Another fire pic

The resolution on the camera isn't that great, and Paul didn't want to get too close in case it exploded. So I had to take the picture far away. I zoomed in with Photoshop -- which makes it really pixelated -- but you can at least make out what's going on in the pic a little easier than the one I put in the moblog.

This was going on in the street, and somebody was directing cars around it. (Was that entirely necessary? I mean, you'd have to be pretty dumb to sit behind a car completely engulfed in flames and say, "Gee! Why won't that guy get a move on?!")

Anyway, somebody was directing traffic, and Paul and I were watching from the Lowe's parking lot. We bought a stand-alone freezer and a leaf blower, thanks for asking. Oh, and some light bulbs too. I was able to grab a couple of photos before the fire department showed up. They had it out pretty quickly, so I guess we timed it just right.

Sorry for the blurry photo, but we had to keep our distance and the SideKick doesn't have a zoom feature. Wish you guys could've been there to see it in person. It was totally pyrorgasmic.

Smoke on the water, Fire in the sky

Caught this scene out in the street on the way home from Lowe's. Will
post more pics when I get home.
--katesink

I'm a metal monkey, short and stout

Tonight, my fortune cookie read: Pray for what you want, but work for what you need. Pretty deep, at least as far as fortune cookies go.

As you probably know, fortune cookies are an American invention. The Chinese Zodiac is not -- take one look at it, and you'll realize it's far too complicated to have been thought up by an American. It's a two-part system that combines an animal sign (you've probably seen these on placemats in Chinese restaurants) with one of five elements: metal, water, wood, fire, and earth.

(Okay, children of the '80s, I know you're thinking it, so go ahead and sing along: "Earth! Fire! Wind! Water! Heart! By your powers combined ... I am CAPTAIN PLANET!")

Anyway, the whole Chinese element-animal system is rather involved, and most people don't buy into that stuff anyway, so I'm not going to explain it all here. You can read more about it if you're interested.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share the link so everyone could look up their sign, read the description, and see whether it's fairly accurate or totally off base: http://www.tuvy.com/entertainment/chinese_horoscope.htm

Me? I'm a metal monkey. Among the highlights described about me:

• I am "... so strong, so individualistic, and yes, so stubborn..." (true)
• "They have few friends, but great ones." (eh, fairly true)
• "Sometimes a Sense of Mischief can rear its head..." (definitely true)
• "... a life with Monkeys is Stars in Your Eyes, Romantic High Spirit, and Grand Passion indeed." (I'd like it to be true)
• And last but not least, "Duck Soup and Rice are among the keys to good health!!" (no idea if it's true)

So (here comes the cliche)... What's your sign, baby? Either post it in the comments or let me know you've added it to your blog. I'm interested to see how close these come to hitting the mark.

P.S. Short site update: As of noon on 7/30, I'd had nearly 9,500 visitors this month, accessing over 19,000 pages and generating nearly 33,000 hits. [EDIT: That's not counting bot traffic, M., because I knew you'd ask.] And my popularity in Belgium seems to be growing, too. I feel special! ^_^

Mom always said don't talk to strangers

Despite the fact it's Friday, I took my own sweet time leaving the office this afternoon. I hate rush hour traffic, so it's not unusual for me to goof off for half an hour before braving the expressway -- and today was no different. So before I left, I logged onto AIM to let Paul know I was going home.

I was in the process of typing "Hi honey!" when an IM popped onto my screen ... an IM from a stranger. Now, for those of you who don't use AIM, let me explain how this works: When you're talking to one person via IM and somebody else messages you, your cursor automatically goes over to the new IM, which can be a bad thing if you're not paying attention. For example, if you're talking dirty to your girlfriend and your grandma IMs, much hilarity ensues. (Well, maybe not right then, but you'll probably laugh about it later when grandma's dead: "Hey, remember that time when you told Granny you couldn't wait to get her pants off?")

Anyway, in the course of IMing Paul, I accidentally accepted this stranger's IM, which is a huge Kate no-no (after all, that's how I met my husband ::grins::). And right away, this dude is telling me all this random stuff ... like who he is and what he does. Then he tells me he found my blog by Googling my boss' name. Say what?!

Let me tell you, I've never been pushed into an anxiety attack quite so quickly. And I'm talking serious here. I dumped my purse out, located my inhaler, took two puffs ... and managed to type out a small message to the effect of "You're scaring the piss outta me!" (Except I was nicer than that.)

While I was waiting for him to reply, I rummaged around the contents of my purse -- now strewn over my desk -- located the bottle of Klonopin, and swallowed one down with the cold remnants of my morning coffee. Then, totally freaked out, I Googled my boss' name. I make a point of rarely mentioning my coworkers (and never by name), so I was rather relieved when I realized this dude found my boss through an innocuous interview I did for our intern's journalism class.

Well, it turns out homedude was looking for a job, saw an online advertisement, and thought I'd have the inside scoop. Unfortunately, I didn't know we were running an ad online. Hell, I didn't even know we were hiring! As usual, I have my eye on the minutiae (editing, blogging, living my life) and the really big picture (business deals, world events, Godzilla), but all that middle stuff between the minutiae and the really big picture are lost on me.

I assume Mr. Job Seeker Man reads this blog periodically ... so, umm, sorry that I couldn't be of more help, dude. Good luck getting hired.

And to anyone else who may stumble upon Kate's Ink looking for a job: Keep surfing. Don't pass go. Don't collect $200. And for all that is good and holy in the world, don't IM me, kthx.

Happy National (Fill in the Blank) Day!

Thank God my week is winding down. I'm really looking forward to coming home tomorrow night, cracking open a bottle of Abita (provided I stop and buy some on the way home), kicking back and watching cartoons.

In my not-so-humble opinion, Friday is a holiday in and of itself. But if you need a more kosher reason to celebrate, Friday, July 29th is also Cheese Sacrifice Purchase Day AND Bratwurst Day AND the French "Pardon of the Birds" Day AND all of the other July 29th holidays listed here!

Of course, I've heard complaints that most holidays are just excuses for greeting card companies, candy makers and other retailers to push their wares at full price. I even buy into that theory a little bit, which is why Paul and I exchange Christmas gifts around New Year's Day, after we've had time to poke through the post-holiday markdowns.

But if you think Corporate America has come up with some pretty lame holidays, check out these links with confirmed bizarre daily, weekly, and monthly celebrations:

• Holidays on the Net's Daily Holidays of 2005 (you have to pay to see the weekly/monthly holidays)
• Brownielock's Official Daily/Weekly/Monthly holidays (she claims they're all validated)
• ThinkQuest's Bizarre Holidays list (by date AND category [food, science, etc.])
• Holiday Insights (plus info on creating your own holiday)
• All-Yours Cards for strange holidays (where the cheese sacrifice graphic is from)
• Tulane's list (plus the essay "Why Are There So Many Holidays?")
• Everyday is a Holiday! (if you want to view more than one month at a time)
• And a list of bizarre holidays from around the world -- search by month or country in the drop-down menu on the left
  

I, of course, include the last link because if you missed Finland's wife-carrying championships in early July, you can still make Bosnia-Herzegovina's 450-year-old bridge jumping event July 31.

So I propose a toast...

Here's to today, because it's bratwurst day and cheese sacrifice day and the last day of National Salad Week and almost the last day of National Baked Beans Month. But most of all, here's to today because it's Friday, and that's reason enough for me to celebrate.

She Lives!

<-- Feel the life-breath coming from my newly resuscitated computer!

At 4 p.m., Chris finally finished putting Tab A into Slot B, expectantly pushed the power button ... AND ... nothing happened. Then he crawled back under my desk, plugged the power cord in and we were off to the races.

My first order of business was to install FireFox and delete all the IE shortcuts. Then, I imported my bookmarks (which are saved online for just such an occasion), set up a half-dozen shortcuts to various network folders, downloaded all my local files from the server, set up MS-SQL and put up that nifty ArsTechnica wallpaper.

Then I went about reinstalling a few programs -- that's what's on the big yellow Post-It stuck to the monitor. Among the lucky winners (in order): SpybotS&D, AdAware, SmartFTP, AlternaTIFF, StumbleUpon, AIM, Winamp and iTunes.

And then I beheld my desktop and saw that it was good. And on the seventh day I rested.

You know, when all is said and done, I appreciate that I don't need to call the tech guys every time something goes wrong. Yes, I let Chris do the OS reinstall, but only because I know my boss would probably frown on me doing it myself. ::grins::

I'm very proud -- and very defensive -- of my capabilities. I'll gladly lend a hand with software problems, and I love it when others ask me to find something obscure on the Internet. (Hey, I am mistress of the Invisible Web.) Likewise, I get defensive when I'm treated as if I'm ignorant. Not that I can blame IT people -- they put up with a lot of crap. In fact, most are incredibly patient when fielding questions about why a computer isn't working during a power outage. (Incidentally, I've discovered that most users are very intelligent but underconfident. Paul's taught me you should be ballsy enough to get yourself into trouble and ballsy enough to bail yourself out.)

It all boils down to this: Don't assume all users are nub before they open their mouths. I know that servers don't work in restaurants and firewalls aren't flame-retardant. Treat me like I'm an idiot, and the only one who'll need the flame-retardant is you.

R.I.P. Hard Drive 2004-2005

Ohhh, to finally feel the touch of a plastic keyboard under my fingers, to finally hear the soft click-clicking as I type. Yep, my work computer is FUBAR, which means I spent a lot of time today checking my office e-mail account on the SideKick. (Incidentally, does anybody else's company rely solely on interoffice e-mail? I've always thought it kind of strange that people less than 50 yards away from me send an e-mail instead of calling or [gasp] walking to my door. Are we weird? Or is that the corporate norm?)

When I walked into my closet this morning, I noticed there was nothing where my tower used to be. I knew tech-head Chris had played surgeon with it after I left last night, so I called his extension.

"Chris?"
"Yeah?" (he sounded a little wary...)
"Chris, where's my computer...?"
"In pieces."
"Oh. (sigh) Um ... okay then ..."

Turns out he had a few "technical difficulties" replacing my borked hard drive (which died after only a year in service) with a new one (which will most likely also die within a year, so I might as well perform Last Rites now and get 'em out of the way).

Chris said the problems started with actually removing the old hard drive, which was firmly caged in and attached to the faceplate. Having endured an inordinate amount of the regular pushing and pulling, he broke the tabs off the faceplate to get to the drive. Old one came out, new one went in ... and then(!) it was discovered that nary a single one of the four recovery CDs on hand worked.

And he couldn't find a copy of WinXP.

And it's going to take two business days for IBM to send the stuff we need.

At least I have a working knowledge of what's going on, which allows me to hash out with him what happens from here. I told him I needed a box with MS SQL and Excel pronto, or I simply couldn't get any work done. As it was, today was pretty much a total loss, save for editing. (Yes, I realize the irony of that statement.) So, tomorrow, tech-gods willing, I will have my box back, complete with new hard drive and a temp copy of Win2K until IBM sends us a care package.

Or I could spend most of tomorrow working from the SideKick again. It's my micro-mini laptop ... until the tiny screen gives me eyestrain and the even tinier keyboard cramps my hands into arthritic knots.

Hey, could be worse ... right? Right?

The Gift of Death (and Delirium and Desire ... etc.)

Guess what I got today? Package #4 of Paul's anniversary gift to me: the last six volumes of the Sandman series, plus Death: The Time of Your Life, Endless Nights and a l33t pair of headphones I'd been eyeing for my iPod.

Poor thing traipsed all over creation to find a matching set of Sandman books, which is why they ended up coming in four packages. See, every time they go through a new printing of the original 10 volumes, they change up the covers just to make things difficult.

I've started reading Endless Nights, and it's absolutely breathtaking. (By the way, the crooked image to the left is from Amazon, which apparently cannot be bothered to use the "auto-fix" feature on their scanner.)

Anyway, Endless Nights is beautiful. One story for each of the Endless, illustrated by some awesome artists. Honestly, if you're not yet a Sandman fan, it's really addictive. Vertigo has plenty of great series (V for Vendetta, Preacher, Hellblazer...). But Sandman beats out every other TP I've read, except maybe Maus. And in a battle royale, it'd massively beat down Watchmen and Usagi, although I still have a soft spot for the rabbit. (No yiff comments, kthx.)

Only downside to Endless Nights was that Jill Thompson (of Scary Godmother fame) didn't have a go at it. But JT did a lot of art for Brief Lives and I think the point was to have these illustrated by folks that didn't work on the original series. Except Dave McKean. Because it wouldn't be a Sandman book without Dave McKean.

Now, I'm trying to make this fast as to not bore the comic-uninitiated among us. Overjoyed by Paul's gift -- and serious about completing my collection -- I picked up a couple of out-of-print works from Amazon's zShops today. Those should be here in a week or so, at which point I'll gloat again.

I'm sure some of my buddies are shaking their heads, because I do a (pretty) good job of keeping my random nerdy hobbies to myself. But, hey, I only got into graphic novels/comic art in college. And I fell hard -- TPs, one-shots, comic strips (I read over 100 mostly obscure ones...), a little manga, a little anime, several video games and a metric assload of cartoons (anyone else digging Juniper Lee?).

Hey, I spend all day in the real world of headlines and deadlines. It's nice to come home and trade reality for fantasy. I'd highly suggest it.

P.S. For my readers who know me personally, you'll be happy to note that one of my all-time favorite indies, Girl Genius, is now online for free. Read up.

Morning sickness (not what you think)

"I wake up scared/I wake up strange..." -- What a Good Boy, BNL

Scared and strange? Nah ... I just woke up feeling kind of nauseated. A couple of months ago, I would have blamed the feeling on Effexor discontinuation. Now I blame it on stress and lack of sleep. I actually remember a milder version of this feeling from summer camp as a kid. It's waking up feeling like something's not right and realizing I'm in a bunk bed in a strange place. It's that feeling.

I avoid turning over for fear that I'll get sick on the bed. (Note to self: It was a good idea to put a trash can by the bed in case you throw up. It was a bad idea to put the mesh trash can by the bed because that doesn't do a whole lot of good, now does it?) I dug the SK out of my purse and called Paul. He said he'd be home by 10 a.m.

He's been there 24 hours now. I went up to visit last night, spent a couple of hours finishing up the painting I started Friday (a '70s "Keep On Truckin'" cartoon throwback, complete with a horrificly retro avocado-ish background. I'll scan it at some point...). I left at 2 a.m., went to Walgreens to buy makeup and Pepsi, came home and slept. And he's still running the tail end of a linearity study.

"I recognize this feeling," I told Paul over the phone. "It feels like when I was at (Matt's friend's) house, panicking, not sleeping, worried for no good reason. I think I need some crackers to calm my stomach."

He told me where to find some Saltines. After I got off the phone, I meted out two Lamictal, a Klonopin and a dimenhydrinate. Unfortunately, I haven't had a prescrip for Phenergan for years, and I was denied a prescrip when I was coming off the Effexor, even though I begged for something to keep me from being so sick. I ended up on doxylamine and B6 at Jeremy's suggestion, and I usually take a doxylamine before bedtime. But last night, I was too exhausted. I'm kicking myself for not taking one to help me sleep and fight the nausea. But hey, water under the bridge.

I feel a lot better now that the meds are kicking in and Paul's almost home.

You know, it's funny ... when I first got married, it was really strange sharing a bed with someone. I'd wake up when he rolled over (or stole the sheets or got out of bed for a glass or water). Now it feels strange and lonely to sleep alone. To turn over and be looking at the wall instead of at my hubby.

Guess that's a sign that I'm still comfortably in love. :-)

Getting used to the idea

First of all, if you'll direct your eyes to the left-hand portion of this page ... Vanna, please point out the two new bloggy links I've added: Johanna and Rachel. Also if you haven't yet checked out Johnny's blog, it's also a relatively new link. Now that that's out of the way ...

I mentioned yesterday that I'd had lunch with some family members, specifically Mom, my grandmother, Aunt Linda, my cousin's wife Shannon and her three daughters (A., who's 18; and H. and K., who are preschoolish).

When Shannon and the girls got there, H. was not a happy camper. She looked as if she wanted nothing more than to hide. "I swear she's already got PMS," Shannon said, a little frustrated. They got settled, we ordered, she colored on her kiddie menu ... and after a while she was just fine. "She just had to get used to being here," my mom said, and everyone nodded and agreed.

As I was getting home, Matt called to say he was stuck where he is. "I just met a girl," he said, "but that's not it ... I mean, she just complicates things." No, the main reason he's there and not here, he assured me, is because he's broke and trying to get money to buy the torch/kiln/glass. I didn't have any reason not to believe him, but I was still pissed off.

"But you said you'd be back," I said, sticking my tongue out at the phone a little angrily. "Yeah, I will be ... there's nothing I want more than to get out of here," he said.

"And you have my torch," I said. "I know," he replied, "and I guess I could mail it back if you wanted." I sighed, gritted my teeth, and told him I just wanted him to come visit. Make me something. Spend some time here. Give me back my spirit bears (although I think I'll let him keep them and make myself a matching anklet instead).

When I got off the phone, I was angry. I felt queasy, lonely, bored. Fighting off the nausea, I wrote the post below, wanting nothing more than to hide.

So this is how H. felt, huh? Well, it felt pretty damn crappy. I can see why she wanted to hide. But instead, I took a Klonopin (trust me, the situation warranted it), tweaked the song I'm writing, retied Matt's hemp necklace, and painted for a while. And by the time Paul got home, I was on the phone with Carrie. I felt much better ... it just took a while to get used to the idea that things don't always go my way, but eh, what can you do? I always make it, and I'm stronger for it.

This morning, I reorganized my iPod. So Matt's not going to be back for a few weeks. Well, then I guess I can move off most of the Pink Floyd, CSN, Hendrix, etc. (No bitching -- I kept the good songs I wanted. And everything's saved in case I want to put it back.) When he gets here, he can make his own damn playlist. With that stuff gone, I added back a couple thousand songs I'd taken off earlier: U2, The Cranberries, R.E.M., Veruca Salt, John Mayer, etc. You know, my stuff.

Yes, Johanna, we'll get together. So we can't turn back time. Who cares? Today is what we make of it ... and I guess it's time to wipe off the pouty face and put on my dancing shoes.

Kate's case of the blues

Paul's working his butt off. Matt's stuck where he is. Carrie's too far away to drive and visit. Jeremy's AWOL. ... And the list goes on and on. It makes for a very empty, lonely house.

I shouldn't have planned to go to the concerts. I shouldn't have called Matt to meet me there. I shouldn't have taken the day off from work (although it wasn't a total loss because I had lunch with some family members and went to a movie with Mom). But most of all, I shouldn't have started believing that things were looking up, that time was lengthening, distance was shortening and I was back in the game.

What do I want? If I knew that, I'd be happy, right? Maybe, instead of wrapping my wings around everyone else, doing my best to keep them safe and warm and happy, I wish somebody would wrap me up so I could rest. Really rest. And be safe and cry and get out all those deep-down insecurities that I know are there but I can't shake.

I want time to shift and memories to not just be memories anymore. I want to relive things that I know I can never relive. Time sucks like that.

Sorry for such a downer. I try to keep most of it out of the blog, but sometimes it's overpowering. Peace and love ... lots of love ...

Fermented grass OR Why I get sick in my own garage

I don't see much of Paul these days. He gets home after I go to bed; I leave the house before he wakes up. With the MAMML lab in overdrive, our lives are in separate holding patterns. I'll come home and he's mowed the lawn. He'll come home and I've straightened the breakfast room. Neither one of us has bothered to change the fluorescent light in the kitchen that burned out a month ago -- I think that might take two people, so it'll have to wait. (Have I mentioned I'm ready for Matt to come back? He cooks, he cleans, he watches Law & Order with me and in general provides some mental stimulation...)

Anyway, it's been catch as catch can in our household lately. If we're lucky, we can have dinner together. If not, I grab something on the way home from work, and he grabs something on the way home from the lab. Last night, we managed to meet at Rafferty's for a nice meal.

On the way home, I fuel up the Vue, buy myself a bottle of Fuze Green Tea, and treat my car to a super-deluxe $7 car wash -- partly out of guilt that I haven't taken it in for an oil change even though the CHANGE OIL SOON light is on. My car goes through eight cycles of washes, rinses, clear coat shiner-uppers, etc. Then I drive home, glad my car once again looks like the shiznit.

I pull into the garage, completely forgetting the lawnmower smells like it's been chopping up small mammals. ("Fermented grass," Paul muses. "Why don't you bag up the clippings?" I ask him. "Fertilizer," he replies.) I gulp for breath, but it's too late and I'm gagging and running for the door. I make it to the half-bath right inside the doorway and toss my cookies. Or in this case, toss my buffalo chicken tenders and garlic mashed potatoes.

Feeling better, I use the last of the hotel room-sized mouthwash and walk to the bedroom to change clothes ... and realize my purse, satchel, bottle of Fuze and the mail are still in the car. I try to hold my breath long enough to grab my things. And I do grab my things ... then throw up all over the floor of my newly clean car.

I made every attempt to go out and wipe it up, but the smell was so bad that I got sick twice more before giving up. When Paul came home at 3:30 a.m., he scrubbed it out for me.

::Sighs:: I'm really trying to get over my gag reflex. (Again: Mind outta the gutter, folks.) I gag at the smell of cat food. When I swallow pills. When I brush my teeth. When other people get sick. Once upon a time, I wanted to be a medical examiner. (Hey, there's something nobody knows about me!) But I realize now I'd just spend most of my day puking on people's corpses.

I think I'll just leave you with that mental image. Peace, guys.

Sail on, Silver Girl...

I have proof. It's true. I have proof that my iPod has musical taste. And right now, Poddy (as I've elected to call him) really likes Simon & Garfunkel.

This weekend, I created three playlists, appropriately titled "Kate's Stuff," "Matt's Stuff" and "Paul's Stuff." Paul likes rock/punk/metal. Matt like trippy shit. And my tastes span the two, which makes neither Matt nor Paul happy.

So on the way into work, I loaded up Kate's Stuff and put it on shuffle. At first, it was so benign. "Cecilia, you're breaking my heart..." Okay, yeah. I can dig this. I start singing along. The song fades out, and what fades in? "I'm sitting in the railway station, got a ticket for my destination..." Hmm, weird. I check the shuffle feature and laugh it off. THEN it's "Bye bye love, bye bye happiness..." And I freak out. You've made your point, Poddy. I switch playlists to one called "Strangelove," and the rest of the commute is copacetic.

When I get in the office, I grab a pen and start calculating. I even call Paul to double check my numbers. There are 510 songs in "Kate's Stuff," of which four are sung by Simon & Garfunkel. The odds of three of them playing in a row are something like 1 in 5,527,125.

You have better odds of being struck by lightning and odds of dying by legal execution. I think I'm going to let Poddy buy a lottery ticket.

And in strangely related news ...

My workstation's in on it too. Today, a transformer blew out, causing a fan, a heater, a microwave, a Coke machine, and two computers to completely bork. When power was restored, a fan, a heater, a microwave, a Coke machine and one computer came back on.

When mine booted, I found that the majority of my sectors were dead. (Or as I was telling my tech-unsavvy coworker, "My computer is now a few fries short of a Happy Meal.") Fortunately, everything of importance was on the network, and I've managed to move some personal files there, too. It made me feel like I was playing Truth or Truth: "If you were in a burning building and could only save five items, what would you pick?" You mean you're going to make me choose between my Penny Arcade, SinFest and Venture Brothes wallpapers? You evil creature!

Eh, it was an apropos way to top off weeks of SQL work (14 of the last 22 work days have been programming instead of editing). I e-mailed my boss this afternoon: "We have reached the point in our program where the Data Goddess crumples on stage, singing a woeful aria and longing for a hero to sweep her away from her nemeses -- the Evil Database and its minions, the Numbers That Make No Sense."

What can I say? Me 'n' technology, we're tight, man. Hardcore. Anyway, peace and love. (By the way, now that it's not my anniversary anymore, nobody has to listen to Cher when they call me! w00t!)

Three years ago today ...

At this moment three years ago, I watched my mom grit her teeth a lot, threw on a heavy satin dress (who knew fabric could weigh so much?!), walked down the aisle past hundreds of people ... and got married.

Happy anniversary to me and Paul. Three years. Wow.

Hmm, how to recap three crazy years? Well, I had a nine-month stint at B&N while Paul slaved away in bioanalysis at Eurofins. He left for grad school; I left for editing. We moved three times (house -> suburban apartment -> urban apartment -> same house), living out of boxes and never getting too comfortable in one place. I spent the whole time doped up on (at various times) Zoloft, BuSpar, Celexa, EffexorXR, Klonopin and Lamictal; he swore off headmeds after Zoloft discontinuation syndrome.

We've spent way too much time surfing the Internet, playing video games and traveling to LANs -- Nashville, St. Louis (3 times), Cincinatti, Los Angeles and right here at home in October. We've met so many crazy mofos that I don't even know where to begin. And through it all I've learned a heckuva lot, like marriages are a little work and a lot of fun. And that even after eight years as a couple, you don't know everything about a person. And that when you stumble into the bathroom in the dark at 3 a.m., it's a good idea to check whether the toilet seat is up.

Anyway, I'm still madly in love, still feel like a newlywed ... and still need to take back three of the four George Foreman grills I received as wedding gifts. (Note to self: Buy a George Foreman USB iGrill with money from returned gifts.) So, happy anniversary, honey. You're crazy for having stuck it out this long, and I love ya for it.

P.S. The pic -- which I shamelessly stole from JR&R -- is of Fuzz suckerpunching my little-bro-in-law. It was a beautiful moment.

P.P.S. Matt's stuck elsewhere ... and I don't really want to go to the concert alone. Amazingly, he has a way of talking me down better than almost anyone, so I'm not mad anymore. I'm not even panicky anymore. But I would like a diversion from the empty house. Anyway, I'd already scheduled Friday off work. I'm sure I could change it ... but part of me just wants to go somewhere, dammit. Already looked at flights to Toronto and L.A., but realized I'd probably just stay there and not come home (in all seriousness), and that might piss off my hubby and my boss. Maybe I'll just hop in the Vue with the iPod and a full tank of gas and see where I end up.

P.P.P.S. Totally off topic, but I had to share the press release that crossed my desk this morning: "Suck and Blow:...First Interactive Alcoholic Beverage; This Ain't Your Father's Martini."

::sigh:: Why do I get the feeling I'll get more comments on my last two postscripts than on my post itself?

Jenny, Don't Change Your Number (Part II)

Well, if you really want to hear your CallerTune, now's the time to call, because I can't make or receive calls. This means that if you leave me a nasty voice mail, I won't get it until tomorrow. Hate to disappoint.

(See how sick Mr. SideKick is? Poor thing ...)

When I left for lunch today, I dialed Dear Hubby to see how his day was going. It rang once, then Mr. T-Mobile came on the line: "We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed from the phone you are using. Please check the instruction card or dial 611 for customer service."

Umm, okay. Well, lacking my instruction card (Card? CARD? I received a frickin' manual when I bought my SK. I've had textbooks smaller than that!), I went to Plan B: dialing 611. "We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed from the phone you are using. Please check the instruction card or dial 611 for customer service."

WTFB?! So I can't use my phone ... and I can't call for help ... hurm. I came back to the office and called Paul from the landline. "Hello?" "Hey hon. So you can make and receive calls. That's all I needed to know. Thanks!" Then I hung up on him.

My next stop was calling T-Mobile ... and waiting for 83 minutes to talk to a representative (the call timer on my workstation comes in handy in such situations). She was very nice, but annoyingly sympathetic. ("Oh, you can't use your phone?! That's terrible! Let's see what we can do here!") And, yes, I could hear the exclamation point at the end of each sentence. Lordy.

Apparently, SideKicks and BlackBerries can use their data services (IM, Internet, e-mail), but cannot make phone calls, but regular phones like Paul's CAN make phone calls. Because that makes sense. There's something wrong with the towers ("There are plenty of technicians in your area working on this problem right now!" she assured me perkily...), so only data phones are unable to make phone calls.

So let me get this straight: The people who pay, like, 500 bucks for a phone can't get service ... while people like Paul, who use the cheap-o free phone they give you when you sign up CAN get service. Sigh. Anyway, now's the time to leave me voicemail. :-) Peace and love!

P.S. Late-breaking news ... looks like both concerts are a no-go. Another weekend alone, at home, with my teddy bear, sedated so I'll sleep instead of having to find things to amuse me ... ::sighs::

Jenny, Don't Change Your Number

... 867-5309 ... I got it, I got your number on the wall ... ::sings loudly::

So, after like six weeks of listening to Matt's cell phone sing to me, I decided it was time for payback. I mean, the timing was perfect -- I had to call T-Mobile anyway, so while I was busy upgrading my plan, I went on and signed up for T-Mobile's CallerTunes.

"What's that Kate?" you ask. Well, I'll tell you, nosy! It means when you call me, you get to hear a song I picked out especially special for you! This means you, SGG! And M., too! And Paul and Mattie and FF and even my little bro-in-law! And it even plays a special song Tuesday!

So get down to it and call me already! And if you don't have my number, you should IM me and ask, okie dokie?

"But Kate, I don't have a phone!" you tell me. What the heck, buddy? Are you living under a rock?! Well, I can fix that, too. Buy a Papa John's pizza, get a free BlackBerry after rebate. The deal actually isn't that great, but a free BlackBerry is a free BlackBerry. And then you could call me and hear pretty music!

Yeah, so pick up your phone and dial those magic 10 digits. Now. And I'll be nice: I won't pick up for a really long time so you can hear the whole song. ::grins:: Peace, guyzos.

15 years, 15 albums ...

Kate's Favorite Albums of the Last 15 Years

1990 -- Flood, They Might Be Giants
1991 -- Ten, Pearl Jam
1992 -- Mutiny, Too Much Joy (tie: Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos)
1993 -- August and Everything After, Counting Crows
1994 -- The Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails
1995 -- Jagged Little Pill, Alanis Morissette
1996 -- Sheryl Crow, Sheryl Crow
1997 -- Whatever and Ever Amen, Ben Folds Five
1998 -- Hellbilly Deluxe, Rob Zombie
1999 -- When the Pawn..., Fiona Apple
2000 -- No Reason, SixMileBridge
2001 -- Gorillaz, Gorillaz
2002 -- By the Way, Red Hot Chili Peppers
2003 -- Tales of a Librarian, Tori Amos
2004 -- Together We're Heavy, Polyphonic Spree
2005 (so far) -- Songs for Silverman, Ben Folds

Okay, I'm not totally satisfied -- some hard choices -- but I think it stands for now. :) I think there's a good combo of indie/non-mainstream albums and (what I consider) modern classics.

Surprisingly, I found 1991 the hardest. It was a toss up between Ten, Pearl Jam (which I ultimately chose); Nevermind, Nirvana; Achtung Baby, U2; BloodSugarSexMagik, RHCP; Use Your Illusion I & II, Guns N' Roses; and No More Tears, Ozzy Osbourne. Did anyone else realize all those came out the same year??

Also, 2004 was hard to narrow down ... Good News for People Who Love Bad News, Modest Mouse; Talkie Walkie, Air; American Idiot, Green Day; Franz Ferdinand, Franz Ferdinand; Together We're Heavy, Polyphonic Spree (my choice); and Underdog Victorious, Jill Sobule.

Then there was 2003, where I wasn't really happy with any album (that crossed my mind). If anyone has any suggestions, I'm open.

So what's the verdict? Love it? Hate it? Think I forgot a really great album? Lemme know ...

Talking over tea

Okay, so let's say you want tea. Cold tea. Tazo tea. Well, you could scoot your butt over to Starbucks to try one of their summer tea offerings: the Tazo Green Tea Frappuccino Blended Creme.

You want my opinion? (If you didn't, why are you browsing my blog? It's almost all conjecture...) Well, since you asked, I hate the green tea frapp. As a staunch proponent of tea the Russian way (very strong, with lots of lemon, lots of sugar, and occasionally a shot of vodka -- sailor's tea), I hate milk in my tea. It's okay in my coffee ... sometimes. Like when I'm drinking 93 Octane (see photo, right).

Anyway, I generally love sweet, frothy matcha, the way it tastes so ... green. So Tazo matcha should rock. But when you blend it with a bunch of what tastes like evaporated milk -- then top it with canned whipped cream -- it tastes like ass. Well, sweet tea-flavored ass.

That said ... if you want good tea and/or you don't want to pay into the megacorp Starbucks coffers, look into Scent by Spirit tea. I can't say enough good things about SBS owner Rachel Johnston. Besides being a scent guru (she made a unique perfume just for me!), she is a master organic/fair-trade tea blender. She's got something for every taste -- I counted 200 different flavored teas, then got tired of counting. And she takes requests, too.

She's darling and her products are great. Just ask StargazerGirl, who's hooked on SBS Double Buzz. If you order something, tell Rach that Kate sent ya, and she'll hook you up. :-)

Ohh -- this post is "Talking over Tea" and I haven't mentioned the talking part yet! After much whining from M., who occasionally posts comments here, I've created an AIM name just for my hiptop. I'm just that popular. No, seriously, I was tired of my IMs going three places: home, work and the hiptop. So now, if you get an away message at LemonKitty, try KatesSideKick. And add it to your buddy list right now, dammit. Because I said so, that's why. Take that, Mr. Bitchy Intellectual Poopy-head M. And peace to the rest of you. ^_^

Sanity break!

4 p.m. lunch break, sanity break ... same thing, right? I'm actually ignoring the salad with ranch sitting on the edge of my desk -- rather precariously balanced, I just noticed. And I'm not even going to move it to a more secure location, because a salad all over the floor would provide a nice -- if temporary -- mental vacation.

It's so bad (audience of The Match Game: "HOW BAD IS IT?") that I walked to the (free) Coke machine and got a caffeine-free Coke. I set it down on my desk and sent an e-mail. Then I walked to the (free) Starbucks in the breakroom and got a nice big cup of what we've labeled 93 Octane. This is because it's made with twice as much Starbucks grounds, which makes it darker and thicker than an espresso. I can say this because I worked at a B&N with a built-in Starbucks, and after a few months as a lead (read: goddess over a quarter of the store), they trained me in All Things Starbucks in case I had to play Barista if someone was sick. Then, soon after I perfected the art of the double shot, I got my newspaper job and turned in my two weeks' notice.

Yeah, so Starbucks and caffeine-free Coke. It's like my dad, who used to eat a Butterfinger with his Diet Coke ... much to the chagrin of my mother.

Back to work -- querying the databases for court trends while listening to Jill Sobule. Introspection with a healthy dose of humor. Right now, it's Claire. A few years I had a Claire, except her name was Lillie Mae. She died in March, 2004. She would have turned 92 two days ago. Eh, a story for another day, I guess.

Now I'm listening to Heroes, which I find amusing because it's true. And, yes, back to the databases, which mock me. They conspire with my cognitive iPod. I'm sure of it.

Mmm Mmm ... Sasquatch burgers

As one of my side gigs, I proof Memphis Downtowner magazine. It's a great job for me, because it's a totally different vibe from my newspaper. And I'm always coming across new places to visit and things to try.

Tonight, I saw an ad for Big Foot Lodge, a new restaurant in Downtown Memphis. The highlight: a four-pound Sasquatch Burger. (You gotta see that picture to believe it.) It boggles the mind. That's 16 McDonald's Quarter Pounders. Sixteen. Gee whiz.

According to this data, 100g of ground beef has 259 calories, 16.3 grams of total fat, and 5.9 grams of saturated fat. So a Sasquatch Burger -- in the meat alone -- has about 4,703 calories, 296 grams of fat, and 107.1 grams of saturated fat.

If you go by the standard 2,000 calorie diet, that burger is 2.4 days' worth of calories, 4.5 days' worth of fat and 5.3 days' worth of saturated fat ... just in the meat. But you saw the picture -- it also included a huge bun, a whole dill pickle and a side of fries. ... And if you eat it in an hour, it's free.

That is gross on so many levels that I don't even know where to begin. But if you're coming to Memphis and want to give it a shot, let me know. I'll be there with a camera and a plastic bag in which you can puke. Promise. Peace and love, guys.

Four things on my mind

I never wanted to censor myself on my blog. And, yet, I've found myself doing just that lately.

This was supposed to be -- and still is -- a place for me and my thoughts. If other people read it, fine. I suppose there's some borderline avoidant behavior going on here, that I'd prefer to lay my cards out on the table now than face criticism from fair-weather friends later. As I've said before, if you read this and you still accept me, well, that's the true measure of friendship.

But lately, I've been sanitizing things. I've been writing for others, not for myself. And now those thoughts that are left out of my posts and tucked away in my skull are bouncing around with increasing frequency. The elephant in the middle of the room.

So here are some random things that I want to get out there. In lieu of several mini-posts, I'm just lumping them all together ...

• My book is going to be back from the printer shortly (a week-ish). I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I want the world to celebrate with me, and yet I've told nobody, so nobody's celebrating. I feel like I'm having a child -- I've nursed this thing for (longer than) nine months. Through inception, selection, editing, folios, cover art ... everything. Now it's off to the printer. I deserve cocktails. And yet, it's one more thing to check off my list of things to do before I die. Which means I'm a little bit closer to death.




• My brain worries about Matt. My heart worries about Jeremy. Matt does dangerous stuff, but he's proven to me that he knows what he's doing and that he can talk his way into and/or out of anything. Jeremy is stuck (of his own volition), and I'm watching him retreat to a place where he's becoming increasingly unreachable. If he notices, he doesn't acknowledge it. They both have a special place in my heart, and I'd do anything for either of them. Matt comes back, shows me he's okay, lets me help him. Jeremy hides, afraid to let anyone help him. I grit my teeth and go on.
  
  

  Honestly, it makes me glad that Paul is so ... normal. That he loves me more than anyone I know, trusts me more than anyone I know, doesn't take unnecessary risks, tries to spend as much time at home as possible while getting his doctorate, doesn't hide things from me, and does my laundry. ::grins:: I'm just glad I don't have to worry about him, and that he recognizes my friendships ... and why I worry about my friends.
  

  
  

• There are a half-dozen people I wish I could track down, just to see how they're doing from afar. If I were braver, I'd post names ... but I'll just keep that to myself for now. I wouldn't know what to say to them, so I'd just keep my distance, but I'd like them to know I still have their back like I always did. I'd like to thank a couple of them for the one-on-one talk time, the support they gave me behind the scenes when nobody was looking. And I'd like to tell a couple of them how bad they hurt me, but that I'm not angry anymore. Except maybe I am still a little bit angry. But my love exceeds my anger, always.




• Last night, on my way home, I saw the most horrible wreck I've seen in my life. The car was upside down. The top had been completely sheared off. Nobody could have lived through that -- there simply wasn't room for a person in the wreckage. I cried all the way home. I choked up when I told my parents. Today, as I passed over the site of the wreck, I prayed and gave the sign of the cross. I felt helpless.
  
  

  Reason: When I was about 16, my church youth group put on a drama called "Judgment House." Part of the program included a simulated wreck, so my dad (an insurance adjustor) brought in a burned out car from one of his claims. One night after the program ended, I wandered over to the car. It belonged to a kid my age, 16, who'd been killed in a wreck in the car. Inside, bits of hair and skin stuck to the visor. His broken glasses sat on the passenger seat. And a photo and note from his girlfriend were taped to the dashboard. God, it broke my heart.

  
  

  Now I'm crying again. This is why I can't work in news. It's not just a wreck or a robbery or a war. It's the life of a person. With a family. With a childhood and photos and favorite foods and birthday parties and stories. With memories.

Well, that's that. Now I can go back to worrying about little things, like finding my sleeping pills and calling the dentist about my broken tooth. Peace and love, guys.

"When you sleep, where do you fingers go?"

I wear a digital Timex Ironman. It is very reliable. So I had to raise an eyebrow when I looked down a few minutes ago to notice it was 2 hours 14 minutes slow. And it said it was Monday.

My first thought was that the battery was borking. Then, almost immediately, thoughts of last night came pouring into my head. Now, I remember a good portion of my dreams -- I think the brain drugs are largely responsible for that. But sometimes, I'll wake up, and a dream will be just ... out ... of ... reach ... like it's right there on the tip of my memory, but I can't access it until I see a person or a place or an object. Then, the whole mess will tumble forth as clear as day.

That said, my watch is proof that I wasn't dreaming. I clearly remember waking up -- it had to be around 3 a.m. -- with the overriding urge to set my watch. "Why does my watch say Tuesday? Tomorrow's Monday! Stupid watch ..." I remember thinking. So I did the most natural thing in such a situation: I set the date back to Monday.

Now, my watch has five buttons and it's not easy to set. (Hold this, push that, use this button to move forward, use that button to move backward.) So I can only surmise that I inadvertantly changed the time in my late-night urge to remedy the date on my watch (which was fine to begin with). In the dark. In the middle of the night. On a Tuesday.

I'd like to blame the sleeping pills or pre-bedtime meditation for my strange watch-setting episode. But I've been doing weird nocturnal things long before I needed pills or practiced meditation. I'll wake up and realize I've taken all my rings off and put them on different fingers. Or they've not made it to my other fingers and they're scattered on the bed. Or I'll wake up and my hair's in a messy ponytail. Or my bracelets are on the other arm. Or I've pulled the pillow out of its pillowcase. Or Paul will wake me up and tell me I'm moaning again. (Get your mind out of the gutter! When I talk in my dreams, it comes out in moans instead of words.)

So now that I've got my watch back to the right day and time, I'm going to finish my sammich and get back to editing 1,100 lines of SQL output. Yay! ::sighs::

Anybody else developed strange nighttime habits? Fortunately, I'm not like a friend of my mother's, who would walk to the fridge and drink dill pickle brine straight out of the jar. But I'd be interested in knowing what others have done (or allegedly done) in their sleep.

Cruelty to Children Alert

As my faithful readers know, I am a card-carrying SA Goon. (Link to the front page here.) A couple of days ago, somebody posted a thread about child beauty pageants. Thread title: Child Beauty Contest -- of the Damned!

Paul sees it first. "Oh ... my ... God. Kate, you've got to see this." He PMs me a link. I click. The first photo that comes up:

Aww. What a nice porcelain doll. Except it isn't a porcelain doll. It's a child so heavily Photoshopped that you can't even tell she's human anymore. [EDIT: I forgot to mention that Alli Beth (to your left) was the winner of the 19-35 month category. So she's somewhere between 1.5 and 3 years old.]

The thread comments range from witty ("Seems the plastic skin look is in for the '05 summer child beauty pageant season...") to scared ("Their eyes look ... so dead!"). Somebody compared them to the woman who airbrushes stillborn babies (warning: rather graphic link shows before/after photos). Somebody got off on a tangent about a friend and his wife who named their kid "Aurora BoryAlice." And quite a few people mentioned JonBenet Ramsey ... although even she looked more real that these these freakily photo-chopped kids.

I'd love to rant about how unfair it is to these children, about how parents are teaching them that the standard of beauty is big anime eyes, airbrush tans and pore-free skin. But I'm not going to rant because I think I'd be stating the obvious.

So instead of ranting, I'm going to give you a few links of Photoshopped child monsters. Browse through them and be amazed. Or scared. Or a little of both.

• http://www.preciousfacescontest.com/preciouswinners.htm
• http://angelswithattitude.faithweb.com/photo.html
• Corresponding open image directory: http://angelswithattitude.faithweb.com/images/
• http://jcdesignsen.tripod.com/id2.html

I could go on but I'll spare you. As it stands, I'm going to have nightmares tonight about these damned Stepford children. ::shudders::

Where did the weekend go?

Sunday night. I'm listening to random J-Pop. Specifically this song by Puffy AmiYumi. Yes, the band with the cutesy American cartoon on CN. Hey, it's bubblegum jams for the chica who slept on her husband's pillow when he was out of town because she missed him so much. ::grins::

Speaking of music, I want to plug Nashville-based Someday Company. Nice, smooth, clean rock -- not too heavy, not too light. They've got six mp3s available on their site. My favorite song is November. No, Breathing In. ::sighs:: I can't decide. Just grab them all -- the mp3s are free and the music's good. I just like to share. ^_^

Now back to Puzzle Donkey. I took a break for a couple of weeks, so now it's time for Monstee and SGG and I to get back to work. I'm currently on 1:3:8. (Hey, slow and steady wins the race, right?) Not that Monstee is much help ... generally he's slobbering and getting his big blue paws all over everything while mumbling about his Discount Cave of Porn (p.p.).

Hope your weekend was relaxing, because Monday means it's nose to the grindstone, buddy.

Goodbye folios, hello book!

When I started working on SASM, an e-mail address was created just for SASM correspondence. So how was I supposed to know my publisher was sending e-mail to another address, one that never gets checked? Blah.

He's busy e-mailing me threats of sending the book out without a foreword while I'm busy trying to contact him in other ways ... but he won't pick up his phone, answer his door, or reply to e-mails in a timely fashion (or at the designated address). Very annoying, that. Good thing he's a nice guy. :)

Anyway, this has been sitting on my desktop for a week. Paul and I had been bandying about various purposes of a foreword. How do you introduce a book as varied as SASM? How do you say what you need to say without overwhelming the short stories themselves (some of which are only 30 words long)? He and I came up with an interesting take on the foreword ... resulting in this:

Foreword
Four Words

Within these pages, you’ll find sordid tales of murder and mayhem. Double takes and double crossers. Cheating spouses and haunted houses. And, of course, a few squirrels thrown in for good measure.

No allocution would adequately express how much can happen in a thousand words or less. So instead of a foreword, I’ll take a page from these authors and condense my thoughts into four words:

Destruction! Seduction! Obstruction! Deduction!

If that doesn’t set your chair on edge, nothing will. Happy reading!

LKCS
June 2005

Well, I think it serves its purpose. Lord knows nobody is paying $15 to listen to me blather on in a book. Instead they just come here and listen to me blather on for free. ^_^ So, how does it sound? Better sound okay, because I think the book's on its way out the door now. (Chucky threatened to send it without the foreword, but if I know him as well as I think I do, it's on his desk, buried under a pile o' submissions.) Peace, kids.

Here and there (and hair, too)

I made it through Friday. In the words of Team America, "FUCK YEAH!" ::grins:: (If you haven't seen this movie, it's only mildly amusing in its own right and gets most of its humor out of shock value. You know, much like Parker/Stone's other venture, South Park, before it became downright passe.)

I talked to Matt today. Yay! You know, I try to respect his wishes and not talk about where he is, so I'll just say that he's uprooting again but is planning to be my concert-going buddy this summer. I really think he's got his head on straight. I have more faith and confidence in him than I have in myself. He's always impressing me by being ... impressive. Yeah, so I talked to him for like an hour -- maybe two -- today, and have managed to condense it down to three very vague sentences, but that's because I got his back, ok?

Anything else? Oh, yes! As I have mentioned before, a coworker of mine and I are growing our hair out for Locks of Love. Okay, so I can't find a decent picture of him, but what you can kinda sorta (not at all) see from this pic, he has much longer hair than I do. And he's done the Locks of Love thing before. I'm trying for 12" from the nape of my neck, so it hits my chin after it's cut. I've got about three inches to go before I'm ready. In the meantime, let me tell you why I'm glad my hair is not this short anymore:

• I can hide behind it like a crutch when I'm having a panic attack. Like Turtle in The Westing Game.
• I can wear all sorts of chopsticks in it!! Except tonight, it's tucked up into a couple of paintbrushes because that's all I could find. But tomorrow I think I'm going to hit up all the local import stores (Jun Lee, Young's, Chou, Dach, and China Town -- where I got my Ba Gua) to see if I can find anything pretty and un-functional.
• I don't have to straighten it much. Except my bangs, which are actually curlier than when my hair was short because my hair hates my freedom.
• And because I'm growing it out for Locks, I have a good reason to take mad care of it. I deep condition every day, super-deep three times a week, blow-dry only when necessary, and use a little bit of Origins' A Perfect World to tame it if it gets unruly at work.
• I have something to tuck into a ball cap! ^_^

I am also glad I am not a blonde anymore. It was about the only fun thing during The Summer From Hell. Well, that and the heavy drugs I got after getting my wisdom teeth out.

That's it. The end. Now it's time for me to pull up some maps to find out where Mattie's headed next. And, as my gamer buds would say: Mopes mad lubbin', bauddy. Kthxbai.

Cleared for Take-Off

Well, it's on the books. I'm cleared to take Friday, July 22, off from work to drive to Nashville for two amazing concerts. Now I just have to figure out the logistics of all this. [Edit: To alleviate confusion: The concerts are both Thursday, July 21. I'm driving up there after work (hopefully leaving early?), staying the night, visiting Dan & Co., probably meeting up with Mattie, shopping, drinking with Andy, staying the night again, then coming home.]

• The Ben Folds/Weezer concert starts at 7:30 p.m. There is one opening act (The Frey). I'm hearing differing reports as to whether Ben Folds or Weezer will play first.
• The gates to Dancin' in the District (the Cake concert) open at 5:30 p.m. There are three opening acts (Tegan & Sara, Copper and Harsh Krieger).

I've got to estimate how long each opening act will play and see if I can manage to see half a concert at each place. They're a little less than a mile away from each other, so I think I'm going to wear my walking shoes and trek on foot. Or not. Depends on weather, etc.

Kelly Clarkson (like, omigod, American Idoooool!) will be playing at the Grand Ole Opry House the same night. I will be missing this concert. I am not crying.

Now on to something completely different...

In the interest of having a post with some merit instead of merely my travel plans, I will post a poem of poemy goodness! Yippee!

Zipped
From the sidelines
I watch you wither,
slither and retreat into yourself
the way I once did
before The Fall.
Thirteen years captive
and six days of freedom
taught me
Voices are Choices
and mine was my own.
So why do I choke
whenever I talk to you,
fish for the things
I should have said long ago?
Why do I trip over words
stuck between us,
deep-rooted picket fences
through which we can see
the inevitably greener grass
and Time splayed out
basking in That Which Never Was?

Toughest decision ever

Ugh. I feel like poo on a stick.

Boss and I have the same darn thing (fever, aches, etc.). She called in today; I didn't. Then (against my protests) she came in later, so the net result was that we each worked a half day. I caught some sleep and felt a little better, but I can't break the darn fever. Also, I can't shake the aches (that rhymes!) and my two swollen lymph nodes won't go down. I'd hit up WebMD if I wasn't protesting them.

And to make matters worse ... I just found out that two of my favorite bands ever -- Ben Folds and Cake -- will be in Nashville on the same day. And it just so happens that I was kind of planning on swinging through Nashville on my way to Indy anyway ... which leaves me with a little dilemma. Choosing is hell. So I put it to you, guys and dolls ... Ben Folds? Cake? Try to squeeze in both?

Talk amongst yourselves.

Moody bears and energy drinks

Hey, if you haven't seen it yet, let your eyes wander westward to Patches, my blog's new mascot. A buddy of mine (who may or may not wish to remain nameless, so for now s/he will) has given Patches a new outlook on life: Movement!

No longer will Patches sit there, frozen in time, mouse poised in her fuzzy little paw. Now she blinks, scratches herself, uses the mouse ... and more. I'm not going to give it all away, but keep watching her. She's cuteness personified ... err, I mean bearified. So thanks, friend-who-will-remain-nameless-for-now. You roxors my boxers.

Now on to something completely different ...

I'm an energy drink nut. I know, I know, I shouldn't admit this after the whole "getting so sick I had to rent a hotel room in which to puke" incident in May. It started on Sept. 10, 2001. Besides editing TDH, I was writing in those days and had to come up with a last-minute feature I could write in one night. It sticks out in my mind because I ended up not turning it in due to the Sept. 11 plane crashes.

Anyway, my feature was on eight energy drinks that were making the rounds at the time (including KMX, Red Bull and the now-almost-extinct 180). I was already an avid BevNet user, so I pulled stats from there, conducted a very unscientific taste test, and interviewed a crapload of folks. (Favorite quote from the story: "Rainey was a little more confident of the drinks' abilities -- but said that she still mixed Red Bull, KMX and 180 together sometimes. 'I figure if I mix all three, it has to [give me energy],' Rainey said. 'They do help. They do. You just gotta get used to the tangy taste.'")

It was absolutely intriguing, watching people react to (in order) the packaging, the smell, the taste, and the building caffeine buzz. In fact, by the time we reached the eighth drink, they were pretty wild. It was the craziest I'd seen my coworkers act while sober. So I started branching out to the lesser known brews from smaller vendors.

It didn't take long to try everything available in Memphis' gas station convenience stores (which Matt calls party stores -- what's up with that?). So I started looking while I was road-tripping. In St. Louis, I found DefCon3 and Raw Dawg. In Los Angeles, I found Afri-Cola (not an energy drink, but a damn good brew you can't find locally). And in Cincinnati, I found Maxxx. So here's what I came up with on my way to and from Jax:

YET (Your Energy Tonic), Mega Energy, Mason Dixie Original Recipe, GinsengUP Ginger, Mason Dixie White Lightning, Jugular and Crunk (which I've been looking for since it hit the market, but it's not distributed in the South outside Atlanta).

All I've tried so far is the MD Original Recipe, and it didn't last too long. I didn't mean to chug it ... it just kinda happened. It was just that good. So if you find it, try it.

Also, if you come across something that looks interesting, IM or e-mail or call or comment. (Hey, I'm a very accessible person!) If you find something I haven't tried, I'll pay for you to ship me a couple of cans/bottles/PETs so I can cross them off my list. You'll win my undying love, and I'll have something to drink that doesn't come off the tea shelf! ^_^

Thoreau turns over in his grave

Apparently, in my rush to get out of town last week, I missed the latest blow in Time Inc.'s grand jury debacle. Norm Pearlstine buckled to pressure to turn over reporter Matt Cooper's confidential source. Here's CJR's take on it.

If you haven't heard about the case, search Google News for "Matt Cooper" and you'll get a fistful of links. I don't have time to look them up for you right now. It doesn't really matter your political stance on the issue. You can think Cooper, Rove or Pearlstine (or any combination of the above) fucked up beyond all belief. You can question shoddy journalism, shoddy politics and shoddy ethics.

Cooper was willing to face 120 days in jail to protect his source. Any journalist who puts his freedom on the line in the name of civil disobedience has my kudos. That takes guts, and far too often our sensationalist society pooh-poohs that decision publicly. But it's time to see the forest for the trees, folks. Many times, the anonymity of a trusted source allows that source to identify injustices that would otherwise go undetected. Of course, it's a double-edged sword. At what point do you stop trusting your source because his anonymity will keep him from taking responsibility for his words? And at what point does a situation become grave enough to require the use of an anonymous source? Questions like these add to a debate among the American press that's over 200 years in the making.

Those judgment calls are well made from the editor's desk. Collaboration between reporter and editor means both are content when the need arises to use an anonymous source. But those are the only calls that should be made from the editor's desk. Once the paper is to bed, once the story has run, it is not the editor's job to second guess the reporter's intentions. It is his duty to stand behind his staff and their stories. To undermine the reporter by negating his promises and outing his sources goes beyond professional misconduct to the point of cowardice.

So congratulations, Norm. You've broken the trust of those who tell of injustice in whispers instead of shouts. And you've lost the personal and professional respect of those who have the power to make or break you. Was it worth it?

God wins the SuperSoaker battle

Rain. From Memphis to Jax and back again. Right now it's so bad that
we're pulled over on I-78 twelve miles out of M-town. I just wanted one
frickin' SuperSoaker fight that's been brewing for seven years.

But noooooo. God's gotta go rain on my parade (literally). However, I
killed an hour and a half of my drive home talking to Mattie and FF.
Nice diversions for sure. It's getting late, so I'll update tomorrow
morning. Peace to all you other weary travelers out there. ^_^
--katesink

Bored enough...

Yes, I was bored enough to take photos of all of us. Hard to take my own
photo! Paul's driving, Sara's working a puzzle, Jer's reading The
Tommyknockers. And I just woke up from a Dramamine nap. Love and peace,
guyzos.
--katesink

Various and sundry vacation-type things

News flash: I heard Carrie say "Fuck you, asswipe!" on the way home from the beach. This proves to me two things: (1.) She's human, and (2.) I'm a terrible influence. Eh, I won't get into anything really philosophical right here, other than to say all our lives are intertwined ... so when I influence somebody else, they're really getting small pieces of Paul's life, and Matt's, and my coworkers ... and so on.

The rain has been continuous. We pushed back our morning itinerary by an hour, causing Carrie to balk a little because it was obvious rain was coming. And then we had to stop for nice, big morning lattes from Bad Ass Coffee (FYI: Last night we ended up at megacorp Starbucks because we were walking and it was closer.) We finally made it to the beach around 11:15 a.m. By 2:30 p.m., it was pouring down rain. The lifeguards closed up shop and we headed back to the car. The upholstery in Carrie's Ion and my Vue will never be the same. >_<

Now we're waiting for Sara and Jeremy to finish showering, etc., then it's off to St. Augustine. Maybe. By the time we get there, everything will have closed, so I'm not sure it's really worth the effort anymore. ::shrugs::

Well, I'm on the computer in the hotel's business center (notice I said computer, singular). I'm going to delete spam for a few and get out of here so some other miserable geek like myself can eschew the pool, beach and fitness center for a fluorescent tan. I'll explain the Priceline thing after I get home and buy some whipped cream for Monstee. (Incidentally, Mon, Paul said I've made you sound really cool and he'd like to meet you next time we're in that area for a LAN. I snorted and chortled [snortled?] and said I'd let you know.)

Much love and happiness. Be good. And pray that our drive home is slightly less tortuous than our drive here. I'll explain that -- and the Priceline debacle -- when I'm back on home radar. Peace, fluffyheads.

P.S. Almost forgot -- I can't really preview pics from the SK, so I didn't realize they were so ... dim. I bet I've smudged up the lens. I'll take a look before we head out again so that I can blog with decent pics instead of marginally crappy ones.

Beach antics

Morning at the beach. That's where we are now, playing zigity after
riding the waves for a while. Spending the afternoon in St. Augustine,
where I haven't been since 1997. I am very content.
--katesink

One of the seven bridges

Okay, so apparently there are seven bridges and like seven battles
happened between them. This one is prettified at night.

I dunno. There wasn't much to do at The Landing, so we came back to the
hotel. Now, I think I'm gonna go to the Bad Ass Coffee Co. I'll report
back soon. ^_^
--katesink

Sunny state of Florida

Brootiful, ain't it?
--katesink

What!? No room at the inn?

Yep. Priceline did it again. See how happy it makes Sara (Jer's wife)?
--katesink

Taking over Birmingham

9ish. Dinner in Birmingham. Raining like hell. Paul's gonna get some
sleep and I'll be at the wheel. W00t. Peace, love, iced tea.
--katesink

Please let me crawl under my desk and die. Please?

Okay, I feel like kvetching, and I've actually got a few minutes, so here goes:

1. I am not a spontaneous person, despite what others might think. Okay, so the trip to Indy was kind of spur-of-the-moment, but I had time to pack everything I needed. I like maps, schedules, lists, plans. I hate bad maps, poorly put-together schedules, extraneous items on lists, and plans that change at the last minute. Grr. (No offense, L.)
2. Don't call me Katie unless you're really frickin' close to me. If I'd let you call me Sweetie, etc., then you can call me Katie. Otherwise, just don't. Acceptable alternatives: Kate (obviously), chica, L. (my college nickname), kiddo. If you're Paul you can call me Fluffy McFluffnugget. But nobody else.
3. If I feel the need to take a Klon, it's probably a bad idea to ask me why I'm taking it. Common sense, folks. When I come down, I'll talk. Maybe.
4. My car. My iPod. My music. Period. And if you are a guy and you're roadtripping with me (as I stated, in my car), then I reserve the right to govern said trip by "The Bad Girl's Guide to the Open Road." Even if it says to wear pantyliners on your head. Even if you don't know what a pantyliner is.
5. Don't try to accessorize me. What I wear on my neck/ears/fingers/wrists is all very significant to me. No, I don't want to tell you the story behind every piece of jewelry. No, I'm not changing my ways. And (for the 100th time), no, I store neither poison nor drugs in either of my poison rings. But that could change at any time.
6. Don't ask me my opinions on, well, anything really ... unless you're fully prepared for my response (and/or non-response). Especially touchy topics: the media, technology, religion. Also potentially touchy: the CBLDF, cartoons, bad hair days, music.
7. Yes, sometimes I feel like Squee. Now, aren't you sorry you asked?

Okay, that's all the griping for now. Feel free to post your own kvetches in the comments. Because misery loves company, and today, I'm misery personified. Peace, kids.

On the road again, turn the page

Ack! In a hurry! First of all, I had (and deleted) two test posts yesterday, so sorry for the day off from blogging. Looks like the post-by-e-mail AND the mobile (photo) blogging are both working, which means I can write you guys from the beach! After the water gun fight! ^_^

Also wanted to say that as much as I used to hate the way my mom acted before we left town, that's exactly how I'm acting now. You know, stressed ... as if the whole earth might implode if somebody forgot their toothbrush or didn't pack enough socks.

I need a drink. Badly.