Fall

Fall is coming. I woke up this morning to the -thunk- of my 4:45 AM newspaper (thanks Max- you’re a real doll). When I stepped outside I took a deep breath and there it was: the unmistakable crisp scent of fall. Sadly, just 4 hours later the air once again smelled of the low-tide marsh at the end of my street. Oh well. By late August, I take what I can get, even if its a 4:45 sniff.

My three favorite things about fall:

- changing leaves
- hooded sweatshirts
- wine

Not necessarily in that order.

A few years back I found myself living in the District (again), missing the coast of Northern California. From Berkeley, I was only about an hour south of Sonoma. Sonoma's landscape never failed to take my breath away. But in D.C. ...not so much. So ewhah and I headed west for a little more than an hour and ran into this surprisingly amazing Virginia winery.

Ok, the wine sucked. But the land was gorgeous, the town was cute and hell- we we’re drunk. All was well.

I’m going to try to do the same thing again- check out some of Virginia's wineries. After all, Thomas Jefferson was a wine aficionado and convinced that the plains southeast of the Appalachian Mountains near Charlottesville were perfect for growing grapes.

Being Virginian, I must bow to the damn near omnipotence of Thomas Jefferson. I’m going lookin’ for booze.

ClipArtCredit Dan Berger appellationamerica.com

Tonights the Democratic National Convention.

Guess who I'm voting for.

Back to School

For the first time in a long time, I found myself in a classroom this morning with a pen and a three ring binder. How odd. Fun, but very odd.

Classes should be good. I have no idea- repeat no- idea why I decided to study hard, often boring, things in college the first time around. In my classes today- an architectural drafting course and a CADD class- we drew stuff and learned buttons on a computer program. Seriously- I must have been out of my mind in my late teens. Political science and Arabic? Nightmare. I could have been drawing that whole time, but noooooooooo...ugh.

Last time I was in college, it wasn't that fun. I took the things I had to take in order to get the job I wanted once I was out. Classes were simply a means to an end- fuck the journey, give me the destination. This time, I am going to try something different. I am going to try to enjoy all of it- the classes and the work. I may get this CADD certificate and go right back to the career I had before. I might not. No clue where I will end up with all this. But either way, I hope this time I have fun getting there.

MySpace

I'm on MySpace. S.F.W. got me. Lord knows it took her months of heckle but her tireless efforts have finally paid off. Dear S, grace of a butterfly- wherewithall of a cross country trucker. I'm still not sure how she did it.

I am also not sure exactly what to do on MySpace, so I asked her. She said its time to start inviting friends. She's put up my background- a lovely tribute to breast cancer awareness, and posted a Project Runway quote near my picture, which is disturbingly on target with my personality. "Where the hell is my chiffon!" Frankly, I would have chosen a statement a wee bit more macho, but irate femme seems to fit well in this instance. (insert heavy sigh)

I digress. Inviting friends to be my MySpace friend is a bit wacky to me. If I am too selective, then I exclude. If I am too embracing then I am inviting the notorious MySpace drama into my life. Not happening. So- my solution is to limit how many MySpace friends I have. At 10. Doesn't matter which 10. New or old friends. But 10 seems like a lot, right? I mean, I cant possibly keep up with 10 people (or pretend to keep up)- nor, quite honestly, do I want to. I don't even want to get "alerts" about 10 people. How the hell people have 50, 100 friends - or simply allow that many people to look at their shit- blows my mind.

One great idea S.F.W. had was to post book reviews on our MySpace. That sounds kinda fun, seeing as how we discussed the various plots of our recent reads last night for almost 45 minutes.

And away we go.

Dimples of Venus

Boo Boo mentioned this morning that one of her guy friends was intrigued by her "back dimples". Of course, we decided to investigate the anatomy of the lucky women that posses this little discussed, widely admired, upper-butt trait. She googled "dimples on back" and wow, what a response. One young man noted on a list serve devoted to the female form, "How could I have gone all through college and not known about back dimples!" Obviously he's a boob-man or he would have noticed.

I, myself, am a boob girl. I like all boobs, except ones that look like my mom's. Which are large. Very large. Like....stupid big. I'll stop now, because I can feel her death-stare all the way from Georgia. But seriously, anything small or medium, high or low is good with me. The butt? I could care less.

But these back dimples, or as Wiki says "Dimples of Venus", are amazing. I have seen them on women and damn, pretty freakin awesome. BooBoo thinks that eventually a plastic surgeon will be able to give you Dimples of Venus for the cost of a few car payments. She may be right.

Funny how parents used to think if we can keep our baby girl's boobs, stomach, and ass cheeks under-cover we're doing good. Now we have to monitor our kid's lower backs? Ridiculousness.

Boo Boo- as you venture off into the wild life of college, please keep your pants up. None of this low-rise crap. I want to see those jeans at your navel. God forbid the boys find out you have back dimples.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dimples_of_Venus

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can

Ok, I am going to try. But please don't laugh at me if it fails miserably. I have already set aside "professional assistance" funds. :)

The Dude Anwsers All

The Dude: Look, nothing is fucked, here, man.
The Big Lebowski: Nothing is fucked?
[shouting]
The Big Lebowski: The god damn plane has crashed into the mountain!

Soooo...about 5 months ago I screwed something up at work and because of the nature of this screw up, it is just now being discovered, by not only me, but the people on the ground trying desperately to fix it. I could tell something was seriously fucked as soon as the phone calls and email started coming in faster than I could form a curse word to express my angst.

Did I mention its my fault? Yeeeaaaaaaa.

In logisitics, you *really *really *really dont want to mess up timing. Dont. Ever. You set up a transport system and the chain gets broken- your fault. You can go from hero to blubbering asshole in a matter of seconds.

So scream at me, scream with me, pound your fist, curse like a sailor, throw out crazy-impossible solutions, but do not tell me that "everythings going to be fine". Or, "we'll get through this". "Just take it easy". I feel too guilty to hear that. I can't fix it.

I should have stayed at church for the social hour. *sigh

God, let this get better before it gets any worse.
Much love,

Humble Pie.

Cookie & BooBoo

So BooBoo (after the baby bear) is going off to college. She left her parents, serving in the military in Japan for a local University here in Tidewater. She's staying next door with Cookie, her former teacher, until the big dorm move-in day.

I can not WAIT to drop her off Wednesday! She's pretty much the cutest thing ever. I remember going off to college and my mom and grandmother driving away. I handled it all pretty well. But her parents are in Japan- she's grown up on an Air Force base in another country and she frequently says she's "studying in the States". Like she's studying abroad or something. I guess, in a way, to her she is. I would be crying a lot. She's surprisingly sturdy.

It amazes me what 18 year olds can do. Little babies, so sweet and naive and then BOOM, out of no where they say something as if they were a highly aware 30. Go figure. After all, just this weekend I was the 30 year old whose grandmother popped her on the head for trying to juggle kiwi in the grocery store.

They were begging for it- I sware.

Ugh

So I am sure that most everyone has heard about the young Chinese girl who sang the anthem during the Olympics. The little girl whose voice was used was deemed not cute enough by a Government Olympic oversight committee so they found a "prettier" girl to lip-sync the song.

Back in the U.S. we would simply have sent the less-standard looking child with God's beautiful gift of a voice to Extreme Makeover: Children Under the Knife Edition.
She could have gotten new teeth and everything!!

I think a lot of girls in the United States, me included, had some version of this idea: Meet man, man thinks your pretty, he loves you, you get married in a white dress, sex makes babies and your done. Hoo-rah to all the girls who never did. I don't want to go off on an arm-pit-hair-feminist rant, but...I will.

As long as "men" are the choosers in our global society and "women" are the options, men will set the standards of beauty, whats "normal" and whats not. These standards are false. Lie, lie, lie. There are some men who don't perpetuate those standards. Some men have a humor and acceptance about sexuality and the female form that I have rarely found outside the lesbian community. I know a few and I pray they procreate.

I have asked myself why I don't have Heidi Klum's hair, Julia's smile, Angelina's everything. I see Weight Watcher's, Jenny Craig, Atkins, Nutri System, Ali. Barbie's with ittie-bittie-waists and rappers that...wait a second....

Its Good to be American

Oh my gosh- did ya'll see that!?

I get home from a really nice date (thanks C.L.) and my g-ma is watching the men's swimming relay. We were both screaming "GO!!!!! Gooooooooooooo!" at the top of our lungs for two awesome minutes.

In the last stroke- the very last stroke- the oldest of the US Men's Swim Team, Jason Lazak, gives a good ol' Olympic fair-and-sqaure-fuck-you, to Frenchman Alain Bernard, who just the day before was quoted as saying, "The Americans? We're going to smash them. Thats what we came here to do."

Thats ok France. Next time. Really.
Smash us.

Image Credit to Paul Chiasson, The Canadian Press / AP

A Few Good Men

Aaaahhh, Love. Big smiles, beautiful brides, babies, flowers, hugs and kisses...
Panic attacks, screaming in-laws, sobbing sisters, drunk dates, and stolen glances at your ex.

It's a Wedding!!

I am terribly upset. Terribly might be an understatment. "Mad as a wet hen"? Pissed as shit? Nothing seems to fit. I was so excited to go to this wedding- to see two people who I think so highly of commit their lives to one another and then...THEN I decided to bring a date. You know how when you go out of town with someone for the first time you see them a little differently when you get back. Yeeaaaaaa. Well, how about you just not see them at all?

My date, "Mr. Carsalesman", was wasted drunk- asking for coke- being generally the most obnoxious person EVER- the entire time. And I was devastated. Mortified. Because I just....DAMNIT!!!! It was S's and J's day and damnit, damnit, damnit it was a big deal for me too- I was looking forward to it! I was so happy to be invited and to meet Baby M and Mr. Carsalesman almost blew it for me.

One of these days, Mr. Carsalesman, Baby M is going to be big and strong like his daddy and then he is going to kick you ass for me! Ok...he's not really going to kick your ass because I am going to strongly encourage a pacifistic perspective when it comes to butt plugs like you. But still, we'll talk about kicking your ass. We may even use rude language. If he's, like say, 17. Maybe wait till 18.

I didn't let him come to the actually ceremony. He got ditched. I just couldn't let him be there at one of the most important moments of S's life. It wouldn't be fair. I wanted to sit there and watch the service and celebrate thier love sans any bullshit.

I saw MAR at the reception. I tried not to stare, but I was acutely aware of the fact that she was in the room. I turned back to look at her a few times as I was leaving- I didn't know if she was looking at me but I smiled and she smiled back. I sound like a love drunk teenager. But I'm not in love with her. Certainly, I couldn't be. But I do love her face...and I do love her raspy laugh, her blond hair...
I could go on, but Pride called and said Pathetic was on his way over.

I love a lot about her and it makes me sad that she can not be- or doesn't care to be- a part of my life. We promised we would always be friends- that if it didn't work we could go back to how it was before we were romantic. But it ended in such a shocking- no fucking way - moment that...well, you didn't see that one coming did ya MAR? We got blind-sided and it cost us.

Rejection. Humiliation. It only highlights what a miracle S and J are for one another. And Baby M? Well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Dear Lord, hold S and J through all the crap that comes with love. Help them to remember that the love is always stronger. Amen.

Off Grid

There are few people who impress me more than those who can go "off grid".

Rain water collection, solar panels, organic farming. Simply waking up when its light and going to bed when its dark. Candle light- its cost effective and makes you look super sexy in the buff.

I just thought of my Erin. All this alternative energy and naked talk. Erin looks good naked. Most people dont. She's also one of the few people in the world I think could figure out how to go off grid, survive and actually enjoy it. Short term of course. An experiment, if you will.

Which brings me to the main idea of this post: Plumbing is for pansies. Erin and I, through our mutual academic pursuits, discovered the undeniably fascinating and immensely important science behind proper poopy disposal. And BOY is she going to love this one: Introducing the S.C.A.T. !!

Solar Composting Advanced Toilet (S.C.A.T.)

The SCAT System recycles human poo and pee into a dry, deodorized compost that can be safely applied to the immediate surrounding landscape. Its free-standing, self contained, and uses organic stuff like peat moss to promote composting. Theres no rotating drum- the SCAT system employs earthworms for mixing and aeration. Earthworms who must truly believe there is a Nirvana.

Passive solar heat, through the roof panels, drys out the compost. Convection currents provide ventilation. You can buy pre-fab side panels that make it ADA compliant! Screw your porcelain god- this thing is the Mecca of all out-house.

Hey Erin- Dont eat your neighbors poo.


http://www.solartoilet.com/

The International "Healing" Foundation

Richard Cohen. Richard, Richard, Richard. *tsk* *tsk* Richard. Finger-wag, finger-wag! Your in time out. Go to the naughty chair! No more PlayStation. Your grounded indefinitely! Richard Simmons will be upstairs momentarily to give you a spanking.

Richard Cohen wrote the book entilted...gag-gag...sorry. Ok. I YouTube'd "Kate Moennig" for a minute and I'm feeling more empowered.

The book is entitled Coming Out Straight: Understanding and Healing Homosexuality (Oakhill Press 2000). Richard, you see, "was" a fag and now he's "not". Cuz he be a'curin himself. He wants to share with you what he has "discovered over the past thirty years of personal and professional investigation". Richard, according to his webpage, believes among other things that:

• Homosexuality is a "Same-Sex Attachment Disorder".


• Anyone who experiences same-sex attractions is latently heterosexual and merely stuck in an early stage of pychosexual development.

Richard, I would like to share with you what I have learned from my thirty years of queer investigation. I believe that we are both walking, talking manifestations of God's image. From the moment we were conceived in His image, He loved us. He knew that while we were on Earth we would do some things right and do some things wrong. Through Grace, we are forgiven for those wrongs.

Let us Pray for Richard Cohen. (Thats Christian-cue for bow your head. Now.)

Dear Lord, please forgive Richard Cohen for being a dirty douche bag. You made him gay and someone has gone and convinced him that thats bad! He needs Your strength and love to stop being a dirty douche bag. Forgive him for distorting Your gifts of healing and compassion and for becoming the dirty douche bag he is today. We also pray for Your queer community. We know that Richard needs us too, Lord. He needs our support and love to stop being a dirty douche bag. But sometimes we fall short and call him names like, "Dirty Douche Bag". Please fill us with Your Spirit so that we may guide him away from being a dirty douche bag and come to call him things other than "Dirty Douche Bag Man". Let us all know Your eternal love.

Amen.

Please check out Whosoever Magazine, an online magazine for LGBT Christians.

http://whosoever.org/bible/jude.shtml

Burnt Orange and Chicago Maroon!?

My school colors, "Burnt Orange" and "Chicago Maroon" are absolutely ugly. In 1896 a University Comittee selected these colors because, according to the Virginia Tech website, "no other college utilized this particular combination of colors." Well, duh. Your telling me we could have chosen anything and we got THIS?

Hokies around the world would call me a Judas for even thinking what I am writing. Let me conclude by saying that beyond Red-White-Blue, no other color combination invokes such intense emotions. Pride, happiness, the enduring sense of a highly principled community- good 'ol Maroon & Orange!!!!

I also feel intense emotions for Orange and Navy Blue; pity and superiority come to mind.

Babylonian Sand Storms

Mention the places 'Mesopotamia'... or try 'Babylon', and most people will look at you like either A) your way too into a 101 course in the Classics, Arab style, or B) your really into the Brit musician David Gray.

You know the song 'Babylon' by David Gray? You may recognize the refrain:

If you want it
Come and get it
Crying out loud
The love that I was
Giving you was
Never in doubt
Let go your heart
Let go your head
And feel it now

Babylon, Babylon
Babylon

Great song. YouTube it and give it a listen. Wiki says that supposedly its on the US Military Torture list. When played, it can be used to create an uncomfortable living environment for detainees. I'm sure David Gray is thrilled.

I'm off on a tangent.

The purpose of this post: My brother J, a Combat Engineer in Iraq, sent me the picture above. Its a sandstorm, Iraq style. A wondrous (he would say Satanic) wave of sand whips across the region with little warning making visibility almost nothing. You know when your at the beach and the wind blows bits of sand on your skin...the tingeling sting on your arms and face? Yea, well this would probably feel more like a dermabrasion procedure. On a flesh wound. A dermabraised, sun-burnt, flesh wound. Ah, thus is War.

When I was in Jordan I was very close to Southern Iraq- in fact, according to the Bedouins I was traveling with, I was right at the Jordan-Iraq line. I remember the day Noor pointed across the desert and said "Irraaa Qa". I stared in sheer astonishment. First because how the hell could she tell? It looked like the same mesmorizing, thousand acre sand dune that had been stretching out before us for the past two weeks. Secondly...well, underneath all my trekking bravado I'm a RedWhite&Blue pansy ass. At that moment it became painfully obvious that I had wandered a little too far off the beaten path even for me. I squelched my "Mommy!" scream and plastered on the most impassive expression I could muster. Afterall- I'm American: my Shield of Superiority helps to keep me at the top of the food chain.

The emotion of that moment was unique. It would take several lofty, rarely used words in a barely intelligible string to describe what I felt. I know there is nothing that can ever reproduce that feeling. This picture my brother sent to me has come as close as I think anything ever will.

I love you Bro. Allama'ak.