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Apr. 28th, 2012 @ 06:21 am Moxie 4/27 performance
The play was weird! A man, his wife, and a hat. He puts on this hat, gets a goofy expression on his face, dances around. His wife doesn't have a hat, is jealous of it, takes it when she leaves him. The walls talk (and words project). Everyone has a Russian accent, even the wall of truth Greek chorus. In the beginning, a young woman sits at a table, apart. She becomes the main focus as you learn she is the daughter of this couple, who are Jewish, because there's a Golem (a creature that is kind of like the undead). The daughter gets ready to be married and trouble starts in a Freudian twist. She doesn't think she'll ever love anyone and that she's doing her fiance a disservice. Her father's best friend is a jolly guy, has lots of kids, tells the audience that if kids don't get love, they float away. Well, the man's wife leaves him in charge of her one day and he sets her down and darned if she doesn't float away. The funny bit was that when she starts feeling doubts about marrying, her fiance gets dizzy and has to keep his backpack on to stay grounded. Later scenes show him wearing an iron, weights, etc. to keep from floating away and his physical comedy was the best.
Well, the play resolves itself when the man's wife comes back, he makes her a hat (did I tell you he's a hat maker?) and she hears the music and does the dance he does when he's wearing his hat. The Golem takes her away and she is dead, but at least she finally got to hear the music. I feel like she did, not every having her name spoken (he forgets it, and has put it in a jar, which he later opens and there is her name. Very sweet). Made me cry. One woman was seeing the play for the third time.
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Feb. 28th, 2012 @ 06:44 am Rain means weeds
Whenever it's going to fall, I have the option of emptying buckets that catch rain from the roof. It's a chore. Five gallons is a lot for someone my age. So I dump a gallon out and schlepp a little less to the pond, mostly, but also to trees awaiting renewal. We have gophers, which I'm told provide deep aeration of the soil horizon, and that's a good thing. AS LONG AS THEY DON'T KILL THE PLANTS. I dug up a rose that was all but dead. One poor excuse for a branch declared its life was not over. The same with a lantana, that had two leaflets. They are now in pots. During winter, I don't water, expecting the cool weather and normal rainfall to make up for my interference. But this winter has been drier than last, and I expect the California fuschia succumbed while nearby weeds flourished. One edible that doesn't mind dry conditions is arugula. It used to erupt in forests in the fenced garden, but now it adorns pathways. The nice thing about that is the reward of weeding. If by chance I pluck one of these darlings, it is my treat to eat this pungent relative of the radish. I am rewarded too with white flowers on a stalk when they bolt, also welcome in a world of nettle, grass, and mallow, which I'm told is also good for what ails you.
Once when walking in a neighborhood of San Diego, a stout woman who could barely speak English, transplanted from a European country, was enraptured to encounter this plant had taken root in marginal soil. She made motions that this plant was good for the stomach, and I surmised, digestion.
Much of the opportunistic growth on our hills is from somewhere in Europe anyway, and South American Pampas grass clumps on roadsides. I have the same antipathy to that last plant as people do to two-legged immigrants. Pulling weeds, I wonder if I should just get a goat. If I did, the roses would be first to go.
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Dec. 29th, 2011 @ 05:43 pm My sick friend
I don't know how much of a friend I am being, kvetching about this so-called friend. Maybe she's more of a project. She has deep depression, went to the doctor after four (4) days without certain essential meds, and was suicidal. They hospitalized her, the nurse called, I came, brought her car to the emergency room, then found out that they were going to admit her. This means she was transported to a hospital miles away. This shouldn't mean that I take it on myself to go get her car from the first. But none of us is completely well, so I took her a change of clothes (luckily, we're both the same size), got her key, drove to a trolley station about a mile from the Emergency, walked through a scary part of town at 9:30 at night, and then drove her car home. I roused my Dear Him, who took. AGES. To get ready to come with me to the trolley station. Why didn't I go straight there? Because I was on auto pilot and the car drove itself home.
The next trolley along was going the wrong direction, but since it's the one I would board (and it was COLD), I did, and that took another half hour out of my evening. To top it all, I forgot to bring the book I've been devouring, a real page-turner. All told, it took me to 11p.m. to get home. Friend had given me $20. To cover my gas? NOOOO. To fill her tank. Bless her heart.
I waited to hear from her all day yesterday, not venturing far from the phone. My one trip was to the gas station and bank. Today, I put my cell phone in my pocket, knowing she would call for a ride. The did call, three times on the land line. I just happened to be inside. I planned to drive to the trolley, walk back, and then drive to pick her up. But that wouldn't do. She said I should come right away and she would make sure I got home. Against my better judgment, I did as she asked. It was ten a.m.
Once there, I had to wait for her. She needed to have her prescriptions filled at a pharmacy past her home, and I passed the time waiting by talking to other people who were in pharmacy purgatory. When she got to the head of the line to get her meds, there were two people waiting. By the time she finished, there were a dozen. Was it a surge, or did she take an lot of time?
From there, we drove to her house, at her request. She said she needed me to organize her meds, then changed her mind. They were sitting down to lunch, but I was not invited.
Now, here is where she failed me as a friend: She pawned me off on a house member. Not only was she not taking me home, she was foisting me onto a guy who was taking me to the nearest trolley station (62nd would have been closest, but we turned right on Imperial, and drove hellangone to Massachusetts. The machine wouldn't take a $20, so I had to walk across the street to a liquor store. I bought something to eat and drink, as I had not had lunch. She had offered to buy my lunch, but we didn't pass any restaurants. Just then, the trolley arrived. They come every 15 minutes, but it was another nail in my day's coffin.
I called Him and he came to pick me up. I was almost halfway home. It was 2p.m. But we were together, and hey, why not go on a hot date? That is, Costco. They have samples. Even though we didn't buy a lot, it took us longer than expected. From there, I should have returned Him and the groceries home, but I had empty water bottles in the car and we were on the handy side of town. That put me late for cleaning crew, which gathers at 2:30. Apologies to all.
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Dec. 26th, 2011 @ 06:13 am In-law dinner
My SIL invited us to have Christmas dinner at their house last minute. Frankly, I would have gone to the barrio for their feast, and took them the dal dish afterward because vegetarians have it hard at the holidays. Everything is meat-based. Nevertheless, the fam filled two tables. Him yielded to pressure to sit at the head table while I sat at the kid's tall square table in the breakfast nook. The BIL's ex wife and her husband, her sister and husband, and of course, one of our hosts (who always observe proper etiquette) filled out the table. Conversation centered largely around medical issues and treatment, as Liz was in a very bad auto accident and her knees need further work. She said the doctor called it detritus, which must mean fragments of bone.
All in all, it wasn't as awful as I imagined. Since I had recent experiences to share (a backpack, ushering, church), I tried to touch on the highlights to steer the conversation toward matters of interest. The Colombian sisters spoke of their deceased sib, who developed bone cancer while she was living and caring for FIL. Alba(d) stayed with Liz, who is able to select better memories now.
Selective memory is a wonderful gift. You don't have to don rose-colored glasses, but can cherish the best of the many impulses that bombard you in a given moment.
For instance, earlier in the day, without calling first, I delivered small gifts to Nephew and his family, knowing my sis was there. The kids are at the age where they come up share their toys. There are limits, of course. In her favorite toy, I had to put the chocolate cookie in the monster's mouth before the chocolate CHIP cookies, or there would be consequences. In his bug track, the vibrating 'critters' bounced and collided in what can only be described as toys imitating nightmares. Sis stayed in the nook reading and waiting for her turn to interact with the grandkids while I was there, rather than involving herself in the fray. Will I remember her standing and reading the article instead of telling me her latest paranoid fantasy? I hope so.
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Dec. 24th, 2011 @ 09:10 am More on volunteering
I think dealing with food is a sacred trust, but the people in charge are so fixated on what the public sees. They talk a good game, people need to have dignity, but act very differently. Petitioners aren't helpless and hopeless. Sure, anyone feels degraded to ask for food, but a lot of people who get stuff turn around and give back things they can't use. And they give when they can, so it's a revolving door. At Western Service Workers, people watch each other, but everyone gets fed. It's more about fairness, so some fat cat doesn't take all the best stuff and leave garbage for the rest. Sometimes when I work in the office and a box comes back, they offer it to me, even though I wasn't at the weekly distribution. Most of the time, I see exemplary patience, cooperation, and good humor. That's why I prefer to work at Golden Share of Western Service Workers. The Food Bank never had a positive atmosphere, no matter how much I tried. Some folks have the right attitude: keep the jokes coming and aim them at yourself. Unfortunately, for a woman to do that hangs a target on her back. Men just think you're saying 'kick me' or use me as a doormat.
Of course, I don't help my cause by calling myself a slut (not a whore). I do this for free. So I'm a fabric, food, and volunteer slut. If they called me, I'd say, sure I'll come back, but you have to pay me.
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Dec. 23rd, 2011 @ 08:20 pm Mean people suck
I have been helping twice a week at the Food Bank. Maybe that is overkill, but it seemed like they need someone who can keep a consistent semblance of order in the back room. One guy is steady, but a lot of people say he's angry and reactive. Funny, but I like the guy. He comes in, does his job, and doesn't raise sand. Today the Ice Queen asked whether I had been called to come in. I said no. She said it's not fair to some of the other volunteers. Since when? A lot of times, people sign up, then don't show up. And the work Steady and I do is not covered by the average volunteer. Steady wasn't there last time, so maybe he told them "It's her or me." If that is the case, I yield.
Here is what I think is going on: There are bad apples who spoil the whole barrel. Take Bully Boy. He says, "She took stuff," even as he is pilfering things for himself. Just for drill, I pulled a donated bag of brown sugar. He took it and put it in his backpack, slick as you please. I didn't say a word. And yet when I take things OUT OF THE TRASH, he screams bloody murder. The other person against me is a young Latina who gave me a catechism me when I helped a couple years ago. It was so intrusive, I didn't go back. I wouldn't dream of questioning someone like she did me. The next time I saw her I said, "You're the reason I left the last time, because you interrogated me." She said, "I didn't do that. I was just being social." Well, it was a lot like one dog sniffing the other's ass. She was there last time, getting ready to mop and Smother Woman insisted that I leave before the Nun started. What does she think I'm going to do, bite her?
I think they decided I wasn't loyal enough because Smother Woman asked me several times to show up for commodities day, which happens on a Tuesday. Well, I have a prior commitment, so the weather being fair, I went to The Garden.
I called the coordinator to tell her I wouldn't help where I wasn't welcome. Then I called Western Service Workers and told them I'd quit. They said, "That will give you more time to help us!" Exactly. There was so much low play, even though there are folks who are good steady helpers. One is always cracking wise. A few from my church are regulars, one of whom was named Citizen of the Year by the City Council. She is battling cancer. Since she had to take a break, I stepped up. Well, today I stepped down, out, and let them know they won't have me to kick around any more. Well poisoners.
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Dec. 5th, 2011 @ 05:41 pm Holpen
It's an old term, holpen. It comes from a Christmas Carol, "Noel," that has a lotta runs in it and we used to try to sing it for the Pageant at Grossmont High School. The lyrics go, "Sing we clear, holpen are all folk on earth, born is God's son so dear," followed by all the Noels. Well, today, I was at loose ends because we had two big events that kept me from sleeping due to anxiety. I just got through them on my reserve motor and then the Day After Blues (DAB) set in. I couldn't find stuff. Lost my shirt, so to speak.
It was the one my friend Carol gave me with Tigger on front and the inscription "Wild Friend." I was working in the yard seeing to the struggling winter garden. We've had low temperatures and expect the same tonight, so frost is on the vine. One tomato just started to yield, so I constructed an elaborate tent of old closet doors that peels back during the day. It succeeded marginally.
The family has been struggling to make ends meet and one came untied. For two weeks, a trash bin goes out, but comes back in full. So the old crazy woman hauled the gray bin over and filled it. That way, they'll have some wiggle room. I don't know if the trash company makes you pay back payments if you let your bill get in arrears. I know the water and electric company keep a tight leash on their product. But if they stop picking up, can you slide and pay when you can afford it? Not my business. I just help where I can, and now they're holpen.
I went to a hymn sing last night at the Catholic church. Other congregations trotted out their groups and a good time was had by all, even if the chairs were torture. Arriving too late to practice, I just melted into the crowd and listened. My friend Sara had canned goods for the food bank, and I thought maybe I could take some to WSWA too. Of course, she said.
The phone rang as yours truly was moping about. It was Carol, trying to get something started. We agreed to go to the movies tomorrow. The next call was from Dan, in pain, thinking he needed to go to hospital, but he found some pain meds that will get him through the night. Then Jane, bored out of her noggin, asked if I can come over. Once there, I asked if she would like to deliver the food for WSWA. At first, no, because of her brain, but then she warmed to the idea. She has lapses, but makes more sense than some people who are not impaired. So by helping her, I was holpen.
I heard on the radio that the rescue mission needs blankets. All kinds. They're at 16th and Newton, south of Market, I guess. There's a few in the bin. At the very least, I can wash up some rugs and take them down. Holpen homeless. Happy holidays.
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Nov. 26th, 2011 @ 07:50 am Ragnarok
Ragnarok (also known as Goterdammerung in Norse mythology, the end of times) is all about geeky boys role playing in the basement, taking up their nerfish (nerdish) swords for Live Action Role Play (LARP). They develop a website and get new people to play with them. The first ones are sisters with Elf identities. One's tongue had been cut out so she is mute. The former Dungeon Master of the D&D game gets apoplectic in the presence of girls.
The second group to join them has an arrogant guy who calls them "Noobs" (for newbies) and has no respect. The two who come with him are a tall straight-talking black guy and a sorceress, who tries to get it on with two of the three available guys (there were four original gamers). With the first one, she doesn't get past a kiss. He stops her and says, in essence, "This isn't going any farther. I value the group more than a relationship with you." The other says, really? You like me? And hooks up with her. Until he gets it that the arrogant guy is really her boyfriend. Too late, he calls it off. She tries to take over the group as leader and oust the main character. The guy she hit on first loses respect for him and starts hanging out with another group.
I totally liked the geek sisters. The talkative one names the way girls will use sex to split up a group, hooking up with one and then another guy in the group (all of the guys are fine with this, by the way, except the former DM, of course). As things develop, the talkative one hooks up with him and her sister finally talks to the main character. Turns out, she had been a drug addict and her sister brought her into role playing as part of her recovery. Since she didn't have a personality that was separate from the drug life, she decided being mute would give her a chance to find out who she was in a different context. I thought this was the meat of the story. Boys start out in these games to find a personality that is separate and grander than their suburban limitations, but she made a conscious decision to adopt this ridiculous stance in order to be reborn as a new person, precious and free, as they say in recovery. The DM with arrested development is amazing. I thought his Bard narrator was reminiscent of Beowulf. He pulls out all the stops and throws himself into his part. The main character does more narration than one would want in a play, but it was necessary. While he introduces the characters and defines their idiosyncrasies, they freeze. About the new people, you get their story in dialogue.
The play begins with a girlfriend offstage telling the main character to get ready, they're packed and moving. In the trunk onstage is his gear, which he unpacks and begins to reminisce about the group. At the end, he's packed and you know who will come out and take him off into the sunset. I don't think anyone but someone who was involved in role playing could have gotten this guy.
I called Damehexe with a strong recommendation to go see the play. I'd like to buy 5 tickets (That's $100!) for the whole famdamily, but they are going to have to go on their own. Soon. It closes December 10 at the 10th Avenue Theater. Go see it or be forever consigned to irredeemable geekhood! http://www.circle2dot2.com
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Sep. 29th, 2011 @ 07:47 am As one thinks . . . John Allen said that
But John Ruskin was more interesting. He was a book critic and writer I admire from the 19th century:

When a man is wrapped up in himself he makes a pretty small package. -John Ruskin, author, art critic, and social reformer (1819-1900)
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Sep. 28th, 2011 @ 07:35 am Strange dream
I had a cell phone that expanded in my purse. When I took it out, it had started to bulge like a battery that got wet. Quite a curiosity to everyone who saw it. How is this possible? they all asked, (including me). On TV, I had watched Ringer where the protagonist tries to open a phone to look for a serial number, with no success (seriously? What a wimp. Mine comes off voluntarily). The phone belongs to the guy that hid the body, but that's a different story line.
I think listening to a radio interview about worms and bots and malware got me started, followed by the ads for cell phones that can jump through wormholes. Mine just calls and receives calls. But I can't hear the person on the other end if there is ANY ambient noise at all. Is there a volume control? Not that I can find. Even my land line has one of those. Mickey mouse!
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