The Golden Compass - A- (book and movie) and Other Religious Stuff

On Christmas Eve, as Beau and I ate our lovely dinner at home, he pointed to something under my plate. "What's that?" he asked. It was a ticket stub. I thought it was my leftover "I Am Legend" ticket stub that I had just fished out of my coat pocket earlier and must have somehow dropped onto the table. I picked it up and read it. "GOLDENCOMP" it said. Huh?

I wasn't too quick on the uptake that night.

I finally did realize, with a bit of prodding from Beau, that he had surprised me with tickets to see The Golden Compass. It was one of my Christmas presents and I was thrilled. I was currently reading the book, loving it, and really wanted to see the movie.

Since I have a subscription to Entertainment Weekly, and I *blush* often buy copies of People magazine for my bathroom time pleasure, I always have a pretty good idea of what various critics think of movies before I go see them. Sometimes I think they can be a bit influential, but it's always nice when they turn out NOT to be.

I heard all the *yawn* controversy over The Golden Compass long before I read the lengthy EW review on it. I know how many claim it's anti-Catholic, etc. I bought the book and decided to make up my own mind regarding it. I must say, I am REALLY enjoying this book, and though I haven't finished it yet, and despite the fact I've heard the series just gets darker and darker, I wouldn't say that the book is anti-Catholic. In fact, the story reminds me a great deal of the wonderful book and movie, The Handmaid's Tale, which is a cautionary tale against the dangers of a ruling theocracy. Theocracy does not always = Evil Christians (see Iran). And any group that tries to control the actions of the masses will have some kind of ideology behind it. I think you have to if you're going to be so uber-ly-gung ho on dictatorial rule of any kind. Maybe my opinion will change as I read through the series and more of the plot opens up. Maybe the author has an ax to grind with the church. I know I do, and I could quickly find about 10 friends with the same attitude.

One memory that still irks me was from when I was a child. I had this best friend - a fantastic one - named Mary Catherine Phelan (just try and guess what HER religion was). I was raised Lutheran, and had dutifully gone through baptismal, communion, and confirmation. My grandmother, irate when she learned I was, as usual, procrastinating, forced me to skip school one day and go to the library so I could write a 20 page paper on the life of Jesus for my confirmation requirements. ANYWAY, Mary's very religious family would take me to church, but would never let me leave the pew to receive communion. After having gone through the various rigors to become "eligible" to receive communion in my own church, I was outraged to be refused. Yeah yeah, you can say all you want about it being different denominations, beliefs, etc. But all I knew then, and still agree with now, was that I had come from a church which every Sunday announced, "All those who wish to share in the blessing that is communion please feel free to come forward," and now was in a church that said, "No, you're not one of us, you can't do it."

I went up anyway, and basically enraged her parents. I was not a disobedient child, not even remotely, but that was something that seemed so wrong to me at the time, and still today.

Again, I digress. So, that is just one of my own personal grudges against Catholicism, so if the author has his own, I won't begrudge him. It's certainly not the d(a)emon book it's made out to be. It has many wonderful concepts that you can turn over in your mind, and man, who WOULDN'T long for a wonderful daemon of their own? Just contemplating the concept of the soul residing outside the body is enough to happily chew on intellectually. I like it.

Many have complained that the movie is a highly diluted version of the book, removing all religious controversy and philosophies in order to make the movie appealing to a broad audience (especially since they planned from the start to make all three books into films). Sure, I can see that; it's always disappointing when movie makers wuss out and are not true to the real teeth and claws of the book. But I can be forgiving.

If you have read the book, you'll notice that the movie is true to the plot, but used TREMENDOUS amounts of "creative license" when tweaking numerous details. Lines and actions from the book are given to different characters in the movie and scenes are done in different locations or a different chronological order. I was surprised that this didn't bother me. I guess after so many people went apeshit over the Harry Potter movies, which I have loved, I am not so serious now about "being true to (every fucking detail of) the book." In all honesty, despite the large amount of differences between book and movie, I find The Golden Compass to be utterly faithful to the book's message and story, if not, a bit lightened for all those don't-touch-my-religion(!!!) Christians, which didn't work anyway since they're still pissed off.

I loved it though. I don't happen to think it's all CGI wonders and no plot, but perhaps that's because I'm filling in the holes in my own mind as I watch the film. It certainly didn't have the plot trip-ups that I Am Legend suffered from. I thought Nicole Kidman's "Mrs. Coulter" was both utterly beautiful and utterly terrifying. The young actress, Dakota Blue Richards, who played the main character of Lyra, was just as charming, clever, and defiant as her literary counterpart. Daniel Craig, whom I found handsome for the first time ever in a film, as Lord Asriel, is fantastic at saying more with his eyes than his mouth. And again, the whole concept of daemon's was fascinating (particularly the way they perish). The only tiny ick I had was the use of Ian McKellen's voice as the formidable Iorek Byrnison - an armored polar bear. Haven't I had enough of him fulfilling these epic, powerful, sci-fi roles? Too familiar for me.

But read the book and/or see the movie for yourself - and make up your own mind.

And I always thought Bina was the Diva

Dahhhhling!

You're Never Satisfied

So, I got the job.

I wish I could say I was thrilled, ecstatic, happy, and excited. But really, I'm slightly disappointed and mostly just relieved (kind of like when you find out you're not pregnant after a pregnancy scare). I have yearned for the "security" that a permanent job offers (as well as medical insurance, annual leave, etc.), for an entire year now, and to not be a temp certainly gives me a much stronger sense of stability. But...but but but.

I'm a brat.

Especially since it's even better than I imagined. After my boss (the Big Cheese) took me into a room, I thought I was being let go, for sure. I felt kind of okay about it, since I'd been steeling myself for it for weeks and weeks, though I'm sure once I got home, I would have bawled my eyes out.

Then he told me I had the job, and furthermore, because I had expressed my desire to really have a more substantive role and duties, I was to be given that too. I'll get to work on some real issues here at the university. PLUS, I will be working exclusively with my Cool Boss and not at ALL with the ever-aggravating Office Manager Woman (OMW). They will be hiring an ADDITIONAL person to do all the plebian stuff that I've been doing and to work closely with OMW to help her get out from under her massive workload.

Oh yeah, and I'll be getting a "substantive raise."

Fantastic! Right? It sure sounds great as I type it all out. And make no mistake, I am truly grateful for this chance to prove that all this potential I have is the real deal. This is a good opportunity and I plan to make the most of it.

But I also realize that my heart is not in it. Oh, I'll make sure to do a good job, I'll continue to work hard and give it my all, but I think I "left" Montana already. This is sort of a state of mind I get when I KNOW I'm going to leave a place. About a month or two before I actually do, I kind of mentally leave it already. It can make it pretty unbearable to wait out those final weeks, but I guess it's a bit of a defensive mechanism to get me excited for the new place and ease the transition of leaving behind the old. I still remember making my "Goodbye" mixed tape when I left Arizona just a week after high school graduation to fly to Wisconsin for college (I was in a summer program before my freshman year began). As the plane took off, my heart pounding, "Already Gone" by the Eagles was playing in my ears, followed by songs like "Philadelphia Freedom" and "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" by Elton John and "I'm Free" by Kenny Loggins.

I've just become so disenchanted with Montana this past year that I yearn to start anew. I feel like I'm done here, and unless the dream job of the universe fell in my lap, I'm not sure I could muster up the excitement to stick around. And even if a great job DID come about, that doesn't change the fact that wages are low, we live hand to mouth, and that the possibility of purchasing a house has now become a joke (Missoula housing prices continue to skyrocket despite the rest of the nation's housing slump).

I now fantasize about returning to Missouri (hopefully Columbia or Springfield area), and still dream of New Zealand. I feel like I'm just treading water here and wasting precious time. I'll be 35 next month and I have no career to show for it, not to mention that if I want to get knocked up, the clock has recently begun to tick in my ear. I need a job that I can not only use my education and skills in, but one that I look forward to going to every day. And my husband needs that as well. I'm not ashamed to say this place has crushed us. I don't feel shame because I know that we're two worthy, educated, talented people who just got a shit deal, and that in many other places, we'd be kicking some ass right now.

But for now, I'm gainfully employed. Hallelujah.

Onward!

I Am Legend - B+

I AM LEGEND

There are no major spoilers below, but still, read at your own risk. Some people are sensitive to ANY detail given out.
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Okay, it won't go down in my top 10, 20, or 50 movies of all time, but nevertheless, I really enjoyed it. In general, I'm into apocalyptic movies, Will Smith is always entertaining, and well, it was set in NYC! Ever since I lived in NYC, movies and TV shows there are just so much more fun. Especially since almost every inch of that place is so recognizable. I'll be watching Law & Order or something, and exclaim out to Beau, "Hey! See that restaurant! I ate there! Oh, and that's my subway! Oh, and and..."

I was living in NYC when "The Day After Tomorrow" came out, another apocalyptical flick regarding a new ice age, and seeing those enormous waves descend upon the Big Apple was truly terrifying. It wasn't just, "Wow, look at those waves destroy NYC," It was "Holy shit, that's where I WORK!" I guess even after you leave a place like NYC, you still feel like a part of it (something I'm sure present NYers themselves would vehemently protest against. They are such survivors, you know!)

AN-Y-WAY, the movie was a lot of fun, and intense in such a way that my heart felt clenched throughout its entirety. Anytime you have sprinting zombies/vampires, it's nails-dug-into-jeans time. Will Smith, alone on Manhattan island, desperately searching for a cure for this medical miracle gone wrong, is a tragic hero, and TRULY conveys the loneliness and heartbreak that goes along with his self-imposed exile. Throughout the film, you put yourself in his place and imagine how you would face each day, what you would do (still can't believe he so HONESTLY returned those cd's every morning. Pffff).

POSSIBLE SPOILERS IN NEXT COUPLE PARAGRAPHS:

Yes, it's true, there are some MAJOR plot problems that nag at you, even while you are watching the film, and which I thought could have easily and quickly been "take care of" by a line here or there. Just minutes after the film, Beau and I were discussing the one that Jera mentions, regarding Will Smith's final "evaluation" of the monsters. But I think, strangely enough, what bugged me the most was purely a logistical plot hole having to do with transportation. Without giving too much away, let's remember that Manhattan is an island with all bridges destroyed. Now, if we think about traveling onto and off of this island...that part in itself really irked me.

To be fair though, some of those problems could also be rationalized out in your own mind - I read Roger Ebert's review and something he pointed out as a contradiction, in my opinion, wasn't at all (Will Smith's reason for searching for a cure). Will Smiths' character, Robert Neville, plainly states, on more than one occasion, that he truly believes he should (morally) and can (scientifically) "fix" the problem - find a cure. He feels so responsible (though it is not clear why HE does) for the devastation, and also probably due to guilt that he is one of the rare "immune" cases, that he absolutely must be the one to stop it all.

Lastly, a big shout out to the lovely and loyal German Shepard, "Sam." I admit, as an animal lover, I'm a sucker for any movie with the dog companion. "Dog" in The Road Warrior, Maximus' German Shepard in Gladiator, etc. Sam was a wonderful part of the movie, and not a bad actress!

If you can deal with a few plot icks in a film, then I definitely think you should go see I Am Legend. It's a treat.

Murder in Missoula

That's the title on the front of today's newspaper, and it is truly a tragic story. It's really, really gotten to me and I feel so angry and disgusted and helpless.

Here's the story: a homeless man named Forrest Clayton Salcido was sitting on a bench on pedestrian bridge a few nights ago. Two "kids," (A 18 year-old high school senior and his 20 year-old buddy), came upon him, taunted and beat him, and once they got him on the ground, stomped on his head until he was dead. They stomped so hard, and so many times, that the man, "Clay," was totally unrecognizable by his own brother. I know, gruesome.

No reason, none at all. The boys were drunk, Clay was not. And according to the lengthy story done by the local paper, the Missoulian, Clay was not a drunk, on drugs, mentally unstable, etc. He was just some guy who one day said, "Fuck this," and went off on his own. He has family and lots of friends in town whom he visited often, including a mother he saw every Sunday. He did odd jobs and recycled cans for cash, and he basically took care of himself. He liked his life the way it was, and he wasn't bothering anyone.

I'm not a stranger to this kind of viciousness myself, albeit as a witness, as I experienced back in Brooklyn three years ago. To be homeless, means to be a constant target, as if being homeless isn't tough enough in itself, add to that all the problems that many face. But the deep, dark cruelty of this act has really shook me. I don't think I really believe in pure evil, though I believe there can be immense darkness in anyone, and searching for a reason from these two boy killers is a lost cause. I don't believe in the death penalty either, though I suspect the rest of these boys' lives are a lost cause (they both already had lengthy rap sheets). But Clay's wasn't. He had many people who loved him, and I can't imagine how much the pain of losing him is compounded by how he died. I don't have any answers or solutions....just wanted to vent sorrow.

My Inner Daemons

I would like to sincerely thank those who commented on the previous post. It did help (me) a lot. I wish there was more that could be done for Beau, but we just have to keep looking, and moving, forward. I found another university job in Missouri to apply to, so I'll keep going with that.

Last night, to distract myself from my seething white-hot H8, I took this test for my "daemon" - from the movie, The Golden Compass. Fun stuff. I have to admit being slightly disappointed with my original result though -- a mouse. I took it again, since there were a few questions I could have gone either way on, and I ended up with a crow, which is not sexy like the snow leopard or dragon, but I'll take it. They're pretty darn close, personality-wise, so I guess I'm a mouse-crow. I like their names too. Pelloneus. "That's fun to say!"

Oh, and if you have lots of free time (as I do), you can take a small test to see if I match my daemon. Seems rather narcissistic actually, but I'll do it for you too!

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Okay, I think I fixed this. *grumble*

Anger, Disgust, Towel Thrown In

I've had it with Missoula. Totally. Had it. There are not NEARLY enough redeeming qualities to justify the Bizarro World we've been living in for nearly a year now. The arrogance. The completely incredulous behavior. The highs have been scarce, and the lows have been just ridiculous. Come June, with luck (ha!), we'll get the fuck out of here. I'm so angry right now I can hardly breathe.

As previously mentioned, Beau has been subbing for local high schools, one in particular who seemed to take a real liking to him. He was chummy with the Science staff, who constantly requested him personally. When a half-time teaching job became available at the sudden departure of a Biology teacher, the Science staff was quick to shepherd Beau in to take it over temporarily and rallied for him to apply and take it permanently. Half-time isn't ideal, but hell, we were thrilled to finally get our foot in the door! FINALLY!

Of course, he would have to interview for it, and the first month would be considered "temping" before it actually became a salary job (erm, okay, whatever). He began temping the very next day. A few weeks later, they had him interview. All seemed well. Throughout this time, Beau was inundated with compliments. Apparently, the previous teacher had had a LOT of trouble with her students, and Beau's fluid classroom management had made such a remarkable change, that other teachers were commenting happily, and even stated they saw an improvement in their OWN classrooms with the same students. Good signs!

Then, after time had gone on and nothing was heard, an administration person made a comment to Beau that "it's down to the two of you - they're just doing background checks." The two of you?? Immediately, a red flag went up for both of us. Usually, a comment like that wouldn't phase me, but knowing how things here never turn out the way they NORMALLY would, I was somewhat nervous. Obviously they could (and should) interview other qualified candidates, but Beau pretty much thought he'd had it in the bag. How many kudos and how much staff support can you get and NOT think so?

Then the principal called him last night and asked him to come in early today. We knew what that meant, we just hoped it was a POSITIVE thing. It had to be, right?? Beau called me a few minutes before he was to start teaching class to tell me that the principal had informed him that they were going with the other candidate, and as of tomorrow, Beau was out on his ass. Just like that. The principal stated that Beau had "done nothing wrong" during his time teaching these classes, but the other teacher had "more of a Chemistry background" (Note: it's 3 classes of Biology). Then the principal said the job would have to go up again in the Fall, and that he should feel free to apply. *snort* Yeah, right.

I feel so devastated for Beau (who is taking it as stoically as he always does) and so fucking pissed off at what seems to be our Year of Utter Shit, our Year of No Luck, our Year of Menial Jobs and Professional Demoralization. I feel like we really haven't done anything wrong -- that we've been our usual selves -- get a job(s), work hard, do well -- and yet, all we've experienced is disappointment and backsliding. No one could ever accuse us of not trying hard and putting in an honest effort, again and again.

And it's not over yet -- I still have not heard back about MY job, which I should any day now, and which could ALSO go from me being a 9 month temp to unemployed. Ho ho ho. I'm to the point now where I just want to get some totally mindless, anonymous job, like doing 8 hours a day of pure data entry in a small cubicle where no one talks to me, no one looks at me, no one gives me any fucking shit, and I can just become a work zombie. No more ambition, no more desire to have a good middle management job where I can make decisions, and do some good. I haven't totally given up.....yet (a job I applied for in Missouri has currently gone from the HR person to the hiring manager - a very good sign), but I am so sick and tired of this place and it's stupefying outcomes. I'm ready to leave. Now.

Whaddya Say?

I've mentioned before how I love to poke fun at Beau for his very "rural" idiomatic expressions. And as someone who actually taught "American Idioms" to a classroom of foreign students, I'm fascinated with idioms -- their origin both location-wise and meaning-wise. And I just also find them really fun, though not all that easy to teach. The first one I ever taught my Thai students was "raining cats and dogs" and even though they picked the true meaning up quickly, they still loved to repeat it back to me every time even the hint of rain threatened, which was every day during the rainy season.

Anyway, the ones that I sometimes hear come out of Beau's (or his parents') mouths always make me laugh, because it's like they made them up on the spot. Here are some I've started to collect. Some are obvious, some not so much. Notice prevalent theme of "shit."

1. Bird dog it down.

2. Goofier than a pet coon.

3. Can't spell "cat" on three tries.
(I heard this one from a dean at the university)

4. Ornerier than cat shit
(A bizarre one, and a favorite of Beau's).

5. "Couple three" months ago
(translation: "2-3" months ago. I hear this one all the time in Missoula)

6. Went to shit and the hogs ate her.
(I still don't know what this means)

7. Don't that make you wanna shit in your hat 'til the band breaks?
(Ew).

8. As full of shit as a Christmas goose
(more shit)

9. Drier than a popcorn fart
(still with the shit!) "Nuh uh. That's a shitless fart! It's dry!" said Beau.

10. She was so drunk that she couldn't scratch her ass with a wildcat in each hand. A much more colorful take than the "couldn't find his ass with both hands" that I've heard.
("That also goes for anyone who is just mildly coordinated," said Beau).

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And one my beloved great grandmother used to say when waving goodbye to us:
"Come good home!"

Um, okay! *wave*

Groundhog Day - Vomit

I'm beginning to think I'm living my own version of Groundhog Day. Just a lot less funny.

Last Friday I had an interview. For my own job. You know, the job I've been doing since March. And the crazy part is, I don't have high hopes of getting it, nor do I have a strong desire to. And yet, if I don't get it, we're fucked. Totally.

It's the Office Manager Woman (OMW) whom I've been having this bizarre personality conflict with that makes me think I'm in trouble. Her abrupt 180 turn in behavior has made me both confused and sad, though the other employees who have been here for a couple years aren't even fazed. They say that she does that with everyone. Since OMW's declaration that she needed to be "professional" and that her previous chumminess with me was "inappropriate," working with her has become uncomfortable. This is so disappointing, since I really adored her before, and now she's so hyper-critical, so disapproving, that it's making me both paranoid and pissed off. I guess it all comes down to how much clout she has compared to my other boss - the one I adore working with who gives me all the interesting projects to do.

And then, of course, there's the Big Cheese. He's a great guy, but in reality, we have very little contact since every single day he has an insane back-to-back schedule of meetings. In addition, OMW has declared herself his personal assistant and demanded that all contact for him must go through her. She ripped me a new one a couple weeks back because I told a professor he could come introduce himself to the Big Cheese at the end of the day. She took me behind closed doors to berate me for what seemed like a year of my life, telling me that making "appointments" for the Big Cheese was something I was told NEVER to do and that she "didn't want to be rude" but she didn't know how she could make it more clear. I guess I didn't see a handshake as an appointment, but none the less, I guess I know my place now now!

First, I interviewed with OMW and my Cool Boss. That went fine, though it was awkward since I've already been working here for awhile which kinda skewed the questions (they have to ask identical questions of everyone). After that, I had a one-on-one with the Big Cheese, and found myself pleasantly surprised at just how well it went and how much I enjoyed myself. I totally get now why he is so adored and why people gush over him. I've never had one-on-one time with him before, and he is a fantastic communicator. He has this way of showing empathy and acting as if what you say has real interest and meaning to him. He furrows his brow and nods sagely, which makes you feel as if you said something intriguing. In addition, he can finish your sentences, which is a rather startling, and intimate trait. When he asked me what my dream job on campus would be, and I said, "To be the head of International Programs," his eyebrows shot up and he said, "Oh really!?" in such a way that I couldn't tell if he was impressed or flabbergasted at my ambition.

I believe today was the last interview (they interviewed about four or five others). What will happen in the end, I have no idea. I've had numerous people in different departments stop by or call up and say, "Did you get it?" and I have to just shrug and smile and say, "I don't know yet!" That's usually when I'm met with a scowl and a conspiratorial whisper of, "That's how this office always is - all this ridiculous mystery." Anyway, like I said, I guess it depends on how much the other two will defer to OMW. I know the Big Cheese feels thankful for her, as most powerful leaders due to their hard-working, all-controlling assistants, so we'll see. It's strange to need a job you totally don't want, and how demoralizing that can be. Yes, I continue to apply to other jobs (mostly in Missouri) when applicable ones come up, and I'm steeling myself for the possibility that I may be unemployed right around Christmas - demoralizing indeed. Oh well.

Wish me luck. I think.

Random Photo of the Day - Rock Lobster Love Shack

Rock Lobster Shack. MMmm!
Waipapa Bay, New Zealand. Late 2006.

We stopped here on our long, languid, and lovely trip through the south island to munch on some rock lobster. Kiwis call them "crayfish," though they're the size of a large American lobster and a lot scarier looking. A little pricey, but giant and delicious (though unfortunately, not as giant as the one featured atop their shack). Also sadly, despite repeated washings, I could NOT get the lobster stink out of my fingers all day. I know, ew.


Also back at home on the north island, a neighbor in our town delivered us a shoebox with two giant rock lobsters inside that they had simply plucked out of the ocean (apparently children often swim down and get them themselves). To them, it was just a snack from the sea, to us, it was seafood luxury!

Koala Bear

Saturday I had planned to do a lot of housecleaning, but I suddenly just got so tired, and I couldn't resist lying down for a bit. Fergus decided to join me, and instead of snuggling up next to me, he thought it better to climb up on my back and sleep, a la koala bear style. He laid his face so close to my ear that I could hear him lick his lips. I love having the cats sleep with me, but this was a bit...intimate.

Always Crashing in the Same Car, Part II

The car died on me again. This time on the way to work and while at the head of a left-hand turn lane of a fairly busy intersection. So, I am not only freezing and pissed, but now I get to annoy everyone on their way to work who has to meander around me. Just great!

Anyway, luckily THIS TIME the Emergency Roadside went smoothly, and the Honda was towed back to my main man Larry at Auto Electric. He chastised me for not bringing it in immediately after the speedometer (fuse) had blown a week ago, but since the car had been working perfectly except for the (again) broken speedometer, I just figured, what the hell. I'll drive it like I did before. Taking the car into the shop is the pits.

So, similar to before, I can expect the speedometer to blow again and again, and Larry will be giving us a box of fuses, and I will be leaving in a few minutes, to check out how to replace the little bastards myself. When it starts blowing all the time, I can finally bring it in and find out what the REAL problem is, which seems to be rather elusive.

I'm starting to hate this car.

Fergus!

Oh, and I've decided to go with "Fergus" for our new addition to our human-feline family. I think he likes it too, 'cause he's already starting to come when I call his name. Thank you for your comments and suggestions, even ones like Dingleberry and Soloniosum *smacks Spongie* Though I really liked all those names, Fergus felt right in the end. I say *I* since Beau plans on calling him his usual names for cats:

- Cat
- Goofball
- Oh-You-Little-Shit (after he gets bit or scratched when he plays roughly with Sabina)
- Lemme-Step-On-Your-Head (This one for the sheer pleasure of riling me up), as in:
"Hey you, come here -- Lemme step on your head!"

I'm still totally thrilled he's here and liking him more each day. He is currently in a sort of tense truce with Sabina - they slept next to each other last night for the first time, though every now and then she couldn't help but emit a low-tone growl. And he terrorizes her by leaping onto her back and biting her head, then joyfully chasing her around the house, while she lets out these unnerving screams of protest. She's old and her tolerance for play is not too high, but she needs a bit of exercise. It's rather funny, except for this morning. Screaming cats are not funny at 6:00am.

P.S. Beau reminded me of one more name he frequently uses: Dumbass. I'm not a fan of that one either, but he says, "But I always say it as a joke, like 'Hey Dumbass' hahahahah."

Ha.

*giggle*

Every year, some student trickster(s) manage to scale the precarious roof of the campus-famous University Hall to place a lone pumpkin on the very tip of the clock tower. And there it sits for an entire year, possibly because no one in the campus Facility Services can figure out how to get the heck up there. And then, as the next Halloween rolls around, a fresh pumpkin is placed atop, to slowly rot the next year away.

I don't know why, but I find this really funny. And cute. And yeah, funny. It just makes me giggle every time I look up at it on my way to work in the morning. It seems the zoom on my cellphone's camera is crap, so this is the best I've got...it's that little ball at the top.

Name that Cat!

After a year of lobbying, culminating in some intense negotiations over the past couple weeks, I finally "convinced" Beau to let us get another cat. (Convinced being a very strong word). There are certain things I believe when it comes to cats: 1) You should always have two. They keep each other company over the long hours when you're gone, and well, it's just more fun that way; and 2) You should try to get them from your local Humane Society if at all possible.

This past Saturday I went to the Humane Society of Western Montana specifically to see a cat named Donovan I had read about in the paper. He had all the qualities I wanted in a cat, both physically (adult, male, short-hair, inside cat, fixed, different coloration than Sabina), and personally (likes other cats, affectionate). When I got there, I made a beeline for him. The place was fairly crowded already. He was in a small glass room with another cat, and immediately he began crawling all over me and rubbin and lovin. Awwww.

Then he bit me. And then he bit me again, and again. Ow, damn it! Now, I don't mind a little cat nip (ha ha), but an adult cat who repeatedly bites you is a bit of a problem. I kept stroking him and talking softly, thinking maybe it was a fluke, but he'd rub-rub-rub, then proceed to sink his fangs into the palm of my hand. Again and again. Oh, shit.

I decided to give him a break and went to see the other cats, of which they had quite a few. They had a lot of really wonderful ones, mostly female, who were sweet and loving. I opened up a lot of cages and stroked a lot of kitties. I would take photos of my favorites with my cellphone and send them to Beau at work. One cat in particular caught my attention. He was a male Siamese with gorgeous blue eyes. I've never really been a fan of the breed. They're loud and pissy in general, and their super-angular over-breeding is resulting in a pretty queer look. Thankfully, this cat looked more old school with the darker coat and larger, muscular body. Also, despite the fact that all the other cats in the room were mewing and calling, he was surprisingly silent. As soon as I opened his cage, he climbed up so his front paws were on my shoulder, and then be began to nuzzle my chin.

Yeah, I was hooked.

I checked him out - adult male, fixed, and declawed *WINCE*. "Likes other cats, especially the ladies." Oooh, well that will help! His name was Cinder.

I tried to be fair though and took my time to visit all the cats there, revisiting some, and even took a moment with the kittens though I had no intention of adopting one of those. I then went back to Donovan. A small boy was standing in the room with him, tightly clutching one hand in the other, and displaying a face of pure misery. "Did he bite you?" I asked the boy. He nodded silently. I tried to console the boy and asked him a few more questions of which he simply nodded or shook his head, continuing to hold his hand protectively. I tried to then pet Donovan and talk softly to him, but he just kept biting me. I went and talked to the staff about Donovan and his biting and they kind of looked at each other and smiled. "Yeah, he's a wild one," they said. Oh well.I went and visited the dogs, then came back and asked the staff about Cinder. Well, they said, a lot of people had been inquiring about him, and in fact, someone was coming right now to see him to adopt. At this particular Humane Society, you can come in and adopt on the spot, so it's pretty much first-come, first-serve. It turns out that Cinder had been the "Pet of the Week" in the local newspaper and so was getting a lot of interest. Shit.

My original plan was to come when they opened at noon, narrow it down, and then when Beau got off of work at 4pm, race back to the Humane Society which closed at 5pm to adopt a cat. Although Beau was less than thrilled about this, it was important to me that he be a part of the process, help choose. The staff explained that I still needed to submit the permission slip from our apartment manager (true) and come back with that before I adopt. They apologized that they couldn't hold Cinder for me, but I understood. That was fair.

Then the staff told me some more about his history. He'd been with a family with a small boy who had broken Cinder's leg at just 6 months old! Horrors! Then, they'd had Cinder declawed shortly afterwards (this is something I am totally against). Finally, when he started peeing out of his litterbox (because they had just gotten a new dog), they gave him up. Heartbreaking! (The litterbox problem stopped instantly after he was surrendered to the Humane Society).

So, I left and called Beau, telling him about Cinder. I was going to wait on all of this, but I decided I should just go ahead and take care of it, and with my sweatshirt absolutely covered in cat fur, I went to my apartment manager and got my permission slip (after plunking down even more of a deposit than the original). I went home and showered and changed clothes and by this time, Beau had called back and told me he trusted me enough to do this on my own and go ahead. My heart pounding, I raced back to my car and drove back to the Humane Society - on the other side of town, of course.

When I got there, they recognized me and told me that there was a couple in with Cinder now, and I should basically just wait, biting my lip. I filled out the application and turned in my apartment permission slip and sat down in the lobby. And waited. Awhile.

As I sat there, two different calls came in specifically for Cinder. In addition, a spiky-haired woman walked in inquiring about him as well. I waited for the woman behind the counter (a different one) to basically tell the spiky-haired woman the same thing they'd been telling them all, "A lot of people are interested in him, forget it." But to my horror, the staff person ended up escorting the woman back to see him. I was going to protest, but I didn't get the words out fast enough, and was intimidated about shouting across the room as they walked off. So, I sat there and waited. And waited. Here and there the staff woman I had been talking to shot me sympathetic looks and I tried to smile back. I even went in and petted a sweetheart of a dog for a bit before coming back to deposit my butt into the chair.

The spiky-haired woman emerged and began whispering to the staff people. Uh oh. I glared in her direction, just daring her to try to steal him out from under me. Then I heard one of them say, "Oh no, Cinder can't go to a home with kids. He doesn't like kids." Yes! The spiky-haired woman left.

After what seemed like eternity, they called me up to the counter. Apparently, the previous couple had decided against Cinder after he had bit the woman on the chin. *snicker* Okay, that's not really funny, it's just luck. The staff were unfazed. "That poor cat has seen 50 people today. He is so overstimulated and exhausted. We're not surprised." So, with that interesting green light, I went ahead and filled out all the paperwork to adopt him, and for just $10 more, he could be microchipped as well, which I had done (Sabina already has one for when she went to NZ). They gave me a bag of Science Diet, a collar and tag, all his medical history, a free vet visit card, and of course, Cinder, in a large cardboard box.

Driving home, he finally found his voice and began to cry. I let him out and petted him and peering out the windows with wide-eyes, he was fine. And now, we're all home, cats in two different rooms (it takes Sabina quite awhile to adjust to a new animal), and all's well. He's still a total sweetheart and I adore him. I miss him when I'm at work. We did have one small accident *cough* but since then it's gone smoothly. I look forward to many many years with .... with....what's his name?

That's where I hope you, all four of my readers, come in. I thought I'd throw out the names I picked for him. Cinder is actually kind of a cool name, especially with his gorgeous coat, but I'd prefer to name him myself for one, and secondly, there's something I feel...like how he had this traumatic childhood and now is his time to start all over, with a new name. Over-personification of a cat, perhaps, but I can identify with wanting to start all over anew.

Anyway, below are the names in the running. I'm curious as to what you all think. Like any of them?

Name choices:
1. Fergus - named both after a literary character in a series Beau and I read, and after Beau's family's Scottish clan.
2. Kiwi - cause it's a cute name and relates to our beloved time spent in New Zealand
3. Atticus - after Gregory Peck's stellar character and because it sounds cool. "Also, it's close to 'cat,' so I can just call him 'hey, cat' like I want to," muttered Beau.
4. Phoenix - cool name, Harry Potter connection, and it's where I grew up.
5. Stile - named after another literary character and kind of a neat homonym.

Snow Sucks

This is a photo taken a few months ago during our glorious Spring.

This is today.

Divine Dance Dance Intervention

As with many married couples, Beau and I have gained a bit of weight since our wedding day. Since graduating from high school, I've slid up and down the same range of 20lbs, with varying degrees of firm muscle and smooshy fat. But since I quit Shop-n-Smile - my nightly 4-hour walk complete with dozens of squats and heavy lifting - my weight has taken a massive leap skyward, and I am now the heaviest of my life, well beyond that 20lb range.

It feels gross, and uncomfortable, and though my clothes still "fit," they feel tight and bothersome. Also, my chronic stomach problems seem to become magnified when my weight goes up.

Plus, I'm pretty damn depressed, and winter is fast approaching - two prescriptions for weight gain anyway. The New Zealand thing, which I deposited a lot more hope in than even I realized, doesn't look too promising now. With Beau being in America, NZ schools see hiring him, sight/site unseen as a risk, and I totally understand - I went through the same thing when I hired teachers in Thailand. But it's maddening to know that he's such an amazing, gifted teacher, and his talents are being wasted in the wasteland that is Missoula's substitute teacher system.

A little over a week ago I had this dream. I was playing Dance Dance Revolution - the super hyper dance video game that involves a mat with arrows that you step on in time with the arrows passing by on your TV screen. It's similar to Guitar Hero, but you use your feet. Kind of feels like a Dance Club version of Twister. I can't remember much more about the dream, but it was one of those where you wake up and the dream just seems to have a powerful grip on you that lingers far beyond the usual ones. I laid there and thought of how I'd seen several news stories about how DDR was this weight loss phenomenon for fat, introverted kids who stayed home and played video games all night. There were many cases of kids losing over 100lbs each. Now they even use it in schools! I always thought that was really cool, but wasn't interested in buying a video game system. Civ IV is the only purchased computer game I've ever needed (well, except for maybe Diner Dash).

In real life, I've only tried DDR once at a friend's house, and I completely and utterly sucked at it, not to mention that I looked like a total dweeb. But for some reason, I took this dream as divine inspiration. Okay, maybe not DIVINE, but I dunno. Sure, it looks pretty crazy typed out like it is now...

Anyway, I went to Wally World where Beau was working that day and approached the Electronics people. I know that you can play DDR on pretty much any video game system, so I asked one saleswoman, "What's the cheapest way I can play DDR?" She led me around to view several massive glass cases stocked full of video games, as we had to weave in and around the hypnotized goons playing Guitar Hero III. The best she seemed to find was a $400 game system (I think maybe it was Wii or Playstation 3) along with a $80 DDR game. Ugh. No dream or weight loss system is worth that much. After she left, I wandered around some more until I found a Playstation 2 system for about $129 with the DDR game priced at about $50. Though still pricey, this seemed much more reasonable. I found Beau and brought him over, but he was less than thrilled. Money is tight and this was an extravagant purchase for us. We went back and forth for a bit, then he walked away and I walked around the store some more. Finally, I decided to get it, and use the credit card in my name. I told myself that Montana's lack of sales tax and the additional 10% off employee discount I'd get would make a big difference. These are the kinds of things you tell yourself at these moments when a part of you feels guilty for spending cash.

But why make such a reckless purchase? (Besides the fact that I've never been that great a manager of money?). Well, I just got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. I had to DO something. This may not make much sense to some of you, especially regarding the silliness of buying a video game system or losing weight, but it makes perfect sense to me. When you're clinically depressed, and honey, this ain't my FIRST rodeo, you feel yourself sinking, sinking, sinking until you get to the point that you just cannot see a way out of the darkness. I find it is similar to an alcohol or drug abuser, in that most people reach a point, the proverbial "rock bottom," where say, "Fuck this! I need help! I need to make changes!" and so begins the slow steps to recovery.

But the difference is that with Depression, you sink and sink, and then at some point you just sort of plateau...and there you reside. I've often said that Depression becomes a comfortable way of life for the afflicted, which is why you find people who claim to be desperate to get out of it, but who never seem to make any real moves to do so. Even someone like me who is very sympathetic to being in that state, has grown impatient and frustrated with others - namely those who beg you for help, and then turn around and refuse all offers. I had one friend in grad school who slowly alienated all others with her suicidal-but-not-really personality. I spent many nights on the phone, in her apartment, listening to her, consoling her. At some point, I started to try to help her. I talked to her about the University's fantastic counseling center, therapy and/or medication, support groups, helpful books to read, her clergyperson, ANYTHING. Despite her pleas for help, all suggestions were pa-shawed off. After more endless J-therapy sessions that exhausted me, and seemingly only rejuvenated her for a day, it slowly became clear to me that she didn't want help. She was comfortable residing on that plateau, despite what she said. She had to make her own decision to climb out.

An-y-way, to me, buying the PS2 and DDR was about taking action. It's about consciously making changes and taking steps to get out of this stupid super funk and lose weight and have more energy and sleep better and be a little bit happier.

And here I am, a few weeks later, and it's kinda working. As far as the weight goes, I lost a pound and then a week later gained a half a pound back - whoopty-doo - but I feel a lot better. I can't really articulate it, but I definitely do notice a boost in energy and I've slept through the night for the past two nights in a row - quite a feat for me. I know that when I do set out to lose weight, it's a very slow process, so I'm patient.

But the trick to kicking Depression is action. You can have the pills and the therapy, both of which I recommend, but you also have to do some of your own work. It's so easy to give in and just stay home and (over)sleep and be safe and warm and eat mac-n-cheese and watch lots and lots of Forensic Files and Law & Order *cough blush* and though I will continue to enjoy all those things, I can't be stagnant any longer.

I read something online today in regards to the writers' strike, and it said something about the blogosphere being "the unhappiest place on earth." Hahahah, that really made me laugh. It's so true; how many of us have blogs about how shitty our lives are? One thing I have truly learned in the past few months by reading the blogs of many of my friends, yes you, is that we ALL have shit to deal with. We've all got something in our life that is weighing us down - money matters, health issues, spouse troubles, family entanglements, job woes (sidenote: my job still sucks - and I might not have it much longer). Everyone has something serious they face. And I have to say that I truly admire the Mutual Admiration Society that is blogging. We're all depressed, we all love each other, and we're all virtually there for each other. *sniff*

And now for me, it's time to dance!
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For your enjoyment, I am including the youtube of a small child and one of a one-legged man who would both kick my ASS on DDR any day. The first week or two I danced on it, I was alone, but was so ridiculous I was embarrassed to be with myself. Now, I'm at least respectable at the game, but can't hold a candle to these two:

R.I.P. Robert Goulet

When I first saw Will Ferrell do one of his SNL Robert Goulet skits, I loved it, even though my familiarity with Robert Goulet was marginal.

About two years ago, accompanied by my beloved Aunty Betty and cousin Wendy, I had the chance to see Robert Goulet himself on Broadway, starring in La Cage aux Folles. I guess he was just about 70 then, and it was quite clear during the raucous musical that he wasn't very mobile, (he sat or would only shuffle a couple steps on stage for most of the performance), but his voice was still strong and warm. We had a great time.

And now that he's passed away - waiting for a lung transplant - how sad! - I just wanted to put in a few fun video clips in his honor:


1) Video of a La Cage aux Folles number that was done at the 59th Tony Awards (Goulet opens the number). Note: And for all those not familiar with the show, all those delicious can-can dancers are men. I haven't been able to do the splits like that since 7th grade!



2) Will Ferrell's giggly skit on Robert Goulet pushing his new rap album. Robert Gouleeeeeet.



3) The awesome commercial he did a few years ago for Emerald Nuts.

Knock Knock Knock on Wood

I am super happy to report that for the last 63 1/2 hours, our Honda Civic has been running like a dream! *furiously knocks on wood til knuckles bruise*

In the end, the whole circuit breaker drama was scrapped, and a shiny new alternator with a warranty was installed. So far, so good. SUCH a relief. The guys at Auto Electric Service in Missoula (I can advertise now that all's well), didn't even charge us a penny more. They were nice guys throughout the whole process, even though the week+ long drama made me hella nervous, and I admit to not being too sure about them at times. But now all feelings are warm and fuzzy, and it feels good to have a mechanic who isn't going to stick it to you.

And a car that runs.

Flash! Auuuuuuahhhhhhhh!

It's dark and cold in the mornings now, so I could no longer ignore the fact that my car's headlights continue to flash to the rhythm of "Turn the Beat Around" nor the fact that if I try to run the heat, lights, and radio at the same time I run a good chance of stalling out. Driving around with a broken speedometer - I've gotten used to - but the embarrassment of my pulsating lights reflecting off the back of the incredulous driver in front of me - not so much. Besides, I'm going to need that heater, bigtime!

So, we took the car into the only place in Missoula that specializes in electrical problems. Two old, friendly guys were there and I tried, in as much detail as possible, to explain the problem with the car. Crazy, dance-around-the-dial speedometer, flashing lights, radio skipping every other syllable with a nice staticky CCRRKKKK! And how in the mornings when I reach a stoplight, I have to put the car in neutral and gun it, to give it enough juice to once again allow the radio and lights to be steady. At this point, the mechanics gave each other a dumbfounded look - a look that gave me the heebee jeebees considering that it means "ka-ching! ka-ching!" When they mentioned that if they couldn't figure it out, it was off to the dealership with me, I openly sobbed.

Okay, I didn't, but STILL.

I hate talking to men who are mechanics or computer experts or talented athletes. They always act like I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about (don't on cars, DO on computers, used to in volleyball and basketball) and are patiently listening to a 4-year old child talk about her dolly. Luckily Beau was there to add legitimacy to my claim by the presence of his overwhelming testosterone. There was one awkward moment though when he asked a question, trying to show his (past) knowledge of cars, therefore excluding us from the "idiots fee." The mechanic shot him a look and said, "They haven't been doing that to cars since 1963." "Oh," was all Beau could say.

The next day they called to say they knew what it was (the alternator and a fuse) and I could come get the car. Joy! "Are you sitting down?" he asked. Oh fuck. "How much?" I asked meekly.

$365.

Okay, that's a HUGE amount of money to use right now, but in the universe that is car repair, it's not a HUGE amount of money. I guess. I was frightened he'd say something like "2,000!" - about what we paid for the car, which would make the whole situation ridiculous. So, just before five we picked it up, and as I drove off, I was in a state of continual glee as I saw my speedometer assuredly and steadily rise up to 40mph instead of thrashing around like a mosh pit maniac. The car didn't stall. I put on the heat, lights, and radio. All was well. Hooray!

Not so fast! This is my world, remember? That night I drove the car to do some errands, like picking up a giant piece of wood at Lowe's to go under my Dance Dance Revolution mat so I could stomp the shit out of it. As darkness fell and I started off for home, it all began again. The flashing, the static, the threats of stalling. By the time I reached home, it was worse than it ever was before. I put the car in neutral in our parking space, and called up to Beau to come out of the apartment. Meeting him on the stairs, he peered down at the car and said, "Why do you have your turn blinker on?"

"I don't," I said, "That's the headlights."

"Oh, shit."

The next morning after Beau left for work, I decided I'd go to the store to pick up some things. The car would not start. Period. After a brief whine, it wouldn't even turn over at all. Just great!

When Beau got home from work, we jumped it, and took off to the car place again. This was Sunday, so all we could do was leave our keys in the drop box and flip off the empty building as we left. Beau said, "I bet it's the alternator, when I had trouble with mine, they had to replace it like three times before they got one to work." We waited for a call the next day.

"It's not the alternator," said the mechanic, who then launched into his "plan," which sounded totally kooky to me. "We put a circuit breaker on it. What you got to do, is drive the car -- and it will blow, but then the circuit breaker will immediately turn it back on. This will happen on occasion, but when it gets to the point where it is happening repeatedly, you bring it back in and we'll be able to diagnose the problem."

"Wait, you mean I have to run the car into the ground?"

"No, not really, this is not a big deal. And besides, it may take a week for this to happen, it may take a year. It's a waiting game." Mmmmmkay. "And then when I bring it back...THEN what happens?" I asked. Translation: How much? No dummy, he picked up on that immediately and said, "No, don't worry. I do right by my customers. It will be fair."

*sigh* As a last thought, I asked him to put new windshield wipers on the car too. All they do now is smear the water across the windshield. "We don't usually do that, but I'll be happy to do it for you," he said.

He called back later that day.

"It's the alternator," he said. Vindicated Beau, bummed out me.

Then the mechanic started apologizing profusely on the phone and said, "Is it all right - the alternator has to come from Denver - you won't get your car until Thursday." A bit stunned - this is Missoula, not the Arctic tundra or Mad Max, but really, what CAN you do? Before he hung up, he added, "But you got some fantastic wipers on your car! They work great!"

Small blessings.

And now we wait, til Thursday (tomorrow) and hope this is the end of the story. I hope we don't get charged anymore cash (except for the blades), but we'll see. Labor is time and time is money. I love that little Honda, but it's become a real pain in the caboose.