Musing

Resignation

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of a 6 year-old again.

I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four-star restaurant. I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks. I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them. I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple, when all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care. All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.

I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good. I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.

I want to live simple again. I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.

I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.

So . .. . here's my checkbook and my car keys, my credit cards and my 401K statements. I am officially resigning from adulthood. And if you want to discuss this further,

you'll have to catch me first, cause...

...Tag! You're it!

 

November 16, 2003

She Isn't Very Pretty

"The memories drifted past her like a warm breeze. She hadn't had anyone else since Walt, the pain was too great. The hurt was unexpected, she was the one who had always left in the past. All along Anna had thought she was the one in control; apparently nothing is as perfect as it seems."

Greg @ Mr. Helpful has been posting chapters from his novel, "The Only Jaded Piece." Today I read this chapter, She Isn't Very Pretty. It just makes me even more envious of his writing talents. [she writes, smiling.]

 

November 17, 2003

Royal Blush

An Open Letter to the Artist Still Known as Prince (Charles)

This week's New York Magazine features a witty missive to Prince Charles. Here's some of it:

I'm so pleased, too, that Camilla has stood by your side, declaring not only that you are a man of utter integrity and honesty but that my prince would never do that. (Hillary Clinton understands.)

Huh? Do that? Get your toothpaste tube squeezed? Your tampon inserted? What? Fortunately, we¹ll never know, because the British press is legally required to maintain a stiff upper lip.

At any rate, your Royal Oral Hygiene Regimen is between you and your manservant. So be it.

Just don¹t forget to floss.

 

Digital Guitars and Robotic Lobsters

TIME Magazine's Coolest Inventions 2003 includes, among many others, the Skyray, "a pair of carbon-fiber wings that give skydivers a bit of extra lift and control. Instead of falling straight down, divers cut through the air at speeds of up to 136 m.p.h. and can stay aloft for an extra minute or so."

Robo-Lobster

"The Mine Sweeper: Robo-Lobster is a 7-lb., 2-ft.-long crustacean made of industrial-strength plastic, has a bigger job to do: detecting and destroying mines buried in the surf zone. The current prototype mimics a real lobster's movements to negotiate all types of coastal terrain. The plastic antennas sense obstacles; the eight legs can propel it in any direction; the two claws and tail keep it stable in turbulent water."

ITunes and Digital Guitars

Also on Coolest Inventions list: the 99-cent Solution aka, the ITunes Music Store. One more to mention: the digital guitar -- "In January, Gibson will be the first musical-instrument maker to release an electric guitar with a digitizing microprocessor and circuit board built right in. When a player strums the guitar, the analog signal from each of the six strings is converted into a digital file and then pushed out of the guitar through an Ethernet connection attached to the instrument." Now THAT's cool!

 

In Your Eyes

A movie review Greg (Mr. Helpful) wrote and posted on his blog morphed into waxing poetic about eyes. He writes:

"I can appreciate a woman's body with the best of them but what really gets me, what makes my motor run are the eyes. I will take a mysterious set of eyes over a great chest or bottom any day of the week and three times on Sunday."

In that vein, I had the pleasure of seeing the trailer for a new movie starring Jennifer Connelly. Jennifer has many fine physical attributes but what does it for me is her eyes. I ask you, my strong silent readers who very rarely comment, is there a more expressive set of eyes out in movie land than Connelly's?

Unfortunately for Greg, I don't have an opinion one way or the other about Connelly's eyes. I never really thought about her eyes. Perhaps it's a guy thing, I don't know. Her eyes never leapt out at me. However, his post got me thinking, and that's always a dangerous thing. Eyes. Let's see what I have to say about them.

Eyes are the window to the soul.

Is that true?

My friend Holger has eyes that dance. His eyes are always bright, always alert, always smiling. Yes, that's it. Holger has smiling eyes. I've seen his eyes go the opposite direction though; when he's pondering something deep, if he's disturbed about something, his brown eyes get very dark, almost black. It's fascinating to really watch someone's eyes change. Someone else I know has eyes that change color right in front of you. I'd watch closely when the topic of conversation would shift from very pleasant to a very unsettling one. The eye color would shift from hazel to a pale grey. Amazing!

Then there are eyes you've never seen up close, in person -- eyes in photographs, or like in Greg's post, eyes of actors in movies. Happy eyes, sad eyes, pensive eyes, bright eyes, dark eyes. So many varieties of eyes, all different, though I've seen similar sets in families, e.g., "you have your father's eyes."

There's a song playing in my head that runs simultaneously with this post. "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel is the tune. It's a lovely, romantic song, but this post is about eyes, not romance. :-) A bit of the lyrics:

In your eyes the light the heat
In your eyes I am complete
In your eyes the resolution
In your eyes of all the fruitless searches
In your eyes I see the light and the heat
In your eyes I wanna be that complete
In your eyes I wanna touch the light,
The heat I see in your eyes.

I've no idea what people see when they look at my eyes. What bounces back? I honestly don't know. I've no idea if my eyes dance or if the color of my eyes changes. I don't know if they're bright and alive or droopy and depressed and sullen. I've no clue if my eyes are "deep pools of sex" (a line used by a long-ago boyfriend) or if my eyes are vapid, hollow structures of emptiness. Do my eyes speak volumes about the kind of person I am, or are they merely windows with the shades drawn? Are my eyes telling the truth or spinning tales? I ponder the thought.

What do you think people see when they look into YOUR eyes?

 

November 18, 2003

Over on That Blog ...

Joanie's blog Da Goddess is MIA -- I hope it's just a server problem for her and nothing more.

Wendy of allseasons has returned from her trip to the UK -- it was terrific that she was able to blog every day about her travels. Welcome back Wendy!

Jon of GDay Mate has agreed to let me post a photo of him in his kilt. Since he'll have more recent photos this weekend, I'm going to hold off on my post about it until then.

Lisa of Burnt Toast returned from her recent trip to Myanmar (Burma.) As always, she has some stunningly beautiful photographs on her blog.

Paul of It is Not Within Me to be Silent has included a photo of himself in Superman boxers.

 

Proud to be anti-American?

Gert of Mad Musings of Me points to a very interesting article in the New Statesman titled Proud to be anti-American?

In addition, Gert has been posting an ongoing report of Bush's visit to the UK. Stop by her blog to read more.

 

November 19, 2003

Archives

Historical Musings

The thought occurred to me, in looking at this page, that the 3 archive months listed up there on the left need some relatives. They've got 8 cousins, and I'm wondering how best to slap it back up. I can put them all back up as static pages, because if I use them in their present format the numbering will be out of whack. To renumber all those posts seems a bit ridiculous -- so which road should I take? The one without comments intact and simply a static page, or the other way, or another way I've yet to learn from y'all. Do tell! :-)

 

If I Had ...

Lottery Tune

I haven't heard it in a while in television commercials but I loved singing the jingle for the NY State Lottery in my tone-deaf, scare-little-children singing voice: If I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a house ... If I had a million dooooooollllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars, I'd be rich. hahaha!

 

B Week

While the UK is stuck with Bush this week ...

... we have to suffer with Britney Spears being here in NYC. Take your pick. Gag me.

 

B>World Toilet Day

SINGAPORE - Flushed with the success of making the island's lavatories among the cleanest in the world, a Singapore-based organization marked "World Toilet Day" on Wednesday with a call for more hygiene in public facilities.

"What we are trying to do is break the taboo over toilets," said Jack Sim, a founding member of the non-profit World Toilet Organization. "Everybody talks about what goes into the body and no one talks about what comes out," he said.

The two-year-old World Toilet Organization (www.worldtoilet.org), which aims to raise global awareness of toilet and sanitation standards, marked its annual World Toilet Day with a call for people to speak out against poorly designed or filthy latrines.

The group is collecting tips ahead of a World Toilet Summit to be held in Beijing next year.

The group -- whose members include the British Toilet Association and 17 other similar organizations from 13 countries -- has a top-10 list of latrine essentials that Sim says will lead to "happier people." - Reuters story.

 

November 20, 2003

Ski Jumping at the Brandenburg Gate

I thought it was pretty bad to have this eyesore in front of the Brandenburg Gate last month, but this latest bit of news takes the cake. "Fourteen years after the Germans danced to celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall at the Brandenburg Gate, the historic landmark provided the setting for a spectacle of a different kind Wednesday -- ski jumping." - Reuters.

I only wish I had been there to take photographs. It seems to me that the Gate is no longer the historic landmark it once was but instead a new venue for sporting events, car shows and the like. What is up with that? Why not hold events like this at the Pregnant Oyster? [Note: the Pregnant Oyster is a Berlin nickname for the House of World Cultures because of its unusual shape.]

 

It's an iPod Morning

Podding helps to drown out all the noise outside my windows. The chatty doormen across the street, who don't know what it means to speak quietly at 5:30 am, the numerous trucks pulling up for work at the school on the corner at 6:30 a.m. Then around 7 a.m. the garbage trucks begin collections, that incessant *beep*beep*beep* of backing up. Throw in a car alarm or two and welcome to my world. That's what it sounds like living on the Upper West Side of New York City. Like I wrote, podding helps to make it less of an early morning intrusion.

And writing about podding reminds me to nudge Adam with a gentle reminder of POD + HELICOPTER + PHOTOGRAPH. :-)

In other news, the iTunes Music Store rocks. Talk about instant gratification! It's a dangerous place for me to visit -- but at 99 cents a pop, you really can't beat it. I recall Holger telling me that it's not available in Germany -- something about them wanting more than the 99 cents per tune. What a shame.

Generation NOW -- yup. That's us. And I remember the days when having a Walkman was a big deal. Hehe - times change, don't they. Well, pardon me while I return to multi-tasking ... podding and reading along with the mandatory cup of java.

 

November 21, 2003

T is for Truth

Mark of LondonMark has once again agreed to let me post a recent entry from his blog. As someone who truly admires the writing of some very talented people I've come across on the Web, I'm happy to feature them here. Thanks again, Mark!

T is for Truth

It's hard to tell the truth. From when you are a child and your father wants to know why there are pieces of a broken vase all over the carpet up to the point when you have to respond to an accusation of cheating at work, at play or on your partner, the easier option always seems to choose lies. And don't lie to yourself as you read this either: you've told a lie and you've been caught. You've faced this choice as well and you've picked the wrong option.

You've thought to yourself that perhaps you won't get caught (or get caught this time), that it was easier on the other person, or easier on yourself in those particular circumstances, if you told a little white lie. You've weighed up the pros and cons and thrown them aside to serve your own needs best. We have all done it and, on the balance of probability, most of us will do it again.

It's hard to tell the truth. It's hard to prepare yourself for whatever castigation you have deserved. It's not hard to regret what you've done, it's not hard to mean it when you say sorry, it's not hard to promise never to behave in such a way again. It's hard to put yourself into that position, to find that the entire affair has unravelled in front of both you and someone whose feelings and opinion you respect.

It's hard to see the look in their eyes when you realise that you have disappointed them, that their faith in you has been fractured, that you are not the person they thought you were. It's hard to admit to yourself that the carefully constructed network of mistruths, untruths, faintly-veiled ambiguities and omissions has all come crushing down and is pointing at you as its originator. And it's your fault.

It's hard to tell the truth. It's hard to accept that your judgement was accidentally or deliberately skewed to the point where the only way out was to pervert, invent, deny or rationalise away your decisions by creating a fiction, which then has to be maintained and nurtured by further fictions.

It's hard to realise that at any point the foundations of your story or of the life you are living are made of tissue and can be destroyed in an instant; that you are acting out an invention of your own making, a self-perpetuating other existence whereby every motivation, every moment must be explainable, consistent with the other inventions you have brought to others.

It's hard to face the truth. It's hard to accept something you don't want to hear, something that can strike at you with the speed of pain. It's hard to listen to the words forming, the concepts being slowly coloured in, the details added to the rough draft, eventually coagulating to shape a reality you never knew could exist.

The act you thought the other person could never ever commit, their underlying principles, their character, their intimations, all the things that had been said over shared coffees, between lovemaking, as jokes about others, all these were just words, but they've now harshly changed your mind into reverse gear.

It's hard to face the truth. It's hard to regard all your memories and feelings as so much evidence, to be sifted through with the precision of the detective, with the detachment of the coroner, with the impartiality of the judge. A knowing glance becomes a look of betrayal, every moment of unaccounted time becomes a conviction and, looking back over every act becomes a form of lie in itself, separate from the committal of the principal lie.

It's hard to wonder what else was left unsaid, who else has been told before you, when else they have provided explanations that might possibly be subjected to this new view, this fresh and yet rancid perspective. Every statement becomes a falsehood, and every tint and hue of the spectrum becomes a shade of grey.

It's hard to face the truth. It's hard to acknowledge that you've been duped, that the gift of faith which you have bestowed upon somebody has been treated as though it were an unwanted Christmas present, to be glanced at once and then left in an attic, to gather dust slowly over the months and years.

It's hard to realise that you have depended upon somebody so much and so badly that you have blinded yourself to any other option, placing not only all your emotions but all your spirit within their power, to have those priceless emeralds scattered about like so much chaff. It's hard to stand up to the cold hard truth that truths were lies.

And I will believe every word, every act, every sentence if you tell me. Because I will gladly put myself into that place, believing that the day will never come when you would say that you didn't tell the truth. I will believe that I will never have to face a lie. I will believe this because I am who I am and you are who you are. And for me this place, this moment, this now, this day is true.

 

November 22, 2003

Are You a W@nker?

Mike at TroubledDiva invites his readers to submit the following:

"I'd like you to tell me the story of a relationship in which you were the w@nker. A true story, if you please -although admittedly, there's no way of checking. But I think we can all trust each other, right? I will then award the CD to the person who I think has been the biggest w@nker. Because sometimes, even w@nkers need a little love. Yes! I'm trading public humiliation for a free CD! Fair exchange? Of course it is!" Who's the w@nker?

 

House Set to Pass Anti-Spam Bill

The U.S. House of Representatives stood poised on Friday to outlaw most Internet spam and create a "do-not-spam" registry for those who do not wish to receive unsolicited junk e-mail. In debate on the House floor, lawmakers from both parties praised a compromise bill that would set jail time and multimillion dollar fines for online marketers who flood e-mail inboxes with pornography and get-rich-quick schemes. Reuters

 

Top 10 Sexiest Men

According to PEOPLE Magazine, this year's "sexiest man alive" is Johnny Depp (insert look of disbelief here) and the Top 10 list of sexiest men alive include: Brad Pitt, Ashton Kutcher (ew), George Clooney, Lenny Kravitz, Justin Timberlake (ew), Hugh Grant, Russell Crow, Hugh Jackman, Denzel Washington and Colin Farrell. Reuters.

 

November 24, 2003

It's Not a Step Ladder

Pogo of Dearie Me writes about his hardware:

"Laptop's broke. Well, the backlight on the screen anyhow. It still fires up and works okay with an ordinary monitor, but lugging a 17" screen along with me when I'm babysitting isn't altogether appealing. Poor old lappy's not been the same since one of the kids stood on it.

 

Almost a Nerd

Test Your Digital IQ

ARGH! Just a few more points and I could have been a nerd. Darn. "You are average to above average for the business world; buy a few gadgets and you might graduate to guru" - my score was 105. Not owning (or wanting, for that matter) a PDA most likely did me in. :-) MSNBC survey found via A Welsh View.

 

November 25, 2003

Chris is so Sweet

Chris of Utter Wonder just left the sweetest note in my comments (as well as everyone else's blog who links to him.) He writes:

"Hiya squip.I¹m giving thanks to every blogger who¹s been kind enough to link to my site on their blogroll. As a show of my appreciation I am leaving an excerpt from my glorious NaNoWriMo novel in the comments fields of each and everyone¹s blogs. To read the section from my novel in its entirety, grab a box of tissues, click on the link to my site, and let the magic flow. Happy Thanksgiving. Now, on with the excerptŠ "

What a thoughtful person to say thanks. Now that's Class with a capital "C" ... Happy Turkey Day to you and your family Chris!

 

In the Spotlight

Even though I've been quite busy with work and a lot of everything else, last night I visited Zoe's blog and pulled this one right out of her archives. I think it's the first post I ever read on her blog.

"I'm down to my very last over-shoulder-boulder-holder..."

 

Call for Wit

Update: I sent the email out yesterday without the annual investation of wit. *shrug*

One of my annual responsibilities in my family (one parent and four siblings) is to write up the email request for Christmas wish lists. Let's see if I can explain that in a clearer manner. It usually goes like this: Dear so-and-so: please email your Christmas wish list to the list above, blah blah blah. How's that? Better?

Usually ...
... I have no trouble writing up this email, which contains a hefty amount of wit as well as fun bits of sarcasm, all well within the holiday spirit. However, I've misplaced the wit chromosome and now am struggling with a serious case of wit block. This is not good. My deadline is BEFORE the Thanksgiving holiday this Thursday, and I will fail in my duty of family witmeister if I don't get this email written and out.

THEREFORE ... (she pleads) ... I thought I'd ask for some help from my blogging friends who have writing talent (and that's pretty much EVERYONE who is listed on my links.) HELP! Perhaps you can sprinkle some fairy dust my way and provide the inspirational line or two that will help me accomplish my task. Last year's missive to the Squip family went out under the subject line of Peas on Earth and Other Goodwill Carrots, and the year before it was All This Holiday Excitement Makes Me Want to .... Barf.

SO, what do you say? Care to lend me a hand, a line, a thought here? Obviously I'm desperate. As I'm trying to get everything done before heading out for turkey day, any assistance would be ever so greatly appreciated. Really. :-)

 

November 26, 2003

Wiener Philharmoniker

[I was feeling all unloved and lonely and loser-like (yes, that's LOSER with a capital L.) Only Kat and Paul responded to my peas, I mean my please, [shite!] I mean (finally!) my pleas for assistance with the holiday blockage I am suffering from. Witless, minus wit, funny bone on vacation. Nobody loves me, nobody cares. Yep, just feeling all sorry for myself over nothing that really matters in the big picture of life. A momentary lapse of memory, of the good things. Uh huh. That festival of self-pitying over nothing was a mere bag of shells until reading email. Insert pitiful look on face here. Why so down, you may wonder. After all, I have absolutely nothing to complain about or feel sorry for myself about. Nope. Happy as a clam, except...]

... when I received an email from the Wiener Philharmoniker, aka, the Vienna Philharmonic.

Thought Bubble: Mick Jagger and the Wiener Philharmoniker... hmm.

I've spent the last 3 or 4 years with my butt parked in front of a television set on New Year's Day. My big event for the New Year is watching this concert on television. Yup. Outtamyway, gottagettothetelevisionsetand NOW... and please, no talking, burping, farting, clearing your throat, walking in front of the television blocking my view or anything else you might do to disturb the trance I'm in. Would it surprise you to know, now that I've told you these things, that I usually watch this event by myself?

I learned the hard way not to tell people I like this concert. When I did manage to mumble something about it, some people had visions of old ladies with blue hair, men with comb-overs under funny looking hats, you know, senior citizens. And one person I told found it pathetic. Pitiful, in fact, that I watched this concert alone. I didn't feel that way at all. Not pathetic. Not pitiful. Nope. I was pretty happy all by my lonesome, happy as a clam, and even happier when the Wiener Philharmoniker began taking ticket requests electronically. You just know in your heart that I was right there, back in January, submitting my request. I even blogged about it:

At 2:30 p.m., I settled into an easy chair and switched the TV channel to PBS to watch the annual New Year's Day Concert by the Vienna Philharmonic. I have made a pact with myself that before my life expires, I'll get to this concert IN PERSON. I suppose one could muster up an image of a little old lady with blue hair but I've not reached that stage and won't for quite a while. However, ranting and raving about this holiday concert does make me a bit of a dork. I don't care. My favorite part of the concert is at the end, when the orchestra plays "Radentsky March" and the audience maintains the tempo by clapping. It's really cool, and very uplifting, and yes, I am a dork. :-) Anyway, I found an order form on the official Web site for the Vienna Philharmonic and placed my request for tickets. Hopefully I'll get them for the 2004 concert - that would be cool.

Then March came. It was my birthday. And the morning of my birthday, I received an email from them. I couldn't wait to open the email, I was THAT excited. Here's where my balloon deflates. The email stated they could not fulfill my request (you'd think I ordered 50 tickets; I only put in for 2.) I would not be a happy clapper -- oh! I'm feeling the pain even more now -- I mean, I was not a happy camper that morning. No, totally bummed. I blogged about that also:

If you read this space back on January 1, 2003, I mentioned the fact that I had watched the annual New Year's Day Vienna Philharmonic Concert on television that day. An annual, almost religious event for me, this year I put in my request for 2 tickets with the hope that I'd get them in the electronic lottery so I could finally attend it in person on January 1, 2004.

Today I received email from them informing me that I did not get tickets ... though I count my blessings for all the good things in my life, I'm still totally bummed about this -- but also look at it where it just wasn't meant to be.

What a brave face THAT was. I really didn't *feel* "oh well, too bad." On the contary, I was totally, utterly completely bummed. Bummed to the max. And don't think I haven't tried since then to get tickets, at least through those I know in Germany. Every person I knew while I was there last month I asked - have any connections in Vienna? Even my friend Kevin at the BBC - Midlands knows I want to go to this concert. Thankfully, he didn't say (though perhaps he thought) I was a dork ...

Now receiving an email from the Vienna Philharmonic may be something that you'd scan quickly then trash. But for me, it's a painful reminder that I didn't get the tickets I wanted for the New Year's Day Concert of the Vienna Philharmonic. As it states in the writeup for the CD that I will just have to put on that witless Christmas email I've yet to get out, "It's hardly possible to imagine New Year's day without a New Year's Concert in the Great Hall of the Vienna Musikverein - a tradition started by Clemens Krauss over 60 years ago." My thoughts exactly.

So ... what do I get instead? They put me on the Wiener Philharmoniker email list. And every so often I get that little nudge from them, that little reminder that unless I fly to Vienna and stand in front of the Vienna Musikverein and try to scalp tickets, that me and my sorrowful, pathetic, pitiful and whimpering butt will once again be parked in front of a television set on New Year's Day.

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need. ;-)

 

November 27, 2003

Happy Turkey Day

To those celebrating Thanksgiving Day today, I wish you a wonderful, pleasant and safe day with family and friends! To my friends in the blogging world, especially those who have graciously shared their wit, expertise and talent via my blog, my heartfelt thanks to all of you!

 

November 29, 2003

A Cornucopia of Memories

The recent holiday had me strolling down memory lane and doing quite a bit of reflecting on different things. Here's some of it.

Presents of Self

For Thanksgiving, I decided to lend a hand at the local church and feed the homeless. This was something my friend Linda used to do every year at her church, and since it was this time last year that she first went into the hospital, she was on my mind. I suppose it was the memory of Linda, my friend who died at the end of January this year, that got me into the mindset of helping others.

I was undecided about where to go this Thanksgiving, whether to travel or not, go snap photographs of the balloons on the Upper West Side prior to the start of the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade, go to the parade, do whatever I wanted to do. I had the luxury of choice. Then I thought about those who don't have that luxury, and I decided to do something that had nothing to do with me and the little world I live in. I have a lot to be thankful for, and it doesn't take much effort to give of one's self. Helping those less fortunate really puts things in perspective and snaps you right out of "all-about-me-itis." It was a humbling experience.

Presence of the Past

This doesn't mean I was without dinner on Thanksgiving. I had more than enough time to hop on a train and visit with my own family, and didn't want to miss the festivities of being with them and strolling down memory lane, telling tales of childhood. I listened to my one sister recount the tale that traumatized her so long ago. We all sat there, listening to her and watching as her facial expressions changed from calmness to horror. I think I can count ten other occasions I've heard her tell the story, but it is obvious that she was deeply affected by it. As she began the story, I too began the flashback. I remember we were at breakfast. We were all at the table, all seven of us having pancakes with maple syrup and bacon. The next thing I knew, I began choking and, according to my sister, turning blue. In the next frame from my memory bank, I was upside down, my father trying desperately to dislodge the bacon from my throat. I can still recall how that felt today, even though I was about 5 or 6 years old at the time.

The odd part of the story is this. One would think that after a traumatic episode such as that one, that I'd never place a piece of bacon in my mouth for the rest of my life. That would be logical and understandable. What stumps me, to this day, is the fact that I won't go near pancakes and maple syrup, but I'll happily munch on bacon any day of the week. Go figure.

Evidently that wasn't the only time I turned blue. My sister told us the story of how we were crossing the very busy street in front of my mother's house, and spazz that I am took a tumble (some things don't change, do they.) She said that a car hit me (I've no recollection of this) and that my mother was screaming at her from the front door to get me out of the street. According to my sister, I was sitting in the middle of the street, legs bent on each side of me. I don't recall where the turning blue part came in, but evidently I did. *shrug*

The only recent time I can think of where my 9 lives could have been used up was in Amsterdam. I was crossing a busy intersection, watching cars whirring past me left and right. Someone forgot to pay attention to the tram. *ahem* I was looking to my right and about to cross when, in turning my head to the left, the tram almost snuck up and kissed me, I was THAT close to it. Thankfully instinct kicked in and I moved out of the way. What's that, you said? Ditz? Airhead? I'd agree. ;-)

Presence Elsewhere

Speaking of presents and having moved past the Thanksgiving brouhaha, we now get to think about Hannukah and Christmas, and for those who choose to ring in the New Year, what to do for the New Year. I myself opt for the quiet New Year's Eve. Having spent many years out and about during what we refer to as "amateur night," I prefer a quieter evening. Most likely the most enjoyable New Year's Eve for me was in Berlin some years ago, hanging on to the chimney of an apartment building, trying my best not to slide on the ice-encrusted rooftop while in a dress and high heels. There were 20 of us on the roof, having climbed up and out to watch the fireworks set off for the New Year. I remember it was quite cold that night, a brisk chill that you'd feel seep quickly through your skin, rattling your bones. There I was, one hand tightly gripping the chimney, the other hand holding a sparkler. How we managed to stay up on the roof for as long as we did is beyond my comprehension, but we did it. A memorable evening indeed!

 

November 30, 2003

I'm Outstanding

I mean, my BLOG is outstanding. :-)

Jon of GDay Mate writes:

"The outstanding blogs (and they are outstanding) are: Jihva - the Tongue and Dusting My Brain."

"One of the interesting things about Squip's Blog is that it has introduced me to a whole new set of blogs that I would otherwise have missed because our blog rolls do not really intersect much. One recent curiosity was this link to My Boyfriend is a Twat. [snip] Returning to the blog I am supposed to be reviewing there is a heartfelt plea for assistance with the Christmas gift email... (I think I can use that "Peas on Earth and Other Goodwill Carrots" phrase), a link to the Digital IQ quiz and a serious repost on telling the truth."

Jon, you're too kind. Thank you for that surprising nod! For the record, I purposely try to highlight blogs that deserve more attention than they get. All of the authors of the blogs I list are talented, witty and engaging individuals. Even though I have included a high-profile blog here and there (simply because I read them regularly,) my focus is more on those who don't, or rarely, appear on Technorati lists.

Coming Soon

A writeup about a UNIX/Mac geek who lives Down Under with a wife, 2 kids and a mortgage. Here's a hint:

Well, a Scotsman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair,
And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share.
He fumbled 'round until he could no longer keep his feet,
And he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street.

dustingmybrain.com