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| The Linda Blair Cat |
| 05.27.05 (5:43 am) [edit] |
The last time we went to the Tampa Improv http://www.improvtampa.com/ we had a fine time. They ask how you want your burger and give it to you in an entirely different way, but whatever. Boo received notice that we could bring some of our friends for a greatly reduced ticket price - $1.00 each to be precise. We did that, last night. We had a great time, except this time my well done (I asked for MEDIUM. Next time I will ask for rare just to see if I can get medium!) burger was draped with bacon slices. The last time I ate pork was during the Nixon administration, or was it Johnson?
The comedy was good. Some of it was even great. We started back home and then……….(drumroll) I made the mistake of mentioning “the cat”. Remember last week when I mentioned the cat from hell? The one that attacked my gal pal and bit her so badly that we were seriously considering a hospital visit? The one that went insane when she pulled the string on a talking doll that recited the Lord’s Prayer?????????????? THAT CAT??? The one that got dumped in my lap early the next morning after the attack with instructions (in WRITING) to take the cat to my vet and have her euthanized??????????
So I TRIED to do what was asked of me. I called my veterinarian, told him the whole gory story. He said that legally he couldn’t do anything, and that I must take the cat to animal control and they would help.
I took the Linda Blair cat across the county (LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOng drive) to the totally modern facility and explained my position to the nice people in charge. They took over, announced what the law required and I surrendered Linda Blair cat. Subsequently, I was informed that I must tell Carol the truth, that Linda Blair cat was being quarantined for 10 days. Which means that for the last ten days I have had to listen to my friend rehash whether she made the right decision (!!!!!! )
To get back to the beginning of the ride home, I casually mentioned that I was kind of surprised that Carol had not called my cell during the performance………… a big mistake on my part because it got Claudia going. She wanted to analyze the methodology utilized for the euthanasia process, the cost effectiveness of gas chambers versus injection of lethal amounts of Phenobarbital and whether or not Carol should have been told. All the while making some rather insensitive statements that conjured up some very volatile images in my mind.
Here is why this kind of thing ties my panties in a knot: this diatribe that I endured from my friend (and I do love her dearly) was generated from a bunch of assumptions on her part. She assumed that gassing would be cheaper, that all shelters are poverty stricken, and the people that work there must be a bunch of heartless S.O.B.’s. The truth is that the shelter is state of the art, paid for by the Penny for Pinellas tax and is a model for other shelters across the country. The methods of handling ALL the animals and all the situations involving animals in this county and in any other county facilities are controlled by Florida STATUTE. There are laws out there. This is a county facility. They are real big on operating within the confines of the laws established by the state. I cannot tell them how to do what they do. I cannot get them to make any exceptions to any of their rules. AND I don’t want to second guess them. They likely know what they are doing.
So what did Claudia accomplish? She managed to engage me in thoughts about my own dogs’ eventual deaths, reminded me of the holocaust and generally pissed me off with her assumptions based on pure emotional conjecture devoid of any factual material whatsoever.
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| No Is A Complete Sentence |
| 05.25.05 (8:40 am) [edit] |
No is a complete sentence.
Over the weekend a friend asked if s/he could “borrow” a substantial amount of money – IN AN INSTANT MESSAGE (!) First it was a HUGE amount of money, followed by the lame disclaimer, “just kidding” and my least favorite and hugely annoying LOL. Then “but seriously this large amount I need. What do you think?”
I did not respond to the “instant message”. In fact, I may dedicate an entire afternoon to figuring out how to dismantle IM capability.
That was followed by a message on my answering machine where s/he alluded to me “avoiding” a response (so, ok…. I am not only the friendly neighborhood banker, but now I am on call????) I thought about it, as I unplugged my answering machine. Then I went kayaking. I thought that regardless of my decision, it could probably wait until Monday.
I thought about it some more. I thought about how these two people own a much larger home than mine, that he chooses not to work, and other things. Yes, I like to “help” people, but where do you cross the line into “enabling”? I talked to Henry about it and he waited patiently until I came to my senses.
Monday morning I sent an email and got no response. I called her cell phone and got no response. Now I had no idea why they needed that amount of money, but I did want to be clear about my intentions.
Late Monday I got an email asking when I would be available to talk on Tuesday morning. That she had forgotten to take the cell phone along when they loaded up the boat and went fishing early Monday. This is clearly not a sailboat. This is clearly a boat that requires fuel.
I said no. It felt good. I told her that since I had been burned so badly previously that I had invested all of my cash into annuities. She said fine, she totally understood. Later, she called to say that she had gotten a check for their taxes in the mail and that all was fine. I was glad for them. I was even more relieved for me.
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| Kayak Fort DeSoto |
| 05.25.05 (4:38 am) [edit] |
Kayak Fort DeSoto
Sunday found us (7 of us) kayaking Fort DeSoto. http://www.clubkayak.com/cfkt... the trip was very poorly thought out and disjointed. Communication was poor. I was worried. Safety seemed to be only a passing thought, or so I concluded when the entire group left one member stranded in an oyster bed wrestling with her equipment. I went back and waited.
After several hours of one of the groups male members (perhaps I should rethink THAT phrase) had managed to get my panties in such a wad that I experienced a case of the screaming hablahs. I have not blogged about it until now because it caused that much angst. I go out on my kayak to be at one, suspended between sky and sea. I do not get my kayak into the water to perform forced water drills or watch testosterone challenged individuals thump their collective chests over how many things that they can kill in the shortest amount of time. I do not want to hear how I spent too much of MY money on MY kayak or that I made a poor decision and that it really is not a “true” kayak because I pedal it rather than paddle it.
On the return forced march, four kayaks in front of me crossed what a boatload of fishermen perceived as “too close”. By the time I got there, they were screaming at me. I couldn’t understand why they were waving their hands and screaming so I got closer…… and they let me have it for using the wrong portion of the ocean. Even though by MY reckoning, they were in the canoe trail. The previously mentioned sage advisor who knows just about everything there is to know pointed out to me just how flawed (as usual) my behavior had been. He does, after all have his finger on the pulse of etiquette and demonstrated that by slinging his bait bucket at another woman’s feet, thereby splashing her with bait runoff.
I could not get away from this guy fast enough. Yes, he is a neighbor. Yes, I still will be friendly. No, I will not kayak with him anymore. He takes all the fun out of it.
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| A Boy & His Mom in their Kayak |
| 05.21.05 (4:09 am) [edit] |
[image]SusanofPudlin_1400 551056.jpg[/image]
Here is Colin in the kayak in the pool looking none too happy about the prospect of venturing out into the wide open ocean. I think if he could talk he would recommend that he stay home in the relative safety of his air conditioned house while mom goes on adventures without him.
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| A Boy & His Mom in their Kayak |
| 05.21.05 (4:04 am) [edit] |
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Here is Colin giving the kayak a try. He was more than a little bit frightened, but figures that I will keep him safe. [image]SusanofPudlin_1296 589884.jpg[/image]
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| Extreme Makeover - My Home Edition |
| 05.19.05 (3:07 am) [edit] |
This week on "This Old Decrepit House" we have John the Painter who is actively engaged in the fine art of ceiling repair. This is more than just painting. This is applying texture to these ceilings that have shown 65 years of wear and tear. Since Tuesday the dogs have been enduring lock ups in their room, and strange configurations of plastic drop cloths that make the whole house resemble a crime scene. CSI seems to be standing by.
It is wearing on me. I feel I am under a microscope. I am not free to come and go at whim due to my own insecurities. I have a friend who hired a "reputable" painter and the company hired a couple of "independent contractors" who raided her jewelry box of her mother's vintage heirloom pieces. I think the thing is still in the courts. This has placed the concept in my head of not being able to go for walks when I wish. I can't really go anywhere.
Except to take demonically possessed cats to Animal Control.
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| Grand Theft Auto Redux |
| 05.18.05 (8:27 am) [edit] |
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A while ago I mentioned my neighbor's van theft and our amazing good luck at getting it back, tools intact. Heni's 10% of the "reward" was Tha ---- of thank you very much. Well.... either someone thought more about it or someone has been blog reading because yesterday I got a beautiful card from him thanking me profusely. Also included was a gift certificate for a pedicure or manicure and a Police Undercover Playset with ALL kinds of cool gear, a play gun, badge, watch, cell phone, nightstick and handcuffs. So Heni's ten percent of that is that he gets one finger done and the handcuffs (am I smart or what!)
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| No Suh! |
| 05.16.05 (12:20 pm) [edit] |
Our One Tank Trip http://www.famousflorida.com/... this weekend was to beautiful downtown Dunedin http://www.delightfuldunedin.... where we wandered aimlessly through the beautifully appointed shops and enjoyed the very sparse crowds on a wonderful Sunday afternoon. Our first stop was The Treehouse Garden Collection # 31
(727) 734-7113 Shop / 434-0432 VM • 434 Virginia Lane
Providing European garden and home décor, gift items, gardening classes and birthday celebrations. www.treegarden.20megsfree.com where Heni was enchanted with the victory garden as I was the very cool shabby chic planters and assorted bric a brac. One of the planters came home with us. Boo will endeavor to create a miniature container garden at his estate. I look forward to seeing what grows for him there.
We then proceeded to any number of other very sweet places where I got to drool over fine linens that would look oh so smashing in the laundry pile when my sometimes incontinent girl, Leaky AKA Lacy has one of her “incidents”.
As the dinner hour approached, we decided to locate some vittles and returned to the car. After heading west for a couple of blocks, I decided to pull a U-turn we had recently seen in The Italian Job http://www.italianjobmovie.co... and head east instead. Why drive on the interstate when one can take the scenic route? We drove up Alternate 19, which meanders along the coast until one hits Clearwater. It is way prettier than I-275. We found ourselves at Hooters and had a fine dinner of wings and beer.
That is when things got busy. It seems that the usual suspects were on the hunt for the green flash, which has eluded us for many moons now. We stowed our gear (got into the car again) and began the hunt (drove to the beach) where we met up in the blind (2nd floor of Caddy’s) and began the long silent stakeout (ordered some longnecks and shot the shit.) We were joined by others who likewise wished to view the elusive green flash and stalked it daily. There, we saw it near the horizon, shimmering in anticipation. Would today be the day? Could it be? Not so much. Another cloud hovered too close. Yet, as every other time, the crowd cheered. I announced that there would be a repeat performance today and every other day and the crowd went wild.
Our particular group of usual suspects were delighted that Henry was amongst us for a change. We had a fine time at my expense as many repeated (over and over and over) that sad story of me falling off my kayak into what has become with the retelling, the raw sewage from the area around the southernmost point of Hong Kong. They are now taking bets as to when the first symptoms of leprosy will begin. I have to admit that the dysentery is somewhat disconcerting. But the flesh eating bacteria seem to have abated somewhat.
Only in an act of desperate retaliation did I resort to making fun of their accents. First Claudia with her no SUH! which emits any time she disagrees with anything regardless of your gender. Really. And it was all in good fun. As was, I am sure, the woman we encountered on the way out whose boyfriend had hit her, knocking her glasses into the sand somewhere. I am sure they worked it out. No Suh!
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| Picture Day |
| 05.16.05 (8:30 am) [edit] |
Today is marketing day and I found a new contest that interested me. It is a contest for short stories of less than 4k words (I CAN do that!) about brotherhood and diversity. I remembered my first kiss (first grade and administered by the only colored boy in our town, my pal Tony) and my first grade teacher who also was a lady of color. I loved her dearly. So I wrote a story about it.
It obviously is not a Fish Story, but it does add to the spreadsheet in pages and words. This brings my total up to 135 pages and 34,589 words since I started keeping track on April 13th, 2005.
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| Cleaning Up Around Here |
| 05.15.05 (5:11 am) [edit] |
Yesterday I participated in a volunteer effort to gather up litter in the canals that allow stormwater to run off. I brought along 3 of the usual suspects; Claudia, Robin and Richard. That was 4 kayaks they didn't count on. Good for everyone for helping. Although I felt good about cleaning up the trash, it was nasty work. It did provide me with mucho practice maneuvering in tight spaces. I got a lot of practice ----- BACKING UP MY TRAILER! (take THAT, BadAunt!) -------------------and paddling. My pedals don't allow backing up, nor do they facilitate lateral movement. When I was trying to navigate in mangroves where the Gatoraid bottles, plastic bags, styrofoam cups, and Reeboks had landed, I had to use my paddle and the picker they provided to get it together.
We got a LOT of trash out of the water. The folks whose property back up onto the waterways came out and thanked us. Some we shamed into helping.
After a picnic lunch we intended to go in the other direction, through the bayou and out into Tampa Bay. As I slid Hobie Wan Kanobi down the steeply sloped bank and began maneuvering my slender, shapely and oh so muscular (e-sarcasm) backside into position, Claudia piped up with "Gee, Susan, you are really getting quite graceful at that!" At which point I got all cocky and with one slight miscalculation, gracefully rolled the kayak and myself into the swamp we were cleaning. I came up, and walked on water in my attempt to get out as rapidly as possible. Once safely ensconced in HWK again, I sputtered and spit and then looked around at my "pals" - whose eyes were all very very very large. It was then that I started laughing. AND they started laughing. AND we all nearly wet ourselves laughing at how ridiculous I looked. I could have told them that I "meant to do that" that I was "testing the efficiency of my dry bag" or that I wanted them to "feel superior". If I could stop laughing at myself for ten seconds, I might have been able to make them believe it.
We proceeded (when we could breathe again) up through the bayou where I saw the delightful vision of baby mangroves poking up through the knee deep water. I saw an Osprey http://www.sno-bird.com/fl-os... who swooped through the air in such a breath taking display that we all stopped in unison to watch, transfixed. I saw a ray with about a thirty inch wingspan who like the osprey, flew through the water. I saw dozens of rays in a multitude of sizes performing their own version of a water ballet, looking to those above like hundreds of shooting stars racing across the sky. Except the sky was underwater...and it reminds me that the sky too is in constant motion, swirling and liquid just like the sea. That is my very favorite place to be, poised between sea and sky, balanced between the layers. Water tension keeps me afloat and gravity ties me down. Just exactly where I need to be.
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| The Intensity of the Noonday Sun |
| 05.13.05 (11:47 am) [edit] |
The Intensity of the Noonday Sun
I couldn’t stand to be inside today. I tried taking my aged laptop, which is the equivalent of a slab of wet clay and a stylus with an abacus attached with a piece of hemp rope. After writing about a half a paragraph, I hit “save”. All sorts of interesting things began to happen, none of which resembled normal computer behavior. It is a good thing that I had not spent much time on it.
So I wrote in longhand with a cup of coffee, the puppies playing in the background and a lot on my mind.
I raked my front lawn. Several neighbors applauded. I planted a number of plants that Heni has been propagating for me. I loaded some numbers into my new (dry for the moment) cell phone and assigned speed dial numbers to them. I added MARINE PATROL’s number for the next time we get lost navigating mangrove islands or worse.
I have been giving some thought to safety out there in kayak land. My pal Richard has an emergency kit loaded into a plastic olive jar. He has provided me with a couple of the jars so I intend to do this for my kayak and also make one up for Ms. Carol. But Richard’s idea of what is important in an emergency is a bit different from mine. He has a bunch of granola bars in his. I will use that space for more important things, like needle and thread (for repairing ripped swimsuits or an emergency stitch – push comes to shove I think I could do that). He has an emergency blanket. I have a flag that is orange and has a CO2 tank to inflate it to stick up from my kayak 8 feet and make me VERY visible. He has fishing stuff. I have a strobe with a battery that will work for 8 hours in any weather and make me VERY visible. My point is that Richard may be a little less hungry when they finally locate him. I am hell bent for leather to get found quicker. Frankly, if I run out of daylight out there, I want to be found. I don’t want to be the big brave girl out there for three days. I would like to be home safe and sound by dark thirty, thanks.
But the title of this blog speaks of the intensity of the noonday sun. To return to that subject I will tell you that I have been in the sun most of the day. I have been in my pool. A lot. I have played with the hose with Lacy. I have slogged around in the dirt and washed off several times. I am ready to get all cocoa buttered up and into some comfy clothes for the rest of the day. I have lived in Florida most of my life. I really really really prefer the summer. Yes, I keep the A/C to a balmy 60 degrees. But when I am outside, I want intense hot Florida sun. I got some today.
It is my intention to do some adjustments on my trailer so that when I have to haul a pal’s kayak I am not freaking out because they are back there on the trailer bouncing around. Claudia has a habit of getting a little nervous and tossing about “luffing” a lot. I don’t know what “luffing” is, I thought it was something else entirely. However, we will be taking the “yaks” out to one of our local parks tomorrow to help with a cleanup. So… good thing to get the trailer ready now. One of these days I am going to learn how to back up with it. That might be handy, eh?
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| Grand Theft Auto |
| 05.12.05 (9:27 am) [edit] |
Yesterday was full of surprises, as well as the days leading up to yesterday. Sometimes my life feels like Florida weather, if you don't like it, hang around for fifteen minutes. Something will change.
On Monday I went to greet the Bounty, home from St. Vincent and filming of the sequel to the Pirates of the Caribbean with one Johnny Depp. His photo is plastered between two stuffed poodles on top of my monitor. He reminds me that there are those who will gladly pay to temporarily suspend belief for entertainment value.
But back to the Bounty, I was utilized to facilitate the return of Claudia's new kayak that Robin (the Captain) had made for her during lulls in the shooting. I also drove the ship's cook home and dropped him off. He had the unfortunate view of his belongings ransacked and stolen upon opening the door. Not pretty.
Then my neighbor's van was stolen sometime that night. I was beginning to get nervous about leaving the house to go to Massachusetts soon.
Yesterday was Boo's day off. We generally get together in the late afternoon and have dinner, walk the beach, go to a movie, watch a movie here or at his house- that kind of thing during the week. So I thought since there were four of us available I would make dinner for us and we could hang out and catch up on all things Bounty. We don't get to spend much time with Robin, he is at sea most of the time.
So Heni Boo showed up at the appointed hour and managed to find some things that I had neglected, watering plants and the like. I was putting the finishing touches on some of the dishes I planned to serve.
He suggested that we take Chuck for a walk around the neighborhood. Sounded fine to me, I got the necessary equipment (poop bag and lead) and off we went. Henry and his favorite girl and me too. We went a few blocks up and crossed the street, took a corner and there I saw something odd. Something vaguely familiar. I felt as if I had been looking at it for years. Then it dawned on me what I was seeing. I walked all around it to be sure before I opened my cell phone and placed a call. Heni and Chuck had found Jeff's van.... with all of his tools still in the back..... two blocks from our house. Jeff booked on over, confirmed that yup, Chuck and Boo knew what they were talkin' about and he called in the local gendarmes. They arrived much later, dusted the van for prints (it had been wiped clean as a whistle) and then because of the methodology used to start it, Jeff had to resort to towing it home. But he got it back, he has his tools, he should be happy. He thanked me very much, he appreciated it. Yeah sure. Where is the reward? The least he could do is give Chuck a bone.
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| The King of Sharks |
| 05.11.05 (8:50 am) [edit] |
There was once a story called Duff Beer in which this terrible man gets himself a mail order bride and is genuinely a scumball kind of guy. I know, I wrote it.
It has morphed into another story that was called "Pool Shark" for a while. That has changed. In fact, much of the story has changed. Now the story is called The King of Sharks and is currently sitting at 12 pages and 3110 words in its second draft. It is to be included in Fish Stories, which is currently 127 pages and 32,735 words.
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| Weedon Island Kayaking Adventure |
| 05.11.05 (5:32 am) [edit] |
Yesterday’s adventure involved Robin, Claudia and I kayaking the 4+ miles (4 if you don’t get lost, more if you are like us, challenged to see “ALL” the trail markers) http://www.clubkayak.com/cfkt... Weedon Island kayaking
I was a little skeeved worrying about water moccasins http://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/nats... and am aware that there have been sightings on Weedon Island. Actually, there is a possibility of encountering moccasins and rattlers on some of the barrier islands due to them getting washed onto the islands during heavy storms. The storm ends, and there they are. They set up housekeeping and go about their snakey business. But I really prefer not to intrude in their habitat. It’s not that I don’t like them, I just don’t want to get bitten by a poisonous snake four MILES away from help. However, that said, http://www.floridaconservatio... there is another variety of water snake that is nonvenomous, http://www.floridaconservatio... and is likely to be what our pals Richard and Stephanie saw the other day off Big Island where we kayaked recently.
But back to http://www.weedonislandcenter... Weedon Island Preserve. We launched and paddled (pedaled in my case) through the mangroves that formed a thick canopy above our heads. The water was mirror like, and it was nearly impossible to tell where the trees stopped and the water began. We felt like there was soon to be the sound of a waterfall and we would topple right over the edge. It was magical.
At one point, I looked up into the mangroves to see thousands of little black crabs climbing all over them. On each side of my kayak I saw really big fish – probably mangrove snapper and mullet.http://www.fishingchronicle.c... . Of course seeing hundreds of mullet jump over the course of our trip brought us to speculating why they jump. Robin's theory is that it is a method to reduce parasites when the mullet smacks down into the water. My theory is that mullet jump because they can. They jump for the sheer joy of it, feeling their powerful muscles gather up and launch them into the atmosphere for a few seconds before returning to the sea. If I were a mullet, I would jump all the time. I would be the jumpingest mullet around.
I would imagine in the colder months that manatees hang out in the mangroves to keep warm. We saw any number of blue heron http://www.mbr-pwrc.usgs.gov/... and other water birds.
There was a nice breeze and I had my sail strapped alongside. I got crazy brave in deep water (intimidating as all get out to do this – Do try this at home. It was WICKED fun!) , assembled my sail while sitting down in the pedal well area. My concerns were: #1 dropping half my mast into the ocean, #2 tipping over and #3 that I would have to reverse the process if the next trail led back into mangroves, which it did. The bungee that secures the sail is VERY tight and difficult to get onto the clip. Robin helped me. Then I got back into position, and took off heeling across the water. Wicked fun! They said the sound effects that I created were worth getting lost for.
The long and the short of it is that we had a fabulous trip and I will work on assembling that emergency kit today. If you have a chance, do take in http://www.stpete.org/weedon.... Weedon Island City of S.P.
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| Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief |
| 05.07.05 (6:48 pm) [edit] |
"The following is a list of occupations. Of this list, I must choose five of them and elaborate what I would do should I be enjoying this occupation. At the end, I may add some to the list and so can you, should you be chosen as my victim. And I get to choose three victims..."
If I could be a scientist...
If I could be a farmer...
If I could be a musician...
If I could be a doctor...
If I could be a painter...
If I could be a gardener...
If I could be a missionary...
If I could be a chef...
If I could be an architect...
If I could be a linguist...
If I could be a psychologist...
If I could be a librarian...
If I could be an athlete...
If I could be a lawyer...
If I could be an innkeeper...
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer...
If I could be a backup dancer...
If I could be a llama-rider...
If I could be a bonnie pirate...
If I could be a midget stripper...
If I could be a proctologist...
If I could be a TV-Talk Show host...
If I could be an actor...
If I could be a judge...
If I could be a Jedi...
If I could be a mob boss...
If I could be a backup singer...
If I could be a CEO...
If I could be a movie reviewer...
If I could be a filmmaker...
If I could be a sherpa...
If I could be a ninja...
If I could be a cab driver...
If I could be a frosting tester...
If I could be a swimsuit manufacturer...
If I could be an astronaut...
If I could be a dictator...
If I could be an acrobat...
If I could be an inventor...
All right. Here we go:
#1. If I could be a writer like the kind of writer I want to be, I would find the economy of language, the perfect turn of phrase that would invoke a memory in my reader that would make her fall to her knees. She would read it again and again, marking the place in the book with a dried rose that her lover gave her. She would stop after reading that particular paragraph and hold the tome close to her chest, close her eyes, lean her head back and remember what it felt like to be that much in love, to feel that deeply, to be that touched. She would be transported where I described the fields of lavender, the cold stones on that mountain in Georgia or to that place in the dusty palmetto fronds.
The reader would feel the muscles of that horse gather up under her as the jump loomed closer, ever closer. Gathering every muscle collectively, she is joining with this enormous power, lifting skyward to feel all time stop and sound cease as the sky ended and earth jolted up to meet them like thunderous applause.
The reader would feel the lead cross her hand in a crazy busy venue filled with barking dogs and cheering crowds and hear the judge say, “This is the heeling portion of the exercise. Are you ready?”
She would say, in her mind – surely and with conviction, “Ready!” As a unit she would signal her dog, follow the words, be there in the moment that I have created. She would win or lose along with the protagonist.
My reader would dance with my manuscripts, become part of a trilogy of writer, reader, and work. She would be involved. She would want to read more. She would finish the last page with regret, hoping that the next book would soon follow.
#2 If I could be a chef – I always wanted to do this…. but when I could, I thought it was too late. Now I regret that I waited too long. But – IF I were a chef I would only work if the leftover food were supplied to the soup kitchen. The stuff that was good for dogs and cats (meat, fish from peoples’ plates) must be collected and sent daily to the SPCA. Shelter animals would have daily treats in my corner of the world. Also, if a server were treated poorly due to something I created, I would approach the customer and demand that the server be apologized to and that I got to hear directly what the issue was. Another thing, I would refuse to serve anyone who had a Bush bumper sticker on their car. Not to mention Hummers. No soup for you, you awful Hummer pigs.
#3 If I could be a painter I would be an impressionist. I would do stuff like Monet’s London. I would hire someone to impersonate me at art shows so I wouldn’t have to hear the criticism.
#4 If I could be an architect I would make buildings from pre-used materials that were earth friendly. I would be sure to consider the impact. I would not feel compelled to make stuff so BIG. Americans feel some sort of “entitlement” to have massive houses that could easily house large families, extended families. This is insulting. I despise seeing a house like that. It is an assault on all that I stand for. Keep buildings in scale to the surroundings. Keep buildings functional and beautiful in their simplicity. Keep your huge empty coffin houses on Tierra Verde – I don’t want them.
#5. If I could be a lawyer I would respect what my staff had been trained to do. I would look to the paralegals for the legal research. I would spend my time trying to vindicate those on death row. I would work for the Innocence Project. I would be improbably moral. I would endeavor to be sure that I paid attention to my clients. Seriously listen to them. Pay attention, take copious careful notes about what they say, and I would be sure to follow up. I would pay my staff adequately and reward loyalty. I would never ever ever let my spouse work in the same office. I would let my staff bring their dogs to work.
I tag: http://beyourself.tblog.com/ Heni, who will be great with it, http://lynne.tblog.com/ Lynne, who will amaze with her answers and http://andaloo.tblog.com/ Loops who will round out things nicely.
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| Pool Shark |
| 05.06.05 (11:14 am) [edit] |
Update on Fish Stories. I am done for the day. Cooked.
I took a previous story (one of the Ten Tens) called Duff Beer in which a truly lecherous nasty guy gets himself a mail order bride. She can't divorce him even though she despises him because she can't bear to go back home where she faces a rather dismal future, IF she were to survive.
The guy makes his living conning people on Ebay. He sells things that do not exist. Several people are rather peeved at paying good money for stuff that never arrives. Finally they investigate and come to his house to arrest him. Except she had something else in mind.... and that is a twist I will keep to myself, for now.
So I changed it around a bit and rewrote the story. I made them more loving, nicer to each other. I ditched the Duff Beer and substituted something pool shark related but still a scam....And I made the guy is a bit older,her a bit younger. He doesn't want children. She does. They each maneuver to get what they want and that builds up the conflict and then she prepares dinner.... and then.... and then....
Pool Shark (2nd draft) is now 9 pages and 2225 words.
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| Watching From the Fringes |
| 05.06.05 (5:23 am) [edit] |
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It was like watching in slow motion, watching her pour gasoline over her head, Bic lighter at the ready. Once again she was participating in that exchange, the one that looked like comparing surgical scars, except it was emotional scars. A subtle game of one-upsmanship they called “who suffered more”.
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| I Got Careless |
| 05.05.05 (7:19 pm) [edit] |
I got careless,and said something to a friend that might not have been so bad if I had been a little more sensitive. If I had remembered what they had told me they had been through. Maybe they didn't exactly spell it out. But they should not have had to spell it out in alphabet blocks. I got careless and in my ineptitude, maybe made them revisit a very painful time. I am sorry.
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| Boo Got To Blog |
| 05.05.05 (11:37 am) [edit] |
Heni Boo thought it might be fun to have a blog of his very own. I think in the beginning, he thought that he would not mention it to me to see if I would have an AHA! moment and put two and two together to come up with my usual 6. But it seems that this has been troublesome to a person who has an idea that he is someone other than who he claims to be.
In the famous words of Cloris Leachman in Young Frankenstein, "he is my boyfriend", a sweet gentle man who would hardly pose a threat to a fly. So I don't want to release the NAME of his blog...until I get clearance from him.
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| Fort Myers & Jacuzzi Cell Phone |
| 05.04.05 (6:20 pm) [edit] |
It has been a very adventure filled day. I left early this morning to go with gal pal Claudia to Fr. Myers to meet up with 6 other gal pals and hang out on Ft. Myers beach in the condo they rented. The condo was gorgeous, 8th floor overlooking the pool and the Gulf of Mexico.
I asked that Boo come before he went to work to let the puppies out. He arrived exactly on time, and called my cell phone. The conversation went like this:
H: Hi, they don't want to go out because it is raining. What do I do now?
Me: Not to worry. Thanks for trying.
H: Wait - I don't hear any barking. Hold on. (puts down phone)
Ten hours go by - really maybe a minute. I have horrible feeling in the pit of my stomache.
H: I don't know where they are hiding. I think I left the latch off the screen door. I will call you right back.
Me: (Inside I am petrified. I *KNOW* what happened. Lacy, the instigator, had pushed open the door. Colin followed yelling whoooo wah! Big Adventure. Chuck would be in hot pursuit going "Lacy, Colin, come back! Mom's not going to like this!" )
Ten more hours go by while I contemplate the location of my Swiss Army knife to cut the screen and jump the 8 floors. Finally, (realistically maybe 2 minutes) one poor beleaguered man saddled with the enormous responsibility of caring for my babies returns to inform me that they recognized his voice (oh hallelujah) and have returned and all are present and accounted for.
I bet I know ONE man who will NEVER trust Lacy alone with a screen door again.
So we resume what any red blooded American girls do on the beach. Beer and Jacuzzi. I am so jazzed about the jacuzzi that I do my best impersonation of that scene in When Harry Met Sally as I sink into the warm waters with my cell phone buried in my cleavage. Beautiful.
Now. I am going to bed. Call me in the morning on the house phone thank you!
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| Your Turn! |
| 05.02.05 (11:30 am) [edit] |
This story http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/te... about a new technology to enlist the aid of both household partners, called “Your Turn” sparked my imagination. See, I was looking through some headlines looking for fish related stories or things I could toss in the compost pile and found this.
Naturally, my wicked evil little two remaining brain cell functioning brain went into overdrive. How could I override the machine? How could I make it more interesting? What about if all the wives in this particular cul-de-sac got this humdinger of a new machine? What if this particularly insensitive gaper buys one for his wife’s birthday (my stepfather once bought my mother a toilet seat for her birthday………..need I say more?) What if for the first few days all went well…… until someone’s husband got tired of getting up during football to stick his finger in the hole (sounds better already!) because wife is already tired of waiting for him to load and start the machine, so she is back to loading it herself already. Then she has to drag his sorry butt to the machine so that his fingerprint will start it up. How long before THAT gets old.
So the guys get together right? And one is a CSI, right? By the following weekend, he has figured out a way to make his wife a new present. And he is the hero of the neighborhood when he makes one for each of the other husbands. It is a replica of their fingerprint on a prosthetic finger. This “gift” pisses off the other women so much that they help the woman of the CSI agent beat him to a bloody pulp…. and he slips into a coma. And she doesn’t want them to know at his work…. in case he survives. So when they come asking around, she says no, everything is fine. As proof she offers to show them the new washer and the absence of any laundry to be done. But he spots the “finger” and pretends that he buys the story. Leaves, comes back. Catches all the wives carrying the corpse (yeah, he bought it) out to the curb in the washer box. They figure with so many new washers, no tracking the box. And to be sure they aren’t held responsible, they have used the prosthesis of their own lazy husbands to print up the box.
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| Chicken of the Sea |
| 05.02.05 (11:07 am) [edit] |
is what I worked on this morning. Did some shifting around, some editing, she currently stands in 2nd draft at 13 pages, 1945 words. I am happy with it.
Now I am in need of more inspiration for additional fishy stories. Back to the beach!
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| 21 Grams, Tree Faces and Tampa Improv |
| 05.02.05 (5:04 am) [edit] |
21 Grams, Tree Faces and Tampa Improv
My good pals Jim and L.T. loaned me 21 Grams with this disclaimer, “here, maybe YOU can get into it. None of the people we watched it with could. It was sort of the same disclaimer that a particular “someone I know” used on Passe-A-Grille beach in 1979 that cost him a night in a cell while they tested his Bo-Bo’s Better Blend. AH my “wasted” youth! Which, coincidentally is neither wasted nor gone. I am now the happy child that I should have been all along. The only difference is that I get to be the parent that says to the person that would rain on my parade, NOPE not happening with MY child. You go find some other kid to pick on, you big bully!
But that is not what this entry is about. On Wednesday, Claudia and I watched 21 Grams after kayaking with her colander of a kayak. On Friday, Lynda, Claudia and I watched 21 Grams after more of the never-ending pasta dish I made (the one that is secretly breeding every time the lid goes back on that particular piece of Tupperware? The one I’m not ever going to make again because it didn’t knock my socks off? That one. I swear, I have fed all the homeless people in a 3-mile radius and still I have lots left. Lunch anyone? On Saturday I watched most of 21 Grams again with Henry after he made me another gourmet repaste’ sans pasta.
But that is not what this is about. On Saturday my dear friend Leslie came by in between dance numbers (she has been dancing since she was a kid. Many years) to bring me this cool tree face thingy that she made. We hung it in my oak tree. She sells them on Ebay.
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=4377524 043&rd=1&sspagename=STRK" title="http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=4377524 043&rd=1&sspagename=STRK" target="_blank"http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayIS...%3AMEBI%3AIT&rd=1#ebaypho tohosting
I showed her the cool picture she sent me of her hugging a tree and making fun of me for being a tree hugger. I turned it into a piece of mixed media and wrote a piece to go with it about how some people are in your life for a short time, some longer and some just won’t take the hint. Well, not really, it didn’t end like that, but that was funnier than the sappy crap I laid out. The truth of the matter is that Leslie and I ARE good friends. I can tell because even when the chips are down and I have been really shitty to her, she has still been there for me. And when she was being a stoooopid jerk, I was there for her. How’s this – two days after my husband died, her son was hit by a car while riding his bike. He was thrown over the car and was airlifted to the hospital where he was in a coma for several days. I went to see him, which was really tough since he was in the same hospital and it was all so fresh and raw to be back in that same waiting room. But the point is her son was IN A COMA and she still was there, at my husband’s memorial service.
But that is not what this is about. On Sunday, Henry and I went to Tampa Improv where we had an absolute ball. We were the oldest kids there. The servers did a very good job of asking us how we would like our cheeseburgers, which apparently was not the same as “how you are going to get your cheeseburgers, like it or not.” We were not there for the food. Good thing. However, and this IS what this is about, prior to going to the Improv, we went to http://www.urbanoutfitters.co... URBAN OUTFITTERS where I got the latest copy of Found http://www.foundmagazine.com/... which is always a great source of inspiration and Not Proud http://www.notproud.com/confe... where people admit to doing really insanely funny stuff that is poignantly painful yet they are compelled to confess anonymously to the site. So far my fav is “ I cheated on my boyfriend with someone else’s husband. No one will ever know but I am constantly reminded that his wedding ring has been inside me.”
And that is where I intended to eventually head with this meandering post. Remember my medicine cabinet story? The irony is that no one ever fingered ME (no pun intended) for knowing that people like to look at other people’s stuff, now did they. Yet I get great delight in these books that show me that I am oh so very normal…. well maybe normal is not the best word choice. Maybe human is better.
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