That Kind of Day

Today I bought toaster strudels and made it all the way home before I realized that I might not have a toaster. And my car is leaking transmission fluid. The days keep getting longer.

Baraka, the Blog

Although the title defies my stated intent of the previous post, the two are inextricably linked. Roughly two weeks ago, I talked to my roommate's son Luke for the first time. I've known him for about a year, but we seem to stridently avoid any direct personal contact. He's living with us until the end of July, so it was inevitable that we should converse - and in doing so, he asked me to watch Baraka. I deferred viewing indefinitely due to external circumstances. Allow me to pause this particular thread in order to pick up another - I hope to tie the two together shortly.

Alan and Jana were on the great end of a good barter that resulted in their possession of a houseboat on Lake Shasta for a week plus change. They invited me out, and accordingly I went. What they failed to mentioned was that I would have one of the best weeks of my past year or so. The entourage included a couple of excessively intelligent people all of whom also possessed an uncanny knack for self-deprecation, deep belly-laughs and a dollop of meta-thought. I swear it was more or less heavenly. Not only was the temperature several degrees cooler on the water than in the valley, we were able to jump into the water for immediate relief. Nobody was concerned about his/her appearance, and there existed easy camaraderie from the get-go. Furthermore, a few incredible conversations came about that jarred me back into rational thought which has been sorely lacking in my vie quotidienne, as they say. We discussed science and philosophy among other topics and in every case I was treated with enough respect to be decently challenged. I loathe feeling the patronizing agreement of brilliant people who are intent only upon mollification. Bah, that's got nothing to do with here, because it was conspicuously absent there. In short, I felt a deep stirring in my soul that I've missed. In one of these conversations the movie Baraka was mentioned again & this time by a party that I had reason to respect and appreciate.

Like all good times, the houseboating came to an end, but to be honest - I'm still not quite ready to let go. Hence my viewing of Baraka. When the participants go their separate ways and ties are severed, I feel a dissatisfaction that no amount of effort can truly recapture the precise scenario and chemistry of what came before. It is, in large part, due to my reluctance to compartmentalize brief meetings to the realm of past history that I perceive the need continue my mental conversations by actually experiencing subjects of our discussions. Turns out, Baraka was an excellent choice. I think I'll take some time tomorrow to jot down my reaction to the film. In the meantime, life moves forward and once again, I am convinced that the only indelible impression to by left on earth is that which we leave on each other.

PS - I keep spell-checking my blogs & the function continually highlights words that I've spelled correctly. What's that about?

Demoralization

Today I participated in an annual ritual that is perhaps among the most hated activities in my life: swimsuit shopping. My mother is an excellent seamstress, and yet even she struggles to craft the perfect suit. With this knowledge in mind, I find it peculiar that the modern American fashion industry has chosen to populate the market with what can only be described as village idiots.

My angst has less to do with my physique than it has to do with the impossibility of adequately addressing simple things like torso length. Note to swimsuit designers: it is not beyond the realm of possibility that a women would be both tall and thick. I found a plethora of suits that were wider in the hips & bust - and yet the length of the torso either left my breasts or my bum utterly exposed. I find this unacceptable for family vacations. Additionally - those of us who have surpassed the median American height of 5'5" are not all plagued by eating disorders. I found a number (albeit a lesser number than the thick suits) of long-torso suits, each of which may have nicely covered a thigh, but little more.

I also think it's inconceivably rude that there is precious little variation in age-appropriate swimsuits. The aforementioned idiots must have failed to observe that there are several stages of life, stylistically speaking, between puberty and menopause. Tours through Old Navy, Target, Kohls, Macy's, among other venues failed to reveal any concept of transitional ages. I can only assume that the designers, in their infinite wisdom, have learned that by the end of the shopping experience a woman will be worn into utter haggard, premature aging and thusly identify with the matronly suits that are slight degrees removed from a floral burqa.

Anyway, stay tuned for another post on how I was re-moralized by a fantastic week! Until soon lovely readers...

Weird World

As I type this, I'm sitting on my parents' couch watching Cathy's sweet dog Sophie cure her insomnia. She was nicely snuggled up beside me, when a pesky bug started buzzing around the room. I'm a little amazed that she woke up at all, but the puppy seemed genuinely agitated at the resonant intrusion into her Land of Nod. So, up she pops and promptly finds the offender on the ground. It's a strange brown bug, about the size of a peanut. She stalked it for a second, sniffing and huffing, curious every time it moved. Well, she darn near messed her doggy drawers when the bug took off in flight, but bravely recouped and attempted to catch it mid-air. This must have caused a mess in the little buggy drawers, because the critter proceeded to fly right into the ceiling fan and get knocked back down into Sophie territory. I'm now sitting here watching the two of them duel unto the death, presumably the insect's. Sophie picks it up and then freaks out at the movement and drops it. She swats it with her paw and apparently gets tickled and lets it go. Now she's figured out that she can literally toss the thing with her mouth which wouldn't bother me if I wasn't afraid it would land on me. Anyway, here's to unexpected entertainment.

Let the Hot Flashes Begin

I was not built for extreme heat.  I know this because I near death every time the thermometer exceeds 95 degrees.  I also know that I am a wimp.  

In an effort to toughen up, I have begun researching simple tricks to acclimate myself to the debilitating temperatures that will inevitably mark my first summer in Redding.  What follows are my favorite tips on how to sleep through an extremely hot night.  Good people, I'll have you know that I am not making this up.

The first tip I found was called the "Laurence Method."  It entails kicking the covers off the bed.  Apparently, something so obvious as removing fabric intended to trap warmth as a means of cooling oneself required a label.  Whomever this Laurence is, he's a genius of sorts.  

Second - Position yourself spread-eagle and think cool thoughts.  I'm amazed at the brilliant self-awareness anyone might possess that would allow them to "think cool thoughts" while sinking into REM.  In an effort to toss cynicism aside I will attempt this mind-over-matter method. Right now, for example I am conjuring up images of hiking across a frozen tundra while scantily clad.  I feel no cooler.  

Next up - Sleep naked.  Again, I thought this was rather obvious, but okay, I'll go with it.  My favorite part of this tidbit was the admonishment to refrain from the skivvie-less tact if one lives with roomates or in a dorm.  Priceless.

And then there's the one about wetting your bedding/clothing in an effort to speed up evaporation - nevermind the fact that you'll be twisted in a tangle of hot, moist fabric until you suffocate.

Okay, enough sarcasm - there actually were some tips that seem viable: put a bowl of ice in front of a fan and position the air flow towards your face (I'll probably use this one tonight); freeze a couple of ice packs & place them at your feet & pulse points along your body; run cool water over your wrists a few minutes before bedtime; make a solution of rubbing alcohol, spearmint oil, and water, and spritz it on your face and neck if you start to overheat; use a pillow that retains less heat - buckwheat, for example, and go to bed with wet hair.

I'll keep you posted on my progress!

Inane Injustice

Good people, I pay taxes.  Roughly 20-30% of my income goes to Uncle Sam and at least one of his 50 retarded children.  Those taxes, presumably, go towards the upkeep of the roads upon which I drive and for which I am grateful.  I also, occasionally park upon those roads that are "publicly" owned.  I consider myself to be part of "the public."  Now, follow this with me.  Today I parked in a spot, upon the surface of a road that I, as a part of the collective whole, own.  I put money into a meter at $.25 per 12 minutes for the right to park in the spot that I own.  While spending money at the shops that surround the spot, I inadvertently allowed the meter to expire resulting in a parking ticket.  The meter maid is a public employee - to be clear, my taxes pay the meter maid who ticketed me.  I have now been charged by an individual I pay for overstaying my welcome on a small plot of land that I own, and had already paid to use.  Is it no wonder that I am mildly infuriated?

I Knew I Loved Her When...

I was fond of Sophie when we first got her.  I was delighted with her when I witnessed her unabashed curiosity.  I adored her when she displayed all the spunk and joy an puppy should possess.  Today, however I can say with utter finality that I love this dog.  I spent the past couple of days baking & cooking in anticipation of a dinner party that was an absolute balm to my soul.  Recovering from the effort occupied the better part of my day and I was just relishing the relaxation of having completed tasks... still though, I had a bit of a lingering need to cook, and so invited a few folks over for a simple meal.  I observed throughout the past few days, that Sophie would roam the kitchen floor, seeking fallen morsels.  Not sure what her teensy puppy belly can tolerate, I would inspect her findings if she lingered too long in any one spot.  This afternoon, she was not only lingering, but seemed to be kind of playing which prompted me to dutifully examine the situation.  Turns out, my Duchess Sophie Diamond Darling had found a huge black spider and chosen to execute it, doggy-style.  She caught it in her mouth and I imagine the wiggling tickled, or something, because she flipped it up in the air and worried over it as it landed.  The poor brute had no chance; ferocious Sophie repeated her ritual until the spider was robbed of its despicable life.  I congratulated her heartily, while Tawny admonished her - I'm not real sure what message Sophers took away from the event.  All I know is that I got a spider-killer in my camp.  Yessir.