Archives for August 2004

Brief post today, just a few thoughts:

1) Thanks for the great response to the post yesterday! It wasn’t an expected epiphany. Well, which are? I suppose that would negate the whole epiphanic premise (I really like the word epiphanic).
2) Go see my friend MJ at her new spot HERE. She’s so worth knowing.
3) Anyone in the Bay Area want a job at Art Fibers? (You’d be crazy not to. Heck, I’m thinking about it.) There’s a full-time spot opening up (no, Kira’s not leaving, they’re just busy as hell). You should be quick, flexible, and know yarn and knitting. For more, just call ’em. Or see the CL post HERE.
4) Go see Mare‘s incredible hotty cover. Mine ain’t got nothin’ on hers.
5) Love somebody up today, ‘kay?

https://rachaelherron.com/brief_post_this/

Do you know about this? Do you?! Folk Alley. Go there if you’ve got high-speed internet and listen all day. I haven’t heard any commercials (but some interesting commentary), and so far this morning I’ve heard Stan Rogers, learned about Judith Edelman (oooh), and heard Ani DiFranco do Guthrie’s “Do Re Mi” backed up by David Rawlings and Gillian Welch. I’m still not sure whether I liked that one or not (I think I would have preferred the front singer to be the backup and vice versa), but it was REALLY interesting. This is enough to make me buy good speakers for this computer. Finally. Oooh, Capercaillie now. It’s more folk than bluegrass/old time, but it’s good.

I’m gearing up and into this day slowly. Really slowly. I’m meeting a friend for breakfast (at noon, my favorite kind of breakfast), and then I’m going to pick up my orthotics and practice walking. And damn, I just realized that I have to be out of here in twenty minutes. Haven’t showered yet, nor have I put in my laundry, so I’ll finish this later.

*** Didn’t even notice I was gone, did you? Lord, I have had WAY too much coffee now. You know that speedy feeling? Like you need to wash the dishes do the laundry wash the car right this very moment, except your brain cells don’t cooperate and you end up standing in the living room, doing the floppy fish thing with your hands? What was I doing? What was I doing? What was I doing?

Breathe. In. Out. Look at the two cats snoozing in the sun on the dining table. (Aside: Way to know a gal is all right: Your cat drinks from her water glass, and when you remove it to get her a new one, she says she doesn’t mind. Way to know you’ve lived alone for a long time: You actually start to give the glass back.)

Okay, I’ll just sit here a minute and decaffeinate. I had breakfast (I suppose we should call it brunch) with one of my good pals, the Dude. He’s a good sounding board, and I hope I provide the same for him. We like to go to this place that serves a screaming crab benedict, and the waitresses are all of Scandinavian descent, so I let them fill my coffee cup as often as they like. Problem is, I drink it.

The restaurant is out in San Ramon. To get there, for those of you not familiar with the Bay Area, I leave Oakland and go through the Caldecott Tunnel. On the other side of the tunnel, the air is usually twenty degrees hotter than in Oakland, the people seventy percent whiter, and eighty percent wealthier. There are a lot of malls. The Dude lives in a beautiful house, but it’s in a cookie-cutter development (and he’s really not a cookie-cutter guy). I believe most things on that side of the tunnel are little boxes made of ticky-tacky. I feel badly about my feelings for that side of the hill—it’s a kind of reverse snobbery. The rich live out there. They have lots of Starbucks and Pottery Barns. They have very good schools. And I only breathe half as deeply when I’m out there.

I used to date this computer engineer guy, a lifetime ago. If I had stayed with him, I would have been taken care of, fed, and housed in one of those homes. I probably would have had my nails done once a week. I would have worked for charity when not shuttling my children to their sports activities. Would I have driven an SUV? Not sure; I certainly hope not, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.

Oh, lord, I think for the very first time (you watched it happen), I just realized why I am made so uncomfortable by that type of living. I always wondered vaguely if I were jealous of it, knowing that if it’s what everyone else wants, shouldn’t I want it too? Shouldn’t I want the nice, new home, and the nice, new car, in the nice, safe neighborhood? What’s wrong with me that I so unequivocally don’t want those things?

I have just this moment realized that it was my very narrow miss that makes me react like this, like there’s MSG in the very air. I suffocated every time I stayed at that boyfriend’s condo, every time I let myself in with the key that might have fit a thousand other properties, every time we ate dinner at the chain restaurant down the road and browsed in the chain bookstore right next to it. It was a sweet life, but I never fit into it. I was always almost breaking the rules, wanting to, dying to (but I never did, to my eternal regret).

That’s why I get scared out there. That’s why I feel like I can’t breathe on that side of the tunnel. I adore my friend and his house, and I’m glad he has them for himself. Some of my very best friends have gorgeous homes that I know they enjoy and deserve. (And god knows I don’t mean any insult to those of you to whom this lifestyle brings happiness. More power to you.) But in rejecting that life, I found the life I wanted, and it’s scary to see how close I came to losing myself.

Damn. See what coffee does to a girl? All I wanted to do was laundry today, not cross-examine my motivations for my life choices. Gah.

I want to knit now, in my little apartment with its backyard garden, and the sun coming in the windows, the sliding glass door letting in the dust motes to dance.

It’s hardcore folk, but Joni Mitchell is playing now, singing “Both Sides Now.” Hmmmm.

Twelve miles! That’s just ridiculous, I’m convinced of that. We met up in the City, out by the windmill at Ocean Beach, and broke into our small groups for the run. The organization always has the run marked out, so we took off and didn’t think much. My little group of three was very chatty yesterday, catching up on each others’ doings, and must have missed a sign, because suddenly we were very, very lost in Golden Gate park. We went up and through, and found our way out to 19th Avenue, knowing we should have been at 37th instead. That was whoops number one. Whoops number two was passing mile marker 2 after we’d been running for an hour and a half. We’re slow, but I could push my car faster than that. We ended up being very creative with our run, still managing to get our 12 miles in, and I think the scenery was better, too. We went right by the soccer fields, where about two hundred young Irish lads had their shirts off. See, we would have missed that, going the Right Way.

What I love about running in the City is that it’s always so dark and drippy in the mornings in summer. Perfect running weather. I get very grumpy running in the sun. And today I feel all right. The legs hurt, but I finally broke down and ordered custom-made orthotics, which should be in tomorrow. Those should help. I think my new shoes helped, too. I also think I’m WAY over shelling out all this money for my feet. Hopefully that was the last blow for a while.

Oh, here’s me, right after. Giddy. Proud. Sticky. Tired. I should have got Marama in the shot, but she was talking to one of her teammates at the moment I took my phone out.

And now, darlings, I’m back to bed. Yesterday I didn’t get much sleep before the run. Then I ran, and hung out with Marama, and then had a date with the cute banjo knitter, so I actually didn’t have that much sleep last night, either. (Wink. But I did have excellent dal and got to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s—it had been so long since I’d seen it that it was all new again. Gawd, I love that movie.) So right now, I think I’ll take a wee siesta. It’s foggy and overcast, my favorite sleeping weather. Digit really wants a cuddle, and who am I to deny him that?

I’ve been knitting furiously on something that I can’t show you. I kind of hate that. But it’s rather liberating, too. I can just knit away. Because it’s a project I’m doing for someone else (but it’s not a gift), I’m using a mostly mohair blend, something I don’t use very often. I usually hate the way it flies up my nose and sticks there, a fuzzy snuffly feeling. But this stuff—oooh, it’s light and soft and not sheddy in the slightest.

Isn’t your interest piqued now? Hmmm? You’ll see it someday, promise.

Thanks for the sweet comments, sweets. They did help. Sometimes it’s nice to have a grump, isn’t it? That’s what I love most about living alone—the ability to scowl and thump and bump and humph, annoying no one but myself. My cats just turn around three times and go sleep with their backs to me.

I keep remembering things that I mean to blog about and then promptly forget them again. I’ll be filling a water bottle and think, “Must mention that movie…. Oh, look at that funny bug… Hmm. Wonder what I’ll have for dinner.” Poof. Gone again, for about six hours. I used to have more brain cells. That was before the dentist’s laughing gas.

So:

First, rent Before Sunrise. A babyfaced Ethan Hawke walks the streets of Vienna for a night with a beautiful French girl, played by Julie Delpy. You remember? It was the quintessential movie for 20-somethings backpacking through Europe in the early 90s. (Wait, didn’t I meet you at that hostel in Berlin? Or was it in Dublin? Remember that drunk Aussie with the machete?)

Then, go see Before Sunset. It’s the sequel, nine years later, now in theatres. This time, they walk the streets of Paris for 80 minutes of real time, just talking. Now, I usually have a great big problem with Ethan Hawke in that I think he’s normally too smarmy to bear, but he’s just right in both movies. And Delpy, I don’t care if she just sits there and says nothing. Don’t. Care.

Okay, check that off the list. I remembered that one.

Oh, yeah, tons more thanks are due to the supporters of Team 911:

Lisa S.
Silvia L.
Carrie C.
Janine B. (Wow!)

Watch us RUN, baybees. Honestly, you should see the grins Marama and I throw at each other when we read the names…. Oh, thank you thank you THANK you. (If one of those is you, and you have a website, hit me up, and I’ll link it. I have my suspicions who some of you are, but I don’t want to link willy-nilly. What if I linked someone with a similar name to someone who didn’t donate—embarrassing for all parties. You know? I’m thinking too much, I know.)

Twelve miles this Sunday! Good lord. I’m going to deserve a LOT of ice cream.

Happy weekend, all. Mwah!

It’s hot today. I would check the internet and find out just how hot it is in Oakland, but I’m at present running two more deep scans on my computer and I’m writing this off-line. Yesterday I screwed up and tried to download Yahoo Messenger. I think something rode in piggyback when I did that because all the horrible spyware attacked again.

I’m so eternally sick of not being able to control my computer. Even running the cleaners in Safe mode at boot-up hasn’t worked today. I’ve been scowling at the screen for almost an hour. I’m willing to give it about one more half-hour and then I want to be on the couch, icing my legs before work.

Too hot. Grumpy. (I know, relatively speaking, that many of you live in the humid hot areas, and I’ve got nothing to complain about—and yet I keep complaining. What’s up with that?)

This is how we all slept today:

Is that tail perfection, or what?

I’ve got nothing interesting to say. I mean it.

An hour of computer fighting later: Grump. I keep erasing paragraphs, because they’re too grumpy. They make me feel worse. I need to get over my grumpy-ass shin-splint self and suck it up. I hate feeling like this. It so rarely happens, and I’m so bad at it. I wish I could just have a big tantrum and get it over with, but instead I’ll just probably be vaguely dissatisfied all night.

I can’t even type one freaking sentence without the gremlins grabbing control of my cursor. I HAVE to get in the shower now and go to work. I think I took care of most of the problems, but it took a couple of hours. Sigh. I’m going to just stare at that picture of Adah instead of doing anything else. Yeah.

Honestly. When I called the dentist’s office yesterday to request a cleaning and check-up with Carol, I assumed there would be a four month wait to see her, as there usually is. For me, that’s just about enough time to get myself psyched up for the visit. So I was rather jolted when she said “We’ve had a cancellation. Can you be here in an hour?”

“TODAY?”

“Isn’t that great?”

Oh, just peachy. My first thought was that I hadn’t been afforded that Week of Panic before the dentist where you actually dig the floss from the bottom of the medicine cabinet and realize the last time you used it was to hang the windchime that MJ sent you, and you attempt to clean your teeth many times a day, every day, during that last fatal week, so when you go in the dentist will love you and want to be your friend. Or something like that. Wait, you don’t do that? Ahem.

I thought about saying that I was having surgery or a baby in about an hour and would have to miss out of the dentistly fun, but then I thought of the list I had JUST made, and decided to be a big girl and suck it up. Plus, I promised myself a trip to the South Pacific store afterwards, and two boxes of TimTams. I ain’t stoopid.

Big girl that I am, I am calm now when I get my teeth cleaned. This is because I know how ridiculous is to be scared. This is because I know that it likely won’t hurt and that I should just relax and enjoy the privilege I am afforded by even having the option to get my teeth cleaned.

Okay, that’s a bunch of crap. Really, I’m calm when I go because Carol gets me LOADED on nitrous. I mean spinning-high. It’s awesome. I love love love the feeling. I still freak out when they hit a sensitive spot, but it’s such a short freak out. Oooooh, ow! Ahhhh, back into listening to “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” and getting deep sleepy meaning from it. I like it when I can’t feel my knees.

Even before the option to partake was taken away from me by the line of work I chose, I never really dabbled much in mind-altering methods. I preferred a good gin buzz to anything else. But hell, if it’s legal, short-acting, AND you get your teeth clean in the process? Bring it. But I might bring a walkman or something next time. Muzak on nitrous is noxious.