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Archive for February, 2009

And soul. And classic R&B and pop.

They have been listening to an awesome hit parade type playlist (“Respect” – Aretha, Sam Cooke, various Diana Ross and the Supremes, some of the Temptations) and now it’s Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On?”

Someone just yelled “sing it!” and they are singing it.

The mother began singing along.

A son, deadpan: “Wow, Mom. Impressive.”

The mother: “Don’t be hatin’.”

There is now clapping.

God, this is amazing. I sort of want to go bake muffins right now and rush up there with them.

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Swords are no one-hit (ha!) wonder

More selfishly, I'd choose typewriters b/c I love crunchy percussive sounds.

There's not a fighting (ha!) chance with guns. Plus, it's like built-in exercise if you're gonna. I'm not a fan of swordplay (*love* wordplay), but usually you can at least see when danger is there. With guns, your real main hope is that the shooter sucks. What is there to be done defensive or offensively?

Perhaps you are more knowledgeable and can tell me. This is my best guess from the store of knowledge currently internalized.

If swords didn't essentially replace guns, then I'd say typewriters. Possibly rotary phones b/c they make the 'ca-chunk' noise when the wheel spins back home.

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Aside from international travel days and days before I had a cell phone, I don't think I've gone a day without my cellphone. I've gone days without using it for something other than alarms and time-telling.

Now, I have international traveling cellphone options, too. Still can't reverse time. So, don't forsee any purposefully cellphone-less days ahead.

I like the safety-net-iness of having it. I always do a "wallet, phone, keys" check before leaving the house, work, a restaurant. If you have money, a way to get to people who can help you, and a way to get at your own stuff – usually including transportation – you are golden. Or at least as golden as you're going to get. Gold-plated perhaps.

It would bother me to become the kind of person who needs their cellphone to project connectedness in a public place when alone. It would bother me to always have my phone on my person.* But it would bother me more – more than losing the safety net – to lose this way to stay in touch with people I can't face-to-face with, but who are still fully able to dialog with me.

*Maybe less if I were a dude who had dude-pants with useful pockets.

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Dammit I’m mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I’m in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level “Mad Dog”.
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp, 
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I’m a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I’m it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I’d assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
“Sir, I deliver. I’m a dog”
Evil is a deed as I live.
Dammit I’m mad.

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Dallas, TX to D.C.

I'm really not such a Debbie Downer. Shorter, funner trips have been made. But this was the longest, in a lot of ways.

Less of a road trip and more of a commute between the life I had and the life I'd chosen next. Some 1,400 miles covered some four or five times. My parents moved when I was 16, 17. There were visits and then, come college, there was moving.

During college, I went back to the home that was now a house full of boxes and empty of memories. I saw the friends that came back every break to see each other and be with their families. There was the last trip back to clear out once the house sold.

Two days of ten hours, of concentrating to stay awake. Maybe there is stuff to see in between Dallas and D.C., but aside from getting lost and driving around downtown Memphis once, I didn't see any of it.

The last time was the hardest, when there was no house left and driving away took 20 hours and two days of the mental blinders before there was time to properly mourn.

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Were you aware there was this “green-yellow-red” labeling + fattybadfood surcharging happening at the University?

Snack Smart Healthy Vending labels:

  • Green
    • Less than 5% saturated fat (% total calories)
    • 0-35% total fat (% total calories)
    • 0-140 calories
  • Yellow
    • 5-10% saturated fat (% total calories)
    • 36-40% total fat (% total calories)
    • 141-200 calories
  • Red
    • more than 10% saturated fat (% total calories)
    • more than 40% total fat (% total calories)
    • 201 or more calories

What I’m a bit baffled at is how “diet beverages” are labeled green. More information on what a diet beverage is and whether or not it is a good idea to lump it with water and fruit juice. Then again, I have problems with lumping water together with anything.

I love water. (No ice.)

I would also probably resent being ‘taxed’ for my food choice, but would compromise on a yellow or green snack anyway. If I got a red, I’d probably make a joke about helping the children by (1) donating a nickel and (2) recognizing that they are the future and getting my fat self out of their way through my self-destructive habits.

Or I’d forgo the machine altogether and buy a big box of Goldfish and eat an entire baby’s worth of sodium in one sitting.

You?

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    Aside from the “Shit Bitch, You Fine” Valentine bear and the candy bitter hearts, I don’t know what else this holiday has for me. I’m just not comfortable with holidays that have all these Expectations.

    I count yesterday a good day, though. Woke up, watched the awesome Thursday night tv I love but missed day of (love the internet, love the Betty and the NBC).

    THEN, I sat outside on a blanket in the sun and studied Chinese because I wanted to.

    THEN there was cleaning (mild) and almost-tamales. A cookout/potluck with tamales. That I got lost on the way to despite best efforts and loads of driving around. Oh, heaven, you must contain such gustatory delights.

    And THEN a movie and jaw-session with my dear friend.

    Sitting around and talking is so tops.

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