@ 14/07/2007 – 16:14:24
Here's one last pic for today. This is Boots, when he was about 8 months old, taken in our caravan in the summer of 2001. It was about 30 C in there that day (metal roof + hot sun= one very hot trailer), and Boots basically passed out on top of the fan.
@ 14/07/2007 – 15:10:48
Here's a pic I took, in 2004, of the fall foliage at Mill Park in Lake Luzerne, NY.
@ 14/07/2007 – 15:06:12
Here's the first of my pics. I've 28 that were put on CD for me, so I'm obviously going to be posting photos for at least a few weeks.
The first two:
This is mum, taken on the day I graduated from my 2-year college, in May of 2003. She was doing dialysis then, and you can see the tape on her shoulder that was where her tubes were attached to her. She was doing reasonably well when this photo was taken, and I was just bursting with joy, that day, to know that mum was FINALLY going to see me graduate college--with honours. (I flunked out the first try, at age 19).
This pic was taken about a mile up the road from our caravan, at one of the town beaches, in Lake Luzerne, NY.
As I'm typing this, I'm still waiting..and waiting...and waiting, for my computer to upload the files to photobucket--we could be here a while... 
Anyway, the second pic is of me at age 12 or 13. My dad had a friend who's daughter was showing her quarter horse, so he took me to this show, somewhere in western New York. There, his friend introduced my dad to this cowboy, who was boarding his big black horse and fancy silver studded saddle at that stable where the show was being held. I have to admit, this horse-loving kid basically drooled over this beautiful horse and it's fancy rig. I guess the cowboy must have noticed, because he told my dad that I could take the horse for a quick ride around the grounds, if I wanted--and dad, bless him, had his camera with him. One of most treasured moments, as a kid--I loved cowboys, I loved horses--well...I imagine it was sort of like a young Dr Who fan getting to touch the real Tardis, I suppose. I was in seventh heaven--and scared a little, too--that was one biiiggg horse! 
@ 14/07/2007 – 07:14:53
Reckon I'll be hearing that a lot today. Gosh knows I hear it often enough on Sundays. Six hours of telemarketing (she groans loudly and painfully)! I HATE my job! Okay, it pays better and is in fact, much better, than cleaning loos and carting about nasty full bin bags and being treated like your worthless rubbish yourself--okay, still being treated that way--but, I get to sit down and work, and--stay clean--and I do get paid 9 dollars an hour (4 pounds 50p) which is the most I've ever made in my 30 some-odd years of employment...still telemarketing really makes you feel like rubbish. People are so horrendously mean to you--well, they can get away with it, can't they? They don't know you, they can't see you--so my fellow Americans think it's okay to treat us like filth. And, oh yes, they do.
I've dealt with meanness for most of my 40-some-odd years...and God, I'm getting so weary of it all. For the rare few people that are nice to me--dozens more are mean. I don't know if it's my looks, or my body language, or maybe I'm a jerk when I talk, or because I'm a bit...slow, sometimes, but I'm just a walking bullseye. People love making fun of me and being mean to me. I think that's why I've always been alone so much...it's just easier, isn't it? When I was out in the woods and fields, I could just be myself, no worries about being made fun of, or worse. You get tired of hurting, constantly. Giving a choice between being lonely, or being hurt, I just naturally chose lonely. Lonely is okay. Hurt is not--I'd ten times rather be lonely, than be made to feel like absolute rubbish, hands down, no contest.
Another thing that hurts--and even the other day, I experienced this, is being ignored--being made invisible. I hate feeling invisible. So often, I talk--and no one listens. It's often like I'd not said anything at all. People just look at me--through me, and just continue on with what they're doing, like I wasn't even there. That is a terrible feeling. I treasure--no really, I genuinely treasure, a nice conversation. I have so few of them...and, I so often feel awkward about it. Why is it, I can stand in front of dozens--even hundreds, of people and give a presentation, do the tour guide thing, say a speech, recite a poem, or even act (well, very badly act), and not turn a hair...but casual conversation makes me nervous as hell? Sometimes even makes me feel like an idiot, afterwards. No clue.
So I'm off at twenty to nine, this morning, to this wonderful city's one and only modern skyscraper--wow, all of ten floors--for six hours of slogging through phone scripts, talking to people from coast to coast, trying to sell them things they don't want, for a clubs most of them loathe and hate, or have barely even joined and haven't a clue what it's about--or, in the case of some, simply haven't a clue--oh yes, I do get people, they've paid money for a membership, but don't even remember doing it.
Must be nice to be able to throw away money like that. I get people, they get all these magazines coming to their homes--over 100 dollars they've spent I'm guessing for these subscriptions, and they tell me they don't even read them--or even know what half of them are about! WTF? Why buy something you don't read--so the neighbours will think you're literate? Ha! Now I truly know Bush got elected! Idiots.
@ 14/07/2007 – 06:38:45
These exclusive pics of David Tennnat, only seen here on Playwrite27's blog, show actor David (Dr Who) Tennant going mad, while filming Dr Who:
CCTV cameras caught this pic of Tennant running around set with his sonic screwdriver and a pair of rubber gloves, offering to examine the prostates of male crew members.
After Tennant snapped out of it, he was so mortified, he spent the rest of the day with his head stuck inside the Tardis' telephone receptacle, and refused to come out.
@ 13/07/2007 – 23:43:23
Doctor Who: Time Lords Don't Cry, by N. (Playwrite27)
CHAPTER 17: Home Sweet Home
Clambering out of the truck, the Doctor headed off to the east, in search of his beloved Tardis. He stopped short when Marie gave a yank on his sweater. The Doctor looked down at her. "What?" Marie pointed north, and the Doctor shrugged, "I never was much good with a compass. I was the bane of my Galifreyan boy scout leader. But," he scratched the back of his neck and grinned, "I can tie one heckuva' knot though. This way then, is it?." With that, the Doctor strode off towards the meadow, walking into the wind, amid billowing dried up leaves and a few hesitant flakes of snow.
The wind snatched at their clothing, sending chilling fingers of cold air creeping up their spines. The Doctor unlocked the door and led Marie inside. Without ado, he dashed up to the console and consulted the computer screen. Marie stared about the room, silently looking the place over from roof to floor. He looked up at her, grinning from ear to ear. “What do you think of her, eh?” Marie was wonder struck. “This is so cool! I mean, it's just so...wow." She walked up to the Doctor, staring in complete fascination at the Tardis's console, with it's great column in the centre. She laughed and said, "Oh, Man! This is amazing! And you fly around in this all the time? That's just--so...cool! But, Doctor, why's it bigger on the inside?"
The Doctor chuckled, and hugged her. "Long story. “Tell you what? Why don’t you have a seat and make yourself at home while I go and change?" Marie saw a bulge under his sweater, and pointing at it, asked, "What's that?" The Doctor smacked his forehead. "I am getting absent minded in my old age! I nearly forgot. I’d found something of yours back at the farm. held it out to her. “Here, I believe this belongs to you.”
Marie took the object from the Doctor. It was one of her mother’s teacups. Grasping it in her hands, she stared at it. Marie's composure slipped: her lip began to tremble and she seemed about to cry. The Doctor knelt down and said consolingly, “I’m sorry. It’s the only one I could find.” Marie stared at the cup in her hands, rubbing it with her fingers as if it were a genie’s lamp that could make her mother magically appear. Then, throwing her arms around the Doctor, she cried. He patted her back awkwardly, saying “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry all this had to happen to you.” A few minutes later, the Doctor brought out a warm blanket and, smiling a little sadly, put it around Marie. She was curled up on the control room chair. Completely worn out, and had cried herself to sleep. "Ah, Rassillon. I don't know what you were playing at," he whispered aloud, "but you've got one heck of a terrific granddaughter."
Once again standing at the console, the Doctor was looking---and feeling, more like his old self than ever. Dressed in his usual garb of a brown suit over multiple layers of shirts and his trusty trainers, the Doctor silently hovered around the console, pushing buttons and studying readouts. “Ah, yes. He whsipered, “Now I have you. I thought as much. The Fumerick system..that explains the suit of armor, then.” Donning his glasses, the Doctor bent over the console and studied a particularly interesting readout. Taking the glasses off, he tapped his hand with them and started pacing back and forth, deep in thought.
The Doctor pulled off the decking panel and was working underneath the console. He dropped his sonic screwdriver with a loud clang, waking Marie. She slipped out from under the blanket and went over by the Doctor, sitting beside him. The Doctor glanced up at her, holding a pair of wires in his teeth. "Sorith 'bouth thath." Marie tilted her head at him, "What?" The Doctor removed the wires, and was busily connecting them together. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to wake you."
Marie glanced curiously at the Doctor. "S'okay, Doctor. What are you doing? Something to stop Uncle Tobias--I mean this Droom thing, from killing things?" The Doctor nodded, and, talking as he worked said, “The Droom come from the Fumerick system. That’s in one of the darkest parts of the galaxy. The sun is so distant from the planet, it’s in near total darkness all the time. The Droom are light-sensitive creatures. Any kind of bright light causes them pain. UV rays are especially dangerous to them. Too much exposure and they disintegrate. So, over the course of millions of years, the species developed ways to protect themselves. Very much like you humans.”
Marie grimaced, not sure what the Doctor meant by that. The Doctor’s hand shot out and searched around for the sonic screwdriver. It was just out of reach. Marie got up and got it for him. The Doctor thanked her and continued, “Anyway, they developed a tough but lightweight armor that shields them completely from any harmful UV rays. It’s implanted into them when the eggs are fertilized. They grow into the armor as they develop. It’s a part of them. They can make it appear or disappear at will. The human hosts--your cafeteria lady and the others, don’t need it. But, the human bodies that the Droom take over, they alter genetically, to produce the armoured effect.
Marie cocked her head, her young mind ingesting all she just heard. “So--you mean, the armor is sort of like sunscreen, and these human slaves--like Mrs McHenry, they don’t need it because they’re still human?” “That’s right.” The Doctor said. "Your dinner lady is nothing more than an animated corpse--kept alive through the energy projected by the Droom--energy gained by consuming the life force, bones and blood of living flesh." Marie shuddered and looked away. But the Doctor hadn't noticed.
He emerged from beneath the console deck, and dashed over to the console, punching away at various buttons and dials. Suddenly, there was a big bang against the Tardis. Flipping on the view screen, the Doctor looked outside. Uncle Tobias had arrived, and he wasn’t alone. There were now about a hundred humans with him.
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