Dreams, Ted Kennedy, and Indiana

Last night, I dreamed I really needed to shave my face. Then I dreamed that, despite my misgivings, a former coworker gave me a haircut in the handicapped stall of a bathroom in the administration building at the University of Memphis. Then I woke up smiling and singing a song about how Ted Kennedy is lookin' out for me. Yes, for real. My subconscious wrote a song overnight about Ted Kennedy. In my defense, it is a very catchy song.

Anyone have a dream interpretation book? I want to know the deeper meaning of that.

[If you get bored easily or don't care much about my ramblings, hit the last couple of paragraphs of this post.]

I've had a stressful week at work, so I'm glad today is Friday. What I'm not looking forward to is driving to Indiana tomorrow to pick up Mattie. The guy I share an office with thinks I'm crazy, but I told him I love Mattie and people do strange things for their friends.

My problem is that I looked back at the May 2005 archives yesterday and realized that all the great times while Matt was here were punctuated by some horrible times. Some really horrible times. And when I take off the rose-colored glasses and look at it objectively, I get this lump in my throat because I'm a little scared. But from what I gather, a lot has changed about him since then. I know a lot has changed for me.

A friend recently told me I don't really exhibit the symptoms of being bipolar -- and I guess I don't -- but I look at my life and my posts from April and May '05, and I realize that I mentally wasn't in a place I needed to be. I remember when I drove Mattie to Indy before he went home in '05. I was seriously about to lose it and was able to call a friend in Indy who talked me back down to Earth. Now I've got Paul and (the other) Matt and Johanna to keep me grounded. I'm sure things will be fine.

Still, before bed, I e-mailed Mattie and said, "Any particular music choo want on the ipod? Can you believe I'm nervous about picking you up? Things won't have changed, will they?" He wrote back and said there should be plenty to listen to on each of our iPods. He also said, "Don't be stressed, I'm not crazy! At least, this time you have some actual evidence to go on." And I'm thinking, hey, if only you knew the half of it. You got really drunk and didn't remember things the next morning. I did.

If you believe in synchronicity, check this: A couple of days after I first e-mailed Mattie in January to say hi, he told me he was going to Indiana to work for a while. Our last few days were spent in hell ... err, Indiana ... and I left there sure I'd lost my mind and him as a friend. And I was doubly sure he wasn't coming back. I was hurt and angry at myself because we were basically fighting when I drove away, and that wasn't the way I wanted things to end. So now I have a chance to drive back to Indiana and redeem myself. Hmm, that's not really what I mean. I guess I mean I get the chance to apologize, talk things out, and hopefully end this trip the way the last one should have. In other words, a three-year hiccup in an otherwise normal trip. :)

I'm rambling. I guess I do that when I'm nervous.

[Okay, people who stopped reading earlier can pick back up now.]

I decided last night I want "The Skye Boat Song" played at my funeral. Maybe not on bagpipes because that's really elaborate and not really worth the trouble. But I think it's a beautiful song. I love the rendition by (now-defunct) Six Mile Bridge. I guess it's kind of morbid to think about funerals, even though I am pushing 30 (grin), but I had an "a-ha!" moment about it last night. So just pencil me in for that, mmk?

So ... any thoughts on those dreams?

How Paul briefly lost his job

So Paul's checking his school mailbox Monday and notices he has a letter from The Citadel. "I wonder what they're sending me here," he says out loud, to which the office secretary replies, "Oh, probably that you didn't get the job after all."

He opens it and -- what do you know? -- it's a letter regretting to inform him the position has been filled and he's no longer in consideration for a job at The Citadel.

"So, what is it?" the secretary asks. "Uhh, Paul, I wasn't right, was I?"

And faster than you can say "unorganized militia of South Carolina," Paul's on the phone leaving a voice mail for the chair of the chemistry department. She doesn't call back for the Longest. Hour. Ever. When she does call, she tells him not to worry -- it was a form letter sent to all the people considered for a second teaching position in the department. And they work it out and blah blah blah, and everyone has a good laugh like at the end of a Scooby Doo episode.

Everyone I've told has thought this is the funniest thing ever. Maybe my sense of humor button is broken.
--

In E news ... If you guys haven't seen my first clue as to who E is, it's in the comments under "Floating Away." I actually got the e-mail notification of the new comment while I was in the oncologist's office Monday and whiled away my time in the waiting room by Googling "Gangsta Boo" and "Crunchy Black." I am not a rap aficionado.

I figured out the basics -- the Three 6 Mafia connection, the lyrics to "I Thought You Knew," etc. -- and headed back to the office feeling very smart indeed. My first stop: my poor, poor coworkers, who have been my sounding board since Day 1. I read the clue to a couple of the reporters, and one piped up, "Oh, Crunchy Black -- that's Three 6 Mafia." My jaw absolutely dropped. You don't expect a white guy in his late 40s who practically lives in the office to know much about rap in general, much less the members of Three 6 Mafia. Turns out he's covered them in the past (?!) and has an exceptionally good memory.

I've read the lyrics front to back (and back to front); I've even printed a copy and stuck it in my notebook. I'm not going to link it up here because they're very NWS, but you're welcome to Google them and lend a hand.

I think all I'm supposed to get from it is that my mystery person(s) is/are from Memphis, although others have suggested less obvious interpretations of the first verse, e.g., they live under a billboard or have been hit in the head with a brick. I'm kind of doubting that.

Monday morning miscellany (yawn)

What do you do on a stir-crazy Sunday night? How about put 100 miles on the car, sit a while by the river, and bug a friend into watching three hours of a TV special on Europe? Because that's what I did last night. And I've only had about three-and-a-half hours of sleep.

This is OK though, because Sunday has become my fun day, my I-don't-have-to-run day. (Everyone! Sing along!) Actually, Sunday is Matt's only day off -- he works six days a week -- so I get to bug him during laundry time, and he seems OK with that. But I actually set out last night needing to clear my head, so I drove the interstate loop twice, ending up at Tom Lee Park staring at the Mississippi River. I had my notebook with me, but there wasn't much point; it was dark and I didn't feel like writing.

Anyway, Matt was watching a TiVoed NBA game (yuck!) when I got there, then rewarded me for my patience by watching a spelling bee episode of Cheap Seats and the first three episodes of Jeremy Clarkson Meets the Neighbours. He's going to get me a copy of the series. It's that good.

I told Matt about Mattie and how I'm driving to Indiana Saturday to pick him up. The closer it gets, the more nervous I get. I mean, Mattie's last visit was great -- really. But I go back to blog posts from then and realize, geez, that was an incredibly frustrating time. Paul says things are going to be fine -- and I believe him -- but there's this kind of sustained, reserved fear that's just below the surface.

I'm keeping my usual Sunday night, laundry-time plans with Matt. I'm going to see plenty of Mattie next week (oh, and the drive home from Indiana).

Bloodwork this morning for the JAK2. I actually need to get to the office and get a little bit of work done before driving back out east to the clinic. That means I'm officially running late.

... And I've got to work on the latest clue from E. Send over the next photo clue whenever and I'll try to knock out one or two more before I head to Indiana. I've actually told several friends and coworkers what's going on because I've started carrying my camera Everywhere I Go, and apparently people find that a bit strange. -.-

Floating away

Here's your weird link for today -- something I stumbled across while looking for razor blades. For real. Proctor & Gamble has a site called ManQuarium, which opens with a chorus singing, "ManQuaaaariuuuuum."

Look, just visit it. I can't do it justice. You start by picking a body and, if you choose, uploading your crush's face (see the PaulQuarium to the left).

Answer four questions -- what's your perfect date, what's the best birthday present, etc.

Why let eHarmony match you on 29 dimensions of compatibility when you can answer four oversimplified questions and generate a cartoon man-god?

Once your answers have been tabulated and your perfect man has been created, choose to "Watch him doggy paddle" or "Dump this guy and start again."

If you choose to watch him doggy paddle, he feeds you sweet nothings that, apparently, are geared to make you buy razor blades(?!). Some of my favorite PaulQuarium sayings:

"I did a topographical survey of my surroundings, and I believe there is room in here for two. Will you join me, Goddess?"

"You're more beautiful than a Picasso. Less creepy, too."

"Goddess, I wrote you a haiku: My manquarium/Full of my goddess's charm/And lots of weird fish."

And my favorite: "I made a playlist of songs that remind me of you. It's very ... emo."

I am completely smitten. And I can't fight the overwhelming urge to buy razor blades.

But we still love 'em

It was a heckuva game. UT won 66-62. But you know, I think the guys fought hard -- maybe not as hard as they should have, but now they know what it's going to take come tournament time. And honestly, some of the pressure's off now.

The Forum was absolutely electric. More than 18,000 fans, with 80-plus percent rooting for Memphis. Win or lose, I'm glad I was a part of it.

And like a true fan, I have completely lost my voice. I sound like Dr. Girlfriend, for real.

I'll post some pics on Picasa tomorrow. Tonight, I rest.

P.S. Thanks for the support, Lauren and Carrie. I love you guys. ^_^

EDIT: I forgot to mention Paul ran into U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen at the game. (Click here for Cohen's "Better Know a District" segment on Colbert Report -- Cohen's a really funny, self-assured guy.)

Paul told me, "I'm going to run over and shake his hand," so I told him to go ahead and I'd wait around the corner. Paul came back a minute later and I asked him, "Well, what did he say?" and Paul replied, "He said, 'You're very welcome.'"

"'You're very welcome'? Welcome for what?" I asked. Paul replied, "I told him, 'Thank you for backing Obama!'"

So he could've said something relevant, such as, "Thanks for supporting the Tigers," or "Thanks for coming home for this game," or even "Thanks for being a funny, self-assured congressman." Instead he thanked him for backing Obama. On the other hand, I guess that is kind of relevant right now.

Graceland goes Tiger Blue

Maybe you guys haven't noticed, but there's a teeny-tiny basketball game tonight between the No. 1 ranked Memphis Tigers (that's us!) and the No. 2 ranked University of Tennessee Vols (boo hiss!).

This is the biggest game since, well, ever. The city has been turned upside-down. It's not just a game between longtime rivals. It's a game between longtime rivals who happen to be the two best teams in the nation right now. That's huge.

Sports agent Jimmy Sexton told ESPN, "It's the hardest ticket I've ever seen in sports, ever. It's harder than any Super Bowl, harder than any World Series. There's just not that many people selling tickets. I've had so many of the players that I represent call and ask me to help them get tickets. I've told them, 'There just aren't any.'" Actually, there are a few on eBay going in the hundreds to thousands of dollars, depending on their location.

Buying season tickets is the smartest thing Paul's ever done ... well, except marrying me. That was a pretty smart move, as well.

Memphians aren't the only ones getting worked up over the game though. A number of celebrities are either expected or confirmed as guests. Peyton and Eli Manning are scheduled to sit in Fred Smith's box. U.S. Rep Steve Cohen and U.S. Sen. Bob Corker will be at the game, as will Isaac Hayes. That linked thread also jokes that former VP Al Gore -- formerly a U.S. senator from Tennessee -- should be at the game but "the building is too warm for him to be there." :D

Not surprisingly, Priscilla Presley also will be in attendance, showing off her Tiger Pride. In fact, because of Priscilla, Graceland has turned this lovely shade of blue for the weekend. That's 150 blue spotlights lighting up the mansion and the grounds. I knew that might never happen again (and we wouldn't be here if it did), so Paul and I drove down there last night for a few pics. Cool, huh?

If you want to take in the Memphis buzz from your points afar, Game Day will be on ESPN this morning at 11am Eastern Standard Time/10am Kate Standard Time. The game is tonight on ESPN at 9pm EST/8pm KST. See if you can find me on TV. I'll be in the rafters, wearing blue. :D

Photo hunt, part deux: The Bellevue crosses

No. 2: The Bellevue crosses. The middle one is 150ft tall; the two flanking it are 120ft. I think, were you to look hard, you could probably see them from space. :D Seriously, you can see them from miles away. Saying they're hard to miss is the understatement of the century.

The crosses were installed in 2000, around my sophomore/junior year in college. I thought they were the gaudiest, shove-my-religion-in-your-face crosses I'd ever seen. I've gotten used to them now, but my opinion really hasn't changed.

Thanks, E. I never would've thought to take a pic of Bellevue, and there's nothing that screams "Buckle of the Bible Belt" more than Memphis' own mega-church.

Now, please to be forthcoming with ... whatever. This may be my whimsy, but I'm still at your mercy, so dole it out as you see fit.

To E ...

Photo forthcoming. I was nearby today, but alas, it was raining.

I've told a couple of the reporters about the photo hunt: You give me a pic clue, I give you a photo, you give me a clue as to who you are. One of them asked me today, "So, what was your first clue?" And I told him about The Pyramid. Then he said, "No, what was your first clue as to who the mystery person is?" And I realized I let you slip on that!

I actually thought I had it all figured out, but the person I asked flat-out denies it and I'm inclined to believe her. Actually, she seemed a little offended/defensive that I thought it was her. Oops. So you've one-upped me already.

I don't need a real identity clue yet if you'll answer one question: Do I know you in real life? This affects how I play the game ... but if we know each other, you probably already knew that.

Well, not quite finished

I'm home from the oncologist! Bloodwork is stable and I've lost weight -- take that, you pineapple-and-protein-shake naysayers.

... And yet it still drags on. I was scheduled to have a JAK2 today -- that's a test for a mutation in my stem cells -- but I can only have it Monday through Wednesday. So I'm back in the lab Monday. I have one last check-up and pick up my files in June.

I talked to Mattie on the phone today for the first time in more than two years. I'm driving to Evansville, Ind., on March 1 to pick him up. It's kind of a funny story because when I picked him up at the airport in 2005, I lightly rear-ended a semi truck on my way home. I'm surprised he's letting me drive him anywhere now. It's okay, I admit it: Sometimes, on occasion, I am a better passenger than driver. Sometimes.

Is it backwards ...

... to want to give reverse going-away gifts?

I ran an idea past Paul last night of what I want to buy my two closest friends here as a “thank you for being you and always being there for me” gift. He liked the idea as well. [All the stuff here is now redacted.]

But I want to give them something personal as well – I mean, something that doesn’t cost money but means a lot to me. Have you ever read Louis Sachar’s children’s book There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? If you haven’t, too bad, because I’m going to tell you the ending. (I don’t feel too guilty – none of my readers are ages 8 to 13 ... I hope.) The story is about an angry, withdrawn boy named Bradley and a new school counselor named Carla who draws Bradley out of his shell. At the end, Carla is fired and has to leave without telling Bradley goodbye. He’s crushed, but she sends him a package containing her favorite book. He responds by sending Carla his most prized possession, a china toy rabbit with a broken ear. Certainly the thought that counts.

When Mattie went home in ’05, he left his rose quartz pendant and I gave him my Zuni bears. They were very important to me, but it just seemed right, you know? And the agreement was, “OK, I’ll hold this for you until we see each other again.” So it’s kind of like that. There are a lot of things that are sacred to me for one reason or another, so it’s just a matter of mulling over what I want them to hold until I come home.

Total lunar eclipse tonight

If you're interested in such things, there's a total lunar eclipse tonight, with the partial starting at 7:43 KST (Kate Standard Time ... or CST) and the mid-eclipse at 9:26 KST. The moon will appear red most of the time, but will look turquoise around 9 and 9:50.

It's the last total lunar eclipse until December 2010.

It's supposed to be mostly cloudy and cold here all night. I can deal with the cold, but here's hoping the clouds break long enough for me to see the eclipse.

Hey hey, Mister E!

Yay! I'm so excited!! I've set up a Picasa album for my Memphis pics so you guys can see the other Memphis places I've visited.


So, let's see here. What can I say about The Pyramid, other than what you can read on Wikipedia? Hmm. My first recollection is one that'll probably ring true with other Memphis 20-somethings: The Wonders series. I think it was Catherine the Great. It was so amazing the first time I got to stand at the base of this giant, glass structure surrounded by Egyptianesque statues. It was so shiny!

The last time I went in The Pyramid was for my college graduation in 2002. In the past couple of years, its been in a countywide tug-of-war as to whether it should be turned into a giant Bass Pro Shop with a seven-story hotel (I'll find a mock-up of that and post it -- it's hideous!) or a theme park. Looks like no deal will be final until long after I'm gone.

The arena is effectively abandoned, which means it's dark at night. The gates are no longer manned, so I drove right up to the base, parked my car under a bridge and snapped a few pics from that spot.

Again: Yay!

Finally over?

Thursday is my six-month checkup with the oncologist. Six months – I can’t believe it. I would’ve completely forgotten about the appointment had I not plugged it into my Smartphone. Man, time really flies.

It actually makes me want to cry a little because I think I’m finally through with all this. Barring unforeseen circumstances, this will be my last(!!!) appointment at the cancer clinic in Memphis, and it’s one of the few things I want to leave behind when I “start over” in July. No more clinics. No more bloodwork. No more holding my breath, waiting for results.

No more … anything. I’m leaving all those memories – and files! – here.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this, but a couple of months after my last UT Cancer appointment in September, I got word back from my OB/GYN that they needed to run a biopsy on a spot in my cervix. Not even three months had passed, and I had another doctor calmly telling me to lie back, this won’t hurt a bit. (Truth: It does hurt, and quite a bit at that.)

A couple of weeks ago, the last of the cervical tests came back clean. I have a recheck of those tests sometime next month but I don’t remember when because I didn’t put that appointment in my phone. >_<

I wasn’t going to tell Paul about Thursday’s appointment – actually, I won’t tell Paul about the appointment, but he’s a smart guy and he reads my blog, so he’s going to find out about it anyway. And I’m certainly not going to tell my parents. They just don’t need to know because they’ll worry. I was pretty upset about the cervical stuff, which made them pretty upset. Apparently it’s a parent thing; I wouldn’t understand.

Anyway, I’m not sure Paul needs to go to the appointment this time. I walked into this situation alone, on a dozen antibiotics with what seemed like a bad infection. Since then, he’s been there every step of the way: the countless needles, the ongoing anemia, the bone marrow – oh, how he made me laugh in the OR! – the CTs, the bad news, the good news. All of it. And I wouldn’t take back a single moment; having him there has been so important to me. But it’s a symbolic thing. When this started, I wasn’t scared because cancer wasn’t on my radar. So I walked into this fearing nothing, and now I’m going to walk out of it fearing nothing. And I mean that.

A lot of things have changed in my life since September 2006. (I wear contacts! I bought a hybrid! I found my stash of hoodies!) Priorities have changed. My day-to-day mood changes more often than my hair color, but my overall outlook is happier. In order for that to happen, I’ve had to commit to giving up old habits and ways of thinking, and that’s an ongoing thing. And I’m ready to give this up. I can’t wait ‘til Thursday.

Sunlight helps too, I think

Little surprise: I do feel better after a few hours of sleep (okay, like four) and an e-mail from a longtime friend. That's a nice thing to have in your inbox when you wake up!

Speaking of sleep, when I stopped taking sleeping pills, I cut my sleep time in half. I seem to be doing okay, especially after a smidge of caffeine to get me rolling, so should I be worried about the long-term effects of sleeping so little each night? I mean, obviously it's making me grumbly, but is it killing brain cells or anything? Anybody? Anybody? That reminds me: I should e-mail my favorite blue blogging insomniac to see what he thinks.

Ooh, gotta run. I need to get ready so I have time to buy my pineapple and protein shake. I should've taken a walk this morning but it took a backseat to that e-mail. :)

Everything old is new again

Moving has been on my mind a lot lately, and I do mean a lot. I feel like crap. Yea, though I walk through the valley of dissociation, I will fear no emotion. My blog and my notebook, they comfort me ... as does working a lot ... and playing my piano ... and getting mad at the last boss in Final Fantasy. In short, I've schlepped back to my old hobbies. Anything to get out of my head for a while.

Fortunately for "getting out of my head," Matt (not my brother-in-law or the one from Michigan but the other one) and I have gone out the past couple of Sundays. We didn't do anything too exciting yesterday, just watched a lot of TV (revelation: Top Gear rocks!) while he did some laundry. Fortunately, Paul is cool with me hanging out with Matt; Paul and I are tight like that and he told me just because he has to work on his dissertation, it shouldn't mean I can't go out and have fun. So I did. And I will. The cool thing about hanging out with Matt is that I don't have to say anything. Ever. I mean, I generally do, but I don't have to. He gets me, and I'd like to think I get him. He says we must've been siblings in another life, and I'd buy that. As an only child, I will assume that only a brother can be so cool and yet so goddamn frustrating at the same time sometimes. :D

Speaking of frustrated, I've been really pissed about two random people telling a friend that all video gamers are swingers. (By extrapolation, guess what "LAN parties" really are.) What's worse is I think she actually believed it for a split second. So a great big Fuck You to the two people who started this whole ball rolling -- especially when I'm thinking about getting back into an MMO. I can't blame her too much for believing them, I guess, considering it came from two independent sources. I'm not mad at her at all, but seriously, what the hell?

I think the problem is that I'm already touchy (bitchy?) about wanting to withdraw into things and situations that are comfortable and familiar and low-key, so I don't want to defend those decisions any more than I have to. It's all very complicated and I'm tired. I've been writing and erasing this post for two hours, which is why it's so disjointed. I didn't sleep a lot last night and my brain and fingers aren't on the same wavelength. Maybe tomorrow I'll post something that's less grumbly and more sensible. We shall see.

P.S. Hugo?

To Mister E

You say that you keep things close to the vest -
That's OK - I like to guess.
Down to a few I've narrowed it
I'm wasting time doing this shit.

But this is fun, and don't I know it,
Playing games with a mysterious poet.
I wanna know who you are, but I will not fret;
I'll just make a proposition -- which I'll later regret.

Let's drag this out (with your permission)
Let's complicate things with a photo mission.
You give me clues of places around --
No more than 20 miles outside of town.

When I think I know it, a picture I'll take
(For my Memphis album, this will be great!)
If I'm wrong, I'll just have to try again
If I'm right, a clue you'll be givin'.

A couple more ground rules: I will not go
Anywhere unsafe or illegal (I have limits, you know).
I know you are asking, "What the hell?"
I bet you weren't expecting this ... but oh well.

No need to be speedy BUT no need to waste time
When I figure it out, five pineapples are mine.
It's kinda like pen pals, but it won't be the same
I think it's much more fun playing this game.

I've got six months to kill, this could be worse --
Now it's your turn: Answer me in verse.

So to recap: Clues of places where I'll take photos for my Memphis album. Nowhere unsafe or illegal (e.g. the top of Sterick or the M-bridge), nowhere too expensive (Chez Philippe isn't in my budget). Cut me some slack now and then. Collaborations are OK on your end and mine, as long as certain friends -- like you-know-who -- don't suggest zany places I'd rather not go.

If I get a pic, you give me a clue. If I don't get a pic, we start the whole thing over. Figure out a way for me to make sure the clues are really from you and not from some other person trying to trip me up. Time limit is when I move in six months.

P.S. My original plan was cyber Truth or Dare, but I know how you roll. ^_^
P.P.S. Please, please play along. It'll liven things up. :)

This starts out with a picture of my new haircolor and then gets serious because I'm in a serious mood

Ooh ooh -- check it! I have blondish hair! Cool huh? Not as blonde as I used to be, but I likey. And it looks different in different light, so sometimes it's kind of red, sometimes it's kind of ... not. ... I dunno. Anyway, I'm digging it.

Thanks, Johanna, for the inspiration and the help. ^_^ And happy early 30th birthday!

I like that pic. I think I'm going to stick it on MySpace later.

So it's T-minus six months until the move and I'm still trying to process exactly what that means. I broke my "in person only" rule and told a friend over the phone last weekend. We went out for a long talk Sunday and are planning to do the same this weekend.

I came across this quote today from tragic author Katherine Mansfield: "Whenever I prepare for a journey I prepare as though for death. Should I never return, all is in order."

Everything's not in order yet, and there's not much time to get to that point.

I think one problem is that I'm afraid I'm going to forget the way things are. You know when people die and you worry you're going to forget what they look like? It's like that, but instead of worrying about forgetting one person, I'm worrying about forgetting an entire city. I always want to remember the way the Wonder Bread factory smells Downtown when the wind is blowing west. And the sound of FedExForum erupting in cheers when the Tigers when a game. Nights of "Truth or Truth" with Johanna. The way I drive to work in the morning.

Anyone ever heard the song, "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" from Avenue Q? There's a line near the end in which Princeton wistfully says, "I wish I had taken more pictures." With that in mind, I grabbed my camera and headed out the office door an hour early today.

After snapping a few shots of The Lorraine Motel (where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot) and a couple of places in the arts district, I headed to the riverbluff. A cold wind was coming off the Mississippi, rendering my favorite black hoodie (FBH) nearly useless. I took pictures of the skyline, the barges, the two bridges that span the river between Tennessee and Arkansas. Feeling like I might be getting frostbite off the river -- actually, the second time that's happened in a week -- I hopped back in my car and drove around a while to clear my head.

Without paying attention, I made a wrong turn and ended up on Interstate 55 on my way into Arkansas. No joke. I zoned out for a minute and found myself in another state on a highway completely unfamiliar to me. Expletive. With a little help from my GPS, I found Interstate 40, which I know like the back of my hand, and made it back toward Tennessee.

And now you're going to think I'm making this up, but as I pulled onto the bridge over the Mississippi, Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis" came on XM '90s on 9. So I find myself passing under the "Welcome to Tennessee" sign heading toward Riverside Drive and listening to "Walking in Memphis." And maybe sniffling just a little.

People who don't believe in intelligent synchronicity are fools. Or they don't listen to enough Coast to Coast. Or both.

I'm not sure what it means. Does it mean that no matter how far I go, I'll always come home? Or that I'll leave the city but it'll never leave me? I'm still trying to figure that -- and everything else about moving -- out in my head.

And now that I've gotten the serious stuff out of my system, we all can go back to admiring my hair, right? Right?

P.S. To the poet who commented on my "Candy is Dandy, but fruit is ... tastier" post, thanks for making my day. I've narrowed you down to about four people but I think I prefer the mystery. Do I get another comment-type clue?

Where does he keep the ammunition?

Somebody in city government sent this video to the media. It is not supposed to be funny -- and I don't want to make it seem like school violence is in any way humorous -- but this is so over the top that it's hard not to raise an eyebrow and grin.

It starts to get absurd about 10 seconds in. Just watch.

Candy is dandy, but fruit is ... tastier

Happy pre-Valentine's Day! Actually, by the time most of you read this, it will be Valentine's Day. Hug the ones you love; you never know when they'll be gone.

So what does a guy buy his wife who's on a fruit and protein drink diet? Fruit! Paul sent me an Edible Arrangement of strawberries, grapes and fresh pineapple.

I am thoroughly convinced fresh pineapple makes the world go 'round. Seriously. I've been eating big hunks of fresh pineapple -- not the canned crap -- like it's going out of style, hitting the grocery store Every Single Morning on the way into work for the past couple of weeks for tasty, pineapple-y goodness. Yes, this is an expensive habit, but if I had to choose between a pack-a-day smoking addiction or a pineapple-a-day fruit addiction, I'd go with the pineapple. (Of course, that must be tempered by an admission that I love the smell of cigarette smoke[!] and encourage my friends to smoke in my car because I don't myself smoke.)

Sorry for the sucky cameraphone pic; my coworkers started to devour my arrangement and I wanted to make sure I got a pic before the entire thing was picked clean. And that's with me getting the arrangement at 5:30 p.m. -- after hours. It wouldn't have lasted even that long had it come during the workday.

The fruit and protein thing seems to be paying off, diet-wise. I feel like a million bucks with so much energy. And here's the cool (if inexplicable) thing: After five years of taking sleeping pills Every Single Night, I haven't needed them for a week. So ... energy + natural sleep = happy Kate.

I'll skip all the mooshy-gooshy talk -- hey, I'm sensitive towards the feelings of you single folk -- and instead just sincerely thank Paul for the arrangement. He is, quite possibly, the most caring husband in the universe.

And once more with the "Year of the Wha-?"
I became really confused when Grr and De both left me comments saying they could be race-car drivers. That's an oddly specific coincidence, I told myself. I didn't realize the placemat definitions were so ... pointed. My sign didn't list potential jobs ("Your sign promises success in any field you try"), so I had no idea the other ones listed star-crossed career advice.

And, having read through them, those are some weird job suggestions. Lawyer, actor, scientist, politician ... I understand all of those. But what's up with race-car driver, matador, priest or fortune-teller? How about secret agent or beachcomber -- is that even a job?

Who was in charge of this placemat career advice? I demand a refund!

Tornadoes, prostitution and monkeys (in that order)

Tornadoes. I intended (and forgot) to post a video a few days ago of the damage caused by the worst of the tornadoes to hit Memphis Tuesday. Absolutely insane. Three people killed and more injured in Hickory Hill, the worst-hit Memphis neighborhood and the one featured in this video.

I have a friend -- okay, it's one of the permuted Matts -- who works literally yards from the destruction ... but his building was untouched. Tornadoes are funny that way ... and that's a good thing because I would've been pretty pissed if he'd been hurt. He drove me through the area Sunday night and even in the dark I can tell it's bad.

Turn the volume down. Dude's voice is kind of annoying.



Prostitution. A colleague's investigation into Memphis prostitution has ended with the shutdown of a motel friendly to prostitutes. Story here. I don't normally post specific work-related stuff, but I'm very proud of the work Rosalind did on this. As an aside, a pimp (err, businessman? What's the PC term?) called her after the original story ran to try to convince her to consider the positives of the business of prostitution. Nice to know pimps are reading the paper.

Anyway, she did a helluva job on the month-long investigation. Glad to see the authorities were paying attention too.


Monkeys. The Chinese zodiac "monkey" description came from the Fruits Basket zodiac page because it was handy and(!) because I liked being called an erratic genius. The common placemat definition:

You are very intelligent and have a very clever wit. Because of your extraordinary nature and magnetic personality you are always well-liked. The Monkey, however, must guard against being an opportunist and distrustful of other people. Your sign promises success in any field you try.

Of course, it doesn't tell me anything I don't already know. :grin:

What's your placemat definition?

Oh, rats!

Happy belated Year of the Rat!

My favorite rat this year: Yuki. No, no ... that's not really true. Two of my favorite Matts in the world (Matthew and Mattie) are Rats. But I started reading Fruits Basket last year and have become horribly addicted, so Yuki definitely makes it into my Top 10 Rats list.

(Note to self: Don't blame Mom for not liking somebody who describes himself on MySpace as a "Crazy crack-smoking lampworker." It's a joke, Mom. Really.)

(Second note to self: Give Matthew hell for choosing the username "Pew Pew the Fluffy Bear.")

Somebody sent my boss a couple of boxes of chocolate mice to celebrate the New Year. They have little silk tails and almond ears. I'd send each of you a box if they weren't totally out of my price range ($30 for a box of nine). Instead, you can feast your eyes on my chocolaty little friend posing on top of my Logitech. It's mouse-on-mouse action!

I was born in the year of the monkey:

People born in the Year of the Monkey are the erratic geniuses of the cycle. Clever, skillful, and flexible, they are remarkably inventive and original and can solve the most difficult problems with ease. There are few fields in which Monkey people wouldn't be successful but they have a disconcerting habit of being too agreeable. They want to do things now, and if they cannot get started immediately, they become discouraged and sometimes leave their projects. Although good at making decisions, they tend to look down on others. Having common sense, Monkey people have a deep desire for knowledge and have excellent memories.

Some of that isn't true -- for example, I have no memory and I'm not that great at making decisions. But a lot of it is true. Forsooth, I am agreeable! I have lots of common sense! I am an erratic genius! (Mmhmm. You just keep believing that.)

Coming to terms with making my own decisions

Paul had to teach lab last night, so I rode to the basketball game with Mom and Dad. On the way home, I was talking about how much is on hold until Paul knows the dates of his trip to Ireland. I said there was a possibility he could miss the C-USA tournament, we can't plan the dates for our first visit to Charleston, and it could affect when a friend visits us for a while.

"It's not that weird friend, is it?" Mom asked me. I assumed she was talking about Mattie -- and she was -- but Paul and I know so many interesting people that she could've been referring to anybody. When I pressed her, she said, "You know, that guy who doesn't have a job and was out in the garage smoking a lot." Yep, that's Mattie. When I told her, there was an uncomfortable silence for a while.

To address their concerns: he works, just not in an office. And Mom and Dad have met him -- how could they not think he's very nice?

I came home absolutely deflated and told Paul, "She said, 'It's not that weird friend, is it?' and I knew she had to be talking about Matt." And Paul said, "Which Matt?" Because I know a couple of guys who previously were unemployed and smoked in my garage. So Paul made me laugh about it.

I'm sure I'll understand when I'm a parent, but I don't appreciate that I'm nearly 28 years old and she's still telling me what she thinks of my friends. Screw that. Paul was like, "I like Matt. You like Matt. I trust him completely -- and I'm the guy who thinks people are out to stab me." Paul would have no qualms leaving town with Matt here. In fact, I'd probably feel safer than I would if I were by myself. But Mom (but not Dad, really) will hover the whole time Paul is gone, so it's going to be hard to lie about somebody living upstairs.

It kept me awake for a few hours until I took a Xanax. I don't want to get into it with her over this. I think I'm a decent judge of character, so this is really rubbing me the wrong way.

Before I fell asleep, I remembered how much Carrie liked Matt when they both were living here. That really made me feel better. If Paul and I and my best friend who stayed here with Matt all like him, then Mom and Dad should too.

I've gotta get ready for work. That's off my chest now and I've got to stop worrying about it. I care a lot about what my parents think, but I don't think I have to agree with them about everything.

Storms and things

If you've turned on the national news at most any point today, you've probably seen pictures of Memphis succumbing to a huge storm that rolled through last night. No, not that Storm. A line of tornadoes that killed three people, tore up a mall, ripped the roof off one building at the FedEx mega-hangar, even moved a 737 airplane at Memphis International.

I think people knew it was going to be bad -- the rain didn't roll in until 3 or 4, but Memphis City Schools dismissed at 12:30 and the University of Memphis dismissed a couple of hours after that. I just don't think anyone knew how bad it would be.

I rode out the first supercell at the office, dashed home during a break in the weather, and spent more time than I would've liked cooped up in a small walk-in closet with Paul and the cats. Newsflash: Cats do not like storms. The power came and went a few times. And, to compound things, yesterday was Super Tuesday.

Needless to say, storms and elections made for a busy news day at the office -- a perfect day to have to go to a dentist appointment. And not just any dentist appointment. My first in a while. (Yay, insurance!)

Paul called the dentist in September to make appointments for both of us. Alas, appointments are not easy to come by, so mine was for Dec. 26 and his was in early January. At some point around late November, they called me to reschedule mine because the hygienists were off the day after Christmas. The next available date? Today.

So, anyway, I busted my butt this morning so I could leave with plenty of time to get across town. Traffic was backed up on one part of the Interstate -- stupid wide loads -- so I aimed for an alternate route that, I remembered too late, is perpetually slow-going because of construction work.

About 15 minutes before my appointment, my car phone rang. It was the dentist's office. My hygienist went to the doctor today and has strep, so my appointment must be rescheduled. Fan-frickin-tastic. There was no way I was going to drive 20 miles in stop-and-go traffic to get back to the office, so I went home and monitored my e-mail from there.

Hopefully the traffic has cleared somewhat because I have to head Downtown for a basketball game. The arena is within walking distance of my office, which is convenient for most weeknight games but doesn't help me much tonight. Eh, it was worth it to spend a couple of hours at home.

Oh, and one of the Tigers might not be playing tonight. Robert Dozier allegedly assaulted his girlfriend, but charges are pending and I'm not sure if disciplinary actions have (or will) be taken. And he's one of the better free-throw shooters, too.

Is that a Hillshire Farms 3-lb. Yard-O-Beef © in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Well, what do you know? It IS a Hillshire Farms 3-lb. Yard-O-Beef©, full of tasty, summer-sausagey goodness, nesting in your shirt pocket, just waiting for a steamy date with spicy mustard.

And then what? Are you going to slow dance with the deli-style pickles? Consort with a wheel of aged cheddar? Go on a picnic and neck with the baked beans?

It's like I don't even know you anymore.

Making shirts and falling down (not in that order)

First, out with the idiocy: I fell down about three stairs leaving the stadium after the game Saturday. The reason: I was trying not to trip over a kid. I feel like an idiot and my ankle looks like a baseball. The kid looked scared to death. His parents weren't around (!), but I just know, had I fallen toward him, they would've popped up out of nowhere and slapped me with a lawsuit faster than you can say twenty-one-and-oh. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I'd be kicking myself if, well, um, if my foot didn't hurt so bad.

Oh, I made the text for Mom's shirt! That's the pretty pic to your left. I think I might buy one for Dad too. This, of course, means I have to make sure they're going to be at GameDay. I'll figure out a way of tricking them into going. I know Paul and I will be there. We won't have cool shirts though. I mean, I have a cat named Joe but she's not named for Big D, so the closest I can come to Mom's shirt is "I like Joey D. and incidentally have a cat with the same name." Not nearly as catchy.

So Mattie e-mailed this morning -- 8 a.m., so I missed him by about half an hour -- to say he's in Evansville, Ind., and will come down here for a while before he heads home. That's great news -- so great, in fact, that I woke Paul up to tell him and he wasn't even mad at me. As far as houseguests go, Mattie's a fun one. It'll be good to see him one more time before we move.

Okay, I'm off to paint my toenails because my stupid ankle brace (always handy in Clumsy Kate land) won't fit in my tennis shoes and I'm relegated to wearing sandals. Again: stupid stupid stupid.