Word for the Moment in Somewhat Rambling Form

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

--William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

This is is the definition of love...REAL love that has nothing to do with a hot body, great clothes, or even physical attraction for attraction's sake.  It's a deep connection--whether understandable or inexplicable, blissful or excruciatingly painful--that binds you to someone permanently.  It can even be a one-sided bond that the other person doesn't even realize exists...but you realize it.  You realize it to your innermost core, and no power in any conceivable dimension can disassemble it.

Romantic, familial, or platonic, love doesn't have to be returned in order to be worthwhile; or it may be a love that's considered unwise, even taboo.  Am reminded of another quote, this time from the film Rob Roy: "Love is never a sin, only the lack of it."  So when in doubt, love.  Love with everything that's in you at every opportunity.  Love even if it ISN'T in you.  Only good can come of it, even if you never see a return on your valuable investment.  Someone somewhere sees it and can only be helped and encouraged by its always-positive influence. 

And in the long, ultimate run, you'll benefit too.

Waking Up is Hard to Do

Life is getting better.  It is.

It is, it is, it is, it is, it is!

That’s my magical mystery mantra repeated repeatedly 24/7 in order to assist with convincing my heart and brain that life really is getting better.  And I’ll keep on repeating it too until life reflects my fervent wishes. 

It’s not like I expected a move back into civilization to vanquish most of the pre-existing issues with which I was daily dealing…or did I?  Maybe because the job miraculously appeared and the apartment came together affordably, I internally assumed other things would too.  But old problems are replaced by new ones, and still more of the old problems remain the same.  This is reality.  This is a reality for which my formative years did not prepare me.  A responsible adult who takes care of business morally and ethically is not supposed to have any major problems, and if they do, that established history of clean living will assure a speedy resolution to said problems. 

Umm, no.  I still don’t know how I’m going to afford a car payment next year, I’m TERRIFIED of student loan repayment unless a larger income presents itself, math classes are looming before me after an 19-year hiatus from the subject, and while I do love the private space of my apartment, it’s lonely…and not because I’m living in a bigger city as opposed to a town.  In a way, it was lonelier there simply because I’m very different and don’t match the smaller town/city template.  But there’s an absence of connections: real human connections that haven’t happened just yet.  And of course I’m still waiting for that one particular connection in the form of a truly amazing dude that just might decide that he loves me and wants to be with me.  JUST me.  Am approximately one disappointment away from giving up on that one entirely.

Before starting this blog, I firmly decided that I wouldn’t be one of those people who bemoans their existence for all of cyberspace to see/hear.  But upon realizing that only three or four people read any of these written ramblings consistently, I figured the firm decision to refrain from whining could still consider itself intact.

Life WILL get consistently better, and the gargantuan task of simply climbing out of bed every morning might eventually morph into joyously leaping forth and attacking the day.  Until then, waking up is hard to do.    

Only for the Nerdiest of History Fanatics!

In this semester's history elective, one of our first week's conference discussion topics was this: "The First World War originated as two mostly separate wars brought together by the Triple Alliance's miscalculation: Austria-Hungary versus Serbia-Russia and Germany's long-standing ambition for power."  We were asked to discuss for or against this statement.

Based upon transcribed communications between Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany and his ambassador visiting various European countries during the volatile pre-WWI months, The First World War may in no way be considered the combining of two separate wars nor can the Triple Alliance be accused of any “miscalculation.”  Revelations made in the primary source “German Dispatches and the Kaiser’s Annotations” indicate that Germany and her long-time ally Austria-Hungary were in full concert regarding the Serbia dilemma.  The German ambassador, reporting directly to Kaiser Wilhelm, indicated that the Austrian king “expressed his cordial thanks for the attitude of our August Sovereign and of the Imperial Government and that he now shared our opinion completely…that a decision must be reached in order to put an end to the intolerable state of affairs in Serbia.” ¹  Kaiser Wilhelm responded that he felt the situation was “lasting too long” and that something should be done about Serbia sooner rather than later.  The ambassador revealed that Austria intended to delay taking action against the Serbs until a certain Frenchman, Monsieur Poincare, departed the region.  This information elicited a response of, “That is too bad,” from Kaiser Wilhelm. ¹

The German ambassador went on to reiterate that their other established allies (Bulgaria, Rumania, and Turkey) would honor their allegiance should Austria “administer a severe lesson to Serbia.”  Extensive communications with the English government were also conducted during this time period, communications which the Kaiser hoped would assure the powerful England’s neutrality should war occur.  As Sir Edward Gray of England was advising mediation between the troubled nations, Kaiser Wilhelm was proposing that a warning be sent to St. Petersburg (Russia being a confirmed ally of the Serbian state) and Paris (France being an enemy of Germany’s since France’s acquisition of German territory after the Franco-Prussian War) declaring “to the effect that England would not help them” in the event of war with Germany and Austria-Hungary.  England, through the voice of Sir Edward Gray, continued to declare her determination to defend the sovereignty of France and Serbia as well as the preexisting neutrality of Belgium.  Sir Edward officially declared that, “His Majesty’s Government cannot for a moment entertain the Chancellor’s proposal that they should bind themselves to neutrality on such terms.” ¹

These ongoing discussions among the governments of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and their promised allies seem to clearly indicate a framework for the conquest of Europe beginning with Serbia, her Russian allies, France, and the neutral nation of Belgium.  There does not appear to be any sort of “miscalculation” on the parts of the Austrian king and Kaiser Wilhelm nor do the wars appear to be “separate.”  Instead, one may logically argue that all proposed and executed actions were carefully orchestrated by the Germany/Austria-Hungary (with the ultimate addition of Italy) alliance in order to bring about concerted conflict and territorial expansion. 

German military research from 1905 in the form of “The Schlieffen Plan” further led the Triple Alliance to believe that Russia “was still very weak as a result of the Manchurian War” and could not mobilize her forces quickly enough to pose any real threat. ²  This belief could be considered a “miscalculation,” but since the Triple Alliance appeared committed to the idea of attacking Serbia knowing that Russia would defend her, the Alliance would clearly be required to factor Russia’s potential military might into the resulting equation.  Additionally, the Triple Alliance knew in advance that England would take up arms against them should aggressive actions be taken against Serbia, Russia, France, and particularly Belgium.  Arrogance, greed, and obsession—not miscalculation—appear to have been the Triple Alliance’s eventual downfall.

1. The World War I Document Archive, http://net.lib.byu.edu/~rdh7/wwi/1914/

    wilnotes.html (accessed September 15, 2011).

2.  The World War I Document Archive, http://net.lib.byu.edu/index.php/The_Schliffen_

     Plan (accessed September 15, 2011).

Moving Should Be an Olympic Sport!

Winter, summer...doesn't matter.  The manifold, obnoxious steps necessary for moving successfully and triumphantly require as much brain and body energy as any decathlon...okay, triathlon.  After finally landing a job in my goal city of Austin, I've spent the last 3 weeks fighting with apartment complexes, movers, and the interstate between Temple and Austin than I'd have ever imagined possible...and I've got muscletone in places I didn't even know could have muscles!

For our Relocator's Triathlon, there will be 3 basic events: securing the apartment, packing/loading the contents of your old residence, and unloading/unpacking/setting up said contents at the new residence.  These 3 mind-and-body-ssaulting events require so much arguing, haranguing, compromising, haggling, sweating, straining, stretching, OVER-straining, etc. that you can indeed be classified as a professional athlete by the time each stage is completed...and you'll certainly have spent a huge amount of money doing it.  You'll have the mental and physical strength of a pro athlete by the time you're finally sitting comfortably and exhaustedly in your new digs sipping on the beverage of choice.

This has been a really crappy moving experience thus far, and I darn well better have a gold medal awaiting me at the end!!

This has been a relatively crappy posting too, but it reflects my scattered frame of mind and emotions rather well...so I feel vindicated :-)

Staring Up at a Leaky Dam

I’ve been a late bloomer since birth.  Maybe I was even born late…don’t recall Mom’s recollections.  My ability to ride a bike bloomed late.  Swimming skills bloomed late.  My girl parts bloomed late.  Dating, the discovery of alcoholic wonderment, paying all my own bills, and all other manner of rite-passing occurred later than it did for the entire sum of my peerage.  Now, upon reaching adulthood, I’ve come to discover that all that late blooming made allowances for what I now consider to be a relatively easy life thus far…which is why I—in all my late-blooming glory—am just now discovering the joys of coping with life’s manifold badnesses.

Don’t get me wrong.  There are lots of good things happening right now, a new job and move to Austin in particular.  But some of the aforementioned badness has been happening right along with it which smashes new chinks into my own personally-maintained Dam Against Negativity.  Each new chink and resulting stream of escaping, potentially-life-endangering water indicates another victory for the Army of Badness seemingly intent upon destabilizing my now-stabilizing existence.  What if more chinks happen?  What if my late-blooming coping skills aren’t strong enough to fill in the badness chinks by focusing/building upon the re-buttressing goodness?  I don’t have enough experience with this and am feeling kind of crumbly right now (darn happy childhood and teen years!) 

At present, almost all of my energies are focused upon dam maintenance.  And since I’m the only maintenance engineer on the April’s Life payroll, staring up at the existing leaks is draining me still further. 

Maybe there are some late-blooming superhuman characteristics about to burst forth!

Viral Discontent

A lip-infesting fever blister/cold sore sprang up over the weekend.  I realize that this isn't necessarily a topic to spark interest, commentation, or poignant verbal interaction, but this blog is a random blog.  To combat my dreaded lip eruption (gross!), I've been inundating it with an alternating combination of hydrocortisone, anti-bacterial cream (yes, I realize this particular ailment is caused by a virus...not the point...it's a drug, so I'm gonna apply it!), and anti-acne gel. 

Am kind of hoping to confuse it into submission.

Stay tuned...

...or not.

Was that abbreviated enough?  Would that succinct writer dude who liked to use big words be proud?

Inside joke ;-)

UPDATE: CONFUSION WORKS!!

"We Shall Never Pass This Way Again"...yeah, whatever!

When I was a little, little kid all the way back in 1983, I loved looking at the pictures of the “big kids” in our school annuals.  That year one of my uncles was a senior which meant an even bigger pictorial “spread” than was typical would be presented for this stand-out person in my life.  One thing I specifically recall from that spread—besides the overabundance of ruffled tuxedo shirts worn by the senior guys—was their class/prom motto: “We will not pass this way again.”  To my 8-year-old mind, this was an intriguingly introspective concept. 

To my 36-year-old mind, I find it to be an illogical pile of crap.  Please allow me expound: the human race has proven time after time, century after century that all it is EVER capable of doing is passing down that same old way again and again.  We seemingly refuse to apply historical lessons learned to our present dilemmas and decisions thereby repeating a sordid past that could so easily—thanks to recorded historical records—be avoided if we’d only take the time to remember and avoid repeating mistakes of previous generations. 

A few examples of how we continually proceed to tie up then stumble over our own feet:

1)      War is bad.  It kills lots of people and eradicates a large chunk of the financial, psychological, and emotional means of survival for those left alive.  Peacemakers really are the blessed ones, so avoid friggin’ war at all costs.  NOT avoiding it costs far more.  Just take a look at one of the (if NOT “the”) most solid form of currency in the world right now: the Swiss franc.  Morally/ethically-motivated or not, their stance of maintained peaceful relations works.

2)      No form of government is THE form of government.  Growing up in the U.S., I was taught that our democratic republic and its glorious capitalistic economic system was the ultimate in human governmental achievement.  Socialism was evil, and communism was Satan’s chosen tool for eradicating freedom in the universe.  Definitionally speaking, all of these systems would work just fine IF there was no such thing as human nature.  As we’re seeing right now in multiple countries around the globe, any government and/or economic system can be corrupted and turned into an oligarchy ruled by the few with power and the money to continue buying said power.  Pay off enough legislators in ANY system, and you see the few ultimately controlling the masses. If those “few” truly had the well-being of the masses in mind, things would work terrifically.  But how often does that happen?

3)      No one person or country can successfully take over the world.  This one seems so obvious that it doesn’t even deserve mentioning, yet even today we continue seeing governments attempt to do just that.  For the inevitable outcome of such attempts, see example #1 then take a look at the histories of the Egyptian, Persian, and Roman Empires. 

4)      No government can successfully legislate morality or religion.  This is another seeming no-brainer, but persecution of  moral and religious “others” within modern societies continues just as it has since such concepts were first established.  Roman persecution of Jews and Christians, the Christian attacks against Muslims during the Crusades, the Protestants and Catholics at deadly odds with each other in Tudor England, the Nazi extermination of Jews during WWII, and today’s terrorist attacks in the name of jihad are only a handful of examples that indicate the vanity and futility of forcing one group’s set of beliefs onto another group.  As a Christian, I believe that God gave everyone the individual choice to decide what they believe and how they practice those beliefs (I do reserve the right to condemn sacrifice of human life in ANY religion, however).  Who are any of us to governmentally sanction one religion or faith over another?  “We are not under the law but under grace.”

We keep hearing about how humanity is slowly evolving into a higher form of being and existence, but you certainly wouldn’t know it by the way we treat each other.  Theorists have proposed that supposed alien visitors are much more highly evolved than we are in that they can communicate telepathically.  For humanity, mass telepathic communication would only mean we could kill each other more efficiently.  No, until we truly do decide to learn from history’s mistakes and utilize those lessons on a practical daily basis, we will continue to pass this way again…and again…and again…and again ad nauseum.

Don't Let This Happen to You

I have a particular penchant for cliché, stereotypical, feel-good, follow-you-dreams movies.  Part of me thinks this is the case because I want to believe that a better life and subsequent better world is possible.  The rest of me thinks it’s because I enjoy self-inflicting sadistic torture upon my emotions and psyche. 

So just why should the aforementioned follow-your-dreams-to-a-happy-ending-of-joy-and-fulfillment movies send my mind and emotions into an uncorrectable tailspin?  It’s because they remind me of just how many terrific opportunities in my God-given life have been willingly and vigorously rejected…by me.  Sure, I grew up in a town with very limited opportunities for a girl of my natural talents ‘n skills (singing and writing, specifically).  There aren’t exactly vocal coaches on every corner down Buckholts-way.  And forget about accelerated English and/or writing courses that might pave the way to additional learning and scholarship possibilities.  Do you really think that Julliard or Northwestern would think twice—or even once—about entertaining the bizarre ‘n crazy notion of admitting a high school graduate from Nowheresville, USA with zero vocal training or accelerated writing projects?  Not on the likely. 

For years those were the excuses I conveniently applied to convince myself that it wasn’t my fault I hadn’t even come CLOSE to achieving my grandest dreams.  Those excuses are, in fact, applicable…but only to a certain extent.  Once I graduated high school and hit junior college, I had the amazing opportunity to expand my vocal talents and range via weekly voice lessons and choir participation.  I consider these to be some of the most valuable hours of my life.  After completing two years and pondering where my college career would go next, I was given the chance to audition for a darn good music department in Georgetown, TX.  They loved me.  They wanted me.  They gave me scholarship money.

I chickened out.  I was too friggin’ afraid to leave safe, comfortable home and pursue what could’ve amounted to the fulfillment of everything I’d ever wanted to be and do with my life.  I could’ve been “somebody” doing “something” by now instead of sitting chained to a secretarial job.  I could’ve been LIVING instead of just paying the bills.  It wasn’t my family’s fault, it wasn’t the public school system’s fault, it was MY fault all the way.  Fear is an unforgiving, uncooperative bitch, and I’m ashamed to admit that I succumbed completely to it.

Since that time so frighteningly many years ago, I’ve grown up and ditched the fear that I allowed to hold me back.  But now?  Now it’s too late for me to pursue any sort of professional vocal career.  At 36, I’m an old woman in the eyes of a performance industry seeking ever younger talent to grace their varied stages.  I’m almost finished with a Bachelor of English degree which should hopefully allow me to explore my other favoritest of things: writing (and correcting everybody’s grammar LOL).  Writing and editing are achievable dreams at any age, so these I will wholeheartedly pursue.  This path is an acceptable substitute.

But I’ll forever regret the dreams I irrevocably lost due to my casual, comfortable embracing of a debilitating cowardice.  Following your dreams only makes a difference if you tenaciously follow them through to completion. 

Dream-following is not a spectator sport :-)

A Brief History of the Devil Gnomes

Once upon a time, devil gnomes were actually angel fairies that lived happily and full of bubbly life beneath the cool, misty shadows of a Middle Earth variety of banyan tree.  Had you been lucky enough to venture upon their carefree banyan tree forest, you would encounter the most charming of miniature cultures resplendent in their copious applications of chocolate and sparkling cider to everyday life (for whatever reason, the angel fairies were abstinent…from alcohol, not the other thing ;-).  They spent their days making fluffy chocolate mousse and aging apple juice into tasty, alcohol-free libations liberally sprinkled with fairy dust to make it sparkly/fizzy.  Angel fairy dust has the same effect as carbonation without all the chemical badness.  Angel fairies were a completely “green” society. 

Anyway, one morning when Sauron was feeling evil—as was his typical wont on any average morning—he decided to invade the angel fairy banyan land and swipe their trees for use in fueling his One Ring-manufacturing lava pit.  At this point, he hadn’t quite processed the whole “one ring” concept in that “one ring” is supposed to mean there’s only “one” ring.  This logic-less fact in play, Sauron mounted an orc attack for the following day, reveling in his intelligent application of deviousness for the furtherance of his empire. 

SAURON THE EVIL (AND NOT TOO BRIGHT)

The next morning dawned light-speckled for the angel fairies as sunshine punctured the thick banyan tree land of the free-for-the-moment.  Young angel fairies practiced their wand-induced fizzing of that day’s batch of sparkling cider.  One wayward apprentice fizzer accidentally over-wanded her glass of cider causing it to evaporate entirely.  It was in this unfortunate moment that orcs invaded and started hacking away at the banyan haven causing angel fairies to scatter ‘midst the downtrodden leaves.  To add insult to massive injury, once he had nabbed all the wood his orc fiends could possibly carry, Sauron aimed his One-for-the-moment Ring at the angel fairy population and turned them all into devil gnomes.  Their homes and countenances destroyed, they fled their homeland in shame and, after days of hiking, located a ficus tree forest where they decided to settle.  Unbeknownst to the devil gnome immigrants, the evil ficus dwellers already occupied this particular forest.  The rest is miniature-culture military history.

ANGEL FAIRY IN THEIR ORIGINAL FORM
Due to the extreme pain endured from looking at
their once-beauteous countenance, these poor
creatures have requested to be represented as
stick figures

And naturally they have requested that their
now-hideous visage be withheld from
public view

P.S. After this, devil gnomes no longer made sparkling cider.  Despondent at the memory of their magical defeat and banishment, they switched to manufacturing the hard stuff.  This has led to an all-out, gnomely infatuation with invading Mordor and shutting down Sauron’s One Ring-manufacturing smelter.  Ensign Wesley Crusher eventually talked them out of it.

P.P.S./P.S.S. Did you notice that Sauron's pointing hand should actually be on the other wrist?  Yep.  It's a left hand on a right wrist.  I sketched it with my right hand while looking at my left hand...sometimes both sides of my brain don't connect :-)

It's Hot!

I apologize.  I'd type more but have suddenly and painfully realized that my fingertip skin has melted onto the keyboard...I wonder if they've invented a nanite for that?


Texas has officially become Satan's country!

Staring is Rude

This post could be construed as the continuation of a previous post, but I prefer to think of it as an original grouping of thoughts...so you think of it that way too, 'kay? 

Am feeling rantful today due to the fact that a person CANNOT walk through the halls of this hospital building without being visually assaulted.  I'm minding my own business and pushing the noisy metal mail cart through the ground floor halls (which, by the way, I'm convinced holds a secret bunker full of experimental body parts...why else would temps be sub-Arctic?)  where one has the opportunity of encounter all manner of humanity.  Much of said humanity smiles, nods, and greets you in the typical friendly Texas manner.  While I appreciate these kind vocal gestures, quite honestly, I'd prefer to be ignored.  Still, kindness is theoretically its own reward, so I shan't obstruct the kind individuals who prefer to earn those groovy reward points from collecting their due.

These well-meaning people comprise approximately one third of the types you'll find wandering and/or sitting thereabouts on the ground level of our building.  Another third of the visiting population really DOES ignore the hades out of me.  Whenever I pass someone in the hall and they treat me as an invisible nonentity, I want to take their hands and bless them many times over.  But since that would require talking and the consequent revelation of my presence/existence, I instead mentally bless them in a vehement fashion.

Alas, this celebration of The Silent must now be interrupted by the intrusion of a third group of people oft encountered 'midst the chilly labyrinthine passages below my sandal-clad work feet: those who stare incessantly without reason or consideration.  One might assume that I'd forgive them this mortal sin as long as they didn't speak to me, but one would assume incorrectly.  As aforementioned, I'm walking down the hall and blithely pushing my cart along its rickety, squeaky path whenever I encounter a member of "Satan's 33 1/3."  No matter what, they stare from the time I (or anyone) comes into their eyes' focus, and then they literally turn their head to continue this visual infringement of my/anyone's personal space as I/anyone walk by.  What really melts my snowcone is when there's two or three of them in a group, and the entire group stares, turns, and continues staring...like that three-headed, slobbering dog monster in Harry Potter, only atonal harp music won't make these people stop staring. 

So do parents these days simply not teach their children that staring is rude?  Maybe it's because there's no smartphone app for it.  Or maybe no fun-but-instructional blu-ray disc exists to teach said children such things via video screen in the back of the SUV on their way to baseball practice.  Or maybe Sony needs to devise an action-packed, blood-and-guts video game depicting the consequences of illicit staring...gaze too long at any particular person for no good reason, and you get disintegrated by a Romulan disruptor...and so does The Princess!!

It all comes down to common courtesy, and while the super sweet people that energetically insist on saying "hello" or "good morning" do annoy me at times, at least they're demonstrating the fact that their parents did indeed teach them manners...and that they bothered to learn the lesson.

In All Seriousness...

I needs must pause from my typical banter o' goofiness and relative insanity that nobody gets but me in order to make a poignant, pertinent observation that far more Americans should be making at present: both U.S. political parties seem intent upon utter national destruction.  Both Democrats and Republicans pretend to be addressing the debt ceiling we as a nation crashed into a couple of months ago.  All political posturing and ruse-ing aside, these elected officials appear far more interested in preventing a success by their rival party than in doing anything even remotely positive for the survival of the United States.  In my opinion, neither party deserves to win (or purchase) the next Presidential election, and if their self-important antics continue for much longer, there won't be much of a nation left to govern. 

Now, I'm not going to get irrationally patriotic and declare that our perfect country was preordained for greatness by the near-Godlike acts of flawless Founding Fathers who knew precisely which form of government would seamlessly span the centuries.  What worked great during an age of exploration, global expansion, and industrial revolution doesn't necessarily transition effectively into a globally-populated, technological age defined and consumed by its industrial predecessors' lust for wealth, power, and convenience.  My guess is Thomas Jefferson did NOT have the internet in mind when he glorifed absolute freedom of speech nor did George Washington comprehend a necessity to ban automatic weapony from the general populace's possession. 

(Before I go any further, freedom of speech is requisitely necessary for any civilization to survive and flourish.  Overall I think the ability to own a gun is good too since any bad guy will find a way to own a gun whether it's legal or not.  Licensed, responsible gun ownership is okay by me, and that's not just my Texan blood talkin' ;-)

But back to the original commentary: no doubt the U.S. achieved worldwide power and prestige.  We succeeded where many failed, BUT we can't owe all of our success to unique government, personal ingenuity, and the incredibly strong bootstraps our forefathers apparently possessed.  No, we also got lucky.  VERY lucky.  We also seized upon opportunities regardless of whether they arose from positive or negative world events.  Our technological advancements which began in the 1950s were largely a result of the scientists our government "rescued" from a defeated Nazi Germany (unless Robert Goddard and Robert Oppenheimer were aliens, I'm not buying into that theory).  Much of the land containing our coal and oil deposits was blatantly stolen from the "relocated" Native American population.  The Great Depression was ended largely due to the massive amount of jobs created by the inception of World War II. 

That brings me to my final summation point: are the people that We the People elected to take care of this nation as a whole going to wait on a World War III event to bail us out of this financial crisis, or are they going to step into adulthood and make the sacrifices that We the People have to make in our normal lives on a daily basis?  Those types of financial choices typically require the loss of something we deem personally important.  We very well may lose face in someone's opinion.  But "failures" such as these are integral to our continued individual survival as well as eventual financial reconstruction.  Neither political party should be out to "win" right now because there is no winning without assuring the nation's continued existence.  Forget the elections.  Our political parties have created a culture of neverending election season.  No, instead of perpetuating the notion of campaigning as a 24/7 lifestyle, sacrifice your personal and party pride on the altar of "doing the right thing," do what we're paying you to do, and GET US OUT OF THIS! 

Ensign Wesley Crusher would have ;-)

Ensign Wesley Crusher vs. Sauron...and Darth Vader...and Rachel Ray

Stardate 48557.8

After safely relocating his mother to her day spa home complete with white picket forcefield, Ensign Wesley Crusher decided to embrace his maternally-prescribed domestication process and vehemently pursue gourmet cooking as well as hydroponic gardening.  He reprogrammed half of his nanites for weed-fighting and aphid-killing at the cellular level then proceeded to run database searches for past culinary geniuses.  While the wily microbots were cultivating veggies and exterminating veggie vermin, Wesley programmed various holodeck simulations for participation in a variety of cooking classes with the aforementioned culinary geniuses.  For the most part these lessons did not go as planned.  He strangled Martha Stewart with her own doily after his third failed napkin-folding attempt.  Data mistook the Iron Chef as an actual chef made of iron and challenged him to single combat at which point Data discovered there was no such literal thing as a chef made of iron.  Data could not understand the chef’s chagrin aimed in his general quadrant when Data also mistook massive blood flow for overly-tenacious rust. 

Ensign Crusher felt he would make great progress once he located Rachel Ray’s simple, flavorful, fattening brand of cooking but discovered otherwise when all of her recipes called for the deadly Electromagnetically Variant Oxygen Orbs.  He thereby concluded that Ms. Ray was a wicked voodoo priestess intent upon obliterating the universe with her inimitable, hip-expanding old-world ways.  To confirm his suspicions, the well-meaning Wesley consulted the literature-loving Captain Picard for any pertinent information on the subject.  He left the good captain’s presence armed with a stack of Time-Interstellar Life’s “Ambassador Spock Narrates the Classics,” now formatted for your very own shipboard computer!  The exhausted Ensign fell asleep to the soothing tones of the Ambassadors voice as he detailed exciting stories of old when there was still such a thing as money, toilet seats, and explosions that could be heard in the vacuum of space.

Upon waking suddenly, Wesley saw a plastic-hooded figure inspecting a set of holo-blueprints in the corner of his quarters.  The Ensign leapt out of bed and immediately demanded to know precisely what this mechanically-asthmatic interloper was doing in his room. 

“I’m inspecting the ring, the ring that will make me invincible!” 

“That’s the exhaust port right below the main port.”

“It’s the Ring of Power, I tell you!  I must protect it with my lightsaber!”  The black figure produced a glowing stick from beneath his flowy cape and brandished it at the now-fleeing Ensign.  Wesley reached into his pocket, grabbed the latest batch of reprogrammed nanites, and flung them at the lumbering bad guy who, Wesley now suspected, must really be Rachel Ray manifesting in her true evil form.  In moments the robot assault ceased as Wesley cautiously approached his attacker.  “The ring!  Where is it?  Don’t just stand there, mister, where’s my napkin ring?  My presentation must be perfect!”

Thus ends the tale of how Ensign Wesley Crusher was able to learn and perfect his domestic skills all thanks to the assistance of Sauron disguised as Darth Vader channeling Rachel Ray, Priestess O’ Humanity’s Doom. 

P.S. Wesley inadvertently fell asleep in the holodeck not realizing that the Ambassador’s narrated classics had accidentally been replaced by the Ambassador’s ANIMATED classics. 

P.S.S. Dr. Beverly Crusher accidentally electrocuted herself on the white picket forcefield.  Oh the humanity.

P.S.S.S. Dr. Beverly Crusher is now engaged to marry the man who treated her forcefield burns, Dr. Hugh Manatee.

Ensign Wesley Crusher and the Attack of the Ficus Dwellers

I'm not entirely sure about this one but am feeling gutsy...these sagas were funny when I started them in 1992, but I'm woefully out of practice!
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Stardate 48556.3

You did WHAT to my ficus???

After configuring the precise chemical makeup for his culinary sciences final, Ensign Wesley Crusher was dismayed to find himself with flattened soufflé and a failing grade.  Apparently having the correct number of properly beaten eggs is no match for a random phaser blast from a trigger-happy Cardassian tactical officer.  The Academy would not be pleased.  Anyway, upon feeding the soufflé remnants to Data’s cat Spot, Wesley decided it was time to employ his up-and-coming 25^th-century-grade nanite experiment to cooking since the advent of replication obviously hadn’t relegated the fine art/science to ancient history.  Why didn’t somebody come up with a “cook-check?”  The need to spell correctly had been eradicated all the way back in the 20^th century, after all.


Dr. Beverly Crusher's Ficus

Little did our intrepid Ensign know that his food failure and corrective nanite attempt was being closely watched by his mother’s ficus: or more accurately, being watched by the in-dwellers of said ficus.  It seems that upon eating Wesley’s ill-begotten soufflé, Spot had proceeded to “fertilize” the potting soil therein (thereby answering the age-old question of whether or not beings in the 22^nd century and beyond do, in fact, poop) in a very unsightly and badly-scented manner.  Oh, the humanity.  It was in this moment of such rude violation and disrespectful treatment that the Ficus Dwellers made their vengeful presence known.  “Aha!” the Ficus Dweller Leader shouted.  “You, Giant Biped, shall remove this travesty from our midst lest we attack thee with our poison-tipped vibro-spears of doom!  Grrr!”



Angry Ficus Dweller



Arggh.  Of course Wesley couldn’t hear him.  The leader was 2 inches tall.  It was due to this unfortunate difference in species height ratio that the left side of Wesley’s body suddenly began to shake uncontrollably.  The Ficus Dwellers had made their vibratory presence known and launched hundreds of tiny vibro-spears from multiple leaf layers of Dr. Crusher’s prized ficus into the unsuspecting Ensign’s skin.  Oh, the humanity.  The handful of experimental cooking nanites in Wesley’s left hand went shooting toward the tree.  Of course, being microscopic and all, the Ficus Dwellers couldn’t actually see the mechanical entities headed their way.  They instead continued to vibro-spear the hades out of poor Wesley until he lay in a stunned convulsional heap on the floor.  Oh, the humanity.

The Ficus Dwellers having taken a respite from their justified--though invisible--onslaught, Wesley had a chance to recover.  After reviving himself with a cup of “Tea. Earlgray. Hot.” he put on his special super-sensitive, sight-and-sound-enhancing device to aid in locating all of the wayward nanites.  What he found instead was of the astonishing.  Hundreds of mini-people were shaking mini-spears in his general direction and shouting about the sudden unleashing of Devil Gnomes upon their plant populace.  Sure enough, several nanites were digging in and out of the potting soil and attempting to make fire for the performance of their cooking duties but were unable to do so due to the lack of dry ingredients. 

The "Devil Gnome" as depicted in The Ficus Dwellers'
Book of Barely-Believable Legends

Other Devil Gnome incarnations



Their deviousness knows no bounds


“They’re nanites,” Wesley said patiently.  “Not Devil Gnomes.”

“They’re gnomes!”

“Nanites.”

“Gnomes!”

“NAN-ITES!”

“GNOM-MES!”

Exasperated with the inability of this species to communicate effectively, concisely, and with an English accent, Wesley decided that the best way to solve the problem was to relocate his mother’s ficus plant to an alternate location.  After consulting Data for any known ficus havens in nearby galaxies, Wesley discovered one suitable option for ficus relocation and proceeded to lock coordinates for transport.  His mother would be far from pleased, but it had to be done.  “Greetings once again, Miniature Ficus People.  I’m going to transport you and your potted plant to a ficus-friendly, gnome-free planet.  Do not throw additional things at me.”

The relocation was conducted successfully, and Ensign Wesley Crusher was overwhelmed by the personal satisfaction of aiding an interstellar species in need.  He was also overwhelmed by the maternal mandate that he now pass a horticulture sciences course AND take charge of her relocation to a mother-friendly planet of gnome-free day spas.

Oh, the humanity.

Texans Can't Drive. Nor Can They Walk.

OLD sign outside Hondo, TX

A very good friend of mine (who has driven the length and breadth of the country) once told me that Texas has the worst road and highway system he has ever seen.  He particularly despises access roads, which apparently don't exist in other states.  Personally, I think they rock.  They let cowardly (or drunken) drivers like I used to be (cowardly, not drunken) get from point A to point B (and possibly C should one make an incorrect turn) with as little interstate stress as possible.  It took driving around Nashville for eight years to break me of said cowardice.  So maybe that’s the reason we Texans can’t seem to drive worth a crap: the state has given us a substandard system upon which to practice. 

Access Roads are on the far right and left

Now, I’m the first to admit my disinterest in and therefore lack of superior expertise in driving.  I do what I must to take care of travelling business and leave the rest up to the bus, taxi, limo, horse-drawn buggy, any motorized farm implement you can think of, and airplane system.  Nothing would please me more than to spend the rest of my life letting someone else drive me around so I can enjoy the scenery and a good daydream.  Even ugly scenery can be pretty scenery once you get to sit still and actually study it whilst breezing wistfully by in your air-conditioned/heated vehicle that someone else is driving…but not the drivers on the road with me today!  Today was absolutely the day I should’ve stayed home and protected myself from the fiendish, road-hogging, speed-demoning Texans intent upon murdering me at 60 m.p.h.

I was only trying to get to work on time and was following my routine of circling under an overpass to get onto the loop that runs through town (what there is of it).  My lane has the right of way, and the people exiting directly off the overpass from the opposite direction are supposed to yield.  Well, apparently Redneck in the White Pickup Truck didn’t think so because he came barreling off the overpass, slowed down briefly when he glanced in my direction, waited until I’d started speeding up to take my proper right-of-way place, then floored the accelerator and began immediately moving into my lane without even looking at the girl steering madly and defensively onto the very-rocky shoulder of the road.  I sat there while several cars passed before I could get back onto the access road then onto the loop, all the while watching Redneck in the White Pickup Truck blazing a lightspeed-breaking trail toward the Austin exit.  During the final ten or so minutes of my journey work-ward I was praying madly that there would be no flat tires by the time I hike the six miles from our building back out to my car come 4:53. 

Upon nearly reaching work, a person in the lane to my left swerved over directly in front of me at the last possible second before collision should be sounded (aoooooga, aooooga!).  By now I was CONVINCED of my impending death and overly-cautiously made my way up the hill, into the parking lot, and into an empty space the aforementioned six miles from my building’s entrance.  Braving the evil-plotting starlings collaborating on a power line, pockmarks, cracks, and three-foot-deep potholes scattered o’er the aging asphalt, I successfully maneuvered myself inside only to nearly collide with ten people before reaching the elevators…and we’re not talking crowded halls, people, we’re talking folks who walk as skillfully as they drive!  You practically need a turn signal (not that anyone here uses them) to get around corners without running into nursing students in deep conversation about when their next salon appointment is (and they all have the same friggin’ hairstyle anyway), guys pushing AND pulling huge carts of heaven knows what manner of smelliness, patients being taken to and from wards on giant wheeled beds (I feel so sorry for these people!  I would hate for everybody we passed to see me in such a state), guys of dubious employment staring you up and down like you were a pile of hot wings covered in Cowboys season tickets, and women of dubious employment staring you up and down for I don’t know WHAT reason.  Did I forget to check my nose for boogers??

I fully expect to walk outside this afternoon and be offed by a Smart car.

Subconscious April is a big floozie!

Wicked interpretation of me

Hooker.  Whore.  Prostitute.  Harlot.  Lady of the Evening.  Wanton hussy!!  These appellations could all be applied to my subconscious REM behavior over the last few days.  Remember the wonderful night spent with Dream Guy only 48 hours ago?  Yes?  Well, last night Subconscious April got all kissy with it with a completely different dude!  The shame!  Granted, it made more sense that I'd spend theoretical romantic time with this guy.  Really, I mean there's history and everything, but if this behavior was translated into real life?  Let's just say I'd have had a red letter "A" on my high school letter jacket instead of the gaudy orange "B" that glared its way through the hallowed halls of Buckholts ISD. 

Where am I going with this post?  I've not the slightest clue, but going I am.  It probably stems from inner frustrations regarding men and relationships in general...not just my previous men or my previous relationships.  Methinks these sleepful thoughts are inspired by the messed-upness of ALL relationships I've watched happen in the past 36 years.  Overall it hasn't been pretty.  So many people who were so amazing together just let it all fall apart, and why?  Reasons varied, but each individual firmly believed that their argument and their point of view was the last and only word to be said on the subject. 

But common sense tells us that such is never the case.  There are always at least two sides to each argument, oftentimes even MORE than two sides (which is why they call it a "meat and three"...never mind).  It confounds me how frequently open communication eludes us as human beings, how constantly we feel the desperate need to be "right" to the extent that we must "win" the argument at any cost.  Even more rare than open communication is the existence of solidly defined right and wrong, black and white.  Sure, some things are universally accepted as being right or wrong...like killing.  Killing is bad.  It messes with the good of everybody and everything on multiple levels.  And Jar-Jar Binks...and Speedos.

Of course, sometimes communication is impossible, and who's right of wrong doesn't even enter into the scenario.  Sometimes one person wants to have a genuine, meaningful discussion, but the other person sincerely does not.  I accept this as another fact of reality conveniently left out of my unhelpfully-abridged Handbook of Life.  It sucks, and I don't understand being willing to lose something special because you don't wish to discuss problem issues...but I accept it.  It is in those instances that I want to repeatedly smack the unwilling talker with my Handbook of Life until they couldn't speak even if they DID want to.  How could it possibly be "the right thing" to simply ASSUME you know things can't be fixed?  Wouldn't it bring about more long-term peace for all concerned to verbally and mutually explore each 'n every avenue thoroughly before tossing the towel out with the bathwater?  Wait a minute...

So talk, people.  If you have a great relationship with someone--be it romantic, platonic, or even business in nature--TALK the problems out lest the bad permanently replace the good.  Starting over with that cliche-ful clean slate is sometimes necessary, yes.  There truly are situations that no amount of discussion can fix, but you've got to try...WE'VE got to try. 

Besides, in this Texas heat, any greener grass you think you might see will be all crispy and brown once you get to the other side anyway LOL

What the world DOESN'T look like in Texas!  This is actually Tennessee ;-)

Math: an even bigger WHY??

I became an English major for a reason.  Like waterbugs, I find all things mathematical to be troubling, stressful, and for most areas of my life, inapplicable.  Of course addition, subtraction, multiplication, division...these processes may be applied helpfully to daily life.  But graphing linear equations?  Working with logarithms, sines, and cosines?  Finding the value of f(g(x)?  Appolonius, Pythagoras, and Descartes can all go to hades, as far as I'm concerned...do not pass purgatorial "go," do not collect your $200 refund from that Charon guy.


My college degree is almost complete.  As of May 2012 I shall be the proud possesser of a Bachelor of English degree, but in order to progress to that illustrious point, a college algebra course must be tackled and passed.  In order to progress to that hateful point, a math placement test must be endured and passed.  This test is scheduled for Wednesday, June 29th.  I've been glued to math.com, am reviewing a basic college math textbook, and up to a point I'm doing grandly.  But once you get to the point in math where there are so many more letters in the mix than numbers--even to the extent that you could start punctuating each equation--you have a serious problem!  Letters are for making words: words that tell a story, words that convey a feeling, words that describe a moment in time that has NOTHING to do with the slope of x and y.  I already know the stupid line is sloped.  It's going uphill.  Isn't that what a slope typically does?


The inanity of this particular placement test, however, arises from it being classified as an indicator of a student's readiness to take college algebra.  Okay.  I get that.  Let me prove to you that I can work with decimals and percentages, fractions, all manner of factoring, finding square roots, finding circumference and area of geometric shapes, solving algebraic equations, and even getting a little crazy with the changeable "greater than or equal to" signage.  But why do you have advanced college algebra PLUS trigonometry problems on a test to see if you're ready to take advanced college algebra and trigonometry for the first time?  If I already knew how to do this stuff, why the crap would I need the class?


Again, I became an English major for a reason.