Oh, whatever dude

the gynas 014
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

I'm trying to put this stupid photo into my profile, but all I can actually figure out how to do is to put it in a post. So here it is.

Painting and Oscars

Well, I've painted one wall in the living room now. It's blue, and a pretty bright blue, too. In fact, since I called the bedroom wall "Oscar the Grouch," this one might well be called "Cookie Monster." But it looks awesome, and now I can't wait to do more. Here are some reasons I love painting. It's a cheap and fast way to make a dramatic change. It's temporary if you choose it to be. It can make differences you'd never expect -- for example, I didn't realize how much the dogwod blossoms I have in a big urn faded into the wall until they were backgrounded by blue, where they stand out vibrantly. Also, the other blues in the room now jump up and down saying "look at me!" Which is cool, because I have two pieces of stained glass that are doing that now. Also, it helps make the house feel even more like mine. You know, I did the paint myself, I picked the color, no previous owners laid a hand on any of it. I like that. Finally, I re-hung the tryptich that my brother painted, and it looks really cool, since I picked the blue to match a color in the paintings. It really complements the art. Anyway, that's all on that. I can't wait to do the other walls and the ceiling now.

I watched the Oscars last night -- I'm not such a devotee that I watch every year, but I am a movie fan and I like to see who wins. Plus, I have to admit checking out the dresses and such. Anyway, I'm happy that Million Dollar Baby won 4 big awards. It deserved it absolutely. Now I need to go see some of the other movies, like "The Aviator," which I may wait for on video. I still never got around to seeing "The Triplets of Belleville." Oh well, I'll work on it. I guess that's it. I've gotta work.

Bye.

Domestic trivia

Yeah, no ground-shattering news here. Drama club is officially down to 8 members, which means we'll be performing "assorted scenes" rather than a whole play.

My mom's in Boone, Iowa, and so far the best part of her trip is that she's going to come back with some stories to tell. She was horrifying me with tales of the local cuisine.

I got quite a bit done today -- prepped a wall for painting (this one really needed it, too -- it's next to the fireplace, so had a lot of soot, and also had about 20 nail holes and various cracks), and taped it off. Then Dad came by and installed a garbage disposal for me while I occasionally handed him things, pressed on things, scraped putty off things, held things up, turned things, offered to measure things, and helpfully pointed out that the joint was leaking. I also offered to do "Step 13: Apply decal in a prominent place" but then I couldn't find the decal. Then I went to the gym, where I did 40 minutes on the stationary bike and about 6 or 8 arm things (lat pull-downs, sholder presses, arm curls, and other things that I don't know the names uf but that generally targeted the upped arms and shoulders). Then I got briefly into the spa. I thought I might run into Boompah at the gym, as it was his day off and it was the afternoon, but I didn't.

We went to sushi tonight and I ate more than usual (Merry Roll, Inari, and half a Jungle Roll) and had a Lemon Drop. I figure their bar has been open for a couple months now, the least I can do is try a drink. It was lovely.

I saw a Mariachi band on my way to the gym. They were at a used tire place on Stockton. I was sitting at a light and wondering why the employees of the tire shop were all wearing ivory uniforms with tight pants and jackets, when I realized what was really up. It appeared that they needed a new tire for their Mariachi Van.

Not a heck of a lot else is going on. Sweetie has to work tomorrow, which he is bummed about, and I'm bummed too, partly for him, and partly because with my mom out of town, we might have been able to spend a little extra time together (Sunday's Mom day). Oh well, I'll have band practice, paint a wall, and go to the gym, so it's not like I won't be busy.

Usually I don't bug my dad about quitting smoking, I figure it's a bit of a lost cause since I've been trying for like 25 years, but today I nagged him a bit. We had a Piggs family scare, and it made me think about how pissed I'd be if my own dad didn't get to be around to help my kids with math (obviously, neither Piggs nor I can handle this area). So I laid into him a little bit about it. What good it'll do, I don't know, but it's worth a shot, I suppose. What if this time it worked?

Okay, all for now. Take care, and I'll update again when I have something to say.

It must be Spring . . .

because the kids are starting to smell!

Well, I've had good news and bad news. This week has been all about balance. I got money snatched from my purse at school, but I got it back, but it was a kid I trusted . . .

I decided to do summer school, which means more money, but more work. I am splitting it half and half with a co-worker, so slightly less work and less money.

I found out I am not missing out on a training conference for the job I want in March, but there's another in June, and I'm not sure yet if I'll be hired in time to attend that on the school's dime . . .

I made one really kick-ass dinner and one really mediocre one.

I've gotten some working out done, but not a lot. I finished all my classes to get the discount at the gym, but I'm still a big fatty. I have been getting my 5 a day of fruits and veggies, but today supplemented them with a Snickers.

Some of my classes have gone really well (like, they're totally getting meter, and think I'm funny when I'm riffing on onomotapeia) and others have been miserable (like, they were taking a test and couldn't understand why social talking wasn't allowed, and when five people raised their hands simultaneously, four felt jilted that I couldn't help them first, and expressed it vehemently).

I've been really improving in ballet, but I couldn't jete-sote-sote-sote backwards and forwards to save my life.

My mom got to Iowa safely, but now she has to hang out with my grandma, and I don't get to see her this week.

I guess that's all the big stuff (and the medium-to-small stuff, too). Take care, y'all.

Must . . . shake . . . booty

My booty has a mind of its own. I can be in line at Jamba Juice, and some horrible old song will come on, and independently of me, my booty will begin to shake. I can't help it. Let's call me hyper-rythmically oriented or something. Then its a disability. Anyway, I was thinking of creating a booty-shaking playlist for the gym, and then I thought it might be fun to make it up entirely of songs that I would be somewhat embarassed to admit I was shaking my booty to. I came up with:

Kelis -- Milkshake
2 Live Crew -- Me So Horny
Princess Superstar -- Do it Like a Robot
C&C Music Factory -- Everybody Dance Now
Ace of Base -- The Sign
*Culture Club -- Karma Chameleon
*The Cure -- Why Can't I Be You?
Dee Lite -- Groove is in the Heart
*Depeche Mode -- Just Can't Get Enough
Devo -- Whip It
*Divinyls -- I Touch Myself
*English Best -- Mirror in the Bathroom
Easy E -- Easy Duz It
Falco -- Rock Me Amadeaus
Fatboy Slim -- The Rockafeller Skank
*Garbage -- Push It
*Go Go's -- We Got the Beat
*Gorillaz -- Rock the House
*Hot Chocolate -- You Sexy Thing
*Human League -- Don't You Want Me
Information Society -- Mirrorshades
*INXS -- New Sensation
*Kajagoogoo -- Too Shy
LA Style -- James Brown is Dead
*Madness -- Our House
*Softcell -- Tainted Love
*Men Without Hats -- Safety Dance
Moby -- Jam For the Ladies
*Naked Eyes -- Always Something There to Remind Me
*No Doubt -- Spiderwebs
*Oingo Boingo -- Dead Man's Party
Peaches -- Shake Yer Dix
*Prince -- Let's Go Crazy
Prince -- Kiss
Right Said Fred -- I'm Too Sexy
*Romantics -- Talking in Your Sleep
*Roxette -- The Look
Salt-N-Pepa -- Push It
Shaggy -- O Carolina
Sir-Mix-A-Lot -- Baby Got Back
*Smashmouth -- All Star
*Squeeze -- Tempted
*Tears for Fears -- Mad World
*The Thompson Twins -- Doctor! Doctor!
Tone Loc -- Wild Thing
*Toni Basil -- Mickey
*Yazoo -- Walk Away From Love

I initially culled the list a little, taking off artists like the Beastie Boys, Bjork, David Bowie The Eurythmics, and Duran Duran, knowing that I wouldn't ever really be embarassed to admit I liked any of those artists. Some more will probably drop off the list for the same reason, like Depeche Mode, Oingo Boingo, and possibly Moby and Fatboy Slim. Also, the stuff like Tone Loc, Easy E, and 2 Live Crew would probably earn me not embarassment, but respect in certain circles. Nevertheless, they're staying because I can definitely say they would cause me embarassment in some other circles. I also took off some of the disco, like the Village People and Gloria Gaynor because they were just too obvious. That will also likely be the fate of Hot Chocolate. I'm reconsidering a lot of the New Wave, partly because it really seems to have taken over the list, and partly because I really am not all that embarassed to admit I still listen to the stuff that rocked my world twenty years ago. I suppose I could just leave everything I chose originally, because a playlist can be as long as you like, but I was thinking I might burn a CD foro Monkeygirl, who I whink might enjoy an embarrassing booty-shaking CD. So it has to be under a certain time limit. I'm currently removing anything that doesn't have a fast enough beat to actually rock my booty off. The Yaz, the Smashmouth, and the Roxette are probably going in this round.

Okay, a few minutes later, and if you look at the list, everything with an asterisk got axed, mostly because of the new wave conundrum, but partly because there was such a restricted time (80 minutes) that a song had to absolutely rock my booty off to stay on the list. No "I have a booty-shaking choice" music, only music that made my booty shake involuntarily. Monkeygirl, whaddya say, want a copy?

Happy Presidents' Day

Well, this weekend has been nice, although not life-changing. Saturday was 4 1/2 hours of nutrition and fitness classes (so I can get a discout at my gym). Pretty common sense for those of us who read the occasional article about about nutrition. Then we went to sushi and had a nice time, as usual. Sunday morning we met Monkeygirl early for breakfast (if you want to go to the British pub for breakfast, you have to go early or risk waiting for a long time). It was nice to see her and catch up. Then we came home and did household chore stuff and read the paper. Then sweetie had to work, so I dropped him off and then went to the gym.

The Gym: I was proud of myself for going, because I only had an hour until band practice, and I am VERY good at coming up with excuses for not working out. "I only have an hour" would have satisfied me, no problem, but I didn't use it. I rode the bike for 20 minutes, then found some machines that looked familiar from my old gym. I did shoulder-y/lat/upper arm stuff, then since I didn't really recognize anything else, I just got back on the bike for 12 more minutes and came home, right exactly at 1, just in time for band practice.

Band practice: I rushed in through the garage door, grabbed a yogurt, and rushed out the back door to go to the mother-in-law cottage/Gyna cave. But then I screamed and ran back in when I saw a dead cat on my patio. No, I don't know why I screamed and ran in. I got Guitargirl, who was already in the cave, and she and I set about collecting a shovel and a bag, when I suddenly recognized the cat. It was Petra, my next-door neighbor's cat. I went and got him. I said "Has Petra been missing for a few days?" He replied "Yeah. Is she dead?" Apparently she had been sick, and disappeared the night before he had planned to take her to the vet. She looked kind of still plump and catlike on the topside, but when he picked her up to put her in the box, she was real flat on the underside. Probably needless to say, I did not finish my yogurt. I felt really bad for him, and for the cat, actually, but I have to say, I'm glad Mina is an indoor cat. There's no way she could rot somewhere, get stiff and eaten by flies before I had the chance to bury her. Hopefully in about 18 years I'll just take her to the vet or be sitting at home and she'll go comfortably in my arms. She deserves that.

Then mom and I went shopping a little -- the mall was packed. We split a big salad for dinner at Dos Coyotes. Yum! We also got our brows done, which was kind of cool. I can recommend the Benefit brow bar. They did a really good job and the price was comparable to when I've gotten it done at an inexpensive salon. On the way home we stopped at Home Depot and Mom got me a new garbage disposal! YEAH! I really needed one, and I'm not even the one doing most of the sink stuff -- that would be Piggs. Now I just need to get it installed. I'll probably call up my dad.

Today I read the paper, drank some coffee, made breakfast, did a few chores (dishes, laundry), then hit Target for cat-related goodies and some workout pants (the sweatpants from when I was 6 dress sizes larger just weren't cutting it), then went to the gym again (good for me!), where I did the same kind of bike stuff and a couple leg exercises, then got in the hot tub. Then I got lunch at Chipotle (damn their corporate asses, those burritos are GOOD) and came home. Sweetie had taken half the day off, and we took a nap together, then I pretty much went to Smart and Final (see my "Let's Put on a Show" post from a few days ago) and came home and fixed up dinner for us. Now it's almost 6 and Sweetie found a Cops marathon on TV, so guess what's on in the background.

Mom's going out of town for most of a week for my Grandma's 80th birthday, and I'm a little nervous for her, mainly because it's going to be cold and she'll be driving in the snow, but also partly because my grandma's not exactly the great mom that my own is, and this isn't going to be a super-fun vacation for mom. Good luck, though, Mom!

On grandma notes, my other grandma just moved. I'm a little conflicted about it. Part of me is happy that she seems happy, she's moving in with her boyfriend, and she seems excited about it. But part of me is feeling like "what a bad move." The house is a real fixer-upper, the kind of fixing that I wouldn't dare take on at my age and health, and I can't imagine trying to do it at hers. Without my going into a total tirade, the place needs help. Also, I'm glad she seems happy with her boyfriend, but I am one of the many people who can't quite understand why. Admittedly, we all think of my grandfather as a total saint, so it would be hard for any man to live up to him, but let's just say that even if the bar were set lower, I can't imagine this boyfriend reaching it. They don't seem to have a lot in common besides being lonely and old, and he isn't all that respectful of her, at least the way I see it. Like, he totally bashes her taste in decor, and has just bought all new furniture and stuff, saying that they're going to throw her stuff out. That's not very nice, is it? Aren't you supposed to talk over stuff and make decisions together? Well, it's her life, and she's got almost 50 years on me, so I guess if anyone's entitled to make their own mistakes, she is. And maybe I'm just not seeing the whole picture, either. And there's no doubt that a big part of me will miss her house, where I've gone to almost every Christmas celebration of my life, and which is within easy biking distance, unlike her new place. Good luck, Grandma.

Okay, I guess that's about it. Wish me luck selling candy at the postponed Valentine's dance tomorrow. I just love staying two hours after school listening to eardrum-blasting hip hop for a ten dollar profit for costumes and props for a play that may not even happen.

--Mockula out

Let's Put on a Show!

That's right, the students I work with are teeming with energy to get started on the Spring play, Alice in Wonderland. We had an amazing turnout at the January auditions, and although it was hard to choose from among such talent, I announced the parts the next week. I checked out scripts to the actors, and they began working on memorizing them. Then we started our fundraising candy sale, which has made us an amazing profit, so we can start building sets and making costumes. I think the Red Queen will be in velvet. So far, we've pretty much nailed the blocking and everything for act one, and act two is coming along nicely. I can't wait to get the tickets, flyers and posters printed. These scrappy kids are going to make the school and their families so proud!

Oh wait, no that's not how it's gone. Actually, we had about nine kids at the auditions, two of whom signed up and immediately left. The remaining seven were given parts automatically, regardless of lisps, and we held "make-up auditions" the next week, begging people to show up. We ended up with a total of nine who were coming semi-regularly, although on any particular day, we rarely have more than five. Two dropped out, then came back and wanted their parts back, but haven't shown up for two practices since then. One kid told me for two weeks straight that he wanted to join drama and would be there at the next rehearsal, then never showed. When he finally came, he checked in, said he was going to sell some candy before drama club started and be right back, then never returned. Twice. No one has memorized anything. The candy sale is damn near losing money because the profit margin is narrow anyway, so the kids who aren't keeping good records ("Oh, I only have $6.50? I wonder what happened to the other $3.50?!") are pretty seriously cutting into the profits. Plus I have to count grimy quarters after school several days a week and then lug them home, and make numerous trips on my own time to Smart and Final (a real thrill), paying $80 a pop out of my own bank account. At least six scripts (which I paid for out of pocket) have disappeared. Today we chose to rehearse the tea party scene, because we had a March Hare, an Alice, and a narrator. We had other people read for the Dormouse and the Mad Hatter. It went swimmingly. Why am I doing this again?

Take this job and shove it

Okay, not really, but why does it have to be so hard sometimes? Today I asked the kids to do three things -- put away the book they had been reading, copy their agenda and objective (20 words total) and open their literature books to page 393. They had 4 minutes. It took 20 because no one had a pen or pencil, several people stopped to chat, a few got thrown out for talking about the employment options of each other's mothers (sex worker was among the popular choices) and the throwing out process takes time as well, some were simply clueless as to the activities required of them (which seems strange, since this is approximately the 90th consecutive day that the instructions, minus the page number, have been exactly the same), others were in the wrong seats, some chose to complain that the time allotted was too short and that I didn't realize it because I was an unnaturally fast writer, others had to be reminded of the "no gum" policy (which I enforce without agreeing with it) more than once and we waited for them to remove their gum, and at least three people asked for permission to leave the room in order to expectorate.

Did anyone need to leave the room to spit in the last, oh, 3 1/2 centuries of public education in the United States? If I was having post nasal drip (something that certainly happened in my many years of schooling), I simply spat it discreetly into a tissue. Or, disgusting as it was, swallowed. But recently it seems like EVERYONE needs to spit all the time. Have we been breeding children with overactive salivary glands? Would they be drooling onto their t-shirts were it not for the spitting? Should we provide some sort of funnel or spittoon? Maybe each desk could have the denstist's office suction device attached to the side. What the hell?

Okay, I have work to do. Bye, all.

Fitness Assessments for COUNT MOCKULA

Yeah, I went to this fitness assessment and bodyfat test thing today. You get a discount at the gym I joined if you do. I admit to being nervous and not really looking forward to it, because basically, I know I'm fat, and I was spending an entire evening and $15 to have someone tell me I was fat. Fun, huh? But it actually didn't go all that badly. They tested bodyfat (and I must be psychic, because as it turns out, I'm fat), but also grip strength, resting heart rate and recovering heart rate, number of curls and pushups you can do, maximum bench press and leg press, and flexibility. It all played out kind of like I thought it would, with my flexibility being super-high (99th percentile!) and my upper body strength being embarassingly low. But overall, I was a 66 on a scale of 1 - 100, based on people of my gender and age. I had 4 categories that fell into the excellent range, flexibility, pushups, grip strength (thank you, bass playing) and resting heart rate. Two more fell into the above average range, the recovering heart rate and the curls. My only real surprise was the leg press. I've always felt that I had quite strong legs, but my max leg press was only average at 230 lbs. The other interesting piece of info didn't surprise me either, but confirmed my suspicions --- I've always felt that (even though I know I have too much fat) I have quite a bit of muscle mass, and that I'm not really comfortable at the low end of the recommended weight range for my height. In fact, I feel most healthy and comfortable just above the high end. And I discovered the reason why today; most people who are 5'6" have between 86 and 102 pounds of lean muscle mass (your total weight minus the fat), whereas I have 114.4. So, cool. It wasn't all bad news. And the best news of all is that I'm working to change it -- particularly those average and below average scores. Oh yeah, and I'm gonna find that 1% of the population who's more flexible than I am and whoop her gumby ass.

Your cousin's black!?

So, if my students ASKED, they could find out that I grew up in the neighborhood of the school, had a single mom, have a weird family just like they do (a half brother, a stepbrother and stepsister) . . . But no, I must seem like I was born with a polo pony birthmark. My little cousin Allen (actually, second cousin once removed, I think -- my first cousin's son) was going to have to wait quite a while for a ride home today, so I had him call his grandma (my aunt) to see if I could give him a ride. As I left the parking lot, some of my students started waving furiously at me. I rolled my window down. "Miss Mockula, why don't you give ME a ride?" I said I can't give just any student a ride, this is my cousin. The female student then says, with all the disbelief and disdain I'm sure you would muster if I told you I was Buzz Aldrin, "Your cousin's BLACK!?" I nod. "Your cousin's black!" This time I wasn't sure if it was a question or if she was informing me. I said again, yeah, and I shook my head, rolled my window up (as she yelled it again), and we drove off. How hard is this to understand? My cousin dated a black guy, they loved each other very much, and when men and women love each other very much . . . Well, it was probably more like she was young and not thinking hard enough about birth control, but I love Allen and would never wish she'd used it now, you know? Anyway, give me a break -- he's not super dark-skinned or anything. Half the African-American kids at my school are actually mixed-race, and I've stopped being surprised when their white mamas come in for a meeting. So why am I so far removed from any possibility of having a perfectly normal, whacked-out family? Sheesh.

V-Day

Well, I ended up having a pretty nice Valentine's day. To pick up from earlier, I watched "The Terminal." It was good, but a little eccentric. Some of the subplots were somewhat unbelievable, the ending was a bit anti-climactic, and the antagonist was especially and unneccesarily evil. Then I went and returned the movies and went to donate blood. I figured, one valentine present for me (I joined a gym this morning), one for sweetie (book, decaf coffee and none-of-your-business), and one for the blood center.

I almost got deferred, though. First, my blood droplet barely dropped in their little blue fluid vial in time (it has to drop completely within ten seconds to prove you're not anemic, I think). As the clock neared ten, the nurse lady was glancing nervously at the clock, the vial, the clock, the vial, then "Phew!" Then she took my temperature and it was 99.8! I've had an elevated temperature there once before when I'd been chewing gum, but this time I hadn't been. We had to wait 15 minutes, then take it again. I wasn't feeling ill or anything, but even the second time it was 99.2, but that falls within the acceptable range. Once that was done, I was rollin', because I am a champion bleeder, so I actually filled my entire pint bag in 7 minutes. They gave me a keychain (I was at a gallon last time, and they didn't give it to me then), and while I was eating my crackers and drinking my juice later, someone came over and gave me a t-shirt.

I almost always either have or overhear an interesting conversation at the snack counter, and today was no different. Two gentlemen were discussing the elder's twenty-year recumbent bike hobby. He'd had some sort of surgery that caused his glutes to atrophy, and couldn't ride a regular bike, so he started riding recumbents to build up his strength. That was interesting enough, but then the younger guy asked him about donating plasma, because the older man said he'd just hit is 400 gallon mark. Wow, huh? Anyway, apparently his wife died of cancer some years ago, and needed plasma once or twice a day when she was sick, so he felt he had a big debt to repay. I think that's impressive. A lot of people would have the thought, but not the follow-through, you know?

Then I came home and made dinner, which did not go nearly as well as I planned, nor as badly as I expected about half-way through the cooking. You can read about it on Count Broccula. So all in all, not a bad Valentine's day. I still need to do some planning for tomorrow's school day, but frankly I might just go in early and do it then, because I'm into the book I started, "Honeymoon With My Brother."
G'night.

Music news

First of all, Too Short and 2 Live Crew are playing Friday about 6 blocks from my house. No shit. I'm almost tempted to go, but I'm vaguely afraid of getting my ass kicked.

But on to the Grammys. You know, of all the winners, I've only even heard a few -- Green Day and U2 among them. And I'm not even that crazy about the U2 song.

Here's the whole list. Among the other winners I'd heard at all were Velvet Revolver and Brian Wilson. Now, of course I've heard Prince and Ray Charles and Wilco and so on, but these albums or songs? Not really. I haven't even heard the Motorhead album that won. Actually I know the Kanye West song "Jesus Walks" better than any Wilco song, because it was on MTV one day and the video was really compelling (actually, the song was, too). Does that make me hopelessly out of the loop? I'd say no. What about the Grammys . . . are they? Yeah, a bit. I mean, they're not out of their own insular top 40 loop, they're smack dab in the middle of that loop, but do they reflect everything that's going on musically? As the newspaper columnist reported today, by choosing Maroon 5, a saccharine pop band who didn't even release their album last year, as the best new artist, they continue to stick with whatever's safe.

I watched Harry Potter: The Prisoner of Azkaban last night. It was alright. It was one of those instances, I'm afraid, where I knew the book too well and didn't think the film really could live up to it. Plus, maybe I've gotten too used to good DVD extras, but these were lame. I've rented "The Terminal," and plan to watch that as soon as I finish blogging, so I'll let you know how it was. I debated between those two and "Napoleon Dynamite" and "Hero," at the video store. I feel like I'm getting a little behind on my movie watching, and I really need to keep up. By the way, just in case I forgot to tell you two weeks ago, "Million Dollar Baby" was easily the best movie I've seen all year, Swank should win best actress, Eastwood should win best director, Freeman should win supporting actor, and you should go see it. That's all.

Mockula, enjoying her day off (for President Lincoln, not Saint Valentine) wishes you well.

Various restaurant notes

On Friday we went to Celestin's, and when we walked in, I was thinking "Hmm, we come here pretty often, and although the owner is cordial, he's never really friendly, and never seems to remember us." We ate our dinner, and the server came back when we were finished and said "Colin would like to offer you a dessert." I eagerly agreed to a slab of chocolate cake, and when she left, I said "Wasn't that nice?" Piggs said "They always ask us if we want dessert." That led to some confusion, because I thought we were being offered a comp, whereas he thought it was just the usual "would you care for dessert?" Anyway, when we got the bill I asked him to check, and in fact, they had given it to us free. I told Piggs as we walked away that I guess I was wrong in my earlier thoughts, and he agreed that he'd sometimes wondered why they never remember us. I guess I take it back.

We end up at Malouf's, the Lebanese place, for dinner very nearly once a week. They always remember us, talk to us, call Piggs "Boss" or "Chief," and joke and talk with us. It's a great place with nice people. But I noticed on a couple occasions that there are a lot of biracial couples that go there. In fact, almost every time we go there are at least two other couples of mixed ethnicity, sometimes more. I wondered why, and it would make sense if it was all middle-eastern couples, but it's often various other ethnicities, too. Then I remembered that we kind of qualify, too (I hardly ever think about it, but I suppose we count). Anyway, I certainly see mixed-ethnicity couples elsewhere, but really a lot at Maloufs. Hmph.

We had sushi last night, and the new guy, Dan, talked to us more than he did last week. He's pretty cool, and we all had a good time laughing at Terminator 2. Eh, that's about it. I rented movies (yay!), so I'm going to watch one tonight and one tomorrow. Bye.

Daniel Shore, Trekkies, Swiffer, and who knows what-all else

Okay, so I think Daniel Shore (NPR commentator guy) sounds pretty much exactly like Andre the Giant. Sweetie disagrees, but I wish he could have heard the radio this morning. Shore was talking about Condoleeza Rice and said something about her "charm." It could hace been a clip from "The Princess Bride," when Andre the Giant says "he's very very short on CHAAAAAAM." It was dead-on, dude.

We watched "Trekkies" and "Trekkies 2" last night. It was scary, but really the worst part is that there was a section in the second one set in Sacramento! I had heard they were here shooting footage of Warp 11 (a band we've played with) and No Kill I (a band that not only have I seen live years ago, but who I know a couple members of very casually, including the Archbishop Dave Smith). I was prepared for that, I guess, but what I was not prepared for was the revelation that there were three other Star Trek tribute bands in the area -- NKI the Next Generation, NKI Babylon 5 and a Klingon band (the name of which I do not remember). Geez, talk about a glut. That would be like having five cross-dressing Blondie cover bands in one town, wouldn't it? It's so very specific.

The Swiffer, which I was so excited about just a few months ago, has lost its CHAAAAM. I have one tile floor and one linoleum floor, and for the Swiffer to work, it would appear that you need perfect smoothness, like maybe a glass floor. I find myself Swiffering (with the wet Swiffer), but stopping every ten second or so to crouch down with a scrubber and go at some spot. What a pain in the ass. I'm going to keep the Swiffer for when I get laminate floors (I'm practically counting down), but I need to go get another real mop head for my old mop. You just can't apply any pressure with the Swiffer. Bummer.

I'm almost positive I had some other stuff to blather on about, but I can't remember what it was now. Ooh, I got some new clothes today! I went to Old Navy and got a raincoat (I needed a lighter-weight one than my wool toggle coat, which I love), a blazer (I didn't set out to get one, but I can't stay away from green or houndstooth, and this was both) and a top that was on sale. Oh yeah, and I totally saw someone smoking pot in the car next to me today. Naturally I stayed away from them. There's a time and a place, people. Man, I'm hungry. I've been trying to save up Weight Watchers points, but you just can't fill yourself up on salad, no matter how much of it you eat. And I ate a lot, trust me. Okay, I'm gone. --CM

"That guy looks exuberant!"

Okay, I heard a story on the radio about two girls who got their necks broken when a guy stage-dived onto them at a Clutch concert. Well, I hadn't heard of Clutch, so I looked them up. I listened to a bit of their music, and I suppose it qualifies as heavy metal, but of the Deep Purple variety. Anyway, I thought this article was kind of funny, in that the writer kept using phrases like "Joseph Seink says he never realized the gravity of his action when he exuberantly dove off the Scene Pavilion stage toward a mosh pit teeming with slam-dancing heavy-metal fans." Exuberantly. Heh. There's also some great stuff about one of the girls being "spooked" in a crowd, wondering who's going to jump on her.

But I bring it up because I have mixed feelings about this. Everybody agrees Seink wasn't trying to hurt anybody, moshing and stage diving are expected parts of mosh-pit culture, and the girls aren't permanently injured. Still, he did jump on them and break their necks, and they say they were "at the fringes" of the pit. Now I've written before (long ago, on an old, dead web site) about mosh pit etiquette, and how it's changed. But whatever it is, you have to be aware of it. For example, I've been in some pretty serious pits. I have definitely received a couple elbows to the brain, too. But when I was at the Crest theater (a beautiful art deco place downtown) seeing the Misfits, I got out of the pit. Why? Because during the opening act, the happy pop-punk Groovie Ghoulies, the pit got so ugly I was worried I wouldn't be able to get out, and as the Ghoulies left the stage, a number of gigantic biker-lookin' dudes in leather and spikes and boots started running down the stairs to join the already overflowing pit. I bailed. And I didn't get hurt that night, which made me happy. And if I had gotten hurt, I believe I would have only blamed myself (unless, of course, somebody intentionally tried to hurt me and succeeded). I think these two girls probably should have gotten the hell out of harm's way. Still, if you're at the edge, not expecting an almost-200 pound guy to jump onto your head, I can understand wanting some kind of justice.

On to a new topic. I finished painting (last step is taking down the tape) and I do believe I like it. As it dries it definitely loses its Oscar the Grouch quality and darkens to a jade, like I hoped. It's also even now, after three coats (it's matte, and there was a matte color underneath, so it soaked up a lot of paint). The painting iPod list went as follows: (backwards)
Unheard Music -- X
Is this Love -- Cake
Junkie Man -- Rancid
That Was Your Mother -- Paul Simon
Regret -- New Order
Cult of Personality -- Living Colour
Where do Broken Hearts Go -- Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
Chazerei -- Las Pesadillas
(Just Like) Starting Over -- John Lennon
I Ran (So Far Away) -- Flock of Seagulls
Summer in the City -- The Lovin' Spoonful
Smoke Two Joints -- Sublime
My Time -- Jane's Addiction
The Lighthouse (Featuring Siouxie Sioux) -- Hector Zazou
Posse in Effect -- Beastie Boys
Mannequin -- Wire
Orbis de Ignis -- Dead Can Dance
Calistan -- Frank Black
Something -- The Beatles
Doin' Time -- Sublime
Township Rebellion -- Rage Against the Machine
Sunday Morning Coming Down -- Johnny Cash
Roll Right -- Rage Against the Machine

And now for a hint of commentary on said playlist -- Sunday Morning is one of my favorite Johnny Cash songs. It's actually by Kris Kristofferson, but it's so evocative and sad.
As I listened to the Hector Zazou song (a great album, BTW, for slow melodic background noise), I was thinking about how I actually used to like, no REALLY LIKE, Siouxie. How, in fact, I even went to a concert of hers. And how once I even made somebody a lovey mix tape with a Siouxie song on it, and that even though I couldn't remember what song it was, there was a decent chance that it was lovey but also morbid -- then I remembered it was "The Last Beat of My Heart."
I love Jane's Addiction. My Time isn't even up high on my list of their best songs, but I am happy to hear almost any song of theirs.
Sublime -- So, I'm not afraid to admit that I like Sublime. Not "liked them back in the day." Like them still. And you know what? Screw you guys. All you cool people who won't admit you liked Everclear and the Spin Doctors. I like them! I don't care who knows it. I still like Sublime!
Starting Over -- Man, I like the Beatles, and I even like some John Lennon by himself, but not this one. Why do I have this? It sounds like Seymour could sing it in Little Shop of Horrors. Now "Imagine," "Instant Karma," in fact most of the "Shaved Fish" album . . . bring it on. But this one blows.
Las Pesadillas -- Yo Zoom, the reason you don't know this band (I'm assuming they're in that third) is that they're local to Sacramento. But they rule. They sound a little like a band that would show up at your Bar Mitzvah, a little like Primus, and a little like some spooky Appalachian storytelling banjo player. I usually describe them as Primus' "Wynonna's Big Brown Beaver" period. I really enjoy their CDs and they put on a great show as well.
"Where Do Broken Hearts Go" -- definitely a better version than the original.
Regret by New Order -- I don't know whether I'm ashamed or relieved that I had to look at the iPod screen to see who and what this was. It was naggingly familiar, but I didn't know either the band or the title. New Wave is slipping into a distant memory.

That's about it for tonight. Take care,
CM

Ash Wednesday!! (Smacking my head)

So, I walk into ballet yesterday and one of my classmates complimented my pants. I turned to her and said "Thanks. Oh, you've got a little . . ." I pointed at my forehead. She says "It's Ash Wednesday." I guess I can just be grateful that I didn't get all the way to the word "schmutz."

Moby Wall

The wall is my enemy.

The wall in my bedroom was a dark wood panelling when I moved in. I decided I would paper over it with "linen finish" wallpaper to make it flat. As I live in a cinderblock house, I'm rather short on texture-less walls, so I figured this would be an improvement. It was.

Then I decided to paint it. I used Ralph Lauren's "Oyster," a metallic pearl color. It was HORRIBLE. First, the wallpaper stuff bubbled up, and then the shininess of the paint emphasized every flaw and seam, and I needed at least another coat to cover it, but I was out.

So was Home Depot. So was everyone. Apparently, I had gotten like the LAST bit of "Oyster" in the world.

So I changed tactics. I bought a gallon of flat "Almond Sugar" from Kelly Moore. The flat was an improvement, since it de-emphasized the flaws. But the ceiling and trim didn't match, and I wanted a splash of color anyway. I wanted something that would coordinate with the other three walls (RL's "Citrine," a warm gold). I had a brainstorm.

I would use the color from my favorite piece of stained glass, which is already hanging in the room. It's primary colors are amber and green. I thought, that's what I'll do! I'll get a green to match the green in the stained glass and builed the whole room around the artwork. Anyway, I have 20s furniture, and the piece has a very 20s feel. It's perfect.

I went to Kelly Moore with my carefully wrapped stained glass. I picked out the same color strip that the employee did. We agreed -- the deepest color on the strip was it. I bought a gallon. Someone suggested that maybe I was doing a retro avocado thing. No, I replied stiffly. It was not, avter all, avocado. I was calling it "jade."

Except that it is kind of avocado. And even (I'm angry with myself for even letting the thought slip in) a little Oscar the Grouch.

Still, I think I like it. It will need another coat, for sure, and I'll have to live with it a while to see how I feel. And we need new curtains. I really went back and forth when I was painting, from "well, we can live with this for a while" to "yeah! Damn right it's green!" Then back to "huh, it's really pretty dark," to "wow, this is satisyfying!" Anyway, I've painted this one wall three times now, three different colors, and one wallpaper. Why does the wall torment me?

And now, in homage to Zoombaba (having theived his technique), here is my painting list:

All in Your Mind -- Beck
Tossed -- Frank Black
Danny Boy -- Johnny Cash
Float On -- Modest Mouse
Streets of Gold River -- Las Pesadillas
Hate Me -- The Distillers
Two Jealous Agains -- NOFX
Martha My Dear -- The Beatles
Babylon's Burning -- The Ruts
Santa Monica -- Everclear
People's Parties -- Joni Mitchell
Desire -- U2
I put a Spell on You -- Them
Rushing -- Moby
In the Flesh --- Blondie
Comanche -- Cake
Calistan -- Frank Black
Mr Krinkle -- Primus
Rock the House -- Gorillaz
Man Out of Time -- Elvis Costello
Fourteen Black Paintings -- Peter Gabriel
5 Piece Chicken Dinner -- The Beastie Boys
Disorder and Disarray -- Rancid
Something in the Way -- Nirvana

Before that -- the entire album "Live through this" by Hole

My day improved after I didn't kill the homeless man.

Yeah, after that, I cleaned up around the house, did some reading, took a nice relaxing shower, and then went to sushi with my sweetie. Then we played backgammon (for the first time since childhood for both of us). It was nice. Oh, you probably want to know about the homeless man.

Well, here's how it goes. I was leaving ballet a little early to spare my knee, and I was going to turn left onto Folsom, which is a busy street with four lanes and a chicken lane in the middle. I was on the north side of the street at the exit of a parking lot. My intention was to turn left into the chicken lane, then merge into the eastbound lanes, heading for the freeway. Traffic was quite heavy, and I sat and waited patiently for a clear break in westbound traffic, keeping my eye on everything else around me, just in case. When a good-sized break finally came, I looked carefully to my right (to see if eastbound cars were nearby or potentially turning into the chicken lane), then back to the left to make sure I really had enough room. I had plenty. Incidentally, there was also a cyclist heading against traffic (he was going west in the shoulder of the eastbound lane) on the far side of the street.
Seeing that I was clear, I started to pull into the street toward the center lane. But at the same time, the cyclist started to cross the street towards the center lane, too. Well, we could have easily avoided one another if only he were actually facing forward. Instead, his head was facing approximately west-southwest, and he didn't even once glance in the direction he was heading, which was approximately north-northwest. I slammed on my brakes, as he was heading directly towards my car. I had come to a full stop, but he still didn't even glance, so basically I covered my face with my hands and waited for the impact. I looked up again when it came, and got to see what you normally see only in movies -- a body flying onto my hood toward my windshield. I also looked to my left, where the two cars in the oncoming lanes (where I had stopped) had stopped about ten feet away, in plenty of time to avoid hitting me (thank God I actually had plenty of room instead of having cut it too close). The guy got up, got his bike, and moved out of the way of the car, so I pulled it completely into the chicken lane so the westbound cars could pass. I got out to see if he was okay (I didn't dare try cutting across two lanes of traffic to pull over to the side of the road, lest someone think I was hitting and running, or being hit and run, as the case may be). Anyway, I asked if he was okay, and he said yes. I said "It looks like you're faviring your leg, are you sure? Would you like me to call someone?" (The thought crossed my mind that I had a cell phone for the very first time.) Anyway, he was emphatic that I should not call someone, and given his appearance, frankly I didn't want to press the issue. He was a mangy, rangy man with shaggy gray hair and about three black teeth. Then he went around to the front of my car to see what it looked like (I didn't; I couldn't bear it after having just had my car in the shop for three weeks to make it picture-perfect), and he said it was a little scratched up. I said it was okay, that I was just glad he wasn't hurt. Just then, a car drove up and stopped in the eastbound lane nearest us (the number one lane). There were two men in it, maybe in their early twenties, and they immediately asked if everyone was okay and what happened, but before either of us could respond, they started speaking to the old guy with some hostility, like "Don't try to say it was her fault! What the hell were you doing in the middle of the street?" To be totally honest, it kind of looked like they were fired up for a good bum-beating. I assured them that everything was fine and waved them off. The cyclist apologized, and said "I gotta get outta the street." I said okay, and got back in my car and drove off.

I was really shaky all the way home, and I went over and over it in my mind, but there was really nothing I could have done to prevent it. Like, I will usually be the first person to assign blame to myself and find things that I could have done differently, but this time I really couldn't think of any better scenarios. Like, had I tried to brake and then throw the car in reverse to get out of his path, I almost certainly would have been creamed by the other two cars heading west. By the time I realized I needed to honk, he was practically already on my bumper and wouldn't have been able to swerve in time. I couldn't swerve right, because that was the direction he seemed to be heading. If I swerved left, I would have hit the car in the westbound #1 lane head-on. The only thing I can think of is that maybe I shouldn't have gone out into the street at all when other humans were nearby. In other words, it was totally and completely not my fault, even though in a car vs. bike accident, you'd normally assume otherwise.

Incidentally, I don't know with certainly that he was homeless, so I am stereotyping. My guess comes from the appearance of his clothing, his lack of teeth and the poor hygiene evident in the remaining three. He also may have been on narcotics, just judging by his manner when we spoke, and the fact that, well, he crashed right into a stopped car. The teeth hint towards that possibility, too. I feel bad for him, I hope he's not hurt. Is it wrong to admit that I'm also a little pissed about the brand-new scratches in my car? I just got it back one month ago . . .

Well, I finally did it.

I have a friend, I won't say who, who has sworn for years that she would never get a cell phone. Well, on Saturday, she shamefacedly admitted to me that she had gotten one. "But I had a good reason!" she insisted. Well, don't we all. Anyway, although I had also long said I didn't need or want one, particularly because I don't really like talking on the phone anyway, and certainly don't want people to be able to reach me when I'm not at home, I finally caved. As it turns out, with said friend having gotten a cell phone, that put me not only in the minority camp, oh no, I was in my own special little Luddite Cabin with no heat. I have been thinking hard about it, and I honestly cannot think of even one other person I know that does not have a cell phone. Oh wait, my dad. Well, now he's in the Luddite cabin alone, adjusting his mosquito netting and spraying Deep Woods Off into the night. I swear, even my grandma has had a cell phone for several years. Mom and Boompah? Yep and yep. Piggs? Long before I met him. All my other friends? Yep. In fact, not to make me feel unduly old or anything, I'm sure, I mentioned in class the other day that I didn't have a cell, and one of my students said incredulously "You're how old and you don't have a cell phone!?" Ouch. The italics and the interrobang hurt, they really do. Anyway, I don't know how often I'll have the damnable thing on, but I know it will come in handy when, say, I want to drive to the naked place, which is far away over a series of windy roads with sharp curves, or when the Piggles and I are being independent spirits (i.e., I'm clothes shopping and he's looking at gaming stuff) in Santa Cruz, or when I'm coming home from ballet and decide to stop somewhere and will be late. Wouldn't want my sweetie to worry, not that he's the worrying type. So I've joined the 21st century, but don't look for me to be driving and dialing or text messaging. Those people are still retards.

Knee blowout!

Yikes, I hurt my knee last night. Not one of those injuries where I'll be able, when I'm 70, to tell when thunder's a-comin', but enough to annoy me for a day or so. I was in ballet last night and I got all the way through stretch class, then we started the regular class. We began with plies and stretches, and no problem. Then we did more plies and it began to twinge, but I compensated for it by shifting all my weight onto my right leg. The teacher noticed, and knew I was sore, so told me I could do demi-plies if I wanted. I did. Then we did tendus with plies (meaning all the weight is on one leg), and when it was time to do them on my left leg, it just wasn't working anymore. I couldn't do the plies on my left leg. She came over and told me to ice it and go home (very politely, though). I tried one last ditch effort, and even now I don't know whether it was a joke or a desperate plea to stay: "It can do everything but bend." Everything but bend? I guess that's, what, be straight? Duh. Anyway, I went home and it hurt last night, but it's better the more I walk on it today. Still, it's a little stiff, though. No capoeira tonight, partly because of the knee, and partly because I have a dentist's appointment and my sweetie promised to make dinner with Tofurky sausage. Mmm.

Not much to say, but ouch

Whew! The day after capoeira is brutal! Damn near as brutal as the day after my first ballet class a few years ago (I returned to ballet after an eight-year absence, but had done it previously for about fourteen years). Like, it hurts to get up and sit down because of the strain on my leg muscles, and my feet hurt pretty badly, especially on the toes, where I have blisters. (And to think that I chuckled inwardly at the guy last night who, before class, mentioned that he'd gotten several blisters from last week's classes. I thought I couldn't get any more blisters than I already had from ballet. How wrong I was.) Anyway, I also have a muscle or tendon or something in my left calf that feels strangely short. I think ballet tonight is going to be a killer. I should have probably done some post-class stretching/cool-down stuff, but that didn't seem to be in vouge, so I skipped it. I won't next time. And as of right now (despite the lack of commentary!) I'm thinking I probably will sign up. Next class is Thursday . . . We'll see, as I also have a staff meeting that day until 3:45. Doesn't give me much time. Hmm. We'll see.

Capoeira

Hoo-wee! Well, capoeira is indeed the workout I expected it to be! I liked it, and I think I showed an aptitude for it (I was secretly hoping I would). In fact, after showing us one move, he asked “Have you done this before?” Ha! That is an awesome compliment! I’m debating whether to sign up and go regularly. On the pro side, I was good at it, the people were nice, it’s definitely a good workout, and I need the exercise. On the con side, it’s $80 a month (for unlimited classes), and since I have no intention of giving up ballet (my true love), I’d have to be gone from home 4 nights a week to even make it cost-efffective. It’s also a bit of a drive during rush hour into a bad neighborhood. Also, it’s not really something I could just sample for a month, because there’s a $50 registration fee, so I’d have to be prepared to stick with it for a while (okay, I’m a cheapskate, but really . . .). Oh yeah, and I have blood blisters on both of my big toes. So I haven’t decided, but I think I’m leaning towards signing up. Comments and suggestions are always welcome, readers (all four of you).

Okay, so for your little blog virtual taste of capoeira, here’s about what it’s like. We start by running around the little floor. Yeah, like jogging. I was thinking, “oh, seriously?” Because in ballet there’s a lot of slow stretching first. Then we walked on our hands and feet, like in sort of a yoga “downward dog” position. Then we got in that position, walked our hands up to our feet, walked our hands back out, etc. Then we crab walked around. Then he taught us to “jenga.” I swear, that’s what I think he called it. Like the game. Anyway, I was the only real beginner, I think, although there were obviously some other newcomers. To jenga, basically you take a big lunge on the right foot, then take a large step to the left and shift your weight so you’re lunging on the left. Repeat one billion times. While swinging your arms at about shoulder height. Then the kicks and stuff work into that, like you take your back foot and kick it forward, then put it back, then squat down super-low and shift your weight to the other side. (You’re dodging, because after you kick the other guy is going to kick over your head.) Then there’s the kicking over the head manouever. You take your back foot, step forward (while the other guy is kicking forward at you), block with your forward hand, then spin around and kick your leg over the other person. We practiced that forever. (I think I might have been good at this because it’s a ‘grand rond de jamb en l’air’ in ballet*.) Then at the very end the teacher went around the circle and, one by one, kind of “sparred” in the middle with the students. It was cool, because there were some people who were really good, and they were doing these breakdancing-looking moves and stuff, but even the newbies got a chance, and he’d duck out of the way of their kicks and stuff.

Here’s my favorite part of capoeira -- I’ve kind of always wanted to try a martial art, but they’re all so . . . martial. I don’t actually want to hit anyone else or be hit by anyone else. Call it pacifism, call it wussiness, whatever, but I really am not into the whole idea of hitting each other for sport. Anyway, that whole “kicking over the head” business? It’s for real. You’re not actually trying to kick them in the head. You’re giving them ample time to duck and trying to be well clear of their cranium. I love it. It’s like I get to try a martial art but without the hitting! Cool.

* I don’t know how to spell in French, sorry. Ballet’s very auditory, so I’m totally guessing.