Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Books you should read.
First I will start with -

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton.

"I wonder," he broke out, "why you don't go back?"
Her eyes darkened, and he expected an indignant rejoinder. But she sat silent, as if thinking over what he had said, and he grew frightened lest she should answer that she wondered too.
At length she said: "I believe it's because of you."
It was impossible to make the confession more dispassionately or in a tone less encouraging to the vanity of the person addressed. Archer reddened to the temples but dared not move or speak: it was as if her words had been some rare butterfly that the least motion might drive off on startled wings, but that might gather a flock about it if it were left undisturbed.

Uh-oh by Robert Fulghum

What do I really have to have, day by day, to get by?
I always think about that phrase when I'm putting my gear together for a long backpacking trip. If I'm going to carry everything I need on my back for a couple of weeks in the mountains, then great care must be taken in choosing what is essential and what is not. About fifty pounds of provisions and gear are all I can comfortably carry. The packing itself becomes focused on economy, efficiency and well-being. I think in elemental terms. Water. Fire. Shelter. Food. Protection from wind, rain, heat and cold. First Aid. Knife. And tools to find my way - compass and map. The quality of the trip depends a great deal upon what I can live without.

The Green Door by O. Henry

In the big city the twin spirits Romance and Adventure are always abroad seeking worthy wooers. As we roam the streets they slyly peep at us and challenge us in twenty different guises. Without knowing why, we look up suddenly to see in a window a face that seems to belong to our gallery of intimate portraits; in a sleeping thoroughfare we hear a cry of agony and fear coming from an empty and shuttered house; instead of at our familiar curb a cab-driver deposits us before a strange door, which one, with a smile, opens for us and bids us enter; a slip of paper, written upon, flutters down to our feet from the high lattices of Chance; we exchange glances of instantaneous hate, affection, and fear with hurrying strangers in the passing crowds; a sudden souse of rain - and our umbrella may be sheltering the daughter of the Full Moon and first cousin of the Sidereal System; at every corner handkerchief drop, fingers bekon, eyes besiege, and the lost, the lonely, the rapturous, the mysterious, the perilous changing clues of adventure are slipped into our fingers. But few of us are willing to hold and follow them. We are grown stiff with the ramrod of convention down our backs. We pass on; and some day we come, at the end of a very dull life, to reflect that our romance has been a pallid thing of a marrige or two, a satin rosette kept in a safe-deposit drawer, and a lifelong feud with a steam radiator.

This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald

...........She was the first fine woman he ever knew and one of the few good people who ever interested him. She made her goodness such an asset. Amory had decided that most good people either dragged theirs after them as a liability, or else distorted it to artificial geniality, and of course there were the ever-present prig and Pharisee - (but Amory never included them as being among the saved).

And my favorite book of all -

The Blue Castle by L. M. Montgomery

When it was over something had happened to Valancy--perhaps the culmination of the process that had been going on in her mind ever since she had read Dr. Trent's letter. It was three o'clock in the morning--the wisest and most accursed hour of the clock. But sometimes it sets us free.
"I've been trying to please other people all my life and failed," she said. "After this I shall please myself. I shall never pretend anything again. I've breathed an atmosphere of fibs and pretences and evasions all my life. What a luxury it will be to tell the truth! I may not be able to do much that I want to do but I won't do another thing that I don't want to do. Mother can pout for weeks--I shan't worry over it. 'Despair is a free man--hope is a slave.'"

Monday, August 30, 2004
Nice Compliments
Today a co-worker called me Jesus (or he was swearing at me, but I prefer the latter explanation), thus triggering a conversation about the nicest compliments we've recieved. So for the sake of opening a forum and maybe a little self-promotion (none of those compliments where that I was particulary humble) I will recount the top three.

(3). In my sophmore year, my dear friend and posse member Jessica came home to find that her mother had passed away in her sleep. Since Jessica had little family, the gang headed over to, well, what do you do in those situations, beside just be there. One by one the gang started to peel away and I, also thinking Jessica would want to be alone, said that I was going to take off and I would call her in the morning. Jessica pulled me aside and said that the gang could go, but would I please stay. Please don't think I was thinking of myself at that moment, but in hindsight, I took it as a compliment that I was the one she would pick to just be there.

(2). My ex, Jadon had a beach house in Rosarito, Mexico, about an hour and half drive from here in San Diego. While he was writing his book, he pretty much stayed out there full time. This beach house happened to be about a mile down the beach from a cancer treatment facility, the sort that has treatments not yet permited in the US by the FDA. It housed quite a few americans, axious for one last hope. Most of them died. Jadon befriended one woman, Debbie*. Debbie was dying, not much doubt there. The first time I met Debbie, I walked in her room and saw her wasted body propped up on pillows; she turned and looked at me with eyes who's sheer alive-ness (I know, I'm making up words) contrasted strongly with her body. She said, "Are you an angel?" What do you say to that? I said no, but that they were on their way.

(1). While I was working at the teddy bear factory in Minnieapolis, I found in the pocket of an apron (we all had to wear them, but you used any that were hanging up, you didn't have your own) a note. It appeared to be part of a letter, a person describing how he felt about the person the letter was for. There were no names on it, to or from. It was beautiful. I couldn't imagine who had written it. I asked around but no one claimed it. Then later I was chatting with Jacob*, a fellow employee, a guy who's multi-color streaked hair was always falling in his face and who quite deliberatly kept everyone shut out of his thoughts and feelings. The note fell out of my apron pocket. Jacob suddenly looked, I'm not sure what the right word would be, nervous? Vulnerable? Happy? Scared? Somewhere inbetween those. It dawned on me that I had found the writer of the letter. Thinking that he would be embarrassed that I had read his letter, I handed the letter with a trite comment along the lines of, "Oh is this yours? Don't worry, I didn't really read ...................". The comment died as epiphany numero dos kicked in. Oh. Ah. Jacob and I dated for a while, sadly it didn't really work out for complicated reasons that I won't bore you with here. And since Jacob never really intended for even me to read what he wrote, I won't violate his privacy by sharing it here. But it was the nicest compliment I have ever recieved.

Monday, August 16, 2004
Ok, I'm giving you all a new reason to think I'm crazy. I'm becoming convinced that Bigfoot (i.e. an as yet catagorized species of primate) exists. Due to recent discoveries of hair (with DNA confirming it to be similar to the large apes but of an unknown species) and better forensic technology used to study footprints, the scientific community is rethinking it's dismissal of eyewitness's testimony. Here are two websites to consider. (If you are like be and have too much time on your hands.)



Monday, August 09, 2004
Lady in Pink
Yesterday, as some of you may know, was mine and JR's (FYI, I've changed his name, it's now Jack, more on that in another post) one year anniversary. Yay, I've managed to keep a guy liking me for a year! I think I've got him hooked now, so now I can get all fat and let myself go. Just kidding. Anyhoo, so yesterday he took me to that restaurant out on the pier at Seaport Village (you know a guy loves you when he pays $8 for parking) for lunch. Then we strolled around, looking in shops at overpriced windchimes (found out where Eric got my birthday gift, thank you again!) and beautiful shell dishes. Then we heard a band playing oldies and wandered over. The band was just starting up Rockin' Robin and a few couples were dancing. (I love to watch old couples dance, they are always the best ones because they've been dancing together forever.) So this elderly woman with a walker is sitting on the sidelines, she's wearing a pink, very 'old lady church dress'. With matching hat. And matching 'old lady sensible church shoes'. The leather ones with a strap over the instep and a slight heel. Incidently those are the absolute best dancing shoes. Which worked out well for her, (or maybe shes just always prepared for that sort of thing) because when that song began, she stood up, rolled her walker forward into the couples and started to dance with the best of them. And this grand old dame could DANCE. She shook and boogied and danced that walker around. I've always heard the mark of a good dancer was that they made their partner look good and boy did that walker look like a pro. I would have looked silly next to such a master, but the little girl in me was like, "I wanna dance with her!" So here's to you, Lady in Pink, for not letting little things like being old and lame and having no partner keep you out of the game. For finding partners in unusually things and for being the absolute belle of the ball.

Friday, August 06, 2004
I learned something today -
It's not illegal to lick a strangers toes in the Netherlands.
Appearently some guy has been going around doing this to strangers in public, and they can't find a way to prosecute him.

I just had to share this..............
Okla. Man Accidentally Shoots Self in Rear

BRISTOW, Okla. - Drew Patterson wanted to protect himself after hearing reports of an fugitive in this northeastern Oklahoma community. He didn't think he would be nursing a sore rear end.

Patterson's .22-caliber pistol, hooked into the waistband of his denim shorts with the hammer pulled back, apparently fired, hitting Patterson in the left buttock Wednesday afternoon.
Patterson, 27, said he suffered "one of my most embarrassing moments" when his gun fired.
"At first, I didn't feel anything at all," said Patterson, who talked readily about the incident Thursday at his parents' Bristow home.
"Then about 30 seconds later, I felt that burning, stinging," he said.
He felt something warm trickling down his left leg and found an exit wound.
Patterson said he walked into his parents' home and said, "Mom, I did something bad."
Law enforcement officers searching for escaped inmate Raymond Lee Smith, 26, who ran from a Bristow courtroom Wednesday, stopped their hunt when Patterson's gunshot wound was reported.
Smith fled a courtroom in handcuffs and an orange jump suit and was still at large Thursday. He was facing charges of assault and battery with a dangerous weapon on a police officer.
Residents in the Bristow area armed themselves last year when a suspected murderer, Scott Eizember, roamed the rural area as authorities searched for him for 37 days.
"I had good intentions, but I screwed the whole thing up," Patterson said.
Patterson said he was told to keep walking to avoid complications as the wound healed.
"It hurts fiercely now," he said while walking slowly and gingerly.

Thursday, August 05, 2004
Do you know me? I mean, do you really know me?

Weird Morning
So this morning I got to work and settled down at my desk to eat my morning yogurt cup. Unfortunatly I was out of spoons in my little stash drawer so I had to eat it with my fork. That's is a perfect metaphor for what this morning has been like.
Another example. After slurping down my yogurt, I started imputting some part request forms on a spreadsheet. I found two dated May 35th.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Quote of the Day
"Beauty? Let me tell you something — being thought of as a beautiful woman has spared me nothing in life," she said. "No heartache, no trouble. Love has been difficult. Beauty is essentially meaningless and it is always transitory." - Halle Berry

Monday, August 02, 2004
I'm rooting for the sheep...........
Sheep find way to escape road grids
LONDON (AFP) - Their reputation as innovators and adventurers is thus far slim, but it appears some sheep may be smarter than you might first think.
According to astonished eye-witnesses, a particularly adventurous flock in northern England has found a way to get past supposedly hoof-proof metal grids installed across roads -- executing a neat commando-style roll over the top.
Determined to get access to the rich grazing of local gardens in Marsden, a town in the hilly Pennine region, local sheep have worked out how to get past the barriers, the Guardian newspaper reported on Friday.
"I've seen them doing it and they're clever," said an impressed Dorothy Lindley, a local councillor.
"They lie down on their side, or sometimes on their back, and roll over the metal grids until they are clear."
At times also hurdling five-foot (1.50-metre) fences or squeezing through tiny gaps, the enterprising flock has laid waste to a series of gardens, as well as flowers in the graveyard, the newspaper reported.
"It's a serious problem because they make a mess of people's gardens," Lindley told the paper, saying that she sometimes barked at rogue sheep like a dog in an attempt to scare them off.
The grids were installed 10 years ago after one irate gardener rounded up a series of stray sheep and held them hostage, demanding action, the report said.
However, now new measures seemed necessary, as more and more sheep -- this time fitting to species stereotype -- copied the roll manoeuvre.
"What we really need is more fencing to stop them, but they would probably find another way out before long," Lindley complained.

Girlie Empowerment of the Morning
A male gynecologist is like an auto mechanic who never owned a car.
-Carrie Snow-

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being, hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.
-Erma Bombeck-

If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to be a horrible warning.

I'm not going to vacuum 'til Sears makes one you can ride on.
-Roseanne Barr-

Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission.
-Eleanor Roosevelt-