Dotty Parker

telophase tuesday

Harkening back to the grand old days of biology class, BellyRub and I had a little chat about smarts. We were congratulating ourselves on our individual and combined genius and further congratulating ourselves on the genuis of our friends and loves.

BellyRub was mentioning that his job in the warehouse wasn't stimulating his brains so much. (He did say that TemporarilyTitledTimidTallGirl was a clever girl. He thinks she's groovy. I know she must be. She reads this. [yes, Karen, it's you]) He was afraid that he'd get dumb.

I, of course, told him that he couldn't get dumb as long as he was doing clever things like reading and, well, watching tv. [I must remember to tell you about the satellite tv installation guy. I have several hypotheses about him.]

He said he loves his satellite tv thing. He gets the Yankees tv station (wahoo wahoo!) and he also gets local channels!

I said, "Yes it must be nice to be able to have local news from around the place he calls home. How is outer space these days, anyway? Are you still mayor?"

BellyRub answered in his gloriously off the wall way, "Well, on Telophase Tuesday there isn't much on, which makes me angry. But coming off of Metaphase Monday, you can just imagine that I can forgive pretty much anything."

I asked, "How's the Paraphrase show? And the Atmospheric Haze?"

I think we could have gone on for hours. But we didn't.

I have collected another photo of BellyRub. Here he is in his natural, unbearded state. I do wish he would go back to beardlessness. With his facial hair I like to call him Mordecai, for his resemblance to the Amish who might have that type of name.

BrilliantEditor has facial hair in fits and starts. I think that's why it always grows back in so robust a way. It's like pruning a tree. Hadassah was Queen Esther's name and it means myrtle tree. I could call him that. I don't like that name though.

I suppose AngerTrain could be called Hezekiah...but BellyRub has a very fuzzy beard these days...

you oughta be in pictures

BellyRub tells me that he is most satisfied by having his picture displayed for many men and women of the world.

He also mentioned that he'd like more silly photos. I think he wants them sent to a friend of his, but I'm having lots of fun with the idea of displaying them in public.

Thus, I have tracked down a photo of him with a blueberry on a fork. The blueberry appears to be on the verge of entering his nasal passage.

I'm not sure if this is a silly picture or a disturbing picture. You can be the judge.

ah ha!

Found the photo!

Here is BellyRub in Christmas ecstasy brought on by post-Christmas exhaustion.

but, baby, it's cold outside

So, my darlings, it's been Christmas time for many of us. Many of are beyond exhausted by the event. I was talking to Mr.Guy at 6 o'clock today. I felt like I was going to sleep very soon and confessed this to my dear friend.

Upon confession, the burden grew no lighter. I still felt like I was going to sleep very soon. I felt like I was going to sleep even sooner, actually, since I didn't feel guilty about hanging up the phone with little to no explanation.

In between the phone call and this time I have taken a bath and watched cartoons. Yes, indeed. Two and a half hours spent productively.

But what's productively got to do with today? Today even the dogs haven't moved. Joggers, bicyclists, big trucks--nothing has made them move or bark. They've twitched in their sleep, Sprocket went on a little safari to the woods, but since then, no movement. No begging, not whining, no anything.

I am searching for a photo that demonstrates what the holidays have done to me. It isn't a photo of me, but it does demonstrates the effects of this holiday on people who have very similar genetic makeup.

Keep your eyes peeled for this photo.

merry christmas!

It's Christmas Day! I did not see three ships come sailing in. But I did see three other folks waking up on Christmas day in the morning.

BrilliantEditor and I spent the first part of Christmas day with his family opening presents and having breakfast and chit-chatting about everything under the sun and moon. I got lots of books and movies. Hooray! And some sweaters, too. And a hundred gold bricks.

We all had breakfast together and that was a tasty treat. I most heartily approve of breakfast (especially when, on the night before, the champagne may have flown too freely into my stemware).

BrilliantEditor was handed the phone almost immediately after breakfast to hear my brother, AngerTrain (oh yeah, he's an angry fella again) saying that he wanted to open his presents!

BE and I hopped on over to my parents' house and experienced the classic experience so typical of my family. Upon arrival, there were hellos and glad to see yous and come on in. We picked out where we wanted to sit, and, thinking that people wanted to open their presents, rooted ourselves to the spot. We anticipated immediate commencement of unwrapping activities.

The suspense was terrible! we hoped it would last!

AngerTrain dillydallied around the kitchen for a full ten minutes. First he poured his coffee and then he made more coffee, but had to choose which kind of coffee. Then he lost count of how many scoops. I showed my support of his mathematical acuity by very cleverly saying, "Duh."

So the coffee brews and he decides to look for some Bailey's Irish Cream to put in his coffee. But the bottle of whatever Bailey's type drink has been opened! We must establish how long it has been!

Oh! But PTAMom has a friend who gave her "homemade Bailey's". So AngerTrain tried that and declared it to be good. It then needed to be discussed so as to tease apart the recipe for the mystery moonshine. Dr.Dad voted for some kind of coconut additive. AngerTrain knew there was some chocolate. I suggested booze. Others in the room either remained silent or were unitentionally ignored by me.

Once the homemade, creamy, supposed coconut/chocolate drink was added to the coffee we were not done. Oh no! Now regular cream should be searched for. The carton was not open! We must open it! And open it properly!

There are no soft points on AngerTrain's carton spouts. These are military cartons of cream. They have square bottoms so they should certainly have sharply delineated triangular and easily refolded pour spouts.

You might imagine that this takes slightly more time than the half-assed opening job I do where the pour spout comes out looking well-used before it's been used once. And since it takes more time, we can add this time to the puzzling stretch of time added since our demanded arrival.

And before he sat down with his coffee, he made one more trip around the kitchen to get some cookies.

Cookies for breakfast!

But for all of these mysterious activities, there was a sense of amusement--that this happened again. It would always happen again. And it's pretty good.

I only got 90 bricks of gold at my parents' house. Punks.

christmas carols

I was listening to Ella Fitzgerald sing "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town." She gets all fancy and makes it jazzy and fun and wacky.

I would like to share some of the fabulous lyrics. Her improvisations will be in bold. The backup singer's embellishments will be in italic.

He's making a list, checking it twice,
Gonna find out who's naughty and nice,
Santa Claus is coming to town Oooo Big Papa he's watchin'

You better not shout, you better not cry,
You better not pout, I'm telling you why,
Sa-aa-aa-aan-ta Claus is comin' to town
Ride! Ride, Red Ride!"

You better not shout, you better not cry,
You better not pout, I'm telling you why,
Santa Claus is comin' to town,
Look at that crazy red suit.

How does she know Santa well enough to call him "Big Papa" and "Red". And is she really allowed to call his red Santa suit "Crazy"?

Maybe someday I'll grow up to be cool like that. Whoa. That's cool.

christmas eve

Christmas Eve! And the world is shiny and bright.

For most people, that is.

Let me tell you what I saw today, before all the beautiful things I saw for the rest of the day.

In front of my house was a dead deer. It's been there about a week. I figured that the state of New York would come and take care of it in its own time. I never figured on seeing it being taken care of.

Today the dogs alerted me to the presence of something. Often they say, "Hey! There's an icicle! Kill it!" or "Whoa! Noise! Kill the noise!" Today, however, they said, "Hey! Truck in front of the house!"

The truck in front of the house belonged to the state's Department of Transportation. They were getting rid of the deer.

I felt so bad for the fellow doing the job. In the rain, he had to tie a rope around Rudolph's legs and drag him up a ramp and into the truck. I wished that I had a loaf of banana bread or something to give him. But then again, he had deer all over him. Ewwwww.

sweet!

I have been trying for about a year, I think, to not eat much in the way of sweets. I've also been attempting to stay away from white, refined flour. I'm on the march for nuts and berries. Or I was.

Lately, it's just been too much of a pain to get the nuts and berries together to eat. How many dried apricots, unroasted nuts, and granola can a girl eat before she starts wanting the ambosiac relief that can be found in a box of mac and cheese or on a sandwich with Peter Pan peanut butter instead of the natural stuff. Natural is good, but oh boy, sometimes junk food is better.

I've not been very good about eating lots of whole grains. And eating whole grains really does make me less full of cravings for sweets. And now it's Christmas and there will be cookies and cakes and candies and drinks and sweet tasting breads and brunch and dessert and oh, my. So good.

I'm so happy I haven't stuck to my crunchy diet of sticks and the like. Even twigs were losing their charm. Now I'm really able to appreciate the joys of someone else's holiday baking.

Do I undo all the good I did?

Guess what I vote, my dears.

I vote no.

sensible holiday gifts

Christmas in Dottywood tends to have a lot of guilt associated with it. It isn't because of anyone else. It's always because of me. I'm the one who makes up guilt.

And therefore, this year, I am going to acknowledge when I feel guilty and then say, "Okay, I heard you, Mr. Guilt Provider. Will you please go away now?" And of course he will. That's what good hallucinations do.

One of the things that makes me uncomfortably guilty is to get a gift I don't like. I feel responsible for being too picky. It doesn't happen very often. If I were to get a jar of vomit, for example, which had some intense meaning to someone else and they had made a great sacrifice to share this meaning with me, I'd feel bad. I don't want a jar of vomit.

I once received a shirt that I didn't like. I was not only afraid to say that I didn't like it, I actually wore the damn thing, feeling virtuous and grossed out all at once. It had a kitty on it. It might have been pink, too. Although I am a delicate flower, I'm fairly certain that I'm not a pink t-shirt with a kitty on it kind of gal.

So! Since I feel bad when I get a gift I don't like, I feel really bad when I give a gift that the other person doesn't like. It just feels bad.

But reading minds isn't a skill that I have. Neither do I plan to acquire this skill. I, therefore, use my best judgment and good intentions to buy a lovely present or make a lovely present or decide not to give a lovely present.

I have determined, however, in my wanderings from store to store, that there are lots of very sensible gifts that are very useful and yet, I believe, are nearly universally regarded, when found in the stocking hung by the chimney with care, with a raised eyebrow and a question mark.

I will share them with you now!

postage stamps

gift certificates for dry cleaning

matches

laundry detergent

a field guide to exotic fungus

canned soup (condensed or regular strength)

notebook paper

light bulbs

hearing protection

software for writing your own will

dehydrated meat

automobile air fresheners

I hope I've helped to illuminate some of the oddities that may inspire a guilt which seems to say, "My, my, my. You're mightily picky! Who are you to be so picky?"

My unasked for advice to you is to say to yourself, "I don't know who I'd have to be to be so picky, but apparently I am that person. Gift receipt, please."

happy solstice

So it's the winter solstice.

BrilliantEditor and I went to a winter solstice/wine tasting party and had a lovely time. Everyone brought a bottle of wine and we hid the bottle under a paper bag (always classy). Then we rated the wines. The winner of the worst bottle of wine was the fellow who has won for the past three years (at least). His prize was a bottle of blush wine from a crappy winery. The wine was called "Santa's Blush".

I'm betting that it won't be good.

The winner of best bottle got a set of wine notification tag things. You know those things, I'm sure. They identify whose wine is whose.

There were many babies and children there. Some of them were very, very noisy. All of them had some aspect of cuteness. I named one "Li'l Stumpy." His mom was proud of his thick ankles and sturdy feet.

I don't think she cared much for the name.

But it's Christmas! And shouldn't everyone be given a gift?

the return and return and return and return of the king

BrilliantEditor and I went to see Return of the King tonight. There was a lot of Orc blood in it. And there were a fair number of severed heads in many species.

I must confess that I often feel more sadness when they kill animals than when they kill people. The horses and elephants have nothing to do with it, do they? They don't have an opinion. They don't care about the politics. They just don't want people to burn the fields of crops. They also don't want to wear armor, as far as I can tell. Poor darlings.

But as for the title, the return and return etcetera of the king: There were so many endings for the movie. More than would even be warranted by the many story lines needing to come together.

I suppose the plot is like the book, but in a book you can look ahead and see that there are ten more pages. In a movie there's no way to know what's coming next. It just keeps coming.

So here's sort of how it goes, in case you're looking for an ending to _your_ movie.

The bad things go away which makes everyone pretty close to being safe.
The king steps into his rightful leadership role.
All characters prove their worth and show how their presence was necessary.
The king gets his crown and the girl and the little heroes are recognized.
The little heroes go home and things are happy in the Shire.
The largest of the little heroes is liberated from his shackles of memory and limitation.
Everyone goes their separate ways.
The second largest of the little heroes is shown with his family.

In between each ending there's a black screen. I heard people shuffling as if preparing to leave. And then, "HELLO!" another ending appeared.

But at the real ending of the movie, there's a white screen. Which always makes me think, oh, okay, here we are. This is the big deal.

In this case, if the big deal is that the movie is over, then my interpretation of black and white is correct.

But the world isn't ever black and white, now, is it?

dontcha think?

Today's irony, boys and girls, has to do with me. Surprise!

I decided long ago that it was inappropriate to whine constantly about the same things while making no attempt to improve the situation. I stick by my decision.

Today, however, I combined two conflicting whines and got confused.

Whine #1: I'm really, really tired.
Whiine #2: I don't get enough done in a day.

So, to solve whine #1 a person might suggest that sleep would do the job. Yep, just hop into sleepytown and drift off to dreamland. That would do it.

And to solve whine #2 a person might suggest that spending more active time during the day would solve that little connundrum. Yes, don't daydream, reduce the number of breaks and/or duration thereof. That could help productivity.

Looking at the juxtaposition of these whines, I don't see an adequate answer. Sure, I could sleep now and forever be rested and ready to go--assuming a day of tiredness doesn't return. Or I could work through this and just hope and pray that it will magically make my sleepiness go away.

Actually, option three would be the most appealing. Remove the word "whine" from the whole damned thing. Thus, I would be allowed to be sleepy and I could fix productivity problems tomorrow.

Isn't it ironic? Dontcha think?

Well, no, but it is mesmerizing to watch how a few simple words make the problem much easier to sleep upon.

salt on your tail, birdie

Do you remember cartoons like Tom and Jerry? Remember the episodes when they were trying to sprinkle salt on a bird's tail? They did it so it couldn't fly away. Then the cat could catch it and eat it.

What's the deal with that, anyway? Let's think of ways we can use salt!

to catch a little birdie
to melt ice
to salt the edge of a glass for a booze hound like me to drink from
to make sweet things taste less sweet
so French fries taste gooooood
to get proteins and stuff to come off of a column when doing extractions
to pour in someone's wounds
to name a cracker (salt-ine)
to name a sailor (salty dog; old salt)
to provide nutrients for our furry friends (salt lick)
to give us options in the peanut aisle (salted or un-?)
to preserve meat
to make pickles
to put in a bath and soak troubles away
to throw over your shoulder for luck or to ward away bad luck
to make a Great Lake
to create an institute! www.saltinstitute.org

So many things my darlings. And you can catch a bird with it, too.

tinitus: a ringing in my ears

Happy holidays, darlings. I do love the holidays. I love holiday movies. I love holiday cheer. I love holiday wassail. I love holiday get togethers. I love the holiday feeling of charity.

That feeling of charity, ahhhhhhh. So lovely. Have you considered the sound of charity? If I attempt that thought right now, it would sound like a sigh, gentle and soft and sweet. A thanking kind of sigh. A sigh of longing and gratitude all at once.

Before you vomit, however, by the saccharine nature of the last two paragraphs, I will bring you the real life sound of charity. It sounds like ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ding-a-ling-ding-ling-a-ling-a-ling

That's right boys and girls! It's time for the Salvation Army Red Kettle Drive! Red Kettle Drive me out of my mind.

In the grocery store today there was not a single place where I could not and did not hear the bell. At the drug store, it was quiet at the back, but the closer I crept to the front, the closer I crept to the cold remedies and such, the louder and sharper and more piercing did that infernal ringing become! I said "Merry Christmas" to the evil bell ringer on the way out and she said nothing to me. NOTHING!

When I was younger, my mom suggested that maybe I was too easily distracted by things, especially noises. I didn't think so at that time, but now I buy into it pretty thoroughly.

PTAMom indicated that there was some kind of therapy used in Japan to help people who were easily distracted. Apparently, Japanese students would be doing their homework while wearing headphones. At random intervals, a loud-ish "beep" or honk or something would sound in their headphones. The idea was that you'd get used to being interrupted and could continue with your work without losing focus.

In my world, depending on the day, that could be incredibly funny or it could make me stand on my little beep-therapy desk and scream, "Dude! What the hell is wrong with you? Is it better for me to have you playing random, Skinnerian tones into my ears than to have me reading on my own and daydreaming a bit. Or a lot. Or only daydreaming? You'd annoy and distract me if you were invisible and silent. That's how annoying and distracting you are. Piss off Beep-People!"

I think the Salvation Army heard my complaints.

They decided to change the random Skinnerian tones to the constant jangling of people who flip their keys around their fingers for chunks of fifteen minutes and to the ear skewering jingle of their screwed up little bell.

I think they're hoping that I'll pay them off to stop ringing for a while.

so many weird things

Spring really does take a bite out of a package

a box addressed to Joe (that's it, just Joe) from Salt Lake City, UT--I'm afraid it's a bomb or full of chemical weapons and anthrax

Spring and I were both woken up by sounds of things being knocked over in the house. When we went to look, there was nothing that had falled down. I figure now that it was the sound of big chunks of snow falling off the roof in the rain.

a credit card sent to me with random looking numbers and everything. The name area reads "Your Business Name Here"

the cashier at the grocery store had "Previously Frozen" stuck on his name tag. I asked him about it. He said he was warmer now.

a nine cent check

I kind of feel weirder than usual.

blue angel

I watched the movie Blue Angel today. Marlene Dietrich and Emil Jannings are pretty incredible. The movie is totally horrifying and touching and human and sad. I almost turned it off a couple of times because it seemed like a Bergman film, and I was simply not in the mood for the kind of symbolic darkness that seemed in store.

Well, of course, it was dark and it did have symbolism. But it was really amazing. I suggest watching it. But perhaps it would be best if you're in a cheery resiliant mood.

health care? who cares!

I'm a little upset with the health insurance company lately. My doctor called to tell me that my health insurance identification number has changed and so he can't submit any insurance claims until he gets the new number.

Since the first I heard of this was from him, I can't call him with the new number. I simply don't have it. I asked BrilliantEditor if maybe he just forgot to tell me, but nope, no letter or call or email or sky writing for us. So that's just a complete mystery.

I'm also in a program that health insurance will often pay for. The general rule is that if the insurance is crappy, it won't pay for much of anything. In this case, my insurance is pretty good, but it won't pay for this. The crappy insurance, by the way, will pay.

I explained to the person in billing, who was very, very sweet and kind, that this was really irritating and disturbing. If I were to pay for the portion of the program I've already done, I'd owe $2,700. I was planning on zero dollars. Apparently, I'm not sick enough for them to deal with it.

Bastards.

How screwed up is it that there are so many convoluted rules that it's next to impossible to figure out what will be paid for and what won't be? I got a letter from the program indicating that insurance would pay for half. Looking in my plan book, it appeared that it would pay for all. I guess to be crafty, they just wanted to throw in one more percentage and cover the whole spectrum.

Bastards.

Oh, and I have a cold. It's getting nasty. I hope I don't have to go to see the doctor. I don't have an insurance ID number, they might not pay for it anyway, and I might have to rip out a lung before they acknowledge that I'm sick.

Bastards.

And if anyone is close friends with a senator or president or governor, can you please mention to him or her that a national health care plan would be a good idea? I'd like to further suggest that giving senior citizens a 25% discount on prescription medication is not a health care plan.

I know a woman (she's 25) who was hospitalized after an intentional overdose. She's now recovering from an eating disorder and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when she was in the hospital.

She's really trying her best, but she's not well by any means. She lost her job and can't work full time because the stress sends her back into the kind of cycle that sent her to the hospital in the first place. And the eating disorder gave her some serious intestinal problems. Her doctor wants her to go to the hospital. In the hospital she won't get dehydrated, she'll get pain medication, and they'll make sure she eats.

But when she lost her job, she lost her insurance. Her doctor is a generalist and she needs to see a specialist. Because she has no job, she has no insurance, and she has no money, so she can't see a specialist. And she can't afford the hospital.

Medicaid won't kick in because she's made too much money in the past year (at the job she lost).

Now I want to know how a 25% discount for senior citizens on prescription drugs is supposed to help this woman buy a ticket to the specialist, a stay in the hospital, and pay for the prescriptions she aready orders from Canada.

Bastards.

completely furious

I like to sew. La la la. It means that I am surrounded, in general, by women who are twice my age. Many of these women also share my desire to use software to make embroidery designs. La la la. None of the women I work with are programmers. None of the women I work with are big, huge fans of reading all kinds of technical crap. In fact, some of these women pay me, yes me, to come to their houses to fix their technical crap.

And now I have some technical crap that needs fixing. There is no one to call to fix my stuff. These embroidery software bastards really ought to know better, don't you think? All I want is a new driver. That's all. Really. I've gotten them before. It's been fairly painless.

The software geniuses have secured their software with a dongle. Dongle is not only a stupid word, but also an idiotic idea. Nevertheless, that's what we've got. They've purchased their dongles from Rainbow. Sounds happy, right?

Well! The instructions about what they want me to do are in a .pdf file that they won't let me copy. So I have to flip back and forth between windows. Generally a joyful, happy, skippy event. Not so with this software. It's notoriously fussy. It gets irritable when it isn't paid enough attention to. But I'm taking my chances.

The instructions tell me to go to Rainbow's site. Keep in mind that 90% of the people visiting this are women over 50 who are looking for a way to fix their damned embroidery software so they can stitch a stupid yellow duckie on their grandchild's blankie.

So they're hit with this delightful logo, which is enough to blow the blue hair right off some people's head.

[Even I'm kind of offended by it. She's not even shaped like she has bones in her body. I think she's a balloon animal. And her whip is half as thick as her arm. I'm surprised she can lift it with her weird boneless body.]

Okay, so now that I'm over the naked, s&m mistress of the dark, imagine these overwhelmed old ladies trying to navigate the damn site (hahaha!) to find a little driver ("James, dahhling, where are you? I'm ready for you to drive me to the Pink Pussy Cafe. Why are you only five feet tall? A little driver is all I need, but good help is literally so hard to find.").

I'm ready to call the software company to tell them I've had to revive five of their customers. I'll also mention that ten more had to go to the hospital with an aneurism.

I'm so angry with these people, all of these people, that I might even go get the mail so I'll be less hot-headed. I might even call them to insist that they give me back my money for a product I've had for over a year. While it does what I want when it works, I've already had to replace the dongle, call support, wait for two upgrades, search for tutorials (since they didn't provide any), and ask myself what the hell I was doing when I thought it was a good idea.

I totally want a cigarette right now.

Or maybe I'll go shopping for those studded leather bracelets and an Indiana Jones whip. Road trip to scare the shit out of Rainbow!

You know, I think I may have found an alternative that is less healthy than smoking.

democracy now!

The radio show Democracy Now! comes on at 9 am on weekdays here in hippie town. I do like listening to Ms. Amy Goodman. Her news gets me down a bit, but I believe her more often than I believe the rest of the news, so there's the balance.

I do wonder, though, who picked their opening music? It's this funky, wacky, oddly inappropriate guitar riff. If you go here and you click on "headlines" under "Today's Show" and then tell it you want to listen to the show, you will be immediately overwhelmed with the delights of seventies/eighties jazzy, icky, after-school special kind of music. You'll hear in the back of your mind the hint that this might be the same music that those kids driving drunk were listening to. Right away you'll hear what I'm talking about.

So I wonder every time I hear it, "Why did they choose this music?" For any interlude or break they play something very sad or ironic or something by Nina Simone so she can tell you why she still isn't free but will be one day when she dies. There are many variations on that theme. I like the music, though I can't tell you why.

I totally need a drink

I took the dogs for another walk today. This time I thought I'd try the huge open field by the observatory. I'd done a recon check earlier and it looked like the snow wouldn't be too deep.

I hustled the dogs into my little car (BrilliantEditor has absconded with the sensible vehicle). We drove up to the field. Having learned my lesson from the last time, when I had to chase Sprocket around the road, I got out first to make a path and show the pups exactly where they were supposed to walk. I went to blaze a trail!

Apparently I'm not fiery enough, however. Rather than blazing anything, my first step on the way to the field was into a snow-obscured drainage ditch. I didn't actually touch the bottom of the ditch, but when I was literally up to my ass in snow, I thought it might not be the place to try to make a path in the snow.

The other side of the road looked better. The snow there was only up to me knees. I let the dogs out of the car after I'd walked in and out of the field once. Sprocket plowed her way through, but Spring didn't want to use my path. She wanted to go her own way. I completely respect that. I will point out, however, that she's only a little bit taller than my knee.

She didn't like sinking that low. (And who does?)

Eventually I got her into the field using the path I had so graciously created. Spring and Sprock had a pretty good time running around, smelling deer and rabbit tracks. Spring likes that she can see a long way--no interfering foliage.

Spring was in a mood to do her own thing. Usually she's pretty compliant. Not today. I had Sprocket in my arms while running after Spring who decided that she'd try blazing a new path to the road. She picked a spot that had less deep snow. She went across the road and started sniffing around over there.

My panicked yells of, "Spring! No! Come here!" only led to her turning toward me, seeing that I was following her, and her trotting away assuming that I was following right after her.

And I was. But not because I wanted to go for a walk.

We played this little game for a while. The added excitement is that I'm wearing the ThaiPrincess's coat these days and I'm not used to the fabric noise it makes when I move. I was constantly convinced that cars were coming.

In the end, a truck with a plow on the front (!) drove by. Spring watched it go by and then ran after it for a few feet. I think once she smelled the exhaust she didn't want to chase it anymore.

So she came back to me.

I wanted to take them home now. I wanted to take ME home now. I had to get the dogs to the car. The leashes are in BrilliantEditor's car in Philadelphia. I tried carrying them all together, but, combined, they're forty pounds or so and they don't stack well.

So I ended up walking around like a sad old granny. I think I have a hump. I was hanging on to Spring's collar and Sprocket's harness and trying to walk with them, but it's surprisingly hard to walk that way. I was going to fall over if they kept pulling me so hard and I also might've passed out because being hunched over like that makes it hard to completely fill your lungs.

All in all I have to say this: Fuck snow. And I need a drink.

hippie town

BrilliantEditor and I went out to dinner tonight at Taste of Thai (of which the ThaiPrincess approves). When I walked into the bathroom, I was struck by what appears to me to be odd graffitti. I read BUSH IS A NAZI. Then I read ARNOLD right above Nazi, indicating that Arnold Schwartzenegger is also a Nazi. Then I read YOUR MOM right above that, indicating that your mother is a Nazi, too.

Beneath all that were these sage words: "Hillary Clinton is a politician."

I think that this is odd graffitti.

what?

I don't have lots to say. I took the dogs for a walk and on the way to the car Sprocket ran away from me. She stood in the road and wouldn't come to me. I was frantic running after her and trying to tell the traffic that my tiny dog was being a goofball and standing in the road.

But she got back in the car, and I was glad she got back in the car. I was angry at her so I pushed her until she lay down on the seat. Then I felt guilty because I wasn't mad at her for being in the car, but for being outside the car so I started petting her. Then, after I was done panicking, we drove home. And I don't think she hates me.

I wrote more about that than I thought I would. I believe that free associating right now would be a good thing. For example, as soon as I wrote "free associating" I thought of the movie What About Bob? Bob free associates about his childhood saying somethingn like, "Okay here are some free associations from my childhood: A toy, a block, a poodle, a noodle, a doodle..." He gets cut off there.

And speaking (writing) of being cut off, I heard at least three episodes of squealing brakes today. I didn't hear any crashy noises, but how strange. I don't remember hearing them since last winter. I suppose it makes sense. Something about cold weather makes people want to make their tires warm, I guess.

And the warmness thing. Sprocket is downstairs sleeping under a blanket. Spring is up here with me sleeping on sweaters. And I'm wishing I had those sweaters folded up and put away since her hair/fur will be firmly interwoven into the knitting.

Oh, and my hair falls out all the time. I feel like every time I touch my head there are a few hairs coming away with my fingers. It's been happening for long enough that I know I'm not sick (I still have hair). I do wonder what the magical attraction of my fingers must be. Maybe if I touch it with my feet all my hair will stay in place.

none of my business

I went to the credit union today to take some pictures of the decorations I made and to drop off business cards. So there I was, taking pictures, not thinking about much except for my little baskets. I put my wee camera down and was sorting through stuff I was going to leave behind when this guy came up to me and asked if I'd asked permission to take pictures of people.

Well, no. Why would I ask permission to take pictures of people when I wasn't even thinking that I was taking pictures of people? I didn't really want to have people in my pictures. I was probably going to block them out, but no. It didn't even cross my mind to ask permission.

So Mr.NoPhoto went on to say that there is just "too much surveillance in this world. Especially in North America." (I can almost guarantee you that's what he said, word for word. Talk about surveillance. That's just my head.) It struck me as such an absurd thing to say. For so many reasons. At least three of which I will enumerate now:

North America, while full of surveillance cameras, isn't unique in its use of them. Watch COPS or World's Worst Drivers. They go off to countries other than the U.S. or Canada or Mexico. There are surveillance cameras providing the footage. I don't believe that the U.K. has fewer surveillance cameras. And how about South Africa? And Japan? Shall we go on? With the exception of countries without electricity (and I don't know what those countries are) there are enough surveillance cameras to make the U.S. not so unique.

Too much surveillance in this world, he says. Okay. We'll grant he's correct. What in the hell does that have to do with me? I wasn't watching anyone. I wasn't using surveillance techniques. Although I will grow more likely to do so whenever I see that guy.

Too much surveillance, take two. Okay boys and girls. Where are there always a lot of video cameras? In a bank. A BANK. We're in a stupid bank and he's worried about my five pictures? A bank!

Pick your battles, fella. (I probably ought to, too.)

At any rate, in the end I checked my photos and there were no visible heads in the pictures. That semi-satisfied him, or at least took the wind out of his sails. Then he said thank you for listening, understanding, something. I said thank you for explaining that to me, letting me know something something.

And I still have to say, though, if you're worried about surveillance, stay out of a bank. A bank!

a cold day in the dog days

I was driving to work tonight (I was late. Surprise!) and I saw traffic stopped on the other side of the road. It's odd for traffic to be stopped there since it's a highway, such as they are around here, but there they were, stopped.

I saw something in the road and assumed it was a deer. Deer are hit frequently enough that I've seen or heard it happen a couple of times. I assumed the people in the road were going to drag the deer to the side, which is dangerous since the deer might not be dead and it could kick the living shit out of you.

But it wasn't a deer. It was a big, white dog with a wolfy-type tail. It looked like a Husky eskimo dog. I don't know if the dog was alive or not. I suppose if he was, it's good that Cornell's emergency vet stuff is open all night.

I'm feeling very sorry for the dog. And the person who hit it. That's got to be really scary. It would be scary to me, anyway. But what was the dog doing outside? It's sort of near a residential place, but it's closer to the lab of ornithology and a business park.

I can't decide if I should be sad (for the dog) or angry (at the owners) about this. Or if I should be both. Or neither.

We used to joke in high school that the answer to a test would always be adequately answered using one of the following: C, 4, x=8.

So should I be sad, angry, both, or neither?

x=8. It most definitely does.

it's december

The days are creeping up on me. It's December, my dears. And I still don't have my school clothes. What's a girl to do?

Today was a strange day. I had class this morning and it was kind of weird. I was really combative. We were going over stuff I just didn't buy into completely so I was questioning and being generally difficult. I'm very wigged out by my behavior. I'm not sure what to do with it all. Perhaps I'll just think about it tomorrow.

I brought in my holiday decorations for the bank. They were given the thumbs up and I submitted my invoice and la la la, I'm all grown up.

I would love to tell you some stories. Unfortunately, I'm not going to. I didn't sleep much last night. I'm having difficulty concentrating. And I really want to watch cartoons.