junkie prelims

Can the effing Olympics just get here already? I'm dying in anticipation. I'm already feeding my addiction by watching as many qualifying events as I can squeeze in and I'm doing my best to distract myself with Wimbledon - which would be taking center stage in any other year - but seriously.

I need the Olympics to just get here. Get here!!!

I will be choking up at random intervals as I watch the strain and triumph on competitors' faces. I will be beside myself watching rowing (of course) as I watch on television what I swore and promised myself I would participate in. I will be unfailingly proud of the people I know who are competing and I will suffer a MAJOR withdrawal period when it is past. The anticipation is driving me nuts.

dreamy

I have been waking up extremely confused lately and it's because of several dreams I've had. The mind is an interesting mine field and at night, while I toil at peaceful sleep - which I realize is somewhat of an oxymoron - my noggin is actively processing everything with which I have ever come into contact and playing it out on the screen behind my eyeballs in a freakshow / circus-like fashion. Surprised? I didn't think so.

I'm still not quite sure what they mean, but I am sure that they are all bizarre; bizarre enough to share in this most public of all public forums with my vast audience.

1. The football coach: This one isn't the hugest stretch, since I coached a team of high school boys in a sport for quite a while. However, that sport was definitely not football. What happened in this dream, was I had an entire football team all to myself. No defensive or offensive coordinators, no random kids just out of college to conduct drills, no whiny teacher / administrator / former football player coaches to slow things down. Just me.

I appointed captains and got things moving and I think I did a pretty good dream-time, job. But the part I remember the most vividly, was a very talented, but kind-of lazy kid coming up to me - his curly hair mopped to his head with sweat - to tell me that he didn't think he would go to college to play, because if he just got a job at the store down the street after high school, he could start making money right away and live large. I grabbed him by the collar and I yelled this:

"What the hell makes you think that a scholarship to a university, a degree from that university, and a career job in 4 years isn't going to yield more than what you'd make in those same 4 years working in that shithole down the block? Why don't you go mull that over in your brain and get back to me."

Hm.



2. Stuck in the non-bathroom: So there I was in my childhood home, where the people who spawned me still reside. I don't know why I was there, but I was stuck in the bathroom that is attached to their bedroom. Crazy thing was, there was a nice, tile floor and a shower. No sink, no counter, no vanity, no toilet. The walls and ceiling were covered in various kinds of wallpaper, which resembled metallic wrapping paper, more than anything else. Each wall was sloppily sectioned off and there were curtain sheers draped at odd angles all over the place, as well. So metallic pink and silver flowers were interrupted by stripes and then a random green sheer, in a room with no windows.

I stood perplexed in the room and I don't think I ever ended up taking a shower.



3. Mole removal: I was at the beach with some friends in this one. Actually, they were friends that probably don't even know about each other and a random guy from work that I don't think I've shared more than 5 sentences with in the entire time I've worked there. So there we were on the beach, when a discussion of removing moles came up and over walked a doctor, in full lab coat regalia, with a scalpel and forceps. 2 of the conversations participants then had their procedures done, right there on the shore. I stood and marvelled and wondered if it hurt. The guy from work got sick over to the side of where we were sitting.



4. Picture hanging: Again with 2 of the 3 participants of the mole removal dream, I was in my current apartment, although it was spiffed out to look more modern, slightly more airy and more well-furnished. We were engaged in hanging pictures, and in the dream, I not only had art of which I was proud, but I had it in frames that were befitting of art that someone is immensely proud of. Neither of these things are a reality, currently.

So after breaking the glass on one frame, someone had a miraculous idea for how to mend the glass and make it new again. After the mysterious mending was complete, the picture was hung, only for me to see that the frame had enormous pock marks and a large chunk missing close to one corner. When I questioned why this was so and why it was hung anyway, my friend said "Well the glass is fixed, isn't it?" I stared at it until I woke up. I don't know what art inhabited the befallen frame.


I used to keep a diary of dreams, among other things, but after it was stolen from me several years ago (along with about $4k worth of other items), my enthusiasm for it slowed. Now that I have remembered these 4 dreams in only the last 2 days, maybe I'll pick it up again. As it turns out, they don't call me odd for no reason.

if you would.....

~Stop in front of me at the bottom of the escalator

~Slow down dramatically in a rushing stream of foot traffic to text your girlfriends
about makeup brushes.

~Make phone calls in a movie theater while the trailers are playing, because it's
not yet the actual movie, so who cares.

~Yell at your buddy across the seats of the subway, instead of sitting next to
each other.

~Stand in the middle of the locker room in your thong turning around and around
in the mirror, blocking the passage of people trying to get to the showers.

~Flick your cigarette away from where you're standing with gusto, so it makes it
out to the middle of the sidwalk and onto my open-toed shoe clad foot.

~Walk 4 wide down the sidewalk and then spread out like a wall at the corner.

~Cackle and vociferate on the commuter rail, preferably for at least 54 minutes
and then say "O shit, we should be quiet."

~Take out your cash one penny at a time at the store counter during lunch hour.


If you could please just accommodate us all and do these things as much as possible and on the regular, the rest of the world would love you more.

Seriously.

oily mess

Ah the Bush-ster. The lamest of the lame ducks. Does anyone really give a crap what he's saying or "calling for" anymore? I can't even bring myself to loathe him quite as much, because he's just so dumb and his grip over my poor country will soon be over. And let's all pray to someone that no one else in his family ever thinks of running again. Not even for the PTA board.

But alas, he is still in office and now I must comment on his latest plea to the people; a re-awakening of the offshore drilling discussion. Yes, let's sink all of our money and efforts into punching holes into the continental shelf. There's gotta be some stuff in there that we can use. Forget the screams and cries for alternative energy, by the atmosphere itself, if not by the human occupants of our globe. According to many, all of whom are conveniently running the oil industry, we have enough oil for 40 years. O my goodness 40 whole years?! Wow. I mean, 40 years is totally a long time. As long as we have oil for 40 years, why bother with an aggressive switch to alternatives that are less damaging? Drill dammit!

I find it decidedly interesting that this debate has become one of those "right v. left" topics now, too. Whatever happened to people just generally having the best interests of our species in mind? Has anyone on the Bush side of the debate bothered to note that we've gone through virtually all of that oil we are scrambling after in less than 100 years? Anyone bothered to give a nod to the fact that our irresponsible industrialization is what is most directly responsible for this quandry in which we find ourselves? No, because the H3 just came out and since it uses less gas than the original Hummer, it's totally not as bad for the environment, right? And it only costs $80 to fill up, which is a drop in the bucket when compared with the cool factor.

So let's just leave it to us crazy hippies to fret over what we're going to do when our earth kicks us all in the ass, after we've taxed it to its limit. The way out of this mess will be a burden in the short run, but imagine a world where your grand kids can't turn their faces up to the sun, because there is no atmospheric barrier to protect them from it. Won't that be fun?

satc

If you know what this acronym means, you are either gay, female, or extreeeeeemely metro. here is a review....

I watched the show, but only after it had been on for a few years and only after my roommates girlfriend made a stink about us getting HBO so that she could see it at our house. After she made this proclamation and sucked forty dollars a month from my pocket, she then forced me to sit out and watch it with her because we were "the girls". Actually the one who really did the forcing was my roommate and he paid in beer for about 6 months.

Anyway the point is, I then began to watch the show and overall found it funny and entertaining. I could get to this because I realized that each character is a vivid representation of a very strong female "type". Very few people are actually like any of those characters all by themselves. Most are a hybrid, which is obviously what kept the show going as long as it did. That and the candor with which these women talked about embarrassing and sensitive subjects. That said, I had intended to see the movie how I saw the show: by dvd and re-run. When it turned out that a social opportunity arose however, I went for it and sat with my neck cramped as I stared directly up at the screen from the second row. I'm still not sure what most of the characters were actually supposed to look like, but I'm not about to make that trip again.

Here's what really bugged me about this movie. The thing I liked best about the show, was that it was funny. It was really funny and even in the midst of some pretty serious, sad or scary situations (alliteration, athankyou), the general rule of the program was to keep it at least entertaining. Not as cheesy as a sitcom, but not as heavy as a full drama. In the movie however, it was just all heavy. All sad. It was 2.5 hours of heavy and sad with one or two laughs chucked in so that the movie patrons didn't all start trying to off themselves with tweezers and nail clippers right there in the theater.

To boot, there was only one hot man in the movie and although he was gracious enough to give a couple quick full-frontal seconds, he wasn't nearly enough to perk up the drab, sad, brooding rest of the movie. But here's what I really take issue with; Carrie's situation is completely unrealistic and nearly unfathomable in its absurdity. I was disappointed when, on the show, "Big" miraculously became a decent guy who was going to magically stop fucking with her head. Not gonna happen in real life. Ever. And this is no angry female talking, it's a real person with real life experiences speaking. So when "Big", who is now "John", jilts her in her Vivianne Westwood gown, they should have left it at that and saved women all over the world years of time hoping that their dipshit boyfriend would come around, too. Because if there was hope for Big, well then there's hope for us all, right? Uh, no.

There were moments of the movie that I enjoyed, but I won't give them away because I hate to spoil the laughs when there are so few of them. But I have to say, this movie re-enforces why I don't do chick flicks. I can never get those hours of my life back and I spend the whole time going "are you fucking kidding me???" Sorry ladies, here's hoping they can the sequel idear.

a sad farewell

Tim Russert died suddenly on Friday, of an apparent heart attack. He was only 58 years old. While the pundit may say that it's no big deal to have lost another talking head, he or she would be sorely, sorely mistaken when referring to Mr. Russert. He was one of my journalistic heroes and I am terribly sad to see him taken from his family and his storied career so soon.

An hour of Meet the Press would demonstrate to anyone why he was, is and will always be so revered as a political journalist. There was no ego in his journalism, which is exceedingly rare, even with the most objective reporters. He truly took his position to another level of standards and took his privilege and mantle of interviewing (and grilling) the leaders of our nation and the world very seriously. Always asking the relevant question, yet somehow managing to convey to both the viewer and the guest that it was not him sticking it to them, but giving them a platform to be responsible and straightforward.

You'd be hard pressed to find him taking sides, but you'd also be hard pressed to find a time where he let anyone off the hook. He shot straight and each candidate or official who stepped into the ring on his program knew exactly what the agenda was for the day; he would identify the "issue" of that Sunday and then pass the responsibility of clarity and honesty to the guest, never trotting out missteps to embarrass, but rather to give the guest the opportunity to set the record straight or to own the mistake in question.

That he is so respected by the very people to whom he issued such agonizing moments of discomfort speaks volumes about who he was and how he approached his work. I will miss seeing him on his program, moderating debates and sifting through the political bog to bring to us the objective, real story behind our politics and politicians. He was a great educator.

black as....

Electing public officials is a circus. It really has little to do anymore with a candidate's morality, intelligence or actual intended policy. In this age of media frenzy, it's about who looks good on camera, who has the best soundbytes and who can deflect the real answers to the tough questions with the most flair.

Many if not most people in the dreaded public, make their decisions based on soundbytes, word of mouth, religious affiliation and aesthetics, a trend which greatly disturbs me. I'd just as soon have people not vote than make their decisions based on such shoddy criteria. But one item that has always been a conspicuous point of internal debate has been race.

Who knows where we would be had Malcolm X or Dr. King not been martyred. Perhaps this subject would be a laughable memory, referring to our collective ignorance back when we had to address it as a problem. But the fact is, we are here and we are stunted where this subject is concerned. I must say however, one of the things I loved about the democratic side of this year's circus, was that either way you went, you were going into uncharted territory. It was a definite "hurry up", whispered into the ears of the constituents to begin looking at candidates for more than how they may ease and comfort us, visually. Either you would have the first woman in the office or the first black person in office. I relished every minute of watching people come to their decisions.

I was also impressed by how (relatively) little attention was paid to either physical attribute. It seems that this could have been a much more explosive and contentious process, so I must give us as a collective whole, a shred of credit. Now however, it seems we have the new school against the old school. The representation of a blended society, racially, religiously and ideologically, against the institution of the older, white male. I have very few gripes about John McCain and this will be an interesting race for me personally, because I truly have not made up my mind yet. But this article, I think sums up the unspoken race issue and what it's going to take for this to be a truly objective fight.

And so the battle begins. Three and a half months of skirting the tough questions, beating up on each other and lobbing out bizarre accusations, are about to commence. I don't think that race will have anything to do with the platform of either campaign, or at least I hope it wont. I'd much rather see all of the fat, bible-thumping, Nascar-white-bread nation folk just come over to the 21st century and realize that we are no longer in the world of the white male as most fit leader. In fact, I have to say that the demographic of those who "know best" is a population in flux. This is not to say that all white, older men are evil, just that the ones who are, probably have a shorter shelf-life these days. And thank your higher power for that, because the sooner we get God and exclusive christianity out of our government, the better. He wasn't supposed to be in the pledge of allegiance in the first place.

And so on this subject of race in the White House, I am both fearful and hopeful. Mostly fearful that we are going to waste too much time on a subject that when boiled down, really doesn't matter. Are we still not solid enough as a people to be judged by the "content of our character?"

Yes, I know, more hate mail on the way. I'm on a roll.

kobe

No, not the beef that carnivores around the world so love, but the player of basketball whom I can't stand. O yeah, that's right, I said it. Kobe is lame and I intend to detail why, right here.

I remember when Kobe Bryant was a high school phenom and I remember when, right after he had signed with the Lakers, he started dating some chick (who is now his wife) at Fountain Valley High School, where a friend of mine taught. He was then, an eager kid, loaded with talent and working hard to endear himself to the players and fans in LA. My, that seems like a world ago.

Then, Kobe was a twin star with Shaq. Between the two of them, the rest of the NBA might as well have been playing with their fingers taped together, because the available power was just unstoppable, except for one thing; Kobe turned into a bitch. It was during that time, that the real Kobe came out - a spoiled brat, who threw temper tantrums when he didn't get his way. He pulled punches on the court and whined to the press and it soured me on him for good.

The last time I was really a Laker fan, or a basketball fan at all, was really the last time that the Laker and Celtic's dynasties went head to head, waaaaayyyy back in the Magic and Larry era. After that, basketball lost me for a variety of reasons, but I secretly hoped it would come back to me, even if to date, I have only ever played one game of basketball (a one-on-one pick up game 2 years ago). I am still a sports fan and have trouble not liking any sport that is actually a sport. I'll get into and debate my definition on that last part some other time.

Anyway, back to the point. Kobe. Kobe bitched and whined his way into Shaq getting traded, which I really think was the biggest mistake the Lakers could have made at the time. Trading a player with tons of heart and work ethic and leadership, for a whiny little brat. Now there is absolutely no question that Kobe is an extraordinary talent. No question that he has the ability to be the best player ever to grace the game. What I take issue with is his attitude and his leadership. He's a baby and when it suits him, he will bust out 50 points just to shut everyone up, while the rest of the time he prances around and throws fits on the court if things are not going his way. Suffice it to say, I'm not a fan.

So even though Luke Walton and Sasha whats-his-face and all the other guys are busting their asses and even though LA is technically my hometown, I cannot root for the Lakers. Cut the bitch and I'm back on board. I'll be welcoming your hate mail.

an inquiry...

First, and pretty much unrelated to the rest of this post, today would have been my gramma's birthday. The most amazing, wonderful and unconditional person in my life. How I miss her. Maybe for her birthday she'll come say hello.


So this is just a question I'm throwing out there. It can be about just about any subject really, but I think this question is a logical one, so here goes.....


At what point has utility become futility? What I mean is, no matter how badly you want something to be, at what point does the fight become more an exercise in futility and lead to more hurt and damage than is either necessary or healthy? At what point is something just not meant to be?

For me in my sport with my big ol' Olympic dream, it took 9 years, once I saw it was a real possibility, to exhaust the effort and decide that my dream wasn't going to be realized, at least not in the way I had hoped. But I came to that realization calmly and rationally and I pretty much had no other choice - which would really explain the calm and rationale in that situation.

But what about with life? What if you love a thing or a person or a job so much that you can't imagine your life without it? Or what's more, you refuse to see your life without it? What if leaving that means losing an entire future you had seen clear as day, because you can't seem to get your shit together where that subject is concerned? Then what? I guess that was true for me with my Olympic dream as well, but even when I saw myself on the podium over and over and over, I knew that moment - while it would last a lifetime - would still only be a moment and that there was more life to live. With other situations, it feels more like if I let go, or it lets go of me, that I would experience a death of sorts, and while I know I could recover, I just don't think I would want to. I can't believe I just admitted that, but there it is, so the delete button will remain unpressed.

So the question remains....how does it come together and how the fuck do I obtain the skills to force what I love and want and crave, to work? We all know the answer to that is that you can't force anything. It either is or isn't, but I think the variable there is the effort. The effort and desire make all the difference in sports, all the difference in work, so why not in life and love? Why not try so hard and give so much that you can't possibly say you didn't exhaust every effort. Because what if it works? I mean what about when it works? That's one helluva fucking payoff, then.

I mean, if the pros and cons are at 50/50, or even 70/30 (in favor), how do I tie up the balance to yield the life I see and want so much? How do we make it all work, the whole life, career, love, achievement, without letting go?

betrayski

I had a seemingly innocent conversation in the recent past. In that conversation, there ended up to be details divulged about persons and activities that I hadn't the faintest idea were ever in question. I now feel like shit.

This is not a situation where I accidentally opened my mouth and spilled the beans about something that was known to be a secret betwixt someone else and me. It was a series of stories and lies that I had no idea were ever told and I unknowingly set the record straight. My question here is, did I betray the person from whom the fabrication spurted?

"What??? You mean she isn't the financial advisor for an entire industrialized nation, working from her livingroom?"

"You mean to tell me that all this time that we were married and had a family, he had a parallel life in Nebraska? Where did he find the time?"

It's these types of questions we would all like to avoid, as both the asker and the interrogated. It's these types of situations I would like to avoid having to accidentally generate. Call me crazy, but dealing with people after they have been lied to, is not fun. Not fun at all.

I am a huge proponent of the truth. Telling the truth and hearing the truth are big with me and when I find out I've been lied to, I react very poorly. Lying steals another person's right to the truth and to their feelings about the situation. Lying also almost always turns out to have been a colossal waste of time as well, as the truth pretty much always comes out eventually, and the damage done by lying is frequently irreparable. Trust is severed, often never to be rebuilt and the liar is then heaped upon with guilt and remorse, and spends large amounts of time wondering why he or she fabricated to begin with.

But I digress. What I'm faced with now, is the burden of having planted not just seeds, but forests of doubt within the person I accidentally educated and I have also technically betrayed the trust of someone I never would have knowingly exposed. Truth be told though, I'm glad I was never actually put in a position to try and knowingly uphold such an obnoxious series of untruths, because I don't think I could have done it. Does that make me a bad person?

Let this be a lesson to yus; tell the truth all the time. You may be in a sticky situation for a minute, but it's better to deal with it in real time than to have it come back to bite you in the ass later on. Those wounds don't really ever heal and the weight of carrying the lie is heavier than any other weight known to man.

sad to see you go, sue.

I'm sure that by now, you all have heard and come to grips with Sue Johansen being gone from the late night television sex education scene. It's going to be a lonely and less informative bunch of late nights from now on.

There was nothing like watching a 75 year-old, extremely well-adjusted woman talk about and demonstrate the proper and most pleasurable use of a butt plug on television. Watching how she handled her rubber dongs while giving tips on the best blow jobs and sex positions was something truly akin to watching one of those real-life accident and death shows, where you are pretty much horrified, yet remain glued to the set.

But Sue, with her sweet demeanor and unflinching honesty has single-handedly improved the sex lives of millions, so for that I salute her.

Fare thee well Sue, we hardly knew ye.

Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic, but you get my point.

thanks a heap, man

I have to say, people are so unbelievably considerate of one another, it's a marvel there is any animosity in the world. I don't know how there is any strife or contention when everyone is looking out for his fellow man. Uh, right.

But in all truth, it usually is at least a little bit better when you're a woman; sometimes to an annoying degree. Not yesterday.

So there I was, at the gym, doing my normal deal. I had taken a spin class, which I do on Mondays now before I lift, because I don't have my bike together, but would like to do some riding eventually. I don't really like the teacher too much on that day, but I just tune her out and bust ass for 45 minutes before I do my lift for the day. After my class yesterday, I cruised over to the bench press and started my sets, working up in 5 rep increments until I was up at 135lbs. I only intended to do 2 reps by the time I got up to that weight, because I both haven't lifted heavy in a couple of weeks, and that is near my threshold at the moment.

While I was in the midst of my sets, two frat boys appeared (I know this because they were both wearing fraternity bar tees) and skulked around waiting for the station to be open. They settled on starting on the incline press, because their audible displeasure at a girl on their station wasn't enough to scare me away.

I successfully completed one rep and happily started down on the second one, pleased with my progress thus far. After reaching my chest and beginning to press back up, there were signs of trouble and fatigue. I knew about a third of the way up, that I wasn't going to make it all the way to the top and my arms began to shake and slowly compress under the weight. "Fuck," I said quietly and fought against the bar, trying desperately to eek out enough strength to get it up to the lower rungs of the bench. Normally when something like this happens, as it sometimes does when one is pushing oneself and has no spotter, the other gym patrons will rush to the aid of the fatigued lifter and assist. Not this time.

As the bar, equipped with a 45lb plate on each side dripped its way back down to my chest, the frat boys stood less than 5 feet away from me and watched as I struggled, pinned under the weight. They gaped as I rolled the bar down my stomach and over my legs, which felt awesome, by the way, and then stared as I stood up with the weight and muscled it around and back over to the holds. As I was turning around with the weight, the whisperer cocked a half smile and said "You need some help or somethin'?"

No, fuckstick, I was just pinned under this bar, rolled it down the length of my body, fought with it to stand up with it, turn it around and place it back on the bench because it's a new lifting technique I'm trying. Thanks a pantload for the early intervention on that one.

But I didn't say that. I shot out some eye darts, shook my head and went on with my workout, remembering that the side effect of being a physically capable woman means that stupid, stick-limbed frat boys will most likely be intimidated and angered by my strength and will most likely call me a dyke under their breath. I'm sure when they took over the station, they chuckled to themselves that I couldn't press up a measly 135lbs and wondered why I tried.

Can't wait to see those two there again.

luck

You know you're lucky when you're sad and shaken and people just sense it, even though you haven't seen them and haven't talked to them. When the friends you've made check up on you when you least expect it, and boost your spirits and tell you it's going to be okay.

So this morning I got this:

[good friend]: Rach, I'm proud of you. it wasnt anything you deserved, as good as it was at times

me: thanks [good friend]. and thank you for always checking on me

[good friend]: i see an era of reinvestment in self and realized greatness in your near to mid future

Everyone should be so lucky.