Wednesday
Saturday
Thursday
21 June 2012
This, boys and girls, is why one should always use sunscreen:
Ayup...my nose hurts. So does my left arm, which is twice as sunburned as my right, probably because I sat on the terrace of the Cheesecake Factory in San Francisco, and half of me was in the sun while the rest was in the shade.
Another training walk, you ask?
Nope. But we did walk a lot; by the time I got home I had 7 miles on my Fitbit. But walking was not the reason for going to SF yesterday. The reason?
Two of my sisters, Kathy (on the left) and Mary (on the right) were in San Francisco for the day so we hopped on BART to go see them. Plus, it was Max's birthday, so we took Flax Max along so he could see the sights.
We had an awesome time walking around the Pier and up to Ghiradelli Square, and of course had to hop on a cable car, because what's a trip to SF without taking a cable car?
Unfortunately, we wound up sitting on the inside...to really get the experience, ya need to be on the outside. Inside, if you get a bench, you wind up with other peoples' crotches in your face. If you wind up standing...you wind up shoving your crotch into other peoples' faces.
I have yet to see someone in SF whose crotch I want in my face.
My 2nd favorite picture from the day, in spite of me looking like a giant grape:
I believe we deemed there must be a family vacation in the future. And the Spouse Thingy, the Boy, and I had already planned on Las Vegas in November (10% business, 90% Hey, it's VEGAS!)...would be REALLY nice if they could show up. Just sayin'...
But man, I wish I had remembered the sunscreen...
Ayup...my nose hurts. So does my left arm, which is twice as sunburned as my right, probably because I sat on the terrace of the Cheesecake Factory in San Francisco, and half of me was in the sun while the rest was in the shade.
Another training walk, you ask?
Nope. But we did walk a lot; by the time I got home I had 7 miles on my Fitbit. But walking was not the reason for going to SF yesterday. The reason?
 |
| My favorite picture of the day |
We had an awesome time walking around the Pier and up to Ghiradelli Square, and of course had to hop on a cable car, because what's a trip to SF without taking a cable car?
 |
| Doods! I get to ride! |
I have yet to see someone in SF whose crotch I want in my face.
My 2nd favorite picture from the day, in spite of me looking like a giant grape:
 |
| Youngest, second oldest, oldest. Heh. |
But man, I wish I had remembered the sunscreen...
Saturday
16 June 2012
From a friend:
Standing in line at a deli counter, waiting to place an order. Nearby is an older gentleman—Grandpa, I guessed—and a boy, around eleven years old. They've already ordered and are waiting.
Grandpa: Tomorrow might be hard.
Kid: Yeah, maybe.
Grandpa: You miss your dad a lot, don't you?
Kid: (looks up, puzzled) No. Why would I?
Grandpa: Because he's...gone?
Kid: No he's not.
Grandpa: Then where is he?
Kid: (taps chest) Right here.
I had to get out of line. Grown assed men don't suddenly start crying in the grocery store.
Every year since my dad died, I've agonized on Father's Day and haven't allowed myself to enjoy it with my own kids, but screw that. That kid was right. My dad isn't here, but he's here. Something all of us who have lost our dads might do well to remember.
Friday
15 June 2012
Oddz N Endz #8,392.132x2bq
- It's June 15th...On July 1st two someones are going to win a Kindle Fire. Want a shot? Donate! In just three weeks DKM and I will be in San Francisco for the Avon Walk to end breast cancer. I'm almost at goal... $5 gets you a shot at it. $100 gets you (:::thinks::: math is hard...) 20 chances. $200 gets you 40, but then you could just buy your own for that. BUT...donating is tax deductible. TAX DEDUCTIBLE, people! I dunno about you, but last year, donations made a difference for our taxes.
- If my math is wrong...yeah, well, it probably is wrong...
- Yes, the hair will be hot pink. I need a haircut, though. Spiky, maybe? I've never done spiky. It might make the pink that much more spiffy. But, I dunno...I still haven't gotten a really good haircut here...
- I have done very little today that could be construed as productive.
- I looked at Las Vegas stuff online. Does that count as productive? We're going in November for a few days. It's for research. Yep...research. A meeting up with a writer. That makes it tax deductible, right? It's business, yo...
- Shuddup. I know “yo” sounds stupid and is so last year. But, whatever, dude...
- This put me another 20 minutes off of doing anything productive. Today is full of win!
Monday
11 June 2012
Don't worry, I'm not talking about you. Or you.
Truthfully, 95% of what I do read is not publishable. Usually the stories are good, but the execution fails. Poor spelling, no grasp of basic grammar (and I am not a grammar nazi, not even close) or a choppy narrative...Of that 95%, I'd say 80% can be redeemed, and most of them can be turned into something very, very good. Some even outstanding.
But...a lot of what I get is just awful, and it takes some consideration before I can tell the writer it really isn't going anywhere, and probably won't. I do that as little s possible, because almost everything does have a place and an audience, and if the writer is willing to do the work and learn the things they need to learn, it's worth the time and effort.
Yesterday I was asked by a casual online acquaintance to read a short story by a friend of hers. I don't know her well, but it was only a short story, and I had time--and no obligation to say anything beyond whether I liked it, or whether I did not.
So I said yes. And the manuscript I got was more novella length than short story, and a genre I don't typically read...Fantasy Romance. Whimsical fantasy romance. I'm not even sure that's a real genre, or just an apt description, but it fit.
And it was good.
I started reading last night at 10:30, and finished it at 1:30. I could barely put it down, and dang near wet myself because I didn't want to get up to pee.
I read it and finished it with the sense that when I grow up, I want to write like that.
So...keep your eyes peeled for a new writer named L.Donna Le'Donna (LOL no, I'm not kidding...that's her pen name) and a novella titled Rufus Romeo Enchanted.
It will so totally be worth it.
Sunday
10 June 2012
All right, I'm sitting here watching HLN, formerly CNN Headline News, and they're showing a clip of a woman who was arrested for cheering during her daughter's high school graduation.
My first thought was, "Seriously? Arrested?" but as she went on I started wishing she would just suck it up and stop whining. I may have even talked to the TV, advising her to just stop talking, but I won't admit that publicly. Because that would have been just a little weird.
Look, I get it. She was thrilled her kid was graduating; she wanted to show that. But she also knew upfront that the audience had been warned that cheering was not permitted and that those who did would be escorted out.
She cheered anyway.
The audience was forewarned that those who acted out when being escorted out would be arrested; she claims she didn't do anything, but was placed under arrest anyway.
I doubt the cops arrested her for the joy of it.
Do I think she should have been arrested? No. It hardly seems worth the time and effort to go through all the paperwork for a disordely conduct charge under the circumstances.
Do I think she should have been kicked out of the ceremony? Absolutely.
It was made clear up front: no cheering. An adult should be able to follow that simple of a rule, whether they agree with it or not. I don't care how thrilled she was that her kid was graduating or how caught up in the moment she was. It only takes a modicum of maturity to hold it in and then let it out at a more appropriate time.
And hell, for argument's sake, let's say my kid followed hers across the stage. She hears her daughter's name and starts cheering; she gets her moment, gets the thrill of hearing that name as her kid strolls over and gets her diploma. But my kid, who's next in line? I miss hearing his name because she's making so much noise. He worked hard, too; as his parent, I have just as much right to enjoy the thrill of hearing his name and she does, yet her over-exuberance robbed me of that. Hell, I might not even notice that he's next, and I missed the whole thing.
It's a matter of fairness.
My kid's accomplishment is no less worthy of acknowledgment than your kid's, but your behavior can certainly tarnish the moment everyone has been waiting for.
If the rules had not been stated upfront, I would have a lot more sympathy for this woman. But she knew cheering was prohibited, and decided that because "she" worked so hard to get her daughter to that moment that the rules did not apply to her.
It doesn't work that way.
It shouldn't work that way.
I'm wondering now if this woman is whining about how "they" ruined her daughter's graduation.
No, lady.
"They" didn't.
You did.
My first thought was, "Seriously? Arrested?" but as she went on I started wishing she would just suck it up and stop whining. I may have even talked to the TV, advising her to just stop talking, but I won't admit that publicly. Because that would have been just a little weird.
Look, I get it. She was thrilled her kid was graduating; she wanted to show that. But she also knew upfront that the audience had been warned that cheering was not permitted and that those who did would be escorted out.
She cheered anyway.
The audience was forewarned that those who acted out when being escorted out would be arrested; she claims she didn't do anything, but was placed under arrest anyway.
I doubt the cops arrested her for the joy of it.
Do I think she should have been arrested? No. It hardly seems worth the time and effort to go through all the paperwork for a disordely conduct charge under the circumstances.
Do I think she should have been kicked out of the ceremony? Absolutely.
And hell, for argument's sake, let's say my kid followed hers across the stage. She hears her daughter's name and starts cheering; she gets her moment, gets the thrill of hearing that name as her kid strolls over and gets her diploma. But my kid, who's next in line? I miss hearing his name because she's making so much noise. He worked hard, too; as his parent, I have just as much right to enjoy the thrill of hearing his name and she does, yet her over-exuberance robbed me of that. Hell, I might not even notice that he's next, and I missed the whole thing.
It's a matter of fairness.
My kid's accomplishment is no less worthy of acknowledgment than your kid's, but your behavior can certainly tarnish the moment everyone has been waiting for.
If the rules had not been stated upfront, I would have a lot more sympathy for this woman. But she knew cheering was prohibited, and decided that because "she" worked so hard to get her daughter to that moment that the rules did not apply to her.
It doesn't work that way.
It shouldn't work that way.
I'm wondering now if this woman is whining about how "they" ruined her daughter's graduation.
No, lady.
"They" didn't.
You did.
Wednesday
6 June 2012
RIP to one of the greats; he broke out of the pulps and made science fiction accessible to the masses, and relied on the characters he created rather than the science. He was a once in a lifetime writer, and he will be missed...
Saturday
2 June 2012
Asked during another discussion, directly of me, but meant in good humor. There wasn't one among us who had not felt the sting of snobby criticism—every writer is accused of writing crap at one time or another—but the truth is, I meant what I'd said. I did not agree with the sneering volumes of people poking critical sticks at Stephenie Meyer over her massively selling trilogy.
Easy.
It's about the reading. It's about the kids who ate those books up like candy; and that's what they are, literary candy. Written chocolate with peppermint flakes and a gooey chocolate center. And really, there's nothing wrong with candy every now and then.
More than that...those books—like Maniac Magee and Goosebumps and Harry Potter—got kids excited about reading. Kids who otherwise would prefer to vegetate in front of a TV screen poured themselves into those books. They sat still, they soaked in the story, held their breaths at twists and turns, and squealed at how things turned out.
Poorly written? Maybe.
Did any of those kids care? No.
Would it have mattered to them if if did? Hell, no.
I'm in favor of anything that gets a kid to read. Pop fiction, comic books, the back of cereal boxes—if they'll happily read and it's not something that will harm them intellectually or emotionally, let them read and embrace the fact that they're willingly taking the time to read.
It doesn't matter if the grammar was off, sentence structure uneven, or even that Meyer's vampires sparkle in the sun and waste dozens of years in high school rather than spending that time trying to cure cancer. What matters is that a story was told that tapped into the interests of thousands of kids (and adults, let's be honest) and it brought them into the consumption of literature.
One treasured story tends to lead to a search for another, and then another; who cares if the writing was sloppy and the bits and pieces of the plot unworthy of Pulitzer consideration? These kids are reading. There's a good chance they'll keep reading.
The same can be said for a plethora of non-reading adults out there; they wanted to see what the big deal was, picked up the first book, and kept reading.
It's a good thing.
There's a style of writing, often referred to as Hi/Lo, that is specifically intended for adults who don't typically read for fun because their reading abilities hover between 6-8 grade. Hi/Lo books are usually adult-level novels written so that the average 12 to 14 year old can fall into the story without the struggle of comprehension. If you picked one up and started reading, chances are you wouldn't realize that the book you have in hand was meant for someone who hates reading because they simply don't have a high school level of reading ability. If the story is good, you'd fall into it, and it wouldn't be until much later that the style of writing was a little bit different. The intended target market, however, notices; they have in hand something they finally enjoy, something that doesn't feel burdened by the expectations of a bloated vocabulary and excessive narrative.
Give someone a book they love, and they'll seek out more. The more they read, the more their reading comprehension increases. The more they comprehend, the more the literary world expands for them, and along with that comes knowledge.
I don't see Twilight as being any different.
Forget the fact that it's not the best writing out there. It brings literature and literacy to the table, makes it accessible, and makes those kids want to read.
And wanting to read is never—at least not in my book—a bad thing.
How in the hell can you defend the clusterfuck of writing that is Twilight?
It's about the reading. It's about the kids who ate those books up like candy; and that's what they are, literary candy. Written chocolate with peppermint flakes and a gooey chocolate center. And really, there's nothing wrong with candy every now and then.
More than that...those books—like Maniac Magee and Goosebumps and Harry Potter—got kids excited about reading. Kids who otherwise would prefer to vegetate in front of a TV screen poured themselves into those books. They sat still, they soaked in the story, held their breaths at twists and turns, and squealed at how things turned out.
Poorly written? Maybe.
Did any of those kids care? No.
Would it have mattered to them if if did? Hell, no.
I'm in favor of anything that gets a kid to read. Pop fiction, comic books, the back of cereal boxes—if they'll happily read and it's not something that will harm them intellectually or emotionally, let them read and embrace the fact that they're willingly taking the time to read.
It doesn't matter if the grammar was off, sentence structure uneven, or even that Meyer's vampires sparkle in the sun and waste dozens of years in high school rather than spending that time trying to cure cancer. What matters is that a story was told that tapped into the interests of thousands of kids (and adults, let's be honest) and it brought them into the consumption of literature.
One treasured story tends to lead to a search for another, and then another; who cares if the writing was sloppy and the bits and pieces of the plot unworthy of Pulitzer consideration? These kids are reading. There's a good chance they'll keep reading.
The same can be said for a plethora of non-reading adults out there; they wanted to see what the big deal was, picked up the first book, and kept reading.
It's a good thing.
There's a style of writing, often referred to as Hi/Lo, that is specifically intended for adults who don't typically read for fun because their reading abilities hover between 6-8 grade. Hi/Lo books are usually adult-level novels written so that the average 12 to 14 year old can fall into the story without the struggle of comprehension. If you picked one up and started reading, chances are you wouldn't realize that the book you have in hand was meant for someone who hates reading because they simply don't have a high school level of reading ability. If the story is good, you'd fall into it, and it wouldn't be until much later that the style of writing was a little bit different. The intended target market, however, notices; they have in hand something they finally enjoy, something that doesn't feel burdened by the expectations of a bloated vocabulary and excessive narrative.
I don't see Twilight as being any different.
Forget the fact that it's not the best writing out there. It brings literature and literacy to the table, makes it accessible, and makes those kids want to read.
And wanting to read is never—at least not in my book—a bad thing.
Thursday
31 May 2012
Rejection. How do you handle it? How does anyone handle it? When someone hands back to you something you spent months writing and tells you it's not good enough, what do you do to keep from breaking?It started with a question and turned into a discussion; how can a writer not take it personally when something they've spent the better part of a year working on is met with frustrating rejection? After relying on friends and family to edit and critique, you take a deep breath and send it out, only to get either an email or snail mail with the words, “Sorry. Not for us.” When it happens over and over, it beats you down and makes you question everything.
It's not personal. Those rejection letters aren't an attack on a writer's personal worth; they're simply notice that the work submitted was not something the publisher could use at that time. It wasn't the right fit. Maybe the timing was off. True, the letter might also mean that the manuscript was riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, that it made little sense, and that it was poorly written, but it's not a personal indictment. It just is what it is.
Have you ever watched a movie that fell just a bit short, and left the theater thinking that it could have been so much better—great, even—if only one or two things had been changed? That it might have had a chance at a best picture award if the lead had been played by someone other than That Big Name Actor?
That Big Name Actor is really good, but if you close your eyes and picture That Other Guy in the role, it makes more sense. It fits better. The delivery of lines, the innate facial ticks, all the little nuances that That Other Guy could have brought to the table would have made all the difference.
The truth of that doesn't change the fact that That Big Name Actor is incredibly talented and you'd probably pay to see him read out of the Yellow Pages; he just wasn't the perfect fit for that particular role. It's no different with writers and publishers; your story might be wonderful. It might be worthy of automatic inclusion on this year's The Best Of list in the literary circles. It just wasn't right for that particular magazine/book publisher/blog.
I got so many rejections a few years back that I just stopped writing. It was horrible; all those things I needed to write about were stuck living inside my head, and I guess I thought the only way to quiet the noise was to self-medicate. And that turned ugly.Writers have long history of drug and alcohol abuse; hell, Stephen King admits he doesn't remember writing Cujo because of all the coke he was doing. I've read articles by writers who admit they find the use of marijuana helps them write past their inhibitions; I've read work by those same people that were written while not under the influence of anything, and it often kinda sucks.
I'm willing to bet, though, that of you gave those same people a drink and told them it had whatever their demon of choice was in it and then let them set about writing, they'd write as if they were under the influence.
You won't be a better writer under the influence; you just allow yourself to be less inhibited. And you won't quiet the noise in your head, either. If you really want to quiet it, then sit down and write. Let the noise out and pour in onto virtual paper. Give yourself permission to be who you are, even in the face of more rejection letters than you ever thought possible.
Yeah, the rejections sting. They sting because it matters to you. But it's not personal, and getting enough of them to insulate your house isn't reason enough to stop writing.
Write to hone your craft, and write to keep your sanity.
It's not just about writers, either. Change that to just about anything. Photography, dance, acting.
Become one with your camera, show your pictures online.
Choreograph your own dance; record it and show it on You Tube.
Sink your teeth into community theater, take the role offered even if it's not the one you want.
You're still shooting pictures, still sharing your grace with the world, still shedding your own skin and taking on someone else's.
But how does one handle the rejection? You just do. You suck it up and move on and try to remember that it's part of a business and not an indictment against your talent or yourself. In college one of my English professors said that until you get a rejection, you're not a “real” writer—and within a year or two we'd all be consummate professionals, with enough of them to be the root cause of the death of an acre or two of forest.
He was a writer who sold his work consistently...and who shared his many weekly rejection letters with the class.
I doubt he enjoyed getting them, but he'd learned to shrug them off.
The answers don't really change, though.
Just keep at it.
It really is that simple.
Monday
28 May 2012
Three year old kid running down the aisle in Walmart, leaps into the air and comes down hard on his feet as if he were jumping into a puddle, yells out I AM THE COCONUT! FEAR ME!, then turns around and runs back to his mother.
Yep, I was quaking in my shoes.
Yep, I was quaking in my shoes.
Friday
25 May 2012
Yesterday was puzzling. Not brain-busting puzzling, but more like, a People, What the Frack? puzzling. On the first instance, I'm not sure if it's an indictment against the overall honesty of people in general, an indictment of the education system, or...what. The second...well, that woman was just a walking douche.
The fridge was near empty yesterday, so after the Spouse Thingy got up and had some time to be mostly coherent, we went grocery shopping. No, I do not just go and do this by myself. If there is torture to be had in the grocery aisles of Walmart, I am totally going to inflict it on him as well. I hate grocery shopping; I have no issues with sharing the pain.
We loaded a cart, specifically did not go through the self check out line because people who do that with full carts...those people suck. We waited in a cashiered line, the girl working rang everything up, and we paid. In cash. We still had money on us from going to Reno and neither of us feels especially comfortable walking around with that much cash, so why the hell not use it instead of a debit card?
I handed over $215 to cover a $212+change purchase, she counted it out, and then fished into the cash register or change, giving me back $7 + change.
Now, we started to walk off, but the little bells went off in both our heads, we looked at the receipt, and saw that she had added up our bills as $220.
No problem. I took the four steps back towards the cash register to tell her and to give back the $5 extra. The problem? She couldn't quite understand what I meant when I said, "I gave you two-fifteen, but you counted it as two-twenty...and I owe you five bucks."
She didn't quite get it. She was taking care of another customer and was distracted, so I didn't really think anything about it, but then she recited back the bills I had given her. Three 50s, three 20s, and a 5. Righto. That's 215. You gave me back five bucks too much.
I thought she had grasped it when she asked a manager for an audit...but then she started mumbling about the bills again and I got the impression she really didn't know what was happening. So I came right out and said, "I owe you five dollars. I don't want your till to come up short or for you to get in trouble over it."
The light bulb went off. This lady is giving money back, she doesn't want me to give her any.
I don't know how it played out, but I gave her the five bucks and told her if her till came up short, use it.
In some places, being that short will get your ass fired. It's just five bucks to me. But now I'm not sure if she really didn't grasp that I was returning the money and not asking for money back, or if she had a hard time believing someone would actually try to correct an error in their favor.
So really...are people that sucky that they walk off with money that's not theirs? Was it really bad math skills? Or is "I owe you five bucks" a difficult concept to digest? I dunno.
It's not even that five bucks is a small amount that I don't need. Thirty years ago, when we were broker than broke, a drive-through bank teller gave me $150 too much. That was life-changing money then it would have made a difference. But hell yes I gave it back. It wasn't mine. I've chased after people who have left behind 50 cents in the change cup at a register before. It's not the amount, it's the principle.
I don't get people who would think there are other options.
Granted, I've found money on the street before and kept it. We found a five dollar bill on the ground at a flea market in Utah once; who the hell do you give it back to when there are a thousand other people around, many of whom would claim it? When the Boy was six or so, I took him to Wendy's and the guy ahead of us dropped a money clip while he was picking up his tray. I didn't see it, but the Boy did...he never even thought twice about it, he grabbed it and ran to give it back to the guy. We didn't beat that into him--he just knew.
You do the right thing when you can.
And damn, I'm getting way off track here. Maybe.
I mostly forgot about it, and after we'd taken the groceries home and put them away, I needed to make another run, this time to Safeway, where they have much better fresh fruit. I grabbed about 6 things, then got into line behind a woman with a loaded cart. Ahead of her was another woman who had maybe 7 things, and she split them up, 5 food things she was paying for with an EBT card, two nonfood things she was paying for with cash.
No big deal.
Not until the woman ahead turned to me and said in a stage-type-whisper, "Those people...now this will take for-ev-er."
Huh?
Honestly, until she said that, I hadn't even noticed what the person ahead of us was doing. And even then...so?
"I'm not in a hurry and she's not hurting anyone..." That's all I could come up with at the time, though many other things have occurred to me since (and Susie McGavin had a golden reply on Facebook: "Do you mind if I go ahead of you? I have an EBT card, too, and the checkers like to group us together." Damn I wish I had thought of that....)
The thing is, I was standing there with just a few things. The woman ahead had just a few things. Little Miss Sunshine had a cart load...which she promptly abandoned as she hurried out the door, probably to find a pair of giant tweezers with which she could pick her panty wad out of her ass.
We both knew she didn't have an issue with time. She had an issue with someone using an EBT card.
People, we all pay taxes. There are things our tax dollars go to that I don't like, but I'm not naive enough to believe we necessarily should have a line-item say in what our money is spent on. Don't like the way it's spent, vote the spenders out of office. But food stamps? I have no problem with that. People are hungry, people need food, and this feeds some of them.
Hells bells, if you're using an EBT card I won't know it; how many people actually look hard enough at what appears to be someone else's debit card? And if you do, does it really matter?
I am fully aware that I have my own dooshbag moments, and as for making change...I have to count on my fingers.
But there are some things about people that make me kinda sad. That it might be a shock for someone to do the right thing, and that there are people that judgmental...kinda sucks, actually.
Ya know who I really feel for? The poor kid who works at Safeway, who then had to take that woman's cart and out everything back.
The fridge was near empty yesterday, so after the Spouse Thingy got up and had some time to be mostly coherent, we went grocery shopping. No, I do not just go and do this by myself. If there is torture to be had in the grocery aisles of Walmart, I am totally going to inflict it on him as well. I hate grocery shopping; I have no issues with sharing the pain.
We loaded a cart, specifically did not go through the self check out line because people who do that with full carts...those people suck. We waited in a cashiered line, the girl working rang everything up, and we paid. In cash. We still had money on us from going to Reno and neither of us feels especially comfortable walking around with that much cash, so why the hell not use it instead of a debit card?
Now, we started to walk off, but the little bells went off in both our heads, we looked at the receipt, and saw that she had added up our bills as $220.
No problem. I took the four steps back towards the cash register to tell her and to give back the $5 extra. The problem? She couldn't quite understand what I meant when I said, "I gave you two-fifteen, but you counted it as two-twenty...and I owe you five bucks."
She didn't quite get it. She was taking care of another customer and was distracted, so I didn't really think anything about it, but then she recited back the bills I had given her. Three 50s, three 20s, and a 5. Righto. That's 215. You gave me back five bucks too much.
I thought she had grasped it when she asked a manager for an audit...but then she started mumbling about the bills again and I got the impression she really didn't know what was happening. So I came right out and said, "I owe you five dollars. I don't want your till to come up short or for you to get in trouble over it."
The light bulb went off. This lady is giving money back, she doesn't want me to give her any.
I don't know how it played out, but I gave her the five bucks and told her if her till came up short, use it.
In some places, being that short will get your ass fired. It's just five bucks to me. But now I'm not sure if she really didn't grasp that I was returning the money and not asking for money back, or if she had a hard time believing someone would actually try to correct an error in their favor.
So really...are people that sucky that they walk off with money that's not theirs? Was it really bad math skills? Or is "I owe you five bucks" a difficult concept to digest? I dunno.
It's not even that five bucks is a small amount that I don't need. Thirty years ago, when we were broker than broke, a drive-through bank teller gave me $150 too much. That was life-changing money then it would have made a difference. But hell yes I gave it back. It wasn't mine. I've chased after people who have left behind 50 cents in the change cup at a register before. It's not the amount, it's the principle.
I don't get people who would think there are other options.
Granted, I've found money on the street before and kept it. We found a five dollar bill on the ground at a flea market in Utah once; who the hell do you give it back to when there are a thousand other people around, many of whom would claim it? When the Boy was six or so, I took him to Wendy's and the guy ahead of us dropped a money clip while he was picking up his tray. I didn't see it, but the Boy did...he never even thought twice about it, he grabbed it and ran to give it back to the guy. We didn't beat that into him--he just knew.
You do the right thing when you can.
And damn, I'm getting way off track here. Maybe.
I mostly forgot about it, and after we'd taken the groceries home and put them away, I needed to make another run, this time to Safeway, where they have much better fresh fruit. I grabbed about 6 things, then got into line behind a woman with a loaded cart. Ahead of her was another woman who had maybe 7 things, and she split them up, 5 food things she was paying for with an EBT card, two nonfood things she was paying for with cash.
No big deal.
Not until the woman ahead turned to me and said in a stage-type-whisper, "Those people...now this will take for-ev-er."
Huh?
Honestly, until she said that, I hadn't even noticed what the person ahead of us was doing. And even then...so?
"I'm not in a hurry and she's not hurting anyone..." That's all I could come up with at the time, though many other things have occurred to me since (and Susie McGavin had a golden reply on Facebook: "Do you mind if I go ahead of you? I have an EBT card, too, and the checkers like to group us together." Damn I wish I had thought of that....)
We both knew she didn't have an issue with time. She had an issue with someone using an EBT card.
People, we all pay taxes. There are things our tax dollars go to that I don't like, but I'm not naive enough to believe we necessarily should have a line-item say in what our money is spent on. Don't like the way it's spent, vote the spenders out of office. But food stamps? I have no problem with that. People are hungry, people need food, and this feeds some of them.
Hells bells, if you're using an EBT card I won't know it; how many people actually look hard enough at what appears to be someone else's debit card? And if you do, does it really matter?
I am fully aware that I have my own dooshbag moments, and as for making change...I have to count on my fingers.
But there are some things about people that make me kinda sad. That it might be a shock for someone to do the right thing, and that there are people that judgmental...kinda sucks, actually.
Ya know who I really feel for? The poor kid who works at Safeway, who then had to take that woman's cart and out everything back.
Wednesday
23 May 2012
Just before, during, and after Mother's Day, I was battling a simple cold that left me wrapped in fatigue, plus the Boy had to work, so we put off doing anything. Then a few days ago he and I were texting, and he brought up that he had a few days off, so how about a family trip to Reno? It was mostly kidding, but I thought, why the hell not? The cats would be fine for one night, and his roommate could feed his dog one night.
I had to check with the Spouse Thingy, but I didn't think he had any other plans. Plus, the boy was paying for the rooms. Happy Mother's Day! Sweet.
So off to Reno we went yesterday morning. It's a three hour drive up the mountain, but the views once you get past Sacramento are pretty sweet, so it's not a horrible three hours. It's only awful if you have to pee and you realize you just passed the rest stop...not that I've had any experience with that in the past.
Don't laugh. I used to be a decent bowler with an average hovering around 160. I like bowling. I miss bowling. And I wanted to see a bowling alley with 78 active lanes.
It was impressive. And they had food there. So we ate and then went walking, mostly to see what there was to see, and what there was to see was a lot of slot machines and people gambling. After a while the Boy went off on his own, because he plays poker and we do not, so the Spouse Thingy and I wandered a while more, musing that the area has kind of gone downhill since we were last there. So many closed storefronts, the Fitzgerald Hotel and Casino is gone and the building is now used for rock climbing. Some of the older casinos have that ick factor practically painted on the walls. But the major hotel casinos are still there and look really good for their age, and we found a non-smoking slot area in the Silver Legacy, so we played there for a bit, where I seethed at the machines for being mean to me while they were nicer to the Spouse Thingy.
Seriously, they like him. He doesn't win big but he usually breaks even...I tend to lose a lot of money.
Still...it was fun. We walked around 7 miles just wandering around to see what there was, stopping to play the occasional slot machine. One our way out, when I was sure I was done, I spotted something bright yellow and shiny, and had to go see. And once I saw, I had to take a chance.
Thumper wanted it.
Thumper really wanted it.
Thumper wanted it enough to put $50 in the slot machine, even knowing the odds were a bazillion to one.
Thumper left disappointed.
But...there was booze to be had back at Harrah's, where we were staying. And it was really good booze, too. I had one of the smoothest Long Island Teas I've ever had, and a spiced rum & coke than damn near ripped a hole in my tongue it was so strong. It soothed the crushing feeling of not winning a long shot BMW.
Plus, I learned that I like spiced rum...
I blew through more money than I wanted to, but it was fun...and exhausting. The original plan had been to check out of the hotel this morning and then hang around for a couple of hours, but the drive there and then all the activity afterward knocked me on my ass. If checkout had been later, the guys could have bummed around while I curled up on the bed and snooze, but we had to be out by 11, and I honestly didn't think I could do much more than get in the passenger seat of the car for the ride home.
Usually, I drive. It's a control thing...I'm a horrible passenger and am stressed as hell when I'm not behind the wheel, but it would have been a bad idea for me to be in control of a Chevy hurtling down the mountain at 70 mph, so the Spouse Thingy drove. There's a side benefit to having to give up control of the car to someone else...you get to see more stuff around you, and I-80 between Auburn and the outskirts of Reno is beautiful.
Next time...Vegas. I bet I can blow through a good chunk o'change there!
Tuesday
15 May 2012
Stuff That's Been Going On In The Last Couple Of Weeks
- My Mom took a heard fall and it's been pretty serious. She suffered a brain stem bleed and was in ICU for a while, has had some issues that once she was out out her back in again, and now she's in rehab. It's still serious, she could use some continued Mojo and whatnot. She's been through enough in the last few years, between fighting through Lymphoma and losing my dad...she needs to catch a break.
- I've spent the last week with my throat on fire and my head so full of goop that everything was spinning and my ears were popping. A little harder to hear than normal. I'm starting to feel better, though, so it's barely worth mentioning.
- I am still tired enough that the Bay to Breakers isn't happening this weekend, at least not for me. I'm sure the other 20,000 people will still show up. I just can't see going into the city, spending the night, and fighting a crowd to walk uphill for over 7 miles when I'm so wrung out.
- Before the cold knocked me on my asterisk the Boy went to Reno, so we got to go walk Butters. I think I'll rename him Sir Sniffs-A-Lot, because holy carp that dog likes to check everything out. And for a guy with short little legs, he's fast. Walk with him everyday and a person could get into decent shape.
- Max, on the other hand, did not like how I smelled when we got home. Apparently, I smelled like betrayal.
- My laptop crashed. Hundreds of cat pictures with funny captions...gone. I am in mourning.
- Replaced the laptop.
- Yeah...this is the excitement of my life. But still, if you're of a mind to, send my mom continued well wishes or Mojo or prayer. It would be nice if she recovered fully.
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| Also have been looking at a lot of Calvin and Hobbes, looking for the next tattoo... |
Monday
30 April 2012
I love San Francisco. The Spouse Thingy took ten days off work. So there was plenty of time to go back to SF again. We got off the BART and headed back through China Town today, but this time we were headed for Pier 39, which is only about 4 miles away and gets a couple of decent hills in (not enough, but still.)
Old photo...that macaroni noodle is no longer there.
Bummer.
But once we were there, it was lunch time and the Spouse Thingy's reward for walking and not whining is fish. I don't do fish. I don't like the smell of fish. I also don't mind if he goes into a restaurant and has his fish, because while he's indulging, I can shop.
And shop I did. I wandered into the wine shop and bought some mini-bottles of booze: Contreau, Jagermeister, and two bottle of Chambord, which the Boy said I would like...and now I need him to tell me how to drink it. Mix or straight. But...still. I bought booze. In teeny tiny bottles.
I wandered some more and went into a knife shop, where I came this close to buying a 2" switchblade. The only thing that stopped me was that there was no blade lock to keep it from popping open in my pocket.
I know, a bizarre want...but I've wanted a switchblade since I was a kid, probably because it's illegal...but under 2", apparently they're legal enough in CA.
So no knife. Then I wandered into a touristy shop that sells tons of hats and shirts and fell deep in like with a striped sorta cowboy hat that can be molded into whatever hat shape you want. But I wasn't sure, so I headed back out and wandered some more, almost-buying a few sweatshirts and a crystal Thumper (but could not justify $100 for a tiny piece of glass) and went back.
I tried the hat on again and was looking in the mirror, when an older lady near said--very sweetly and with genuine concern--Oh, honey...no.
So I guess that was not a good look for me. Good to know.
This has been a really fun mini-vacation. We've hit SF twice, shopped for some stuff for the Spouse Thingy's woodshop, wandered around a flea market, spent his birthday losing money in a casino...He's only got 2 more days off, and one of those we have dental appointments...all fun things must come to and end, I suppose.
But my highlight just might be Oh honey...no. LOL
Bummer.
But once we were there, it was lunch time and the Spouse Thingy's reward for walking and not whining is fish. I don't do fish. I don't like the smell of fish. I also don't mind if he goes into a restaurant and has his fish, because while he's indulging, I can shop.
And shop I did. I wandered into the wine shop and bought some mini-bottles of booze: Contreau, Jagermeister, and two bottle of Chambord, which the Boy said I would like...and now I need him to tell me how to drink it. Mix or straight. But...still. I bought booze. In teeny tiny bottles.
I wandered some more and went into a knife shop, where I came this close to buying a 2" switchblade. The only thing that stopped me was that there was no blade lock to keep it from popping open in my pocket.
I know, a bizarre want...but I've wanted a switchblade since I was a kid, probably because it's illegal...but under 2", apparently they're legal enough in CA.
So no knife. Then I wandered into a touristy shop that sells tons of hats and shirts and fell deep in like with a striped sorta cowboy hat that can be molded into whatever hat shape you want. But I wasn't sure, so I headed back out and wandered some more, almost-buying a few sweatshirts and a crystal Thumper (but could not justify $100 for a tiny piece of glass) and went back.
I tried the hat on again and was looking in the mirror, when an older lady near said--very sweetly and with genuine concern--Oh, honey...no.
So I guess that was not a good look for me. Good to know.
This has been a really fun mini-vacation. We've hit SF twice, shopped for some stuff for the Spouse Thingy's woodshop, wandered around a flea market, spent his birthday losing money in a casino...He's only got 2 more days off, and one of those we have dental appointments...all fun things must come to and end, I suppose.
But my highlight just might be Oh honey...no. LOL
Tuesday
24 April 2012
Dixon is flat and I need hills upon which to train for the upcoming Bay 2 Breakers, because that sucker is uphill for a good mile or two at least. And we wanted to do some shopping in the touristy parts of San Francisco, so that was the logical place to go sweat and part from some cash.
We took the BART in (gawd, people, stop peeing on the train. It stinks) and started walking in the general direction we wanted to go, and then ran smack into this:
People protesting at Wells Fargo. And while I appreciate someone's right to protest, I don't appreciate them being dicks about it and intentionally impeding other people from being able to get from point A to point B, and it seemed to be that this smallish throng was determined to keep people from getting from one side to the other.
Which meant, of course, that we were pushing our way through whether they liked it or not. I wasn't going to turn around and walk down and over a block just to avoid them.
It wasn't a huge protest, but it had more than one city block of California closed off, typing up several police officers, and drew in a lot of news crews. Other than being really noisy, I'm not sure what they really hoped to accomplish. There was a shareholders meeting they tried to disrupt, but my understanding is that it was in another building entirely.
At least the street closure made it possible to get in the middle of the road and shoot a picture up California, the street that reminds me I am so not in hill shape anymore.
Protesters aside, we had a good time wandering around spending money. And I bought myself some new blue balls.
And look, we found the heart of San Francisco.
It's at Union Square, so if you go looking for it, you at least have a starting point.
We took the BART in (gawd, people, stop peeing on the train. It stinks) and started walking in the general direction we wanted to go, and then ran smack into this:
People protesting at Wells Fargo. And while I appreciate someone's right to protest, I don't appreciate them being dicks about it and intentionally impeding other people from being able to get from point A to point B, and it seemed to be that this smallish throng was determined to keep people from getting from one side to the other.
Which meant, of course, that we were pushing our way through whether they liked it or not. I wasn't going to turn around and walk down and over a block just to avoid them.
It wasn't a huge protest, but it had more than one city block of California closed off, typing up several police officers, and drew in a lot of news crews. Other than being really noisy, I'm not sure what they really hoped to accomplish. There was a shareholders meeting they tried to disrupt, but my understanding is that it was in another building entirely.
At least the street closure made it possible to get in the middle of the road and shoot a picture up California, the street that reminds me I am so not in hill shape anymore.
Protesters aside, we had a good time wandering around spending money. And I bought myself some new blue balls.
And look, we found the heart of San Francisco.
It's at Union Square, so if you go looking for it, you at least have a starting point.
Sunday
22 April 2012
How I know I'm special:
I got a medal for walking a little over 3 miles.
And a t-shirt.
But the medal, that means special.
I got a medal for walking a little over 3 miles.
And a t-shirt.
But the medal, that means special.
Thursday
Wednesday
11 April 2012
Because I suffer an extreme shortage of toys, I needed a bicycle. Oh, I already had a bicycle, but the front fork is bent and I really didn't want to ride in circles all time, though we live on a court so that would certainly be doable. I could just ride out there and go around the court for an hour at a time, as long as I only wanted to to do the Nascar thing and go left.
But...toys. I needed a toy.
Kinda.
What I needed was something that would get me a little more cardio work, because all the walking, even at those long distances, that hasn't been cutting it. I can walk 6 miles no problem, but I'm not getting my heart rate up. And over the last couple of years, even though I'm far more active, I've lost a lot in endurance. I'm not even walking as fast as I did even 9 months ago.
I was up to 5-6 miles on the Trikke when I started walking. Then I decided to concentrate on the walking, and lost all my Trikke endurance.
This bums me out mightily, because the Trikke is a whole lot of fun.
And then there's my Street Strider Fusion. This has the potential to be a farkwad of fun, but it kills my bad knee, and I am so far from having the cardio fitness needed to really do more than tool around the street it's not funny.
Enter the desire for a bicycle. I wanted something that was fun but would still help me get into shape better than just for walking, but that wouldn't make me feel like I was going to die after 15 minutes. And I wanted something that I wouldn't outgrow, presuming I do develop some conditioning.
Once I'm in shape, I'll have three really fun options for exercise, without it feeling like exercise. I have hopes that a bike will strengthen my knee so that the Strider won't be the toy that makes me cry because I just can't play with it.
I'm sure to the Spouse Thingy the want of a bike seemed like another thing seemingly coming out of nowhere, but I do tend to quietly mull over my apparent impulses before I bring them up. I surf online and research, read reviews, get basic information so that I have a modicum of an idea what I'm looking for and whether or not some sales guy is feeding me a big hot steaming bowl of carpola.
We looked at basic bikes at Walmart last night...and that was ugly. I haven't been on an upright bike in years and there wasn't much room to really try a bike out there, but it was a start. I did learn that cheap bikes come in pretty colors. Today we went to the two major sports stores in Vacaville and looked at bikes there, and I got what I wanted: a good idea of the price range I was looking at, and the type of bike I wanted. From there, though, we came back to Dixon and went to the local bike shop. Surprisingly, Dixon has a bicycle shop. And the guy there knows his stuff.
I just wanted to look elsewhere first to make sure I wasn't going to be pointed toward a $2000 spiffy Trek bike, when all I'm going to really want to do is ride around town. I wanted to buy local; aside from supporting community business, if something goes wrong, the shop is right here.
He didn't disappoint. Hearing what I wanted a bike for, he narrowed the range down to just a couple, and pulled one in particular out of the lines of bikes. Upright, cushioned seat (but not too cushioned, which is good, because too squishy over the miles will just create hot spots...), correct frame size (I'm a 20, it seems) and he adjusted the bar height and seat height for me, then sent me outside to test ride it.
Walmart...they're not gonna let you take the bike out to the parking lot to ride it around.
I took it to a parking lot across the street to zip around and he watched from inside the shop; it wasn't that he thought I would take off, because he had our car in the parking lot and I'm pretty sure he could have caught and tackled the Spouse Thingy if we tried to run, but to see how well it fit and how comfortable I seemed.
Tell ya what, for not having ridden in years, I was damned comfortable.
So yeah, I bought a bicycle. One that I can take back for adjustments as needed until it's tweaked to fit me perfectly. Something that will help get me into better cardio shape but not feel like exercise.
Because exercise...that sucks.
But...toys. I needed a toy.
Kinda.
 |
| Trikke on... |
I was up to 5-6 miles on the Trikke when I started walking. Then I decided to concentrate on the walking, and lost all my Trikke endurance.
This bums me out mightily, because the Trikke is a whole lot of fun.
 |
| Fusion...tons of ouchy fun |
Enter the desire for a bicycle. I wanted something that was fun but would still help me get into shape better than just for walking, but that wouldn't make me feel like I was going to die after 15 minutes. And I wanted something that I wouldn't outgrow, presuming I do develop some conditioning.
Once I'm in shape, I'll have three really fun options for exercise, without it feeling like exercise. I have hopes that a bike will strengthen my knee so that the Strider won't be the toy that makes me cry because I just can't play with it.
I'm sure to the Spouse Thingy the want of a bike seemed like another thing seemingly coming out of nowhere, but I do tend to quietly mull over my apparent impulses before I bring them up. I surf online and research, read reviews, get basic information so that I have a modicum of an idea what I'm looking for and whether or not some sales guy is feeding me a big hot steaming bowl of carpola.
We looked at basic bikes at Walmart last night...and that was ugly. I haven't been on an upright bike in years and there wasn't much room to really try a bike out there, but it was a start. I did learn that cheap bikes come in pretty colors. Today we went to the two major sports stores in Vacaville and looked at bikes there, and I got what I wanted: a good idea of the price range I was looking at, and the type of bike I wanted. From there, though, we came back to Dixon and went to the local bike shop. Surprisingly, Dixon has a bicycle shop. And the guy there knows his stuff.
I just wanted to look elsewhere first to make sure I wasn't going to be pointed toward a $2000 spiffy Trek bike, when all I'm going to really want to do is ride around town. I wanted to buy local; aside from supporting community business, if something goes wrong, the shop is right here.
 |
| Raleigh Venture 3.0 Comfort Bike |
Walmart...they're not gonna let you take the bike out to the parking lot to ride it around.
I took it to a parking lot across the street to zip around and he watched from inside the shop; it wasn't that he thought I would take off, because he had our car in the parking lot and I'm pretty sure he could have caught and tackled the Spouse Thingy if we tried to run, but to see how well it fit and how comfortable I seemed.
Tell ya what, for not having ridden in years, I was damned comfortable.
So yeah, I bought a bicycle. One that I can take back for adjustments as needed until it's tweaked to fit me perfectly. Something that will help get me into better cardio shape but not feel like exercise.
Because exercise...that sucks.
Monday
9 April 2012
What I've been doing over the past nine days when I obviously wasn't blogging...besides playing on Facebook...
Mostly...getting this formatted, uploaded to the printer and distributor, then formatted for the Kindle and uploaded to Amazon. It's not on other major bookstore sites yet, mostly because I haven't gotten around to formatting it in their preferred style. I would really like it if everyone would agree on one standard format... If they would, it would be everywhere by now.
But...it's on Amazon. The print version shows right now as out of stock, but that's mostly because they just got the data from the distributor. [clicky]
The Kindle version is available... With the e-ink it's all in black and white, but if you have a Kindle Fire or another color e-reader with a Kindle app, there are pictures in color. Color! Imagine that! [clicky]
My favorite toy also decided to give me headaches. We started to head out on a ride, pulled the bikes out of the garage and I fired mine up...and then it died. Fired it up again...and it died. Tried a third time, and =click=. Nothing.
Ride aborted, we put the bikes back, the Spouse Thingy hooked up a battery charger and a few days later he fired it up. And it died. He fired it up. And it died. =click=
The frustrating thing is that the dealership is 50 miles away, and pretty much all the other bikes shops around here closed one by one over the last couple of years. The one left...the Harley dealer in Vacaville. They had no issues with testing my very-non-Harley battery, though, and were happy enough to dig into manuals and find out exactly what battery it needed, and then ordered me one.
So two days later the Spouse Thingy put the battery in for me, charged it, and yesterday I fired it up...and it died. Fired it up. Died. Fired...and the engine would turn and turn and turn, but did not want to start.
Well, hell.
It finally did start, but was obviously not happy about it. It ran rough, so I decided to ride around the court, and when it died once more I took it back into the garage, thinking that on Tuesday it would be headed to the dealership on the back of a tow truck. But today, after some advice from a couple other people, I fired it up and we went for a ride around town...not a single issue.
Apparently my favorite toy does not like gas that's even two weeks old. So I clearly have to ride it more so that it gets a regular supply of fresh gas.
Since I'll need to ride a lot, before winter I think I'll need something nice and warm and very bright to ride around in.
These suckers...crash in one of these and unless you get run over, too, you get to keep all your skin.
Go ahead, buy me one, I know you want to. It's only like $900...
Should have bought it a couple years ago when it was a hundred bucks less...
Oh, and the other thing I've been doing?
Tormenting the cats.
They didn't seem to appreciate their Easter gift.
Tho..Buddah has bitten it a couple of times.
He needs a name.
Something like NEDS. Non Edible Piece of $hit...at least that seemed to be what Max would call it.
But...it's on Amazon. The print version shows right now as out of stock, but that's mostly because they just got the data from the distributor. [clicky]
The Kindle version is available... With the e-ink it's all in black and white, but if you have a Kindle Fire or another color e-reader with a Kindle app, there are pictures in color. Color! Imagine that! [clicky]
Ride aborted, we put the bikes back, the Spouse Thingy hooked up a battery charger and a few days later he fired it up. And it died. He fired it up. And it died. =click=
The frustrating thing is that the dealership is 50 miles away, and pretty much all the other bikes shops around here closed one by one over the last couple of years. The one left...the Harley dealer in Vacaville. They had no issues with testing my very-non-Harley battery, though, and were happy enough to dig into manuals and find out exactly what battery it needed, and then ordered me one.
So two days later the Spouse Thingy put the battery in for me, charged it, and yesterday I fired it up...and it died. Fired it up. Died. Fired...and the engine would turn and turn and turn, but did not want to start.
Well, hell.
It finally did start, but was obviously not happy about it. It ran rough, so I decided to ride around the court, and when it died once more I took it back into the garage, thinking that on Tuesday it would be headed to the dealership on the back of a tow truck. But today, after some advice from a couple other people, I fired it up and we went for a ride around town...not a single issue.
Apparently my favorite toy does not like gas that's even two weeks old. So I clearly have to ride it more so that it gets a regular supply of fresh gas.
These suckers...crash in one of these and unless you get run over, too, you get to keep all your skin.
Go ahead, buy me one, I know you want to. It's only like $900...
Should have bought it a couple years ago when it was a hundred bucks less...
Oh, and the other thing I've been doing?
Tormenting the cats.
Tho..Buddah has bitten it a couple of times.
He needs a name.
Something like NEDS. Non Edible Piece of $hit...at least that seemed to be what Max would call it.
Sunday
Monday
26 March 2012
Brain dump #982,579.863
- I've lost count, but I think I've been sick 5 times since the beginning of the year. Nothing major, mostly GI stuff,but enough that I'm realizing I've been sick an awful lot.
- It has not kept me from writing...I've got a manuscript in the final editing stages. It's not long--it'll only run about 130 pages--but it's something I'll be able to use for fundraising.
- I can't think of a good title, though. It kinda can't go to print without a title.
- It occurred to me yesterday that every single one of us has seasonal allergies. That includes the cats. The Spouse Thingy and I both have hay fever, Max gets a periodic asthma-like cough when pollens are high, and now Buddah gets watery eyes when pollen is high. The poor guy looks like he's crying...I feel bad for him, but that didn't stop me from taking a picture of his tears yesterday.
- It's supposed to rain all week, and that is bumming me out. We need the rain, but it rained last week and dammit, I want to go for a bike ride.
- It didn't rain yesterday or much the day before, but my intestines were not cooperating, so I stayed inside and spent way too much time surfing reddit
- I also want to go walk around San Francisco. Damned rain.
- I'll leave you with the image of Buddah crying, just in case you didn't see it on Facebook.
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| Click to biggify... |
19 March 2012
Ok, so now you know you might want to rethink your car door locks. Not sure what you can do, but this certainly gives one pause.
Remove 'em, maybe...
Remove 'em, maybe...
Friday
16 March 2012
Komen's screwups don't negate the good they do, and the people who are walking deserve as many crew supporting them along the way as they can get. But that doesn't mean the sour taste in my mouth is gone and that I don't have some ambivalent feelings.
Anyway...I need to raise funds for the Avon walk, and as part of that, I'm selling some temporary tattoos based on my own real one. You can get yours HERE.
If you don't want a tattoo but still want to be my best friend EVER, and you like the idea of reaping a tax deduction for your donation, please donate directly to my Avon fundraising page by clicking HERE. Not only do you get the tax deduction, but you'll be eligible for the prizes that are coming soon.
Still working on the final details, but I can tell you that I am writing a book that should be available in the next month, and one of the prizes just might allow you to read it electronically.
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