Raise your hand if you are surprised

1 - By the answer
or
1- By how long it took me to post a quiz answer

I swipe this from my dear blog buddy Ancrene. The results that surprise me is that I score so much higher as Data than she did. Not to imply that she is unemotional, far far from that! Just that I score SO high as Data yet I am SO Deanna Troi, who TGF thinks is a tad hot, so it all works over here at Casa de Cedar. I suspect that I scored higher as Kirk because I answered very positively to kissing pretty girls. Of course in my head I translated it to women, some quite butch but handsome which is the flip of pretty in butch-femme speak. Right?

Your results:
You are Deanna Troi

Deanna Troi 90% Jean-Luc Picard 60% Will Riker 60% Uhura 55% Beverly Crusher 55% Spock 52% Worf 50% Geordi LaForge 50% James T. Kirk (Captain) 50% An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 45% Data 41% Chekov 35% Mr. Scott 35% Mr. Sulu 35% Leonard McCoy (Bones) 30%

You are a caring and loving individual. You understand people's emotions and you are able to comfort and counsel them.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Test

Please note NaBloPoMo Judges (now with edits)

I did not miss a day, nor did I post twice on Friday. Damn this blogger. I wrote a draft, the bones as it were of Love Quotes in Friday but really filled it out, and published on Saturday.

Damn, Damn and Double Damn.

No more drafting in blogger. Clearly. Even though it's simpler.

Damn!

Just for that, this will count as Sunday's post.

Unless I get inspired later.

So there. Nanner nanner boo boo.

* Thanks to my loverly, ever so loverly pal, Rabbitch, the post is now dated corrected!.

Love Quotes

It is true that I go on little binges of doing quizzes, as any long time reader (long being highly relative) knows. I am both a pusher of these products (according to such stellar readers as Wen, Heather, and Jennie) and a buyer looking to my pals for the next fix. The truth is I take way more of these things than I have printed here because they like playing computer tetris, they are a stress reliever, a time waster, and just stupid fun, however they do not really make for great reading most of the time.

The answer for many of these quizzes are, like the endlessly fun Magic 8-Ball of my youth, more random than meaningful but every once awhile there is something more personal in the answer. Not in the answer is meant just for you kind of personal, but that it triggers something deeper than a blogthing, tickle, or quizilla should have any right to but when it does, it borders on mystical -something no one could really call the internet, not if they were sane.

The quote that the magic of blogthings gave me was:

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.

This is witty little saying but rather appropriate because for me not because it is a sentiment I carry in my heart but because it references an ongoing joke TGF and I had while we were long distance. In our case it was more about using kisses to shut the other one up because we were rambling on about something that bored the hell out of the other one. Likely candidates to bore her: knitting, people she didn't know, recipes, and did I mention knitting? Topics that would hold me for a bit but cause a drifting of attention: virus codes, computer innards, people I didn't know - have I mentioned she is Geek Extraordinaire? Not as romantic an image as my blogthings quote, I grant you, but very us. It is one of those inside jokes that help form the foundation of a relationship, one of those private witticisms that one can use to break a stormy patch, which I think make them way more useful than anything an internet quiz can give you. Sure you may generate an inspiring quote from this quiz or others like it and put it over your desk or bathroom mirror, but odds are against something random like that becoming that restful shore that you both find comfort in against the sometimes roiling seas of love.

Slowing conquering the mountain

There are gains being made, slow but hopefully sure and steady.

Literally holding my breathe a bit, and chewing on a thumbnail, riddled with trepidation I decided to look at my evaluation on the Research course. The professor marked as not satisfactory but excellent in several categories such as:
- Breadth of coverage
- Creativity in approach
- Connected self reflection in course material
- Organization and development of ideas
and, Sunny will be SO pleased
- Grammar and punctuation

Not so surprisingly I did not do quite so well on APA style issues and in his assessment of my comprehension of quantitative research - I agree! He wrote some other nice things that definitely gave me a boost. This is just the thing I needed to keep me focused on school because let's face it, I need all the help and bolstering I can get to make progress on my highly ambitious goals there.

Next up, on Wednesday I got a call from The Agency saying they had two referrals for clients for me to choose from. A 13 year boy in a nearby (relatively speaking) location or a 15 year old distinctly further away. I asked my contact person who she would choose and she replied "the girl". So I said okay. Nervous anxiety floated to the surface immediately. One, can I be even close to successful again. Two, what will she be like, will I connect with her and her guardian (her grandmother). Three, how will I adjust my schedule to add in all the freaking writing this will require in addition to my outrageous academic goals? Scheduling? Ha. Less web time? I can feel the withdrawal already and am not sure I can do it without klonopin.

Yesterday was my phone interview with House o' Sperm. It went okay, though I was less than pleased with parts of my performance but apparently the Executive Director felt otherwise because she informed me that she would like to proceed on to the next round. My interview time, tentatively is in three weeks. Yes, three weeks, November 30th. After that I would have a meeting with the peer group and either that day or another I would sit in for a bit to see what the job is really like. So, even if everything in the world works out and it's all a mutual love fest, I would not begin working there until the middle of December. Good thing The Agency has a client for me.

Later that day, really right after the phone interview I went to The Agency for a staff meeting and group supervision. I was assured that my client and I are a really good match. Going over cases was really good, and I got to exercise some brain muscles in a much more real way than school work provides - always a good thing. Afterwards was the best however. I reviewed the referral file and I do feel good about my new client. But. But. But. It gets better, oh so much better. I got a check, which I promptly slipped into my bag. After we broke up our groups, my supervisor, a Jewish Santa Claus of a guy - such a sweetie - told me to open the envelope up. I had just figured it was my replacement check for the first two weeks of August pay that disappeared into the void that is that office. Given the fiscal situation at Casa de Cedar I was grateful for anything at all. It seemed a small thing and most of the other staff had left, so I opened it. My eyes FLEW open at the amount. Jewish Santa explained that they had followed up on my question about getting paid at a lower hourly amount than I had expected. Apparently I had been underpaid for at least some of my months there and I knew they were seeing how much retroactive pay they could procure. Seriously I hadn't thought it would amount to much at all. This check will take my checking account out of the red and put it firmly in the almost black. I hugged Jewish Santa and am amazed I didn't burst into tears because given the situation, moneywise right now, it would have been totally appropriate.

In other news TGF went to an info meeting about a job and felt really good about and was told in hushed tones that it was a no-brainer that she would get hired. However this too is a long process in terms of hiring. So in the meantime she has reworked her ad to go back on craigslist as the magnificent computer tech of your dreams.

We are also getting excited by the prospect of Greg and Janet coming to act as our house guests over the Thanksgiving holiday. I am really excited for them to meet our newest additions, Saana and Marcel. Since Greg's eyes glaze over when I write about knitting, I am thinking of making him sit though an L-O-N-G interview with my yarn stash and knitting magazines. Yep, I'm evil and he knows it, loves me anyway.

To quote various pop culture, that's all the news from Casa de Cedar. At least what's printable :-)

The other anniversaries

When young the months of the year have few associations, mostly days off from school, your birthday, the major holidays your family celebrates, mostly benign. As you get older, memories of events get added in, with some month’s being laden more than others. There are months that have lots of great moments to remember when they come around, but somewhere after you have lived a few decades, it becomes hard to find a month that doesn’t have at least one bad association. Sure, every month holds happiness in a day or a string of days but there are months that hold images, words that echo outlining the scars that fade with a flip of the calendar but never go away.

A very long time ago November just meant Thanksgiving, seeing family. When I was quite young it was hosted at Cousin Fritzi’s house on Long Island (Kings Point maybe?)– the part of the family that had money. There were two grand pianos in the living room, on the lower level were maid quarters and a dressing room for the pool parties we had in June. Every year there were gifts, as if it were Christmas but being Jewish we made no such reference, for the young children. One year I was too sick to go and my parents brought home the doll that I would have been given by Fritzi herself had I not a raging fever. I think was about 5 years old. While I was happy to still receive my toy, even then, I missed the experience of trays of hors d'oeuvre passed around by women in lovely starched uniforms allowing me to feel as though I was in a movie from the forties.

In my house politics were a hot topic. I was taken to anti-war protests and women’s liberation demonstrations, our house was among the first subscribers to Ms. Magazine, thus November became about elections as well. I ached to be older enough to go into the voting booth, tugging the curtain around me and pulling levers, making an impact. Ah, youth. The first election I voted in my candidate lost. Every year I have hope, but plan for the lesser result.

Then November became about my siblings. Yes plural. The year I turned eleven my stepmother unexpectedly gave birth to twins. Everyone just thought she was carrying large, neither she nor my father are exactly small folks. When folks asked if they had a boy or a girl, my father had fun saying “a them”. So then the month became a new birthday to celebrate and marked the beginning of my identity as an older sister.

There November sat for years, decades even, as I cannot think of anything else that carries the weight of visceral memories. Now November marks the beginning of a season of rollercoaster changes and deep love. In 2004, I flew to Ohio to meet TGF, gather necessary belongings (later things would arrive via a moving company), chief among them Grace, the feline grand dame of our household now, and drive west. We left with the Purple Beast packed to her gills (or whatever the equivalent is for a car) on Election Day, after TGF voted of course (I had voted by absentee ballot). We crossed the country listening to various elections results in the car during the day, looking online at night in hotels to check our respective “home” returns – horrified by the presidential results. We whispered plans, and shouted our nervousness. Tuesday this year was Election Day and the two year anniversary of our arrival to the Bay Area. How did that happen? Two years already? Or is only? Mostly it’s both with these types of feelings, in my experience. There is no way to square the levels of intimacy achieved with the glaring levels of growth still needed to make a relationship blossom.

Last fall developed a new level of memories that I really thought I could live without but a year later I am not sure I feel quite the same way. In the middle of October last year my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer*. There is no way to know how one will process, assimilate that sort of information and every individual goes through the experience in a unique way. I was blown away by how it affected me. By twists and turn I told myself it wasn’t that big, that things pointed to the fairly minor in the world of cancer, that last part was true, but my emotional life shivered in the warm sun and left me tired but unable to sleep. November 8, 2005 my mother had a mastectomy and the next day, per her request, I flew east to take care of her for two weeks. In part I handled it well, took care of business when I needed to regarding my mother, however school fell deeper into the abyss. There was a deepening of connection between my mother and me, a clarification of boundaries, and a huge learning experience of what we do when we are faced with something we cannot prepare for.

Once again it is hard to know whether to think of it as a year already or only. TGF remarked that she could not fathom that a whole year has passed because that time is so frozen for her. This November becomes the first year that we will count how many years cancer free. This is year one and all signs point to no cancer and we all breathe a bit easier. Of course the statistics say the real margins are two years and then five years. So while I am breathing well right now, I realize that we still have another year, another November before something like safe returns. Another year before I can start to fully believe again that my mother will always be at the other end of the phone, that she will always talk about one day being up for traveling to see me (she has some issues that have nothing to do with last year), that I will always laugh at her puns, that I can hear her say “I love you” the way only a mother can. Because the reality is that until we lose a parent, we hold a belief they will always be there, though logically, rationally we know it’s not true. It is one the childlike things that guide us and hold tethered to a foundation that we need to launch from daily. I learned that I will handle losing that foundation but I prefer it to be a date very far away.

November represents new levels of beginnings, changes, and endings thanks to the last two years. In marks now how we guide our destiny, how fate intervenes, how karma can both seduce us and bite us in the ass.

(*For new readers, Sunny’s cancer had not spread to lymph nodes, she did do one of the two recommended courses of chemo and is in good shape overall.)

Lacevember Group Activity

So over at Lacevember they have one of those "if you could be a yarn what kind of yarn would you be" list of questions. Truth be told if it were just for the sake of answering, I'm not sure I would because that would make me even more of a joiner-inner which I am not, despite current appearances. However there is a prize attached of yarn I crave - a skein of Schaefer Anne from Simply Socks Yarn Company who I believe is who sells another yarn I am eying for another surprise project I have in the works. Luscious looking yarn and well, wouldn't it be cool if I won?

So without further ado, my submission to the pressures of the group.

The Knitting Questions, or The Usual SuspectsHow long have you been knitting? In total maybe 3 years, for real, just over a year. The total includes a episode of craftiness from decades ago and that number is too horrifying to put down.

How did you Learn? I taught myself, both times. Mostly from books, a little online. I still suspect I really am doing twisted knits and purls rather than the “real” thing.

Favorite thing about knitting? One thing? Surely you jest. Making gifts for no reason. It is soothing, mostly. Makes my fidgeting look productive and less like I have ADD. It's magical to take this stringy stuff and produce wearable objects.

Knitting lace for how long? Not sure I really have started yet ;-)

Favorite thing about knitting lace? It looks pretty when other people do it.

The Yarn Questions, or Flash Your Stash

Favorite lace yarn? Too new to say. I learn toward subtly variegated or solids.

Favorite lace colour?

You ask that like I have a favorite colour for anything.

Technique or Show Us Your Skillz

Straights or Circulars? Hm, hard one but I given that I don’t ID as straight it would odd to pick straight needles, though some of my best needles are straight.

Lace knitting trick? Tell me yours so I can steal, ahem, I mean, learn some.

Lifelines? Haven’t used any yet but I’m thinking I really need to start after the other night. I’ve heard great things about dental floss. Or was that for cutting cakes. So many uses for that dang stuff. Wires or pins? Wires would required a purchase with non-existent funds, so the answer is pins, on my area rug or twin bed.

Lace knitting track? Tell me yours so I can steal, ahem, I mean, learn some.

Wires or pins? Wires would required a purchase with non-existent funds, so the answer is pins, on my area rug or twin bed.

Pattern, or Can You Follow Directions

Shawls or lacey items? The difference would be……

Triangle, rectangle, or circular shawls? When I’ve made some of each, I let you know.

Charts or printed directions? I am trying to learn charts but dang!

Favorite lace I’ve knit? Rabbit Tracks because it’s done.

Favorite lace I want to knit? Oh dear, once again you think I can narrow things to one. Birch, Kiri, Ribbed Leaves, Branching Out, and lots and lots I’ve seen places.

Just Fun, Yup That’s Right, Just For Fun

Favorite jelly bean flavor? I’m not much for the jellied bean, but I would have to say “buttered popcorn”.

What do I know about Eric the Red? When he used to come over he drank those HUGE cans of Fosters Beer.

Coke, classic or with lime? Did you learn nothing from your other “favorite” questions? Depends on my mood and perhaps what I am eating.

Holiday Carols? Banned from public airwaves, particularly when bastardized for commercials!

Definition of irony? Oh, don’t make me answer this! My mother is an ex-English professor and I hate to make her cringe.

# of Licks to the Center for a Tootsie Roll Pop? At least 30 more than TGF can manage before biting down.

Why is your cat always puking in front of your son’s bedroom door? I don’t know, when was the last time made them play together.

My Superhero Power is? I can fly.

Luxury Laundry Room tile colour? Oh that’s hard. Only one colour, have you learned NOTHING from my previous answers.

For Dinner Tonight? Since you’re coming over, I thought you were bringing the grub.

What is clogging your children’s bathtub drain? Clearly it’s toilet paper. Next time use a fine mesh strainer.

For Readers in the NYC Area

My amazing friend Janet Morgan is participating in an art show. She is one my favorite people ever!

Artist’s Illustrated Talk

Janet Morgan talks about her exuberant artwork, and the influence of Middle Eastern Belly Dance,

the dance which "makes the music visible."

At the Tabla Rasa Gallery - Saturday November 11^th at 2pm

TABLA RASA GALLERY http://tablarasagallery.com/ 224 48 Street, Brooklyn, NY 11220
Sunset Park Section of Brooklyn. North end of "R" train to 45th Street exit.

If you didn’t make it to Janet’s recent show Goddesses at Microcosm Gallery at the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors

you can see it at http://janetmorgan.net/microcosm.html

and check out the newly updated Morgan’s Supreme Beings: The God and Goddess Project

Now with 65 deities!

In which our heroine is delayed

It couldn't last, I knew that, but I ask you would it have been so terrible for it to last a whole day? Or at least a full eight hours, like work day worth of joy?

It is true, I was giddy, positively giddy I tell you with the events of the morning. Research course - over and done. House o' Sperm definitely interested. With great restraint I waited a whole 3 and a half minutes before showering my news to Ruth while our dogs romped. My voice was at least 10 decibels louder than normal so thrilled was I. We talked, walked, petted dogs, ours and others in a particularly spectacular day at Point Isabel. The temperatures were in the high 60's, it was sunny, a slight breeze - short sleeve and sandal weather which is why I was wearing exactly those items.

Upon arriving home, settling the dog - he was a bit energized by the walk today despite romping with Piccolo, his new pal CeCe, a pair of stunning Great Danes and some others, I sat down to check my email and almost jumped out of my seat when I saw a new email from House o' Sperm. So exciting. Until I actually read the damn thing. It appears that while they certainly are interested this will be a longer process than I or my checkbook anticipated. Apparently the head of hiring (and possibly other things) would like to do a phone interview this week but than she is going on vacation. For TWO weeks. The email goes on to say, "In person interviews will take place after I return in late November or early December and we're hoping to start the new person ASAP." Obviously we have very different opinions of the meaning of ASAP. After a few emails back and forth I do have a telephone interview at 3pm on Thursday. It does seems like an odd process, I mean why not just do in person interviews right off the bat. As in this week!

I am wondering if there is some logarithmic calculation that explains the length of the interviewing process and the commitment they expect (2 years for a part time job, in case your forgot) from their employees.

So far we have:
- submit a resume
- they review
- they email with clarifying questions about time commitment
- they schedule a phone interview
- we have a phone interview
- (assuming all goes well) "real" interview
- we have face to face interview
- decision making occurs
- an offer is made

For a part-frigging-time job! That only asks for a college degree or proven background in health eduction. Not both. No graduate work. Not even a specific area of undergrad work - just that you completed it somewhere, in something.

Needless to say, our heroine is looking into other options.

I love when the day starts like this

Yesterday, nervously and with great trepidation I wrote my Research course professor since I had not heard hide nor hair of him since he said he received my last draft of the final paper - two maybe three? weeks ago. I really needed to know if it needed more work because, well you should see the stack of reading and writing I still have yet to tackle and I wanted to know if I needed to add to the stack a revision - if the answer was yes, this house of cards, I assure you, would tumble to the ground in a heap. With me next to it, similarly heaped.

After a delightful but as usual never long enough shower (what is about hot showers?), I gathered my coffee with it's usual additions and plunked myself on the couch and opened my laptop and let it do it's thing to collect mail. My heart stopped beating when I saw the Saybrook folder light up (it doesn't actually light up people! It just bolds the folder name when new mail appears). Holding my breath I click to see that it is indeed a post from that professor but then when I go to open it everything goes ca-blooey. Like 3 times! Finally, just as I'm the verge of turning blue I can open it and see that I am done. Done. DONE. DONE!! I can hardly stand it.

It is true that I cannot bring myself to read my course evaluation yet but I'm done people! Only had to do two rewrites of my original submission. Yes, I say only two, a colleague of mine did three.

But then, as I was in the midst of writing this post, I look over at my mail box (obsessed? I have no idea what you are talking about - just because I have my email program set to check for new mail every 7 minutes) because my little envelope icon popped on the bottom right. It's an email from the House o' Sperm! Before proceeding they wanted to make sure that as a student I could work three full days a week, and also they ask for a two year commitment. Of course TGF says, "They can't ask that! That's not legal!". I reply that they can request it, they can want it with all the desire in the universe but they cannot make anyone sign such a commitment. I write back that there is no fear of my student status as it is a distance-based program so I do not have classes as such. I made no reference to the two year thing because for a part-time position (24 hours a week), well let's just not go there, you know? Apparently "there is a long learning curve for the position". Who would have thunk it? It is true this schedule could make my other job for which I have no client very hard, and finding another practicum placement tricky but I will cross that bridge when I come it. The reality is baby needs a new pair of shoes. Okay, maybe not literally shoes, though I would be loathe to turn down the opportunity for new shoes but baby does needs her some groceries and to pay the utilities sometime soon.

Not bad for a Monday morning.

Lacevember Post #1

As has already been acknowledged by your gracious hostess, in a fit of insanity I joined (yes, me the consummate non-joiner) NaBloPoMo and Lacevember. Keep in mind that I have a secret project in the works, and a deadline of Thanksgiving to finish T'Mane's outfit as well as about 5-6 papers, plus weekly assignments for school, and did I mention I'm crazy?

I had truly hoped to finish Liesel and accomplish Swallowtail (click here for lots of pretty examples). Hah. I stand before you humbled. Having casted on Liesel, about two weeks ago, with Berroco's Softwist, in a deep forest green, using vintage aluminum needles, I found before the fourth row of garter stitch that these needles would never do! So slippery. Out came my Clover circulars, also size 8. Much better grip but the points are a bit dull for the loose ply of the yarn (I think that's the correct lingo. It remind me of embroidery thread -lots of thin threads together). I had finished one pattern repeat, with some frustration but I was feeling pretty good.

Clearly I needed to enlarge the pattern directions and the chart because I was determined to learn how to read a chart as well. (Biting off a bit more than I can chew perhaps?) Saturday I did all sorts of copying and pasting from the pattern pdf to a Word document. Sunday night I gathered my materials and merrily began knitting. Somewhere, somehow I lost 2 stitches. TWO! I tried to figure it out, I really did, but in the end it seemed the best thing to do was to frog. So out came every single stitch and cast on began once again.

Now there are two pattern repeats completed and I think that it will be more than satisfying to finish this scarf for this event. Swallowtail will have to wait.

Worth copying or is it just hideous

That was essentially my thought when I found it. I was surfing to celebrate the completion of a paper due two years ago, almost to the day. Seriously. I do not jest when I say I am trying (though I doubt I will succeed) to do two years of coursework in one. Sending that email means I have submitted 2 of 3 papers needed to complete a course. Woo hoo and all that. Actually I had a hard time giving myself props because of the overwhelming sense of doom that grows each day that I will have to add the fall 2007 to my debt load to finish my degree.

How did I find my way to this object? Damn it was hours ago and I was having all this hell with Blogger so TGF took over my laptop to fix it. Which of course she did. Yeah!!! Okay, hang on this will take a moment because I really want to give props to the right place....

I think I started over at SavannahChik Knits I (who if I were obsessive I would more effectively stalk to become a knitter like her) and clicked a link or two, then clicked a link off of one those links. Anyway I found myself here. Personally I like places like Indie Fixx, Stylehive, and some of those Etsy shops. Anyway I could not help but to click to see this when I saw on Indie. I just couldn't!

It's a bit like a train wreck, or the type of chaotic beauty only nature should be able to produce. Even clicking on the close up, I can't tell if this thing is knit or woven or concocted in a witch's cauldron. It comes in an ungodly number of colour combinations and costs a fortune. At last for my checkbook, maybe not yours. Of course as a knitting designer wannabe, I'm wondering if this is reproducible, though it's not like I think I could figure it out. Even if it could be - why would anyone try, a part of me asks? Beaugly? (My version of fugly. Beautiful Ugly. Yeah, not good so I won't proceed with trademarking.) I am not sure this helps but I just realized, while looking over the site again that the flower pin is sold separately. Does the pin enhance or distract? Discuss, concense and report back.

While doing the research for this post, I of course had to scan some of the other pages of these sites. On Stylehive I found Midori and had two immediate thought which probably say a lot about me, what I will leave up to your interpretations.
1 - I thought of this Midori, which I associate with my mid to late teen years somehow
and perhaps even more I thought of
2 - Fetish Diva Mistress Midori, who I have taken a workshop with and was throughly charmed by.

As I said, I leave the interpretations to my readers. I know if it were I reading this post of someone stating the above, I would seriously consider...



stalking.

Conceptually Clear Communication Confusing

As I was munching on leftover pizza for breakfast, sipping on lukewarm coffee (breakfast of champions dontcha know), I was catching up on my easy reading. I receive random magazines sent to me, I subscribe to none. Long story how it began and not to the point.

Anyway, I use casual meals like breakfast or lunch or a combo deal like today (and many days where I do not eat until 11am at which point it's barely reasonable to consider it breakfast) to read through the magazines that fall through my mail slot. I am always a few months behind and that's with a major pruning upon delivery (there are many reasons for the paper bag that lives under the mail slot!).

As I flip through the pages of Real Simple's July issue (see?) I stumble upon an article titled, "Friendly Fire" about friendships and what to do if a friend acts in a manner that makes you crazy, anger, etc. There is a sidebar (on page 112 for those following along in their textbooks) with the heading "Mixed Messages" and it's about email! Quel surprise.

Some quotes:
"Think your e-mail message are crystal clear? Think again."

Well I happen to think that I am very clear in the written form and I would think my 10 readers would agree.

"In a recent study participants sent and received two groups of e-mail messages-half meant to be sarcastic, and the other half intended to be sincere. The recipients misinterpreted the messages' tone 50% of the time."

Well that certainly takes the wind out of my sails, how about yours?

In another study: "senders were sure their meaning was clear 75 percent of the time, while the recipients had no doubt they had interpreted the e-mails correctly on average 90 percent of the time. In other words, both groups were oblivious to their mistakes."

I don't know about you but it is almost enough to make me consider getting off this email-go-round just use the phone. Almost. The truth is it would be hard for me to go back to the days without email. Why? Because I use it to stay in touch with people who are far away. I'm much to lazy to write an actual letter. It's cheaper than the phone and not dependent on anyone being home when you ring them up. Via email, or more specifically email lists I have met some amazing people who are family to me, some I haven't even met in person - the magic of communication. Really it is not so odd when you think how people used to woo by letter to people they never met, travel hundreds of miles and marry the person. Hey, wait that still happens only they type the letters and they get magically sent over this thing called "The Internet".

Did I have a point in all this? Recently there has been a bit of a brouhaha over on "the list that I love but dare not name" over just this sort of thing as well as netiquette and some other issues. They all get tangled up but a great deal can be summed up by the concept that we misread the tone of email at an alarming rate. The comfort I took from this article is that over at "TLTILBDNN" we are normal, fatally human as it appears. We truly are a particularly brilliant bunch but we still misread each other, assume a bit too much, and take offense when we ought to inquire before firing off a response based on what we thought some one meant. Communication is hard work. Really hard. After this email I think I need a sundae. Anyone care to join me?

In which our heroine is worried

The checkbook clock is ticking. I have not heard from the sperm bank. Yes, yes I know it's only been a day but so what? Don't they know, instinctlivey that I'm right for the job. Of course I don't really know what's entailed to do the job or if I want it, but really I should be at least called for an interview.

In other news. Well I realized on Wednesday while in the height of my cold that I have a paper due Sunday. Can you hear the maniacal laughter yet? On a positive note, I responded to two threads in my ethics course. I am only required to write one but I was inspired by the reading. I am two chapters and writings behind in practicum. Oh well but I am working on everything. At least in my head.

I actually finished the first ball of yarn for the mystery project, now I need to sew the ends of the yarn together in order to join the next ball. T'Mane's sweater is coming along - I have begun the last piece of the jacket (left front). Hopefully that will be done over the weekend and I can block the pieces, begin seaming and then adding the border. I get to learn all about picking up an outrageous number of stitches to add the contrasting colour. Then I need to start the matching pants.

The other night Jennie came by with my share of a joint order we placed. I am very excited. I got three skeins of Regia, Surf Colour 5410 which should be enough to make a pair of socks and maybe a little matching something or other. Very exciting, no? The other item - OMG - is so beautiful. I chose the colour for TGF without knowing what I will make with it but I have 5 skeins of about 240 yds each so I figure a cute top. Araucania Nature Wool in this subtly variegated dark orange/cinnamon towards burnt orange (its colour #33 on Fall 2005 card 3). It is luscious looking!

I need to find a top that isn't too femmy, though it can be distinctly a woman's top. For example Blaze could work for her. However they label it "piquant" which might make it beyond my current skill level. I could easily see her in Leo, but again piquant and might require more yarn than I have. The problem with Tubey is I want to make that for me, though in a solid colour. Also I love that photo for Tubey because that was my home subway station on and off for years! In fact during our trip in September we drove right by there. Ah memories. Vivieka is definitely her, except for the extra length in the sleeves - easy to fix luckily. More searching is definitely in order and many more projects to finish, start & finish before I get to this one I suspect.

In which our heroine applies for a job

Okay now no one faint because I do not have any smelling salts and since all my references for fainting spells come from the golden age of cinema I would have no idea what to do to revive you. The truth over here at Casa de Cedar is that funds are tight. Okay, they are practically nonexistent and we have a lot of mouths to feed and amazingly cat food is not that cheap it turns out.

The Purple Beast (PB) is still not running reliably, so even if the county was to turn up a client for me, the job depends on a vehicle.Of course in the ultimate of Catch-22s, I need to fix the PB so I can work, but I need funds to fix the PB, and without a job, which requires the running PB there are no funds.

I have seen this posting before on Craigslist. In fact I have seen it from time to time and I am not exactly a frequent visitor to the list or jobs specifically because 1 – I sort of, kind of have a job, and 2 – I don’t like working per se especially when trying to complete eight grad classes in a semester. I’m funny that way. The relative frequency of this job posting does concern me, but only slightly. I don’t intend to work anywhere longer than necessary and necessary is rather arbitrary in my world. It does mean that I am not worried that they won’t be able to fill it whenever I were to leave. I really am qualified for the position in that "candidates must have a college degree or proven experience in health education". Hello? I’m in graduate school; hence I have a college degree. Hello? I was a doula for nine years and taught childbirth preparation. About the only I don’t have that they would prefer is that I speak Spanish. Good reason to finally start going through those 32 cds of “Learning Spanish” that I have. I have time to add that in, right? Sure I do. Anyway.

I suppose you want to know more about the job, well so do I that’s why I emailed a resume a few mere hours ago. The Sperm Bank of California is looking for a health worker. The ad says a lot of the job is via the phone, so I figure I can wear one of these fancy headphone jobs and knit at the same time. Bonus! Especially since I signed on for Lacevember. Get paid, knit, pay bills. Excellent.

That it is also a non-profit totally works me because I tend to work only for non-profit and other entities that are poor, thus my personal state remains aligned with theirs. However, I must say that the hourly rate is quite decent, more than my agency job. I could walk or bike to it, and they offer {gasp} benefits! Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had benefits via a job I held, versus being the covered partner? Well do you?Actually I’m sure none you do, except possibly Greg – who by the way NEVER comments on the blog despite being able to do so anonymously. "October 1996 is the answer we were looking for folks", (a la Alex Trebek). A paid holiday? Madness I tell you. A sick day? What is this thing you speak of? The idea that I could get my asthma medication with less shall we say slightly underhanded machinations. Sheer insanity. Yes I am getting ahead of myself. Far ahead but I am delirious with the idea of these things.

Because I don't have enough to do

I am thinking of attempting NaBloPoMo.

Why? Because I did start this blog to work on developing my writing and dammit I could use more development.

And.

I am thinking of also attempting Lacevember.

Why? Because I really want to do the Swallowtail Shawl (and finish the barely started Liesel scarf for which I am using Berroco's Softwist in a dark rich green) and a million other things) in the beautiful yarn (mine is colour Claret #2020 which doesn't seem to be on the website now) Jennie gave me but I'm nervous to do lace.

Yes, I am crazy.

Yes I have three projects on the needles already.

Yes I have 8 graduate classes to try to finish this semester. Yes I said 8. Yeah, I know but a woman's got to try.

Yes I have a newsletter to get out for Birthways soon.

Yes I want to keep TGF happy.

But, truly there are 24 hours in a day and truthfully I could be using them WAAAAY more productively. So I have sent in my "register me" to the insanity of both of these projects.

Pray for me.

Horses, not Zebras

There is a saying if you hear hoof beats think horses, not zebras. Of late I have seen this reference on the show House (of which I am enamored inspite of, or perhaps because of, it's incredible lack of reverence) and on an email list I am on.

I had a "think horses" moment this morning. Let me preface this by saying I am sick, my head a tad stuffed and hence thinking might be convoluted.

Rather suddenly, it seemed, pockets of aroma near the kitchen but apparently more like just down the stairs from there a smell of something scorching or beginning to burn. I wandered into the garage, no the mystery odor disappeared there. The laundry area - again nothing of note. But then I thought "Oh no! What about that door to under the house where the furnace and water heater live?". I turn to unlock the door, only I can't. So pressing my nose to the tiny crevice between the door and it's jamb - quite a feat as the space is ever so tiny and my nose far from what anyone would call petite. But I do not detect the aroma of danger, which continues to be fleeting, from this space. However I remain concerned that I cannot unlock the door. I push and pull trying to find the magic place that will allow me to unlock, no success. So I make a mental note that this must be taken care of soon because, what if we need to get down there for a real smoke emergency? Or more likely one of the kittens find themselves there and cannot figure out how to emerge from the multitude of escape routes perfectly suited to cat's sizes but not our size.

Returning to the kitchen, I have my horses moment. The smell is distinctly worse and I realize it is the Pumpkin Teabread (love this book!) I put in the toaster. I am not certain why it cause so much of a ruckus to my nasal passages or let off a faint cloud of smoke in my kitchen but there you have it. Burnt pumpkin bread which I put in the toaster. NOT electrical, not spontaneous combustion somewhere in my home. Yet another reason to purchase a toaster oven sooner rather than later.

I retrieved my bread with the use of tongs (Hi Jennie) and by way of turning the damn toaster upside down when said tongs did not remove the second piece. Placing the pieces, or rather remains of my bread on a plate I layer some thin deliciously mild slices of Spring Hill's Jersey Jack. While munching on the bread and sipping my second cup of coffee, TGF looks over at me (she also has this cold) and asks, "Is something burning?"

Childhood Goodies

So we were planning our Harvest Blessing party.

So we were concocting a menu.

So TGF started salivating over the memory of this thing called “Popcorn Cake” that her Aunt Kay used to make on occasion.

So then there was the hunt for a recipe.

So then it was the day of the party and she was thinking about not doing it after all even though she ran out for the marshmallows required for this bizarre thing that morning because of course she hadn’t consulted the recipe when we made our list and shopped Friday night – the night before said party.

So TGF asked me, if I would make it. Nevermind that I had already made two loaves of Moroccan Pumpkin Tea loaf and Jello Brain the night before, or was making the casserole thingamabob that day, segmenting the pomegranate, had to make the dip, would be cutting up the veggies and slicing the cheese. Sure I could also make the Popcorn Cake. Why the hell not? I mean it’s not like I still needed to shower and had NO idea what I was wearing and we all know that can take some time. I mean have you seen my closet? While I suspect it will always lack half of what I think it should have it is far from empty.

There I am, “cooking” ingredients I never thought would be in my house, let alone used in combination by ME – Shedd’s Spread margarine, J*ff Peanut Butter, and mini marshmallows in a saucepan on MY stove. While stirring this concoction, I muttered something about, “How the mighty had fallen” but continued stirring resigned, at least a little, to my fate.

Later, after “unmolding it,” she poked at it, saying it did not seem firm enough. Many folks pointed to it laughing and the story of its history was told. Much discussion ensued on whether this sort of thing was in the same league of jello dishes with things like M*racle Whip and grated carrots were a Midwest thing, gentile thing or not. I vote for yes and I would be happy to keep those sorts of things in the Midwest for the most part. I love that our friends were brave and adventurous enough that more than one volunteered to try this thing.

TGF pronounced “okay but not what she remembered” and lamented it really is hard to recreate childhood memories like this one. Aside from not being as stiff a thing as she remembered she was clear that her Aunt Kay’s did NOT have a peanut butter flavor. !!! How could one not realize from the ingredient list that there was peanut butter in it and thus would taste like peanut butter? I ask you! The recipe (if you can call it that) says melt margarine, add peanut butter, blend, then add 5 CUPS worth of marshmallows and stir until smooth, pour over popcorn and added treats (in our case m&ms and peanuts) to coat. Wouldn’t you deduce it would taste a bit like peanut butter before you tasted it?

Of course being the wonderfully indulgent girlfriend that I am, I helped her deduce that her childhood Popcorn Cake must have used corn syrup and/or other things but clearly not peanut butter to bind the 11 cups of popcorn together. In fact I will hunt down a recipe that seems more appropriate and will probably even make it. Because I’m that good of a girlfriend. Or because my mightiness has really, really fallen. You decide.

Time for Goodbye

It did not go as I hoped or expected, but things like this rarely do. The cost of having someone come to the house was exorbinate. Really - $280! Of course the truth is had I the money even close to lying about as it were, I would have spent that amount. I really would have for my Elliott.

In the end it was a crazy afternoon, picking up Purple Beast (our car) from the auto shop where they could not determine what was wrong, so it's still wrong, going to the dog park, me doing a planned quick excursion to have my barely regular beauty indulgence (my brows), and then off the vet's office. All in a period of about 2 hours. Oh, I did I mention we were readying for a party as well? No? Well we were.

At the park we told Ruth what was happening, where upon she kindly and maternally suggested we delay the party a week. But I really did not want to do that, for so many reasons. From a practical standpoint it was 24 hours notice! Craziness. Granted we had yet to go food shopping for the event but still. Also, there would be a high percentage of folks attending who would know what was happening and honestly, I knew we would be supported if the need arose and that we would be implicitly even if it were not spoken of at all. The party would be a good diversion. As the party was billed as a Harvest Blessing event, the truth is the harvest time is also when we put things to rest so it seemed right, to me and TGF, to continue.

Poor Elliot had actually gained weight but it was all fluid because the rest of him was skin and bones. TGF had to find him and he was outside for the first time in at least two weeks, as if he knew it was time for his last hurrah. He fought her hard, the most energetic he had been in over a month, getting into the carrier. When we were in the exam room and took him out, he talked up a storm, again for the first time in forever. He looked so frail, his eyes runny and a bit dull, his fur lacking it's fullness - there is no way he looked under two years of age, he looked like an old man. After a bit his voice failed and though he mouthed his stories to us, no sound was heard, his energy spent.

The first shot is a sedative and I swear he fought the sleep. I saw him saying no, wait. But he and I looked at each other and I told him it really was time as much as we all wanted to deny it. Elliott sighed loudly, just like his brother Atticus does, but which Elliott has never been heard to do, and sleep began to settle upon him starting from his head, drifting down his body. I stroked him the entire time, spoke aloud and then silently. TGF thanked him for choosing us. The vet came back in the room and gave him the second shot in his heart, which totally broke mine. He felt around Elliott's emaciated body for the correct spot, I tried to find my logical brain and wonder how they know the spot, how it feels - physically - to give that shot, but mostly my eyes just watered over and I felt that life was once again proving itself unfair that it would take this cat with the most gentle spirit I have ever met.

Elliot Butler
Honouring us with his presence
from
May 29, 2005
to
October 27, 2006

Time is approaching

Elliott, my beloved long haired tuxedo cat, is starting to really fail. He does nothing but sleep, his walking is labored, and today he had trouble jumping up to the table where the food is served. TGF said she went to lift him up and he objected to the touch, which has become more common. He is very swollen and no doubt quite uncomfortable. I have been finding little puddles of very concentrated urine, which I am sure are his.

I have posted to a local resource list asking for contact information for a vet who would come to the house to put him down. I simply cannot imagine taking him in somewhere and bringing his body home. I just can't. Not that doing it here will be easier really, but it just feel more "right" to me. Having him die at home fits with my idea that birth happens at home, unless it really needs to be elsewhere. It is about respecting life for me. I have no idea how I managed to live this long without having this experience.

Right now I am remembering when we lost a foster kitten, one the first ones - Larissa, she and Atticus (nee Lycus) came to us together on a Saturday in late May. We called her "calendar kitty", she was sure to be an absolute stunner. Atticus was far from a beauty, though he turned into an absolutely striking adult cat. She was vivacious and lively, but then suddenly she became sick and in about 3 or 4 days we woke up to her limp, tiny, and soft body. Actually I dealt with it really well, lifting her small, almost weightless body and cuddling her against my cheek. TGF solemnly took her body and buried her in our front yard. The spot is marked and next to her is planted lemon balm and strawberries. Now we will have another special spot to mark and honor. Soon, all too soon.

blogiversary

Today marks one year since my first entry. I am truly shocked, shocked I tell you, that I have keep this thing going. This will be my 213th entry. That means that more days than not I wrote something. Not by much I grant you but still more than not. Okay, sure there were more entries that were quiz results than I care to admit but still for me this level of commitment is frankly staggering.

I have learned a lot through this experience so far.

1. I enjoy developing my voice.
2. I like pushing my boundaries of comfort and writing personal things. Sometimes.
3. Blogs are addicting, reading them that is. Writing them, almost as addicting.
4. Receiving comments are fun, moving, and a little like love.
5. Blog entries can be turned into graduate school assignments. With some editing of course.
6. Blogs are an obligation of your own making.
7. Writing for a mostly imaginary audience can inhibit for some reason, but writing something you know your mother reads....{shivers}. But I do it anyway.
8. Animal stories are not a cop out, quite, but make for fun entries.
9. A great by product is doing more photography and enjoying it. A lot.

I'm sure there are other things I have gotten out of doing this but I think you get the idea. So this means I am going to keeping writing. Hope you keep reading.

What I don't want to face

Is my age. Not because I am so old, but because my age makes itself apparent in knowledge and limitations. There are things I know about myself, that I can accept even if I still struggle with them. I know that I am not good at hierarchies, which made working at Smith College School of Social Work a challenge (well that along with the incredible racism and classism that permeated the halls and stacks of paper with a stench that turned my stomach daily). I know that I do not like routine, though I need it; finding a balance between having some routine and not feeling hemmed in is a fine art that takes decades of effort and I am only one decade into that practice.

My age, shows in my body, it doesn't recover as quickly, I cannot ignore the aches the same way I did when I took 3-5 dances a week, an occasional yoga or self defense class added in and very erratic sleeping schedules. It also shows my age in a comfort I have in this body that is larger and looser than it was in my twenties. There is a thrill in my sexuality that is deeper and more fulfilling than what I thought was evolved when 23. I suppose it was rather evolved (or at least rather extensive in experience and wilingness to explore) at that time but still nothing compares with the truth that one can inhabit with age and time to assimilate those experiences.

Last week marked thirty years of getting my menstrual cycles. Three decades. Years upon years of a remarkably unremarkable cycle. Quickly my cycle was regular and the only time I was seriously late, I was pregnant. Yes, I have been pregnant, more than once. Yes, I was using birth control every time. Looking back I realize that I was pregnant three times, but only really knew about the time times that I had it "taken care of", the other time I had a very early miscarriage. How do I know? Because as I have said the only other times I missed a cycle I was pregnant.

The other night I had a what I think was a hot flash, as best as I can determine what a hot flash actually is when I have one. I had one a few weeks ago. This after a long absence of any middle of the night heat waves. When I say long, I mean about 3 years, maybe longer. These flashes are a sore subject at Casa de Cedar, for both of us. They represent the end of a road, a road that leads to pregnancy. It could eventually be the end of ambivalence. That would be nice, but so so sad.

When I was a child I longed for a baby, I ached for that future time when I would have a child, maybe even two. A high school senior, 17 years old, I was pregnant. There was no way I could continue a pregnancy. While at my after school job at a market research company whose name I no longer remember I called into the very nice clinic where I had left my urine sample at so that could tell me I was not pregnant. Only when I called they told me the thing I feared, the one thing I did not want to face, the unfortunate evidence of my wild abandon (but not so wild that I ignored birth control). With barely a two second pause, I made my appointment.

On a weekday, during spring break of my senior year I took the subway to the elegant neighborhood, next to the infamous Copacabana Club (the original location), met up with JL, the boyfriend - the shell shocked almost father-like creature. We parted ways in the waiting room while they took me into a room where several us heard what to expect, told a brief explanation of why we chose this path. I don't remember much of that piece, just that something like that happened, I believe they referred to it as "counseling". I remember slipping away under the general (there was no WAY I was staying awake for this, I was already being more brave than I ever wanted to be); I remember thinking about the stuffed animal, a cat that Abby had given me since she couldn't be there was still in my bag, but I was no longer sure where my bag was and I felt desperate about getting the cat back. The next clear thing I remember is waking up in a narrow bed with stiff but clean sheets (like I said this was a very nice place), a lovely nurse like person hovering near me, feeling the absolute terror and horror of what I had just done, something so irrevocable, so permanent. I remember the hot instant chicken soup and throwing it up moments later. Escorted by JL, we took the subway back to my mother's apartment, where I was staying during my break from school, where it was safe to be healing from this. I stayed on the pull out couch from my childhood that was new when I was 7 but was now stiff, the arms with stuffing falling out and an Indian print bedspread covering it's age and leaks. To avoid the reality of what I had just lived through, while asleep courtesy of anesthesia, I convinced JL to attempt anal sex because escape was what I craved more than anything. I needed to know that I was still sexual despite the invasion that was not sex but abused my sex organs with my consent and my distinct fear. The attempt, both the physical and mental were far from successful that evening.

Here it is decades later and my sex life has long since recovered from the naivete and lack of appropriate, um, accessories of that evening. My journey of parenthood has been a push-pull relationship ever since. I have debated whether, when, if, many times over. I have taken quizzes, polled friends, read books, even done therapy. Seven years ago I was trying, on purpose with very expensive, previously frozen crawlers, in my own bedroom with my then partner. Three times I got pregnant while trying not to; three times trying very hard, making offerings, having rituals, I did not even go one day late in my cycle. Afterwards I sank into a five year silence on the topic. It was awful, I was stuck. Back in therapy I made progress. If you call acknowledging that either decision involves a deep and gruesome grieving progress. I came as close to a decision as I had in five long lonely painful years to not have children.

Then, bang. Enter The Girl Friend. In our early days she spoke passionately about wanting to have children and a terror landed in my belly that I would lose this person that I was growing convinced was a once in a lifetime kind of love because I had made a decision that was in direct conflict with her heart's desire. Our relationship quickly turned into a whirlwind of change for both of us since that time, two and a half years ago. In involved, among many other things, her moving 2000 miles from home and family, and me ending a 12 year relationship. We are both torn because we are selfish about our time together - it's still earlier in the scheme of things, less than three years long. There is a deep relish in having an intensely passionate relationship, something that we have more completely with each other than ever before and given the damper our animals can put on the mojo, the idea of a toddler's cry at 11pm when just on the verge of a powerful orgasm, well is less than thrilling.

On the flip side there is a joy and love we will not experience in this lifetime and that feels earth shatteringly empty. Aside from the selfishness about our time, our lack of constraints, there is our age. We are far from spring chickens, and each 3am sweat reminds how I am about to be past my prime for bearing children. Yes there is adoption, I know that quite well. That would still be having a child, which is an elemental decision that has to be made first. Not to mention whether I can resolve to have a child and never experience pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding, experiences that I have longed for since before my body could physically do that.

Lately, time feels like it marching in a such a dogged way. Deadlines loom, over hang, pass over me. Anniversaries of beginnings, endings, diagnoses seem constant. This deadline, which has no real date, casts a shadow over everything in these days of clear sunny autumn days in the Bay Area. I have no answers about what happens next. There is no one closing conversation that TGF and I will, or can have. It is an ongoing internal and external dialogue. There are days when I can push it aside, like my age and neither exists in any real way, but today, like the last few days it seems a shawl covering my thoughts with a overlay of sadness and fear that it will became a wedge in my relationship that can only be removed by ending. TGF would push this off as not true, not possible but fears are not about what is real but about the what ifs that keep us awake.

I really live here!

It's true after almost exactly 18 months, it's official. Yesterday morning there was a knock at the door, TGF and I looked at each other quizzically because let's face it no one just randomly stops by in this neck of the woods. I mean, it's Saturday morning, Jennie and Graham are at his soccer game, Sue (private blog, sorry) and Sarah (sadly blogless though I don't know how she would find the time) are barely awake, Andrea and Liz are cooing over baby Val at McD or somewhere like that, and so on. Too early for a package delivery and we are not expecting anything. Well we are from this bizarre auction like thing TGF spent at least 12 hours glued to her mactop to "win". So yes, we are expecting three bags of crap. Literally. Well sort of, I certainly hope we do not receive the remnants of some creature's meal, although eight dollars for three "bags" I don't know what we will get and neither does she. I mean literally in that that is what this online event names it's "prize". It has made her happy, like Dick Dastardly thinking he had finally outsmarted Penelope Pitstop. For about another twelve hours she went around the house maniacally saying in a sing song way "I won three bags o' crap!".

Of course I had to see who was at the door because, well it could have been something fun, like Ed McMahon with a super gigantic check, which would be absolutely helpful for things like rent and food, though the chance of that would be like one in ten million since I haven't played along with that stupidity in over a decade (hey, hope springs eternal and all that). Our front door is one of those old glass doors (G141) with lots of panes that has a curtain over it (courtesy of our gracious landlady), I pull it back at bit to ascertain the knocker. Lo and behold! It is the beatific face of a Jehovah Witness with the latest copy of "Awake!" in prominent placement in his arms. Thank goodness for the magazine's presence or I never would have guessed. Yeah right. A good looking, dressed in a suit man knocks on my door on a Saturday - never would have guessed. Hey I didn't grow up down the road from a major headquarters of Watchtower without learning a thing or two!

In looking up one my favorite landmarks (one could see this building when driving over the Brooklyn Bridge (one the most beautiful bridges in the world, IMNSHO) I see it has been sold! It will be turned into loft condo thingys, of course. This strikes me a bit akin to churches being turned into clubs. I went to the Limelight in the 80's once, for a GLBT event, very trippy in effect but horrible music much of the night, though I do remember some good flirting and having a great deal of fun people watching. It only stands to reason that the Watchtower and other places have been sold to make way for "progress" or in the case of New York City, lack of overpriced places to live. The church on the corner of my old house on Strong Place, which I recently visited albeit most briefly, is being converted into condos. This Baptist Church has been around for a very long time, though wouldn't you know in this neighborhood teeming with Italian Catholics it is only now, it writing this post that I see it was a Baptist church. I had NO idea. Never occurred to me to look that hard. I assumed {gasp} it was Catholic, because well, if you had been in that neighborhood when Cammerari Bros. Bakery (as in the movie it was a real place {this link also mentions Caputo's another place I remember} that had great bread) woke you up at predawn with the arousing aroma of Italian bread baking, there was no other logical conclusion. Okay now I'm missing Brooklyn, big time.

Back to Berkeley. I smiled politely through the glass panes, shook my head, and mouthed, "No thank you". Returning to face TGF, I said, "Now I know I'm really home, this is really where I live because that was Jehovah Witness." Since I moved to Brooklyn, when I was almost nine, this is something I expect to have happen where I live. I continued to live in Brooklyn for a long time and always had that knock at the door. Even in my tiny little house (I do mean tiny, it was 720 sq. ft) in the Baystate Village section of Northampton on a street only one block long they found me. It was totally expected that they would when I moved to 40th Street in West Oakland, but here? In the Westbrae neighborhood of Berkeley. Ah. Settling into my spot on the couch that place feels that much more like home.

I'm sure some of you would have guessed this

I saw this over at Breena's blog. I just couldn't resist it.

Pure Nerd 69 % Nerd, 21% Geek, 17% Dork

For The Record: A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia. A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one. A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions. You scored better than half in Nerd, earning you the title of: Pure Nerd. The times, they are a-changing. It used to be that being exceptionally smart led to being unpopular, which would ultimately lead to picking up all of the traits and tendences associated with the "dork." No-longer. Being smart isn't as socially crippling as it once was, and even more so as you get older: eventually being a Pure Nerd will likely be replaced with the following label: Purely Successful. Congratulations! Thanks Again! -- THE NERD? GEEK? OR DORK? TEST