:: The Freewheelin' Di Winson ::

:: Sunday, November 30, 2003 ::

Early Christmas gifts ROCK!

Yes! Received The Essential Bruce Springsteen — which I thought was a double-CD, but turns out it's a TRIPLE-CD! — and The Gangs of New York DVD.

Early Christmas gifts fucking ROCK! (As I may have already mentioned.)

: )

And truthfully, I wanted the Bruce CD for one song: "Trapped." Which, as far as I know, was previously available only on the USA for Africa album, featuring all those artists singing, "We Are the World." (I think. I'm having a serious brain cloud at the moment.)

Anyway. LOVE this song. Always have.

Trapped

Well, it seems like I'm caught up in your trap again
And it seems like I'll be wearin' the same ol' chains
Good will conquer evil, and the truth will set you free
Then I know someday I'll find the key
Then I know somewhere I'll find the key

Well, it seem like I've been playin' the game way too long
And it seems the game I played has made you strong
Well, when the game is over, I won't walk out a loser
And I know that I'll walk out of here again
And I know that someday I'll walk out of here again

But now I'm trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

Now it seems like I've been sleepin' in your bed too long
And it seems like you've been meanin' to do me harm
But I'll teach my eyes to see beyond these walls in front of me
And someday I'll walk out of here again
Yeah I know someday I'll walk out of here again

But now I'm trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

Well it seem like I've been playin' the game way too long
And it seems the game I played has made you strong

Because I'm trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

I'm trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

I'm trapped

— Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band

:: Di 6:49:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dreams II

I am wandering through some hotel, and I find out that Laura Ingraham wants to go out with me. She and I hang out for a bit, talk a little, and then retire to our own rooms to get ready to go out later that night. For some reason, I end up having all kinds of problems attempting to shower (in a rather public shower, it seems), and later I stand outside Laura's room, talking to her, again, whilst wearing only a towel.

She ends up going out that night, late, but I decide to stay in.

: (

[I wake up for a few minutes but decide it's too early to be awake.]

The dream continues ...

Grandma Ginny is driving me up to the church, where I am going to assist my sister in helping with the first- and second-graders for Bible school. Before I get in the car, though, I notice that the window is down and the passenger side of the car is covered with plastic; apparently, the window has been left open during the rain, and somehow I am to blame. Grandma barrels through intersections, ignoring stop signs, and careens around the corners. "Grandma!" I yell. "This is ridiculous!" And then I feel bad because I know she's losing her mind.

She drops me at the church, and I help my sister. Laura Ingraham is teaching in that classroom, too, and I am all happy.

Laura likes me.

: )

:: Di 2:06:00 PM [+] ::
...

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night

Just watched Kissing Jessica Stein, and I have to say, VERY charming movie. Some excellent moments, and some very relatable moments ... if "relatable" is even a word, and, if so, if I am even close to having it spelt right. (Put it this way: I could relate to MANY of the moments in this film.) I fell sort of in love with the girl who played Helen, and I completely understood the premise and even could accept the ending ... kind of ... even if it didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted it to.

So, anyway, big thanks to Lisa J. for suggesting this movie to me way back when ... and props to me for finally managing to watch it.

: )

And last night, Nicole Kidman totally stole The Human Stain. So tough, but so fragile.

Tom is right. She's on fire. She's blazing!

Song in my head: "Trapped" by Bruce Springsteen. Here's hoping I get The Essential Bruce CD I put at the top o' my Christmas list!

: )

I am so in the mood to chat, and none of my chat pals are around. I hate when that happens!

(Where are the Bay City Rollers when you need 'em??!)

:: Di 10:54:00 PM [+] ::
...

A Thanksgiving Poem

I am thinking
I should
take up drinking.

:: Di 9:59:00 PM [+] ::
...

Rain & Sarah

Long day. Too much turkey. Pumpkin pie's a hit. Four-hour round-trip journey shortened to about 3 hours, 35 minutes, thanks to not much traffic and cruise set at 80 mph. Dark house. Long nighttime nap, which sorta qualifies as sleep, in my book. Tonight's TV: First viewing of Cold Case, an episode apparently based on the Skakel (sp?) murder, bits 'n' pieces of CSI and Friends episodes I'd already seen, final half-hour of The Shawshank Redemption, interview special with Amy Grant and Vince Gill.

"Get busy living, or get busy dying." — Red, from Shawshank

And now it's raining, and Sarah McLachlan is singing on the stereo, but not too loud (loudly?), so I can hear the rain, too. And tomorrow some friends of mine are getting up at 5 a.m. (!!!) to go shopping at Best Buy, Staples and Office Depot. Or is it Office Max? And I say: God help me if I EVER get up at 5 a.m., ever, to go shopping at any of those stores! Even during the Christmas season!

This CD is very good. Maybe not as hook-y as Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, not yet, anyway, but damn, how DOES Sarah do what she does with her voice? And then I saw an interview with her yesterday on Lifetime network, and I realized I don't think I've ever seen one before, nor heard her talk, and her speaking voice is very different from her singing voice. Which is odd but kinda cool, I think. Anyway, there are 10 songs on this CD, and that actually seems to be a perfect amount.

Of course, on that Steaming CD, there were only 3 songs, and I listened to only one of them: Her cover of "Solsbury Hill." Which, at times, I can't even listen to, but only because it takes me back to a time I can't really remember but will never quite forget.

On a related yet unrelated note: A few minutes ago, I had that familiar phrase, "Some things happen for a reason," running through my mind.

Except I gave it my own twist: "Some things don't happen for a reason."

Which can have many different interpretations, I suppose. My emphasis, at this particular moment, is on the words "don't happen." As in, no matter how much you think you might want them to happen, they don't, and there is a reason — or multiple reasons — why they don't.

And maybe, just maybe, you're better off. Even though you might not think so, at the time.

(Even though I might not think so. At this time.)

:: Di 10:33:00 PM [+] ::
...

Gobble, gobble ...

I'd like to bottle this day and save it for later, if only because I spent a grand total of 20 minutes — OK, actually about 3 hours, give or take the 20 minutes I devoted to carving the smoked turkey at the news office — doing actual work. Plus I have 4 days off ahead of me. Excellent!

The rest of the day was devoted to, in no particular order: Getting my hair cut (and for the record, I have been enjoying a GREAT hair day, from about 10:45 a.m. on!), straightening up mi casa, cooking a turkey (what is it with my sudden domestic tranquility?), running my best pal on last-minute errands, wrapping presents (baby shower, NOT Christmas), getting caught up on taped shows from the past couple of days (Blue and Shield — speaking of which, that white female officer is a hottie and has kind of a Hilary Swank thing going on, I noticed).

I shouldn't be tired, but I am.

My new favorite commercial is the one for Toys Backwards-R Us that ends with Geoffrey the Giraffe singing, "Someone's playing with toys, Kum Ba Yah!" I laughed OUT LOUD when I saw it a couple of days ago, and it still makes me smile, remembering all those church trips and what-not, singing various ditties and spirituals or whatever, feeling like a Christian and a dork all at once, plotting late-night adventures.

This replaces my former favorite commercial, the "Sunday! Sunday!" one with the guy riding around with his buddy in a new Dodge Ram "hemi" — whatever the hell THAT is (all I know is I have a 4-cylinder, but my car has good pickup AND front-wheel drive, so it gets around OK on snow and ice, and really, that's all that matters).

: /

"Dishonestly is disrespectful." — Me, sometime around 6:55 p.m. Tuesday

Yeah, I said that with a straight face. And tried to kick my own ass as I was saying it, knowing there have been times in my own life that I haven't even been able to look at myself in the mirror. Knowing what I know, about me.

Not many of those times, but yes, indeedy, a few.

:: Di 9:39:00 PM [+] ::
...

Baking??!



Yeah, my cat couldn't believe it, either.

(Gotta love the kitchen wallpaper, though, right? What can I say, the house is a rental ... a 13-year rental. Will I EVER know the joys of homeownership — which includes, as its root word, compoundly speaking, one of my favorite words to say aloud: homeowner. Mainly because as I am saying it, I get to say "homo." Hehe!)

Speaking of which: I bought some HOMO MILK today at Farm Fresh. (That's what it said, right there in big bold letters on not 1 but 2 racks of Vitamin D Grade A pasteurized/HOMOgenized milk.)

So I am the self-designated Baker of Pumpkin Pies, now that Grandma Ginny is gone. Got her handwritten recipe and everything, so ... we'll see.

(Any pie with a whole container of pumpkin pie spice can't be all bad, right?)

: )

:: Di 8:19:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dreams

Just before I awake ...

I am driving around the Benton Public Square. I hear the sputtering of an airplane; I look up, and I see a plane hovering just over the courthouse. I am on the north side of the square, and now the west side, and as I drive, slowly, I watch this plane. I see the propeller(s — there are 2) stop, and the plane is suspended, midair, for a few seconds. I realize my camera is in the backseat, and I am glad because I know the plane is going to crash. I pull over in front of the (now-closed) Italian Gardens restaurant. The plane, in slow-motion, goes head-first into the ground and the cars parked along the northeast corner of the courthouse. I wake up before it explodes.

Before that ...

I am riding my bicycle along The Strip in Las Vegas. I look to my right and see my friend Jean and her husband, Willy, running toward the door of Burger King, which is on kind of an incline (odd, because Vegas is flat). Jean is wearing a wedding veil. I pull into the parking lot, get their attention, and we stand outside, talking and laughing. Willy hands me their digital camera and asks me to take a picture of them. I have all kinds of trouble with the zoom and the exposure. They get ready to go inside, but I hesitate because I have no way to lock my bike.

Next ...

I am standing in a large gymnasium, getting ready to watch the New York Knicks host the Georgetown Hoyas. I hear the names Patrick Ewing and John Williams (but it's supposed to be Thompson). I look around and begin counting the number of people (women, mainly) who are wearing shiny black leather jackets; there are several. My friend Judy walks up with a container full of brownies and caramel-coated somethings. People give us strange looks at first, but before long we are all eating the goodies. I eat an oversized brownie that keeps falling apart when I try to pick it up.

After that ...

I see Miranda, and she tells me she will be in Vegas at 5:15 p.m. I am back in Charleston, IL, talking to Garrick, and he is telling me all the reasons he would choose to stay alive and fight if he were to find out he had AIDS. He looks extremely good, and he is not infected. Kathy, the girl from the laundromat, sidles up and says she wants a slice of pizza. We convince Loyce, the woman from Pizza Shack, to pick it up for us. Loyce brings us a medium pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and extra cheese, with the toppings haphazardly scattered about, and tells Kathy to cut off a slice and bring the rest of the pizza back inside. I cut a big slice for her and take most of the toppings off the left half of the pizza. I put the rest of the pizza back in the box and walk up the street where a black man with gray hair is collecting food. I hand him the pizza, which is now on one of those cardboard platters and has white paper over it. I look inside the paper and see one of my Grandma Ginny's Aunt Libby cookies. I grab it and eat it as I walk back down the street toward my house.

Inside the house ...

Miranda's mom is watching Another World. I consider asking her if I may go with her to see Miranda, but I figure she will say no, so I decide to ask her at the last minute. I am still eating the cookie, which is sweet and moist. I look out toward a stairway and see my friend Kara. My sister and I walk over to her, and she asks me about the cookie I am eating. I ask her if she still makes her oatmeal chocolate chip cool cookies, and she says, "No. They're not on Sandy's 'Recommended Recipes' list." (Sandy is her mom.)

Whew, doll!

: )

For the 2nd day in a row and the 3rd time this week, my hair is a wild, poofy, unruly mess when I awake. I laugh as I look at myself in the mirror.

: )

:: Di 8:40:00 AM [+] ::
...

Daily Beauty

Found this tonight in my kitchen, about an hour ago, actually, when I got home from a few hours spent with my best pal. This is the hibiscus from Grandma Ginny's funeral several months ago; this summer, it bloomed 3 or 4 bright-red flowers at a time, 8 to 10 inches wide, every other day, but now it blooms one flower at a time, smaller but no less vibrant. (This isn't a full bloom, either; it will be tomorrow when I awake. Looks a little pinkish here, also, and I can't quite get Photoshop tweaked just right, but ... it's red. And that's not a wine bottle in the background, either, but ... it could be. Actually, I think it's some kinda chili-infused vinegar stuff.)

Now playing: Indigo Girls. Can't remember the name of this CD, which is odd, considering I've listened to it now for the last 3 nights. I really dig their music.

: )

:: Di 10:27:00 PM [+] ::
...

Love

I am at a basketball game today, around noon, and the home team is winning, but it's early, so I'm not paying all that close attention, just mainly trying to take some pictures that are in focus (gotta love the instant gratification of my Olympus digi-cam).

I glance down toward the opposite corner of the gymnasium, and I see the Bauers: Dave and his wife, Dorothy, who has been suffering with Alzheimer's over the last several years. They have been married for I-don't-know-how-long, and Dave has been caring for her, and he takes her to various sporting events, whenever she's up to it. They sit next to each other — Dorothy in a wheelchair and Dave right there next to her.

Today when I see them, Dave is reaching over to Dorothy and talking to her, putting his arms around her shoulders, rubbing her hands, talking to her. Leaning in and speaking to her — maybe not even knowing if his words are registering — the way a man speaks to the woman he is in love with.

I feel tears in my eyes, watching this display, and then I get back to watching the game.

Later today, I think of my pal Tee-Hee and one of her good friends — a woman we've both known since grade school, but Teresa has always known her better — and how last night, Teresa told me that the woman and her husband are having problems.

"Is he in love with someone else?" I ask.
"No."
"Is she?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"They're tired of each other."

And this makes no sense to me. They have two daughters; they haven't even been married all that long. I saw them last year, after having seen them 4 or 5 years earlier, and they seemed to get along great both times. They seemed happy.

But now ...

They're tired of each other.

I don't get it.

I understand growing apart. I understand being with someone and realizing you both have different needs and wants out of this life. I am a child of divorce; I realize that forever is a nifty idea but a practical impossibility.

I even understand being distracted to the point that everything that really matters to you ... just doesn't, really, because something or someone else suddenly means more.

I just don't understand this being "tired of each other."

: /

:: Di 10:16:00 PM [+] ::
...

I've Tried Everything

The truth of life is the greatest gift, but I don't think I can make it fit.
And who would guess that it would come to this when I've tried everything?

And I should go, but I can't explain the endless noise sounding in my brain.
Who would've thought that you could feel such pain when you've tried everything?

Who, you're a loser now.
Yeah, you're a loser.
Yeah, you're a loser now.

Lalalalalalalala la
Lalalalalalalala la
Lalalalalalalala la ah ah ah

I should be cool, but I'm burning hot; I should be good, but I fell apart.
Don't look at me, now, don't even start 'cause I've tried everything ...
Yeah, I've tried everything

Ooh, you're a loser now.
Yeah, you're a loser.
Ooh, you're a loser now.
Yeah, you're a loser.

Now ... now.

— The Eurythmics

:: Di 11:37:00 PM [+] ::
...

Must-see TV

Just stumbled onto a re-broadcast of today's Oprah featuring the cast of Friends.

I don't characterize myself as a Friends fan. Or even a Friends watcher. But: I am. And: I do. Watched it on and off earlier, and then a coupla seasons ago when the whole "Joey likes Rachel" thing started, I got all interested. For real.

Maybe because Matt LeBlanc is my favorite Friend? Or because Jennifer Aniston reminds me so much of my stepsister Connie?

I dunno. I laughed out loud multiple times during both of tonight's shows. Always clever, it seems.

These actors really do seem to care about one another. I mean, they could be "acting," but maybe it is possible to work with people and actually care about them.

Hmm. Wait-a-minute: I actually care about the people I work with! Granted, I'm not making umpteen-million dollars per (psychotic) episode, but I do!

Anyhoo, I think I'm gonna miss this show. Not as much as I miss Seinfeld, but some.

Random unrelated NBC observation: Maura Tierney is a hottie.

: )

One week until Thanksgiving. My, where has this year gone?

:: Di 10:37:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dandelion

In the middle of the night
In the middle of the bed
In the middle of something you just said
I couldn't hear the words
Watching the face move
Hands explaining something
I don't remember
All I know is I was worried
Getting to know you
Should I leave?
Should I hurry out?

Wildflowers or weeds
I wonder what you think of me
I love you already
But when I look at myself
Sometimes I feel like
I'm a dandelion
Like others you can find

Got a new haircut
A pair of fancy shoes
And I've been listening to the tunes
I have heard you talk about
Don't wanna be "out"
Don't want you to think that we have
Nothing in common
Or that I don't care if we
Carry on a conversation
I'd speak if I could breathe

Wildflowers or weeds
I wonder what you think of me
I love you already
But when I look at myself
Sometimes I feel like
I'm a dandelion
Like others you can find

To myself I wonder, "Why?
What is it with this one?
There must be ten million
Others I could go to
I could be with besides you."
But no, no, no, I can't do
Anything about it
Anything about the way I feel
Though I don't have to tell you
I'm so afraid I will

Wildflowers or weeds
I wonder what you think of me
I love you already
But when I look at myself
Sometimes I feel like
I'm a dandelion
Like others you can find

— Catie Curtis

:: Di 8:02:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dressed for Success

At this very moment I am wearing my K-Swiss tennis shoes (which I actually don't wear to play tennis, usually), olive-green cargo pants and a navy-blue EASTERN ILLINOIS UNIVERSITY BADMINTON T-shirt.

I could not be any happier. Nor any comfortabler.

: )

Well, OK ... I could ALWAYS be happier.

Without the bitter, baby, life just ain't as sweet.

Yeah.

:: Di 1:41:00 PM [+] ::
...

And one more thing:

I remembered what I've been wanting to rant about for at least a week now: Adult Attention Deficit Disorder, a.k.a. Adult ADD.

Saw a commercial for this "disorder" about a week ago, and it made me mad. Something about how you have ahold of the remote control, but can't figure out how to change the channels or some such nonsense.

I have a friend who honestly believes that everyone — make that EVERYONE — should take prescription anti-depressants. She feels our society is too fast-paced, and that humans aren't designed to keep up, and that we all — make that ALL — need to be on drugs.

I tend to believe that if I make it into my twilight years, it's very possible that everyone will be on anti-depressants. Or something. At the rate we're going, anyway.

I had my doubts about the diagnosis Attention Deficit Disorder when I first heard it, many years ago. Who's to say which kid has it, and which kid doesn't? It's entirely possible that a kid isn't paying attention because he or she is TOO DAMN BORED!! And so, what's the alternative? Drug 'em up so they can concentrate?

Hell, I can't concentrate if I take too many Tylenol — which, I must admit, I don't mind doing every now and again (OK, OK, so I've actually only done it once ... and that was when I accidentally mixed a few too many acetaminophen caplets with some Co-Tylenol medicine) — so how are kids s'posed to focus if they're all doped up?

And now ADULTS get to have ADD, too — or at the very least be DIAGNOSED with ADD.

Truthfully, every adult I KNOW has ADD ... and the more kids they have, the more severe the affliction! I have it, too, and I don't even HAVE kids!

ADD is a nice way to "get away" without leaving my chair at work. My bouts of ADD whilst driving are what keep me from flying into road rage toward all my fellow drivers. ADD allows me to ignore the chaos that surrounds me, daily, and to fixate on several projects simultaneously while completing none of them; this "disorder" keeps me from fretting over everyday worrisome tasks.

What if I accidentally get an official ADD diagnosis? I'll have to be medicated; granted, I'll have the benefits of the Americans with Disabilities Act at my disposal, but by then I'll be too focused and controlled to notice.

Damn.

: (

All our fantasy football team needed from Hines Ward tonight was a touchdown. And 50 or so receiving yards. And we would've won. But no, Hines Ward gets a measly 44 yards, good for 3 points, and we end up losing 70-67.

Fantasy football SUCKS!

: (

The good news is, I am going to bed, and it's raining.

:: Di 11:17:00 PM [+] ::
...

Uh ... but I'm an Aries!

From "my" horoscope today in The Daily Eastern News email edition:

"Be careful what you wish for today, Pisces, as it might just become a reality. The mind is a powerful tool and should be used with clarity and discernment. Are you up for the challenge? Let go of your desires before they get the better of you."

(My birthday is April 18. I'm nowhere NEAR being a Pisces.)

: )

Clarke has an entry in his blog called "neep nop neep nop!" and it reminds me of "Eep, Opp, Ork, Ah-Ah (That Means 'I Love You')" from The Jetsons. I think maybe a robot is singing it ... or maybe Relroy ...

: )

Non-sequitur: I keep thinking of swirly straws and how I made her smile when I e-mailed her after the very first time we chatted.

:: Di 3:07:00 PM [+] ::
...

And she'll have fun, fun, fun ...

... 'til her daddy takes the T'bird awayyyyy!

Just saw that vintage red Thunderbird convertible with a white top and I was reminded, yet again, how the "new" T'birds, snappy as they might be, simply do not compare to the old ones.

And while I'm on that tangent: Neither did the ones from the early 1980s, like the one my dad had that I spun into a 180 and into the ditch on a rain-slickened pavement after my friend Jill yelled, "Look out!" when she saw a dead 'possum (was it really dead ... or was it actually "playing 'possum"??!) lying in the middle o' the road.

:: Di 12:05:00 PM [+] ::
...

Braveheart

The last half hour or so is about as beautiful as a film can be.

Maybe it's just a Mel Gibson thing with me, but I really don't think so. I do adore him in The Year of Living Dangerously (SO young!! SO handsome!! And SIG!!), but this movie is wonderful.

Which reminds me: I STILL have not seen Gladiator, even though I've had the DVD for, like, a year. Russell Crowe just doesn't do it for me the way Mel does. I can't help it.

: )

Sundays suck.

I mean, they don't suck, but I hate that I can't ever cram in everything I want to do, all in one day ... and, sometimes, like today, I end up doing nothing. Well, unless watching TV counts for something ... which, it really doesn't.

Bought Sarah McLachlan's new CD, listening to it now, and I'd love to discuss it at length with my music muse/sensei, but ... she's not around these days. And I'm feeling not as sad about that as I usually do. Which, oddly enough (ironically, maybe?), makes me a little sad.

It's one thing to know you really really need to let go, completely; it's quite another when you realize that, in spite of yourself, you actually are letting go.

Anyhoo, this time through is just to hear the music for the first time. Thought I might follow along with the lyrics, but I had turned off all the lights, and the candle wasn't bright enough, so for now I'm just listening. Don't know how Sarah does what she does with her voice, but ... wow. And most of these songs are pretty slow, and I can already tell that this album is a keeper. Which is good.

Nothing seems to help me since you've been away ...

:: Di 7:48:00 PM [+] ::
...

The previous post — which actually follows the post following this post — was originally titled, "In My Yard" and had me singing "In My Room" by the Beach Boys when I logged in (or is it "logged on"?), and I altered it just a little.

Not because I was singing a Beach Boys song, just because I wanted to call it "Red" instead.

Speaking of the Beach Boys: In the liner notes on their latest album, REM stated that "At My Most Beautiful" song is a tribute to them. Which makes me smile.

: )

There's also a pretty cool Yaz song called "In My Room." Kind of a chant, actually, but I have always liked it. Reminds me of Van Gogh's painting of his room at Arles. (I believe it's called "The Room at Arles," but ... oh, hell, I wasn't gonna go check, but now I really have to, because I have to know, and of course I was right!)

: )

I like that painting. I am thinking I saw it when I was in Amsterdam, or maybe Paris, but to be quite honest, the only painting I am absolutely certain I saw was the Mona Lisa, and I am certain of this because it was in the Louvre, encased in this huge glass — well, case. It was encased in a glass case, so you couldn't actually get right up next to ol' Mona and get that whole "eyes watching you wherever you go" effect, and I was extremely disappointed. And my best pal was annoyed with me for not "appreciating" the painting, and I was like, hey, I would appreciate the painting if I didn't have to stand so far away from it and look at it through that stupid case!

(I think the case might've even been bulletproof, but that's just conjecture on my part. As usual.)

Did I actually have anything to say when I started typing? If so, it escapes me now.

Other than, I am starting NOT to take anything personally. Or, rather, not to take anything personally that I shouldn't take personally.

Yeah.

:: Di 10:31:00 PM [+] ::
...

Red



This is officially my first entry into my 26 Things: The Photographic Scavenger Hunt gallery.

Had a bugger of a time re-figuring out my FTP-thingie, on the new computer and all. But now I am UP and runnin' ... Feets, don't FAIL me now!

Oh, and another thing: I have HEAT in my house! And not portable-electric-heater heat, either: gas-furnace heat! Will wonders never cease?

(Someday, I must write an entry using nothing but clichés. Wouldn't that be fun? Or maybe only sports clichés ... gems like "behind the 8-ball" and others, which oddly enough escape me at the moment.)

Ooh, the Jamie Oliver Professional Series from T-Fal! Just advertised on TV! I want, I want! (I adore Jamie Oliver. Especially the way he pronounces "th" as "f." It's a British thang, I believe.)

:: Di 4:42:00 PM [+] ::
...

tiny maroon flowers

Found out tonight that my ex-stepmother died this morning. Of cancer. Started in her throat and eventually worked its way to her brain.

My mom told me a few months ago that Helen wasn't doing too well, and that she wanted to see Debra and me.

I never went up. I don't think Debra did, either.

I can't remember how long Helen has not been my stepmother. She and my dad had gotten a (second) divorce quite a while before he died, which was almost 13 years ago. And then there was a life insurance squabble, and for a while I pretty much despised her, and then time passed and I no longer felt any ill will toward her at all.

Last time I saw her was Dec. 24, 2001. Which, if anyone asks, was exactly 2 days before The Worst Day of My Life. And I was incredibly insanely perfectly fucked-up on that Christmas Eve, and after happily piddling around for the first half of the day, I drove up to see my parents. Along the way I happened across my 5th-grade teacher, unexpectedly, and I stopped to say hi. Went to Christmas Eve service and saw all my pals, and then went over to see "the steps."

And I know I told Helen I loved her that night because I told EVERYONE I saw that I loved them that night. And I remember she could no longer speak any louder than a whisper because of the cancer in her throat, but she told me she loved me, too.

Of course I have hundreds of memories of her, like the Fourth of July out at John & Donna's when I lit a whole pack of firecrackers under her feet and she didn't even notice, or the time Bobby and Debra and I were in Bobby's room, making fun of her because she was drunk, and then they told her that I said she was drunk, and she kept getting in my face, yelling, "I am NOT drunk! Diana, I am NOT drunk!"

But my most vivid memory of her was the night she called my mom and stepdad from the Lidster Hotel because my dad had hit her, and she was afraid, and so we all went down there to try to calm her down, and she was standing in the middle of the hotel room, crying and telling us what had happened, and she was wearing this sleeveless white button-down shirt with tiny maroon flowers on the front, and I kept staring at her shirt, and it wasn't until hours (years?) later that I realized, no, those WEREN'T tiny maroon flowers — they were tiny maroon bloodstains from where my father had punched her in the nose.

(I think I shall make a memorial donation instead of sending flowers.)

:: Di 11:44:00 PM [+] ::
...

Here comes the sun! (Dootin'-doo-doo)

Strange day, indeed.

Warm and drizzly most of the morning. Upon entering the news office, I decide that I am NOT going to answer the telephone whilst I am there by myself (the first hour I am there, at which time we are not officially "open," anyway), mainly because I am in NO MOOD for hearing any excuses from anyone.

Then I find out, about half an hour later, that our mayor has DIED. And I did not know the man well, but I did know he was a very nice guy who had devoted much of his life to public service. Also, he does/did my best pal's taxes, and she really liked him, so ... I am kinda sad.

Plus, early in this day, I have NO IDEA what I am going to do in class today.

And all morning, the weather reflects my mood. Comfortable but cloudy and gray and threatening.

Then I get home, and I put together today's lesson, wolf down a baloney-and-cheese sandwich (on Wonder bread, white, with French's mustard) and some potato chips and a Coke, e-mail my dept. chair to tell her that yes, I will teach the Rhetoric & Comp II class, iron my green button-down shirt, watch a little "Primetime in the Daytime" television and then, finally, look outside and see that the clouds have blown (yes, I said blown!) away and it's a beautiful day!

Man, if only I didn't have that meeting at 3:30! This might be the last "nice" day for a while.

:: Di 12:17:00 PM [+] ::
...

Fine

A snippet from tonight's Judging Amy episode:

"It'll be fine in the end. If it's not fine, it's not the end." — Cousin Kyle, imparting some wisdom from that night's AA meeting

An optimistic comment, if ever I've heard one.

The show had me laughing out loud tonight — a few choice Maxine comments and Lauren's statement about how Aunt Jillian has been very strange "since she died." (Last season ended with Jillian slipping into a coma whilst giving birth; she was out of the coma by the 2nd episode of this season but hasn't been quite the same since ...)

Good scene with Bruce, too, finally almost admitting how he really feels about Amy. Will those 2 ever be together? Maybe it's just too obvious that they're in love with one another. Anyway, I liked it that he almost said exactly how he feels.

[ I am Bruce, sometimes. ]

Kept flipping over to One Tree Hill as I was watching The Guardian — a show I have become oddly intrigued by over the past few weeks, mainly because of the kinda balding guy who can't seem to accept the fact that he's gay, and also because Simon Baker is so understated. Anyway, on One Tree, that cute blond boy whose name I don't know (but he was on Dawson's Creek for a bit) suddenly reminded me of David Caruso. Wonder if they're related?

:: Di 10:15:00 PM [+] ::
...

Kenny Irvin is the best fish-fryer ever.

Seriously.

After I crammed myself full of crappie (pronounced "croppy"; I will NEVER admit to being full o' CRAP!!), Kenny gave me, like, a pound of fish to take home with me. I am not much of a fish-eater, but I was quite happy, nevertheless.

Gloomy, rainy day. At least I have a small, if not work-related, adventure planned for the weekend. Well, Friday night, anyway: the state volleyball tournament. Our team is not favored to get past its first match, but ... you never know. (Wow, I just typo'd "no" for "know"!) Jake and I will be road-tripping — our longest journey yet. Should be interesting ...

Could I care any LESS about the Cat in the Hat movie coming out? I think not.

:: Di 7:14:00 PM [+] ::
...

An unexpected pleasure ...

Today, headed home, driving up Maple Street — where, in the midst of a really low spot (my life, not the pavement) about 3-and-a-half years ago, I had a thought so powerful that I nearly drove off the road:

"She's thinking about you at THIS VERY MOMENT."

— I hear a song by The Cure. And I don't even know the name of it, but it makes me feel good, and that's really all that matters.

: )

And it also reminded me of "Close to You" song on the mix tape I "borrowed" (never to be seen again!) from Delra so long ago. And how I totally dug the Psychedelic Furs' "Ghost in You" song that was on there, but Garrick loved The Cure song so much that I couldn't help but appreciate it, too.

:: Di 12:36:00 PM [+] ::
...

Oh, yeah:

The new 26 Things: The Photographic Scavenger Hunt (II) is under way during November. OK, so we're more than a week into November; what the hey, for the first one, I didn't even get started until the FINAL week of it, and I still managed to finish before the deadline ... which isn't exactly etched in stone, anyway.

Just DO it ...


:: Di 9:58:00 PM [+] ::
...

Good Tennis

Played indoors for the first time of the "winter" season ... though, technically, it's still fall ... at the "new" tennis club/soccer field, which is actually just a remodeled former tennis club/bowling alley. Most likely my next-to-last time because the new club is a bit too pricey for me, factoring in membership fees, court fees and the fact that it's a 45-minute drive just to get there, in addition to being able to play only one night a week.

I admit, I am a little bummed. Tennis does me good, usually.

I mean, physically, of course, it's always good ... although the dorky-looking Prince tennis shoes I bought this past summer aren't going to cut it. Felt like I blew out my right arch going after a high shot toward the center of the court ... and these shoes are too new NOT to have any arch support left. Which tells me they didn't have any to begin with.

Self-esteem-wise, tennis also makes me feel good. Usually. There are nights I play like Absolut $hit, and I don't always feel so great afterwards, but ... truthfully, tennis usually is a good experience.

Realized tonight

Timeout: Just heard a flock of geese flying overhead. At 9:45 p.m., over the din of the Eagles-Packers game going on, on TV, to my immediate left.

Anyhoo, realized tonight that playing tennis isn't so much about playing tennis as it is about getting together with my friends and spending a few hours with them. Got to see Jody's new Dell laptop, too, which has a DVD burner and wireless Internet. I think I am envious of the wireless 'net; no reason I can't get it myself, though! Yeah!

Jody told me her son (age 16 ... or maybe 17; he's a junior in h.s.) likes me. Which, if I were a teen-ager, would be a total rush.

"He really likes you," Jody said. "He said, 'She's cool.'"

"He said that?" I asked. "He really said, 'She's cool'?"

"Yes!"

"Well, you'll have to keep him away from me, then," I said. "If he's around me for any length of time, he will realize that I most definitely am NOT cool!"

OK, I am 38 years old. Having a junior in h.s. say that I'm cool IS a total rush.

: )

:: Di 9:53:00 PM [+] ::
...

This is starting to feel an awfully lot like wallowing.

And I've always pretty much despised listening to people wallow, whine, bitch 'n' moan, etc.

I think I have 2 choices:

I can continue to wallow. Perhaps even go curl up into a little ball of Di (a phrase I borrowed from a musician I know). Contemplate the mysteries of the universe and wonder why I managed to do everything in my power to fuck-up something that meant so much to me, or ...

I can get over it.

Oh, wait, I think I just thought of another option:

I can write a sonnet.

Or rather, I need to write a sonnet. Something that's poetry, with a defined form and rhyme scheme and what-not, because when I am scattered and chaotic, I am not exactly at my best. (I might be at my happiest then, though ... oddly enough.)

:: Di 3:25:00 PM [+] ::
...

Sometimes, love = hate.

I hate when I watch a movie, and EVERYTHING about it reminds me of me and my life.

Now playing: Meet Joe Black, featuring Brad Pitt looking as good as he looks in any movie — Legends of the Fall and A River Runs Through It among the other top contenders. And Claire Forlani (sp?) is, as my friend Tee-Hee put it so eloquently: a hottie!

A couple of my favorite lines, though, come from Sir Anthony Hopkins:

"Reveal everything there is to know about yourself and let the chips fall where they may."

"Don't blow smoke up my ass; it'll ruin my autopsy."

And this little snippet from right near the end, when Coffee Shop Joe "returns" to Susan:

Joe: You said you liked me.
Susan: No.
Joe: You didn't?
Susan: I said I liked you so much ...

Awesome.

:: Di 6:12:00 PM [+] ::
...

The Ice Storm

After my shower, I could hear rain falling ever-so-lightly on the leaves outside. It sounded like ice or freezing rain pelting the roof and the trees, mid-winter-like. And here it is, still early November.

When I went outside about 45 minutes later, everything was dry. As if it hadn't rained at all.

Too cold for it to have evaporated so quickly.

Odd.

Speaking of sounds:

That noise resembling a door, creaking shut? That's the sound of me letting go ...

(I need to slam it, but I just can't. Not as long as I have any semblance of a memory of the past, any hope for the future ...)

Today's e-mail:

"Oh where, oh where has my sissy gone?
Oh where, oh where can she be?
I miss her so for so, so long....
I hope she'll get back to me."

: )

From my sister, whom I managed to miss online both nights she was around, thanks to me having to work. Bleh.

For the record:

Fantasy football SUCKS! Majorly! Damn.

:: Di 2:59:00 PM [+] ::
...

A good night ... not a great night, but a good night ...

Now playing: "Diamonds and Rust" by Joan Baez and Mary Chapin Carpenter, part of my MCC mix.


Loaded in the Pioneer 6-pack right now: MCC mix, Breakdown by Melissa Etheridge, All That You Can't Leave Behind by U2, The Unforgettable Fire by U2, August & Everything After by the Counting Crows and Bruce Springsteen's Greatest Hits by The Boss.

And a couple of days ago it occurred to me that I need to make a U2 mix. And maybe a Bruce mix.

And just a couple of minutes ago I realized that I hate it when someone on my AOL Buddy List logs off JUST as I'm cramming the CDs into the player, ready for some quality online time.

Ah, well, such is life ... but there goes what really coulda been a GREAT night.

*sigh*

*shrug*

"I want a place to call my own that
You have never been
I want to look around and know
You won't be coming back again ..."
— MCC, "Rhythm of the Blues"

(Do I have "Rhythm" spelt right? Looks a lil' weird to me!)

Anyhoo, tonight: Jake and I leave for Trico H.S. around 6 for the big volleyball super-sectional. Exciting match, Benton wins Game 1, plays about as poorly as possible in Game 2 and then pulls out the win in Game 3. Meantime, in all the excitement, Jake loses his fleece hoodie, but we manage to get it back once we're back in town.

I've been through plenty of these kinds of matches and games and what-not, but Jake is 16, and he's so excited on the drive home that I just have to smile. All the while.

And our best player — after the match, while I'm interviewing her — that she heard me yelling, too, during the match, and that that helped. Had to smile over that, too.

: )

It's fucking cold in here.

(Come back! I have SOOOO many things I wanna say!)

Course, they only occur to me later. When I am alone and thinking too much.

Awoke too early today. Sleeping in tomorrow.

:: Di 10:56:00 PM [+] ::
...

CRASH!!! (into me)

I hate when I come up with the perfect opening line and then am too timid to say it.

: )

Or something.

:: Di 9:58:00 PM [+] ::
...

Let's start over and pretend we don't know each other.

Yeah. Reread a coupla things I maybe shouldn't have earlier today. Snippets of me feeling contrite over certain huge mistakes I had made. Trying to explain myself. Seeking forgiveness.

Had to forgive myself before I could expect anyone else to.

Did I?

Not sure yet. I still have those fleeting moments ...

It is cold outside. Today it was cold and gray. Oddly, I find myself enjoying the cold when I am out in it, for short periods of time. As if I need to feel the chill in the air, to remind me that yes, indeed, winter is coming.

(I dread December most.)

(That's not exactly true. I dread January and February just as much.)

Am I dreading my life away?

I have an urge to sit down with every friend in my life — one-on-one, though, not all at once — and have this heart-to-heart, no-holds-barred conversation.

I like that term: no-holds-barred. It occurred to me only recently that the phrase must be some kind of reference to wrestling. Nothing illegal. Anything/everything goes. No topic is off-limits.

The only rule is complete honesty. Quid pro quo.

I need to find The Human Stain playing somewhere nearby, and soon. I heard it is very good — or, more precisely, that Nicole Kidman is very good in it. Begging the question: Is there any film Ms. Kidman is NOT good in?

* Watching Whale Rider "Behind the Scenes" as I type *

: )

:: Di 10:46:00 PM [+] ::
...

I like this quote, muchly.

"I believe in the soul ... the small of a woman's back, the hanging curveball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing AstroTurf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."
— Crash Davis, Bull Durham
:: Di 3:59:00 PM [+] ::
...

Here I sit, sipping hot chocolate.

Which you, I suspect, would prefer to call "cocoa." And I would, too, maybe, if I had actually made this the ol'-fashioned way instead of tearing open a packet of instant hot chocolate mix, which isn't really "instant" at all — I mean, I DID have to heat up some water in the microwave, after all.

But then again: Do I even KNOW how to make cocoa the old-fashioned way? The way Mom used to do it?

Lemme think ... heat up some milk, making sure not to boil it or else you'll get constipated (according to my mother; actually, I wouldn't know!), and then add some Nestlé Quik.

Yeah. Homemade cocoa.

: )

Course, when I was a freshman in h.s., our youth group was boycotting Nestlé. Why was that, again? Oh, yeah, because Nestlé was selling its baby formula products to Third World countries, and mothers there were feeding their babies Nestlé stuff instead of breast-feeding, but unfortunately the formula couldn't be mixed properly because there was no way to sanitize the bottles and what-not. And babies were getting sick from the formula and dying.

As opposed to starving to death like their older brothers and sisters. Probably whilst they were in the midst of stitching swooshes on Nike shoes for 23 cents a day.

Fuck, when did I become so cynical?

I had a moment today ...

I was driving home from school. I had gotten a note from my boss asking me if I would be interested in teaching Rhetoric & Comp II next semester. I've never taught it before, so I'm not even sure exactly what it entails, to be quite honest. Anyway, she called me into her office to discuss it.

"Are you sure I can teach this class?" I asked her.

She smiled at me. "I wouldn't have asked you to teach it if I didn't think you could teach it," she replied. "But I don't want you to think you have to teach it just because I asked you to."

I am sure I can teach this class; however, sometimes I am not all that sure of myself when it comes to teaching. I tell myself this is because I am "new" at it, but that's not true: I've been doing this for 8 years now! How "new" could I possibly be??! So then I tell myself it's because I have no "formal training" in teaching — but what better training could there be than to have taught 2 or 3 classes every semester (except one: Spring 2002) for the last 8 years??!

I will most likely agree to teach the class.

And then, when I was driving home from school, I had this moment in which I felt very good about what I do, professionally. I realized that I am good at what I do, and while neither of my jobs (journalist, teacher) defines me, both are extensions of me and my personality and are things that I am good at.

And they are things that I like to do.

How cool is THAT?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

I still can't quite shake this feeling of being lost, sorta.

Had 2 people who have no knowledge of each other, whatsoever — one of them an online pal (for want of a better, more defining term), the other a guy who alternately annoys and amuses me — ask me, within 24 hours of each other: "When is your next adventure?"

And I had no answer to give either of them.

I know they both meant "getaways," but I honestly have nothing planned as of this moment. Nothing in the works, no contingency plans, nothing. Nada. Nil.

Which means, I suppose, that if you actually know me: Invite me somewhere. I just might be available!

(What the hell: Even if you DON'T know me, invite me!)

Honestly, next nice day, I could see me hopping into my car and driving. Just driving. No destination in mind.

Hopefully, I would end up next to the ocean.

:: Di 9:44:00 PM [+] ::
...

PAIR SINKS JUDGE'S HOUSE
QUILT RUINED

Not sure why, but that line just cracked me up as I was watching The Simpsons.

Not that I watch The Simpsons with any regularity; matter of fact, I can count only one time, other than tonight, that I have sat through an entire episode.

Not that I don't find the show funny. I do. It's just that whenever I watch it, I always manage to get distracted, somehow. It's not a show that holds my attention.

Of course, now it's all Jake talks about when we go on our "road trips." So I feel as if I should familiarize myself with the show, somehow ... just so I'll have some tidbits to throw back to him when we're (he's) talking about it.

And now David Letterman is showing pics of his baby boy. And I find it strange, somehow, that he's a father, but wow: How cool is that, showing newborn baby photos on the show? Not making this big-ass, "Oh, I'm a celebrity, how DARE you think I'm going to show you a picture of my kid?" production out of it, just sharing.

Congrats, Dave!

Oh, and earlier, just as I expected, Amy did NOT marry Stuart on Judging Amy. Thank GOD! Not that I have anything against Reed Diamond; he had some good moments on Homicide and was appropriately smarmy on Episode 1 of The Shield,, which I got to see for the first time over the weekend. However, Reed and Amy just didn't do it for me. I'm still holding out for her and Bruce ... although the new lawyer does have a certain something about him.

And onward I babble about things that mean nothing ...

And I should be putting together a handout on the 5-paragraph narrative essay that I am assigning my students tomorrow, but clearly I am not doing that. And I could be writing a story or working on some photos, but I am not doing that, either.

I am typing away to avoid the thoughts running wild in my head. All the stuff I want to say but can't; all the feelings I hold inside but shouldn't.

What do I do with them all?

What if all you ever really get is one chance?

I have just decided I must rewatch The Hours tomorrow. At least part of it is about that whole notion of one chance.

What if — if something (i.e. a relationship) is REALLY worth it — you get as many chances as it takes until somehow — through blind stumbling and fumbling and trying really hard and ultimately just getting really really lucky — you get it right?

See, it's the optimist in me.

Would I be happier if I were faithless?

I refuse to think so.

I do know that whenever I am able to truly not give a fuck, I feel pretty damn good.

I also know that on those rare occasions when I have really let myself care as much as I am able to, I feel pretty damn great.

Switching gears, completely ...

Song in my head: "Young Turks" by Rod Stewart. (My friend Patti gave birth to a 10-pound baby boy ... the other day!)

: )

Besides, maybe winning someone over has absolutely nothing to do with actually "winning" anything, anyway.

:: Di 11:08:00 PM [+] ::
...

It's a beautiful day!!

Let's blast a little U2 while we're at it ... shall we?

"You thought you'd found a friend
to take you out of this place
someone you can lend a hand
in return for grace ..."

So, I am 40 minutes away from class, and we're in the midst of some kinda crazy wonderful Indian summer or whatever, and after that I'm off to play tennis at the mini-resort just a couple of minutes from campus. And honestly, if my students would happen to put up ANY kind of fight today, I just might be willing to let them out WAY early, just because ...

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY!!

And earlier today, first thing this a.m., in fact, I had "10,000 Miles" song running through my head ... and it's a beautiful song, so here goes (even though it's difficult to hear that one in my head whilst Bono blares on the speakers, but ... ahh, that's just how it goes, sometimes).

10,000 Miles
As sung by Mary Chapin Carpenter

Fare thee well
My own true love
Farewell for a while
I'm going away
But I'll be back
Though I go 10,000 miles
10,000 miles
My own true love
10,000 miles or more
The rocks may melt
And the seas may burn
If I should not return

Oh, don't you see
That lonesome dove
Sitting on an ivy tree
She's weeping for
Her own true love
As I shall weep for mine

Oh, come ye back
My own true love
And stay a while with me
If I had a friend
On this earth
You've been a friend to me

Oh, and I think I may have re-fallen in love, again.

2. Don't take anything personally.

Yeah, rrrrrrrrright!

:: Di 12:26:00 PM [+] ::
...

"I assume you're gay."

Went to Jim's 50th birthday party tonight. Didn't drink anything, and in fact didn't stay all that long — long enough to have a piece of birthday cake and some conversation, and then I was back home.

Feeling, right now, a little drunk — without having had anything but a slightly icy bottle o' water. Tired, maybe? Hmmm.

Can't remember if I've written about Jim in here, and I'm too out of it to check. Anyhoo, I used to work with him, and we got along pretty well; matter o' fact, I think of him as a friend. A good friend.

Before he left to work at another paper, one day, we were sitting at the news office, and this doofus guy comes barreling in to visit the boss, and he's mouthing off about "faggot" this and "queer" that, and I just sit there, mostly ignoring him because I know he's an idiot. A few minutes later, Jim calls me to the back and says, "We need to talk."

So I head back there, and I have a feeling I already know what he's gonna say — even though we've never "officially" had any kind of conversation regarding certain aspects of me (although his son DID try to get him to ask me out one time ... but I think, somehow, he knew better!). We're standing in the back, and Jim is hum-hawing around, and then he blurts out, "I assume you're gay ... and I didn't want you to think that I condoned what Jay was saying or his attitude or anything ... and I just wanted to tell you that."

And I just look at him and smile over the "gay" part, and I shrug and tell him I know he doesn't agree with Jay, but I'm glad he said something, just the same.

My favorite Jim story was when he visited my alma mater to see a football game between SIU and Eastern. He was all excited about going up there, so I told him which bars to go to, and then I sorta forgot about it, but then, late afternoon the day of the game, my phone rings and it's Jim, calling from Marty's, this bar that was about a block from my dorm. First bar I ever went to in Charleston, actually: Junior year of h.s., and my friend Holly takes me there, and no sooner had we sat down at a table when this girl comes staggering by and pukes, right next to our table!

I had fonder memories of the bar once I got to school there. And Jim calls me from there and tells me, "The trip just wouldn't have been complete if I hadn't called you from this bar!"

I was quite pleased.

Happy 50th, Jim — and here's to 50 or so more!

* Raising bottle o' now-thawed Aquafina *

:: Di 11:18:00 PM [+] ::
...