Blue

I'm blue. Nobody emails me or comments on my blog, and my boss is leaving, and I am supposed to be working on four equally priority big projects but I am only one person, and I am sick, and I am in debt.

Lucky Irish Flogging Molly Shirt

The Flogging Molly concert was fabulous. They are raucous and crazy and drink a lot (ahhh, the Irish) and loud and WONDERFUL. We enjoyed the concert very much.

I bought a shirt.

I promptly lost the shirt when we stopped for drinks at the Chevron station at 2:00 in the morning. I did not realize that I had lost the shirt until we got home at 2:30. I was angry. We called the local Chevron and asked for the number to the other Chevron. (San Diego city is not listed in the North County directory.) We called information and asked for the number. Information didn't have it. The other Chevron guy called us back and told us the number. We called the number. The guy working the station couldn't leave the building because it is against the rules for the graveyard shift. So he looked out the window, but he didn't see the shirt.

I couldn't sleep.

I got up at 9:00 the next morning and called the station back. I asked if they had seen a black shirt. They said no. I asked if they had seen a black shirt in the parking space that was closest to the Del Taco. They said yes. They said they would see if it was there, and if it was, they would give it to the cashier. They hung up. I woke SF up and we got dressed and drove down to the station and asked the cashier if he had a black shirt. He laughed and brought out the shirt "that looks like it has a Heiniken logo on it" and we all danced and laughed and celebrated the fantastic adventure of the shirt.

The lucky Irish shirt survived SF's truck, the crazy downtown inhabitants, someone picked it up and transferred it to the post marking the parking spot, the attendant saw it on his way in (although it is unclear why "no, he hadn't seen one" was his first response to the question) and he brought it in to the cashier.

YEAH LUCKY SHIRT!

It accompanied me to the Miller Lite Independence Jam with T-Dog.

Muse of the Throng, as Told by Me

There are certain aspects of humanity that are assumed to be universal. Hence the common questions like "what is your favorite color?, lucky number?, movie?, or food?" One of these frequently asked questions is that of one's "favorite band."

Most people have an answer. Sometimes it just pops in their head when they are asked, sometimes the lead singer is a "hottie", and sometimes they are genuinely moved by melodies, driving rhythms, or lyrics.

When I was young my parents didn't really introduce my sister and me to any music. I heard the occasional Simon and Garfunkel, but in general, what was played on the local tame radio station is what I heard going to and from school, the grocery store, the movies, or the gas station. (We were educated well in other ways, and road trips always held the promise of "War of the Worlds" and "The Lone Ranger.")

My first experience with music of my own choosing was Alphaville, originally chosen for the popular middle school dance favorite "Forever Young" and later adopted on the merit of the music as a whole. They were "my favorite band." I owned everything that they produced and listened to cassette tapes until each and every one of them deteriorated from over use and fluttered away to that great big tape deck in the sky in a flurry of gray analog fury.

By the time my second 'favorite' came along, I was a full participant of the digital age and was, like so many of us, thrilled to hear the same songs over and over, without pops or warbles or demonic slowing and speeding up at odd intervals. The culprit this time? 'The Dave Matthews Band' on CD. My tastes and my listening had both matured and, thanks to a then-to-be-future-brother-in-law I was introduced to the DMB prior to their debut on the societal front pages. The were just evolving out of their bar playing phase and starting the trek to stardom by traveling with then-more-well-known bands as the opening act. The first time I saw them they followed "The Boxing Ghandi's" and preceded "Big Head Todd and the Monsters" at the Apollo Saleri in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The second time I saw them, three months later, they were the headliner and "Big Head Todd" was left somewhere in the dust. I was enamored with their melodious, lyrical nature, and their wonderful array of instruments. I was also flushed with the excitement of knowing a band that was new and fresh when they were opening for someone else. I knew them well enough to scream "All Along the Watchtower" with the full capacity of my theatrically trained lungs from the eighth row of the open air theater, and to make spine tingling eye contact with Dave himself for the brief moment when the thought "what the fu@#?!" must have crossed his mind. Hey, they played it. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY, THEY PLAYED IT FOR ME!!!! Just ask my brother-in-law. Last I heard, he blames me for not screaming it out when they came back three months later, which, of course, resulted in them NOT playing it. The evidence is clear, but I digress. The infatuation with Dave lasted throughout the remainder of my high school experience and into my college days. It lives on now, in fact, and I am still occasionally overcome with the urge to listen to nothing but Dave for days at a time. Again, I own everything. Singles, albums, live shows, imports, everything that I, or SF, could get my hands on.

But then something happened that has never happened to me before, nor do I imagine it will happen again. I met Muse.

One inspiring song on the radio was played often enough, and intrigued me thoroughly enough, that I requested of SF that he purchase it for me so that I could hear what other types of songs they had. Within seconds of putting the disc into my player I was convinced that I had found the most incredibly talented, passionate, intelligent, and addictive music in the world. I believed this so thoroughly that I brought it home and waited patiently for SF to arrive. I delicately placed the album into SF's stereo, cuing it up, adjusting the volume to the peak listening range, clearing off the couch, fluffing the pillows, and waiting.

When he came through the door I hushed him quickly and sat him down on the couch, ready to present him with the most moving experience of his life, undoubtedly. I was certain his questioning glance would dissipate the moment the opening march of the album reached his ears, and that he would fall into a coma of ecstasy as I had. My excitement was palpable.

He listened.

He listened with all the attention that one with as careful and trained ears can muster. He, this Adonis of musical understanding, knowledge, and pure LISTENING ability was being introduced to the Magis of music by ME. His eyes unfocused somewhere between the speakers and his head. Only his ears seemed engaged. His teeth, released from his conscious prison, began to gnaw his lip. He was absorbing. He was understanding. He was hearing more than I could ever hear, and I was momentarily jealous.

The pause between tracks one and two opened the void and he blinked up at me. "I know!!" I wanted to scream. "You can cry if you want to!!!" My smile was aching my earlobes.

"It's good." He said with some forced, earnest tones.

what? but...did you...i don't understand. this is MUSE, this is passion, this is life, this is blood. what about the piano? were you even listening....how could this happen???

And so a realization came to me. Beauty is in the ear of the beholder. I have come to terms with the fact that SF does not love Muse as much as I do. He does not need them. They are not a drug that he cannot do without. They do not play the soundtrack to his life. He does not like them more than some other stupid band that he compared them to. But I realized something else as well. They are not my 'favorite' band. That doesn't really do them justice. That term, that phrase, as is apparent from my history, is temporary to me. I, apparently, have lots of 'favorite' bands...but I have only one Muse.

Raven

I love the Teen Titans. The one we watched last night was about sisters. But not sisters like me and my elder (although there were some moments of similarity) but instead Starfire's sister Blackfire who is evil, though precocious and outgoing. I like the show so much because I see parts of each of the characters in myself.

I like to think I have Starfire's innocent view of the world at times, and childlike approach to problem solving concerning friends and family. (i.e., the 'do you need a hug' approach.)

I know I have Robin's creative intellect.

I hope I have Beast Boy's silly charm (when needed.)

I like to think I can push myself beyond conceived limits, just like Cyborg. (Though I still can't move my right wrist correctly after sparring the other night.)

And then there is Raven. She, of course, is the obvious choice for the more representative sample of me. The dark brooding, the meditating, the internalization of all emotion, the hood. She is me at 16, though my super powers were more aligned with dark poetry and black clothing than actually moving stuff with my mind.

It is a fun show to watch.

The Curse of Threes

So everyone knows the superstitious belief that bad things happen in threes.

Tuesday night, one week ago, I locked my keys in my car. I know this sounds funny, but I don't do things like that. It was annoying and took AAA to come and help me out.

Thursday night my starter died in my company's parking lot. We had to leave it there over night and pick it up the next night to get it home. SF then fixed it, thank goodness, so I didn't have to pay for labor, but am still out $300.00.

This morning, SFs back right tire blew on the freeway. Okay, "blew" might be an exaggeration, but it did de-tread and he did have to use his spare. The tire is toast.

So THAT'S IT!!!! No more car crap or I am going to stop being superstitious!!!

My Husband is a Hamster

A hamster for the corporate wheel that he works for, that is. The unnamed evil empire has "finalized" plans for him to go away ALL NEXT WEEK starting on SUNDAY on which we were planning to go to the Miller Lite Independence Jam.

Sooooo..... I now have one free ticket to see such bands as FRANZ FERDINAND, the YEAH YEAH YEAH's, the SECRET MACHINES, DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE, and my all time absolute unbelievable favorite of the year MUSE!! This ticket is available to any friend or family member that wants to go with me. If I don't get anyone to go with me, then I will have to go by myself, and that is dumb and dangerous, and bad Kung Fu positioning. AND I WANT TO GO!!! Please, people, have a heart. If one of YOU doesn't go, then I can't go either. :(

I will await your responses...and then call you if I don't get any comments.

JQ - BLOG!!!!!!

Company Family Reunion

My company is buying me a trip to a Thanksgiving Family Reunion.

Why, you ask? How on earth did I manage to convince the dark and evil Corporate America to contribute to my soul-searching, family-bonding, ever-so-distant Thanksgiving Vacation? By working the system, that's how.

You see, when you have to go to a training session for a project, you research when and where those sessions take place. You plan it so that you can then take a little jump of a flight from your training destination to your Thanksgiving soiree and you're made.

All told, what should have been an over $600.00 trip for the holiday is now going to cost me about $130.00. Of course I have to go to an intense training session in PA before the trip, suffer through even more Thanksgiving oriented travel arrangements, and I won't get to travel there or back with my husband...but sometimes, the financial solution is the best one. This time, it seemed worthwhile.

Strap Me In, Boys

My friend in highschool and I had a bizarre little ritual to express our connection to any activity, substance, or philosophy that could resemble an addiction. This expression was the pantomimed progression of snorting coke, thumping a heroine vein, and dragging a joint. This activity was done at relatively frequent intervals, which I find particularly strange at the moment due to my complete, utter, and total disdain of all things drug related. None-the-less, we would use this symbolism to mock people, to show our solidarity to each other, and to, as previously mentioned, express our addictive tendencies.

For me it was men. Well, at the time, boys in growing up carriages. In other words, teenage boys. I loved them. Then again, I was amidst them every day and was, in my own physical form, a teenager myself. I would perform the three step addiction dance for any hot bod that walked by.

You may be asking yourself why I am telling you this now, especially since I have been married for a little over one month, but I will tell you.

As I sat down to blog, amidst a day so full of crap I have so many different applications open I can't read any of the titles in my tool bar, I had this incredible urge to thump a vein.

I am addicted to blogging. I have missed it. I feel a strange release in writing even now. It is calming.

So when I say "Strap me in, Boys" I no longer yearn for the Friday night lights on the football fields around New Mexico, but for a direct line to blog release.

What does that say about me?

Baja Break

I am chomping down my lunch and blogging in-between a day of craziness at work and hopefully craziness at Kung Fu. I can barely keep my head above water right now, but I didn't want to keep my adoring public (all three of you) waiting for a blog. :) I would hate to be accused of not blogging regularly enough.

At any rate, Steve and I got our wedding pictures last night and so many of them are just amazing that we are going to have a hard time choosing. The album holds 50, but we must have picked about three hundred that we loved. This should be interesting. Plus, we paid for one 16 x 20 print, and we have no idea which one we are going to want. I have some ideas, though.

Once the info is available on the web I will post the address so that you can visit if you like.

Creative Updates:

Writing - This is pretty much it.

Photography - I was a little depressed last night at the photographers place, partially because it is always disconcerting to see yourself on film, plus she PROJECTED the images onto her wall for ease of viewing, which is terrifying, but mostly because she has some wonderful work on her walls and I feel inferior. I want to do something well in life. I feel too scattered at the moment.

Piano - My sister is making more progress on this one than I am.

Visual Arts - Don't think I should pursue this one, as it is not really what I am passionate about, nor am I any good.

Kung Fu - First day back I pulled my quad. Then I went back three days later and was okay, though Mr. D was SERIOUSLY peeved about something and it made class terrifying. Monday I pulled my ass, so now I am working through that. It is hard to leave something athletic and try and jump back in. My ass can tell you.

Work Update:
Auditing - I now am pursuing an IRCA certification for Lead Auditing. That would make me more mobile and also very consultantable.

Disaster Recovery - I am going to drown with this one. It is an abandoned, sinking ship and I have been tethered to the mizenmast.

Boss - Interesting situation, I will keep you updated, once I find out who my new boss will be.

Commander in Chief

I am beginning to think that I work for G.W.

Here are two verbatim quotes from the V.P. of my department, my bosses boss.

"I do not want this to dramastically affect us."

"The enormity is just big."

Keep in mind, it's only funny when he isn't serious. G.W. is never funny. Neither is my C.I.C.

The Fog Has Settled

The light peeking through the windows this morning was down-trodden and abused. The fog, settling thicker than usual, had obstructed the passage of the sun's glow and left a filmy residue on La Costa. The foreboding approach of fall now creeps into the back of my mind, though the weekend bodes the last great fling of summer. The darkness of the day has rested heavily on the buildings, and the fluorescent lights are shuttering beneath the weight.

Andy did not arrive.

Absent-minded phone calls are ebbing through the pressured lines as the search begins. The consultant from Arizona, with a newly pressed desk and computer awaiting her arrival, has forgotten to arrive. The one department feeling her absence is small and heavily burdened, so the glint of mystery is trampled by the need for project progress in spite of any setbacks.

The spark begins to glow in my mind.

We Don't Know Your Name

Aloon, Alun, Aroon, Arun.

We don't know how you spell your name, though I am certain it is one of the above listed.

He is an amazing Tahitian that we met in Tahiti. I guess that was obvious. He is an expert spear-fisher, dancer, guitar player, etc.

I don't know why I am writing about him now, but he just popped into my mind and here he is, on the small screen. I will see if I can post a picture of something one of these days. Maybe JB can help. He has posted lots of stuff on his site. I should do that. I should pick my favorite Tahiti pic and post it here for all to see. Now I just need to pick one.