You say hello, I say goodbye

So-
our cat is likely to die anytime now. It would have been a one way trip to the vet today, but we’re going to try one more drug regimen and hope for, but barely expect, a miracle.
Not to mention, somehow we just couldn’t do it today, even though I thought I had psychologically braced myself and brought the book of prayers to say over her with me....

Sudden,

wierd, outta nowhere, PM earworm while driving down Fuller to Huron Parkway to school.
Candles In The Rain - Melanie

"stealin' when I should'a been buyin' "

"A friend told us a story about an old guru who walked barefoot most of the time. This produced a rather impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail. And with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath.
Thus he became a super-callused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis."


Nicked from Guruphiliac. You've all probably already heard it but it was one of the few recent bright spots that elicited a short, sharp, bark of laughter, like this - HA
http://guruphiliac.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_guruphiliac_archive.html

Boris?

I’m not usually this squeamish, OK well thats just a lie. When it comes to weird, crawly, creepy, little big, black (possibly hairy) things I see out of the corner of my eye, that disappeared or fell, somewhere from the top of the table next to me, it is why my feet are now drawn up under me and the hair on my nape is rising and falling in waves.

Earworm radio this AM:

A mashup of PIL songs. Most easily identifiable - Hard Times and Disappointed. This is easily explained by the fact that I cruised the John Lydon website last night while doing some research on early Hip Hop. Specifically, what year Time Zone’s world Destruction was released.

The Goobers and Raisenettes jingle. Hmm, not so easily explained at all. No sir, not at all.

Pictures Of Lily - The Who. That ones been stuck in there for days for fairly obvious reasons.

Dub Affair

At the park yesterday. As well as a handsome stranger....

Pictures Of Lilies

Make me feel so wonderful

Auspicious Numbers

Visitor #3333 just cruised through.

SOMA

Speaking of urban boom and blight:
I’m watching a lot of Ypsi folks get very excited about the fact that Matt and Renee opened a new “tasting room” in Ypsi. While I think generally new, locally owned business is probably good business, I have an issue. Somehow people think that a new bar is of the same urban viability class as other businesses. That it is to be celebrated, name dropped and (briefly) mobbed into. This is particularly true here in A2. I contend it is not a sign of viability. I contend this is some creepy form of Manhattan envy.

Everyone has seen decayed cities where the only active businesses left are bars on every corner. Bars are not an indicator of economic stability. Pinning ones urban planning hopes on bars is not a viable option. New bars become old bars VERY quickly. If the neighborhood does not have a reasonable grocery store and other community friendly business the bar becomes a liability not an asset.

The real issue here I suppose is my ongoing peeve with alcohol culture in this society. I really hate it. The idea that otherwise intelligent, responsible, and community minded people will overlook the negative impact of alcohol culture on their environment, likely because they are living an alcohol infused lifestyle and just don’t want to examine the realities and impact on them, their friends and families, neighbors and neighborhoods, really bums me out.

The fall of Troy

Troy suddenly becomes newsworthy, by attempting to block a Hooters franchise from going in within city limits.
Some Troy councilperson on the news this am:

“There’s an image that Hooters has developed over the years, and that’s sex, and that’s what the people of Troy are concerned about”
Two things battled for supremacy in my mind upon hearing this said, but here’s how it shook out-

(A) The rich, smug, white, folk of Troy have nothing better to be concerned about than sex? Why does this remind me of the 1625? There is a pack of winter starved wolves in your field eyeing your small children and your only milch cow and you are really busy making sure your 10 year old has on the required number of petticoats, thick enough stockings and that her really devilish and tempting hair is completely covered so as to preserve her honour.
OR
(B) Are you sure you’re really that concerned about boobies? Isn’t it really the possibility of having to rub psychic elbows with NASCAR, hairspray helmet hairdos, and the kind of people who think washing down 3 dozen, overpriced hotwings with a pitcher of Miller Lite at Hooters is a really, really good time, Troy?

Entree’, bien venue, wilkommen, come on in

AM Earworm - I’m Tired - Lily Von Shtup

“ I’ve been with thousands of men,
again and again
they sing the same tune.
They’re quoting Byron, and Shelley
then jump on your belly
and bust’cher balloons -Oi!

I’m sorry but...

I have to insist that emoticons are evil. (And awful). I will admit to having tried them once, but I didn’t inhale and I felt really cheap and tawdry afters.

Fessin’ up

Ok. All right. Ok then.
I have been deep in the throes of a great, sticky, vast ball of stuckness. I am not all the way out of it but real progress is being made.

I think I have learned something about the nature of my issues if that’s any consolation to me. I have been able to separate the components of the breakdowns in general. This has given me a better handle on what the underlying causes of the general malaise's are.

I had always thought the main issue was depression. I now realize that before depression comes too high a level of anxiety. I have a definite X factor. I can handle up to such and such a level. But if it goes over that, I start to breakdown and things start to slide and a downward spiral begins. Then after that comes the depression.

So now I know, that if I were to choose medication as a tool, that an anti-anxiety as opposed to an antidepressant might be more efficacious.

In the meantime, part of what has helped was:

Being forced to do a bunch of house cleaning and rearranging due to having a new temporary house mate in the process of moving in.

Sending to the A2 Thrift Shop, 14 bags and 2 boxes of clothes, shoes and purses that have been clogging the basement (and my psyche) from an ill-fated business venture with Largebeat 2 years ago.

I actually managed to successfully complete both my FAFSA and my scholarship application in the very nick of time, and by the skin of my teeth. I cannot tell you how that felt to have confirmation of my submission this morning. I was so relieved, I felt queasy.

Last night, having done myself proud at having my first lovely BBQ of the season. In honour of the lovely Nigel Patel (what a nice guy he is). It was swell. Uncle Bunny was the other invited guest, and adding to the loveliness were drop-ins by Dali Madison, WoodwindsWoman, and Psyche.

I was actually ready (other than last minute things) 2 hours early. Which meant I could take a long, relaxing shower after cleaning and cooking all morning. And be cheerful, relaxed and ready, as opposed to harried, grouchy and skunky.

Menu please:
• Corn chips with fresh quac, salsa and sour cream
• The ubiquitous teriyaki flank steak (Knights Market)
• Ribs (Knights Market)
• Amish chicken thighs (Knights Market)
• A burger (for Oliver, Knights Market)
• Super white girl potato salad (my best this year yet!)
• Homemade baked beans (I added cinnamon, which I loved and Oliver hated)
• Fresh, excellent, corn on the cob (Knights Market)
• Watermelon for afters

As well as Uncle Bunny and I enjoyed a few stimulants, which included a demitasse of Cafe’ con Leche with that foo-foo coffee sugar that begins with a d that I can’t ever remember the name of.

Then I ran some potato salad over to Uncle Bill whose been poorly for quite some time. He loves good old, Mom style, comfort food when I make it. Thus I was able to report to Lizardbreath that he seemed relatively sprightly given his circumstances.

So now it’s time to attempt to make more progress, maybe actually pay the bills, get the long distance turned back on, get an electrician in here to fix the knob and tube, and get an estimate on a new roof.

Oh, and be prepared for millions of pictures of lilys as they are about to start going nuts.

Earworm of the AM

John, I'm only dancing - Bowie

The Bat House skull

The legitimate skin pop

It’s not really IM and it’s certainly not IV.
So you get everything ready and even though it’s nowhere near as critical you still make damn sure every bit of air is out of the syringe. Old habits die hard and it’s just part of the ritual.

I never used to use alcohol swabbing as part of the ritual, so that’s new. I guess with old age comes some wisdom. As well as being entitled to use a nice new needle every time, there’s certainly something to be said for that. When I think back... wuh, shudder. Some of the contraptions and last stand efforts. Gahh. It’s positively just gruesome what an addiction will cause you to do to yourself.

The thing with the insulin is, that I can tell the minute the needle starts puncturing the skin, if I‘ve chosen badly. I suppose I could retract and shift around for a better spot, but it feels like once you’re so far in, you’re committed. I could easily be wrong about this. Maybe it’s less bad to pull out and find a different location to go in.

But I can always tell right away whether it’s going to be a problem or a breeze.
Afterwards, sometimes it itches, sometimes it burns, sometimes it aches. Sometimes all three simultaneously or in rotation.
Today was one of the bad call days.

Oooh all the pretty colours

We were reminded last night that it’s very difficult to work on the computer with a migraine halo. Have you ever had one of these? They are bizarre. You may have had one and not known it, I didn’t know what it was until I said something to my Mom, ages after I started getting them. She was all like “Oh yeah, it’s migraine halo, I get them a lot too.” And here I thought it was some kind of divine retribution for having indulged in far too many illicits.

Mine looks like a Native American beaded belt. Have you seen those? With the geometric patterns all the way round? Only as if it was made out of brilliant, prismatic lights instead of beads. Then it just floats around my right eye for awhile.

My solution is to immediately pop a couple ibuprofen and wait it out. I’ve only ever had one full blown migraine and I do not ever want to do that again.

Hmmph

Shows how much attention I pay to things, but seems like someone could have mentioned that when blogspot had it’s little freakout the other day I ended up having a particularly lame post published three times. Thought you guys were my friends?!

Soft To Touch

I was thinking how good it could be
as I was sinking in the bed under me.
While I’m sleeping the night drifts away
daylight comes and the dream starts to fade.

The world I live in seems so lonely.
My dreams are gone and I feel empty
when I think of how long it’s been
since that someone, that certain friend.

Cold shoulders, dead lovers
the bed is frozen in crumpled sheets.
Night calls saying “lost forever”
that dream so fleeting when morning comes.
Outward turning, lights are blinding,
time is binding the teaming streets.
Crossing borders stream leaving friends
passing as wasted heat.

Watching faces that pass on the street
looking for someone who is looking for me.
Searching eyes which is futile so far
I never dreamed this would be so hard.

Soft to touch I need so much
Soft to touch I want so much


Copyright Oliver/Stella 2006

Watch me now

I’m on a cleaning and clearing binge. Let’s see how much I can accomplish before it wears off. Apparently I can transfer the energy from the estate cleaning to my space after all. Maybe that’s why I let it build to an imperative. I work well under imperatives.

Shoo-dang

I feel a whole lot better (in some ways) now. I’m stuffed full of Momo’s and bread pudding. I was just at a lovely, sunny, graduation party for my Tibetan princess math tutor. I got a really good, hard, pinch from the Pinchin’ Lama. And I made nice with a few dharma sibs that there has been tension with for awhile.
Lizardbreath and I just hit a serious level of completion on the estate that we’ve been dealing with since March on Saturday. Now if I could put my personal life and space together things will be much, much better. I think I deserve to go get stupid now.

I simply-

Cannot wait for the lilies to bloom this year!

The chairman of the bored

Note:(This should have been last nights post but blogspot had a spazz instead)

Class is canceled tonight, so I have an illicit additional evening to attempt to: do way overdue Math and English homework, fill out financial aid forms and write a letter to submit with a scholarship application which will extol my virtues while keepin’ it real and humble.

A fantastic side effect is that I get to listen to the whole Face The Music Hour with Professor Arwulf Arwulf, instead of just the first 15 minutes which is all I usually catch on the way to school. We’re old compatriots. I really owe him a tremendous debt of gratitude and love. He really livened up my whole existence in High School with his Surrealist Literature class in 9th grade and then teaching me radio in 11th and 12th grade. And just generally putting up with my smarmy and obnoxious ass repeatedly as a young person. And now for continuing to provide me (us) with wonderful radio on Thursdays at 7pm on WCBN and Sundays at 10:00am till 1:00pm on WEMU.

I made possibly the weirdest smoothies ever, which, not having been made with my own yoghurt had the consistency of a fluffy, fruity, pudding.

I have been going through one of those periods where I can’t seem to answer the phone, look at the mail, pay the bills, or read the newspapers. Despite having read May 15th through June 4th the other day to try atone, I still can’t seem to attain any further rummaging through the great piles of paperwork which have stacked up.

I am not sure what to call it. Lethargy, anxiety, depression? Oh my! Lethargy maybe. Anxiety, maybe. Depression? I don’t think so. I could be wrong but I’m not convinced. I keep writing it off to having been so very sick and stressed out that I just need a lot of naps and what not but it seems to be a little deeper than that.


Maybe it’s due to having had very little in the way of fun lately. I may really need a thorough dusting off. It’s been very close to 2 years since I’ve gotten stupid drunk, torn my ass, broken a bone or two and hurt myself in some ridiculous fashion. Although the broken hand that never healed properly from the last bout of drunk on a skate board is still reminding me not to do it again. But there is nothing quite like a good drunk or trip to get the cobwebs outta my brain. Right now the little spiders of staleness seem to have taken up permanent residence.
I tell myself “you are an old and sick lady my friend, and that’s all behind you now.” But I am BORED! And I’m rarely bored. Even reading Bond all week and finding a Louisa May Alcott I’d never read hasn’t really helped.

Wahh. I’m just a little pitiful right now. Ignore me while I go soak my head.

Your Anger

It’s not gone anywhere yet. I have faith that given more time and more practice it will eventually lessen.

But in the meantime what it looks like from over here is, that what you’ve learned to do is to change it’s approach. Once upon a time it was a tidal wave and would create wide swaths of devastation. Then it became a bludgeon, but still nearby people would get splattered with gore. Now you’ve turned it into a laser beam, and while the bystanders that used to get creamed in the fallout do have cause to appreciate that, it is no less devastating to the target who remains shredded and flailed. (And really, who really wants to witness an execution? Even if it's physically splatter free, it's just not so on the psychic level).

So, don’t think just because you’ve gained targeting skills and focus that it’s somehow dissipating, or that you’re magically better now. The white, hot, core is still there and it’s still all yours.

My Bad

I realize I should have inserted a plug for Dreamland Theatre in Ypsilanti in the whole puppet rant. My old schoolmate Nia Venturi runs the operation there and makes some perfectly lovely creepy, fantastical, and twisted puppets.

Old acquaintanceship served me well the first time I went, as I got a tour of the tiny backstage and workroom.

I admire people who can do the hand arts, That is something I’m just not good at.
I probably could have done if I wasn’t terribly busy putting as much substance through my system as my height and weight class allowed all through Jr. High and High school. If I had just sat in a corner and practiced art, I could have developed a minor talent.

Hmm, such a conundrum, develop a minor talent which would have potentially at least helped keep me entertained in my life now. Or have lived the insanity I did and have all the juicy material available for the talent I showed a definite aptitude for, which is variations of this exercise I’m engaged in.

I suppose had I believed I was actually going to live through my adolescence I might have wanted more education and practice at a few things. But live and learn I suppose.

Super-Marionation

Did you ever wonder was there anything, any stupid thing, you could mindlessly watch on TV very early on Sunday mornings? Well on CBC, before Coronation Street comes on, there is good old Mr. Dress-up.
Now it’s very sad that apparently he has retired Casey and Finnegan. Even though Casey was a fairly creepy puppet, the puppeteers voice was good and helped belie some of the creepiness. I’d rather a good old fashioned creepy puppet than the endless string of Muppet knockoff kids as puppets.

I do like me some Muppets, but unfortunately, to some degree, they kind of destroyed puppeteering for a long time as every puppet then seemed to have to have been made of that weird, knobbly, squishy looking stuff for years after. I think people thought it seemed more kid friendly or something.

But I think puppets were meant to be kind of creepy and fantastical looking. I think I still have our old witch puppet somewhere. It was made in those early days of plastic and it was super freaky looking. Even my old, meant to be heroic looking, Batman puppet was freakish.

I did fall in love with a couple puppets, one was a kitty puppet because it was fuzzy. If you didn’t grow up in the days of everything being made of strange rubber and funky, odd smelling plastics, you might not realize the revolution that Steiff-like fuzzy things were when they came out in the early seventies.

Some of my favourite freaky puppets were Jerry & Sylvia Anderson's marionettes.
I loved the show Stingray and thanks to Mr. Science I own every episode on VHS. I never saw Supercar till an adult, and maybe that’s a good thing, I might have been twisted beyond repair...