Laundry Day

It was 8:15 on a Saturday morning. I had been awake since before 7:00. 

Let's be clear here: I don't do before-seven-o'clock on a Saturday morning. Life circumstances that forces anyone out of bed before, say, 9:45 on Saturday morning is simply sadism engineered by The Man. But there I was, up, out and about because my kid has the nerve to want to improve his chances for a better future by taking the SAT. What's worse is it was completely overcast so I couldn't even head downtown for some nice urban shots in the dewy early morning light.  

Therefore I was meandering as I had some time to kill before photography class--driving around a part of town that used to be my stomping ground; the school sponsoring the SAT is my high school alma mater. I get up to that part of town periodically and always drive around a bit to check out the lay of the land. It's amazing, isn't it, the changes that can happen to a major street over the years? The building I'm always most nostalgic about, other than the high school itself, is the one that used to be a bowling alley. We actually learned to bowl during the winter months of PE my freshman year and we walked to that bowling alley, where Coach Burtschi expected us to keep score by hand. The bowling alley also had a snack bar, and oftentimes after school my friends and I would go hang out there. They served Mr. Pibb. Plus they had a Pac Man machine. 

The building, amazingly, is still there but the business is long gone. Tucked in next door these days is a laundry mat.  

Which is where I met Elizabeth.  

She had gotten behind on the chore over the past week because one of her daughters was in the hospital. The little girl has an immune-deficiency disorder and bites, scrapes, abrasions, etc. can turn into impetigo in short order. Her body has a hard time fighting the infection and she requires IV antibiotics to get rid of them.  Summertime is worse.   

Elizabeth, her father calls her "Beth", married her high-school sweetheart; he's now active duty in the Marines. He just signed on for another tour of duty.  

"So you're going to have to move around a lot, I guess?" 

"We just bought a house, so I'm staying here."

As it turns out, Elizabeth works at the laundry mat on the weekends. She doesn't usually bring her clothes to wash with her, but right now the dryer at home is broken. She has to pay to do her laundry, but she gets reimbursed the expense in her paycheck. A small perk.  

She's also bi-lingual, English and Spanish, and helped me purchase chicken tamales from a man who came in peddling his wife's cooking for some extra money. I bought a baker's dozen for dinner that night which set me back $12. They were still warm. -> 

Beverly and Maria

These photos were two weeks in the making because I'm a highly skilled professional who pays the utmost attention to detail. 

Let me break it down for you:  

I attended my first yoga class in at least 3 years two weeks ago and met a woman who I'll tell you about in a minute. I asked if it was OK to take her photo. She acquiesced. I pulled out the camera, focused, clicked and...

...realized I didn't have a memory card in the camera. At which point I stammered and begged forgiveness and asked if I could try again the following Friday. "I'll be here," she told me.

The following Friday before I left the house, I ensured the camera absolutely, positively had a memory card so I could capture Beverly. Yup! It was there. After yoga I approached her again, went to take a photo and nothing--NOTHING!--was on any of my screens.  

Because I'd forgotten to put the blasted battery, which was recharging at my house, back in the camera.  

Today she didn't believe me when I told her I was really, truly prepared to capture her photo.  

But I showed her.  

Beverly

was born with a heart defect that eventually led to two open-heart surgeries in 2009. The second one left her with a condition called pulmonary hypertension, which resulted in her needing an oxygen tank permanently. This, in addition to recovering from having her chest cracked open, is the hand life dealt her. It's a lot for anyone to take.  

She was depressed for a year following the diagnosis and subsequent rehab--a year in which she didn't get out much and felt a bit sorry for her lot in life. The need for the oxygen embarrassed her. It's through no fault of her own, of course, but that didn't make the reality of walking around in public with medical equipment in tow any easier to swallow. 

Enter Maria...

who was relentless with her friend. She told Beverly to get up, get moving, get back to the YMCA. The ladies met there and Beverly was attending Maria's fitness classes (she teaches several a week) before all her health problems took their toll.

It took some coaxing. Beverly protested that everyone would be looking at her. Yes, said Maria, they probably would be. So what? It was this tough love that eventually led Beverly on the road to emotional recovery. She is now as active as she was before. Pilates, yoga, trekking, riding horses...she does it all. She had to tweak her equipment to accommodate her activities, but she's living her life. She told me this morning that she doesn't breath as deeply as she should when she's working out for fear that the extra noise from the machine would be bothersome to others. But I told her I liked the sound--that rhythmic, pressurized hiss is somehow comforting. She then shared women from her other classes use the sound as well. If they don't hear the hiss, they know Beverly isn't breathing and set her straight.  

It takes a village, doesn't it, to help us navigate this world. I find both these women inspiring: Beverly for not giving in to the depression and Maria for not giving up on her friend. 

What's your excuse for not living your life?  ->  

Blog Changes

I'm sure you've noticed my lack of postings in the past few weeks. My energy hasn't been there for it, and thus I've taken a break and given some thought as to how I'll proceed with it from here. I hate to let this blog go, as it's been around in some form for almost five years. But there is a time and place for everything and as my interests and needs change, so too will my public forum for them.

For the record, I know I'm going about this whole blogging thing ALL wrong.  Blogs should have a specific focus or cohesive theme in order to be successful. So say all the pundits, anyway. Well guess what I say to that? 

Me, to that:  TTTHHHHPPPPTTT   

I've been taking pictures of people for the past several months--to the detriment of my gun pictures, frankly--and I continue to greatly enjoy doing so.  It's a natural progression, I think.  Social worker to "photographer"* to focusing a good portion of my energies on those around me.  

Some people I don't spend much time with at all.  Some, however, are willing to honor me with their stories but I tend to condense these tales for the Facebook audience for a variety of reasons. So for now the more compelling stories I hear I will flesh out over here. I won't put a number on how often I do so or the days I do so, but you'll know when it happens if you're following the people blog over there or on Tumblr. I still may throw in personal observations but it will likely be in the context of profiling other people. 

As for my next photo project? Well, I'm back to a picture a day starting October 1, 2012. I'm not going to force a subject matter this time, though. What I am going to say is I must take at least one photo a day for one year in a thoughtful, deliberate manner. Thus I will enter my third year into photography, my second year into DSLR photography, with purpose. I will post them to Flickr of course, and if I feature any of them here, it will be on Mondays.  

As always, thanks for following along. Have a great Friday!

Say you: Wait!! What about your stated goal of getting The Bloggess to notice you? 

Say me: Didn't you know? I'm a quitter.  


*I had a subject tell me where to stand for better lighting just yesterday, which was sorta humiliating.  I'm hardly an actual photographer.

Sugar-Coated Secrets

So I was reading some articles on how to break bad habits because articles are much shorter than books and you can finish them in all of fifteen minutes and there's a whole lot less guilt involved than with buying an e-book after hearing the Fresh Air story about the actual book and vowing to read it immediately and changing your ways immediately and then only getting one-third of the way through the book you paid for and never picking it up again. 

Not to mention not getting started on changing those bad habits because you can't yet because you didn't finish the book. And you want to make sure you do it right.  

Right?  

Which, now that I think about it, may be the underlying reason for not finishing the book--so I don't have to change the bad habits.*  

At any rate, I read articles. Yay for the internet! 

Unfortunately, now I don't have any excuses to not get started. One of the things I'm supposed to do is publicly state what my bad habit is so I can be held accountable for changing it.   

Don't worry. I'm not going to shock you by admitting to a heroin habit, although my mother was convinced I was on the needle back in the early 90's.** No, this habit is much more mundane and middle-aged and typical and frightfully, dreadfully, unblog-worthy boring. 

I eat at night.

I eat when I'm sorta hungry, not hungry at all, bored, sitting in front of the computer, reading a book, or lying in bed watching Game of Thrones. I eat chocolate and hummus and buttered popcorn and sushi and pretzels and pretzels sandwiched with yummy cheese and right now I want to eat ALL THE CHEDDAR in the house. And all the chocolate. 

So I'm madly typing, intending to go public with my secret and drinking a ton of water (so I feel full. Yes, I know about chewing gum and brushing my teeth too.)  

Because water is absolutely what one wants when a carb craving is hitting you in the psyche like a wreaking ball. 

I was OK on the first night because I got called out right during the witching hour. Obviously I had other stuff on my mind and when I got home, I was exhausted. Never mind that life is a cruel bitch and the ER had pizza and cake, opened and displayed like a centerfold upon my arrival. But it was the first night and my resolve held firm.

Last night wasn't bad because I was with friends late into the evening. 

But tonight has been rough.   

I would like to point out to all of you that should you struggle with this same habit and would like to break said habit, day three of your new and improved lifestyle at approximately 10:45 at night is not the best time to visit Pinterest. Bad, bad, BAD idea.  

*gulping water*  

The action that makes the most sense to me is picking one habit you want to change and concentrating all your efforts on that one goal for thirty days. Thirty days is do-able. It's a relatively short amount of time and when you start there's already a light at the end of the tunnel. It is, after all, only September or April or June or November. 

Unless you're on day three of your new! Improved! lifestyle and really, really, really want something that, once you eat it, releases sugar into your blood at roughly the rate of a failed Hoover Dam. 

Honestly, raw spaghetti sounds good right about now.  

This sucks. ->


*Whoa, insight! Sorry, got carried away there. I'll try not to let that happen again.  


**Really. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. 

I'm Brilliant!

The Boy is considering colleges. Seeing as theoretically he could be moving from the house and moving into a dorm in 13 month's time, this is not unreasonable. He's narrowed his choices to two that he would really, REALLY like to attend. 


He has BMW aspirations. 


We have a used Kia budget.  


In his world, he will graduate from University of Tulsa but the University of Texas at Austin would work just as well. Both of which have retail price tags that are enough to make any cardiologist weep with sheer joy. Tulsa is a private university, meaning you do the math. And UT at Austin? Well, it's out of state so he might as well be applying to Princeton.  


But I have a plan. 


Oh, don't talk to me about loans, grants, scholarships, or having a discussion with him about lowering his expectations. None of this will be necessary because my plan is totally, utterly full proof.  


No doubt you've heard the expression something "will cost an arm and a leg". Well I've done the math. Being a social worker, and one that works as a contractor to boot, my extremities are worth nothing more than tuition for one year at a state school. And let me be clear: I'm not talking about The University of Oklahoma or Oklahoma State here. I'm talking about some tiny state institution holed up in a backwater town. Picture, if you will, Sorthweest Oklahoma U in Bluejacket, Oklahoma.* That's what my leg and arm are worth. 


Paris Hilton's extremities, however, are worth a LOT more.  


I'm going to harvest them.  


It won't be dodgy affair though. I don't think I can get nearly the amount of money for her arm and leg by hiring a professional amputator** and selling them on the black market.  No, I'm going to go about this in a completely legitimate and thoroughly 2012 way: I'm going to start an internet campaign that will no doubt go viral in hours the ultimately force her to donate them. All it takes is for the Reddit community to get wind of my plan. I totally have that one covered because The Geek's been on Reddit for years. Everyone knows once Reddit gets it in their collective heads that something needs to happen, they make it happen. Plus I think we all know celebrities are all about philanthropy and Paris is sorta lacking in this area. What celebrity wouldn't want to donate extremities to help send a kid with Asperger's Syndrome*** to college so he can ultimately make the world a better place, especially with Reddit shaming them into action? (We'll ignore for the moment that he wants to be an attorney.) Plus I'm talking PARIS HILTON. I personally think an arm and a leg is overkill. 


All she has to do is offer to sell her thumb--perhaps plated in platinum--at a charity auction and I'm telling you, my kid's going to Dartmouth and then Yale Law School for fucking free.**** It could be her left thumb. I would totally be OK with her going under general anesthesia for the procedure. And getting a prescription for 10mg Lortab for months afterwards. Since she's going to take care of The Boy's future, I don't think asking her to suffer is very polite. And let's face it, Paris could use the karma.  


I TOLD you. Fool. Proof. -> 


Song of the week: 

*Not an actual school. Sorthweest is an actual direction, though. And Bluejacket is a real town.  
**amputator is an actual word. On this blog. 
***printed with permission 
****And I mean FREE. Fees, books, living expenses, traveling, everything.

This Truck Needs a Name

The Geek drives an old truck. 


I'm not talking a retro cool, turquoise-1950's-Ford-or-Chevy old here.  


I'm talking about just an old, red truck.  


It's a 1995 Nissan King Cab and it has I don't even know how many miles on it.  It's not even pimped out or decorated or anything.  


Here, look: 

It gets better. Here's a closeup of one of his head lights: 

One of the tail lights in back?  


Red tape.  


And here's what his steering column looks like:  

Spiders have set up camp in there: an indication of the time frame.

That's right. No plastic cover so the innards are exposed.* It's been that way for years.  


And you know the vents that are at the top of your hood to keep out debris like leaves and twigs and squirrels?  His are gone. GONE. Gone also for years.  


None of this seems to matter to The Geek, who takes a certain amount of pride driving that nameless dinosaur to work day in and day out. People at the office have given him a hard time about it too, which has done nothing but make him dig in his heels deeper and keep trucking along, so to speak, in The Little Red Nissan. He's had to push start it at the office before and you know what lesson Mitch took away from that one? 


He's an elderly statesman because the kids who helped--kids who were old enough to have professional jobs--literally did not know you could jump start a car by popping the clutch.** 


It should go without saying that over time he's become quite attached to it. When Lil' Red was in the hospital not long ago, Mitch had access to and was driving a 5-speed Volvo, 2010 model.  


A VOLVO!  


His response when he picked up his own vehicle? The one with the barely working air conditioning in July in Oklahoma?  


"I missed my truck."   


Which brings me to the point of my story. A few weeks ago he went out of town and three miles outside the airport the truck broke down. We worked out logistics for me to go get it and when I got to the truck, I found this: 

He likes to Capitalize. For Emphasis, one assumes.   

I would say I was surprised to find the note, but here's the punch line of my story:  


This happens all the time.  


I'm not joking.  


All. The. Time.  


About a year ago I was watering plants in my driveway and a perfect stranger approached me: 


Said Him: Is that little Nissan for sale? 


Said Me: No, it's not. 


Said Him: Well here's my information anyway. Call me if you change your mind.  


EVERY time Mitch brings in the truck in to his preferred guy (he won't entrust it to just anyone, you see) said guy offers to buy the truck.  


You guys, we're sitting on a gold mine.  


Lil' Red is our retirement plan. -> 



*If that's not a metaphor, I don't know what is. 
**I was never very good at that, but I distinctly remember having to do it once in a parking lot in south OKC. Oddly enough, I was driving a Nissan.  

Friday Randmoness. No Snark.

1. I found a blog a few months back and I just love it.  It's called Do Something Cool.  I suppose it's really nothing more than a self-help advice wrapped up in new technology and presented by a man instead of a woman. But somehow the articles have a different feel to them. This isn't a blog about how to quit drinking or ditch that man who treats you wrong or how your communication skills with your spouse are all wrong. 

Nope. He encourages you to jump in an area of the ocean swarming with sharks. He encourages you to travel, surround yourself with interesting people, do something new, get out of your comfort zone. He tells you to read books and stop watching TV and get off the computer. Ask questions. Seek answers. It's...well, cool.  

2. Speaking of cool, The Boy is planning a trip to NYC with his friends for next summer. He was bemoaning the costs, but seeing as he's 19, hostels and the bus are completely doable.  He's really committed to saving his money and going; I sincerely hope he makes it happen. I never had that kind of gumption when I was his age. 

3. My family, however, is going to go hang out in New Mexico--primarily Santa Fe. We leave in two weeks! I can't believe the time to go is finally here.  I've never been and I'm really looking forward to seeing the town and the area around it. I'm envisioning gorgeous photo opportunities for myself and lots of fun stuff to see and do for the family.  

Song of the week: 

Friday Randomness

OK, first off, let's get this out of the way:


I'm not doing geography lessons anymore. That was a really stupid idea. You are quite capable of finding random places in the world and googling them to your hearts' content. 


2) I bought a bag of salt water taffy last night. Also a really, really stupid idea. I have absolutely no control when it comes to sweet, chewy goodness. In addition to taffy, I'm especially vulnerable to Brach's peppermint nougats, Mary Janes, Starbursts and Tootsie Rolls. Brach's also used to make the absolute best peanut butter taffy I've ever tasted and they only released it during Halloween season.  I'm pretty sure they discontinued it though, because I haven't seen the product on the shelves in years. Which is both a tragedy and a relief. 


3) I got in the cell phone photo show again! Opening is tonight and my photo was part of the press packet. Wheee!    


4) The OKC Thunder is in the finals for the NBA championship title and I went to nerve center last night for photos:

This is part where I pimp my arty photo 

You can find the majority of them here, others I took are in queue and I'll upload them in the days and weeks to come. My favorite is this one--I think from a technical standpoint it's the best by far. 


I'm bummed beyond belief that I never encountered the storm trooper. He's pretty much the only reason I went out there. Word on the street is he gets hot and heads inside the venue in short order. And to that I say TTTHHHPPPTTT. Dude, if you're going to put yourself out there like that, make a name for yourself with this schtick you've got going, you have an obligation to the public to make yourself seen. Outside. In the 90 degree heat. And 78% humidity. Where the little people with cameras, obscure blogs and no tickets hang out.  


I suppose I saw some interesting people. Out of all the stuff I saw last night though, what impressed me the most was that Al Jazeera Sport was there: 

Get. Out. 


I wouldn't think that other people in the world cared about American basketball--I sure don't--but apparently I'm way off base. I chatted with the cameraman for a minute or two:


HIM: Are you from here?


ME: I am. 


HIM: So you're a fan yes? 


ME: Honestly, I've never seen a game. 


HIM: So you're a big fan.  


ME: I am, yes.  -> 

Carrots, Cukes, and Comedy

It was field-trip day of sorts in my house.  


I was able to successfully drag The Boy out of bed well before noon* and we went to the farmer's market. 


In addition to some garlic, peaches, jam, and blackberries, I am now the proud owner of this: 

Not actual size.  The real thing can be used as a weapon.

Which I'm aware closely resembles a tusk. But this, my friends, is a cucumber.  

That's right.  

I didn't know they made them like that either. The hard sell came with assurances that I don't have to peel it! It will last two weeks in my fridge! It's the BEST. CUCUMBER. EVER. People come running back for more after they eat it! I felt compelled after that moving speech to honor this magical vegetable in a respectful and artful manner to preserve for all time: 

I've entitled it "Still Life"

Want to know something else? Those round things I used for eyes? 


Cucumbers.

Who knew?


They're called "lemon cucumbers" and I got them from a different vendor. Apparently they're the BEST. CUCUMBERS. EVER. You can use them the same way you use regular cucumbers but they SO MUCH BETTER. Plus they look simply fantastic in still life photography! 


OK, I made that last part up. The vendor didn't actually tell me that, I figured it  out on my own. 


Obviously I bought some. They only set me back $1.75. The tusk U-cuke was pricier: $8 for that thing, which I swear weighs the same as an adult cat. Not that my own adult cat is a good bench mark, but that's another story. 


And then there was the carrot: 

Granted it looks more like a device one would find in a XXX-rated movie as opposed to you know, a root vegetable. But we were assured by the vendor who was selling them that it is the BEST. CARROT. EVER. He gave us this one for free to prove his point.  


For the record it tastes like a carrot. 

But that's not what I wanted to tell you about.  

What I wanted to tell you about is after the visit to the farmer's market, the kids and I went to get something to eat at a small local place. They make sandwiches and salads, which are OK, but they're really known for the noms made on site: cookies, scones, brownies, pies.  After eating, The Boy had to visit the facilities, which is pretty standard.  


As Libby and I are waiting for him, I hear his voice: 


"That bathroom is labeled 'unisex' but I have to say it's an insult to my manhood!** There are pictures of women's undergarments*** hanging in there! And there's a picture of a little girl! She can't be older than 5! I'm sure I'm breaking some kind of federal law pulling down my pants in front of that thing."  


This, he was saying not to me, but to the women at the front counter. 


My son the stand-up comedian. 


But wait! There's more. 


I'm sorry, there's not more.  I thought I could post a video of my kid rapping. 


Not rapping just anything, mind you.  


He was rapping Shakespeare. 


Henry IV, part I to be exact. 


But I can't back it up with the actual video because right now it just exist on Facebook and I'm not friends with his friend who posted it. 


So never mind. ->


*I threatened to take his picture in bed and post it on Facebook. This tactic proved quite effective. 


**He doesn't turn 18 for another 10 days, so I guess he's legally a man very soon. Still, hearing a high-schooler use this term is comical. 


***Yeah, he actually said "undergarments". 

Rock Climber I Am Not

Libby is taking acting classes for the next two weeks.  It is summer after all, and with summer comes the inevitable blocks of organized time.  


It was overcast earlier today, and a good 10 degrees cooler then it was yesterday, so I told Libby we were going to walk. The studio is only about a mile and half away--it's a completely doable jaunt.  


There's a drainage canal that runs through my town that is I-don't-even-know how long. The kids all know about it because it runs through a few parks and it is wide enough for frolicking. We decided to walk the canal for an adventure. Plus it gets us about half-way there without having to worry about crossing streets. 


(Enter obligatory photo of my child posing underneath Symmes Street)

Anyway, here's something to remember when you're an adult and muscle mass and agility are a good twenty years behind you.  


At some point, climbing OUT of the canal is required. Which is not a problem if you take the canal to say, Andrews Park, where there are gentle sloping inclines to navigate.  


It IS a problem if your exit point is close to Main Street, where the canal is fortified by 5-feet-tall brick walls on both sides.  


Yeah...


Libby The Monkey was up and out in 5 seconds of course. 


Me?  


First I had to find a protruding rock of some sort so I could at least get myself half-way there.  


Secondly I had to situate my hands for maximum hold and leverage. Thankfully there's a section of wall up top that's a bit dilapidated right above a protruding rock so it was much easier to grab hold.


Then I actually had to you know, pull myself up and out. I didn't really think this would be a problem because I've been lifting weights! For over a year now! I can even do four full-body push-ups.  


Piece 'o cake, getting myself up and out.  


The first attempt left me huffing and in the canal.  


The second attempt left me huffing and in the canal.  


The third attempt left me huffing and in the canal.  


At which point I hear: 


"Can I give you a hand?"  


This inquiry came not from my daughter, who was standing above me offering me advice but from BEHIND me.  


Holy. Hell.


I had an audience that entire time. An audience of not one but two men, who--I swear to God--were laughing at me. 


"No! No, I've got this." 


"You sure? We can get a ladder down there.."


"NO!! I have my pride, gentlemen. I can do this."  


Fourth attempt got me up and out in one, smooth move.


Thank God for small favors.


I turned around and those bastards were still giggling. But at least I could walk away with my head held high.



We'll ignore the fact that they were treated to a full-on view of my bum as I was doing this. A bum, I might remind you, that is no longer young and has "I've Birthed Two Children" written all over it. Or that I'm pretty sure my left shoulder will never be same. -> 

Sacrifices for my Art

We have established that I'm a menace to society, right? What with me having the nerve to take pictures and stuff--I've even managed to get myself kicked out of a mall! I really should be wearing a monitoring bracelet.


Say you: You got kicked out of a mall??


Say me: I did, yeah. To be fair I had completely abused the security guard's trust as he had told me I couldn't take pictures not 10 minutes before. But in my defense, that mall is dead. And I HAD to get the picture. You can read about it here.  


I was recently meandering about a place in the city that is technically off limits. They're tearing down an old section of a highway--I guess the city is concerned about falling beams and whatnot. But from my highly untrained eye the whole thing looks perfectly sound right now and there's really cool stuff to capture, so I took it upon myself to step over that orange DANGER-DO-NOT-ENTER construction fence that was only about a foot high anyway--so really it's more of an invitation than a barrier--and walk right under there. 


I became emboldened when I noticed two construction guys walking up the on-ramp, glance my way and not say anything. 


Until they were on the way down. 


"Ma'am?"  


*SIGH* 


Here it comes, I thought. It's been a fun ten minutes but they're kicking me out. I suppose there are dangling bits of concrete all up under here:  

They are just concerned for my well-being.  They clearly didn't want me to knock my head on one of those things and bleed to death, or at the very least get a concussion. Plus these rocks on the ground aren't all that stable and to top it off, I'm wearing sandals. Obviously he doesn't want me to fall and break my leg. Oh, all right. There are homeless people living under here too.  


"Yeah?"  


"You might want be on the lookout down there. I've seen quite a few snakes."  ->   

I'm Shamelessly Promoting Myself Today

Random thoughts for this holiday weekend. (For most, anyway. I'm actually working Monday night.) 


1. Would someone please explain to me why anyone on earth would wear a beanie with a beard knitted to it? 


1. Ignore that link up there. I find it highly annoying when websites make you become a member before letting you in the site. I rank it up there with websites that force you to listen to music when you stumble upon them. To this day, I don't understand the thinking behind that. If I want to listen to music, I'll find my own. I SORTA get it with a musician's website, but only a bit. Why force me to listen to your music? Just offer me options and I'll listen all by myself, thank you. 


2. Would someone please explain to me why anyone on earth would wear a beanie with a beard attached to it? Never mind. You know what? If I saw someone wearing one of these things on the street, I would stop him or her immediately and ask for a photo. Walk on, bearded-beanie-wearing free-spirit. Walk on. 


3. I just heard an NPR clip on Eurovision. It's a singing contest in continental Europe, but that's not my point. My point is that it's taking place in Azerbaijan. 


Never heard of it, have you?  


Me either.  


God, we're such Americans.  


Let's change that shall we? I think I'll feature a region or city every week. We all could use some education about places that are not our own, right?  I won't go into the minutia of the place, just where it's located, the population and one random fact.  


Ready?  


Here I go:  


BAKU!  


Capital city of....can you guess?  


That's right. Azerbaijan.  


Population: approximately 1.1 million


Random fact: The locale for Eurovision 2012.  


Geography lessons!  This is the kind of service you can't get from The Bloggess. 


4. On The Bloggess: Ttttthhhhppppttttt. Book tour. Articles written for The Church of Oprah Magazine. Features on one of my favorite NPR shows.  Simply no time at all to devote to The Little People who make her world possible. Simply NO TIME to take one simple picture of herself with a weasel (I've even lowered my standards) for one of her supporters. Even though Wil Wheaton and Matthew Broderick posed with random objects for her. (BTW, Wil Wheaton is quickly becoming my new boyfriend. I follow him on Tumblr. I luff him.) 


I even found Beyonce a boyfriend!


And still she ignores me. 


Whatever. 


Be. The. Stoat!! I'm not giving up. YOU HEAR THAT, JENNY LAWSON? 


5. Hey!! You can follow ME on Tumblr. too. See that radio button up top? How about that? But wait, there's more. My people blog, which is all about celebrating humanity via my shamelessly poaching an idea from one Humans of New York, has been up and running for a while. And now I'm on Facebook too.  Wheeeee!!!!   


6. That's it. I got nothing else. 


7. I lied. I'm going to be in another art show! Check it out! 


Song of the week: 

Grey's Anatomy Jumped the Shark. But I'll Still Watch It I'm Sure Because I'm Committed Like That.

I'm not ashamed to say I've watched Grey's Anatomy from the very beginning. I binged on the entire first season via DVD with my mother and have been hooked ever since.  


OK...I am ashamed to say it. But I said it anyway, so I'll scream it from the webbie rooftops: 


I'VE WATCHED GREY'S ANATOMY FROM THE VERY BEGINNING.  


I've stuck with them through the following:  


1. A favored character getting fired for making anti-gay statements (he left his fiance at the alter, which is how they wrote him off the show) 


2. Another buying the farm by getting hit by a bus


3. A third getting stage 16 skin cancer and running off to--well, we never found out where but she LIVED. (But prior to running off to live forever with stage 16 skin cancer they bring back her lover who died 2 seasons before and kept him around for a dozen episodes. How does this happen, you ask? You give her stage 16 skin cancer in which she experiences tactile, visual and auditory hallucinations.)


3. THE main character almost drowning but ohmigawd saved by the magical doctors and some Ouji-board type communication with her dead mother. (I sense a theme.)  


4. The entire hospital being taken over by a mad gunman (only minor characters died off after that one)


5. A near-fatal ambulance crash for some major characters


6. A near-fatal car crash for a major character (who, by-the-way, was married to the man that got hit by a bus but now she's a lesbian) that lead to a fucking SINGING episode (so she's a singing lesbian), because those docs are all just Broadway stars in disguise, and now?  


7. Plane crash.  


That's right.  


A plane crash where they ALL survive except one main character. But she kicks it only after the man she's been chasing for three seasons finally admits that he LUUURRRVVVSSS her and they're going to get married and make lots of beautiful babies.




Say you: It's drama! What's your point? 


Say me: My POINT is that no WAY does anyone survive a plane crash, let alone most surviving a plane crash. Not even in LOST--an entire show that revolved around a plane crash (don't get me started on that disastrous final season)--did they survive. 


MY POINT is that I could suspend disbelief for a very long time but they have finally crossed a line here. 


Plus my life is boring. 


Proof: I've never been forced to operate on anyone at gunpoint and I've never communicated with the anyone from the afterlife. Oh, and I can't sing.  ->