n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Sunday, February 26, 2012

mad as a march hare

I think March is going to be awesome. And April too. I just intuit it!

And today was one of the most beautiful days I've seen in a long time. Snow flurries alternating with blue skies all day, and lovely cumulus pink sunset. I walked the dogs up around Beaver/Squire, and felt shivers of pleasure watching thin, dry little flakes that looked more like springtime tree seed float down through beams to the placid water.

Yesterday I bought a chicken coop and run... a tractor version that looks like a large, Herald-sized doghouse that someone put on top of a wheelbarrow, then added seven feet to the wheelbarrow handles, around which was built a box with chicken wire covering it. The whole thing is very mobile, big enough for six or so chickens, and probably saved me at least $300 in the supplies it would have taken to build the coop I had previously decided to build. Plus it's friggin' adorable. I'll have to take a pic soon and put it up.

Tomorrow after work I head to Seattle and then Natalie and I fly to Chicago. As far as I can remember, it's the first flight & trip I've taken with someone else since I dated RC back in 2002 or so. Crazy. I'm really looking forward to the trip...

...And I got tickets for me and my mother to visit the Grands in Austin in a few weeks (right before I get my chicks!). My Gramps has been a bit sick lately, and my Grans has had some scary moments dealing with it. I look forward to being with them, in the sun, and giving them big hugs. And I also get to visit JS and FS, who also live there!

And then I get my chicks. And start my garden again. All my seeds are practically ripping their way out of the seed packets. And somewhere in there, I feel the writing bug coming back to me. Like a slow thought. Like a meditation. Like a pony kicked in the ribs with some wicked spiky spurs. Well, less like the last although it would be sweet to be so inspired...

Monday, February 20, 2012

contraception debate

I can't keep this huge, friggin question out of my mind. If this is really a religious debate, as the religious right would like it to seem, then why exclude the women from panels like this?

I mean, c'mon. It's an honest question. If you want me to even grant you an itssssy bitssssy bit o' leeway on the possibility of this being a genuine "religious liberty" issue rather than a "deny women medical coverage as it fits your political agenda" issue, then why not include at least one woman? What about a female preacher? I've been told there are an increasing number of them! Or how about a Buddhist woman, maybe? Or maybe just one church-going lower-income femal-io. Maybe if she had a mustache it would help? No problem.

Just get your slightly mustachio'd religious lady to walk up there and state: "This is primarily a religious liberty issue, and has nothing to do with the thousands of women who are being forced into a position of having fewer and fewer choices about fundamental life issues like their own health and having children. No, this is about churches having the right to establish their own position and involvement in moral debates such as those swirling around abortion and contraception(, and then force these positions on their employees)."

Why not?

Contraception Panel
From Fox News, Of Course
Frankly, I'm not buying your bullshit.

And this past year of politics has been enough to make me puke and keep on puking until my mouth tasted just as bowel-ridden as those of the candidates participating in this year's GOP primary. Here I was criticizing Obama for being even more conservative in his moves than I thought he would be, while also being far less of leader than I thought he would be... and as if to inspire me to rote adoration, the GOP pulls out the most gut-gnashing, humiliating (this is America?), appalling diarhetoric I've ever heard in my life. As a general rule, I'm not a hater... but starting to feel some...

P.S. I like this article. Rock on.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

oh whatever

Knowing that I desperately need to make a change that involves Away-From-Bville, it seems strange to dig in and yet I do. I've ordered all my seeds for the season, and it was perfectly delicious, perusing the catalogs, dreaming the new designs--probably the happiest thing I do every year. I ordered half the seeds from a new-to-me local Occupy-affiliated organic non-GMO distributor, and the other half from my regular California organic non-GMO distributor. But then, I went one step further:

Dream Australorp
Dream Rhonde Island Red
Dream Barred Rock
Dream Orloff
The main way I've rationalized such resistance to needed mobility is my long desire to learn how to actually build things. I'm up to the offering of a growler and cigar for CR to teach me some of his much-skill in carpentry, an iota of which I would love to glean. Of course, there are also the adorable chicks, lovely ferocious modern-dinosaurs, and the challenge of getting my dog and mom/CR's dogs to not eat them.

But still, I wonder at myself. I don't write, I don't have but one or two local friends, my reading list is skimpy (rather unintellectual and out-dated, for sure), and I get depressed and bored here so regularly; why do I keep building? Oh, I guess I have family here, and I guess it's beautiful here, I reckon I have a job, and land to dig in, even if it's not mine, but land to dig in. always But Still... But, Wait a Moment... But Maybe and Who Knows... But, If It Could Happen There, Why Not Here?

Feathers feathers quills, little beaks with their levers.

Monday, February 06, 2012

kedging the boat

Well, well, well... if it isn't time to change the post.

Okay, so here's the deal. Thanks for asking after me and being adorable, friends, and I am finally on the mend. Actually, mostly mended with a few residual aches and pains, plus the regular back stuff. Having shingles wasn't really as horrible as I was expecting it; mostly I sat around and read books rather than taking Herald on walks. Both involved alternations between brooding and sighs of pleasure, but one was less meandery than the other. And now that I am better, I get to try and figure out if it's possible to walk three dogs at a time, since Mom and CR got a new dog and I've been taking the walkable ones with Herald so he's challenged to scamper a bit more.

Anyhow, what I did find strange about the shingles was how it motored around in the body: one day it would result in hip pain, the next shoulder pain, the next stomach pain, the next knee pain, back to the hip, etc. So it gives the illusion of everything going wrong, but really it's just one thing at a time.


How's everyone been doing?

I'm getting excited about Chicago, and finally have a place lined up for NM and myself to stay... with a friend, so that means I can start daydreaming about wandering the Chicago streets people watching, eating good food in tiny corner restaurants, going to the new Modern wing of the Art Institute (not to mention Jasper Johns and the surrealists again), visiting the Modern Art Museum, riding the El, browsing the lake shore pathways, sigh. All the beloved beloveds. Oh, and yeah, I guess I'm going to attend a conference too!

Why have I always been a snot about that conference? Hmmmm.

I'm curious to see what it's actually like. There's something about professionalized writing and words like "contacts" and "networking" that irritate me. I imagine erudite well-accomplished writers getting drunk on morning cocktails and intellectually masturbating about their accomplishments and the lack of vision or support these days. How few readers there are. Endless discussions about how poetry matters. (Yawn). Hopeful, bright-eyed up-n-comers shyly lurking behind the ficus trees in the lobby, hoping to stumble into a conversation with their favorite publisher or agent. Smug, recently published talents arranging book tours and interviews. Lots of sucking up. Lots of condescension and advice. Lots of talking. Little listening...

But perhaps I should use more enjoyable words like hobnobbing and hawking and hilarity. Likely it is far more interesting and innocent than I think. Likely it's writers who are excited about writing and other writers and potential readers or reading. Likely the alcohol is a lubricant for all those voices that stay shuttered behind the lips attached to a face that receives most of its sunning from reflections off a computer screen. Likely it's people talking ideas about application of poetry and openings of story and the humming sound of frogs on the solstice. Likely it's different than I have imagined it, and I shall see!

In the meantime, NM and I have been strategizing her approach to the possibility of seeing her Ex. And I am smirking at myself for all the years I did the same for absolutely zero reason. I basically told her to simply picture the probability that they won't see each other, and if they do, they'll merely nod their heads at each other and speed up the slash-slash-sway of limbs in retreat. The banality of such moments is inevitably a letdown if one has the tendency to over-prepare. I keep reminding her of how awesome Chicago is... how much else there is, how I get to see JS again, and LH if he manages to climb out of his hole towards the sunshine of me, and LW who is putting us up and will, I think, instantly be friends with NM. All far, far better than dodging a ghostly bullet.

NM is dating, by the way. She's found another Chicana hottie and they're flirting it up awkwardly and smittenishlike. I'm so happy for her... to see her doing so well finally. And it gives me hope for myself... please, for the love of god will some brainy woman look my way sometime soon please?

Speaking of which, I am taking yoga again, only this time I had the guts to sign up for the hot yoga instructor. She's married (to a woman) so my admiration is purely chaste and angelic, but it certainly is motivation to turn the bulging abs into pleasantly-bulging abs. She is a nice girl, though, and my daydreams these days are heavy with the possibility of having friends, actual friends, who live within striking distance of Bville. I've been so damned lonely lately, and when I get lonely I start feeling sorry for myself, and also get resentful.

For instance, I recently received the first invitation to a gathering that I've had in a year. A bloody year, I tell you. And I was so pissed that it was the first in a year that I almost didn't go. How's that for shooting oneself in the foot? So, I went, and it was fun although short... a dinner and off I went.

Oh, SP is getting married. Interesting, neh? I have mixed feelings, as is my want. Happiness for her since she really is such a good person, but also resentment about our time together and the arguments we were always having. I should never doubt myself again. I am always right. Heh. And that is enough since apparently she checks in here from time to time still.

Oh, the title of this post? You're wondering, aren't you.

So, the two most interesting experiences of this year so far are having gone to the orthopedic doctor finally, and last weekend.

I belatedly found out that the orthopedic doctor I went to was the same one who set my brolaw's arm after his 'interesting' bachelor's party... who apparently insinuated that the brolaw was a drunk who didn't deserve having his bones knit back together. My experience with him wasn't all that different: he basically insinuated that my back problems were my own fault, and all I needed to do was start exercising. Now, I know I'm overweight, but all of the weightgain is post-backpain... and while I do not exercise enough, I do exercise. Anyhow, he only gave me five minutes and condescendingly told me to do the same thing that mom told me to do five years ago, and that I've been doing. Not really the listening and brainstorming session I was looking for, and I still don't know what is going on because he didn't find it important to figure that out.

I cried for a day, again. And then fought with my sister, again. For reasons unknown, again.

However, a couple of doctor recommendations -- specifically naturopath -- have come out of the disaster, and that's how a good disaster should end: solidly.

The other interesting experience was that I finally was feeling well enough this weekend to evade the gravitational pull of Bville and head on down to Seattle for a night/day. I stayed with NM in her new house-sitting spot, and it was a truly fun evening. We drank wine and chatted, her mooning over her new love interest, me mooning over Chicago and my plan to build a chicken hutch and raise chickens (not in Chicago, but here). And in the morning we got up, nabbed coffee, and visited another friend who had invited me down to go through the locks on his sailboat.

Instead of sailing through the locks, though, we went the other way (east) to Lake Union, beeping the foghorn and going under a number of uplifted bridges (they'll go up for one sailboat!). And it was an incredibly beautiful day with the sun finally out and the mountains 360 in sharp snowy refinement -- the Olympics to the west, Rainier to the south, the Sisters to the east, and Baker to the north, you could see every last one of them. All three of us just kind of kicked back, sipped at our beers, and reveled in the sublime nature of it all... And the houseboats! Wow!

On the way back, though, I was steering the boat... we were motoring pretty slowly, not enough wind to actually sail... and just as we came up to Gasworks Park, the captain took the helm back, saying "I've figured out just the right distance so we can watch the hot chicks on the shore but not go aground."

Haven't I heard that one before!

So, after we went aground, we had to find someone to take the anchor out about 50 feet behind the sailboat, drop it, and then we kind of winched ourselves off the bottom. (So, that is what kedging is all about.) The captain, who is a tugboater for his profession, was completely and totally embarrassed and it was well worth the fifteen minutes of inconvenience to see him blush profoundly and mutter to himself that he was actually just wanting to run a drill with us:

"You want to learn how to kedge, ladies? You know that's why I went so close."

Yes, yes, we know. Now I just need to figure out how to turn the literal to metaphor here.

And that was my interesting weekend. And now I must go dress, and then work.