Holdin on the rail

Spent the weekend in Chicago and had a great time visiting a friend with two kids under the age of 2. It would have been great if I'd had more time, but isn't that always the case? Anyway, the train ride there was delayed by an hour... the ride back was only a half hour late... seems that Amtrack has a high speed rail between Niles, MI and Kalamazoo, MI that allows the train to go up to 95 mph. The conductor was very excited to share this... however, this was where the delay came in, since there is only one track for a portion and the train leaving K-zoo was already on it... so we sat for a half hour. Oh, the irony. But, once they get this high speed upgrade on all trains, and all tracks, it will shave 2.5 hours off the rail time from Detroit to Chicago--I wonder what that will shave off the delay time? Still, I prefer the train... even if the woman across the aisle from me was busy spreading the word of Jesus to some unsuspecting passenger. For 2 hours I over heard the joys of miracles, the rapture and other scripture references and all clearly heard over my iPod.

The last weekend of July...

Well, it is finally a Friday again and the same debate that plagues me every Friday doth reared again... do I take work home with me for the weekend. The answer, quite simply, was no. I'm headed to Chicago and while there is plenty of time on the train to read through documents and get motion sickness as a result, I decided that in spite of (or because of) the constant work-related dreams, I need to really step away. After this weekend, that mission will be harder as I will be moving my office home where projects and documents and emails will be staring at me from the dining room table that will be my station for the 6 weeks following.

It was also my hope to be able to leave the office today after my last call... but it was not to be the case... and thus, I am behind on prepping for my departure in a few hours. When procrastination strikes, I find it best to blog.

Still, the essentials are done, and if I don't wrap presents for the kids, they won't even notice--neither one is over the age of 2... and that reminds me... camera!!

Have a fabulous last weekend of July!

Early morning un-welcomed events

Thursday, approximately 3:15 a.m. I am awakened by a sudden rush of cat noise, most particularly Calvin's high pitched growl/meow. Bowie and Vinnie are in the bedroom with me, and as I get up, I hear Jake hissing something fierce... I assume one helluva fight is ensuing. In an unfocused haze of sleep and wake, I stumble out of my bedroom into the hallway to see Calvin crouching and Jake nearby, both are creating havoc at a third feline body that is sitting casually in the middle of the living, looking around. The third cat sees me and takes off out the balcony door from which he came and jumps off. It is the neighbors cat who figured out a way up to our balcony. I closed the door, congratulate Calvin on his fierce guarding of the homestead and stumble back into bed.

Thursday, approximately 6:30-6:45 a.m. My alarm wakes me at 6:30; as is the typical case, I lie in bed a few moments until I hear the coffee pot kick on... this morning, I drifted back to sleep shortly after waking and about 10-15 minutes later, woke again and got up. I stumble into the kitchen, my hair a wavy mess of curls that are 5 times larger than usual. I grab my very LARGE cup and put in the necessary Sweet n' Low and creamer... and turn to the coffee pot to see it mysteriously without coffee. The light is on that it has brewed. My first thought is I did not put water in the reservoir. I check and there is water. Nothing is hot. Panic ensues. I begin pushing buttons like a mad-woman, because, quite frankly, I am at this time of the morning without hope of coffee. It quickly becomes clear, to my utmost horror, that the Mr. Coffee has met its very end.

Now, with regard to that last, very sad occurrence, I ended up with another coffeepot from work... as a result of the office closing, there is no need for the non-leased coffee pot and I was told I could take it. It is very nice, nicer than I would have bought. My unfamiliarity did cause a slight moment of panic when I thought I set the auto brew this morning and there was no coffee again. Turns out, I didn't turn it on even though I had set it. At least there was coffee to be had this morning. The woman in Beaner's yesterday clearly did not understand the level of incoherence I had when I went rushing in. I was so out of it, I ordered a bagel--a food item that I rarely eat and ends up making me sick 9 times out of 10. Yesterday was one of those 9 times...

A moment of Duh

What I meant to mention in my last post, but failed to--even though I put the labels in for it is that I have also registered to Crew the Avon 2-Day Walk for Breast Cancer in Washington DC next May. Crewing means helping through the course of the walk either via security, moving gear, helping at a rest stop... cheering on other walkers in general... my plan is to crew DC and walk in NYC (October 2008). I may also crew a second walk, but time, money and location will be a factor. Boston might be a logical choice as well as Charlotte, but we shall see!

Anyone interested, check out the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer site for more information.

Where time ends...

Looking back, it's hard to believe that it has been over a week now since I've posted. Surely, there have been many a thing happening worthy of mention... but I forget all the relevant items. Mom came into town on Wednesday, which really explains where I have been; there has not been a whole lot of time to really sit down and write anything... we went shopping, to the Art Fair, cooked, went out for dinner, went to Monroe, watched a movie, moved a loveseat and table out to the trash, visited my garden, Farmers Market and generally just visited. It was a nice time and since she left this morning, I've gardened, did 5K worth of speed walking and very little jogging, made my 500th trip to Target, baked and cleaned. Now, I'm tired.

In the last week, I also started physical therapy. Seems that strained hip from the Avon 2-Day walk has not gotten any better. And I am really beginning to question a form of medical intervention that causes more pain. Thursday was my third session, and I left in some amount of aggitation to the afflicted area. By 5 p.m. I was physically ill from pain. I downed a few Tylenol and did some stretching, then went out for a walk with mom. I was sleeping by 730 on the floor and in bed by 830.

PT also provides you with exercises to do daily. What they fail to understand, no matter how much I tell them, is that this isn't new to me. The name for it might not be the same as what I call it, but once I learned what they wanted me to do, it was a no brainer. Try to do 2 sets of 10 they said, and if you can, do 30 total. I did 50 and still had no difficulty, no tiring, nothing they said would be an indicator to stop. Thursday, she said, OK I want you to walk at a normal pace on the treadmill for 5-10 minutes... no incline. Do at least 5, but 10 if you can handle it. I truly do not think they understand that despite this injury, I am very active and I am very good at not letting myself feel the pain. I've explained this in a few different ways. I've explained that I have spent the last 2 years training for marathon distance walks plus and have had personal trainers at least once a year to consult with and that I work out sometimes hours at a time... and they just nod and say yeah, okay, so can you walk at least 10 minutes a day? Very frustrating.

Aside from that bit of aggravation that will continue for at least the next 3 weeks; I did manage to splurge and buy myself a very sweet Wonder Woman purse at the Art Fair. Basically it is a box with handles and has vintage images of Wonder Woman from comics, promos featuring Lynda Carter, and other paraphenilia. A bit pricey, but entirely worth it.

On that note, I shall return later... possibly even this evening. In the meantime, I have yet to eat lunch and it is coming on dinner time.

Down and Dirty with the Dems

In what should be an exciting time, politically, the insane backbiting and underhanded sleaze of the 2008 Presidential "hopefuls" is taking the shape of what can only be on par with the ridiculousness that is, as my dad calls it, "Big Time Wrestling" -- or is it?

The Washington Post is reporting that Dem wannabes, John Edwards and Hillary Clinton want to see a smaller more serious group for debate, claiming that if the group was smaller and only contained serious candidates, we would see the differences between them. Of course, Edwards went on to backtrack after being challenged on the issue by Ohio hopeful Dennis Kucinich.

I have to say, I like Kucinich--he has some spunk, and wicked comb over--and his underlying knowledge that he doesn't really have a chance in this hell of an arena gives him the opportunity to be the grain of sand in the pants of folks like Edwards and Clinton, who are too touchy-feely-sickening-politicos to stomp his ass like they could if only they grew some real balls.

It has oft been said that politics is not for the faint of heart... it is also not for the honest, law-abiding types... yet, sadly, it no longer has any character. "Clusterfuck to the White House" is nothing but a group of pandering perverts of the worst order.

I'm not sure why I had any inking of hope that Edwards and Clinton were better than this... they aren't... they are fervently pushing anyone off the cliff they safely can--a united front for the betterment of the process while they try to come up a with a way to screw the other without leaving any DNA evidence.

"When a defensive type of war is being fought, that is to say, when the guerrilla band is endeavoring to prohibit the passage of an invasion column beyond a certain point, the action becomes a war of positions; but always at the outset it should have the factor of surprise. In this case, since trenches as well as other defensive systems that will be easily observable by the peasants are going to be used, it is necessary that these latter remain in the friendly zone." ~ Che Guevara, Guerrilla Warfare

The King Lives and other scary events on a Saturday

This weekend brought a swarm of Elvis' to Ypsilanti... that's right, it was the Michigan ElvisFest. For the uninitiated and uninformed, it is a 2 day romp at Frog Island in Depot Town. This year, I did not actually enter the festivities, but heard a few of the performances while sitting outside Aubree's.

The day actually worked something like this... I overslept and had to quickly get dressed, brush my hair and run out after being up for 5 minutes to meet Mal at Bombadill's on Mich Ave. Not having a clue about weather, but having plans to be outside in July at a Festival in honor of his majesty, I opted to wear a blue Hawaiian-ish flower dress, which, albeit on the short side, is still quite cute. Obviously, if I am adorning it, it is cute, but I do digress on a fit of vanity.

Turns out, it got rather chilly, and the partner in ElvisFesting was not feeling well, so Mal and I decided to brave the white polyester-ed middle aged crowd ourselves... but begged off after the price of admission outweighed our desire for sarcasm... plus we only planned to peruse the event for 30-40 minutes and didn't want to drop $12 for the pleasure.

After a nice and calorie laden lunch, we headed back to the cars... while walking down Hamilton, the wind blowing and the sounds of Elvis floating through the air, I did not hear a bike approaching from behind. The dude on the bike was probably about 60, his helmet askew, and passing at such a slow speed as he checked me out, looked at me and said "Excuse me, baby" in the creepiest of manners that my impulse to laugh and scream "eww" simultaneously left me from emitting any sound. Instead, I let Mal laugh, as she didn't hear what he said, or even how (which intonation was the major factor), and I just brought my hand up over my mouth until I was able to get the necessary "Ick" out. Then we were really able to laugh.

But it was scary, in one of those creepy kind of ways. And made me glad that I continued to do a "dress check" to make sure my underwear were not exposed. As I had told Mal earlier, "It isn't paranoia if people can see your underwear."

Flying Spaghetti Monsters and Puppies

Another late evening at work found me coming home to an apartment ransacked by what I can only imagine was the Flying Spaghette Monster (FSM). I've blogged many a time about the FSM and its relentless pursuit of getting my kitties in serious trouble. Tonight, as is par, the cupboards were all open and the food processor dumped onto the floor... the boys and I cleaned up the mess and played for about an hour while I ate dinner and made chili. I then explained to them that I had to leave for a little while and go over to the Aunt SKs to take care of her puppy. The mere mention of puppy perked Vinnie's ears up to a frequency not typically seen unless we are discussing Santy Claus... I explained about Mission and puppies and how they don't use litter boxes--all of which seemed to facsinate Vinnie who simultaneously eyed the ceiling fan. Calvin gave a look from the desk that indicated he had no interest in puppies and their neanderthal ways.

So it was off to SKs... Mission at least did not blow me over into the door in a frenzy of excitement as she did the last time. It is nice that she's excited to see me, but I'm grateful she didn't pin me to the door since I'm still scrapped and bruised from the vet trip on Saturday. I took Mission for something of a drag around the condo property. She obviously was not interested in running much and at one point, tried to kill me by running at a good clip next to me then suddenly stopping right in front of me. It was a sly move. Still we ran a mile before she really insisted that we stop and wanted to go back home. Apparently, she wanted some kibble and then to go back out... so we went out for another 20 minutes and then she was really done.

Upon my arrival home, I was thoroughly investigated and sniffed... and the boys were quite displeased with the horrendous odor I brought back on my hands. Apparently, it was only worsened by Body Shop Daisy-scented soap... however, all is quite easily forgiven with a few hits of nip and a few minutes of playing with an old shoelace.

A little trip to the vet

Saturday I embarked on an experience which I hope to not relive anytime soon. All kitties to the vet for vaccines and general check up before moving... we are talking a combined weight of approximately 85 lbs. Now, I'd say I'm in pretty good shape; my resting heartrate most days is right about 60, I workout regularly, but in the 10 minutes that it took to get the boys downstairs and into the car must have gotten my heartrate up higher than any elliptical, treadmill or running trail I've met in sometime.

Long story made short, as I am standing at the counter to pay for the aforementioned services, with blood dripping from my neck, my toenails torn, a fingernail ripped in half, covered in cat urine, scrapped, scratched, bruised and the thought of having to get them all back in the car and then drive home and get them upstairs rolling in my head, the receptionist looks at me all perky smiles and asks if it was worth it to bring them all in at once. What I wanted to say was: Are you fucking kidding me? But, instead, I handed over my credit card, smiled and said nothing.

I don't know if it was worth it or not, but it is over in one fell swoop. Admittedly, I wouldn't do it again without some help and really, at this point in my life, that means that no, I wouldn't do it again. And now, with Calvin sleeping on the desk (where he's not supposed to be), head propped up by some pencils and snoring like mad it is time to finish dinner and get ready for tomorrow.

The Rise and Fall of Literature and Hope for the Future

Sometimes, I do my best of thinking while driving; that's to say, I'm not thinking about the act of driving, but everything else... which does explain why a few people prefer to not drive with me (among other reasons, including the lack of breaking ability in the passenger seating areas). That aside, I was on my way to someplace this week when I found my mind and car weilding around a large series of objects. Of far more interest, obviously were the non-steel and brick objects. Over the Memorial Day holiday, my Hemingway weekend produced a great deal of writing of which I was and remain very happy with--but since then, I've not done a whole lot. It isn't writers block so much as it is mental blockage and the two are distinctly different.

Writers block is the difficulty and/or absence of the ability to create an idea and put it to paper. I've heard others liken it to the "well being dry" or as I have always been found of "dead air." Mental block is more that the ideas are there, they are working in the head, but the mind is refusing to allow the body to sit down and allow them to leave... it is the writers Guantanemo (albeit temporary, unlike the real situation).

It was in this train of thought that it came to me: Anybody can come up with a plot idea, and anybody can put words down on a piece of paper, but not anybody can do them simultaneously and with alert interest or intrigue to others aside from the scriber. And perhaps, that fact alone is precisely why the mind works in the way that it does... the ideas are ready yet, they are still being flushed and the language tested?

And then I got to thinking about Virginia Woolf, and the idea of a room of one's own... and while I took some liberty with her intent, part of my mental backlog is that I don't want to sit at my drafting table and write these days... but I also don't want to bother with a change in scenery. I know I must... as a writer you have to find a place in which you can write and a space comfortable enough for the duration. To some extent, it is why my Hemingway weekend works; there is a defined sense of space and expectation and reckless abandon. Of course, that would lead one to think that it should then be done more often than yearly... and perhaps there is some logic in that, but the Hemingway weekend is one which is draining and then there is the sangria.

Writing is an interesting space; many writers need "things" when they write... and at one time I thought I was particularly weird (eh, no comments) when I would get up in mid sentence and grab a lei, a tiara, decide a different glass was necessary... they are distractions, but unique to the creative process for me... and I've learned since, to many others as well. Does it seem off that one might suddenly need to wear strappy stilletto shoes while writing? Perhaps, but I find that it makes just as much sense as a runner who needs to wear a certain token going into a race or hunters that need to have certain good luck charms on them.

It is the space of the writer... and our space is slowly being crowded out. Crowded out by noise, a lot of noise. When novelists write their books with the thoughts of who will do the screenplay later, we have failed. But I had some hope yesterday. I haven't picked up a new fiction release in some time and thought--I want to or NEED to read this... I've been going back to books published 10+ years ago, or reading non-fiction... but on the shelf at Borders between something stupid and something released with the movie cover sat what inspired me as hope toward the future... "Michael Tolliver Lives." Armistead Maupin spun off his Tales of the City character for a new novel, independent from Tales, but gives us a truly rich jewel. It has been the first time since perhaps the release of Thompson's The Rum Diary that I've been truly excited to read something new in the world of fiction.

Cats and FSM

Tonight, as many nights in the last few weeks, I came home to a mess... cupboards doors all open, stuff fallen off the counter and tables, clothing once on hangers now on the floor, cat food bowls seriously empty. My cats, after much interrogation, maintain innocence... I have come to the very valid conclusion that my cats would never do such "bad" things--they are far too tired for starters and and their non-rest periods are used for grooming (especially in Calvin's case). The only other possible explaination would be the Flying Spaghetti Monster (or the "Flyin' M'segtti Monster" as we refer to him around here because Vinnie seems to like and respond to alliteration).

Yes, the FSM does come by here every third Tuesday of the month and the occasional Wednesday to taunt kitties and get them into trouble... but apparently with the holiday, the FSM is visiting on an altered schedule. Interestingly, when I ask Vinnie if it was the FSM that came in here and ate all his kibble and opened all the cupboard doors, he looks leerily at the ceiling fan. Jake did as well tonight. This startling new fact leads me to believe that the FSM enters via a ceiling fan system... and finally explains why Vinnie is so terrified of the fans, and why Jake seems to suddenly be skeptical.

Well, folks, it was either the cats and FSM or the Newsweek article I read on the Clusterfuck to the Whitehouse... I do love Jon Stewart's title for this upcoming election... and well, while I thought the article was worthwhile and interesting, it required too much thinking on my part tonight.

Next up: Saturday's vet visit... all four boys getting vaccinated and checked out. As the woman at the office said: It will be an adventure. I hope I survive.

Independence? Is that meant to be a joke?

A storm looms omniously today; hinting and powerful destruction and on what better a day? There would be nothing better to remind the people of this country how fiercely un-independent we have become than to have a storm hammer down its wind and hallow upon us.

I am fully aware that the preceeding statement are fighting words on such a patriotic of holiday. We have soldiers fighting abroad; my family among them... but I'm not sure most of us know why--or for what freedom?

Just a few questions that meander my mind as I see people today touting the flag and over-indulging on fatty food and filling their tanks. About 50 emails in the last few days with subject lines about God and Freedom and other such stuff--emails from people who really don't know me, or think I might change with just the right combinations of motivational messaging. People who never actually send me an email with any thought or personal sentiment--just forward and keep the machine churning. 1984 anyone?

It is predictable, to launch into a tirade of sorts on this prestigious of holidays... but all I have to say is if our supply of fossil fuel were suddenly to be cut off this country would fall in minutes. All I'm saying is that World Peace depends on the hangs on crude oil.

I can't help but be a little verbose, I've been flipping back through the Thompson, and I did watch Where the Buffalo Roam again this past weekend. Always nice to be surprised by the fact that Bill Murray can act from time to time; even if he hasn't done too much since 1980 to really prove that fact. I managed to also catch, finally, Oceans Thirteen yesterday after work. I loved it... a lot of homage is paid to Frank and the original as well as to the Godfather. And, I have to say, even if you don't know all the cast "in jokes" you don't miss the humor--that is the brilliance of the writing. In fact, if you do recognize the in jokes, it can be a tad distracting... but still quite humorous. I just have to note that I loved the ringtone Brad Pitt's character, Rusty, had during the movie: the midi of the Human League's "Don't you want me." Classic. And my favorite line (sheesh, to pick one?): "You're analog players in a digital world."