Gavagirl

DROOOOOOOGS!!!!

2006-10-29T20:24:00.000-08:00

I've been a lazy blogger and haven't updated in awhile, but my friend and fellow droog Steph sent me this picture of our Halloween costumes, and I really have to share, Since I haven't dressed up for Halloween in some time, this was exciting for me. YAY!!

Only one more day

2006-09-21T19:45:00.000-07:00

I'm mostly over this cold and sinus infection I've had for two weeks. Just s little sneezing and stuff, which might in fact be allergies.

At this point though, I'm pretty much permanently weepy. I don't want to be. I try really hard. I work up a little energy by dancing or running or a few sun salutations, but I am LOW on endorphins. Running on fumes, as it were. It hurts to blink. I hate being depressed.

And to make it all better, I don't even want to open up to anyone in person because it seems that the local humans want to engage in both a)stupid assumption-making (of the everything-is-about-me variety), and b)rumor-mongering (of the blowing everything out of proportion and failing to mind your own stinking business variety). So asking anyone for anything just seems like dicey business, despite the fact that I'm usually too boring to make it to the gossip radar.

Well OK, I made it to the Top 10 once time, when Erik and I were dating. Apparently, he had me hooked on heroin and was beating me and stuff. Neither of these things was ever true. I suppose in a way, it's flattering that people assumed I would have to be drugged and beaten to stay in that situation, but sadly, no, I was completely sober, and he was smart enough to know how to manipulate my loyalties without using his fists.

Hmmm... I really ought to write about manipulativeness and power sometime. I really should... heh!

Anyway, with no endorphins, and lots of suspiciousness and rumor-mongering in the air, I kind of want to duck and cover, and kind of want to attack people with claw hammers. OK, I'm exaggerating. Maybe just Nerf bats. I want to make a point, not cause permanent damage. Not yet anyway.

And then I had what should have been a weird, uncomfortable, meetup with an old friend (or something, I'm not sure what kind of creature this is as of yet) last week. It was... unsettling and depressing. Considering the circumstances under which I last saw this person, I expected to feel nervous or something, but instead, it was just flat. It made me very sad. There were so many offhand remarks made, with regard to several different topics we discussed, that indicated such a total lack of concern for connecting with other people, or with having to really care about them in any practical way at all. I tell ya, people who don't want to invest anything, it's like talking to an eerie paper cutout. For some reason I take that kind of thing really hard when I encounter it. Took me a few days to get the cold off. Can't for the life of me figure out why he contacted me to begin with.

Geez, I'm rambling. So, to fill you in on the rest of everything, the job is the same, still a contractor, but secure for the moment. Still overemotional and given to reflecting to deeply on things

but how else am I supposed to be cultivate all this understanding when you come to me with your problems, loves? It takes time, and work!

still feeling mostly unappreciated, but there are bright spots of encouragement in some quarters for which I am more thankful than those benfactors know

and this is one of those times when the full knowledge that all this is just a mirage actually makes it feel more precious and beautiful for all that fragility.

I'm reading a book that's got a lot to do with honor. I'll have to give you the lowdown when I'm done. It's sch-weet!

damned Sagittarians and their damned honor...

Gava gava HEY!!

2006-09-18T21:43:00.000-07:00

Blogging is weird.

I don't put the really personal stuff here, usually, though I suppose that did happen recently once...

Most of that kind of stuff probably belongs in a personal journal, where the less generous amoung you won't be sneering at it: "oh look at her begging for attention".

Well, you're right. I am. That's fine with me. Sometimes I want attention. So do you. You don't ask, you don't get. it's how it is. I pay attention to your shit.

So there.

But more importantly, what do we all think of each other when we read all the raw stuff about nightmares and pain and confusion? Most of us who use blogs to keep up with friends and family have written at least some stuff like that once upon a cold and lonely 3 AM. Sometimes that stuff seems clearer late at night, or right after a good cry, or during a fever. If there were people awake around you right then, you'd make in the flesh confessions the same way.

Sure you would. When you were 15, you probably did. You had a lot less invested in your facades back then.

But what are you to people after you've revealed all of that? What are you to yourself? And what are you REALLY? Well, I can't speak for you on that score. Nothing in this world more personal than that.

I've been needing to explain what Gavagirl is since I started this blog.

Gavagirl started as merely a pun on a "word" on a poster hanging from the door across the hall from my office in grad school. The poster was a flier for a performance at a local bar by a little experimental music project that Greg (currently Inca) and Jesse liked to play with. The word was the name of the project. The word was "Gavagai".

"Gavagai" came from a famous and very interesting article about the metaphysics and epistemology of linguistic reference titled "Two Dogmas of Empiricism", written by an old Harvard philosopher named Willard von Orman Quine. Quine loved writing about things like "whatness" (quiddity), if you want a sense of what he's like. He also liked set theory. Order, objects, categories. This is deep in the sea of creation, important stuff. Funny things to be found in there. You can die from the bends trying to get back.

So the problem is, what does it mean for a word or proposition or expression in one language to "translate" to an expression in another language? Is there some kind of... thing... out there that is the word, existing independently of people's minds, that is somehow hooked up to those things to which they refer? Are our minds hooked up to these things too? Are our minds hooked up to all of these things? Do we create these things along with the words? And when we are trying to translate from another language into our own, can we ever be sure we're referring to exactly the same thing with the words we think we are using to such a purpose?

Sorry, this is really philosophically sloppy, but I haven't had to be careful for awhile and it's late. I think this is mostly on point though

Anyway, Quine gives us the example of a linguist studying the language of some tribe in New Guinea. One of the natives utters the sound "gavagai" and seems to gesture toward something we usually call "rabbit".

But we don't know that he means "gavagai" like we mean "rabbit". Quine gives us a bunch of examples of other things he could mean. He could mean "hippity hop". He could mean "undetached rabbit parts". He could mean "temporal slice of rabbit" or "flies often found buzzing closely around rabbits".

So how DOES gavagai translate?

Can't be determined. That's his point. Translation is indeterminate. And there's a more detailed explanation here. It's got some interesting consequences to ponder if you're the kind of person who thinks there are little entities called "meanings" hopping around independently of anyone meaning them. And I know you think about that a lot, don't you.

Heh. You may be committed to believing they exist and not even realize it. No, really. How's THAT for fucked up?

So how does gavagirl translate? Again, currently indeterminate, for a lot of reasons.

For one, I'm not dead, therefore not finished. There are many more things I can and will be, but currently am not.

And a lot of things I have been, and am not anymore.

She who is sitting here typing this blog post.

The one who posted a nightmare last weekend in three different places, not believing for the moment that everything was OK.

The one getting over the cold. The one who was dancing on Saturday night. The one who used to sneak out in her car late at night and drive like a madwoman all over the prairies. Who believes everything everyone tells her, but still doesn't really trust anyone.

There's everything all of you know, and everything you don't. And I suspect there may be things some of you know about me that I don't, just as there are things I know about some of you that I don't think you know. There are things I remember, things I've forgotten, things I've told you about, things I've kept quiet about.

There's one eleven year long, weird romantic entanglement that is so much a part of who I am, that no matter how I'd like to forget about it, I keep having to pull it out for little show and tells, because I can't explain myself without it. Eleven years is a long time, especially when you're young. I don't want to be hung up, and I'm not hing up in the sense people usually seem to mean "hung up", but a lot of me is about that. You won't understand me without it. Though don't even start thinking you understand that eleven years because you understand what I am now. Simply ending that relationship changed me utterly, in a heartbeat, from what I was in those eleven years.

I also was a smoker. Not anymore. Or, will I count as a smoker forever, as part of my definition because I did smoke for awhile?

All the things I love are part of it too, like kitties, and rivers, and target shooting, and yoga, and meditation & prayer, and music. And all that I hate, like unkindness, and ugliness, and contempt, resentment, envy, spite, dishonesty, and most of all, COWARDICE. And green olives. Those fuckers are evil.

To me, there are all these splintered off possible selves that are still sort of me that broke off when I had to make big decisions and I still wonder "what if...?" You don't know any of her.

To you, there are a lot of Gavagirl. None of you see exactly the same one sitting here typing this, some of you see me laughing, dancing on Saturday night, sitting on your couch ranting about something, tickling you, kissing you, maybe bursting into tears and running away.

All of those are me, too. A lot of what I do I try for the first time because I see that possibility for myself in the eyes of someone else. So much I do wouldn't occur to me without that.

And sometimes I've given up and dropped something I wanted to be me because I saw the door closing in someone else.

That is what it is.

So our boundaries, metaphysically anyway, are kind of permeable. We fade in and out of each other, if you catch my drift. And we're a lot of things, but really there's very little there to hang a meaning on at all. So there's nothing to be worried about. Though we all have our feelings anyway, and they beaustiful while we're here, and we need to take care of them, and each other. Or so I'd hope.

Heh.

There's something that seems to pull this all together into one thing, but... well, we'll talk about the ineffable another day, shall we? For now, we'll call it three pounds of flax. Or mu.

Or Gavagirl.

Good night, lovies. Sweet dreams.

Fragile

2006-09-10T10:18:00.000-07:00

I had a horrible nightmare about being attacked by dogs last night. I woke up looking for the chunks gnawed out of my arms and legs. It was very bad.

Not long ago, I told a friend I had nightmares occasionally. He said unstable, crazy people had nighmares past childhood. He's an ignorant fucker. I don't really consider him as much of a friend because he said that. People who come to dumb conclusions about other people's psychology because of stuff like that ought to be slapped.

I hate sleeping alone, because if something like that wakes me up, there isn't anyone who's supposed to be there so I can say "geez, I had this terrible dream, it really scared me". I hate that I have to wake up in the morning and put up some pathetic stupid LJ post about it so that at least my friends know there's something I'm sore about, and it isn't them, and they really can't do anything about it. I hate that I can't keep even a simple relationship together with anyone long enough that this isn't an issue. That's what adult humans do. But even asking for something small like "please stay with me every once in awhile so I don't have to wake up by myself" turns out to be too much to ask, too often.

I wish I was one of those people who could be unsure enough of who or what she wanted that I could settle for someone I really don't want for long enough to feel better for a little while. But... nah, if I don't want him, I don't want him, and that's the end of it. Sure sometimes I'm a little unsure of what I DO want, but I'm never really unsure of what I DON'T, and if I don't, I don't get anywhere near giving the gentleman in question any reason to think there's the slightest chance. Keep pushing me on it (but he's really nice!) is likely to just make me mad, and maybe make me resent the poor guy's presence.

I don't want somebody hanging around on my couch or or more days a week, telling me how I really ought to be doing stuff, picking at me about how one or another thing I'm talking about means I'm "crazy" or "manipulative" or "too negative" or "one of those kind of people" or too much or not enough of somehnig. This is what "relationships" are to me, really. A bunch of bullshit melodrama nitpicking and people trying to blackmail each other into getting everything on their own terms.

Bitter? OK, sure, whatever. That's bitter. Talk about how bitter and negative and awful I am behind my back and sneer all you want. I'm just venting, and I don't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks about it anyway. I'm not even going to try to fight that judgment anymore. It's a feeling, just like all the other feelings, and I'm not drowning in it 24 hours a day, and I'm actually usually pretty happy and I like people, or I am dutifully blaming myself for not being able to have a decent stable relationship like a good little girlcow is supposed to. I don't hate other people for not providing all of that for me.

You don't believe that? OK, fine. Don't. That's your prerogative. I don't need to discuss it with you though, so please let me know that you think this about me next time we see each other so I don't make the mistake of trying to open up to you. I don't need your "help".

What I really hate is that I don't want to discuss this with anyone who's more understanding, either. I'm not really anyone's first priority, nor do I think I really, rightfully ought to be the first priority of anyone I know that I can think of off the top of my head. Somehow, the thought of anyone trying to talk to me or offer insight in this particular area only reminds of the fact that I don't really come first with anyone and makes it hurt more. So no, I don't want a little mini-counseling session. I just think it's good, fair warning to explain my weird moodiness to people I care about so they don't think it's their fault.

It's just that I had a really bad dream last night, and there wasn't anyone there, and there isn't anyone I can call and say "hey, come over, I had a bad dream and I don't want to wake up by myself in the morning because it makes me feel like shit". Oh, I suppose I can think of numbers I could dial in such a situation, but I know I'd have to turn on the waterworks to get enough sympathy, and pity is just a repellent sentiment to get from anyone. I mean, it would get me something, I suppose, but it wouldn't be real.

Oh, to be a shallow and manipulative girlcow, content with baubles and cheap plastic substitutes. Who had the bright idea that I should be taught to read, and think deeply about things? I'm just terribly ruined now.

Distractions are welcome. I need to feel better so I can so some more hardcore yoga. I might finally get off my butt and go look for some climbing shoes, too. A trip to the rock gym might be strenuous enough to keep me from moping about things.

GRRRRRR.

Cadavers

2006-09-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

This weekend, a crew of us ventured to Houston to see Bodyworlds. Showing had been selling out for weeks, so we purchased 3:15 AM tickets. It was STILL packed. i don't know if it was scientific or artistic value I was more impressed with. The work was beautiful. I was very glad I had quit smoking a month before I saw all of the smoker's ling specimins. This particular preservation method gives a nastier, more graphic look at the damage caused by cigarettes than anything else I'd seen. Really awful.

Other vices weren't neglected. There was a nice, rubbery cirrhotic liver (and a fine discussion from Brian on the horrors ensuing from severe alcoholism). There was a cutaway section from the torso of a 300+ lbs. man, that showed rather clearly how the fat collected inside his body cavity had strangled his internal organs. Only thing missing was a nasal section of a coke/meth addict. Maybe next exhibit.

Outside of the vices, there were lots of other nice examples of diseased tissue too, including a stomach with a big perforated ulcer, a few nice tumor-infested livers, a spinal column horrifically twisted by some genetic disorder, etc.

The healthy specimins were beautiful, however. But I was struck by how small they all seemed. Granted, a certain amount of size is going to be lost with body fluids, but even all of the bones and such seemed tiny and fragile. I've noticed that when people are very ill and hospitalized, or when I've viewed bodies at open-casket funerals and such, they've seemed tiny to me as well, relative to how they normally appear. Odd.

Overall, the whole thing was lovely, not to mention moving. If the Bodyworlds collection tours near you, go, go, GO!!

We took a nice stroll through the geology section of the museum before heading back to Austin, too. Beautiful collection. Good for cleansing the mental palate after all those.

And I want a Foucault pendulum.

And another trip to Houston, please. There's other museums and stuff to see.

News

2006-08-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

So our friend Brian won Best Pepper Sauce at the Hot Sauce Festival yesterday. Tears of Joy "August in Austin", we salute you

I'm very glad I don't have to beat anyone with a bat. Good job on the voting, kids.

Now go buy stuff from him. It's all tasty. If you don't like HOT hot sauce, then get the tequila lime. Yum.

In other news, quitting smoking and stuff have wreaked havoc on my thyroid. And it only took me a week or two to pick up on that! Hmm... wonder why my throat's been feeling all lumpy and raspy, why I've been moody, sad, unreasonable, people-hating, mean (at least on the interior, you'll have to tell me how much has leaked out), and stupid.

I hate that I have this problem. It makes me feel unreliable and crazy. I zoned out quite a bit of yesterday, and I think bits of the day before. I have lost bits and pieces of time here and there. It's really getting me down.

If I've been hard to deal with the last several days, or I've treated anyone unfairly, I'm really sorry. I'm glad most of my readers here are in OKC/Norman where they don't have to deal with my crap.

I want a nap now.

Hot

2006-08-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

Still hot.

If you are in Austin, or can be in Austin this weekend, come out to the Hot Sauce Festival at Waterloo Park (on Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!!!) and partake of much peppery goodness.

Then VOTE for the best hot sauce, the maker of which will receive much fame, notoriety, and admiration from highly-desirable members of the opposite sex.

You will of course vote for Tears of Joy hot sauce because you are people of taste and intelligence who know good capsaicin-based foodstuffs when you taste them, and who don't want your kneecaps busted or a pair of cement shoes.

Capeche?

Yeah, you kids are all right. See ya out there.

Electric Cars

2006-08-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

Got out to see Who Killed the Electric Car? last night, in the always-excellent company of B. This is another one I have to recommend to everyone. Stuff going on you really ought to know more about.

Remember the electric cars we were all hearing about hitting the streets of California back 10 or so years ago? Well, all of them were taken back after their leases were up. All but a few were crushed, at least one was disabled and donated as a museum piece (how I'd like to go reverse-engineer a new ignition for that sucker); none, apparently are on the road as of today. Clean, quiet not terribly costly, get-you-around-town-with-no-trouble little cars. For which there is supposedly no market.

Right. Whatever.

So I thought of a couple of cool things on the way back home. We pulled into a gas station and saw a convertible parked across the street, which made me think: "competely silent electric convertible". Whoa. Now how amazingly cool would that be? Take that sucker out through those Texas Hill Country curves on a Sunday afternoon! Would be like flying (yes, you can get that kind of performance and range out of electric. Watch the movie, look the stuff up).

And then, even better, some would say: "completely silent electric motorcycle". I'll just leave you to ponder the probable wondrousness of that for a moment.

These kind of cars can work for us, people. Start clamoring for them. Hell, I'm thinking of hanging on to the Green Goddess when her gas-powered self is on the skids, and maybe attempting a conversion to electric. Yep, it's cool enough I'll get it if I have to do it my damn self. Erm, when I can afford an $8,000 conversion kit, that is. Don't know how I'll ever do that, price of gas being what it is these days.

Really great battery inventor in this flick, name of Stanford R. Ovshinsky. He called upon all of us to start a revolution using science and technology. I think this guy is my hero. I want to go research batteries now.

(oh, and it was Col. Mustard in the conservatory with the candlestick.)

(yes, that was a cheap and terrible joke. You may smack me when next we meet.)

Who Wants to be Painfully Boring?

2006-08-16T11:00:00.000-07:00

Two weeks. No cigarettes. No, don't congratulate me please, because I'm having trouble hearing people over the sound of how much I ROCK!!!

It hasn't been the most eventful week for me. I went to Half Price Books and picked up a little de Beauvoir and a little Woolf. Visited Epoch. the new local coffee joint a couple of times. Watched Cronenberg's Spider, which was quite good in that weirded out Cronenberg kind of way (stock answer of the evening: "Well, because it's Cronenberg."). I still think he's brilliant though. He can find that blurry line between the beautiful and the horrific in human nature in a way that so few can. Most of his movies can break your heart a little.

Handy Andy aka Evil da Pig aka Shaniqua has my computer running again. All that time and effort trying to get the stupid thing going, all these months I've been home computerless, only to find that the problem was an unseated graphics card. Boy, do I feel silly. But, assuming things continue to go well, I'll be back online as of this weekend via a brand new wireless access point. W00T!

Work is just that. I'm working on new process diagrams, from drafts coming down from team leads. The one I got today for "Record Cash Transfers to/from Bank" consists of one box that says "Record Cash Transfers to/from Bank". I emailed the author about it and she replied that that was all she had of the process. Hmm. I guess I'm going to have to go down there myself.

It's still really hot. I'm diong yoga in the apartment, but have not attended Ye Olde Dojo in the Parke for a couple of weeks because these days, such temperatures cause me to feel as if my very hide is swelling. Perhaps I'll be more up to braving it tomorrow. But damned if I really feel like it's such a lovely idea to spend all day at a desk, then go brave 100+° temperatures in head-to-toe black clothing. Nope, I want to sprawl out naked under the A/C with a cherry cola Slurpee. I am CIVILIZED, by god.

Many good books I've got going right now. Give me a couple of days and I'll start reviewing them for you.

Finally a note to my fellow psych geeks: Scientific American's magazine "Mind" is worth looking at. Reasonably intelligent articles on interesting behavioral research. The quality of writing is decent as well. I'm actually considering my own subscription.

Dear Mel Gibson (a brief social aside)

2006-08-07T14:35:00.000-07:00

I really don't care if you're an anti-Semite. You don't have to like Jewish folk. Now, I can't tell from where I'm standing that they're any better or worse than any other kind of folk, but hey, you aren't required to like anyone or say nice things about them. You aren't even required to keep your mouth shut about these things, no matter your state of sobriety, as long as you understand that other people are likewise not required to listen to you.

Your reasons for liking or disliking Jews, or any other group of people, may be stupid, weasly, and paranoid. But as long as you understand that the rest of the world is allowed to call you an ignorant hick dumbass, you can hang on to any old opinion as long as you want. As long as it's all just words. You start beating down Jewish people in the streets, we're going to start having some problems. You start encouraging, or even condoning behavior like that, we're going to have issues. You keep it to petty name-calling and the like, fine. Sticks and stones, pal. Sticks and stones.

It's a free country. You can hate anyone you want.

But I gotta tell ya, I liked you a lot better when you weren't an angry religious rabble rouser and you had more of a sense of humor. How about you get busy on an Air America sequel or something, eh? Grab Robert Downey, Jr. and go on location in eastern Europe or South America or something? C'mon, man, you haven't had enough fun lately!

Koo-koo-ka-choo

2006-08-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

So 6 days now without a cigarette. Not so much as a drag. I even found one in the living room on Saturday. I broke it in half and threw it away. This is getting weird. As far as the cravings themselves are concerned, this is by far the easiest quit I've ever attempted. Nice.

The weekend was hyper-productive. I got a shit-ton of stuff cleaned out of my bedroom. There is now plenty of room to do all my yoga stuff in there, including the inversions. There might even be room for TWO people to play with yoga stuff in there. Hell, I might be able to practice my breakfalls in there now as well. Good to have SPACE. Much nicer for meditation too. Now to work on the car.

Getting all of this crap out of the way has got me interested in owrking on some more of my own projects. There are some glass and wire classes I want to take this fall, if I have time. Would LOVE to start doing more with that. I've seen such amazing work people have done with lampglass and with wire sculpting, and am starting to envy the accomplishments.

I also went to see America: Freedom to Fascism a little over a week ago, and would really like to dig in and do my own research on points that came up in that documentary. I'm not particularly prone to getting caught up in conspiracy theiries, but I do enjoy diggin around through books, and ever since the OKC bombing and the grand jury mess that happened there, I've been a lot more willing to give the crackpots a little credit and a little more eartime than I think I would otherwise.

Alex Jones was at the movie theater to introduce the showing before the one we saw. I tell ya, that is one intensely serious lookin' dude.

It's Day 3

2006-08-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

Not a puff of cancer has passed my lips since Tuesday night. It's still feeling pretty good. Some strange emotional knots still seem to be releasing themselves at night, but I remember this happening the last time I quit. Smoking is a distraction and an emotional repressant; everything the cigarettes have been pushing away comes back when you aren't smoking anymore. It's often more than simple mood swings. But it's a relief to let go of some of that stuff. I've been feeling lighter in the mornings.

But I have withdrawal fatigue BAD. Just sooo sleepy. It feels good though.

APA Torture

2006-08-04T06:50:00.000-07:00

Story about the APA interrrogation ethics debate.

Yes, the APA has a policy (or at least has been trying to come up with some coherent policy) on its members participation in interrogation of detainees in the "war on terror". Members do not "engage in, direct, support, facilitate or offer training in torture or other cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment".

That doesn't go far enough. Psychologists need to stay out of this kind of activity. They are licensed to help people, not to train the military in interrogation and psychological manipulation. Sure, they can say "well, we don't do it in a degrading way", but well... yeah you do. Unless they've got some kind of cookies and comfy pillows method of which I'm unaware, they're not showing anyone how to extract information in a kind and compassionate manner (unless maybe it's in that kind and compassioante manner of those doctors at the end of A Clockwork Orange).

Easy to find you've slipped into the darkness and not even realize it until it's too late. Just ask Philip Zimbardo; he found out firsthand. People require very little formal training in torture and degradation. They can get quite effective at it virtually on their own. They can not even realize what they're doing to someone because "degradation", "humiliation", etc. can be so subjective and context-sensitive.

Really, you could systematically shred someone's psyche, if you understood them just enough, in such a way that to anyone else, it would just appear as if that person had a massive breakdown due to their own psychological weakness. That "weakness" could be love, loyalty, pride, courage, or any number of other really good or even just neutral motivations. If you can also manage to remove this person from any position where he or she can reliably affect any personal circumstances that are emotionally significant (and maybe make them feel as if they have to rely on YOU if they want to be able to exercise any reliable control over their circumstances), then you've pretty much got them. Not hard to se how a shrink can fall into this kind of pattern, since the people they are trying to help are often voluteering the kind of information it takes to do this kind of thing to someone. No, not everyone wants to use their powers for good.

Psychology is such a lost field in so many ways. I keep hoping it will manage to grow into some kind of respectability and integrity, but instead... bah! Do they even have any love or respect for us poor little monkeys anymore? They've got no business supporting this kind of activity.

Oh, I'm rambly and weird today.

Junky

2006-08-03T07:16:00.000-07:00

I am one chemically-dependent woman. What a night last night.

No, I didn't smoke any tobacco. That part was easy. I started kind of craving cigarettes around 10:30 or so, but by then it was time to go to sleep anyway, so it didn't really matter. Other than that I didn't really want to grab a smoke at all. I just felt weird.

The tremors continued to come and go. They followed me to bed too, which meant that I twitched and tossed all night. Funny dreams too, thoguh I don't remember any of them very well. There were also lots of cold sweats.

A bunch of weird emotional shit kept coming up all night. Strange insights about people and situations kept arising, sometimes waking me up. I feel a lot less moody this morning than I did yesterday. That's good.

So, having withdrawals, but not really wanting any cigarettes. Can't say I've ever had this kind of result with quitting before, not even as early as day 2.

I am also thirsty beyond my ability to describe it to you. There is not enuogh water in this world.

Gold Stars

2006-08-02T14:49:00.000-07:00

The VP just told me that I am a "good American" and "the cat's meow". So despite my lack of ability to focus and remember what the hell I'm doing from one minute to the next, I suppose I haven't managed to screw up so badly today.

I still haven't really started craving cigarettes, and haven't become remarkably bitchy. However, I am obsessed with sex. Go figure.

I may see if I can join gnubee on her nightly walk tonight. I mean, aside from the 4 other walks I will probably need to take on my own.

I'll probably watch more Band of Brothers tonight, too. Funny, it occurred to me last night that until about 60 years ago, Europe was nearly the terrible shape the Middle East is in now.

So there's no telling what'll happen, yo.

Oxymoron

2006-08-02T10:38:00.000-07:00

I've quit smoking again. Haven't had a smoke since last night. Here's a rundown on this quit's Day 1 symptoms:

I'm averaging a mood swing every 2 1/2 minutes. No harm has come to anyone yet, mostly because I'm taking off to a bathroom stall to meditate about every hour. Emotional detachment is proving valuable here. It's kind of entertaining to have a friendly talk with the department admin about the afternoon staff meeting while simultaneously watching yourself have a sick fantasy about force-feeding glass to the mail room guy because the correction fluid he bought last week is utter crap.

I'm dizzy and kind of high. I think this is from extra oxygen. Hence the title of this post.

I bought some good stuff at the Body Shop last weekend. I still smell it on my skin from my shower this morning. With no tobacco to cover it up, I do indeed smell yummy.

I'm having tremors. This hasn't happened before. I can barely pick up my damned sunflower seeds.

There are also hot and cold flashes. Time is passing oddly.

Last week, I went on an all-produce diet for a few days to prepare for this. Today, when I would normally be craving chocolate and crap to deal with the withdrawals, I've been wanting strawberries, sunflower seeds, and broccoli.

Oh yeah, I'm bored so I'm blogging. Expect much pointless crap in the next few days.

Beirut

2006-07-28T10:55:00.000-07:00

Go to Salon.com.

Read today's cover story. Anthony Bourdain reporting from Beirut. It's worth doing the day pass if you don't have a subscription.

It's important that you read this. Really.

2006-07-28T06:56:00.000-07:00

I'm kind of down this morning. Must be the attack on my immune system this week. Just feeling blah.

Last night, I went to the bookstore and bought an introductory book to philosophy of mind that John Searle published a couple of years ago. From what I can tell the premise of the book is that every theory of mind is wrong (or at least fundamentally flawed, which may or may not mean the same thing). I also picked up a copy of Ken Wilber's Integral Psychology. I ought to be quite well occupied, at least intellectually, for the next few weeks with these. I read quite a few Searle articles in grad school; mostly mind stuff, and an article about bridging the naturalistic gap (deriving "ought" from "is"). Searle is an amazing thinker, and his analyses are brilliant. I highly recommend him if you are interested in such things as the mind/body problem. Warning to non-philosophy people though: this is very dry and very dense. Make sure your patience levels are high before attempting to read.

And thanks to Tipheret (again!) for finally getting me to read Ken Wilber. This stuff is cool. The mainstream approach to psychology has become so devoid of compassion, or any other decent human feeling, in so many ways, and it's really good to read someone who is more interested in figuring out how people work and helping them develop than in just getting them out of everyone's way. And it's definitely a welcome alternative to the Oprah-style, magical thinking pop psych garbage that passes for intelligent insight that everyone seems to merrily push on one another. Seriously people, you'd be better off doing astrology charts or casting chicken bones. If I hear one more chirpy little Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus cliche...

OK, that is actually a bigger discussion than I'm up for right now. But I love picking on John Gray. For entertainment, I highly recommend you read "A Rebuttal From Uranus". John Gray is a flim-flam artist from an unaccredited university at which he studied astrology. If you want to learn the best methods for avoiding any actual intimacy or trust with a partner, look no further. Treating another person as a "type" ("yeah, I know your KIND!!" he said sneeringly) is the best way to do that without having to resort to anything bloody. Criminy, that man pisses me off. I think it'd be fun to put him and Melody Beattie in a plane crash to see who eats the other first.

Hmph.

On a related note, I got a catch-up email from a close friend telling me about all the things he's got going on in her life, and repeatedly emphasizing how glad she is she's stocked up on meds so she can deal with all of it.

This made me really sad. See, I remember meeting this woman in college. She was a badass ROTC chick who could run 10 miles in full gear, was determined to become an Army chaplain, and didn't need any kind of drug to deal with anything. She got married right after college, ditched the chaplain idea, and all of a sudden it was meds, meds, meds all the time. And now, it seems like anything that happens might push her to the edge of a breakdown.

And there's not a damned thing I can do to help her.

No Exit

2006-07-27T11:18:00.000-07:00

I'm recovering from a kidney infection. Stuff kicked in quick, too. Went from "hey, did I pull a muscle in my back?" to "Holy Mother of Christ that HURTS!!!" in less than 2 hours.

Before anyone else says anything, yes, I am drinking cranberry juice. I've drunk so much cranberry juice in the last few days I feel like I have a tangy fruit filling. Really, you don't have to offer me more. I'm covered. Thanks for the help though. There are also antibiotics and painkillers. It's most excellent. A shout-out to all my druggie friends. And to think some would say I run with the wrong crowd. :-)

Goddamn pain has been getting in my way a bit though. Buncha bullshit. Grrr.

But, I've gone on with my plan of eating a fruits and veggies diet for a few days. Probably easier on the kidney anyhow. Then the cigarettes go away next week. Stick with the yoga fun and the dojo fun. Yay.

I've still got that funny feeling like I lost the mission somewhere, but have been wondering how important that really is. Maybe just stick with what is until some likely-looking mission presents itself. I don't believe in Fate, or that things are "meant to be" (and by whom would these things be "meant" anyway?), or in expecting the entire universe to bow down and validate my every decision anyway, and waiting around for someone/something else to give you a reason to go about your own business is-- well, not to get too combative with people or anything, but it's stupid and childish. I'm not that important, and damned glad of it. Nah, I'm just not interested in making anything around me a "mission" at the moment, so I'm at loose ends as a result of my own choice. Better to take care of details for awhile. Get those duckies lined up before some new thing comes along and blows it all into disarray again. It's all good, as they say.

I have a rant or two I could tear off on, but can't seem to gather a consistent thread. I hate being sick.

Hot (slow workday)

2006-07-21T14:12:00.000-07:00

The world's just boiling over.

It looks like St. Louis is a bit fucked at the moment. Blackout expected to last the next couple of weeks. People's homes were ripped apart by the storm winds. It's sweltering, and patrols are pulling people out of some neighborhoods so they can put them in places with air conditioning. Lots of old folks cringing in some of those houses, I expect.

Blackouts in NYC, too. They don't seem to know why.

The Israelis are massing on the Lebanese border. Condi Rice has said the US is rejecting the UN call for an immediate cease fire because we need a more lasting peace there. I think this is Condi-speak for "we need to drop bombs until nothing can move anymore, and people are too busy trying to keep their internal organs internal to think about making any trouble". You know, it doesn't surprise me this woman left her piano career for political science. I've no doublt she was a virtuoso, technically speaking, but expressing music adequately requires a soul, and the ability to connect with love and beauty. There are probably robots that have turned in more moving performances of Chopin than someone like her would manage.

Microsoft is also massing on the border of iPod. It will be called "Zune". I'm calling that name "dorky". A guy on the CNN article I just read called it a "lifestyle device". That's the kind of catchy terminology you get to come up with when you write market research papers. Damn, I don't miss that job. It was turning me into a cheap, dirty word whore.

Some guy stabbed 8 of his coworkers, using two large knives. Gruesome. People really need to learn how to fight back on this sort of thing. I mean, it happened in a grocery store. Throw some freaking canned goods at him! Throw flour in his eyes! Something, anyway. Good lord, some people you could take out with a paper clip they're so timid. Gahh!!!

I'm wiped out. The afternoon slump hit especially hard today. Maybe I can get GWB to give me a backrub. Ironically enough, I believe I could also use a sauna.

Odd

2006-07-21T10:57:00.000-07:00

I had a funny dream last night. It was one of the kind I have when I just dropping off to sleep, not the normal ones where I've been asleeep awhile. More like my mind just wandering through things, sounds, images, picking and sorting and tinkering with stuff.

I could see that I was walking through an alley, not really going anywhere in particular, just exploring. There was a phone ringing a long way off. Then, right behind me a very strong, male, not unfriendly, not-quite-familiar voice said:

Wait for me.

Then I jolted fully awake again. Not scared, but I felt like a lot of mental confusion and fogginess and loose-endedness I'd been feeling all day had snapped back together all of a sudden. It happens sometimes if I kick into intuitive high-gear; it's kind of like signal interference. Very distracting until the little Edison in the mental basement makes some sense of whatever the funny data is.

So I guess that's another reason to sit tight, and not do much toward affecting things for awhile, despite that fact that I don't know who the hell I'm wating on or why. And I don't think I'll ignore the little voices this time. Last summer, I had a similar dream, in which the voice said "Get the hell out of here!". In that case, I was very clear about what I was supposed to get the hell out of because I recognized the female voice, but I did not pay attention and ended up wishing I had.

Yep, sometimes they know what they're talking about.

FYI to my rationalist readers - No, I don't typically hear "little voices", only in dream or meditative states. Yes, I really do think this has something to it. And no, I don't believe in supernatural woo-woo. It's just a thing my mama gave me, yo...

Perfect

2006-07-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

Things are perfect. Or getting there at any rate. I'm awaiting confirmation on a job offer to wrap up the perfect, but problems aren't really expected there, so I'm going ahead and calling it. I'm not even expecting a kick in the teeth for it this time. It's good when you have a little time where everything is just how you want it, and those times don't come often.

Tonight is Indian food with Andy (aka Handy Andy aka Evil da Pig)and then Muskrat's birthday get-together. Going to grab another friend on the way out, if he's up for it. Busy, busy schedule. My dance card is packed. I've actually been staying around home a bit more lately. This is a good time to take care of details, clean things up a bit. The next undertow is always coming, and it's good to have everything lashed down beforehand. So, organize the paperwork, Go through stuff in the closets, see about renting a storage locker since there's not enough storage space in the apartment for a lot of the stuff I still plan on keeping. Whoever built the place was trying to enough hyper-minimalism on all future residents.

Still doing yoga, though I haven't found a teacher I enjoy as much as Andrew, Mack, or Jennifer up in Norman. I did find a great dojo to go to, so I'm back to martial arts again. Been ten years since those thai boxing classes, and I'm studying a much softer form now, so it's safe to say I know nothing. It's lots of fun though, and the people are great. There's very little of the usual attitude problem I've found in other dojos. The physical training is extremely satisfying (though in a different way from yoga). I have been itching to get into rock climbing too. A friend of mine said he might be up for it as well, so we shall see what happens with that.

And it's time to quit smoking again. I just noticed I do this at about the same time every year. So, this year's approach includes a fruit and vegetable diet as a lead in, a couple of short cleanses featuring blue-green algae and an herbal tea combo I'm working on, some restorative yoga classes, and a quiet homicide or two, if necessary. I'm so sick of the smell and that heavy feeling in my lungs, and not being able to sing or chant clearly. Ugh. Definitely time to end this.

I'm loving my friends, but am trying to seperate from the whole "scene" situation and just spend time with the people that I actually feel some camaraderie with. There's a small-town thing that happens with crowds like this Flipside crew, where people have some sense of belonging, but there can appear to be more intimacy and connection than there actually is, and personal dramas and meddling flare up frequently. Just human nature. I like most of them, but there are more than a few I'd like to beat with a hose for being whiny freeloaders - I may begin passing out free copies of The Little Red Hen before too long - and sorting your real friendships from the cheap plastic substitutes is just another good personal hygiene practice. Keeps you from going nuts with overscheduling, and cuts back on those "have tos" that always weigh you down. You can't let your life live you, eh?

It's lunchtime now. Gotta go find something green and leafy.

Front Line Assembly

2006-06-16T10:19:00.000-07:00

I saw them AGAIN! Oh, to be in the presence of the Leeb twice in a lifetime!

OK, I'm not really that much of a fangirl, but he is pretty damned awesome

Better show than the last one. The venue didn't turn into a Mixmaster, there weren't so many big, mean bouncers, and I have no bruises. It was actually friendly. The band seemed happier too than at the 1999 show. Not having halfwits stage diving you probably makes a difference.

The first opener, DJ Acucrack, might have been good, but the sound system at Elysium was not friendly to his material. Stromkern though-- wow. Just wow. I can't believe I missed them up to now. Apparently, they've been really big in Germany for awhile, though they are American. I've spent the morning at work listening to some of their recorded stuff. Not often you find a band that's so heavily electronic and dancy that ALSO manages to rock everything to shreds in a live performance. Yes. To shreds. AND the guitarist closed out the set playing BEHIND HIS HEAD. That is some old school shit, I tell you what.

And then FLA. They have a new album coming out, but happily, they played a lot of older stuff, too.

I must've needed the cleansing power of good live music. I haven't been this high on a show since the Dirty Three a few years back.

Post Mortem Post

2006-06-14T11:49:00.000-07:00

Hrm.

I went to Flipside.

That’s the regional Burning Man thing I spoke of a couple posts back, if you need catching up.

Interesting experience. Here’s a rundown:

Camping. I love camping. I hadn’t gone in several years though. Sleeping outside is good. Camps were well-arranged for accommodating both sleeping and partying.

The property where the event was held was pretty awesome. Lovely swimming holes, with nice clean water. Clean relative to the bright red Okie pond water I was brought up around, that is. Excellent deal, considering how hot it was, though I did hear some wacky hippie germ-o-phobes speculating about all the deadly parasites and bacteria that were probably lurking in it. Sissies. However, it seemed a bit big. Crowding wouldn’t be good either, but if you want to maintain that community feeling, you don’t want it to be too easy for people to avoid each other. It’s a difficult balance to achieve, but it seemed like it was swinging a little too much toward cliqueish out there sometimes.

There were also awesome cliffs, where some birdies had built upside-down nests over the water. Pretty.

There was outdoor dancing until the wee hours. This was good. If it had been close to cool enough to sleep all day, I probably wouldn’t have done much else.

Beautiful art cars. Terrifying art cars. Art cars that turn on their handlers.

Hot sun. Cold rain. Gorgeous, sweet, friendly people. Some utter assholes. Predators. Guardians. Mercifully few martyrs. Flakes. Lots of people all whacked out on too much sun and drugs. Some of that is a good thing, but it does make it hard to take care of your emotional equilibrium.

I had a good time. But I wasn’t happy. Rather than bend anyone’s ear any further with the details, I’ll just pare it down to the two big factors.

1. I HATE loud noise. Clanging, blaring cacophony at unpredictable intervals is just really hard for me to take. After a couple of days of it, I was so tired I couldn’t keep people’s weird emotional noise out either. The levees started failing. I got quiet and cranky and needed to nap a lot. Just one of those ways in which I am my father’s daughter.

2. Don’t know how to put this delicately – see, there’s sort of a Burner code for ethics that I’m vaguely familiar with through Jefe and Eworzero and other BM people. There are several principles woven together in this code, but the main thrust of it has always seemed to me to be an attempt to strike that elusive balance between autonomy and community (I’m only opposing the two for the sake of discussion, just so you know). Unfortunately there was exactly one rule I kept hearing repeated over and over again out there. “Take responsibility for your own experience”.

Um, well, yeah. Hopefully, you’re doing that everywhere else too. However, note that there is a difference between:

“Take responsibility for your own experience” and

“Your experience is your own problem, pal.”

See, the first one allows for the possibility that you might see someone else’s experience as part of your own. Their good time has something to do with yours, and vice versa. You share them. That’s what a community is, if I’m not mistaken.

Now the second one doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for that. It’s more in the vein of “I’m here for my good time, screw the rest of you!” Not too communal. More like a bunch of people milling around in close proximity to one another. People really aren’t looking out for each other, trying to connect, etc. And it’s really boring.

There were people falling on both sides of the line (I could feel myself vacillating the whole time, and never did feel like I hit a satisfying balance), but the “it’s your problem” crowd was really starting to wear on me.

I really don’t like hedonism, you see. At least, not a lot of it. “All things in moderation, including moderation” if you’re familiar with that line of thinking. Anyway, I have known quite a few people who could just debase themselves ‘til the cows came home (and then the cows wished they’d stayed gone). [Only] maybe 2 or 3 of them were able to maintain hull integrity while doing so. Most people, hedonism makes them selfish, childish, weak-minded, stupid, demanding, petty, and mean. Then they start making things harder for each other. Then the dramas commence. Not pretty, but it’s the way of humanity. Nothing annoys you like your friends, right?

I didn’t see the worst of those possibilities out there, by any means. It wasn’t like there was a replay of the Imperial Roman court eunuchs playing pin-the-tail on the slave boy

no, it was NOT fun! They didn’t get the slave boy’s consent, you evil people

There were some places though, certain camps, where that vibe was there, under the surface. Mostly it just expressed itself as shallow entertainment seeking. I also started suspecting that the “radically inclusive” sector of the community (those that my grandfather used to refer to as “not havin’ any damned sense a’tall) would rather make everyone else deal with the consequences of certain decisions that they themselves had made.

Fortunately, those kind of bad decisions can often be seen from a long way out if you DO have any damned sense, and are therefore hopefully only a problem to the stupid ones anyway. Now there’s some entertainment I can get behind

And yeah, it was still fun. I’m not too keen on going again though. There are other places in the world, anyway. And I don’t want to let my loner cred slide.

Thank you though, to all the people who worked their asses off all over Flat Creek and all over Austin to make Flipside happen, and to make sure everyone would be safe out there. You’ve all got a rare kind of generosity, and it’s beautiful to see it.

Awwwwwwwww, YEAH!

2006-05-25T10:27:00.000-07:00

This is most excellent news.

Yep, the wheels are turning again

2006-05-24T10:49:00.000-07:00

I fell asleep sometime after 2 am, and got up at 7. I'm TIRED. And so much left to do. At least I get to keep my procrastinator trophy. I hate losing ground on a skill.

Being around the FSU people last night was like sitting next to a big power station. Everyone was so wound up the humming was practically audible. It took awhile to wind down from the contact high.

I was sitting thre thinking about that conversation I keep getting into with various people about growing up. As all of you know, the consensus is "I don't wanna" and this upcoming weekend seems to be the ultimate "we're not turning into our parents!!!" weekend. Most of our parents were kinda boring. Some of them were twisted, evil, and frightening to be alone with. My own family is a burnt territory of wasted brilliance and frustrated potential as far as the eye can see. It's ugly, and I don't want to end up like that either. So screw that kind of growing up.

What I see in my own family that seems to underlie all this is a kind of stagnancy. Things get really good for people at some point, and they just put their heads down and start hamstering away to try to maintain that condition. Getting married can touch that off. Buying a house. Having kids. All perfectly good things to do; it's understandable upon passing those milestones that people think "wow, I've got it made now, I better not change anymore", but... then what? Turn on the cruise control for the remaining 50 or so years of your life because there isn't anything much left to shoot for? Realize that change is bound to come knockin' one day and free-fall into a neurotic panic trying to make sure it doesn't get through the door? Both responses are common. Both involve a pretty good dose of non-acceptance and vain rebellion against Reality Itself. New things will it in. Life is a pushy bitch. Hail Eris, fnord, fnord, and all that shit.

So the search for a static Eden doesn't look too hopeful. Be careful though. Refusing to grow up can really be that same kind of stagnancy. If we're thinking "I'm just going to play the rest of my life, hang out with my friends, do this art, make this music, sample catch-and-release partners from the Relationship Safari Tour", etc., we're doing the SAME THING OUR PARENTS DID. We are refusing to allow ourselves to change.

(hands clap across foreheads. Groans, "duh!s" and "curses!" ensue)

OK, maybe that's not so startling an insight, but hold it there in the bright light of your attention for a sec. Think about what growing up really needs to be.

I don't think our much-maligned elders really managed to mature very well either. They're the "tune in turn off drop out" or whatever the fuck Leary probably regretted saying generation, and if they didn't drop out into cheesy hippiedom, they dropped out into a weird hyper-conventionality propped up by some shockingly terrible excuses for psychological insight and support. Though I suppose they meant well and all.

Growing up shouldn't ever stop. Not a single one of us is going to suddenly ossify and get boring and die the big sould death as long as we keep moving. Kinda like sharks, yes? New and interesting stuff is coming up all the time. It's everywhere you look. Commitments and loyalties to jobs, communities, partners, and everything else you can choose to commit to are all amazingly dynamic as well, and this can be blast if we don't act like stupid, whiny pantywaists about it. It's more experiences. It teaches us about ourselves. It makes us uncomfortable, and makes us bigger, as long as we don't fight with it.

It doesn't feel safe though, does it? I think this is why so many people poke around at the edges of things without really diving into them. Getting under the surface takes commitment. But everyone wants to be "sure". Everyone wants to be "ready". Everyone wants to know what they're getting into, what the whole story is. We don't want to read the whole book until we're sure we already know everything about the book we can only know by having read it. It's absurd. But waiting until we're sure we have "the One", whether it's the One partner, the One career, the One vacation spot, place to live is just another way to seek stasis, and turn into what we're all trying to avoid.

So let's not fight things. Let's push our comfort levels. Instead of hiding from possibilities, meet 'em at the door and give 'em big ol' sloppy kiss and a martini. Take it all on-- ON PURPOSE. Choose it so it all run us over, or pass us by entirely and leave us in the dust saying "wait, wait, I think I might have wanted that...".

Huh, I'm getting a little excited here. 'Nuff of my blathering. Spend the weekend doing what you mean and meaning what you do. And all the days after, too...
Current Location: moles and trolls, moles and trolls
Current Mood: utterly shit NUTS!!

I'll be damned

2006-05-18T14:10:00.000-07:00

It's been a month since I updated here? Oops. I didn't realize. I'm busy. So, a randomly selected collection of recent and upcoming events:

Work is good. Should be staying here awhile. I'm still plunging through this excruciating interview process with this other company. They're like Joel Spolsky on crack, I tell ya. I had to solve a brain teaser in the phone interview.

Home is good, too. My roommate and his lovely girlfriend are going to have a child. Click those links to let them tell you about it.

Hmmm, lessee... been planting nice flowery plants in front of the apartment. The food's been good. I've watched some movies at home, some at the theater, including one pretty neato 3-D undersea thing at IMAX theater. There's been yoga and meditation stuff (though not as much as I'd like).

A crew of us is heading out tonight to see the Violent Femmes play at Stubb's.

I'll be going to Flipside (the Austin version of Burning Man, for all yoose who don't know). This should be a good getaway. Or getback. Or getsomething. Looking forward to it anyway. Lots of people I've come to love dearly will be there (except for my sister, who has had to decline her invite). And that's a beautiful thing. Though I do wish my sis was coming.

Right then. I'm getting back to work. I've been asked to do something with some Excel data that I don't believe is possible to do, but if Werner Herzog could pull a steamship over a mountain despite the presence of Klaus Kinski, well, let's just say anything is probably worth a shot.

World-Class Minds at Work

2006-04-17T14:36:00.000-07:00

“The states aren’t hiding the fact that they’re gaming the system,” said Dianne Piche, executive director of the Citizens’ Commission on Civil Rights, a group that supports No Child Left Behind. “When you do the math ... you see that far from this law being too burdensome and too onerous, there are all sorts of loopholes.” (from MSN.com, 4/17/2006)

Yeah, see? It's really not such a bad law. You can meet all of its requirements WITHOUT EVEN HAVING TO MEET ITS REQUIREMENTS!!

Why is it that people complain about the education system again?

Update

2006-04-03T10:48:00.000-07:00

I have little time to post anymore. Things are a bit busy.

The job at Company X continues. I don't know how much longer I can keep milking this contract, but it's good while it's lasting. I edit functional design documents, make and edit Visio drawings, take notes at meetings, etc. It's fun and agreeable. I'm working on arguing them into keeping me forever. Cross your fingers and send good mojo in my direction. Thanks.

Other time has been taken up juggling a full dance card. There are so many good friends to play with, I don't know what to do with 'em all. But I'm so happy all of you are here, and I get to hang out with you. This many good people in one place is a hell of a score.

I did another meditation retreat. It was good to see all of those friends again, too. The meditations, however, were exhausting. One session knocked a big ol' crying jag out of me that I'd been needing to have for awhile. Thank god that sucker's out of there. The rest of the sessions went like this: "Sit sit sit, plunk over backwards, *snore*. Repeat." I've continued the method Swamiji was using at this retreat, and while it has been fairly steadying, I'm still unable to stay awake in it for very long. Guess there's a lot of resistance built up in here. However, it has cured my lingering insomnia. And yes, I was again much happier after a weekend spent sitting. Can't beat it.

SO I hope all of you are well. I'm poking around for another computer for home use again, so maybe there will be more activity here soon. I hope all of you are doing well, too.

The Customer Experience

2006-03-06T12:43:00.000-08:00

Oh, it’s a slow day at the quarry. Let’s talk about CUSTOMERS. Specifically, health food store customers:

Allergies:A woman came in one day complaining of constant fatigue, dry mouth, and headache. I took a wild guess and suggested it might be dehydration. She informed me that her doctor had diagnosed her with a water allergy.

A man who never blinked (that anyone saw) for the entire 45 minutes he was in the store: He was looking for some kind for tree resin that he said was used for heavy metal poisoning. Phyllis asked him why he thought he had heavy metal poisoning, and he produced a single-spaced report detailing a history of attacks on him and some unnamed other by the “homo-sadist conspiracy”. They recruited paperboys to shoot microscopic canisters of mercury into his house. They also left mercury on his light bulbs to diffuse the fumes. And they had fiber optic cameras spying on him.

Homo-sadistic paperboys. Watch for them. They want your souls. If still have a photocopy of this tract somewhere should anyone want the details.

Little old men came in wanting herbs that might “put the lead back in their pencils”. Or that’s how a couple of them put it. TIP: Yohimbe’s good, but contraindicated for heart patients. Having a decent relationship with your counterpart is helpful as well. No, you guys are not unfeeling machines. You too need the LOOOOOVE, babies.

Stuck:An alarming number of customers showed up complaining that they had been unable to evacuate their bowels for anywhere from 3-4 days to two weeks. For many of them, this was a chronic problem that usually had a sudden, disastrous resolution that required missed days from work and plenty of bathroom reading material. These people do not spare you details, folks. You really don’t want to know. Phyllis named our digestive supplements aisle “The Confessional”. And no, these problems aren’t funny. We got through these conversations by thinking about how WE would feel in similar circumstances. No #2? For up to two weeks at a time? Kinda puts your petty, everyday problems into perspective, doesn’t it?

These customers did occasionally gulp down a triple dose of senna and then shop around the store for another hour or so. At least, we thought that was what they must have been doing. The poor grocery guys had to unclog the… erm… evidence from the restroom toilets about once a week or so. I'll spare you the details.

Losers: People can go psychotically insane from wanting to lose weight. They’ll take anything. They’ll BELIEVE anything. You could pickle and dehydrate horseshit, put it in capsules, and sell it as a weight loss supplement with “Dried Pickled Horseshit” stamped across the front of the bottle in two-inch letters.

NEWFLASH: diet and exercise, people. There are a few out there who need hormone therapy and such, but for the average person carrying 20-50 extra pounds around, a glandular disturbance is not to blame. You want to lose weight, you are going to have to burn off more calories than you consume. Period.

Yes, the large bag of Doritos you pick up every day before work and finish of by the end of the day does count for the whole 2,000 or so calories available in the bag. No, Doritos are not vegetables.

I don’t care if you don’t like vegetables. That will not turn Doritos, Funyuns, or any other such things into vegetables. No matter how much you want them to be vegetables. You are not four. Stop whining and eat the frigging vegetables. Or learn to love your voluptuousness and go buy some bigger clothes. ‘Cause it’s really the shame that ain’t hot, you know?

“It tastes bad!”: Ever try to get a little kid or small furry animal to take a flavored medicine that tastes bad? Try getting a thirty-year-old to choke down a dropper of echinacea-goldenseal or cranberry juice concentrate. You’d think they’d been dragged into the fourth circle of hell. You try to be understanding and supportive, but it seldom sinks in on these customers that you can’t magically change the nastiness of goldenseal into grape jelly. Look, some stuff just tastes bad. Deal with it. Or go take the pills.

“The pills are too big!”: They can’t swallow anything larger than a fruit fly. But they don’t like the taste of the liquid stuff. But if they take the small pills, they’ll have to take 400 of them a day to get the right doses of everything their docs said to take. They don’t understand why you can’t get 800 I.U.s of Vit E, 1500 mg of calcium, 750 mg of magnesium, and 5000 mg of Vit C into a pill that is smaller than a fruit fly. Try explaining that great big things don’t fit into tiny little places to an adult who refuses to understand such esoteric concepts and is convinced you are trying bilk him out of his money and then kill him with vitamin pills. Go on. I dare you.

One exceptional couple shopped in our store once every couple of weeks for all their groceries. We had to key in each individual item by hand so the scanner wouldn’t irradiate their food and give them cancer, and so the government wouldn’t know how much tofu and wheat grass they were buying.

They never stopped to think about the fact that they got a direct dose of evil, cancer-causing laser every time they walked through the automatic doors. These lasers scanned their retinas on each visit. So the government knew they were there. Plus, our security camera recorded their checkout activities.

It was a total pain in the ass cross-referencing their security tape to the right sale on the register report every night and sending the manual batch off to the feds. But a good sadistic homo’s work is never really done, is it?

Yeah, good times. One of these days, I’ll tell you all about the employees…

Comments

2006-03-03T07:06:00.000-08:00

Sorry those weren't functioning properly. I had been playing around with my settings. It's fixed now.

Good to hear from the long-lost Eworzero!

By Special Request

2006-03-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

(in soothing late-night DJ voice)

here's one from the vaults for a friend who's been feeling kind of blue...

(cue Miles Davis)

A good friend of mine has a good policy: you have as little contact as possible with your ex for AT LEAST 4 months. Even if you still get along OK. Even if you think you want to be friends.

In light of something I learned about the brain structures involved in emotion and memory, this makes sense. Your rational memory, all the stuff tied up with language, the stuff you can talk about and string into logical stories, mostly involves the hippocampus region of the brain. People with damage to this area can't form memories that they can verbalize, even to themselves.

Experiential memory, the kind that involves emotion and feeling, the stuff you can't put into words, but which is often the most compelling, involves the amygdala. People with damage to this region don't form experience memories. Both kinds of damage result in some odd behavior.

From what these crazy brain researchers can tell (I read this in "The Emotional Brain" by Joseph Ledoux) these two types of memory get laid down along different pathways. The hippocampus and the amygdala are wired to "talk" to each other, but there's a LOT more wiring going from the amygdala to the hippocampus than going the other way. So talking yourself out of the power of an emotional memory might be a difficult thing to do for a very physical reason.

That's why there shouldn't be much contact after a breakup. You might know, in a rational sense, that it's over, but those stubborn little emotional centers are going to fire every time you see/hear the other person. You can tell them "we're broken up now," but when you come into contact with that person, your amygdala is screaming "but she's RIGHT THERE!" You're just stamping the imprint deeper, which is NOT what you need to be doing. But if you get away, let the tide of the world wash over the memories for awhile, it gets easier.

(NOTE: I actually grabbed this one off of Salon.com. Won "Post of the Week" with this one, I did.)

Yay for Google Caching

2006-02-17T11:17:00.000-08:00

I found a post from one of my former manifestations that I thought was gone forever, so I'm a-gonna repost:

I had a talk with a friend the other day that's been bugging me a bit.

We were lounging about the local coffee joint, and I was blathering on about stuff in the yoga magazine on the table between us, and by way of some strange and twisted path, I found some reason to mention that I like Nietzsche (save the comments on that for now. I'm not up for debating Freddy's merits at this time. Just know that I like him).

My companion, who was damned determined to be contrary and disagreeable at the slightest provocation that day, made some grumbling noise about Nietzsche and said "I guess I'm just fed up with those people who think they've experienced pain because they stubbed a toe once, and now they think they get Nietzsche".

I get this, I suppose. There's always that guy whose just suffered... so... much! who is convinced that he's the one who really gets Nietzsche, and seems to want some special deep-thinking nihilist cred for it. Yes, it's nearly always a he. Yes, I know there are exceptions.

Now, anymore what bothers me most about these people is their belief that Nietzsche was a nihilist and their own utter lack of faith in anything is better-justified somehow because of its association with the Patron Saint of Meaninglessness. Nietzsche is not a nihilist. Not. At. All.

AHEM!

What bugged me about this particular comment from this friend was something else. What people usually seem to be implying when they say things like "oh, like that guy knows anything about pain" is that they themselves have a better claim to the One True Suffering than some whippersnapper who's read a bit of philosophy and lost a prospective prom date to the captain of the football team.

"Don't tell ME about pain! Your pain is not worthy! It is I who have truly suffered! And I got no special attention for it; why should you?"

This bothers me because this is where things can get nasty-- sometimes, even evil. People getting into pissing contests over pain. I hurt worse than you do. Bow before me!

It's truly bizarre that people would get all competitive over who has the suckiest life, isn't it? Like this is some point of pride or something? They're the worst when they're refusing to get past it.

It's not just bad because it annoys other people, who all want the attention on them. It's bad because it reduces the net amount of compassion and sympathy in the world. Like that's something we need a little less of.

So let's think about this for a minute: do you really know what someone has or has not suffered? If it's just some undergrad you've know for ten minutes over coffee? How the hell do you know what's happened to most other people, the ones you didn't grow up with? The ones you've known for all of five minutes? You don't know. So don't make assumptions.

Furthermore, let's say that the person in question really has suffered no pain whatsoever in his entire life, except for that time he stubbed his toe when he was eleven. OK, objectively speaking (whatever the hell that is supposed to mean in this context), there's worse pain in this world. This pipsqueak might have even heard that this is true. He might even believe that this is true. But he hasn't ever felt anything worse. So,

that stubbed toe is the worst fucking agony he himself has ever experienced.

That's as bad as he really knows it can get. Anything else is just stories. But that stubbed toe, though it's not the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone is this person's ultimate in pain.

Maybe you or I have had worse things happen to us. But the worst thing that's ever happened to me, that high water mark of pain by which I measure everything else, isn't a way for me to measure myself against everyone else. It might be a handy way for me to judge the relative goodness of my own life from one moment to the next, but it's not much good for anyone else. The worst thing that ever happened to them is still the worst thing that happened to them, regardless of what happened to me, you, or Nelson Mandela (who wasn't busy sneering at anyone last time I checked, by the way).

Everyone's got pain lurking around in there. There's no point getting all superior about yours. Or putting other people down because you think they're some kind of pain poseur. What, are we just going to pass the buck on sympathy until we come to the most abused, oppressed, pathetic bastard on the planet, and only feel sympathy for that guy? And I suppose everyone else will have to fuck off, because they just aren't worth any attention? Wow. Doesn't that sound like a great way to do things? Who wants to be the most pathetic bastard on the planet? Remember, it's the only way you'll ever get any sympathy out of the rest of us!

Of course, this doesn't lead to any real evil most of time of the time; it just makes people act like stupid assholes. But think about the root of war, genocide, abuse, neglect, bad driving, or general obtuseness. The excuses we like to use for all that shit usually comes down to the fact that we all think our own suffering is more important than the other guy's. So fuck him.

No, I'm not getting on this "let's get the world into a big group hug" hippie crap. For one thing, the thought of all 6 billion of us all getting into a hug at the same time is giving me all this nightmarish mental imagery I really ought to write down one of these days. For two, it's so not going to solve the problem of The Worst Thing That Ever Happened to You.

I'm just saying, give people a break. Quit being an asshole. People don't give assholes a whole lot of sympathy. People get sympathy when they hop on the suffering boat with everyone else and help keep it afloat, not when they sit back, refuse to pick up an oar, and whine that everyone else isn't rowing fast enough for them.

They also lose sympathy when they run cheesy metaphors until the wheels come off 'em. Don't do this either.

So, 'nuff with the lecturing. On with your mornings. Whatever it is you're doing. Though you know none of it is so bad as this horribly long and complicated report I have to write. Hee hee!!

Come on, I Double Dog Dare Ya!

2006-02-17T09:59:00.000-08:00

Much chattering about boy/girl stuff going on around these parts.

And yes, as one person said, we're all in the same boat, we just don't seem to speak the same language.

It seems to me that it's really all a matter of trust, see? We can speak the same language just fine. Thing is, we don't speak much at all to begin with. Not really. Anybody see what I'm getting at?

Trust is a two-way street, of course, or it just doesn't work.

So who wants to jump first?

No, really. After you. I insist.

Hee hee!

Posting Blind

2006-02-15T09:48:00.000-08:00

I can update here from work, but unfortunately, I am unable to view my own blog from here, as the network has determined that this perfectly innocent little scribble zone is PORNOGRAPHY. It tells me this in big capital letters just like that every time I attempt to travel here. Why is this? As some of you may remember, I made reference to the probable perverted contents of Oklahoma's own Tom Coburn's head some months back. This got me linked up to some gay BDSM search portal. So don't go looking for stories about what Gavagirl did with the chess club and that rubber chicken on college graduation night. Nothing like that here.

Matter of fact, the speculations about Coburn's fantasy life have disappeared as well. Not missing much there though. I wasn't crediting the man with much originality.

Funny, I have not yet been denied access to Livejournal, where I notice people have been posting some very work unsafe material on occasion. Perverted freaks. Yes, I have learned my lesson.

I can receive comments though. They are emailed to me. So yes, I got my dead homey's pictures of Scotland. They are very pretty pictures too, despite the fact that he is not in them.

Did everyone have a good VD yesterday? Damn, I hate that freaking holiday. The previous Gavapartner and I did not observe those festivities (for reasons that seem less authentically idealistic in retrospect), and years we weren't seeing each other at VD time, Gavagirl has managed to not be with any other object of love/lust/desultory interest either. So it occurred to her about 3 or 4 years ago that she has not in her 33 years been involved in any sort of observance of the day, aside from watching slasher flicks with other singletons. Unfortunately, becoming aware of this unsettling fact began a bizarre Cringing Beneath the Furniture Whimpering Piteously Day (observed February 14), to last until this year, when I fully intended to watch amourous couple get ripped to shreds by Jason again.

Sadly, I cringed beneath furniture again, not out of fear of VD, but due to a fever and sore throat thing that caught me unawares sometime this weekend. I didn't feel like going to the video store once that kicked in.

Today, I'm back at work, testing a web interface and writing a report on it. Still a bit achy, but the apartment is boring me, and I don't get paid to be there. Yep, I'm whining. But there is what sounds like a fine dinner with some very fine friends this evening, so I'm feeling pretty good about Wednesday, despite the fever.

Enjoy your Ides of February. I'm out like a trout.

Why Can't I Get Just One...

2006-02-10T10:23:00.000-08:00

I have "Add It Up" stuck in my head. Whhheeeeeee!

Work is good. It's payday. I'm going to the fights tonight. It's going to be a good weekend, despite the raininess.

But don't "shoot shoot shoot that thing at me"!

I'm thinking a trip to Ye Olde CD Shoppe is in order. I'm told someplace around here carries lots of nice bhangra.

They've been plying me with cheap coffee. It's making me all random.

Wishes

2006-02-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

My wish that the awful dry wind that was blowing yesterday would leave of has been granted, but not in time to save my pelt from drying up like a mummy's. I'm now dying to sit in a tub of olive oil up to my neck for about a week. People here at the orifice seem to be a mite less cranky than they were yesterday though. Weather's a funny thing.

So, hi everybody. All is going very well here. Gotta get back to work, yo. But I really want all of you to try to catch Frontline tonight on PBS. They're doing an ep on sex slavery. You need to know more about this, I promise you.

Movies!

2006-01-19T06:27:00.000-08:00

Here's a couple of entertaining links for you:

Sort of work safe (language)

Work safe

Thanks to Polenblog and the Frankenmare for sharing.

Now hang on just a damned minute

2006-01-17T11:16:00.000-08:00

Here's an : interesting new case.

Yes, intelligent design theory IS appropriate subject matter for a philosophy class. At least, it's more appropriate for a philosophy class than for a science class. However, when it's taught by the wife of a minister... eh, I don't know. Her husband is with an Assembly of God Church, and they're pretty fundie/charismatic. I don't know of any rational justification of faith along the lines of St. Anselm or St. Thomas Aquinas coming out of this denomination, at any rate. And if you're going to teach philosophy, that's the kind of thing you have to be able to do. Taught responsibly, this class could be damned interesting and valuable (though you'd have to start with arguments for the existence of god before you went for intelligent design, I'm thinking. And none of those work, though the reasons WHY they don't work are really important for people to understand. Let me know if you'd like to see lessons on this. I don't want to get rusty, yanno?). The likelihood that this woman has the background to be able to teach this (though she may very well be bright enough to handle the material-- hell, I don't know the woman) are roughly equivalent to the likelihood that monkeys will fly out of my butt sometime later this week.

That's "not very likely", for those of you who are wondering.

I actually WOULD like to see philosophy classes taught in high school (yes, I know you are shocked. I think all of you should have tutors on your lunch hours as well. Hehe.). I would especially like to see comparative religion/philosophy of religion/philosophy of science pulled into a neato little critical thinking course so kids can come out of school with some vague idea of how to think about faith, reason, experience, knowledge, etc.

But this isn't the responsible way to do it. Just present people with the material, show them how the logic tools work, and let THEM figure out what they think. At least the public discourse on the topic might become less headache- and chills-inducing.

Gavagirl, Inc. Update

2006-01-16T09:53:00.000-08:00

Times they are a-changing around here:

After being put to work over most of what was supposed to be Christmas Break, and very nearly turning it into another mental break, Gavagirl decided "Fuck it" and quit her job at Small Startup Consumer Electronics Market Research Firm. NIce job, really dug a lot of the actual work and all, but working in a virtual vacuum 200+ miles away from everyone I was supposed to be working with, getting insufficient feedback from supervisors regarding work I barely knew how to do for a company I knew little about the day-to-day operations of, for rather paltry compensation, was getting to be a bit much. So, no more of that. I'm temping at the moment, waiting for that sweet tech writer job to appear, scrambling for software skills I'm short on, and reacquainting myself with the big world out there. The world is still pretty much how it was, seems to have gotten by pretty well in my absence. This experience is being filed under "failed experiment", as this was a work arrangement neither I nor my employer had ever really tried before.

Quitting the job caused an immediate and profound reduction in stress levels. Worry, anxiety, and obsessiveness have reached nearly negligible levels. The apartment is getting cleaner. My ability to string intelligible sentences together while speaking to other humans is making dramatic improvements by the day. Give me another week, and I may be able to have actual conversations with other people without sounding as if I'm really just talking to myself.

A "thanks" goes out to Twin C, for the "hey, I'm going through the same thing" email I found in my inbox two weeks after he sent it. Nice to know I'm not alone in my confusion. Remember though, recent stats say kids our age will probably live to be 100 on a fairly routine basis, so we've got YEARS to figure this shit out, assuming we're taking reasonably good care of ourselves.

My libido has suddenly blown back into town, too, after a weird and uncharacteristic hiatus of some months. Now, I am again looking at men and thinking good, wholesome, healthy thoughts like "are those pants zip-fly? or button?" instead of sick, perverted things like "hmmm... white male, between 25 and 34. I wonder how many podcasts he downloads per week? Does he own a home network?".

I have begun acupuncture treatments. This has helped my sleep immensely. In fact, I am actually getting sleep. So most days I feel really good and feisty, with the exception of days on which I have had to drive between Dallas and Austin. Don't know why, but that drive wears me out more than the drive between Austin and OKC. Anyway, this is an excellent outcome.

I've been spending much time with fellow Oak Creek Apartment residents. The Frankenmare (a couple across the courtyard, for those of you not familiar with the OC gang) had a big January birthday party on Saturday night which was much fun. Saw quite a few people there I'd like to see more of. Sadly though, there were several reports of breakups and general bad relationship mojo. A couple of faces were a bit longer than I like to see. Here's to better times, past and future, my dearest fiends. Don't ya'll take it too much to heart.

Yesterday afternoon, I pigged out at the Star of India buffet with Jefe and Muskrat. I want to drown in madras soup. Yum!

Last night, there was a spot of grocery shopping with Dylan the Roommate, followed by a tasty and filling dinner courtesy of Katrina the Roommate's Girlfriend, another member of the OC posse. Salad, beer bread, and potato leek soup. This on top of all the Indian food brought on a food coma of Thanksgiving proportions. So I finished season 2 of Buffy and passed out.

The arrangement with Dylan the Roommate is working out nicely. He's always off with Katrina or at work, actually, so there's been little opportunity for us to truly irritate one another. The kitties have taken to him well. Susannah now lives under his bed, in fact. She rarely comes out. This behavior ought to improve as we get our stuff more organized. She has a long-standing habit of hiding from mess and disorganization.

And uh,... well, I need to get a wireless card for the desktop and a wireless router so I can get online from home again. I'm looking around for jewelry-making stuff so I can start redesigning a bunch of crap I have around the house. I'm toying with the idea of writing a book, but don't bother asking about specifics because I'm not telling yet. There's just some half-baked ideas floating around, and if I share them too soon I'll be discouraged by the weird looks you'll give me and never get around to it. It takes time to gain the courage of your convictions.

Here's to the good days.

Maureen Dowd

2006-01-04T16:30:00.000-08:00

S'pose it's a good time to post what I think of Are Men Necessary, since Jefe groused about it a bit, and there has been a sudden recurrence of worry (read this entry for links to artices) about just who all the learned women folk are supposed to marry now that they are more likely to have four-year degrees then men.

Well, I like Maureen Dowd. I could have stood someone else reading the audio version of the book, since her voice is kind of East Coast nasally and her accent and dialect, by her own admission, are pure Valley Girl. As far as content is concerned, she's not one of those sober political analysts that writes detailed stories outlining how the history of the Cold War is related to the rising price of oil. She writes about style and personalities, draws some damned clever caricatures of people, and promptly skewers them. She's one of those women who has a little bit of dirt on everyone, and goes Dorothy Parker with it at parties. She doesn't do to bad a job of it either. I find her columns good for a laugh, and I really think what she does is valuable-- pointing out how silly, stupid, poorly-dressed. and boorish these Washington pols are humanizesthem. If it weren't for people like Dowd, we'd just have the sober, dry people telling us all about these big, sober, looming characters that are making Really Big Decisions. It's a democracy here, and is even, very occasionally, a populist one. We don't need to forget that these guys put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else.

I got a kick out of her book, too. There was a good amount of man-bashing, yes, but more frustrated than spiteful or bitter. Dowd isn't a dried-up old patrician hag, by any means, and certainly isn't one of those who wants people to worship her just because she managed to grow a pair of bazooms all by herself. There was also a rather long passage about the Y-chromosome and how it may be dying off (relax guys, it'll be a couple hundred thousand years or so), and this got tied into a bunch of evolutionary psych stuff that she really ought to have left well enough alone. I mean, it sparks debate, but evolutionary psych is, in large part, a bunch of horseshit, rife with unfalsifiable hypotheses and "just so" stories along the lines of "How the Leopard Got Its Spots".

And why do I see these right-wing Bible-thumpers turning to evol psych arguments for evidence for their "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus" claptrap? Aren't these people supposed to be Creationists? I'm not sure that's very consistent of them.

So she's not great on pulling people's gender theories together. Come to think of it, there hasn't been a good book on gender that's done anything like a good job of that, at least not in the popular press, in quite a long time.

But there are some great bits about lecherous Congressmen, the Anita Hill trial, Monica Lewinsky, and Bob Packwood (who apparently tried to get some Dowd time, which she declined to supply). There's a bunch of great stuff on the plastic surgery boom, including the observation that there are men who are getting enough plastic surgery that they end up looking like their own lesbian clones, and that women are getting so much that they're all starting to look like each other. Her observations on what current fashion and media are keeping people focused on, and what that means for feminism, politics, and social relations are quite a bit more chewy and filling than what she tried to do with science and the Y-chromosome.

So what's the upshot of all this gender nonsense, according to GG? Well, I understand Dowd's frustration at not having found one that stuck. Doesn't make much sense to me either. She's pretty, smart, accomplished, got a little dough, the works. But there's a lot of knuckleheads out there, and one of the side-effects of being able to take care of yourself is that you can afford to be picky. You won't starve in a workhouse or dime brothel if you remain an unmarried female anymore, or have to work as a houseservant, or have to spend your middle and old age sitting around home alone because your male relatives aren't available to take you anywhere and women can't gad about unchaperoned. You can pay your own rent, by your own clothes, treat yourself to your own jewelry if you like. So why grab a knucklehead?

(Right guys. I know none of you are knuckleheads. But all of your friends are, to hear you tell it, and if I'm doing the math right, that means you're outnumbered. So quit squallin').

Now let's consider those annoying little people wondering who all the educated women will marry if the men aren't getting their degrees fast enough. I'll leave the possibility that they can start marrying their secretaries and receptionists alone for a moment, because it would probably cause these jerks to die of imagination overload. Anyway, most of us don't get into positions of "power and authority" beyond much greater than IT or sales manager anyway. It's good when we manage to work our way up to the point where we have some authority over our own projects, and can herd other people into helping out with them in something approximating an agreeable an organized fashion. But it isn't "power" of the kind women are going to go all swoony over. It isn't even as much of an accomplishment as that of an alpha-male gorilla, keeping all dey homies in line. So relax guys, the womenfolk are still going to have time for you if you aren't the VP of something. If you can tie your shoes by yourself, keep yourself reasonably clean, hang on to most of your teeth, manage not to hit people, and keep your checking account from running into the red every month, there's probably a very nice girl for you. No really, think about it. How many real "alphas" do you know? Most of your people are pretty much regular jerks, right? And if you do know any, how many really have much time to date, anyway? See? You're OK, you'll make it. A lot of women, when they start talking like Dowd, might be saying they regret being single, and might be wondering if they even want to be married in the first place. It's a complex issue. No need to scream "man hater!" every time a woman brings it up.

Also consider-- a lot of these guys got their alpha status after they got married. Maybe there's something to be said for finding someone who's willing to be there to back you up? Could some of you have gotten the formula all ass-backwards?

Finally, a question about these handwringing articles written by people who want to know why these poor, educated, successful women can't find husbands. Are they sure all these women even want one? If stats were showing that educated, professionally successful men with high IQs were less liekly to be married, would we even be asking this question? Or would there be a lot of guffawing about how that shouldn't be a big surprise, since smarter guys are just figuring out what's in their best interest (wink, wink)? No way to tell this for sure, but gender preconceptions have certainly played an embarrasingly inappropriate role in the analysis of other "problems", and I do think I'm catching a whiff of it here.

Quote from Dallas Talk Radio

2006-01-04T14:14:00.000-08:00

On the practice of "relationship hopping":

"Quit hopping around, people! All it gets you is drama, debt, and herpes!"

Can't remember the guy's name, but he was on the R&B/soul station, and was a total riot.

Dear God

2006-01-04T10:39:00.000-08:00

12 of those miners trapped in a mine in West Virginia are dead. The one survivor isn't doing so hot.

And look how many safety violations had been piling up around that mine in the last couple of years. There were 46 just on the last inspection, with 18 listed as "significant and substantial".

Who the FUCK let this go on? And don't start up with saying "Yeah, but GG, mining's just really dangerous." I know that. Mining is dangerous. That's why they have SAFETY REGULATIONS. It doesn't need to be made MORE dangerous by violating those regulations. Yeah, it's expensive, blah blah blah. Consider it part of the fucking OVERHEAD of going into mining. If you can't figure out how to afford it, stay out of the business. People die when you start screwing this stuff up.

I really want to see some heads on some platters, yo. There's 13 families who'd probably like that as well. And one critically injured miner who might be interested, if he lives and his brain still fires properly.

Ahhh... 2006

2006-01-01T15:43:00.000-08:00

All things considered, I had a reasonably agreeable New Year's with the reliably fabulous Charlie and the assorted cohort. One weird thing though. I awoke this morning to find a couple of very small bruises on the inside of my left elbow, of the kind you expect to find when you've had a blood draw. I do not recall using any sort of needle last night, and this is not the sort of thing I ever do anyway. So how did they get there? Did someone at that party steal some of my blood while I was occupied with my gin and tonic? Hmmm...

Damn, I really need a massage. Badly.

When the going gets tough, philosophers start making shit up

2005-12-26T14:01:00.000-08:00

So here we are, 4:00 on Monday afternoon. I was supposed to got going on a new report this AM. However, no one at my company has sent an email, called, or answered any of my messages. I'm supposed to finish 3 reports this week, and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MY TOPICS ARE.

Each one of these is pretty short, but with research and everything, they take roughly 10 to 15 hours apiece. So obviously, we're losing valuable time. So you know what? I'm going to write about whatever the hell I want! This, despite the fact that so far, nearly all suggestions I've floated have been tabled for later or pushed aside outright because people above me in the hierarchy already have this picture in their heads of what they want to release next, and in what order. Not that they've shared this with me or anything, because they're still working out the details.

And they wonder why me attitude is so poor. Hell, I could even take the low pay, if I had some freaking clue what I was supposed to be doing from one day to the next. Or if I at least didn't get scolded for "wasting" entire days working on my own projects when everyone else in the company has fallen off the face of the planet.

Hammerheads.

Musical Notes

2005-12-22T21:31:00.000-08:00

Some of the better music I've found recently:

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Howl: a little Jesus and Mary Chain, a little southern rock. Makes me want to get in some old souped-up T-bird and light out across the desert with one leg stuck out the window, looking for dank, smoky bars where men that look twice their own age tell stories about their last four ol' ladies and shout at skinny dopes named Skeeter to shut the fuck up. Good times.

Carla Bruni, Quelqu'un M'a Dit: sitting in a homey coffeehouse with a folk singer at the mic, just loud enough that you can hear her, not so loud you can't talk, but good enough that you shut up and listen. She's got a nice, mellow, throaty folk-singer voice, and is possessed of enough sense and decorum that she doesn't haul off and try to hit us with any Janis Joplin caterwauling. From what little I can puzzle out of the French lyrics, they're decent enough (she's got the thumbs up on that score from French critics, apparently, so I'll assume they know whereof they speak). This is very pretty, dreamy stuff, but doesn't seem to get bogged down in preciousness, which is what usually turns me off of French pop music. Perhaps she'll lead them down a new path, one that is less self-consciously whimsical.

Wu Man, Pipa: From a Distance: Amazing. This woman is one of the most accomplished pipa players in the world,

(a pipa is a stringed instrument they strum on in China. Kind of like a lute.)

and here she takes some of her Chinese roots, adds a little bluegrass, a little dash of Tibetan, a little Indian, a little Caribbean-sounding stuff here and there... hell for all I know she's using !Kung funeral procession music. Pretty neat stuff, makes for nice background if you want something energetic going. Warning though: if you are one of those style-puritans who takes to the fainting couch at the mere mention of anything fusion, this might jar you a bit. Which you richly deserve, you prissy little snot.

Just can't get over how amazing Chinese pipa melodies sound with a back of Carolina on 'em. If you do like this one, check out Wu Man And Friends for more.

Other albums in rotation:

Wire, A Bell Is A Cup Until It Is Struck
The Pretenders, Learning to Crawl
The Dandy Warhols, Odditorium or Warlords of Mars
Rush, Power Windows
Panjabi MC, Beware
Lucas, Lucacentric (one of the best hip hop albums in existence)
Davka, The Golem
Carly Simon, Clouds in My Coffee 1965-1995 (box set)

Poll

2005-12-21T19:02:00.000-08:00

Gavagirl feels she is in a bit of a spot with the job.

See, I like the job, at least the crunching numbers at writing about them part. Working with this particular company though, eh... good people, all of them, but there's some problems that don't seem to be getting solved. Most of these can be attributed to working from such a distance. There's little opportunity for feedback. All that stuff you pick up by osmosis at other jobs ain't happening from 2.5 hours away. If I were more familiar with the markets we study, or with marketing in general, it might be a different story, but as it is this just ain't working out to well.

So, on to the poll: I dance around with this question on a nearly nightly basis, and have some ideas, but would be interested in what the three of you have to say.

What do YOU think GG ought to be when she grows up?

No ideas too crazy here folks, it's just got to be something that keeps Gavagirl and the Gavacats in an environment with reliable HVAC service and decent quality kibble.

Those of you who have been checking in from such exotic places as Uganda, Iran, Portugal, and India, you chime in too, if you make it back by. Random is good in times such as these.

What GG had for lunch last week (and what she found while she ate it)

2005-12-21T14:47:00.000-08:00

I had lunch at one of those Asian noodle places last week, the kind where it's hard to tell exactly what kind of Asian you're getting, but it's awfully tasty so you don't much care. I ordered a spicy shellfish noodle bowl that turned out to be a sort of Vietnamese pescatore type thing. Really good. Crab, mussels, scallops, shrimp, lots of peppers and bay leaves.

Even better, when I pried open a mussel to yank its boiled flesh from its shell (the cooks at this places had not seperated the poor dears from their shells before serving), I found a teeny little crab inside the shell. The whole crab, with the head, all its legs, everything. It was about the size of my fingernail.

Aside from the fact that it was dead, it was about the coolest bug I've ever found in my food. I think the people I ate with got a little weirded out by how I kept showing it off and poking around at it though. Apparently, that is yet another of those things that Just Isn't Done.

It was cool. I wonder if it's good luck in Southeast Asia to find something like that?

Ahhhhh...

2005-12-21T12:46:00.000-08:00

Finish this report, clean up around the casa a bit, do a little packing, and I'm off for Oklahoma until Jan. 3. See some friends. Eat mom's food. Hang out with grandma. Will be good times.

Oh yeah, and work a bit. Because that's how it is when they give you a laptop and no office space. Ah well.

Music du jour: Carla Bruni, Quelqu'un M'a Dit

Four Things

2005-12-19T01:35:00.000-08:00

Four jobs you've had in your life:
Bartender
Market analyst
Technical Writer
Jewelry Designer

Four movies you could watch over and over again:
Apocalypse Now
any of The Thin Man movies
Death and the Maiden
Adaptation

Four places you have lived:
Denver, CO
Moab, UT
Oklahoma City. OK
Austin, TX

Four TV shows you love to watch:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
The Sopranos
Law and Order: Criminal Intent
Six Feet Under

Four places you've been on vacation:
Grand Lake, Colorado
San Francisco, California
Sante Fe, New Mexico
Mammoth Cave, Kentucky

Four websites you visit daily:
various blogs
Salon
Al Jazeera
CNet

Four of your favorite foods/beverages:
Cherry Coke
seaweed salad
vanilla yogurt
mangoes
yes, all mixed together into a big fizzy glop... yum!

Four places you'd rather be right now:
my Mom's house
soaking in a very hot bath
a certain ashram in Bangalore
in bed with someone kinky

Ho! Ho! Ho!

2005-12-10T12:48:00.000-08:00

Something like 200 Santas, and a handful of reindeer and pirates, and George W. Bush rampaged through downtown Austin last night. Gavagirl went along as one of the handful of pirates, and was told she was a rather pretty pirate at that (thanks!). Since I didn't do Halloween this year due to some work obligations, it was fun to get to dress up, though just a bit damned cold, especially late in the evening. A fun time was had by all, from what I could tell, though I was a bit thrown by running around with that many people. Grad school students don't run in rowdy packs of quite that size, and I've never been that party! party! party! kind of girl anyway. That was some prime people-watching time though, lemme tell ya.

It's about time GWB took a break from all that hard work to have some laughs, some booze, and some sweet elf ass. He was looking quite relaxed by the end of the evening, and managed to keep his hat on through most of the ride. Expect a new, refreshed president on Monday.

For future reference: Austin people, I don't make out with girls. I also don't make out with strangers in full view of several hundred people. Nothing against the practice in theory. It's just not my thing. So have a good time... with some other piratess. Thanks!

Random sights on Memory Lane

2005-12-09T14:21:00.000-08:00

I'm walking into Horde Fest in Ennis, TX, with J.T.

waves at J.T.

It's 150,000° F. Rusted Root is drumming inside. A Hare Krishna guy offers me a book. I thank him for it. Years later, I find the book again and amuse myself reading it aloud in an outrageously bad Indian accent. It's not so bad, as cultish books go.

...

Thousand Petaled Lotus dance, at kirtan after a meditation retreat. Dara and I grab hands and spin each other around in circles, wailing and screaming the whole way around. Others run into the center and do the same. We all lose track of who we're dancing and spinning with. The world is as it ought to be. Happy times. The kind that can make other times harder, but that stick around with you to remind you it's all worth it.

...

I'm four. I want a dog like the one the Bionic Woman has. I find an animal skull in the yard, sit it on top of a pile of rocks, and dance around it, chanting about wanting a German Shepard. A big, friendly one shows up a few days later. Mom won't let me keep him. It's weird to be four in the Utah desert

...

I'm almost three. My friend Jill and I are in my room, screaming at the top of our lungs. We;ve discovered that if we both scream at the same time, the sound interference creates a high, whining noise in our ears. We think this is cool. My mom is not so thrilled, so we have to stop.

...

I'm in the Enchanted Forest, with Sloth and the Wizard Tim, on our school campus. We're all tripping. It looks like there are bats in the trees, all with shining eyes and wings. We're smoking and rolling in the grass, talking about how amazing it is that there could be an Enchanted Forest in the middle of a college campus parking lot.

...

I'm nineteen. Damian's brother is calling me. Damian is dead. I just saw him two days ago. I'd promised to call him later, and forgot. I can't breathe for a long, long time.

...

I'm camping on the beach with Erik. The wind is about to blow the tent over. I'm drunk. Our skin tastes like salt. We can't hear anything but rushing water, and the wind roaring by.

...

I'm 15. The creepy guy at the stable is walking over to me, with that weird leering expression on his face. I jump on my horse and take off across the back field, as fast as he'll go.

Years later, the same creepy guy shows up at the bar I'm tending, saying he remembers me and my sister, who was 11 when we used to keep our horse there. He tells me he wanted to get to know Becca better, but she acted like she was too good for him. I throw the stinking pedophile out of the bar. I'll slit his throat if I see him again. Lucky for him, I find out later that the cops ran him out of the county.

...

I'm at Kenny's house, unhappy over a fight I had with Erik. Kenny listens for awhile, hints that Erik told him something, but Erik probably didn't tell him anything at all. Kenny's just fucking with me. I'm getting madder. Why do I hang out with this guy?

Kenny says Star Trek's coming on. We sit and watch two episodes. We make fun of Wesley Crusher. I don't think about that fight with Erik for two hours. I remember why I hang out with Kenny.

...

I'm driving through the Rocky Mountains, toward Utah. I'm alone. I'm 22. I get out of the car in Glen Canyon, and sit by the river for a long time. I don't want to go home anymore.

...

Some crazy Goth chick is yelling at me at a dance club. I think I talked to her boyfriend or something. I can't make out what she's saying, even though she's said it three times. I have her repeat it again. It seems she's going to kick my ass. I start cracking up, because she had to repeat her big dramatic challenge four times before I got it. I don't like her boyfriend. He has a voice like a quacky duck, and never shaves, so it looks like he has a mold growth on his face. I tell her I'll stay out of her sandbox, and offer a handshake. She gives me the stinkeye and leaves.

...

I'm slumped over on a sidewalk in front of a hotel in OKC. I'm wearing a pig costume. A fat security guard is trying to pull my friend and I away from the door. Another one has commenced to kicking me in the kidney. I'm about to wet myself from laughing, because I'm being kicked by a fat security guard while I'm wearing a pig suit. Another fat man with a red face and a bolo tie is screaming at us. I'm glad I still have the pig head on. He can't see me laughing. If he saw that, he'd probably have a stroke. He should really give up bacon.

...

I'm at a FLA concert. I'm on the front row. A crowd surfer just jammed his shoe in my ear for the third time. I just punched him in the balls. Hey, all in good sport, sport. It's a risk you take when you crowd surf into a young lady's ear.

Bill Leeb just smiled and waved at me. I think it pissed Erik off.

GOOD.

...

I'm at Jefe's. He and Dan and Tom have fallen into a free-for-all wrestling match on the floor in front of the sofa. Jefe's arm shoots out from under the dogpile. He's trying to hand me his beer. I fall for it. I reach for the beer, he tries to grab my arm and haul me into the fray. I manage to get loose from him before I get squashed into this big pile of Boy. That Jefe is a tricky fucker.

and more, and more, and more...

Oh yeah, one other thing...

2005-12-09T14:18:00.000-08:00

Tonight, we rampage.

WWWHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOPPP!!!!!!

Updates

2005-12-09T13:23:00.000-08:00

Hey, I figured out to break my blog last week! And, in other news, I figured out how to fix it, too! Woo hoo!

You want some more updates? Well, I gots 'em for ya:

I have acquired a roommate. It is, in fact, the lovely and talented Dylan. Who I used to have linked here, back before I blew up the blog the first time. I'll put him back on, someday, when he starts putting new posts on it again.

This means I've got a small amount of running around money again. And wonder of wonders, for the first time in six years, it is sometimes someone ELSE'S turn to do stuff around here. Someone who is also cool and agreeable company, is reliably employed, etc. Good times.

The job is a conundrum to me. My compensation structure is proving unsatisfactory. However, I still enjoy the hell out of the actual work. I get to WRITE for a living, for heaven's sake. I keep poking around for another job that pays more, but then have a very satisfying day of writing/research, figure out some really neat insight for a report, and just wonder... do I really want to drop it in favor of some unknown, possibly dead boring alternative? It would be mroe money, but I dunno. We'll see how things unfold.

My latest mad run of casual dating has come to a halt. As usually happens with these runs of dating I go on at roughly three year intervals, I have again determined that the practice is a bizarre waste of time. This venture yielded one guy I believe was married (I retreated before anything dishonorable happened), and a whole lot of... meh. Boring. And I never guessed I could have found so many Sharper Image shoppers so quickly. Some of the weirdest assortment of electronics I've ever come across. Of course, you know the chemistry isn't there when you walk into a guy's house and the atomsphere makes you want to go home and look up Sony's last three annual reports for a new research project idea.

OOO, you make me want to organize a focus group, baby...

Physical energy has been high enough that I'm bouncing off the walls. Actually, it's a good thing I'm off the sauce lately, or I'd probably be challenging people to bar fights just to blow off steam. Perhaps when I go back to OKC. They're a bit more amenable to such activities up there.

And... there's friends. Good ones. Old ones. New ones. Been lovin' 'em all. I gotta finish making something for one of them tomorrow, actually. Which reminds me, there's been a few stabs at artwork happening lately as well. This is much fun.

No, I didn't end up doing anything for my birthday on the 23rd. Once the flu bug was over (complete with a big vomiting finale!), I wasn't all that excited about being 33 anymore, and was just ready to help celebrate a few other birthdays we had going on. If I make it to 34, I'll just have to try to achieve twice the defilement to make up for it. Or leave the country for a week.

Christmas is with the family in OKC. New Year's may be up there as well, since a rather good restaurant up there is closing and I hear there will be much amazing free food and much high-quality booze. I'm working on getting the details on the possibility of attending, so if any other Okies are interested, let me know.

I'm kicking New Year's Resolutions around. Possibilities include quitting smoking, studying ninjitsu, writing a screenplay, and traveling around the world seducing various dark-eyed young men and drinking a lot. Essentially, that last is an attempt to recreate the Papa Hemingway mythos, in 21st century female style. Or maybe I'll do it ALL, man.

What should we call that? Femchismo? Hmmm...

What a shit week (things to be thankful for)

2005-11-24T05:13:00.000-08:00

1. Yesterday was my birthday. I had some sort of flu. I left the house twice to go to the grocery store. That completely sucked (though a thanks is in order to those who called or emailed to wish me a good one anyway. The rest of you can go suck a monkey's left nut). I got a bit weepy about it.

2. Today is Thanksgiving. I'm supposed to be at my parents' house, hanging out with them, my sister, my grandmother, and my uncle. Of course, I still have this weird bug. Temp is about 100°. My bones ache. There will be no turkey for me. I like turkey and all the usual Thanksgiving stuff. This completely sucks, too. And it's also causing a bit of weeping. And not just from me-- from my mother. I hate it when my mom cries because of me, even when we both know damned well there's nothing to be done about it. I feel awful anyway. I mean, it's my Mom. I ought to be moving the Earth and Moon for her, you know? She one of the good ones!

If there weren't an orphan's Thanksgiving in the next building this afternoon, I'd be sitting around festering all day. As it is, I'll be thankful that even on a holiday that has all the makings of Supreme Suckage, there will be somewhere to go to get my mind offa shit. Hell, I'll even forget that they let those nutty vegans intimidate them out of having a genuine roasted turkey like normal, Indian-massacring, American people.

Nothing like people who rock. Especially during weeks that suck.

Now why am I sick all the damned time? This is interfering significantly with my career as a Stupendous Badass.

Introduce the Character: Kenny

2005-11-23T20:23:00.000-08:00

Kenny was one of those teenage guys that stuck out a bit in dear old Edmond, OK. He ran around with the drama and art crowd, which looked very much like the trenchcoat mafia crowd, but before they got the bad rap. He didn't really do any drama or art himself though; I think they all just listened to the same music or something. He was one year ahead of me in school, so for some time he was just someone I saw in the cafeteria a lot, because his gang always sat at the table next to the one mine sat at. None of us ever really talked though.

Ever seen paintings of Puck? The fairy-imp Puck, like from Midsummer Night's dream? Kind of squished up face, small, turned-up nose, slightly pointy chin, slightly protruding brow, looks like the type who would pull your chair out from under you as you're trying to sit down? That was Kenny's face.

Add blondish hair, which for an unfortunate time in high school was poodle-permed into this low-rent looking Flock of Seagulls 'do. He didn't get the kind of flack for it he could have, if he had maybe been living in a town a little more cutting edge than the Home of the Bulldogs. As it was, there were a few meatheads that might have followed him around and called him "faggot" a lot, but hell, they did that to everyone.

I was first introduced to Kenny in the summer of 1989, when I first met Erik. He and Erik were friends, and spent hours lazing around Erik's family's rather large house, listening to music, messing with their car stereos, smoking pot, and whatever other disaffected teenage angst hobbies they could come up with. Unless I was over, in which case Erik and I would go off and make out somewhere, and... I'm not sure what Kenny did. Probably went off with another friend, Kevin, to drool over Erik's lovely and amazing twin sister, or maybe they played video games or something. Hard to say.

Kenny was a good talker. Not in an in-your-face way, but in a sneaky, charming sort of way. Always funny. Always ready with the witty, sarcastic remark. Somehow, he usually got cast as the dumb one next to Erik, who could be pretty quick-witted, especially before he got into doing so much goddamned speed, and Kevin, who was a whirling genius by any measure you'd want to put him up against (the kind that goes into heaving ecstasies over calculus equations).

Kenny would also fuck with your head at any opportunity. He'd start arguments over things he agreed with you about. He'd hide your car keys and wallet from you so you'd miss your curfew and get in trouble with your parents. He'd hint that he'd heard some juicy rumor that was going around about you, and then refuse to tell you what it was. He was a mixer, a troublemaker, and an all-around pain-in-the-ass. But he was fun.

Kenny lived with his Mom in an apartment near the university campus. He worked at Subway to pay for his car stereo equipment, movie money, and beer, like everyone else did. The Subway job was, as I remember, the beginning of the first of many odd rumors about Kenny.

You see, Kenny was a young man who had been rather... blessed, as they say. It seems that somehow, (and I never know how in the hell people actually come to the point that they're doing these experiments together), Kenny and his colleagues at Subway had discovered that Kenny's penis was large enough to fill the largest available drink cup, from top to bottom. Kenny was "underground famous" for this for quite a few years.

So... careful about those Subway drink cups, people. No telling what's happening to them on those slow shifts. Eww.

Kenny was also rumored to have a BAD drug habit. And drink. A LOT. They all did. Not when I was there, of course, my own substance experiments hadn't really begun to roll at that point. Kenny though, he was the guy who not only drank and partied with his friends, he was ingesting large amounts of whatever he could get when he was home by himself, too. Booze. Pot. Coke. Some speed. Maybe a little LSD, though the market hadn't gotten too strong for that stuff quite yet, in 1989.

Summer of '89, I mainly knew Kenny from the standpoint of being Erik's girlfriend, which is to say, not terribly well at all. Erik suddenly bolted on me that September (an event to which I responded with all the mawkish angst appropriate to the age). Kenny's rumored drug habit turned out to be real; his mom had him put in one of those treatment clinics that were so popular at the time. As a matter of fact, instead of the usual 60-day trip most people seemed to get, Kenny managed to earn himself what has to have been a 180. At least, I don't remember seeing him around ANYWHERE for a LONG time.

Not until the next spring, when I turned up at Subway, where he'd gotten his job back.

The Point

2005-11-23T20:16:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling nostalgic lately. I've got this urge to open up some of those trunks that have been gathering dust in the back rooms, pull out the bits and scraps, turn them over, carry them over to the sunlight, see what they all mean.

How did this ever happen?

What was that shit all about

and most importantly right now: who the hell were these people?

There's been some strange birds that have stumbled across this stage. Most of you reading this (that's what, 2 out of the three, at this point?) have never met, and may never have heard of some of them. I'm going to pry up the floorboards, haul their old corpses up, and we can beat 'em together.

Won't that be fun?

First up: Kenny.