Only the bad witches are ugly

So says Glinda the Good Witch of the North.

Is it true? Do the things we do have an impact on how we look?

I’m not talking about smoking and eating and drinking too much – that stuff obviously has a long-term effect on your appearance.

I’m talking about our daily thoughts and actions, how we live our lives.

Does it show?

Here’s why I’m thinking about it: George Ryan, former governor of Illinois was found guilty yesterday on 18 counts including racketeering, tax evasion, mail fraud and lying to the FBI.

And he just looks like a greedy bastard, doesn’t he?

Wait a minute, Heather.

Are you saying that all physically unattractive people are evil?

Of course not.

Whether someone is physically attractive or not is purely subjective.

For example, I tend to notice someone’s personality/intelligence before their physical characteristics – that is what drives my perception of whether he is physically appealing or not.

So maybe that’s why I think Ryan is such an ugly human being.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of breaking the law, I’m heading to the health club this morning. I'm stopped at an intersection and know from experience this one stays red for a painfully long time.

It's 5 a.m. A quick look behind and ahead. Nobody. So I zip right through.

The thrill of finally being an outlaw after 39 years was diminished only slightly by the name of the street as I pass by: Ice Cream Drive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then there’s this guy.

The Pope.

I haven’t met him yet so I have no idea what he’s like as a person.

But the way he looks just creeps me right out for some reason. I know it’s wrong, but I just don’t get a good feeling looking at him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: The Chicago Tribune’s Red Eye
I am listening to: Pearl Jam – Severed Hand
And I am: Cool

The Wave

Nobody told me about it.

The biker wave.

Have you seen it?

Stick out your arm, low by your waist with your hand kinda flat like you’re gonna pet your dog. If you’re feeling a little adventurous, stick out two fingers.

That’s it.

Unfortunately, nobody told me about it.

So last summer, when I finally felt confident enough to acknowledge other riders, I was waving like Forrest at Lieutenant Dan every time a bike went by.

I’m better now. Really.

But sometimes, I’m just so goddamn happy to be riding I still cut loose and wave, all big and goofy.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, there are some who would not deign to wave at the likes of me and the aforementioned zippy Suzuki.

The angry minority of bikers who refuse to wave have two things in common: they ride Harleys and they have teeny tiny wieners.

Okay, maybe the tiny wiener thing is pure speculation on my part, but they have to be angry over something and having a tiny wiener is as likely a reason as any, don’t you think?

In truth, it’s a very small percentage of Harley riders who refuse to acknowledge non-Harley riding bikers.

All the Harley guys I know are friendly and have ginormous wieners (again with the speculation. Gee, isn’t this fun?)

Seriously, it’s just plain silly to be divisive over something as pure and blissful as riding a motorcycle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bus driver I pass every morning on my way out of the subdivision. The large, sad-eyed old man who sits behind the security desk in the lobby of my office building. The street vendor at the corner of Madison and Wacker selling copies of the Sun-Times.

I smile and wave at these people pretty much every day.

It’s friendly, yes.

But on a deeper level, it’s a way of acknowledging our humanity, our common bond.

There are two types of people: uniters and dividers. Uniters always see the things they have in common with others; the dividers only see the differences.

Most days I try to be a uniter. Thus the wave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Nothing :(
I am listening to: Black Eyed Peas – Pump It
And I am: Waving

A small favor

Never forward me an e-mail that says "if you don't send this to 10 friends within 10 minutes you will die." The only one likely to die in that scenario is you.

Speaking of dieing, don't send me an e-mail demanding that I prove my love for Jesus by forwarding it to everyone I know.

I am quite certain with everything going on in the world today, Jesus -- wherever that rascal is -- doesn't give two shits about who I am or am not e-mailing.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: The Red Tent
I am listening to: Train - Drops of Jupiter
And I am: Good

The Magnolia

out front is starting to bloom. And I'm cutting the grass for the first time this weekend.

Life is so good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: The Red Tent
I am listening to: Living Things - Bom Bom Bom
And I am: Awake

One block

There is:

A bucket-drummer who sits on the north side of the Madison Street Bridge. I find myself walking to his beat. On game days, he yells “Go Cubs!”

A blind fellow on the south side of the bridge, closer to the Chicago Merc, camped next to a large sign that reads: “Can-you-feel-Jesus-in-your-heart-today?” It includes a picture of Jesus that is not at all comforting.

A homeless guy (“disabled veteran hungry please help”) sitting on a yellow milk crate on the west side. His skin is wrinkly and gray.

Just beyond him stands a tiny man in a ragged gorilla suit passing out flyers for a local gym. I’ve seen him without the mask taking a break around the corner and he looks exactly like you’d expect. Like a pinched up flower that doesn’t get nearly enough sun.

And this morning: The abortion protesters are back.

Picture this: 5 of them standing on each side of the street approximately 15 feet apart holding 5 ft. tall signs titled “First Trimester Abortion". Under it, a giant photo of a bright red bloody mess with one tiny foot poking out.

The pictures are graphic and appalling, sure, but I would never deny anyone their right to free speech.

The 6-year-old passing out flyers next to one of the signs seemed wrong, though.

And abortion protesters claim we should have respect for human life – what about respect for the dead?
~~~~~~~~~~
All of that stuff: within just one city block.

What I like most about working in Chicago is that it gets me out of the same-ness of the suburbs.

There’s an intersection in your town – you know it – the one with the video store and the gas station and the pharmacy and the tanning place and the carryout pizza joint.

You could be in a 1,000 other towns across the U.S.

Makes you feel like there might be a 1,000 other you’s out there, too.

In the city, there is something new-exciting-strange-awful-wonderful at every corner.

It’s bursting with different.

And you’d never once forget where you are. Or who you are.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: The Red Tent
I am listening to: Chevelle - An Evening with El Diablo
And I am: Okay

I’m a German-Swedish-Scottish-Native-American American

What are you?

Unless you’re 100% Native American, you have no business pissing and moaning about immigration.

“But they’re illegal!”

Be honest. It’s not that they’re illegal. It’s that there are so many of them.

And that, dear friends, is racism.

The fact is, this country has survived and been made stronger by waves and waves of immigrants. It’s what we do.

A few people from the Land of Elsewhere decide to come here. They realize how great it is, tell their friends and family, and all of sudden whole neighborhoods of Elsewhere-ians crop up.

A handful of Archie Bunkers claim they’re taking over OUR country, they ought to speak OUR language, blah blah.

Then our culture changes. It grows. And diversity is always a good thing for our economy.

“But they’re taking away jobs from Americans!”

Bullshit.

The jobs they’re doing, nobody else wants. Another hallmark of immigration.

Two facts: There always will be low-paying crap jobs here in the U.S. And it always falls on the most current wave of immigrants to fill those roles.

They work at these low-level jobs for a time, build families, improve their lives and move on. Then the next wave of immigrants comes through to fill those roles. Irish, Italian, German, Polish – all of these groups were feared, hated and then integrated. It’ll happen with our Mexican friends, too.

The system works. And they work. Their assess off.

“Our healthcare and education systems can’t support them!”

True. Right now. But we’ll figure it out.

This challenge didn’t happen overnight and it’s not going to be fixed any time soon.

And if you expect the current administration to do anything helpful, just remember how well it handled Katrina – a hurricane they could see coming for five days.

“We need to secure our borders!”

Of course.

But a giant, endless, ugly wall along the southern border wouldn’t have stopped the 9/11 terrorists. And trust me, it won’t stop the next rabid band of nut-jobs determined to attack us.

Most of the folks coming here want to work for a better life. How can you argue with that? Do you really want to put up a wall to prevent them from doing the same thing your ancestors did?

“So what are we supposed to do?”

It won’t be easy.

An amnesty program would be a good start: Anyone here illegally gets to stay with no legal fallout if they register within a certain timeframe. They register, putting them on a path toward U.S. citizenship, they pay taxes, and the system adjusts. It would take a major financial investment involving public education and outreach programs to help these folks get settled.

I know, I know.

It’s not perfect – a certain percentage just won’t go legit. In fact, the program likely will force a bunch of them even deeper underground.

“That’s when we get ‘em!”

Um, no.

That’s when you go after the legitimate businesses that profit by using migrant labor to do undesirable, often dangerous jobs for far less than minimum wage without providing benefits like health insurance.

Remember, this is all about work. Which means it’s about money. Ultimately, it’s your money.

“Huh?”

Next time you feel like having an apple or a salad or a baked potato, think about how all that amazing stuff came to be piled up in the produce section of your grocery store. While you’re paying for it (with money you earned from working), remember the people who made it possible for you to fill your plastic bags.

Chances are, a Mexican immigrant had a hand in it.

A tired, underpaid, un-insured hand.

They’re working hard, just like you. Together, we’re putting food on our tables.

Still angry with all those immigrants?

So

glad that I got outta bed at 4:30 this morning.

The big buttery moon low out west made it all worthwhile.

And a good long, sweaty workout first thing always makes my days extra zippy.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I finished Holy Blood, Holy Grail over the weekend. I almost gave up, it was so painfully boring.

Then, two-thirds through it got interesting.

If you haven’t read DaVinci Code yet, I won’t spoil it.

But let me say that sadly, these authors didn’t do a great job of proving their theory. It makes sense, and they were very logical in their approach, but without proof it’s rather pointless.

Plus, it doesn’t really change who Jesus was and what he did.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, I had to jump right in and read DaVinci again. I started it Saturday morning and finished it last night.

Having read the actual research behind this decidedly fictional book made it that much more interesting.

What I love most has nothing to do with the story, though.

Dan Brown has a great understanding of religious history. And he makes a point to remind readers that the early Christian church appropriated many pagan traditions and holidays. Threaded through the entire story are little reminders that religion wasn’t always male dominated; that there was time when the sacred feminine was revered equally.

For that reason alone, the book should be required reading.
~~~~~~~~~~~
And yes, I spent the entire weekend reading. I haven’t done that since I was single and living alone in Geneva. It was fabulous and I really want to do it again next weekend.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, I lied.

I didn’t spend the entire weekend reading.

I did a little zip zip zipping around.

Funny story: took a spin through the neighborhood first to make sure everything felt right after its long winter nap. I usually ride to the far end of the sub and turn around in a cul-de-sac. Turns out, I’m not the only one. Yesterday there was a Large Marge on a Harley doing the same thing, just ahead of me. It was obvious the bike was brand new and she was getting a feel for it. But that didn’t stop her from giving me and my bike a look of distain as I pulled up. She was riding with no helmet and no leather; just the smug superior smile of someone who needs a big, expensive toy to feel better than everyone else.

She stalled it. I gave her a friendly little wave as I zipped by.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: The Red Tent (Thanks, Judy!)
I am listening to: Raconteurs – Steady as She Goes
I am: Zippy

The Next Great Adventure

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing. - Helen Keller
~~~~~~~~~~~
You’re going to Hawaii and you’ll come back with a different name.

You’ve lost a loved one and life will never, ever be the same.

You’re struggling with what you want to do with your life now that you finally have the time/energy/support to really do it.

You’ve lost your job and it hurts more than you ever imagined.

You’re happy where you are but feel like you could be a little happier elsewhere.

Your mind is sharp but your body is failing; seems like every day now.

You are alone and far away from the people who love you most.

A daring adventure, or nothing.

Indeed.

Love each other. Fearlessly. Unconditionally.

Because it’s the most important thing you can do. And you never know when the Universe will throw you the next great adventure.

Planting Pansies

Waiting out front of my office building for a friend before heading to lunch, I watched workers planting pansies in the median.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of plants. Purple, yellow, blue.

And men. Methodically digging, planting.

What a great job.

You actually have something to show at the end of your day.

One

Walking along the river to my office. The flow of people into the Loop is magical and I can’t take my eyes from it.

Suddenly, all separation fades away. We are one.

It’s overwhelming and takes my breath away.
~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Nothing
I am listening to: Bob Schneider - The World Exploded into Love
I am: Zen

I'm not purple

AUNT SARAH: Maybe you’re not an artist.
CLAIRE: Why would you say that?
AUNT SARAH: Did it hurt your feelings when I said it?
CLAIRE: Yeah.
AUNT SARAH: Maybe I’m right. Maybe if you were an artist you would’ve laughed when I said it. Like if you told me I was purple I would laugh because I know I’m not purple. But when I said you weren’t an artist you felt bad maybe because there’s a grain of truth in it.

(From Season Five of HBO’s Six Feet Under)
~~~~~~~~~~~~
And that’s what being offended is all about: a grain of truth.

It’s usually some ugly reality about ourselves that we’ve buried deep for a reason.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Why don’t you get off your big fat ass and get me a drink?”

Yep. Someone I’ve known less than a year said that to me a while ago.

How would you react? How did I react?

I laughed my big fat ass off.

Success

It is impossible to be in a bad mood when you’re wearing polka-dot underwear.

Please. Try it some time. You’ll agree.
~~~~~~~~
Another request: if you have Showtime please watch Penn & Teller’s Bullshit. It is the most intelligent television show ever.

They take a topic like environmentalism or ghosts or gun control, sprinkle in a few “experts” on those subjects, then apply logic and reason to dispel the bullshit. It's brilliant.

Also, they swear a lot to emphasize the silliness of it all and you know how much I like that.

It is without question my favorite show now that Six Feet Under is no longer with us.

In case you’re wondering: they’ve proven that environmentalism is a load of crap, the second amendment is necessary but not why you think, and that ghosts (if they existed) would be naked.
~~~~~~~~
“Success? Don’t you know it is all about being able to extend love to people? Really. Not in a big, capital-letter sense but in the everyday. Little by little, task by task, gesture by gesture, word by word.”
- Actor Ralph Fiennes
~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Web solutions practice overview
I am listening to: Insane Clown Posse - My Kind of Bitch (Big thanks for that one, you-know-who)
And I am: Quiet

One more thing

You can't be in a bad mood when you hear "Your Smiling Face" by James Taylor.

Try it. C'mon.

Heaven - Revised

Walking. Downtown Chicago at lunch time. Sunshine. A nice warm breeze. The 'L' rattling overhead like a rollercoaster. And one scoop of chocolate ice cream in a sugar cone.

Yep. That's it.

A man

braiding his long, gray mullet on the train this morning.
~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Holy Blood, Holy Grail (incredibly boring at parts but much better now)
I am listening to: Empty Garden - Elton John
And I am: Busy

The Elusive Quarter

If you read last night’s entry, you might be thinking that I rather like the idea of dieing.

You would be correct. I have a feeling that like all great adventures it will be scary and exciting and liberating.

However, that doesn’t mean that I am tired of this life.

Not by a long shot.

There’s so much to do before I go. And there are all sorts of amazing things I will miss about this planet when I am gone.

Shaving my legs isn’t one of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cows. Running.

There’s nothing more disturbing, don’t you think?

Cows are supposed to be passive, placid creatures with nothing to do but moo and chew and poo.

Not yesterday. These cows were running. Like mad. Yes.

As if some urgent bovine matter was calling them back to the barn.

I didn’t like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A small downside to taking the train everyday is that I have to pay to park my car.

$1.50.

Which means I need a steady supply of quarters.

Usually there’s a baggie filled with them in my glove box.

But it’s empty and I’ve had to scramble like an addict for a fix each morning this week.

Today I experienced a small rush when I discovered four quarters in the tin cup in the laundry room that holds loose change from the washer and dryer.

The buzz was short-lived as there was only one quarter in the change holder in my car.

That elusive last quarter. Where could it be? What will happen if I can’t find it? I’m in the parking lot in desperate need of just one more.

A mad scramble. Then sweet relief.

Deep under the driver’s seat, a sad and very dusty quarter that had long given up hope of ever being used.

Lucky for both of us I guess.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Marketing status report
I am listening to: Frank Sinatra – Fly Me to the Moon
I am: Rather blah

Human Maintenance

is tiresome.

Chick doctor. Eye doctor. Haircut. Dentist.

Forget March Madness. Over here it’s been March Maintenance.

I will be so glad when my soul finally shrugs off this body and I’ll be finished with all this happy crap.

That’s my idea of Heaven.

Yes, all my dead friends and relatives are there – at least the ones I really want to see, anyway.

Doggies everywhere, of course.

But best of all: no more tiresome, unreliable, smelly body to contend with.

Although I must admit that I love, love, love having clean teeth.

I waited an extra six weeks to get my teeth cleaned (long story) and it was getting so bad that the aforementioned Shit Breath Avoidance Maneuver was no longer effective.

What do you do then? Ya got a trick for that, Heather?

Nope. At that point, there’s no avoiding it. Just try to keep your mouth closed and don’t stand too near friends or an open flame.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With all this train riding, I forget how much I love driving.

There’s nothing like a good 45-minute trip on good expressway to put me in a good mood.

I love shifting through the gears. I love the strategy to navigate around idiots in the left lane (you know who you are.)

But most of all, I love the speed.

80 is good. 90 is better. 95?

Indeed. Zippy, unparalleled bliss.

With nearly 17 years of Chicago driving, I’m good.

Very good.

And never, ever reckless.

For me, Heaven also would be a fast car and endless miles of open road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So here’s a question I’ve been asking lately: if our souls are separate from our bodies, and our bodies and minds give us gender, then logically we would have no gender once we die.

Whaddaya think? Good? Crazy? Possible? Boring?

What would it be like if we just loved each other’s souls? Do you love the soul of the person you’re with? Would you still love her if she didn’t have the same body or mind?

Isn’t that a bit of a mind-fuck?

I believe there are certain human characteristics that live in your soul: courage and compassion, mostly. These are things that do not require logic – and in fact they’re most powerful when there’s no thinking involved at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“But, Heather! Bodies can be fun! And interesting!”

Of course. The communion of bodies can be lovely, albeit temporary.

The communion of souls can last forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Holy Blood, Holy Grail
I am listening to: Salinas - Gonzalo Sorondo
And I am: Thinky

Workin'

I haven't been writing much because I've been workin' like a dog.

Actually, that's not a very accurate statement. My dog doesn't work. Ever.

He has the best life I know.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Huge thanks to all of you who made the Big Birthday Weekend so exceptional. Lotsa cards, phone calls, singing, laughing -- couldn't have asked for a better time.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Ginormous Congratulations to two of the dearest friends in the world.

I've been thinking: this gives us an excuse to celebrate practically ALL YEAR!
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: e-mail
I am listening to: Tori Amos - Winter
And I am: Tense

I leave

the office in a foul mood.

Everything tech-related was flakey today – making the easiest tasks irritating.

I pass the gauntlet of homeless people on the Madison Street bridge; most just shaking their plastic cups, too tired/lazy/crazy/high to ask for help.

Then, walking through Union Station, I see Sir Richard the train conductor and suddenly I just feel better.

Finishing our conversation from this morning, he tells me how he works at the Chicago Board of Trade in addition to the trains. Working on the grain floor, he used to make sure the trades were accurate because “errors can be costly, you know.”

Now, with electronic trading there are no worries when it comes to errors. But I didn’t get to hear what he’s doing for them now because he had to help someone looking for a train.

The extra money allows him to take his family on amazing vacations – right now they’re saving up to go to Australia and New Zealand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay. Of all the things that drive me completely bat-shit, #1 is the sound of crinkling wrappers.

Yesterday on this train I sat next to a woman eating Cheese Nips. One at a time, extracting them from the bag between two elegant yet fat fingers.

Every time she reached in I wanted to scream: “Dump a bunch in your hand! Pour them into your mouth! Either way, cut the crinkling!”

Let me just say this: she sure didn’t need the Nips. And I didn’t need to hear it.

Today – wouldn’t ya know it – she’s next to me again. Crinkling that goddamn snack bag, oblivious to the excruciating mental pain it’s causing me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And yes, you can forget that whole giving-up-being-irritated-with-people-I-don’t-know thing.

Lent is just no match for two days with the Nip Lady.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Oh, it’s a guitar!” I realize, staring at the large cardboard box sitting in the luggage bin at my feet.

Taylor Quality Guitars.

Somebody on this train is excited. They’ll get home and carefully take it out of the box, run their hand over its smooth surface, play that first magical chord. And smile.

Or, they’ll wrap it up and give it to someone. Someone who’s wanted a guitar for as long as they can remember.

Turns out, it’s an old, white-haired man with the guitar. He gingerly pulls the box from over his head, making sure not to bump it against the rail.

He doesn’t look excited, just inconvenienced. Almost angry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Train conversation:

“Jimmy Carter got it right: he lusted in his heart.”
“He was the first president that I voted for.”
“He is a good man.”

We’re on this train. Heading in the same direction.

But that’s about all we have in common sometimes.

Confession

Sometimes while walking through Union Station I fantasize about getting on a different train and just...disappearing for a while.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Holy Blood, Holy Grail
I am listening to: Natalie Imbruglia - Torn
And I am: Busy

And then

someone you haven't spoken with in over two years surprises you with a phone call and a classic, wonderful compliment:

“It reminded me of something you used to do: any time someone came by your desk, you’d stop what you were doing, stand up and give them your full attention. No e-mail. No instant messenger. 100% focus. When I find myself distracted I remember that.”

Made my day.

Also a tiny bit disturbing because I don't think I stick to that so much anymore.

Happy Spring Equinox

Or a blessed Ostara for you pagans out there.

Equinox: equal day and night. Equal light and dark. A balance of all things. In the Spring it means we're heading into longer days and more light.

Time to thing about a new life. Time for planting thoughts and ideas that will bloom as the sun grows warmer. Time for new beginnings.

Blessed be, dear friends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I unplugged last night.

No TV. No laptop. And no phone.

I sat on the couch with Gromit and read a book until I fell asleep.

Sad: I can't remember the last time I did that -- one of my favorite, simple things to do.

Happy: I finally did it and I'm doing it again tonight because I'm up to my ears in a fabulous new book called Holy Blood, Holy Grail. A surprisingly easy read -- it's the non-fiction book behind The DaVinci Code. Highly recommend it if you're into that sort of thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: proofing employee handbook
I am listening to: sales meeting blah blah in the background
And I am: Pretty happy

Made

the 7:22 train this morning for a change.

I like being earlier than usual in to the office, but I generally stick with the 7:42 because of Richard, the train conductor.

Have I mentioned him?

First, let me say that I am not one for striking up conversations with strangers. It’s not something I do.

But last year, with all my obvious injuries (crutches, knee brace, etc.) Richard and I started talking. His wife had ACL surgery from a soccer injury. He helped me navigate the stairs and avoid other passengers getting on and off the train. He started bringing me water. I started bringing him cookies.

Now he’s Sir Richard. He reminds me a little of my Grandpa Kammer – bright blue eyes and a slow, deep way of talking that draws you in to the stories he tells.

And that’s why I rarely miss the 7:42.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
But today it’s the 7:22 and I’m sure I’ll be glad of the extra half hour before all the meetings start.

I will get nothing done today. I have meetings from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. with no lunch break.

Tomorrow is the same.

All that time. Talking about doing things. Rather than doing things.

Ack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Night by Elie Wiesel
I am listening to: Heather Nova – Walk This World
And I am: Vaguely disturbed

Abstain or Die: The Cervical Cancer Vaccine Debate

You might've already heard about this, but scientists have discovered that cervical cancer is caused by a virus.

It's good news for so many reasons, the least of which is that if the pap smear that I had this morning comes up negative for the virus, then I don't need to experience another one of those uncomfortable expeditions for another three years.

But the really great news is that there's a vaccine that is 100% effective in fighting this virus. Eliminate the virus, eliminate the cancer, everybody wins. Right?

Not exactly.

Apparently those control-freak misogynistic fucktards on the fundamentalist far right are at it again -- fighting FDA approval of the vaccine because it poses a threat to their whole abstinence agenda.

Yes, the virus happens to be a sexually transmitted disease.

And somehow these idiots think that they're the only thing standing between the vaccine and a nationwide Girls Gone Wild pandemic. Because the vaccine fights an STD, they honestly believe that inoculating young women will make them more likely to have sex.

Remember, these are the same men who fought birth control -- men who claimed that offering easy access to safe, reliable contraception would turn rational, decent women into Sex-Crazed, Out-of-Control Love Monkeys.

Yet all of the symptoms of a Love Monkey Revolution -- abortion, unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases -- have been steadily declining since the 1970's.

The fact is, these men are so preoccupied with what everyone else is doing in the sack, you just know they're either a) not getting any, ever or b) depraved perverts. Or both.

In case you're wondering exactly who "they" are: The Family Research Council is one of the leading proponents of all the hateful, sexist, homophobic legislation that currently threatens our nation and our freedom.

These are the people behind the Bush administration's infamous anti-science agenda that among other things is promoting the teaching of creationism in our public schools.

These people would rather protect their ineffective control freak sex agenda than protect women from cancer.

Please write your representative and support FDA approval of this vaccine. Today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is liking the things we have to do that makes life blessed. - Goethe

Did ya see

the moon this morning?

It was amazing.

And it explained a lot.

In spite of the fact that I have a moon phase calendar posted prominently in my cube, somehow I missed this one.

I should've known it was happening by how crazy-mean-stupid people were.

Things feel better now. Like a giant sigh of relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: an e-mail from Nelson
I am listening to: Pearl Jam - World Wide Suicide
I am: Better than yesterday

Walkies, talkies

“It’s nice having you along for walkies today.” - J.
“It’s nice being along. I just hope I’m not talking too much.” - H.
“Not at all. I usually talk to myself.” - J.
“You do? What do you say?” - H.
“I don’t know, I never listen.” - J.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gromit knows he gets walkies on Saturdays and Sundays.

If you’re not familiar with walkies, rent a Wallace & Gromit DVD. I recommend A Close Shave or The Wrong Trousers.

Jim usually takes Grom for walkies. When Jim is outta town, I take him.

But Sunday I joined in for the extremely rare event: Family Walkies.

Yes, family walkies.

Don’t laugh. You know you’ve got an equally absurd saying you use with the people/animals who share your home/life.

Walkies happen on the trail that runs along the Fox River. It is lovely and interesting year-round.

Most other dogs are very orderly in their walkies. They stick to the trail and heel like they’re supposed to.

Not Gromit. Early on, we decided the walk was for him, not us, so we put him in charge.

If he wants to stop and examine an unidentifiable pile of something for five minutes, he does. If he wants to meander off the trail to follow a scent, he meanders. And if he wants to take the leash and walk himself for a stretch, he grabs it and goes.

We are respectful of others on the trail and reel him in when necessary, but for the most part its his program.

I feel kinda sorry for the dogs whose people don’t get the concept of walkies.

And I feel worse for the people – so determined in their mission to Walk the Dog, completely oblivious to the wisdom that their four-legged friend could impart if only they’d just slow down to sniff and meander for a bit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, I am concerned with talking too much.

I am always concerned about this. In any setting.

I heard a long time ago that God gave us two ears and one mouth so that we should listen twice as much as we talk.

So I try to listen mostly.

You’d be surprised at the shit that people spew when they are finally in the company of someone who will actually listen to them.

You learn a lot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Ferrari is Italian for ‘I’m not banging my wife.’” - From Real Time with Bill Maher tonight.

Prick, Pipers, Protesters, Pooped

[Editor's note: this is from yesterday. I was too pooped to publish last night.]

“I don’t care if he builds the goddamn thing with Tinker Toys as long as it does what I need it to do.”

That was me earlier today. Charming, eh?

I work with people who are big on technology. Programmers, developers, geeks.

Had a meeting with the guy who is supposed to help me orchestrate transferring my company’s web site to the new .Net Nuke development platform.

If you’re wondering what that is, so am I.

These geeks, they have to make everything that they do sound mysterious and dangerous when in reality they’re mostly pale white men whose major pastime besides computers is fierce and prolonged masturbation.

Anyway.

He was condescending, which never helps. And like most techno-geeks, wayyyyyy too focused on the technology and not at all focused on how it is supposed to help. He spent a ridiculous amount of time explaining the nuts and bolts on the new site when all I wanted to know was when I can get started on the damn thing.

At one point I had the audacity to ask him if the selected technology was appropriate for what we needed to do.

“To a guy with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” I said.

I don’t think he liked that much, but it was my little return jab for his arrogance.

Another warning sign that this thing is never gonna get done: I asked him if it was appropriate at this point to solicit feedback from some key folks at the company, to maybe get some consensus on updates to the content and format.

Oh, no. He didn’t want any part of that.

I understand the “too many cooks in the kitchen” concept, but this was not the case.

He just didn’t want me to tell anyone that after six months of promises he’s finally going to work on this, for fear he might be held to a deadline.

Prick.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Went to a meeting in the Sears Tower today. It’s just a couple blocks from my office.

There were bagpipers playing in the lobby.

Not something you’d expect in the middle of the day, but it was nice. Reminded me of my wedding.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s with all the helicopters?” asked someone from the meeting, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 67th floor.
“It’s a big protest today. Some immigration thing.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Down on the street, it was awesome: My first close encounter with a big city protest.

Fascinating. Endless. A veritable wall of people.

I still don’t have any idea what they were marching about.

But it was inspiring, all these people coming together for a cause they believe in.

Honestly, I don’t want to learn what it was all about for fear of being disappointed.

I really hope it’s something amazing and worthwhile that will change the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now, riding home on the train, I am completely pooped.

I really need this weekend.

So best wishes to y’all, love ya, and g’night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: The Cockroach Theory by Dick Wake
I am listening to: Chevelle – An Evening with El Diablo
And I am: You know, pooped.

The Customer Service Surprise

So we hired this chick here to answer the phones and do administrative stuff. She’s fresh outta college and very enthusiastic. The fact that she’s really, really hot helped her get the job, but she’s actually proving to be a very valuable resource.

For example, last night we had our first company meeting of the year. It’s an all-hands-on-deck dinner/drinks/presentation thing that lets everyone know how the company is doing and such.

The company is growing so much that for the first time ever we needed nametags for everyone. So I asked New Chick for some help. I gave her the list of who was coming but she was expected to figure out the rest. It’s pretty straight forward: you go to OfficeMax up the street, pick up the stick-on nametags and run ‘em through the printer.

Well.

She added the company logo. And the department and/or title of each person.

Way better than expected. Way more than I would’ve done with a list of names and little or no instruction.

And that’s the Customer Service Surprise. It’s extremely rare.

Exceptional customer service. When was the last time it happened to you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Neil Steinberg’s column in the Chicago Sun-Times
I am listening to: Chevelle – An Evening with El Diablo
And I am: Pretty goddamn good

"Heather, you forgot

Sweetface Dog and Mr. Fuzzybutt," said Gromit last night.

DoggieDog

Gromit
GromitDog
GrommieDog
Grommie
Grom
GromDog
G-Dog
G
PoopDog
PooperDog
CheeseDog
Doggie
DoggieDog
Dog
Mr. Dog
Mr. G
Sweetheart Dog
Saturday Dog
Crazy Dog
Walkie Dog
Captain FuzzyPants
~~~~~~~~~~
We like snacks.
We get pissed off when we’re left alone for too long.
We are not judgmental.
We are left-handed/pawed.
We are known for occasional emotional and irrational outbursts.
We have the same favorite people.
We can be very irritating when we don’t get what we want.
We like lounging by the pool in the summer time.
We feel really bad after we get angry.
We like rubs and scratches before we go to sleep.
We shake our asses when we’re really, really happy.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Love isn’t something you feel, it’s something you do.” - Nate from Six Feet Under

It's starting

It's gonna be Giuliani in 2008, mark my words. It's starting.

You'll see little media blips about him. This poll is the first I've seen in quite some time.

Trust me, it's all carefully controlled and managed. His folks really know what they're doing.

And by the time he's ready to announce his candidacy, it will be a full-on media blitz.

Another prediction: Woo, boy. Giuliani finally comes out as the Democrat that he is, leaves Hillary crying in the dust, and forces the suddenly candidate-less Republicans to (finally) embrace McCain (because Obama has already said, and I believe him, that he won't run for president in 2008.) What a race that would be, eh?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Otherwise, I am still blah. I feel achy and tired and cranky.

Sitting

in the conference room for an early morning sales meeting, I can see the Chicago Sun-Times building across the river.

I am here. And I am happy.

I'm not one for regret, but that building is taunting me with all of my bad decisions, all of my early missteps.

My Dream is to be a columnist for that newspaper.

I am here. And I am happy.

But I could be there. And I could be happier.
~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: my notes for this meeting
I am listening to: people talking about wins/losses and pipeline
I am: glad it's Friday

Walking

out of my office building for lunch earlier today, it hit me.

The warm, wonderful, unmistakable smell of chocolate.

The air was thick with it.

Its healing powers were like magic as I imagined inhaling it all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

This heavenly scent wafts over occasionally from the Blommer Chocolate factory a few blocks away.

There’s a long list of things I love about working in Chicago. The chocolaty good air is near the top.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I like Girl Scout cookies.

Not so much for the taste, because let’s be honest, they’re not even in the same league as Oreos or Keebler Fudge Stripes.

No, I like them because of the process.

You order them what seems like forever ago in October or November.

And long after you’ve forgotten how many or what kind, those unmistakable boxes appear on an otherwise ordinary day in March.

“Wow! Did I really order FOUR boxes of Thin Mints? What the hell was I thinking?”

I’m convinced the waiting actually makes them taste better than they would if you could pick them up at Jewel any time you choose.

Right now, sitting next to me on the train, is a plastic grocery bag filled with GS cookies. $21 worth to be exact. I actually left one box in the kitchen at the office to share. It was gone in less than 15 minutes.

The Thin Mints are for Jim. He likes putting them in the freezer and uses them to dress up a boring bowl of ice cream.

Me, I’m all about the Caramel deLites. They taste okay. But better still: the caramel pretty much holds everything together so it’s a relatively crumb-free cookie experience.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I keep a stash of pretzels in my desk at work.

Everyone knows and they stop by occasionally for a snack.

It’s nice to have the visitors but they get surprisingly surly if I happen to be out of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wonder how they choose the photos.

Is there a contest? Are the girls from the troop that sold the most cookies the previous year? That would make the most sense I guess.

One would hope these are authentic Girl Scouts and not pseudo scouts hired because they’d look good on a box. That would be disappointing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lenten Update: Sadly, I completely forgot my vow to be nice to irritating strangers and only thought of it Just This Moment. The good news is that I haven’t encountered any idiots in the past 48 hours, so I’m still goin’ to Heaven. For now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What did you give up for Lent?” - H.
“In between meal snacks.” - Larry, my boss
“So no more pretzels for you then?” - H.
“No, but I can have four dry-roasted peanuts a day.” - Larry
“Is that in the Bible?” - H.
“Yes. And Moses walked into the desert with a large jar of peanuts.” - Larry
“And he said, ‘Let my peanuts GO!’” - H.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Salon.com
I am listening to: Alkaline Trio - Mercy Me
And I am: Pooped

Did ya ever notice

Your hair looks best on the day you’re getting it cut
Your tooth stops hurting the day you’re going to see the dentist
Your computer magically heals itself as soon as the IT guy shows up
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am fighting a cold. I am winning right now.

Only because I did the right thing today by getting out of bed and coming to work.

Simply being useful and productive makes me feel better.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Help me understand: The Bush administration is hell bent on securing our borders when it comes to letting in poor Mexican immigrants. But they have no problem opening our ports to wealthy Arabs.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Nothing
I am listening to: The Strokes -- Juicebox
And I am: blah

From yesterday

Sometimes if I’m early enough, I’m on the platform before the 7:42 train arrives. I can see it in the distance, waiting for the 7:20 train to pass by as it leaves loaded for the city.

Next: two short sharp bursts of the horn, followed by their hollow distant echoes to the west, then my train starts its slow smooth roll to the station.

Listening for those small echoes is one of my favorite parts of the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~
At lunch I laughed so hard my stomach hurt, I tore one of my contact lenses and chocolate mousse went up my nose.

You had to be there.
~~~~~~~~~~
I’m lucky to be walking across the Madison Street Bridge at the same time as a city bus lumbers through.

The bridge shakes and so do I with the weight of it – fabulous and huge.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Research on IT in the Healthcare Industry
I am listening to: People in Planes -- If You Talk Too Much (My Head Will Explode)
I am: Annoyed

Giving it up - Part Deux

Things I could give up:

Being critical of others
Snacks
Driving too fast
Swearing
Buying stuff I don’t need
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Give up swearing? Fuck that.

Driving fast? No chance, I love it too much.

But that ‘being critical of others” thing is huge for me.

I have this running commentary in my head.

“Idiot!”
“Shut up!”
“Asshole!”

I believe that you get what you put out there and I am quite certain all this negativity has an impact.

In analyzing these mean thoughts, I realized they are directed mostly at strangers whose behavior I don’t agree with.

Somebody driving too slowly. Somebody talking too much.

Somebody crinkling wrappers in the movie theater. That’s a big one.

Why am I so critical of people I don’t know?

Because these people are infringing on my world and getting in the way of what I want to do.

The reality is they’re just living in their world, doing what they want to do.

I’ve heard that people tend to be critical of the faults in others they are most guilty of themselves.

The fact is, we all have moments of utter stupidity and thoughtlessness.

Perhaps I will be less thoughtless and stupid if I become more tolerant of others.

So Heather’s Lenten Theme is to be nicer to people who are getting in the way of my good day. Instead of reacting with anger and frustration, I will attempt to understand their idiocy and go with the flow.

And yes, for today I am still being critical. Lent hasn’t started yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You might be thinking, “Wait a minute. You said you’re not a Christian. You don’t believe in stuff like Lent.”

True and true.

It might be a bit hypocritical, but I’m not above leveraging some artificial religious construct for my own personal gain.

And goddamn, I do love a good Friday fish fry.

Giving it up

So in case you haven’t noticed, Lent is coming.

To me, Mardi Gras embodies the uniquely Christian concept of doing whatever the fuck you want one day and slapping on the mantel of self-righteousness and piety the next.

C’mon, as if God wasn’t looking when you flashed your tits for those beads. As if stuffing your face with punchkies on Fat Tuesday is exempt from that little rule about gluttony.

It’s nuts.

All these Christians, running around like squirrels in October trying to store up food and alcohol and God Knows What to help them make it through the rest of winter.

But hell, laissez les bon temps roulez.
~~~~~~~~~
I went to New Orleans once.

I need to go wash my hands right now, just sitting here thinking of it.

I know, I know. Cajun cuisine, French Quarter fun, beignets, blah blah.

Not for me.

It was a filthy place. With a seemingly requisite pile of puke on every street corner.
~~~~~~~~~~
So what are you giving up?

Drinking? Eating? Smoking? All of the above?

How about something new? Ya up for it?

(She thinks: this could go either way. Hedy the Hedonist would tell everyone to give up giving up shit because life is supposed to be lived, goddammit. However, Hedy the Helpful says stick with The Original Plan.)

Ahem.

Think for a minute, why do we do the things we do?

We don’t over-eat because we’re really hungry. I don’t know about you, but it’s usually a social/comfort thing for me.

Why do people smoke? Again, comfort. And some people do it to avoid over-eating, ironically enough. Although how someone could be comforted by sucking on a flaming smelly death stick is beyond me. But hey, it’s your thing and I digress.

Drink too much? Again, hopefully social. But true alcoholics or drug addicts are prolly masking some deep pain or hurt in their lives.

So I think we can agree that most of the things we do to excess are merely symptoms of something else, right?

Still with me?

Here’s my idea for Lent: Go deep. Give up the thing that makes you do the things you do. Think of one behavior that you do that you know might be hurting you. Then think of why you do it, why you really do it.

Wait a minute, Heather. Easy to say, not so easy to do.

Agreed.

That’s why I’m doing it, too.

Remember? This is the year of traveling lightly.

More on that in the next entry.
~~~~~~~~~
There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path. – Morpheus, The Matrix
~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: work e-mail
I am listening to: Roxy Music – More Than this
And I am: Enthusiastic

No time to write today

But there's this:

"If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself but to your own estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment." - Marcus Aurelius

Thank God for Bikers

http://www.armytimes.com/story.php?f=1-292925-1546852.php

The Democrats: Blowing It Again

To all you Democrats who are appalled because Cheney didn’t divulge his little hunting accident right away, let’s draw a comparison to another event involving executive leadership and matters of privacy and disclosure: The Monica Lewinsky scandal.

At the time, the Democrats claimed the impeachment hearing was a travesty and that what President Clinton did on his own time was None of Our Goddamned Business.

However, these same Democrats have a Huge Problem with Vice President Cheney’s failure to report the hunting incident within 24 hours.

By these new Democratic standards, Clinton should’ve called a press conference within 10 minutes of shooting Monica Lewinksy in the face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peggy Noonan was on “This Week” this morning.

If she’s the best the Democratic talking heads have to offer, then that party – in a word – is fucked.

She claims that Cheney should be relieved of his Vice Presidential duties because of this incident.

Forget about the Haliburton thing. Or the secret oil meetings. Or Cheney’s influence on behalf of Enron in the California energy crisis. It’s likely these events have hurt thousands if not millions of American citizens.

But let’s kick him out for injuring one rich old white guy. Sure makes sense to me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everyone keeps saying what a rough week it’s been for Cheney. The poor guy.

“He’s a very private individual and this has caused him a lot of stress.”

Question: If you’re a very private individual, what the fuck are you doing in politics?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Confession: Jim helped me with that Lewinsky thing. It was my concept, but I was in over my head and tending toward detailed grossness when I asked for his advice.

“Heather, humor is all about subtlety. You don’t need to spell it out. ‘After she performed fellatio and he ejaculated on her forehead’ is just not as funny.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Democrats: Please, please get your shit together.

I didn’t much like voting Libertarian in that last election. It felt good, but wasteful – like not eating the last bite of a really big cookie.

You guys have had plenty of time to figure it out and yet you fall back into the same old tired shit.

Be refreshing. Say something intelligent. Point out the obvious.

“This Cheney thing is silly. Who cares what he does on his own time? What I’m concerned about and what you should be concerned about is what he’s done on your dime.” - Insert Democratic Rising Star Here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: nothing
I am listening to: nothing
And I am: kinda blah

Cookies 'n Crap

Quick: You’re famous. Which product do you endorse?

For me, it's Charmin Ultra.

It’s noticeably softer than regular Charmin.

Kinda like the difference between original Oreos and those evil imposters, the fat-free ones.

Yes, I just compared toilet paper with cookies.

It’s gonna be a great day. Anything can happen, I’m tellin’ ya.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of cookies, it is cookie day at work.

Get a toaster oven. Bring in those simply wonderful Nestle frozen cookies. Bake.

It’s a small thing, but I think it makes people happier with where they work.

I’m in line at Jewel this morning picking up said cookies, and the lady in front of me is chatting it up with the check out person. At first I was slightly irritated because it seemed like it was taking longer than it should, but then I heard:

“We had all these big retirement plans and then we only had 18 months. The last four were awful,” said the cashier.

“I can only imagine,” replied the woman ahead of me.

Two things: first, after saying that very nice thing, the customer went on to totally fucking blow it by talking about a distant acquaintance that she knew who died of melanoma, the worst kind of skin cancer.

C’mon, lady. This sad, sad person obviously wanted to share what happened with her husband – she’s talking about it in the checkout line at the grocery store for Pete’s sake – and you, the selfish moron, turned it into something about you.

I hate that.

Secondly, “I can only imagine” is very nice. But nicer still is “I can’t imagine.”

Because to be honest, you really can’t. And it is very likely you won’t.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of toilet paper, I am a Connoisseur of Toilet Paper.

Yes. I just did it again, mixing food with shit. Isn’t it just fabulous?

I like the Good Stuff. And a lot of it, if you please.

Don’t give me any of this thin papery crap paper, it’s nothing but thick and soft, bordering on fluffy for my ass.

Anyway.

A while back in our old house, we had a Major Backup Crisis.

I originally wrote “Major Backup Problem” but problem didn’t quite do justice to the whole shit-water-in-the-showers situation.

We called The Septic Guy and he arrived tout de suite. This man was tenacious. In what seemed like 10 minutes he had dug the hole and was sprawled on the ground with his head thisclose to the vile brown goo, I’m assuming to get a poop’s eye view of the predicament.

“Ya gotta tell yer ol’ lady to cut back on the shit paper,” said the movingly eloquent Septic Expert.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan o’ shit paper myself, but she’s really gotta cut back,” he continued.

Since then, I have taken the man’s sage advice and become more judicious in my shit paper usage. There's nothing more humbling than being lectured on your bathroom habits by a man who quite literally Knows His Shit.

Still, Charmin Ultra. It’s the way to go. Seriously.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And certainly not least: two of our dearest friends were over last night to christen the new bar.

Judy revealed that this little blog has become part of her morning ritual. She checks her e-mail, reads this, and then checks a daily devotional web site on her computer.

That is a serious and supreme compliment. Because I am quite certain that reading about cookies and crap will not get you into Heaven.

However, I am also quite certain that Judy doesn’t need anybody’s help in the
Getting Into Heaven Department.

Yellows

Driving to the train station this morning every light was yellow.

Every light.

How many yellow lights do you see in an average trip across town?

Today I saw eight.

The “everything is a message” side of my brain determined that at least for today, I should slow down.

The “you’re full of crap” side of my brain decided that no matter what I do, today is going to be a Royal Pain in the Ass.

The fact is, both are probably true. Some days just don’t flow and this is one of them.

The best you can do is hang on and try not to do too much damage.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tip: Before you floss, squeeze a small glob of toothpaste onto your index finger. Draw the floss through the toothpaste between your finger and thumb, coating the entire string. Floss. The toothpaste gets down in between your teeth and makes your mouth feel fresh, fresh, fresh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just in case you’re wondering who the hell my Valentine’s Day entry was for: it was for me.

You’re no good to others if you don’t take care of yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Program Note: Don’t be looking here for any more useful tips like the Floss Trick.

I ain’t Heloise. And I’m fresh outta hints.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yellow also means cowardly.

So the Universe could’ve been saying “Go For It, You Fucking Coward!”

Which is the complete opposite of slow down.

See how silly it is to think every little thing is a message all the time?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And just in case you’re thinking “Wow, Heather flosses every day. Who knew?”

No. And Hell, No.

I’m due for a cleaning in early March and I start flossing right around now to avoid a daily case of Shit Breath.

I suppose if I flossed every day, I wouldn’t have to do the Pre-Cleaning Shit Breath Avoidance Maneuver, but I’m far too irresponsible for that kind thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
To summarize today: Floss, kiddies, floss. And avoid the yellows.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Faders – No Sleep Tonight
I am reading: work e-mail
I am: better than expected

Security

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing." - Helen Keller

Today

Remember who you are.

Remember that you don’t need flowers or chocolate to know that you are loved.

Remember that today is like any other day and that nobody loves you more or less than they did yesterday.

Remember that you’re never really alone.

Remember there is a time and a place for everything and that everything happens for a reason.

Remember we’re one.

Not just today, but every day.

Sunday Random

There is an Olympic ski jumper named Roar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prediction: In 2007, there will be another major terrorist attack on the U.S. Around that same time, Rudy Giuliani will announce he's running for president. All of us will recall how well he handled the 9/11 attacks and he will be elected in a Reagan-esque landslide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chooch: derived from the Italian ciuccio; means dummy, idiot, or moron.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The barbecue meatloaf at Red Star Tavern in Geneva Commons is fabulous comfort food on a cold winter night. Get it without the crispy onions, they're kinda gross and overwhelming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ever heard the song "Horse with No Name" by America?

I used to think it was "Horse with No Mane."

I thought maybe because he was going through the desert the rider shaved off the mane so the horse would be cooler.

Yes. Whatever you're thinking, yes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I love Life is Good stuff. Everything is so soft and comfy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
If we don't believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don't believe in it at all.
- Noam Chomsky
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I defy you to listen to "No Sleep Tonight" by The Faders and not jump around the room a little. It's my current favorite song.

Although "Stupid Girls" by Pink is fun also.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: New Order - Regret
I am reading: Howard Kurtz's Media Notes column in the Washington Post
And I am: pleasantly bouncy

Today's Muslim Miracles

At the health club this morning watching CNN but listening to Hed’s Workout Mix I saw the most amazing thing.

Muslims. Thousands of them.

Not screaming. Not burning shit. And not waving guns.

They were standing, quietly. Some of them holding signs. Hell, some of them were even smiling.

It was a miracle.

A true miracle happened in Trafalgar Square in London this morning.

Finally, the Quiet Believers of the Muslim faith decided to stand up and counteract all the nut-jobs that have highjacked their religion.

It was fascinating. And so cool.

The second miracle, even more unbelievable, was that CNN actually broadcast the peaceful protest.

I couldn’t find a thing about it on FoxNews.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Faders - No Sleep Tonight
I am reading: New York Times on-line
I am: relaxed

From Today

Heather, you make 'fucker' sound like a compliment. - TJ the Intern

It's time

Time for all of us to take a moment and Shut the Fuck Up.

People talk way too much. It’s a problem that’s become much worse with the ubiquity of mobile phones.

Right now I am on the train.

The guy sitting diagonally from me just gave his credit card number to someone over the phone within earshot of no less than 20 strangers. Seriously. The last four numbers were 0718 and his expiration is September of 2010.

The guy behind me has made three calls in less than 20 minutes. I now know his name, his mobile and home numbers, plus the address of the house he wants to buy in Batavia (which might have mold issues; the inspector is out in the field right now and will call him back later.)

Do you see what I mean?

So for today, we’re going to try a little experiment. It’s called 500 Words.

This is just one of the many ideas resulting from countless hours of fantasizing about what the world would be like if I was elected Queen of the Universe.

It could happen. If dogs could vote (and when I'm in charge they could), I know I'd have at least two votes. Seriously.

So back to 500 Words. Here’s how it works: You are limited to speaking just 500 words for the day.

Don’t worry about counting them. Just think about the word limit every time you’re about to say something and you won’t go over, trust me.

Think of all the benefits. The world would be a much nicer (and quieter!) place if people would just think a little before speaking.

About to say something nasty? Maybe you don’t want to waste your precious words on that person. Or maybe you’ve been meaning to tell someone exactly how you feel and you use up ALL your words on just one person. What a compliment that would be.

Plus, here’s another benefit, two examples:

Heather is Not Queen of the Universe: Under the 500 Word doctrine, the goal always would be to say things using as few words as possible, resulting in efficient and clear communication at all times.

Heather is Queen of the Universe: Keep it simple, stupid.

See? Efficiency and brevity rule.

So, give it a try if you feel like it. Let me know how it goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Something Mildly Interesting:

Recently, two people whom I love dearly have called me Cupcake. And neither of them knows the other is doing it. Neato. Like Mom says, "Who doesn't love a cupcake?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Name the Movie:

How can you talk if you haven't got a brain?
I don't know...But some people without brains do an awful lot of talking...don't they?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Verve – Bittersweet Symphony
I am reading: Business Intelligence Assessment documents
I am: kinda tired

The butt sock incident

Rushing to get in the shower this morning, I picked up what appeared to be a washcloth out of the basket of clean laundry that’s been sitting there on the bedroom floor, waiting to be folded for almost a week. There were no washcloths in the cupboard under the sink where they’re usually kept, thus the frantic pre-shower search.

I hopped in the shower, only to discover I was about to wash my face with one of Jim’s gym socks. Before we move on: I’m not completely insane. An inside-out sock, at a glance, could be a washcloth. It could be. C’mon, work with me.

Rather than jumping out soaking wet to find something more appropriate with which to scrub, I decided to forge ahead with the sock.

It was clean – I’m big on bleach for socks and underwear – so I wasn’t concerned about where it had been.

And being the innovative type that I am, I slipped it over my hand for maximum scrubbage. Of course, I eventually had to switch hands to do my left under arm and that was when it hit me: “Next time, two socks! One for each hand! I’m Brilliant!”

Half way through my shower, Jim walked in.

“Guess what?”
“What?”
“We need more washcloths.”
“Oh yeah? I thought we had a ton of them.”
“Me, too. But right now I’m using one of your socks and I’d rather not ever run out of washcloths again.”

And that’s when he said it:
“You’re washing your butt with my sock?”

This is my life. Every day, at least one good belly laugh because of Jim.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But wait, there’s more:
“Do I look okay?” - H.
“Yes. You’ll be the prettiest girl at the funeral.” - J.

Memorials

"What do you want for your memorial service?" - H.
"A keg and strippers." - J.
"For my memorial service, I want. . ." - H.
"Cake and ice cream." - J.
"Exactly!" - H.

Pineapples

look really mean but are actually quite tasty.

My Mom

called this morning.

She called me. I got to hear her voice. And she said that she loves me.

Her voice sounded happy and full of the love she’s so famous for giving to everyone.

I missed her call, so it was just a voicemail.

But it was all I needed. It made my day.

And, it made me cry.

Because last night I spent a little time with someone whose mom died earlier in the day. Her grief was palpable and it filled the room. She couldn’t stop crying.

I know there is a long list of things that she’ll miss about her mom.

But right now all I can think about is that phone call. That simple little phone call.

And we're back

So I’m watching 24 last night.

I’m not big into tv, but this show holds my interest. Or maybe it’s just Keifer Sutherland.

Fresh from resolving a deadly hostage crisis at an airport, our hero is threatening to carve out the eyeballs of a traitor who is blackmailing the president. Nerve gas is missing and in the hands of Russian terrorists. Chaos abounds, but Jack Bauer is cool and in control as usual.

Suddenly, his phone rings.

“Do you still love me, Jack?” a voice quivers pleadingly on the line. It’s his ex-girlfriend who hated him, thought he was dead, discovered he was still alive and fell in love with him again – all in less than 10 minutes.

“Do you still love me?”

Jack is out SAVING the FREE WORLD.

And his ex is on the phone whining like a little bitch.

Knowing what he does for a living, knowing the shit he’s in, wouldn’t you feel just a little guilty even calling him? And she works for the president for Pete’s sake. She should know better.

Actually, what was more unbelievable was the fact that Jack didn’t rip her a new one and hang up on her.

“Hello? Do you realize what I’m doing here, you silly twat? I’m a little busy yanking the president’s head out of his ass. Could we talk about your love life over coffee sometime when I’m not in the middle of a deadly shit-storm?”

Unfortunately that scenario – as unbelievable as it is – is very true to life.

It’s just what we do.

I don’t dislike women. Seriously.

I am blessed with amazing friends who are some of the brightest, most compassionate and genuine women on the planet.

But let’s admit it, ladies. Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies.

Most men don’t want to talk about love and feelings under normal circumstances, let alone during Top Secret Deadly Missions.

At the very worst and best moments, we’re hormonal and insecure and needy AND YOU BOUGHT THE WRONG FUCKING MAYONAISE, YOU ASSHOLE!!!”

There’s a true story behind that one, friends.

Jim will be happy to tell you how he still twitches with anxiety when buying mayonnaise, checking the label twice, because of a particularly brutal PMS crisis in our house five years ago.

Some folks say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Many women don’t even realize they do it and take great offense at the mere suggestion that PMS plays a role in how they act.

The sad thing is, I’ve admitted the problem and I still act like an emotional idiot on a fairly regular basis.

So c’mon, whaddaya say? Let’s do it now, for the men we know and love:

I, [state your name}, am a woman and therefore subject to wild mood swings, irrational speculations, and general bitchiness. There’s no way to prepare for or anticipate my moods. But I will try to be more aware of my hormone-induced behavior when it occurs and I will try not to take it out on you, [SO’s name here].

It’s a start, eh?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The State of the Union Address
I am reading: Newsweek
And I am: Relaxed

A Savior of Sorts: What I Believe Part 3

Please remember: this is what I believe.

It’s not meant to be offensive or inflammatory, it just is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I learned quite a bit during my “Crazy Jesus Phase” as Jim so charmingly called it.

Most importantly, I learned that the life of Jesus Christ was much more miraculous than his death.

I’ll say it again because it is very important to me: The life of Jesus Christ was the true miracle, not his death.

Jesus said: Love others as yourself.

There were no exceptions.

Jesus did not say, “Love everyone except for those hell-bound homosexuals!”

Or “love everyone so long as they believe exactly what you believe.”

He meant everyone. Unconditional love. Have you tried it lately? It’s a tall order for sure.

But it is the single most important thing that Jesus said and did while he was alive.

“But HEATHER! Jesus DIED for our SINS!”

I don’t believe that.

If it’s hard reading it, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it.

Jesus didn’t die to save us from sin. He died because he was a revolutionary who believed women and servants were equal to men. Think about it. The Middle East isn’t exactly an egalitarian hotbed today, how bad was it 2000 years ago? No wonder they killed him.

When I first discovered what the real Jesus was all about, I was PISSED OFF BEYOND BELIEF that I’d only heard the died-for-our-sins part of it. I was so infuriated that this amazing man’s message of unconditional love had been twisted into what I perceived to be a weak-minded, juvenile concept amounting to a giant do-over for humanity.

There’s too much irresponsibility in this world today as it is without people using Christ to wipe the slate clean for them. The pain and trouble we cause others is real and doesn’t vanish in a poof of frankincense and myrrh. I will write about the much more logical and rational Jewish concept of repentance (the 3 r’s) in another episode.

The world would be a much more loving place if Christians (especially the Jesus Freaks) would focus more on the life of Christ rather than his so-called miraculous death. It makes me sad when I hear high-profile Christians like Pat Robertson using hate language – ironically, the very opposite of what Christ was all about. It makes me angry when born again Christians use Christ as an excuse to divide people rather than unite them.

Wherever he is now, I believe with all my heart that Jesus is grieving, seriously grieving, at all the things “Christians” are doing and saying on his behalf.

Love others as yourself.

When I got that, when I figured that part out, it blew my mind. It changed how I looked at everyone.

Of course, trying to offer unconditional love to others can be a challenge when the other person happens to be a Fucking Idiot Who’s Driving Too Slow in the Fast Lane.

This is what I struggle with every day.

And this is how I know that Jesus Christ was special, he was God, he was a Savior of Sorts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As a corollary, here’s a little more regarding what I believe:

• Everything in the Universe is connected and that force (like The Force in Star Wars) is the true essence of God
• Jesus was referring to that force when he said love others as yourself – because we truly are One
• Anyone can tap into the force if they try
• Call it Karma, the Golden Rule, or the pagan Rule of Three – what goes around surely comes around
• If it harms none, do what you will
• Everyone chooses the life they will lead – how and where they are born and everything that follows
• Every life has a core lesson; every person has a purpose
• Our souls reincarnate until we learn all the lessons we’re supposed to learn
• The concept of Heaven as a place where everything is perfect sounds very boring
• The concept of Hell where souls suffer because of misdeeds sounds very accurate
• God has a great sense of humor
• We should worship both the feminine and masculine aspects of God
• There isn’t just one path to God; enlightenment can come in a variety of ways
• That said, we should not judge others for what they believe, what works for some will not work for others.

Remember, this is what I believe and it works for me. Blessed be.

Happy Friday!

It's been a crazy-ass week for sure and I for one am so ready to chill out for a bit. Work is extremely busy and I'm loving every minute of it. Every day I wake up and just can't wait to get in the office in the morning because there's so much great work to be done.

Jim just got home from a long week in California for his company's sales kick-off meeting. While he was out there, he got some truly excellent news from his new boss. This puts both of us in probably the best place we've ever been professionally; we're both feeling very needed and appreciated. It's nice to see that hard work is recognized.

What have you got going on for the weekend, hm?

We've got a whole lotta nothin', thankfully. Maybe look at new carpeting for the living room, maybe do a little cleaning/straightening, but that's about it. It's pizza and movie night at home on Saturday and that's the only firm thing on the agenda.

Life is pretty goddamn good right now.

Oh, and speaking of goddamn, I'll publish the final entry in the Jesus Series this weekend. Some of you, I'm told, will be very relieved when it's finally all put to rest and we can get back to talking about important things like doughnuts and shit.

Love and hugs to everyone!

I am listening to: Living Things - Bom Bom Bom
I am reading: People magazine (ack!)
I am: Relaxed

Press Hit for Heather

Yay!

I was mentioned in my favorite writer's column today! His name is Neil Steinberg and he writes for the Chicago Sun-Times. Check it out here:

http://www.suntimes.com/output/steinberg/cst-nws-stein25.html

Yay for me!!

What I Believe Part 2: Awakening

It’s trite, but one of the things I believe more than anything is that everything happens for a reason.

The other key theme that has bubbled up throughout my adult life is to seek multiple levels of meaning – you can take something for what it is or you can search for a deeper understanding of the things that people say and do.

So on a very basic (and rather humorous) level, God was in fact telling me to live alone.

But on a much deeper level, living with all those whacky Christians led me to try and figure out what this Jesus Christ person was really about and why he had such profound and varying effects on so many people.

My first impression of Jesus wasn’t all that great, to be honest.

Think about it. What’s the most common image of Christ, especially in a Catholic church?

Scary, emaciated, half-naked bleeding man, hanging half-dead on a cross.

That’s how it was for me anyway, the first time I set foot in St. Peter’s in Mount Clemens, probably around the age of three or four. Da will have to verify that.

I remember thinking, who is this guy? He must’ve done something pretty terrible to be hanging up there like that.

I know, I know, I know. It’s supposed to be a reminder that he died for our sins.

But something about that explanation never quite cut it for me. I wanted to know the real story.

So in 1993 I started reading. I read everything I could get my hands on about Christ and Christianity and the history of religion. Here’s a partial reading list:

The Chalice and The Blade by Riane Eisler
The Gospel According to Jesus by Stephen Mitchell
The Nag Hammadi Library by James Robinson
Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism by John Shelby Spong
The Historical Jesus by John Dominic Crossan
The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran
Gospel of Thomas: The Hidden Sayings of Jesus by Marvin Meyer
Tao Te Ching by Lao Tsu
The Tao of Physics by Fritjof Capra

I know what you’re thinking: You can’t believe everything you read, you silly girl.

I know that. That’s why I read so much. I figured the more I read on the subject, the easier it was to figure out who was full of shit and who actually came close to the truth.

And lemme guess, you’re also thinking: Just read the Bible, all the answers are in there.

I did read the Bible – everything that was referenced in those other books, I looked up myself to get a better understanding of their reasoning. Some of it I agreed with, some of it I didn’t.

The fact is, we’re all guilty of interpreting things the way we want to see the world. 20 different people could read the exact same passage from any book, including the Bible, and get 20 different meanings from it.

Here was my approach: I wanted an understanding of Jesus that was logical and historical, not personal, and certainly not emotional. I wanted to know who he was as a person, not what he means to people who follow him. I figured that was the only way to really understand why he had such an amazing impact on the world.

It took about a year until I was satisfied.

Next Episode: What I Believe Today

A program note

This is NOT a religious blog; religion happens to be the topic of the next few entries. For you heathens, we’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming soon.

Also, I have new socks on today -- a Christmas present from Mom & Da -- and they are fabulous!

The Story of What I Believe (In Three Parts)

Part One: Confusion

When I went away to college way back in 1985, I knew just one of the four roommates I was assigned. It was close quarters for sure – five people sharing a two bedroom/one bath suite, but we worked it out most of the time.

One of those roommates happened to be a born again Christian.

Sometimes referred to as Evangelicals – these Christians are non-denominational, believe in a very literal interpretation of the Bible and are profoundly devoted to Christ. Central to being born again is the concept of “accepting Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior” which often occurs during a personal crisis of some nature.

President Bush is a good example – he became a born again Christian after realizing he had a serious problem with alcohol.

Please understand that not all born again Christians become believers at a moment of crisis. However, the very nature of this type of faith – the concept of having all your sins washed away in a moment of accepting Christ – draws a large number of people that, how can I put this delicately, have lead pretty fucked up lives for the most part.

The other key aspect to the born again crowd is the concept of witnessing – spreading the “good news” to everyone. It’s important that they share their personal experience with Christ with as many people as possible.

Having grown up Catholic, I had never heard of this kind of Christianity and it was fascinating to me, these people who believed they had found The Truth.

From 1985 to 1992 I moved around quite a bit and had a lot of roommates. And somehow I always ended up with at least one born again Christian.

You could put them in two categories: The Quiet Believers and The Jesus Freaks.

The QB’s were easy to be around – confident in their faith and devout without shouting. They would answer your questions if you were curious, but didn’t throw it in your face all the time.

You can guess what the Jesus Freaks were all about: I AM A BORN AGAIN CHRISTIAN! I AM SELF RIGHTEOUS AND JUDGING AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT!

The best Christian roommate I had was AJ. She once said, “Even if what I believe isn’t true, even if Jesus didn't die for my sins, I am living a good life. These are good principles to follow.”

I liked that. AJ was the one who explained to me that these new Christians weren’t interested in the ceremony and rhetoric that organized religions offer; they follow a more direct path to salvation by fostering a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

I really didn’t get the whole personal relationship with Christ thing, but the concept of having a spiritual existence without religion struck a chord with me as I had never once felt close to God in a church (I felt mostly just scared and out of place.)

Sadly, the majority of new Christians I encountered were Jesus Freaks and their blind faith could be disturbing and frightening at times.

“Ever since college, somehow I’ve always had Christian roommates,” I told Lori, a huge Jesus Freak and the last roommate I ever had.

“Maybe God is trying to tell you something,” she replied.

Yep.

God was telling me to live alone.

Pat Robertson

is a fucking idiot.

He’s the type of “Christian” who gives Christians a bad name.

And he’s one of the main reasons why I hesitate to call myself a Christian – for fear of being lumped in with all the other right wing lunatics who just don’t get what Christ was all about.

Take a deep breath. C’mon.

In. Out. Relax.

If you were offended by what I just said, before you pass judgment (Matthew 7.1 - 5) read a little more and see if I’m so far out of line.

Pat Robertson said the U.S. somehow deserved what happened on 9/11.

Translation: Don’t blame the psychotic nut-jobs driving those planes or the worldwide terrorist organization that funded, trained and supported them. Blame it on law-abiding, tax paying homosexuals. Right.

Pat Robertson said we should assassinate Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez.

Translation: Forget what Christ said about turning the other cheek (Matthew 5.39) and loving others as yourself, there are certain people who just need to die. So Pat Robertson is pro-life but only when it comes to the people he thinks should be allowed to live. Very nice.

Pat Robertson said that God smote (great word!) Ariel Sharon for relinquishing Gaza to the Palestinians.

Translation: Evangelicals love, love, love the Jews – when they do what they’re supposed to do. According to the Bible, the end times will be precipitated by Jewish rule over all of Israel. Apparently Sharon didn’t get the memo, forgot to be a good little Jew and do what those crazy Christians want, and now he’s in a serious state of smote. Personally, I think Robertson is just pissed off that he had to put his Rapture Party Pants in mothballs for another 20 years.

Smote. I really love that word. Doesn’t it sound like something that would taste good on a sandwich?

“I’ll have the ham on rye with extra smote, please!”

I digress.

“HEATHER! You don’t call yourself a Christian?!?! For shame!!”

Calm down. Try not to freak out. It’s probably not any more likely that I’m going to hell than you are, so relax.

And I’ll begin explaining it all in the next episode.

I am listening to: Man With a Gun by Jerry Harrison
I am reading: Marketing Budget + Plan 2006
And I am: Great!

St. Patrick's

Went to the Old Church today for lunch. It’s been a while, too long. It was a beautiful day for walking in the city – didn’t even have to button my coat.

I wasn’t expecting much in the way of a message for some reason – more than anything I just wanted to sit quietly and chill for a bit in the middle of a pretty hectic Monday.

Damn, that place is good for meditation. Even at home, it takes me a good 10 minutes to make my feet disappear and there, it’s instantaneous.

Today’s reading was a conversation between Samuel and some other Biblical shmo regarding consistency between the different sects. One sect fasts. But Jesus’ followers don’t. So somebody calls him on it: Hey, why do we have to fast and your guys don’t?

Then the priest went off on a tangent about putting new wine in an old container.

Here’s what I got: Jesus represents the new wine, a new message. But you can’t drink the new wine (believe the new message) if you’re still carrying around an old bottle of Boone’s Farm all the time. Don’t fast. Don’t burn sacrifices. Jesus said God doesn’t care about that shit anymore.

The priest then took it one step further: If you make a decision to change, it has to be profound. It can’t be cosmetic, you have to change the source, or the internal part, as well.

I remember reading something from the Gospel of Thomas (ever heard of it? It’s part of the Bible that got left out for political reasons. It’s fascinating. Look it up.) where Jesus said “Why do you wash the outside of the bowl if you do not wash the inside?”

Same thing. You can SAY you’re gonna be a good person. You can SAY you’re gonna treat others like yourself.

But you have to do it. You have to live it. Every day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the other hand, there’s this: I’m walking to church, past the train station.

And a guy rushes up to me and says, “Excuse me, miss, but I’m just 75 cents short of a bus ride home.”

What did I do? What would you do? If you’re me, walking to church on your lunch break?

Surprise.

I frowned and said “NO!”

Why?

Because, working in the city every day, you learn the tricks. These people aren’t 75 cents short of anything but their next bag of crack. They’re liars who prey on people they perceive to be friendly.

I might look friendly, but I’m not a moron. And I sure as hell ain’t Jesus, either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Quote: "People who claim they're evil are usually no worse than the rest of us. It's the people who claim they're good, or any better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of." - Wicked by Gregory Maguire

The Doughnut Incident

So it’s Friday morning and you’re standing in line at the little sundry shop in your office building.

It’s your turn, but you’re not quite ready to check out for whatever reason so you let the guy behind you go ahead.

Quite unexpectedly, the shopkeeper plucks the last doughnut from the tray – the very doughnut you planned on purchasing – and places it in a bag for the guy you just let go ahead of you.

What do you do?

1) Assume this is God’s little way of telling you that your ass is getting Quite Large and that you should have a banana instead, or
2) Freak Out and start screaming at the top of your lungs at the shopkeeper and the Alleged Doughnut Thief.

If you’re a relatively rational human being, you choose #1. On the other hand, if you’re an Angry Stupid Fat Woman, you choose #2.

This story is true. It happened Friday, was relayed to me by my co-worker (the Alleged Doughnut Thief) and corroborated by the shopkeeper.

It made me think of 9/11. Remember?

After 9/11, all of us with our flags posted proudly in our cars, all of us United Against the Bad Guys, all of US with a capital U and a capital S, were just a little bit nicer to each other for a while.

9/11 made us think twice about cursing the person who cut us off in traffic. It made us more patient with the person ahead of us scrambling for the correct change in the checkout line.

And we certainly wouldn’t scream over the loss of a doughnut, right?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the other hand, here’s this:

He’s leaving me. 18 years. Three kids. And I put his lazy ass through grad school. Now he’s leaving me for that skinny-bitch-whore-homewrecker. I won’t cry. Not today. I won’t cry. But it’s pretty bad when the best thing that’s gonna happen to me today is that doughnut sitting right there, on the tray.

It’s pretty bad.

Life is So Good

Have you noticed there is a time for certain books?

If you’re a reader like me, a book might be sitting on your shelf for years and years and then one day, you pick it up and it’s just what you needed to read at that time in your life.

That’s how it was with a book I read during my vacation: Life is So Good by George Dawson.

Life is so good.

Makes you think it’s all about some lucky guy who had this amazing, easy life filled with every good thing imaginable, doesn’t it?

It’s not.

It was written by a grandson of freed slaves who worked his ass off his entire life, endured the institutional racism of the Deep South, outlived four wives, and finally learned to read at the age of 98.

This book is filled with great bits of wisdom. Here’s an example (and I’m paraphrasing because I don’t have the book in front of me now): when he learned of what happened at Columbine high school, he said “These days, the problem is people are growing kids, not raising them. Kids need your time, guidance and discipline.”

What’s most amazing about his story is Dawson’s profound gratitude for a life that mostly was filled with hardship and discrimination.

So back to the timing thing.

Here’s me, reading this book while sitting on a beach in one of the most beautiful places on Earth. If he thought his life was so good, what the hell do I ever have to complain about, really?

It’s true. Life is so good. Please read this book.

I am listening to: Bob Schneider – The World Exploded Into Love
I am reading: A Beautiful Mind (still, it’s a long book)
And I’m: Relaxed

When Nothing Works, Do Nothing

I can’t seem to write just yet. Nothing flows.

So here’s a note to say that life is so good, the vacation was lovely and for today, I’m just gonna be.

I’m reading: A Beautiful Mind by Sylvia Nasar
I’m listening to: Bob Schneider – The World Exploded Into Love
And I’m: Peaceful

The Year of Traveling Lightly

I'm off to St. Martin tomorrow when Tony Orlando gets up (at the crack of Dawn). :)

I certainly hope this little slice of the Internet will not become Hedy's Health Report, but I am happy to report that I (finally) figured out the reason for my most recent malady.

Everything Happens for a Reason, I always say.

On a very basic level, this whole "rib out" thing was due to the fact that I was carrying too much to/from work in my backpack. Gods bless my chiropractor.

But as I was packing for St. Martin this morning, I realized the Larger Lesson from the pain (lotta pain) of the past two weeks.

I've been carrying around way too much of everything in the past year: physically, mentally and spiritually.

Besides the aforementioned backpack, I've also been lugging a lot of other baggage -- I've let so many of the things that happened in 2005 weigh me down mentally and spiritually.

So 2006 will be the Year of Traveling Lightly. Anything that isn't useful is being left behind.

And I feel better already.

I'll try to update while I'm on vacation, otherwise you'll hear from me again on January 8.

Best wishes to all for the coming year.