Into Antiquity

Dreams

2009-03-18T16:19:00.001-07:00

I really, really, really for-the-love-of-God wish I could go to this show this weekend.

Every band I've liked in the past two months is playing this freaking show.

Positioning Statement:

2009-03-18T13:10:00.000-07:00

Without direction or focus, a business or organization often acts like a multi-headed creature -speaking from many mouths, saying nothing and going nowhere.
From a management perspective, positioning is the heartbeat of an effective communications plan. A well-crafted positioning statement defines your company's direction. It answers seven essential questions:
· who you are
· what business you're in
· for whom (what people do you serve)
· what's needed by the market you serve
· against whom do you compete
· what's different about your business
· what unique benefit is derived from your product or services?
Don't confuse a positioning statement with market position. As Harry Beckwith states so clearly in his book Selling the Invisible, "A position (or statement of position) is a cold-hearted, no-nonsense statement of how you are perceived in the minds of your prospects. A positioning statement, by contrast expresses how you wish to be perceived. It is the core message you want to deliver in every medium."
So, how can you get your communications program on the right path? By creating a clear, defensible, differentiated positioning statement and supporting key messages to guide you and others along the way.

If I were on Chopped

2009-03-18T10:36:00.000-07:00

The judges would be like, she didn't use any of the secret ingredients, all she did was put a bunch of ONIONS GARLIC AND POTATOES TOGETHER. It seems that this is all I cook, or know how to cook. I occasionally mix it up with some chicken or spinach.

I'd like to be on Chopped and be forced to cook something random with very little time. I like how they were given so little time the cooks couldn't even COOK THE CHICKEN in that amount of time, so it was a disaster.

Last night I made a salad with spinach, marinated red onions, gorgonzola cheese and mushrooms. It was not as good as the last time I made this salad, which is annoying because this time it took 5x longer due to the chopping and the marinating etc. I also cooked some chicken with onions and garlic. I was cooking while watching Chopped and drinking a bottle of red wine.

I like bottles of red wine because they end just as I'm about to get DRUNK. Which is good, because my internal shut off meter is basically broken.

You think you know where this story is going, but really, you dont

2009-03-17T00:06:00.000-07:00

A Good Man Is Hard To Find
by Flannery O'Connor

The grandmother didn't want to go to Florida. She wanted to visit some of her connections in east Tennes- see and she was seizing at every chance to change Bailey's mind. Bailey was the son she lived with, her only boy. He was sitting on the edge of his chair at the table, bent over the orange sports section of the Journal. "Now look here, Bailey," she said, "see here, read this," and she stood with one hand on her thin hip and the other rattling the newspaper at his bald head. "Here this fellow that calls himself The Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldn't take my children in any direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldn't answer to my conscience if I did."

Bailey didn't look up from his reading so she wheeled around then and faced the children's mother, a young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like rabbit's ears. She was sitting on the sofa, feeding the baby his apricots out of a jar. "The children have been to Florida before," the old lady said. "You all ought to take them somewhere else for a change so they would see different parts of the world and be broad. They never have been to east Tennessee."

The children's mother didn't seem to hear her but the eight-year-old boy, John Wesley, a stocky child with glasses, said, "If you don't want to go to Florida, why dontcha stay at home?" He and the little girl, June Star, were reading the funny papers on the floor.

"She wouldn't stay at home to be queen for a day," June Star said without raising her yellow head.

"Yes and what would you do if this fellow, The Misfit, caught you?" the grandmother asked.

"I'd smack his face," John Wesley said.

"She wouldn't stay at home for a million bucks," June Star said. "Afraid she'd miss something. She has to go everywhere we go."

"All right, Miss," the grandmother said. "Just re- member that the next time you want me to curl your hair."

June Star said her hair was naturally curly.

The next morning the grandmother was the first one in the car, ready to go. She had her big black valise that looked like the head of a hippopotamus in one corner, and underneath it she was hiding a basket with Pitty Sing, the cat, in it. She didn't intend for the cat to be left alone in the house for three days because he would miss her too much and she was afraid he might brush against one of her gas burners and accidentally asphyxiate himself. Her son, Bailey, didn't like to arrive at a motel with a cat.

She sat in the middle of the back seat with John Wesley and June Star on either side of her. Bailey and the children's mother and the baby sat in front and they left Atlanta at eight forty-five with the mileage on the car at 55890. The grandmother wrote this down because she thought it would be interesting to say how many miles they had been when they got back. It took them twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of the city.

The old lady settled herself comfortably, removing her white cotton gloves and putting them up with her purse on the shelf in front of the back window. The children's mother still had on slacks and still had her head tied up in a green kerchief, but the grandmother had on a navy blue straw sailor hat with a bunch of white violets on the brim and a navy blue dress with a small white dot in the print. Her collars and cuffs were white organdy trimmed with lace and at her neckline she had pinned a purple spray of cloth violets containing a sachet. In case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady.

She said she thought it was going to be a good day for driving, neither too hot nor too cold, and she cautioned Bailey that the speed limit was fifty-five miles an hour and that the patrolmen hid themselves behind billboards and small clumps of trees and sped out after you before you had a chance to slow down. She pointed out interesting details of the scenery: Stone Mountain; the blue granite that in some places came up to both sides of the highway; the brilliant red clay banks slightly streaked with purple; and the various crops that made rows of green lace-work on the ground. The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled. The children were reading comic magazines and their mother and gone back to sleep.

"Let's go through Georgia fast so we won't have to look at it much," John Wesley said.

"If I were a little boy," said the grandmother, "I wouldn't talk about my native state that way. Tennessee has the mountains and Georgia has the hills."

"Tennessee is just a hillbilly dumping ground," John Wesley said, "and Georgia is a lousy state too."

"You said it," June Star said.

"In my time," said the grandmother, folding her thin veined fingers, "children were more respectful of their native states and their parents and everything else. People did right then. Oh look at the cute little pickaninny!" she said and pointed to a Negro child standing in the door of a shack. "Wouldn't that make a picture, now?" she asked and they all turned and looked at the little Negro out of the back window. He waved

"He didn't have any britches on," June Star said.

"He probably didn't have any," the grandmother explained. "Little riggers in the country don't have things like we do. If I could paint, I'd paint that picture," she said.

The children exchanged comic books.

The grandmother offered to hold the baby and the children's mother passed him over the front seat to her. She set him on her knee and bounced him and told him about the things they were passing. She rolled her eyes and screwed up her mouth and stuck her leathery thin face into his smooth bland one. Occasionally he gave her a faraway smile. They passed a large cotton field with five or fix graves fenced in the middle of it, like a small island. "Look at the graveyard!" the grandmother said, pointing it out. "That was the old family burying ground. That belonged to the plantation."

"Where's the plantation?" John Wesley asked.

"Gone With the Wind" said the grandmother. "Ha. Ha."

When the children finished all the comic books they had brought, they opened the lunch and ate it. The grandmother ate a peanut butter sandwich and an olive and would not let the children throw the box and the paper napkins out the window. When there was nothing else to do they played a game by choosing a cloud and making the other two guess what shape it suggested. John Wesley took one the shape of a cow and June Star guessed a cow and John Wesley said, no, an automobile, and June Star said he didn't play fair, and they began to slap each other over the grandmother.

The grandmother said she would tell them a story if they would keep quiet. When she told a story, she rolled her eyes and waved her head and was very dramatic. She said once when she was a maiden lady she had been courted by a Mr. Edgar Atkins Teagarden from Jasper, Georgia. She said he was a very good-looking man and a gentleman and that he brought her a watermelon every Saturday afternoon with his initials cut in it, E. A. T. Well, one Saturday, she said, Mr. Teagarden brought the watermelon and there was nobody at home and he left it on the front porch and returned in his buggy to Jasper, but she never got the watermelon, she said, because a nigger boy ate it when he saw the initials, E. A. T. ! This story tickled John Wesley's funny bone and he giggled and giggled but June Star didn't think it was any good. She said she wouldn't marry a man that just brought her a watermelon on Saturday. The grandmother said she would have done well to marry Mr. Teagarden because he was a gentle man and had bought Coca-Cola stock when it first came out and that he had died only a few years ago, a very wealthy man.

They stopped at The Tower for barbecued sand- wiches. The Tower was a part stucco and part wood filling station and dance hall set in a clearing outside of Timothy. A fat man named Red Sammy Butts ran it and there were signs stuck here and there on the building and for miles up and down the highway saying, TRY RED SAMMY'S FAMOUS BARBECUE. NONE LIKE FAMOUS RED SAMMY'S! RED SAM! THE FAT BOY WITH THE HAPPY LAUGH. A VETERAN! RED SAMMY'S YOUR MAN!

Red Sammy was lying on the bare ground outside The Tower with his head under a truck while a gray monkey about a foot high, chained to a small chinaberry tree, chattered nearby. The monkey sprang back into the tree and got on the highest limb as soon as he saw the children jump out of the car and run toward him.

Inside, The Tower was a long dark room with a counter at one end and tables at the other and dancing space in the middle. They all sat down at a board table next to the nickelodeon and Red Sam's wife, a tall burnt-brown woman with hair and eyes lighter than her skin, came and took their order. The children's mother put a dime in the machine and played "The Tennessee Waltz," and the grandmother said that tune always made her want to dance. She asked Bailey if he would like to dance but he only glared at her. He didn't have a naturally sunny disposition like she did and trips made him nervous. The grandmother's brown eyes were very bright. She swayed her head from side to side and pretended she was dancing in her chair. June Star said play something she could tap to so the children's mother put in another dime and played a fast number and June Star stepped out onto the dance floor and did her tap routine.

"Ain't she cute?" Red Sam's wife said, leaning over the counter. "Would you like to come be my little girl?"

"No I certainly wouldn't," June Star said. "I wouldn't live in a broken-down place like this for a million bucks!" and she ran back to the table.

"Ain't she cute?" the woman repeated, stretching her mouth politely.

"Arn't you ashamed?" hissed the grandmother.

Red Sam came in and told his wife to quit lounging on the counter and hurry up with these people's order. His khaki trousers reached just to his hip bones and his stomach hung over them like a sack of meal swaying under his shirt. He came over and sat down at a table nearby and let out a combination sigh and yodel. "You can't win," he said. "You can't win," and he wiped his sweating red face off with a gray handkerchief. "These days you don't know who to trust," he said. "Ain't that the truth?"

"People are certainly not nice like they used to be," said the grandmother.

"Two fellers come in here last week," Red Sammy said, "driving a Chrysler. It was a old beat-up car but it was a good one and these boys looked all right to me. Said they worked at the mill and you know I let them fellers charge the gas they bought? Now why did I do that?"

"Because you're a good man!" the grandmother said at once.

"Yes'm, I suppose so," Red Sam said as if he were struck with this answer.

His wife brought the orders, carrying the five plates all at once without a tray, two in each hand and one balanced on her arm. "It isn't a soul in this green world of God's that you can trust," she said. "And I don't count nobody out of that, not nobody," she repeated, looking at Red Sammy.

"Did you read about that criminal, The Misfit, that's escaped?" asked the grandmother.

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he didn't attack this place right here," said the woman. "If he hears about it being here, I wouldn't be none surprised to see him. If he hears it's two cent in the cash register, I wouldn't be a tall surprised if he . . ."

"That'll do," Red Sam said. "Go bring these people their Co'-Colas," and the woman went off to get the rest of the order.

"A good man is hard to find," Red Sammy said. "Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more."

He and the grandmother discussed better times. The old lady said that in her opinion Europe was entirely to blame for the way things were now. She said the way Europe acted you would think we were made of money and Red Sam said it was no use talking about it, she was exactly right. The children ran outside into the white sunlight and looked at the monkey in the lacy chinaberry tree. He was busy catching fleas on himself and biting each one carefully between his teeth as if it were a delicacy.

They drove off again into the hot afternoon. The grandmother took cat naps and woke up every few minutes with her own snoring. Outside of Toombsboro she woke up and recalled an old plantation that she had visited in this neighborhood once when she was a young lady. She said the house had six white columns across the front and that there was an avenue of oaks leading up to it and two little wooden trellis arbors on either side in front where you sat down with your suitor after a stroll in the garden. She recalled exactly which road to turn off to get to it. She knew that Bailey would not be willing to lose any time looking at an old house, but the more she talked about it, the more she wanted to see it once again and find out if the little twin arbors were still standing. "There was a secret:-panel in this house," she said craftily, not telling the truth but wishing that she were, "and the story went that all the family silver was hidden in it when Sherman came through but it was never found . . ."

"Hey!" John Wesley said. "Let's go see it! We'll find it! We'll poke all the woodwork and find it! Who lives there? Where do you turn off at? Hey Pop, can't we turn off there?"

"We never have seen a house with a secret panel!" June Star shrieked. "Let's go to the house with the secret panel! Hey Pop, can't we go see the house with the secret panel!"

"It's not far from here, I know," the grandmother said. "It wouldn't take over twenty minutes."

Bailey was looking straight ahead. His jaw was as rigid as a horseshoe. "No," he said.

The children began to yell and scream that they wanted to see the house with the secret panel. John Wesley kicked the back of the front seat and June Star hung over her mother's shoulder and whined desperately into her ear that they never had any fun even on their vacation, that they could never do what THEY wanted to do. The baby began to scream and John Wesley kicked the back of the seat so hard that his father could feel the blows in his kidney.

"All right!" he shouted and drew the car to a stop at the side of the road. "Will you all shut up? Will you all just shut up for one second? If you don't shut up, we won't go anywhere."

"It would be very educational for them," the grandmother murmured.

"All right," Bailey said, "but get this: this is the only time we're going to stop for anything like this. This is the one and only time."

"The dirt road that you have to turn down is about a mile back," the grandmother directed. "I marked it when we passed."

"A dirt road," Bailey groaned.

After they had turned around and were headed toward the dirt road, the grandmother recalled other points about the house, the beautiful glass over the front doorway and the candle-lamp in the hall. John Wesley said that the secret panel was probably in the fireplace.

"You can't go inside this house," Bailey said. "You don't know who lives there."

"While you all talk to the people in front, I'll run around behind and get in a window," John Wesley suggested.

"We'll all stay in the car," his mother said.

They turned onto the dirt road and the car raced roughly along in a swirl of pink dust. The grandmother recalled the times when there were no paved roads and thirty miles was a day's journey. The dirt road was hilly and there were sudden washes in it and sharp curves on dangerous embankments. All at once they would be on a hill, looking down over the blue tops of trees for miles around, then the next minute, they would be in a red depression with the dust-coated trees looking down on them.

"This place had better turn up in a minute," Bailey said, "or I'm going to turn around."

The road looked as if no one had traveled on it in months.

"It's not much farther," the grandmother said and just as she said it, a horrible thought came to her. The thought was so embarrassing that she turned red in the face and her eyes dilated and her feet jumped up, upsetting her valise in the corner. The instant the valise moved, the newspaper top she had over the basket under it rose with a snarl and Pitty Sing, the cat, sprang onto Bailey's shoulder.

The children were thrown to the floor and their mother, clutching the baby, was thrown out the door onto the ground; the old lady was thrown into the front seat. The car turned over once and landed right-side-up in a gulch off the side of the road. Bailey remained in the driver's seat with the cat gray-striped with a broad white face and an orange nose clinging to his neck like a caterpillar.

As soon as the children saw they could move their arms and legs, they scrambled out of the car, shouting, "We've had an ACCIDENT!" The grandmother was curled up under the dashboard, hoping she was injured so that Bailey's wrath would not come down on her all at once. The horrible thought she had had before the accident was that the house she had remembered so vividly was not in Georgia but in Tennessee.

Bailey removed the cat from his neck with both hands and flung it out the window against the side of a pine tree. Then he got out of the car and started looking for the children's mother. She was sitting against the side of the red gutted ditch, holding the screaming baby, but she only had a cut down her face and a broken shoulder. "We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed in a frenzy of delight.

"But nobody's killed," June Star said with disappointment as the grandmother limped out of the car, her hat still pinned to her head but the broken front brim standing up at a jaunty angle and the violet spray hanging off the side. They all sat down in the ditch, except the children, to recover from the shock. They were all shaking.

"Maybe a car will come along," said the children's mother hoarsely.

"I believe I have injured an organ," said the grandmother, pressing her side, but no one answered her. Bailey's teeth were clattering. He had on a yellow sport shirt with bright blue parrots designed in it and his face was as yellow as the shirt. The grandmother decided that she would not mention that the house was in Tennessee.

The road was about ten feet above and they could see only the tops of the trees on the other side of it. Behind the ditch they were sitting in there were more woods, tall and dark and deep. In a few minutes they saw a car some distance away on top of a hill, coming slowly as if the occupants were watching them. The grandmother stood up and waved both arms dramatically to attract their attention. The car continued to come on slowly, disappeared around a bend and appeared again, moving even slower, on top of the hill they had gone over. It was a big black battered hearselike automobile. There were three men in it.

It came to a stop just over them and for some minutes, the driver looked down with a steady expressionless gaze to where they were sitting, and didn't speak. Then he turned his head and muttered something to the other two and they got out. One was a fat boy in black trousers and a red sweat shirt with a silver stallion embossed on the front of it. He moved around on the right side of them and stood staring, his mouth partly open in a kind of loose grin. The other had on khaki pants and a blue striped coat and a gray hat pulled down very low, hiding most of his face. He came around slowly on the left side. Neither spoke.

The driver got out of the car and stood by the side of it, looking down at them. He was an older man than the other two. His hair was just beginning to gray and he wore silver-rimmed spectacles that gave him a scholarly look. He had a long creased face and didn't have on any shirt or undershirt. He had on blue jeans that were too tight for him and was holding a black hat and a gun. The two boys also had guns.

"We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed.

The grandmother had the peculiar feeling that the bespectacled man was someone she knew. His face was as familiar to her as if she had known him all her life but she could not recall who he was. He moved away from the car and began to come down the embankment, placing his feet carefully so that he wouldn't slip. He had on tan and white shoes and no socks, and his ankles were red and thin. "Good afternoon," he said. "I see you all had you a little spill."

"We turned over twice!" said the grandmother.

"Once", he corrected. "We seen it happen. Try their car and see will it run, Hiram," he said quietly to the boy with the gray hat.

"What you got that gun for?" John Wesley asked. "Whatcha gonna do with that gun?"

"Lady," the man said to the children's mother, "would you mind calling them children to sit down by you? Children make me nervous. I want all you all to sit down right together there where you're at."

"What are you telling US what to do for?" June Star asked.

Behind them the line of woods gaped like a dark open mouth. "Come here," said their mother.

"Look here now," Bailey began suddenly, "we're in a predicament! We're in . . ."

The grandmother shrieked. She scrambled to her feet and stood staring. "You're The Misfit!" she said. "I recognized you at once!"

"Yes'm," the man said, smiling slightly as if he were pleased in spite of himself to be known, "but it would have been better for all of you, lady, if you hadn't of reckernized me."

Bailey turned his head sharply and said something to his mother that shocked even the children. The old lady began to cry and The Misfit reddened.

"Lady," he said, "don't you get upset. Sometimes a man says things he don't mean. I don't reckon he meant to talk to you thataway."

"You wouldn't shoot a lady, would you?" the grandmother said and removed a clean handkerchief from her cuff and began to slap at her eyes with it.

The Misfit pointed the toe of his shoe into the ground and made a little hole and then covered it up again. "I would hate to have to," he said.

"Listen," the grandmother almost screamed, "I know you're a good man. You don't look a bit like you have common blood. I know you must come from nice people!"

"Yes mam," he said, "finest people in the world." When he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth. "God never made a finer woman than my mother and my daddy's heart was pure gold," he said. The boy with the red sweat shirt had come around behind them and was standing with his gun at his hip. The Misfit squatted down on the ground. "Watch them children, Bobby Lee," he said. "You know they make me nervous." He looked at the six of them huddled together in front of him and he seemed to be embarrassed as if he couldn't think of anything to say. "Ain't a cloud in the sky," he remarked, looking up at it. "Don't see no sun but don't see no cloud neither."

"Yes, it's a beautiful day," said the grandmother. "Listen," she said, "you shouldn't call yourself The Misfit because I know you're a good man at heart. I can just look at you and tell."

"Hush!" Bailey yelled. "Hush! Everybody shut up and let me handle this!" He was squatting in the position of a runner about to sprint forward but he didn't move.

"I pre-chate that, lady," The Misfit said and drew a little circle in the ground with the butt of his gun.

"It'll take a half a hour to fix this here car," Hiram called, looking over the raised hood of it.

"Well, first you and Bobby Lee get him and that little boy to step over yonder with you," The Misfit said, pointing to Bailey and John Wesley. "The boys want to ast you something," he said to Bailey. "Would you mind stepping back in them woods there with them?"

"Listen," Bailey began, "we're in a terrible predicament! Nobody realizes what this is," and his voice cracked. His eyes were as blue and intense as the parrots in his shirt and he remained perfectly still.

The grandmother reached up to adjust her hat brim as if she were going to the woods with him but it came off in her hand. She stood staring at it and after a second she let it fall on the ground. Hiram pulled Bailey up by the arm as if he were assisting an old man. John Wesley caught hold of his father's hand and Bobby I,ee followed. They went off toward the woods and just as they reached the dark edge, Bailey turned and supporting himself against a gray naked pine trunk, he shouted, "I'll be back in a minute, Mamma, wait on me!"

"Come back this instant!" his mother shrilled but they all disappeared into the woods.

"Bailey Boy!" the grandmother called in a tragic voice but she found she was looking at The Misfit squatting on the ground in front of her. "I just know you're a good man," she said desperately. "You're not a bit common!"

"Nome, I ain't a good man," The Misfit said after a second ah if he had considered her statement carefully, "but I ain't the worst in the world neither. My daddy said I was a different breed of dog from my brothers and sisters. 'You know,' Daddy said, 'it's some that can live their whole life out without asking about it and it's others has to know why it is, and this boy is one of the latters. He's going to be into everything!"' He put on his black hat and looked up suddenly and then away deep into the woods as if he were embarrassed again. "I'm sorry I don't have on a shirt before you ladies," he said, hunching his shoulders slightly. "We buried our clothes that we had on when we escaped and we're just making do until we can get better. We borrowed these from some folks we met," he explained.

"That's perfectly all right," the grandmother said. "Maybe Bailey has an extra shirt in his suitcase."

"I'll look and see terrectly," The Misfit said.

"Where are they taking him?" the children's mother screamed.

"Daddy was a card himself," The Misfit said. "You couldn't put anything over on him. He never got in trouble with the Authorities though. Just had the knack of handling them."

"You could be honest too if you'd only try," said the grandmother. "Think how wonderful it would be to settle down and live a comfortable life and not have to think about somebody chasing you all the time."

The Misfit kept scratching in the ground with the butt of his gun as if he were thinking about it. "Yestm, somebody is always after you," he murmured.

The grandmother noticed how thin his shoulder blades were just behind his hat because she was standing up looking down on him. "Do you every pray?" she asked.

He shook his head. All she saw was the black hat wiggle between his shoulder blades. "Nome," he said.

There was a pistol shot from the woods, followed closely by another. Then silence. The old lady's head jerked around. She could hear the wind move through the tree tops like a long satisfied insuck of breath. "Bailey Boy!" she called.

"I was a gospel singer for a while," The Misfit said. "I been most everything. Been in the arm service both land and sea, at home and abroad, been twict married, been an undertaker, been with the railroads, plowed Mother Earth, been in a tornado, seen a man burnt alive oncet," and he looked up at the children's mother and the little girl who were sitting close together, their faces white and their eyes glassy; "I even seen a woman flogged," he said.

"Pray, pray," the grandmother began, "pray, pray . . ."

I never was a bad boy that I remember of," The Misfit said in an almost dreamy voice, "but somewheres along the line I done something wrong and got sent to the penitentiary. I was buried alive," and he looked up and held her attention to him by a steady stare.

"That's when you should have started to pray," she said. "What did you do to get sent to the penitentiary that first time?"

"Turn to the right, it was a wall," The Misfit said, looking up again at the cloudless sky. "Turn to the left, it was a wall. Look up it was a ceiling, look down it was a floor. I forget what I done, lady. I set there and set there, trying to remember what it was I done and I ain't recalled it to this day. Oncet in a while, I would think it was coming to me, but it never come."

"Maybe they put you in by mistake," the old lady said vaguely.

"Nome," he said. "It wasn't no mistake. They had the papers on me."

"You must have stolen something," she said.

The Misfit sneered slightly. "Nobody had nothing I wanted," he said. "It was a head-doctor at the penitentiary said what I had done was kill my daddy but I known that for a lie. My daddy died in nineteen ought nineteen of the epidemic flu and I never had a thing to do with it. He was buried in the Mount Hopewell Baptist churchyard and you can go there and see for yourself."

"If you would pray," the old lady said, "Jesus would help you."

"That's right," The Misfit said.

"Well then, why don't you pray?" she asked trembling with delight suddenly.

"I don't want no hep," he said. "I'm doing all right by myself."

Bobby Lee and Hiram came ambling back from the woods. Bobby Lee was dragging a yellow shirt with bright blue parrots in it.

"Thow me that shirt, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. The shirt came flying at him and landed on his shoulder and he put it on. The grandmother couldn't name what the shirt reminded her of. "No, lady," The Misfit said while he was buttoning it up, "I found out the crime don't matter. You can do one thing or you can do another, kill a man or take a tire off his car, because sooner or later you're going to forget what it was you done and just be punished for it."

The children's mother had begun to make heaving noises as if she couldn't get her breath. "Lady," he asked, "would you and that little girl like to step off yonder with Bobby Lee and Hiram and join your husband?"

"Yes, thank you," the mother said faintly. Her left arm dangled helplessly and she was holding the baby, who had gone to sleep, in the other. "Hep that lady up, Hiram," The Misfit said as she struggled to climb out of the ditch, "and Bobby Lee, you hold onto that little girl's hand."

"I don't want to hold hands with him," June Star said. "He reminds me of a pig."

The fat boy blushed and laughed and caught her by the arm and pulled her off into the woods after Hiram and her mother.

Alone with The Misfit, the grandmother found that she had lost her voice. There was not a cloud in the sky nor any sun. There was nothing around her but woods. She wanted to tell him that he must pray. She opened and closed her mouth several times before anything came out. Finally she found herself saying, "Jesus. Jesus," meaning, Jesus will help you, but the way she was saying it, it sounded as if she might be cursing.

"Yes'm, The Misfit said as if he agreed. "Jesus shown everything off balance. It was the same case with Him as with me except He hadn't committed any crime and they could prove I had committed one because they had the papers on me. Of course," he said, "they never shown me my papers. That's why I sign myself now. I said long ago, you get you a signature and sign everything you do and keep a copy of it. Then you'll know what you done and you can hold up the crime to the punishment and see do they match and in the end you'll have something to prove you ain't been treated right. I call myself The Misfit," he said, "because I can't make what all I done wrong fit what all I gone through in punishment."

There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a pistol report. "Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap and another ain't punished at all?"

"Jesus!" the old lady cried. "You've got good blood! I know you wouldn't shoot a lady! I know you come from nice people! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I'll give you all the money I've got!"

"Lady," The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, "there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip."

There were two more pistol reports and the grandmother raised her head like a parched old turkey hen crying for water and called, "Bailey Boy, Bailey Boy!" as if her heart would break.

"Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead," The Misfit continued, "and He shouldn't have done it. He shown everything off balance. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but thow away everything and follow Him, and if He didn't, then it's nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some other meanness to him. No pleasure but meanness," he said and his voice had become almost a snarl.

"Maybe He didn't raise the dead," the old lady mumbled, not knowing what she was saying and feeling so dizzy that she sank down in the ditch with her legs twisted under her.

"I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't," The Misfit said. "I wisht I had of been there," he said, hitting the ground with his fist. "It ain't right I wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known. Listen lady," he said in a high voice, "if I had of been there I would of known and I wouldn't be like I am now." His voice seemed about to crack and the grandmother's head cleared for an instant. She saw the man's face twisted close to her own as if he were going to cry and she murmured, "Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children !" She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. The Misfit sprang back as if a snake had bitten him and shot her three times through the chest. Then he put his gun down on the ground and took off his glasses and began to clean them.

Hiram and Bobby Lee returned from the woods and stood over the ditch, looking down at the grandmother who half sat and half lay in a puddle of blood with her legs crossed under her like a child's and her face smiling up at the cloudless sky.

Without his glasses, The Misfit's eyes were red-rimmed and pale and defenseless-looking. "Take her off and thow her where you thown the others," he said, picking up the cat that was rubbing itself against his leg.

"She was a talker, wasn't she?" Bobby Lee said, sliding down the ditch with a yodel.

"She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."

"Some fun!" Bobby Lee said.

"Shut up, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. "It's no real pleasure in life."

Jon Stewart calls out the Mainstream Media

2009-03-13T15:12:00.000-07:00

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Jim Cramer Unedited Interview Pt. 1

Daily Show Full Episodes
Important Things w/ Demetri Martin

Political Humor
Jim Cramer

Why this is important- For too long, corporate news has perpetuated false truths and played common people into the hands of big money interests. In the case of Jim Cramer, he claims to have 'trusted' the CEOs, analysts and fund managers from fallen investment banks and reported based on that knowledge. That is terrible journalism at best, criminal at worst (JS says that). Jon Stewart makes the point clear that as a former hedge fund manager, Jim most definitely KNEW investment banks were manipulating financial instruments and investor's behavior to increase gains, and if he had half a brain cell or one testicle would have anticipated some sort of decline in long term investments (stock markets).

It's not often that someone calls the media on its bullshit. Jon compares two clips from the same week where Jim definitively states that the crash will only get worse, and then the crash is over and its not a bear market anymore.

I hope corporate news crashes, credit cards crash, leveraged lending crashes, insurance companies crash... I'm young. I can handle the turmoil. But I understand that's a lot of pain for other people. Y'all know me. I like change and turmoil.

Stimulus Plan money for 'Disconnected Youth'

2009-03-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

Apparently, Obama et al thinks we need help. He's offered businesses tax incentives to hire us young, fucked up, out of work and disillusioned hipsters. Just kidding, not hipsters. But it's real nice to know he's thinking about us. Has he become God yet? Also I won't be 25 for long, so I better get on this job thing!

Incentives to Hire Unemployed Veterans and Disconnected Youth. Under current law, businesses are allowed to claim a work opportunity tax credit equal to 40% of the first $6,000 of wages paid to employees of one of nine targeted groups. The bill would create two new targeted groups of prospective employees: unemployed veterans and disconnected youth. An individual would qualify as an unemployed veteran if they were discharged or released from active duty from the Armed Forces during the five-year period prior to hiring and received unemployment compensation for more than four weeks during the year before being hired. An individual qualifies as a disconnected youth if they are between the ages of 16 and 25 and have not been regularly employed or attended school in the past 6 months.

Examined Life

2009-03-11T11:44:00.000-07:00

You see Perfection in Imperfection itself. This is how Zizek feels we should love the world. Love the trash, love the progress, love the conflict and the change. Accept it fully. Work to make it better, but know that there is NO end. We can make progress, but we will never encounter a world which satisfies every pre-conceived concept of what we think we want.

I saw the film "Examined Life" last night. For the most part, it was worthless- a refresher course on the moral depravity of eating meat, buying expensive clothes, caring more about your friends and family than suffering people on the other side of the planet. The director asked several philosophers if it is the Philosopher's responsibility to answer questions of what is the meaning of life. One said there is no meaning of life, we're as special as molecules floating in space or dogs playing in a park. All well and good, but humans still have MEANING OF LIFE ISSUES that did not go away that easily. Another said 'making the world a better place' is the meaning of life. Ok, simple enough. Problem solved, right?

A third started dancing around off-topic... I fell asleep rapidly, woke to the old guy shaking his head and expounding on some uselessness. Really, I tried to follow this movie, but it was a big waste of time. Except Zizek. And the section about disabled rights being a moral issue, a political issue and a civil rights issue. Do we want to be part of a society that helps each other, or part of a society where it's every man for himself? The wheelchair bound lesbian woman said it's simple to deflect that question if you're white, straight, male, attractive, middle class, etc., but once you step out of that box, the answer becomes a little more apparent. Yes, we do want to be part of a society that helps each other.

All of this would be fine if it were in a vacuum. Enthusiasm to help others wanes when you 'examine' non-profit inefficiencies, government waste and start thinking about the tradeoffs of pursuing a society based on equality and brotherhood as opposed to innovation and advancement, which is definitely best addressed through private enterprise. Of course I care about equality, and disabled rights, and I don't think that expensive clothes are important and I DO agree that purchasing excessively expensive clothes is morally deplorable. But, as always, I think its important to find a balance, and all told, I believe this documentary was one sided (about multiple topics) and cursory. Its not enough to have some expert talking head tell me one side of a complex issue. All and all, documentary FAIL.

Unemployment

2009-03-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

I used to have serious misgivings about accepting disability money or unemployment from the government. I'm still pretty against scamming the disability system (as a few people I know have done), but as for unemployment, I'm torn. I can definitely scramble to find money and work quickly, but it will be less than satisfactory and short-term. At the same time the economy is shit, so I might be out of work longer than I anticipate.

My father always taught me to be hard on yourself to push yourself forward. Don't allow yourself any weaknesses and deny yourself comforts and assistance. Somehow the less comfortable you are, the more you will accomplish. As I age, that makes less sense to me. I know this mentality comes from my Irish Catholic, depression-era grandmother. She had so many children (6) and so few resources that early on she had to drill into their heads that they've got to take care of themselves, there'd be no motherly love coming the way of my aunts and uncles. I do believe that mentality took its toll. Of the 6, 4 have had serious drug or alcohol problems. 5 of 6 have divorced, the 6th never married and died young.

I do feel that it is a luxury to take your time, accept help and feel comfortable. I feel that most take that self-preservation instinct for granted, but my siblings and I have had to cultivate it.

It takes a lot of work to love yourself in ways your parents were unable to, but that's part of the joy of maturing and growing up. Here's to hoping the progress continues.

the bike kitchen!

2009-03-10T15:01:00.000-07:00

The Bike Kitchen in the Mission is freaking amazing. I love being able to fix my own bike, but don't have the tools or the expertise to do it correctly, or fix some of the more complex problems that show up. For just $5, you can wheel your way down to the Bike Kitchen and have one of several knowledgeable, fun and friendly mechanics walk you through whatever it is you're trying to do. With help, I replaced a tire and an inner tube, trued the front wheel, adjusted my gears and brakes and took off the handlebars to remove a U-Lock that had been locked there by the previous owner.

Fixing your own bike is empowering. Not in the cheesy feminista way, but just FIXING something, completing a project is a great self-esteem boost. Add to that it is a physical activity. I don't know about you, but I spend hella time in front of a computer and that shit gets OLD. In addition, the anticipation of having a working device that will help you go farther, faster and more healthfully (mentally and physically) makes the experience that much more enjoyable. PLUS the Bike Kitchen is cheaper than fixing it on your own, since you can buy used and re-furbished parts for your bike instead of new ones. Plus you'll meet fun new people and you might even see them out on the street. You can always give them one of these:

Short Note

2009-03-09T09:46:00.000-07:00

Being broke is depressing. People stop calling you after you've explained a few times that you have ZERO DOLLARS, can't go to the East Bay, can't go to a movie, can't even go to $.80 drink night, for Christ's sake. Although it is in my best interests to save every dime, my mental health is tied to having a couple of bucks in my pocket, disposable cash.

I don't want to be here.

2009-03-06T09:29:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong- a great city to start an Asian adventure. Cosmopolitan, unique, close to the Chinese countryside. Each market specializes in something esoteric, such as goldfish, jade, flowers and knockoff designer goods (shocking, right?).

Vietnam- experience first hand the American legacy of prolonged failed conflict. Plus incredible beaches, a laid back traveler community, lots of beautiful countryside and amazing food. Plus mopeds.

Cambodia- Drug tourism for marijuana and Opium is rampant, and so is the traveler-partier contingent. I've heard that there are colonies of displaced tourists here, who've chosen to drop off the radar and ignore customs rules for as long as their bank accounts will allow them. Sounds like a nice place to stop by....

Thailand- Again, more amazing beaches and jungle. A more developed traveler culture, bathhouses, prostitutes, Thai food, boat trips to small islands, snorkeling, beautiful culture, temples, religion, people different from me...

Plus all of these places have absolutely beautiful people, places, food, tourist traps, nature, culture, everything. I like to stay close to the beaten tourist track to stay within my comfort zone with small forays into the heart of a country. but to be honest, I like my cold beer and my coffee, and my beaches and my insect free housing. But dear god do I love traveling.

Living Within My Means

2009-03-05T15:38:00.001-08:00

I have started living within my means. That means for the last 8 months I have been living above my means. Credit cards. Expectations of future wealth. Apparently I was under the impression that I would make about 15 grand with a month of work. That has not happened. Continuing to pay off old debts while paying current bills and trying to save for the future- virtually impossible. I've cut out a few things, such as leaving the house ever, buying anything but food, and eating anything more exciting that potatoes, eggs and ramen. I kid. But I have stopped going out to bars during the week, and cook almost 100% of my food. PLus that face moisturizer I wouldn't hesitate to buy if I were living on my credit card- it is not worth it. So far, my skin feels fine, a little greasier (?) but I'm afraid I'll age rapidly.... Its just not as important to me as financial health is.

And eBay. Objectively I need new shoes because I'm single and trying to look good and like I take care of myself financially, but I can't afford good quality products right now. I still refuse to buy poor quality clothes, so eBay has become my friend. So far it looks promising, but we'll see. I'm sure the amount of ill-fitting garments I purchase will offset any cheapness gains, but I'm willing to give it a shot. For now.

Some DOPE videos

2009-03-04T13:28:00.000-08:00

Why I like: Its got a good beat, its on Mission Street, it makes me feel like I'm on drugs.

Why I like it: Really cool visuals, love the boxes. I like her eyebrows too. It seems a lot of pop tarts need a weird physical incongruity to stand out. Case in point- Amy Winehouse and that insane beehive.

Why I like it: This song actually is about drugs, but it feels like it's about speed when really its about marijuana. Also a good song, a Kanye protege.

RAD

2009-03-03T17:40:00.000-08:00

I created this with a few friends in mind.

Acceptable Topics of Conversation at Work

2009-03-03T15:52:00.001-08:00

Unacceptable:
Your parent's health problems- Kinda gross, kinda sad.
How broke you are- Why would you want everyone to know that you are a loser who 1) can't balance a budget and 2) doesn't make that much dough?
What you want to buy- Shallow, esp if you're talking about frivolous stuff like mopeds or dresses.
How drunk you were/your drug problem- Uncomfortable for people that don't care about you, because a cry for help usually requires action. Or discomfort at not taking action.
Why you don't like your friends/BF/GF/Spouse- If you don't like your friends, you must be kind of a bummer, and chances are you don't like yourself or the person you are talking to either.
What you are having for lunch- No one cares! Seriously! Doesn't matter how good you think it sounds!
How much you hate your job/how bored you are- Um, you are AT WORK. Chances are you NEED to be there, so you may as well suck it up. Plus they might tip off the wrong people and you'll get fired in no time.
Gossip- Its usually wrong and then you end up looking like an ass.

Acceptable:
Music- Almost everyone has some interest in music, so sharing what you're into can be a learning experience.
What you did that weekend- Remembering fun times brings a smile to people's faces and can provide insight into the other person's interests, as well as suggestions for things to do around the city.
Vacations you are going to take- Fun to think about, for everyone.
Compliments- Nice color, nice sweater, I like your new glasses, did you get a haircut/lose weight? Fun all around!
The Weather- As long as you remain somewhat positive, it's fairly benign and on everyone's mind. Good common ground.
Positive developments in the news- Easier for a non-profit, because any Obama related news is usually received with smiles and cheers. Avoid murders and affairs (unless particularly scandalous and interesting). Sometimes talking about local politics leads to positive results.
Television- What are your favorite shows? Find some common ground and you can talk about what Ted and Barney did on their weekend, and why Robin almost married so-and-so... It goes on.
How much you love cake and cheese- Thats about what I'm going to talk about, because its celebration time at the non-profit!

More About Spirituality

2009-03-02T17:12:00.000-08:00

What exactly, am I trying to get in touch with? I'm trying to expand my sphere of thought past my body. People tend to focus so heavily on their own experience they miss out on some joys, and they miss out on the perspective that will put their own overblown emotions in check. thats what I want from spirituality.

Tyvek Bassist

2009-03-01T10:57:00.000-08:00

I've found a new feminist icon. She's about 15 and the bassist for the band Tyvek. Before there was this older (35 or so?) black guy who would get all crazy and jump around on stage and played awesome poppy bass lines to the raucous punk rock + angular screamy guitar and vocals. NE ways, she's super young and kept along with the men in the band just fine. She's pretty androgynous, but her little anthill boobs, long eyelashes and long hair made it a safe bet to call her female. Her face was blank alomst the entire show, except right before the last song she flashed a smile at someone screaming her name and she had BRACES! WOW! Who the fuck can be 15, go on a national tour with one of the best bands out right now, keep pace with the boys, do a more than competent job playing a difficult (and physically challenging) instrument. Turns out she's the little sister of the singer, but that still impresses the hell out of me.

Anyways, as the show ended and she cleaned up her instruments, carried off stage a cabinet that probably weighted as much as she did, i was struck with awe. Unable to thank her or tell her what I thought. That she was awesome!

Another Place to Run Away to

2009-02-25T15:22:00.000-08:00

NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE!!!

Besides having the coolest state name because its got so many repeating letters (Mississippi is a close second in my book), it's also got a great (country) music scene and a lot of national parks in the area. Plus lots of horses, since it's close to Kentucky.

Added bonus- I know no one in that area. I would be alone. It is cheap. It is car-centric. Life would be simpler there. No big city problems. Lots of hicks (not an added bonus). Shitty winters (not an added bonus). There's like, a river and a lake or something. I bet the food is good?

Lent & Smoking Cigarettes

2009-02-25T13:50:00.000-08:00

I have wanted to quit smoking for a while now. It all started the summer after I felt college. I was hanging out with a prolific smoker and in a misguided effort to look cool (no fucking joke, the oldest trick in the book) I took up smoking. We would sit together in the park, rolling cigarettes, smoking them, getting to know each other. On my cross country trip shortly afterward, I continued to smoke to remind me of him, as well as keep my mind focused on the straight and endless road ahead of me.

New York, more of the same, except all of my friends smoked, and my roommates. I would bum until they got mad at me and I'd have to start buying to stay in their good graces. It was a good way to pass the night during the cold winter, and a nice break outside after a hot and sweaty show. It got people together, to ask for lighters or bum a smoke, and it certainly made it look like I didn't give a fuck about my health or budget, seeing as cigarettes were upwards of $9 a pack and the rollies I enjoyed gave me a nice juicy cough. Although I secretly hoped that they would help me lose weight, that benefit never materialized.

So, slowly, it became routine. Part of my life. Have a smoke while waiting for the bus. Immediately after work, unwind and mix in a little marijuana. Share one with my band members during practice, with my boyfriend in bed. My roommate even lit his bed on fire (while in it) and I didn't consider stopping then.

I'd told myself that I would stop once I got back to California. In New York it was normal, even encouraged, in California it was frowned upon. You were 'dirty' or 'stupid' if you smoke in CA, 'hip' and 'interesting' if you smoke in New York.

I've wanted to quit since I got back to California, yet so many of my friends smoked out here. And its not like I was smoking a lot, but the way it makes me feel. Like my mother. Smelly. Stigmatized. Unhealthy. It has become not worth it. Not to mention I have officially gotten over that guy (almost). I still see him sometimes, and we smoke, him extending a perfect Camel as a peace offering to me.

The next time I see him I will have to refuse. A small part of our relationship will die, perhaps the one piece we could share unreservedly despite all the emotion and distance and longing on my part. And rejection on his. I give this up now.

And that is why I need church. Religion. I need a higher power to help me be free, to have the strength to walk away from the hurt and the hope and the reality of the fact that he doesn't love me anymore. Never did, and never will. I will walk into the grandest church tonight at 6, accept my holy communion and have a small cross of ashes drawn onto my forehead. To remember the sacrifice of someone who died for our sins so that we can be re-born as we should be. So that we can let die vices of the past and find our new selves amongst the ashes. Move forward, reborn.

I understand the powerful imagery of the Catholic Church and other religions and find great solace in a community of individuals working to make themselves better people, citizens, worshipers. I feel fortunate to have these beliefs to fall back on in a time of need, a moment where I need strength to shed old patterns and move on with my life. I thank God and I pray to Him to deliver me over that hill and place me carefully on the other side.

I surrender.

Destination of the Week

2009-02-24T12:46:00.000-08:00

Cairo, Egypt

Why it appeals to me:

The spices
Islam
Arabic culture
Lots of sun
To understand world news from a Middle Eastern and African perspective
Get a sense for old culture
See some camels
Appreciate and understand the desert from horseback
The country is a unique bridge between the Middle East and Africa
Check out African metro trains (Nice!)
Coffee & Sheesha
Fuul

To Root or not to Root

2009-02-24T12:41:00.000-08:00

Big Dilemma- Lots of places to see in this world, and only one lifetime to do it. I had always considered myself the kind of person to live in many different cities in my lifetime. At the same time I want pots and pans, blankets, a couch. A job I like. Start a business. Volunteer. Get involved.

Its a conscious choice. Get involved or remain lean, ready to cut and run. As of now I'm choosing to not put down roots. Its not that San Francisco isn't right for me. Its that I feel the need to... keep the car running. I don't know why but I know I can't stay.

Housing

2009-02-23T13:39:00.000-08:00

Owning a home has long been the cornerstone of the American Dream. And why shouldn't it be? You own a piece of this great nation that you can pass on from generation to generation. It becomes an asset that will increase in value that can be sold at a profit later down the line. Except when the value doesn't increase, like housing values in the Rust Belt. Prices there will continue to decline for decades, tying families to stagnating economies, unable to uproot and find a new job because of an inability to sell, unwillingness to sell at a loss, or just being trapped into a job by mortgage payments. In the new economy, home ownership becomes an anchor against the flexibility and mobility needed by America's workforce to produce what we are truly good at: creative and academic output, managerial skill and product development.

LTRs

2009-02-20T16:06:00.000-08:00

Its funny that people often think that once you get married, the relationship gets easier. On autopilot. Many forget each relationship still needs maintenance if it's going to last. We've also got to continually work to improve ourselves. Its like an endurance marathon. If you work at it, you can make it to the end. Sometimes.

Lent

2009-02-19T14:07:00.000-08:00

I'm a big fan of religious deprivation such as Ramadan or Lent or Passover- it makes us stronger, whether you believe on your god or religion. I am not a religious person, but I will be giving up something for lent. My step-mother prompted this, saying she is giving up 'sugar and alcohol.' She is surprised that noone believes she can do it, possibly because she consumes both in high quantity and probably also because she isn't Catholic. I don't believe she can do it because I think her willpower is weak and she'll probably forget after about 3 days then call it off.

possible candidates for Lent Elimination:

Cigarettes- so far, the leading contender... except I don't think I can do it. 40 days?? Its called an addiction, people.

Orgasms (yes, like that movie 40 Days and 40 Nights with Josh Hartnett)- Seriously, why would I do that? Fuck it, the spiritual purity is not worth it.

Sex- Well, that's probably going to happen anyways, so its no fair calling it for Lent.

Drugs- Now there's an interesting one. I could prooobably do it, alcohol and caffeine not included, but pot is everywhere and its really awesome and God made drugs anways, right? And what about prescription pills? Since they're legal they're not really druuggss!

Not exercising- Not exactly something to give up, but maybe Jesus will let it slide for a little face time with his Holiness.

Interesting... I just found a nice loophole in Lent. Apparently, Sundays don't count, so I can indulge once weekly. Lent starts next Wednesday, so I better hurry up and choose. Adjust lifestyle accordingly.

Bands that are new to me

2009-02-18T12:21:00.000-08:00

The Presets

This song is ominous like a shark attack. Reminds me of Chromeo and Ghostland Observatory. I like this dance punk stuff because it has energy and attitude, but it is controlled and well produced.

Metronomy

This song is sweet and melancholy, and I like how the end of the song falls off the beat and degenerates. Plus I love accents. And sound samples of a creaky door opening. Again, ominous electronics.

Caring about things

2009-02-18T12:13:00.000-08:00

Not caring about personal health, finances and relationships is a defense mechanism against being let down. How can you fail if you never tried? Exactly. I did not try to be successful, be pretty, feel healthy, keep a clean room, so how can you say I am a failure now?

Is it fear of letting ourselves down? Discovering our own limitations is an opportunity for growth and should be embraced, but it brings us out of our comfort zone and makes us vulnerable. The catch-22: the more you share, the less vulnerable you become.

Why are people so afraid of being vulnerable? Because it doesn't feel good. Avoidance of pain.

In much of my life I fail to avoid pain. But this is because I don't try to avoid pain. If I did, I would be healthier, happier, friendlier and wealthier. In some ways it makes me stronger, less vulnerable. But in the same breath I am not striving for success, because I am afraid I will fail myself.

A Drug Review - Cocaine, Pt. 2

2009-02-17T10:15:00.000-08:00

Dear Cocaine,

At first I didn't understand you. Why would I want to feel like one of those pug dogs, have a runny nose and make weird punctuating movements with my arms into the air while expounding on pop culture? That's because I didn't understand you. I'm glad I gave you a second (12th) chance.

You were made for gay bars. Multi-colored disco reflections sliding past my eyeballs falling onto the backs of the hundreds of other sweaty dancers. Overstimulation as the music pulses loudly, my favorite song, even if it isn't. Your friends, not expounding, dancing, more energy, a touch of silliness, a freedom and lack of inhibitions. Eyes roll back, jumping to the music. A cigarette. Some eye contact and checking out other people's clothes. Colors, lights, music. That's what it was made for. And I understand now.

You were not made for 3 hour World Series of Poker marathons alone, at 3am. You were not made for rainy afternoons cleaning the kitchen. You were not made for pre-dinner drinks, although I am shocked by how much I can actually eat on you. I'm thinking it must dull my satiety switch, allowing me to cram more food into my stomach than I would have otherwise.

But anyways, cocaine, I will learn to use you, not abuse you. Only out at clubs, not at home.

Yea right. You know you'll join me for the SWOP Europe finale.

A Complaint - San Francisco

2009-02-16T16:44:00.000-08:00

People in San Francisco seem kind of... Boring. Complacent. No particular driving passion or anything to struggle against. As my new friend Juliana pointed out, its a 'boutique city." Meaning, each person is able to carve out a tiny niche to fit their exacting specifications. I don't feel like anyone has to sacrifice anything to live here. It is harmonious, and that lack of tension shows up in the mediocre art and music scene, boring fashion, un-sexiness and general apathy of the populace here. Everyone is 'ok' with everyone else's lifestyle choices.

Unacceptable. At the same time I mentioned to Juliana that we cant just go out and seek friction to make our lives meaningful. I feel that San Francisco lifestyle is so easy and having EVERYTHING I want without having to try too hard for it makes me apathetic.

Whatever. Back to the drawing board. I just got here and have a lot of searching to find my niche of exciting people. Plus I happen to like sugar-free iced tea and un-repressed homosexuals.

A Drug Review - Cocaine

2009-02-16T16:38:00.000-08:00

Whats the big deal about cocaine? Why is everyone so into it? When I do it I just feel kind of 'on' but 'weird' and 'out of touch' for about 45 minutes. Cocaine does not make me feel talkative and interesting. Actually I just notice how the other coke heads I am doing drugs with are talking about really lame shit on repeat. I guess I do feel more energetic for a little bit, but the eyes-bugging out of my head feeling doesn't really do it for me.

That does not mean I will stop doing cocaine, or ever refuse it if it were offered to me. I'm just making the observation that caffeine gives me more of a jolt, and marijuana has a more pronounced effect on me. And others, as I'd imagine.

The most annoying part about cocaine is that its really hard to get drunk on cocaine. You can drink more but you won't be all loose and relaxed like you wish you were. I guess I'm just more of a pain killer kind of girl.

Verdict: Cocaine: C+

Recipe for Pad Thai Sauce

2009-02-16T16:28:00.000-08:00

I get intense cravings for Pad Thai, but prefer to make it at home since it's relatively simple. However, the 'kits' in Safeway are $5 and only have noodles and some packet of random sauce, so I figured it'd be cheaper and more delicious to make it entirely from scratch. Noodles = easy, so here is a simple recipe for the pad thai sauce.

4 ingredients: Tamarind Pulp, Fish Sauce, Palm Sugar and Paprika (Thai Chili Powder)
Put 1/2 a cup each of the tamarind, fish sauce and palm sugar (only 1/3 cup if using regular white or brown sugar) into a small pot over a low flame.
Add 1-2 teaspoons of paprika/thai chili powder.
Taste and adjust ingredients to suit your taste.

SO SIMPLE! These ingredients can be found at Bombay Bazaar btwn 16th and 17th on Valencia. So close to my house, come over and we can make Pad Thai.

Problems with health care - a consumers view

2009-02-13T16:27:00.000-08:00

You know health care needs to be reformed when you have to resort to brute force to get a Doctor's appointment. Looking for a general practitioner in San Francisco, I pull up a list of over 1,000 from my insurance's website. Insurance I only have because I'm married. I sort arbitrarily- I don't like her name, his address is on a street I've never heard of. No details besides name, address, phone. I'm forced to choose between Internal Medicine and family Practice. I'm not exactly part of a family right now, and I'm not experiencing any 'Internal" problems, so to speak. I just want to cultivate a relationship with a decent doctor in case something comes up later.

I write down 10 phone numbers. All of the names start with the letter 'A' but at least its a start. Call one. Rings 10 times before I hang up. Second one- a dial tone. Must be disconnected. Third one- an electronic voice asks me a string of seemingly irrelevant questions before I am transferred to the wrong department. When they transfer me, I'm sent straight to some woman's voice mail. Next. Finally I call a number attached to a name which leads me to UCSF Women's Health... Warmer. After I key through the menu someone picks up the phone.

"Hi, I'm new to the area and I need a General Practitioner."
"Ok, are you experiencing any symptoms?"
"No, I just need a checkup."
"Ok, our first available appointment is in July. I can mail you a packet..."
"July? Are you kidding me??"
"I'm sorry Ma'am, we are very backed up."

I hang up.
Next, a sweet woman answers the phone, but they aren't accepting new patients. I ask her for a referral and she plays dumb, doesn't have anything. Seriously?

This is the same way I found my therapist in New York. The professional that is supposed to guide me through a lifetime of trauma to emotional stability, and I pick him based on the fact that he a) answered the phone and b) had appointments available.

I finally book an appointment at the Planned Parenthood, AKA the Free Clinic, despite the fact that I have health insurance and can see a private practitioner. This will take care of my sexual health needs, but what about the rest of me? I don't have the patience to start another round of 20 fruitless calls. I WANT TO GIVE YOU MONEY AND USE YOUR SERVICES. Why is this so hard?

I want a Wal-Mart or Rite-Aid of health care. One stop shopping. I call one number, they ask me what I need and give me an appointment within 2 weeks. No hassle. They take my money, I get my health care.

I'm happy to hear that Obama wants to reform our broken system and an electronic medical records system is a great first step, but just as much as we need health care for the downtrodden and impoverished, we also need an insurance system that works. I think there is room in this country for both a pay-for-service plan and a socialized health care plan, but if at the end of the day its simpler and cheaper for the consumer to use the free services, the burden will fall on the taxpayers. I don't know what is holding modern health care from being usable and accessible, but the current system is totally broken.

So tomorrow I will try again, this time starting off somewhere in the Bs. Maybe a referral from a friend will pan out, or maybe I'll get lucky, but I don't have high hopes.

A terrible person

2009-02-12T15:41:00.000-08:00

San Francisco snobbery at its worst. He made this woman cry repeatedly, and why? How can a man be so ignorant to his rudeness, and so vicious?

A friend helped me with this.

2009-02-12T14:05:00.000-08:00

SeeqPod - Playable Search

Psych Out! with Jack Nicholson

2009-02-12T13:56:00.000-08:00

Is this thing on?

2009-02-12T12:32:00.001-08:00

I decided to start a blog. Mostly because I am bored at work but also because I want a place to organize my thoughts. The theme will be Sf events/travel/music/politics/funny observations/stupid videos. I will do my best to keep my emotions off this open forum. Let's see how this goes.