The Only Good Thing About This Week....

The one eyed feral tom cat is back. This is an old photo, but he looks the same. I had given him up for dead, as I had not seen him for well over a year. They say that a feral cat does not live long, and given his condition, I expected Reuban to fall victim to raccoons or coyotes. Yet, there he was. He glowered at me with his one good eye, then hissed. He seemed to hold me accountable for the food that he'd missed during our time apart. ` Alas, this is the only good thing about the past week. For you see, I've been sitting in the corner with my dunce cap firmly affixed. Readers of my previous posts may remember my laments over the dreaded training days. Yes...it came upon me two weeks in a row (and scheduled on my days off, at that). This takes me back to those days of old, where I had to stand and sputter in front of a classroom of my peers. How little things change. ` Somewhere along the line, too, I have realized that I have been given the right to nag at my parents. The doctor phoned with a cancellation, thus opening a spot for my father. He insists that there was a lab mix up; that there isn't anything wrong with him. As I pointed out to my mother, "Why would the bone cancer specialist be phoning if there was nothing wrong?" This has caused me to consume an entire bottle of Pepto Bismol and Gaviscon in the past work week. ` I guess one of the "highlights" of my week, and something which merely serves to add to my Cat Lady persona, was walking around work and being chased down by one of the stray cats. I stopped to feed her, but realized when I arrived at my destination that the video camera had been affixed on me and it was caught for all to see.

`````In today's blog, I want to provide an introduction to a new writer and a new novel. I've provided the link to his website. Via this site, a person can link onto his blog. If you've read my earlier posts, you've actually met this individual before. You see, he is the owner of the cat that I baby-sat; that's right; the very one that lunged at me and bit me. In fact, the feline actually makes an appearance in the book under an assumed name.

`

`````Scott has spent time in Africa. One of his messages on my answering machine was an aural postcard from the dark side. I have a large scale photo of a lion on my wall, which he took, and a fabric artwork which hangs over my chaise. He still carries the remnants of the malaria. He loves the place, nonetheless, and has managed to translate that onto the page. His website carries his biography and describes the work he did in Africa.

`

`````Scott also has a Facebook page, and he details how to find it on his site. Evidently, he's included some of my road trip photos in the bunch. It's a public account, so anybody can look at the pictures. Except for me, of course, due to the computer issues of which I've blogged (my inability to access my Facebook account).

`

`````In his most current blog, he has a photo of his ultra violet tattoo, as people wanted to know if it really exists or if it's merely a myth, as it is discussed in his book. Trust me; it's real. We were once in the Haunted House around Halloween (I'm an aficionado), and he got stopped by somebody who was heavily inked. A crowd gathered with questions.

`

`````I am so proud to see that his book is available at Amazon.com in numerous countries, as well as Barnes@Nobel, I Universe, some place in Croatia, Chapters and other outlets. He's lucky enough to be going to the London Book Fair.

`

`````The plot itself is outlined on his site and at the points of sale, but in brief, it is an action/adventure. However, it is more than that, as it is also about a man who seeks to find redemption. It's about an individual who seems to have everything in life, yet realizes that he has has nothing, because he lacks hope.

`

`````Scott is an interesting person in other ways. In August 2000, he went on an expedition to Norway. It actually made CNN and was a very big story over there. It was known as the GUST Expedition, and they were looking for a legendary sea creature. Scott is also a very good diver. It was quite a risky endeavour, as the water was so cold that it was as thick as one of those frozen 7/11 drink treats when a certain level was reached.

`

`````Again, I hope you check out his website, blog and Facebook page.

Scott D Covey

THE REDNECK RADIO POLL

(The above graphic was found on an internet site, artist not listed. If anybody knows, let me know so that I can credit. I also like the work and would like to find more by the same. It is obviously retro.)
.

I rarely listen to this radio station for a reason. It took me the longest time to figure out that it actually played music. I thought it was one of those awful sports stations, because every time I flipped by it that's all they seemed to be talking about. Even at the top of the hour, when they're supposed to be featuring the news, they spent more time talking about hockey. At this time of the year, they broadcast the local hockey games and talk about it ad nauseum.

Since there are above ground power lines in this area, it is sometimes difficult to pick up anything besides this station, which plays rock, and "the other one", which is inflicted upon you as you walk into any store in this town. The other one is worse then root canal. It's what I call "All Shania, all the time." Sometimes it varies, and plays Celine Dion, Mariah, etc. You get the drift...pure pap on a rotating basis.

You know you live in a redneck town when the poll of the day on the rock station is as follows:

Women....How do you rate how manly guys are? Whether:

----They eat meat?

----They drive a big four by four?

----Are hairy?

I could understand it if this were a country music station. Then perhaps I would allow for the question to be that insipid. I must add that they aren't being tongue in cheek; they're actually serious in their question. They have a poll every day. So, here's how I would answer: how about "none of the above." How about if a person stands up for themselves and their principles. They don't follow the crowd. They don't bully. They have friends who are gay and don't feel threatened by it.

This is why I listen to the station that plays alternative music.

...while Rome burned.

(The above photo is common on the net and no longer has a credit attached).
.
Nero fiddled while Rome burned; I guess we watch reality shows. That's the reason I cancelled my cable. I keep expecting that things cannot get any dumber and that at some point they'll run out of old programs to pillage. For a generation that likes to rub its street cred into everybody's face, the lack of originality is getting old. I see that they're now redoing Charlie's Angels. I suspect that the bodies will be thinner, but the 'assets', so to speak, will be more enhanced with silicone. They'll still be chasing bad guys in those ridiculous high heels, though.
`
If a person were lucky, they could totally have tuned out and missed the banking crisis, foreclosure situation, Iraq war and the environmental disaster in the Gulf. With all of the drama and staged cat fights between the high maintenance women on various shows, who knew? Pass the Doritos. Yes, it might be overwhelming and depressing at times to know that there could be a nuclear meltdown at any second. But it's in Japan...not China as somebody actually suggested to me. Turn off the tube, or at least stick it onto a news channel every so often.
`
However, even the news isn't what it once was in the day of Cronkite. It's now become a perp walk and shots of somebody being chased by the LAPD; especially if that somebody happens to be a celeb. It seems that more time is devoted to new movie releases and break-ups then hard stories. This is most noticeable on the morning news (ahem), which alway follows its formulaic schtick of a male, female and a weather person who really wants to be a comedian. The weather guy is the only person allowed to have weight issues. All of them want to be in Hollywood and none of them want to be in the field gathering "hard facts." Spare me the talking heads.
`
The same story can be found in almost any print media outlet. Somebody, somewhere releases the copy and it gets reprinted. There is no longer an original or distinct voice.
`
I am actually starting to suspect that people, despite all of their talk of individuality and their bodies adorned with tattoos and piercings are very uncomfortable with anything that's different. They don't really understand it; they need things laid out for them. Gone is that ability to discern that some stories might have one slant, while another displays a different voice. For example, in France there could be numerous papers, some left wing and some right wing. People want their lives, like their music, homogenized. It's safer and easier. It's also really scary.

MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WALL...

`````In reviewing this book, "Little Girl Blue" by Randy Schmidt, I find myself in an interesting position. For, I cannot help write an appraisal of the book itself, but also of the actual characters involved. In the past I might have discussed how a character was developed, not their actual character itself. I find it impossible to avoid doing so in this biography of Karen Carpenter. Some people invite derision and deserve condemnation and such is the case of those encountered here.

`````Randy Schmidt, unlike the previous biography by Ray Coleman, did not have the approval of the Carpenter estate. This allows him to speak more freely of what actually went down. What may surprise is that her friends and those that worked with her came forth to provide information.

`````Some of the background provided is the basic stuff we've heard previously; how two clean cut kids make good in the music industry. Their parents moved them from a picture book town on the East Coast to Downey, California. This was a bedroom community of L.A. which still held the values of Ike's and Disney's America. The impetus for the move was to allow Richard to become a star, as he was the one perceived to hold talent. Richard was the light in his mother's eyes. There would be nothing wrong in this, had Karen not paid the price. While Richard's interest in music was fully supported, Karen's developing taste for drumming was certainly not. Girls did not play the drums. She only received any backing when it was pointed out that she could assist Richard in his quest. I recalled an interview I was saw with Agnes Carpenter in which she called Karen a "home girl." I had only ever heard this term used once before, and that was in the play "Glass Menagerie" to describe the "crippled" sister Laura. In it, she was perceived to be as brittle and as fragile as the glass pieces she collected. As I watched that television interview, I thought that it was oddly prescient.

`````Karen Carpenter was quite bright in school and was a tomboy. She was quick in learning to play the drums and became a very good player. It was only by accident that her vocal skills came to be noticed. All the while, she had been helping Richard in his pursuits in achieving success. His interests were as a jazz instrumentalist. It was always believed that he would achieve his fame in such a format, as he could both play the piano and arrange music. However, one day she was asked to sing in a studio, and the rest, as they say, is history. Originally, it was Karen that was signed to a label. This angered Agnes Carpenter, as she couldn't accept anybody besides the gilded son being recognized. This very much was the pattern that continued to play out.

`````Although their initial release did not get any recognition, as the small label went under, in time they came to the attention of Herb Albert at A&M. In short order, they were at the Grammys and were known the world over. Karen had started the Stillman water diet near the beginning of her career, as she wanted to drop some weight. For years she stayed at a healthy weight, having dropped about twenty pounds from her 5'4" frame. She ended up being below 80 pounds and abusing large amounts of laxatives and ipecac (a syrup which induces vomiting).

`````What set her off? Some point to reviews that mention her weight. The author speaks of her distress when she was forced to step out from behind the drums to stand at centre stage and sing before the audience. She was not comfortable doing so. At heart, she loved the drums and saw them as a shield. Whatever the cause, she one day decided that she wanted to lose "a few more pounds."

`````Agnes Carpenter was so controlling that she did not want her adult children to move away. They purchased a new house for their parents, and even when they all moved in it together, it had been assumed that Richard would get the largest bedroom. Agnes threw a fit and demanded that she and her husband, Harold get it.

`````Well into their twenties, Karen and Richard, gathered their courage to bring up moving out alone. They could only do so if they moved in together. Richard expected that his sister, now worth millions, cook and clean for him in the same manner that his mother had done. However, she could not handle his sleep-over girl-friend and ended up moving back home. At some point, she had enough of her overbearing mother. She had her employee inform her mother that she was purchasing a condo for herself, as she couldn't face the woman. According to that employee, Agnes was on the phone in an instant, and her reaction was over the top.

`````Anorexia is a disease with its roots in control. Here is a mother who controled everything. The author details how she would try to breakup the relationships of her children; how she would come along on vacations when the 'kids' brought along their partners. This might explain why the only person good enough for Richard was his first cousin, whom he ultimately married. His mother found fault with every other woman he dated. I also have to ask if there isn't a genetic component. People who knew Agnes describe how she was a clean freak and would even polish the gold plating on the window knob. She once even went over and cleaned the side of the neighbour's home which faced theirs, as it wasn't up to her standards.

`````When Karen Carpenter met the man she decided to marry, Tom Burris, she discovered a devastating secret about him at the last minute. She wanted to cancel the wedding, however her mother forbade her to do so. She informed Karen that she'd made her bed and now had to lie in it. I realize that as an adult she should have made her own choices, but she was a starving adult who clearly wasn't thinking well. She was also a woman absolutely defeated, like those who have stayed in a cult too long.

`````Karen Carpenter recorded a solo album, of which she was very proud. Her brother Richard rejected it flat out. The record company, therefore, followed in his footsteps. Her friends report that she was never the same afterwards. In combination with the failure of her marriage to a person who used her, she was a woman destroyed. Had her family been there for her, and said that they "loved her", perhaps things might have been different. The treatment in the early 80's for eating disorders was as lacking as her support network. The years of abuse took their toll and she succumbed to her disease at the age of only 32.

`````This book is concise and to the point. Agnes Carpenter is an arch villian as much as the disease itself. It's a good book to read if people are interested in eating disorders or are fans of this band. I'd also suggest that people who enjoy books about family dynamics might want to have a look at it.

IT COULD ONLY HAPPEN TO ME

`````I blogged a while ago about a rat at work. Well, here's what happened to me. I've mentioned before that my mother doesn't drive, and that she looks forward to my visits. My father, as do many males of a certain age, lacks the shopping gene. Mom likes it when I come out, as she can take her time. On this occasion, I had gotten home late and had thus left as many items in the vehicle as I could. I went to work, firm in the belief that the dried goods would be okay until I could unload them when my shift was over. Unfortunately, my door doesn't always close that great.

`````There's a rodent population around my work site. The feral cats do a pretty good job and at times it looks like the killing fields of Cambodia out there. On this particular night, it was rather cold. The windchill was nasty, and I guess the rat saw good digs when he recognized it. He was like the homeless bum who spotted a parked limo with a liquor cabinet inside of it, unlocked.

`````I got home that morning, walked out to get the groceries, and there he was. I don't really have a startle reflex, so I didn't jump. I merely tried to shoo the beast out, and thought that I had done so. That is, until I found the gum wrapper chewed apart later that week. Then, he puncured a hole in my Diet Pepsi bottle. I guess he was thirsty and needed a caffeine fix. It turns out that this guy was also a junkie. I'd dropped a Tylenol One (it contains a bit of codeine) on the floor months previously, and it had been there since. One day, it was just gone. I would think that a rat must have gotten a pretty good nod from one pill. It was gone with the entire roll of Sweet Tarts that had been left on the counter. He'd tried to drag off my leopard print chiffon scarf too.

`````Things came to a head one day when I was parked at the main street in my small town. I came out of a store and he was sitting on the counter, staring out the window, visible to all who walked by. Now, I know that people at work already talk about me because of the amount of cats that I have. I didn't need this looming over my head as well. This thing looked like Williard. He was lurking like some gargoyle.

`````When I got home I tried to get Lumpy to the vehicle to scare him off. Lumpy began to kick his feet and wail and bleet. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. So much for that. I can only assume that the cat was under the impression that it was vet time. I drove to the store to purchase live traps, but they were obviously intended for little mice. I continued to find evidence of the rat, and anybody looking into my vehicle would see live mice traps.

`````One day, after seeing him runnng around, I parked the car outside of the garage, left every window and door open, and left food beside the vehicle. I'd made sure there hadn't been anything to eat or drink inside for days. I haven't seen him since. I figure that he made a run for it after the starvation rations.

`````Yes, something that could only happen to me.

ART BY AUDOBON

REMEMBERING THE SEATTLE QUAKE IN LIGHT OF TODAY'S EVENTS

In February of 2001, I was having a bad morning. I didn't know it yet, but my well had gone dry. I had lost my water, but I was awaiting the final diagnosis. I thought my water pump was messed up. The well wasn't all that old, so it should not have happened. All of the homes in the area were on wells at the time, and one doesn't have to go too far, usually, to hit water. The water had gone the day before, and I'd had to go to work without showering. Just call me stinky and don't stand too close.
So, there I was...just gotten off work. It was an unsesonably nice day for that time of year. I had worked the night shift, and I was sleeping upstairs on a camping mattress. Suddenly, something woke me up. My hips were smashing against the tile floor. I had been bounced off the foam mattress onto the hard surface. What the??? I could feel the ground moving up and down in waves and instantly knew that it was an earth quake. I'd been through them before. As a child, I had once woken up at night to my mother running into the bedroom. Something had fallen off the wall, and I recall her yelling "Earthquake" in Swedish as she ran into my room. On another occasion, I had been laying on the couch, watching television, when I heard an odd rumble. Nothing moved, but the sound was bizarre.
There was no mistaking this. I stood up and could still feel the movement. I opened the door and went into my loft. My lights were swinging back and forth. My cats, even as round as their eyes always are, looked like cartoon cats. They were absolutely freaked. One of them I only located a day later, firmly encased in a safe place under the bed. Cats seem to feel that the place under the bed provides protection from all things evil and all angry owners. They looked at me as though I could give them an answer. After the shaking stopped, it took a while for the lights to finally stop moving.
This came to be known as the "Seattle Earthquake", and it registered 6.8. As it was fairly deep within the ground, it did not kill people.
Interestingly enough, this being a small town, I found out later that many people had had their wells run dry at the same time mine did. Or, so the gossip went. Coincidence, or had the water tables somehow shifted? The water was totally gone from the well.
Right now, nobody knows how many people have died in the quake in Japan. There had just been the horrid one in New Zealand. At this moment, all I can do is think of them, and their families. My experience was only a small one. We keep getting told that we are well overdue for the "big one" on the west coast. There are many wonderful Japanese people in the area where I live. One was actually in Kyoto when the last quake hit, and told me what it was like. Let's hope that the fires, still burning, get contained, and there is luck in finding those trapped.

BULIMIA BARBIE WASN'T BAD ENOUGH

Are these the newest tween role models? From the makers of Barbie, now there are dolls that 'need to wax' Mail Online
.
(Photo mailed to me and was part of a series of photo-shopped pictures of dolls. I would love to know who did it, because i would like to give credit.)
.
`
`````I'm always curious as to why the dolls of today have these bizarre body shapes. Barbie, while having breasts that were huge, at least had a body that looked something akin to what a normal person had. Sure, you'd have to visit Heidi Montag's plastic surgeon to get it, and make a pact with the devil, but it was realistic. The dolls of today are always Gumby dolls. They're like what you'd see in a funhouse mirror.
`````What's up with the big heads? It's not like they have big brains in there. I hardly think that they're pondering the meaning of life. Nope. It's probably something along the lines of, "Boys are cool." Or, "She's not pretty. Let's pick on her." Deep and profound thoughts like that.
`````I understand the monster motif, as kids are into that today. But really, do we need the 'ho costumes? Could these dolls kick any butt wearing those shoes? Could they run after their prey in heals and platforms? I think not. As the article states, they could shave their legs. At least it's not a Brazilian...yet.
`````I had taken my mother shopping about a year ago, as she doesn't drive, and we were looking for a gift for my niece's birthday. I came upon something called Nascar Barbie. Near it, was an actual clothing item with spangles, rhinestones, and the message "Hot Stuff". It was for a little kid and was in purple and gold. I picked it up, as well as the doll and showed my Mom. "Oh look, White Trash Barbie and clothes for the Prostitot." There happened to be a woman nearby and I thought she was going to choke to death laughing. Little did I realize that you can actually buy Barbie with a tramp stamp now too. Who knew?
`````I don't think that buying the doll makes a bit of difference, as it's the daily messages that count. Most of it gets picked up at home; what's important---education or looks. I had Barbies when I was a kid and I came up with some pretty intricate story lines for her. She never needed Ken to rescue her from some calamity. This doll is just a new take on the same old thing. They always need something new to market.

BROKEN BONES, BROKEN SYSTEM

(Photo found on a Google search for Ostriches. No listing of ownership. Thanks to who took it. It is commonly used, but wonderful.)
`````Well, he's out; no big surprise there. Disgust, yes. I had written a blog about "The Runaway" and in my comments section, I had mentioned her father; how he had been the victim of a crime. I'll elaborate here.
`````This guy has always worked hard and things have never come easy. He's got a wonderful heart, with a love of kids and dogs. After the bills are paid, there's never anything left. No trips to Disneyland and no luxuries. He's never judged anybody. His mother is, literally, the woman who phones radio talk shows and expresses the opinion that more should be done to help those who are needy. She collects lost people the way I collect stray cats. The fact that they might have done three years in the hole doesn't deter her if they're making a concentrated effort to go straight. She can walk into the toughest biker bar and fit right in.
`````About two years ago, this guy, "G", was attacked, for no reason at all. Two other people were also assaulted that night by the same party. It was some meth crazed guy who began his frenzy by beating up a woman. "G" stepped in, and this individual and his friend beat him almost to death. It was winter, and it was up north. They rolled him down a hill, where he was left. They then proceeded to jump a third person. "G" would have died had he not made some noise, which was heard by the police when they responded. He could have frozen to death; alone, cold and at the bottom of some snowbank.
`````He has had to have nine titanium plates put into his face. The damage was so bad that his mother did not recognize him in the hospital. He did not look like himself. When it is cold, he feels it. His eye-sight has been affected, and he therefore can no longer do his previous occupation. He must make a long trip to get treatment in Vancouver.
`````This wonderful, caring person will never be the same. The P.O.S. who did it? He got only fifteen months for his troubles, and he completed his education to boot. He served his sentence "up north" so as not to disturb his family too much. The system is broken. When the Fisheries Minister had a pie thrown at him by a protester, he was aghast and likened it to a terrorist act.
`````A pie in the face compared to a broken face. You tell me which is worse.

I'VE SEEN BETTER MONTHS

I have blogged before that literature and my love of reading pulled me through many a difficult time when I was young. In fact, I believe it saved me. When I was ten, I sank into a deep depression and I knew something was wrong. I began to read anything that I could find on depression, books such as "The Bell Jar" and "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden." I'd take down books and sit at the long library table, reading about schizophrenia. I loved the book "Sybil." When there were movies on television such as "Lisa, Bright and Dark" I'd prey that my father wasn't watching something. Books were how I battled back against the damage done by Mr. "D".

I think that my outlet is now writing, and I have to keep doing it. This has been a bad month. First there was work. There has been an ongoing issue, which has made me feel ever more isolated and as though I am a failure.

Then, there was the phone call from my mother one morning. My father had received some test results. The blood work indicated that he might have bone cancer. Actually, not might have---she said that the test results indicated that he did have it. I asked my mother what the treatment was going to be. She did not know, as my father had not asked. There hasn't been any follow up. Nothing from the doctor as to a treatment protocol. I grilled my father on this. He thinks there was some bizarre mistake; an error at the lab and that they want to make this go away. This is plausible, as there was a recent story in the news about gross lab errors. My Dad told me that when he was at the Doctor's office the physician asked him about some doctor that he hadn't seen and whom he hadn't been referred to. This gives credence to the error possibility. I told my Dad to find out. If nothing else, there might be some guy out there who has cancer, but was given the all clear. He needs to know the truth. My Dad, though, isn't doing anything. I think he doesn't want to know, just in case, because he has been in a lot of pain.

It is all so stressful, beyond words. Those who have read my blogs, know how I feel about my father. He's a wonderful person.

Then, there was the incident with my mother and her diabetes. My father awoke to find her clammy and unresponsive. An ambulance was called and her readings were very low---1.9 in Canadian diabetic readings. She isn't overweight, eats well, yet it isn't being controlled.

Dad is worried about her, Mom is worried about Dad and I am stressed about the both of them as well as the issue at work.

I've wanted to write, yet my computer has frustrated me. NORTON CAN STICK IT. It runs constant scans that bump me off line. Even if I am merely checking my e-mail, it begins to run a full system scan. I changed the setting, but it still goes on. The screen freezes up, and all that remains is the box with the "Norton is running a full system scan" message, which never clears. When I've tried to log onto Blogger, I usually get a message that my cookies are disabled and I won't be able to log on. It's the constant scans that keep disabling the cookies.

I need to write, instead of withdrawing into myself. It is how I work through things. I need to see what others are thinking. Depression is like pulling the blankets over your head and taking to your bed; only you are walking around---catatonic and zombie-like. The dangerous irony of depression is that when you most need people, you are unable to make any move to reach out. Writing; stuggling to make sense of it and putting it out there for others to read, is a start in dealing with it.