In a last ditch effort to do something productive today beyond bush-whacking around half of a lake with C. (which is what I did earlier this evening), I offer a blog post.
Side note regarding lakes: I discovered the lake this afternoon and sat on the dock with my feet in the water (since we are now experiencing summer weather after what felt like two weeks of winter, right in the middle of July) and I ate cherries and spit the stones into the lake and apparently I've accelerated or exacerbated GLOBAL WARMING or something by doing this. You know, small actions piling up over time like refuse in a porta-potty.
How do I know this? C. told me. As a result of my carelessness the lake will dry up, a cherry tree orchard will infest the remaining mud flats and a zombie desolation will rise from the entwined corpses of two rotting herons. More or less.
Anyway, while my soul worries that one out, here I am, sitting with the dogs. I. is being adorable and obedient and lying prone at my feet. I have banished T. because he was eating poop again and lord knows dog breath is bad enough without fecal matter thrown in on top. Not sure where W. is, but he's only ever in two places: foot of the stairs or under the bed. He's the type of dog that rolls over on his back every time he sees you: "You are my master. Here is my stomach. Slay me, oh great shining one, if it be your pleasure."
I started out this post thinking I would list my favorite movies. It seemed like something I should do. It was, in fact, a very important idea ten minutes ago. I'm bored with it now, but one habit of highly successful people is to see a project through to the end and not leave a whole lot of unfinished stuff shimmying about and embarrassing the family. I think I should stop reading "Psychology Today". It's a bad habit I picked up this afternoon.
Movies, my favorites. No particular order:
1. Bambi (Many's the day my Kincaid House housemates came home to find me curled up like an unhappy and slightly asthmatic baby in our bowl chair, wrapped in blankets, inches from the TV with my VHS copy of "Bambi" playing on repeat, the strains of "Love is a song that never ends" echoing through our cold and empty house. Oh college days.)
2. Lawrence of Arabia (There was that Camp when I pretended to be Prince Feisal and Ange was Sharif Ali and nobody was Lawrence because nobody else was playing because they hated joy, love and probably America)
3. Muppet Treasure Island (Some foolish person did not believe that I could sing every single song in this movie PLUS hum the instrumental interludes. Boy did I prove them wrong)
4. The Fantastic Mr. Fox (It's just so, as it were, fantastic)
5. I'm drawing a blank. Maybe 5 is not a valid number. Let's try 6.
6. All the President's Men (Whenever I'm depressed and especially delusional, I watch this movie. It relieves the angst -- "Journalism makes the world a better place after all" -- and deepens the delusion -- "Hey! I could do that!")
7. Anne of Green Gables (I cry shamelessly straight through this movie now. Years of watching it while sick with fever, flu and all other manner of enfeebling pestilence have conditioned me to respond this way. Otherwise, I can't explain myself at all.)
Okay. I'm done. I'm bored with this game.
---
On the horizon:
a. Nebraska ("Where the girls are the fairest, the boys are the squarest of any old school I knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" etc. School song. Stolen, apparently, from Gainesville, Florida. Dirty east coast lies, I say.)
b. Two reporters are leaving the paper. One goes to retire. The other goes to OPB. August is going to be busy.
c. I can't find my tuner and thus can't tune my ukulele with ease and accuracy and thus my joy is diminished. All that's left to me is a narrow bed in a strange house with a poop-eating dog.
d. Good night.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
prehistoric times
Rabbits In Walls Children's Theatre presents An Educational Component:
"Life in Prehistoric Times"
Chapter 1: Rodney is late to the board meeting.
Chapter 2: Winston accidentally incites revolution when he quotes The Communist Manifesto out of context.
Chapter 3: He approached the herd with caution, fumbling for his field notebook as the night deepened and the moon rose. "Finally!" he thought to himself. After weeks of patient watching, the duck-billed Hadrosaurs were accepting him as one of their own. He couldn't wait to see Professor Merriman's face... But alas! How was James to know the herd had gone rogue and had, in fact, been shunned by the other leaf-eating dinosaurs for months...?
Chapter 4: Another good man lost in the name of science.
Chapter 5: He took for himself a mate one lilac-scented night.
Chapter 6: Though his wife had raised the snake from an egg, Stanley refused to acknowledge "Gregor" as his son.
Chapter 7: The gods demanded sacrifice.
"Life in Prehistoric Times"
Chapter 1: Rodney is late to the board meeting.
Chapter 2: Winston accidentally incites revolution when he quotes The Communist Manifesto out of context.
Chapter 3: He approached the herd with caution, fumbling for his field notebook as the night deepened and the moon rose. "Finally!" he thought to himself. After weeks of patient watching, the duck-billed Hadrosaurs were accepting him as one of their own. He couldn't wait to see Professor Merriman's face... But alas! How was James to know the herd had gone rogue and had, in fact, been shunned by the other leaf-eating dinosaurs for months...?
Chapter 4: Another good man lost in the name of science.
Chapter 5: He took for himself a mate one lilac-scented night.
Chapter 6: Though his wife had raised the snake from an egg, Stanley refused to acknowledge "Gregor" as his son.
Chapter 7: The gods demanded sacrifice.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
#151: stereoptypes, made to be broken, etc
I was recently making broad generalizations (as I often do) and I was making them about male journalists.
Male journalists: Affable, easy to talk with, hilarious (or weird and reclusive, but usually funny), sarcastic and jaded in that sly way that is probably much more optimistic than it wants to be all in the public spheres of their life...yet complete slobs in any aspect of their private life.
The person I was so boldly telling this to nodded in agreement and I felt smug.
Then I went back to my apartment.
Well slap me in the face and may I never speak again, not doing so hot, Miss Reporter. So top of the list for the weekend is a deep clean of the apartment and the answering of personal letters and emails. Perhaps even the return of phone calls too.
Male journalists: Affable, easy to talk with, hilarious (or weird and reclusive, but usually funny), sarcastic and jaded in that sly way that is probably much more optimistic than it wants to be all in the public spheres of their life...yet complete slobs in any aspect of their private life.
The person I was so boldly telling this to nodded in agreement and I felt smug.
Then I went back to my apartment.
Well slap me in the face and may I never speak again, not doing so hot, Miss Reporter. So top of the list for the weekend is a deep clean of the apartment and the answering of personal letters and emails. Perhaps even the return of phone calls too.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
all I want is toast
...and I could eat it ALL day, while watching the rest of "The Pirates of the Caribbean" except I'm trying to be healthy or whatsit. I went on a 3 mile hike this morning -- completely wimpy and I was eating cherries throughout.
So it's been a busy couple of weeks.
Here are the stories...at least the ones I can remember, in no particular order.
1. I tried to go to the Gulf too. You know, reporter in the field. Maybe next time. CLEANING UP THE OIL SPILL
2. There was a message waiting for me when I got to work that morning. It said: CALL THE SHERIFF RIGHT NOW! And this was why: Attempted murder. Three suspects.
3. Here's a follow-up to that story. There will be more. The suspects were arraigned the next day.
4. In unrelated courts, a fisherman gets his fourth driving under the influence of intoxicants conviction. The mug shot is not happy.
5. More crime. Thefts at a national historical park. Who steals from a park? Also, who steals live fish boxes? Especially when you could make one yourself and it could be a family project and it could bond you back with your estranged, ungrateful children. Just sayin.
6. Do you weary of human evil? Let's look at satanic animals: A bull.
7. Oh yes, and city council. I'd forgotten about this. Usually the city reporter covers the council.
...
That's mostly all what's going on. Some changes coming, but I don't want to talk about them yet.
....
Things I just saw that I'd rather not see again:
1. A bicycle girl picking food bits out of her lover's trendy mountain man beard. In a public restaurant. At least she didn't eat the food bits, right? But then they had to get all cuddly in front of my river view.
2. White vinyl loafer-type shoes worn without socks, on the long brown feet of some fashionable young thing who was also wearing white capri pants along his legs and his girlfriends shoes and ankles across his lap.
So it's been a busy couple of weeks.
Here are the stories...at least the ones I can remember, in no particular order.
1. I tried to go to the Gulf too. You know, reporter in the field. Maybe next time. CLEANING UP THE OIL SPILL
2. There was a message waiting for me when I got to work that morning. It said: CALL THE SHERIFF RIGHT NOW! And this was why: Attempted murder. Three suspects.
3. Here's a follow-up to that story. There will be more. The suspects were arraigned the next day.
4. In unrelated courts, a fisherman gets his fourth driving under the influence of intoxicants conviction. The mug shot is not happy.
5. More crime. Thefts at a national historical park. Who steals from a park? Also, who steals live fish boxes? Especially when you could make one yourself and it could be a family project and it could bond you back with your estranged, ungrateful children. Just sayin.
6. Do you weary of human evil? Let's look at satanic animals: A bull.
7. Oh yes, and city council. I'd forgotten about this. Usually the city reporter covers the council.
...
That's mostly all what's going on. Some changes coming, but I don't want to talk about them yet.
....
Things I just saw that I'd rather not see again:
1. A bicycle girl picking food bits out of her lover's trendy mountain man beard. In a public restaurant. At least she didn't eat the food bits, right? But then they had to get all cuddly in front of my river view.
2. White vinyl loafer-type shoes worn without socks, on the long brown feet of some fashionable young thing who was also wearing white capri pants along his legs and his girlfriends shoes and ankles across his lap.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
hikecycle bicycle + a dead sea lion
Wrote this last night for you to read today. Ta da!
---
Saturday means good weather, no work and a minus tide that's not quite minus tide enough for me to squeeze between two cliffs usually separated by deep ocean water. So instead of an easy route, entailing a little jog down the sandy beach, I hiked up and over the cliffs on a familiar deer trail which is usually easy (if steep). Except I hadn't counted on the sudden upsurge of plant growth over the last few weeks.
The trail was thickly overgrown with a yet unidentified Oregon plant that sends out little shoots and tendrils. These squirm around until they find another plant (preferably one across the trail from the first plant). The tendrils loop themselves around a bit of branch or twig or leaf, firm and fast, and hold on for dear God and country until a mean hiker comes crashing through and pulls them apart. Which is, more or less, what I did for about two miles of deer trail, barefoot and at 8:30 in the morning. Then I fell, I mean...gracefully slid down a sandy cliff side and got my bum and hands all dirty and discovered THIS:
If there were money in maggots...see how it's just seeeeeeething.
I feel you're not appreciating this enough.
Nom nom nom nom.
See how that maggot (right down there) is all mouth agape? "Flesh! More more more!" It's like the Sarlacc Pit.
I had to get very very close to snap these photos. I love whatever misfiring in my brain caused me to be a journalist and approach so many things in life with a sick desire to KNOW and EXPERIENCE rather than be "emotionally involved with or about." This causes problems in other areas in my life, but currently it enables me to hunt up horse carcasses, take pictures of maggots and try to talk my way into a trip to a morgue.
Did I mention today was exquisite? I offer proof and maggot-less photos
---
Saturday means good weather, no work and a minus tide that's not quite minus tide enough for me to squeeze between two cliffs usually separated by deep ocean water. So instead of an easy route, entailing a little jog down the sandy beach, I hiked up and over the cliffs on a familiar deer trail which is usually easy (if steep). Except I hadn't counted on the sudden upsurge of plant growth over the last few weeks.
The trail was thickly overgrown with a yet unidentified Oregon plant that sends out little shoots and tendrils. These squirm around until they find another plant (preferably one across the trail from the first plant). The tendrils loop themselves around a bit of branch or twig or leaf, firm and fast, and hold on for dear God and country until a mean hiker comes crashing through and pulls them apart. Which is, more or less, what I did for about two miles of deer trail, barefoot and at 8:30 in the morning. Then I fell, I mean...gracefully slid down a sandy cliff side and got my bum and hands all dirty and discovered THIS:
If there were money in maggots...see how it's just seeeeeeething.
I feel you're not appreciating this enough.
Nom nom nom nom.
See how that maggot (right down there) is all mouth agape? "Flesh! More more more!" It's like the Sarlacc Pit.
I had to get very very close to snap these photos. I love whatever misfiring in my brain caused me to be a journalist and approach so many things in life with a sick desire to KNOW and EXPERIENCE rather than be "emotionally involved with or about." This causes problems in other areas in my life, but currently it enables me to hunt up horse carcasses, take pictures of maggots and try to talk my way into a trip to a morgue.
Did I mention today was exquisite? I offer proof and maggot-less photos
Thursday, June 24, 2010
anemic anemone amnesia
That's what I got. I think. I need a second opinion.
---
C. was kissed long and passionately by a troll at this festival. I skillfully and successfully ducked between several people and half fell down some trailer steps to avoid such a fate.
I need to get going and write Part II of this epic tonight. Feedback I got on this: "It sounds like any minute the city and park service are going to start dating." I suggested they could share a milkshake.
---
It's been a long absence. I have reasons: I'M ANEMIC!
Maybe.
Possibly.
We're keeping our options open.
Anyway. What's really going on is that I've been so very busy since last Tuesday -- running up and down the coast -- and so very sick since Saturday. The sick has manifested itself in extreme fatigue usually accompanied by headaches and just a nasty rotten feeling in my core and full of forgetting about day to day activities. I finally started taking some vitamin B and iron and have slowly started to feel better. We'll see.
---
C. was kissed long and passionately by a troll at this festival. I skillfully and successfully ducked between several people and half fell down some trailer steps to avoid such a fate.
I need to get going and write Part II of this epic tonight. Feedback I got on this: "It sounds like any minute the city and park service are going to start dating." I suggested they could share a milkshake.
---
It's been a long absence. I have reasons: I'M ANEMIC!
Maybe.
Possibly.
We're keeping our options open.
Anyway. What's really going on is that I've been so very busy since last Tuesday -- running up and down the coast -- and so very sick since Saturday. The sick has manifested itself in extreme fatigue usually accompanied by headaches and just a nasty rotten feeling in my core and full of forgetting about day to day activities. I finally started taking some vitamin B and iron and have slowly started to feel better. We'll see.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
#147:
If
for instance
I'd slept all the way through each night for the last
three nights
instead of waking up every hour, on the hour,
cold
sad
sleepy
and just crazy about camp
I might have woken up at 4:50 instead of 5 this morning and I would have had the moral fortitude to drag my sad carcass out of the shrieking mattress on the top bunk of the rolling camp beds at 5:15 instead of 5:23
and
instead of driving down Hwy 101 in the cool dawn of fast approaching 6 a.m. to hit Astoria at 6:30, I would have been there at 6
which means
I could have taken a shower at 6:35 instead of 6:46 and I would have gotten to work at 7:04 instead of 7:23 and I would have had 19 whole extra minutes to review my notes from yesterday's reporting and
(a truly pivotal "and")
I would not have made the mistake I made in this story:
which is about the South CLATSOP Slough. Not the South COUNTY Slough.
This compounds itself with a day in which I have never felt so beat up in recent memory
It's like God pointed at my emotional stability and told all the saints of heaven to play rugby with it
Then He saw that I was feeling way too healthy and hike-erly, so He smote me with mysterious sickness in the middle of a three-story day juggling competition
I wanted to go to FC after work and bask in fellowship and love and possibly back rubs from my Mumsy
But no.
FEMA. Oh FEMA.
FEMA decided to have a meeting
at 5
If they'd had it at 1 instead of 5
If my hair had had time to dry before work
If my shower, if my trip, if my eyes had opened
and if all of this had existed within a special, extra two-hour slot of time
this day would have been much better
I'm a rattlesnake, babe. I'm like fuel on the fire.
for instance
I'd slept all the way through each night for the last
three nights
instead of waking up every hour, on the hour,
cold
sad
sleepy
and just crazy about camp
I might have woken up at 4:50 instead of 5 this morning and I would have had the moral fortitude to drag my sad carcass out of the shrieking mattress on the top bunk of the rolling camp beds at 5:15 instead of 5:23
and
instead of driving down Hwy 101 in the cool dawn of fast approaching 6 a.m. to hit Astoria at 6:30, I would have been there at 6
which means
I could have taken a shower at 6:35 instead of 6:46 and I would have gotten to work at 7:04 instead of 7:23 and I would have had 19 whole extra minutes to review my notes from yesterday's reporting and
(a truly pivotal "and")
I would not have made the mistake I made in this story:
which is about the South CLATSOP Slough. Not the South COUNTY Slough.
This compounds itself with a day in which I have never felt so beat up in recent memory
It's like God pointed at my emotional stability and told all the saints of heaven to play rugby with it
Then He saw that I was feeling way too healthy and hike-erly, so He smote me with mysterious sickness in the middle of a three-story day juggling competition
I wanted to go to FC after work and bask in fellowship and love and possibly back rubs from my Mumsy
But no.
FEMA. Oh FEMA.
FEMA decided to have a meeting
at 5
If they'd had it at 1 instead of 5
If my hair had had time to dry before work
If my shower, if my trip, if my eyes had opened
and if all of this had existed within a special, extra two-hour slot of time
this day would have been much better
I'm a rattlesnake, babe. I'm like fuel on the fire.
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