Collective Chaos

A Restless Header Into Evil-town

2005-08-22T09:42:00.000-04:00

Friday I was having a very restless night attempting to get to sleep and stay that way. I tossed and turned for a couple of hours trying to fall asleep, got up several times to pee, would wake up briefly every time I turned over, etc. not a good night for sleeping. Then I have the following dream, come with me now if you dare, for a stroll inside the mind o’ Fluff...

My best friend Tim, my lovely wife Traci and I were on a road trip together apparently, and we stop to get some food at a Chick-fil-a. We go inside and there are a few people waiting to be served, but not too many. There are plenty of seats available, and plenty of people working. There are some punk-ass bitch friends of some of the punk-ass bitch workers hanging out and getting food as well. Also, there was some new promotion for some special kind of M&M’s that you could get with your meal (I wish I could remember what was special about them), and Traci wanted some. I think she had already made that much of her order clear to the guy behind the counter. The restaurant was set up more like a Subway or a cafeteria than a Chick-fil-a in that there was a sneeze guard at the front of the line protecting different stainless steel containers of stuff, and you moved on down the line (which has those stainless steel tubes to hold your tray ala Morrison’s “Sehhhrrrvyaplease?”) to pay at the end.

The punk-ass bitch behind the counter puts a package of these new M&M’s on top of the glass sneeze guard, and we assume that’s the first bit of our order to come out. Soon after that, the three of us look around to find that the restaurant is now all but empty, and no one has been over to help us or give us more of our order, and in fact the area behind the counter now appears to be a “punk-ass bitch free zone”. Traci takes this opportunity to take the package of M&M’s off the glass, and just as she reaches, someone (a punk-ass bitch worker's punk-ass bitch friend) snags it right out from under her grasp, and throws it into a waiting bag of food that must have been his. That jackass leaves, and still no one is around to give us our food or take our order (not sure if we got past the all important M&M’s ordering or not). So we wait a while longer with no one around, and no interaction and finally Traci notices that one of those stainless steel containers behind the sneeze guard contains those packages of the special limited-edition, super-awesome M&M’s!! She reaches over said sneeze guard and snags a package to replace the one she thought was hers that the punk-ass bitch took.

Of course the second she snags it, a chubby fast food manager type woman (you know what I mean, 2 years older than her oldest employee, the landscape of her face split evenly between new acne, and scars from acne of yore, and the requisite “I’m going to push this position of tiny power to its limits” attitude) walks around the corner from the kitchen and catches Traci with her hand in the proverbial stainless steel M&M jar. Ms. Chubby Acnestein picks up her pace as much as is possible on the grease-slicked fast food floors and says, “Please stay on that side and don’t touch anything again, miss”.

A few minutes later, Ms. Acnestein shows up with 4 new people she says have to be served before us (my thought is that it’s punishment for the M&M’s) and I seem to be the only one that is FURIOUS at this point, which is hard to believe since Tim is in the party with us, and he MUST have been hungry, or we wouldn’t be there in the first place.

Oh, in case you don’t know, both Tim and Traci share the endearing personality trait that Hungry + Them = PISSED OFF and easily agitated. Neither of them seemed nearly as put off by this unfortunate turn of events as I. For me it’s a customer service thing, I get cranky and pissy when I feel I’m not being treated fairly by a service industry employee (It’s your only job to serve me and make me want to continue to give you my money). Tim and Traci are kinda annoyed, but not that annoyed. Finally Tim says, in a matter-of-fact tone, “anyone else ready to try our luck elsewhere?” to which I reply HELL YES, and we walk out (me in a huff... heh heh Fluff in a Huff).

We get outside, and I discover that it’s nighttime and apparently cold wherever we are. I’m wearing a trench coat and Traci and Tim are dressed warmly as well - scarves and whatnot. We walk outside and I notice that the Chick-fil-a is attached to a gas station, and when I turn around, Tim and Traci are nowhere to be found. I notice that there is a “Chick-fil-a Annex” across the parking lot from the gas station and the other Chick-fil-a, so I wander over there to find Tim and Traci sitting inside perusing the menu board from old school desks. Like a hard plastic orange chair with a wooden curved desk top. I walk in and they tell me they’re starving, and it looks like this Chick-fil-a might be better than the one we just left. They already have drinks, and Traci offers me a sip of hers. I say, “Look, I’m not giving them my money, and I won’t drink their coke, but if you two want to do that, great. I’ll be outside” and I leave.

I’m outside, smoking a cigarette and pacing the parking lot, when I realize I could go for a drive. I go to the vehicle we’re driving, and realize that for some reason, we’ve borrowed a friend’s SUV for this trip. So I drive it around for a little bit, smoking cigarettes in the truck, and finally, I head back toward the gas station/Chick-fil-a, and notice an uptick in the amount of law enforcement in the area. I pass several cop cars along the way. and notice one on a side street near the restaurant, one at the gas station, and as I pull in I see another cruiser at the gas station. I am not exactly parked, so much as idling just outside the gas station stopped in mid-turn pointed toward the restaurant waiting for the two traitors to come out of the restaurant (SCABS!). I put out the cigarette I had smoked to the butt, roll it up between my thumb and forefinger, and look for a place to ditch it. I finally see them come out of the Chick-fil-a annex headed toward me at the gas station when a youngish cop taps on my window. I throw the butt into the passenger side floorboard, and open the car door with an inquisitive look on my face (not sure why I didn’t just roll down the window, but *meh* it’s a dream, what do I know?). I notice that having been smoking inside the truck and rolling up that butt, it stinks in the cab... a LOT.

The cop looks like a smart ass from the moment I see him, and he proves it by making an exaggerated sniffing noise the second he sticks his nose into the cab (and my personal space). I look up at him and smell my fingers and say with a shrug “cigarettes” to which he replies with a smartass mock shrug to match mine, “no, marijuana”. I’m rather confused because as far I know there was no pot in the car, and I surely hadn’t been smoking any if there were (I would never do something illegal like that). He says, “License and registration” and I realize that I’m in an unknown truck and have NO IDEA what might be in there. I give him my license, and start fishing in the glove box for the registration. My heart drops to my shoes as I notice a little black plastic film canister, an old tobacco bag secured with a black hair tie, and a dirty plastic bag with what appear to be dirty old stems, during my search. Now is when I point out to the cop, over my shoulder, that I’m driving a friend’s car (this is also when the evil little lawyer with devil horns pops up on my other shoulder and tells me with an evil gleam in his red-pupiled eyes that only a devil-horned lawyer could have, that “it doesn’t matter because YOU'RE DRIVING IT, and possession is 9/10 of the law and I’m goin’ to JAIL!). That’s all figurative by the way, it is a dream, but there were no actual devil-lawyers, I just heard him in my dream head. But I digress.

Meanwhile, Tim and Traci have frozen in their tracks 20 feet away from the truck. Now the devil-lawyer’s voice has got me understandably a little freaked, but I give the registration to the cop, and start to get out, offering him the chance to search my person which I KNOW will be drug free. He refuses and tells me to stay put. At this point, Tim and Traci come over to the car, and ask me what I am going to do. I say I don’t know and before the cop can make it back to the truck with my license…

I wake up in my bed at home with an almost excruciating urge to pee. Although I had a very restless night, was totally exhausted and could have slept three more hours easliy, I couldn’t handle the possible trauma of seeing where this was going. Scenes from HBO’s OZ were attempting to hover to the surface my groggy mind, and so I got up and wrote it all down instead. Then I watched some Spongebob Squarepants, followed by some Fairly Oddparents, and life seemed a little bit easier to take

I have to say it’s pretty heinous when a seemingly innocuous dream suddenly takes a header into evil-town. In this case, it all happened because of stupid old Chick-fil-a.

EAT MORE BEEF!

Seeing Stars

2005-08-03T23:44:00.000-04:00

In my post work haze, I was driving to dinner (another work function), waiting at a cross street...White convertible....driver on phone...unmistakable -- Jay Leno.

Oh yeah, and today they were doing another casting call for "Pirates."

Last night when I left the office, saw them filming "Alias" on my way to the car.

It's only a matter of time before I bump into Mr. Travolta -- and I just know that will happen once Cindy is out here with me!

Antipasto and Fluoride

2005-08-03T12:57:00.000-04:00

To the ladies of the collective…hats off to you for some great writing. I really enjoyed your posts! (Bonus points to Jill for using the new image feature. I’m going to have to do that.)

Mom and Dad came downtown to grab a bite and see Must Love Dogs at the new Premiere Cinemas at Fashion Square on Friday. I like the fact that the movie lobby is accessed from inside the mall. It reminds me of the movies we would go to in Toledo, Ohio at the old Southwyck Mall. The place is done up in a crazy garish color scheme that is all the rage in new theaters. There is only one set of bathrooms, which may become a problem once people realize they are there. The place was dead for a Friday night.

Got some good trailer: In Her Shoes and Rumor Has It. (Both with Shirley MacLaine. She's busy.) The sound went out for about ten minutes in the middle of our movie. They tried to compensate for this by turning the volume up so far that Diane Lane’s voice was akin to an air-raid siren. We got free movie passes for our trouble. Maybe I’ll see Sky High after all.

Before the movies, we had dinner at Soprano’s on Curry Ford Road. I like this place a lot. In my quest for a mom and pop delivery pizza, they came up the winner with their extra-large supreme. They also have some yummy dine-in food. (Garlic knots rule!) Many of “the boys” don’t like it for some reason. To each his own. My current favorite is the antipasto salad. It may be the house dressing that puts it over the top for me. Delicious.

I went to the dentist yesterday morning for my cleaning. It was the third time I have been to this dentist and I have to say that Allison is the best dental hygienist I have ever had. They use this high-pressure water cleaning system that is much less painful than all the scraping. I have pearly off-whites for another six months.

Today is the D-man and my six month anniversary. Yes, our first date was on February 3rd. This has gone well past the ordinary expiration date of my relationships, which is usually two weeks. To be honest dear readers, it hasn’t felt like six months at all. I almost feel bad celebrating as it was such smooth sailing. Ah, who am I to pass up a nice dinner out?! Happy anniversary D-man!

Full-Blood Princess

2005-07-29T23:06:00.000-04:00

What were you doing at midnight on July 16th? While millions were lining up for the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I was happily sleeping. A couple of days later my man got his copy in the mail, courtesy of an Amazon pre-order, and began to get busy . . . reading, that is. I, of course, happily watched my DVR'd programs (The Daily Show, Celebrity Fit Club, Big Brother -- you know, my guilty pleasures), when I wasn't working or mowing lawns.

You may be wondering what possessed me to compose this post. Well, you see, I had a choice . . . either write the blog, or attempt to finish Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Yes, I am still trying to get through that one. I know that the rabid Harry Potter fans are in staunch defense of Ms. Rowling's literary prose; however, I just find it harder and harder to get through her books, and not for lack of trying. Book 5 is especially hard for me since a) I am finding it very hard to like the protagonist, and b) wishing J.K. would take the descriptive stuff down a notch and get to the point.

Now, before you say, "So, quit complaining and don't read the books," I must admit that I liked the first four books (with the exception of #2), and I am thrilled that they have increased reading interest amongst younger generations. I'm just stumped at why I can't get through book 5. I mean, here I am writing this post so that I can avoid reading a chapter! I have actually led a very sheltered life since book 5 has been released -- I swear to have no clue how it ends or who dies (I know someone dies because of the early press the book got). So, if you respond to this post, please don't provide any spoilers! I will get through it . . . or I will just wait for the movie.

The Anklet

2005-07-29T12:25:00.000-04:00

When scouting out the shoes of people in the restroom at work, I saw an ankle adorned by a gold rope anklet from which a crucifix hung. The crucifix wasn't an ankle-size crucifix but one you would normally see hanging from someone's neck. The pendant was waaaaay too big for an ankle. That got me to thinking. When (other than the disco heavy 70's) were anklets really fashionable? And when I say fashionable, I mean that they were accepted/worn by most of the population.

The anklet conveys so many messages to me about the wearer. I think they are trampy, especially in a work setting. The anklet, especially when coupled with hose and heels says, "I'm really a skank who's trying to come off as professional.". Unless you are a belly dancer, small child, hippie, or gay man with a jewelry fetish, you should not wear anything around your ankles. Is it just me? Is it necessary to drape jewelry around another appendage?

And how do they decide if the anklet is outside or inside the hose? (The crucifix anklet was outside the hose in case you are curious) The anklet with a necklace size pendant - especially a religious one - confuses me to no end. Is a display of faith as meaningful when it's that close to the ground? Does it say, I'm sexy and religious? Or is it a warning, "I know you're checking out my gams, but don't get too sexed up. The lord is watching you?"

I don't get it. I'm going to create a magnetic ribbon for my car - "Just Say No To Anklets".

Blog Days of Summer

2005-07-27T13:09:00.000-04:00

Whew, is it hot! Like Africa hot. I will not complain too loudly however, as we could be in the middle of a-storm-whose-name-shall-not-be-mentioned.

Missed a couple days of blogging with some major work going on at the house. (I did enjoy Traci’s set list from the Duran Duran vs. Orchestra show. Even now I want to make out with Nick Rhodes!) My weekend was consumed by a wall “texturizing” project. The house was built in 1945 and features some of what I believe to be the original rough plaster walls. Mixed in there are some new walls that the previous owners erected. These walls are smooth sheet rock and stick out like a sore thumb. I hired a guy that my dad works with to come and put texture on a few of the offending surfaces. (I got him on the cheap!)

To make this somewhat painless, here are the quick hits of the weekend:

Friday—Sped home from work and moved all the furniture out of the back room and kitchen. If you haven’t used those handy moving things you stick under the furniture, all I can say is poor you. Removed all the switch plates and put drop cloths down to save from mess. I also had to run and stock up on beer for the working men. Wrapped up around 10:00 p.m.

Saturday—People started arriving around 8:00 a.m. there was some prep work on the walls and a new layer of sheet rock for the attic access. Then the spraying began. I was not prepared for the amount of mess it would make and silently freaked out inside. 9let's just say it was like an indoor paint-ball arena.) In the mean time, everyone I have ever met in my life decide to stop at my house. At one point there was: Mom, Dad, Mike (the king of texture), Sis, Bother-in-law, Nephew, Roommate, Jeff, and Patrick. My nerves were fried. As quickly as they all showed up, they were all gone. At 3:30 p.m. I was abandoned and started the clean-up process that lasted until almost midnight.

Sunday—Started on the yard at 9:00 a.m. since I didn’t get to it on Saturday. D-man (that’s my boyfriend) came over to help. We had quite the time of being domestic. We painted the kitchen walls after the outside work. After a break for some Long John Silvers (we had a craving—I’ll never look at chicken planks without thinking of sex again) we started painting the pantry door. Around midnight, we tried to hang it only to discover it would no longer close. I went to bed very frustrated around 2:00 a.m.

I went home after work on Monday and collapsed! Sorry about all the detail, but that’s what you get when I tell a story. I want you to experience my pain!

D-man’s new mattress was delivered yesterday afternoon. (Mattress shopping must be a blog subject soon!) He opted for the regular box spring rather than the low-profile one. The comforter is now in danger of becoming tangled in the ceiling fan. It’s crazy! He’ll be exchanging it as soon as possible. The plan was to have a little “test run,” but an unforeseen air conditioner emergency put the brakes on that. Oh well, I’m just excited that I may actually get some sleep on the nights I stay over. (Up to this point it has been me reenacting scenes from the movie Cliffhanger trying not to roll into the pit in the middle of the old mattress.)

Okay, enough from me. Whew, is it hot. Right, I already said that.

Duran Duran with the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra

2005-07-25T10:51:00.000-04:00

I was fortunate enough to see Duran Duran play with the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra last week. I wasn't sure what to expect, but DD well surpassed all expectations. Simon is far hotter than he ever was. And his cock of the walk stage presence was hot, white hot!!

Here is the setlist:
FRIENDS OF MINE
NICE
UNION OF THE SNAKE
NEW RELIGION
TEL AVIV
WHAT HAPPENS TOMORROW
COME UNDONE
CHAINS
CHAUFFEUR
STILL BREATHING
ORDINARY WORLD
SAVE A PRAYER
FINEST HOUR
PLANET EARTH
SUNRISE
NOTORIOUS
CARELESS MEMORIES
WILD BOYS

Encore
THAT FATAL KISS
VIEW TO A KILL
RIO

And here's a pic...http://images.fullerene.com/3/simonandjtorlando.jpg

Let There Be Light

2005-07-22T08:39:00.000-04:00

First, the light at the end of my tunnel has arrived—it’s Friday! (My tunnel, that sounds dirty. Yeah, I'm five years old.) Is it wrong to count the minutes until Friday starting at 8:01 a.m. on Monday morning? I don’t hate my job, but I hate my job. I realize that it’s not supposed to be fun. If it was, they’d call it vacation, right? Anyway, TGIF bunnies!

As I was running around the house this morning to make it out the door to work, (Have you heard, I love it!) the folks on the Today show told me that Daylight Savings Time would start something like three weeks earlier and last one week longer. (I was half paying attention and didn’t get the particulars.) All I have to say is “Praise Jesus!” Can I get an "Amen!" I don’t care how dark it is in the morning, I’m going to get up anyway. (More on that in a moment.) I want it to be light out when I get home from work so I can get some crap done! (I have a messed up shell of a hot tub that needs some TLC to get into working order. I will SO have the swingin’ pad! I think I'll have all-male key parties.)

I’m finding that, as I get older, my internal alarm clock gets me up pretty early in the morning (no later than 7:00 a.m., even on the weekend). I actually enjoy this. It gives me time to drink coffee and read the paper. It used to give me time to smoke more cigarettes. Hopefully in the near future, it will give me time to run. (Jill, you’re right about the iPod Shuffle being good for running. I never thought of that. I must have one!) FYI—We are coming up on four weeks without a single cigarette. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!

Pods and Ends II

I have had my Podcast pod (with cherry filling) busted! I subscribed to two different casts yesterday. Most of last night was spent listening to sample offerings. There are so many, I don’t know how to choose. Anyway, for the time being I have settled on Fox and the City and Feast of Fools. Both gay shows; funny and racy! Right now I’m listening to the cast of Scarrie, The Musical on FoF.

I tried to download an Iron & Wine CD from iTunes yesterday and it wouldn’t let me! I think I may be in love with his voice. I almost cream when I see the M&Ms commercial that uses the song from Garden State.

NPR has been supplying me with new music I want. The latest: New Pornographers, Fountains of Wayne, and Paul Anka.

Pods and Ends

2005-07-21T08:44:00.000-04:00

How sad is it that Traci and Conery are lamenting the death of our blogging skills and it still took me weeks to actually muster up the energy to post anything? (Liz-Hopefully you haven’t totally given up on us!)

So many things to share, no brain-power to put them into a coherent structure.

Is Mr. Steve Jobs trying to single-handedly alienate every iPod user in the country? (Okay, I may be using my own personal feelings as a gauge for all other Pod owners. Shoot me!) I am the proud owner of a 40GB Gen 3 iPod I affectionately call doPi. Get it? Oh, shut up!

Anyway, a month and two days after my purchase, Apple announced the release of the Gen 4 Pods. I was immediately jealous. Checking my sales receipt, I found that I was two days past being able to return my Gen 3. It took several weeks, but my envy subsided. After all, what was I missing? The control buttons had been merged with the wheel. Whatever! A little better battery power! I can live without it. The price point was dropped about $100. Holy crap!

Zoom ahead several months to the introduction of iPod Photo and a 60GB Pod!! Must have more power! I found myself surfing to the Apple site more often than is healthy. Then I realized that I still have 23-ish GB free space left on doPi (I said shut up!). What the hell do I need MORE space for?

Then came iPod Shuffle. I know, I know, much less space for music. Have you seen them? They are the size of a stick of gum? A STICK OF GUM! Okay, yeah, yeah. This one was only a minor blip on my radar.

It was recently announced that all the new iPods would have color screens, making them in effect all iPod photos I would venture to guess. Now, how am I to live in a Technicolor world with my lowly old black and white screen? I thought long. I thought hard. I decided that I must let this new development pass me by.

No sooner had I done this than an announcement is made that Apple is looking to license music videos to be sold on iTunes to play on their new iPods. How can I possibly pass this up? Madonna writhing on a gondola to the strains of “Like a Virgin”? The Basement Jaxx video with the creepy monkeys with human faces? Hunky guys working out to Olivia Newton-John's "Physical"? (Whew, how gay am I?)I must be able to watch these while driving in my car! You’ll have to stay tuned to see what happens.

Steve Jobs why do you torture us so?!?

Tis sad indeed

2005-07-13T11:07:00.000-04:00

Traci,

I hear you bloggin' but you can't come in. I think we all just came up with other things to replace the blog (like message boards for instance). I also think it hurt us to not have an audience other than ourselves. I don't know about you, but I thrive on knowing that people read what I've written and at least pretend to get me.

Oh well, perhaps something truly amazing will happen to one of us, and we'll have no choice but to blog about it!

How Much We Suck at Blogging...

2005-07-11T08:55:00.000-04:00

Where did we go astray, people? Have our eyes clouded with wanderlust? Have we lost the will to blog? If someone blogs and no one is there to read it, does it even exist?

Reality Schmeality

2005-06-09T23:17:00.000-04:00

To all who read this post:

I apologize for it's lameness, but since no one has written anything SINCE APRIL, I decided to try to get this chaotic thingy started again. And. besides, it's late and I am tired and burnt out and fantasizing about winning some fame and fortune with my peeps...or is that, my lambs?

So ... as I continue to be strangely drawn to the fascination that is reality tv, I can't help but fantasize about the day that I will entertain America (and beyond) with my charisma, smarts, charm, beauty, athleticism, be-yotchiness, and endless whining about John Travolta. Of course, much of the entertainment will be attributed to the ways in which I interact with my partner on live tv. Let's see...

-- J.B. and I competing against the "stars" on Dancing with the Stars. Our four or five ballroom dancing lessons really paid off, you know.

-- The Big Brother house would never be the same after having me, Traci, and 10 midgets living together during the summer and competing for $50,000. Think Kirstie Alley in her funniest episode on Fat Actress.

-- Cindy and I could put our scrapbooking talents to good use in convincing Tommy Hilfiger that we can design clothing too, damn it, on The Cut.

-- American Idol fans will never be the same after they hear a duet of "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" as sung by me and Joe P.

-- You KNOW that Michael and I can easily win on Beauty & the Geek... or is that me and Conery?!

-- Boyd eating spider eggs rolled in tobacco?! Jill jumping off cliffs into an ocean within which she cannot swim?! Boyd and Jill arguing about which direction is west....or is that east?! You can catch it all on The Amazing Race.

So, my friends and potential partners in competition for money, fame, and national embarrassment . . . when are we gonna apply???

Ya know, we can always pitch a new show all about one gal's fascination with meeting John Travolta before she dies . . .

Taylor Dane Makeover

2005-04-19T12:42:00.000-04:00

Taylor Dayne Seeks Makeover on VH1 Show

I think they already did this and her name is Anastasia.

Smoke and Mirrors

2005-04-06T09:33:00.000-04:00

A plume of purple smoke rose—billowing end over end—from the site of the explosion. The word “explosion” itself too strong to sufficiently name the incident; it was more akin to the sound of a party cracker signaling the start of a New Year.

From the murkiness, the faint outline of a being could be inferred. A voice cut through the dissipating haze and was heard to say, “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I haven’t blogged lately. I’ll be getting back on the horse shortly.”

Gettin' Pranksy with Banksy

2005-03-25T08:20:00.000-05:00

Prankster Smuggles Art Into Top Museums

Wooster collective: A Celebration of Street Art

Put Your Wishes in Writing

2005-03-21T09:05:00.000-05:00

If you have the SLIGHTEST concern about what happens to you when you are no longer capable of making decisions for yourself, PUT YOUR WISHES IN WRITING!! http://www.uslivingwillregistry.com

My Missionary Position

2005-03-03T23:48:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a disturbing realization. I'm concerned that I'm losing faith in science. Or worse, I might have to go back to school.

There are missionaries here. Two fresh-scrubbed midwestern girls just out of bible college in Missouri, and submerged to thier clear blue eyeballs in the dogma of the death cult that is christianity. I, for a while, enjoyed the occasional conversation with them on the topic of religion. (Until they figured out that I could not be converted, and I figured out that they were delusional religious fanatics) But the exchange of ideas that we had, while it lasted, was fascinating to me.

I was shocked to learn, that in addition to thier other bizarre beliefs, they, seriously, are full-throttle creationists. I'm not joking. I swear on my mothers eyes, they believe that the earth is NOT billions, NOT millions of years old, they believe that it is merely thousands of years old. This floored me. I asked why they believed such a thing, they said, "According to the Bible, that is correct. The Bible IS correct." I swear to you, they were not even kidding. These are not a couple of wrinkled old ladies clinging to what they learned at a revival in the 1920's. They are college educated young ladies who looked me right in the eye and suggested that God created the buried bones of Dinosaurs AS A TEST OF FAITH! They seemed to expect me to clap a hand to my forehead and exclaim, "Of course! that makes perfect sense! I've been so wrong!". I couldn't resist, I clapped my hand to my forehead and exclaimed just that. They were not amused.

Anyway, what shocked me is that they truly believe that they know, as fact, things that they could not possibly know; based soley on what they have been told by other people and an old Book written by equally imperfect men. This kind of blind belief strikes me as a willful and unhealthy act of self-delusion that is just as unrealistic as my dearly held belief that Mila Javovich (sp?) will one day fall into my arms and beg for sex.

Anyway, on to my own crisis of faith. I was thinking about this kind of blind belief in that which is incorrect. I thought smugly to myself, "I'm glad that I'm too smart to just accept on blind faith what I am told by other people. I am glad that I'm smart enough to believe only that which can be proven to be fact." By this point, I was filled with the (arrogance) warm glow of the righteous (ignorant) man who is secure in his tried and true beliefs. I cast about in my mind for an example of a scientific fact that contradicted the Bible, in order to reaffirm my superiority over the weak-minded wretches who simply accept what they are told without question or proof. My mind immediately leapt to the age of the earth. It can be proven scientifically that the earth is 4.55 Billion years old. I know this because I found the fact on a website.

(right-click on this link and select "open in new window" I didn't learn conery's trick)http://www.talkorigins.org/faqs/faq-age-of-earth.html#howold

As I read the info on the page above, I had the pleasing realization that I could understand the gist of it. The information is based on the observable rate of the decay of isotopes. I was pleased at my success, so I abandoned the website and returned to persue my musings further. I shouldn't have.

"Okay," I thought, "I know that the earth is about 4.55 billion years old because isotopes break down at a certain rate, and I know that the rate at which isotopes decay is constant because...well, because scientists say so........wait, that won't do... Ok, I have it now. It can be demonstrated and repeated." But that arguement didn't help either, because I couldn't demonstrate it. However I turned the question of how I knew the age of the planet, it came down to the same answer: I believe it because respected (but imperfect) people and Important Documents say so, and my parents and teachers taught me to believe it.

It boils down to this: Everything I believe is a matter of faith.

If these things had occured to me fifteen years ago, I'd be a scientist now. The only way to be certain of these things is to earn a Phd. I lack the money for that.

So here I sit, in the dust, having been knocked rudely off of my high horse by my own robust, confident questions and the anorexic, timid answers that followed. DAMMIT! I can't look down my nose at Christians anymore. Though I suppose that I can seek solace in the fact thatI can at least admit the possiblity that I'm wrong without weakening my convictions. That has to be part of true wisdom....right?

It's a little hard to keep my equalibrium when I have just destroyed the things I used to lean on.

I've heard science referred to as a religion before, and even heard scientists referred to as priests. But I have only just come to understand that I am a member of the new religion of science, though I now lack the unshakable faith that I had yesterday.

Oh, well, at least I'm not a Republican... But then, now I'm scared to think about that too much.

Fountain of Bile

2005-02-28T21:18:00.000-05:00

I'VE JUST LOST TEN POUNDS IN ONE DAY!!!!!!!
HERE'S HOW!!!

First off, you'll need to travel to a country that does not have a dept of health. Then, simply eat at several different resteraunts or, even better, roadside stalls. One of them is bound to do the trick for you. You will soon ingest one of the magic ingredients, as it was my good fortune to do on the day before yesterday. A mere five hours after eating the magic ingredient, (best not to think about what the magic ingredient actually was) I was excreting my way to a slimmer, trimmer me! First, I began the process of cold sweats. Thats right! COLD sweats! Without exercise! Part of the brilliance of this process is that the magic ingredient naturally curbs your appetite with wave after wave of nausea. As the magic ingredient started to work, my body temperature began to rise. Nothing burns off excess fat like a temperature of a hundred and three! Then the triple action kicked in. My body began the invigorating process of purging its cargo! That's right! With no effort at all on my part, my digestive tract kicked into high gear AND reverse... at the same time!!! Talk about an Abs workout!

FEEL THE BURN!!!!!!

The process lasts for a full twelve hours! That's right! After just twelve short hours of utter misery and willing death upon yourself, you too, could be ten to twenty pounds lighter!*

*(you may notice that for up to three days after undergoing this treatment you may, and probably will, look and feel like a raisin)

I just want to give you all a quick reminder to contact your local health department official and thank him/her for the good work that they do.... I'm going back to bed...
Jason

L.A. Shuffle

2005-02-24T15:58:00.000-05:00

The iPod Shuffle rules! After a week of wild goose chases to many Apple, Best Buy, Target, and Circuit City stores, I FINALLY got one yesterday. Discuss...

Harriet the Spy Celebrates!!

2005-02-23T08:26:00.000-05:00

For those of you following the adventures of Harriet the Spy, the last installment found Harriet musing the possibility that the neighbors had moved out temporarily due to hurricane damage. There has been some recent activity which caused the wheels of curiousity to spin furiously once again. Over the weekend, there were a few cars in front of the place - cars which Harriet did not recognize. The activity seemed like things were being moved out and/or thrown away. Why must the curiousity be so strong within Harriet? Why is she compelled to KNOW what is going on?

When something is none of your business, it's hard to get to the bottom of things. The only weapon you have in getting information is time. You just have to wait it out. Most people who are as insatiably curious as Harriet hate to wait. Must KNOW...must know NOW!!

Luckily, Harriet didn't have to wait too long. Yesterday, a big pink construction dumpster was in the driveway loaded with crizzap (n. items in such a state state of decay that even the most savvy dumpster diver would pass over). Harriet, being the thorough spy that she is, promptly looked in the front windows. There was no longer aluminum foil on the windows facing East. There were buckets of cleaning supplies, a wheelbarrow, and some repair supplies and tools. At long last, there are signs of progress!!

Immediately, the questions flood Harriet's mind...are they cleaning up the place? are they cleaning up the place to sell it? have they already sold it and this progress is the new owner's? Must KNOW...must know NOW!!

Harriet turned to the modern day spy's best friend, the Internet. After consulting a few locations in the Oracle's vast network of information, she found the answer. She smiled. She WILL KNOW...she will know NOW!!

The house has been purchased by a properties company. Happy, happy, joy, joy!! It should be interesting to see what they do with the place. Anything would be a welcomed improvement!!

Rose-Colored Glasses

2005-02-18T10:54:00.000-05:00

Sometimes—not often, but once in a great while—time and space align in such a way as to let us see the inherent beauty in the world. Now, these times may only be some higher power’s way of airbrushing out all the blemishes of modern times for just a few seconds. If this is the case, I have to admit that I lust after the illusion just as much as a hormone-addled teen does the too-perfect bosom of this month’s Playmate. Ummm...I enjoy horseback riding, reading to the elderly, landscaping, and straddling the hood ornament of this here car. I had such an experience at the end of last week and it was unexpected to say the least.

I was on my way home from work and the weather was particularly spring-like. I was sitting at the intersection of Mills and Anderson, just under the 408. My eyes wandered over the bumper of the car beside me in the turn lane. It had some sort of crazy faux-metallic emblem on it. I remember it terrifying me. It showed a hand with its palm bleeding accompanied by a slogan like “Body piercing saved me” or some such. I could only imagine what was going on in the mind of that Tercel’s owner. Then it caught my attention. There on the opposite corner, a large oak tree flamed into brilliant color powered by the late afternoon sun.

Brilliant streaks of red, orange, and pink blazed from every bare branch. Every crisp leaf, an artist’s brushstroke. For that moment, all was well with the world. I was alive, my family was healthy, my friends were loyal, school was fulfilling, and love existed in the world. Reflected back in my eyes was ultimate possibility. Put your mind to it and you can accomplish anything. You can even win the heart of Ira Glass, my man. It was clear to me that effort was the stuff of life. Sitting on the sidelines only leads to disenchantment. Clarity buzzed into my vision; it was right there in that oak tree.

Then the light changed and the asshole behind me honked his horn.

Ribbons and Rubberbands

2005-02-17T08:42:00.001-05:00

This blog title immediately makes me think of a bastardized version of Cake's Stickshifts and Safetybelts...

"Riiiiiiibbons and ruuuuubberbands
Clutter my view
They've all got to go.
When I'm driiiiiiiiiiving in the car
Makes those in need seem so far."

Exactly when these two cultural phenomenons flooded our visual landscape, I can't be sure. But it seems as if magnetic ribbons and colored rubberbands have gained acceptance and credibility overnight. Even though the causes are different, these two symbols serve to demonstrate the car owner/wearer's committment to some philanthropic endeavor. At least, that's what it should mean.

I question most people's actual committment to the cause that they adhere to their car or wear on their wrist. Being the sheep that we are, most people buy and display them because everyone else is. It's trendy. It's a fashion statement. It's cool to care.

Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that people are concerned about autism, breast cancer, POWs, tsunami victims, our troops in Iraq, muscular distrophy, insert your cause here. But doesn't this ribbon/rubberband phenomenon shine a harsh glare on our collective laziness.

We want the good feelings we get from caring and sharing, but we don't want to do any ACTUAL work toward making a difference.
We want to spend .99 cents at 7-11 on a plastic bracelet so that we feel better about the people lucky enough to be alive after a wave of epic proportions destroyed everything they've ever known.
We want to spend $3 on the diabetes magnet for the SUV (the magnets are only a $1 a piece if I buy 1,000) so that we show other drivers that we are doing our part.
We don't want to volunteer at a hospital.
We don't want to spend time serving food to homeless women and children.
We don't want to inconvenience ourselves in any way by actually DOING SOMETHING.

I DO think that in the early stages of this phenomenon that those who displayed their ribbon magnet or rubberband actually meant it. This was just a visual cue to others that they supported autistic kids. Hell, that person probably has or knows an autistic kid. Buying a magnet wasn't the only thing they did to support autistic people. This was just a tool for alerting/reminding others to the cause.

This smacks of other phenonenon such as those WWJD bracelets or American flags after 9-11. The people who walk the walk start something for the right reasons (whether we agree with the reasons is irrelevant), and then the lemmings sniff them out and rush toward the edge of the cliff.

I want people to believe in their causes. I want people to support our troops. I want people to use these tools as a reminder to be a good person and do good works. I want people to care about humanity and the future of our planet. But, if they are going to wave it in my face, I want them to mean it.

Loving Technological Kisses From The Digital Rooftop

2005-02-14T10:50:00.000-05:00

Although I don't normally put too much into the St. Valentines Day "holiday" (because we try to celebrate our love every day of the year) I wanted to take this opportunity to profess my love by shouting from this digital rooftop my undying love for my amazing, beautiful wife Traci.

At a time like this, a million cliches swirl in my head, and while most are fitting, they are trite by their very definition, so I'll try not to use them. Traci is the best thing that has ever happened to me. We are the perfect compliment to each other, yin & yang. I truly am The Luckiest boy in the world.

I have found in Traci a life long companion and best friend. We share many of the same personality traits, and have so many interests in common that it still amazes me. We both love to read, share a huge affinity for the same types of books, and books in general. We met each other while we were both working in Barnes & Noble, so that should be a clue. We both love words, writing and correct grammar; and are both more annoyed than we probably should be by the use of the word "less" in place of "fewer". ("Ten items or less" anyone?)

We list many of the same movies among our favorites (So I Married an Axe Murderer, Young Frankenstein, and on and on). While we don't necessarily share every interest, we are open and adaptable to each others likes - key in a lasting relationship if you ask me. For instance, how many men out there can say their lovers play video games with them? That's what I thought. Traci will whip your ASS at a videogame. We share our love of music (men who were successfully able to drag their significant others on more than one road trip from hell just to see a band play, show of hands? Mmm hmm I suspected as much). There is nothing I can think of that is more a sign of true love, than the ability to spend 38 hours in a car, in traffic with a person, with no casualties.

I have learned more from my relationship with Traci than I was able to glean from all my years in public school. She is an excellent, patient teacher, and loves me even though the one thing she can't seem to teach me is a sense of direction. I would, quite literally, be lost without her. She is my guiding light, the symbol of love and perfection against which I measure my own deeds and actions.

I don't' want to blather on for too much longer, this is perhaps a bit much for those not in this relationship (sorry, we're full); But as I said, I feel like shouting from the rooftops and professing my love for Traci everyday! However, this should reach a much broader, more accepting audience, and should cut down on the crazy looks I'd get if I went up on my roof to say all of this - not to mention, that I don't own a bullhorn.

Traci, I love you with all my heart, I love waking up next to you every morning, I cherish every moment we have together and hope that I never take you for granted. I eagerly await our continuing future together, I can't wait to grow old with you.

Perhaps 50 Cent said it best when he said "I love you like a fat kid love cake".

Happy Valentines Day!!

Love,

Fluff

Language of Love (a defining of terms)

2005-02-10T23:29:00.000-05:00

First off, I've discover a way to view the other blogs, so fluff doesn't have to copy+paste them anymore. It was a difficult foray into the world of computer technology, but it was successful. As I type, my face glows with the luck-stained pride of the successful amateur brain surgeon. I'm still working on viewing comments, though.

It occured to me, in between porn downloads, that like all single people currently between relationships, I am an expert on how to make a relationship work. I think I may have figured out what can make a short relationship painful for one or both involved.

I blame love. Not the concept of love, but the word itself. I feel that a great deal of trouble has been caused by the endless number of definitions of this word. Our language has failed us horribly here, for there are many tyes of love, motherly, brotherly, sisterly, freindly, etc.

For expressing affection we have shockingly few words.
Let us conider the main three; "like", "lust", and "love".

If I say, "i like you" it could mean "i love you", or "I want to taste your love juice" or, "I think you are witty and fun."

If I say "I love you." It could mean, " I REALLY like you." or "I want to spend the rest of my life with you." or "thanks for bringing me a cappucino." or most commonly, "I'm gonna come!"

Of the big three, only the word "lust" is straightforward. Everyone over twelve understands lust.

After seeking my whole life to find a way to improve the world, I think I've hit it. So, in the intrest of everyone knowing where they stand, I offer the following as starting off point for making relationships easier to understand.

The reality is, in a relationship there are certian times when it feels right to say something meaningful. There are loads of times when it feels horribly wrong NOT to say something meaningful. The only problem is, the only meaningful thing to say is "I love you".
How much does it suck that that is our only option? You have to go from a relaxed and easygoing boyfriend-girlfriend situation straight into a heavy love-style COMMITMENT. It seems to my befuddled mind that I wouldn't be so fuddled about relationships if there were a few more steps between casual dating and window shopping for rings. I contend that I do not have a problem with commitment. I hold that it is just unnatural to make such an enormous leap so quickly. What I (and most guys) need is babysteps and a way to fill those intimate moments with something meaningful. (other than a premature and untruthful, "I love You".)

When, in an intimate moment one or both people involved say, "I love you. " for the first time, I contend that neither actually truly understands what the other means by that. Both just assume that the other means the same type of love that they are thinking of. This leads to misunderstandings, hurt feelings, a feeling of being smothered, really being smothered, and murder/suicides. A lot of pain is caused by saying "I love you" too soon.

In the interest of making things a bit clearer and easier for everyone, I have taken the liberty of inventing terms where none existed.
I feel that we should not modify existing terms as that, when being honest, might retain unintended connotations.

Bear in mind, these terms are intended only as a loose guide to the various common stages of a relationship. I acknowledge that it is impossible to express completely the complexities of the heart. This is admittedly inadequate, but it's a start.

1. Love: A life-long affection of the closest kind. Reserved for close family members and spouses. This word should ONLY be used between lovers AFTER engagement. Between lovers, "I Love You" means, "I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I will never give up on this relationship." Love is usually, but not always, monogomous.

2. Wuv: a very powerful affection with the potential to become love. It should be understood that this emotion is quite serious, and implies impending love. "wuv" should be uttered with care. Wuv would be appropriate between a happy couple who have lived together for a long time. Wuv does not ALWAYS lead to love! Wuv is usually, but not always, monogomous.

3. Ruv: a strong affection that does not imply love. This word means, "I have extremely powerful feelings for you that, at times, overwhelm me." It means, "I am happy with you, I enjoy your company. I am glad that we are in a serious relationship." Ruv is appropriate for a couple who has been dating exclusively for a long time and either live together or are considering it. Being in Ruv DOES NOT guarentee that you will one day be in wuv! Ruv is usually monogomous.

4. Wub: affection that has survived beyond the initial "honeymoon" phase. When a couple is in wub, they have passed the phase of a relationship when everything is new and exciting, and still have strong feelings for one another. "I wub you" means , "I see some of your faults, and though they piss me off sometimes, it's nothing I can't deal with. I'm not ready to pick out draperies, but I like you a lot, and I think we're doing okay.". Being in Wub does NOT imply a serious relationship, but it does mean a relationship. Being in wub DOES NOT guarentee that you will one day be in ruv! Wub is usually monogomous.

5: Flub: a transitional emotion. when one is no longer in rub, and not sure if they will be in wub. "I flub you" means, "I like you, but our relationship is changing, and neither of us can be sure if it will survive. We're definetly not in Rub, but at least we have made it to the next level." The vast majority of relationships do not survive the flub stage. Both people should know this and be prepared for anything. Honesty is especially important at this stage. Being in flub DOES NOT guarentee that you will one day be in wub! Flub is hopefully monogomous.

6: Rub: Commonly known as "the honeymoon phase". Rub is that thrilling time when everything is new and exciting and the future bristles with possibilities. Rub is NOT based in a logical universe and many times defies logic. At the Rub stage, things are too new to really qualify as a relationship. (relationships take work, "rub" does not) instead of "relationship" the word "rubbing" should be used. Rub almost always leads to flub! Rub is, by it's very nature, monogomous.

7: Baerhold: (I had to name one after me!) When one says, "I baerhold you." It means, "I'm interested in dating you exclusively, I want to see you more than once a week because I think that we could be good together, let's try it." Being in baerhold with someone does not guarentee or even imply that rub is on the way. Whatever hapens, happens. Baerholding DOES NOT imply monogomy. Neither party is required at this stage to be exclusive.

8: Date: date means that two people see each other socially on occasion. Whether or not the people in question have sex, no obligation whatsoever exists between the two. This is a broad emotion, that covers the first few dates, and fuck-buddy situations. One might say, "Easy there killer, slow it down, I date you, but I don't baerhold you."

8: Lust: A feeling based primarily on mutual physical attraction. Lust is not very discriminant.

9: Like: everything else that isn't negative.

I feel that this system is well suited to our modern world. Now a girl could say, "I don't have sex unless I'm in rub with the guy." Cosmo will have articles entitled "How to survive flub."

It should be universally understood that in any relationship, before the Love stage, either partner can opt out of the relationship at any time for any reason.

I also suggest a "Mulligan" system. Most people have said "I love you" in a passionate moment, and regretting moving too quickly soon after. I propose that any statement made by a partner regarding the relationship should remain tentative for three days. At any point during those three days, the partner who made the statement should be able to call a mulligan and make the hasty statement null and void without penalty or hurt feelings.

Since The mulligan system is good in theory, but will probably fail in practice, I have intentionally made the words for each emotion to sound very similar. This is a failsafe that I have built in to help those with loose tongues.

For example:
person A: Hey, I know how you love pickled pigs feet, so I bought you and entire jar!

person B: YES!!! oh wow! you're the best! I wuv you!.....................D'oh!

person A: (gasp!) Did you just say that you wuv me?

person B: What? Psh. no, I said, "I ruv you." rrrruv, not wwwwuv. sheesh, clean the wax out of your ears. (I find that in these situations criticizing her ear-hygene almost always helps the situation)

I invite comments, revisions, criticisms, suggestions, and any other help with this that any of you might want to give. I want to make this a part of the sixth grade curriculum nationwide by 2010, so I need all the help I can get.

Bite-Size Philosophy

2005-02-10T10:07:00.000-05:00

I love philosophy. Heck, who doesn't? It's comforting to know that throughout the ages great men and women have pondered the meaning of life and produced volumes of intelligent, articulate and passionate designs for what-it's-all-about. The sheer magnitude of differing opinions on how the world works is simply breathtaking! Staggering! Perhaps even intimidating. Where does one begin? With the first timid step into a Borders philosophy section, the ideolgy-curious explorer is overewhelmed with options. The trancendental idealism of Kant? The objectivism of Rand? The polemical tirades of Voltaire? The unaswerable riddles of the Tao? Buddah's tits! I'm exhausted already! Even by throwing judgement to the wind and just "closing-your-eyes-and-picking" one is likely to produce a tome of voluminous proportions. Who has the time? Ours is not a generation of idle hours, respite or repose. We're used to 27-minute episodes that wrap themselves up into neat little packages. Our attention spans have been whittled down so much that a one-hour explanation of the French Revolution on the Discovery Channel is a marathon of concentration. We've got shit to DO, dammit!
So. Where are the ADD-addled to turn for their enlightenment? The answer may be right in front of your chest. Bite-size philosophy. Consider the simplicity of the T-shirt slogan. The efficiency of a well-made bumper sticker. The lucidity of a refrigerator magnet. The economic transmission of inspirational thought found within a fortune cookie. Why burden ourselves with hours upon hours of ideological musings when a 30-second commercial spot can bring us to tears, reaffirming our sense of love between mother and child?(Thanks Traci!)
Don't misunderstand me. I'm not mocking, here. The power of a simple statement is undeniable. We listen to the news and are bombarded by sound-bytes. We skim through magazines, fulfilled by the caption of a photograph. We sign our emails with quotes from our favorite literati. While the opportunity, of course, exists to pore over every written syllable of every published poet and pedant, why bother?
Embrace economy. Submit to simplicity. Develop discrection. And, above all - always alliterate.

Humbly submitted with tounge firmly planted in cheek,
everyman
"Nothing is True. All is Permissible." - R.A. Wilson

From behind the Iron Proxy

2005-02-09T22:26:00.000-05:00

Blog, eh?

The reader should forgive my addled fumbling with the bra-clasp of the blog. This is my first attempt at writing one. Due to restrictions imposed on me by the totalitarian communist party (It might just be the system administrator but, really, what's the difference?) I cannot read your blogs. (your blogs won't load onto my computer. Apparently, unrestrained expression is material that is "unfit for the people") I'd like to thank fluff for copying and sending me the past blogs. If you have comments and would like for me to read them, I'm afraid you will have to email your thoughts to me at : Jason_baerhold@hotmail.com Also, please feel free to copy and paste your own future blogs to me at the same address if you are so inclined.

OK, now a brief intro for those that don't know me. I'm Jason. If you prefer my username, call me Buzz. I have lived in China for the last three years, (which isn't nearly as interesting as it sounds) and plan to be here at least one more. I teach English as a second language to under and post grad students. I am completely out of touch with the mainstream of american culture, though thanks to piracy, I am pretty current on movies.

Ok, here goes that actual blog:

A slice of life: What I did for the chinese new year.

Happy Chinese new year!!! Today, (Feb 9) is Chinese new years day. It is now the year of the Cock. As I said to my own cock, "this is YOUR year little guy!" (It should be noted that the author is referring to his pet chicken and shame on you for your filthy assumptions)

Last night I was invited to my friend mike's (xiao Wong's) home for dinner by his parents along with a whole gaggle of other foreigners. (a "gaggle of foreigners" consists of four or more white people. There were eight of us.)

(I've just noticed that I have already made six parenthetical asides in this rambling, a fact that, I'm sure, has Grammer Girl writhing in dissapproval. Traci, you will also, no doubt, notice my habitual misuse of commas and tendancy to capitalize inappropriately. For the pain that this will cause, I am deeply sorry.)[does the period go before or after the parenthesis? or does it do without the full stop? I always forget.]

So anyway, we set out for the Wong family home. It being the holiday, taxi's were hard to come by, so we spent a good fifteen minutes standing on the roadside hoping for a taxi. In the end a private citizen who owned a car and wanted to earn a few extra Yuan stopped and offered a ride, and after the usual bartering, we settled on a price for her to take four of us at a time making two trips.

I elected to wait for the second trip so I spent another twenty minutes freezing my ass off in spite of my formidable, though fake, Northface coat. (the temp here this time of year hovers around freezing. Today we even got some snow!) While we were waiting, we noticed that the only shop nearby that was open was selling shockingly unsafe fireworks with which one could noisily celebrate the new year or clear a mountain for the railroad. After some hard bargaining, we bought all that we could carry, as well as a case of large bottles of beer and two bottles of bai jiou. (a very strong liqour that tastes like distilled ass and oven cleaner) for mike's dad.

We got to Mike's house and started dinner. Mike's parents are farmers and live in a very simple, cold, and, frankly, dirty shed. It was comfortable enough though, after a cocktail or two. Apparently, it gives his parents a great deal of honor in their village to be seen entertaining a bunch of foreigners, so they went all out with the meal. There was sliced pigs ear, pig intestines and bamboo shoots sauteed with mushrooms, sliced pigs toungue, and a heaping plate of donkey meat. There were many other dishes, but those are the most interesting ones. I realized when I said, "The donkey meat is really good!" that I have become entirely too accustomed to eating funky Chinese food. My companions realized the same when they made the following comments, "yeah, nice ass", "It tastes like a well prepared ass should taste.", "Gee, mom, this is the best ass I've ever had!", "It sure smells like ass." As you may have guessed, By this point, we had gotten into the booze. Mikes dad didn't drink beer, only the baijiou, so he made us all drink it with him. By the the time he had finished cooking, we were already buzzed on the beer, and after he had taken us through the two bottles of baijiou that we brought and two more that he had waiting, we decided that we were drunk enough to handle explosives.

You've seen in movies the long strings of firecrackers that are let off by the Chinese to celebrate. What you haven't seen are the chinese style strings of firecrackers. We had two that were about eight feet long each. In addition to the little firecrackers (only slightly more powerful than a "black cat") every six inches in the string was a pair of big-ass ,M-80, home-amputation-kit, quarter stick of dynamite firecrakers. We drunkenly decided to light the strings off one at a time and laid them out in the cramped courtyard side by side. We didn't count on the fury of unregulated fireworks. The fiery explosions from the first string lit the second string, and all hell broke loose. It was the loudest thing I'd ever heard and I knew my time had come to run like a bitch. The din finally died out and at first, the only thing I heard in my ringing ears was the drunked chortleof mike's dad, and then the sporadic, "HOLY SHIT!!" 's from my friends, who were coughing out lungfuls of gunpowder smoke.

Not being in a frame of mind to learn from experience, we then got out the Big Rockets. For about ten dollars each, we had bought three rocket packs, each pack had twelve tubes roughly the size of tennis ball cannisters. When the main fuse was lit, the big-assed-fourth-of-july-sized rockets would go off one at a time. Or so we thought until we lit the third one. in the third pack three rockets ignited at once, setting the cardboard tubes ablaze and launching them onto the roof of the nieghbors house. So had you been in the Chinese countryside on the evening of feb. 8 you might have seen eight foriegners and a local family, weaving, slurring and trying desperately to throw water onto three small fires blazing away on the roof of some poor peasant's hovel.

That's not all that happened to me last night, but this tale has gone on for far too long. next blog will be shorter, I promise. and perhaps I will even have an opinion or two to share...

Kudos to the Marketing Geniuses at Publix

2005-02-09T08:38:00.000-05:00

During the Superbowl, Publix - a regional grocery store - aired their finest commerical to date. In the past, their commericals have been so well received that they've even created a whole merchandising craze based on salt and pepper shakers from their Thanksgiving and Christmas commercials.

This particular holiday commerical is for Valentine's Day. A young boy ask his mom to help bake a cake for a girl for Valentine's Day. She gladly helps him. A montage of the cake making process and the fun they have working together on this project follows. She asks him if he wants her to write the girl's name on the cake. He shakes his head - no. They get the cake all ready to take to school. As they pull up to the school, he hands his mom the cake to hold while he gets out of the car. He closes the door leaving the mom holding the cake. She calls to her son to tell him he forgot his cake. He turns and smiles. In that moment, his mother realizes it is for her. Cue the waterworks!!

Not only is the commercial touching/sentimenal, but it is also well crafted. The interaction between the two actors is spot-on. There isn't a lot of dialog, but the kid nails the body language and loving looks. And the look on his face when he smiles and the mom realizes the cake, the whole day they spent together was about him telling her he loves her, priceless.

I'm such a sucker for those kinds of commericals. I saw it again at the gym. I couldn't hear the commercial, but I didn't need to. It made me teary all over again. Luckily, I could easily wipe the tears away as if they were sweat. Didn't want people to think I was in pain or a lunatic. Oh, wait... I couldn't give two shits about what the people in the gym think. I just try to not make it a practice of crying in public, especially over a TV commercial.

Since I'm a secret sap, there are many commercials that get me right there in the soft, sentimental underbelly. I guess there really is something to be said for the oft-ignored short form art of the commercial. If you think the commerical hasn't become condensed cinema, you should check out the state of commercials 20 years ago. We definitely have come along way. Whether the energy devoted to the progress of commercials was well-spent should be a blog for another day.

i.e. versus e.g

2005-02-04T15:09:00.000-05:00

No, this isn't some grudge match. It's my opening to tell you about my alter-ego, Grammar Girl.

Because I've been classically trained to dash (I'm so punny!) the hopes of young writers by telling them what they do wrong, I have a hard time turning off the little red pen in my mind's eye. Billboards, menus, t-shirts, you name it. I read it. And since I cannot turn of the reading, I, in turn, cannot turn off the editing. In an effort to purge myself of all the pent up edits, I've allowed the Grammar Girl within to wreak havoc on the land. Grammar Girl has been known to edit a company's flyer and mail it to them - anonymously. Actually, it's not completely anonymous. Grammar Girl was written as the sender on the envelope. An email account has also been established (grammar_grrl@yahoo.com) from which edits are emailed to companies whose marketing, website, or merch contains huge gaffes. Like the Hulk, you would not like her when you've gaffed. ;)

Grammar Girl is not interested in IM chats, personal emails, Christmas cards, or phone conversations. The arch enemy of GG is print. The size of the company is irrelevant. Her goal is to stomp out the errors which perpetuate bad grammar and poor usage. Unfortunately, if people see something in print, they assume that it HAS to be right. A company wouldn't put out marketing, etc. with errors in it, right?!?!

These errors threaten to overthrow the language and reverse thousands of years of progress!!!

So why the title "i.e. versus e.g."? A recent incident forced me to reevaluate my understanding of the times when it's appropriate to use either abbreviation. I've been an i.e.er from way back. The use of e.g. seemed antiquated. Plus, I didn't really understand that they weren't interchangeable. For more information on this, check this site.

And remember, if you notice a gaffe in your neighborhood, kudos to you!! That means that Grammar Girl is doing her job in educating the masses. But don't let that gaffe go unchecked! Email your friendly Grammar Girl!!

2005-02-04T08:33:00.000-05:00

"The recipe for perpetual ignorance is: be satisfied with your opinions and content with your knowledge."
-- Elbert Hubbard

Six More Weeks/Four More Years

2005-02-03T09:41:00.000-05:00

Who knew that I have such power! Yesterday, I wished that my window was covered over by cinder blocks. Today, the thick fog has done the trick. Viola! Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit outta my hat. Nothin’ up my sleeve.

I’m feeling a bit Commander Coconut-ish today, meaning only that I have random thoughts dancing around in my noggin. I would never dare to truly compare myself to CC. There’s a reason he’s the Commander. His column makes Friday’s Calendar one of the high spots of my week.

Without further adieu and in no particular order:

Yesterday, Punxsutawney Phil declared six more weeks of winter. I have to admit I have a certain affinity for the little fellow. It’s a fun tradition. (Hey, the guys get to wear top hats. I’m in!) However, I was thinking that when Punxsutawney Phil decides to call it quits, perhaps Dr. Phil could step in to fill his shoes. That way, all the bluster and blowing that television audiences put up with each afternoon could be confined to the month of February. I’ll say it: I need Dr. Phil like I need six more weeks of winter.
How is it possible that Jacksonville is hosting the Super Bowl and the City O can barely keep an NBA franchise in town? I mean, they are hauling in cruise ships for people to stay on. Have these folks not heard of a little something called the Norwalk virus? Not to mention how hard it will be to stay for the entire game if you have an early seating in the main dining room.
UCF is planning to build its own football stadium. It sounds like a great idea. I always thought it looked foolish to have the Citrus Bowl only partially filled for their games. (Makes attendance look bad, even when it’s good.) I don’t know about this new stadium though. The low price and quick construction is starting to make me think that it is manufactured by Ronco. Maybe we can bedazzle the players’ uniforms. An aside to the Leaders of the City O, please fix up the Citrus Bowl or no one will be using it, except for that blasted Monster Truck thing. People, it’s a tractor pull!
Why is it important that I know Paris Hilton will be at the Super Bowl? (P. Diddy is going to be there too. Kill me.)
I missed the State of the Union address by President Persimmon Lips last night because I was in class. (I must be truthful and share that I swiped this moniker from a friend. It is just too fitting not to share. Besides, I was once told that good writers are little more than thieves. That’s me—writer, cat burglar, playboy, gadfly, man’s man, man about town.) I actually considered DVRing it, but thought that was a bit much. Anyway, I think we all need to do our research on this Social Security thing. I heard on NPR that, because Social Security is a welfare program, the government can stop providing benefits whenever they please. I’m not sure that sinking all my money in Enron stock is the way to go either. Just look into it.
What are the average American people doing to help the war effort? (Please don’t take this as my support for the war in Iraq; it’s not.) I’m just saying that, back in the day, people rationed meat; saved tin foil; stopped wearing panty hose. Did this serve to pull the country together? Maybe. Again, I don’t want our soldiers over there, but the truth of the matter is that they’re there. What can we do to help them and get them back here? If I have to paint seams down the backs of my legs rather than wear hose so that a soldier can have appropriate body armor, so be it. It’s the least a girl can do.
Jonathan Swift: misanthrope? Discuss.

Harriet the Spy Retires?

2005-02-02T19:00:00.000-05:00

After pouring out my little spy heart and divulging all my crazed, secret shenanigans to the Collective Chaos, I think I have the evidence I need to close the book on this sordid tale.

After doing work in the yard last weekend, I accumulated several bags and cans of yard rubbish. Wednesday is yard rubbish pick up day. I awoke this morning later than normal and headed out to take the rubbish to the curb. As I dragged the first can and bag of rubbish to the curb, I saw a minivan pull into the driveway of the house next door. Yes, gentle reader, the very house I've been spying on! *gasp* And the minivan was the minivan driven by the woman who lived there. I dallied at the curb pretending to tend to the bag and can. It WAS the woman who lived there. I was sure it was her because even though she was American she had adopted the wearing of a Middle Eastern (not sure which religion) head covering. She left the lights of the minivan on and the door ajar, leaving the dome light on. She walked up to the front door with her keys in one hand and a flashlight in the other. What the fuck? She unlocked the door and went into the house.

I held a very short debate with myself...do I go over and ask this woman, who I've never met, what the hell is going on...do I go back in the house and consult Conery (who I often consult when Traci the Rash and Impulsive rears her crazy head). I raced into our bedroom like a tattletale. I told him what was happening and asked him what he thought I should do. His first reaction was, "don't do anything", and then he offered an alternative, "ask her what is going on". Yeah, I'm not so sure I want to confront her and completely reveal the fact that I'm a nosey neighbor. I don't want to be THAT PERSON in the neighborhood. I just can't help but be curious. So, I'm not really nosey, I'm curious? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. *hmmmph*

But being oh so curious, I had other bags to take to the curb. I milked that whole process for all it was worth so that I could see her leave...see what things she deemed worthy enough to retrieve. The things that were left in the house could not have been that important/treasured. After all, I HAD peeked in a few of the windows. There wasn't anything there worth coming back for in the cover of early morning. Oh, I did see her check the mail too.

So, although I have some closure...the people haven't been murdered...there aren't drug-addicted homeless hookers setting up shop next door. I'm happy that I didn't call the police. However, I'm still not sure why a family would pull up stakes, leave a van in the driveway, abandon their house only to return every couple days to check the mail and pick up anything they needed. Obviously the power has been turned off, right? What other reason would an adult who lived in a house return to it and use a flashlight to navigate around it?

My latest theory is that the home sustained damage during the cumulative hurricanes so they've moved out temporarily until they have the money to get it repaired. It has to be something logical like that. Right???

Go Phish

2005-02-02T12:00:00.000-05:00

Oh that's right, I can't! It used to be so easy to decide on a vacation spot. Pretty much wherever Phish was planning a festival, or barring that, the closest location they were having a run of shows, was where vacation was. In the past, I've traveled to upstate New York; Atlanta, GA; San Francisco, CA; Coventry, VT; and within our own beautiful state of Florida to Miami; West Palm Beach; Tampa; Clearwater; Orlando (before I lived here) and Gainesville to see those boys do their thing. Unfortunately, now that they've broken up I find that there is a brave new musical world to sift through so that I might satisfy my thirst for musical vacations, drown my sorrow, and fill the Phishy void.

Traci and I have actually decided on our destination this year... several times over. New festivals are popping onto the radar almost daily, and it is making our decision just that much more difficult. At first, we had a choice of two fairly local festivals, the Wanee Music Festival in Live Oak, FL or the Langerado Festival in Sunrise, FL. Both have great, eclectic bands that we are interested in seeing, both are similar in price, distance, and genre of performers, and both fall near Traci's birthday at the end of April. In fact the main difference between the two is that at one, camping is provided as part of the ticket, and at the other, camping is not offered at all - requiring a (likely inebriated) drive to a hotel post-show. It comes down to choosing which fest has the most acts of interest to us, and the accommodations. We can do that, we just have to sit down and weigh the pros and cons, right?

Then comes the realization that the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival is scheduled around the same time. We've threatened to go for several years now, but have always chosen Phish or some other vacation spot instead. This year Dave Matthews will perform, as well as Elvis Costello, and many many other awesome bands. So we made our decision, if there is any monetary way to make it, then that will be our vacation destination! Hooray! Decision made. Whew, glad that's all over with! Or is it!?! (Cue the mystery organ - bum bum BAAAAMMMMM!)

As it turns out, no it's not. Yesterday while checking pricing and specials for Jazz Fest, I found out about the Kokua Festival being held in Honolulu, HI also around the same time. It is being hosted and headlined by none other than Traci's favorite surfer turned folk guitarist, Jack Johnson. He is hosting and headlining the festival at both locations, Honolulu and Maui. I'm sure those venues aren't beautiful at all. This too falls near Traci's birthday. Decisions decisions. You know, come to think of it ALL of these festivals just so happen to coincide with Traci's birthday in April, coincidence? I think not! (Cue the mystery organ once again) So that makes the decision a little harder.

If we do Jazz Fest, we plan to purchase the Big Chief tickets (new this year), which are expensive, but offer free refreshments, VIP access, an air-conditioned hospitality lounge, and several other cool perks. For my money, it would hardly make sense to travel all that way just to be stuck with the plebeians, so we'd spend the extra to enjoy ourselves. When it comes down to it, it wouldn't cost that much more for the airfare to Hawaii. But that is a bit more work, traveling across water and all that, and higher cost of living while we're there etc. So we're still undecided, but at least we've narrowed it down to two festivals now (no sense going local when we can travel travel, we do love it so).

Of course as fate would have it, there is yet another festival for us to consider, which I just found out about this morning. It's the Coachella Valley Music Festival in Indio, CA and the headliners are Coldplay and Nine Inch Nails. Oh, and just to sweeten the pot, they decided to throw yet another of Traci's favorite new artists into the mix - Jem will be performing. It really is all about Traci and her birthday apparently. We certainly do love us some California and while I don't know where Indio is, I'm sure it's lovely at that time of year.

So the quest continues and of course there are other considerations to be made to help us decide (i.e. allow us to drive ourselves insane), like time off work, actually finding money to bankroll this little excursion etc. Time will tell I suppose, but we'll probably end up sitting at home and listening to songs by those artists on one of our pods and lamenting the paralyzing fear caused by TOO MANY CHOICES!

Perplexed and the City

2005-02-02T09:17:00.000-05:00

Sitting high atop the City O in my crystal corporate cell—how’s that for alliteration my friends—I have a view of Interstate 4 and Lake Concord beyond. Most days, the view is spectacular from my 18th floor office. On days like today, I almost wish the window was made of cinder block.

It’s a “random shuffle” kind of day on the iPod. (Where else can you hear Ben Folds butted up next to a selection from Grease 2?) I guess you should take that as a warning that this post could go just about anywhere. It’s one of those middling days. It’s Wednesday, overcast, rainy, not hot but not cold. Everything about it says…meh. (Days like this make me think that the current popularity of “lifestyle” drugs may not be completely without merit. Sigh. I could be sitting here right now with lower cholesterol, free from social anxiety, sporting a raging erection.)

I watched a couple of episodes of Sex and the City over some Chinese from Publix the other night. (Don’t scoff if you haven’t tried it. Delish!) My assertion that I really missed the boat on this series continues. I’m now 16 or so shows into season two and realize that I will have to watch all remaining episodes to satiate my passion. The writing is razor sharp! One of the episodes I just watched had fetishes as its main theme. I won’t delve too deeply into the actual content so as not to ruin it for other Sex-starved readers. Let’s just say that Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) realizes that she is playing into the hands of relationship masochism.

We interrupt this post for a station break…Twin Peaks theme followed by Hootie and the Blowfish. Someone, alert David Lynch!

Anyway, this revelation was interesting to me because I think we all experience a certain level of this at some point in our lives. Some of us learn to manage it and settle into committed and meaningful relationships. These people never cease to amaze me. Their ability to evolve personally and intellectually, often nurturing each other in this process is astounding. Others of us (okay, me) continue to feel held back when mating, even for a short time. Is this pure selfishness? I’m on the fence on this issue. All I know is that I don’t want to expend any more energy pretending I like Star Trek just because someone I’m dating is a sci-fi junkie. Unfortunately, I start down the relationship path often thinking, “I can change him.” I have a house that needs much TLC and improvement, why the hell do I think I need a mate to match?

Whew…please excuse all that! Wow! So, what is my point? There isn’t one. Let’s just say that over the weekend I set into motion a series of events that may lead to some dating. This is just a little pre-emptive freak out. Nothing to see here; move along.

We now return you to your sanity—already in progress.

I Wanna Be a Club Kid!!

2005-01-31T14:00:00.000-05:00

Well, not really... not exactly. Traci and I watched Party Monster recently, and let's just say that I now know precisely what the phrase "Capture the Imagination" means. Since watching it, I can't stop thinking about it, it has captured my imagination.

In case you're not aware, Party Monster is the movie starring McCauley Culkin as the reigning king of the New York club kids in the early 1980's. In the movie, McCauley and Seth Green play very outlandish, effeminate, androgynous characters. Oh, and at this point, I should say that there may be spoilers ahead. I say "may be" because that's how I rock the blog, not even I know what I'll say next! Isn't this exciting!? Anyway, it's a story of living for the moment, being who you are or more importantly, who you want to be, and wringing every drop of essence out of life's sponge.

I say I want to be a club kid because those "club kids" seemed to live life as one big party, never worrying about anything except being fabulous, and stumbling through life as drug-addled icons of excess. Who WOULDN'T want that life? I mean ecstasy was LEGAL for gods' sake. All of those media images of kids in nightclubs dancing around with glowsticks and pacifiers and Dr. Seuss cat-in-the-hat hats etc., all of that came from the original club kids who were famous not for doing, but rather for being. I'm sure the original club kids (the ones who lived through it anyway) scoff at these wannabe's. The real club kids dressed in outrageous costumes (Seth appears on a TV Talk show dressed head to toe as a fuzzy headed green troll with orange hair) of their own design, originals in other words. They declared their own "fashion" and language to be the accepted style of club royalty, and the world bought it. They actually got paid to travel around the country (Europe as well?) and throw big parties complete with lots of illicit substances, DJ's dealers and other NYC Club Royalty. Of course, more often than not the "NYC Club Royalty" were just kids from the last city's party who had been given an identity or character to play by Michael Alig, it didn't matter what you actually were as long as the king pretended that you were accepted. These kids had power.

For instance, according to the produced movie, (and some corroborating information at this site), Superstar DJ Keoki (I'm sure the name must ring a bell to a few of you) only became a superstar DJ (or a DJ at all for that matter) because Michael Alig (the McCauley Culkin character) created him as such. Keoki is played in the movie by Wilmer Valderrama and is portrayed as just another wannabe at a club who wants desperately to fit in somewhere. He is discovered by Michael (because he himself is desperate to fit in at the time, having only recently arrived in NYC from the Midwest oh, and also because Michael thinks Keoki is hot!). It speaks volumes of the power these kids had in the world of "the scene" - some guy who had never spun a record in his life quickly became one of if not the most prominent DJ ever - at the whim of an androgynous, drugged out party-throwing kid. Amazing.

Ok, I realize the club kid life would not be nearly as fantastic as it is in my mind's theater, and of course the movie didn't end with sunshine and rainbows (there's that spoiler I thought might show up!) but still. I can't help but wonder what it is like to be that free - that carefree and envied - nay worshipped. Of course at the same time, they were loathed and ridiculed by mainstream society, but they had no doubt been used to that their whole lives. Most free spirits are loathed, ridiculed, and feared until they're famous... or dead. At least by their apex they were ridiculed and worshipped in equal measure.

I found out after we watched the movie that there was also a one hour documentary called Party Monster: The Shockumentary so I will be renting it as soon as it's back at Stardust Video (where else would I find it, right?). The non-documentary movie was based upon a book by the Seth Green character called Disco Bloodbath, so I guess I'm going to have to pick that up and read it too. I want all available information on that scene - NOW!

Obviously I am completely enthralled by the whole saga (or trainwreck as it were), and enamored by the thought of living that life, but I'm sure it will pass. Or maybe I just need to take some ecstasy and come in to work dressed like a troll one day soon! If I go with the latter, I'll be sure to post some pictures here (and my mugshot).

At What Price Freedom?

2005-01-31T08:59:00.000-05:00

There is nothing like a heavy piece on NPR first thing on Monday morning to get your week off on the right foot. It was about the helicopter crash that killed the thirty marines over in Iraqi. They were talking about some of the makeshift memorial services and such that were taking place in their honor. (One of them was held in a bar in Hawaii frequented by the military types who are there for training.) They interviewed the 24 year-old girlfriend of one of the marines. She had spoken to him right before the accident and he assured her that he had this one last mission and then he would be home. This is where my car came fearfully close to swerving into someone’s front yard as I tried to see through the waterworks.

I’ve been questioning a lot of things lately. (Poor Traci got a disjointed ramble on my religious uncertainty the last time we were together.) The Today show reported that 8 million voters turned out in Iraq, which was something like 60% of those who registered. In all respects, it is being considered a success. But is it really? I’m usually not one for political argument. I never feel that I have enough solid evidence to present a strong case in my defense. Let’s face it—world events are complicated.

My best friend in Ohio will share something obscenely Republican with me on the phone and will be met with silence, because I am either in awe at her near-sightedness or just don’t feel that arguing the point will accomplish anything. (Bless her heart, she did vote against the ban on same sex marriages. I do thank her for that.) On the other hand, I hear something from the Democrats on one of the news programs that sounds like just so much pissing and moaning. What is a boy who finds that he may be more of a free thinker than he first thought to do? (I mean besides move to Canada. It’s too cold, although the beer is delightful.)

What do I stand for? That’s a good question. One I’m not sure I’m prepared to answer now and may never be fully sure of. I do know that I think it is ridiculous that Education Secretary Margaret Spellings is attacking the makers of an animated bunny because an episode features a same-sex couple. She wants them to return the federal money that was used to make the episode. She said, "Many parents would not want their young children exposed to the lifestyles portrayed in this episode.” I think many parents would not want their young children exposed to a public leader who espouses hatred and intolerance! Perhaps our dear Secretary should be focused on the declining health of our public school system rather than waste the time of the tax-paying public by supporting an agenda of bigotry. (Oops, I may have just made a stand.)

There was an editorial piece on CBS News Sunday Morning which I wish I had written. It was terrific. I apologize for the tirade, but I needed to get some of that off my chest.

I now relinquish the soap box.

Mrs. Kravitz Has Nothing On Me (or My Adventures as Harriet the Spy)

2005-01-31T08:40:00.000-05:00

I've learned a lot about people in the last two years. We bought our first house in an older, Orlando neighborhood. There are about 640 homes in our neighborhood which was build in the early 60's. The demographic is vast...original residents, families with small children, families with teenagers, first-time homebuyers, adults who bought a house streets away from their parents' home...vast. I also serve as my district's (there are 20 total) representative to the neighborhood's association. In becoming a rep, I went around to the people on my street and introduced myself and gave them information from the most recent association meeting. Thankfully, Mr. Fluff came along as my bodyguard. You never know what is going to open a door when you come unannounced. We actually got invited into one house. I would never have gone inside had Fluff not been with me. Anyway, the door-to-door thing was a great experience despite feeling like a Jehovah's Witness. I feel much better about my street now that I know the majority of people on it. The unknown is always more frightening.

One of the houses on my street is a mystery to me...the house next door to us. We live on an odd shaped lot so we only share a back fence with them. We knew nothing about these people other than what the previous homeowners told us. Of course you're never going to hear the real dirt on your neighbors during the home buying process...don't want to break the deal with too much information. The previous homeowners told us the family's back story...military mother with a teenage daughter from previous relationship now lives with Middle Eastern guy; the two of them have one or two children together, the man appears to be a stay-at-home dad. When we first moved in in May, there was a lot of video game playing, loud TV, and yelling. We heard everything clearly because their windows were always wide open and the persistent bass was a reminder that they were there. Being new, we don't want to start off on the wrong foot and have our first conversation with them be negative. We resigned ourselves to the fact that we have one loud neighbor, and we knew that there would be times when we were louder than we should be. We'd each endure each other's noise without incident.

The game playing and loud TV subsided at some point. It's one of those things you don't recognize when it stopped, you just notice that it isn't happening anymore. We still heard the occasional parental tyrade, but overall things seemed to have died down. Then, we noticed that they'd cut the "grass" (the few sprigs that hadn't died from neglect) and started putting household/backyard rubbish by the curb. Giddy with delight, I assumed this meant they were cleaning up the joint in order to move. Weeks went by...no sign in the yard...no more cleaning up.

It was around Thanksgiving that I realized that I hadn't seen them coming or going...hadn't seen their lights...hadn't heard any noise. Their windows were also suspicious. These people left their screenless windows open ALL the time when it was warm outside. There was an AC unit, but they never ran it. When the weather had the slightest chill, the windows were closed. Weird? Yes. But that was their pattern. It was chilly around Thanksgiving, and a window was open. This was highly unusual. It was around that time that I noticed that three of the windows had aluminum foil and plastic sheeting on them while the window to the kid's room (bunkbeds were visible) was wide open. Since Thanksgiving, the state of the house has not changed. A van (their second vehicle) has been in the driveway the whole time...hasn't moved.

I have many theories...dad freaked out and administered Middle Eastern justice by killing them...they abandoned the house because they couldn't pay the bills...the family went on an extended vacation to the Middle East (a fairly common practice based on people I work with). But three months?

So, being unable to curtail my curiousity any longer, I go over to really check things out. I'd knocked on the front door two weeks ago...no answer...looking in the open front window...virtually no furniture...a random kitchen chair...a few wire hangers...a discarded plastic toy. This time I was going to be thorough. Fluff convinced me that their absence was planned because their mailbox wasn't overflowing. So, I opened the mailbox. There was one piece of mail. Obviously, the mail hasn't been stopped or rerouted. I didn't touch the mail because that would be a federal crime. I closed the mailbox and headed through the back yard's open gate. I walked around the back of the house and saw an open door. I peered in and saw that this door led into their garage. Against the garage door was a big screen TV, a few random children's shoes strewn about, and not much else. I went around the house to the open window that faced our backyard fence. There was still a bunkbed in the room, but there were no mattresses on the bed. There was nothing else in the room save the stench of urine {{shudder}}. I walked around to another window trying to get some sense of what is going on. This window was not open but broken. Inside there was a bed stripped of all linen with a suitcase on top of it. There were some wispy curtains but nothing else in the room. There was nothing personal in the house. Any items were those easily left behind when you're done moving and nothing else will fit in the moving truck. I walk back to my house even more confused.

I decided to let all of this go because I figured my overactive imagination had gotten the best of me. These people were just on vacation or something. I should mind my own business.

Then I talked to my neighbor across the street. We were talking about speeding drivers on our street, and he brought up my next door neighboor. He said that he and his wife have noticed people coming and going. I was shocked. I'm uber-observant and hadn't seen anything. Gotta brush up on my skills!! He said that they've seen flashlights in the house early in the morning (6am-ish). They've called the police and were met with little concern or interest.

Immediately my thought is that squaters are living in the place....drug-users, hookers, homeless. Or is it the home owners coming back for stuff? I've given waaaaaay to much thought to this. My next move, if I conjur the nerve, is to call the police anonymously and hope that they figure this out.

Running on Empty?

2005-01-29T20:07:00.000-05:00

As I was out on my run this morning, I began to think about what to write for my first post. Unlike my chaotic cohorts, I have trouble coming up with interesting things to say. For instance:

Fluff writes about Sex. Well, with a long-distance relationship going on, I'm not getting any at the moment.

Boyd writes about the books he's reading or the classes he's taking. I don't have time to read a book -- hell, I'm still trying to get through Harry Potter 5. And classes...sigh, would love to enroll again; though it is fun living them through Boyd.

Traci writes about the biographical movies she's seen. Wait! I saw The Aviator last night! It was an interesting take on the life of Howard Hughes, and one I was not too familiar with. I can say that I feel much better about my OCD after watching this film. My big grief was watching another actress portray my beloved Kate Hepburn. There are two actresses that no one should EVER portray: Katharine Hepburn and Lucille Ball. That said, Cate Blanchett totally overdid it in her first scene as the great Kate. She did grow into the role over the course of what seemed like five hours (the film was very long), but I remain convinced that no one should portray Kate.

Speaking of movies, De-Lovely was an excellent adventure into the life of Cole Porter. If you haven't seen it, rent it. Maybe it's just me, but I love those movies set in the 20s and 30s...and I LOVE old Hollywood.

But back to my original argument...since the majority of my time is spent working, running, and catching up on my soaps, you won't hear any "deep thoughts" from this gal. Nope, I will just have my random musings (bitchings, if you will), and may even write from time to time about the happenings in La La Land (aka the combined cities of Burbank, Hollywood, and Los Angeles), as well as Genoa City (my obsession with The Young & The Restless parallels that of Dewayne's obsession with All My Children).

Ta ta for now!

NPR - a breath of fresh sanity amid the chaos

2005-01-28T14:38:00.000-05:00

Boyd's squealing NPR story made me think about a conversation Traci and I had a while ago. We have become fairly frequent NPR listeners of late. It really is a welcome respite from normal radio (read: crap). The fact that they are fairly liberal (yet fair and balanced) in their political leanings doesn't hurt either. Anyway, I walked into the house from work after a particularly enlightening episode of "All Things Considered" and told Traci that I figured we'd be one of those cute old couples who sit at home and use NPR as our only source of contact with the outside world. I wondered aloud how long it would be before we finally gave up on all normal forms of "entertainment", canceled our cable subscription, killed our TV, and sat at home listening to NPR on the old-timey radio all the time. Traci said "not long I should think, we're almost there now."

Then I remembered who our president is, and that by the time we're "cute old couple" age, there won't be any NPR, or music or art classes oh, or social security, or umm... freedom. I started feeling a bit guilty for not once having donated money to NPR when they preempt my entertainment (infotainment?) to beg. Then I got an iPod and got over it altogether! Hooray for me!

There's just something magical about a small electronic device that can bring so much joy into one's life.

Fluff

Oh, and by the way, Shaun Cassidy? H.O.T. (at least my sister Cindy seemed to think so when she was a young girl like Boyd) but nothing compares to a nice poster of MacGyver, right Traci?

The Shame Game

2005-01-28T13:55:00.000-05:00

A big thank you to Fluff for researching and sharing that easy fix for our links. I had noticed it and thought it a minor annoyance. (Evidently not enough to actually do anything about.) Anything to keep our readership happy and here with the Collective. (One of us! One of us!)

Since the gauntlet was thrown, I immediately updated all my links. Call me what you will—Techie's Pet, Brown Noser, Sexy Beast.

Traci already knows that I too recently watched Sylvia. Although I long to be Gwyneth Paltrow (she's pretty and I want Chris Martin's junk, but that's another post), I felt the movie, while good, didn't go far enough in giving new insight into Plath. Shortly after seeing the film, I read The Bell Jar. The edition I had on loan from the library had some biographical information following the story. It mentioned that she was struggling to make ends meet in her London flat and didn't have a telephone. I could be wrong, but I thought she called Hughes from the telephone in her apartment in the film. If this is the case, I denounce the movie's existence.

One last morsel on my Plath obsession, I mentioned reading The Bell Jar to a fellow student who is taking a Women in Literature and Film class in which it is required reading. She said that she was reading Ariel. I told her my interest came from hearing Plath's daughter on NPR. With a squeal, she said she had heard the same segment. This discovery was met with the glee usually reserved for two pre-teen girls who find they both have dreams about Shaun Cassidy. (Who didn't have that life-size poster of him in the satin jacket? Grrrr!)

Find a problem, and then provide a solution...

2005-01-28T11:04:00.000-05:00

I noticed that when we place a link in these pages, it automatically opens in the same browser window, thereby taking people away from the chaos!! We simply can't have that. So in approximately 42 seconds, I found out how to correct for that.

It will require us to insert a small piece of code into the link, but the result is this... test. Neato, eh? So here's the explanation: you need to add the "Target" tag and use "_blank" as the target. Here is the site I found that did such a fine job of explaining it. It's as simple as adding the line [target= "_blank" just after actual link in the code. you can edit HTML in this forum, which makes it super easy, and keeps people here and reading our blog! MUWAHAHAHAHAH!!

And of course anyone reading this who has ever created a webpage is now mocking me for "discovering" what is probably a 2 minute blurb in any beginning HTML class. Oh well, I'm pleased with myself, and that's all that matters. Now I'll mock all of you if you don't fix your links!! :-D

Fluff - Techie in Residence

Moms Gone Mad - What Makes Them Tick?

2005-01-28T09:25:00.000-05:00

Alina and I watched Sylvia last night. It's always amazing to see how troubled the lives of the immensely talented are. Is one the product of the other? Do you really have to starve to invoke the talented artist within?

When first introduced to women poets of Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton's ilk, I became somewhat enamored by the internal struggle of women coming to terms with their gender's new found freedoms while still feeling societal/genetic pressure to be wives and mothers. I read Kate Chopin's The Awakening around the same time as well. It's unfortunate that those gifted, complex women had to be mentally imbalanced. And it's their imbalance that gets most of the attention when discussing their work. Don't the well balanced have something to say too? It is interesting, though, that each woman's existing destructive traits were heightened after childbirth. Makes you wonder about all those recent moms gone mad (Andrea Yates, Marilyn Lemak, etc.).

A great site found during my morning of post-Sylvia reflection...http://www.literarytraveler.com.

Not Trying to Sway(ze) You

2005-01-27T23:29:00.000-05:00

A bit of madness from last night's class I forgot to share. A certain head of an English department at a college that will remain nameless came out of left field with a strange little tidbit. He recently shared with his grown son that everything a man needs to know in life he can learn from Roadhouse. Yes, you read that correctly. This Patrick Swayze/Kelly Lynch vehicle evidently holds the secret to all things masculine. In his defense, my professor said that he thinks the last 40 minutes of the film are rather silly, but before that—the Da Vinci Code with testicles.

With this in mind, I give you some random philoswayze:

When rearing children, never put babies in the corner.
I hope you dirty dance.
I ditto NY.
Julie Newmar is the only Catwoman. I dare you to describe her without using the term statuesque.

For those not familiar with the film, To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, Mr. Swayze plays a drag queen along with Wesley "I make too many movies to be trusted" Snipes and John Leguizamo. Poor Stockard Channing also got caught up in this Cuisinart of bad ideas. (Honestly, I think co-starring in this movie is the real reason behind her recent DUI arrest.)

In researching this information, I came across an interesting fact. Patrick Swayze was featured in the film Skatetown U.S.A. By no means on the same level as say a Roller Boogie or Xanadu, it did employ an all-star cast. (Who doesn't love them some Ruth Buzzi? I know I do.)

Unrestrained Growth of Plastic Flowers

2005-01-27T13:21:00.000-05:00

The cloning of humans is on most of the lists of things to worry about from Science, along with behaviour control, genetic engineering, transplanted heads, computer poetry, and the unrestrained growth of plastic flowers. - Lewis Thomas (1913 - 1993)

I love a good list and plan to share many with the collective. Here are a few list topics off the top of my head. If you are looking for something to contribute, start with one of these:

Top 5 Books/Authors
Current/Recent Reading List
Top 5 Movies
Top 5 Albums/Artists
Favorite Song Lyrics
Your Ultimate 15-Track iTunes Playlist
Top 5 Must See Destinations

Here are my favorite song lyrics of the moment...

Broadway Cast/Rent/"I’ll Cover You"
I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine
Beastie Boys/To The Five Burroughs/“Right Right Now Now”
I went to get a loan and they asked my race
I wrote down human inside the space
Jem/Finally Woken/“Save Me”
Why would I think such things
Crazy thoughts have quick wings
Radiohead/Pablo Honey/“Creep”
I want you to notice when I'm not around
Incubus/Morning View/"11am"
7 am
the garbage truck beeps as it backs up
and I start my day thinking about what I’ve thrown away

Ever get that "Tingling" sensation... you know...

2005-01-27T13:01:00.000-05:00

..."Down There"?

Well, I'm proud to be the first to broach that ever-sensitive subject - S-E-X.

Let me preface this by saying that while I know a few foot fetishists, and there's nothing wrong with that, I am not a member of that elite toe-sniffing, champagne-from-a-slipper drinking group (ew).

However, on a couple of occasions recently, I've had this strange tickle, itch, or tingle as it were, in my foot. Strange because more than tickling or itching, it is... ummm... arousing. VERY arousing. This very intense, orgasmic feeling starts in my foot and runs all the way up to my nether regions. I can scarcely stand it, I really do feel like I'm going to "run a batch" - hands free mind you - while sitting on the futon watching Food Network. As some of you may know, I really like Good Eats and its host, Alton Brown, but I don't LIKE him like him, so this can't be related. It's probably just a touch o' the cancer, don't worry about me, I'll be fine.

Anyway, I'm sure not one other Chaotic Contributor has the foggiest idea of what I speak, but I thought I'd share anyway. And now, since the subject of sex and bodily functions has been (*ehem*) penetrated, you're all welcome to share your own thoughts, feelings, and experiences on it (did I say pictures? No? Well I meant to.).

Cheers!

Fluff "Fancy Footwork" Wilbanks

Capture the Quirkiness

2005-01-27T10:36:00.000-05:00

For most of us blogvirgins, the first question is, "What are we supposed to write about?" And that is probably followed by, "So, just what are we trying to accomplish with all this anyway?" Both great questions with no real answers.

In order to allow something as organic as this to find its voice, you have to embrace the chaos and rely on our fledgling collective to steer this along its adventurous path...or better yet, off the path, into a ravine, up a steep...well, you get the picture.

My interest in this blog is to capture the inane, random conversations friends have with one another AFTER all the pleasantries and catching up has occurred. The conversations that capture human patterns...paper/plastic... smooth/crunchy...cats/dogs. The conversations that capture the quirkiness that makes us all unique...secret crush on Charles Bronson...never learned to swim...has an irrational fear of Rue McClanahan.

So, contribute, enjoy the journey, and ignore any thought of a destination!

Coming soon to a club near you...

2005-01-27T09:57:00.000-05:00

Hello Peeps,

This is my first blog post EVER on any blog site. Don't you feel privileged to be popping my online literary cherry? No? Oh well.

So anyway, I read this great article in the Times today about clubs that are hosting iPod nights where regular Joes (and Josephines) take their pods in and plug into the club's system to play a few minutes of their own music for all to hear. It sounds like a GREAT idea to me, and I plan to speak to the owners of Pulse about adopting it at their fine establishment. Any closet DJ's out there?

(Finger pointing directly at the leader of this merry blog, and puns all definitely intended!)

Check out the article!

Fluff

Glover Not A Fighter

2005-01-26T23:25:00.000-05:00

What has become of our dear, sweet George McFly? It looks like Crispin Glover is exploring areas a bit darker than those in Back to the Future. Check out this insanity. Be careful, this link is not for workplace consumption. (Aw, damn. It looks like the preview is temporarily unavailable. Try to check back.) I'm telling you, those rats in Willard did something to the man. What Is It? Indeed.

I'm exhausted from tonight's three-hour conversation on Gulliver's Travels. That Swift was quite the character. As I was reading the assignment for tonight's class, the material seemed familiar. I think I may have seen an animated version of Gulliver at some point in my childhood. (I know for a fact it's not from the crappy version that was on television with Ted Danson and featuring Whoopi Goldberg as the Cheshire Cat. Oh, wait. I may be confused.) What I don't recall is Gulliver putting out a fire in Lilliput with urine. What an interesting idea for a volunteer fire corps.

The invites are out my friends. Get blogging!

Curious? You Should Be

2005-01-26T23:23:00.000-05:00

You may be asking yourself, “What is this all about?” Let’s call it what it really is—an experiment. Last Friday night, Traci and I went to Rollins College to hear Connie May Fowler read from her new novel, The Problem with Murmur Lee. While waiting for the event to begin, we were innocently discussing a string of emails that had been sent between us earlier that day. It seems that Conery found them quite amusing. Well! If Conery enjoyed reading our ramblings, shouldn’t everyone? Of course they should. There, in those hard wooden auditorium seats worn smooth from the bums—arses as Jill likes to call them—of thousands of students, a blog was born.

But this is no regular blog containing post after post of only my experience on our great blue marble. Oh no, my friend. I hope that this will prove to be a forum for a group of friends to share with each other (and with you, the reader) just about anything they damn well want to share. So I urge each of you to get involved. To my “vicious circle” I plead, “Please post!” To the rest of you, “Please visit daily, read often, and comment on those issues near and dear to your heart.”

I congratulate you for making it through the first post at Collective Chaos. Here’s to many, many more. The world is waiting for your thoughts. (Okay, maybe it's just me.)