So, what are you saying?

I went out to my mailbox yesterday when I got home - it's one of those community boxes. Since it's located across the street from my house, that means I get to listen to 30 of my neighbors stop by everyday with their bass booming or Tejano wailing while they get their mail and then go through every piece of it in their car before they drive off and go home. I guess they need to make sure the florist hasn't sent a thank-you note home, alerting their spouse that they've sent flowers to their girlfriends.

Anyway, on my way across my front lawn, I see my neighbor to the right working on his yard. He's mowed and run the weedeater. "Good," I think. Because that lawn has never seen weed killer of any kind, and it runs amok. I say this with complete hypocrisy, because I've got renegade weed plants (meaning they're tall and have sturdy trunks to them) all over my front yard. I said I made my backyard a showplace a couple of weeks ago - I said nothing about the front yard.

Well, this neighbor, whose name I don't know, in part because I wasn't even sure he lived there and he barely speaks English, so conversation didn't really seem a priority, smiled and waved, so I smiled and waved. Then he says to me that he'll do my lawn next if I'd like. That's code for, "Your lawn looks like shit. Just let me do if it you're not going to."

I say that no, I'll do it, and he says he won't charge me. For a moment, I consider this, then realize that if I let him, he may think I owe him in some other way. Unacceptable. So, I decline again. He tries again - telling me I'm a good neighbor, and he won't charge me. I wanted to say, "I got it. The weeds have birds' nests in them. I'll mow, okay?" But instead I just decline once again and assure him I'll do it.

I can't be sure if Pedro was hitting on me, disgusted by my lawn, or just being nice. But be sure I got my mail in a hurry and scurried back inside. I wonder if there's a service where you can rent a large man to swing by your house periodically and pretend to be your angry boyfriend so that neighbors won't hit on you or give you grief about your yard?

Life is like...

So, I'm reading a story about an interview with Ethan Hawke. He's going to tell us all how hard it is to be a celebrity couple (he used to be married to Uma Thurman).



He says that it's hard when one person's career is on the rise while the other's is languishing. I can see that. It'd be hard to cheer your spouse's success while you feel like you're failing at the same thing they're succeeding at. Human frailty. You're not a butthead - it's not that you want them to fail. You'd just like to succeed, too. That's probably why it's better to marry someone who isn't in your same industry - cuts down on the natural sense of competition.

He tried to say he wasn't jealous, but it wasn't really believable the way he said it. To him, I say, "Ethan, it's okay. You were jealous. You felt bad about your career stalling, and then you felt bad about yourself for feeling jealous of Uma's career taking off. Bad feelings led to more bad feelings, and it's hard to have a happy relationship when that starts. We'd like to all think we're above that kind of jealousy, and it would've been better if you had been - you would've kept your family together, but it's not hard to understand. Here's Ryan Philippe's number - you boys talk amongst yuhselves."

I would've liked him better if he'd just said that. "I wish I could've been bigger about it, but I couldn't and it just sucked." But I didn't *dislike* him. And I still don't. But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want to hang out with him - not based on the stuff I've mentioned so far, but on this quote:

"There's a certain geometry to life — that life has a certain math equation to it, and if you're never together, you can't build a home," Hawke says.

Uh. What? What the hell do geometry and math equations have to do with not having enough time together? I get the last half of that, and I agree with it, but the first part - I think Ethan thinks he's deep. And I'm not really sure he is. And there are few things more annoying than someone who *thinks* they're deep.

If you're going to start out making some big philosophical point about life and math and octagons and chapstick, you need to actually MAKE that point. Just suggesting that you see some sort of interplay, but never actually explaining it, and then just trailing off into some banal conclusion that pretty much any one of us could've come to...that ain't deep, Ethan. "Life is like a flourescent bulb - it's like an incandescence that passes into obscurity, and if you're hungry, you should eat."

Ethan, maybe your marriage didn't fail because you were jealous of your wife's success and you spent too much time apart. Maybe the time apart was all that kept you together as long as you were. Maybe you bored Uma to tears with your pseudo-intellect and taking yourself way too seriously. Just a thought.

I'm SO 21st century!!

Not only am I writing this on a high-speed connection from my very own home, but I'm writing it on a WIRELESS connection!! That's right, Skippy! I'm goin' commando - my laptop on my actual lap while I sit on my couch with no cords tethering me to anything! I feel so freeeeeee!

Big huge shout-out thank you to Dave for getting everything set up for me. You rock, with your technically savvy self!

And big additional shout-out to Vangie for drinking beer with me while Dave slaved over the computer stuff. I'm pretty sure it would've been much more difficult for him without our support. Maybe we should come up with a cheer of some kind for him - Ridley can do ho-down kicks and we'll do herkies...then Dave can drive us to the hospital.

Erin comes to town.

A little different view tonight from the backyard as Tropical Storm Erin swims ashore:

The calm before...

Tropical Storm Erin is bearing down on Texas - it should make landfall somewhere on the South Texas coast, possibly around Corpus Christi, by tomorrow afternoon. Austin will get a nice dousing of rain for a couple of days as the storm breaks apart and moves on.

But last night, the only indication we had of the coming bad weather was some rainless clouds, which made for a gorgeous sunset.



I sat out in my backyard and enjoyed the beautiful sky until the sun finally eased on down past the horizon, leaving behind darkness and fireflies blinking gently. Summer.

S-a t-u-r d-a-y NIGHT!

As I mentioned a few days ago, I went to the grocery store on Saturday night. Saturday night is an interesting time to go to the grocery store, I've found. Not only do you avoid crowds (seems most people do something else to do on a Saturday night), but the people who *are* there are, in many cases...people who would go to the grocery store on Saturday night.

Some are, like me, completely normal, rational people who just *happened* to be free on a Saturday night and have an empty pantry. Completely normal. Got that? Not pathetic in any way. They had plans on Friday and plans on Sunday, so they kept Saturday free for household chores. That's all. Draw no conclusions.

But the others...well, just try going sometime and you'll see. Even the people who work there notice it. I found that the guys in the produce section were very chatty with me. No one ever talks to me at the grocery store. Honestly, I can't remember anyone who works there (or for that matter, anyone who doesn't work there) ever approaching me. But two, count 'em two, produce guys started conversations with me. And no, I wasn't lookin' all hot. I had on overalls, no makeup and my hair was in a ponytail. But I think I had an air of normalcy that they craved contact with.

The person who best captured the air of the Saturday night shopper at the Hancock Center HEB was an older lady in the meat section. She had on a housedress and slippers, and she was methodically going through the small packages of pork chops - the ones that contained just a couple of chops. She was picking up the packages from an upper shelf one by one, looking at the prices, and then dropping them unceremoniously, to the point of almost throwing them, down on the bottom shelf...where the family-size packages were located. She must've dislocated at least 10 packages. All the while, she sort of muttered to herself.

Keep in mind, I was also trying to buy pork chops. I tried to look at her disapprovingly as she mangled the display, but she was big, like about 6 foot, and I got afraid she might be crazy, so I just walked away and went to the chicken section, hoping she'd find what she wanted and move on. But she didn't. She sort of shuffled off once or twice like she was going to go elsewhere, but then she'd come back and dig through them some more - tossing things around and creating mayhem, throwing the entire pork section into disarray. I finally had to just dive in, find what I wanted and hope she didn't beat me with her purse for interfering with her quest for the perfect package of pork chops.

She didn't. She watched me - perhaps thinking that if I happened to lay my hands on THE package that she so desired, she'd snatch it out of my hands. If she had, believe me, I would've let her have it. "I think you're right, ma'am! Those ARE the best ones of the lot!! Enjoy!!"

In short order (because you know I was motivated to get the hell outta the entire meat department at that point), I found a package to suit my needs and headed for the dairy section. When I left, she looked like she was going to start digging through them again. I can't tell you if she did. I didn't look back.

What a Rush!!

You can tell I'm a professional writer from that headline, can't you? I bet I'm the first one ever to use that.

Rush was fantastic! They were worth every moment of lost sleep last night, which, as anyone who knows me will tell you, is a ringing endorsement. I value sleep right up there with...things that are worth a lot. I have to admit, I wasn't expecting that much. Some oldsters playing some songs I know from the 80s and a bunch of stuff I don't know. But I'd be with my friend, who I always enjoy spending time with, so it'll be fun.

Wow, was it so much better than that! I knew more songs than I realized I did, and I liked the songs they played that I didn't know, and they had some fun video stuff. I'd forgotten how articulate and thoughtful their lyrics are - really head and shoulders above most rock bands. And their musicianship...yowza. Those guys are really gifted! All three of them are just amazing. I enjoyed every minute of the evening - and it was almost a 3-hour show! And the ampitheater was packed - they can seriously still sell out a large venue - after 30 years!

They're really just fantastic - worth every penny you pay for the ticket. If you even think you like Rush songs - think you remember a few - go see them when they come to your town. You won't regret it.



On a sidenote, the Verizon Wireless Ampitheater had a better setup than I'd feared. There's actually a lot of a seating - real seats - under a covered area directly in front of the stage. The "lawn" area is behind that. Because Sheila absolutely rocks, she bought seats in the covered seating area. And that's why Sheila and I go to shows together - we're both willing to pony up for comfort.

When we got to the theater, it was lightly raining, which made our covered seats that much more worth the price. And instead of causing the area to become a sauna, the rain cooled things off (thank god, since it was 99 degrees at 5:30 when we were driving down there), so we were really comfortable for almost the entire show. So, we had cooperative weather and good seats. Nice start.

The band started with "All The World's A Stage" - a.w.e.s.o.m.e. And I had a perfect view of the stage and the band. That lasted about a song and a half. Then some giant lady and her giant boyfriend sat in front of me. I think seating at concerts shouldn't be based on price or first-come first-serve. It should be based on height. Short people up front - tall people in back. I recognize that that would put me right up front for most concerts, but I'm willing to carry that burden. We're all going to have to sacrifice a little if we want this "everyone gets to see" thing to work! Luckily there were large screens - 5 of them - around the stage so what I couldn't see around Giganto Woman's head, I could see on the screens.

Well, I'm running high on caffeine right now, so I'm going to try to hurry up and get some work done before my eventual crash, when I become useless. I'd better go get some more coffee...

No lawn tools were harmed in the beautifying of this yard.

It is done. The backyard is once again a showplace:



I mowed, used the weedeater as it was intended (instead of in lieu of a machete), filled the birdbaths and bird feeder, watered the potted plants, returned all the furniture to where it belongs, weeded the flower beds, and even pulled up the very decrepit, overgrown, half-dead looking rosemary bush from my herb garden. Whew.

I'm a little tired and a little sunburned, but I do feel relieved at finally getting things under control out there. The hay-like color of the lawn is a little distressing, but honestly, in any other year, it would've looked like that starting in June, so it's nothing I'll lose sleep over. I've got web worms in my sweet gum tree that I may try to oust, and I'm going re-pot a few plants, but that stuff is small potatoes compared to today's overhaul.

So, now it's party time! That's right - tonight I reward myself with...a trip to the grocery store!!! Back up, people, she is breakin' out!!!

(Lest I be seen as a loser, tomorrow night I'm going to rock the house, Canadian-style - or, rather, rock the outdoor ampitheater. I'm going to see Rush at the Verizon Wireless Ampitheater. It'll be cool to see Rush, but I find this venue a ridiculous idea. It's an outdoor theater in a place where the temperatures reach "public safety notice" levels. Why on earth would you purposely build something in Central Texas that is supposedly for people's enjoyment but is *designed* to not include air conditioning? That's like designing a building that won't include oxygen. "Now, get in there and have a good time!!!")

I have to, don't I?

I still haven't mowed the backyard. I know, I know - but it's hot. And it's going to be an ordeal. And I just don't feel like taking on an ordeal right now. But I think this weekend it MUST be done.

I did get the weed-eating done to try and get the grass down to a manageable height. Even that was an ordeal. It took more than one day. The first day I got most of the yard done, but then my weedeater started overheating and malfunctioning. It was throwing out extra line which proceeded to sling shrapnel at my legs. I'd cut the line back to a normal length, and two seconds later (not an exaggeration), it would be back to military weapon length. I have actual gouges in my shins from projectiles the freakin' plastic string was finding in the grass. I don't even know what was hitting me! Between the bleeding and the smell of my weedeater frying, I finally gave up. This is where I left things that first day:




The first picture is close up to give you an indication how high the grass had gotten. The second one lets you see how much of the yard still needed to be tackled. It's been about a week since I finally got it all cut down, so it's all starting to grow again. That means if I don't mow this weekend, my war wounds will all be for naught.

On top of that, for the last week or so, I've had all my outdoor furniture stacked in my flower beds and such to keep it out of the way while I did the weed-eating and (presumed) mowing, so my yard looks a bit like a junk yard. You can't see the stacking in these two pictures, so you'll have to take my word for it. It's verging on pathetic.

So, I have some Gatorade chilled in the fridge, some Off ready to douse all exposed skin and some old tennis shoes and high socks to protect against the ant piles I will no doubt stire up (I shouldn't need shin guards since I'll be mowing instead of weedeating, meaning the shrapnel phase should be over), and I guess tomorrow morning is The Time. I *must* mow. I *must* marshall myself to just get it the frig done. I hope I don't kill my lawnmower the way I may have killed my weedeater. That would suck.

Something I'm trying to learn.

It's not what someone says to me that matters in the long run. It's what they do. Said more eloquently:

I have always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts. ~John Locke

When deeds speak, words are nothing. ~African Proverb

Well done is better than well said. ~Benjamin Franklin

Words without actions are the assassins of idealism. ~Herbert Hoover

Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events, not of words. Trust movement. ~Alfred Adler

A promise is a cloud; fulfillment is rain. ~Arabian Proverb

Remember, people will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold, but so does a hard-boiled egg. ~Author Unknown

Talk doesn't cook rice. ~Chinese Proverb

Ironically, making a statement with words is the least effective method. ~Grey Livingston

Just as a flower, which seems beautiful has color but no perfume, so are the fruitless words of a man who speaks them but does them not. ~Dhammapada

We are all inclined to judge ourselves by our ideals; others, by their acts. ~Harold Nicolson

Suit the action to the word, the word to the action. ~Shakespeare

As I grow older I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do. ~Andrew Carnegie

Between saying and doing many a pair of shoes is worn out. ~Italian Proverb

People may doubt what you say, but they will believe what you do. ~Lewis Cass

I wonder how many ways I'll have to hear it before I get it?

She's got the look.

Gwyneth Paltrow has a new look:

Yuck. I don't like it.

It really makes you realize how much of our appearance is maleable. You can really look different with a change of makeup, hair or weight. I wonder sometimes what I'd look like if some Hollywood stylist got a hold of me.

I've looked pretty much the same since high school. I'm a couple of sizes larger, but my proportions are about the same, so the overall effect is about the same. Just don't ask me to compare bathing suit photos from now and then.

After having long hair pretty much all my life, I cut my hair short about 10 years ago. I kept it short for about 8 years, which I suppose gave me a different look. Then, looking for a change, I started growing it out again about two years ago. I wasn't sure it would work. My hair is very fine and straight, and when I was younger, I always had to have perms to keep it from looking stringy and sad. But Austin is less humid than Houston (where I lived growing up), and straight hair is in, so it's been working out. The point I meandered to, though, was that the longer hair returned me to my traditional look.

I also don't wear a lot of makeup, and what I do wear is probably the same basic stuff I've always worn, applied the same basic way. As we see with Gwyneth above, makeup can make a huge difference in your appearance, so since I haven't changed mine up much, I guess that's another reason I look pretty much the same year-to-year.

So, what would a stylist do? Would they keep anything the same? Would I still look like myself? I'm fine with the way I look, but I wonder if I'd like some professionally engineered look better. Probably not. And besides, how would all my millions of fans know to greet me on the streets as I pass by if they couldn't recognize me? Probably best to just keep my look as it is.

Barry Bonds. Big Deal.

I don't follow pro baseball. I follow *some* college baseball (okay, mostly just UT), but that's about it - I never got too into baseball. I'm a football gal. I'm from Texas - what can I say?

But not being a student of the game doesn't stop me from knowing all about Barry Bonds and the Barry Bonds controversy and Barry Bonds tying Hank Aaron's record and Barry Bonds gets booed where Barry Bonds doesn't get cheered. And Barry Bonds.

My personal take on the matter is that his "record" should have a big-ass asterisk next to it. In my mind, he hasn't broken Hank Aaron's record. When he can do it without steroids and extra equipment, then we'll talk. If you don't know what I mean about him using extra equipment, read this article. Bonds apparently can't just cheat in one way - he's got to do it two ways in order to catch Aaron.

So, Hank, as far I'm concerned, you're still the king. And I imagine I'm not alone in that.

I wonder how many hot dogs Bonds can eat?

Enough with the evil giants.

Last year, AT&T absorbed SBC, which used to be SWB (Southwestern Bell), which used to be part of AT&T before the government broke up the giant AT&T monopoly in the 80s. In case you don't follow that, we've come full circle. AT&T used to gouge my parents, and now they gouge me. They've raised my rate at least twice since taking over, and I haven't increased my service one iota.

I'd get rid of my landline and tell them to bite themselves, but my cell service is really crappy inside my house (thank you, T-Mobile), and even if I had a strong signal, I'm not sure 9-1-1 would know where I am if I ever needed it and was calling from my cell. You have to have the right kind of 9-1-1 service in your area for that, and I'm kind of in the boonies. As a single woman living alone, it's important that you be able to dial 9-1-1, and even if you can't speak loudly, slowly and clearly to tell the operator where you are and that a bad man has just broken into your house or you've just fallen and hit your head and I...think...I'm...passing...ouuuuuuuuut, they can find you.

You think I'm paranoid? Well, I did, in fact, smack my noggin on the bathroom floor a few years ago and had to seriously try to assess if I might have a concussion and if I should go to the hospital (it sounded like a bowling ball smacking on concrete. I thought at first something had fallen from the countertop, not realizing it was the sound of my own skull smacking against vinyl tile...which overlays a concrete subfloor)- just what you want with no one there to wake you up every 2 hours and make sure you're not in a coma.

I had to make that assessment as I lay first on the bathroom floor and then on the bed, where I landed in heap just before a wave of nausea hit me. I'm guessing the person WITH the potential head injury is not the best person to decide what to do in those situations. But at least I knew that if I *did* decide a hospital trip was in order, I could reach to the side of the bed, dial 9-1-1 and someone would come, even if I didn't stay coherent through the call.

I didn't end up needing to go to the hospital. Or at least I didn't go, and I don't seem to be brain damaged. Looking back, it was pretty stupid not to go. But all of that is distracting from the real point here, which is that AT&T is a bunch of scumbag monopolists who screw you because they have you over a barrel and you have no choice.

Except for VoIP, I guess. But if I wanted to get high-speed Internet through my cable, and then get phone service through them and avoid AT&T, guess who my one and only choice for cable would be where I live? Time Warner. The other evil giant. There is no escape!

Soon. Very soon.

I know we all get caught up in our workaday lives, so it's possible you haven't looked ahead to what begins in just a few short weeks (four weeks, actually, if you're looking at a burnt orange schedule), but campers, glory is upon us. Yes, that's right, in just one short page-flip of the calendar, football season begins. Let me repeat that: football season begins!!!!

There will be plenty of time to talk about college football - UT in particular - in the ensuing months. I won't even address the pre-season pick with USC in the top spot in this posting. Okay, maybe I'll address it a little: what.evuh. Should UT be in that spot? Probably not. But I actually prefer not to start the season with a target on our helmets, so that's okay. And besides, I'd like to see if Colt is 100% before I start thinking about where we should be in the polls. But as I said, there will be plenty of wondorous months ahead to talk college ball.

What I want to talk about today is pro ball. I don't watch pro ball. I watched the Oilers growing up. I was a child of the Luv Ya Blue generation. Earl Campbell. Bum Phillips. Kenny Stabler. They were good years, with memories of the Astrodome, Dome Foam (my dad drank it, not me - I didn't drink beer in elementary school), Dome Dogs, and lots of clothes in a pretty bad shade of light blue - Columbia blue they called it. Sounds like a Yankee color to me.

Anyway, when Bud Adams, the a-hole owner of the Oilers fired Bum Phillips - and announced it on TV, no less, before Phillips could even tell his family - I felt my love of the team flag. Then Adams demanded the city build him a stadium, and when they didn't, he moved the team to Tennessee. Good riddance to bad rubbish, we Houstonians said! But that left me without a team to care about and Houston without a pro football team at all. Madness.

By that time, though, my love of college football had reached fever pitch, so I decided I didn't really care much. College games start on Thursday night, continue on Friday night, then hit full-on on Saturday from 11 a.m. until sometime into the early hours of Sunday morning sometimes for West Coast games. Do I really need to watch on Sunday, too?

Besides, pro ball isn't as much fun for me to watch. The fans don't really have the same love that college fans have (your team is always your team - it doesn't just pick up and move to another city one day), and the players are all a bunch of over-muscled prima donnas who mostly just want to celebrate themselves and figure out how to work their court dates into their social schedule. College players love the game, knowing they probably won't ever play again. It's an entirely different experience to me.

So, what, you must be asking yourselves, is the issue? What's the point of my post? Well, the point of my post is I'm deciding if I should try and follow a pro team this year - pick one to be loyal to and try to love it. I don't know if I can or should. I'm not even sure who to pick. The Texans, because they're the new Houston team? That could be an exercise in frustration. They suck. (Don't even THINK about the Cowboys. A Houston girl could never root for the Cowboys. That's just sick.) The Titans? Vince Young is the QB, and that's awesome. But that's Bud Adams' team. Not sure I could do that. The Colts? Peyton Manning is the QB, and we all know I love Peyton, and I did spend a semester in grad school in Indiana, so I have a connection to that state. The Packers? I love the spirit of the Packers - owned by the folks and such great history. And Brett Favre is a great guy.

I don't know. What do you all think? Do I try to embrace the pro football world or just stick with college ball and leave it at that? I have a month to decide...

No more slime in the ice machine.

Marvin Zindler has died. For those of you who aren't from Houston, this probably means nothing. But to us Houstonians (I've been an Austinite for 13 years, but I'll always be a Houstonian at heart), it's a loss of one of our icons - one more piece of my childhood disappearing into the mist.

A few of the national sites who covered Zindler's death referred to him as the guy who campaigned against the chicken ranch that spawned "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." Yeah, he was that guy, but he was so much more. Zindler was first and foremost an investigative reporter. It was in this role that he broke the famous chicken ranch story, but Zindler's real contribution was in his tireless campaign to help the poor, elderly and just plain screwed.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm not a bleeding heart. But I do believe in fairness and in justice, insofar as people should do what's right and shouldn't screw over other people. It's that simple. Do what's right. Well, alot of people don't do what's right, and those people especially like to pick on powerless people. That's where Zindler came in. Zindler worked on pretty much of a daily basis to help right wrongs that had been done to people who couldn't do much to fight back. He was one of the good guys.

He also did the work of the angels in arranging countless operations for disfigured and deformed children. When Zindler came calling with a cause, people lined up to help out. People who had the means to help knew that what they were doing was for a good cause and that there was nothing more at work than a desire to do good - not line someone's pockets or grandstand for cameras. Yes, Zindler made his living on camera, but the good he did wasn't to promote himself - it was a matter of him using his platform to help people.

Of course, what most Houstonians will really remember, aside from his snow white toupee, giant blue glasses, frequent plastic surgeries and dapper suits (the man could actually carry off a cravat), is Zindler's Rat and Roach Report. Zindler used to broadcast the Houston restaurant inspection report results on the news, telling Houstonians which restaurants were winners and which were losers. Frequently, the losers had a problem with their ice machines. In Zindler's words, they were cited for "Sliiiiiime in the ICE machine!!" Ewwww. Think about that next time your sucking up a nice, iced-cola from a straw at your favorite eating establishment. Oh, and he kinda yelled his way through his reports and his sign-offs ("Marvin Zindler...EYEwitness News!"). I would imagine you always knew when Zindler was in the room.

So, Houston is a little quieter today. And a little sadder. And a little less noble. I hope someone will take up the work Zindler did. No one will be able to do it exactly like he did, though. He was an original.

My backyard is a metaphor.

Been busy the last week - sorry for the lack of posts. I was out of town on business the latter half of last week, then had a busy weekend. Some of it was social (saw the movie "No Reservations" - it was good, but not stellar - and went to a house-warming), but mostly I tried to get caught up on some sleep and had a bunch of stuff to do around the house. How is it that I got a lot done, but I still seem to have a list a mile long?

I still haven't attempted to attack the backyard, which is truly out of hand now. I'm going to have to go back there with a weedeater just to get the grass down enough to mow it. It's just been so blasted hard to get enough of a break from the rain to do anything. I'm hoping tonight I can get started on the weedeater portion of things. We'll see. I haven't been terribly motivated lately.

I need to do it, though. I'm going to lose my cat back there if I'm not careful. I'm surprised I haven't already had nightmares about it. Not that I haven't had any nightmares. With some of what's going on in my life right now, that's a given. There are a couple of things causing me a lot of stress/anxiety/grief right now, and there's almost no way that my stress/anxiety/grief doesn't come through in a nightmare sooner or later. The other night, I dreamed that I'd been kidnapped. In the dream, the guy who kidnapped me had mistaken me for a young boy (it's a dream people - I don't think I look like a boy), and he kidnapped me because he was going to hold me captive, sexually abuse me and then probably kill me.

I managed to get to the bathroom before his first assault, and I got the attention of some neighbors out the window and tried to make them understand what was happening, and they kind of seemed to get it, but they wouldn't do anything, so I wasn't sure if they understood or not. Then the guy came in, and when he realized that I was trying to signal the neighbors and escape, he started to attack me. He managed to get his hand in my shirt and was pressing his fingernails into my sternum - it almost burned, and I was just trying desperately to keep him from touching any other part of me and to pull his hand away so the nails would stop digging into me. It was during this struggle that I woke up. In terror. I was afraid to go back to sleep for a while - I was afraid if I went back to sleep too quickly the dream would pick back up. So, I lay there, trying to normalize my breathing and get it through my head that I was safe in my house and all was well. It's such a pleasure being me.

Anyway, I'll see if I can't make some headway on my yard. And on my psyche.

Stupid Netflix.

When I was in 7th grade, in school we learned about the stock market. I don't really know what we learned - I was 13 with a mind built for spelling, so I have no idea what I could have absorbed beyond "buy low, sell high." But as part of the lesson, we had a contest. I think we picked stocks, and the person who had the highest value portfolio at the end of the quarter won a $50 savings bond. Guess who won? That's right - yours truly! The math-challenged student won the stock contest!

Ever since then, I've wanted desperately to play on the stock market. By "play" I honestly mean just to play. I wanted to have a certain amount of money that I could use to buy specific stocks (not indexed funds or any other sort of conglomeration - actual, individual stocks) that I researched and picked based on some sort of logic or system for fun. It would be okay if I lost the money. It would be a hobby or a game or whatever you want to call it. It would be entertainment.

The problem was, I never had enough of loose cash to play like that. I didn't want to get into DRIPs or any of that mess. I just wanted a straight-up e-Trade account where I did my own buys and sells and let the chips fall where they may.

Well, my stock mogul dream finally came true about a month ago. I got a big check for all my unused leave time from my old job, and after investing as much as the law would allow in my Roth IRA account, I decided to use the rest (or at least most of the rest) to open up a TD Ameritrade and get to tradin'!

I researched stocks and subscribed to newsletter from The Motley Fool and picked my stocks. When the account was all set up, I made my first purchases. I bought some Apple, because I knew the iPhone was coming out, and I had high hopes. I LOVE Mac products, and one of the stock gurus I've been learning from says that's one of the methods for picking stocks - investing in things you know and love. At first, that one wasn't doing much. People were trying to hate on the iPhone just before it came out. The stock suffered. But then the iPhone actually hit stores, and it's been all love from there - as of today, my stock is up 13% - woohoo!

One of the other companies I bought was Netflix. I love Netflix. And so do my friends. I know many people who have it and love it, and I read that they had plans to enter the download movie market, so I felt good about the direction they were headed. Motley Fool agreed with me. That's a buy. It went well for quite a while - not huge leaps forward, but in the black. Makin' me a little sumpin' sumpin'. We had one little blip when they lowered the price on one of their plans, but it came back.

Well, those stupid boneheads at Netflix decided to do it again - lower their prices again and on more than one plan! This time they're essentially telegraphing that they're starting to panic - that the competition is getting to them - they're not making it!! Thanks alot, Netflix. That one stock has now taken such a nosedive that it's pulled down my entire portfolio. My entire portfolio is now in the red because of stupid Netflix.

It's not down a lot, and as I said from the start, this is my play money. Nothing bad happens if I lose it. But still - it's so much more fun to make money than it is to lose it. Good thing I still have that savings bond from 7th grade.

*Update - okay, so as the day wears on, my portfolio as a whole has gone back into the black...but I still say "Stupid Netflix!" (I have to admit, I AM having fun with all this! :))

Napolean complex

I'm about to make a stereotype here, so I should start with a disclaimer. The stereotype I'm going to discuss is about short men. I should say up front that it does not apply to ALL short men. I not only know some short men who are not like this stereotype, I've even dated a few. And believe me, if the guys I dated had been remotely like this, I wouldn't have given them the time of day, much less dated them. So, that's my disclaimer. If you're a short guy, and you know this isn't you, don't take offense.

That said, I've met enough short men that DO fit this description for me to know it's true. Stereotypes develop for a reason.

The stereotype I'm talking about is the Napolean complex. In a nutshell, men suffering from this affliction are short men who feel that their stature in some way diminishes their manhood, so they have to make up for it by being angry, arrogant, pushy, short-tempered, loud, obnoxious - in general, assholes. If they are able to wrangle the least bit of power, they will use it like a club to beat anyone they can into submission. They're yellers. They're sarcastic. They're impatient. They have to belittle you to feel good about themselves.

Napoleanites, as I shall call them here, feel that they have to be as overtly manly, in the worst possible way, to remind you that they are, in fact, men. They are, in a word, pathetic. My dad use to say it simply: "Small men and small dogs." He didn't have to say more. Watch a small dog barking and snarling at some Irish Wolfhound, simply for walking nearby, and you get the picture.

Well, here's a newsflash to all you Napoleanites out there: no one buys it. We don't think you're manly. We're think you are (as I said above) pathetic. You are tiny little men in the way that counts - not as a measure of your height, but as a measure of your personhood.

You don't come off as strong. You come off as out-of-control, insecure, mean, unstable, unpleasant and afraid. Let's take two examples of men who appear to be anything BUT those things - and I'll pick one from each side of the political aisle so as to appeal to all readers: Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan. Pick the one you like, and then let's ask these questions:

1. Can you picture this guy yelling at someone to get something he wants done?
2. Can you picture this man firing off a sarcastic, mass email about something someone has done that he doesn't like, rather than just talking like a rational human being to whoever did it?
3. Can you picture this guy starting a fight, or better yet, beating the crap out of a copier when it doesn't do what he wants (when all it would really take is actually pushing a few buttons to get the setting he needs)?
4. Can you picture this guy in a meeting, sitting back in his chair with a smug smirk while someone tries to present something to him, as if to say, "You amuse me with your insignificance"?

No. You probably can't picture of any of these things. Because a real man, who is confident of his abilities and secure with himself doesn't need to do any of those things. He treats people with respect and dignity and makes them feel valued. And people know they can approach him, and he will listen - even if he doesn't give them the answer they want, he won't diminish them. And these qualities have nothing to do with how tall you are. They do, however, have everything to do with how small you look.

Sad.

I'm at a coffee shop today on my lunch hour. I wanted to do some personal computer stuff. But before I get to that, I really have to blog.

See, I'm looking at a woman who works here at the coffee shop. She so clearly has an eating disorder, it's painful to look at her. Aside from just the difficulty of seeing someone so emaciated, it's like her body is a reflection of some kind of inner pain. You know that a person doesn't develop that kind of thing in a vacuum. It's not like cancer or mutiple sclerosis or something. You don't just wake up with it one day.

You develop it in your own mind, usually as a way to control the one thing that you think you can. Which means you feel an utter loss of control in the other aspects of your life. Or maybe it's sometimes even more simple than that. Maybe you were heavy once, or someone just said you were, and it triggered something monumental in your mind - something that ballooned into an atomic explosion of disconnect and self-loathing.

Who knows what this girl's story is? I can tell you that she would be beautiful if her weight were normal. I don't mean she'd be attractive. I'm attractive - sometimes called cute and to a select few beautiful in their eyes. But this girl, she'd be beautiful. And you know she doesn't see it. She looks in the mirror, every day of her life, and she sees something...something else. She doesn't see what's true, because something else has power over her. Something else has corrupted her eyes, her mind, her life. And it will be the fight of her life to ever conquer it...if it doesn't kill her first.

It makes me sad.

I done been tagged.

Okay, Judy tagged me with a meme, so my post for today is covered!

THE RULES:
List 8 facts/habits about yourself.
Post the rules at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.
Tag 8 people and post their names, go to their blogs and leave them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog.

Alright, here are 8 facts about me:

1. I am short. I've been called "tiny" on several occasions, but I think that only applies if you're under 5' - I am 5'3", so I am merely short.
2. I am conflicted about my meat-eater status. I love animals, and if I had to kill my own food, I don't think I could look into a cow's soft brown eyes and do the deed. But I like me a burger with bacon, guac and monterrey jack. So for me, burgers don't come from cows - they come from Hut's.
3. I love to drive too fast and listen to my music too loud, and I frequently talk on my cell phone (using a hands-free device) while I'm driving (in large part because my cell phone barely works inside my house, and I can't talk at work, so when I'm driving around is the best time for me to talk). However, I will say angry things about other people who do the same things. Me: multi-tasker. Them: menaces.
4. Brad Pitt has never particularly done anything for me.
5. I'm somewhat phobic about bugs, but only if they touch me. They're allowed to live and be in my general area, but if they get on me, I can't be responsible for the mayhem that results.
6. I love breakfast food anytime.
7. I don't have to have my house *clean*, but it has to be neat, or I get anxious.
8. I hate shirts that are tight under my arm pits.

Now for my 8 people. One small problem with this one. I only have 2 friends with blogs - one sent this to me and the other would never post a meme on his blog. So, I won't be tagging anyone, but if you visit my blog, please feel free to answer in the comment section!

One day closer to the next day.

The weekend in review:

Friday night I saw the new Harry Potter movie at the IMAX. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie or read any of the books. I have nothing against it, per se, I just generally avoid things that involve people dressing in costume and camping out for opening day. But my company bought us the tickets and let us close up shop early to attend, so I had nothing to lose. I did, in fact, enjoy it, so no complaints. The 3D part was much improved over the last 3D movie I saw - Jaws 612, I think it was. In that one, you wore the glasses for the entire 2 hours, and the payoff for wearing the bulky, uncomfortable plastic mask was an occasional half-eaten fish floating at you off the screen.

Saturday night I went with my crew out to Canyon Lake to see Mingo Fishtrap. Mingo was, of course, awesome as always. You just really couldn't ask for anyone to do what they do any better than they do it. Love 'em. But we were a little miffed at the venue. The crowd was pretty small because the venue was a rather out-of-the-way place. When we got there, they up-sold us. We had general admission tickets, and they convinced us to pay an extra $50 to sit in an area that had actual picnic tables and was located facing the stage (the general admission area was to the side). We thought it would be more comfortable and were fine with paying the extra dough (okay, Jason paid for it, but the rest of us offered to pitch in!), but once the show started, we began to notice the $50 area filling up more and more with people who were not wearing wrist-bands for the area. Eventually, the entire crowd was in there. The venue did *nothing* to patrol the area. So, we paid $50 for nothing because we could've just sat in there for free like everyone else. Not happy about that. But lesson learned for next time.

Sunday, I paid a short visit to the folks' and then spent the rest of the day trying to get stuff done around the house. I succeeded in making a great many piles of "stuff I need to do something with." I'm not sure I didn't just ratchet up my own anxiety.

In news from the outside world, this: Lindsay Lohan is out of rehab. Insert your own cynical comment because it's just not worth my creative energy to come up with anything. Or just save it for the next time she goes.

They're here.

The Beckhams are here. Woo-hoo.



I wonder if anyone has actually explained to them that no one in the U.S. actually gives a crap about soccer. Oh, there are a few people here and there who care, for reasons none of the rest of us can fathom. Most were born somewhere else, but a handful were born here. We can't really explain what happened with the latter group. David Beckham is nice enough to look at (except in the photo above, where he looks like a heroin addict - good God, don't these people EAT?), but frankly, unless he plans on putting on some pads and a helmet and learning how to forward pass with his HANDS, I can't imagine it's going to create much of a sensation here among us regular folk. But welcome Famous European Who Could Be Sitting Next To Me And I Wouldn't You.

And the Spice Girls? I'm guessing their songs will soon be on Geritol ads, so I can't get excited about "Posh" setting up shop here - not that I was excited back when the Spice Girls were actually popular. Mostly now, when I look at her, I just think, "Someone get that woman a sandwich. And cram it down her throat even if she fights you." I may have issues sometimes with this part of my body or that part, but I have NO desire to look like Victoria Beckham. She looks like she's been in a concentration camp for the last 3 years.

I have no idea if the Beckhams are nice people. Maybe they are. I have no problem with them moving here. And best of luck to them both in their careers, though I can't imagine that playing soccer in L.A. is what Becks dreamed of as a child. But whatever. At least they won't be requesting that we put our signs and election ballots in another language.

Lady Bird is gone.

Lady Bird Johnson died yesterday. Lady was the right moniker for her. She was truly that.



In many ways, she reminded me of my maternal grandmother. They kind of looked alike. They were around the same age. And there was a forgiving, maternal quality about the two of them that made you love them with your complete heart. When you were loved by my grandmother, you knew it. And it was a gift from God. I miss her more than I can say. And with Lady Bird's passing, I feel her loss again, because Lady Bird was a living reminder of her.

Lady Bird led an extraordinary life. She was a bright woman that many people underestimated because her intellect came wrapped in a gentile, East Texas package. That's another mistake I've seen the wider world make too often. But that's okay - she knew who she was and so did LBJ. He didn't always do what he should - it's pretty well conceded he wasn't always faithful - but he did love her, and she him. And she bore whatever indignities he committed with a grace that just about no one carries anymore. Too bad for all of us.

She cared about the environment. She cared about people. She cared about this country. She cared about Texas. She cared about her family. She did good with her time on this Earth, and she showed us by example how we could all do a little better - in many aspects of our lives. She will be missed.

(He speaks the truth: http://www.statesman.com/ap/mediahub/media/slideshow/index.jsp?tId=26203

It's just so wrong.

I just found out some really upsetting news. The evil warlocks at Paramount are remaking Footloose!

I know, I know. It's unconscionable. Footloose is perfect the way it is. Kevin Bacon (do they REALLY think so newbie can step into The Bacon's dancin' shoes - spare me), a young and undiscovered Sarah Jessica Parker, Sean Penn's brother. And the music! Kenny Loggins. Sammy Hagar. Ann Wilson and Mike Reno. Dancin' in the Sheets! Let's hear it for the boy!! I can SEE the 80s hair, just TALKING about it!!!

I'm SICK at the thought of a 21st-century reimagining with some Lindsay Lohan spawn in the Ariel role or Ren's character driving - what? A Mini Cooper? Oh god. I just can't think about it.

Can we not leave the classics alone??? Did they learn nothing when they remade Psycho???

Politicians make my blood boil.

I've talked before on this blog about apologies - good ones, bad ones, non ones. It seems that Lousiana Senator David Vitter (Republican for those who care) has given us new material with which to address this topic, and I'm none too happy about it.

I'm annoyed that I'm having to address it again, because I'm not bringing it up to praise Vitter. I'm using his arrogant apology to point out to another example of what you shouldn't do when apologizing. Arrogant, you say? He was arrogant? Yes. He was.

Vitter's name showed up in a madam's phone book. Seems he couldn't keep it in his pants when away from his wife and children and was even willing to pay to break his marriage vows. And now we all know about it. Okay. So, what with him being active in the Giuliani campaign (don't you know Rudy wants to bitch-slap him?), he's got to apologize publicly. So he did.

He started off okay. He says it's a serious sin. He accepts full responsibility. But then he says he asked for forgiveness from God and received it. That's where he loses me. See, I believe that if you ask God sincerely for forgiveness - and sincerity is key - you get it. He probably is forgiven. BUT when you're asking someone ELSE for forgiveness, don't play the "God forgives me" card, because implicit in that is, "God forgave me, so you should, too, and it shouldn't be an issue anymore."

First of all, there's the timing. God knew what you did when you did it. He had plenty of time to wait around for you to feel bad about it and then admit it and ask forgiveness. The rest of us just now heard about it, so the implication that we should also forgive you today, the moment we hear about it - well, the public may need a bit more time. And don't say that the public's forgiveness is irrelevant - you didn't just betray your wife. You held yourself up as some kind of bearer of public morality - Mr. Family Values - and now we know you are in no position to be telling any of us how to behave.

Secondly, there's the implication itself that God forgave you so we should. Yet again, we find YOU telling US what to do and basing it in some kind of moral authority. You know what God wants - you've discussed it and now you're telling us, as an informed messenger of The Most Holy One (not the pope - I'm assuming he's not involved, since the current pope would probably cut your willie off for diddling a prostitute). So we should all do as we're told. Granted, you don't say outright that we should forgive you, but the fact that you're telling us that God and your wife have given you a pass...well, the implication is there. Why tell us that if you weren't suggesting something? Anyone who heard you say that felt uncomfortable about it - they just may not have known why.

Lastly, there's the apology for letting people down "in any way." When people say that, there's a sense that they don't really know how exactly they let you down, but okay, you feel let down so whatever it was I did to let you down, sorry. It's a mild form of the non-apology. "Sorry you feel bad for whatever it is you feel I did." He knows what he did, but he seems to minimize why others may feel let down because of it. He should've just left the "in any way" off and just said he was sorry to the people he let down. Period. He let them down, he gets how and why, and he's sorry. End of story.

Apologies are not complicated. They're really not. They may be hard, because it requires you to acknowledge that you did something wrong, to accept responsibility for it, and to make yourself vulnerable to the possibility that the other person might not accept it. But they're not complicated. You don't justify what you did. You don't tell the other person how to handle your apology (that they should, for instance, forgive you like God did, or let it go, etc.). You don't suggest that what you did wasn't that bad, or it's all about the other person's hyperactive emotions rather than what you did. You don't just say, "Sorry" without acknowledging what you're sorry for.

You just plain accept responsiblity for what you did, acknowledge why the other person is hurt by it, say you're sorry and take your lumps. And you do every bit of it sincerely. That's it. The vast majority of the time, you do that, you'll be forgiven and people will move on much faster. You don't, they'll continue to feel resentment and it'll never completely be over.

Lame day

Having trouble deciding what to post about today - not because I can't get motivated about anything, but because there are so many things rattling around in my brain. I can't decide which one to focus on. I've tried twice to post and given up both times as I got interrupted by other things and then lost interest in continuing the original post.

Oh hey - some guy just walked past my office. Big dude with a bluetooth phone thingie in his ear. Who is that? We're a small office and there's only one other person past my office. Guess he was going to see her. She's not there. Who IS he? Her husband?

I had a dream last night that our office had some kind of "team-building" event going on - a party or a happy hour or something, I don't know. But some of my co-workers were sitting around in a circle, and it turned out one of them was a medium, and he had a spirit guide who would predict the future for people who worked in the office. I joined the group, thinking it would be fun to hear my future, only to be told I was going to be fired, and I got the impression it would be soon.

I was understandably upset in the dream, what with just having started my job and now all my co-workers know I'm going to be fired. I then woke up, and of course, tried to figure out what I'd done that I'd be fired for. Then I woke up a little more and tried to talk myself into believing that it was just a garden-variety nightmare, not a sign of some kind.

I've had to take two calls today from people I don't know. I've apparently crossed some sort of "new employee" line where I'm now expected to take the calls that someone who actually knows this job would take. Except I don't know that much yet, so I couldn't answer their questions. One was rude and the other was mildly exasperated and exasperating, since I couldn't seem to get through to her that I DON'T KNOW!

My head hurts.

A proud nation thanks you.

Well, we can hold our heads up high again. Joey Chestnut has given us back our pride. That's right, folks, the Mustard Belt is back in American hands, as it should be.

Don't know what the Mustard Belt is? For shame. Turn in your flag and move to China, ya freakin' commie.

The Mustard Belt is the hot dog eating championship - hot dogs and buns, to be precise. For several years now, a skinny Japanese guy named Kobayashi has pounded an absurd number of hot dogs and buns down his gullet to humiliate us Americans. To be out-eaten by a ASIAN??? We're AMERICANS! No one should be out-gorging the Americans. It's obscene. The world tells us on a regular basis that we're fat, greedy pigs, so by God we should have the title.

Well, thank you, Joey Chestnut for righting the wrong that has been done all these years - and on July 4th, no less. You are a hero, my friend. There was some talk of a sore jaw on Kobayashi's part - perhaps there were those who knew that Joey was going to take Kobayashi down, and they were trying to build in an excuse. "Yashi [as I shall call him - it's too annoying to type out his whole name every time] was playing injured, man! It's a tainted win!"

Don't even go there. Yashi was slamming dogs like no tomorrow. If he was in pain, he wasn't showing it. He was shoving weiners in and dipping his buns in water to create that foul bread-paste that presumably goes down easier and never flinching. Until.

Until when? If you don't know the answer to that, you weren't watching. Because anyone watching will be somewhat damaged by what they saw in the final seconds of this mammoth contest. As the final seconds ticked by, Joey was forcing in his 66th hot dog (in 10 minutes? 15? I don't know - it's more than 2 in 20 minutes, so that's well beyond anything I'm capable of), and Yashi was close behind, trying to make some last-minute push. That's when it happened. Kobayashi, World's Greatest Eater, America's Foe, suffered a "reversal." That's what the announcers called it. A reversal. To you and me, it means that he vomited into his own hands, which were pressed against his face. His eyes showed panic, and he tried to force the mushy puke back into his mouth, thinking that maybe no one would notice or he might not be penalized for the "loss." Um...dude...it's on TV. We didn't just see it when it happened, we saw it twice more in slo-mo. It was one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen. WE were penalized.

Joey stood firm, his 66 dogs hanging out in some sort of slosh in his stomach. But he showed nary a moment's discomfort. Yashi, it was all he could do to keep from a full-on reversal. Joey, he said, "I could eat another if I had to." That's my boy. THAT's an American! In the end, Yashi was only credited with 63 hot dogs. The ones he vomited up - those don't count. So, Joey was solidly declared the victor.

And another American hero goes into the record books.

I hear blue is a fetching color.

I used to like Nicholas Cage. I did! I laughed often and heartily at "Honeymoon in Vegas." I probably still would if I watched it again. But somewhere along the way, Nick got kind of...odd. He veered down his own little path, and that path needed some paving, or even some gravel.

But did Nick pave? Did Nick put down some gravel? No, he did not. He left it dusty and rutted, and occasionally it rains and gets all muddy and Nick seems to have trouble navigating.

There are the lame movies. The failed marriages. The Elvis fascination. The naming of his latest child after Superman's dad (just go ahead and set up a therapy fund now, Nick). And he seems to take himself just a wee bit seriously.

With all of this on the plate, it's not surprising that his oldest son is emerging as also a bit on the unusual side. I'm sure that he and Nick characterize it as some form of "creative," but I'm just going to go ahead and say that this is a kid with tough times ahead. See for yourself:



Apparently, Nick and Eldest Son are making some comic book movie called "Voodoo Child," presumably because it's important to be goth and dark, so no one mistakes you for mainstream, which we all know is synonymous with being shallow and stupid.

So far as I can tell from this photo, he's a fatter, gother version of Nick. And you know what? That wasn't necessary. The world didn't need another version, and if we did, we'd want one more normal.

This also begs a bigger question: WHEN will the goth fad finally have its blood all sucked out and die??? I'm so bored with it. Someone needs to explain to these people that it's no longer cutting edge, cool, mysterious or mistaken for angst and, therefore, depth. It's just a fashion that's past its prime. Put on a little color and stop pretending you're fascination with death makes you unique. We're all fascinated with it on some level. Why do you think we rubber-neck at car accidents? So, get over it. Try listening to Katrina and the Waves. Dye your hair blonde. And drive a VW Bug. You'll love it. It'll be great.

First-hand account

Well, I finally saw for myself the magnitude of what's been going on at the lakes around here. It really is pretty amazing.

Saturday night, Ang was singing with the band Wall Street out at Carlos and Charlie's, which is on Lake Travis. For those who don't know, CnC has two parts - the main restaurant and a patio area. The restaurant floats, but the patio is permanent.

A month ago, when we went boating on Lake Travis, we went to CnC and you had to walk up what amounted to about two stories worth of stairs to get from the boat dock to the patio/street level. When I went on Saturday, the water was at patio level - whoa!!

Ang told us that CnC's management had told Wall Street the band might have to wrap things up early, because the lake level was supposed to rise throughout the evening. I guess they were opening up dam gates again. In any case, throughout their show, you'd see people slipping over to the side of the stage to see where the water level was as it crept up the stairs that would normally lead down to the docks (which were now floating right next to us). Just before midnight, the water finally breached the patio, and that was it for the show - the band had to stop so they could get their equipment put away before it got wet! Crazy.

I've never seen the lake this high. I admit, I don't get out there as much as I'd like to. The last time we had flooding like this, in 1998, I think, I saw Town Lake incredibly high, but what I saw Saturday was way more impressive.

Mother Nature. She'll put you in your place.

Roundup - sans flooding talk

I refuse to blog about the rain. I'm too sick of it. I don't want to talk about it. Instead, I think I may do a roundup. I haven't done one of those in a while. Here are things on my mind:

1. Don't bring your children to work. I know school is out. I know daycare is expensive. And I realize that you're child is good and mature and a joy to be around. But I can't emphasize this enough: no one else wants to spend their whole day with your kid - particularly if they have grown-up work stuff to do. Should I say it again? Because it's important. People do not want to spend their whole day with someone else's kid unless it's their job to do so, meaning they are a daycare worker or a babysitter. I am neither of those things, and neither are most, if not all, of your co-workers.

2. Don't name your kids something weird. I realize it's all about YOU and how cool YOU are because you were able to think up something weird and you had the balls to step outside the norm and actually name your child after fruit or a musical instrument, but for chrissake, the kid has to live with that name for the rest of his life. Every single year, he has to endure the snickers and teasing from other kids, correct teachers who can't believe someone seriously named their child something that stupid and bizarre and try to normalize the name, and then they hit adolescence, and well, isn't being 15 bad enough without being named after Superman's father? Then there's whole "being taken seriously" as an adult. Just set your desperate need for attention and to be "creative" and "individual" aside and give them a name that isn't scarring at worst and annoying at best.

3. Paula Abdul has some new reality show/documentary thing about to start, where cameras follow her around and record her bitter and somewhat paranoid daily ravings. No good can come of this, Paula. If it's not too late, consider pulling the plug. Don't say no one told you.

4. I watched a documentary about the Statue of Liberty the other night. It made me cry. I love this country. I really hope we're able to not only survive against the people trying to take us down, from within and without, but prosper in the ideals this country was founded upon. We really are the best thing going. Why do you think so many people want to come here? I haven't noticed Iran struggling with how to handle a massive immigration problem.

5. I also this week watched a documentary about Niagara Falls. Amazing! I really MUST get up to see it one of these days. I've said that for years, and I haven't made it up there, but now that I know even more about the falls, and I'm even more awed than ever about them, I've just got to make it a point to see them with my own eyes. That and the Grand Canyon. Can you believe I haven't seen the Grand Canyon? Me neither. Oh, and Mount Rushmore. Gotta see that. Man, there's still so much cool stuff to see that I haven't seen yet! And this is all just in the U.S. Don't even get me started on all the international trips I want to take! Travel rocks.

6. And last but not least for today, apparently Mitt Romney's name translates to "sticky rice" in Chinese. Yahoo has a story about how all the U.S. presidential candidates' names translate here.I don't want to know how mine translates. Unless it's something awesome, like "beautiful and brilliant flower."

Note to...everyone.

Okay, people. Here's the deal. From now on, when you meet a woman who is over 35 and she's single, no matter how badly you want to know, no matter how crazy the reality of her singledom seems to you, do not, I repeat, DO NOT ask her, "So, why aren't you married?"

One of my new co-workers is a young woman in her early 20s. She's a nice girl. She's personable. I like her. But yesterday, in the course of some conversation we were having, she asked me that question. And I wanted to kill her.

Maybe it's because she's in her early 20s. She has no idea what it's like to be 38 and...well, she has no idea. I've spent the better part of a decade asking myself the question she asked. My friends have asked the question. My family has asked the question. And I suppose I'm glad the answer isn't obvious. It would be worse, I suppose, if people looked at me and said, "Well, of course she's not married." Or if they got to know me and said, "Would you want to be married to that?"

So, let me be clear that I'm glad it's such a mystery to people. But seriously, I think I may start answering that question with, "Because clearly I'm unlovable." I mean, I could go with, "It's the lesions." Or, "The voices tell me not to." Or my personal favorite, "What circus clown?? WHERE???!" But if I went with the unlovable thing, maybe they'd get that's actually a rather painful subject. I didn't choose it. I don't want it. And there doesn't appear to much I can do about it. I get out, I meet people, I do things. And it is what it is. God seems to have his own plan about things.

So, for the record: there is nothing wrong with me. I'm normal. I have no commitment phobias. I date when I can (I'm not some shut-in hoping that Mr. Right will come knock on my door, making a FedEx delivery). I'm not gay. I've had real relationships with decent men. There's nothing that would make me particularly hard to live with, and my friends and family seem to like me. I'm not perfect, but no one is. And overall, the consensus seems to be I'd be quite a catch. I just haven't found the right person at the right time. That's it. That's all. So, unless you'd like to see a perfectly nice person's head explode right in front of you, please do not ask me why I'm not married. And spare any other woman over 35 that you know the same question. We don't feel like answering it.

A weekend at home...finally.

My first weekend at home in a month was a rousing success. I haven't been blogging much about my weekends and social activities lately, so you may not know this, but I've been out of town the last three weekends in a row. Such things cause a person's house to get completely out of hand. But this weekend, I finally stayed home and actually got to do both social and practical things. Here is the roundup:

Friday night. I got home, changed into comfortable clothes, laid down on the couch to watch TV and try and convince myself to do something productive. After about half an hour, Angela called me and invited me to go out with her and her boyfriend's posse. This was way more appealing that doing something productive. So, after about another half hour on the couch, I finally got up and showered and repackaged myself for a night out. Big fun was had by all (except for the loser on the rooftop at Speakeasy who was wearing sunglasses - at 1:00 a.m. Angela tried to explain to him that the sunglasses were truly a hindrance to whatever it was he was trying to accomplish, but he continued to wear them anyway. Loser.).

Saturday. I did not leave the house. In a good way. I got through some paperwork that had been piling up, made pumpkin bread for a reception (church thing, but not a wedding thing), did laundry and managed to watch the entire third season of "Deadliest Catch." There was a marathon on the Discovery channel. It's called multi-tasking. And no, I haven't seen seasons one or two, so I'll have to catch up on them at some point. Maybe Netflix has it.

Sunday. I went to Sunday School and the aforementioned reception. This is where I must complain. I really like the lady who planned the reception. Earlier in the week, she asked for help setting up, and I said I'd help because anytime I can help this lady out, and hang out with her for that matter, I'm on board. Did I mention she's in her mid-70s? I love her, though. I want to be her when I'm in my 70s. What I didn't know was that Control Freak Lady (another member of our Sunday School class) was also helping. "Helping" is the wrong word when Control Freak Lady is involved. The proper expression of her efforts is "taking over."

I might as well have not been there. CFL took over everything, instructing us where to put things and what to do and how to do it, according to her wishes (I should repeat here that she was NOT the host of this reception - mid-70s lady was the host) - except me. She instructed me in nothing. Me, she ignored. She acted like I wasn't there, even ignoring me outright when I tried to chime in a couple of times about things. Oh, except when I offered to go get the fruit tray out of the church fridge. She then acknowledged me enough to tell me that SHE thought it should come out later. Fine. Do it yourself, then, CFL.

Worse yet, I had been led to believe that the reception would start an hour earlier than it actually did. So, I had to wander around, helping with nothing (since CFL deemed me invisible), for a freakin' hour, waiting for the reception to begin. I would've walked out except that I didn't want mid-70s lady to be upset if she figured out I was leaving because I was pissed, and I didn't want to leave without actually attending the reception for our classmate. And if I left, trust me, I wasn't coming back. So, I sucked it up and tried to be discreet about rolling my eyes everytime CFL spoke and finally, 30 minutes into the reception, I was able to slip out. Arrrgh.

The rest of the day was kind of a repeat of Saturday, but without "Deadliest Catch." The house is almost habitable again. I did find a new show on Sunday to keep up with, though. "Ice Road Truckers." I didn't think I'd want to watch it, but I tried it out, and I DO. Here's the deal: There are diamond minds in the Northwest Territories of Canada, up near the Arctic Circle. Who knew? Not me. Anyway, 10 months of the year, these mines are cut off from any overland approach. They're socked in by lakes - no road in. But 2 months of the year, the lakes freeze over, and the Canadian government creates an ice road - as in a road on top of the ice - for 18-wheelers, carrying loads in the tens of thousands of pounds, to drive over, carrying supplies to these mines. This show follows a handful of the truckers driving this insane trek. And Suzanne is watching.

Did I mention I need Tivo?

June 21.

It's the first day of summer!

Whatever.

Yeah, yeah, I know - I said how great it was that it's summer because I get to go to the film festival. And it is nice to wear some of the clothes I haven't worn for several months. When I get to go to the lake, that's cool, too.

But really, summer just doesn't have the excitement attached that it did when I was a kid. Remember how great it was when you got finished with that last day of school, and you were off for 3 whole months??? That was awesome.

I don't know what your summers looked like, but mine were filled with going to the pool, and hanging out with friends, and riding my bike. We had a teenage babysitter one summer and ate frozen pizza almost everyday until I didn't want it again for years. I painted the columns on our front porch one year as an assigned chore, and I remember dragging this heavy-ass portable TV out onto the porch so I could watch/listen to reruns of Alice while I toiled. I slept in, went to Astroworld, got a tan (God willing I won't have the melanoma to show for it). One year, MTV showed The Monkeys all summer, and I got obsessed with that - who do I have a crush on - Mike? Peter? Definitely not Mickey. (And yes, I was aware that each of them in real life was my dad's age - I just put that out of my head.) We cleaned a friend's car out one fine summer day, and it led to the first time I caught my hair on fire (yes, it's happened more than once). There were also all the great family vacations - Colorado in the camper. Truly, the good old days.

So, forgive me if I don't really look at summer with the same zeal now that I used to. Somehow, sitting at a desk, working all day, looking out the window at people in their shorts, with their kids, on vacation and out of school, and listening to my teacher friend talk about her two months off, just doesn't conjure up the same excitement I once had.

Oh well. At least I have great memories. Good life. Back to work (sigh)...

Ain't no one gonna do it for you.

One of the adjustments I've had to make since switching jobs is that I'm no longer on a Mac in my work environment. My new employers provide everyone with PCs. I know - it's insanity.

My home computer is my laptop, Big Mac, which I've mentioned here before. I love it. I love having a laptop, and I love having a Mac, so a Mac laptop is like some kind of chocolate-covered strawberry super wonderful kind of computer situation. The only downside of working on my totable wonder, and I mean it, is that the desktop Mac I was on at my previous job had one of those giant screens where I could open two documents side-by-side in normal-sized type with no special jockeying of anything. As an editor, that's vunderbar. But for my personal use, the smaller laptop screen is fine. Getting a screen much larger than the 13" on my laptop would make the computer itself larger, and thus, heavier, so what I have is fine.

Getting used to a PC is less fine, though. I know all you PC users out there think we Mac folks are fanatics, and maybe we are, but Macs are just so much better (that's not subjective, you understand - just a fact). They're so user-friendly. Finding stuff on my PC is a pain in the rear. I keep thinking, "Where's the desktop icon of my hard drive that I can just click on and a whole map of my hard drive will just appear so that I can easily search for what I need?" And then I remember, "Oh yeah. I'm on a PC. I've got to dig around from the Start menu and hope I stumble upon what I need. Great."

(In the unlikely event that my new employer should somehow stumble upon this blog and figure out who I am, even though I carefully avoid ever mentioning anything that might out me or you, let me give this disclaimer: I'm not complaining! Everything about you, your organization, your equipment, your benefits is like a dream come true! I feel like I've entered into Nirvana by getting hired here! Bless you!)

Switching jobs has also necessitated learning a new phone system (I still don't know my own phone number here), a new organization, new editing style (it's the details that bedevil an editor - "Oh, you capitalize that? Well. Okay. I've never capped that, and I don't know anyone who does. But you say we should. So, okay, I guess I will - and I'll try to stop my eye from twitching like that everytime I have to ignore the capping."), and all new people.

It's been several years since I last changed jobs, and I forgot what a big deal it is. You get in a groove somewhere. You know who is who and what is what and where things are and how things work. It's a big deal to change pretty much all of that. I'm doing fine and picking things up, and I hope it won't take long to get into a groove here. But to everyone who has been in one place for a long time, and the thought of starting over somewhere else seems beyond daunting, I can say this: I completely get that feeling. I understand. And you're right that it's a lot to change. But make sure that when you get to the end of your life, you're not looking back and wishing you'd stepped out of that comfortable (or maybe uncomfortable, but known) spot and just given something else a try.

You don't have to change your whole career or life if you're in the right field - maybe just your job. If you DO want to change your career, get on with it. Take a class, or talk to someone who does what you want to do, or just start making a plan. There really is no time like the present, and I promise you, it won't happen unless you make it happen. You might get fired or something and be forced out of where you are, but it's still going to be you that has to take the steering wheel and steer that ship of yours where you want it to go. It's all you. If you don't JUST DO IT, no one else is going to do it for you.

You get one shot at this life. One. Don't waste time. Don't end up looking back with regret. It's awkward to start someplace new. Sometimes you lose some of what you had built up to (vacation time, pay, etc.), but you get on a new path, and that new path can lead you to more than you would've had on the old one. Sacrifice, risk - it's often part of the deal. But ya gotta think long-term. So just do it. Even if it means working on a PC for the forseeable future.

What kind of aliens are you people?

I just read Busy Mom's blog, and she mentions that she doesn't need an alarm to wake up on time. I know two other people with this same bizarre gift, and I just want to know what kind of advanced alien brain you have that you can just SENSE when it's time to wake up and then you can actually do it??

I'm sure I've revealed on here before my love of sleep. I love-a the sleep. I love my bed, and getting in my bed, and snuggling down into my bed to drift off. I love when I wake up in the middle of the night and, after squinting at the clock in the dark, realize I can go back to sleep, preferably for a few more hours. I love the weekends when I know I don't have to get up at any particular hour. The fact that I don't have children to wake me at an ungodly hour on a Saturday almost makes being 38 and childless with no prospects bearable.

I need at least 7 hours to function like someone without a brain injury, and if I could get more like 8.5 or 9, without going to bed while it's still light outside, I would. I like being up in the morning, but only when I wake up on my own. Which brings me to the point I made earlier.

I have no ability whatsoever to wake up at a particular time without the aid of an alarm clock. I think it's possible that the ability to do that may be an evolutionary leap forward. That means that those of you who can do that are mutants. Since my dad is one of those people, I'm happy to report that since I didn't inherit that ability, it means I've returned the gene pool to it's proper mutant-free state. Unless my brother can do it. Maybe he can. It would be just like him...

I'm going to do it. Really I am.

The new job has come with a small bump in pay, but it's enough of a bump that I can actually look into joining the 21st century. I'm going to upgrade on two technological fronts. I'm going to get DSL (yes, that's right Virginia, I'm currently on dial-up), and I'm going to get a DVR.

Actually, the DVR thing isn't set in stone yet. I need to find out how much it would cost me to upgrade my Dish Network receiver to a DVR model. I think I actually own the receiver I have now, which means they'll probably make me pay for a new DVR model, then I'd pay the extra monthly fee for the service. The monthly fee isn't much - less than $10. But I just need to get the details. Of course, I barely have time to watch all the stuff I've already got recorded using my VCR, and I've had a Netflix DVD sitting on my table, waiting to be watched, for a week now. But it's Tivo! (Legal disclaimer: Tivo is a trademark. My actual digital video recording equipment and service will not be provided by Tivo. I will have a Tivo-like recording experience.)

I also need to impose on my mom to come and wait for the AT&T guy when I get my DSL. I know people who just get equipment sent to them and they install their DSL stuff themselves. But those are people who know how to do things. I do not. And I don't wish to screw it up or become enraged with frustration when I can't make it work. So, I'll pay for someone to come install it and get it up and running. Except that I can't take any time off from work yet, so my mom will have to be the one to sit at my house and wait for the guy to show up. So, I can't set up the appointment until she gets some stuff off her plate and can afford to waste a whole day sitting at my house.

So, I guess what I should have said was that I plan, eventually, to make these technological upgrades, but I don't actually know when. Does intent count for anything?

The sequel...

is never as good as the original. (sigh)

"After the Thin Man" was good. It's never a waste of time to watch William Powell and Myrna Loy for an hour and a half. But the sequel to "The Thin Man" was longer on action and shorter on funny dialogue, and I missed the quips and banter. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't watched them back-to-back, but I did feel that the first one was the better of the two. Not that I'd refrain from watching any of the rest of them. I've seen some of the other ones and always enjoy myself.

I'm not much interested in the films for the next couple of weeks. They venture into the 70s, which is not a preferred time period for me for movies. There are a few good ones from the 70s (The Godfather and Saturday Night Fever leap to mind), but on the whole, I don't much like that era. Things got a little gritty and dark around then, and I tend to feel sort of depressed or dirty at the end of the "masterpieces" of the time - Chinatown, Cabaret, etc. I prefer leaving the theater feeling better than when I went in - laughing a lot or feeling moved, but not creeped out.

Just thinking about those movies makes me want to go watch a cartoon or pet a kitten. Pleasant thoughts! Sunshine thoughts! Go to the happy place...

*Added later: I forgot to mention one of the best parts of viewing these old movies - the supporting cast! You never know who is going to pop up in one of these old films, just starting out in a career that later ended up huge. I make it a point to read the cast list at the beginning of the movie to see if I should keep an eye out for anyone. Tuesday night, one of the supporting actors was a very young Cesar Romero. Holy Joker, Batman! And last night, it got even better. One of the supporting characters was played by an also very young Jimmy Stewart!

Another of the supporting actors was a woman I kept looking at and thinking I knew her, but I couldn't place her. The face and voice were familiar, but.... Finally it hit me. She played Blondie in the Blondie/Dagwood movies. Penny Singleton was her name, and in the Blondie movies she was, well, blonde, and very innocent and sweet. In "After the Thin Man" she was brunette and a shady dancing girl con-woman (you know how we brunettes are). I hadn't noticed her name in the credits, and I'm guessing I was the only one in the audience who recognized her, though I could be wrong. I'm going to assume the other people in the audience don't have brains filled with bizarre trivia like that, though. I choose to call it a gift.

It's hot.

Zowie. It's hot. I know the calendar says it's spring, but trust me, it's summer.

I kinda knew it was summer just from the fact that it's June. In Texas, summer generally starts in May, so we were on borrowed time with all the mild weather and rain we had through May. But there's no deluding ourselves anymore. The temps are in the mid-90s. My car (which is no longer sheltered in a parking garage) is sweltering when I run errands at lunch. I'm in sleeveless shirts everyday. I sweat if I'm out of the air conditioning for more than a few minutes.

On the upside, summer means the Paramount Summer Classic Film Series! For the first time in probably 10 years, I didn't buy a book of tickets last year. The lineup of films didn't do anything for me last year, and I had a lot going on, and I just didn't go. But it's usually one of the hallmarks of summer for me.

This year, though, I got my book of tickets, and last night, I went to my first classic movie of the year, The Thin Man. I love the Thin Man movies! William Powell and Myrna Loy are hilarious, and the writing is fantastic. If you've never watched any of the movies in the series, you've got to check them out. They're just a scream. Any movie made in 1934 that can still pack a theater in 2007 - well, that oughtta tell you something.

Tonight is "After The Thin Man." I'll be there.

Rye grass

Die, rye grass, die.

I brought you, weed,
into my life,
To stop the HOA
strife.

They're buttheads,
jerks and useless drains
who never use their
tiny brains.

They claimed,
"Your lawn! It is not green!"
There was a drought.
I was not keen.

To shut them up,
I tossed rye seed.
Who knew I'd regret
the simple deed?

Mowing in February
just ain't right.
I pray the summer
will end my plight.

I've heard the heat
will kill rye grass.
I do hope so.
It's a pain in the ass.

There's a reason.

I always hear people scoff when someone orders a fast-food lunch and then asks for a Diet Coke with it.

Yes, there are loads of calories in fast food, and they always say, gee, what's 140 more calories? If you're going to eat like a slug, eat like a slug! But I have to say, 140 calories is 140 calories, and sometimes it's saving the calories in the Coke that let you splurge them on something else. Or vice-versa.

Ever since I had to start watching my weight more carefully (damn this age thing and a slowing metabolism!), I've been much more aware of not only how many calories I take in, but where they come from. I try to periodically track things on FitDay.com so I have a good sense of what the right amount of calories looks like.

It's really opened my eyes about portions, but also how you can nickel and dime yourself into Fat Town. A couple of years ago I found myself with the choice of either cutting back or buying a whole new wardrobe one size bigger. I couldn't see blowing the cash, so I started watching calories.

It's not a "diet." There's no special strategy to it. I just try to watch how much I take in and work out a few times a week. It seems to do the trick. And if I feel like being extravagent on vacation or a holiday or just the weekend, I do what I want then try to be vigilant during the week.

Which brings me to my original point. If I'm on a "try to keep it less than X calories a day" day, and I eat one meal that's going to blow a bunch of my calories, so long as I keep it light for my others that day, I'm still good. But I have to cut somewhere. And an obvious choice is my drink. The 140 calories I save on my lunch drink can be eaten at breakfast. Which would you rather do? Skip breakfast or drink a diet drink at lunch? Me - I'd rather eat the extra meal.

In reverse, if I eat a Lean Cuisine at lunch, I can have a real Coke. The calories I saved with my food just bought me a yummy, full sugar, full caffeine super-wonderful Coke Classic. And if I've stuck to Lean Cuisine and diet drinks all week? Now, I can have the big lunch AND the Coke. And still fit into my clothes. Yeeeeeaahhh.

See? There's a method to the madness. Don't be a hater when someone's at least trying to cut SOME calories. The little stuff adds. up.

Rest in peace.

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball. And it hits you square between the eyes.

I found out last week that someone I know, someone who has been very influential in my professional life, someone who became a friend over years of working together, died. The next day, I found out he'd committed suicide.

This was a great heartbreak. I'm sad that my friend is gone, but far more than that, I'm deeply pained that he was hurting so deeply, so profoundly, and none of us who knew him and saw him almost every day had any idea.

We all knew he was under stress. But so were many of us. We knew his situation was potentially more dire than our own - he had fewer options than many of us if things went badly for him. But this man seemed tough, in an old cowboy, biker, trucker, Johnny Cash kinda way. I couldn't conceive of him just simply splintering one day...quietly and alone. On a Tuesday. It just wasn't possible.

Except it was. And I never saw it coming. And now he's gone. And he's never coming back. Not even for lunch at Hill's Cafe. It is tragedy.

Some people are heartless about suicide. They say the victim is selfish or cowardly. But they're wrong. When someone is willing to take that ultimate step, it is quite simply an act of hopelessness. It is the act of someone hurting with their entire being, who looks ahead and sees nothing but the same. It is the desperation of feeling that even one more day of what is and what lies ahead is just plain unendurable. It is a human being broken. And that should engender sympathy, not scorn. It should cause you to drop to your knees and pray that God will take this broken soul into his care and heal away the hurt, as only He can do. Any one of us can be shattered. Any one of us could find ourselves looking ahead at what seems unbearable.

So I pray for you, my friend. God keep you.