Church of the Big Sky

Time for a couple of days off

2008-05-14T23:05:00.005-04:00

Not sure what the deal is, but I'm getting nausea-inducing headaches first thing in the morning and just around the end of the work day this week. I used to get the morning headaches quite when I worked for "Ill Will" many moons ago, but I think those were caused by stress when I worked for the insane woman who chewed her thumbs until they bled, and then drew little symbols in her blood on office memos.

Go figure.

I think the morning headaches right now are a result of not being able to get a physical therapy appointment for a week. I must sleep like a pretzel, and that can't be good for all those healing bones.

As for the end of the day headaches? I think it's just too much time staring at the computer screen and not being able to take walks throughout the day right now to get my eyeballs off the monitor.

Things will improve with time.

But I think I'll cut myself a long weekend of slack here at the Church of the Big Sky. I'm taking what the Russians would call a "malen'kiy pereryv" - a short break. See if a couple of evenings away from the keyboard will stave off the head thumpers.

Next week is nutty with work events, too, so things will be spotty for a bit. I'll Twitter here and there, but look for something the following weekend.

Yeah, while the rest of America is bbq'ing, I'll be blogging.

I'm nothing if not a bit off-kilter...

Inappropriate Laughter

2008-05-12T23:33:00.003-04:00

I annoyed the crap out of the upstairs neighbor tonight. He's back after a couple of weeks of being away from Chez Merde. His absence brought blissful, blissful silence. But now, the pounding, swearing, and door-slamming have all returned in full force. Ugh. I did not miss him.

I called my sister the social worker tonight and we got each other laughing like idiots about all sorts of incredibly crude stuff, like "Jackass 2". We watched that a couple of Christmases ago - eating carry-out steak from some place in Iowa in front of the boob tube at her house. We laughed so hard that night, I couldn't breathe and she thought she was going to toss her cookies.

Guilty pleasures. What can I say?

Her Internet access is spotty at home, so I read her some entries from this great LiveJournal post the Sasquatch sent to me a few days ago. I laughed so hard, I wheezed as I read the insane "Engrish" to her. And Angry Indian Doctor stomped on his floor, rattling my ceiling and windows. Of course, it wasn't even 9:30 at night then. He usually waits until 11:30 or so, himself, to start swearing up a storm or fighting with his wife. Recently, he and the missus developed a new habit: loud, carpet-burn-inducing makeup sex on the living room floor. It's quite the accompaniment to my evening television viewing. Somehow, "Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe" seem even more dirty when people are grunting, squealing and thumping around just above your head.

Rug burns. {{shudder}}

But even when the cranky man upstairs is pounding around (you may read "pounding" any way you want, kids!) there is something healing in a good belly laugh, and I had a few of those tonight. Who cares if the peeps upstairs have to hear me for once!

And, remarkably, my spine isn't screaming at me.

Good enough for a Monday, I reckon.

Three-fer (or is that tree-fer?)

2008-05-12T09:17:00.005-04:00

I heard that increasingly familiar BOOM this morning - the sound of a tree coming down on my street. Literally, the third time in one month. There must be some disease affecting them. And 24 hours of steady rain surely weakened an already dying thing. This time, the tree missed buildings and cars (for the most part - I have a tiny bullet-type ding in my windshield) but has me temporarily trapped. E-mailed my boss. I'll be late this morning. And, since I woke up with a nasty sore throat courtesy of gunk coming up through the air conditioning vents and the cold damp weather, I'm not going out to take photos in the rain this time.

When the chainsaws stop, I'll go out and see if I can leave.

I really do know better...

2008-05-11T11:46:00.011-04:00

...than to ever stop at the Hellmouth 7-11. Home to so many strange episodes in my already strange life, the convenience store of Satan continues to confound me.

Yesterday, after a fruitful run to Big Lots (where, as usual, I was the only native speaker of English seeking bargains among the crap), I decided to run in and grab a gallon of milk and an early Sunday paper at 7-11. What could possibly go wrong, eh?

(Sucker!)

I grabbed a gallon of 1%, which was only slightly more expensive than gas in Montgomery County, a Sunday WaPo, and, for good measure (and potassium), a banana. The Indian clerk at the check-out counter was a woman roughly my age. She started to ring me up and said, "So, you are going out to dinner now?"

I looked down at my newspaper, banana, and milk. Strange stuff to take along to a restaurant, especially at 3:30 in the afternoon. "Uhhhh... no. I'm going home. Think I'll take a little nap, and then do some housecleaning."

The clerk offered a sad smile. "Ah... your children are not taking you out to dinner?"

I was still confused. "Umm... I have no children."

Again she said, "Ahhh, I see. Then your husband will be taking you out to dinner?"

Ah-ha. I got it. Mother's Day. "Uhhh... I'm not married."

The clerk stopped ringing up my stuff. "Then you will be taking your mother out to dinner?"

This was getting a little obnoxious. "Unfortunately, my mother died in 2001." (More than she needed to know, but I was vexed.)

Putting my paper and banana in a bag, she responded, very sadly. "So, then, you are like me. No one to love and no one loves you."

My jaw just about hit the floor. I wanted to say "Speak for yourself, sister!" but instead I just said, "I hope your weekend improves."

Yeesh.

Since Mom passed away, I don't put much mind to Mother's Day. All of my sisters are mothers, as are the vast majority of my female friends. But I'm not a member of that club. It actually offends me when friends tell me that I will never really know love until I have a child. So, because I'm childless, I'm incapable of Real Love? WTF?

I fear I would have made a pretty crappy mother; I can't keep a plant alive. Some of my friends have even said that to me (about children, not plants, that is.) And, while I never necessarily saw myself with children, it still hurts - stings really badly - to have people I love and respect tell me I wouldn't be good at a pretty damn common, central, human, womanly task.

I would love to say that I am a woman without regrets, but that would not be true. In many respects, I feel that have been a failure at the basics of being what 90% of this planet considers a woman. I've never been good enough, beautiful enough, thin enough, educated enough (mostly thin enough, I know) for any of the men I've loved in my life to want to even consider me as a partner. I will never know that apparently transformative experience of being a mother. The truth is, except when there are deadlines at work, no one actually needs me.

I recognize my personal failings -they are legion. And despite them - and the belief that the average American feels it's cool to mock the shit out of me - I don't look for sympathy. I don't want it. I shun it, as a matter of fact. I find it embarrassing.

That said, as my last single friends move forward to marriages and partnerships, though, I do ponder this: as space and time and obligations and commitments put distance between us, will I reach a point where I feel as absolutely empty as that clerk in the 7-11?

I pray not.

About a dozen years ago, I was in a rural market in Uzbekistan - somewhere on the road between Tashkent and Samarkand. The market was filled with old men and women of indeterminate age - their sun-leathered skin and gold teeth masking whatever youth remained. As I left, one of the withered women took my hands in hers. She bowed her head, wrapped in a bright green and pink scarf, and studied my palms. After a minute or two, she lifted her head and spoke to me in Russian. "When you die," she said, her eyes locked on mine, "Many men will mourn you, but no women will."

I found that funny and puzzling, especially considering my innate inability to build an intimate relationship with any man in my more than half a lifetime. And yet, once I was accused of breaking up a relationship because my platonic friendship with the male half of the equation was too solid. (It was a massive cop-out excuse from a woman who had PLANS and a fairly rigid timetable for marriage that her boyfriend didn't care to meet.) After the break-up, she informed me that she had discussed it with her boss - her boss who'd never met me - and they'd determined I was responsible for everything falling apart. Riiiiiight. So sorry, sistah. Not my fault, and I won't apologize for any friendship. Some of my closest friends are men. I can't attract them, can't make them fall in love with me, can't make them want me, but I can talk to them.

Helps to be a geek.

*sigh*

Well, that took a tangent I hadn't expected.

But doesn't every trip to the Hellmouth end up on a very strange path?

Happy Sunday, y'all.

Instant Karma, or I Like My T-Bone Well Done!

2008-05-09T00:09:00.006-04:00

This morning, after viewing The Tree That Tried To Eat the Apartment Building, I headed off to work, as is my wont. I've never been fond of traffic circles, but just about any way I approach the office, I have to go through at least one. This morning's route took me off 16th Street, through Scott Circle, onto Mass Ave for a whole block, down 15th to my garage on M. Got all that? Good.

There's an exit off 16th Street to enter Scott Circle. Two lanes feed into the circle at a stop light. After the stop light, on the actual circle, there are three lanes of traffic; two go straight only, and the innermost lane goes straight or around the circle, with another stop light before you actually make that move. I use that innermost lane to go around to Mass Ave. (I know, this sounds like a story problem, no?)

At the first light today, I was three cars back from the front. Patiently waiting, I heard someone laying on the horn like his life depended on it. I looked in my rear view mirror to see a young dude in a little import sedan behind me waving his hands for me to move forward. I had, maybe four feet between me and the car ahead of me. Now, call me old-fashioned, but I come from the school of driving that says, "if you can't see the license plate of the car ahead of you, yer too darn close." Also, I operate within the laws of physics that decree my car can't occupy the same space as the stopped car ahead of me.

The light was red. There was nowhere for us to go. I raised my hands in the great shrug to the anxious driver, to say, "Dude, ain't no place for me to move!"

This was not, apparently, well-received. Dude responded to me with an aggressively shaken middle finger salute. Whatever.

The light turned green, and I followed the other two cars ahead of me into that innermost lane, and again waited for the next light to go green. Aggressive dude pulled up into the straightaway lane next to me, rolled down his window and started to scream at me: "FAT COW! DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT THE PEOPLE BEHIND YOU, FAT COW?!? I HAVE SOMEPLACE I GOTTA GO!"

Nice. I just ignored him. If he doesn't understand basic physics or the rules of the road, nothing I could say to him was going to help.

Then, the light turned green.

And Mr. Hurry Hurry made a serious error in judgment. Let's just say, he failed basic physics. From the straightaway lane, he decided to turn left.

Directly into the side of a very large SUV that was making the left turn around the circle.

Yep, he t-boned that sucker. Big time. And, you see, when you're in a little Japanese sedan and you gun it into the side of an SUV... you lose, babycakes! The SUV may sustain some minor body damage, but your car will look like a vehicular accordion. (Ha -the Honda Accord-ion!) A cab stopped (perhaps as a witness, perhaps sensing an impending fare) and I continued on to work. Usually I stop for accidents I see, but this time, the cabbie could handle witness duties. And I wasn't entirely heartless - before leaving, I took a look over at the poster child for anger management and saw him cursing from his crumpled car. Yes, he had survived to be a jackass another day.

Karma, dude. It's a biyotch. I may be a fat cow, but at least I understand how traffic circles work. And today - for once - karma kicked the correct ass.

Thus endeth the lesson.

Thunderboomers are getting closer - time to shut down for the night!

A Good Argument for Renter's Insurance

2008-05-08T08:55:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, Mutha Nature doesn't just bring down swift arboreal justice on the cars on the street where I live.

Sometimes, she puts the smackdown on the *place* where I live, with window/floor/ceiling-rattling force.

My building, this morning:

What you can't see in the morning haze off the cell phone camera are the branches on the roof. However, you can see just how far this tree reached in the photo below, with the tree bits on the balcony and lawn on the other side:

Strangely, just after the tree fell onto the cars last month, I was wondering when one of the diseased tree husks was going to slam into the building. Fortunately, the crab apple tree right in front of my balcony is healthy and still blooming away.

Just a quick post over my morning coffee. BTW, Olivia Newton-John's intimate concert here at work was good last night. (No, I didn't have $500 for a ticket -- through the kindess of the foundation, I was able to snag a couple of gratis seats for myself and the Sasquatch!) Not many of her old classics of my childhood (just "Magic" and "I Honestly Love You"), but the songs she sang clearly came from her heart and from someone who has triumphed over a great deal of adversity in her life. ONJ has a lot of love for this fragile planet and gratitude for what she has been granted in her life. It may not have been a trip down my memory lane, but it was cool. She's nearly 60, just came off three weeks walking the Great Wall of China in April to raise money for cancer research and treatment, and last night she had more energy and life than I've had in ages! Good on ya, Olivia!

Happy Birthday, Air Jordan!

2008-05-06T00:14:00.007-04:00

Today is my brother's 60th birthday. Hard to believe it. Impossible almost.

He is an ocean away and I can't sing happy birthday to him in person. Instead, I'll be sending him a variety of utterly tasteless birthday cards from someecards.com. Recently, I tried in vain to find a single card there that wouldn't be taken the wrong way, be completely misunderstood, and/or cause endless tears and a lot of bad phone calls from another sibling on her birthday. It wasn't possible. My brother, Air Jordan, on the other hand, will thrive on these. And, when we get a chance to speak on over the weekend, my congratulatory birthday phone call will - as all my calls to my brother do - rapidly devolve into humor that I would kindly call Not Safe For Work.

My brother and his husband are among the finest humans I will ever know. Kind, generous, funny, and simply wonderful men. I'm so sorry I missed their wedding last year, and I'm sorry I'm missing this important birthday, too.

Here's hoping the next milestone I can celebrate with you in person, dear brother. And we can be lewd, crude, and amazingly rude in person.

Until then, you'd better pray I don't find that manila envelope full of blackmail photos the Sasquatch and I culled from Mom's albums. Heh heh heh heh heh...

Cheers!

A Thing Well Made

2008-05-04T15:37:00.007-04:00

I mentioned Don McGlashan, his solo work and his former band, The Mutton Birds, in my last post. I got a comment from Spence, who has a website full of Mutton Birds gems and a YouTube channel with a bunch of cool videos. Of course, the Sasquatch headed over there immediately and found this:

That's Don McGlashan singing and playing his euphonium. Dang good stuff. Dang good song. Thanks to Spence for this!!

Here's a cut from Don's new solo CD, Warm Hand. This one's called "Harbour Bridge":

Next paycheck, I'm going to procure this CD. I hope he comes back to DC. Good stuff, kids!

Today, I am a Loungeroom Lizard

2008-05-03T12:17:00.013-04:00

Oy, my eyelids are drooping. I fear I do look a little reptilian today. Do I ever need some jet fuel coffee right now. Good thing I'm in a coffee shop!

So, when I last wrote, I was a ball of emotion - anxiety, excitement, fear (of cars), breathless anticipation. Let me catch you up...

Friday was a very good day, indeed.

First, the attorney meeting went really well. We spent an hour together. I gave him the two-minute Reader's Digest condensed version of the past three years of my life, so he knew just how utterly messed up things had become before I got rammed last September. This guy was cool, confident, funny, and made me feel very secure about how he'll handle my case. Well, cases. A separate file for each of the two accidents. I no longer have to talk to the insurance companies. All he wants me to do is to concentrate on is therapy and getting better. Awesomeness.

I left his office feeling better than I have in quite some time. All the anxiety of Thursday seemed to vanish as I drove home, listening to Crowded House with the windows down on a gorgeous 80-degree day. I curled up for a quick nap at home -- I wanted to be rested before heading downtown to meet up with the Sasquatch for the concert. I blinked - barely felt like I'd slept at all - and suddenly it was 4 in the afternoon. I put two of those huge sticky arthritis pain patches on my back, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, and, for the first time in months, even put on some makeup. This was a special occasion, after all.

The drive downtown should have been easier, but you would have thought it was morning rush hour with all the cars jamming the roads into DC. I had told the Sasquatch I would meet him at 5:30, so we could bolt over to the 9:30 Club and he could get in line in the hopes of snagging a bar stool up in the balcony (one was already set aside for me and my bad back, thank god.) I felt bad that I was only able to pick him up at 5:45 or so, pretty much shooting down the chance at a stool for him. Some of my anxiety had returned during the drive into the city - mostly because I was, superstitiously, afraid my car accident/concert big bad voodoo karma was going to kick in. You can ask the Squatch-man - I was a bit of a biyotch behind the wheel. (And I apologize to my tall arboreal friend for being an uptight tool in the car!!) My mood lightened when a spiffy Mercedes convertible pulled up alongside us in traffic with "Nobody Wants To" pouring out the speakers. I knew the driver was headed the same place we were. One of the tribe, headed to Mecca, to hear the words and music and, for a few fleeting hours, be part of something bigger, something wonderful.

When we got to 9:30, the line was already halfway down the block -- I'd read online that some folks were planning on lining up at 4:30, so the truth is, we likely wouldn't have been much closer to the front, even if I'd been on-time to rescue my friend from the corner of 18th & Penn. Sadly, the Sasquatch didn't get a stool, but he was a real trouper all night, standing next to my fidgety self, legs too short to really be comfy on a bar stool.

We had good company for the gig, snuggled up to the bar. Just below us, the Australian Embassy had rented out the other balcony tier, and the Aussies rocked out all night. Just behind me was a couple from New Zealand. Her parents had just flown in Christchurch in the morning, and their jetlagged selves were tasked with watching the kiddies while mum and dad saw Crowded House. (Apparently grandmum and granddad were cool with being abandoned on Day One, as they are Split Enz fans who had just gone to one of the New Zealand dates on the Enz tour just a few weeks ago. Cool family!) The folks to my right happened to be a Frenz forum member and his lovely wife. They're Maryland folks, too, and turns out he'd been here to the blog and had contacted his state senator about the cell phone legislation! I thought that was really amazing. (And if you happen to be dropping by, Above the Kitchen, thanks again for that! And thanks, too, for the good conversation - it was a pleasure indeed to meet you guys last night! Always nice to meet another Prefab Sprout fan, too!) To the Sasquatch's left was a huge Dolby fan. Small musical world, eh?

Now, what shall I say about the concert? Something I've waited 2+ decades to experience?

It was pretty brilliant. Really wonderful. Fan-freaking-tastic. Everything I could have asked for or hoped for in seeing one of my favorite bands ever.

I have to sing the praises of Don McGlashan, who was not only the opening act, but also the de facto fifth member of Crowded House last night, joining the guys on several numbers. If you're not familiar with this excellent Kiwi singer-songwriter, it's worth your time to investigate both his solo work and his work with the now defunct (but awfully good) band The Mutton Birds. The man is multi-talented, and over the course of the evening, he played the euphonium, guitar, pocket trumpet, ukulele, and a toy piano (which was hilarious.)

Most of the audience didn't give McGlashan his due - the chatter level never really eased up to let his tunes filter through. But some of the audience was grooving on it. Since this gig was also part of my Concert Trifecta 40th b-day gift for the Sasquatch, I was really excited that McGlashan played a Mutton Birds song my friend really loves, "A Thing Well Made." I think that made his night.

Crowded House made my night. The audience loved them, and the band showered us with love in return. They played for more than two hours - old songs, new songs, sing-a-longs, call and response, with the sound of 1200 happy people answering Neil's voice from the stage. There's something so wonderful in seeing the man who wrote these songs standing there, eyes closed, smiling away at us carrying his tune. It's not just a concert, it's a fairly transcendent experience.

Now, if you're going to see the Crowdies on this tour and you don't want to know last night's set list, close your eyes and page down a little bit (that's mostly for you, Aoife O'Meara!!) They played for almost 2 1/2 hours and played songs very old, very new (as in, unrecorded as of yet), and some songs utterly obscure - what Neil dubbed a visit to "Obscurity Corner":

Everything Is Good For You
World Where You Live
Isolation (new song)
Turn It Around (new song)
Distant Sun
Whispers & Moans
Nails in my Feet
789 (new song)
Either Side of the World (new song)
English Trees
Don't Dream It's Over
Four Seasons in One Day
Twice if You're Lucky (new song)
Weather With You

First Encore:
Locked Out
Private Universe
Into Temptation
Something So Strong
Washington Monument song (goofy, improvised on the spot)

Second Encore:
Pineapple Head
Mansion in the Slums (first time they performed it in 20 years)
She Goes On
Better Be Home Soon

They have such an amazing array of songs they could have played. This was a pretty damn fine setlist in my estimation. The song "Pineapple Head" makes me want to dance and spin around (a little tough on a bar stool in the balcony, but I danced in my head.) And finishing up with "Better Be Home Soon" couldn't have made me happier - Neil sang for us, and we sang for Neil. It was a lovely way to wrap up. The Sasquatch said he'd like to be as good at something as Neil is at making music. (Wouldn't we all???) El Squatchito also noted that, with all the songs he has in his repertoire, Neil doesn't use lyric cheat sheets or a teleprompter as many performers do with such a large catalog of work to recall. Songs from Split Enz, songs from Crowded House, from the Finn Brothers, from his own solo work -- Neil has them all in his head. So, even when he flubs a line here and there (and laughs about it), it's still remarkable that his cranium can call up so many words, so many lines of notes, at a moment's notice. Pretty astounding.

What made the concert all the better? I saw Crowded House with one of the best friends I will ever have in my life. Ever. Ever. And just before the music started, he excused himself for a minute and returned with a surprise. He put a big, cool Crowded House coffee mug down in front of me and said, "THIS is from Aoife O'Meara. And THIS is from me." With that, he handed me on of the fantastic live concert CDs from the Crowdies tour I missed last year, this particular recording being the Winnipeg concert. Once again, I was dumbfounded by the lovely, meaningful generosity of my friends. I love you guys - thank you so much for making a really wonderful evening even more wonderful.

I left on Cloud Nine. I didn't even stop to try to meet the band (although I understand they stayed and talked to a group of 20 or so fans for a while last night.) The night was great, and I was - remarkably for me - bereft of anything to say. (My voice was also shot to hell and gone from singing along and offering up my war whoops between songs.) It was good enough to have just been there.

So, since I didn't stop to say it last night, thank you Neil. Thank you Nick. Thank you Mark and Matt. Thanks for making my year. I hope you come back soon.

I'm sitting in the coffee shop now, done with back cracking physical therapy for the day, listening to the Winnipeg CDs on my headphones, still trying to wake up at 1-something in the afternoon.

One more day to recover before work begins again on Monday.

Did I mention, there will be a major blast from the past coming to my place of employment this coming Wednesday night? The final element of the Sasquatch 40th Birthday Concert Trifecta. A serious trip down Nostalgia Boulevard for children of the 1970s and 80s. I'm not naming names, but I'm hoping she'll be taking us to Xanadu. {{insert cheesy grin here}} One of the strangest, yet coolest perks of my job yet!

Things have been rough, guys, no joke. But now, maybe - just maybe - things are looking up. Sometimes when things are tough, I hear a Crowded House line in my head and I remember:

Love this life/Don't wait 'til the next one comes!

It's a very good thought, no?

I'm trying hard to love this life. And right now, this life needs a very large cup of coffee.

Pain, anxiety, and the end of a 22-year wait

2008-05-01T14:41:00.010-04:00

My back is on fire tonight - the pain is so bad, it's making my guts churn. I'm hoping a hot midnight shower will ease the pain a bit so I can get some sleep. Real rest has been fleeting for days, and I know it affects my concentration. Today, I had to really work to stay focused.

I'm incredibly anxious tonight. Tomorrow, I go to see an attorney about the accidents. I hope he can help me because I lose even more sleep worrying about what will happen if I am trapped in paying (or in my case, not being able to pay) out of pocket in advance of any settlement.

I hope to leave that meeting with a greater sense of ease and a little lighter of heart.

Because I have plans.

Tomorrow night, I finally get to experience something for which I've waited 22 years: Crowded House in concert. 22 years - almost virtually half my life. I can't explain how much this means to me. If you were reading this blog last summer, you might remember how crushed I was to miss the guys when they played in Philadelphia. This time, though, they're playing DC. In a club that only holds a little over a thousand people. It will be beautiful. And I get to share it with a very dear friend, which makes it even better.

I'm sad I never got to see the band when Paul Hester was still with the group, before his tragic suicide. But, like Paul's deeply missed mercurial self, that chance is gone with time. For those who don't follow Crowded House, Paul left the group while they were on tour in 1994. He up and left them in Atlanta. A handful of years later, Hester had a show on Australian TV called "Hessie's Shed" - I found this wonderful bit of footage on YouTube today:

Highlights for me:

"Just a general apology for leaving you guys in Atlanta..."

"What the fuck went wrong?"

"There, that sound right, Paul?!?"
"Violence is universal..."

That made me laugh and smile and feel a little sad, too, all at once. Paul won't be there tomorrow night, but I think much of the music is infused - in a positive way - with his spirit (and, with "Time On Earth" a bit of his ghost, too.)

Crowded House music brings me a great deal of joy. Whenever I sign a sympathy card these days I write the same thing for everyone: "I hope, in this time of grief, there is also time to celebrate the joy of a good life, well-lived." In the joy of the music that Neil and Nick and Mark and Matt will play tomorrow night, for me, there will also be a celebration of a good life.

And I will listen to the music, and my smile will be big enough to crack my face, and I will forget about the problems of the day. I'll say it again and again: Neil Finn could sing me the phonebook, and I'd be enthralled.

Cloud Nine. It's a lovely place.

I hope you are able to find these moments in your life, too.

More things coming up over the next week - things interesting, bizarre, and nostalgic. Stories forthcoming. Maybe a photo or two, as well, if I'm lucky!

Before I sign off for the night, here's a little more for you. First, a little gem from the past. I'm glad to see that Australian girls were feather-haired victims of 80s fashion, too. One of the audience members is even wearing an Esprit sweatshirt. Ah, memories!

And, now, the present - and the future. Here's Wednesday night in New York City, Crowded House and the PS22 Chorus. A hopeful sound, indeed:

Thomas Dolby Gets Nude

2008-04-28T18:36:00.005-04:00

Well, that title will get me some fairly tasteless Google hits, I imagine. But I hope, along with the questionable queries, I'll get some from folks who have heard about Thomas Dolby remixing Radiohead's song "Nude" off their most recent recording, "In Rainbows." Radiohead has a remix contest going on right now (voting ends May 1st.) Anyone with a hankering to tinker with tuneage can download the "stems" of the song (the various lines for bass, voice, guitar, strings/fx and drums) for $5 each off iTunes, create their own version of "Nude", and upload it to Radiohead's remix site for the general public to listen to - and if they like it - vote for it.

Among the nearly 2,000 mixes out there - by amateurs and professionals alike - is a really damn good one by Mr. Dolby himself. He not only remixed the existing stems, but also taught himself some of the lines and blended his own handiwork into the mix. Neat, huh? It even features seagulls and lapping waves Thomas recorded out on the shore next to his home that give the mix (in my mind, at least) a very wistful, nostalgic feel that matches that feeling of opportunities lost in Radiohead's lyrics:

Now that you found it
It's gone
Now that you feel it
You don't...

It's pretty cool. In keeping with that coolness, Thomas has dubbed his remix "Bathing In the Icefloe", and you can give a listen to it right here:

Neat, huh? Mellow and catchy. I find myself whistling it all the time. I'm hoping, if it garners enough votes, it might actually get released. I wouldn't mind having that guy on my wee Podlet when I'm toiling away at the keyboard.

Right now, Thomas' mix is at #12, hovering on the doorstep of the Top Ten mixes. If you dig it, give it a vote!

Dancing on my toes

2008-04-26T13:43:00.009-04:00

Even when life keeps handing me shriveled lemons, and lemonade isn't even a vague possibility, I know I'm lucky. I was born in a nation of opportunity and wealth. Though most days I don't experience wealth as many of my fellow countrymen see it - with a new car, big screen TV, and the trappings of The Good Life, I am fortunate.

Yeah, I'm a magnet for crappy drivers, I walk with a cane, I'm broke 99% of the time, and one eye doesn't work right. But I have a roof over my head, a job with insurance, and I can buy groceries - even if they aren't the super-healthy foods I should be eating. (Good nutrition here comes with a higher price tag.) I'm not paralyzed with fear of imminent starvation because of the rising price of rice and flour. I'm not worried about civil war or some cureless plague ravaging my community.

I'm lucky.

Today, I hurt, but a little less than yesterday. I had physical therapy this morning, and, for a few hours, the pain in my back has subsided. It will be back, but I hope it will fade with time. It's a small victory, and it's one I wish I didn't have to think about. I wish the most difficult choices I had were about where I wanted to go on vacation or what my next car will be. Instead, they're about whether I can afford to fill the gas tank twice during this pay period and whether I can buy new eyeglasses next month or not. Most of my friends don't have these problems. They are not affluent (well, some are), but they don't live in financial fear in this country.

I do. And I cannot lie and say I'm not horribly envious of my friends and their stability. Of their ability to choose without fear. Of their comfort zone.

But still, I know I'm lucky.

And I won't forget that.

Even when I was very young, I was a "chubby" child. Today, surely, teachers would be sending home notes of concern that my kindergarten/grade school self was a child at risk. My mother made healthy, good food, and I rode a bike or walked everywhere. Still I was fat. Yet, back then, I was fit, and, much more than now, I was happy.

My physical therapy doc commented last week on how lucky I was that I was very flexible and had strong bones - otherwise the damage from the car accidents likely would have been even worse. I'm still incredibly flexible (when I'm not in incredible pain) and can turn myself into one helluva pretzel for a woman of my size and years.

Back in that distant childhood, I had a strange habit that displayed those strong bones and great flexibility in a peculiar way - I would turn my toes under my feet and walk and run and dance wildly on the tops of my toes, like some twisted ballerina dancing en pointe. Spinning, whirling, full speed, across the lawn of our house in New Jersey, I remember my family shrieking in horror to see me bouncing around on those toe-to-foot joints, faster than fast. And I would laugh and laugh at their incredulity. Off-kilter mind, clearly, but with strong bones. Flexible body. Precariously perched, barely balanced, but running headstrong into whatever was ahead.

Maybe it was just one of the early moments that pointed to the fact that I was never going to fit in the mainstream. I was smart and geeky and a fringe player as a kid, and I still am now. And, despite the crap karma keeps tossing my way, I'm surviving. And I'm damn lucky.

I've found a new way to dance on my toes. Sure, I'd rather not have to do it. But I can.

And, as long as I have to, I'll keep dancing. You'll never find me in the middle, never in the spotlight, never on that well-paved path. I'll be on the edge, out here, twirling on my toes, holding my balance. And maybe, someday, someone will join me.

We lucky few.

Happy Bassover!

2008-04-20T18:49:00.024-04:00

I know there is no Hell in Judaism. But I was raised Catholic, so Hell and all its associated images of pain, misery, and eternity as Wilbur-on-a-spit at Satan's pig roast run rampant throughout my brain.

With this post, I figure I have a pretty good shot at ending up in a Very Catholic Hell, but here goes...

Remember the Big Mouth Billy Bass? Oh, of course you do - that damn fake mounted fish that sang "Don't Worry, Be Happy" or a variety of Christmas tunes at the press of a button. Having a good number of Jewish friends, I always felt bad around the holidays that the makers of the Christmas Big Mouth Billy Bass had not taken into account that there might be some Jewish kids who would enjoy cheap animated crap for the festival of lights.

It would have been easy to do. Heck, there are people who have programmed Billy Bass with the voice of Bill Clinton, Richard Nixon, and Homer Simpson. I'm amazed no one considered the potentially lucrative Jewish holiday market! After all, it's not just Bubba Christians who love All Things Tacky! Bad taste knows NO religious, ethnic, or national limits!

So, savvy marketing guy somewhere, here's whatcha do...

Take your basic Billy Bass:

Add a yarmulke:

Maybe some sidelocks, if you're aiming for an old school market:

And then replace the traditional "Billy" plate with something more appropriate that still captures that Southern good ol' fish feel of the original:

Program this baby to sing the Dreidel Song, and - BAM - a new holiday classic is born!

How many people can really tell the difference between a bass and other fish? I know I can't! Wrap this sucker in a box labeled "Hanukkah Halibut" and you're golden!

But why stop there? Judaism offers an array of holidays only rivaled by the Catholic Church. This guy could be repackaged for events throughout the year!

How about the Passover Bass? Or, simply, "Bassover"! He could be programmed to ask all the Seder questions:

"Papa, why is this fish different from all other fish?"

It could go on and on...

For people mourning a loss alone, the fish could be programmed to speak prayers of mourning with you. With deepest sympathy, I present... the Kaddish Codfish:

(See, I told you I was going to Hell.)

On a lighter note... Purim Perch, anyone?

"Huzzah, everyone! I'm Harry Potter!
Expecto Patronum! Take that, Haman!"

The High Holidays would not be neglected, of course. Rosh Hashanah could be represented in a *very* limited edition - edible and celebrating the worldwide reach of the Jewish community. Behold, the Rosh Sashimi:

BTW, Wikipedia says there are an estimated 1,000 Jews in Japan. This might be a big hit as a specialty item.

Maybe.

I know I've already hit rock bottom with the raw fish number above (and you can blame the Sasquatch for coming up with "Rosh Sashimi" and blame me for the atrocious photo manipulation), but I'm about to dig far, far below ground level with this final offering... the Yom Kippur Kipper:

Yum! Kipper!

This solemn fish will remind you to repent on the "Day of A-tuna-ment". (Again, blame the Sasquatch for that. I wanted to go with the "Day of A-tin-ment" since kippers come in tins, but he reminded me kippers aren't exactly on everyone's radar in the United States. Regardless, do you know how hard it is to fit a tallis on a fish in MS Paint? God, I need Photoshop...)

Now, hopefully, my Jewish friends won't be offended by my fishy holidays. Don't worry - the Catholic Church allows so many opportunities for icthymockery. I can think of one or two for Islam, too, but I have the sad feeling some folks wouldn't appreciate the humor of the "Burqa Bass" (or "Salaam Salmon") I've just drawn up. Catholics, on the other hand... Oh, just give me some time to ponder...

And, btw, a very good Passover to all my peeps celebrating with friends and family all over the world. I hope you got enough kosher Coke to sustain you for the next few days!

Shalom, y'all!

"Married People Earn More Money"

2008-04-19T12:07:00.008-04:00

I see those words every morning now, on my way to work. Along Connecticut Avenue, bus shelter after bus shelter features an enormous poster of a happy couple in wedding attire, smiling away. Some of the posters feature a black couple and others feature a Caucasian-ish (possibly Latino) couple, showing pure joy on their faces next to that huge tag line: "Married people earn more money." At the bottom right, the words "Marriage works." At the bottom left, there is a link to this website.

I get that they are encouraging young people to consider marriage. That's great. But to advertise in urban bus shelters that marriage is a way to bring in more cash? Yeesh.

"We're married. We can buy and sell you pathetic single losers!"

I give those posters the big middle finger as I drive past them. Speaking as someone who would love to find a partner and best friend who loved me - and has very little chance of ever doing so - I find this campaign grotesque. GET MARRIED - GRAB MORE CASH!!! WHOOOOOO!

The website has a text box that talks about other benefits of getting married:

Wow. How smug. And check out the item in larger type - how insulting to many single parents who struggle, but persevere and do a fantastic job in raising their kids. I'd rather see someone raise a kid as a strong single parent than remain in a bad marriage, but that's just me, I suppose.

And whatever happened to getting married because you want to spend the rest of your life with your best friend?

Maybe I'm delusional.

Perhaps. And maybe it's because I am unwillingly single that it bothers me so much.

I just find this crass.

When these signs were first posted in New York subways back in 2005, MTA spokesman Tim Kelly said, "That campaign must’ve been invented by someone who’s not married.”

Feh.

Hey, don't look now...

2008-04-15T16:14:00.010-04:00

...but there goes the pope in his papal white and his Prada shoes!

(wrote this yesterday, but fell asleep and forgot to post it...)

Fox 5 has just broken away from their usual afternoon fare of Judge This, That, and the Other One and Baby Daddy DNA broadcasting to show the arrival of Il Papa at Andrews Air Force Base. As a lapsed Catholic who has serious issues with the Church, I really don't have much at stake in the Holy Father visiting DC, except for how it might affect traffic. Genuinely, I would have more respect for him if his first act as Supreme Pontiff had been to order mandatory counseling for all priests and toss every child molester from the ranks worldwide in the wake of the waves of sex abuse revelations.

But that didn't happen.

And here he is. The pope is in white from head to toe --- nope. He's in white down to his ankles, but his booties are these incredibly garish red Prada numbers. Yikes! I know it's a nod to the old papal red vestments, but whooo-wee, thems some homely expensive shoes!

Dubya and family are there to greet him - I can only imagine, since he calls Putin "Pootie-Poot", Bush is probably greeting the pope as "Benny" right now. "Heya, there, Benny! We all wanna welcome y'all to our fine li'l city! Heh heh heh. You live in Rome, right? Didja watch 'Rome' on HBO? Man, there sure was a lot of nekkid folks in that show, heh heh heh... I liked them centurians. THIRTEEN! WHOOOOO! Heh heh heh. We got hot dogs and kraut waitin' at the White House for ya. They're all beef, 'cause y'all don't eat pork, right? Oh, heck - yer German, maybe I shouldn't have said 'kraut' - sorry, Benny! Heh heh heh..."

The closest I imagine I will ever get to the pope (other than when he's three blocks down the street tomorrow) is this:

Yes, kids, it's "Pope Soap on a Rope"! I remember someone selling a similar version when John Paul II came to the 'States eons ago. Totally tacky and tasteless, yet, I cannot help but wonder if it might wash away my sins - if not the sins of the world.

Nah.

The commute into DC is anticipated to be hellish over the next two days. Oh, what joy!

Update today: the Sasquatch just saw him roll past in the Popemobile on Pennsylvania Avenue.

Honestly - and I know I'll offend someone with this - considering all the sex scandals with the Church, I think this might be more appropriate transportation for the time being:

Of sawdust and lawyers and the writing of words

2008-04-14T22:01:00.007-04:00

There's very little evidence left of Saturday night's downed tree, other than a sheen of sawdust across the street. MoCo emergency workers were out there with chainsaws until at least 5 a.m. Sunday. I finally dozed off at 5, so I don't really know when they departed the scene. All I know is, when I woke up around 10, the tree was gone. The car belonging to my nice British neighbor got walloped by the end of the branches, leaving the car with big dings and an all-over coat of deep scratches.

I saw the missus talking to insurance adjusters at her door this morning, and I offered up photos of the car under the branches, if that would be helpful. Both of the adjusters stared at me like I'd grown a third eye. The missus hadn't been there when the tree fell, but husband was up, watching English football. Over the stadium crowd noise on his TV, he hadn't heard the crash. I knocked on his door to bring the bad news.

"Umm, hi... I know it's late, but I thought you should know... there's a tree on your car." This guy is so incredibly polite, so amazingly gentle, so utterly British - his response was to say, "Oh, my. I guess I should go out and see this." I, of course, would have been swearing like a sailor, bolting for the door. I admire his low-key nature. Perhaps it could be bottled and sold as a calming agent for DC commuters.

Speaking of which... I have to take the car to the quick claims place tomorrow morning. I will attempt to be mellow and Zen. I will probably fail. I'm not at my best at 7:30 in the morning, frankly. Then again, who is?

Do any of the DC area folks have a recommendation for an attorney who handles auto accident cases on a contingency basis? Yes, I know the people who advertise on local TV - but if any of you have had a good experience with anyone in particular, I'd be grateful for the advice. The lawyer my doc suggested doesn't work on contingency, and I can't afford to pay up front.

Thanks in advance for any recommendations!

Despite having taken my nighttime, sleep-inducing pain killers, I'm inspired to write, and I'm halfway through a radio commentary about concert-going etiquette. Not sure it will fly with WAMU, but it's worth trying! Hopefully, you'll hear me on your radio again soon!

Before I go -- I have to share this one fine thing with you. My friend Madame Ambassador e-mailed me today with an image that has warmed my heart. Enjoy:

Wherever you are tonight, my friends, I wish you peas. Lots and lots of peas.

I don't think earplugs will help...

2008-04-13T02:38:00.004-04:00

MoCo has just arrived at 2:30 a.m. - wish AudioBlogger still was around so you could share in the ear-unfriendly fun. The night of a thousand chainsaws has begun. Let's see how long it takes to chainsaw and remove the carcass of a three-story tree...

Bullet, dodged

2008-04-12T23:02:00.004-04:00

About an hour ago, the Sasquatch was dropping me off after a short trek up the Pike for a little erranding. About fifteen minutes ago, in the spot where the Sasquatch stopped to drop my gimpy self, an enormous tree cracked and fell, out of the blue, crushing some neighbors' cars and landing right in the spot where we had been.

Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky we are.

Maybe some higher power figured I'd been through enough crap for the week. Maybe karma was on a smoke break from kicking my ass. I don't care what the reason was, I just know we were lucky.

Initially, it sounded like someone skateboarding outside. I thought, "Damn, it's a little late and little dark for that, no?" But then came the tremendous powerful sound of the tree cracking and falling. I had no idea how close it was to me. I know it was over in mere seconds, but it felt - and sounded - like slow motion.

Whoosh. Crack. Boom.

I'd go take some flash photos, but there are freaked out people trying to get branches off their cars right now. I don't think they'd appreciate my half-assed efforts at nighttime photojournalism.

One guy is just saying,"Omigod, omigod" over and over again. Poor SOB.

Update - had to go out to talk to the police, as my drunk downstairs neighbor was being an idiot and couldn't string together enough words to describe what had happened. So, I took some photos. Please keep in mind, I still suck at nighttime photography with my little Canon:

Drunk neighbor examines stump. Film at 11.

The last vestiges of life that had been holding this huge sucker up.

The enormous trunk lying across the street.

Smaller branches (they are all over the street.)

Crappy photo of the least damaged of the cars on my side of the street. Right between these two guys? Where the bulk of the tree now lies? That's where the Sasquatch and I were. Eeeeeek. I had to go find the nice people who own that burgundy car to let them know they had a tree on/in their windshield. Oof.

I didn't take photos of the crushed cars - I just didn't want to get in the hair of the folks who are already stressed out.

I hear guys with walkie-talkies outside now - that distinctive Nextel beep is echoing across the street. The nice MoCo cop who came to the scene put in the call for someone to come remove the tree, and they sure arrived with great haste. I anticipate a loud night of chainsaws. What fun!

The people who own the white car pictured above just came home -- they'd had a party earlier in the evening and everyone went off with their sad-looking designated driver to some bar, drunk as skunks. They're having a little freak-out in the street right now over how damn lucky they are. Drunk, happy, and damn lucky.

Look into the light, Carol Ann!

2008-04-12T12:57:00.006-04:00

Well, it's not quite Poltergeist, but I had my own appointment with bright lights today.

First, before I get to the story, let me say thank you to the folks who left such nice, supportive comments - I really appreciate it. And, for those who asked, yes - Joe was great! I was in so much pain by the time the gig was over, I almost passed out in front of 9:30 and was hyperventilating to the point that the poor Sasquatch said, "Dude, you're really scaring me." That experience aside, Joe rocked. I highly recommend his new CD "Rain", which Joe himself described as "pretty damn good." He's right. Go get it!

Now, as for me... my mule-kick headache post-accident developed into what I've been describing as a "horizontal headache" - as if someone had drawn a thick horizontal line of dull ache across the back of my skull, from ear to ear. When I told this to the doc this morning (hooray for medical professionals with Saturday hours!) he was not surprised. After some x-rays and range of motion tests, he pulled out a pen light and had me try to follow the light with my eyes.

I did not do so well, apparently. I was very slow to follow. My inability to follow the light and the horizonal headache are the obvious signs of a bad occipital concussion. This also explains the freaky fuzzy vision - and later tunnel vision - I had on Thursday night. Lovely!

I bet you're thinking, "Well, jeez, Merujo, it sure is a good thing you have insurance!"

Wellllll... yes and no.

The woman who hit me this time has the same insurance carrier I do. And, to her credit, she didn't run away, she was (over)solicitous and she *did* call our insurance company. However, here's where the problems start. Said insurance company has now informed me three times that, if this new accident has caused additional harm to my already messed up back and neck, they will close my first claim (which was on my PIP coverage, and therefore, up to $10K, NOT out of my pocket initially) and put all new care on this woman's bodily injury insurance.

What does this mean? It means any new appointments/therapy/x-rays/MRIs/etc. would be out of my pocket until all treatment is done, and only then would they make a lump sum payment to me for medical care and pain & suffering. This is not good. As the usual suspects here know, I live paycheck to paycheck. I'm lucky if I have around twenty bucks left at the end of any given pay period. I have $2.77 in savings. Literally. Now, because a second inattentive driver has struck me, I may be screwed out of ANY additional medical care because I can't afford the buckage out of pocket for any treatment before a final lump sum payout. There have been a lot of exhausted, white flag-raising tears in the past 48 hours, trust me.

Unsurprisingly, I find this a singularly unamusing Catch-22 situation. My physical therapy doc gave me the phone number of a good lawyer this morning, and I'm calling him on Monday. The doc also informed me he doesn't want me working for a few days because of the concussion and gave me a slip noting that I am, for work purposes, "totally incapacitated" through the 17th. Ironically, I'd asked for Monday and Tuesday as vacation. I guess I can put those vay-cay days back in the kitty. Sick leave it is, at least for a couple of days.

The whole "totally incapacitated" thing actually freaked me out. I mean, I feel bad and the doc even noted that I looked bad this morning, but I didn't understand how bad the concussion was until he stood back and just looked at me with concern after my slow reaction to light.

I'm starting to think there should be a cheesy trophy for Most Accident Prone Blogger, and, more or less, it should just be handed back and forth between Magazine Man and me. No joke.

I think I'm done with spending any time behind the wheel for the day. Instead, I'm about to enjoy the afternoon getting reacquainted with my wacky Irish pal, Vic O'Din, and his mellow contortionist buddy, Flexerall.

And seriously, I'm not driving anywhere the day Crowded House plays DC. Look for me in the balcony at the 9:30 Club that night - I'll be the one drooling through a prescribed narcotic haze, wrapped in bubble wrap. Snap! Pop! Play "Pineapple Head", please!

The sofa, she calls me...

Bad drivers of the DC region: YOU SUCK!

2008-04-10T15:37:00.003-04:00

I went out at lunchtime. I made the mistake of getting behind the wheel of my car.

And I got rear-ended.

Again.

Nice and hard.

But this time, at least, my car is okay. Scratches, dings, but that Taurus is a tank. My lower back and head, however? That all hurts like hell.

And I have tickets to Joe Jackson tonight. Last time I got hit? I was going to see Thomas Dolby.

(Apparently, some higher being has a wretched sense of humor and doesn't want me to see live music. I think I'm staying home from work when Crowded House comes to town...)

I have a bag of ice on my head. It's very attractive office attire.

Feh.

Yours, in great discomfort,

Merujo

Falling down on the job

2008-04-04T11:43:00.009-04:00

I know, there hasn't much here in recent weeks. Hard to keep people interested in a blog when there's no new content. I thank those of you who continue to check in!

Truth is, I'm working on a writing assignment that's keeping me pretty busy and focused off-line these days. This particular assignment has to be finished by the end of April, so you'll see more of me after this month. I hope to be able to tell you about said assignment a bit later this year.

In doing research for this item, I've read a lot of old newspaper articles from the 1940s, including columns by the Rush Limbaugh/Sean Hannity/Bill O'Reilly of the day, Drew Pearson. American University holds the archives for his syndicated column and radio show, the Washington Merry-Go-Round. In reading one column, I came across this incredibly offensive point:

"Dynamic Ed Stettinius, handsome Undersecretary of State, has just chalked up another victory in revamping the U.S. machinery of foreign affairs. Soon after Ed entered the placid, staid old Department of State, he succeeded in banishing the Negro messengers from tables outside the doors of prominent officials, relegating them to the men's lavatory. Afterward, Ed tackled another problem--State Department floors..."

So, let me get this straight... the man who would succeed Cordell Hull as Secretary of State under Roosevelt and Truman, help found the UN, and was a longtime friend of Liberian President William Tubman, moved the "Negro" messengers from the doorways of officials to the toilets at the State Department?!?

I need to research this. I don't necessarily trust Drew Pearson's columns because of the crap he wrote about the group my mom flew with in WWII. He helped whip up a misogynistic frenzy to bring around their downfall. That's unfortunate because Pearson was one of the few journalists who would later voice outrage at the evils of McCarthyism. (And McCarthy famously slapped or kneed Pearson in the groin in a public venue during that ugly period of our history.)

I hope this is another piece of BS, but now I want to know more. If it's true, it's another shameful piece of our historic puzzle. If it isn't, it's a mark against Pearson for wartime yellow journalism.

Either way, it distresses me. Move the black guys to the crapper. Yeah, that works.

Lovely.

------------------

I'll post as often as I can over the next three weeks, folks, but things will be a little thin this month.

Meanwhile, on a more pleasant point, enjoy this video from Crowded House - who, after 20+ years, I finally get to see in May. I am smiling an almost painful Cheshire Cat grin as I write this:

There is something very sweet and sad about this video, which contrasts such visual innocence with lyrics about Paul Heaton's suicide. Personally - and somehow appropriately for Paul - my favorite kid is the guy on the right going nuts on the conga. He makes me smile.

DC peeps: Crowded House is playing the 9:30 Club on May 2. Tickets are $45. It will be SO worth it!

Pierced

2008-03-28T20:55:00.006-04:00

The experience of airline passenger Mandi Hamlin last month when ignorant TSA thugs forced her to remove body piercings with pliers in a Texas airport nauseates me. I don't understand the enchantment of most body piercings. I do have three manmade holes in my head, but they're in my ears. (Two were done at one of those shopping mall piercing kiosks somewhere in New Jersey, and the third one was the result of an evening drinking with an insane Texan on whom I had a pathetic crush my first year in college.) Nipple rings aren't my thing, but if you've got a hankering for cold, hard surgical steel in your chesticles, go for it. Just don't expose them at the Super Bowl.

And, apparently, if you're in the Lone Star State, don't try to take a plane.

Mandi Hamlin's nipple piercings set off the metal detectors in the airport in Lubbock. Instead of giving her the option for a "visual inspection" of her piercings (which is pretty intrusive, frankly, but if you're wearing metal in sensitive places, it may be somewhat understandable), the local branch of TSA's moronic monster squad insisted she remove the piercings before she would be allowed to fly.

Now, I know how painful it is if I try to move a tiny earring through that extra booze-induced hole in my left ear after not wearing anything in it for ages - it's miserable. Imagine having to remove a steel post from a much more sensitive location - one where new skin has possibly grown around that hunk of metal - in an airport, with pliers, while male TSA vermin laugh at you a few feet away.

I've read a couple of articles about Ms. Hamlin's humiliating and painful experience, and it just makes me more and more angry. TSA's half-assed website response to Ms. Hamlin's protests and complaints was to say "TSA acknowledges that our procedures caused difficulty for the passenger involved and regrets the situation in which she found herself. We appreciate her raising awareness on this issue and we are changing the procedures to ensure that this does not happen again."

"Difficulty"? TSA "regrets" the situation?

How about this as a response, you fascist bastards: fire the fuckers who laughed at her as she was humiliated and put through physical pain. APOLOGIZE to her. Don't "regret" jack shit.

APOLOGIZE.

And stop hiring thugs and jerks.

A couple of years ago - not long after I was hit by the Murano-driving toolette who backed into me as she left a parking garage - I was hobbling through the security line at Dulles and was pulled aside for a "random" secondary search. I was walking with a cane, and as I approached the female screener, I explained I was unstable without the stick and asked her if I could hold onto it as she wanded me. She said no and took the cane away from me. As I wavered, afraid I was going to fall, I asked if she could hand me the cane. She was wanding my legs as I asked, and that vermin - that guard from a British women's prison soap opera - shoved her wand up into my crotch as she said "NO" again.

It was such a violating move, a vile thing, designed to make me feel insignificant. Diminished. Powerless. And as she did it, she smirked with this absolutely reptilian grin, her eyes narrowing to a evil slit. I felt like I was on the grade school playground with a sociopathic bully, just about ready to move up from pulling wings off flies to drowning puppies.

It used to be that I that didn't anticipate ignorance, malice, and stupidity from those who represent my government.

Now, I expect it.

No, not love, she said... More Music You Should Know

2008-03-28T18:48:00.007-04:00

Gonna see Joe Jackson next month at the 9:30 Club with the Sasquatch. The man is awfully damn talented. (Joe Jackson, that is.)

(Wait. That didn't sound right. The Sasquatch is awfully damn talented, too.)

I don't think I'd want to hang out with him for any extended period of time (again, Joe Jackson, not the Sasquatch), but his music is fine, fine, fine.*

Joe increasingly looks like Gollum, my only face-to-face meeting with him was somewhat sour, and he tends to rant about his inability to smoke in public places in New York. That said, his often poignant, sometimes aggressive melodies and intelligent (and occasionally bitterly funny) lyrics are simply brilliant.

For those people whose experience with Joe Jackson is limited to Lite FM radio replays of "Steppin' Out" or "Breaking Us In Two", there is a great catalogue of music you are missing out on. Big time. If you need to be schooled in JJ tuneage, here are three offerings to start you out:

First, JJ back in the day, looking like he's about twelve years old (but clearly not from the lyrics):

Then, the song that was Joe's breakthrough into the U.S. charts (this one, you *really* should know!):

(BTW, the place where JJ is singing in this clip, the Marquee Club, is a London live music legend - I saw a lot of amazing shows there 1986-87...)

And now, Joe, a little more leathery, and looking a bit like he should be scrabbling up the side of Mt. Doom, searching for "My Precioussssss" - but, man, the voice is so strong, so true:

If you're a fan and have never seen JJ live, my friend, you are missing out. Get a ticket soon. If you live in DC, take this upcoming chance to see Joe with his original bandmates at the 9:30 Club. Great venue, great music, and a relatively intimate evening with someone who can fill the Warner Theater (and has done so.) Tix are $40. Save yourself the fairly obscene Tickets.com fee and pick 'em up at the 9:30 box office with only a $1 service charge added on.

*For the record, the Sasquatch's music is fine, fine, fine, too. He played a mean trumpet in college. And he should be playing more now. (Hear me, Squatchito?)

Maybe his brackets aren't doing well

2008-03-26T23:41:00.001-04:00

Stopped at the drive-up ATM for my bank on Connecticut Avenue coming into work today (after some super fun physical therapy, whoo!) A homeless-looking man passed directly in front of my car as I waited for my "Fast Cash" twenty to be dispensed.

Huh, I'll be darned - that homeless guy just came out of the bank, and he's putting stuff in a wallet.

Oh, wait. Wait. He's not homeless - he's just Tony Kornheiser.

When I see him on TV, Tony always looks awkward and somewhat disheveled in a suit. (He needs tonsorial assistance, too.) But in super casual, George Costanza-has-given-up-and-is-wearing-sweats-in-public clothes? Oh my. Worse. Just... not good...

Tony, if you're reading this - and this is just my opinion (and god knows I'm no fashion plate) - I think you could use a serious Queer Eye/What Not To Wear intervention with your casual wear, bubba.

No, I mean it. Seriously.

Maybe your fans can buy you a gift card to the GAP or, jeezus, even Old Navy.

Good luck, godspeed, and find yourself a good stylist.

Acci-versary

2008-03-22T13:50:00.005-04:00

Yesterday marked six months since my car accident out on Rockville Pike. I celebrated by undergoing a series of six MRIs on my neck and lower back. Good news: the neck is healing (although there are still a couple of things wrong). Bad news: my lower back is really still messed up. My doc went over the films with me this morning at physical therapy. There's nothing like finding out at 7:30 on a Saturday morning that back surgery is just about a 100% certainty. Yuck.

What has happened is that the accident caused enough movement in the lower back that bones are pressing on the nerve bundles so severely that I risk losing sensation - and function - in my legs. In a healthy back, you can see this wide canal protecting the nerve bundle. In my back, in long segments of the lower back, the canal is almost completely cut off. Gaaaaah.

I'm supposed to limit my walking and only use a recumbent bike or do water aerobics for now. Seriously, I asked if I could continue taking lunchtime walks, and the doc said, "No way. You really don't want to piss off that back any more than you already have."

Oy vey!

I can't afford the water aerobics classes right now, but I'm going to have to figure out how to swing it...

Since I left the doc's office this morning, I've been entertaining the singularly un-Easter-ish fantasy of hobbling down the street and using my cane to "redecorate" the SUV of the boneheaded woman who hit me. Of course, I'll never do it. It just sounds good right now - as does screaming at the top of my lungs. Neither will happen, though. Instead, I'll take a nap, watch an old movie, and *not* go for a walk.

Here's hoping for a back cure in my Easter basket this year...

Hippity, hoppity, limpity, lumpity.