Now Children, What Shape is This?

Does it perhaps remind you of a structure the ancient Egyptians had a penchant for? A shape that should have the word "scheme" following it? Such is the work of the lowly writer--assigned to capture other's lives and ideas.

No, no. I am not complaining per se. I am happy to be one of the few writers who actually gets paid for the work. Someday, however, the fluffy puffy day will occur when I can write my own strings of letters and words into sentences and chapters. They will sparkle with truth and beauty as well as wit and irony. I will string these letters and words into elegant bracelets and necklaces to adorn myself as I lounge on my fluffy puffy cloud, drifting far above the troubles of man.

Don't worry. I am very realistic about the whole thing. Aren't I?

A New Acquisition...

For those of you that are unaware, I collect postcards. Like these ones. Or these. Of all shapes and sizes and types but my main obsession is with antique or vintage cards. Usually, I have to go out and hunt for these little beauties but this week I was lucky enough to be sent one in the mail. That's right. Precious goods delivered straight to my doorstep. Or rather, to a box across the apartment complex, adjacent to the pool. Isn't she pretty?



Thank you to Tony, an associate of The Boyfriend's that works in their Taipei (Taiwan) lab. He and another co-worker, Cecelia, were in Phoenix a while back and I cooked them dinner. They promised to send me a card but I figured the notion had slipped from their minds as quickly as it had from mine. Needless to say, I was very tickled.

According to Tony, this is an advertisment for the mid-20th century which is promoting the purchase of clothes and the support of the country's aviators. The Western Clothes and pose of the woman are most interesting. (Of course, if it were totally Western in style, her breasts would be much larger.) I love how I can recognise the style of the 1930s or 40s--someone help me remember the term. It's not Art Deco or Art Nouveau. What is it? I can't name the style but I can recognize it. Yet the Asian influence is also so obvious simultaneously.

Thank you, Tony and Cecelia, for the new gem of my collection!!

Chicken Korma...

My latest milestone meal, a picture-worthy Indian feast. Korma is my favorite Indian dish when we dine out and I am surprised at how closely I could duplicate the unique flavor. Well, not surprised. It did take quite a bit of research and speciality shopping to track down all the spices, which included cashews, bay leaves, cumin, cayenne pepper, garam masala, ground coriander and tumeric. Jasmine rice with saffron on the side or rather underneath. Next time, I will have to attempt the naan that usually accompanies the dish at the restaurant.

Now, if only I knew how to say Bon Appetite in Hindi...

My Sales Education...

Once you become accustomed to the language of sales--and it is a language in the same way that skateboarders or computer programs have created their own dialects--certain things become obvious. One, every point that a salesman wants to drive home must be followed by a story. This is usually a colloquial tale involving farmers or laborers, animals of various kinds or sporting competitions. For instance, selling is similar to planting seeds or building a foundation. Or, imagine yourself as a frog on a log who... Or, the difference between a winning and losing jockey is the ability to pick the right horse.

Then there are those little tag line sentences that resound in the average sales target's head (come on, you know that echoes are more prevalent in empty caverns and so does a good salesman) and here are a few of my favorites:

• People want to follow someone that is going somewhere.
• If you can make a dozen cookies, you can make a thousand.
• There are no bad ship captains in calm waters.
• If you know 100 percent of everything and I do 100 percent of everything, I win.
• I can’t make a nickel until I help you make a dime.
• If you want what you’ve never had, you have to be willing to do what you’ve never done and that means learning what you’ve never learned.
• If you throw dirt, you lose ground.

OOO. Deep. Like a farmer and a frog caught down in a well, a deep dark well, where they illustrate the idea of dedication and perseverance in an accessible and unintimidating manner. OOO. Pepper in a few key phrases about "paradigm shifts" and "bringing it down" and set sail to sell refrigerators to the eskimos. You know, I bet that nowadays the eskimos do have refrigerators. And tanning machines. And weight loss products. And CutCo knives and...

OO, What a Tangled Web I Weave...

Okay, this is one of the few moments in my blogging history that I have to be very careful about what I say. Usually, the trivialities of my life are important to no one but me and amuse… well… no one but me. This latest assignment I have at my job, however, has been digging at me and I my fingers need to blow out all the frustration and repulsion through their frantic tapping on the keyboard.

I have been ghost writing books. I have been working mostly on memoirs but have been shifted onto the success story of a certain entrepreneur who wants to relate how he made it and you can too! I don’t know if it is due to the effect of my own brilliant writing (thank you, thank you) or the persuasiveness of this successful fellow, but I actually think I may be brainwashing myself as I type.

Are you stuck in the rigid system of trading your time for money—8 hours a day in exchange for a limited amount of reward? Time itself is a limited commodity. No wonder you are always short on time, stressed over scraping together a few extra minutes without losing valuable salary. Take charge of your days! In Network Marketing, you build your own organization from the ground up, creating residual income that far exceeds any income possible in the time-for-money exchange.

I keep ranting on and on about time and freedom and cruises and new cars and making the world a better place with product and profit. I just feel incredibly guilty, knowing that I am targeting the poor and un-empowered. And who better than me to do it considering how poor and un-empowered I am?

Somebody shoot me because at points I am actually wondering if I have “the people skills and dedication” that it takes to “make all my dreams of financial freedom come true.”

Hot Fun in the Summertime...

I think that Arizona is where the bottom 10% of meteorology school graduates find jobs.

Let’s see, I think it is going to be sunny and hot with a high of 110 degrees. Or maybe 112 degrees or 114.

After you reach a certain point, I don’t think anyone notices the extra one or two degrees of hellfire and damnation. There is not much room for error in the average Arizona forecast from May to September (if not longer!) and I don’t think any fancy, schmancy weather education is necessary to crack an egg on the sidewalk or judge the temperature based on the size of the sweat stain you leave on the seat of your car. (Leather car seats, by the way, are a total no-no. Ouch.) I personally enjoy the one word weather report, which has introduced some good ones like “oven-y” and “sweat-tastic.”

The time when I notice the heat the most is always during my lunch break. Like many people, I need to physically get out of the office in order to feel like I have gotten a break, even if I often bring my lunch from home to save on money. Where the hell am I supposed to go, though? It is not as if I can hang out under a tree at the local park or sit anywhere that won't cost money for that matter. The minute I walk out of the office door, there is an internal timer connected to my internal thermometer that counts down the seconds until I will need air conditioning again.

The cheapest option? A venti tea at Starbucks which weighs in at $1.89. Even a whole week of lunch breaks at the Bucks will be under $10. So I sit with my book for a hour and relax, away from the confines of my desk. I usually leave my book in the car for the morning. So, it sits on my lap like a hot brick, the warmth petering out onto my thighs and fingertips while I sit in air conditioned comfort.

The Mating Habits of Undersea Creatures...

I hate being angry and I usually try to avoid it as I would a lawsuit or some sort of wasting disease. You can often hear me say that anger is an emotion wasted on those you truly dislike. If you honestly loathe the person, why waste so much emotional energy on their behalf. Indifference is the opposite of love, not hate and not anger. What about, then, when you feel anger towards someone you love?

There’s the rub, huh? Here is where I continue to have an anger issue, it seems. I am a giver by nature and my hand has been bitten by the mouth I fed (with gourmet, vegetable-rich goodies) in the past. So, I let small things whiz by me, things that are no big deal but perhaps deserved a small comment. I finally build up enough of these small events that I burst out in anger and, to the object of that anger, it may seem I am completely over-reacting to a teensy, tiny slight. Plus, my anger is so strong that a simple sorry just won’t cut it—especially if the main issue was my overly giving nature. I whip away the giving hand and a little sorry and some puppy dog eyes are supposed to make me want to begin dishing out the lovin’ again?

Okay, okay. So we have butted our heads against this wall in the past. And I am no psycho (for the most part), over-reacting to everything. I think it comes down to basic styles of communication and intimacy. I wear my heart on my sleeve and try to live each day as if it could be the last time you see the one you love. I don’t want to be one of those movie stereotypes who scrawl a teary note to their loved ones as they slowly die, trapped under something heavy, or who relates their love to a stranger as they slowly bleed to death, saying, “The last words we said were in anger. I never got to say how much I…. (cough) how much I… (cough) loved….” And then they die.

Not everyone relates their love in the same manner I do and so, every once in a while, I get angry. And considering the above philosophy, that anger angers me even more. What if that’s it, what if that is the final interaction you have? Other people, however, have other ways of showing affection. Let’s just say that, while we are all undersea creatures.....

some of us are squid (basting device designed to spread marinade, turkey juice and other liquids, keeping foods moist and tender)

and some of us are squid (technologically advanced power cords to fit all of your various tech toys at the same time).

And while some sparks are an exciting part of a relationship, it becomes obvious that it is going to take some effort from both squids in order to save each other from electrocution. And like being crushed by something heavy or bleeding to death in the arms of a stranger, without the ones I love knowing how I truly feel, that too would be a pretty shitty way to go.

Do I Have a Large Head?

I sometimes receive little email quizzes and such in my inbox. They make me feel loved because my box is more often full (Yay! Hi Ila!) but they don't often hold much significance for me. Yes, I love my friends and family and probably don't forward them enough flowery poems to truly express it. Yes, I have betrayed my address book of acquaintances by not sending them back the declaration of love that they sent me. Guilty as charged.

Today, however, I took one of these little quizzes that went like this:

Take this test and let me know what cartoon character you are!

Everyone has a personality of a cartoon character. Have you ever asked
yourself what cartoon character do you most resemble?

A group of investigators got together and analyzed the personalities
of well known and modern cartoon characters. The information that was
gathered was made into this test:

Answer all the questions with what describes you best, add up all your
points (which are next to the answer that you choose) at the end and look
for your results.

Do not cheat by looking at the end of this e-mail before you are done.

Then forward this to your friends (including the person who sent it to you)
and change the subject of this message to what character you turn out to
resemble.

Okay, number one, I want to be a member of this "group of investigators." They have one of the best jobs in the world outside beer taster and travel writer. And, it seems they might not be pulling everything out of their asses.

I am Charlie Brown. The experts so say:

You are Charlie Brown: You are tender, you fall in love
quickly but you are also very serious about all relationships. You are a
family person. You have many friends and may occasionally forget a few
Birthdays. Don't let your passion confuse you with reality.

Ah yes. My passion so often looks at me and reality side by side. I don't know how my passion really confuses things--reality has such a better sense of style. After all, my cartoon character ego apparently wears a yellow shirt with a zig zag and has for the last how many? Well, many years. Here's to the peanuts and the people who resemble them.

Fro (As Opposed to To)...

On the road again. I can't wait to get on the road again. Going places I ain't never been...

... is one of the many songs that often rolls through my head on a perpetual loop as I sit on the back of the motorcycle. My ears are filled with foamy, orange plugs and my head cushioned with the foamy, grey insulation of my helmet. My brain is filled with music, sometimes music I don't even like, including but not limited to...

• The New Red Hot Chili Peppers - Danny California (very annoying considering I only know the chorus and a few random words
  
• Matisyahu- King Without a Crown
• Dan McLean - American Pie (which it takes me exactly seven minutes to recite words for word)
• Benny Goodman - Goody Goody
• Violent Femmes - Add it Up
  

Okay, so that last one I usually sing out loud, the sound diffusing into the multiple foamy paddings mentioned above and the roar of the open road. A road like this one that crossed Bear Tooth Pass:


The pass was only recently open that first week in June. June!! And I am so glad that we had a chance to see it regardless of the season. Once you glide up to this promontory, you cruise along a flat plateau with a two lane road. Primitive with no shoulders and the asphalt just petering out into turf. Or, winding through narrow hallways carved into six-foot-high walls of the winter's remaining snow. Below, check out the hill where the die-hard skiiers come this late in the year. If you look close you can see the T-bar lift. And, when we stopped to see them up close, they looked like normal humans. Appearances are deceiving.


Okay, maybe you can't see the T-bar in this picture. You will have to take my word that it was there. After Bear Tooth, you cross into Yellowstone. We did not see Yogi Bear but many many buffalo and a few mountain goats. The buffalo wander around unfenced, free to cross the road--or stand in it--at any point. That's a bit scary when you are exposed on a motorcycle. At one point, a huge buff stood not 20 feet away from us as we motored by. She got startled, rearing up on her hind legs and beginning to charge. It took a few seconds for me to see that she was charging away and that realization calmed me down enough that I didn't fall off the bike.


Here's one of our faithful friends now. Yellowstone sit in the caldera of an ancient volcano. In fact, ground around the park shifts due to magma activity and trees have been known to "cook" in suddenly super-heated soil. Hence the geysers and mudpots and such. Yay for the smell of rotton eggs! We even saw these resilient buffalo grazing not 10 feet from one of these geysers, the steam drifting across his path and blurring his figure.


Which leads us to the Grand Teton National Park, where we were forced to turn around on the trip up. Look at the lovely day we had coming back. While The Boyfriend took this picture, I picked dandilions, holding them awkwardly in my gloved hand. As we took off again, I then let them go to fly off in the wind. Sure, it was picturesque and fun in my hippie dippie way. I'm sure the scene will be much more memorable in the film version of my life, however. I'd like to played by Meg Ryan of ten years ago (as long as I am dreaming and all might as well include time travel).


We camped in Utah and headed home through Utah, the not as scenic part of Utah as the trip up. Sorry, some of it is filled with nothing but cows and Mormons. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers on a loop in my head. I hope the cows are okay with the proselytizing. There is little Gnomey at the base of a rock formation near Monument Valley.

Monument Valley itself will go unrecorded here. The Boyfriend claims he has many pictures of the place from previous trips and so only took one picture of us. I would show it to you but I don't post pictures of my true identity for all you wackos to see. That and I looked like absolute hell. Helmet hair, camping and saddle sore ass don't really make a stunning combination on film. I'm sure you will trust me on that one.

An excellent adventure. I hope I gave it the coverage it deserved after all this time. Much of it is probably not as fresh as it could be given the betrayal of the wireless router. Don't worry. He has been rounded up and sent to a re-education center in Siberia so not as to give any of your slaves funny ideas. Long live the humans.

Momentarily Motionless in Montana...

... Here I am. Really, I haven't disappeared off the face of the planet. Our wireless router has simply stopped functioning entirely and is en route to Linksys from whence it came to be re-educated. Apparently, it had gotten the notion that we humans are not the boss of it. Hmnff. What gall! And with that I continue with our tale of adventure through the ranch land of America.


Big Sky Country Montana. Where the Boyfriend's mother has an excellent townhome, purchased at a fraction of the cost of real estate here in Phoenix. She lives up on "the rims." Billings, see, is boardered by a plateau with a very sheer drop-off, looking down across the city. This is, of course, where everyone wants to live in order to look down on everyone else. Ha.


The Boyfriend's mom took a break from spoiling him rotton with chocolate and honey wheat bread to go on a hike with us near Red Lodge, Montana. Lovely. We saw two moose!! Close enough for them to mow us down with those ungainly legs of theirs. Let me tell you--their antlers look more rounded that the pointy tips of an elk. Up close, however, they just look like a great blunt instrument to gore you with. More pain and misery than a sharp point. "I'm going to cut your heart out with a spoo--no, a moose antler!"


Red Lodge was a great little town. We ate organic at a little cafe. I had a veggie burger with quinoa that was to die for and sweet potato french fries. We then shopped around the trinket shops, where I tried all the different sorts of huckleberry lotion until the bears were probably on the scent of me too.


I got to meet several of The Boyfriend's high school buddies, who seem very friendly. A comfortable bunch to be around, even at your first introduction. Don't think I didn't notice the marriage hint, however.

"So, is this the first time you met T.B.'s mom?"

"Oh, and has T.B. met your parents yet?"

"I see. I see."

You thought you were sneaky, huh? Huh? I did buy a ring on the trip up in Red Lodge--silver and small, though slightly abstract--but it is meant to be worn on the thumb or index finger. I think I have my quota of rings met for the time being.

Next installment: three days home through Yellowstone (ohh, ahh, ooo) and Utah (aww) with The Boyfriend (who I love very dearly, disparaging marriage comment notwithstanding)...

To (as Opposed to Fro)...

At long last and with no further ado, it is my great pleasure to present to you the first segment of our journey...

It all began on a Saturday at 8:30 a.m. Phoenix time. We headed off in full gear but with all vents open, including those four little, pin-sized holes in my helmet that direct four focused, pin-sized gusts of wind at my scalp. First stop was Navajo Bridge which spans the Colorado River:

We ate crackers with cheese and salami and wished we were the wee little rafters down below us. In their wetsuits and big, poofy boats, they seemed to be having such a jolly good time. Here is where the trip began to get incredibly scenic. Now, the boyfriend had been in the area several times before with the boys of the BMW forum. The destination was an unknown hamlet named Torrey, Utah that borders multiple national parks and dozens of awesome country roads--windy, desolate, scenic, where you can go 90 mph through gorges of red rock. And everything seems to be quite hellishly named: the Dirty Devil River, Hell’s Backbone. That last one is exactly like it sounds, a narrow bumpy road with a sheer drop off a foot past the end of the shoulderless concrete. Our first night was spent in Torrey at a little campground that, thank God, had a windbreak for our tent. (The wind was beginning to get a might whippy, which became rather portentous.)

The next day we traveled out on highway 12 (above) and highway 72 (below). See? See? I told you parts of Utah could be pretty, but you just didn't believe me, huh? You were just picturing ranches and cookie-cutter Latter Day Saints temples weren't you? Well, those came after the Torrey scenery as we headed towards Salt Lake.

Then, it began to get really ugly, in a weather way rather than a scenery one. We had been using our Gerbing heated vests since entering Utah and, let me tell you, they are a motorcycle bitch’s best friend. I still began to get chilled, vest notwithstanding, and my hands didn't seem to want to bend any more as we headed into Jackson, Wyoming. They had gone on strike due to inhumane conditions.

Thankfully, even the die-hard boyfriend admitted that camping was not an option and we settled for a little cabin in town. The next morning, we attempted to ride into the Grand Teton National Forest and into Yellowstone as planned. This, however, was how the Tetons looked that morning:

Ah, the Tetons, the rebellious teenagers of the mountain family. Relatively young and uneroded, their edges still sharp and their angles dramatic. How I love the Tetons. Their rough yet confident beauty reminds me of Kerouac. Okay, that sounds really pretentious but I will share the reference anyway. Old beatnik Jacky boy spent a summer as a forest fire lookout in the Cascade Mountain Range in Oregon and this is what his cocaine-fueled brilliance captured on the page. Well, maybe he was sober, up there alone on that mountain and all. But if this is sober, man, what a naturally cracked-out mind that man was cursed/blessed with. I believe Kerouac, however, had better weather during his summer sojourn. This is how the roads leading into the park began to look for us:

Yes, it was snowing and the gas station we stopped at had even lost power due to the unseasonably late storm. For safety's sake, we backtracked east and through Cody, Wyoming (where my Mommy was born!) and into Billings, Montana only 250 miles off track. Only, Ha!

Next installment.... Our three days in Billings.

Other Perks of the Job....

Writing the stories of other people's lives can get dull but, gee, how I describe my work day is so all-fired interesting. So, what did you do at work today, Gnomey?

• "Well, I killed off her husband. Heart attack. Yes, it was quite messy. He had some nice last words, though, which made it worthwhile."
• "I got to bestow and cure cancer twice this afternoon."
  

A Serious Misconnection...

It is getting very frustrating not being able to post to blogger. I realize that I have come to take for granted the sharing of my everyday events. There was a time in my life that I could have gone on a vacation and not documented the trip with attached pictures and snappy witticisms. Sure, that time wasn't quite as fun but I did survive.

The Boyfriend and I are not sure exactly what the problem is. Well, I just clicked the mouse a few extra times, stared slack-jawed at the screen and said I did everything I knew how. He, however, has used his mad skills to see that our supposedly broadband connection had been reduced to the speed of a 56k modem--all very miraculously while we were out of town. He called our provider who say they cannot seem to see a problem from their location but will send someone out to us on Friday. Friday!

Needless to say, there will be no pictures as yet. Sniff. On the upside, I will have all the more time to tweak my captions and elaborate my narration while I wait. Oh--and get used to this posting via email procedure. Convenient, yes but, damn, I cannot add illustrations.

Back in the Stifling Heat...

In other words, home sweet home. The air as you ride back into Arizona changes. First, it loses all that tang of moisture, like the chill of lake water as we fly by on the highway or the mist of the large spinklers of ranch and farmland. Then, it is slightly pleasant, like being tossed about in a dryer like a cherished sock. Eventually, of course, the sweat begins to slide between your skin and the layer of protective clothing like grease on a Thanksgiving turkey. You don't need a built in thermometer to pop up to say DONE! either.

So The Boyfriend and I are back from our long journey. Looks like the mileage ran up to 2762 miles. Whew! What a trip, a trip it is going to take me quite a few days to adequately blog. So for now, rest assured that we are safe and sound. Let me enjoy a cold beer, a sunday meal, and content yourselves with a small glimpse of the pictures yet to come. Behold, a sexy gnomey atop Bear Tooth Pass in Montana, about to enter Yellowstone Park.