:: The Freewheelin' Di Winson ::

The lyrics of my life, along with various musical selections
:: Welcome to The Freewheelin' Di Winson :: Bloghome | Photo Albums | E-Me ::
JUN 66: I am 14 months old in this photo, and I am smiling because I have a new baby sister ... or maybe because I have just peed in the pool.
[::..About Me..::]
I am an American.
I type really fast.
I am left-eye dominant.
I brush & floss regularly.
I am not as funny as I think I am, sometimes.
I was born on Easter.
I believe in music.
I play tennis.
I do not work quietly without disturbing others.
I am a procrastinator.
I watch certain movies just because I know they will make me cry.
I am not my fucking khaki cargo shorts.
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:: Wednesday, April 30, 2003 ::

Wilco. Free. Saturday. Carbondale.

Be there. I will be. Jonesin' for "War on War." Yeah.
:: Di 1:27:00 PM [+] ::

I made a decision this morning: No more posting in here "just to post." There's no point. You see, sometimes I feel that I need some sort of daily "commitment" to a journal in order to keep at it; however, I just have to realize that some days, I really don't have anything to say. And, in the words of Stuart Smalley, "That's ... OK." God, what a GEEK in that teal V-neck sweater, spouting off all those self-affirmations. Although, who am I to question self-affirmations? Fuck, I myself rattled off one of The Four Agreements earlier today to New Kelli Girl at work!

The Four Agreements

  1. Be impeccable with your word.
  2. Don't take anything personally.
  3. Don't make assumptions.
  4. Always do your best.

How 'bout that? Thanks to Webmonkey, I now know how to make "an ordered list." No more random numbering for me, baby; Di is learning HTML. In fact, I am becoming a self-taught HTML proficiency expert. Oh, yeah.

Anyway, those agreements are from the book The Four Agreements, of course, by Don Miguel Ruiz. I've blown the first one many, many times; as for No. 2, how can anyone NOT take something personally? Not take EVERYTHING personally? How else are we supposed to take it, professionally? Socially? Yeah, it's hard work.

Ooh, hot damn, they're doing yoga on All My Children.

Back to the agreements: I find No. 3 to be the easiest, somehow ... or do I? I mean, I try not to assume the worst (or best) about a person or a situation, but then again ... sometimes I can be quite judgmental. Or quite naive. Or quite oblivious. I dunno. As far as always doing my best: I try real hard, every day. Do I always give my BEST effort, though, to everything I do? Hmm ... not as easy as it sounds, actually.

Officially down the final 5 class periods of the semester, and I could not be happier ... unless, of course, I had all my papers graded and final scores tallied and grade sheets submitted. All in due time, though. Patience, Grasshopper.

Damn, now I am craving one o' them Grasshopper drinks, with the minty-chocolatey ice cream. Don't think I'd better have one o' those before heading to class, though. Photo at 3 p.m., and then the rest of the evening is mine, mine, mine ... although I do have rough drafts to look over. And I MUST finish that yearbook TOnight ... or tomorrow night ... or at least by this weekend ...

Did I ever mention that I am a procrastinator? Of the highest order? Well, consider it mentioned.
:: Di 12:33:00 PM [+] ::
:: Tuesday, April 29, 2003 ::

I am too tired to write. Which almost never happens. Which means I will go to bed, and then the instant my head hits the pillow, I will be WIDE AWAKE. Never fails.

Midway through the next-to-last week of classes. I could not be happier. Unless, of course, finals week were already over. Damn, there I go, wishing my life away. Again.
:: Di 10:13:00 PM [+] ::
:: Monday, April 28, 2003 ::
Madonna fixation/obsession/whatever

Yeah, got her in my head right now. She helped me through this morning, whilst co-workers were babbling nonstop and I was trying to concentrate and get done and get the hell outta there.

I dig this song off the new CD:

X-Static Process

I'm not myself when you're around
I'm not myself standing in a crowd
I'm not myself and I don't know how
I'm not myself, myself right now


Jesus Christ will you look at me
Don't know who I'm supposed to be
Don't really know if I should give a damn
When you're around, I don't know who I am

I'm not myself when you go quiet
I'm not myself all alone at night
I'm not myself, don't know who to call
I'm not myself at all


I always wished that I could find
Someone as beautiful as you
But in the process I forgot
That I was special, too

I'm not myself when you're around
[I'm not myself when you go quiet]
I'm not myself all alone at night
[I'm not myself standing in a crowd]
I'm not myself and I don't know how
I'm not myself, myself right now
[Don't know what I believe]


I always wished that I could find
Someone as beautiful as you
But in the process I forgot
That I was special, too
I always wished that I could find
Someone as talented as you
But in the process I forgot
That I was just as good as you

Great guitar-playing in this one, too. Awesome song.

Rain storms possible today! I am all excited about the possibility of a RAINOUT! That would get the week off to a remarkable start, I must say; for now, I will simply cross my fingers and hope.

: )
:: Di 12:41:00 PM [+] ::
:: Sunday, April 27, 2003 ::
"You watch too much Seinfeld,"

she tells me, and she is always right. About that, anyway. And to be honest, I didn't even LIKE Seinfeld the first few times I watched it. I can clearly remember being at Patti's house in-between her wedding and the reception, and the show was on, and I was like, "Ugh! I just can't get into this show!"

And then what happened?

I don't remember, exactly, only somehow, I started watching it. And then Joe Anne and Jim and I started talking about it, every day, at work. Well, wait a minute: In those days, we talked about it every Friday -- after a "new" one had been on the night before. And we would laugh and laugh and laugh.

: )

My life changed for the worse in 1998: Seinfeld came to an end. Oh, sure, there is syndication, ensuring that George and Jerry and Kramer and Elaine will be around for all eternity, but as far as new episodes, fuhgeddaboudit! (sp?) I swear, with God as my witness, I went through a funk after that, that lasted a good 3 years. I believe this funk finally ended during My Great Fog of 2002, and then, briefly, toward the very end of last year, I went through a phase of (dare I say it?) "Syndicated Seinfeld Burnout," during which I actually didn't tune in for a couple of weeks, but that phase didn't last long.

Dunno what brought on that rant, other than I'm watching tonight's episode -- George concocts ways to postpone his wedding, Elaine pretends to be unaffected by George's engagement but confides her true feelings to the rabbi, Kramer sticks the cup of café latte into his pants and spills it all over himself in the movie theater -- while I type.

Could it be that this has turned into a blog about nothing?
:: Di 10:53:00 PM [+] ::
Things I Shoulda Said, Part 1:

When Mark C., the guy who all summer long gives me grief about the Cubs (not so far THIS year, however; go figure!), asked me why I had my jacket on, I offered some lame reply about how I had been cold when I first stepped out this morning -- when, in actuality, I had on my orange Old Navy jacket because all I had on underneath was my somewhat tight white Polo v-neck T-shirt, and I just didn't feel like parading around Big John dressed like that ... even though it IS Sunday morning, and that actually could be kinda fun ...

How the conversation shoulda gone:

Mark: Di, what you got your jacket on for?
Di: Well, Mark, because I am NEKKID underneath!

And then I shoulda flashed him.

:: Di 9:37:00 AM [+] ::
Who's the funniest person you know?

Last night, my best friend in the entire world told me that, all things considered, I am the funniest person she knows.

I believe this is the best compliment I have ever received. Even though part of the reason she thinks I'm so funny is because she spends so much time laughing AT me, rather than WITH me.

: )

I also happen to know I am her favorite photographer.

Bought the new Madonna CD, American Life. It comes highly recommended by my music sensei, and, as usual, she is right-on with her call that the album is brilliant. You know, sometimes I almost find myself hoping that I WON'T like something she recommends, but ... she never lets me down, musically. She never has.

Aforementioned best friend mentioned that perhaps someday, Madonna will be the new Cher. I told her Madonna is bigger than Cher, and she is. My pal's reply was that Madonna hasn't had a hit in (each of) 4 decades, a la Cher.

"She will," I replied. (At which point I had to count back, just to make absolutely certain that "Borderline" didn't hit the airwaves sometime in the late-late-late 1970s, but sure enough: 1982.)

American Life is officially the first Madonna album I have ever bought. I ran out and got the Evita soundtrack the minute it was released, and I also bought The Next Best Thing soundtrack simply to hear her version of "American Pie" ... which I was not hugely turned-on by, simply because it was cut or something. She sounded pretty good, though.

My 10 Favorite Madonna Songs

1. Crazy for You -- This is the song which convinced me that Madonna had/has a great singing voice. I melt when she speaks, "Crazy for you" right at the end; this song will forever remind me, somehow, of JKS.

2. Like a Prayer -- I have to admit the Pepsi boycott forced me to take another look at this song/video, and I thought it all was some of the coolest work I had ever seen. How ANYONE could say the song OR the video promoted racism is beyond me, proving, once again, that some people simply don't get it.

3. Lucky Star -- OK, I acknowledge that the primary reason for ranking this song so high (highly?) is because Paté and I used to play a fabulous drinking game to it. (Another good one: "Small Town" by John Cougar Mellencamp, who was just John Cougar back then ... I think ...)

4. Live to Tell -- This song is dreamy. Or maybe dream-like. I dunno; I love it. If I ran away ...

5. Don't Cry for Me, Argentina -- What can I say? I am a sucker for Evita. (That may be the strangest sentence I have ever written.)

6. You Must Love Me -- See comments on No. 3.

7. Papa, Don't Preach -- Is there a comma in there? Hmm ... there is when I write it.

8. Like a Virgin -- Hey!

9. Justify My Love -- Dig the video. ; )

10. Holiday -- For which I will always hear my old pal Cray yelling, "Is that 'Holiday'?" from next door.

OK, so I know this reads like some kinda "Madonna's Greatest Hits" list or something, but those are the ones I have gotten to know. As I said, I don't have her other albums, so I haven't had a chance to "explore" her ... and ooh, wouldn't THAT be fun? In a literal sense. And cerebrally. She is smart and beautiful and talented.
:: Di 8:00:00 AM [+] ::
:: Saturday, April 26, 2003 ::
Found it!

I finally found the quote from my all-time favorite episode of The Wonder Years -- the one in which Kevin takes piano lessons but doesn't practice until his teacher challenges him and convinces him he has musical talent. She asks him to play Pachelbel's "Canon in D Major" for the recital, and he agrees, then spends the next few days (weeks?) practicing the song ... but then, the day before the recital, he realizes his musical "rival," Ronald Herschmuller (sp?) is playing the same song. Ronald plays it perfectly, and then Kevin fucks it up, royally, and decides he's going to quit the piano.

Anyway, this is from the opening scene of the episode:

When you're a little kid, you're a little bit of everything: artist, scientist, athlete, scholar. Sometimes it seems like growing up is the process of giving those things up, one by one. I guess we all have one thing we regret giving up, one thing we really miss ... that we gave up because we were too lazy ... or we couldn't stick it out ... or because we were afraid.

I love this quote. I love this episode. I love the way this show always made me feel.

Oddly enough, I was thinking about this show because I caught the last 20 minutes of tonight's Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, in which lil' Kevin Arnold (Fred Savage) played a rapist/murderer. Gotta LOVE actors going against typecasting, I suppose. I was all set to dash off a few lines about how good Mariska Hargitay was in this episode -- man, was her talent wasted during that idiotic role she had on ER, or what? -- when I was online earlier, but then the computer locked up before I could get onto the L&O:SVU Web site, and then I thought, do I really want to devote a journal entry to Mariska Hargitay, anyway?

And then I got to thinking about The Wonder Years.

Patti's favorite is the one in which Kevin's math teacher dies. I also love the one that ends with Kevin and Paul playing basketball, and the one that has Richie Havens' version of "Here Comes the Sun." And various others. Gotta re-check that site I found; I might want to revisit this topic.


Oh, and I remembered the couch makeout song from Stealing Home -- the one during which the boy is going at it with the girl he ends up giving the baseball necklace Jodie gave him to and the record gets stuck: "Baby, It's You." By The Shirelles, who also happen to sing my all-time FAVORITE girl-group song: "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?"

Damn fine songs.
:: Di 12:39:00 AM [+] ::
:: Wednesday, April 23, 2003 ::
Happy Festivus!

I think Seinfeld went a little over the edge with THIS one ...

Song in my head: "Peacekeeper" by Fleetwood Mac. Just watched 'em sing this on Leno a few minutes ago. Listened to their new CD on the way home for Easter dinner and came to the conclusion it's too long: 18 songs! I like most of Stevie's songs, and the tunes "Miranda" and "Come" (heh!) by Lindsey were pretty good, too. Can't help it, though: I miss Christine McVie! Listening to this album, I realized how important it was to have that 3rd lead, so to speak, plus I really like her voice. Much as I dig Stevie and Lindsey ... I dunno.

Oh, and happy birthday, David Russell! And Sheila. : )
:: Di 11:56:00 PM [+] ::
:: Tuesday, April 22, 2003 ::
This photo TOTALLY makes me smile.

It's Debra and Patches; I took this picture Easter Sunday out at Aunt Janie's. Debra wanted me to take a picture of Patches as the pooch did her "Mighty Dog" imitation, running across the field, so I did, and then I snapped this one.

: )

Just watched a killer episode of Judging Amy. Second week in a row, too. Might be the third week in a row, but I've yet to watch my tape from 2 weeks ago. Anyhoo, I was going to title this entry, "Tyne Daly rocks my world!" but decided to include the photo and subsequent header. And now I shall rant about this week's J.A.

Tyne is fab; I truly adore her acting skills. I have a new appreciation for Kevin Rahm (sp?), too, a.k.a. Cousin Kyle, after watching his face in this week's show. He promised a patient whose face had been smashed-up (car wreck? I didn't catch what happened, but it really doesn't matter) that she would look just like she did before the accident, once she's had surgery. The surgeon told Kyle that he was only doing some kind of fracture reduction, not rhinoplasty, so Kyle had to conjure up a way to get someone else -- i.e. his supervising doc, can't think of her name right now -- to perform the surgery. Supervising doc (who also happens to have a bit of a thing for Kyle) does it after Kyle tells her the surgeon has left for the day, blah blah blah, supervising doc finds out that Kyle lied to her, and then they have this confrontational scene in the locker room.

I wish I could remember exactly what sup. doc said to Kyle ... something about just when she thinks she's getting to know him, she finds out something else about him that reminds her of what he must've been like before he got kicked out of med school. She told him that he manipulated her, and also that he should've known she would do the surgery, if only he had asked. Kyle's face had such utter ... rawness and vulnerability and shock and pain.

The whole conversation hit home with me, MAJORLY, because yeah, I know I was manipulative. I mean, I can tell myself so many times that I didn't mean for it all to go the way it went, and I honestly had NO IDEA that it would go the way it went, but the bottom line is, I was manipulative. I manipulated someone through my deception. I got someone to care, to believe they could trust in someone and the feelings they shared, and then I destroyed that trust by revealing what I had done.

I reaffirmed every bad notion that had been had about me. When, ironically enough, I was trying to prove that I was not the person I was being perceived as.

I damaged both of us.

Anyway, Leslie sent me an e-mail with some stuff she'd seen on the Melissa Etheridge board. A couple of them apply to how I am feeling right now ... how I have been feeling for a while now.

I believe that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.

(Reminds me a little of the fox in The Little Prince: "You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose," dit le rinard.)

I believe that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.

(Still working on this one. Forgiving AND forgetting. Neither is easy.)

:: Di 11:05:00 PM [+] ::
:: Monday, April 21, 2003 ::

This girl I know knows all when it comes to beautiful music. These are the lyrics to the latest song she sent me, by a band called The Color Green.

If I

If I lived like you live
If I gave you like you give
If I saw what you see
If I could be what you wanted

Could I be the one
Could I be the one

If I were strong when you're weak
If I spoke when you can't speak
If I breathe for us when you're tired
If I could be what you wanted

Could I be the one
Could I be the one

And if I shed my skin
And if I I began again
Could I be the one
Could I be the one

If I forget to mention
If I forget to say
If I lose your attention
It won't happen again

Let me be the one
Let me be the one
Let me be the one
Let me be the one

:: Di 3:56:00 PM [+] ::
Everything I need

I need to avoid anyone who makes me feel less good about myself. Starting today.
:: Di 6:52:00 AM [+] ::
:: Sunday, April 20, 2003 ::
Happy Easter

This afternoon, I fed supper to my grandmother. Debra and I went over to see her; we helped her to the bathroom and later into the kitchen, and then I fed her ham and corn and salad and sweet potatoes and pickles. She did not like the coconut cream pie; she thought it was too sweet. Then we helped her back to the living room, and later, we left.

Debra started crying when we walked across the lawn. I put my arm around her and told her that it is all just part of growing old. And that someday, she and I will be feeding each other in a nursing home.

And possibly starting food fights.
:: Di 9:56:00 PM [+] ::
:: Saturday, April 19, 2003 ::
Some nights, ALL I wanna do is talk to her.

This is one of those nights.

And she is around, but we are not talking. I continue to try NOT to be pesky, which sometimes means even though I know she is around, I stay quiet.

I want us to be friends. I want to be a friend to her.

It's just gonna take some time, that's all.

Song in my head: Tori's version of Tom Waits' "Time."

... and the things you can't remember
tell the things you can't forget that
history puts a saint in every dream ...

Time. Yeah.

:: Di 10:53:00 PM [+] ::
:: Tuesday, April 15, 2003 ::
Fiddler on the Loose

Today the coolest thing happened.

I am sitting at work, typing away on some story or laying out a page or something, and in walks Joe Mac, an old friend/former co-worker o' mine, carrying a violin case. Joe sets the case on my desk, opens it and pulls out a violin. (Surprise!) Then he picks up a bow, gets the violin all situated under his chin, asks, "Isn't your birthday coming up soon?" and when I answer, "Yeah, it's Friday," he starts playing "Happy Birthday" on the violin!

And it is absolutely perfect. I mean, he's only JUST learning to play the violin, and he's teaching himself to play, so of course there are a few flat notes and some missed notes, and we're all laughing and having a good time, but it's so awesome. And then he walks over to Michelle's desk because her b'day is actually the day before mine, and he plays "Happy Birthday" for her, and next he plays it for Joe Anne, too, because hers is a week after mine. In all, he plays the song 3 times, and in-between he's telling us about this friend of his who actually makes violins, and how this guy "set him up" with one, but how he (Joe) is actually too embarrassed to sit outside and practice -- even though he lives out in the country, far away from the nearest town and a good quarter-mile, at least, from the closest house.

So I ask him if I am the first person he's "serenaded," and he admits that yes, I am.

And I am genuinely honored.

I take some pictures of him whilst he's playing, and I promise to e-mail them to him, and I will.

Throughout the rest of this day, Joe's totally unexpected, random act of entertainment makes me smile.

And I think about him when I am driving to school, and I remember how, at one point in time, we were such great friends. So close. A person I truly respected, talent-wise and as a fellow journalist, and also as a good, caring person.

And then life changed, as it sometimes does, and we were no longer close. Matter of fact, we were nothing; indifferent to one another, really, and I think we both suffered because of it, but we both moved on.

And more time passed, and eventually we were acquaintances again, and we began to be friendly toward one another again, but definitely not close, and part of me missed him, but another part had so totally let go that it no longer mattered. And eventually, he took a different job, and now we rarely see each other ... although he did drop in a few weeks ago to give us all a taste of the maple syrup he had tapped or harvested or whatever from the trees on his land.

And then, today happened.

Now playing: "Today" by The Smashing Pumpkins.

Today is the greatest
Day I've ever known
Can't live for tomorrow,
Tomorrow's much too long ...

Anyway, in the background of the picture, just over Joe Mac's right middle-finger, is Phyllis, one of our ad reps. And the brown beam on the right side of the photo is our official measuring post; in fact, that small white square has the words, "Di, in her dreams" written on it by Lea. (The white square is stuck at about the 5-foot-9 mark; I am 5-3 and change, on a good day.)

:: Di 7:58:00 PM [+] ::
:: Monday, April 14, 2003 ::
I visit you in another dream

I leave class this afternoon -- and just like many sessions of teaching, no matter how lethargic I am when I head up to school, once I am in front of my students, presenting my stuff and feeding off what they have to say, I am fully energized, so much so that I am practically flying by the time class is over -- and as soon as I get into my car, I cram Bruce's The Rising into the CD player, and I think I wanna listen to something peppy and upbeat, to match my mood, but instead I click on up to "Paradise," and I am immediately put into some kind of higher emotional state, one that is sad and contemplative and happy and awestruck, really, by how powerful the song and its images are.


Where the river runs black
I take the schoolbooks from your pack
Plastics, wire and your kiss
The breath of eternity on your lips
In the crowded marketplace
I drift from face to face
I hold my breath and close my eyes
I hold my breath and close my eyes
And I wait for paradise
And I wait for paradise

The Virginia hills have gone to brown
Another day another sun going down
I visit you in another dream
I visit you in another dream

I reach and feel your hair
Your smell lingers in the air
I brush your cheek with my fingertips
I taste the void upon your lips
And I wait for paradise
And I wait for paradise

I search for you on the other side
Where the river runs clean and wide
Up to my heart the waters rise
Up to my heart the waters rise

I sink 'neath the water cool and clear
Drifting down, I disappear
I see you on the other side
I search for the peace in your eyes
But they're as empty as paradise
They're as empty as paradise

I break above the waves
I feel the sun upon my face

This song is so beautiful. Somehow I see it as a parent who's lost a child, or maybe someone who has lost a lover, and seeing them, always, and waiting, just waiting, for the chance to see them again. In paradise. Which right now, seems oh-so-empty.

I want to write more, but this computer is making a very scary noise. The fan is blowing full-blast, and there's some kind of odd clicking sound. I must shut down.
:: Di 3:40:00 PM [+] ::
:: Sunday, April 13, 2003 ::


Those were the words Emily and I wrote to each other on her Magna-Doodle or whatever it's called ... yeah, I met Patti and Bob's kids, and I have to say I am TOTALLY in love with them! Absolutely adorable and sweet -- and the best part was me getting them ALL riled up, giggling and full o' chocolate, and then it was time for me to go.

: )

I'm sure Paté and Bob LOVE me for that! Ah, they didn't really mind, probably. Actually, I've already met Em, of course, when she was 1; now she's 5, and this was my first time meeting Charlie, who's 2. My "power bubbles" were a hit even though Char couldn't seem to work his quite right, and apparently they both love chocolate, so the hollow bunnies were another success.

Damn, I would make a terrific aunt, wouldn't I?

So, what else is new in the world of Di? Played in a tennis tournament this weekend, doubles with Amy, and we finished second. Lost 7-3 in a third-set tiebreaker, which is no fun, but honestly, we could've lost the third set 6-3. But then, we were up 3-1, so maybe we should've won it 6-3. Doesn't matter, I suppose. I hit some great shots, at times, but sorta lost it at various points during the 2nd and 3rd sets. Which were actually our 4th and 5th sets of the day, and I haven't exactly been playing more than 3 sets a week over the last umpteen months.

At times, my legs were feeling MIGHTY old. Especially when Amy hit me in the back left calf while she was serving! Mainly, though, my muscles felt a little fatigued, but ... I am going to drag out the bicycle and try to commit myself to riding on a regular basis. Or even a semi-regular basis. Anything would be an improvement over nothing at all.

This was kind of a do-nothing day, which I needed. And I managed to get some essays graded; hopefully, I can finish the rest tomorrow. And get busy on that yearbook, which should have been finished 2 weeks ago, at least. And do my taxes! Yikes! April 15 is only 2 days away, and here I sit, talking about them instead of even pretending to work on them. Will I ever learn?

Answer: No.

Anyway, I believe I have been a bit depressed 'n' stressed over the last couple of weeks, maybe longer. I don't know why I expect myself ALWAYS to be in a good mood, but I do, and then when I'm not ... I dunno. I feel so much better than I did last year at this time that I guess I should just appreciate everything. And I do, mostly. Sometimes, though, I find it difficult to let go of feelings I have felt and just concentrate on the here and the now.

Because anything that happened there and then ... well, it wasn't REALLY real. Right? I mean, the intensity that I felt and that I know she felt ... well, it was all under false pretenses (to a certain degree), so it couldn't have been real. Right? And more important than anything else is that now, she is happy there and I am happy here, and I am forgiven, and all is forgotten. Right?

Who knows. And why must I trouble myself thinking about any of it, ever, at all? What is the point?

To learn from my mistakes.
To be a better person.
To improve myself in every way.

:: Di 10:35:00 PM [+] ::
:: Friday, April 11, 2003 ::
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Carrying this over from my Clarkeblog, where I was ramblin' about Paté and how excited I am about seeing her and Bob and the kids tomorrow. Course, she did tell me in her phone message that Charlie had thrown up 5 times in the van on the way to Atlanta (from Fla.) and Emily twice, so ... could be veddy interesting, to say the least. Ah, well, I am mainly just looking forward to seeing them and meeting the kids; think I'll take 'em Easter baskets filled with CANDY, just so they'll have something to do on their 5-plus-hour drive to Chicago on Sunday.

: )

Wow, I'm all tapped out after an umpteen-paragraph post over there. See, I shouldn't do this late at night; I wear myself out! (Or maybe I shouldn't be keeping 2 journals -- kinda like dueling journals or something!)

Now playing in my head: "Late at Night" by Buffalo Tom. A song which reminds me of My So-Called Life, naturally, and that great scene where Jordan grabs Angela's hand, FINALLY making some outward sign of affection ... and of Paté 'cause she said she really loved that song and just KNEW I would, too ... and of another girl I know who has actually met the members of Buffalo Tom, which is trés cool, in my opinion, anyway. ("Dueling Banjos" was trying to sneak into my head, but I banished it. Thank goodness.)

OK, now I really MUST go to bed.
:: Di 11:48:00 PM [+] ::
:: Thursday, April 10, 2003 ::
Not so bad, after all

And so, as it all turned out, my little "assignment" this evening wasn't so bad. It's always fun to hang out with drunks, right? In a smoky bar/restaurant, right? Luckily, I was there for only a few minutes, jotted down some notes, snapped a couple of pictures, and ZOOM! I was outta there. Before that, stopped at an art auction; saw some kinda cool stuff, a few items that actually inspired me a little bit, but nothing that really grabbed me.

What it inspired me to do was to get some of my photos organized/matted/framed and displayed or given away or whatever. Yeah, just what I need, another project ... but, it is something cool to be working on in all of my "free" time.

Am I too young to start writing my memoirs? Heh. The roller-coaster of the last 3 years alone would be enough to fill a novel. Mix in the chaos and serenity of the last 13 years, and I've already got a 3-volume set.

It just occurred to me: I have somehow managed to become involved, on some level, with absolutely amazing women in the zero-ending years. At least 1990 and 2000. Wild, sorta. Wonder who it was in 1980? 1970?

OK, looks like ER is a repeat, guess I shall give Without a Trace a chance. God, I could actually go to bed. I crashed for, like, 8 hours straight last night/this a.m.
:: Di 9:06:00 PM [+] ::
Handing out my address ... but not to just anyone ...

Gave my Web log address to Jenn today; she's the only person who has it now, although I did check "Yes" to the Public Blog box in the settings ... wonder if anyone has cluelessly stumbled onto this site? And quickly scrambled right back out of it? Heh. I've had mixed feelings over whether to designate this as a Public Blog because I do tend to get (somewhat) personal at times, but then I thought, what the heck. The only person I really can't let in here is my mother, primarly because of my casual and frequent use of the f-word (and other choice expletives); she wouldn't approve of such language, and I mustn't do anything at this point to keep her from thinking I am A Perfect Angel.

: )

I think I may have mentioned somewhere in here, too, that I HAVE had sex. (At least a couple of times, from what I remember. Heh.) This, too, would be news to my mother. Which is kinda funny because we are quite close, and she does know me, but if she's secure in the knowledge that I just MIGHT be a nearly 38-year-old virgin, then who am I to burst her bubble?

Anyway, the first few minutes of work today really reeked because I got told of something I am expected to cover TONIGHT, and that was the first I'd heard of it. Which, OK, I understand that the newspaper bidness includes sudden occurrences and what-nots -- I mean, that IS the nature of news; it's not always a pre-planned event or whatever -- but you cannot tell me that THIS so-called event (a dinner or a check presentation or some such nonsense) was put together at the last minute. Which is exactly when I heard about it. Which irritates/annoys the hell out of me, to be quite frank.

So, here is something to add to my just-now-created handbook/guidelines for "How to Make Life Easier for Your Easy-Going, Hard-Working Community Journalist":

Rule 1: IF you expect me to show up to take a picture of your Big Event, make sure to give me AT LEAST one week's notice. Make sure you include the time, date and place that said Big Event will be taking place. If you intend to have various activities (9-course dinners, long-winded speeches, etc.) going on prior to the exact moment that you actually wish to have the photograph taken, please be sure to tell me the time that you HONESTLY expect to have everyone available/lined-up for the picture; otherwise, please be advised that I reserve the right to walk out WITHOUT taking the picture. My time is valuable and, actually, since this is work-related, worth money. Granted, not an incredible amount of money, but money, nevertheless. (Note: Once you have informed me of the event a week in advance, it is not necessary to call me every day to remind me; I am NOT an idiot, at least not regarding matters such as these. You may wish to call a day or so in advance if you have any additional information -- for example, you've decided to move the Big Event from the Community Building to Town Hall -- but otherwise, if I have given you my word that I will be there to snap a photo of your Big Event, rest assured that I WILL be there.)
:: Di 2:29:00 PM [+] ::
:: Wednesday, April 09, 2003 ::
Today, I am happy to be a journalist.

Lots of images from Iraq today, most notably the shots of So-damn What's-his-name's statue being pulled down, and comparisons of that to the fall of the Berlin Wall, and I don't know if this current event is as significant as that, but perhaps that is simply proof that I am in no way, shape or form any kind of history scholar. Which is kinda pathetic, really, but ... whatcha gonna do at this point?

And still, every time I log on, I have to check the casualties, and I look for pictures of Josh, and now when they talk to the troops and show footage of Iraq, I am looking for him in those, too. No word from Dolores on whether she's heard from him -- surely she has? Just hope he's safe is all. And that he makes it home.

I feel proud to be a journalist right now. That's not always the case. I cringe when reporters ask certain questions -- even the other night, after the Syracuse-Kansas game, when Bonnie Bernstein asked Roy Williams about the North Carolina job, and I knew it was coming, but I was kind hoping that once, just once, the TV reporter would let the question go unasked, but sure enough, she asked it, twice, and I agreed with Roy when he said it was insensitive and he didn't give a shit about what everyone wanted to know. All of that aside, though: Wow, the work some of these journalists are doing in covering Iraq. It's amazing. And I ask myself, just as I have when other "big events" have occurred, would I want to be there? There is a part of me -- the photographer part, actually -- that would go in a heartbeat ... the shots you would get would be incredible. And gut-wrenching. And heartbreaking. And every other cliché you can think of, the photos would be awesome.

Would I be brave enough to go, though? Who knows.

I actually cooked something edible tonight. Will wonders never cease?

Hat on my head, earlier: My AE 4-leaf clover hat with 77 right in the middle.

(Why is 77 better than 69? Because you get eight more!)

(Gotta read that one out loud to really get it. Heh.)

: )

Will I ever stop thinking about those days? The way I felt? The excruciating pain mixed with absolute bliss over the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I was being seen as I really was/am? Maybe it simply has not been long enough.

Last year at this time, I cried every day. Multiple times, usually, a mixture of feeling bad for what I had done and feeling sad over someone I had lost, thanks to my own carelessness. I did not believe I was ever going to feel better or "normal" again; I craved sleep, for that was the only time, really, that I had any peace. Odd that I was able to keep any thoughts of the entire situation completely out of my dreams, but ... if I ever did dream about it, any of it, I miraculously was able NOT to remember it the next morning.

Yes, I do believe in miracles. I may have mentioned that before. And I am an optimist. Always.

:: Di 9:38:00 PM [+] ::
:: Tuesday, April 08, 2003 ::
Could I be a bit of a conundrum?

I had that thought whilst driving home from school, primarily because of some random thoughts that were running through my head. Such as, how I detest when someone tries and tries and tries to win the affection of someone else that he or she "likes" (who doesn't necessarily like him or her back), or how some people will try to change aspects of themselves, their personality, etc., whatever it takes, simply to be liked or loved or to fit in, or how sometimes, someone will sort of blissfully ignore everything that is going on around him or her, simply because of not wanting to face reality.

And then I realized that I actually have done that first thing, that "trying too hard to be liked," and how it really is a futile pursuit, really, because invariably you tend to devalue your own self-worth while you build up that other person.

The best you can hope for, the absolute best, is that the people you encounter in your life who really matter will see and recognize those qualities you have inside you, and appreciate them, and like or maybe even love you for all that you are, and perhaps even are not.

Anyway, in the midst of all this thinking (too much, really, for a 15-minute drive), I decided to look up the word "conundrum."

co-nun-drum (kuh-NUN-drum) n. 1. A riddle of which the answer depends on a pun. 2. Any problem or puzzle. [Origin unknown]

Funnily enough, however, as I flipped through the C's looking for conundrum, I noticed the words "chaos" and "chat" atop a couple of the pages.

cha-os (KAY-oss) n. 1. Utter disorder and confusion. 2. The supposed unformed original state of the universe. [< Gk., abyss] -- cha-o-tic (kay-OT-ik) adj. -- cha-OT-i-cal-ly adv.


chat (chat) v.i. chat-ted, chat-ting To converse in an easy, informal manner. -- n. 1. Easy, informal conversation. 2. Any of several singing birds: so called from their notes. [Short for CHATTER]

Note: Pronunciation guidelines tweaked JUST a bit, to account for the fact that I haven't yet figured out how to make the schwa (upside-down) "e." : )

I am using a Funk & Wagnalls Standard Dictionary. I bought it from Dolores at a rummage sale, or maybe I just took it. The dictionary and a Zest soap-colored laundry basket. (Old-school Zest, that aqua-colored soap of way back when.) The dictionary belonged to Joshua Lyons, my friend the Marine. (He doodled his name along the pages of the dictionary. I LOVE this dictionary because of that. I have a dictionary at the news office that has fallen into various sections; I love it, too, for that reason.)

Maybe I AM a bit of a conundrum ... but where's the riddle?

:: Di 4:16:00 PM [+] ::
:: Monday, April 07, 2003 ::
Meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

Not sure what prompted that random statement, but it's getting late, and I need to be in bed, sleeping, but I felt a need to jot a few lines. Kinda like this is my obligation or something, and I have to be faithful, otherwise a day will go by, and another, and this will turn into just another journal that I've started, never to be finished. (I did subtitle one of my journals just that: "Something I started with no intention of actually finishing." Can't find that one now, though, so I guess I really WON'T ever finish it!)

What a mess.

Song in my head: "Soak Up the Sun" by Sheryl Crow. Primarily because I was gonna do something with that title in relation to my pool photo, but I couldn't get the link-thingie to work right, and again, I didn't feel like messing with it because it really didn't seem all that necessary.

I am sorta babbling now.

There is nothing like being so sleepy you can barely keep your eyes open and knowing that sleep is only a few minutes away. I cannot even BEGIN to imagine what our soldiers are going through over in Iraq, carrying out such scary and important duties on virtually no sleep. I think of Josh, and how he used to get to the news office at, like, 5 a.m. in order to get my film all developed and pictures printed so he would be able to leave for school by 7 or so, and he was there every day, and so organized and thorough and good, and I'm rather picky about my pictures, and he was always so eager to please me. I remember Dolores telling me that, one time: how hard he tried to please me. And me, being me, just shrugging it off because I pretty much expect perfection, demand it, really, and Josh always worked so hard. So hard.

I hope he knows, or knew, how much I appreciated him working so hard. Yet, I doubt it, because I tend to take such things for granted, always. Did I ever tell him what a good job he was doing? Probably not.

I suck, sometimes. : (

Hmm, just noticed that tonight's Seinfeld episode is the Kenny Rogers chicken one that I saw JUST LAST WEEK on TBS. Y'know, you'd think they could stagger them a little bit more; I mean, the show DID run for eight seasons, right? Or was it nine? And when I first watched it, I didn't like it! How unbelievable is THAT?
:: Di 11:47:00 PM [+] ::
:: Sunday, April 06, 2003 ::

* Holding arms up, fists clenched, a la Lester Burnham in American Beauty *

I hate fucking around with HTML and trying to figure out coding and what-not, but I love when everything does what it's supposed to and my journal looks the way I want it to (for now, anyway) and the archives actually work like they should.


OK. I'm going to bed now. And isn't THIS nice: I've already lost an hour of sleep, thanks to Daylight Saving (NOT "Savings") Time. But that's OK: I will, most definitely, make it up tomorrow.

Oh, yeah.
:: Di 1:31:00 AM [+] ::
Today ... Plentiful sunshine.

Yeah, that was what The Weather Channel actually said today regarding our forecast or whatever. And yeah, the sun shone plentifully, but it was kinda cold, and I had a couple of work-related activities I should have done, but I just couldn't make myself. When the weekend rolls around -- finally, mercifully, but NOT plentifully, usually (take THAT, any adverb-haters out there!) -- I just do not want to work. Period. All I want to do is play and write and sleep and ... other stuff.

Which is bad because I am in the midst of a couple of projects, and there's always schoolwork to be done, and I couldn't be busier at work, and to be perfectly candid, I would like to say, "Fuck this!" to all of it. Everything. I mean, I love my life, but there are times when I would simply like to walk away from it all.

Song in my head at this moment, despite the fact that some loud Green Day wannabe band is playing on SNL: "Side of the Road," live version, by Lucinda Williams. So great, and so fitting for this moment, although it is not necessarily any one person that I want to get away from, just everything.

Side of the Road

You wait in the car on the side of the road
Lemme go and stand a while, I wanna know you're there, but I wanna be alone
If only for a minute or two
I wanna see what it feels like to be without you
I wanna know the touch of my own skin
Against the sun, against the wind

I walked out in a field, the grass was high, it brushed against my legs
I just stood and looked out at the open space and a farmhouse out a ways
And I wondered about the people who lived in it
And I wondered if they were happy and content
Were there children and a man and a wife?
Did she love him and take her hair down at night?

If I stray away too far from you, don't go and try to find me
I doesn't mean I don't love you, it doesn't mean I won't come back and stay beside you
It only means I need a little time
To follow that unbroken line
To a place where the wild things grow
To a place where I used to always go

La la la la, la la la, la la la la, la la la
La la la la, la la la, la la la la, la la la
If only for a minute or two
I wanna see what it feels like to be without you
I wanna know the touch of my own skin
Against the sun, against the wind

This could be my theme song. If I could narrow it to one theme song. Different ones apply at different times, but this one always seems to fit in some way.

Oh, cool, Teresa is online. Life is good. : )

More introspection later, perhaps ...
:: Di 12:17:00 AM [+] ::
:: Saturday, April 05, 2003 ::
Dreams unwind, love's a state of mind.

Dunno why, but that line from "Rhiannon" (Stevie = swoon!) just went breezing through my head.

I need to let go of the fact that a couple of my best moments, ever, are gone forever.

It's just that ... I miss them: Those moments. That girl.

And nothing had the chance to be good
Nothing ever could

(Yeah, that's from "Holding Back the Years" by Simply Red.)

Sometimes, I feel like SUCH an idiot. Right this minute is one of those times.

And in the quick of a knife
They reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded
Not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland

Ah, Bruce. And memories of Patti imitating Bruce. And me imitating Bruce. And Patti doing cello/airband to "Jungleland," and her laughing at me as I went running down the hallway in Pemberton during the frenetic piano-playing right at the end of the song. I've been listening to The Rising again; never did get around to reading any reviews of it, but then again, I hardly ever read reviews, and I tend to disregard them, anyway, just like I disregard the so-called expert opinions of people I know who read and read and read all about everything (books, movies, albums, etc.) but never actually read those books or see those movies or listen to those albums. Anyway, I really don't care what the reviewers think of Bruce's CD, but I consider it to be sort of a masterpiece, somehow -- if that's possible? I mean, I'm not saying the album is perfect, but wow, there is so much on there, and granted every song can be related to September 11th, but then on other levels, the songs can stand on their own.

I'm not sure I've ever heard a song as beautiful nor as sad as "Paradise."

Although at this moment I have a Counting Crows song in my head, can't think of the title, must go look it up ... ah-ha, it's called "A Murder of One," and I just ended an e-mail with the question, Is it raining where you are? And I realize it is this song that I have in my mind, mainly the opening lines:

Blue morning
Blue morning
Wrapped in strands of fist and bone

And then, the part that reminded me of the e-mail-ending question:

Are you happy where you're sleeping?
Does he keep you safe and warm?
Does he tell you when you're sorry?
Does he tell you when you're wrong?

So, that's the one in my head as I end this entry. From August & Everything After.

(On a totally unrelated note: I wish I could spend this entire weekend in bed. Sleeping and having sex. And who knows, maybe wishes DO come true!)
:: Di 1:12:00 AM [+] ::
:: Friday, April 04, 2003 ::
God's Country

I shouldn't admit this -- but what the heck, this IS my journal, so why lie? -- but sometimes I listen to Rush Limbaugh. Mainly when I have been listening to a Cardinals game and forget to change the radio from KMOX to some FM station, and there's Rush, midday, spouting off his conservative views, and sometimes I am compelled to listen. He's kinda funny, actually, and today when he said that if we want to make the people in the countries in the Middle East REALLY mad, then we should change Iraq's name to "God's Country."

: )

THIS made me laugh out loud. As did his rant about dolphins being used to sweep for mines. Primarily, he was ranting about PETA members who claimed this was unethical because the dolphins had not agreed to nor enlisted for these duties. (??!!) Don't get me wrong; I adore dolphins and would not dream of subjecting them to injuries, but as one of Rush's callers -- a surfer who claims to have witnessed several dolphins "in the wild" -- said: If the dolphins really don't want to do this, they can always just swim away.


And bear in mind, I grew up wanting to be Bud and/or Sandy. From Flipper. Just so I could have a dolphin, just like Flipper. I LOVED that little guy.

Anyway, just went to my very limited archives and reaffirmed that I like these colors better. But I dunno. I can actually see changing this thing every couple of days, depending on (or is it "upon"?) my mood at the moment. Of course, it takes me 3 days to figure out the coding, so perhaps I will simply leave it as is. Who knows.

:: Di 12:45:00 PM [+] ::
:: Thursday, April 03, 2003 ::
Tweaking & fine-tuning & mostly just messing around

I dunno. I think I like the way it looks, but tomorrow, I might want something totally different. I do know, though, that I am somehow managing to learn a little bit about HTML ... very little. Maybe I really should sign up for some kind of Web-design class this summer ... but which one? And where? Ah, but do I really want to take a class over the summer? But then again, when else would I take it?

Right now my computer is clicking. Softly, but definitely clicking.

Classic episode of ER tonight -- or should I say, classic "Rocket" Romano during tonight's episode. Can't say I'm a big fan of that show anymore, other than moderate swoonage over Maura Tierney, but Rocket was pretty damn funny tonight.

Why am I so fucking tired?

Suddenly now playing in my head: "Anna Begins" by The Counting Crows.

You try to tell yourself the things you try to tell yourself to make yourself forget ...

Sometimes, you wish so badly that you and she could sit right across from each other, drink a bottle of wine (maybe 5), and you could say everything you ever wanted to say but never did. And good music would play in the background, and occasionally you would both sing along. And everything would be fine, just fine.

I do not dwell all that often, but when I do, that is my wish.

Ambition: To witness a miracle.

Actually, screw that. I have witnessed a miracle. Forgiveness is a miracle; trust would be a MAJOR miracle.
:: Di 11:43:00 PM [+] ::
:: Wednesday, April 02, 2003 ::
Simply red

There we go. A start, at least. Matter of fact, my new red T-shirt is almost exactly this color of red, maybe a little orangier. (Word?) But mostly red.

And on the front of the shirt, in tan, this word is written:


Only not exactly like that because the "a's" on the shirt aren't like the ones in this particular font, but the ones that look like little circles or "o's" with a perpendicular line right next to them, just barely touching, just like the way we made the letter "a" when we were first learning how to write letters, on that grayish paper with the solid and dotted blue lines, like little highways or something.

That's why I bought my adidas "a" hat: I liked the "a" on there. The first letter I ever learned to write.

And God help us all, after that.

: )

:: Di 10:09:00 PM [+] ::
Bomblets are not to be confused with omelettes, though.

My best friend in the world likes the word "Ramlet." NOT the word "bomblet."

She is what I would call "anti-war." She remembers Vietnam as if it were yesterday because she was in her 20s then. She was in h.s. when John F. Kennedy was shot, and after that she remembers years and years of presidents saying the Vietnam War was almost over. (I would imagine they called it a conflict then, though, not a war, although I can't be sure because I wasn't born until 1965.) My friend's husband -- at the time; he is now and has been, for many years, her ex-husband -- actually went to Vietnam, so my friend knows what it's like to wonder if she's ever going to see him again.

And she knows what it's like to see him again and to be so happy, SO happy, and to enjoy wonderful passionate breathless can't-get-enough-of-you/just-fuck-me Post-War Sex. (Wonder if Jerry would rank that above or below Makeup Sex and/or Conjugal Visit Sex? I have to think Post-War Sex would rank just about right at the top of any list ... but who am I to say?)

She sees parallels between Operation Iraqi Freedom (War) and the Vietnam Conflict (War), and she will not watch a minute of it. "I don't want to see this," she said last Saturday night when I happened to land on CNN or MSNBC or FOX or MTV or whatever channel I happened to click over to for approximately one split-second during a timeout in the Kansas-Arizona basketball game.

I am not what I would call "pro-war," yet I have been a bit preoccupied with it since learning that my friend's son is over there, right in the midst of all the fighting. I've done Google searches on his name and found quotes by him; those have been my link to him. And now I haven't read anything from him since March 27, which was last Thursday, and every time I think about it, all of it, I wonder.

On an unrelated tangent, I think I may have to change this journal's color scheme. Kinda dark for me and my moods, usually. I'm no HTML expert, but I'll see what I can do. If anything. Maybe some red? I wore a brand-new red T-shirt the other day, and Ginger told me I looked good in red. Which may be the first time anyone has ever said that to me. But then again, Ginger can look you right in the eye and lie. (Though she says, "I don't lie; I just kid." Uh-huh.) She also does a pretty good imitation of Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade, talking about biscuits and mustard and French-fried -- or should that be, "Freedom-fried"? -- potatoes.

Although I have to say MY Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade imitation -- "Ya ought not-a killed my little brother" -- is pretty dead-on, too.

Anyway, I like the thought of looking good in red.

:: Di 9:38:00 PM [+] ::
U.N. Fears U.S. Bomblets Resemble Food Packets

This is the first time I have ever heard the word "bomblet." I must admit, I like it! How could I not? I adore the word "Ramlet," mostly because that was the mascot/team name at my junior high school; we WERE the Moulton Jr. High Ramlets. (Dammit!) And one time, during college, I dubbed my assistant editor Craig as "Craiglet." And I used to call my pal Tracy, whom I fell head-over-heels in love with during our Business Law Class, "Hewlett." (She called me "Betty.")

: )

I've decided I sorta have a thing for this Department of Defense spokeswoman, Victoria Clarke. She looks as if she's squinting all the time, really concentrating, and she also appears to be mildly annoyed. Plus she's got an answer for everything. I like those qualities.

Give 'em hell, Torie!
:: Di 1:11:00 PM [+] ::
:: Tuesday, April 01, 2003 ::
Sex her way

So, this morning, I'm talking to my friend Sheila on the phone. She and I used to work together, and I had a bit of a crush on her way back when, but she's not THAT kind of a girl, so ... anyhoo, she tells me she's been SO horny lately, and that it's been x-number of months since she's had sex -- or, as she puts it, "since I've had MY kind of sex." Which makes me giggle AND nearly knocks me out of my chair. She goes on to tell me that recently, she and another friend of ours ventured into this "adult bookstore" known as The Lion's Den. (Turns out they talked about ME on the way there ... which could only make me wonder! But that's beside the point.)

Turns out The Den wasn't quite what either of them had envisioned.

"I was kinda disappointed," Sheila tells me. "It was like Wal-Mart!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was all lit up and they had these wide aisles, and everything was just ... out there!" Sheila says. "And neither one of us really knew what we were looking for."

I laugh, as if I'm some kind of sex-toy expert. Which I am not. And yet, wouldn't THAT be a great job to have: The person who "rates" various sex toys and writes about them? Hell yeah! (Maybe in my NEXT life ... when I don't blush so easily ...)

: )

So, later in the day, Ginger and I are talking about all this, and we both admit to a certain amount of cluelessness, and shyness, and how we weren't sure we'd be able to just march into The Den and find what we were looking for. If we even KNEW what we were looking for. We decide we'd both probably try to talk someone else into going in for us ... even though we might not know exactly what to tell them to GET for us.

"Maybe it's like when you know someone is going to Missouri to get fireworks," I tell her, "and you give them a bunch of money and say, 'Just bring me back something GOOD.' And they come back with a big paper bag full o' stuff -- and you're not even sure what any of it is, but if you're lucky, it's all exciting!"

(I suppose it might be helpful to know that fireworks are illegal in the state we live in.)

:: Di 9:10:00 PM [+] ::
No more online quizzes for me, thanks.

Just took the "Which Sesame Street Muppet Are You?" quiz and found out I am that fucking Elmo! AS IF Elmo was even AROUND whenever I watched Sesame Street ... AS IF he (?) would have been my favorite, even if he had been around back then! Gimme a break. Anyone who knows me knows I would list Ernie, Kermit, Bert, Oscar the Grouch AND either of those annoyances, Big Bird and Cookie Monster, long before I would have ever named Elmo!

Anyone who knows me WELL, of course, knows that I would rank lovable ol' Grover (I ADORE GROVER!) ahead of any of the rest of the "original" Muppets. Oh, and I think that blonde-headed girl -- the one that said, "Fer shure," long before it was popular or whatever -- was one of the originals; I dig her, too, along with Miss Piggy, Fozzie and the ultra-cool Gonzo from The Muppet Show and various Muppet movies ... the best of which was The Great Muppet Caper. (Grover, Bert and Miss Piggy are the only Muppets I can impersonate; in fact, I can also sketch Bert. Perhaps I will draw, scan and post a Bert portrait.)

: )

(Or, perhaps not. Too much uploading/downloading for my limited FTP knowledge to handle at the moment, thank you.)

Wow, how easy is it for me to get distracted? I headed in here to rant about the latest war rhetoric, and all it took was a minor detour and I ended up on that winding road. Maybe it's easier to get distracted than to think about the war for too long. And I think, again, of Josh, and who knows whether he's safe, or even still alive? And then I think of Saddam Hussein, and his evil, and the possibility of Josh trading his life for Saddam's (if it were as simple as that): Would it be worth it? Would the evil that Saddam and his followers have done, if it could be erased by the sacrifice of others' lives, be worth the potential for a lifetime of good that could be done by people like Josh and the others who are in danger of dying? And the others who have died already?

Tough questions.

I don't like hearing all of this "false bravado" bullshit coming from some of our country's leaders, either. Sure, I want to know that they are confident, but I am not a big fan of "big talk." Just shut up and get the job done.

How long before the journalists start breaking REAL stories about what's going on? And how long before they are inevitably banned from showing images of battle? And how long before people in general start viewing this as the 2003 version of The Real World: Iraq -- or has it already become more fodder for reality-TV junkies?

Now playing: "Give Peace a Chance" by John Lennon. Oh, and I can't find my Rising CD, and I'm a little hacked off over that, but I suppose that's beside the point.

(What WAS the point?)
:: Di 3:12:00 PM [+] ::

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