Journal entry from 2005

"08/16/2005

6:15 pm

   Anyway,  why should she be tearing herself up over this?  It wasn’t any of her business, not really, anyway.  Besides, it seemed that without any actual action, everything turned into a f*cking melodrama.  

“So,” she tells herself, “stop biting your lip and making tracks in the dust and just f*cking drop it, for gods’ sakes!”  She paused in her pacing, physically shook out her sleeves and headed back to her tent.  She knew and could picture her patient Selene sitting there, doing some menial little task, waiting for her after that embarrassing outburst she’d just had.  Without even bothering to scratch out a warning, she flipped up the door-flap and let it fall softly behind her.  By memory and not even allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness within, she turned around and latched the flap closed.  Her eyes quickly came back to normal with the fire glowing in the side-pit.

“Hey,” she said to the figure hunched over pit, poking coals absently with a stick.  Selene turned calmly around, one hand easily resting on a knee, her hair high-lighted by the soft fire light.

“Hey,” she said back in a deep guttural Southern accent, flashing a pretty little smile.  At once, Roje felt her shoulders relax.  She knew in her heart that Selene would be there, calm and collected every time, no matter what.  But even so, when her temper got the better of her like this, she felt sure that Selene would get wise and just leave her sorry ass behind.

“Sit down and let us talk about this thing, hm?” Why did that southern accent always sound so damned sexy?  Selene’s face, half-turned from the fire looked radiant.  Soft shadows in the curves of her cheek bones, lips and jaw.  Part of the fire light shone right through one of her eyes, like the light was emitted from within, long, dark lashes lazily half-lidding them.  

Roje grunted, the anger which had consumed her gone now.  But she couldn’t just jump into the reconciliation.  Northerners just didn’t let up on their anger and pride and all that shit so easily.

Selene twisted a bit, planting her ass on the ground and patted the space next to her on the hearth rug.  Roje moved to sit next to her.

“So, tell me what is really eating you, mapaj,” Selene purred, swallowing her r’s and l’s the whole way.  A shrug from Roje and then an angry, petty little, 

“It’s all just so frustrating!”  She knew she sounded like a brat youngster or something like that, but she felt petulant at the moment.  Had they all been in on this?  Maybe to teach her a lesson.  Sometimes it really felt like everyone spoke to each other about Roje, just not to her."

Idle Thoughts

So, here I am contemplating life while eating a sandwich and watching G.I. Joe, the movie on Netflix streaming (because it is a rainy day, dontchano, and why not?).  And I thinks to myself, "Self! This whole concept is flawed in this here movie. By gummy, if someone did unleash nanobots that ate metal on the battlefield, there would be a whole lot of issues going on, besides tanks that disintegrate and buildings falling down due to jellifying of steel supports."

Issues with nanobots as portrayed:

waste material!
How is there no waste material?  Now, I am no expert on nanobot technology (obviously, an expert on nanobots probably wouldn't have a blog called Glaring of Cats), but I am pretty sure (between bites of the perfect combo of cheddar, mayo, lettuce and tomato) that once someone devours something else, there is always some sort of waste material.  This must apply to nanobots too.  Unless Cobra Command is claiming that nanobots not only devour metal, but then poop it out to make more nanobots or something? They never said so, though...sooo I am thinking no.  In which case, where does all that waste go?  Cause in our cool graphic portrayals in this movie, the stuff just sort of vanishes into a cloud of nanobots.

Nanobots look like microscopic cockroaches!
Why?  Why would scientists take the time to create tiny little insect-looking nanobots? Wouldn't that take forever to make enough to load into a bazooka and shoot at a tank?  I can imagine nanobots with flagella or something; but little wings, antennae, eyes, pincers?  That's just absurd (not to mention this whole blog post is absurd, but whatever).

Nanobots can do anything!
Within the first 20 minutes of this movie, I have seen nanobots destroy armies, cities, mind-control muscle dudes, extrude snake venom from mind-controlled muscle dudes's arm.  I look forward to seeing what else microscopic cockroaches are capable of.

"Nanobot" is not a word to be corrected!
weird.  I fully expected to see the red underline time and time again in this post, but I guess nanobot is an accepted word in the online dictionary.  This is, for some reason, highly amusing.

Knowing is Half the Battle! Go Joe! (munch munch munch...it might be time for a cuppa tea)

In Like a Lamb

Hello!

It's already March! Holy crap!  Out here on the west coast, March is coming in pretty tame, does that bode a stormy exit?  It's been sunny and mild temperatures.  I know the east coast is just about had their limit of snow and ice and all that, but here it is the same boring day, one after another.

Except for last Saturday! That was exciting.  Somebody started a rumor about snowfall in California last week and everyone got so excited, it was the only thing people would talk about wherever you went.  "Didja hear? Snow's a comin'!" was the refrain up and down the coast.  Everyone got all jittery about temperatures falling to around 32 degrees and our neighbor was on a non-stop chopping spree with his firewood.  People started discussing stew recipes and wearing their big puffy jackets and moaning about how it was "freezing" at 50 degrees in the day time.  Woowhee! People got all antsy in their pantsy about this drop in temp and the snow.

Then, wouldn't you know it, Saturday a new sun dawned and people all blinked and slowly made their way outside, expecting to see a winter wonderland and have everything closed down due to snowfall.  What they met instead was...another boring weather day in California, or, as the tourists like to call it, "wow! it's beautiful out here!"  Yup.  No snowfall.  No freezing pipes.  Perhaps up in the mountains they had snow (we did see a bit of a dusting of white cap on a distant mountain), but none in normal elevations.  We visited around and the closest anyone got to snowfall was a man we caught discussing how white his lawn was that morning.

"White! Did you get snow?!" at least four people jumped on him to answer.  He looked suddenly as if he'd bit into a lemon wedge on half his face and swallowed his excited words with a, "no, no snow.  Frost!" but it was lame and everyone knew it.  Frost.  Who cares about frost?  Oh well.

I remember last year, the area got all excited because the temperature was dipping down to 32 degrees one night.  Public advisories were sent out warning citizens on the danger of frozen pipes and protecting pets and children from the cold.  They even gave specific instructions on how to wrap newspaper around your pipes to protect them from the cold.

I swear, if some freezing temperatures or snow ever did actually fall in this area, people would just panic or something.  The crazy people carrying the signs bashing gays downtown would declare it the end of the world. The hippies would all freeze to death outside loving on mother nature.  Everyone's pipes, pets and children would burst from the dip into the low 30's.  It would be a miracle if anyone survived...well, except the homeless.  They have about 20 layers going on already, so they'd probably be all set.

Birthday Socks, Birthday Socks

At 32, are you too old to go to gokarts on your birthday?

Is this something that teenagers do?  I don't know, because when I was a teenager, I did things like go out to Chinese with my friends for my birthday or stay at home and my dad bake me a cake and make my favorite meal.

I am trying to do something new and interesting each birthday these last few years.  A new restaurant, a new activity, etc.

I was going to try to go to a shooting range for this birthday but there seem to be pesky rules about needing to know how to use a firearm to use a shooting range.  Apparently, you can't just waltz in there and ask for a gun.  oh well!  Maybe I can go skeet shooting next year.  Although, I have to admit, when I told people what I wanted to do, most of the responses I got were more than a little tinged with horror or some extreme worry for my safety around guns...What does this say? hm.  But, of course, I was envisioning me accidentally shooting myself in the foot or receiving a black eye from the kickback.

So! Gokarting it was.  I have never been gokarting.  Or, at least, I think I went once, but I don't remember it being as intense as this place was.  We had to put on special jumpsuits, and head socks and real driving helmets.  I was waiting for the gloves, but we never received any.  I kind of wish we had, I feel like everything from the flu to ebola could have been crawling on the steering wheel.  Wow.  Gokarting is definitely not an activity for the risk averse!  I thought it would be fun to drive little race cars around a track with my friends.  It was rather terrifying! I was last in line and they waved us out and the straps were tight and choking me and I couldn't turn my head and the wheel was heavy to turn (no power steering on suped up lawnmowers) and my breath was fogging the visor of the helmet.  agh!  So I decide to go easy and it was mostly ok, except that people kept passing me and I kept getting flagged to pull to the side and let others pass.  I suppose I was going really slow.  But my favorite time was when the whole group of other people had zipped by and I had clear, empty track in front of me to drive my little car.  When we got back to the results area, I suddenly realized that we had been running a race.  I looked up at my time and saw I was dead last.  I hadn't known it was a race.  No one said that's what you do at gokarts.  I felt dumb.  Still, I probably wouldn't have changed anything.  I took my turns slowly and looked both ways (as much as I could), I didn't go too fast, so as not to spin out going on the curves and I politely let everyone pass me.  I could have been a granny out there. 

Well, at least I know I am a conscientious driver, even in a minicar on a track with bumpers and wearing two seat belts and a helmet.  I think what convinced me to drive safely the first (and second times, I came in second to last and was a lot more worried about dying as I spun around the curves) time around was when I picked up my helmet from the shelves; it had scratches on the visor.  Actually, they ALL had scratches on the visor, which means they were all involved in collisions of some sort.  It's probably why I strapped my first helmet on too tight and choked myself...didn't want it flying off and those scratches instead occurring on my head.

So, really though...is this something that 32 year olds do for a birthday?  Because, obviously, I didn't even know it was about racing...maybe it is just something 21 year-olds do.  Maybe I should go back to that pasta and mushrooms potlach I did for my 30th.  Although, then it wouldn't be something new and pushing my own boundaries.  Hmmm, I suppose I've got some thinking to do on that one.  33 better be good though, all's I'm saying.

Journal entry from 2000

"Back down on the beach, the breezes were picking up.  Sniffing the air, Jeff could somehow tell a storm was brewing off coast.  He crouched inthe sand, resting one arm loosely on his knee.  A bright, smooth stone had caught his eye, glittering in that strange metallic sunlight that happens right before a storm.  His hair whipped about as the wind rushed through, moving the waters and beach grasses.  His jacket, snapping about his arms, was plastered to his chest and his nose was turning rosy in the cooling temperature.

Back at the house, the white wooden columns holding up the veranda stood out like beacons on the deep browns and greens of the beach.  Back up there on the dune, Miri was, or at least, should be making dinner.  He imagined a mussel soup with ginger and white wine broth, perhaps.  The imagined aroma made Jeff rise up from his crouching position, smooth stone clasped unconsciously in his hand.  He turned from the ocean towards the house, trying to see into the dark, dead eyes of the windows.

Noticing the little azalea bush being pushed back and forth, the small read flowers the only specks of color in the diachrome world; Jeff's eyes slid the parking circle.  Something was missing from his vision.  Realizing with a shock that made him unclasp the stone, Jeff saw that his wife's car was not parked at the house or anywhere near it.  Had it been there when he had looked up at the house a while ago?  He couldn't remember and his brows furrowed as he concentrated.  Staring at the windows and the wild azalea bush, he noticed a seagull flopping dangerously in the air currents above.  Realizing himself, he bent to brush the sand from his knee and picked up the dropped stone.  Where had she gone?  He didn't even see the ground slide beneath him as he made his way up the wooden stairs leading to the house.  Perhaps she'd left a note of some kind.  After all, there was not really any place she could have gone that would be close by.  Their nearest neighbors were about 5 miles away and the town was about 45 minutes by car.  He trudged up the gravel path to the side door, letting it squeak open as he entered the house.  It felt lifeless and close inside.

There had been no note on the door, but perhaps the front door of the fridge?  Jeff passed through the family room to the glass front door.  Even though he could see both sides, he wanted to make sure and cracked the door to run his hand along the wooden frame.  No note there, either.  He frowned, playing with the stone in his pocket, flipping it through his fingers.  He turned from the door and shuffled through the eating room to their wide, white kitchen.  None of the lights were on in the house and it was getting darker fast with the approaching storm.  No notes on the fridge as well.  Where had she gone and not left a note?  Had she said something to him that he had just forgotten?  He started to get worried now, pinching the stone ever harder between his fingers in his pocket as his frown became deeper.  He stepped over to the big calendar on the side wall facing the bathroom.  No, nothing written down.  He checked the phone messages.  There was only some message from the tailor's shop in town saying something about the alterations on his suit pants.  Now angry, Jeff shoved his finger into the "Erase Messages" button.  She hadn't said a word!   Jeff could feel his ears burning and knew his face was red.  She hadn't made dinner!  He looked into the refrigerator and saw the same old set up; no prepared meals, only condiments and raw ingredients.  He slammed the refrigerator door.

"Where the f--- did she go?!" He yelled out in frustration as he pounded his fist onto the kitchen island counter top.  Huffily, Jeff marched to the hall closet, ripped off his jacket and threw it inside.  He now went on  a search through the house to find any clues to Miri's disappearance.  Nothing! Nothing seemed out of place which would lead him to any conclusions.

He went into the bedroom and searched quickly over the drawers and bureau surfaces.  Stopping to look out at the dark sky and first splatters of rain against the glass pane, and out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw a small, white piece of paper, half-tucked into his side of the bed."

the wide, wide world

I was released into the wild yesterday!

I packed up my bag with essentials like Energy Vitamin Water, real water, laptop, one moleskin sketchbook, one moleskin journal...and the small pocket full of pens, erasers, pencils, pencil sharpeners...and aspirin.  I always keep aspirin with me...but literally...in case I should feel the onset of a heart attack...I'm serious.  Moving on!

Anyway! I packed all this up in order to leave M and give her some needed time to herself (it was a Christmas present, she loves it!).  I hiked on up to the Anthropology Museum (which is free) and just breezed on in.

Since becoming a housey-wife, I realize my social skills with strangers has gone pretty much nonexistent.  But that's ok...until I am running around in public with strangers, I guess.  So I breeze on in to this museum and I am all intent on my task I have presented myself of trying to look at and read about EVERY little thing in the place.  The two college girls manning the gift shop desk are all, "Hi there! How are you?" and I had to actually back up and go back into the gift shop to reply (in what I am sure sounded a very Aspbergerish way), "I am well thank you, how are you?" All shifty-eyed and sweating from my two-mile hike and looking supremely uncomfortable in the presence of two well-groomed youngsters.  "Good, good," They answered me.  I nod curtly, adjust my cadet hat and turn swiftly into the room with the exhibition to get to my task.  I am a weirdo.  I know it.  I try to avoid the conversation and looking at other people when I am by myself in public.  Maybe it is some sort of lizard-like response, some self-preservation thing.  Maybe it is me trying to let people know that I am invisible, please allow me to do whatever I want without noticing me.   Actually, I think this generally works out, as I almost always get away with saying and doing whatever I want in public...or maybe people just look over at this large girl doing weird-ass things and just smile to themselves and post blogs about it...ha.

Right.  So, I settle in, and make a viewing bench my office area, neatly draping my jacket vest over it, laying my hat on top and placing my backpack beneath.  I take out my little sketching moleskin and get to work at the sketching!  Hurray! I don't remember the last time I have done that for reals.  Very exciting.  I love sketching art and such at museums, the subjects never move and they are always exactly the same when you come back months later, so you can finish up a drawing or get a new angle.  Yes, thrilling, I know.  I felt all accomplished about actually just doing that.

Really though, I feel like the creative side of my brain has melted away in the last few years (maybe more, I like to try and think the best of my brain) and I sit down to doodle or something and the same boring things pop up in my drawings.  My brain is so lazy!  Like, come up with something new, and dazzling! hm, oh well.

I got a couple good drawings in, my neck started cramping (lordy lord, I am getting old, yo), and I decided that I had spent an appropiate amount of time being all artsy and getting back in touch with that right side of my brain again.  I packed up my stuff and sort of meandered around, trying to read everything about everything and learning some weird stuff of phalli attachments for ancient Greek busts and crocodile cults in Egypt and how confusing it is that Sekhmet is a lion-headed goddess in ancient Egypt who deals in war and destruction, but also in healing...and Bastet is a cat-headed goddess (or sometimes just a cat) who is basically the goddess of pleasure.  Two feline-headed goddesses!  Does this constitute a "glaring" of goddesses? please please please.

Cattle aside (my own term for multiple cats...yes, I am that cool), I got my stuff together and quickly examined the contents of the gift shop, deftly avoiding the bored and questioning eyes of the gift shop girls (they should start a band with that name!).  I went out with them calling after me "Bye bye, now!"  I think they were actually trying to be friendly, but I gotta say, probably not.  I was listening to their conversation while I was sketching an African mask for a women's cult of womanhood (I mean, what else would a "women's cult" be about?) and I was not encouraged to become besties here.  "OMG, did he invite you to that party?!" "No, he totally didn't and ___ told me about it and I was all, 'OMG, you didn't invite me to your party' and he was all texting me and stuff and I was like, 'WTF?' you know?" "Oh, I totally know.  What an asshole," "totally" "So, what are you doing later?" "Going to this party that ____ told me about" "Oh! that party? yeah, I might stop by.  I have to finish this paper (audible eye roll).   Oh! did you hear about ____?" (giggling and whispering ensue).  Yup.  wow. good times.  I suppose they are just volunteers, so who cares?


So, I head back out into the PUBLIC (oh, didn't I mention the obligatory Jews for Jesus hawker on the corner?  Ahhhhh, universities) and keep my head down and walk on back to hang out in the tea shop to check my email, and get some more written in my DAMN travel journal.  I had three goals for the day: 1). go to Anthropology Museum, 2). sketch random art in museum and 3). write more in my DAMN travel journal about our trip to Israel and London.


I get myself a pot of tea and a cinnamon bun (cinnamon buns are necessary to a happy tea shop experience, I think) and set myself up to do what I came there for.  I delayed for a while though, playing computer games, answering emails, reading the news...the usual...all the while listening the group of women in the corner have a very loud and boisterous conversation about having sex with (what I assume were) their husbands and male significant others.  They interspersed this conversation (there must have been at least 4 of them) with cute little anecdotes of their kids.  Maybe it was some mommy group or something.  I was really tempted, a few times, to turn around and tell them that if they wanted their husbands to start doing that to them, like they had seen in some movie, that they should probably entice him by taking a bacon bath or maybe shaving football field patterns into their "personal area."  Whatever, their conversation was amusing at least, and made me happy I don't have to deal with husbands or male significant others and that I hadn't just seen something like that in some movie either.  Yay! girls!


Finally, I cracked open the DAMN travel journal and hunkered down to get some more unnecessarily detailed description of our travels logged away in those pages.  As I was doing this, a petite, stressed-out, yoga-taking looking woman blew into the tea shop and set up her space right behind me.  She needed some power for her laptop and there was a power strip right under my feet, so I told her she could just use that instead of resituating herself.  So, hm...usually I am the socially retarded one who says things that are just slightly off and strange (but endearing, right?).  This lady though, beat me to the punch.  She gets all flustered about the power cord being under my table and starts going on about how she is just going to nip in there and plug in her stuff and oops! She's definitely not making a pass at me, don't worry!  She's not trying to feel me up or anything, don't worry! (I was not worried).  And she mumbled something about how she would, of course, make a pass at me but for the sorry fact that she was unfortunately heterosexual (she actually said, "I am, unfortunately, heterosexual.")  And I tried not to let my extreme amusement at her social weirdness show too much on my face, managing to mumble back something like, "s'ok, s'ok"  Like, I am forgiving her, her heterosexuality.  I wanted to think of a witty retort, and I can usually come up with something, but everything that flashed through my mind was particularly uncouth or mocking, so I decided to just shut up and enjoy the awkwardness of my interaction with 'other human being'....I managed to get up to stepping into the water of the Dead Sea...day 3 of our Israel trip, and already about 20 pages into the journal....too much detail! But now that I have started, I must continue the slog...must...continue...slog.


Later, when yoga-lady realized frantically, that power wasn't getting to her laptop at all and oh dear! what's wrong, oh dear!  She checks every cord and frets and starts getting physically frantic and I decide to jump in here and solve the problem for her before she starts burrowing under my feet and apologizing for enjoying the company of men again.  I replug her computer into the actual power strip instead of the aux outlet.  She lauds me and calls my praise, loudly claiming I am magic or a genius (I am neither) and I sort of shush her letting her know that she just plugged it in wrong.  I look at the clock and pack up my things, heading out the door and I hear her sort of mumbling and saying she hoped she didn't scare me away, titter titter.  And I pretty much mumble back,  "pat, pat no you didn't, of course, I must be somewhere, bye now! good luck with that power cord!" and then shake my head at my parting remark as I make my way back home to M.  "Good luck with that power cord!" right, cause that's what a genius would say...yup.


Sekhmet has a male lion's mane...this is confusing....Sekhmet is female.  Maybe it was just a headdressing....or a wig, I mean, she IS ancient Egyptian.  Ok, I can deal with that.  It is not a male lion mane, it is a lion mane wig.  Sort of like the statues of Hatshepsut (no depictions of her at the museum, alas) and she is depicted sporting the little King Tut beard, like the rest of the pharaohs...but it was a wig beard.  I wonder what a wig beard for the face is called (not a merkin, obviously)?


Bastet was probably the goddess of pleasure cause kitties like to purr...and make biscuits...and chirp at birds...right?  right?! Biscuits!

hobbies

Besides liking to talk about myself, my family and my views on everything, I also really like to watch movies and read.  Yay! not very interesting sounding, I know, but the volume of material I read and watch is...well...probably not good for me in some way.

I was trying to count it up and figured I probably spend about 1/3 to 1/2 my waking time reading and about 1/2 of that time watching something.  Perhaps I am media junkie.  Only, I have found that radio has totally been squeaked out of the equation.  Growing up, it was all radio and TV and maybe the paper after school.  Now it is CNN online, SFGate online, NYTimes, NPR online; not to mention the blogs and social sites I read through every day.  Added to that, I watch perhaps 1-2 movies a day and 1-2 TV shows a day.  I also then read the physical NYTimes Sunday paper and this usually takes me a couple days, reading a section here and there, in between all the other information I am consuming.  And then! on top of that, I will read about an hour before going to sleep at night from whatever book I am on, or Kindle story/book is next in my queue.

Most of the time, I realize, I don't have anyone to really share with in the funny/disturbing/poignant/stupid ideas I glean from all this information.  I have M, to be sure.  I am like my Aunt or Mom, sending her the highlights from the articles and posts I read during the day and night, if I think she would also be interested/amused in them.  But there are others that I know she just wouldn't care about and would just give me a "yes yes, there there" look and go back to looking at food blogs.  Also! The extreme variety of movies I watch, she is not into.  She is much more inclined to watch romcoms, silly comedies, and movies about food.  I am inclined to watch EVERYTHING!

I am pretty sure Netflix is having a hard time keeping up with my interests (or lack of coherent interests).  I think the only stable choices they have going for me right now are "dark, visually stimulating, foreign dramas" and "lesbian."  But I will go for anything, really.  I watch both DVDs and streaming.  I think the only thing I am not that into is anime/manga and even there, I will sometimes watch a movie or a show.  There is something about the gigantic, wiggling eyes that freak me out about this genre.

Today, for example: I watched a movie called "Monique" about a French woman that comes to live with a boring English couple to take care of their kids.  The movie was made and set in 1969, and it gets pretty obvious, pretty fast that they are all swingers that just need a nudge out of their non-swinger shells to enjoy the happiness that is polyamoury.  Everything works out swell for everyone involved and that is actually pretty refreshing, considering how this movie probably would have gone if made in 2010 vs. 1969.  I suppose they were all a bit more optimistic about that whole "free love" thing then.  Anyway, I think the take-away from this film was that bringing in a hot nanny who likes men and women to live in your home will save your marriage and turn your frigid housewife into a raging nympho.  Hurray for the 60's!  Wait, but there is one scene where the French woman (Monique, obviously) is unpinning her hair and hubby is watching her.  It takes forever! It was fascinating watching how many pins and extensions this woman unclipped from her scalp.  No bump-its involved. weird.

Anyway, and now I am watching a Spanish movie about some kid who is turning into a vampire made in 2008.  It is done in an appealing foreign way to how this movie would be done in America.  There's no rock-star status given to the vampire kid and there is definitely a Grimm's fairy tale sort of vibe going on with "something dangerous is eating sheep in the woods, don't go in the forest!"(why are sheep in the forest, anyway? Don't these people have fences?).  This one's called "Shiver" and so far very enjoyable.  Also on my mantle, waiting to be watched on DVD are "Mary Poppins," and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People."  Not exactly "Monique" there, but I suppose that Netflix must have suggested (confusedly) "Mary Poppins" seeing as how I was enthusiastically clicking on "Monique." Similar stories, you know...a nanny comes to help out a married couple's life with the kids and makes everyone happy?  Maybe I should pay really close attention to see any strange juxtapositions between the two movies.  Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Banks are swingers and I just didn't see the signs before.  hmmmm.