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Sunday, Oct. 05, 2003 / 12:48 p.m. ~One of Those Really Long Entries, Wherein I Attempt to Catch Up After Missing a Day~ Just getting this computer up and running is amazingly interesting. I refer to Live WeatherBug telling me it's getting close to 80 today, which is odd after the temps in the 60s all last week, which was nice, it was, but a bit out of season for here, more like November than October. And the Yahoo! start page of which I am so fond, my little horoscope, which was really propitious and wonderful yesterday, but I never left my apartment, never gave it a chance to come to its fruition, and the news stories, well, there's a lot going on. I suppose I wrote all about the Roy Horn incident in my LiveJournal yesterday, posting the links, the photo of Roy with baby tigers, which I could post here as well... here, give me a second to make it happen...  There, just like magic. Cute, huh? And there was a little debate, more a questioning, I suppose, wondering if Siegfried and Roy use whips to 'tame' their beautiful white tigers. I say no, but could find no 'online' evidence. And later, as I was struggling to stay awake on the sofa, there was video footage, possibly of the actual 'mauling', Roy sitting with microphone, tiger over his shoulder, reaching down for him. He beat the animal with mic after he grabbed his arm, 'he' being the tiger, so the story goes, and I would too if a tiger had my arm in his mouth. I just don't know. But then there's the story about the woman in Africa who fought with her husband and grabbed and twisted his testicles, severely injuring him, but he was too embarassed to seek medical attention and died instead. Just goes to show ya. That one's still on Yahoo! if you go look, under 'oddly enough', I think. And the latest suicide bombing in Israel, a woman bomber. Jesusfuckingchrist. A restaurant, children, bystanders, this was just stupid. How are you ever going to achieve peace if you keep doing crap like this? What is your point? That you are willing to die for your 'cause'? Must you take innocent children down with you? Now Israel is going to attack, and well, and so it goes. On and on, ad nauseum. I am truly glad to be living in this country, I am, in spite of everything I say, everything I write, and all the protests. And I protest because I care about my country, because I want it to remain free, and because I want us all to have our basic AMERICAN rights preserved, and because our government is filled with idiots, right now, and we can change that, but don't ever think I'd rather live somewhere else... except the South of France perhaps, or the Italian Countryside... Reminds me, I do want to see the "Under the Tuscan Sun" movie. Today??? That was just logging on. Really. Roy's condition is stable, for now. The tiger is in quarantine. For now. Please, don't kill the tiger. I want to know why my weekends are so sleep-filled. I just get so sleepy. During the week too, but on the weekends, wow, it's like a sleep marathon, and the winner gets a cool million or something. It's like I'm aiming for a prize, or like I'm addicted, I can't seem to stop. Of course I do, I do believe I'm awake right now, typing, considering another sip of cold coffee, but yesterday, for example, I slept and slept and slept, and slept some more, because I enjoyed it. I'd wake, recount a dream I'd just been dreaming, jump right back in, sort of hugging my pillow to my head, closing my eyes in bliss, all scrunchy and cozy and comfy, and no particular place to be, no particular obligations, no time constraints, just time to sleep and dream, because I enjoy it so. Today was much the same, but I had to pee, and that always causes a problem, it becomes uncomfortable to lie there ignoring it, painful even, so I get up, get back in bed, hug Gladys under the covers, but then I think of all I 'could' do, if only I weren't sleeping, and it's my last day, my second day, the weekend mourning day, the day to mourn the end to all that is good and fine. Catching up a bit... Friday after work, after the Thursday after work KMart sale run, I took part in the Wal Mart sale, and enjoyed all that is the Mexican Wal Mart after work on a Friday, the pre-Friday night Wal Mart extravaganza, complete with incredibly cute children running around having way too much fun in the giant playground that is Wal Mart. I mentioned shoe shopping there to Jane, and when she learned my size (small), she said I'd have no problem, but I told her it's the Mexican Wal Mart, and Mexicans have small feet, and she said if I were going to the black Wal Mart I'd have no problem, on account of black women have big feet. Hey, a black woman said this, not me. But still, I found my size, and I tried on a couple pairs, and they were cheap and not too attractive, but then I tried on the Dr Scholl's, and I really liked them, and they were good, and so it was written. Or so I bought me some shoes! And a whoo hoo too! Really, this is a big deal for me, I don't shop for clothes, unless it's some slogan covered tshirt I buy from Cafe Press online, or really expensive auctioned off pajama pants from Ebay, and especially not shoes, never shoes. The last time I shopped for shoes was with my sister in law, back in '99, when I was filing bankruptcy and she felt all motherly and sisterly at the same time, and well aware of her ridiculously high salary, and bought me two pair suede dress flats and a pair of clunky black lace up things that I picked out, and now have cracked soles, because shoes like that are not meant to last forever. Suffice to say, after a Spring and Summer of wearing the long lasting fancy Birks to work, I need to cover my toes, and I'm sick of the shoes with the cracked soles, and the suede dress flats I chose in too large a size, really, and they're impractical in inclement weather, and well, the Dr Scholl's pillow whatevers, in brown leather (sorry, Moby, and all vegans everywhere, but leather is strong and durable, and if we're going to eat the meat, might as well use the skin, yes?)... I came home and put them on, with the new socks I bought, and despite the fact I NEVER wear shoes inside my apartment, I hated to take them off. I love them. We'll see how I feel after a full day of wearing them around the office, but yeah, I bought new work shoes, and I want to wear them outside of work too. And an Angora sweater (I'm so NOT vegan, and I feel only slightly guilty) I had to have after I walked by and touched it. Sooooooofffffffftttttttt. Gray, v-neck, I tried it on, over my long sleeve shirt, and got hot immediately. So, I picture me out and about, which I never go, I know, out and about, but we'll pretend, in the cold of Winter, which it doesn't get too cold here, but this is my fantasy, in my gray v-neck soft, soft Angora sweater, with probably one of those v-neck undergarment things below it, like from Land's End, silk probably, very toasty and comfy. Must make note to buy long sleeved v-neck silk underwear from Land's End... And more of the "Limited Edition" Reese's inside outs. These are very good, and I bought a bag at KMart, gave some away to coworkers, who were very greedy by the way, holding out second hands, and Veronica simply saying, "Give me two". No manners, no appreciation. So I bought second bag for moi. So much catching up, must write every day from now on. Friday night, on the Blues show on PBS, was a Mike Figgis directed installment, "Red White and Blues", and the production sucked ass, or so I thought, the lighting for the interviews was horrid, and the camera movements too, and why was Eric Clapton so damned washed out? Did he wash the film in Clorox? Awful, and extreme closeups of old British white blues singers/musicians, but the stories they told were worth it. It never really occurred to me that some of the black American blues artists traveled to England and brought their music to the black servicemen in bars and clubs, and that there were some young upstart Brits who frequented the clubs, thinking they were bad boys or something, loved the music, formed bands, played the same music, became famous and toured the USA, bringing back the American Black Blues to the white kids who'd been denied it because it was 'black', and there you have it. So The Rolling Stones were a blues band, and then a rock band, and rock was born of the blues, and when it all came around and back again, full circle and then some, whites could appreciate it, learn where it came from, and lightbulbs went off all over, and names like Howlin' Wolf, and Robert Johnson, and Muddy Waters became household names, and kids like me, even in the late '70s, went to see Muddy Waters perform, and we still buy compilations of old blues recordings, and we say those household names in revered tones, because, well, we revere them. But it took the skinny white Brit boys to bring it to us, on account of this country has been pretty fucked when it comes to naturally appreciating anything that comes from the black community. See? Interesting, huh? I thought. Eye opening. Figgis even interviewed BB King, got him to say it aloud, and outright, yes, yes, we, the black blues musicians of America, thank you, the Brits, for bringing our music to the mass populace of this country, so that they would want to know more, and they would appreciate us, finally, so thank you. He thanked them. And I thank them too. Hey, I always knew Cream was blues-y, and when Arthur turned me on to John Mayall I said, "Wow, this is really good!". So yeah, I remember the late '60s, and the '70s, and all the blues rock I listened to and records I bought and music I still appreciate. And now I will be purchasing the Robert Johnson collection (he died at around 27, only recorded so many songs), and some Howlin' Wolf, and I need some more Muddy Waters (I only have one of his albums). And mostly what I've learned is that is okay for white people to love the blues, because white people helped to spread the word. Good, good thing. Yesterday? Much less eventful. The aforementioned sleepfest. And much postponed dishwashing, finally unpostponed. And a movie on network TV (Horrors!), "Lilo and Stitch", dragged to two solid hours, by adding in about one full hour of commercials. Cute, cute movie though, I liked it fine. And an attempt to watch "Kiss Me Deadly", which looked pretty groovy really, all noir and everything, but fell asleep on sofa, and got up around 4:00, got in bed and watched "The Satan Bug", good and groovy too, less noir-y, but with lots of bongos in the score, and I love bongos. Good story, all virus-y, and the main character even had an answering machine! This was like late '50s, or early '60s - it was a reel to reel on his wall, very cool. But Jesus the story went on and on, and they'd catch the guy with the 'flask' of deadly virus, then they'd lose him, then someone would get shot, and there was a lot of talking, and a lot of desert scenery, and Los Angeles was in danger of being virused at any minute, just like they'd already done to South Florida, and I kept thinking how much like "24" this all was, with less action and violence and more talking, and no Kiefer Sutherland, of course, but, well, er, I fell asleep. And I tried really hard to stay up to watch it all play out. Which brings me to now. Cold coffee, typing away, still tired. I have more shopping to do, but I'm freaking out about the money I've been spending lately. The contribution to Antiwar.com was so spontaneous, and far too easy with PayPal. It's not that I don't have the money, I do, but I need to be more careful. The clothes I need, and food, always. I need a pair of athletic shoes now - I want Skechers, but I think that's just for status, so I can be hip and cool. There, I'm through now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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