Lashing winds, fire, earthquake, all tonight -- WTF?!

Yes, that is what it was.

"A small earthquake struck south of the Coachella Valley about 8:55 p.m. today...."

Yeah right, "small" only if you weren't sitting under clattering crystal -- yes, I moved my fine glassery off the shelf above my head next to my desk as soon as the floor stopped rocking. GOD, I'm a California native, I should decorate an apartment with earthquake safety before feng shui, no contest.

Oh yeah (WARNING: TMI ahead!): Last night my period dropped -- for the SECOND time this month! I had a clean physical and exam at the gyno's in February; this two-period thing has never happened to me, I'm as regular as clockwork dammit -- GAH can't take more freakshitness while cramming a 6-unit course in 8 weeks (((sob))) !!

OK, back to online course hell.

AND NOW...

the earth is shaking.

NOT KIDDING. Earthquake going on right now as I type. WTF?

Still burning

Fire on the Mount

Desert Sun photo:



Took my now-routine mid-study walk, looking forward to crackling energy of the surprise gusting wind since this afternoon, and inhaled the sweet smell of burning timber as I walked out. Slowly walked a block and looked up at the stars, most covered in what I thought was wind-shredded clouds, and then I saw an orange halo to the west, flanking Mount San Jacinto, but it disappeared behind soot and/or actual clouds.

Neighbors were also standing outside yards and pointing, sirens wailed in the distance, and found out this is what's going on. There's no danger of fire making it to the valley floor because there is a whole lot of nothing for fire to eat between Mt. San Jacinto and the desert. But the smell is now acrid and heavier with airborne debris. The winds died for a bit, but looks like they're coming back; hope Idyllwild and San J people and all creatures are safe tonight.

New Blog Loves

Cynic With Flair: This youtubery is for you, girl!

Really quick post before guilt about not 24/7 sucking down two more chapters and regurgitating the major points of the last one gets to me:

Because the catalyst for this public blog was my huge blog collection and wish to lurk no more in Blogger, I'll be posting every now and then about the many new additions to my blog roll. Some of them aren't even blogs, just sites I've been enjoying for a long time, or just discovered. Carol Bowman's, for instance, is a forum discussing reincarnation and primarily children's pjavascript:void(0)
Publish Postast life memories or flashbacks.

And this one is a not-so-new Blogger blog but I discovered it last week while looking for ways to kill the frizzies and the basket head haircut look that last hairdresser worked on me.

OK, the clock is screaming GETTHEFUCKOUTTHEDOOR now for real. Will elaborate later if I don't OD on a certain textbook's contents tonight.

E-mail downer: Prof unimpressed with quiz grades.

"After a great start in Chapter 1, the Chapter 2 quiz results were disappointing. This is the most important chapter. ... Most of all: Lecture point 1: ... 2... 3 ... Remember, each chapter builds on an understanding of the prior chapter. Please, ... Please ask questions ..."

Just opened this little eye-popper from the online course prof. Until now, she's e-mailed very tactful, easy-does-it lectures, notes, and responses to our queries. As she goes on a typo-littered little summary of the points she feels we missed as a collective whole, I can see her pounding her head on the keyboard at the end. The e-mail ends abruptly, all her points not finished, as if she caught herself repeating the entire 5-page Chapter 2 lecture, but e-mailed this anyway.

Ouch. I thought I was doing a pretty good job skirting time-eating work in the book but still grasping the crucial points and work at least competently. Only silver lining is that it seems others did far worse than I did -- it's a terrible thing though when the only upside is other people's greater agony. Going back outside for some fresh air, and when I come back, perhaps I'll have recharged enough to re-tackle some of the concepts we're going to "build on" this week.

My Big Fat Cramming Week

Finally dragged my internet-wandering butt to work a fresh post. My online course has all quizzes and exams deadlined to take between Friday midnight and Saturday evening, and weekly homework is due on Friday morning. The perfect way to kill any attempts at a social life. Plus, it's a "condensed class," which means four months' worth of material is crammed into two.

But I think it's brought out my inner masochist, because after all the hair-pulling and staying up to nearly dawn from Wednesday night until yesterday afternoon, when I finally felt confident enough to work the timed quiz deadlined for Saturday night posting, I actually got a charge from beating the clock, and stocking up on bananas (brain food!) and Trader Joe's espresso, and feeling parts of my brain I haven't used in years are crackling back to life (those, according to my overpriced text, would be the ones that carry out "computational" and "procedural" tasks involving new material).

It's the neurological equivalent of running on the open track and the golf course versus tame-lame Stairmastering and spinning inside a noisy gym. I've been barely lifting a brain muscle at work, excluding the "multi-tasking" ones and the "don't-strangle-your-bosses-or-random-clients" ones, since I can do interrogs, intake, etc., in my sleep by now and the biggest challenge for my English Bachelorhood at work is re-wording standard correspondence to suit a particular situation.

Also, I'm re-learning what I learned in Cal State -- that although everything in the chapters of a textbook is "necessary" for grasping the subject thoroughly, not all of it is necessary to my particular goals for taking the class, and in this case, I don't plan on becoming a CPA. So, I'm not just zeroing in on the material that will keep me from falling behind the homework and testing curb for this class, but also on the material that will be reiterated in a more complex or thorough way during my next course.

YAWN, you say? Well, me too. My fingers nearly dozed off just now correcting run-on sentences and typos, AND I'm hungry. BUT all was not lost in the get-a-life front for me this weekend: My sister called to ask me to come along with her to the Spotlight 29 Casino for this event hosted by Carson Daly's mom:



If you click to enlarge, you'll spot the wine driblets left behind by yours truly as she hastily put down the bold red wine from Mrs. Daly Caruso's own cellar, to cheer on the hot models for Rocawear, Cezer, etc., during the urban-casual market set of the fashion show:



Oh yeah, casino no-photos-inside-the-casino policy ruined mine and just about every other guest's photo plans. About the only people flashing bulbs that night were the hired event photographers, and the cell phone pics we took looked like from the inside of a cave; only silhouettes and the blue glare of strobes and spotlight were visible. Making a mental note now that casino policy means don't take pics on casino floor, per a casino security guard. Ah, but exit gifts of MP3 players with free download cards made up nicely for it and for not winning any of the sweet raffle prizes. Either way, the cause was a great one, and Mr. and Mrs. Mike of the Twenty-nine Palms Band of Mission Indians are beautiful people who have done something in honor of their daughter's memory that has benefited a whole generation.

And it was certainly worth dealing with the extra traffic in the east valley courtesy of the Coachella Music Festival. I like Prince's back-in-the-day stuff, but tickling his insane ego isn't worth upchucking the money nor the time and sweaty bother of that mess -- Goldfrapp, Kraftwerk, and even Jack Johnson maybe, but not enough to make it worth my increasingly spoken-for time and money.

And just recalled -- about running outdoors -- last Sunday evening I took a righteous spill down a steep, gravelly grade on the golf course rough -- probably courtesy of angry Republican country-club-founders' ghosts for ragging on the current crop of Cons at the voters booth last week, but more on that later, food and sunshine call -- gotta get 'em in before my designated 3 hours of Chapters 3 and 4-cramming tonight.

Bunny driving white van: furry convention tonight?

... I kid ... couldn't resist.

Is it so wrong ...

... to pucker your lips shut with all the might you can muster, as you listen to a new client repeat his tale of sturm und drang, because he looks EXACTLY like the flesh-and-blood version of THIS GUY:







.. AND THEN to have to excuse yourself for a quick visit to the restroom, so you can run the faucet and burst into hyena laughter when his business partner comes in from the lobby and introduces himself, looking much like THIS GUY:







AND THEN, to call chick-esquire CC (as in Cheshire Cat, for her super-sized grin) on your cell phone while the water runneth, to inform and cackle in shared Sesame Street recognition?

IS. IT. SO. WRONG???

NAY, I say! As I make a mental note to focus on loving kindness during tonight's meditation.

This random YouTubery was inspired by Mr. Bananas' latest post. If what these chicas sing proves true, hallelujah and pass the broadband.

Poor Cons: Liberals come in feisty packages.

Quick post to keep The Big Fat Public Blog's heart beating.

And I notice via my misfiring Google Reader that most of my fave bloggers have been post-less, and Globus underscores how busy most people are with the return of spring.

I've relived what finals week was all about Friday and yesterday. Tried to slam an entire textbook chapter down in two sittings, sweated problems that I know with enough time to work the practice problems would be nothin' but a thang. But was happy this morning, after uploading a B+ quiz, how well I did in a subject that made me break out in cold sweat, math-related.

Anyhey, FINALLY successfully uploaded the text software and the goal is to keep pace with Chapter 2 tonight; my textbook was shipped late last week and that ate up study time.

Something else which ate up study time was my Thursday night's voter booth volunteeration. FedEx delivered my text Thursday afternoon, when all I could think about was handling 5 clients' appointments and two new ones' intakes at the office, AND running through facts and sources in my mind for repelling extra-bullyish neo-cons at the street fair that night.

Shouldn't have worried about the latter. The worst of the neo-cons' heckling came from a hydraulics salesman in 70's-styling running shorts (with matching maroon t-shirt TUCKED IN!) who backed the hell away after all 3 of us on the Obama side of the Democratic Party tables asked him in various versions why he shouted out his only concern as "What are you gonna do to save me from capital gains tax?!". My query to this Bruce-Jenner-Wheaties-era boomer Richpublican was "Why should taxpayers fund your company's welfare tax with more foreign loans, and hydraulics, isn't that an industry relying heavily on continuing the Iraqi occupation?" (Yes, business is good when the government bombs the infrastructure of an entire country, sir; too bad-so-sad for all those troops trying to get college paid for and their families supported by enlisting.) He backed away like he'd been sprayed with buckshot, glancing around the crowd as if concerned if onlookers watched his non-response, and away he walked-ran in his nearly ball-baring retro track shorts.

And let it be known that we were not being big, bad "libooooroools" to the poor minding-their-own-biz random Republicans out for a good time. Tonight we had a couple of idiots try to grab handfuls of the buttons or walking by several times for the sole reason of snickering or hurling some I'm sure painfully memorized line from a right-wing radio shill. The sweet and calm senior ladies manning the neutral middle section of the connected tables with the voters reg cards told us they get a lot of drunken harassment from neo-conned yahoos on regular nights; our take-no-shit attitude kept the trolls at bay this night.

Oh man, and it was right in front of CopyKatz, on the first night of White Party no less! Also held an Obama poster aloft my 3 hours at the table because the Hillary side had the advantage of a looped video on a TV set of Hillary Clinton working a crowd. "OBAMA IN O-EIGHT, HE CAN ENUNCIATE" was my impromptu cheer, with an "UNLIKE A FAKE TEXAN WE KNOW" to the random glaring a-hole meandering the street fair. One beer-can-tan dude turned away from me but gave a slashing thumbs down as he passed by -- he was my inspiration.

We sold out of all bumper stickers and buttons within the first hour, which fund local Democrats, and next week plans are afoot for more crowd-pleasing bumper stickers like "Say NO to McBush in '08". Also, two of our guys got a brilliant idea while shouting "PALM SPRINGS: YOUNGER THAN MCCAIN" as they passed the celebratory bandstand for Palm Springs' 70 years as a city, on the corner of Tahquitz and Palm Canyon...where the precinct wives of the Republican Party table seethed.

There was also an awesome candle-light vigil-march for hate crimes victims led by the San Diego Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. It was a beautiful night all told.

Now I have to hurry outside to meet the setting sun on its way over my favorite, eucalyptus-crowned golf-course. I leave you with a song that's been running on my player during my last couple of runs, and will again this evening.

... Und auf wiedersehen, mein special lurker.

Escape from freedom and enslave the world.

(Skip to 33:00 on the clip above for a quick dose of insight.)

Because I've been so busy and was planning a post anyway about the religion of hate, in all its sects and disguises, and because in spite of being a Mac fanboy, Mark Morford keeps speaking his heart and conscience, and because again he so uncannily speaks for me in this piece, but words fail me and all I want to do is bitch-slap the smug and militantly blind out of people who back the shit going on around us: I've done what I don't want to do regularly and quoted an entire article.

My TodayInSeven post-title was inspired by a book I read in Cal State, Escape from Freedom by Erich Fromm, which psychologically and sociologically gets to the heart of the matter that when enough individuals are scared shitless of the work and courage required to be free, even the most "advanced" and democratic societies spiral.

-- oh yeah, and the YouTubery? That's to cleanse my mind of the Christ-hijacking image of "Kriss-chuns" (as a friend forever nicknamed a spittle-spewing regular haranguer from a fundamentalist church outside the old Planned Parenthood clinic in Indio, whose answer to why he was out there waving photoshopped pics of trashcan fetuses and hollering about "whores of Babylon" to women coming into the clinc was "Cuz imma kriss-CHUN!"). Thank you, Anne.


Mark Morford:

I know I know I know — we don't exactly have huge platoons of nasty jackbooted soldiers storming through the streets in riot gear and gas masks and large sticks bashing down on the shiny heads of peaceful monks.

We don't exactly have smashed and burning vehicles and dead bodies in the streets and vicious martial law, ethnic cleansings and curfews and media lockouts and blocked Internet access and all sorts of nefarious, disturbing reports of brutality and beatings and death. Well, except for parts of Oakland. And L.A. And Chicago. But never mind that now.

Overall, even under the deformed and wretched Bush regime and despite how much Dick Cheney's dead raisin of a heart leaps with excitement when he sees the videos of those bloodied and dead Tibetan protesters ("Damn hippies had it coming"), America is still far from the brutality and inhumanity happening right now in Lhasa and beyond.

Or maybe not. For here is what we do have: We have torture. We have a frighteningly simpleminded cowboy-wannabe president who supports and endorses the most inhumane treatment of prisoners imaginable despite its utter failure as a tactic, and this violent belief, this dark energy infects the national bloodstream like prehistoric malaria.

We have capital punishment. We remain the only so-called advanced first-world democracy on the planet that legally kills its own, and we top it off by imprisoning tens of thousands more merely for growing or selling a bit of marijuana or Ecstasy or meth, wasting tens of billions of dollars on an overflowing prison system and a failed drug war that no one at the highest levels of government dares speak against because oh my God all drugs are evil! Now go slam a few beers and a fistful of Xanax and forget about it.

We still have a hateful fundamentalist religious right that, despite nicely fracturing itself over the fact that certain chunks of it aren't hateful enough toward women and gays and sex and non-Christian beliefs, still freaks out when kids play dress up, still is horrified by the notion of a black or female president, still honestly believes homosexuality is an abomination and Jesus spoke perfect English and stem cells have feelings and cavemen rode dinosaurs and the vagina is Satan's playground. Which, of course, it totally is. But in a good way.

Thanks to Dubya's disastrous economics, we now have the largest deficit in history, coupled to the widest gap ever between ultra-rich and the poor, with the largest swath of the middle-class no longer really in the middle and now more like hovering just above oh my God how will we make the mortgage payment this month I hope nothing goes wrong with the Civic and please please please no one get sick.

Wait, check that: Bush's economics haven't failed at all. They've worked spectacularly well, and exactly as designed: The rich got richer and, well, f— everyone else.

We are all but officially in a recession, deepening by the day. China and Japan own the vast majority of America's staggering debt, in the form of massive loans with equally massive interest rates, and if their economies so much as sneeze, we're basically screwed. Check that: more screwed.

The housing market is tanking. Has tanked. Is still tanking. And you know it's tanking when even homeowners in normally bulletproof San Francisco are getting nervous, when real estate blogs from here to SocketSite are all posting items about how even ridiculous multi-million dollar Pacific Heights homes and downtown luxo condos are slashing 50 thousand, 100 thousand, 1 million bucks off their sale prices to stimulate interest, and while there are still gobs of dot-com money floating around, most everyone is feeling very edgy indeed. But hey, at least you have that IRS rebate check coming, right? Smell the economic stimulus package! Mmm, futile.

Is there any good news? Why, sure. Hope is bubbling and churning like we haven't seen for nearly a decade. Given how 80 percent of Americans believe/know we're currently on the wrong track, all attention is turning to the Obama/Hillary cavalry riding all-too-slowly toward us in the far distance. But meanwhile, the feral neocon pigs are still rooting what's left of the garden. As Jon Stewart put it, despite all the change in the air, despite the wisps of hope and progress and fluffy bunnies for all, well, Bush is still president.

Yes, Dubya is still being mocked overseas and still raping the English language at every speech and still taking these remaining miserable months of his failed presidency to see if he can't hammer a few more nails into the coffin of the economy, the environment, the soul of the nation. Hey, what's happening in Tibet is horrible, but have you seen the smoking rubble that was the U.S. Treasury?

Gas is four bucks a gallon. Airlines are shutting down. Newspapers are dying. Oh my, yes. Major media is in upheaval and some of it is good and some of it is very ugly and no one seems to have any idea how to create a new kind of business model that will sustain true and invaluable expertise in journalism, deep reportage that we actually count on — and which all those petulant, anti big-media blogs actually depend on for their very existence — to give the nation some sort of reliable collective narrative.

Whoops, sorry. Sidetracked. But then again, not really. You want to know about Bush's various ongoing abuses? You want to know the facts about the failed surge in Iraq? About Darfur? Burma? Tibet? You need major media, flawed and imperfect and biased as it may be. What, you think it's a perfect science?

As for Tibet, it's sort of amazing, really. This Olympics might indeed turn out to be a terrific opportunity for this same beleaguered media — right along with the blogs and the YouTubes and the rest — to shame China for its rampant human rights abuses and abhorrent record of oppression and ethnic cleansing.

But here's the really incredible thing: Intense international scrutiny could actually forcibly reshape the political and moral agenda of this exploding superpower at the perfect moment, just as it enters the big leagues and becomes a true force in the world. Put another way, Bush's America has essentially failed as moral and theological leader of the world. Maybe our turn at the wheel is done. Maybe a revolutionized, liberated, democratic China can do better?

But this is not a column to say we're in the same situation as Tibet/China. There is no real comparison. After all, Bush has yet to order the Army into the streets of Eugene and Austin and San Francisco to crack people's skulls for doing some yoga and lighting incense and for believing that Jesus wasn't actually a warmongering Muslim-hating isolationist jackass like he is. Not yet, anyway.

This is merely to remind, to point out one of the great things about this country. You want dour news? You want heartbreak and disappointment and oppression, people paying 15-grand to have a tiny bump removed from their elbow because the health care system is a disaster? You want to feel enraged at human rights abuses and overflowing prisons and fascist-like government maneuvers? Wave that banner high, protester. Free America! Free America! Free America!

A Scottie Moment ...

YAY! I fought my book nerd nature and cut off the inside flap of my Scott of the Antarctic hardcover edition, so as I could share this photo which I've not found on either Google, Yahoo, or Flickr. ... just look at that smoldering gaze wrapped up in properly tailored Edwardian perfection, those lips ...

... and somewhere Kathleen Bruce is rolling 'cause I'm molesting her man -- maybe I'm the reincarnation of Pauline Chase

-- and I wonder if Miss Chase ever sent Captain Scott these piccies ;D

-- yeah, yeah, this is a sickness, OK? Get over it ;)

now I must prep for tomorrow's online course debut, GAH am still feeling overwhelmed but now excited, looking forward to it, and to my evening jog at the country club! Laters!

UPDATE: DAMN! What a little Googling will fish up!:

A query from Chris Albury of Dominic Winter Book Auctions:

"I am wondering if anyone can help with some research about a 'Polly' known to both J.M. Barrie and Captain Scott. I have a copy of The Voyages of Captain Scott, by Charles Turley, with an Introduction by Sir J.M. Barrie, 1st edition, 1914. On the front endpaper Barrie has inscribed in blue ink: 'To Polly / You were his great love / JMB / Dec 1932'. What I'm trying to find out is who Polly was and if Barrie is referring to an affair between Scott and Polly. It would seem that Barrie was a close confidante of Scott's private life and knew of his affair with the actress Pauline Chase, Barrie's favourite Peter Pan. Polly is usually a dimunitive of the name Mary, though it could possibly refer to a Miriam, a Martha or even Apollonia. ..."
-- I think it's most likely "Polly" as in PAULine! OK, must put a lid on my inner geek now ;D

Hot, sunny...Good excuse for noon nap.

~_~

A MySpace Moment ...

... or Why You Should Never Trust a Charlotte Russe Sales Associate's Fashion (or Size) Sense

I think I've seen Paris Hilton working this top and butt-munching shorts somewhere:



The perfect heels for the resort hooker on the go:



But in Charlotte Russe's defense, just about every retailer at Westfield was working their mannequins with resorty shorts, disco-summery tops, and heels of every height.

And oh yes, I still have issues with that hair cut, dear lord a handful of pins and my tiniest clip can't keep it in check ... and now, back to napping away last night's Range Rover date dissipation.

Everything in moderation, including moderation.

I'm going out, as in the neighbor who smiles like Bruce Willis from Die Hard 1 asked me out. As in the neighbor formerly known as The Range Rover Neighbor, who nearly ran me off the road on Sunrise and Ramon -- anyway, haven't done a "datey" date in lo these many moons ...

...and at the risk of turning this blog into My Big Fat YouTube Blog, here's a trailer for another movie I humbly believe that your life is that much missing out on if you haven't seen it:

Blogger Brian Hughes said...

Free Tibet - Olympic Running Shoes Half Price!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Much love to you, brother Brian Hughes!

Hottie

Thanks for the inspiration, Ms. Smack ;D

... and I love where the author stamped his name.

Movie GOLD!

Ginger's latest post flashed me back to sick days watching one of the first movies I ever bought because I was racking up rental late fees (remember those?) Little Shop of Horrors is one of those movies where I can seriously say that if you've never seen it, your life's missing a little something!



And need I mention that Steve Martin is smoking hot in it?

Dragon sleeps in my heart chakra today.

It was difficult to fall asleep last night. I got out of bed after an hour of trying, read through the instructor's e-mails for the online class starting next Monday; then I meditated for 20 minutes.

When I finally got to sleep, deep in it I recall a small, young dragon. She was lean and snake-like in body, but had short, slender legs. Deep blue with spine scales glittering, she was a very chatty dragon. I wish I could remember what she said. But I do remember her merry, sparkling eyes, and how she curled up for warmth on my chest as I lay in bed, still chattering away, but slowly quieting, as she curled in snugger and snugger between my breasts. She curled and curled in for warmth and finally got through my chest, nestling in my heart. I slept soundly and woke up without the alarm's assistance this morning.

I've noticed that whenever I dream of dragons, things seem to go better, or at least I can cope with the coming day much better. May this be the case today.

... I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Day went smoothe, including two situations that could have gone in charlie-foxtrot territory with just the wrong touch. So the dragon abides...and just because I couldn't stop this song from looping between my ears all day (DAMN YOU, Fergie!):

So good to know that the rest of the world is not comfortably numb.

"... After Paris, it moves to San Francisco, its only American stop, on Wednesday." And I'm looking forward to see this pathetic Hitler's Olympics-styling show land on the States' most-awakened city.



UPDATE (& TMI WARNING): Just got my period today, had a funny, bloatational feeling it was coming down any day now. So the pics from below are of me BLOATED, ha ha! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself ^_^

Damn, I'm already thinking up MySpacey posts.

Strike a pose! Ready, set ... cringe.

I got my pictures from the photo man sooner than expected ... and it was hate at first sight. The yoga asanas look very cheesy and, well, posed. Very MySpacey, too....ugh...and then they kick-started my inner paranoid obsessive, visualizing the random person who might know me stumbling upon this big fat PUBLIC blog and laugh-laugh-LAUGHING :O

Oddly, my mother LOVED them, so mission accomplished. They will only see the light of day in the family board thing she's helping my godmother out with next week.

BUT, in brighter news, running errands this morning I decided to pack along my Nikon again in case I came upon photo-worthy situations like I did that weekend near CopyKatz. Anyway, I discovered to my bottomless dismay that my photos were NOT being eaten by my PMS-ing computer, but were in fact not even recognized as photographs to begin with because (drumroll, please): My camera was inadvertently set to MOV mode, "silent movie" mode at some point, and not to JPEG. I dug up the Nikon manual and got it straight, worked it out and sample-shot in the restroom of a fine hospitality establishment in downtown:





So that's the extent of the properly JPEG-moded pics. ... GOD, look at my HAIR, wind-battered and YES, homegirl cut TOO SHORT last week... So , yeah, the competitive field of photography is safe from me tonight, and for many moons to come.

What more in the name of love...

One man come in the name of love
One man come and go
One come he to justify
One man to overthrow

In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love

One man caught on a barbed wire fence
One man he resist
One man washed on an empty beach.
One man betrayed with a kiss

In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love

(nobody like you...)

Early morning, April 4
Shot rings out in the Memphis sky
Free at last, they took your life
They could not take your pride

In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love...


-- U2, Pride (In The Name Of Love)

Don't just stand there: Bust a move!

Another reason I've not yet ditched these attorneys and joined the circus: It's cool to work where I can just up and ask one of the esquires "So are we gonna bust a move and DOR this bitch, or what?"

And in other thrilling noticias, got my hair trimmed by a different hairdresser yesterday because my regular guy was on vacay. I think homegirl went too far. I mean I wanted my hair a bit shorter for the warmer weather, but damn -- 'shoulder-length' doesn't mean barely brushing my nape. Photog says if all goes well Saturday I should be getting my photos on disk by Monday, so you random lurkers up in here will be the judge if I just got punked with a bad case of office hair.

I promise meatier posts to come, just now my impending online course as well as work are breathing down my more-visible neck :/