YES: Skull and crossbones!

LOVE it :)

-- but establishing that I'm hopelessly pic-tarded by using the eraser thing because I can't figure out how to crop: not so much. At least my smeared allegedly water-resistant eyeliner won't be floating around in cyberspace, so there.

I know what I said about photos before, but ...

UPDATE: THE FOLLOWING PICS HAVE BEEN CHANGED FOR SEMINONIMITY.



...I'm sticking out my tongue here, DH likes that kind of thing, go figure:





... I loveloveLOVE this swimsuit! And I don't think this one is near causing scandal the law firm can't handle. Gah -- that hair-don't done to me about two months ago is barely growing out -- but DH sure can handle a camera better than I ever will; only problem with this pic is the black and white skull and crossbones on the top aren't visible :(

We spent late morning to early afternoon at the site of one of my most memorable high school summer jobs: Knott's Soak City Palm Springs. Back in the day, I felt like I'd just auditioned and landed a part on Baywatch -- but boy, did the reality of pounding sun, wet and wild screaming kiddies, and staff drama quickly set in.

Now back to prep for the next round of online course hell come the 16th (yes, I sure know how to make summertime a party), then dinner at La Picanha tonight -- holding DH to that! Then will try to remember to give my half-baked review of the Sex and the City movie.

Why I love a civilized simian.

I'm really stretching my limited procrastination time right now (I'm off for Memorial Day tomorrow BUT have some catching up to do again for the online class and will visit mom and her newborn chihuahas tomorrow, so had to squeeze a super-mini vacation with DH yesterday and today) -- what was I saying again? Oh, following is a hilarious yet profound anecdote from my favorite primate blogger regarding how silly suicide can be under most circumstances. And mind you, I support the right to pull the plug on yourself. Without further ado, the last 3 paragraphs of Mr. Bananas' latest offering:

“I’m going down now, Horace.” I said. “Why not watch tonight’s episode and sleep on the suicide thing? There’ll be plenty of opportunities to do it right later. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to plan your death properly.”

Later that evening, I joined the circus staff watching Falcon Crest on a communal TV set. Horace was there and I sat next to him, taking care not to show exaggerated concern for his emotional state. I chuckled at Jane Wyman’s lines to remind him of what he would have missed if he’d pinged himself. I didn’t wolf-whistle at Lorenzo Lamas though – one has one’s limits. He later agreed it would be silly to commit suicide before the current series ended, by which time, of course, he’d found himself a new beau.

This successful course of therapy led me to formulate the Bananas prescription for mental health: live in the present and savour your favourite TV show. As a famous economist once said, in the long run we’re all fucked.

Gratuitous, totally unjustifiable post # 2

OK, maybe there's a little justification. I've grown up loving this song forever because of the voice and that awesome saxophone. Vaguely placed the style and sound in the 60s or 70s, but never bothered to look up it up till now. And always thought the vocalist was a woman.

It came on the radio driving back home, and I realized that I love it even more now because the lyrics describe part of what has happened to me and to some of my friends as we worked up the courage to speak up about, to be engaged with what's going on. So enjoy, all you radicals, you liberals -- how DARE you stand up for liberty ;)

Ms. Smack's questions and my answers to them from her latest post:

Regarding your job, does it impact on your loved ones?

Not often, as I'm single but lately it's impacted my dating life/new relationship (OUCH, I said the 'R' word!). My friends not much -- most work about the same hours and times as I do and we see each other when we can, try to stay in touch by e-mail & sometimes by phone, and there's the rare case like this week when my friend Susan wanted to visit Palm Springs and do tourist stuff with me.

Do you find yourself giving work related advice out of hours? Can you switch off?

Yes, often. Can't switch off sometimes, for example I'm trying to not give too much details about my work on my public blog, and this is still a small town/valley.

Does it start with snarling at the kids if you're over-worked and end with fatigue?

No kids, but I find myself sometimes reacting as I would to particular clients or court/county staff, etc., I've had negative encounters with on unusually bad days.

How much DOES our career affect our personal life?

A lot I think, but it can be both a good and a bad thing. Bad in taking the negativity home or to others who didn't bring it on. But good in that it reflects your passion and commitment to your work.

Should your friends and family be given a break from the stuff you lay on them?

Yes, as much as humanly possible. Am working on that :)

Ms. Smack's comments about teaching her daughter to be wary of predators on the internet brought to mind my own grown-up issues about public blogging. I've pulled two photos of me that showed my full face, though I love them and tickle my vain little ego; still feeling out if that's the way to go because I'd love to share some without what-ifs as gutsier people have on their own blogs.

... but yeah, I think I can't avoid the self-lovin' pics too long; gonna see if the DH man can snap a few distance, side, and especially back side ones as he seems pretty keen on that.

I've given some more thought lately about why I feel the need to blog publicly, and part of the answer I've come up with so far is that I need both to vent about what I usually can't talk out directly to most people around me, as well as draw little slices of life and share them with the world in general, like tossing a message in a bottle into the ocean. But to do that with some security, I think I will do as other bloggers I enjoy do: Not reveal the exact latitude and longitude of my whereabouts, my person.

Otherwise this becomes a blog that's nothing more than a carefully primped photo album or showcase of what my life "should" be. I don't mean to put down blogs that highlight certain aspects of the bloggers' lives -- vacation blogs, tour blogs, this-is-me-and-all-my-good-moments blogs. I love,love,LOVE to click on the Next button on the Blogger header and get eyefuls of snapshots from every corner of the globe, about lives that I would not know about any other way -- it's like being invited to take a peek into people's lives, people you'll likely never meet but who are treating you as a welcome friend.

But I would find that too confining; wouldn't find a point to it in my life, at least at this time. And I already have plenty of albums and do my share of sharing pics and greetings online and on Flickr with people I know.

So I'll keep walking the joyful tightrope, kicking up dust on demographic tracks so I can shine some light on the realities, dreams, and the in-between that I need to explore within this buffer zone of relative anonymity.

Checking in ...

I've been very busy -- sounding really played-out, but again, very, very busy, and bushed. And very tired and sleepy right now. I'm so sorry to hear that TodayInSeven has been pulled by the authors -- seem to recall their were 2 authors, but anyway it's not as important as time out for them from the loss of someone beloved. So I'll try to keep the TodayInSeven posts alive in here because they remind me that brevity is the soul of ...what? man I'm tired!

I have some pics to upload from the street fair Thursday night -- not the best, and turns out that some peeps at the voters booth and passers-by are about as camera-paranoid as yours truly. Some volunteers didn't want their pics snapped and neither did many people walking by. I don't think it was because they thought Homeland Security would be out to get 'em. It's just that special desert blend of vanity, cam-angle-anxiety, and YES, a dash of men-in-black-out-to-get-us paranoia :O

I've fast-read some new posts from my dear faves on the reader when I could snatch a peek, but want to go back when I can give them the read they deserve and put some thought into them. A couple are stand-outs: both deeply touching and courageous.

Last night I went out to dinner with one of my best friends who was visiting from Santa Rosa, and this happened about an hour after she drove "the split" this man drove straight into. The photo from The Desert Sun is haunting:



I don't know what else to say that hasn't been said at the office, around town, and even the comments thread on the story link, but although life is dear to me, I also understand how someone can do this. I don't want to ignore the heinous disregard for family or friends he may have who would suffer his absence, and especially the disregard for other people he could have taken with him. But I know, have known, enough people in love with both cars and speed, and alcohol, and the thrill of all three involves flirting with death. And I can see where a particularly horrible day or news, depression, could take them there.

Other news reports say he was driving a silver Audi; that's a speed machine, know someone who owns an Audi convertible who relishes open stretches of road where he can play Autobahn for a spell. And I also feel the first poster on the Sun story may be correct: suicide by car. Accelerating at that point regardless of the alertness it requires to turn left -- by the way, I've never found it so difficult -- Palm Canyon is pretty curvy-windy at that point and it's mid-town there, not an area where you'll likely find yourself screaming down it and suddenly go "whoops, what a surprise: turns, splits in the road, and intersections every other block." Yes, there's always drivers with a lead foot itching to get past everyone, but never hitting that speed there. And even my friend, who's driven only once before at night in PS, had no trouble maneuvering there or other points; never said anything about it being a tricky place or one that needed a sign.

I don't want to keep going on and on about this crash, so I'll stop here. Maybe I'll have to re-phrase and elaborate on some points later about this, because some points I don't think I've quite got across even with so much wordage.

And oh yes, it's about 74 degrees F tonight, low 90s today; expected to be in the mid-80s tomorrow. It was 110 just yesterday. It's as if the sun turned up the furnace from Friday through Monday as a preview of the months to come, then notched it down chuckling "ha, just playin' with ya, baby!"

Life & death: Dancer and her shadow. Namaste.

Today In Seven's authors reminded me of how nearly six years ago I learned what Nikki Sixx's lyrics express more profoundly than I can right now:



I have a bracing three days ahead; thank you, TodayInSeven, for inspiring me to throw myself into them like my father would. Peace.

Another natural disaster leaving thousands dead and thousands more suffering.

Again, the sheer scale of it is awful, and so soon after the typhoon in Myanmar. And the magnitude of the Chinese earthquake is almost unimaginable, makes me think of the fault that can give at any moment under the desert here.

I can only sit silent, send money to the Red Cross and Direct Relief this week. And appreciate life when I'm being petty about "problems" that are tragically ridiculous against this scale of suffering.

Don't mess with Mount San J.

Comments posted under the article from today's Desert Sun on the latest hikers to trifle with Jacinto:


LettyCruz wrote:
5/11/2008 4:09:00 PM
Wow, 'Mister.' That was like soooooo deep. Do share more sexually oriented hiking do's and don'ts with the unwashed masses, good sir.

So much irrelevancy; so little time ;*

MisterRocDoc wrote:
I heard they were Lesbians.
5/11 3:50:58 PM

Cristalle wrote:
Well, at least this story has a HAPPY ENDING.
5/11/2008 3:31:53 PM

Tolfe wrote:
5/11/2008 1:21:37 PM
But, I'll bet you that if hiker's knew that they will be charged with their own rescue, far less folks would be getting lost?

jgs1122 wrote:
Paying for their own rescue won't be cheap.
5/11/2008 12:43:12 PM

MisterRocDoc wrote:
Idiots.. Hopefully they get rescued so a lesson can be learned.
5/11/2008 11:52:24 AM

Neither merchandise nor vessel.

Again I find myself quoting an entire article or post, because I've been there and been treated like That, and I doubt that there is one soul incarnated on this world as woman who has not been treated this way. And more often than not by those who profess their godliness the loudest. And I'm always amazed by how good-looking, fit men use their looks and bodies in subtle and overt ways to both get ahead in their careers and their personal relationships without fear that they will lose the respect of their peers. Or that they'll be labeled as just a "body" in some way.

For example, I dress very conservatively and professionally at work, not just because it's not the place nor time to "express myself" freely but because always in the back of my mind their lurks the risk of forever not being taken seriously if I give in to the impulse of wearing a summer dress (and DAMN are summers hot here) however demure it may be, because it's too "girly" or it may make me look like I'm trying to find a hook-up at work.

But I also work with and around a couple of good-looking men who feel free to come dressed in bike shorts (one's a cycling fanatic) -- VERY tight shorts -- or to openly boast about how flirting with so-and-so got them a client, an argument reconsidered, etc. I realistically do not see myself ever being cut that slack, nor can I see the female attorney at the firm getting a pass either. So yes, in many respects, women are still boxed in as either "madonnas" or "whores".

So here it is, the May 10 post from Pastor Peggy Senger Parsons' SillyPoorGospel:

Walking down a back street in Santa Fe. The sidewalk was minimal, the adobe wall on my right hand was solid, my left hand could have touched any passing car. It was a one-lane sidewalk.

I heard the slow rumbling approach behind me. Then I heard the young men in the car. They were speaking Spanish, but their intent required no interpretation. They leaned out the open windows. I took a deep breath, blew it out and ignored them. They matched my pace, rolling along directly behind me, providing color commentary.

Then I noticed the old Hispanic man walking towards me. He looked at me, he took in the boys. He could see what they could not – I was visibly pregnant – and it just popped his top.

He jumped off the curb in front of the car. He stood there screaming at the boys, in Spanish of course. He waved his arms wildly in my direction. The only word I caught, multiple times, was “Madonna.” I turned. The boys got the message. The old man continued to yell and pound his fist on their hood. The chastised put it in reverse, backing away from the avenger.

I slipped around the corner, unnoticed.

And that, was in fact, the problem. Nobody on that street had seen ME. The ones in the car saw the biological usefulness of my backside. The one in front of me saw the biological usefulness of my womb. All had opinions about my status as a woman. Their opinions were in severe conflict.

None of them saw the young woman who was neither flattered nor frightened by the unasked for attention. No one saw the young woman who needed no protection or vengeance. What I thought or felt mattered not at all to them.

But hear me now.

I am not my biology.

I enjoy all the things that my body can do.

But I am not my body.

I treasure my body, giving it respect without worship. It is my friend and my servant.

But it is temporary and I am not.

My gender is temporary.

I, created in the image of God, cannot be truly defined by gender.

When my blood and sinews, hormones and neurotransmitters are all rot,

I will remain.

Some of what walked that street will remain.

But those blind men on that street that day would not recognize me,

because

they never saw me.

Jehovah's Witnesses knocking -- it's SATURDAY MORNING, mofos!

I was trying to get an extra hour of sleep before I crawled out of bed to clean up and polish nails, etc., and head on over for mom's day brunch with my sisters and brother, and yeah, the religious sect with the worst boundary issues EVER comes knocking like they want to break my door down. They took off after my banshee yell of "NO THAAAAAAAAAAANKS" -- too late and a coffee cup too early to bust out on THEM with the Heart Sutra and ask them if they've met my lord Gautama Buddha; oh well, they show up next weekend and I'll have the Tibetan Book of the Dead ready and waiting by the door!

And so much for this "villa" apts' gates, gah...

In other news, busting out another post mainly for the sheer pleasure of watching it pop up on Google Reader ^_^ TWO fracking hours to bring that Frankenstein back to life! I over-analyze things, in true Virgo style. I peered at every bit of the blog's HTML trying to find HTML knots from the multiple times I re-burned feeds -- or whatever you call it. Also went scouring Google Help for clues. Turns out the problem was that, somehow, while effing around with the layout the first dozen times, I must have clicked into settings and somehow cut off part of the feed URL. Good times. OK, chipped nail polish doesn't wipe itself off -- laters!

Site feed rage AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If anyone is rolling in here wondering why you received 0-1 second visits from this Palm Springs Roadrunner address -- or perchance a jillion 0-1 visits, allow me to beg your pardon.

I don't know what the hell happened exactly, but suddenly I got not only multiple subscriptions to blogs I don't think I've ever meant to add or dropped a while back, but also my subscribed ones were lighted up like every one of them had new posts. And then I clicked each one and BANG! Multiple windows opening like starbursts -- so happy Mozilla is not as horrific as IE because IE would have just freaked out and kept multiplying windows till I had to reboot.

This all happened when I finally took the time to wrestle with Google Reader (yes, I fucked up even Google's paint-by-numbers subscription scheme) and the Feed burner -- GOD my eyeballs are RED!!! -- anyway, yeah, I'm as good at scrambling a perfectly good site feed/burn/whatever as a cat is with a ball of yarn.

BUT great news: Looks like I finally exorcised the demons I most likely moved into my Google Reader myself and now the world is again blessed with my latest yammerings via Reader. Now don't you feel all glowy and blessed-like again ;*

Now I need to get off this chair; my butt aches.

P.S. -- Check out my most bitchin' new font and layout stylings! Yep, that photo on the header is the one shot of my running-ground-golf-course which I could fit without having the pic take up half the blog. ..ouch, butt hurts, 'night..

DO NOT DISTURB: Attorney napping in office.

You say I kid when I say I babysit lawyers for a living? You would be wrong, my friend. Every now and then, too, I've been known to bribe, cajole, or reward them for good behavior with juice and cookies. The fine art of finessing clients and other attorneys on the phone and in person so that your charges may rest their eyes undisturbed for an hour or two -- or three -- is one of the unheralded talents of paralegaldom. Thus my short but turbulent past as a teacher serves me well.

Good night now; early morn awaits my online homework results, ugh...

¡Tu química con mi piel ...

... hace carga positiva!

Will be running to Paulina's best with Die Hard man at sunset. Enjoy my public blog's youtubification!

YES! YES! YES! THANK YOU, NORTH CAROLINA!

"I love this country too much to see it divided and distracted at this critical moment in history! ... "

So do I, sir, so do I!

& THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU, my beautiful tireless fellow Democrats of the Desert and Stonewall Democrats for Obama! Thank you, a million hugs for tonight's great dinner and rock-solid solidarity tonight!

What I have to say about that, however, is that political activists rarely act from such a spiritual basis; instead they more often act from inner attitudes of anger, embitterment, moral superiority, and either a self-defeating fatalism or a self-promoting righteousness. I know that when I was younger I thought you had to be really angry to change the world for the better.

Now I know that anger is the least productive political emotion, and serves chiefly to make the angry activist feel important while he or she actually gets relatively little accomplished. Anger clouds your perception; forgiveness clears it. Clarity is essential to political action that actually creates positive change.

-- D. Patrick Miller


Adding this because it's 3:11 and couldn't sleep though my eyes desperately want it. So went to my 'pronoia' hippie Rob's site, and found this quote. Because I need so much to remember it now, when I find myself getting angrier and angrier, and I can feel the need to lash back out at the hypocrisy in certain quarters, and the need in me to be 'right' instead of do right. I need to find a way to curb my growing desire for 'schadenfreude' at the expense of those I perceive are helping merrily along or profiting from suffering of others, while playing the good citizen of the world role in public -- ok, see, here it comes again. It creeps up like that humble brushfire last week crept up on woods and mountain and fouled blue sky with ash for days. Good night now.

This is horrible. As when the tsunami hit, and Katrina, my heart just hit a wall, trying to grasp that number: 15,000 dead, and the suffering, exacerbated by that Chinese-backed dictatorship.

Update:

Oh God, I can finally back a Bush in something. Bravo, Laura. I just hope this doesn't become like the brutality in Tibet -- make gestures of support and shut up when the Chinese government hisses about not letting the West shill its wares in China nor have at Chinese sweatshops and contaminated drug labs. What happened to the great culture that gave us Lao Tzu and Confucius and so much art, knowledge, beauty?

And this is why I find it harder and harder to read or watch the news. It gets harder and harder to watch it, especially, because it's easy to avoid clicking on videos of suffering online. And last year I decided to cancel TV signal from my cable service. And I don't miss it. There were very few shows I enjoyed and I can buy the DVDs of those when they come out and even see some online. More than anything else I resented paying for mostly commercials and channels that parroted Fox News rightwing mob-mentality, dumbed-down swill.

OK, it's very late and I need sleep, and to meditate and send whatever ragged good energy I have left to Myanmar. But again, I feel so helpless to do anything besides send money and send my pleadings, my prayers, as I sit to breathe in silence, or chant. I need to do something, send money, yes, I hope I can do more, but what? Like with the tsunami and Katrina, here the question it burns it hurts.

Gratuitous, totally unjustifiable post.

... and I should be studying right now -- ohfuckit!

Psychologist Carl Jung believed that all desires have a sacred origin, no matter how odd they may seem. Frustration and ignorance may contort them into distorted caricatures, but it is always possible to locate the divine source from which they arose. In describing one of his addictive patients, Jung said: "His craving for alcohol was the equivalent on a low level of the spiritual thirst for wholeness, or as expressed in medieval language: the union with God."

Therapist James Hillman echoes the theme: "Psychology regards all symptoms to be expressing the right thing in the wrong way." A preoccupation with porn or romance novels, for instance, may come to dominate a passionate person whose quest for love has degenerated into an obsession with images of love. "Follow the lead of your symptoms," Hillman suggests, "for there's usually a myth in the mess, and a mess is an expression of soul."

My hippie horoscope hero makes the long-neglected Blogroll Quote of the Week tag again because Carl Jung is the man of psychology, in my humble opinion; Freud was jus' jellus of Carl's stylings. And because I want to share this week's "Sacred Advertisement" that came with my horoscope this week. It touches on a profound truth. And I loveloveLOVE Hillman's phrase "myth in the mess."

Now I must go back to unraveling the myth in my apartment's mess, which includes about 5 loads of laundry ... and later, two, yes TWO, dreaded quizzes due by midnight, blech!

Overworked, overcrammed, underslept ... fast-forward Saturday, please :(