I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Since it's rugged beginnings as a nation of pioneers in a often hostile land, America has a 300+ year history of violence and bloodshed, often making instant choices based on anger, ignorance and hate. They deliberately take the path of least resistance, and react, rather than stop long enough to think out the long term consequeces of their tantrums.

Americans are the world's spoiled brats, essentially.

For decades, America's politicians have held open meetings, known as "town hall meetings," where ordinary citizens can meet with their local representatives from Washington, D. C., their senators and congressmen.

In these meetings, locals from all walks of life can air their greivences and express their thoughts and concerns on both local and national--and even international government policies. They can bring to light problems on a local level, or ask questions about a new government programme which impacts their lives, and hopefully get some answers direct from their representative.

However, ever since the republicans lost the last election, and the recession began in 2007 (yes, it did, I don't care what Fox News tells their drooling viewers), and the economy tanked in October 08, Americans in increasing numbers are going bonkers.

Americans are starting to talk as much like terrorists, and the real terrorists!

Politicians from Long Island New York to Long Beach California, are getting threatened by their constituents in unprecedented numbers. Many are cancelling these meetings, and some have had to be escorted by police, to protect the elected representative from being hurt by mad constituants.

Significantly, most of them are Democrats, being violently threatened by conservative republicans. More than half of American gun owners, according to a recent online poll, admitted that they are conservative republicans, or, non-voters with conservative political leanings.

Also, the number of Americans buying and walking around with hand guns and automatic weapons--including AK-47's may have doubled--possibly even trippled, in the last six months, according to some sources online.

And, most alarming of all, is that more than a few of these gun fanatics are not buying guns for sporting purposes or to protect themselves from theives. These people, by their own admission, are buying guns to shoot other Americans.

Domestic terrorists, traitors, the mentally ill--call them what you will, but the fact that these "ordinary" Americans are choosing--deliberately choosing, to threaten their duly elected government representatives, rather than form logical and intelligent discussions...well, as I said, stupid spoiled children, that's what my country is made of, these days.

When the going gets tough, the spoiled brats start screaming and stamping their feet and throwing things.

I woke this morning with my blood sugar through the roof. My cupboard is practically bare, and I've nothing in the house for breakfast or a sandwich, at the moment, 'cos I'm out of milk and bread and juice and...pretty much everything except some veggies and pasta.

I've got a bit of a headache and the tremors, and my right arm's got a bit of the twitches. That's not good.

So, I'd best bustle off to the shop for some food. Thought I'd eat out today. Have to go by Dunkin' Donuts, and they make a really good sausage, egg and cheese crossant breakfast butty, and it's cheap, too.

Stayed up too late last night--probably too much caffine yesterday. Watched The Unicorn and the Wasp. It cooled off a bit by 2am, what with the rain coming in.

Figures. Yesterday when I had no where to go, it was a nice summer day. Today, we're back to it teaming down rain.

I won't be getting five days off, as I'd thought. Schedule adjustment, and it's four days. Still, no complaints from me. If how I'm feeling today is any indication, I could well do with a bit of a rest, probably.

Hope you all are having a good--or at the very least, an uneventful, Friday.

Cheers.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)

Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive.

Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men

You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

http://www.blogthings.com/howrareisyourpersonalityquiz/

How Happy Are You?

You Are 44% Happy

You're definitely a happy person, even though you have your down moments.
You tend to get the most out of life, though there's always some more happiness to be squeezed

http://www.blogthings.com/howhappyareyouquiz/

What Flavor Of Starbucks Frappuchino Are You?

You Are a Mocha Frappuccino

Hyper and driven, you'll take your caffeine any way you can get it. Frappuccinos are good, but you'd probably chew coffee beans in a crunch!

http://www.blogthings.com/whatflavorfrappuccinoareyouquiz/

playwrite27 is home for the evening, munching on some (really tough) steak and seasoned chips for my late supper.

My god that was a tough steak, too! After seasoning and browning it, I braised it in some Campbell's French onion soup and worcestershire--threw in a bay leaf for good measure, and let it simmer for about a half hour..and I still feel like I need a chainsaw and an extra set of teeth to eat the blasted thing. Well, it was only a cheap ($2.87) little flank steak, and I suppose you do get what you pay for. Tastes good, though.

Managed to get through work tonight, OK. My computer was being a bit dodgy, though. Tomorrow, I get kicked off this new job, and back to my old one. I hate selling, but at least I know what I'm doing--don't even have to read the scripts, except for the vital details (like the name of the person I'm calling, that's rather important to know).

It's a deliciously perfect summer night out there. Though I suspect that the torrential tropical-style downpours we had parked over our state yesterday, that in a few hours, dumped 3 to 6 inches of rain on us, may have killed off some of the poor crickets. I don't hear them, tonight. Pity, that.

The mating chirps of the crickets is one of my favourite sounds of a summer night--that, and a breeze rattling through the trees. I really like that, it makes me feel all contented, like all is right with the world. I suppose that sounds a bit...potty? But it's true, nonetheless.

No one will ever sing to me, a come-hither. Lucky lady crickets.

Sent to me this morning by Tardisgurl:

Post the top five funny or most memorable moments at work:

5. The time a co-worker went spastic and knocked a fry basket fresh out of the fryer, smack into my bare upper arm (resulting in a 2nd degree burn).

4. Getting bit in the arse while I was bending over, by a twee Shetland pony.

3. Being threatened to be knifed by by some old fart redneck in Oklahoma, because I'd accidently dialed his number (wrong number).

2. Being tripped by the stable dog, and falling down the ramp into the manure spreader.

1. The face of my nun-boss at the convent, the time we were driving to pick up some donations, and she got pulled over by a policeman.

Post the top five holiday memories:

5. Sailing for the first time in my life, on a wooden Friesian sailboat, one weekend in June of 2001. That was...amazing.

4. Sitting on a pure white registered Arab mare, in Jan. of 2004, in the dunes above the Spynx, at 10 pm at night, just me and three other people, listening to the guard's radio below, blaring out Arabic rock music, and seeing the pyramids/spynx in the gathering dusk--awesome.

3. Sipping a fruity drink with an umbrella in it, then conga dancing with a belly dancer, a mob of college students, and some Japanese tourists (don't ask).

2. Going inside a newly discovered (and closed to the public) tomb, in the Valley of the Kings, and another new one (worker's tombs) at the Pyramids in Giza.

1. Sitting on an Icelandic pony in an ancient volcanic crater, on top of the world, in 2001, breathing in some of the cleanest air on the entire planet. That was the moment I realized my whole life had suddenly changed.

...that with my new work schedule taking effect next week, that I'm actually going to have FIVE DAYS off, in a row!

Last time I had FIVE days off all to once, was--jeez, when I was sick with borderline pneumonia, last year. Even with me being in hospital back in June, with the heart scare, I only took two days off--and only then 'cos I was lying in a blinking hospital bed.

What the hell am I going to do with myself, for five whole days?

Well, go horse riding, swimming. I can do that, I suppose. I'd love to do a picnic, but--picnics are absolutely no fun, on your own....really, how boring can it be, sitting at a picnic table eating a sandwich? I mean, I can do the al fresco thing, sitting on my balcony, for that matter.

Oh, I can go back to the Hyde to see the rest of the Degas exhibit. And, I suppose, I can putter about the apartment. There's a Dr Who story I've never got round to finishing, and there's some editing that needs doing...if it's not too hot. When there's a breeze wafting in the side window, the front room can be quite pleasant--when not, though--it's basically like you're a turkey roasting in a cooker.

There's a free concert in Lake George on Tuesday, I think, in Shephard's Park. Jeez--Saturday to Wednesday off. Wow. I've been working 6 days a week--sometimes 7, for so many years...it's fairly weird to be reasonably well, and employed, and have so much time off, you have no idea.

You know, there's a lot of truly brilliant young American college students, out there. And then, there's the...not so brill's...the barbie and ken, few fries short of a Happy Meal, how-the-hell-did-you-graduate-from-high-school types.

I had a few of those in some of my classes...these were all real situations, and the young people were all educated in New York state.

Examples:

In US State and Local Government class (a second-year level college political science course).

"There's 51 states, you're forgetting Puerto Rico."

Ey??

(Puerto Rico is a territory of the US, and was never a state)

______________________________________________________

In American History from the Civil War to the Present:

"Who's Teddy Roosevelt?"

________________________________________________________

In American Literature from the 18th Century to the mid 19th Century:

"Are we going to study Shakespere?"

____________________________________

In World Literature to the Romantic era:

"I have the Monarch notes of Hamlet, can I read that instead?" (asked in all seriousness).

Erm--no. That kid lasted about 2 classes, as I recall.
________________________________________

In News Writing and Reporting:

"Can we make up or re-write quotes to make the story sound better?"

Erm--no. (That kid's probably now working for the New York Times)

_________________________________________________

In my 2 year community college, I did my liberal arts emphasis in theater (not planned, that's just how it worked out--and no regrets from me). Well, one of the half dozen courses I had to take was Intro to Theater.

So, Intro to Theater was boring as hell...all we did was sit around in the theater seats listening to lectures on lighting, stage directions, theater history...well, normally, it wold have been interesting--fascinating even, I normally would have loved it--- BUT our "temp"--an adjunct professor hired just for this class when the regular professor took ill---- had this really dull, lifeless droning monotone voice--ugh!!! He was bored with life and I guess he thought we should be bored together. Misery loves company.

We were supposed to do all this hands-on stuff, but half the time the prof just dicked around and the kids were out of control and...well, I did the tests and showed up for classes, and that got me an A.

It's not the first "temp" teacher I've had that was like that--my computer teacher bascially sat on his arse all semester doing god knows what, while we worked from the textbook--he didn't even answer questions, cos' he admitted he didn't have a clue what to do! Yeah, $300 per credit hour (this was a 3 credit class =$900) to be told to "look it up in the book." Charming.

But, yeah, I loved my theater courses...except for this one. This one felt like...torture. I got an A, but all you had to do to get that, was show up for classes and score good on the tests.

Anyway, our "temp" would give us a 15 minute quiz every Monday morning, on the material we went over the previous week...and the temp prof would go over the quiz ANSWERS just before giving us the quiz!

We'd just been briefed on stage lighting for that Monday's quiz--which we'd covered all the previous week, and, had a reading assignment for it, over the weekend. So, the temp prof goes over the answers before the quiz. A few seconds later, he passes us the quiz papers.

The prof left the room for a couple of minutes (either a trusting soul, or he didn't give a damn about cheating).

I'm sitting there in the theater seat in front of the college stage, dutifully writing down my answers...when I hear a whisper in my ear from the kid sitting behind me...."What's the answer to number three?"

I just shrugged. I didn't spend part of the 3 hours hanging around the dialysis centre early Saturday morning, (waiting for mum as she got her treatment), reading about theater lighting, so I could supply the answer to some mook who chose partying over studying. Sorry, tough cheese, you fail, deal with it.

A minute later, I hear him asking someone else, "What's a frenel again?"

Five minutes later, just before the prof comes back, I hear him whisper, "what's a profile spot do?"

Ey? What were you just doing five minutes ago???

Never mind, I. don't. want. to. know.

I will never forget that. I went to the loo right after, so I could have a laugh without drawing attention to myself or hurting anyone's feelings.

God, that was funny...and, kind of sad, when you think about it. The future of the United States, that kid. Scary stuff. Probably working for a bank, now.

I mean, how rubbish is that?

You get the answer to a short quiz (it ususally was only 10 or 15 questions) and can't remember it five minutes later...jeez. There's a Walmart employee or future politician in the making.

I already knew this stuff about who's in it (wish I didn't, but there's just no avoiding it, on the websites).

But just to warn you--yes, a couple of spoilers in this trailer--nothing "new," really, if you've been on Who fan sites, you probably already know.

A commentator on cable "news" network Fox, has stated that he "thinks" (always a subjective word with neo-conservative republicans), that President Barack Obama is a "racist."

Erm--come again?

Republicans must eat with their bottoms, 'cos every time they open their mouths, poo comes out.

Anyway, this so-called "news commentator" said, on-air, in front of millions, that President Obama has a "deep hatred" of white people. "He (Obama) has a problem. The guy, I believe, is a racist."

Riiight, like a white male proletarian like you, would know a racist when you see one?

Are the republican thuggies so overwroght by losing all their elections in 2008/2009, that they have completely and utterly gone round the twist?

Methinks so, maybe, yeah.

Yes, besides deliberately dumbing themselves down and feeding into their own homemade paranoia, like a snake eating its own tail--now, America's right-wingers have totally lost it, and are now utterly and completely BONKERS.

Jeez, why don't they just give up the pretence and hang out their swastikas and start burning their crosses, while goose-stepping down main street with their AK-47's?

I just got this e-mail:

We want your blog! Our production company, Sunset Productions is producing a new reality programme tentatively to be named BLOG WORLDERS. The programme will be about the lives of bloggers as seen through their blogs. We want to feature your blog and we'll even PAY you for participating!

We will need you to sign a waiver and send us your name, address and telephone number. We will also need you to provide your bank account number, through our secure website, in order for us to send your payment to you. Click here to find out more.

Riiight. No, I don't think so.

Reality programme about bloggers? Who would even watch that? And, more importantly, why would anyone turn my blog into a TV show, unless you are running a clinic for people suffering from insomnia and need some special programming.

Oh, I'm sure some poor, naive sucker will buy into this scam, unfortunately.

I'm not about to click some dodgy links, thank you very much.

There was more in the e-mail, what I posted above was just the highlights...the thing about the bank account was stuck on the bottom of the e-mail--but in the middle was this long thing about how the bloggers will be portrayed by "real" actors (as opposed to "fake" actors????) and how your identity will be kept confidential if desired, and how you'll be driven or flown to their studios in the UK, yadda-yadda-yadda.

What a bunch of malarkey!

Tardisgurl just e-mailed me, and swore this was a new meme. Well...we'll see. I'm cooling off in front of the computer, enjoying the breeze coming through the balcony window--no shade out there, right now, being as it's high noon, more or less.

1. How long have you been a fan of Doctor Who?

26 years this year.

2. What country do you reside in?

America.

3. Do you have a favourite Doctor?

I think they're all magnificent, each in their own individual ways.

4. Old series or new series?

Both! The old series was enchanting. The new series is brilliant.

5. What's your favourite Doctor Who costume?

Oh, they each were good for each individual Doctor...and I'm sure Matt Smith's will turn out to be perfect for whatever personality he's going to impress on the character. But, that said, I think I'll always have a special fondness for Tom Baker's costume...to this day, I think it was just--perfect.

6. What do you think about Russell T. Davies?

Well, I think Russell T. probably could care less what someone like me thinks about him.

That said, I believe he's a lovely, talented, very deep-souled, multi-dimentional writer. I don't always agree with his choices--sometimes I hate his choices truth to tell. Usually though, I love them. But, as I sometimes have said, the day I agree with everything a person or organization says, is the day I have myself sectioned.

Sure, I've been seriously angry with him once or twice--but, I've adored him as well, for what he's achieved. He brought back a show which has meant so much to me, in the last 26 years...and, sometimes, his work and his vision has made me think a little outside the box, as they say, and how could I ever truly criticize that, for pity's sake?

7. What do you think of David Tennant?

What is there to say, other than I think he's a briliant and amazing actor. I belive that when he ages a bit more, he may well end up as one of the greatest actors of our time.

8. Have you ever met anyone from Doctor Who?

Yes, at a convention...well, is saying hello in a long queue "meeting" someone?

9. Have you ever handled a genuine Doctor Who prop?

Damn straight. I sat in Bessie, and touched a real Tardis console (from the Tom Baker era).

10. Do you write fan fiction or do art based on Doctor Who?

Yeah, once in a while I'll write a story, and I have my own fan fic blog on Wordpress, for what it's worth.

11. Do you have a Doctor Who blog or Website?

Other than the fan fic thing, no. I don't really count Roasting David, because while I sometimes reference Dr Who, it's really a spoof blog of the actor.

12. Have you ever been to a Doctor Who convention?

Just in the 80's, in Albany and Manhattan NY, and Boston, Massachusetts. It was mad and brilliant and very exciting.

13. Ever belonged to a fan club?

Yes, I was in the local upstate New York fan club, I was actually secretary for two years. At its peak in the mid to late 80's we had about 300 to 400 members. It broke up in 1989/90.

14. Owned Dr Who merchandise?

In the 80's I had a Dr Who jacket, tee shirt, 45 record of the theme, a tin Tardis bank with Peter Davidson on it and some other stuff. It either deteriorated to the point where it had to be tossed, or was lost in a move.

Now, as much as I wish I had the tee shirts and banks and mugs and a sonic and all that, alas, I have about a dozen Dr Who books, four of the old series DVD's, new series DVD's, 2 music CD's and an old framed Target books poster with Tom Baker's Doctor on it.

15. If you could be friends with anyone from Doctor who (actors, producers, crew, FX, wardrobe), who would it be?

That's a silly question. No one involved with Dr Who would be mates with me, get real! They're 3000 miles away, and even if they weren't, they just wouldn't be mates with someone like me. We don't live in the same world.

That said, from my POV, I'd gladly be mates with any one of them, I think, from what I've seen on Confidential and the like, that they seem like a terrific bunch of human beings.

In the scheme of life in general...does it really matter what I think, or write, say or do? Will it change anything? Will it make any difference in the universe, in life?

Meh. No.

It's not even 10.00am and already it's getting bakingly hot...thank goodness there's a slight cool breeze wafting through the balcony window, and one will hope it stays through the afternoon, but it doesn't look promising.

Supposed to have thunderstorms later. Maybe that will cool things off. Decided to wear a dress today to the office, as trousers would be too hot, I think...maybe my skirt or a dress tomorrow (tho' riding a bike in a dress or skirt can be a bit of a challenge in the modesty department, I'm finding.)

This fat old maid don't do no mini-skirts, I don't wanna' look like no shameless hussy. Yeah, think I've been hanging out and talking to the local rednecks too much, lately.

Actually, I can easily slip into southern, midwest or western speech, if need be. I had a room mate from Alabama once, when I was 19. But the end of the summer, I was rining my mum up and calling her "mama." "Ya'll better get them there grits and black eyed peas cookin' mama, cos' I'm a comin' home."

"Dooo watt?" (Translation: What do you mean/what did you say?)

Yeah, for someone that grew up closer to western New England than the deep south or western states, I can manage OK.

I've got the Vermont grunt down pretty good, too: "Eh-yuh." (Translation: Yes).

Last night after work, I stopped by the little shop across the street from the office building (our city's ohe and only office tower), and while in there, overheard some tourist whinging that he was staying in Lake L___ and couldn't get any mobile service there.

I used to live there, that's where I had my caravan, and it's true. The town is on a state highway, or A road. Once you head west on that road, from Lake George, you cross under the I-87 motorway overpass--and when you go past the overpass...say goodbye to your mobile signal.

Also, sometimes the local phone company (a small independent phone company) would be down, as well. So, you had to drive a few miles to find a pay phone, if you were in difficulties. That's life in rural America. People take so much for granted, living in urban and suburban areas, that when they get out to the boondocks, they feel totally at sea, and can't cope with simple problems. (Well, I didn't pay much mind to it, other than cursing the inconvenience, you just take it and move on--but some of the summer people really take it as a personal affront!)

Even the volunteer ambulance squad in the town, would have trouble radioing the hospital here in the city (I know that from personal experience when mum had difficulties one time and had to be transported to hospital by ambulance.)

Part of the reason was the mountains of course, and the fact that the A road was in a sort of valley...but also, the FAA (federal aviation admin) blocked the town/county from putting up a better transmitter, because the airline transmitters--the one's used by commercial jets on the northeastern air corridor) are stuck on top of Prospect Mountain in Lake George, and the FAA is fussed about possible interference.

Yet, ironically, radio signals weren't blocked, and in fact, were fantastic, where I lived. I could not only tune into local stations, I could get stations in Vermont, a 185 miles away in New York City, 200 miles away in Pennsylvania and 160 miles away in Montreal, Canada---even the Midwestern states, at times! I could tune into a station in Chicago, Illinois, and, if I moved the dial all the way to the far right on the static, I could hear the actual transmissions of commercail jet pilots, radioing to the Boston or Albany or Newark towers.

Yet, couldn't get a phone signal to save my life, and the landline service was crap (tho' the company was nice to deal with). Go figure. When dad passed on, and a year later, when mum was dying, I had a county sherrif knock at my door both times in the middle of the night, 'cos on the one occasion with my dad, I was deathly ill and took the phone off the hook, and then with my mum, the main phone line was down, and no one could reach me by my mobile.

Tourists can be a laugh riot, though. Of course my personal favourite touron story is the time I went on a TWO HOUR horseback trail ride up to the top of Birch Mountain in Lake L___, which is about a 25 min. drive from this city. Well, one of the tourists from New Jersey, sitting on his horse, looks out at the mountain top view--seeing the Adriondack mountains sprawling before him into the distance, and says, "Are we still in New York state???" God, to this day that makes me do the point and laugh thing.

Part 1.

You must list one fact about yourself beginning with each letter of your middle name. (If you don't have a middle name, use your maiden name or your mother's maiden name).

---Bottle collecting was my first hobby. I was around 14 years old when I found my first antique bottle in a ravene near our family home. Mum brought home a book from her library about antique bottle collecting--found my bottle in there (Raleigh's liniment from the 1900's, value was $7.50)..and gosh, I was hooked. Every spring and autumn I'd go out digging for bottles (summer was too bug-filled and hot for comfortable digging). Was a serious collector until my late 20's, and even acted as a volunteer tour guide at the National Bottle Museum. Oldest bottle I found was from the late 1800's. Most valuable was $50.00 tear-dropped shaped soda water bottle (had to lie on its side to keep the cork wet so the gas wouldn't escape), and the most rare (but surprisingly not that valuable) was an early screw-lid mustard jar).

---Eels totally grossed me out when I was a kid. I wouldn't go fishing in the Hudson River when I was growing up, because I didn't want to catch an eel. My dad used to tell me how they used to swallow his hook and he had to haul the ugly things up, and cut the line...made me shudder just thinking about it.

---Tow truck...the first time I ever rode in a truck, was my uncle's ancint 1940s tow truck, back in the mid-60's, when I was about six years old. My dad's brother owned a Sinclair petrol station, then Sinclair went out of business, and my uncle went with Esso (Exxon today). I remember the truck was orange, the stuffing was coming out of the seats, and it was very, very LOUD. I was kind of scared of it, I think. (I was a very, very timid child.)

---Holiday, my first ever--and only-- overnight holiday with my family (with both my mum and dad--sis was married by then) was at Mountain Meadows Lodge in Killington, Vermont. Dad drove us over across the border to Killington for the weekend. We didn't do a whole lot...rode the ski gondola to the top of a mountain and sampled some local Vermont cheddar at a dairy farm--to this day, I remember that, cos' that was THE best cheese I'd ever had, until I tried some stinging nettle cheese at a market in Friesland. Later, in Killington, on my own, I went horseback riding up the ski slopes, hiked a bit on the Appalachin Trail, too. I think Saturday night went out to some restaruant for pizza. Mostly dad lay around sleeping, and mum read a book. That was about par for my family, I'm afraid. I think my parents were actually a bit bored, but I recall enjoying myself--mostly.

Part II.

Write down 10 things about the space you blog in.

1. I use an old computer desk that I got at a jumble sale one fall for $5, it's rather small in size, and at present is a bit cluttered with monitor, speakers, tower, lamp, pen pot, photograph, a colbalt blue glass half-full of cold sweet tea/lemonade, and my medications.

2. My present desk chair came from a yard sale put on by a resort hotel in Lake George, it was a room or lobby chair that got a stain on it. It cost $1, I think. I got that this past spring.

1 my computer tower was a gift from a friend. the flat screen monitor came from Time-Warner, after they gave me a bad ethernet cable which toasted my monitor.

3. My desk also acts as a spare book shelf (I actually could use another bookcase, but haven't seen any at garage sales this summer) books stored in my desk shelves are writing books/dictionary/grammar/thesaurus, etc., various books on/about Shakespeare, a book on R.W. Emerson, two books on/by Thoreau, a book about Descartes, a book on North American wildlife, and an essay about two New England men and their shared love of fly fishing. On the other desk shelf
is Russell T. Davies' book, A couple of misc. books about contemporary life in the UK, two books about people reminising about horses, 2nd edition of Buffalo Bill's biography (written by his sister), biography about Harriet Jacobs (a former slave), and biography about Thomas Jefferson.

4. Over my desk is a large oil painting of a blue bird on a blossoming branch, in a cheap carved teakwood frame, sighed with what looks like "Sampkin" or something.

5. My desk lamp came from Woolies in the late 70's, and is a plastic Clydesdale mare and foal.

6. My pen pot is a white china mug with a fox-hunting scene on it, made by Hammersley of England, or something. Got it at a garage (boot) sale, up in the mountains, years ago.

7. There's a framed photo against the wall behind my monitor, of me sitting in Dr Who's car, bessie, with a spraypainted Tardis in the background, that was the exit for the traveling Dr Who USA exhibit trailer. The pic is from the late 80's, and I'm wearing a knit tie in the same colours as Tom Baker's scarf, and a black satin jacket, that had the 1980's Dr Who logo in silver, screenprinted on the back.

8. The slide out drawer of my desk (where the keyboard goes) is unusable...because it's too low for me, and also it has this wrist rest bar, that's solid wood--and intensely uncomfortable.

9. My desk is in my front room, facing the wall. I'd like it to be elsewhere, but am limited by where I can plug in the cable box--my apartment has few electrical outlets.

10. The cats like to hang out with me while I mess about on the computer...they like to keep an eye on me, ha-ha.

Jeez, it's hot. It's been cool and rainy all summer, so I'm not used to this. It's not as hot as it could be, but..hot enough. For me, anyway. It was 80 F, at 9.00pm this evening. At least we're up north. Down in New York City, some 180 miles to our south, I read where it got to close to 90 F. Well, they can keep it down there, as far as I'm concerned.

I really should go for a swim this week, while it's hot, but being stressed out from the job--do you KNOW how rotten it is, to have to sit there on the phone, hearing some 80 year old woman weeping, 'cos the loan company can't get its crap together and find all her paperwork? We're not allowed to commiserate with people, or match their tone. We have to just let them cry or shout..or scream at the top of their lungs, abuse us, threaten us even...and just do what we need to do with them, and go on to the next call.

And the govt. threw millions at the bunch of incompetant lenders...while they screw around dickering over the health and lives of millions of Americans for money?

Republicans totally suck as human beings. Republican = FAIL. I hope that there really isn't a Hell, cos' if I go there when I die, it'll be full to the brim with stinking republicans.

I got out of work tonight...and hovering on the still humid night air, from somewhere nearby, were the strains of "The Army Goes Rolling Along" The turn of the early 20th Century US Artillery march--and offical song of the US Army....on the bagpipes. Some pipe band was skirlling away, "Over hill, over dale, we have hit the dusty trail, and the cassions go rolling along...."

That was a bit weird--9pm on a dead quiet, hot, humid summer night--a Tuesday night, at that....in my little northern city of 15,000 souls. We do have a pipe band here, the Adirondack Pipes and Drums. I've been to a couple of their free recitals, and they play in parades, funerals for dignitaries, civic events, etc.

Oh, here's a bit of trivia that my dad once told me, many, many years ago. The US Army didn't adopt an offical song until the 1950's. How "The Army Goes Rolling Along" became the official song, is a bit...odd. It's because the orginal "offical" song, called, (I think) The Army's There, or something like that, was discarded in the fifties....because everyone thought the tune sounded too much (I kid you not) like a song called, "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts." (Which is, I believe, Dolly Parton's official song)

No, really. So, we can't have a mob of butch soldiers, parading to "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts"--tho' that would make things a lot more interesting, for my money. God, that sounds almost like a Monty Python sketch, doesn't it?

So anyway, we're stuck with the the much more butch and militry-like tune about cannons being drawn down a dusty road, instead of Dolly Parton's knockers.

Aw, now, as some of you know, moi is not thrilled with spoilers. I like surpise endings--well, surpries of the nice sort...had way, way too many of the bad sort, so when the rare time happens when I get a "good" surprise...oh, it's such a delight, you lot have no idea.

So, this was just e-mailed to me, and again, gonna' share it...yes, it's a bit of a spoiler...but gosh, what a spoiler! It's worth it. Now I'm just panting to see this, cos' it looks like it's going to be amazing! (Yeah right...since when isn't Dr Who amazing?)

If you could see me right now--well, maybe not, It's boiling hot and I'm typing in the nude. (Just kidding!)

Anyway, if you could see me right now, you'd see this big ol' slap-happy grin on my face, cos' I just LOVED the ending of the trailer--it's both hilarious and scary. What a combination. Oh, RTD, I could hug you, right now, you're just that brill.

Instead of playing loud music to cover up your inadequacies as a male, why don't you just spray paint "I have a tiny manhood" on the sides of your car, instead? It'll save you from going deaf in your old age, and the rest of us from the extreme desire to pull you out of your car and slap you upside the head.

I just went back downstairs to try one more time to fix my bike chain--and I did it! Whoo-hoo! hurrah!!!

Mind you, I nearly busted a finger doing it.

Also, a friend did something utterly fantastic, sent me a gift voucher for horseback riding! (Playwrite27 punches the air and does the "I'm going riding" happy dance).

I am chuffed!

Playwrite27 wishes you a good day.

It's Tuesday...nothing special--other than I didn't sleep a wink all night. I am so not a hot weather person. Not that I've ever been thrilled with 15 or 20 below zero F weather, or 5 months of snow, such as we get here in the northeast. Still, not used to hot weather, really.

I'd go up to the lake for a swim, but I didn't get to bed till dawn, and woke at noon, and am far too knackered--and anyway, even if I left right now, I'd only have time to wet a toe, before I'd have to hop the trolley bus again, and come home to dress for work. Working nights has its pluses and minuses. I mean, it leaves me free to do stuff in the day time--but I miss stuff that's going on at night...and sometimes it throws my body clock off a bit.

I didn't eat until 2.00 in the afternoon. I start shift at 5.00 pm, so at least I can relax a bit before I start trying not to feel bad again tonight, as I struggle with the new tasks at work. I hate being learning disabled, not that I'm ashamed of it, but that there's so much I want to do, and I can't--or I can, but not without a tremendous struggle--and that makes me genuinely sad, sometimes...and yes, I admit, a bit envious of "normal" people, who take simple things like simple subtraction/division, multitasking, chemistry/science, learning languages, reading/playing music, etc, for granted.

Gosh, didn't I used to cringe, when some person would say, "Oh, I'm bad at math, too." No, I'm not "bad" at maths. In fact, I sort of like algerbra. It's my brain won't let me do it..it unconsciously "skips" steps in a sequence, and doesn't like to do stuff in reverse...it's not about being "bad" at something, it's about having a mis-firing brain. I try, I really do try, but trying can be a pointless exercise, when you are simply incapable of doing something. That's a horrible realization.

It's just a matter of being on my own, and learning to cope. It's just like my bi-polar bit. I have to make myself very self-aware--which can be a very ugly experience, sometimes. I have to try and be patient with myself, try and make people understand my shortcomings--even tho' it may count against me. Of course, I can't tell them I've a mental illness--not in America! I don't know about over there in Europe, but in the USA, mental illness is the Aids and leporacy of the 21st century. The LAST thing you want to do in this nation, is to tell anyone (close friends excepted, perhaps) that you have a mental disability! NO. NO. NO. Not a good idea.

The media has portrayed us all as a bunch of violent crazies, ready to blow the head off anyone who so much as looks at us wrong. They say the word "mentally ill" like they're talking about a diseased rat carrying the bubonic plauge.

Even telling someone I'm learning disabled, can be a delicate matter. For one thing, people think that means I'm a dummy. And yeah, I'll be the first to admit I can be a bit...slow, soemtimes. But actually, my I.Q. is "about" average, I was told once. Or, they associate "learning disabled" with ADD or dyslexia. While sometimes I can be a tiny bit dyslexic when I write, I can read just about anything you put in front of me--as long as it's in English. I've had people ask me if I read, and when I tell them I own over 150 books at home and that I adore reading, and literally grew up hanging out with mum in her library--and in fact, could technically work as a librarian (except that in New York state, you are required to have a Master of Library Science degree from SUNY), they actually raise an eyebrow. No really, I've seen it a number of times. "Oh. That's nice."

Anyway, telling someone you have an "invisible" disability, is a tricky, tricky thing. Now, people will sympathise with my blindness (I sometimes have to warn people I have trouble seeing in dim light--from total blindness to it simply being like I'm wearing sunglasses indoors). They see me limp, and get that I don't walk well. But...you can't see a damaged brain, you can't see emotional pain. And, the difference between a physical problem and an "invisible" one, it's a huge, huge gaping difference, in the way you are treated, let me tell you.

So, have to dress for work in an hour. Haven't decided what to wear. I'm so angry about my bicycle. If something doesn't belong to you, you leave it alone. It's a simple concept, but one most parents don't seem to teach their children in stinking Glens Falls. It's not a financial loss--it was only $5 and certainly, I got my money's worth out of it, in the two month's I've had it. But, I am so disappointed. I tried to wrangle with the chain this afternoon, to no avail. I'll get that lubricant spray this weekend, and give it another go, see what happens. But, looks like I may have to get my new walking shoes--my Ariat waterproof hiking/paddock boots, out of hock a little earlier than planned. They're on layaway at Tractor Supply. I was going to pay $20 in August, and the other $20 in Sept. But I'm going to try to get them out sooner, if I can budget it in. We'll see. My current walking/riding boots are OK, but getting a bit worn and not as supportive as they were.

It's hard without the bike, I've come to really appreciate it. It got me more places, faster--and farther, than I ever could go, walking. Jeez, and I really was so chuffed to get to work faster and less painfully. Even the ten minute walk to work can be quite uncomfortable--especially when I have to wear my posh shoes, which aren't exactly well suited to walking.

Someone e-mailed me the link to this, so I decided to pass it on. Russell T. Davies and David Tennant being interview by a (very) blonde mall/beach girl...I'm sure it was a novel experience for them, being repeatedly called, "you guys" by a television presenter.

Well, this video should make all his neo-conservative/right-wing Christian American fans, very happy.

Do you lot have ANY idea, how many times a day I get hits on my blog for "David Tennant Gay?" What the HELL is with this obsession as to some bloke's sexual status? Who the hell cares? What business of it is theirs, what gender the man prefers to be with?

I mean, seriously...it's a big universe out there, why waste a night googleing to find out if an actor is gay or straight. Why is that so important to some people? A person is a person is a person, yeah? It's how they behave that counts...what does it matter who they choose to date (or in my case, not date)?

Anyway, I was 'told' by some British DT fan, that she has an inside "scoop" (yeah, right) that the actor is getting hitched sometime in the next year...to his GIRLfriend. So, either they have some very interesting..erm, or he's probably not gay, if he dates women, yeah?

People who know me, are facinated by the fact that I'm a virgin, that I absolutely will not date a guy...so I sort of suppose I can, very loosely, understand this weird fascination with some Skinny Scottish guy's sexual...whatever. Me--hey, as long as the gent keeps working and giving us some more great stuff to watch...that's all that matters to me. But...pfft.

I understand some gays are forced to hide--like my two best friends and neighbours, in our rural very redneck, ultra-conservative mountain community about ten years ago, just so they could live in peace and not be shunned and/or abused by the local intellectually challenged, sexually insecure and cultrually backwards homophobes. But, normally, they don't have sex with women, unless they're....erm.

Anyway, someone e-mailed me and pleaded for me to post this video again because she can't find it--why, I don't know. It's on Youtube--a lot, apparently. Well, whatever. I found it again, but am posting a shorter version, without sound, just to avoid too much repetition.

I get the gay hits quite a lot on my blogs--especially Roasting David...and, of course, also a ton of "Nude/Naked" hits--but tonight, from the country of Spain, someone was looking for (and I swear, I absolutely am not making this up) "David Tennant pee pants."

Pee pants? David dear, do you have something you want to tell us? Or is the BBC doing Dr Who Adult Nappies now? David Tennant's face in grandad's crotch? Oh, sorry, even thinking that is just...so very wrong.

Just in the past few hours, I've gotten hits on my two blogs for David Tennant Gay (?) from:

Dubai
New Hampshire, USA
Georgia, USA
Michigan, USA
San Francisco, Calif.
Illinois, USA
Roseville, Calif.
Tulsa, Oklahoma
Syracuse, NY
Venice, Calif.
Midland, Tx
Bryan, TX
Dallas, Tx
L.A. calif.
Portland, Oregan
British Columbia, Canada
Anchorage, Alaska
Nottingham, UK
Washington, D.C. (maybe Joe Biden is...? Nahh.)
Vancouver, Washington state, USA
Hampshire, UK
Wigan, UK
Leeds, UK
Moscow, Russia
Stoke-on-Trent, UK

If you love an animal, I can say that chances are, he or she will love you back--unconditionally.

Yes, they are a resonsiblity. And yes, they can tie you down, sometimes--and oh yes, losing them can hurt so bad. But---they LOVE you. No matter how bad your day is, you know you'll have someone there, who won't judge you, won't shout or put you down. They will just accept you as you are--something most humans don't know how to do, and want to be with you, no matter what.

Most especially, 6 times out of 10, an abused animal won't hate you, if you love it, if you care for it. 6 times out of 10, an abused animal will love you so very much, for your kindness and care, and will give it back to you, tenfold.

Standardbred harness race horses, when they are no longer wanted for racing at tracks in the US and Canada, and/or for breeding, often end up at the slaughterhouse, or pulling tourists all day on hard pavement in heavily loaded carriages--or the Amish on A and B type roads, or taking out tourists at horse hire places--or even worse--they are simply abandoned by their owners/trainers, to starve or freeze to death.

But, sometimes though, they get lucky, and end up being adopted into private care....like these re-trained standardbred harness race horses in the video. Standardbreds are remarkably gentle (usually) for race horses, and quite intelligent. The standardbred I was petting last night, was a lovely, gentle horse, one I would be proud to own.

This was filmed in Springfield, Mass, at Equitana in November..I've tried to go a few times, but things keep coming of--and of course, now i have no car.

http://www.4thehorses.com/

I was sitting up in bed reading a really bad book before bedtime (meh-it was a one of those one-dollar shop books, "Oh, Play That Thing!" You get what you pay for)....suddenly, I realized that I'd never turned my computer off.

I walked into the front room, and went to turn the 'puter off...when I heard a noise out on my wee balcony. I thought all the cats were inside...even though I look, I have been known to sometimes accidently shut one of them out there, if the cat is hiding under a chair or in a dark corner. Makes for a very unhappy cat--especially if it starts raining...then you see how a cat can panic...especially an indoor one. "What the heck is this stuff...OMG, it's WET! Halp!!!"

Anyway, I thought I'd checked, but just to be safe, I opened the long sliding window and looked. Nothing...but, I heard a noise again. So, I stepped out onto the balcony, and leaned over the railing....

...and a big brown bat came swooping down from the eaves, within inches of my face!

WHOA!!!

Cripes, that scared me out of three year's growth!

Maaan. This sucks. Last week, I got robbed of $75, then had to deal with the "new job" at work, that was literally dropped into our laps at the last possible minute.

Saturday, I'd pedaled to the laundromat with a couple of loads of dirty's, then came home, chained up my bike (I don't have a lock, but I clip it to a post with a dog tie-out chain.) It's only a rusty old $5 bike, I figured it would be fine.

Wrong.

I came out to ride to work tonight, and found the bike unchained. I thought "gee, that was careless of me." Then, when I went to pedal off to work, I found it wouldn't pedal--apparently it was unchained, cos some creep decided to take it for a joy ride, and broke it. Bastard.

It was it's usual squeaky self on Saturday--yes, sometimes the gears slip, but not that much or that often--and sure as shootin' I would have noticed it the chain had slipped off! I have no clue how to slip the chain back on--it's so rusted, I'm not sure I can--but, next weekend I'll try to buy a can of WD-40 lubricant, borrow a screwdriver from someone (too bad the isn't a real Doctor Who or MacGyver in our neighbourhood). Damn. That bike's been a genuine godsend for my bad foot. I mean, the foot doesn't hurt to the point where it's totally unbearable--but, sometimes it gets a bit close to that point. And dang, I hate walking slow. My old walk wasn't pretty, but it used to cover a lot of ground...now...well, let's just say that sometimes I look like I should be in a bath chair, when I'm walking.

Work--meh. I don't know. I'm doing it, but I'm really slow and it's really hard for me to remember stuff--it's a lot of coding to remember (short hand), and a lot of steps to do, and toggling and stuff--all while you're talking to someone. My stinking dyscalculia is NOT liking this...so many people take multi-tasking for granted, but when one has a learning disability...it's so hard. You have to be very patient with yourself, and very self-aware...but it doesn't stop me from feeling stupid and flustered---tho' everyone around me has been so incredibly kind, it's taken me aback a little. Usually, they train us quickly and half-arsed, and then throw us to the wolves.

I had one guy though--what IS it with people from Minnesota that makes them such a bunch up uptight arseholes?

I can't really discuss any details of my job, and would never divulge the name of my employer or their clients. But, what my dept. is doing, is trying to make sure people who are trying to keep their homes, are sending in all the right things to the company. Basically, we're talking to people who went out of their way to ask us to assist them, and we ARE trying to help them.

So, I call this one total jerk in Minnesota, and--as per US Govt. LAW, I have to verify a person's address, before I can tell them why I am calling (because it's part of a debt collection process, even tho' we aren't actually collecting any funds).

Well, this berk refused to give me his address--snarky guy wouldn't speak to me unless I gave him the name of the person at the company he was dealing with. What-an-ass-hole! I'm calling him because he's missing some stuff he needs to keep from being FORECLOSED on, and he's being a total di_khead, and refusing to let me tell him that, all because he's being a big flipping massive mewling infant, and refusing to verify his address?

What DO they put in the water in Minnesota? Anus parts?

God, Americans are STUPID.

Oh, and if that wasn't bad enough, I got accosted by two Morman missionaries outside my flat tonight. I was polite and friendly, but told them I was agnostic. "I don't know what that means." One girl said. Yeah? Well, there's a public library five or six streets down, go look it up. Ditto to what I said above this paragraph.

The blank page is a door, a pen or keyboard unbars that door and the mind and heart swing it wide--or slam it shut in your face.

The words spill across the white space like a opened vein spilling the life and soul of the writer across the floor of the world.

So, why do my veins seem so dry, of late?

You know, I haven't written anything in ages...I mean, other than some rotten poems..no fan fics, no plays...nothing. I did a few short essays on writing, and one on family, and of course, some crappy blog posts, but really--my creative writing is rubbish lately, and I can't seem to motivate myself to write. That's bad. That's very bad indeed. I love to write...well, I used to.

What the hell is wrong with me???

I don't like this. Something isn't quite right with me, of late...but I can't put my finger on just what it is. Only the vaugue notion that I'm not myself, like...I don't know. I just don't feel much like "me" lately. I feel like someone else---NO, I don't mean split personality.

I'm very definately not hearing voices...right Harvey?

It's Monday, and it's dragging on towards the dreaded 4pm start of my new Monday-Friday shift.

I start the new job tonight. God, that's what it feels like. I've been doing the same work for 2 and 3/4 years, now I have to do something totally and utterly different. Also, the office rules and appearence have changed virutally overnight..loads of new employees--so it really is like having the carpet yanked out from under you, and starting all over.

That's not bad at 20 or 30, or even 40...but, come October, I'm going to be one year shy of the half-century mark. Blimey! I feel old. No really, I do. I feel some days lately, like I've lived forever. Like all the good stuff is behind me, and I'm just going through the motions, until I buy the farm and end up as dust in some cardboard box somewhere.

My brain isn't working as well as it used to. I'd prayed my writing would get better--but, not much change. So, it wasn't my wonky eyes, after all. It's my stinking wonky brain.

Have I mentioned that I'm depressed as hell? I'd hoped my wee four day holiday would help, but..no. I more relaxed than I've been in a long while. But not feeling very rested. I'm too tense, too scared. I'm trying not to be scared. Hell, if I could stand there alone in intensive care signing off mum's life support, if I could face losing my home, face beng alone, hunger, all the pain and all that crap...I can do this.

I guess I'm afraid that some day though--and not that too far off--my back will finally be broken. It almost happened last year, coping with the illness, the pay cut at work, coming a hairsbreath of being homeless and the fiasco with getting my disablity re-instated. I damn near gave up, last year...that damaged me, that did. Now, I barely care anymore.

God, I had such plans for myself, back at the start of the 21st century. Hope is for day dreamers and suckers. There is nothing but putting one foot in front of the other, for someone like me, just going forth from day to day, without taking my eyes off of the pavement in front of me. I should have understood that...but I was blinded by hope and dreams. Well, not any more.

Which is why I'm going into work tonight, and not just quitting and finding some no-brainer job like sweeping floors and folding motel towels (I can in fact, do the special "hotel towel fold" practically in my sleep--so if anyone is in need of a towel washer/folder in their hotel/motel, I'm yer gal).

I'm going in, precisely because I don't care. I'll either cope, or I won't. If I don't, well, we'll see what we see. If I do, maybe someday I'll actually like my job--it's highly unlikely, but...one thing I've learned of late, is that the only constant in life...is that nothing is constant. You cannot depend on anything. The gospel according to playwrite27.

I don't want it to be Monday. I don't want this job, this life, this place where I live...but, the alternative, is an ugly, ugly thing, even a worse hell then this one.

Surfing the net today, I found a blogger who claims that the US government tested a bomb today, at a secret underground facility in the mountains of Nevada.

The blogger directed people to the USGS (U.S. Geological Survey) earthquake site--where in fact, a 3.0 tremor was recorded today. The blogger points out the depth of the quake...which registers as zero, and claims the tremor is from a secret test by the U.S. government.

The blogger goes on to point out that U.S. is being hypocritical, asking Iran and North Korea, Russia and other nations to put their nuclear arsenal on hold, while continuing to test new weapons of our own.

I surfed away from the site, x'ing out and checking out the Guardian online...then decided to post about this nutjob blogger...and now I can't find the blog again. So, sorry there's no link. If I can find it again later, I'll post a link.

But, through this all, I cannot help but wonder: if the underground government base is "secret," if the test was "secret," how the hell does this blogger know about it? Something isn't a secret if any old person surfing the net, knows about it.

Sometimes you find the most unusual blogs in a random search...which is why I do it, sometimes.

Maybe it's those dastardly Daleks, hiding underground and plotting to destroy the planet.

A list just came out, of the fastest declining cities in the USA--that is, cities losing about five to ten percent of their population.

New York state has three such cities on that list. That's not good, is it? Well, my state has some of the highest taxes in the nation, so not that surprising.

Buffalo, Syracuse and Rochester--all cities in western New York state, have lost large swaths of their population...in some cases, largely due to the loss of major manufacturers and/or other massive corporations.

Buffalo is number three on the list, losing about 21,500 of it's citizens since 2000.

But, that's nothing to Flint, Michigan, which has lost some 113,000 people from its tax roles, since 2000.

Other cities include three cities in Ohio, Pittsburg Pennsylvania and Hialeah Florida, and a tie for 10th place between Jackson Mississippi, and Birmingham Alabama.

This is for my good friend Cassie, who's a fan of both Barrowman and Tennant (and who isn't?).

Poor Mr. Davies sounds like he's come down with a bad cold...or maybe just a sore throat. Hope he feels better soon, whatever is ailing him, such a good man...and one helluva writer, of course.

Such lovely (and lucky) people, this is a great video:

It's going for half-past one in the morning here. I'd be in bed, sleeping, but apparently, the boys upstairs have been hitting the sauce again, and are so snockered, they are--very literally--falling down drunk. Twice I was woken by the--by now--very distinctive sound of a heavy body falling on the floor....right over my head where I sleep.

Well, at least if I find myself in a dinner party in some country mansion on a stormy night, and the lights go out, followed by a loud thump, and everyone goes, "What's that?!?" I can say, "Oh, it's just a body falling on the floor..it was probably the butler offing Professor Plumb with a lead pipe."

OK, now I'm just being silly, sorry.

My four day holiday is officially over.

I have been dreading Monday like you wouldn't believe. I've not said on my blog--which says quite a bit about how I feel, if I'm so fretted with trepidation, that I don't even want to blog about it.

You see, Monday I go live. What that means is, I start making calls on this brand new system. That would be the system where they gave me incomplete training--two week's training in less than two days. I'm rubbish at computer stuff. If it were just a script I had to do, hell--I can read off a script, any script, practically in my sleep, with a hangover, after not sleeping for 48 hours. Scripts are the easy part. No, it's all this crap I have to do, BESIDES saying the script.

I suck at multi-tasking. It's my wonky brain. It's why I had to get a special waver from the dean of our community college, to do an essay for my maths finals, instead of taking the final exam with the rest of the class. I like algerbra--sort of, but my brain won't let me do it. It won't let me do anything in reverse--including backing a car, that's something I have to do, very carefully--and multi-tasking is possible and doable for me, but--also for me, it is very slow and unweildy.

I'm scared. Really, really, really scared. I don't like feeling stupid. I don't handle feeling stupid very well. Sorry, but it's true. It's not something I'm proud of, but..that's just the way it is. I hate myself so much, some times--especially when I feel stupid. Computers make me feel so incredly dumb and helpless...god, I don't like feeling helpless, either. My independence, my ability to do things....that's all I have left in this life, to hold on to. Do you understand? Well, if you don't, that's OK.

Still, I keep telling myself that maybe it won't be so bad. I tell myself to try not to freak out--oh, and i can freak out when I'm flustered. I don't like to admit that, and maybe I shouldn't, in a public post, but--there ya' go. That's me. That's who I am.

I'm trying to keep some perspective, going into tomorrrow. I go in at 4pm, on my new weekdays only schedule. I am trying to tell myself that I got through four years of absolute hell--much of it entirely (and literally) alone, without offing myself (tho' there was that close shave, back in autumn of '06). I got through it, I'm not homeless, I'm not dead, I'm still here. So...bite the bullet and just TRY.

If I make the adjustment, good. If I don't...well, quit this job with the communications firm, and go back to cleaning loo's and picking up empty beer cups in the casino, or working a motel laundry, or...whatever. The truth is, I really am a bit of a slow learner--yes, I can get straight A's, but it comes so very hard, to me..and only if I grasp the material well.

Well I know, that really all I'm really good for in this life, is drudge labour. College got me nowhere but so far in debt I'll never get out. I'll always be poor, I'll always be nobody, and when I die, my passing will largely unnoticed--don't tell me otherwise, I know different. It happened to my mum, it will happen to me.

Reality check: Everything I am, and what little I've done--will be gone, like I never existed. I could die tonight, and it will be days before anyone notices. Hell, when I get put into hospital, no one notices I'm not around. Not ever. Well, except for the cats, I suppose. They get quite upset if they don't get their tinned cat food treat in the morning/evening. And..that's just the way my life is. The way it always will be, from now until I finally do off it. I accept that. It's not pleasant to realize, but I've had this knowledge pounded into me, and I've come to terms with it.

Still, I don't want to go into work tomorrow night. I don't want to feel helpless and stupid. I want so desperately to be good at what I do, and when I'm not, I'm afraid I tend to take it a bit personally. That's why I won't try writing professionally--I am painfully aware that I am not good enough to go "pro." OK, I've got an adequate speaking voice, I'm good at reading scripts, been handling phone calls in a professional type capacity since mum taught me how to professionally answer the (only) phone at her library, back in 1974...but I'm so lost with multi-tasking and computer stuff....how the hell am I going to do this???

But I suppose I must give it a chance, at least for a few weeks. But god...I am quite scared. I've been trying to ignore the feeling all weekend, not always successfully. I'm actually very depressed.

Some days--sorry, but I'm afraid this is true, some days, I wish I hadn't changed my mind, that October night. But...then it passes, and I know that I'm a stubborn, cranky old maid, who doesn't like to quit easily (even tho' it's very tempting). Really, I don't know any other way, but the hard way--so I guess I'll just have to suffer through this week, and see where the chips lie on the table, come Friday night.

So, now it's 2am, and I have to get some sleep--also have to get a new keyboard, these darn keys keep sticking. I don't want it to be tomorrow, but I guess it already is.

I went to the Degas exhibit at the Hyde Collection this weekend. I've not blogged about it, because I went late near clsing time, and didn't have all the time I wanted, to really take it in. So, when I get a chance to go back. I'll blog about what I saw, and my thoughts.

In the meantime, there's some interesting stuff going on, over across the Massachusetts border, in the northern Berkshire mountains--just "down the hill" from my sister's Vermont town.

MASS MoCA in North Adams, Mass, has some cool stuff to look at.

There's Sol LeWitt's "A Wall Drawing Perspective." A panel of 65 artists and art students completed a wall that took five years to do. It's a permanent installation. You can download and view the i-tunes tour, here: http://www.massmoca.org/event_details.php?id=27

And one of Guy Ben-Ner's nutty videos, "Thursday the 12th." I've posted his Moby Dick video on here, which was shown at MASS MoCA, as well. Interestingly enough, the author of Moby Dick, Herman Melville, wrote this novel in the Berkshires of Massachusetts, while living in a town outside of the city of Pittsfield, Mass.

Through this summer is an exhibit I wish I could see, called, "The Nanjing Particles" by Simon Sterling. That looks very cool. Sort of looks like it's alive, ha-ha. That will be at MASS MoCA only until the end of October.

GUY BEN-NER'S "MOBY DICK" PART I

Will David (Hamlet) Tennant's visit to California this week, include a stop at Lake Elsinore?

It was revealed today, that back this spring, someone nicked Dr Who star David Tennant's trademark brown suit jacket from the set, and a "compromise" had to be made, during filming of the series finale.

The jacket, made especially by the BBC wardrobe dept. out of sofa material, is said to be worth...well, quite a lot, I gather.

Anyone knowing of the whereabouts of the Doctor's costume jacket, is advised to contact police or the BBC. (That's me asking that, but really--it's simply the right thing to do.)

A REAL Doctor Who and/or David Tennant fan would respect the show and, the actor, too much to buy stolen merchandise, right? Only some shallow poo-head would keep it, yeah?

Read this story about the so-called American health care system. Read it, and tell me that our greed/profit driven healthcare system isn't evil, isn't inhumane and cruel.

For any of you Americans out there, who think socialized medicine is bad, fu_k you, and go to the hell where you belong.

This article is real. It's factual. I've lived the suffering of the people in this article, more than once, because of no health care, or lack of the funds for a co-pay.

For some poor people, even $5 for a co-pay or medicine can be too much. If you don't understand that--or rather, choose not to try and understand, then you know NOTHING about poverty, and you should just go crawl back into your little protective bubble world which you've built around yourself, and shut your eyes and refrigerate your heart.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/jul/26/us-healthcare-obama-barack-change

I read online this morning, that David Tennant was mobbed by fans upon checking in to his hotel in San Diego on Saturday.

American fans are far more intense and intrusive as a whole, than British fans, so if Tennant thinks the attention he recives in Britain is mad, he's in for quite a shock in America, as American fans are traditionally much more in-your-face towards celebrites, than their more reserved British counterparts.

Of course some of us (such as moi) aren't like that at all, but, speaking from personal experience from when I was involved in them 25 years ago, conventions can get a bit nutty--and, unfortunately, quite a few overly-enthusiastic, obsessed fans can forget that guest celebs are still just human beings.

God, I can hear the squees and screams from the audience now: "I LOVE YOU DAAAAVID!!!" (Translation: I want to rip your clothes off and make love to you right on the convention floor!)

You can read more about Tennnat's first hours at an American sci-fi/fantasy/comic convention, here: http://www.tvsquad.com/2009/07/26/david-tennant-the-tv-squad-interview-comic-con-report/

Oh, and this just in (literally), Julie Gardiner has nixed the rumours of a Doctor Who motion picture. Sorry fans. That would have been fantastic, but--maybe it's just not practical, at the moment...or, maybe they just decided not to...beats me.

If you've not read this, you need to, to grasp why I want out of this country, before the nutjobs completely take over the asylum called the USA.

My sister is one of these, by the way. That's why we could never live under the same roof. It would drive me bonkers to have to listen to this deliberately moronic tripe, day in and day out:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/cifamerica/2009/jul/24/republicans-birthers-obama-citizenship

There I was, sitting on the erm--loo...erm--reading the latest issue of one of my magazines, when I got that niggling feeling that I was being watched.

There was wee Flame, my ginger girl cat, on the sink countertop.

I had a roll of TP sitting there on the corner of the sink top, and she was lying there, with her chin resting on the top of TP roll, staring at me soulfully.

I know that look. it says, "I'm weally, weally hungry, mum....are you ever going to feed me?"

It wasn't quite their time for their pre-bedtime tin of cat food (they have all the dry cat food and water they want all day long, but their tinned food is what they crave).

So, Flamey and the two boys got fed early tonight. Now, she's sprawled out on her soft fluffy pillow in the living room, content as could be, snoozing with a full tummy.

Awww.

Just read homophobe's post on another blog site. The guy was railing all sarcastic and angry, about the "gay olympics" in Denmark.

Well, at least people are talking about it. But...why get angry? Is a bunch of gay and lesbian men and women taking exercise in Denmark really all that threatening to this person? An American, by the way, from the state of Georgia.

Yup, this mook was ranting about how these "sinners" should be "struck down by the lord." For what? Cripes, it's not like they're doing it ancient Greek style, in the nude...at least not the last I heard...though that would certainly sell tickets, ha-ha.

How is throwing a discus or running around a track, going to cause "The Lord" to send down a bolt of eclesiastical lightning? Ey?

I have no opinion really, about the gay olympics. It is what it is....well, I suppose I wish that the gays didn't have to have a seperate olympics, or seperate anything--that they were just a normal, accepted part of society.

Is that wrong? I don't know. It's just how I feel, I suppose. Seggration...is it a good thing, or a bad one? I don't know. Historically, girls and boys do better educationally, in a setting seggrated from each other. Yet, races seggrated from each other, causes more racism and strife. I don't really have an answer to the matter of gays seperating themselves from everyone. Is it good, bad or...just is?

I guess being a straight woman (as far as I know), I can't really speak for the gay community, so I'll just shut up now.

There's a growing faction of arseholes in America--let's call them what they are, domestic terrorists in the making---who make love to their guns, while swilling beer and defaming their government and it's laws.

Civil disobedience isn't always a bad thing. It helped to bring about abolition in the 1800's, Unions and fair labour practices in the 1900's, and has helped to show war for what it is, thus making it less popular as a choice.

But, these "men" aren't protesting for the greater good of human kind. These blokes are protesting for purely selfish reasons.

These blokes want taxes eliminated and the federal government done away with--just so they have more spending money in their pockets.

Not such a bad reason, you say?

Well, tell that to the millions of innocent Americans who will genuinely suffer--even DIE, because there's no govt. medical care, no paramedics, firefighters and policemen. Tens of thousands of elderly people sit in nursing homes tonight, who wouldn't be there, if the federal and state government didn't help them.

Disabled Americans--from military veterans to women to wee children, all depend on the money generated from social security and state taxes, to literally keep from starving, to help them cope with their pain and suffering and illnesses.

Will any of these mindless, cowardly jerkoffs with guns, look into the face of someone's mother--who never hurt anyone in her life, a nice lady who has cancer, and tell her that she'll just have to suffer horribly and die, because some stupid selfish white man with a gun and a grudge, wants to pay less taxes?

There's a big camp out in northern New Hampshire, a gathering of losers who want the USA all to themselves, to do what they want with, like spoiled children plotting against a strict parent.

One of the mooks is 'Doobie' a jerkoff walking around the campsite, wearing nothing but a kilt, a sword and an AK-47. The "Porkupine Freedom Festival" is 500 morally lazy, intellectually stunted white guys, camping out and getting drunk on beer, while shooting off their second manhood, and "preparing" for the Second Civil War. Domestic terrorism in the making.

Not one of them would sell their gun to help save the life of a child dying of cancer. Not one of them would write congress and tell them to provide better health care for the people of the USA. They'd never stand up for the betterment of other Americans or march in a protest that might help save lives. It's easier for them to sit on their arse in front of campfire, swilling beer and cleaning their guns, and vomiting bullying nonsense out of their lazy-souled mouths.

Send the losers down to Texas and then annex it from America. Let em' have their own country--it wouldn't last a year, before they'd be cutting each other's throats for the price of a beer.

I made a stab at trying to find the new Torchwood series 3 episodes, the Children thingy.

I confess, I am not an avid follower of the series. That's not because I don't like it, it's because I don't have tele, and finding things online is a bit of a bother. Quite honestly, I only do that when I'm very desperate, and it's the only way I have to see something--as opposed to literally never seeing it at all--ever.

I watched bits and pieces of the end of the latest episode (5??) But, the videos were kind of broken up, with some missing, so I had no idea most of the time, exactly what was happening...but damn, that was good writing...and acting, what little of it I've seen.

I understand Ianto was killed off. That's a shame, I rather liked that character..but, stuff happens. Sometimes stories just have to move forward. Life changes, whether we like it or not--or, maybe Mr. Davies got tired of writing the character, who knows? Some of the fans were seriously pissed off though, and too many of their remarks were boorish and moronic and...just crap. Half of them can't even write English properly, but were insulting the writers in text-speak. How pathetically lazy is that?

I am afraid some people are internet cowards, and find it easier to be bullies behind people's backs, so to speak, where they don't have to look the person they are hurling abuse at, in the eye. Out in the world, we'll always encounter the zeros, cardboard people and the intellectually and socially lazy...but they really are quite a mob, on the internet. And a few of these so-called "fans" today, prove themselves to be nothing more than a rabble of foul-mouthed, infantile lazy slobs, who find it easier to hurl insults, than stop and ask questions and think.

Not sure why these fans today, think it's OK to rip into people who make these shows. OK, I got really, seriously upset, when I thought RTD had killed off Tennant's Doctor in episode 12 of Series 4--to the point where I cut myself off from Who for months...stopped writing fan fics, stopped (mostly) watching it, left the boards. I can honestly say, that that is the very first (and I hope, last) time that a TV show had that effect on me.

Why? Loss. I just lost my mum, my home, my car, 2 jobs, 4 cats and a chunk of my possessions. Getting Doctor Who back in my life (thank you RTD), pretty much saved me from offing myself. So, when RTD pulled the rug out from under me in 2008, I...didn't take it very well, I'm afraid. I hated RTD's guts for about 2 weeks.

Of course, I realized how totally irrational that was, and got over myself...eventually. Still, yeah, it rocked me to my very core--and that's when I realized that I was too close to a television programme.

I don't always agree with RTD, and I wouldn't want to. It really was daft of me to be angry with the man. It's not like he knew about my situation--and let's face it, even if the man did, he wouldn't give a rat's fart about me, anyway. Seriously, Davies will do what he wants to do, and whether some loser woman in some dumpy little town 3000 miles away was fine with it, or had some painful wounds re-opened...well, come on. Let's get real: Davies just plain wouldn't care. He's a total stranger, living thousands of miles away, in a world I can't even imagine--any more than he could fairly grasp what it's like living in my world, probably.

Before episode 12 of Series 4, I was watching Dr Who on my computer (or VHS) every single day--and I mean, every single day...from July of 06, until late June of 08.

But, when I realized what a huge emotional toll episode 12 took on me...well, I'm not sure which shocked me more--the Doctor's "surprise" regeneration, or my reaction to it.

So now, I take it all with a grain of salt. I'm not the obsessed fan that I was, but I came back to it. And...I probably always will love The Doctor. How could I not?

Oh, I'm rambling. Sorry. I'm quite exhausted....long day. Got up early, did chores, pedaled over to the laundromat with some dirty's, did some more chores at home, went to the beach, then stopped for ice cream again, shopping at the One-dollar and Tractor Supply shop, dinner at Taco Bell...and blogging. Ready for a nap, me.

The Fourth Doctor, actor Tom Baker, known for his curly locks, pop-eyed stare and long scarves, will be reprise his role as the Doctor, in four new audio adventues.

Also doing a new audio adventure is 10th Doctor, David Tennant.

It is rumoured that the 11th Doctor, Matt Smith, may be doing some audio adventures as well, in 2010.

President Obama caused an uproar, when he weighed in on the arrest of a Harvard scholar in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The man was arrested by police, after they got a tip that some suspicious black men were trying to break into a house. In this case, the man was merely coming home after a trip overseas.

When police confronted the black man, he allegedly got agressively defensive, and refused their request to see his I.D. Police then arrested him.

Meanwhile, down in the truly stupid state of Texas, where no one should be allowed to swim in the national gene pool, without first taking an I.Q. test, a judge in Paris, Texas let a murder suspect walk free.

The man was accused of running down a black man he knew, dragging him 70 feet under his pick up truck, to the point where the black man's body was literally torn apart. This is just ten years after two white supremecists dragged a black man to his death behind their pick up truck.

The accused was set free, due to "lack of evidence." OK, there's no CSI in Texas--I mean, there was no blood or body parts showing up under the truck? Then, if there was no physical evidence of a man being dragged under this white trash bloke's truck, then...why was he even arrested. A white trucker from Texas, months after the death, week's into the trial, miracuously decided to step forward, and confess that he "may have accidentially" run over the black man.

Also, the judge in the trial of the suspect, was the suspect's former attorney. The suspect served 4 years in prision previously, for the murder of another friend...the judge in the present murder trail, was the suspect's defense lawyer, in the previous murder trial. It is significant that this judge did not recuse himself, until AFTER objections were lodged.

And, to make matters even more sickening, one Texas official down in Texas said that the dragging to death of the black man ten years ago, "didn't matter" in this case, and "should be forgotten," has it has no bearing on what happened in Paris.

The release of the accused, has brought out Black Panthers and KKK members alike.

And, what does Obama say about all of this?

NOTHING.

A friend of his gets arrested for failure to comply with a police request, he calls the officer's actions "stupid."

A bunch of for-real stupid people in Texas deliberately botch the trial of a man who may have (and probably did) gruesomely murdered a black man---silence from the White House.

In the end, the Obama/Harvard story isn't about racism---it's about wealth and power.

The real thing is, a rich and prestigious and educated black man is arrested, and there's an uproar.

A poor, unknown black man is horribly murdered and his potential killer is given a mockery of a trial....and no one in Washington, D.C. gives a flying turd.

I think that says more about our society, culture and "education" in ths country, than any else I can think of.

New proof of former president George W. Bush's post-9/11 maddness has surfaced recently.

Now, it has been revealed, Bush wanted to send in US military troops to apprehend six terror suspects outside of Buffalo, NY.

Why is this madness? Because that sort of thing just isn't done, in the United States of America. Ever. Never, ever, ever.

Yes, you can send in the National Guard, which is our last remaining official state voluntary militia. But to send in professional soldiers--that's just not...no. That sort of thing has not been done since the 1860's, when President Lincoln (also a repbulican) used professional troops for domestic law enforcement.

For one big reason: It's against our national constitution. Basically, it's against the law to use the US military for domestic law enforcement. Period. End of discussion.

It a prime example of republican oxymoronship, George W. Bush and his republican party fly the banner of the US Constituion whenever their gun rights are threatened, but conveniently ignore it--basically they spit on it, when it blocks them from getting their own way.

But, Bush and his republicans aren't the only guilty parties, here. The FBI also freaked out and used the constituion for toilet paper, by granting Bush the authority to use professional soldiers, ignoring the importance of proper law enforcement, and using "national security" as an excuse to do what should never have been done in a truly democratic nation.

At the last possible moment, Bush, for his own reasons, decided against using federal troops to enforce that law. Yet, the fact that a standing U.S. president even considered this, is unprecidented. Roosevelt didn't even think of such a thing, right after Pearl Harbour was attacked, in WWII--a much bigger threat to American lives, and disaster to American security, than (sorry, but it's true) 9/11 ever could be.

. Where are you heading for your holiday this summer?

I'm actually on my holiday--four days of it. I doing Lake George village, a resort town just up the road about 7 or 8 US miles.

2. Is it going to be a camping, hotel or even a caravan type holiday?

Don't need to go away. I'm in my tiny little flat, as usual.

3. Do you travel light or insist on taking 4 suitcases with the kitchen sink in?

Well, if I'm staying local (I actually lived in Lake George before I moved down into this city), I only take my backpack with a book and any other little things I think I might need.

4. Do you prefer a beach holiday topping up the tan or do you do all the sightseeing you can cram in?

Even tho' I am actually hitting the beach tomorrow afternoon, I am very much NOT a beach type of person. I don't like tons of sightseing, either...I like a nice mixture...sightseeing, culture, leisure activities and free time/relaxing, when I go on holiday.

5. Will you go by train, car, plane or boat?

Red trolley bus, cos' it's $12 one-way by cab, to go there. It's actually cheaper to take the Trailways coach to the trendy city of Saratoga Springs a roughly 30 mile round trip--than to go less than half that distance round trip to Lake George, by cab.

(Sigh.)

I just got back from running down to the shop down the way, before it closed--forgot to buy milk. Cold cereal without milk in the morning, for me, is a bit..meh.

On the way down, for the second time today, while i was in posted crosswalk (zebra crossing)--I mean, posted: "NY State Law--MUST stop for pedestrians in crosswalk." Plunked right down in the middle, in reflective florrie green.

This afternoon, I was in the middle of the zebra crossing--agagin, big sign in the middle of the blinking road, telling vehicles it's against the law not to stop--and I had to jump back, literally, as a green van (the equivilent to a white van) slammed on its brakes to avoid hitting me smack on. Two blokes in the front seat...what were they doing, playing with themselves? I am a 210 imperial pound woman, and I was wearing dark peach coloured shirt and a khaki colour baseball cap--HOW could you blinking MISS seeing me???

Tonight, I again, was going through a posted crosswalk--off my bike, walking it across for (ironically) safety, when this little sports car, that was half a block away, suddenly speeds up towards me. Blimey! Again, had to bustle out of the way. They made a hard right around the corner, laughing at me out the window. Bastards.

Crossing the street to the shop, some blokes came speeding by, one yelled at the top of his lungs out the window at me, "IT'S RAINING!!!" No, it's sprinkling, numbnuts, and...who cares? Drunks are only amusing to other drinkers. To the rest of us, you lot are all just a bunch of dumb

Have I mentioned that Glens Falls is Redneck Hell, USA?

If you don't believe me, try reading the reader's comments in the news section of our local paper, The Post-Star ( www.poststar.com )...scary stuff...not so much the comments, but that these mooks are allowed to vote, drive, own guns and have unprotected sex. (Shudder.)
_______________________________________________________________________________

Anyway, get home with my milk in one piece, and decide to check my Dr Who fiction blog...haven't done any proper editing of any of my stories for a while. Wordpress is a bear when it comes to editing, freezing every few minutes, while it "auto-saves," stuff I don't need auto saved.

I noticed I had a comment. I've had all of maybe 6 comments on there in the past 13 months or so. Spam is what I usually get, most of it totally meaningless burbble with some links thrown in. Tonight, I had an actual comment on one of my stories (Rain of Terror). It wasn't rude, but it wasn't nice, either. Well, everyone's a critic, yeah? Though a little constructive criticism would be nice, instead of insults by some bored troll. That's what they make the "delete" button for.

Well, at least he or she read it, I suppose. That's something. Most peole don't read my creative writing...which means it's either totally naf, or I'm not writing anything anyone wants to read. Whatever. That makes me sad, but only for a little while. Then...I get over it. Move on, another day, another night, ho-hum.

I copy/pasted the comment before I deleted it:

Nancy G, read rain of terror. It is the worst drivel I have ever read. You write like an American. Your lame attempts at humour were pathtetic. Your dialog was stilted and unrealistic. The plot was all over the place, and barely a plot at all. The aliens were boring"......."in all, I'm sure Russell T. Davies would regurgitate all over it, if it was ever submitted as a script. Stop writing fan fiction and stick to blogging about the weather.

Ouch. Well, he told me, ey?

I "write like an American"??? Erm--maybe because I am an American citizen, educated in New York state and Vermont?

What the hell though, would RTD have anything to do with it? I wouldn't submit a script to Doctor Who--that's impossible. Unthinkable.

Not to mention the fact that well I know tht very probably Russell T. Davies wouldn't care if I live or die, and he wouldn't touch one of my stories with a 10 meter pole. Besides--he's gone. He doesn't do Doctor Who any longer! At least, not so far as I know. It's all in Moffatt's and Wenger's hands, now.

No, I'm not a gifted or talented writer. I'm average. That's all I am...if that. I can't compare myself to a professional writer--that would be like comparing apples to oranges.

And if this bloke or gal didn't like Rain of Terror--fine. I don't know what his or her expectations or criteria for a good story were, but obviously, I didn't meet them. Oh well. Although I truly am a bit baffled as to why he or she decided to drag the former producer/writer of Dr Who into it, though....that was just a bit---weird.

I was going to post this to my A Leaf on Life's Stream blog on Wordpress. But, since I'm going to delete that blog some time in the near future, I am posting this on here.

It sucks like a Hoover, like all my poetry, I won't deny it. It just popped into my head and I wrote it. It's stupid, but then I'm not the sharpest tool in the poetic toolbox, so there ya' go.

I AM A FUN BLOG POEM

Whoopie!
Pop
The Champagne and the
Party crackers
Blow
Your horns
Dance
Put a lampshade
On your head and
Conga my words, baby!
I'm hitting these keys, a
mad madam
waxing
Poetic on her blog
Fly words, fly
Hurray for me, hurray for
Fridays
Silly
Words to drive away the
Boredom and loneliness

Sunday's the big day for us Whovian Yanks, as David Tennant and Russell T. Davies, John Barrowman and director Eros Lynn hit the California coast, to join Julie Gardiner and BBC America for Comic-Con, and, the premiere of Planet of the Dead on BBC America, Sunday, 26th July.

I will miss it on both counts of course, being on the opposite side of the country, and, not having cable (or any) television.

(I just use the 25 year old TV someone gave me in 2006, to watch VCR tapes, now that analog TV is stinking gone...oh, don't get me started...)

I found some old black and white photos yesterday, taken at my great Aunt Carrie's farm, back in the 1930's. Never met her, as she, like my gran, had passed on before my birth. (I was a late "surprise, you're pregnant!" type of baby, born the year of my parent's 10th wedding anniversary--not that they ever celebrated any of those).

Anyway, back to the subject, mum used to talk about visits to Aunt Carrie's farm. I think that she sort of had a love/hate thing going on with that. Often--usually in summer, gran and grandad would trundle mum off from their city of Hudson, over to Ancram, just a few miles away. Mum enjoyed outings with her family to her Aunt Carrie's, but...there were parts of farm life she really didn't care for.

Great Aunt Carrie's farm was located in the mid-Hudson Valley of eastern New York state, in Columbia County, near a town called Ancram. We drove down there once, back in the 80's, and tried to find the old family farm, but fifty years had gone by, and the farm lane was long gone. Mum's memory was terribly fuzzy. Oddly, there was a small general store there, and mum did remember that....but she couldn't recall if the farm was on the main road, or off on a side road. She thought she found the old lane (which no longer exists), but--who knows?

Mum had many, many memories of the farm, which she shared with me over the years.

Of all the tales she told, three stand out most especially, in my memory.

Mum used to talk about the geese. There was no indoor loo at the farm, so one had to use ye old outhouse. Well, seems there was a goose on the farm, who decided that the outhouse was his own personal turf.

So, every time poor mum had to spend a penny, she had to race for her life to the outhouse, with a honking, hissing, snapping, flapping goose at her heels, every step of the way. It would wait for her, outside the door, and the minute she opened it, it would try to get inside with her, and she had to make mad dash back to the safety of the kitchen door.

It didn't help, I suppopse, knowing that her family and Great Aunt Carrie thought mum's whole ordeal to be a form of high entertainment. Mum hated that goose with a passion, even 50 years later.

Then, there were the traditional chicken dinners on Sundays. Whereas the Brits do Sunday roasts, the Yanks do chicken dinners (or rather, back in the days of the family farms, they used to).

Well, back then, one didn't pop off to Sainsbury's for a free range hen. Nope. You went to the henhouse, picked out a nice plump one, took your ax, and lobbed off its head. Mum seriously hated that. She would talk--wincing even in her old age, about how the headless hen would flop about the farmyard, running around, gushing blood all over. Not a pretty picture. This where the saying, "running around like a chicken with its head cut off," comes from. It's quite literally true, apparently.

Then, I guess there was the smell. You see, nowadays your chicken comes already plucked and ready to eat. Back then, after you gutted it, you had to pluck it yourself--then hold it over the stove fire, and singe all the pin feathers off. Burning feathers would stink up a kitchen pretty fast, I gather.

And then, there was the day my great-great grannie died.

Mum's great grandmother passed away in her sleep. Back then, in the country, one didn't spend money on a funeral home. The nearest funeral homes were few and miles away. So, what to do?

Yup, have the wake/funeral at home...in the palor--which back then, was a special room set up for receiving visitors, aside from the main lounge/living room where every day relaxing took place. Great-great gran's coffin was placed in the palor--open lid, of course, so everyone could stare at her, and say, "Oh, doesn't she look lovely."

Well, with a home full of visiting family, whom do you think got elected to spend the night sleeping in the palor with grannie? Yup, poor mum.

Try to imagine that you are just 9 or 10 years old, and you have to sleep in a dark room, surrounded by the scent of funerary flowers, with your dead gran keeping you company--in an open coffin. Mum didn't sleep a wink, that night, and was never thrilled about wakes, ever since.

Oh yeah, that haunted mum for decades..in fact, knowing that she was dying, in the summer of 2005, mum was so strongly against wakes and funerals, that she insisted that I not give her a wake or even a memorial service in a church, but just something simple by the graveside, with a closed lid. And of course, I honoured her request.

Playwrite27 has a long day ahead of her--some holiday this will be: I've a bill to pay, shopping to do, have to buy a phone card, go to the laundromat, get some film delveloped (maybe)....whoa. Very long day, indeed.

Hope you all have a good Friday. Cheers.

Been catching up on the local news, and NBC's morning programme, the "Today" show, will be broadcasting LIVE from the newly renovated Sagamore Hotel

(WHY the Sagamore??? I have to give a great big raspberry, a two finger salute and a boo-hiss, to the new owners of the Sagamore. They spent millions on renovating the place--while at the same time, they treated local employees like dirt, laying long-time employees..some who'd been their for years, laying them off...without notice, just a few weeks before Christmas, the bastards. I know a woman who told me she had to take back her kid's Christmas presents. How rubbish is that? And they get a big national promotion...well, NBC is notoriously pro-republican, pro-big busines, so not surprising. Nice for the publicity, but bad that the scumbag owners are being treated this way, after the chav stunt they pulled. Don't ever try to tell me there's justice in this life..)

Anyway, it's a chance for my American pals, who will be home on Monday, to see the "Queen of the American Lakes" which is about 7 or 8 miles up the road from where I live. It's 27 miles long, so you won't see any part where I actually go, but where the posh people stay, the Sagamore. The Sag is strictly for the wealthy, and is north from the village of Lage George, In the Bolton Landing/Hague area.

The Today Show is estimated to pull in about five million viewers each weekday morning.

Another book I'm reading at the moment, is called "The Unvanquished," a book written during WWII by Howard Fast. It's about the start of the Revolutionary War--George Washington's near disasters at New York and New Jersey, and how we nearly lost the war before it had barely begun.

Well, some of my anscestors fought in the Revolution. One was a tory who was urged to switched sides, by having some angry neighbours shove the business end of a pitchfork into his bottom, whilst my ancestor was trying to hide from them, in a barn's hay loft.

So anyway, one of the characters, General Putnum (whom has a New York state county named after him), mentioned the death of someone he knew--one of my own actual ancestors! (On mum's side). How cool is that???

Yup, I won't say the name, cos' that's too personal on a public post. But...yeah, that's totally cool. Fast must have turned up the name while he was researching his book--or, it was one heck of a remarkable coincidence.

My mum's maiden name---which is still around somewhat, but was never all that common, turned up in another book I have, "The Prisoner of Zenda."

Apparently, someone out there seems to think I desperately need to buy some Viagra.

Erm--no.

My creative writig blog has had zero visitors in the last 20 days...yet has 15 spam comments, 12 of which are urging me to use Viagra.

Pfft.

What the hell kind of rubbish did I write, to make some mook think I need...aw, forget it. I'm going to delete that blog, and destroy my writing. It's rubbish. I can't write worth poo, when it comes to poetry and fiction, I don't care what anyone says. If I were really any good...well, no one reads my fan fics, either. There is nothing anyone can say or do, to convince me that it's worth my while to write for a living. It's just a pleasant way to pass the time--well, it used to be. My writing has gotten so bad, lately, that even that has lost its glow, and it's really just me writing out of boredom/habit, than for any other reason.

Huh, maybe it's my writing that needs some stinking Viagra.

I'm not a happy person, obviously. Sometimes I feel like I'm just waiting to die. I threw away 5 years of my life, leaning how to write. I should have just stayed on the stinking dole. I'd have a much more stable, secure existance today, if I'd kept on disability, and didn't try to "better" my life...my life got better for about 4 or 5 years, before the roof fell in, and now I'm even unhappier than when I wasn't able to work. At the very least, I should have gone to technical school, instead of college, and learned a stinking trade. Writing is only good if you are good enough, wealthy enough, attractive enough, trendy enough, and educated enough, to impress an editor and/or publisher. I am none of those things. I am a human pack mule, a blue-collar slob, an office drudge, low-wage labour. i tried to be something I'm not, and I got burned. End of discussion.

It's once again time for Comic-con, the USA's biggest sci-fi/fantasy convention. It's to be held this weekend, in San Diego.

The highlight this year, is the appearence of "The Three Who Rule" at the con--the genius RTD, his sidekick, the lovely Julie Gardiner, and the talented and versatile David Tennant--as well as a great director from Who, Eros Lynn...only one missing is the fantastic Phil Collinson, more's the pity.

***(Trivia query; What's "The Three Who Rule" a reference to, fellow Whovians?--hint: it's from the classic series, and, factors into a book by Terrence Dicks, called "Blood Harvest.")

Well, wouldn't I like to be a fly on the wall at that convention...but, they'll be there, and I'll be as far away from them, here in far northeastern New York state, as if the three of them were still in Wales filming Dr Who. I mean that, quite literally. It's a good 3000+ miles to Wales, and a good 3000+ miles to San Diego, from here. When it comes to seeing anyone from Dr Who, they might as well really be on Galifrey or Mars, or Milton Keynes.

Oh well. While Three Who (used to) Rule are farting around having fun in San Diego, unless things drastically change--which is not blinking likely-- I'll be spending my first holiday since 2004 (four days off starting today), farting around Glens Falls, doing cleaning, laundry, blogging, reading, listening to music, watching Dr Who...the usual stuff. Still probably will don a suit and hit the Million Dollar Beach on Lake George, I suppose. It's only $2 for trolley fare, think my tight budget can handle that.

So, I've a depressingly messy cooker top beckoning me (I've not been home in days, to do any cleaning--barely had the energy to eat), so I'll bid you a fond adieu. Cheers.

Your result for Your personal Learning Styles Inventory Test...

The Great Communicator

50% Visual, 38% Musical, 75% Linguistic, 50% Kinesthetic, 13% Logical, 63% Interpersonal and 56% Intrapersonal!

Take Your personal Learning Styles Inventory Test at HelloQuizzy

Your result for The Online Dating Personality Test...

Antisocial Surfer

You scored 39 % e-suaveness!

Take The Online Dating Personality Test at HelloQuizzy

One of my co-workers is bound and determined to see me dating. This is someone who once hinted that I was a lesbian, 'cos I choose not to date...ever again. I mean that, too. I really do not believe that there is a man out there for me, and I have no intentions of looking for someone who simply doesn't exist. I will never know love, and I've accepted that, 100%. I'm fine with that knowledge, I'm not even sad about it. Really, it's fine.

I honestly cannot picture anyone wanting to date me. I don't believe myself compatable with anyone. I can't be intimate, for one thing--what guy wants to date a woman like that??? And, I can be difficult to be around (the whole bi-polar thing), and...why would I wish myself on someone, like that? I am a person who just wants to be myself--problem is, "myself"--the true and natural me, doesn't sometimes fit in with the crowd, it isn't always what people expect, and I can embarrass or repell them, sometimes. No, no way. It's not worth the hassle and hurt and inevitable rejection. As lonely as it can be sometimes, I'm better off on my own. Again, that's something I'd accepted years ago.

Anyway, she e-mailed me some, to quote her, "fun stuff" about dating. Jeez, really? Who really takes this nonsense seriously? Oh, and she sent me my horoscope, as well...I can count on the fingers of one hand, how many times I've read my horoscope in the last couple of years. That was my late mum's thing, not mine.

So, here's Part 1, the "Are you dateable?" quiz. Oh, yippie-skippy.

Your result for The Are you Dateable Test...

Almost Dateable

Congratulations! You scored 70!

Take The Are you Dateable Test at HelloQuizzy

Erm--not THAT kind.

Outside, I mean, it's a bug festival, this summer. While it's not really hot, it is almost 100 percent humid, with no breeze. Thankfully, it's overcast today, so that's keeping it from climbing up towards 26 C or more.

But, the bugs are...well, bugging me. Everywhere--and I do mean, everywhere outside, you go, there's these tonnes of tiny little gnats flying around in your face, every which way you turn. Then, there's the Japanese beetles...yuck. These are really aggressive--they fly in your face, swarming around you, trying to get down your shirt collar, in your hair...and they pinch when they bite, so that's a tad uncomfortable.

I had a centipede in my kitchen last night. I am so not a bug person, and I flipped out, slightly. Plus, centipedes are venomous--like wasps and bees, and can give you a nasty sting, if they bite. And, there's the worry now, if the cats find one, and it bites them, or they try to eat it, what it would do to them.

The flies are just awful, as well as. Deer flies--which hurt like hell when they bite, houseflies, horse flies.

Not as many wasps and bees around, this year though. Not sure why. Last year there was quite a few. And I remember back in the late 80's, there was one summer when we were inundated by swarms of wild honey bees, in northeastern New York. That was a bit strange.

Must have something to do with the weather. We had an unnaturally hot (as in record breaking) early spring, followed by an unnaturally cool late spring/summer. Very strange weather, of late. Seasons really are changing. +

I just began reading "Arc of Justice."

It's the true story of a black doctor, the son of former slaves, who rose from rags and the slums of the city, to a home in a white Detroit neighbourhood in 1925. One night, his home was surrounded by white racists, and in the ensuing stuggle, someone shot one of the whites. The doctor-innocent or guilty, was arrested.

Famous American lawyer, Clarence Darrow was brought in to defend the black doctor--whose name was Sweet. The story is about how blacks sought justice from racial whites, but also paints a vivid picture (so far) of life in America back then, for people of color.

So far, I've read two chapters, and it's quite riveting.

It's also sad to realize that, while my country has grown up and matured considerably since that time--it still has such a long way to go....and perhaps, some parts of America will always be stuck in the raw sewage of deliberate ignorance and unreasoning fear.

We have a few thousand "smart" bombs, and then we have a ton of dumbasses with guns.

American men are so sexually and cultrally insecure, intellectually challenged, paranoid and emotionally immature, that they have to sleep with their second "manhood," to feel like men.

Killing should only be a last resort. I'm not talking about hunting--tho' I find guys who enjoy shooting prairie dogs, a bit pathetic, myself. But, that aside, only about 6% of the entire population of the USA, actually hunt. Yet 60% own guns. So, all this crap about gun legislation threatening hunters--it's just that, pure, smelly poo.

It's about lilly-livered paranoid little people, who need their guns, cos' they aren''t secure enough to feel like men with just one shooting iron in their pants. They gotta' have a bunch of steel willies, to help them feel "safe."

The fact that these so-called human beings, don't see guns as a killing machine, but rather as a toy, something to play with... is just plain lazy and irresponsible.

I also stumbled upon this in my web travels tonight...weird stuff!

Supposedly, the plants grow where ordinary plants would die, one plant "bleeds red" when you cut it, and the seeds are "weirdly shaped." Riiight.

Other terreriums include:

The "Christian Bible Garden."

This one contains plants "frequently mentioned in the bible."

The "Dinosaur Plant Kit." Contains a plant that supposedly becomes full grown in less than 3 hours.

There's a fairy garden, with flowers and plants to attract fairies to your home.

There's a princess garden, that, besides flowers, includes glitter glue, silver beads and dragonfly decorations.

More practically, there's the medievil herb garden, the witch's garden, desert cactus and culinary herbs.

Of course, you can also go for the chia garden, or--if you're feeling bloodthirsty, the carnivorous and fly trap gardens.

http://tealco.net/window_sill_garden_kits.html

Well, now I've heard everything.

You know how some people have waaaay too much time on their hands, and spend it, not doing anything productive, but coming up with all these off the wall theories, or, if not so off the wall, at least worrying about something that may never happen.

OK, caution is good. Common sense is a wonderful thing. But...like to many things in the world today, when is enough, enough? People today become so intense and obsessed with things, it's almost like they have no minds of their own, anymore. Some things are done to death: swearing (too much, and it becomes meaningless gibberish replacing meaningful words/communication), reality televison (in my world, when I want reality, I merely have to wake up in the morning), sex (which is perfectly OK, but, seriously, in the context of living, how many times a day do we need to hear/see it? I mean, come on!), and...end of times/great disaster theories.

The internet is so full of gibbering rubbish spewed out by illiterate bozos, it's just...unbelieveable, that we can advance any more as a species.

Time and again, I've seen people take a fragment of fact, and spin all kinds of theories out of it....like taking a single thread, and trying to say that you have a complete tapestry.

Since last year, the underwater trench off of Puerto Rico has been consistantly hit with swarms of earthquakes, ranging from slight tremmors to 4.1, often quite a few in the same day. Last year, Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming experienced 500 minor quakes in one week. Recently, Oklahoma and Kentucky have been experiencing quakes. So has a region in the Texas panhandle, apparently.

Alaska has been rocked with a continual swarm of quakes for months.

California, of course has had quite a few tremmors and quakes this year. Quakes are increased slightly in Quebec and other parts of the northeast, such as northern and western New York state and Northern New England.

This could mean something---or nothing. Quakes do supposedly occur more in hot weather, and unlike here in the northeast, where we've had abnormally cool, wet weather, much of the southern and western US has experienced abnormally hot weather--even droughts in some areas.

Looking for some information on our strange weather pattern, here where I live, I stumbled upon a website that claims that all that is happening, is a sign of the "end times."

Riight. No, it just means that the climate is shifting a bit. Which it did, millions of years ago, thousands of years ago, and in the late 1700's/early 1800's. I remember reading an account of life in Vermont in the late 1700's, when the people were literally starving to death, because of a sudden change in climate--it snowed heavily in August (normally the second-hottest month of our year, in this part of the world), which caused the crops to fail.

Normal August temps for Vermont, today, can range anywhere from a low of 60 F, to a high of 95 F. We may get frosts in June or September, but to have a frost in August, would be unheardof today--to get a massive snowfall, would be pretty much unbelievable...and devistating. We had a blizzard the first week of October once, here in the northeast of NY state, back in the 80's--and people died, roofs collapsed, trees fell like ten-pins, power was out for days--weeks, in some places. An August snowfall wouldn't just hurt the crops, it would cause massive destruction.

So, now much of the country is getting warmer, it seems. Lakes and reserviors that were always full, for the first time are drying up. Desert towns and cities are worried about the water supply, forest fires are becoming more widespread than ever, there's more frequent hurricanes, and yes, earthquake activity appears to be increasing somewhat.

Does that mean the end of the world? No. Is it being exerbated by global warming? Possibly, but it's equally to be a natural change...that's something it will take centuries to unravel, probably.

One person says the Mayan calendar "predicts" that the Puerto-Rico swarm will generate a massive Tsunami that will wipe out the Eastern US Seaboard, including New York City. That's highly unlikely...tho' I suppose most anything is possible, giving the right circumstances, the right time and place--or, the wrong one.

An asteroid may hit earth and wipe out the planet. There might really be Daleks ready to invade the earth. I might get struck by lightning before the summer's out, win the New York Lotto drawing, get hit by a logging truck and write a script for Doctor who. Will any of that ever happen? Probably not. In fact, I daresay, not at all!

Will a massive 7.0 earthqake hit the Puerto Rico trench and the resulting underwater landslide cause a massive tsunami that wipes out most of the Eastern US seaboard? Meh--I'm thinking probably not.

Oh, there have been a couple of tsunamis on the east coast (I decided to look it up)--twice in recorded history. Once up in Nova Scotia, and the coast of New Jersey--both before the 20th century. It's been well over 100 years since the last tsunami hit the east coast. Two in recorded history. Think about that. Not impossible--but highly improbable. The last big earthquauke in the Puerto-Rico region was in the Virgin Islands, in the 1860's...not even in the Puerto Rico trench, from what I gather...tho' they may be connected, I don't know.

So, there's been swarms of earthquakes out there. Meh. Stuff happens. Does it "mean" anything? No, it's just mother nature doing her thang, man. There is no "end times."

Should we base our beliefs on some calendar made by some ancient people, who thought dieties controlled the weather, sacrificed their children to appease the gods, and didn't have indoor plunbing?

Erm--what do you think?

The Mayan calender is beautiful--can it predict the future?

I was just watching a video of David Tennant's Doctor. They claim that Tennant, as the Doctor, said "Sorry" at least 120 times (not counting the cuts that ended up not being shown).

A shrink would have a field day with Russell T. Davies over that, perhaps.

Here's a link to the video.

http://io9.com/5318093/were-sorry-to-see-david-tennant-go-a-video-tribute

This music video is for you, Doctor number ten.

I chose it, 'cos I love Dr Who, the way I loved John's music when I was in my early-mid teens. I probably wore out a record needle, listening to this song, like I probably wore out my DVD, watching Dr Who over and over again.

If you haven't been able to tell by some of my posts today, I've not been in the most relaxed and charitble moods, today. Still wrung out from the training--it's really overwhelming, and I'm seriously dreading going back to work on Monday, 'cos I haven't even started using the new system yet--which is extremely complicated--forget about using the phones.

But, seriously, I'm still wound a bit tight. I will never be comfy with technology, computers especially, and though I can use the stuff with practice, I still am not thrilled with anything techno. I love a low-tech lifestyle. I can, and have for long periods of time, live without a telephone, computer, television, etc. It can be stressful, at times--and yes, boring, even with radio to listen to and books to read...most especially when one is physically alone, day in and day out. But...you adjust. And, hopefully, tho' I'm stressed to the max over this, I may adjust--we'll see what we shall see. I'll either figure it out and--eventually, be good at it, or I'll bomb and go look for other employment.

When I signed on with this company, Oct. of 2006, you were supposed to get an evalutation/raise after a year--then (without notifying us, until we asked...several times) management changed it to a 2 year wait for your evalutation/raise. So, my 2-year was done by HR/my supervisor in Oct. 2008....and I STILL haven't gotten it, yet. My current supervisor (got a different one now) says she's waiting until she "has time" to sit with me. WTF??? Hello? You've had NINE MONTHS to flipping spend 30 minutes with me! Blimey! You could have had a blinking baby, in that time! So, as things stand now, I will MAYBE get my two-year eval/raise, on my THIRD year anniversary.

My last raise, 25 cents, was in Jan. of 07, by the way.

They put down all these new rules at work--no eating at desks, only drinks in cups with lids, no phones, no doing nails makeup, etc. You are not allowed anymore, to chat between calls (ignored by everyone, pretty much), doodle, read (unless it's client material), pretty much--you have to now sit there and stare at your cubicle walls, between calls. They've made that abundantly clear, and have spoken to us twice about it.

Yeah, right. After our training test, I found I had a half-hour free, so I put in a half-hour on the phones calling collections for one of the older clients--which I'm already trained to do---the kid behind me--one of the newer reps (who snorts up food like a pig with it's snout in the trough), had a packet of crisps hidden in his desk drawer, and was surreptiously opening the drawer between calls, snorting a crisp, taking a call, pulling open the drawer, snorting a crisp, etc...jeez, he reminded me of a an alcoholic hiding his booze.

Another young girl--again a newer rep-- was doing applying nail polish to her nails between calls, and when a co-worker (who used to be a supervisor) told her to put it away, that it wasn't allowed--and the girl got all snarky, and said, "How can me doing my nails be against the rules?"

This company is not going to find good workers in New York's southern Adirondacks. For every good, honest serious worker, there's 10 idiotic lazy dole-candidates.

I used up the second disposible camera tonight, so I may be posting some more pics in the next week, sometimes. Boring shots, for the most part. It was still light, by the time I got to Lake George, but it was getting dark, so I had to shoot what I could with the light that I had. I got several pics of the lake/mountain range, boats, the trolley's, a horse-drawn carriage, ducks, the fort, the "mystery spot,"---yes, I tried my echo...that's so weird.

You stand in the centre of the circle--out in the open, no buildings or anything too close by...and you can hear your own echo--no one else can hear your echo, only you...and if you move just a few footsteps away...it's gone. I've written about it before, but--it's silly, but the "spot" give me a bit of the heebie-jeebies when I stand on...yeah, gives me chills, it does. Which is totally unreasonable, but, there ya' go.

Really, I just took pics that would show you the Lakefront through my eyes. This disposible camera is rubbish, and I only had 20 minutes between trolley's--and, of course the light was going, so I just snapped what I could.

I missed the big tour boats coming in to dock, but it was really into dusk by then, so they likely would have been just a dark blob with lights, on film.

Then, there's about four or five pics of the cats (Tho' I should warn you that, for some reason, Boots and Charlie are shedding quite massively, and are not looking their best, at the mo', even with me brushing them.)

There's three pics of me, as well. Two taken at work, in some of my slightly posher clothes, and one in Lake George, dressed as "me."

If they come out, I'll likely post those three pics privately, unless someone asks me to do otherwise.

The pics may be up by this weekend, or I might not get them developed until next week. I've no idea of anything will come out OK.

Whew! The wind just died, and boy, am I ever hot! (Ahem--not in a sexual way.) The trolley bus just went southbound by my flat, so I'm going to book downstairs and catch it coming back north--ICE CREAM!!! A nice small coronet of chocolate-vanilla twist soft ice cream. YUM!!!

It's heading into sunset on Lake George. Just took some pics of the cats--darn, it's hard to get pics of Boots. I've never known a cat to be so camera shy!

So, maybe I can get some pics of the lake/mountains, who knows? Depends on the light, once I get there. Cheers!

Well, I told HIM off, in that last post, didn't I? I'm sure it won't make any difference, trolls are trolls 'cos they lack the immagination and intellect and emotional stability to behave like "normal" people. He won't "get" it.

I'm just fed up with having to delete his crazy crap all the time.

Anyway, it made me feel better. I've been picked on, teased, taunted, been made fun of, hurt, hit and pushed around for the better part of my life. I learned at the age of 15 to push back. I'm not a nice person when I'm pushed too far, and I very much don't like myself when I'm like that--but I hate being pushed even more, so it's the lesser of two evils, I suppose.

I Really don't like having a sharp tongue, that's a side of myself I'd like to be able to bury, someday. But, the mean, nasty, bitter, poorly educated and infantile folks in America outnumber the nice, polite, open-minded, mature and sensible folks, I'm afraid.

It's a lovely evening here. The clouds have cleared and the sun's shining. There's a nice breeze. I'm heading into a four-day mini-break...which I need after the grueling week I've had. Had to go in and take a test about the debt collection laws in the USA (a bit more pro-consumer here, than in the UK, from what I've been told).

I will say, if I ever do get evicted, better here than in the UK. In the UK, the landlord can take your stuff, send in the bailiff's, etc. Here--no way. A landlord cannot enter a tenant's flat without giving 24 hours notice. Also, a landlord may not remove a tenant's belongings, as long as the tenant occupied the residence--even if the tenant hasn't paid the rent.

A landlord cannot, by NY state law, lock you out of your flat. Never.

If the landlord goes into your apartment (for a non-emergency reason) while you are away or without your permission, if a landlord removes any of your belongings while you are livig there, if a landlord locks you out of your flat---the landlord can be arrested and fined.

The landlord--by New York state law, must give a tenant--depending on the rental agreement or lease--2 weeks to 30 day's notice. Also, a landlord--where a lease is involved, cannot just say "get out." Technically, the landlord has to get a court order to evict a tenant.

But, the British have protections as far as banks and creditors, that we do not, so I suppose it all evens out in the end.

Here, if you are evicted, chances are, unless you have kids, you will have a good 1 to 6 year wait for permanent housing. You may or may not be eligible for housing in a welfare motel, you may be able to find a room somewhere, for $200 a week, if you're lucky. 40\60 chance, you'll end up on the streets.

The problem with being in debt--and poor...or, even semi-poor, as I am now, living on about 1100 a month, instead of the 600 or 700 I used to have to get by on, three years ago--the problem is, once you get down...getting up again, can be almost impossible. Every time you start to see the light at the end of the tunnel, someone or something else comes along, and blocks it, again.

It's a hopeless situation...which is why I loathe the "h" word (hope). Which is why I don't dream or think about the future, any longer. Which is why I give up and accept things, a lot easier than I used to.

I'm in a trap that only death will set me free from. That's something I'm all too painfully aware of. All I do to cope is just wake up every day, put one foot in front of the other, and just try to get by as best I can. That's all I have left inside me, to do.

This infantile Yank is one of my blog trolls.

I keep telling him to bug off, I've told him TWICE that I am rejecting his comments and they are going unread--but, typical of the intellectually lazy or emotionally delusional, he's not gotten the message or is chosing to ignore it.

So, just because I can, and I have some time to pass while I wait for my chicken to cook, I thought I'd analyize this fella' from Pennsylvania:

I picture him as white, proletarian bourgeois, maybe a bit overweight, maybe his dad worked in a factory or mill. This guy probably isn't working at the moment. I suspect that he has never used his spare time to go out and get a hobby, or learn something new, or help someone else besides himself--or if he does anything charitable, it's for all the wrong reasons: showing off to the neighbours, or because it's "trendy." He definately wouldn't go back to college as an adult student, nor would he be the type take any adult continuing education "hobby" courses, like learning photoshop or painting in oils, horticulture, etc. In fact, I'd say he's probably a little intimidated by the thought of learning/education.

His life is in a tailspin. He's lost a lot of money--or never had much to begin with. He's not handling the crisis very well. He's emotionally ill, and seriously in need of councilling. But, like too many emotionally unstable conservative people, he doesn't have any self-awareness of this, and geniunely thinks his behaviour is completely mature and "normal."

His life isn't going well. He's a born again Christian, who is against killing unborn babies, but loves guns, and was 100% for a war which has butchered over 100,000 civilians--many of them under the age of 21.

He likes to drink--possibly is alcoholic, thinks Fox News is the best media outlet on the planet, doesn't read much--if at all, doesn't ask questions, and is against higher education, if it's taught by "liberals," doesn't have the slightest clue what "socialism" actually means--and wouldn't try to learn, even if God came down and told him to.

Yup, that's the picture this troll has given me, of himself.

I once called this jerk "tin-foil hat man," because--well, he's a bonified nutjob, what else do you call these freaks? Anyway, in a true act of sheer idiocy, he latched on to this insult and made it his own....what kind of weirdo is proud of an insult...well, really, does that sound "normal" to you?

This bloke visits me semi-regularly. I don't read his crap comments, I just go to the comment queue and hit the reject button. I've told him as much, twice now. But, obviously this bloke is either ten different kinds of stupid, or really is completely bonkers.

Well, idiot-boy has hit me again, tonight. He leaves 4 or 5 comments in a row--half the time they have little to do with the post.

Not all of his comments in the past were childish and/or sarcastic, some used to be nice--which is even weirder-- cos' I haven't held back from this jerk that I think he's a complete arsehole.

But hey, I'll let you be the judge. I've seriously not read these posts--comments, not even for posting to this blog. I don't know what they say, and I genuinely could care less. I would rather read the comments of the people who count: my friends and other bloggers who actually have something kind, or thoughtful, or funny, to say. This berk says nothing. He's a zero. Life's too short to spend on zeros.

Here's his crazy-shite comments:

joblair2@verizon.net
Author: Tin Foil Hat Conservative (IP: 98.114.230.152, pool-98-114-230-152.phlapa.fios.verizon.net)
Email: joblair2@verizon.net
Url: http://makeitso57.com

Comment: Luv, Ice Cream is bad for you so your lovely democrats must tax you for your own good. You should be gratefull that the democrats are looking out for you and helping you to make wise food choices. You need to be more sensative to other cultures and remember that we're all immigrants to this nation. We shouldn't pretend our cultural conditioning is any more valid than others for whom Ice Cream is a committee decistion.

Again, I didn't bother to read this. I don't know what kind of crap he's vomiting this time. I'm sure it has very little to do with the actual gist and meaning of the post.

This was a reply to my remark on my thoughts on the racist butchering of a black man in Texas by dragging the guy 70 feet until the body was dismembered...like the chaining and dragging of a black man in Texas 10 years ago. I said in the post that I found Texas (And American racists) to be a massive embarrassment to human kind:

Comment: My Dear Playwrite, Any comments on the honor killings going on in the London Muslim community or the adoption of Sharia Law in elements of the UK?

Tin Foil: if you are reading this. Get the HINT. I don't like you. I don't care about you. You are everything I hate about my country. You are why this country is turning into raw sewage, not the government. You are a traitor. You want no government. The Taliban and North Korea would LOVE that. You think anyone who genuinely cares about their fellow Americans--and about human life, is a "socialist." You are a thoughtless, commpassionless selfish shallow twit. Stop swimming in our gene pool, please wear a condom.

I have no desire to ever be your friend. And, I am NOT a four-legged animal with antlers, so STOP calling me, "dear," using an intimate form of address with a lady you do not know--and who clearly dislikes you, is very ill-mannered...and sounds swarmy, adolecent and immasculating, as well.

Mail's in: Oh gee, look at that, Glens Falls Hospital has sic'd its debt collection solicitors on me, for $51 and change.

Well, the bill's in the pile...with my other unpaid medical bills, about 2 dozen of them--I get a new one, every week it seems--ranging in cost from $21 to $1000+ I pay one when I can, usually about one or two a month, if I've the cash to spare and/or no other more pressing bills, or, whenever I can.

But jeez--they've yet to sic the lawyers on me for the $1000+ bill from 200i7, but a $53 bill from five months ago, they spend the money on? No wonder they're in financial straights! I mean, it's got to be costing them more to hire a debt collector for $53, than just waiting for me to get around to paying it--or even eating it, if necessary (which I don't want them to do, but then, I don't want to lie awake at night worrying about feeding myself or paying the electric/gas bill, either).

A friend, bless, has sent me a wee kit of herbal ointments and other nice things to slather myself with, isn't that lovely?

Well, one more day of work, and then I essentially get a mini-holiday break, for four days. Unfortunately, it's supposed to be teaming down with rain, at least part of that time. We're not having a summer this year, apparently. It was supposed to get hot today, but it's actually overcast and chilly, at 20 min. before noon, here.

Well, I've no plans for the break, other than a bit of postponed spring cleaning, I suppose. Might go for a swim in the lake, should the weather decide to cooperate. I toyed with the idea of going on a cruise on the lake on one of the boats, but decided against it. I've got the whole of August yet, before the Trolley bus stops its regular run to the lake...and, I'm reluctant to spend the money on something frivilous--I went riding two week's ago, that was my big "treat" for myself, this summer.

And, I've my new Ariat hiking/paddock boot that was on sale for half-off, on layway at the Queensbury Tractor Supply Co. Yup, playwrite27 desperately needed new walking shoes, and with a $20 payment in August, and another $20 payment in Sept., they'll be all mine!

Jeez. Living in a tourist area can be a real larf. I take the trolley up to the resort of Lake George, just so I can point and laugh...well, and for the soft ice cream from the "Pink Roof" stand across from the steamboat company's pier.

Why is it, that these gaggles of foreign tourists from India, Pakistan, Puero Rico, Quebec, Japan or wherever, will bunch in front of the ice cream stand's windows, like cabbages in a market stall, discussing what to order for 10 minutes...then finally get up to the window, and seemingly forget what the hell they wanted to order?

I swear, it happens every time. I get so relieved when I get behind an American in the queue, because they just blinking place their order, pay for their order and get on with it. No fuss, no muss, no bother.

The foreign tourists--every single blinking time---spend 10 minutes deciding what to get, then, they get up to the stinking order window...and suddenly decide to play twenty questions with the ice cream employee! Then, when they FINALLY decide what to order, they sit there arguing over who is going to PAY for it, then, when they finally get their ice creams, they stand there for another five minutes, doling it out to everyone--all the while completely oblivious to the fact that the queue behind them, which was two or three deep before, is now twenty deep, thanks to all their farting around.

Then, there's the people who want to go for a trolley bus ride--not at all getting the fact that it IS an acutal municipal public transit bus, and not a blinking amusement park ride. Again, the tourons will stand there, holding up the bus, while debating whether or not to go for a ride...or, asking the driver to wait while elderly aunt Martha comes trundling up the boardwalk, so they can all ride together.

There's a sign on the front window, with the final destination: Glens Falls, the caravan park, Bolton Landing North. Every time they hold up the bus, while they ask: "where you go?" Most of them literally don't know north from south or east from west. On a blinking sunny day, unless it's high noon, all you need to stinking do, is look at the sun's direction, numbnuts.

What gets me is, the only way to get to Lake George (by direct route) is directly north or south, via either the I-87 motorway, or via an A-type road, known as Route 9. Period. There roads east and west, but they aren't straight-line direct, like these two routes. So--you got here, either via the north or the south, there's only ONE main road in the whole entire resort (north-south)...you had to use that road to get there--how the hell could you not know where you blinking are????

And, once these tourists get on the Glens Falls trolley, they seem genuinely shocked that there's a city/thriving suburb within six miles of the mountains!

I get on the trolley bus to/from Lake George, and the tourons going for "a ride" (on a red trolley bus with THE most uncomfortable wooden park bench seating on the planet), will forsake a ride in the mountains to come down to the suburbs/city...every time the bus goes trundling past the Walmart(aka: Asda), there's always some foreigner or pensioner who'll go, "Oh look! They have a Walmart here!"

Yeah, and we even have indoor plumbing, too.

Playwrite27 bids all my online pals a very good night. I'm knackered from working double shift, and, I seem to have a wee cold, today, so I'm feeling doubly rubbish this evening. I am sorely tempted to stay up and write, as I have a few ideas I'd like to work out on the blank page...but, seeing as I ache all over, have a blistering headache, and am so tired, I can barely hold my head up, I think bed is beckoning me.

So, had a quick meal of curried rice and sausage with some steamed cauliflower, and now it's off for a hot shower and bed--even 'tho it's not even 10.00 at night, here.

Training isn't going well for me. I'm not the smartest person in the world--well, let's not sugarcoat it; I'm a tad slow. I can learn just fine--slowly. I am not the time that can absorb a rapid-fire, "do this, this and this, but not this, oh, and by the way, don't forget to wiggle the wotsit and burble the bealy and just for good measure, smurge the blippty-blip."

Well, that's how it sounds to me, after 8 hours. I hate computer stuff, with a passion. I am no more a techno-geek than a techno-geek is a tree-hugging transcendentalist. That's why I'm not a copy editor or even a receptionist. I can use computer--but only just, and only after lengthy repetition.

My stinking wonky brain doesn't allow me to multi-task very well--I mean, I can't hardly talk and type at the same time! We have all these do-this-and-do-that, and all these terms and codes and proceedures to memorize...basically, my arsehole company has once again skimped on the job training--literally 2 week's full training, crammed into 2 days--and half the first day spent doing NOTHING, cos' of a technical glitch that wouldn't allow them to run one of their vital training programmes. Computers/technology, and dyscalculia don't always go well together, let me tell you!

The only easy part is the script. But then I can memorize a phone script pretty well, after saying it a half-dozen or dozen times, that's no worry. But, remember what numbers to put in, what screen to access, what to write, what order to do things in...it's done my head in, it has. I genuinely feel wrung out and frustrated and...stupid. I hate feeling stupid--to me, it's one of the worst feelings in the world.

My dad used to call me stupid, once in a rare while, when I was in elementary school and couldn't do the maths homework...and one of my maths teachers, and some of the kids at school. When I say I hate feeling stupid, I'm not exagerating. It intimidates the hell out of me. With confidence, I can move the world, when I absolutely know what I'm doing, I just go out and do it, and do it to the best of my ability... but when I feel stupid, I alternate between feeling angry with myself/the world, and wanting to just crawl under a rock, and stay there.

We go "live" on the calls tomorrow, using the scripts and contacting people. It's not sales, which appealed to me a great deal, as I loathe selling. I suck at it, actually. Oh, I make sales, but not as many as a lot of the other reps. I was thinking of spending one of my days off, going 'round putting my job application in, at a few places. Maybe tractor supply company is hiring. I know a bit about large and small animals, tho' I'm not farmer, of course, and I've run heavy equipment, when I was in my early 30's.

Off to bed now, before my head bursts--would get rather messy, that. Cheers.

God, New York state is getting....well, it's getting.

First, the governor propsed taxing sugared soft drinks in what was called an "obesity tax"--basically, a bigoted tax on fat people? Charming.

Then, he gave substatial raises to upper eschelon muckety-mucks in the state, while at the same instance furloughing or laying off a few thousand state worker peons.

Also, this year the state didn't get a bit of legislation passed in two weeks--not even an authorization for a new stop sign in some rural town--because a billionare from Buffalo had an infantile hissy fit, and caused a split in the parties, that screwed up the status quo in New York state's senate/assembly.

This basically meant, that the republicans refused to attend the same session as the democrats--and the democrats refused to meet with republicans--for two stinking weeks...and our lame duck governor just sat there and...peeled oranges, cleaned the lint from his belly button, order subs from Subway...heaven knows what the jackarse was doing, but he wasn't telling his childish little underlings to grow up and stop leaving millions of New York state residents hanging.

New to all this now, is the proposal by state Assemblyman Jim Tedisco that weathly prisoners be forced to pay for their stay while in prison.

And, two state employees racked up over $30,000 in overtime---while digging a "cave" for themselves on the job, where they hid away from everyone, smoking marijauana and sleeping.

The hidden "lounge" was secreted away in the parking garage under the Empire State Plaza--the state's showcase plaza of tall marble sided buildings and fountians, and the "Egg"--a concrete egg-shaped theater and concert venue-- the plaza houses many of the state of New York's main offices, not to mention the state capital, and the state museum and state library.

I don't have any issues with Matt Smith's costume. I was a bit surprised--had hoped for something more drastic, but...it's fine. It's nothing outstanding, but--that's the "new" Who for you, I suppose. The new Doctor is as much an "everyman" as an alien, these days--and, I've gotten used to it...made the adjustment, accepted it, and moved on.

They just went from chic geek to just plain geek, apparently. Huh. Well, OK, whatever. It's the actor who makes the role, anyway. The costume is just the window dressing.

I am even willing to give a "teenager's" Doctor a fair chance. Two views. If I hate it, I will be horrifically sad, but, it's out of my hands and that's that. If I love it, well--it's hard to imagine me NOT loving Dr Who....so I probably will, if not love it, at least like it. It would radically have to delve into the simpering teenage side, and turn into something I totally couldn't relate to, before I'd stop watching it.

But...what the HELL did they do to the Tardis????

Sorry, I adore Dr Who, and really resist being critical without seeing things all the way through--but honestly? The "new" Tardis looks absoultely RUBBISH.

It looks like something a fan would make for his garden. No really, it's...yuck. I hope this isn't the one they plan on using for the whole series...bleh.

Hartnell's Tardis looked more real than the new one! Maybe it's only the lighting, but the "new" Tardis looks--too blue and too new, to me. It may not appear that way at all, on film, but in a photo...it just plain looks like a prop, to me. A bad fake, at that.

THE FIRST TARDIS:

THE LATEST TARDIS:

Well, here in the armpit of northern New York state, it's another long day for me.

I won't be online much today.

One of the ironies of the recession this year, is that, while a lot of tourists are staying away from the pricey theme and amusement parks this year--they are flocking to the roughly 1/2 mile strip of factory outlet shops. Brooks Brothers, Tommy Hilfinger, Reebok, Swank, Eddie Bauer, Nine West, Orvis, Banana Republic, Big Dog, Gap, Timberland, Sox, Jones NY, Coach--and all the rest, are bursting at the seams with tourists flocking from all over the eastern US and Quebec, as well. I've even since license plates from as far away as California and Colorado, as I passed by riding on the trolley bus.

When times get tough, the bourgeois go shopping.

The city where I live is less than 10 miles from largely unspoiled natural wilderness. Millions of trees, hundreds of miles of lakes, streams, ponds and rivers, abundant wildlife, rolling mountains and lush, gentle valleys.

So, what do visitors from Texas rave about?

Our weather, and our pizza.

No, really. They love our weather (well, where ours has had low humidity, and ranged roughly from 22 C to 26 C this week, Texas has had weeks of temps ranging from 37 to 42 C--with high humidity, added in).

We'll be lucky to see 22 C today, it's cloudy and cool. It'll more likely stay about 20 C, or thereabouts. But, later this week, we're to get 27 to 28 C temps, and humid, so some of that southern weather is headed north, I guess.

And pizza?

Well, I guess pizza in Texas is pretty rubbish, 'cos the Texans were raving about one of our local pizzarias..."you put actual meat on your pizzas!" To quote one Texas lady. Erm--so, one is afraid to ask, what the hell passes for pizza toppings in Texas???

_____________________________________________________________________________

On a much more somber note, speaking of Texas, quite a row going on, down in Paris, Texas.

Seems a couple of good ol' boys were accused of dragging a black man to his death underneath their pick up truck---pathetically and shamefully, this is NOT the first time something like this has happened, in Texas---and the judge let the two white guys off, for "lack of sufficient evidence." Ey? A man is dragged to death--to the point (sorry if you're eating) of having his body literally torn apart and dismembered, 70 feet under a pick up truck, and there's "not enough" evidence? What, they don't have a CSI lab in Texas?

Apparently, well into the trial, some trucker suddenly came forward out of the blue, and said that he "might have accidentally" hit the black man with his truck. Oh, how convenient. And, how many weeks did it take for this WHITE trucker to decide he had a conscious? Riiight.

So, now the sexually insecure, intellectually challenged, spineless white supremiscist KKK members, are staging a march in support of all the defendents...and the Black Panthers will be counter marching against the KKK worms, So....that should be interesting.

Texas police say that the man's death wasn't about racism, because the man knew the two good old boys for years...and besides (I am NOT making this up, the moronic apes who pass themselves as the law down in Paris, Texas, did actually say this)...and besides, they say, it couldn't have been a racist killing, because the black man wasn't chained to the back of the truck and dragged, like another well-publicized case.

**(Ten years ago, a couple of redneck white supremeicist worms, chained a black man up and dragged him to death behind their truck).

One white Texas business owner was handing out papers, in which he insists that the Black Panthers are a racist organization. He doesn't say the same thing about the KKK members lurking about town, though.

The suspect in the murder of the black man, has been jailed before--for murder. He shot a friend in 2003, and got off with only 4 years in prison. The judge in the black man's case was formally the attorney for one of the defendants...and it just gets sicker and more twisted, as you go, people.

I really, really wish Texas would seperate from the Union--Jesus, those people are an embarrassment to us all, and a disgrace to all of human kind.

I'd love to see the look on the racist white trash faces, if Texas was ever given back to Mexico...gosh, that show would be worth buying tickets for.

Stupid, sick bastards. "God bless America?" Why would He possibly ever want to do that?

I was reading where a SFX man was filming shots for a film called "Moon," used a David Tennant Dr Who doll, as a double for FX shots of Sam Rockwell.

Does that mean that Tennant will get a tiny little FX royalty cheque?

It was a loooong day, at work today. We did get an hour for lunch, which was a treat--actually, we spent more time cooling our heels doing nothing, than actually learning anything...thanks to multiple IT glitches.

We have to learn this blinking computer programme, and our trainer, while nice, was a bit rubbish....you couldn't see the presentation screen, and she was telling us five ways to do something that could easily be done in only two--what the hell is the point of that? It's just confusing people unneccesarily. Bit head-up-the-arse teaching techniques.

People are NOT happy. The only one's eager for this, are the new hires--whom of course, don't know any different.

I expect some people will be quitting--including some of the old-timer's. I think the ONLY thing that is keeping at least some people here, is the recession, and our lack of decent-paying jobs...or any jobs at all.

It's really poor, the way management is just dumping all these drastic changes--and fiddling with our work schedules--in our laps without a hint of warning. They must have know for week's, this just didn't happen on Friday, and WHAM! Monday everything changes. Real life doesn't work that way, this isn't a television programme. Things like this take time and planning--although, if today was anything to go by, there was precious little planning involved, the part of both our management and the new client.

Well, another double-shift tomorrow. (Sigh.) I hate learning stuff on computers. I get more exciting watching a laundromat dryer tumbling around. And, I'm, by my own admission, a bit...slow. I don't like being slow, but I am. I can learn, but not quickly. My wonky brain doesn't do..."do this, this, and this." It tends to skip one of the middle "this's," without my realizing it. That's why I'm quite literally incapable of doing algebra, that's why my brain can't function well in reverse, also.

Well, I'm going to bed early. I found a UPS sticker on the floor, outside my apartment do

Erm--door. Sorry, there was just a big crash behind me. I think partly-blind Flamey just fell off of something, again. She does that, sometimes. Mis-judges a leap. She somehow managed to unplug my cable box, causing me to dis-connect from the internet for a moment. No worries. My daft wee ginger girl is just fine, if a tad sheepish looking.

Anyway, I gather UPS may have tried to deliver something--that's going to be a problem, 'cos I'm working days this week, and won't be home afternoons, until Thursday, unless the bloke comes before half-past ten in the morning. Oh well. It is what it is. I've no idea what I'm supposed to be getting, I didn't order anything! Gift from a friend, or wrong door? I'm so tired, I haven't looked at the sticker. It was on the floor, so it might even be an old sticker, for all I know.

I just came home from work, fried up a cracked peppercorn/green pepper "angus" burger that I got from the butchers the other day for a dollar, slipped some frozen breaded onion rings in the oven to get all nice and crispy, and nuked some sweet corn in the microwave. Read a few newspapers online, checked my e-mail box, and...here I am. It's ten pm eastern time, and I'm quite ready for bed already.

Our local newspaper, the Post-Star, keeps crowing--above the fold on the front page, in big bold letters, that one of its editorials has won a Pulitzer Prize.

Well, whoop-de-do.

Here's a snippet from an online article from their "police blotter" page, about a north country man whom was arrested for sexually abusing an underage girl:

The sexual abuse charge is a felony and not a misdemeanor because he is not accused of forcing the girl to have sexual contact, and she is over the age of 11. If she was under 11, the sexual abuse count would be a felony.

Erm--does that make ANY sense to you, dear blog readers?

If it does, I must be living in the wrong century!

Want to know the real irony of all of this? My adjunct professor, who taught my editing course at my four-year college in Vermont, was, at the time, also employed as the assistant city editor at this very newspaper. My prof spent many an hour, telling us how one had to graduate from the likes of Harvard or Columbia or such (basically the equivilent of Cambridge and Oxford), to become an editor/reporter at a city newspaper.

Well, obviously not.

Either that, or Harvard and Columbia have seriously lowered their educational standards.

Why do so many newspapers not take online editing seriously? Why is it vitally important to edit something in print, but not on the internet?

Slovenly, half-arsed journalism....Pulitzer, smulitzer.

Not in my apartment house!

Just had some slob of a guy--apparently, a friend of the rednecks across the hall (no surprise, there), yelling (screaming is a better description) under our windows again--Hey! C'mon! Hey! Lemme' in! C'mon, damn it!"

Charming to hear, at 10 am in the morning. Apparently the nursery school let out early, today.

Instead of not paying his rent so he could buy a car he can barely afford, it would have been nice if my neighbour had invested $20 to $25 in one of those battery-operatd remote door bells. Sheesh.

I had a bad dream, last night. I dreamed my apartment building burned down, and I couldn't save my cats.

I do have a fear of fire, have done since I was a child.

It started on the night the bishop's mansion burned. Through the woods and Japanese style gardens behind my childhood home, up on a wee hill, stood a Victorian-era mansion. It once belonged to a family member of industrialist, Russell Sage (whom now has a women's college named after him).

The mansion in my memory, wasn't as big as some I've been in, but it was large enough. It had a drawing room with wide windows overlooking the back lawn. I remember the big piano in there. There was the kitchens, of course. A small ball room/dining hall was converted into a wee chapel, and there was a small greenhouse attached to that wall.

"The bishop's mansion" as we kids called it, was the official residence of the various Episcopal bishops of the capital city of Albany--at that time, Bishop Brown was in residence, a very kind man as I recall. The estate's gardener--a fantastic gent named Harry Best--and his wife, lived in apartments in the mansion, with their sweet-tempered ginger cat--whose name I have long since forgotten.

The bishop had traveled all over the world, and was supposed to be quite a good photographer, taking pictures wherever he went. Harry, I always considered a friend. He was as good and kind a gent as anyone I've ever met. Harry made time to talk to me, and I always enjoyed his tales of life in the big houses of the rich, in the heart of the Roaring Twenties and Great Depression.

Through Harry, I heard about what the estate looked like, before our suburban street was added on to the lower portion...always a fountain of stories and information, Harry. And, he adored my half-Scottish collie dog, Shamrock (so named because I felt lucky to have her, as in a lucky four-leaf clover)--and she equally adored him, and while she was gentle and loving, she didn't give her loyalty to just anyone, so that spoke volumes about the character of Harry. I was truly blessed to know him.

One night, whilst both the bishop and his wife, and Harry and his wife were all away on holiday, there was an electrical short at the mansion, and some draperies caught fire.

When the squawk box that all the volunteer firmen had in the village, that was installed in my dad's bedroom went blaring off at 11pm, one night in 1971, it woke sis and I up: "WOOO--EEEEE--OOO, BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. CODE ONE FIRE! CODE ONE FIRE! (location--right behind us!?!) IT'S IN THE AIR, IT'S IN THE AIR! (meaning it was through the roof). Then, the fire siren down on top of the roof at the Village Hall, went off.

Dad had only just been issued the little black box from the village a week beforehand. I'd only heard that eerie god-awful noise during the once-nightly radio check. "WOO-WEE-O. This is the M___ fire company radio check at 1800 hours." Which was followed by the usual 6pm siren check, where the fire siren would go off once, precisely at 6pm. Whether you were a fireman or not, you always knew when it was six O'clock in the evening, in our village....and, 11am on a Sunday morning, when the Presbyterian chruch rang its bell. Only two times you didn't need a watch.

Anyway, sis had the top bunk of the bunk beds, and looked out the window and got all excited. Then, she got mean. Sis wasn't always very nice to her younger, shamfully gullible sister (me). She told me the woods were going to catch fire, and that our house was going to burn down, and me with it.

Oh god, was I terrified. Dad had already got into his black fireman's gear (which they still wear, apparently), donned his black helmet and gone in the car down to the firehouse to get in one of the trucks, which were even then, grinding it's way up the motorway hill our street was off of, sirens blaring.

Our aunt Frieda from the village came up to the house, and mum and she left to stand in our back yard, watching the blaze from the lawn. Mum tried to get me to come with her, but I stayed hidden under my blankets, crying in sheer terror--mum didn't know what my sister did to me---so mum gave up and left.

For two hours, I cried under my blankets, honestly believing I was going to be burned alive and that no one cared.

I've been afraid of fire, ever since. For years, I couldn't even strike a match!

Part of the mansion was saved--the old ballroom, the remainder of it had to be rebuilt. The cat was lost, I believe, tho' Harry--kind man--evaded our queries and did his best to change the subject, because he knew how distressed we all would be. The day they knocked the big marble fireplace down--wow, it was like a bomb went off. Exploring the ruins of the chapel/ballroom, we found tons of black and white photos, scattered over the floor, for some reason...the bishop's pictures of Asian and black villagers, people we kids, in the age of only three television networks, no FM radio, and long before the internet and cable TV, barely were aware existed.

I am now partly over my fear of fire, but part of me never will be, I suppose.

I wrote my post title...and then the blog published my post! I definately have to get a new keyboard, sometime in the near future. This thing seems to be developing a mind of it's own.

I think I may have just damaged my rather carefully cultivated and rather stoic reputation as an uptight old maid.

The group at the pub tonight--a family act called "Tropical Explosion," originally from Trinidad and Tobago, were fantastic! A really fun night out--although a very breif one, as I do have an 8 hour long meeting/training session tomorrow.

It's a tiny little place, but it's nice. Tonight's only the third time I've ever gone in there, but the lady that owns the place recognized me, and waved hello. That was surprising. No bartender has ever done that, before. But then, being that I'm not a pub person and don't drink, I've not had much experience with bar-hopping (that's what we northeastern New Yorkers call a pub crawl).

I sat in the little Adriondack mountain themed pub (complete with a giant moose head staring at you from one wall), sipping my lime and soda (cheapest drink one can order), I was groovin' to the Carribbean beat of a steel drum and keyboard, and some very nice vocals from mum and daughter. The mum could really belt 'em out, too.

The pub's resident lush, a nice, happy lady--think she's Greek or something, was dancing by herself, and the rather stuffy people who came in--probably New Yorkers (from the big apple) in town to check out the new half-million dollar condos that were just built behind the pub street.

Well, these posh types studiously avoided the baseball capped beer-swilling locals, me, and the charming and utterly harmless pensioner. But let me tell you, she may be a a bit of a lush, but she has more class in her little finger, than the lot of them put together, let me tell you! Sorry, but since the age of 14, I've always found the nouveau riche to be both laughable and sad, and I find it really hard to take them seriously--well they take themselves seriously enough for ten people, actually.

Anyway, she was grooving to a pop/disco song, and trying to get others to dance with her, and they just stuck their noses in the air and walked back to the outdoor deck behind the pub. The locals were more interested in their beers, and the pensioner seemed so disappointed that no one would dance with her (her lady friend whom was with her seemed a bit shy about it)...so, even tho' I've literally not danced in about 30 years, I got up and danced with her--then her friend got over her shyness and joined us, and we had a good time.

Well, I say danced--I sort of shuffled, 'cos I don't actually KNOW how to dance...but, the shuffle-arm wave thing worked in the late 70's for me, so what the heck? When the music stopped, the old lady sincerely thanked me, and hugged me--that felt nice. First time I've been hugged too, since I can't remember when.

But, I'm an dedicated old maid, the librarian's daughter. I'm not supposed to go to bars and dance! What will happen to my reputation as an uptight old biddy who never dates and stays home with her cats all the time?

I didn't stay for the limbo show, as it wasn't going to be until about 10pm, and I'd gotten there a little before 7, and would have probably had to buy another drink, which I can't really afford right now...oh, they did find my wallet, by the way, in some shrubbery or weeds the walkway between Davidson's Pub & Brewery, and Wallabee's Jazz Bar. The theif left my useless library card--which is how they knew it was my wallet, but of course, my 75 dollars is long gone. But hey, I got my library card back--now all I have to do, is someday get to the public library at Corinth, NY to pay that 100 dollar fine for the books that were lost or stolen, so I can use it again.

________________________________________________________________________________

I pedaled home--that's another reason I left early, because with my night blindness getting slightly worse, my eyesight's not so hot between dusk and dawn, so I don't like to ride my bike after dusk, if I don't have to. Gosh, you can hear me coming though--that old bike's so full of rust, it sqeaks and groans with every turn of wheel or pedal. I really need to remember to get some WD-40 lubricant spray, next time I go to Tractor Supply Company.

Getting home, I found Boots waiting for me at the door--he was on the balcony when I left, so he likely heard me coming. He was delighted to see me. I picked him up and he buried his ginger head in my shoulder...he's such a love.

Pee-ewwww! A skunk (polecat) just sprayed in our neighbourhood, or was just hit by a car...ugh. Horrible smell. Burns your eyes and throat. Time to shut the windows.

I sat down in front of my computer, and checked my e-mails.

Oh god, not again.

I got an e-mail from some kid (at least I hope it was a kid), saying she got my e-mail address from my "website" (????), and she loves David so much and could I please (or rather, "please, please, please"), tell her where she can find his e-mail address?

I've not had one of these things in a while, and thought I'd finally heard the end of it. I was nice. I took the time to Google DT's agent's address, and e-mailed it to her, telling her he'd probably think more of it, if she took the time and effort to write him a nice, personal letter. Maybe send him a nice drawing or a poem or something personalized. Hey, I was young once

(Tho' I honestly don't think I ever even considered tracking down my favourite celebrity at home, or looking for a phone number or personal information, as far as I can remember--that aspect of DT fandom I find just a little strange--and a bit scary, that some people seem to be so closed off from the world around them, that he or she is utterly devoid of having any respect for other human beings, or any personal boundries either, that he or she would think it is perfectly OK for them to invade another person's privacy.)

Anyway, I am, as always, staggered to think ANYONE would assume I would know David Tennant. As I've said many times, even if such a thing were remotely possible (which of course, it isn't) the actor wouldn't EVER be mates with someone like me, not by any stretch of the immagination!

I just find these kids whom assume I might know the man, really sad--how desperate are they to meet this Scottish bloke, that they have to appeal to some total stranger, thousands of miles away? Why are they so desperate? I'm sure he's probably a nice gent, and sure, he's a wonderful actor--but he's just a bloke!

I saw a DT video on Youtube recently, where some girl posted a video titled, "David Tennant says "you bitch." Seriously. That was the title of some fan video.

Well, what the heck? He's a bloke, not a bliking saint! Yeah, he swears. 80% of the guys I know, swear, and a good portion of the girls too. Even I swear--but I don't want to, I try real hard not to, it's so incredibly low-brow and unlady-like. Still...do these people really think the actor is some kind of perfect stinking god-like figure? Do they not get that he poos and farts, picks his nose and belches, gets drunk and swears---and may even have experimented with drugs, for all I know--at the end of the day, Tennant is just a bloke, like a lot of other blokes....well, most blokes don't overact, but--you know what I mean. Crikey.

I'm off in a while. A co-worker works in a little South Street pub, and they are having a young limbo champion from the Carribbean there tonight, and it's free, so I told my co-worker I'd pop 'round to have a look in. Can't afford to buy a drink, so won't be staying long, but it's a nice early evening here--sun's shining and it's in the upper 70's F--- for a bike ride downtown, I reckon. And, I've never actually seen a live limbo demonstration...there's going to be a real Carribbean steel drum band there, as well. Should be a bit of fun, even if I am going by myself...again. Well, I shouldn't moan, I know. No one's forcing me to be an old maid, it's my own choice.

After coming back from the laundromat, I spent the remainder of the day, tidying the living room, reading, chatting online with one of my British friends, and adding/deleting some music from main playlist player (on Roasting David). Yawn. Not exactly an exciting day.

Long days the next two days, where I'll be working double shifts--something I've not done in over a year. I used to work both day and night and weekend shifts all week long, till' I took ill. Didn't bother me, really, but it obviously can take its toll on you, if you're not careful (or don't have good healthcare).

So, I'll be offline for a bit. Cheers.

I thought this was rather mean. Doing it once, fine. But to deliberately keep upsetting your pet, just to entertain the masses on YouTube...that is just--

1.what is one thing that will put a great big ole smile on your face?

Oh, lots of things. Off the top of my head, Dr Who. Dr Who always makes me smile--even the sad stuff leaves me happy--cos' I was without it for so long, to have it back again is something I truly cherish. Never felt this way about a mere television programme before, but then, there's nothing "mere" about Dr Who, to me. It came back into my life, pretty much at the darkest hours of my entire life, so maybe that's why I cherish it so, I don't know.

2.You're walking down the street toward a very familiar face. As you get closer you realize you do not remember this persons name at all. Do you speak with the chance that they'll want to stop and chat or do you pretend that you don't see the person?

I've had this happen before. I will smile and nod, of course. It would be churlish not to. And, up here in the north country where I'm living, we sometimes (depending on the other person's attitude/mood) will smile and nod at each other as we pass on the street, anyway, even if we're strangers.

3. Are you the Rock or the sponge of your household?
Bit of both, I suppose, since I'm the only one in my household (well, besides my three cats--they're a bit of both as well, I reckon).

4. You have gone over to a friends for dinner. You look down at your plate and notice a great big ole hair hanging out from inside your sandwich. What do you do. ?

I don't get invited to dinners or parties. The few times I've gone over to my friend's farm, I'm expected to make my own sandwiches, so it would be my hair. Hypothetically speaking though, I'd just pick the hair off the thing and have done with it. Saying something would be tacky and excessively ill-mannered.

5. If you HAD to name one....who would you say is your role model?

My mum, I guess.

6. Food: what did you eat yesterday?

Always the query in these memes, about my eating habits. Sheesh.

Well, on Saturday, breakfast was a slice of Swiss cheese melted on some toast. Lunch was a double cheeseburger and small fries from the dollar menu at the in-store McDonalds inside of Walmart. Dinner consisted of some lightly buttered slices of freshly baked (as in still warm) French bread, and some broccolli-cheddar soup.

7. When you shop at the supermarket, do you always shop exactly by a list or just go helter skelter and hope that you get home with most of what you need?

I go in looking for bargains in meats and main meals first, and plan my shopping for everything else, based on what dinners I'll be having. Sometimes I'll have a list, but often I find that what I wanted to have wasn't practical finacially, so I just sort of play it by ear, and see what sort of cheap meals I can scratch up for the month...tho' about two or three times a month, I'll buy something specific that I may want to make--new recipe I want to try, or an old favourite recipe or even a ready meal I'm fond of, then I'll bring a list, to remind me that I need to get stuff.

8. Six things you feel passionate about:

(Not listed in any sort of order, by the way)

1--The selfish, greedy, unjust and totally inhumane American health care system, that we presently have in this country.

2--Dr Who

3--horses/old saddles

4---writing/reading

5--courtesy

6--self-expression

9. Last four books you've read:

(not necessarily in order)

Guns of the Timberlands
Dr Who: Beautiful Chaos
Walden
Dark Horse

10. Last four songs you listened to:

Ask by The Smiths
Northwest Passage by Stan Rogers
In Love by The Proclaimers
Le Freak by Chic

I have to trundle off to the laundromat after a late breakfast. Dull Sunday. I bought a used lunch tote for 25 cents from my neighbour's lawn sale (that's where someone puts a lot of their unwanted stuff out on in their front yard, for people to buy)...tomorrow is a long shift at work, so I'll have to bring a packed lunch...'cept I just realized I've nothing to wrap my sandwich in. Well, I'll find something. Maybe I can dig up a plastic shopping bag.

The insulated lunch bag is a tad dusty, but the inside seems alright. I will rinse it out in soapy water later.

Boots is contentedly sitting on the chair on my balcony, people watching, and Flame is sitting in the sun, with her bad eye closed against the brightness soaking up the warmth..she loves sunbathing, she's such a girl.

Big ol' fat Charlie, my white and ginger cat that looks like a ten-pin bowling ball with fur, was sitting below the window. I said to him, "don't you want to go out?" He just looked up at me with an expression that said, "Yeah, but then I'll actually have to move off my arse and jump through a window, mum." So I picked him up and put him out there. He went and looked through the railing at the activity next door--then came back, plopped his bottom below the sliding window, and stared up me with his pale soulful eyes...."OK yeah mum, it's fresh air, that's nice. Can I come in now, please?"

According to scientists, human males may be fading out of the picture.

Females have two x chromosomes, and males have an x and a y. Put simply, the "y" chromosome in men, is where the 'design' for their repoductive system originates from.

Unfortunately for the guys, the y chromosome seems to be deteriorating. In a few million or billion years...depending on evolution, the male of our species may no longer be able to reproduce.

Seems the male y chromosome used to contain as many genes as the x chromosome, but now, whereas the x still has 1000 genes, the y now has less than 80. Ouch. Someone call Viagra and tell them to send the truck.

Of course, if the human race is still around, they'll probably get around that with cloning or sperm implants, or some futuristic equivilent.

Scientists stress that it's far too early to tell if there is anything truly significant to the deteriorating of the y chromosome, and aren't even sure exactly what this occurance means, other than it's probably the result of mutations, deletions and anomolies. The y chromosome is different from other chomosomes, in that it can't swap genes, like x chromosomes can.

Will this mean that in future, women will rule the genetic roost? Or will this result in a strong natural selection, possibly ensuring a balanced population of male and female? Only time will tell, and by then, all of us reading this, will be dust, beyond memories, we will be considered ancient people--so does all of this really matter?

My palm was quite itchy, tonight.

There's an old superstition that an itchy palm means one is coming into money.

In my case, it just means that I got bitten by an insect.

A tiny moth, at that.

Moths bite?

Who knew?

This one does, anyway. Stings a wee bit, too.

Itches slightly, as well.

Bleurgh! I hate moths. Don't know why, but they creep me out.

Time to get out the fly swatter...or should I say, moth swatter?

One of America's best journalist's in its entire history, has just passed away.

Walter Cronkite, long-time CBS news anchor and well-respected journalist, died this week, at the age of 92.

As far as I'm concerned, Cronkite's passing is the end of journalism as it should be, as it must be.

Cronkite retired 28 years ago, after many decades as one of the best reporters in the United States. It was Cronkite's grave voice I heard, when I was merely a toddler, announcing the death of President John F. Kennedy.

That's the difference between Walter Cronkite and most TV news anchors and reporters: nearly every news story was delivered in a grave and sincere manner. There was none of this shallow crap, where the reporter or anchor austerly delivers a horrendous news story, then smiles and goes on to the next story in a chipper and upbeat manner, as if the bad news beforehand, meant absolutely nothing.

In a nutshell, Walter Cronkite took the news seriously. It wasn't about ratings, promoting political agendas, pandering to advertisers or keeping the masses entertained, it was about telling the unvarnished truth, in a businesslike and unbiased manner. Period.

Cronkite was one the biggest champions of democracy this country has ever known, since the days of Jefferson, Adams and Thomas Paine.

That's something America will never get from cable; CNN, Fox News, MSNBC or any of the four commerical networks. Never. That's what I thought, when I read of Cronkite's passing: Never will we Americans hear the unvarnished truth again.

Farewell Walter, bless.

And if you must know, tho' I'm sorry they both passed on, truth is--no disrespect to the dead star, but to me and the rest of humanity, one Walter Cronkite was worth 100,000 Michael Jackson's.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Cronkite

I just now read where David Tennant is rumoured to be in the running to play the lead in the next Hobbit film, Bilbo Baggins.

Erm--isn't Tennant just a tad tall, to be a Hobbit? How the hell are they going to make that plasuable?

I mean, I can see him doing the character, that's not the problem. The problem is that a Hobbit is supposed to be SHORT. From his photos and on film, I'd say Tennant is a bit of a long drink of water---what would he do, play the whole role on his blinking knees?

I guess this new speculation came about 'cos the guy who makes the Hobbit films will be at the same convention as Tennant, next Sunday, in San Diego, CA.

This convention has sparked all sorts of rumours: Tennant's going to be Bilbo, he's going to make a feature-length Who film, etc...but--couldn't it just be a simple convention appearence? Couldn't he really be only just promoting the BBC series?

Sigh.

OK, Washington is asking other nations for help fighting terrorism.

The politicians say that they want to battle terrorists to save innocent Americans lives.

If this were really true, if politicians really cared about preserving American lives--why don't we have NHS? Why are they fighting health care reform so hard?

What's the difference between Americans suffering and dying from terrorist bombs, and Americans suffering and dying from lack of proper medical care?

Would someone care to explain that to me?

To me, through the eyes of my own life experiences, and the experiences of others I've been acquainted with, the difference between an American suffering from a terror attack and an American suffering from lack of proper (or any) health care, is that the person in the terror attack will be 100 times more likely to either die faster, or get help quicker. No prolonged deaths or months of suffering horrendous pain, like those not fortunate enough to afford private care.

To me, those that fight against health care for those that don't have it or can't get comprehensive treatment (medical/dental/optical/prescriptions, etc.)...how are these selfish greedy and shallow bastards, any different than some terrorist?

Under our present broken health care system, millions of Americans would be better off at the hands of a terrorist. America, a great nation? Horse pucky.

I got some junkmail--well, I get a lot of junk mail--in my e-mail box. This one was trying to be clever: "your friend wants you to visit "bodypilates.whatever."

No, any friend of mine knows that I'd stop talking to her, if she tried to push pilates on me. Even if I wasn't disabled (I can just walk, and cannot run at all), I would rather suck on a dead toad, than be caught out doing some stinking trendy exercise.

Playwrite27 doesn't do trendy, yeah? By now, most of my friends should know that.

And as for exercise, well, I walk or ride my bike to work everyday, pedal or walk to the laundromat, went horseback riding last Sunday...and, since I don't own a car, I generally walk or pedal to wherever I've got to go, unless I take a cab or bus--and even with a bus, I still have to do some walking, as a general rule.

Pilates....pfft. No way.

I've just been robbed.

I went downtown after work, intending to stroll around some of the shops, before pedaling over to the Hyde Collection to take in the new Degas exhibit.

Strolling around a little shop, some fairly well-dressed guy bumped against my back, almost knocking me down. He said "Oh, I'm sorry," and walked off. I didn't think anything of it...until about five minutes later, when I felt like something wasn't quite right.

Then, it dawned on me. Slapping my four jeans pockets, a ball of ice slipped into my stomach, as I realized: my wallet was gone.

I went to the shop clerk, told him what happened, the little jerk adoopted this "so what do you want me to do about it?" attitude. I asked for the manager or owner, was told she wasn't available. I asked if they had CCTV cameras, clerk-jerk said he (doh) wasn't sure. So, I told him to phone the police. "What for?"

Cos' I've just been robbed you idiot, and that what most people born with some grey matter between their ears do, when they've been robbed.

So, the ever-so-effectual city police showed up, about 20 minutes later. A bored officer took my information....asked if I had a description, but since my back was mostly turned, all I could tell him was the guy's shirt and hair color, as I never saw the theif's face. The officer actually asked then, "Are you sure the man robbed you, and you just didn't lose it (the wallet) somewhere?"

Jeez. I sighed and told him that it was definately in my back pocket when I went into the shop, and it wasn't there now, and it's not lying around on the floor anywhere (I did look)...and the guy did have his hand on my back briefly, when he bumped into me.

The cop just said that he had my information, and they'd contact me if they found anything. The officer didn't look around, didn't ask about security, he didn't even talk to the clerk!
I grew up around cops, in my home village--used to even hang out at the station sometimes, when I was young...but these guys, while some of them are excellent officers--don't get me wrong--there's one or two gems in the lot, yet some of the city officers I find an embarrassment, and feel they might make good rent-a-cops, but they stink as police officers. Their people skills are rubbish and they often behave more like thugs or dull-witted clerks, than police professionals.

Anyway, I just lost $75. That was a chunk of money I'd put aside to pay a bill, that will now have to come out of next week's pay packet.

The only good thing, is that it was my "spare" wallet, and not the one with all my social security, insurance and other important cards, in it. My "main" wallet has $14 in it as well, so at least I won't be totally broke for the next 6 1/2 days.

I am not having a good day here, people.

When I was growing up, at our little common (elementary) school, every year we had a physical education night.

On that night, the school's gym teacher would have all us kids out in the school gymnasium, our parents lining the old wooden bleechers against the walls, watching their brats being put through their paces like ponies in a gymkhanna show.

The end cumulated in a group exercise session--running in place, sit-ups, etc, to an old 33 lp record, playing on the tannoy. The song was called (I kid you not), "Go You Chicken Fat, Go!"

Also, individual grades were expected to do other things; climb ropes, jump on trmapolenes, etc., and...run 2 laps around the gym.

Well, I had a unique "talent": I could run and kick my arse with my heels at the same time. I just did it to get some larfs from the other kids (God, was I desperate for attention, or what?)

Well, I got dared to do it in front of the crowd...so like an idiot, I did.

Everyone laughed...but it didn't feel particularly amusing to me.

After, mum only said, "Why did you do THAT?" Dad wouldn't speak to me at all. My sister--waiting until mum was well out of earshot, nudged me and said, "Everyone thinks you're a retard, now."

Of course, I knew mum would have a fit if she'd heard either of us using that sort of bigoted/rude word, so I yelled, "MOM! M___ just called me a retard!"

Boy, did she get it! Revenge is sweet.

I adore this group, their vocals are just out of this world!

Back in the early to mid 2000's, when I was a college student, a couple of my English professors told me that I had a very distinct "voice" in my writing. Voice of course, is, at it's most basic level, your own personality--or, if you believe in such things, your very soul, coming through the words you write on a blank page.

I suppose everyone would have his or her own interpretation of voice, perhaps.

What is my "voice?" Not a clue.

Perhaps at times, it's a bit formal and pretentious? Perhaps even sounding a tad pastoral, at times. That may come from the fact that, as a teen, I had been given that multi-volume set of British Poets from the early 1800's, and reading Emerson's "Essays," I don't know. These works did have a profound influence on me, in my teens and early 20's.

I'd found a school book from the early 1800's as well, that was full of beautiful writings; not just Goldsmith, Addison, etc., but simple writings from unknown authors...this book held lessons in morals, but, the language used, was amazing! Poetry and short essays--even historical lessons, whose words flowed and twirled off my tongue, oh, it was...amazing. I wanted to write like that! I wanted to use the blank page and a pen as my canvas to paint a portrait of words. I was utterly enchanted.

Mother nature, being outdoors in the woods and fields around my home, walking besides streams and exploring deep and dark ravines, certainly contributed to how I write. Being out there, in the stillness and gentleness of nature, taught me to observe, to think, to open my mind and my heart to the world around me, to let it inside me for a wee while--and sometimes, those little moments have stayed with me forever.

At dusk, lying back on the grass of Cemetery Hill, watching the sunset over the low hills of the Upper Hudson Valley, listening to the ever-changing music of a mockingbird, I was absorbing the world around me, and the poetry of the living world, became the poetry of my heart and mind.

It's not always easy for me to write what I'm feeling tho'. I struggle to hold on to a moment, a feeling...finding exactly the right word, the right flow, to paint my pictures. Sometimes it's there, sometimes...not. I remember reading a quote by Gustave Flaubert: "I am like a violinist whoese ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within" (his mind).

Sometimes I felt that my voice was outdated. I was told several times in school that my writing was too "old-fashioned" for the contemporary world. So, I had to learn to find some sort of compromise, continually, through trial and error (thank goodness for those red pen corrections), to re-create myself.

I think, for every writer--well, for many, at least--that one's voice is never etched in stone. I'd like to think writing is like a continual experiment. Actually, I fought changing my style, my voice. Changing how I wrote, felt to me, like I was being asked to change my identity. I feared losing the "me" in my writing. But then I learned to give and take a little, and I think it only helped to improve my writing.

The one downfall of this, however, was that it took some of the "fun" out of writing. I mean, that I had to work a whole lot harder at writing, when I had to change how I wrote to suit the "norm." I really, really didn't want to bend, truth to tell. And, I didn't, not totally. Eventually I found a sort of balance.

Honestly, I don't know if learning "how" to write (sort of) made me a better writer, or worse. I did learn (sort of) the value of brevity over being long-winded. I do tend to be very long-winded, in my writing.

In this day and age of "I don't want it now, I want it yesterday, and I want it to be easy enough not to require much effort on my part," it's not a friendly world for the long-winded writer. Modern people hate long paragraphs, or flowery writing. They want you to get to the point, they want to be entertained on every page.

Well, maybe that's too cynical, but that's how I feel sometimes. Especially when I pick up a book from 200 years ago--or even 100 years ago, and see the football field long difference between writing today, and writing in our past. It makes me sad, sometimes.

In the last few years, I feel especially sad. I don't feel like my old self much any longer, when I write. I feel like I'm losing myself, like I'm getting out of practice. I get no truly constructive feedback on my writing--not from knowlegedable people.

When I first began posting fan fiction, a lot of the feedback I got was from snarky people who seemed more likely that they had their heads up their bottom's, then had a basic grasp of proper writing. Like the twit that snarkily scolded me for beginning a paragraph with a quote. What a load of poo! Obviously that particular twit has never actually read a modern novel. (I was just reading a book that often began sentences with quotes, and obviously, if this is an author of more than one published book, it's OK to start a paragraph with a quote.) Duh.

I was very fortunate to have had a few professors whom guided my writing carefully along, correcting where it was needed, telling me when I was doing something right and wrong non-judgementally, and with genuine caring for how I developed. Gosh, I really do miss that, more than you could ever know. I don't guess I'll ever have that again. I've been left to my own devices now, and gosh, don't sometimes I feel like I've been thrown to the wolves, or am at sea, and floudering in the towering waves.

Sometimes--well, a lot of times, writing feels a hell of a lot like work. But then, there's times when magic happens; when I'd get a spark, and my pen would seem to float across the page like it had a mind of its own. When my words feel right and nearly perfect--if anything is ever truly perfect--sometimes it seemed, and seems still, that someone else is holding the pen or typing the keys. I look at what I wrote, and say, "Wow! Did I just write THAT?" I am chuffed when that happens...but alas, it is all too rare, I'm afraid.

It's a rainy Friday night here in Armpit, U.S.A...erm--I mean "Hometown, U.S.A." (which is how my little "city" laughably describes itself.

Well, if a typical USA town is largely inhabited by overweight, grossly undereducated, boozing, tattooed, Bambi-shooting rednecks in baseball caps and pickup trucks--and don't even get me started on what the men are like---a city, whose heads are permanently stuck up their bums, and who genuinely think the recession is all Hilary Clinton's fault, and that George W. Bush got his orders stright from the Almighty himself, then I guess we are a typical American town--erm, city.

Someone puh-lease get me out of this hell on earth!

Actually, this is probably one of the most "normal" cities in the states. People live here, pretty much as they've always lived--maybe a few more tattoos and piercings, a few more techno-gadgets, but really, it's not much different here, than in the 70's.

I took a trolley bus to Lake George pier for my weekly ice cream, got back on for the return trip and stopped at wallyworld (aka: Walmart), picked up a few items, got my hair cut--yes! Nancy G. got herself a haircut--my THIRD one this year!

You know, I'm 48 years old, and I've never had three haircuts in the course of a year--ever?
Usually one or two a year was all I could manage--mum used to trim my hair for me, or one of the neighbours. Generally, as far as visiting a beauty salon went, I either couldn't afford it (before Walmart's $15 cut, it used to cost $25 for a cut where I lived--not counting tip), or when I did have the money, I was just plain too busy to spare the time. So, in some ways my life is getting a bit more "normal" again...little ways, but still, it's nice, no complaints from me!

Gosh, it does make me feel good, though, having my haircut. My stinking hair is so--ugh. Can't do a damn thing with it. My farm lady friend keeps pestering me to wear it longer, and wear a hairband in it--but truth to tell, I hate hairbands, they drive me bonkers, for some reason--have done, ever since I was a little girl. Mum used to make me wear my hair in pony tails, then tried me with the hairband thing...used to take it off as soon as I got to school. My hair was mum's nemisis. She tried curlers under a home hair dryer (remember those, back before there were hair blowers? You had to sit with this plastic thing over your head, blowing hot air on you.)

I got a cab home--he had two passengers. A dull-witted girl, one of those foreign exchange students with an I-pod stuck in her ears, who acted like she was in a half-coma...don't know really, if she was dull, or exhausted, or shy, but she kept mumbling so no one could understand her, and was so out of it, the driver had to poke her once, to get a response out of her, when he asked her a question. I've got nothing against I-pod users, except that jeez, some of them so totally zone out when they're wearing them, that they become absolute zombies. Wow, glad I don't own one. I like being aware of my surroundings, thank you very much.

Anyway, I went home the looooong way. I'd just come from Lake George (which is roughly 7 miles north of where I live)..got off at Walmart, took the cab home--which then went back to Lake George...stopping first to pick up a passenger, a charming pensioner from Germany, truly lovely person. Well, we dropped off dull girl in Lake George, drove on north towards the village to get on the exit for the motorway, which we then took south, about 9 miles, to West Glens Falls, where we dropped the little old lady off at a nursing home where she was going to visit a friend. Then, we went north again, to my part of the city (north Glens Falls)..all told, it took me 45 minutes by cab to get home--I live about 3 miles from the Walmart, by the way.

That's not the unhappy part. When I got home, I found that an item I bought was missing. I paid $7 for it, so I wasn't about to just forget it, as might if it were a dollar or two. I hate it when cashiers forget to hand you one of your bags.

I called the courtesy desk, and they have my bag. They wanted me to come tonight for it, but I still had to pedal over to the laundromat with a few day's worth of washing, so I told them I'd be by tomorrow afternoon.

You see, going back there, will either cost me $12.50 round trip by cab (to go three blinking miles), or by bus, which would easily take 1 to 1/2 hours (ditto about the three miles). Sometimes not having a car really, really, really, sucks.

Also, the meeting today got out early, so I work till' 1pm tomorrow...well, I guess I can stand it. God, I can't wait to get off this sales programme and back into collections or whatever. These people I'm calling really suck, most of them.

Snarky women have such ugly personalities, and men who are control freaks or sarcastic or whingy are just plain infants. I cannot help but wonder what these types of people would think of themselves, if they could hear themselves talk on the telephone?

Probably they wouldn't think, if their attitudes are anything to go by?

Well, one more day, then I have Sunday off. We're scheduled to work 8+ hours with the new client for Monday and Tuesday. I like learning, I've missed it sorely.

Our British CEO ran the meeting again today. She's got good people skills, and can be very gregarious, but still, underneath it all, she's got a bit of an ego, and sort of lectured us on our credit skills. I vaugely get the feeling, that maybe she thinks we're sort of idiots. Perhaps she's right, I don't know. I know I don't always feel very smart. Meh, the day I think I know everything, that's the day I become a republican--bleh!

In the news this morning (and this actually made national headlines), a man in the neighbouring state of Vermont, stopped at a traffic light. In the lane next to him, was a state trooper. The state policeman glances over at the man in the car...and spies a glass of beer sitting on the hood (bonnet) of the car.

He pulled over the man and gave him a breathalizer test...yup, the berk was drunk as a skunk, and arrested for DWI (driving while intoxicated)---

---but no word on whether he was charged with the open container law, which allows authorities to bust someone with an open container of alcohol inside their car...but if the open container is ON the car, does the law still apply? Drink driver's lawyer may find a loophole, with that one.

Idiot.

OK people, if you insist on being a drink driver, here's a hint: leave the beer behind in the bar, yeah?

You know, every night, after midnight sometime, the whole room here shakes back and forth. What the???

The other day, I was sitting on the loo, and it began shaking back and forth. This has been going on for months, now.

Another tenant says he thinks it's the rotten plumbing, that it's the pipes every time someone flushes. Dunno', it rocks me and my computer desk back and forth. Very disconcerting!

Someone else suggested that maybe someone's got a washing machine going through the spin cycle--but there's no washer-dryer hookups in the building, except in the cellar, and that's kept locked.

Yet another person made the dry comment that the people below me might be going at it like bunnies in heat. I'm not hearing any passionate sounds from below, so no, don't think so...but I suppose anything's possible.

The bricks are coming away from my balcony wall, and my floor in here is dished--my corner shelf is against the corner of one wall, and leans decidedly to the right. God help me if there ever is a strong earthquake, the cats and I'd be dead meat, in here.