Your UB update

I just talked to the director at UB, and they went with someone who has more experience actually writing proposals (since I have none), but she said they were all very impressed with me and my experience and would like to consider me for some more hiring they’ll be doing in the coming year -- like campaign communications stuff and a position she’s pushing for that would involve a lot of editing. My plan was to ask to be considered for future hiring anyway, so there we have it.

I REALLY wasn’t ready to move yet anyway and would probably like one of those other jobs better.

The best sentence I've heard all day

I’ve got plenty of sauce left from Saturday night so I just have to make more pudding.

My shoes are too small.

And last winter I discovered that my ice skates are too small too. They were actually making my feet go numb. Now my big toes are bumping against the fronts of these shoes (some I don't wear too often). So it's not like my feet are fattening up. Either I was dumb enough to buy shoes too small for me or my feet have actually gotten longer.

What am I, 12?

Why didn't I shoot my foot and stay in Honolulu.

At 2:18 a.m. the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, knowing full well it couldn't be anyone I know. All the people I know have others they would contact first in an emergency. Unless the emergency revolved around them both or involved falling out of bed or maybe a kidnapping (giving or receiving). Or if it were closer to the holidays, Melissa up into the wee hours of the night making cookies and accidentally clocking Chris with a cookie tray and she's too drunk to take him to the hospital herself.

It was no one I knew. So of course I didn't answer. 607 area code, "York, New St" it said. NOT ANSWERING YOU. Person waits through the answering machine message. Hangs up.

Calls again. Leaves a message this time. I hear something that actually sounds like my name. I go listen, slightly intrigued but knowing deep down I will soon be angry. The message: some female looking for Stephanie McLean. DELETE. ANGRY.

About 20 minutes later? AGAIN! Different number, still says something like "York, New State." I answer. YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER, I enunciate. I wait for an apology.

I wait in vain.

A moment later, they hang up.

I wait and M*A*S*H for sleep, about two hours.

'Struth

minuterice (11:16 AM):
is there anything one can't learn about themselves from ealish's amazon wish list?

Yo.

Dawg.

(I just looked up on Google which is used more often in that phrase, "dog"or "dawg." I am now replete with street cred.)

Went home for The Interview, as you will remember from last week's Installment. I think it went pretty well, though I'm not sure HOW well. They asked me some questions that are hard for me to answer, like "How do you handle facts and figures in a proposal?" I think I did well with three out of the four interviewers, at least, and I really liked the director of development communications, whom I met with separately (the fourth of the aforementioned four). I think she'd be great to work with.

NOW I have to write a proposal for them, which is only an issue because I only have till Wednesday, which is only an issue because I lost Saturday to driving and driving recuperation and committed myself to copyediting Communiqué today. Leaving me very little time to do it. But I will begin shortly, and then we'll see what kind of crap I can produce. (Probably the craptastic kind.) Oh, and the Bills play the Pats tonight too. (I'm saving Pass 2 through Communiqué for then.)

Woke up today really not happy to be in Ithaca. Felt a lot better later when I went outside with Rogue for a little bit, before the temperature dropped. I had to begin the day with a trip to Wegmans, which I just hated but ... there it is.

Note to friends who want to keep me here: FIND ME MY MR. RIGHT. That's really the only way to cement this thing, and even then ... well. Having him doesn't fix spending time with my parents while they're still healthy, and that's one of the top things this whole shebang comes down to.

So, in conclusion: I think it would be great to work for UB. Whether or not this will be the right time or right job, if they even offer it to me, well. Good question.

And here I am.

Busy times these have been, in their way. Are you sitting down? Yes, I did it: I met two guys from Match. Not at the same time. Though I'd kinda like to see that. Both nice guys; neither really doing anything for me. In Chair Number 1 we had Rich, who built his own house and does welding jobs and bartending--so he can avoid paying taxes because he doesn't want to support the war. Also a little bit of a survivalist streak in our bachelor Rich. Nice enough guy; not bringing him home to Mom and Dad.

In Chair Number 2 we had David. Also nice enough, but in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way. Rents from his sister, works in mental health, wants his own practice. Likes showshoeing.

So, look at me, I'm officially out there. Wahoooooo.

In other news, I've got an interview at UB Friday. Same job I have now. So far it looks to be all the parts of my job that I hate most without the parts that I like. I could be wrong. I'm ready to be wrong about it. Plus side: a university that actually NEEDS the money, and a job at home. (Just when things feel more homey here in Ithaca.)

Mostly I just want a blouse that fits right for Friday.

Gotta go do stuff now. Miss you! Have a walnut.

Oh there you are.

Do I have anything to say? Has anything happened? The time changed. I'm very tired. Combo of my period and the aforementioned time change. And the fact that I have so much organizing and stuff to do in my apartment that I never seem to be able to rest. Oh and I also have about a hundred boyfriends now. In fact I'm IMing one AS WE SPEAK. You and me. This. What we're doing here. What I'm doing right now. OK fine it's JUST ME JUST LIKE EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE FINE! YOU'RE NEVER HERE!

There are three cats in the room. I hear another one making his noises. Bliss has been elusive. Four cats piled up on me Sunday morning, but she was elsewhere. Not on the Pile of Cozy Treats of Warmness. Crazy desert cat.

OK I just mentioned King Features to Michael. QUESTION: WILL I HAVE TO EXPLAIN IT? Of course I can just go to the Web site and send that along. I have to pee. I want to go to bed.

His response: "As in Popeye? Doing what?" Holy smokes, he knows Popeye belongs to King?!

When you don't have an icon of your own up there yet, Yahoo! Messenger has this silhouette placeholder there that looks like Peter Brady. I find this both comforting and disturbing.

Well, enough for you and me right now. Write when you can. Call when you get work. Say hi to the folks. Matt! Rollins?

Love,
Cree

One more thing, Nation

Colbert was awesome! Full of rich humory goodness. I want to give Wren a hug.

Paul! We can go into business together, leave the university world behind!

I'm also thinking of starting a business wherein I can help some of these poor dweebs market themselves online. "I don't care how many football players wear the Cosby sweater! And come here, I have to show you how to part your hair down the side." I'll get a traveling hairstylist to come along. Then I'll take photos of them that are actually appealing (and current).

I really think this could work, had I actual entrepreneurial skills.

Quandries

I did it. I joined Match again. And I'm getting a slew of messages to the effect of "THANK GOD SOMEONE CREATIVE!" Which is definitely something I saw a lack of previously (creativity), and DEFINITELY over at eHarmony. (I'm not even bothering with Nerve/Salon and will cancel that account. Everyone on it is in NYC.) Yes I will try to actually meet people. Some of you might need to help me by being on the other side of the room or something. As they say far too often in this town, "It IS Ithaca," so the chances of running into people you know is pretty high anyway.

Anyway, back to our story.

I say in my profile that I'm mostly vegetarian and -- well. There's the problem; I apparently DON'T say it! Crimony! So that's why two hunters have winked at me. Huh. See I was going to ask you what you thought I should say to hunters who contact me, if you think I should say anything at all. I thought it would only be fair so they don't think I think they're ugly volcano-faces or anything. WELL. NOW.

What should I say to THESE hunters? I don't have to say anything. I can click a "No thanks" thingy and let that be it. Anyway. Give me your 2 cents, there's a pal.






Signed, the Brotherhood of the Cree Word.

*grumble*

I quit eHarmony a little while ago, cos it's full of boring boring BORING men and I hate the way it's run. But now I find myself missing the little bits of attention that come from an online dating site. I sort of joined Nerve.com tonight, but it's really the same service as Salon's personals, which I joined a few months ago and have gotten NOTHING from at all. I was just trying to upgrade, but the page is only partially encrypted, sez the padlock with a red slash mark through it ...

I *JUST* *WANT* to *MEET* someone. Why is that so much to ask? Gar.

You know I'm gonna end up back on Match.

BABY PORCUPINE! BANANA! HICCUPS!

Sorry, one day I'll finish my YouTube account so I can just post the video here, but

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE


"Oh man. and I thought the bottle feeding was cute."




This way you also get to see all the other baby porcupine links.

UPDATE

According to public information, the Dalai Lama is only in town for two days, Tuesday and Wednesday.

Or so the Germans would have us believe.

But he will be blessing the site.

When I tell the story, it will be His Holiness with the hammer.

1. "Namgyal Monastery in Ithaca, New York, is the North American Seat of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama." I quote the website.

2. Said monks are building a new facility in a spot I can see readily. It will be called Dü Khor Choe Ling, or The Land of Kalachakra Study and Practice. My landlady said something about the Dalai Lama needing to bless the archway at the entrance to the driveway. Or maybe that he already had. Let's go with the former.

3. The Dalai Lama is in Ithaca this week giving a series of public events. They sold out really fast.

4. A little bit ago I was sitting on the couch and ... heard a flute playing, in what my small brain deciphered as a Buddhist monkish way. Eventually I hooked Rogue up on her new leash and went outside to see what I could see. Which was nothing. I did hear voices and laughter, though, as well as what could be described as a praying silence. And hammering. And I sure thought I heard the word/name "Buddha" at one point (granted, it could have been "gouda" or maybe "food-a"). The only thing I finally saw was cars (2) driving away.

I waved.

The latest

Went home for an extended weekend, and it was really good. I didn't feel too great so didn't spend much time outside, which is too bad because our backyard in Orchard Park is a real place of peace for me, an anchor in the world. But so it goes. Saw Chet, which was delightful. Karla and I went to Tandoori's, an Indian restaurant that's supposed to be fantastic, but I have to say I was disappointed. (I even like Diamond's ordered-from-the-menu food better.) Memories of India has spoiled me so, down there with its best food on the planet and all. Ohhh, sweet sweet palak paneer; truly ye must be the food of the gods.

I thought I had things to say here. Said things are eluding me now.

I pretty much wanted to come pack up the cats and move. I'll need money first, though. There's a development writer job open at UB, and that's what I do now, but it looks like it would be all the parts of this job that I hate and none that I like. And I'd have to do it for at least another year. But I'll apply, and we'll see. It could be better than I think.

I think I want to get away from writing somehow anyway. Away from the computer. How, well, good question. I'm accepting ideas. Contest! Come up with the next great career step for Cree. A logical one, too. I will not suffer ye cries of "giraffe medicine!"

MY SKILLS/TALENTS
writing, sorta
editing
reading
sleeping poorly
scratching kitties' noggins
drawing
party planning, kinda
taking the pictures
monkey haiku fashioning
guacamole making
finding the car I came in
finding shortcuts and alternate routes
going on vacation
staying awake at work
decorating baked things
laughing at the funny
being critical of movies and TV shows
being single
putting things off
eating out

I also like the pretty clothes. Just keep that in mind when you're deliberating. Nothing requiring ugly or restrictive clothing.

(Also no nudity. Sorry! I know!)

Oh, and many many MANY thanks to my kittywatchers. Y'all are the best.

Bionic thoughts

(Only spoilers in evaluation)

Lame script. Lame dialogue. Eick should be ashamed. Katee, you're way better than that.
Being super-strong doesn't give you actual fighting skills.
Jamie: Starbuck with a nice mommy.
And Badger aged like 20 years between prison and mountain.
HI, CHIEF!

let's catch up, you

I went to Taughannock two weekends ago and stumbled on this.

It was like walking into Middle-earth.

Was it a group effort? A mob rock sculpturing?

Wee elf house

This tried to bonk me on the head, falling from afar. Sucker!

Please come back. I love you.


Mike, Jenny, me


Stan


Hitler



Littletree Orchards. Cox oranges, methinks.

Jen!

And finally: I came in to work yesterday to discover ... THIS.
A couple of other things were knocked over.
No idea what happened.
No one has 'fessed up.

This makes me so happy

I want this video to be my life. But outside, not in a warehouse. Pick your colors and fling your hands in the air one at a time, mi dancy amigos!


Thanks, Apple! I can't wait till you rule the world!

This is the very reason I got my wee camera

I was just at the urologist's office. While I was waiting in the exam room, I noticed a bright green bigger-than-index card on the counter. It had "vasectomy" written on it. Now, you can't just stick a bright green card with the emboldened word "vasectomy" on it in patients' easy line of sight and expect it to go unnoticed or unexamined. I tried to spy what it said without actually getting up (it is my instinct to behave while at the doctor, and keeping to myself is key to that), but the only other words I could make out were "plastic gloves" and -- I swear this looked like what it said -- "can opener."

Keep a camera with you at all times.

SEVEN!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KITTENS! And Happy Mama Day, Rogue!

Look what Elly found

here. Hee.


She ALSO is awesome for making me DVDs of two of my favorite shows ever. BFF, Elly! Standing O!

Road trip to Salem!

I'm a direct descendant of this woman.

Despite my adoption.

Eat that, nation!

WE GOT COLBERT TICKETS!!

All thanks to a fine young Cornell student named Wren.

WREN
IS
AWESOME

Fin

When I was in my 20s I wanted to become a marine biologist. I didn’t because I just don’t know how to make such dreams a reality. Maybe cos the things I always wanted most growing up never became reality; maybe because my parents did such a good job at making me think I was not part of the real world; blah blah blah. Regardless, it’s mostly why I moved to Florida, but the dream never happened.

Whenever I told someone at Shoals that I had wanted to do that, instead of answering with the “Oh yes, everyone wants to do that; I bet you wanted to work with dolphins, too” that I expected -- that so many people say -- they said, “Why didn’t you?”

That impressed me. For of course; they’re doing it, they’re helping others do it, they see it every day. Why didn’t I?

(the real answer: fear. A life lived in fear is a life half lived. My half-life ain’t been so bad, though.)

part deux

Off the boat and on to finding out what had happened to my bags and where I would be sleeping. In a dorm (I was hoping for more private and modern quarters), but oh well. Hm, just one toilet in the dorm, and at the opposite end of the hall. I pee a lot during the night. No biggie, I thought anyway. It’s just one night.

I sat in on a marine mammal class where JB told us really bizarre things about certain kinds of whales (Mother Nature is weird), but after that, there wasn’t anything specific to join. At one point my social anxiety almost got the best of me; I’d spotted Willy and hoped to set up a time to talk, but he was wrangling with his son and kept saying, “We’ll be in touch through e-mail.” Since this was only like 5 p.m. and I was there till 2 the next day, I felt a little abandoned. Finally I forced myself to sit down with some people in the dining hall. They were completely welcoming. This is what they do there, after all: new people come, all there because they love the sea and the things that live in and above it. They all meet and gather for the time they’re there. Everyone’s a stranger and a new acquaintance. Corny, maybe, but it’s true.

And there was rum. JB, the second director of the island, had brought rum along. (Rogue is rolling around in the sun, BTW. Inside still.) There were also lobsters for dinner, which I didn’t have and which smelled just horrid. Like death, really. I had barely eaten all day, believe it or not, so salad and corn and egg rolls were fine with me (there were vegetarian dishes, but both had soy).

John and I met up to take pictures of the sunset (rather, the pink sky above it, since it set behind clouds), but I bailed before it was totally done cos I was just exhausted.

Walking back to the dorm, though, I realized I would never have a night like this again, so I went and sat on a porch in the night, looking toward mainland. In the building behind me someone was teaching kids to sing sea chanties. Brilliant.

(different porch)

Here I have to applaud my bladder on this trip: first, holding on while on the boat, then, during the night, I only went twice! Whoo! Yes, you do need to know this! Sometime I may be staying at your house, and you’ll know to put me near the bathroom. Also meriting applause is my head, for fending off pain even while in the sun for 4 hours (the wind helped).

Sunday morning I went down to see the birds being banded. They catch them in this wall of net set up between tall bushes; boys—just boys!—there for family programs would get them out of the net, put them in a paper bag,



and take them back to David, who gives private piano and flute lessons when he’s not at Shoals. That was so cool. I can’t believe people can handle those tiny teeny things like that.



Then on to brunch; this time I just sat down at a table by myself and waited, and it filled up around me. Good food, too, esp. the cod cakes. After brunch I talked with Willy for a while after all, on tape (so to speak), then wandered a bit before getting ready to depart. It was really pretty easy to get people talking about themselves, I have to say.

When I got back to Creek Farm, around 4 p.m., I knew I couldn’t stay another night there. Just something about it I don’t know if I’ve been able to explain properly. It felt weird knowing there were people around but not being connected to them. (There was someone upstairs from me, too.) And something about being given this space for myself but it not really feeling like mine. And I hadn’t slept well Friday night, though I slept like a log in the dorm. And I didn't like the bathroom. So, I went off and found the Hilton Garden Inn I’d spotted while out with Pam and got myself a king-size bed there. (Granted, the memory foam of the mattress made me all sweaty during the night and I had to remake the bed at 4 a.m. so I could sleep on top of the comforter, but that was OK. I slept really well otherwise.) I was so happy to have that brand-new bathroom to shower in. I was coated in sunscreen and OFF! and hadn’t showered in my 24 hours on the island, upon the advice of a teenager who kept calling the Shoals showers two-minute Navy showers. I went out for dinner and shopped some; shopped some more the next morning. ITHACA, YOU CAN LEARN A LOT FROM PORTSMOUTH.

Shoals recap, part un

Bliss and Rogue are at the screen door, Bliss sitting on her haunches as she examines something upward that I can’t see, looking like a small friar.

I’m outside and on my laptop on a beautiful day; I have Fantastic Day (Haircut 100 or maybe just Nick Heyward) in my head. I figured out how to close the screen door so it latches, so Rogue won’t get out again. But I also dosed her with Frontline today and put a new dusty rose harness on her in preparation for when I bring her out with me.

But my purpose is to write about Shoals, so here we begin.

The seven-hour drive on my own was no problem, and the path itself was beautiful. I arrived at Creek Farm in Portsmouth just after 7 p.m. —Oh, here she goes, Rogue, trying to get the door open, sly little thing— and met director Willy, his son, and the ‘coastal coordinator,’ Pam. Pam was awesome, so nice and really easy to talk to. She showed me downtown Portsmouth, which is an adorable place, filled with clothing and arts-and-crafts shops and loads of restaurants (and nary a Pottery Barn among them). Ithaca Commons, take note. This is what you should be. We got back to Creek Farm around 10:30, and I settled in to my section of the house.

Creek Farm was built in the late 1800s and is about 5,000 square feet, I think I heard someone say. I don’t know the style, but you’ve seen the photos at my Flickr site. It’s really beautiful, but needs a lot of renovation (I’d start with the bathrooms and the 1970s flocked wallpaper), and it’s very spare. AND WARM. I brought my own fan along, and don’t know how I would’ve made it through the night without it. It was really warm and humid that night. Or at least, the house had trapped the heat. It’s broken up into several apartments now, and its main purpose is to be a place where island staff can stay on their days off. There were two other people there while I was there, in other parts of the house. That was kinda weird.

Around 8:30 a.m. or so I went with Willy and his son, Owen, to get breakfast, then we skipped like a stone over the waves to Appledore Island on Willy’s ‘e-pod’ (some kind of wee boaty thing).

I asked if there were whales around, and Willy said I should go on the whale watch later that day. Well, when we pulled up to the dock, there were people getting onto this other boat. Willy determined that it was the whale watch and sent me off. I grabbed a bag with some snacks and my water and camera, ascertained that there was a toilet on board (I feel stupid saying “head” when I’m a total landlubber), and off I went. I discovered that two Cornell alumni were on the thing, people I had met at a Plantations luncheon last year. They were there taking nature photography classes with a man I misunderstood them to say was John Reis’ nature photographer. So when I tried to find out from him whether he knew Chris K, he was very confused.

No no, he was his own nature photographer, John Greene, look him up, yo. He became one of the highlights of my trip—so easy to talk to, always happy to see me. (Calm down; he’s like 60.) I plied his brain, trying to determine if I could ever do what he does. With a partner who is all businessyheaded, maybe.

“Did you get seasick?” you're wondering. (You are!) I was fine till I went to the head. Back on deck I sat down, thinking that would help. Nuh-uh. Finally my brain told me to go stand in the back with John again, for my legs would absorb and adjust to the swaying and rocking that way. “Oh no, don’t go below deck,” John affirmed later. So on this four-hour cruise, I peed only once. Can you believe it! No! I know you can’t!

Also on this four-hour cruise, no whales. Not till almost the very end, at least, when the island was in sight again. I and I alone spotted a minke whale for a second and a half. It was already really cool to be out on the ocean, but that definitely made the trip worth it.

This weekend I went away and didn't tell you

because I didn't want you stealing my stuff.

I went here and met the people who are doing the things I used to dream of doing but didn't have the capacity to make happen.

And all I can do now is write about them.

See my trip here.

Gooier than you

Gooier is an awesome word. Look at it sitting there, all vowelly and full of roundness in the middle. Unless you work in, I dunno, tar, it brings to mind so many good things. Or even just a few really good things, which is plenty.

Right now I'm eating a vegan chocolate cake from Greenstar, which I heated up for 45 seconds -- exactly the right amount of time to make it a little gooey. It's like a wee bundt cake, but gooier. See! Right there. Gooey means good things.

Also maybe except for its application to toddlers.

CHECK

I've been e-mailing this guy I met via one of them online services. At first I was pretty psyched about him, but then started to level out. (I have to emphasize that I really, really, really want someone who's funny, too, and he says outright that he spends most of his time serious.) Anyhoo, today I get this from him:

Yeah, it was a good turnout, maybe not as many as in year's[third time he's misused the apostrophe this way, and he's a freelance writer] past, but still good: a couple thousand, maybe. Where are you going away for work this weekend? Going to be anywhere near Myrtle Beach? Probably not, huh. Bummer. ... Hey, I'm looking for good pick up lines to use on the beach. Are you familiar with the Brad Pasley song "Ticks"? In the song, he sings about meeting this girl at a bar and wanting to walk with her in the woods, and he sings, "I want to check you for ticks." What if I approached a cute girl on the beach and said, "I want to check you for sand fleas." Good idea? Don't answer that. I never was very smooth with the pick up lines. Talk to you later.

...mm hmm. Whatever his reasons for saying that, I think we can safely file him away under "no dice/idiot/hey, what's that shiny thing over there?" (I'm thinking of responding with something along the lines of "Yes, definitely say that. Definitely if you want a punch in the face." Except I don't want him to think I'm insinuating that I want to punch him in the face, cos I don't care enough.)

Actually Jenny came up with the perfect reply:

Dear Brian,

You have no idea how much time this e-mail saved me.

Have fun at the beach,
Cree

CAN I WEIGH THAT LEMON FOR YOU MS. MCDONNELL

Two weeks ago, it was The Police.

Last week, a meteor.

Last night, I saw the president of the Twelve Colonies at Wegmans.

Next I'm hoping for a dragon.

The things you learn

I'm an only child, but I have a ton of cousins. When I was growing up, just about the most important thing on earth to me was being with them. So whenever we were together, I would drag the time out as long as I could. Somehow my parents always managed to decide to leave when the most possible fun on earth was happening.

So I started hiding my shoes.

There must have been an occasion when I actually did lose track of my shoes, and we had to stay longer till they were found. I'll even bet that I was able to play more whilst my parents hunted them down (for I was but a child; kids can't find anything).

So, I started hiding my shoes.

Unfortunately , they saw right through it.

*sigh*

I hate being an only child.

10:46 p.m.

I just saw a meteor! I just saw a meteor! Eeeeee! Perseid!!

The latent superpowers of your late 30s

This morning I woke up and looked at the clock, and it said 6:44. I decided to stay awake and get up around 7:30. When an appropriate amount of time had passed (I have a freakishly accurate sense of time sometimes), I looked at the clock again, expecting it to be 7:30 or later.

It said 6:42.

I can TIME TRAVEL now? Without flying around the globe to reverse its direction or getting hold of a Time Turner?

I woulda gone back to sleep had I known.

The POLICE!

I will try to convey how phenomenal the concert was, but I will fall short, for there are no words to equal the experience.

First, the arena (Madison Square Garden; the part where they play hockey and basketball) was smaller than we'd expected, so that was cool. We were directly across from the stage. Couldn't see the faces too well, but there were JumboTrons anticipating that issue for us.

They opened with Message in a Bottle, and from the getgo the whole place was singing along with them, continually invited by Sting. Sting Sting Sting. Always loved that man. Looking DAMNED fine too. Next came Synchronicity II, and after that I don't really remember the order. But suffice to say they played *every single song* like it was an encore, and even mixed a few songs into each other. Can't Stand Losing You had Regatta de Blanc in the middle of it, with Sting doing call-and-response with Regatta's "E-yo, e-yay" parts. That was the absolute pinnacle for me; if you know Regatta de Blanc, think of how it accelerates, imagine 80 000 people singing it along with Sting AND Sting doing the whole bit TWICE, and you'll understand. Forevermore that song will make me inordinately happy.

(It's also possible that it happened inside Driven to Tears instead; my brain last night switched gears to stick Regatta inside that one.)

During King of Pain, if you knew it was there to hear (and everyone did), you could hear about a quarter of the audience filling in "That's my soul up there" between verse lines. They also played the intro to Demolition Man but then switched to some other song. Again, Sting did loads of call-and-response. It was like they were performing with us, not for us. Completely, totally awesome. Everyone in the audience was just completely elated to be there. There's nothing like that feeling, nothing: 80 000 joyous people all with the same purpose, excited to be alive. Many of us had waited almost 25 years for this, thinking even that it was never going to happen. The place was up in arms. Uproarious. Happy beyond belief. Synchronicity.

I think Sting did mess up a time or two with the rhythms. Like his solo style got in the way of the Police style. But if he did mess up, Stuart and Andy adapted immediately, probably well used to it by this time on the tour. Twice Sting introduced Stuart and Andy, but no one introduced him :)

The other best parts for me were Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, one of my favorite songs of all time, and Invisible Sun. They played less than two hours, which is hard to believe when every song seemed 10 minutes long. They did two encores; I think Every Breath You Take was the final song.

Your set list:
Message in a Bottle
Synchronicity II
Roxanne
Don't Stand So Close to Me
Can't Stand Losing You/Regatta de Blanc
Next to You
Walking in Your Footsteps
De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da
Every Breath You Take
Walking on the Moon
Wrapped Around Your Finger
King of Pain
So Lonely
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
The Bed's Too Big Without You
Driven to Tears
Truth Hits Everybody
Voices Inside My Head

Hopefully Blake will tell me if I've forgotten anything. I want this to come from my/our memory, not the official review of it in the Times or anything.

The opening band was Fictionplane, fronted by Sting's very own son. Stingson has the exact same voice as his father, though he does different things with it. Quite good, we thought.

They also allow food and water (bought there) inside. Blake got to sit next to a bunch of drunk men out for a guys' weekend. Fortunately, Jim, mr. friendly there beside her, didn't spill his beer or throw up on her. She was ready for it, though.

I panic slightly when I think of not seeing them again. So hopefully I can make it to another show. Anyone who's up for it, let me know.

The Police?

YES PLEASE I'LL HAVE ANOTHER SIR

THANK YOU VERY MUCH

YOU'RE TOO KIND

Oh, did you mean the emptiness inside my heart?

Today this woman I know marginally said to me:

"Look at YOU! [gesturing up and down me] You're a shadow of your former self! You've lost so much weight!"




I'm dying to know who she thought I was.

OK then.

Spoiler was wrong.

That's all I'll say for a while. Except that I don't know when I'm as happy as sitting outside on a beautiful day reading a new Harry Potter book.

GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING SHIT FUCKING HELL

So I ordered a Harry Potter shirt from Cafe Press, and it came and is too big, so I thought I'd order a smaller one now for later purposes.

What in the name of all that is holy WAS I THINKING?????????

ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

MOTHER FUCKING SHIT FUCKING HELL!!!!!!

Someone had DESIGNED and PUT UP a T-shirt that may very well GIVE AWAY THE GOD BLESSED ENDING

FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

I both wrote and called Scholastic and I hope they sue the HELL out of both Cafe Press and the "shop." Of course that comes secondary to the hope that what I saw was wrong.

Can you believe this? Can you believe this happened to ME??

"well, if it does turn out to be real... you can always read the fake one i have," sez Hawkman (there are fake ones circulating too).

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GOD MOTHER FUCKING DAMN IT ALL TO HELL

I won't be checking back here till after I'm done reading.

FUCK.

My cats are awesome

Stellar sea cow

OW!

Trying to keep the watermelon in your mouth while you sneeze!

Somebody slap Jerry Bruckheimer

The first Pirates movie was SO good. So surprisingly, wonderfully good. It was good because of the snappy dialogue and the characters. Also the monkey.

The monkey may remain, and there are people bearing the same names as the original characters from movie 1, but the only thing snappy about At World's End was the sound of pieces of my heart breaking off as the film trod on everything that was good in the world. I still feel the stink of it on me a day later

I couldn't even tell you what happens in it. Betrayals and pirates from all over the world in ugly makeup and the destruction of a really cool character by applying a Honey I Blew Up the Kid factor.

My parents taught me never to hate anyone, but I come close with Bruckheimer. Just cos you can doesn't mean you should, you slimy overpaid peabrain.

"Tere MonkeyPantaloons!"

"Now you know how to greet people in Estonian!"

... said Flickr to me this morning.

I ordered tuna

But it turned out to be chicken.

:( boo.

eldritch:

adj. strange or unearthly; eerie.

That's better.

Finally called the landlords I had in Florida for 4 1/2 years. The missus said that of course she'd give me a glowing reference! And that they were so sad to lose me when I left.

Awwwwwww.

Anyway, that makes me feel a hundred gazillion times better about looking for another apartment.

#@^&($)#*(

Last Tuesday I got a message from my landlady, Carol (sounding very unhappy about it herself), telling me that they are indeed NOT replacing any heaters this year. She said she would extend the lease a few months if I wanted to find something else. Or to let her know if I want to stay.

The next morning, my AC had leaked well into the carpet. (AC and heater are the same old junky unit, the kind of thing you find in motels.)

Carol said it costs $3,200 to replace one unit, including shipping and installation. Can't I just buy one, then? I said. She thought that was crazy. She said she'd try to convince her cheapskate husband to buy a reconditioned one.

The maintenance guy came to see if he could figure it out; these things are so old he doesn't know how they work. He's offended by how cheap the landlord is. If you were me, would you feel comfortable staying here? I asked him.

No, he said.

I don't want to move. I do, but I don't. The whole thing has my stomach in knots right now. There's not much out there. I have to convince a potential landlord/manager that 5 cats are no problem, or that I will pay for anything they do, at the same time promising they won't do anything. I don't know what my landlords in Florida will tell someone who calls for a reference, and I'm afraid to find out. I guess that should be the first thing I do about this today: see what they say, find out if I can relax about that at least.

I looked at a condo Saturday. It's in a beautiful area; the living room looks out onto Six Mile Creek, and it's sunny and beautiful downstairs. Small bedrooms, though, and some other issues. Plus, if I'm leaving Ithaca in a year, it's not worth the closing costs.

When my parents (who visited Saturday) and I came back from that, I found that my water heater had leaked AGAIN.

There's not much put there right now, apartment wise. Guess I really shoulda looked more seriously before. Hindsight is always blah blah blah. Whatever the complete opposite of grounded is, that's where I am right now. Space shuttle? Pluto?

My stomach is a mess. All my insides are. Outsides aren't so great either.

If I were a billionaire

I'd build nursing homes across the land that were actually fun and pleasant to live in, and reasonably priced for the inhabitants too. I'd pay the staff really really well and give them lots of vacation and paid leave so they wouldn't burn out.

And I'd attach them to the animal sanctuaries I'd also be building.

What do you think a good name for these places would be?

Proof of God

I stumbled upon this photo after someone told me about People picking Hugh for Best in a Bathing Suit or something like that. I couldn't work for another 10 minutes.

Granted that this is coming from someone who believes in God already, but: Seriously, something this beautiful couldn't exist without design, IMO. And it might point to some feminine divinity as well [insert winking smiley face].

(Ignore the obvious airbrushing. Who the hell airbrushes Hugh Jackman? It's like giving David a tan.)

Soothsayer

Said friend LunaSea today, as we talked about how we never make it dancing when we want to:

We are all the ruiners of our own fun.

Elf-thwarters -- HA ha, oh why do I bother. "Self-thwarters in the first degree," I was trying to say. But now I must go stop some elves from accomplishing their established goals.

Life has been empty, I know,

without any new posts. But it's because I been wiped out on many fronts and uninspired.

But! What happy news! Today was (still is) Jenny's birthday! Yesterday was Steve's! Two Geminis. HOW APROPOS.

Yesterday was also one of two yearly all-staff meetings for alumni affairs. And it was a team-building day! Oh what FUN!

I'm being sarcastic!

I did talk to a cool guy (no, not like that) and chatted with this person who has ended up in our cube neighborhood for reasons we don't understand. The actual team-building stuff was pointless. Our table (that's how we were put into teams: where they assigned us seats) would have talked anyway. There would have been much better ways to make use of that time. More constructive exercises. And I had to get up by 6:30, and I hadn't slept well to start with, and it was warm under the tent, and this had me exhausted for the rest of the day.

Can I get an AMEN, Jessica and Jenny?

At least it were pretty out.

* * *

I got my Dad some wine books and Wine Spectator (just one copy; it's expensive for a subscription) for Father's Day.

And with that, I am petering out. Happy tails. rails. WHATEVER.

Like Hubba Bubba.

I really miss the gaseous-state chewing gum that you used to be able to get in the '70s


props to Hawkman for sharing the joy.

To sleep, perchance to get a migraine and watch M*A*S*H all night long

It began with people laughing at me and ended in tears, as only a night at the hospital for me can.

Last night I had a sleep study. This means people studied my sleep at a sleep clinic in the local place of round-the-clock medical care. I didn't expect to sleep much or well, but I did expect to do better than this.

Let's start in the parking lot. ("If I had a dollar!" you're saying. You trollop) The prep sheet recommended bringing your own pillow, because even it knows how crappy hospital pillows are. I use three during the night, and three very specific ones, because I have spent too many years dealing with headaches and neck pain and anyone else who has knows that this means you have to have very specific pillows in order to not wake up in pain every day. So I stuffed two into a small suitcase and put the third into a giant Ziploc bag.

As I headed for the hospital entrance, I noticed a couple also making their way, behind me, in the same direction. Outside the hospital it's really quite beautiful, I must note; you cross a really pretty creek and pass lots of trees and these round, purple flowers atop tall stems that look like fountains in '70s malls. Also lilacs.

Somewhere around there I heard the people behind me laughing and then this pointed throat-clearing. I had a feeling they were noticing my luggage and remarking that I must be going to the sleep clinic. I turned and looked at them and knew, with my great big giant brain, that something like this was indeed what they were saying.

Also they might have been laughing at the bepenguined winter scene on the pillow in the Ziploc bag.

This made me happy that I might thusly amuse others. YES! PENGUIN! Now I must go sleep on this penguin. You wish you had one too! Kisses!

I checked in at admissions and proceeded to the sleep center. Diane was the sleep technician who would be watching over me through the night in a not-at-all-freaky way. Actually she was really cool and made me feel quite at ease. I warned her that I would likely be going to the bathroom a lot, especially since my kidneys react to urinary obstacles by kicking it up to 11. When people tell her they've had to go for hours but didn't want to bother her, though, she always tells them she wishes they had called. She would much rather they were sleeping. So I told her I would, in that "OK, you asked for it" way where your voice rises in hills throughout the sentence.

It took about half an hour to hook me up to all the wires. I peed and got into bed to read. My face was tensing up quite painfully in reaction to the things stuck to it. One of the few times in my life when I was able to note the difference between head pain and an actual headache. This pain went through regular cycles during which I thought "OH thank God, I'm OK," and then shortly thereafter was cursing the heavens. And it made me drink a lot of water.

You're a smart cookie. You know where that's going.

Once I was too tired to read about Harry's new Firebolt anymore, I tried relaxation stuff on my iPod, and when that was going nowhere, M*A*S*H on my wee DVD player.

Nothing. The pain was keeping me awake, as was the kidney-bladder dynamic duo (trio) that is never so happy as when we're in a situation where it's a difficulty to pee. "Ha, a CHALLENGE!" bladder says (in a British accent, don't ask me why). "Kidneys! Churn out the yellow like you've never churned before!"

When I had to go to the bathroom or needed anything at all, I just said Diane's name, and she came padding along. The intercom was set one way so she could hear me. At one point I said her name and the door opened and it was a young man in scrubs. "You're a METAMORPH!? AWESOME!!" I hollered.

No, I didn't. And no, she wasn't. Although I never did see them both at the same time ...

As I feared, head-pain did evolve into head-ache. Next time I called Diane, Man came again (1 a.m., he told me it was). I asked if there was any reason I couldn't take Aleve. Nope, he said. I stumbled over to grab my purse and dug through it in the bathroom. I knew from past assessments that there should be two Aleve in there. Thank GOD there were. I was an unhappy mess at this point, unhappily triply messy for all the things attached to me making me oh so pretty. "I really don't look like this," I wanted to tell Man and wave my hand before myself so that he'd see the prettiest me ever.

(I wasn't after him or anything. Just didn't want anyone seeing me like that. Not him, not Diane, not God in His Heaven.)

"What's this 'sleep'? It rhymes with
'weep'; THAT I can do."

Aleve kicked in fast. Sleep still didn't. When all was said and done, I slept in a few like 20-minute batches. (Diane said 2-3 hours total.) I also watched several M*A*S*H episodes multiple times. I probably went to the bathroom 7 or 8 times. They wake you up at 5:30 to leave, because by then the techs have been there like 10 hours and need to go home to sleep themselves. When Diane was pulling the wires off me, she recommended I take the day off if I could.

I stopped at work to grab stuff to do at home, got an egg sammich at CTB and came home, to the confusion of five fuzzy quadrupeds. As I got water out of the Brita, Fathom peeked around the counter corner at me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was to be HERE with THEM during THE DARKNESS. At 8 I got back in bed with NPR and zonked out.

I'll find out Monday whether they were able to learn anything or not. If not, I shall not rest until I have killed Lord Voldemort! No, Ron, I will not stop saying his name!

I have no idea why I wrote this a coupla weeks ago.

so youre just a woman on a horse

In fact I suspect I didn't write it, but got it somewhere else. I bet J will know.

But I am NOT wearing a swimsuit yet.

There are many good things about Florida. Summer is not one of them. A Florida summer grabs you by the breath and the lungs as you step outside and crams itself into your nose and airways and ears and hair and shoes and the small of your back, which will be soaked in sweat before you make it the six steps to your car at 9 a.m. It wraps you in a thick wet wool blanket pulled down over your face and doesn't let go till December. If you're lucky.

It makes you want to cut your hair.

Do you SEE what I mean?

Some people who grew up in Florida don't even notice, of course. To you I say Brava. To you I also say See ya in March.

A New York summer approaches, and with it many sundry Happinesses. It's a big change from Florida summers, for sure: you look forward to it. People actually take vacations, and not just cos their kids are out of school. Local vacations. To the lake or the mountains. Even the lake IN the mountains. Yes, lakes in the mountains in the summertime. They're just that good. Cabins and cottages and "camp" when it means "lots of houses by the lake."

This is where those Country Time Lemonade ads happen. I want a bike.

(The nature of my magic will likely mean that I am ruining this summer by paying it early tribute, but a life lived in fear is a life half lived, so fie on thee, Fates. And send me a sandwich, would you?)

Here, summer waits gently for you to open your door and step outside, a lithe blue-gold fairy the color of sunshine, all swathed in modulating green. She invites you to have ice cream and barbecues and lie in the sun not for the tanning but to float in this almost dream world. There are trails to be hiked and water to be boated and bluegreen nights to laugh in and fireflies to watch while frogs peep and crickets sing. Golden golden air to breathe deeply as it nourishes you from the inside out. It revives your soul and reminds you why you came to this Earth.

And you get to wear pretty skirts, too.

what chocolate can do of a Thursday night

As I was lying in bed last night waiting for the sweet gift of sleep -- which, probably thanks to the slow waltz of Wegmans' Chocolate Elegance through my veins, was a damned long time a-comin' -- I felt like my life is really pretty together. It stunned me, wondering why I don't feel like that more often. Most of you know the answer to that: The little things get me down. I'm trying to thwart that, though. See the sunny picture. I think the arrival of spring has knocked some sense into me too, as spring arrivals are wont to do. Forget-me-nots are everywhere, and the lilacs are blossoming -- two of my very ultimately ice-cream-on-top favorite things on this earth. And I'm exercising a lot, too, which just makes a person feel good.

So I want to sing the praises of a danged good life and give thanks to the gods for it all. I have a job that's not so bad, even if it feels empty, and because of it I know Jenny and Chris K and others. I live in New York again, and maybe one day I'll feel like I really even belong here. Shelter over my head, car I love, family close by. Five fuzzbots who are some of the most amazing souls I have ever known. Amazing wonderful terrific sister- and brother-friends, who just make this life a wonderful place to be: (in no particular order) Chris R, Chris H, Ealish, Erica, Matt, Katrina, Amy, Jenny, Mary, Melissa, Chris, Chris, Jen, Blake, Karla, Megan, Paul, Kirt ... I feel like I'm giving a commencement speech here, but it's long overdue. You rock, and I love you all. I am so Goddamned/Godblessed lucky for the fact of you.

What really set me on this path was thinking about what I want in a guy -- and what I don't want. I want someone who's Arrived, who's together and happy and not needy. Someone open and not afraid. Confident and happy enough to reach out to me when I give him a flash of that smile (name the song! EALISH). When I was thinking about this, I realized that I have finally Arrived in my own sense. You never finish changing, but you hit a point where you really start to become the person you've always wanted to be (unless you were lucky enough to be that person long ago). The only thing missing in my life right now is The Guy. Everything else? Smackin' dandy fine, it is.

I've said it before, but you know what? I'm ready. For real.

(Also, I watched Grey's Anatomy last night, and that show ALWAYS puts me into an emotional tailspin or sets me musing about the big-picture state of my life.)

He's even been known to drag one away

Salem likes himself a nice fresh nanner of a day.

My apartment smells like beans

And my lips are weirdly raw and red. So are J's & M's. But I don't think Blake's were. Julie's weren't. The question is, What happened to us and not to others? What did we imbibe/consume? Did the shade of Quexacoatl settle upon us in some dark moment and try to nurse our inner wounds?

Or was it the consequences of the margarita salt? (No; J doesn't like salt.) Not like there was a raging game of Spin the Bottle. (Which, you will not be surprised to learn, I never ever played.)

A spatula and a small blue martini glass didst vanish, however. Somewhere out there they are dancing a sultry flamenco, turning close and slowly through gently spiraling circles of salt in a warm and dimly lit room.

The trajectory of smell

It's downright amazing to me, and a little horrifying, the things smell can do. For instance: In my apartment of kitty fun and happy good times, the litter boxes are in what is socially termed the guest bathroom. And way in the back of it, in the tub. Make a good hard U-turn through the apartment from there, and you end up where I sleep. You also are following the exact path the potent smell of cat poo takes through the place.

I really don't know how it does it. I do know a few other things: that 60%-80% of Cree family cats prefer not to bury their poo; that they go in cycles, sometimes pooping during the night, sometimes during the day; that the vectored odor comes in waves and lasts for a good 20-30 minutes; that slightly to the left or right of my usual sleeping spot, the smell is diminished or nonexistent. Last night was just intolerable, and I would have closed my door or buried the turds myself had I not been pinned down by two fuzzy gray things. All bets are off when the gray things are involved. Or the black moof. Also the B&Ws. See how things get complicated. (Clearly I did just barely tolerate it till the waning, but not without thrashing and cussing at the gods.)

They eat a coupla different dry foods, and one, which is the super duper healthy made-from-raw-food kind, just ignites that smell right up. Some of you have experienced it your own selves (J&M). I'd keep that bathroom door mostly closed, but someone peed behind it the last time I did. (Not J&M.)

Pity the slinker

Evolution has been cruel to the poor earthworm and his moist brethren and sistren. They live in earthy underground worm caverns. They probably even have a Wegmans. Then it rains. They must escape their happy wormy homes else they'll perish. So they head out. Where bad things happen to them. Bad things! Not fair. Not fair at all!

Fie on thee, evolution! What did the worm ever do to you?

[breathe]

GORGEOUS out this weekend and today and Melissa threw a wonderful tea open house Saturday and I sat outside yesterday reading and it was like 80 and the cats got to hang out by the screens watching chipmunks and ahhhhhhh.

More hobo names for your consideration

Pie-Pants Donkeytoes
Paul Chewer-of-Cans and Rosy-Cheeked
Ratsoother Matt
Knifey (Erica)
Jess "Feistylocks" Railrider
Puddinhead Cala Rico Salamander Jones
AmyJoTrolleywalla
Megan

Sorry to bring you down, but I was thinking

April may be the cruelest month, but look what we've done to April:

Waco siege culmination: April 19.
Oklahoma City bombing: April 19.
Columbine: April 20.
Now this ...

I heard someone once mention how the enormity of a horrific occurrence can turn a place name into an event. Like these, like Tiananmen Square.

like fairies or sumthin.

All right, here I go with my effort to write more, thus entertaining at least two people I know and hopefully producing some decent stuff once in a while.

Weather is finally turning. Of course, it seemed to be turning before too. It could turn back again. It's still 40 out right now, so that's not so bad. I will probably hear dripping all night long. From outside. The song of melting snow. Go, snow! Go! GET THEE ON THE NIGHT TRAIN OUT OF HERE!

Bliss has come by to say Hello. I shared my salmon with her tonight. She liked it. I have to close Rogue and Salem in my room when I eat salmon in order to eat in peace. But I save them some. OH MY GOD SHE IS SO FREAKING CUTE I can't even TELL you. I need to win the lottery so I can stay home with them and give them all the glorious attention they deserve.

Otherwise, I'm beginning the quest for Meaning in my life. See, in Florida, I was super unhappy, but I had Purpose: Getting Out. (Also, Disney World.) Now, I'm out. So now what? You see my dilemma. A few things to try:

• volunteering, like at the Cayuga Nature Center
• drawing more
• writing more
• probably not looking at the new Disney bridal gowns anymore
  
• finding that damned (not really!) someone to share this nonwork time with. Heck, maybe we could even share work time together. I'm really quite bored with the work I'm doing now. Oh, so I guess that's another point:
• starting to look for a new job? I don't feel like I've paid my dues at this one yet. I suppose that entails feeling like I'm doing well at it. But I can't get interested enough to. Or, I guess there's even a difference between being interested and caring. Some of it, I just don't care about.

"Lost" is on shortly. Wish I could justify staying up for it; the last two weeks have been OK. Being this tired, though ... well. I can at least pull out a colored pencil and draw a princessy lady. One day I will turn my princessy ladies into a moneymaking machine. Not a good name for the company, though. Princessy Lady Moneymaking Machine. I think we'll end up with something Monkeylike.

Ah crud, I came up with a great hobo name for Jenny today. Something -- oh yeah, Stinkeye Jenny. Cos she gave me it! The stinkeye! STINKEYE JENNY.

Other ideas:
Trentsmelling Elly
Futuresmelling Blakaroo Winkins
Idaho Sockstealer Hawkensmithy
Cashew-hat Melissa
Mary "Normothermia" Noontime

Yellow AND WHITE

I have decided to stick Mother Nature with a good "TAKE THAT!" by ... um ... buying daisies.

SO THERE! Just WATCH me enjoy ... your other products! You!