Happy Birthday to Me and to You...

Today I am 30. I am told I should be bothered by that, my lost youth and whatnot but I'm just fine. My 20's were not the most appealing years for me.
To celebrate my new-found agedness, I am lucky enough to get to see two bands I really like. Tuesday night we went and saw Okkervil River at the Revolution Room in Little Rock. They were better than I had hoped. Despite problems with the sound early in the show the band proved that live music is always worth staying up late on a weeknight for.
Tomorrow night we are driving to Memphis to see The Hold Steady. This is extremely exciting since they are my favorite "new" band right now. I have high hopes for this show, although I will definately need to buy some ear-plugs as I'm still half-deaf from Tuesday's show.
It gets better, dear friends. At the end of the month I FINALLY get to go see Drive-By Truckers live. This is a show that everyone claims is a can't miss...that I haven't really heard the DBT's until I've seen them live. I believe it. Much like the Old 97's, DBT have a raw quality that I think is best expressed live and wailingly loud.
Then to round out my musical month we're going to Dallas in November to see My Morning Jacket. Hurray!
If I lived in a larger city, say Dallas or Chicago or Minneanapolis, I would get to see great band all the time, but alas, in Little Rock you have to hope and pray and be willing to drive several hours each way.
Thanks to all who sent me birthday greetings.

If I Were A Photographer

Not So Different

From 1855 to 1954, approximately 20 million people immigrated to the United States through the ports of New York alone. They were mainly Irish, German, English, and Scandinavian and if they were lucky enough to be able to afford a second class ticket on one of the many ocean liners crossing the Atlantic during that time they were allowed to enter the US without inspection.
Immigrants too poor to buy a second class ticket traveled to the US as stearage passengers and were subject to physical examinations, literacy tests, and a federal immigration interview often at the now famous Ellis Island station.
I am Danish, German, English, and Native American. The only part of me that belongs here is the 1/8th of me that isn't immigrant. Luckily, the remaining 7/8th are of "Northern European" origins or perhaps I wouldn't be here.
In 1924 the United States Congress enacted the "National Origins Act", a percentage system by which ethnic groups already in the US were allowed greater immigration numbers. This act virtually excluded Asians and severely limited Southern and Eastern Europeans, groups that were considered "inferior" to Northern Europeans.

Now, fast forward about 80 years. Can you imagine the US screaming about Italians, French, Spanish, or Asian immigrants? No? That's because they probably don't want to come here. Hard to blame them. But what the screaming is all about is the 1.3 million Hispanic immigrant that enter the US each year.
1 million immigrants receive permanent, legal status every year, leaving around 500,000 illegal aliens entering the country each year. Once in the US, they work low paying, dangerous, labor-intensive jobs that few Americans want. They send money home to their families in impoverished areas of Latin America. They often pay taxes despite receiving none of the very limited benefits provided by our government to legal taxpayers.
Now there are certain groups of government officials who would like to build a fence along our southern border. We are a nation built on immigrants, many who were poor and desperate when they arrived on these shores. They worked hard in hard conditions and they built this country. Our ancestors would be disappointed to find that the US has become so isolated from it's own history. Instead of welcoming new immigrants, the United States would rather fester in isolationism. How sad.

Panthers Prowl Here

"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea."
-Robert A. Heinlein

Long and lean, sleek and soft, the sweet housecats that once roamed our home rubbing lovingly against shins and out-streached hands have morphed into lions, tigers, panthers.
How, you ask, did these visions of furry affection become lethal blurs of claws and teeth and destruction? What terrible event would alter the psyche of such ordinarily sweet and docile pets?

We opened the windows.

Fresh air has carried new scents and sounds to the sharp, triangular ears of our fearsome felines. Now they are aware of every bird, squirrel, moth, butterfly, and neighborhood tomcat. Now they stalk through the house from window to window with wild eyes. They gallop up and down the hall like a pride of lions on the Savannah, ready to hunt down their prey of stray spiders and flies.

Thank goodness we have them. Without them we would be at the mercy of the hideous shoe strings that lay in wait to strangle us in our sleep. Our pair of panthers are willing to risk their own safety to attack feet moving under bedsheets or plastic balls with bells inside them.

W doesn't stand for Win.

-Mr. Lincoln said,"we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. Thebrave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, farabove our poor power to add or detract."-

MSNBC's Countdown by Keith Olbermann

Sept 11, 2006

This hole in the ground.

Half a lifetime ago, I worked in this now-empty space. And for 40 days after the attacks, I worked here again, trying to make sense of what happened, and was yet to happen, as a reporter.

All the time, I knew that the very air I breathed contained the remains of thousands of people, including four of my friends, two in the planes and --as I discovered from those "missing posters" seared still into my soul --two more in the Towers.

And I knew too, that this was the pyre for hundreds of New York policemen and firemen, of whom my family can claim half a dozen or more, as our ancestors.

I belabor this to emphasize that, for me this was, and is, and always shall be, personal.

And anyone who claims that I and others like me are "soft,"or have"forgotten" the lessons of what happened here is at best a grasping,opportunistic, dilettante and at worst, an idiot whether he is acommentator, or a Vice President, or a President.

However, of all the things those of us who were here five years ago could have forecast -- of all the nightmares that unfolded before our eyes, and the others that unfolded only in our minds -- none of us could havepredicted this.

Five years later this space is still empty.

Five years later there is no memorial to the dead.

Five years later there is no building rising to show with proud defiance that we would not have our America wrung from us, by cowards and criminals.

Five years later this country's wound is still open.

Five years later this country's mass grave is still unmarked.

Five years later this is still just a background for a photo-op.

It is beyond shameful.

At the dedication of the Gettysburg Memorial -- barely four months after thelast soldier staggered from another Pennsylvania field -- Mr. Lincoln said,"we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. Thebrave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, farabove our poor power to add or detract."

Lincoln used those words to immortalize their sacrifice.

Today our leaders could use those same words to rationalize their reprehensible inaction. "We cannot dedicate, we can not consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground." So we won't.

Instead they bicker and buck pass. They thwart private efforts, and jostle to claim credit for initiatives that go nowhere. They spend the money on irrelevant wars, and elaborate self-congratulations, and buying off columnists to write how good a job they're doing instead of doing any job at all.

Five years later, Mr. Bush, we are still fighting the terrorists on these streets. And look carefully, sir, on these 16 empty acres. The terrorists are clearly, still winning.

And, in a crime against every victim here and every patriotic sentiment you mouthed but did not enact, you have done nothing about it.

And there is something worse still than this vast gaping hole in this city,and in the fabric of our nation. There is its symbolism of the promise unfulfilled, the urgent oath, reduced to lazy execution.

The only positive on 9/11 and the days and weeks that so slowly andpainfully followed it was the unanimous humanity, here, and throughout the country. The government, the President in particular, was given every possible measure of support. Those who did not belong to his party -- tabled that.Those who doubted the mechanics of his election -- ignored that.

Those who wondered of his qualifications -- forgot that.

History teaches us that nearly unanimous support of a government cannot betaken away from that government by its critics. It can only be squandered by those who use it not to heal a nation's wounds, but to take political advantage.

Terrorists did not come and steal our newly-regained sense of being American first, and political, fiftieth. Nor did the Democrats. Nor did the media. Nor did the people.

The President -- and those around him -- did that. They promised bi-partisanship, and then showed that to them,"bi-partisanship" meant that their party would rule and the rest would have to follow, or be branded, with ever-escalating hysteria, as morally or intellectually confused, as appeasers, as those who, in the Vice President'swords yesterday, "validate the strategy of the terrorists."

They promised protection, and then showed that to them "protection" meant going to war against a despot whose hand they had once shaken, a despot who we now learn from our own Senate Intelligence Committee, hated al-Qaida as much as we did.

The polite phrase for how so many of us were duped into supporting a war, on the false premise that it had 'something to do' with 9/11 is "lying by implication."

The impolite phrase is "impeachable offense."

Not once in now five years has this President ever offered to assume responsibility for the failures that led to this empty space, and to this,the current, curdled, version of our beloved country.

Still, there is a last snapping flame from a final candle of respect and fairness: even his most virulent critics have never suggested he alone bearsthe full brunt of the blame for 9/11.Half the time, in fact, this President has been so gently treated, that he has seemed not even to be the man most responsible for anything in his own administration.

Yet what is happening this very night?

A mini-series, created, influenced -- possibly financed by -- the mostradical and cold of domestic political Machiavellis, continues to be televised into our homes.

The documented truths of the last fifteen years are replaced by bald-facedlies; the talking points of the current regime parroted; the whole sorry story blurred, by spin, to make the party out of office seem vacillating and impotent, and the party in office, seem like the only option.

How dare you, Mr. President, after taking cynical advantage of the unanimity and love, and transmuting it into fraudulent war and needless death, after monstrously transforming it into fear and suspicion and turning that fear into the campaign slogan of three elections? How dare you -- or those around you -- ever "spin" 9/11?

Just as the terrorists have succeeded -- are still succeeding -- as long as there is no memorial and no construction here at Ground Zero.

So, too, have they succeeded, and are still succeeding as long as this government uses 9/11 as a wedge to pit Americans against Americans.

This is an odd point to cite a television program, especially one from Marchof 1960. But as Disney's continuing sell-out of the truth (and this country) suggests, even television programs can be powerful things.

And long ago, a series called "The Twilight Zone" broadcast a riveting episode entitled "The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street."

In brief: a meteor sparks rumors of an invasion by extra-terrestrials disguised as humans. The electricity goes out. A neighbor pleads for calm. Suddenly his car -- and only his car -- starts. Someone suggests he must be the alien. Then another man's lights go on. As charges and suspicion and panic overtake the street, guns are inevitably produced. An "alien" is shot-- but he turns out to be just another neighbor, returning from going for help. The camera pulls back to a near-by hill, where two extra-terrestrials are seen manipulating a small device that can jam electricity. The veteran tells his novice that there's no need to actually attack, that you just turnoff a few of the human machines and then, "they pick the most dangerous enemy they can find, and it's themselves."

And then, in perhaps his finest piece of writing, Rod Serling sums it up with words of remarkable prescience, given where we find ourselves tonight:"The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices,to be found only in the minds of men.

"For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy, and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own --for the children, and the children yet unborn."

When those who dissent are told time and time again -- as we will be, if not tonight by the President, then tomorrow by his portable public chorus --that he is preserving our freedom, but that if we use any of it, we aresomehow un-American...When we are scolded, that if we merely question, wehave "forgotten the lessons of 9/11"... look into this empty space behind me and the bi-partisanship upon which this administration also did not build, and tell me:

Who has left this hole in the ground?

We have not forgotten, Mr. President.

You have.

May this country forgive you.

-- Keith Olbermann

Words, words, and words

The Modern Library's 100 Best of the 20th Century
(I've read in bold)


1. ULYSSES by James Joyce
2. THE GREAT GATSBY by F. Scott Fitzgerald
3. A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN by James Joyce
4. LOLITA by Vladimir Nabokov
5. BRAVE NEW WORLD by Aldous Huxley
6. THE SOUND AND THE FURY by William Faulkner
7. CATCH-22 by Joseph Heller
8. DARKNESS AT NOON by Arthur Koestler
9. SONS AND LOVERS by D.H. Lawrence
10. THE GRAPES OF WRATH by John Steinbeck
11. UNDER THE VOLCANO by Malcolm Lowry
12. THE WAY OF ALL FLESH by Samuel Butler
13. 1984 by George Orwell
14. I, CLAUDIUS by Robert Graves
15. TO THE LIGHTHOUSE by Virginia Woolf
16. AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY by Theodore Dreiser
17. THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER by Carson McCullers
18. SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE by Kurt Vonnegut
19. INVISIBLE MAN by Ralph Ellison
20. NATIVE SON by Richard Wright
21. HENDERSON THE RAIN KING by Saul Bellow
22. APPOINTMENT IN SAMARRA by John O'Hara
23. U.S.A. (trilogy) by John Dos Passos
24. WINESBURG, OHIO by Sherwood Anderson
25. A PASSAGE TO INDIA by E.M. Forster
26. THE WINGS OF THE DOVE by Henry James
27. THE AMBASSADORS by Henry James
28. TENDER IS THE NIGHT by F. Scott Fitzgerald
29. THE STUDS LONIGAN TRILOGY by James T. Farrell
30. THE GOOD SOLDIER by Ford Madox Ford
31. ANIMAL FARM by George Orwell
32. THE GOLDEN BOWL by Henry James
33. SISTER CARRIE by Theodore Dreiser
34. A HANDFUL OF DUST by Evelyn Waugh
35. AS I LAY DYING by William Faulkner
36. ALL THE KING'S MEN by Robert Penn Warren
37. THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY by Thornton Wilder
38. HOWARDS END by E.M. Forster
39. GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN by James Baldwin
40. THE HEART OF THE MATTER by Graham Greene
41. LORD OF THE FLIES by William Golding
42. DELIVERANCE by James Dickey
43. A DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME (series) by Anthony Powell
44. POINT COUNTER POINT by Aldous Huxley
45. THE SUN ALSO RISES by Ernest Hemingway
46. THE SECRET AGENT by Joseph Conrad
47. NOSTROMO by Joseph Conrad
48. THE RAINBOW by D.H. Lawrence
49. WOMEN IN LOVE by D.H. Lawrence
50. TROPIC OF CANCER by Henry Miller
51. THE NAKED AND THE DEAD by Norman Mailer
52. PORTNOY'S COMPLAINT by Philip Roth
53. PALE FIRE by Vladimir Nabokov
54. LIGHT IN AUGUST by William Faulkner
55. ON THE ROAD by Jack Kerouac
56. THE MALTESE FALCON by Dashiell Hammett
57. PARADE'S END by Ford Madox Ford
58. THE AGE OF INNOCENCE by Edith Wharton
59. ZULEIKA DOBSON by Max Beerbohm
60. THE MOVIEGOER by Walker Percy
61. DEATH COMES FOR THE ARCHBISHOP by Willa Cather
62. FROM HERE TO ETERNITY by James Jones
63. THE WAPSHOT CHRONICLES by John Cheever
64. THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger
65. A CLOCKWORK ORANGE by Anthony Burgess
66. OF HUMAN BONDAGE by W. Somerset Maugham
67. HEART OF DARKNESS by Joseph Conrad
68. MAIN STREET by Sinclair Lewis
69. THE HOUSE OF MIRTH by Edith Wharton
70. THE ALEXANDRIA QUARTET by Lawrence Durell
71. A HIGH WIND IN JAMAICA by Richard Hughes
72. A HOUSE FOR MR BISWAS by V.S. Naipaul
73. THE DAY OF THE LOCUST by Nathanael West
74. A FAREWELL TO ARMS by Ernest Hemingway
75. SCOOP by Evelyn Waugh
76. THE PRIME OF MISS JEAN BRODIE by Muriel Spark
77. FINNEGANS WAKE by James Joyce
78. KIM by Rudyard Kipling
79. A ROOM WITH A VIEW by E.M. Forster
80. BRIDESHEAD REVISITED by Evelyn Waugh
81. THE ADVENTURES OF AUGIE MARCH by Saul Bellow
82. ANGLE OF REPOSE by Wallace Stegner
83. A BEND IN THE RIVER by V.S. Naipaul
84. THE DEATH OF THE HEART by Elizabeth Bowen
85. LORD JIM by Joseph Conrad
86. RAGTIME by E.L. Doctorow
87. THE OLD WIVES' TALE by Arnold Bennett
88. THE CALL OF THE WILD by Jack London
89. LOVING by Henry Green
90. MIDNIGHT'S CHILDREN by Salman Rushdie
91. TOBACCO ROAD by Erskine Caldwell
92. IRONWEED by William Kennedy
93. THE MAGUS by John Fowles
94. WIDE SARGASSO SEA by Jean Rhys
95. UNDER THE NET by Iris Murdoch
96. SOPHIE'S CHOICE by William Styron
97. THE SHELTERING SKY by Paul Bowles
98. THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE by James M. Cain
99. THE GINGER MAN by J.P. Donleavy
100. THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS by Booth Tarkington



I've read 19 of the 100 but think there are some obvious omitions. How on Earth is East of Eden not on this list? Where is To Kill A Mockingbird?
Also, some things on here seem a little off. A Clockwork Orange? and ranked above Heart of Darkness? A Clockwork Orange is just the novel of the script based off of Heart of Darkness. And Howard's End? Really? One of the best? Eh...

Banned Books, No Oxy in This Moron

These are the 100 Banned Books of 1990-2000.
Bold the ones you've read, italicize the ones you read for school or checked out of the school library.

Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou (seriously?)
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (who in the hell bans Steinbeck?)
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling (just the first 3)
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (maybe it's just good literature they are banning)
The Giver by Lois Lowry
It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle (another all-time great! what is wrong with people?)
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
The Witches by Roald Dahl
Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
The Goats by Brock Cole Kaffir
Boy by Mark Mathabane
Blubber by Judy Blume (Judy Blume? Really?)
Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
Final Exit by Derek Humphry
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (there's a rotten theme here)
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
Deenie by Judy Blume
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein (Shel Silverstein...seriously...poems for kids?)
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
Cujo by Stephen King
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
Fade by Robert Cormier
Guess What? by Mem Fox
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Jack by A.M. HomesBless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
Carrie by Stephen King
Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
Family Secrets by Norma Klein
Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
Sex Education by Jenny Davis
The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier



I am in awe of this list. What exactly are they going for? Ignorance? That's right, let's refuse to allow our children to read anything with even a drop of intellegence. What should they be reading? Veggie Tales until they are 15? The institutionalized dumbing down of America is disgusting.

Born to Be Bad

*warning, I stole this idea from another blog.

The Bad, Bad, Bad List

(a list of all the bad things about me)

1. I am loud. I am ear-shatteringly loud and even though I know I am I cannot seem to talk myself into being more quiet.

2. I am over-dramatic. I can't say, "A tree fell at dad's house". I say, "Vicious killer trees attacked dad's house!".

3. I am a terrible speller. Terrible.

4. I love puns. Seriously, I think they are hilarious. Chris and Megan disagree.

5. I drive like an old lady. It is only by accident that I ever reach the speed limit on the interstate. I always follow at appropriately save distances and get mad when other people cut into my braking space.

6. I am a snob. I look down my nose at people who are not well read or who (god forbid) have bad grammar. I feel smug and superior and tend to make smart-ass comments.

7. I am a smart-ass. I cannot just hold my tongue. I have never been able to think before I speak. I'm sarcastic and often think I'm much funnier than I am.

8. I have NO will-power. I cannot diet. I cannot keep a regular exercise regimen. I cannot say no to chocolate.

9. I have no attention span. I can't watch movies because two hours is entirely too long for me to sit still. I'm not very good with sit-coms either. I like sports because I can wander off, come back in ten minutes, and still know what's going on.

I'm sure there are more...but these are my favorites.

Killer Trees

Relief at last...until the power went out.

Ferocious storms trampled through Conway last night, tossing empty garbage cans into the street and flinging patio furniture across backyards. Aided and abetted by the famous killer trees there was much glee and destruction before the clouds wandered off to tear up the eastern part of the state.

Casualties? My poor dad, often the victim of the huge lob-lolly pines in his backyard was hit again. This time? The maple at the end of the driveway which fell, snagging the power line, ripping the service box from the side of the house causing siding carnage, and landing on the neighbor's roof. There were no injuries unless you count the bamboo which was destroyed or the roof of the house, but all people present seems to have escaped with only a new appreciation for the vicious temperament of Conway's trees.
Mom and I, bored in our powerless and increasingly stuffy house, decided to cruise around town and check things out. We found lots of flooding, no surprise since the town's built on a swamp, and branches everywhere.
Dad has home owner's insurance. We had power again by 7:30. All in all, not as bad as things could have been.
Now, if only I could manage about three consecutive days of quiet and boredom...

For Suzanne, To Six Hours

Dangling From the Last Thread of Sanity

I live with my little sister, my mom, and Chris. My other sister lives a couple blocks down the street and my dad and his second wife are just down a couple more.
They are all driving me slowly insane.

Tuesday I had to wrangle my schedule at work so I could take my mom to her neurology appointment. She has Parkinson's Disease and last January she was hospitalized with mono-neuritis multiplex. That's right, in my life these are words I know, mono-neuritis multiplex... The good news? Her neuropathy has gotten better and she is cleared to walk again! (My brain went "hurray! no more dragging a wheelchair out of the trunk of a car!") The bad news? She is like a two year-old. She whines, she gets mad and stomps, she pouts and freezes up. That's right, why have children when you have parents. I have threatened to move her out into the shed in our backyard...somehow she treats it like an empty threat.

Wednesday Chris had a thyroid biopsy. Biopsy is NEVER a good word. Today, he had surgery to remove a tumor from his finger. All is well, tumor removed, he will be able to mow the lawn in no time.

Also Tuesday, my sister Katie (who is like driftwood, floating through life with no plan, no destination) was served with a warrant. Note to all, do not bounce checks to Wal-Mart. It turns out that Wal-Mart can add so many fees to two bounced checks that although originally written for around $275 they are now worth about $1500 when all is said and done. Do not mess with Wal-Mart. Luckily for my idiot sister, the entire family was able to drain their bank accounts and come up with the money so she did not have to go to jail this morning. Now I'm so poor I'm going to have to live like I'm in college again, hello spaghetti-o's and ramen noodles, goodbye 100% whole wheat bread and organic vegetables.

Ah, and don't let me forget the youngest sister. She apparently was under the impression that there are fairies who come and take care of her financial aid applications. Surprisingly, the fairies missed hers and it was, therefore, never filed. That's right, she was there in line, registering for classes, and was informed that she owed the entire amount of tuition (although they only wanted 25% right then). No fairies, but she does have her older sister (me) who fixed the application, sent it through to all the appropriate people. I can't imagine what happened to the fairies...but if they are in the same union as the house-cleaning fairies then I think they've all been on strike for quite a while.

So, I haven't been blogging.

Here's my list of things I'm grateful for today:

1. Health. It doesn't seem like such a valuable commodity until you or someone you love loses it.
2. Like. I knew I LOVED Chris, but it's nice to be reminded how much I actually like him. It's terrible and cliche and sappy, but he's my best friend and I really do like him a lot....even when he's driving me crazy.
3. Solitude. Sure, in order to get this I have to get in my car and drive down the street to the park, but sitting there all alone listening to music is like a vacation sometimes. The local cops probably think that I look suspicious, but if I had drugs does anyone really think I'd be selling them?
4. Fall. I know it's out there. I know that cooler weather, shorter days, pumpkins, haystacks, and little kids in costumes are just right around the corner...it's that thought that keeps me going right now.

Why, I Wonder, is My Heart Full of Holes

"Will I catch the moon

Like a bird in a cage

It's for you I swoon

I'm always in love."

-Wilco, "Always in Love"

Today's post is not about love. Well, it's not about gooey, mushy, sappy love. Today is about something better...materialistic love. Today's list is all about everything electric that I love. If it plugs in, and I think I can't live without it, it's on here.

1. HD television. After seeing the world in High Definition regular life looks bland and unappealing. You only think that red looks red on your TV, but until you see red in HD you haven't seen red.

2. TiVo, or really any digital video recorder. I love getting to record shows so I can watch them when I want rather than arranging my schedule around when the networks decide I should watch Gray's Anatomy.

3. WiFi. I can log onto the internet at any time in our house and at various venues in town. An interesting aside to this particular love is how WiFi friendly Conway is. Because of the colleges almost anywhere is WiFi now, even several parks. Great stuff.

4. ipod. I love ipod. I've actually already devoted a bit of blog to my love of my sleek little mp3 player. I cannot function without music. In fact, I'm listening to "Golden" by My Morning Jacket right now thanks to computer speakers and the much beloved ipod.

5. Satellite radio. We had XM and now have Sirius. No dropped transmissions, live coverage of NFL, college games, NBA, NHL and music ten thousand times better than anything they play on radio Terra Firma.

6. Computers. This is sort of a "duh" as I wouldn't be posting this without a computer. In fact, I would never communicate with many of my friends and my brother without a computer. I can find out the news or weather whenever it suits me. So maybe what I really should have on here is...

7. The Internet. See #6.

That's all I've got today. Please note that I did not include my cell phone on the list. I loathe cell phones. I don't like talking on the phone at all, but I really hate the modern inability to ever get away. Run as far as you'd like, but they can still call your cell phone and track you down.

Tomorrow, why I'm not really as materialistic as I seem...

In the Front Row At the Melt Show

"Weather forecast for tonight: dark. Continued dark overnight, with widely scattered light by morning."
-George Carlin

Today the high temperature was 104.
The heat is making people crazy.

I work at UAMS in one of the outpatient clinics and today had this exchange with one of our normally rather sane patients.

patient: (irritably) Why am I still waiting?
me: (confused) What?
patient: (more irritably) I said WHY AM I STILL WAITING!
me: (very cautiously) Where are you waiting at?
patient: (now angry) In a damned room, where else would I be waiting?
me: (because I'm stupid and have smart-ass tendencies) Um, I don't know, in the waiting room maybe?
patient: (now considering jumping over the counter and choking me until I turn various shades of purple) I'm SICK of waiting! (She punctuate this with a stomp)
me: (trying desperately to be patient) What time was your appointment?
patient: (scowling) Two o'clock.
me: (bewildered) But it's only one forty-five.
patient: (after staring open-mouthed at me for a moment while mentally digesting my words) But I don't want to wait!
me: Er, well, I'm sure it won't be much longer.

Here is where the conversation falls apart. Usually very calm, very nice patient stomps back into her room then returns holding her chart in her hands. She flings the chart at me, whizzing it past my head at warp speed. I sit in shock as she glares at me and slams through the big metal doors and out of the clinic without seeing her doctor.

Five minutes later...
patient: (peeking in door) I left my purse in the room.
me: (without looking up) Oh, well we already auctioned it off in the waiting room to the other patients who don't mind waiting to see the doctor.
patient: (chagrined) I guess I acted up.
me: (still not looking up) Yep.
patient: (sorry, embarrassed) Can I go back in the room?
me: Yep.

Moral of story? This heat is making people crazy. Come to think of it, I might be one of them.

Step One: Admitting You Have a Problem

I am an addict.

See, there, I said it. I am addicted to sports, all things sport. I love football season, I anticipate it's arrival like a child waiting for Christmas. I love the smooth plane of green grass broken only by crisp white chalk lines. I love the crunch of helmet meeting pads as linemen crash into each other battling for position and possession. I love yelling and cursing, screaming and praying for my favorite teams. I love the marching bands and cheerleaders and the hours of tailgate parties leading up to big games. I love the black and white referee shirts and the bright orange of the line markers.
My addiction does not end at football, I am equally crazy about baseball. In my opinion, there is nothing as beautiful as a baseball field lit up at night. I love the intricacies of the game, the battle of wits and strength between pitcher and batter, the excitement of a double play well turned, the mental game of stolen bases and bunts. My blood runs fast for a diving catch stealing an extra bases hit from a batter.
I love hockey, basketball (college, not NBA), soccer, and have even been known to watch golf on TV.
That's right, I'm a sports addict. I am routinely ridiculed by my girlfriends for this. Shamefully, I have skipped out on shopping and lunch dates to watch a big game.
I'd like to say that I'm planning to quit my addiction, but that would be untrue. Even now I'm counting down the days to the first televised college football game (23 days, Boston College @ Central Michigan on ESPN2). This year I get to watch football in HD (high definition for those who aren't also tech junkies) thanks to Murray's love of all things electronic.
So bring on the pigskin! Bring on the pom-pons and the face paint and the ear muffs and the roasted peanuts!

Blending In

Did you know that chameleons do not change color to blend into their surrounding but to show emotion? When a chameleon changes color they are more likely to stick out from their surroundings than to fade into them. The color changes are due to a close relationship between their hormones and emotion.
This bit of interesting information, thanks to NPR, made me think how like chameleons women are. We also tend to change color depending on our moods and emotions.
Okay, so we have help ala Maybeline and Clinique, but still the theory is similar. Take lipstick, for instance.
On most days I wear scrubs to work and therefore skip lipstick altogether and opt for Burt's Beeswax instead. Say, however, I feel good one morning, like the sun is shining just for me. Most likely, I'll wear a bit of mascara and a sheer lipgloss. See, happy but not exactly trying to get attention.
Now, say it's a Friday night and Murray has decided to skip playing cards with the boys and take me out somewhere nice. Ah, time to break out the real lipstick, that beautiful brownish-red I spent too much for at Dillard's considering I never wear it. See, I'm excited, maybe feeling a little romantic and therefore I put on my brighter color to attract attention.
Today I'm blending in with the scenery, which I suppose means I'm at a level emotional state. Or maybe it means that it is wickedly hot and I'd rather be at the pool. Either way, for today I'm a calm chameleon. Maybe tomorrow will be exciting enough for lipgloss...

Rain in August.

Here's to rain in August.

When it's 100 degrees even the tiniest rain shower seems like a blessing from nature. I stood out in my carport and let the brief coolness of the air, the whipping wind, and the mist blowing in from the pouring rain wash over me. Thunder so loud it reverberated in my chest. Sometimes there are moments that remind you that there are simple things that refresh the mind and soul.
Now the storm moves off to the southwest and the rumble of thunder makes me smile. Sure it's only the sixth of August in Arkansas. Sure there are six more weeks of guaranteed misery ahead. But for five minutes on my carport I dreamed of football games and orange leaves and Halloween. Today that will have to be enough.

On falling...

Today I fell at work. Oh, wait, before you feel bad for me you might want to read the rest.

Today I fell at work, but only AFTER someone asked me if I was pregnant. That's right, I not only had the opportunity to give my favorite fake smile and say, "Nope, I'm just fat but thanks for asking" but I also slipped on a puddle of water and fell. Of course there were witnesses, how could you think otherwise?

This brings me to contemplate humiliation today.

Webster says this:
hu·mil·i·ate Pronunciation: hyü-'mi-lE-"; Form(s): -at·ed; -at·ing:
to reduce to a lower position in one's own eyes or others'.

Webster also adds this helpful link: mortify
mor·ti·fy Pronunciation: 'mor-t&-"fI; Form(s): -fied; -fy·
1 obsolete : to destroy the strength, vitality, or functioning of
2 : to subdue or deaden (as the body or bodily appetites) especially by abstinence or self-inflicted pain or discomfort
3 : to subject to severe and vexing embarrassment.

I think definition #3 is what we are looking for.

The thing is, usually my weight only bothers me as a health issue. I mean, I don't stand in front of my mirror cursing my ugliness or anything. Even worse, I've actually been losing weight for the past two months. I bought a bicycle, joined a gym, have been eating better. So, you see, I was actually feeling pretty good about myself.
I'll bounce back, I have an over-abundance of self-esteem, but still I have to wonder if sometimes the universe doesn'tembarrassmentarrasment as a little reminder. You know, like "hey, you, time to remember what it's like to be one of the little people". Oh, and one other thing, best way to fight Webster's mortification is laughter; if you can laugh at yourself than just about everything will seem a little less embarrassing. Luckily, today I'm a laughing alot.

Here comes trouble.

"...society honors its living conformists and its dead troublemakers."

-Mignon Mclaughlin

I am not a conformist.

I have a little "Quote of the Day" calander, the kind where you tear off a page every day and get a new quote. This is my quote for today and my first question to myself was, "Self, am I a conformist or a trouble maker?" After not a whole lot of soul serching (I'm not particularly prone to soul searching) I came up with the answer that I am definately not a conformist.
So, am I a trouble maker? The answer is yes, but you reader are one too. Okay, maybe you think your aren't. Maybe you do everything right, maybe you are a good spouce, a good child, a good parent, a good citizen. Maybe you do whatever it is that to you makes a good person, go to church, recycle, volunteer, or whatever. The thing is, to someone or some society you are still a trouble maker.
I am an avid environmentalist. I believe in nature, I believe that nature knows what is best for humans not the other way around. I buy organic food and organic cotton clothing (which you can buy at Wal-Mart, so I'm not wearing crazy hippie clothes). I carpool to work and here is where my example begins to make sence. To big industry, say the oil companies, I AM a trouble maker. Sure, it would probably seem to most people that less polution is a good thing, but the oil companies want me to buy more gas and to drive a larger SUV.
Okay, I admit I'm also somewhat of a more traditional trouble maker. I question everything. I don't believe a lot. I have absolute positions on certian issues, which I will not share in such a public forum. I enjoy poking the belly of the beast.
So here's my thought for the day. Maybe we NEED to be trouble makers. Maybe without the trouble makers the hard changes would never happen. Think the women's suffrage movement and civil rights. Trouble makers move society, any society. The key is to cause trouble that brings the right kinds of results, I think.

Long stories short...

"Dreams come true. Without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them."-John Updike

In college I took a psychology class and learned that having vivid dreams is often a symptom of psychosis. Before that, as a child in church, my pastor said that dreams were the way our hearts communicated to us our wishes and fears. Now, years removed from either of those explanations I wonder if they are both a little right.

I don't dream about being a fireman or of marrying a prince anymore, and I suppose this is a loss caused by the aging process. Now I dream the little adult dreams; I dream about the pretty two-story yellow house on Wingfield across the street from Hendrix College, about paying off my car and using the extra money to take a cruise, about losing all my extra pounds and buying cute little summer dresses. But these are small dreams, attainable dreams, dreams that are really just plans waiting for the time when I decide to fulfill them.

As adults, do we lose the ability to dream vividly? Do we surplant our dreams with common sense? Do we tell ourselves that thinking about the impossible just shouldn't be done?

I dream of publishing a book, one I write with my name on the glossy cover. I do, I admit it. It's a big dream, one that may be no more attainable than marrying a prince (I'm pretty sure Murray isn't hiding a secret about being Belgium royalty or something like that). Something like 30,000 query letters are sent to literary agents every day. The math isn't good, but that's why it's a dream. Sometimes dreams do come true...just ask Cinderella.

Happy Things

I am wearing a holter monitor tonight. This is not so good as anyone with cardiological problems already knows. So, I'm taking a page from Suzanne and making a list of ten things that make me happy.

10. My cats, Winks and Foote. See photo of Foote...

9. My sweetie, Murray. He gets me. He lets me just be me and doesn't try to disect my weirdness. He introduces me to great bands and loves all things sport as much as I do. We agree on politics and disagree on movies and he ALWAYS beats me at dominoes.

8. My ipod. I love music, I live for music. I love My Morning Jacket and Spoon and The Decemberists. I cannot imagine my life without Wilco or Neko Case. There are more, so many more...and without my ipod I could not carry them all around with me.

7. Summer. I know, everyone else hates the heat, hates the opressive humidity. I love it. I love not being cold. I love the greeness of it and the yellow light as haze filters the sun.

6. Swimming. Laying in a pool just floating.

5. Halloween. I love playing dress-up. I love candy and pumpkins and the cruch of fallen leaves beneath your feet.

4. My family, because they are crazy and unpredictable and unorthodox.

3. Toenail polish. You can paint your toenails any color you want and it's like a little surprise every time you take your socks off. Today mine are glittery red.

2. Christmas. I love to give gifts. I love to surprise people by being friendly and helpfull during the hollidays while everyone else is cranky and running around like mad. I like the music and the lights and don't care if my voice isn't really good enough because I'm going to be singing "Silver Bells" in public anyway.

1. Reading.

Post on Blogging

This is my official first Blog. The funny thing is I have no idea what to say in it, so I thought I would start off with a little discussion of fate.

I am writing a blog because I stumbled on an old friend's blog. I hadn't seen Suzanne is perhaps six years, she'd just gotten married and was living in West Memphis near me. Before that we were roommates in college, ten years ago.

The question of the day has to be why we keep losing each other only to find each other again. I have a loose collection of beliefs that make up my faith, a sort of amalgamation of environmentalism, religion, social responcibility, and intelectualism. I'm admittedly uncomfortable with organized religion, although I have happy memories of growing up in the Diciples of Christ church. I don't confuse my reluctance to join a church with a lack of faith. Maybe that is why I believe in the idea that fate guides us, bringing us back to things we are meant to find.