A lot has changed and nothing's changed.

"This is the day that the Lord has made.
Rejoice, and be glad in it."

---

There are a lot of good journal entries out there today. This is not one of them.

People all across the web all remembering where they were, evaluating how their lives have changed. They are sharing their recollections, reliving their thoughts.

Like the Kennedy assassination, the death of Princess Di, this event is burned into our global memory cells (to sort of steal from Peter Gabriel).

Some bloggers and journalists perceive that nothing has changed in this world, that Americans were shocked into action and thoughtfulness for a few weeks and rebounded back to where they were on 9/10/2001.

Others perceive a complete change but for the worse... that our freedoms are all being slowly eroded and we are soon to become a police state rife with censorship and riddled with brutality in the name of national security. Others had nothing to say -- the placing of a photograph on their page was statement enough for them.

Still others feel we have done nothing to get the people/machine behind what happened then and they still call for blood to be spilled in the streets.

And others are like me -- they don't know what to do next, they aren't sure what to think or say.

How do I feel a year later? What has changed for me? Where am I now?

Well, I can't really say. Well, not that I can't say, I just don't know.

I'm still saddened by the event itself, that it happened at all. I'm saddened that political and religious zealots blame us for everything wrong in their lives. Boycotts of American and Israeli products by Arabs to prove a point is one thing -- but flying jet-fueled, human-laden bombs into a building and killing multinational masses, that's just not going to get any sympathy from me...

I'm still angry at the circumstances, the events. I don't feel we "asked for it," like so many believe. I'm sick to my stomach. I'm sad. I'm depressed. I just want it all to stop and I'm not sure if it ever will. I believe something else will happen, whether here or abroad. People still talk about how they want to feel safe. There is such a difference between feeling and being. You can feel all you want, but the reality of being is more important. And I doubt even if I feel safe that we are safe.

I'm unemployed as a direct result of the events, although to be honest I bet it would have happened eventually. I miss my coworkers. I miss the family of people that I stood with that day watching the events unfold on the TV in the workout room at our complex. I miss them all. And this is a position I'm in precisely because of what happened that day. While I'm happy to be me, be in this position, happy to have a country behind me that pays me unemployment (thank you, thank you very much !!!) I'm sad that a big part of my life was taken away.

I didn't loose any close friends -- one person I was friends with from back in the day was in the next building. One person from my graduating class worked for Cantor Fitzgerald and died that day. But we weren't close. So my personal cache of friends are all still intact after the event, all except for Clay who died months later and for entirely different reasons. And whose death means more to me than the thousands who were lost, whose names were read aloud today.

I'm not watching any TV tonight. Some of the "tributes" I've seen have been downright laughable. Last night in Boston there was a concert presentation which had the WORST music I'd ever heard in my life. Apologies to anyone who wrote the thing if they are reading or if a friend of theirs points this out to them -- but it really was an atrocity. The schmaltz, the lousy lyrics, the sentimentality, to me and to my husband it sounded like a parody of a memorial concert. It was that bad.

Bad art in the name of a cherished memory is still bad art, no matter what the intent of the creator.

So much of what is being peddled out there in the media is either bad art, pointless commentary, and/or utter crap. Print and media ads from major American corporations pointing out that they also feel the pain are making my skin crawl. Slow motion replays of rescuers superimposed on some Bruce Springsteen song cause me to actually shake with rage and sadness. I want no part of it. No damn part of it.

---

Today at noon I went to the church, rang the bell in the steeple with another parishioner for about 10 minutes. He pulled the bell extra hard, said for him it was therapeutic.

It was really -- the bell weighs a ton, His wife lost her boss in one of the planes, and they've been very shaken ever since. He cried when we prayed together. A man that I've always looked at as a strong fully-rooted man of God had nothing to say in prayer. I could feel his sadness, his anger as he and I held our hands together, clenched tightly. To feel someone's anger through their hands -- and then have to pray something that will hopefully make them feel better, that is no small task.

I prayed for both of us. I prayed for his wife, the family of her boss, the families of all impacted by these events. I prayed for our enemies. I prayed for right actions. I prayed for insight...

guidance...

clarity...

peace...

Don't know if I'll ever see my prayers answered. But I keep praying. He appreciated it and gave me a hug, and we ended up having a good laugh when we realized that both of us were from just about the same place. He grew up not too far from me and married his wife in a town closer to the city, then they moved up here. I asked him the obvious question I ask all displaced New Yorkers: "Before 9/11/2001, did you tell people you were a New Yorker or were you too embarrassed?"

He laughed that knowing laugh. He told me that he always tells people he's from Massachusetts.

"Funny," they sometimes reply, "you sound like you're from Jersey."

---

There you have it. My entry for 9/11. Just another crappy entry on a crappy day. I am a little ray of sunshine, aren't I? Sorry to be such a fat downer. But heck, in the last 15 months or so that I've kept this journal, how many entries have been bemoany whiny pieces? Not too many when I look back. We all have our time and season to be down. This too shall pass for me. And I'll be once again your (a)musing host.

I'm sure there are a lot more poignant, more positive messages out there. But for me -- I'm tired. So very tired. And that's all I've got for today.

I am Sisyphus. This is my rock.

The Terminix guy came today for his monthly check to see if our traps had any bugs in them. One did. The very first one up by the corner of the front of the house. Near where we park. He said that based on the number of termites in there, the colony is very small, and is probably right under our parking area... All the other trap/poison thingies had nothing in them. He said that's a very good sign that this one spot is all we've got and will be dead by spring.

Well isn't that great. Thank God for good news.

He pulled the bait wood out of the tube, and it was crawling with the little bastards. He crushed it and them after getting a count. He was a really nice guy doing a real pain in the ass job on a very very hot day.

So -- thanks Terminix guy. You are awesome.

---

And also -- thanks to the people who sent me email to cheer me up. All three of you rock supreme.

I'm much better now. Sometimes I just get all sad and mushy over something, and it passes. I'm happy that's the way I am -- if I obsessed or got depressed and didn't come back up for hours or days or months, that'd be an issue. So I'm much better this morning, except the Patriots totally spanked the Steelers.

I'd hoped for a closer matchup, a better game.

But Kordell was more like Korsmell, and the Bus got a flat. And Tom Brady knows how to throw a football to his guys, and his guys know to get the down and out of bounds and stop the clock immediately instead of running and screwing up and dropping it or having it stripped from their hands (ahem, Bus? Hello? That'd be YOU!)

My buddy Chad, the soon to be father to twin boys, was thinking of taking the night off of work so he could watch the game. I sure hope he didn't... it would have been the equivalent of taking time off of work to shoot yourself in the head.

I'm all about the Patriots -- I love them. But. I love the Steelers. So when they meet I'm happy one wins. But. But but but... I love seeing a GOOD game instead of a shellacking. And I got to witness a shellacking. last night. I went to bed before the start of the fourth quarter.

But I'm totally in a better mood today. In spite of.

---

I have been actively working on the food pantry for the church over the last few days and have come to find out that the pantry we supplied wasn't calling us for food not because they had enough but because they closed down.

I think that perhaps there isn't a need for us to maintain a pantry, because they're gone. The coordinator is retiring and moving to Minnesota to be close to her family. There is no one in their church taking it over.

The other food pantries in the area are all set for their own storage space... so when I think about it clearly, we serve no further purpose other than to supply ourselves or to be there if the local police or fire department let us know they come across a need. Which hasn't happened in years.

So I'm going to talk to Doug about what he thinks we should do, and talk to our vestry.

But... in the meantime, our pastor's wife used to supply protein products to a group that fed kids in Haiti. The guy had called me in the spring and he and I played phone tag all summer. He's coming up here on Friday to gather what he can take which can be shipped down. So I'll be able to unload all our tuna fish, peanut butter, dried and condensed milk... that kind of stuff. I'd like to keep supporting them, because they do really good work. They also are looking for toiletries for the kids, so I'm going to start a drive for that which they can pick up in a month.

I don't want to stop doing some community service in some form. If we stop the food pantry -- I want our parish to be involved with something... we don't have a huge outreach program. In fact, this is it really. So dropping the pantry would really dissolve our participation in helping the rest of the planet. There's a lot to think about... and I don't like thinking (grin).

---

I can't find my car keys, again.

I have half the set, I split them up one day when Jessica needed my house key, and the house key is the glue that holds the set together. The half that is missing is to the car I have sitting in the driveway. The other half is to the car Doug has right now.

So I had to borrow my tenant's car this morning.

She is the best. I LOVE YOU JEN!!!!!!! I got Geoff to school on time, but only after I dumped all our dirty laundry out in the yard looking for the pair of shorts that I wore yesterday. No keys in the pocket. I didn't freak, yell, panic, or get nasty the way I've done in the past. I know they are somewhere around here. Hell, I used them yesterday. They can't have gone far. Geoff told me the keys were "in the laboratory..." his word for this seat. He thinks the computer is in his laboratory, like he's Dexter or something. But they aren't.

So I'm trapped here for the day. I have a baby shower gift that I have to go pick up, so I guess I have to wait for Doug to get home and go do that. Sigh. I wanted to run some errands... meh.

I have a confession to make. I think I'm being kept here in the house by Divine Intervention. My house is a mess. A wreck. A pigsty.

My house looks a mess -- and I've procrastinated, dragged my feet, made excuses, watched Jerry Springer and Law & Order in efforts to evade having to do anything about it.

But I can't deal with it anymore.

I deliberately stopped cleaning up a few weeks ago because I was sick to death of picking up, leaving a room, walking back in and finding that everything had been undone. I do the dishes, clean the stovetop, make everything nice, then Doug hits the kitchen... makes an ungodly mess and leaves trash in the sink. That's right. Trash IN the sink. If he opens a packet of pasta, the box or the plastic sleeve goes in the sink instead of the trash. Cuts tomatoes? The stem goes to the sink. Brews iced tea? Tea bags -- in sink.

The livingroom. I pick up all the toys. I vacuum under the couch. I clean the top of the table. Geoff comes in. Food everywhere. Crayons, paper, toys. Everywhere.

The dining table... well, that's my bad. I fuck that one up all the time. I fold laundry in my room, walk out the door and put it on the dining table in part of a step to get it to Geoff or Jess' room.

But then I never take it the rest of the way there. So I absorb all the blame for that.

Jessie's room is a nightmare right now because the puppy keeps using it as his personal poop and pee grounds. We clean it up, reprimand him, try and correct his behavior... he does it again. The room is fairly clean, but the carpet needs an industrial sized shampooer applied to it and fast. I can't stand going in there. I don't know how the poor girl sleeps in there. Feh!

But it doesn't bother her.

Our whole family. We're lazy asses. We don't clean up after ourselves... and when the boil comes to a head, I'm the one who pops.

I made serious efforts yesterday after I finished working with Professor MF. But to no avail... it's all undone today.

I am Sisyphus. This is my rock.

Why am I this way? I think that I learned a lot from the way I grew up. I inherited the skills of housekeeping from my mom. Not to disrespect her or anything...

I know she's reading -- and I don't want her to think I harbor some sort of left over childhood angst because she didn't keep a meticulously clean house and drill me to death to clean my room and do chores. She pretty much let us be and do what we wanted. If our rooms were messy -- whatever. And I liked that kind of freedom. But it definitely didn't prepare me for home management of my own. The lack of an upkeep of the home gene is part of my DNA. And I married someone with that same genetic defect. And like two people getting together who carry the CF gene -- we've passed it on to our kids. We are sloth siblings and should have never mated.

I do the mandatory. Don't get me wrong.

I keep the dishes clean, and the laundry clean. The bathroom sink and toilet -- clean. The tub wasn't clean when we moved in and looks permanently dirty even though I scrub that bastard weekly.

The laundry is clean but not put away. The daily mail piles up on the table next to Doug's seat on the couch.

The study -- a paper bomb went off in here. There are books, and junk mail, and CD cases...

My bedroom is a wasteland of clothing that does not fit, read and unread books and magazines piled up beside and under the bed. The Nordic Track is a clothes horse because Doug can't get over to the closet to hang anything up on a regular basis.

The content of the house is disheveled and disorganized. Even though I've made several attempts at organization and resheveling. It is a sad, sorry state of affairs. I had a long list of things to do when I got laid off. So far only a fraction of them have gotten done.

Today I'm taking on Geoff's room. I need to go through all the toys and get rid of anything resembling a toddler toy or younger. I need to go through all his clothing and get rid of anything under a size 7 and archive for future use anything that got dumped in there which is larger than size 8. I need to get him a bedframe. His mattress and boxspring are on the floor - I want to either build a platform for him and have shelves and storage under, or just get a used bedframe someplace.

He took fingerpaint and painted his bedroom walls a few weeks ago -- so I have to repaint.

I think one of my problems is, that when the rock rolls over me down to the bottom of the hill, the way it does every night, I get tired and frustrated. I get shell shocked. I get sad. I give up. Then, I get renewed desire, like today. Maybe my mom had that same problem -- that sense of "whattayagonnado."

Today though, I'm reborn. Rededicated to the cause. I'll see it through to its clean conclusion -- (only to see it all undone again, I'm sure...) Maybe my keys are in his bedroom.

Wish me luck.

I'm in a mood...

Not necessarily the best of moods. I could make myself happier with some caffeine, or a nap. Not both -- I'd confuse my poor body if I tried to mix those. I'm in a mood because I made a webpage yesterday...

I got hooked up with a friend's mother in law to do their website. I'm donating my time and services to do it. That's not what's got me down. I'm so glad to do it, to take the time and have the ability.

What's got me down is the circumstances that have transpired in life to make this webpage have to be.

It's for a memorial run for a kid who got killed by a drunk driver as he crossed his street in 1995. He was 14, and he was my good friend's brother in law. So the run takes place every July 4th weekend in the Niagara NY area. I'm glad to build them an ass kicking site. I want it to be lovely, beautiful, wonderful.

I did some looking around online for info on the kid, and found a webpage called Donor Moms. It's out of date, but his mom's entered on there his particulars. And seeing all these pictures in a row of kid after kid after kid, mostly teenagers, dead -- and little paragraphs by their moms saying how much they will be loved and missed, that kicked me in the ass so hard this morning.

I mean, what would I do if I lost one of my kids? There's no question in my mind that their organs would be donated. In a New York Minute they'd be, for damn certain. I'm all for that.

Philosophically.

The thing that has me in a mess right now is the concept of losing them. The actual loss of a child. There is no doubt I'd do the right thing and let a living legacy go forward from one of my kids... but I couldn't imagine not having them in my life at all. Or having to bury them.

Meh!

So I'm all schmoopy and verklempt. Email me a joke. Make me laugh.

Speaking of making me laugh, Prof MF bought me the full version of CuSee-Me so I could fill in a missing person for a day when a kid is not in a class session (she still wants to do this... WHY DON'T PEOPLE TAKE ME SERIOUSLY WHEN I TELL THEM NOT TO DO SOMETHING!!!!! AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH! sorry. Venting). and I set up a room and no one is coming in and getting naked.

I'm sort of disappointed. I could have used a good laugh. People keep coming in and just ... gawking. Oh well.

Anyway. I'm going to do some housework. MF is calling me after 5pm when she's done with some meeting. Please pray for me that I can convince her to not do this live online crap. It ain't gonna work.

Classy Next Door Neighbor Party...

There isn't much going on this weekend... so this entry is happening just because I have a quiet house and don't feel like doing dishes. How's that for a good reason to sit down and write. I'm wasting bandwidth and your time, having nothing to say... all because I am evading work. But who cares. I sure don't. God bless the interneck.

Seeing as I haven't shared any dog pictures in quite sometime... here are two:

Jack is such a cutie -- but lately he's been a complete pain in the ass, crapping wherever he feels like, even if we take him out and walk him for a half hour. This has to stop. He's going to make me mental. And he's growing, so his piles are getting... bigger.

Something for me to hate...

I also hate when September turns into July. I hate when I get used to it being cool enough at night for me to want sheets on my body, and then nature stokes the invisible furnace. It is hot out. My plants, which were slowly starting to recover, are now in a state of re-wilt.

New England. Almost Fall. Go figure.

Football season is in full swing again. Last year when it all got underweigh I was so stoked for the start of season and then Sept. 11th rolled on in. I lost my joy pretty quickly.

I'm not nearly as goofy about it this year, but with memories of last years Pats win, and being in Ben's football pool and fantasy football league, I am hoping my enthusiasm will rise. Right now though, I actually don't feel like getting excited for football. The opening theme for Monday Night Football used to get me rolling with Hank Jr., and I'd be all singing along and shit. This year... it's a step higher than "Meh."

Church is back in full swing. Sunday School always brings the families back. Such was the case with us. I took the kids today. Jessie was all "meh meh meh" about going but when she got there the two girls she is friends with got her sucked into singing with the choir. Doug was scheduled to be the reader, and he didn't come, so I filled in for him. Must say, Best Reading Ever. I enjoy reading to an audience, no matter what the topic. Today's scheduled readings were good ones for me -- and I "killed" as it were. It is always nice after church to have people I don't know, or sort of know, or know really well tell me that they loved the way I read.

I think we may do our Grinch thing again in December. People are already asking. We're almost famous in our tiny parish church.

Next door neighbors had a big party yesterday to housewarm. I baked a big assed banana bread and we all went over after the Hewitt/Agassi match. We were there until wicked late. They're a fun family with crazy friends. Large batches of adults were vanishing off into the woods to smoke pot though... that kind of soured me a tad. But they'd come back and play volleyball or whatever. We had fun chatting with two guys who were baked longer than Sunday Morning Buffet potatoes. They were pretty fun.

Things got a little weird at the end of the evening. One of the women there, she has 5 kids, had been waiting all afternoon for her husband to show up. She called him at 2. He was still at work, he'd come straight up when he was done. She called him at 4. He went home to shower (90 minutes south of the party, when he was 20 minutes away at work...) and he finally showed up at 8 as she was packing up the kids to leave.

She launched. Old school. Fuckin' this and Fuckin' that, f you you f'itty f'ing f'er, in front of her kids, in front of other guests, including me and my son...

Wow. Haven't heard an ass reaming like that in a long time. Then she went in the house to cry and he went out and pushed the kids on the swing while smoking a butt muttering "Pfth, Women. HA!" It should be really interesting living next door to these folks, with these very interesting friends...

C and S (the new home owners and our neighbors) almost started to go at it too. I think that everyone had had a bit too much to drink, and a bit too much smoke, and a bit too much sun. We left a little while after that with the excuse that the kids were filthy (yes they were...) and it would take us all night to clean them up (took 5 minutes in the shower each).

Sometimes you just gotta know when it's time to leave a party so old friends can fight if need be, and you don't get in the middle.

You know what I'm sayin? Yeah. You do.

Anyway. They're all over there again this afternoon although it looks far mellower, and Geoff wanted to go play. So I let him. Let's hope he doesn't cause any problems. Jessie didn't want to go over. She says she's tired of E (the daughter, who is Geoff's age) calling her names.

Again... this should be interesting living next to them.

But I'm not complaining. They seem open about letting people take walks on the trails, and they are the most fun and most generous people I've met since we moved here. So while they may seem kinda redneck, tattooed, crazy... they seem more normal than anyone we've met in quite a while. We'll see how it goes.

More tennis tonight with Sampras/Agassi. I feel the need for a nap. Someone needs to go to the store to buy coffee grinds today or else tomorrow morning will be hell zone. So there is stuff to do and husbands to force out to the supermarket. I need to finish up some websites... I'm done with site one for Professor CM (finished yesterday. viola!) and meet on phone with Professor MF, and get into the work week upcoming. Have a great rest of your weekend.

We Like Sheep...

Sampras creamed Roddick in straight sets. I missed the whole damn thing because I was at Jessie's open house. It was over before I got home. The ESPN or USA bigwigs must have been pooping bricks because they had nothing to show live after that quick whipping.

So classic tennis was broadcast in the time spot reserved for a real tennis match. Sampras and Roddick played for an hour and a half. Boom. Done.

Wow. Better luck next time young Andy. Sampras Advances... perhaps we shall get to see another fabulous Aggassi/Sampras match up... That'd be awesome.

The openhouse was very good. Jessica's teacher this year is so... young. This is her second year teaching. She seems really sweet, but also seems like she's overwhelmed. The crowd was mostly moms. They asked a lot of questions. Like "how much help am I expected to be giving my son with his homework..."

The teacher didn't seem like she knew what to say. Help him if he needs help but don't do his homework for him. If you child can't do his homework on a regular basis, if it is too hard -- call me.

Good answer.

After most of the parents left, I asked her if she had a website. She said no, that she was totally overwhelmed but had some ideas. I offered to teach her how to do it, for free... she told me that a ton of her colleagues want to do websites too. I told her that I wouldn't teach them all for free... cause that'd be stupid.

She told me to talk to the principal. They just got all new technology for the teachers to use, but none of them know what they are doing. I asked if there was any money to hire a trainer in the budget -- she said the principal was going to write a grant.

I am going to look into it -- what the hell.

Can't tell not knowing. I'm calling her Monday.

---

I got email from a friend who went out trolling for reading material through my "I also read" page. She thought Anna's Sheep and Cow Compare/Contrast entry in "Little Red Boat" was a riot.

I wrote her back thanking her for informing me that I gave her a laugh indirectly (my link to Anna lead to her. Kind of like 6 degrees to Kevin Bacon journal-wise I guess), and I ended with "I like sheep."

She wrote me back saying: "Ah -- now you're getting out Handel's Messiah -- "we like sheep" ... to which we always add "we think they're great"... and so what if the words are supposed to say "have gone astray"!!"

And that brings me to this bit.

When I was in high school our choir sang the entire friggin' "Messiah." A Jewish friend of mine would sit next to me and sing:

"we like sheep, they taste good broiled or grilled."
"we like sheep, they poop less than horses"
"we like sheep, they give us wool" and the like.

And I would start laughing and laughing. We got split up by the choir director. We were lucky to stay welcome in the room after some of the silly things we did.

Another good choir memory is 8th grade choir when we sang "Sounds of Silence," by Simon and Garfunkel. Chris Campion would add an extra line after the part "and my words like silent raindrops fell" where there is a long pause.

He'd sing "and Meltzer smells," alluding to poor mousy little gary meltzer, who did kinda smell but what 8th grade boy doesn't.

Everyone would laugh and laugh. Mr. Selezner, the choir director with white hair that had a distinctly yellow/green tinge to it in the front. (Campion always said it was because he wiped his nose with his hand and kept going through his hair so no one would notice...) told Campion NOT to do this in performance... or else...

Of course he did.

I think there was someone standing behind him to yank him by the shoulders much like the way Bart Simpson gets yanked offstage for singing the "batman smells" alternative lyrics to "Jingle Bells."

Well, I need to relinquish control of the PC to Geoff so he can watch "Shrek" and I can cook dinner. More later.

Mission Accomplished...

I'm back.

What a day. What a class. What a mess it will be if I cannot convince the professor to run the course 100% in person and instructor led, web augmented.

The first part of the day we went over the info on Cu-Seeme and ivisit, and when she took attendance kids who signed up for the class the other day weren't told the class was intended to be taught online. Two of the kids were kind of pissy... they didn't have computers at home, they were angry (sorta) with her that there was a limit on the class size of 11 people.

It was hard on Professor MF to have to tell them to go away. If she taught this class instructor led with blackboard.com and in person web augmentation -- it would SO rock the party. And she'd never have to turn a soul away.

And it would be awesome.

We demoed Cu-Seeme for the kids, and while I was in the room two people came in, and started text chatting -- in Italian.

Thanks jerks. So they didn't even speak english and were not leaving the room. They weren't naked, but it showed the kids that promptness is the key for this class if we are to use it.

We also talked to the students themselves and one of them suggested using Yahoo Instant Messenger's web conferencing feature. I loaded the software on the instructor PC, and it looked pretty cool, but it froze the computer twice. I don't know if we can put 12 talking heads up on a screen. It does have a nicer feature to set up a room and INVITE users into a conference when you find them online... That would work out perfectly for Professor MF to set a room up and then check the list for when people log on, and then pull them into the room.

Last time I checked Yahoo's web conference didn't support too many users at once. So this could be... ineffective. But we'll test it this weekend. I still have to on this with her. But, I know ... I know I am right.

I feel it in my heart. I don't want to disrespect her vision -- but until we have a 100% penis-free web conferencing solution that can host 12 individual faces at a time... well, then I don't think we should run the class online.

She has such a strong vision. And a strong will. And she gets so down when things aren't going the way she wants them... even though I've told her to expect this.

We could do it if we had so much money. A private room, the technology wholly owned by the college. But no. Those things are not available to her.

The class seemed to really enjoy the session today, once we got into the actual content of the course. They watched the vignettes on first impressions that Professor MF and I had volunteers come and improv (myself included -- how embarrassing) back in June. They laughed. They got it. It was outstanding.

And I swear. This could be the best class she ever teaches. And the best class they ever take. Why deny them and her the experience just to do something that we could do halfassed (or full penised?)

Enough. I'll keep you posted if you care. But who gives a frick. My journal -- I'll write about it no matter what. Neener Neener Neener!

Tonight is open house at Jessica's school. Parents of her grade are to report to school at 7:40. I forgot that the older your kid gets the later in the evening you're required to show up for grade level crap like this. Jessie insists that I go. I am kind of rolling my eyes in the back of my head.

There's football on tonight -- season opening baby!

There's wicked good tennis on tonight. Andy "Dragonball Z" Roddick vs. Pete "Monkeyman" Sampras.

The nicknames are wholly my own, of course. Pete Sampras' headshot always looks like a monkey when they show it on the TV. Andy Roddick wears these retarded visors that make his hair stick up out the top when he's playing, resulting in a look that is rather like the blonde firey haired guy on Dragonball Z, whatever his name is. The guy on top of my car in this banner. Actually, in this picture Andy looks more like a baboon at the zoo and Sampras... well. Not like a monkey, but it was as good as I could do to get these pics put together for the purpose of this entry.

On Wednesday night Roddick played an amazing match. I'm not a huge tennis fan, but I was astounded by his performance, like I was last year when I watched the Aggassi/Sampras Semifinal match.

So tonight it is margaritas and Flushing Meadows... wish I could be there in person one of these days for a great final/semi/quarter performance. After open house.

Well, I should cook supper. Play with puppy. Brush hair. I look a mess. What a day. What a day...

Here we go...

I'm off.

In five minutes, after I brush my teeth and please God don't let me dribble Colgate down the front of my blouse, I'm going to the college for the meeting of the first class session for MF's online course. We're meeting in person to assess the level of tech knowledge these students possess, and to run through the first class and have them follow along in person.

I'm hoping to grab a quickie lunch with Ben and Dan. Hoagie is out of the office today and tomorrow. Not sure but it may be Sukkot or something (did I spell that right? I'm lame with my spelling on Jewish holidays...) and it'll be nice to see them. Best part of working for MF is seeing the guys a lot more. Don't know if they feel the same (grin).

We still haven't ironed out the webcam issues. The ivisit stuff seems to work best if there are a few people involved. Last night MF and I experimented and my reception of her transmissions of voice and even movement were painfully delayed, by about 20 seconds. She'd move... I'd wait. Hear sound. It was hard. She got all my stuff almost instantly. Stupid Friggin Dialup Connection! And I can't find my PC microphone, so I did my communication with her by phone.

Isn't she cute? She's a friggin riot and a half I tell ya. I enjoy spending time with her, even if she's ... kind of out there. But then again, aren't I?

Anyway. I went out this morning and bought two blouses and two skirts. Fashion Bug seems to think it is the early 80s again and has all this Indian (India Indian) stuff on sale. Just my speed. I bought a pretty brown skirt and blouse. And a white blouse and blue skirt. The heyday of my high fashion was when there was an Indian store in my home town and I would go there anytime I had a penny. I had all kinds of pretty Indian silver jewelry, blouses, vests, skirts... I was a hip gal for a day or two.

So I look semi-decent today. I'm not at all used to wearing clothing that looks ... nice. I'm a Tshirt/shorts/sweatshirt/jeans kind of girl. I worked retail for a little while after I got back from Oregon, and my boss, Mr. Roland (an old old old Italian stereotype) was constantly on my ass about my "casual" attire, when I thought I was pulling out the nicest stuff I had!

One day I went to Filene's basement and got a pretty little black and white getup that made me look like a waitress. I bought panty hose. I had nice black flats from another store in the mall. I dropped about 100 bucks on myself.

I came into work looking like a million bucks.

I made him cry. He was so proud of me. And I was baffled. First of all -- I've NEVER held the opinion that someone dressed well was smarter or to be trusted more than someone not dressed as well. I've ranted about this before in an office attire piece. But in retail, that's all that matters. You can be dumb as a can of mushroom soup and dress to the nines, and people make you a manager.

Mr. Roland encouraged me to go to the store once a week and buy myself one thing until I had a wonderfully built up wardrobe. Customers want me looking pretty and well kept.

Jebus. I thought customers wanted to buy a briefcase.

Anyway... I didn't buy myself one thing a week, I found that to be something lacking in my moral fibre. But I did buy a few nice dresses and he'd go gaa gaa over me when I came to work.

Clothing and work for me have never gone hand in hand. But today -- it's a first impression day. That's the topic of the class. And while I'm not a student I need to look somewhat more professional than my Cingular Wireless Tshirt and black denim shorts which I've been wearing for like two days.

Alright. I've babbled long enough. Cross your fingers. Pray to the webcam dieties that we don't get penii and vaginae in the class preview. Prof MF has a whole screed prepared educating them about what they may encounter online. That's a damn good thing.

I'm off.

Kindergarten memories; tech support

So I'm on the phone right now with Professor MF. She's trying to install her PC camera and it isn't working. Mine is, hence the picture in the top left.

Ivisit worked swell for me, but I couldn't get the microphone and headphones.

She (Prof MF) is out in her car right now getting another webcam.

I am sitting in our "classroom" waiting for her. It's a blast. So I figure while she's futzing around, I'll do a quick entry...

In reference to yesterday's dream house entry, I've gotten some nice email from people listing out the things they are looking for. And I owe Web Apologies to Tess. Many of you may think that I was grousing over the fact that Alaska has broadband and I don't. Tess does live in a big city -- much bigger than my podunk little town. It isn't like she's out in East Nanook or something. So I want to dispel for you the myth that I may have painted -- that Tess is in some sort of log cabin with spiders and broadband. She's in a coolassed town with construction workers tying up traffic on her, just as if you were on the Long Island Expressway.

---

This morning I could only find one of Geoff's shoes.

I have no fricking clue where shoe two is. There is no evidence of dog chewing -- no sign that it existed at all. And I think Doug has his sandals in the other car. So Geoff was stuck and shoeless this morning. I threw him in the car to rush over to the nearest cheap, erm, inexpensive, shoe store to grab a pair of sneakers.

But they didn't open until 10am. I knocked on the window. The sales girl was in there drinking coffee with her boyfriend. They motioned to me to go away until 10am. I lifted Geoff up and showed her his bare feet.

She opened the door, it was 9:25. I explained my predicament and told her "I'll give you 20 dollars for a pair of size 13 1/2 kid sneakers."

She opened the door and let us in, and told us that we didn't have to do that.

We were in and out of there in 5 minutes. I tried to tip her -- give her extra money. She refused. She made change for my 20 with her own money and took the sticker off the box so she could scan it.

Her boyfriend was in the back and all grinny. I think he was proud of her.

I thanked her profusely, told her she was my hero. I hope that our early morning emergency is the hardest thing she has to face all day, all month for that matter. What a gem. Super gal!

So there are nice people out there. Once in a while I forget.

---

Meanwhile, back in PC camera land...

I'm being as nice as I can and trying my best to get the whole camera thing going for MF... it isn't working. She's giving up on her home PC. So hopefully the shoe thing is good karma balance for me. Tomorrow is the class and I am going to walk students through the installation of the web cams on their own computers and show them how to use ivisit (worse yet, right now ivisit is not working. This could be doomed from the start)...

---

I got another nice email the other day from a good friend who has this to say about back to schoolness (I'll leave her anonymous):

In light of all of the back-to-schoolness happening around me, I have a personal memory I would like to share with you about my first day of school and kindergarten in general:

My parents had moved to a small, rural town called (x) when I was 4 and ready to start school. The town had a large Christian school and my parents wanted us to go there. On my first day of school, September 1972, my mom dressed me up in a cute little red, white and blue sleeveless mini-dress and gave me a bunch of marigolds for my teacher.

No less august and terrifying person than Miss Predmore herself, the principal, met me outside the school and walked me down to my class where I was the only girl and the only kid who hadn't seen the eggs hatch in preschool the year before.

My mom should have just tattooed "loser" on my forehead.

I was an incredibly small and shy four year old and at times was too terrified to come out of the coatroom because Steve Rush was standing in the way; he was such a huge kid, I couldn't bring myself walk past him.

Years later, I found out that my mother was spoken to by Miss Predmore for what I was wearing that day - a sleeveless dress. Very inappropriate for a Mennonite school, my mother being one of those color-wearing, non-head covering, Presbyterians had no clue and was horribly embarrassed.

One of my favorite memories of kindergarten is of my very pretty teacher, Miss Black. She would settle us down by telling all of us to put our heads down on our desks, which were in a circle and she would sing the twenty third psalm to us softly and gently pat each little head as she passed by. It was so peaceful.

This made me smile. Kindergarten is so nice and so special. The fear, the kids, the new experiences, the teacher -- usually the most wonderful person ever.

I wonder what Geoff is going to take away memory-wise from his experience. I should ask Jessica what she remembers.

Me? I don't remember much. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Spor, and she was very nice. I remember meeting a black boy -- Matthew S., and I can't remember his last name or locate him in my yearbook.

He was the first black person I ever met.

He was adopted by an older couple, I remember his mom being so cute and grey haired and smiley. She was a hip Jewish lady, so 70s in her stylin' and so friendly. They lived around the corner from the school and two or three houses up from a girl who would later become a very very good friend of mine through my academic experience, Eva.

Someone told me he wore diapers. I don't know if that is true or not. Today it isn't that big a stigma for boys to still be in pullups at 5, or so I'm told. I know people who tell me their son's 8 or 9 year old friends wear pullups to bed at night and it just baffles me. In 1970 though... no one wore diapers if they were in school.

I remember him being small and shy and wearing corduroys and a striped shirt. I remember the kid Danny who lived directly across the street from the school, his dad was a politician of some sort. My mom might remember their last name.

I remember I had slammed my finger in a window either right before or right after school started. I lost a fingernail. I showed Mrs. Spor, and she turned white.

I remember Mare, who I've been friends with ever since... she came to visit me in March from California. I remember Sean, the cute little blonde who would call me and read me poetry on the phone and make me giggle like a freak.

I don't remember much else from Kindergarten.

I do however remember third grade, where a girl named Carmen called me "40 foot forehead" one day when I had grown my bangs out and had my hair in ponytails. I was crushed. Looking back, that's pretty damn clever for a third grader... but she embarrassed me in front of a girl named Tracy, who I adored and wanted to be best friends with forever.

This all is leading somewhere -- recently, Linda and her housemate Virginia were talking about people from "back home" up in "the Station" as we call it. And Virginia wondered what ever happened to Carmen's mom, Dee.

Dee was large and in charge, a formidable black mamma who had all us little chicks under her care at school. She would wait at the bus stop. She was in love with my sister -- all small and blonde and cute as she was.

A few days after their shared reminiscing about Dee, Carmen, and "the Station, y'all" Virginia is at the grocery store and she hears this voice behind her commenting on the price of something. Virginia, ever so social, turns round and concurs. Then, she asks the woman if she's from New York...

"I'm from Brooklyn," the woman says. Virginia says "Oh, you sounded familiar, like someone I knew from home."

The two of them talk for a minute or two, and come to the conclusion they do know each other.

It was Carmen.

The one who called my fat mousy blonde self "40 foot forehead" back in the day. Holy crap. So they talk for a while, Carmen asks after us and Virginia asks after Dee. They trade contact info...

A few days later the phone at their house rings -- and it's Dee.

The mamma callin' her babies.

Linda and Virginia had a good chat with her, and it's still so funny to me that their little conversation about Dee had just happened a day or so earlier. Linda says Virginia has a canny ability to bring someone up in conversation and they (or someone who knows them) pops into view a day or so later.

Does that happen to you?

Relationships, Yankees, Dishwashers Hurrah.

Funny how some relationships work. Even though you aren't connected as closely, you're still connected.

I got email the other day from folk musician and friend Jon Svetkey showing off his little baby boy, and a few weeks ago got similar email from another folkie from the past, Brian Doser. I won't put their pictures up here with lack of consent... it is just funny that such pictures exist in this life.

A lot of time has gone by since I was in college, and I have some friends just getting around to getting married, others just finally figuring out they never should have gotten married in the first place -- and others hatching babies. It's somewhat stunning to me. I still can't believe I have kids, much less that I'm married. Jebus!

I was looking at pictures (oooh-ing and aaah-ing) this morning of my old roomie Bonnie and her baby girl at the first birthday party of said baby (we missed it -- we were in Chicago) and I'm just stunned at her hipness and mommyness, all rolled into one.

---

Met with Prof MF today to finalize the site. Class runs on Thursday. Her dream of running the class with Cu-SeeMe may or may not be fully realized... we discovered a new FREE tool called ivisit.com, and started to test drive it this afternoon but she had to go to another meeting.

We'll give it a whirl this evening, or in the morning, and if it works well for the two of us -- we'll introduce it to the class on Thursday. They're meeting in person, and she'll go over the system requirements and the first class in person. So this could work. We shall see. I'm awfully apprehensive, but... willing to make it work. I have some final edits to the first week's content, which have got to be done tonight or first thing tomorrow. And then I'll be there in person to show the kids how to download the interface for ivisit.com and get them going.

Should rock, hopefully.

I spent a great deal of time chatting with two of the student employees at the college, one I used to work with and the other is new. From what I understand my being back and involved with faculty is causing quite a stir amongst my former administration. Some people are elated, nay, thrilled. Others are pissed. Imagine that... my coming and working for fucking next to nothing money has people pissed. Go Figger. I know who is pissed too, and I'm laughing. Be pissed. Go ahead -- be pissed. I'm an independent contractor now mother fucker! HA!

I've always wanted to say that.

I'm not back there to piss people off. I'm back there to work for (note the word FOR) a select few people whom I adore, admire, and want to see succeed. I'm not costing the college a red frigging cent. I'm there because I believe in what each of the two faculty members I am working with are doing. I want to see that fully realized.

Why should that piss anyone off? And anyway -- I really don't care if they are happy, unhappy, disgruntled, gruntled... I'm having a blast. I'm in it for ME. Put that in your pipe and smoke it long and hard. I'm there for me for a change -- and I have never been happier.

---

Recently, a reader and very close friend asked me why I don't have a dishwasher. I think I was pining over the fact I had work to do and that included doing dishes.

Simply put -- the house didn't come with one, and we don't have the space to put one in the kitchen, even a portable one that you roll over to sinkside to do the dirty (or cleaning) work. That got me thinking about my dream house... what would I want in my dream house? What must it have? The next place we live -- the non-negotiables.

So I'll lay that out for you here.

1. Dishwasher and kitchen that has enough counter/cupboard/storage space. Our current kitchen doesn't have enough countertop space or storage. It's a pain.

2. Access to the basement without leaving the interior of the house. Currently, to get to the basement and laundry, one must go outside and in through the bulkhead.

3. Four bedrooms. One for each kid, one for me and Doug, and an official "guest" room rather than our fold out couch. Our guests deserve that much

4. DSL or Broadband. Our stupid town doesn't have either. In this day and age. Really. I mean, Tess has it in Alaska for cripes sake! Jebus! I live in the heart of the big city -- the cradle of civilization. My town doesn't have DSL, Cable Modem, Broadband... anything. It sucks my big toe. So I swear to Gott im Himmel that is the first thing I ask a realtor in my next house search.

5. More land.

6. Not so close to the street -- I want a house back from the road. I'd rather have a longassed driveway than be up close to the street. Although, our house has ample parking for tenants, friends, friends who are deceased (Clayton's car is still in our drive...)

7. Two Big Bathrooms. We have two tiny bathrooms right now. I want two big assed mother humpin' lavatories. I want a sink to myself.

8. Laundry facilities on main floor of house -- rather than in the basement. I don't mind one flight of stairs coming up, so if my next house is a two flight jobbie and all my laundry facilities are in the basement -- that's a hell of a schlep to get the stuff up to actual drawers.

9. Wall to wall in living area. No more of this hardwood floor crap. Carpets can be shampooed -- hardwood flooring looks like ass when your dogs and kids have made a mockery of its existence.

10. Ample outlet availability throughout house.

And I think that's it. I'm sure I can come up with more shit. But that's my top ten wish list. I think we're here for the long haul though, so my wishlist may have to collect dust on a shelf someplace until further notice. Then perhaps I won't need four bedrooms, but just two. Sigh.

---

I got email from a stranger recently asking me why I hate Derek Jeter.

It has been a good long time since I've gotten any stranger email (outside of the awesome JulieK who sent me an email, but that's because I mentioned her in thanks here for neibelunging me).

Actually, the email said "why u hate derek jeter" as the subject line and the body of the text.

I hate Derek Jeter and AOL speak, but I didn't say that to her.

I wrote her back, saying that she obviously found the journal through a search and must have read the entry in question, but I went over my reasons, which appear elsewhere in the month of November.

She was really cool about it, and gave me my God given rights to have an opinion contrary to hers... thank goodness. And was even wicked funny and cool to write to. I was then shocked to find out that if you put "I hate Derek Jeter" in a google search my #59 amusing from November 1, 2001 comes up on the first page.

Anyway I wanted to just take a second and say that HATE is a really strong word, and looking back I don't know if HATE is what I meant.

Strongly dislike.

Find annoying.

HATE... no.

I'm sure Mr. Jeter is a really nice person. I'm sure if he wanted to have a beer (and I'd so make him pay for it because ... he's so rich, yet another reason to dislike him) I'd have a nice time talking to him. He's from the midwest, and he seems down to earth, except when he's playing so well and so amazingly and then he comes off to me as just plain cocky.

But confidence makes you cocky, and I dislike cockiness... so. That's how I came to the conclusion I hate him.

Plus, I hate winners. I hate the top of the heap. Hence, I so hate the Yankees. I'm a Red Sox fan for crying out loud. I'm supposed to hate them Yankees.

Jason Giambi... now he's the next person on my list. Oooooh I hate that guy...

Now I'll get email from people saying "Why u hate jsn giambi?"

So... Kathleen, if you're still reading the journal, thanks for dropping in.

---

Geoff is nagging me to allow him to play on the computer. I think Doug is napping. Jessie just got homework for the first time this semester... so she's off doing that. I'll relent here, go relax for a while, and come back at it for Professor MF. I still have work to do for CM, and that'll get done tomorrow while I have the day to myself.

I thank God I had the forethought to tell Cateringman I was unavailable this week. I have to knuckle down and finish my work for the college.

September Morn...

When Doug and I were first dating, he would sing Neil Diamond's "September Morn," to me in a schmaltzy Vegas style that would crack me up. I bet I've mentioned this before. I should read my September Archives... So every September I start laughing, waiting for him to do it again.

Problem with reading my September Archives means I have to read all the entries I wrote around September 11th. And I just don't want to do that. Not in the mood. My summer was great -- I'm feeling mentally stable and very happy. I don't want to dip back into the memory bank and start feeling scared and shitty.

I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to TV over the next couple of weeks. Our national heritage is worship of the dead it seems -- monuments, memories, slow motion replay reels with sappy music (none of it Neil Diamond though) and all for what? The Barbara Walters "I made you cry in an interview" kind of feeling where we bite back tears by holding our bottom lip between our collective teeth? No thanks.

This has been a busy weekend. We went to Maine for the day to see the residents of the Hyde-A-Way, and special guests from Western Mass., my old roomie Laurie and her husband and kids. We went to Old Orchard Beach, a place I can honestly say I've never been. Only we didn't go up into Old Orchard Beach Proper -- we went to Ocean Park, which is just south on the coast, and a lot less crowded. Most of the coastal beaches from there down to the cape are usually maniacally crowded, but this one was different -- there were a lot of people, but no charge for parking and we drove right up to a choice parking space in town. It was lovely. We got there at about 2:30pm, and the tide was coming in, the waves were amazing, and the kids had a blast.

Normally I would never set foot in the Atlantic ocean this far north, but found myself in the pudding, as it were, when Geoff went fast as possible up to the middle of his chest and I was convinced he was going to die.

The water temperature was lovely. It was cold, yeah, but not bracingly death grip instant heart attack cold. I showed Geoff how to ride a boogie board on his belly. He never got the gist of it, but I had fun. And I got a good work out. Sarah and Jessie were way out there with the real men (E, Wayne and Chris) riding waves and having fun. For as sore as I was after playing in the up close surf, I'm sure Jessica must have been stiff and sore the next day tenfold.

Here are some Kodak Moments:

Laurel and me in one of my silly hold the camera out arms length masterpieces.	Mary and Natalie digging in the sand. My pasty white son is visible just behind Nata.
Jessie and Sarah take a break from body surfing	Mary is by far my favorite kid on earth. I've said it before and I know I'll say it again.
Pete and Mary in the truck pit. Pete broke his arm last week when he was running in the yard... so he was breadbagged and cautious	Peteman grabs some waves, erm, some sand... looks like a pro though...
	Unlike my son who looks like he is trying to fly instead of surf. I love the concept of surfboard on the shore... these kids don't get it do they? What a riot...
Sarah, Nata and Jessie decided that the dogs all needed a bath. After they decided, the dogs went for a mud swim up at the Hydepond... so their want turned into true need... Abby was first.	Here's poor Jack, not sure why he is tied to a bench and hating it.

We barbecued in the Hyde yard, a feast not to be forgotten, and we sat around the dining table drinking a few beers and talking about college. Doug came into college well after I was already friends with Laurie, Chris, and Wayne... E was there but I think I never met him while he was there, and Marcia went to UVM, but we all had a great time ragging on each other and talking about Christian College Relationships (handholding and making googly eyes meant you were practically engaged! Chris was practially engaged to 100 girls at once). And the kids had a blast together.

Next summer I really want to borrow Sarah for a week and take her someplace with us. She and Jessie have such a good time together, and when they are together it is as if they were hanging out just yesterday, even if they haven't seen each other for months. They know how to be friends... none of this awkward "I'm not sure who you are anymore or if I'm going to like you still" crap that pre-teens do. It's refreshing.

Saturday was a hang around the house day. Nothing interesting to report.

Sunday I worked like a madwoman on Professor MF's site because it has to be ready for this Thursday. My mom says everytime I put MF there all she sees is "mother fucker" in her mind, but it isn't... those are just the unfortunate initials of said professor. I'd use her name but I doubt she would want me to, even though she's a public figure of sorts.

Doug took Geoff geocaching, and Jessie went to her friend A's birthday party. She ended up being invited to sleep over, so I brought her stuff to her. Doug and I watched 100 episodes of Law & Order on A&E (some sort of Labor Day Marathon thingie) and a rebroadcast of the 2001 Agassi/Sampras US Open quarters from last year. Yes, a year old tennis event. Don't laugh. It was thrilling then, and still thrilling to see a year later. Amazing match. And I barely like tennis.

Today it is pouring. It is actual Labor Day, the day so many view as the last hurrah of summer. I'm sure a lot of people are cashing in their chips at their vacation tables and rushing home early this year. Most of the Mondays in Labor Day Weekend over the last few years are fresh in my mind as rainy ones... seems like such a sucky way to end the summer. Good thing TNT has picked up the Law & Order marathonning so I have something to watch on this rainy day!

For me, though, it ain't over until I can't walk barefoot without getting frostbite. It's summer until I come screaming into the house after taking the dog out and I'm yelling "Damn! It's cold!!!"

That may be sooner than I want -- two nights ago I was out there in fleece pants with my breath vapor visible in front of my face. So Sad.

Not to complain -- my favorite of all seasons approaches. Fall. See the October archives for that.

Alright -- gotta get some work done. There is a slim chance Aaron and Michelle may come visit. They are spending the weekend with other friends (gasp! They have OTHER FRIENDS!!!??? No way! I thought we were exclusive!) and they may stop by before heading home. Then again, they may just go home. They're moving from their house to spend the winter on Mt. Desert Island at Farmer Matt's farm. So we may go there Columbus Day weekend and hang. That's still to be determined. Funny to plan ahead when this holiday weekend isn't yet over. Next week is a busy one for me. Tuesday meeting with Professor MF (stop thinking that Shirley!) and actual class time on Thursday. Finishing up Professor CM's stuff. Damn. No rest for the weary.