January 30, 2005
Snow
I haven't been a first-hand witness to falling snow since 1991, and that was in South Carolina. It had been a light dusting then, Martin Luther King weekend. The ground was covered, and it was fun to watch falling.
But this weekend, in Middletown, Pennsyvlania—man this was SNOW!
I am amazed! Awestruck! I love this stuff!
Posted by Bastique at 9:12 AM | Comments (0)
January 29, 2005
Slow Boy
I'm writing this on board my flight to Philadelphia. I am begenning to get jumpy from that cup of coffee I had back in Fort Lauderdale. The book I'm starting has text in some bizarre font that I have to hold at arms length in order to read. Is this the beginning?
So, I put the book down and glance over to the magazine that my row-mate is reading. It's one of those in-flight catalogs filled with all sorts of things you never realized you needed. 16-foot telescoping dusters for those hard-to-reach windows in the two-story entry areas of your colonial mansion. Multicolor 8-unit wireless key locator for those who lose multiple keys--and aren't worried that they'll misplace the locator box.
My eye alights suddenly on the yellow plastic "Slow-boy," and recognize it immediately. This is a roll-out stand up whimsical "sign" that parents can use at the edge of their driveway to notify drivers that their kids are at play. The advertisement also mentions that it reminds kids to stay away from the street.
The reason why I recognized it immediately was because there is a family on a street in my neighborhood, on one of the more traveled blocks that has aone of these charming little critters. Mom wheels the "Slow-boy" out into the street, and seems to give her kids a sense of security that nobody will come barrelling into them in an SUV so long as this little fellow is out there doing its job.
I was driving my truck recently and saw the thing out there, and did not see the kids in the street, but looked closely at the side of the street where they live. Just Mom, a another Mom and the "slow-boy". Suddenly while my eyes are watching left, seven-year old comes riding out from a driveway on the right. I slam on my brakes, making a rather screechy sound. Mom number two, who I seem to recognize as a woman who hauls ass through the neighborhood when she drives, screams, "Can't you see? SLOW!" I'm mortified, immediately guilt washes over me for being so careless as to nearly run over an unsuporvised kid.
As I pull off, I realize that it was because I saw the sign was the reason I didn't barrel into him. It was one of those moments when I didn't have that snappy comeback until it was too late to use it.
This street is a high traffic area, and not all the drivers are going to be quiet as alert as I was that day. If I was to think the worst about people, I'd believe that this mother was pushing the fates and asking for someone to injure or kill her kid so she'd have a fabulous lawsuit in the making. But people aren't capable of things that horrible. I can't imagine it.
The day after the incedent, I drive be again, late in the evening, to see "Slow-boy" at least four feet out in the road, no children or Moms to be seen. I have to drive on the wrong side of the road to avoid him. I briefly contemplated putting a swift, violent end to its career. But to do that would be to blame the little green boy for Moms abuse, and I couldn't do that to the little plastic fellow.
Posted by Bastique at 4:09 PM | Comments (0)
January 28, 2005
Scary Places
At 2:55PM today, I will be getting on an Airbus A321 at Fort Lauderdale Hollywood International Airport, going to Philadelphia to transfer to a US Airways Express plane to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The temperature presently at Fort Lauderdale is a lovely 72° Farenheit. The expected temperature at Harrisburg is 11°F.
When you live in Florida, you don't really have the kind of clothes one expects to need to wear at 11°F. I'm not even sure why I'm flying to Harrisburg. It fulfills goal number 3 of my 10 goals for 2005. But that's no reason to go somewhere.
I have a friend there, someone who I haven't been able to stop thinking about even after I quit using drugs. I often refer to him as the Devil, only because he's possibly the only one who has a chance of seducing me back to using. But there's a big difference here. His party town is Fort Lauderdale, not Harrisburg. This was the original reason I bought the plane ticket. To see him when he's not in that frame of mind.
Am I placing myself in some sort of dangerous situation while I'm up there? Perhaps. I've spoken this over with those in my support team, and I've taken necessary precautions. I've left myself an "out" in case things do get strange, or uncomfortable. I have a brother who lives only 75 miles from Harrisburg. I've already called him and told him to expect me. I can leave at any time and go see him.
Secondly, if I were to decide to start using again, the drugs I'd want aren't easily found in a town like Harrisburg, if at all, even by my friend. Yes, we've already had this conversation. I, the man who has been off drugs since 2001, still would have no problem finding them again in Fort Lauderdale. But I'm not going to bring the party with me from Fort Lauderdale.
Thirdly, in typical addict fashion, I've given consideration to the possibility of "just this once, while out of town," and played the tape all the way to the end. To the obsessive behavior, the resentments, the guilty feelings and shame, the embarrassment of my return, the week of physical recovery from the weekend, the weeks of mental and spiritual recovery. I'm not willing to go through any of that again.
On March 17, I will have been recovering from drug and alcohol abuse for four years. Why should I have to start over?
Posted by Bastique at 10:05 AM | Comments (1)
January 24, 2005
Chilly
It's 45 degrees out this morning. I have nothing warm to put over my head like a cotton skullcap or a ski mask, so I have to make do with a red bandanna and a biker's cap to walk the dog. Of course we appreciate our cool days here in South Florida, because they are so few and far between. Nevertheless, many of us who have lived here any length of time are never prepared for them, having to make do with layers of clothing from our wardrobe. Good thing it never dips below freezing.
I'm traveling to Harrisburg next weekend to spend some time with my friend, Jack. He asked the obvious question one gives to a Floridian: if I had any warm clothes. I've been on trips where I forgot to pack anything warm. Sometimes it's easy for a Floridian to forget that in April and October, it still dips down quite low in the north. I've had to borrow things to wear from friends and family.
It seems likely that I will have to break down and buy a few items, because I don't have anything that covers the ears besides my red bandanna, nor do I have any gloves, flannel underwear, or any of those things I used to have to own when I lived in more intemperate climates.
On the other hand, I do own some bit of leather gear, like the above-mentioned biker cap, a motorcycle jacket, and various less practical bits of leather clothing. These are leftover from my days of dressing up and going to the macho butch leather bars to meet and hang out with other like-minded men. Unfortunately the wardrobe is not complete. It doesn't include gloves, and most of it cannot be sensibly worn trying to get through metal detectors at the airport.
I've had my luggage pulled aside and looked through, before, at a small town airport. While I don't live the most outrageous lifestyle, I have my quirks, and the search was as uncomfortable as it was annoying. I've become very careful with what I pack these days, the few times I even fly.
It's usually just easier to simply drive to my destinations.
Posted by Bastique at 8:50 AM | Comments (0)
January 23, 2005
Interactive Writing
Since I've not been giving proper attention to my blog lately. Some of my time has spent in doing interactive writing at AncientWorlds. It helps strech my writing muscles, notably the fiction portion.
The following is a post I did for Brandubh Niall, a 3rd Century Bard in Ireland, my primary identity at AncientWorlds. The group in which we post our little ongoing story is the one called Crannog Niall.
Long have I been gone from Connacht, seeking solace in the alehouses of Tara, recounting epic tales of fabled wonders for a copper here or a horn of mead there. Not many tell a story like good ol' Brandubh, they said, with words as sweet as blackberry jam and a voice like a harp. Give him another horn, let's see what he'll come up with next! The bard's got a memory of a raven!
‘twas mead that helped me forget, though, the memories that scalded me like a cauldron, when times were happier. Forget my brother and childhood friend, Dubhglas, who died on the field of battle so many years ago. Forget my lost sister Arwen, who answered the call to Mananuan's realm a decade long gone. Forget my beloved Master, Eldrich, whose memory would not disburse no matter how much mead I drank.
“Sing a song for me, Bran,” I hear Eldrich saying. “Sing a song to ease the aches of my weary joints.” My companion, my friend. A father when I had none. A man I loved more than any woman. A man who does not leave me.
It's the reason I'm back in Connacht, here in the beautiful grove at the edge of Lough Mask. The grove where, as a child, I watched a man too small to be real disappear into the bush. The grove where I watched Eldrich raise his hands in seasonal observance, whispering words from a long-forgotten tongue, and saw spirits of the wood dashing across the clearing, swift as a stream, to commune with mortals and give thanks for life.
The dawn is only just sweeping her fingers across the sky, while the moon has already dipped her full face over the Western edge of the lake, unseen through the trees that still shadow the grove in dimness. There is no sound, not a peep from a single Twite even breaks the silence that seems to have heralded my arrival. It is indeed strange—as if the Grove had been awaiting me&mdashyet unnerving all at once.
“Go on, youngster, old Eldrich is tired. A serenade will put him right out”
A serenade? Whether it be the old Druid's spirit or simply my imagination, nothing will quiet him until I sing. Perhaps here, in this holy place he loved so much, he will finally go on to sleep and dream of the lands beyond.
“Sing 'Airmid' for us.”
I raise my head to the sky. 'Airmid' for certain. I pause, remembering the words.
'tweren't a bud as unopened
As Airmid, my Airmid
From over the sea she came
On the white foam in a shell
Sweet Airmid, my Airmid
Her hair white and glistening
With salt and spray, onto the shore,
Came Airmid, my Airmid
O Airmid, O Airmid
I was but a simple man
How was I to know you?
Blessed Airmid, my Airmid
You've gone and left me, girl
Took my soul, and left your ghost
No Airmid, my Airmid
O Airmid, O Airmid
My eyes are closed as I hold the final note, and I can hear my Master quieting, his breathing fading with the echo of the song. Gone, now, perhaps for good.
When next my eyes are open, a heavy fog has fallen over the grove, a mist seemingly tinted in color—I can scarce make out my own hand, much less the trees that surround me. It is mystical in nature, yet nothing I've witnessed before.
I smell sweet smells from the fog, indescribable scents that I can almost taste. It seems deceptive, yet not malicious. I reach for the dagger within my leggings, and although it is blunt and useless, I could still make a threatening enough prey.
“What news is this?” I cry out, not certain if anything within the mists can hear me. My voice is responded by a sound like multitudes of childlike giggling, and my own question, returned back to me in a chorus of tiny voices, “What news is this?” over and over again.
I know now, it is the Faery, and I crouch down and hold my dagger at arms length, knowing that its iron blade is proof enough against the beings, even if my mind will be mud in their hands. “What do you want of me?”
“...want of me?” echoes in return, with more laughing, as I back slowly toward the edge of the grove.
Then, I feel the sun's warmth on the back of my neck—the mists are suddenly vanishing around me. I turn, look, see the trees behind me as if nothing had occurred. I stand straight again, and hold my dagger closer to my body, when I realize I am not alone. There is, standing directly in front of me, someone with a harp on their back, a woman it seems, facing away from me and looking around.
I fall backward into the brush.
Posted by Bastique at 10:15 PM | Comments (0)
January 20, 2005
The Visit
Well, I'm taking tomorrow off. Not the entire day, as I'll be doing some work from home, but I’ll at least be getting some rest for my brain after an extensive week of learning and programming ASP.NET.
The main reason is that Michael's probation officer is coming by tomorrow at 9:30am to make sure that it’s going to be an appropriate place for him to stay. I wondered if I had been Michael's wife whether this would be a requisite, but I understand that it’s strictly routine. I'm not sure exactly what to do to straighten up, but my clutter is a clear indication that I certainly need him around here. But it hasn't even gotten too badly cluttered up since New Year's. It should just be a simple matter of getting some of the stains and smells from my poor cat Joplin's presents in the living room
I am curious as to why they're doing this so soon, though. Michael is not scheduled to be released until October—it seems odd that they would be checking the home this soon. Unless the government has decided to get smart and have decided to reduce the prison population, and Michael will be home early? I dare not hope! I can always pray about it, however.
Otherwise, I’m still suffering from a minor cold, aggravated by my toothache. I mainly feel somewhat crappy, but more secure than I’ve been in recent months, work-wise and financially.
Good things are coming.
Posted by Bastique at 10:44 PM | Comments (1)
January 19, 2005
Dragging
I've been a very bad boy regarding my blog lately. I've got a bad toothache, a relapse of the same toothache that I saw a dentist about in October but didn't get my tooth fixed. It requires a root canal. I haven't been able to afford a root canal. So I live with the pain.
But! The good news is that I've qualified for a special grant to pay for my insurance payments plus get me on a dental plan because of the AIDS and my general poverty. So I'll be able to get dental work done soon. Maybe when the insurance kicks in in March. Only thing is I don't get to go to the dentist I used to go to because they're not listed. Bummer. I never felt anxious and neurotic at that office.
But there's hope in sight for my teeth!
Posted by Bastique at 10:08 PM | Comments (1)
January 17, 2005
Catching a Rainbow
It's not easy catching the majesty of a rainbow in low light with a digital camera. You had to be there to truly see this image, last night, just before dusk. I thought I'd share it nonetheless. I had to take it in three images because it literally covered the eastern hemisphere of the sky.
Posted by Bastique at 11:12 AM | Comments (0)
January 16, 2005
Mmm, just a bit salty
Every once in a while, you'll pass through the ethnic foods portion of the grocery isle, and come across something that sounds so delectable that you just can't pass it up. When the Roomie and I saw this one, we knew we just had to try it. I mean, everyone loves the flavour of cock, right?
To be perfectly honest, a female friend of mine bought the same thing for me a few years ago, but I came home one day and the dog had managed to get hold of it and it was ripped all apart. My dog just couldn't resist that delicious cock flavour.
I searched the grocery store time and again, and just couldn't find it again, until we went to a different Publix, out in North Lauderdale. I guess the wonderfully delicious flavour of cock is just more appreciated in that part of town than where we usually go.
Posted by Bastique at 6:00 PM | Comments (1)
January 15, 2005
Cassini-Huygens Website
More compelling evidence that the God of the Bible is strictly fiction. Why would a God that created unimaginable wonders such as these in the universe, wonders that we are just now discovering, concern herself with who I'm having sex with or what days of the week I eat fish? Or is that just Satan playing with us, trying to tell us again the world is round, when we know it's flat.
There is some beautiful and remarkable imagery, especially since yesterday, when the Huygens portion of the mission landed on Titan, Saturn's largest moon.
Just click Titan, above or right here: Cassini Huygens Mission to Saturn.
Posted by Bastique at 3:07 PM | Comments (0)
January 14, 2005
Holy Shit
Holy: A classification which supercedes any attempt to investigate or disprove, lest one earns the wrath of a higher being in case one proves it wrong.
I've got to hand it to my loyal readers, they certainly know how to strike up a debate—well, a debate of two. Yesterday's entry about the creation story in the bible prompted one remark about the finding of Noah's Ark.
Let's examine the impossibility of that particular story being true. First off, the laws of genetics would preclude two of anything being able to produce more than a few generations before they problems of inbreeding would wipe that particular species out. Then, there are about 3,000 species of land mammals alone, and add to that the 20 or so flightless birds that are around or even recorded in living history, such as the Dodo. Let's just say by some miracle (God is good with those) the reptiles all managed to survive submerged for 40 days, no need to add them onto the boat. But we are still dealing with a quite a few kilotons of weight, moving around, eating each other.
All right, so God had a hand in keeping the boat afloat, and the animals passive and the genetics diverse afterward, including those of Noah's sons and sons' wives. God even led those creatures off into their own continents. But if it was Mankind that had become bad and nobody was good anymore except Noah and his wife and his sons and their wives (what about their families?), then why did God bother flooding the entire earth at all and kill all those poor innocent creatures? Why didn't he just send a particularly nasty plague like that one they had in 28 Days Later, and tell Noah to go lock himself away for about, say, 28 days? Or had God not developed that level of technology at the time?
And, c'mon, did nobody else had a boat in those days?
Isn't it far easier to believe that at the end of the last ice age, some time after mankind had begun to commune in groups and villages and tell stories, water moved vast distances in very short periods of time. There's physical evidence the Black Sea was landlocked and much smaller at some point during the Ice Age and as soon as the waters of the Mediterranean rose high enough to come pouring into the Bosporus and decimate villages all over.
Isn't it just possible that 10,000 years ago, such a flood occurred—and a flood story began. Somehow people passed it down, generation-to-generation, and it grew and changed as it moved from village to village, father to son, mother to daughter, culture to culture. To the Jews, it became a story about morals, and about a mean, vindictive, indulgent and not very intelligent God, and at some point, someone who claimed he was Moses took it and wrote it down, thus beginning the practice of waiting centuries before committing something to a holy book.
Wait until there's nobody alive who can remember it and then say it's the truth. I am not a faithless man, but I don't need mythologies and fantasies and misogynistic, belatedly-written Gospels to believe in a higher being. My question is how can so many people declare such illogic to be God's word, and claim it's the basis of their faith? It seems to me most of them use it as the basis for their bad behavior, picking and choosing the passages they want to read and understand and forgetting the true message of Jesus' words about loving one another and being all of us children of God.
Throughout history, these Holy Texts have been used to deny others life and liberty. Starting off the twenty-first century, is the case of Amina Lawal, a woman of Northern Nigeria who had a child out of wedlock, was sentenced to be buried in rocks up to her head and stoned to death. This because 12 states of Northern Nigeria are governed by Shariah law, which is based on Islam's holy book, the Quran. Of course, they only use the angry parts of the Quran, and leave out the kinder words. Thankfully, Lawal was freed last February.
I think the story of Noah was an allegory. Miracles do happen, even today. I have encountered one or two in my time, in spite of the fact that I engage in behavior that is inappropriate according to the events not too long after the flood (where did all these people come from in so few years?).
Floods happen too, and I would not call them miracles. One would have to blame the recently devastating tsunami on God. Maybe it was those Swedish tourists in Phuket that made God angry.
And now they've found the ark. In Iraq. But nobody can see it, because it's been declared "holy ground." Just like the Constantine and his Council of Niciea declared the "holy book." Untouchable, pristine, and undeniable. By its holy virtue, it cannot be proven false. To do so would go against God.
It's all just Holy Shit.
Posted by Bastique at 11:59 PM | Comments (4)
January 13, 2005
Evolution of the Mindless
What is it with Creationists? I'm still in shock over reading the figures that over one-third of Americans believe that the world was created in the last 10,000 years, based on a the bible story of Genesis which, in fact, contradicts itself. This is only one of many contradictions that exist in the Bible. I'm too tired to go searching for the rest, but if pressed, I will do it. If anyone can cite other such passages, feel free to send them or comment here.
Back to the topic at hand. This bizarre minority of Americans still manage to convince school boards to add stickers to text books that read, "This textbook contains material on evolution. Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things. This material should be approached with an open mind, studied carefully and critically considered."
Thank heavens for that heathen, liberal-slanted judicial system. This is an all-important victory: Judge Rejects Georgia School Board Evolution Stand.
I just resent the fact that the ACLU actually has to take these pinheads to court to force them to get rid of these stickers. Figure it out, people, Genesis is a story—one the Jews borrowed from the Phoenicians. At least part of it is. The apple and Tree of Life story is a metaphor, and a misogynistic one at that, too.
God took Her sweet time creating the earth before She got around to creating mankind from the proto-chimpanzee. About 4.5 billion years. Considering that She's eternal, 4.5 billion years probably seemed to her like, what? About 7 days?
Posted by Bastique at 11:23 PM | Comments (2)
January 11, 2005
Giving Back
I take a recovery meeting into the Broward County Jail every Tuesday—for no reason other than I love doing this kind of service. Before last Tuesday, it had been six months since I took my last meeting, and since the unit I go into is a six month program, none of the guys have gotten to know me yet.
Last week, I shared my story and the inmates did their shares by asking questions. Not exactly how a recovery meeting is supposed to go, but I didn’t make a big deal about it. Ideally I would have a speaker come in with me, but my speaker canceled out too late for me to find a replacement, and tonight I had to go in on my own, again. I decided to take an authorized text of the 12-step program for which I take the meeting in, and I read from it, shared a bit, and then asked the inmates to share themselves. Other than one early question, the other men really felt like opening up tonight. I like the fact that I have that kind of effect on them.
There was an incident tonight, when I went in—as I came in, instead of going directly through to my guys unit, they brought me into the adjoining unit. I asked the deputy on duty, one who was there before, if I had to sign in. As he was around before, I was joking about him remembering my name. Apparently something was misunderstood, because as I was leaving, Deputy A began grilling me about next time I try to pass him without signing in, he'd personally escort me out. I was really taken aback by his behavior, but more so, I was really bothered and disturbed that he would be actually yelling at me.
I don't take meetings into jail because I have to, and I know some of these guys treat inmates like cattle. But there's no excuse for them to treat me this way as well. I have to remember, though when some dumbass CO has a bad day and takes it out on me, that I'm doing it for these inmates. It sucks, but why should I allow this to impact my inmates by stopping my meetings. Some of these CO's help to make their lives miserable enough—I shouldn't allow them to do it through me as well.
Posted by Bastique at 11:46 PM | Comments (2)
January 10, 2005
The Hamburg Cell
I just saw this incredible movie on HBO 2, The Hamburg Cell, a docudrama on the men who were responsible for the 9/11 disasters. I think the director did a phenomenal job; inasmuch as he portrayed the Jihad Terrorists as men—human beings under the maddening influence of religious fervor, but men all the same.
Karim Saleh, portrays Ziad Jarrah, a likable dental student from a well-to-do Lebanese family, who falls under the influence of the fanatics in Al Qaeda. Agni Tsangaridou does an outstanding job as Aysel, the Turkish girl with whom he falls in love and marries, and brings to Florida under the auspices of “getting away” from the fanatics. He continues to lie to her about his activities up until the United Flight 93 is brought down in a field in Pennsylvania. We do not see the heroic struggle on the flight by the passengers, the movie simply ends with footage of the twin towers burning, interspersed with Aysel's shock while watching the television and finally Jarrah's entrance to the plane before the credits begin.
This movie was not presented with judgment, merely presented what was, from the apparent perspective of Mr. Jarrah. Like many movies, in which we know the end, it started on 9/11 at the Newark airport, with Jarrah’s telephone call to Aysel, telling her he loves her, over and over again. Then we arrive into the past, where Jarrah is just entering college in Hamburg, while he was still a “non-practicing” Muslim.
These men could hardly have been called cowards, and I still applaud Bill Maher's on-air statement alleging that they could never have been cowards. Horribly misguided soldiers of a religious war in which there are no victors, only victims. Our president was stupid to call them what they are not. It is only in knowing the enemy do we have a chance to understand them and defeat them, or better yet, quell them before it erupts again.
This Jihad is never-ending, and the ramifications are far-reaching. What have the repercussions of 9/11 wrought beyond that time? Our president overthrows a dictator of a country, who, in fact, had been cited by those terrorists as an enemy of Muslims for the fact that his government was already responsible for the murder of countless followers of Islam. In effect, we have done some of their work for them—and then who is made to look the fool to the rest of the world? America. Because we have been caught in the quagmire of a war that we cannot win. And in essence, we have created more enemies in the process.
And by reelecting the president who put us there—furthermore by nominating a Democratic candidate who guaranteed to keep us there, no help to his campaign, we have finally affirmed that yes, we are the fools the rest of the world believes us to be.
Posted by Bastique at 11:55 PM | Comments (1)
January 9, 2005
Blogroll Roundup
I'd like to spend a little time updating my readers on the other blogs that I read regularly, because these are all people whose lives, however different from mine are yet similar to mine in both our ordinariness and our uniqueness.
I've never officially talked about Atheist Rants & Rages, but Aaron the Atheist, even though he is a Godless heathen writes with more spirituality than many supposed Christians that I know. I define spirituality, in this instance, as an awareness that being an individual does not preclude one from understanding that there are a world of human beings around us. My own beliefs, although originating from a Christian source, do not conform from any Biblical teachings, i.e., that Jesus was the Son of God.
My own beliefs reflect that he was an utterly enlightened man, who taught about the higher awareness of our individual beings, and that we ourselves can learn to become closer to that enlightenment. There were many Gospels written about the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. It's important to note that the ones that are included in the Bible were decided at a council (of Nicaea) in the Fourth Century, upon direction by Constantine, an Emperor only interested in quelling the Pagan/Christian fighting that was present throughout the Roman Empire and converted to Christianity on his deathbed and only under duress.
Part of what I've come to understand is that the path of enlightenment comes at the awareness of the suffering around us. And doing something about it. Read Aaron's blog. He's certainly more enlightened than the average bear.
Tammi in Texas has suffered a severe automobile accident, and she's providing us the latest while making an attempt to type while in a body cast. I've been helping Tammi somewhat with html code and getting a right proper image into her blog on the upper right. Of course, she asked me to pick from a group of pictures. Of course, homosexual I may be, I'm still of the male gender and I picked out the most salacious of poses, one where she's posing on a horse fence, bootie sticking out for everyone. I thought it was a nice shot. She thought she looked slutty. Tammi, you gave me the pics to choose from!
I phoned Stephen of Geekslut fame, (where he tells stories of his sexual exploits in incredibly graphic detail—and trust me, I have my sources that tell me they're all true) to make sure he was all right, because I haven't seen a post by him in quite some time, the last being pictures of his Paladin character from the interactive online game, World of Warcraft. I thought maybe he'd cracked out on the game…it's pretty intensive. No, he's only decided that writing about his sex life was starting to get boring. He was supposed to put up a message telling about that. I haven't seen it yet.
Annabel, who writes Story of my Life, has found love in the guise of Marty (this is starting to sound like a Soap Opera Digest article), a long-distance lover. He recently visited her in Texas on vacation, and now she is suffering a mild longing since he's been away. Keep at it Annabel.
Finally, I've been doing some typing for Prison Pete, who has recently been moved to a new jail pending a final destination. (I think.) You should see what Doesn't get into the blog. Pete's really got a lot of time on his hands to think about things, like life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.
Posted by Bastique at 11:53 PM | Comments (0)
January 8, 2005
Building Walls
Well, Joplin's situation has gotten me quite bummed out and I haven't really had much gumption to blog. I'm trying, however, to come up with something clever and interesting to provide for everyone's enjoying pleasure.
Today was a most unremarkable day. Unseasonably warm, even by Florida standards, I hauled dirt across the back yard to put behind the wall that I'm building out on my lake. You see, this yard has been slowly getting eroded away into the Canal/Lake out back, and as a result, the last survey said that our swimming pool was within the right-of-way of the Water Authority.
Also, my backyard slowly slopes downward into the lake, thus preventing full enjoyment of all our backyard space. Therefore, early last year I began doing something about it. Taking a cue from my next-door neighbor and expanding upon it, I started buying 60 pound cement bags and stacking them into a wall, then I put dirt behind it to flatten out the yard. I've started doing this on three levels—and hope to have it finished by the time Michael gets out of prison in October. In fact, if you remember, this was #6 of my ten goals for 2005.
It's really not terribly expensive, and I'm doing it a little bit at a time. Hauling 12 60-pound bags of cement can be exhausting in one afternoon. Plus there's the dirt issue. Although I know I can get large amounts of dirt or land-filler from somewhere, I have yet to figure out just where!
If you're not into home and garden stuff, this has got to be one of my most boring posts ever. But I rather enjoy doing stuff around the house. Plus it gives me a tan and helps with the muscles—what little I have.
Posted by Bastique at 11:57 PM | Comments (0)
January 7, 2005
Quality of Life
I've been doing a lot of thinking about Joplin, spending time with him, holding him and making sure he's comfortable and happy. Anybody that has had to make a decision to euthanize a four-legged friend knows that it's not a decision to be taken lightly. I also did a search on the web and came up with this site: Pet Loss Support: Quality of Life.
My veterinarian suggested that if Joplin were his, he'd probably make that decision.
The decision to euthanize is not taken lightly, and although my veterinarian suggested that if the cat were his, he'd make that decision.
But my veterinarian only saw an anxiety-ridden black Persian who'd pissed himself in the cat carrier, and not the mellow, relaxed, albeit smelly cat that I have at home. Considering his condition, the poop on the floor doesn't bother me quite as much and I'm more than happy to clean it up.
For some remarkable reason, Joplin has been walking much better over the past few days. I'm not certain why. I did lay my hand on his lower back and focused on healing--but I'm not any kind of spiritual healer so I don't know that I have all that much strength, or even the faith to do it.
I have to laugh at this moment, because as I'm typing about him, he appeared out from under my desk to get some petting. Smelly as ever.
I know my vet says that cats can't stand to be dirty or smelling of their own bodily fluids, but I'm almost certain that either Joplin can't smell it or he just doesn't care. This is a cat that used to walk around with poop stuck to his fur from out of the litterbox, not seeming the least bit concerned about it.
Maybe I'm in denial. I've had Joplin for 11 years and he doesn't seem to be too terribly much different, even with the walking problems than he has now. So I have to clean up poop every so often off of the floor. And sometimes I can't even figure out where the smells are coming from. When I weigh that with the kind of decision that would merit ending his life, it doesn't seem such a bad thing.
My Roomie says Joplin looks pitiful. "But does he look miserable?" I ask the Roomie. If Joplin is miserable, I'm having a hard time seeing it.
Posted by Bastique at 5:28 PM | Comments (0)
January 5, 2005
My poor cat, part 2
This morning I brought my cat, Joplin, for his follow-up visit to Academy Animal Hospital to see if there's any more to do for him, after a week's treatment with Prednisone. Although his walking seems to have improved slightly, he's still got the same problems with bladder control, and on top of it, he's developed diarrhea that he can't seem to control either.
The doctor walked into the room and said, that he was sorry, there's nothing that can be done. Even if I had the money to throw at the problem, he doubts that even then it could be helped. It's either a congenital neurological disorder or there was some spinal cord damage at some point. Bringing him in earlier would probably not have made a difference. Considering that it's now a quality of life issue, the best thing I could do is have him euthanized.
So what do I do now, call up the Humane Society and tell them I need to have my cat put to sleep? How do I make this decision? Does he seem miserable? I can't let him in the house anymore, because I fear more stains from his urine and fecal matter. But he seems to be happy outside. He doesn’t seem too miserable.
How do I schedule an appointment to take my cat away from me? This is breaking my heart!
Posted by Bastique at 7:12 PM | Comments (1)
Hibiscus after Winter Rains
South Florida has glorious weather...three months of the year. One of the amazing things I can do in January is go out into my backyard and take pictures like this one:
This Hibiscus plant has been dropping buds all summer long, and through the fall. But since December, it's been cool enough to give it an opportunity to show its fullness.
I'm not sure what the hybrid's name is anymore. Michael and I bought it at the Fort Lauderdale Home and Garden show back in 97 or 98. In the last few years, the plant has been suffering from serious neglect, and finally, toward the end of 2003, I took it from the ground and put it in a pot, whereupon the Roomie nearly killed it by putting dirt in the pot and suffocating it. After some desperately needed TLC, it offered up its first bloom in years last January, and the plant has been putting out plenty of leaves ever since.
Posted by Bastique at 10:32 AM | Comments (1)
January 4, 2005
The Dyke and the Fag Hag
Incidentally, I hate both of those terms, but I thought it would make a snappy title. I'm not even going to mention how I know the two women, but they used to be friends and now there's no small bit of bitterness between the two of them over some things that occurred last fall. I'm friends with both of them, however, and really hate being put in between them. I don't think either of them read my blog, however.
The point is, that there was a small responsibility that the dyke was supposed to be in charge of, but as a result of her leaving town for one of the hurricanes, she didn't take care of it. The fag hag took it as the dyke's shirking of her responsibilities, and was pissed off at the position she was put in as a result. It wasn't as big a deal as the fag hag thought it was, but nevertheless, the dyke blew it off and didn't even apologize, and the fag hag yelled at the dyke and after that they didn't speak.
Well, I ran into the fag hag recently, and she asked me about another arrangement between her and the dyke for something that was going to occur in 2005; to which I replied I didn't know anything. The fag hag contacted the dyke by email and by the time a couple of emails passed they were each accusing the other of being abusive.
I basically sent a “you're both wrong and can't we all be friends” email and heard back from the dyke about one small point I made in the email that was entirely not true and she was offended by my referring to her bad behavior. As if just because she didn't yell, like the fag hag did, she wasn't displaying bad behavior. I apologized if she was offended and let her know that we had two different opinions about what constituted abuse.
I think she was assuming that I meant that the fag hag wasn't being abusive. I actually meant that the dyke was being abusive, due to her negligence and unwillingness to accept any portion of the responsibility.
This is the dyke's pattern, however. She puts people in difficult positions and the moment they show their less-than-perfect side, they're out of her life. I've already seen it happen between her and a number of other people.
I really need to stay out of these things.
Posted by Bastique at 11:13 PM | Comments (0)
January 3, 2005
New Blog Page!
I've decided that Blogger doesn't quite have enough functionality for me and have moved the the Movable Type platform. I can do more things with Movable type, like change the order in which my archives appear, allow for scrolling through the individual posts, categorize my entries, and a lot more.
Therefore, I've changed my format, and all, and moved my blog pages to a different directory. Why? Because I want my main page to have so much more than just my blog, plus, I hope to be designing more websites in the very near future, and am not really interested in having the links find my sometimes opinionated blog. If you're reading this message, you already know where to find the new blog, because you're here.
If you haven't changed whatever link you use to link to me, it's http://www.bastique.com/blog.
Posted by Bastique at 1:55 PM | Comments (2)
January 2, 2005
Brooks' Elfstones of Shannara
To my friend Joey. This entry is a book review, come back tomorrow.
To everyone else. I started on Elfstones of Shannara right after I finished Sword. The thing that struck me most about Sword was the question, “Why are there no women in this story!” Apparently Terry Brooks heard that question later on, and he mentioned that his first attempt at a sequel was sent back by his editor, with one of the concerns being, “Needs a strong, central, female character.”
Elfstones has a strong female character, and although Amberle Eledissil rarely enjoys the point of view in the book, she certainly is central to the story. Very central. The storyline is rather as enjoyable as Sword, and yet altogether different, bringing a radically different enemy to the land of Shannara: Demons who had been trapped beyond a "Forbidding" wall since long before the time of man, were starting to break through as a result of the dying of the magic that created the "Forbidding." Amberle must bring a seed of the magic to germination and is accompanied by Wil Ohlmsford, the grandson of our hero in Sword, Shea.
The writing has dramatically improved since Sword, although I was so intrigued by Brooks' imagination in Sword that I easily overlooked the book's deficiencies. Since I waited a couple of days before posting this, I'm already more than halfway through the third book, Wishsong of Shannara.
Brooks has me hooked.
To get the books:
Amazon links are here: The Elfstones of Shannara, and The Sword of Shannara Trilogy.
Posted by Bastique at 11:18 PM | Comments (0)
January 1, 2005
My Goals for 2005
I was at a meeting tonight wherein someone mentioned that they didn't quite do all the goals they set out last year on New Year's but they had accomplished a few of them.
On the morning of December 31, 2004, my office space was filled with piles of paper, scattered objects, and worse; mildew from the air conditioning unit, food stains, paper stuck to the floor, and minor bodily fluids left by my poor cat Joplin (See My Poor Cat). It was the one part of the house I couldn't bear to face and caused me to feel nothing but dread every time I thought about cleaning it.
But by last night, I had cleaned it up entirely. I didn't want to carry that clutter into the New Year with me. Instead I carried a sense of empowerment, and my self-confidence is strong enough to risk listing a set of goals for the year 2005.
- Get three more short stories into publication.
- Finish the second draft of my novel.
- Take a trip somewhere I've never been, at least 500 miles from home.
- Make enough income from web design to not have to work any longer.
- Get through my tenth step.
- Finish the three walls along the lakefront.
- Learn PHP (it's an internet programming language based on C)
- Quit smoking and stay quit.
- Get my teeth fixed.
- Keep my office organized for the entire year.
Or, in the case of smoking, if I've backslid.
Posted by Bastique at 11:48 PM | Comments (2)