Strawberry Hill

I had a dream last night that I went to my 10-year high school reunion, which was being held on the last day of school at the high school in Stevensville. First I met my best friend from high school, who couldn't go to the reunion because she had to work at the zoo that day. She showed me around the zoo, and talked about how boring it was giving tours of the zoo over and over every day. After that I went to the high school, stopping off at a convenience store first to buy cigarettes, even though I had never smoked, and didn't in the dream either although I thought I might need to start at the reunion. So, then I got to school, and I was wandering around the halls full of little highschoolers, looking for people I knew who were 10 years older, like me. I finally found one guy I used to know, and I was at least 6 inches taller than him now, although we used to be the same height, because you know, I'd grown so much taller since high school. He was telling me about his three daughters and how the heat didn't work in their little apartment. I had a bottle of Strawberry Hill Boone's in my backpack, and a pack of Camel Lights, and I got worried that I was going to get in trouble for having the alcohol. So I waited until between classes when the halls were full, and I set the Boone's down in the middle of the hallway. A while later I looked over and saw one of the basketball coaches (who also pretended to be a teacher) yelling at a bunch of freshmen for having alcohol at school. The dream was pretty much as lame as I would expect my high school reunion to actually be!


bizarre must awesome want

I came across this page about the real meanings of some American's Japanese and Chinese character tattoos via a post in little yellow different. I've always thought this must be the case with much of the kanji and Chinese characters we are seeing more and more here in America, where it has become trendy in both hipster circles and in home design. Although wouldn't it be cool in a sorta I'm-not-cool way to have "vegetable" tattooed on your back? I think so. There are some humorous links in the comments to his post with photos of shirts that misuse English as well. It goes both ways. I know people with Indian symbols, celtic symbols, Egyptian symbols, etc. for tattoos. I don't know if it really matters as long as it means something to them. There's a celtic symbol I've always wanted as a tattoo, not because I know much about the culture or what the symbol meant to them, but because it's developed its own meaning for me. I guess you can call it appropriation if you'd like, but the world has always been based on cultural appropriation since people came to be, so it wouldn't exactly be a new trend. And it probably had a lot to do with what we'd call progress.

Besides, my dad works with a guy who went to a tattoo artist to have his son's name, Brian, tattooed on his arm. He didn't realize until after he left that it had been misspelled Brain. He still has it though, still spelled Brain.



I just cannot seem to update this page on a regular basis, can I? I am a true procrastinator in all things it seems, not just work. My tendonitis issue is doing a little better, so typing is easier. After a couple more weeks, I may be done with the physical therapy, which I actually regret because it feels so darn funky when they zap electricity into my forearm. They have this little wand that makes the sound of the diagnostic thingie from Star Trek, and that's actually exactly what it does. The sound speeds up when it detects a higher level of electrical activity from nerves in a certain area, which then indicates to the doctor that he needs to zap more electricity in there to convince the nerves to tone it down a little. I'm not sure why it works, but it does feel much better afterwards.

The husband and I went to a Bjork concert last Friday night. In retrospect, it was a very cool experience, but somehow concerts just can't do for me what they used to. It used to be an incredible novelty to actually see a star in person, and I would be completely floored to be in the same room with someone whose music I listened to, and usually whose celebrity-ness I worshipped. After the Tori Amos concerts and this concert, I've realized that somewhere I lost that fanaticism, and therefore am far less impressed with celebrity. That's not to say I don't like concerts, but I can have more fun in a bar listening to a good band whose name I don't know, than on a pier in Seattle smashed between people who paid over $100 for their tickets from ebay, trying to get a glimpse of Bjork between the dreadlocks of the guy in front of me. All of that aside, Bjork is a phenomenal singer, and she was fantastic. She fidgets with her hands when she sings, as if there is just too much energy inside and she can't get it all out through voice alone. And I now definitely want to make it to a rave, somehow, someday, because the electricity pulsing through the crowd on the last song, with strobes flashing, the beat thrumming, and the pier actually moving from the feet stomping and jumping was completely incredible. If that song had gone on all night, I would've been there until dawn.

Instead, I dropped the husband off at the airport at dawn, and spent this whole week trying to recover from going more than 24 hours without sleep. I know I'm getting older, because that used to be much easier for me to do. But the weekend is fast approaching, and I think I will survive. I'm trying to deal with the fact that summer is unbelievably almost over and I'm not sure what to do with what's left. I just want to curl up with a book, but considering that I spend at least nine months of the rainy Bellingham year doing that, I should probably make use of the sunny 75-degree goodness that is currently outside. Which is what I'm going to do right now...


bizarre awakenings

This morning at 5:00, my husband and I were both awakened to the sound of, well, it's hard to describe but it sounded like a large predatory animal slowly killing a smaller animal right outside the open window. The growling and snarling noises were low and deep enough that I fully expected to see a mountain lion in our driveway munching on one of the neighborhood cats. With that instinctive feeling in my gut that comes from the genetic knowledge that you should fear big predatory animals, we looked out the window. Nothing. The sounds eventually subsided, then stopped completely. Finally, the courage to open the front door. Two neighborhood cats were cowering under the truck outside, but no blood-streaked driveway or giant pawprints were to be found. Eventually, we gave up, but no sleep came before the alarm went off this morning. On the way to the bus stop, everything was bright and sunny, with no indication at all that something horrible happened two hours earlier. I'm curious to know if the white rooster that is often in our next-door neighbors backyard is still living. I think it was a raccoon killing and eating something, because we heard the raccoon chitter noise and splashing in the creek, so some poor chicken, bunny, or rat, or maybe even cat, probably met its end. Remind me never to anger a raccoon if they can snarl and growl like that.

By the way, I apologize for Trenchcoat's absence for a while. We have not yet removed the evil virus worm that has infected our computer along with half the nation, so he'll be on a temporary hiatus along with me until we get that fixed.


Apologies to the five people who read this, but this blog is going on a short hiatus. I know, it's always on a short hiatus, but I'm having problems with tendonitis in my right arm and typing and moving the mouse is fairly painful at the moment. So, I'm going to reserve my ability to type and mouse for work, where I really need it, and I'm going to take a break from the internet world for a while. I'll still be reading up on what y'all are doing though, because what with babies and working in Japan and educational treatises on historical cultures, how could I not?