Times gone by

Yellow and red and sunny have been replaced by grey and white and snowy. This is a view from last month of the famous Tension Envelopes factory building. I do not know what tension envelopes are, and I rather like my delusion that they are the manila ones offices use over and over, "sealing" them temporarily with the coated rubber band that winds around the grommetted flat card circles on the body and flap.*

You won't find better rhetoric on any blog. Where else but the ID-confirmation random letter generator dialogue box can you find such gems as "grommetted flat card circles on the body and flap?"

Incidentally, the word grommet is from 1626, has French origins and is not a verb or adjective.

I first learned the word when I was 18 and sewing costumes for "Much Ado About Nothing," produced in the subterranean Shattered nightclub, which smelled always of skunks and was painted black. It's a coffee shop now and quite clean and bright, in Columbia, Missouri.**

You may find that my punctuation seems different. You also may not find it, I could care less.

I am going though a grammatical mid-life crisis.

I learned something that must have always been but that I have never noticed in my reading: both a trusted English use guide and the Associated Press style manual dictate that it is necessary to place a comma after the name of a state, when the state (even abbreviated) is preceded by one of its cities (from which the word is separated there by another comma, the one I know well).

So, if I write, "Let's go to St. Louis, Missouri, for Christmas," that's the way it should appear. It seems preposterously ponderous and unnecessary.

I am using the dictionary more and more, it seems. I used to know how to spell certain words without having to look them up. But who is to say that grommet has two "m's" or only one "t?" English is a messy business. It's no wonder we all speak so abominably.


*Well, now of course I know what they make there; I had to look. I was right, it was not some industrial item no one but those in some specific manufacturing situation has ever heard of. I do not like their logo.
**I guess they reconstituted themselves; it used to be on a street, perhaps Cherry, perpendicular to Broadway.

I see

That it our efforts to purchase a vehicle are going to be delayed once again.

Walking to work led me to the conclusion that Public Works does not care about pedestrians.

No, I did not fall. I do not want to be like my friend who cracked her laptop monitor in pieces, but it's discouraging to have to walk so slowly, picking through crunchy ice, invisible glaze, snowpack and clear pavement.

Saturday, husband and I celebrated his birthday. We were going to play on the Metro, but the freezing rain lured us to use the 196,345-mile Camry. It's oil leakage has induced Greenpeace protestors to come to our house recently with their pickets and puns. I'm not kidding. We gave it a quart at noon, drove 18 blocks to Anthony's for unhealthy indulgence, then to Historic Northeast where the Mosaic Brain guys were hosting a holiday art sale, then up Chouteau Trafficway, across the bridge and to Target. After the fourth and fifth window-scraping, we gave it two more quarts and then headed home in the dark. The windshield, however, was lightened with smeared salt the ever-ineffectual wiper blades missed. There was not enough precipitation, really, to keep the windows clear, and the spray function has not worked for a decade perhaps.

By the time we were back down on Independence Avenue, the oil light was flickering to a meek shine every time we stopped for a light or traffic or to smear snow on the stupid window.

By six o'clock tonight, we're supposed to be feeling paranoid about our power lines and travel.

Saturday was also when my friend's furnace went out; it was about 17ºF in Lawrence, Kan., and it was 82ºF in Houston, Texas, where my brother's air conditioner froze up twice and failed.

"An ice storm warning means severe winter weather conditions are expected or occurring. Significant amounts of ice accumulations will make travel dangerous or impossible. Travel is strongly discouraged. Commerce will likely be severely impacted. If you must travel, keep an extra flashlight, food, and water in your vehicle in case of an emergency. Ice accumulations and winds will likely lead to snapped power lines and falling tree branches that add to the danger."

Still cheaper than a church

It was indeed "over five years ago" that the Kansas City Parks and Recreation Commissioners increased the fee to have a wedding in the Loose Park rose garden, as we paid $150 in May 2003. Before that, it had only been $75.

They're raising it again to $300 for the guaranteed four-hour access.

Of course, they have you sign something that says they really can't stop other people from coming through the park during your wedding anyway. They only promise someone else won't be having their wedding at the same time.

The paper reports that the fee was already $250. Perhaps I should check my records. My memory says $150.

Happy December

Today, I guess, we're supposed to be grateful if we don't have AIDS and mindful that bunches of people, most of them poor and in Africa, do. World AIDS Day. I can't say anything nice about it, except that I wonder if all diseases will someday have a day. World Cancer Day. World Diabetes Day. World Depression Day. Just kidding. I am also not going to say anything researched or profound about efforts going on to help people with AIDS or how we can get involved. Still, just thinking about it, seeing the notation on the calendar, doesn't do much, does it?

Mmm, whale

The Japanese can be so honest at times and yet so silly. I remember hearing an immigration official tell me it was for my safety that the doors of the car I was riding in could not be opened from the inside. Yes, captives get strange notions about how to safely tuck and roll off an island highway at 90 kph, to be sure.

Cultural captives also can be persuaded to indulge in something illegal or immoral, such as the eating of whale meat, raw, red and lovely.

It was a few days before I was leaving Japan after my year of teaching there. How can you stick by your own culture and convictions when someone is offering you a delicasy out of respect, something you'll never have the chance to taste again?

What if it had been human flesh?

Remember how much trouble the earth was in in Star Trek IV when the humpbacks were gone? We western humans with liberal educations, especially those who grew up during the dolphin-safe tuna movement, tend to feel Cetaceans to be thinking and emotional beings.

Yet, I ate some. It was the best meat I ever had, guilt notwithstanding, so I can understand the attraction.

It's totally bogus that Japanese scientists need to kill off 50 humpbacks in order to conduct research, but what if someone told you that cow was endangered and you couldn't ever eat it again?

Alright already!

I'm stopping.

I knew it would only take a couple of "Supersize Me" factoids to settle the score.

My LDL-raising experiment is officially over.

You can have all the saturated fat you should have in a day just by eating whatever the heck kind of meat is in two McDonald's Sausage Biscuits. Whoa.

And woe.

Many days late

And many dollars short.

I seem to have been born a little too late.

First the chicken pox vaccine, then the HPV vaccine and now this.

Wow, I could have gone ivy:

"Parents in families with incomes of less than $60,000 will no longer be expected to contribute to the cost of their children attending Harvard. In addition, Harvard will reduce the contributions of families with incomes between $60,000 and $80,000."

Of course, then my accent would be all screwed up. Whew, dodged a big one there!

Precious Space

Having just moved (mostly, don't ask - literal nightmares are wearing me down) from 900 square feet to 2,200 (deemed reliable but not guaranteed) and facing having to buy more fossil fuels to keep it "tolerable" in the Midwestern climate, plus continue to power computers, a fridge (new=efficient? we did not choose it, doubt it's an Energy Star), a water heater (not tankless, again, another predetermined choice), etc., this spatial comparison from Daily Dose of Architecture is "isn't that something?"

And we believe as a household of only two humans, one cat and six birds (latter use very little energy!) that we're justified. This size of home is "supposed" to have kids in it, I guess. But that would make it less efficient – more lights on, more flushing, more bathing and dish/clothes-washing – wouldn't it?

Sanity

If one can "possess" a tree, then this one would be "ours."

The colors of all the winter-readying deciduous branching things
(and the fact that it's sunny enough to appreciate them)
is about the only thing keeping me from losing it.

Also the fact that I can see things like this on my way to work:

No, not the construction fence, or downtown or the sky.
My poor photography has made this hawk, six feet off the ground and across from
Parade Park Homes, somewhat like Bigfoot, but s/he's there.

How

I am involved with a group of generally post-immigrant white-ish people who make me giggle:

COPY: We will have next year's picnic at George Owens Nature Park on Saturday, October 11, 2008.

THIS MAKES ME GIGGLE, TOO: Delete Reply Forward Spam Move...

[Ah, computer adendums - adendi?]

HINT: Don't get involved with those who use Native American names, unless they are from here more genetically than thou.

It appears again free Internet is within my domestic grasp. It's interesting. I think if I was beaming wireless, I would password it. Of course, given its user name, it may be seasonal.

Our first siren. Ah.

T.V. sans cable works well, too.

Of course, there are about 90 cable connections in the box outside; the wired phone shows evidence of tons of residents with individual accounts.

This iMac battery is not that which it was cracked up to be. It was not obvious at all that the person who sold the item to me at my request had no clear idea or fact for battery life. Sigh.

It is all about the sigh, isn't it?

Four score and seven

. . .boxes of books. . . .

Three flights of stairs down. . . two flights of stairs up. . . .

Most of them are unpacked. More than 200 cubic feet of paper is waiting on the floor for the furniture.

These are estimates.

We are waiting on receiving one from Angel the electrician.

We are taking bets on the December MGE bill. Prizes include . . .

books. . . .

I was right

They were "there," but the building was not opened (by another party who was late) until 10:30.

I had left at 10:20, from 9:45.

There were no messages at the office and the phone number for him was not a cell.

He said he had called. Doesn't help me much.

Now, when we are in the middle of Big Moving Day, I will have to shift my brain and spent two or more hours giving a hoot about others.

Hoot! Hoot!

Contrast

I couldn't find the kids at all. Doors locked. No children in sight.

Diane passed her GRE, so all is well.

Faux Cruel Fate

What could be sadder than having to give up sleeping in on a quiet, rainy Saturday morning to go sit at a Kaplan computer, agonizing over algebraic "tricks," writing statements persuasively about bland, vague subjects, and hoping your brain can function as well as an electronic dictionary so you can determine whether "palliate" and "exacerbate" are indeed antonyms?

Right now I could be taking the GRE. My friend is doing it, and I stopped studying over a month ago when I realized I a) was not all that capable of learning math all over again, as if from scratch; b) didn't need it for the degree I want.

(Besides, I took it 11 years ago, on paper, when the analytical section was made of puzzles and not writing, and I did very well in vocabulary, decently in "thinking," and adequately in the math. I was so much older then, and I'm younger than that now. So, no, I really don't want to go through it again. Diane is a heroine.)

As for me, instead of sleeping here in the dark with the cat and/or my husband and/or a book, I will go out into the rain, put on a cheery disposition and meet some 15 or so track club kids, some of whom have qualified for or participated in some kind of Junior Olympics, I think.

Rah, rah, city kids, have you any pull?
Yes, ma'am, yes, ma'am, we'll summon you.

What would Charlie Brown do?

Redeemed

Biblio Boy is back from the low lands of "never post" and with a new theme. Knowing what I do of him, his zest for all things TV and theatre should keep his blog (if not as fresh as poppin' daily bread) quite tasty.

Read about a favorite show of ours, "Kitchen Nightmares," plus a candid review of "Bad Dates," now playing at the Copaken Stage downtown.

(On the other hand, I've had to demote Mad Brown Woman, whom I miss but I guess is just way too busy being an MD now or being scrupulously ethical to post anymore. Or, maybe she's found the love of her life!)

Dark

There is a design flaw in MacBook, that the keyboard does not have a glow feature, so that you can write at night without having to sear out your pupils, shorten your times between visits to the optometrist staring at a screen that's too bright, as dim as it will go, as the stupid instinct - typing teachers of our past would call it a reprehensible habit - to keep glancing down at the keys can't be suppressed.

Actually, I'm doing quite well without the crutch.

There was a time when I could not do numbers or trust where the delete key was without looking.

I want to be asleep.

It should kick in in a couple of hours when I should get up.

Last night, there was little sleep. Too nervous and then too annoyed by the four hours of hovering police helicopters.

It's not nice to complain about something others deal with more frequently.

It's not quite a combat zone, here, yet.

Ten years ago when I was living in Japan, my apartment was adjacent to a military base, and as I am fond of naps and used to be able to take them, I became quite proficient at sleeping with my head between pillows or, in warmer weather, with a finger in my ear.

Last night, nothing worked.

Today, so far there have been a few crashes from the trash trucks emptying their metal containers about town before the legal hour of seven.

Later, should I have time, I will post clishé photos of the grandly-opened Sprint Center (glass fishbowl downtown arena) and point out its design flaws.

Suddenly six days

They go by, noted or not.
Nothing I can say here, too many spies!

American Royal

It's all about watching horses.

And mini mules. . .

And Mizzou's signature regular mules, Terry and Tim. . .

. . . followed by a usurping by the Shriners, who comprised about half of the latter part of the parade (and are demonstrating what my next car will be: who can say no to a metallic dune buggy that's just like the carnival ride cars - with one instead of six steering wheels - remembered from school picnics 20 years ago and still being carted around the country and taking kids for a ride?) Yes, I want a dune buggy!

They kept coming.

But, it's all about watching horses (watching me).

The John Deere antique tractor club is great, too, for its noise and diesel smoke contribution.

The Harrah's Casino float, with its line-dancing half-dressed girls - including one on a wagon behind who was astride and feigning enjoyment of a mechanical bull - was blaring a recorded song I've fortunately erased from my head to the detriment of my parade enjoyment and of some horses' comfort. Decidedly not family friendly!

The spacing of competitors was not done well. Loud radio "floats" should not precede marching bands or be staged so close to delicate equines. Shriners should not wait so long that there is block between each set of classic or funny cars when everyone is wondering if the parade is ending. And the kids in the bands and dance troupes need to smile more.

Jackson v. Cook

I can't believe a government is proposing a sales tax increase from .75 percent to 2.75 percent.

And you thought things were bad here!

My cat is dingy

But she's happy.

Amazing grace (?)

Will he be declared "just another legislating, liberal judge?"

Will I have to drum up some faith in pendulum paradigms and/or "you just need to sit tight and believe in ____-edness?"

I espere NOT.

(insert smiley face iconographic representation of "emotion")

Winged things

Porch proximity. Glass attracts.

Nesting wasps in the Chinese lantern.
I didn't know the life cycle was so long.
Our truce may be ending.

A Pleiades of houseflies collected themselves here last night.
Enticed by the cranberry juice, they jumped in, got drunk and died.

Up to

But do you trust him

I am not sure I would buy a book written by James Frey.

Ostensibly, the Murdoch empire would have checked things out this time - oh, wait, that's right, this one is being marketed as fiction right off.

Lisa Simpson hates phonies.

Stealing glances

Steeling as well:

Seher Shah

Las chicas

Mary Kay

I ask her, would she be proud?

All our initials can stand for so much. Mine, in English and minus the middle one I never use, are obscene.

My paternal grandmother used to say that if your monogram didn't spell anything meaningful, you were destined to failure.

Of course, she named my father DAL (monogram)/DLA (initials).

Graham crackers

Also called "digestive biscuits," they go well with marshmallows (clouds) and chocolate (not included).

Northeast Fall Festival

This will probably make you dizzy, but I have not read any iMovie instructions and don't know how to cut things up. It's only about a minute.

Carneys of the future make sure they have everything they need. If you are ever lost, remember the satellite dishes grow on the north side of the trailers. A few years ago, there was a trailer fire at this festival that took out half of a living space, and this year, though I didn't photograph it, there was a couple arguing over "repairs" he was making to the flappity end of a mobile home with a caulking gun.

Bees are so cute

Birdchick does more than love things with feathers, she is raising honeybees; in this post, there is a super-charming shot of a bee lifting one wing while another takes off her pollen pouch, and a surprising homo sapien/apis mellifera interaction that does not involve stinging.

Labor shortage

Let's pick up the shovels and call things by their real names.

Immigration enforcement debate muddies farm bill
The Associated Press
HUTCHINSON, Kan. | Consumers could see the price of fruits and vegetables double if the nation does not address a looming farm labor shortage in the wake of tightening immigration enforcement, House Agriculture Committee Chairman Collin Peterson said.

Peterson, D-Minn., told producers attending the Kansas State Fair this weekend that the agriculture committee will focus on the immigration issue as it strives to do its part to make sure there is adequate labor. He said some crops will not be harvested this year unless something is done. . . .

Farmers need a realistic guest worker program, he said. . . .

. . .because, we don't have people? (Yes, it would take some "work" to get them to job sites, but what are/were the migrating legal/illegal Mexicans doing that can't be copied?)

"The number of unemployed and the unemployment rate held at 7.1 million and 4.6 percent, respectively, in August," according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

And if cheap is what is needed, I suggest some of these debtors to society filling up prisons.

We have more than nine million people authorized already to work in the United States who aren't, so I don't want to hear any more fake reasons for why food is too expensive.

Or, if you really can't run an American food production program while paying living wages - meaning you have to have desperate people willing to work their fingers to the bone for a few dollars - then why isn't the Congressman just saying that?

Fact: the true cost of most things Americans eat, wear, drive, plug-in is masked by the continued complicit reliance on the poor who are willing or forced to accept low wages.

(Isn't it funny how poor people in America (including the middle classes who feel pinched) shop at Wal-Mart to save money for other things (like health insurance, for example), when the place is loaded with goods produced by people who are even poorer and who don't have televisions, cars, educations, health insurance or Wal-Marts to go to?)

Cat pot

Katrina proving a point about how hard it is to live without earth.

(*also, fur makes basil taste better)

Irish disturbance

Some of my friends had me go to the Irish Fest on Sunday. I got sunburned but only ran into one human I knew, so it was a balanced affair. A scant selection of the most "interesting" things I caught are here.

Isn't this the color of the stuff that comes out of the
Springfield Nuclear Plant where Homer Simpson works?

Some of the "some friends" pretending to be tourists.

The Fuscia Band, which was not scary or creepy or horrible at all. This shot makes Mairtin De Cogain look like a crazed drunk, but it was the end of their set and he was getting ready to do some kind of broom dance. Their traditional music was catchy and made even slugs like me want to dance (I didn't), and since most of their work was tinged with irony, I enjoyed it. Hence, beer and broom.

I know that "nature" has already come up with some of the best engineered designs, but couldn't someone invent an exit to this inflatable train that would not result in sudden, explosive and inappropriate laughter (on my part)?

. . .and who knows what on his. . . .

Men swinging a child. . .

Good night.

New blogs on the side

Disapproving Rabbits!
&
Munchy's Blog

Also note blogs that have been relegated to the "wake up" section for their dormancy.

Oh, now I get it

I'm already well aware that we shop terribly, unlike the family of seven who lives on $35,000 without looking like slobs or being pitiful.

However, a book deal never hurts.

Once I add up rent, insurance, insurance, insurance, fuel/gas/electricity, and medical necessities, there is plenty to go around, but not to cook in a very picky way or go out to eat or to the opera or buy new books and new shoes and such. I haven't weened myself from fashion, even though I am aware also of child labor, toxic cotton growing, overseas shipping, etc.

Also, the Economides family shops once a month for the whole month. I can barely plan a half of a week, and fresh vegetables turn to slime quickly, even ones that have come from only a few miles away as opposed to South America or Califorinia.

Maybe they could skimp less on the hair gel. . .and I am almost tempted to get the book to learn whether or not they have saved anything for retirement and/or college. And how their medical expenses are. How much they lay aside for random, periodic car repairs (that usually run me $400-$800 a pop).

And if they have dreams of shopping sprees.

Jump in a lake

I'm encouraged by newly-released data indicating the American Dream is alive and well.

Compare the daily earnings of "top executives at major businesses" and the annual earnings of "the average worker." It's the same, but that's ok.

Chief executive officers from the nation's biggest businesses averaged $10.8 million in total compensation, according to the 14th annual CEO compensation survey released jointly by the Institute for Policy Studies based in Washington and United for a Fair Economy.

In the past decade, CEO-pay has increased by about 45 percent in the United States.

(That would be only slightly better than the mythical average four-percent cost of living raise "we all get." If you happen to be stuck in minimum wage-land, you're seven percent behind what you were getting in 1997. But you're not supposed to be stuck there still - you were supposed to go get loans and go to college for something.)

The idea, I guess is to put aside any thoughts of being a teacher, a reporter, an auto worker, social worker, accountant, doctor, etc. and get on the fast track to convert any available knowledge and time toward business school.

From now on, whenever I ask a kid "what do you want to be when you grow up?" they better be bright enough to stand at attention and shout, "CEO!"

Besides getting elected to Congress, being the chief executive officer is the surest way to have a pension these days, too. Nothing shoddy about $1.3 million in pension gains (for CEOs) in a single year. Half of the Americans who are not CEOs and who are only 10 to 20 years from 65/retirement don't even have a pension account. Those who do saw average gains far below the million mark, at only $3,775 over the last five years, but that's fine.

So what if a few CEOs get $400,000 a year just in perks like housing allowances, private jet use, country club fee reimbursements - those 386 VIPs are working very hard to make sure our nation's companies are staying strong and providing jobs. Take a look at the list; these guys are bankers and financiers. They have a lot of responsibility, lots of things impacting their companies' profits to worry about - environmental regulations, labor issues, rising fuel costs, China, the falling market due to all those pesky foreclosures.

The top 20 CEOs are more valuable - 38 times more valuable - than the 20 highest-paid leaders of non-profit companies (there's no profit, so big salaries are out, right?) and 204 times more valuable than the 20 highest-paid U.S. generals (we have to keep our war costs down, right?).

And U.S. CEOs must be three times better than any European ones. By 2006 figures, the likes of industrial giants in Germany and France, etc. only pulled in an average of $12.5 million.

Our best guys got $37.5 million.

I'm just so proud of them. Way to go!

2600-block Troost

Finally Sent

Unitrin didn't think it was necessary to postmark any official paperwork to us eariler than Monday.

. . .17 days after the accident, and five days after their phone-relayed $2,600. . .

The "prior unrelated damage" in their opinion is a $1,700 job, or would have been, if the car still existed.

My letters to them explain the value of a Toyota is not in how it looks, but that it runs forever in a reliable manner.

Their paperwork did not demonstrate the cost of the damage actually related to the accident.

Also not factored in is the inconvenience of our having to go to a notary - now, if we submit to their request to transfer power of attorney and the title. It's not free, it's a PITA to converge during the day, it's annoying, and it's all part of the collective knowledge that is never passed down to anyone that "it will take four to 40 weeks to resolve any insurance claim filed in the United States of America, and the process will be akin to walking blindly down a dark passage toward an unknown destination."

Rod? Staff? Are you there?

(Ha, ha, as if I have ever had a proper staff.)

Still no photos

However, we have learned that our 1998 Corolla (119k miles), with features like a moon roof, CD stereo and a previous blemish previously estimated to have been an $800 repair, is only "worth" the same as a 1988 Corolla, when it comes to what Unitrin's adjusters are willing to cut us a check for.

I know the way insurance "works" is to provide some market value not a true replacement cost, but hell's bells, we could have sold that stupid car for $4,000.

What the hay can one buy for $2,600?* And at least two full weeks after (10 business days, perhaps longer, should that ephemeral check come after this coming weekend, for example) the stupid crash caused by Unitrin's bad-driver client happened in the first place.

No one wants more government regulations, but in terms of consumer expectations what is controlling the time frames, price determinations and appeal rights of regular people versus car insurance providers? It's not like I ever received a "what do expect from us" from my own company when I joined. I hate how difficult it is to be an educated consumer.

Sorry for the fortnight of inconvenience. Thanks. Thanks again. Is that actually fast service? Is that what's necessary for profit margins?

Yes, "client" is an overstatement. I'm sure J.J.'s rates will go up, if he's not dropped altogether for costing his company more than three grand, once rental rates and crashed-car storage fee are added in.

By the way, we had to "release" the crashed car today, so Unitrin doesn't have to continue to pay that undisclosed storage fee. That deadline was five days from August 9, whatever that stands for; that would be today, of course, and today is the first we'd heard. Yes, the long delays are our doing, of course. Remember Unitrin's adjusters' "our office is closed today for a party" last Friday?

Answer:
Have someone crash their car into yours or run yours into some other at-fault driver's.

Question:
How do you force yourself to stimulate the economy through tow truck bills, sales taxes, licensing fees, car purchases, rental car fees, rental car taxes (thank us for supporting the Sprint Arena), collision center storage fees, and insurance adjusters' salaries?

You know how I feel about being forced to do things.

I guess only people with nice cars and full coverage should be qualified to risk driving at all. . .

I'm having a hard time viewing this as an opportunity for little else than spending my time learning I have no rights from the attorney general's office.

*except a decent bicycle or computer

I cut my finger

It made me cry. It didn't hurt, but there was something painful inside that was waiting for release. I think it may have something to do with the "it's Tuesday, and everything you were going to do today to manage job instead of its managing you did not happen and you are in the same, ditchy place as usual, as last Tuesday and on through approximately 350 Tuesdays."

Home, salad, knife, mistake.

Bandages inconveniently located in precariously-stacked medicine cabinet, which already has been purged of unneedables and expired things. They did not make 1920s apartments with much storage. Two closets, a few cabinets and that's that. We don't have armoires anymore.

Bandages box was thrown at bathroom wall. No harm done; box is ancient, aluminum, takes dents and weeping well.

Holiday

That's what the answering machine (either the collision center's or the insurance company that's supposedly going to pay us for the totalled Corolla) said today, that they were on holiday.

Thanks for the notice, crumbcakes.

Sooooo, it's been a whole week and no resolution, no cash for shopping for "new" car.

They are paying for a rental, including all $12 or so of Kansas City's Sprint Arena et. al. taxes; however, we are paying $12 a day, too, for insurance for the zoomy Chevy from Enterprise. Wouldn't want to go and have another crash and have to pay our stupid $500 deductible and all.

Still, we're "luckier" than all the pedestrian/bus takers I drove by today in my ancient, yet A/C'ed Camry.

Am I crazy, or is the guy who was sitting on 47th asking for downpayments on cheeseburgers really Jerry? I've been at my job for a while, too, but I think I know when someone else should change theirs!

Car corpse

He went to clean it out yesterday. So, I'll never see it or have any photos.

We don't know what they intend to pay. . .we haven't made much progress on finding any replacement.

Another friend of mine (I seem to be the evil connector) was in a car crash the other day, too.

Darn that stupid superstition about third times' being charms.

Anyway, his involved a Mexican national, with that kind of driver's license and no insurance.

The man left and then returned, not too long afterwards, apparently, with an interpreter. Wonder where he found someone so quickly?

My friend is looking around for resources for where to direct this person who didn't know or didn't follow our financial responsibility laws. I have heard (was it in Lonely Planet?) that when one is involved in a car accident in Mexico, everyone is taken to the police station/jail to sort things out.

My friend did not involve the police, so no tickets were issued.

Good thing we all weren't planning to take a cruise or fly to Europe together this fall, eh?

Privileged

So, if you are lucky enough to have a job that lets you out before 5 p.m. consistently and also to have your own vehicle, battered as it is, you might also be the kind of person who plays by the rules, which are expensive, because you believe it is the right thing to do and because you fear financial insolvency and choose to cover your backside.

Why does insurance never come through kindly, despite faithful biannual payments, year after year, and a lack of claims?

*(There was the one time I slid in the rain and created equal damage to two cars, mine and hers, hers being stopped in the rain at a flashing yellow light, when there was only a faux intersection present, created by a high school parking lot. The suburbs can be annoying. It was determined my fault, but since then, nada.)

Back then, over a decade ago, I recall paying maybe $800 to get my car "repaired." To this day it still is deformed in the front, though I must say the Volvo-esque bumper on that 1991 Camry has proven much more substantial than the 1998 Corolla's, which succumbed to a steel Ford pick-up's backside on Friday.

It was raining, and I wasn't the driver. It was in a city setting, 31st Street, west of Main. Urban settings can be tense.

Someone from another country made the choice to trust a panel-truck driver's wave and drove into oncoming traffic, the first member of which was mi esposo in the Corolla. This one is supposedly falling toward Mr. J.J.'s fault; he and his interpretive son were at the station on Saturday when we showed up to file the report. I thought that was kind of interesting. His daughters are cute, and, incidentally, they live in Northeast.

It has been nothing but tedium ever since.

We are grateful that the other driver was uninjured and insured. We're not injured either, except in frustration and that itchy sting of pride when "fate" seems to be indifferently vomitting all over anything like plans or personal progress.

House?

Very funny.

At least we're not being literally thrown up on; that privilege is reserved for my child-rearing friends. Ganbate!

You may know that I played bad girl on Tax Free Weekend and got a silly Mac Book.

This fell recently upon the heels of our buying a new Dell-something-or-other to replace the fried out former tower, etc. with which art is made, etc.

So, a certain insurance company I won't name, the one that raised my rates back then and put me into the "indemnity" class of customers, is yet again proving to be unhelpful. They are stupidly unable to contact the other insurance company, which I had never heard of but which must have bilingual services.

Saturday was spent getting half-answers from "our people" and instructions to contact the other's insurance company.

I'm sure the rules of what to do when you are in a crash are written somewhere. Are they sent with the insurance welcome packet or are they in the state driving law manuals?

I haven't been in the loser-customer category for years, by the way, but perhaps I should be, if intelligence is any qualification. It's like they are just doing whatever they want, since you don't know what they should be doing. It's like uniformed people signing crap mortgages. Vultures.

Today, they are still calling the wrong phone number (not the cells) searching around for the other adjuster's contact information, and for some other reason I can't quite determine, my partner in financial crime can't make certain ends meet in the convoluted systematic (thoroughly culturally-determined) chain of obligations, rights, conclusions.

It's like we're guessing our way through a foreign language, and though well-steeped in American, we feel a little in the dark.

They're saying something frightening, like: "permission to tear your car down."

!

What kind of morbid, unhopeful statement is that?

How come a friend of mine can get a decent insurance check for a beat-up, early-model Japanese other-car with engine issues out of the cell-phone talker who rammed into the trunk, while our equally (formerly?) useful most-popular Japanese car is hearing whispers of its imminent demise?

I looked up the Kelly Blue Book price, and even a crummy one from our year should be worth at least $3,000. I mean, engine, $1,000, body front/body side, $2,000 . . . right?

Am I incredibly naive or just in denial?

I don't think it matters what stupid company you pay to be compliant. All of them can decide at their loss-calculating whim that you can't have your car back.

No one has said the word "totalled," yet.

I just paid them August 1st.

I wonder if we'll get a refund.

I don't have any photos, which is probably well-enough. I hope they put our stuff in a box for us. I don't want to comb the body for personal effects. There was a lot of crap in that car, namely painting equipment.

At least we didn't fall off a bridge into the Mississippi.

A train

Expo pics

From those (one) of us who use Mac, not PC, and are locked out of Flickr, last time I checked:People came by on Sunday to see near-final product.
Visible from right to left are works by Scribe (whale), Sacred, Pherz, Pepto and Wruk.

Saturday, even though it was humid and mostly sunny, a number of people stuck around for hours to see work emerge.

These people are watching Scribe and Chucho work. Sha9nigin's piece is to the right and is shown completed below, next to part of Chucho's wind-challenged characters.


Quisp's finished piece.

Merok's finished piece.

Berlin's finished piece.

Official Graffiti Expo mascot

Graffiti Expo

See you at James Elementary School,
5810 Scarritt Ave. (at Topping, one block north of St. John Avenue)
in Historic Northeast Kansas City, Mo.:

(I don't know why the colors look like that or why it's blurry.
It's not like that elsewhere. Thank you to all the people whose work, money, vision,
advice, equipment and help have come together to make this happen.)

Hope for good ozone, some clouds and NO RAIN!

Orange et vert

Colors from photomemory.

Same Friday evening, walking Crossroads, lovely when deserted, with Diane, who treated me to tapas and red wine in the sun at La Bodega for my belated, which matches Henry David Thoreau's, Pablo Neruda's and George Washington Carver's. So far, the Half Price Books calendar shows me there may be some room for another "famous author's" birthday.

You can hear my voice

We all worry about what we sound like on the radio. We worry about how fat the camera is making us look.

Fortunately, all I have to be stressed about is saying "umm" too many times, coughing into the mic, and drawing complete blanks that translate into dead air.

(Very valid concerns for a radio virgin.)

I'm not going to worry about things I can't change, right? Remind self: no one is going to be looking at you except Charles Ferruzza, who already knows what you look like.

And at least on the radio, no one can see your face turn red.

But, but, but, they might…they might call in!

I have been invited to fill time charmingly and with some kind of seven-year perspective on Historic Northeast on Anything Goes from noon to 1 p.m. on KKFI today.

The main guest is Joyce Slater, whose performance "Dancing in the Danger Zone" is featured in this year's Fringe Festival.

She will be talking about Northeast of the 1960s.

(Obviously, I will not.)

Should you feel the need to try to comment on air, dial up 816-931-5534.

Hwy 70

There's a place where we always turn off the interstate when going to Columbia. Usually, we go to one station, I can't remember which oil company's it is, but this past Saturday, my friends were enticed by Chester Chicken (maybe it's Charlie) and the prospect of better restrooms at a new place 50 feet down the road.


It was not a disappointment.

Prefers outdoors

Dang hippies

I hate it when supposedly liberal, earth-minded people prove they are simply equal to most other unethical businesspeople.

Whole Foods CEO John Mackey played a bit too obviously on chat.

Whole Foods is good, Wild Oats is bad…

It's not to say, though, that all kinds of CEOs and other management types aren't doing the same thing all the time. Why would anyone base their financial decisions on what was chattering around online anyway?

I have never shopped at Whole Foods. Could it be that the stores are all miles and miles and miles away from the central city?

I can't appreciate enough the original Wild Oats mini-market on 43rd and Main.

Seismic sad

Darn, maybe living in Nihon is not such a good idea.

Niigata got a 6.8 earthquake. And another one within 14 hours.

I'm confused about their not knowing in advance. I thought when you lived on a giant series of volcanoes and faults that your scientists were always going about with their ears to the ground.

I mean, "Skyscrapers swayed in Tokyo, more than 200km (125 miles), from the earthquake's epicentre in the Sea of Japan."

In 2004, an earthquake in the same area killed 65 people; this time, I'm seeing numbers from four to 600. Eight seems to be the current death toll, with 800 or so injured. You know the houses are made of very thin stuff. Living through typhoon season on Kyuushu was stressful enough for me.

In 1995, when a magnitude 7.3 quake came to Kobe, more than 6,400 were killed.

I am at a loss of Nihongo words.

Ganbate doesn't seem to fit.

(2007-1974)=

33!

Liberty

No matter what I say about the person who chose to jump yesterday from the top of this tower of freedom, someone will think me callous.

I was practically at the site at the time of the fall. And I look at it every day.

So, I had some thoughts.

First, if you are or know someone who is thinking and talking about death or suicide, there's a hotline and a bunch of links to local resources:

1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433) or 1-888-279-8188.

Suicide is bad, sad and detrimental to society, and I will never know what this person was thinking nor how the people who know him must feel.

However, I had to pause and think – at least he didn't kill anyone else in the process.

Yes, that sounds sick, but I'm sick to death, and perhaps he was too, of suicide bombings and stupid kill-everyone-in-sight shootings at schools and businesses and public places.

So, a single experience here can seem as isolated as he apparently felt.

It seems that picking such a patriotic spot for ones half-planned self-inflicted demise should depend on having some political statement about war, suicide, life – something – to make. More may come to light, but it may not, since suicides are kept rather private. Besides, what speaks louder than "I'm out of here?"

I'm sad he chose to do it in front of people. Twenty-odd were there, a "handful" apparently saw. I can't fathom what they heard.

His death, like all suicides, has repercussions that are literally selfish.

Some witnesses who had been up on the tower at the same time he had been said he seemed agitated and was pacing around. (He was alone when he jumped.)

I don't know, it seems from my experience, that being up there makes a lot of people nervous. It's a frighteningly-open view, even though you're surrounded by thick walls that come up to about chest-height.

Being up there makes me dizzy and freaked out. The view makes me nauseous, and the "my life is in my hands" aspect is kind of weird. Standing on top of such things – like a bridge or ledge or rooftop – seems like kind of a test, in fact. There is a tiny itch inside me, at least - the one that flickers sometimes when driving, "All I have to do is turn the wheel a little and that semi and I converge…" – that I am going to faux-diagnose as "normal." After all, if it wasn't dangerous, there are a lot of things we humans would never do, because then they wouldn't be "fun."

Talk about thrill-seeking, my husband said he remembered a classmate who got up on that ledge and walked around, ADD-crazy, on a field trip once. (This would have been in the 1980s, before the 1994 jumper.)

They've talked about how to enclose the Liberty Memorial tower top and make it safe, just as on most buildings' observation decks, there is no possible way to access open air space.

For example, I have been to the top decks of the 475-foot Brunswick building in Chicago and the former World Trade Center of NYC, and those were well-protected.

I have peeked out through the Statue of Liberty's crown holes and run around all over the decks of La Tour Eiffel (Paris), and both of these, it seems to my memory, could have served a person determined to be suicidal.

Here, they are closing the tower until further notice, noting that "there really isn’t anything you can do to make the situation better and still allow people to see the view of Kansas City.” A security guard, for example, couldn't necessarily stop anyone "determined to jump," the spokesperson said.

And, really, if you take a look at the photo or know the place yourself, the northern edge of the observation deck poses quite a plunge of its own. It's never been questioned. It's still open. I've even seen someone set their baby/toddler there for a posed photo (walking away and trusting the kid's instincts, I guess, though we all know how much phyical coordination little ones have). It made me stop breathing. I froze in my tracks, ready to jump into super-hero mode, since I was closer to this kid than the photo-priority parent.

Nothing happened. Usually it doesn't.

Our cat doesn't try to jump from the third-floor balcony, either.

The possibility of passing out drunk and then drowning in the Liberty Memorial reflection pool at the south entrance qualifies that as a dangerous place, too, and it's still open, of course.

The world is full of danger; much of it is optional.

I'm sorry another person was so low, so dark, so ___ to feel that not living was the better alternative to a dangerous, yet beautiful world.

Maybe the ticket-sellers for the tower should be trained in psychological profiling.

Yes, we need more profiling in our society, indeed.

Ramen history

1989
When I first ate ramen soup, introduced by a high school friend who was from a large, working class Catholic family who thus struck me as mysterious, I wanted mostly to eat just the noodles.

1991
Once I "discovered" this cheap food, I would bring packages to the cafeteria and munch from the uncooked block, with no seasoning.

1993
Of couse, ramen, at approximately 25¢ a pop, was a convenient food to make in a dorm microwave at college.

1997
In Japan, the ramen shops were by far my least favorite places to eat, though they did demonstrate how it's prepared properly, with plenty of meat, vegetables and unidentifiable bits. (Oh! I get it, ramen is a Japanese word…)

2007
Now, all I want is the salty MSG-water, a few bites of the pasta and some steamed arugula or baby spinach leaves instead.

List(less)

I am feeling under tremendous, falsified/trumped-up pressure to
finish for Spanish translation several stories unstarted,
come up with something for an intern to do today,
socialize both at work and afterwards,
clean the apartment, wash clothes - organize, minimize
keep attention on all seven pets,
be a nice wife,
exercise,
get enough sleep,
keep my hair under control,
eat nutritious things,
make sure my car is legal and operational,
save money, plan for vacations/education/retirement,
maintain a number of filial and friendly relationships,
remember to go to Kiwanis lunch every week,
ask people for things while offering nothing in return…

…and I feel mildly endangered by the people I encounter…

Yesterday I was surrounded by unfettered, unguarged (but for a lacadasical parks staff member) MCI inmates, people dressed in khaki and picking up fireworks in exchange for time off sentences for, as "Stacy" described it, "traffic violations for the most part."

A white man without top incisors walking an amber toy poodle felt it neccessary to come up to me and then say, after we'd chatted a bit and I'd gotten nothing useful for publication, that he had wanted to "make sure" I was "OK" - that I knew "where I was."

Umm, yes, I'm here all the time…stop making me feel worse…

Exactly seven years ago, I was babbling at workers in another park strewn with fireworks trash, gathering information for my trial story, my audition, so to speak, for the position I have still.

I was just as nervous, random and uncomfortable.

My interest simply falls to feign (mode) when I'm forced to follow along someone else's thoughts. Even the seemingly safest of strangers sequestered in suits inside their office suites fill me with discomfort. Fight or flight ends up being squashed, while I remain…

Out in the random field, I never feel afraid, though obviously, I carry a pervasive dread.

After all, nothing grants me a particular immunity to go traipsing in sandals through trash piles, walk as a woman through abandoned lots alone, go into hostile situations and talk to strangers - and always expect to remain unscathed.

The perhaps greater duty compelling some journalists to do their vocation inside of combat zones has not turned out well for the likes of Daniel Pearl, a patron saint of sorts, as well as the rest of the men and women whose names I've not bothered to learn.

It's a testament to some of my personal malaise, that no one has expanded most of the other reporters' stories: clearly, reporters pander to a public who does not want to endure "another one" about a hostage or martyr journalist.

Otherwise, would I have had to search for mentions of them at places like Reporters Without Borders?

So far in 2007, 128 journalists have been imprisoned worldwide, and 53 killed. Media assistants are not immune; nine have been killed, six are in jail

Interesting to me today that this popped up in the Kansas City Star; the editorial board wrote about fearless journalism after Alan Johnston was released after 14 weeks, citing:

"According to the Committee to Protect Journalists, an international nonpartisan organization of journalists based in New York, more than 460 journalists have been killed in the line of duty in the last 15 years.

"In 85 percent of the cases, the journalists were murdered. And most of the killers remain free.

"More than half of the journalists were killed by people in the government, political groups or the military. In most cases, the journalists are operating in their home countries." it cites.

Their names, though, unlike Pearl's, never have made it into my memory, and if you search around for even a moment, it's clear that some of them were killed by "friendly fire" or even something more sinister; there are accusations about U.S. troops' deliberate killing of non-U.S. journalists:

Journalist killed after investigating US-backed death squads in Iraq
On June 24, Yasser Salihee, an Iraqi special correspondent for the news agency Knight Ridder, was killed by a single bullet to the head as he approached a ...
www.wsws.org/articles/2005/jul2005/iraq-j01.shtml

British journalist killed by American troops
By Henry Michaels 25 March 2003.
www.wsws.org/articles/2003/mar2003/jour-m25.shtml

I'm being a bad writer and am surely confounding topics, so I want to emphasize that just because "everyone" around me is going to concealed-and-carry class, that I don't liken myself to the actually heroic writers and reporters who work in China, Iraq, Sri Lanka, etc.

Still, I'm rather tired, as I've said before, of dealing with feuds, crazy people, feuding crazy people, and liars.

Hiding

Hummingblink

This shot from Bird Chick is it.

What we call "supercute."

Anyone else feeling this good?

Dang, wish it were only Saturday.

Mixed feelings

Why do people insist on crowding themselves into places where the risk of destruction is as close as the hillside that rhymes with landslide, the shoreline where storms beat, the valley of a volcano, still active?

Our recent dense spate of hurricanes has made it difficult for East Coasters, for example, to obtain, much less afford, insurance. There is discussion of creating a kind of public insurance trust, one that accumulates its unspent premiums, as opposed to spending them and calling it profit. However, it strikes me that the cry of "something must be done" is faulting the insurance providers, with no mention that perhaps as a matter of business and basic common sense, it's logical that providers would want to discourage people from setting up home in such high-risk locations.

No one seems to be getting the message.

Where is the responsibility of the well-endowed island-dweller?

Of course, in the United States, we can make such choices. Residents of Haiti, for example, have no such option.

Anyway, it's summertime, and that means wildfires.

On the one hand, I'm sad acres of forest are dying, and somewhat embarrassed that human error is involved. I will defer the argument about "natural" burn cycles, controlled burns, and the patterns of humankind's interference to your personal research.

This one in Alaska, near Anchorage, is 50,000 acres lost. It started with sparks flying off a shovel being sharpened over dry grass. The iron age was a long time ago, so this may not be a first. Nowadays, always have a bucket handy! Same goes for when you're playing with consumer-grade and homemade/dynamite fireworks. Exit strategies and emergency planning are important in both household affairs and government. Use all of your brain, think ahead a little, show us we've learned from our mistakes. (Give this slug a reason to believe.)

The peninsula is a vacation spot, where one goes to fish, see whales, be granola.

Montana has a 1,000-acre fire at work.

And over in the divorce state: "Near Reno, Nev., firefighters reported progress in their battle against a 150-acre wildfire that had burned within 200 yards of upscale homes Saturday, said Reno city spokesman Chris Good. He said crews hoped to contain the brush fire Sunday."

A much smaller fire. I'm kind of hoping it makes it just a little further.

I am a classist, no denying, and today I'm feeling like a bitter little proletariat.

And granola. America has to stop believing its high consumption code is a laudable and intelligent practice, something to be exported even, and indefinitely sustainable.

Doing the same things will not produce new results.