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Friday, April 4, 2003

silly tho this may be, it does make me feel better.

mike and adam bought BlogShares in my little cottage industry. awwww. :)

:: scribbled at 6:52 PM ... ... o

it's been a long, rough week, and i just need to vent a little bit. should you want more entertaining options, i wouldn't blame you.

i'd suggest popping over to The Morning News, perhaps, or Around Alone, or maybe ickle, should you want something a little lighter.

still here? geezum. well, here it is: i can't even begin to wrap my head around the war, and i feel very small for not making more of an effort to follow all the news. in fact, i've been making an effort to avoid it, because i'm not sure what to do with all that pain. work has been a bit rough. i've felt pretty much worn out all week, from emotional stress which has made itself evident as a churning IBS flare (try gargling battery acid, if you're not familiar with IBS, which i truly hope you aren't). many discussions have been had, not all of them productive. i didn't feel like i was my perky, fundraising best last night, and worry that i let them down. The Dane lost a friend this week, as have several other people. everything feels very sad. i haven't been particularly good about keeping up with my family, and that has its own special stress for me. i haven't gotten to the gym much. and i had to scrape a layer of ice off my car this morning.

on the upside, i haven't kicked a puppy, and i'm still not smoking.

*deep sigh* what i desperately need is a few days of mindless drivel, and a pedicure. i find that pampering is good for the soul. if it involves massage and peppermint lotion, all the better. or maybe i'll just order spinach dumplings from the place down the street and curl up with a movie or two.

:: scribbled at 5:54 PM ... ... o

I've never seen him, but I feel him, and sometimes hear his sour-milk voice. I can detect his workings.

just when i thought i was having a bad day, skot spills it all about his evil homunculus. and suddenly, life is much funnier.

:: scribbled at 4:44 PM ... ... o

Thursday, April 3, 2003

Today's introductory sentence overslept. Authorities believe that pranksters unplugged its alarm clock.

just a reminder that Daylight Savings is coming up this Sunday! Sunday is also, according to my Shakespearean calendar, Old Lady Day. i'm not really sure what the connection is.

:: scribbled at 2:46 PM ... ... o

today's gonna be a long day, but well worth it.

i'll be helping out Community Servings with one of their two big fundraisers, LifeSavor. Community Servings provides nutritionally balanced meals to clients with HIV and AIDS, helping bolster the clients' immune system and giving them more time and energy to put towards other things in their lives. so many people will be coming out to help an organization that makes a huge difference for over 700 people and their families every day - that's a lot of positive energy in one place.

:: scribbled at 11:38 AM ... ... o

Wednesday, April 2, 2003

sometimes, phenomenally stupid shit falls out of my mouth, and i'm left wondering where it all came from.

i said something this afternoon that has left me feeling small and mean and spiteful, and desperately wanting to take it back and stuff it back into whatever mildewed little cardboard box in my brain from whence it escaped. better yet, take it back and make it go away, because it's painful to see yourself as capable of such meaness. if i could jump out of my skin right now, i would, is how uncomfortable seeing this part of myself has made me.

:: scribbled at 5:07 PM ... ... o

Tuesday, April 1, 2003

wishing i could be somewhere else right about now...

the Cap'n is in Belize right about now, for a week of sailing. i am envious. granted, i *do get to rebuild the head on his boat when he gets back, and i can hardly contain my enthusiasm for that little chore. [/sarcasm off] but right about now, i'm feeling tired, physically and mentally, it's snowing again, there are altogether too many things to be done, and i'd rather be in Belize.

maybe he'll send a postcard.

:: scribbled at 5:45 PM ... ... o

The life span of dogs allowed to dine in cat litter boxes is on average 18 percent longer than that of dogs restricted to commercial diets.

:: scribbled at 4:56 PM ... ... o

conversation with The Dane last night:

he: that thing you wrote about damaged boys?
me: you mean the appeal of the broken boy?
he: yeah. do you see me that way?
me: nope.
he: good. because i'm more Interestingly Repaired Boy.
me: [dissolves into fit of giggles...]

:: scribbled at 4:26 PM ... ... o

Monday, March 31, 2003

okay, that's funny. (courtesy of columbine.)

and on an unrelated note, for those of you who asked: yes, i am still not smoking. took a drag last week, at a party, and instantly regretted it, so all that did was confirm my choice. somewhere on about 6 weeks now, which is pretty dandy, i think.

:: scribbled at 2:28 PM ... ... o

ever get the feeling your problem solving skills are getting overused?

yeah. well, that's sort of what my week has felt like. yes, i know it's Monday. anyhoooo... found this in an old email from a friend, and while it's certainly made the rounds, it's still good for a laugh. and laughter is just what the doctor ordered today. herewith, some actual logged maintenance complaints and problems, as submitted by Quantas pilots (P), and the solution recorded by maintenance engineers (S). by the way, Quantas is the only major airline that has never had an accident.

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except autoland very rough.
S: Autoland not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.
S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 fpm descent.
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That's what they're there for.

P: IFF inoperative.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you're right.

P: Number 3 engine missing.
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny.
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious.

P: Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with words.

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed.

:: scribbled at 2:18 PM ... ... o

what's up with the snow? no, seriously. what's up with that?

April 1st is *tomorrow*, people. the joke is a day early. and kind of not so funny. i thought we were done with digging out cars for the season.

:: scribbled at 1:30 PM ... ... o

Sunday, March 30, 2003

some days, it's all about traffic.

last night was not; i got a massage and took the T to work. for a tiny woman, Susan Tedeschi has some lungs on her, that's for sure. and she plays a mean guitar. i wasn't able to focus on the show much, as post-Station, work is much more about patrolling fire exits, but when i could, she was slamming out some very serious blues. the guy on the Hammond was excellent as well, dancing up a storm while playing. i love me some Hammond B3, that's for sure. nothing like seeing the real deal and knowing you're in for a treat.

the night before was all about traffic. Lyle Lovett, Joe Ely, John Hiatt and Guy Clark are touring together, in apparently a very low key way, as they all talked about driving themselves places around town. (side note: this is the second or third time i've seen Hiatt, and the first time, i thought it was an accident. but truly, the man cannot dress himself. he looks as if his laundry basket shat upon him on the way out the door.) Lyle at one point said, 'I know, we've talked a lot about traffic tonight. But I have to say, because I drove here today - thank you so much for being here. I know how hard it was for you to get here.'

even funnier was Hiatt's story. they apparently were all staying up here, but drove down to Providence for a show. Hiatt got directions, okay, makes sense, got it. and then he asked the bellhop if he had the right directions. 'Well, you could do that.' at which point we all started laughing, because you can see where it's going from there. 'you *could* go that way, or you could go my way. three turns and you're there.' from downtown Boston? no way. but, as Hiatt pointed out - 'Fishing pole. Hook. Bait, right out there. Reeled me all the way in. Three turns and you're there. [much laughter] Yeah. Three turns and you're really fucking *lost*, is what.'

and in the category of traffic woes, i have discovered, much to my chagrin, that i can no longer go to visit my parents, courtesy of the Big Dig. yes, that's right. i read the paper last week and discovered that exit 26 on 93 North is permanently closed. it is being replaced by some sort of tunnel thingy, and a bridge, and another bridge. so while i can certainly get *down* to my parents' place, i can no longer get back to my house. sorry, mom and dad. i promise i'll write more. ;)

:: scribbled at 6:18 PM ... ... o

i happened to be looking at some older books i have on the shelf in my bedroom today.

most of them are books i haven't read, or don't have much interest in, outside of the fact that they're books that belonged to various people in my family. some of them i have just for the pretty bindings. one of them, the one i picked up today, is Riley Child-Rhymes with Hoosier Pictures. the original edition came out in 1890, and this copy belonged to my great aunt for whom i am named. she colored in many of the black and white illustrations, which is sometimes charming and other times outright spooky.

also spooky was this little gem of a poem; on the facing page is a lovely greytone sketch of a father and son, in front of a fireplace, with father dandling son on knee.

The Rider of the Knee

Knightly Rider of the Knee
of Proud-prancing Unclery!
Gaily mount, and wave the sign
Of that mastery of thine.

Pat thy steed and turn him free,
Knightly Rider of the Knee!
Sit thy charger as a throne—
Lash him with thy laugh alone;

Sting him only with the spur
Of such wit as may occur,
Knightly Rider of the Knee,
In thy shriek of ecstasy.

Would, as now, we might endure,
Twain as one—thou minature
Ruler, at the rein of me—
Knightly Rider of the Knee!

is it just me, or is that vaguely creepy? i mean, product of its time, artifact of society, all that, but still. *squinches up face* i'm not sure i'd feel right reading that to my kid.

:: scribbled at 4:52 PM ... ... o