Good Humor Premium Ice Cream Bar

I just enjoyed a Good Humor Premium Ice Cream Bar and, while I hate to complain about a tasty, reasonably wholesome treat that was made for my enjoyment -- andsomething I actually did enjoy -- I found some "opportunities for improvement," plus some reasons you might want to go back to Ben & Jerry's. The Good Humor bar was a little too sweet. Americans are older now, and an older palate prefers less sweetness. And as far as kids, go, parents these days are savvy about not over-sugaring them. Polysorbate 60 and 80 made the list of ingredients, and the chocolate coating relies on vegetable oil rather than cocoa butter. Maybe a little vegetable oil is what it takes to make the coating hard? I don't know. But since when did 4 oz of ice cream pack 260 calories? I enjoyed my ice cream bar, but I'm going back to Ben and Jerry's.

Brain Dump

I feel a little down, snowed into the apartment, my volition weak from lack of exercise...

Now, that's something, isn't it? At work you fight to keep ideas of what else you could be doing at bay. So when you can't go to work you find that those ideas don't come back readily. OK, they come back but not with motivation, because the motivation is what you were really keeping in check.

Now I have another flood in the bathroom. The landlord has said he will replace the toilet...

So let's work up a to-do list:

exercise
fix the bathroom
-take up the newspaper
-clean the floor
-empty the tub (of the glass vessel thawing out there)
-plunge the toilet
-rinse the plunger in the now-empty tub

do some laundry
vacuum my room (daytime only)
arrange the plants in my room
do more laundry
file my paper flotsam


And now for a list of what I *have* done this long, snowy weekend (began Thursday)

upgraded my soup with lima beans and rotisserie chicken
worked out twice
posted to my blog (yay!)
ran the dishwasher about three times
did one load of laundry
wrote some email
straightened up the coffee table just a little (needs more)
went to the grocery store -- picked the right lull in the weather!

And how about a calorie count for today?

soup 500 calories
cereal with milk and soy milk 300 calories
bananas 250 calories
1/2 apple 25 calories
jello 70 calories
omelet 200 calories
fruit juice 250 calories
organic peanut butter & dark chocolate 700 calories

Total: 2295 calories

I'd better exercise a lot.

Weekend Update

Sitting in my cubicle waiting for a ride to the transit center, I don't have much time to write, but I will feel better if I write. It seems to me that a few times this week I framed concisely to myself what I wanted to say in this post, but now I'm at a bit of a loss. So much has happened. One future post is sitting in a notebook waiting to be transcribed. And I really want to tell about this commute situation...

It's insane. On weekdays the commute totals about five hours both ways. This coming Sunday I may be looking at seven hours, just so I can put in seven hours of overtime. I'm living on the bus, trying not to eat when I get home because home time is for sleeping, and sleeping is best done on an empty stomach. Time at home is barely enough for sleeping, but God is good to me and I am functional in this matrix.

And Anwar did officially break up with me. He had to do it by email because apparently he's moved back to Egypt! We're just friends now. He has a new girlfriend so I will encounter some boundaries, but I don't know exactly where they are yet. All the questions, thoughts and feelings have to wait until I have time for them.

I will say this: Anwar is a sweet guy. He needs someone to love him just as I would have loved him if he had married me.

sorrow

I think I have lost Anwar. He doesn't write anymore. I feel like hugging and kissing him and crying like a baby, just sobbing into my pillow. Cue "Smoky Mountain Rain."

When he comes back from his trip I'll get the scoop. He's too classy to break up by email; a guy like him will do it face to face.

I feel like such a loser, but how can anybody really lose? I had a man with whom I had no future. I can't say I lost the possibility of a future with him -- I either had a future or I didn't, and apparently I didn't, so I didn't really lose anything. Nobody can ever really lose anything. Determinism, you know. And don't tell me God plays supernatural dice; somebody has already discovered the possibility of hypernatural chaos. As far as I'm concerned, determinism rules; ergo, I am not a loser!

But I *feel* like I lost a wonderful man.

Quick Updates

Russ left his blog open so I was able to catch up with it somewhat. He last solved the cube in 5 minutes and 45 seconds, by the way. And this is his own solution, not something he got from a book.

There's still no word from Anwar. But I trust him. Maybe he went on a pilgrimage and a cleric said to him, "By the way, no contact is permitted with the opposite sex until we get home." Or something like that. Something that will make me say, "Oh, of course!" when he gets home.

Weight loss is proceeding apace and my unemployment check finally arrived. My inbox contains instructions for beginning my new long-term temporary job assignment on Monday. I will need to join their van pool. My tea is ready. That's all for now.

Bathroom Flood

The toilet overflowed. Cleaning it up was gross. I hate that. I need a modern toilet -- one with mechanical flushing help and the ability to grind waste and toilet paper into a flushable soup. My old fashioned toilet is also defective in that flushes involve more than the allowed two gallons of water, which is what enables it to overflow.

Using the wet vac was gross. Cleaning it out was gross. Cleaning the bathroom and myself afterward were a PITA.

While Walking through the Park

I wonder what I thought I had to say that was so urgent that I detoured to the library to write it in my blog.

Actually, I came here to check my email for a letter from Anwar. Still, I was keen to blog.


I passed an angry guitar-slinging hippie who was keen to sue the city for the harassment he suffered from cops. I wished him luck but had no coins to throw in the guitar case. Moving along, I reached a hot dog stand. I hemmed and hawed about whether to part with a dollar over coffee. The man said he'd gimme coffee for a dollar. Then I proffered a credit card so he said I could just owe him the dollar. I sat with some ladies on his outdoor furniture. Then night fell and he had to pack up. When he offered the remaining hot dog gratis I claimed it gratefully.


Theodore Roosevelt inspired the Teddy bear. What will Barack Obama inspire, besides post-election euphoria and renewed hope? I would like to render his portrait and send it to him along with my governance wish list -- stuff like student loan forgiveness. How cool would that be? I will want him to enjoy the portrait even if he can't help with the wish list, but I think that, yes, he can -- help with the wish list, that is. And even if it's a pipe dream he will probably read it with his own two peepers. And if the picture is worthy I'm sure he will keep it.

MIA Sweetheart

Anwar went to Egypt to see his family and mostly he hasn't been writing to me. He wrote to say we'll talk later. Is he still my guy? I got to exploring that idea within myself.

I really hope that he is not breaking up with me. I hope we get married and live happily ever after. But what if there's an end to us, and what if this is it?

If this is it? I'm glad I kept his interest long enough to get to know him and love him for who he is.

I'm not always that lucky.

A couple years ago I lost a guy so fast I'll never know who or what he was, how to characterize or justify my feelings, or why he quickly decided that, if there really was to be a lady in his future, it probably wasn't going to be me. And then when I tried to remenisce about him there really wasn't that much footage to enjoy. I made the best of it but you can see how frustrating it was to have a beginning and ending with no middle in between.

If I ever lose Anwar at least I'll have the memories and I'll know what I lost. I'll know where I've been, so if I keep looking back it won't be to ask myself questions that have no answer. If I keep looking back it will be because I love Anwar and I appreciate the time we had together.

Got A Steady Job

I won't say my temping days are over, just that I've been offered an indefinite assignment. Stuff could always happen. Economy could shift and heads could roll. But I think this is going to be a very steady gig. I'll be manning an Internet help desk. :)

Um... I've gotta make some serious clothes now! I start in a week. What I need is woven cotton, solid colored wrap skirts 3 yards in diameter and gathered at the top. Burgundy to go with my favorite blazer, maybe brown to go with my shoes, and a black one to go with everything else.

The Honeymoon Continues

Thursday I could tell that the neighborhood was still in Obama honeymoon mode. My job interviewer and I seemed to bond over it, among other things. (I also got the job.) I asked a stranger for change for my $5, and he gave me two bus tickets gratis. After one of two bus rides another stranger asked me for change for $1 and I gave him one of the two bus tickets. I told him I was in honeymoon mode with everybody else. When I realized that I'd lost the transfer I got for the first ticket, I think I must have said a prayer. The second driver said his coin machine was broken so everyone was riding free. It was a coincidence * but I got a cheer or two from the crowd when I barritoned in response, "Yes we can!"

God be praised always. And be He thanked for our new president.


* Correction: It was a coincidence with regard to Obama's election. I do not call it a coincidence with regard to the fact that I had just prayed to God for a free ride. In this "coincidence" I see what I believe is an answer from above.

Russ and I are Both Flat Broke and I Owe Him Toilet Paper

Heeeeeeeeellllllp!

OK, actually I have about $25 bucks but it's drowning beneath payments due, and so is Russ' $60. People, we have to make sure checks clear here. Any brilliant ideas?

And no, not those sleazy movie ideas!

Diet Beat

2000 calories doesn't leave much wiggle room. And even that is more than I had meant to eat. I'm shooting for 1600 these days. In September I sprained my foot and stopped being active for awhile. At around the same time, I ate a vile pizza that wouldn't go away. So I was sick for some time. The doctor gave me some Citrucel and that did what the castor oil hadn't done, so the pizza finally went away. Meanwhile, the foot had healed very quickly. God be praised. I was well but I had gained back four pounds. Now I'm back to counting calories and watching carbs.

Russ doesn't like to hear me count calories but it's so essential. The minute you stop counting and focus on something else you start eating like a pig. I mean, I do.

This isn't Racism; It's Xenophobia

Today I heard from a friend who's a Republican -- so Republican, in fact, that he voted that way in yesterday's election. He's Republican in a cultural way, socially conservative. Economically he's neither Republican nor remotely informed. So I think he speaks for a lot of similarly minded people when he reacts to the election of Barack Obama by blithering about the impending loss of our national identity, culture and laws to a dangerous international community, and then goes on to say that Obama doesn't represent him culturally. Truly, he went off the rails. But I think this is the attitude people mistook for racism during the campaign. And now that I've heard it out, I see that it is not racism at all. It's xenophobia.

Obama and McCain can ameliorate this by sharing some great bear hugs when they get back to work this winter. The photo op will not be lost. After my friend finished blithering and left the bus stop in a huff, I said to a lady nearby, "I think McCain and Obama really like each other." She said, "Yeah, I don't know what that guy was talking about."

Bonzo off his Back

With Bonzo off his Back, John McCain has an important role to play in Washington -- that of sincerely working to unite government behind President Obama. I think he's gonna do it. I think his party drove him crazy through this whole campaign and he's ready to go back to political moderation. But more than that, I think he's ready to cross the aisle and cooperate with legislation that he never would have favored before, so as not to frustrate America's new direction. It's as though moderates are going to shrug and say, "If we're going to do this thing, let's do it and not mire it." McCain can spearhead this new attitude, and people will be looking to him for that kind of guidance.

I haven't seen any news since around midnight, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were cartoons in the newspapers depicting a large chimpanzee being pried off McCain's back by Sarah Palin.

In the Rear with a Gear

In school I studied computer programming, bookkeeping, philosophy and writing. I thought that in the business world I'd be in the rear with a gear. Now that I realize they have no intention of keeping me gainfully employed there, I find myself pursuing internships as a means to a "poor man's MBA." There must be a lot of people in that boat. I hope it doesn't sink.

I had another vision when I was young -- Walden. That still has its appeal. But I spent seven years doing my best Walden and I know I'd need to do it differently next time.

Pursuant to Previous Post

I can write for a few more minutes while Russ is in the shower. (This is his computer.) Time to get my head together. What I need to do is this:

-- vote
-- grocery shop (tonite)
-- file away all my paper flotsam (tonite)
-- do the laundry (tonite)
-- clean up my room (tonite)
-- pay the allergy clinic $5 to hold them off (I've discontinued treatment.)
-- go to tomorrow's job interview (and that means setting a loud alarm tonite)
-- go to the chocolate place with my resume (maybe tonite; I could use the chocolate)
-- do tons more laundry
-- call some bureaucrats to straighten something out
-- do my accounting coursework
-- apply for two specific jobs that I want
-- write a post about certain business ethics
-- get chocolate (tonite -- I need my fix)

Lonely Without My Sweetheart

I feel lonely and blue without Anwar. He's gone to Egypt to visit his family.

For the third day in a row I've been laid back and not very productive, but not entirely unproductive. I've applied for some jobs. And last nite I forced myself to exercise. Today it hit me how much I miss Anwar. I wish we would hurry up and get every dispensation we need from the Church and get married. Then next time he flew someplace I'd be with him.

Russ came home so I have to sign off.

Lady Godiva

You know that pop song, "Lady Godiva?" Well, so far, that's how my hair sale is shaping up. People who contact me want me to make videos of my hair being cut. A friend of mine got enthusiastic. He said forget cutting your hair; just make videos! I'm not gonna do it. I just thought that was a silly outcome for that situation.

Souffle

Oh, poor me! I tried to bake a cake but ran out of flour. Quel surprise -- I haven't run out of flour in many months. I took it for granted that I had more than I could ever use. Then suddenly I went to add flour to the other cake ingredients and voila un tasse et demi! I'm afraid I will have souffle. I'm afraid je n'aime pas souffle.

Hair for Sale

It's a crazy plan to pay my taxes by the end of the year. Please send any bids to kittylane167@gmail.com. What I'm selling is, all but an inch, the bangs, and less than .01 percent near my right ear for a french tendril.

A Humming Bird Likes Me

Wow. Lots of things I want to write about seem to fly right past me. But this one hovered in my face and demanded to be noticed.

A couple of hours ago I sat on the veranda, probably smelling of the grapes I had eaten, and holding/sipping an aromatic mug of honeyed yerba mate. A humming bird hovered about two feet from my face and looked at me inquisitively. I think he wanted some of the goodies. For what seemed like two or three seconds I was so intent on not startling the creature that I didn't study him as much as I might have. Then he flew off.

Then just now I looked out the window and saw the bird foraging in the garden below. I whistled at him in such a way as he could probably tell he was being whistled *at* because of the way sound waves ripple out from a center. "Hey, buddy!" I called. And he came back to me, just a yard away, for a split second before he flew away.

I've got to tell my gardening neighbors that the bird wants honeyed yerba mate. I hope it's good for him. (I'll research it first.) Then if they put the stuff out for him, the bird will know I got the message!

Brain Dump Plus

Russ solved Rubik's Cube [the other day, the day I penned this.] He got to talking and I got to thinking a little about how he did it but, if you've ever given it half a thought, you can imagine what a P.I.T.A. it would be to write about!


What's beautiful is oceans, shells, beaches, skies, and those dangling, resonant blue glass figures that recall all of the above as they dance in the ocean's breeze -- all served up together with tea.


This dump is being done in a notebook because Russ' computer is off limits for the time being.


When I studied computer technology in school I had much better intuition about that day's technology than I do today about the current technology.


I never thought I'd see George W. Bush unfairly scapegoated. I never voted for him. I always thought he was up to not-enough-good and way too much counterproductivity. But there are some people who just blame *everything* on "W," and who once voted for his father -- or *twice* voted for his father. (I never once voted for any Bush.) People will say, for example, that real wages have decreased over the last 8 years as though it's a fluke, a caprice and a mistake. In fact, real wages have been in decline for almost 30 years by design -- and the people who brought us George Senior are hypocrites to complain.

Well, I suppose that if they've learned their lesson they're not hypocrites, but one sign of a reformed, penitent Republican is one who speaks of the fallout of a generation of supply-side economics, not just the last 8 years!


When I blog to a notebook I'm always afraid I won't want to bother transcribing it to an official post.


My appetite seems to have been re-awakened by a half pint of ice cream.


Anyone who wouldn't love my sweetheart has a cold heart.


Sweetheart, do you read my blog?

Pursuant to Previous Post

As often happens when I do my phone chores, I'm on hold. This gives me the chance to correct some things I said half an hour ago (see last post.)

First and foremost, God be praised. God gets the glory for everything good about my health, because He made my body and He made the food and He authors everything. "My" diet is vindicated, but originally and ultimately and through it all, it is God's doing. God be thanked and praised.

Also, the people who get the credit for helping me wake up today are: Anwar, my father, Russ and, most of all, God.

Yeah, I know I have a problem with my circadian rythm. I've had it all my life. But it can be treated, corrected, worked with and worked around. I fight it the way people fight alcoholism. I realized how ingrained it was 24 years ago when I took my temperature every hour to discern my native sleep schedule. I don't remember exactly what it was, but it was way out of wack -- "inverted," said the PHD who arranged the test.

Finally, regarding what I said about kids and jobs -- My opinion is just my opinion. Everyone has valid opinions about kids because everyone has been one, and everyone knows someone who has been one. My opinions are based on my own experience and on secondhand experience, particularly on anecdotes from people who worked at a young age and grew up to be so work-oriented that leisure held little appeal for them. The business about making sure your kid has the right reasons for wanting to work at an early age came from a magazine -- don't remember which. The author of said article opined that getting a job "because it's fun" or "because my friend does it" is not a decision based on a good enough reason. Frankly, I disagree. But you'd know a truly bad reason if it came from your own kid.

brain flotsam

It's time to dig out from a month's accumulation of unfinished chores. Anwar and I have been keeping horrendous hours together and we just realized that we have to stop the midnight madness. Now, I've always had a tendancy to sleep and wake at unusual times, but it has never been worse than in the last two days. I realized I needed intervention so I asked three friends to call me and wake me up, which pretty much worked. Now I'm at bat and there's work to do.


On another note, I got some bloodwork done and all the numbers were completely optimal and perfect. Perfect lipids, perfect otherstuff... The doctor said, "[This] is amazing... You must not have eaten anything fun." My diet is vindicated. My diet is perfect.

...And my brain is waking up, so this exercise is working. Let's see what else floats up to the top...

Ah, yes, diet. I'm my father's and mother's daughter, very diet-minded. See, now, Nicola, you should never eat fried chicken.

In the '60's, '70's and '80's nobody knew that certain things were bad for us. So we ate them with abandon. Bisquick was pitched as something as wholesome as flour. So I ate it 88 days in a row in 1983.

BTW, you got a kid? Eating and sleeping are important pursuits for your sweet 16. So are reading, writing and play. A camp with an academic theme is a great place to stick the kid for a couple of weeks. He's probably not ready for a job with all this personal development going on. If he wants a job, make sure he has the right reasons and is personally ready.

2:30. I gotta go.

Breaking the Long Silence

You may have guessed from the context of said silence that I found a real keeper in my new boyfriend.

Now that I have a stolen moment to update my blog (according to time stamp you know I should be sleeping,) here goes:


"Grease" sure blossomed into a cultural phenomenon. Anwar and I watched it a couple of times and I said, "Of all the pieces of Americana to be shipped all over the world, I'm glad 'Grease' was one of them." It really shows the world where America is coming from.


John had said that Russians had little wealth but hardly any homeless people. Anwar said that Egyptians had a robust sense of community. Seattle is certainly a step up from some other places I have been in the U.S., but that's not saying much. To John and Anwar and others, Seattle seems cold and fragmented. I related this to Russ, who expressed some surprise that I allowed John's claim that there were few homeless people in Russia, whereupon I challenged him to Google the Russian almanac, which he didn't do. Be that as it may, Russ indicated a direct relationship between wealth and snobbery. Still, when I challenged him to connect the dots he came up empty handed.

I am reminded of high society. Some kids at my school were preparing to be debutantes. One teacher declared that she hoped nobody in the class she was addressing would ever become involved in such a thing. Then I read an article by a debutante which said, in essence, this is what we do in our community; it almost certainly has its analog in your community.

It took me a long time to realize that she was implicating everybody, which doesn't excuse anybody. When cliques form in high school we tell our kids that it's wrong to form exclusive social groups. But all too often we grownups turn around and set our own bad example. Some people don't talk to strangers. Sometimes the neighbors downstairs are the "strangers!" I heard (anonymously, from my landlord) of a man who complained to the landlord about another tenant (noise complaint) without speaking directly to the tenant because he just didn't want to associate with the latter. That person just wasn't on the list of those, as they say, "with whom [he] *chose* to associate!"

Should we still tell kids that it's wrong to hang with cliques? Certainly, but let's set a better example than some of the socially immature adults around us. Should we discourage young people of wealth and privilege from becoming "debutantes?" Absolutely, but let's not embarrass our own community with analogous institutions.

I like this guy

What do you do when you like someone and you feel like you could grow to like them even more, but you know you don't have a future with that person? Eventually, even I can become attached to someone. Very quickly someone can become attached to me. When, why and how do you decide to stop or go forward?

In this blog I call my new friend Anwar, because I usually don't use people's real names. He reminds me of Nicola. Do I like him for himself, or because he reminds me of Nicola? Thus I mused aloud. He said he didn't care, just as long as I liked him.

Frankly, I can't help but begin to appreciate him as a unique individual.

I haven't even finished blogging about Nicola yet.

I wish I were asleep, but I've compromised my stomach with too much chocolate. Now I must stay upright in posture, entertaining myself by setting down these thoughts.

I be Illin'

Sick to my stomach, I shouldn't be awake. But I ate too much chocolate so here I sit, too sick to sleep. Every time I hang out with my certain friend I over-eat. Now I understand why people take medicine like Alli (Ali? Alli?) I used to think that, if people didn't want too much of the wrong kind of fat in their diet they could just decide not to eat it -- just refuse to put it in their food. And that's how it was when I did the cooking. But when you're a guest you're off your game.

Two weeks ago I actually let some guys feed me out of a deep fryer. I felt like I didn't have a choice. I was busking (playing guitar for donations) in front of a restaurant and the friendly cooks and service crew pooled their money to give me a tip. They also brought me fish and chips. Now, how could I turn that down? A week after that it was pizza on a date. And now, chocolate en masse. There must be some strategy for taking your diet on the town with you.

That being said, my friend -- I'll call him Anwar to protect his true identity -- is a pretty good host. It is I who need to learn to refuse too much of a good thing.

The Late Great Pumpkin

What a great orange cat I had. Pumpkin came to me when he was maybe 4 or 5 months old, just a little guy, and he made two mouse catches right away. He knew all about how to be a cat because his mother's owner gave her time to raise him.

Once he brought down a squirrel!

Mighty hunter, yes. But we loved Pumpkin just for being Pumpkin.

The cat loved and played with the dogs. When he was little he used to hide in a coke box and have the dogs push him down the stairs in it -- wee!

Once when I was cuddling Pumpkin and our Ginger Girl puppy shed salt tears for wanting to be included, both Pumpkin and I immediately showered our puppy with affection.

By the way, Pumpkin preferred to live at my Mother's house, not at my house.
This I say in case anyone familiar with my household is wondering what dogs I could be talking about.

Pumpkin passed away this summer, hit by a car.

Collywobbles

Yesterday and today I kept thinking about the things I would write when next I got my hands on a computer. Unfortunately, now that I have my chance, I'm illin'. So I won't push myself too hard to write the things I had aspired to write today. I feel bad because I don't know if the thoughts will pass unrecorded into the recesses of memory.

Someone at Church today said that I needed to get more sleep. I thought perhaps he had misinterpreted my yawning as a sign that I was tired. Maybe he was right, though. I think I'll turn in early tonite. Meanwhile I'm having wine in my hot tea, and I've also taken my usual antihistamine early.

[Among other things] I had wanted to eulogize my late cat, Pumpkin. I may yet; but as of now I have not even found his pictures and I am too tired to look for them anymore, let alone write an euolgy. He was a great cat.

Thursday, sick in bed (possibly with the beginnings of what I suffer now,) I colored in a childrens' coloring book. Now, that is therapeutic.

housework and a picture

I'm having a housework day today.

And why should I procrastinate about vacuuming when I have a brand new, sweet vacuum cleaner that only wants to help me?

Totally unrelated: Above is a picture of me being signed by local author Sarah Katherine Lewis at a book signing. Although I regret having inspired sailors to unholy lust, I did dance the pole on March 9th and 10th 1989 as Indigo. Sarah wrote (in anticipation of next March:) "Happy 20th Anniversary, INDIGO! Pole dance on, sista! -- [Heart] Sarah"

Alligator Lizards in the Air

I just learned "Ventura Highway" on my guitar and I got to thinking, when was the last time anybody saw an alligator lizard in the air? I used to see these little creatures that looked a little like alligators, a little like lizards, maybe a centimeter long if that, who landed on my arm or maybe somewhere else toward the back of the car as my family rode along in the '70's in Maryland. Well, that wasn't anywhere near Ventura Highway, so I looked up "alligator lizard" to see what America may have been referring to, if it could possibly be the same animal. Well, nothing in Wikipedia under "alligator lizard" resembled my creatures. And when was the last time I saw one of the latter anyway? I hate to think they're gone, but I can't remember seeing one since the '70's. Anyone from Maryland or nearby? When did you last see one of my itty bitty critters?

On the bus yesterday I mentioned this to a woman from Tennessee who used to play with june bugs, tying strings to them for a living fireworks effect. I forgot -- did she say they had vanished? Or does she just not see them anymore since she's come out west?

Local Madness, Attitude

Not sure where to start here! Here I sit in the living room I share with Russ. His music is too loud and I can't do anything about it except hope that he will relent soon and turn it down.

Meanwhile, I persist in writing because I have a lot to express tonight. [Text edited out at future date for fear that someone might misunderstand. For the record, I think that profiling of any kind in the context of employment is wrong. You get a whole spectrum of attributes in any sizable group, modal characteristics and "risk factors" notwithstanding.]

[More edits follow.] Have you ever encountered foreigners who came to the United States with the attitude that Western culture is so shallow and foolish that they can familiarize themselves with it in a minute and completely debunk it in the next ten? In actual fact they're ill equipped to understand our culture, about as ill equipped as we are to understand theirs. Just realizing that would win an Eastern man points with me. (I have been fortunate to date and socialize with Eastern men who approach our culture with a more respectful attitude, and I apologize for having forgotten about them a few days ago when I wrote in the original post, "Why have I never known an Eastern male to approach our culture with that level of humility? After all, every group has its spread, its modal and non-modal attitudes. I want to hear from the Eastern male who can admit that he's at a loss when it comes to Western culture and has no pretensions of being able to tell us how to "fix" it. -- You're out there, aren't you?")

Let me interrupt myself at this point, while I try to get a mental grasp on the ignorant, all-over-the-map filibuster I endured today. Let me just interrupt myself for twenty seconds to say that this loud music is a real bother. I know Russ needs it, but it's still hard to take.

This fellow I worked with today tried to put over that -- ah, where do I *start* ??? That Western so-called chastity is insincere, that kissing is more sexually intimate than coitus (as evidenced by the fact that harlots refuse to kiss,) that any contact between the sexes (courtship, anyone?) might as well be coitus, and that Catholic Churchgoers are the same kind of blind followers that enable people like Hitler, Hussein, Bush and Sharon (some of his actual examples) to promulgate their abuses. Where oh where do I start?

You know, when someone rants some fallacious card house "argument" to the effect of all of the above without allowing any discussion, it's a lot like an assault. And just like the (sexual) assailant in the movie who adds insult to injury ("How was I?") this guy had his parting blow: "The truth is better even if it's bitter." Was he intoning it patronizingly? Probably. But it's patronizing either way. Not only was his logic terrible; his whole argument betrayed ignorance straight from the foundation. Those who can see through his ignorance and illogic are accused of an unwillingness to accept an unwelcome conclusion. "The truth is better even if it's bitter." I wouldn't let him kid himself that he was being Socratic. Socrates, I pointed out, used the dialectic, exposing his arguments to outside examination. By contrast this guy's onslaught was -- what? -- a mon-electic? I told him straight out that I wasn't impressed. But I'm getting ahead of myself. (Can you blame me? I'm overwhelmed with this. WHERE do I START ????????) By the way, I might as well tell you that Mr. Filibuster is none other than my editorial client, John.

Well, the thing about religious believers being blind followers is just equivocation, or at least a very bad assumption. To his mind, people believe because they were "forced" to believe, not because they made an informed decision. He said as much. He said that if I had been born in a certain place I would have a certain religion. He said that my parents forced me to be Catholic. Now, the first assertion is arguable. I mean, if I come from a place where everybody believes a certain thing, that will have a certain influence on me. But that's far from a certainty. After all, I did go through the typical religious questioning mode of youth. Most people I know did. As for the second assertion, Catholicism doesn't want people who are forced into the Church. They want people who make a sincere profession of faith. It might also surprise him to learn that many ethnic Jews forsake the Jewish faith, which I think is unfortunate, but it shows that people are making their own decisions. This was only one of a number of very bad assumptions John made as he ripped inconsiderately through his rant, wise in his own conceit.

Now let me tackle his notions of traditional Western sexual mores. By this I do mean traditional. I mean the Catholic tradition whereby my grandparents wed in their virginity after an innocent, loving courtship. (I never asked them, but let's assume that's what they did. In any event, this is the tradition whereof John spoke.) Having no cultural foundation for the concept of romance in his own upbringing, he doesn't understand the function of courtship. To him it is just sexual intimacy that pretends that it is not sexual intimacy. A man and a woman in the same room, a man and a woman sharing what we would consider an innocent kiss -- as far as he's concerned, they might as well go all the way. He makes two very silly points about this: First, how can a man know for sure that his intended is a virgin if she has shared a room or a kiss with a man? Second, if a kiss is not more sexually intimate than coitus, why then do harlots refuse a kiss?

My turn! Catholicism regards fornication as a sin, not an eternal blemish of dishonor. If a Catholic fornicates, he or she goes to confession and does penance. And that's the end of it. If for whatever reason one's fiancee deems it of utmost importance to ascertain that his intended is a virgin, he can always ask. What reassurance does he have of her truthfulness? Hopefully the romance and courtship were enough to enable two people to trust one another. If not, the couple has big problems. But John wouldn't know this, because he doesn't know the concepts of romance and courtship. Fair enough if he acknowledges his ignorance, but he doesn't.

Moving along, kissing is perhaps more intimate than coitus (I wouldn't know firsthand, being a virgin myself.) But it's not more *sexually* intimate; it's more *romantically* intimate. The harlot who refuses a kiss is saying, "This isn't love; it's only sex." It sails right over John's head. Love may be in his vocabulary, but romance is apparently foreign to him.

Interestingly, when it comes to marriage, John believes in temporary contracts of matrimony (practiced in Islam, he says.) He also believes the old line about "try before you buy" when it comes to permanent matrimony (a la Catholicism.) It's just another instance of equivocating sex with love. Holy matrimony is to be based on love, not sex. Of secondary concern, sexual "compatibility" or mechanics can be worked out later, with love and patience.

What's really disappointing here is how many Westerners of all ages likewise value sex and forget love, insisting that sexual intimacy needs to be investigated firsthand prior to any agreements being signed. I may not know sex, but at least I know love. I know what that feels like. I know what motivates romance. People who think it's all about sex think I'm missing out, but the irony is that they're the real losers; because they have never known a love in whose light their physical pleasures pale by comparison.

By the way, Russ has turned down the volume on the stereo, and has fallen asleep. He read some of the epistle from which John read aloud today, and advised me not to keep company with him. He also said that John was no longer welcomed in the apartment. This is not because Russ agrees or disagrees, but because he finds the whole diatribe to be unacceptably sexually aggressive. He feels that my addressing it on an academic level misses the mark in a way. What can I say? I think John came to America to put us to rights in a number of ways. That is why he is writing a book on our economy, and that is why I work for him. Should I abandon the project? I've decided to simply get the (editing) job done, promoting cultural understanding on an interpersonal level.

Getting My Head Together

Heat sick two days in a row! I didn't even know I was susceptible. I realize now that I must have experienced this in years past without associating it with heat exposure. All it took was a jaunt to the store in midday heat to make me ill. Well, the coffee and herbs might also have contributed.

What bothers me most about this malady is feeling like I want to be productive and not having the full use of my brain. It's like my brain is afraid it'll overheat if it does anything.

Now that night has fallen I should be OK, and blogging is an ideal way to get my mind working again.



Tourist season is flying by. Right now I have a work assignment, but if I didn't I'd be out there busking the docks with my guitar, or at least preparing my act. I hope I get a chance to do this. Here is my first take on a song list*:

Aubrey (Bread)
Hold Me Tight (The Beatles)
Stairway to Heaven (Zeplin)
You've Got Your Troubles (Jay and the Americans?)
Mamma Mia (Abba)
I Can't Get Started (Bunny Berrigan)
Roses... in Picotee (old standard)
Horse with No Name (America)
Baby Ima Want You (Bread)
I Think I Love You (The Partridge Family)
[some stuff by the Ramones that I'm not real familiar with yet]
Rose Garden (Lynn Anderson)
Killing Me Softly (Roberta Flack)
[some stuff by Melanie that I know by heart]
Mystifyingly Glad/ ... Dyingly Sad (artist unknown)
Gimme Some Kind Of Sign (artist unknown)

... I never did finish that list. Obviously it needs massaging and a call to ASCAP.

Nor have I been out busking yet, mostly because I've been unnecessarily occupied. Working with a client who doesn't speak much English is an invitation to errors that waste time. Worse, this particular client either doesn't have a good understanding of opportunity cost or doesn't figure me for someone who has anything important to do besides the business we have together. It could be a misread on him, but for now I'm going with my intuition. Tentatively. It's not like you can discuss every little disgruntlement through a language barrier. Some things you gotta just vent and let go. Right? Anyway, my intuition is pretty well supported by things he has said that really don't bear repeating here.

Out of the Prayer Closet?

I just wrote down some "talking points" for my prayers. When I opened Blogger just now, it was with the idea of posting them. But then I thought, wouldn't God want me to keep that between us? Maybe. What do you think?

What Would Jesus Say?

Hooray! Check this out!

http://www.cracked.com/blog/2008/08/07/5-scientific-theories-head-explode/

...Then look for Kitty Lane's comment on August 8th at 1:59 PM (easy to find; filed chronologically.)

So Many Thoughts, So Little Time II (continued from last post)

I wrote to my friend in South Carolina: My father used to
say that my mother was afraid of losing her looks. Well, she never
did. But now I'm afraid of losing my looks. I'm thinking, I need to
develop emotional fortitude, healthy thoughts and wisdom as a safe
landing surface in case I don't end up as lucky as Mom.



I wrote to my Mother: I noticed with surprise how emotionally stable I was going into my period this time around. I'm like, "Wow, I'm bleeding. But I don't
remember suffering." Even waiting at a bus stop for most of an hour
yesterday I marvelled at how good I felt and realized how fortunate I
was to be stranded in a good mood instead of a bad one.



I wrote to a local friend: [edited for blog] Apparently, most of my old friends from the East don't read my blog at all, which is, I admit, understandable. Even this guy here in Seattle [identifying text omitted] doesn't seem to read it. He sends me these really short messages saying, "how are you doing?" or "What have you been up to?" or some such... And yet, even this is kind of understandable. I mean, I can't promise my blog will always be good. (You have to give yourself permission to be up and down.) And I haven't totally caught up with everybody else's blogs. (At least I read them, though.)

But nobody wants to be this lonely, so I've begun to hatch a plan. It will bear some explanation, but I might as well start trying to articulate it...

Well, to start with, you know the feeling you get when you're a little tyke (4,5,6,7 years old) and you just wrote a story (or created something personally expressive.) You want some grownup to read it, so you pester them until they do. But just when they're about to read it you realize that your creation is in trouble -- somebody's about to read it just because you wouldn't take no for an answer. Somebody is not going to appreciate your creation. And worse, this unworthy audience is going to see right through your urgency to have your story read, right through everything you have written, to a part of you that you no longer want to share with them. You start to feel sheepish about the whole thing and want to hide your precious story.

Well, grownups feel that way too, so I'm not going to give people the hard sell on my blog while I'm alive. It's statistically likely that somebody I know -- maybe even someone I know already today -- will survive me. And everybody gets a little bit popular at the time they die. So I'm getting my will together and asking the survivors among my friends to (a) share any actual money I might have with my family (sorry, not the house! that's for the neices;) and (b) read my blog. People will be curious about me at that moment. At that time it will not be a hard sell. It will not be too much to ask of anybody. I will not feel sheepish in an urn of ashes, like a child who just begged some grownup to read his story. I'm not even sure I feel sheepish about it just imagining it from the present time. So that is the way I will go.

So many thoughts, so little time

Well, I have successfully completed my data entry temporary assignment. (It ended a little early because they have a new staffer who took over my duties as well as the ones they had originally assigned to her.) As for my next gig I have two hot prospects (including an interview that has already been planned!) When John finds out I'm out of work again, he will want to see how far I got with his manuscript -- pretty far, actually, but it's still on paper. I should at least type it up, and I'd like to finish it up before he sees it.


Last night I treated myself to a gourmet meal at home. I thought about eating for nutrition, expedience and practicality, but when I saw that delicious meal coming together I just totally went for it. I thought, it's only me eating it; who cares? But then I thought, what if somebody really cares enough about me to read my blog? Wouldn't it be nice to make the meal really great so I can share the experience with that worthy individual?

So here is what I had: Roasted potatoes and sweet potatoes and steamed kale topped with organic cottage cheese and black grapes, plus a tomato and cheddar sandwich on multi-grain bread. The beverage was homemade lemonade. (Since I had already had a lot of protein that day, I didn't sweat the grams at this meal.) Write to me if you love it. I did it for both of us.

(To be continued, next post)

The Word of the Day is Hilton

Checkidout!

http://www.care2.com/politics/paris-hilton-responds-mccain-obama.html

Back to Work

As you may have guessed from my long silence, one of my temp agencies has called me back in to work. I should be working from last Tuseday until about August 12th in data entry for a legal services company.

Of course I wanted to write things! I just walked 3 - 4 miles home from Church, so I have plenty of things on my mind. Like, I stopped at a bar on the way and played the piano. And I met lots of dogs in the park. And I had some thoughts about the economy and stuff.

But all of this will have to wait, wait, wait. Because I have paperwork to fill out and a curfew to meet so I can be early to work tomorrow and take care of stuff.

brain dump

My father had an accident that resulted in a concussion. The resulting palsy is expected to last for three weeks, during which he must try not to submit to a work-related physical examination. It was not a work-related accident (nor was it related to traffic or heavy equipment,) and his previous physical is technically still current, having been less than two years ago, so he should be fine in that regard. Even so, it is contributing to a stressful situation for my family that nobody can do anything about at the present time.

All I can do about it is stress and feel helpless or think about something else.

Meanwhile, my sister is being harassed by my neighbors. If you recall, she is house sitting for me. She blames me for the behavior of neighbors who cut through the property, get into her car, knock on the door and behave unpleasantly, and break and enter the house!

This is apparently what happens when a person (such as my sister in her present condition) is devoid of all social status. I deplore the whole idea of social status, but I'm forced to observe it at times, by way of protecting myself. For example, I feel the need to make it clear that I own the house. This imbues me with status, which is an important tool for getting idiots to respect me. (One never wants idiots to disrespect him or her!!!) By contrast, home ownership does not affect my own self-image, because it's only a superficial matter of material wealth, which can never make someone any more or less of a person. Case in point: John the Baptist. Another: Jesus Christ. In fact, I would go so far as to say that material wealth by itself doesn't reflect on an individual in any way. Only vice, virtue and personality -- words, thoughts and deeds, reflect on the individual.


About an hour ago I got an annoying phone call from a friend. He wanted to talk and not listen. Every time I tried to respond constructively to his suggestions he cut me off!


I need to remember to get some Holy Basil (herbal stress remedy.) Maybe then I won't be so uptight.


Today I've been working on (editing) John's manuscript. (Yes, I have part time work! God be thanked!) My excuse for doing this on the sabbath is that my sister is in need and that, rather than allowing John to pay me for today's work, I will ask instead that he send the money to her. The manuscript itself is stimulating material; some of the ideas that he addresses merit their own post. This is a guy who lacks the historic perspective of someone who has been in the United States for a very long time. He doesn't know our language very well, nor our vernacular. He hasn't witnessed the evolution of American English Vernacular. He goes on for a very long time expressing what in our language should be a very brief passage. I told him that one of the particular virtues of English is its tendency to evolve and embrace new concepts, something that had seemed to annoy him.


My aunt also had an accident that resulted in a concussion. Get well soon, everyone! And me? I've just got to get past the stress.


P.S. Friends, if I have your url, I have added your blog to my blog list at the bottom of the page. This will help me to keep abreast of everyone's blogs. If you don't see yours, please send the url. Thanks.

sex and the real me

I admit it. Lately I've been thinking about sex, probably because I'm ovulating. At least I think I'm ovulating, as evidenced by pesky thoughts of sex. I'm a virgin. Some people think it's because I've been brainwashed or because I've accepted other peoples' values and appropriated them for myself. Well, these people don't give me much credit, do they? My chastity, beliefs and opinions about sexuality are part of my core; I would not be myself without them.

To have sex out of wedlock would be unacceptable to me, since sex is by nature a total giving of oneself. How can a person give himself or herself *totally* to someone who is not his/her spouse? It would either be a lie or a holding back of part of the implicit gift.

Some people wonder why I didn't marry, or why I don't plan on it. All I can say is, it's no easy thing for two people to love one another so deeply and completely as to merit marriage. What if, among the billions, a person finds someone that he loves. Now, how likely is that person to love the first person back? It's not just a matter of deciding what you want and penciling it into your life as though life were a 2-D schematic on a drawing board.

I think people need to loosen up and let me be myself.

De Day Start Okey-Day II (continued from last post)

Ah,yes, back to my time with Kyle and the hours that followed. I met Kyle at a job interview on Tuesday, gave him his first guitar lesson on Wednesday; and this is the account of today, Thursday. By now (8:17 PM) I'm pretty tired, and the only thing keeping me alert is the task at hand, writing.

By the time Kyle dropped me off at today's (Thursday's, as opposed to Tuesday's) job interview I was pretty uncomfortable, dirty and grimy from the dust at Goodwill. I washed my face in the lavatory. The interview was nothing to write home about. (Let me take this opportunity to remind myself to start the followup email to this interview with, "Thank you for your time this afternoon.") When I left I felt deflated and anxious. This company, a placement agency, wasn't offering all that I had thought. Bad news about the economy (including the content of this morning's radio program) saddened and frightened me. I decided not to go directly home. An ice cream cone at the dock might cheer me up.

As I approached the dock, I met a man with a guitar and asked if he could give me good advice for fifty cents. He seemed amenable but I didn't have change after all so I gave him a dollar. For this he told me all about busking in the dock area -- good, valuable information -- so I gave him another dollar. Homeless, Ken was a self-confessed alcoholic and toker. And what of it? He still needed to make a living, and this was valuable information, so I felt justified in the matter of the two bucks. He himself made $50 - $100 per night busking the dock; and he indicated that I could expect to do much better. I played him a song and offered to buy him ice cream. He asked for fries instead, which I fetched back to him from a restaurant across the street. While waiting at said restaurant I chatted briefly with a stranger and gave him my card. (Yes, I chatted with friendly strangers today. Take *that,* Mindy's Mom! -- see "In a Little Cafe," a recent post.)

After delivering the fries and taking my leave of Ken, I found myself chatting with a stranger who was about to embark on a kyaking adventure, a prelude to a much headier trip to ... uh... was it St. John's Bay? I can't remember exactly, but maybe he will write in and remind me, as I did give him my card. His backpack looked to be heavier than the man himself. I told him about two guys who failed to return to their rendez-vous after setting off in a tiny plane with two heavy backpacks like that. (They should have seen that coming. I sure could!)

People on the bus were affable and chatty, and I was feeling much better. Between bus rides I practiced the vocal aspect of my music under cover of the din of traffic. Upon finding the ice cream parlor open, I decided to end practice and indulge in the ice cream. One can hardly sing after eating ice cream. Six ounces (a modest scoop) of coffe ice cream is a diet-friendly portion of very effective comfort food. Then it was back on the bus and on to the library, where I wrote the previous post.

De Day Start Okey-Day

Shades of a certain day in 1972 when my writing jones kept me from going out to play. It's a beautiful day at the lake, but my impressions of the day's adventures begged to be written about first.

At 9 AM my friend called me. I dozed twice, then recieved him and offered him a home-cooked breakfast. As I expected, as we'd planned, he offered me brunch "out" instead. I offered to pay but, as I expected, he insisted on taking the tab. We both knew I couldn't afford much of anything, but that would not have kept me from paying for brunch today. Because today I was resolved to have a serious talk with my friend -- we'll call him Kyle, and I didn't expect him to like what I had to say. Then again, I didn't expect him to prevail against what I had to say, which is what ended up happening, for better or for worse.

Last night I suffered a good deal of anxiety over the whole idea of this divorced man taking such a liking to me. I'm a Christian and a Catholic. If I understand this matter correctly then, in the divine reckoning, Kyle's ex-wife is in fact his wife, and for him to regard me the way he does won't do. It makes me feel guilty. At the same time, I'm all keyed up and full of myself because somebody likes me. Last night I discussed it with Russ, who agreed that I should stop keeping company with Kyle. I said to Russ that I generally don't mind taking the role of muse; but the fact that Kyle was divorced made the difference. But Russ wasn't giving me that much credit. "I'm a good muse!" I protested, "I'm good to the people who like me." He said that, yes, I was, but that this kind of situation was a temptation to me because I was prone to enjoy it too much. I'll allow that, I guess.

So I got in Kyle's van and he started driving east. Now, the job interview to which he was driving me was south of my apartment, as was the restaurant (Baranoff) which would have been a natural choice for brunch. When I asked where he was going he replied to my dismay, "McDonalds." When I wouldn't have that, his next try was Jack-In-The-Box. Now, I had offered him healthful food at home, so I was well within my rights to nix both of the above. We turned southward, the bad news on the radio dampenening my mood (more about that later, perhaps.)

I told him about my resolution, which was difficult because at first he didn't understand. He thought it was about the way he treated me. But at length I managed to convey that, in the context of his marriage, it was the disposition of his heart that really counted. He agreed to keep his heart true to his wife, but asked that I not refrain from keeping him company since she had left him all alone and he needed a friend to talk to. It wasn't what I had planned, but I decided to keep our friendship.

Please, dear reader, don't get me wrong. As far as I'm concerned, people can love me or be attracted to me all they want -- unless they already have a wife; then it's no good.

By now we were pretty far south, near the port of Seattle. We finally settled on brunch at Denny's. I should not have been surprised when he suggested splitting a Grand Slam breakfast. "I eat small," he explained. Not a bad idea, I must confess! I didn't miss the luxury of a big breakfast.

At brunch, the conversation went from food to diet, and I had to admit that eschewing junk food may or may not have enhanced or protected my health. Kyle allowed he'd eat anything under the sun. Has he had the expected circulatory problems? Yes. Have I had the [in my case unexpected] circulatory problems? God be thanked; I have not. Does this mean that I'm right, he's wrong and I have gloating rights? No, you really can't tell for sure. But I'm sticking to my guns on the one hand, and remembering gratitude toward my maker on the other. I imagine there are people who do all the right things and sink; while others do all the wrong things and swim.

Kyle took me (we joked that he Shang Hai'd me) to his familiar haunts. He spent an hour picking through a Goodwill store, purchasing things for both of us. I think he appreciated the humor when I said, "You have to be really bored to hang out at a place like this." I don't know what he's going to do with all the stuff he got for himself. At one point he showed me what looked like candle holders and asked what they were for, to which I replied, "They're for dusting. When you dust your apartment, you dust those too." He put them back. I'm sure he appreciated the humor there too.

One thing I appreciated about Goodwill that morning is that they played 70's music on the public address system -- the music of the heyday of America -- while peddling the old junk of America. It was archaeology with ambiance. Bye-bye, America. I hope Barack Obama can save us.

[to be continued next post]

The Way I Remember Arabee

Regardless of what James Joyce actually wrote, this is how I remember "Arabee" from the high school English class: The girl gets stood up. The girl gets stood up because the boy figures out that she's not going to put out.

I felt like that was happening to me right and left. I felt like people didn't really like me for myself; they were just interested in what they could get from me. When I got stood up today I fumed a little, thinking it was more of the same. But just now I got a phone call saying that my friend had fallen asleep and that he would come over just as soon as he could get here, in a few minutes.

I still think that "Arabee" is a stupid story and that a lot of the people I took for friends were more selfish than I had supposed. But it's nice to know that company is coming after all.

In a Little Cafe

I'll call it Mindy's, though that's not the actual name of it. I never quite fit in at Mindy's the way I did at the other cafes. Mindy herself was more than a little stand-offish, although her employee Rachel was warm and kind. Over time, I gently reached out to Mindy until there was some rapport, but it only went so far.

It soon came to pass that Mindy could no longer afford to employ anyone and her cafe was manned solely by herself and her family. Often I would patronize the concern only to find myself in a tight space dominated by a family picnic that made no effort to embrace me, as though I had paid $6.00 for tea, cake and a slender gratuity and not for the customary friendly ambiance of a Seattle cafe. It was hard to take, and it encouraged me to make my best effort to reach out one last time today. It wasn't pointed, and I didn't get the feeling that it had anything to do with me when, after a time, the family vacated the building and sat down at a picnic table outside. In fact, a little girl invited me to come out and sit with them, but when I did her grandmother intoned at me, "Generally an official invitation comes from an adult, not from a seven-year-old!" I went back in to find Mindy at her table working at a computer. I said, "I'll give you guys an extra tip to smooth things over." She said, "OK." I put the dollar in the cup. I said, "I think I really annoyed your mother," and quickly related the tale. "I don't feel like I can come back, at least not while she's around," I concluded. Mindy encouraged me to ignore her mother's behavior, which was a kind enough gesture to make me wonder if I might return after all, if only for a token coffee to go.

But the truth is, it's not just about some cantankerous old lady; the whole ambiance of the place is cliquish and cold. Eating there is like trying to sit with the mean girls in high school. I don't want to blame Mindy because (a) I kind of like Mindy and (b) as her mother's daughter she must have made some effort to learn to be more open, gregarious and -- let's face it -- better mannered than the tree that dropped the apple. But I don't relish subjecting myself to that atmousphere when, for a mile's walk, I can enjoy a welcoming atmousphere at her competitors' shoppes.

When it comes to cliquish behavior, there are two camps. My camp tells children, "Never play games where someone else is left out." I'm getting a certain impression about the other camp, the one that cranks out people like Mindy's mom. I think that they are seldom heard from in the context of this kind of conversation (a) because they're caught up in their own cliques, relatively unconcerned with strangers and their ongoing global conversations and (b) because by nature they're fragmented into little cliques, disinclined to present a united front on any issue. Instead, it's my camp who portrays the other, in movies like the aforementioned "Mean Girls" and "Revenge of the Nerds."

If you want to hear from a cliquish person you have to be friends with one. And I actually do have a friend like that, so I can get his insight on it. (The insight is basically that he doesn't want the responsibility of admitting everyone into his sphere of relevance.) But when he ignores someone I don't go along with it.

The divisive nature of this issue is so pronounced as to produce a curious situation in my old neighborhood in Pennsylvania. It seems that there is one YMCA where people go to stick with their own posse, and another where people say it's not like that and they can go there to socialize. It's like one culture rules one space and another domitates the other.

Twilight and Nicola

I think those are called stratus clouds. The twilight is particularly lovely tonight. If I had some warm, honeyed green tea right now I could nurse the illusion of drinking in the western sky.

The family is in a better position now, which isn't to say they're out of the woods. They're hard pressed but not hopeless. God be thanked! Perhaps He will send more help. Maybe eventually I can help too. But in the meantime I can turn my attention back to myself somewhat. Introspection is a lot of what blogs are supposed to be. If not, why not just read the newspaper?

Speaking of the newspaper, I clicked right out of it tonight because there was a big to-do about bad news -- huge levels of personal debt prevalent among Americans. Maybe someday I will have the guts and fortitude to read it, but not now, in this beautiful twilight, while I have the apartment to myself all quiet and nice.

-------------------


I know a man whose charm I only understand with my heart. Intellectually, I can't quite figure it out. He's very smart, cute, funny and adventurous. But these things can be said of many people. Why did my heart cathect to this man and not the others?

Ah, Nicola. Two years ago I already knew that we weren't in a relationship per se. Yes, we'd hit it off and all that, made eyes, spent an enchanting three days together, but no romance resulted. Two years ago I thought the deal was that Nicola found the idea of having a relationship with me to be impractical. In that regard I was right. But I also thought that in spite of the impracticalities he still liked me and that there was hope for the distant future. And then he told me I was wrong about that. "I had a crush on you in school, and I certainly had a crush on you on your [recent January] birthday, but I don't anymore."

Before I heard this I was a glowing, strong and healthy girl. My senses were heightened. Food tasted better. The countryscape near my house was fragrant, musical and visually delicious. I lost a little weight. Life was nice. I looked forward to getting to know this person, this muse, even though I knew I couldn't really have him. In March I visited him in his native Washington, D.C. and was treated to kissing privileges and the opportunity to give him a seated massage in a crowded coffeehouse. Before I kissed him I asked if kissing might be off the table because we had [already] decided not to become involved with one another. He smiled (a beautiful smile) and said, "You're looking for rules where there are none." (Don't you love him too?)

I don't know when he stopped having a crush on me, or why. I'm just glad he told me that part in September instead of May. Had he pulled the plug in the spring, my enchanted summer would have instead been a time of grief and sorrow. September is more like a really good time to begin the grieving process. To a very large extent, over the following months, I got over Nicola. Not completely -- I don't think that's going to happen. But I ceased to be utterly besotted by him. That's when it seems like my metabolism "turned like a leaf," as I like to put it. It sucks to get over someone.

But Nicola is a man of mystery, so he maintained a presence in my mind in the form of questions. I didn't find answers to the questions, but there emerged a picture of Nicola himself that I really admire and like. He's still in my heart, balmy and gentle. We write to one another, too. And for my birthday this year he called me on the phone.

Nicola opines that it's not healthy for me to think about him. But my roommate Russ, who knows me pretty well, thinks that it's good for me to think about Nicola. I tend to agree. Still, as a Christian I wonder, might God want me to put the picture of forbidden fruit out of my mind? In today's sermon, the priest pointed out that sometimes things are forbidden to us because they are bad for us. So maybe, for the same reason that being with Nicola might have been bad for me (or for him,) just thinking about him in the context of what didn't happen between us could also be bad or harmful? There might be something to that. So just in case, it might help for me to shift more of my focus away from the forbidden fruit aspect of my muse. There's so much else to enjoy, like the thought of the man himself with his charmed, intelligent eyes and genuine smile, or the memory of a magical time spent together. That much I did truly have, so I feel it is still mine to enjoy. I don't have to dwell on the part I can't have.

Please don't think that our "magical time" was about sex, because that's not the case. We didn't do it. I'm a virgin. When Nicola left my house after those three days he, too, was a virgin, and, for all I know, he still is. I don't believe in non-marital sex, and I could (and probably will) write a whole post about just that. This is not the occasion for that post, but I wanted to point out the situation lest you get the wrong idea. (Russ said, "You didn't #*@! him?? Is this guy still *talking* to you?" which I think is funny.)

Next time I blog about Nicola, I want to talk about the mysteries.

Family Saved by New Jobs

Suffice it to say, I think my family is going to squeak through the summer with less damage than we had feared. Now I can stick my head back up my butt where a writer's head belongs (only half kidding.)

Letter to Hotel Magnate

The following is a pared-down edit of a letter I sent this spring profiling a little pipe dream that needed to find its way into the right hands:




Dear [hotel magnate,]

[I have an idea for you.] … Before I tell you my idea, I beg you to view any difficulties that may be involved as challenges to put new solutions to old problems. Please don’t take the problems that tore down other peoples’ projects as an edict that no such thing will ever work. I believe strongly that there is a way if you will but find it.

OK, my idea is: Please build one of your wonderful hotels as a sanctuary for a community of refugees. What do refugees need? They need food, clothing, shelter and medical care; but they also need a way to get back on their feet in time to pursue their dreams and make their own contributions. One lady in a refugee camp said to the press, “All I can do is sit here and watch my youth rot.” I never forgot the quote, although I have long forgotten who said it and where. (Imagine how she would feel knowing that her remark helped inspire you to help someone in her situation.)

I think that you and your staff could conceivably work out a way to meet the needs of a sizeable community in a way that would actually pay back the monetary outlay and eventually sustain itself. Imagine helping a displaced population to construct their own communal or cooperative residence, replete with air-conditioned offices, home suites, classrooms, solar panels down the south side, space for crops, a wind farm atop a green roof with a swimming pool, a community cafeteria with the services of a staff nutritionist – and land title!

What would you bet that the buzz alone could defray the cost of the pilot effort? And when residents started launching their own enterprises they could eventually take over the operating expenses of the whole project, especially with the support of eager corporate sponsors and partners.

Now, I’m not suggesting that anyone approach a shell-shocked group of people and “make everyone work.” You always get a mixed bag. Some will take years to recover to the point of functionality, while others will be desperate for a way to apply their efforts to bettering their situation on the day that you first meet them.

If you do this project, I submit that you will teach society some important lessons to which it has only recently become receptive. That is why I believe that precisely which community and which individuals you decide to include in the pilot effort is maybe not as important as the idea that you start somewhere, on behalf of the world, so that we as a society can learn these timely lessons about how we can and should treat one another on this planet. Moreover, I’m certain that most displaced persons would agree…

[finis]

Starving Relatives

It was earier this month, around the 10th maybe, that I discovered that some of my people back east are having a hard time with this "recession" (euphemism.) Why fill in the blanks? Why say more? Part of me wants to discuss it and part of me doesn't. Suffice it to say that ... I can't go there! They're just having an awful hard time.

Rather, it is my own reaction to their situation that I feel the need to discuss, so here goes. Part of my reaction at first was fear and anxiety. I also sent what little money I could to my sister and wished I could send much more. I asked a Church to help but she doesn't want to talk to the pastor. I put off a topic I'd wanted to explore in my blog (namely, the whole Nicola thing) because it paled in significance next to the immediate reality of my loved ones.

The sequence of events blurs, but it seems to me that the first ray of hope came when I hatched a plan to get some money -- busking (street performing) with my guitar. Then I had a good day and chalked it up to God's help or biorhythm or both. Then I practiced until I got up what seemed like a half hour's worth of material. Then I picked a lousy spot and got no donations except a guitar case and a box wherewith to collect monetary donations. To clarify, these items were donated to me as I walked the 2.5 miles from my apartment to the "lousy spot." There are good spots to be had in Seattle, but I'm told they require a permit. I actually had a good time performing and I didn't do a half bad job, but this isn't a story about my adventures in music; it's an exploration of my reaction to some particularly bad news about my family.

To resume, then, I learned that busking requires an expensive amount of patience, trial and error. It is not the quickest way to make a buck to send back home. Today I went back to looking for jobs and you can bet I'm looking at jobs I would not have considered when I first came to Seattle looking for stepping stones toward a career. (For those who haven't known me long, I've been working clerical jobs through a number of temporary employment agencies, but these dried up in the spring.)

Russ just stirred and turned the TV on loud, so I'll have to wrap this up soon. I guess I've said enough. Let me add; please don't expect me to be thoroughly forthcoming about just how poor I am. I may hint at it but I don't see any reason to be tortuously exhaustive about it. The good news in that regard is that I still own the tiny house on a wooded lot that I bought for the price of a car in better times in Pennsylvania. My sister occupies that right now, and, in her condition, that is very good news for her too.

I hope that later on I will get a chance to talk about my family's experience of the 1980 recession.

The Word of Yesterday was Gore

Sorry to have such a brief post; but I felt that this short, sweet item deserved its own post. Al Gore spoke for the many whose reaction to recent debate about the future of energy was that we can and must green up our act now, and quickly, by saying, in essence, "Absolutely. I've done the homework." I hope we go with Gore's plan. Don't look at me; I don't have a dime. But I'll do what I can as a voter, a blogger, and a small-time consumer to support a necessary and workable solution.

The Cambodian Wife

A friend was going on about a roommate she had had who was paying alimony to an ex-wife in Cambodia. "He's stupid!" she nearly spat with contempt, "To make a deal like that..." When I figured out what she was saying, I was the one who was scandalized. She was saying that the man should have known better than to marry such a poor woman! And I was soooo surprised at my friend because, if the love of my life turned out to be a poor Cambodian I would still jump at the chance to marry him. Love trumps every practical consideration.

Russ saw this coming

Sunday Russ and I were motoring down to Tacoma to see his mother. He said he thought the economy was going to get worse before it was going to get better. I asked about the surge in confidence we would get from Obama's ascendence; and he answered that it wasn't just about confidence, that what we really need is resources. Well! That being established, I set about trying to get at how bad Russ thought things were going to get. Mind you, Russ doesn't like to lay out his whole thought or answer all the questions directly. He's more like Isaac Newton in that he wants the audience to fill in the blanks. But I asked enough questions to glean that he thought that things weren't going to get unrecognizeably worse. Whew!

And then we find today that a major bank has failed and two others falter.

The Wichita Lineman

Was it biorythm or Divine intervention? Somehow despite all my circumstances I felt good this evening. I took a nap. I thought about Nicola. I got up a tad after sunset and thought about Glen Campbell's "The Wichita Lineman." More like, the song welled up in me. When I picked up my guitar I decided to humor myself with an easy piece (name unknown) before attempting Lineman. Man, I laughed out loud at how difficult these things are when you're rusty and old. But I did finally get thru the song -- not smoothly but I got thru.

Russ just came in. He will want to turn on the TV soon. I'll catch you later.

Pickens is the word of the day

The Larry King Live forum concerning gas prices and profits left me with the impression that Robert Kennedy was 100% right; drilling is not the answer. I don't even think it's worth what we're paying for it. After all, new development is what we're paying for at the pump.

I figured the whole audience probably got the same idea. Now, a few days later, along comes T. Boone Pickens ( see http://www.ens-newswire.com/ens/jul2008/2008-07-08-091.asp) "Conflict of interest," they say? How about "confluence of interest?" To the extent that he can, the man has put his money where his mouth is.

Still, (and I say this in my ignorance, having no information to back it up) my opinion is that the Pickens plan is too slow and doesn't emphasize home systems that allow people to own their own power.

"Too slow" I say not because I have any understanding of the numbers involved, but because Israel has a 3 year plan to go off of oil and I think, if they can do it that fast why can't we? I think that was mentioned on Larry King Live.

Better still if people can own their own power. Government subsidies could help. Sean Lennon, are you listening? POWER TO THE PEOPLE!

Even so, hooray for Pickens because he's giving us the very best he has to offer. He's not the government. He's a capitalist from the early 20th century offering a classic capitalist solution. And if it's the best we can do I'm all for doing it.

'Nando, Daaahling ...

... I look maaahvelous! Thirteen pounds down, maybe ten more to go. Problem is, I'm unemployed, so who's gonna see these results? I took some camera phone pix and even with the annoying fish-eye effect thereof, pix (of me) look great. Hopefully someday soon I'll have a means of uploading / sharing them.

As always, I can't complain. Looking good (and skinny!) is a consolation even if there are no co-workers to see me. God be thanked. I see myself and am encouraged to continue my diet.

Weekend Update

I can't believe it's been a week since I have written to my blog!! And there's so much going on that I wanted to talk about.

Last Sunday one of my temporary agencies sent an executive and some clerks to a construction site to clean up after the crew, just trying to keep us busy. The chemical solvent had a strong smell. The "honey bucket" splashed back at me when I defecated. On the job, we talked about college and the economy. I thought we were working on a building for new office suites for tenants that would someday offer us jobs, but it turned out it was a big skyscraper full of condos. Well, maybe the residents will still offer us jobs. Or, maybe they'll edge us further out of the sweet spot by snapping up jobs. It's a beautiful building. Only time will tell.

Kitty is dying for email. Must...have...email. I think I'm going to have cards printed promoting my blog. (My alter-ego gets plenty of mail, but it seldom has anything to do with this blog. To respond to blog, send mail to kittylane167@gmail.com. Respond to my survey questions (see "You Might Prefer a Raisin in the Sun;") ask your own questions; respond, respond, respond. Thank you.)

I also need a strategy to keep abreast of my friends' blogs -- a home page full of links is what it will be.

Nicola (recent love interest; not his real name) wrote back, giving me the green light to blog about him. I wish that everyone were as level-headed and fair-minded as he was in that letter. As I unpack and air out my feelings, you can read them right here at "I Can't Complain."

Next up, I started taking pictures with my camera phone. For someone as poor as I am to own a camera phone is a real head-scratcher. My parents bought it cheap and mailed it to me. They don't have much money either; they just really wanted me to have a phone, and this one was on sale. As yet I have no way of uploading the pictures to the computer.

Finally, can anyone guess how much weight I've lost (since March?) Thirteen pounds, people. I'm down to 157 from 170. Fellas are noticing me; and the big girls' clothier is grasping at straws not to hire me at the size I am now despite my brilliant interview. Success. Still trying to lose a few more.

Oh, yeah. One more thing belongs in this weekend update. Independence Day was pretty nice even though I charred my vegetable dish and watched an historical documentary that gave some gory details about the Revolutionary War. Fireworks could be seen right outside my window.

antidisestablishmentarianism

Maybe I should look that word up, but I'm pretty sure my friend John is disestablishmentarian and I'm anti. So I wrote him this (edited for blog:)

_______________________________________________________________

I just think that the criticism is ineffective. (I don't really know this for sure because I couldn't download your attachment. I'm just going on what you've said otherwise so far.) You find people who've made mistakes and then you criticize the whole economy on that basis. I don't take your criticism personally because you have no idea of where I stand on these issues because I didn't really get a turn to talk. You talked about homeless people but you didn't stop to find out that I had been homeless in the distant past.

To you, any system that allows certain abuses -- poverty, war and injustice -- is no good and should be torn down. But tune in to zeitgeist. The new socialism wants to find ways to tame capitalism into a tool we can use, instead of a juggernaut that controls us. You want to help? Give theses ideas a chance.

The research you're doing is incomplete. You turn up fascinating horror stories. I must admit I never knew that business about D-day before. Still, you know there is another side of the picture, besides the horror stories. Does your research include proof that the economy could survive an abandonment of the estabishment, or that a safe transition could be made to a system that embraces your ideals? That would be tough to prove, and, to prove it, you would need to consult economists that you don't agree with.

Everyone knows that there are unfair ways in which wealth accumulates and then defends itself. But do you have a proof to the effect that any wealth whatsoever always promulgates poverty? That would be tough to prove. No anecdotal evidence is going to get you past that one. Moreover, there is plenty of evidence to the contrary, since we have wealth to thank for a total increase in value of the wealth of the world through technology, commerce and cooperation.

You Might Prefer a Raisin in the Sun

All night last night and for most of the day "today" (meaning Tuesday, whereas technically it is now Wednesday) I had the writing jones. I felt like I had a lot of stuff to say, but all I could manage was a few minutes at the library to write a single email. The urgency to express myself withered as I bounced some of my ideas off of a completely unimpressed Russ. He didn't see the significance of my concerns so I began to doubt it too. Depression began to roll back on me like storm clouds or a Sisyphean stone, whichever you prefer, probably because I had forgotten to take my anti-depressant this morning.

Let me take this opportunity to say that I really welcome your letters. And I would have answered the phone, Dave (Hi, Dave! :)) except that I was running around doing errands and I could not have heard your voice over the phone. The din of traffic drowns out the sound of the phone even at maximum volume.

So, yeah, this time my ideas kind of expired before I wrote them down. On the other hand, the letter I wrote today managed to capture a remnant of my thoughts. Excerpts below are from said letter, addressed to my dining companion from the previous night, a disestablishmentarian economist from Iran whom I will call John. A naturalized US citizen, he's been over here for about ten years now and is working on his second book, which is at least partially funded by the proceeds from his first book.

-------------

... You gave me many things to disagree with all at once, and by the time I got my chance to talk you were past the point of conversing and responding.
... When I write about you on my blog I will be as respectful as I always am to [people] I disagree with... You will find that I am a very respectful person... If I have anything to say about you that you don't like I'll edit it or take it down.

You don't seem to give American traditions of economics much credence because the United States as an entity has made so many disastrous mistakes, and because we seem to be under the control of a certain manipulative element of what we traditionally refer to as "the Establishment." It is almost as though you feel that if you read this material your eyes will glaze over as your fingers release the book to the floor and you somnambulate out the door, zombified, indoctrinated. Let me tell you the truth I have discovered firsthand at two different colleges in Maryland which teach economics. Apparently they know enough about the subject to resist any urge to indoctrinate the students. If they did, the students would ask for their money back and go home. I'm not saying that students don't become indoctrinated on any level; if they didn't, you would probably see an anything-goes fashion show in every classroom across America. I'm just saying that, if instruction were to become as manipulative as you seem to fear it is, nobody would stand for it. It's just not happening.

So what do they teach? Smith, Keynes and Marx. Marx is pretty big in Maryland. Big Jesuit presence -- Loyola College, where my father studied. The emphasis is on the mechanics of the system, not on political or economic ideals. The one exception is Marx; Marxism is taught on the level of ideals that seek to be persuasive, not just scientific. This is the reality of taking up 9 credits of Economics in Maryland. And if they don't try to indoctrinate you in Econ 101, they're not gonna try it in 452. I never got that far, but you know it wouldn't make any sense. So give our schools a break. There are no zombies here. And John? Please read my words as being delivered in the gentlest, most respectful tone possible, because that is how they are intended

---------------------------------

I remember now from John's filibuster the other night, that he has a strange take on an old question. The question is how anyone who cares about the poor can spend money on lifestyle items while others lack the basic necessities (and worse, live in a desperate matrix in which they work frantically just to postpone the punishments that loom on the horizon, with little possibility of any actual reward.) John quickly concluded that wealthy people who keep their wealth and lifestyle rather than divesting and giving to the poor can't possibly be people who care.

Maybe John is right; maybe not. I'm not convinced. It just sounds premature. Many people have different takes on this ancient question, so I doubt that it merits an instant response. Schindler regretted his choice of an expensive automobile because the money could rather have been spent rescuing one more person from the Nazis. Young students hesitate to purchase a pizza while they contemplate how far their $7 could go in the third world. Middle class people in India (I'm told) develop the ability to ignore the poverty around them lest it drive them crazy. I don't always give my change away; sometimes I buy myself a treat, like at Starbucks.

If everyone gave all of their disposable income to the poor instead, could the economy survive that? (Take my survey! Send your answer to this question to kittylane167@gmail.com.) John or any other economist would have to do a lot of work to convince me that it is safe to do this. Like John, I used to think strictly in terms of allocation of resources with regard to this question -- Allocate all resources where they are needed and then see what is left over for other things. Keynes helped convince me otherwise.

So did Church. I seem to remember being told this by a priest; that Peter's Church was communist, but Paul's Churches were capitalist; and that Paul's people were ultimately called upon to help Peter's people financially because the latter were just about broke. The first Christian communist experiment apparently failed the test of time.

Again I heard about Rockefeller giving away dimes in the park, since his wealth represented a dime for everyone on earth. I seem to remember King Solomon grousing about this topic in a few different ways. Leonardo DiCaprio is rebuilding a town; I presume he's seeding the effort with his own money. And that Microsoft guy probably has a great big task force helping him give all his loot away (I wonder if he's hiring.) And St. Nicholas did it up. Who of these had the best modus operandi? Keeping some wealth allows the money to keep flowing in the door and back out in the direction one chooses (such as favorite charities,) but giving it all away is a one-time event, however prolonged. John gives stuff away all the time. He gave away some cars. But he still ate at a restaurant (he took the tab.) In my book that counts as a treat.

Until someone demonstrates otherwise, I opine that we need lifestyle elements in our economy. How much, I don't know. But I want to work at Starbucks; I want Starbucks in our economy. I want Chilean coffee farmers to have a partner like that. I want hairdressers to stay in business. My next-door neighbor in Pennsylvania is a hairdresser and a wonderful person. I'd hate to see her go out of business because everyone suddenly decided not to be selfish enough to have their hair done. (Again, please address this question for my survey. kittylane167@gmail.com)

Now I'm beginning to remember some of the things I had wanted to say yesterday. John asked if I had ever seen a homeless person. You know I'm not getting my share of floor time when somebody asks that and whizzes right past it. He didn't know, nor did he stop to find out, that I had been homeless twice for a composite total of perhaps four or five months.

I'm beginning to remember some more of my thoughts, but it's way past my bed time. What happens to a writing jones deferred? Does it shrivel up like a dream when the alarm clock rings? Am I fading into bad poetry? Then I should sign off.

Remember, folks, the survey question above can be answered and addressed to kittylane167@gmail.com. Cut, paste, or browser-point this entry to anybody you like. Let's see how many respondents I can get; how many diverse viewpoints we can collect here. Does anybody have a mathematical proof?

Other unofficial survey questions are: (1) Do you think of King David when you contemplate the permissibility of nudity or partial nudity in a parade or other spectacle (such as the Solstice Parade staged by hippies here in Seattle last weekend;) and (2) Are you stuck in the '70's musically? I told Russ I expected a margin of "yes" answers to both. Let's see what we get. Just send 'em on in.

Had I accidentally broadcast a personal message?

A freind from Pennsylvania wrote and said long time no hear and asked what I was up to. I thought, well, I'll tell 'im. Why not? So I told him about my love life. But when I looked at the message in "sent messages" it had a dozen people in the "to" field. Quel gaffe! I was afraid I'd sent this very personal message to everyone I know!! But on second inspection it only looked that way because the conversation had branched off from one of my "dear everybody" letters. In fact I had only sent the message in question to one recipent.

Now, if anybody besides Bob actually *did* get letter about my love life tonight/this morning, please let me know!

Baby Talk

My sisters and I are very close in age, essentially all babies at the same time. So we remembered and talked among ourselves about some of our baby talk later in childhood. I had a hunch that our phonetic sounds, even the shapes of our mouths when speaking, mimicked the shapes of the things we named. Because I had entertained these thoughts, when my fifth grade teacher prompted the class for a mnemonic to remember which measure is a decigram (1/10 gram) and which is a dekagram (10 grams) I immediately went for the soft consonant sound versus the hard one. Hard sound = large unit; soft sound = small unit.

Fast forward to the present day. I'm watching a television story about synesthesia which concludes with a scientist indicating an association between phonetic sounds (again, as represented by the shape of the mouth when making them) and physical characteristics of objects named or described, as a possible foundation for the development of spoken language. How frustrating for me, when they could have asked children about their baby talk and come to the same conclusion at any time in history. Nobody asks the children. (OK, I mean, not enough people ask the children.) People! Duh, no shit Sherlock. Ask the children! As the people between the pre-verbal and the verbal life. That's where the answers live. Thank you for letting me rant. My inner ten-year-old is upset.

Lucretian Lullabye

Usually I have very nice job interviews because I always behave professionally in interviews, as I do at work. By contrast I had the most brutal job interview this morning! I hesitated to talk about it because some people think that if you get a brutal interview you probably deserved it in some way; but I promise you I didn't. I was perfectly polite and honest. The interviewer lulled me into thinking I could open up and he may or may not give me a job but at least he wasn't going to hurt my feelings. But then he suddenly turned, thrust and parried, aborting the interview when I answered that I didn't have experience. Suddenly he mourned out loud the ten minutes he seemed to feel he had wasted on my acquaintance.

Emotionally, life can be wearisome. I thought about Lucretius' assurance to the prince that "a term is set to our toils." And then I remembered the life expectancy calculator I consulted which asked me about health and heritage and then essentially told me not to think about the end because it wasn't coming. Now, really, if God has some far-flung future plans for me, I'm game. I'd love to ride rocket cars amid the airways between toadstool-shaped skyscrapers. I'm glad I'm healthy. I'm feeling fine. I'm glad I didn't get arthritis. I'm glad I can sprint a mile when the bank is closing and I don't get sore the morning after a workout. But... But what? Don't we all sometimes look forward to that day when the angel comes and says, "It's OK. You've done well. You can come home now?"