Impact

I spent my morning drive in tears, listening to Johnny Dare and his crew discuss 9/11 and re-broadcast reports from NYC that morning. One was a re-broadcast of a local NYC radio station interviewing a woman, who lived in the city, after the first plane hit (before there was even an idea it was other than a horrible accident), and during that interview the second plane hit. Over the terrified sounds of this woman's screams you could hear the explosions and the multitude of sirens and emergency vehicles.

They also spoke with a man who told his story of being in the WTC when it was hit, and the 50+ minutes it took to descend the stairs to get out: how at the bottom the police lined up to cordon off from view the bodies of people who had jumped or fallen out the windows and splashed across the grounds below.

September 11, 2001 and the days immediately following it were the most harrowing, soul-destroying, and in one way uplifting (simply seeing how this country, and the world as a whole, came together immediately following this abomination) of my life to date, and I hope never to surpass them.

I learned that day that I am capable of feeling hatred, actual hatred, for a fellow human being ... which has been a sobering experience for me, but which also hasn't changed all that much in the subsequent years.

Maybe someday I'll be a better person, but I am still so bitter that I just can't forgive. Yet I do hold out hope.

I flew out of NJ, directly over ground zero, two years ago on a trip back home, and the fact that it was still a gaping hole in the landscape just about dropped the bottom out of my heart. I was glued to the window of my plane, tears streaming, inarticulate with grief.

I simply do not understand how anyone can take the gift of Free Will to such an extreme.

Getting Busy

Spoke with Awesome Doc for awhile this afternoon. All Joey's bloodwork is complete and it isn't good. Not only does he have CRF, but also Hyperthyroidism. Really no treatment for a fellow of his advanced age, as a major side effect of the meds is loss of appetite, which he simply cannot afford. And any surgical intervention (aside from being entirely too expensive ... yes, I love my little man, but it is simply out of the question) has the very potential side effect of death due to anesthesia problems (e.g., he'd never wake up).

The Hyperthyroidism also rules out the Lactated Ringer's subq, as it won't do him any good. Awesome Doc says that's actually not so bad, as it would have put a lot of stress on his heart, which she's not entirely sure he could have handled all that well anyway (this being the kitty with a heart rate so fast she was unable to count it).

Bottom line is that as long as he remains comfortable and continues to eat, drink, and evacuate with no problems, Joey's good. Right now he's at 12.5 lbs. Awesome Doc assures me this is not terrifically underweight, especially for a 17+ year old, but he can't support healthy body functions below 11 lbs either. It's such a small amount that I'm all "What?!? Seriously? That's a glass of milk!" Completely forgetting the whole percentage deal ... you know, where 1.5 lbs is actually 12% of his body weight, which is significant, especially since it wasn't that long ago he was once a muscular 20 lbs.

So anyway ... best case scenario is Joey falls asleep one day while he's still in this condition (no pain, stable medically) and simply slips away to visit Ben. Worst case scenario is Joey develops some other problem or drops below the 11 lb line-in-the-sand, in which case I'll bring him in and Awesome Doc will euthanize him.

I'm surprisingly okay with all of this. Knowing what's happening has taken a load off my mind. My top priority is to ensure Joey's last days are lovely, and to let him go comfortably and with dignity, no matter what. I owe him.

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

The Catsup Bottle

First a little.

Then a lottle.

-Ogden Nash

Awesome Doc Checks In

Got the call ... Most of Joey's bloodwork is complete; just the thyroid left to go, and those results won't be in 'til next week.

No diabetes (yay!) but he is in the early stages of kidney disease, or Chronic Renal Failure (boo!), so I'll be taking him back in next week and Awesome Doc will show me how to administer Lactated Ringers subcutaneously, which he'll prolly need twice a week. I'm not too worried, since I already give myself a subq injection every other week, so it's not like I'm a stranger to needles.

This should make a big difference in a few of Joeys problem areas, as it should result in increased appetite and alertness, weight gain, decreased water consumption and urination, elimination of foamy vomitus, and he may regain some of those wasted muscles! P'AWESOME!!

The main problem will still be diet, seeing as I had him on the k/d prescription diet until he refused to eat it anymore ... we'll try IAMS for kidney disease to see if that may ne a better match.

Anyway ... things are looking up.

Little Man and Awesome Doc

Just got back from the vet (aka Awesome Doc) with Joey, also known as Little Man. I've been having the creeping crazies well over six months regarding my guy ... but who wouldn't? He's been by my side over 17 years.

YEARS, people.

Seventeen of them.

In his prime he weighed in at 22 lbs. Mostly muscle. You may recall he was one of two giant polydactyl littermates (we lost his brother to a failed thyroid seven years ago). Joseph William (his official name) has been the pet constant most of my adult life. He's lived with me in RI, then NJ, then back up in RI again, and now out here in MO.

He's been here through Benny (his brother), Tia (our rescued Persian we had for three years 'til she succumbed to a nasty viral infection), Maddie (our rescued 'feral' who's been with us the last 13 years ... and if she was ever feral then I'm a monkey's uncle), Annie (our rescued barn cat we had for five years until a venomous spider did her in ... and if you don't think I kill every spider I've come into contact with since, you didn't pay close enough attention to Annie's COD), Lily (our elderly rescued Lhasa Apso we had for two years), Boogie and Kaia (our two six year old Labs), and Briggs & Stratton (our 'houseguest' littermates we hand-raised three years ago who think they're some form of catdog hybrid, seeing as it was Boogie who adored them and slobbered all over them like they were her puppies).

Joey went and got very thin very quickly, and I got very freaked, thinking he had the same hyperthyroidism-caused-by-cancer as Benny, and remembering how much that sucked. So I've been watching Joey and feeding him and basically making him cuh-razy with the constant eyeballing his every move (not really ... he totally looooves the attention).

Anyway, it got bad ... he's drinking tremendous amounts of water, eating very little (but fairly often), he's mostly skin and bones, his musculature has taken a serious hit, his rear end goes right out from under him sometimes, and he sleeps about 22 out of every 24 hours. I'm now on deathwatch, and am absolutely paranoid I will err on the side of anthropomorphism and force Joey to stick around longer than is fair to him. The absolute last thing I want to do is make him suffer. Or starve. To death.

I've talked with my vet about him. By the way, I have the absolute best vet ever ... if you're in the area I highly recommend Dr. Laura Williams of the Southport Animal Hospital ... she's the most dedicated animal doc I've ever, ever, met ... and with my brood (past and present) that's saying something, seeing as I've experienced a few (those two in RI the first time, the three in NJ, the other one in RI, and the three out here).

Here I was all doom and gloom, and Awesome Doc says, at least on the preliminary results, that other than a ridiculously high heart rate he looks terrific (her word). We discussed all his little habits and whatnot, and she totally put my mind at ease: he’s the equivalent of an 86 year old man; of course he’s not going to eat much!

The heart rate does give her pause, as well as his water consumption, so she’s checking him for diabetes, thyroid, and kidney disease. All three are somewhat treatable for a kitty of his age. Or it could be nothing and he could simply be winding down.

I'll hear from Dr. Laura within an hour or so, and we'll go from there.

Bleh ... Stupid Stuff

Man, I cannot seem to drag myself out of the end-of-Summer doldrums.

• I want the new Fall television season to start. Right now. Tired of waiting. No need to have a 'break' between end of Summer programming and start of Fall programming. Stupid network programmers and their stupid limited budgets.
• I want the local stations to broadcast every Patriots game this season. In MO. Stupid living halfway across the country from my home team.
• I want those lame extra-tall paperbacks to go away. All they do is add a year onto how long I have to wait for the 'right' size paperback to come out. Refuse to read them. That'll learn ya, stupid diabolical publishing house plot with your stupid money-making schemes. The world is on a budget, people!
• I want to know why it's such a bad thing for the dooce to complain about barely-there customer service when its quite all right thank you very much for her to sing the praises of good customer service. Stupid customer disservice.
• I want to know that all dogs, and cats, really do go to Heaven. Stupid old age.
• I want Dr. Laura to make the decision for me Saturday. Stupid running away from my responsibilies.
• I want Joey to get well, and younger while I'm at it. Stupid death and grief and sadness. Stupid snuffling every night while putting the pats on him. Stupid in love with my 17 year old little man. Stupid can't remember life without him. Stupid indecision.
• I want to leave this funk behind and never look back. Stupid.

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth steal away,
Death's second self, which seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

-William Shakespeare

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

Ein Yahav

A night drive to Ein Yahav in the Arava Desert,
a drive in the rain. Yes, in the rain.
There I met people who grow date palms,
there I saw tamarisk trees and risk trees,
there I saw hope barbed as barbed wire.
And I said to myself, "That's true,

hope needs to be like barbed wire to keep out despair,

hope must be a mine field."

Yehuda Amichai

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

Bird

It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.

-Pablo Neruda

One Thing I Know

One of the people I have loved most was ignorant. He was also sharp as a skinning blade. He had a heart as big as the wide open sea and would (and did) do absolutely anything for his loved ones. He rarely met a racist joke he didn’t like. He never let a family member down. He laughed so hard and so long over the things that tickled him that he frequently lost his breath and had to wheeze it out. He saw humor in almost everything. He was frequently politically incorrect.

He worked incredibly long hours, very hard, with his hands … a carpenter year-round, and a tuna fisherman during season; he also plowed and sanded the streets of MA in the Winter. He could do almost anything, even when he had to fake it until he knew how to get it right. His home was always open, and you were welcome. If you stepped within his first action was an attempt to feed you. He was a great lover of animals, and was surrounded by them. He was one to leer at the ladies. He adored his wife, and was startled by the affection he felt for his children. He was a great, big, blustery man who would have put you in mind of a young Santa during the off season.

He was game for anything. He could be silent and still as the dawn. He was my very first real-life example of “work hard, play harder”. He enjoyed life to the fullest and never thought the party would end. Could end. He seldom met a man he didn’t like. He was as bewildered by folk who didn’t care for him as he was by unforeseen catastrophe.

He was very much a product of his environment; raised by a quiet man and a stubborn woman who had survived the turmoil of the Great Depression and worked side-by-side at the businesses they owned.

When I say he was ignorant I do not mean in the barbarian way … I mean in the uneducated way. And by uneducated I mean inexperienced in life or lifestyles outside his social class (for lack of a better phrase), not book-learning. Although he’d be the first to admit he was no Rhodes Scholar. When life gave him lemons he made a lemon smorgasbord and invited everyone he knew to share in the meal: lemonade, lemon chicken, lemon brioche, chilled lemon soup, lemon scones with lemon curd, lemon custard, lemon meringue pie, lemon drops, lemon relish … you get the picture. He didn’t let the bastards get him down.

So, why am I telling you this?

I want to talk about Michael Vick. And how he’s been picked up by the Eagles. And how half the world is having a field day. I say leave him be. He truly seems appalled at his participation in what many, myself included, consider a barbarous crime. He appears to ‘get it’. He also grew up in an environment where that behavior was the norm; where the dogs were considered a commodity, not pets. I, who slobber all kinds of love and affection (and treats, and cookies, and catnip, and toys, etc.) on my four legged friends, view them individually not really as ‘pets’, but rather as family members. Always have, always will. I know their personality quirks. I can tell when something is wrong (witness our current Froggy Bop dilemma). I get a kick out of having them around. I also grew up in a household, family, and community that considered pets members of the family, albeit slightly dim yet highly lovable members.

And guess what? Where Vick grew up? That was right here in the good old U. S. of A. Where were our tantrums and holier-than-thou attitudes then? Its one thing when a man hides behind his job and refuses to accept responsibility for the results of his actions … I’m talking to you, Jack Tatum … and quite another when a man steps up to the plate and lays it all out there, trying to make amends and to educate the next generation. Bravo! Bravo to you, sir. And keep up the good work.

The art of forgiveness is difficult, sometimes brutal, but necessary to a healthy soul. Do you think if Michael Vick knew three years ago what he knows now that he’d have made the same choices? I don’t.

After knowing my ‘ignoramus’, a great man who’d give you the shirt off his back in a raging blizzard yet spout racial obscenities about a minority who angered him (and no, he wouldn't have been angered by the fact that the person was a minority; it's that if they were a minoruty he would 'go there'), I simply cannot justify a knee-jerk black-&-white response to Vick. I’d not be able to tolerate it in those responding to the words or actions of my own taught-by-life ignorant. What are we, twelve? It may not be fair, but then again neither is life. Vick made a mistake. He’s sorry. He’s trying to make a positive out of it. He’s lost much of what he had built. He’s got every right to live his life, and to utilize his skills to do so.

I say leave him be.

ALERT: Froggy Bop is Missing!!

We are on Froggy Bop alert. OMGoodness, Froggy Bop is MISSING!!!! What to do? What to do!

I am shamed to say it took me most of this evening to figure out just exactly why the Bear is behaving so oddly (you can rest assured her behavior impacts the rest of the four-leggeds).

Finally noticed a distinct lack of bright green/yellow in her general vicinity.

Spent next 20 minutes searching house. Nada.

Next 10 searching backyard. In the dark. With a flashlight. Zilch

So a certain someone is now draped across the bed in an agony of anticipation ... and I've got nothing for her.

This ought to be fun.

Where the heck do they even sell "Beanie Buddies" anymore???

These Days It’s Really Just the Chronic Fatigue

Weekends are pretty important for me; they’re when I catch up on all that sleep I don’t get during the week. In every 24 hour day, mine is filled with 7 or 8 hours sleep, 2 hours to get ready for work, then an hour drive to work, then work itself (a minimum of 8 hours … I don’t take breaks or lunch so I can leave sooner), then an hour drive home from work, then another hour taking care of the menagerie … plus, at end-of-day there’s an additional half hour involved with getting ready for bed. So, let’s see, that adds up to approximately 21 hours, leaving 3 hours daily for everything else. Everything else.

Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, except for that Bastard RA, who makes me tired. All. The. Time. Having 3 hours a day to do the laundry, housecleaning, food prep, shopping, bill paying, car servicing, doctor, dentist, vet, etc. may seem like plenty of time … but trust me, it’s not. In any person’s given day, there needs to be some down time. What I’m generally forced to do is to postpone some of the necessities to allow for some decompression time.

I love to read, and watch certain television programs, and movies … but these days I really only read in the loo (I know, gross!), and out of 140 allowable hours on DVR, I’m sitting on 97 hours of taped programs waiting to be watched (and every weekend I delete a few of the oldest unwatched to make room for the new ones I’ve recorded), and I haven’t returned (or watched, for that matter) the three Netflix CDs I have since I received them two, no wait, three months ago (and the three before that I ended up returning without watching them). Sheesh.

While I don’t tend to dwell on the negative ways that Bastard RA has impacted my life, I dwell quite a lot on the sleep I wish I was getting. I sort of remember how bad it was before I was diagnosed and the meds kicked in, but only in an oh-yeah-that-sucked kind of way … I think Mom and Dad have much clearer recall of that time, seeing as they lived the 6-month snapshot: when I came back home for Summer vacation I was fine, then when they next saw me in person 6 months later for the holidays I was absolutely crippled. I’m pretty sure they’re scarred, in the way only parents with a sick child can be, to this day.

But if I sit very still and think very hard (the memories are not fun), I can certainly recall the myriad painful rheumatoid nodules all over my elbows, knuckles, and gum lines; how I could stand up straight … if given 15 minutes to un-kink my joints; how I could walk 50 feet … at the pace of an elderly person using a walker; how I drank nothing during the day so I wouldn't have to get up and walk to the Ladies Room at work and how I cried every day walking out to my truck to drive home from working that job (located in a sprawling facility with football field-sized parking lots); how swollen my joints were; how hard it was to get in and out of cars (hence the necessity of a truck for yours truly); how only certain pieces of furniture (mostly straight-backed chairs) didn't cause pain; the trigger-fingers and how I’d have to use the fingers of one hand to sloooooowly manually un-bend the fingers of the other hand; how I’d wake up stiff with various owies; how it took a couple hours to get going every. Single. Morning. Regardless of what I was doing that day.

I had to psych myself up to do laundry, because the washer/dryer is in the basement, and that’s 16 steps. I didn't cook; seldom cleaned. I kept everything heavy in the garage, and if I didn’t bring up whatever I needed on my trip into the house after work, then I went without. I didn’t step foot in the dog run (fenced-in portion of my backyard) for almost three years, because it was downstairs. Never took the dogs for walks. And the pain of everything; the swollen elbows, wrists, knuckles, knees, ankles, and feet … ouch! I had no grip, so had to come up with different ways to do everything “normal” people do with their hands. It suh-hucked!

Sound not so bad? Try going one full day without using your hands, for anything, then get back to me.

Nowadays about the only real problem I have is with the chronic fatigue, and that’s a regular thing. By weeks end I am so overtired that I need sleep, and a lot of it. I get incredibly punchy when tired – almost like a whole other person. From a blog perspective, sometimes I read what I’ve written when tired and am embarrassed. In real life I can generally tell I’m overtired when I simply cannot shut up. They laugh at work (they don’t know about that Bastard RA, and just think I get goofy for the weekend). Mom has to tell me to pipe down and let her talk sometimes. My friends just giggle at me, “Lisa’s on a rant again.” I guess I should be happy it isn’t too bad, but from my perspective it sucks.

It’s like the real me is hidden behind the tired me, and the tired me is dressed in one of those inflatable samurai suits, repeatedly knocking the real me on my ass as I try to sneak past. Sigh. Stupid inflatable-samurai-suited tired me and it’s almost impassible inflatable-samurai-suited self.

Tired me pretty much forces real me to recharge on weekends, specifically Saturdays; I tend to miss out on a lot of our get-togethers because of it. Most people, when they plan to do friend & family things, plan them for Saturdays … but I have to beg off, because no matter how much I may want to join in, I know I won’t. So, after a couple years of not showing up, I’ve learned not to R.S.V.P. “yes”, but rather “maybe, but most likely not” or flat-out “no”.

I rarely get out of bed on Saturdays, seldom shower, and actually get dressed less often (having Lonnie over a few weeks back just about KO'd me). In the last five years I’ve probably only been out of the house on a Saturday a couple dozen times … and many of those were just to walk to the end of the driveway to get the mail (and maybe to fill the birdfeeders). I’m certain there are quite a few of my neighbors who considered me antisocial until they got to know me because prior to this Spring I was, literally, rarely seen outside my home if I wasn’t in the truck, coming or going.

My Bastard RA doc is wonderful, and my regimen is working (I’m not quite in remission yet, but seem to be getting closer all the time): I take four prescription meds (methotrexate, folic acid, vitamin d, and Humira ... that's the needle) and five non-scrips (multi-vitamin, calcium, ginger, turmeric, and selenium), and together they’ve enabled me to look, act, and for the most part be “normal” … it’s just that my “new normal” also includes mandatory sleep-in Saturdays.

On the one hand, kinda cool ... who doesn't want an ironclad bonafide excuse to sleep late?

It Seems Oh, So Reasonable

I'm sure I'll be in the minority on this one, but here goes ...

I was watching the Today Show this morning, when Meredith Vieira interviewed Audra Harmon and her attorney, Terrance Hoffman ... this interview was about a traffic stop made by Deputy Sean Andrews back in January, in which he ended up tasering Ms. Harmon ... twice.

Ms. Harmon, needless to say, has filed a lawsuit. Ostensibly "to bring awareness not only that anybody can be a potential victim, but also awareness to the police officers who have the Tasers to be a little more judicious and think it out a little more before they use this kind of device. Then the overall picture is whether or not Tasers should be used in law enforcement." But also, you know, to make them pay for the police brutality.

Having watched the interview, then the dashboard cam (sans actual sound, but with added voiceover by Ms. Harmon), I have to say ... were I a juror in this case, I would not side with the plaintiff.

Go ahead, get it out ... you know you want to.

Until such time as I see the actual dashboard cam footage with the original sound (been looking, haven't found, but it may be the department in question doesn't have sound, or simply hasn't released it), I see no reason to merrily jump on the police brutality bandwagon ... here's why:

• Ms. Harmon took it upon herself to step out of her vehicle. Why? Even I know you never step out of the vehicle unless told to. This is seen as a clear act of aggression by many police.
• Her reasoning, in her own words, "because I wanted to see the tape" (e.g., prove it, bub). What?!? No. Not even remotely a good enough reason. You want to see the tape, you go to court and see it like everyone else, you're nothing special.
• Then, again in her own words, "I get back in my car and it should have been over right there." Um, why? Far as I know, it is not okay to start a pissing contest with the authorities and then feel you have the right to decide when it's over. Honey, you started it, now own your decision. Not only that, although Ms. Harmon repeatedly claims not to have waived her arms, etc., she is clearly confrontational by body language.
• Then, "he asked me to get back in the car" ... to which she replied, "show me the tape." Really? So, instead of immediately doing as asked, she once again confronts an authority figure. 'Kay.

Elsewhere in the interview Ms. Harmon mentions she gave the officer the opportunity to search her bag and her vehicle for the cell phone (oh, yeah ... forgot to tell you he originally pulled her over for talking on a cell, an act which she is disputing - says she was leaning her chin on her fist and that may have confused him).

My first thought (and yes, admittedly I already am not taking her word at face value), is she passed the cell phone to her 15 year old son, who was in the vehicle with her. Were I the police department reviewing this case, I'd investigate all cell phones this family has, and check the records to see if any were in use by a nearby tower during the time of this traffic stop. I'm just saying.

So anyway, then she's upset that she was in the back of the Deputy's unit for almost 40 minutes while her 15 year old son and 5 year old daughter remained supposedly unattended. Um, no ... don't think so. What, the officer drove off with her in the car and left the kids by the side of the road? And double what, you seriously expect me to believe said 15 year old hasn't babysat said 5 year old about a zillion times? C'mon, people.

Besides, if she was so worried about them, why did she take the EMT up on the offer to go the the hospital? Now, some people have questioned why an EMT had to come to remove the taser barbs, but think about it: the deputy isn't going near her with a 10-foot pole, and she's cuffed behind her back. Somebody has to come and do it, and who better than the folk who can then give the tased a once-over to ensure no imminent heart-attack?

You notice the EMT didn't make the decision, but rather asked Ms. Harmon if she wanted to go. And she, horribly concerned for the safety and welfare of her two young (unattended) children, went; "and that's where they, um, did it. Made sure that my heart was beating and everything."

Oh, I'm pretty sure all involved were clear that Ms. Harmon's heart was, indeed, beating. Just saying.

This entire scenario smacks to me of entitlement, and it's that, more than anything else, which drives me up the wall (enough so that I freely admit a bias of epic proportions against the plaintiff in the first place).

Anyway, the Deputy Andrews charged Ms. Harmon with speeding, talking on a cell phone, resisting arrest, and disorderly conduct ... and yes, all charges have since been dropped.

My 'Veloci'-Raptor is da Bomb!

Haven't seen any hawks by the bird feeders in awhile, and just kind of thought they'd been taking a bird-breakfast break and must be getting plenty of mice in the nearby fields or something.

Then this morning on the way to work I happened to look into the backyard from the driveway, and saw a lovely Cooper's Hawk sitting atop the neighbor's fence. Staring fixedly at my deck. Which had no dogs on it (too hot, so they spent the day inside). But did have a full bowl of dog food.

Otherwise known as 'extra' birdfood, since the little wildbirds eat out of it like it's a giant birdfeeder when the dogs aren't around.

So, basically the hawk is staking out the backyard 'bird feeder' and nabbing the sweet little wildbirds from there! So smart. The little birdies can't tell the hawk is coming because it practically swoops up from under them.

I'm kind of surprised I get almost as much enjoyment 'feeding' the hawk as I do the rest of the crew. But they are so fiercely beautiful, you know?

Fond Memories of Chat Rooms

Finally put my finger on why Twitter seems so fun: because it reminds me of the free MicroSoft Chat rooms we used to spend soooo much time in about 8 years ago or so.

Every night for hours, hanging out with webfriends ( ... real-live web "kin"? ... ) and building these whole communities where people would plan vacations together and web-reunions where everyone would meet at some central location for a few days ... very informal, just the plans that particular chat room "regulars" put together. Which became annual.

There were nicknames and emoticons and characters and hosts and passing the hammer (and dropping the hammer) and all sorts of goofy stuff. And all of it was free, and came pretty much to a crashing halt when they decided to convert it to a subscription service.

Because if it ain't broke, then by all means fix it. Pretty please.

Anyway, it was particularly shocking to me because my home computer had crashed and it took a few months to get it up and running again and I was so looking forward to reconnecting with my chatroom "friends" when lo and behold! The freaking thing wants me to pay!?!

Are you kidding?!? I will never pay for something I once got free (unless I really want it and there's absolutely no other way to go ... don't look at me like that, surely you've heard of "grandfathering"?).

So. After many long years of no chat rooms, along comes blogging ... great fun, but not real-time communication. And facebook with its various applications ... fun again, but not (oh, you know). And now Twitter. As close to real-time as possible without being a chatroom, no?

Not to jinx anything, but when do you think they're going to get around to chargin ... er, nevermind.

Urgh! Don't DO That!

So you know that strange feeling you get when your cat stops everything and stares? At a blank wall? For awhile? Then snaps out of it and goes back to real life? As though nothing strange had happened at all?

Yeah, that? Freaks me right out! I chalk it up to everything from a massive termite colony in the wall (encompassing the entire length of the house, 'cuz if you're gonna dream, may as well dream big, right?) to oh! He can see ghosts! Or angels! Or my imaginary childhood friend, Billy! Or, you know, whatever.

But if it is Billy, he's got some splainin' to do!

And it's not like this happens only occasionally. It's pretty much every few days, while the household is winding down and we're all getting ready for bed. Isn't that when the creepy-crawlies are supposed to come out?

So I get a good dose of the what-the's, and have to turn on every light in the room to perform a spider patrol (because said cat could be hearing the pitter-pat of thousands of tiny spider feet gearing up to overthrow the humans. Tonight. While they're sleeping. BWAH HAH HAH HAH!).

Yes. I know. Lame.

So tell me something I don't know.

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

Your Kiss

Your kiss, beloved, was to me

As if all flowers of Araby,

And every fresh and fragrant rose

That ever blew, shall blow, or blows

Had all her sweetness taken up

And poured into one perfect cup

For me to drain ...

Kiss me again!

-Jack London

If He's Involved, I am SO There

I want to see District 9, like right now. All the hype has done it's job with me, and I'll be waiting in line to pony up the ten bucks, as opposed to waiting on the Netflix arrival. Few filmakers get to me this way, but Peter Jackson is definitely one of them. It's a fairly short list: Jackson, Spielberg (absolutely!), Shyamalan (what is the deal with haters?), Hughes (sigh, gonna miss him), and Whedon (got you with that one, didn't I?).

Don't get me wrong, there are tons of movies out there I really want to see, but they pretty much fall into the category of "will watch in living room on small screen". These include, but are not limited to:

• The Hangover (Bradley Cooper all the way)
• The latest Harry Potter movies (love this series)
• The Hurt Locker (Jeremy Renner-phile right here)
• Julie & Julia (Meryl Streep is astonishing)
• Up (c'mon, how could I not?)

Well, you get the picture (no pun intended). I love me some movies, but in the comfort of my own home, where I don't have to pay through the nose, where I can pause to go to the loo, where I can drink a pop and have a snack without (further) breaking the bank, and where I and the occasional houseguest will be the only ones voicing comments at the screen.

I think the main reason "regular" television takes a break during the Summer (although those cable channels have some preeeetty nifty Summer fare these days) is to drum up movie business. Boy, Netflix really messed that up for them, huh?

But it's a BAD Vampire "Story"

I kept hearing about it, over and over, "Have you read Twilight?", "You have to read Twilight!", and "Oh, Edward is sooo yummy!"

And since I am all over my fair share of monster fare and romance, I was game. I mean, I've read most of the early Stephen King (and even some Bachman) works, everything Dresden, all about the Leandros brothers, Ward of Hurog, the Retrievers, and the Argeneau clan, and started up with Connor Grey, Mason & Louie, Cassiel the Outcast, and young Miss Reaper-Jones. I've got the DVD series for all of Buffy, Angel, Firefly (and Serenity), and Harry Dresden. I'm no stranger to the fun fantasy works. And I like series ... I like being able to revisit the same characters over and over (why I keep going back to the Argeneau well, even though it is a mite dry). And, of course, I still have mad love for the Lost Boys.

So, knowing of the potential for yet another set of characters to love, I finally broke down and picked up the first in Ms. Meyer's series, figuring I'd give it a try. And I knew not to expect too much simply based on the hype, because that's a surefire way to be let down.

But I was. Let down. And I can't quite put my finger on why. Maybe because none of it seems all that new. Or maybe because the characters are either bland, pointless, or incongruent. I don't know why, really ... but I know that I just don't care to read any further ... at all.

It's not that I'm put off by the differences the vampires in this book embody; it matters not that they can go outside in daylight, or that they *sparkle*. Big whoop ... it's fiction, people, do with it what you will. So I gave it away and don't plan to read any further (or see any of the movies, for that matter ... Cedric Diggory will remain Cedric Diggory for me).

But now Shelfari pokes me in the arm, with folk asking if I think they should read it. I wonder why they ask, when I gave it the rating I did? At first I just told them all "no, don't read it - waste of time". But then I talked to a few people of varying ages and chromosomes who really, really, like the entire series, and it turns out I'm in the minority (go figure, huh?). Maybe I should to put a little more thought into my response (which is still "no", but maybe I could be more circumspect), or just not reply.

On second thought, nah. You asked.

When I think of all the other vampire stories I love, these (yawn) twerps ... er, characters ... just don't hold a candle. You know?

Okay, Well Now I'm Just Pathetic

Heard of Twitter? Me too. Had no interest 'til I noticed some blogs I follow use it. Then got all up in Twitter's face, wondering why wasn't I invited to the party?

So, I've been on Twitter for the last hour ... got to the point where I was "following" about 420 twitterers. You say, "What?!?"

Yeah, me too. Had to take a break.

But not until after I dumped the bunch and am down to a more reasonable number (methinks) ... but that'll no doubt change as I continue to add in the rest of the blogs I follow, der.

And I went in and changed the "look" of my main page about (insert ridiculous number here)times ... I am unbelievable when it comes to something new (for me) on the internet. It's like my birthday, extra payday, and the last day of school all wrapped up in one!