Scribbles 3: downright inspirational

My New Hero

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Scribbles 2

"What you seek in vain for half your life, one day you come full upon, all the family at dinner. You seek it like a dream, and as soon as you find it you become its prey."

---Thoreau to Emerson

Judging from the quality of the handwriting, I wrote this while driving as well, but it's a quote, so I can't say from where I got it while driving. Maybe I was reading as well.

Wait. I remember now. I was in the university bookstore, and this quote was in the front of a novel. I've gleaned such wondrous quotes that way.

can i get a witness? or just someone to ring me up?

Tonight I returned a movie to the---you guessed it--movie store and then hightailed it into Kroger for an array of dairy products. I couldn't decide what I wanted in my coffee. Heavy whipping cream--5 g fat. Half and half--3 g fat. Light cream-2.5 g fat. Lo-fat CoffeeMate--2 g fat. So I pile em all into the basquette. Plus some Cinnabons toaster strudel.
Impulse item.
I choose the only open lane, womanned by a sister who's counting coupons. But she doesn't let ME interrupt her task. She finishes counting while-I-wait. There are 114 coupons. She then begins to ring me up, cutting loose into song. "All Night Long" complete with unnecessary vibrato. She is LOUD. Then she starts in on a low monologue, "yeah, bout time fo me to be off work I really shouldn't ebn be here my huuuzbun waiting on me in da car I need to get on outta here..." Then looks up with a broad smile, "HOW YOU TODAY MAM?"

"fine"

I pay with a debit card; she needs to see my ID. Okay.
She squeals, "Ooooh, you just had a birthdaaaay!!!"
It was the 1st. Today's the 18th. I'm so over that damned birthday, I can't even tell ya. But I agree with her that I did celebrate a birthday within the last month, just to keep the peace.
She then informs me that her mother's birthday is December 2.
WHAT A COINCIDENCE! My mother has a birthday too! April 7!
What the hell is it with people? I cannot imagine a scenario anywhere ever in which I'd give a rat's ass when this woman's mother's birthday is!
She then informs me that HER birthday is right around the corner, December 29.
Time seems very smooshed together for her, I'm thinking, but decide this observation will only confuse her, and she's ready to clock out. Past ready.
She trills, "And I will be FORTEEE THREEEE YEARS OLD!!!"
New Customer has pulled up behind me and is unloading her fare onto the belt. A white chick who appears to either be coming from or headed to heroin rehab. Really fried. She obviously wants up in this cashier's business as badly as I want out.
She makes a big O with her mouth and says, "NOOOO! You do NOT look 43! I would never have thought in a zillion years...." Which is probably, like, tomorrow for the cashier.
Oh, Ms. Cashier is lovin this. Forgets all about that huuuzbun in the parking lot, forgets bagging my groceries, stops with hands on her hips, chest thrust out.
"Let me tell you my secret," she says, head-action cranking up. "My secret is that the Lord! is workin! in ME! I am RIGHT with God, and if that don't keep you young, mmmhmmm, praise JEzus!"
Smack/Crack Chick says, "oh AMEN to that! I hear that!"
I give her a hard stare.
My groceries are tossed aside (no kidding! she finished the last sack and just thumped it to the end of the ramp for me to pick up. Or not. And went back to her Jesus talk. My transaction was OVER. No "thank you come again" etc)
I came so close to saying, "Well, guess what? I'm 87 and I'm an atheist!"

But I could just feel the witnessing cranking up and it was late and so......

Scibbles I

When I'm driving, I have thoughts. Unlike, apparently, many of my fellow motorists on the road. Sometimes I don't want to forget what I've thought, so I'll rummage about in the car for a piece of paper and pen. Lucky for me my car is not one of those driven by anal-retentive pristine not-a-spot-in-sight nutjobs. I can always find a receipt or scrap of paper somewhere.

I never have specific plans for these thoughts. Sometimes they are half-baked bad poems, sometimes just half sentences, phrases, insights.

I keep them though. Every time I clean out my purse, I put them in a box. I've been on a mini-cleaning spree and found a bunch and thought I'd present them here as a new blog feature.

This one's written on an Educational Testing Services envelope. I can't imagine what prompted it:

(oh, I just noticed I dated this one 1/9, but no year)

"Never in my life have I felt more at the cusp--the crossroads of living or giving up, not to death per se, but to its grip, its steady relentless process. I could ignore this choice for a while,but it grows more palpable--not the thing itself, but the choice of the thing."

Figure that out.

And the other portion is dated 1/11:

"Like a word repeated until reduced to its empty "sound," life, when stared at long enough, seems to dissipate, then fall flat with a thud, alarmed at its own weight."

Under the flap on the back, there's this:

"We teach people how to treat us."

Then a to-do list:

IRS

call Anna

Transouth

Finish JD letter

call dr (me & am)

orthodontist

insurance

return--bookcases, leggings, lightbulbs, knife sharpener

Take grades to English dept

Order novel for Brit Lit

get book

GC syllabus for Bob Croft

change grades for Kim K and Stephanie

If I'm calling Anna, this must be a hella old envelope. The postmark says Dec 16, 2003.

Stay here, right here, be present.

So difficult.
My thoughts seep into the past and future, slowly at first then widening out till I'm thinking of thinking: reining thought back in. I'm here I'm here gone again

come back.

Trying to rein in thoughts is like trying to compress and squeeze a gallon of water into a measuring cup.

Like trying to balance on a big ball of air.

Catalent

Cubby does a spot-on William F. Buckley imitation!

More Funnies from Mr. Button

Right before I awoke on Sunday, I was having this dream. Something woke me up before it was done (how is a dream "done"?), so I was groggy and confused as I walked into the kitchen, where Mr. B was making coffee.

Now I myself wax homicidal if I have to listen to anyone's dream (unless I'm in it, at which time the dream becomes fascinating). They bore me nearly to death. But Mr. B has never expressed a distaste for dream-listening nor I for dream-telling, so that part works out fine.

"OH MAN," I said. "I was having this dream......It was too weird.....
I dreamed that this high school friend, Tammy Borden, who was this cheerleader everyone worshipped and could do no wrong, had had a party. She's a Facebook friend, and all the other people from high school on Facebook were posting these updates about how GREAT Tammy's party was. In the dream, I got madder and madder because I hadn't been invited, so I ended up finally writing her this really nasty note about how she'd never invited me to ANY of her parties in high school


......and the odd thing here is that I have NO real memory of any party she ever had or having felt left out...plus I'd not invited her to any party I had, but still. There I was. Pissed and determined to take no more of this shit........

which said that my being left out of all the fun in high school was bad enough but that I expected MORE of someone as an adult and would hope we'd all grown out of this stupid shit.
She wrote back, in the dream, almost immediately and said, "Lisa! We sat around and waited and waited for you to show up! I sent an invitation to your Facebook mail and just assumed you'd be there."
Egg-faced, I sheepishly opened my FB mail--which I tend to rather roundly ignore--to find that indeed she had sent me an invite.

It read thus:

"Please join us at my house for an informal high school reunion party on Saturday night!! We will be having a Bible study in the tradition of Priscilla and Catallus in the New Testament!"

So I said to Mr. Button: "First of all, I wasn't a bit pissed any more to have missed this Bible study. But what's so weird is the Priscilla and Catallus pairing! I mean, there's Priscilla and Aquila, the tentmakers in the New Testament. But Catallus?? How did a Roman poet get in with Priscilla? He was at least a century earlier, and besides, he loved Lesbia! It's just bizarre!!"

Mr. B just looked at me for a second and said, "This is what happens when we start letting women get an education!"

Oh!* to my Blog

*so named in honor of Snap who, when but a wee minnow, misheard the word "ode" and pronounced it "oh!" as in "Oh! To a Nightingale"......



My poor neglected lonely blog!
I act as if you're dead.
I think up things to post on you....
And write them in my head

But something always intervenes
My job my life my fun--
"A load of crap!" you say to me.
"Your Facebook is your sun!"

"Oh no it's not!" I shoot right back
"I'm busy! Don't you see!?
I love you oh I truly do
That Facebook's naught to me!

Those tiny updates take no time;
I type them out so quick--
And then I'm done, and off and gone
With a promise and a lick!

It's you I love, oh little blog,
Though we've grown apart these days--
But I'll do better! please--believe--
I'll mend my wayward ways!

You still have friends; I don't know how
Who keep on checking forth
Raytheon Beth and Ads and Bird---
And who the hell's Augusta North?

So here's my troth, my loyal blog,
Thou creature of the 'Net.
I will return and post some stuff
And settle up my debt!!"

Why Dudes Don't Wear Foundation

"So, Corky," I sez to Mr. Button on Friday. "Listen. I need you to do me a favor." It was Snap's birthday and one thing she'd asked for was a certain bottle of foundation that I'd neglected to get. And I had to work all day, but Mr B had the day off, furloughed, as it were, as he was helping the State of Georgia get back on its stumbling feet by having several days' pay deducted from his paychecks over a three month period. So I had to send him to the mall.

Sure. What's that?

"I need you to go to the mall and get Amber some make-up."

He looked as if I'd suggested he yank off his toenails with a pair of pliers.

Make-up? I don't know anything about make-up! I don't know what to get...where to go... what to do.....

"Not to worry. I have all that written down. I even have a bottle of mine that you can take with you and show at the counter in case there's a question. All you need to say is that you need this Estee Lauder Equalizer in Linen."

L-E-N-N-O-N??

"No! Not Lennon like John! Linen, like the cloth! Like bed sheets..."

So this is in bed linens?

"What? Of course it's not in bed linens! What would make-up be doing in the bed linens?? It's at the make-up counter!"

Where is that?

"Uh, the HUGE section when you walk in the door? Near perfumes and jewelry??"

Big sigh.
So what do I say?

"I just told you. Take this bottle and say 'I need this in Linen.'"

Why is it called linen?

"I have no idea. Maybe because it sounds prettier than 'Brown Face Goop in a Bottle'?"

Another sigh.
Okay, but don't blame me if this doesn't work out......

".....? And where exactly should I place blame???"

Turns out, all did work out. The Estee Lauder ladies loved him, flirted unmercifully, sounds like, and even asked if he'd like a quick make-over!! Plus, he came away with one of those fabulous "gifts" they give, make-up bag within a make-up bag full of goodies: couple of lipsticks, powder, shadow, night cream, and other empowering products without which all women are naked....

She loves her voice....and it shows!

I don't know how well you'll be able to hear this. I recorded it on my phone at the eye doctor's office back when I was spending several hours a week there. I turned up the treble on the equalizer and doing so made the audio a bit clearer for me, but I don't know if those settings "stay" when I upload somewhere else.

Two waiting rooms at the eye center: the first is a large airy room, a clean-well lighted place, full of sunshine and bromides. The second is a very small purgatorial dumping ground with a TV that loops shows about deep sea life, a room where patients are sent after getting a quick check from a nurse (or lesser aid). I consistently made my appointments at 7:30 am. Turns out the doctor drags in around 9, but an earlier appointment is still "quicker" than a later. As it so happens, the woman in this video had several appointments at the same time as I over about three weeks. Each time, she talked NON-STOP about herself. An amazing performance by any standards, seguing seamlessly from topic to topic with little warning. The first time was the best, but I didn't think of recording her. The next couple of times, my phone's battery was almost dead so I couldn't record. But one morning the phone and her yapping maw were ale to finally converge.

Unfortunately, though, from this video, one might infer that she is halfway normal. I assure you that such is NOT the case. She is MUCH louder in person than indicated here! And each time I saw her, she went full throttle on the same themes: how she comes from excellent stock and will live "forever" and then drop dead; her mother's cataracts; how she plans to avoid cataracts; her recent snorkeling trip (started this vid just after her presentation on this point, but she does touch on it again in the middle, after her "as I was just telling her...") in St. John; how she grew up in California; what a great mother and grandmother she's been because she emphasizes reading; how she performs her job duties better than anyone ever has, ever; her herb garden (the problem??); what strong morals she has; how she's not afraid to speak her mind; and then there's the great braying laugh punctuating this diatribe at inappropriate intervals.

The important point to emphasize here is that this video shows five and a half minutes out of more than an hour of a solid wall of words. If the person to whom she was speaking was called back to his or her appointment, she'd simply shift in her seat and deliver her memorized me-nologue toward the next nearest victim.

The time before this, she was running on and on and on and on with NO ONE responding whatsoever. The woman to whom she was generally directing her words was barely responding, but Sister Yakayak clearly is unable to read body language, and getting a canoe edged into her stream of consciousness is near impossible. When she was called back, there was a silence in the room that just throbbed, almost like a spring that had to finish recoiling before it finally stopped. After about 15 seconds, I just said, "Wow!" out loud, and everyone sort of tittered.

Here, she speaks to a woman with whom she is acquainted. This good patient soul is even, apparently, willing see her daily in a work setting, judging from the fact tha she asks her to send in her vita should she be canned for whistle-blowing on her current supervisor. We all know right and wrong, right?

Okay, clearly I got pretty sick of this woman in my waiting time.....

FeatherSmudge

Things it Pretty Much Sucks to be Behind

"Why, yes, that IS a large rotting rowboat perched precariously against the cab of my pick-up. Hence my top speed of 15 mph."

LOVE the asswipes like this one who are apparently too terrified to pass a tractor trailer but too arrogant to pull over when going under the speed limit. In tow: two very muddy motorcycles.


Ah, yes, another favorite. Two trucks in tandem. The drivers KNOW maintaining the speed limit is difficult when moving up a sharp grade, but do some care? Not these jerks. They stayed side-by-side on 1-20 for about ten miles.

"Follow my listing wobbly ass to CHICKEN E!! Better yet, just wait around till I tip over and grab a leg and breast from the highway spill."

Never mind the tow bed behind. It's ever so much more fun to mount bicycles onto the side of the car! Added bonus: Fuckwad speeds up to warp speed to pass me as left lane is ending only to slow down to ten miles under the limit when I've no time left to pass him.

More passing lane fun. In front of the state prisoners: an ambulance. In front of ambulance: cop car. All going around 50 in a 65 zone. One doesn't wish to risk a ticket by passing this entourage on the right, so one grits teeth and curses being born in lieu of citation.

As God is my witness, I've no clue what this contraption might be. The driver appears to be blissfully unencumbered by concerns over those pesky lane markings.

This weekend I traveled to Alabama to check on the childhood home. I was ready to come back to Georgia within about 15 minutes after my arrival. The neighbor across the street wasn't cutting the grass as promised (his promise involved pay, by the way), so I needed to address that problem. I ended up borrowing my cousin's mower. The grass was so high and there were so many fire ant beds (some a foot high) that the yard took about four hours to mow. At one point I hit an ants nest unlike the others; the ants were black and they didn't seem to have an above-ground mound, so I wasn't ready for their flying up at me. All of a sudden, they were all over my arm, down my shirt, and in my hair. Each bite felt like a lit match to my skin. I ran as fast as possible indoors and jumped in the shower fully dressed, which actually was good since the wet clothes made for a cooler mow. Plus, tons of pecans that shatter and explode when the blade hits.

Sunday afternoon, my cousin came over (she lives across the river) and we reminisced about childhood. I packed up more "stuff" (which seems to quietly multiply between visit) after she left, then got in the car and drove, first with the purpose of eating catfish (closed on Sunday--the Lord decreed it), then after getting a lesser bite to eat, I just started driving. Ended up at Wheeler Dam, about 15 miles away. I didn't spend much time at Wheeler when I lived in the area. Wilson Dam is more "famous," larger, two miles from my parents' house, so Sunday I actually went to some places around the dam to which, in my memory, I had never been.

I was lucky, as the sun was going down.

Just shut up and listen

Sheesh

I suppose no one enjoys hearing a screaming baby in WalMart.
Here are a few options for when you do, though:
1) Realize that mothers have few options when a kid begins to scream
2) Walk away to another section of the store where you can't hear the kid. WalMart is a big place
3) Slap the kid five times across the face to get it to shut the fuck up

What amazes me, frankly, is that this asshole was actually able to slap the child five times. And the mother allowed him to live afterwards. What patience!


Busted For Slapping Stranger's Crying Child
Georgia man, 61, threatened to "shut that baby up" at Walmart
SEPTEMBER 2--Meet Roger Stephens. The Georgia man, 61, was shopping Monday morning at a Walmart in Stone Mountain when he crossed paths with Sonya Matthews and her two-year-old daughter Paige. The child was crying, which apparently greatly perturbed Matthews. "If you don't shut that baby up I will shut her up for you," Stephens warned Matthews, according to a Gwinnett County Police Department report. Moments later, Stephens acted on his threat, slapping Paige "across the face approximately four or five times." Though the child "started crying and screaming" after being struck, Stephens told Matthews, "See, I told you I would shut her up." After police were summoned, Stephens told a cop that the child was crying "and he just slapped her," according to the report. Stephens was arrested for felony cruelty to children and booked into the Gwinnett County Detention Center, where he is being held without bond. Paige sustained "slight redness to the face," but was otherwise unharmed.

Strange Creatures at My House

it's a strange world, no matter how you spin it

going through photos deleting.
i see some i've saved from various times.
many are strange and wondrous tableaux i've run across in my daily here and there-ings.
i have no idea where i got this. i ganked it from somewhere. i think it might be yours. is it?
the drawings look a bit like they might have been done by kids and hung in the halls of a school. you know how schools do that: to make the kids feel like real artists. when really it's all just shit and the kids will grow up and work at a laundromat part-time if they're lucky and dfacs will take their kids until granny can get custody because larry wasn't watching the meth lab close and blew the corrugated tin roof clean off him and doreen's double wide.
sometimes life looks light and flavorful but is really just so very heavy with sadness.


why did i take this photo of shopping carts and sign at big lots? let's hold a contest to see who can guess. i haven't a clue, so i'll enter the contest as well. i go to big lots for gardening needs: super cheap pots and trellises and what not and so forth.

oooh. i didn't take this one, though. it's somewhere in nebraska, i believe. very intriguing. charismatics are such mysterious people. i'm about convinced that they are sending each other secret messages through their crazy church signs. they don't make sense sometimes. though that could be because charismatics are really stupid and don't have sense enough to make sense.

i kinda like the idea of their thinking they know something we don't though. like they're chosen special, blessed, as it were. though they are not meek nor are they merciful. brash and judgmental, sure. neither are their hearts pure nor be they makers of peace.

and look at this mixed-up mess of a sign.

Immanuel--from two hebrew words meaning God be with us.

yeah, okay, and then JESUS ONLY below.

what paradoxical bastards these nebraskan churhgoers be!

temple, too, heavily implies a jewish place of worship. where, you might think, jesus probably wouldn't be found. alone.

to add insult to injury, though, i figure this was an abandoned state farm insurance office where the Immanuelists (i.e. a lone Jesus) squatted.

don't miss the jaunty balls atop ca. 1963. cuz church is just one great big celebration.

also: note side door. you'd think maybe jesus, being a carpenter by trade, might have measured first before cutting a t00-big hole in the blindingblue concrete, forcing the use of particle board to fill in gaps.

frozen delicacy from a london grocer

okay, i took this at a nearby convenience store. somebody always capitalizing on somebody else's misfortunes, right? but in their haste to get this gem on the market asap, the "makers" of this poignant tribute to the king of pop listed these dates across the bottom: august 29, 2009-june 25, 2009.

meaning mj has yet to be born.

i debated: is this something that is going to be worth of fortune (you know, like those wrongly minted pennies.....what was that one with a date in the future or something?) or will it remain the piece of convenience store TRASH that it is.

conclusion: the latter.

see close up below. poor quality photo from phone.

i'm not making fun of this grave. it's in a cemetery on a backroad between athens and hull. no trees around, the grounds always look just baked hard in the sun. big fire ant hills everywhere. but i noticed this marker while driving by one day.

while i do think there's something kitsch about it (obviously), a part of me really likes the concept of a gravesite conveying a bit more about the INDIVIDUAL buried there as opposed to the generic grey.

i gather that justin had a real love for cars.

surely he didn't die in a wreck, though. that would be too crass to have the cars around (b/c the one on the ground looks a little like it was wrecked....)

in short, though, i can imagine that something like this would be a comfort for family/friends esp since it's public. so i like the idea even if the toy car is a little creepy.

requiescat in pace, justin.

just as i was gathering together this little collection, who popped in with another goodie but bloghoNYC. here jesus is spotting a young aryan prepping for the 1940 Summer Olympics (needlessly, natch). later jesus coaches a disappointed Ernst through a fairly satisfying career in musical theatre and helps him find his special someone, Helmut. little mashita (affectionately known as "mash") keeps in contact with ernst through adulthood, never really understanding why he rebuked her constant advances. later she befriends helmut as well, and the three of them finally catapult to fame with their yummy frozen food line (see above). Secret's in the sauce...

next figurines in series: "jesus is my couch"--introducing a new line of godly furnishings for the chruschun home.

***

and finally......did i show you this already???---this is the massive root system/tumor that was in my septic tank. all four toilets ceased to flush one day about the same time that something of a faint odor was detected (i.e. HOLYFUCKINSHIT what the FUCK is that smell???)

I made phone calls.

A septic tank service arrived

started draining the tank.

"John" was da man. Just a young bloke with a shitty job.

Here's what he found.

really the photo doesn't do it justice.

did i say all this already?