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11.22.03 |
A question:
There is a commercial for a high end washer and dryer that shows a dog walking with a small boy who is tiptoeing while dragging his bedspread/comforter in what appears to be a darkened living room.
Mom is quietly looking on from the stairs.
The golden retriever does a sweet little whine and the boy shushes the dog with the index finger to his lips.
The next scene shows Mom skulking behind the door frame looking in on the boy and the dog.
The boy and the dog are sitting, their backs to the camera, facing the dryer watching the bedspread/comforter spinning in the dryer's window.
I always miss the beginning of the commercial and only seem to notice it when the boy is in the process of getting the wet comforter to the dryer.
What the hell? Does he pee the bed? Does the dog pee the bed? Does the skulking mother pee the bed?
What happens in the darkness of night that causes the bed covers to be wet and prompt the boy to do a clandestine trip to the dryer?
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11.21.03 |
So, with my hopeless addiction to cable news television (with a bit o' Weather Channel thrown in for good measure) ... I was sitting working in my home office when all of the cable news channels began with "breaking news" and "news alerts" that Michael Jackson was going to be surrendering to the Santa Barbara Sheriff's Department.
Okay, while I will agree that this is "news" ... what I found incredible was the amount of time, energy and effort that was devoted to this story.
They had reporters staked out at the Sheriff's Processing Center, at Neverland's gates, at the airport ... and one guy was reporting from "just eighteen inches from Neverland property with the house and amusement park about two miles over that hill".
What? Oy.
I could tell from the expression on Miles O'Brien's face (he is an anchor at CNN) that he thought the whole Michael Jackson coverage was superfluous and he even said at one point, "We are really beating a dead horse with this story".
At that point, if I could have reached into the television screen and planted a big ol' wet kiss on his face, I would have! You go Miles!
However, later in the coverage ... he truly made me laugh out loud as he exhibited what an excellent "thinking on his feet" kind of guy he is.
Apparently a CNN reporter (who is a pilot) had flown into the small airport at Santa Barbara and was sitting in the Signature Terminal speaking to the CNN anchors via cell phone. He boasted proudly that because he had his aircraft parked at the terminal, he was afforded the luxury of being inside the terminal where mere mortals (other reporters and spectators) could not traverse.
After much news coverage and folderol over a (quite lovely) black & white LearJet that had nothing to do with the Jackson case ... this reporter/pilot was given the confirmation that a white Gulfstream (G3) was indeed carrying Michael Jackson and it had landed and was directed inside a large hangar.
The reporter stated that he would find the hangar (and doubted he would be stopped because of his previously reported "pilot privileges") and he walked out of the terminal towards the tarmac to find the correct hangar.
He was stopped posthaste by a security guard.
I could almost hear Miles O'Brien snickering at the foolishness of the whole situation.
When the reporter/pilot told Miles O'Brien that he could go no further, without skipping a beat, Miles O'Brien said, "Tell them you are an embed with the Michael Jackson entourage".
I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Yep, you go Miles!
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11.17.03 |
First let me state that I am a mellow kind o' girl who has learned to accept people and their eccentricities.
My own quirks and weirdness run more towards cleaning and organization. My lifestyle would be pretty much that of your standard, everyday, vanilla coated, run of the mill woman.
Nothing much seems to shock me anymore: I guess I have spent too much time in hospital emergency rooms through the years and have seen every oddity known to mankind.
However, recently I have become aware of a subculture (for lack of a better term) of individuals that I truly never knew existed.
Furrys. Or furries.
The hell you say! Yes, furries. Not flurries, as in sweet little snowflakes blowing in the wind. Not Furies, as in the Greek mythology of avenging female spirits.
Furries.
While investigating a messy copyright issue for R.I.G.H.T.S., I discovered newsgroups, webrings, and numerous websites dedicated to furries.
So what exactly is a furry?
Apparently it can be a human who believes he/she has the spirit of an animal within them and allows this spirit to become part of them, especially in roleplay ... it can be a human that dresses in part or in whole like an animal but maintains human characteristics ... or it can be an animation of a animal that is human like (for example, Bugs Bunny).
These people role play as these furry animals. They invest money in furry costuming. They attend furry conventions. They interact online and in real life as furry critters with other furry critters.
Although I missed the show, doggone it (pun intended) ... I learned that the TV series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation did an episode (Fourth Season #406 "Fur and Loathing") where a furry raccoon (human dressed in a furry costume) was murdered and left by the side of the highway as roadkill.
How exactly does something like this start? Do you wake up one day, click on the ol' telly, watch the adventures of "Bullwinkle and Rocky" and decide, "Damn, I always wanted to be a squirrel!"?
And then ... how do these people find each other? I mean, who was the first person to be courageous (or crazy) enough to tell someone that they are moved to dress in plushy fur costumes and roleplay as a striped kitten?
I read only what I needed to know about this subculture of individuals ... and truly did not investigate the more lurid... *ahem* ... personal side of furrydom. My imagination is just too vivid and I do not want to go there.
But I cannot help but wonder if there is a spay and neuter program for these folks.
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11.12.03 |
Yesterday afternoon the skies grew cloudy and a soft promising breeze began to stir.
In the evening, the skies were that odd shade of "nighttime mixed with clouds" resulting in a deep mauve-ish brownish gray color.
Although the air was heavy due to a humidity that we arid desert dwellers are not accustomed to, it made the night electric with expectation.
Around 9:pm, the smell of rain on dust drew me to the door. Alas, sprinkles of raindrops were dancing on the azure water of my swimming pool turning it into a psychedelic ballet of ripples against the Italian tile.
When I finally turned out the light for the night, I laid there in the quiet of my room ... double doors open to the deck leaving me vulnerable to the taunts of the foreboding sky.
I awoke. No rain fell through the night and I felt cheated.
However, Mother Nature and a "low" over the Sea of Cortez turned the cloudy morning into a day that became a wonderful gift.
It is very cool, very breezy and has been raining steadily all day.
I can almost hear the plants, grasses and desert flora drinking in the sky's nourishment.
It is Heavenly to me. I love weather. Rain, wind, and brisk temperatures. Moisture. Even snow.
Perhaps this love of days that most people consider dreary, if not dreadful, is generated by too many days of hot unrelenting sun, a layer of dust on everything, the ground cracked and parched from drought, and skies seared white ... searching for color.
Childhood phrasing turned into my personal mantra: Rain, rain come to stay ... become sunny on another day.
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11.11.03 |
I left the house rather early yesterday morning to drive to a downtown Phoenix lab for my monthly blood work. My goal was to avoid traffic and distractions.
Perhaps it was the early hour or the fact that today is Veteran's Day and some people took yesterday off for a long weekend ...
... but I found myself effortlessly traversing the city streets, CD blaring and windows down allowing the cool air of morning to circulate and percolate my still sleepy mind.
I stopped at a red light and looked to my right.
There, standing at a bus stop, was a Marine in full dress uniform. His "cover" glowed bright white in the morning sun and his shoes shined like black glass. He moved slightly to the left and sunlight glinted off his golden buttons.
He was not a tall man. He was certainly not the handsome young model in a "the few, the proud and the brave" recruiting poster. The tight skin and dark hair of his perhaps former self was now a bit softer in the jowls with graying hair at his temples.
I was, however, struck by his stature. He stood there with a presence.
His shoulders back, his spine reaching for the sky, and his eyes reflecting the security of a man who does more than wear a uniform.
He is an everyday Joe, average in size, getting on in years ... waiting for a southbound city bus.
He took my breath away.
Yes, he stood there with a presence of a man on a mission. I could not help but wonder if he was perhaps going downtown for pre-Veteran's Day activities or maybe acting in observance of a fallen soldier.
Regardless, he was a sight to behold.
Today is Veteran's Day. Armistice Day. Remembrance Day. In the United States we pause in celebration to honor America's veterans for their patriotism, love of country, and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the common good.
I am grateful for every man and woman who has ever worn a military uniform in service to the United States.
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11.10.03 |
Okay, I think I did the permalink thing correctly.
Whew, this "thinking it through" stuff is tough!
The "frames" issue is going to be a problem because once the page that you are reading now goes into archives ... and someone clicks on a link outside of this site, it will not show in the "frame".
Wait, does it do that in those fancy blogging programs? Arrrrgh.
Uh oh, brain overload.
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11.05.03 |
I have been having a reoccurring nightmare. In fact, the dream not only comes to me once or maybe twice a week, but if I awaken (too hot, too cold, need to tinkle, etc.) ... I address my needs and go back to sleep and resume dreaming the damned dream.
The dream?
I am working side-by-side with Martha Stewart. No, we are not crafting or cooking or gardening.
I am assisting her in heart by-pass surgery.
However, I am the only one observing sterile precautions: gowned, masked, and properly gloved. Martha is in her button down blouse, slacks and is wearing gardening gloves. Her surgical tools are things you would use in the kitchen or garden.
Sadly, in my dream ... it all seems "right".
Last night I awoke and was spooked by it. Even thinking of it now gives me the spooked-willys.
I turned over and went back to sleep but Martha never re-entered my dreaming from that point. Thank God ... because I was dreaming one of those um, er ... unmentionable dreams and having her appear in that kind of dream would truly be nightmarish and put me off sex permanently!
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11.02.03 |
As I sit here, eyes heavy from the need to sleep and my body weary from exhaustion ...
... I am preparing to close the day and say good-bye to another birthday.
Friday and Saturday were spent with my family in rather tedious and physical endeavors. Physical activity that often left me breathless and grabbing anything solid for strength or seeking a seat due to excess pain that would challenge my body and taunt my mind.
I could not help but wonder if I was more of a liability than an asset by offering my help, but the experience was good for my spirit to at least think that I was contributing.
So today ... I received a few special 'birthday wishes' telephone calls, a wonderful gift or two, and some lovely cards from those who remembered that this ol' broad was ... *ahem* ... celebrating another birthday.
But in all honesty, I had three very exquisite gifts given to me today that I cannot help but look to my God and be very, very grateful.
A year ago, I was paralyzed and unable to sit, stand or walk. Today, I grimace in pain due to sore muscles from too much sitting, standing and walking. Each ache, each sore muscle is a blessing and a miracle.
This morning, when I opened my eyes to see my birthday at dawn ... the skies were filled with dark rain clouds. The air was cool and the desert was quiet ... so sweetly quiet. Then, while laying in bed watching the dark clouds drift past the morning's light, it began to rain. Softly, sweetly and with the gentle touch that a Mother has for her child ... Mother Earth caressing the very dry desert floor.
The scent of wet manzanita and creosote was better than any gift that man could create.
And finally, my third most precious of gifts was the cool breeze that greeted me. The southwest has had a very long, very hot summer with days into the triple digits only a week ago .... and today, as I stood on the deck watching the rain dance on the surface of my pool ... the cool breeze of Fall brushed my cheek with the promise of relief.
Yes, indeed ... my cup truly does run over with blessings.
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