this-a-way

Since my openID is linked to this blogger account (and my stats show there are some feed subscribers still), I guess I should make an effort to point you to the correct blog: November Foxtrot Whiskey.

Consider yourself invited!

Moving!

I had some time over Thanksgiving weekend to figure out the care and feeding of Wordpress while trying to set up a site to host my boyfriend's music podcast. I wanted to play with the setup some more, so I installed another copy for myself. AND I finally found a use for the bear graphic I made for a flyer for a show that never happened. That's recycling, children!

I liked it quite a bit, so I'm going to go back to actually using my domain for more than serving ridiculous jpegs to message boards. So here're the new digs: November Foxtrot Whiskey. I'm going to try and be less "journal-y" and more "essay-y" over there. We'll see how that goes.

Turkey? No thanks!

So last year my stepdad had to invite himself to what was going to be our first in a long series of fun holiday gatherings without his assholery. He walked right in and got all pissy because we weren't cooking, opting instead to see a movie and hit whatever restaurant was open. (Preferably Chinese). This displeased him.

"It doesn't smell like Thanksgiving in here. Where's my turkey?"
"What? No turkey?"
"How can there not be turkey on Thanksgiving? You always cook. You get up early to start making Thanksgiving dinner."

And so on... as we walked down the street to the Italian joint we called the previous day to verify their Open Thanksgiving sign.

"EYEtalian Thanksgiving? I guess that'll have to do."

And so on... as we found the place closed and turned around to go back to another place we'd passed.

"What? Not even turkey-catchy-tory?"

And so on... even as he finished eating a beautifully presented generous helping of turkey with all of the traditional trimmings complete with a slice of pumpkin pie (in a fairly decent place, while wearing his coat and FOP cap).

"I can't believe you guys didn't want to cook Thanksgiving dinner like always."

Like always? Like he hadn't brushed off over twenty years of our family life (not all of it awkward and/or awful) to go sleep with his cousin's wife? Let's spend all day fussing over our least favorite and slowest-cooking member of the poultry family for our least favorite and slowest family member. That sounds like a great way to spend a day off --exactly what I look for in holiday celebrations. Oh and then we can spend the rest of the evening cleaning up; my definition of cheer, down to the letter. Like always.

When finally free of him and his filthy ball cap, Mom turns to me and says, "fuck turkey."

Now, she doesn't recall this direct quote, because like all minor behavioral "problems" she insists she did not have as a child (but have been reliably reported separately by both of her brothers) she is unable to retain such improbable memories. She simply does not swear. Ever. And my word is to be dismissed because I have a dirty mouth that reflects poorly on her mothering abilities --something I should keep in mind before I open it. But that is exactly what she said, the very second we heard his engine start.

"Seriously. Fuck turkey for life," I agreed, relieved.

"Elizabeth Ann, you watch your mouth!"

"Just sayin'."

"There are better ways of expressing yourself while maintaining an air of respectability proper for a young lady. You ought to keep that in mind if you ever hope to find a husband. Hell, next year let's have ham."

So Ham Day is nigh, and I am thankful. You know I love holidays and Mom's potato salad. And Mom. And I'm thankful we've got stuff to be thankful for again. It's going to be so good.

a bad town for animals

What is wrong with people in this area?

First, there’s this nutjob in Elliot who repeatedly stabbed his chained up black lab with a samurai sword. The neighbors interviewed in the sidebar video at that link, are typical of the attitudes towards animals I’ve experienced since moving to Western Pennsylvania. “There’s other ways of handling it. Call animal control – they’ll put him down.” Charming.

Then there’s this poor horse in Derry Township that was blinded by birdshot on purpose.

“Police said someone took a 12-gauge shotgun and used King for target practice last Wednesday after midnight, seriously injuring his eye, head and chest.”

Now that I think about it, there isn’t really a month that goes by where I’m not completely horrified by some local animal cruelty tragedy. Back in February a man decapitated a kitten, wrapped its head up in a box pink in tissue paper and bows and sent it to his ex-girlfriend, a volunteer for a local shelter. I can't even make a coherent comment on this, so I'll just leave it at that.

Last month, (October 2007): the bodies of two dogs who starved to death are found in a North Side woman’s home, along with full cans of dog food, unopened, and bearing teeth and claw marks.

Google News provides a pretty gruesome list of Pittsburgh animal cruelty articles that do pretty much cover every month for the past several years. I had to stop revisiting all that disgust. Simply awful.

While I don’t want this to be a widespread phenomenon, I also hate to think that I’m surrounded by a freakishly high number of animal abusers. I have a pretty wild imagination already, this is just fuel to the fire that is my potential wackos/fellow bus passengers suspicions while commuting.

Crap, and I have to think about this right before bed, too. That's it. I’m through with the nightly news. It’s always a bad scene.

(Oh great. J-lo is on Leno and her voice is NOT HELPING.)

in which I age forty years in two hours.

Large man tabbing between orcs and Fark,
I thought I was early enough to beat you to the good seat.
But lo! You've been encased in thick swathes of smoke and layers of ash like resin
cast over time during epic battles, threads, and porn torrents.
The strength of unlimited wireless or
the weight of condensed gluten-free snack bars?

Sorry. I nearly caught a case of the beatnigles. Fortunately I had a run of the punk-pox in my youth.

The problem is this:

The good coffee joint closest to my apartment is owned by friends and next door to my Mom’s place, so not exactly conducive to getting much work done. I’m on a mission, and so have holed myself up at the hippie joint several blocks down. It’s fairly dirty and the muffins all seem to be vegan, but with my earphone-clips I can mostly block out the maniacal ravings of the sociopaths/network gamers and the boring personal dramas of the table of tweenage goth girls kittycorner to my wobbly table (with accompanying lamp of questionable wiring). It’s a sorry state of affairs indeed, but my place is not a better option, what with the in-fighting of the feline factions still not accustomed to each other, and constantly striving to prove to that I love them best. (I also thought I could save on gas by utilizing the heating at the local hotspots along with their free wifi. Unfortunately, they’re not going for it. It’s freezing in here.)

I’ll either invest in a good disguise (nun or Hare Krishna) or suck it up and hit one of the chains where I’ll have to keep getting $2 refills for the duration of my wireless use. Second thought, hippies will do. I ain’t too proud.

Oh, how cute. Small groups of them keep coming back from the mens’ room freshly pierced and proud as peacocks. Now that’s hot -- infectiously so! Staph is the new black, I suppose.

Maybe I am too proud. I miss summer when I could sit on my patio, cat free, and without a cloud of clove smoke and yinzling chatter overhead. This is way more distracting than I imagined. Oh woe is me. (And yes, sure, those wee sad goth girls over there, too.)

Must contain cats. Maybe I can distract them with a side of beef or something.

Philly Vacation 2K7

Prior to Roadtrip 2K7 last week, I wasn't too sure if I was confident enough to return to driving. Thursday the rental place dropped off a Dodge Stratus at my office, and I had to get from my office park to D's workplace, by myself. Having never been there, and armed only with a print out from Google Maps, I was pretty anxious. It'd been seven years since I'd sold my car and moved to Los Angeles, and about five since I'd last been a designated driver. Getting behind the wheel, even with the full insurance option, I thought, "It might only be a ten minute drive, Google Map, but it only takes a few seconds to die."

The Stratus seemed so much larger than my old Sunbird. I made my initial turn out of the parking lot too wide, and was a bit slow to accelerate to normal traffic flow speed for the main road at first. But I made it. And after our trip was over, when I had to drive back to the office park to return the car Monday morning, I knew where I was going and it seemed perfectly natural and fine. I wanted to keep driving... explore the area around my company that I never get to see while bus commuting. Maybe some day!

The hotel was pretty posh; The Penn's Landing Hyatt Regency (la-di-da, right?) I had my reservations about using one of those find-a-deal travel sites, but Hotwire did not disapoint. Our room was on the ninth floor, and the bathroom was about the size of my kitchen.

It was nice being back home, even for just a few days. I know most of my friends cringe at the thought of living in Philadelphia, but it's always going to have a special place in my heart. It's a good town, full of good people. Forget the crime rate -- I wouldn't mind moving back someday!

A + K's reception was gorgeous. Their families and friends were fun and friendly and it was clear everyone was having such a good time. A, that sneaky monkey, set us up at the same table as our high school writing teacher -- my mentor. She had no idea I would be their either, and much girlie squealing ensued once we recognized eachother. I'm so excited to be back in touch with her. The downside is that I haven't written anything worth sending to her, so I've got to get my ass in gear. I suppose motivation is not really a downside. How could there be one anyhow?

It's late and I've places to go and people to see. I suppose this will have to be a two-parter.

Wait. I just heard the dumbest product recall yet: a plastic fish toy was recalled because the tongue can fall off and become a choking hazard not because the fish had tongues. Ok. Now I'm done.

Rare species sighting.

The peacat does not wish anyone a happy anything.

But I do! Happy Halloween!

Oh whatever! Don't feel sorry for Henry. He celebrated Mischief Night by TP'ing the bathroom.