It's all about the big fuzzy bathrobe

I've been gardening and listening to the monks of Kiev. I intend to spend the entire day in Grandma's bathrobe.
In a sad sort of way it's been a perfect day. The snow is pretty but causing no issues. S____ and D_____ stopped in. Tea was served. The glass got passed around. Bach was listened to. A_____ came by after the sun set and her kids were in for the night. M____ called to share a giggle about a tampon box. Basil came out to play for a while. I spent a while trying to catch water drops on my fingers. I spent a long time in the shower conditioning my winter-ravaged hair. I wrote a lot. 'Thought about drawing, but, decided against it until my hands steady.
I think I'll order a pizza. M___& T____ loaned me "That 70's Show" on DVD- that should take care of the rest of the evening- and surf around on my Virtual Tourist page.
So long as I stay in my bathrobe .

Death to Peter Pan

"Is it okay if I don't grow up?" The question came from a man in his mid-40's. It was directed at his mid-20's girlfriend. They were discussing the baby they have created.
WHAT A FUCKING STUPID QUESTION! What kind of mindset even prompts such a query?
No! It's NOT "okay" if you don't grow up! Shouldn't you have grown-up, say, over 20 years ago, sir?
It's fine to fuck, but, responsibility rots, is that what I am to understand is the underlying mentality of the modern American male?
"I met this girl this week end. I really like her. I even remembered her name in the morning." a man proudly announced to me the other day. You can push your cock into a woman, but, you can't retain her name? This goes along with a wonderful quote I found the other day- something to the effect that many many many men find women to be "tasteless, odorless and nearly plastic."
Die, Pete Pan, DIE! Your simpering whining ways are sucking the life out of the world. Your pecker is not that interesting. Your job is not the center of anyone elses world. You've got baggage, I understand- but, I am not a luggage rack. DIE PETER! ROT IN HELL!! I am not your mother. I am not your cock-cozy. I am not your punching bag. I am not here as an incubator for your off-spring. Your addictions and assumptions twist my guts. My focus in life is not to make you feel better about yourself.
Take responsibility for your children. Show the woman/man you love respect. Be honest. Grow together. Don't be an asshole. You know when you're doing it- don't do it.

Robots and real-time laughter

This past weekend I had the unnerving experience of watching my friend Topher completely dismantle my computer. With a delicate hand he laid the guts of my machine across the poker table in an orderly and efficient fashion. I was fine when the key board came off. I marveled at the number of screws it took to keep the top panel in place. When a tug and a gentle nudge brought up the next panel I went faint. My baby was exposed- all her secrets locked inside. I told myself 'darkest before the dawn' and 'harder before it gets better' and took myself into the other room.
Folks dropping into the apartment that day were ordered not to bump anything, distract my pal or even breath as they made their way to the middle room. I was happy for company to keep me distracted. Topher was worked steadily- his head bent over the table. I tried not to look. I didn't ask very many questions. I fought the urge to leave the house.
It took Topher hours. I was duly impressed. He did me a great service in coming to my aid. And, when all was said and done there were only three screws left. ( Always a few pieces...)

The experience taught me how much I adore cyberspace. I will be 32 next month. In 1983 - third grade- they showed us a filmstrip. It's a fuzzy child memory. Filmstrips were more of a chance to be little monkeys than to collect information. This filmstrip told us that in the next few years all homes would have a robot- or something to that effect. The thought of metal in a house disturbed me and stuck in my brain. Mom likes wood furniture. My child-world was very organic. Metal men tromping through my home offended me. The film strip was quickly forgotten- until 2000 when I locked my type writer into it's case and set a Mac in it's place- and then it came back. Having a machine in the house wasn't nearly as disturbing as I thought it would be. Once I learned how to type, got a copy of Photo shop and a digital camera, and got on-line the world opened up to me.
I've embraced what I once fought and loathed. I've got a MySpace page and a Friendster page. I'm on Virtual Tourist. Of course, this blog. I've written a web site on Yemen. I don't feel comfortable w/out my digi' on me. I wish I could reach back through time to tell the little girl in Mrs. R's classroom that yes, 'robots' are coming to many homes in America, but, no, it isn't a big bad scarey thing.

This afternoon I made a man in Yemen laugh. He was sitting in a cafe while he was typing to me. The idea of putting a real-time smile on someone's face from THOUSANDS of miles away is a marvel that I don't take for granted.
Just this moment I got a email from dear Capt. Mockett. It's 7 AM where he is. To simply be aware of someone- someone on the side of the Red Sea- to know that my friend is making a pot of tea for his wife some how eases me. Life is going on.