Department of the Interior

Brought to you by my dwindling vacation hours.

At 7:45 Sunday night, I realized I hadn't been outside at all that day. The closest I'd come was sticking my head out the back door to call the cat back from his rambles. I remedied the situation with a trip to the curb to put the garbage out, but then I retreated back inside and returned to what I'd been doing: reading.

I've been between jobs for three weeks now, with one more to go, and I'm still not bored yet. Why? Because I've been reading. Reading has always been one of my greatest — and guiltiest — pleasures. Reading books and blogs has always been the treat, the reward, the thing I got to do only after mandatory chores were done. Even in graduate school, getting a degree in English, I couldn't just sit around all day devouring novels, I had to read literary criticism and theory, too. I've never had enough time to read as much as I wanted to — until now.

For the past few weeks, there's been very little I had to do, so I've been spending my time on what I want to do, and that's read. I finished in a day a novel I'd only been able to look at a few minutes at a time. I've read a couple books recommended by friends and caught up on glossy magazines. I've had time to read a serialized novella online. I've been reading — not just skimming, but truly reading — other people's blogs and replying with thoughtful comments, as well as responding to those who write to me.

I've been wallowing in luscious piles of words, getting them tangled in my hair and stuck between my teeth, finding shy phrases in my pockets when I put a jacket back on, sneaky sentences in the washer with the clean dishes. I've been living almost entirely inside my head, and I've got to tell you, I like it in here.

This is the part where you figure I've gone entirely off the deep end. It was only a matter of time, right? And you're preparing your sound bite for the evening news: "She was always such a quiet neighbor, kept to herself, just read all the time. I'm shocked that this has happened."

Well, you can stop worrying. Much as I enjoy my interior textual landscape, there are a few things missing. Chocolate, for instance. Words can tell me all about how chocolate tastes and smells, but if I want to actually taste it, I have to get up and get some. And cats. I can't feed or pet my kitties from inside my head. And T'ai Chi. It's tough to hear my teachers if I don't go to class. So I'm not really going to turn into a huge pile of nothing but pulsing brain matter, attached to my iBook by glistening cybertentacles. (Not that it wouldn't make a fantastic Halloween costume!) I'm indulging while I can, but I realize that all good things must come to an end.

Not for another week, though. Until then, it's back to the books. Word up, yo.

Today around the world: October 31 is BOO! It's also National Magic Day in the U.S. in honor of Houdini.

Naked Novel update

OK, I've finally updated The Naked Novel with a scene and some musings.

The Ins

Brought to you by a day so beautiful I can hardly stand it.

It's about 55 degrees out here on the deck as I sit blogging. The sky is that perfect autumn blue, the color and softness of your oldest, most favorite jeans. The air smells of fallen leaves, wood smoke, and the pumpkin dessert baking just inside the kitchen door. The cats have gathered at my feet, tired from a morning of stalking bunnies but unwilling to retreat to the couch just yet. It's been a glorious week, with another to come, and I can't stop smiling.

Today I finally got off my vacationing keister and did my autumn yard work. I buddied up to O Toro, my mulching mower (not to be confused with Snow Toro, my snow blower) for a few trips around the yard. Last year for some reason I suffered a bout of extreme stupidity and did not take advantage of all of O Toro's features, opting instead to rake and bag leaves by hand. (Actually, I opted first to let some enterprising neighborhood kids do it for me, but they worked for about 45 minutes one evening, accomplished little, and never returned.) I don't know what, if anything, I might have been thinking.

This fall, however, I closed off the side clipping chute and attached the mulch bag instead. After that, the chore was much like any other mowing job, except for stopping every 15 minutes or so to empty the mulch bag into a Hefty. Instead of filling (and paying for haulage of) a dozen or more trash bags full of partially compacted leaves collected over the course of several days and several blisters, I now have just three full of finely diced clippings. I'll make another pass next weekend and be done with it. Sure, I stirred up enough leaf dandruff and dirt that I'll be sneezing mud for the next couple days, but it was worth it. The yard looks like it's been vacuumed, and will for another hour or so until the remaining leaves drop from the trees.

During my travels around and around the Acreage, I had time to think. Always a dangerous situation, I know. Anyway, I got to thinking about bagging leaves and about human beings' general propensity for putting things into other things. The leaves go into the mower bag, then are transferred to a garbage bag. The bags are put into a garbage truck and hauled away to a landfill, where they're put back in the ground. But those leaves, those products of nature, have to be in something at all times, or they bother us.

So it goes indoors as well. The house is not clean until the clothes are in the laundry basket or closet or drawer, the dishes are in the dishwasher or cupboard, the books are in the bookcase, the CDs are in the CD rack, the knickknacks are in their knicknooks, the dust is in a Swiffer sheet in the garbage, the seasonal decorations are in their Rubbermaid containers in the basement or furnace room or attic. Even I am not socially acceptable (in most situations) until I am in some clothes.

And the same stricture applies to things we buy. If I want Coke, I have to buy it in a can, several cans packaged in a 12-pack, which the Byerly's cashier then puts in a grocery bag so another employee can load it in my car so I can take it home and carry it in the house and stash it in the fridge. The gum I buy: each stick is wrapped in foil, which is wrapped in a white paper band, which is in an individual wrapper with the brand logo on it, and the sticks are in a larger pack. I put the pack of gum and a bunch of other things — my Treo in its protective case, my reading glasses in theirs — in my purse to carry them around with me. And on and on like that.

What's up with all the in? I know it's human nature to sort things into categories: things we eat, things we do, things that are dangerous, things that are purple. Every language has ways of doing this. But apparently it's not enough to sort and compartmentalize mentally; we have to do it physically as well.

And we've clearly decided that in means good and out means bad: in favor or in fashion or in bounds, as opposed to out. The in crowd is the desired crowd; the outcasts are not who you want to hang around with. On a good day, I'm in luck, in the money, just in time.

Or wait, maybe in is bad: indecent, incompetent, infuriating. Don't you just love English? Incomparable.

Anyway. I could drive myself insane if I spend too much more time inquiring into this matter. Instead, I think I'll sit outside for a bit longer and read a bit more. I don't need an answer or even want one. Just an excuse to ask.

Today around the world: October 28 is OHI Day in Greece and Cyprus.

Extreme Pumpkins

Brought to you by the Extreme Pumpkin guy.

Stumped for Halloween pumpkin carving ideas? Stop by www.ExtremePumpkins.com for some fantastic ideas.

Today around the world: October 27 is Navy Day in the U.S.A. Are you wearing the right shade of blue?

TupperWarewolves

Brought to you by WhoSEZ and the General.

My friend the General raised a very important point when she heard about the Tupperware party I attended at WhoSEZ's place: items Tupperware ought to make for the modern woman, but doesn't. Such as:

• martini glasses
  
• birth control pill case
  
• flask

Absolutely!! This inspired me to brainstorm a few more. To wit:

• condom carrier
  
• cigarette case
  
• CD/DVD storage
  
• business card case
  
• travel bagel case with built-in cream cheese compartment and attached knife for spreading. OK, donuts would fit in there, too.
  
• knitting caddy
  
• makeup case
  
• jewelry case
  
• snap-together jewelry
  
• thing that squishes excess water out of your swimming suit before you put it back in your bag
  
• fake Christmas tree with all the ornaments & garlands, and you turn it inside out and it's its own storage container
  
• waterproof laptop case
  
• waterproof iPod case
  
• waterproof journal case (with pen compartment) that doubles as a lap desk
  
• martial arts weapons case: compartments for swords, sabers, daggers, canes, fans, flexible weapons, first aid kit, etc.
  
• lightweight, collapsible practice weapons — perfect for travel when you don't want to explain to airport security why you're carrying a metal sword
  
• multi-compartment travel thingie for liquids. Put shampoo in one, facial cleanser in one, lotion in one, massage oil in one, etc., then dispense from pop-up spout. Or you could have single-compartment ones that snap together so you buy as many as you need individually and hook them up at the hotel. Or right there in your own bathroom, for that matter. You know, like kitchen canisters for your bathroom/bedroom stuff. I'm sure these already exist, but Tupperware's would be better.
  
• combination shoehorn/backscratcher/scalp massager
  
• fangirl toolkit: compartments for CD(s), scrapbook, camera, batteries, and Sharpie(s). I'm holding out for the special Rockapella commemorative edition.
  

What else? Let your imagination run wild.

Today around the world: October 26 is Anagram Day in Nauru.

For a groovy anagram generator, visit www.wordsmith.org. Anagrams for Tupperware: rapture pew, rare wet pup, rear wept up, water per up, eat purr pew, awe Ruppert, we trap pure . . . and about a skillion more.

Seen this yet?

Is the world ready? Starbucks gets religion.

SAS & Jaz

Brought to you by Sister Amy Sunshine and her glowing groom, Jaz.

Yesterday I attended a beautiful wedding. My dear friend and former Media HQ coworker Amy, a.k.a. Sister Amy Sunshine, wed her beloved Jazret. It was terrific to see them again; it's been too long. Amy is always radiant with joy and love, which is why I miss her so much, and she's found a true match in Jazret. They entered their small, intimate chapel to "Here Comes the Sun" on an acoustic guitar and closed the brief ceremony with a singalong of "All You Need Is Love," selections which perfectly reflect their spirits. I was honored to be part of their celebration.

Points of note:

• The wedding colors were white and cobalt blue, which is both Amy's favorite and mine. I got them a cobalt trivet with a Japanese character for "dream" on it, since Amy followed her dream in moving west, where she met Jazret. Don't tell them, though. I want them to be surprised when they open it. ;-)
  
• The officiant reminded me of Mr. Bean in appearance, but fortunately was otherwise unBeanlike.
  
• As part of her bridal attire, Amy wore long white gloves. When it came time for Jaz to put the ring on her finger, it took her a few minutes to get the tight satin off her hand. Both she and the groom giggled at the difficulty, and then Amy started doing a burlesque stripper-like hip bump. "And that's why I married her, folks," said Jaz. Much laughter. There should always be laughter at weddings.
  
• The photographer was a friend and former Media HQ coworker of mine named Joe. Also attending were current Media HQ employees Kathy (who was the art director of the handyman mag when I started there), Nancy (who was the handyman art director before Kathy), and Jenya (who has never worked for the handyman mag). We had Joe take a Media HQ family reunion portrait.
  
• Not in attendance was friend and former Media HQ coworker G-Doc. I had been very excited to see him and was disappointed that I didn't get to. *Pout pout.*
  
• During the ceremony, I thought I recognized Laurie, a woman from the FBO I just got fired from, sitting across the room. I checked her name with Amy later, and sure enough, it was her. Wish I'd known that before. Knowing someone who knows Amy is always a good thing.
  
• Also not attending was Mick. Amy knows Mick through church, and I know Mick from having worked with him several years ago. When I was interviewing for the FBO job, they mentioned that they'd just had some sort of employee appreciation days where a fantastic juggler performed. "Oh, was his name Mick?" I asked. And it was. Ten to one Laurie was the one who booked him.
  
• Amy & Jaz now live in British Columbia, where he's from, so they gave away the bouquet centerpieces from the tables at the reception. I won one! Blue irises and greenery. It's lovely. (And my winning is totally bizarre. I NEVER win drawings or raffles or things like that. But at the Tupperware party, I won not one but two small drawings, and today the flowers — and there's that whole slew of gifts I've been getting for weeks and weeks now. If the universe is trying to tell me my luck is running high right now, I get it!)
  

Congratulations, Amy and Jazret! The world is a more beautiful place with your love shining through it.

Today around the world: October 25 is Restoration Day in Taiwan.

TupperWariness

Brought to you by WhoSEZ and the lovely Bob, who deserve congratulations on their recent engagement. Rock on, you two!

The happy couple hosted a Tupperware party this past weekend, and I was invited. Contrary to expectations, we did not giggle our way through the afternoon tippling white wine from Tupperware tumblers. Also, none of the ladies attending wore pearls, nor did Bob. Those parts were rather disappointing.

However, we did get to fiddle with several nifty, burpable petroleum products and hear how they could make our lives easier. This is where tradition remained strong; most of the sales talk explained how busy homemakers could gain control of their leftovers or join the sales force and earn extra money to pay private school tuition for the kids. That's cool and all, but busy single professionals use Tupperware, too.

Also in keeping with tradition, we played party games. For instance, our presenter, April, passed around a groovy half-dome leftover onion keeper with some Hershey's Kisses sealed inside. Guess the number, win the container and the candy. The magic number was 42, and I don't think April was making a sly Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference. (I was off by 6.) We also earned tickets for asking or answering Tupperware-related questions. I scored a couple for asking April if she had certain items I could order. Later, she drew tickets from her (Tupperware) bowl for more prizes, and I won both a set of shot glasses Midgets and a vegetable peeler. And we each got a citrus peeler just for showing up (couldn't find a link). So I came home happy.

Tupperware appeals to my anal-retentive side quite a bit, so I went to the party with the intention of buying at least one item. I wanted a cereal storer, which I found. I was also impressed by the Flat Out items, which are fully collapsible bowls with lids. Pop 'em out and fill 'em up; squash 'em down and store 'em flat. Excellent use of technology! They'd be perfect for camping. I ordered a set for Sister-san as a housewarming gift for her new house. And there was this cool little veggie/nut/whatever dicer that I ordered for Mother Media. Don't tell them, though. This is supposed to be a surprise.

My few purchases, plus shipping and handling and sales tax, amounted to a tidy sum. I can see why a person might consider becoming a seller just to finance her own purchases. Warning: some math required!

All in all, it was a fine way to spend part of an autumn afternoon. If you get a chance to go to a Tupperware party, go. It stacks up quite well.

Today around the world: October 24 is Pirates Week in the Cayman Islands. Arrrrrrre ya goin'?

another update

I've added to The Naked Novel again. Stop over if you want to kill a few minutes.

road movies?

Know of any good movies or books about bands on tour? Stop by The Naked Novel and clue me in. Thanks!

Do-nots

Brought to you by my inner nutritionist.

It finally happened. At lunchtime today, I looked at the donuts, pizza bites, and Coke, then opted for a turkey sandwich, apple, and bottle of water instead. Junktoberfest may finally be drawing to a close.

I love junk food. Always have, always will. It loves me, too, and will hang around my buns and belly to remind of all the good times we’ve had together. Since good times do not necessarily equal good health, I try to keep the junk to a reasonable level and eat decent food most of the time.

This month, however, I’ve given myself license to eat whatever I want, whenever I want. Before I got fired, the soothing carbs were comfort food; afterward, it was a sweet-taste-of-victory sugar party. And it’s been great. But the past couple days have found me thinking about crunchy salads and hearty legumes instead of mac and cheese. Baked potatoes instead of fries. Whole-wheat toast instead of donuts. Fruit instead of candy. It’s . . . well, it’s weird.

In keeping with the anything-goes attitude I’m taking toward my vacation, I’ll indulge these cravings as I did the others and see what happens. I predict a couple days of virtuous good nutrition, followed by a return to the more balanced plan I usually follow. I can’t forsake my boyfriends, Ben & Jerry — but I don’t think they’ll get too jealous if I much a few carrots, too.

Today around the world: October 20 marks the end of Buddhist Lent.

Macpack

Brought to you by the nice people at Apple Computers.

My love affair with iRonny, my new iBook G4, and his family continues to grow. Yesterday when I had a problem with my wireless network, a live Apple help technician solved it for me, and cheerfully. That sort of thing — the efficiently helpful sort of thing — just never happened with my old system.

Today I needed to buy some new software, so I hit the Apple store next door at the Darth Mall. I walked in, grabbed a box containing Microsoft Word, and approached the cash register. The cashier, an aging hipster named Kevin, asked me if this would be for home use. When I said yes, he led me to a different display.

“Look,” he said, “you can get the entire Office suite, including Word and several other applications, if you buy the business/teacher version — and you’ll save $80. It’s what I use at home, and it works just fine. Plus you could load it onto two more computers if you want, because you’re paying for a license for three uses. Do you want this?”

Uh, YEAH!

So that’s what I got. Finding a parking place took longer than completing the transaction. Again, friendly, helpful service that led to noteworthy customer satisfaction. Installing the software was a breeze, and I listened to music on iTunes while doing it. I am now not just a Mac convert, but a huge one. Thanks, Kevin.

The Apple marketing folks are no dummies, either, and I’m not just talking about how dang cool the new iPods look. When you buy something at an Apple store, you carry it out in a bag that has two sets of strings like the shoulder straps on a backpack. You could literally wear your purchase. Talk about accessorizing! I think the Mac bag is the new Swatch.

All right, gotta go. Gotta set the preferences in my new copy of Word. Word up, yo.

Today around the world: October 19 is Samora Machel Day in Mozambique.

a few more words

I've added a bit more to The Naked Novel, if you're interested.

Bird in Hand

Brought to you by a glimpse of the future.

My future boss at the HMO called bright and early this morning, interrupting Sprite's post-shower back scratching orgy. I picked up when I saw the telltale name on caller ID — so now he knows I'm home on a weekday morning. I hope that’s not a bad thing.

“Sorry I didn't send you that e-mail with the offer yesterday,” he said. “Just finalizing a few things with HR and whatnot.”

“No problem,” I replied. I didn't spend the day hovering over my laptop tearing my hair out or moaning on the phone to my mother or anything. But said he’d send it this morning, and he did. The written offer is going into the mail today as well. I replied with a list of references. HR will initiate their check into my checkered past, and there you go. Simple — almost. Provided all goes well, I’ll start at the HMO November 7.

Rather than wait around today, I was planning to hightail it out of here ASAP, return my videos, run an errand to the Darth Maul for a friend of Mother Media's, and head east to cruise the St. Croix looking at leaves before they all blow away. I was determined, actually, since I wanted to do it yesterday but spent my time pacing and fretting instead. This morning’s little dance delayed my departure a bit. And that's OK.

Further delay occurred when I broke my wireless network by hooking the PC up to the modem, which apparently prefers to remain monogamous with the iBook. D’OH! An hour on the phone with a highly competent Mac tech fixed that, however, and I am back in business all around. Whew!

BTW, yesterday I received notice that I did indeed qualify for unemployment benefits, which would pay at a rate of about 2/3 my previous salary for about 26 weeks (less if I opted to have taxes withheld, which I did). I also checked more thoroughly into my assets and found that I could have coasted for more than a year on them alone. It would have been fine. Will be if I need it to be.

This week I should also receive a letter from the FBO asking what I want to do with the money I had invested in the nonprofit version of a 401(k). It's only six months' worth, so I'm going to cash it out. I'll put it toward paying off the iBook.

It feels very, very good to have these things sorted out, decided, and under control. Under my control. I’m glad it took no longer than it did. Now I am officially on vacation rather than unemployed.

So there.

Today around the world: October 18 is Alaska Day in the U.S. I’m assuming this refers to the state, not the baked/frozen dessert. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

It's a-comin'

I intended to produce an exuberant post yesterday about the arrival of my coveted job offer and what great things it meant for my future and What I've Learned from This Life Experience, etc.

But it didn't come.

And I nearly went nuts. Too nuts to blog, even. Me, speechless? Wow, this really has been stressful.

Not to worry, as it turns out; I got a reassuring call this morning, and all is well. Stay tuned for details. Right now, I'm off to the St. Croix River Valley to snap a few more colorful leaf pictures and shop for a couple gifts.

a new scene

I've added a few more words to The Naked Novel. Check it out.

Sore Feet

Guess who got an informal job offer this afternoon. Go on, guess. That's right, ME! Yeah, baby! The formal offer will come Monday, the man said, but it WILL come.

My feet are getting sore from kicking so much ass.

Let's recap, shall we?

Wednesday: fired from job
Thursday: received offers for two possible freelance gigs
Friday: received informal offer from competitor of old job

See? Kicking so much ass.

And I'm kicking it from the deck today. To celebrate my potential re-employment, I bought myself an AirPort Express base station, which allows me to have wireless Internet access from anywhere in my house or yard. Why? Because i can. Because this ass kicking thing is getting to be a habit.

So now, the big question: Do I accept the offer? I had just begun to truly embrace the idea of freelancing for a while.

Points in favor of taking it:

• salary pretty much same as before
  
• benefits pretty much same as before
  
• commute = 5 minutes (which means no paying for transit pass)
  
• sunny work environment
  
• good vibe from prospective boss
  
• boss seems sincerely committed to creating an efficient and vibrant team
  
• at least some coworkers appear to be hip young singles like myself
  
• boss amenable to possibility of starting a T'ai Chi group
  
• if it sucks, I can always quit
  

Points against:

• it's another cubicle job
  
• stuck with someone else's schedule
  
• I'd have to use an alarm clock
  
• less time for my own writing — or is that true? If I were freelancing, I might be scrambling so much to pay the bills that I didn't have much time for my own writing then, either.
  

Well, I don't have to decide until Monday, do I. If I take the job, I don't start until sometime in November, so I'll still have time to laze around for a couple weeks.

Time to drink some more champagne.

The Naked Novelist

Notice!

I've renamed my novel construction site The Naked Novel, http://thenakednovel.blogspot.com. So if you're looking for the story site, come on over.

(Six Degrees of) Footloose

Brought to you by Kevin Bacon, Marcoux Corner, and an unemployed writer with time on her hands.

Part I. Back in the Day, by which I mean the mid-80s, a little-known young actor named Kevin Bacon starred in a movie called Footloose. He played a headstrong youth who shook up a straight-laced, God-fearing town by introducing its young people to that evilest of evils, dancing. The title song, which exhorts people to let down their hair and kick up their heels, has remained a favorite of mine for 20 years (whoa!).

Part II. Bacon’s resume has grown exponentially since then. He has appeared in so many movies that he seems to have worked with just about everybody in Hollywood, and then some. So ubiquitous is Bacon, in fact, that a game has grown up around him: Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. You name a random actor and see how many steps it takes to connect him or her to Kevin Bacon. It could be just one step, like Kevin Costner: they were both in JFK. Or it could take six steps, like Julie Louis-Dreyfus: She was in Christmas Vacation with Randy Quaid, who was in Major League II with Tom Berenger, who was in Shattered with Greta Scacchi, who was in Presumed Innocent with Harrison Ford, who was in Raiders of the Lost Ark with Karen Allen, who was in Animal House with Kevin Bacon. (Thanks to Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon for the examples.)

Part III. As you know, I really like a cappella music, particularly Rockapella. On the way to a Rockapella concert a few weeks ago, my road buddy AnnaK shared some of her music collection with me. One of the songs she played was an a cappella version of Footloose by Marcoux Corner. I liked it enough to ask her for a copy, which she generously provided.

Part IV. Last night I stayed up late watching TV shows I haven’t seen in years due to the need to get to bed at an early hour. Flipping channels, I came across Kevin Bacon on the Jay Leno show, where Leno’s interruptions were preventing Bacon from telling an amusing story. And then this morning, I stumbled across Kevin Bacon on the Ellen DeGeneres show, where DeGeneres’s interruptions were preventing Bacon from telling an amusing story.

Part V. Around noon, I hopped in the Subarushi to meet my Soup Group friends for lunch. The CD in the stereo: Marcoux Corner. First song up: “Footloose.”

The obvious conclusion: I am now connected to Kevin Bacon just like all those other famous people. I’m seeing Mr. Footloose everywhere, hearing “Footloose,” and feeling footloose. Therefore, it follows that I, too, am meant to become famous. And you can say you knew me when.

Today around the world: October 13 is Yom Kippur for Jews and Rwagasore Day in Burundi.

Fired up!

Brought to you by me.

I’ve been a bit stingy with the band names lately, and for that I apologize. But I’ve had a good reason. Some heavy drenn was going down at work, and while it occupied a lot of my emotional and creative energy, I didn’t feel free to blab about it on the Internet. Until now, that is.

Today I got fired from my job. This came as no surprise; things had been dicey for about six weeks. Despite my best efforts, I was not able to “message” in the way my boss(es) wanted me to. I guess I picked up some bad habits, like communicating clearly and succinctly, somewhere along the way. I also turned out to be not very tolerant of endless series of meaning-muddying revisions, preferring instead to actually reach an endpoint at some point during a document’s production. Plus, I am not psychic and simply could not always divine where the boss was heading with certain plans. The harder I tried, the more I “missed the mark,” as Boss Lady said, until finally it became clear that I was a lousy fit for the job.

So I got canned, and I couldn’t be happier. Sounds odd, doesn’t it, that I’m glad I got fired? You’d think I’d be crying in my beer. But the fact is, I wasn’t feeling any more comfortable with the FBO than they were with me. I’m glad to be gone.

I’ve saved enough rainy-day money to keep me fed and housed for a year or so, so if I don’t find something else right away, that’s all right. It’ll give me more time to write the Great American Novel everyone’s been pestering me for. In fact, I’ve already started. If you’re nice, I might even let you peek.

As far as I know, Hallmark doesn’t have a “So happy you got canned!” card, so you can just congratulate me on my new freedom (not the kind with wings you buy in Aisle 6 at Walgreen’s). Below is a picture of the champagne I bought to celebrate. Raise a glass with me and toast the world of opportunity. And thanks for your love and support during this wild and crazy time. I really, really appreciate it.

Today around the world: October 12 is the first day of the rest of my life.

Climbing the walls

Dear smokers:

This city is not your ashtray. Get your butts out of here.

When we were little . . .

My friends and I would race to stand on these and demand that others guess gas or water. Not much challenge once we memorized the whole neighborhood, though.

In flight

Goose!

Migrating Canada geese hang out at the pond near Sensational Acres. Yes, that is the Mall of America in the background.

Green door, purple trim

Odd combo, but it looks good.

Used rubber glove

Don't ask, don't tell.

Into the homestretch

Now we turn eastward.

Thataway

Now we go south.

Back when I jogged . . .

Every morning at 6:00 I would huff a mile down 84th St., touch this sign, turn around and head back. I don't miss it.

Party's over

Love that sky

Classic Caddy for sale

Orange crush

Flower power

Sidewalk dimples

What are these for?

Red & green leaf

Red leaf

Wind got here first.

This color, I like.

Not cool, man.

Not the kind of local color I was looking for.

Trickle-down color scheme

Thisaway

Now west.

Thataway

Let's go north.

Come on!

Warren Peace insisted on accompanying me on the first leg of my walk.

Red spreads

Irony

With a huge new play structure in the background, neighborhood kids prefer to climb on this tipped-up picnic table.

The seasons are beginning to change

Frankenstein's Breakfast

The question: How do you defile two ethnic cuisines at once?

The answer: burrito alfredo.

Enjoy the weekend. Try to catch some fall color before it all blows away.

Today around the world: October 7 is Goodwill Day in Namibia, where everyone goes shopping for secondhand clothing and household items.

Craven Raven

Brought to you by my rhyming dictionary.

braving: the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

caving: to the impulse to take a stretch break

craving: Leeann Chin’s Peking chicken with white rice and lots of soy sauce

depraving: [none of your beeswax]

engraving: an invitation for _____ to _____ my _____. Get your mind out of the gutter!

laving: my hands of bullshit

paving: the way for a better tomorrow, or at least a better next month

raving: instead of ranting

saving: for a trip to Italy in 2006

shaving: intermittently, and less now that shorts weather is past

slaving: away up in here in this fear factory

staving: off boredom by bustin’ some rhymes, yo

waiving: my right to have an attorney present, or to give an attorney presents

waving: farewell to another summer

Today around the world: October 5 is Portuguese Republic Day in Macau.

Lisa, I Love Shoes

Brought to you by Bill & Steve.

When I was a mere Collegiate Sensation, I knew a couple of theater grad students named Bill and Steve. They were roommates and decidedly odd ducks, just like the rest of the department. Living in a small town, attending a small state university, and belonging to AA, they had to find novel ways to amuse themselves. And so the Shoes Game was born.

It’s easy to play the Shoes Game. Just sing along with your favorite song, but any time the word “you” crops up, substitute “shoes.” Whenever the song says, “I love you,” you say, “I love shoes.” Channel your inner Imelda Marcos. Let yourself go.

A few fun song titles resulting from the game:

• Lisa, I Love Shoes
  
• Just Shoes, Just Me
  
• Shoes Light Up My Life
  
• Shoes Got the Look
  
• Always Shoes
  
• Don’t Tell Me Shoes Do
  
• Shoes Will Go to the Moon
  
• I’ve Gotta Get a Message to Shoes
  
• Shoes Can’t Do That
  
• That Thing Shoes Do
  
• Do Shoes Hear What I Hear?

Today around the world: October 4 is the beginning of Ramadan for Muslims, Rosh Hashanah for Jews and, best of all, National Cinnamon Bun Day in Sweden.

Serenity

Brought to you by Boss Joss.

I went with friends to see Serenity on Friday. (Scroll down to Rug Rage, Part IX, for a glimpse of the theater lobby carpeting.) It was a blast. That movie is an acid trip mishmash of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Blade Runner, and The Bourne Identity, with an O Brother Where Art Thou? soundtrack. Very good show, even for someone like me who had never seen the canceled-too-soon TV series, Firefly, that inspired it. Two thumbs up.

You can tell Serenity is a Joss Whedon work a parsec off. He’s the guy who created Buffy, you know, and he isn’t about to tamper with formulae that work. Serenity has the requisite square-jawed, nostril-flaring Angel-type guy, the tough Buffy-type girl, the brawn-over-brain Xander-type guy, the smart/sensitive Willow-type girl, and all the sharp and shiny dialogue you could want. And of course, the character I liked best got offed at a completely unexpected moment. Good times.

My main criticism: None of the women looks like she weighs enough to remain standing in a light breeze, same as in Whedon’s TV shows, so shame on His Holiness for continuing to glamorize the waif-woman image. Heroines don’t have to look like interchangeable 11-year-old boys to be interesting, I promise. Also, we GET it already, okay? We GET that she’s strong even though she looks fragile, and we GET that’s he sensitive even though he looks tough. We GET that you’ve worked against stereotypes so long they’ve become new stereotypes. So GET a new hook. Please.

Anyway. It’s the characters that drive a Whedon show, but I was quite intrigued by one of Serenity’s main plot points, too. Basically, there’s this planet that was remodeled for human habitation — did I mention this is science fiction? — that the Scooby Serenity Gang has to reach to find out why there’s a beacon blaring. Well, it’s because 99% of the inhabitants are dead. Seems the government, in an effort to make the populace kinder and gentler, laced the planet’s atmosphere with an anti-aggression drug called Pax. (Anyone? Anyone? Yes, pax IS a Latin word meaning “peace.” Very good.) Unfortunately, it worked a little too well; with their animal instincts Paxed out, 99% of the population simply lay down to die. D’OH!

But what of the other 1%?

The other 1%, it turns out, were not only Pax-resistant, but Pax-averse, and the drug had an effect on them opposite of what was intended. They became Reavers (does that sound like “reverse” to anyone else?), hyper-aggressive monsters who not only hunt, kill, and eat other people and desecrate the bodies, but also mutilate themselves in the process. They’re never shown on screen for more than a frame or two, nor are their crimes described in more than a few shuddering words, so your imagination is free to run stark raving wild — and believe me, it will.

Our heroes fight their way through the Reavers and other obstacles to bring the evil to light, but they’re still a long, long way from eradicating it. — Oops, did I just spoil the ending? Sorry.

The moral of the story here is slap-your-face obvious (another Whedon trademark): human beings robbed of all aggression are no longer human, but neither are those too hopped up on it. True humanity means knowing when to bare your teeth.

This lesson arrived at a particularly interesting time for me, as my work life has been anything but serene lately. I’ve been playing paxly, but I’m almost ready to flash my fangs. Meanwhile, my non-work life is bearing fruits of friendship and insight, not because I’ve demanded them, but because I haven’t. This suggests that serenity is not the state I’m in, but the state in me.

Too bad it doesn’t come with a map.

Today around the world: October 3 is World Temperance Day.

The Naked Novelist

Last Christmas, someone gave me a book titled No Plot, No Problem. I don't have a plot, but I do like to write, so I thought I'd follow some of the instructions and try hawking up a novel — out loud on the Internet. Come on over and visit The Naked Novelist. No promises, no predictions, no deadlines, and no actual nudity (that you know of). Let's see what happens.