I swear...if I never see another wireless router again it will be too soon. Not to mention, another PC, another tech-support guy from Manila (Calcutta, Pnom Phen, etc.) whose accent is as thick as molasses in winter, who thinks he can fix it all, bowing and sraping the whole time to the angry white woman ranting on the phone in some god-forsaken poedunk Texas city telling him that he doesn't know his job and that he has terminally f*&%-ed up my computer and that if he doesn't fix it, and I mean NOW, I am going to crawl through this Edison invention and pluck his testicles out with fine forceps neglecting to make an incision in what is sure to be his shrivelled up little sac!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMN IT!
This love-hate relationship has got to end...I MUST have a Mac. If anyone out there has a spare that he can donate to a maniacal lady on the verge of implosion then please send.
Thank you for your support.
6.27.2004
A Slicky Whoop-Ti-Doo
A drizzly Saturday afternoon found me slogging through puddles and rivulets only to attend my first ever professional soccer game - Dallas Burn vz. DC United. Accompanied by an aficionado, participant and coach, I was sure to get a very thorough instruction as to the subtleties of this most European of sports. And, I was assured by my companion of a most exciting experience given the quality of the teams and especially from one Freddy Adu.
Camped out with the other fanatics, hat firmly plunked atop my smallish gourd, I willingly and joyfully had an afternoon of quite mediocre football. What did I expect? I wanted bicycle kicks and flying saves, inhuman feats of sprinting, deft juggling and crack play-making. What I got...20 sodden men slipping about on a most inhospitable slickened grass field, injury performances worthy of Oscars, and a moist corny dog.
Nevertheless, I can now say that I have attended yet another sport in inclement weather and lived to tell the tale.
Rah, Rah, Rah...GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo ME!!!!
Camped out with the other fanatics, hat firmly plunked atop my smallish gourd, I willingly and joyfully had an afternoon of quite mediocre football. What did I expect? I wanted bicycle kicks and flying saves, inhuman feats of sprinting, deft juggling and crack play-making. What I got...20 sodden men slipping about on a most inhospitable slickened grass field, injury performances worthy of Oscars, and a moist corny dog.
Nevertheless, I can now say that I have attended yet another sport in inclement weather and lived to tell the tale.
Rah, Rah, Rah...GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo ME!!!!
6.25.2004
Wicked, Wicked Girl
The nuances, offerings and mysteries of the Internet never cease to amaze. Of course, you folks savvy in the ways of the cyber-world will chuckle at my infantile delight over this newest find, but I am, just as I was with my über-blog, riveted to my monitor, experiencing "mouse-finger syndrome" and tip-tapping away on my most recent acquisition.
I have now enetered the realm of the most wicked and unlawful - P2P. My rationale: someone, somewhere bought the audio. Comparable to me duping a CD and giving it to a friend. Nevertheless, it is said to be illegal and every time I click the 'download' button, a frisson of wanton disregard scuttles up my spine and tiny spurts of endorphins are circulated through my cerebrum. No wonder this stuff is addictive; eyes bulging, lips withered from lack of hydration, blood racing as I get more hunch-backed through the night. Searching for ever more transcendent and ellusive cuts.
So in a matter of minutes, hours; I have the nascent library of an audiophile. Have discovered musicians, artists and creators on a world-wide network that submissively responds to my queries, presenting me with virtual cornucopias of choices.
"My phone's on 'Vibrate' for you..."
I have now enetered the realm of the most wicked and unlawful - P2P. My rationale: someone, somewhere bought the audio. Comparable to me duping a CD and giving it to a friend. Nevertheless, it is said to be illegal and every time I click the 'download' button, a frisson of wanton disregard scuttles up my spine and tiny spurts of endorphins are circulated through my cerebrum. No wonder this stuff is addictive; eyes bulging, lips withered from lack of hydration, blood racing as I get more hunch-backed through the night. Searching for ever more transcendent and ellusive cuts.
So in a matter of minutes, hours; I have the nascent library of an audiophile. Have discovered musicians, artists and creators on a world-wide network that submissively responds to my queries, presenting me with virtual cornucopias of choices.
"My phone's on 'Vibrate' for you..."
6.22.2004
Corazon Espinado
Emociones, productos nada más de la mente, simplemente pulsos de electricidad y recuerdos en los lugares físicas del cerebro. Pero sin embargo, en los momentos de alegría, el pecho se siente tan lleno, y en otros, es como no hay nada al dentro excepto una pica bién fuerte. Esta vida, mi vida con todos sus sueños, esperanzas y fantasías está regido por la inconstancia de este corazon espinado.
6.21.2004
Blood IS Thicker than Water
As I was packing the "kids" into the Jeep, I had a random thought to check the mail before we headed out to Fort Woof. I thumbed through the jetsam and a blue envelope with just one word, "Syd," caught my attention.
"Hmmmmm...I don't recognize this handwriting?... Ooooo, maybe a suitor has left a little treat for me! Who could it be??" But I knew better than to seriously consider the woo-er concept. That little blue mystery piquing my interest - teasing me with its enigmatic insides. I pop it open.
"Ah, funny card...gaseous humor...clever."
From my MOM! MY Mom! I wept a little as I reread it. A simple "Love, Mom" at the bottom. No flourishes, "XXXXXOOOOOO's," or creepy sentimentality. Nothing more or less than my Mom saying she was out there and that I was important to her.
And in that moment, I became perfect. Perfect in her eyes. Perfect despite my frailties, foibles and fractious nature. Betwixt mother and child the bond is tenacious, indisputable, and incomparable. When confronted with all of the other humanity/inhumanity in this wide and injust world, I can grasp the unchangeable umbilicus connecting me to Mom, and haul myself back to the core, the focus, the center.
Indecision and ineptitude in their unhappy cloaks are driven back amongst their own. Joy and serenity blossom and I am reminded that blood is truly and thankfully thicker than water.
"Hmmmmm...I don't recognize this handwriting?... Ooooo, maybe a suitor has left a little treat for me! Who could it be??" But I knew better than to seriously consider the woo-er concept. That little blue mystery piquing my interest - teasing me with its enigmatic insides. I pop it open.
"Ah, funny card...gaseous humor...clever."
From my MOM! MY Mom! I wept a little as I reread it. A simple "Love, Mom" at the bottom. No flourishes, "XXXXXOOOOOO's," or creepy sentimentality. Nothing more or less than my Mom saying she was out there and that I was important to her.
And in that moment, I became perfect. Perfect in her eyes. Perfect despite my frailties, foibles and fractious nature. Betwixt mother and child the bond is tenacious, indisputable, and incomparable. When confronted with all of the other humanity/inhumanity in this wide and injust world, I can grasp the unchangeable umbilicus connecting me to Mom, and haul myself back to the core, the focus, the center.
Indecision and ineptitude in their unhappy cloaks are driven back amongst their own. Joy and serenity blossom and I am reminded that blood is truly and thankfully thicker than water.
6.17.2004
For Lez and His "Submariner"
Lobster Found Guarding Watch Off England
LONDON - Lobsters have long been known as solitary and territorial crustaceans — but timely and fashion conscious? Divers in northeast England were recently surprised to come across a giant lobster standing guard over a barnacle-encrusted watch at the bottom of a harbor.
Maybe the lobster just knew a bargain: The watch was still ticking.
The watch and its 2-foot-long guardian were found by divers doing maintenance work in Blyth harbor, officials said Thursday.
"We're all highly experienced divers, and none of us has seen anything like this before," said Graham McDonnar, a member of the Lady Francis Dive Team.
"Not only is this the biggest lobster any of us have ever come across under water, but it's also the first sea creature we've encountered that can tell the time," he joked.
The lobster, estimated to be about 30 years old, was taken to the Blue Reef Aquarium in Tynemouth, where it is settling in well in the harbor tank display.
"Lobsters are well known for being extremely territorial," especially regarding their habitats, said one Blue Reef official, Zahra d'Aronville. "Perhaps it identified the watch as part of its territory and has been standing guard over it ever since."
Whatever the motive, the lobster has nothing to worry about.
If the aquarium isn't allowed to keep the watch, it will buy the lobster a waterproof replacement, "as he's clearly very keen on being on time," d'Aronville said.
LONDON - Lobsters have long been known as solitary and territorial crustaceans — but timely and fashion conscious? Divers in northeast England were recently surprised to come across a giant lobster standing guard over a barnacle-encrusted watch at the bottom of a harbor.
Maybe the lobster just knew a bargain: The watch was still ticking.
The watch and its 2-foot-long guardian were found by divers doing maintenance work in Blyth harbor, officials said Thursday.
"We're all highly experienced divers, and none of us has seen anything like this before," said Graham McDonnar, a member of the Lady Francis Dive Team.
"Not only is this the biggest lobster any of us have ever come across under water, but it's also the first sea creature we've encountered that can tell the time," he joked.
The lobster, estimated to be about 30 years old, was taken to the Blue Reef Aquarium in Tynemouth, where it is settling in well in the harbor tank display.
"Lobsters are well known for being extremely territorial," especially regarding their habitats, said one Blue Reef official, Zahra d'Aronville. "Perhaps it identified the watch as part of its territory and has been standing guard over it ever since."
Whatever the motive, the lobster has nothing to worry about.
If the aquarium isn't allowed to keep the watch, it will buy the lobster a waterproof replacement, "as he's clearly very keen on being on time," d'Aronville said.
6.15.2004
See what I mean??!!
Now here's a reality show I would watch: http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcthree/tv/interrogators.shtml
Not only is it a great concept (we love to watch other people squirm), but it incorporates proven psychological theories regarding facial expressions and their subtleties. I do believe that the BBC/TLC also produced a mini series/documentary with John Cleese, "The Human Face" on this very subject. It was fascinating and it incorporated the holy number - 1.618, phi. This is an ancient number which is supposdly the perfect proportion, used to measure beauty, in architecture, it can be applied to anything. It was referenced in the series, mostly with regard to beauty, and you can even download a mask to a transparency, superimpose it over a picture of yourself and see how truly mathematically beautiful you are: http://tlc.discovery.com/convergence/humanface/articles/mask.html
I never did it, but I'm gonna now!
However, funnily enough during my morning news browsing, I came upon a nutrition article referencing the 'golden number.' I thought, "Wow, why wouldn't it work for that too??!!" This is only a snippet, but once again, the power of numbers and history to help us navigate through our modern f*&%ed-up society: http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=534&e=3&u=/ap/20040615/ap_on_he_me/fit_da_vinci_diet
So maybe my fixation is not necessarily with the British, but perhaps with the place "where the history is."*
*Quote from Eddie Izzard, "Dress To Kill"
Not only is it a great concept (we love to watch other people squirm), but it incorporates proven psychological theories regarding facial expressions and their subtleties. I do believe that the BBC/TLC also produced a mini series/documentary with John Cleese, "The Human Face" on this very subject. It was fascinating and it incorporated the holy number - 1.618, phi. This is an ancient number which is supposdly the perfect proportion, used to measure beauty, in architecture, it can be applied to anything. It was referenced in the series, mostly with regard to beauty, and you can even download a mask to a transparency, superimpose it over a picture of yourself and see how truly mathematically beautiful you are: http://tlc.discovery.com/convergence/humanface/articles/mask.html
I never did it, but I'm gonna now!
However, funnily enough during my morning news browsing, I came upon a nutrition article referencing the 'golden number.' I thought, "Wow, why wouldn't it work for that too??!!" This is only a snippet, but once again, the power of numbers and history to help us navigate through our modern f*&%ed-up society: http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=534&e=3&u=/ap/20040615/ap_on_he_me/fit_da_vinci_diet
So maybe my fixation is not necessarily with the British, but perhaps with the place "where the history is."*
*Quote from Eddie Izzard, "Dress To Kill"
6.14.2004
"Coupling"
The new season of "Coupling" on BBC America has started and I, for one, am delighted. Some might find it too "Friends"-like, but I am so sucked in when they start nattering on in those British accents, and using colloquialisms, e.g. "bloody hell," "wanker," "luv," etc. Things seem funnier, wittier, pithier, more glib in that lofty English idiom; or, maybe, I'm just a silly American who romanticizes all that is European, although I don't feel especially wiggly when hearing Italian, Spanish or German. In fact, my fascination with British accents (and to some degree, French) might be compared to some men's catatonic devotion to bosoms. A vague reference to decolletage, udders or lingerie can send some men spinning off into a fleshy fantasy of nuzzling and drooling.
Similarly in my female version, at the merest hint of the Queen's English or a Jacques Cousteau sound byte, my brain takes a mini-break, reason departs for more chaotic climes and my heart sycopates. I begin to have delusions of chastity, aloofness, restraint and gentility. If I just remain calm and contained, I will be irresistable, unflappable......magnetic, even.
And, then, reality poops in my teacup.
So, what is this fixation for all things UK?? Perhaps a misguided belief that the accent means better breeding, refined honesty, excellent horsemanship and archery skills.........
Rubbish, utter rubbish. Regardless, I love my show and I will always get weak in the knees when someone calls me, "Luv."
Similarly in my female version, at the merest hint of the Queen's English or a Jacques Cousteau sound byte, my brain takes a mini-break, reason departs for more chaotic climes and my heart sycopates. I begin to have delusions of chastity, aloofness, restraint and gentility. If I just remain calm and contained, I will be irresistable, unflappable......magnetic, even.
And, then, reality poops in my teacup.
So, what is this fixation for all things UK?? Perhaps a misguided belief that the accent means better breeding, refined honesty, excellent horsemanship and archery skills.........
Rubbish, utter rubbish. Regardless, I love my show and I will always get weak in the knees when someone calls me, "Luv."
6.13.2004
Hair Bag
3 June '04:
Yep...a bag - white paper, like you might get doughnuts in, left enticingly in the middle of my street. Well, not MY street, but my parents' street which is just around the corner and so technically MY street. A dead-end street with only neighborly traffic and the occassional browser. Not, by any means, a main thoroughfare for traffic, motorized or ped-al; a lovely court with upper middle class abodes sporting ginormous SUV's, sprinkler systems and sparkling gutters.
This bag, so obviously incongruous, so lost, so forlorn - an interloper into the realms of the neat and tidy.
"What's in that bag?" I thought as I pulled the mighty Suburban, loaded with a slightly tipsy parent, out of the pebbled driveway.
"Yes, I noticed that on my way home," commented R.J. "I'm hungry. Let's go eat."
"Right," I agree. Stopping the "tank" near the bag, I crawl gingerly down to the pavement. I reach tentatively for the bag's gaping mouth and there I discover.....hair!
(I wish I had a f$%*ing camera!)
Yep...a bag - white paper, like you might get doughnuts in, left enticingly in the middle of my street. Well, not MY street, but my parents' street which is just around the corner and so technically MY street. A dead-end street with only neighborly traffic and the occassional browser. Not, by any means, a main thoroughfare for traffic, motorized or ped-al; a lovely court with upper middle class abodes sporting ginormous SUV's, sprinkler systems and sparkling gutters.
This bag, so obviously incongruous, so lost, so forlorn - an interloper into the realms of the neat and tidy.
"What's in that bag?" I thought as I pulled the mighty Suburban, loaded with a slightly tipsy parent, out of the pebbled driveway.
"Yes, I noticed that on my way home," commented R.J. "I'm hungry. Let's go eat."
"Right," I agree. Stopping the "tank" near the bag, I crawl gingerly down to the pavement. I reach tentatively for the bag's gaping mouth and there I discover.....hair!
(I wish I had a f$%*ing camera!)
Dracula Von Pulga
4 June '04:
As I lay half-conscious in that semi-dreamy state just before waking, watching the blurry mouthings of Katie and Matt from my aquatic bower, a quick nip and itch emanating from my abdominal region drew my gaze mid-belly to my navel. And there, perched insouciantly on the crest of my umbilical scar was a flea - plaguer, pest, pulga, blood tyrant, wee beastie and general irritant. I left him momentarily to enjoy his last succulent sip of heme, then lazily plucked him from my waking flesh and deftly squished his bowels out twixt opposing thumbnails - his pauper's burial amongst the wooly fibers of my Berber 'til the inescapable suction of my Royal whisks him from his carpety limbo to a final resting place amongst the other insectoid exoskeletons, skin flakes and motes.
Needless to say....I fogged...
As I lay half-conscious in that semi-dreamy state just before waking, watching the blurry mouthings of Katie and Matt from my aquatic bower, a quick nip and itch emanating from my abdominal region drew my gaze mid-belly to my navel. And there, perched insouciantly on the crest of my umbilical scar was a flea - plaguer, pest, pulga, blood tyrant, wee beastie and general irritant. I left him momentarily to enjoy his last succulent sip of heme, then lazily plucked him from my waking flesh and deftly squished his bowels out twixt opposing thumbnails - his pauper's burial amongst the wooly fibers of my Berber 'til the inescapable suction of my Royal whisks him from his carpety limbo to a final resting place amongst the other insectoid exoskeletons, skin flakes and motes.
Needless to say....I fogged...
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