bee gees

big, big butthead

I'm a Great Big Baby

Ugh, I finished watching the last episode of "Six Feet Under" a little bit ago and I have stopped blowing my nose, finally. My God, I'm such a puss, I'm starting to think that there's nothing contrived and sentimental that I won't cry over, especially, but not limited to, anything on broadcast or cable tv. In the episode where Nate died, well forget about it, I'm too embarassed to even say. Man, I can't believe what a shameless pussy I can be...

Who's Afraid of My TV Guide?

I was listening to the radio on my way to the asian grocery store this afternoon when I heard two gentlemen talking about the steady decline of TV Guide. It seems that The People are more inclined now to seek tv listings on the internet because of the variety, searchability, and so forth. One of the two talked about seeing people on the subway "in the old days" with their newspapers folded over to the television section, a highlighter mapping out their week to come. I detected notes of superiority and nasty pity in his voice that indeed rubbed my rankled fur this way and that. Why?! Why, do you ask? Because if I lived in NY and rode the subway, you might see me on your train on Mondays with my Green Section and maybe not highlighter, but at very least a Sharpie, figuring out when I need to be home, when I can tape, and when I can stay out late with no compunctions concerning "Case Files with Dr.Henry Lee."
The Fact of the Matter is that I don't like most tv listings on the net, I don't find them fast, easy, and infinitely searchable, I find them Annoyingly Time-Consuming. I'm all for the net and technology of every sort, but I find comfort and some bit of anticipatory excitement in laying back on the couch and browsing the tv listings in the paper.
So kill me.
I admit, however, that TV Guide used to be... better, somehow. Growing up, I would beg my mother for a subscription, trying vainly to explain what a valuable resource it was, as we were living in a series of tiny hamlets in North Carolina,only to consistently run up against cat-eye-glasses magnifying tired, irritated eyes. So basically, I always lost. The sad irony is that once I was on my own and could afford the paltry cover price I was no longer interested as I felt, even at that point, that TV Guide just wasn't what it use to be, (or literally "wernt wut it usta be").
Ultimately I am saddened now, by the snowballing irrelavancy of the Guide, the memories of the way-too-easy/dumb backpage crossword puzzles, and the bittersweetness, mostly bitter, of my lost youth.
So it goes. I am tiny.

Like a lot of people this morning, I watched for and watched Discovery as she made her way back to earth. I had my fingers crossed and a prayer on my breath. I'm happy she and her people are back safely.

Space shuttle, space shmuttle...

...put those astronauts to work, teaching the less priviledged and otherwise illiterate, to read, open bank accounts, balance checkbooks, find a decent job, care for their neighbor, vote for the candidate of their choice, and give back to the community. Turn that shuttle into an enormous planter, filled with medical marijuana or delicious tomatoes. Turn Cape Canaveral into a giant artspace for all children and stock it full of supplies. I guess that's my dream about that.
photo from
http://www.art180.org/2_about.htm
check it out.

Friday finally, it seems

It's been a short week what with the 4th and all, but it feels like it took a long time to get to today. Bombings in London, tropical storms thrashing, Lance kicking ass early on, and the murders keep coming here in the confederate capital. What a life. I'm a lucky person. Let's all give thanks right now for waking up this morning, in one piece (assuming you are), relatively sane, with roofs over our heads, food in our fridges, and the likelihood (sp?) that we won't be picked off by a sniper as we cross the street. Love, Leemur

the bing

Cheers America!

Well, it certainly is the Fourth of July. Currently I'm all alone except for Isabel and Oscar and Bing. Everybody else is out of town. Oh well. I'll be haeading back to my apt soon to clean up, feed the cats, grab my bike and head down to work. Yeah, that's right, I'm going to work, because it's work that made this country great. Or whatever. I'm going to do some painting and repairing and listen to music loud. At some point I'll take a break and go for a ride out route 5 or somewhere. I look forward to it all. I have no idea what we'll do tonite. I wish we could find a roof near Dogwood Dell to get on and watch the fireworks. We'll see.
I have to make a brief rant about the lack of any real rowing coverage from the regatta on Saturday in yesterday's paper. (that was sort of an awkward sentence) I only saw the online version, but they usually have more pictures and things than the print edition, but barely a mention of rowing. And no pictures. What tha?! What up Times Dispatch? Get with the program. There.
Peace out. Leemur.

Rockett's Landing Regatta

Went to the Regatta today, part of the Adventure Games going on this weekend. Got there later than I planned, missed seeing Libah's race, but saw others, got recruited briefly to help move cookout food, took pictures, roamed around, prasied the Solidowskis, talked baby-talk to a really cute puppy that I considered stealing because she was tied up with an owner nowhere in sight, drank beer, ate two hotdogs, wished that Dan LeBlanc was my father or uncle, got some sunburn, looked out onto the river from a comfy fold out chair, got a free t-shirt (thanks Laura), didn't pee in a porta-john (porta-john fear), forgot to share a piece of gossip I had, thought about the start of the Tour De France, offered to make dinner tonite before the fireworks, came home. More later. Love, Leemur

solids in action

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ridiculously cute puppy

solidowskis

dock, boat, solidowskis, guy

down on the dock--from left libah, laura, a bit of shannon's rear i think, and gentleman whose name i don't know

I should blog more. Perhaps it would help with a newly discovered problem I have : unstoppable, uncontrollable, totally annoying humming. I have hummed from time to time, as much as anyone I suppose, but I've noticed that I do it almost all the time now and it's proving hard to make myself stop. It makes having a stupid song stuck in the head seem like a breeze, at least you can sing something else, but this is entirely different. Perhaps it's some kind of nervous tic kind of thing, but based on what and why? It's disturbing. Is there a support group? Can I invent some course of therapy? Would it involve freshly squeezed juices and salves? Or balms? Would I be forced to watch the entire "Lethal Weapon" series? With Joe Pesci, in character, drinking Kool Aid beside me on the couch? Comments, suggestions are welcome.

Things I Like That I Didn't Think I Would

Nights With Alice Cooper (http://www.nightswithalicecooper.com/listen.asp)
I've never felt one way or the other about Alice Cooper, I like some of his songs, I always thought he needed a good long bath, but other than that, fairly neutral. Not so long ago I started catching his show that's on weeknights at 7:00, and I really dig it. He's funny. I didn't really believe that it was him til I looked up the website, and sure enough, there was his sweet, hammered face. He wears polo shirts sometimes. He gets my vote. If I were close to him though, I'd urge him in the direction of a haircut.
Not Smoking
Who knew?! It took asthma to finally make me quit, not my own, but that of my Precious Bunny, and what a great decision. Don't get me wrong, it's still a struggle but one I gratefully bear. I do miss the ritual though.
Bootie Socks
I've pretty much always hated them, from the ones that barely peek out of your sneaks to the "low cuts," I've always thought they were super-queer, and not in the good way. Okay, they're fine for athletes of whatever description, but too often all I could picture was some early-to-midde-aged white guy with ugly shorts, painfully white Reeboks or Nikes, and The Socks. Socklets. Footies. Whatever. Ugh. So what the hell, I can't explain why I not only somewhat suddenly decide that they're not so bad, but that it's also probably okay for me to wear them. Huh? I'm just a little frightened that maybe I've become a middle-aged white guy when I wasn't looking.
See also this link to a favourite blog
http://opieblue.typepad.com/my_weblog/2005/05/bootie_girly_ga.html

Yesterday's Rose Garden Press Conference, Starring Our Man W!

I was listening to the news on the radio at work yesterday (okay, yes, it was All Things Considered on NPR) and they were reporting on W's Rose Garden news conference, and I was only half-listening until I heard "Amnesty International" blah, blah, blah, and tuned into him talking about their allegations concerning Guantanamo Bay detainees and so forth, and what he said made me laugh aloud, partly because of his ridiculous gaffe, and partly because of something personal... it went like this : (regarding the report) "it seemed like to me they based some of their decisions on--on the word of-- and allegations by people who were held in detention, people who hate America, people who have been trained, in some instances, to dis-assemble--that means not tell the truth, and so it's an absurd report."
Yes, absurd, that's it.
I laugh, on the personal front, because in an email several years ago to someone who did the old dump-you-for-the-ex thing, I strongly and forthrightly, laid her out as, among other things, being a "dissembling and dishonest liar." Redundant? Perhaps, but she had to look up what that meant. Strangely, she was also a media personality...
I'm not trying to be catty...I'm just being mean---

New Thing, New Section! Avoid the Rush! I Call It "What Am I Angry About?"

What am I angry about right now? Well...
I'm angry about a state that would try to make a 13 yr old girl have a baby when she didn't want to---
I'm angry about sexual predators who are released from prison and continue on to rape, maim, and murder. Little girls. Little boys. Your little girl or boy---
I'm angry about pharmacists who feel that they can make the decision on who gets what prescribed medication that they may find Morally Offensive or Wrong. Saying "who the fuck do you think you are?!" doesn't even begin to cover that---
I'm angry about men who refuse to wear condoms and spread STDs and create children with complete disregard---
I'm angry about the women who have sex with them. No glove, no love. Hey! No love, no love! Yes, babies are cute and cuddly. But babies aren't dolls that you can toss in a box when you want to get fucked up, go out dancing, hang out on the porch, or bang your brains out because Mr Wonderful can get it up for you right this second---
Stop not caring about whether you live or die-- you could be a blessing in someone's life, lives, if you'd give it a try. It's not too hard to act decent---
I'm angry about lives that end too soon because somebody thinks they have to get there FASTER than anybody else. Do you want to be someone who's so badly burned that it takes a week or more to even figure who you are, rather, who you Were?
I'm angry about motherfucking suicide bombers every fucking day in one or the other of two countries that we watch on the news every morning---