Carrot to the rescue

Probable last post from the priests' hole, since the beckoning finger of the rat's nest becomes ever more tempting, ever more persuasive. I must follow its hypnotic curvature all the way home.

It is the rare being that hears the siren's call of the rat's nest. Most can't hear it. Me, cucas, vromyars and a few other poor schmucks. Anyway, home is home is home.

I didn't want you to think I'd bit(ten) the dust, so I wanted to post, and thought that if I didn't have anything to say, I could at least look for some old pics on my computer to entertain, and lo and behold, I found these pictures of Carrot that I had taken from my cell. These are from when he first arrived, none the worse for wear, from distant Chicago, his hometown. (But on facebook your hometown is where you're living, not where you're from. I think. asxeto.) He was a little feisty at first, as you'll see, but he soon settled down. He is looking forward to moving to the rat's nest in the next couple of days. (poor little tyke--he doesn't know any better)




If you love Carrot, you'll love his friends. Thank you, Mei, again, for brightening things up!!! (And putting all my creative projects to shame with Carrot's (well, your) artistry!)














Remember, pictures from the cell (double meaning intended!). He's much more handsome than I've depicted him!

Hey, Pumpkin

Today I broke one of my firm and fast rules: I wore an article of clothing before washing it. Ever since Venia's mom (former underwear factory worker) told me what happens to clothes from fabric to packaging/store, I never ever wear something before washing it. I always think of people who don't have any clean underwear, like in college, and are too lazy or busy to go to the laundromat, so they buy a new three-pack or six-pack of Hanes to get through another few days. Take my word for it: This is gross. Do not do it. If you need more details (you don't), tell me in the comments.

BUT, I got an awesome package from the bro today, and had to wear my new hoodie around the 'hood!!! Couldn't wait to wash it. It's washable, right? Notice it has been signed by the entire Pumpkin Crew, and is full of positive pumpkin energy. Energy is definitely in long supply (not in short supply, get it?) at the Pumpkin House. Dude, the Pumpkin House deserves its own post some day. That place is unique. C'est tout ce qu'on peut dire.

Also in the package, amazing hand/body lotion (Kathy's Family Healing Lotion). Special stuff. Check it out here. And a sweet pumpkin show poster AND Worcester's own Mustard Plaster and accompanying cap. Early Christmas!!! Thanks, Pierre!

PS I am not as sickly and double-chinny as in the above pics! I want to believe this.

Grrrrrrr

This terrifying monster pinata was given to Dr. Nikos, one of my docs from when I was hospitalized, a fine scientist and seemingly all-around nice guy, for his sons, aged 3 and 4 (!) to demolish. He was very moved and told me he loved it even before I explained what a pinata was. When I told him it involves beating something with a stick till the candy falls out, he said, "The perfect present for my boys!" I was waiting in the hallway later to get a blood test and he came out (after having read my card with my thanks and the explanation of the 100-item project) and found me and told me it was the best present he'd ever received! So that really made my day. Elevator doc (someday I'll tell the story)(not a big deal) told me a couple of them had read it too and they also thought it was a cool idea. Elevator doc is kind of a flirt but I think it's more about his ego than about you.

So here it is, my first and probably last foray into the world of pinata-making:


And the contents:

This pinata is kicking my ass

But first, from the priest's hole:
Vasilis Kazoulis is an acquired taste which I have acquired.
Hear here.
He just came on the radio and I have to say I love the guy. There was a different video clip I wanted to link to but it was from a public-access cable station with mysterious (pink?) numbers flashing on the screen. I wouldn't want you to call one of them out of curiosity and get an (un)pleasant surprise.

Okay, this pinata is taking more time (especially drying time) and energy than I had anticipated. Plus it's humid because of all the rain. (The 11th mystery of the modern world: how this place can have the radiators burning day and night and yet still be humid...) Making a pinata has several steps, all of them sloppy. But here's where I stand:
After this strange gourd-shaped thing dries, it will get spray-painted blue and decorated with bits of blue/green/orange crepe paper and then it will magically become a scary (worthy of being bludgeoned with a broom handle) MONSTER. It is handmade project number 45. Only 55 more to go. Actually 56, since one of the necklaces is kind of ugly, and I feel bad giving it to anybody, so it'll have to get redone. Anyway, I will definitely post pics of the finished pinata. I am very anxious about it.

Also, please release into the universe your positive vibes for my cellmate from the ospedale, who got out 3 days before me but has had to be hospitalized twice more since then. I had an email from her daughter and apparently her spirits have been low, too. Perhaps I should send her a pinata! I'm sure the results of this one will be good for a lot of laughs.

A walk in the park

Coming from the priests' (I never know where to put the apostrophe) hole:

Sometimes I forget what I've told to whom or where I've written it. So you may or may not know that I'm no longer under house arrest but last Monday the whites were down round 2000, and half the population has some flu or other, so the rules are, stick close to home, no public transport or other closed spaces (shops, etc), stay away from sick people. So I usually take a walk a day, sometimes with a friend and often with my mom.

A mainstay of my walks is the National Garden, since it's within walking distance of the priests' hole and also pretty and also contains a zoo of sorts. The zoo is basically just farm animals behind bars, but they seem pretty happy and since most of them (except the donkeys) are dietary staples here, they're probably better off. The other day one kid was staring at a rooster and was telling his friends how he imagined it cooked (kokkinisto: onions and garlic browned in olive oil, tomato sauce in the big pot). Another point is that the freezer at the priest's hole is full of dry bread (really bread that's been in there so long it's freezer burned and no one wants to eat it) and geese like dry bread.

It's been rainy here and the park paths can get a bit muddy. However, I decided to wear my new sneakers on my walk. Here's what they looked like when I set out. There's no "after" picture because it wasn't that muddy and the after picture would have been anti-climactic.


I struggle with photo placement on blogger. The pictures never go where I want them. Why can't they just go where you insert them instead of all sticking to the top of the post?!?!? In any case, here's a truncated photographic tour. Pics taken a bit too late in the day to be much good. While we were walking we heard the dusk whistle to get out before we got locked in for the night. Too many pervs around to leave it open all night. Also, it's so well-kempt (K doesn't think this is a word but I do) that it would be a shame if some late-night vandals were to damage anything.




Anyway, here's the Botanic(al)(?) Museum from afar. I could go in there some day because I'd probably be the only one except for the guard.



This is a strange structure. I want to believe this is a row of dog houses for the stray dogs that wander into the park, for winter when they get cold. However, I have never seen any dogs anywhere near this row of nooks. On the other hand, it looks newish, so probably not a hand-me-down from when the park was the garden of the palace (current parliament). Maybe at night or when it's really cold dogs use them?


Don't feel sorry for this goose for my flash going off in her face (Goose is a feminine noun even if it's genetically a male goose, but I can't tell the difference on a goose anyway. Just in the pot. (Joking!)). I made up for it by giving her plenty of bread. She thanked me by making satisfyingly loud goose noises.



This sign predates the "Everything must be translated into English" rule. HORNED GOAT, symbol of the (objectively) best star sign. Again, the thing with the pictures (meant to be side-by-side). argh.
























Two other fine friends.

And no walk in the capital is complete without a cat,
Dappy, and some ruins. (Can't be real or there's no way you could get this close. Maybe royal remnants? If only these were the only ones.)

Two very different scarves

The top one is #23 and I made it for the nice doc who oversaw the ward I was in and took care of the neck mainline wound every day so it wouldn't get infected and kill me. Also he was very nice.

This next one is for an onco-doc who I've been dealing with for a while but who just recently started being nice to me. Not sure why, but I'll go along with it because I need her on my side. She's kind of a conservative dresser, so maybe she'll use this to perk up some. It's number 40. Sorry the pics aren't better quality.

Erratum OR This is what I was talking about II

Fresh from the priest's hole:

Remember I saw a split second of some movie and I thought it was called Attention au grisbi? But then I googled it and it was nowhere to be found? I was in (the) hospital and I think I had a fever so I put it down to that. I'm lucky I remembered my name with all the drugs I was getting pumped in through the neck mainline. Anyway, turns out the movie exists and it's called: Touchez pas au grisbi. Just thought you'd like to know.

This is what I was talking about

The group in Bolivia I was talking about is the Chipaya people. This is a picture of their houses: http://www.amnh.org/education/resources/rfl/web/bolivia/images/14.jpg

Soon I will post a picture of some cool fingerless gloves/mittens we got at the fair trade store on Nikis which are coincidentally from Bolivia. Also some finger puppets which will go in the monster pinata.

Keeping busy

Here's a sample of what I've been up to. Except this necklace isn't one of the 100-- it's one I made for myself one day when I needed something to wear with a brown T-shirt. So it isn't numbered like the ones I'm giving away.



The pouches are finished necklaces that are ready to go, and the ones on the right are from the Girl Power series, destined for some cool international chiquitas. You can see the numbers near the clasp. Also, each one protects the wearer against the evil eye.

Hot air

Last night I watched most of a docu about Bolivia, one of the series Entre Terre et Ciel (Between Earth and Sky), hosted by Sébastien Lafont, a journalist and hot-air balloonist. By host I mean also the adventurer who goes everywhere in his balloon and documents the people and places. So one of the places where he landed his balloon was the village of an indigenous group (minority minority group, can't find them on the UN page I looked at (!?!?)) whose name I (unfortunately) don't remember (knowing what a fabulous memory, compounded by chemo brain, I have, you're probably surprised). The point is, these people live in what looked like the middle of nowhere, in one-room mud houses. They have to hike incredible distances to get firewood. The staple of their diet is quinoa, and if they haven't had a good harvest (as they hadn't the year before the docu was shot), they have very slim pickings, hopefully supplemented by duck or pink flamingo or something else they hunt in very ingenious ways (watch it to find out). Once a year the village floods, and they have to go away (I wasn't clear on where). The POINT is, they have a very hard life. THE POINT IS, they're cool with that, with working hard to survive, but why do countries like ours, the so-called advanced countries, why do we have to make life even harder for them by screwing up the climate to the point where, during the non-flooding season, they don't have enough water to water their g-d quinoa?!?!?! These people have no negative impact on the environment. At the other extreme, where I live we burn tons and tons of lignite (among other things) to create electricity, at extremely inefficient rates. And people in the countryside think windmills create fertility problems! Newsflash, Mitsos: You're probably infertile because you spray carcinogens on your fields. But don't get me started on the Mitsoses out there...

Today was day 28 post-transplant. No excitement or news connected to that. I have a CT coming up but I'm not saying when because if the news is bad, I want to tell people in my own time. The house arrest was lifted yesterday because whites were above normal. I'm still not supposed to eat fresh, uncooked vegetables or some fruits, or honey from the beekeeper (whatever). My take is that you have to disobey some things in order to feel like you have free will. If you feel trapped, you get more depressed and that makes you sicker. The doctors on Grey's understand this. *spoiler alert* They let a girl with no heart go out in the snow! *end of spoiler alert*

Sickie accomplishments: Have watched more sodes than I will ever admit to. Have made 36 necklaces. Have made one very long scarf for cutie doc. Have begun one strange-looking monster pinata. Have written and illustrated two pages of a story about a small hairy creature.

Soon I will post pictures of my craft projects. This is my intention.

Why oh why

The following from the Priest's Hole, where I am under HOUSE ARREST due to low whites:

I was inspired to post today by my chat with K about people who sit in the cinema and record a movie on their cell phones and then make it available for strangers to illegally download. Who is the loser who wastes the price of a movie ticket so he can sit there and covertly tape the movie, therefore not even enjoying it himself? Mobile technology here has always been more advanced than in the US (I'm not sure if this is still true) but I have never seen video off a cell phone that I could watch for any length of time, much less video of a screen. Dude number two: if you want to see a movie so bad that you're willing to watch it in such crappy quality (hand shaking, edge of screen showing, bad sound, including people chewing popcorn and talking in the background), RENT THE DAMN THING. I just do not understand people. There are many, many people out there who I do not understand.

You will not believe this. I think the universe is conspiring to keep this blog going as long as possible. You know how the main theme of this blog was the open sewer hole on the ground floor of the rat's nest, across from the elevator? And then it got fixed and it was like, what's the point of even blogging any more, there's nothing to say. So the universe arranged for the problem to return!!! Bigger and badder than before!!! Reports from the rat's nest (not first person; I'm under house arrest, remember?) include: dumpster in front of building, torn up garden, mysterious black hoses running in and out of the building and, last but not least, BIG HOLE OF ROTTING, PUTRID, NASTY SEWAGE across from the elevator. You know the hell mouth on Buffy? Where you can cover it up or build a high school on it or whatever but it's still there, festering and at some point The First is going to emerge, the root of all evil? This hole is kinda like that. You can "fix" it, tile over it, whatever, but it will bubble up again!!! Anyway, Dappy and K will represent tonight at the owners' meeting. I can't go owing to aforementioned house arrest situation.

Weigh in

The following from the Priest's Hole:

Haven't updated in days! News: Gollum is back in the Shire, released from the ospedale yesterday in a big rush. They swept in and sanitized the place (couldna done it a few days ago, could ya?) and my presence there was erased forever more.

So todo bi and now I'm at the Priest's Hole recovering further.

Skip the following paragraph if you are grossed out by the NECK MEGA MAINLINE.

So after the NECK MEGA MAINLINE was removed, Cutie Doc showed it to me. That thing was huge!!! Imagine the bottom half of a paintbrush of the size you used to have with your watercolor set, but a little bigger, and tapered like it was, but hollow. THAT was in my vein, almost as far in as my heart! And there's a part of it, about half way down, that has holes, and I could see in, and it looked like it was getting clogged! So I asked bigshot oncologist what would have happened if it had gotten clogged and I still needed it, and he said that if they couldn't unclog it, they would have replaced it! I'm so glad I didn't know that possibility existed and I'm also glad I didn't know how huge that thing was because I would have thought I could feel it moving around in my chest.

I may or may not have mentioned in this blog that I am making 100 craft projects to represent the 100 days that a stem cell transplanted person theoretically needs to be considered out of the woods. I will (in some cases have already done) share these with the people who have supported me throughout this difficult time. I have already made and given out 21 beaded necklaces, and have plans to knit some stuff, sew some stuff and (here's where I need the input) make some pinatas (can't find the 'enye'). So I was sitting there thinking about what animal to make (donkey, rooster, etc), and I thought, so I'm going to make a festive interpretation of an animal, and then encourage people to beat it with a stick until its guts spill out. Also, remember that here people have never heard of a pinata, so I'd have to really spell it out for them. And although the people I have in mind as recipients have kids who would probably love it, I can't quite bring myself to do it. I still like the "pinata as artsy activity" idea, however. I considered making a cuca pinata or geometric shape or monster. hmm.

What do you think? Am I totally overreacting or not?

Bright, Sunshine Day

[See, why do I remember that? I have so few memories from my childhood and one of them has to be that stupid Brady Bunch song?!?!?!?!]

Against medical advice, we've had the window open a bit today to let in some sun and let out some smell. (Yes, cellmate is still here-- her escape was moved back 2 days at least.) The nice sheet-changing nurses came in all pleasant and sweet and gave us crisp, clean sheets. And everybody else has been in a pretty good mood so I decided to just roll with it and give in to the good vibes. So we've got a clean room, clean beds, lots of good drugs, sunshine and breeze, good music...

Short black hairs everywhere!!! The helmet idea both worked and didn't work. The leukoplast was a good way to get out the loosies but I ran out and don't think I can get my hands on any more. Also, each strip needs to be gone over a couple of times for maximum results, so the helmet, which was one layer of tape, wasn't realistic. Oh, well. Back to the bandana am I. I hope my poor hair'll grow back for the 4th time (!!!).

The white cells are gradually crawling up.

Dalaras annoys the hell out of me. Pachemou?*

*I was tempted to try out a little of my Russian on the cleaning lady today. I was waiting for her to sigh over her work or let out a little word of complaint, at which point I was going to quip, "Rabotat yest rabotat." But she was one of the cheerful ones.

2nd cancerversary

Sort of. Yesterday was two years since my diagnosis. And since then I haven't been myself, I've been this tired, crotchety old bald lady, with ailments and a pill box who orders orange juice and Perrier water at bars. I can't manage to be the jolly wig wearer who lifts everybody else's spirits, even though I know there's only so much of me that everybody can take.

At least I don't engage strangers in bathroom conversations. I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU, CELLMATE. Dude, good thing I hadn't had breakfast yet when she started in this morning.

Cutie doc and I came up with a plan to handle the falling hair. Make a helmet out of leukoplast (white hospital tape), sticky side down. Remove helmet and turn it inside out. Replace helmet on head. [Unfortunately there's no mavroplast (black tape) which would be a little more attractive.]

ATTENTION AU GRISBI.

Cellmate paroled

I've said about all there is to say about her

PAUSE

On the radio the announcer said "rifiFI" in relation to a jewelery store heist. What?

END PAUSE

so look forward to tales of a new roommate after Wednesday, when my current cellmate will be returned from whence she came and none too soon, although I'm surprised that they're letting her go so soon. She seems to have so many ailments. But I guess their only problem here was getting her transplanted and her whites and platelets back up so they can pack her up and send her to her regular docs up North.

Next to get out is me.

"Nadir my foot" or "Waiting for the other shoe to drop"

OK sorry I was going to start with something else but I have to say this. My cellmate's husband was just being a condescending asshole to the cleaning lady. Do not go there, man. That woman tries to maintain some standard of cleanliness in a room containing your odoriferous wife. All I need is for you to alienate my best friend in this shithole. In the interest of keeping this entry relatively free of profanity I will change the subject.

So the mustard gas. Apparently it's got a maximum toxicity at about 7-10 days. So here I've been anticipating the nasty delayed side effects, just dreading the weekend because I would be barfing and worse all over the place, fever, shaking, delirium, begging them to just let me die. And NOTHING! I know I'm lucky. I mean, not 100% because my poor little Tin-tin hair has started to get that characteristic tingly feel so Gollum will be back but oh well. Like I said, just tell me it'll be worth it and screw the hair, but you can't do that, can you?

So here's how I am re-orientating (as the Brits would say) my thinking. (And no, I still haven't learned my lesson about the direct relationship between anticipation and disappointment.) As long as I can avoid getting so much as a cold for the next several days, my stem cells will have a chance to graft and start producing whites and that'll be it. Finito. Smooth sailing. A bit optimistic? Perhaps.

God, I love diesi. THE best radio station.

TMI

When you've got Tin-tin (here pronounced tenTEN) hair and two tubes (with your own blood trapped in the hardware) coming out of your neck, you may not do as much mirror gazing as you once did. So it's understandable that I missed the appearance of the sign on my forehead that apparently says: Tell me all about your feces in full and explicit and complete detail.

To my cell mate,
You are vile. For your own sake, start respecting the laws of common discretion because I am about to strangle you. If I wasn't too grossed out to approach you, I might have already done it.
Yours truly.

Ahh... Pantelis on the radio. What a charmer.

Reporting from County

This from the 3rd floor room whose window should have bars because I'm about to jump out...

Dude if I had any hair I would be pulling it out by the roots right now. Lou's had this blog for over two years and I've posted more in the last ten days than in the previous 26 months. But let me make an important announcement, listen up.

1) I WILL NEVER COMMIT A CRIME THAT COULD LAND ME IN JAIL.
2) I WILL ALWAYS BE AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE FROM OTHER PEOPLE COMMITTING CRIMES THAT COULD LAND THEM AND, BY ASSOCIATION, ME IN JAIL.
3) IF I EVER END UP IN JAIL, IT WILL FEEL LIKE THIS POEM:

The eternal, infernal three weeks

Stuck stuck stuck in jail.
Stinky snorer at my side.
Physically assaulted, poked, prodded.
Days are long, nights longer.
Oh when will sweet parole come?

Nothing to do, nowhere to go.
Not welcome out there.
Scrutinized, measured, rated.
Close the door, close the window.
Oh when will gentle furlough arrive?

The Perch Revolts

The following advice comes straight from the perch:

If you see a big lump in the bed, hidden under layers of bedding, it's not necessarily your nightshirt and stocking cap stuck under there. It could be Sir Lou Reese (form of White Fang) (shape of Arfur) preparing to attack. That is, of course, if he has enough brain cells left to get the job done.

Ok, so maybe I was a torturer in a past life and that's why I have such bad karma, but did I really deserve a cat in this life with almost as many psychological problems as I have myself? Is that fair, Ganesh? Shouldn't a house guest be able to rest her weary head without The Wrath of the Badderson Line descending upon her? I ask you.

I remember

Yesterday I had a little impromptu gmail chat with Rach, prompted by my sister wanting to know how old her mom was. I generally (actually, as a rule) avoid chatting people when I see they're logged on-- I feel like I'm invading their few minutes of internet time they have to check their mail. Anyway, yesterday we ended up having a nice little exchange and I reminded her of this saying she had told me, like a philosophy, which has been one of the tenets of my life and that I use to reflect on my behaviour and way of looking at myself in relation to other people (!!!), I mean one of the top ten, and she was like, 'oh, I said that? hmm...'

SO IT GOT ME THINKING (more, because this is something I sorta think about a lot) about how we perceive each other and how our memories of other people and ourselves are different from theirs of them and us, and sometimes somebody from our past can say, this is who you were for/to me, and it's different from what you remember, and it can make you feel good or bad. And sometimes when we tell our friends what we remember (this is perhaps more 'eventful' for me because I live far away from my old friends and am one of the world's very worst correspondents and I have a very bad memory, so I'm not always reminiscing and kaffeeklatsching (sp) with everybody) we can give them new perspective by reminding them of the old.

Somebody on Oprah (Dr Oz?) said that our basic personalities are formed by the age of six. So people I knew in grade school are the same people I knew in grade school, with just more layers of sophistication or responsibilities or baby spit-up. And even though I say I have a bad memory, I may remember that a certain friend was a person who took charge of her life at a young age, figured out what she wanted, and is one of the very few people I know that is pursuing what she loves today, professionally and personally. So when her spunky daughter is being a bucking billy goat, she should take heart in the fact that at the very least she is an excellent role model, a living example, and shouldn't be so hard on herself.

You probably don't know that one of my favorite movies is The Kid, that Disney movie with Bruce Willis and Spencer Breslin, where a forty-ish guy somehow meets his 12-year-old (?) self from the past and they deal with their (self-) loathing and learn to love themselves/each other. It's not that hokey. What does it mean to live up to your own dreams and ideals? Should you try to live up to dreams you had for yourself when you were younger? What does it mean to let yourself down? Have your ideals simply changed or have you failed yourself? There's this line where Breslin says, "I'm forty and I don't have a dog?!?! I'm a LOSER!" which particularly resonates. I often wonder what my 15-year-old self would think of me now. I don't mean about being sick, she'd be freaked. But would she be impressed and excited that she moved away and was managing to live in a different place and had had my experiences, or would she see a good deal of these 20 years as wasted, her dreams as squandered? Just wondering...

Getting penic

I know, right? tee hee hee

So for the past several days cutie doc walks in and says, "you're not penic yet." And, of course, getting penic has nothing to do with getting some, but with tanking blood levels, so neutropenia, leukopenia, lymphopenia, etc. Oh, well. So that's all I'm up to, waiting to tank, waiting to be waited on while my stem cells get down to some hard work. Roomie is doing great, so if she's any indication, things won't probably be that bad. But no action of the other kind foreseen in the ospedale this time...

A study in contrasts

This is the view I should be enjoying (the new hibiscus on my balcony whose color I didn't even know until K brought me a picture off her mobile. Instead, and I know this is WRONG in every way imaginable, I'm in a place where it's more common to see this: (Believe me it is WRONG.) There is this horrible museum that you have to walk through to get to the snack bar (!) with specimens whose formaldehyde mostly evaporated (!) decades ago and which are unidentifiable, even if you wanted to know what they are, which trust me you don't. Do not even ask me or yourself what this is:

irrelevant

Rereading my posts has helped me realize the extent to which I dwelled on the open sewer on the ground floor so I should probably mark the closure of that chapter in the life of the rat's nest by saying that it did eventually get closed up sometime in the spring. Now they are about to tile over the whole mess, so hopefully when I get back home it'll be but a distant memory. I never did take a picture, but just take my word for it: it was nasty. We have a new super so hopefully the rat's nest building is on to bigger and better things.

BLUE FUNK

This from the sickie ward:

Speaking of funk, cutie doc just walked in and said it's gonna get real funky in here because we're going to have to keep it 100% sealed pretty soon. I think I've mentioned that my roommate can get a bit ripe. But I guess it's like the Nastoul Phenomenon. When you're in the room and grow with the stink, it doesn't smell to you, just to the people who walk in from the fresh air. Serves 'em right for being healthy.

So you read the title of the post and prepared yourself for one of my usual curmudgeonly diatribes. No need, for I plan to do some askhseis epi xartou (so to speak) and plan ahead to a year of being healthy. I will make one life goal for each of the next twelve months after I'm out of quarantine. Some of the goals are smaller and some are more involved. In no particular order:

1) Make a specific plan to move to the countryside.
2) Realise my dream of getting a dog.
3) File all my American back taxes for the last ten years. (No need to worry, I haven't made enough money to be taxed!!! The joys of poverty.)
4) YOGA YOGA YOGA
5) Remodel the bathroom of the rat's nest.
6) Remodel the kitchen of the rat's nest.
7) Travel to Chicago.
8) Apply to grad school or stop dreaming about it.
9) Learn how to drive stick. This is a big one.
10)
11)
12)

I'll keep working on it.

HACKNEYED,

c'est moi. Cancer chic(k?) writing from the hospital during chemeo (sic). No insights, but there are plenty of other blogs where you can get those. Actually, I have one insight. Having blood taken out of an artery in your wrist to measure the amount of oxygen is extremely painful. I don't recommend it. So aqui (imagine accent mark) je sit, on Day -7, tired but wired. I just want to get this over with and get back to my life if possible.

In the past few years I keep getting hit over the head with the idea that most people are really unclear on the concept. They place so much value on stuff that doesn't mean shit (eg money*) and don't respect or love people, animals or the natural world. I guess the old fart still amassing money after age 80 really does think he can take it with him. Now y'all know I'm not a believer, not a person "of faith", but if I believed in heaven and hell, no way would you catch me exploiting people and the environment in a zillion ways for a few million bucks. All I'd be able to think about would be those flames licking my ankles and rising upward. *Do not get me wrong about the money thing. I have been quite poor at times in my life and would probably still be considered poor by many people I know. When I say money doesn't mean much, obviously I'm not talking about putting a roof over your family's head and a meal in their guts, paying the bills, etc.

If you're healthy, you have the energy and physical ability, the clear mind to make things happen. You can find ways to change your life and realize your aims. All the cash money in the world isn't doing any good when your scans come back positive, man. And you might be able to pay for the best doctors, but even they may not be able to help you. And then it's just you and your conscience. And if your conscience is telling you that you could have fed some village for a year for less than you pay for your mani/pedis in the same amount of time, then heaven help you.

Sta be for now. good enou'.

still bad, after all these years

This from the Priests' Hole:

A poem of sorts is taking shape in my head. Maybe I'll figure out how to write it down and do so here. Until then, I will publish these two previously only narrowly-known gems, written over twenty years ago, for a bet with Mr Oetter the English teacher, which I won.

Greeting the kitchen wallpaper
I see you every day
But you never say hello.

Greeting the kitchen wallpaper II
I see you every day
But you never shake my hand.

Earth hour

was kind of disappointing.

this from the rat's nest:

I happened to be on the trolley for most of Earth hour. My opinion on the event is, dude, just turn your lights off. Don't be the curmudgeon (Jiora) who refuses to deal for one tiny hour with a couple of candles. Some people had their balcony lights turned on, as if in defiance. Stores and banks had their lights blazing as usual. The Parliament building was dark, though. That was kind of cool. Supposedly we had the highest national percentage of people who were going to participate. I wonder if that all panned out in practice.

I feel like I have to write follow-up questions as per the teacher's book I'm writing these days at work: How did pupils spend Earth hour, with family and friends or alone? Did they participate? Do they believe that efforts like Earth hour can help make people more sensitive to the problem of global warming? and so on. Don't you hate the word pupil? It reminds me of the life cycle of the butterfly. 2nd grade? Mrs Larson?

HEY, that huge open sewer hole is still there!!!!!!! Since before Christmas! It's like living on the banks of the River Ganges, except there's no dead cows, just dead (and living) cucas. And those little black dusty bugs that I've already mentioned. I promise that some day I'll take a picture of it. Or call some TV stations to film it or something because it is absolutely incredible. There just doesn't seem to be much hurry because hey, it'll probably be here for a few more months.

When I was talking about things you shouldn't buy in the store, but get from the source, did I say honey? Honey's a big one.

We need to think of a name for K's new apt. I live in the rat's nest, Lou and Jim are on the perch, G's in the pumpkin house...hmm... we have to work the religious angle because she's amidst about a zillion priests, here in the priest ghetto...a play on words, perhaps? Also, it's hot as Hades in here all the time because the radiators are burning hot almost 24/7. So I've given you something to work with. The "bell tower" or "steeple" is out because it's not high enough.

I've got it!!!!!

Priest (pronounced Praste!!!) Pond!
Isn't that what it was called in the Emily Books? Priest Hollow?
We have to think of how "pond" fits in to the whole thing, though.

Fruit and Veg

straight from the perch:

If you really want to leap onto the roof in a single bound, despite ICY conditions, doctors recommend five fruit and veg daily. And if they're not giving them to you, you gotta find ways to get it for yourself. I mean it.

It might mean getting wet or dusty. Sta be.

In other perch news, I'm making a quilt out of pieces of old blue jeans. Will post pic if anything materializes from this idea.

There's news about the plumbing sitch at the rat's nest, but that's for another post.

Haz Mat

The following from...

the rat's nest is a health hazard. Maybe not the actual nest, but that hole in the ground-floor hallway that gurgles up (raw?!?!? haven't actually gotten close enough) sewage has got to go. Why don't people care about it? Somebody's kid is going to fall in that hole, get sick from the sewage, and worse. They've got a couple of planks sort of covering it up. Lots of those black bugs swarming around. And the stank? You can smell it from the street. World's best birth control: Live in a building with effervescent, uncovered sewage right by the elevator door. You won't be inviting anybody in. Promise. But since I'm apparently the only person that thinks this is barfy (there's probably some of that in the hole, too), it'll most likely be around for a while. Maybe I'll post a picture of the hole because you probably think I'm exaggerating.

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Today K said: "It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."
True actually. Not directly for me, but still.
Basically there was a pall over everything at work. I think something sad is happening but upper management (so to speak) is being very hush-hush about it. Vamos a.



Also: MILK is a great movie and you should see it.

Every day I walk through a big park on my way to work. It takes about twenty minutes or a little less. (You knew it wasn't actually a cat writing this, right?) The best thing about walking through the park is all the dogs. It's unbelievable how many people can leave their dogs off-leash and they just romp and come when they're called. Most times I am panting like a dog myself, because I'm usually running late. Of course the park also has cats and pigeons. And there are about eight cats that look like Lou. No real point to that, just an observation.

Guess what. Sometimes when I'm speed-walking down the lanes, listening to the MQP iPod, I'm just happy to be a normal person with hair, walking to my normal, undemanding job. I think about what I went through to get there and smile to myself. People who pass me surely lump me with those who make the park their home, as I carry a big red bag and have a goofy look on my face. PS to Pierre, thanks for providing me with every rap 'tune' recorded since the inception of the genre. Peace out. Word.

What not to buy

in a supermarket.

This from the perch:

Rules to live by.
This might be a new feature of this blog.
It's started to look like we're grasping at straws lately
So an OCD person like me can logically present a list of
Things that should come directly from the source
And which I cannot bring myself to buy here in the big, bad city.
In no particular order:

1. lemons (and oranges and clemmies in season)
2. table wine
3. olive oil (actually that should have been first)

All of these things were carried back to the city tonight by me and K at the risk of a major hernia and anything else bad that can happen to you when your suitcase weighs 100 kilos/220 pounds/a tenth of a metric ton/you get the idea.

PS Weather on the perch was brilliant.

edited to add

All the way from the rat's nest:

Ok gotta add Mom's favorite,
which I forgot but here is the last of
the fart-related 'I am rubber"-type
comebacks:

The fox is the finder
The stink lies behind 'er

PS
Hey, George,
Do you remember that the building next to the Fart Factory
had these two guys in the lobby who were always shaking hands
no matter what time you drove by? It was a big glass lobby.
They were mannequins but it was a side-splitting joke to say,
"Hey look, those two guys are still shaking hands!"

Remember the Fart Factory

The rat's nest reports:
On our way to little ethnic kid school M-W-F we used to pass the sewage treatment plant on McCormick and that place smelled, man. So what could be a more hilarious nickname than "The Fart Factory?" Also guaranteed to crack you up for the gazillionth time: Asking, "who farted?" when passing the said factory.

All this has a point.

And not to dwell, but how weird was it when I remembered the following comeback the other morning while waiting for the elevator, after more than twenty years:

He who smelt it, dealt it.
He who knew it, blew it.
He who thunk it, dunk it.

Then you wonder why I can't remember other things. Obviously my brain is full of other really important (albeit temporarily repressed) things that take up all the space.

So what's the point? Dude, I knew I knew what I was talking about when I started calling this place the rat's nest. Now there's this giant hole they dug and left on the ground floor. The nastiest ever sewer smell as well as a million billion of those little bugs that turn into black dust when you smash them are continually being emitted from that hole. You cannot believe the stench. At the meeting Sunday they said they have to collect money so they can start fixing it, but they haven't even started collecting the money yet, so I have no idea when it'll get fixed. Possible cost to dig up the pipe and replace it and the damaged electrical cables: ten large.

So that's where the Fart Factory comes in. I guess you could say I've come full circle in my life. Feels damn good.

New Year's Resolvations

all the way from the rat's nest...
Good and I mean good riddance to 2008. The best thing that I can say about it is that it's over.
2nd worst year in 35 long ones.

Olympie said that there's some astrological thing related to Capricorns or the star of Capricorn or the Tropic of Capricorn... Anyway, the next few decades are going to be much better. Apparently the stars say that it's going to be 'back to basics' for the whole planet. That is music to my ears. I'd like to believe it.

So anyway, not to dwell on the negative side of this coin, with the end of 2008 come the following, in no particular order:

No more cancer.
No more unprofitable business which sucks out my very soul for less moolah than I'd be making on the dole.
No more toxic people playing a role of any importance in my life.
Hair, albeit weird and helmet-shaped or Nero-styled.

I sound negative in my positivity, don't I?

Anyhoo, it's my thirty-fifth today, so a good time to make some statements about the coming time (not only year, but more). I've spent the last fourteen months or so taking stock, didn't wait for today, but it's time to solve some of the stuff that's been hanging around for a long time, now that I have all this insight from being sick and then being well.

Hence the resolvations.

So:

Be well. This means listen to my body and inner voice about all kinds of things.
(This also means not being a chicken shit.)
Listen to live music.
Get my half-moons to the gym.
See my friends often.
Take walks by myself.
Be nice to everybody but extra nice to some people.
Be MYself. Keep working on figuring out who that is (am).
Buy and cook as many natural foods as I can afford.
Cultivate plants on the balcony.
GET A DOG.
NAME MY DOG ARFUR.

more as they occur to me