And inside was a scribbled note that said:

"Hey Sarah--

Pictures for you. You suck donkey ears.

Love you,

Emily".

Love you too, Em. Hope the growth is looking better. Don't worry; I'm sure that the facial swelling will eventually subside.

Sibling Ribaldry

My sister just sent me a package--at work, no less--addressed to "Sarah 'Wenis' Hasler". I am SO going to get her back for that one.

I saw this link on a page that just said "What the fuck?!?!" during one of my Surfing for Sanity breaks at work, so of course I had to follow it.

I concur.

What the fuck?

hee hee hee hee!

I try to post daily; but today I was busy creating and teaching a basic aromatherapy class. (Yes, I waited until today to plan the class and make the handout. I work best under pressure, 'k?) As a result, I am just gonna post the lecture notes rather than coming up with anything pithy and cute to say about how the class went, for two reasons:

a) In looking for good basic information on aromatherapy online, there was very little info that wasn't completely commercial. Therefore, I am fulfilling a need.

b) These notes kick ass. I wrote them. From my head. I didn't even crib from books, just looked stuff up occasionally to check myself before writing it down. So I rock, at least a little bit, for being able to pull this out of my ass at the drop of a hat. Maybe I did learn something in school, after all.

So without further ado, here's the notes for "Introduction to Aromatherapy," Sarah Hasler, 7 pm, Living Earth Herb Store., FREE (as listed in the Eugene Weekly)

And yes, the class did go well. People actually showed up!


Introduction to Essential Oils

Lecture by Sarah Hasler, Medical Herbalist

What is an Essential Oil?


“Essential Oils (EOs)” are very highly concentrated plant extracts. They are usually liquids, although some may be resinous (gummy) or extremely thick. They differ from other plant extracts in that they represent only one fraction of the plant’s total makeup. Unlike a tincture or tea, which may contain volatile oils as well as sugars, fats, bitter principles, and other substances, essential oils are the volatile fraction only of that plant. This means that although their activity may be similar to whole plant extracts, it can vary in some important ways. For example, Oregano is a wonderful herb as well as a valuable addition to any kitchen. We don’t hesitate to eat fresh or dried Oregano on pizzas, with meats, or in pasta sauces, but consuming a drop of undiluted Oregano oil can be an unpleasant experience, and may even burn the mucous membranes of the mouth!

Many essential oils are produced by plants as a defense against predation, sun damage, insect attack, bacterial attack, or as a component of a gum or resin secreted as a result of injury. Because of this, many essential oils are antibacterial, antifungal, or antiviral. In fact, the essential oil of thyme was found by French researchers to be a better disinfectant than Lysol! Another common quality of essential oils is the ability to relax muscle tissue (antispasmodic). This is especially true of many of the members of the Mint and Celery families.

The chemistry of essential oils is a fascinating and complex study. One essential oil may have hundreds of different components—many of them unknown. This lecture will not be able to cover this topic; however, if it is a subject of interest to you, there are several excellent books on the topic, including Advanced Aromatherapy by Kurt Schnaubelt and The Chemistry of Essential Oils: An Introduction for Aromatherapists, Beauticians, Retailers & Students by David G. Williams.

However, mentioning the complex chemistry of essential oils is important, because it allows us to see why naturally produced essential oils are superior to synthetically produced oils. Synthetic oils can mimic the scent of natural oils, but they do not have the same complexity and therapeutic value of a natural oil. Essential oils should be viewed like fine wines. If you want a good, authentic Champagne, then you must go to France, but if you just want a good sparkling wine, there are many to choose from. Likewise, a true French Lavender Oil is from Provence, France, but if we want just a reasonably good lavender, then many good organically grown lavender oils are available from locations all over the world. In many ways, the comparison between wines and essential oils is valid. Like winemakers, distillers of essential oils are masters of a life-long passion. Like wine, essential oils differ from vintage to vintage. And like wine, essential oils are complex, beautiful creations that are a joy to the senses, a benefit to our health, and a gift from nature. Lastly, like wines, essential oils should be obtained from trusted sources. You wouldn’t buy bottle of a red liquid simply labeled “Red Wine”—you want to know whether it’s Merlot or Cabernet or Syrah, where it was grown, and what year it was produced. Purchasing essential oils should be a similar process.

Questions to Ask: What is the latin name of this plant? For example, Roman Chamomile (Chamaemelum nobile) and German Chamomile (Matricaria recutita) are much different oils.
Where was this plant grown? A Bulgarian rose oil will be different from a Moroccan rose oil
How was this oil extracted? Using solvent-extracted oils for perfumery is fine. Using solvent-extracted oils for therapeutic or internal use is not.
Was the plant this oil was produced from organically grown? Citrus crops can be heavily sprayed; you don’t want an oil with possible pesticide/herbicide residue!
If this oil was not produced from cultivated crops, was it ethically harvested? Some wonderful oils, such as Sandalwood, are heavily poached and unethically produced.



Methods of Production:

Steam Distillation
Lavender, vetiver, rose, etc.

Expression
Citrus oils

Solvent Extract (Absolutes and concretes)
Jasmine, rose

Supercritical CO2
Anything; often hard- or impossible-to-distill plants like Calendula



Safety:
A lot of this may seem awfully obvious, but it’s better to be obvious than sorry! Many experts disagree on certain aspects of essential oil use—i.e. whether they can be used undiluted, whether or not they’re safe for use internally, etc., etc. This list of Safety Precautions errs on the side of caution. If you are new to essential oils, it is far better to be overcautious than to risk injury. As you become more comfortable with using EOs, you can decide what your own boundaries are.

1)Never allow an essential oil to get into your eyes!

2)Do not take essential oils internally. There are exceptions to this rule, for example, using small amounts of Peppermint Essential Oil to flavor desserts. In general, I would recommend avoiding the internal use of essential oils unless using culinary oils (Peppermint, Spearmint, Rose, Lemon, etc.) according to a recipe provided by a trusted source. It goes without saying that if you do choose to use essential oils in cooking, you want to use only certified organic oils.

3)Do not use undiluted essential oils on your skin. Again, there are exceptions. For example, undiluted Lavender can be safely used on burns or abrasions, Tea Tree Oil is fine to use undiluted on wounds, and I often used straight Frankincense oil on my skin for its marvelous scent. However, as a general rule, don’t use an oil undiluted unless you KNOW it is safe. If you plan to be using essential oils often, invest in a few books that cover this sort of information. Keep in mind, too, that tolerances differ from person to person. For example, if I use Tea Tree Oil undiluted on small wounds for more than a day or so, the surrounding skin will begin to become overdry and flaky.

4)Do not use essential oils on infants and young children. Exceptions include Blue Chamomile (Matricaria recutita) and a few others; but ALWAYS check for safety and NEVER use undiluted.

5)Be aware of health hazards! For example, Bergamot oil can cause photosensitization.

6)Essential oils can ‘eat’ plastics and varnishes. So keep them out of plastic bottles, and away from your antique cherrywood desk. If you spill an oil on a plastic surface, clean it up FAST. Water won’t wash it off; use a mild soap and water solution, or on lacquered or varnished woods, I would recommend wiping up the majority, and then using a bit of vegetable oil (olive oil is fine) on a soft cloth to remove any residue.

7)Don’t burn essential oils. Some oils are EXTREMELY flammable and very unsafe to use near open flames and strong heat sources. If you are using a few drops to scent an incense blend, or a drop or two in a well-designed diffuser, fine, but don’t try to sprinkle an essential oil on a burning candle. Besides, burning the oil destroys their delicate chemistry.

8)Be cautious when using essential oils on mucous membranes. It’s great to use essential oils to flavor and scent a lip balm, but make sure you’re using mild oils at a proper dilution. If you choose to use essential oils to treat a vaginal yeast infection, for example, don’t think “more is better” and double the amount in your recipe, or you may end up with more irritation than you began with in the first place.

9)Remember—“Less is More” with essential oils. Essential oils are incredibly concentrated. Two to four drops may seem like a tiny amount, but it’s not. Overusing essential oils can cause your skin to be irritated, or at the very least, it can make you smell quite overpowering. While you may love the scent of Lemon oil, too much and you might end up having people mistake you for a bottle of furniture polish!

10)Do be aware of the effect of essential oils on your state of mind! Some oils can have a very relaxing effect, or a very stimulating effect. For example, if Peppermint oil picks you up in the afternoon, it might not be a good ingredient in your bedtime bath. Likewise, if you use Lavender or Chamomile to unwind after a stressful day, it might be counterproductive to use it in the morning before a hectic day.

Some Basic Oils

These oils are a good start for a beginner. They are safe, readily available, multi-purpose, and can be used in a variety of ways and in a variety of formulas.

Lavender, French (Lavendula angustifolia syn. officinalis) There are many related varieties of lavender, including Lavandin (Lavendula x intermedia), Spike Lavender (Lavendula latifolia), Spanish Lavender (Lavendula stoechas), and others. This listing covers L. angustifolia; the other varieties have different attributes and should not be substituted.

Lavender is antiseptic, healing, anti-inflammatory, and analgesic. An application of straight lavender oil on minor burns and scalds, after the burn has been cooled with water, is an effective way of decreasing pain and healing the wound. A drop of lavender oil on insect bites with decrease the itching and inflammation. Lavender is suitable for all skin types, and is often used in skincare products, from shampoos to deodorants. Lavender oil is a must for any natural first-aid kit.

Lavender is relaxing; several studies have been done on the effects of lavender oil inhalation on the human nervous system. In the home, this effect is harnessed by adding lavender essential oil to baths. 5-10 drops per bath is usually sufficient; for a most relaxing bath, add 5-10 drops of lavender essential oil to 2-3 pounds of Epsom salts, shake to distribute the oils, and add to bathwater. Epsom salts (magnesium sulfate) are very relaxing to muscle tissue, and the addition of lavender will definitely have you ready for bed when you get out!

Lavender oil can also be used to scent rooms, closets, and even to clean—although the cost may be prohibitive for the latter.

Most ‘Lavender Oil’ sold today is either adulterated or inferior Lavandin (L. x intermedia, a cross between French Lavender and Spike Lavender). Lavendin can be used in much the same way, although the scent is not as delicate, and I would also add that its chemical makeup makes it more likely to dry skin. Although French Lavender is suitable (properly diluted) for infants and young children, Lavendin, due to its ketone content, is not a good choice for children under three.

**Lavender oil is very often adulterated. Beware of cheap oils that seem to be “too good to be true”, oils from unknown sources, and oils with a camphor-like undertone**

Tea Tree Oil (Melaleuca alternifolia)

Tea Tree Oil is derived from an Australian tree. It is highly antiseptic, active against bacteria, viruses and fungi. Its reputation as an antiseptic is so strong that during WWII, Tea Tree Oil was part of the first aid kit of Australian soldiers. There are many species of Melaleuca; Tea Tree is the most researched and the most commonly available in commerce. Other species are also available.

I have used this oil for everything from acne to warts on a dog. Although its scent isn’t as pleasant as some oils, it is one of the most useful anti-infective agents available to us. Its addition to everything from facewash to toothpaste speaks of its low toxicity and broad spectrum of activity. Like lavender, Tea Tree can be used undiluted, although it is very drying and repeated applications may cause skin to become slightly irritated. As an inhalation, it can aid in the loosening of mucus and also act on any infectious organisms present in the respiratory tract.

Tea Tree oil is a bit drying for mature or damaged skin, but oily, acne-prone skin can often benefit with judicious use. I would not use it full strength over the entire surface of the face, but a pimple dabbed with a bit of Tea Tree oil at the first sign of eruption, several times throughout the day, will often ward off the formation of a “whitehead”. Several excellent cleansers for acne-prone skin contain Tea Tree oil, but I would urge caution as over-drying acne prone skin will often create more unsightly irritation and inflammation.

Tea tree is wonderful for athelete’s foot, vaginal Candida infection (yeast infections), cuts and scrapes, and dental problems (especially when combined with myrrh). Several references list it as an antiparasitical agent, although I would stress that if intestinal parasites are suspected it is vital to obtain a proper diagnosis before attempting self-care. It could be a good choice for ringworm in dogs, although I would be reluctant to use it with cats. (In general, I do not recommend using essential oils on cats without professional guidance.)

A great first-aid blend would be equal parts of Tea Tree and lavender, with perhaps a drop or two of blue chamomile. This combination could be applied full-strength to most minor skin injuries and eruptions from burns to bugbites with excellent results.

Eucalyptus Oil

Eucalyptus is a large genus of Australian trees including Eucalyptus polybractea, E. radiata, E. globules E. dives, and others. The most commonly found Eucalyptus is E. globulus The scent of Eucalyptus is familiar to anyone that has consumed Hall’s cough drops or used Vicks Vap-O-Rub. I’ve met several people who cannot tolerate the scent of Eucalyptus, as it brings back bad childhood memories of being slathered with Vick’s during an illness.

Most Eucalyptus species have an affinity for the respiratory tract, being very useful in loosening and expectorating mucus. They can be combined in a salve and applied to the chest, Vap-O-Rub style, put into a hot bath, or used in inhalations. An easy and effective inhalation technique is to fill a large bowl with boiling water, add three drops of Eucalyptus, hold your head about six to eight inches from the bowl, and cover your head and the bowl with a towel “tent”. CLOSE YOUR EYES, and inhale the vapors for 5-10 minutes. Often, there will be an immediately noticeable effect on the sinuses and respiratory system. This can be repeated several times a day. Topically, several species of Eucalyptus are antibacterial and antifungal.

An herbalist friend of mine often rubs Eucalyptus globulus on her small son when he seems to be coming down with a fever or cold. Jean Valnet, MD does list E. globulus as a febrifuge, and the combination of its antiseptic action on the lungs and its ability to reduce fevers makes it an especially apt choice.

Other Oils of Note:
Frankincense (Boswellia carteri and Boswellia serrata), Rose (Rosa damascena), Yarrow (Achillea millefolium—both green and blue varieties), Blue (German) Chamomile (Matricaria recutita)—others?


Bibliography/Recommended Reading

Tisserand, Robert and Balacs, Tony. Essential Oil Safety. 1999. New York. Churchill Livingstone.

Rose, Jeanne. 375 Essential Oils and Hydrosols. 1999. Berkeley. Frog, Ltd.

Schnaubelt, Kurt, Ph.D. Advanced Aromatherapy. 1998. Rochester, Vermont. Healing Arts Press.

Schnaubelt, Kurt, Ph.D. Medical Aromatherapy. 1999. Berkeley. Frog, Ltd.

Valnet, Jean, MD. The Practice of Aromatherapy. 1990. Rochester, Vermont. Healing Arts Press.

Worwood, Valerie Ann. The Complete Book of Essential Oils and Aromatherapy. San Rafael, CA. New World Library.

I Am Deeply Disappointed To Be A Member Of The Human Race

Science is Cool.

I left my bed very reluctantly this morning, for a variety of reasons, and padded barefoot and scattered into the kitchen where my roommate Greg made us eggs for breakfast. I hadn't felt so hollow, so aged, in the longest time. I looked out the window into the most sparkling of days and it was beautiful. I was still inside, but it was the stillness of the room after the bomb's been dropped, after the shocking news has been announced, after the storm has torn down your treehouse. When I am in a mood like this the woman in this song is my companion. It's been quite a life so far, folks, here in Eugene. Can't say it's been any different anywhere else I've found myself, but I guess I was expecting a little less in the way of personal drama, and a lot less in the way of watching my friends implode.

This spring is so beautiful today. The dogwood trees are blooming like the white brides of the God of the Wood, the sun shines as brightly as it can to apologize for the dreary grey that we've been having, kids and dogs and bicyclists and cats play in the streets. And I sit in my living room, in my car, and I'm just so god damn tired, and so god damn frozen. No matter how many times you think you have things figured out, life has a way of handing you your ass. I know this; I recognise it; I've learned to stop feeling self-satisfied because I know the moment I do, the moment I unclench, something else will come up. It keeps me busy, it keeps me thinking and flexible and living, but sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I wish for boredom and security. All my friends right now seem to be the center of their own little tragedies, made no less intense or scary because it's only their small world involved. We only have our own experience to gauge things by; if it seems like an earthquake to you, it is, even if it's a butterfly tremor to the next man over. And I have been candyflipping between feeling secure and happy and feeling like I'm in emotional freefall, leaving me grasping, harried, paranoid, and just so sad, for far too long. Life, in the end, is better, worse, and simply more intense than any of the drugs humans have cooked up over the ages.

And I stare at things long enough that they lose their meaning; and I go to work anyway and I find solace in words like I always do, and I wonder why the fuck I even bother wondering anymore. I am filled with whimsy and a thousand rainy seashores and sometimes I think life is so beautiful that I just can't take it anymore, that I will have to become cynical and crabby just to preserve my self in the face of all that is around me, all that inspires awe and reverence and humility.

And on days like this my favorite love poem and today for whatever reason it came to mind on seventh avenue just as I was about to get to work, right before I hit lincoln and the bower of the trees there. Ah, Will, we do love thee. For the Shakespeares and dogwood trees of the world and of life I stick around to see what will happen next.

Cryptic Lyric Posting
(It's been one hell of a day, that's all I'm saying.)

surrender then start your engines
you'll know quite soon what my mistake was
for those on horseback or dog sled
you turn at the bend in the road
i hear she still grants forgiveness
although i willingly forgot her
the offering is molasses and you say
i guess i'm an underwater thing so i
guess i can't take it personally
i guess i'm an underwater thing
i'm liquid running
there's a sea secret in me
it's plain to see it is rising
but i must be flowing liquid diamonds
calling for my soul
at the corners of the world
i know she's playing poker
with the rest of the stragglers
calling for my soul
at the corners of the world
i know she's playing power
and if your friends don't come back to you
and you know this is madness
a lilac mess in your prom dress
and you say
i guess i'm an underwater thing

--"liquid diamonds" tori amos

See, this is SO much like me and my girlfriends. Except we wouldn't bother pretending about the girly stuff. No; we'd go ahead and openly admit to the hentai. And we wouldn't get cheap liquor. It'd be something like Midori sours or cranberry Finlandia and Ocean Spray, or maybe Stoli Vanil and Coke. Or, if I was with Eva, good Russian vodka straight from the freezer.

A Hymn for the Maudlin and Alone
or
A More Elegant Song for the Dumped

(with apologies to Ben Folds for the bad joke--and his isn't a bad song, either)


Looking out the door i see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe i'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know

When i'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight, child you know how much i need it
Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

So i'll wait for you... and i'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him
My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Well maybe i'm just too young
To keep good love from going wrong

Oh... lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Well I feel too young to hold on
And i'm much too old to break free and run
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage i've done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
Oh, love well i'm waiting for you

Lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late


--"Lover, You Should Have Come Over"

by Jeff Buckley

The Most Useless Web Page In Existence

thanx to a friend

This is great. Not only have I received treatment like that, it's total fantasy fulfilment to see the last panel....

The Prime Number Shitting Bear

I am not making this up.

I want to take you to a gay bar

Quote of the Day, from Shaw Island:

"I'd much rather draw talking rodents than design weaponry."

'Nuff said.

I'm not a lesbian. Nor do I hate men. So why do I still find Hothead Paisan, Homocidal Lesbian Terrorist to be so fucking funny?

Maybe it's because I really like her cat, Chicken, who is kind of like a mellow Simon, only fatter and with less stripes. Or here is a mythos-laden excuse for why people think it's funny, written by someone named "Todd" that I will assume is a boy, even.

And I Have The Kind of Beauty That....Moves....

"Evolve"

I walk in stride with people
much taller than me
and partly it's the boots but
mostly it's my chi
and I'm becoming transfixed
with nature and my part in it
which I believe just signifies
I'm finally waking up

and there's this moth outside my kitchen door
she's bonkers for that bare bulb
flying round in circles
bashing in her exoskull
and out in the woods she navigates fine by the moon
but get her around a light bulb and she's doomed

she is trying to evolve
she's just trying to evolve

now let's get talking reefer madness
like some arrogant government can't
by any stretch of the imagination
outlaw a plant
yes, their supposed authority over nature
is a dream
c'mon people
we've got to come clean

cuz they are locking our sons
and our daughters in cages
they are taking by the thousands
our lives from under us
it's a crash course in religious fundamentals
now let's all go to war
get some bang for our buck

I am trying to evolve
I'm just trying to evolve

gunnin for high score in the land of dreams
morbid bluish-white consumers ogling luminous screens
on the trail of forgetting
cruising without a care
the jet set won't abide by that pesky jet lag
and our lives boil down to an hour or two
when someone pulls a camera out of a bag

and I am trying to evolve
I'm just trying to evolve

so I walk like I'm on a mission
cuz that's the way I groove
I got more and more to do
I got less and less to prove
it took me too long to realize
that I don't take good pictures
cuz I have the kind of beauty
that moves


--"evolve"
ani d.
copyright righteous babe records
i stole it cos it's beautiful and it should be shared
you should buy the album, though.

fuckin' weird dreams last night.

I was some sort of Chinese ambassador, except I wasn't Chinese, I was an old lady with short grey old-lady hair, and ended up in Great Britain being tried for some crime alongside I.M. Pei. Cruella De Ville was the British Prime Minister and our prosecutor. I was innocent, but it's Cruella De Ville, right? so I was terrified of the outcome. I.M. Pei was wearing beautiful Mandarin robes but Cruella made fun of him and he disrobed, showing an ill-fitting Western suit underneath that he was obviously much more uncomfortable in. I woke up before I heard a verdict.

I'm not even sure I want to know what the hell this dream was supposed to mean.

and btw I.M. Pei designed some gorgeous buildings

I really, really love fark.com for putting up stories like this

Good Fucking God.

Not At All Nice, Indeed

So Sam and I were having a conversation via email which involved me making mention of the fact that I didn't consider myself a slut, but a happy exception. (don't worry about the context. It was pretty silly.) And in reply, I get this, with his added comment:

"UM!"

I'm still not quite sure what he's saying with this. Is he saying that I'm a slut? Is this just a weird coincidentally funny comic somehow related to what we were speaking about? I dunno. I'm not exactly losing sleep, but as those of you who know me well understand--

--If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. I am NOT a "slut".

I prefer the term "shameless hussy".

*grin*

Still, I am many things, but I am decidedly NOT a sixteen-year-old Asian girl, so perhaps I'm reading waaaaaay too much into this.

Then again, I was making fluid extracts all afternoon, which involves me sticking my head above a big ol' vat of alcoholic plant extractives. You can't help but get a big ol' lungful of Everclear fumes with this. So I'm kinda hanging out until I am convinced that I'm safe to drive. Just so you know--getting buzzed by huffing grain alcohol fumes is not very fun. The high is shortlived and it leaves you a nasty headache, plus you feel like your sinuses have been disinfected by Nurse Ratchett. The worse part is, you don't know you're out of it until you move your head and you notice, hey, the room is still moving, and I'm not. Shit. Time for a Fresh Air break.

Adventures in Herbalism, indeed.

And in case you were wondering, my dandelion root extract turned out maaaahvelous.

I have decided to embrace my love of tacky pop culture items.

For the longest time, I was kind of sneaky about it. I didn't tell my friends that I would willingly watch a VH1 marathon of "Pop-Up Video", for fear they would pause in the middle of one of their expository rants about modern Russian culture or n-dimensional physics and turn a scathing eye towards me, causing me to shrivel up.

But here's my logic. It's pretty good.

Now, I have exquisite taste. Don't think this is too bigheaded of me; it's something I get from my mother. It must be genetic because where a simple Midwestern small-town girl picked up the ability to instantly tell fine linen from polyester and Waterford from cut glass at a glance, I dunno, but me mum's got it. We often joke that when presented with two nigh-identical shirts, we will always choose the one from Lord and Taylor that costs $295 rather than the $12.50 Target special. She just calls it "expensive taste", but it's not that easy, because while cost is often an indication, it isn't always. I just got a $10 wall hanging that I find more elegant than a lot of the $500 prints I've seen. I don't know what this is. Call it the "interior decorator and art curator" gene. Whatever it is, I have it.

In any case, it became apparent to me at a young age that most of the inhabited world is covered in schlock. Most people don't really have much in the way of taste, as can be amply evidenced by the plethora of cement lawn jockeys, needlepoint toilet paper covers, and naked women mudflaps that currently festoon our world. For a while, this bugged me. What the hell was I gonna do? This became a problem as a child when receiving gifts from well-meaning adults. I'm sorry, but after age four I was unable to drum up much enthusiasm for a violently pink shirt with lavender poodles on it.

Going shopping for clothes and furniture sucked, too. I've always known what I wanted, but only rarely was I ever able to find it--for less than the cost of a year's tuition at a state university, anyway.

But then, one day, I realized that the trick was to EMBRACE the kitsch. Realize your inner Tupperware Party. And so now I revel in the tacky. As some are fascinated by other cultures or time periods, I view the dregs of popular culture. There is a certain Zen to the dashboard hula girl as she gyrates while you turn into the Taco Bell drive thru. A Velvet Elvis would offend the sensibilities of many, but I view it as sublime absurdist poetry. And how can you be blind to the truly wonderful pathos of a lime-green leisure suit? Trash tv? I still can't stomach Jerry Springer, and I just could....NOT make myself watch 'Married by America', but I could watch MTV's 'Real World' all day long. Don't deny your sneaking suspicion that it might be fun to stop drinking Cosmopolitans and start drinking Kool-Aid and cheap gin for awhile. It is. If you think, hey, I could wear my fabulous new Kenneth Cole pumps, the cashmere sweater, an Armani skirt, and go to the Museum of Modern Art, or I could put on a pair of Daisy Duke cut-offs, $2.99 flip-flops, a t-shirt that's entirely too tight and go to a tractor pull--choose the tractor pull at least ten percent of the time. It'll give you a new appreciation for that new Mies Van der Rohe exhibit, I swear.

While I still try to maintain a certain level of taste in my own life, it's just a helluva lot more FUN to be part of the bread n' circuses crew every now and then, rather than fighting the inevitable. Because you may be able to spend a lot of time in the contemplation of late Renaissance sculpture, Chinese calligraphy, or Gothic architecture, but sooner or later, you're going to have to go outside.

And someone is going to be wearing brown polyester pants.

Flames.

A fairly good weekend nonetheless. We didn't manage to get a booth at the Market; this was a blessing in disguise as it gave us an unexpected, much-needed day off. (Well, almost; I still spent about four and a half hours at work rearranging things, but it *seemed* like a whole day off). I got my crazy hippy tie-died dress, veggies for Em's barbeque, and Lynn and I hung out at the drum circle and caught up.

Sunday was Em's barbeque. I got up, gave myself the first salt scrub I've had in almost a year--

--We should pause now to talk about salt scrubs. My girls, especially, will want to hear about these if they don't already know. Salt scrubs, also called "salt glows" by spas that charge you $90 to do it, are basically a mixture of salt and oil, with maybe some essential oils if ya wanna be fancy. Regular fine grain sea salt--hell, uniodized Morton's would do in a pinch--and food-grade oil. Extra virgin olive oil is fine. Crappy canola oil isn't. So chances are you can do this right now, it's in your kitchen, go to it. Basically, you mix salt and oil 50/50--generally about a half cup or so of each--get into the shower, get wet, turn the shower off, and then starting at your feet, you rub vigourously up your body and towards your heart. Rub in little circles until the skin is just pink. You should feel almost a little out of breath--it's actually quite a workout. Rinse off, and then depending on how dry your skin is, you may choose to lather up and wash off excess oil. This leaves your skin feeling like velvet. The salt rubs off all dry skin, the rubbing gets your circulation going, and the oil is worked into your skin leaving it like something out of a Dove Bar commercial. For real. My skin is already in pretty good shape, and after this it's like silk. You feel like it's a sin to wear clothes. Okay, enough of that. Back to the story.

So went to the grocery store and got stuff for Em's barbeque, and then went to Em's barbeque. Fun! Kids, beer, food, and my roommate brought his Jessie dog so we had all the ingredients for a successful backyard bash. I even got some baby plants from Em's neighbor! The herbalist is startin' a garden--watch out! Emily made wild king salmon with her family's super secret salmon sauce, and a good time was had by all.

But my carpal tunnel is acting up (god, don't I sound decrepit? Next I'll be complaining about my sciatica and how my hips bother me when it's gonna rain....) so I will go for now.

Oh, and I've been meaning to do this:

hello to emma joy!

Because my sister is cool, she's giving away CDs as a favor for her wedding. I nominate this song by Paul Simon:

"Love"

Cool me
Cool my fever high
Hold me when I cry
I need it so much
Makes you want to get down crawl like a beggar
For its touch
And all the while it’s free as air
Like plants the medicine is everywhere

Love
Love
Love

We crave it so badly
Makes you want to laugh out loud when you receive it
And gobble it like a candy

We think it’s easy
Sometimes it’s easy
But it’s not easy
You’re going to break down and cry
We’re not important
We should be grateful
And if you’re wondering why

Love
Love
Love

The price that we pay
When evil walks the planet
And love is crushed like clay
The master races, the chosen people
The burning temple, the weeping cathedral

Carolyn, you know me too well.

As a housewarming gift, she sent me a magnet that simply says, "I like it sloppy and weird."


Too true.

My taste in careers? "Sloppy and weird" would sum it up pretty well. My pets? Well, if you've met Simon--yeah, he's sloppy. And weird. My siblings? Oh yeah. Definitely weird. Usually sloppy. My bedroom? Well, right now, it's...sloppy and weird, as there are no furnishings, it's bright red, and stuff is strewn all over the place. Foods? If you've seen me cook, you know the answer to that. Sex life? Taste in men? I'm pleadin' the fifth, there. Movies? Favorites include "Animal House", "Blues Brothers", "UHF", and of course anything with Yahoo Serious in it, plus a smattering of historical dramas and other oddities.

Yeah, so what if I do occasionally like things sloppy and weird? That doesn't mean that elegance and simplicity is entirely lost to me. It just means that after I've gotten dressed to the nines, dined at Charlie Trotter's, and gone to Orchestra Hall to listen to a Bartok recital, I'll still crack up when you make a fart joke in the cab on the way home.

It's only fun to be prim and proper if you also appreciate the glee in getting muddy every now and then.

And today I am going to buy a full-length tiedyed dress that fits me like a glove and makes me look like a rainbow with my hair down. The lady at the market said she was making me one this week--hopefully it'll be ready.

My Grandma sent me a "Happy Easter" card with glitter all over it.

I have the world's sweetest grandma ever. Those of you who have met her will probably concur that she's just about the nicest lady ever.

Let's take a moment to toast our grandmothers, wherever they are.

break your ears.

the hindi versions of old ABBA songs are probably the most foul things ever created by man.

thanx to michael

The last, I promise.

jumbled ungulate wrath.

YES!

but's that why I just love exploding dog.

I think I could probably communicate almost exclusively with his little drawings. It might be time consuming, however.

But here are four that seem especially appropriate these days:

one

two

three

four

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

(Actually a misquotation. The actual quote is

"Heaven has no rage like love so hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
- William Congreve, The Mourning Bride, 1697

So now you know.)

So I love "Shaw Island", and I was reading it, and I found this strip, and if it's accurate, it TOTALLY explains a lot of the asinine behavior I've seen men display. So go here, boys, and let me know if this is the way it is. Post to the forum.

drinking and dancing with the julie girl

oh my.

Add to this that this time we started with red wine and an Emily, and you have quite a bit of potential for miscreant behavior.

but partying with my old party girl julie was pretty intense. I had to consistently bite down the urge to be Very Bad Indeed, especially when she started ragging on me to start on the tequila. (I resisted. Barely. Mostly because the venue we were at didn't serve hard alcohol. This was, in fact, the only thing that saved me.)

Now I know that Eugene, Oregon is far less tolerant of public drunkenness than Albuquerque, New Mexico, and that the bartenders at WOW Hall are very stuffy and snotty, indeed. Please. Act your age, not like somebody's sixty year old dowager aunt. I mean, she was only *staggering* drunk, not *puking* drunk. Julie was on vacation and Julie needed to party and Julie is staying with a woman who is dear and wonderful but also the mother of three, including two 14 month old twins, and so it fell on me to create the Night on the Town.

And I did.

Frank Black and the Catholics bust out with "Where is My Mind?" as soon as they're onstage and I know the night's gonna work out just fine. And the three guitarists paint a fiery picture onstage and I'm standing in front of the amps and I get that great feeling like my spinal cord has been wrapped around by a giant sonic snake made of screaming guitars and rumbly bass and snarecymbaltomtom. Just joy. Emily spent her time in the mosh pit, all hippy chick tiedye, reminiscing on her Seattle grunge days. I followed Julie's firecrackerdrunk ass all over creation trying to avert any disasters.

"everybody knows i'm her friend
everybody knows i'm her man"

Because what do you do when a wiggylittlething named Brother Love is followin' your girlfriend's sweet drunken ass hoping for a piece? (Although darling Julie, drunk as she was, still held her sense of taste. "Come pee with me", says the woman. And I do. "Girl, you okay?" sez I. "Yeah. He ain't it tonight, girlfriend." "Okay. Just checkin'.") Well. You play point guard and you don't leave them alone and you smile with all of your teeth and you look Mr. Love straight in the eye when he goes to catch her when she stumbles and you get their first, smiling the whole time as you lift her little tiny ass up from almost kissing cement. That's what you do. 'Cos lordy lordy it's been done for you, and I'd crawl over broken lightbulbs for my julie girl, because she's done the same for me, rescued my ass more times than I can count in any number of insane situations. Except the rugby player, but he wasn't really her fault and she *did* apologize later.

The desert will do this to you; ask anyone who's lived there. Truly it will.

Maybe if the day hadn't started out with so much caffeine and I hadn't already had so much red wine I would have been out for a riot the way Julie was. Maybe I should have just gone for the gusto, bought a fifth of tequila and a few limes, and scared as many people as possible. I'm ferociously scary sometimes when I'm drunk. Well, wouldn't you be frightened of a raving mountain of hair and words? I would be. And Julie? In her own words, "Hell, I'm six feet tall when I'm drunk." If we had been in Albuquerque I'm sure we would have ended up closing out one of the bars and then going back to somebody's house with a few people in tow to continue until sunup. Even in San Diego, we probably would have gone to an afterhours place. But not here. We went home and went to bed after the concert. I think Julie had a good time; and we were okay to go hiking this morning, but it just wasn't the same. Fun; but I feel somehow cheated. Then again, I'm not sure I need to misbehave in quite the same way as I used to. Life is different now.

But Eugene doesn't put up with that sort of behaviour the way Albuquerque or L.A. does. In the same way that the friendly stoners here would be mugged and ridiculed with shouts of "PUSSY!" within fifteen minutes of entering certain bars in certain towns, Eugene just doesn't seem to have room for a little SoCal chick outta control, or at least not on a monday night in WOW Hall. So I stopped drinking, sobered up, and enjoyed the show while following Julie around like an overly loyal basset hound. I felt like a bloody Adult and I fucking hated it.

I Want Junior Mints

I have been meaning to post my Junior Mints rant for a while. Junior Mints rock. They're one of my favorite candies, dating back to high school where, to save money, I bought a box of Junior Mints and a huge Mountain Dew for lunch most days to avoid actually spending money on real food, so as to be able to spend my funds on more important things like CDs and clothing that irritated my mother.

I'm at work, and listening to music, and I find--good ol' Mr. Buffett already has my rant for me:

"Take for example when you go to the movies these days. They try to sell you this jumbo drink 8 extra ounces of watered down Cherry Coke for an extra 25 cents. I don't want it. I don't want that much organization in my life. I don't want other people thinking for me. I want my Junior Mints! Where did Junior Mints go in the movies? I don't want a 12 lb. Nestles Crunch bar for 25 dollars. I WANT JUNIOR MINTS!"

--Jimmy Buffett, Fruitcakes, 1994

troublemaking with Julie and Gloria in portland today.

Went to the Portland Market. Not nearly as cool as Eugene's, but bigger. Bought some Chinese calligraphy that says "dragon horse energy" from a man who didn't speak English and then we went to a second hand store and tried on hats and took ridiculous pictures in one of those picture booths. Fun and fun. Drank a bottle of wine at a place called "Baghdad's" or something. Got a pair of kickass shoes for only $10. (Definitely, sez Gloria, CFM pumps. We'll see.) Laughed our sorry asses off about past experiences, were generally bad influences on each other, and I got a sparkly bangle bracelet that is cheap and wonderful and leaving glitter all over me. Had dinner at someplace trying very hard to be UberCool but the food was still grand, and the drinks were STRONG, and so maybe the food wasn't so good? A good time had by all by the Witches Three. Portland is cool but not as pretty as Eugene and not as much of a City as Chicago, but it'll do in a pinch. Want to explore it further.

I'll type more when I'm not drunk.

At home listening to The Cure "Disintegration", which was like the 3rd cd I ever bought (lots of tapes, but CDs were quite a jump for my pocketbook at the time). I remember falling to sleep to it that day and having the w...e...i...r...d...e...s...t dreams, full of ochre clouds.

Went for a walk tonight around my neighborhood as twilight fell. I was super depressed this afternoon, called a friend and talked for hours, then hit the sidewalk and just walked and thought for a few hours.

It is so beautiful here. Spring is showering the world with growth and petals and blooms here. The rain is constant, but it's more of a blessing than a curse as the plants are exploding as a result. The air was heavy with scents. It sounds like a novel; I know; but it's true in this ridiculous fantasy of a town. At some point I stumbled across a little miniature street festival, complete with band and free food. (Had I known I would have skipped dinner and cadged a bite, but I was absolutely full when I got there. O well.)

The houses all set out with flowerpots and porch swings and pebbled paths and satisfied housecats sitting on the steps seem so far removed from the political strife around town. Then again, maybe it's because people care so much about their homes that there is so much activism here. In hindsight I think that's the case. There really is a feeling of community here.

But I'm still a stranger here, and as beautiful and wonderful as it is here, I am so sad to be missing Chicago in spring. I want to go walk down streets lined with bungalows and petunias. I'm going to miss the way Chicago thaws herself out, throws off the grey blanket of winter, shakes her head a few times, and uncovers her shoulders. I'll miss people wearing shorts far too early just because they can't wait to put away the sweaters and heavy pants that January requires. I'll miss kids on the bus antsy for school to be over. I'll miss people barbequeing on their balconies on the weekends in Wrigleyville. I'll even miss the goddamn traffic during Cubs games (always doubly annoying for a girl raised to be a White Sox fan like a religion. In Chicago, the Cubs/Sox split is comparable to the Irish Protestant/Catholic split. And although I was *shudder* living the life of a North Sider, my family hailed from the South Side end of things back In The Day, and so it was always to Comiskey that we went, generations after we'd moved to Deep Suburbia. Hell, I remember the *old* Comiskey. I've only been to Cubs Park twice, and the second time was free, and I was drunk the whole time. I think they had a baseball game, I don't really remember. Someone was buyin' me Bud, that's for certain.)

In any case. Chicago in the spring. The lakefront. Yeah, well. I do love it here, but why does Home have to be so far? As much as I love it here, it just isn't home. It may be, in time, but I feel like a foreigner. I'm admiring local customs and sightseeing, but it doesn't feel permanent yet. When I drink the microbrews it feels the same way as it did when I was drinking Budvar in Prague. Situational; fun; yes, but not quite permanent.

Maybe my gypsy ways have made me expect to leave at any moment. I still find my spending habits to be those of someone transient, unrooted. I don't buy furniture; I take roadtrips. I don't plant gardens; I buy books and other things that I can take with me. I find it hard to unpack certain things. If you look at my room and my closets, they look very much like I expect to leave in six months. Which, subconsicously, I suppose I do.

I would like to find a home here, to create a place both in a physical sense and in terms of the community. But I'm afraid I might not remember how to do that anymore. I hope I can relearn. It will take time, I suppose, and I will have to constantly work at it. It's very hard, after living for almost nine years knowing that where I was, wasn't permanent. Now it might be, and I don't know what to do with myself. I need to find a reason to stay. The business is almost all I need, but as busy as it keeps me, my gaze turns east when I least expect it. Somehow I need to find something to hold me here.

And who knows? Maybe I am fated to grow old in an ancient, graceful third-floor walkup with beautiful wood moulding and high ceilings somewhere in Rogers Park or Lincoln Square, moving my old bones down to the CTA stop to go to the Art Institute on Tuesdays and spending my free time volunteering at the Old Town School of Folk Music. There would be worse fates.

It doesn't help that I'm burning out a bit, either. I think that this Sunday will help. Darling Julie is here, and darling Julie is taking Gloria and I for massages and tattoos (trust it to darling Julie to think of just the right things for the witches three to do.....*evil grin*). I don't suppose I'll be able to get a tattoo, much to my chagrin, as I don't have the money and I'm not finished with the design of the tat I'd like to get. But maybe if I'm feeling particularily saucy I'll get something small and hidden. Kanji or...hey, I just had an idea....hrm....nah. Getting the sanskrit word for "fire" tattoed on myself would probably be inviting FAR too much trouble....Sanskrit and I don't get along, anyway. We've tangled in the past and I admit that I am no match for the Latin of India, as graceful a tongue as she is.

*end rant*

Installing a new black printer cartridge, I noticed that one of the options for maintenance is "Remove Japanese postcard residue".

For real.

the onion has the best horoscopes EVER:

"Libra: (Sept. 23—Oct. 23)
You've asked the man in the mirror to change his ways, but he only responds by howling like a fiend and force-feeding you shards of broken glass."

We need more words.

There aren't nearly enough. For starters, there are so many concepts that need a single, precise word. Like an adjective to describe something between "liking" and "loving" something or someone. I mean, I like bagels, and my feelings for sushi are MUCH stronger, but do I really loveraw fish? Certainly not in a carnal sense....

And there are other words that I just tend to overuse because they describe something so well. "Lanky" is one. I say that too much. But do you have a good synonym? "Tall, loose-limbed and slim" is a helluva mouthful, so I usually stick to "lanky".

This lack of words causes me to use FAR too many hypens. For example, the phrase in the previous post: "long-and-involved". Yeah, I could have left that unhyphenated, but it's ONE CONCEPT. Can we have one word?

Yeah, okay, so English has the largest vocabulary of any language on the planet right now. So what? I say, more words. Yeah, so we can add words easily once they're adopted into the mainstream. But I want it to be instantaneous, dammit, and I don't want to have to work for it.

What can I say? I'm an American.

no time to blog today; really; gotta go home and have a probably long-and-involved conversation with a friend about stuff which I don't have to be in the middle of (thank goddess) as I am in Eugene and Things are in Chicago.

But I just gotta say

spring is so beautiful

I am so busy

the two things should be colliding and making me unhappy that I can't spend more time outside, but for whatever reason I'm just happy to see the trees bloom on the way to work.

ciao.

hope everyone's good.

I am.

Here is my moment of American Consumerism for the day:

I WANT this shirt.

THE TEDDYBORG

(yeah, it was on slashdot, fark, and user friendly so a bunch of ya'll have already seen it, but it's classic.)

I Should Not Be Saying The Following Things About America

My friend Michael wrote this and sent it to me, and I thought it was WONDERFUL and well-thought, so I got his permission to post it here:

"Dr. Robert Muller, former assistant secretary general of the United Nations,
now Chancellor emeritus of the University of Peace in Costa Rica was one of
the people who witnessed the founding of the U.N. and has worked in support
of or inside the U.N. ever since. Recently he was in San Francisco to be
honored for his service to the world through the U.N. and through his
writings and teachings for peace. At age eighty, Dr. Muller surprised, even
stunned, many in the audience that day with his most positive assessment of
where the world stands now regarding war and peace.

I was there at the gathering and I myself was stunned by his remarks. What
he said turned my head around and offered me a new way to see what is going
on in the world. My synopsis of his remarks is below:

"I'm so honored to be here," he said. "I'm so honored to be alive at such a
miraculous time in history. I'm so moved by what's going on in our world
today."

( I was shocked. I thought -- Where has he been? What has he been reading?
Has he seen the newspapers? Is he senile? Has he lost it? What is he talking
about?)

Dr. Muller proceeded to say, "Never before in the history of the world has
there been a global, visible, public, viable, open dialogue and conversation
about the very legitimacy of war".

The whole world is in now having this critical and historic
dialogue--listening to all kinds of points of view and positions about going
to war or not going to war. In a huge global public conversation the world
is asking-"Is war legitimate? Is it illegitimate? Is there enough evidence
to warrant an attack? Is there not enough evidence to warrant an attack?
What will be the consequences? The costs? What will happen after a war? How
will this set off other conflicts? What might be peaceful alternatives? What
kind of negotiations are we not thinking of? What are the real intentions
for declaring war?"

All of this, he noted, is taking place in the context of the United Nations
Security Council, the body that was established in 1949 for exactly this
purpose. He pointed out that it has taken us more than fifty years to
realize that function, the real function of the U.N. And at this moment in
history-- the United Nations is at the center of the stage. It is the place
where these conversations are happening, and it has become in these last
months and weeks, the most powerful governing body on earth, the most
powerful container for the world's effort to wage peace rather than war. Dr.
Muller was almost in tears in recognition of the fulfillment of this dream.

"We are not at war," he kept saying. We, the world community, are WAGING
peace. It is difficult, hard work. It is constant and we must not let up.
It is working and it is an historic milestone of immense proportions. It has
never happened before-never in human history-and it is happening now-every
day every hour-waging peace through a global conversation. He pointed out
that the conversation questioning the validity of going to war has gone on
for hours, days, weeks, months and now more than a year, and it may go on
and on. "We're in peacetime," he kept saying. "Yes, troops are being moved.
Yes, warheads are being lined up. Yes, the aggressor is angry and upset and
spending a billion dollars a day preparing to attack. But not one shot has
been fired. Not one life has been lost. There is no war. It's all a
conversation."

It is tense, it is tough, it is challenging, AND we are in the most
significant and potent global conversation and public dialogue in the
history of the world. This has not happened before on this scale ever
before-not before WWI or WWII, not before Vietnam or Korea, this is new and
it is a stunning new era of Global listening, speaking, and responsibility.

In the process, he pointed out, new alliances are being formed. Russia and
China on the same side of an issue is an unprecedented outcome. France and
Germany working together to wake up the world to a new way of seeing the
situation. The largest peace demonstrations in the history of the world are
taking place--and we are not at war! Most peace demonstrations in recent
history took place when a war was already waging, sometimes for years, as in
the case of Vietnam.

"So this," he said, "is a miracle. This is what "waging peace " looks like."

No matter what happens, history will record that this is a new era, and that
the 21st century has been initiated with the world in a global dialogue
looking deeply, profoundly and responsibly as a global community at the
legitimacy of the actions of a nation that is desperate to go to war.

Through these global peace-waging efforts, the leaders of that nation are
being engaged in further dialogue, forcing them to rethink, and allowing all
nations to participate in the serious and horrific decision to go to war or
not.

Dr. Muller also made reference to a recent New York Times article that
pointed out that up until now there has been just one superpower-the United
States, and that that has created a kind of blindness in the vision of the
U.S. But now, Dr. Muller asserts, there are two superpowers: the United
States and the merging, surging voice of the people of the world.

All around the world, people are waging peace. To Robert Muller, one of the
great advocates of the United Nations, it is nothing short of a miracle and
it is working."

Canada is Just Looking Better and Better

Date: March 31, 2003 HC# 100529-229

Re: Canadian Senate Recommends Legalization of
Marijuana

Unknown. Senate Committee recommends legalization of
cannabis. Unitarian Universalists for Drug Policy
Reform. 2002, September 4:.

Cohen T. Canada panel wants legal marijuana.
Associated Press. 2002; Sept 4:.

Following a two-year study, a special committee of the
Canadian Senate has recommended legalization of
cannabis (syn. marijuana; Cannabis sativa) for
Canadian adults. The committee's report of over 600
pages advocates for (1) adoption of an integrated
policy governing psychoactive substances, including
cannabis, medications, alcohol, tobacco, and other
drugs, with a focus on user education and treatment of
excessive use; (2) creation of the post of National
Advisor on Psychoactive Substances and Dependency
within the Privy Council; (3) creation of a Canadian
Centre on Psychoactive Substances and Dependency and
associated Monitoring Agency to study and issue a
biannual report on drug use; (4) amnesty for anyone
convicted of cannabis possession under current or past
laws; (5) amendment of the Marijuana Medical Access
Regulations to improve eligibility, availability,
production, and distribution of cannabis for
therapeutic purposes; and (6) requesting amendments
from the United Nations concerning conventions and
treaties governing illegal drugs and support the
development of a Drugs and Dependency Monitoring
Agency for the Americas. Changes in current criminal
law would stipulate conditions for obtaining licenses
to produce and sell cannabis, as well as penalties for
illegal trafficking and exports. Driving while
impaired as a result of marijuana consumption would
continue to be illegal and allowable blood alcohol
levels for drivers would be reduced to 40 mg alcohol
per 100 ml blood in the presence of other drugs,
especially cannabis.

While the committee's recommendations are not binding,
the report will encourage Prime Minister Jean
Chretien's Liberal Party to explain the provisions it
accepts or rejects and why. Under current law,
marijuana possession is illegal in Canada. Although
provisions for medical use of cannabis were passed in
2001, a distribution system for medical marijuana has
not been created.

Senator Pierre Claude Nolin, committee chair, said in
a press conference that, "scientific evidence
overwhelmingly indicates that cannabis is
substantially less harmful than alcohol and [its use]
should be treated not as a criminal issue but as a
social and public health issue." While not advocating
cannabis use, Nolin continued, "we have come to the
conclusion that, as a drug, it should be regulated by
the State much as we do for wine and beer, hence our
preference for legalization over decriminalization."
The panel found no evidence that marijuana acts as a
"gateway" drug to substances such as cocaine and
heroin. "There is no good reason to subject the
consumers of cannabis to the application of criminal
law," Nolin, a member of the Progressive Conservative
party, said. "In a free society such as ours, it's up
to the individual to decide whether to consume
cannabis or not."

The report, based on extensive research, analysis, and
public hearings throughout Canada, was unanimously
supported by committee members. Recognizing that their
recommendations depart substantially from prevailing
policy in the United States, an important trade
partner with which Canada shares a long border, deputy
chair Senator Colin Kenny said, "though what we are
recommending for our country has an impact on our
friends and neighbours, Canada must make its own
decisions in the best interests of its citizens."

Nolin added, "Our relationships with our friends are
solid enough to work out the implications of what we
are doing."

-Mariann Garner-Wizard

Today was eventful.

Let's start with the good stuff: I went on a hike with my roommate and his dog, and it was beautiful. We hiked along a creek, through moss-covered old growth woods. Wildflowers were everywhere. The air was perfumed with mouldering wood and the greenness of spring. I feasted my eyes and remained silent almost the entire time--there was just too much to talk.

Walking is my favorite form of meditation; walking in woods like that is always food for my soul.

In other news, I have finally severed one of my longest-lasting ties to Illinois. It was a bit of a tug on my heart, and I actually did have a moment of homesickness and loss.

I got an Oregon driver's license.

I've always had an Illinois license, even during my gypsy years where I was moving every six months or so. It was partially because I moved around so much, and partially because Illinois was always Home. It was just easier to keep an Illinois mailing address (my parent's home) for all my *really* important mailings, and just have my mom send a manila envelope full of mail to me every month or so. Besides, I knew that I'd always end up Home in the end, so what was the point?

But today, I walked into the DMV, sat for several hours, took a couple of tests, and walked out with an Oregon license. They even took my Illinois license away from me. Time to move to a new home.



It's awfully odd. I guess this means that I've made a committment, that I'm here for the duration--or at least the foreseeable future.

There are so many moral implications when dealing with firearms. As many of you know, I've had to think about this issue a great deal, and there are still many questions left unanswered.

But sometimes, guns are cool.

And I quote: "Who would have thought that burritos would make good fireworks. But they do! "

"Things fall apart; the center cannot hold"

--W.B. Yeats

Holding what is lost.
Sweeping out and clearing space.
Setting a place at the table.

Standing at the precipice.
Holding. Holding.

"You've got some kind of unresolved anger"

Looking up suddenly a great deal for things that aren't there.
Putting down the rushes and wondering.
Thinking of buying flowers for the room.

Sunlight.

A garden dreams itself in my backyard.

Fresh fish from the market.
Flowing in the car at night.
Chopping vegetables in the morning.

These things, and more.

Things like this make me do the happy "I'm Glad I'm An Herbalist" dance.

(Which is better than vomiting or punching a pharmaceutical rep, which are my other impulses.)

Keep in mind that pharmaceutical sales representatives often have NO formal medical training.

Suit Says Company Promoted Drug in Exam Rooms

By MELODY PETERSEN

nytimes.com, 15 May 2002

Newly unsealed court documents reveal that some physicians, in exchange for money, have allowed pharmaceutical sales representatives into their examining rooms to meet with patients, review medical charts and recommend what medicines to prescribe.

And some of those salespeople tried to influence doctors to prescribe drugs for uses that were not approved by the federal Food and Drug Administration, those documents show.

This so-called shadowing program, apparently involving hundreds of patients, is just one way that Warner-Lambert tried to increase sales of a drug called Neurontin, not just for epilepsy, for which it was approved, but also for more than a dozen medical conditions it was never approved to treat, according to a federal whistle-blower case that is now the subject of a criminal and civil investigation by the United States attorney's office in Boston.

The case details marketing practices that experts say have become standard practice for many pharmaceutical companies as they spend billions of dollars trying to persuade physicians to prescribe their drugs. A recent survey of physicians in Maryland, for example, found that 37 percent said they had accepted some kind of compensation from pharmaceutical companies.

According to court documents, Warner-Lambert, which has since been acquired by Pfizer, tracked whether doctors prescribed Neurontin, rewarding those who were considered high-volume prescribers by paying them as speakers and consultants and also paying them to enter patients in clinical trials. Warner-Lambert also tried to influence doctors who wrote medical journal articles about Neurontin by paying them, sometimes secretly, and even hiring a marketing company to write first drafts. The drug is expected to reach $2 billion in sales this year. Dr. Marcia Angell, the former editor of The New England Journal of Medicine, said having sales representatives tell doctors what to prescribe while examining patients was "inexcusable."

"Drug companies have no business being involved in education or clinical care," she said.

In the case of Warner-Lambert, one sales representative boasted that he had persuaded a doctor to prescribe Neurontin for unapproved uses, according to a voice-mail message obtained by the whistle-blower.
"While the patient was dressing, the doctor and I one-on-one would discuss the patient and therapeutic options," the sales representative said. "I felt I had influenced her." Mariann Caprino, a spokeswoman for Pfizer, said: "These allegations are six years old. The actions that allegedly occurred took place well before Pfizer completed its merger with Warner-Lambert. It is firm and established Pfizer policy not to allow our sales representatives to make inappropriate claims or encourage off-label use of any of our medicines."

The lawsuit, brought by Dr. David P. Franklin, a former Warner-Lambert employee, is based on thousands of pages of internal company documents. The documents do not reveal whether doctors told their patients who the third person was in the examining room. Dr. Franklin accuses Warner-Lambert's sales representatives of encouraging doctors to experiment by prescribing Neurontin for unapproved uses including pain, bipolar disorder and attention deficit disorder in children. In court filings, Pfizer has denied many of Dr. Franklin's accusations. It is illegal for a drug company to promote a medicine for uses not approved by the government, though it is not illegal for doctors to prescribe medicines for so-called off-label uses. Warner-Lambert's shadowing program involved an estimated 75 to 100 doctors in several Northeast states, Dr. Franklin estimated in court documents. Each doctor was paid $350 or more for each day they let sales representatives watch as they examined patients, according to court documents.

Other companies also pay doctors to open their doors to sales people. For example, Azucena Sanchez-Scott, a breast cancer patient, sued the ALZA Corporation and her oncologist in California state court after a sales representative watched as the doctor examined her. Ms. Sanchez-Scott said the doctor, who was paid $500, never disclosed that the man was a drug marketer. The case was recently settled. The federal investigation, which stems from the whistle-blower lawsuit, centers on marketing activities that took place in the mid- to late-1990's, before Pfizer bought Warner-Lambert in 2000. The lawsuit argues that Medicaid paid tens of millions of dollars it should not have for Neurontin prescriptions written for unapproved uses. Pfizer said that in 2000 more than 78 percent of Neurontin prescriptions were written for unapproved uses. Sales of the drug are growing at a rate of 50 percent a year - fueled mostly by those off-label uses. Neurontin has been approved by the F.D.A. for a very narrow use: controlling seizures in epileptics who already take another drug. But one marketing executive at Warner-Lambert, in a recorded voice-mail message that is part of the lawsuit, told sales representatives: "If we are going to market Neurontin effectively, we have to do it for monotherapy, for epilepsy, also for pain and bipolar and other psychiatric uses." (Monotherapy refers to using a single drug to treat a condition, which is not an approved use of Neurontin.) But researchers working independently from the company say they are finding that Neurontin does not work for some of those unapproved uses cited in the lawsuit. In a few cases, these researchers say, Neurontin may make patients worse.

Dr. Jessica Wehner Lea and other doctors at theNorthwest Missouri Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center said they recently had found that some patients taking Neurontin for schizophrenia or bipolar disorder appeared to become more aggressive after starting on the drug. "Neurontin is being used like water for disorders where there is not much evidence it is effective," said Dr. Jonathan Sporn, clinical fellow in the mood and anxiety program at the National Institute of Mental Health. Dr. Sporn led a clinical trial funded by the government that showed that Neurontin worked no better than a sugar pill for patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Many doctors, however, say that Neurontin appears to help some patients with pain. Last year, eight years after Neurontin was put on the market, Pfizer filed data with the Food and Drug Administration from clinical studies to try to gain approval for the medicine's use for pain. In his first public interview since filing the whistle-blower case, Dr. Franklin, a 40-year-old former research fellow at Harvard Medical School, said that soon after joining the company in 1996 he was asked to participate in what he now says was an illegal marketing scheme that put patients at risk. Dr. Franklin said he was most troubled by the company's insistence that he press doctors to prescribe Neurontin in much higher doses than had been approved. "It was untried ground," Dr. Franklin said. "We were not sure what would happen at these high doses. I recognized that my actions may be putting people in harm's way."

Dr. Franklin said several Warner-Lambert marketing executives had told him that because Neurontin appeared to be safe in high doses it was reasonable to encourage doctors to try it for almost any neurological condition "just to see what happens." Dr. Franklin's lawsuit also accuses the company of paying dozens of doctors to speak about Neurontin to their peers - some earning tens of thousands o> dollars a year. One internal memo listed doctors the company considered to be "movers and shakers," including some at prestigious medical schools such as Harvard, Cornell and Columbia. Warner-Lambert also hired two marketing firms to write articles about the unapproved uses of Neurontin and find doctors willing to sign their names to them as authors. According to an invoice from one of the marketing firms, Warner-Lambert agreed to pay the firm $12,000 to write each article and $1,000 to each doctor willing to serve as author.

Internal memos filed in court detail how the marketing firm often wrote a first draft of an article, but sometimes had problems finding an author. The articles were then reviewed and approved by Warner-Lambert before they were sent to journals for publication, records show. Other drug companies also use marketing firms to help them "ghost write" medical studies, a practice that angers editors of the leading medical journals. "It is a form of marketing, although it is disguised not to look like marketing," said Dr. Frank Davidoff, the former editor of the Annals of Internal Medicine. "Authors should be authors andshould not be signing on to work by someone else, particularly not for money."

Dr. Franklin, the whistle-blower, now works as director of market research at Boston Scientific, a developer and marketer of medical devices. He resigned from Warner-Lambert only a few months after being hired, and said some company executives had threatened to make him a scapegoat if he went public with his concerns. "I was terrified," said Dr. Franklin, who sought help from Thomas M. Greene, a lawyer in Boston. Dr. Franklin filed his suit several months later.

"Women who behave themselves rarely make history"

Well, in that case, for the Good of Humanity--

I volunteer to misbehave.

I'm willing to take one for the team.

*grin*

Eugene Saturday Market makes me smile.

The people-watching is absolutely incredible. Between the waifish dreadlocked pot princesses and the cute rounded sixtysomething grandmas in their bright pastels, it's an entire little world of friends and freaks. Giant bearded men looking like they've just walked down from their mountain cabins to buy coffee, sugar, and tobacco. Little tiny tikes dressed in tie-dyed onesies wander around wide-eyed at the wonder of people and things. Teenaged hipsters trying to look careless and disaffected around members of the opposite sex. Magnificent fat women dressed in velvet skirts moving like ships across glass-calm seas. Here a girl with glitter on her face and a fuzzy multicolored scarf. Over there I see a woman laughing with the man at a booth selling honey, fresh eggs, and prunes. A gay man with deep, dark skin like Coca-Cola slides by in a stylish camel turtleneck that fits him like a glove. A thirtysomething man with an interesting face gives me a slight, thoughtful grin with more than a hint of the devil in it.

Ah yes.

It didn't go entirely without a hitch, but it was glorious fun. I picked Em up at 7:30, we were there by eight. Orentation and whatnot took an hour or so, then we set up our booth. We made it just in time for Emily to leave and open the store at ten.

As soon as she left, I realized two very horrible things. One, I'd had rather a lot of coffee for breakfast (7:30) and Emily was going to be back at 2. It was ten. About twenty minutes after she left, I had to pee. Um. Ah. Whoops. That resolved itself, eventually. I had to go so badly it was either ask one of the neighboring stalls to watch my stuff for a minute, or suffer a rather embarrassing predicament. Luckily the woman across from us (who was selling BEAUTIFUL batiked shirts) was cool with looking over my stuff, and off I went to a port-a-john.

The second problem was rather more insoluble, and in the end, MUCH more uncomfortable. I'd gotten up, bleary-eyed after an evening of booze and minor mayhem with a bunch of my friends, at 6:30, after far too little sleep. I pulled a t-shirt and a multicotton baja that is probably the most "Dirty Stinkin' Hippy" piece of clothing I own (I wanted to fit in, after all). It's pretty warm, in general, and I thought I'd be fine. Except that it was rainy and 40 degrees all day. So, round about ten thirty, I think, "Fuck, I'm COLD. Better go to the truck and get a sweatshirt or something."

Except that Emily had the truck.

Oh. No.

When Emily finally showed up at two-thirty, after I had been getting progressively colder all afternoon--the last hour or so I'd been considering asking the t-shirt woman across from my booth if she wanted me to model some of her wares, several at once if possible?--her first words to me after "Hello" were "Your lips are blue". I immediately went to the truck and got my sweater. Because, as every true Sister of the Road knows, a girl should have several things in her vehicle at all times outside of the requisite emergency and first aid equipment: a) A roll of toilet paper and b) A complete change of clothing. So luckily I had my big fluffy grey sweater in the back. I wiggled into that, put my baja back over it for proper hippie camoflage, and I was toasty, warm, and much more able to enjoy the Market. And I did. I have vegetables for the week, fresh eggs from a man who knows his chickens on a personal basis, and I met a lot of cool people.

Yeah, this Eugene place might not be so bad, after all. And now that I'm warm, dry, and full of burrito, I am going to go home, alter my consciousness (through meditation, fasting, and right thinking--of course. What were you thinking?) and watch one of the foremost masterpieces of twentieth century American cinema: "Animal House".

discosquirrels.com

Yeah, you need to see this.

Lunchtime in Orbit

It's two pm, I'm taking a much-needed lunch break from one of those days that hits you like a tsunami and leaves you flailing and all bulgy-eyed. Em is still sick, and she keeps threatening to come in, but I have so far successfully kept her on her couch where she belongs.

In between the eight zillion things that are going on today, I'm taking a moment to eat an overdone tuna steak on mixed lettuce and slam down a shot of wheatgrass juice (Wheatgrass juice is coffee for the healthnik set. The stuff tastes like liquid lawn but it's rocket fuel.)

I think that it would have been fine, today, had it not been for the asafoetida powder. Asafoetida is an Indian herb used in VERY small amounts in curry mixes. A customer ordered a whole pound; it needed to be packaged; I was the only one here. Okay. Except that asafoetida has an incredibly strong, pungent, sulfury odor best described as a "stench". And now the store reeks of it. It's kind of like being forced to bathe in a mixture of the dirty socks of a collegiate football team, burnt hair, and rotten garlic. Except more lingering.

You know the really, really funny part? I'd never dealt with the herb before, by itself, just read about it. And what I'd read was "This stuff smells SO BADLY you can't believe it's actually used in cooking. It has a powerful, horrible, lingering odor." And me, in my infinite stupid curiosity, actually opened the bag, and

stuck.
my.
nose.
in.
it.

(Well, I'd never smelled it before.)

And oh, were they right. I withdrew my nose after the faintest whiff. But unfortunately, in bagging it, a few molecules of stenchiness escaped, and now I am frantically burning incense by the pound in a desperate attempt to rid the store of the odor before I fell a customer. I swear, it looks (and smells) like I'm doing some sort of primitive demon-exorcising ceremony. I guess in a way I am.

Well, at least I'm never bored.

Another thing to note:

A man walked in today, someone we sell quite a bit of bulk spices to, and before he left, looked me square in the eye and said, "Are you happy?"

I was taken aback. Why, I thought, are you asking? Do I look unhappy? Did I do something? Wha?

But then, I realized he just meant it as an honest question. Is what you are doing, right now, making you happy? Are you okay, when all is said and done? It was honest, and it was nice, and it was very Zen, in that it shocked me into thinking about it, not just giving a pat answer. Asking someone, 'Are you happy?' is much, much different than the reflexive 'How are you?' to which we've all been conditioned to respond 'Fine.'

I thought about it for a bit. I actually had to take a moment, pull back, and ask myself the same question. Am I?

Yes.

I looked around the store, and I thought about where I was in my life, and I answered, honestly, "Yeah. I am."

There is a lot going on right now to make me question that--for starters, I have two uncles directly involved in the current Gulf Debacle, a friend in Chicago battling with something I can't even quantify, and a diverse assortment of other things that would make a bloody nun curse going on right now, but yes, I am happy.

Crazy, broke, stressed out, and constantly bewildered, but happy.

My little sister Emily wrote this, and said I could post it when I asked. I hesitated about posting it because I wondered if it's too much, too raw. Too private. I'm still a little unsure. But I think she captured exactly what happened so well, and since we--my family--are still so close to what happened last fall, I am putting it up. I wasn't able to write anything like this. I'm still not able. I've tried to, but all I came up with was something very tangential about how my cat will miss him. He used to wrestle with Simon. His hands were so big and tough that after Simon got used to wrestling with my father, I had a cat that play-bit MUCH HARDER than before. "OW! Dammit, Simon!" I'm not sure what posting it will do. I guess I am just proud of her for putting it so well.

It's horrible, as far as memorials go, this post. If I can come up with a better one at some point, I will. And this is a loss that we experience piece by piece, in little chunks, one that I never expected to have to deal with so soon. Of course my life has gone on. Of course I am still happy. Of course it hasn't destroyed me entirely. But it is there, and it is huge, and I can't even feel it in its entirety because it's just so immense. This is a gift; not being able to feel it whole.

But this is what happened. Some of my friends were there. Some of them were not. Those who read this blog for doggerel poetry and funny links should skip this part.

He still seems too big to be gone.

'train of thought'

my father died.
i'm quite unsure why.
still adjusting to the thought
that i'll never hear his voice again
or hug him
or smell his cologne.
it's confusing to say the least.
it happened so fast.
he was there when i went to bed
and disappeared with the jangle of a phone
that crazy morning
i cried on the toilet so hard i shook
and tried to vanish without waking my roommates
(i sort of remember packing)
i know i called some dean to tell her
and phyl cause i would be missing work
the ride was surreal but thank god they wouldn't let me drive
i would have crashed
pulling into the driveway
seeing my mother
my big sister and my neighbors all standing
there
vacant
waiting
i explode and crumple all at once
still not believing
wandering in
sitting
not knowing what to do
more sitting
more waiting
talking to the dog
i might have ate
more and more and more waiting
sarah and i go to the hospital
partially just to get out of the house
our mission is to collect dads wedding ring
we go into the ER
and tell the lady
i remember looking at a big fish tank
they hand sarah the ring
she (might have) signed a paper
we go home
hand the ring to mom
at some point she puts it on
i know she wore it for sometime after
either on her hand or on a chain
it was really hard to handle that
as we were ghosts around the house
people appear and leave
generally a blur
sometime in the middle of everything paul appears
i try to remember that exact moment
but all i see is myself clinging to him
there was a lot of that
i remember him lying with me until i fell asleep.
i don't think i could have done it with out him
still people show up.
and we make plans
for my daddy
at that funeral home
that i've visited too many times before
for the first time ever the funeral director seemed upset
it was a bizarre time
picking out little card
caskets
awful things
we go home
the next few days are a soup
i know i went to target
and paul bought me a cd
and mom got liquorices allsorts
the wake happened so many people
lines and line
can't get into the door
and flowers....so many
my friends my past
everyone shows up
mom looks so beautiful
i'm not sure how to act
a little pink barbie is slipped into my hand
words of encouragement and sympathy
paul is my support
watching me like hawk
from every corner of the room
i lean on him
and go back to my duties
it's over so fast
and i have to say goodbye
and gaze on his familiar face for the last time
i walk out hands full of flowers.
and sleep
the funeral was so full
i got the front row seat
still not believing my situation
fifty tolls of the bell
far too few
so many people they just keep coming in.
and it's over.
we follow the casket out. four sad alone women
trying to stand tall
with that dad is gone
and we face more people
more words
i think we get lost on the way home
but i don't really remember
lots of people at the house for a final hurrah
i play with my little cousins.
looking at fish and frogs
paul makes me eat
then to the basement i go
and there was pony rides
and a lot of booze.
i know i was drunk, but i'm not sure who else knew
the rest of the day goes by
but i'm not sure how
we wander through the next few days
and eventually we start again
i go back to school
but life is still a dream
that i can't wrap my head around
maybe someday it'll all sink in
and maybe i'll be okay

This is TOO funny. Julia sent me this, you must read it.

"1 First, ye shall gaze upon your SHIT.
2 And there will be wailing, and gnashing of teeth upon the sight of it.
3 But you shall perservere, for lo, I am not a wrathful Wombat.
4 And lo, ye shall gather your SHIT together, in a great pile
and the gathering will be long and difficult
5 And when thy SHIT is gathered, and mounded, and properly determined and sorted
6 Then may ye approach the Marsupial Presence"

--The Prophecies of Wombat the Mildly Stuttering, Book 8, Verses 1-6

I want to go to the desert
to burn off all that is ephemeral
in the annealing heat
in the burning clays

I want to go to the desert
again and shed my skin
like a snake

Distractions, desires, confusions
pressed out by the force of thirst and hunger
my lips dried by the wind
my shoulders burned
by the weighty sun

In the desert there is no solace
found in false hopes or lamentation
There is no space
In its infinite stretch
For those who lack decision

I want to go to the desert
to walk
to wander
to hear my footfall
on the dry rime
to hear my heart beat
in the enduring silence

I know that I said I wouldn't post lyrics, but this song makes me cry. SO there you go. It's about America personalized as a young woman, at the point of white settlement.

"In VIRGINIA, Scarlet makes her way up to Washington and visits Jamestown, one of the earliest settlements. She wonders how a land built on the notion of freedom for the settlers could deny freedom to the native American people. "In her mind she sees the white brother coming and the young native American girl following. The mythology of another land has been imposed on America."

sez the musician: "Going and visiting Virginia, there's a sweetness and a sadness because she's able to hear this voice that goes back hundreds of years. She's able to go back in time with this voice and she's able to really see sort of the innocence of America at that time. As as teenager. She sees some of it in Scarlet's Walk but it gets very mature that voice in Scarlet's Walk - it's all knowing America when she talks to Scarlet about what happened. But in Virginia, you know, she's a young girl. And I guess Scarlet is trying to go back in time and talk to America as that teenager. And say, 'hey, you know, you might not want to be so trusting.' or 'hey, you know, you might wanna think about this before you stop speaking your language here, here and here and give it all up and renounce what your soul know is true.' Ohh, all those things that you wanna tell somebody who's a teenager."

In the Lush
Virginia hills
they kept her as
long as they could
Cause they knew
when the white
brother found
white shell Beads
wrapped around
her skin -- a life
giving river --
Her body open
as will his hand
And with a
"goodbye"
there she goes

she may Betray
All that she loves
and even wait
for their
Savior
to come
And in some things,
maybe he'll be
right
But as always
The thing that he
Loves
he will change
from her sunrise
to clockwise to soul trading
still she'll lay down
her Body
covering him
all the same

so Hundreds of
years go by
(the Red Road carved
up by Sharp Knife)
She's a girl
out working her
Trade
and she loses
a little each
day
to ghetto pimps
and presidents
who try and
arouse
her turquoise
serpents
She can't recall
what they represent
and when you
ask, she won't know

she will Betray
All that she loves
and even wait
for their
Saviour
to come
And in some things
maybe he'll be right
But as always
The thing that be
Loves he will
change from her
sunwise to clockwise
to soul trading
still she'll lay
down her Body
covering him all
the same
oh Virginia
do you remember
when the Land held
your hand
oh Virginia
she will let you back in
oh Virginia
you can't remember
your name

--"Virginia", Tori Amos

I woke up to the insistant ringing of my old fashioned windup alarm clock. For some inexplicable reason, James Brown's "Sex Machine" got stuck in my head as soon as I reached consciousness. I pulled the covers over my head. Dear lord, I don't wanna go to yoga class. It's cold and rainy, and the floor is going to be about 35 degrees, and I'm tucked under a huge down comforter with a purring cat. Lying in bed I hear the phone ring. Blessed be, I also hear Greg scrambling to get it. Please, don't let it be for me.....

*KNOCK KNOCK*
"Yeah?"
"Phone."

Fuck.

So I get out of bed--the floor is 35 degrees--and pull on the old dress I keep around as a robe. At one point in time it was my favorite dress, long and comfortable and slinky and black, and I'm loath to throw it away even though it's reached a state of threadbareness and dilapidation that means I can't wear it in mixed company. It's Em. She's sick, which I fully expected, as she's been sinking into the depths of some sort of Death Flu and works too hard, even after getting told repeatedly by her business partner to go home and sleep.

"Girl, I'b sig."
"You sound like it."

So I go back to bed for fifteen minutes--the only reasonable course of action on a morning like this--and then I get up. Put some Bjork on the stereo--"Pagan Poetry". Go begin morning ablutions in the bathroom. Come back. Begin dressing. Leave bedroom door open to hear music. Hear Greg come back in. (!!!) Shut door in a hurry. Mild surprise, I thought he'd left for work....

Finish dressing. Go outside.

Greg on the couch.

"Dude, I just got fired"
"....What?"
"I got fired."
"DUDE!"
"Yeah, nice, huh? Right before rent is due."

We chat about it a bit, but I'm out the door. I'll have to take him to Sam Bond's Garage tonight and get him good and drunk. Get in the truck in the splattering rain. There is a cool quirky acoustic version of the "Safety Dance" on the college radio station. Drive to work, get here early. Hope this day improves......