From an email:

"Hi Sarah,  What a fun day.  Bush was taken away in a helicopter."

There's a longer post here, about holidays and Christianity and belief, but I've got to get rolling out the door so I can cook some Swedish pancakes.  I hope you all have a safe and happy holiday, and I wish the best for all of you having troubled times and rough transits.  May your day be at least slightly better, and your upcoming 2009 be legendary. 

Well, I made it through work today, buoyed by Rocket Donuts and the incredibly nice people who came in on a Sunday to help out.  I'm very impressed, really, with the 6 or 7 people who came in specifically to help me out.  It was a nice bonding experience, the only black cloud being that I'm in fricking pain here.  Or else I'm on drugs.  It's a binary system, baby.  I start feeling the pain, so I take drugs.  So a half hour later, I am groggy and not smart.  After an hour of that, I'm pretty lucid and functional for an hour or two, and then the cycle continues.  I'm seeing my dentist tomorrow if I have to hunt him down myself.  Survival is good, but not good enough.  After four days of this, I'm exhausted and just want to be normal again.  It doesn't help that biting down on that side of my mouth sends me into furious argies of yeargh.  Okay, no more testing the pain threshold.  Gotta go be groggy again.  Woo hoo! 

I'll be happy when this is all over.  And probably more fun to be around, too.

It desperately needs tuning, and I suspect it needs to adjust to the new environs before I spend too much money on it.  I did spend some time cleaning and polishing, and apparently the gold nameplate stating "Wurlitzer" was actually silver in color, with gold gunk around the letters.  Silver again, now, and with polish looks like a different piano.  It does need at least one key truly repaired, and I'm asking James to tighten bolts and place felt in various strategic places.  I also need a piano light.  But I am excited.  I've covered it with a blanket for now, and have a pillow to keep the music stand from causing any damage.  So of course Heather (kitty) has decided to sleep in the middle of the piano, regally surveying the land with a calico eye. 

V. funny.  At least to my zombified state.  I really don't like being a zombie, but it's better than being in pain.  This root canal is taking longer to recover from than any other I remember, but I do block these things out as best I can when they're over.  My cheek has swollen up, and any exertion leads to thumping blood flow, so I've been sitting and knitting or lying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness.  I don't like having to eat to take the pain pills, because there are only so many foods that are soft enough to eat with no teeth. 

Tomorrow I have to go to work.  And Monday will be an insane day at work.  I'm hoping I'll be up for it.  I'm worried I won't.  But if I can't perform up to my superhuman expectations, I'll just have to revise them.  Stupid humanity.  *kicks sand*  I'd rather be better than.  Ah well.  Just have to live with being human instead.

Who made up that rule?

Alison Bechdel, author of Dykes to Watch Out For and the recently way acclaimed Fun Home (brilliant, IMO), recently visited Edward Gorey's museum, and writes about it here:  http://dykestowatchoutfor.com/goreyphilia

Also available in livejournal feed at dykestwofstrip.  It occasionally features a strip or two, but lately has been chroniciling Alison's life randomly.

I know, I know - I don't often post, and here comes a commercial. 

But if you in any way enjoy crazy stories that actually happened, or have laughed when I handed you a Get Out of Hell Free Card, here's the free email newletter of the man who creates such things, Randy Cassingham.  For youtube people, you can see his taped stories here:  http://www.youtube.com/user/Thisistrue  His official webpage is http://www.thisistrue.com/ with offshoots at Get Out Of Hell Free and a dealing with Spam Primer .

His stories are well-written, funny, and above all, intelligent and thought-provoking.  He needs more subscribers, so here I post.  I totally recommend the newsletter, etc. etc. etc.  Pragmatic realism, great perspective, and truly, just the facts tell the stories.  It's how they're written that counts here.

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Everybody's got one, right?  So this is mine.  I woke up on Thursday with major pain in my jaw.  Now those who know me know I've  been doing some chiropractic work, and some of that has involved cranial adjustments (the term freaks me out, but having it done is pretty cool) and many other adjustments.  So my immediate thought was chiropractic issues.  My wonderful amazing chiropractor dropped everything to see me on Thursday morning and she did a whole bunch of adjusting on me, which alleviated the pain for a while.  Unfortunately, by the time I got back to work, my jaw was throbbing again, and I had to sit through a half hour conference call trying not to yelp or moan audibly into the phone.  Once I was done, my thoughtful husband called the dentist and got me an emergency visit.  Wonder of wonders, look at the pretty pictures of my teeth.  Well, not very pretty, but lookie here!  Big huge crack running down the side of my molar. 

I have lots and lots of 80s style metal in my teeth.  The grey fillings are slightly unsightly, but their major drawback is that the material is actually harder than the material your teeth are made from.  So over time, the teeth that come into contact with the fillings above or below them will be worn out or beaten up by the fillings themselves.  I've had one crown done earlier this year, and I love the new porcelein action.  (Proclean, anyone?)  They're pretty, and I haven't had any trouble with it.  Did I mention I love my dentist(s)?  So now I need another crown, and I have an appointment on Tuesday afternoon.  What I need until then is to SURVIVE.  I've been alternating between sitting on the couch and moaning a bit, to sitting in front of the computer and using a stupid flash burger restaurant game to do biofeedback and take my mind off it. 

Really, it hasn't been too bad until today.  We went to the vet to get Toby kitty dewormed, and the activity seems to have stirred up my blood flow and I've been throbbing for the last three hours.  James just walked in with a frosty and I'm hoping this will diminish the problem.  But I only have to get to Tuesday.  And I am taking prescription painkillers, but those are just not working well today.  So time.  And frosty.  Will hopefully heal all.

Everybody ready for the funny?  The funny is that my first clue that I had a real problem on my hands was when I started misspelling words when typing emails at work. 

My back was a combination of events conspiring against me.  And, well, my own lack of activity.

1.  Acquisition of two new cats, who needed to be quarantined before they could interact with old cats.  New cats were put into our bedroom.  New cats are about nine months old and very active.  New cats + bedroom /= sleep.  So I slept on the couch for two weeks.

2.  At which point, I began attending all day meetings at work to configure our new payroll system.  Sitting for nearly 8 hours a day /= good idea.  About this time I started having some aches in my back if I slept more than 6 hours in a night.  So I got more tired and slouched more.  And couldn't really think very well.  I know now how zombies feel.

3.  Then, the turning point:  Iron Man.  Loved the movie, but sat in a broken theater seat in a bad position for two hours.  Next day had shooting pains in my legs, especially bad when I used the clutch or the brakes.  Take my word for it:  You don't want to drive a car when experiencing a physical disincentive to BRAKE.  

My dad used to say, "Pain is Mother Nature's way of telling you to slow down.  Death is her way of insisting."  So I went to the chiropractor, who sent me to the xray people who gave me my xrays - on cd.  (Isn't that wild?)  When I saw the xrays, I, with my untrained eyes, could see - yes!  Sarah is broken.  Or at least slightly tilted.  So I've been chiro-ing and massage therapying, and progress is made.  I slept 7 hours in a row last night, which is great.  There isn't any constant pain, except when I first wake up, which dissipates pretty quickly.  I'm doing pilates and walking on the elliptical thingy lately, which doesn't hurt and seems to be helping.

The cycle was the problem:  Not enough sleep, too much pain to stretch.  So go to work, get through the day as best you can, then come home.  Too tired to move, try to stretch out and move around a little.  Just barely subsist until bedtime.  Go to blissful bed, wake up after 5 hours with aching pain and no more sleep allowed.  Stumble around and stretch for an hour until the pain goes away.  Either try to go back to bed or sit down and internet or knit until it's time to go to work.  yeargh.

Now that I'm making progress, it's nice to be able to sleep!  And function.  I have a great deal more respect and patience for people who aren't at top functional level.  My brain was pathetic without its sleep.  We may be four meals away from anarchy, but my brain is only 2 nights of no sleep away from gibbering idiocy.

Found this from a Making Light post, and thought it utterly fascinating.  Must share.

Plus, if any knitting people haven't yet been bullied into the bliss that is Ravelry, consider yourself warned.

Can't Stop the Serenity is coming up in Seattle and I'll be attending the 5 pm show if anyone wants to meet up.

James is kayaking in Ski to Sea this Sunday! Sunday! SUNDAY!

Knitting in Public Day is Saturday, June 14.  I'll be at Barkley Village with Apple Yarns.

My back's getting slowly better - less sleep than I'd like, so I'm semi-zombie a lot of the time.  But progress.  Less pain.  These are good things.

Here's my pretty kitty.  And here's yarn!  And of course, yarn with kitty.

Randy Cassingham, creator of the Get Out Of Hell Free Cards and author of This Is True, found this on his desk and posted it for sale on Ebay:

You gotta love the silhouette, baby.

Animated Idealist.

Who's drawing me, then?

I just played my very first game of basketball in 18 years.  A month ago, one of my coworkers had joined a team, and they were looking for more players.  She was talking with me about it over the cubicle wall, and I said, slowly, "Well, I used to play in high school."  "Oh, cool!  Do you want to play?  We need height!"  (She's way enthusiastic about everything, and she means it, which I respect.)  Me, again, slowly:  "I'd be willing to play on your team, I think.  But it's been a long time."  "No, that's great!  This is perfect!  It'll be fun!"

Normally, this story would end with an ambulance or a broken limb, but for once I'm glad not to oblige.  Disasters are my usual world, and the funnier I can make them, the better, because what's crazy broken nuts-ness if you can't laugh at it, right?  Right.  But no such bad luck here.  Two months ago, I started ... if not actually working out, at least doing some stretches in the mornings, and getting my butt off the couch more often.  And a month ago, having joined the team, I panicked and started doing that more regularly.  I missed the first practice due to our road trip to Oklahoma - way to sit on my butt for ten days - but after my first practice, I remembered how much frigging running there is in basketball, and I started truly working out, doing elliptical and sprinting as long as I could every other minute.  Comparatively, my earlier workouts were walks in the park, and I finished drenched in sweat, but thinking, hey, that wasn't so bad.  I can do this. 

I played basketball all through middle and high school, and loved it.  Loved it loved it loved it.  I played even though I wasn't really very good at it, partly because I was a year younger than everyone else in my grade, and didn't have the coordination thing nailed down yet.  I played even though I wasn't very popular at school, and that went double for the world of girl jocks.  I played even though none of the cross-country geeks I loved were interested in playing basketball.  And then there was....She That Shall Not Be Named.  Most people I know had an arch-enemy in school, a nemesis who made your life horrifying as often as they could, and I'm no exception.  She lived down the street and rode my bus, calling me names all the way to school.  She was right next to me in the alphabet, and always got a locker and a gym locker right next to mine, capitalizing on her proximity by harassing me as often as possible.  She had a constant look of disdain on her face whenever she looked at me, and her presence would shut me up fast.

Believe me when I tell you I loved basketball, because she played basketball, too, and I didn't care.  I played anyway.

When I first walked on to the court for practice, it all came flooding back, a total rush of memories and moves and traditions.  Like the coach dressing up for game days, never wearing your basketball shoes off the court, calling out, "Shot!" or "Ball!" or "Help!" when appropriate.  I've been yelling "Help!" a lot, because the cardio is the hardest thing for me right now.  I used to say I only run when chased, which is a good line stolen from a great movie - Real Genius - but I've had to let it go by the wayside.  I'm getting better, but after a few minutes of hard play, I'm sucking wind and getting a sub.  It's an interesting feeling:  I know exactly what I need to do - jump for the ball, get to that defensive position, block out, rebound - but my body just can't get there.  I do my best, and again, I emphasize the getting better part.  But it's not all there.  Not yet. 

I was just getting into the true flow of the game during my senior year in high school.  My coordination was starting to catch up, and I had the height.  I started nailing some jump shots and truly learning my position.  I started scoring points and doing pretty well for our team.  But Stanwood High School was, at that time, the smallest school in the NCAA division.  If we had been on the east side of the mountains, they would have dropped us down a division, but driving a bus to Quincy to play high school bball just wasn't an option.  So we played much bigger schools, all the time. 

And we lost.  Every.  Single.  Game. 

No, really.  For three years, we lost every game we played, by many many points.  Some were closer than others - Lynden Christian keeping their starters in and running the score up to 120 to 30 was a memorable day - but we lost every game.

Oh, hold on, I forgot.  We were thrilled the time that Marysville scheduled a game with us during Christmas Break - and never showed up.  "Forfeit!  Forfeit!  That's a win, right?"  Very exciting.

But that was it for me.  I wasn't playing to win, really; I mean, I was there to play, and I loved playing, and my dad always said, "It's all about participating," and it truly was, for me.  Really.  I never worried about the score or any of that.  I just did my best and gave it my all.  Like a cheesy commercial, yes, but I really did.  Other kids got frustrated and sad sometimes, but I was just happy to be there.  It really didn't matter what the score was, or who won the game.

(In later years, my sister played bball for Stanwood, and they actually went to State many many times.  While at college, I would attend their away games at Sehome and Bellingham High, and my parents would always come to her away games.  After one game, I asked my mom, "Why didn't you ever come to my away games?"  She shook her head and looked at me sadly, "Sarah, we always knew how your games would turn out."  True, true.) 

Our team has been a little ... maybe last-minute is the right term, as we've added a few players even at our last practice.  We haven't had a chance to learn any plays, and there are people who have never played before, but the energy is great, and we've getting into the groove of an actual team.  Everyone's been really supportive, and we're all excited to be playing.  I just got home from our first game, and I did pretty well.  I played for a chunk of time and got some rebounds and did all right - I didn't die on the court, and that was my main goal.  I enjoyed playing, and watching our team start to work together, and it was fun.  It turns out that my J.V. coach from high school was on the opposing team, so I talked with her a bit after the game, catching up.  I sat down to change my shoes (don't wear your bball shoes off the court!), and someone mentioned that yeah, the refs weren't calling a whole lot of fouls, but the main thing was, we got a W for the game.

I turned towards my teammate.  "What did you say?"

"We won.  We won the game.  Didn't you see the scoreboard?"

Maybe I did, and didn't realize the significance.  Maybe I was too busy yelling for our team, 'cause we are Sterling.  Whatever the reason, I had no clue that we were winning.  And still, even now, it doesn't really parse.  My identity as a Chuck Taylor-wearing low self-esteemer is now ruined.  You don't understand:  I'm the underdog, people!  I'm the one who doesn't win, who never wins, and it doesn't matter because I still keep playing!  I'm the Seaturkeys and the Mariners and the Sonics and the Stanwood Spartans.  I can't win!  It's not allowed!

The brain, it bends.  If this keeps up, I'm going to have to re-examine my place in the universe.  But, win or lose, my position is assured:  bottom of the key, posting up. 

Okay, we're back, safe and tired.  I'll post soon, with photos, Clowns for Christ, and everything.

Kitties are slowly getting over the mad.  So cute!  And I don't blame them.  It's been a week and a half!

So last February, there was this:  being quoted by Rob Brezny in his horoscope for Libra.  (Scroll down for the Libra horoscope.) 

As my Libra friend Angi wrote, "Is that you in my horoscope?"

And today, Jane Espenson used something I wrote to her in her blog about writing jokes. 

This keeps up, I'm going to have to get a webpage, or something.

Pay It Forward: I will send a handmade gift to the first 5 people who leave a comment here on my blog. I don’t yet know what that gift will be, but you will receive it within 365 days. The only thing you have to do in return is "pay it forward" by making a similar agreement on your blog.

So - post away! Who knows what you'll receive?

Ye Gods, am I really that obtuse in my posts?  Yes.  Yes, I am.

Just helped Bridget move into a small house in Fremont today.  We had the horse trailer blocking half of the road while we quickly tried to unload everything onto the lawn.  Traffic was really intense for being on a side street, and people were displeased, despite the fact that there was plenty of room to pass by and a very low curb on the passing-by side, just in case.  Bridget was stressing out, "Yep, Here I am!  Welcome to the Neighborhood!  I'm the person blocking the street - thanks!"  Then a city bus came up the street.  He got by just fine - lots of practice, I'd assume - and we kept hurrying and scurrying and flailing around getting everything out of the trailer.  Dad drove the truck and trailer out of the way, just as another five cars came up behind us.

So how many cars did we see for the rest of the afternoon, as we moved everything in?  Maybe...three, in five hours.  And one was my brother.  Yeargh. 

The house is very cool - small but perfect for Bridge.  Old style architecture, with built in cabinets, and just enough modernization to make things easier.  But neat-o and very tucked back behind things in a forest atmosphere with a big porch.  Mmm.  Relaxing.  Or maybe it will be when I don't have to help her move in.  I'm exhausted.  Mostly because of that, but this week has been wack.  So to bed at 8 or I will quit everything right now. 

James and I collectively thought that if there was a fire going on.  Spent the next two hours alternately hanging out with the werewolf for a month.  Every once in a while the person surfaces, and it's almost worse, because you know it's not over yet, but there they are, being themselves for a minute, letting you remember who they really are inside.  Go back, I say.  Don't be nice to me yet.  I know I still have to wait two more weeks to be with you.

Using this link instead of Google as your home page will save energy:  Blackle

In the about page, it says

Blackle saves energy because the screen is predominantly black. "Image displayed is primarily a function of the user's color settings and desktop graphics, as well as the color and size of open application windows; a given monitor requires more power to display a white (or light) screen than a black (or dark) screen." Roberson et al, 2002

In January 2007 a blog post titled Black Google Would Save 750 Megawatt-hours a Year proposed the theory that a black version of the Google search engine would save a fair bit of energy due to the popularity of the search engine. Since then there has been skepticism about the significance of the energy savings that can be achieved and the cost in terms of readability of black web pages.

I like that.  Plus, I just changed my firefox settings to default to black screen, and white text.  It takes a bit of getting used to, but you can get used to anything, e.g, cubicles, traffic, cell phones, email, and all them newfangled gadgetators.  And it's really easier on my eyes so far. 

(And the goths among us will be happy, too!)

James and I will be attending the Can't Stop the Serenity (website) screening of Serenity on June 23.  All for charity at the Admiral Theater with lots more information on the aforementioned website.  If anyone else wants to meet up, or eat after, or before, or whatever, that'd be coo.