Crossing the Great Divide

Inverted earth

What if we were to rise tomorrow morning and find...

that war was now unthinkable.

people did not slaughter other human beings for the sake of gaining power.

Focus on the Family was openly advovating for all families to be recognised as such legally.

all of our troops would be home by Columbus Day.

all factions in Iraq agreed to end the fighting and work towards rebuilding the country.

that health care for everyone was going into effect at noon time.

that every nation on earth agrees to end emission of greenhouse gasses.

the Pentagon asked to reduce it's budget and transfer the funds to development of science and technology for peaceful purpose.

all schools would be fully funded.

a programme to train a large number of educators was being implemented.

same sex marriage was legal across international borders. All international borders.

illegal immigrants were no longer illegal. And their homelands now had good paying jobs for the people there.

I'd in fact lost my ten pounds.

the ERA was passed overnight.

the Gulf Coast was in full fledged rebuilding mode, in a sound ecological manner.

we were ending sanctions against Cuba; Cuba was moving to democracy according to it's own needs and vision.

a non-polluting means of producing energy was found, which was cheap and readily available to the entire world.

everyone had work in the field of (their) dreams.

people stopped and listened to each other.

it was interesting.

the president admitted to his mistakes.

...we understood.

choice became an unquestioned right.

contraceptives were readily available to all who desired them.

we have moved out of the giggle/abstain/refuse to educate stage on human sexuality, into the informative age.

everyone just chilled out for a day.

families found not their old structure, but the strength of a new reality, and new ties.

What if?

Sans moon mumblings

I've not been posting as prodigiously the last few days, preoccupied with where life takes me. Interestingly, we are in a new moon phase, yet are seeing full moon doings... we are tidal, and as with the tides, we are getting whammed on a dual cycle of nuttiness.

With this in mind, I'm not responsible for what wanders from mind to fingers to keyboard.

Tom Cruise - not a big fan, and should declare this up front for clarity. Paramount... has every right to do as they have done. I've every right to refrain from watching most of the fare he acts in. Yet... there is unease in me over the root of this separation. Whilst I am also not a scientologist, and don't even play one on a blog, or wish to, it is nonetheless his belief system, and hope what we see is more reaction to his abhorrent conduct in dissing Brooke, psychiatry, and such, than it is about his beliefs.

I hope not. And also hope Tom learns from this in how to better respect others, whilst the rest of us kinda make sure we aren't dissing this guy for the wrong reasons. Right reasons... ok. Now if that makes sense, you are immune to this moonal cycle.

I've been moving my music blog under the type pad account. It's not something I post to with the frequency of this space, but since I am so dependent upon music, it is a natural for me to store such stuff. Hopefully, with it now located under my account, I can update it a bit more. I've lots more artists to add to the sidebars. Please keep in mind these are only artists to which I actively listen at this point in time... so if ya wish to peek at this work in progress... World In A Song

Michigan Womyn's Music Festival... um, those of you who know me know my views on this, which is basically ambivalence, always has been. I've taken some heat for that over the years, but... there are so many issues within issues here, I'm just gonna say one day we will find a way to heal this wound in *all of us.*

IE 7 beta 3 sucks. I'm quite sure this is not the first space to say that. It has more flaws than I do.

I've put my iVillage playing on hold. Over the last few years, the nonsense directed towards the lgbt community has racheted upward, and the mods there are slow on the draw. I know some are sympathetic, but also have a suspicion others aren't, and well... I reached a point where it was time to rethink my regular involvement there. I'm sure they miss me not. Will I remain away? I'd never say that, because I could play there in five minutes, or not for a year, but think it is temporary, whilst my mind just finds whatever it seeks before returning. I tend to go into such contemplative moments.

I'm reading Pema Chöndrön, kids stuff for those that read of such things, deep stuff for me. It's written for my wee brain.

I've not done much blog visiting this week, so I shall start making my rounds shortly. After I pee.

Island of the palm tree

How I came to this island is unknown. How long I've been it's only human resident, lost in the haze that is my mind. Where exactly I am beyond the greenery, the one tall palm that is my protector, sand, and water, a mystery.

Yet I am here. Interestingly, there are amenities, as if someone had painstakenly packed what they knew would see me safely through my stay.

There are the tools of survival, some imported, some native. The island, for it's small footprint on the vast expanse of ocean, has fresh water. The island has a bit of elevation, mostly darker coloured rock, from whence the freshwater bubbles up and flows. Of course, elevation is relative, it cannot be more than 30 feet above sea level. 

It rains every day, but only for an hour or so, and around the same time. There are numerous plants that I've sampled for edibility, with much success - and enjoyment. Some plants are of sufficient size as to have created good shelter.

The imported items, those which apparently found their way to be stranded with me, are the most curious. I've a laptop which sports a hand crank, requiring 2 minutes of turning around what I estimate to be every hour. Naturally, there is no internet access, but there is a programme for a personal diary. And praise goddess, my itunes player, intact with 1,600 songs.

I'm finding Beth moves me more than ever. Also prominent upon my playlist are Dar Williams, Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, Cheryl Wheeler, Naomi Sommers, Kate Bush, Linda Perry, Natalie Merchant, Patty Griffin, Shawn Colvin, Sinéad O'Connor, Suzanne Ciani, Melissa's Ferrick and Etheridge, Melanie, Lisa Loeb, Ana Nalick, Leona Naess, Kirsty MacColl, Annie Lennox, Kathleen Edwards, Joan Osborne, Joan Armatrading, Indigo Girls, Dusty Springfield, Cyndi Lauper, Dixie Chicks, Dido, and a my token guy musician, Leonard Cohen. OK, we'll add a few bands, Rusted Root, The Corrs, The Cranberries, The Allman Bros, and a pseudo band, Delerium.

Bet on Beth getting the most play.

I don't tan very easily, and it's hard to tell how my skin colour might have changed here. The temperature is a rather constant 82° daily, around 70° at night, when there is a hint of a cooling trade wind to keep the air fresh.

Tomorrow I will be examining several items scattered seemingly at random about the island, which in my mind's eye, are potentially the prerequisite parts for a quite feasible and usable sailing vessel. If so, we shall undertake this endeavour with great zeal, and upon completion will set sail for the places that lie beyond our horizons.

The wrinkles of time

I'm setting here frustratingly bewildered, totally at a loss on what subject to commit to this screen.

I'm searching for and through mental cues and clues. That well is dry, tapped an over amount this week. What's going on in my life of interest? Easy. Nothing. How about with family, friends, etc... well, not really crazy on writing much on their doings, which after all are... their doings.

Old standby's? Music? What's playing in my head... I'm not ready to make nice... by the Dixie Chicks. Nah, can't shape that into a posting. Politics, the president has now called out Islamic Fascists. Hey, way to go George, ya just pissed off another million or two and got them up and on their way for terrorist training... but, nah.

I look at this screenboard. Compose Post... ComPost. Yeah, ComPost. My mind is fermenting. Or is it atrophying? Throw some yeast in here, please. Um, I tore down walls, only to build new ones. Oh, yeah, I've got walls. Safety first... not where my typing should venture on this evening.

The beer I am drinking. A Sam Adams Summer Ale (yum.) Har, beer talk. Maybe I should brew some again, right. My mom would shoot me for the stench that would be left in it's overboiled wake.

Readings... blogged on that already. Future readings,well... I have some on my hunting list, see Katie's Reading Frenzy for good suggestions. I'm taking a suggestion from there for next B & N visit. Puma Chöndrön will be coming along as well.

Sports? How about a WNBA team in Boston, grrrrrr? Geesh. Should I write an entire sports post?

Hey, I'm more than halfway through my character selection and type placement, and have yet to touch the overused cliché of a title of this thread.. ok, wrinkles. They start showing up when your chronological registry of time around the sun shows the count as 51+. Some days more than others. And depending on weight, eh? Too thin, more wrinkles. Too heavy... wrinkle morphs into something worse. Angled light... more wrinkles. No matter, my brain is wrinkled, and on that one, I'm not alone. I can live with those wrinkles. Just don't plasticise me. There was a two part, rather ugly report on NPR about this the last two days.

There are wrinkles in everything I do. Which means a caveat to every rule, an unexpected turn in every expectation, wash and wear in reality can morph into wash, iron, and wear, hell, even the carpet can develop wrinkles, and that one is highly annoying.

Maybe I really need to just be reading the creativity of others. Blogher offers a treasure trove of a hunting ground, but if I go in that window, who will pull me back out?

Stories for a Monday...

Since my brain could not possibly wrap itself around or form a cogent line of thought, maybe some scatteredness might be the way to go...

I listen lots to NPR on my commute, and this means you are the recipient of stories found interesting from they and my drive.

We have a rather amusing commentary on Preaching to the Pocketbook, wherein Robert Franklin actually questions things like asking for donations for the minister's Rolls Royce.

Then there is the The Great Manatee Explorer, apparently thinking Henry Hudson had the right idea.

In the struggle to keep us safe, our ever vigilant and resourceful government has saw fit to turn around a bunch of Iranians who bothered to get cleared, make a who knows long flight, and send them on back home. The reason? State secret. The discourtesy? Typical. No California Reunion for Iranian Visitors. Axis of evil, Bush's enemy de jour and all, so all have to be evil incarnate, right?

Then there was Betsy Chalmers on Faithfulness. I cannot imagine what she has faced down over the years. We tend to find things that we believe, and those things get us through. How I know that now.

And in the Boston Globe, Cathy Young scares me pondering if in essence an ability to go for the kill is essential to being a viable nation in Is the West too civil in war? Scary, indeed. We need the world to think we will blow it up to live in peace? Madness.

Now the best story in there is the manatee one. Manatees are kewl. Manatees are peaceful. Manatees are creatures we pay no heed to as we cavort madly about our waterways. Here is this magnificent but from our point of view, wayward creature, exploring places other than the Florida coastal ways. Perhaps this manatee has had enough of boat propellers, and has set out to find an unclaimed land free of hazard. Perhaps this is the Jonathan Livingston Seagull of the sea.

Be well, be safe upon your path of self discovery.

Words weird

Now and again, I'll be reading along through some writing when a word just jumps up and starts screaming "I'm a weird word! I'm a weird word!" And no, I've had nary a beer or anything else today. What I do have are dry eyes and words weird.

I just finished writing a post on a message board. It contained the word bombed. Unfortunately, it's a well used word currently. But whilst proofreading my posting, there it was, calling me in contemplation.

Bombed.

From the Latin bombus. Oh, gawd. Bombus. There is a bombus among us.

1a. An explosive weapon detonated by impact, proximity to an object, a timing mechanism, or other means.

3. A long forward pass.

5. A dismal failure; a fiasco.

6. An old car.

7. A great success.

Huh? A dismal failure? A great success? Was this defined by the Massachusetts Department of Transportation, which has a highway carrying two names and which the directions are listed as north and south? (I forget which ones, it's either I93 or I95 and the 128 beltway around Boston. And they wonder why the ceiling is falling in the 16.4 billion Big Dig.) I digress.

And last but not least...

Intoxicated by alcohol or a drug.

'A' drug? There are some out there who do a whole lot more than 'a' drug.

Such curious and wide usage for the descendant of bombus. Wonder how the Romans used the word? Think they wrote reviews on papyrus of feeding Christians to lions? "Those Christians were skinny and could not run, the production bombus!" would read this hypothetical historical review. Or how about going to the regurgitation bar to eat and drink to excess, barf it all up, and begin anew? Would this lead to pronouncements of being totally bombused?  (OK, I'm not well versed in Latin.)

How about someone's chariot, wherein the odometus has thrice turned over? Would they then enter the old bombus in a demolition derby? Surely the wheels would then be spoked... um, spiked, the chariots driven by Christians...

Wonder if there is any mention of the word bombus in the Bible? Not if they were trying to forget being lion lunch. Oh wait, long forward pass... that's in the bible, right? Aren't all the football rules in there? So yeah, bombus would be in the playbook section. Paul, you go deep and curl towards the middle... of course, Magdalene was the star quarterback, but they cut her part out of the book from the first Coliseum Bowl..

So lessee... someone could throw a bomb, which would mean the play was a bomb if not caught, or a bomb if caught, then after the game the players might drive away in their bomb to go get bombed, but pray no terrorist was around to bomb them. And if they fart?

Language most foul

As I sat here contemplating a decidedly non-heavy topic to expound on, something triggered the seven words you can't say on television, as brought to us by George Carlin.

I'm not going to list them here, you can look them up, or guess, or make use of them.

What the 7 words just triggered in me is a look back at my own usage of such language, it's almost like stages of life. As a child, good luck saying a word you don't understand, yet which brings the wrath of parents or others down upon you. I'm pretty sure that landed me in the parental dog house at least once.

My first real remembrance of uttering a swear word is from 4th grade. I said fuck something or other, and some wonderful classmate of mine told a nun, who promptly fainted. Just kidding, no faint, but I probably should have. It was off to the principal's office, where she asked me if I uttered a nasty. I'm not sure what happened after that. She didn't belt me, and seriously, in those days, that's exactly what they did. Literally... with what was known as a strap, as opposed to a strap on. Now that would have opened a can of worms, wouldn't it? I can see it now, child walks into home, presents mom with note from school about the nasty word, mom asks what happened, child tells her the nun used a strap on, and mom faints. Gee, how come all these adults are fainting?

Gee mom, I'll never say it again! By the way, I'd no clue what the hell it meant. I did know that one... yanno, hell? That was a constant subject in a Catholic school, but don't think they called it hell, but no idea what the sisterly equivalent was for schoolers.

By high school, we were all swearing like chipmunks. Um, ever hear a chipmunk swear? Didn't think so, so bad comparison. We were swearing like teen agers. That sorta continues into college, but by then you have a good idea on what most of the words mean, though I was last in learning in that area.

In adulthood, I've gone through a period, probably more than one, where every other word subconsciously is a swear, you don't even realise it's flowing from your mouth, nor how goofy it can sound. This tended to be the case when in an environment where swearing is the preferred mode of communication. That would have been my construction job, where about 80% of the language are epithets.

Ever wonder why contractors are always late? Easy, swearing on that level is like code. You have to say twice as much as with normal language.

Think of what we preface with the word 'fuck.' "Isn't that fucking ridiculous?" Think on that sentence. Why can't we be more creative? How about "isn't that fist fucking ridiculous?" Bet that one might even stop a construction crew.

Or add a touch of learned elegance: "You point of view is knee deep in freshly dropped Tibetan plateau  antelope shit!"

When it comes to swearing though, nothing compares to our propensity to rename body parts. Think of genitalia, and all the various names for these parts, and of course for intercourse. I doubt any human being alive has heard all of the ones used even within their own language.

Anyway, I no longer routinely use such words. If something weighing more than say... 4 ounces falls on my toe, yeah... old habits die hard... but no more having swears predominate my language.

For the most part.

More mutterings from my mind...

Supposedly Tony Blair has pleaded with the president to send Condee on a new round of shuttle diplomacy. Condee says maybe, we'll see. Ah, ya gotta love passion and a will for peace.

I've two songs going through my head... thanks to Kitty Litter, Eve of Destruction is one, and thanks to iTunes, Dear Mr. President is right behind.

But I still prefer to listen to the Dar Williams cd given me Friday. Dar is next on my list of must sees.

I've a shower area to rebuild beginning tomorrow... though my mom is now wavering, contemplating a one piece bath unit. Not something I'm tackling in one week of vacation. The panel tub surrounds, ok. As it is, I have to remove five feet of tile around the tub, then take the wallboard off. Ah, but the reward is finally having a hand held shower head. ;-)

Gotta love Boston's Big Dig. 15 billion for falling ceiling panels and a tunnel under the harbour that might be struck by a low in the water ship.

Good thoughts are still going out to Nony. You will, you will, you will!

It's that time of year. Hot. Corona with lime hot.

My car a/c isn't working.See comment above. Remind me to call the dealership tomorrow.

When nursepammie buys her new 115 foot yacht to live on in San Diego harbour, she had best invite the rest... of us to visit.

I love to debate. I hate fighting and arguing.

I'm on vacation. Some of you know this is actually a struggle for me. Why? I was dysfunctional from 2001-2003. Lost everything because of it. Was without any work for almost a year thereafter. It wasn't looking promising. Now I've been working for 20 months, busting my arse to rebuild this life, to refocus, to do lots of things of a positive nature... and I'm deathly afraid of not working... because of fear of what was. Never ever wish to be like that again. It scares me silly. I'm now than I was on Friday night.

Forest green is my favourite colour. Depending on where it is used, with natural wood trim in a home, with black as clothing, since I'm not about to wear a natural stained barrel for aesthetics purposes.

I miss having a pool. NIght. Floodlights. Child in bed. Hot. Pretend to sneak child out of bed. Child thinks mom doesn't know. Child splashes in pool. Child giggles. Mom appears in window. Mom asks loudly what is going on. Child giggles louder. Child is excited. Child wishes to jump off deck. Child discovers jumping off deck requires swatting mosquitoes. Child wishes to make a whirlpool. I oblige. Then child returns to bed, cooler, happier, and sleeps soundly. Child in this case is interchangeable with two daughters who lived that experience.

I should get out and take some pics this week, but I am no photographer... at least not in the same way as I was with that clunky, old 35 mm. I miss those cameras, but digitals have their advantages.

A Klondike bar would set well about now.

I usually walk on lunch hour at work. Not like 20 years ago when we did 3 miles in a bit over an hour, but... it's still nice to do.

Google earth is probably the best free programme I've ever downloaded and used. Simply astounding. And you have to wonder about security... I'd bet those that buy the pro version get vetted by the government in some way.

Elle Voyage, we are still waiting for trip stories...

Those of you going to Blogher Conference '06, know that I am envious.

Finally, I've added a new element to the blog. Just above the blogher badge on the right, you will see a flickr photo badge. This contains the pictures I've either used in my postings, or created and used in my postings. Under each photo (after you go to the flickr page) you will find links to the post in which the pictures are embedded... just one more way to find stuff of interest.

When the moon is in the Seventh House

Let's be clear on this... I'm no devotée of astrology, nor am I particularly enamoured with Hair, though it was certainly kewl in it's time - when I was graduating from eighth grade.

I've always liked the Fifth Dimension's medley of Aquarius and Let the Sun Shine In, there was just something about that combination which drew me in and sent my spirit soaring. Now I've downloaded it just moments ago in anticipation of this post, for blogging inspiration. Problem is... it's hard to type when you are hopelessly gyrating and contorting into all sorts of unfathomable and awkward body positions... or playing air who knows what... but I'm not going to succumb to this childish nonsense. Nope, I'm not... going to, no wa... aw bloody hell...

well, that certainly got me moving, whatever it is that circulates through my brain circulating, but it's not the subject of this posting, sorry. That would be the moon, actually. Or rather, how we love to blame weird doings on phases of the moon. We do this all the time at work, jokingly associating an increase in weird claims doings on celestial positioning. As with sunspot activity, which increases and decreases according to a general cycle, weird moon behaviour ascends as we approach it's full presentation to earth early next week.

No need to recant the weird activity today, suffice is to say the weirdness knew no bounds - it was in the claims, in the system - and in me. Things I thought were done were not, versions of events initially told me morphed into new stories with a bit more bite to them. 

And I've downloaded the theme from Flashdance. ;-)

A toolbar rant

Listen up, google, yahoo, and the rest of you. I see your hands covering your eyes and ears, but you will likely care not as I shout this to the universe

I DO NOT WISH TO HAVE YOUR TOOLBAR!!!

There isn't one out there that is necessary for me to navigate cyberspace beyond what already comes in IE, Firefox, Opera, etc. I'm a minimalist, and usually reduce the bars above to the least possible amount. If these companies had their way, my browser would look like I was on the launchpad at Cape Caniveral, lying upon my back and awaiting having my arse be slingshot beyond the breathosphere. Hell, if that was my intent, give my ex a pair of steel toed boots, and simply have me bend over in front of her.

Whenever some company rightfully updates their software, they send along notice to go fetch the update. Dutifully, I trod off to do just this, because in my cyber ignorance it is assumed this must be for my own computing safety.  

So the process begins, and then spybot starts waving registry changes in front of my reading material of the moment. I've come to watch the subject matter, allowing and denying based on whether it pertains to the item being updated. Inevitably, a toolbar change rolls around. I deny. Open Firefox, and grrrrrr... a yahoo toolbar. Is this company aptly named or what? I've never cared for anything yahoo, from searching to even their messenger. Nada, nothing, and while I do have the messenger, is as far as the yahoo experience goes in my cyberspace.

Yahoo is not alone. Toolbars predominate, you could get one from just about anyone. Even within the limited sphere of my internet activities, downloading every toolbar offered up would leave me viewing internet content through a one inch by sixteen inch or so (with no measuring tape within reach, what would the horizontal length of a 20 inch monitor be, anyway?) portal. Kind of like watching a solar eclipse.

So cut out the toolbar stuff, stop adding it into your other products, forcing them to add them on. Yes, I unchecked adding them at download, but you conveniently snuck them on past this and spybot, leaving me to wander into the add and remove programmes.