Ultrasound

So, due to all of the recent complications, Denise had another ultrasound today. Everything with the baby, level of amniotic fluid, etc. seems fine. Whew.

The tech says the baby's 39 weeks though (and not the 37.5 we were supposedly at), which means the little bugger could be coming sooner than expected. Please just hold out until the 21st or beyond. Our kids are stubborn enough without being Taurans.

Also, we finally pulled a tech who was willing to tell me in secret the baby's gender so long as I swore not to tell Denise unless she changed her mind about finding out.

video game meme

I am an Asteroid. I am a drifter. I go where life leads, which makes me usually a very calm and content sort of person. That or thoroughly apathetic. Usually I keep on doing whatever I'm doing, and it takes something special to make me change my mind. What Video Game Character Are You?

Baby Update

Today at Denise's non-stress test there was more decelleration, so they then gave her a stress test to determine whether or not she had to have the baby now or if we can still keep it monitored and hope it can arrive on time instead. They put Denise on disability starting today instead opf the projected/planned date of May 27th. Financially, this blows because we were counting on an extra week of her income before the switch to disability, but whatever it takes to make sure Denise and the baby are fine. Tomorrow she has another ultrasound scheduled to further monitor things.

Movie Meme

Adj put me up to this...


1) Total number of films I own on DVD/video:
I own 445 DVD titles--some are television series rather than films. I did not account for multi-disc sets either (i.e. Buffy seasons 1-7 counted as seven rather than 39). I'd estimate we have about 100 vhs films/tv shows, mostly Batman: The Animated Series and X-Files.


2) The last film I bought: The Big Lebowski. Took a long time for me to get it on dvd.

3) The last film I watched:
At the theatre, Sin City
On tv, Reefer Madness
Rented, the Woodsman

4) Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me:

*Whatever children's movie is on heavy rotation during the given month (this month it's Shark Tale)
*Life as a House (means a lot to me)
*Shaun of the Dead (watched a lot)
*As Good as it Gets (watched a lot)
*The Big Lebowski (watched a lot, almost weekly at Ian's)


5) Tag 5 people and have them put this in their journal:

Drew, Kel, Adam, Erica and Eirik

Return of the Big Mad Spider Killer

Denise had me move Aeia to our bed tonight because she "saw" a black widow in Aeia's window and was going to kill it chemically since she couldn't reach it with an implement of squishing.

I ended up doing all of the dirty work (can't risk her and chemicals with the baby) and it turned out the spider was not a black widow, but a small black garden spider with white spots.

Ah well, can't be too cautious I suppose.

New Baby News

On two occasions now, when Denise has gone in for the non-stress tests because of her low amniotic fluid level, the techs have noted a decelleration in baby's heartbeat sooner after stimulation than is normal...meaning even more tests and a possibility the baby will be induced early.

Denise is past 36 weeks, so there's no danger of the baby coming too early for its own good health-wise. Obviously, my greatest concern is that she and the baby both be healthy. Beyond that, I only hope everything can safely wait 'til after the baby can be born Gemini.

Movies

Rented some movies to get me through the beginning of the week. Here are some extreme mini-reviews:

1. Woodsman: Boring. Not as disturbing as I expected. Falls in to my "plays don't typically translate into good movies" theory.
2. the Darkness: Predictable. Been there and done that.
3. Meet the Fockers: Too prurient, and lost its heart. I love Blythe Danner.
4. I *heart* Huckabees: Interesting but predictable. Formulaic.
5. Blade Trinity: Get it for the eye candy and Parker Posey.
6. Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow: slow, boring, unexciting special effects. I hate Gwyneth Paltrow.
7. Coupling Season One: Since it'll only cost me $11 if I don't return it, I plan to never return this one to Blockbuster. Damn my BBC America for stopping Coupling and replacing it with AbFab. I hate AbFab

Swelling

As Denise comes closer to birthing our latest, I'm finding myself reflecting on something that's occured for me through all three pregnancies: sympathy weight. As she gains weight through every pregnancy, I find I gain as well. And she's a lot better/swifter at losing it post-baby than I am (few weeks for her, months for me). I'd really prefer sympathy back pain or constant urination (well, maybe not that, as it would create a diabetes fear).

I wonder if this is a relatively common occurence; I notice my male friends with babies all swelled. It's hard enough staying as fit as possible as I get older without putting on ghost baby pounds.

Anyone have any extra exercise regimens or diets to suggest for a busy guy?

Weekend Update

I guess I should start with Friday morning and my visit to the doctor for my cough. He literally spent only two minutes with me: listened to me breathe, told me I was misdiagnosed with bronchitis because what I really have is bronchitis (I'm not making this up), gave me a scrip for new & different medicine and ushered me off.

And people are always asking me why I don't go to the doctor sooner. In eight years of doctors visits at Chico, I've yet to be impressed by the quality of care. So far, the medicine isn't working, but I am suffering most of its printed side effects.

Friday night was our bimonthly dose of zombie nerdgames. With great fanfare, Ian's firefighter slash serial killer met his grisly end while separated from the others, only to rise up as a harrowed and reinfiltrate the group. What happens in two weeks should prove interesting, especially since Phil's Mormon seems to be getting successful at converting one of the other characters. And then there's the creepy teddy bear and the dead native American.

On Saturday, Denise started up a new nerdgame campaign, but I missed it because of other events. First it was Free Comic Book Day and I took Lash & Aeia to BaT Comics for free comics, and for the hope of getting the FCBD edition of Batman HeroClix. Only they didn't have the Batman. We had to go across town to another store for that. Meanwhile, the kids loaded up on free comic books.

From there was a brief stop for lunch and then I had to take the kids to a birthday party for the Chrises' oldest boy. It was supposed to rain Saturday, but thankfully it didn't, as the party was outdoors at Funland (a place with miniature golf and batting cages). Funland's party host did a bang up job of hosting the kids at the party. Aeia and I had to leave the party early as she didn't inform me she needed help finding the bathroom (or even tell that she needed to use the bathroom) until after she went to the bathroom. Since we didn't have a change of clothes, we had to go. Lash stayed, as he was going to go over to the Chrises' for a sleepover.

Saturday night I went out with Ian and the guys to the bars and play some pool, etc.

Sunday I slept in a bit, gave Liz (Ian's girlfriend) a ride back to her car, went out to lunch with Robert, spent some time with Denise and the kids and headed over to Ian's early for Deadlands...and caught him and Dusty as they were headed out to pick up Paul. Seems Paul got arrested the night before after breaking off from us and had to sleep it off in the county jail, so we had to head to Oroville and pick him up. Back at Ian's for nerdgames, we survived the insurmountable odds we were left at last week (the remaining wormlings retreated from us because another group had their queen in distress. We gave chase and Phil & I killed the queen).

Was good to get a couple days off from all of the drama of the kids and fostering. Now back to it...

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to my wife, mother, grandmother and all the other ladies out there.

Oh Yeah

...and Happy Cinco de Mayo, readers. It's total serendipity that I was planning on baking up some enchiladas tomorrow.

I'm Contagious

For the first time in a long time, I don't have green hair. For some unknown reason, the dye hasn't been holding as well as normal, and fades almost completely to blonde again in a little over a week. I'm not sure if it's from a change in the blonding, a recent change in shampoo, the color conditioner, or what.

At any rate, I've been having to re-dye the green fairly often the last couple months and it came time to buy some new dye. Only, they didn't have green. Not just my shade was missing--all green was gone. So, as of today, I'm trying out a new color for a while (at least until I can locate some green and go back, unless I enjoy the color break for a while instead): turquoise. I'll be sure to take a picture and post it soon.

As for the contagion... I have an epidemic of kids now who all want their own fair share of non-traditional hair colors. Though they want it, Lash & Aeia aren't ready for a permanent dye, so I compromised and bought some spray-in stuff that washes right out. Now Aeia can be pink and Lash green on occasional temporary basis. And various fosters are jumping on the color-my-hair bandwagon.

We got great reactions from people while out shopping today, but I will admit the sudden influx of neon hair in the house has left me feeling a tad less unique and special. I wonder if I got a mohawk, would they follow suit? ON an additional plus side, the social workers for #1 seem to think that the desire to be crazy with their hair color shows a desire to feel more a part of the family. And they're all great kids, even if they do keep the phone busy all night long.

Tonight I'm stomach achy and vomity. It really effing blows. I'm seeing a doctor again on Friday about the cough I've still had since December. If my stomach's still grungy, I'll have 'em take a look at that as well.

Writing Update

For some reason I think I should thank Braz King for this. He recently posted a comment on my blog about my writing and it's lead me to being fairly incessent about thinking about my writing ever since. To the point where I think I'm on the cusp of writing something that looks like it might be a really long short story.

Birthdays

Yesterday (the 27th) my sister gave birth to her second kid, a son named Quinn Matthew Something Lastname. The middlenames (Matthew and SOmething, I can't remember the something) are after our cousin Matthew and her husband's uncle, both of whom are no longer with us. Baby Quinn is reportedly healthy and seemed a tad large (I don't remember the measurements, just that they seemed big). For some odd reason, I thought her baby was due after ours.

Denise's birthday was today. Aeia and I baked her a cake. You can tell who frosted it fairly easily... The running joke with this birthday is that Denise forgot how old she is, and we haven't really been letting her live it down.

She had her weekly stress test today to check on the baby. Everything still looks good and she might not have to undergo the stress tests anymore if everything is still good tomorrow.

Bad Day

The day started off well enough. I went grocery shopping early in order to beat the late morning crowds. I played a little PS2 with Aeia. Then I picked up Lash from school.

When Lash got in to the van he was holding his arm, like a wounded animal hiding his wound. It turned out he was trying to hide the tear in his favorite shirt: a blue Snoopy t-shirt with long white shirt sleeves sewn in to it to make it look like someone wearing a t-shirt over a long shirt. All of his clothes were a grass stained mess of grime, and his favorite shirt was torn. It took a half hour of coercion before he finally admitted that he had torn the shirt on purpose. His classmates were teasing him about the shirt (they said it was a girl's shirt, which it was not). He told his teacher about the teasing, which netted zero reprimand, and the teasing continued. To the point where Lash tore a small hole in his shirt sleeve with a pencil and then ripped the hole into a much larger disaster with his hands. And then cried for over an hour at home because his favorite shirt was ruined.

I am so f-ing tired of his school. In Kindergarten he would retaliate against the bullies. He'd get in trouble, but they'd leave him alone. After being taught the wrongness of a physical response, he's gotten a first hand education in how teachers and administrators today don't take the time or energy to give a flying flip about their students. I don't expect a teacher to be able to watch every kid every minute of the school day, or even one kid every minute of the school day. I'm not unrealistic that way. What I do expect though, is that a teacher pay more attention to a kid who consistently reports abuse from his peers. At least once a week I get a report from Lash that he's been bullied in some form, from pushing, to teasing, to kicking, to food being spilled on him, to mud being thrown at him. No one ever sees this, and no on ever does anything about it when he reports it to them.

I really feel that if I have to continue replacing his clothing as often as I do due to their getting ruined by other kids at school, his school ought to have to pay to buy him a new wardrobe. I'm this close to encouraging him to return to retaliation against the kids. A couple 2nd grade suspensions might be worth an end to the bullying.

Poem of the Day

Another one of mine:


Stray


A photo of a dead girl
stares at me as I write
for you.

I try to invoke the scene:
you straddled atop me…
but her frozen smile is whiter than our heat.

A vacation snap-shot:
her eyes squinting forever in the sun
seem happier seeing me than do yours.

I want to suck the life
from this dead girl’s image,
press lips to yours and blow in.

My Newest Annoyance

Recently I've been engaged in an argument online in the comment section of an acquaintance's blog. I love intelligent discourse, even when it differs from mine (which happened recently between me and Carolyn, and I felt wen respectfully and intelligently). I hate when someone twists what I say to fit their agenda, or outright ignores what I say because they haven't an intelligent response. I guess it might be hypocritical for me to sometimes be a bit reactionary towards people (though rarely), but hate it when it comes from others. Nevertheless, I'm tired of the slough of people out there who are indomitable in their viewpoints and incapable of engaging in actual intelligent discourse.

Nerdfree Night

Ian and Dusty had been out of town all weekend, so when they returned this afternoon, Ian cancelled our weekly Deadlands game. I was bummed because this was the second week in a row we didn't get to play, and I watched the Angel finale (alas, my poor Wesley) today in order to put me in the mood for the big fight I expect to lose CJ in.

So instead I spent the night at home, got the full report from Lash and Aeia on their visit with my mother and sister and caught up on a little of the reading that's been stacking up for me.

And a shout out to whomever sent me the guitar. Now I have to get lessons.

Happy Passover

I hope my Jewish friends and readers had a pleasant Passover

Poem of the Day

Drew put it on his blog long before I did, but this weekend having been Passover, and our new Pope having been Hitler Youth, I felt it might do for some more air time.


First They Came for the Jews

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

Pastor Martin Niemöller- 1945

Kid Free

Well, only partly. My mother came up to take Lash and Aeia for the weekend on a visit to their aunts. It's been a lot quieter around here, but I miss them and am in constant worry for their safety until their return. Sigh, I'm such a parent.

Never Ending

I've been thinking about coming out of the closet. The concept of it, that is. Obviously, to read me you note I'm not a closeted individual, so it's not thoughts of needing to come out that I've been having, but rather it's been thoughts of how I can never be done coming out. As I've been reconnecting with an old, long-lost friend this past week, the question of outing myself, and when, has come to the fore for me.

As a male in a society where vanilla heterosexuality is the perceived and accepted norm, to meet me on the street a person would generally just assume I'm straight (still hate labels), as the odds are in their favor.

I come out as bisexual to wife (then girlfriend), to family, to friends, but it doesn't end there. Eventually there are more family, more friends. There are coworkers; there are students. There are my readers. Someday there will be my children; perhaps I'll be around long enough that I'll have their children to come out to. Who knows? And then there's always the decision as to whether it might be best (for reasons of personal or financial safety) to not be out in certain circles/situations/circumstances. I hear it all the time: "I'm out to so-and-so and so-and-so but not so-and-so." It's obvious to me that the process is universally similar, or at least it seems to be.

I wonder how much relevence this has on the coming out story as part of GLBT identity. How can any of us have a definitive coming out story if the process is never going to end? Or is it that with every coming out story, there's a particular outing (typically the first to family) that has the most emotional resonance? If that's the case, maybe I'm still waiting for mine, as mine has been rather blase up to this point.

I resign myself to the idea that I can never ever really be simply out. Instead, I'll always find myself in the process of coming out. Every day, every new experience is going to have the potential of a new person in my life, and a new instance of my needing to out myself to them.

Poem of the Day

Small Frogs Killed On The Highway


Still,
I would leap too
Into the light,
If I had the chance.
It is everything, the wet green stalk of the field
On the other side of the road.
They crouch there, too, faltering in terror
And take strange wing. Many
Of the dead never moved, but many
Of the dead are alive forever in the split second
Auto headlights more sudden
Than their drivers know.
The drivers burrow backward into dank pools
Where nothing begets
Nothing.

Across the road, tadpoles are dancing
On the quarter thumbnail
Of the moon. They can't see,
Not yet.

--James Wright

the State of Things

Today we had a foster parent training meeting at the agency. We were taught about fetal alcohol syndrome and the sort of behaviours we can expect to see in children who suffer from this (especially as so many of them end up in our care). It was really informative, except it was nothing I didn't already know (and hadn't sat through two other times in the past two years with the agency). What I would love is a class on the effects of drugs that are more prevalent in Chico (obviously, alcohol is a big abuse in Chico, but we have other big guns--bigger than other topics covered tonight like cocaine) like marijuana, exstacy and GHB. I just think, as I have four teen foster kids now, it would be nicer to learn about/discuss something that's more likely to affect our foster (and bio) kids.

Denise is doing well. Steadily getting larger and more tired. Work is continuing to bug her, but she keeps on keeping on.

Tomorrow is Lash's jog-a-thon at school. We forgot to solicit pledges so I'm blanket pledging a nice sum for him. Last year he ran thirty laps in the tie allotted. This year he says he's going to push for forty. So long as he enjoys himself and does his best.

Aeia keeps getting up in the early morning to be sick, and is then fine the rest of the day, mostly. I'm wondering if she's developing seasonal allergies like me. I need to take her in to see a doc. She's going to hate if she misses school; it's her last week of preschool and none of her friends will be going to the same Kindergarten so she won't see any of them again after this week.

Most of the Rest of the Weekend

Saw Sin City again. Still loved it.

Saturday nerdgames, I continued to feed the group really obvious information about the current situation's background, and they continued to completely ignore it, though they still somehow blundered into defeating the Big Bad of the area. One of them, anyway.

Sunday Deadlands at Ian's didn't happen. Dusty's out of town and we need all of the group present for what happens next there, so after the aforementioned Chuck E. Cheese, I hung out at home with the family, ate teriyaki chicken wings and watched the remake of Reefer Madness. It was ok. Some of the song and dance numbers got to be a bit boring, but I still enjoyed it as a whole. Lovely commentary on the current state of the USA through the lens of 1930s USA.

Reconnecting, part Swei

Among other things, I spent time this weekend meeting with my refound old friend Robert. As an added treat, I also met his daughter Erin and was able to have her and my kids meet, play and become friends. We fell into old habits of our friendship pretty quickly, which was good--like the past eight years were as if no more than the past eight days, only with added kids.

We took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese today and let them run wild a couple hours. Man, I hate that place: bad expensive food and far too warm & stuffy an atmosphere. I can deal with the onslaught of children yelling and screaming non-stop, but the heat always bugs me.

Poem of the Day

From my Master's Thesis, in progress, a translation of Icaro, a book of Portuguese poetry by my great-great-great grandmother Angelina Vidal.



Ave, Lux!


Brazil, Patria de luz! Brazil, terra bemdita,
Que trazes na consciencia o altar da Liberdade,
Onde se abre o missal da civica hombridade
Na pagina do Amor, que os povos nobilita!

Brazil, ninho auroral, onde o Progresso habita
E o pensamento guia os passos da Vontade!
Eu venho a desatar rosarios de piedade
No calix consagrado a dor que em ti palpita...

Mas na hora solemne, a hora da paixao,
Em que chora o sabia, e tece a lua cheia
A mortalha lilial de um grande coracao,

Embora christalise a tragica epopeia,
Minha alma ousa affirmar--Terra da Promissao,
Teu filho nao morreu...porque nao morre a Ideia!


by Angelina Vidal




Hail, Light!


Brazil, motherland of light! Brazil, blessed earth,
you bring into conscience the altar of liberty,
where if the civic man opens the prayer book
onto the page of love, your people are ennobled!

Brazil, dawn’s nest, where progress lives
and the way of thinking guides steps with pleasure!
I come to undo rosaries from piety
and pour them into the chalice made from the ache throbbing in you...

But in that solemn hour, the hour of passion,
the thrush cries, and the full moon weaves
a lily shroud from a grand heart,

though an epic tragedy crystallizes,
my soul dares declare--Promised Land,
your son shall not die...because the idea does not die!



translation by D. Evan Peterson

I Bleed on this Screen for You

I started this journal shortly before my thirtieth birthday. I still am not quite sure whether I had any real intent behind the starting of this. I might have been doing it completely as a lark. In the past year, my time online has been spent far more on writing for this than for anything else, which ultimately surprises me.

See, in real life, while I'm a very open person with pretty much no topic off limits, I'm not at all a very forthcoming person. Most people have to open me up in conversation themselves--I don't do much in the way of advertising my personal life, background, proclivities, etc. Because of this, it's just a tad weird to me that I'm as forthcoming as I am with my life to all of you, many potentially strangers. Is it ironic that the internet can supply me with a weird sense of anonymity while it's being utilized as a function of the exact opposite?

I wish I knew who all comprised my visitors here. I've had a stat counter here for only a month and I know the 1500 visitors it's logged so far can't be only from me, my grandmother, Denise, Drew, Adj and Carolyn (we each would have had to visit 250 times in the month). I wonder though if I did know who all visited frequently, or at all, would I become less open? Can't really say. It would be nice to have a discourse with more of my readers. I have the personal e-mails of everyone I listed above, so blogging is pointless (or is it?) if they're my only audience.

Back to the beginning...I was turning thirty when I started this blog. I was going through a serious bout of early onset midlife crisis, and couldn't figure out why. Now I'm barely two months shy of 31. When I was 13, my dad was 31 and he was going to prison for child molestation. I'm now as old as my father was when I discovered he was a sick sick bad bad man and my own world was shattered by it all. Somewhere in me I can feel another big emotional personal crisis building and I wonder if last year was maybe just the rumblings before the big quake. Maybe it wasn't that 30 was a milestone for me at all so much as it was just a precursor of an age that had major emotional impact on me as a kid. Am I just being f-ing neurotic? I think I'm looking towards a year that will be incredibly hard on my psyche. Damn him for everything he's done in life. Damn him for causing me to plant doubt of myself in my heart and carrying that doubt with me the last 18 years, and every year to come from here on. Damn him.

A while back someone asked me here what my greatest fear was. While I answered with something that is truly a great fear of mine, I lied about it being my greatest. My greatest fear is waking up and finding out that nurture is nothing and nature is everything. My greatest fear is becoming him. Not a chance of it happening, but I still fear it. I think this year might end up being a really big mindf-- for me, and that I'll be fairly neurotic all the way to 32 (and do my best to hide it well).

Maybe I wasn't so off the mark last year when I kept saying the world was going to end on my thirtieth birthday.

Reconnecting

You ever lose track of someone you were once incredibly close with and suddenly just weren't? And then you wanted to check in on each other and you'd moved and they'd moved and everyone's numbers were changed and their mothers remarried or disappeared but regardless changed their numbers as well?

Yeah, me too.

There's a whole slough of my friends (Seth Fuhrer, Micah Brown, Marc Stroud, Robert Harcourt, Erica Swinton, Tom Curry and Michell Gamble for anyone who may be googling them and know how I can reach them) who dropped off the radar at about the same time: when Denise and I married and moved away (ok, Marc stayed in touch a while longer than most, but has been missing a couple years now). Every year or so I try all of the free avenues I can think of to try and locate any of them, and keep hitting walls. It can be very aggravating.

A month ago I was driving around the downtown area and quite literally nearly ran into one of them (Robert); he didn't notice me, but I about shat when I saw him, and saw him walking on to the campus. I also cursed the lack of immediate parking as it made it so that I couldn't just stop.

But it put a fire under me again and once I got home I hopped online to find him in the student directory. Sure enough, I found his name there and was pleased. Then I clicked his name and got an error screen declaring there was no right to view his info. Got the same on every other random sample name, and got the same on my own name. Aggravating. One call to tech support later and I learn that the directory is no longer in use due to fear of identity theft... then why the fuck is it still there at all? Aggravating. Is he in the phone book? Of course not.

However, Robert was a big time nerdgamer and comic reader back in the day, so I put my sleuth hat on and moved on to phase two. I'm in really good with BaT Comics and was able to go through their client list; and he wasn't on it. Wasn't on it at one of the other two shops in town (and I have no relationship at thew third to capitalize on). Another dead end. Argh.

What sucks more than losing track of your friends and being unable to locate them later is losing track of them, being unable to locate them, seeing them by chance and not being able to do squat about it. Argh.

By random insomniac web surfing chance I accidented upon one of those people search sites the other night and searched for myself. Of course I got a bazillion instances of my name, but it also listed each entry by city and by age if known. I clicked one that was obviously mine and got redirected to a page asking me to pay for the info. Ugh. So I typed in his name and his age and got hits for Marysville (his childhood home), Reno (didn't expect that one) and one in Chico. Biting the bullet, I doled out the $19.95 (especially useful as it allows me to get the address/phone info for not only him, but anyone else I can track down for seven days--useless if I've no clue which is their accurate info) and got a physical address for the Chico hit.

So I go there today and no one is there. The shades on the windows are open so I peep in. The walls are bare. Not a picture or incriminating piece of identification in sight. Ugh. Luckily, #4 had forgotten to take her schoolwork out of the van, so I stole a sheet of paper and wrote a windy note, risking giving my name address and phone to a total stranger. I then moved a potted plant from the patio and onto the doorstep, with the note under it so it wouldn't be missed.

10:30 pm tonight I get a call--and it's him. Rock on. We're going to talk more tomorrow and work on catching up, especially since we both ended up in the same city in the long run (he, in fact, lived 3 blocks away from me, before we moved to our current apartment, for two years and we never crossed paths).

I wish I could applaud my own super sleuthing skills. I think I'd exhausted all avenues I could come up with over the course of seven years though, so wary as I was, I guess it was $20 well spent.

Poem of the Day

she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue i touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

(it

was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on

the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and

brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.

stand-
;Still)


My favorite by e.e. cummings

Movie Reviews

This week I rented Sideways and Closer, two movies I'd been wanting to see and hadn't had the motivation to see in the theatre (point of fact, I'd have bought Closer sight unseen save for the fact that the store was sold out of purchasable copies).

I enjoyed Sideways. It was fun. It was decently written. I like the principal actors. I don't think it was great, however. I can't see why it drew so much Oscar buzz, but I at least agree with its not winning. Not great, but good. And as someone who wants to cultivate a better palate for wine, it was instructive and entertaining.

Closer... not quite what I was expecting from the countless reviews I'd read, but close. I love me my Natalie Portman movies; I find her visually fascinating in a way I find so few actors today. Ever since Leon, The Professional I've been captivated by her work. And, by and large (I loves me my cliches), she was the most sympathetic, believable and enjoyable character in the film. Almost didn't return this one to Blockbuster (as they'd then just charge me the difference between the rental and the dvd as new thanks to their new late fees policy) but decided I could probably get it cheaper used later, or new on Amazon.

Poem of the Day

There is no poem that will stop this war

This is not the one. There is none. There is
nothing to be done. We are not anything but
the Hun the fierce images in old textbooks
the Mongol horsemen rape and pillage
villages burning and the laughter of old men.
The radio and television prepare us
for the Super Bowl. But already in Ohio
we are number one. All of us better
than all of the rest of the world. Admit it

it was the perfect game. Allah praise Ohio State.
And admit this all who listen to NPR
the president is smarter than you.
He is riding the armored car of history while you
look for a refuge some safe place for your children.
But there is no place to hide. We are the virus.
Everything that cannot be bought and sold
for a profit falls before us. He knows this
even if you believe he is a fool. He lives and breathes
Karl Marx while you hold up a sign that says
Peace is Patriotic. The laughter of old men.

There is no image to stop the war. No child
with burned blacked skin like barbecued chicken.
The children waste away from bad plumbing and no
medicine. We pass along to each other the chips
and organic carrots. Bottled water.

There is no poem as good as government ensured
bonds. We are wounded with so little interest. There
is no poem that will pay us ten percent and stop
this war. The Germans marched prematurely
through history never understanding the power
of the dollar never having heard of Lexus and SUV
never knowing anything about baseball never
knowing that the Yankees only lose enough
to make the game seem fair. Vietnam is empty
in the memory. Cambodia fills with Wal-Mart
and Burger King. Bombs from 20,000 feet.

The first dictate of battle is to make sure
the enemy has no weapons to harm you.
Disable their best batter. Tonya Harding their best runner.
Then attack and wait for the parade. But dont wait
for the poem that will stop this war. There is none.
The history of the empire has just begun.


Joe Napora

Sunday Night Nerdgames: Deadlands

Not a whole lot happened this session. First we began late because Phil showed relatively late due to hang-over and Paul showed really late due to his recording session going long. When his band's cd is finally cut, I'm bound to burn it and force-feed it down my friends' throats like I did with Cowboy (who I still miss greatly).

Anyhow, much of this session was individual activities as our group prepared for round two with the evil acid monster wormlings from last week (the ones that almost killed me). CJ spent her time at the library continuing her studies and she's now no longer a complete illiterate!

Further Baby Updates

We've reached a consensus on the names, and they're the same as the possible ones I posted previously:
Rael Pietro Maximillian Peterson for a boy (I wonder if Denise would let me push for Maximoff instead, and if she'd get it)
Clea Illeana Miriya Peterson for a girl


Also, we learned that we've a new complication to deal with. According to the latest sonogram, Denise's body hasn't produced as much amniotic fluid as she's supposed to, so now we're on weekly stress testing to make sure the baby is fine. They didn't make it sound like they were very worried, just that it was something we definitely need to keep a monitor on.

Poem of the Day

Another one of mine, published in Watershed volume 26 number 2 (as was the Tatsu poem:


Discovered While Searching Under Bed for Yard Sale Stuff

It caught me unexpected—
your gray hooded sweatshirt:
CalPoly San Luis Obispo printed on the chest,
left cuff unraveling from the sleeve.

Despite months of distance,
your scent lingers:
dried sweat on the chest and lower back,
papaya from the lotion your sister makes by hand
and sent for our second Christmas.

The last time you wore it
was the big Frisbee football showdown
at your company picnic—
big because winning meant showing your coworkers
we weren’t a couple of limp wristed faggots.

I sprained my ankle for the fifth time;
to you, losing us the game.
You seethed in silence the whole ride home—
put a cold wall of bruised pride between us.
Still, that night you bandaged my sprain tenderly
after supporting and soaping me in the shower.

I could still bear standing,
but I needed your arm around my waist,
your hands massaging apricot scrub
into my back.

I needed you pressed against me,
your lips on my nape of neck
as shampoo rinsed us down the drain.

Pulling the old sweatshirt on,
with its shoulders broader than mine,
I still do.

Zombie Madness

Every other Friday night we gather at my place to nerdgame in the zombie horror genre. This week's foray into zombie survival took an interesting turn as a great example of how the best plans inevitably get fucked up by somebody's sudden whim or absolute forgetfulness.

Sadly, #3 is continuing to be a major butthead (an event I meant to blog about yesterday but blogger was down) so his little girl with the creepy teddy bear (it talks to her; or does it? Maybe she's crazy...) spent the session in the restroom and in the van (this episode, they spent the majority of their time in the local tire shop/mechanic that they holed upo in last session, and then made their break for it tonight); this in turn made it so Ian's evil serial killer continued to have no opportunity to kill anyone on the sly (the perverse in me loves that he's playing such an evil monster in a horror story where he isn't the evil monster). Dusty's meth-head was too busy souping up his stolen Mustang to draw more than one preaching session out of Phil's Mormon and tonight's zombie battling was relatively absent (one zombie found within a van inside the shop, two zombie dogs attack Ian's character Randall when they make their break for it).

The beauty of tonight's session was where it all went to hell: the Mormon, the highschool kid (Paul) and the serial killer make this elaborate plan to distract the zombies with the sound of the vehicle motors in the garage so that Randall can sneak out and go to a sporting goods store for survival supplies while they then open the garage doors, plow through the zombies, go to the nearest grocery store for supplies and meet Randall at the sporting goods to pick him up. The methhead jumps the gun and tries to plow through the garage doors and then the zombies, almost killing the Mormon. He gets through, though severely messes up the 'stang. Regardless, their two vehicles make it out. Randall, walking solo, is beset by two zombie dogs and he dispatches them. Methhead sees him and abandons the plan by driving to him (alerting more zombies to his presence) and trying to offer him a lift. Randall runs away into an apt. complex, zombies chasing him slowly as the cars return to plan and head for Albertson's. I ended things there, with Ian unsure of how endangered he is, because cliffhangers are fun.

Poem of the Day

The Shipfitter's Wife

I loved him most
when he came home from work,
his fingers still curled from fitting pipe,
his denim shirt ringed with sweat
and smelling of salt, the drying weeds
of the ocean. I would go to him where he sat
on the edge of the bed, his forehead
anointed with grease, his cracked hands
jammed between his thighs, and unlace
the steel-toed boots, stroke his ankles,
his calves, the pads and bones of his feet.
Then I'd open his clothes and take
the whole day inside me-the ship's
gray sides, the miles of copper pipe,
the voice of the first man clanging
off the hull's silver ribs, spark of lead
kissing metal, the clamp, the winch,
the white fire of the torch, the whistle
and the long drive home.


-Dorianne Laux

Beautiful Serendipity

Perhaps my favorite episode of Coupling re-aired this week, and given my venting in previous post, it was quite serendipitous.

In this episode Susan and Steve are preparing for Susan's baby. We open with Steve having a dream where a plane crash he obviously has no control over is a metaphor for the pregnancy. Awake, they sign up for antenatal classes. Susan asks Sally to join them as Steve's back up. Sally asks Jane to come as her back up. Jane demands new beau Oliver joins her, and he ropes Patrick in because he doesn't want to be the only bloke there. Joy of joys, at the class itself, Patrick is revealed to have slept with most of the women there, during times they were dating their SOs. Blah blah blah. The men adn women are paired off separately to discuss birthing issues. In the question of pain relief, the men unanimously decide on the epidural as the only sensible option (and while I'm friendly with the idea of the epidural, I really don't care all that much what Denise chooses for this) and all the women toss it out. Steve follows with a beautiful instruction for all of the participants to go home, take off their shoes and socks, purposefully stub their toes and try to make the pain go away by breathing.

Anyhoo, Susan eventually tells Steve that she's decided that even though she doesn't want an epidural, she knows she'll ask for one when the pain gets bad and she instructs Steve to make her request the meds three times before letting the doctors administer the meds (I only hope she puts this in writing and submits it to the hospital beforehand, otherwise the docs won't listen to Steven anyway). Steven is now given control over something in the pregnancy, and while incredibly miniscule, it puts him afloat emotionally.

We end with Steve dreaming of the plane again. This time everyone on board but him ate the chicken and got extreme food poisoning. The stewardess recruits him to help as he'll be the only one capable when the time comes--and then hands him a bucket and mop to clean up all the pending vomit with, as the plane's autopilot and autolander will take care of the plane--he's only needed for clean-up. I thought it a great metaphor for the insignificance of the significant power he was given.

I suppose I should have put a spoiler alert up at the top for Adj, as she actually watches the show too.

Poem of the Day

Here's another of mine. This was published in Watershed magazine 3 1/2 years ago. I need to dig the issue up for my c.v.




Tatsu, Awaiting Her Daimyo


yesterday, blossoms fell from gingko—
small pink stars float through blue heaven

kitsune greeted me at Kiso’s bank,
her black-tipped nose poking out from tall reeds

small white koi dash when my pail breaks water,
fills so I may have tea—

swollen with your legacy.
during harusaki, you promised to return

before gingko blossoms fell






copyright D. Evan Peterson 2001

Baby Names

As with Lash, we've (read: Denise) decided to go back to two middle names, as opposed to the three we gave Aeia.

Currently, a boy child looks something like this:
Rael Pietro Maximilian Peterson (I'm amused she's now pushing for a Peter Peterson after shunning me for liking the name seven years ago for Lash)

girl:
Clea Illeana (something to be determined, I like Miriya (goes with the Max above) or Zor-El) Peterson.

The first names are my choice, but don't think that they're sticking because I was actually given the power to name the kids--I stole that particular power by deciding the name I liked and then telling Lash and Aeia what the names were, and getting them to believe that those would be quite definitely the names we used. As they take any insinuation from her that the name could possibly be anything besides Rael or Clea as a sign that she doesn't love the baby anymore, Denise caved. See the level of dastardlyness I have to resort to?

Poem of the Day

THE ENCORE OF AGE

The cacophony of youth
badgers for an encore,

tries to impose brown hairs
through an all grey head.

But perpetual dreams have given way
to unmet desires and blighted visions.

Grey is softer and more forgiving.
Maturity is an acquired taste.


- Judith Pordon

Sunday Night Nerdgames

If I had a badge, I'd wear my Nerd Proud.

Aside from other occasional get-togethers, I reserve Sunday nights for nerdgames at Ian's with him, Paul, Phil and Dusty. Since I started with them in July, we've been playing the game Deadlands, run by Ian (I also play/run a nerdgame on either Friday or Saturday alternating weeks, and then go out for young guy partying the other weekend nights, for those keeping a tally; the family gets me weekdays and weekend mornings/days). I liken Deadlands to 4 parts Dark Tower, 2 parts Road Warrior and 1 part Unforgiven.

Now, it should be noted, that we use the term "nerdgame" with love. We're proud to get our gaming dork on every week, and it doesn't hamper our ability to have fantastic non-nerdy fun with non-nerdy people any other time. We aren't 300 pound, 30 y/o, hygenically challenged social misfits who still live in their mothers' basements.

The character I play there, C.J. Chambers, is a 17-year old female gunslinger who disguises herself as a male (leave it to me to play a member of the GLBT community in a nerdgame). She's illiterate and hiding it, comically clueless, absolutely afraid of dogs and vindictive as hell. And she's death walking with guns in each hand. I like cowboys.

In the eight months I've been playing there, maybe two weeks have passed, close to three at the absolute tops. In that time she's had her first drunken lesbian experience, fallen in love/been hopelessly smitten twice: each with gruff, taciturn men (one was mute). Each time the man died before she could reveal her feelings for them. All of her friends keep dying (only one from the original group she met when I joined remains alive--Dusty's Templar, Helena) and in some ways it's broken her spirit a bit (eg she's refusing to become friends with Paul and Phil's replacement characters for their dead ones--especially since Phil has been on a huge dying streak lately).

Every time I start to think she's getting to be really cool, Ian puts her in major life threatening crises (the worst was when he poisoned me and left me still dying at the end of the session to wait two weeks before finding out if she'd recover. Saving her cost me many fate chips). This week she was given the blessing as a companion to Helena's Templar in a big ass ceremony at the Templar mothership in Boise. It was really moving for her and got her back on track for wanting to open up to people again. And then Ian killed her. Well almost. She held on by the skin of her nails while being ambushed and beaten the f out of by some nasty acid spitting tunnelling monsters, held on 'til the baddies were all smoking corpses and then collapsed, one breath away from dead before the others were able to save her. It was a very nail-biting session for me.

Part of me thinks Ian did it on purpose, because I joked with him while we were out the night previous about how CJ was never going to die, but just in case I should probably start a back-up character in the unfortunate event I have a run of Phil's luck.

Poem of the Day

Daddy
by Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time --
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You --

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two --
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Poem of the Day

One of my favorites:

lumpectomy eve
by Lucille Clifton

all night i dream of lips
that nursed and nursed
and the lonely nipple

lost in loss and the need
to feed that turns at last
on itself that will kill

its body for its hunger's sake
all night i hear the whispering
the soft

love calls you to this knife
for love for love

all night it is the one breast
comforting the other


Copyright Lucille Clifton 1996

Poetry Time

April is National Poetry Month (how many of you even knew that?), and in celebration of this, I plan to post a poem here for all of you to read and ponder over and hopefully enjoy every day that I come on to blog (which means not necessarily every day).

Some days will be my poetry, some days will be others' poetry (and hell, if you have a poem, you can e-mail it to me with "ok to publish on blog" and your name, or even post it to one of the comments), some days will be famous poets/poems.

I'm starting off with an old haiku of mine:

Little Tokyo

small baby walking
topples blocks down and moves on
Godzilla stomping

I want a refund

In 1988 DC Comics gave its fans the opportunity to vote on the fate of one of its comic book characters: the second Robin the Boy Wonder, Jason Todd. As I had given up on DC by then because of feeling personally slighted by the deaths of all my favorite characters in Crisis, I was happy to vote for Jason's death, repeatedly over many phone lines, even though I actually kinda liked him. Anyhoo, it was a 900 number and it cost money to vote him dead. This week an issue of Batman came out revealing that Jason Todd has returned from the dead. Since my vote no longer counts. And I PAID for my vote. I want a refund.

Yipee Ki Yay

Sin City opens tomorrow and I was fortunate enough to rope the lesbians in to babysit all the kids so that Denise could join me and Ian (and whomever else) to see it after she gets off work.

As the weeks grew nearer and nearer the release, I've surprised myself at just how much anticipation I'm having over this movie. It had so better not suck.

Crap on a Stick

I went out with the Chrises and watched Ring 2 tonight. What an utter piece of garbage. Sure, by sequel law it would have to be an inferior picture, but it’s really far up there on the scale of awful movies. It starts off completely ignoring the rules established in the first movie when Samara kills a teenager who had made a copy of the film in order to save himself (now you have to make a copy and get someone to watch the copy or you die). From there it goes downhill really far, really fast into a poorly executed parable on motherhood and sacrifice. The one shining thing about the film is that I didn’t pay to see it, as the Chrises ponied up the $7.50 before I could reach the ticket booth.

Top 5 Worst Movies of All Time:
1. Highlander 2
2. Ring 2
3. Blair Witch 2
4. Hangman’s Curse (lest you think they’re ALL sequels)
5. Open Water

Dawn of the Brain-Dead

I realize that not many of you visit our little poli-blog, Good Mourning America, and that's fine of course. But I do want to direct you to a post I made there this evening (shares a title with this post and is hyperlinked to this post's title). Drew recently posted there about recent censorship issues, and I came across another that really moved me to tears over the idiocy of it all.

If this kid gets any sort of legal punishment, what repercussions can we expect? If Stephen King writes another monster novel set in Maine, should he be arrested and charged with terrorist threats towards the people of Maine?

Green Envy

Out and about downtown today with Lash, we went out and got haircuts and then tried finding new parking downtown in order to hit a couple stores. I'd forgotten how densely crowded downtown is on early Saturdays, in good part due to farmer's market. I should consider stopping sleeping in on the weekends.

Anyhow, was greatly annoyed to see an open parking space in the public parking, only to find that half of the space is actually occupied by an SUV driven by what must have been a half blind person, as the damned vehicle took up two parking spaces without actually filling either. At the very least s/he should have had to pay both meters for the parking spaces.

Eventually we found parking elsewhere and were able to hoof our way tyo the various shops I wanted to hit. The first one had mysteriously disappeared in the six months since the last time I'd shopped there. This sucked as only two stores (that I know of) have the green hair dye I need-this store and a more expensive one. Since this one had cloaked or something, I had to get new dye at the not as cheap store. Then we dropped by BaT Comics to chat with Ian before grabbing some lunch and heading home.

Today I am freshly green again. I tried a new bleach (my hair is too dark to make green without first making it blonde) and it barely made my scalp itch with irritation. I'm definitely using this brand again. I should take a new headshot for my profile. Hopefully I'll remember to light it better as well.

Nine Months

It's hard to believe that I started this blog nine months ago. I read somewhere recently that the older you get, the more time seems to fly between each year. Stephen King (darn you!) even wrote a short story about this called "My Pretty Pony." I never really started noticing the veracity of this until I started getting older.

Almost a year ago I was whining here about turning thirty (an event that still bugs me. I hate getting older). In three short months I'm going to be thirty-one. This blog will be a year old (it really does seem like it was just yesterday). I'll have a new baby.

I just killed the most ginormous spider. It was huge (about the size of a quarter), yellow and mere inches from my knuckles perched above my keyboard. Ick. I'm getting spine chills just typing about it.

It's 3 am and I'm still awake... darn you insomnia!

Frustrated

Sometimes it's really aggravating. I know some of my friends are feeling the same ire... I get so tired of a life where the best multiple college degrees get you is a job in a shoe store.

Tattoo You

I'm under heavy pressure to re-dye my hair before St. Patrick's Day. Apparently, the green tips aren't enough for people so I must end my laziness. I'm toying with the idea of keeping the sideburns this time and greening them as well.

So, I've pretty much decided on getting a tattoo, and saving guitar lessons for when I can afford the time, or beg them off of Paul, and the ideas I've been considering:
1. Lash & Aeia's names spelled in Japanese Kanji and/or hirigana on my left chest (with room for future baby later).
2. Bands around my arm consisting of the following repeating number sequences: 91397 and 20400 (my kids' birthdays), with new bands added with new babies.
3. The male/female symbols (circle+cross and circle+arrow, only the circle+arrow twice) with the circles interlocking on all three to symbolize my bisexuality.
4. A barcode on my inner forearm (my statement against The Man).

Thoughts? Votes? Other suggestions?

Insomniac

It used to be that I was just a night person--heavily so. There was this one summer where I'd be out with "friends" 'til 2 every morning and then be right back up for work at 5 in the morning, nap after work, repeat (I so miss that summer, by the way). I've alluded to this summer before, but the people involved are likely the only ones I'll not write about, sorry.

Eventually, I became used to going to bed at a more respectable hour, and getting up relatively early still. I've come to enjoy sleep.

That said, lately I've been struggling to get myself to bed before one in the morning (and then likewise struggle to wake at six). If I try going abed earlier, I just toss and turn, or stare at the clock.

It's beginning to vex me. That and the fact that my incredibly annoying bronchitis is still plaguing me 2-3 times a day.

Sigh.

So, does anyone have any suggestions for helping a poor man sleep?

Busy Beaver

Been doing a lot of errand running this week. Between meetings at the foster agency, kids' counselling appointments and making sure all the kids get some new clothes, I'm still surprised I found time to sleep last week. Spent most of this weekend out of the house with various friends, doing movies, etc. grabbing dinner, playing nerdgames Sunday latenight.

Today I baby-sat for Chrissy. The younger kids all had some difficulty behaving this morning, which was a bit of a pain because I hate reprimanding the little guys too much. I'd rather they just have all the fun they want, but when they start breaking rules and hurting each other. Enh. No one's eyes were poked out at any rate.

Finally got the slashed tires on the Mustang replaced today, and got it towed to the shop to finally be repaired. Looking forward to getting it back so I can drive it again while we then take the van in for a much-needed check-up.

Nerdgames: the Next Generation

Some know I run the HeroClix tournaments at our local comic store every week. This past Wednesday we finally got in the demo kit for the demo that I ran two weeks ago (a demo kit includes player sign-up cards, figures for use in demonstrating the game to newcomers, etc.) and donated up my own figures to those who showed. No big deal that, I give my extra clix to kids all the time, it helps bring them in and brings my tournament attendance up (so does having foster kids who like to play). This particular Wednesday, only a scarce few showed for the regular tournament, so they played and finished a good deal before we normally finished, so I decided to hold an impromptu second demo where I taught Aeia the very very basic basics of the game while explaining it in small detail for those interested passersby. Lash, who had been in the tournament and taken second, and was now done, helped me train her by playing against her. Beginners luck had her rolling dice superior to Lash's and she won against him, which excited her very much (and now she's asking to play all the time, so more training must follow), so now I know I've both kids hooked on the nerdgames (as Lash is anxious to be "old enough" to play rpgs as well).

Memorial Day

Tomorrow (Saturday) morning is the memorial for Lash's friend Kailee and her family. He wants to go and I'll be taking him. I wish I could read his mind, know what he's thinking and feeling. Every now and then he gets this really withdrawn expression on his face and quiets up. I asked him tonight if he wanted to talk with me about Kailee and he said he would, but he hasn't finished thinking about it yet. He hasn't finished thinking about it yet. He's seven years old and I don't think I could have expressed myself that way in the same situation at thirty.

I'll post whatever I frickin' want. Gosh!

Some people are going to totally get that title, and everyone else is going to think I might need meds.

So, today was Aeia's fifth birthday, but since we're spending some of the latter portion of tomorrow celebrating it (as the earlier portion will be spent at other business), I opted to make tonight a movie night and sat down to four movies I've either really wanted to see or had been heavily recommended to see: Alien vs. Predator, Open Water, Napolean Dynamite and Garden State.

AVP: It was really about what I'd expected, and I felt it was better than I'd heard. I really enjoyed that out of just three Predator's important to the plot, two of them were dispatched by one badass Alien (and the third was offed by the queen. I call that a win for the Aliens, even if it was the Predators that flew off at the end as the survivors). I did feel that it skewed more in favor of the Predators when it came to depicting killing of humans, which was sad as the Aliens are much more scary human killers.

Open Water: For an Indy flick, it was decent. For anything else, it was so very incredibly boring. Shark Week was brought up so many times that I realized I would have enjoyed myself more had I been watching Shark Week. I seriously could not recommend someone spending eighty minutes of their life on this.

Napolean Dynamite: I was probably never going to see this. KC recommended it to me, and he never likes movies enough to recommend them to others. Ian and the boys have been annoying me all week with quotes from the film too (annoying because I didn't get them). So, I watched it and it was brilliant. Brilliant.

Garden State: I bought this for myself without having seen it (a recurring trend of mine I'll blog about some other time)--what can I say, I'm Zach Braff's whore. A vast departure in tone from Scrubs (or was it?), but I absolutely loved it. It had a fantastic blend of drama, romance and comedy (although, honestly, I wished it could have ended less predictably, but I don't think anything else would have been satisfying as an end either--damn you and your "live for the journey" Stephen King!). When I recategorize my dvd shelves (planned for if/when we move) I think I'm going to bring back the "Good Drama" and "Bad Drama" sections (guess which section had a really really really small selection) it'll fall into the Good Drama section (which I think only has like five other movies: Pieces of April, Life as a House, American Beauty, As Good As it Gets and whatever one I'm forgetting at 12:43 in the morning).

God Bless the BBC America

I do so love the BBC show Coupling. It's a rather blatant rip-off slash merging of Friends and Sex in the City, only it's actually funny. Last night's Jane subplot where she falls for the Christian guy and joins his support group, only to explain to the group that God is fictional, and regionally fictional at that (as he's different in different regions) and then waxes poetic about how sexy the god Thor is with his muscles and his blonde hair and his hammer... I don't know. The show left me positively giddy.

Ditto last night's Daily Show with the bobble-head Steve Colbert.

Moving on to tonight's new episode of CSI... for four seasons now I've been harping about how unstable Sarah Sidle is when it comes to domestic violence cases and it only now finally gets brought up? And I appreciate finally being let in on her big secret, but I find it hard to believe that her superiors wouldn't have already had much of that information beforehand. Parents murdering each other must show up on some sort of psyche profile when you join the police academy, I'd hope anyway.

Cough, Cough, Cough

Well, the antibiotics are gone, and they took the sinus infection away with them. The cough and bronchitis, of course, are still here. Not raging as bad as before, but still way deep into the range of annoying. If I exert myself, I cough a fit. If I eat I cough a fit...

Sigh.

Lash is doing better.

Loss

Yesterday Lash learned that one of his friends had died in a car accident this week. Her family was on a trip to Mexico, driving through this awful fog we've had lately. Another car was parked on the highway and they didn't see it in time due to the fog (and lack of lights from the car). When they tried to avoid it, they rolled. The entire family was killed.

To his credit, Lash is dealing with the news fairly ok. He had a couple spontaneous crying jags yesterday. We talked about what had happened and how his friend is being missed.

It's such a hard situation.

Ill

I was so sick Monday that I was unable to get to the doctor. Instead I spent the day unconscious on the couch (and so our anniversary was fairly uneventful as well).

Tuesday I made Denise take Lash and me to the doctor (Lash had begun coughing and sniffling Monday).

Lash had the beginings of an ear infection. He's now on Dimetap.

I have really bad bronchitis and really really bad sinus infection. My head is in constant ache from all of the coughing, as are my back, shoulders, sides and diaphragm. I couldn't use the restroom yesterday without getting a cramp in my belly (and I've discovered it's impossible to bend over the bowl and vomit if your stomach is cramping). Feverish and lightheaded I'm having some difficulty concentrating. I spent Tuesday, most of it, unconscious on the couch as well.

I'm on ibuprofin, an albuterol inhaler, a steroid inhaler and antibiotics.

I'm gonna take a couple more days off and rest and try to feel better. Hopefully I'll be in fighting order again soon.

Still Sick

Well, my cough is still going strong. It's gotten quite annoying, frankly, and now that cough drops are no longer amelliorating it I think I'm going to make sure I have the free time, and take it, to go see a doctor and get this taken care of. I hate seeing doctors because they always lecture me on shit they think I can actually control, like reducing my stress... short of mind altering stress medication, the only way to reduce stress would be for me to abandon my family responsibilities, which isn't going to happen. I'm just so tired of the whole thing. Doesn't matter what I go in for, I always get the lecture on reducing the stress in my life and eating better (frankly, I eat quite healthily, I just don't show it). Which all leads up to being wracked with a cough for almost two months now and not having it looked at.

Sigh.

I imagine I'll be getting it done Monday, which also happens to be mine and Denise's anniversary.

the Wheels of the Ka go Round and Round

I have forgiven Stephen King.

He still killed my Jake, which still pisses me off a good deal. And he still shattered the fourth wall left and right, which annoyed me to no end--especially when he interrupted the novel prior to the last twenty pages to urge readers to stop reading (which I actually did).

But it's because of this advice that the Dark Tower ended in a place where it feels somewhat redeemed from my previous anger.

I now have six weeks of comic books that have been waiting for me to read them, and then on to something new to read or re-read.

Baby Update

I realized I haven't blogged any pregnancy news since announcing the discovery of a lump in Denise's breast.

As far as the ultrasound tech is concerned, the lump was just a swollen gland. I also am no longer able to feel it.

The ultrasound revealed that the placenta is currently resting on her cervix, which it should not be doing. It's likely that it will move off of the cervix as her uterus expands, which is the scenario we all want. If it doesn't, when she goes into labor they'll have to do a Caesarian or Denise'll bleed to death.

While it's all likely to be all right, it's actually really disheartening for me (Denise is not worried at all). With Lash, Denise almost died after birthing him. The placenta caused other problems when she was pregnant with Aeia and we almost lost Aeia.

As much as we want a larger family, I don't think I can risk making her pregnant again after this one.

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Bad Hair Week

I got my haircut two days ago and I hate it. I look like a jarhead, which is fine for those who want to look like a jarhead. I, however, do not. Oh well, at least my hair grows quickly and I'll have it in a fauxhawk and dyed green again soon enough. I'm just tired of wearing a knitted cap to cover the bad hair already.

Fuck Stephen King. Fuck Him in His Fucking Ear!

As many of you know, I've been faithfully re-reading the Dark Tower series, and first reading the last three books in the series (all released in the past year), far and beyond my favorite story of Stephen King's. I write this in defense of those nutjobs (of which I must be one) who get so engrossed in the lives of fictional characters that what happens to these characters creates intense emotional, often somewhat insane, reactions. I mean, when Joey chose Pacey over Dawson, millions of teen girls were livid.

For me, it comes to this, for some unknown reason, my favorite chearacters always die. It's as if authors somehow channel into me, find what needs to be done in order to make me love a character and then goes out of their way to kill the character off, often in nonsensical out-of-character deaths. Sometimes it feels as if the author is saying that the characters I love aren't good enough. I hate falling in love with a fictional character and then seeing the character die.

It's less of a shock if the character is short-lived (perhaps spanning just one book, television episode or portion of a movie), but even then, if extremely well written/portrayed, it still gets me. It's worse when the fictional character is a part of your psyche for years and years. I can see why Annie goes so crazy in Misery and for the first time ever, I think I'm actually siding with her.

Take the Dark Tower as an example. While I've been reading the series only since 1992 (thirteen years for those who can't subtract), there are readers who've been with this cast of characters since the seventies; readers who have loved these characters and clamored for more books and lined King's pockets for thirty years. But note where I put the emphasis, because for true fans, that's the only place that really matters.

Imagine if Sam Raimi wrote an Evil Dead 4 movie. Imagine he writes himself in as a character--a character named Sam Raimi who created the universe that the main protagonist Ash lives in. Imagine this fourth installment revealing that for in order for Ash to save humanity from the Deadites, he has to save Sam Raimi from being hit by a van while walking in the woods so that Sam Raimi can live to write the fourth movie you're watching unfold. And then Ash gets hit by the van and dies saving Sam Raimi.

What the guff, man? Let's not just tear apart the fourth wall. Let's not just toss in an incredible headache of surrealism into a form that doesn't quite need it. No, instead, let's do all of that AND kill off our favorite character while doing so.

So, I'm a bit over halfway through the final book of the Dark Tower, already broken up inside a little over what's happened thus far, and then King does exactly that (only, obviously, it isn't Sam Raimi and Ash, it's Stephen King and his character, saving himself from the van that hit him in real life).

I literally almost stopped reading the book. I know that if I don't finish it in the next couple days, I likely will never finish it. These have been characters that have been a part of my psyche for half my life almost. This is a series I'm constantly dreaming up cast wish lists and script ideas for, because while there is no movie, there is one in my head. Though fictional, stepping into their world is like visiting an old friend. Stephen King just hit one of my best friends with a van meant for him.

Congratulations, It's a Ham

Lacking all originality, I made a ham for the holiday (Christmas for the kids, non-denominational winter celebration for me) and, of course, I'm quite pleased with how it turned out.

I took a nice small city ham, hand-sliced the criss-crosses all around its flesh, put it in a pan tented with foil and baked it at 250 for two hours. Then I took off the foil and peeled off all of the rind (not all that difficult if you cut the criss-crosses in). After that, brushed on some dijon mustard, patted on dark brown sugar, and sprayed it all down with Dr. Pepper. Normally, the doctor would be followed by either breadcrumbs or crumbed ginger snap cookies, but I actually forgot to buy either of them and nothing was open Christmas Day...

Then the whole thing went back in at 350 for another hour to ninety minutes and came out a beautiful, moist and tasty dish.

As for the materialistic end of the holiday, I was happy that we were able to pull off more gift buying for the kids than I'd anticipated. Lash and Aeia were really cool and positive with the prospect of not getting much, which made it happier for me to end up giving them more. Aeia wanted, and got, these fuzzy pink boots that are to die for. She and Lash have spent the past three days doing little else than playing with legos, pirates and green army men.

Denise and I spent the day (from nine to nine thirty or so) watching the extended Lord of the Rings in its entirety. Those extended versions add so much more richness to the films. I love them.

I also want to publicly thank a friend of mine who, despite bad money problems of his own right now, went out of his way to get me a copy of the third Invincible trade paperback and get it signed by the writer. Thanks, buddy.

I need to buy stamps and send thank-you cards.

Pet Peeve

I've finally gotten Denise to start reading the Dark Tower; meanwhile I'm only about half-way through the final book myself. I don't want to possibly spoil the book for her if she reads this, but I've just finished the battle at Algul Siento for those who've read the book and am upset--not because of the death that occurs, but because, as typical, King freakin' broadcast the death way in advance.

Stephen King has this nasty habit, and as much as I enjoy his work, this still really bugs me every time (some people might say his nasty habits include being too wordy--not me; inserting himself too much in his works--doesn't bug me too much, a little though, particularly in this series; the way some of his novels that aren't anything alike are still somehow connected--I actually always dug this, even more now). This one nasty habit he has always sets me off. Always makes what could be a great book, just a good book--he preannounces the deaths of characters (with lines like "so and so promised to tell everything he knew when they had a moment to rest, but that time never would come in this life").

Why on earth does he do this? Does he feel it might soften the blow for his reader or something if we know way ahead of time (in this case, an entire book ahead of time, as he forecast this specific death in Song of Susannah)?

I hate it. I'd rather be shocked and saddened by a death. I'd rather read a book wondering what is going to happen (something he made me do with excellence regarding Jake and Callahan and the end of SoS). The surprise is such a better emotional impact. Instead, he sets things up with heavy-handed forewarnings that leave me reading the book wondering when instead of if.

I really wish he'd stop doing that.

Burning Down the House

Spent some time with the kids today watching a little tv. It's funny, I can put in a children's movie, and they'll invariably grow bored if they've already seen it. Half-hour cartoons work slightly better, but not 100%. Now, Good Eats or 30 Minute Meals on the other hand... both kids will sit with me and watch them in re-runs. Aeia, all four and a half years of her is a 30-minute meals junkie. She really loves watching the show, and always wants to help me now in the kitchen--which is uber-cool, since I'm all in favor of kids learning kitchen safety and comfort. Today we rewatched the ham episode of Good Eats and veal cutlet rolled with mozzarella, bacon and herbs on the other show. It looks yummy and I'll have to give it a go.

So anyway, after getting the kids excited about the arrival of Santa after they get off to bed, Denise sets to baking cookies. No real feat here, since she got the premade dough (not that I hold it against her--while I love cooking, and am excelent at it, I loathe baking). I don't know how many batches of cookies she burned, all I know is that in a six-bedroom, two story apartment with three smoke detectors, she got all of them to go off, and two of them to go off more than once. Cookies.

Reading

At the moment, I'm reading the Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower. I've been waiting for this series to complete itself for just over fifteen years now, since I first read the first book in the series. This past summer I sped through the first three books again, stalled a bit on Wizard and Glass (while one of the books I liked most in the series, I was overly busy and had trouble finding reading time), then I picked up steam again on Wolves of Calla and blasted through Song of Susannah. Now I have slightly more free time at home for a couple weeks, and I find myself slowing down on my reading. Am I doing it because the kids are home and I get more time with them instead? Am I slowing down because this book is The End and maybe deep down I didn't want Stephen King to finish--deep down I'd rather he died (like the fictional version of him IN the series does) so I could always draw my own conclusions as to what happens?

(Personally, I always thought Jake would be the one to make it to the Tower, and not Roland...now I guess we'll see since I will eventually finish the book).

Taking a Break From Cracking My Knuckles

...seriously. I've been doing it all evening.

The past week and a half or so has seen me coughing, a lot, wheezing, I have this nice raspy back current to my voice. I should probably go see a doctor, but I probably won't rationalize myself as having the time to do so until after Christmas (all week I've been mispeaking and calling it Thanksgiving; I even almost typed it as such). And hopefully by then, with the help of much orange juice, it'll have taken care of itself. Wouldn't it be funny if I had a mild case of pneumonia or something?

Our friend KC gave us a lottery ticket for Christmas. We won twelve bucks! Thanks KC.

I am so not looking forward to Tuesday and Wednesday, as that is when I'll be beginning, and ending, my holiday shopping (had to wait til Tuesday to know how much I can spend on the kids). I hate traffic this time of year, and holiday shopping as well. At least I'm saving some stress by holding my decision to only provide gifts for the kids--less stress over having to figure out the perfect gifts. Kids are so easy

Aeia the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Yesterday was the Christmas party at Aeia's preschool. All of the little kids wore little self-made reindeer ears and had red lipstick noses.

Santa also came to the party and gave the children new coats (Aeia's is a reversible deal that looks retro seventies. She refused to have her picture taken with Santa, however. She doesn't really like him in person.

Warming Trends

Well, it seems that either 1. Our heater was fixed properly after-all and took some time getting going or 2. Our landlord entered illegally and fixed it while we were out at some point this week. Either way, it's been record colds here in Chico this year, but it's been much more bearable inside the last couple days.

Chilly

A couple weeks ago we came to realize that the reason our heating bill has been lower the past two bills was because our heater wasn't coming on when the thermostat indicated it should. We only started noticing it wasn't working because it has gotten much much colder of late.

So two weeks later, showing more promptness than usual, our landlord finally has the heating guy out here today. He's on the rook nearly a half hour and then comes down to say the problem was the pilot light to the furnace, which he relit, and our heat would be back in a few minutes. Then he took off. Two hours later, we still had no heat...

Renewed calls to landlord has him saying it'll get taken care of again, and correctly, tomorrow. hopefully none of us will freeze to death before then,.

DSL Fidelity

My DSL provider (SBC Yahoo) sent yet another technician out yesterday (this time without even telling me) to check on my internet problem. Forget the fact that in three separate phone calls, after the first two visits had determined the same thing (that my modem was fried by the thunderstorm)--they still had to come see again. And came again to the same conclusion. They then tried to sell me a new modem for $170.

Had this happened during my first year of service, they would have replaced the modem gratis. If I were a new customer, I would get a new modem free in exchange for agreeing to keeping their service for a year. Instead, my fidelity to this particular provider is being rewarded not at all.

After I told this techie that I was expecting my mother's old modem, and that if it didn't work I would cancel their services and get a new provider, and a new modem through them, the techie was quite cool and actually tried to get his supervisor to give me a new modem free. No dice.

So, SBC is going to lose a customer. Once my mother's modem arrives, if it doesn't work (and given my expectations of her poor packing job, it won't), I'll be taking my business somewhere else, somewhere cheaper, and somewhere happy to take in my service.

the Tale of Two Thanksgivings

First comes Thursday, and the Thanksgiving celebration I hosted. Aside from myself, Denise, Lash, Aeia and #3.1, our friends Terry and Kathy (lump-referenced in this and many posts as "the lesbians") and my grandmother were in attendance. The lesbians were supposed to bring some nieces, but the nieces' mother had another homophobe day and they didn't get to come, nor did invited guests KC and Paul.

This was both the first year I'd done the turkey entirely on my own and the first time I'd ever cooked for my grandmother (she, her sister, her mother--all excellent old=school Portuguese cooks).

After thawing the turkey for four days, I got between the skin and flesh and gave it a rub down consisting of dijon mustard, teriyaki sauce, evoo, fresh parsely, sage, rosemary, time, garlic, juice and zest of lemon. Retained half the rub and added a cube of butter to it, and this was the basting fluid. The bird ended up awesome.

And if it hadn't, I had two more to try improving--Lash won a turkey in a school contest and Aeia's school donated turkeys to all of its students.

I also made homemade cranberry sauce. It proved too guormet for grandmother, who was expecting plain cranberry-sugar-water homemade sauce and mine was quite different. On the plus side, Kathy, who hates cranberry sauce, had two helpings (we both attribute it to the port that was part of the component).

Anyhow, it was a great success followed by a four hour game of Zombies!!! which my grandmother almost won and I eventually did win.

The next day we were invited to Chris and Chris' for a Thanksgiving meal. Denise had to work, but the rest of us went: the kids spending the day playing together, #B.1 playing video games and me chatting with friends. Their turkey had been brined with herbs and vegetable stock and ended up really moist and good (though I maintain mine was better).

the News

On October 17th I blogged an entry that mentioned, off-handedly, that Denise's breasts seemed fuller, which could mean only two things. The one I was sure of proved true after we tested for it three weeks ago.

I hold to a superstitious belief that we don't announce these things until after the thirteenth week. Today we had a prenatal exam and the midwife says her best estimation is that Denise is fourteen weeks pregnant with our third child. So there you go--we're having another baby.

We'd been planning for this to happen. Had actually wanted the baby about a year now. It's due in mid-May. I'm hoping it'll be late like the other two so I can have a Gemini, rather than add the burden of Taurus' stubbornness on an already stubbornness-infused gene pool. As yet, things look good. So far there are no signs of the complications she had while carrying Aeia.

The midwife did discover a lump in Denise's right breast, though. I am, of course, concerned, but she seems confident it is a swollen gland due to the pregnancy. We'll find out in ultrasound in two weeks.

the Return of the Top 5

I'm currently deeply immersed (and nearly done with) in reading Stephen King's The Wolves of Calla from the Dark Tower series of novels. I love these books. Wolves ties in some more of King's novels into this grand epic he's been building for so many years. And even though I cheated and read the last paragraph of the last book, I'm still looking forward to finishing Wolves, reading the next and then reading the last--and at the rate my reading's going lately, it'll keep me occuppied til after New Year.

Top Five Books by Stephen King:
1. The Dark Tower Part II: The Drawing of the Three. The best of the best.
2. The Stand: Complete and unabridged. I know there are purists out there who prefer the original, shorter version. Heathens.
3. 'Salem's Lot
4. Skeleton Crew (my favorite of his short story collections. Just got a new hardcover copy of it in the mail. Groovy)
5. The Shining

Shauned Again

Last night I went out with the Chrises and Jira to see Shaun of the Dead again. This was the last weekend it was playing in theaters here and we still hadn't actually seen it in a theater, though I've watched it nearly weekly now since I got my copy in September. It was playing at the Pageant Theater, which is Chico's local indy arthouse movie theater--the front row seats are couches (unfortunately, we didn't snag those) and every movie has intermission while the projectionist changes all of the reels. It's a great little atmosphere, and remains a great little movie.

the Big Red Stain

I just want to start this out by saying that the veterninary medicine profession really has a nice racket going. There should be medical insurance for pets.

#B.1 has this problem with never remembering to flush the toilet when he takes a leak. The cats prefer drinking their water from the toilet rather than from their water bowl. The other morning I noticed reddish fluid on the bathroom floor; it kept reappearing. When picking Bingo up, red pee squirted out of him...and so off to the vet we went (while I do not like our cats, my kids do...).

Three hundred dollars we can't afford later, Bingo is on antibiotics and is looking at another follow-up visit and tests that should run almost as much. He had a massive urinary tract infection caused primarily from ingestion of urine.

Not the sort of financial output I wanted to make a month before Christmas.

Computer Problems

Aside from the modem damage from the thunderstorm, I've discovered a substantial amount of other problems with my connectivity.In fact, this post may not even make it through...

Something is wrong so that most of the time I now log on, my internet browser crashes. Then, someties when it does work, it will suddenly stop if I click a link and will then crash. In every instance, the browser is trying to redirect me to "badurl.grandstreet.com" and then crashes itself.

I fear I may have to crash my computer and dump the majority of my hard drive and start over from scratch. If that's the case, it'll be some time between my being online. As I'm vastly more a computer idiot than not. Should I disappear from all my blogs and e-mail for a few days (other than my typical weekends away from being online), that's what's happened. Hopefully I can manage to find the source of this problem instead--hopefully.

The Princess and the Hellboy

Now that I've finally found a decent image hosting site, here are three pics of Lash and Aeia taken from this past Halloween (the same day as my post "Sampain" below).

The kids got me lots of great candy.

Not Dead Yet

I've decided not to give up on you America. Believe me, I've come very close. I even toyed with writing letters to Oprah Winfrey asking her to forget the car and just fund my emigration to Canada.

Instead, I choose to not give in. This election sucked. This government sucks. It seems to me that the majority of the nation is either blind or stupid, or both. Or just mean and cruel; I really shouldn't discount that option.

I'm a teacher (when budget cuts don't have me laid off that is), and so I've decided to try to educate instead. I've created another new blog: Good Mourning America. The title, while a play on more famous words, is a representation of my feelings--that the good (of which I with great hubris number myself amongst) are now mourning America.

If, in the next four years, the work I do there can sway even one person away from the Dark Side, then I'll feel there's still some hope for us yet. We'll just have to see.

But I'm not doing it alone. This one's a team effort. I already have two close friends joining the effort, and another on the way (I hope). And I'd be happy to welcome more like minds to aid in the cause.

My new slogan:

Bush wins reelection: It's not the end of the world--but it could be.