I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Oh, this turned out sooo-good. Well worth the wait.

I cut up some inexpensive pork tenderloin tips (less than $3 a package--halve that for UK price comparison), some sweet onion, carrots and red-skin potatoes, seasoned the pork with Memphis BBQ seasoning and some black pepper and browned it. Then added 4 cups water, mixed with a bottle of brown (London Pub) sauce, sprinkled some curry powder in it, added some freshly snipped dill from my potted plant out on the balcony, and the veggies, let it simmer for 3 hours on very low heat...and...oh, it's incredible! Yum! Wish I had me some crusty bread to go with it. For around $5 I got a lovely meal, methinks.

I learned to dance in the disco era. Yes, I even went to a couple of local discos, danced the hustle and other stuff...the only dancing, short of square dancing and the box step, that I ever did.

By 1979, disco was so big over here, that even my mum learned some disco steps!

Sampler of some of the stuff I used to dance to:

It's taken 6 minutes out of my 10 min. break, just to get into BCUK. Slow and slower...those are the only speeds this thing seems to know, sometimes.

Cloudy, chilly day here. My pay check was marginally more than I expected: $65 instead of $45 or $50. Gross pay $72...after taxes, $66.

Whoopie, won't spend it all in one place, will I?

Although...might take the trolley to Lake George again...just walk around this time, tho', no spending money, unless it's on a soda or ice cream. Maybe some time this summer I can relly go hog wild and shell out 5 bucks for a round of crazy golf, ha-ha.

Well, back to the salt mine...see ya' later.

"It's not only ma' sexy hair that's mad you see, it's me--I'm so super sexed these days, I'm blinking bonkers...."

Not much going on, in my part of the world today.

Morning headlines in the local paper:

Yesterday, a fire caused minor damage to a two-family home here in the city, which is currently being refurbished. The fire was put out in about 5 minutes.

The superintendent of the Town of Cambridge has resigned his post.

The local community college--my alma mater--has announced that their new school budget will exceed 22 million dollars.

A store clerk in the town of Fort Edward was arrested for allegedly falsifying returned item receipts, and keeping the money for herself, to the tune of $750 dollars. She has been released pending a court date.

New York state Gov. Patterson, has vowed that most registration fees for snowmobilers, will be put back into the cost of maintaining state snowmobile trails--many of which are located here in the Adirondacks. Snowmobilers are basically over the moon about that.

The New York Racing Association, which overseas thoroughbred racing, expects this to be a banner year for the upcoming summer meet at historic Saratoga Race Course. The meet begins the week of 22nd July, and runs until the end of August. The highlight of the meet is the mid-summer derby, the "Travers Stakes," which comes in mid-August. It is broadcast internationally, and draws the top colts in the nation--including Kentucky Derby winners.

The I-87 motorway overpass on Sherman Avenue will be undergoing inspection, and will result in delays for motorists heading both north and south bound on I-87, and also on Sherman Avenue.

A 21 year old man was charged with rape and patronizing a prostitute--both felonies, for having sex with a 14 year old girl.

Despite the recession, yet another hotel is to be built in the area, at I-87 exit 18, in West Glens Falls. It is to be a Fairfield Inn.

The city of Glens Falls will be throwing a 'Welcome' party for the 550 employees of Traveler's Insurance, that will be moving into my office building over the course of the summer. They are moving out of their offices in Queensbury, due to major health scares from unknown chemical fumes, which caused mass evacuations to the local hospital, twice last year.

An article on water-ski safety, after a man from New Jersey accidently hit his son with his boat's propeller this week, while out waterskiing on Lake George. The boy is in critical condition at a madical centre in Burlington, Vermont, with massive leg injuries.

The pro-republican Post-Star is touting how, despite his massive unpopularity--now the most unpopullar president in the history of the USA--that Bush still carries a lot of power.

A road in the town of Queensbury was closed, after a water tanker truck smashed into a tree.

A proposed bio-fuel plant in the rural town of Hampton in the southern Champlain valley has been shown that it will provide far fewer jobs than originally projected.

A former National Guard soldier was arrested on drug possession charges, following a routine traffic stop.

And...that's pretty much it.

Not the most interesting place to live, but at least we don't have massive gun and knife crime, like they do down in the "tri-cities"--- Albany and Schenectady and Troy, 50 miles to the south.

Well, it's morning, and it's cool. Hoo-ray! It can rain all it wants to, as long as we're rid of that awful spirit-zapping humidity.

I decided to make my dinner ahead of time. Didn't eat dinner again, last night...but, I've GAINED over 2 pounds, so how the hell I managed that when I've only been eating one "big" meal a day, is beyond me.

Thought I'd make the pork and veggie stew today, as it's cool enough for me to enjoy that..and also for me to stand around the kitchen slicing veggies, without the sweat running off me.

Afraid to look at my pay check this afternoon. Reckon it'll be about 45 dollars or so...maybe. Thankfully, my needs are few this week--just 18 dollars for cab fare to go for my shots...no phone card 'till next week, unless something turns up in the post, that I wasn't expecting, and I rather doubt that. These days, if I get any mail at all, it's either massive amounts of bills, or junk mail for services and/or extras, that I either do not need or cannot possibly afford.

Sad when the highlight of your day, is getting the post. Used to be that way, when I was a kid...looking forward for the postman to arrive, then running down to our mailbox at the end of the driveway. These days, I only seem to get mail on the weekends--during the week my box is usually empty. But then, I generally only get phone calls once or twice every two weeks, as well. Not a lot of communication comes my way. My co-workers whom I sit with, seldom speak to me, my neighbours don't talk much, pretty much stick to their own friends and family. I'm sometimes so pathetically starved for conversation, that I'll joyfully babble to cab drivers, bus drivers, till clerks, etc., really pathetic, I am. I talk to myself a lot--NOT hearing voices, just thinking out loud....it's a bad habit I developed years ago when I was hiking out in the woods with no one around, that since my mum died has suddenly cropped up again. I get looks in the store, when without realizing it, I start muttering things like, "Oh, that's a good buy, maybe I should get that...."

Well, not much to say. Hope you all are having a nice Friday. Cheers.

So, last night, after giving me the news about my teenage nephew's accident and consequential surgery, my sister and I spent a few minutes talking about...well, the usual sibling stuff. Due to the nature of the call, our conversation got around to my accident proneness, as I was was growing up. "I remember you on crutches a couple of times..." Ah yes. That would be 1. my very first sprained ankle, when I stepped into a rabbit hole, running through our back yard. 2. the time I was with a younger girl from the neighbourhood looking for fishing worms, and she lifted a 5-inch thick piece of fossil rock...and because it was quite heavy, she promptly dropped it on my big toe. No breaks but it took the toe-nail off...wasn't pretty, let me tell you.

About five years after the first time, I would sprain an ankle for the second (but hardly the last) time, slipping on ice while snowshoeing down an embankment.

But then, we began talking about the old neighbourhood, particularly, this road behind our back yard. You see, the land our street/home was built on, had at one time been part of a vast set of estates, belonging to a major family of the Victorian/Industrial age, the Russell Sage family (He was a steel mill owner, and also founded a local college by the same name.) Much of the old estate--right behind our house, was still intact.

One of the unique things about this old estate land, was a road that ran from the private street above us, to a big, deep ravine which was used as a dumping place for assorted refuse. ...everything from disused farm equipment to discarded tree branches. I once discovered a cast-iron feed trough--and what looked suspiciously like an old barber's chair, down there when I was out exploring (I LOVED exploring--I was almost insanely curious about everything, when I was outside).

Anyway, this "road"--which was only used by the Harry the gardener, to drive his big Massey Ferguson tractor to the "dump," or to mow the field-- wound its way from the private estate road, through the little pine grove and across the field that was next door to my house. The road though, was unique...and literally painful to walk on without proper shoes.

You see, this road wasn't made of dirt---it was made from tiny little metal filings....MILLIONS of them. They were about as wide and thick as a stereo (phonograph) needle. We kids quickly learned not to wear sandals or flip-flops when we walked on that...otherwise you were pulling little metal filings out of your feet--ouch! Of course, the metal filings weren't always readily noticeable, as the tractor road was also usually covered in a russet-gold carpet of slender pine needles.

Anyway, I was a horse-crazy kid, and one time when I was about 11 or 12 years old, I got tremendously excited (I confess: I was easily amused) when I found, buried in the dirt alongside the "Pine needle road," a horse shoe. Well, that's what I called it, anyway. Really, it was a big square piece of iron slag, that had been bent into roughly the size and shape of a horseshoe. For some reason, I kept it for many years, lying about our garage...not sure why...perhaps because it was the first of what would later be many other "interesting" finds...from antique bottles and Indian arrowheads, to an old coin and a glass (laying) egg.

Well, to make a very long-winded story short, the other night, sis was saying to me, "You remember that old horseshoe shaped piece of iron you found?" Now, I'd not thought of that in probably 25 years, at least. I was intrigued. "Yeaaah, what about it?" Then....there were two beeps and the phone went dead.

Now I'm burning with curiosity...WHAT about that funky old piece of iron? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?

Well, I'll just have to wait a week or so, until I can scrounge up the cash to buy another phone card. DRAT!

ABOUT RUSSELL SAGE:
This politician and financier was elected to Congress in 1853 and 1855 as a Whig Representative of New York. In 1856, he left Congress and moved to New York City where he became president and director of several railroad companies and financial institutions. He is credited with being, in 1872, the originator of "puts and calls" in the stock market. He formed an alliance with Jay Gould and together they took control of the New York elevated railroads in 1881. He was also involved in the organization of the Atlantic and Pacific Telegraph Company and in the consolidation of Western Union. At his wife's urging, he presented a dormitory to the Troy Female Seminary (now Russell Sage College). (INFORMATION COURTESY BARNARD COLLEGE WEBSITE)

A Short Essay on a British Celebrity's Hair:

What comes to mind, when I look at photos of David Tennant as the Doctor, is a field of dark wheat, waving in a prairie wind. Those winds coming down from the wilds of the Rocky Mountains, un-tamed, forever free. No matter how hard the wheat tries to stand in place, somehow the restless, teasing wind sweeps in with a rush and disturbs it again. Sometimes Tennant's hair reminds me of an un-curried Shetland pony, running unchecked across the moors and heaths. The carefree toss of unruly mane, the mischievous eye. A free-spirit racing an unfettered wind across a green and rocky land. I see that mussy 'do, and understand that it is the hair of a free-thinker and an genuine, natural soul.

Yet, there's been times, when I've seen the gentleman's hair as a darker thing, in my mind. It's like the hair of a mad-man. The hair of a man who's been chained in the dripping and mouldy darkness for years, stepping blinking into a spring-time sun, unsteady in body and mind, unsure of his own thoughts, his own sense of direction.

Also, there have been moments when I view his hair as a homeless wino, swaying on his pins, after a long night in a trash-strewn alleyway snuggling up to the comfort of a bottle of cheap Spanish wine. Scruffy, unshaved, bleary-eyed in the glare of morning, clothing askew. The unwashed and unsaved, struggling to come to grips of waking with an empty bottle and a vacant life. And part of me, wants to step away from the hair, and keep it at arm's length. It's that more conventional side of myself, which isn't entirely comfortable in the presence of something so out of control. Unwillingly, I am repelled. Even tho' I know it is inherently wrong to feel that way, because I myself, with my baby-fine hair, also must deal with unmanageable locks.

(Total writing time: 23 minutes)

Alrighty then. I've been challenged by a fellow Dr Who fan, to "write an essay about David Tennant's hair."

Now, there was a time, back not too long ago in the early to mid-2000's, when I could pretty much write an essay--on virtually any subject (well, maybe not about how to spit and atom, or the intricacies of LINUX) , at the drop of the hat.

This isn't one of those times....but I'm going to have a go at it, anyway.

One of the reasons I suck as a fiction writer, is that I kind of dislike all that taking notes, brainstorming, mapping out and other palaver. I've never formally studied how to write fiction, so I'm guessing that's what most fiction writers probably do.

I am actually most comfortable, and feel the most in-tune with what I'm doing, when I can simply jump right in with both feet, and just have at it. Of course I still work at it...pausing to dig deep into my heart and mind; choosing the right word or turn of phase is what I strive for...like an artist working on an exacting brush-stoke, or an actor on stage seeking the perfect emotional connection... Oh, I brainstorm...but not on paper. What I do is find some point of reference--get one central focus, or idea, or picture in my head, and then turn inward and let it unravel, unfolding (hopefully) a tapestry of words and imagery, and joyfully I'll wander the paths of my soul and see where it takes me.

Stopping to write notes and plot ideas and such, is a drag to me. I am a free spirit, (and a bit lazy, I suppose) and find too much thinking about structure and form only bogs down my writing. It's not very professional I suppose, but it's a whole lot more fun that way.

So, I'm going to take a few moments and actually stare at photos of Mr. Tennant's hair, like some love-sick DT groupie (minus the drool), put on some of David Lanz's music, and see what happens. Wish me luck...