LaurieWrites

The levee's breaking.

I'm obsessed with the New Orleans hurricane. This could be a really, really bad scene. There are some insane quotes in this story. I cannot believe a city can be in such direct danger of total devastation, what I've seen called a "toxic stew of chemicals, rodents, and poison", but I think we're all quite lucky that we're standing on solid ground, as much at the mercy of the elements as we are. This CNN article refers to Katrina as "our Asian tsunami", and the article web address includes the word "doomsday", although I don't see that word in the article.

We pretend we're not at such mercy, though. I think suburban/urban and to a lesser extent, rural, Americans have no concept of how little holds us back from death on a daily basis. I am sure that scientists who study such things are aware of why there seem to be so many more severe hurricanes in recent years. It's no joke. And no place means that much to me that I'm going to stay in it, praying I don't drown:

"Tony Peterson leaned over a balcony above Bourbon Street, festooned with gold, purple and green wreathes as Katrina's first rains pelted his shaved head.

"I was going to the Superdome and then I saw the two-mile line," the 42-year-old musician said. "I figure if I'm going to die, I'm going to die with cold beer and my best buds."

I guess that's one way to look at it. There's also this way (also according to the AP):

"Tina and Bryan Steven, of Forest Lake, Minn., sat glumly on the sidewalk outside their hotel in the French Quarter. "We're choosing the best of two evils," said Bryan Steven. "It's either be stuck in the hotel or stuck on the road. ... We'll make it through it." His wife, wearing a Bourbon Street T-shirt with a lewd message, interjected: "I just don't want to die in this shirt."

The worst part of the stories is the people who aren't leaving because they either don't have any way to get out, or anywhere to go. There are more than 20,000 people in the Superdome. I have to wonder why Greyhound didn't send a ton of buses to the outskirts to just start motoring hordes out of there. Couldn't W mobilize something at this point? He is so ridiculously silent on things close to home. I still think, though, that if I were threatened with drowning in a downtown full of floating coffins and rats, if I had breath in my body and any sort of mobility, I'd be hoofing it up the highway. Sometimes you just have to go with what you got.

Here's another one from the Post. Now I'm going to check CNN and see if that tool Anderson Cooper is standing outside somewhere in a windbreaker. My guess is that he sits this one out.

I'm looking for a dare-to-be-great situation.

Okay, see, in a perfect world, I am Diane Lane's character, and that is my dog, and that there perfect man on the right is my boyfriend. Although I would definitely change the goofy pose, because I don't think I've ever rested my head on my hand quite as daintily as that, while shooting a sly smirk quite like that one at any guy I've dated. I just saw this movie finally, tonight, and I loved it. John Cusack is my favorite real/fictional man, ever.  It did require great suspension of disbelief, because what would this man (not to mention anyone who looks like Diane Lane. Girl, please.) be doing on thewordthatrhymeswithbiznatch.com? It just wouldn't happen. If he were single, and he may well be, there would be a line to his door. He would in no way have to resort to posting that lone picture of himself on that random trip to the Grand Canyon on some lameass website, claiming he's an "outdoorsy type". Seriously, every man on that site is photographed in front of some massive rock outcropping, which is a total lie, because if they were all outside hiking on the weekend as they say they are, beer sales would plummet, and Electronics Boutique would have to shut its doors.

The man who played Lloyd Dobler would not have to play like that.

And please don't remind me that I don't know this man, and have no idea of his true character. Please allow me to cling feebly to one of my few remaining bedrocks. Thanks.

It is quite simply all Lloyd Dobler's fault. I've seen "Say Anything" more times than I can count, and when it came out in 1989, it changed the lives of thousands of young girls and grown women. Lloyd is the common denominator - no matter where I've gone in life, several times a year I meet a woman who volunteers the information that he was the quintessential "perfect guy", captured on film. And most of the time, when they mention the movie, they say something like, "Yeah, when he's outside her room with the radio, and "In Your Eyes" is playing. Wow..." And then they say, "He kinda ruined me for other guys." There's even a band in the DC area called The Lloyd Dobler Effect. I've still yet to hear their music, but the name is genius.

I own this shot in a huge poster and still have it in my room, and I don't care if people think it's childish. And not only did he play the perfect teenaged guy, sixteen years later he's playing the guy that many jaded, thirtysomething women would love to run into at the dog park. "Say Anything" was a far, far superior film to "Must Love Dogs", but he plays a neurotic, intelligent, affectionate adult man in much the same key as he played a neurotic, intelligent, affectionate teenager. It's comforting, and was the perfect escape for a Sunday night. I think I'll watch "High Fidelity" tomorrow. Or, I could just go to Chicago where he lives and roam around for a while, and see if fate intervenes - find out if it's all a sham, if Lloyd Dobler, cinematic creation, was truly as good as it got. I love Chicago. It wouldn't be so painful. For this man, I'd just wear extra scarves when it's 20 below 0.

It appears that reality has been a little taxing lately. It's fun to dream a little.

Do you believe in what you see?

I'm watching "Garden State" again today and have been listening to the soundtrack obsessively once more. Favorites: "Let Go" (FrouFrou is GoodGood), "Blue Eyes" by Cary Brothers, "Such Great Heights", by my new faves Iron & Wine, "In the Waiting Line" by Zero7 and "Lebanese Blonde" by Thievery Corporation, with vocals by Pam Bricker, who unfortunately passed away in February. Her voice was amazing, and I'm sad I never got to see her perform in the DC area. It's sick that such a talented singer could be so little known outside of the music community.

The first time I heard this cd I was over at a friend's house, and his girlfriend loved it. She played it over and over the night we were there, as I believe I mentioned in this venue many months ago. I think it hypnotized everyone. The funniest thing about listening to it now is that every time I do, I can remember her singing in my head. She has a sort of sweet, lispy voice, and I particularly tend to remember her singing "In the Waiting Line", for some reason. I don't think I'll ever be able to extricate the experience of watching a bunch of people sitting around a table playing poker from this cd, and that's okay, because it was enjoyable.

GoodbyeOhio

"Wherever you are, it is your friends who make your world." William James said that, whoever he is, and I believe it, so....

I just made a new photo album.

I'm trying to organize my photos and am scanning in a bunch of prints. Many are from my last few weeks living in Ohio. My friends from Barnes & Noble spent lots of good times with me, and saw me off in fine fashion. So did the special people I worked with at the Alzheimer's Association, so they are represented here as well. There are some great shots, I think. I am totally amazed at how much weight I've gained since then, and I'm looking at what I had accomplished then in terms of fitness and trying to figure out how to get even partially back there. It can be done, because I've done it. It's just hitting the right stride, as it were. I so want to wire my jaw shut, but that's really not practical. ; )

I've also included a few random shots from my years there...because I can. I'm really grateful for my life now, and think I'm doing pretty well, but that was, no doubt, a very crucial time. Ohio's nickname is "the heart of it all," and these people (plus several more not represented here...) were at the heart of the heart of it all for me.

"Don't be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."
- Richard Bach

Since I already missed Clog Camp...

I suggest that everyone clear the calendar for October 8. There is a festival a'brewin' in Chattanooga that weekend.

Clogarama, baby. And yes, there is a Dance-off. I'm really starting to feel like I need to be a part of this. It's literally a hoedown. Maybe this is what's missing from the life of the average American.

I hate Northern Virginia.

Except for parts of it. Falls Church is nice. That's where one of my best friends lives. Jammin' Java is great. Old Town Alexandria is charming, if it didn't take three hours to get there no matter what time of day one travels. But tonight, I had to go to the Springfield side of Alexandria, to talk with an editor about a freelance job. I guess I should say I hate having to GET ANYWHERE in Northern Virginia (see, it's capitalized, like the Confederate state of Information Technology it is...and you know IT is ALWAYS capped, cause IT is like, way important. So the geeks at work tell me, anyway.) My ex-boyfriend could, and probably would, tell you that Springfield traffic on a Saturday made me CRY (and yell at him also, because we were there to go to a Guitar Center sale) once. It's just a bad, bad place.

So I drag myself down to Alexandria/Springfield tonight, panicked that even though the appointment is at 8 p.m., I'm going to be late, because the Beltway is such a hellhole. Turns out I was forty minutes early. So, rather than sit in the very shady parking lot of my destination, I went off in search of a snack, and found this most excellent black Jesus in stained glass:

The window is so huge and the camera in my phone so crappy that it's really hard to tell what he is, but I had to take the photo. You can at least get the idea of how big it is. The benefit of being interested in photography, and having a crappy yet functional camera, is that you just never know what you're gonna take home with you.

I went to McDonalds right before I took this, and here was my exchange with the little person who lives in the menu board:

Me: Hi. I'd like a Number 9, but is it possible to get it with fewer McNuggets? Like, 6 instead of 10? Because 10 is way too many.

LPWLIMB: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Me: Excuse me? Yes, that's a lot of nuggets. I really only need six.

LPWLIMB: You want a number 10?

(a #10 is like McGriddles or some shit. What? NO. I do NOT want a #10.)

Me: No, thanks. I want a #9, but I don't want that many nuggets. That is far too many. I just want six.

LPWLIMB: Ten nuggets, medium fry, medium drink.

Me: Okay, so you can't adjust it.

(obviously I last bought a mcnugget meal in 1988.)

LPWLIMB: UHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. What kind of drink?

Me: I'll just take the #9. It's fine. Coke is GREAT.

LPWLIMB: Okay, #9, ten nuggets, five dollars, thirteen cents.

Wow. It was intense. They are just determined to pony up WHATEVER is in the representative phot on the tote board. There are all these little footnotes on the board that give you the option to adjust your order for size or number. I've never seen a regular meal with ten chicken mcnuggets. Even with the new "all white meat" extravagazna ("all bleached" is more like it), it's still the equivalent of eating three bags of pork rinds and washing it down with a Yoohoo and a SnoCone and other toxic misspelled things that should never be ingested by human beings. These things are like battered lead. But I like them, like every six months or so. So I was trying to read the instructions on the menu board, but I've been so hopped up on caffeine this week that my pupils are dilated to resemble Saturn's rings, and if I focus on any one strand of words for too long I'd have a seizure. I couldn't see anything in the MINUSCULE PRINT related to downsizing the nugget situation. And indeed, I ended up with ten. Ten little nuggets of death. I only ate three.

French fries, however, are the great leveler. If Time or People magazine were to try to do one of their inane lists on the the top 100 American cultural experiences, I believe that eating hot McDonalds's fries would need to be in the top ten. I mean, who among us hasn't had that experience of pulling over in the parking lot, only to find oneself elbow-deep in a McD's bag, shoving fry after fry into our gaping maw, with the repetition so intensely hand to mouth that we don't even see the red french fry holder? Oh, wait, it's just me? I don't think so...hand into bag, fry into mouth, until they're all gone. The salt, the fat, the intense canola goodness. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Only a few fries in, I dumped the nuggets on the floor - ignored, unsatisfactory.

And by the time I got back to the newsroom, I was in a perfectly good mood.

Dreams and visions and actual real-live plans.

The new semester starts next Monday, and things are kicking into gear. The energy is changing and that's a good thing.

This fall I am:

*Taking a photography class (real, not digital), with a wonderful professor, and prowling around DC and Baltimore with D. to take pictures for it. I still think I'm going to buy a digital camera though, and a digital video recorder, so I can take some footage of the best dog ever. This is so I can watch him whenever I want to, forever and ever, when the inevitable day comes when that's not possible in person anymore. And although this makes me sick to think about, I'd rather plan ahead, so I can show him to my kids or whoever comes into my life at a later date, (who REALLY loves me and will tolerate such things), and say things like, "This was the best dog ever. Seriously. This dog made my life." I've also hatched a plan to interview my grandmother and film it, and goad her into answering questions - some completely sane, and some just designed to make her act all crazy, which is when she is the most fun. (and just to be clear, I'm not talking about crazy as in "demented." That's not funny. Memory loss is only the butt of so many jokes because it's one of the most intense fears human beings have, probably only behind death, severe physical pain, emotional abandonment, and the cable and Internet going out simultaneously. NOT FUNNY. LOST KEYS = NOT FUNNY. She's just always had a wacky personality that continues to marinate and it it so entertaining.)

*Taking a "writing for radio class". Publishing something besides a chef profile, I swear.

*Taking my dog to the dog park. Now that it's cooling off some he can handle it. This is going to be a riot. Tickets should, and may, be sold.

*Working on distance learning training to teach English online in the spring semester. I am most excited about this.

*Going to Tampa for work and maybe one day at the beach. Breathing deeply.

*Painting the bathroom.

*Running a 5k with my sister and my cousin. Continuing this interval/weight/circuit/step training dealio.

*Getting all major stuff into storage, and pitching all extraneous belongings. Thank GOD. SO sick of STUFF. It multiplies, I swear.

*Planning a 35th birthday trip to see these beautiful people again, (is this room not phenomenal? It was...yes, dreamlike.) or just here, for a hell of a good time. : ) I am actually excited for my birthday, as odd as it sounds. I think it will be a good age for me. This year has been sort of a bitch so far, to be truthful. I mean, I'm alive and happy for that, thanks. But I had dinner with my friend (and massage therapist, baby. Nothing like a full-body massage followed up by arroz con pollo and a margarita. Heaven, c'est si bon. All insurance should cover it.) Margaret tonight, and we were talking about how there was this aura of chaos in lots of the people we know and places we go lately. I know I've been feeling it. I don't particularly like it. Adrenaline has its place, and it can be really helpful, but on a daily or hourly basis, not so much.

*Getting the site designed. I swear. Paying someone. I don't care.

*Helping Shobha with the Takoma Park folk festival and going to NYC with her while she sets up accounts. Here's a link to a ring she made. Her jewelry is beautiful, and truly original. Buy some. Come visit us at the festival.

*Picking a pumpkin.

*Going to visit my good friend in Montreal, seriously. It's been postponed too many times, and fall is beautiful up there. Maybe Ohio too? I don't know about that one. We'll see.

I think that's all for now. It's probably enough. The list may be amended to meet changing weather conditions, the vagaries of my heart and mind, or pretty much anything else that couldn't be anticipated at this moment. Still and all, the dam is bursting, and I am so ready to roll - so excited for this new season. Summer has been long enough, don't you think?

Notes from the road.

This truck says "Boot Scootin' Boogie" on the back, which is hard to see because of the glare, but it's the most stupid thing I've seen recently. I took a picture of it partially for that, and partially because I was so overwhelmed by the amount of exhaust this truck produced that I wanted it to go on record as the instrument of my death. I was truly shocked that everyone in the cars around me wasn't suddenly slumped over the steering wheel, sitting in traffic in the wake of the amazing black clouds produced by THIS country line dancin' machine. It's ridiculous that all of us out here in little cars, like my VW, and Hondas, and Toyotas, and what have you, have to be emissions tested when these monster things are tearing up the roads. Hang the SUVs, too. Note the one in this picture, which is one of the big ones, a Suburban, or Expedition, or whatever the hell it's called. It's obviously nowhere near as toxic as this boot scootin' bastard...but close. I just don't understand why everything must be so...large, and disgusting.

Most hilarious picture of my dog ever.

His favorite thing in the universe is to stand like this with a human foot (or shoe) scratching his tummy. he often falls asleep standing up, as you can see here. That's my human foot, with a copy of The Life Aquatic oddly perched alongside.

Look at those ears. Hilarious.

Oh no, Not I.

I forgot the other reason I loved Tower yesterday. Yes, the cd I stumbled across is called: Tracks: I Need a Lover, Pat Benatar; It Ain't the Meat It's the Motion (HOLY GOD. MUST LOVE THIS TITLE!), Maria Muldaur; Girl Talk, Julie London; Someone Else is Steppin' In, Ernestine Anderson; Mr. Big Stuff, Jean Knight; You Better Sit Down, Kids; Cher; One Less Bell to Answer, The Fifth Dimension...

Okay, this gets its own entry. I love this song. "One less, egg to fry. One less man to pick up...after. And all I do is cry." I was probably the only kid I knew who knew of Marilyn McCoo BEFORE she went slumming with Rex Smith on Solid Gold. (Leave Andy Gibb alone. Don't even go there.) Now, whereas now I'd be like "fry your own damned eggs," (I cook other stuff. As my best friend's son says, "ChilLAX!") I was probably the only toddler whose favorite songs were "Fly Robin Fly" and "One Less Bell to Answer", not to be confused with "One Less Set of Footsteps" by Jim Croce, which is also in my childhood pantheon. "One less pair of jeans, upon your door, one less voice a talkin'". Jesus, my parents had built in word problems right there. There should have been no trouble teaching me simple subtraction. Still, no WONDER I was depressed for like fifteen years. ; ) But my love for Jim has been discussed and acknowledged. The rest of that lyric is awesome:

"Oh tomorrow's a dream away, and today has turned to dust. Your silver tongue has turned to clay, and your golden rule to rust. If that's the way that you want it, that's the way I want it more. And there'll be one less set of footsteps on your floor, in the morning." Jim didn't live long enough to hear "Ooh, snap," but he said it. Sort of. Okay, Jim and Marilyn break over. The rest of the disc is as follows:

Just A Little Lovin' (Early In The Morning), Dusty Springfield; Since I Fell For You, Lenny Welch;No Love, No Nothing, Mary Stallings; I Don't Want To Be Right, (If Loving You Is Wrong), Luther Ingram. And of course, the ultimate, the chestnut, the guaranteed-to-get-all-your-girls-even-the-ones-who-aren't-wasted-on-white-zin-out-on-the-floor-with-you number, I Will Survive, Gloria Gaynor. Go on, now. Go. Walk out the door. Just turn around now...yeah, yeah. You know the rest. Go find a friend who needs to hear it, because I know you probably have one. Bring her some wine and Pringles, turn it up loud, and dance with her. She'll love you even more than she does now, for the rest of your life, guaranteed.