The Golden Age (of legwarmers)

How can I explain my love of the 80's? While women everywhere cringe in terror at the sight of 80's fashion filling the stores, I secretly smile and welcome its return. For me that time will always represent a golden age, a time when everything was just so cool. Logically, I suppose it makes no sense. We were terrified of nuclear war; homelessness, famine, and yuppies made the daily headlines, and greed was good. It sounds rather bleak. Somehow, though, jelly shoes, converse high tops in rainbow colors, and MTV made everything alright. I remember being at a friend's house and racing in from the pool to watch the premier of MTV on the local cable network. Our lives were one big Brat Pack movie. The labels could be brutal at times. Whether you were a skater, a bop, or a nerd, some things, at least were consistent. You could always see the bad guy coming because he had blonde, layered hair and was named "Chet" or "Chaz". As long as you held out, though, you knew he would eventually fall in love with the unpopular girl and stop tormenting everyone. Happiness was a piece of neon-hued netting tied around my head ala Madonna. An armful of o-ring bracelets kept boredom at bay, especially if you had the glow-in-the-dark kind. Getting in trouble at school meant you probably got caught with a slam book or had an argument with someone over who "hearts" which boy more, and who reserves the right to scribble it on the bottom of their shoes. You might have idolized Ferries Bueller or Bill and Ted, because they not only escaped school for a day but beat the constant contest for popularity. They also had good hair. If we were really honest with ourselves, none of us actually knew what Brass Monkey or Funky Cold Medina was, but we sure as heck thought it rocked. Those of us who became, in our minds, truly cool "went new wave" and started dressing in plaid and Chinese slippers. We felt that the secret of the universe was contained somewhere within the lyrics to "The End of the World as We Know It", if only we could figure them all out. We went to the fair and got Echo and the Bunnymen or Dead Kennedys painted on our faces, along with an anarchy symbol or two. Our parents, as Will Smith (then The Fresh Prince)put it, our parents just didn't understand. Ah, the 80's. I could go on, but I'm "outtatime". I wonder if putting on a set of shoulder pads would make the day any easier.

Furniture Milestone

Today I bought my first piece of big people furniture:


This is the first piece of legitimate furniture that is not a hand-me-down and did not come out of some box to be assembled by moi. I can hardly wait. I had to order it, so now I have to wait for two weeks before it's delivered. I'm a little lighter in the pockets, sure, but it's gonna be grand. Mine will be in a medium cherry finish to match what furniture I already have. I went with a pretty big manufacturer so that hopefully I can add pieces as time goes on and still have them match. Yay!

The 76 Car Wash - Far Out, Man

Today I decided that my car was finally filthy enough to need washing (that dirty, dirty girl!) and so I headed for the 76 gas station car wash. The one at the Shell station might have gotten it cleaner with the window scrubber guy at one end, the whirly bottle brushes of death inside, and the wipey guy at the exit, but those days are over for the Yeep. The harsh subtropical climate, when paired with her somewhat venerable age (10 yrs.), has led to the beginnings of paint oxidation and the full-on demise of the clearcoat in several areas. So, it's strictly touch-free for me and the old gal now. The water jets don't get her sparkling, but at least they don't make her naked. Anyhow, there I was, enjoying the fantastic show put on by the Ultimate wash (nothing's too good for my Yeep), and rocking along with some AC/DC when the "Clear Protectant" light came on. If you've never experienced this, you must. There are three separate hoses: yellow, blue, and pink. As the arm passes, each hose sprays several lines of coordinating colored foam across the vehicle, creating horizontal stripes that merge seamlessly together in an alternating technicolor pattern. At this very same moment in the wash, "Imagine" came on the radio. The different lines of colored foam began to droop and run together, and all I could see through every window was a fantastic display of psychedelic tie-dye swirling around to the music. A groovy time was had by all. I'm no expert, but I think it usually costs you a little more than $9.00 to see that in the traditional way. Who knew that the 76 car wash was so retro-hip? A few hours later I did drive through some mud holes and besmirch the wash job, but at least I get to go through the wash again. I'm hoping for a Pink Floyd-ian laser experience next. Maybe someday you'll join us, and the world will live as one.

By the way, if you didn't get it, that last line is from Imagine. Jeremy didn't even recognize the song title, so you're not alone.

Yet More Bands

I have been at it again and am not much further with the thing. Can't believe it's taken me this long to pick up on some of the obvious ones, though. I needed to zoom in to figure some out.

Garbage
The Doors
The Police
Phish
Nine Inch Nails
Korn
BeeGees
The Carpenters

More bands...

Okay, upon closer inspection (larger version of the pic), what I thought to be the presidential seal was in fact the back of a half dollar. I am replacing Presidents of the USA with 50 Cent. I also did some creative googling, which is not exactly cheating because I didn't look for any answer lists. Just testing some things I thought might be band names. More possibilities:
Seal
Cowboy Junkies
Stegosaurus
Hole
Madonna
Iron Maiden
Ratt
Big Spoon?
Contortionists
Vines
Crowded House
Mister Yellowman?

Virgin Digital Contest - Guess the Bands

Have you seen this?

Game Poster

Throughout this poster, you are supposed to find graphic representations for 74 bands. It's driving me nuts. I feel like a total underachiever because so far I've only found 32.

Here's what I've got:
Gorillaz
Queen
Matchbox 20
Eagles
Guns 'n' Roses
Rolling Stones
Led Zeppelin
Alice in Chains
Smashing Pumpkins
White Zombie
Pixies
Whitesnake
Cypress Hill
Beach Boys
Black Flagg
Deep Purple
Green Day
U2
B-52's
Chili Peppers
Cornershop
Scissor Sisters
Blur
Presidents of the USA
Sex Pistols
Lemonheads
Radiohead
Eels
Prince
Blind Melon
Cars
Dead Kennedys

Don't Open That Box

Here is the part where I offend someone by saying that I am opposed to embryonic stem cell research.

The above link will take you to the White House's fact sheet. I am just so, so, so horrified and disturbed by this whole thing. What have we become when we are willing to cannibalize our own children for parts?!?

"Federal funds will only be used for research on existing stem cell lines that were derived:


(1) with the informed consent of the donors;
(2) from excess embryos created solely for reproductive purposes; and
(3) without any financial inducements to the donors. "

I think I would rather adopt than undergo fertility treatments that create these "excess embryos" to be weeded out and killed. Financial inducements - ah, there's the big one. Ever hear of the black market? There are already children in this world being raised just as slaves for pornography and prostitution, so is it really a stretch to imagine embryo farms? Think about it, people. Once you open that box...somebody will do it. Somebody will do it and most everyone will deny that it is happening because it is just too horrible for them to think about.

I'm sure that there are plenty of very lovely people out there whose lives could be improved and prolonged by this research. I just don't think this is the way. I would rather accept death than take the life of a child. I am really outraged by the fabulously wealthy celebrities who are trying to push this forward. This is the ultimate in greed. I don't know if it's the ultimate in evil, but I'm pretty sure it's damn close.

Christmas List

www.kaboodle.com

Lyrical Derailment

I would like to apologize, loyal readers, for the sudden derailment of lyrics week on the Mailboat. Due to unforeseen circumstances, it just plain didn't happen like I'd planned it. Between landings of Cuban refugees, web filters running amok, and internet outages of various durations and kinds, I am lucky to be able to post at all this month. At the moment I am sitting in a little brick cell connected to the satellite, listening to the 30-knot winds blow outside. The trip I made over to Loggerhead this afternoon was nothing short of moist. My underdrawers are still a bit sodden from the walls of seawater that kept leaping over the deck. Yes, I am too lazy to change them - it's my day off, for Pete's sake. At least I put on underwear! At the moment I am barely containing my excitement over next week's trip to Disney World. My enjoyment of the place has morphed into full-blown fanaticism, and I spend a large portion of my day planning and daydreaming about it. I'm not sure I can entirely explain this obsession, but what I do know is that I'm always happy when I am there. That kind of enjoyment is hard for me to come by these days, so I take full advantage of it whenever I can. It's probably because it's the only time I manage to more or less turn off the cop thing, so I can step outside my usual state of cynicism and irritation.

So, what do you, the loyal readers, have to look forward to next? You guessed it - Disney photos and anecdotes! I can feel your excitement from here. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go pack.

Monday - U Li La Lu

You've probably never heard of Poi Dog Pondering. Neither had I until a college friend played their song, U Li La Lu, incessantly on the tape deck of his POS. It's an odd song, really, sound-wise, but I always liked the first couple of lines.

Wear with pride these scars on your skin
They're a map of the adventures, the places you've been

I've got a pretty decent map. What about you? Funny how you can point out scars and usually remember exactly what happened to put them there and when they occurred. For example, the "dimple" just below my left temple came to me the day before St. Pat's when I was about 11 years old. I was lying on the floor with one of my friends painting the banner that our Girl Scout troop would carry in Atlanta's parade the next day. My sister, then 3, climbed up on the sofa and dragged up a very sharp-cornered footstool that my uncle had made. She then proceeded to rock the footstool back and forth, back and forth, until she finally lost control of it and it lurched off of the sofa and onto my head. Another fraction of an inch and she could have killed me! Much to my embarrassment, I had to march in the St. Patrick's Day parade with a big goose egg on the side of my head. Now when I tell people that my sister gave me that "dimple", they usually ask me if she is a plastic surgeon. What a prodigy she was!

Where do your scars take you?

Sunday - Mayberry

Sunday was the day of rest
Now it's one more day for progress
...

There was a time when I might have asked "What happened to Sunday?" Now it seems more appropriate to ask "What happened to rest?"

Why do we have to live in a world where there is so little time for rest, worship, family, and so many other things that are integral to our human experience? Why have we upped competition to such a level that survival of the fittest demands our every waking moment (and more waking moments, at that) be spent working? Is it part of a natural cycle? Leisure does seem to be something of a modern invention. However, even in the early days of this country, Sunday was different from the rest of the week. Sunday was special. People made time for Sunday.

Wouldn't it be nice if I could choose not to work on Sunday, Christmas, Easter, etc. and still have a job? Wouldn't it be great if families had that one day a week to spend together, rather than squeezing in moments here and there? Yeah, sometimes I miss Mayberry too...

Saturday - Daysleeper

I see today with a newsprint fray
my night is colored headache grey
don't wake me with so much
daysleeper
...
ocean machine is set to 9
I'll squeeze into heaven and valentine
my bed is pulling me
gravity
daysleeper

These lyrics are selected from REM's "Daysleeper". I have never gone digging around for the full intended meaning of the song, but it's one that rattles around my head alot while working long night shifts. It is an entirely different world that runs silently along while most other people are sleeping. It's very easy to begin feeling disassociated with reality when you work there. This song popped into my head again today as I was struggling up from the couch to go out and take down the flag. Though I have been away and not subject to those 3 am callouts for a few weeks, I did not sleep well last night and was very happy when my day was at last over. I took an unintentional snooze on the couch in front of the TV once off shift, making it very difficult to get back up again and see to the rest of the off-the-clock "stuff" I had yet to do. Amazing how gravity seems to increase on the truly tired. In these situations it always seems like there is something pressing in on me, and I have to work hard at acheiving escape velocity. Often nights when I am working I feel that pull toward the sheets, wishing that I could just go doze off for an hour or two. Sleep becomes the ultimate luxury. Going back on a night shift after a period of dayurnal activity makes the whole world fuzzy. For me, that "headache gray" exists in the period of struggling to stay awake and alert while attempting to readjust against the body's natural sleep rhythms. The world becomes confused a bit - I am there but not there. It is always difficult at first. There is that sense of unreality, for sure. Now, as I am a bit fuzzy at the moment from my little nap, I think I will head back and see what else I can get done before my bed starts calling me again.

It's Lyrics Week On The Mailboat

Beginning tomorrow, I will feature a daily post in which I wax poetic about a particular set of song lyrics or segments thereof. Possibly I may just skip the poetic part and launch into one of my regular ramblings. I just don't know. It's almost like "Anything Can Happen" week, but at a slightly higher parental rating than the Mickey Mouse Club. I bet you're so excited you could just pee! Patience. As I said, posts begin tomorrow. Oh, and I also use the term Lyrics Week rather loosely, as the week of posts will likely only run until Wednesday or Thursday - whenever I lose internet access again. These are the breaks. Well, anyway, enjoy tomorrow and whatever may come next!

Greetings from Fort Lauderdale

Well, it seems that my big rant about the Miami airport might have angered the travel gods a wee bit. After a decent streak of about a year, travel disaster has once again come my way. I am, as I type, sitting in front of the TJ Cinnamons in concourse C of the Fort Lauderdale - Hollywood International Airport. This is one thing I love about this airport: free wireless internet throughout. Anyhoo, my plane out of Philly was late picking me up, then weather patterns caused them to cancel all northbound flights. You are probably wondering how this affected a flight to Ft. Lauderdale. Well, lemme tell ya. Seems there were a bunch of northbound planes already in line ahead of us on the runway, and some that had already taken off had to turn around and land again. This created a giant slide puzzle of aircraft which took a couple of hours to work out. Lucky me, I was seated in the middle of a row of 3 right next to a portly gentleman who had many, many anecdotes to share. Nice guy, but it was physically impossible for him to not encroach on my space. I finally arrived back here in Florida around 8:55 p.m., one hour after my connecting flight to Key West landed in Key West. Obviously there are not many flights to the keys on a daily basis, so yours truly had to get re-ticketed for 8:40 a.m. By the time I wrestled my bags away from the baggage carousel, got to a hotel, walked to McDonalds for a bite, and finally got to bed, it was 11:30. Getting back up at 5:30 and doing it all again was simply not fun. Enter TSA. For reasons unknown I have been getting the black spot for years at the screening area. This was my day to get the full-on glove and swab treatment. To their credit, the TSA agents were very nice and once they discovered my credentials were very chatty and interested in hearing about my job. This, thankfully, helped pass the time. I was fascinated by all the wiping of bags and electronics, especially my iPod. Thinking I was being smart and saving time in line, I had removed my steel-toed boots prior to entering the queue, which apparently I was supposed to wear into the puffer/sniffer thingy. As I had already placed them in the bin, they got the swab treatment too. So now here I am, in front of TJ Cinnamons, enjoyig a nice chocolate milk because they were all out of white. Add that to the over-iced cinnamon roll and I am super sugared-up for the plane. I am so looking forward to a home-cooked meal and a long night in my own bed. Thankfully I am done with air travel for a little over a month. Now if the Seven Mile Bridge will just stay clear...

Philly - Who knew?

I had no idea Philadelphia was such a cool town. There are about a zillion cool restaurants, bars, and stores I would like to visit and I only have 5 days! Not even five full days! Tonight I dined in an exceptional restaurant called Morimoto. The creation of Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto, it is truly an incredible dining experience. It's a little spendy, but they at least deliver exceptional service, cuisine, and style for the price. The design of the dining space alone makes it worth a trip. The decor and mood of the restaurant are so hypnotic that we were barely conscious of the din of conversation. The meal was quite exceptional, and the presentation so artful that it seemed almost a shame to consume it. There are about a zillion things in Philly to do as well. I'll never cover all of the historical sites at one go. I'm wishing that I had known about all of this while I was still living in Maryland. It would have been a perfect getaway weekend for when I wanted my "big city" fix without going to D.C. Oh well. Perhaps I will come back someday. I have to at least make it to the Liberty Bell while I am here.

Fly, Forrest, Fly!

While I was standing in the Philadelphia airport today waiting for my baggage, a person on the loudspeaker kept paging Lieutenant Dan. I suddenly wanted an ice cream...

MIA - How Appropriate

Today's first feature is another rant on how much I hate Miami and the lackadaisical attitude that is so prevalent there. Last week we arrived at the Miami International Aiport for our 6:35 a.m. flight to Tulsa (via Houston) at 4:30 a.m. We had carefully removed anything remotely liquid or gel-like from our luggage, chosen shoes without gel insoles, and arrived the minimum of 2 hours in advance recommended for making it thorough security. We were ready to have as smooth a trip as possible. We forgot to take into account the fact that we were still in Miami. We arrived at the Continental check-in counter and found it unoccupied. Even the self-registration monitors were blinking at us, declaring that they would not be available for use until 4:45 a.m. In Miami, apparently, even the computers can't be bothered. There were no signs directing us where to wait or what to do, so we did what seemed reasonable at the time. We decided to stand in line at the counter and wait the 15 minutes until we could check in. Other passengers who had been sitting down in the area joined the line behind us. When a Continental employee finally arrived at around 4:50, she snapped at us for where we were standing and directed us to another spot. We all moved, and she spent the next 10 minutes or so constructing the queue. As she put the first posts in place, she snapped at us again because we were standing approximately 2 inches too far forward of where she wished to begin the line. We apologized and moved back a little and she proceeded on in a huff. We had to move back again to facilitate the spreading of the official Continental Airlines floormat a few moments later. At around 10 after 5:00, the counter finally opened, at which time the agents instructed us to use the self-check monitors. We inquired what we should do with our checked bags and were told, in that tone of voice one uses to address the stupid, that we would get in line again and someone would call us when they were ready to take our bags. We complied, and when our turn came to give our bags to the agent, we were told rather brusquely, "Your name is not on these bags. You will have to fill out luggage tags." When I pointed out the luggage tag slots manufactured into each piece, I was told "Oh no. We do not go into pockets. It's required to be on the outside now." I saw this nowhere on the TSA website I'd perused the night before, so unless it is an airline thing, I'm skeptical. I was to step aside and fill out 3 tags. When I tried to attach said tags to the luggage, the agent took them from my hand and said "You can go now." Fine.

Soon after, we found ourselves at the security checkpoint. Again, there were no signs telling us what to do, so we did the logical thing and went into the nylon strap maze heading for the screeners. We were stopped with much waving of hands and brandishing of papers and told we had to wait outside the queue. Once we formed a line outside the queue and the screeners had concluded their conversation, we were allowed back in. We put our stuff on the conveyor and I stepped through the magnetometer. The TSA agent on the other side asked me in a voice so soft that I had to ask her to repeat herself, "Where are your bags?" When I replied that they were on the conveyor, she told me "You have to go back and push them into the machine". What is the conveyor for?!?! At any other airport, they would yell at you for pushing your stuff into the machine because there is a person who does that once the machine operator is ready. Not in Miami, apparently. In Miami you have to be psychic just to make it through the airport without getting snapped at.

Okay, well, I think I've ranted about that for long enough. The rest of our trip was great. The Houston and Tulsa airports were much better - much friendlier. In fact, every other airport in the world that I have passed through has been head and shoulders above Miami. In conclusion, at MIA, customer service is MIA.

Ernesto = BFD

Oh, NO! It's Ernesto! Somebody saaaaave meeeee!

While I do believe that caution and storm preparedness are important, I can only roll my eyes at all the Miami gas stations that were closed this afternoon because they were sold out. Sold out. Sold the @#$% out.

While I feel for those who survived Andrew, I also believe that Miami needs to get over itself. The slightest murmuring of unusual weather sends people flocking to the pumps in droves, filling the tanks of gratuitously large vehicles which will only be totalled once an airborne tree branch scratches the $10,000 chrome bumper. Now, call me crazy, but all us Monroe County types from the Keys up to Flamingo were still listening to the fishing report this morning. The tourists all got sent packing days ago, so the guides are out together hauling in some redfish and snook before taking the boat up the ramp one last time. My local radio station this morning summed it up best: "Tropical Storm Ernesto! Who cares?" Meanwhile in Miami, grocery stores are stripped bare, gas pumps are shut down, and the leaves are fluttering slightly in the breeze. It even sprinkled a little earlier. Cars are wrecked all over the roads. All Publix locations closed at 6:00 pm. I guess it's just a hardier, or crazier (or both) stock of people in the Keys. Miami is very soft and prone to intense overreaction - about everything.

We had to leave Flamingo by 1:00 pm, so rather than spend the next 2 nights before our flight to OK on the floor of the Pine Island HQ building (rah) we are comfortably ensconced in a Miami Fairfield Inn from whence I am typing away to you now. The comfy bed and wireless internet connection are far preferable to a foam slab and a sleeping bag for one who has recently rejoined the ranks of the living. My IV puncture wound may be healing, but I am not up to "roughing it" just yet. I almost have my appetite back, and I am hoping that it will make a full return in time for some tasty barbecue in a few days. Of course, the other problem is that most everything tastes bad. Well, tastes funny, anyway. I don't know how that's flu-related, but whatever. I can't think of any other plausible explanation. A lot of stuff has a sour undertone to it, and other things, well, I can't describe it. Maybe I'll shed some extra tush. One can only hope.

Well, folks, I have many more places to surf before I go to bed. Yes, you heard me! It doesn't matter that it's 1:00 am. My recent illness has also left me an insomniac. I think I slept so much while I was really falling-down sick that I'm going to be awake for a good week straight. Seriously. We're talking lying awake tossing and turning until 5:00 am. It's not pretty. Okay, I'm going now. Stayed tuned, boatophiles!

Wicked Pissed

Have you ever been so enraged that you turned into a cartoon character? You know what I'm talking about: your entire body slowly turns fire engine red from the feet up, and when it reaches the top of your head steam blows out your ears. I was just that shade of angry yesterday. I turned so red-hot, I stayed that way. It was like a sunburn! Wierd, huh? I'm still a little warm this a.m. I can't tell the whole story here, but suffice it to say I did something for people that I didn't have to do, just for their benefit, only to receive a nasty and insulting anonymous note demanding more. Some people. And no, these were not newcomers of a southerly persuasion, either. What is wrong with people? When did we become so darned entitled?!?!

The Demise of the Barbie Spoon

I hate tarpon. No, seriously, I really do. They are the biggest waste of bait on the planet. No, wait - that would be the goliath grouper. The tarpon are up there, though. You see, I had this lure. It was a favorite lure of mine, and it was magic. Fish loved it, especially the yellowtail. I called it the Barbie spoon. It was one of those diamond-shaped, "hey, I might be a squid" spoons with hot pink prismatic stuff on the top of it. On a decent day, fish would hit that thing left and right. Woe is me, however. I was out fishing off the dock the other day, and though I kept an eye out specifically for them, a tarpon snuck up on me. It was too far away for me to really see it. It took my lure, jumped, and was gone. Little bastard. I've made it my personal mission to harass tarpon whenever I see them while snorkeling now. They're killing me with this theft of tackle. I also can't find a replacement for the Barbie spoon. I found one the same shape and size with the pink bead, but alas, no pink prismatic stuff. How can I be expected to fish with inferior tackle? I wonder if they make Scotchlite in hot pink...