Monday, September 30, 2002

The nights are getting cooler and a carpet of leaves is forming on the lawns and sidewalks. A crescent moon peeks between clouds. I find myself musing about all of the times people have been scared of me. There was a guy tonight who asked if he could use my electronic key fob to get into the gated community I was delivering to. Of course, he was standing in front of the only gate in the complex that foiled my fob. I told him that if he wanted to follow me into the parking garage, I'd let him in through the other door. He seemed reluctant to follow me, like he was afraid I was going to mug him. He kept a good amount of distance between us. Of course, maybe he wanted into the complex so he could rob people. Who knows. On another occasion, some time back, I was running through a different complex and a couple of women thought I was chasing them. I've never seen anybody run in high heels before or since. We must remember that not everybody who runs is out to get you, unless, of course, the person in question is a politician. They're all out to get us. There have been several other occasions when I've caught people off guard and startled the hell out of them. I've hit people in the legs with newspapers. A couple of times, I've raised my arm to throw a paper and people have thought I was about to hit them. I always feel a little bad. I know the fact that I always run the route and am usually dressed all in black means that people are going to be a bit wary of me, but if I slowed down and dressed all in white I would get home later and look absolutely filthy because of all the black newsprint all over my clothes.

Animals spotted tonight: three skunks, eleven egrets (one of them was partially awake!), and one very large slug (hey, somebody has to notice them).

cds I listened to while scaring people: Hot Buttered Xhol, Empyrium "A Wintersunset...", "Songs of Moors and Misty Fields", and "Where at Night the Wood Grouse Plays", Nordisk Sang - songs of Norway, and Death In June "Burial"

Now: Yoik - a presentation of Saami folk music (they're not kidding either - 195 yoiks, arranged geographically from south to north)

Friday, September 27, 2002

We're now licensed to be married. It only cost us $73. I hope they spend the money well. The haze outside was so thick this afternoon that the foothills were almost entirely obscured. That wouldn't be so bad if they weren't the in-walking-distance foothills. I hope they gain control of that fire soon. I had a dizzy spell coming home tonight too - probably from breathing the particulate-heavy air.

Animals spotted tonight: four egrets, all sleeping. A bunch of turtles. Okay, that's cheating - the turtles weren't out walking around. They were in a tank in the office space adjacent to ours. They were eating little cubes of krill, except for the one I was holding, who looked distressed that he was missing out on dinner time. I put him back quickly so he could join the feast.

cds I played a little more quietly so as not to wake the egrets: Death in June "The Guilty Have No Past", "Night and Fog", and "Oh How We Laughed", American Standard "s/t", and Xhol Caravan "Motherfuckers Live"

Now: Michael Nyman "The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover" soundtrack

Thursday, September 26, 2002

I was on my knees looking for dead bees, and I wasn't finding as many as I had expected to. The live bees were buzzing around my head, probably laughing inwardly at my efforts. The ground beneath the hive entrance used to be full of little bee corpses, due to the fact that bee funerals consist of unceremoniously dumping the deceased out the front door. I have a sneaking suspicion that they have switched their funeral arrangements and now fly the dead up to the inaccessible window ledge fifteen feet above the hive. I've seen countless dead bees outside that window, but cannot reach them. It's all Matt's fault. I'm not even sure what he wants the bees for. I left a cup in the cabinet with a sign on it: PLEASE DEPOSIT DEAD BEES IN CUP. Perhaps others will do my work for me.

The moon is bright, and the hills to the south are still burning. I hardly saw Jen at all today because we both had meetings to go to.

Animals spotted tonight: three skunks, and two egrets (fast asleep in trees)

cds listened to tonight: Strebers "Blod Svett & Tarar" (I don't know Swedish, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the title translates as "Blood, sweat, and tears" They even do a Nazareth cover. There's also a Nazareth cover on the cd Ryan gave me today. Thanks Ryan! One of the first records I ever bought was a Nazareth record. It had a skeletal demon holding a couple of straight-razors on the cover. I think that's why I bought it. My parents HATED it.), Elend "Les Tenebres du Dehors", Thomas Ligotti "This Degenerate Little Town", and Death in June "Kameradschaft"

now, sleepily: Townes Van Zandt "Texas Troubador" disc 3

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

Outside, the moon shines brightly down through a patchwork of white clouds, illuminating them and the landscape below. Stars peek through the breaks in the cloud cover. The eastern horizon is still obscured by smoke.

The new snake ate today. He had been eating small hamsters at his old home, so I was somewhat amused when I was sold a baby hamster at the pet store. I had asked for mice, but for some reason there was a hamster in the mouse cage. I bought a baby mouse too. The snake ate them both. Now he's watching me type this. I hope he doesn't get used to hamsters because I never get them on purpose. The first hamster I ever fed to a snake was given to me for free by a pet store because they figured nobody would buy it due to the fact that it had a nasty compound fracture. One of its leg bones was sticking out, which caused it to make a clicking sound when it walked. The boa I fed it to didn't care. The last time I brought home a hamster it was because it only had one eye. I was going to feed it to my Mangrove snake, but one of my housemates at the time put a stop to that. She got me to buy a cage for it, and all of a sudden my free hamster ended up costing somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty dollars. I can't remember what she named it. I called it "Winky". It lived for a couple of years.

I got pulled over again tonight. That makes it three times since I've started keeping this journal.
"I saw you throw something out your window."
"I saw you see me throw something out my window."
"You understand my concern then?"
"Yeah."

Animals spotted tonight: One large opossum, three skunks, and one egret. Oh, and a bunch of killdeer who like to sleep in the road and fly away peeping angrily when I almost run them over.

cds I listened to while throwing things out my windows: Infernal Proteus disc 4, Elend "Weeping Nights", Death in June "Something is Coming", Tiny Tim "Songs of an Impotent Troubador"

now: Michael Nyman "A Zed and Two Naughts"

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

The moon looked like it had been dipped in blood tonight. It was rising beyond the eastern hills, a couple of days past full (it was full on Jen's birthday) and corn yellow. When I first spotted it between buildings, the bottom sixth of it was grimy red, like an ugly scrape. I found it strangely beautiful.
This effect was caused by a layer of smoke moving northward from a fire down in the Morgan Hill area. I heard later on the radio that people were being evacuated. As far as I know, it is still burning. It is strange to think that something that can add beauty to the moon is wreaking havoc a few miles away. I'm sure countless lives are being consumed. The fact that they aren't human lives doesn't make them any less important. Every life has an equal right to exist. Being human, it is natural for us to place more importance on the lives of our fellow humans than on other life forms, but we're just one species among many. Fire doesn't discriminate.
The whole thing could have been started by something as simple as a smoldering cigarette butt. Is it too hard to extinguish and properly dispose of the damn things? What kind of ignoramus throws a lit cigarette out a car window without a thought about the possible consequences? Do I even have to answer that one? I participated in a beach cleanup a number of years ago and the most common item collected was... you guessed it - cigarette butts. It's bad enough that people smoke the damn things without throwing them all over the place. I wish I'd kept those garbage bags full of cigarette butts. It would have been fun to mail them back to the tobacco companies. Better yet, we could sneak in and stuff their water coolers full of them.
There are laws that make other companies responsible for their hazardous materials from "cradle to grave". I can't think of many things more hazardous than tobacco. I'd like to see all of those damn executives out there on the beaches in their nice suits, picking up cigarette butts with their soft little hands. I can see it now: their comb-overs are hanging in their faces, their ties are dragging in the sand, and the veins are standing out in their foreheads.

How's that for a runaway train of thought?

cds I listened to out under the bloody moon: Light Rain "Dream Dancer", and Infernal Proteus compilation, discs 1 to 3 (the dandelion wine should arrive soon)

currently, as I finish up my mushroom juice: Townes Van Zandt "Texas Troubador" disc two.

Monday, September 23, 2002

Friday found all five of us high in the Santa Cruz mountains for Lexy's school day camp. Jen got to do the same kind of work I do at the museum - facilitate activities for small children. Lexy, being one of the small children, did activities. Nathan, being an even smaller child, wandered off a lot. Sophie, being downright tiny, went dirt surfing. Of course, I had to help her dirt surf, which entailed holding her hands and running down a small dusty slope with her, letting her feet drag in the dirt. She made me do this again and again until my back hurt. Then we did it some more. We all got home dirty and tired.
The next day we all went off to the renaissance faire with our moms. It was Jen's birthday, and Lexy got Jason to buy flowers for her hair. Lexy got to be St. George in a play. Nathan wandered off a lot. Lexy and I, for a nominal fee, threw tomatos at a privateer, but didn't hit him. Our moms got tired out and went home early. Jason and Stacy took the kids on a ride so Jen and I could get a bit of time to ourselves. I bought a shirt to wear at the wedding, and an interesting reed instrument that sounds like the bastard child of a crumhorn and a bagpipe. Jen bought some cool paper. We got some incense too. Wearing renaissance costumes while talking on a cell phone is a bit incongruous. I reflected on the fact that many people seem to spend a lot of time escaping from the present. The distant past and the distant future can be romanticized quite easily. When past and future collide, they create the roadkill that is the present. Deep. We all got home dirty and tired.
These two days just whipped by, and it always seems that Jen and I don't get enough time to just be together. It really is all about the kids. Sunday, when the kids were at their dad's, we could have had a day together, but I ended up on an OAC related mission to Felton, hiking into the woods in the company of Matt and Greg, with musical instruments in tow. A fly flew up Greg's nose. I laughed. A fly flew down my throat. I spent five minutes trying to cough it back up. Matt inhaled a spider web. We arrived at a suitably isolated spot and sat down to record some "music". My new instument was missing its reed, which meant that it had jumped ship somewhere between Matt's house and the little creekside patch of ferns we had settled down in. We used other instruments. On the way back I found the reed on the trail. Then Matt read his new long story, which has a segment where a large man chokes on a gnat.
I got home too late to spend much time with Jen before the kids got home. Maybe if we can figure out a way to not need sleep. We still have so many things to do in the next month.

cds that I listened to while reflecting on the fact that I have to stop buying so many cds because I really can't afford it: Death In June "Take Care and Control", G.I.S.M. "s/t" (semi-bootleg anthology), Lo'Jo "Au Cabaret Sauvage", Goran Bregovic (another Greek title - you'd think he was Greek. He isn't), and Stellamara "Star of the Sea"

Now: Townes Van Zandt "For the Sake of the Song"

Friday, September 20, 2002

So, no doubt due to my rant yesterday about turning off lights, the power went out earlier. I was at the pet store with the three kids. Sophie was doing her best to wallop the store cat as he tried in vain to sleep on the counter. The woman behind the counter extended me credit for my purchases, since for some reason they didn't have a backup plan for dealing with credit card transactions sans power. We then went home. The hognose snake tried to eat me again. When is he going to learn that he can never get past the top knuckle on my finger? When Jen got home from Whole Foods we all ended up outside, as did a number of other people on the block. Mike, our next-door neighbor, commented that the only good thing about power outages is that they get people out of their houses. I guess it's hard to continue watching TV when the screen is a black square of emptiness (of course, I'm of the opinion that it is always a black square of emptiness, even when there's color and movement). Mike's girlfriend Sue brought out her violin and later her cello. Lexy raided our music basket and brought out a harmonica, drum, and a native american flute. I went in and got a recorder. We sat outside and fiddled around on the instruments. It's the first time I've ever picked up a functioning violin or cello. It was fun. I'm not going to win any awards for my skill anytime in the coming century though. Jen used the time to clean out the van and rake the front yard. Sophie and Nathan used the time to get absolutely soaked in the sprinklers. When we finally went in, we lit a bunch of candles and stressed out about what to eat. I had an apple. Jen had just finished making a bunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when the power came back on. We ate them and blew out the candles.
I still don't know why the power went out. Who cares? It was a break from the routine.

I've seen the same cockroach three nights in a row this week. He stands around on the sidewalk in this apartment complex on Evelyn avenue in Sunnyvale. When I pass by, he hunkers down like he's afraid I'm going to stomp on him. It's horrible what centuries of persecution will do to an insect. I'm sure he's a quivering bundle of nerves every time somebody walks by.

cds I listened to while avoiding the roaches: Earth Trumpet "Roman" (a double cd, but one of them is blank. ???), Operator Generator "s/t", Robert Rich "Seven Veils", Death in June "Heilige!", and Yuri Yunakov Ensemble "New Colors in Bulgarian Wedding Music"

Now: Current 93 "Soft Black Stars" (speaking of weddings...)

Thursday, September 19, 2002

In the early dawn of the human race, people probably spent a lot of time around the communal fire. This afforded them protection as well as warmth. Here in the late afternoon of the human race, we rarely sit around fires. I think the need to do this is still inside us, buried deep in archetypal memory. I always feel at peace when I sit by a fire. Unfortunately, the human race has replaced fire. We now light up the night with electricity. Nearly every building is awash with light, inside and out. Buzzing streetlights, like strange sentinels, line the roads. Billboards scream brightly into the night, selling their wares to nobody. The stars above can usually be counted on the fingers of one hand. The night is so bright that sometimes people forget to turn their headlights on as they drive. It seems to me that this is a stupendous waste of energy. The "authorities" run ads, usually narrated by some precocious little kid, telling us to turn off lights when leaving the room. Why then do CEOs and other business types get away with leaving ALL OF THE LIGHTS ON when they leave for the night? Why do we need to light every corner of the world? Are we still afraid of wild animals attacking and eating us if we stray too far from the fire? Or is it all about our stuff? We're afraid that other people are going to take our stuff, so we bathe our surroundings in bright light and hire people to patrol our business complexes. How sad. Stuff. Not people.
In the residential areas there is just as much light. Added to this is the brightness that flickers behind drawn curtains and sucks the brains out of insomniacs.
I remember driving through Silicon valley one night during a power outage. It was beautiful, like being surrounded by half-seen alien architecture. I wish it would happen more often.

I arrived at one of these brightly lit, multi-storied business complexes earlier this evening at the same time as the New York Times carrier. We tossed our papers up onto the second floor almost in unison, provoking somebody above to bellow like a startled chimp. Some poor janitor, no doubt, caught in a crossfire of the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. At least he didn't throw them back down at us. The fact that all the lights were on is immaterial.

cds I listened to while shielding my eyes against the glare: Mia Doi Todd "The Golden State" (so good that I don't care that it's on a major label and that most of the songs are re-recorded versions of songs from her previous releases), Crisis "We are all Jews and Germans", Tin Hat Trio "The Rodeo Eroded" (the best band we've ever surprised in London), Death in June "Ostenbraun", and Deadweight "Half-wit Anthems"

now: Downriver "Rememory"

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Jen and I got T.B. tests today so that we can work at Lexy's school. Let's hear it for parent participation! ...and not infecting the little ones with tuberculosis. After this, and a bit of whining, we made our way up to Almaden Quicksilver park, which covers a lot of acreage in the nearby foothills. We hiked up a fire trail. The day was clear and blue, with a few clouds here and there. It's been a little cooler this week, but it is by no means cold yet. Sophie was content to be carried for a portion of the hike, but spent a lot of time twisting around in my arms in an attempt to get down. She wanted to forge some new paths down the mountainside, so we had to keep a close eye on her.
We saw a Red-tailed hawk circling over a burned area off to our left as we climbed. It flew over our heads and disappeared up over the trees. The scent of sage, with an undercurrent of bay leaf, was strong in the air. Nathan delighted in kicking up dust. Lexy, after his initial worries about rattlesnakes abated, wanted to get to the top. We went far enough to discover a crossroads, from which several much longer trails branched off into the wilderness. Sophie got down and stumbled around happily. Jen and I breathed in the air and made plans to come back.
On the way down, we discovered a lone tarantula making his slow way across the trail. We knelt down and examined him. He did his best to walk around my hands and be about his business. Sophie tried to get down so she could play too. The tarantula finally made it to the other side of the trail and carefully picked his way into the brown grass. We carefully picked our way back to the van.
Earlier in the day, I had talked to Garth (from Hidden Villa) about spiders. He had found a website that debunked the popularly held notion that daddy longlegs (not really spiders anyway) were highly venomous but lacked sufficient jaw strength to deliver it. They're not venomous. He also said that there have been no confirmed reports of Brown Recluses in the Bay Area. This is good, but it means that the bites that have been attributed to Brown Recluses may be from something else equally nasty. I'm going back to Hidden Villa in a couple of weeks. It has always been a good place to find tarantulas. The small ones are a bit grouchy though. I remember once picking up a smallish tarantula after carefully calming it down. It had been standing on its back legs and showing off its fangs. I had just gotten it calmed down and was holding it in my hand when the school group I had been leading crowded around to get a better look. This scared the tarantula. It resumed it's aggressive posture and began lunging at my palm. This scared the kids. Curiously enough, its fangs never made contact with my skin. It was bluffing! Hell of a way to find out though.

cds that got me through the night: Ani DiFranco "So Much Shouting/So Much Laughter" (has a must-hear poem about 9/11), Elend "Lecons de Tenebres", and G-anx "Flashbacks"

Now, as I finish my tea and blow my nose: Goran Bregovic - dammit, the title is in Greek. Such is life. Note: I resisted saying "it's all Greek to me". oops. No I didn't.

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

It is starting to feel more and more like autumn. I can smell it in the air - a cool, smoky odor. The moon shone down icy bright tonight, fading to a baleful yellow as I headed homeward. I started the evening off by throwing a paper which knocked the plastic cover from a stairwell light, causing it to bounce down the stairs. I never stick around to see if anybody wakes up. That would be silly of me. People who get awakened by clattering on the outside landing are usually grouchy. At least it wasn't glass. Sometimes it takes the building maintenance people weeks to replace them. Every once in awhile I manage to take out the lightbulb too. That's noisy.
Later, I saw a really dedicated landscaping guy doing some midnight watering. He must have had some sort of self-contained water supply because I didn't see a hose. He acted furtively when he saw me, like he didn't want me to see his secret water supply. I'm sure that hedge benefitted from his attentions though.
The skunks were out in force as well. It seemed as if every other lawn had one. They like to root around in the grass for food. I had a sudden wish for a skeleton key so I could let them into the nearby office buildings. It sure would liven up the day for those poor diurnal drudges. It makes me wonder where all of those skunks go when the sun comes up. It's a pretty developed area. I suppose they occasionally give somebody a funny surprise.
I didn't drink a soda at one in the morning like I usually do. I've become so reliant on caffeine that I don't always know when I'm tired. The older I get, the more the idea of putting chemicals (like the kind found in diet soda) into my body bothers me. I'm not even sure if I even enjoy drinking the stuff. It's just a habit. Like a lot of the things I ingest, I take them for granted. Ramble ramble ramble.

cds I listened to while drinking water: Amber Asylum "The Supernatural Parlour Collection", Death In June presents Occidental Martyr, Townes Van Zandt "Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas", Death In June "The Wall of Sacrifice", and v/a Death in June/Der Blutharsch/Forseti/Non cd that was given away at some show in Europe but since I wasn't at said show was purchased by me for too much money and I'm not sure if it was really worth it.

Currently smelling one of those autumn scented candles and listening to: Kayah/Bregovic

Monday, September 16, 2002

Greg and I went south this weekend for the annual Monterey world music festival. This year's festival was given the title of "Global Consonances" and was supposed to "promote cultural awareness through music". It also, it turned out, helped promote patience through understanding that portable generators are often unreliable. But enough griping. I was happy to see that not only was there intercultural awareness being promoted, but interspecies awareness as well. Take, for example, the guy sitting in front of us. He was a fly. I don't know why he decided to sit in one of the folding chairs. Perhaps he wanted to show that we're all in this together. He showed extreme patience during the power outages that made the Yuri Yunakov Ensemble become unwillingly acoustic at several points during their show. He probably appreciated the fact that the accordian player looked (and sounded) like an extra from an Emir Kusturica film. He had to have enjoyed the frenetic Balkan wedding music that the Ensemble produced.
In addition to the fly, there were a number of caterpillars in attendance. They jostled for prime seats in the trees above us. This, unfortunately, often resulted in somebody losing his or her grip on a branch and tumbling onto the human audience. I narrowly missed having a bit of extra protein in my drink. Maybe they kept falling because they were dancing. Who knows?
The fly waited patiently for the second band (the dubiously monikered Lo'Jo) to begin. They started their set, but the power went out and stayed out. To add insult to injury, some woman sat down on the fly's chair, nearly squashing him. He made it to the edge of the chair and spent a couple of minutes deciding what to do. He finally resigned himself to the fact that he would have to sit somewhere else, and flew away.
After about an hour, which we spent putting more money in the meter and watching a large seal trounce a hapless fish while fending off seagulls, Lo'Jo resumed their set. A new generator had been brought from somewhere. One of the musicians had a cute little instrument that looked like the bastard offspring of a violin and a tambourine. He played it with a bow that resembled the letter "D". There were also Koras, violins, contrabass, drums, male and female vocals, and an assortment of keyboards. I hope the fly found another vantage point from which to take it all in.
Then of course there was Garmarna, and like the little dancing girl said: they rocked. The light was fading and it was getting cold. The fog was drifting in. The hurdy gurdy wailed in protest. More caterpillars lost their footing. Little girls danced. Old new-agers danced. Emma was wearing a superman shirt. Her vocals and stage presence were serene, in counterpoint to the less than serene antics of her bandmates. The descending darkness, lonesome flying birds, and encroaching fog provided a perfect backdrop. Further description is needless. Go buy their cds.

Speaking of cds: The Gaia "777 (1991-1997)", Joanne Shenandoah "s/t", Neko Case "Canadian Amp", Death In June "Discriminate", and Kemialliset Ystavat "Suurempi Pieni Palatsi"

Now: Jim O'Rourke "Tamper"

Friday, September 13, 2002

At first, Mr. Policeman wanted to know why I was driving in circles. I explained to him the logistics of following a route, which occasionally makes it look like I'm doubling back on myself. He seemed somewhat satisfied by this answer. Then, as he handed back my license, he told me to watch for other cars and use my turn signals. That made me mad. I always use my turn signals, even if I don't see any other cars. It's like Mr. Policeman had a little script he was reading from. I told him, "I was using my turn signals."
His response was, "well, uh, kinda slow down, alright?"
What flabby way of trying to get a point across! Does the inclusion of the word "kinda" mean I should slow down some of the time but not always? Maybe it means I have the option of slowing down should I decide I'm getting tired of speeding. Or maybe I should drive like the kid who was in my high school drivers ed. class. This kid, who was a bit more nervous than the rest of us, had a unique way of driving. He would alternate between the gas pedal and the brake pedal in such a fashion that the car would jolt down the street like a scared lizard. Stopstartstopstartstop. Maybe this is what "kinda slow down" means. I think I'll try it. I'll send the bill for my brakes to the police station.

cds I kinda listened to while I kinda drove fast and kinda used my turn signals: Warfare "Metal Anarchy: the best of...", Dead Can Dance "Into the Labyrinth" and "Within the Realm of a Dying Sun", Drawn "Plan Be", and Tiny Tim "Live in London"

Now: Gabriel Yared "Map of the Human Heart" soundtrack

Thursday, September 12, 2002

I accidently used the term "vacant lot" the other day as we passed a small corner of land that had all the symptoms of imminent development. Then I remembered that any patch of ground that boasts flora (no matter how scraggly and yellow) and fauna (no matter how small and chitinous) is never truly vacant. When developers come in and tear all of the existing life out so they can plop down some cookie-cutter condo or office building, the lot goes from being full of life to a state that more nearly reflects my interpretation of the word "vacant". All of the fields I played in as a child are now vacant. More of them disappear everyday. What can we do? I think one clever thing we could do is to fill all of the remaining fields with owls. I'm not just talking any owls here. I'm talking Burrowing owls. Burrowing owls are a threatened species. Environmental Impact Reports have to be filed for new developments. Building on land that houses threatened species is a big no-no. Of course, this isn't a realistic plan of action. Being a threatened species, Burrowing owls shouldn't be hustled all over the place on a whim. Instead, we could collect some owl pellets, and dig some "owl" holes on sites in danger of enforced vacancy. I like the idea of a condo being nixed because of a few clumps of hair, bone, and owl spit. It could happen...

cds I listened to on a night that started out pretty darn Indian and later on became less so: Buffy Sainte-Marie "Best of...Vol.2", John Trudell "Johnny Damas and Me", Flux of Pink Indians "Not So Indian", and Dead Can Dance "Toward the Within"

now, as I try once again to get this darn computer to behave: Angelo Badalamenti "La Cite des Enfants Perdus" soundtrack

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

Jen and I braved the wilds of East San Jose today to get some fabric for her wedding dress. We were joined by Jen's mom and Jane (who used to live in the room I'm typing this in and is making the dress). The man at the counter undercharged us. It wasn't until we were headed back home that one of the area's notorious elderly christian women attempted to do us in. She tried to run us off the road, which no doubt was a prelude to some sort of further assault. We'll never know. Her nefarious plan failed. This attempt on our lives left me both frustrated and glad. I was frustrated that the horn doesn't work, and glad that the kids weren't in the van to hear the wildly inappropriate language I used. Another disturbing thing about these thuggish individuals is their complete lack of remorse. At the next stoplight I tried to make eye-contact with her. What did she do? She coldly looked away, as if we were beneath her notice. Such evil must be stopped!

The second near miss came much later on, and involved a possum. The little fellow must have been concentrating really hard. I could tell by the way his tail was curled up. They only do that when wrapping their brains around extremely vexing problems. My slamming on the brakes and swerving didn't even break his concentration. He just kept on toddling across the street without even acknowledging me.

On a different subject - A co-worker mentioned that he had been pulled over because his car was throwing up sparks. He didn't have to tell me why. I remember my car doing that once. If you don't change your tires often enough, they get bald. If you continue to ignore them, the metal tread sticks out and, when it comes into contact with the asphalt, causes sparks. If a person were that bald, there would be bits of skull showing through.

On a more serious note: In a few more hours it will have been exactly a year since I was awakened by Jen knocking on my window to tell me that the World Trade center was burning. A lot of people died that day. These people were doing their jobs. Unfortunately, other people, who aren't doing their jobs very well, used this tragedy as an excuse to kill even more people. Now they are arguing that even more people need to be killed. I guess the term "cycle of violence" doesn't mean much to those in charge.
I've got more to say but I'll stop there for now. Just remember that the life of an Afghani civilian is no less precious than that of a U.S. civilian. ...or anyone else, for that matter. Why do so many people seem to think otherwise, and what the hell is wrong with them?
I was amused to learn today that they've put Cheney back into hiding, but they're letting the Bush stay visible. Oh, and the Florida Bush's daughter was caught with crack. If I were her, I'd probably be smoking crack too.

On a less serious note: Somebody made Bubba Ho-Tep into a movie! It played at the Toronto film festival! I heard all about it on the radio. They announced the plot summary thusly: Elvis fighting a mummy in a nursing home in Texas. Bubba Ho-Tep! The movie! Joe R. Lansdale is a great man.

cds I listened to while avoiding possums: Buffy Sainte-Marie "Little Wheel Spin and Spin", Diamond Head "Singles", Plasmatics "Coup de Grace", and Flag of Democracy "Hate Rock"

now: Jorunn Vidar "Unglingurinn I Skoginum"

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

As I left the house this evening, there was an enormous crescent moon descending in the northwest. It was one of those nights where you could see the outline of the whole moon behind the glare of the crescent. It looked like a celestial fingernail. It's made of cheese. We all know that.
Cheese is one of my comfort foods. Sometimes I feel that a meal isn't really a meal unless it has cheese. My other main comfort foods are ice cream and coffee. I could say pizza too, but that would be like putting cheese on the list twice. Comfort foods bring ritual into our lives. It elevates eating to a level that doesn't have anything to do with nourishment. Of course, one could argue that foods like ice cream and coffee don't have anything to do with nourishment no matter how you look at them. I wish that I could latch onto a comfort food of higher nutritional value. Does that ever happen? Maybe I should train myself to ingest avocados in times of duress. Perhaps I could wolf down a salad every night before going to work.
My pets have developed some interesting food preferences. The iguana ate some of Lexy's leftover chicken today, while ignoring the much more wholesome peas on the plate next to it. The Water monitor ate most of a piece of toast a couple of weeks ago. The millipede will scrape dead skin off of human hands and eat it. Yum! Crickets will do that too. It's a very interesting feeling to have a cricket perched on the tip of your finger, chewing on the accumulated grime under your fingernail. When I was a kid I had an Anole who liked those little pink and white after-dinner mints.

Speaking of rituals and comfort, Sophie has a comfort corner. Whenever she's upset about something, I take her to this corner where one wall has a mirror and the other has a picture of myself, Jen, and Sophie. All I have to do is ask, "where's Sophie?" and she calms down and starts pointing. She'll either point to her reflection or to the picture. Jen says it works because it's something I always do. It has become a calming ritual. ...and it's much healthier than eating ice cream or twinkies or cookies.

...and speaking of food:

Cat sits by the food bowl and waits. Perhaps somebody will drop new food into it. Here comes somebody now. Does he have food. No, alas! It is the Crazy Running Guy. Cat has forgotten. Almost every night the Crazy Running Guy comes running up and throws something at Cat. Cat does not know what he throws. Crazy Running Guy always misses and the object always lands on the landing two stories above Cat. Cat does not take chances. He always runs away from his food bowl. He hopes that Crazy Running Guy does not steal his food. Even though the food is old, it is still Cat's food, and he is protective of it. So far, Crazy Running Guy has left Cat's food alone, but one never knows... Cat wishes that Crazy Running Guy would slow down and not throw things. Just looking at all of that activity makes Cat tired.

cds I listened to while stuffing my face with great ginger snap cookies and feeling comforted: Mirror "Solaris" (thanks Troy!), Dead Can Dance "Spiritchaser", Amber Asylum "The Natural Philosophy of Love", and Laibach "Rekapitulacija"

cd I'm listening to while finishing my tea: Hector Zazou "Songs from the Cold Seas"

Monday, September 09, 2002

Weekends are like mirages. You can see them at a distance, but when you get up close: poof! they vanish. Now it's monday again. I can smell autumn in the air - brown grass, falling leaves, and woodsmoke. The Transit Rider has come and gone (for now, anyway) and has left smiles and a couple of misappropriated rails in its wake. Maybe it will return in January and in June. Friday night, on the way home, I heard a stumble-tongued radio announcer mistakenly refer to the town of Milpitas as "Milpenis". I'll bet he's still living that one down. Some people never graduate from high school even though they graduate from high school, if you catch my drift.

Today was my last day at the museum for a couple of weeks. They're shutting down for their annual renovations. The Alice in Wonderland exhibit is traveling on to another town, only to be replaced by "that horrible Arthur exhibit". Boing! is coming back as well. The last time it was here I sliced open my finger while preparing supplies for the craft part of the exhibit. I left a trail of blood through the museum and they made me go get stitches. I couldn't even get away from it while on vacation. Greg and I went into the Austin children's museum and there it was, mocking me. On the bright side, the new water exhibit should be finished sometime next year.
I brought the python today. He fell asleep under the honeysuckle arbor.

cds I listened to so I didn't have to hear pottymouth radio announcers: Sylvi Alli "Too Near the Ghosts", Ramona the Pest "Little Knives", Current 93 "Maldoror is Dead", Amber Asylum "Frozen in Amber", Low "Paris '99 - Anthony Are You Around?" (thanks Matt!), and Dead Can Dance "A Passage in Time"

now: Zbigniew Preisner "The Decalogue" Melancholy and beauty are one and the same... if done right.

Friday, September 06, 2002

"Perilous to us all are the devices of an art deeper than we possess ourselves"

Gandalf

We'd better listen to him. He's a wizard. Wizards know more than us. Of course, I'm being hypocritical. I'm typing this on a computer, and earlier I was out driving around in my car. The devices of most things I use are beyond my understanding.

And now onto other things. Sophie has a new(ish) game which involves grabbing noses. You have to make a honking sound while she's clutching your nose. This is pure comedy. Of course, she's also amused by flailing wildly at faces. We try not to act amused by this one. We don't want to encourage violence. On the positive side, she knows how to kiss now. This is accomplished by opening her mouth really wide, and diving at your face.

And finally, the further adventures of Cat:

Cat must guard excavation project. He sits in parking lot and thinks about who or what would want to interrupt excavation. Excavation is being handled by Skunk. Cat feels somewhat redundant. Skunk is pretty good at guarding things on his own. Maybe Skunk requires assistance because while his head is in the hole he can't see potential trouble.
Neither animal knows that the hole is being dug in the lawn of the office frequented by a man with the unfortunate name of Butts. Butts, when he arrives at work, will probably wonder where the hole came from. Butts has probably never seen Skunk. Skunk, like all reasonable animals, sleeps during the day.

Cds listened to while pondering the cryptic words of wizards: Danielle Dax "Blast the Human Flower", The Fixtures "Devil's Playground" and "One Crisis Short of Chaos", Buffy Sainte-Marie "Quiet Places", Eleni Karaindrou "Eternity and a Day", Cybele "Songs of Soil" and Destruction "All Hell Breaks Loose"

Currently wondering if I'm related to: Popol Vuh "Tantric Songs/Hosianna Mantra"

Thursday, September 05, 2002

Cat must go to the place where the rats frolic up and down the handrails and dance on the welcome mats. One last obstacle remains. The light is red. Cat waits. The light turns green. Cat steps into the crosswalk and starts walking fast. The little red hand is blinking. Cat walks faster. The light turns yellow, then red. Cat isn't all the way across yet. Cars start to move. Cat turns around and runs back to the corner. Cat sits down on the corner and waits patiently for the light to turn green again.

Cds Cat didn't listen to: Coroner "Grin", Cruachan "The Middle Kingdom" and "Ride On", Neko Case "Blacklisted" (Jen would like this one. I'll have to play it for her), Cybele "Brightly Blackhearted", Damon & Naomi "Playback Singers", and Danielle Dax "Timber Tongue"

and here I am typing away and listening to: irr. app. (ext.) "ozeanische Gefuhle"

I think it worries the frog.

Wednesday, September 04, 2002

They're going to release some California condors at the Pinnacles National Monument. Hooray! Every time I see any kind of animal in the wild, it nourishes my spirit. That applies double for birds with 9-foot wingspans and a preference for rotting flesh. I'm glad that through the efforts of captive breeding programs they're maintaining a toe-hold on existence.
I saw a possum tonight. They don't look both ways before crossing the road. I remember once spilling a perfectly good soda into my lap while braking to avoid crushing one of these single-minded little creatures. I got to thinking about it, though, and realized that no animals, present company excepted, look both ways before crossing the street. That would explain why roadkill is most often of the four-legged variety. What is it then about possums that makes me remark that they don't look both ways? It's like they're concentrating on a point about six inches in front of their beady little eyes. They're concentrating so hard on this point that the rest of the world becomes a secondary concern. Why they do this I do not know.
A while back I almost hit a possum with a newspaper. He got so pissed off that he charged at my car. I must have broken his concentration. Maybe he was on the verge of some epiphany, and I came along and wrecked it all for him with my careless newspaper tossing.

cds that I played a little softer than usual so as not to disturb the possums: Songs: Ohia "Ghost Tropic", Eleni Karaindrou "Ulysses' Gaze", Coroner "s/t", and Annbjorg Lien "Aliens Alive"

Now, still quietly: R. Carlos Nakai "Canyon Trilogy"

Tuesday, September 03, 2002

One of the first places many children share is around a public train table. The tracks are glued down, and all of the cool Thomas the Tank Engine trains are already missing. The amount of cars each child is allowed is three. Many children are used to having exlusive playing rights to all of their toys. Here at the train table they learn that this is not always so. Many become stricken with shock and react with red-faced, screaming tantrums when they are asked to share. At this stage positive parent involvement is crucial.
I was talking to a couple of parents today who related to me a disturbing story. A mom at another museum not only had been spotted not requiring her child to share, but being actively involved in increasing his horde of train cars. The other kids stood around with no trains, or at most, maybe one, while this kid hauled his enormous train around the tracks. The effects of this kind of parenting on a young person could be disasterous.
I got to thinking that maybe George Bush's parents let him horde trains, and their parents before them probably did the same thing. It's a vicious cycle, if not broken by some strong individual. If it is extrapolated out to an international level, it becomes downright scary. The U.S. already has most of the world's supply of trains, but is constantly stealing trains from others. We took all the trains from Central America, and Afghanistan, and it looks like we're about to go back into Iraq to grab their last few trains (The ones that the big Bush left behind last time). I think the big Bush has been letting that one really bother him. He really likes his trains, and his impressionable youngster wants to make daddy happy.

A train in the hand is worth everything to a Bush. Is that how the old saying goes?

And why the hell does the Early Childhood Center at my museum have a children's book written by Dick Cheney's wife? That scares me. I didn't dare actually read it, but I bet it's all about how to take trains from other kids.

written to the tune of : Tiny Tim "Songs of an Impotent Troubadour" Of course.
I drew the tree for our wedding invitation today. Lexy came in with some paper of his own and we spent some time sitting on the bed and drawing together. He was drawing a sky, a process which necessitated sharpening and re-sharpening the blue pencil. I was drawing a tree; twin-trunked and evergreen. Jen is going to do the layout over the next couple of days. Lexy had a good time just sitting and drawing with me, even if he's a little down on himself over his artistic abilities. I told him I'd had longer to practice. I also showed him an Andy Goldsworthy book that I'd picked up over the weekend. I wanted to point out that there are other kinds of art besides drawing and painting. He seemed really impressed. It's good to see him stop bouncing off the walls for a minute and do something relaxing. He told me that he wants to be three things when he grows up: an architect, a rock star, and a paperboy. It's interesting how kids don't really differentiate between jobs based on the perceived status of their various choices. I know, of course, he said "paperboy" because that's one of the jobs I do. When I was his age, I wanted to drive bulldozers. This gave way to a desire to become a paleontologist. I also wanted to mount an expedition to search for the Loch Ness Monster. I even had a list of people (since forgotten) who I wanted to take with me. I wonder how many people actually grow up to have the jobs they dreamed about as kids? Who knows? At any rate, it was good to have a little one on one time with Lexy. He's at his best under these circumstances. We'll have to do it more often, if we can.

I saw two skunks tonight. Both of them ran from me. This is good. Once, when Matt and I were sneaking around in Coyote Hills, a skunk, irate at our intrusion, chased us. It's tail was up, and it was running sideways in its eagerness to douse us with skunk juice. I'm glad most skunks are more sensible than this.

cds I listened to while being careful not to run over skunks: Sol Invictus "Brugge" (mine came with a coaster!), Eleni Karaindrou "Music for Films", Stoa "Zal", Dalbello "Whore", and Damon & Naomi "More Sad Hits"

The room is currently awash with the sounds of: Christoph Heemann - in Concert, March 6th, 1999, Tonic, NYC

Monday, September 02, 2002

The map showed that the road Chad and I were following continued in a straight line. We began to doubt the veracity of this as the asphalt ended, and the rutted dirt path began. The dirt slowly turned to mud as we progressed. Above us, some of the gray sky drifted down in soft mist. Around us, the mute landscape was dotted with shacks and the rusted hulks of old automobiles. We finally decided that we had made a wrong turn and backtracked, bumping back onto the asphalt and taking a left at the first intersection. A short while later, we arrived at the expected intersection. The map makers had just depicted an ironed-out version of the road, not deeming it worthwhile to indicate some bends and turns that seemed pretty major to us. I guess we shouldn't have been too surprised.
We turned left and headed deeper into the morning quiet of the Pine Ridge reservation. We arrived at our destination soon afterwards. The monument we pulled up next to was a simple, green roadside plaque, describing the massacre at Wounded Knee - a massacre that was just one more example of what fear and greed can provoke. We spent some time reflecting on the past, and more time reflecting on the present. Across the street and up a slight hill was a small graveyard. We walked up to it and along the small rows of overgrown graves. The world was quiet. The world was very quiet here.
Back down by the monument, if monument it can be called, another car pulled up, and a man got out to read about what fear does to people. We approached him as we angled back towards my car. He snapped out of his reverie and looked at us.
"It kind of makes you ashamed to be an American," he said with a last glance at the sign.
"I've never been proud to be an American," replied Chad.

What is it with the whole concept of being "proud" to be an American? I thought pride was what a person feels when looking back on some sort of accompishment. How many of us had to work at being Americans? That would only apply to people who immigrate here from other countries. The bumper stickers and t-shirts would be more truthful if they read "grateful to be American". Catch-phrases, slogans, and tattered flags on antennas seem to have replaced thought and compassion. It's really too bad. The concept of accountability is also very obviously among the missing. Maybe it's buried in a small grave somewhere, along with patience and reverence. And countless others.

and no, struggling in the birth canal doesn't count as work.

Music strengthens the spirit...and provides a soundtrack for my words: Maja Elliott "Truth"