Temperature Problems No Longer on The Fritz: Why I Won't Have to Spend the Night Shivering Myself to Sleep.

The blower stopped working in the flat, and that's why everything seemed to go crazy cold for last night. I have to say though, I was wondering when something like that was going to happen here. Despite the fact that when I moved in here, I was completely in love with the place because my previous residence was less than to be desired (if you remember, the bathroom was separated from the kitchen by a curtain,) I was also overlooking the fact that the place was still a piece of abandoned run-down crap. Yeah, it works, but it's just not . . . working?

So, segway. John and I are going house hunting. We decided that we're ready to take that step . . . or more like John decided that, seeing as he was the main driving force since he never wants to spend another night shivering asleep. Oh, and he recently got a promotion and booko pay raise and I'm getting pulled on with a nice company, plus, back when I was setting up my brackish tank I got the digs with the store owner and have been pulling part time hours ever since. I suppose my point is, we've recently discovered (through way of the monthly finance check-up we had Thursday) that we now have quite an overabundance of extra funds, and by looking into houses, we're trying to find the easiest, most effective way of getting rid of them. But, hey, we might as well invest in ourselves, eh?

An Update: It's Quite Cold Inside.

What can I say about the Carribean? It is particularly the most stunning place I have ever seen. I know I write this as if I have never been there myself, but alas! I have, long ago (well, actually that not long ago, but whatever.)We stayed on the Turks and Caicos Islands, and well it was wonderful. The sea was so blue, and the air so warm (compared to the cold that was here when I left.) Ah, I just want to go back and sleep there forever, mainly becuase not only did I not have problems sleeping there, but also the thermostat in the flat has gone loopy and John and I had to pil on multiple blankets on us to sleep and stay warm. I'm having the repair man come and fix it today . . . well, actually John's the one involved in it all, so he's the one having the repair man come. I think its because he got less sleep than I did (a first for him) because he was shivering all night long (he hates being cold when he sleeps.) Oh, well, that's all for this update. I'll write more later, maybe.

Please, Let Me Take a Nap.

Ah, I'm back at home . . . and am exceedingly tired.
Who knew that planes and travel could make one so weary?
I'll tell all about the trip once I get a couple hours of snooze.

My Brother Pulls a Pop-In.

My brother's staying with us for the tonight before we hop on the plane to fly out to the sandy beaches and blue sea. He arrived last night, a day early, which through me for a loop for about ten seconds, before I reminded myself exactly what kind of a person my brother is . . . I mean really, he's the one person in the world that still actually believes communication via postal system is the only way to go. It threw me for a loop though, being that it was nearly 8 or 9 when I got a call . . . "hey, where do you live?" . . . "uh, on the end of 8th" . . . "kay, be there in a second" . . . click. I had just that instant to go ". . . what? be there in a second . . . he's already here, isn't he?"

Ah. Isn't it just great when vagabond siblings pull a pop-in? But I can't complain . . . we're going to the Caribbean . . . and though I know that this trip is supposed to be for vacation and whatnot . . . I'm going to stash sometime for a mini-amount of research as well . . . can't wait.

Settling of Accounts and a Holiday in the Caribbean: Equating Joy.

Ah. Because of yesterday's fiasco, I didn't even remember to post the good news. I'm going to the Caribbean with my brother . . . I've actually known for months except, I didn't even remember it until yesterday. He bought plane tickets and planned the vacation as my present over the holidays. Of course, I say he's just doing this so he can have an excuse to go there and write about the beaches or whatever . . . oh well, I'll take what I can get. I leave this Thursday and return sometime the following week . . . it's going to be so nice. I haven't seen Septimus (my brother) since my short stay with over the winter holiday . . . and it's always so nice to see him in person, than just getting bits of stuff from him in packages.

Oh, by the way, John and I have settled our accounts . . . but I'm not in the particular mood to write about it . . . I'll just say that everything is completely fine now.

I'm a Blank Page with no Room for Words: Part Two

Because of my previous post, I came to the conclusion that an explanation was needed, for whoever my audience may be and for myself as well (I need to put this in words to prove to myself that its real . . . or something along those lines.) Ah. Well, let's just say, as a precursor, everything is going to change.

So, he finally did it, and by him I mean, John. So what could he have done that would have pulled me into a state of chaos, you ask? Well, he . . . decidedly took that step to move our "relationship" in the next "direction," if you get my gist, and well if you know about my relationship with John, you will know that there isn't much further where we can go . . . other than marriage.

We entered into one of those unspoken relationships back in November, one of those where you end up spending all this time with each other, while living separately, but then one day, unnoticeable, he just never left, and we started living together. Of course, I know, to readers, that your thinking "This started in November? and you're already pushing marriage into the mix? what are you crazy?" But alas! we've known each other for years.

Ever since I moved here actually, into my small flat on the same block as his. I hit him with my car . . . and consequently hauled his unconscious body into my car and drove (for about three blocks until stopping to ask for directions) him to the hospital. When he gained consciousness and the hospital cleared him to go, I drove him back to his house . . . without conversation other than his couple of short words mumbled " . . . it's okay . . . don't call the police . . . I'm not going to press charges." Then we separated.

The next day in the early 7 a.m. morning, I hear a banging on my door. I open it and it turned out to be the man I hit, John. He asks me to go out to breakfast with him and says that I can't refuse, so naturally, I pull on a sweater and pants and go with him. We've been friends ever since.

Together, we've never really talked about our said "relationship." It's just been. But today he had to bring it up . . . well not really. He just instigated the fact that if I ever wanted to, he would completely be open to getting married . . . and then I didn't respond, which I know on my part was probably a bad action, but hell, I was shocked. I was in that state contentedness, taking a bite out of wonderful mango . . . and he said it . . . making me choke slightly.

Then, of course, my silence made him believe that I didn't have the same opinion as him, so he began to get his feathers ruffled, going on and on about he should have "expected" that kind of reaction from me . . . because that's how I am . . . stagnant, never wanting things to change, never wanting to tie myself to one thing . . . just blah. That's about when he called me a blank page with no room for words . . . hence the title . . . and then he left . . . didn't even take his freshly toasted bagel with him.

So what am I left to do? Think about it? I know, I shouldn't have stumbled . . . shouldn't have paused . . . because in all reality I feel the same for him as he does me, it just don't want to admit it. However, I know I'll have to . . . I suppose I'll call him tomorrow and tell him so, before this drama becomes too much to bear. For now, Gin's coming over and we're going to pretend as if I've been seriously "cast aside" as she put it by a former lover.

In her words . . . "if you actually go through with this . . . with John and everything, you'll never get to have depressing drunken get togethers with me when you get dumped (as if with had them already) . . . so we might as well spend this night pretending you've been cast aside . . . by some lover . . . hmm, let's make him Italian."

I'm a Blank Page with no Room for Words.

What am I going to do?

A Reading Material Suggestion: For Those Days When You Need to be Put in Your Place, Carl Sagan's "Pale Blue Dot."

I previously, in this post, posted PDF manuscript of Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot. After a couple hours of thinking, I reconsidered the whole idea, because well, we all know you're not going to read the entire 201 pages just because I posted it. Therefore, I did a little bit more research . . . and found a video, that I am going to posted as well as the manuscript . . . because there are some pretty neat quotes in it. The video encompasses parts of the first chapter entitled "You are Here," is narrated using the key phrases of the chapter. Watch and Enjoy?



Now, if you enjoyed the video, I would hope you would go on to read the manuscript. You can go out and buy your own copy, or you could use this e-copy and either read it on the screen (which might hurt your eyes) or print it out and bind it as your own book.

Really, the only reason I am posting this now, is because I just read and finished the book. As normal, my brother mailed it to me. I usually don't like these types of books, but it was very . . . informative and so well, written that I just got enveloped in the picturesque-ness of the words.

This is my version of a book recommendation, because I alas, have no one to touch my mailing out a copy. I thought about picking out a name and address anonymously from the phone book, and sending it out anonymously with no return label . . . but I opted for this option, which would give more choice to the next reader rather than having it forced by mail . . . if that makes sense.

I Begin to Think About the Reality of My Existence While Mr. Tambourine Plays a Song For Me.

It's 8 a.m. and I have no idea what I am doing. Upon waking up this morning, I realized (once again, but more completely) the complete pointlessness of my existence. I made some toast, spread some, and then passed the next half an hour staring off into the oblivion of the brackish aquarium that was opposite me (I finally got the damn thing stocked and it looks quite stunning.) When John woke up, I made him some toast, spread some marmalade, and went back to staring. When John finally left, the baking again. I made muffins and cookies and cakes. Then I came to the point where I am now, writing about these . . . completely pointless exercises of my life.

On a bit of the lighter side, I am adding another video. This one is of the a performance at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival and you'll have an easy enough time guessing the song, so I won't bother telling you. Watch and enjoy:



Wasn't that nice? Got my mind off things, and it has a beat nice enough to make someone gorge on snickerdoodle cookies (like I did.) I think tomorrow I will start something new for my life . . . or maybe not. I suppose this mood only comes once in many, many days . . . so I can deal with it. I'll just bake more cookies . . . for these are too good to survive till evening.

Coughing, Hiccuping, Coughing: While Cats Like Chicken Liver . . . Funny World Isn't It?

Months and months ago, I set up a sitemeter on my site, you know, to collect data for me about the types of people the pass through. As usual, I forgot about it nearly a month after addition. Today was my first time back at it to check up since then, and well I'm quite amazed. Nearly 70% (this is what I am assuming) of my hits are due to two main sources, listed in order of most frequent:

1. This by far gets the most hits, and though phrasing sometimes differs, the main subject search is "every time I cough I hiccup." Hundreds of people have searched for this in the past months and have hit my page due to a completely irrelevant title of one of my posts "Cough. Hiccup. Cough" that I made becuase I couldn't think of anything else to title it. The post itself has nothing to do with either coughing or hiccuping. I, and would like to add, that I, particularly do not and have never known that coughing and hiccuping in sequence was ever an actual condition. How odd.

2. This has something to do with another post title of mine that has no particluar relevance to the post itself. The title is "Cats Like Chicken Liver" so I suppose you can guess what most people are searching for . . . do cats like chicken liver. The post itself mentions that I had chicken liver and oatmeal for dinner that night, with the title reflecting an observation that cats as well like chicken liver (or atleast thats what they keep advertising on all the cat pet food that I buy.) Again, I do not know particularly whether cats do or do not like chicken liver, but for the most part they seem to.

Well, I thought that if I was atleast getting hits by people for misleading titles, I should also adsdd a post explaining such, so people would get confused and to make it worth their time. Also, to go along with March's theme I will be posting some great Dylan videos either today or tomorrow . . . whenever I get some more time. As for now, I must go, for John and I are going out for the evening . . . because John thinks that we don't get out enough to connect with the rest of this thriving world of human beings to count ourselves as one of them . . . Whatever.

Mr. Dylan: He Can Hold His Breath Three Times As Long If He Wants To.

Ah. To add to March's month of Bob Dylan, I am going to try something new: video. I just got to a point where I realized that photos just aren't enough, as one can only see so many photographs of Bob Dylan. This is a video of an interview with Time Magazine, I think it kind of shows a little more about him, his personality and his beliefs. He's so . . . stream of consciousness . . . that's the only phrase I can find to describe his speech. Enjoy.



Well, I enjoyed it at least. Sometime later, I will be adding more musical performances, rather than interviews. In all, I only added this one because its the most enjoyable, poignant video that I watched while searching for a video to add to this post. The best line: "Every word has this little letter and big letter, like the word 'know,' you know the word know, k-n-o-w. Okay, you know the word 'know', capital K-n-o-w, like each of us really knows nothing, right, but all think we know things, but we really know nothing." It's just great . . . right?

I mean really . . . he can hold his breath three times as long if he wants to.

The Month of March: Marking the Beginning of a Month Long Festival of Bob Dylan to Celebrate the Birth of Crocuses.

Today, I am in the fallout resulting from yesterday's marathon of the Bob Dylan documentary, No Direction Home: Bob Dylan, which is a three-something hour long documentary directed by Martin Scorsese. It was a matter of ritual, rather than a burning urge, since the beginning of March marks (for me) the beginning of Bob Dylan month (which to most makes no sense, seeing as the month itself is of no particular relevance to him, though one might take the large leap to say that it is somehow related to the fact the his first electric album debuted in March 1965, however that is really of no consequence.)

It really came to be, ten years ago when I was a young teenage girl, freshly potted into the streets of Chicago after moving there to be with my mother. Her flat, was comparable to a cold-water flat except it did have hot-water . . . sometimes. To make it more homely for me, my brother, who, for his complete lack of personal contact in my life always seemed to know where I was and what I was doing, used his (as previously mentioned in earlier posts) favorite method of contact, the postal system, to mail me a collection of music (which turned out to be a collection of Bob Dylan, rather) and some photographs and prints (of Bob Dylan). The month I moved there and received the packages happened to be in March, the beginning of March particularly. Ever since, March has been Bob Dylan month for me; I move the now framed prints and photos, to hang on the front room's wall and I pull out that collection of music to play the track's endlessly. In 2005, when Scorsese's documentary came out, my brother mailed me a copy.

Right now, I am playing "Blood on the Tracks" and because I'm not going in a specific chronological order, I think I'm going to pop back to "Blonde on Blonde" and then "Highway 61 Revisited" next. We'll see how it works out.

Ah. March. It's the month in which the crocus's and daffodils bloom. For me, it the month of Bob Dylan. On another note, I think John is appreciating this switch as well, I could tell he was getting a little tired of some of the kicks I was on and when I put the music on this morning he didn't seem as agitated. Plus, he totally loved last night's movie . . . I was going to break it up into two halves and finished watching the second half today, but he made us keep going until 11p.m. when it finally ended.

Yeah, he's a total sucker for documentaries.