55

I celebrate birthday number 55 today. Oh boy.

A Good Time Was Had By Me

Today was what a weekend day should be: relaxed, lazy, yet productive and full of minor accomplishments.

After a late start, the first endeavor involved going to the Dallas Farmers' Market, where we saw this:









Before loading up with sacks of tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, okra, and random other such necessities, a visit to Paul's Sweet Roasted Corn was in order. For just $3, Paul and his folks will sell either roasted ears of corn or, my favorite, large cups filled with corn kernels that have been sliced from the cobs. In addition to the roasted corn kernels, they put huge globs of butter in the cup, along with mayonaisse and/or sour cream. The buyer then decides how to finish out the snack; most people tend to choose lots of chile powder, Mexican hot sauce, lime juice, pepper, and various spices. After the cup full of goodies is stirred and mixed with a plastic spoon, the corn becomes a delightful and energizing snack.


After the snack and a quick dash though the sheds, I had a trunk full of goodies for the coming week.


Then, it was off to Vern's Kitchen for lunch.




The exclusive focus of Vern's Kitchen is soul food. And Vern and her crew serve up some excellent soul food. The offerings include: short ribs cooked until the meat falls off the bone; meat loaf; beef stew; chicken-fried steak; chittlins; chicken and dressing; pepper steaks; and pigs' feet. For "sides," they serve collard greens; black-eyed peas; green beans; yams; and a host of other stuff. We had chicken-fried steak and ribs, with sides including collard greens, green beans, and yams. It was outstanding! The people behind the counter are very friendly and extremely accommodating. While the menu is not what I'd call "heart-healthy," I'd say its good for every other part of me.

The rest of the day was spent on unproductive but interesting exploits. A visit to two "model home remodels" yielded plenty of envy about other people's recent home upgrades, but also plenty of ideas that could be done less expensively, so maybe it was worthwhile. A trip to the grocery store, where no vegetable were purchased, yielded massive stores of meat, including beef in the form of New York strip and lamb in the for of lamb chops.

And now, here I sit, trying to figure out how to have a good time like this every day.

I Think I'm Turning Japanese: The Vapours

This 1980 one-hit wonder was, and is, bizarre. For some reason, I like it. And here are the lyrics:

I've got your picture of me and you
You wrote "I love you" I wrote "me too"
I sit there staring and there's nothing else to do
Oh it's in color Your hair is brown
Your eyes are hazel And soft as clouds
I often kiss you when there's no one else around

I've got your picture, I've got your picture
I'd like a million of you all round my cell
I want a doctor to take your picture
So I can look at you from inside as well
You've got me turning up and turning down
And turning in and turning 'round

I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so

I've got your picture, I've got your picture
I'd like a million of them all round my cell
I want the doctor to take a picture
So I can look at you from inside as well
You've got me turning up and turning down and turning in and turning 'round

I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so

No sex, no drugs, no wine, no women
No fun, no sin, no you, no wonder it's dark
Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone ranger
That's why I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so

Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
(think so think so think so)
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so

Flights of Fancy

Before I get started: this is the sculpture I mentioned before, the one I saw in front of a small-town bank during last weekend's drive.



There's so much I haven't shared with this blog that I don't know where to start. OK, I won't start. I'll share random snippets of meaningles drivel that matters not a whit to the world. You can stop reading here if you're insistent on relevance or entertainment.

The latest big news is that we got a new client today. Well, it won't be official until January 1, but we got the news today. It's a regional organization that needs professional management. They liked what they saw. Which was our proposal. They've never met me nor anyone on my staff. But they picked us. All I have left to do is get a signed contract and a signed transition plan and schedule. That's "all." Hot damn. We're 9/10 of the way back to where we were before our biggest client cut our fees by a whopping 25%. Of course the fees that are left are in jeopardy. So a partial make-up isn't as oh-my-god-happy as it might otherwise be.

But, it's better than a sharp stick in the eye, as I am wont to say.

In other news, I challenged another current client to behave like adult professonals, which got their attention but did nothing to cement our relationship. I just don't have the patience to deal with these people. I need surrogates who can tolerate arrogance, vanity, pride, and such. I don't do well dealing with hyper-stupidity that is wrapped in unwarranted self-importance. I tend to reach the point of suggesting to certain people that I would be particularly impressed if they would successfully exhibit the ability to drown themselves. Frequently, I catch myself before going all out, but sometimes I just can't stop my mouth from revealing all my brain's not-so-flattering thoughts. This, in no small measure, is the reason I find myself short on clients and income, I suppose.

I reached the decision, very recently, to retire in about three years, when I am 58. The decision was not based on any sort of financial assessment (which would have revealed a more realistic target to be a numeric palindrome...85), but on my estimate of my ability to tolerate bullshit and my estimate of the amount of time remaining in the lifeline of the U.S. Within three years, I estimate, I will have been able to arrange to initiate a productive vegetable garden on my southern estate, something that will be necessary to those of us planning to eat after three years have passed.

My plan, of course, will rely on receiving Social Security when I turn 65, so I would have to survive an additional seven years without SS income. That, of course, is impossible unless I engage in some questionable activities such as felony bank robbery or large-scale fraud. So, for the next three years, I shall embark on an intense effort to plan a failure-proof scheme to secure large sums of unearned money. Inasmuch as I am a very left-leaning liberal, the sources of my funds must be obscenely rich institutions that do harm to the common man. Naturally, my first thoughts are of churches. My initial plan will explore ways in which I can redirect funds from church coffers to me. Of course, I will ensure that I select streams of cash that do not actually do good. I'm thinking more of building funds, set-asides that fund pastor and preacher and priest "salaries" and the like.

I've run out of bad ideas to memorialize on this blog, so I'm going to call it a wrap for the moment. I may be back later tonight. Or it may be a month of Sundays.

More Synaptic Firings

Yesterday was a day of goofing off, for the most part. After spending a fortune on getting my car's semi-annual wash-the-crap-off-the-aging-paint-and-windshield experience handled, we went for a drive.

We were off to downtown McKinney to visit the antique shops and take a walk in the very nice weather. We had lunch at a pub (fish & chips with a Guiness and shepherd's pie with a Boddington's ale) which was overly filling, but it gave impetus to wander a bit more to walk it off.

The drive back home through dozens of little towns that have now become extensions of Dallas was rewarding. We came across some metal sculpture, in front of a bank, that was appealing; I took a few photos, but I left the damn docking station for the camera at my office, so can't post them.

After a stop at Lowe's to get odds & ends (and use a $10 coupon), we went out again late in the day in search of a pizza place we'd heard about and for which we had a nice coupon (buy one, get one free). The pizza was good, but I'm not sure it was worth the drive. But now we have lots of cold pizza in the refrigerator.

A brother called last night and informed me that he's going to be giving a presentation at the Texas Folklore Society early next year. I'm hoping my calendar is open at the time so I can go see him and support the presentation.

We watched The Negotiator, with Samuel Jackson and Kevin Spacey last night. I think I've seen it before (it was made in 1998). It's not high art, but it was the sort of action video I wanted last night; no need to think, just entertainment.

I've broken my lifelong prohibition against bumper stickers on my car. The Bastard is now sporting a sticker on his rear bumper that says, "No Third Term, Vote Democratic." My neighborhood is filled with yard signs extolling the virtues of a McCain-Palin ticket.

I would fight back with my own Obama-Biden signs, but I simply refuse to pay for the privilege. I'm happy to support the ticket with a donation, but I'll be damned if I'll be forced to buy a sign to show my support. It would be one thing if they said, "make a contribution and we'll give you a yard sign...they're not doing that. They're requiring a PURCHASE of a sign, in addition to any donation you care to make. I'll show that support on my ballot. I think the decision to require supporters to buy signs was a very, very bad one that I hope future campaigns don't repeat.

We're in the final 100 days of the Bush presidency. A truly catastrophic period in American history is coming to an end, but it will be generations before the damage Bush has done can be erased if, indeed, his legacy can ever be righted. He has led this country away from its fundamental principles, wrecked its reputation around the world, single-handedly started wars, spewed vitriolic arrogance toward virtually all of the rest of the world, attempted to introduce a theocracy, and otherwise behaved as the narrow-minded idiot that he is. If the citizens of this country really did have a voice, it would have been heard as we cried out for justice through his impeachment and imprisonment. How in the name of all that is good can we let this man leave office quietly and live out an undeserved life of privilege?

The World

I woke up late, just about 7:00 am, after a night of fitful sleep. And now it's on to a day of trying to make sense of the economy, my business, my relationships, and my life. Another day in the world.

Reversal

It's never my fault. Regardless of what the calamity, it's never my fault. Someone else is responsible for it. Someone else failed to do something that should have been done, or did something that should not have been done. No matter that my fingerprints are all over the weapon, I am never responsible for the crime.

If not me, then who? Someone convenient, someone who can't or won't push back hard enough to put the whole thing under a spotlight. Someone who, over time, begins to believe that it really isn't my fault. Someone who starts to accept that it's their fault.

It is my fault. It's my fault. And it has to be repaired. There's so much that's been broken, but it all has to be repaired. Someone new has to emerge from my skin. And all that misplaced fault has to be removed, stone by stone, and the damage it has done, the crushing damage, has to be repaired.

Change

I've been a bastard today, a complete bastard. I don't know why I can't seem to be who I want to be. I wouldn't put up with me. Not as a spouse, an employer, an employee, a friend. Something has to change. And that something is me.

The Unauthorized Autobiography of Sarah Palin

Palin is a psychopath.

Let's don't elect her. Let's dissect her!
Let's see what's there in her tiny mind.
I'll bet it's smelly, and not benign!

She's a danger, there's no question.
Just hearing her talk gives me indigestion.

A Few Shots from My Life

My favorite view from my hotel room in Corpus Christi last week.


Another, similar view.


My room had a very nice bed.


I liked the little bar, too, complete with fridge, microwave, and sink.


And here's my new wooden cocoon, my new desk...in the dim light of morning.

A Wooden Cocoon

My new desk is in the guestroom, so I can't simply turn around and look through the three large windows into the backyard. But with its hutch and built-in cork message board and my nice modern halogen lamp, it creates a little nest for me, a place I'll soon start to like as a writing retreat. I still need to address the unruly wires strewn all across the desk...speaker wires, USB port wires, mouse wires, camera cradle and its mass of wires, telephone line, etc. Once I've successfully addressed that nastiness, I'll have a smooth desktop, cluttered only by things I want to clutter it with. I will have successfully created a wooden cocoon.

An Art Festival...or Not

Yesterday was day one of a three-day trade show. By the end of the day, my feet ached, my knees were angry and beligerent, and my commitment to two more days of the same had waned dramatically.

I'm approaching today as though it's an opportunity to gather materials for some of my long-delayed writing projects. I'll make mental notes about the heavily-tatooed screen-printers who use the trade show floor as a canvass to show their body art to the masses. I'll carefully observe the mannerisms of the embroiderers, some of whom wisely show off their work by wearing it on their shirts...and ohers who apparently are not so comfortable (and not so smart) and so hide any evidence of their craft. The sales people who staff the booths of the bigger companies will have a special place in my mental notebook, where I'll keep my observations about people who are present at the show purely and immediately for financial gain. They are the ones who look at everyone on the show floor as a prospect, not for a sale but for providing funds for a new pair of slacks or a new car.

I have to admit it. I'm there primarily because I want my presence to turn into money. It's a nasty acknowledgement. I'd rather not make it. But I've already done it now and I can't take it back.

THe question, of course, is whether any of the reasons I will use to justify my trip to Fort Worth will be sufficient to justify the hassles of traffic and parking during the downtown art festival.

Supremely and Uniquely Unqualified

"Governor Palin is supremely and uniquely unqualified to hold the office to which she aspires."

As much as James Carville can be a horse's ass, he can occasionally articulate clearly and concisely that which others have a hard time communicating.

Wasted on the Young

The odors that drift into my nose when I walk along the sand and broken shell that form the beach by the bay are mixtures of ecstacy and horror. They recall the sweet stench of adolescence and petroleum distillates and salt air that seemed somehow natural when I was a teen. The pelicans gliding inches above the water early in the morning and the sense of an intimate, private relationship with nature as the sun begins to lighten the sky with pink and orange and brilliant blue tints bring my youth into vivid focus.

I remember fishing and shrimping and sailing in those waters. I remember the delight of walking home, carying a stringer heavy with the huge flounder I caught the night before after an all-night fishing expedition on Oso Pier. And I recall the night that the speckled trout were so thick in the waters below that my friends and I each took home at least forty or fifty big ones. And I remember driving to Padre Island, when I was in my late teens, going miles down the utterly deserted beach to stake my claim to my private fishing area where I knew no one else would come. It was the desolation of the beach at daybreak and sunset that I craved.

Just a quick trip to my hometown made me homesick, thirty-six years later. I want to go home again. I missed out on so much because I was so young. Youth is wasted, wasted I tell you, on the young!

A Long, Long Time

The economy is in a massive tailspin. I have mixed feelings...while I'd like to punish the bastards who caused this fiasco, I don't want to do it at the expense of all of us. I'm ready to retire, but that's not bloody likely for a long, long while.

Now...About Palin

I got back home last night, but I'm leaving again today for another meeting, this time in Corpus Christi, TX. It's a short trip; I come back on Tuesday afternoon. I'll have Wednesday and most of the day Thursday to catch up on work I've missed since I left town last Tuesday. Then, another obligation...manning a trade show booth with a member of my staff, Friday through Sunday.

And then maybe I'll relax for awhile...but, not long, as I have another client board meeting coming up the weekend of October 25, so I have to prepare for that and then experience it in all its joy and excitement.

This morning, clothes are in the washer as I pack for my trip...don't know what I would have done if I had kept to the original schedule, which would have gotten me home about noon today before my outbound 3:00 pm flight.

No time for our normal Sunday lunch wanderings today. Typically, we'd look for a character-laden dive where we could get something unusual but tasty. Today, though, we'll eat in...BLTs, which I love more than life itself, made even better with the addition (on mine, anyway) of jalapeños.

Now...about Palin. I watched SNL last night, only because I wanted to see Tina Fey's mockery of the Vice Presidential nominee. It was hysterical. But it was nothing compared to the real thing; I watched a video this morning of the Couric interview and laughed until I cried. Republicans are calling for her replacement and I fully understand why. If she doesn't get some serious training between now and Thursday's debate, she's going to be the most incredible embarrassment the world has ever seen.

Paul Newman

I'm not one to go gah-gah over movie stars. Actors just don't impress me, at least not any more than anyone else impresses me. So when a famous actor dies, I generally don't get teary-eyed. I didn't KNOW them, for god's sake!

Today, it was different. It wasn't just an actor who died, it was Paul Newman. He seemed so genuinely real to me that I always felt that his acting was no act; he was revealing part of himself. I wasn't a nut-case fan; I didn't have to see a movie just because he was in it, I never tried to meet him, I never even thought about trying to get an autograph. But I did consider him to be a very special actor and I have always held him in high regard, both for his acting and for his humanitarian efforts.

Earlier today, when I sat at a bar in the Fort Lauderdale airport, drinking a beer while waiting for my flight, I fought back tears as I read of his death. He was a fine actor and a fine human being.

Bad Beach to the Bone

Club Nikki in Miami is a huge rip-off, in my humble opinion. $76 per person for a fucking bad hamburger and two drink tickets for beer or wine. That included transportation from and back to Trump International. Big deal. For that kind of money, I would have expected the waitstaff to take turns being guests' companions or otherwise fulfilling their fantasies. Miami appears, in general, to be overwhelmed by its own trendiness. I heartily recommend staying away from the city...Beach and City, proper...unless you don't mind being overcharged for underperforming services. Spend you money, instead, funding my retirement. I will be money well-spent

Error: Your Desire Could Not Be Processed

Today screamed by like an atomic clock on nuclear steroids. I woke up at 5:30 to the hotel wake-up call and haven't stopped for long since. It's 9:30 pm now and I just got back to my room half an hour ago.

Granted, the last four hours were spent at a reception where I drank too much white wine and ate too many helpings of made to order Chinese stir-fry, but the day still seemed like a blur.

After spending quite alot of time and energy logging in to my computer at the office and downloading files and updated data, I participated in a couple of high-stress meetings that I would just as soon have avoided. But, of course, had I done that, I wouldn't have had a reason to be here and would not have the client. You adjust your priorities when the need arises.

It occurred to me during a conversation at the reception, that I have failed to communicate, in the least, with the panelists I enlisted to participate in a conversation about emergency preparedness for businesses for which I will serve as moderator. That's a great example of how not to prepare for an emergency; put off all your communication about what's next.

So, I spent a bit of time talking to one guy, saying in effect, "I don't want this to seem rehearsed; I won't ask any really tough or embarrassing questions, I just want the responses to seem unrehearsed. This is going to be a real dialog, not a canned presentation." Right. It will be that, indeed. I haven't spoken to the other two panelists. Have I lost my interest in this, or what?

The thing is, the topic is really of interest to me. Why haven't I prepared to moderate the session? I don't know. I really don't know.

A woman I saw tonight said she had heard that I planned to retire soon. What a wonderful wish. I don't know who told her and she "didn't recall" where she heard it. Maybe I'm being weeded out. Oh, such desire.

If I Were Thinner, I'd Have a Taller Face

I just looked at my visitor stats and discovered that, during the past three days, I've had a huge (compared to my "normal") number of people visit this blog. But they don't comment. Maybe they don't like what they see. Maybe they don't like me.

Maybe they think I'm charismatic and dangerous. Maybe they think I've gone bat-shit nutso and need to be watched to keep me from hurting other bloggers when I throw blogsplats all over the Internet. Or maybe they work for the government and are collecting data for use in the arraignment.

It could be they heard that I was on the verge of something and came to see...only to find that I'm actually off the verge of not much and there's nothing on which to focus.

It's entirely possible they stumbled across the blog and scrambled as fast as they could to leave. But there are some who come back over and over and over. And they scare me and make me consider curling into a little ball in the corner. But I can't do that, because "little" is something I'm not, though I would like to be. And "ball," well that's just not appropriate for mixed-up companies. "Corner," though, is sometimes how I feel, but with a "d" added on. That's much like "cage," but also with a "d" added on. As in a lion.

I've heard people talk about someone being like a "caged lion." But I've never heard anyone described "like a caged muskrat." And I wonder why that is.

But back to the issue at hand. There are these people, see, who are looking in on me. And I think that's great, except they don't say anything to me.

Maybe they don't want to embarrass me by saying something like, "Hey, I stopped by your blog and I found it irrelevant and a waste of my time. I kept coming back, hoping it would get better, but it just doesn't. Frankly, it's a piece of whale caca and shouldn't be allowed on the Internet tubes. Why don't you put us out of our misery by breaking your fingers?"

That would be OK. I don't mind being embarrassed in that way. A way I don't want to be embarrassed by would be for someone to stop by the blog and say "I saw you eating leftovers from several tables in a fast-food restaurant last night and I captured it on video and now it's on YouTube.com and your life as a compulsive eater of half-eaten fast-food meals left by strangers is on public view for everyone to see." Fortunately, no one has left such a message. Which goes to my point. People tend not to leave messages. Except for Nicole and Kathy and Teresa and, on rare occasion, Ellie and Phil. But they're not the ones who visit and leave unannounced.

But, ultimately, it's your decision. If you don't want to leave messages, comments, or accusations, I'll just have to live with it. After all, there's nothing much I can do to force you to say rude and unflattering things to me.

A Vague Uneasiness

As I write this very brief post, I'm staring out a set of large sliding glass doors, looking at the broad expanse of the Atlantic Ocean outside my hotel. From this vantage point, there are only grey, cloud-blemished skies streaked with darker grey lines with white linen edges and endless expanses of grey-green water, its surface deceptively smooth in the aggregate but I can feel it seething with anger just beneath the surface.

The vastness of the sky and the sea envelopes me like thick wax, making it impossible for me to stretch or turn or move away. I'm transfixed by the mere size of what I see.

I'd compare it to glancing outdoors for a moment, only to see, but not feel, the entire sun's surface just a few feet away. The sky and the ocean are huge beyond words and thoughts. Whoever could have been so silly and unwise to think we could ever tame them? Why would we ever want to?

What Caused the Financial Markets Crisis

Thanks to C. Corax, a visitor to The New Dharma Bums, for sounding the alert about this very funny, ugly video that says volumes about the current financial crisis:

Lazy Day, After All

I had every intention, and a deep need, to go to my office today. I still need to go. I didn't. I played Sunday hooky and didn't get near the place. Sometimes, you've just gotta say "to hell with it," and leave work at the office and let it sit and stew.

We ate at the Angry Dog for lunch, where I had a hard time reading the draft beer board.

After lunch, we spent a few minutes looking at some of the other options for action in the neighborhood, then changed gears completely and went to the mall.

Glamor

So, about my upcoming trips.

I leave early Tuesday morning for a flight to Fort Lauderdale. My meeting is actually in Sunny Isles Beach, FL, which is code for Miami. We're meeting in a nice hotel, but it's a good 15 miles north of South Beach, where many of the movers and shakers among the group wanted to be. Their desire to be in South Beach was made impossible by a series of logistical factors, including but not limited to expense and unavailability of hotels with sufficient meeting space.

I'll have two nights...maybe just one...free. The remainder of my time is rigidly choreographed between board meetings, educational sessions, command-performance social events, and the like. My role calls for someone who's very outgoing, genial, and deeply social; I play the part, but would not get the Oscar.

My favorite part of every day while attending this sort of event is the time in the evening I can get away from the crowds and return to my hotel room. That's usually later than I'd like, and after I've politely declined invitations to go to the area's trendiest bars and hippest nightspots. During my last trip to Miami, I was roped into having drinks at the Delano Hotel. I have to admit it was an interesting experience, but play-acting the jet-setter lifestyle gets very old, very fast.

Fortunately for me, the group of people I'll be with, while very big on partying and being in the midst of the scene, are for the most part intelligent and fun to be around...as fun to be around as any large group of people can be.

The meeting ends next Saturday, late enough that I cannot get a flight back until the next day. And the next day I arrive back in Dallas just two and a half hours before I have to catch another flight, at another airport, to another coastal city, this one in South Texas. Once I arrive there, I scramble to attend the opening night festivities of the conference, spend the next day and a half attending meetings and visiting with colleagues on issues relevant to our businesses, and then zip back home.

Back here, I'll spend the next day preparing for a trade show that begins Thursday in Fort Worth and lasts through Sunday. Standing in a booth for six hours a day, three days in a row, is not good for my feet nor for my back, but I'll live through it.

Somewhere in the midst of all this activity, I have to have some furniture delivered to the house. That, and get a cup of coffee.

Retail

It's Sunday. I knew the weekend wouldn't last. Instead of enjoying a day away from the office, puttering about or taking a leisurely (if expensive) drive, we'll be spending it at the office. I have to prepare for a client meeting later this week and my wife has to spend time updating financial records. My next few weekends are shot, too; client meeting next weekend, followed by another quick trip, followed by another weekend trade show. If I'd wanted to work retail hours, I would have gone into retail.

Nice Desk

It has been HOURS since I last slept. As in, more than 18 hours. I'm getting tired. I think I may have to go to bed soon.

In response to one this morning's posts, Nicole suggested that I'm far too into news and, that it will crush me. Sorry, Nicole, but I'm of the opinion that responsible people MUST pay attention to the news so they know what is going on around them and, in the USA, who is trying to lie to them in order to keep the public off the backs of public servants. But Nicole did not mention my prize (which would be an indication that she read all the way to the end of the post), so she does not get immunity from seeing a naked picture of me. KathyR, on the other hand, expressed her heartfelt appreciation for that immunity. At least that's the way I see it.

Lunch today was OK, but the PLACE was fantastic, a real neighborhood joint that caters to an incredibly diverse customer base. The Goldrush Cafe is in the Lakewood District of Dallas, an area I'd like to live in if I wanted to live in Dallas. Following lunch, we went across the street to a consignment store, where we found a fabulous desk and hutch and a great end table, both of which we decided we could not live without. We are not über-consumers; our spur of the moment decision to spend upward of $700 was exceedingly rare. But considering the fact that the two pieces are probably worth $1,800, I think it was a wise choice. Except, of course, that we don't really have the money to spend. Which is why credit cards are good. Except we don't like buying on credit. Oh well. We also decided to take some of our other furniture to the consignment store, so we may not spend near so much, in the long run.

That's it for now. Good night.

Sister of Mercy

A favorite piece of music, as used in the film, McCabe and Mrs. Miller.

All the News that's Fit to be Tied

So, now I've made coffee. It's less than an hour since my last post and I've been keeping myself busy with emptying the dishwasher, drying dishes the dishwasher opted not to dry, and reading the latest issue of The Texas Observer. But now, with coffee comfortably in hand, I'll become less productive and will ramble on about what interests me and then wander the web.

I find my recent internet political reading habits interesting (well, I guess I would). Though I read several blogs, I increasingly tend to avoid political diatribes from people who, like me, have long since made up their minds that George Bush and anyone who holds views even remotely like his must be kept out of the White House at all costs. Similarly, I avoid reading political rants from right-wing nutjobs who would support a ticket featuring Joseph Stalin and Kim Jong Il, just as long as it were Republican. Instead, I find myself gravitating toward people who actually speak truth or who, at least, report what they believe to be true and have evidence to substantiate their beliefs.

The reason I find this interesting is that once, not so very long ago, I realized that I was seeking out political perspectives from people who shared my philosopies and avoided sources I considered wrong-headed. Then I heard a Republican strategist convey a message that really resonated with me: we should seek out news for information, not affirmation. Bingo! That's right! But I had been seeking affirmation in my reading, even in my news. And I knew, instantly, that was not only stupid, it was dangerous. And so I changed.

Fortunately, my newfound wisdom did not push me to read "the other side" so much as it persuaded me to seek out sources of news and information I believed I could trust to be unbiased or, at least, could give me another, and probably uncomfortable, perspective.

Now, instead of reading belief-affirming blogs from left-leaning politicos, I tend to listen to Gwen Ifill grill her guests of Washington Week. Now, some people will say she and her program conspire to form the epitome of biased media. I think that's BS. The fact that she's a Black woman who probably understands issues like racism and sexism far better than most of us does not make her biased. When I watch her program and hear her, and her guests, be utterly forthright about both Republican and Democratic actions on issues of the day, I sometimes get upset that they don't a position on the matter. But that's not why they are on the air; they are on the air to inform, not affirm, my opinions.

PBS and NPR, in general, are sources of information I trust far more than I do any of the major networks and certainly more than I trust CNN or FOX. While PBS may appear to some to have a liberal bias, I can count on PBS to give perspective on issues; I can count on FOX and CNN to stake out positions and try to bring me around to their points of view.

It's more comfortable, in the short run, to listen to or read "news" and information resources that reflect one's views of the world. It makes one feel good. But it's a little like selecting a doctor on the basis of his reputation for delivering only good news. You'd really rather not be told you have a life-threatening disease, but you need to know it if you're to have an opportunity to fight it.

I don't put my irrevocable trust in PBS and NPR. I seek out other sources, as well, so I can get a different perspective. Occasionally, as hard as it is, I do watch CNN political rants from people like Glenn Beck; if nothing else, listening to him makes it clear that a person can be utterly and totally consumed by a very, very stupid and self-serving world-view. And I regularly go directly to sources of news and opinions that never find their way into American mainstream media. I regularly read online newspapers from other countries just to get a perspective I simply cannot get from American media, even good, unbiased American media. It's amazing how much one can learn about different perspectives by reading, for example, Venezuelan media. While I don't pretend that foreign media are pure and unbiased, I can get a sense of what drives international perceptions of the U.S. by reading what they say. And, unfortunately, I sometimes come to the conclusion that American media are not giving us even close to the full story; not even the best American media.

Obviously, I do read liberal and progressive media (like The Texas Observer), but that publication does not pretend to be completely unbiased. What it does, though, is present clear facts and information about why its politics are liberal. And it is a truly informative read.

Alright, if anyone reads this far, you deserve something special for your perserverance. I'm not going to show you a naked picture of myself, in gratitude for your willingness to put up with me to the end.

The Sound of Water in the Pipes

Life is now back to normal. It's Saturday morning, not quite 4:30, and I'm awake. I haven't made coffee yet, and may not for some time; there's a chance I'll go back to bed and try to get a little more sleep.

I hear, or maybe feel more than hear, the sound of the water in the pipes as the sprinklers outside do their duty and water the lawn. It's too dark now to see them, but I can sense, somehow, that they're on. It's funny, at this hour, not knowing whether it's actually a noise I hear or a vibration I feel.

Books without Authors

Sometimes, I think people are like books. All it takes to read them is a set of eyes. Other times, I reject that perspective out of hand; people are complex beings whose lives cannot be understood without being the person you wish to understand. And even then, there's no assurance.

I need look no farther than myself to know that I cannot be read like a book. I cannot be understood, no matter how much a person might try. I cannot even understand myself. An outsider has no chance.

And sometimes, depending on my mood, I don't wish to be understood. Not now, not ever, not by anyone. I'm satisfied being a conundrum.

Other times, I want so desperately to be understood I can taste the salt on my tongue as my tears betray my stoicism about life.

I have no choice, as it turns out. Someday, someone will understand, like it or not. Someday, my veil of privacy will be lifted like a sheet from a body in a makeshift morgue. And someday someone will conclude there's no understanding of a person's mind, that complex beast that hides beneath the scalp like the last yellow-bellied woodpeck hides in the thickest forests.

We think we know so much, but we know so very, very little.