Home Sweet Home

Good golly am I glad to be home. Chicago was great and all, but there is no place at all like home. In the Bay Area. With hills and tall trees and clear skies and the big beautiful bay.

I actually didn't get to see Chicago itself - I was in Rosemont/Des Plains, but there seemed to be no change in the topography no matter which direction I looked. That was weird.

Everyone there is SO nice. Very friendly, down-to-earth people. And I got to eat at the Steak & Shake! I didn't have the shake, but the steak (burger) was good.

There was a greasy-spoon type diner next door to the hotel that delivered, which was nice. The telephone in the room had three buttons for food service: "Pine Grove" (the greasy spoon) and two others that simply said "Mexican" and "Pizza."

I pressed the button for Pine Grove and a hotel employee answered and told me to just call the number on the menu. He must love having that job.

The folks at the restaurant were super nice and my food was good, especially considering how inexpensive it was. A roasted half chicken with vegetables, salad and baked potato, delivered for $15.00. Cheapest room service I've ever had.


When it was time to head home, my new colleagues dropped me off at the O'Hare people mover, which has a large parking area with a waiting area for those being picked up, where you can also be dropped off, aptly named the "Kiss & Fly" area.

We didn't kiss - maybe we'll be ready for that on the next visit - but said goodbye and I went up into the train station. There were two sets of tracks - one on either side of the station - and absolutely no signage on either side as to which track goes to the terminals.

There were electric signs above the doors and when the tram came on one side, the sign said it was going somewhere - not sure what it said - something about concourses - nothing about "terminals" or "airport" or "where the planes are."

I got on & figured I could always jump off & go back the other way if I was wrong. Turned out I was right, but again, no adequate signage or terminology about where it was going and where you might want to get off.

They don't seem to like the word terminal and instead, it's all about concourses - A thru M or whatever - and you sort-of have to know which concourse you need, rather than which terminal - the concourses are in the terminals...

But it looked like AA was in the third group of concourses, so I hoped for the best and got off the tram when I could see similar letters on the signs outside the tram - the announcer/robot never mentioned which airlines one might find at any one stop.

I guessed right and found American Asslines where I was checked in by a very nice woman. I then got to wheel my checked luggage down to an X-Ray area and leave it with some very large Union workers and piles of other bags that all go through the scanner before they go onto the magic conveyor belt.

The X-Ray area looked like an impromptu set-up, right next to the ticket counters with simple fabric dividers between it and all the passers by. No real security to it. I hoped my bag would make it onto the plane, and was very glad I opted to have all my photo equipment shipped.

After all that, I almost didn't make my flight because I got lost amid the dozens of AA gates, but when I found the gate I thought I needed, they'd made a gate change and I had to run from one rambling arm over to another and just made it into the last boarding group.

Once on the plane, it was hard to relax for four long hours - I just wanted to be home already. Flying is sooooo boooooooooring. Thankfully I was next to someone quiet and there was no annoying chit chat. I read my magazines and tried to sleep and took pictures - it helped pass the time.


ginormous maxi pads should be disposed of... somehow... they won't fit inside the washroom, that's for sure.


somewhere over a mountain range

American Airlines - Almost Unusable

They're little better than getting into a Radio Flyer and hoping someone will pull you down the street to the park.

When we arrived at O'Hare, the space waitress on the plane announced where we could pick up our baggage in the specialized speech reserved for PA announcements that sounds just like the drive-thru speaker.

I kept thinking they'd repeat this information when we arrived at the gate, but no. They were very busy with important things like picking up trash.

Once off the plane, I walked the four miles to baggage claim where there were at least a dozen carousels for AA luggage. Each carousel had big, flat panel screens where you would expect to see your flight and know where to pick up your bags.

Every single flat panel screen showed endless AA ads and if bags were arriving from a flight, for a couple seconds that information would appear on the screen, then quickly be replaced by another round of ads. You had to stand there for a good five minutes to see any actual information.

I gave up and went to the claim desk and asked the automaton to look up the carousel for my flight. She helpfully told me it was 14, but 14 is often broken so it could be 13. Excellent.

I did get my bag, but I've never seen a more inept, annoying use of technology. I want to kick American Airlines in the shins.

How dare you make me stand there and watch your stupid ads when it's after midnight because you delayed the flight without any explanation. All I want to do is get my shit and get to the hotel and sleep. You stink.

Assline Travel

What a treat – flying the wide open skies to destinations hither and yon – I don’t know why I don’t do more of it.

I got to the airport on Tuesday to check in and was told by an enthusiastic “line minder” that I could use any of the available kiosks in front of the check in counter.

While I normally do online check-in or kiosk check-in, this time I had a bag I needed to check (check check Czech) so I wanted a human to do the checking and bag-tagging to ensure the bag would actually have a chance of making it onto the plane.

Last time I checked (check!), I didn't have one of those electronic tag printers nor do I have access to the magic conveyor belt that takes bags through the wall and drops them onto the tarmac.

So, I stood there and waited for the one human at the counter – of 40 or 50 available desks – to check me in and take my bag.

The Line Minder, perhaps bored of telling people they could use the kiosks, said she’d help me and walked me over to the desk. She looked up my flight, found the record number that wasn't available online, checked me in and printed a tag.

The only other human behind the desk picked up the bag tag and absent-mindedly said my name over the desk. I responded that it was mine and she put it on my bag and didn’t say another word.

Was I done? Anything else I need? Do you have everything *you* need? Is that it? I guess we're done. I had my boarding pass and right there in big numbers, the time of my flight – a full hour later than scheduled.

There was no one to ask WTF. Why is my flight now one full hour later than scheduled? Why couldn’t you find this information online where I spent a good 30 minutes trying to look up the flight and check in ahead of schedule?

(To fill the time until boarding, I booted up my computer, and golly - no free wireless at SFO. How is that possible? Of all the airports in the country, how is it that our very own SFO still does not offer free wireless? Gavin, you should be ashamed.)

Why is there NO ONE working where human help is actually important, like at the gate desk, while you have FIVE useless sacks of shite hanging around behind the gate sitting in the airline wheelchairs talking on their cell phones? What are these idiots on the payroll for?

Why am I going to have to schlep my own food and drink on the plane when you could let go of all the dead wood and once again pass out free snacks and sodas? A "turkey wrap" will cost you $5, trail mix, potato chips or a cookie - one cookie - costs $3. What nickel & diming BASTARDS.

I’m amazed that anyone ever flies these airlines anymore when the little guys like JetBlue, Alaska and Southwest have figured out how to at least be more efficient about it, and most of the time it's not a hassle.

I can’t wait for the return flight that will have me seated in cargo taking off four days behind schedule.

Chicks & Crime Shows

Why do women like crime shows? I'm one of them - I dig the shows about forensic evidence catching some crazed killer - love that shit - but why?

You can tell there are many of us - all the commercials are for things like diapers, swiffer cleaning gizmos, and maxi pads with wings.

The latest one I just found and love - Haunting Evidence - it's such fun. A medium, psychic profiler and a "paranormal expert" team up to contact the spirits of the murdered to try to find clues that will help solve the cases.

The "paranormal expert" is a hoot. Not sure what the qualifications are, but I might be able to get a job in this field. On the show I saw yesterday, he was pointing out a fuzzy spot on a photo as "clearly a paranormal event."

I've heard stories about other psychics helping to solve crimes - I think it's a great thing. But this Haunting Evidence show needs to start airing update shows if any of their "work" has actually helped solve a case.

So here's what I've learned from all the crime shows I've seen lately, in no particular order:
- If you're a tourist, don't look or act like one - blend in as if you were invisible
- If you're a tourist, don't get lost or drive down streets with only one way in/out
- Don't go out for a hike by yourself - ever - especially in an area that isn't your own backyard, and even then, watch out
- Don't be a female or avoid acting like a female
- Don't be someone's particular type of female or avoid acting like a someone's particular type of female
- Grow eyes in the back and sides of your head
- Know that you are always in danger, always, no matter where you are
- Be stronger than all men in the world - maybe take steroids in addition to working out
- Never, ever, ever get into a car with anyone except your own mother, and even then, be sure she doesn't have the family gun with her and that she's not angry with you
- If you want to kill your wife and throw the cops off your trail, try to write your notes in a different style than your own (this particular show was fascinating - this guy used all negative contractions and no positive contractions in his writing)
- If you leave your bloody palm print on a sheet, they CAN lift that print by removing the repeating pattern of the fabric from the image
- Never, ever, ever pick up some random dude at a highway rest stop for casual sex - gay or straight - it's likely to end badly
- Don't ever stop anywhere for any length of time, ever - always be on the move
- Don't ever get into a dude's car you kind-of know from work, because he's clearly been stalking you under the guise of buying coffee from you, and as soon as he gets you alone he will bash your head into the rocks and throw you into the ocean - see above note about not being female and taking steroids

With all this rich information, I'd like to feel like I'm better prepared to live in the world, but overall, it's really rather depressing. It's great when these guys are caught, but then you think, well there must be hundreds more out there, right?

So, I'll just do what I've always done. Never stop moving and keep taking my roids.

My Eyes! MY EYES!

My eyes are getting better - Rx-wise. Every year for the past 3 years or so, my near-sighted Rx gets better, and the left eye that used to be the weaker of the two is now stronger than the right.

My theory? Using a camera a lot more over the past few years has helped my left eye regain some of its long-range focusing power. And now I occasionally shoot with the right eye.

Not spending as much time in front of this idiot box helps, too. And speaking of sight, it's clear the light is already changing - summer is over. I was just getting into it. Bummer.

New Laptop

And I don't like it. I like my old one. This one's display is all superbright and kinda cold/bluish, and the touchpad doesn't feel the same, the buttons don't click like I like. The mouse buttons are stupid.

And I had to wait 8 weeks for it. This is where my love of online shopping can be a problem, but I went with a familiar brand. I thought it would be great. Kind-of like the old one, but much faster with better wireless capability.

My old one is so cute - so tiny, so efficient, so portable. Why do they stop making the good ones?

: (

Photography Training

And I don't mean reviewing f-stops and bracketing.

I had a big job on Friday and by Thursday morning, I realized I'd been preparing for it much like I might a triathlon.

Months earlier I was doing research and talking to other people who have done similar jobs, looking for helpful tips or recommendations. I also enlisted a partner, a very gracious CCraig.

Two weeks before the event we did a scouting trip to check out lighting, possible setups, parking availability and discussed general logistics.

I told my clients I would be unavailable on the day before and day of the event to ensure my schedule would remain stress-free so I could think only about the photo gig.

Early in the week before the job I tracked down all my equipment and gadgets and put them all in one place. A few days later I started charging batteries, organizing lenses, formatting memory cards - making sure I had everything I thought I would need.

Mid week I tested all the equipment, reviewed our test shots from the scouting trip and thought about how to pack it all up in the most logical fashion.

Thursday morning I went for a walk/run and took it easy - it was hot out and I'm still very out of shape - I wanted to get some energy from it, but not get too tired. Thursday afternoon/evening I packed up all my gear in my sweet, rolling bag.

After putting a water bottle into the freezer for the next day, I went to bed early Thursday night and took my time getting out of bed Friday morning. Spent the morning exchanging emails with friends then looked through my wardrobe options.

Another hot day, so the outfit had to be cool & comfortable, but not too casual. Shoes also had to be nice, but comfortable.

When it was time for lunch I thought carefully about what to eat. It needed to have adequate protein for staying power, but not too heavy, and good carbs for extended energy. I made a whole grain pasta dish with albacore tuna.

I grabbed my frozen water bottle out of the freezer and got cleaned up and ready to go. I headed out with all my equipment in tow, bridge toll ready on the dashboard. I was prepared, rested, nourished and well-hydrated.

Now all I had to do was get the shots.

Sound crazy? Probably, but it was a wedding shoot, which I've never done before. For a friend.

Most jobs don't require quite so much thought & planning, but I was hoping all the prep would help me get some good shots for my friends. I think I got a few... so I think it was worth it.

A Little Weirder Every Day

Yesterday afternoon I set up an early-morning meeting for today with a potential new client - the only time they could make it before flying back to Chicago. I went to bed early to ensure I'd be able to get up a good two hours earlier than I usually do.

As I got into bed, shifting and situating myself into a comfy spot, I turned my head into the pillow and felt the pain from what must be a fantastic monster zit on the side of my head and I thought, It's a good thing I'm not going to meet with someone about being a dermatologist.

I wonder how long it will be before the number of weird thoughts totally outnumber the other thoughts. Will I notice?

Torsho Shmorso

Yesterday Lauryn Willams and Veronica Campbell crossed the finish for the 100 meter sprint at the same exact time, but the gold went to Campbell.

Sadly, Lauryn leaned with her head instead of her torso, otherwise she'd have the gold. I thought they should just run it again to be sure.

Check out the photo finish from the link at the bottom of the table on the 100 meter results page.

Action Movie Dream!

It was late at night when a friend and I were at my parents' place in San Jose, talking to my Dad on the side yard as a party was going on in the back yard. We asked him about the best way to get out of the neighborhood under the cover of darkness...

Suddenly we were running down a city sidewalk - just like the sidewalk on the southeast side of Market & Beale, headed toward the Embarcadero.

The sidewalk was covered like a breezeway and had frosted glass wall/partitions on the street side - modern & futuristic-looking - and it was crowded with people. As we ran, someone behind us was shooting at us. They missed me, but my friend was hit. She faded away.

Time passed. I was at a restaurant in another city - outside on its back patio - still hiding from my pursuers, but I was in their neighborhood - they were everywhere.

So much time had passed (months? years?), there were new people in the gang, people who weren't involved in the original chase and didn't know what I looked like. I only knew who they were because they were talking about their business.

I quickly left the restaurant and began sprinting down the sidewalk. I knew they'd soon figure out I'd been there and they'd be after me.

It was a residential neighborhood with brick row houses and low brick walls all along the sidewalk - no way to easily get between the houses to cut through the yards.

I rounded the corner of a block and kept running - it was the long side of the block. By this time, one of them was behind me. He stopped and went up the front steps of the corner house to set up his gun - a nasty-looking metal arrow/spear gun/rifle.

I knew within moments he'd be ready to fire and would have an easy time aiming at me because the the brick walls and tightly-packed houses had me confined to the street/sidewalk. I ran and crouched, ran again and crouched - I started to panic.

As I got closer to the end of the block, I saw that my team was there - they were fighting these guys and knew I was coming down the street.

I shouted to my guy on the corner to shoot the bad guy, then my view changed to show me the bad guy taking his shot. He aimed wide by only a few inches, just missing my head and scarring the brick wall in front of me.

My guy took his shot with the same sort of spear gun rifle and I saw the small metal spear rocket down the street, pierce the bad guy's neck and continue up into his jaw bone, blowing his head clean off in a fantastic cranial explosion.

I'd been saved.

Go See Superbad

It's so good. So much better than I'd expected. There's a particular incident - soon after one of the leads dances with a woman - it's... it's so gross, but you'd never expect it and it's hilarious. Don't think anyone's done it before in the history of film.

I loved how they showed the scary transition from the safe world of hanging out with your best friend to going off to college and trying to score a girlfriend.

Can't wait to see it again when it comes on cable - there was so much laughing in the theater, we missed bits of dialog throughout the movie.

Mutual of Alameda's Wild Kingdom

I'll stay inside the screened-in porch while Jim investigates what's happening outside...

Tonight I was working on riveting IT content edits when I heard a strange noise outside - something I hadn't heard before. The cats were out on the porch, but the noise was beyond the porch, somewhere in the yard.

I jumped up and went out to have a look, but I couldn't see anything. It smelled like it could be a skunk, which we've never had in our yard before. I went back inside to get my flashlight.

Light in-hand, I shone it all along the side yard but saw nothing. I went out and explored the front yard, the other side of the house, the back yard, and still saw nothing. I came back inside thinking whatever it was, it had taken off when it heard me walking around.

Back on the front porch, I heard it again, this time off the ground, so I swept the light up toward the neighbor's garage roof and there it was - Mommy Raccoon. Mommy and baby were perched on top of the neighbor's garage, peering into the porch where all three cats had been on display.

The neighbor's garage roof is directly opposite the main side of the porch. A raccoon could probably make the jump and an outside cat could easily leap from the roof to the outside ledge of the porch. I gathered up the cats & moved them inside. They never made a peep and seemed happier to be inside.

I started making what I thought might be scary sounds to run them off - hissing, guttural growling - I sounded really rabid, I thought. They weren't buying it. So I started talking to them, asking Mom what she thought she was doing crawling around rooftops with her baby and such. My boring questions and one-sided conversation quickly motivated them to retreat.

For quite a while Mom explored the area, climbing down from the roof onto a fence while the baby trilled and chattered for her to return. I thought the baby couldn't figure out how to get back down from the roof and Mom might be trying to find a way down for it.


baby on the roof

But every time she returned to the roof, instead of using Mom for leverage and climbing down onto her and then onto the fence, the baby would swipe at Mom, wanting to play instead of get down & move on.


mom on the fence

As I watched Mom climb down the fence to the ground and go around to the neighbor's front yard, I heard another noise coming from the back of the garage. It was another raccoon - another adult. Mom was not happy about this.

I tried to scare off the other adult - it was about to climb up onto the neighbor's roof after the baby and I really wasn't in the mood to watch a tragic nature drama just before going to bed.

When Mom's hissing wasn't shooing The Other away, I grabbed the hose to help out. I shot the hose down the side yard and that ended the standoff. The Other ambled along the top of the fence toward the back yard.

But the baby was still stuck on the roof, so Mom went back up. Wanting them to get down & move on, I went back out to the side yard and propped a long piece of lumber up against the roof, hoping they'd find it and finally get the hell down.

I came inside to the front porch and waited. Mom and baby were now playing on the top of the garage. Baby kept climbing all over Mom, having a great time, and Mom didn't seem at all anxious to find a way down and continue their adventures.

From the porch I could see the other set of shining eyes on the fence coming from the backyard, but I couldn't stay out there with the hose all night. A few minutes later as he got closer, I saw that it wasn't The Other raccoon, it was the neighborhood tomcat, Norman.

This ought to be interesting, I thought, but Norman lives out there and he knows that scene better than I do. I just know that raccoons will go after cats, so I couldn't imagine what Norman thought he was doing out there. I did think, however, that a raccoon *could* solve our problem with Norman constantly trying to fight our cats through the screens...

He slowly and quietly made his way along the fence, then silently crawled up onto the garage roof. I was so busy watching him, I hadn't noticed that in the few seconds it took for him to get onto the roof, the raccoons had taken off. They hadn't made any noise, but they were gone. I guess the baby wasn't stuck after all.

With the raccoons gone, Norman sat at the very top of the garage, as if surveying his domain. I told him I had to admit it, he *is* a badass.

Poor Saps

Just think, as I sit here working at my cozy desk in my comfy sweats and fleecy slippers, with fuzzy sleeping cats nearby and the radio playing good tunes, 12 poor saps had to get up early, commute to a grungy, depressing courthouse and are listening to lawyers drone on for hours under fluorescent lights, in stiff chairs, and have had to endure weeks of such abuse for a whopping $15 per day plus mileage one way.

Can one remain totally fair and impartial after weeks of such treatment?

Marvelous mTV Monday

Last night I got my mTV on - The Hills season premier and the premier of a new show that seemed very similar to Laguna Beach, which I thought was odd, 'cause they already have Laguna Beach...

As it turns out, this new show, Newport Harbor, IS Laguna Beach. The actual name of the show is now "The Real O.C." and the location within O.C. is wherever they think the best chance of big ratings might be, or whatever city will have them.

I think Laguna had kicked out mTV, fed up with the image of LB mTV portrayed and the influx of people coming to see "the real O.C." And sinking ratings meant it was time to move, but to Newport? Why not San Clemente where Nixon wandered the beach in his later years? Or Placentia, which is awfully close to "placenta?" A lot of entertaining things probably happen there.

I enjoyed the first two seasons of Laguna Beach and hated the third. In the first two seasons - scripted or not - there were likable characters and foils. It had characters who were relatable in some way. And it didn't hurt that they were all very pretty, but pretty didn't help season 3.

The third season blew and its ratings tanked. It tanked because there were NO likable characters. All the girls were evil or whiny and the boys were just props. I don't even remember any boys being on the show. There was nothing remotely interesting about any of them.

So last night after The Hills, this other show starts and I'm still thinking it's a different show when the LB opening music begins. It wasn't until a commercial break that they used a voice over to explain that they'd moved up the coast a ways and now it's all about Newport Harbor. Not very usable.

And Newport - wow - boring. It looks just like the third season but with 400% more bleach, 50% more whining and 100% less scenery. There's some chick whose father calls her every five minutes. That's creepy. I'll stick with Lauren and her awesome new LA friends.

If you haven't seen The Hills, enjoy MadTV's version - it's super awesome.

Random Memory 2,674

I went to a party one night with a friend. I was a junior and she was a senior, and it was a grown up party - older people drinking liquor from glasses - no keg or plastic cups.

It was somewhere in Palo Alto or Los Altos - it was woodsy and dark with a big yard in front of the house with trees all around that made it seem darker.

She knew a few of the men there, I only knew her. Her father used to beat her up - at least we thought it was her father - and she'd come to school trying to hide a giant bruise under cover-up and foundation.

One hot summer day we spent all afternoon on inflatable rafts on Lexington Reservoir drinking California Coolers. Our lips were puckered from all the citrus. We went to another party that night and I don't remember very much about that. She drove a cool little convertible.

Half way through that semester she went away. I never saw her again.

Winter in Summer Blows

Really not happy about drizzle just one day after a lovely, sunny and warm afternoon on Saturday. Drizzle is ass. Rain is fine - rain is fun - but cold, gray drizzle is lame. Half-assed. Depressing.

But, what IS fun is going to a private screening of the third Bourne movie in Corte Madera last Saturday morning. A great perk of being part of the Lucas family.

In other news, I think I've finally overdone the amount of chocolate chips one should add to a brownie mix. I had two partially-full bags of semi-sweet chocolate chips - Nestle's mini chips and Guittard's. I dumped in the last of the minis but that didn't seem to be enough, so in went the rest of the Guittard's.

There's barely enough brownie material amid the chips and it's like eating a glob of gooey brownie chocolaty dough. Not a bad thing, just a bit surprising. You're gonna need a cup of coffee to cut the goo. It's a good problem to have.

photo from cookies-in-motion.com

Gum Flavors I Might Enjoy

Tonight I came up with some new gum flavors I might enjoy – Well-Seasoned Grilled Meat gum, Salty Olive Oil and Fresh Sourdough Bread gum, and Bacon & Jack Cheeseburger with Sautéed Mushrooms gum…

David thought it sounded disgusting and sarcastically said, “Mmm Lasagna gum!” and I said “Yes! Definitely!" Pepperoni Pizza gum, Fettuccine Alfredo gum, Porcini Mushroom Ravioli gum, Gnocchi in Gorgonzola Sauce gum – so many possibilities. He thinks it’s gross, but I think it could work. One good piece of Pizza gum and he'd be totally on board.

Update: My mother thinks it's a wonderful idea and has requested Veal Scallopini gum.

REM

Since quitting my job, my brain has been dreaming again. That had almost shut down completely when I was still working for The Man.

Even if my head was up my butt most of that time, too tweaked about the ills of that place, why wouldn't my brain keep trying to make sense of it all with a little REM? Wouldn't that have helped?

Or did I let it mess me up a bit too much? OR, is it what I've wondered all along... that the office sits atop an ancient burial ground and the whole place is lousy with evil spirits?

Smitten

I received a letter in the mail today that scared me at first, then it made me smile so big and laugh - it's one of the best things ever. I was overwhelmed with joy.

It made me realize how lucky I was to work with these folks, even if too briefly, but even luckier to become friends with them. They're some of the smartest and funniest people I've ever met.

So, for all the whining and complaining you've seen in this space for the past 2 years, I apologize. I know I've complained a lot - about almost everything. I'm obviously a big baby and want everything to be perfect all the time. And for the most part, it has been, but I've kinda had my head up my butt. I think it's finally reversing course.

Thank you D and M - you made my day.

Rehab Deprogramming Therapy

The smart thing to do would have been to take a solid break from all work after quitting my job. Like take the whole summer off and ride my bike around town like I did when I was 10. Go on local photo safaris. Write a book. Read all my Calvin & Hobbes and Mutts books. Do stacks of crossword puzzles.

Or just sit and do nothing at all.

I still feel tired. Worn out. Happier, but not yet recharged or totally rehabbed. The tank still feels empty. I could sleep for a year. That place was so toxic and debilitating. It was like drinking just enough poison every day to get sick, but not enough to kill you.

So, I'm trying to work in a little down time where I can. On the days when I can do laundry, keep up on the dishes, take a walk, shop, go out to lunch, play with a camera, make dinner, and tidy up a room, it feels miles away from email, work and meetings. I'd have never guessed that being all wifey could feel so good.

Mrs. Butterfingers

My motor skills have gone on vacation this week. If you've ever dropped your keys repeatedly like any other Special Needs sort-of person, you know there's nothing you can do about it. You can swear, which I readily do while trying to keep a hold of my keys, and that's about it.

So far this week I've scraped my car into the side of the house; dragged the side of my knee into the corner of the coffee table; spilled a soda all over a shirt I wore for jury duty; walked into the refrigerator; dropped flour on the floor; almost locked myself out of my car; almost dropped my laptop onto the floor; and tripped over my laptop's AC cable, causing a big commotion that disturbed the cats and resulted in Ninja biting me on the toe after I sat back down to get my bearings.

Now, lest you think I'm suffering from dozens of mini strokes every other hour, this is a typical symptom of my PMS. Lots of women experience the same sort of thing. Just another example of how hormones can be evil and wrong.

Thankfully, my car's rear view mirror flipped back into the correct position, though it's not entirely stable in its socket and now sports daring red racing stripes on the side. My knee and shoulder are fine after bumping into furniture, and somehow I put my keys on top of my car at the courthouse when I was fumbling to get my bag, jacket and book out of the car when the door decided to close itself, locked.

The shirt I wore for jury duty was one of those nice, polyester/no-iron deelies that repels liquids, so I caught a huge break there. That doesn't help the fact that the soda I had, which was supposed to be a medium, was so freaking huge it wouldn't fit in the cup holder.

And maybe subconsciously I tried to drop my laptop and whip it off the table by tripping on the cord because I just bought a new one and I know it won't be too much longer that I'll have to wait 5 minutes for it to start up, or continually repair my wireless connection to get online, or wait for the cursor to return when typing an email and the words stop appearing because it's checking mail and can't do both at the same time.

But I guess if my period doesn't come in the next week or so it's time to get a crash helmet.

"Juror Number Ten..."

"...You're excused."

One of the nicest things I've ever heard. I was willing to do my civic duty, but after enduring too many hours of endless, repetitive questions from gasbag lawyers, I didn't want anything to do with any of it. What a huge waste of time and money. I should have read sites like this before ever showing up.

I thought it was interesting that they dismissed a lot of potential jurors with a background in technology or with white collar jobs for a carjacking trial. I found out from a friend of mine that I should have never been considered for the panel because I'm self-employed, but I need to do some research so I know how to handle that in the future.

This judge said the only way anyone could be excused for a financial hardship was to show tax returns and pay stubs. As my friend said, that doesn't show the full financial picture, and as an independent contractor, if you don't work, you don't get paid - that should be the end of the story - release me!

The prosecutor repeatedly asked the different jurors if they would have a problem with testimony from a police officer who lied to a suspect in order to collect information. She also kept asking people if they realized that this trial was not "CSI." WHAT? This is NOT CSI Hayward? Oh well fuck this. I'm leaving.

She probably excused me because I didn't laugh at her jokes. Or maybe it was my comments about police officers being mostly good but some are assholes, and if her case is relying solely on the testimony from cops who lied in order to gather information, I may not find that convincing and find the defendant not guilty.

When she called my number & name and told me I was excused, I had to force myself to not run from the courtroom. It felt a lot like quitting my job - I'm FREE! I wanted to see a movie, go shopping, paint a masterpiece, go to the beach - everything - right that minute.

I was just so happy to get home and back to my new routine. I'm shutting off the alarm clock for the rest of the summer.

Working for Uncle Ben

My other half joined the Family Lucas this week and is a producer on an upcoming blockbuster game. All that BS at his last job was a wonderful gift. Had that not happened, he may not have thought about moving on at this time, so, thanks guys!

We took a walk around the LucasArts campus last weekend and afterwards I told David it's been really nice and to write when he could. If I worked there I don't think I'd come home very often. It's a gorgeous place. Makes EA's "campus" look like a mental asylum, which it was some days, but mostly it was fun.

Our group had BBQ's in the parking lot with lots of sidewalk chalk and bizarre drawings; found giant blanket penises on chairs, courtesy of a fellow producer with an incredible gift for fabric origami; and created the [insert name here]-cam in the hallway so we could see when a particularly annoying product guy was on his way into our department; and then my favorite bit of shenanigans...

There was one guy in marketing who made it his job to ruin every day for me, to be a total pig asshole about everything, all the time. We used to call him Fred Flinstone because not only was he just as stupid as Fred, his head was just as block-shaped. One day I came back from meetings and told everyone what a total dick he'd been to me, again.

My coworkers were (and are) a fiercely loyal group, and if you mess with one of us, you've messed with all of us. They'd become as fed up as I was at how this guy was treating me and our group's role on projects. They consoled me and I felt better for having such good people around me, then I headed home.

The next day I came in and heard a wonderful story about Fred's sudden computer trouble. Fred came in that morning and fired up his machine and instead of seeing the classic Farrah Fawcett poster on his desktop, he saw a gorgeous, sweaty gay porn model wearing only a towel - over his shoulder.

And all of his desktop files had been renamed to things like NAMBLA, men_on_men, and so on. Things that would surely disturb this block-headed, homophobic, MCP.

Confounded by the state of his computer, he called IT to "fix" it. He didn't realize all the changes were cosmetic and he may have hoped IT could find out who played the prank. While IT combed through his files to see what was accessed and how, they found a certain pornographic story that had been accessed at the same time the changes were made.

When Fred realized his dirty little secret wasn't secret anymore, he backed off on the idea of lodging a complaint. But he did come by our department on the verge of tears to demand that our programmers be punished, which of course they weren't, because all they'd done is balance out the karma a little. It was one of the best days ever.

After he left we read his story - which we'll never know if he downloaded or tried to write - and it was so bad, we cried from laughing. I mean, if he wrote it, good for him for trying, but on your WORK computer? That was our Fred. If he didn't write it, whoa. Just because it's online doesn't mean it should be downloaded.

Summer is Better with Coffee

I feel like a kid fresh out of school on summer vacation, but it's taken a few days to feel the joy. I spent most of the weekend fighting sinus trouble & migraine-ish headaches, then Monday was busy with meetings / social activities with another migrainey headache in the background, and early this morning was my first foray into the obligation of jury duty.

When the judge told us this morning (after only a few hours of waiting / roll call / waiting / sitting / waiting / listening) that we would be released after filling out a questionnaire, I felt like you do when you find out a nasty 4-hour afternoon meeting gets canceled. Giddy. Drunk on free time.

I was anxious to get some caffeine into my system, as I'd made the big mistake of not grabbing ANY coffee this morning on my way to Hey-Ward. I would also be able to take care of a dozen things I couldn't get to last week or over the weekend.

I couldn't tolerate much coffee yesterday, thanks to Mister Migraine, so I thought I wouldn't need any this morning - I didn't feel any withdrawals yesterday so today I should be fine, right?

So not right. Yesterday I had little Miss Vicodin working on the migraine, and Miss Vicodin doesn't need little things like caffeine getting in her way. She works alone and is amazingly effective, if not a bit dampening.

Mmm... calming, soothing, fuzzy Vicodin blanket.

Sorry - where was I? Yes - caffeine - right. So 2 hours into the waiting-to-be-called-a-thon I realized I'd made a big mistake. I asked the folks at the counter if there might be time to sneak downstairs & grab coffee and the woman said "Oh no, we're going to get the call any minute now and even if you did get it, you'd have to dump it" (because you can't take it into the courtroom with you). Drats.

She wasn't lying about the call - it came about 5 minutes later, so we all filed downstairs to the courtroom to meet the judge and find out what's next. It took about an hour for the judge to give us all the details of the type of trial, how the jury will be selected, courtroom hours, parking, our obligation to serve on a jury, and that we're WELCOME TO BRING our COFFEE or other non-alcoholic beverages INTO THE COURT ROOM. Bracka fracka bracka!!!

Then they handed out the 14-page questionnaire, which I rocketed through and might elicit additional questioning by the lawyers next week, because I was totally WITHOUT CAFFEINE at that time - something that's happened only twice before in the past 27 years.

I said some things about law enforcement and incarceration - nothing any other envelope-pushing young adult hasn't gone through. It could get me kicked right off the list and that wouldn't be so bad, but at this point I wouldn't mind doing my duty. The judge seems cool and they had a surprisingly efficient way of dealing with 150 people in a few hours. But geek that I am, on the way home I was thinking of ways some things could be streamlined and done online.

Anyway, I raced to Peet's and topped off, got home & packed up my mom's b-day gift (which she should have opened yesterday), paid a few bills, went to the store, caught up on email and had lunch. With caffeine again running through my veins, all is right in the world. The migraine is finally gone (for this month) and it should be smooth sailing, at least until next Monday when I go back to court & find out what they thought of my questionnaire.

I Heart Freelancing

I just wish I could do more of it. I had one day (today) to attend a great lunch meeting with a new project team and later to catch up with good friends, and tomorrow at 8 fucking 30 a.m. I get to report for jury duty.

How belligerent should one be to be dismissed from jury duty, but not arrested? Or should I just seem retarded? Maybe I'll just keep saying "Everyone's always guilty."

Now I can't afford to be a juror. If I don't work, I don't get paid - $15 a day doesn't even cover my gas to/from the courthouse. Who are they kidding? And I desperately need to do laundry and a hundred other things.

Not only that, but I can't tell my new clients that after they waited for me to get back from a 2-week vacation, then waited another 2 weeks for me to finish up at my last job, they'll have to wait for me to get through a trial? That would suck a major amount of ass.

I could say I'm breast feeding something and can't serve until a certain date, or that I have to change my parents' diapers 12 times a day, or get a medical excuse. I'm leaning toward the diapers story.

Too Direct?

Soo... tomorrow is my last day, and today I was asked to give input on a sticky situation they're trying to improve. It's only been a problem for 2+ years. Better late than ignore it forever, right?

But still, I'm happy to help. There's a huge advantage to solving the problem, and the solution is simple if you have the authority to make the call. And I love to make things better.

The problem is... primarily one guy. His boss, too, but they can easily be considered the same person, give or take a few things. That's oversimplifying to some degree - there are a number of factors contributing to the problem, but at its core is the unproductive behavior of one or two people.

The thing is, it's gotta be OK to stand up and say exactly what the issues are and how they might be fixed, even if that means saying a person, or a person's behavior is the problem. There comes a time when saying "we need to improve collaboration and communication" isn't going to solve the problem.

Why is there so much fear around stating exactly what (or who) the problem is? To use a sports analogy, if the pitcher on a baseball team decides he's also going to play shortstop, first base and manager, would that player be allowed to continue that shit unchecked?

Not a chance. The manager would step in and set him straight or cut him loose, because he has a job to do and if he's not going to do it, they'll get someone who will, and they already have good players working in the other positions. And to let him go unchecked destroys the unity and productivity of the team.

It's crazy that this situation has continued for so long, obviously a detriment to the company and its productivity, but if they finally end up fixing it, then it wasn't a total loss. Better late than dance around it for another 2 years. I wish them luck and hope it all works out.

"I Remember Everything"

The new Bourne trailer looks good. The first two books were entertaining, though really dated. I liked the movies better. Never got around to reading the third book. I think I'll just enjoy the movie.

Independence Day

big blue sky in alameda, ca

It's official. I handed in my resignation and I'm going back to consulting. You know the story, "I want to spend more time with my family."

It's true. My cats and parrot need me - I've missed a lot of great milestones. Like when Neo started marking David's favorite chair, or when Ninja made his first escape into the backyard undetected for hours. Or when Nikita began (occasionally) meowing like a cat instead of a kitten, at the early age of 36 months.

And Henry - Henry's been such a trouper. He puts a smile on his beak, but he still refuses to say "good morning!" after 8 long years of hearing it every morning. He knows it will never be a good morning as long as I have to leave him every day. Poor baby.

Now we'll have plenty of time to work on the complete suite of coffee-slurping sounds. Not just the sound of slurping coffee from the mug, but also the lip smack and "ahhhh" that trails the slurping. We're close, but there's much work left to do.

And maybe now I can finally clean out and reorganize my office (for the umpteenth time). Maybe vacuum something. Do a load of laundry once a month. Lose 20lbs. - you know, all those easy little things there never seems to be any time for when held down by The Man.

It was just time to leave Bluee behind for good.

Dumbino

Holy crap - "Domino" is one of the worst movies ever ever made.

It's not bad enough to be good - it's just stinky stanky. I don't know why I kept watching it. Damn you HBO and your no commercials.

I guess I had to see for myself where it could possibly be going, thinking it might start making sense. At one point someone mentioned something about a ferret on meth - I think that was the writer. None of it made any sense and Keira tried so hard to be cool it was painful.

Otherwise, it was chock full of capable talent. Christopher Walken, Jacqueline Bissett, Delroy Lindo, Dabney Coleman, Lucy Liu, Tom Waits, and some bit players who did a good job. It could have been smart & funny if the director hadn't tried to make it a coolness contest.

Oh, and the worst thing - the ending was a total bite on True Romance (which was probably bitten from another movie). Did Tony think we wouldn't notice he used the same ending he'd shot before? Lame.

But in other news, my cold/flu/coughing phlegm-fest is on its way out, thanks to a truckload of vitamin C. Oh, and I fucking hate the 4th of July and the fucking idiots who light off noisy fireworks at 10 o'fucking clock at night.

It wasn't some kid, it was the kid's stupid father who should know better, setting off firecrackers, high-pitched whistling shit and other exploding crap. And why isn't the kid in bed already? Man, I'm totally on the fast track to shouting at people from the front porch to get the hell out of my yard.

Tracking Diane

As in, Diane Guerrazzi from KTVU's 10 O'Clock News. This is a photo of the back of her head, in line just ahead of me to enter the dining room on the Dawn Princess. The Dawn Princess is where I just spent 10 days on a cruise to Alaska.

Never been on a cruise before and didn't know what to expect, other than the part about living in a tiny cabin. Thankfully I had no seasickness to deal with, but there were a couple of nights I didn't sleep well thinking, Is it happening now? Are we listing? Have we just hit an iceberg?

Then there was the show the first night after dinner. Sitting in the dark theater with singers and dancers frolicking all over the stage, the same thought - This is when it happens... when we're all trapped in this dark theater, distracted by the show - this is when the hull rips open and we flip over and Shelly Winters flies through the stained glass ceiling...

Of course that didn't happen, but it could have. Anything can happen. I like to be prepared for all possibilities. But what I wasn't prepared for was seeing Diane Guerrazzi at a shop in Ketchikan.

I turned around to leave the store and almost plowed her over. In that split second she seemed to recognize the look on my face that said Heeeyyyy... I know you... you're that reporter. She looked back at me with an expression that said Uh, yeah, it's me and I take vacations just like everyone else.

But it had all happened so fast, I wasn't sure if it was really her. When I got back on the boat I told everyone in my family I was sure I'd spotted her, but couldn't know if she was on our boat. There was another large cruise ship in town. As luck would have it, we saw her queue up to get back onto our boat.

The best way to find out if it's really the person you spotted is to have a family member yell her last name from the veranda then quickly duck away while you watch through your camera's zoom lens. She didn't look up, but her husband/traveling companion/personal man servant whipped his head up towards our veranda. We all ducked, giggling and feeling very proud of our detective skills.


The rest of the trip became all about tracking Diane. Is she grazing the Lido Deck buffet? Relaxing in a hot tub? Throwing craps in the casino? Walking briskly on the Promenade Deck? Doing shots at one of the many bars? Cutting a rug in the disco? So many possibilities.

I Love TV

When you need to shut down your brain, there's no better drug. The best thing might be that there's no hangover, unless you've watched way too much Deadwood or Sopranos, which can make you use way more profanity and get angry about minor things like dropping a potato chip on the floor.

Last weekend I watched both Rocky I and Rocky II - just because they were on. Everyone knows Rocky's famous "Yo Adrian," but what I didn't remember is that he says it repeatedly throughout the movie (I think he said it just as much in II as he did I).

He doesn't ever say, "Hey Adrian" or "Adrian." Every time he speaks to her he says "Yo Adrian" or often, "Yo, yo, yo Adrian." It's amazing. After a few minutes "yo" starts to sound like a loud gong, drowning out other sounds.

But, he wrote those movies, yo, and directed most of them, which is more than I've ever written or directed. Cut me, Mick.

Me Likey Edditing

I'm an idiot. I found a typo in my resume today. It's been there for years, as apparently "Dreameaver" is not an actual product.

What I meant was that Dreamweaver is a dream to use, being so EAsy, that it's not at all like weaving, which takes effort, so it's really more like Dream-eaving.

Let this be a lesson to all you kids out there working on your resumes by yourself. Always, ALWAYS get someone else to review it for you. ALWEAYS.

Sadful

Got home from work today and felt totally empty and depressed, like someone had died. With Cameron, Jeff, Julie, Shauna and now Christina gone and Miriam transitioning out of the group, I realized there will be no one left to hand things down to.

A few people have come & gone in the past couple of years, but there has always been an intact group to carry on. All the institutional knowledge and folklore that isn't documented anywhere is passed on so the group can successfully continue in its role.

And toys - "inherited" silly toys, pictures and trinkets decorate the area - little mementos to remind us of former teammates. Like Michael's Grand Marshall name plate and the picture of our mascot, Bob. Pictures of Lewis on a surf trip. Julie's play-doh sea monster sculpture. Jeff's checkered table cloth desk. It will all be left behind and no one will remember our names or what we did.

It won't be long before we're all gone. For the first time since the group was started five years ago, the department will cease to exist. Decimated. At a company with plenty of ongoing revenue and resources.

And it was confirmed this week that the reason for the re-org was to motivate one person to leave. Instead of dealing with the issue directly, an entire group was treated like furniture and moved around without any regard for who we are, what we do, and how the group needs to function to be successful.

One stupid move destroyed a highly-productive, valuable group. Will those responsible ever stand up and admit their mistake? Not likely. They act like it was just a natural cycle of some sort. What a huge disappointment.

Cat Power

I worked from home on Friday to go back through a 90+ page copy deck for a major site enhancement. The deck is based on almost 60 pages of wireframes and after the first pass I like to go back through at least one more time to review and catch whatever I missed.

It's a tedious, time-consuming process. It generally goes faster on the second pass, but it's a methodical thing that shouldn't be rushed.

I brought home a new set of wireframes, knowing they'd changed yet again, but hoped the changes would be minor enough that it wouldn't slow down the review process. I was mistaken.

A third of the way through the wireframes I came unhinged. They *had* been approved as final two weeks ago, as they should be before copy begins, but as always, there is no lock down at any phase of any project - ever. The review became all about finding minor tweaks in the wireframes instead of completing a thorough second pass.

I vocalized my frustration to no one in particular, since I was in my living room by myself except for the bird and a couple of cats. Nikita was napping in her kitty bed when I started mouthing off.

She got up and jumped onto the back of the couch, behind my head, and tried to creep down the front of me to get into my lap. I stopped her because I still had my computer in my lap, but she wouldn't be shoved away.

She was purring loudly and ended up nestled against my neck under my chin. She's never jumped on me and started purring before.

I think she was trying to take the wind right out of my lame sails. Why I let this crap frustrate me like this I don't know, and as she forced herself into my shoulders and under my chin, all I could do was laugh. She'd calmed me right down.

Enough Already

With the cold, clammy fog! I'm freeeeeeezing! I can't wake up when it's all gray and crappy in the mornings. And I don't like wearing my winter coat in June.

Quit it!

Decoration Day

The original name for Memorial Day. Years ago my dad wrote a nice story about celebrating Decoration Day as a Boy Scout in his hometown of Napa - the focus being on soldiers who had made the ultimate sacrifice and the town's way of honoring them.

Unlike today, for the most part, where the focus is on retail sales, barbecues and drunken boating.

Watching 60 Minutes last night, it's impossible to understand why we still have people in this country supporting the bogus "war" in Iraq. Even one of the National Guard soldiers interviewed thinks there's a connection between 9/11 and Iraq, and he didn't try to connect those dots through Al Queda posting up in Iraq, he linked the two unrelated entities with a giant leap of nothing.

One mother interviewed two years ago just before this battalion shipped out was proud to be sending both her husband and son to Iraq. Proud. Of them, I can understand, but of the mission? After you've been lied to repeatedly? How can that be?

With their deployment extended until this August, now she's not so sure how she feels about it. That's a start. Other wives/mothers interviewed recently had similar feelings. It took losing a life or having their husbands'/sons'/daughters' commitment taken advantage of to get them to think about what's happening.

Some soldiers themselves have changed their opinion of what we're doing over there, admitting that originally they thought we should be there, but believing now that we shouldn't be there and it was a mistake. I'm sure they're but a handful of others.

If we know that Bush lied, using faulty intelligence reports to support his flawed agenda and that there were never any WMDs, the very basis of his reason we should start this war, how can anyone today believe this war is still justified? If we're truly fighting a global war on terrorism, why are we still dumping money into and losing lives in Iraq?

Oh, right, I forgot, "global war on terror" is Texan for "there's so much more money to be made, we can't pull out now."

And then there's this, and this and oh, hey - this. with support from this. Turns out those soldiers weren't lying after all. But there's also this, and let's not forget this. Unforgivable.

There's no way to thank our servicemen/women for the job they do, though I have a few ideas - buy houses for their families at home, support their families while they serve in conflicts, and address their health needs, whatever they might be, for life - for a start.

Their service is an amazing, selfless gift and it's sad that our leaders are so cavalier with that gift. We support the troops and all they do, but not how the CIC abuses them. Where are the leaders who want to do the right thing?

Future Captain of Industry

Happy Graduation Dylan! My nephew is off to college and the big, wide world. Maybe he'll hire me someday.

And Then There Were Three

And my new nickname is "Lights Out Lady," living in Crazytown, Population 3. In the span of a couple of months, our group has lost seven people from a total of nine. I'm the last remaining employee of the group we formed just two years ago. Maybe it's me. Maybe I smell.

The first cut came from the nonsensical re-org that moved four people out of our group, which no one's been able to explain in any way other than, "change is like chocolate or broccoli - some people love it and some people hate it, but like broccoli, change is good for you." That was actually in a presentation about the re-org.

I should add, too much broccoli at once causes painful gas and intestinal cramping, and too much chocolate doesn't do anyone any favors, either. They could have easily compared this sort of change to chewing a mouthful of nails or wearing clothes made of steel wool - really not necessary and in a nutshell, stupid.

And as a result of the chocolate-coated changes, four people bailed and a few more have one foot out the door. One person left before the re-org realizing things were quickly going downhill and there had to be better options.

So why am I still there? There are a few reasons. I'd been looking and had a good offer from another company, but then David's job got a bit wonky, I don't want just another job, and crazy as it sounds, I feel like there's more I can do as a writer/editor before I go. Meaning, there's so much more material to gather. I could never come up with the things I see and hear there every day. It's a treasure trove.

Phones Don't Swim

But they should. We're way overdue for water-friendly phones, and I don't mean some big contraption that looks like the old yellow Sony sports Walkman, or a crazy-expensive phone only Eco Challenge athletes might buy.

I mean, by now all cell phones should be water-resistant. Even with basic rubber gaskets installed in key areas, they'd still be flimsy enough to support the disposable phone market. We should be able to eke just a bit more life out of them by making them withstand a few moments of complete submersion.

One friend of mine has already lost a phone to toilet dunking, an unfortunate result of keeping it in her back pocket, and today mine took a dip in the shallow end of the swimming pool.

It doesn't matter who picked up the corner of my towel or how that person never bothered to look at what they were doing as my phone tumbled helplessly from the warm, dry towel into the cool, blue water. It happened, and my little toy went glub, glub, glub into the deep end. I did get a nice dinner out of it, so there's that.

I'm told that after a few days we can try to power it up & see what happens. Of course I tried right away to see if it would work and probably fried something, but I was being optimistic. Or in denial. It looked kinda dry - shouldn't it boot right up? I *thought* all my data/phone numbers were stored on the SIM and memory cards, but alas, the phone numbers were not. They're all in the soggy phone.

So, now we wait... It sits alone on a towel on a table in its tiny ICU ward. Poor little thing never saw it coming. Enjoying a warm afternoon one minute, drowning the next.

Go Meat!

This killed me - choose View TV Spots from the home page.

Ass End of April

Sure am happy May is here - April sucked.

A couple of weeks ago David was suddenly "reassigned" at his job without any warning or rationale, after five years of stellar performance and constant, consistent high praise.

The reason they first gave was that a few deliverables weren't on target. Deliverables he had no clear requirements for, nor any feedback to guide the direction, despite repeated requests for requirements and reviews.

The second reason had something to do with supervisory style, yet, he was not a supervisor. What's next - he was coming in too early and staying a little too late? What's the actual story kids?

I think what a friend said might be true, that it's becoming more common to work in companies run by people who have no clue how to run a successful business.

And without any time to process all this crap, his grandfather passed - not unexpectedly, though still sad - and he had to jump on a plane back east.

Today I went to move his car into the driveway and it didn't turn over. He left his parking lamps on for, I'm guessing, three days. I jumped it and drove it around for 45 minutes, but I'm not sure it'll be enough. He might light it on fire if it's still dead when he gets home.

And now I think Neo is depressed, missing his dad - I'm hoping that's all it is. He wasn't interested in his dinner, but to be fair, I didn't give them wet food tonight, which to Neo is what makes the sun come up every day. He seemed to perk up when I put his dad on speaker phone later on.

As my dad said, you never know when something might jump up & bite you.

Violent Sellout

Now even the Violent Femmes have sold out! Wendy's is using the intro to Blister in the Sun for their latest TV ads. That's so wrong, but good for them for getting paid. But Wendy's?

Why not a cool car, or booze, or John Deere turbo tractor mowers? Or am I upset because it means that I'm officially "old" when the punky music of my youth shows up in mainstream media?

Suffering from ED?

(cartoon from thismodernworld.org)

Sean Hannity and his male listeners must be, cause they can't advertise ED drugs enough on his little show.

I had a long drive home on Monday after an offsite in St. Helena, so while surfing the radio for entertainment I found Hammity's show.

Shows like his are a laugh-a-minute as he makes one overly-generalized comment after another without any rationale or credible information to back his claims/rants.

And his listeners are even worse, calling him up to tell him he's a "great American" and a "patriot" before they launch into their own half-baked (or unbaked) comments.

At one point, Hammity mentioned the partial birth abortion ban and what a great thing it was, blah, blah, blah, no uterus, unfounded comment, blah, blah, yak, yak, yak, and a woman called in to ask why people who actually wanted babies are punished.

She rambled about how she was being punished for wanting a baby, that she and her husband had undergone fertility treatments and because they admitted as such when applying for health insurance, they were denied coverage.

She thinks an insurance company is trying to punish her for wanting a child. Does she not understand how insurance works? They don't *want* to pay for your $30K IVF treatments, because they're *expensive.* It has nothing to do with what sort of turkey baster you're using or what's in it - if it costs that much and it's non-essential, you're on your own.

It was funny and sad, but mostly sad, and Hammity never tried to help her understand anything, but let her prattle on about how unfair it all is and how badly they want a baby, blah, blah, blah, and I'm thinking, You stupid cow, have you heard about adoption?

How bout you adopt one of the many unwanted kids who need homes? You're against any form of abortion, yet you're not willing to adopt an unwanted child who's already out of the womb, living, breathing, and needing new shoes? No, let's just make more children, try to get insurance to pay for it, and further overpopulate the world.

Check out Think Progress for a different slant.

Worst. Freezer. Ever.

The horror. You would not BELIEVE what my mother had to do in order to store salmon in the freezer in Palm Desert.

Seriously.
You. Would. Not. Believe. It.

Do you know, that freezer is so stupid - you can't get anything in it! It's not because it's already crammed full of food, batteries and lord-knows-what-else. NO! It's because it's such a STUPID FREEZER!

She had to store the salmon - get this - vertically - ON ITS SIDE! Not flat, like you would expect to store salmon in a freezer. UP ON ITS SIDE, ALONG THE SIDE OF THE FREEZER! UNBELIEVABLE.

I am beside myself with shock and disappointment. I am at a loss. The humanity!

Why god!? Why would you do this to an innocent salmon!?

Massage/Bra Fitting

Last week I got a chair massage at work - it's a great way to spend 30 minutes an it's a good way to get me to go into the office.

Halfway through my massage, which is supposed to be focusing on the stress I have in my upper back/traps/shoulders, my masseuse starts working on my middle back, which is fine, but I noticed he was trying to work around my bra strap.

He moved it slightly up to work directly beneath it, then slightly down, and finally he said, "This seems really tight across your back." I said, "Yup, that's what I pay it for."

He continued working for a minute or so then went on to tell me that I might want to think about a different type of bra, maybe one that isn't quite so tight across the back, as it seems to create artificial tension in the fascia beneath the skin.

It seemed well-intentioned, but I found it amusing that a guy - a guy without breasts - was telling me what type of bra I should consider wearing.

Maybe he wears breasts of his own when he's off the clock and loves the idea of wearing bras that fit the way he thinks they should, but he has no idea what sort of bras I need and why I wear ones that could double as a body cast.

He went on for a bit about strap tension when I had to cut him off and gently explain that I was wearing a minimizer and it has a very important job to do, and it needs to be tight to do its job, and the only tension it causes is when the elastic starts to give out and I have to buy new ones.

Poopy Pants Time

I almost walked right into this little* guy down at the Salton Sea last weekend. He was sunning himself at the deep end of an empty swimming pool behind the Aces & Spades club.

*We guestimate he was about 3 or 4-feet long and a couple inches in diameter. But that was last Saturday. Today he's 10-feet long and four inches in diameter and next week he'll be triple that size. With fangs the size of steak knives.

On previous trips through that part of the North Shore, most everything has been fenced off, but this time huge sections of the fence that once secured the old pool had been removed. I thought it might be cool to see what things looked like from the deep end of the pool.

I'm so glad I looked down into the pool before I was in it. When I saw Mr. Rattlekins, I almost crapped myself. I've never seen a real, live snaky snake in the outdoors before.

The immediate fear was surprising, even though he was at least eight feet below me. I thought at any moment he could spring up from the pool and sink his 14-inch fangs into my face.

As soon as I got my breath back, I started shouting DAD, DAD, DAD, DAD, DAD!!! but he was already around the front of the building. I snapped a few shots then went to find him.

I then noticed how much dry brush surrounds every path on the premises. And me, without my kevlar pants, having to walk through all that to find my dad.

When I found him, I told him what was in the pool and he couldn't wait to see it for himself. We went back to the pool, but by that time Mr. Handbag had wound himself underneath a dry palm frond, probably trying to hide from the biped that wouldn't stop shouting "DAD!"

I watched my Dad instantly transform from a mature, responsible man to a six-year-old boy as he started throwing twigs and debris into the pool to get the snake to move. If he'd had a stick long enough, he would have used it to poke him.

My protests fell on deaf ears - he was determined to drive Mr. Rattleboots out from under the palm frond. But the rattler wouldn't budge and I was relieved. We left him there and I was happy to head home to change my pants.

Nothing Wrong With Shooting...

...As long as the right people get shot.

Got an invite last Friday afternoon for a mandatory, all-staff meeting first thing Monday morning. Last minute... mandatory... all staff... those are never good.

It wasn't about layoffs, but it was a re-org, though the re-org doesn't make much sense. They've all but dismantled the UE group and no one's telling us why.

It seems like no one really thought through all the details. When our (now unhappy) ID's asked about the new structure, they were told it was done to make their lives better, yet no one asked them for input.

What's really behind the re-org? Why can't we hear the whole story? Are we not adults?

CHiP Roulette

On the way home yesterday I felt like I was driving through a mine field and at any moment a CHP would blow up on my ass.

Starting out in Oregon it was mellow in the morning - no one was out except a few truckers here & there. It was a fast drive from Bend to Dorris. But shortly after reaching the border, it felt like cops were everywhere

I had my radar detector fired up, but if they're not shooting at you it does no good. When you whiz past them at close to the speed of sound, they don't really need a radar gun to tell them shapes and colors are converging into a blurry speeding glob.

All I could do was watch for air patrol and hope for the best. As I was leaning into the turns around Lake Shasta I saw a helicopter go right over my head.

Nooo! What to do... what to do... Was it even a cop? Maybe it was a rescue helicopter? There's no way to know! It's usually a plane, but maybe they got more money from Homeland Security and bought a Blackhawk.

I pulled off the road and waited - driving leisurely around the lake area. After a little while I got back onto 5 and went with the speed of traffic.

There was no way they could prove it was my car slotting around the turns. I was now a good 10 minutes behind where they would have expected me to be, and I'm in a station wagon? Who speeds in a station wagon?

But it didn't end there. All through Redding down to Dunnigan and on the 505 they kept appearing from nowhere, totally messing with my head. It was brutal.

With three stops along the way, I made it home in 7.5 hours. Not my land speed record of 6.5/7 hours, but good enough. I wasn't trying to break any records - I just wanted to get home.

I'm a Dumbass

Not this little guy - me - I'm the dumbass.

I'm in Oregon at the moment and just after arriving, looked through my bag for a pair of sweatpants and other warm layers and found none.

I must have been sleep-packing, because I packed t-shirts but no sweaters, no fleece, nothing warmer than a sweatshirt, and nothing to lounge around the house in.

Clearly, my vitamins aren't working or they can't stop my brain from dissolving and running out my nose with every sneeze.

On a positive note, the opening at the museum was a big success and that night I was commissioned to get more wildlife shots. I spent some time there yesterday watching a lively river otter swim all around his pond - otters have the coolest paws - and getting new shots of the lynx and bobcat. It was hard not to get in there and snuggle with them.

Lethargic

I've been in a physical/mental funk lately - feeling lethargic and run down and this past week I've had trouble finding the right words and three times over the course of the week forgot what day it was.

What I need is my own lab - how much does it cost to set up your own lab to run blood tests? Can't be that expensive. Have you seen some of the "labs" out there? Not so fancy. A centrifuge would be handy for separating the fat from roasting juices.

Happy Valentimes!

Hope you had a swell day full of candy and flowers.

My day started off well enough but alas, I was foiled by Bart yet again. Not that the train didn't come or didn't go where it should. It came, and shortly after stepping on board, I was gagged by a toxic cloud of cigarette smoke, heavy perfume and some sort of hair product.

The front car is often the least crowded, as was the case this morning, but least crowded at 8:30 a.m. means you're still standing, just not on top of each other. There was no where else to stand as I tried to breathe through my book. She was next to me and I had no where to go but off the train.

But if I got off the train, I'd be late, so I decided to find a spot near the other side of the train when we hit the next stop. I thought, How bad could it really be?

I tried to focus on my book and take short, shallow breaths for the last 10 minutes of the ride. When I got back above ground I breathed deeply all the way to my office. I'd made it and now I could clear out my lungs.

Upstairs, I sat down in front of my computer and I could still smell that heavy, oily, tar pit of stench - WTF? I smelled the skin on the back of my hand - it was on my skin. ON MY SKIN.

I ran to the bathroom and washed every exposed inch of skin, but I could still smell it. It was in my nose, like when you've been sitting around a campfire then later you blow your nose and you smell the smoke.

But this was no campfire. I'd have loved a campfire. Or some dirt. Lighter fluid. Maybe a block of stinky cheese. But not this. This was nasty. Naaaaaaaaaasty. Unfortunately, my meeting was about to start and I had to go.

After my meeting I ran to Walgreen's for Febreeze. I sprayed my shirt, my coat and my hair. Short of taking another shower, there was nothing else I could do.

I think I washed my hands 38 times. I tried to wash out my nose twice (not easy), and thought about washing my hair with hand soap. I couldn't wait to get home for a Silkwood shower.

On the news tonight a woman actually said "valentimes" and wasn't trying to be funny. When exactly is Valentimes again?

Left for Cream Cheese

This post is all about the importance of communication and keeping one's imagination in check. Or taking a pill. But mostly it's about communication.

Rooty might remember a similar story about David and his trip to Monterey. We're still working on "checking in" and "using your words."

The other day we got outta bed and David said he was going to run to the store to pick up cream cheese. It was just before 9 a.m. when he took off to the store. I pushed the button on the magic box and had some toast.

I later curled up on the couch with the crossword and as it got closer to 10 a.m. thought it must be stupid busy at the store and he'll be pissed, caught up in the crowds just for cream cheese.

I'm not really a worrier, but when you know your husband's trip to the store should only take a half hour, you start to wonder - did someone crash into him? Did he drive into a tree? Did he slip on a pickle & hit his head and not remember who he is? Is he wandering the streets eating pickles?

The thought of the car wreck came into my head when I heard screeching tires down the street. He was probably fine - but then again, it *could* happen. People have accidents every day. Maybe he was in the ER and soon I'd get the call... if he remembered who he is...

Soon after 10 I thought I'd try him on his cell phone & see what was up. As I dialed the number I walked back toward his office with a hunch. Yup - there it was, ringing on his desk. No reaching him that way.

I got ready to run some errands and around 10:30 went out to the porch for some air. At this point I was worried. On one hand, I was sure everything was probably fine, but on the other hand, you never know. Stuff happens. No one's immune to accidents or UFO abductions in the dairy aisle.

While on the porch I saw Crazy Neighbor Bob puttering around his yard and was reminded of a conversation we'd had a couple of weeks earlier. We were next door at a neighbor's open house when Bob told us about trying to get women in the neighborhood to go out with him. No matter what he tried, no one would go on a date with him.

At that moment I thought, Christ, if anything happens to David, that guy is gonna be over here trying to get me to go out with him.

Now I'm not distraught, but I can't begin to figure out what's happened. Where could he be? Has he left me using the pretense of going out to get cream cheese? I won't be able to tell anyone that - I'll have to say I caught him with an XBox robot and that was it.

When I came back inside I heard him talking on the answering machine and ran to the phone to pick it up. He finished his message just before I could press the Talk button. Now I had to call him back. I scrolled to the number in the phone and jammed down the Talk button.

He answered, chipper as ever. My frazzled state was obvious as I asked what the hell had happened to him. Then he was annoyed, not understanding why I could be so frustrated and worried. What's up with me? I, I, I, but, where, what, WHERE ARE YOU?

He was at work, of course. How could I not know he was at work? He *said* "I'm going to the store to grab some cream cheese." How did I not understand that also meant, "While I'm out, I'm going to stop by work to grab a file I couldn't access last night and while I'm there, I'll get caught up helping the IT guy with a server problem and after that I'll pick up the cream cheese."

Much later that same day, as we enjoyed a tasty dinner, he apologized for his loner, latchkey kid ways and I reminded him of the conversation we'd had with Bob. He promised to never let anything happen to him, ever.

Neo, Program Director

Neo in his favorite chair, San Mateo, 2001

We live with gifted creatures. Intelligent beyond our understanding, we're lucky they tolerate us and our Neanderthal ways.

The oldest, Ninja, enjoys accosting expensive gabardine trench coats and sleeping smack in the middle of the floor in a high-traffic area. Some of his favorite toys are air, lint, plastic bags and socks.

His younger sister, Nikita, likes to enforce strict bedtimes by standing on your chest, obstructing your view of the book you were trying to read. She'll do this until you give in and turn off the light, then she'll leave.

Then there's Neo. Neo isn't so much a cat as he is a muppet, a bear cub, and a bulldog in the shape and form of a cat. He runs the house and there's no way he's not getting what he wants when he wants it the way he wants it.

The other morning at 4:30 a.m. he paid us a visit in bed demanding attention. He doesn't just jump up on the bed and meow. He jumps up onto the foot of the bed and walks up David's side, meowing all the way up to the headboard where he stands on top of the books, meowing and rubbing his cheeks on the bindings as they slide this way and that off the headboard.

He'll stay there until I can get my hand up to pull him down onto the bed, where he'll sometimes settle on the fleecey blanket near my feet, but oftentimes he'll make several more laps around the bed, meowing, rubbing, and walking on your hair.

He made another lap and as I tried to get him down, he stepped onto my clock radio, which has several buttons on top of it. One turns on the radio, one turns it off, one is the snooze and one turns on the CD player.

I heard the buttons clicking and started to get annoyed. I was struggling to get my hand around his shoulder to pull him toward me and called his name loud enough to rouse David. Now we were both awake at 4:30 a.m. and annoyed at Neo for being a giant needy baby.

As I tried to wrangle him off the radio he stepped onto the CD Play button and a second later we heard the soothing Sounds of Nature's ocean waves. As he jumped onto the bed, David and I simultaneously said, "Hey, that sounds nice..." and put our heads right back down on the pillows and back to sleep.

Holy Plastic Zippers, Batman!

We're saved!

Where is S.C. Johnson's Nobel Prize? Do they realize they've single-handedly saved the world from terrorism with their little one quart zip lock bags?

I felt so secure on my flight knowing no one on board had more than a quart bag's worth of liquids, gels, or pastes - except those with less-than-perfect eyesight traveling with contact lens fluids and mothers with infants traveling with formula.

At one airport the agent never checked my rollaboard and instead gave my backpack the equivalent of a strip search.

At another airport they went through both bags and explained the contact lens solution didn't have to be in the one-quart bag, but it still had to be taken out so they could "see it." Um, Betty, I have something you can see if you want to see something.

So here's my new policy. If you're traveling by plane, fuck the luggage and don't worry about getting dressed. Wear your robe and slippers and throw all your shit into a clear plastic trash bag. You're wasting your time neatly packing your things into a tidy suitcase.

And those nice clothes you like to travel in? Don't bother. You'll have to take off your belt, your watch, your hair clips, your shoes, and possibly your bra if it's providing weapons-grade support. Why waste all that time? Robe & flip flops.

You'll get through security in a flash and won't have to worry about getting dressed all over again or repacking your shit in a frenzied rush to get out of the way and off to your gate.