That which does not kill me, tastes great. Or... How Phlegm got her "Oh SHIT!" back.

eeeeeek!
Wednesday's cloudy morning: I let the doglet out into the back yard and noticed green skies to the near west and I thought "this can't be good."

EEEEK!

Ten minutes later I was tooling down Montfort in LouLou, about to turn into the Barnes & Noble parking lot to pick up the latest meisterstrück from Blonde Redhead, which is muy trés delectable, and which I highly recommend.

EEEEK!

Strange movement off to the right caught my eye and I turned my head to see a huge tree branch spinning in a circle as it was pushed effortlessly across a parking lot, all its leaves along for the ride. I turned left into the B&N lot to see a 20 foot cart return carrel come spinning likewise across the parking lot in front of me and off to the right. I looked up to see a huge cloud with obvious rotation. I looked over to the left and saw the teller in a glass drive-through window gape-mouthed and looking for all the world like a SouthPark cut-out. Oh, and it was windier than a bag of buttholes. Windier than a certain loudmouthed, windy person I know, even.

EEEEK!

In that instant I realized I might be in the beginnings of a tornado, and the next minute was spectacular. I looked at the giant swirling cloud for about 5 seconds and panels were peeling off the roof of one nearby building - they looked as light as silver gum wrappers as they whipped up and southward. I weighed my options and knew I had no time to lose, whatever my choice.

EEEEK!

I could drive up onto the curb and up to the door of one of the stores and run in, but if their roofs were being peeled away, wouldn't it be bad to be inside??? Freaky. No good choices. My next thought was to get out of there. Storm moving south, I looked around the parking lot for more flying debris and other vehicles, then I carefully drove to the outlet onto Belt Line Road, heading west. In the space of another 5 seconds, I saw evidence of several transformers blowing nearby, blues and greens splashing into the sky like incandescent bruises. My heart wasn't pounding, but I was in some bizarre state of heightened awareness. I would describe my mindset as terrified/not scared, if you can imagine. What would be, would be.

EEEEK!

One silly thing that flashed through my brainpan was the irony of how I love violent weather-- well, ok, not this violent- -I never agreed to this!

EEEEK!

The weather looked clearer to the west, but I did need to mosey downtown eventually, so at the intersection of Belt Line & the toll road (where the traffic lights were dead - not even flashing red), I decided to go south and just get into work. Our buildings are old, and I happen to have a basement I could get into with no problem should need arise.

EEEEK!

At work sitting in my glass fishbowl office, I was feeling wrong sitting still with that adrenaline/euphoria thing going on - shouldn't I be doing something? I sat at my desk as the full brunt of the storm finally caught up with me. Out the window, I watched disbelieving as a bolt of lightning struck an adjacent enormous landmark, perhaps 300 yards from my very seat. OK, I didn't go to the basement, but I did get against a concrete wall that had an earthen embankment behind it. To say I was jumpy at that moment would be a tremendous understatement.

EEEEK!

As the storm simmered down, so did I, in a way, but you should see the stack of paperwork I ploughed through today, effortlessly, and ready to chew up some more. I was in SUCH a good mood, giddy, even. I remembered a friend in England who told me he'd take his sailboat out into the English Channel, but that sometimes, a sudden storm would whip up too quickly to make it back off the ocean, and it was too risky to be dashed on the rocks near shore, so he'd ride it out. He said it was nerve-wracking until the St. Elmo's Fire would start crackling around him, and then it got downright terrifying. He'd sit there on the boat, forswearing all his indulgences and trying to strike a bargain which involved him seeing his family one more time. Always, he'd made it back home. Then for an extended period thereafter, he could sit through the most stressful interviews and meetings, utterly unflappable, relaxed, wholly unconcerned.

EEEEK!

Anyway, maybe I wasn't in as much danger as it seemed at that moment, but just the same, I'm feeling pretty relaxed, now. Watch this space.

Standard poodles were bred to retrieve game for hunters, and they are water dogs. Did you know there is a reason for those silly pouf balls? Amazingly, the poodles' bodies are shaved to reduce drag in the water, but the poufs at the joints (hips, neck, legs) were to help keep the joints warm as the dog swam through cold water. Amazing. And all this time we just thought some French person thought they'd look better that way. I think having a poodle would be almost tolerable if they came in nice candy colors.

_________________________

Well, vacation was glorious. If nothing else, I at least achieved an abiding understanding that even if I have days and days free to myself, I still won't be inspired to clean house, so no more feeling guilty on that score. Going back to work on Tuesday was actually nice, and I think the break did me a lot of good.

_________________________

Going to the panhandle this weekend to pick up my ultimate dream table which I bought in a junk shop there. It's a thing of beauty. There are two household items of which you will only find one in a lifetime which is your absolute ultimate: a table and a spice rack. I'm still waiting for my One and Only Perfect Spice Rack™, but until that day, I can console myself with my One and Only Perfect Table™. Now I have de-coded half of the riddle of life's mystery. Soon, I veel rrrroool zee vorlt! Ain't life grand?

The loverly Barbara of Bad Tempered Zombie fame tagged me with the below meme. I think it's a good one.

1. Go to the Billboard #1 Hits listings
2. Pick the year you turned 18
3. Get yourself nostalgic over the songs of the year
4. Pick 5 songs and write something about how these songs affected you
5. Pass it on to 5 more friends

*whiner alert* Holy crap, looking at Billboard, I, just, ew, uh, Well, I turned 18 in 1983 in October, but I was 18 for 10 months of 1984. Really want to do 1984 instead, not that it's THAT much better, but... well, I was mostly listening to things not on the radio - Killing Joke, Bauhaus, Psychedelic Furs, Ultravox, Japan & the like, so, the list I'm seeing for 1983 is making me squirm a bit. Yuck - I'm still trying to banish from memory Michael Jackson's domination of the charts and all the zippers and vinyl and white socks, oh my! Oh, wait, it says write something about how they affected me, not that I had to like them, right? Oh, no problem. I'm so there.

1. Sweet Dreams - the Eurythmics Loved this song because it was such a departure for pop radio. Annie Lennox' dark husky voice was a marvelous foil for the play on gender she made in the video. This song actually holds up and I'm not embarrassed to have appreciated it at the time. From the same cd, This City Never Sleeps is a far superior track, but in a pinch, Sweet Dreams will do. If I hear it, I may even sing along.

2. Maneater - Hall & Oates I was never a big fan of Hall & Oates, though I do think they had a few spectacular songs. This song is perhaps my favorite, but in a guilty pleasure sort of way. It's actually yucky and makes my skin crawl, so I lapse into a goose-pimply "what were they thinking?" grossed-out kind of dissociative fugue when I hear it. And near the end when he says "the woman is wild, ooooooooh!" I generally do a free-form sort of dancey expression of what I'm hearing - woe betide the other shoppers at Kroger. Don't ask me to explain.

3. Flashdance - Irene Cara - Wasn't Irene just fabulous in The Color Purple as Squeak? Oh, shit, that was Rae Dawn Chong-- now I don't have anything nice to say!!! Good googly moogly. In a very, very bad way, this song IS immortal. Vile. Flashdance will always be with us. Hot chick wears loose clothing to her day job as welder (Hello? Safety hazard!) & strips at night for money, dumps water on self by toilet-style pull-chain, is embarrassing to remember. Eek. OK, wait, the song? Not the movie? Starts slow & builds, telling the tale of a girl around whom love was all, and who was gonna make it after all. What a feeling. Someone bleach my brain and never make me think of this one again, please?

4. Every Breath You Take - The Police Now this, THIS is a personal favorite, in a way. EBYT is another song which holds up well, but I think most people never really listen to the text -- this is about a guy on whom the hapless damsel he's singing to has filed a restraining order. Can you say stalker, boys and girls? Every move you make, every breath you take, I'll be watching you. Really? Creepy. Still, it's a good song. I just wish people wouldn't play it at wedding receptions - the irony sends me 'round the bend.

5. Africa - Toto - about 5 weeks before this song peaked on the charts,I remember a particular moment and hearing this song. Me, Mom, Dad, Sis & maternal Grandparents were on a trip from Texas to Arkansas to California. We were in this monster souped-up LTD of Dad's. (Let's admit it - there's no more glorious ride in the world than a 50s to 70s Big American Automobile™, particularly those with a powerful engine and good suspension - the way you felt like you were buffered on a giant biscuit of air.) Anyway, the middle of the night, we were driving up from California to visit relatives in Washington, and it was probably 2 in the morning. Everyone was sacked out, and I always stayed awake with Dad, leaning up from the middle of the back seat onto the front seat armrests. Dad would change the radio dial to whatever I wanted to hear, and this song came on. Dad would tell me stories, it was just one of hundreds of hours I cherish of talking to Dad at night on road trips. I'm not one to sleep in a car, generally - can't sleep on planes without benefit of Bloody Marys, but I always thought it was weak-minded of all the family to conk out and leave Dad to do all the work. Dad taught me a lot of what I know about driving at those times, too. It was sweet, and Africa always makes me think of that particular night, that exact moment, some 23 years ago.


I don't usually tag anyone, but this is a fun meme and I'm curious to hear what the following folk come up with: Hollyb, Fathairybastard, Ambulance Driver, Tam, and how about a joint entry from Dick/Ordinary Girl? Actually - everybody in - if you're on my blogroll, consider yourself tagged(if you want to be). Was that namby-pamby enough for you?

Not that we needed confirmation of this, but Cannes Film Festival's desperation to recognize Sicko by schlockumentarian Michael Moore is yet more proof positive that the United States needs to keep its own counsel and disregard the emotional, outlandish hand-wringing of other societies.

Having won the Palme d'Or in 2004 for yet another bit of sensationalist dreck, Moore requested this skewering of the American healthcare system to be withheld from consideration this year, yet the award committee is drooling all over themselves to give top honors to Moore for the film.

Many in our own country lack the maturity to evenly consider the specious information put forth in Moore's inflammatory and rife-with-fiction movies. A particular example comes to mind from a film in which he staged the shot of him walking away from a bank with a rifle he claimed to have been given there for opening an account, when in fact, he'd collected the gun someplace which actually sold guns. This is so like the scene from Broadcast News in which the airhead reporter does an extra take of himself emoting for the camera, and the news director was outraged at the unethical, emotional manipulation of fact.

I wonder how many people who adore Moore's films think their media are moral and above this manipulation-- how many of them think Moore is not re-tooling and tweaking the portrayal of events to change their minds? Lambs to the slaughter, they are eating it up because it dovetails with their less developed, emotional inner noise. These people don't know how to think clearly, have no understanding of how our government actually functions, and are happily dazzled by the shell game being played to diffuse any collective power they may have to actually hold our government accountable for poor representation.

The irony is that if there is a clamor from the peanut gallery for any kind of change, it will be for yet greater government involvement in the already overloaded and labyrinthine health care system. Years ago I did some work in a billing office for a group of doctors. I saw cases where decent, low-income Americans had to struggle to pay their way, and meanwhile, a pair of wealthy doctors from Mexico City came here to give birth to their high-risk baby on the Medicare dime, no questions asked. I saw a parade of just such outrages in which everything is permissible for people who don't contribute and who abuse the system, but the people who get in line and pay their way are soundly vilified and treated like chumps. I think our government has done enough damage to our health care system already.

And I need someone to 'splain me any industry or system that the government has improved after taking it over from the private sector.

The family reunion last weekend was great, but it's always a little sad, too, thinking of the old folks who've passed away, and invariably, there's a new baby or two to replace the old timers. It's a natural cycle. Some day I'll be the wizened old relic the youngsters see but don't really talk to, a product of another century. For now, though, I'm more than happy to occupy the middle of the road.

Mom had 3 siblings who were prolific breeders, and from them I have 16 cousins, and then I have about a dozen more first cousins from mom's step-siblings. That's a lot of first cousins. But it gets a little more intense: my grandfather and his brother married sisters, so that means Mom and her cousins are double-cousins. This means that genetically I am as close to Mom's cousins as I am to my aunts and uncles. Odd, innit?

I realize this is sounding like one of those bad jokes about a family tree that only has one branch. Well, it's not quite that bad. Well, it is bad. There's been more than one tragic case amongst my cousins to indicate that some DNA combinations should be kept on a very limited production scale.

The funny thing is that I always knew about the double-cousin thing as a child, but it sort of didn't register until a few years ago. Aunt B. is Mom's (double) cousin and reared her children in California and I saw them only rarely, until they moved to Arkansas across the street from my grandparents when I was about 8 or 9.

B's 3 sons were ultra-bratty and overly-worldly in the way all my cousins from California seemed to be. They were nasty, they let their underwear stick up out of their britches, they had odd vocabularies. When I was about 6, I heard a toddler California cuz tell his big brother "cuck woo." It seemed so strange that it stuck in my mind. A few years later, I realized what he was saying to his big bro, and I wondered how a toddler managed to use vocabulary I didn't happen upon until fifth grade-ish.

Anyway, - B's 3 sons. They started bringing coins over they said they'd found buried under their Victorian-era home across the street from Grandpa's house. They found some way to sell these coins and make a little cash. They always seemed to be finding rare and lovely coins, but no one scrutinized them very closely.

One day, Grandpa got out his coin collection, which, oddly, was mostly all gone. All that time, those little devils were absconding with grandpa's coin collection and brazenly returning to the scene of the crime to boast of their "finds."

Shortly thereafter, B and family moseyed on back to California. B is a very sweet person who has been plagued with problems of an ill spouse and conniving, ruthless children. Maybe that's the strangest thing to me, that the cousins who seemed to know so much and to be so worldly have been the ones worst treated by the world. Some of these first cousins look older than my parents, and these are people within 5 years of my age.

I suppose there's an advantage to going through life a little guarded and not letting the woes of the world engulf one. I'm glad my parents kept my experience very small-scale and personal, and acted to prevent a greater familiarity with the ways of the world from damaging their children as long as possible.

I've never really discussed it with my folks, but I rather suspect these bad cousins and distracted, inattentive aunts and uncles are one reason my parents moved us well away from a lot of the family.

Sometimes, it's easier to like people more when you know less about them.

Product watch:
Transformer by Paula Dorf. This stuff is great - one drop of this on a brush turns any powder makeup into a liquid eyeliner. It's not water-proof, but it's not drippy, either. Good product, especially when you're looking for the perfect shade of liner. I recommend an eyeliner brush by Chanel, too-- a good brush for this stuff is essential.


The other thing is Morning Zen incense by Shoyeido. Shoyeido is a Japanese incense house that's been perfecting their product through 12 generations and several centuries. Beautiful incense that doesn't smell like hippy crap or cat pee. (In my opinion)

Speaking of hippy crap, I don't know what it is about patchouli - some of it smells amazing to me, and some of it reeks horribly. I know there are several different varieties. There's an Indian restaurant I love in Dallas that burns the cat-pee patchouli by their entry at a little shrine thingie sometimes. Ew. I usually go there with my fingers crossed that they aren't trying to butter up Vishnu or Ganesh that day.

Going shooting with a friend Saturday.
She said "Phlegm, wear sensible footwear. Do you have any sensible footwear?"
Naturally, I responded that all my footwear is sensible. It makes perfect sense to me.
She said "It's a cow pasture, Phlegm."
Point taken.

Oh, and one more thing on "Rules of War"-- isn't that like "Fornicating for Abstinence?" I'm just saying...

WHY THE EIGHTIES HAD TO END™ #4

And reason #987 why youtube is the key to human enlightenment.

This is so bad it makes my skin crawl, and that mullet boy wired to the turntable with the seated pop-n-lock routine is transcendently terrible. LOVE. IT.

I never saw this video in the 80s, but if I had, I would have been eternally embarrassed. Now I'm just retroactively embarrassed.

Don't slap me, 'cause I'm not in the mood...

Like, I guess it's ok to slap her all the rest of the time. I think everyone involved in this should be slapped.

I'll come right out and say I'm not a sports fan. I'm happy for friends and family when their teams win, but, generally, it's sorta not on the radar for me. Going to live games with friends is fun. Hockey is actually exciting. I generally don't think of it much and am happy for things to stay that way, but recent local news means you'll have to suffer along with me as I vent spleen for a moment.

Starting some years back, there was much flap and hoopla about where the Dallas Cowboys' next stadium would be. Local municipalities vied for that honor, including Dallas and the city of Arlington (where Six Flags and the Texas Ranger Ballpark are located).

Now I don't know how they do things in other cities, but let me tell you how it's done in Dallas. Some enormously, staggeringly wealthy person (who could afford to build the stadium on their own) proposes that the city contribute massively to building the venue. The city puts forth a bond package (to raise taxes to generate funds for the project) to the voters. Drooling sports fanatics will pay anything to have the stadium/hotel&entertainment revenue/traffic hazard brought to their fair city. The voters opt to build the stadium on the public dime, and all the profits for the venue - which will technically be owned by the fatcat (Perot, Cuban, etc.) - will go to said fatcat. Oh, and for building this enormous income-generating facility, fatcats get huge tax breaks. Goody goody gumdrops. How wonderful for them.

The Cowboys' new stadium is being built in Arlington, and the recent news was that the 2011 Superbowl has been slated for this venue. OK. Fine. Whatever. Again, I'm happy for the excited locals, and on a huge level I'm pleased that dubious honor will go to Arlington rather than Dallas.

There was bound to be a fly in the ointment, though, because in the local news, the bitching has already begun. In man-on-the-street style interviews, the whining is already reaching fever pitch. The most prominent complaints are that the common person won't be able to afford the tickets, and that the traffic is going to be a nightmare. No doubt the crying-in-the-beer will whinge on for 4 more years.

Um, hello? Y'all wanted that thing in your neighborhood, so get over it. Put on your big girl panties and suck it up and deal. Oh, and shut up, while you're at it!

It's amazing how great it is just to get out of town, isn't it?

I find putting hundreds of miles between me and my routine incredibly restorative, and moreso when I'm someplace familiar that feels uniquely my own. I feel that way in Arkansas. And Arizona. And the Panhandle. And in London, believe it or not. And I always end up feeling I've got to do that more often.

We did go to see Mary at her farm, but we didn't stay very long. Her husband has been having some health problems and didn't seem to feel very well. Their small cattle farm is lovely, and they have a porch overlooking a meadow with meadowlarks calling from the trees. I felt I could have just moved in and never come back to Dallas. The day was unspeakably lovely.

Mary went to high school with Mom, and her grandfather was a Texas Ranger from the era of the siege of Palo Duro Canyon. I thought our visit would be long enough to yield more stories, but we hurried home, so this one will have to suffice for now.

James' wife had been killed by Indians and he rode for days and days tracking them, ultimately killing them. Sometime well into the 20th century, there was a Pioneer Days celebration in Hereford where his family was settled. He was pretty long in the tooth at the time and still persnickety. He was told by his descendents that he was requested to appear in the parade along with other former Rangers and Indians of various extraction. When James heard there would be Indians there, he would not be dissuaded from bringing his rifle along with which to dispatch the Indians. His children wisely decided it would be best if he didn't go to the parade, after all.

Isn't it funny, though, to think of making a spectacle like a parade despite the enmity that must have existed between those groups? I mean, yeah, it was great that they recognized the old-timers of both factions, but if you think about it, it's sort of like expecting a mongoose and a cobra to play nice. Both sides had some serious hurts that ran deep and to which they were entitled. Strange to bring them out in public and do the stiff upper lip thing and not have anyone act like they got the poopy end of the stick.

One theme runs eternal throughout human affairs, though: people can make cobras and mongoose seem downright civil.

Torture for Dummies 101 by Al Quaeda.

Funny, they left out the bit about the ultimate human torture, which is, of course, of the panty-on-head/nekkid-on-leash/nekkid-pyramid/being-pointed-at variety.

Electric cables?
Blow torches?
Pliers & wire cutters?

Lightweights!

In the way of all things in this flawed world, our craftily diabolical use of nylon underpants doesn't amount to much, but on the scale of mere human tortures, it's bloody magnificent. Yes, onward we march in our aspiration to dismantle all other govermental structures using one elasticized waistband at a time.

LISA NOVA does 300

Moonpies: 1.5
RC Cola: 0

Almost hog-heaven.

Well, the trip to the Ozarks was a wonderful reprieve from the same-old same-old. Mom and niece rode with me and we headed up there on Friday, with mom offering the occasional tip (speed limit, etc.,) which was mightily appreciated. At one point she said "do you mind my backseat driving?" to which I parried "no, I'm accustomed to a passenger who finds my driving incompetent." Sadly, this was not a lie.

Spent Friday night in Hot Springs. We stayed at a major (reliably clean) hotel chain. Prior to checking in, I drove to an adorable motor court with marvelous neon which I have wanted to check out for yonks. The rooms are arrayed like little duplex casitas, adobe exterior, and they look to have been re-done since I was there 6 or 8 months earlier. Very cute. Just as I was about to call and cancel the reservation with the other place, one of the quaint rooms disgorged an unfortunate pair who aptly fit the description "pimp" and "crackwhore" and so it was off to our reserved room around which no ne'er-do-wells were to be seen. Perhaps I'll check this one out some other time when children are not along for the spectacle. In the meantime, thank goodness for the major chains.

The next morning, we headed north on 7, wending our way through the Ozarks. The weather was exquisite, the road was steep and curvy, but my grippy new tires were up to the challenge.

Along Highway 5 is a mountain called "Old Joe," and Mom mused that in his book about the 19th century Ozarks, John Quincy Wolf mentioned a mountain called "Naked Joe" because trappers/hunters had started a fire which burned all the timber off the mountain. Of course, in the past 100 years, a few trees have grown back, to say the least, but I think this is meant to be the same place.

We stopped by the Strawberry River on Arkansas Highway 56 and went down to the spot where my maternal grandfather would take us swimming when we were kids. It was strange to see again, and kind of bittersweet.

More on that later. One of the best stories I heard all weekend was actually from Texas. Dad has a garage and once someone brought in a souped-up Trans Am which they left overnight for work. Dad had a guard-dog at the shop named Lonzo which was one of the strangest dogs ever. Lonzo had an enormous head and large, powerful body, but the sawed-off legs of a Corgi. He had black hair with grey tips like a wolf-hound. He was very smart, and hilarious to watch. Anyway, Lonzo had a strange fixation on the black Trans Am. They deduced that he had made a run at the hood perhaps hundreds of times, judging by the shredding of the paint. Long, raked trails of toenail-furrows traversed the car from nose to the back of the roof. Lonzo's piece de resistance was when he left his calling card atop: a perfect doo-doo swirl. Inexplicable. Fortunately, the customer was amused by the customization, and said he was about to have it re-painted anyway.

Lonzo would hatch an escape plot occasionally and gad about to visit a circuit of lady dogs in the area, and he clearly impacted the vagrant dog population of Dallas for decades to come. If he were human, Lonzo would have worn a seersucker suit and carried a mint julep and brass knuckles, such style he had with his jaunty, confident gait. Every once in a while, you'll see a sawed-off brute of a dog in that area of town, and you'll know the spirit of Lonzo lives.

Home again.

Well, sort of. I'm at me mum's and going the rest of the way home in the morning.

We were going to come home Tuesday, but thought better of stringing the 10 hour drive home over the span of two days. Lots to tell, and I'll go into more of it next time, but for now I'll tell you about something kinda funny, kinda sad and utterly bizarre.

I'm not saying anyone in my family is, well, beneath their raisin', but, well, you tell me:

Mom's 3 siblings all died young, and she is now the Matriarch of the family. Four of her sister's 7 children came to the reunion, and after it was over, this clutch of cousins were sort of gathered around Mom sitting on picnic tables, visiting. All their children and grandchildren were over playing on the swings and merry-go-round. Suddenly, one boy who is small for his age came over, sat at the table and put his head down, crying. One of the other children ran up and breathlessly announced "he got kicked in the nuts!"

The questioning of the boys was as delightful as you'd imagine. After ferreting out the culprit, the offending boy said "well, he kicked ME in the nuts!" Upon further investigation, the offending boy was revealed to have been kicked in the nuts after having kicked the smaller boy.

What a little devil.

It's amazing how a kick in the wedding tackle can kill a gathering. Everyone stood up, said their goodbyes and dispersed with record speed.

Anyway. I'll pick up my freshly-bathed doglet from doggie camp before noon, and I expect a gloriously lazy week to myself, lounging about, cleaning, doing my own thing, and probably blogging more than I should. Yes, it's good to be home and not typing this in with only my thumbs and no energy for capitalization.

family reunion went well, even though I dawdled and arrived late. one funny thing I realized just now is that even though this side of my family tends toward the low-brow and multi-offspring spawned with multiple partners, this is also the side of the family where no one asks me when i'm going to have children. I suppose they recognize the family cup already runneth over.

sorry about the crap typing, but me thumbs are cramping. I may be posting from home tomorrow. several good stories to tell. cheers!