Tuesday, November 30, 2004

A Few Thoughts on TBS's "The Real Gilligan's Island"

  1. Wow. Rachel Hunter is hot.
  2. It looks like Gilligan and Mary Ann are going to hook up, and--wait--does anybody else feel this? It's like I might throw up in my mouth a little.
  3. The one set of millionaires (you know, the set WITHOUT the deranged wife) seems totally cool, and I can't believe they're worth over 500 million and own, like, 50 companies because I feel like we could totally party together sometime, and they'd both pop open a forty, and then we'd talk about That One Time at Panama City Beach.
  4. Just kidding. I don't know anything about forties. And I've only been to Panama City Beach once. And nothing exciting happened, except that when we went out to a club that night my extraordinarily hot and yet, alas, chaste and demure friend was pressured into wearing a playboy bunny t-shirt borrowed from one of our friends, and then she totally turned into this vixen, and she was chased, horrified, by amorous teenage boys for the rest of the night.
  5. The one set of millionaires (you know, the set WITH the deranged wife) is so homophobic, and I can't even believe TBS can let her say such derogatory things about the gay professor because I THOUGHT THIS NATION WAS SO PC. And then I woke up and remembered that this nation is only PC regarding certain ethnic groups. Which is a shame because sometimes I can't even believe what people must think when they see me with my boyfriend. They're probably expecting some hot mostly black supermodel, and then they see me, and I'm, like, the whitest piece of cornbread ever released from the Deep South.
  6. Did I mention that Rachel Hunter is hot?
  7. And also, how many times did I write the word, hot? Yes, that's five times. Four times too many, consequentially.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

The Legs That Run in the Family

From an email I sent to my sister:

Oh yeah, and also I ran three whole miles on the treadmill today. THREE! I realize we talked about how running on a treadmill is kind of like cheating and you don't get the same benefits from it, but I DON'T CARE! I haven't run three miles at once since that time I ran with the whole family in that 5K in the dark and I won that medal, not because I was the fastest one in my age group, but because I was the ONLY one in my age group, and then I wore that sucker proudly all the way on the drive from Alex City to Troy, and then when I got to Troy I kept wearing it and dancing around and saying, "I won a MEDAL" in a weird little lilting sing-song voice until I was almost positive Dominic, my brand new boyfriend, was going to dump me for being so freaking weird.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

When I Was a Young Warthog

Today, Dominic and I went to the San Antonio Zoo.

It was a relatively nice way to spend a blue sky morning, even if I didn't see any cheetahs, and even if Dominic did spend the whole time saying, "Man, I need a Nikon D-70. Man." And other variations on that note.

We know about the Nikon D-70 from frequently reading this site, which boasts beautiful pictures with sharp resolutions of, more often than not, an extraordinarily tall and beautiful married couple with a cute baby, and they all live in Utah, a state of which I am simultaneously very afraid and curious about because the Mormons live there, but also because there are mountains and snow, and I have never really been around either enough--the mountains and snow, I mean, not the Mormons.

My fear of Mormons does not come from reading this site, which, by the way, gives the whole internet plenty of reason to puzzle over Mormonism and the conundrum of conformity, duty, family, and self identity that, indeed, most organized religions seem to require; my fear, instead, was spawned from reading a book called Shot in the Heart when I was, like, eleven because I was perusing through my parents' bookshelves again, no doubt filling in the cracks of my lackluster elementary school history and social studies education with plenty of quasi-informative autobiographies of crazy people from the 60's and 70's, like Mommie Dearest and Haywire and Helter Skelter. Anyway, I don't really remember everything about this book, Shot in the Heart, except it was about a graphic and horrible family murder spurred by religious fanaticism, and it painted a very dark and highly gothic horror movie-ish portrait of the Mormon faith in general. The book was creepy, and it made me think, at a very young age, of the power of group-thought and the often sordid, if earnest, ways that people use to control other people. And of course this doesn't just pertain to Mormonism or those crazy Baptists who convinced my friend, Sarah, our sophomore year of college, to come sobbing to me in my dorm room because she was so afraid my eternal soul was going to be eternally condemned to an eternity in hell. This pertains to all sorts of facets of everyday life, like politics and fashion and even, yes, personal morals.

Anyway, my hat is off to Dooce, because she writes so honestly about these sorts of things, and they come from her own experience and heartbreak so that we're always getting a firsthand account, and she filters them so cleverly through her wit and sarcasm until, not only can we can swallow that medicine, but we are begging for more of it because it's, like, Luden's Cough Drops good, and seriously, Luden's Cough Drops are like candy.

And also, now I have to somehow figure out a way to sell my plasma and buy my boyfriend a Nikon D-70 for Christmas because he's been so seduced by the beautiful pictures of the beautiful couple with the beautiful baby on her beautiful site. Thanks a lot, woman.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

This Thanksgiving...

"The Chieftain" Mia Meow

This Thanksgiving holiday I just thought I would say that I am so lucky to be living the life I have now. Don't get me wrong, everything isn't perfect and I don't trip over rainbows walking into the office everyday or anything. Just that I have a fantastic life. I thought I would just list a few things.

1. Kate.
2. Great job.
3. Awesome place to call home.
4. Longview.

First of all, Kate is awesome. She simply stated adds a dimension to my life that I could never achieve alone. I'm always happy to come home from work or class and see her. We keep each other laughing and simply just enjoy each others company. She is an awesome, wonderful, loving woman. I am so lucky she likes me.

I have a fantastic job that rivals any on the planet. I'm a professional aviator. People have literally died trying to get my job. I enjoy it all, every aspect of it, and even though I'm often faced with adversity, I'm always improved by its challenges.

I live in a city with so much to do, and I work with a great group of men and women who I look forward to learning more about everyday. Kate and I will continue to explore the new city we're in and learn why people from Texas love the state so much. We'll laugh about all the silly things Texans do, and also make fun of ourselves as we do it. I can't wait...

I have so much to look forward to in life that I can't begin to write it all down. If I did, then maybe I would miss too much of it. When I think of all the places I'll go in the years to come I wonder how it happened that I fell onto the path I'm on. For the life of me, I couldn't tell you how I did it...I just know that I'm glad to be here after stumbling around for so long. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

I Hear a Knock on Our Door: It's PETA

Keeping with the tradition that all good Pilgrims and Indians should celebrate Thanksgiving together, I present to you the Chieftain, Mia.

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Just When You Thought You Were Safe--EVEN MORE PICTURES OF FLOWERS

You can find all of the pictures we took at the Gardens here.

Snow Day! (Kinda...)

I just don't know that there is anything more magical in the world than a snow day. No matter where you are in life when that message comes down from the office, "We're shutting down early," then it instantly becomes ok to become giddy and throw your hands up in the air and shout "Snow Day!"

The only problem with my snow day is that there is no snow. I live in San Antonio, Texas where it is currently 60+ degrees. I'm not complaining about that because having the option of wearing my turkey-eating shorts(short pants size >34 or w/elastic waistband) for Thanksgiving is awesome. Anyways, I was sitting in class totally bored with what was going on when a captain walked in, soaked from head to toe, and gave us the horrible news that we were all going to have to go home. Both hands immediately shot up in the air in the touchdown position and I said "Snow Day!" Of course the only downside was that then had to listen about how rain in Texas is the harbinger of death. Apparently, Texas is one giant flood plain and could be washed away at any moment. Then of course people had to be perplexed for twenty minutes about how it would affect the schedule. I just wanted to shout in their face, "Dude, Snow Day! Go home!" That of course would be incredibly rude and inappropriate but hey, that's what I'm thinking...

So now at roughly one o'clock, I'm already out of my uniform and can do anything I want. Except go outside because I don't want to be washed away by any torrential downpours. It's just awesome having the afternoon to do whatever, and it seems to me that a snow day brings that feeling more than anything else. Well I better go and enjoy my "TEXAS STYLE" snow day...

SNOW DAY!!! Posted by Hello

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Garden State

Yesterday, Dominic and I went to the San Antonio Botanical Gardens.

It was a damp, gray day, and when we got there we were two dollars short of having enough cash to be admitted. The Gardens didn't take credit card or check.

"Who doesn't take credit cards now?" Dominic said.

We fidgeted around the front desk, walking in and out of the gift shop, trying to decide whether we wanted to go to an ATM and come back or just go home. The guy at the front desk looked left then right, then he shooed us through the door.

"It's cool," he said. "I have a lot of friends in the military."

Before we even got to the gardens, before--in fact--we were even out of the apartment complex, I remembered I'd forgotten to brush my teeth.

"No, keep going," I said to Dominic as he braked.
"Baby, you have to brush your teeth."

But apparently he has the same authority. We turned around, and I brushed my teeth.

On our way to the gardens we saw this:

A British flag mini cooper with a Texas license plate--somehow the most un-Texan thing I've seen here. We drove at least a half-hour to get to the gardens, and then somehow we stumbled upon a road that runs near our apartment just five minutes outside the garden gate, and it took us only fifteen minutes to get home.

"Strange, Dominic said."

This is the first yellow leaf I have seen here. It's as if fall doesn't even exist.

We took so many pictures that the battery in our camera died, so when we stumbled into the fruit gardens there was no photographic evidence to document the fact that we totally picked and ate some small oranges, even though there was a sign that told us not to. I choked on a seed.

Most of the flowers we took pictures of were in the conservatory. I told Dominic that at Calloway Gardens in Georgia there's a butterfly conservatory.

"I bet THAT'S cool," he said.
"It is," I said. "Sometimes, if you're really still they land on you."

Later that evening, we saw this movie, and at times it made me laugh so hard I thought I was embarrassing Dominic. I thought my chest was going to explode. I thought: Hey, I am having a very good time.

Go see it. Please. It's so good.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Punch Drunk Sappy Love Movie

Kate: "Hey, I think I want to see that movie, Spanglish. I can't believe Adam Sandler's in it. It's totally an unabashedly sappy chick flick."

Dominic: "Does Adam Sandler get punched in the face in it?"

Kate: "Uh, duh, it's an Adam Sandler movie."

Dominic: "I'll take you to it if you want to see it, baby."

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Experimental Cooking and a Few Future Prospects

Today, I did some Experimental Cooking, and it wasn't a total disaster. Usually, my Experimental Cooking renders something smoking or greasy or too mild or too strong or, if not just plain inedible, then rather unpleasantly palatable. But today was an exception, and now I totally feel like a rock star. Or, okay, I don't feel like a rock star, but I do feel like a Food Network star, and while I was eating the chicken tomato pasta that I so totally improvised from random food items I had on hand (how ambidextrously clever of me), I had an ongoing discussion happening in my head with a make believe television audience, and it went something like this:

Mmmmm...you can taste the pasta; it's al dente, so it has a little bite, and, mmmmm, the tomatoes and the chicken, they come together in your mouth so perfectly. Leaving the skin on as you're cooking the chicken just gives it so much extra flavor. And of course the garlic and the onions are wonderful background notes, and over it all, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, the melted mozeralla cheese. So good.


Almost every day I imagine myself as someone different. A cook. A painter. A webpage designer. An illustrator. An editor. A rock star. A jewelry maker. A musician. A writer--the ubiquitous writer, of course, of course. But I've never really been able to understand what it takes to even be one of those things, fully and whole-heartedly, and with the dedication to make it happen.

So my newest plan has been this whole teaching college thing, which I think I could make work; I really think I could. And I think I'd like it, too. I've been advised by the people who know what they're talking about to get an MFA and not the MA, if I'm not going to go for the doctorate, and I am so totally prepared to do that, to go for it, to make a career happen for myself. But of course it's a little tricky. I can't really finish somewhere until we know where Dominic will be stationed next. I don't know what kind of colleges there will be at that next place, what kind of programs. I just don't know.

Frustrating, yes.

Today, I got my first paycheck for the substituting. Nice. At least I know one thing for certain now--I do NOT want to be an elementary school teacher. And while we're on the subject of things I know for certain (of which there are so few) at least I now know I can improvise a chicken tomato pasta, and it will totally rock.

And, also, I watch WAY too much Food Network.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004


I just remembered that a blonde, Pilgrim cousin of mine actually goes to a special art school because she's so talented and smart and she dances so well. So our descendents *have* actually overcome the whole dancing thing.

Also, some will try to persuade you that just because I took dance lessons for 15 years I'm also a good dancer. They will be wrong. If you want to know why, just ask me about this incident sometime.

Monday, November 15, 2004

With the Jellied Cranberry Sauce from the Can and Everything

I am a pilgrim. Did you know that, internet?

My mother's side of the family is directly descended from a long line of Pilgrims all the way from the P. M. (Plymouth, Massachusetts) and we all have skin white like blinding, blondish hair and a long history of closet skeletons, silent inner tensions, and the not talking about it to prove it.

We're also not very good dancers, though that is allowed now.

Anyway, it should come as no surprise to anyone that, given my heritage and the fact that I LOVE to eat almost more than anything in the world, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. So much so that I am SO SUPER EXCITED about Thanksgiving this year, and it's almost like when you were a kid and Christmas was almost here but not quite and you counted down the days on an advent calendar or your hands or something and then when it was finally Christmas Eve you thought you might explode from all the counting and anticipation and then you couldn't even sleep at all that night so that Christmas day was THAT much farther away and you wanted to die. That's how excited I am about Thanksgiving this year. Like, I can't even wait to defrost that turkey. And cooking the day before, because I'm going to be cooking so much food that I won't possibly be able to cook it all in one day, not even if I tried really hard? I'm totally swooning at the thought of that, of there being so much food that I'll have to cook a day in advance. That is so totally so much food.

Every year throughout my childhood I was always the "creative child" (re: retarded at math and so praised for fashioning things out of construction paper) who made the centerpieces for our Thanksgiving tables. Usually this meant arranging fruit around a pineapple with a stuffed, felt turkey head pinned to it, or applying copious amounts of glitter to anything standing still. Once, I made a whole paper circus out of this kit I had, and then applied glitter to that and THEN arranged the pieces around the pineapple turkey. It was only this past year that I made a tiny black eyepatch for the well worn turkey head when he turned up out of our holiday storage bin missing an eye. Poor old turkey head. At least I didn't try to put glitter on the eye patch because I THOUGHT ABOUT IT; I REALLY DID.

One year for Thanksgiving, in the bygones past, I dressed up as Pilgrim and then I dressed up my sister as an Indian--or Native American, if you will; whatever--and then I dressed up my brother as a little Pilgrim man with paper belt buckles on his shiny black dress shoes and everything. Then our parents took us all out to Shoney's for dinner. I don't remember why we went to a sub-par chain restaurant for Thanksgiving instead of cooking it at the house like we have every other year, but there you have it: I even made that Thanksgiving festive.

I even have the photographic proof, and people, if I had a scanner I would totally post it here for y'all to see because it is WICKED funny.

This year Dominic and I are celebrating my favorite holiday together for the first time ever, and I don't think he will ever comprehend the depths of my excitement. Adding to that excitement, he has invited some of his co-workers over to share the day with us, and I just can't get anymore excited than I am right now because we will have a whole day dedicated to eating and eating and drinking and watching television and sharing all of that holiday yummy goodness with friends--people who otherwise might be forced to eat at sub-par chain restaurants on Thanksgiving.

And right now I'm trying to devise a way to dress Mia up as an Indian because, really, that would be so totally cute, and there's already a Pilgrim up in this house.

There Is No Justice.

I'm compelled to say that there is in fact no justice in the world. There are two reasons. It's not anything like you're probably thinking; elections, war in the Middle East, world poverty and the AIDS epidemic. Nothing like that.

First: My team lost. Not only did they lose, but this loss is just a continuation of many losses that they've suffered this season. I know that football is incredibly unimportant in the grand scheme of all things, but when you make a boy play football in Smalltown, America for seven years this is what happens. They spend a football game in front of the TV and computer yelling "Noooooo!!!" when a quarteback throws an interception on their own fifteen yard line with one minute to go. It's not our fault but the rest of America. I can't help it. "Go Chiefs!!!"

Second: I have to commute. I hate it. I hate driving, but I hate car-pooling also. When I car-pool I'm at the beck and call of someone elses vehicle. I hate that. I hate having to confer about my plans for the day before they happen. The truth is, I don't have any. I'm just kind of wingin' it. This is of course all before I get in the car, and proceed to cuss for twenty-five minutes straight as I try and make it to work on time. I do however treat myself to Gatorade every morning before PT. Yummy. Then it's back on the freeway. People learn to merge without stopping. Please internet people. Learn to merge...

Those are my gripes for the day. I feel a ton better and yu can now disregard all the mindless dribble that just poured from my fingers. Time for a delicious Cherry Coke. Yummy.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

On Being Stupid

Friday, I was left with the simple task of explaining first grade math problems to first graders. I didn't know the answer to number four.

Anyone who knows me knows that there is something drastically skewed between the left and right parts of my brain. Actually, it's more like the right part of my brain is that slacker in your tenth grade class that was delinquent but had potential. And the left part of my brain is retarded. I realize that this last sentence is not politically correct, but I stand by my statement because, people, I have worked with the mentally handicapped, and some of them, like, knew ALL their multiplication tables, and I never got past memorizing my sevens.


This goes beyond all absurdity. This goes beyond being a little "slow" with numbers. This goes beyond the mindblowing disparity between my math and english scores on the ACT and the GRE. This is indicative that something went terribly, awfully, horribly wrong with my math education. This indicates that I should just be put down now. And compassionately, because, really it's the right thing to do. I'd be better off.

Friday, November 12, 2004

Busy, Busy, Busy!

All I'm going to say about how busy I am is that I am really busy. I want to rant on and on about it, but that would just take up more of my time I don't have. My instructors are not afraid at all to be like "Yehhh...you should probably read this over the weekend, otherwise you're gonna be lost on Monday." Well that's all fine and good but the chances of me getting through 300 pages of technical data...slim to none. Actually. there's no chance. My english degree forbids it. I'm sure the other engineers in my class are like "Yeah! Schematic Diagrams!" Just kidding they're not like that. At least for the most part...

One thing that's proving to be cool everyday is wearing my pajamas(flight suit) to work! Everyone is always so nice to me. This man who must have been like 90 years old started talking to me in Jack in the Box(I shouldn't go there, I know.)telling me that when he first came to Randolph in like the 1950's how remote it was and that he used to fly in planes I haven't even heard of. Planes with propellers! How crazy is that? Stupid propellers. Just kidding, propellers are cool. It was just cool though, and I know it's because I was in the flight suit. I know if I was in my regular ripped jeans and skateboard T-shirt he'd probably shake his fist in my general direction and say "Damn punk kids!" I think it's cool though. Oh yeah, and I got this little patch for my arm that have my initials on it. All the other CSO's are totally jealous!

Cool Patch... Posted by Hello

Thursday, November 11, 2004

When All the Diet Soda in the World Runs Out

you'll find Dominic and me on the edge of that cliff, looking into the abyss that is the world without diet soda.

But until then we will be here, holed up in our little apartment in San Antonio, going through a case of it every other day.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004


Mia has a tapeworm. This will explain the Streaky Stinky Poo Butt Disaster of 2004. We just gave her a pill to correct the situation, and now Dominic and I are just laid back and waiting for something freaky a la Alien to explode from her stomach.

And I'm making Chicken Stew. Mmmmm. Chicken Stew.

Other than that, I've been cleaning in a hectic frenzy all day, completely paranoid that I have tapeworm now. I remember in elementary school when I first learned about tapeworm. I was so simultaneously freaked out and fascinated by this thing that could live in your stomach and grow to be more than twenty feet long. That's like a gabillion times longer than our human bodies! Gabillion being the technical term for it, of course.

Sigh. This kitty has been so much trouble. Luckily for her she's really super cute.

Monday, November 08, 2004

The Dirty Stinky Poo-Butt Monkey

*Warning: contains explicit content about cat poo*

This morning I awoke to an all-too familiar aria of ecstatically hyper yips and yowls and the sput-sputtering of robust purrs. This is Mia's usual morning routine, a process she employs that is meant to suggest that she has been EMPHATICALLY bored in the time that has elapsed since she greeted Dominic with the same frantic good morning ritual just an hour or two before. Upon waking to this ritual, I stumbled out to the kitchen, as I always do, to fill her food bowl and change her water (lest she snub the unfresh water and go scouting for something cleaner and fresher in--I don't know--a TOILET!) and then stumbled to the second bathroom where her litter box lives where I discovered, to my horror, what shall henceforth go down in history as the Streaky Stinky Poo Butt Disaster of 2004.

What awaited me was like the crime scene of a horror movie, if crime scenes in horror movies were made with streaks of cat poo instead of streaks of blood. There it lay--one long continuous streak of poo that began just inches from her litter box and then curved out, bell shaped, from the bathroom door and then continued, bold and straight for at least a foot, before curving to the left and continuing another foot in a wavy line, and ONLY FROM THERE did it finally sputter out and disappear suspiciously into our beige carpet.

It was a poop-tacular display of the poorest of feline hygiene. And being as cats decline to tidy up after themselves I had to clean it up, myself.

The only situation I can conceive of that could possibly lend itself to the making of the Poo Butt Disaster would be if Mia had some left-over poo stuck to her butt after she finished using her box and if she then chose, as the only logical next-step, to drag her butt across the black and white tile of the bathroom to the carpet where she then apparently employed a dragging wave technique in order to thoroughly clean herself. I am torn between horror at imagining this and giggling like a 12 year-old boy because I am imagining this.

Meanwhile, Mia has degenerated farther and farther into the land of unwanted and unkempt kitties. Her entire upper body is still greasy from the antibiotic cream we've been rubbing in her ears, and now, of course, I can't bring myself to approach her lower body at all. She's also developed a hysterical sneeziness (that has, thank god, tempered out somewhat in the past day or two) and sometimes I walk into the bedroom only to catch her up on the bed and sneezing, rapid-fire, into Dominic's pillows.

Okay, I made that last part up. But wouldn't it be funny if she did sneeze into his pillows? I don't know that I would tell him if she did. And there I am, being like a 12 year-old boy again. A 12 year-old boy with a dirty, stinky, poo-butt monkey of a kitty.

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Me Dominic, Me Man! Me Bring Home Meat, Make Fire, Fix Broken Car.

Yes Internet, I am a man's man. Kate's car was damaged and I fixed it. Saving myself hundreds of dollars and I'm going to say I am pretty damn proud of myself. What I had to do was take the alternator off the engine and then replace a busted connector that went into the engine block. Sounds pretty complicated doesn't it? It really wasn't. Especially since I had a certified mechanic helping me through the entire project. I also flushed the engine coolant and changed the engine belt. I am now a full fledged mechanic. (various grunting noises here)

Friday, November 05, 2004

Wherein I Become a Glutton for Punishment and am Accepted into an Institution of Higher Learning All in the Same Day

Okay, first thing's first: CAUGHT!

Today, I substituted for the first time ever.

It was everything you ever thought that substituting might be, plus every nightmare you've ever had about being confined in a small room with twenty or so seven and eight year olds for, like, eight hours, plus EVEN MORE THAN THAT, IF YOU CAN EVEN PICTURE IT WITHIN THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF YOUR IMAGINATION!

However, I ultimately consider the whole ordeal to have gone down rather successfully, and here's why:

  1. I actually found the school.
  2. Holy Jesus Lord, I actually found the school.
  3. Did I mention that I wandered around downtown San Antonio for 45 minutes this morning before I found the school?
  4. But in the end I actually found the school.

And also (and these are two important ones, folks):

  1. I am still alive.
  2. The kids are still alive.

And there you have it. My first substituting experience, from a holistic viewpoint, was extraordinarily and magically and beautifully successful.

But now I have to tell you about all the things that went wrong. And so here's the dirty:

  1. I actually found the school.
  2. The kids, when they saw me, actually shouted, "YES! A SUBSTITUTE!"
  3. The principal had to intervene within the first 30 minutes.
  4. Every time it was time to round up the kids to go somewhere else, they managed to disturb THE WHOLE SCHOOL.
  5. I was stuck with detention detail.
  6. I had to send two kids to the office.
  7. One kid asked me if I was an adult or a teenager with a really sarcastic tone of voice that was meant to suggest that I was too young to be telling her or anyone else what to do.
  8. I actually found the school.

All of this said, however, it wasn't so incredibly bad. When the kids were being calmer they were actually fun. And plus I have a lot of patience for these kinds of things. Even though I'm apparently not mean enough.

I have to work on being MEAN!


P.S. Also, today I got accepted into Grad School!

Thursday, November 04, 2004

This Is Not A Computer!

Meet My New Enemy... Posted by Hello

I just thought I would introduce to the world to the bane of my existence. I hate the MB-4A Flight Computer like I hate hell and all things Montague. Let me tell you why. It does not compute. I have to do everything myself and it's all kind of "well, that's pretty close to the answer so you can just guess from there." Computers don't guess and generally you have to plug them up somewhere. My instructor was bragging about how this is basically the same "whiz wheel" they used in WWII, and all the while I'm thinking "Lots of people got lost and died in WWII. They should've come up with something new by now." It makes no sense. There are so many numbers and formulas to remember. My little English degree brain is trying to reject it all! Down with numbers!
Because I am Not Above Posting a lot of Pictures of Our Cat on the Internet; or Otherwise: Let the Insanity of the Cute Kitty Commence; Also Known as: Kate and Dominic's Blog: Now Mostly with Kitties in Compromising Positions and Men in Uniform

The Snoring Snorer


Kitty is a televison connoisseur.

What Came (Willingly) from the Bathtub

Say no to drugs, Kitty; Say no to drugs.

The Sleeping Hiding Place

And as promised: Men in Uniform

P.S. I'm sorry, Internet. I really am.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004


There are things that haunt me out of the depths of my memories -- those memories being a construct that is, itself, a highly convoluted thing that shifts and changes and resembles, mostly, the soft and imperfect gauze that exists just beyond the edge of reason. And lately I can't help but notice that I've been entrenched in an evocative onslaught of the past. Maybe because I don't have much else to do but wonder about the nature of things--all past, all present, all future. Who knows.

What is apparent is that lately I've been visited by visions from the past forms of myself as realistically as if they were lunch I'd just burped up and could, even now, identify all the mustard and mayonnaise and onion parts that constituted that meal because, folks, let me tell you, that's usually what I'm eating for lunch. That and some bread. And cheese. And maybe bacon.

But, this past. It's come to me in the smell of breakfast frying at my grandparents' house in North Carolina, and at that one time I exited the station wagon at middle school, tardy because of a doctor's appointment, and my mother cupped my head with her hand and said, "You're so pretty," and I believed her; I really did. It's come to me by the 5:30 a.m. ticking of the living room clock and by the cold, dark, Alabama bus stops -- a cold that you could smell, really smell, within the heavy grease and plastic atmosphere of the old busses, themselves, -- and by the awkwardness of the high school in the first light of morning, all of us quarantined within the barred gates just before the heavy glass doors opened for the school day, our groups not so much interest contained as I would have liked them to be.

It's come to me in small and vivid flashbacks -- playing with the neighbor boy before I realized that a certain sexual self-realization was going to make me feel too awkward to even look at him, my first ever date at fourteen with the boy whom I loved silently and furtively and unrequitedly for the next three years, that time period in college, between the second semester of my junior year and that magical summer, when I felt absolutely and utterly charmed and bold and beloved and confounded by the utter futility of it all -- how I knew it could not last. All of these memories, have been bubbling up from the consistent murkiness of my memory -- an onslaught of truth bent by nostalgia and the natural mutation the human brain will make of its past.

And, so there. I have been remembering things lately, things I would normally have kept unconsciously buried, unstirred. But there is one thing I remember that breaks my heart:

They were awkward and young, the two of them, and they were all wrong -- poor and with frizzy hair and dandruff and nothing smelling good about them or seeming normal at all. And I was in elementary school and completely uninterested in drawing attention to myself -- especially of the negative sort -- by doing anything more than noticing them and feeling sorry for them. They were picked up at the end of my bus route every morning, in a part of town that was a dirty washed white and crumbling at the edges and slowly being digested by the incessant onslaught of the kudzu, which was everywhere. You know what I mean.

And then one day their mother died, walking to her job at the mill. Walking because she didn't have a car to drive there, or maybe she had a car but it wasn't working or she was walking for some other reason like maybe an uncle had borrowed it or something. Nevertheless, she was walking to her job, and she was hit by a car and killed. She had a new baby, in addition to the other two. I never saw those boys again. I can't imagine that their lives have been good.

One time in kindergarten I befriended an awkward and unpopular boy who had curly red hair the color of Cheetos. All the girls in my class made fun of me, called him my retard boyfriend. I didn't play with him any more after that.

This election has left me heartbroken.

Election Confection

I'm holding my breath.

So far, it's just making me dizzy.

This Election Goes Well with Brisket and Beans

Earlier, as Dominic and I were watching our latest Netflick, "Dawn of the Dead":

Kate: I think four more years of Bush would be scarier than a bunch of flesh-eating zombies.

Dominic: I think you're right.

Monday, November 01, 2004

Don't Worry, The World Is Now Safe...

I just thought that I would let everyone know that since I am now on the job the world has been made safer. As long as the military keeps me busy at the base working(really I'm playing) at the pool and in life support living out my Top Gun dreams then the less time I am on the roads of Texas ranting at the incredibly slow drivers. Seriously though, it's better that I'm off the road.

Today was the first time I went into the hypobaric chamber and it was a very interesting experience. They took us to an altitude of up to 35,000 feet and let us experience hypoxia, or the lack of Oxygen to the brain. It kind of makes you a mixture of drunk, tired and for me a little angry. Mostly because I knew what was happening to my brain and I didn't like it. It also makes the gas in your stomach expand to nine times its normal size. Translation: it makes you burp and fart alot. Pretty cool, huh? When I called Kate to tell her I was coming home she quickly asked me "Did you fart?"

I also learned how to save myself in case my plane crashed into the ocean. I have to form a human chain with other survivors and calmly amidst an unforgiving ocean, burning fuel, smoke and aircraft wreckage one at a time make our way onto a survival raft one at a time. This is difficult even in the eight foot deep pool at the Officer's Club. There was more than one kicked-groin, elbowed-face, and smashed appendage. This of course is assuming we it make through an airplane crash intact. I have to say though it was alot of fun to swim in my flight suit even if I thought that life vest was going to pop my head off like, like something. I don't know.

"Do some of that pilot stuff Mav..."

"Safe in a giant lifesaver..."

"I won't sink, but I can't breathe!"