A Good Day Starts with Kona

I've once or twice mentioned my mother's cousin who lives in Hawai'i. Shortly after he moved there (which was years ago), he sent us a box full of stuff for Christmas. In it was a bowl made of koa wood, and a nifty box made of some other wood. Inside this box was a shell necklace and two bags of the best coffee ever. Even if you're not a coffee connoisseur (like I am not, but I can tell the difference between a good cuppa joe and a bad one), you can tell when you have Kona in your cup. Trader Joe's occasionally has Kona coffee available, but it's four times more expensive than the other coffee they carry (which is quite yummy). We did splurge on another Trader Joe's Hawaiian coffee that was about half the price of Kona, and is good in its own right. Target sells a Kona blend (some Kona blended with other coffee, probably a regular old Colombian, to make it cheaper) that is actually quite good, and satisfies that yearning for simply a good cup of coffee.

I would never bring the Trader Joe's Kona to share at work (I don't make that kind of money!) but a group of us are happy to share bags of Target's Kona blend. It's not the same as the true and good stuff, but it's far better than the crap that the office purchases. Days that start with Kona (even a little bit of Kona) are good days.




Yesterday started with Trader Joe's Hawaiian Peaberry (peaberry is a type of bean, not a variety of plant, that roasts and brews a little differently than regular, flat beans). Then Fox and Fae came over and together with mom and I, we headed into town on the Metro. It was quite cold for Sakura viewing, but that kept the crowd down (relatively speaking). We're in the peak bloom period right now (that's something we usually miss), even though there were still buds on the trees, they were not yet dropping petals. I never tire of looking at those flowering trees.

We also viewed the Korean War Veterans Memorial and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, both of which I have never been to previously. I can't quite put words to what seeing them was like.

After a long hike to the Metro and a bit of crowding with baseball traffic, we were back in the area for dinner and bleeding.

Yes, I said bleeding! Think Geek has a DIY Blood Typing Kit and Fox decided it would be fun to test ours and see what we have. It's not exactly a reliable blood typing method (doesn't involve a laboratory to anything like that) but I think it delivers mostly accurate results. I wouldn't want to get a transfusion based on it, but it's nice to know your most-likely type. Fox bought three kits, and I had one, so we and Fae sat down to bleed on a card and see what we had. I was doing fine until it came time to prick my finger. Fox and Fae had done theirs (and they were barely bleeding), but I just couldn't do it. Fox had to do mine, which worked great, it didn't hurt, and I bled more than anyone; I was the only one who needed a bandage. Fae got enough to do the test, but poor Fox just wasn't bleeding. We tried a couple clean and disinfected needles, and that didn't work. Then we decided to scrap the thing and use the extra test. It's a good thing they had three!

At one point, Fae and I both exasperated that it would work if we could get enough blood out of him. I took over the lancet (since him doing mine worked so well for me). He still didn't bleed much, but it was enough this time. We discovered that I've been on the correct blood type diet for almost a year, and that Fox and I have the same A+ blood type (I guess that means I should keep him around). Fae is the coveted 0-, the same time as one of their close friends. It looks like it's a good thing to keep her around too, though I can't help her any.

This was a fun way to spend the evening. I've got a big bruise on my finger now, though. I should have chosen a different finger; I didn't realize how many important characters the left middle finger hits on a keyboard!

I just can't talk about yesterday's adventures without talking about that fabulous Nationals Home Opener that I wish I could have stayed up to watch. Nick Johnson was back on first, and he batted in a run and scored a run himself in the first inning. My dad was able to stay up for the game, and he was telling me all about it, and Ryan Zimmerman's game-winning home run in the ninth. What a great way to start off a new season in a new ballpark. I wish I could have stayed up for it.

And that was our Sunday!

Attack

Just Stupid

The loan guy keeps calling the house when no one is here and leaving messages asking if he's supposed to process my loan application. You know, the one that's $7,000 shy of the price of the house? That's the stupidest question I've ever been asked! Why would you process a loan that's not enough money? What they hell does he think I'm going to be able to do with not enough of a loan? I can't move in with it, that's not the price that the seller and I agreed on. Is he just an idiot?

I still haven't heard anything from Monty. While people normally say no news is good news, I think this means no news is no news: as in, he's having a hard time finding someone who will give me a loan too.

My mother and I took Miss Luna to the vet this morning. On the way, we passed a quaint house with a bright yellow sign in front that read "$500 moves you in." Mom wants me to check out that place. I'm not sure eager to do business with a company that doesn't give you any information online, though. Every single link on their website takes you to some other site. That leaves me to question the legitimacy of the realtor. But, we took down the number anyway, so I guess I can call tomorrow. I hate doing business by phone. Usually, if I can't do everything I need online, it's not worth it.

Get into the 21st century, people!

Holding On

I left three big black bags full of stuffed animals by the door for one of the many charities that come by regularly for donations. I feel like I kept quite a lot, but three bags of toys is still pretty good. The last time I did this, I gave away things I later regretted, and that's what turned me into a packrat. My toys are in collector's condition, most even still have the swing tags, so I have to believe that they're going to end up in some Purple Heart store and make a bunch of children happy. Sure, I could have taken the time and swallowed the cost to sell those things on e-Bay, but this is much better.

Among the toys were some things that Turtle gave me; she used to bring me something from every trip to Florida, one of them was even something I bought myself in Florida. A lot of those things were gifts from Sally. I know it was time to remove those remnants of her from my life.

Still, I've been missing Sally a lot lately. Rather, I've been missing someone who she never was. Maybe I think of her, or what she was to me even if that wasn't true, because I have no confidant. If I still had the Sally that I created, I'd have one in her.

It's odd that such delusions get created and it's near impossible to let them go. I have accepted that who Sally is now is not who I pretended she was. In fact, I don't know Sally now. Last night, as I sat in my bed contemplating the space where all those toys once were, I thought about Sally's bridal shower and how obvious it was that I did not know her. Then I thought about my sister-in-law's bridal shower, and how happy I was to realize that I knew more about my brother's (then future) wife than I did about someone who I had called my best friend for so many years. I felt quite good about that revelation, really.

I still have a lot to clean out, and it still doesn't look like much progress has been made. But, I have gotten rid of so much stuff, progress must be somewhere.

Happiest of Happy Days

Happy Birthday, Willow!

I hope your day is full of rum and not much work!

It's A Small Crime

And it's only television.

But it's more than television. It was closer to reality than anything else that gets the praise of Nielsen Media Research. This is the appeal of post-apocalyptic drama.

The Jericho Rangers (that's the collective nickname for devoted fans) pulled some historical feats to even see the show get a second season. But, for all our passion, it was not enough to keep it going.

I hope the other Rangers will be kind, and join me in thanking the network for giving us at least those last seven episodes. I'm as sorry as all of them to see it go, but there is still possibility and some hope to hold on to.

Jericho was a show that could be real. Unlike all the crap that they call "reality TV," there was less fantasy here than even the popular cop dramas. That is why it rung so deep within us. If you watched the show with regularity, you know what I mean.

This week's final episode was rushed, no doubt about it, but still had us watching wide-eyed with smiles on our faces when Major Beck finally saw the truth, and Jake's pigheadedness paid off twice. It had us cheering when the Texas Air National Guard came to the rescue in the nick of time and when Mayor Anderson stared at the rolled up heap of the Allied States flag with the Gadsden flag flying high in its place.




We were gripped with emotion when Beck confronted Heather and later thanked her for her faith in him, and when Mimi had to ask for time to allow Stanley to bury his sister before being arrested, and then when Hawkins asks Jake (and all of us) "How does it feel, makin' history?" Leaving us with that hope that a good story, so hard to find these days, can still finish the way it was meant to.

I also want to thank the amazing cast, who came back for the second season because the fans wanted them. They made their characters people we cared about.

Now, the Rangers are left hoping that some other network will see this gem and bring it back. We may be small in number, and not counted by Nielsen, but we will follow Jericho wherever it may go. It's not for television, it's for the story.

"This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them, and he tries to live his life as if he were telling a story."
~ Jean Paul Sartre

Not At That Level

My first job was as a professional, certified football referee working for the Capital Area Soccer Referees Association. My brother and I played for the local Boys and Girls Club when we were little. My dad started refereeing then; he once told me it was to learn the game a little better and be involved in what we were doing in a different way. I think the truth is that he was recruited at one of our games because there are not too many people out there willing to do that job.

When my brother was old enough, he started refereeing too. When I hit that nearly-able-to-work age, I got in (I started a year before I could legally get a work permit. Shhh, don't tell anyone!). I don't remember how much we got paid as that was a long time ago, but I do remember that it would have calculated to quite a bit more than minimum wage, if you break down the per-game wage by the hour. Our assigner, Rae, loved that the three of us were all referees because he could send an already established three person team (standard for a football game) to a field for a day and have all the games covered. My dad's long-standing rapport with him is how I was able to start working so early.

Being a football referee wasn't exactly easy. You had to sit through an annual two day class and pass a test at 75% or better to get certified, and you had to work in a very physical job, sometimes in the rain, and remember all the laws that the Fédération Internationale de Football Association imposes. All laws of the game of football (you do know that what the US calls football has very little to do with actually playing the not-a-ball with feet, right?) are set forth and regulated by FIFA, even the referee's uniform. There's a company that makes the uniform and other important tools called Law Five, which is the number of said law. I thought that was quite clever. Actually, I just pulled my old uniform from my closet a couple weeks ago. It went in the give-away bag with a bunch of other clothes.

We never refereed outside the local youth club level, though it was rather entertaining for me to be in a position of authority around so many players who were often older than me by quite a bit. My dad and I were listening to the sports report on the way to work this morning, and there was something in there about a recent DC United game. I was only half-listening. Then dad said, in a kind of nostalgic way, "I never got to that level." Sure, none of us were FIFA-level, but we all could have been if we wanted to. All of us stopped refereeing years ago, my brother was the first one out and dad was the last and I stopped when I went to college, but we could have gone as far as we wanted.

I remember when our assigner passed away. His wife, Maggie, wore a pink suit and all of us ref's stood around talking shop, like we always did when we got together (break times during our training sessions went much the same way). It sure did not feel like a funeral and Maggie, who was not a ref herself, mingled with the rest of us wearing the bright smile she always had.
You can imagine there are not a lot of females in that vocation, and there were not many young people in either. Whenever we would get sent to a tournament where there were tons of teams and referees about, some of the refs would spend their breaks watching whatever game we (as in dad, bro, and I) were working. I was conscious that they were specifically watching me, because my very presence there was doubly unusual.

In my very last training session, and I remember there were a few young teen girls in it who gave me as much of their attention as they did the instructor, someone had asked a question and the instructor wanted the old refs (those of us who were there for re-certification, not first-certification) to answer it. I answered to the best of my ability, which was correct, and one of the other old refs piped in, "I just want to say, if you ever get a chance to see her [pointing to me] work, watch everything she does. She really knows the job." The instructor agreed and the other old refs nodded enthusiastically, the girls glowed in admiration, the new gents in the room looked a bit surprised though it was more about me actually being in that elite 'old ref' group, and my dad beamed his best beam. Strangely enough, I had no idea I was so well thought of, though I see it now looking back.

There is so much that fills my spare time now, but there are times when I do miss it. Mostly, I miss the fellowship. Get a bunch of refs in a room and you'll hear football stories like you've never heard before. Old refs will talk about tough calls, broken legs, neat plays, or the professional match that was on TV the night before. It's fun to watch a game with these guys too, because we all sit around and call it like it was our own. There was passion for the game that was unmatched by players, coaches, and even fans (and we all should know that football fans can get rather fanatic!). Even dad's stories, whenever we happen to get in the mood, are never boring, though I've heard them all many times and witnessed several of them myself.

I thought I was going to take today to tell you all my football stories. Then, I realized that I have a lot more than can fill one day's story-telling. You, gentle blog readers, will just have to endure more football stories at a later time.

That's For a Change of Pace

Today, someone in another department sent an e-mail about a problem to everyone in my department (that is not the right procedure for such a thing, but what can you do). The gent who sits on the other side of the cube wall from me jumped on the problem right away. He called the merchant and left a message and, as he hung up, I heard him say to himself, "that's just rambling." He was referring to the initial e-mail that would be an English teacher's nightmare (or an English student's failing grade, depending on how you look at it).

The gent then came over to candidly vent about how many people cannot accurately communicate the situation in writing. Even poor Pat has some terrible writing habits (putting periods in the middle of sentences, random line breaks, that kind of thing. He's asked me to help him on several occasions, but he's so set in his ways it's near impossible to correct). I understand concise writing is a skill few people possess, but they still know where sentences should end, right? Correcting horrendous writing skills is not why I decided to write about this today, however.

Towards the end of our conversation, my coworker said, "I talk to you because I know you understand. You're the smartest person in the room." Well, how about that! It makes you feel good when someone has a kind thing to say about you, doesn't it? Actually, both of the guys who flank my desk were rather generous with the elevating of me today. Yes, I said "thank you."

The other gent was talking about WAM and her amazing inability to admit when she is wrong. There is a certain procedure that we have to do, and it's a pain and a half, but that's what the bosses want. I'm not in the situation to need to do this very often, but when I am, I'm sure to do it. I listened as Adolf went to everyone in the two database groups and re-instructed them on this procedure. Most just said, "oh, I forgot" but WAM said she thought that's what she was supposed to do but wasn't sure (therefore she didn't do it at all, nor stop to ask). My co-worker told me he thinks I am very thorough and is amazed that WAM takes my attempts to help her as a personal challenge (pointing out that I didn't get to level 3 for doing nothing). I must say, I was the only one that Adolf did not have to come to about correcting that procedure. That felt pretty good too.

Among rampaging mammoths and working nearly four hours overtime yesterday (that was not planned), it's nice to hear these things every now an then. I guess not everyone thinks I have ridiculous opinions. I hope I can get to bed early today.

Cloned Mammoth Runs Amok

Yesterday, I mentioned that we watched some of the Discovery Channel's Raising the Mammoth special. There was still some of the episode to go by the time we had to leave, but it was fascinating just the same. It's hard to even imagine how exciting such a find would be; just like the mummified hadrosaur found in North Dakota. News like this makes me wish I had been able to pursue my anthropology passion more (if you didn't know, archaeology is a branch of anthropology). So, from a scholarly standpoint, the show about the mammoth was captivating for me.

However, for reasons unknown, I spent the night enveloped in a chain of mammoth-related nightmares. In my dream, scientists had used the extremely well-preserved DNA of the frozen mammoth to clone it. They now had a living, breathing, extinct, ice-age animal to study. But the animal got out. Maybe it was the intense Maryland heat and his thick fur that made him do it, but he started rampaging. The more-massive-than-life creature went through buildings and brick walls, and stomped on cars and people. The dream-animal, of course, managed to stomp its way through the night to my dream-neighborhood in its frenzy.

I spent most of my dreams trying to keep tabs on the thing (it was big, but it was dark) and trying to keep people from running into its deadly path, having to check myself and get out of the way more than a few times. This caused me to wake up in a cold panic quite a lot when the dream got too intense, but then I'd go back to sleep and pick right up where it left off. The last segment of last night's extensive nightmare had me in my house watching the enraged animal approach.

I suppose it sounds a little funny when I retell it like this, but while it was happening, it was terrifying. I don't know what my brain could have possibly been thinking. It's not like archaeology, in general, is a foreign subject to me. I wonder what about that amazing discovery prompted my mind to make me spend the night running from it.

Well, hope with me, gentle blog readers, that those frightful dreams don't come back again in any form for a long while!

Unexpected Places

I've noticed some movies that I am 99.99% certain I bought that have gone missing from my collection. They are two DVDs and a tape, one was bought only a few months ago, and the other two I'd had for years. I am 100% certain about the tape; Kaliis and I used to watch it when she would visit. It's been missing for some time, but I've only been really searching for it for about six months.

The crazy thing about this tape is the fact that it's been missing. It is my only copy of Muppet Treasure Island, which I bought when it came out on video. What's crazy is that it is a tape (bigger and therefore harder to lose than a DVD) and it's in one of those really big plastic cases, like they used to release the Disney tapes in (so it is that much larger of an object to have gone missing). I love this movie, I can't seem to find it on DVD without ordering it online. I've wanted to watch it for months. I've searched every place I can think to look, I asked some friends if I might have loaned it to them, I even had my mother check my grandmother's place (as she sometimes brings movies for them to watch). No luck in any place.

We went to my grandmother's for Easter dinner, as usual. It was a yummy dinner of Whole Foods chicken, with potato salad, broccoli slaw, and lightly steamed asparagus. We took a nice break after dinner with a few interesting episodes of Escape to Chimp Eden on Animal Planet, before slicing a pineapple upside down cake for dessert. Then it was back to the TV where a neat special on the Discovery Channel: Raising the Mammoth. We were contemplating the language settings on my grandmother's TV (it looks like French to me, my grandmother thinks it's something Comcast is doing. It's impossible to explain that Comcast has nothing to do with what appears on the screen when you hit the mute button). We went searching for the TV's original remote so I can fix the language setting. Mom opened up the cabinet under the TV stand and there, plain as day, was my movie.

I shouted, "My movie!" No one knows who put it there, in that cabinet that no one ever goes into, but there it was. Happy day!

Mom and I just finished watching it. I don't care that I'm up late. I love that movie. I'll still search for it on DVD, but I'm so very happy to have it home.

Happy Easter.