well-dressed foolish ideas

Dear Annoyance,

Is it too much to ask for some common courtesy?

Yeah, I thought so.

Thanks for clearing that up for me.

-Kirsten
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I tried to never drive to or from college during the day. It wasn't an exciting drive in the light, and nighttime driving always made me feel more comfortable. It wasn't the lack of other cars on the road. It wasn't to keep the heat at bay. It was just simply more relaxing. A little music that spurred some memories, me and the open highway. It made me happy. It unstressed me. I could let my mind go off on tangents and contemplate what could have been, or what if I had only done things differently. But life doesn't rewind. And it doesn't fast-forward. No matter how many falling stars you wish on for a fast forward button.

I always propped my left foot up on the dashboard. I usually only used my left hand to steer, resting my right hand on the stick, or leaning on my elbow. I would scan the night sky just above the horizon, collecting memories of the constellations and wanting to stop the car just to lay on the hood and stare at the sky. I never did. I never stopped. It's difficult to stay in the trance of driving-thought that you get into if the car isn't actually moving. You become grounded again. Stationary. Your thoughts cycle like they always do when you're not in motion.

Stagnating thoughts. That's where I've been lately.

I want an open road and nowhere to be, a car, some music and me.
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She knocked on the door. Since when does she not walk in to my place? Holding an envelope and a card, she was wiping tears off her cheeks when I opened the door. "Wha...Who...Sweetie what happened?" I was flabbergasted. I handled with grace the insecurity of what to do when her uncle died, advising her on how to politely accept the difficult to reply to "I'm sorry" which follows one around at funerals. I held her hand the night that she told our friend about his girlfriend's infidelities. I wasn't prepared for this.

"Sh...She..." drowned out by sniffles and guffaws that come with sobbing, it took some time before she continued. "She sent me this." Suddenly, an envelope and card were in my grasp. Scanning, I didn't understand. I didn't get it. She'd just come back from her grandma's funeral. It couldn't be another death in the family. That's just cruel.

"It's from my grandma. An...And..."

"It's okay, just breathe for a minute." I said as I led her to a chair at the kitchen table.

She sat down, waterworks abating.

"She thought I could use it. But what am I supposed to do with that money?" A blank, confused look overshadowed her expression.

And all I could say, in my most quiet, but still audible voice was, "Well, do what you can do, what you want to do. But whatever you do with it, remember her when you do use it."
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I scrambled up the trunk of the tree, knowing full well it would be a matter of a few mere minutes before having to climb back down. The tips of my fingers found little grooves in the bark, securing themselves in the grooves, I paused and scanned the bigger branches. Slowly throwing my legs over a thick branch, I perched on the tree like it was my own personal jungle gym monkey bar. Waiting for any sign of movement, I watched the bark. If I just waited here, silently, it would move again. I could get close enough to snag it. I could take home a trophy.

The leaves shadows played tricks on my eyes. I snapped my head when the wind shuffled through the leaves. It couldn't have gone far.

And then it scooted along the branch, coming towards me. I reached out my hand and let it hover at nearly arm's length. Waiting. It took unsure steps, but still came towards me. And then we froze.

"Get down, it's dinner time." Exasperated, she gave me that do-what-I-say-because-I'm-your-mother look.

I almost had the yellow-bellied alligator lizard in my grasp, but in the second I looked away and looked back it vanished.
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"She's not where you told us to try calling. What would you like us to do?" Her bright big green eyes peered over her reading glasses that perched on the end of her nose. I imagined a hairy wart there as I scrunched up my face in disbelief. Thin fingers resting on a pointy hip bone, the nurse, dressed in a medicinally blue nurse's outfit, looked unconcerned. She handed me a wad of gauze and made herself busy by at the cubby-holed wall of shelves until I answered nervously, "No, she must be there. It's Tuesday. Can you just try again?"

"Sweetie, why don't we just go back home and wait for her there?" Comforting though the voice was, she wasn't my mother. And for a girl in an emergency room with a wartime's supply worth of kitchen towels wrapped around her arm soaking up her blood, this just wouldn't do. "Why don't you just go back home and wait for her there? I've got this gash across my arm here, and I think I'd rather be somewhere where they can bring me back to life once I've bled out every drop of blood, if that's okay with you." which is what I would have said if "Okay." hadn't come out first.

I fumbled with the wad of gauze that the pastel coated nurse handed me, until finally I just gave up and handed it back to her on the way out of the emergency room, content with the kitchen towels already wrapped around my arm. "Thanks for trying."
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I had made plans in my head for this weekend. I intended to avoid pretty much everyone and hide in my flat. Or someone else's, whichever seemed most relaxing at the time. I wanted to spend some time away from everyone, everything that's been overly complicated lately. To see if I could find my way back to my own life since I've been somehow dragged away from it. To relax in the company of only people I want to be around, who make my life easier, the ones that offer me council without a second thought, the ones that make me feel like I don't have to hear the whole story or know all the details.

I did most of that, aside from hiding from people. Luckily, the hiding wasn't entirely necessary. My weekend was really good. And the advice was good as well. So thanks.


Back at university, I had Godfather weekends because one of my roommates was a fan. We watched the whole trilogy in one sitting at least twice. The last Godfather weekend had to have been at least 4 years ago. I can't believe this but I can't remember the first two parts all that well anymore. And I just watched the third tonight. I am sure my old roommate would have me killed for admitting that I don't remember the entire story so well. But the deleted scenes are sparking more memories.

I don't know how I made it through the day with only complaining a little bit about my back hurting. Someone is likely happy about this. I'll see what I can do about remedying the lack of complaints. I'll start later this week. I can't be bothered to start complaining too loudly too soon.

Last week I had one of those writer's block episodes while at work. As evidenced with the crap blog entries lately, I'm not quite past it yet. But I'm looking forward to writing something with some kind of reading value soon...
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I just sneezed.

I'm having such a hard time coming up with how to write anything. I want to explain a situation I'm in, but I can't even begin to put it into words without it coming out as a complete clusterfuck. I have three or four different stories I want to get down, but I can't think of anything that would get me started writing.

I'm supposed to be writing a document at work, but I'm slacking because I'm so much of a swirling mess of thoughts that I can't actually organize my own thoughts long enough to prioritize document input into an outline. For fuck's sake, I can't even make an outline!



After delving into other people's drama for the past hour via blogs that I have somehow picked up reading, I feel much better. And slightly ashamed at the state of my writing skills. However, I've decided that I'm going to avoid problematic situations and draw clearer boundaries when necessary with certain people. And maybe get back to work.

I just sneezed again.
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My office, it's quiet at 9 am. It's also creepy. The quiet in the building is like the creepy quiet that you (don't) hear in towns named, for example, Eerie. However, breakfast at my desk is nice. And I'm slowly getting comfortable with the fact that I'm no longer in a moving vehicle and I have much more space than I could possibly need to stretch out my legs. I can also stand up whenever the hell I feel like it. This is all very new to me considering I spent last night in a car. Be gentle, I'm a little sleepless and fragile.

I'll come up with something brilliant later. Must have coffee.
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Cancer, in any form, is devastating to the patients, their families and friends. It's painful on every level, from physical and emotional to spiritual. It changes everything. Even though we're nowhere near a cure, early detection and treatment can, in some cases, save lives. There are simple things even you can do to help. Please take the time to read the following information and decide for yourself what you can do, should you feel compelled.


"Every 12 minutes a woman in America dies of breast cancer." Get more facts from the National Breast Cancer Foundation.

Mammograms are the foremost best way to detect, diagnose and treat breast cancer at the earliest possible point. The Breast Cancer Site has site sponsors that donate money for every person that clicks on a link on their site. This is what the Breast Cancer Site says:

Your click on the "Fund Free Mammograms" button helps fund free mammograms, paid for by site sponsors whose ads appear after you click and provided to women in need through the efforts of the National Breast Cancer Foundation to low-income, inner-city and minority women, whose awareness of breast cancer and opportunity for help is often limited.

Click here once a day, it doesn't cost you a thing, and it might save a life.

3M Corporation is building the "World's Largest Pink Ribbon" on a billboard in Times Square this October. For every person who clicks on this link and signs up, Post-It will donate $1 to breast cancer research and place a Post-It in their name on the billboard.

Click here to get 3M to donate money on your behalf or anonymously.

(All info stolen from Tuna Girl.)
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We decided to grill some dinner last night. It went somewhat not so well. We started the coals too late, and we were on a time schedule, so we actually ended up cooking the steaks in a pan. By the time we finished dinner, the coals were perfect for cooking. But dinner was great. Potatoes, mushrooms in a cream sauce and marinated steaks. Lecker.

I woke up this morning thinking I had inflicted some kind of terrible, horrendous, nearly unbearable pain on myself. It seemed so real that I felt myself so near to tears. I didn't actually pierce my nose, but the dream was so real.

I have to check out Sacred and Divine Divinity when I get home. I think I might actually like the two games. I played about 15 minutes of Sacred yesterday, and, truth be told, I really quite liked it. I was, however, thoroughly confused since I haven't played a PC game in ages.

We went visiting yesterday. We took gifts. Or rather, gift. It was an Airzooka and it was hilarious. The thing is a massive cannon of plastic that shoots air. I want one.

So Denmark isn't so far from Malmoe. And we were in the Tivoli park today to wander around. There wasn't a chance in hell that I could convince any one of the other adults onto a roller coaster. Not that I didn't make an effort, but I am sure I could have tried a little harder and gotten to the same conclusion. How could it be that adults are scared of roller coasters? I thought that wasn't allowed.

I'm sitting on the balcony at the moment, enjoying the smell of burning pipe tobacco, wallowing in memories of my grandpa in the smoking room. He used to smoke his pipe in the smoking room between the garage and the house because my grandma wouldn't allow her house to smell "like that junky pipe," as she would always say. My uncles would smoke pipes or cigars and sit with their dad on the davenport. And drink beer out of cans and tease me about everything. I've noticed that's apparently what uncles are born to do - tease their nieces. It's endearing, and sweet, and tends to put a smile on everyone's face.

If it feels more and more like a travel diary of non-substantive entries lately to anyone that may read this blog, I can understand. I will hopefully have less and less current events notices to publish and more and more evaluative, self-investigative entries to post when I can get back into my own shoes, if you will. I've been jotting down memories and stories that I wanted to write about, but I can't for the life of me get myself to actually write them. No, I can't get the stories written well. And I like to think that sometimes I should hold myself to higher writing standards. So, current events topics will become less frequent once I can pick up the writer's pen.
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I could totally drink him under the table.
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I can't count the number of hours I've spent in the car in the last more-than-24 hours. Spontaneous trips across the continent and beyond are a good thing. So, we've rented ourselves a lil car, got a little crazy getting organized before departure and then drove through the pitchest-of-pitch-black moments in the countryside of the Czech Republic, then through the pouring down rain in Germany on what could have been considered the oddest of "autobahn" routes, which were in reality 2 lane backroads. Then there was the 45 minutes, and no I'm not kidding, to get into and out of Berlin. At 4 am. It's not that there were many problems or that we were lost. Have you been to that place? It's goddamn huge. Really.

Past that, it was kind of blurry. I was a tad tired. I didn't sleep sleep. I just rested my eyes for about 15 minutes at a time until we came to a stop for a small snooze around 6 in the morning. And then there was Red Bull. Not too much, but couple it with some coffee later on and it's impossible to sleep until coma sets in.

Making our way from the short nap area, we got ourselves onto a ferry where there was some more sitting time. Albeit on a boat, which is a distinctly different feeling than the car on...land. Upon arrival at destination we went to fetch belongings from the lil car. It was then that Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, decided to dump some water on us. Some people might have called it rain, but really, the drops were the size of golf balls. When we, soakingly, stepped into the comfort of indoors, the rain ceased. Nearly immediately. Go figger.

So now, I'm currently sitting on a really nice balcony, overlooking some garden-y courtyard area, with a blanket over my legs and liking Sweden. I've yet to break out the camera.

We had some of the best food I've ever eaten for dinner tonight. If I had the url, I'd post it. It's a vegan restaurant in Malmoe, sorry for no umlauts, and damn. Damn, damn, damn. It's good. And by good I mean really fucking fantastic.

Amazing fact about Sweden, besides the super cool restaurant I mean... Stores - the grocery kind - are open until 22.00h. This is what it should be like. If not, the stores should be open all night. It's perfectly normal to have to go buy bread at midnight and have a place to be able to do it. Someone should notify the Austrian store owners about the profit that's possible.

I feel a coma coming on.
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I can't blog today. I've got nothin'. I could put crap about nothing in here, but I don't want to. I could put stuff in here that I want to, but it would be both time consuming and emotionally draining.

Maybe vacation will help.
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Dear Lindt,

When, in the future, there's a meeting to design the redesign of the actual chocolate bar - the dark chocolate kind - please closely consider the following suggestion.

Where there should be a thinner part of the bar to make it easier for the simple people to break the bar along the "suggested" lines, please make the thinness of the bar not so thick so that the simple people have a better chance of breaking chocolate somewhere near the suggested lines.

Thanks in advance.

All my love,

Kirsten

PS I'll send off copies of this to other chocolate bar making companies so you won't have to feel like the kid that's always doing things "differently".
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Friday was get the hell out of dodge day. And get the hell out I did. At 9:30, packed into the car with munchie goodness and a few bits of clothes, it was off to a music festival. Where, and let it be known here that I did check the weather before 8 pm on Friday, it was in a word: wet. The kind of wet that comes from the skies. Let it also be known that the weather report indicated this kind of wetness. It indicated a need for more than one pair of shoes, those of which sandals are perhaps best ignored. Or left behind. I don't take advice well. Obviously. Also, coats are apparently good in rainstorms. How do I know this? I didn't have one. I'm smart. The smrt kind of smart. See how that version is lacking something? Yeah, I was lacking in foresight, common sense, planning capabilities. All of this in exchange for the excessive giddiness that accompanies getting the hell out of dodge.

All in all, quite the good weekend. Albeit wet, and a bit on the cold side, what with the sandals and all. Nevertheless, I had a good time. I slept in a tent, which I haven't done since the first coming of Christ, or as is better known to some people as the last time I went camping. Truth be told here, I'm stretching this a bit, as the last time I was camping wasn't so long ago. Okay, three years, but averaging that out from my lifespan so far, it's not so long ago.

I cooked dinner tonight, but kinda screwed it up. However, the plate looked nice. And it didn't taste all that great. Remind me to lay off the soy sauce and salt combination. It gets me in trouble every time.

And just to let it be known, I was thinking before starting that some seitan steak and mashed potatoes would be heavenly. But no mashed potatoes were available. Until I took the rice out of the cabinet and found the mashed potato box. It was discreetly hiding behind the basmati. Sneaky little bastard.

So to recap, blogging while relaxing in the tub... is surreal.
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While running around my flat like a mad woman, I decided to post an entry. Why am I running around like a mad woman? I have nothing better to do before going out of town for a day or two. Other than pack, shower, call my friend in the states to wish her a happy birthday. Nothing of importance at all. Nevermind the trash I have to take out or the laundry I should fold. I'm gonna blog. Why the hell not?

I have to remember to grab a German magazine. I need something German to read or I'm positive I'll forget any bits of the language that I may have already picked up. I so want to be able to get just one damn clue in an Austrian newspaper's crossword puzzle. Just one. I'm not aiming high - except for the fact that they're impossible. But that's another story.

I had considered sitting around my flat this weekend, maybe even cleaning up a bit. Maybe playing some games or finishing some, if I could manage it. I'm fine with the idea of not doing any of that, however, I will have to do my dish soon. That's right. Dish. One in the sink.

Make that two.

Okay we won't talk about that anymore.

I spent some time today talking with a friend. I think he's not very happy. I really want to do something to help, but I know I can't actually do anything to make it better for him. That kinda sucks. I can't even be stupid-funny enough to make him burst into raucous laughter. I tried. It nearly worked, but fell just slightly short. I'll have to try again later when I'm back in the city.

Have a good weekend!

It's nice when wishes come true. :) I'm a happy camper!
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Really. I'm perfectly normal. It's not that odd that I get goose bumps when I sneeze.

Someone tried to reassure me that this is what happens to everyone else. But why does it feel so strange to actually say write it? The same friend told me that when she was little she asked an older man what it was like to have an orgasm. His answer - Just like sneezing!

Um.

Okay.

Not really.

Wha...?

I think I missed something. It was probably covered in sex ed class, but catholic schools don't like to talk to anyone about sex. Ever. Unless it has to do with birth control.

Speaking of birth control. I was reading a really wacky and completely ridiculous story about an evil rubber duckie on an ebay auction today. Apparently, little rubber duckies are demonic and can all of a sudden go wacko and bite children! What parent doesn't need one of these?

On a completely unrelated note, I'm having trouble today distinguishing which language to type to whom. And I've sent wrong languages to a number of people all day. Well done me. I'm already confusing enough as it is, I don't think I need to add to it with changing languages on people. That's just downright cruel.

Finally, I feel much more comfortable and useful. It's a really unfortunate feeling when it seems so much like you don't belong anywhere or aren't useful. A tad un or rather demotivating. And something that's really kind of hard to crawl out of the habit of. Blah. Whatever, I'm in better spirits. That's the point.

I had a short talk earlier today about taking a vacation.

Interruption - I just sneezed.

I think I need to get out of this city for a little bit.
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One of the best reasons to love being outdoors in August: The Perseids.

And in case you were thinking about taking in some of the show, some advice for you. Don't go lay on the asphalt of an empty parking lot with yellow streetlights. It makes seeing the show kind of difficult. Not that I would know from personal experience or anything...

Hum dee hum. La la la.
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Insert German keyboard excuse here.

I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping lately. It seems that either I sleep too little or too much and never at the right times. I'd like to offer the excuse that I've been so busy that I've gotten my sleep patterns all out of whack, but the reality of it is that I've been making my mind so busy that I can't seem to keep myself on a steady or normal pattern. I've been thinking a lot.

I was up until at least 5 this morning. Most of the night was spent talking with some friends, but once I got home and fell into bed, there wasn't even a remote chance that I'd get some shuteye before sunrise. So I dawdled and spent some time thinking about the conversations that I'd had and the things that I should do. Talk about your downward spiral into no-sleep land.

My doorbell rang this morning. Thankfully, as it was my wake up call. I should say at this point that I don't normally wake up completely confused, but today I couldn't manage to figure out if the doorbell was part of my dream or not.

I got my ass kicked around a little today. Which was deserved. Everyone needs a good ass kicking every now and then.

It's been hard to come up with things to write about lately (which accounts for the sporadic posts) that I know won't bother or offend anyone that might possibly read this. And while I don't want to offend anyone, I feel that I'm censoring myself too much for the sake of sparing someone else. So, please don't be bothered or hurt if in the near future I go on a rampage on the blog and somehow someone is implicated as the wrong doer. I don't see a point in further using this medium, which I started for myself, if I were to continue to self censor. I don't like it and I don't want to do it anymore. So in advance:

I apologize.
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Why on earth do I have the Greatest American Hero theme song stuck in my head? I'll explain it. I really will.

One of my co-workers was thinking about playing some Splinter Cell:Pandora Tomorrow - however, we are not properly supplied. When he discovered this, he came to my desk and said, "Believe it or not." and paused, while I continued and said, "I'm walking on air." And continued to sing the song in my head while he proceeded to tell me just how it was that we were not properly supplied.

Every child needs a hero in tights to make their childhood complete.

Wonder Woman was way cooler than the Greatest American Hero. But that's a debate for another day. Still, look at those hot pants. Yummy.
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If you haven't already, go see Fahrenheit 9/11. It'll be good for you. And now for the news.

Speaking of 9/11, Terror alert is moved to orange - 3 years after the intelligence was received.

Bush doesn't like legacy college admission - note that's he's a 3rd generation graduate of Yale.

Let's pick on Hilary for running for the senate from a state in which she doesn't currently live. Then let's do that ourselves a few years later. Wait... Keyes is already doing that.

Speaking of elections, let's not screw it up again in November, okay? We'll bring in some observers. Not a bad idea. Thanks Colin Powell.

I know that I take games seriously, in most respects, but there are a few people in Florida who take losing an xbox a bit too seriously. Really guys, 1st degree murder is a little much.

This story changes the entire meaning of family jewels. Not really sure about this one.

It's recordings like these that make me think that American presidents aren't in it for the service of it all. Which is, naively speaking, the point of government - service to the constituents to enrich and benefit their lives. Shouldn't it be more about the service to the American people rather than the re-election strategy? Or is that too naive?

Novel idea - better technology = better intelligence. Read all about it.

Cheney and Rumsfeld could be called to the witness stand in the trial of the US soldier facing a 38 year sentence for abusing Iraqi prisoners. Think they'll take the 5th?

The Italians say there's an easy way to be lazy. I concur.

Someone else found the recent Catholic Church's most recent document on women a bit... off.

And, appropriately enough, blogs won't change the world.

That's all for tonight.
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So there's a song stuck in my head. It's been stuck in my head since about 19.00h today.

Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey. You don't want to know why I can't get the Searchers out of my head. And I wouldn't explain, anyways.

I'm going to see Fahrenheit 9/11 tomorrow. I hope.

I went out for drinks tonight after work with a friend and talked about a load of stuff. I like summer evenings in this city. It's nice to be able to sit outside and have a beer and a talk in the comfortable night air. Not too warm, not too cold. The one thing that seems to go really well with summertime in Vienna is road construction. It seems to be everywhere. There's even road crews working on the street right outside my house. And around the corner, and down the street. It's amazing. And some places where there's detours and diverted car traffic, where one would expect to see hordes of construction workers, one would be hard pressed to find more than three.

I woke up yesterday morning with the hiccups. Odd sensation really. And where did that come from? Who wakes up with the hiccups? It seems odd.

Every time I step into my bathroom I think to myself, how does one say caulk in German? But I never remember to look it up and at this point in my evening, I can't be bothered. So that would make me forgetful and lazy. But imagine the conversation with someone at a DIY store if I would go in there still not knowing the word for caulk and then having to elicit the information out of an employee whilst trying to keep them from thinking I'm a complete perv. What are the chances?

I had a good night last night, which kept a smile on my face all day today, if not in reality, at least in mind. Nothing beats a fun day/evening followed by an enjoyable night. Also, I finally slept more than about 3 hours last night so I was at least well rested today. Or moreso than I've been all week.

And now I have the hiccups. Make it stop! Someone scare the begeesus outta me. That usually works.
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I can remember, perhaps a little too clearly, visiting with my grandmother during the Thanksgiving school breaks. My dad and I made the trek across the country to the completely intriguing city of Trenton a few times together. It was one of those father daughter things that we did when my parents weren't married anymore. It was actually quite fun for me, although Trenton, by all rights, is quite boring for a 12 year old.

Grandma had this fascination with my hair. Platinum blonde was nothing all that new to her, but since she and my aunt had been mostly gray-haired for a number of decades before I was even thought of, I guess it was a rare commodity in the family.

It was impossible to escape her demands to wash my hair. In the kitchen sink. By the shortest woman I've ever met. From the day I was born, I can only remember her ever saying that she stopped growing but instead started shrinking at some point in her life. Being 12 wasn't without its troubles though, as I was a tall girl and towered over her by the time I was about 10 or 11. But the washing was so fabulous for her, I couldn't refuse. Dad would offer me consolation in the only way he knew how - bribery. For ice cream or Broadway shows in NYC or a trip into NYC to shop or skate at Rockerfeller center. I really did get the good end of the stick on those deals.

Thanks to the consolationary offerings, I've seen Swan Lake at Carnegie Hall, The Nutcracker at Radio City Music Hall, the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall, the tree at Rockerfeller Center all lit up in the middle of a light snow that dusted the city with a glittering sheen, and two symphonies at Carnegie Hall (the particular details were a bit lost on me and I don't actually remember which operas and which symphonies they were which is a real shame). I dragged my aunt and my dad into FAO Schwartz to see if that piano is really there - the one from Big. It wasn't, but what a cool store! I remember strolling around the city and making our way to Central Park just to sit on a bench and watch all the people.

The first time I can actually remember being 'home' when it started snowing I was at my grandma's house. All the other snowing incidents happened when I was in Tahoe, which of course wasn't home and I usually had skis strapped to my feet. In Trenton, I got to go play in the snow, even though it wasn't that much of a novelty to play outside. The sun had just set, the streetlights bathed the sidewalks in a warm orangey-yellow glow and the snowflakes looked like fireflies. I didn't have a proper winter coat, being from sunny California and all. I had my meager tennis shoes on that were nothing more than a little canvas attached to a rubber sole. No thick socks for me. No hat, no gloves. I froze, but wouldn't go inside until it was time for bed.

I walked around the block a lot. I knew where all of my relatives lived or had lived in that area. I knew all the neighbors, and most of them scared the begeesus outta me since they were all older retired couples that had lived in the area for a number of decades. Most of them knew my dad when he was a kid, and some loved to tell me how much I looked like him when he had been younger. This always confused me considering I look very little like he did, and of course there's the obvious fact that I'm a girl, but apparently I somehow bore a striking resemblance to him in his youth.

We always went to the cemetery. And we always went to church on Sunday before flying back to California. We always drove past my dad's old high school and past my aunt's old house. We always went out to a tiny restaurant where, thinking back on it I could swear there were shady mafia deals going down.

I always set the table for Thanksgiving dinner. So I always chose the china that I thought was prettiest. Grandma had about 6 sets of china. Where she got them all, I've never been able to figure out. I was always in charge of dessert for Thanksgiving dinner. I never liked pumpkin pie, but I made one for my aunt because it was her favorite. And since it was my favorite, I would make apple pie. I'm certain that at 10, or 12, or 14 I wasn't a good baker. I'm certain that the pies weren't fabulous. But I remember never hearing an unkind word about my efforts.

I remember the old phone - the old rotary dial phones that were sturdy and heavy and had coiled cords. And grandma's couch. And the sun porch with the chair that no one ever sat in because it was grandpa's chair. The sun porch that didn't usually get much sun. My uncle's medals from serving in Nam were tucked away in the dresser drawer in one of the bedrooms. The room was painted a dull yellow, held three twin sized beds and old quilts and blankets that my aunt and grandma had made. The floor boards creaked and the room smelled of old dust.

Grandma had a silver hair brush and small handheld mirror on her dresser. I wonder where that is.

All of my family that lived in that area has since passed, but I can't help but think that I should go see the house. Maybe take a tour around the area, see if the corner grocery store is still there, find that little restaurant, drive past my aunt's old house. And visit the cemetery.
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So I really wanted to have this huge long rant about the Catholic Church's latest document, but in all honesty, I just can't muster up the massive rant.

mini rant

The Catholic Church is run by a bunch of racist, egomaniacal, misogynist, chauvinist, arcane, tawdry and foolish old men.

/mini rant

And then there's the US lawyer in charge of the backlash for the bad, unfortunate, harrowing and disconcerting events in the UK.

Thanks for all the links Thad.

More ranting later. Look forward to it.
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I mean, who can deny that this is something that everyone must see?
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So before I begin my rant about the Catholic Church, let me sum up my dream from last night.

Imagine you're me. Just for a second. It won't be bad, I promise. And you're in this dream world, right. And you are watching the following scenes through my eyes and with my own "in-my-head" commentary. So you're hiding in a high school gym, in the corner of the gym, behind the corner of the bleachers. There's those fluorescent lights that make everything ultra white, the walls are white and there's a horizontal band of a medium blue all the way around the gym on the walls. Tall ceilings - the normal gym height, so unbelievably tall. There's a basketball hoop at the end of the gym where you're hiding, and one opposite, but amazingly enough, they're kind of roped to the ceiling, so the backboard is horizontal to the floor and the baskets face the ceiling. You think, "Why'm I hiding behind the bleachers?"

Now, the gym part isn't where it goes weird. And yes, you're hiding for a reason. Imagine Uma Thurman, dressed in, get this, a hot pink pant/jacket outfit. And by hot pink I mean the girl is sizzlin' hot and sexy. Really. It's got a blue band of some kind of fuzzy stuff across her midriff. (What??) And she has white plastic gogo boots on - without heels. (Huh?) You think, "Damn, I should get myself a pair of those. I'd look way better than her." Now, not only is she decked out in the height of fashion, but she's carrying a sawed off shotgun. With unlimited ammo. (I swear I haven't played an FPS in a while. I swear.)

Uma's pretty good at shoot dodging, better than Max, actually. Or at least she looks cooler sliding across the gym floor (which were always pretty easy to get good slides going so maybe it's not Uma that's so good...) than I imagine Max would. It might be the outfit though.

So we have Uma pretty solidly imagined. Now there's Queen Latifah. Right. Her outfit is much more downplayed and subdued. Classic chic, if you will. A black outfit something similar to this. Except her pants are normal. She's armed with dual handguns, of which I don't know the proper name, but they're pretty badass and also unlimited ammo. Somewhat as effective as handheld canons. You think, "Oh dear god this is gonna hurt." She's not as good at shoot dodging as Uma. But she can somersault! Roll, baby. Roll!

They're in the middle of a shooting dodgeball kind of fight. They kind of skid, slide, roll and shoot around the middle of the basketball court. In a circular kind of fight fashion. Because it's kind of like a wrestling match, right? So you think, "Well this might get a little dirty and slippery if they actually shoot each other." Then Uma proceeds to kicks Queen Latifah's ass. It's ugly. But there's no blood in the gym. You think, "Creepy." Then you're magically transported from hiding behind the bleachers to the hospital hallway, just outside the gym with double swinging doors that lead back into the gym diagonally from your hiding spot. There's little windows at the top of them where you could conceivably see anyone walking through them, but since this is dream world, no one walks through doors. They merely appear. Queen Latifah is singing "Push me and I'll push you back" over and over and over and over while laying on a gurney and covered to her belly button with a what-used-to-be-white-bedsheet-but-is-now-all-red - missing both of her legs no less.

And then... Uma walks into the hallway and spots you looking at Queen Latifah and while pointing at you with her sawed off shotgun, says, "You're next."

Magic dream teleportation yourself into the gym and imagine you aren't wearing anything like Queen Latifah (Thank christ!) and are armed with water guns. Uma's traded her shotgun for nerf guns. Right on. She says, "This'll be way more fun!" Sarcastically, you think, "Oh totally. Bring it on, lady in pink." And when she winks at you, you wake up.

I promised it wouldn't be bad. I lied. Bad me.

(Sorry)

Catholic Church rant later. I hope it'll be less frightening.
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