Halloween Pics for You

Here is the SPIDER from the Paranoid Arachnophobic Peep Show



And here is the parade of pumpkins when we first made them.



And here is the moldy toothed pumpkin, oooohhhhhhhhh.

Happy Halloween!!

Happy Halloween everyone!!

Best costume I have seen today: "Corporate Man."
Worst costume I have seen today: "Corporate Man."
Costume I wish I was able to wear to work but can't because I work for some stick-in-the-mud types: "Marie Antoinette."

Saga of the day: All of the pumpkins that I carved with my sister last weekend have melted. Literally. One of them collapsed into his own jowls. It was quite disturbing. Another's teeth molded. He was cool. Actually, cooler with the moldy teeth, added ambiance. The only survivor? The "scared little pumpkin" that was looking in terror at the other three. I am thinking it was a performance piece: "Week of the Living Dead," the pumpkin saga, where the only survivor was terrified of the other three as they sank into their own decay.

To Be Literate

I was never an enthusiastic reader as a child. I didn't actually commit to learning to read until late in my childhood and even then it was a difficult task for any adult to convince me that reading would in some way benefit me in the immediate future.

This was so true, in fact, that when I was reading my way through nine child-sized novels for a literacy award program where there were medals at stake, my father tested my knowledge of my books to ensure that I had actually read them and was not lying in order to achieve a medal. (To his credit, I could be a manipulative little liar, and I do so like medals.) However, to my credit, I had read them all and very easily explained who the B.F.G. was and why the little girl was not afraid of him.

It was also such a strong truth that when my elder sister was angry with me once and ripped my favorite book in half (and, at that point in time, the ONLY book that I had ever read for my own edification) my father took her to the book store that very moment and made her spend her own money to buy me a new copy.

I do not mean to drag any family members through the mud, but I couldn't think of a better way to preface what I am about to say, and I think it is important that you understand where I am coming from before I begin.

A couple of days ago I gave one of my best friends the novel "Ender's Game" for his birthday. We went to lunch with some friends and I presented him the novel and, much to my surprise, we were scoffed at because the novel itself is labeled as Science Fiction.

I do not understand.

When I went home and told my husband that we had been chided about Star Trek and other campy examples of "Sci Fi" as a response to the gift, he said, "Well, yeah." What? I don't understand what the genre of a novel has to do with the content of that novel. I don't understand why I am labeled "geek" or "nerd" because I have read and emotionally responded to a beautiful, tragic, overpowering, influential story. Who cares if it is sci-fi? Are the novels of Asimov and Bradbury to be scoffed? Heinlein? Is the genius of invention so easily betrayed with labels and stigma?

I do not understand anyone who would limit themselves from experiencing something wonderful. It took me so long to understand that reading was its own reward, that it pains me to see this type of open ignorance in my peers, in people that I respect and even cherish as friends. Then again, I don't understand people who don't want to travel the world, or try new foods, or open their minds to new religions or philosophies. But I digress.

Do you know what my favorite novels are? Ender's Game, labeled science fiction; Watership Down, labeled analogy; The Life of Pi, labeled fiction; The Great Gatsby, labeled Classic; Stranger in a Strange Land, labeled science fiction; The Education of Little Tree, labeled autobiography (which, by the way, was recommended to me by the friend that I gave Ender's Game to, so I know he has taste).

What do these have in common? They are stories that are well written. They have heart and spirit and, without fail, speak about the human condition, speak truthfully about the best and worst aspects of humanity, and undoubtedly unlock our own perceptions of ourselves, those things that we cherish and despise in our own reflections. The vessel that is used to convey that message is the only thing that varies. And, let's be honest, what good is a message if it doesn't come to you as something that you can sink your teeth into. Something that you can give yourself over to, if only for the time being, and truly see something from a new perspective. And, if you are really lucky, and the author truly gifted, perhaps you will be able to see yourself from a new perspective.

So, to those who would pigeonhole me, let me say this. I am not a geek. I am not a nerd. I am not a historian or a classic literature snob. I am not a fantasy freak nor do I speak Klingon.

But I am, undoubtedly and without remorse, literate.

Thank You, Sir! May I Have Another!!?

I have gotten back into Kung Fu with a furious purpose. I have been to sparring two weeks in a row (I know, I know, it doesn't sound like much, but it IS for me.) I have also been to class every day this week and done a good deal of practicing on my own. I am starting to return to some semblance of being in shape.

The problem would be the muscle fatigue. I have never had this before. I went to intermediate group on Monday after a long formatting class, and my left arm started to droop after about fifty outward blocks against another student. After class I couldn't lift my left arm. It wasn't an injury, just plain old muscle fatigue. I spoke to Mr. N about it last night and he told me to ask the other students to go easy on me if I started to fatigue.

Problem was, I was the highest ranking student, the smallest person in the class, and the only girl. Was I about to ask anyone to go easy on me? Hell no! Bring it on, baby!!

It's a Way of Life

I work with a woman who weighs 332 pounds. In an effort to get her weight problem under control, she is fasting for ten days. She has some sort of drink that she has six times a day, but she is starting to look faint, and the circles under her eyes that I never really noticed before have become pronounced. Why?

Now don't get me wrong. I understand that fasting can be an excellent way to clean our your system, and I have known many people that have done this, but usually they are already super healthy and use this as an extra little boost of health. I am actually concerned about this woman. I walk by her desk more often to be sure that she hasn't collapsed. She says that she knows a woman who lost 21 pounds in ten days. That isn't healthy!!! Even with South Beach, you are only supposed to lose ten the first week, and then two a week after that. The shock and awe period has to be limited, or your body will believe you are starving to death and use your protein to sustain itself, reserving your fat for the final days. Protein is muscle. Muscle is necessary to move your body around.

She has a book called "Fasting as a Way of Life." I can't help but find irony in this. How about "Eating Small, Healthy Meals Regularly Throughout the Day as a Way of Life?"

Paranoid Arachnophobic Peep Show

The other day when I got home from work my garage was blocked in by the diligent and proactive worker's that the HOA had hired to tarp over the pit to prevent further land slippage during the rainy season. As I not only admire but also delight in the work that they were doing, I parked in a visitor's spot and walked to my condo.

As I traversed the walking path that leads to our patio I was straining to hear what the worker's were talking about, as any activity in that realm is exciting to those of us in wait, and I did not pay attention to the path and walked through a spider web. This eeked me out and I quickly brushed off the remnants, but was not overly concerned as it seemed more like a single thread and not an entire web.

I walked up to my front door, unlocked the security door and walked inside. It was then that I felt the unnerving itch of movement on my shoulder. As I looked down to investigate, turning my shoulder towards my face, I saw giant spider legs climbing up my back and into my hair.

I screamed.
I tore my purse off my shoulder.
I threw my keys.
I ripped my shirt off and threw it on the ground.
I looked up and saw the workers who all had a clear view of the event.
I ran to the other side of the house.

After I was able to calm down a little, I grabbed a fleece from the banister and threw it on, taking note of where both cats were focusing their rapt attention. I backed into the kitchen, keeping my eyes on the spot where the cats' eyes were focused. When my line of sight was interrupted, I dashed for the cupboard, extracted one of our heavy glasses and dashed back into view.

The cats at this point were batting at my purse. Knowing full well that the don't find my wallet of any interest, I assumed appropriately that the menace was under and/or near the purse. In fact, he was perched ON TOP of it, with his forelegs raised as if to fend off the GIANT, SPIDER-EATING MAMMALS!! In one fell swoop, for I could not have survived a slow pursuit, I snatched the purse out from under him and threw the glass on top of him.

The cats began to swipe at the glass now that there was something underneath it that was running in circles, trying to claw its way out of its new prison. Panicked that they would knock it over, I placed a book on top of the glass and yelled at the cats whenever they got close to it. At this point I waited for my husband to return from work.

When he did I felt a little safer and insisted on a picture of my attacker. Although this was difficult for me to take, because when I zoomed in on him it freaked me out and I dropped the camera. So I looped the camera string about my wrist and edged close enough to get a good shot and took several. Then my wonderful husband got a piece of cardboard and slid it under the glass, escorting him outside and into the pit.

I followed at a safe distance.

Once he had released the demon he started to dance around a bit. I took a step backwards. Relatively calmly he walked back towards me with his arms spread eagle. "Spider check." He said, at first calmly. "Spider check! Spider check!"

I, being of sound mind and body, backed away feverishly. "Hell no!"

In the excitement, I swung my arms up to stop his approach. The camera, still hanging off of my wrist, made a graceful arc in the air and creamed me right between the eyes. I actually did see stars for a second.

I had a welt for three days and still have pain at the impact site.

The Rain...It Burns Us!!!

Back in my youth, in the high desert of Albuquerque, New Mexico, the beginning of the rainy season held a kind of anticipated wonder. With the rain came the thunderstorms, the thick smell of ozone, and the mad dash to conserve water and turn the irrigation drip system and sprinklers off for a week or so. The rain didn't come often, but when it did, it was a beautiful and magical time. I used to go out in the first rain and swing my arms around, spinning in a dizzying circle with my face up-turned towards the water from the heavens.

I kind of miss that sensation. Now, the rain holds fear, frustration, and anxiety. Fear, of course that the landslide will again begin to slide, seven full months after the first crack appeared in the pavement. Frustration because again my sunroof will leak, drenching ONLY the driver's side seat. Anxiety because I still have no concrete idea of what tomorrow will hold for SPF and I, for our home, for our financial future.

As I am sure you have already guessed, the rains have come again. The HOA has done one thing right, it seems. A little over 24 hours before the first mist began to coagulate into a sparse drizzle, men in work trucks arrived with dozens of tarps and hundreds of sandbags and literally bolted a great plastic poncho over Jimmy, our hole in the ground. They actually went even one step greater. Jimmy, you see, is a pit. One great hole. No matter how well tarped he may be, he inevitably has a low point that will collect whatever rain decides to fall upon us, ultimately resulting in the failure of even the most well-laid plastic protection. But this, much to my surprise, was not lost in the planning of this draping. There is actually a pump and piping located in the approximate low point of Jimmy that will serve, if everything goes as planned, to distribute the collection somewhere farther down the hill where it won't cause us any further heartache.

None the less, I fear, ever single drop is stinging.

Announcement

Okay, so most of you know this already, but I suppose it is time for me to make the formal announcement.

Uhem. They might be starting the wall!!! Of course, we don't know for sure. We may never know for sure. I am not even sure if the "Orange Crane" is more than a decoration. Odd choice, if you ask me, but, then again, Purdue has sculptures that were specifically designed to display different sizes of nuts and bolts for the engineers. I kid you not. It was right outside the photography building. We hated it. Crazy. They did have some awfully large nuts...and bolts, though.

Not what you were expecting to read? Why, I don't know what you mean.

The Orange Crane

Its neck reaches into the foggy San Diego morning, stoic and stationary. I can see it from my window if I lean in and press my cheek against the glass. Its outline is unexpected in the landscape, the brightness of its coloring obscurred by the dawn and the low-hanging clouds that signal the onset of fall. Others slow to look while passing but I barely notice them. Instead I wonder if this migration will be in time. The rainy season is about to start. The crane sits comfortably beneath the hill that has been cleaned but still bears the pock marks of its former illness. The earth still spitting up onto the road, though less now that the bulldozers cut away the most offensive damage. The trees are still upturned, the veins of the incline exposed and rotting, syphoned off with tubes and piping like a terribly ill victim of some horrible accident. I strain to see the top of the crane, wondering when it will spring into action, fly along the devastated land and put right was has been wronged. But it does not move. It remains still in the early morning hours and waits. The dew is growing thicker.

I Was Expecting Locusts

As most of you are aware SPF and I have been having one hell of a year. We have been evacuated from our home due to a landslide, had all of our precious possessions flooded in storage, been made a mockery of by the City and the Media, and lost a significant chunk of property value. I have to admit, I was expecting the raging fires and locusts to come next.

Locusts. Not termites.

We have now been told that our units may be infested and that we may have to evacuate yet again to be tented. I'm sure you all remember the Incident of the Kitties in Los Angeles. We will have to figure that one out. Not to mention the "Emergency Assessment" finances that will be incurred because of this. "Emergency Assessments" that are allowed for in LEGISLATION that must be paid for and dealt with by the already haggard and incompetent HOA. Oh yeah, that means US.

Termites. Unbefreakingleavable.

Something to Write About

I feel somewhat lost that I have nothing to write about. No stories from foreign lands to amaze and bewilder you. No pictures of grubs or lotus or temples. I kind of miss writing about all of those things. I need something to write about. SPF told me last night that one of his coworkers said that "I write beautifully." (Thank you, if you are reading. :) And I love to write. I love that I had readers!!

My sister once told me (you know, the one that just won the screenwriting competition (reference blog titled "My Sista Kicks Ass!!")) that it takes writing a million words of merda before you get something brilliant, nay, something even good. A MILLION words. Do you comprehend this number?

Now I am not saying that I haven't gotten a start. I wrote my first book (or began to write) when I was ten. It was a joke amongst my closer friends all through high school that I had already accomplished that and therefore could set my sights higher, such as pursuing a nobel prize. (At the time, I thought that nobel prizes were only for science. I only recently realized that they extend beyond that realm and into literature.) My second book I started in college, wrote for seven and a half years, and then submitted to TOR. My third book is halfway done. None have been published and the second is in its first rewrite. But I digress. The point was to count number of words total. All of those books combined equal less than a quarter of a million words, and I have been writing those since I was TEN.

Now, let's count poetry. I know, I know, that seems like a waste, but you forget, a lot more words go into making poetry and then they get taken out, reworked, reemphasized, molded, metaphored, and polished. Okay, that still only adds like two thousand at most.

Blogs? Maybe another ten grand. But I don't know if you can count blogs. If I wrote the word "smile" one million times, I haven't learned anything from it, therefore I haven't completed the task the writing that ensues will not be "good." But I journal a lot, and since I am not just writing all stream of consciousness here, maybe that is to be counted.

So with blogging, letters (I love to write snail mail letters), emails, journaling, and poetry, I think we have maybe another 100,000. So, all told, I have written 350,000 words. This is terrible!! What will I write to reach the proscribed million?

Well, I better get started.

smile smile smile smile smile smile smile smile smile

Delicacy

I was speaking with SPF last night and he seemed confused about one of my last China posts. The one about eating grubs. That's right EATING them. Not eating the honeycomb, eating the grubs. I thought you could use a visual. Bon Appetite!!

See those yellow things? Those are the grubs. They wriggle.

My Sista Kicks Ass!!

My elder sister, in all her amazing and talented glory, has won the BEST FEATURE LENGTH SCREENPLAY award from the Shriekfest Screenwriting Competition in L.A. She has a trophy and everything. Just in case any of you all didn't know. :) This is just the first in a long line of trophies that will adorn her accomplished and remarkable life. I better start shopping for a trophy case.

Back in Black

I am back behind a desk after my three week adventure. No worries, fans! There are plenty of fascinating things that happen every day around here that are blog worthy. But, alas, I am afraid I will lose some of my devoted readers now that my exploits are more...domestic.

But thanks for tagging along! I have recently found that SEVERAL new readers have been given the blog address by other devoted readers, and I would like to say welcome. I will still blog, still post pictures (now that I know how) and still try to tantalize your brain even with my mundane existence. Perhaps I will become a professional blog traveler...hmmmmm.

A SPECIAL BIG WELCOME to A.C.. I hope you know who you are, but I have a tendency not to call people out by name on the blog. Here's a hint, WE WILL TOTALLY BE THERE ON THE 22ND!! WOO HOOO!!!!! That was some of the best news coming back. Saw the invite on the wet bar and I started giggling. I hear that you and I should share some China stories, as you have also recently been abroad.

For the rest of you, I will try to keep it interesting. I lead a relatively ordinary life with the occasional mooncake.

Until next time!