Holiday Travel
I'm still in Riverdale. It always takes me a long time to get from Point A to Point B, unless I am actually walking there. I think this is because I detest being helpless in transit. So much dead, useless time. Also, the actual destination is often a disappointment. I do like some airports. La Guardia. The one in Dallas/Fort Worth. The airport in Maui was open to the balmy island air.

Sadly, I dislike being on actual planes.

- posted by meese @ 1:10 PM |

 
Insane vs. Insane World
The other day, my parents told me that they would help me with the money for laser eye surgery, but not until I am way over 30, or the “War on Terror” is over. They are afraid I will be drafted otherwise, and that my lousy eyesight will be the only thing between myself and certain rape and death in Iraq.

Well, knowing that the current government is evil and out for blood, I suppose anything is possible. But I never mentioned having laser eye surgery in the first place. This has something to do with a general squeamishness about people firing laser beams into the tender flesh of my eyes.

- posted by meese @ 1:08 PM |

 
With all the trimmings
Well, the turkey breast is roasting, and the stuffing is crisping nicely in the toaster oven. Cranberry sauce is cooling on the windowsill, and I believe the asparagus is waiting to be steamed. There is also a salad.

Please note that this is the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and that for the actual Thanksgiving, we ate at a restaurant.

This brings to mind memories of my childhood, when we would order Chinese take-out, and my father would use a 3-tiered steamer to cook his own broccoli, which he would then offer around the table.

Please note that I would often only order broccoli.

- posted by meese @ 4:52 PM |

 
Now that's hi-tech
Tonight I helped my mother set up, of all things, a blog of her very own. I wonder what she'll write in it. She has kept notebooks all her life. The journal she wrote of her time during my infancy is quite enlightening.

From here, I can see that the bulletin board above the computer is filled with her collages in progress. This season, they feature prone figures twisted into an almost fetal position. I can see also an image of the moon, a group of shadowy people, a desolate tree, a ruined house, the horizon. The pictures of screaming women, cobra skeletons, and empty pelvic bones, no doubt, are still in her bedroom.

There is Mort, the artist's reference model of the muscles and tendons beneath the skin of the face. Mom customarily hooks her glasses over his nose when she's not wearing them. There are the articulated models of disembodied hands. There is her collection of Kwan Yin sculptures; there is the Virgin Mary; there are the fertility goddesses; a small temple housing a stone carving of an ox; an angel statue that looks as if Edward Gorey designed it.

On the wall are my father's paintings and etchings of floating gas masks, a bird-headed man, a couple with butterfly wings, a house with the roof blowing off in a storm, dead looking men, sunbursts, a man crouching on a tortoise. A decapitated man holds his head in his lap, but a stern looking sunburst seems to have become his new head. Both faces stare out at you. I cannot seem to find the Medusa, with her ribbons of snakes, or my father's work in egg tempera (which has a smooth, illuminated look), but I know they must be here somewhere.

I do not think visually, so most of this is lost on me. But think what unknown wonders must haunt my dreams.

- posted by meese @ 11:48 PM |

 
Umm...
My father was suddenly seized by a great sense of regret that we did not have a traditional home-cooked Thanksgiving meal, and he is now determined to cook a turkey breast, cranberry sauce, and stuffing tomorrow night.

We told him that Thanksgiving was lovely, and that we were fine with the usual take-out burritos, but no go.

Yeah. I've got nothing more to say.

- posted by meese @ 11:29 PM |

 
Again triumphant
I checked the wheels of my leaning bedframe, but they were exactly where they ought to be. To correct the eave-like tilting of the mattress, I stuck about 5 paperbacks under each of the bedframe's left legs. (I trust I won't be needing The Dilbert Principle any time soon.) Problem solved, and a restful night for me!

- posted by meese @ 1:52 AM |

 
I am VICTORIOUS!!!
Yeeees... We went to a snazzy hotel restaurant for a buffet style Thanksgiving dinner. You know what that means? I got away with only one small slice of turkey... and two HUGE platesful of SIDE DISHES!*

My father did not think I could finish my first helping, but he does not understand my power.

Afterwards, we discovered that I was only charged for a "kid's buffet," in spite of eating twice as much as everyone else. I win!

*plus extra desserts.

- posted by meese @ 5:56 PM |

 
Good times
Well my old TKD training partner Li is now a second degree black belt! Also Randa, who is just about my height. Congratulations to them!

I am now more scared than ever before.

It was a good night, complete with a bar brawl and further festivities which, on pain of death, I can't really explain further. And hey, what's a little topless dancing among friends?
- posted by meese @ 1:43 PM |

 
Curious...
But M.'s sister seems even pickier about food than M. herself. The other day, I watched her order a bowl of chicken noodle soup from which she picked out all the mushrooms, ate the noodles and broth, and then finally refused to consume any of the meat itself.
- posted by meese @ 9:33 AM |

 
Idle minds
On occasion and not very often, I do wonder about my biological mother and the circumstances of my birth. Knowing, of course, that there are always extenuating circumstances, but also knowing that circumstances will only take you so far, I spin out scenarios. Would you call her a wayward child? Desperate for attention? Slut? Rape victim? Prostitute? Was she completely taken by surprise, or was it only a matter of time?

Not so often have I thought about my biological father. But I suppose similar questions would apply. Irresponsible student? One night stand? Rapist? Criminal? Deserter?

For what it’s worth, my money’s on Wayward Child and One Night Stand. High school or college students, the both of them. Who knows what criminal tendencies I might have inherited?
- posted by meese @ 4:49 PM |

 
Take Me Home, Country Roads
My cube-mate Kam says that when he was young, John Denver songs were actually making the pop charts. Think about that.
- posted by meese @ 4:47 PM |

 
Dude...
The gym thing...it happened again.

Oh, and at the doctor's, I was 113 lbs. - that means my coworker Ross definitely outweighs me now!

I could still take him.
- posted by meese @ 10:47 AM |

 
Day Zero
What’s odd is going to the gym, intending to do 30 minutes of cardio, and somehow leaving to go home over two hours later. It’s not like I talk to anyone; I just lift weights.

It’s about time to head back to martial arts. I’m not sure if my knee is quite up to class yet, but my martial arts master is giving his last-ever school seminar on Saturday. And as soon as he sees my face, he’ll remember to be pissed off that I haven’t been around, so it’s now or never.

OK, confidentially, I hate the vibe at the new school. I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’d last a lot longer at the old school, but I know it would be wrong of me to go there, and I can never go there again without feeling I should leave. But that’s neither here nor there, and a true martial artist would just get over it. So either I’m not a true martial artist, or I’ll get over it. And you’ve won. Again.
- posted by meese @ 11:05 AM |

 
Meanwhile...
Oh, and James G. (erstwhile TaeKwon-Doer) does go to my gym. On Sunday, he was doing leg curls on the machine next to mine. As we were both prostrated face-down in a supremely awkward position, I didn’t bother making introductions, small talk, or even eye contact, but it was definitely him.

Also ran into my ex-personal trainer. Apparently, when not working, he wears a tight tank top to show off his pecs. They are certainly large, well-developed pecs. I complained to him that without help, I am several inches too short to reach the lat pulldown bar without actually standing on top of the machine seat. I also have to drag an aerobics step around whenever I want to change the attachments for the tricep pulldown machine. He concurred that the designers of exercise equipment probably don’t work with 12-year-old children in mind. Dude, I say, what up with that?!
- posted by meese @ 4:11 PM |

 
Cheers
In the Shadow of No Towers was lovely and frightening, as expected. I’m now a little over halfway through The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History and am suitably filled with a sneaking sense of gloom and doom.

All my college friends are of course devastated by the outcome of the presidential election. I can tell from their blogs, online comics, whatnot, displaying to the world a little profanity, a great deal of anger and despair. My parents are similarly depressed. My workmates put up a good front, yelling "Four more years!" in the conference room. This is, as you might guess, ironic as hell.
- posted by meese @ 2:24 PM |

 
Oddly enough
It is more comfortable to sleep on the floor than my bed at my parent's house. In addition to being hard as a rock, the mattress tends to tilt downward on one side, like an eave. Perhaps I can find a yoga mat to sleep on during the Thanksgiving holiday.

My parents have finally thrown in the towel, and we will be going out to eat on Thanksgiving! Although the lack of leftovers saddens me, the fact that someone else will actually be cooking means that 1) my parents will not get in each other’s way/try to kill each other/be too stressed and exhausted to enjoy the holiday, 2) I may finally have a chance to get some decent stuffing, and 3) no dishes for me to wash!

Now I must research rentable videos that lack violence and/or sex so that my nun aunt will have something to entertain her.
- posted by meese @ 6:19 PM |

 
Yesterday
Woke up at 4:50am in time to vote (in the Bronx) and still make it to work on time. Was not attacked by flesh eating zombies on my way to the voting booth. Voted. Now I can get on with my life.

Um...When we declare war on the North Koreans, please don’t let anybody put me in a camp.
- posted by meese @ 5:50 PM |

 
Sweet
Well, Halloween is always a bust, but I do so love Thanksgiving. (Although I dislike the Thanksgiving Day Parade). Mm…side dishes…

OK, I’m not totally throwing my intellect to the wolves. Chuck Palahniuk’s Survivor is stylish and interesting. Sadly, after a surfeit of chick lit, I find myself overindulging in hipster male writings and can only assume that an avalanche of the marginalized minority rant canon will follow. Naa. Well, maybe I’ll stop by the library on my way to the gym, where I am stopping on my way home, where I will vote.
- posted by meese @ 5:59 PM |

 
Raining, parades
Went to the parade on Sunday. Good weather for it. Still hate parades. Is anyone having a good time? Honestly? A lot of Wizard of Oz folk, mostly Dorothys and Tin Men, only one Glinda. Two Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker pairs. Lots of skeletons, a few monkey suits; one guy came as his driver’s license. Big puppets, stilts.

Man, am I glad that’s over.

When I was growing up, Halloween was always too cold for me to wear a costume without a coat, and heavy weatherproof outerwear always takes some of the oomph out of trick-or-treating. Also, my parents were terrified of razor blades and PCP in the Halloween candy, so I was never allowed to actually eat any of my spoils. They did buy me candy, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the same.

My favorite part of Halloween is the glut of horror movies on TV.
- posted by meese @ 1:55 PM |