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Posts archive for: May, 2007
  • Dr Who: The Run for Rose

    Well, it's done. Again, sorry if there's any typos, and sorry if this story sucks. I am not crazy about this story, but am relieved that it's finally done and put to bed at last.
    Didn't have time to edit, so if there's mistakes...ah well, that's life. Have to get ready to leave for work, and there's just no time to mess about with it. Anyway, last chapter, here we go:

    Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

    CHAPTER 14: Energy Hog

    Rose had had enough of this bloke. In the dim light, she could just make out the box in his hand. Without a word, she leaped forward and charged into him like an angry footballer. The device clattered to the floor, and the Doctor ceased screaming. “Right!” Rose yelled, “I’ve had enough of you!” Jane ran up and grabbed Boswell from behind. Rose ran to the Doctor, who was kneeling on the floor, wincing and rubbing his temples.

    She knelt down beside him. “Are you alright, Doctor?” She whispered. The Doctor looked up at her faced, lined with concern for him, and was touched. He smiled at his frined. “I’ll be fine, Rose.” He said faintly, “Just give me a second. Hadn’t planned on him having brain-wave disperser…nasty things. Outlawed by nearly every civilized planet in the galaxy, I’ve no idea how Boswell got his hands on it--but I’m going to make sure no one ever uses it again.” So saying, he got up from the floor, and stood looking down at the little device. Taking out his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor aimed it at the disperser. The sonic screwdriver lit up and hummed, and immediately the device shattered in a puff of smoke. The Doctor nodded with satisfaction. “Good days work, that.”

    Rose looked at the Doctor’s overweight and balding enemy. “So how’d someone like that manage to pull me out of the Tardis, and then get here, besides? I thought it took enormous power to do something like that.” The Doctor looked over his shoulder at her. “Oh, they have it. You see, Bos’ here, he only looks human. The Cruor-brood are energy creatures, they have enormous powers--given the right circumstances. I’d say our friend here, has about used up most of his--and with the power out, there’s no more to be had.” He looked at Boswell. “Look at you, you’re growing pale already. You’ll be nearly transparent in another half-hour. You need energy to live, and there’s none here. Oh isn’t that a shame.” The Doctor said sarcastically.

    Boswell snarled. “I will find energy--I always do--you have your Tardis--unlimited energy for all of eternity. Why do you think I went to all this trouble?” The Doctor snorted. “If you think you’re using my Tardis--she’ll never let that happen. She’ll self-destruct first. No, I think it’s time you joined the rest of your family in eternal repose.”

    Rose tugged on the sleeve of the Doctor’s coat again. “But I still don’t understand, how did he manage to do these things, and how come he looks so…normal? He doesn’t seem all that powerful to me.” The Doctor smiled at Boswell, saying grimly, “I’ll wager you’d tapped into the power grid of wherever you came from, and used the energy to pull Rose out of the space-time vortex and then to tele-port yourself here, as well. So, where did you get that body? Ah yes, I remember well.” The Doctor’s eyes narrowed with anger…”it was the controller on the Rundell space station, wasn’t it?

    Boswell laughed. “Oh yes, and he was quite tasty too, in the bargain. Quite a nice little feast we had, there. And the power from the station enabled us to drift to this wonderful planet--so many delicious humans, so much power--coal, steam, nuclear--even wind and solar. So much energy,” He yawned, “So little time. We would have bleed this planet dry, but for you.” The Doctor was not amused. “Rundell station--Three hundred and sixty-seven thousand people, murdered, by you and your bloodthirsty family, you didn’t think I’d follow you here? Did you expect me to sit idly by and watch you destroy yet another planet to satisfy your lusts? Even if I’d known about my people’s true motives, I still would have stopped you.”

    “But you cannot stop me this time, Doctor!” Suddenly he backed into the wood stove. Instead of burning him, the flames were absorbed into his body. “Back!” The Doctor yelled, as Boswell began to glow cherry red. “He’s turning himself into an energy bomb!” “What?” Jane yelled, as they all backed towards the kitchen. “Not in my house, he’s not!” With that, she reached around the corner of the kitchen doorway, and grabbed a fire extinguisher off of the floor.

    The Doctor and Rose watched as, with a great whoosh, Jane spaying the glowing Boswell in a white flume of chemical flame retardant. Boswell screamed hideously, and then threw himself out the window.

    The Doctor looked at Jane, nonplused. “How’d you know to do that?” She shrugged. “I didn’t. But I only just paid off the mortgage on this place, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some overweight, self-applauding, people-eating, power-grubbing alien destroy it!” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see.” He looked at Rose, as she stood there beside him. She stifled a giggle. “Well, I guess that’s one up on us. Fat lot of good you were, you might as well stayed in the Tardis and phoned my rescue in, Doctor.” She joshed him.

    The Doctor didn’t take that very well. In fact, much to Rose’s regret, he looked a bit hurt. She gave him a smile and squeezed his arm. “I am glad to see you. I knew you’d come for me.” He smiled at her and stalked over to the broken window, his feet crunching on the shattered glass on the floor. He stared out at the bleak gray sky with its icy curtain of sleet. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?” He said to no one in particular. Then he spun around suddenly.

    “Right then, in this weather, with his energy failing, he couldn’t have gone far. Is that fire extinguisher empty?” “No., there’s still some left Doctor.” He nodded. “Good. Jane, you stay here then, just in case he decides to return.” He stopped, as if he’d just thought of something. “Do you have a power generator on this farm?” She looked startled, as if surprised she’d forgotten. “Why yes. In the tractor shed, just up the drive from the stable, there’s a small portable power generator. I keep it for days like this.” Without another word, the Doctor dashed out of the living room and into the kitchen. Rose ran after him.

    “Doctor, wait! I’m coming with you.” The Doctor opened the kitchen door. The hissing of the sleet, the clacking of the ice-encased branches seemed more ominous than ever. Carefully, the Doctor and Rose picked their way up the sleet-covered dirt drive to the faded red shed, where Jane kept the farm’s tractor and other assorted equipment.

    The ice-shrouded trees surrounding the shed were bowed down over the ice-encrusted metal roof. Somehow, the hissing of the sleet sounded even more malignant. It gave the scene an almost surreal, anti-fairyland appearance. The Doctor cracked open the door. Inside, he and Rose could hear nothing, except that the continual sound of the sleet, as it echoed from the metal roof throughout the building. Flicking on his torch, he opened the door wider and they stepped inside. A large red tractor stood there, and various tools lined the walls. The smell of petrol and dust came to them. “Anybody home?” The Doctor called.

    In answer, the generator started up with a loud throbbing. Rose started. “He’s in here alright, Doctor.” A glow came from the corner of the shed, behind the tractor, where the generator stood. Petrol fumes began filling the shed, as the soft white glow deepened to a dull orange. “Well,” the Doctor muttered, “that’s not good.” Rose looked at him. “Isn’t that rather obvious? So what are we going to do? We can’t let him get away, Doctor. How do we stop him?” The Doctor frowned. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and adjusted the setting. “Stay here.” He admonished Rose.

    Creeping round the side of the tractor, the screwdriver pointed out in front of him, like a weapon, the Doctor suddenly found himself face to face with Boswell--or rather, the vague outline of him, as he was almost transparent. Even so, the creature that was known as Boswell was soaking up the power from the generator, and now positively glowed with energy.

    The Doctor didn’t hesitate, but pressed the button on the sonic screwdriver--at the same time as Boswell reached out a near-invisible fleshy hand towards the Doctor. A point of orange energy shot out from his fingertips, stabbing into the Doctor’s chest.

    The Doctor cried out in pain, and Rose screamed. “Doctor!” “Stay back!” He yelled through clenched teeth, still gripping the screwdriver, as wave after wave of energy assaulted his body. Suddenly, the generator went dead. The Doctor had dropped his torch and the sudden return of the dim gloomy interior of the shed, was startling. Rose rushed forward and knelt beside the Doctor’s prone body. There was no sign of Boswell, but then, she vaguely heard what sounded like hoarse breathing looming over her. She looked up.

    Boswell stood there--returned to his human form, once again--though he still glowed with residual energy. It sparked and crackled around him, like static electricity. He was pale as a ghost and breathing heavily. He reached fleshy fingers towards Rose’s throat. “I--can,” he gasped, “still have you, Rose Tyler.”

    Looking up at him, Rose heard a strange noise. It was a loud snapping, almost like gunshots. “It’s the trees,” the Doctor whispered, so only Rose could hear, “they’re going to come down. Get out of here, Rose.” “Not without you, I’m not.” Rose whispered fiercely. Just behind Boswell was an open can of petrol, sitting on a wooden counter--presumably used for the generator, and leaning next to it, was the long wooden handle of an ice chopper.

    Without hesitation, Rose kicked the metal blade of the ice chopper with her foot, causing the handle to bang against the petrol can, which spilled its contents on the glowing Boswell. With a terrible scream, he caught fire. As he backed away, waving his arms about, Rose grabbed the Doctor’s feet and dragged him towards the open door of the shed. The screams of Boswell drowned out all natural sounds, except for a huge boom. Quickly reviving his strength, the Doctor sprang up and pushed Rose through the doorway---just as an enormous oak tree crashed through the roof of the shed. Despite the weather, the whole shed quickly caught fire, and in minutes was fully involved. No more screams were heard, there was just the roar of the flames and the still-hissing sleet.

    Later, Rose and the Doctor were seating in Jane’s living room, in front of a roaring fire. The lights had come back on, and Jane was pouring them coffee. A blue tarp covered the broken window, and the room was now warm and cozy. Doc lay in the Doctor’s lap, purring contentedly, washing a paw. Jane smiled at the Doctor. “Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled about losing the use of my tractor, but my insurance will cover it, I’m sure. And besides, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I’ve forgotten how exciting life can be around you, Doctor.”

    He looked at her over his coffee mug, and then glanced at Rose. She nodded. “You could come with us, you know.” He suggested quietly. Jane returned the smile, but shook her head. “No, those days are done for me, Doctor. I’ve the farm now, and I’m quite content here, really. But I do thank you for the offer. And, likewise, if you ever get tired of traveling, you two will always have a home here with me, if you ever want it.” Rose grinned. “The Doctor and me down on the farm? Ha-ha, I’d like to see that.” The Doctor smiled sadly. “No, I’m afraid the Tardis is my home, now. But I do thank you for the offer.” He hesitated. “There is one thing you can do for me though.” Sitting on an armchair, Jane asked, “What’s that, Doctor?” Half-seriously he replied, “Don’t name any more pets after me, eh?” Rose and Jane burst out laughing, and the Doctor joined them.

    Doctor Who is copyright of the BBC.

  • Sounds that comfort: thoughts and a poem

    When I was told, in 2001, that I might be going blind, it came as a bit of a blow. Thankfully, after more than six months of tests, I found that my condition was not the one my eye doctor originally thought it was. Also, It was discovered that tho' I have lost a very marginal amount of vision, the condition is relatively dormant, and seems to be only effecting my right eye. So, outside of having to be more cautious in dim lighting conditions (for some reason, I see better in the dark than in low light), no worries.

    My eyesight is very gradually failing, but by such a degree in will "probably" be another decade or two--if ever, before anything significant happens. Outside of me having to remove my glasses to read fine print more than I used to, and not being able to see this screen as well as I'd like (someday I'll get a proper desk and chair again), I really don't think much on it, any longer. But, just in case, I've made an appointment with my eye doctor. Haven't been in nearly a year and a half--and I'm supposed to go every six months...I'm a bad girl. ;)

    My great-grandmother, on mum's side, went blind, and she was okay with it, from what mum told me. She still managed to knit and even helped gran in the kitchen. My paternal grandmother was a deaf-mute who barely understood English, and yet raised dad and all his brothers and sisters alone, during the height of the depression. So, I'm in good company, I reckon.

    I think I'd adjust okay, to being blind. As long as I still had my hearing. We depend on our sight so much, don't we? But sounds can tell us a lot, as well. Given time, any one of us would probably easily be able to tell the difference between the sound of two different types of coins, dropping on the floor.

    Familiar sounds can comfort us.

    There are so many sounds that I love to hear, I put them in a poem

    Sounds that Comfort

    A contented cat, purring in my ear.
    A lawnmower on a Sunday afternoon.
    The gentle trickle of a stream in summer.
    Fast water racing through rocky streambed.
    The regular lapping of waves on a shoreline.
    The chuck-chuck sound of water against a boat.
    A fish rising from the water and slapping down again.
    A bullfrog echoing across still waters.
    Canadian geese calling as they fly across stormy skies.
    Kids laughing, playing in a pool.
    The whoosh and sighing of leaves or pine boughs in the wind.
    The skittering of autumn leaves across a sidewalk.
    A single engine plane, humming through a distant blue sky.
    The lazy clop-clop of hooves walking on pavement.
    Popcorn popping.
    The snap and crackle of a wood fire.
    Sleet hissing on the windows when I'm in a warm place.
    Rain falling on a metal roof.
    Raindrops dripping from the leaves in the woods.
    The soft melodies of the rain on a quiet afternoon.
    The squeak of my footsteps on hard-packed snow at night.
    My mother's laughter.
    A friend's voice in quiet conversation.
    The quiet--then joyous tune the church organ played at end of service.
    The sound of a choir, singing in harmony.
    The Doctor Who theme.
    A good pipe band playing.
    A waltz played on a fiddle.
    An actor's voice, alone upon a stage.
    Crickets at dawn.
    A robin's contented chirping at sunset.

  • Not Fair!!!

    It's not fair!!!

    I work as a telemarketer--nights at the mo', wanted to sleep in an extra hour this morning, and what wakes me up? The telephone! And it's not a friend, not my boss, not my doctor or lawyer or prospective employer...it's a blinking telemarketer...from INDIA! Whose accent is so blinking thick, I cannot understand a blinking word he's saying to me!

    And, I have an UNLISTED number! Half past eight in the bloomin' morning! I'd set my alarm last night for half-past nine, as I wasn't able to sleep until after 1am. Bad enough these people are taking jobs from us--but now they have the nerve to call me on a blinking unlisted number at blinking half past eight in the morning. Life stinks.

  • Doctor Who Music Vid

    Not big into music videos, never have been--that said, came across this one, rather liked it. No clue who sings it, but..it's different, not the usual blaring sappy love songs that seem to accompany all the fan vids of David Tennant, these days. Well, what do you think?

    Scenes from the episode, "Gridlock."


  • Missing Mom

    Missing Mom

    A poem

    First we would sit in the car and discuss the possibilities.
    Second we would argue about it.
    Third we would drive around and mull it over some more.
    Forth we would decide to compromise.
    Fifth we would go pull up and park again.
    Sixth we would go inside and discuss where to sit.
    Seventh we would discuss our prime choices.
    Eighth we would decide.
    Ninth the waitress would come and we'd change our minds.
    Tenth we'd sit and talk about our day and/or what we were to do that night.
    Eleventh we'd sit and talk about how much we hate George W. Bush.
    Twelfth We'd discuss the weather.
    Thirteenth we'd talk about dad or my childhood.
    Fourteenth we'd discuss what we saw or heard on TV or Radio.
    Fifteenth we'd wonder where our food was.
    Sixteenth We'd talk about my/her future plans.
    Seventeenth we'd talk about what the people we knew were up to.
    Eighteenth we'd wonder where our waitress was.
    Nineteenth We'd order more tea and soda.
    Twentieth the food would come and we'd shut up and eat.

  • Of all the nerve!

    Hruph! Yeah, I'm bloody invisible--even to my co-workers. I've a co-worker, sits two seats down from me--she works nights at our office and moonlights as a country singer. Well, she also lives in the big apartment complex in the former city high school, just two doors down from me.

    Tho' she only lives 3 blocks away, she usually takes her car to work. But tonight, she walked...and asked if I would like to walk home with her. I said I would be happy to. Never have company when I'm walking, much, so I thought it would make a nice change.

    So, 10 pm rolls around, quitting time--and I hang around an extra 5 minutes, waiting for my co-worker to get herself sorted. We walk to the elevator, and while waiting for the elevator, she hints to another co-worker that she "wished" she had a ride home. The co-worker offers to take her--and without so much as another word to me, she leaves with this other co-worker..not so much as a good-bye or a backwards glance at me.

    Moral of my story: most (My friends excepted) human beings totally suck.

  • And now for a little cow humor...

    Where do cows go, when they go out at night? To the Moo-vies of course!

    Why did the cow jump over the moon? Because the farmer had cold hands.

    Why don't cows have money? Because the farmers milk them dry.

    Why do cows wear bells? Because their horns don't work.

    Why don't cows listen to you? Because it goes in one ear and out the udder.

    What do you call a cow that plays a banjo? A moo-sican

    What sound does an exploding cow make? "COW-BOOM!"

    Why does a milking stool have only three legs? Because the cow's got the udder.

    Why did the cow go to drama school? To become a moo-vie star.

    What do you call a cow eating grass? A lawn moo-er.

    What do you call a cow that can't give milk? An udder failure.

  • Sad in Glens Falls

    Well...day's shot again. I had just bagged the laundry this morning, bent over to pick it up, got dizzy and fell over...thankfully not far. Hurt my bad foot, slightly, but other than that, I seem to be okay--but, means another day of taking it easy...which I'm sick of doing! I had weeks of taking it easy with the blasted foot, now, I've got this mystery illness...I don't know. I broke down and made a doctor's appointment--three weeks I have to wait. And, then, don't know if I'll be able to keep the appointment, on account of the cost of cab fare--no buses go to that part of the city--and the cost of the co-pay, which has gone up again--and if I need medication--forget it. I'm still unsure about making the rent, and I can't pay the internet bill, for June, so I'm likely going to lose my phone and internet service, by the way. No more blogging for me. I will miss my friends. I dread this, because without the internet--I really am, very literally, completely alone--morning, noon and night, 24/7/365. Having been there for months and months, after mum's death, that was my situation...and it was a very dark place to be in...I don't want to go there again, but fear, unless a miracle happens--or just some unusual good luck--that's just what will happen.

    Anyway, I found one last outfit to wear to work today--pays to rummage about one's closet, ey? So, laundry tomorrow. I am still a bit light-headed, but the dizziness is gone. I had breakfast, and in a bit will do the washing up--I'm being cautious moving about the kitchen, for obvious reasons. But, the laundry's mostly bagged and ready to go, bed is made, bath is half-cleaned. Just going to take things nice and easy.

    Well, I'm getting--possibly, a one-year deferrment on my student loan--which will keep the wolves away from my door--and my pay cheque--for a while--however, the big catch is, if I make so much as 1 dollar over poverty level, I'm screwed, and have to pay several hundred dollars at once. It's the old damned if I do, and damned if I don't. America sucks. They don't like us to be poor--but when we try to better our lives, they put all these clamps on us, and bog us down right off the bat, and don't give us a chance for breathing room.

    I'm relieved over the potential deferrment--but at the same time, worried. The situation is so utterly precarious...I mean, my life, it's like literally living in a house of cards, all the time, day in and day out, month after month. I hate this, I hate living like this so much. I would give anything--sell my soul to the devil--for just a little stability and financial security...but, that's a pipe dream. I may be a fool, but I'm not a blind one. I see things as they are, and it's not a happy future, I'm seeing.

    Now, I don't know what to do! Do I apply for that job with Time-Warner--and risk being right back where I am now, by having this loan come down on my head right off? Or, do I stay where I'm at, and risk homelessnes? Or will I be homeless, no matter what I do? I've figured it out. In order to keep afloat in this life, I'd have to make at least 23 to 25 thousand dollars a year--I make less than 12,000 (6000 pounds)--and the Time-Warner job would (maybe) boost that to 15,000 or maybe, 16,000...maybe. But even then, I don't think that would be enough...I don't know. I'm scared. No, I will never be afraid of death again, not ever.

  • Dr Who Confidential--or Dr Who Imagination Killer?

    Got an e-mail message this morning, regarding my Doctor's parents post. Seems that Russell T. Davies beat me to the punch, in regards to John Smith's parent's names.

    Just ruin it for me then, why don't you Russell? Geez---This Dr Who confidential is a very nice concept--but they don't leave much to the imagination! They show all the little tricks and inuendos, and leave nothing for us fans to speculate on, or wonder about--except for un-aired episodes, that is.

    I'm not sure how I feel about Confidential, sometimes. In one way, I like seeing the actor's take on how they feel about the show, how it's made, how they approach the character(s)...and it's sometimes nice to see the special effects--but...

    the show also sort of kills one' suspension of disbelief..and loses some of the fun, in spotting little things--like the name of the Doctor's parents. I remember, in the mid to late 80's, our local club (400 some-odd members) used to meet one Saturday a month--and one of the things we'd do--and love doing--is pointing out things we'd noticed in the show, and also, discussing and speculating on the back story of the show. Confidential sort of kills that, doesn't it? It doesn't leave room (for those who can watch it--we don't get it over here) for this sort of thing--everything is explained, like we're a bunch of idiots, and won't pick up on this ourselves...which I mildly resent, quite frankly. But then, maybe I am an idiot...after all, I am an American... :)

    Oh, I don't think Mr. Davies, bless, does it deliberately--at least, I hope not--I think it's just that the guy is so hopelessly enthusiastic with the show, so in love with it, that he just wants to share everything with us fans. I mean, I would really like to think that's the reason for messing with our imaginations. But, who knows? He's a famous writer from Wales, I'm a poor nobody, no-talent schumuck from Glens Falls. What the heck do I know about anything?

  • Morning Has Broken


    SUNRISE, ON GRAND ISLE ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN, WHERE MY LATE MUM'S FAMILY ONCE HAD THEIR CAMP AT HERO, NY.

    Well, it promises to be another nice day, high temp is 81 F (27 C) with clear skies. Since I'm up, reckon I'll get dressed and do the laundry early--that way I can always nap before work, when I get home, if I need to--and probably will. Night shift rots, but at least I have a job, ey?

    Weather promises to be in the upper 70's to low 80's (F) all week, with, starting tomorrow, a 30 to 50 percent chance of storms. Ah well, maybe I won't need to water the flowers so much then. Kind of difficult--something I forgot to take into account when I put the flowers out on the balcony--have to cart the water from the kitchen, through the bedroom, into the living room, open the sliding window, and step through--2 1/2 feet off the ground--not easy with a bad foot and wonky knees--and bring the water out there. Bit of a drag, but the flowers--a hanging basket with a plethora of red petunias, flanked, one on either side of it, by a pot with a small orange gerainium growning in it--I was told by someone yesterday, that they looked nice out there.

    Had some cold cereal for breakfast, and guess I'll go sort laundry, since I'm up. Going to be a long day.

  • Sleepless in Glens Falls

    Here it is, five in the morning, and I've not slept a wink all night. Not one bit of it. Too much tea and coffee yesterday? Some other reason? No clue. Felt restless and really funky all night, kind of..well, simply can't describe it...just...weird. Sort of like having an out-of-body experience, I suppose. Ah well, guess I can sleep in tomorrow, ey?

    The sky is getting light, the first birds are chirping, no traffic on the street below yet, to speak of. I can see the dimly red reflection of the sun's first rays, on the tall spruce tree across the way.

    I was thinking about last night. Apparently, I had accidentally saved a man's life. No joke. Several days ago, I'd bought a caramel, chocolate and peanut butter candy bar, and then realized that the sugar content was way over what I should consume, as a borderline diabetic, so I gave it to my night supervisor, instead. She tucked it away in her purse and forgot about it.

    Monday night, she was lying in bed, when her husband reached over and grabbed her hand. He put her hand down on his chest--he was wringing wet. Apparently, her husband, a diabetic, had taken his insulin five hours after eating--not a safe thing to do--and his blood sugar levels had dropped so low, he was in very real danger of dying. My supervisor said that she gave him soda--no change. She gave him a couple of other sweets, nothing. His blood sugar was at a level where if it dropped any more, he'd be comatose. Then, she remembered candy bar. He ate it, and could taste it a little, and it worked. His levels became normal again, in minutes.

    One diabetics loss was another's gain. Huh. Ain't life strange?

  • Dr Who: The Dr's Parents are..his parents?

    I was watching the Human Nature clip again--it's only 1 minute or so, the clip, but still--great acting.

    In this clip, "John" says to his girl, that his parents were named Sidney and Verity.

    Interestingly enough, the originator of Dr Who, was then head of BBC drama, Sidney Newman. And, one of the early producers (possibly the first) of Doctor Who was: Verity Lambert.

    Nice little connection, ey? The Doc's parents are, in a way, the Doctor's parents. How cool is that?

    Wonder how many of us Whovians have caught that?


    "Aww-they were round and firm, couldn't help but want to squeeze them...I love a good melon, don't you?"

  • Just me, talking about stuff

    Well, that's a switch. Boots, who is normally a big baby and a genuine "scardy cat," is sitting in the window, watching the firemen and their noisy trucks, across the street. Apparently there's some sort of medical emergency, as the big "Rescue" truck and the paramedic car are down there. Boots is normally terrified of noise and activity--especially where men are involved. But for once, he's got his nose right up to the window screen, taking it all in, completely fascinated. I expect a full report from him later. :))

    Came home, had my pot roast--mum's old recipe, that I'd made late this afternoon. Was starved, and ate it cold, beef, carrots, onions. Ohhh--so good! I used to ask her to make this for my birthdays, when we didn't go out for pizza--mum sure knew how to do a nice pot roast (braised beef). I'm eternally grateful to her, for having shared with me, the old family recipe.

    Oh, look who's sauntered over to see me. Hi, Boots! He says he hasn't a clue what's going on, but hopes things will quiet down soon, so he can go back to sleep. He does love a good nap, my Bootsie. ;)

    Meanwhile, Flame is lying on her old blanket that she loves (besides sleeping on it, she also likes to play with it--slides around on the slippery material, and also wraps herself in it and kicks it with her feet)---right now she's in a very..erm..inelegant pose--is sitting upright like a person, hind feet spread wide apart, showing erm--well, it's not the attractive part of a cat I'm seeing right now.

    I'm still slightly light-headed, have been all night, but feeling a bit better. Not sure what went on, last night. Might have been high blood pressure, diabetes, my heart, my woman thing...no clue. I've only fainted once in my entire life (over-heated in church when I was 15). I dunno'....just gotta' hope if it happens again, it doesn't happen when I'm alone, I guess.

    I cracked up some people at work tonight. I had a War and Peace guy--one of those people who take ten minutes to grouse about something it would take most people 30 seconds to say--I mean, the guy wasn't coming up for air--"blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." So I put him on hold, put the mouthpiece in front of my face, and blew a loud raspberry into it. Everyone looked up, startled...and then burst out laughing, nodding their heads--they knew. Sometimes, you just have'ta, 'ya know what I mean?

    To pass the time, I'm re-reading a Louis L'Amour book. I started reading some Shakespeare, but couldn't concentrate on it, for some reason. The Tempest. I started reading that, years and years ago, but have forgotten most of it by now. But I found myself, Monday afternoon, reading the same page three times, with little comprehension. So, I switched to something easy. Probably had something to do with my illness, I reckon--tho', of late, I'm finding I am making more and more mistakes in my writing, and that I suddenly can't seem to spell--words I never had trouble spelling before, are suddenly slipping from my grasp--it's a bit worrying, and that's no joke.

    I think a lot of the typos may stem from the fact that I no longer have a desk, but must prop the screen away from me--on a small dresser top--and type with the keyboard in my lap--I can't seen the screen very well, on account of my poor eyesight, and that's a major hindrance sometimes, as well. Sometimes, I think faster than I type, and I wind up typing the wrong word or missing a word--which I hate doing. It saddens me, as I used to take great pains--and a small bit of pride--in trying to turn in perfect copy. Now: Ha! No more. It's gone.

    I'm going to finish the night watching a Dr Who DVD. Can't wait to see Human Nature. This latest series of Dr Who is quite exciting...and all my innocent teasing of Mr Tennant aside--the man's really terrific. He's very energized in his performances, and seems to have both a good range, and a good use of subtlety--something I will never have--hence my very quick decision two weeks into acting class, never to be an actress. ;) I'm trying, in my blog to do it more--but, truth to tell, I was never very good at opening my emotional Pandora's Box in public...not even in my writing--and certainly not on stage. I can't say how much I admire anyone who can do that, and Mr. Tennant seems really well set up for any theatrical challenge.

    Hopefully tomorrow will see the final chapter of Run for Rose--and then I can finally put that story to bed. The chapter's half-done, I've just got to put the finishing touches on it. I don't really care for this story. It was more like work than, say, The Bodysnatchers--which was great fun to write, and also The Menagerie and some of the other stories. I've another in the re-write process, I may publish here, but not sure.

    Well, I've had dinner, played with the cats, fed them, played with them some more, wrote in my blog and answered some e-mails. Time to watch some Who and then retire at 1am or so. Hope all my friends have a splendid day tomorrow.


    "Playwrite27 said what about me??? I do not! I only put on ladies knickers when I visit a kebab house--kebabs really turn me on, ya' know."

  • Dr Who S-4 Budget Slashed!

    Word is that the next series--Series 4, of the New Doctor Who, is to have it's budget pushed back, to what amounts to a 1974 budget.

    But, producers are unsullied by this drastic change, and plans are already in the works for changes in the new series.

    Here's some exclusive spoilers as to what the Doctor has in store for him:

    The Christmas Special will be the first episode without any CGI effects. Instead, it is rumoured that the show will revert to models. Here we see an exclusive photo from the special, titled: "Hairball!" In this episode, the lone Dalek that escaped from Manhattan, returns to England, and attempts to take over a nuclear power station, enlisting the aid of a giant cat, named "Buster."

    Another episode will evolve around the Doctor, in a fast-paced action packed episode, where he has only 42 minutes to save Martha from Mary Whitehouse, by trying desperately to peel an orange with the sonic screwdiver, while at the same time cleaning the snot out of the Face of Boe's nose.

    Russell T. Davies said he's more proud than ever of the Doctor Who team, which now numbers 3 crew members, one wardrobe/makeup artist and a char woman from Swansea. When interviewed about the new series, David Tennant said, "Meh. It's a job."

  • One Wish

    If you had one wish--just for today, what would it be?

    Initially, it was that there was someone to help me with the dirty laundry.

    But, now I've another notice in the mail, regarding pending lawsuit--and my wish for today, is that someone else would open it, read the bad news, and take care of it for me. (I've yet to open it--I'm a little scared and anxious and depressed at the mo'.)

  • Just Plain Stupid: An American Tale

    America is the greatest nation on earth--if that means great at being stupid, that is.

    A few years back, this guy buys an expensive 40,000 dollar (20,000 pounds) SUV. So, that very weekend, Mr. Proud New Owner decides to celebrate his good fortune in obtaining expensive new auto, by taking his best friend and his hunting dog, duck shooting.

    Now, it's early spring, and where they were living, there still was thick ice on the lake. So, Mr. Proud Owner takes his expensive new SUV, his friend and his dog, out on the ice to shoot ducks. One problem though. In order for them to shoot ducks, the ducks have to have a place to land. That means a hole in the ice. But there isn't any--and it would have to be a very large hole indeed--too large for a mere ice saw.

    Problem solved. Mr. Proud New Owner goes into the back of the truck, and pulls out a stick of dynamite. But, he can't very well just light it and set it down, oh no. So, what does he do? Why light it and toss it as far away as possible. Oh yes, very smart--except for one thing: The dog is a Labador Retriever.

    So, old Rex sees "dad" throw the red stick--ol' Rex just naturally--to his owner's horror, thinks it's a game of "fetch."

    The dog grabs the dynamite and, tail wagging, trots back towards the expensive new SUV. The owner is yelling and waving his arms, he friend is yelling and waving his arms, and the dog is thinking this is a really fun game, and they want him to bring him the smoking stick, so he trots towards his owner a bit faster.

    Then Mr. Proud New Owner gets an idea: shoot the dog. So, he does. One problem--it's bird shot, and all it does is stop the dog for a second. Confused and hurt, the dog decides to bravely carry on. Then, the friend shoots the dog. Really hurt and scared now, the dog does the first thing that comes natural to him: Run back to his owner as fast as he can, for protection--and hide under the brand new 40,000 dollar SUV.

    Mr. Proud New Owner and his friend do the one thing left to them--run like hell.

    So, The dog blew up, the SUV blew up, and both--what was left of them--promptly sank to the bottom of the lake.

    Later, Mr. Proud New Owner, tried to collect from the insurance company, but was turned down. The reason: policy doesn't cover cars being destroyed by the illegal use of dynamite. And he still had to make a 450 dollar (225 pounds) a month car payment--which he hadn't even started doing yet.

  • Scared in Glens Falls

    I had a bad turn last night. Very bad.

    It's true, yes, that the specter of homelessness positively terrifies me. And that the thought of growing old, and finding myself completely useless to society, also disturbs me somewhat. What also scares me, is being utterly alone. It came to a head when I fell in the kitchen back in early April.

    It really was driven home, last night.

    I almost passed out, last night, twice.

    The first time really would have been embarrassing: I was, erm..on the loo, in the middle of..erm..well, you know. But, I ran a cold face cloth over my hot face and neck, and the extreme woozyness left me. Or, so I thought.

    I went and sat down for a bit, felt a little better. Then slowly got up and went to the kitchen for a cold sweet tea.

    Got to the middle of the kitchen floor--suddenly felt weak, then dizzy, and began to feel my face grow hot again, then, my vision literally started failing, and everything started going black--no, it's not something writer's make up, this really is what happens when you start to pass out, I guess.

    So, I was going to go into the living room to ring up 911 for an ambulance--but never made it. The vertigo was so bad, I barely made it to my bed.

    I laid on the bed, my feet elevated, trying to force myself to calm down, and to desperately remember what to do if you start to faint (from my high school first-aid class, roughly 30 years ago).

    So, I elevated my legs, lay flat, breathed slowly, and tried to think of other things besides fainting--anything. Think I came up with the parts of a western saddle, the interior details of the New Dr Who's Tardis, what my room growing up looked like, the proper sequence of the Dewy Decibel System (library thing), and the names of all the different types of stage lighting--didn't work, all I could remember was "frenel,"--so I tried remember the names of stage directions and their proper positions..and then, I was calm again.

    I picked up a book, read a bit--to calm myself some more, and eventually felt well enough to risk going to sleep.

    I'm badly anemic, that I know, despite taking iron. If I take too much iron, it has a very negative effect on my already stressed out stomach, so I take the minimum dose. I have a woman's problem, and I have been putting it off for months, because, honestly, I just don't want to. What I have can only be 3 things, roughly, two relatively benign, that will eventually sort themselves out, as I grow a bit older (I'm at THAT age, you see, ladies). One isn't benign. And I don't want to know. If it's that--well, it's probably too far along by now, to do anything about. And, besides, it would mean the end of everything--not much different result than being homeless, just a bit more...permanent. I've no one to miss me here, but the cats, have I? My job is meaningless and I am not very good at it, and my bosses could replace me too easily I'm afraid.

    But...yeah, the thought of me passed out or dead here---no one would know. No one would even think to check for days...I mean that. No one would know. Not a soul. It's like my dad's brother, Uncle Pauly, who died before I was born. He fell in his bathroom, and lay there for a few days, before anyone found him. Same with mum's dad, my grandfather William. He killed himself and no one knew for a whole day. And, back in the late 40's, my mum was out on a date, when her mum went.

    There's a few things that really scare me. I'm not afraid of death, don't think I ever will be again. But, dying alone...I don't mind admitting, that just scares me a little, yeah.

    Runs in the family

  • Tennant Dances and I Don't


    "There's something I want to ask you...have you ever played, 'find the sausage?'"

    So, I see that David Tennant dances in this latest series. Rather nicely, if the photo is anything to go by. Certainly better than I. I was born with two left feet, you see..very hard to find shoes, in the stores, have to sneak in and take out a lefty from a pair of shoe boxes. Hopefully there's someone out there with two right feet...

    Anyway, never really was much of a dancer. Just a rather shoddy box step (that mum taught me at age 17, in our kitchen), the Virginia Reel (learned in gym class) and disco (learned watching John Travolta).

    When I went to emergency with my bad foot, last time, after the second round of X-Rays, I asked the nurse, "Will I ever dance again?" She said, in a cautionary voice, "Too soon to tell, but probably not." "Good," I said, "'cause I never could dance anyway."

    America's toes are safe at last. :))

  • Flatulence in the Tardis

    This isn't Russell T. Davies Dr Who--or, is it? Geez--he really does fart in the Tardis.

    Doctor Who as we (hopefully) will never see it again:


  • Rednecks on Parade

    Tommorow: back to work. 12 days of calling genuine rednecks, snarky yuppie wives, mean southern women, uptight golf guys (why do males think golfing makes them superior to everyone else on the planet? Did Hitler and Stalin play golf? If not, they missed their calling.) , screaming, hysterical people who can't simply say, "sorry wrong number," or, "Please don't call here."

    But talking to the rednecks--the cliche that the guys are dumb and the women mean--ain't all that much off from the gosh-honest truth. Oh yeah. Very accurate, really. I HATE calling Texas women! Man, they must be fed on rattlesnake venom and sour lemon juice when they are children. Mean-natured doesn't begin to cover it. Oh, some other southern women are mean, too--but Texas women--yuck. Wish the Mexicans would take back Texas, the USA would be a lot better place, I swear.

    REDNECKS ON PARADE:

  • Late night dinner and "Five O'Clock Charlie"

    Since doing the night shift, my poor old stomach's time-table is all confused. I've had today off, for the holiday, but my stomach's not buying it. So, as per when I am working nights, had lunch at 3pm, and am only now just making dinner, at nearly 10 at night.

    I was going to do a pot roast, as I got a cheap thick and fatty chuck steak the other day, but am putting it off till tomorrow. I use mum's recipe to braise the meat: water, apple cider vinegar, sugar, cloves, bay leaf, sliced onions and carrots, and a dash Worcestershire sauce.

    Instead, I'm keeping it simple tonight: a box of Zatarain's Jambalaya rice mix, some tinned corn and some sliced smoked sausage. Mix it all together, put it on the boil, and voila! Dinner. Not fancy, but rather tasty and no fussing about in the kitchen.

    I was feeling a bit...bleh, today, not sure why. Had a headache (not helped by having marching bands, pipe bands and rock music blaring on the street this morning) since I woke up. Still have it. Not prone to headaches, so I guess I'm not complaining--there's folks I know who get migraines all the time, so I guess I can live with a headache for one day, ey?

    I'm not looking forward to tomorrow. I have to finish my resume, deal with the lawsuit, write that letter to Social Security, Write a letter to my congresswoman, attempt to ring up Social Security, AND do the dreaded laundry!

    I am all too well aware of the fact that there's folks worse off than me out there. But still, I don't know. My life seems so utterly useless. I wish someone would magically come along and say, "I need you," and mean it. But wishes are for children and the rich. Not for me. I am too, too aware of the fact, that no one is ever going to need me again.

    I remember mum reading me this story--used to be one of my favourites, as a child. It was a book called, "Five O'Clock Charlie." It was about this old work horse. His owner decided he's useless as he's very old, so he puts Charlie out in this pasture full of weeds, and Charlie is bored out of his mind. I feel like that. Just like that. I'm in my mid-forties and that's how I feel: old and useless. And what's worse, I just am so out of steam, I can't seem to budge myself from this feeling. I'm so very tired, these days. I'm too young to feel this way, but..I just do.