To be or not to be.

Finding it really hard to sleep, these days. Also finding it very hard not to cry. I can't seem to shake the grief of losing my father, and I can't help but wonder how much easier that would be to do if I had some sort of focus in my life.

I've been thinking a lot about mortality. Because I lost my father and because I have several lumps in my breast. I find it very hard to connect with the idea I might actually have breast cancer and the meaning in that. I just can't. Which is a good thing, I suppose. I think if I actually thought about what it means to have breast cancer, it might crush me. But while I suspect it has much to do with the irritability I'm battling and the constant urge to breakdown and cry, there's just no room for it in my reality. I reject it outright. I have never believed cancer can kill me. All it can really do is make things harder. Because if there's one thing I've learned from my life, it's that there are no easy ways out, and any chance Life gets to fuck you up further, it will take. So really, I view cancer as more of an inconvenient little "screw you" to my bank balance and my personal life than I do a disease that could actually cause death.

But I like to keep the bases covered, so I have actually considered what might occur if I do, in fact, have cancer, and it does manage, despite all personal experience and evidence to the contrary, to cause the terminal part of my life to come so sharply into focus that the light at the end of the tunnel does turn out to be the proverbial train. And at the moment, at least - what with it being all theoretical and shit - I find myself not particularly bothered. Which is a rather odd feeling. More than anything, I just don't want to leave my dogs. That thought fills me with a deep and unbearable sadness. I don't want to leave them. People are fine. People you can say goodbye to. But dogs, dogs don't get it. Dogs are like, "Where did she go? Why did she abandon us? When is she coming back?" And that really, profoundly, disturbs me. So for them, I would really prefer the lumps in my breast be nothing more than cysts or benign tumors. And frankly, since I'd really prefer no one take a scalpel to my person, cysts would really be best. The kind you can aspirate with a needle - which, by the way, sounds only marginally less unpleasant than the aforementioned scalpel. Then also, there's the problem of Pete, and what to do with him. Pete, as you know, is very important to me, and he really needs to go to a good home, with someone who will understand the magic and importance of Pete, that he is a very real creature, who needs to be loved and held and treasured, and not stuck in a box somewhere and forgotten. I need to know that Pete will always be treasured and loved, for the rest of time. Which is probably a HUGE issue some psychiatrist somewhere could build an entire book around, but that's how I feel about Pete.

So there you go. These are the things I am somewhat ambivalently concerned with at present. Cheery, no?

No.

Cleanse Day 5

I went off the cleanse today because I spent most of my waking hours at Calli's son Wyatt's 1st birthday party.

I should have stuck to the salad.

It's amazing the difference in just 5 days of cleansing. A) meat is not good. I think plain chicken will be fine, but sausage (turkey) is gross. B) apparently, I am sensitive to wheat or gluten or both, because I had a little capellini and some cake, and about 2 hours later, I felt like I couldn't breathe, I was congested, and my throat was full of phlegm. That's a major bummer, because I love bread and pasta, but at least now I know what probably triggers that reaction in me (the cleanse bans wheat and gluten). I get that condition a lot, and it's miserable. I also eat a lot of bread and pasta. So again, bummer. Bread and pasta, I will miss you.

I am back on the cleanse tomorrow. I just like how it feels a LOT better.

The party was really nice. I finally got to actually talk to Calli's friend Cristen, and she's cool. I'm glad I finally got to meet her for real, rather than just seeing her in passing. And Wyatt's a cutie pie. I can't wait till he's talking and old enough to do stuff like go to Disneyland. :) He glommed onto me just before I was leaving and laid his head on my shoulder. He's such a little heartbreaker, that one. :) I wish I knew my own niece and nephew as well as I know Calli's kids, but when you're not a close family and you live 1400 miles from the kids in question, it just doesn't work out. It makes me sad, sometimes. I love my Yoda brother, so I really wish I saw him more. Darth Brother, not so much, but Yoda brother is cool. The ugliness over the dairy has increased. Darth Brother did not like my shove it email and sent one back of his own, and boy, did he get ugly. Like really ugly. I had felt a little guilty about the tone of my mail and was going to apologize, but then I read today's missive and decided fuck that. I told him just to do whatever needed to be done and that I don't want to hear about it again except for a heads up before the sale is final so that I can go out and take photos and rebury my dad's ashes deeper. And then I really don't care if I never talk to him again. I didn't tell him that, but there's been no love lost between us since 1980, and that's clearly not going to change. He's an unmitigated ass, and I'm sick of his condescending, arrogant bullshit.

*sigh*

later,
kd

Cleanse Days 3 & 4

Day 3 still yummy. Craving sugar and Diet Coke big time. No surprise, there. :( Addiction is a beyotch. I had some issues with the quinoa & red lentil patties, in that I put too much water in, so it turned out much more like porridge than patties. Ah well. Moira tells me to add cornmeal if it happens again, so I picked some up at the store tonight.

Day 4 not so yummy, but that's just personal preference. It was butternut squash, which I love, but it had an Indian flavor, which I'm not a huge fan of, in general. I mean, I like Indian food, and I love me the curry, but not in my butternut squash soup, which I prefer to be more buttery and savory than cardamom-y and sweet. If I'd left out the cinnamon and cardamom, I probably would have liked it a lot more. It was a good recipe, just not how I normally spice my butternut squash soup. Ty LOVED it. Better than mine, so what do I know, I guess. :)

As far as the cleansing goes, I'm definitely going through an adjustment period the last 2 days. I don't have a lot more energy yet, but I do feel healthier, so that's good. :) And I like that the food's not heavy, and I can just about eat as much as I want without feeling guilty. There's no portion control. I probably shouldn't stuff myself, because that's not good for anybody, no matter what you're eating, but somehow I think stuffing myself on lentils and salad is not the same as doing it with breaded chicken and mashed potatoes. So right now, I'm not worrying about how much I eat. And I definitely want to do the spring and summer cleanses, as well. I can definitely see some physical changes for the better - my tongue is not so cut any longer, and I'm not getting any new white spots in my nails...those had suddenly sprung up overnight, and it was CRAZY. I had TONS of them. I mean seriously, people, holy smokes. Thankfully though, there aren't any new ones. I think my skin is starting to look a little rosier and more clear, but since it's only been 4 days, that's probably my imagination. Still, I'm liking the dietary changes, and we've decided to limit our meals with meat to only 3 or so a week, and much smaller portions. I'm just going to augment the meals with stuff like quinoa, which is really easy to make, and now I know how to season it for more noms. :)

So there you have it. In other news, my brother emailed me he's selling my dad's dairy. That's a whole nother post on its own, and not a happy one, so I'm not gonna talk about it now, if ever. Suffice to say I'm bitter and angry and resentful, and I let him know it. It's one thing to tell me it has to be sold. It's another to misrepresent facts in evidence and hard sell me on it while telling me you'd really like the money for it so that you can go to grad school when Mom & Dad paid for your frigging college education, car, computer, off-campus apartment, and you got to go to a good school (UT), while I paid for all my own college expenses and ended up having to drop out because I couldn't go to school and pay rent at the same time, because no one was paying my frigging rent. Or for my car. Or gas. Or car insurance. Or, you know, FOOD. And at UTA, because that was the only school I could afford to attend. So hai - u SUCK.

Yeah. That's a whole nother post.

Later,
kd

Cleanse Day 2

If you guys are interested in taking part in the winter cleanse I'm doing, head over to Moira's website, where she's offering her winter cleanse and ebook for free. Normally, it's $180. Just enter the promo code "moirafree" (without quote marks) in the discount code box on the left side of the page, click "update cart," and follow the directions from there. Moira will email you a link to your free ebook and information on the cleanse. I heartily recommend it.  Today's lunch was yummy veggie "sushi" rolls and dinner was awesome - and EASY - potato-leek soup.  I can't tell you guys how delicious and easy to make all this food is.  I am loving this cleanse so much that I have decided that when it's over, I'm going to restrict my meat intake to 3, maybe 4, days a week.  I'm going to see if Moira's got a cookbook out, and if not, I fully intend to pester her into oblivion until she does.  I know a good thing when I see one, and Miss Moira is it.  :)

xo,
katie

Veggie Cleanse Day 1

I'm doing a veggie cleanse, and today was Day 1. It went pretty well. I'm going it because I want to get healthier, and all the processed food I've been eating for years has caught up with me. I could sure kill for a soda and some sugar right now, though.

That's about all I've got. It's been alternating between unbelievably boring and pretty suck, so far this year. So I'm just focussing on getting healthier.

How are you guys?

URGENT - Dogs & Puppies Need Help NOW. Please read & pass on.

I posted to my public blog yesterday but forgot to post here. The shelter in Gaston, North Carolina, has an abundance of dogs & puppies in need of foster homes or adoption, or they will be gassed. This is urgent, as the shelter began gassing today. Please read the details for foster/adoption below, and pass them on. Let's get these guys some safe places or homes. And if you can donate to Help Save One, please do - your donation will also help save these dogs. If you can't get to NC, transport is being arranged, so please don't assume you can't take one of the dogs/puppies.

Foster homes needed for puppies (East Coast). please pass on [from Help Save One] Ok, things are getting desperate here. We have ten teeny tiny puppies that need a foster, that no one has stepped up for. We've had a lot of trouble finding foster homes lately... it seems that around this time las...t year, we had more fosters than we had dogs, and now, we can't even find one person to help!

Our transport is currently on the road, going from NH to NC and we can drop off anywhere along the way (except MA, as usual). We have 7 itty bitty shepherd mixes that look like little jelly beans, are are maybe 34 pounds each. They're 8 weeks old.We also have 3 chihuahua mixes that are a little too big to be chihuahua mixes.. maybe whippet/min pin... See More ... See Moremixes. Still small, though. 10 weeks old.We need to place these puppies ASAP. Transport is on the road, as I said, so please, even if you can just take one, it would help us out a ton.Send a message or email fostering@helpsaveone.org if you can help!We also have an adult lab that needs a foster, as well as a few of the Spalding dogs that need a place to go, if you'd prefer an adult.

2009 Can Fucking Bite Me

I should not be surprised, but 2009 found a way to emotionally bitchslap my ass one last time before the new year could arrive. My brother informs me we have to sell the land my dad did not want us to sell. The land we busted our asses working on when I was a kid. The land he loved so much that he died working it. The land he wanted to be buried on and that we scattered his ashes across and that me and my stepbrother buried the last half of those ashes on. I can't tell you how upsetting this is. I need $38,000 to rectify this crap, and fast. Anybody got some extra cash lying around? No? Yeah, didn't think so. Neither do I.

Probate law is fucking stupid, btw. Monies owed have to be paid back by the estate. If they're paid by a person, that person has to assume responsibility for the entire debt of the estate. But the estate can't be settled until all the debt is paid...which in some cases, it can't be until the estate is settled. Are you getting an idea of the level of fuckitude I'm dealing with, here? Yeah.

BTW, please don't try to be helpful and start telling me what probate law is. It varies from state to state, and we have a probate attorney. Believe me, if there were a way around the fubar, I'd be on it. I won't know more until I can talk to my brothers. This landed in my lap at 10pm last night. In fucking email, because my brother is an asshat.

This has honestly been the worst year in the worst 11-year period of my entire life. 2010 is not shaping up to be much better. My only solace at all is in finding out 2009 was the suck for pretty much everyone I know. I'm sorry they had shite years too, but at least I know it was an across the board suckfest, so God wasn't just gunning for me - he dropped the bomb on everyone.

Here's praying with everything I've got that 2010 improves, and fast. Because I can't take another year like this one.

I laughed until I cried. :)

We will be ending today's entry on a happy note, but first...

The frosting on the cake of my year was finding out TODAY that I have to spend my birthday TOMORROW standing in line at the DMV. Do not ask. Put it down to the SNAFU that is California public-service-slash-government right now, and let's move on. Suffice to say, it sucks it. The DMV here is not like other DMV's, except for maybe New York. In Dallas, when I had to go to the DMV, the longest it ever took me was an hour, once. Usually, I was in and out in under 20 minutes. Here, it's an arduous 3-hour-minimum wait in line which usually culminates in the bitchiest civil servant you will ever encounter in your life shoving a piece of paper across the counter at you in the most hateful manner possible and barking at you to go stand in another line. And since I live in the west end of the San Fernando Valley, I get to do it with all the human flotsam and jetsam the universe has seen fit to dump in the Greater Los Angeles area commonly referred to as "the suburbs." In the 40's and 50's, the Valley was in its heyday. Lucille Ball & Desi Arnez lived out here. The Warner movie ranch was here, and just about every western shot in Southern California was shot a mile from my house. It was orange groves as far as the eye could see, and Sherman Way was THE artery that ran from Los Angeles way out here to "the country" and the stars.

But that was 50, 60 years ago, and my how things have changed. Now it's mostly a rundown dustbowl filled with old buildings badly in need of face lifts and an overflowing population. The Warner Ranch is now Warner Center - a collection of office buildings, a few hotels, HUGE apartment/condo complexes, and the emptiest shopping mall I've ever been in. Sherman Way is now lined with billboards, ancient strip malls of repair shops and dive bars, used car dealerships, fast food restaurants, pawn shops, dollar stores, and ethnic establishments from supermarkets to Latino music stores. Its gutters are usually peppered heavily with refuse, which - in addition to the usual fast food wrappers & broken bits of automobile - may include (and usually does) portions of furniture or items of clothing ranging from single sneakers to pairs of jeans or someone's coat. I once saw an entire arm chair in the middle of the road, lying on its back and held together with tons of duct tape.

The DMV sits in the midst of all that and is probably my LEAST favorite place to have to go in all of Los Angeles. (So far, anyway.) So I'm thrilled I get to spend my birthday hanging out there. I've decided I'm going to buy a lottery ticket tomorrow, because with all the karmic debt I've paid off this year, I kinda feel like the universe owes me a little change.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, the single most adorable and hilarious 12 second video you will ever see. I literally watched it until I cried, I was laughing so much.

Yeah, this isn't working for me.

Hideously depressed. The Wellbutrin honeymoon is over, and clearly what I was getting from it was the placebo effect, because I have crashed and burned hard the last 2, going on 3, weeks.

Somebody please make the black hole in my chest go away before it swallows me alive. I can't breathe. :(

Has it really been a year already?

I really don't want to have a birthday this year. I'll be 46, which is crappy enough on its own, and it's been the worst year of my entire life. I just want it to be over. And I'm kinda torn, because it's my birthday, and I really wish that it could be special, but I also just want it gone. It's a conundrum. And not in a good way. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up and have it be 2010 already. And maybe make this year just a terrible dream. Where the hell is a reset button when you need one?

kd

Non-Sequitur, Anyone?

Boy, was I absent a while, or what? I love twitter. It's the new blog, and a lot easier, so I'm sorry, but I was cheating on you with twitter. I'd love to tell you it won't happen again, but I think we both know it will. Twitter just does it for me, baby. But we can still be friends. ;)

Let's see...anti-depressants. I've been taking generic Wellbutrin. Aside from the initial placebo effect, it doesn't seem to do much more than give me a vague sense of hope. But that's more than I had before, so I keep taking it. My doc says she'll up my dosage when I prove I can take it 2x a day every day, like I'm supposed to. So I'll be lying and tell her I have been when I go in again at beginning of December. I'm sorry but I just can not remember to take something twice a frigging day. I mean, I can if it doesn't have to be a set amount of time apart - in this case, 12 hours - but scheduling my damn drugs is just not something I can do. It's a serious problem when I have to take antibiotics 3 or 4 times a day. I mean, I have trouble remembering to take my birth control pill, for crying out loud, and that's something I just have to do once a day, at bedtime. Twice a day is really just asking too much. I could take it once a day at a higher dose, and when I was taking 150mg a day, that's what I did, but 150 made me feel twitchy, so neither I nor my doctor felt 200 at a shot was a good idea. So I take 100 twice. When I can remember. Oy.

Still job hunting. Still to no avail. I did send my resume to one woman who then called and said she'd be calling me back to set up an interview, and then nothing happened. It's part-time as a mammogram technician. Oo. Ah. What I'd like to do (assuming nothing really cool is out there) is wait tables. Decent money, part-time, and I can pursue my own stuff, which is really where it's at.

I wish I could figure out a way to make my photography pay. I also wish I could finish a novel and get it published. I was doing NaNoWriMo, but I petered out on what I was working on, mostly because I don't have a clear sense of direction on it, which wouldn't be a problem since that's how I write nearly everything, but this is chicklit, and that's a whole new genre for me. I know the salient points of the story, which I also always do, but I can't figure out how to dress them. Voice is no problem, it's getting from each point to the next that's the sticking point. It's just not telling itself at all. Usually when I write something, it tells itself, and all I have to do is the typing. That hasn't happened for a really long time, which sucks. I just feel empty inside every time I sit down to write. I can't explain it, and it's miserable. I have no fewer than 5 novels in progress, one of them more than halfway finished, and I just can't seem to write anything at all. It's frustrating.

I recently discovered The Bloggess on twitter, and as her name implies, she blogs. Very well. And this is hilarious.

I got a partial crown done 2 weeks ago, and it was hell. I really should blog it on its own, because holy moly. I have 2 more crowns to go, and I can't tell you how much I don't want them done. EVER. And now I have severe TMJ and do not have full range of motion in my jaw. And what I do have is really screwed up. Like Frankenstein screwed up. It is not good. :( I should take a picture, coz you guys will be all, "holy crap, what up with THAT, Katie?" And I'll be all, "yeah."

Know what I wish I had (besides $100 million, I mean)? A working oven. A working drier would be nice, too. Both need new switches, and I'm [this] far away from pulling each of the damned things out from the wall myself and getting in there to tinker, despite having absolutely zero knowledge of repair for either appliance. I NEED AN OVEN, folks. And a drier will be necessary once the cold and rain hit. I despise the laundromat.

My mom is coming here on Thursday and staying with my aunt out in Ontario. She'll be here till next Tuesday and wants us to do stuff like hike Mt. Baldy and go to Knott's Berry Farm. There will probably be dinner at my aunt & uncle's down in San Diego, too. That's a LOT of driving, yo. And time with my mother. I view the weekend with no small amount of trepidation.

Did I mention I'm shopping for dental insurance? My COBRA ends December 31, and since I really can't face having 2 more crowns done between now and then, I really have to buy more coverage so that I can have the last crown done next year sometime. I'm really not kidding you guys that I just can't have 2 done in the next 30 days. And I can't do them both at once, because the old fillings have to be drilled out first, and if you've never had that experience, you don't know what vile is. Seriously. I'll blog it later. You'll shudder. I'm not kidding. It still hurts. :( I'm not sure that dentist was a good dentist. I've never had such a bad dentist experience, but maybe this kind of thing is normal for crowns. You guys will have to let me know.

But for now, I have to go to Kinko's and have some stuff printed for TB.

xo,
kd

For the love of...

I can not use a SINGLE ONE of the websites I use daily, and it's starting to really piss me off.  Both Twitter & the Daily Plate are failing to load.  I'm aware that some frigging moron - or group of morons - thought it would be fun to launch a punk/DoS attack on twitter.  I have no idea what the DP's problem is.  I can't get into a few other places either, so I suppose it's just the Day of the Asshole or Malfunctioning Web today.

I'm going back on anti-depressants so that I can actually live life and get things done.  I started a new one Tuesday night, and it knocked me on my ass.  In addition to making me feel like I hadn't slept in 48-72 hours, it also made me cranky, weepy, a little more hungry than usual, and almost completely lacking in impulse-control.  Part of my brain actually figured hitting people who irritated me in the face with shovels was a perfectly reasonable response to the irritation.  Thankfully, the rest of my brain was in control and knew that would be A Bad Thing To Do.  Still, it made for an extremely trying 36 hours, during which I got into a huge fight with the boyfriend, found it really difficult not to hit my dogs, and said really inappropriate things to everyone else I had contact with.  I also cried a LOT and felt utterly wiped out and exhausted, without the strength to get thru the 5 minutes immediately following, let alone the rest of my life.  It was still hazing me when I woke up this morning at 9:30, despite my not having taken it last night, because I had to be lucid to talk to EDD & B&N corporate today.  I went back to bed around 11, and when I woke up at 2, I was clear of it, at last.  I will be phoning my doctor tomorrow to tell him there is No Way In Hell I will be taking THAT again.  (It was mirtazapine - aka Remeron - for those of you keeping score or considering it yourself.)  I am mortified at the things I said when I went on a dog walk with my neighbors.  I said bad stuff to my long, no-longer-lost friend Vanessa on the phone, too, but at least she knows me enough to write off the really wacky stuff.  The neighbors don't, and trust me when I tell you, I was a bit psycho.  (And THAT ought to really freak out long-time readers of the KD blog.) :(

Vanessa is a post for another day; we finally found each other again after 29 years, and I'm thrilled.  We were really tight, back in the day, and I love her so much.  I'm glad we have a mutual friend who was able to connect us - and that's a story in itself. :)  Aside from my best friend Gayle, Vanessa is the friend I've had the longest.  I've known her since 5th grade.  It's nice to have a sense of history, you know?  When your parents move you around a lot, and your family is broken on top of it, it's really hard to maintain any sense of history.  The past disintegrates with every move and every broken connection to The Time Before.   So yay for the return of lost friendships. :)

ttyl; peace out.

kd

My Heroes Have Always Been Cyclists

Watching the Tour de France this summer, I've been examining near daily why it is I love Lance Armstrong - and by proxy, the Tour de France - so very much.  Why I love the Tour is fairly easy: it's one of the last situations on earth where cheating is not tolerated, good sportsmanship is expected, and determination is maybe just a tad more important than physical ability - an underdog has just as much a shot at taking it as anyone else, and the whole thing can turn on a dime; one day you're down without a chance in hell of catching up, the next you're in yellow and winning the race.  The men who race the Tour are incredible athletes, and I wish I had one tenth their drive and resolve.  So my love of the race is no big mystery.  But why Lance Armstrong?  What is it about him that causes such excitement and joy?  In part, that's a tough call.  What makes a sports hero, and why do we love them? What need do they fulfill?  On the surface, it's easy to check off the big things: he not only survived cancer, he came back from it to win the Tour de France a record 7 times in a row; he spends his time tirelessly working to raise money for cancer and help motivate others with the disease to kick its ass as he did; he's a good sportsman; he's a winner.  But those aren't actually the reasons I love the man, though they certainly don't hurt.  No, I love Lance Armstrong because he walks softly, carries a big stick, is a shrewd competitor, and he gets it done - without bluster or excuses.

At least, that's why I thought I admired him.

But this Tour has shown me there's more to it than that.  After 4 years away from the toughest sporting event in the entire world, he had the guts to return to it, at 37 years of age, in the face of near constant and false accusations of doping, against pretty much all odds, to say, "I'm back, I'm here, and not only do I not dope, I'm gonna take all the crap you can throw at me and more, and I'm gonna kick all of your butts AND take your names while I'm at it.  And you know why?  Because I love cycling, and I hate cancer, and I'm so committed to raising awareness that I'm gonna put up with everything you can throw at me, PLUS ride my bike 2500 miles in the heat and cold and wind and rain, up mountains other people can barely walk up,  and then right back down through winding, switchback roads at ridiculously high, dangerous speeds, all for FREE.  So taste THAT, World. I. Am. HERE."

It would have been easy to rest on his laurels, work with the foundation that bears his name, and hang out with more than a few of the world's hoi palloi and movers and shakers, living the cush life, but he didn't do that.  He came back to the race, and he did it pretty much on his terms, and he gives me a reason to keep going every day, even when I feel miserable. Because if Lance Armstrong can return to the Tour, I can get back in shape.  And if he wins, I am not old, and I do not have to give in to aging. Every single doping control he passes with flying colors (despite what seems to be a petty vendetta by the UCI) is vindication for my belief that a human being can accomplish great things honestly, without cheating or lying or doping or any other deceitful practice.  That, most of all, hard work and perseverence really do pay off, even if it's only some of the time.

It's been a rollercoaster ride, this Tour. Despite my hopes and the fact that he's been riding well, Lance hasn't won any stages, nor has he at any point in the race been wearing yellow.  And I admit to feeling more than a passing bit of animosity towards Alberto Contador, who may or may not be referred to as "the weasel" in this household...and a few of my tweets.  It was tough to watch Contador pull away from Lance and to see the Spaniard in yellow, especially when it seems as though Contador has more than a few attitude problems and demonstrates some very unsportsmanlike behavior - and on a purely emotional level, Contador's Stage 15 move into yellow was akin to watching Lex Luthor shoot Superman in the back and get away with it. But the thing is, with Lance, there's always next time.  And when you least expect it, he will roll right over you with an apparent ease mindboggling in its beauty.  So maybe this isn't the year he will once again stand in yellow on the podium in Paris, and maybe it is.  But one thing I do know is this: if he wants to, he'll stand there again someday.  And that is good enough for me.

So um...how'd that happen, again?

May be working on a memoir and book about Elvis Presley soon.  The random bizarreness of life in LA sort of sneaks up and sucker punches you, sometimes. I can honestly tell you that in summer, 1977, if you had told barely teenaged me that I was going to one day help write a book about Elvis Presley - or how that was going to come about, I'd have told you you were certifiably insane.  For that matter, if you'd told me that just last month, I'd have asked you if you were high.

Life is strange.  And getting stranger.  There's more to it, but that's all I feel at liberty to say without betraying confidences.

The book is actually already written.  My job will be to help shore it up for sending out - to edit it for an editor to edit, basically.  I'm pretty good at that, if I do say so myself.  Won't know more until I've had a chance to read the first chapter and make notes for the writer, and we can decide whether or not working together is something we want to do.  I feel if we can come to a satisfactory agreement on expectation and compensation, it should go well.  I'm really interested in the project, and the person writing the book seems very sincere.  So we'll see.

Can I get an eyeroll?

From The Free Republic today:

"No one can honestly make the case that the Palins didn't take more heat than other public families."

Really?  'Cause Hillary Clinton did not get POUNDED on when Bill was president, and NO ONE made fun of Chelsea Clinton or attacked either Chelsea or Hillary personally on their physical appearances, nor did anyone rip on the Clintons' relationship.

Riiiiiiiiight.

I hated the Clintons, and even I had to acknowledge they got brutalized.  TFR - and Kathleen Parker, specifically - need a reality check.  Big time.

The Revolution Will Be Tweeted

I have spent the last several days "watching" events unfold in Iran via Twitter and participating - to the extent that I can, sitting halfway around the world - in passing on what information I could verify as fact. It has been, in the way of the ancient Chinese proverb, interesting. Twitter has become the poster site for a new kind of communication, in a way I do not believe even Evan Williams and Biz Stone (the founders of twitter) ever dreamed it could be. It has proven its relevance to today's society arguably more surely than any start-up in the last 50 years.

Using the hashtag (a tag, or search term) #iranelection to search for news turns up thousands of new tweets every minute, a flood of information, some of it factual, some of it not, all of it (spammers aside) having to do with the protests in Iran. During the media blackout of yesterday - and the even heavier blackout all day and night today - it was the only way to find out what might be happening on the ground in Tehran and around that country. But more than updates from the front and support for those on the ground from the rest of the world, the hashtag has become a giant game of Telephone, a two-way stream of resistance passing the word from one protestor to another, sometimes directly, but also largely via strangers sitting at their keyboards thousands of miles away, retweeting (passing on) the information and sending it out to their own network of friends and followers, for even more people to see and pass on. Tweets* have gone out with everything from news of where the clashes between protestor and Basij were located, to advice on what to do when tear-gassed, the addresses and locations of hospitals and embassies offering help, locations protestors should avoid to escape capture or violence, outting tweeters who were fakes or government operatives spreading disinformation, and news of explosions, deaths, and injuries. In addition, protestors have used Twitter to coordinate their rallies and to get the word out about them, to pass on messages from opposition leader Mir-Hossein Mousavi, and to post the url's of other websites containing videos and photographs of the protests.

The Twitterverse has responded to those in Iran with a tidalwave of support, coloring their icons green, the color of Mousavi's supporters, changing the location and timezone listed in their profiles to Tehran or Iran, and passing the word not to repeat the names of Iranian tweeters once it became known that the Ministry in Iran had started to search the site using those parameters to identify members of the opposition. A popular message retweeted at the moment says, "On 9/11, the World said we are all Americans; today, we are all Iranians." Sitting at my keyboard half a world away, waiting for news and hoping for the best, passing on what information I can verify and hope will help, while pundits on CNN rattle about with less information than I, it feels true. In the face of a government-imposed blackout and restrictions resulting in a complete absence of any information-gathering tools of their own, networks and news agencies have themselves turned to twitter for reports of events as they unfold.

Just a few days ago, one of my friends remarked that she just doesn't see the need for twitter or understand why anyone would want to use it. I have a feeling that's about to change. The website has eclipsed its function as mere trend or messaging service and evolved into something more. A new kind of beast. It will be interesting to see where it goes.

*tweets are 140 character text messages
(I blurred the names in the above image to protect the tweeters.)

New Answering Machine Message

"Thank you for calling Dante's Inferno Room, deep in the 7th Level of Hell. We are located at the corner of It's Not My Fault Drive & I Was Only Following Orders, right next to Good Intentions Bar & Grill. Reserved seating now available."

Also, no new word from the Gel-Nails people.

Spin

On May 17, I contacted the gel-nails.com website to let them know I was really angry about the very inconsiderate (and I feel, rude) comments made to my entry about scattering Daddy's ashes. I wasn't very nice about it, either. As in, at all. I was more than a little angry, and not inclined to be respectful. Not very cool on my part, since it makes me look bad, but here's what I wrote:

I appreciate that you used a blog entry about my father's death and the horrible experience of spreading his ashes as a springboard to your gel-nails website. What a thoughtful thing to do. I commented to that effect, and you actually commented AGAIN trying to sell me and others on your website and product. You are contemptible. I can only hope that one day, someone does a similar favor for you. Asshole.

Someone there who only identified him/herself as Gel Nails Management replied to me the same day, and this is the email I got back:

How are you,

We are really really sorry for that, we are using marketing company to advertise for us, we have delivered them your email and made complaint, they assured me that who did this will be terminated. We are really sorry and don't know what or how to cover for our mistake, we know we are responsible for it because we hired them.

We apologize for anything they did, our company goals was always to run only best business.

Please forgive us.

Thank you
Gel Nails Management

I figured that was the end of it, and then I got this mail on the 22nd, I assume from the same person, as it bore no closing:

We are extremely sorry about the comment that has been posted on your blog and we would like to rectify this situation by finding out who has done it. We would really appreciate it if you can let us know your blog URL, the username of the person who has posted this comment, the comment posted and the date and time when such a comment was posted.
With these details we will try to track who has done this. Your cooperation in this regard will be really appreciated.

Sincere apologies once again for the inconvenience this has caused you

Interesting. Half of me - okay, a little more than half - thinks they're just trying to placate me and do damage control. But they might be serious. I'll keep you posted.

Mercenary Asshats

So, the fuckwit who tried to sell me nail glue in comments to my post about spreading Daddy's ashes came back. Are are her/his/its comments, followed by my own, in case the moron gets embarrassed and tries to remove them, because I plan to do everything I can to spread the word about this jerk. Let's see how many other people's grief he/she uses to sell fucking nail products. His/her comments are in italics.

4 comments:
gel said...
Interesting content.

Just wanted to share some information that may help busy professionals caught up with work and who have less time to maintain their nails. You can try out gel nails which are now becoming a hot favorite as they are natural looking even without nail tips and the best way for nail enhancement. Also, if you are allergic to those strong smelling chemicals which you can experience with acrylic nails, then you should use gel nails as these are odorless.

However, when you are planning on gel nail application, make sure you approach a nail salon or a nail artist who is well versed with gel nails and is properly trained and mastered in gel applications. This will save you from problems that can arise with improper gel nail applications.

March 20, 2009 1:40 AM


Katie said...
Dear Gel -

I thank you for your very thoughtful comment regarding the care of my nails. We busy professionals do have trouble finding the time to clean the ashes of our DEAD FATHERS out from under our nails and keeping healthy nailbeds when they've been scoured raw from the grit of ashes and the small bits of bone left after a cremation. It means the world to me that you took the time to offer your thoughts on how I could achieve flawless nails without using harsh chemicals or applying acrylic nails, which I'm sure would fail to stand up to the abuse of dipping one's hands into the ASHES OF ONE'S RECENTLY DECEASED FATHER. I shall hie me to a professional salon and locate a nail artist well versed with gel nails, which I'm sure would stand up much better to the dense grit and mass of cremated human remains; the last thing I want is for a cheapass acrylic nail to come off in the bag with MY FATHER'S ASHES. That would be bad.

Thank you for your concern for my wellbeing and the health of my nails. I am deeply, deeply touched.

Asshat.

March 22, 2009 2:34 AM


Gel-Nails said...

Good information.

I came across many queries in several forums where people have been asking for advice on the best glue that can be used on nails and that is not only strong but also safe on nails. This was the same question I had sometime back when I used to apply nail gel myself. Initially the glue I got would never hold on the way it used to when done in the salon. I then came across the nail glue being sold on gel-nails which lasts very long and is pretty easy to apply. It provides a strong bonding for my nails and also does a great job in repairing the nail tips.

Most important of all is that this is strong glue I was actually looking out for and this is used by nail salons and nail artists for professional applications. It is available at a cheap price at gel-nails and I remember seeing it at a discount of 74% which is great. Maybe this can help if you also face problems relating to poor glue quality as I did earlier.

April 3, 2009 2:57 AM


Katie said...
Again, I would like to thank you for the taking the time to extend your sympathies toward me in a time of grief by making sure I know I can go to your website in order to buy an excellent glue for the gel nails I will almost surely have purchased by now to replace my own human nails, which I broke while struggling to scoop a handful of the cremated remains of my dead father, an activity so shocking, it very nearly caused me to throw up from the stress of it. Your pathos is so entirely evident, I do not know how I could have been of the now clearly erroneous understanding you did not bother to read my original post - or the reply I made to your very generous original comment. Please forgive my dunderheadedness when you have patently proven yourself to be, not a mercenary asshole of the first and highest order, but instead, a kind, giving individual who would never, under any circumstances whatsoever, intrude on someone's grief and horror to sell them nail products. Please rest assured I shall proclaim your heartfelt generosity far and wide on my twitter account, so that all who come here can read your sympathetic comments and patronize your business. I know nothing could have been further from your mind in using my grief as a springboard, but I feel you should be rewarded by everyone on the internet I have in my power to reach finding out what a gigantic piece of work you really are.

No really. I insist.

May 17, 2009 3:08 AM

You have to be kidding me.

God must really have a soft spot for idiots & jerks. I love how the blogger profile is private. Good thing, too. I'd have to pester the living hell out of her, otherwise.

Fat bottom girls, you make the rockin' world go round.

I walk into Chevron on the way to Jonny-C's tonight, and the guy behind the counter says, "You've put on a little weight."

Yep. It is not good when the guy at the gas station notices your butt has gotten bigger. I know he wasn't trying to be mean or anything though, so I nodded and said yep. I get my Diet Coke and a meal replacement bar and set 'em on the counter, and he says to me - I kid you not - "This, too, gives fat."

Mm-hm. Yeah.

*sigh*

Aside from that, I had an awesome time playing Rock Band at Jonny-C's. I got my character all set up and rockin' with cute outfits and adorable hair, and the name of my band is Neon Antler, on accounta when I went to Toronto with a bunch of friends the week before Christmas in 1985, we were at a mall, and the displays were these big ceramic reindeer that all had neon antlers, and one of the guys observed that Neon Antler would be a good name for a band, and that if he ever formed one, that's what he was going to call it. I concurred, so tonight when we were trying to think of a band name, I grabbed that out of the distant passages of my memory, dusted it off, and slapped it up on the wall. So that's who we are, a chick band out of Montreal, named Neon Antler. My character is Siouxsie, because that's more hip than Katie-D., and I wasn't feeling especially creative namewise. Now I just need my own Wii. :)

xo,
kd

Wow, coincidence.

So, I was just watching this clip of The View (a show I never watch), and Alicia Silverstone says she became Vegan because of her dog...which is exactly why I stopped eating pork, which opened the door to the end of eating beef, which I also don't do anymore. No more mammals. I'm an ornipiscitarian. ;)

There's no such thing as fair.

You know how I know this?

Beautiful, kind Natasha Richardson is dead at the age of 45, leaving a grieving husband, 2 young boys, mother, sister, aunt, etc., while a sac like Ann Coulter is still walking around spewing ignorant bile at will.

Satan definitely wins this round. :(

Dollhouse Again

FOX still wielding The Big Bat of Obviousness, which is really damaging my enjoyment of what would probably be a very cool show if the dumb@$$es at the network would just shut the hell up, get out of the way, and let Whedon do his thing. I saw just enough Joss in the last episode (Gray Hour) to make the show even more excruciating to watch, since it becomes more and more clear what he must be up against. I really hope he's learned his lesson and will never, ever work with those dinks again.

In which Katie goes home again...and finds home has gone somewhere else

I had a long weekend, both good and bad. Mostly good. I suppose the bad was really more sad/bittersweet than anything else. Assuming it started on Friday.

I spent the day Thursday herding cattle and burying Daddy's ashes. Neither had much to recommend it. I'd never herded beef cattle before, and I have to say, dairy cows are much easier to deal with and smarter. Though I suppose an argument could be made in favor of the beef cattle as well, since one could conclude that most of the time when beef cattle are being herded somewhere, it's toward certain death and someone's dinner plate, so it actually behooves them not to go along and cooperate. Dairy cows want to be milked, because it relieves them of the pain of a swollen udder, so since generally the only time anyone tries to herd them, it means either food or milking (and usually both), they want to go where you tell them. They will, in fact, line up at the gate and wait for you to open it for them. There's not a lot of work involved in herding dairy cattle most of the time. Beef cattle, otoh, do not care where you want them to go. They get their feed out in the pasture, so they don't find anything of interest up in the holding pen and are, in fact, deeply suspicious of the fact you want them to go there. Especially if they're new to your property and are still trying to suss out how they fit into the whole thing and where the best place might be from which to launch an escape. Cattle are very big on escaping. That's why the expression "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence" came into being. Because to a cow, truer words were never spoken.

We were severely understaffed, being only me, my stepbrother, a guy who didn't speak English, and a man I knew when I was a kid who is not fully mobile, having lost most of one of his legs several years ago on an oil rig. There was lots of rounding up and re-rounding up and moving quickly and cows charging past and going through the fence and stuff like that. It was also unseasonably warm (like in the 90's). I got sunburned and covered in dirt and grime, to the point of being gritty. I do not like being gritty. I like being hot, sunburned and gritty even less. And there are still 5 cows and 3 calves wandering around in the pasture, since they just refused to cooperate. I'm worried about one of the calves, an adorable little red calf with a red and white speckled face who was only a few days old and whose mother my stepbrother could not identify. So I don't know if she went with him. This is bad for 2 reasons: calves that young need their mothers and the ultra-rich milk they provide which is necessary to a tiny newborn, and mothers need their calves because if they aren't nursed regularly, they develop infections and poisoning and can die. Not to mention the pain they're in from swollen udders. So I desperately hope the mother went to auction along with her baby. Otherwise bad things will happen to both, and I can't stand that. It hurts my heart. I may not be overwhelmingly fond of cows, but they're animals and beings and need to be protected. I don't even want to think about that adorable little baby (whom I had to give water to because it was hot and he was panting badly) growing up to be slaughtered for someone's hamburger. In fact, I think I just this very second gave up beef. For that very reason.

After hours of that and sending the cows off to auction in the afternoon, my stepbrother and I put my dad's ashes in a heavy decorative box, sealed it shut, and took it out into another of the fields to bury under a huge oak tree up on a ridge. The ground was really hard, thanks to the area suffering a very long drought, and we had a hell of a time digging a hole deep enough. I wanted to go 3', but we ran out of light and had to settle for 2, and that required a pick axe and post hole digger, as well as our two shovels. It was hard work, and I was really sore by the time we were done. It's on the highest point on the property, so hopefully if the river floods, it's safe, and Daddy used to like to go there and think and watch the sun set. After we filled it back in, we went and got a bunch of rocks and covered it with a mound of rocks. I'm going to get a stone for it later, when I actually have money. Assuming I ever do, since unemployment in California has topped 10%, and not only do I not have a job, I can't reach unemployment for my extended benefits, either. *sigh*

After that, my stepbrother made me a baloney and cheese sandwich, since I hadn't eaten all day and it was by now past 7, and then we rode around the back pasture and down to the river, where I went down the bank to the place we used to swim when I was a kid and got a handful of sand to take home with me. It's difficult to be in a place at once familiar and so completely strange. The lay of the land was the same, the barn and houses were in the same place, but it's been 30 years, and everything is in such a state of abandonment and disrepair as to be shocking. Everyone who ever leased the place seems to have stolen anything of value and left their junk behind, and neglected care of the buildings and fences. Then too, your memory has gaps, so you remember this or that, but not the next thing, so the place you see in your mind's eye does not at all translate to the place stretched out before you. I don't recommend the experience, frankly. It was a relief to leave it behind. One day, we'll restore it, but for now, it was very sad. You really can't go home again. Or maybe it's just that I've had too many. I don't know.

Friday night, I drove out to my best friend since 10th grade's house, and we hung out and talked the whole weekend and watched cheesy b-movies like The Beastmaster. It was really good to do, but also really sad to leave. We went out to her dad's on Sunday for a few hours. I used to call her parents Mom & Dad, and when Dad answered the door, man, I hugged him really hard and started to cry. He's really reserved, so I think he was a little flummoxed, but he coped. He's not one for crying, but when someone asked if I was all right, he said I just needed to be a kid for a moment, then he patted me and said okay, and I let go. I cried again when it was time to go. Poor Gayle - I wouldn't let her hug me when I saw her on Tuesday night, because I didn't want to cry in front of strangers, and Tuesday was a hard day, and then when I left, I told her no hugs because I didn't want to cry, and then I turned around and hugged Dad and cried anyway. I'm sure she's confused. I'm nothing if not a huge contradiction, sometimes.

Sunday night, I had dinner with my brothers and my sister-in-law and that brother's two kids, and we talked about some of the probate stuff. Then I came home. And now I have to hire the attorney and talk to my friend Dagmar about an assets search on my dad. Ah, probate. Thou art a joy. Or something.

On one hand, I just want to go back to Cali. On the other, I know it's not going to be any easier there. I really wish it could be easier. And I want my life to be different. I'm tired of being unhappy and overweight and unsuccessful and lonely. I want to be the person I thought I'd be when I grew up and live the life I thought I'd have. This isn't it, and life is just too long and miserable to live it otherwise.

I have to go get lunch now.

Later.

It's LeWar! (or, Let's Have Some Silly For A While)

First there was this.

Then, LeVar Burton responded.

Michael Ian Black at once threw down*, and the LeWar was on.

* (At which point, I have to ask, what kind of culturally dead cretin does NOT know LeVar Burton played Kunta Kinte in Roots, let alone one who makes his living largely by commenting on American mainstream culture? Srsly.)

It's a battle royal between the cool hip of Mr. Geordie LaForge, the Reading Rainbow Man himself, LeVar Burton, and the tragically trendy, culturally shallow (I can only surmise) Michael Ian Black. He with the most followers wins.

So get thee to Twitter, my peeps. Get an account and choose a side. You'll be glad you did. ;)

Peace out,
Katie

Whisper To a Scream

On the way home from work tonight, I heard a song I haven't heard since junior high. Since I was working on the farm with my dad. Next thing I knew, I was sobbing and dealing with the realization that my dad is dead. He is dead. I will never see, hear, speak to, or hug him again. I have not seen him in almost 6 years. I sat in my car and screamed for an hour, and it's hard not to cry now. But I can't, because I don't want to upset my mother. My heart is raw, and it hurts in a way you can't know unless you've lost a parent or child or maybe sibling. You might think you know, but you don't. I imagine losing a child is worse, because children are not supposed to predecease their parents, and there's just no way you can prepare for that. But you can't really prepare for the loss of a parent either, and I feel like I'm going to explode with the pain of it. I want my daddy. Just one more fucking time, I want my daddy. I want to hug him and be hugged and tell him I love him. I want to know that he is okay, in a good place, and I want to be able to look at him and say I love you, Dad. And I hate God, that it doesn't work that way. I do. I hate him so much, because He could make it happen, but He won't, because that's not how it is, and it's arbitrary and stupid, and I want my dad.

I still have ashes under my fingernails.

So, it turns out scattering ashes in real life is absolutely nothing like it is in the movies. They do not waft gently on the breeze, nor are they particularly easy to get out of the container. In point of fact, they resemble not so much ashes as grey sand with tiny bits of grey shell mixed in. They're also heavy. I suppose it makes sense that a 250 pound human being compacted down to a 4x6x8" space might be a little heavy, but it's still a shock when someone places that box into your hands and you find out that it's not at all like a box of fireplace ashes and is in fact about 15 pounds worth of stone weight. Seriously, it may as well be a lead brick, for the weight of it. That was my first shock of the day.

The service was nice, if sparsely attended. There were 30-50 people there. The minister had known Daddy for about 35 years, so he spoke well and personally. I said something clumsy and brief, and my Uncle Charlie, my dad's baby brother, told a story or 2. Then we sang Old Rugged Cross (always a safe one), and retired to the fellowship hall for a reception. My stepmother and siblings were there, and that was nice. I saw my friend Tommy Oliver, who I hadn't seen in 30 years, and that was wonderful. It was so great to see him, and it means a lot that he came. I wish he'd stayed longer, but he had to go back to work. I also saw 2 of my old teachers, Mrs. Stuteville, who taught me math in 8th grade, and her BFF Ms. Jarrell, who taught me HomeEc at another school in 9th & 10th, and who was a real lifesaver to me in those years. Both of them are loving, wonderful women I am grateful for knowing, and 2 of my favorite teachers. I wish they'd stayed for the reception, as well. I was looking forward to the chance to visit with them.

After an hour or so, the family left to go back to the farm and scatter Dad's ashes. I asked the minister how to do it, and he said well, most people just used their hands or emptied directly from the container. Emptying that way seemed pretty much like emptying out a container of trash to me, so I chose to use my hands. We got back to the farm, and me, my brothers, their significant others, my uncles, cousins, 1 stepbrother, and Daddy's cousin Joyce went down to the river in the back pasture to scatter, and when we got there, I got made the de facto ash disperser, whether I was up for it or not. I asked Darth Brother did he want to do it, and I guess he saw my face, coz he said well, he'd help if I wanted him to. I said if he wanted to help, I'd appreciate it, so he stepped up, and so did my stepbrother. Yoda Brother and I opened the box, and then my Uncle John said a really nice prayer (he's a minister). Then I reached into the box, which is where I got my second shock of the day: human remains do not break down into ash as you most likely think of it. As I said before, they look like sand and tiny bits of shell, and their consistency is that of the part of an ocean beach where the waves are washing in - very dense, very compact. Except that they are totally dry. But the top layer looks like silt, so you think it's going to be soft, and then when you try to reach into it, you find you have to really dig - I actually broke a freaking nail doing it. Seriously, it was shocking.

But I grabbed a handful, and then so did my stepbrother, and then my brother, and they both got the same shocked looks on their faces as I know I must have, and my stepbrother even said "oh, wow," in a strangled tone, and then quickly turned away and let his go, and then he broke down and had to walk a bit away to compose himself. My brother said something under his breath when he reached in, and he let his go too, and then everyone just looked at me, and no one would take any. So I took a few more handfuls, but you seriously can not grasp how many ashes are in a box like that until you're in that situation - I mean it, it's like a neverending supply. I finally had to give up and tilt the box so that I was holding the top of the bag in one hand and supporting the box in the other, and tried to gently sift the ash from the box, but no matter how well you do that or how the wind is blowing - and we had a good stiff breeze - the bits of bone still fall to the ground, which is just unsettling in the extreme. I mean unsettling. There's your father, on the ground. It just isn't right. So I just kept walking and feeling like I was doing it completely wrong and stupid, and everyone but Darth Brother and Stepbrother stayed back where we started, and after I'd gone about 50', I turned and asked my brother what I should do next, and he didn't know either. Then Stepbrother said that we were standing just above the point in the river that my dad liked to swim in, so I asked if we should go down the bank and finish there, and they didn't know what else to do, so the 3 of us did that, and they stood at the top of the bank while I scattered ashes on the sand there and then walked to the river's edge and let the wind carry the rest downwind, which it did pretty well, and it was a really pretty spot, with an old fallen and hollowed out tree and everything. I looked down to where all the bits of bone had fallen into the river and sunk to the rocks along the bank, where they were pretty bright against the green algae, and I told myself well, it was okay they were in the river, because it was sort of like they were gold, and while that was bothersome, it was better than on the ground. Then I realized I only had 1/3 of the box left, and I want to bury some under a tree on the property and put a marker there, so the 3 of us sealed the ashes back up and then climbed back up to where everyone else was and had to be careful not to step where we'd scattered ashes - you could clearly see the heavier grains and the bone. Let me tell you, having to warn your brother not to step on you dad is not for the faint of heart; it was yet another surreal moment in the day. When we rejoined everyone, we stood telling family stories a while and took some group shots, and then broke it up to all head our separate ways. There's more to it, but I'm going to skip it, as it was all estate-related about the need to buy more cottonseed for the cows ASAP and get them to market, etc. Basically we all broke apart and headed home. I stopped a few times to take pictures from the roadside, which helped, but jeebus, what a freaking bad day.

And I still have Daddy's ashes under my nails. I had to dig so hard into them that they're way under the nailbed, and I just can't get them out.

My Life is Like Star Wars...Sort Of

I have two brothers. One is cool, generally calm, generous, caring, and values family beaucoup. The other is snide, selfish, sarcastic, and doesn't really care all that much for any of us. I love the first brother. The second one? Not so much. I mean, I love him, coz he's my brother. But dude: he is Darth Brother to my other brother's Yoda. My mother is a kinder, gentler version of Grand Moff Tarkin. Or maybe the Emperor. She adores Darth Brother beyond all else. And me?

I'm Princess Leia in the bad dress and ridiculous hair, hanging out in the detention center on the Death Star, and today, my life was a garbage chute of epic proportions.

Where the hell is Luke Skywalker when you need him?

Home, Sweet...Wait

I'm at my mom's at last, and will be for the next few days, at least. Here, I get my own room and an actual bed - score. I spent last night on baby brother's sofa, and it was not what I would call conducive to sleep. Neither was the hissy fit pitched at 7am this morning (5am California Time) by his fiancee's 3-year-old daughter, who is a pampered, spoiled little princess. Oy. She can be charming when she wants to be, which is when she's getting her way or about to connive her way into it. The second one of them attempts to restrain her wishes, that changes, and faster than we like to think the weather does here in Texas, which let me tell you, is pretty damned fast. I once went into class on a bright, shiny, sunny and fair spring morning for which I had dressed in a sleeveless shirt and my hair in braids, and when I got out 45 minutes later, the temperature had dropped a full 50 degrees (no, I'm not kidding), and it was hailing. HAILING. As in, hard little rocks pelting from the sky with considerable force.

But I digress. That was a pretty unbearable situation, so I'm happy as heck to be here at Mom's, even if it means getting up at the buttcrack of dawn and accompanying her to her office for the day. A bed, people. A real, sheets, blankets and pillows bed.

Awesome.

Even if it does come with a litany of all the things that are wrong with me as a human being.

Did I mention how much fun Chez Doyle is, even without the paternal unit? Again, oy.

Okay, must go try on funeral wear now. My mother never gets rid of anything, so God bless her little heart, even though she probably won't be able to fit into a size 10 again before her 85th birthday, she has Ann Taylor in that size hanging in the closet. In black, grey and navy. Oo-rah.

Peace out,
Katie

Dollhouse - FOX Strikes Again

Dear FOX execs:

Put down the Sharpie and step away from the script, NOW. You are screwing with my Whedon, and I do NOT appreciate.

*sigh*

I finally got to see the Dollhouse premier on Hulu.com, and I don't think it's unfair or overreaching to call it a travesty. It misfired on all 8 cylinders, with wooden acting, bad dialogue, confusing subplots, gimmicky bits, and seeming red herrings galore. There was barely any Whedon present in a show Joss both wrote and directed, which I have to assume is because FOX execs could not just sit back and trust the Whedon, so they supplied the first cut of the pilot with copious and plentiful notes...probably a 4" D-ring binder's worth, if the end result is anything to go by. Every so often, I saw Joss' touch, but for the most part, it seemed a jumbled mishmash of jump cuts, flash, and painful, Intro to Acting acting and trite, melodramatically enigmatic dialogue. It's hard for me to believe the opening scene was pure Whedon, since Joss has the tightest grip on dialogue I've seen come out of tv-land, and that scene was excruciating in it's lack of connection, either character to character or characters to viewer. It angled for mysterious and hit "wow, that's really bad," instead. :(

Understand, I love Joss. I fell in love with BTVS roughly 60 seconds into the pilot. Angel's pilot was a tad raw, but it did not suck and still had enough Joss in it to keep me coming back every week until it found its stride and surpassed Buffy. I hated the Firefly pilot, but it turns out that was FOX's fault, and when I saw the real pilot, Serenity (parts 1&2), I fell in love with Firefly, as well. Dr. Horrible rocked it from the get-go. Which is why the premiere of Dollhouse was more than a little crushing. I'll keep watching, because I have faith in Joss, and I saw enough of him in it to know that if FOX allows him to do his thing, I'll love Dollhouse too. But it has to get better (a LOT better), or I don't know how long I'll last. And that means FOX needs to back the hell off and let Joss do what Joss does.

Here are my problems with the pilot:
Olivia Williams is just plain bad. You can drive whole fleets of trucks through her pauses, and there's nothing going on behind her eyes. I don't buy her for a second as the Badass Leader of Science's Answer to Wolfram & Hart. She had no connection whatsoever to her own character, let alone her character connecting to anyone else. When I saw the opening scene played as a clip on Craig Ferguson, I thought it must look so horrible because it was taken out of context, but no, that scene was dreadful, and mostly because Williams was so awful, though the dialogue wasn't good either.

Speaking of dialogue, it had very little of Whedon's touch to it. There were moments that screamed Joss, but so much of it was bland and rushed, I wondered how much was edited by FOX and whether or not the pilot started out as something longer that got whittled down. I also felt rather bludgeoned with the obvious - how many times do they think I need to be told Echo can't remember x-event? I get it - she has her memory tinkered with. I don't need to hear 5 times in the space of as many minutes that she can't remember what happened to her leg. I really got the feeling FOX kept sending the note to Joss that this or that wasn't clear and could he please emblazon it on a baseball bat and beat the audience to death with it. I have no other explanation for the obviousness of the entire first act (and a few other things throughout the episode).

I like Eliza Dushku, but that was not her best work. She doesn't play Stepford well at all, and she really needs to for the pilot, at least, to have worked. If she's going to keep having "I don't remember" moments, then the Stepford needs to be a LOT better.

The whole subplot with the FBI guy is heavy-handed. It really needs to be more subtle. More like Wolfram & Hart was handled on Angel. As it is now, I could not possibly care less about the idiotic FBI guy. I also don't care for the actor, and I definitely do NOT think he's hot, like everyone else in the known world seems to believe he is. Ew.

None of the characters mesh at all except for Echo and her handler. They do not connect. Whedon takes his time building character connections, and I get that, but still. All his other shows, the characters had reasons for sticking to each other when they collided. Dollhouse is missing that. Except for Echo & her handler, no one sticks. They all just bounce off of each other and continue on. It's aggravating. Whedon gets ensembles like nobody else, and this show does not feel like an ensemble. It's just a bunch of actors thrust together. I wouldn't be surprised to find out they all hate each other. It's disappointing.

I do not dig flashbacks in general. They're trite and tend to be confusing. I understand why that convention was used in the pilot, but I really hope it's not going to be a common occurrence. I don't give a damn what Mr. FBI was doing in his flashbacks, especially. So he beat somebody up. You told me that in the dialogue. I could not be less interested in seeing it.

The Whedon Audience Pact - wherein Joss brings the intelligent and trusts us to keep up - was violated, big time. I blame this entirely on FOX execs who clearly have the brain power of ducks and figure if they can't understand it, the audience won't be able to either. News flash: I am smarter than the average FOX exec. So is most of America. Or at least the demographic this show is aimed at. The idiots watching Dancing with the American Idol Survivor wouldn't get it, but they aren't watching either. Nor are they likely to, no matter how dumbed down it is. SciFi is not their cup of tea.

I disliked more, but that's all I can think of right offhand. And I blame it entirely on the idiots at FOX, since I've gotten pretty good at spotting unfettered Whedon, and that was not it. But I actually liked stuff too. To whit:

Dushku and Amy Acker are back in the Whedonverse, which is full of Big Bad, and that tends to serve up a giant plate of fun.

There were Joss moments, and they ruled. Echo's "I think I'm too old for you," was fantastic - well-written and perfectly delivered. And the bit in the lab where Lab Geek says the blue parts of Echo's brain scan show fear. Handler: "They're all blue." Geek: "You see where I'm going with this." Excellent. I can also see there are arc subplots in place and ready to play out in true Whedon fashion.

I like the concept of a girl wiped clean every day and where that might go when all hell breaks loose.

I like most of the casting, and Whedon has set up the conflict with Echo's character well: we know she didn't volunteer willingly for the program and that something is going to go awry with her programming. I'm betting that's going to be worth watching. I just hope everything else is too.

When It Rains...

I woke up this morning after 3 hours of sleep to rain pouring into the house. Literally. Right over an electrical connection and next to the big, nearly-flat-screen tv. I moved the electronic equipment I could and was lucky enough not to get electrocuted, since as I said, I'd had 3 hours of sleep and was not exactly alert or thinking clearly. Luckily, the equipment in question was wet from splatter (like, really wet), but not sitting in water, and not apparently wet enough to shock me, which is happy. Then I grabbed a towel and stuffed it as best I could into the leak area, and went to wake up TB.

The second I opened the door, I could hear and smell water. I stepped out of the hallway and into the kitchen and discovered I was standing in a huge pool of water and that a huge section of roof was leaking. I threw a towel into the pool and shoved a bin under the leak to catch most of the waterfall and then woke TB up, who had to figure out where the water was getting in on the outside and then how to stop it coming in on the inside. (I mopped it up while he was doing that.) He never did find either place, but he did manage to stop the ceiling leak, and there are towels stuck in the wall leak, and a bucket underneath it, and please God, don't let the rain frigging torrentially downpour again tonight, because we won't be able to stop it.

I have to leave tomorrow for Texas, and I do not want to go. I do not want to go to my father's funeral. I do not want to scatter his ashes. I do not want to deal with the memories I will have to face. I do not want to deal with the family bs I will have to contend with, not the least of which is my brother Tom irately and asshattedly refusing to let my stepmother (ex-stepmother) attend the service. I have to buy clothing for the funeral, because at 160 pounds, NONE of my funeral-appropriate clothing fits any longer. I washed my jeans and because the air is 100% water right now, they refuse to dry. I can't throw them in the drier, or they won't fit. The fucking airlines will probably lose at least one of my bags, anyway, since almost every time I check a bag, it goes missing or someone steals something out of it. I do not want to fly. I do not want to stay with my brother or my mother. I do not want to be stuck without a car for 2 entire weeks (plus 2 days).

I have about $250 left in my checking account, and after 3 weeks have still not been able to talk to a fucking human being at EDD to ask the ONE question I need to ask in order to file for an extension. One fucking question. That's it. What is my base period. That's it. What is my base period? Is it the original base period I filed with, or does it change to the base period 18 months from NOW? I have bills I need to pay, and I can't because I don't have enough money, and I don't know when I'll have any money, because fucking EDD won't answer the motherfucking phone. Great time for TB to have to shell out $350 for a plane ticket, plus more money to feed me while I'm in Texas, as well as to buy funeral-appropriate clothing. His salary has been drastically slashed, and he has no work anyway, so times aren't any better for him, what with having a mortgage to pay.

Bygones to those of you among the non-cussing. I realize I shouldn't say the mf word, but really, I can't be any more stressed out than I am right now, so please just deal.

The frigging DVR is possessed. It recorded at irregular times all week, so I missed the last 5 minutes of every single program it recorded. It was set to tape on the hour for everything, but for some fucked up reason, it started and ended 6 minutes before the hour for everything it taped. Until tonight, that is, when it just decided not to tape anything. Even if I had the show on and pushed record, it would say it was recording, but nothing happened. It also said it taped stuff that had come on before I noticed it wasn't taping, but those shows it said it taped are not in the recordings list and can't be viewed if it did. Then it went completely haywire and while I was watching the last show of the night, from 10-11, it kept turning itself off or searching for signal or downloading the program guide, over and over again. I saw nothing of that show, either. I don't know about you people, but when I'm living on the frigging edge, I need my damn television. TV keeps me sane. TV is escape. I love television. When I was a kid, the only time my parents shut the hell up and quit screaming at each other or us or hitting anyone was at the movies or during a tv show they liked. Nobody hit or yelled at anybody during the Waltons or Bonanza or Happy Days, damn it. TV is safety and happiness and all things good and wonderful in the entire world. I frigging love tv, and I need it to function properly. More than anything in the world, I need my frigging television. So for it to be major malfunction right now, of all fucking times in my life, is NOT okay. I'm just saying.

Dear California Politicians:
PASS THE FUCKING BUDGET SO I CAN HAVE MY UNEMPLOYMENT BENEFITS AND SO CAN CALLI'S HUBBY.

My benefits were supposed to automatically roll into an extension. They did not.

I need to pack.

I also need to empty all my disks for my camera, forward some of my mail so I have access to certain information while I'm gone, and get my electronic boarding pass. I'd really like it if my frigging jeans would dry.

I will probably forget something I really need to have, like the right shoes or Pete.

It just started raining again, and not lightly, either. Any bets on how long before rain starts pouring out of the wall directly in front of me?

:(
kd

Unbefrigginglievable.

I will bet anything on the planet that if she were white, this would be all over the national media. I hope the family is able to sue the livin' crap out of the police department and that kid gets the college fund to end all college funds out of it. Assholes.

My dad died this morning.

It was unexpected and most likely a heart attack. He was 76.

No, I'm not handling it well.

I don't know when the funeral is. Will be having a conference call with my brothers sometime probably today to talk about it. I think we should do a cremation, but the one brother I've been able to talk to doesn't want to.

I can't afford $1000 to fly back for a funeral. A cremation would allow me to get a decent airfare. Because of how the blood pooled, the casket can not be open. I haven't seen my dad in 5.5 years, and I can't see him now.

I'm thankful I talked to him on the phone 2 weeks ago and that it was the best conversation I've ever had with him. I was going to call him this weekend, but I wasn't able to get the time. That sucks.

later.

Just because you can vent doesn't mean you should.

Sorry for that last entry. The little voice in my head said it wasn't appropriate to post, but I didn't listen. I have since changed it to draft so it won't show. Just because I need to vent doesn't mean you guys need to deal with my angst. Sorry.

Boy, has it been angsty here the last several months. *sigh*

So, I will be moving my computer out here to the garage. But I have to do my taxes first. Assuming I can hold out that long. The laptop has more problems than I knew. I cleared a gig off of it last night and then tried to run defrag, but it will only clear about 80% and then tells me there's an error with the drive and that I need to run scandisk. After 3 hours of unsuccessful attempts at that, I finally managed to get it done, but then when I went back to defrag, I got the same error message, and I can't get scandisk to run succesfully again - not that I should need to; there are no errors with the drive. Scandisk keeps telling me Windows is writing to the drive, so the process continually starts over. Defrag tells me there are errors and that the drive is being written to, and in safe mode, I keep getting the Screaming Blue Screen of Death. It's all I can do not to take a hammer to the keyboard, at this point. I ran Norton, but it finds nothing. Still, something is going on. Performance just keeps getting worse. All of which is a longwinded way of saying I'm jonesin' for the web and will probably crack really soon. I need email, people!!!

I took the pups on a walk during a break in the rain today, and they were so well-behaved, it was awesome. High on the success of that, I took them to Petco. You can imagine how well that went. They tag-teamed me, people. It was not pretty. I can't take them both in there anymore. It's just too frustrating, and I sound like the worst pet owner in the entire world to all the other people in there with dogs who do not require constant behavior checks. You know: dogs that do not bark at the other pets, sit the first time when told, and do not attack the cookie bar with wild abandon while their owners are trying to pay for purchases.

And what is up with that, anyway??? They're renovating the store near my house, and someone had the brilliant idea to put the cookie bar right next to the first cash register - the one that's usually the only one open when I'm in there. There are about 4' between the register and the cookies, and Napoleon - who is built like a tank but moves with the lightning speed of a cobra - views the cookie bar as his own personal smorgasbord. My life was a lot easier back in the halcyon days of intelligent cookie bar placement. Alas.

I need to get my teeth deep-cleaned. This fills me with serious anxiety because a) I really, really hate the dentist, and this is a visit I already know will end in pain, and lots of it; b) even with dental insurance it's at least a $300 procedure, and I have no money to pay for it, what with having no job and no unemployment benefit any longer; and c) the gingivitis thing is getting pretty bad and gross, and I know that the longer this goes on, the more damage I am doing to the roots of my teeth. Oy. Now I'm having an anxiety attack. Let's change the subject.

Napoleon looks so cute when he sleeps. Even though he's almost 8 months old, he still has a puppyish look about him. Razzle didn't look like a puppy at 8 months. He looked like a young dog, but a dog. Napoleon still looks puppyish, and when he sleeps, it's magnified by about 100. He's so aggro and hyper during the day, that catching him all quiet and vulnerable just melts me into a big gooey puddle of puppy love. I love both of them, but I admit, I feel more tender toward Napoleon. I'm sure it's the same dysfunctional part that falls for the worst guy in the world for me, thinking he's just tragically misunderstood.

Good lord. Law & Order is on, and once again, I am struck by how often the show hires the worst actors in the entire world to play the non-recurring roles. I don't watch the show generally, but I've had it on late nigths when I'm on the web or reading, just for background noise, don't ask me why. I don't watch it because I find the writing generally ridiculously melodramatic and sloppy, and because bad acting makes me want to hurt people. Seriously, I can't have it. It makes me absolutely insane, and there's no excuse for it. There are thousands of good actors auditioning in Hollywood (and thousands more who are merely serviceable) every single day who are passed over for no-talent hacks merely because someone found the hacks more attractive than the actual actors. I so very much wish we lived in a meritocracy. :( What I *do* like is the old Twilight Zone, and that comes on from 2-3am, so as soon as L&O is over, I'll be watching that, and then going to bed. :)

I'm going to make a run at my taxes this week. Cross your fingers and knock wood, please. I will need it. I'm also applying for an extension on unemployment. I really pray I get it and that it's the same amount it was, so that I can afford a visit to the dentist. (I have no credit anymore, so I don't qualify for a payment plan. Who'd a thought not owing money would make it harder to borrow? Jeebus.)

I had a paragraph here about how much I want to slap people like Mitch McConnell and his cronies until they cry, but I decided to make it go away. Suffice to say I can't believe the Republican party continues to flog the same dead horse they've been flogging for years - the same one that got us where we are now and has us sliding rapidly downhill. Mudslides are pretty destructive, people, and we're riding a helluva big one right now. :( Barney Frank was freaking awesome on Meet the Press today. I love Barney Frank. He might get a little out there now and again, but I have to love a guy who is not afraid to call bullshit, especially in Washington. And Barney Frank is not afraid to call it.

Okay, gotta go scrub my teeth for 10 minutes and floss, all to no avail. :( I welcome all ideas on how to handle that whole thing financially. :(

peace out,
katie

WTF, BTW

What is UP with all these damn people looking to hire via the classifieds? The ones who want you to email your resume into them, but they never once respond to let you know they got it or they're considering or the position has been filled? Seriously, is it so damned hard to set an auto-responder to say "We got your application and will get back to you whenever," or "Sorry dude, the position has been filled"?

Seriously. This is a crap economy. At least have the decency to acknowledge you received my resume.

DUDE.

Bored, Now.

Stranded in the garage with the pups since it's been raining. This is frustrating on a number of levels, not least because I can't do anything it occurs to me I should do. I had to go get the paperweight I call a laptop (circa 1998) so that I could - kinda - surf the web. I can't even tweet effectively, because the laptop can't really handle the semi-live stream that is Twitter. It's not handling Blogger all that excellently well, either, but I think it will actually publish when I tell it to. I guess we'll find out.

I should explain about the garage, I guess, so you don't think I'm sitting in my car or have perched my laptop precariously atop a pile of tools. A) It always had carpeting, for some reason. B) TB turned the garage into a music studio several years ago. It's not fully finished out - there's only drywall on 3 sides (the 4th is concrete block) and the carpeting has been removed in places - and the walls are all lined with work tables and shelving units, but it's a very large garage, and the center is entirely open...and covered with a large rug. Since the dogs and cat have a tenuous relationship at best, since we got her back, Meows has the run of the house, and the pups have been banished to the garage...along with me, now, since TB seems to be stunningly unable to function around them. So he cleared out the bedroom and turned it into his office. He disappears in there with the door closed all day, and I am stuck out here. It sucks. Ass, to be precise.

Did I mention there are no windows? Where the garage door would be has been walled over with a door to the outside and no windows. It's a cave. TB wants to cut a window through the wall from the bedroom/office into the garage, which idea I think is remarkably bad, and I dread it. That's where the washer/drier sit, and the shelves which hold all the laundry stuff and have some things stored on them, all of which he has already removed 2x (losing every single one of my lingerie bags, in the process - bags he swears he has never seen, despite having had to hold all 7 of them in his hand at some point in the moving process). Plus, he has a remarkable propensity for not finishing stuff he starts (as do I), so I know that not only will there be sawdust, drywall, and other crap all over everything in the garage (which now includes the bed and all my bedroom furnishings) for *weeks*, but a huge, gaping hole in the wall for god knows how long, but certainly for at least a week or two. In the process, I suspect that the single outlet in the entire garage which is wired for the washer and drier will also cease to function, and it will be a month before it's repaired. I know that because the other outlet for those appliances - the one the cord to the washer would actually reach - quit working 10 months ago, and it has never been repaired. We have to use a 100' outdoor heavy duty extension cord to reach the other one - the same frigging cord he uses for everything else in the garage, so every single freaking time I want to wash anything, I have to track down the frigging cord, unplug it, move it back to the damned washer, and plug it all back in again. It's gotten to the point where I will wear every last stitch of clothing that I have, including stuff that doesn't really fit anymore or that I hate, just to put off the arduous task of laundry as long as possible.

But I digress. The bottom line is that I'm bored and frustrated. I need to get stuff done, and I'm not only stuck dogsitting, but I'm stuck doing it in one single room of the entire house. I'm going to have to bring my computer out here just to get work done, and I so don't want to. I already sleep out here. If I bring my computer out here, this frigging room will become my whole life. :( Not to mention, nothing I own will be safe from Napoleon's neverending quest for things to destroy.

I swear to you people, you never saw a more destructive dog. Oh sure, you think you have, but so trust me, you have not. I thought I knew what destructive was. I once owned a german shepherd who not only ate more than his weight in my leather shoes, he also chewed to pieces parts of the house, ate one of Pete's ears and tore into the other, destroyed the trashcan and ate the broken glass that was inside it, went through more rolls of paper products than I can count, and ate various and sundry items anyone left lying on the floor - items I don't remember anymore, other than the fact that I had to give a lot of money to roommates for various objects they had once owned prior to Atilla's presence in the room.

Napoleon makes him look like a rank amateur. He has already gotten to numerous objects we would rather he not destroy but can do without, TB's Docs, TB's rubber boots, 4 couch cushions, 2 doggy beds (through both the covers and the inner layers, and promptly set about pulling out and eating the stuffing), at least 3 heavy duty dog bed covers (in addition to the 2 above), my grandfather's antique armchair, various cords for electronic equipment, a flashlight, numerous writing implements (including a Sharpie), several of my shirts, several "indestructible" dog toys (not even counting all the "tough" toys he ripped to pieces), several cardboard boxes, the Victorian pool table and its slate, the dining chairs, the doorjam into the house, 2 puppy gates, a large kangaroo paw plant, 2 large cistus shrubs, an upright rosemary shrub, AND the succulents planted around it, 2 ficus trees, a very large jasmine shrub, the inside of 2 of my car doors, my gearshift, several towels, a blanket, the gate at the top of the driveway, and 3 cell phones, all 3 of which were thankfully in leather holsters which took the brunt of the punishment and saved the phones. (I am now a staunch believer in the use of cell phone holsters.) That's not all, it's just what I can think off right offhand. And to be fair some of it is only badly damaged. Most of it had to be thrown away, however. I'm telling you: destructive. Just the dog to leave all my computer cords and documents lying around. :(

I'm watching the DaVinci Code. That should tell you how bored I am. Actually, I've seen the last 30 min. of it before, and it's a lot better than the book. Everyone complained that there was too much talking in the film, which I always thought was ridiculous - the book is nothing *but* talking. Why would they think the movie was going to be any different? I like watching movies set in Paris, though. It takes me back. It also makes me feel a little "homesick," but it's cool seeing places I've been and know pretty well. :)

I am eaten more junk food today than you would think possible. And all of it in one hour. Blach. I feel kinda like hurling.

*sigh* While I was writing this, another dog toy has been destroyed. Seriously, I don't think there's a toy on the planet worth my money, since they're all expensive and easily destroyed.

I didn't get to go to Saint-Sulpice when I was in Paris. I wonder if the Rose Line really does pass through it with markers and everything? I didn't go to the Louvre, either. I wonder if that will be my thing: I will visit Paris dozens of times but somehow never make it to the Louvre (or up the Eiffel Tower).

Napoleon is bossing me to let him outside. I love when he does that. He doesn't growl, whine, or bark. He makes a wookie sound. It's hilarious. I have to take him out. And then go get something hot to eat, since all I've had is triple cream cheese and crostini and a bunch of cookies. Not exactly a nutritious breakfast. I need to get back to my Paris habit of yogurt and fruit puree blended together, with two pieces of whole wheat toast. That was yummy. :)

ttyl, peeps.

xo,
kd