Making Animals Happy with an Empty Toiletpaper Roll

A bathtub sits unused for a week, and a thirsty spider leaves her erstwhile home in an adjacent corner. I see her and hope she will understand as I extend the cardboard core from a toiletpaper roll. She gets inside and I transport her to the window garden downstairs. After the spider disembarks, the roll makes a great chew toy for a doggie.

I really do think spiders are telepathic sometimes.

Alli

I don't understand the popularity of Alli. Yes, I'm sure there are people who are helped by it; but these same people could be helped by using less cooking oil. Some may say that cooking oil imparts flavor, but I've found that it's mostly a matter of diminishing returns. One teaspoon of oil will flavor a family-sized dish splendidly but two will do little more. Alli doesn't purport to help with anything except expelling undigested fat, supposing that's what you want to do. Frankly, I'd bet most dieters want to keep the fat they eat because they put it in their diet deliberately to meet intake targets for various types of good fats. I know I usually do. Dieters might look for help with portion control, limiting glycemic impact, increasing metabolism, balancing hormones and sensitivity to insulin; and the Alli advertisements say nothing about these things. As far as I can tell it just flushes a little undigested fat for a big price tag. I say go easy on the cooking oil and you won't need or want to flush it. Any reactions out there? Because I know lots of people like Alli. What gives? Please write to Kitty.

Severe Setback

The student loan people gave me a forbearance and I breathed I sigh of relief, feeling that I could afford a modest Christmas celebration. After I sprung for Christmas they sent me a letter saying they were taking it back and I don't qualify for that forbearance after all. It was to be a retroactive one, so that I could come current. Instead they said that my $9 per hour was just too much money for someone to make and still get grace on a student loan. I wish they had told me that in time.

Our government will find a way to ameliorate these loans for people. Back when we borrowed them, the money was easier to come by. Plus, at that time, people had the idea that inflation would overtake their loan rates as they generally had in the then-recent past. After all these mortgage write-downs, student loans should be next.

Ben Carson Broke My Heart

Apparently he went to bed with Fox News! I saw him on Fox saying that he didn't see what the hurry was to put some kind of health care reform in place. Hello? People have been waiting for their chance to see a doctor! This is an emergency. Get a bandage on it. There will be time to improve the plan later. I had always seen Ben Carson as a caring, community-oriented person and a hero, and this makes me feel betrayed. People have had months to sound off about their healthcare reform wishes. Now it's time to get phase one up and running without delay -- without allowing the hecklers to gather strength, without giving legislators time to lose their seats, without allowing brush fires to erupt throughout the proposed legislation. Argue at length about physical therapy, not first aid. This is first aid for our country.

Dumping More Brains on the Page

One of the e-newsletters I subscribe to went bonkers, sending us a screwed-up pitch for some other newsletter. I started writing this response to them, but I probably won't get a chance to finish it or send it in:


Dear [Newsletter,]

Please watch what you post! Ad copy such as that distributed on [date] with its logical fallacies and half-truths are an insult to the critical reader and a deception to anyone else who might be reading your letter. I refuse to be part of an organization that is willing to print trash just for the money. (Did you even read it??) Please "opt me out" now.


Sending this in would be the right thing to do, but I probably won't have time. Just going back to my inbox and figuring out who to send this to would take a couple of minutes that I'd rather spend writing in my blog, which is something I don't get to do enough as is.

Besides being fallacious, the advertisement concerns a very silly topic. They're trying to tell us that fiat currency is a ripoff and that eventually people will abandon it, with disastrous results. In reality, the disastrous results would start small the minute any one person decided to abandon the currency. You know what I mean? He'd be like, "This paper money is worthless. I won't buy groceries with it." And a minute later he'd be like, "Gee, I'm hungry. As much as I'd like to destroy the world economy, I think that will have to wait until after I've eaten as much as I care to in this life!"



I should remember to research the use of rototillers with cob. They say you should dance in cob to mix it up, but I'm really not willing to do that. I'd like to spend my energy more judiciously.



I have a friend in Pennsylvania... who's a rocker and a lawyer, and I'd love to pick his brain about fundraising. And then I should pick a banker's brain about escrow and accounting.



What I crave right now is... beans! I want beans, potatoes and broccoli. Yes, I did take my vitamins, and about 1800 nutritious calories besides. I had spaghetti, green beans, onions, oatmeal, chicken and chicken sausage, cheerios, cinnamon, nuts, apples, banana, whole wheat crackers and diet shakes. God has blessed me with most of the weight loss I sought -- only a few more pounds to go.



Working my to-do list at my mother's house is difficult. She dominates the environment and my time, invariably steering me into activities that I hadn't considered. Worse, my concentration is frequently challenged by the way she carries on. If you've seen my house you'll know I can't provide a better work environment than my mother can. But that's not the point. The point is, she can. All she would have to do is (1) write down the things she wants to talk about and ask what time I'm free to address the list with her (as opposed to piping up twice an hour;) and (2)suggest alternate activities in advance and in moderation.



I have a friend in Pennsylvania who is a builder. I don't think he reads my blog, but he does send me forwarded messages. Sometimes I look at one or another of them. I saw one title go by recently, something like "Orangutan and Dog." And I got to thinking what great mechanics Orangutans are rumored to be, and how they might make the ultimate "grease monkeys!" (No, I didn't read the message.)

Brain Dump

Praise God for such a gorgeous day. I kept busy all day because I didn't want to waste any of the day. (And also because I can't afford to get further behind in my workload!)

Unfortunately, I could not sidestep interruptions. Sometimes when I'm faced with a fillibuster I think, "Um, do you think you might make an appointment the next time you want to go on that long?" But it's hard to say it.

I took two cups of coffee today to try to sidestep depression. I tended to be tired today. That isn't good, and it isn't usual for me. Maybe I'm sick. I think my temperature was high tonight.

But praise God for such a gorgeous day. There was a zephyr and sunshine and flowers, dogs and a cat. And I do love my Mommy. I was with Mom today. I enjoyed that, taking the good with the inconvenient. Mom is very pretty and she was in a pleasant mood today.

My house is a mess. I should take out a life insurance policy on myself so that if anything does happen to me at least my sister can build us a new house. The old one was never really meant to be a house until I bought it. Now it's falling apart -- a non-conformig structure that I have no legal right to enhance significantly.

But that's not what I logged on for. No, I had lots of thoughts criss-crossing the brain today. I couldn't wait to write. What was that all about? ...

I was going to spin my plans like yarn. Why not? They're all just pipe dreams, just like the thought that people are actually reading this. Well, of course I had more that I wanted to write but, since that is what I remember, that is where I'll start.

I called the bakery today and was told to take a number. I was told that if I write snail mail to the private label fundraiing coordinator that would be tantamount to taking a number. Hopefully they will take my project and bake cookies for me to sell as a home-makeover fundraiser. And I'm thinking, wait. Shouldn't I do the fundraiser for that charity project first? And I'm thinking, how can I when my family's situation is so bad, particularly my sister's and mine. And I'm thinking, I don't have a clue. Every time I get a plan and lay out all the research I realize that it's not cost-effective to take up the research because there's no budget for the plan and no answers to all the important quesitions...

No, I can do the cookie thing for my house. Everybody's doin' it. That's why the bakery wants me to take a number. Oh, they might be in it to get a bus for their Church or a football stadium for their school; but they're doin' it and so can I. I'll get the Becky Bee book on how to build your own cob house like Henry VIII's newly landed friends at the start of the Reformation (er, right?) Only, I'll have a nicer toilet than the Seven Dwarfs'. (Remember the movie? Their sink had a hand pump.)

Suppose in the first round, seven of us go about and each sell 100 boxes of cookies for a net profit of $5 each (as they are very fine and expensive cookies.) 700 x 5 = 3500. A natural DIY building project at my school was built with a budget of $3,500! I'd be on my way. I'd still have to slay the dragons of red tape but I'd have a plan and a reason to go for it. I'd have a fighting chance. I just know my boss would help. She's very nice. And my family and some friends in Annapolis. Some of these people really know how to sell things, and they know people who can spare a few bucks for cookies.

Tonight I looked at all kinds of weird housing options. I looked at used RV's and transit busses, rail cars, cob houses, temporary buildings, tents and yurts. I passed by the straw bale option because straw would invite the same problems I have now into my future.

I know I can do this, chaos permitting. I have pulled rabbits out of my hat before. Or more likely, God has allowed me to get away with some projects. I think that's a better way to look at it since I have no control over circumstances. What I've gotten away with is having been homeless without having destroyed my health, inventing a gadget and putting it on store shelves (however unprofitably,) winning an essay contest, putting a nice fix on the state's tax verification system, getting paid to have my pictures taken, placing in a general intelligence and math aptitude test to get a scholarship, getting a standing ovation for my music, and getting a job in an economy where people are dying to work. Now, why can't I give myself good odds on selling a few hundred boxes of gourmet cookies?

I'm out of time or I'd dump more brains on the page.

L'etat C'est Nous

Please try to understand the Catholic stance toward gays. We don't want to take your jobs away or kick you out of Church, and we believe in upholding your rights. But when it comes to a state-issued marriage license, suddenly the state is taking a stand. Suddenly the state is complicit in your actions, and l'etat c'est nous. So even though I disagree with what you're doing on a religious basis, if I vote to approve gay marriage, I become complicit, as much as if I agreed with it and encouraged you to do it! That's why I can't vote for it, even though I come out in defense of your rights in every other respect. I simply have no choice. Nobody seems to understand that, though. I saw a photograph of a guy at a protest wearing a sign that said something like "Tell Me How My Marriage Affects You," and now I have. I have one gay friend who endorses my stand, and others I haven't told of it for one reason or another. Well, if you're reading this, now you know. As a Catholic, I have no choice.

Praise God

I wrote this in a letter to a dear friend today:

Praise God for cats, for dogs, for birds and for baby sea turtles. I met a large, cute-looking grasshopper today and "shook hands" with it by gently stroking its left antenna. It remained standing there as if to say, "Well met." (But when I got back to gardening the grasshopper hopped away.) I do believe in telepathy. Once, at hippie camp, I was taking care of the baby and we picked an apple for him. When the child handed the apple to me I said, "You want me to have your apple?" and he might well have conveyed something to me telepathically at that point because, even though the baby said no words, suddenly I remembered what I wanted people to do to my apples when I was a baby -- I wanted them to bite the apple so that the skin would be broken and I could eat it. I think I said out loud, "Oh, you want me to start if for you!" So I bit it and handed it back and he happily ate it.

My Bed

I carried my bed to the curb last week and threw it out. It had been consumed by my house's mold problem. Man, I hadn't known the mold thing was that bad.

That was the bed I had built myself. I went to The Home Depot (apparently the more ethical hardware emporium,) and picked the salesman's brain as to what cuts of wood I should purchase and how to attach them. When he advocated the use of a screw gun I said, "What would Jesus do?" and he actually thought of glue before showing me the heavy-duty nails. I was pretty proud of myself when I finished making that nice, comfortable bed. Now it's gone.


You know what I need? An extreme home makeover. Oh, sure, I could get rid of a two-year-old mold infection by returning to the dehumidifying and air-purifying tactics I had used before my sister moved in and pulled the plug. But the house was doomed from the start. It's the same age as me, and the folks who built it probably had no idea that some silly people in the 21st century would still be using it as a house.

You know what Ima do? #1 Get an old van to sleep in; #2 Move ahead with plans to build a treehouse, budget permitting; #3 Do a really cool fundraiser towards a self-funded home makeover; #4 Meanwhile, I could find someone with a home video camera and make a video for the Extreme Home Makeover show. My sister and I are pretty good-looking and that might give us an edge in the medium of video.

My job couldn't pay for home construction if I worked it until retirement age. The folks I work for are amazing because they work like dogs and have no professional future except more work and a few more nickels. Maybe top administrators get $22K or $25K (versus my $18K) but nobody seriously gets paid. They just take on so much responsibility as to proclaim that they deserve to be paid.

Brain Dump

Someone somewhere wrote something alarmingly stupid, and it wasn't even Mike Huckabee or another expected source. No, it was some woman, some journalist, I think. I thought I'd kick off a blog post by responding to it because it just begged for a response. I thought about it in the shower. Unfortunately, now that I'm here at the computer I have forgotten it. Maybe it will come back to me later.


There's a mathematician who works in the same office with me, at an answering service. I showed him a proof I was working up, one that I conceived years ago while working with another answering service. Q.E.D. = the more phone numbers there are in the pool, the greater the chance that any one number will be the author or recipient of a wrong-number call. At first this may seem counterintuitive since each number added to the pool changes the denominator to x + 1, diluting the chance that any one phone will be involved in that kind of minor accident. But this geometric "dilution" (for want of a better word, since I don't know a lot of math words) is set against the exponential increase in call volume caused by the addition of one phone or number to the pool. This time I graphed each, then graphed -- ooh, if only he would give my scratch pad back so I could remember! -- the product of both graphs, which was to represent the increase in call volume multiplied by the share of call volume attributed to each phone or number in the pool. And can you guess what I got? I got a 1:1 slope! Assuming that calling a wrong number is a function of how many different calls you could possibly make, each number added to the pool will directly increase the average caller's chance of calling (or getting) a wrong number. Now, Donnell (my co-worker mathematician, real name) seems to like this a lot and says we're going somewhere with it. He suggested I get some empirical data and I said our boss probably had some -- reams of it, now that I think about it!

I've long forgotten how to construct / format / put forward a proof, but I had a nice demonstration. Sometimes in college when I was awake in class and could manage a clear head (chemical interference notwithstanding) I would put together a nice demonstration. One I'm particularly proud of turned out to be completely wrong but it sparked a lively argument in class. The tutor (at St. John's we had "tutors" in preference to "professors") came at it as something that was different and unfamiliar but which actually seemed to work. Someone else found the weak spot, and it had to do with my mis-identification of a triangle. But that was really fun. I enjoyed the process of discovery even though at length I discovered that I was wrong.

Let me digress to say please don't anybody take psychotropic drugs unless you're certain you know and agree with your diagnosis and know everything you need to know about the drugs. After all was said and done I returned to the clinic that prescribed my disastrous meds and was told that my diagnosis had been incorrect (and not revealed to me) and that the pills "probably [hadn't done] me any good" (to put it mildly.) If you have an inkling that a doctor doesn't understand you, don't eat the pills they give you. And how could they understand you? They're doctors; they don't have time for stuff like that. In the end I was told I was suffering from depression and obsessive compulsive disorder, period. -- nothing I needed to dope up like a hippie for. If doctors didn't hire armies of lawyers to cover their behinds, I'd try to sue them for another try at an education.

Another thing about drugs -- patent medicines are based on molecules that are tweaked to be different from their natural counterparts precisely so that they can be patented. So unless you're so desperate that the cure (treatment, really) isn't worse than the disease, find a naturopathic doctor instead. Your body knows how to heal itself; drug companies know how to make money and bully the establishment.



Sweet sixteen. Every young lady should have that one day to dress and act like a queen -- one day to hold in her heart so it doesn't become an elusive dream. Someday she'll be toiling away at a dead-end job but she'll remember that deep inside she is that queen and always will be. She will have some idea of what that means because of the experience of a full-blown sweet sixteen party. Personally, I didn't get mine and didn't really want it. But it's more about women in general than about me. I have enough imagination so that I probably didn't really need my day to shine like that. But if every girl gets her day, nobody will be without that nourishing inner reinforcement.

Anyhow, I had friends who lent me gorgeous gowns to wear to parties, which more than makes up for wearing corduroys and a knit top on my sixteenth birthday and falling ill in the midst of the modest festivities.

Following this stream of consciousness I see Grey Valenti (real name -- why not?) a dear friend and a talented performer who had lots of awesome costumes. I don't remember whether she lent me any, but she told me where to get them -- Goodwill. Spot on, baby. I started stocking up. Grey also sort of lent me her boyfriend, in a limited way. It's like, I had a crush on this guy Max (not real name,) who eventually turned out to be going out with Grey. I still had a crush on him. She was still nice to me. He was still nice to me. And remember, I'm the girl who did the Charlotte Goodall routine all over campus. Grey stood back and allowed me to be a gushing, flag-waving cheerleader for her Max. Later on she would say, "No kidding, Kitty! He was nicer to you than he was to me that summer!!" Indeed he was. So if Max ever called and asked if I could do him a favor I'd say yes first and then ask what the favor was to be.

And the other kid who had a crush on Grey -- where's that sweetheart? Don't tell me facebook. I don't have time for facebook. Friend requests keep dropping into my mailbox. It's like "This is Your Life..." I don't have time for that. And what would I say to these people? Would I tell them that this is my blog, connecting my writings with my real name?

I've Got A Friend in Pennsylvania

My Pennsylvania friend Dave (real name) wrote me a letter asking if I was still around since he hasn't heard from me in a while. I wrote him this:

Still here. I get more email than Santa Claus. I've heard of some of those bands you wrote about. I especially like 10cc, "Love is Like Oxygen." I think the idea was taken from Napoleon's life, from the writing of his memoirs and from his college chemistry notebook. I don't know what to do about loneliness. It's epidemic. I've become one of those people who work, commute, do chores and that's about it. So how can people cultivate lives and friendships? Society will have to figure out a way to fix this. There is an economic incentive to fix it, too. Think about it, Dave; there's unused economic capacity because people are too busy to shop! I'll try to catch up with my blog this weekend since I'm not going to Pennsylvania (= I'll have some time to relax for a change.)

Overcoming Writers' Constipation

It isn't writers' block. It's literally constipation. And as I work through it, I'll probably get a call from Mother Nature herself. Just relax, honey. Relax and write it all out... at least some of it. Relax.

I don't have time for all the crazy demands of this life. I think the next thing I scratch off the list will be eating. There's no more time for it. I'll just drink diet shakes from now on, adding fish, nuts and salad enough to keep things moving. Besides, if I were to keep eating as normal, winter could bring back pounds that were hard to lose. And, boy, did I lose. 24 pounds. My mother said that I looked fat when I came back East in April but that now I look thin. I could, she said (and I agree) wear a bikini now. I can see where ten more could come off, though.

Oprah has this new diet guru who's 86 and really strong. He advocates eating mondo salads, like a pint and a half or something like that. I have found headache relief inside big bowls of lettuce. The stuff is magic. No, it's doubtless (some of)what the Lord intended for us to eat. Fruit, grains, loaves and fishes too, maybe. And doesn't the Bible say there's medicine in herbs? Anyway, I read this guru's diet in a Women's magazine, and it seems to me there is one thing missing in it besides calories. To wit, saturated fat. Isn't there an RDA or Daily Allowance or something of saturated fat that your diet can't work without? Reading this guy's diet made me think of cheese. Where was the cheese? Maybe Oprah and her new friend don't need sat fats? But I think I do. I think most people do, don't we? I think these nutrients just got a bad rap because 20th century folks ate too much of them, and also because some bad fats just happen to be saturated fats. But surely there are good sat fats that we need.

If I do diet shakes, salads and lean protein all winter ... wow, I'll have to find a way to exercise, won't I! In the winter, too. Now, that's a challenge.

Thinking to myself all day of what to write, I could have predicted that I'd be tongue tied when I sat down at the keyboard. Where did all the words go?

I called Nicola today. He's celebrating the High Holy Day(s)so he didn't really have time to talk. To be fair, I imagine that not all Jews celebrate [the holiday that I can't spell] in such a way as to preclude phone conversations with Gentiles; so I don't think it was silly of me to call. Anyway, he asked if I had something important to discuss and I said that, no, it was more like I wanted a second chance to hear about his travels in Israel. You see, when we spoke a little over a month ago, Nicola got characteristically quiet, so I filled in the void with speech, missing my chance to hear his story. Now some night, late, after work, I will be pleasantly surprised by a call from Washington and stories of true life adventure.

Anwar was in my thoughts today. I hope I will remember to put him in my prayers tonight. I would love to write to him more often, but I don't want to disrespect his marriage. He welcomes my writing but I don't see how it could be anything but a distraction from his new wife.

And of course I thought of Jake... He's got secret reasons why I suck, but he isn't ready to talk about them. (That in itself hurts because that's really irresponsible on his part.) I think I've taken the flack for whatever it is already. Now to find out what all that was really about... I talked to my father. It's rare to talk to my father beyond family business, family members' health and concerns, stuff I'm worried about and "catching up." But I got some time to talk to him about Jake, and Dad said that, when someone constantly tells you that you suck, what he really means is that he himself sucks -- that it's a projection. I told him about this argument we had, and this is what I've most wanted to write about today. Let me see how far I get...

It all started back in college... I was in this situation where I was accused of stuff by a peer (I'll call him Pink, after the Floyd character in the movie, "The Wall," which he liked so well. He's a big anglophile anyway. He'd like to be called Pink.) and I wasn't being allowed to speak to him so as to set the record straight. Jake contends that I should have abandoned the campaign to get an audience with Pink and make my case, because nobody in that situation ever owes it to me to hear me out. I contend that they do, just as soon as they complain, or slight me, or signal that they have a grievance. Now, Jake knows, and hopefully Pink knows (although he might not want to hear it if it means actually hearing from me) that there are plenty of things that I'm sorry for where Pink is concerned. Like, for example, I learned how to relate to the opposite sex from Charlotte Goodall in "Night of the Iguana." Some of the stuff I did makes me cringe, really. And now how can I say to Pink that I'm sorry for all these little things, but the thing that is said to have upset him the most -- the thing that drove our dynamic like a flywheel -- my campaigning for my day in court -- that is the thing I'm not sorry for? It's hard. I dare not say a word.

Jake and I could find common ground on that if he'd put in the time. We wouldn't agree on much, but we'd probably do OK.

The Charlotte Goodall thing was something I made my own. I figured that, as long as I didn't ask a boy for a date or for intimacy, that jumping around like a cheerleader and starting fan clubs would be nothing but fun for everyone ... and this is too long a story for me to do it justice in the time I have, so I won't try (maybe later) ...

I'm especially sorry to Pink for the times I expressed frustration. Frustration just doesn't belong expressed. It doesn't get you an audience or understanding or peace. It's a sign I'd allowed my mind to become fried by a long-standing situation that I felt I could not escape without his help, which I finally got. Yes, I finally got my audience and, like idiots, Pink and I decided to try being friends one more time. (What were we on???) So now Pink and what was left of me / I were trying to get along with no paradigm except a long history of not being able to get along. (He quickly aborted that plan.) But the backbone of our trouble had been broken. My mind was still fried, though. I still gasped a few more notes of frustration before I finally made my escape like a moth through a hole in a screen. And it was glorious on the other side of that screen. Colin was right there waiting for me to emerge. But before I flew out...

Pink lost his lease and had his furniture confiscated. He got kicked off campus. He became homeless and rumors swirled about that he was in some kind of trouble and was wanted by the police. Now how in the world was I going to just fly away? Our meeting, our truce was supposed to be my exit -- no more worry, no more frustration. Yet what was left of me couldn't handle the continuing saga very well.

Even so, in this final frame I was able to confer a few benefits to poor old Pink. I saw the assistant dean and convinced him to let Pink back on campus. I fetched a dinner and a well-wisher, Clara, out to the bus kiosk where homeless Pink was hanging out. And finally, with the help of one of his close friends, I placed the call that ultimately got him out of Maryland, because I did believe the rumors that he was in trouble, and I knew that trouble would not follow him over the state line. Pink and I were both emotionally exhausted. And I was on the wrong side of his boundary line. I should have talked his friend into making the call all by herself, except that she was too chicken to do it by herself with me knowing that she had done it! She needed the collateral of my partnership in crime, so that neither of us would tell. (Never mind that she started talking about it soon thereafter. I suppose she couldn't help it. Maybe her mind was fried too.)

This needs more. I can't leave it like this. There is more. But there is no more time.

Getting back to where I came in, though, I do think I had the right to speak up for myself. My father agrees. He says Jake and Pink are wrong and that I shouldn't even worry that they could be right. Well, after all the embarrassing stuff I've done I don't need one more thing to worry about. It still bugs me, though. I think if I had it to do over again I'd say to myself, "I have the right to do this, but it will probably do more harm than good, so I'm not going to do it." No, even better -- I'd take frustration out of my emotional vocabulary, perhaps through brain surgery. And when I was all calm and reasonable Pink would say, "Hey, what's up? I think we should talk." I don't know. I think I must be dreaming about it every night lately. And there's even more to be said. So I suppose this is my season to say it.

Listening to the White Album

I worked up a good sweat and remembered happiness with The White Album. I think I must have re-discovered David’s famous dance to “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” You know the one, right? Did somebody paint it and that’s why we all figure he danced that way? That must be it. We all glimpsed this painting… Part of me wants to go find it on the web, but I’m more content just writing about my time with The White Album tonight. “Cry Baby Cry” I’m sure is about the fall of man, and how babies cry because they know they’re not in Paradise and they have a long road ahead. Someone who’s “old enough to know better” is old enough to know Paradise , so the Queen in the song is a type of Eve, and also an heir to Eve’s grief. Once I was jamming out with a soon-to-be ex-friend Punk Rocker and his girlfriend and I sang,

There goes the Queen of Marigold
You know she’s very, very old
She’s come a long way (baby) down that
Winding road
And she’s old enough
To know better
Hey yay yeah

The first verse of my ballad puts it in context:

As autumn leaves come tumbling down
I remember ‘bout a king who lost his crown
I look at you, shivering in my sweater
Wondering if you’re old enough to know better
Are you old enough
To know better
Hey yay yeah

The old punk – I’ll call him ‘Garene – was a splendid musician, and we made a pretty cool recording. He probably still has it somewhere. Jurassic Punk.

‘Garene impressed me by talking to people on my college campus about me, “Where’s that girl? Tell her I’m looking for her. I’ve gotta find that girl!” He carried my lost guitar around like it was Cinderella’s lost slipper. When I passed his house one day (not knowing it was his house) he hopped out the window and followed me down the street. I figured he must be pretty cool based on all that. Later I was singing at a club and ‘Garene’s friend Y’dong came and asked me to leave the gig and come to the club where they were celebrating his birthday, probably for ‘Garene’s sake. The following summer I jammed with them, wrote music, cooked for them, spent nights on the floor, painted Y’dong’s picture, fetched food out to ‘Garene at his job and fetched clothing out to Y’dong on his.

The problem with punks like that is, once they get tired of you and decide you’re history, they don’t talk about it or work things out. They just dodge you and complain if you try to talk to them. The same punk who crashed my campus telling everyone he was attracted to me was really miffed when I showed up on his campus unannounced. Dropping in unannounced is how we had always related to one another. There was no warning, no explication when things changed. And he never did redress the hurt. And don’t even get me started about Y’dong… I’m not going there tonight. OK just one tidbit: That jerk Y’dong, the same guy who asked me to bring his clothes to the record store where he worked, complained that it was inappropriate when I tried to surprise him by bringing him lunch (to his other job, at a kids’ camp.) But really, Y’dong is bad territory; I don’t want to be here. Back to The White Album.

The Beatles showed us tearful babies entering the Veil of Tears, but they had already given us, “It’s Getting Better All The Time,” in which they tell us that “[I] can’t complain,” presumably because the Lord has been through worse. And that is why I’ve so named my blog! In college I told a pal, Johnny (real name,) that I thought “It’s Getting Better All the Time” was about Jesus and at first he seemed skeptical, but then he went through the lyrics and was convinced and very amused.

“Sexy Sadie” is ostensibly about the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, but I knew someone named Sadie who had good reason to believe she had helped inspire it. In 1993 we worked in the same office. She told me she had gone to see the Beatles in concert – probably their last tour, and that, after the show, Paul had called out to her, “Hey you! You, what’s your name?” And she called, “Sadie!” And then they came out with “Sexy Sadie.” You never know.

I didn’t get to hear “Rocky Raccoon” tonight, but I named (successively) a couple of the varmints who visited my house Sirach after the boy in that song.

“Long Long Long” will always remind me of my college boyfriend, Colin (real name, although he’s changed it since then.) It was so relaxing to be around him. He was wonderful – handsome, smart, artistic, adventurous, tall(er than even me,) affectionate and appreciative. He had a hammock in the backyard which is called to mind also by that song. Colin was an “A” boyfriend but an “A+” ex-boyfriend, because he broke up with me very nicely. If you’re grading on a curve you’ve gotta appreciate that. Too many people start the blame game when they want to dump someone, but sweet Colin only said that what we had was good but he wanted something different so he was going away hoping to meet someone else. And I saw him again once or twice. It was all cool. About three years post breakup he visited me at Garene’s house where I was then living, and Garene was impressed by what a looker Colin was. (‘Garene turned a few heads himself.)

Just reading that paragraph must make it hard to understand that I'm a virgin, but I am one.

"Honey Pie" reminds me of my Great Grandmother, who came over on the boat from Belarus and sang cabaret over here. I never met her. I must have heard her name, but I can't think of it. Her married last name was Narowanski. My cousin said she was a gypsy. My mother said that her parents sent her money from Russia with love, despite the horrendous exchange rate.

Tonight I danced with the dogs. Dogs are one of the things that make life worth celebrating so that it is possible to dance. We're sure all dogs go to heaven, so if there are dogs around, you know you're in a good place.

What else? I forgot.

Joy evaporated when I got over Nicola. Hope vanished with Anwar. Depression set in when I took Jake more seriously than I'd meant to. But it's still a beautiful world, what with Beatles and dogs. If I had more time I'd think of more to say. And if I had more time yet I'd go to YouTube and search for Beatles + Star Trek. No, I'm ending this post right here because the night is ending.

Bullies

My two week absence from cyberspace ended yesterday, to little avail. I still have no time for this. I was at my mother's house today and she was a big bully. Speaking of bullies, there's been no word from Jake. Jake feels strongly that people who treat me badly owe me no redress, so I suppose he's bearing that out now by not saying anything about how mean and (worse) unfair he's been (except briefly in his blog.) But at least I got to talk it over with my father, who said what anybody would say about a so-called friend who feels the need to tell me I suck all the time -- "He's a lightweight." In other words, consider the source. Would a person of integrity, secure and comfortable in his own skin, lash out at someone routinely? No. (Would he drink like a fish? Probably not that either.) So why did I ever take Jake so seriously? Everybody knows what my father says in this regard to be true.

I hope I get to finish this thought, but right now I have to try to fix my mother's computer and then do some other chores.

Where is Home?

Today I'm at Mom's because I thought I might be working in Baltimore yesterday. I'm taking time out from chores to say what needs to be said to this blog: that I don't feel at home at my house in Pennsylvania. I feel much more at home at Mom's, but it's somehow not quite satisfactory here either because it's not my home, or not my house anyway. At home in Pennsylvania I feel like it's my sister's turf and I'm not secure and have no room and can't relax and I'm barely even welcomed. I'm a little bit homeless right now, then. If only I were an ace with wood and could build myself a tree house.

Catch Up

Some interaction came my way in the form of an email-based chat with Russ. This is healthy for me, so I justified the time. Besides, it's a good update for this blog. Voila:

Rand: 98 degrees today. Fuck this. I may go to a movie tonight, just to get some air conditioning. (Work is fine, A/C set to about 63.)

me: Star Trek is beautiful, shows nature to great advantage.
You could watch it for the stratospheric sky-diving alone.

1:11 PM Rand: The movie? No way, I hate the franchise. Either THE HANGOVER or THE HURT LOCKER.

me: Other man-versus-nature treatments put man more in control, but Trek movie shows nature on top and with respect.

never heard of those flix.

1:13 PM Rand: Doesn't surprise me. Anyway, just a thought. I'm partial to lying in the bathtub in cool water for half an hour with a Red Hook, nice way to take down my core body temperature.

1:14 PM me: I got heat exhaustion Monday from driving around trying to get my birth certificate for work (starting new job.) Then Tuesday I risked it again going to the Dept of Transportation for my driver license. Tuesday night I presented the document at the office and was told to start in a week.

1:15 PM Rand: Well, that's some good news. Money is good? Your situation with your mother stable?

1:16 PM me: I moved back to PA, but I'll be spending [work nights] with Mom so I can be where the work is. Money is nothin'. $9 per hour. But, thanks to the President, we'll soon have health insurance.

Rand: So what happened to your crazy sister?

1:17 PM me: She got out of the hospital. They slipped the hearing by me without adequate notice so I could not testify. I begged them to do a brain scan and test for lyme disease before she got a lawyer and got herself out, but now they say there wasn't time. Bullshit.

1:18 PM Rand: So she's wandering the streets? Or shacked up with you?

me: She's with me
She's a very good housekeeper. That house would be nothing without her

Rand: I could believe that—

me: Hate to sound selfish. I'm not really. Even if she were a slob I'd want her living there

1:19 PM Rand: Sounds like the symbiosis you need.

[text omitted]

me: This is shaping up to be a good catch-up material for my blog. Can I post the conversation?

[text omitted]

1:21 PM Rand: However, because it was 94 fucking degrees out, I [text omitted]

me: Do you have AC in your car?
I don't.

1:22 PM Rand: No, but I'm not driving much either. I just open my windows about half an hour before I drive any place, try to leave it in the shade.

You want to post this conversation, leave out [text omitted.]

me: OK

1:24 PM bye now?
Hey, I'm writing a book about (shh! don't tell) an elephant who paints.

1:27 PM Rand: Yeah. OK....

1:29 PM me: See, the little boy wants to build a tree house, which gives the elephant the idea for a tree village so that humans can live side-by-side with the animals instead of destroying habitat. The elephant creates quite a stir when he paints his idea.
Pilgrims come to see the elephant, and the municipality has to host them without destroying habitat.

1:30 PM Rand: Long as your target readership is kids (and not elephants--).

me: It's not.
It's hippies

1:31 PM I could sell it in that East-meets-west book store in the U district.
I've decided to set it in India.

Rand: Well, let me know when you find a publisher.

me: All I have to do is shake the hippie tree and publisher will fall out.
1:32 PM then i'll tell him he needs a tree village so he won't keep falling out of hippie trees.

1:33 PM Rand: Have to take your word for it. Year and a half in Seattle, and you didn't get much with any hippies out here.

1:34 PM me: I hate to say it, because I dread my chores. But I should stop procrastinating and sign off soon.

1:35 PM Rand: Think of me--I'm at work.

me: Ok, catch you later.
:)

Messages to the Future #1

Dear Future People,

As you sift through the amazing mountain of 1's and 0's we've left you, don't forget to look for the ways in which the meanings of things change. One example that lept out at me today was that sweet little song, "Be My Baby" by -- who was it? -- some Phil Spector act was once regarded as a "bad girl" song! Or so it was rumored to me.

Here's another artifact for you: Ladies used to say "Well, I never!" when their dignity was threatened. But then someone said it to the Fonz (I think it was Shelly Long as love-interest Cynthia,) and Fonzie replied, "Well, honey, maybe that's your problem!" And the expression quickly went out of use.

Yours Truly,
Kitty

Mike

A man in the grocery store was talking to the clerk about Michael Jackson, saying that, for those of us who had grown up with him, Michael was a part of us. "He is a part of us." I chimed in. And there it is -- a retrospective on Jackson is by nature a personal one, unique to each fan. Music and entertainment happen at the intersection of stimulus and perception. When I was a child I must have realized this, because I fancied (incorrectly) that for this reason music must make no sense to animals.

When the Jacksons' debut album was blossoming (all year, wasn't it? throughout 1970) on the radio my mother told me who was singing -- "Michael, the youngest of the Jackson 5." I imagined that sweet voice belonged to a much younger child than eleven-year-old Michael. I had two infant sisters at the time. By Autumn, eighteen-month-old Angie could do Michael's voice amazingly well. Angie grew up to be a professional singer. I just told her yesterday at an audition that the first time I knew she had talent was when she was a baby and she did MJ.

And then there was Ben. My mother promoted the song to me, as something she didn't want me to miss. She bought the single so I could give it to my cousin Katie for her birthday. Katie also got a shetland pony named Ben, and we all rode Ben until I got too big for him and the others quickly followed suit. I think Mom also bought a copy of the single for me to keep, but if so I don't know where it is. Finally one day I saw the movie, which I scarcely remember.

I don't have any particularly good memories associated with "Off the Wall," although I kinda enjoyed it and, looking back, I appreciate it as very good music.

But I was thrilled with "Thriller." I think I have two copies of the LP, one of which should still be in my Pennsylvania house somewhere. If I were on a shorter leash, I might go up right now to the Goucher College campus, where I studied computer programming back in the day, to remember "Thriller" in full bloom with "Human Nature" grabbing all the airplay. The song had a relaxed sense of wonder about it. I know that sounds funny, but if you've heard the song maybe you can relate.

And if I had more time, I'd probably have more to say. Like -- oh, here's one. I had thought at one time that Michael was cleverly named after an angel because he had Klinefelter Syndrome -- which in fact he did not have. He fathered three kids naturally, so there's no way he has Klinefelter. I thought he was a K man because of his high, gentle voice, slight frame, and effeminate dimeanor. I hope Mike wouldn't mind my having thought so!

When I was working at the factory with the jail birds (and others,) a girl who was the daughter of the most infamous malefactor there -- a serial killer -- asked me how old I was and when I told her she said, "Ooh! Did you like Michael Jackson?!" And we shared a smile. Of course I did. I love Michael.

Percival's Problem

Percival's Problem was that he was a biological entity; if his needs weren't met he couldn't turn in the kind of performance that would keep him out of even more trouble.

pic

Michael

On this day we all pause to think of all the ways Michael Jackson touched our lives. I did pause to do this; and I'm sorry to say that writing about it will have to wait, because I am quite busy. But I'm also quite a fan of Michael and I will write about this soon. I will say right up front here that my first reaction to the news was to sing some of "Momma's Pearl" with more soul than I've mustered for any song in a long time.

Stress

Last night my mother and I got up to go to the bathroom. She then sternly challenged me to account for the day's activities. I told her I had done sundry little things and I gave an example of the kind of minutiae I was talking about. She wanted more examples. Now, my memory isn't great as it is, and this was the middle of the night. I ended up waking all the way up just to answer her. I told my father today that I couldn't take it anymore. Each day I don't know exactly what is on my list -- only that it probably isn't a finite list. Each day I know I will have to keep busy just to stay out of trouble. But I also know that just staying busy and getting things done is no guarantee that I will stay out of trouble. The stress from the uncertainty and the relentless worry is worse than the actual work. I said I couldn't take it anymore and he said that my mother was [mentally] ill and she needed me to hang in there.

Now, lest you think that my productivity stopped with the list I published yesterday, it didn't. I kept going. (When Mom watches TV is a great time to catch up.) I even remembered at one point that the list I published wasn't complete. Having to do the stuff is bad enough. Having to catalog the memories of every little pencil scratch I've done is a hoop too high. Why scar myself with memories of drudgery? Why waste space in my head with checklists that belong on paper? The vaguest generalities will have to do. That's where I'm drawing the line.

Kitty's Dream House part I

My dream house is still within reach... To quickly recap my housing crisis, my sister lives in my tiny, non-conforming "existing structure;" which is one reason why I don't live there. Yes, we tried a few years ago to share the 280 square feet but it just didn't work out. Another reason why I don't live there is because it's lonely.

About exactly ten years ago I bought the place because I thought I wanted to be a hermit and get the world off my back. What I found was an elusive dream, a fitful sleep, an encroaching consciousness that no posture was comfortable. I needed people. I ended up at the supermarket in the middle of the night just so I could be with people. I hadn't thought I was such a people person. A Waldenesque lifestyle was what it took for me to find out how much I needed people.

I dreamed of triplexes with common areas so that three families would have built-in community and privacy. And I dreamed of what I think you would call "intentional communities." I think that's the word they use for communities that are sort of like the utopias (utopiae? spell checker doesn't like it) of the 19th century and sort of like the communes of the 20th century but don't hold all property in common necessarily. The communities I'm thinking of are basically cooperative properties with actual land title for each family and an emphasis on community such that meals and activities might be shared. (If this isn't what the hippies are calling "intentional communities" these days then oh, well, I used the wrong word.)

I continued to dream of what are now called "Social Businesses," and the zeitgeist seems to have taken hold; I hope I played an important part, however small and silent, along with hundreds of other dreamers of zeitgeist. And I think I did, because that is how zeitgeist works -- hundreds of dreamers catch (and each individually discovers) a silent and contagious dream before one rises and speaks.

Another dream I had was that of getting the neighbors together to buy up the town's economy on a cooperative basis -- turn that Walmart building into a store of the people, by the people ... take control of supply lines and make sure workers got paid properly. I hope that fed into the zeitgeist that became "Transition Towns" and "Plan C."

I tried to grow different kinds of food, but the ones I got away with were tomatoes and beets.

I'd like to buy the world a home, as the song goes, but I'll settle for being able to build a nice place for my extended family.

I went to hippie camp at Sequatchie Valley, Tennessee to learn how to build unconventional structures for pennies on the dollar. Oh, we built with mud, straw, ferro-cement, sand bags... Ladies, if you want some perky boobs, just spend a couple weeks lifting adobe bricks and such. Ladies, if you actually want to get an adobe house built, get yourself a man, 'cuz it's beyond the average woman's strength and endurance to do this kind of work long enough and hard enough to get anywhere by yourself. I'm still trying to dream up ways a lightweight like me can build her own house. In Israel they dip rags in cement slurry and drape them over lightweight dome frames to cure. In Arizona they mix paper into cement to get very light bricks of "papercrete." I'm still dreamin'.

Next up, I want to tell you about the kind of home I want on my lot, for my family.

On the Fly

Blogging is a little less therapeutic the way I do it – on the fly, having snuck off to do it, pushing thoughts away because they’re too much to deal with. Mom should know we’d both be more productive if we’d take the time to be ourselves and get our heads in order. Sunday I went to see a movie with my father, and Mom said she resented people having that kind of leisure while she didn’t. Ultimately she gave her blessing for me to see the movie (although I’m pretty sure I will not get a second viewing of this movie that truly rates it.) And she has a point in that, anything I don’t do around here, she will have to do, which is untenable because she has too much to do already.

By day I’m nervous that, when Mom comes home from work I will not have enough to say for myself with regard to how I spent the time. I mean, I know I was productive but – did I hit the most important things? Did I optimize the time?

What have I done, then?

 Returned her truck to its storage space 4 miles away
 Made and ate a very good lunch with my father
 Cleaned up the kitchen
 Took out the kitchen garbage
 Fed the cat and watered the dogs
 Put a financial obligation on hold for 6 months (one of those arrangements you make over the phone when you can’t pay.)
 Trimmed roses
 Made jello
 Wrote email for a Church-oriented project

… That’s all I can think of, and it’s been five hours. Trouble is, someone who wasn’t here could (and may yet) look at it and say I could have done all that faster than I did. But you can’t push a rope. Of course it all looks simpler when it’s done – when all the head-scratching about what should be done next is over and done with.

Yesterday Mom was off from work and we were both so miserable plugging through our work loads and addressing our problems. Again I was anxious that I somehow wouldn’t do it right. The anxiety followed me right off the clock and into bed, where 6 mg of melatonin was needed to put me down in the middle of the night.

One of the chores ahead of me is pleasant. I must prepare audition material.

Sweeny Todd

I never saw the show; and I either don't know or don't remember what it's supposed to be about. So I thought it would be funny to write down what I think it's about, drawing from articles, reviews and promotions that I don't fully remember. Here goes:

Sweeny Todd is a ghost barber who tries to be both funny and horrible by teaming up with his daughter, the other ghost barber, for music and mischief.

brain dump

Life and impressions fly by. If I were taking the best care of myself I would blog enough to keep up with myself. I feel all scrambled and at a loss because I haven't been keeping up. I feel like life and its impressions have gotten away from me. Sneaking away to blog is difficult. I live with my mother, and she doesn't quite relate to my need to do this. In fact, when she finds out I was writing this instead of choosing an activity that she considers more practical, she probably won't like it. I've found that I'm on a short leash and I'm one of few people I know who can handle it. Still, I'm not exactly happy.

That reminds me, Jake and I thought I was one of a few people who could handle hanging close with the latter; and it turned out I dropped the ball. So I shouldn't get too cocky about this situation either. Still, so far, it's mostly working out.

On the employment front, things might be looking up in a month or so. I took a test for a job in a nearby town and it looks like I made muster for an interview. They said to call back in about 3 weeks to schedule it and that they'd be hiring a little while after that. I want steady work this time, none of this temporary nonsense. I hate looking for jobs. If they don't want me punching the clock 2,000 times that sucks, 'cause I just want to dig in my cleats and stay. I'm sure that right about now a lot of people feel that way.

I talked to my uncle at an impromptu family reunion, about cheap ways to build a house. (If you're not up to speed on my housing crisis, my sister lives in my house which is not big enough for both of us; and at the moment I don't mind 'cuz it's lonely up at my country place but here I enjoy the company of my mother and her animals.) When I mentioned shipping containers he said, "People do that... Take a welding class."

For what seemed like about 5 days I had a headache and at least once I got dizzy and had the vague notion that I had been episodically dizzy before that during those 5 days. I should get some raw vinegar to drink and check my blood pressure. There has never been a documented problem with my blood pressure, so if it's up something is awry. My head drained last night and I felt a little better today.

Ah, garcinia cambogia. I had a pinch of the fruit in my tea about a week ago. Now, I'm not saying it was the cause of my headache, which seems to have set in a day or two after I drank the tea. Really, there's too much that could possibly be going on for me to narrow it down that way, even if it turns out that the headache happens to return close to the same time I imbibe again. But lemme tell ya this tea has some potential. When I went to the herb counter the lady there warned me that g.c. smells bad. I replied that if it makes me skinny I'll take it. So she said the effect wouldn't be instant. Frankly, I don't know how much more "instant" a product could be. I quickly got the rash I usually get when my system cleans out after a virus, or maybe when the virus is on the ropes -- something like that. So I had this rash for like two days, and even tho I lost only just short of a pound this week, the usual vicissitudes where I weigh 5 pounds more for part of the day were tamed to only 2 1/2 pounds. For trying something once, unless it's post hoc, this is pretty remarkable. It was so powerful I figured to wait before trying it again. At this point I really would be ready to try it again, except that I'm afraid to tempt fate with my late, great headache. When next I take my tea I'll probably be able to honestly tell the herb lady that it works instantly like a charm.

Ya know what I think the headache was all about? Sinus pressure. I kept swallowing in my sleep, then stuff came out my nose in the morning, and I was better all day. Vinegar. Gotta drink some (watered down) vinegar to flush out the last vestige of inflammation. I drink raw, not distilled, so it will cost.

Today wasn't very fun. The computers lost their internet connection and I feel like the 4 hours I spent restoring them was stolen from me. Now tomorrow I have to clean house. Everything I want to do will have to wait. Even blogging would have had to wait had I not snuck away and done it.

I posted on someone else's blog lately -- a stranger's. More on that later, because I really do want to share it with anyone kind enough to read my blog.

Pix

Behind the Windbreak, Stage Left (Brain Dump)

Picture shows me at computer a couple days ago.


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


There is a place in some of my fantasies and in stories I try to write. It's called "behind the windbreak, stage left --" a real wysiwyg -- what else can I say? I think it grew out of my early impressions of my Aunt's house, one of the most familiar places in my life. She moved into it when I was little and she has almost always had something at least resembling a wind-break to the right of her front yard. That's where we all headed to take walks in the woods when we were little. At least once we all went back there to ride the pony, but pretty soon I got too big for the pony and the others quickly followed suit.

Behind the windbreak, stage left doesn't always figure prominently in the stories. It's just there. I'm like, "OK, the character escapes. Then where to? Behind the windbreak..."


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


In the middle of the night we were out at my woodland road-frontage with a pick axe, head lamps and shovels. Krissy and I shared a laugh over the impression others might have that we were up to no good. But in fact we were only planting flowers. The guy who sold me the bulbs was so late that planting time ended up being extremely late. In fact, that's why he gave me more than ten times what I had paid for, and why we were out there so long fighting the hard ground to put in countless plants. Some of them were still flowering and looked really special with the roses and the vase of cut flowers by September's (cat) grave.

Krissy and I had a real good time together, something that hasn't happened in a while. Then I rushed to my mother's house some 40 miles away, fighting sleep behind the wheel. When I arrived I couldn't even take a shower if I had been awake enough to do it because a thunderstorm had blown in on my heels. Well, I don't actually know what direction it had come from, but it arrived just after I did. Throughout the trip I could see lightning in the south, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have seen any in the north if I had been driving the other way (does it?)

The dogs were afraid of the storm, which may sound unnatural for dogs ages 8 and 13, but there is a possible explanation. The elder dog must have told the younger about the time lightning struck the dormer and tore a hole in the house. And dogs don't lie, so the younger dog had to believe him.


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


When I was young I didn't always have very much control over when I could sleep and wake. But now that I do, 2:30 PM seems to be my natural, preferred time to kick into gear and get stuff done. As in former times, though, 6PM is when I really hit my stride.

One of the things I think is responsible for my increasing control in this area is melatonin. It's my miracle drug. I've also learned to do things that improve my health in general -- like watching my diet, exercising (though not as much as I'd like,) and taking nutritional supplements. Also, the doctor involved in my "inverted circadian rythm" diagnosis of 1984 said that in my thirties I would find my states of consciousness easier to manage. I didn't fare particularly well in my thirties, but that could be because of medication I was taking then that I have tapered to a maintenance dose now. In fact, just before I started taking them I was 28 and was just starting to realize an impressive level of control; but this vanished when I went on the drug -- paxil.

Paxil has also been implicated in memory loss and weigh gain, both of which I suffered right on schedule when I started on the drug. I hope naturopathy catches on with insurers (including Uncle Sam -- are you listening, President Obama?) so that people don't automatically resort to iffy drugs before exploring wholesome alternatives.

The body is a wonderful healing machine. Just give it what it needs and it knows what to do.


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


I have this annoying friend -- I'll call him Jake -- that I probably hung around too much. He was always putting me down, and (as he himself warned me he would) he was unfair about the arguments this caused. "I don't lose arguments," he'd said, "That has nothing to do with who's right." I'm afraid I might have unwittingly internalized too much of his negativity towards me. I think I realized this maybe a few months ago but it was a while before I could get a wholesome distance.

Jake says that people aren't rational, but that instead they rationalize. It's clear that he's talking about himself; but he certainly doesn't speak for me, and I'm sure he doesn't speak for most people. It seems to me, from long experience with people who actually do argue with fairness and integrity, that all the rest of us really want is for people to be fair to us. You see it all the time in magazines, "Just show hubby/junior/mother that you appreciate his point of view, and then he'll be more open to yours."

Fairness is certainly all I want when I talk to people, and when I don't get it I'm hurt. So until I got some distance from Jake, I'd been kinda hurt. It still hurts. I even admitted it to him because I figured I'd ultimately feel better that way than if I continued to eye-roll it whenever I remembered it. I mean, it's a weight off my shoulders and he could actually turn around and help me with it.

pix

Voila.

Pursuant to Previous Post

I almost carved it up and changed it. It could possibly give a careless reader the wrong impression. When I talk about taking rest when I needed it in my distant past, I'm not being entirely accurate. I didn't always take the rest, because sometimes the work was too urgent, immediate, important and/or overwhelming. Also, I'm not talking about stuff that's completely derelict. I never hid in my cubicle and took a nap on the clock, (except in one situation a long time ago when I got all the work done and had nothing to do but monitor a phone that refused to ring, which I could do very well in a half-sleep doze. The phone, the work, the clients, my employer -- everyone was taken care of, so I did totally get away with that, God be thanked. And I would never do that again, because anyone who walked into my office could have misinterpreted the facts and deemed the phone to be unmonitored, when in truth I would wake like Lazarus if it rang.) In general, what I'm talking about are things like blowing off personal opportunites to get a leg up on some goal of mine, times when I took a nap in the library or my own room or apartment, and times when I couldn't stay awake in class no matter how hard I bit my tongue or slapped my cheek -- things like that.

Also, with regard to closing my blog -- this is a distinct possibility. I would like to work toward bringing it to a natural close. It may take a while -- months or even a couple of years -- but my goal now is to include everything that belongs in this blog so that I will be ready to close it if I decide to do so. Towards that end, I will be asking the Blogspot people if I can leave a ghost blog. I wouldn't want them to erase I Can't Complain just because it's no longer being written. I want people to discover it in the future -- maybe in the 23rd century or something. I don't have illusions of it being really popular ever, but if a few people in successive generations find something in it to enjoy, that's about all I can ask.

So Depressed

Shame on Time Magazine. People who want bad news should have to go looking for it, not have it shoved in their face at the checkout line. Turns out, their "'Future of Work" feature was a lot of the same old same-old, made to sound evil on the cover precis so as to sell a pile of magazines. I think the Lord said, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." To that I add, "Sufficient unto reality is the evil thereof." That reminds me, never watch a "Saw" movie. My neighbor tricked me into watching until I figured out what it was and left. That was years ago, and the unwelcome memory persists. Imagine how it must haunt the people who worked on it. No wonder the Amish don't watch TV -- you can't "unwatch" anything.

It sucks to be without a muse. There isn't any man I'm attracted to, nor any I wish I could be with -- not even Anwar. Without a muse, things are just what they are. They're not enchanted or symbolic or props in a larger story. The future doesn't open up into the promising unknown; it just plods along familiar paths or worse ones. I know that isn't true; it's just how I feel. A muse probably would not make me feel better at the moment 'cuz -- I don't know why. Maybe I'm ovulating or something. It's just biologically time for me to feel bad until I bleed, I think.

I don't even really want a muse. There has to be something better. There are dreams and goals, for example. They make for a pretty self-centered emotional flywheel, but if they're accessible they could be better than nothing at all. 'Trouble is, this is reality; everyone's broke; everyone's worried; people are mean; prospects look bleak. So dreams and such are not very accessible.

Fortunately, we live in a world with animals. If things have to be "just what they are" it's nice to know that some things are great just being what they are -- dogs, cats, elephants, butterflies. I'm certain they're all going to heaven, even the mosquitoes, who won't bite anybody when they get there because I guess the angels will feed them.

Reflecting on the stressful life I've led -- and I mean stress worse than I acknowledged it to be at the time, real bad stuff -- I wonder why I'm still in such apparently good health. Maybe it's because (in my twenties) I took rest when I needed it -- even at inappropriate times, like when I was supposed to be doing stuff -- and because I usually had a muse. You know, maybe a lot of the strange stuff about my past was survival fare. Stress offset by much-needed rest and a heart full of unconditional love. (I loved those guys for who they were, not because I thought I would win them. Because for the most part I didn't think I was going to win them. Some of them were nice, too.)

This might be my last post, because it breaks my heart that hardly anyone ever reads my blog. I'll post a few pics and see if I can just leave it at this.

Posting Pictures -- Trying to Feel Better

Um, OK, that didn't work. Next post ...

Today's Story

I was too depressed to take a shower last night or to wash my face this morning.

Pursuant to previous post, Mom let me stay and she has been good lately. I wonder if she knows I'm still looking for a ticket out. I think I will be depressed after I move. With my own volition back, it'll be a while for it to uptake so that I'll know what to do.

Why should I be depressed? I live in the same universe where Mo Best's horse won and The Beatles were born. But I was just listening to The Beatles and I turned 'em off. I just wasn't digging it the same. That's one way I know I'm depressed.

I had a lot to say lately but now that I'm here writing in my blog I don't remember what it was.

Leo

Just now I wrote an email that referenced Leonardo DiCaprio's role in "The Aviator." I then imagined someone asking if I like the actor, and I thought my reaction was cute:

Whaddaya mean, do I like Leonardo DiCaprio? I'm female, aren't I? I don't like him enough to keep watching a boat sink, but I do like Leonardo DiCaprio!

Voila

Nappy here still had some rough edges when he disappeared, but at least I got this photograph. Gotta stop writing because something weird is happeni

One piece uploaded!

... but a glitch quickly erased it!! Lemme try again ...

I had to abort another upload

Here I sit, waiting for my artwork to upload. I’m musing about how this artist up the street, Kromkowski, said that, if your art isn’t current, you’re not really an artist. I disagree. Not only did he neglect to support his position, but I have a good case against it. Here it is: Life is long and busy. The art stays in your mind and waits for the day when it has a chance to come out. Your nerves practice in your sleep; your eyes practice in your waking life. And when there’s a break in the battle it comes out – not because you’ve suddenly resumed being an artist, but because you always were one.

This is my tea break ticking away while the files slowly upload. I don’t dare abort them after the time I’ve invested. So I continue to write, so as to bank the time…


One thought that floats up from the bottom of my mind is, I always admired those computer hobbyists from the early ‘80’s. And Nicola was one of them. What an enviable life he must have had. He had (at least) two hobbies (computers and chess) that involve concentration and long stretches of personal time. I wish every kid could have that. I might wish I could have had that, too, except that (a) I actually enjoyed something of that experience at times; and (b) I don’t know what kind of alternate reality I’d land in if I beamed back to 1982, made things all nice for myself and beamed back.


Upload refused to fail or succeed. I had to abort it just to get the computer to budge.

kitchen capers

Pursuant to my last post, I ultimately remembered what I wanted to talk about next: 20 years ago I had a much worse kitchen problem, which happened to be my own kitchen, my first kitchen. I had no understanding of shelf life or the flow of things and I had to find out the hard way at about the same time my OCD started kicking in for serious. A bad confluence of events and a big kitchen faux pas.

One weird thing about those times is, I had an aversion to washing my own dishes, but I did just fine washing Charlie and Francie's dishes (some neighbors.) There came a day not long after when Francie sought me out as a roommate. But since I didn't want to move to Chicago, that never happened.

diet bore digest

I just babysat for 18 hours, which entailed making 2 meals in my sister's awful kitchen. It's the kind of kitchen that promulgates its own mess, and it's all anyone can do to avoid being part of the problem if he touches it. Does everyone know what I mean? 'Cuz my mom didn't know what I meant and that bugs me. If stuff is sitting in the sink, it's hard to use the sink. If stuff is on the stove and there's no room for it in the sink it makes it harder to use the stove. If stuff is on the counters that factors in too. Analogous situations abound. It becomes a clogged matrix that tends to get worse with every iteration. The mold by the sink shreds my nerves and makes everything more prohibitive than it already is. I tried to leave it better than I found it, but after two meals I don't think I managed that. I left just a few more dirty dishes and a considerably cleaner receptacle for clean ones. I'd like to add that the galley-style kitchen is way too small to navigate with ease, and that it's often crowded with animals, because their feeding stations are in it.

Mostly, the kids don't cook. But ten-year-old Carly likes to help make french toast. I wanted to ask them all for more help but I felt like it would be a cop out.

As long as I'm on the subject of food at my sister's house, Sis assures me that her kids' diet is better than I had supposed the day I saw the frozen french fries there which I'm sure had the wrong kind of oil in them. I believe she is right. But I also think the kids' diet could be improved yet. After all, she has one pot. It must be a prohibitive challenge to make a balanced meal without more equipment than that.

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

I got yanked away from the computer at that point, forgetting what I ultimately wanted to say. For now, that's life.

By the way, I did double-check those french fries and they have no hydrogenated oil. So at least there's that.

You can't be too careful, though. My mother gave me pie with whipped cream, and the "cream" turned out to be fake and heavy with hydrogenated oil. She probably had no idea. I really have to keep on my toes here.

Ebony and Ivory

Here are some selections from my recent correspondence that I thought belonged in the blog. The first is a reply to a friend who said I should "take the blinders off" and consider that Obama is a liability (to put it more mildly than he did.) As evidenced in my reply, he also said other things, to which I also replied.

(Pursuant to the email about Homeland Security versus the would-be revolutionaries.) I think DHS is on the lookout for the angry kind of people who get whipped into a mindless fury and throw things at the white house while shouting "revolution!" It's not you they're after, Dan -- it's the rebels without a clue. Polite dissent is always welcomed.

Consider that I was pretty polite to the Reagan administration in spite of the Reaganomics that destroyed the hopes of my generation ... I was beside myself today because Reagan planted the seeds of destruction and checked out before he could see the ultimate result. The main thing Obama is trying to do is erase supply-side economics before another generation goes to waste.

(It doesn't signify that there are people in my generation who made good. There are always people who fare well in a bad matrix. It doesn't mean that the matrix isn't bad.) [Later I would reflect that judging the whole gauntlet by the experience of individual matriculants is like saying someone doesn't have a plumbing blockage because some of the water still flows out the tap.]

[Friend,] re-read the emails you get from these people. You'll see that they're all about hate and anger, anger and hate. With a little ignorance thrown in to keep it going.

By contrast, look at John McCain. He doesn't agree with the president but he's not out in the streets crying revolution, or on the radio ranting hate. He's working within the system. Homeland Security respects him and other conservatives who behave themselves. [This was in reply to a forwarded email that tried to be all incendiary, saying that Homeland Security was against people who held certain political views. The writer neglected to differentiate between people who thought a certain way and behaved versus people who waxed extremist over their disgruntlement.]

Speaking of McCain, I really thought he'd take more of a leadership role both in government and in re-defining his party when Congress got back in session at the beginning of this year. I disagree with him about a lot of things, but I was kinda rooting for him post-election. I imagined he and Obama would share a great bear hug and then get down to the business of saving the world together. I imagined Clinton and McCain would share lunch from time to time and say, "Whew! Thank goodness it's Obama in that hot seat and not one of us."

And what do you have against socialism? We socialists aren't trying to destroy capitalism -- we're trying to tame capitalism so it can work for us and not against us. There are ways of doing this, and some of the best minds in economics and politics are working on them right now, not to "sell us out" but to make sure we all make it through this crisis and to better times beyond. (Success isn't guaranteed, but this path is our best hope.) Some people think tax cuts are the only way to accomplish anything, but after the last 30 years I don't know how they can fool themselves like that. It has been suggested that those who say and believe these things are not familiar with Keynsian economics, so those of us who would educate them have a hard row to hoe.

Think about it. If I wanted to plug the president's programs to an audience of conservatives, I'd bring a big, thick book about economics and start reading. The wing nuts would start throwing tea bags and screaming revolution and the respectable conservatives ... I don't know; would they listen? ... Were they listening when economics was taught in school?

It's a big question mark for me, [Friend]. I can't imagine why [a few] people sane enough to stay out of the tea-party crowd nonetheless [stubbornly] ignore the science of economics, as though they had a big stake in not knowing anything about socialism or capitalism. And this includes many respectable people in congress who clamor politely for tax cuts and a choke-hold of conservative spending. I wish I could see inside their heads. (And I can imagine some of my socialist friends saying, "No, you don't; you don't want to look in there." But I'm curious, [Friend.]

I'll go read your other emails now. ... I think many conservatives will be relieved to see how Obama champions the constitution, despite the fears you're having now.


The next one is a reply to a forward about some proposed legislation, forwarded to me by the same friend.

I just read the email about proposed hate-crimes legislation. If this could really put a gag on religious expression, then I do oppose it. I'm not gonna go all ballistic and treat the government like the enemy, but I do politely and vehemently oppose it. What I'm really hoping is that Congress will re-write it to be harmless, if it isn't already. I'm sure my president didn't intend to hurt his Church with it...

Again, the same fellow forwarded a discussion about the government no longer selling spent ammunition in useable form to private dealers. I remember writer ranted something to the effect of, "He's going after our ammunition!" I replied:

I was reading the FWD about munitions mutilation and thinking, "Why would Obama be so silly, alienating the gun lobby like that? He's supposed to be reaching out to different groups and uniting the country." Then I went to the author's blog and found this anonymous comment that solved the whole riddle:

I agree this is a stupid thing and will hurt us. Please be aware of the truth though! This policy was handed down on June 11 2008!!!! It might fit what many accept is Obama's plan, but it was hatched under Bush! The document is at www.dla.mil/j-6/dlmso/Archives/JSACG/meetings/11Jun08/ADC_220_Small%20ArmsDefinition_DRAFT_JSACG_11June2008.doc Thank goodness! Bush's blunder. My guy's in the clear.

It isn't really that big a blunder, except politically. People who need weapons to protect themselves will pay a premium price for ammo. People with terrorist designs will want it cheap and in bulk. Bush was probably just trying to protect us from the bad guys.

Culled from a late nite chat, this one has nothing to do with politics:

10:50 PM For about two days I could relate to something you said that I never agreed with in the past.
I'm not convinced of it. I can't prove it.
10:51 PM But I felt that there would be something a little anti-climactic about me building my house now
I'm still going to try to build it
I might as well try to do something
And after my period I probably won't feel that way
10:52 PM I'll say, What's 42 when I have the rest of my geological life-span, just like Enoch?

And here is a passage I think I sent to the same person to whom I sent the first two:

I'm thinking now about how in some other countries, capitalists and socialists sit down at the piano together and make beautiful music. I want to see that kind of unity here, because the world needs both modalities the way an automobile needs both an engine and a transmission -- only more so, because economies are iterative and chaotic, whereas automobiles at worst will get you stranded on a hill or something

dancing

I'd like to do aerobics now. Hmm. I will soon. It's so much easier when I have a muse.

finding the time

Mom and I are fixing up her house for a college reunion, so it's hard to find the time lately for things like shopping, laundry, blogging or pancakes. Mom likes to beg off on letting me use the kitchen for pancakes because they take time and make a mess, which also takes time then to clean up.

And blogging? I culled about 1000 words from email and chat but haven't had time to edit and post it!

But now, finally today I took the time to make pancakes. Now, pancakes are a treat. 900 calories of pancakes have the joy and satiety factors of 1800 calories of my regular foods.

That reminds me of how nice it was to eat the wonderful food at St. John's College cafeteria. I would eat there while taking time off from school and even after I graduated. 1800 calories. I'd count 'em and be done with eating for a while -- all for the $10 cover price.

Roasted in Starfire

Yesterday's sunburn was no joke. I was working so I didn't dare scramble for safety. Nor did I realize how burnt I was getting. I thank God and my mother for the straw hat that saved my face and scalp.

The previous day I'd tried sunscreen one last time. I said, maybe if I keep it below my eyes it will not end up in my eyes. I was driving blind when it did somehow end up in my eyes. I pulled into a gas station and washed it off. Sice they didn't have soap, I used dish liquid.

Now I really think that if you get enough exposure to roast the skin that's directly exposed, it's not too good for the rest of your skin either. You know, UVB rays get the direct-exposed areas and (I hate to say it but) doesn't UVA get the rest? I've had enough sun-exposure trouble in my life and I hope I didn't just bring on more.

At the supermarket I saw that most all the other white folks were roasted pretty good too. There's no fool like us old fools. Doesn't April bring the summer sunshine every year?

Suicide Prevention

Tread carefully if you ever call the Suicide Prevention Hotline. The wrong operator could make you feel worse. Early this morning I was having one of those times we all have where we'd like to die and go straight to heaven, but we're not going to kill ourselves because that could be a terminal sin. I was on the verge of wishing I could catch a stray bullet that would dispatch me painlessly and blamelessly to eternal bliss, but I willed myself to leave it up to God whether He wished to deliver me or keep me in the battle. I was anxious, scared, angry, couldn't sleep. (Never mind what it was about. If anyone out there cares enough to ask I will be very surprised, especially in light of what happened next.)

... So I called SPH and gave a succinct answer to the operator's question regarding the nature of my problem. Then she asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss tonight?" I said no. Surely it would be enough if she could comment on what I had already said. No dice. Instead she crisply said, "Well, have a good night then." Was she closing our conversation before it even opened? I recovered from shock in time to say, "Hey! That's not nice. You were supposed to make me feel better." But she rejoined, "Well, I'm sorry if I didn't," without missing a beat.

SPH's website says you can call if you merely need to talk to someone who cares. But if you really need this, I hope you have a better option or that you at least get a better operator.

Obamarama

Just for fun I googled "Obamarama" and I got a little story by Ralph Nader that I hope is unfair. It depicts Obama as ... well, I hope it's not fair. Obama is a politician, so he's going to make some unsavory friends. So what? Would he be doing his job otherwise? If you wanna check it out it's http://www.counterpunch.org/nader01072008.html . I guess Ralph Nader won't be getting a cabinet appointment anytime soon.

Some of My Artwork has been Digitized

I found this old disk with some of my art on it! I hope I have enough time to upload at least one image. C'mon image ... Ok, that didn't work. Later, then.

There is so much for me to write, and so much for me to do. It isn't like being unemployed, hanging around here. One quiet thing I could do so as to be productive while Mom is relaxing after work is to research HTML guides since mine is missing and she wants me to write her a website -- something I haven't done in 14 years.

In Fairness to my Mother

Some corrections regarding recent posts (all dated April 2009:)

#1 Mom did everything possible to save her tooth, notwithstanding the cost. I hadn't known that.

#2 Mom generally fed us much better than I've seen my sister feed her kids. What I said about us eating that way when we were kids was in reference to occasional simple meals designed to get us through a few hours between substantial meals.

#3 Mom had a response to the letter I published. We discussed it and I think we both learned something.

Pursuant to Previous Post

It occurs to me that the guy I quoted was overlooking the idea that his assertion is dependent on conditions; sometimes demand is the controlling factor, but sometimes supply is, right? I mean, the banks couldn't lend if they had nothing to lend, right? So now they have something. I think they should be emboldened to embrace the demand that's right there in place right now, even if it means, as another respondent suggested, having loans underwritten by the government and made through the banks.

Giving Credit where Credit is Due

I took the liberty of cutting and pasting this comment from an MSN feedback space. The writer was responding to the MSN journalists' assertion that TARP participating banks' continued cautionary lending practices were necessary and for the best.

KOJAK41#8
Thursday, April 23, 2009 1:04:46 PM
Kenyes said that trying to end a depression by giving money to banks is like pushing a string. Businesses invest and banks lend not because they have money, but because they see a demand for their products on which they can earn a profit. You have to stimulate demand to get the system going again. Of course you also have to make sure the banks are still there to make loans and cash consumer's checks, but restarting demand is the key.
ReplyReport Abuse

OK, good, start demand. That sounds good to me, for whatever it's worth coming from someone who took up 9 credits of economics. It sounds like the President has that end in hand too.

But what about the demand that's being wasted because applicants for loans are being turned away? Another respondent likened the banks' behavior to the bad guy in Total Recall turning off the air so all the Martians suffocated.

Oh, what to do, what to do. I wish I were smarter than I am, and I'm glad some people are smart enough to fix things.

I'm also glad that the economy is something seeded within our species that will naturally reassert itself despite vicissitudes. After all, even feudalism didn't kill the economy, because an economy was right there in place for Renaissance merchants to pick up and improve on when the time came. A few robber barons won't get the best of us if a slew of feudal lords couldn't.