my mood swings

There's a Hole in My Stocking

2011-11-16T15:44:00.000-05:00

(dear Liza, dear Liza)

Seriously.

A big freaking hole right above my right ankle.

I planned my outfit out last night just before bed. The green skirt my sister gave me that is above the knee, but in no way a ... ahem ... a mini. The long sleeve green cotton pullover with a white cami underneath. My sensible brown Pappagallos. And the brown patterned tights that are just right underneath all this green. (note to self: I own waaaaay too many green articles of clothing!). I was a bit shy about wearing it, but as I slipped it on, I felt a little flutter of pleasure - this skirt and tights combo felt right. Something I haven't felt in my clothes/body in a long damn time. Thrills!

And then I noticed the hole.

Oh, piss.

Then I channeled my inner Agatha Christie, took a black Magic Marker, and colored my skin.

The Pledge

2011-11-04T14:40:00.000-04:00

is kicking my ass.

I spent my entire drive home Tuesday listening to the sounds of silence. My mind wandered all over the fricking place and I noticed things and I thought cool thoughts and I had ideas and it was wonderful. I went in to pick Josie up, and I forgot everything.

Silence. I need some.

2011-11-02T15:46:00.000-04:00

The world is too much with us: late and soon,

I think that's Emily Dickenson. No, wait. It's Wordsworth. That's what Google is for, right? Eliminating the need for rumination, filling the void of thought with e-certainty, putting the facts at our fingertips. In .003 seconds or less.

Been feeling a little overwhelmed lately. A little frantic. Unable to concentrate. Seeking, seeking, seeking. Always seeking.

Google is my enabler. Twitter, Facebook and the Elvis Costello Fan Forum as well. Just learned via Twitter that the amount of data shared online per week tops what the Hubble telescope collected in 20 freaking years. Don't need to actually read the article - the headline says it all. I never have one web page up anymore. It's always 4. Or 6. Or 8. And I never finish reading one before I jump to the next.

Everything is so instant and available that it lacks urgency, yet still commands attention. Bits want bits, I suppose. Don't quote me.

So, I'm taking a ~~vacation~~ I mean, pledge. No more than two pages up at a time. Facebook once a day. More blogging, less drowning in a tidal wave of trivia. I don't need to know anything else about Kim Kardashian. I don't need to compare ways to overwinter geraniums, I need to do something with the damn things before the frost gets them.

Back to meditating also, before the brutal stew of thoughts gets wound too tight. Practicing some MINDFULNESS, which I know think I have a sense of - it was just a stupid flavor-of-the-week word that I failed to get the gist of. This may be the step backward right before the breakthrough. I hope so. I've been drowning My Little Voice for years. Years. Really! Years and years and years I've been turning the music up, the tv on, grabbing a book, starting a conversation (or a fight), anything but listening to myself, because myself was not something worth listening to, if you follow me.

So, this begins a Pledge of Self-Care. I will walk, I will do my morning pages, I will meditate.

Hope to see you soon, Unknown Reader(s)!

That One Thing

2011-09-28T11:33:00.000-04:00

Everybody's got it. That one thing they don't leave home without. That one thing that you just don't feel dressed sans*.

(Smartasses, I am not talking literally here.)

For me, it's mascara. I may be unshowered and unkempt, but I'm going to have the illusion of long lush lashes whenever I venture beyond my own mailbox. My hairdresser told of a client who could not leave home without polished fingernails. For some, it's earrings; others, a baseball cap. For a lot of us these days, it's a cell phone.

What's your thing?

*Pretentious French word tossed in to avoid using "without" twice. Spent 5 minutes trying to think of the word "pretentious" and finally located it catty-corneredly through Thesaurus.com!

The Ides of August

2011-09-05T14:44:00.002-04:00

well, technically that's over, but it's a grand summation of the growing sense of dread I feel today. Or A summation. I'm not terribly articulate and prone to exaggeration.

What I mean is, it's ~~almost~~ September. And that chills my heart. LITERALLY. Weather-wise, this is a beautiful time of year: warm days, cool nights, the humidity largely gone. Psyche-wise, it sucks donkey balls. Rancid donkey balls.

And I can't quite put my finger on why. The end of summer, sure. That's depressing. Getting back in the rigid routine of the school calendar. Fall - and winter - on the horizon. I just feel so in flux, like everything is changing but in those old familiar ways. I always feel a little reborn and new in the spring, so I guess this is the bookend - feeling a little bit dead and most def a lot old. Yeah, I have a birthday coming up. And it's going to turn cold and the days are going to get shorter and shorter until the night lasts forever and I go to work in the dark and come home in the dark and everything is black and gray and ugly.

Très dramatique, n'est-ce pas?

Oui. I know, I know. C'est vrai.

Stop me before I light up une Gauloise and look pensively out the window.

As much as I tell myself not to be silly and to get a gosh darn grip on it and to think sunshine and lollipops and other happy thoughts, I still feel it. Despite the hostile environment, it persists.

Onwards, into the long dark teatime of the soul, peeps. Onwards.

Why I Always Walk With My Head Down...

2011-08-10T14:39:00.001-04:00

because I sometimes see things like this little dude here. From this angle he looks like some sort of cartoony sea creature who would no doubt speak in a very deep and possibly British voice. 180 your monitor and you can see that he is a moth. A Polyphemus moth, to be exact. Apparently, I was lucky to see him, as they live only for a few days. Those few days are spent searching for mates, not food. I'm guessing that this was near the end of his - I assume it's a he, just because he looks moustachioed - time on earth, because he was alone and not very energetic.

I Haz a Home Team!

2011-07-06T16:30:00.000-04:00

Thank you, ICHC.

A semi-pro soccer team! In my own backyard! The Knoxville Force is here, and I finally got to see them play Sunday, against Monterrey's U-20 team. The weather was hot and humid, and the soccer got slow, but it was an interesting game and the level of play impressed me. I wasn't hoping for Barcelona, but I was hoping it wouldn't be a slugfest. Now that they are finally having home games, I'm going on vacation. I have it in mind to see the game on 7/16, which might have one of Austin's old teammates present. Anyway, I will be there more NEXT YEAR~!

May the Force be with you. And me.

I'm Cheating

2011-07-01T15:06:00.000-04:00

and using a Plinky prompt. God help me.

Today's topic? Name a product you love that has been discontinued.

(shades of sponge-worthiness!)

I choose Lemon Up shampoo. It was the bomb-diggity when I was younger. And blonder. That was the thing to do in the 70's - try to DIY highlights with lemon juice and sunshine. (Do not try this at home unless you are a *true* blond. You might end up brassy and brassy is not good.) The beauty of Lemon Up was that it would (supposedly) highlight while you shampooed. Smelled terrific, too. Unfortunately, it was kinda rough on hair with continued use, although to be fair Lemon Up conditioner was available as well. It was even kind of hard to find then - just one drugstore in town sold it. I used to buy all they had when I would come home from college and I could have made a killing if I had been the type to black market.

Feeling Special

2011-06-13T14:41:00.009-04:00

Special Ed, that is.

Had my second official drawing class last night. My take on the camp chair with sock monkey garnered this response from my instructor: Why don't you try drawing it with your left hand? So, I did.

This is it -

Kind of faintly drawn, I realize. Must remember to draw WITH PURPOSE.

But overall, I like it. I like that little monkey face. A lot.

The very nice lady on my right asked me if I was sure I was right handed. That's been food for thought ever since. I don't do anything much naturally with my left hand, but I am so flummoxed trying to draw with my right. It leaves me feeling frustrated, angry and stupid. Especially stupid. I can *see* it, so why can't I draw it? And then the instructor was going on and on and on about angles and what you see first and how everything else is in relation to that and it made me feel all swimmy-headed and even stupider. Words! I know words! I speak them all the time and sometimes even write them! But I could not get it - I could not see what she was trying to show me and I just nearly cried. In class. The shame. I have ALWAYS been an A student.

This is most definitely out of my comfort zone.

God help me.

p.s. I drew this one upside down in attempt to get my right brain working! I think it helps, but unfortunately the world does not cooperate.

Star Wars Wisdom, or

2011-06-04T13:16:00.002-04:00

How I Learned to Leave the Library and Pick Up the Pen

                           less thinking, more doing
                            a book never drew a picture
                            that poem ain't gonna write itself
                            (well, sometimes it might)
                            the doing is the plan.

This is a poem I wrote this morning to remind myself to stop reading about doing things and start doing them. Yes, it's a poem, because I say it is. And it's an accomplishment, regardless of its quality.

There is no try. There is only do and do not.

We won't talk about the drawing book the library finally located - I reserved it weeks ago! I can't help it if it was lost on the shelves!

Still Learning After All These Years...

2011-05-12T09:31:00.000-04:00

thank you, Paul Simon.

Had an epiphany on the drive home the other day. I don't usually think any harder than what is necessary to remember the lyrics to a Transplants song, but somehow some way, in the 20 minutes it takes me to get from here to there, a truth hit me upside the head hard enough to sink in. It's this: whatever you do, do it like you mean it.

Like playing guitar. Most people learning try to play quietly, so the world doesn't hear their mistakes (and I am one of these people!). But you have to play it loud to be heard and to hear yourself. Tentativity is the mortal enemy of creativity. Look! I made a homily. And a word! But seriously, it's true, even if it's not quite grammatically correct.

It's a damn good thing I recognized this truth. I'm starting Beginning Drawing on June 2nd. The course materials list suggests at least an 18 x 24 drawing pad. 18 inches! by 24 inches! At LEAST!!! That's a foot and a half by two feet!!! The biggest paper I've ever sketched on is 8 1/2 by 11, and my typical doodle pad is yellow and has sticky on one side. How in the name of Wile E. Coyote am I supposed to fill in all that blankness?!?!

Fully epiphanated, I will boldly draw where I've never drawn before. I'm not saying it will be good. But it will be meant.

Romancing the Past, Rehashing the Stone

2011-05-06T15:50:00.000-04:00

Had a Gatlinburg weekend recently. NOT a vacation, but a blip in the space-time continuum wherein I found myself surrounded by the mists of yore, blasted by my past-ed, etcetera. I graduated (or granulated, as my dear old friend Zeke used to say) from Gatlinburg Pittman High School in 1981, and when I walked out the door, I really walked out the door. I was on the edge of the orbits of a couple different circles of friends, and that post-grad summer I started a new job and romance (the marrying kind) and I disappeared into that. Like witness-relocation disappeared.

I was a bad friend. I have a history of being a bad friend, I see now in hindsight. I have something like an excuse. We moved several times during my childhood. The natural order of things was this: live here for a little while, have some fun, move on to the next place. Family goes with, friends wave goodbye. I may still be a bad friend - in fact, I'm fairly certain of it. But I try. I really try, but in some ways I'm that puppy who left the litter too soon. I just don't have the social skills for the pack environment.

Memory Lane came strolling in with lunch on Friday and the parade continued through Sunday evening. Can't think for the life of me why I have this horrible impression of my high school years. I don't remember anything specifically awful, just a general sense of not fitting in and being surrounded by stupidity. I guess we all battle our insecurities there - mine is perhaps not quite finished. I always worry about kids who love high school. This should not be the apex of your life. It's the prelude. In fact, I don't want to reach the apex! I just want to continue the climb.

So I've started climbing through the past a little, seeing that it isn't the acid-washed nightmare I feared. Good things are back there also. And good friends.

Congratulations to the Right Reverend Jenny A. Pam and I are so proud to know you. You *are* our once and future king. Even if you're a girl.

Todd Snider at The Shed 4-30-11

2011-05-02T15:59:00.005-04:00

After a hard day of dog-walking, grocery-shopping and laundry-doing, the Hubs and I headed down to Maryville, TN to The Shed to see one of my favorite folk singers ever, Mr. Todd Snider.

But first, we ate fabulous Mexican food at El Paso in Sevierville. The most marvelous tostada I can ever remember eating. Chicken, sour cream, guacamole, and the most delicious white sauce. And a nice cold cerveza. Muy bueno. My second visit and it will not be my last.

Elizabeth Cook opened with a favorite, Times Are Tough in Rock n' Roll. She is very tiny and very pretty. This must've been the end of her tour, as she had sold out of most of her merchandise. "Balls" panties still available, but only in large. I snagged the very last t-shirt she had, a lovely minty green number promoting her Sirius Outlaw Radio show - thanks, Hubs. Thought it was a large, turns out it was X-large. Pizza Hut, here I come. Her husband Tim Carroll played the electric guitar in her band and she featured a couple songs he/they wrote. She clogged to one with great charm. Her mother hails from West Virginia, which she called the land of 5 million people, 5 last names.

Let me take just one moment to discuss the crowd. This is a Harley-Davidson dealership, bikers are the norm. In fact, I should have been ashamed to drive up in the family truckster. Some couples here and there, but by and large, it was mostly guys. With guys. Wearing lots of leather, some of it sleeveless, bandannas and black. There were candleabras, with thick plastic candles. Boots! With a little glitter and some more forgiving lighting, it could have been Maryville's answer to the Gay Dolphin. I know there's a size large "Balls" panties joke in here somewhere but I just can't seem to find it. Everyone had set up a camp chair, but few people actually sat. A mosh pit formed at the foot of the stage, making it difficult to see EC (not *that* EC, but Elizabeth Cook) and Todd. Why can't we all be civilized at these things and sit? But no, we've all got to be dicks in front of the stage throwing our death metal signs and spilling beer on our fellow moshers. If seats are provided, sit your ass down. Thank you.

Todd Snider took the stage in red plaid shirt (grunge? or royal wedding? you decide), his usual scruffy hat, all barefoot on his magic carpet. He gave himself a Blues Brother-ish intro and jumped right in to Lookin' For A Job. Oddly enough, for somebody peddling a record entitled The Storyteller, he didn't tell a single story. And I missed that. Both he and EC (again, not *that* EC) seemed a little perfunctory in their performances. Not all that happy about being there with me and all my biker friends. Just checked their facebook pages and strangely enough, neither of them has posted a word about the experience. Does silence speak volumes? I am with my cliches today. Cliches, good ways, to say what you mean and mean what you say - thank you, Jimmy Buffett.

I joined the mosh pit (where these crap photos were taken) and observed him sweating heavily. Random note: I don't think he was wearing underpants. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I was trying to get close enough to get a good picture of his bare feet. Do not ask why. It was The Mission, and I did my best to see it accomplished.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the show. But I was hoping for stories and banter. There was none. I was expecting a guy with a guitar. This was most definitely not "unplugged" and I don't know if it's my ears or their sound, but it was all just a loud blended mess of electric guitars. I was really hoping for a EC/Todd duet. It was not to be.

See? Barefoot. Really. Sorry the Persian rug isn't more visible. It was a camera phone.

Having A Toy Story 3 Moment

2011-04-22T09:07:00.000-04:00

(deep histrionic sigh)

(once more for good measure)

a sniff. Where's my hanky? Dab eyes.

It's that time. That moment in every mother's life when, no matter how many snotty noses she has wiped, no matter how many foreheads she has soothed, no matter how many encouraging words she has whispered, she finds herself unnecessary. Redundant. VHS in a DVD world. Dialed up in a wi-fi universe. Obso-freakin’lete.

I should be used to this. It’s happened before. Twice. And it will no doubt happen once more in a few years. Why it should take me by surprise this time is one of those unfathomable mysteries, like why my hair is just right, just right, just right and 20 minutes later, an inch too long.

My little boy doesn’t need me anymore.

Ok, to be fair, this has been an ongoing process since he left the womb in 1993, all pointy-headed and red and screaming. The boy has healthy lungs, I’ll give him that. Little by little, year by year, he’s wiggled further and further out of my arms. And out of my grasp. One day I was changing his diapers, the next I’m adding him as a driver on our auto policy. Somewhere in between, I became fallible. Subject to criticism. Open to cross-examination. Lately, I'm just invisible.

And it’s all because of a girl. (Cue Robbie Fulks).

If I was semi-useless before, I’ve now come full circle in my expendability. I get it, I’m the old and diseased musk ox the lions cull from the herd, my every breath an affront to youth and that complex hive of hysterical neediness known as high school. We used to watch soccer together. Sometimes, a movie. These days he’s watching American Idol (the horror! The horror!) with her. He used to pick all the tomatoes out of his bowl when I made chili. Now, he’s at her house when dinner time rolls around, hopefully NOT picking the tomatoes out. I’m sad and I’m glad all at the same time. There’s an upside: I don’t have to WATCH him dissect food, and UT sports will never override my soccer viewing. But there’s a down side, too. There’s a hole in my life where that boy used to fit.

Growing up. Not for the faint of heart.

Sacred Serendipity, Batman!

2011-04-18T14:46:00.003-04:00

I went to the post office today, as is my habit just before lunch on a workday. I had a bagful to mail and a lot of stuff laying around the front seats of my van. I took a minute to turn off the radio, because the satellite part screws up sometimes if you leave it on, and I cracked the windows as well. Then I opened the door, hit the "lock" button and slammed the door shut. With my keys still in the ignition.

D'oh!

There I stand, in heels.

No cell phone. No money. What to do?!?!

I tested each and every door and learned my "lock" button works exceptionally well. I tried the hatch back. I tried to snake my hand through the crack in the passenger window. I tried to snake my hand through the crack in the driver's side window. I looked at that little lock button and thought to myself, if I had a coat hanger, I could do this.

I glanced down at the mulch in the flower bed. There was a rusty coat hanger. As if I had wished it into existence.

I held it up to the window and felt its flimsiness. I snaked it through and watched it slide feebly over the button. I breathed in and out and tried again. CLICK. I am back in my van and thanking Jesus, the Universe and the inventor of coat hangers.

This is the coolest thing that's happened to me in recent memory. Ok, so it's not up there with the births of my children, but it's still very very cool. Unbelievable, even. Envisioned, then occurred. Go, me. Go, Universe!

Who's Down with OPP?

2011-04-14T14:53:00.000-04:00

Yeah, not *that*. Other people's PROBLEMS. I am deluged with them today. Without going into all the dull details, let me just say that I am grateful I took that meditation class and can almost ananda-out all the twitches and entangling tangents this typically brings. Yes, I am ready to slap somebody silly, but I'm not taking it all that personally and I am doing a damn fine job of letting it go. Does that sound like a contradiction?

Like the great poet John Prine once said, if heartaches were commercials, we'd all be on tv.

Artist's Way Week 12 - The End of the Line

2011-04-09T11:07:00.000-04:00

I'm pulling the plug.

It's been a good ride, but it's just time to let go and let God. Give up and get down? Quit and be quiet? Withdraw and wig out? Decamp and do nada? I can do this all day, people. Stop me.

At the risk of repeating myself - and let's face it, that really seems to be my mission in life - it's not you, Artist's Way, it's me. Here at the end of the 12 week course that took me 16 weeks, I'm undecided. Was it worth it? I still didn't create anything other than that one collage, my Seat of Sloth drawing and a few blog posts. I thought a lot about doing stuff, but I didn't follow through. In spite of that, overall, I'm giving the experience two thumbs up. I took a couple of turns around the spiral path. I'm a tiny bit more honest with myself (and others - beware), I'm an iota braver. A lot of discontent has been uncovered and I'm gonna have to do something about that. Something positive and illuminating, I hope. No more being a mushroom. Nosirree. Not anymore. Score one, JC.

Where do I go from here?

After much gnashing of teeth and wailing, I've settled on a two month reprieve. I will continue the Morning Pages (score two, JC), with whom I have a deep and abiding love/hate relationship. I will continue to meditate, because I took that class and I want my money's worth. And I will focus on walking daily and feeding my body better. In a couple of months, I'll take stock again and see if I want to delve deeper into JC or look for a new guru. I've heard that Vein of Gold is a dense and expounds more on her particular spiritual beliefs. If she turns out to be one of those Hale-Bopp nuts I shall be profoundly disillusioned. I've been trying to rediscover and embrace my inner wacko and it's just a little tougher to do at 47 than it was at 21.

Anyway, here's a little something for The End of the Line.

A Blog Post Idea! A Blog Post Idea!

2011-04-05T14:51:00.000-04:00

My kingdom for a blog post idea!

I asked Jupiter and was told "say that you don't know" and on the re-try, "allow difficulty."

I re-read my Plinky prompts. Nada was prompted.

I listened to Bach. Lots and lots of Bach. A regular Bach-analia.

And I began to feel down, waaaaay down, misunderstood, marginalized and unheard. I remembered a line from an Elvis Costello song, about how I tried so hard just to be myself, but I keep on fading away. But I keep plugging away at it anyhoo, doing my thing (that fabulous phrase from the 70's!) and hoping someday, somewhere, somehow, it will be heard.

You know what they say, everybody gotta have a dream...

Artist's Way Week Eleven - Brutal Honesty

2011-04-04T10:43:00.000-04:00

Winding it down on this Artist's Way stuff - one week to go now, thank you Jeebus. And I have to be honest and admit it's not you, Artist's Way, it's me. I haven't put 100% out there, I have not been conscious and present when I do the exercises. Somehow I expect the magic to happen even when I'm just going through the motions. And to be fair, Julia Cameron does encourage us to keep doing it even if we are just going through the motions. I've been through many many motions now and I'm still just going through them. One of the assigned tasks for Week 11 was to buy a special creativity notebook (I love how JC always invokes the Power of New!) and label the first 7 pages Health, Possessions, Leisure, Relationships, Creativity, Career and Spirituality. Under each of those topics we are to write down 10 wishes. I did these Saturday evening while watching NYRB give Seattle their second defeat in their second game. Looking at my notes the next morning, I have no recollection of completing this task. In fact, some of my notes are as obtuse as the memos I get at work, dangling participles and all.

And the Artist's Dates - well, I think I did two. When I was supposed to do one per week. It's just very very hard to get time to myself. ALONE. And there are so many things to do on any given day. The Big To Do List keeps growing, I get farther and farther behind, so I feel guilty about that and neglect Artist's Way stuff, and sometimes a girl just wants to have fun and that chick flick ain't gonna watch itself...

Just one more hour in the day, please, Jeebus. Just one more hour.

Slow Learners, Unite. Group Up. Whatevs.

2011-03-29T09:36:00.004-04:00

Just a few days ago I was scolding myself for my impulsiveness and today I'm jumping on the run amok crazy train once again.

It started with Blogs of Note. My typical reaction to reading a Blog of Note is WTF? Last week, the reaction was different. Edenland was on the list and I gave it a read. And a further read. And on and on until I had read a whole lot of it. And it was so well done and witty and fun, even about very serious things, it just blew me away and made me want to write a great blog too. Did I mention the purple in her banner? I like purple. And skulls. Very Tim Armstrongish. I like that too. I "followed" Edenland and this morning's post mentioned Angel cards.

I'd never heard of Angel cards, so I googled at once. Amazon has heaps and I just nearly hit BUY NOW before I remembered my pledge to stop being such an impulse buyer, of things AND ideas.. After an hour of the agony-of-denial, I realized the internet was at my fingertips - surely someone, somewhere had online Angel cards. Preferably for free.

Yes.

I like the idea of angels guiding my card selection, gravitating my hand in the right direction. It would probably be simpler, however, if they just picked up the phone. For the record, I drew Cherish, Peace and Patience.

Peace out!

Brushes With Greatness - An Airport Encounter

2011-03-24T09:45:00.004-04:00

Waaaaaaaaay back in the day, when dinosaurs had just recently met their demise, I went to the UK for the summer as an exchange student. To this day, I don't know what they exchanged me for. As you might imagine, getting there involved an airplane ride or two, and airplane rides usually involve long idle hours standing around waiting. Loooooooong idle hours. Waiting.

So, standing around JFK one August afternoon in 1980 (told you it was post-dinosaurs!), my friend and I spotted a familiar face sitting and waiting in one of those impossibly uncomfortable airport seats. You know, the ones that are not just a seat, but a whole line of seats created to bring order to the chaos of jet travel in chrome and shinyl vinyl. The kind and gentle face of Mr. Bill Cosby, actor, comedian, all-around Mr. Congeniality and Jello spokesperson.

Unless you interrupt him at the airport.

My friend and I noticed him and began to whisper back and forth: that looks like Cos! Sitting in the hallway at JFK? Can't be. But it looks just like him! You ask. No, you. No, you.

This went on a good ten minutes until we had ourselves worked up into a frenzy of celebrity awe. We approached.

May we have your autograph?

Long silence.

Eons of freaking silence.

Whole worlds - and dinosaurs! - were created and ceased to exist during this silence.

And then...

He spoke.

"Can you say please?" with just a drop of unctuous disdain.

Older, wiser (ha!) me now realizes that this was just typical Cosby humor. Younger, idiot me felt like she'd been assessed and found wanting. Horrifically wanting. NAKEDLY wanting. In-front-of-the-entire-school-ridicule and the Defcon One nuclear strike of shame.

It's hard to talk about now. But, that which does not kill me makes me stronger.

Yeah, right. Eat a booger, Bill Cosby.

In for a Penny, In for a Metric Ton

2011-03-23T13:32:00.002-04:00

or, why Gung-ho should be stricken from my vocabulary.

I'm following my doctor's advice. Try some soy in your diet, she says. It's good for you and it might help with the hot flashes. So, I went to Kroger. Hungry. Chocolate-bereft. I bought soy chocolate milk. Soy sea salt crisps. Soy protein "chicken" fingers. Edamame. I looked at soy ice cream, but it was pretty pricey, so I left it on the shelf. Soy Joy bars. I left no soy unturned in my quest to be flash-free.

Further research indicates I do not need to go so whole hog. A glass of chocolate soy milk once or twice per day will do the trick. No need to soy bomb, as it were.

At least, between all the morning pages and meditations, I've learned to recognize my tendency to go overboard. I may not be able to control it yet, but I've got it's number now.

Keepin' On Keepin' On - The Artist's Way Week 10

2011-03-10T13:37:00.005-05:00

This week's focus was recovering a sense of self-protection. To be completely honest, I didn't get a lot out of this chapter. I'm not a workaholic, I'm not famous; I may be a little competitive, but really, who isn't? Other than the Dalai Lama, of course. Some of the exercises seemed a little silly, in particular The Deadlies, in which we were to write down the words ALCOHOL, DRUGS, SEX, WORK, MONEY, FOOD, FAMILY/FRIENDS on individual strips of paper, fold them, place them in a hat or something and draw one out seven different times. Then, we drew one out and wrote down five ways this thing has a negative effect on our lives. I drew DRUGS four times. Julia Cameron says that this should be read as emphasis. Sorry, Julia. I do not have a drug problem keeping me from writing. I also drew FAMILY/FRIENDS multiple times. It was not an eye-opening experience. I am nearing the end of the The Artist's Way (the book, not the life) and I'm beginning to find Julia Cameron a little annoying. Or out of touch. And she's anti-meditation, which I find downright odd.

This could simply be what she terms an 'artistic tantrum' which typically precedes a big leap forward.

One can hope.

Fan Girl Alert!

2011-03-09T08:55:00.003-05:00

I don't stay up this late but I wish I had...

Travis Barker shilling his solo with the Transplants on Conan. I'm so glad I'm Team Coco.

Week Nine - Artist's Way

2011-03-08T13:39:00.003-05:00

Apologies, dear readers. (tee freakin' hee, readers. As if.) Been busy meditating, soccering, Artist's Way-ing, reading, reading, watching tv and - ugh - working. I've moved forward on the The Way (cue Scott Miller), but I haven't always taken the time to blog about it. Consider this a remedy.

Or a ... reconnection!

Week Nine's task was to recover a sense of compassion. One of the main points of the chapter was to label things rightly, particularly "laziness," which is often just fear. Fear that we won't be able to do something perfectly, fear that we will fail, fear that we will succeed even. We say we're lazy, when we're really just afraid to try. The salve of compassion is not just for use on others, then, but we should apply just as liberally to our own skins. See what I did there?

Also discussed were creative u-turns, where we self-sabotage out of fear, and block-blasting, where we take inventory before beginning a new project of any resentments (anger) and resistances (fear) we might feel about starting. I still find this provocative because I haven't done any actual creative work, other than blog posts and one lonely collage, since I began this journey back in December.

It was my intention today to start a new poem. Truthfully, it was my intention yesterday to start a new poem. I just didn't do it. So I'm going to play a little bit with this blasting exercise and see what happens. I apologize beforehand.

Resentments: nobody ever reads poetry! it means work! thinking! editing! especially the editing!!!

Fears: people will think I'm weird for writing it. it will be awful and I won't know it and I'll show it to someone and ... it doesn't bear thinking about. I won't be able to write it! Nothing will come!

Week 8 The Artist's Way

2011-02-14T10:35:00.007-05:00

/begin crazylocosounding new age testimony

I saw it again. A wolf. Running hell for leather across Veteran's Boulevard. I was this close to hitting him, so much that I had to swerve and I nearly hit a truck in the other lane. He - the wolf - never wavered, never gave me a glance, never seemed to notice he was running perpendicular to the flow of traffic. The driver of the truck gave me a are-you-crazy-lady? shrug and sped on heedlessly. This is a six lane road! It was a busy school morning! Have I mentioned that this was the second time I'd witnessed this? Examination of this under Occam's razor leads to only one conclusion: it was a hallucination. Well, more accurately, a vision. A vision of my spirit animal, the wolf.

No, I have not started smoking crack. Gravity is still functioning for me nicely and the sun still rises in the ... east, is it? I can never remember. That and the spring-forward, fall-back thing - it could just as easily be spring-back, fall-forward, couldn't it?

But I digress.

I suppose what really made me pay attention was the fact that this exact same thing happened twice. Or I had dreamt it first and then it happened In The Real World. But either way, that's significant, don't you think? I don't know what it means exactly, but information here indicates that the wolf teaches steadfastness and helps us find new paths and journeys. One standout sentence from that site: Sometimes transformation accompanies Wolf's lessons.

That sounds way cool, no?

To honor my wolf vision, I am wearing moonstone earrings. They are actually simulated moonstone because I am an impulse buyer. Perhaps my spirit totem will teach me to read the fine print.

/end crazylocosounding new age testimony

Week Seven, Artist's Way - Recovering a Sense of Connection

2011-02-09T11:06:00.004-05:00

Had to add another two days to this week to get 'er done. Will basketball ever end? I thought I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but it turned out to be a train. A big ass train.

This week was about connections and the recovery thereof. Tasks included some fun stuff, like listening to one side of an album just for joy; wearing a favorite article of clothing for no reason at all (cue Forest Gump); buying myself something wonderful & self-comforting (my purple polka-dotted robe); and creating a collage. This was supposed to be done very rapidly, but as I went dumpster-diving for the unread-by-me magazines, I took my time looking them over. Another reason I had to add two days to this week! But my collage came out pretty cool, I think, and I am so ridiculously proud of it that I'd like to hang it on my refrigerator.

But I'd have to clean it off first, so...

A good week on the Artist's Way. I reconnected to my inner adventurer in a nanoway. I signed up for a class in meditation. All by myself! With strangers! And I gave a good two minutes of thought to standing up and telling some of ThatSchoolWhichMustNotBeNamed's basketball parents to sit down and shut up and stop acting like schoolyard bullies. But I decided that was perhaps not a risk it would be wise to take just yet.

Learning! I'm doin' it!

Continuing The Artist's Way - Week Six

2011-02-01T14:13:00.003-05:00

My first draft of that came out WARtist's way. I think I like that better. I'm not an artist, I'm a WARtist!

Yeah, right. (which is proof that two positives CAN make a negative)

To be blunt, Week Six sucked. It was all about abundance, playing What If again and examining the idea of God's - the Creator's - will for us. One particular quote, which I will now mangle, stood out for me: God didn't make just ONE kind of snowflake, but an INFINITE variety of snowflakes, so he must adore creativity. Which is a provocative idea. But God also created accountants and the need for them, so maybe he's a little OCD too. The idea that God wants everyone to be creative is fabulous, but we can't ALL be artists, can we? Doesn't someone have to make the soup, so to speak? That's the leap of faith I can't seem to make - that if I am meant to be an artist/writer, I should just do it and let the money follow.

Too fond of eating, I suppose, to be that reckless. And I'm not at all sure I'm meant to be an artist/writer. Do you like that slash? I don't. Writing seems so concrete to me, and drawing/painting/creating things out of other things seems so ... spiritual? Like you have to be tuned in to something and it flows through you and out into the work. I've written a couple things like that, none of which immediately spring to mind, and certainly not *this* blog post, but I've never HAD to paint a picture or draw a line or fingerpaint for that matter.

I guess that would be my

....

wait for it

ARTISTIC block.

Mwahhahahahahahha.

The Artist's Way - Week Five!

2011-01-26T14:52:00.003-05:00

in which we try to reconnect with a Sense of Possiblity by examining the attitudes and ideas we have about the nature of God the Creator and also by examining what Julia calls Virtue Traps we build around ourselves. Maybe the subtitle of this chapter should be Remember When You Weren't Everything to Everybody? Or, How I learned to let go and let others make their own peanut butter sandwiches. Or something like that. Tasks were all about lists of ten: ways I am mean to myself (I had a HARD time with this one - I am pretty kind to myself as a rule), ten items I would like to own (surprise! I want a VW camper van!!). If I were 20 and had money, what would I do? If I were 65 and same, what then? A lot of what-if'ing and idle dreaming and I am pretty darn good at that.

The Virtue Trap stuff rang dishearteningly true. As I look back over my adult life, I realize that I've gradually surrendered every second of solitude I once treasured. I was a weird kid, I freely admit, and I liked being alone. Not all the time, but I was, as my mother was delighted to find out, totally content with my own company. Once I got married, I still had some alone time, because we worked different shifts a lot. Once the first child came along, it got a little harder, but I was still in college, so I had the class/commute time. Out of school, with baby #2, it got even more scarce and somewhere just disappeared completely. Last summer, I found myself on a Saturday all alone - kids off with friends, husband working. And I had no freaking idea what to do! I had completely forgotten how to be by myself. So, I took the dog to town. Literally. Pet Smart and two dog parks! A big day for her. What I realized from this chapter is that I need that alone time.

The Artist's Way - Weeks 3 and 4

2011-01-17T11:05:00.001-05:00

Up to date, I'm not. The good news is that I'm busy doing the stuff, so I don't have time to blog about it. And to be fair, week four was media deprivation week, so technically I wasn't allowed to blog about it.

Take that, Bembridge scholars.

Week Three was all about recovering a sense of power. How one recovers something one has never had is a conundrum I could not solve, but whatevs. Most of the tasks involved remembering favorite things from childhood - toys, games, friends, etc., and remembering things you liked about yourself as a child. I was ridiculously curious about things and I had an active imagination. I liked to read Greek mythology and play pretend Olympus, watch the Wild Wild West on tv and play that with my friend Ian in the wilds of our California neighborhood. Another task was to list 3 subtle foes of my creativity and how I sabotage myself by allowing them to control my time. This is where I discovered the Seat of Sloth that calls my name every night after dinner and, truthfully, sometimes before. I tend to gravitate towards it after the day's work and open a book. Sometimes I read it, sometimes I look at the back of my eyelids. So, that's a place to beware. Nothing wrong with sitting, reading OR napping, but it's hard to be creative there. I do assume some unusual positions when I nap, so there's my creative expression.

Week Four was designed to recover a sense of integrity. What this has to do with reading/media deprivation, I do not know, but I am proud to say that I did not read a book, magazine, newspaper or pamphlet for the entire week. I also severely limited my internet usage. Only work sites allowed! No Facebook! No Elvis! No soccer news! I did allow myself to check email on two different occasions just to see if anybody missed me (and damn your hides, NONE of you did!). I allowed myself to watch tv and dvds also. If I lived alone, I would have chucked that, but it's hard to NOT watch tv at our house. I would have been spending all my evenings in my room. Alone. This does not sound bad, come to think of it. Maybe next time. Again, most of the tasks involved visualizing - ideal environment, what my 80 year old self might say to my present day self, what my 8 year old self would say to her as well - and being good to myself with an extended Artist Date (did not manage) and a ceremonial tossing of some ragged low self-esteem article of clothing. That would be my entire underwear drawer!

Just kidding.

Sort of. Note to self: bras! buy new ones!

I don't recall experiencing any synchronicity during these two weeks, but I have observed that I am not very observant and I'm trying to pay more attention and not just skim through the experience.

Just to define it once and for all, integrity to me is a synonym for authentic. And I want to be my (eeep!) authentic self.

With power. :)

The Artist's Way - Week Two

2011-01-03T09:09:00.003-05:00

In which our heroine recovers a Sense of Identity. In order to accomplish this, she will figure out where her time goes, remember things she once loved to do but forgot how when she grew up, make a Life Pie, play If I Could Be... and plan 10 Tiny Changes.

Well, hmm.

A great deal of my time is frittered away waiting. Waiting for the work day to end, for practice to be over, in check out lines, in traffic. I dislike beyond words the feeling of being "on hold" but I tend to internalize that into a kind of finger-drumming, wheel-spinning frustration that is bitter to taste and toxic to productivity because when I'm finally free, all that I can think about is breathing on my own time and not having to answer to The Man. Or The Child, as the case may be. I also waste a lot of time on the internet and in front of the tv and behind books - maybe the book part is a bit harsh. So, I think I need to work on perhaps being more engaged at work. And to remember a book or notebook for the basketball doldrums. And limiting my internet access. I truly believe we all need a little less internet access and more quiet soul searches and some face-to-face just to keep things in perspective.

Coming up with 20 things I like to do - well, you'd think that would be a no-brainer. Proved a little more difficult for me. I like to read, I like to watch TV and dvds, but I do these all the time, so maybe they aren't the treats/refuges they once were. I tried to come up with things that, well, for want of a better phrase, feed my soul. Oh, the humanity. These things include hiking (preferably w/dog), swimming in rivers or oceans (preferably where I can see my feet), going to concerts, rollerskating, writing silly birthday poems for friends and writing letters. Gotta find me some rollerblades!

The Life Pie was kind of a mystery to me. You draw a circle and divide it into six segments: Work, Friends, Romance/Adventure, Play, Exercise and Spirituality. Then you make a mark within the segment as to how fulfilled you feel in that area. My lowest rankers were Spirituality, Friends and R/A. I feel like I've got waaaaay too much work, but it's the have-to variety and not the want-to kind, so maybe it's time for a change there. ( I always envy people who love their jobs so much they don't describe them as work!). Connecting my dots, I created a diamond shape - not that it means anything in particular, it was just kind of cool. Like using a spirograph! Something cool appears just when you least expect it. Gotta find me a spirograph!!

p.s. I really did kinda look like her when I was that age.

New Project

2010-12-27T15:20:00.003-05:00

While cleaning a couple of weeks ago, I found buried in a stack of books Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way. It's about unblocking your inner creativity. You know, that voice that tells you to buy all the pretty markers and that gorgeous pad of paper, the one you're always telling not to be stupid, you can't waste your hard earned money on anything so self-indulgent and frivolous, and that type of equipment belongs to Real Artists, not wannabes. Yeah, it gets hard to hear that little voice after a few years or decades of that. I made it to Week Four in said tome back in the 90's. But I just gave up after that. It's a 12 week program, so I almost got a third done back in the day.

Not that it matters now.

I decided that I would begin again on December 17. Nevermind that it is my son's birthday. Nevermind that it's the Christmas season. The actual inspiration was several days in the making, during which I was repeatedly - and I'm not just feeling sorry for myself, I swear on the soul of my sweet Pawli - discounted, disenfranchised, marginalized and generally made to feel less than worthy by the World At Large. Examples: I went to work and said hello to the first person at the door - got nothing in response; I clocked in and went to my desk, saying hello to the next person I see in my office - again, NADA. I went through 5 hellos before I got one back and I really tried to project my voice. My facebook stats went uncommented upon. My phone did not ring. My emails were not returned. I was too old to participate in a phone survey. So, I was feeling a little less than loved and I found this book, which we (us royal types) will refer to henceforth as TAW, and decided that dammit, I had to do something just to make sure I was still breathing in this world.

Week One is about recovering a sense of safety. I did my morning pages 7 out of 7 days and one of them was Christmas Eve. The pages are stream-of-consciousness, and sometimes I didn't even have that, I just wrote affirmations over and over. Or the day's schedule. Or what happened yesterday. I was supposed to do an Artist's Date, which is supposed to be an hour or two spent alone doing something that feeds your soul. This was hard to accomplish. Had planned on watching Holiday Inn in the den one night, but the heater chose that night to spew black smoke instead of warm heat and the plan choked to death on kerosene fumes. In what might possibly have been an act of synchronicity, I found myself snowed in Sunday morning with Love, Actually on the dvd player.

It *is* one of my favorites.

So, that was Week One.

Stay tuned.

And now, more of the same!

2010-11-03T08:37:00.005-04:00

Yep, I went and pulled the lever on my local voting machine yesterday. Technically, it was more of a button punch, but no matter. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, as the French say. Not that I was expecting anything different, but I was hoping, foolish me, that voters might have learned a few things since Carter was in office. No such luck. OMG! We voted a black man President and I'm STILL poor!!! More borrowed language: The petite bourgeoisie panicked, prompting poseurs and protégés alike to protest. In ridiculous numbers, apparently. And I shouldn't be surprised. I went all Crack Rock Steady after W's re-election. It's tough being sorta blue in a mos def red state. I don't have a clear cut political ideology. I understand that folks need to help themselves. I also understand that sometimes people need help, too. At my most radical, I'm all for free electricity and water (a per capita amount, naturally - not unlimited), because producing them wreaks havoc on OUR world. And just to put it out there, if it was free, goodbye lawsuits? Not that litigation is inherently evil, but there does to seem to be a class of professional instigators who sue for fun. I am perfectly willing to be wrong about this!

Anyway, I am dutifully trying to adjust my attitude to the new reality. Basket Case? or Blockheads? A little of both, I'm afraid.

Midnight to Six, Man!

2010-09-09T08:42:00.002-04:00

So, 7 years ago, my day, and my 5th decade* on the planet began with this piece of musical perfection on the radio as I walked my dog in the darkness before the dawn. Still in that darkness, but that's another story. Here, at the beginning of my 48th year (again, counting from ZERO), I pause to reflect on what, if anything, I've managed to learn or figure out during my walk around the earth. Fear not. This is not a life lesson. This is not an Impartation of Knowledge. This is only aimless pondering. Kinda like Peggy Hill's Musings.

These things I know: I'm done with fashion/beauty magazines - tried to read Glamour at the doctor's office the other day, could not have been less interested. I'm done with keeping up with the pop-culture Joneses. You know who you are. And you will give up one day as well. When you have a *life*. I'm done with trying to be what I'm not. I'm done with owning stuff. Stuff is meant to be used, not collected and I do not want to spend The Last Half of my life dusting. I'm all about the comfortable shoes, but I'm not settling for ugly ones yet. I am not opposed to some 'give' in a fabric. Particularly in a waist band.

Not much for 47 years. Guess I better pack a lot in in the next 47.

*Man, that's some complicated math! Ages 0-10, Decade 1; 11-20, Decade 2; 21-30, Decade 3; 31-40, Decade 4. I am *not* in my 50's. Yet!

New Template!

2010-06-15T09:47:00.000-04:00

whaddaya think?

Looks a little more polished, maybe?

Is that a good thing?

Tell me.

So maybe it's not my favorite pic from the game

2010-06-15T08:42:00.007-04:00

but it epitomizes what I felt concerning England's Finest before, during and after this game. Spoiled, with a ginormous sense of entitlement. And they are certainly, pardon the repetition, entitled to some entitlement. My confidence in our USA men went from crazy-demented-hopeful to gloom-and-doom despair. Lampard, Terry, Gerrard, Ashley Cole, etc. Those are some BIG time players. But we played 'em hard, we played 'em fair and there were a couple of points when I thought we could win. In the end, both teams got a point and I believe that was a fair result. These guys might agree.Clint Dempsey, the Mostest from Nacogdoches, and Steven Gerrard exchange jerseys post-game.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME SOCCER?!?!

2010-05-27T13:40:00.002-04:00

Me too. Here's our 2010 World Cup team with Presidents Obama and Clinton. 16 days to go. Surprises for me on this team: Edson Buddle, Johnathan Bornstein, Clarence Goodson. Can't Believe I Forgot About Him Award to Benny Feilhaber. Really! I forgot about him! All I ask is that we get out of our group.

And we kick some Englishter ass.

We have the most Bad Ass Goalkeepers on the planet!

Rust Never Sleeps

2010-03-25T09:34:00.006-04:00

But it does take significant time off from its blog from time to time.

Between actual puppy care, learning about puppy care (which has gotten a whole lot more complicated since my last pup!), going to puppy school and yes, work, soccer and a growing addiction to Farmville, I haven't had time to read the paper let alone grace the internet with my prose.

I'll work on that. Longer days ought to help me out. And a housetrained pup. Seriously, I think they are spaying too early and it interferes with their sense of urgency. I will not be getting another pup anytime soon to test this theory, but do invite you to do so. I am happy to report that I think we are on the downhill side of that learning curve. Looking for a big bell to hang on the door for her to ring when she needs curb service. Thanking my lucky stars that my carpet was pretty crapped out anyway and that she has preferred linoleum in general.

She *is* the cutest thing ever, don't you think?

Meet Virginia

2010-02-09T09:08:00.004-05:00

well, not that Virginia. And actually her name is Lucinda, but of course we are calling her Luci. She is 10 weeks old in that photo and I, remembering how few good pictures I took of Pawli Paws, have determined to take her picture every single day. I won't bore cyberville with them except possibly on a weekly basis. I am not known for my follow-thru blogging. See the Ponch post down the page - I think 4 or 5 Wednesdays have passed since then.

Anyway, this is Luci and she is very very sweet and very very dirty. She's just been spayed - good lord, they're doing them at birth now (practically) - and she can't have a bath for a few more days. She also came with a bladder infection, so housetraining has been Keystone Kop-ish. She's had her vet visit and should be on the road to recovery rapidly. The shelter described her as a shepherd cross, but her mom was a hound and daddy unknown, but he had some Chow in him. How do I know this? Black spots on her tongue. Same as my sister. By which I mean my mom and dad's puppy, har har har. The vet also thinks she might have some Rottweiler in her, which I have to admit, made my hair stand on end. I'm cool with it now, but she is probably going to be 20 pounds bigger than my ideal size dog. We will learn to cope. (I wrote 'dope' there first - tee hee hee). She's a funny little thing right now. She sits and watches more than any puppy I've ever seen. Not like she's sick, or tired or bored, but like she's studying it all and will put the lesson to use in global domination or something. I have read that Chows are almost cat-like in their aloofness and Rotties are "reserved."

It will be fun to find out who she's gonna be. Besides my beautiful smelly girl, I mean.

p.s. this is her "Pick Me! Pick Me!" photo

Ponch is Stalking Me.

2010-01-20T12:41:00.006-05:00

For real. Well, not real real stalking, but the random cyber-media popping up sort that's just a bit uncanny.

It started last week when I trolled thru a Google image search for pics of Tim Armstrong and/or the band Rancid. Found this one showing the band and some guests at a benefit for Tony Hawk's Ride foundation. Note Erik Estrada on the right.

In a little frenzy of Butthole Surfers mania, I found this video for Pepper.

Guess who, again.

So, in the spirit of keeping the dream alive, I've decided to dedicate Wednesdays to random Erik Estrada sightings. We'll call them the Wednesday Weird until we can think of something more clever.

I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows
I can taste you on my lips and smell you on my clothes
cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies
you'll never know just how you look thru other people's eyes...

as always, comments welcomed.

A Boy and His Wheels

2010-01-12T13:42:00.004-05:00

Pro: I can resume my own life, since I won't be driving him hither and yon.

Con: He'll be driving. Without me and all my passenger seat expertise.

Pro: A tank of gas might last me longer than 3 days.

Con: I'll be loaning him money to put gas in his.

Pro: He can do some of my carpooling chores.

Con: see above.

World, you've been warned.

When Worlds Collide...

2009-12-21T16:17:00.004-05:00

Lars Frederiksen and Branden Steineckert of Rancid, combining two of my favorite things: soccer & awesome hair. Now if they can just grab Tim. And maybe disrobe a little.

Stolen from Branden's facebook.

Fear, Loathing and a Whole Lotta Cat Hair

2009-12-11T08:57:00.007-05:00

How do cats do that anyway? Just eject hair at will?

Speck, seen here in the classic meatloaf pose, had to pay a visit to our friendly neighborhood vet after coming down with a smelly ear that somehow morphed into one ginormous abcess behind his ear.

$300 later, he will be fine. Flealess, vaccinated, drained and antibioticated, he will be good as new.

LD to Everton?

2009-12-10T13:50:00.004-05:00

SBI sez it's so. But I'd feel a lot better about it if someone besides "source" said it. But, anyway, good for Mr. Donovan, who grows in my estimation just about every single day. Whatever happens, 50% of internet pundits will say he failed. 50% will say he was God-like in his magnificence. None of them will be 100% correct. Let's hope Kickette takes note.

Best of luck, LD. Go kick some Englishter ass.

*Kickette noticed.

Run Run Run, Run Awaaaaayyyyyy

2009-12-10T13:15:00.003-05:00

Eddie Johnson's days at Fulham are numbered.

Told ya so. Not braggin', just sayin'.

Not that that's anything to brag about, but I *desperately* need to be right about something today.

Breaking News: Socceristas Swarm Seattle

2009-11-20T13:47:00.002-05:00

Ok, it probably should be futbolistas, but it just didn't have the same alliterative flair.

Everybody's going. Juan Pablo Angel and Kevin Goldthwaite from RBNY. Presumably not together. Brendan Steineckert and Lars Friedriksen from Rancid. Most definitely together.

The morning shows were scarfed., but not impressively, because, duuuhhhhhh, everybody is out there in Seattle.

Except me.

(big brave sigh)

One day.

Real Salt Lake Attempts to Sway

2009-11-19T16:48:00.002-05:00

my MLS cup loyalty by doing cool shit like making t-shirts with this picture

and having Nick Rimando on hand to hand them out.

Way cool, Mormon Nation.

Just Because

2009-11-10T08:32:00.001-05:00

Rancid - "Up To No Good" from Tony Hawk

Goodbye, Columbus.

2009-11-06T11:02:00.003-05:00

Short personal anecdote: my oldest child, when he was tiny, 4ish perhaps, saw his dad and myself in our wedding photos. Where am I? he asked. Well, you weren't born yet, we said. His eyes popped in disbelief and gradually his mouth formed an "o" of understanding. And that was an important life lesson for him: the world existed before he was born, and would likely continue after he was gone.

And so it was for the Columbus Crew Thursday. The MLS Cup, and the quest thereof, was there before them and will be there after.

Long after, unfortunately. Watching it, I felt like a lot of goals were gonna get scored. Schelotto's two in the first half were lucky and wonderful, respectively. A third would surely come. Yes, but to the wrong team. And then another. And one more. Real Salt Lake 3, Columbus 2. Tortured segues and all.

The bad part is, I wanted them - nay, counted on them - to reach the final, so it would be Crew-Gals.

The good part is, I can now unashamedly out myself as pro-Gals. With the exception of Beckham, who should stay the heck out of MLS and devote himself entirely to underwear modeling.

The Sun'll Come Up...

2009-10-23T08:46:00.002-04:00

Trout Fishing In America

2009-10-22T08:28:00.003-04:00

It was a beautiful day. After Steven's graduation, we all adjourned to his apartment for a fiesta. Fajitas, black bean salad, Dos Equis to spare. The sun was shining, the sky was blue - sapphire, in fact. I drove the young ones back to our house and returned to Knoxville to watch the movie making. Trout Fishing In America was being filmed in the downtown area, and onlookers were encouraged to attend. Some years later, I sat in a downtown radio station office watching the finished movie on cable, pointing out which parts were Knoxville to anyone who would listen, remembering that wonderful day.

Memories. They're such warm and lovely things.

Only, this never happened. Well, to be specific, the graduation happened and the fiesta happened, but all the movie-making, movie-watching most definitely did not.

It was all a dream.

And yet so very, very real. These fake memories felt so treasured and worn. The act of remembering felt honest, the feelings evoked felt true.

But still, it was all a dream.

Freaky, man, freaky. Like, I-could-believe-I-have-a-parallel-existence freaky.

Gonna have to go find that book now.

These are a few of my favorite things...

2009-09-23T08:27:00.002-04:00

Rancid and soccer. Teh awesome.

thanks to valerie z at rancid fans.

Thoughts at 80 mph on I-40

2009-09-16T13:48:00.003-04:00

What's scarier?

An angry confrontation with a major whack job who shalt remain nameless...

or....

the realization that, IF the tire on that 18-wheeler beside me blows, it will cause the van to roll over and not only will I die, but pieces of me will be strewn all over the interstate.

I gave it 54 miles of thought and could not find the answer. Or the difference.

Color me chickenshit.

Morning Glory Redux

2009-09-14T10:01:00.000-04:00

they're just so darn pretty.

Art.

2009-09-11T13:42:00.001-04:00

I does it.

A self-portrait (dancing, or doing something unmentionable) I added to my work mug to keep the thieves away.

Mornin', Glory!

2009-09-09T09:51:00.002-04:00

Found by my parking space yesterday.

Happy Beatles Day, everyone.

Happy birthday to me. How'd I get so freakin' old?

Also, birthday greetings to, in no particular order: Brad Guzan, Hugh Grant, Michael Keaton, Sacha Kljestan, Adam Sandler, and Goran Višnjić.

Answering the question

2009-08-28T10:14:00.002-04:00

Prompted by Plinky, I attempt to answer the question, if I could have a tattoo for a week, what would it be?

I'd go acoustic, though.

And I'd have Tim Armstrong draw it on me.

Cue Etta James...

2009-08-24T10:20:00.002-04:00

At Last.

RBNY 3, FC Dallas 2. First win in over TWO months. In 16 games!

Good day to be a Metro. Even a former Metro.

Numerology...

2009-08-07T11:49:00.005-04:00

FAIL.

Well, ok, math skillz FAIL. When will I learn to add 2 + 2? Or, my age + 1?

It's like this: this year my birthday falls on what sounds like the most auspicious date ever. 09/09/09. And, when I first realized this, I was ecstatic because I did the quick math in my head and came up with my new age - 45, which is 4 + 5, which obviously is 9, and cosmically significant to the nth degree. Surely I would win the lottery, become clairvoyant and/or finish an NYT Sunday crossword unassisted!

But not so fast. 2009-1963= 46. D'oh!

One is the loneliest number...

But here's a cool site to see how your name, via numerology, defines your life.

So.....

2009-07-29T14:34:00.003-04:00

What's wrong with this picture?

Well, firstly, there's a lot of things right with it. Stubble, for starters. Hi-def tats. Biceps with promising shadows. A glimpse of red plaid boxer.

The thing I don't understand is why he's wearing his shirt - the one with his band's name on it - inside out. Some kind of old school humility? A frantic rush to the stage after some shirtless b-ball? An ironic fashion statement? No, wait, that's the pants.

I've had two original fashion thoughts in my 40-something years. Both were back in high school. One was using a wound up bandanna as a belt, which was kind of hard to pull off, given my waist. Difficult to pee, as well. Knots. Not made for lower body wear. The other was wearing my generic gray sweatshirt inside out.

And this was waaaaaaay before Flashdance.

Numbers Don't Lie

2009-06-25T13:59:00.002-04:00

45 years old.

celebrating my 27th anniversary.

on my day job 23 years.

June 3rd, On Which I Become a Music Critic

2009-06-03T15:48:00.008-04:00

The new Rancid record is out. I have it. I love it. That's probably disqualification #1. I'm a big fan of all things Armstrong. Disqualification #2. I don't know enough about music to 'judge' per se - I'm one of those if-I-like-it,it-must-be-good opinionistas. Disqualification #3.

In the punk rock realm, diversity is expected. Anticipated, even. Psychobilly? Punk! Argentine ska? Uber punk! As long as you stay diverse in the same way you were the day punk rock embraced you. Artists who poke holes in the spiky black leather boxes they were put in get labeled sellouts faster than Travis Barker whales on drums.

The most Rancid-esque quote on this record is their manifesto: I heard G. B. H. I made a decision. Punk rock is my religion. Obviously, they meant the Clash and clearly, they’ve soldiered on through the early stages of discipleship in which their fervent punk essence is sworn and declared (e.g. their 1993 debut), to seasoned apostles of, well, if not exactly peace, love & understanding, then unity, equality and brotherhood. It must get very boring trying to stay "punk" and be a human being. The decisions one must make. Is this Big Mac punk? Crest or Colgate? What would Johnny Rotten choose? Rimshot. Can one have some financial security, and still be punk? If an album is produced to the point where the lyrics are mostly decipherable, is it still punk? Rancid, weathering the tides of life just like the rest of us, have put quite a lot of thought into those kinds of questions and come to the conclusion that appearance is nothing. Attitude is everything. Let The Dominoes Fall is the next step in the evolution of punk: the transition from talking about how you don't give a f**k what other people think, a/k/a youthful bravado and/or paranoid chutzpah, to actually genuinely not giving a f**k, because you're secure enough in your vision and talent not to be threatened by the opinions of others. So, all you rigid obsessive-compulsives who are going to say Rancid ain't punk, Rancid sold out, Rancid ain't nothing but corporate shills, shut up already. You're wrong.

Here's why:

1) Boom-shacka-lacka-lacka-lacka-boom. Seriously, who else, outside of Sha Na Na, has the cajones to do this? Matt Freeman's feral growl threatens to annihilate with just one lacka anyone who snickers.

2) Mandolins. All over the freaking place. Banjo on the acoustic disc. Was that a dobro? Risks taken.

3) No leitmotif, no 'concept', no cause. If there is one singular message this album tries to send, it's that this is a place where everyone can belong.

The best parts of this record: the choruses, especially Lulu and New Orleans; the bounce - goshdarnit, you can actually dance to Up to No Good; Brandon Steineckert's talent and the way he's just been absorbed by the band - just, wow. Like an amoeba feeds. Or The Borg assimilate.

The worst parts: pronoun agreements. The English major in me balks at 'to all our friends, on this I swear' - it's a personal problem, yes; and the multitude of choices to purchase. The basic cd. The expanded cd with the acoustic cd and dvd. The super-expanded-deluxe cds/dvd/vinyl/kitchen sink version. Which would not bother me so much if all the tracks were available in one purchase. I don't like the iTunes special tracks. But at least, they didn't go the way of so many artists and release the cd. Then six months later, release the expanded version. And, just in time for Christmas, release the special outtake version. Thanks for that, guys.

Civilian Ways is getting a lot of love, as it should. But for my money, all $32.58 including shipping, the best song Rancid has done to date is New Orleans. The chorus is full of beautiful similes - I particularly love scar on her velvet face one - and the last verse of 'it rained all night in New Orleans' sung with some rough emotion well, that's just killer. The acoustic version brought a tear to my eye.

Hear for yourself.

Brand Spankin' New Rancid Video

2009-05-13T16:46:00.006-04:00

Things to note: it's in COLOR; Tim smiles - heck, I think everybody smiles at least a little - and makes non-threatening eye contact; Brendan shouts out MLS. Too bad it's Real Salt Lake. (Joe Cannon is a Rancid fan, but somehow I don't think Brendan is his anonymous season-ticket-holding friend - my money's on Matt. He looks like a goalkeeper's kind of guy.)

That's Not My Name

2009-05-04T14:15:00.011-04:00

Is it a crime to hike under an assumed name on federal lands? If so, this post is just a product of my imagination. I don't want Homeland Security putting me on some list of suspicious characters. Color un-coordinated characters, sure. But not *suspicious* characters.

It's not my fault my dad has terrible handwriting. And I'm not blaming the poor woman who attempted to decipher said handwriting and write out our name tags, but Sebbie Jerkins is not my name. Vim Jerkins is not my husband. I am left wondering who Perv Jerkins is, because he is no relation of mine although his name was on the guest list.
It amused the h-e-double toothpicks out of the rest of my family, however, and it worked right in with my plot to remain masked and anonymous at these GSMNP 75th anniversary gatherings.

Beautiful starting point - the Appalachian Highlands Science Learning Center over on the Cataloochee side of the park. Never had been there, never had heard of it. Driving up was like driving to Mt. LeConte or something equally surreal. Isolated isn't quite the word, but close. Serene. Secluded. Tranquil.

2.3 down McKee Branch, 3.2 down Big Fork Ridge, out at Cataloochee for some fabulous food and an elk program. Down was the operative word - my knees! my thighs! the blister that erupted on the back of my left heel hasn't quite healed yet. Yes, I've been a sloth all winter and it shows.

Wet and muddy, but it did not really rain on us. Saw some wildflowers and some salamanders, identified by the lovely and talented Ann Froschauer, the 75th anniversary coordinator (googled you, Ann, to be sure I spelled everything right!) That's a showy orchis there to the left, alongside my sister Mary Ann's hand. Was hoping to get up close and personal with an elk, but he was not cooperative.

And just for the record, that's not my name.

Doing MY part for Earth Day

2009-04-22T10:12:00.005-04:00

That little blonde girl?

I brought her into this world eleven years ago today.

That erases ALL my carbon footprint, baby.

J/K.

She is kinda cute, though.

And, yes, I do realize this is kind of a repost.

Giving the people what they want

2009-04-21T13:48:00.002-04:00

We do that.

This is the #1 photo visited here at My Mood Swings.

We don't understand it, but we do appreciate all you health conscious types stopping by.

Hope your Easter was a goodun...

2009-04-13T13:43:00.003-04:00

Anybody besides me remember when you could go to Walmart and buy a real live chick for Easter?

A big shout out to my special peep CJ, who shares culture wherever she finds it.

This could be big

2009-04-09T08:56:00.002-04:00

I mean, really really big.

Knoxville, that scruffy little city, might just be hosting some World Cup action come 2018 or 2022. Yes, I realize that's years - lifetimes, even - away, but hot damn, I hope it works out.

Gloom. Despair. And agony on me...

2009-02-17T13:44:00.003-05:00

It's the middle of February.

I haven't posted since 2008.

I seem to have hit the wall.

I've been thinking for some time - hard as that may be to believe - that I need to revamp this blog somehow and make it about something. I've dedicated one or two posts (wink wink) to the lovely and talented Tim Armstrong. A few to the Mostest from Nacogdoches himself, Clint Dempsey. A whole bunch to various soccer matches around the globe. A lot to my family and pets. I've just lost the plot, folks. Don't know what to write about anymore. Now is the winter of our discontent. January sucked and February ain't done nothing to fix up on it. (I believe that is a bad grammar grand slam. Go, me. At least I can still do that). Everything is wrong. And I'm not quite sure how to fix it. The acrid stench of failure engulfs everything I touch lately, so for the next little while I just want to sit in the closet with a bag of Cheetos and a Jacqueline Susann novel and lick my wounds.

Well, actually it will probably be a Rancid album and something cold to drink.

Anyway, feel free to holla if you have any suggests.

Feel free to holla about anything at all.

Watching the Granddog, Day One

2008-12-30T14:14:00.003-05:00

This is Davis.

He's 10 months old. He likes to sniff, chew, chase cats and rip stuffed animals to little tiny pieces.

He'll eat anything.

And he's living at my house for the next few weeks, while #1 son does his post-graduation See The World (or at least the western USA) trip, gets started in his new career and finds an apartment where he can keep this little feller, Jefferson Davis Jenkins. Mostly known as Davis.

I assume his name is meant to be ironic.

In a rather blatant attempt to jump on the Marley & Me bandwagon, I'll be posting about our adventures.

As you might've guessed, trying to write a poem a day during this crazy month proved impossible. Couldn't even manage a haiku once we got near graduation. I plan to pick that back up in January, so dear readers, you can look forward to another month of poems!!!

Yeah, try to hold that in a little. Your enthusiasm is dripping.

AFK

2008-12-01T13:35:00.003-05:00

for a while, maybe.

Not that this is unusual for me, but I'm taking a sabbatical of sorts trying to kick start my dwindling creative process. In an effort just to get something going again in this old and tired brain, I am attempting to write a poem per day for the next 31 days. You can (if you like to watch train wrecks) find it over here. If you don't wanna, like the Terminator, I'll be baaaaaccccckkkkk.

I Love the Red Hot Chili Peppers

2008-11-21T14:02:00.006-05:00

and I will die a happy woman should I ever get to see them live.

I've been caught up in Stadium Arcadium the last few days. Specifically, three songs from the Jupiter side: Dani California, Slow Cheetah and Wet Sand. And of those three, particularly Wet Sand. Two things I have gleaned about RHCP from the web over the last few days: 1) they really know how to write a chorus and 2) this song is perfect to 'die to.' Completely agree with the first and, while I will withhold judgment on the second until I am ready to die, I'm inclined to agree with that sentiment as well. God knows that I really tried - I think that's something we'll all be thinking in those final moments.

Anyway, that kind of got me thinking, as I listened to the song. The lyrics, like a lot of RHCP lyrics, sound really mystical and spiritually profound. I find myself believing in them, running my mental fingers over the complexities and profundities to be explored.

And then I run smack dab into 'you don't form in the wet sand, you don't form at all/you don't form in the wet sand - I do'. And what do I do with that? Wet sand? Form? You?

Fortunately, a fevered imagination will always overcome dull reality. Obviously, it's not literal. Well, not literal as in form equaling create. I see him (the sometimes handsome Anthony Kiedis, of course) walking on the beach, the sun setting, his feet at the water's edge. And the wet sand is a crystal ball of sorts where he's looking not just at his lovely footprints (that are quickly disappearing back into wet sand), but at his future, and whoever his 'you' is ain't gonna be there with him.

I can be deep, too.

The live version.

Cucumber Gap Loop - the Jenkins' Experience

2008-10-29T09:12:00.006-04:00

Family hike #1 for 2008. Ok, most-of-the-family hike #1. Well, HALF-of-the-family hike #1, if you must be literal.

September 21, 2008.

Yes, I look like a man. And that's my favorite (and only) Nick Lowe tee (in a man's size large, coinkydinkly). My hand is on the Cucumber Gap trail sign, and it reads 2.9 miles to the Little River Trail. Our total mileage for the day was approximately 5.5 miles, and those are the last miles I will hike in those ragged out shoes!

I have a hard time letting go of favorite shoes.

So, it was a not-quite-summer, not-yet-fall kind of Sunday. My husband, being the optimist that he is, told me it would take us 'most of the day' to do this hike. And then he mentioned that this was the trail where a woman was mauled to death a few years ago. As if I wasn't already having enough trouble getting the kids in the van. Seriously, that little sign on the bottom there warns that there has been a lot of BEAR ACTIVITY in the area, a phrase more suited to a Great Smokies' bear jam perhaps.

So, we found a whistle, packed some sandwiches and headed out in the great outdoors. I was a little nervous, because this was my first time as a "hike leader" and I had never been on this trail and what if I missed the signs? Nothing to worry about, it turns out. Starting on the Little River Trail, we walked out of what's left of the Elkmont community alongside the Little River (I assume), a very gentle hike along an old road bed. At approximately 2.5 miles, the trail deadended and the Cucumber Gap trail (with great signage!) took off to the right up and over the mountain that shall not be named. I need a better map. This was a quieter hike (no babbly brook alongside), and a little harder walking. Nothing much to see except trees, until you pop out on the trail/road that is the Jakes Creek trail. Down, down, down the hill (so glad I plotted this loop the right way) and back through the upper remains of Elkmont, where they are (at last) doing some restoration work. The only wildlife we saw, with the exception of dead millipedes, were a few tiny snakes, maybe 4 inches long and dark gray with a white ring around their necks. Most were run over, but one was playing possum and we exchanged startlings.

A nice afternoon.

And then I went and walked 2 more miles with the husband!

Good News for Peace Queers!

2008-10-24T15:44:00.002-04:00

Todd Snider's new ep, Peace Queer, is available as a free download here.

I've been listening to it quite a bit. It's got a little of everything: a toe tapper, a civil war ballad, some spoken word, an instrumental, a rocker. Best of all, it's full of Mr. Snider's signature good humor and intelligence.

I did not do this to change your mind about anything. I did this to ease my own mind about everything.

At least, go hence and read the Cokie Roberts bio for Peace Queer.

And anybody know how to snag that priceless photo?

is this thing working?

is this thing on?

Sad About Girls Signs

2008-10-21T08:53:00.005-04:00

I know I live in a predominantly Republican county, in a predominantly Republican state. I *know* this. But as God is my witness, no matter how tempted I was (remember those "W The President" stickers? they enrage me), I have never resorted to vandalizing political signs. I gave some deep thought to doing something Christo-esque with them all during the last presidential election, but I let restraint be the better part of valor.

So how come all these Republican idjit punks keep messing with my boy Obama's signs? Some brave Democrat soul had put 2 up: one down by the voting machine warehouse where early voting is happening, one on the roadside near the dumpsters on Newport Highway. You'd think the warehouse one would be vandal proof, being almost in the center of town and on a very busy roadway. No. Someone, who obviously wants to prove the Deliverance stereotypes true, cut out the O. And the one down by the dumpsters? First another poster boy for modern dentistry put an "s" over the "b." You know, because he's a Muslim terrorist. That brave Democrat got his own can of spray paint and fixed that. So how does our poster boy react? He cuts out the center of the sign. There's a big gaping hole where Obama/Biden used to be. That kind of vandalism takes time. I'd say the chances of some person driving by and witnessing the deed were 50-50. Did anybody report it? No.

My fellow Sevier Countians, these cowardly acts of vandalism shame us all. I truly thought we could be tolerant of differing political views, at least in public. We don't have to agree with each other, we don't have to hold hands at the polls. But we do have to share the vistas and roadways and the aisles at Walmart. We're all in this together. I'd feel justified (by the Kindergarten Code, of course), in artfully re-decorating a few McCain-Palin signs. McPain, anyone? But I'm holding back. At least for now.

But like I tell the younguns, don't make me stop this car.

Asking the Age-Old Question

2008-09-03T10:15:00.002-04:00

What's in it for me?

This blog, I mean.

Why do it?

Idiot that I am, I googled that question. And smarter and much more erudite bloggers answered much more succinctly than I could ever hope too. (And with a whole lot less parenthetical blathering). Smart reasons like '...participating in a world...which nobody owns, anybody can use, and anybody can improve.' Impassioned reasons like 'I want to write about things that make us feel human' or 'I blog because information is energy. I absorb it, maybe add to it and pass it on.' My personal fave: 'Because vanity plates are too restricting and Play Dough is no longer a viable option.'

But yeah, it's an ego thing. Self-expression is as necessary as breathing. I can't pretend to be political or journalistic. I can't even pretend to particularly care about politics or journalism, so take that, pundits! I'm not always sure what this blog is about. When I made those first tentative posts, I asked a handful - a literal handful - of folks I respected (and felt were not too well known for their "constructive" criticism!) to read it. One responded that he didn't like to read 'diary' blogs, and I thought, well, it's not my diary. But I guess it kind of is. My imagined diary, maybe. Like if I lived in a magazine, and all our beds were made. And it's about experiences that I hope sometimes at least touch on a common thread in a non-boring manner. Paraphrasing what one of those real bloggers said, it's the letter home I never have time to write.

Like Bob Marley said, this is my message to you.

One Fine Day

2008-08-25T14:02:00.002-04:00

I had one.

Saturday.

August 23rd, to be exact.

On Friday, I daydreamed. Hallucinated? Perhaps. Anyway, for the first time this summer, I did not have to work on Saturday to get payroll done. And I was filled with a sense of possibility and exaltation. I visualized my Perfect Day. I would sleep a bit late, but not much because I wanted to get in my garden before it got hot. I would pick beans and clean up a bit and prepare for the next plantings. I would go to the library, and find some cool books about vegetables. I would go to Walmart and not overspend. I would fix a nice dinner, something I like (hamburgers) and not something I make because everybody else likes it (shrimp scampi). I would enjoy a few cold beers and a good soccer game. I would go to bed tired and fulfilled.

There's a song I can't remember (intentionally, I think) with a line about 'if I can see it, I can do it'.

I saw it, I did it.

Here's to the little things.

Vacation - all I ever wanted...

2008-07-25T11:52:00.008-04:00

Today's Frolickin' Friday (TM pending) theme: vacation songs. I.E., songs you remember from vacations past, songs that make you want to be on vacation, songs that make you feel like you ARE on vacation, etc. See, it's SUMMER. And in the SUMMER, people go on vacation. And, just so it's on the public record, I want a vacation like the French do vacation. All of August, please.

So I wanted to make a suggestion or two (or twelve - the greater the number, the better chance of success) and I put my little thinking cap on for a stroll through the misty mists swirling over Memory Lane.

It's a wonder I'm not scarred for life - or, maybe, perhaps... I am - by the music I recall from summers/vacations. Driving through the beautiful Mississippi State campus (Dad's alma mater), I distinctly recall hearing Summer Breeze, that godawful Seals & Crofts song about the jasmine in one's miiiiiiihiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnd. I think I heard Saturday in the Park (yes, Chicago. the shame!) about a gazillion times the summer we arrived in Washington, D.C. And there was an Eagles tune that dominated the summer of '74 - one of the sappier, sad ones. Probably Best of My Love.

Then I heard the words 'road trip.' And I had my suggestion, my brilliant brilliant suggestion: Truckin', by the Grateful Dead.

No, *they* didn't play it. But I dialed it up on Napster, had a listen and took a good hard look at those 'other members like' recommendations. Time warp! I am 16 years old again, soaking up Neil Young's Harvest, which became the theme to the Summer of 1980, a/k/a the U. K. Invasion. (I'm sure, if I tried just a little harder, I could come up with a skin flick title involving the words 'debbie' and 'does', but we work hard here at My Mood Swings to maintain a certain level of decorum. Really.)

This is the first record I ever stole, the harbinger of all the illegal downloads to come. ;0

(j/k about the downloads, btw, my bffs FCC and RIAA.)

I stole it from my friend and neighbor Mike Moeller, while I was feeding his cat because he was away on ... you guessed it... vacation! And it came to have a lot of resonance for me. Not only because I was leaving the familiar and safe and comfortable for a strange land full of strangers with a strange English, but because there's a lot of lovely words and even lovelier truths within: You gotta tell your story, boy, you know the reason why; or I sing the song because I loved the man, I know that some of you don't understand; or the whole wispy dream that is Words (Between the Lines of Age).

So, thanks Steve and Jay. Even though you ignored my suggestion, even though you trashed my carefully selected personal musical totem, you managed to do me a favor. Ta mucho mucho, my brothers. And mangez la merde et mourez.

Obligatory Neil Young as Icon of Cool photoand I had a pair of boots just! like! those!

Long Time No Post

2008-07-17T08:50:00.010-04:00

I guess I've been "on hiatus."

I'm back.

Not much has changed.

But I have.

I have always been environmentally aware, even if I didn't do much about it. I like to think that comes from growing up in national parks, with that protect and preserve mandate. My 8th grade science project was a working wastewater treatment plant. Recycling is important enough to me that I've been schlepping my steel cans and glass containers into Knoxville, because my own county had no recycling available, with the exception of newspaper bins. But I wasn't making a concerted effort really, just trying to keep from taking the trash out so often. It's been years since I brushed my teeth with the water running (probably since *I* started paying for it), but the only other water I conserved was the hot water I needed for showering.

Well, all that recently changed. First, our city fathers put out a magazine recycling bin. Then they took that away and put out a single freight-car style container for aluminum, steel, newspapers, plastics, junk mail and magazines. Wow! It's all supposed to be separated, but tossed into one bin. Yep, it's kind of a mess inside, but here's hoping it will remain. And, perhaps, be improved.

But, wait. There's more. It's like a switch has gone off in my head. I compost my vegetable and fruit scraps - and maggots are not necessarily bad things, just gross! I take Navy showers. I drive slower and as if I had an egg between my foot and the gas pedal. I take my own bags to the grocery store - well, mostly. But I have to have a few to tie up my recycles, right?

It's a new economy, folks.

USA v. England, 5-28-08: The Dream Team

2008-05-27T10:12:00.002-04:00

Well, ok, the Dreamy Team.

My preferred starting 11: Timmay Howard in goal; Carlos Bocanegra and Oguchi Onyewu central with Jay Demerit and Johnathan Spector bringing the sexy back to defense; DaMarcus Beasley, Michael Bradley and Ricardo Clark making the midfield marvelous; Clint "Mostest From Nacogdoches" Dempsey, Landon "The Abs, Man" Donovan and Josh Wolff - that's some serious forward thinking, pardon the terrible pun. A completely delectable 4-3-3.

Too bad I don't know how to properly illustrate the lineup! You'll have to settle for this purloined USSF photo of Mostest and Josh Wolff. Would that I were the Towel Girl.

I say we whip those pissy Englishters! 5-0!!

Old Dog, New Trick

2008-05-21T14:27:00.002-04:00

I'm attempting to aprender español.

No, really.

It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. Formal classes don't fit into my schedule yet and the total immersion trip to Spain just wasn't happening, so I did what I always do when confronted by the impossible: I shopped Amazon! Behind the Wheel got the best ratings for the $, and, bonus!, free 2-day shipping to boot. Monday through Friday, from the time I drop the younguns off at school until I park at the office, I am habla'ing to the best of my ability. Los días de la semana? Know 'em. Los meses del año? Know them too. Can I ask politely for a glass of water? Not yet. But such is the level of my dedication that I am trying to surround myself with the language, to disappear into it, to melt the ridges of my mind down until understanding is possible. Sounds very psychedelic, no? French happened for me that way. Of course, I don't remember much of *that* now. I've been consuming great quantities of tacos and fajitas, and I've surrounded myself with musica latina. Today it's the best in Argentine ska. Tomorrow, back to this continent and Ozomatli. Here's a sample - La Gallina, which means The Rooster, and reading between the lines, I think it basically says something like ''lift yourself up, quit dicking around, anything is possible (with Ozo)". Enjoy - it's quite the toe tapper.

What I do for fun on my lunch breaks

2008-05-14T11:00:00.001-04:00

walk to the post office!

View Larger Map

America, Heck Yeah!!

2008-05-12T09:14:00.002-04:00

Well, that's the PG rated version. Wish I could photo shop Danny Murphy in for Eddie Johnson, but then the Team America thing would lose some of its mojo. Big ups, Fulham. Although I am curious as to how these guys would have been dispersed, or if indeed they would have been dispersed, after the fall. Maybe I'll find out next year.

Big ups also to them Toros Rojas, smacking down the Gals in L. A.! Juan Pablo Angel gets his first goal of the season, David Beckham gets his first yellow. Methinks we got under his very lovely skin just a little. Bigger ups to Columbus for keeping the streak alive. I was mainly watching RB/Gals, but I would wander over to Crew/Quakes now and then. First peek, Quakes are winning 1-0. Next peek, Crew is up 2-1. Final score Crew 3, Quakes 2. I think I missed a great game.

A couple of suggestions: Left coast games should be played in the afternoon, so that they are not the Late Late Late show at my house. It was all I could do to stay awake. Also, could the Galaxy always play "skins"? 'Preciate it, MLS.

No Elvis Tonight, Or,

2008-05-06T12:42:00.017-04:00

Wishes, meet cash flow.

Elvis Costello and the Imposters in Knox Angeles tonight at the Tennessee Theatre, my personal Jesus of area venues. I won't be there.

...

...

(big brave sigh)

Focus on the sunny hours, girl.

So, just in case Elvis needs to know, here's where the money went:

Some fancy duds for the Notorious K T J's prom. (Technically this was more than $100, but I won't hold that against Elvis). $35 on an updo. Did not have to shell out for shoes or jewelry, woo hoo!

Drugs. See? I'm still cool.

Only these aren't fun drugs, in the traditional sense. Enalapril for me and something for him I want to call Detrol, but not, because that's for bladder control. Letrol, maybe. Toprol for me and the mister. Because the couple that medicates together stays together.

Two tanks of gas. That's most of a month - at least 20 days, anyway. Do the bio-diesel thing, Elv. I've read green is your favorite color.

And groceries - I have grown ridiculously fond of eating over the years. And it shows.

So tonight I'll be home on the couch, most likely watching yet another re-run of Law & Order. Will it be Criminal Intent? Special Victim's Unit? Confession: I just spent 30 minutes trying to spell "victim." And I had to look it up in the end. I'll help Austin with his spelling. No, really. I'll herd Josephine into the bathtub and insist she wash her hair. I might do some laundry, I might pay some bills. This is NOT the adulthood I signed up for. It would be ten thousand times worse if I didn't know, deep down in my heart of hearts, that he'll be back.

This too shall pass.

Don't cry for me, Greater Knoxville.

Random Soccer Observations, MLS Week Six

2008-05-05T14:35:00.005-04:00

1. Middle America gets no respect. Columbus is on top of the table, with 5 wins, one loss and zero ties. Are there photos on any of the major soccer news sites of their win Saturday night against Kansas City? Heck, no. *Some* of us would really like to see Adam Moffat shirtless.

2. The End of Rice-Eccles can't come soon enough. Dave, here, seems rather excited about playing on the Worst Turf in MLS, but viewing that match was painful. Glad I didn't stay up for the second half.

3. I do not understand the black outs. I couldn't watch the Red Bulls last Sunday which was on Telefutility (which I don't get) and blacked out on MSG and MSG2. However, I could "enjoy" Colorado/D.C. yesterday via Altitude. Just an esplanation, por favor. I'm feeling discriminated against.

End of bitching.

Happy Cinco de Mayo, y'all!

A Moment of Silence, Please

2008-04-29T14:53:00.004-04:00

To mourn the loss of my Omron pedometer, Model HJ112. Alas, poor Omron, I knew him, Horatio, a pedometer of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. I hath born him on my waist a thousand steps and now how abhorr'd in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it...

Well, maybe my gorge doesn't rise, but my waistband is certainly expanding.

We had just recently rediscovered each other. I invested $4.29 (think of it as just a little over one gallon of gas) in a new battery. We were walking the dog, walking to the post office, wearing out Walmart on Saturdays. In fact, that's probably where I lost it. I was so excited last Saturday afternoon to check my total. I was dog-tired - we had soccered all over BFE, been to 4 different grocery stores AND walked the dog. But I'll never know how many steps we took that fateful day.

Because only one of us made it home.

Yes, I can go buy another one exactly like it, but it won't be the one I lost 6 pounds with. It won't be the one who was with me when we saw the possum. Or the box turtle. Or the one that made me feel brave the first time I walked to the post office (people stare when you walk around here). It just won't be the same.

Farewell, good and faithful Omron.

The Soccer Weekend: Rainbows and Lollipops, Sunshine and Roses

2008-04-28T11:01:00.006-04:00

It was good for me, too, Landon.

The soccer, people. The soccer.

Three goals for LD in a rout over Chivas, which makes me Fantasy Queen for this week. Red Bulls win 1-0 over the resurrected Earthquakes! Columbus beats Houston 1-0. Houston - remember them? MLS champs last year, and the year before that. Now, they seem to be stuck in a moment they can't get out of. A bigger person would feel their pain. Not I.

Because I am savoring the thrill of victory, basking in the glow of sweet success, tasting the intoxicating flavor of winning. Yes, friends and neighbors, I, too, am a soccer winner this week. On the Real Field, not just the pretend one. The Sevierville U-10 Hokies posted their first victory under my stewardship. It was a well-fought game and, to be fair, it could have gone the other way. But we showed grit and determination, fought the good fight and won. I'd like to think it was my deft touch in substitutions, but since Coach Tammy already had them all figured out, I'll cling to my belief in my own special skillz as a placeholder. I was the orange traffic cone around which the team revolved; it was my pugnacious stolidity the team needed, and my earnest direction. Big kicks! Big kicks!

Words to live by.

It is my most fervent desire to retire undefeated.

And, immediately.

Jozy Jozy Jozy!

2008-04-23T08:45:00.001-04:00

He had one heckuva goal Saturday night.

vote for him here

Earth Day 2008

2008-04-22T09:31:00.005-04:00

Well, I've done my part, bringing this little bevy* of beauty to the circus on this day ten years ago - (insert photo of Josephine here when blogger decides to cooperate)

And that's not all. I bought a reusable grocery bag. I can't remember to take it shopping, and maybe I need to get 12, but that's really a whole 'nother issue. When my mighty mighty Maytag bit the dust, I replaced it with a water-conservative front loader. I've been walking the half mile to the post office and I've been replacing light bulbs all over the house with the CFL ones as the standard ones burn out. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, etc.

How about you?

Confession: I don't care for the light that the CFL bulbs cast. It's cold and sterile and has the ambiance of a gynecological exam. I succumbed to the Dark Side in Walmart a few weeks ago. I bought an incandescent 3-way bulb for my reading lamp.

And I find myself worshipping that glorious warm golden light.

Years from now, when Antartica has melted, when the corn fields of the midwest are a barren dust bowl, when the only kind of tomato you can buy has been grown hydroponically, incandescent light bulbs will be outlawed. And only outlaws will have incandescent bulbs.

*shoutout to Elvis, not calling my youngest schizophrenic at all.

You Inspire Me...

2008-04-21T09:19:00.000-04:00

~~It's Good Friday and~~ we should be inspired. And music always does that for me.

Ok, full disclosure: I appropriated ('stole' is such an ugly word) this idea just before I went vacationing. I gave it some thought as we descended into L. A. - that's Lower Alabama for you travel freaks - I even managed to make a note or two on the back of our License Plate Game list, but I failed to follow up after 6 days of sun and fun.

My bad.

What does inspiration mean anyway? Merriam-Webster kind of wusses out, saying it 'moves the intellect or emotions.' Litter bugs move my emotions, but I'm not sure I'd say I'm inspired by them. So, I want to add a little asterisk to that: *in a good way. Which is to say, the music of Billy Joel moves me to madness, but I can certainly, unequivocally, forever and ever, live without it. (And with a bit of luck, I will!)

So, these are three songs that inspire me.

1. Bob Marley (or Joe Strummer) - Redemption Song. Yes, I know that's soooo condescending of me - what do I have in common with oppressed Rastafarians, I hear you ask. Well, not a lot. I am of the female working persuasion, so I know a tiny bit about The Man. But what I draw from this song is a transcendent hope, that justice will eventually be served, especially if we work together.

2. Rancid - Radio. I've been dull and boring about this song before, so I'll try to keep this brief. Never fell in love til I fell in love with you; never knew what a good time was til I had a good time with you. It's about finding community, finding connections, finding kin in a hostile world.

and finally....

3. John Prine - Sweet Revenge. Because a girl has to be true to herself above all things. I'll keep looking for the youtube.

Soccer Saturday: Heartburn! Nausea! Indigestion!

2008-04-14T10:48:00.008-04:00

But at least I didn't have my head up Saragosa's ass.

Or did I?

I had MY evening planned out one week in advance. San Ho and Chicag-o at 4:30 as a little snack. The Columbus/Chivas clash at 7:30 to get me hungry for the main course: Red Bulls at Dallas.

At least that's how it was supposed to work. Best laid plans, etc., etc. We had a friend in town. Who wanted to take us out to dinner (hence all these menu metaphors). It was a mighty conflict. On the one hand, soccer. On the other, dinner out. I get asked out to dinner twice a year, on my birthday and Mother's Day (and I generally say no to that one, because the kids - who are after all the reason I am a mother - are not invited). But of course, it was just assumed that I would be happy to go, and drive, to boot! This is where the indigestion comes in. I internalized the debate, rather than stand my indecisive ground - which is handy. You don't have to commit, so you can bitch about it either way. We were to meet at 8, smack dab in the middle of prime soccer, and they were late. At 8:15 I called Austin and asked him to record the Red Bulls. AT 8:45, when our host began calling the waiter 'bubbe', I gave up on live soccer.

Because sometimes life just throws you under the Experience Train, whether you wanna go or not. And this was an experience, fer sure.

I have never been in a more schizophrenic restaurant. I won't name names, because I actually feel pity for them. They're trying their best, after all, in their own peculiar way. I'm no decorator. I won't pretend to have Michelin credentials. But I'm not naming names, so that forgives a lot of mockery.

Three Points to Ponder:

1. Wait staff in black and white - good. Candles and cloth napkins but no table cloths? - bad. Very bad. Silk flowers instead of genuine? Worse. A pianist playing a Billy Joel medley? Hein-ous.

2. There's a difference between a vaulted ceiling and an indoor basketball court. Also, lights should flatter, not terrify!

3. Steak tips with peppers and onions are meant to be served ON a bed of rice, not beside it. And medium should have a bit of pink.

Two Strikes Against:

1. It took 20 minutes to get a beer. And a) there were about 7 people in this entire restaurant (including staff) and b) we were staring at the bartender as she dawdled and loafed. Our waiter, bless his heart, stood by the table and 'tried to get her attention', which I guess is the polite way to say 'tried to get her to move her ass.'

2. The 3 Points to Ponder above mean you ain't gonna charge me $18.99 for steak tips and a companion bowl of rice twice. In this case, not even once. Thanks, M!

The Straw That Broke This Camel's Back

They had a tv. But it was on freakin' HOCKEY. Hockey! That's just cold, man. Cold.

Feeling Wild and ...

2008-04-11T14:56:00.001-04:00

speculative!

Let's play Foretell the Futbol.*

This Year's Brad Guzan, being all underpaid and over-acheiving: Will Hesmer. 2 games, 2 stopped penalties. Color me impressed, Ricky Bobby.

This Year's David Beckham, the Guy I Most Wanna See on a Wheaties Box: Duilio Davino. Watch this and see if you don't want to head right on over to Dick's and stalk the fitting rooms.

The Clint Mathis All That and a Bag of Chips Award, for the player most likely to succeed in spite of himself: Santino Quaranta. I'm not the only one who thinks so, proving once again that great minds think alike. Or that idiots run in herds. You decide.

Giddy Guesses and Indiscriminate Prognostications: Golden Boot - Christian Gomez. Who says he's not worth a 2 year extension? Supporters Shield will go to ... Kansas City! Houston will have a problem, and will not Threepeat. The Red Bulls, and I'm sober as I write this, will take home some hardware, either Open Cup or MLS Cup. Maybe both!

Stay tuned.

*version español.

Hitchcock|Lowe|Costello @ Grand Ballroom

2008-04-10T09:11:00.001-04:00

Hitchcock|Lowe|Costello @ Grand Ballroom
Originally uploaded by sketchguy

Color me sick. Color me green. Color me having little pangs that feel a little like regret for living in The Sticks.

Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello and Robyn Hitchcock. On one stage. Ok, don't know RH enough to be thrilled at him, but jeez louise - Elvis AND Nick? My heart might not be able to take it, but I'd sure like to try.

Yeeeeeee Haaaaaaawwwwwwwww!!!

2008-04-07T09:19:00.003-04:00

Red Bulls 2, Columbus Crew 0. Osorio becomes the first coach in team history to open with a win. I don't want to get crazy confident (because after all, this is *still* the team formerly known as the Metrostars), but maybe the spell is broken.

Anyway, it was a long cool drink of water - nay! a case of really nice beer - maybe some of that Sam Adams October brew - after an arid desert of soccer that was RBNY-less. (In case you're wondering - and maybe you aren't - I'm trying to set a personal best in dashes today). There's the ole turf still there, hopefully for the last season. There's the TV people and Giants stadium people doing something like cooperating by putting ALL the fans together, more or less, instead of allowing them to randomly dot the seats in the stadium. Good crowd, good crowd noise. FSC had Christopher Sullivan (yay!) and Max Bretos (boo!) - but I'll give Bretos a half a thumbs up just for the game show host enthusiasm he brings to every game. Please consult the game guides provided by the league, Max. They include pronunciation guides!

But honestly, I can't complain. It was Old Home Week, or something virtual-ly like it. Damn, I'm glad it's back.

I Am Here to Live Out Loud

2008-04-04T10:44:00.003-04:00

Emile Zola had the right idea. Easier said than done however. My life sometimes feels like the Talking Heads song Once In A Lifetime, in the 'my god, what have I done?' and 'same as it ever was' refrains. But today is better than yesterday, Rock Bottom has a population of 4 now - the more the merrier, I suppose. But to keep us (the Rock Bottomites) on the straight and narrow, let's take to heart the immortal words of Rockpile and never be a fool too long again.

Check out how Nick doesn't play that acoustic.

It's Robbie Fulks Day!

2008-04-03T13:29:00.003-04:00

I am having one of those days. You know the kind, where you're just one step behind everybody else, where you're just not quite in sync with The Real World. There I was thinking I was being witty, charming and sociable, and apparently I was being boring, obnoxious and loud. Only not loud enough, because no one seemed to hear me. It was like waking up naked in your backyard with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, a strange pair of boxers in the other and a meter reader peering over the neighbor's fence. Ok, maybe not that bad, but certainly one of those god-what-was-I-thinking moments, only without the excuse of alcohol. Friends, never let your ego tell you what to do.

Anyway, here I am in Rock Bottom, population 1. Well, 2 if you count Robbie. Spent a few minutes (hours) on youtube hunting up good stuff for you.

Don't forget that I'm Countrier Than Thou...

Holla if you out there, people!

Did You Miss Me?

2008-04-02T09:41:00.006-04:00

What?

You didn't notice I was AWOL?

That's cold.

Anyway, I am back from vacation with a few thoughts. Thoughts may be too strong a word. Nebulous, fuzzy impressions maybe?

First off, USA 3, Poland 0. RESULT! Ok, it's just a friendly. Ok, Poland had a lot of youth and inexperience on their side. But, woo! hoo! Big ups, handsome fellers!

I am liking the red and grayish black.

Next thing of note: MLS is back, baby!

What, you hadn't noticed it missing either? Cold, man. Cold.

Some interesting results, the most surprising (or embarrassing?) was Colorado Rapids 4, L.A. Galaxy zilch. It was the altitude. Altitude! Not the defense. Because L.A. didn't actually *play* any defense. Kansas City 2, D.C. 0. I thought this was being played in D.C. in the Nationals'-vacated and reconfigured RFK - the field looked tiny. I wuz wrong. Played in KC at something called Community America Ballpark. Someone might want to get them to point the cameras toward the crowd next time, not to the vacant lot opposite. New England 3, reigning MLS champions the Houston Dynamo, a very pathetically played 0. My favorite result (because the Red Bulls were not playing), Columbus Crew 2, FC Toronto 0. I really wanted to see this one, but traveling kept me from it. Looked like a fabulous atmosphere. How 'bout those Canucks? They get around. There they were in Charleston with us a few weeks ago ( a smaller contingent, yes) and, presto chango! there they are by the hundreds(?) in Columbus. Homeland Security might want to be checking them out.

Non-soccer related observations: I love love love writing with Flairs. It's been a long time since I wrote much more than a grocery list with a pen, and during our highly competitive game of License Plates, I was just amazed watching my pen move across the page making blue letters out of thin air - it was like *I* was the cursor or something. Magic!

Also noted: this was the first vacation I can ever remember that kind of went by slo-mo. NOT because it was spent with A LOT of family members, and not slo-mo in an unpleasant way. It was relaxed with shape - enough structure to keep everybody happy, plenty of room for Plan B.

Wish I was back on it.

But, I'm back and back at it. And this is the proof. ;)

Carolina Challenge Cup, Part Dos

2008-03-19T08:47:00.013-04:00

We had a couple of hours to kill post-checkout and pre-game, so we took it to the streets of Charleston.

Embarrassing admission #1: I thought that pink building behind my beautiful children was The Citadel. Nope, it's an Embassy Suites look-a-like. My bad.

Embarrassing admission #2: We had no clue where we were or where we were going, but we were *near* the battery (if 10 blocks counts as "near"). We parked at the Visitor Center and visited a bit - and you had to stand in line to ask a question!!! Then we took off down the street looking for the ocean. Well, we saw a lot of homeless people, a lot of expensive stores, a bunch of dogs being walked, a gazillion old bricks, but no ocean. We did find another Red Bull fan/employee outside a wonderfully aromatic cafe (too aromatic for the rest of the Jenkins Five, but full disclosure compels me to say it's usually me being gastronomically unadventurous). But it was fun. And that's the important thing.

Thing to Be Proud of #1: We were on time to that game. We even had time to pee before kick-off.

The Red Bulls did not have a whole lot to be proud of, all things considered. A 1-1 tie with a USL team that has just 2 weeks of training compared with, what? six for the RB? That's an eep. A lot of bad passes, some questionable movement, a shoe lost here, a temper lost there. It is my biased opinion that these things will work themselves out before the season begins.

Embarrassing admission #3: it never really occurred to me to sit on the other side. Looks like we could have had the run of the place. But we went back to the general Row R (that does not actually exist) vincinity, and the older three of us got sunburned for our trouble. But if you go here and click on "watch" March 16, you can see the nebulous blob that is me and the fam left of center just above a blue MUSC sign.

I was certainly impressed with JPA's skill, but I was even more delighted to see some of my faves: Jeff Parke, Carlos Mendes, Seth Stammler. And a lot of faces we didn't know. We did figure out Sinisa Ubiparipovic, who came out at half time to warm up and looked in our direction when I attempted to pronounce his name. And there was this other guy who kept running around the field, looking ridiculously familiar...

~~Eric Brunner, RBNY's #1 draft pick.~~ D'oh!! My bad again - it's Chris Leitch!! So maybe I'm not the most knowledgeable fan. I hope they appreciated my applause and stand-stomping when they scored, and my chagrin when they were almost immediately scored upon. It's hard out there for a soccer mom. But I'm happy to know that the Charleston Battery was showing me the love.

Carolina Challenge Cup, Part One

2008-03-18T13:18:00.006-04:00

It was a dark and stormy night...

Well, it didn't start out that way, but that's how the first night of the Carolina Challenge Cup ended.

We were just a little late. Maybe five minutes and it was all the fault of Sticky Fingers - I have never seen an empty restaurant be so slow. And, according to Austin, the ribs weren't all that. So, the game is already in progress as we step up the metal ramp into the stands and I find myself in one of those Twilight Zone kind of moments: there in front of me, looking slimmer than I thought he was but taller at the same time, is Danny Dichio, Toronto F. C.'s (English) version of the Tasmanian Devil. It was a low-key OMG moment, all puzzled recognition slapped upside the head by deflating reality check. It's ONLY Danny Dichio, after all. But ladies, he's well worth a gander. And the rest of the Toronto/San Jose game was like that - 'hey, there's Joe Cannon!' 'Isn't that Ned Grabavoy?' 'That guy from Kansas City...Nick...Gonzalez? no, Garcia!' The stadium was not even the size of my kids' high school football stadium. Literally, there were many moments I could have touched these guys. And you could hear every R-rated word they said. I know that makes me sound all stupid fan-girl, but it was cool. Like sticking my head inside my television or something.

And no hallucinogenics were involved.

San Jose was winning 1-0 when the game was called for lightning. Red Bulls/Charleston was postponed until 3 P. M. Sunday, so we Plan B'd it, and stayed a little longer than we planned.

More on that next post!

Some Random Photos

2008-03-14T16:00:00.005-04:00

They were having a sale. Well, not really, but I hadn't seen these before.

The Hunchback of Craven Cottage!

What the heck are they looking at?