The crude truth

When I perused the most recent news and photos on the Gulf oil catastrophe, I nearly cried. Helpless wildlife encrusted with thick, disgusting brown sludge is not acceptable and neither is the petty political and corporate squabbling and non-co-operation in getting the issue resolved and effective clean-up under way.

In one commentary on the spill, a writer argues in favor of a rescue effort of the creatures impacted by the oil. There is indeed a faction of people that believe the rescue of said animals is futile and too expensive. I have to assume those are the same individuals that think nothing of tossing their fast-food trash out of their moving vehicle (every time I see this, I want to commit a highway homicide).

If you can look into the eyes of a Pelican peeking out behind globs of sticky oil, and not feel any compassion or a twinge of responsibility (because I'm sure you fill your car/truck/suv/van/etc. with gasoline on a regular basis, perhaps you are one of the 4 percent of the population that does not have a conscience (which is a statistic I stumbled upon the other day that scared the crap out of me because it translates into the fact that 1-in-25 individuals has no conscience whatsoever to speak of).

The question in my mind is, why the hell can a corporation, nay an entire industry, exist and perform with such potential enormously negative repercussions from daily operations, with no proven emergency plan in place (let alone a protocol for the exact same situation the industry encountered a few decades earlier).

Maybe in the end, the disaster will bring beneficial change in the form of new, stricter regulations and a push toward FINALLY having the country get serious about investing in renewable energy production. However, given the history of our nation and its bowing to lobbyists, special interest and big business, that may be a futile and naive wish.

C'est la vie.

A spring in my step

With the arrival of spring's deliciously warm weather and bountiful blooming foliage I feel renewed.

Perhaps because I have a new job lined up, I am also appreciative of the few remaining free weeks before work begins. I have been spending as much time outside as possible and soaking up the freedom of lazy days spent observing life anew and the little pleasures of April.

I have been filling much of my time reading. Currently, I'm engrossed in Five Quarters of the Orange by Joanne Harris, Every Day in Tuscany by Frances Mayes and The Definitive Book of Body Language by Allan and Barbara Pease.

So many people I've met rarely pick up a book, and it saddens me to know that the art of reading is slowly dying as young people's attention spans continue to wan and they follow less intellectually rewarding pursuits.

C'est la vie.

Time flies when you're in Texas

I've been in Texas since Tuesday, and it feels like just the blink of an eye.

I'm staying in Pflugerville with my gracious aunt and uncle who are willing to put up with my shenanigans for an entire week. So far, I've been to the Austin Museum of Art at Lugana-Gloria (housed in a beautiful Italian villa overlooking Lake Austin with 12 acres of amazing gardens and sculptures) and walked around Lake Pflugerville. I went shopping at Barton Creek, ate at the Iron Cactus and Opal Divine's (margaritas, yes please) and saw the Texas Stars in action in Round Rock (they won).

Yesterday I traveled to San Antonio to tour the Alamo and the Riverwalk. The Riverwalk was AMAZING. Because the landscape of Texas can be a bit desolate compared to say, Virginia, (but still very beautiful) the riverwalk is like an urban oasis with winding paths, lush landscaping, sparkling green waters and spontaenous Mariachi bands. I also toured the Witte Museum, which had their dinosaur exhibit in full-tilt (always fun to see children screaming and crying when a giant animatronic T-Rex roars).

I've still got a lot of activities on my to-do list including shopping in SoCo, Mexican Martinis at Trudy's, a scenic train ride and more, but even if I just sat on the patio for the rest of the trip and soaked in the 70+ temperatures and beautiful blue skies, I would consider it time well spent.

Desert blues

I am gearing up for a trip to Austin in a week, and I am super excited. I fully intend to drive west from Austin at some point while I'm there to take in the desert landscape.

I've been up and down the East Coast, hiked in the Pacific Northwest, toured Canada and swam in the Gulf Coast. I had a ball in Bermuda and went 4-wheeling in Michigan, but I've never seen the desert. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that my expectations aren't too inflated like they were for Niagara Falls.

For some reason (I'm not sure why) before going to Niagara Falls (the Canadian side), I had a romantic image of it in my mind, but what I discovered there was basically a Myrtle Beach-like tourist trap, complete with a wax museum of famous criminals and a roller coaster. Not to mention, the nightly lighting of the falls with garish colored lights turning black and blue roiling water into an orange/purple/green nightmare. To me, it was akin to decking out the majestic California redwoods with blinking Christmas lights.

Here's hoping the desert doesn't disappoint!

You ARE going to hell!

No, that's not my place to say, but A LOT of "conservative" asses think they are in a place to judge others based on their own narrow-minded prejudices and fears.

If you are so afraid of gay people that you have to protest against their right to wed, or you think the dinosaurs were fashioned out of other various animal bones, or you think you have the viable, justifiable right to decide what a woman does with her own body, you need to wake up and smell the hypocrisy.

As I once heard John Waters say, if people stand so staunchly by the assertion that marriage is a "sacred institution," let's make divorce illegal and see how many straight people jump on that bandwagon. I'm thinking suddenly the right-wing conservatives would be shockingly silent.

How about those crazy teabaggers? First of all, naming your "political" movement after slang for a sexual act clearly means you are so out of touch that you should probably just stay home and read your Bible.

The teabaggers are ignorant racists gone wild. There, I said it. It's easy to pretend to have a cause to hide and rally behind, but no one is really fooling anyone with that hot mess. I'm surprised no one is handing out hoods at the get-togethers.

Still, I am glad to live in a country where ANYONE can protest, ANYONE can voice their opinion (no matter how divisive and at times hateful) and ANYONE (namely Sarah Palin) can apparently succeed in the political realm despite a total lack of experience, morals, intellect or common sense. That said, if the aforementioned person ever makes it into the White House, I'd be happy to call Canada "home."

C'est la vie.

Borlympics

In case you missed it, the Winter Olympics are under way in Vancouver.

Crickets, crickets ...

There's only one thing worse than the Summer Olympics; the Winter Olympics.

I happened upon the cross-country skiing event on TV and, boy, was that exciting. Everyone started at different times and raced the roughly six-mile course on their own. The great thing was the athletes were quoted as saying that the course was "for tourists," and "ridiculously easy." Even the announcer really didn't try to be enthusiastic, and I frankly can't blame him.

On the plus side, the temperature was cool enough to keep the snow from melting which has been a problem during several events ... global warming? What global warming.

My favorite story from the games so far is the Russian skating team who previously performed in costumes that mimicked Aboriginal skin art and attire. Apparently the routine's music included a "didgeridoo riff" and people aren't happy.

Awesome. I wonder if any figure skaters have ever donned headdresses and tackled a rain dance. I love how there is so little going on at the winter Olympics, besides the luger who met an untimely end, that this incident is big news. So now the question is will Oksana and Maksim perform that same routine or try their hand at something a little less offensive, like say a Japanese fan dance.

C'est la vie.

Death and cardboard boxes

When my dad asked if I wanted to visit a funeral home with him while he discussed my grandfather's funeral arrangements today (he's still kickin' at 93, but the family is pre-planning) I thought several things:

1) I have nothing better to do.
2) I can be emotional support.
3) Maybe I can learn something cool.

The funeral home was very 70's decor with dim lighting and boxes of tissues everywhere. There were also a lot of long, dark hallways. Not quite the quirky, macabre vibe of Six Feet Under, but pretty close.

On the flip side, I DID learn something cool (or maybe more accurately categorized as interesting). According to the funeral director (who was really, really nice) you can only ship cremains, through the U.S. Postal Service, in a cardboard box that must be wrapped in plain, brown paper and be sealed with old-fashioned, brown paper packing tape. He seemed to really enjoy sharing this tidbit of information.

From the poetry vault of my teenage years ...

In honor of Valentine's Day swiftly approaching I figured I would look through my old poetry journal to see what gems I had created long ago.

Here are three untitled masterpieces. I haven't yet decided if they are so bad, they are actually good, or if they are just really, really bad. It is also worth noting that I haven't written any poetry for years.

Untitled #1
Green socks and nothing matters because it's really about the turn, isn't it. Except sometimes you never get to the turn.

Untitled #2
Screaming yellow, flaming oranges and shy pinks pressing their tiny hands on cold glass plates criss-crossing gold lines drip patterns shaped like diamonds faintly sparkling blue waves of anger, sadness,loss. Looking at its shadow of twisted iron streaming tears of joy or pain.

Untitled #3
Over the edge and under the weather, sweeter still and better wetter. Taken by the rain, but loved just the same for moving parts and tangled feathers.

Ring, ring

So I got bored and decided to change my ringtone from The Cranberries' "Dreams" to Bob Seger's "Mainstreet." Yes, I am officially cool now.

While searching for music to transfer to my phone from my laptop, I thought of the assorted ringtones I've heard lately from the phones of passersby and/or friends and family.

I enjoy seeing a big, burly man whose phone busts out with classical music or a small, shy-looking nerd whose phone suddenly starts playing DMX at full blast. Lately, I've been hearing a lot of country music ditties. YUK. Please, for the love of mankind, stop with the country music ringtones. I don't care that she thinks your tractor is sexy or that you want to ride a cowboy, please, please stop!

On a somewhat side (yet related) note, I saw a truck with a big bumper sticker that read, "Hang up and drive," accompanied by a colorful cartoon cell phone. I clearly saw the man yakking away on his cell phone through the back window. Hey, idiot, that really negates the efficacy of the sticker's message.

C'est la vie.

The Hurt Locker, aptly titled

Endlessly fascinated by great and not-so-great films, I like to watch a broad range of genres. I normally heed the critics and general buzz, but not always.

The Hurt Locker is a perfect example of why you can't always rely on critics' musings. Of course there was also the year Shakespeare In Love won the Oscar for best film, so there's another prime example of critics being crazy.

I know, I know. It's about the Iraq War and the stressful, terrifying daily duties of brave soldiers. Also let's not forget the young Iraqi boy (named Beckham) transformed into a bloody, body bomb. I don't know what exactly it was, but this movie made me fall asleep (not literally, but almost).

IT WAS SOOOOOOOOOOOOO BORING!!!! Forget the gunfire and explosions (or lack thereof thanks to Jeremy Renner's bomb dismantling skills), forget the screaming, wailing Iraqi women and the sort of (it's a stretch) rugged, war-weary good looks of Renner, this movie was a complete snore. To me the film lacked a cohesive plot line, other than the countdown to the end of the unit's rotation. Also, it seemed quite trite (drunken wrestling as a means of male bonding to name one example).

To be fair, I should reveal that I stopped the DVD player after an hour and a half. That was enough wasted lifetime. That in itself is quite a distinction, because I almost always finish a movie that I've invested more than 30 minutes in, but I saw no light at the end of that tunnel.

I wonder what makes ANYONE think The Hurt Locker is a good (and award-worthy) movie. It's beyond me, and I made it through the 2002 remake of Rollerball. Given the option, I'd rather watch Rollerball again. Seriously.

C'est la vie.

Haiti, not hating

Because I love to play devil's advocate, I can't resist this one.

Should America lend aid to earthquate-ravaged Haiti's suffering citizens? Yes. And no.

Yes, because it is the humanitarian thing to do and because it is an American tradition to provide foreign succor and foster positive global relations. No, because there are homeless, starving people living on streets across the USA with no access to health care or shelter. Where is their aid?

I do find it interesting that people are bemoaning the time it has taken to provide aid to the Haitian people. How easily forgotten are the multiple days that New Orleans citizens were left virtually abandoned in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. If we can't get food and fresh water to one of our own southern states, I don't find it too shocking that it would take days to get supplies and volunteers to an impoverished island nation in the Caribbean Sea.

Personally, yes, I do think we should help the Haitians, because it is the RIGHT thing to do. But, I do see the irony in it as well.

C'est la vie.

The ruination of our nation

Two words, "Jersey Whores, er, I mean "Jersey Shore."

This IS what's wrong with our country. Why oh why is a television show committed to upholding ridiculous stereotypes and boundless ignorance allowed to infect living rooms across America?

Freedom of speech, I suppose.

I'm all for freedom of speech, but I think this is more like freedom of idiocy. When plastered, hideously made-up bimbos tripping around in cheap stilettos and hair product-addicted meatheads pumping their fists in the air passes for entertainment, I think the Apocalypse can't be far away.

C'est la vie.