Stop trying to rationalize everything, will ya?

Il Giorno Neovo

2005-08-24T23:27:00.000-07:00

Oggi ho letto un luogo che lo ha incitato a desiderare ancora a blog, così qui io sono. Ma ora scrivo in italiano, così a pratica perché non ho nessuno che si preoccupi per ascoltare il mio italiano difettoso. Grazie Anna Maria

Adesso devo trovare ricordo di come a faccia questa blogging cosa .

Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced we are loved. - Victor Hugo

2004-11-18T22:07:00.000-08:00

I am totally in my element, the War Memorial Opera House, in the SRO line thinking I will be crying my eyes out by the third act. Imagine how disappointed I was find that the performance of the evening was not La Traviata, as I had expected, but Le Grande Macabre.

It was SO bad I left after the first 20 minutes, and even the opera bum opted to weather the San Francisco night air rather than take my barely used ticket. He waives his hand at my offer; "No thanks, I've seen that one." When Opera is good there is nothing that can compare, it's raw emotion, human ecstasy, the music, the sets, the costumes, I can't get enough. Macabre was no opera. They call it an anti-opera. They were being kind.

Someone I love and respect referred to me a BFF in her blog. I'm not too good with PC acronyms but I thought it probably meant Best Friend Forever, it made my day. Then I started thinking about it. It could mean Barfing Frequent Flyer, or Big Fucking Failure, or Bad Fugitive Farter. Any of the above could apply. Could be she was referring to some other Nortic spinner, but I decided to take it as a compliment anyway.

I know a man who is dying of lung cancer. He never married or had kids. An avid runner, never drank or smoked his entire life, but here he is with Lung cancer. He doesn't have much in the way of possessions and next to no income, but he he enjoys traveling and reading, is intelligent and interesting. This man, who has been told he likely has only months, not years, to live. He is one of the most optimistic people I've met in a long time. Makes one grateful even for really bad opera and especially for BFFs.

Praying for Sanity or Escape, Whichever Comes First

2004-11-01T20:33:00.001-08:00

I'm feeling a bit surreal after having attended my contemplative prayer meeting this evening, like I'm not 100% in this world.

My out-of-town friends left this morning so I was all about good-bys and re-adjusting to the real world after a whirl-wind weekend of parties and fun and games, dressing up, going out, eating great food and drinking fabulous wine, making new friends and enjoying old friends. I had a wonderful weekend and life goes on. We went to a Halloween party dressed as the cast from Sunset Blvd. It was like being an overly-dramatic walking private joke because nobody got it despite our truly spectacular costumes, but it was great fun anyway.

Monday is a tough day since I work one of my "extra" jobs, and because I had Saturday off today I got to work two extra jobs. I have also volunteered to drive folks to vote tomorrow, so will have to get up extra extra early if I want to be able to work out at all. I was listening to a Berlitz French lesson tape today. The word for gladly sounds like the root of the word volunteer. I suppose that means I am glad to do it, unfortunately my gladness all too often is in direct proportion to the appreciation I've perceived. I'll keep in mind that it's not all about me, that should help the gladness quotient.

I already voted absentee so just waiting for it to all be over now. Sooner than later I hope, however I have a sad feeling that the ugliness may have only just begun. Maybe that's the chemical fumes I've been breathing at work all day and the contemplative prayer making me too sensitive, but I have a strange foreboding. This will be replaced with optimistic elation by this time tomorrow.
I'm trying to think positively.
Fear of the unknown can be the darkest of rides.

Bubble Bubble Toil and Drivel

2004-10-30T09:59:00.000-07:00

Once again I will blame my lack of posting to yet another potluck. Yesterday was the Halloween party at work and I spent Thursday evening attempting to run between computer and kitchen. In the end the potluck won out as there is nothing quite so satisfying as hours of standing over a the stove stirring one pot after another of boiling caramel and peanuts. That’s right; 4 huge batches of delectable caramel corn for my co-workers. Not that they need it. These are women with butts you could rest your coffee cup on and for whom trans fats are a staple. The satisfaction is not in their appreciation of my fine Halloween cuisine, rather in the preparation. It’s a good thing, the caramel corn was gone before 9am, but my scent memory of hot sugar and butter lingers.

I miss London, I miss France, I miss Italian underpants

2004-10-26T21:48:00.002-07:00

This time last year I was in Italy. Riding trains, drinking limoncello, eating strange cheeses, walking and gawking. I loved Europe, but mostly France and Italy, despite the fact that I speak very little French or Italian. I learned to read people's expressions and looked up the important stuff. I was polite and most people were very nice. Even in France, especially in France, which is not what I had expected.

The people are lovely, the countryside is spectacular, the history, the art, the architecture are all breathtaking, and the food! I can't even begin to describe the delicacies that are available at every street corner! But what made me want to live there the most was the expectation that I am responsible for my own behavior. You can smoke just about anywhere you want to, and everyone does. Not to excess, but it's not a crime. I heard that there is no word for hangover in Italian. I tested it out, and it's true, I never got a hangover in Italy, (and I drank a lot of grappa). Mid-day when everything shuts down and you are forced to relax and reflect. It's very healthy. You can take your dog to the café for an espresso and a cannoli and nobody looks at you like you are going to get hair in their food and should be put up to a firing squad, in fact nobody even cares. It's heaven.

The rudest people I saw in Europe were Americans. Pushy and demanding, "ugly Americans" I was ashamed at some of the scenes I saw American tourists making. One young attractive woman in jeans going into St. Peter's Basilica when reminded that her shoulders must be covered, in a very loud Texas accent asserted "Well then! Maybe aIll' just taike off ma pa-ents and put they-am over mah shoulders!" and that wasn't the worst.

Europeans think very little of American politicians, most notably our President. (But then who with half a brain doesn't?). The common retort to when asked where I was from: "California" was: "HA! Schwartzenegger!" like it was some kind of a joke. Ok, well maybe it is. But then I didn't hear a lot of bravato for Berlusconi either.

I will say that there were some things about America I missed. I stepped in a lot of dog poop in Italy, that wasn't pleasant. The popular music (the stuff you hear on the streets) was pretty monotonous, but then it probably is here too, but I have the ability to make other choices here. I missed hearing a good Eric Clapton or Billy Holiday on the radio now and again. I missed making light conversation on the street and hearing a church service in English.

All in all I would go back in a heartbeat. You may be thinking I should just move there if I liked it so much and that's what I am thinking too. Buona notte.

D.U.I. (Darn Under-appreciated Individual)

2004-10-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

I'm getting ready to start my regular work week. My "regular" job is with a local government agency. We have a lot of potlucks. Tomorrow is a potluck birthday celebrations for a woman who's mother recently passed away. Everyone at our place of employment wants this woman to know that she is loved and appreciated.

That is very nice, I know. But you get 50 or so enablers together and they can go nuts and take you with them.

What I'm trying to say is that I don't have time to post tonight because I have to bake some cookies.

M 17 year old daughter says that the only people who will read my blog anyway are other losers just like me. Now don't you feel special?

Thanks for understanding.

A Vex in Action / Beware the Self-Check.

2004-10-24T20:42:00.000-07:00

I've been blessed with the honor of being invited to a 50th birthday party for my ex-sister-in-law this Friday. Don't get me wrong, I love my ex-sister in law, she's a great person, really. But it's not as though I have nothing else to do. I work 7 days a week, an average of 55 hours, at up to four jobs.
Today I get off at noon and drive 60 miles to the city buy a birthday gift. I should also mention that I have guests coming the same evening as the party, on a weekend trip they've planned for over 6 months. But I dare not miss this woman's 50th birthday. She's Italian, and I'm certain she's capable of putting a curse on me if I cross her.
I make the drive to purchase gardening supplies because that is the only thing I can remember that she likes other than bragging about her kids, making lots of money and smoking pot, and I refuse to buy her pot. Although in retrospect it would be a lot easier, and probably cheaper.
I have been to 5 different stores to try to find unique gardening supplies. I've spent about three times my budget and have a pitiful little bag of crap, where I had envisioned a huge basket of gardening bounty. Finding gardening supplies mid-October is no easy task.
Did I mention that she lives 200 miles away, in another state, in the desert, over a 12,000 ft mountain pass that sees some of the worst weather west of the Dakotas?
So, I'm wandering around Home Depot in a shopping stupor with an aloe vera plant, a terra cotta pot and utility work gloves. I had intended to also purchase a Home Depot gift certificate, but I've rationalized that this woman makes way more money than I do, I have already overblown my gift budget and the lines are unbelievable. Rather than wait, I go right to the self-check-out and defiantly decide to forego the gift certificate.
I am peering curiously over the shoulder of the person in front of me for a little impromptu lesson on self check out when a grouchy looking elderly man in a yellow sweater asks me if I am in line. I state that I am, yes. He says the line for self check out is behind him (he was not there when I arrived so there was no line). I politely apologize and state that I didn't notice a sign saying "one line" for the four self-check kiosks (I still don't know if there was a sign) and get in line behind him.
At this point another man in a loud purple plaid shirt gets in line to the side of me. Yellow sweater man goes. The next keiosk opens up and loud plaid man goes.
Then a nice looking woman gets in line directly behind yellow sweater man.
Now I'm beginning to think I'll never get out of Home Depot. I'm imagining my cobwebbed skeleton waiting in line at the self-check. I approach the woman to inform her that there is one line for the self-check. She is very nice and seems as surprised as I was, but politely goes to get in the growing line. I make my purchase rather clumsily but it works. I am feeling renewed. I managed to save just enough to buy gas for the week at the cheap gas station half way back home.
I am still basking in the glory of having completed the shopping excursion with enough money for gas to get me though the week. I pull in to the gas station and take out my wallet. No money. I neglegted to take the $11.00 in bills from the machine and I can still hear the automated voice: "Take your change." ringing in my ears.

Who knows? Maybe I do have all the answers.

2004-10-23T18:16:00.000-07:00

The one thing I know for certain is that teenagers are a pain in the ass.