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Posts archive for: June, 2007
  • Fifteen totally obscure facts about me/my life

    1. My hometown is named after a Frenchman whose claim to fame was for developing and growing his own strain of celery.

    2. One of my grandfather's first jobs was as a tombstone carver.

    3. One of my more distant ancestors was eaten, after being shipwrecked on a whaler.

    4. Just up the road from where I grew up, was a house reputed to be haunted by Abraham Lincoln.

    5. A hot air balloon, carrying an advert on it for Mr Pibb's soda, once made an emergency landing in the middle of the four-highway next to my street.

    6. In the mid-1960's a loose tie down rope from a low-flying Goodyear blimp, once got temporarily snagged in the top of a pine tree, in the pine grove behind our house.

    7. A wild whitetail deer once jumped through the plate glass front window, of a small produce shop that belonged to a friend of my mum's, which was located in a small city near our village.

    8. Three of my grade school teachers were on a hijacked plane, during a long standoff in the Middle East, in the early 1970's, and a nationally televised press conference was held in our school's gym/auditorium, upon their return.

    9. When I was in my late teens, I had a best friend, whose sister was film actor Al Pachino's secretary.

    10. I once dated a genuine cowboy from colorado--for three whole dates, while at the same time I had a friend and co-worker who as a Navajo Indian.

    11. I am a direct descendant of James Fennimore Cooper, who wrote Last of the Mohicans, and many other works.

    12. The oddest thing I ever ate for breakfast was choocolate sprinkles on bread--followed by some cold smoked herring and a hard boiled egg. Any port in a storm, when you're hungry.

    13. In my lifetime, I have been on and/or driven/steered the following modes of transport: car, pick-up truck/SUV, antique auto, train, single engine plane, jet, tram, tractor, bucket loader, backhoe, bulldozer, dump truck, ski-lift/cable gondola, horse, pony, mule, camel, elephant, hot air balloon, sail boat, whitewater raft, motor boat, row boat, canal boat, cruse boat, submarine, banana boat/freighter, ferry, bicycle, bus, stagecoach, horse-drawn wagon/carriage, jitney, rickshaw. Still waiting for the Tardis, ha-ha.

    14. Besides my 2-year degree in Liberal Arts, I also hold a Level I certificate in Culinary Arts, and have also studied heavy equipment (construction) operation and floral design (as 6 week extracurricular study courses).

    15. During the depression, while working at the Daily News in New York City, my grandfather invented the device which automatically stops the newspaper presses if a man's hand gets caught.

    (Unfortunately, he showed his idea to the boss--who promptly took it over, and my grandad wound up never getting credit for his invention. He was so upset, he eventually quit his job there, and went to work for the Albany paper.)

  • For my fellow horse and animal lovers:

    Awwwww---


  • Dr Who Catpions, Saturday

    Guess filming is about to resume for Series 4, Christmas Special. Best wishes to the Who crew and cast for a smooth and successful 9 months. Wish I was there, ha-ha. Those people have to be the luckiest people on planet earth.


    JOHN: "You're right, Freema, he really does have a nice bum."


    "And this is where the Master is...Hmm--nice aftershave Jack. What's it called?


    "So he has a bigger screwdriver, David. So what? You still have all the fangirls..and me."

  • Dr Who: Time Lord's Don't Cry

    Another round of late night editing, for me. Cheers. Playwrite27.

    Doctor Who: Time Lords Don't Cry

    CHAPTER 5: Well of Despair

    The Doctor stared down at the floor. The blood lay in a huge puddle, with no indication as to where, or what, or from whom, it may have come from. Unexpectedly, a loud thump seem to reverberate from somewhere underneath the barn's wide wooden floorboards. The Doctor started with surprise, looking around wildly.

    This was followed by more thumping, in what appeared to be a regular pattern. The Doctor cocked his head, puzzled. Curious, he noticed that the noise seemed to come from a far corner, near what appeared to be a series of feed bins. He walked over there. As he shone his torch on the bins, another set of three thumps seem to come right from under his feet. Looking down, he saw that he was standing on a padlocked trap door.

    Stooping down, the Doctor tested the lock. It was rusty and stuck fast. Using his torch, he began searching the barn for something to pry the lock with. “What I really need,” he muttered, “is my sonic screwdriver.” He stopped, with a confused expression on his face. “Sonic screwdriver? Sonic….” A light seemed to dawn on him. “Of course!” He shouted with an ecstatic grin. It immediately fell from his face. Patting down his jeans pockets, he said, “How could I not have my screwdriver?” Another pause as he winced from a pain in his head. “There’s something more…I’m…...I’m the…” But whatever the thought was, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

    Another thump sounded from below, more urgent this time. Then the Doctor distinctly heard a faint sob. A horrible thought dawned on him. He rushed back over to the trap door. “Marie? Marie!” He shouted, “Is that you?” The result was more frantic thumping and a louder sob. The Doctor glanced wildly about him. The torch’s beam alighted on a metal bar, one that had probably come loose from something and had been carelessly tossed into a corner. He snatched it up and began working at the lock with it. “Hang on Marie,” He called, hoping she could hear him, “I’ll soon have you out of there.”

    With much sweat and effort on the Doctor's part, the lock finally broke with a metallic clank. He flung open the wooden trap door. His light barely adequate in the deep black darkness, he saw he was looking into an old disused well, filled with mud and decades of farm refuse. There, with her back to him, clinging to a support beam, stood Marie, waist-deep in the mud, and apparently still sinking.

    Even though her back was to him, The Doctor could tell Marie was crying. She held what appeared to be a piece of an old carriage shaft in her hand, and had been using it to bang on the floorboards above her. “Heaven only knows how many hours she’s been down there, poor wee thing.” The Doctor murmured.

    The Doctor could tell from her posture, that Marie didn’t want to him to see her cry. His hearts went out to her. “Such inner-strength in someone so young, these humans will never cease to amaze me.” He said to himself. A perplexed expression crossed his face briefly. “I’m not human, am I? Then who…what?” He murmured, but another very faint sob from Marie disrupted the thought.

    “It's alright. I'm here. Hang on sweetheart, I’ll soon have you out of there,” he said gently, reasuringly. The Doctor remembered seeing a coil of rope hanging from a peg on the wall, near the window where he came in. He retrieved it and, making a loop, dropped it down to the girl. He shone his light on her. Brushing her sleeve against her face, Marie caught the rope and put the loop around her. “I’m t-too heavy” She said in a small voice. “You won’t be able to lift me.” “Nonsense!” The Doctor called down to her, “Just you let me know if the rope is hurting you.” With that, he began to pull up on the rope with all of his considerable strength.

    Minutes later, a muddy and disheveled Marie stood before him. She was pale and trembling, but seemed otherwise unharmed. After making sure she was truly uninjured, the Doctor had sought out an empty bucket and some reasonably clean rags. He'd filled the bucket from a spigot on the wall, and was now kneeling beside Marie, helping her to clean the mud off of her. “I’m--’m alright.”She said quietly, rubbing her hands with the wet rag. “Of course you are,” The Doctor whispered, “but I think you’ll feel better with some of this muck off of you, don't you?” Hesitating, she nodded.

    When he reached up to wash some of the dirt off of her face, Marie flinched back suddenly. “I--I can do that.” She said, in a stubborn voice. “I’m not a baby, you know.”

    That’s when the Doctor noticed the spreading black bruise on her cheek. He looked into her face, regarding her gravely, anger darkening his eyes. “Who did this to you?” She looked away, biting her lip. He touched her arm, and she involuntarily flinched again. The Doctor withdrew his hand, looking quite sad. Suddenly, quietly, he gathered Marie into his arms and very gently hugged her. He simply held her, and whispered that everything would be alright. It’s something that he’d done once for…for who? It was a name, a simple name, so why couldn’t he remember?

    At first Marie struggled, her eyes wild with fear. But, as the Doctor continued to hug her, the fear gradually became replaced with wonder. She began to sob, quietly at first, then great big tears rolled down her cheeks as she let her anxiety out. “That’s right,” he whispered, “let it go, just let it go. Everything’s going to be alright. I’m here now. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

    The same promise he’d made to…the Doctor squeezed his eyes tight, trying to remember…it seemed vital that he remember a certain name, a certain face...and yet, there seemed to be some inner pain associated with the memory, so why was it so important to him? Marie's muffled voice interrupted his confused train of thought.

    “It was him.” The Doctor released Marie, and asked, “Who? Who did this, and why?” He smiled encouragingly. “It’s alright." He whispered, "We’re friends, aren’t we? You can tell a friend, surely.” Her eyes widened, sheer terror reflected in them. She pointed at something beyond the Doctor’s back. “It was him,’ she whispered.

    “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Demanded a harsh voice out of the shadows. The Doctor turned. Standing there, illuminated by the faint wavering light of the Doctor’s torch, stood the very man, whose dried out body had turned to dust on the river bank--looking very much alive! “It was Uncle Tobias,” whispered Marie.

  • Congress's plan to boost the economy??? And the chaos begins...?

    The United States Congress is really concerned about boosting the economy here. They proved that by totally disbanding the American Job Bank---a national service designed to assist the unemployed in finding jobs.

    Instead, people are being directed to a website--and the millions and millions of unemployed who either don't use computers, or have no internet service? Sh*t outta' luck.

    However, Congress just approved billions of more dollars to help continue the war in Iraq--nearly a quarter of which is earmarked to go to the Vice-President's company, Haliburton, for oil and other business "development" in Iraq.

    Gee, it's so nice knowing the government's priorities. Killing thousands of innocent people and grabbing up billions in oil.

    Oh, and at a time when personal debt is escalating at a record-setting pace, the politicians have repeatedly reduced--and even removed, debt protections for American citizens, favouring big business by making it harder for the people of the US to file for bankruptcy--and in some cases, totally eliminating debt protections altogheter--as a student loan recipient--if I default, I have no protection from my lenders, they can now, thanks to Bush and his regime, rip me to financial shreds--and short of going completely blind, or becoming a teacher or health professional, I have no protection. My lenders can do anything they want to me, to get their money--including stripping me of my wages, tax refunds, etc.

    The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting shoved more and more, down the ol' shaft--and now the middle class is being dragged down alongside them, as well.

    Karl Marx, I'm sorry to say, was all too correct about extreme capitalism. Everything he predicted is very much coming to pass, here in the states.

    Civil war---it's a real possibility, if things don't start to drastically change in the next five to ten years.

    But...that's just my opinion. Sometimes I don't know why Congress and Bush don't just send America's poor to concentration camps--might be kinder, in the long run. The suffering in this country is getting so out of hand, and the upper classes--and much of the rest of the world-- are utterly, totally oblivious to it. Someday soon, their carelessness and ignorance is going to come back to bite them in the arse. I just hope I'm not around when it happens.

    After a drop in homicide/crime rates during the Clinton and very early Bush years, crime is once again escalating in certain areas of the USA. Here are excepts from a recent Associated Press article:

    Homicides soar in some East Coast cities

    By MARYCLAIRE DALE, Associated Press WriterFri Jun 29, 3:43 PM ET

    Baltimore, Philadelphia and other cities in a bloodstained corridor along the East Coast are seeing a surge in killings, and one of the most provocative explanations offered by criminal-justice experts is this: not enough new immigrants.

    The theory holds that waves of hardworking, ambitious immigrants reinvigorate desperately poor black and Hispanic neighborhoods and help keep crime down.

    It is a theory that runs counter to the widely held notion that immigrants are a source of crime and disorder.

    "New York, Los Angeles, they're seeing massive immigration — the transformation, really, of their cities from populations around the world," said Harvard sociologist Robert J. Sampson. "These are people selecting to go into a country to get ahead, so they're likely to be working hard and stay out of trouble."

    It is only a partial explanation for the bloodshed over the past few years in a corridor that also includes Newark, N.J., and Boston, but not New York City.

    In interviews with The Associated Press, homicide detectives, criminal justice experts and community activists point to a confluence of other possible factors.

    Among them: a failure to adopt some of the innovative practices that have reduced violence in bigger cities; the availability of powerful guns; and a shift in emphasis toward preventing terrorism instead of ordinary street crime.

    Philadelphia is losing one resident a day to violence, recording 196 homicides through the third week of June. That is slightly ahead of the total at this point in 2006, a year that ended with 406 homicides, the most in almost a decade. On the first day of summer alone, six people were killed in Philadelphia in three street shootings.

    In Newark, the homicide toll has soared 50 percent in four years, from 68 in 2002 to 106 in 2006. Baltimore had 140 slayings as of June 10, up from 122 the same time last year. Boston had 75 homicides in 2005, a 10-year high, and 75 in 2006. So far this year, there have been at least 30 slayings.

    Some cities "never bothered to institute the reforms, policies and programs that impacted violent crime because they felt immune from what they saw as big-city issues," said Jack Levin, director of the Brudnick Center on Violence at Northeastern University in Boston. "Now they're paying the price."

    These efforts include limiting gun purchases, suing rogue dealers and deploying officers more strategically, based on crime data analysis.

    he vast majority of U.S. homicides — nearly 90 percent in Newark last year — involve guns. And they are more powerful than ever. The weapons of choice are semiautomatics that can spray dozens of bullets within seconds.

    "We're seeing 40, 45 shots," said Richard Ross, Philadelphia's deputy police commissioner. In one recent killing, "I think they fired 20 shots into him. That's remarkable." He added: "For some of these young people, it's the glamour of it. They want to carry on their block."

    Some cite a drop in federal aid for ordinary law enforcement in favor of homeland security spending. According to Ross, federal grants used mostly for police overtime in Philadelphia fell from more than $4 million in 2002 to about $1 million last year.

    The number of police officers per capita has fallen 10 percent since 2000 in cities of more than 225,000, according to Northeastern University criminologist James Alan Fox. Yet post-Sept. 11 fears, especially in Boston, have forced police to monitor government buildings and transportation hubs while also watching for street crime, he said.

    "We've shifted our resources from hometown security to homeland security," Fox said. "We have left relatively unattended the poor and powerless who face violence every day and hear gunshots every night."

  • Backwards

    Man, am I a backwards person, technologically.

    I've not the foggiest idea how an I-Pod works. Didn't even see one for the first time, until last autumn. owned a basic, cheap 20 dollar mobile for about 3 weeks-- and they are still somewhat of a mystery, to me. And, I haven't even the slightest idea what the hell a "blackberry" is supposed to be, never used a laptop in my life, never owned a CD player, or a DVD player (not counting the CD/DVD capacity on my computer here), the only video game thingys I'd ever owned were the original NES and later, a Super Nintendo, neither of which I have any longer.

    Oh, and I still have a VCR, and a TV set, tho' they're not in use. And the computer, of course. Acutally, the computer is my sole bit of technology, I reckon, so I'm not totally in the stone age. But yeah, I'm a bit backward, in the gadget department...and could care less about what I may be missing.

  • Another Day in Paradise

    Love my job!---NOT. Although, for the very first time in over six months, I actually got a compliment. That honestly took me aback, that did. Wow. I was told that I was really doing a good job on the phones today, by one of the supervisors--and I did, I made 5 sales, which was pretty good, for me.

    I had to work my way through a lot of nutters and snarks tho'. One guy answered the phone, "Yo-yo! What up?" I asked for the person, and got in reply, "Yo-yo, bitch, you have the wrong number." Nice. I so desperately wanted to ask this boy, "Do you like people to know that you're a complete moron, the minute you answer the phone?" Because I couldn't tell whether it was a real wrong number or the guy was just being an arse, I erred on the side of the arse, and put him in for a call-back early Saturday morning--very early. Telemarketers Revenge, Mrawww-ha-ha-ha! >:-[

    One guy, when I inquired after his wife, responded, "What's she owe, now?" Well..there's a happy marriage, I'm guessing.

    Also, a woman positively screamed at the top of her voice, "HELLO!" Then promptly slammed the phone down. Charming lady.

    But..that's the nature of the business. I do hate ringing up southern women tho'--meaner, nastier, snarkier excuses of womanhood have never existed before the advent of the Deep South. The Spanish inquistors would have loved them.

    Here's what one southern woman snarked at me, when I said hello and asked for her: "What's yore problem?"

    A co-worker gave me a bit of a laugh today.

    Seems she'd lost her mobile for a whole week--until her boyfriend found it in her bed. She didn't hear it ring, because it was set to vibrate. Okay, if you don't get why I found that funny, just think about it for a few minutes...:>>

  • David Tennant Hair, Digging Shamrock and Other Notions

    What is with my hair lately??? I washed it three times on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, yet still it looks like rubbish! Like I'd not washed it in a week, then ran my fingers through it repeatedly. Ugh! Hate my hair. I look like David Tennant on one of his bad hair days. Well, my hair's so fine, forget perms and sets and styling...nothing takes. And even hair spray--I have to use so much sometimes, it winds up going through the day looking wet--and still mussy. On one of the extremely rare occasions--ever 10 years---that I actually go into a beauty pallor to have my hair fussed with for some special event or whatever, I'll be lucky if the posh style lasts halfway through. And if it's windy, at all--forget about it. Have I mentioned that I love wearing hats? :)) Anyway, I'm wondering if this sudden case of Mad Hair Disease is the result of my being so ill. 'Dunno' but my hair sure did look like absolute rubbish, yesterday.

    Had a dream, last night, about my first dog, Shamrock. She was half purebred collie and half retriever mix. She mostly looked collie--except for her dumb ears--they were shaped like a retrievers, but partly stood up, when she was alert--they looked sort of silly.

    Shamrock was incredibly gentle and kind--we had a neighbour who positively loathed and detested dogs--and he always petted Shamrock affectionately. Where he chased all other dogs from his yard, he'd smiling, call Shamrock over and give her a treat or pet her. Everyone--and I mean, everyone--loved my dog.

    A DOG LIKE SHAM--BUT SHAM'S EARS DROOPED.

    She was also hugely smart, and, she was my absolute very best friend. We went everywhere together, and had a genuine rapport that's so very rare--whether between animals or humans. Sham just seemed to always know what I was thinking....almost to the point of it being uncanny. She was sharp as paint, when it came to learning new tricks. She could shake--either paw, sit, get up, come to me, roll over, lie down, turn left, turn right, and speak. Often without any readily noticeable signal from me, but a slight nod of the head, or merely eye contact or a soft whisper.

    She caught on to a new trick, one day, purely by accident--and she learned this literally in about five minutes--I sometimes think she made this trick up on her own--but I know that would just be silly. Anyway, she was rolled over on her great whopping back (she was large, weighed about 70 pounds), and I, just kidding around, did a Dirty Harry impression, "Go ahead, make my day!" And using my finger as a gun, pointed at her and went, "BANG!" Well...Shamrock yelped, and flopped over---just like she'd been shot! I had a flash of "Eureka! A new trick!" And had her roll over again, just to see if she'd repeat the action--did the "bank" thing--and yes, she did it again, exactly as before--so all I did, was scratch her belly (to heck with dog treat rewards, Sham's weakness was belly rubs), and repeat the "trick" several times more-and she never forgot it, not ever...right down to the yelp and the flop! Of course, it was sometimes less effective, when she forgot herself and wagged her tail when she was supposed to be "dead," but I think if Sham had been a person, she would definitely have been an actress, she was such a tremendous ham. The later became the number one request from people, for all the neighbours loved this new trick of hers.

    Sham had one other "trick," that was popular with the neighbours, and made them laugh hysterically. Shamrock was EXTREMELY vocal--I mean she could actually sob and cry and carry on like a human being...it scared the neighbour kid, who never knew what to make of it. Well, at the end of Sham's repertoire, I'd have her sit. Then I'd walk up to her and say, sympathetically, "There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" On cue, everytime, Sham would bury her head in my knees and actually start "sobbing" and crying at the top of her lungs---a real "Oh woe is me!" act. Oh, the neighbours would be laughing and going "Awwww!" Shamrock was such a huge ham during her "performances," but she also used to pull this act whenever I came home after being away for any length of time. She was such a baby. In high school, I'd barely be off of the school bus, when she'd come running up to me joyously, and then start bawling her eyes out..."OHhh! I missed you mum, how could you stay away so long?!?"
    The neighbours would always know when I was home, by the sound of Sham's sobbing.

    Speaking of the neighbours, One day, one of the neighbours decided to put a post and rail decorative fence in the corner of his yard, and plant some shrubbery around it. He'd worked hard all day, in the hot summer sun, put in the last post, securely in the ground, and went into the house for a cold beer. He came out, and found Shamrock doing her damnest to pull that last post out of the ground--she had that sucker in her teeth and was yanking on it for all she was worth--digging up the soil as well--bound and determined to remove that post. Well, it didn't belong there, did it? There never was a post there before.

    Anyhow--I was just...appalled, when I'd found out. Stammered out an offer to pay for, and repair the damage. I was refused. Seems the neighbour was so amused by the whole thing, he considered it worth the wasted post and work. I guess, he could have stopped her, early on, but it seems he was laughing so hard, he just stood there on his porch, busting a gut and having a good old time. He said it was the most entertainment he'd had in months--took her over a half hour to pull that post out, and the man just stood there the entire time, just laughing. Well, some people are easily amused, I suppose--or maybe it was the beer? People just loved Shamrock. She had just the most perfectly gentle and loving nature, that even people who were normally afraid of dogs, would take the time to pet her.

    I've had pets all my life, but only once, if you're very lucky, will you get an animal companion like Shamrock. I was truly blessed, the day she was born in our cellar, to my sister's dog, Happy. The day I picked a puppy at random, and said, "I want that one." That was the luckiest day of my life.

    Have to go to work soon. Eight or ten hour day---will depend on how I'm feeling. I'm knackered, from everything, still. I'd quite frankly, give and arm and a leg and another arm, just to have a week--or even a weekend--off. No such luck, gotta' pay that rent and stuff.

    I wish I was somewhere else, doing something else, but wishes are for children and the wealthy. I'm just a low-income, old maid, telemarketer. And if I don't end this post, I'll be late for work! Cheers!

  • Dr Who: Time Lords Don't Cry

    It's heading into 11pm, I really would love to sleep, but my bedroom is around 28 C, close and stuffy--like being trapped in a hotbox. Sleep isn't happening, tho' I did try to go to bed early. So--time for another late night editing session with this really bad Dr Who story--I'm not just being modest you know--it's not very good, and I know this. I want to do something different with the middle and ending of this story--shorten it, but also completely change Marie's role, than from the original story. But...I haven't worked out where to make the big switch yet, so I'm just contenting myself with messing about with an existing chapter, to see if I can make the story flow a little more smoothly. I imagine it must be putting some people to sleep, as it is rather plodding, compared to Bodysnatchers and a couple of other stories. Hmmm--maybe I should, for once, forget the tra-la happy ending, and kill off Marie at the end of the story--she could die doing something heroic, maybe even save the Doctor's life....meh, we'll see... Playwrite27

    Doctor Who: Time Lords Don't Cry

    CHAPTER 4: The Forsaken

    Feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented, the Doctor bent over double and held his head in his hands. Something was terribly wrong, but he couldn’t quite ken exactly what it was. The sensation was…discomforting. He must do something. Taking a deep breath, he sat there, slowing his breathing, watching the white smoke of his warm breath, rising before him, he came to a decision. “I’ll bet that girl Marie would know what to do.” Taking up his hiking staff once more, he reversed his steps and started off towards the direction where he’d last seen her.

    It was growing dark when he came upon the farmyard. Three lean white and brown speckled coonhounds came charging at him, baying wildly. The Doctor stood his ground. “Sit, boys!” He commanded. They all three sat on their haunches, tails wagging and long pink tongues lolling, looking up at the Doctor expectantly. Grinning, he patted each one on the head. “Good dogs, good boys.” He said to them.

    The Doctor looked around him. In the gathering gloom of the evening, the weathered gray farmhouse seemed abandoned. No lights shone. Each window, seeming to be a blank eye, staring out at the world like a corpse. He looked down at the dogs. “Where is everyone? Where’s Marie?” He asked gently. The dogs merely whined and trotted back to the house. They crawled under the wide front porch and lay there silently, heads resting on their paws as if waiting for someone--or something.

    The farmhouse door stood wide open. The Doctor walked cautiously up the steps. He peered into the doorway. A long cavern-like hallway ran to the back of the house, with a set of stairs going upwards to its left, and a door--presumably to the parlor--on its right. “Hello?” The Doctor called out, “Is anybody there?” His own voice echoed back to him. The house appeared to be empty of life.

    Suddenly, with a yowl, a big fluffy gray tabby shot directly between his legs. The Doctor jumped involuntarily. He shook himself off, and watched the cat run towards barn. The doors of the barn were closed tight and the cat sat before them, pawing at them with his claws and meowing piteously.

    Leaving the house, the Doctor strode to the barn and stood over the cat. He looked down at him. “What is it?" He asked the cat, bending down to scratch the side of its face. The car purred, and rubbed his head against the Doctor's jeans, happy for the company. The Doctor straightened and, looking the barn up down suspiciously, said, "What’s in there, eh?” He tried the door. It was locked, barred from within. He frowned. “Now why would anyone lock a barn door from the inside, hmmm?” He asked the cat.

    Walking around to the side of the building, the Doctor noticed that there was a back door. He tried it, but it was locked as well. That was when he spied a small window in the back corner. Using a rag he found nearby to wipe off the grime from the window, he looked in. The creeping darkness obscured everything in indefinite shadows. The cat had followed him and now sat at the Doctor's feet, looking at him expectantly. “Rahhwow,” it cried.

    The Doctor smiled grimly at it. “Yes, I think I should do it, too.” With that, he picked up an old board that lay on the ground. Stepping back a bit, he broke the window glass. Glimpsing an old blue tarp lying crumpled alongside a pile of junk, he stuffed one edge along the bottom of the window frame and crawled inside.

    Once inside the ghostly interior, the Doctor fished a small but powerful penlight torch out of a pocket of his jeans, and flicking it on, shone it around the barn's interior. Dirty cobwebs hung from the rafters and the smell of manure and hay pervaded the air. Outside of the cat, not a single animal was in sight.

    Shining the torch on the floor, the Doctor noted long deep scratches in the wide wooden floor boards. Bending down, he examined them. They appeared to have been recently made. There was a faint, odd coppery smell in the air. He walked over to the rusting cattle stanchions. They were empty. He was walking past them when his foot slipped in something. He threw back his head in disgust. “Ugh! I knew it!” He cried out loud. Taking a breath, he looked at the sole of his shoe, only to stop short. He had stepped in something organic, all right, but it wasn’t manure. It was a large pool of blood.

  • Dreadful Dr Who Captions


    "Oh sure, it's the end of the world--but, fortunately, it so happens we can get you a great deal on some recently vacated rent to own houses..."


    "Alright, John--stop rubbing it in. Okay, your screwdriver is very large--but my...erm...nickname, is much bigger than yours!"


    "What I never told you, Martha, is that all us Time Lords are completely bonkers. Our national anthem is the theme from I Love Lucy."

  • Speaking of Muses...

    As a teen, I was genuinely inspired by the songs of John Denver and various folk singers, and by the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson and my reading--well, slogging through--Thoreau's "Walden." I was entranced--simply because I saw and breathed and felt and lived, so much of what these fellows sang and wrote about. I'd thought I was alone in my feelings and contemplations, but through my often accidental explorations, I was not. And it felt--really really good--I mean, there I was, thinking this or that--and then turn a page, or hear a lyric, and the singer or writer is saying nearly the same thing as I'd been thinking--that sometimes knocked my socks off.

    Here's some narrated excerpts from "Walden", filmed on location at Walden Pond, near Concord Mass.


  • Losing the Comfort Zone

    My blog is drawing in, it appears, a lot more readers these days. Some days more than others, and without comments or feedback, there's no indication why that is--although, as I wrote to a fellow blogger, this morning, the huge jump in readership while I was away in hospital might be because of morbid curiosity--that maybe some tout somewhere was taking bets on whether I'd make it out of hospital alive or not, and people were checking to see if I would indeed come back, ha-ha.

    But, with me, this sudden and drastic increase in readership, also means a sudden drop in my comfort level as a relatively unknown, and totally obscure blogger. When it comes to blogging, I like obscure.

    That's because when I'm comfortable in the feeling that most people reading my blogs don't know me--barring several good friends---have no real connection to me--I can be comfortable with just being myself--whether the mood of the moment is depressed, worried, angry, scared, silly, pensive, content, whatever...I don't worry about how I sounded or how the public perceived me. I just wrote. I never obsessed or stressed over whether anyone reading my blog liked my writing or not, or was interested in what I had to say.
    And I don't want to do that. I don't like worrying about what people think of me or my writing--at least, not with blogging.

    When I used to keep a daily journal, all those years ago, I wrote in the knowledge that no one (barring my mum) would ever read it. Mostly, back then, I wrote a lot of pastoral, transcendental-ish gobblety gook, but even when I was writing about the difficult times, I knew I could say whatever I wanted, without feeling discomfort of any sort.

    I'm losing that comfort zone, now.

    This sudden influx of readers has me quite flummoxed. I honestly don't know what to make of it. It's not like I'm writing about anything important or earth-shattering.

    My creative works--my Dr Who fan fiction, my daft little poems--aren't anything special. I'm merely an average writer. I'll never be asked to write a book, or a script or anything like that. Over five years of college--a lifetime of reading, as well--I've read my share of good writing. I'm average, pretty much. And, that's really okay. I'm totally okay with that. It wasn't meant to be, as I am now acutely aware of. And honest--that's okay. I'd accepted that months and months ago.

    I am always pleased when someone writes me that he or she likes my writing. But, that said, when I weigh my stuff alongside the work of others--professional writers--I do see the gap, that something is decidedly lacking in my work.

    I didn't get to--and likely never will, at this late stage in life--finish my education in writing. Additionally, I just don't have the imagination, the life experiences, that so many other writers have had--and, perhaps, the same level of maturity, as well. I don't know. There's so many places I've never been, I don't go out much in the world--especially now, and, I've never had an intimate relationship--so I can't really write about that at all, I totally rot at plotting, I am, by my own admission, a bit of a simpleton--don't have this great, broad imagination that other writers have.

    Story ideas don't often come easy to me. I never was much use at abstract thinking--oh, I've tried, but, truth to tell, I really am just a plain dull person. I live in a box, so thinking outside it is a bit hard for me. In a nutshell, as a writer, I've just got a lot of limitations, and that's a serious handicap--especially if one wants to be successful.

    So, I'm a bit perplexed as to why my blog stats have been rising over the last several months. My life isn't interesting--when I showed my life in pics the other day on my blog--work, grocery store, laundromat, apartment---that really IS my whole life. I seldom leave that world. I really haven't been out of this tiny little city in over 6 months...I mean, that in 6 months, I've not traveled more than 2 or 3 miles from this apartment--no joke--really, it's 100% true!

    So I'm left at a loss over what's so interesting about my blog, to attract hundreds of readers--morbid curiousity--will she live or will she die, will she continue to live here or will she be homeless? Or...I don't know. I find this just...odd. The writer in me is pleased to be read, but the human side of me, is a bit--perplexed, and, getting a little uncomfortable...can't say why, exactly--other than the privacy worry, of course. But there you have it. That's how I feel.

  • The Master: American Vs. British

    I saw a brief clip of the last Dr Who confidential episode--and there's David Tennant, looking all nice and speaking about the Master in an animated and interesting manner--and then, the American actor, Eric Robers comes on. Now, mind you, he's a fair actor, certainly. But, if you really want to see the gaping difference between the British mind and the American mind, here's two quotes:

    ROBERTS (On the character known as the Master):
    "The Master is often described as an evil genius, because, uhh--he is evil."

    TENNANT (Also commenting on the Master): "I think that when the Master was created, back in the 1970's, that the Doctor needed a Moriarty to his Sherlock Holmes."

    Your average American probably thinks Sherlock Holmes is the name of some posh upper middle class housing development. :))

    On a separate note, I read where David Tennant was upset to learn that the Master's screwdriver was bigger than his screwdriver....hmmm---screwdriver envy! You mean the Master's screwdriver is bigger than "teninches?" Oh, I think we've just opened a whole Pandora's box of brand new, blatantly obvious, erm--manhood jokes here, ey?

  • Another Part of Me, Gone Forever

    Well, another blow struck upon me.

    I have to delete my tiptop website, the one with my various writing portfolios on different pages.

    Two people have used my personal website to track me down--and I depend on being unknown, as that allows me to freely express myself, without worrying about some strange person digging into my personal life---I don't want to be sectioned--that'd be even worse than being dead or homeless. I mean that--I never was more serious about anything.

    So, since I can't remember which page or pages I posted my personal info on---out goes all my writing, except the few things still stored in my computer files.

    A lot of that stuff on tiptop, is long gone--hard copies lost in moving, floppy discs damaged. Deleting those sites, well...it's a bit like deleting a part of my own individuality, my own personality.

    But, no hope for it, must be done. I'd rather have my privacy, be free to air my true feelings, without worrying about unwanted (tho' perhaps well-intended) intrusions. Not that I always mind--but I prefer it be done out in the open--a comment on my blog, a personal message, and not by Googleing my personal life, if you know what I mean.

    Gosh, now I am getting an inkling of how a celebrity must feel--it's a weird sensation, knowing some total stranger is prying into your personal life without you knowing about it.

    So, suck it in ol' girl, and dump that Tiptop site! Tonight.

  • The BIG question

    So, someone asked me today, out of the blue, someone I hardly even know, "what do you want to do with the rest of your life?"

    I...had no answer.

    My first thought, was simply to survive--to someday find a place in this life for myself, where I no longer have to have nightmares (often literally) about homelessness, or worry about poverty. To feel "safe" again, like when I was much younger.

    But of course, that's just a pipe dream, and well I know that. You get in this life, what you get. Sometimes you're lucky and things just click--just come together, and all is, mostly, well and fine...and then, sometimes life just pisses on you continually, and there you stand under the deluge, without an umbrella.

    I thought I--sort of--knew what I wanted to do with my life, and in some small ways have done it--very small ways, mostly. Not too long ago, I believed in myself, had faith and strength and kept my eye clearly on the ball...made a few reality adjustments, but was essentially moving in the right direction--writing, creativity, a decent wage, a gosh-darn future.

    But, the ball disappeared in 2005--smacked out of the ballpark by, what is now, a long series of unfortunate circumstances.

    My confidence, my self-belief, even my very faith, has fled me. I've no clue where to go to even find them, anymore.

    What do I want for myself? To live. To live without the constant fear, and worry, pain and loneliness, to not be condemned to the very existence I'd dreaded all my life. Wither away in a shell, in a prison of my own making, a miserable, bitter, lonely person, like my dad was. But, I fear, that's where I'm going.

    I know--oh yes, I truly do know, that the only one who can change your life--is you. But one needs a catalyst, and inspiration, security, knowledge, confidence--faith. Trouble is, those things no longer exist for me.

    I feel...empty. My muse not only left me, she took the last ship off the planet. She's out there, somewhere, floating around the solar system.

    What do I want for myself?

    I would love to feel inspired again, free again--I'd love to believe again, have faith, have that wonderful confidence, feel wonder and curiosity again.

    Will I ever?

    Again, I don't know. Who can say what will be, and what won't be? Who can say what is, and what isn't? Life is part of the universe--and the universe is continually changing, evolving...I simply don't know what the future holds for me: homelessness, success and security, or just this empty life, this continual withering of the spirit and soul...or death. I don't know, and no one does, I'm afraid.

  • Melting in Glens Falls

    Home on lunch break--feeling wicked ill, thanks to the heat--it boiling out there! 33 C! AND humid--air's so thick you can cut it with a knife. I feel like that witch in Wizard of Oz.."I'm melting! I'm melting! What a world, what a world...!" :)

  • Harriet Jones tie-in to Sound of Drums???

    Just saw, before leaving for work, a short clip from Sound of Drums--was that the Harriet Jones, Prime Minister theme I heard, playing in the background? Or am I, once again, way off base? Guess I won't know for sure until I've seen the episode in its entirety--if I do.
    That would be interesting--reusing the HJ, PM theme for Saxon's scenes...I rather like that piece, think it's a really interesting composition of Gold's...very strong and beautifully done, really gives a nice subtle added voice to the scene(s).

  • Lazy American males!

    Blaring hooter outside, startled me and the cats. Yet another grown man, too lazy to pry his well-fed American arse out of the car seat, to walk up to the door and knock.

    What is it with these guys today??? I mean, it's one thing if the person they are picking up says, "hoot the car horn when you get there." But most of the time, it's just that these lazy so-called men, can't make the effort to walk the tiny little walk up to the front door and ring the gosh-darn bell.

    John Wayne is truly a dead American icon. I mean, if me--overweight and disabled, I can walk to and from work all the time--but these big strong healthy men, can't even get out of a car seat? American men are total wimps--they may still do the macho posturing thing, but...it's just sad. They don't like waiting their turn in line, whine a lot, swear and spit in front of women and children---there's goes pride and honor flushed down life's loo.

    Ah, I'm just in a mood, today--the weather. I hate being hot and sticky--I'd rather deal with bone-numbing cold, I'm much more aclimated to that.

  • David Tennant's Engaged? Or Sectioned? Or Gay?


    OMG! The man actually combed his hair--nice shirt, by the way.

    While casually surfing for more series 3 news on the net, found yet another reference to Mr. Tennant's "secret" engagement. But then, on this blog site, the blogger also suggested, in an earlier post, that David Tennant was gay, and also indicated that he was bi-polar.

    Now, I "talked" with another fan on the net about this--someone who's seriously a DT fan, more so than I. I know a few basic facts about the man, probably more than I want to know, really--through interviews and fan chat and the like--but am certainly not one of these walking David Tennant encyclopedia type fans.

    Anyway, my fan friend's take on this, is that the gay comment springs from the fact that some gay magazine voted Tennant hottest male star last year, or something like that. And this person likewise feels that the bi-polar thing is being confused with a character Tennant portrayed in some television series...seems he's rather popular for playing nutters, and I can see why, if his Who performances are anything to go by, ha-ha.

    As for the "secret engagement" thing....we're both stumped. We've no idea--and quite frankly, I don't especially care. I mean, congrats to him if he is, that's nice and I hope he and his gal are forever happy, but single or married, he's just a really talented, well-rounded, solid actor to me,--and, at least outwardly, from my long-distance, total stranger's perspective-- appears thoughtful, and seems like a good person, and that's all I see him as. Married or single, no difference that I can see...don't know what all the fuss is about, quite frankly.

    Some fans just like to make mountains out of proverbial mole hills--I suppose that's one of the things that drives fandom, isn't it?

  • Hot Town!!!

    Well, it was 30 degrees C in here, at 6am--going to be brutal today.

    I'm feeling rested for a change, ready to charge backing to the ranks of the much abused telemarketers. Bit sore--have to check in with the doc this morning, before work, make sure all is on the up and up, with my recovery. The hot weather doesn't help much, but it's to be a bit cooler, as the week goes on, bless.

    But the cats are a bit miserable in here--thank goodness there's a little breeze out there. Decided to wear a dress today. Not that I feel like it, but it will be a lot cooler than trousers or my heavy skirt. Going to be a long day, tho', as I forgot, in the emergency, to pay my Natl. Grid bill, and have to do that today, during lunch, so lunch will be cut considerably short. Then off to work again for four hours. Yuck. I probably won't be going home for lunch, but maybe..if I can get a cab right off--not counting on it, tho'.

    Sat on my little balcony, last night, looking at the sunset and watching the sparrows diving about and chattering, people walking below, cars going by. But, then I started to feel lonely, so I went back in and read a book for a while. It was sort of nice out there, tho'...good breeze in the evenings, here. Don't think I'll ever fully adjust to city life, but it's really not bad at all, and I'm getting pretty well used to it, by now...even in the sultry summer.

    Anyway, going to leave you with a favourite song from my childhood:


  • Dr Who Captions for Wednesday