Friday, February 29, 2008

music and understanding

Finding this video didn't start out looking for some random moment of realization, but that's how it happened. It's a great video, The Monkees doing You Just May Be The One.

I'm certainly not quite old enough to remember The Monkees, but I do remember them thanks to the power of syndication. It's one of the few shows we were allowed to watch, and it was always a favorite of mine. This was of course Atlanta network tv a few years ago in my innocent childhood.

Mike was always my favorite followed by Peter, and it never really occurred to me why that might be. Stumbling on this particular video, in which Mike sings the lead vocals, forced a sudden and random moment of realization, and I knew why I'd always liked Mike, even all those couple of decades back.

And he's still the hottest one, followed by Peter of course because I'm a sucker when I recognize shy and awkward.


I don't know thing one about James Russell Lowell, but this quote vaulted itself right into need to be shared.
Whatever you may be sure of, be sure of this, that you are dreadfully like other people.
I'm honestly going to look for a way to say this to someone in the near future.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

an ode to shoes

These are my most recent shoes. I really liked them, and would still be wearing them now but for the fact that, hidden in this picture, there is a wide tear across the bottom of the the shoe with its sole turned up.

I discovered this hole in my shoe as I was putting groceries into the trunk of the car. I'm sure, as I was turning from shopping cart to trunk there was some final last straw of friction as I felt my sock quite rapidly become completely drenched, the cold setting in immediately. It was a rainy night here in K-patch, much like tonight.

These shoes are almost exactly the sort of thing I tend to wear most waking moments of my day. I'm weird in that way, that I much prefer to have shoes on than not. Momma and both boys are not like this at all, especially The Boy who sees walking inside as an invitation to remove shoes and socks at the first possibly moment.

The major difference in these shoes and recent shoes is the near obscene amount of white, though technically this color, when the shoes were new, was actually called "milk."

The shoes that came before these are still wearable, another pair of black suede Converse, though the only thing on them not black is the logo. They became the grass cutting shoes when I finally settled on these as their replacement. So the space between the tongue and the laces on them is stuffed with little bits of dead, dry grass. They were also always a bit too big, and with their years of service they've become just too floppy for regular duty.

And now, until we get a couple of bucks to invest in footwear, I'm stuck wearing my old work boots. It's sad how weird I am about having to wear shoes, because these Sears brand sons of bitches stink and are not the most comfortable housewear on the planet. They're great for standing in the kitchen, but they suck of kicking back with a beer. I either need to get over this shoe thing or get some new shoes.

Friday, February 22, 2008

this blog still active

Was it the cold moonlight soccer practice that ended up with me getting more exercise in one hour than I've had since the last soccer practice of the fall season? Is it the combination of beer and cigarettes and perhaps some other smoked substance drug addling me good? Is it the complete sitting here alone with no noise but the dog rolling and huffing in the floor?

Something is working to make me slightly less maudlin and depressed than I've been lately. It would be nice if this were more than a one night thing, but recently, that premise is highly doubtful.

We spent this past weekend in Nashville, or more honestly, we spent most of it in Clarksville, about forty five minutes northish of Nashville. We were in middle TN for roller derby.

I'm sure everyone has missed the roller derby talk. This bout was the season opener for HKRG, so expect me to at least have that to post about eventually. Our team won, tearing each point from their scrabbling hands. It was one of the most amazing bouts I've seen, though had Momma been skating it would likely have been a slightly easier win. Though she wasn't not skating for a bad reason, that's it's own story for some other time.

In that purest if cheesiest of sports moments, the bout was won in the final jam. Nashville was up thirty points as the first period ended. By the end of the second period, our side had whittled that lead down to nothing. Knoxville took the win in the final jam with a final score of seventy eight to seventy seven. It was freakin' sweet.

The annoying twist from the weekend involves me realizing that I have an extremely stupid crush on someone I've seen three times in the last year and a half, someone I've seen across a rink more times than I've spoken to him. I may have said "hi" and/or introduced myself once. It has been roller derby related each time. I can't say I actually know him, and I live at least three hours away.

It's stupid. It makes no sense.

The first meeting was in my town and was most certainly in my bury/ignore being gay days. I noticed him and liked what I saw, but I wasn't in a place where I was going to do anything about it. You could say I got a little stuck on him, though I didn't really realize it at the time. The next time I saw him was in his town. I'm pretty sure I didn't actually talk to him, but I did see him, and I remembered the first time and was still stuck. This would have been between learning of Momma's infidelity but before my own acceptance of me, a really weird time. I saw him again recently, somewhat after having come out and accepted that I do like the fellows, and for some reason I got really stuck, completely based on seeing him in the crowd a few times. It was a classic moment filled with instances of "did he look at me or catch me looking at him?"

It's stupid. There's no sense in it. It's irritating the living shit out of me, like I've once more found a helluva way to go right back to sixteen years old. Damn! and sigh . . .

Friday, February 15, 2008

that one guy

I have a friend, not really someone I'm close to, but he's a guy I've known most of the time I've lived in this town. One thing that is really noticeable, sort of a feature that stands out, is his voice, a deep and gravelly sort of thing that you almost imagine singing some low down blues. And then he talks and dispels that myth.

I hadn't seen him in a couple of years the last time I saw him. I was out having a couple of drinks, mostly fucking off. I mentioned his voice earlier because that's how I discovered he was also out that night.

I went into the bathroom to take a much needed piss, the beers having begun to back up in the bottleneck of my increasingly less patient bladder. As I stood at the urinal I heard someone enter the bathroom behind me but thought nothing of it.

I was quite enjoying my pee, having put it off quite long enough. Along with the pee I felt a build up of gaseous material, the sort one often rightly chooses to expel in the bathroom when out in public, and this I did.

Upon the release of my fart I heard a laugh from the next stall, and I knew at that very moment that I was in the presence of only one possible person. There are no voices like that but his.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

little better

What started Wednesday with a severely runny nose worsened Thursday, coupling intense sneezing fits with the clear, watery snot deluge.

By Friday it had turned into me being the whiniest I've been in ages, combining the aforementioned symptoms with random body aches, early stages of a cough, lack of appetite and what may have been the worst, a thick headed and dim witted sort of duh.

The whole of that stretched between Friday and Saturday with Saturday seeing a lot more coughing, enough in fact so that my left eye had a nice redness this morning.

My back has hurt most of this time, and various aches have shuttled around my head, sometimes including the entire head. The head was never one ache though, as even when the whole thing hurt, I could still feel the different pains separately.

One of the symptoms of the past few days that was by far the weirdest is likely the one you least want to read. I usually get a nice couple of days of watery bowel movements with whatever sort of sickness I get. This time however I spent a good portion of my past few days having no bowel movements. I will say that I farted a lot, like I just ate Senor Taco lot but without the stink. Yes, weird.

Oh, my skin also hurt. Did I mention that? That's a symptom I've recognized since childhood, and it's usually a personal early warning sign. Whenever my skin starts to hurt I know I'm in for something bad.

Today I woke up with a dry nose and a clear head. I won't discuss pooping other than to admit to some satisfaction in general in regards to that area. I've been ravenous most of the day and have eaten more in sevenish hours than I have in the previous seventy two. I even washed a couple of dishes and didn't mind fixing the boys lunch (heating up cans of soup.) My back still hurts, almost as bad as it has at any point during the sickness, but that's to be expected at this point, as it's become a muscle thing from the hacking cough.

The best thing, apart from getting to eat, about feeling so much better? I finally get to take a shower. I finally get to wash my greasy, ick hair. It'll still look like fluffy hell atop my head, but it will soon be clean fluffy hell.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

wbc sucks

Good As You has a video up that is worth watching, so I've borrowed it. Warning: Westboro Baptist Church related nastiness though not too much as the good guys win in the end

I'd say the video seems fairly obviously a product of Westboro, though they do attempt to make it seem like a news story. I'll let you pick out the subtle hints that point this out.

One thing that stood out to me is how big a failure their attempts are at the evilest place in Kansas. If I believed in a god these asshats would be pushing me even farther away from wanting to know him/her.

Finally, what stood out even more was the patriotic feeling I got watching the men and women counter protesting by hiding the asshats and their hateful signs with rows of the US flag. I actually got a little emotional watching the stars and stripes used for good.

you mean that HSLDA?

Yeah, there is only one HSLDA, Homeschool Legal Defense Association, and yes I see homeschool as one word, so that's just one more strike against them. It doesn't seem like that long ago that I posted some other asinine rant about these bozos, but an easy target is an easy target, so . . .

Anyone reading here that is not a homeschooler may well be unaware of the HSLDA, and if they have heard of them then they may know that they are a bunch of uber religious nutters that have as much to do with the legal side of homeschool issues as a basket of dirty underwear has to do with getting supper on the table.

HSLDA likely fancies themselves the ACLU of the homeschooling world, and many of our more zealously christian homeschooling friends would agree to the spirit of that comparison while quickly pointing out the evil nature of the ACLU and homaseckshuls and libruls and women in pants. Yeah, those people.

I won't be entering this contest, though I do thank Lynn at Bore Me To Tears for noticing and showing us all. The contest is an essay contest in which entrants are asked to explain what the HSLDA means to them. As Momma pointed out when I showed her, "Twenty five words? That's not an essay. That's a couple of sentences."

Should you choose to enter, the prize is a gift certifacte to the HSLDA bookstore, which brings up another question. What kind of crap do they sell in the HSLDA bookstore? I can well imagine, but I'd rather make uneducated guesses, as it's so much funnier that way. So before I complete my essay I'll give some examples of things that aren't quite likely to really be there, such as the
-ladies tea cup (because coffee is probably too strong for them) reading, I got married and all I got was these bare feet and a growing stack of babies
-t shirts that read I homeschool my child for all the wrong reasons and we don't need your filthy and unBiblical logic
-the classic full armor of god play set
-book titled "Conservatives Today: Working Our Asses Off To Take America Back To The Dark Ages"

But I digress when I really should be working on my essay.

So, what does the HSLDA mean to me?
HSLDA doesn't mean a square inch of turd. They haven't done shit for the vast majority of homeschoolers, so they can go and suck it.
And it's exactly twenty five words, but I really don't think it's a prize winner according to their standards. Regardless, I think it's honest and heartfelt.

And added from Lynn's comment due to sheer awesomeness, check out this fine offering as an additional option from the HSLDA shop.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

bad derby blogger

Haven't you missed hearing about roller derby? Aren't you just dying to know what the fabulous ladies of Hard Knox are up to?

There are a couple of stories in this post, one of which involves Momma leaving Hard Knox for another local league, a very small and just getting started league. She left for a couple of personal reasons that didn't make it easier, and she worries often that she might should regret the decision. I think in the end it really will be for the best, but change is often hard no matter how much we might need it.

She left with the best intentions to maintain a good relationship with the league, and we remain close friends with so many people we met. In addition we plan to work to maintain good relations between the two leagues.

As long as they'll have me, I plan to continue to announce for Hard Knox. And I get that chance in just a few (too short) hours. Tonight's bout is a scrimmage as the team prepares for the season opener in one week in Nashville. Momma has been planning on our driving out with the team to provide support and hollering as well as to see a couple of friends we've missed greatly. I'm not sure if we'll have the money to make the trip, and I don't know if we'll have the money for tickets either.

And that's a quick run down of our derby life as it stands. Look for more in the future and hope that I'm not a bad blogger and can get a message up earlier than the day of.

And finally, if you live in or around Knoxville and need something to do tonight, come out and see us at Skatetown on Broadway. Doors open at seven with the bout starting at seven thirty. Tickets are only five dollars, and it's a great time for the youngest kids to the oldest kids.


What does it say that Oscar Wilde is once again the quote that shows up and is worthy of me squeezing out a QOTD post? It must mean something. As usual, have a link to The Quotations Page from whom I freely borrow this, and feel free to enjoy the new quote.
I think that God in creating Man somewhat overestimated his ability.
- Oscar Wilde

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

no we can't

We start the day with a bit of pessimism. Though I really do think we can, if all we've got is a pretty song and some heart warming speeches then no we can't.

You've seen the video, Obama speechifying while attractive people agree and tell us, "Yes we can." Si se puede? Perhaps, but not until we stop letting the media control who we have real access to, not until the likes of Richardson, Dodd, Gravel and Kucinich are treated as equally viable candidates from the very beginning.

Why are we reduced to two options, Clinton and Obama? Are they really the top two in what was, until recently, a fairly crowded field? They aren't and weren't my top choice. I'd love to see the old white men step aside in favor of fresher faces, but more than that I want a president who means what he says, and I want for her to tell me what she will do that will make our country better. I might smack the next person that even utters the word change without telling me what they will change and how they will change it.

I am dreading going to vote. I'll turn the little knob and press the little button, but we have so many options in our local election. We have a huge bunch of rascals in our county and city, and we have that many more people offering us vague change and bringing the power back to the people. We have options that might as well be mirror images of each other. We have people meeting oustide of the sun light to make deals with each other, to give each other the job they were just term limited out of, to make sure their little corner of the kingdom stays in family hands.

And the worst of it all is that politics are fucking boring, booooooooring. Maybe they shouldn't be or don't have to be. Maybe it's just that, locally, there are too many names and faces, and I want to make an informed decision, for my vote to represent what I believe our system of governance should be, but on some level it's like deciding whether your pie should have a full top crust or a lattice and pretending that it makes any damn difference.

So, I will vote. I will do my civic duty. I will vote based on party in some instances. Perhaps I'll vote for the sole woman in some instances. This is Knoxville, so if any of the candidates are gay they ain't tellin', and shallow as that might be, that would get my vote in the same way some Baptists will pull the lever for Huckabee, "'cuz he's one of us."

And then I'll come back home, relieved that it's over for a few more months, chagrined that little will likely change. What I really want to do, at least locally, is sew the bunch of them up in a huge sack and smack them back and forth between the TVA towers for a couple of minutes. It would either knock some sense in or knock some of the stupid out.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

shovel the silliness like it was cool

Once again I find myself doing my part to keep Yuengling in business, dumping gallons of their fine beer product down my throat. Tonight we're listening to Stevie Wonder who is on my mind because I saw his happy face in attendance at the sparring match between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Of all the big name folks the camera caught, he was the one I cared to see.

I had a nice grocery store incident today. I got home in time to smoke a cigarette with Momma before she took off for work only to realize I'd left a bag behind. It was an important bag as it contained my onion, red pepper and garlic, all of which were essential to my cooking supper, arroz con pollo, mostly from the Joy of Cooking.

She called in late as I sped back down the road to fetch my goods. It wasn't until the meal was ready for the cup of frozen green peas that I realized that they had also been in that bag. And here I was at home with no working car in which to return yet again to the store. DAMN and damn again!

Other than the missing peas and having allowed the rice to overcook as I wrestled the chicken off the bones, the dish was as delightful as ever. As is my want I don't exactly follow Ms. Joy's instructions. I like to add a can of diced tomatoes, and the red pepper was substituted for green because every single one of the green peppers available to me was absolute shit. I can't imagine paying money for the nasty things they had out in the produce section today, and I much prefer the good taste of a red pepper to that green-ness inherent in a green pepper, so it wasn't a total loss.

It's not that I don't like green peppers, though I don't, because I realize that, as an ingredient, they do add a little something in the proper proportion. And sometimes the green is what is called for. A good spaghetti sauce is no less good subbing a red pepper for a green, but it changes the whole dynamic. If that's what you want then fine. I was thinking the green and . . . seriously, blah-blah-blah, but that's as good a story as I have tonight.

Either way, the rice is still overcooked, and no amount of rooster sauce can fix mushy rice. The flavor is fine, and the dish is all sorts of tasty. But I still want to have to chew my rice. It's a perfect texture for a senior citizen, and thanks to Doc's comment in my most recent and especially queer ass post, I no longer feel quite as long in the tooth as I could. But the rice . . . again, blah-blah-blah.

And that's where I find myself. I've run out of things to say in this particular post. I'm still debating whether to make a post out of the new site I joined where ninety five percent of the members are willing to identify themselves with pictures of their wieners. There's a good post in there I'm quite sure, but a two weeks in, I'm almost certain it isn't where I find myself heading, and besides, it's a whole other post if it's a post at all. And if that description doesn't tip you off to the kind of thing I'm talking about then you're likely better off not knowing, which isn't to say I won't share sometime soon.

Friday, February 01, 2008

speak for yourself, mary

I've noticed something about myself lately, and I'm not claiming that it's either good or bad. It just is. Though if it's about me you can bet your sweet ass it's more good than not. It's at least better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

Before we really get into the story I should point out that I've never been the butchest bitch on the block. Again, it's neither good nor bad, just is, but it's somehow appropriate to the situation to have this information as we proceed.

Also, I've never pretended that I'm not a bit of a lush. I like my beer, and maybe on occasion a Sunday afternoon just deserves a bloody Mary while the sun is still riding high in the sky; lord knows I deserve it a bit more often than I get it, and a shot of tequila wouldn't hurt, but I'm pretty sure we're fresh out of that.

And none of that's really the point. We're here to discuss something else, and that something else is that it seems that I somehow grow a little gayer as the drinks pile up in my system.

It's nothing major, no flames licking the ceiling, not quite Japanese girl hiding her giggles behind her hand. But I hold my cigarette a little more just so. The "oh my goooood" grows a tiny bit more shrill. The eyes roll slightly more sarcastically in that certain way.

The south in me probably comes out a bit more at those times too, and what could be better than a southern queen approaching middle age?

Again, I'll point out that this is neither good nor bad, but I'd lean toward more good than not if pressed. It certainly beats the sullen prick I used to find more likely just a few short months ago.

I pointed this out to Momma last night, and she was kind enough to have noticed as well. I'm not sure kind enough is really where we're going here, but it helps that I'm not deluding myself.

What to do with this? Not a fucking thing as far as I can tell. I'm sure it's a case of just is, as I pointed out earlier. It doesn't bother me in the least, and if it bothers you then be glad you only have to deal with my drunk ass through the tubes that are the internets. And girl just be yourself.

And speak for yourself, Mary!