Do you trust your cat?

I often refer to my cat Meisha as “The Barbie Killer,” and unless you’ve heard me discuss that aspect of her in the past, you might wonder just what the hell that’s all about.

My first wife, Crystal, was a photographer with an outstanding and creative eye. Hopefully soon, I’ll be able to get her website back up and running, but, for right now, if you haven’t seen her photos, you’ll have to trust me. Hell, she could even make me look good ... and that’s just not easy.

For one of her classes, Crys decided to do a project that involved Barbie dolls. I’m not sure why the doll needed to be painted white, perhaps to get it to show up better on the black and white film stock, again, I just don’t know. She also was going to cut the doll into pieces. So, with a very sharp scissors, she carefully cut a foot off here, a leg in half there, continuing until the doll was in pieces all over the table.

To get the dolls, we raided every second hand store in three cities, eventually getting about 15 that fit the bill. One of the problems with dolls like that, however, is that the plastic begins to change as it ages, making it almost impossible to cut cleanly. As the scissors would make the cut, the plastic would fail, and suddenly, it looked as if there were a major hangnail stuck to the side of the body part. And Crystal, being the artistic perfectionist, would get extremely frustrated and toss the doll to the side and start cutting on another. In one afternoon, she painted, cut, and rejected each of those 15 dolls. On our next swoop through the second-hand stores, we found eight more dolls, and it was in this batch that she got the correct doll...

...and...Meisha earned her nomme de guerre...The Barbie Killer.

Crys was busy carefully cutting the third doll apart, and it ended up being the one that worked out. While she was touching up the paint, she knocked one of the other Barbies to the floor, and since we were both busy with something else, neither of us picked it up at that moment. I was in the living room working on a lesson plan, Crys was working on the prop, when we both heard a very loud, very dry “pop.”

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’ know,” she said, looking around the kitchen. “Okay, I’m gonna shoot now.” Crys flipped on the flood and spot lights, adjusting them, and picked up the camera. I started hearing the click snick ratchet of the camera, and then heard Crys tell Meisha to go away. I looked over, and as Crys was lining up her shots, Meisha started climbing Crystal’s leg to see what she was missing. As she bounced off Crys’ leg, it caused Crys to jitter the camera.

“Why don’t you use the tripod?” I suggested.

“We can’t. The assignment is for us to take artistic closeups freehand. No other supports than our body.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but its good for me to learn how to do this.” She laughed, then kicked Meisha away again.

About a minute later, Crys looked at the exposure record and saw there was one or two pictures left on the roll. Meisha was standing against her leg still, so, Crys turned, focused fast, and snapped a picture of the cat.



It was the best picture on the entire roll.

After loading a new roll of film, Crys started firing off more shots. Suddenly, I catch something flying through the air in my peripheral vision. A moment later, now looking up, I see what had flown by. It was the head of a Barbie, liberated from its body. And Meisha was grabbing it by the hair in her mouth and flipping it high into the air. I looked into the dining room, under the table Crystal was using for her studio, and I saw the body. Lying there. Discarded.

The “pop” we heard earlier was the head being pulled free. The head was the huntress’ reward.

*****

Crys died about a year later, and that Barbie head was still one of Meisha’s favorite toys. I run into it in random places around the house, and at first, that was a bit unsettling. The worst, however, happened a few months after Crys died.

I was lying in bed, having just hit the snooze for the second time, when Meisha jumped into bed and sat in the middle of my back. I half rolled to look at her and to tell her that the food she was looking for would be in the bowl in just a few minutes. What I saw wasn’t my sweet and innocent kitty.

I saw a floating Barbie head.

Meisha is in the Kitty Mafia.

I didn’t have to be told a second time. I got the cat her food.

Everyday Adventures Into the Sublime

It was an adventurous couple of days this past week when a few coworkers and myself had to go to the Twin Cities for a work–related event. We headed down on Tuesday, having our first meeting on Wednesday quite early in the day. Typically, with breaks, it usually only takes about six hours to get down there...

But...

Tuesday was anything but an ordinary day!

A little after midnight, the winds picked up and were blowing right around 30 miles per hour with blasts up to 45. It was also very warm, hovering right around freezing. When I hit the road to go to my coworker’s house (Kate was driving), there were drifts over ice. She lives on the outskirts of a small town about 10 miles east of where I live, and there are some serious curves right before you get to that town. As I was going around the first, the snow was deep and looked like pie crust dough when you’re first cutting the shortening into the flour. If I were going faster or hadn’t been paying attention, I would have ended up in the ditch along with the two cars already there.

Kate and I discussed if we should wait at her place, which we did for about an hour when it cleared a bit. The first part of our trip, down to the Fargo-Moorhead area, usually only takes about an hour. Tuesday, it was closer to an hour and a half. The first 30 miles, the roads were icy and covered with pillow drifts. After that, it cleared and was good driving. We picked up Pat at the local Dairy Queen, then, headed out to I-94 heading east.

Not a lot of traffic on the freeway. Just a few semis and us. We didn’t really think it was strange until we got about fifteen miles into Minnesota and the roads started turning crappy again. Mega-crappy! We had a good track, though, just like we were a bit behind a snow plow. But, as we got closer to Rothsay, the road got worse. We counted four semis in the ditch on the eastbound lane, including one that was facing the direction it was coming from. At one point, I said to Kate, “It’s almost like the freeway is closed and we aren’t supposed to be out here.”

It was closed.

We weren’t supposed to be out there!

We pulled into Fergus Falls for lunch, and while we were there, we found out that the freeway was closed from Valley City, ND to Osakis, MN, some 150 miles. We got on the I-94 at one of the few entrances that weren’t barricaded. Mainly, it was the west bound lanes that were closed, primarily because of the semis that were in the ditch.

The nasty weather wasn’t the only excitement in Fegus that day. The Bank of America was held up that morning at 10 a.m. during the worst of the storm. The visibility was so limited that no one even knew what the get-away vehicle looked like. I haven’t heard any more about it, and haven’t had time to look for info, either.

By three p.m., the road was opened again, and though the next fifty miles were still pretty nasty, we made pretty good time. Shortly after Alexandria, MN, the road opened up. Except for the heavy traffic, it was pretty easy driving all the way to Bloomington.

The hotel we stayed at was right near the Mega Maul and the airport. I’ve been to the airport many times, but never to the Maul. I just had no desire to go there. Kate and Pat, however, thought that we should go to Bubba Gumps for supper. Since I was outnumbered and didn’t have my own wheels, I went along.

I liked Bubba Gumps. Haven’t had good seafood in a long time, and though it wasn’t the best I’ve ever had, it was a damn sight better than what you get at Dead Mobster. Our waitress, Rachel, was a hoot. Now, if you’ve never been to a Bubba Gumps, one of the things the wait staff does is ask trivia questions from the movie Forrest Gump. We did pretty good, but, then, I missed a fairly easy question. I told Rachel that she needed to be nice to us, and told her about the trip upon the closed freeway all the way down to Fergus.

“What kinda name is Fergus Falls anyway,” she asked.

“I think it was named after a Scottish man with halitosis.”

“Could be, could be.”

“I think it’s funny,” I continued, “a friend of mine in Pennsylvania thinks it’s a weird name. This coming from a woman that lives in a state with towns named Intercourse and Blue Balls.”

“Hey! I’ve been there!,” Rachel said.

“Oh?” I replied without missing a beat. “Which one?”

Rachel was, I must say, a very witty and articulate young lady. But, when posed with that question, she stopped, her mouth dropped open, and she turned bright red.

I did ask it in all innocence.

It wasn’t much later that we headed back to the hotel, and I was in bed not much later. I was completely whooped from the day, and Wednesday was going to be a long, busy day as well.

I think I would have slept later if the guy in the next room didn’t have a bit of OCD. He must have taken at least eight showers through the course of the night.

Now, like I said, Wednesday was busy. I called one of my good friends once we got done, however, and Per and I decided to go out to one of his favorite places in St. Paul for supper. He picked me up, we had a beer at the hotel, went to the restaurant and met up with another guy, Thor Truls. I’ve known these guys since they were 10. Amazing. It was really good to talk with them, and I would have loved to be out longer with them, but, I needed to be up early again on Thursday as well. Per dropped me off at the hotel, and again, I was in bed fairly early.

I don’t know if I had the same or different neighbors. All I know was that they were very vocal. Uncle Willy Shakespeare would have said they were busy making the beast with two backs. They started at 11:30 or so, and finished at around 2:30. I’ve gotta admire stamina like that. At one point, I was tempted to call them and ask if they needed me to come and tag-in. I was also tempted to call and give them some encouragement. I wonder how they would have reacted if I yelled “Bravo! Bravo! Encore!”

Anyway...it was an adventurous trip. I can’t wait for my next trip to the Cities.

Cats

I got home from work yesterday totally wiped out from the week. It was extremely busy, and I just needed a nap. Now, I have two cats, and typically, Meisha the Barbie Killer meets me at the top of the steps when I come in, and she wasn't there. After my nap she still wasn't anywhere to be found, and I was getting nervous. It wasn't until three hours later that I found her. She was sleeping on a high bookshelf, and when she got up to stretch, she pushed a bunch of books off the shelf.

I've had both my cats since 2000/2001. Meisha is older, Sydni is MUCH larger, but, I have a feeling they are about the same age. Meisha has always been quite the character, whereas Sydni is more of a lump. Meisha is the one that I can almost always guarantee to be getting into something.

So, after I found her last night, she was very happy and rolling all over me. This is typical for her -- do something silly or stupid, get 'rescued,' then thank me for hours upon hours.

This morning, when I woke up, I heard this soft mewing. I got out of bed, walked around and finally heard her under the dresser. I had to take everything off the top and then pull it out from the wall.

I haven't been able to get rid of her since.

Packing

There is an art to packing. Dad can fit a lifetime of stuff into a weekend's worth of bags, something that has always amazed me. I did learn how to pack the trunk of a car for a trip to the cabin for the weekend, with all the suitcases for a family of six, the cooler, and the worms for fishing.

Trips to the cabin. That's slowly becoming something of the past in Minnesota. Many lakes have been over-developed with "lake homes," monster homes that crowd in too close to the shore and create more problems then they are truely worth. The lake I summer on, for instance, has four miles of undeveloped shoreline, and I heard not too long ago, some people in that area would love to buy it from the camp system so they could develop it as well. Oy.

Our cabin was on a small lake in central Minnesota, northeast of Brainard about 30 miles. We were on the edge of the Whitefish chain, a group of lakes that were connected by a river, allowing you to go a helluva a long way on the interwater routes. I know people that got lost more than once because they didn't know how to read their maps and find their way home. Our lake didn't directly connect into that chain, but, we use to go out on it quite often. Unlike the bigger lakes in Minnesota, most of the Whitefish chain are fairly narrow and deep , meaning that even when the winds are heavy, the lakes don't roll and roil.

Leech and Mille Lacs, on the other hand, are big shallow basins. In the summers, when the breeze builds to a gust, you soon see breakers, long, long breakers working their way across the lake, often breaking at an angle against the shore, spilling across sand and rocks.

I've walked the shore of both of those lakes, hunting lake polished agates. On our lake, and even the Whitefish chain, you didn't often find agates. Even on Mille Lacs and Leech you don't find a lot of agates. But, it's still to hunt for them. When we were kids, living on the shores of the lakes over the weekends of the summers, gypsies going north and south on Fridays and Sundays, treasures packed in the trunk of the car.

Books on Tape

I've never done books on tape before, but, this semester, I'm driving a lot and I'm wondering if I might not give it a try. I'm just not sure what books I'd take with me. I'm also afraid that if I got the wrong reader, I might fall asleep on the commute. Or, I might do like a friend of mine and get so caught up in the book that he forgot where he was going and ended up at the Canadian border, and hour north of town.

When I'm driving, I listen to music or NPR. In Minnesota, there are relatively few areas of the state that is not blanketed by NPR, so, if you know your route well, you can surf from one server to the next as you go down the highway. One of the weak areas is around the area my sisters all live. Just a shade out of range for Minneapolis and St. Cloud, out of the Brainard and Duluth skips, it becomes a very fuzzy signal. I'm hoping that they'll boost the transmitter power on one of the stations, or perhaps set up a new relay in the area.

Anyway, I might try a taped book soon. I just don't know which ones I'd try. I'm not sure the types of books I gravitate towards are offered on tape except by special order. That, and I love the act of reading too much.

If you have a recommendation of a good book on tape, let me know.

And have I mentioned...

Billy Mayes, the guy that shills all those Oxy Clean type products on cable, is really obnoxious? Shut the fuck up already, Billy! We hear you!

Snow

I woke later than normal this morning, and heard pebbles against the window glass. Aften putting on my glasses, I pulled back the blinds and looked out. It looked like snow, but, since they weren't flakes but little round dots, I knew that it was freezing rain. I hate freezing rain. The roads are slick enough around town, we don't need them to get worse.

By noon, it had changed over to a light snow without any wind. It's so peaceful outside when that occurs, and I became mesmerized by it. A bit later, I headed out to a birthday party for the children of my good friends, and even though it was pretty crisp outside, it didn't feel that bad. The cold was sort of soft, something that doesn't happen often. The streets, as I feared, were a little slick, but not so bad that I was overly concerned.

After the party, I met up with a few friends for supper. When we got to the cafe, it was still that soft cold, and the snow had quite falling hours before. We laughed hard and caught up on a lot of stuff, and at one point were joined by the brother of one of the guys with me. I knew him as well from years ago, and we spent quite a bit of time catching up. I told him about Crystal, school, teaching, and all of that; he told me of living and working construction for 15 years and two marriages, going from motel to motel, living on the road 320 days of the year. He also said that he's thinking of going back to school in the fall, and most likely, enrolling at my school. "I'm sick of working in the weather on days like this," Shane stated, pointing over his shoulder with his often hammered thumb.

As we were chatting, his cell chirped, and after answering, asked if we wanted to head up the road to Manvel (about 10 miles nort' of us) for a wild game feed. We all thought, hey, why not? We paid our tabs, wrapped up to face the great outdoors, and when I stepped outside, realized how nasty it was outside. The wind was blowing hard, the snow and frozen rain pellets polishing the ice already coating the tarmac. I looked to Shane, shook his hand, and begged off for the night. "I think I need to sit this one out, mi amigo, but, I'll look for you again now that I know you're back in town." He laughed and nodded, saying that he'll look me up as well.

I got home, my drive slightly drifted and unmarked by tire prints. It's amazing what the wind carries with it.

Rest Easy, Brother Wilson

I often forget that my early musical education was not of the norm. Mom and Dad both had diverse tastes in music, and it spread to my eldest sister and myself. We're musical gypsies, she and I.

watching a show on ants on the Discovery Channel, and amazed at the African siafu ants and thinking how flippin' nasty those little bastards are...

Anyway, on my way through the valley tonight on my way home from the sister campus, I heard the news that Wilson Pickett died today of a heart attack. "Oh, man," I thought, "that sucks." When I got back to my campus, I stopped in to M.'s office and asked if she heard about the death of Brother Wilson.

"Who?"

"Wilson Pickett. Ya know, the singer?"

"I have no idea who that is."

"Yeah, you do. Wilson Picket. Ya know, Land of a 1000 Dances? Funky Broadway? In the Midnight Hour?"

"Oh, yeah! I know that one! What else did he sing?"

"Mustang Sally was one of his other big hits."

"My brother sings that at karioke."

"Yeah. I have, too."

"Well, my brother is better."

M. likes to tease me, so, I took that in good stride. Anyway, I went over to another friend's office and asked if he had heard about Brother Wilson.

Six of my coworkers had never heard of Wilson Pickett.

When I got home tonight, I called my sister. She hadn't heard yet, and when I told her, her first reaction was "Guess it's time to watch The Commitments." I chuckled 'cuz I watched that movie just a few weeks ago, but, I'll be watching it again over the weekend, and singing along with all of the Wilson Pickett songs.

Peace to you, Brother Wilson.

Driving the valley

This semester, I travel to the other campus in our college two days a week. I'm teaching two classes there while one of the other psych profs is on sabbatical. If I could drive straight there, it would be about thirty-five, maybe forty miles. Depending upon the roads I'm forced to take, the drive can go be between 52 and 65 miles. Today, because of the road conditions, I had to take one of the longer routes.

See, I live in a valley. Closest mountains are a thousand miles to the west of me, though there are some pretty big hills about 400 miles to the east and west. The valley that I live in is that of a river, the Red River of the North, a bitch of a river that likes to push out of the banks every few years to disrupt the lives of the people that live near her. Eras in the valley are recorded by the floods; '97, '79, '56 and '57, and so on. They are also tabulated by blizzards, though we haven't had a real good one in a few years. Back in '97, however, well, we had a lot that year.

We had a light snow last night, and winds today caused the roads to get a bit slick. Now, I know that a light snow and some wind doesn't make a big difference in some places in the world, but, they have something that we don't. Topography. Yup, it's pretty damn flat here, and because it's flat, the wind doesn't have much to get in it's way. Lots of farmers plant windbreaks, rows of trees on the edges of fields, that knock it down a bit, but, there are many stretches along my route that the windbreaks are miles away from the road. Ditches drift and fill, often becoming flush with the road by midwinter. These are normal ditches, either; they are über ditches, some that are 20 to 30 feet deep and 50 to 60 feet wide.

As I was driving, I started out taking my normal route, and by the time I got to one of the small towns where I make a decision, I looked forward and saw nothing but white. The road was completely covered with snow and ice. I looked at the clock and made a fast calculation, and decided to take the long way. For me, that means backtracking, because the road that I turned onto angles northwest, and I was heading northeast. I know, it seems like a petty thing, but, I was shaving it close to get to class on time as it was, and the backtracking adds almost ten miles to my journey. Better safe than sorry, though.

A few miles along the way, I turned back to the east. There is a small town there, and as I got to the edge, the valley opens. It's the high valley there, meaning that I'm not too far from the edge of prehistoric Lake Aggassi (A-gas-si), which after the last ice age covered much of this area, leaving some of the most fertile land in the world as it drained. It still looks flat as a table, but, if you know what to look for, you can see changes that occur. One of them is the broken forest lands. We call it the prairie-to-pine zone, and it was once bordered by a vast oak savannah that ran from north of Winnipeg to the Gulf of Mexico. I kept moving along, drinking in the surroundings when I could, mainly because even the state highway I was on was snow covered and icy and spots.

I'm not a native to this area of the state, and it's taken me a long time to see the beauty of extremely open spaces. I don't care that there are tree lines and windbreaks ... it's still OPEN compared to where I grew up. I think the fact that I can see so much sky makes me feel almost claustrophobic. I am starting to enjoy it, though, but, I yearn for the day when I can once again live surrounded by trees and topography.

With friends like this...

I've got a rather strange group of friends. I wrote about J. in the previous post, but, something that I read earlier today reminded me of my friend Otto.

I met Otto at camp years ago. As a matter of fact, it was the first year for both of us. We were both a couple of long haired and bearded guys, and we had a pretty bizarre take on things. We even did a few things that were groundbreaking at the time and we're still using them in the program now some 17 years later.

But, it was some of the things Otto did away from camp that I really remember him for. At the time, Otto was living down the road from me in Fargo. He lived on the third floor of an apartment building. He had another good friend that lived on the first floor who was a philosophy and religion major. Often, the building would be visited by members of various religious groups that are often labeled as cults. Otto's friend would invite them in and talk with them, arguing the ideas and dogma, then would say, "Well, I'm not interested in joining your organization at the time, however, I have a friend upstairs that might be." The guy would give them Otto's apartment number, send them on their way, then call Otto and tell him they were coming.

I should tell you that Otto's hair came down to his waist. He had and has a goatee. He's about 5'7" and around 230 pounds. After getting the call, Otto would wait at the door for them. When they'd ring the doorbell, he'd fling the door open and spread his arms wide and yell in a rapturous voice "Take me, sweet Jesus, take me!"

Did I mention that he would do this in the nude?

It didn't take long before the various groups quit coming around.

One weekend we were off from camp, and were driving around. Otto was riding shotgun, and suddenly yells at me to stop the car. I pull over on the shoulder and he jumps out and runs into the woods. Now, this is of course after we'd had a few beers, so I thought he was going out to get rid of the beer. Instead, he returns with two short sticks.

"Otto, what the hell...?" I asked, getting out of the car and watching him as he came up the ditch. I watched as he walked over to a road killed raccoon that was fat with bloat, and he flipped him the raccoon up onto his feet. The grimace on the raccoon's dead face caused us both to roll with laughter. What was even more funny to us was the fact that the raccoon stayed that way for at least three days before the carrion eaters finally took him away from the roadside.

The last year Otto worked, we were cabin partners. That meant that we were responsible for taking care of a bunch of kids. One of the highlights of that summer, though, came when one night at a staff party. Otto and I were told that we needed to come up with something for the rest of the staff, something to 'entertain' them. We're both big fans of Bob Dylan, and so, we decided to sing one of our camp songs a la Dylan. So, that night, we got to the party, and it came our time, and we stood up and put on our Wayfarer's. At that point, we we knocked everyone dead. We sang our hearts out, and everyone that wasn't in shock, laughed. Now, when we have reunions, Otto and I are asked for an encore.

I was one of the groomsmen at his wedding. We had a blast, especially right before the dance started when all the people from camp gathered around him and his new bride and toasted them with shots of Aquavit. We ended up doing this about six times, making sure that we got it right. Oy. Afterwards, Otto and I grabbed the microphone and started singing. Hey, we thought it was funny, as did all of the Norwegians.

I get to see Otto from time to time now, especially at camp reunion stuff, and we typically end up singing together. Yeah, we still enjoy ourselves.

Even if no one else appreciates us. *grin*

The Dwarf and Elfhole

My office partner and I are enjoying our second year of sharing our digs -- not just the office space, but also the insults and cuts that are cast often between two good friends. J. is a former high school teacher that started working with me about three years ago, and last year, he and I started sharing an office. Its not the office we're in currently, and that's a completely different post altogether.

About a year ago, I decided that I wanted to grow my beard out. I first started growing a beard when I was 17, shaved it while I was in the Marines, and as soon as I could after I got out of the Corps, started growing it again. Once before, I let it just go like I am now, and that's when I was in Norway. It got pretty big and bushy then, but, I clipped it back before I came home. Since then, up until a year ago, I kept it pretty closely trimmed. A year ago, though, I decided, fuck it, it's time to have some fun with the facial hair.

J. was one of the first to notice, too. Around my birthday, he looked at me, and said, "your beard bigger?"

"Yup."

"Cool."

Now, J. is a bit over a decade my senior, and is one of those men that can't really grow facial hair. When he starts to tease me, then, I know its purely from jealously. Other people kid me about it, too, and I take it all in good stride. For example, the college provost's administrative assistant refers to me as the burly man. Another coworker asked if I was working on becoming a part-time Santa. Yeah, with the grades I gave a lot of his students, ho ho ho, motherfucker. *heh*

So, last February, J. and I got hoodwinked into going to a conference down in the Twin Cities with another coworker, B. We took B.'s ride, and I drove from Grand Forks to Clear Lake, MN. At that point, J. took over, and he looked at me and said, "okay, you need to tell me how to get to this place. You're my navigator."

Without missing a beat, I snapped back, "And you're the wind beneath my wings."

J. had to pull to the shoulder of the Interstate because he was laughing so hard. B. proclaimed that exchange the theme for the weekend.

After spending so much time together in the office, it became natural for us to start completing each other's sentences. We both enjoy breaking into the random song from time to time, the scary thing is that we often break into the same song at the same time. Others have noticed. One day, in the hall, we bumped hard and grabbed each other so we wouldn't fall (we were both called by different people at the same time), and we did a nice little hop polka in the hall, arguing as to who was the lead.

But, it was the trip in November that sealed it. Now, J. and I have done a lot of work outside of school together as well. He helped me build my bed, and I'm helping him build a new computer desk for his home office. My table saw is living in his garage right now until my garage gets a little decluttered. Anyway, we headed to a workshop about three hours from home, and on the way there, the roads were horrendous. They were halfway between sucky and shitty, and J. was driving about 45 miles an hour. Now, I forget just what he said to me, but I fired a quip right back at him. He looked over at me and said, in a voice laced heavily with insult, a single word.

"Dwarf."

J. had been saying for a few weeks how I looked like an extra from Lord of the Rings. Then, it was more like Gimli himself that I resembled. I find the greatest in humor when he makes these comments, and without batting an eyelash, I replied.

"Elfhole."

We spent five minutes on the shoulder of I-29 until he quite laughing enough to trust his driving.

*grin*

I'm good like that.

Restless

When I feel crappy, I get restless. I look around the house and I think ... "I should do something..." Today, I'm feeling crappy, and after taking three or four naps (I lost count), I started to think to myself ...

Bookshelves.

See, I like books. I have a lot of books. LOTS of books. Downstairs, I have two floor to ceiling five shelf book shelves and a fold-up bookshelf which are all full. I also have one of those fold-up bookshelves upstairs, too, and I still don't have enough shelves. So, I start looking around the bedroom. The next thing I realize is I don't have enough room in my dresser, either. I do a little measuring, and realize that the dresser downstairs will fit in my bedroom, I just need to pull the main dresser over a few inches. That'll solve another problem as well, which is that the t.v. is too low so I can't see more than the top 1/3 of the screen. So, I disconnect a few cables, move the T.V., VCR, and cable box over to the bed, pull the main dresser over, and then, go down and get the other dresser. Reset up the T.V. and all that, and then, hang some shelves.

I can only find four brackets after I get the strips screwed to the wall, and I think, screw it, two shelves for today will be good enough. I gathered up my stray books, feeling like a cowboy on the spring roundup looking for unbranded calves, and got them on the shelves. By this time, I was sweating out the poisons of whatever it is that's effecting me.

I'm still feeling restless and I'm trying to decide what the next step will be. Since I'm getting a new couch this weekend, I could break down the futon and take it downstairs and then bring my Laz-E-Boy up. Hell, I may even move the bookshelf that's upstairs and redo my corner office.

Or, I could put a hit out on Billy Mays, that goddam yeller on the Oxy-Clean and Kaboom cleaner commericals. Why does that fuckin' weanie need to yell all the goddam time?

Yeah. We'll see what happens.

The Moray Moon

It has been too long since I've seen the moon, and tonight, it's hanging in the sky like a large white eye, watching over the valley as we go through this damn warning spell. January and we're thawing. Warm enough to make me wonder why the moon isn't melting as well. Go figure.

But, I need to admit that the thaw is good for one thing. Last night when I arrived home, I looked at the ground outside the garage door, and I found the ring I lost a bit over a month ago. I was pissed at the time because that thing cost me a tish over $100 and I love the ring. I looked through the car, the house, all the pockets and my briefcase, and dammit, even through the grocery bags I brought home that night. My worst fear was that I lost it in one of those bags and then sent it out with the recycling.

One of my neighbors was out tonight when I got home. I like chatting with him because he's quite the character. He was on the corner looking up at the moon, and he was singing "That's Amore" loud enough for the entire block to hear.

When the moon hits your eye
like a big pizza pie
that's amore...

I went over and sang a bit with him, than added my verse

When that fish bites you leg
with teeth big as an egg
That's a moray.

Heh. Ed the neighbor thought it was funny.

Anyway, Ed and I were chatting, and he said, "hey, gotta tell ya, I really appreciate when ya put out your recycling. That's the only way I can remember which day the recycling pick up is." I laughed and said that it wasn't a problem, looked up at the moon, then sang my way back into the house...

...that's a moray...