Groggily as I crept towards conciousness today, with sunlight streaming through the blinds and 98-Rock’s morning talk show, Kirk, Mark & Lopez on the radio, I blinked my eyes and thought, “No, I didn’t hear Lopez say that, I’m dreaming.”

Twenty minutes later, sitting nearly naked at my computer, I laughed again. “Hah, a bridge collapsing because people peed on it. That’s funny.”

Then I went over to USA Today, and from there linked to the Manila Times International. And I stopped laughing.

A landmark bridge in Indonesia’s Sumatra island may collapse because too many people are fond of urinating on one of its steel pillars, a report said Saturday.

An official at the public works department in Palembang, Azmi Lakoni, was quoted as saying the bridge had deteriorated because people often took a leak on one of its piers, corroding the structure.

I’m just sort of sitting here with my mouth agape.

My sister teaches middle school in Hawaii. I hate her. She tells me, “Yeah, it sucks because the nearest bar is an hour away, so my friends and I just go to the liquor store then walk down to the beach and get drunk.” As for me, I can’t even remember the last time I set foot in a bar.*

Before she decided on taking the job in Hawaii (she’s been in Oahu less than a year and is already considering a move to Oregon), she considered an offer from Alaska. She turned the job down because she would have had to take a tiny little prop-airplane way up north, then take a sleigh ride for a few hours to get to wherever it was she was supposed to teach.

Well, that and Hawaii is warm, and Alaska is all “brrrr” and “snow” and stuff. Even my cousin Maggie (the turkey killing cousin), who would never want to live in a “non cold” state, probably wouldn’t want to move to Alaska. And who would, except for crazy people?

So, speaking of crazy people living in Alaska, you should all visit Chepooka’s blog. She’s a crazy people who lives in Alaska, and whose blog is usually all “red” and “black” and “Oooooh, I’m crazy Alaskan girl and I can’t be cheery because, look, I spend ten hours a day shoveling snow, and I’m a crazy liberal woman!**” But for some reason she’s going for the whole cheery thing this holiday season, when the rest of us are running each other over with shopping carts at the Walmart. So, like I said, crazy people!

But worth checking out. Because crazy people = more fun than non-crazy people.

*note to my friends: take me to a bar and get me drunk, I’m starving for the social thing.

** although, really, aren’t *ALL* women crazy? I mean, hello, Ann Coulter?

Just click here, and remember a time when people could trust in the integrity of those elected to this nation’s highest office.

I first met “Taffy” in the spring of 2001. She was Aunt Peg’s new cat, and the first cat after the death of Max, a sleek black cat who had taken great pleasure in breaking everything he could get his long tail around. Taffy was a tiny little creature, a cat who could curl up in the open palm of my hand and purr with contentment that all was right with the world.

Now, Peg has a way with animals. They all become absolutely devoted to her. Some, like Tiffany, her tiny little “pillow dog” (who died two months ago) are also friendly to others in the family. Most often, they just hide when “new” people wander into the house in Scranton. The two cats she had when I was born, Gypsy and Bandit, were that way. When family came to visit, those cats lived in the spacious closets of Peg’s bedroom, hiding among the shoeboxes and assorted stores.

I met Taffy for a second time in the early summer of ‘02. She’d grown considerably. I drove from Towson to Scranton, and arrived while everyone was gone. My grandmother, who lives with Peg, was at church. Peg, a nurse, was at the hospital. The back door was unlocked, and I made myself at home, watching some TV, and then I heard some scratching. Taffy was in the bathroom, scratching at the door. Foolishly, as I would learn, I opened the door.

Taffy had grown – she was already bigger than Guy, my (at the time) five year old cat – I mean, this cat got HUGE really quickly. Anyway, she takes one look at me, her ears fold back, and she starts growling. And I don’t mean like a “Hey, you’re in my sun, move on” growl, I mean a “I don’t know who you are but I’m going to fuck you up.” She took up a perch on the stairs, refusing to allow me to pass, and taking rather vicious swipes at me with her paw.

Anyway, the point is, I stopped by Peg’s place on my way home from Connecticut. Peg greeted me with a hug, but who was above the cabinets in the kitchen? Taffy. And what did she do upon seeing me? You guessed it! She started growling.

Oy.

The damn spammers strike again. Same guy, actually. I asked Tim to look into a way to hold comments for approval, since, clearly, these scum-sucking mother fuckers aren’t content simply calling during dinner and overloading an e-mail box anymore.

From the beginning, I didn’t support the Iraq War. I didn’t think Iraq had any connections to Al Queda or the September 11th attacks, and I felt that Bush’s motivations for invasion had less to do with protecting America and more to do with showing up his father. But I also never fell into that trap that the Right likes to spring, you know the one: if you don’t support the war, you aren’t supporting the troops. I don’t buy into that logic one damn bit.

A college professor of mine opposed the war – she and her friends stood at the corner of Charles Street near Loyola college several days a week with anti-war signs. But she’s hardly a leftist – she voted for Bush in 2000, and she voted for him again this year. Although, admittedly, she hates John Kerry (during the Vietnam War, she served in a “bouncing betty” ward and never forgave Kerry for his anti-Vietnam rhetoric which she saw as insulting to the limbless men she tended too), and that might’ve influenced her vote. But to say that because she doesn’t support the war, she must not support the troops? No, this is a woman who supported the troops, but not the war. This is a woman who had both her sons serve in the military.

I don’t know why I’m writing about this, I just – oh! – felt frustrated by the right, and their oversimplification of stuff. “Gosh, how do we countermand the leftists anti-war rhetoric? Oh, I know, let’s call them anti-troop.” I mean, yeah, the left does the same stuff too, so it’s not like we’re on the moral high ground on the tactic, but when it comes to the issue — the ill planned, ill thought-through, ill-executed invasion of Iraq, we do have the moral high ground.

Yes, we do.

Well, I just got “spam” commenters. Tim, please check & ban their IPs, then let me know so I can delete the comments.

Fucking prigs. Bad enough they call a dozen times a day on the phone, and leave hundreds of e-mails over the course of the year. I mean, really, if any group in America was out there screaming “take me into the street and shoot me” it would be these fuckers.

From Ain’t-It-Cool-News (NOT IN THIS CASE!)

Brett Leonard, the Australian-based director who allegedly made MAN-THING (how can any of us verify that if the film is never released?) will next be turning his considerable and debatable talent to HIGHLANDER 5, in which it turns out that the entire population of the world is a Highlander except for one man. The tagline? “There Can’t Be Only One”.

Brett Leonard promises to ignore the crap continuity in HIGHLANDER 2, and will reveal the Highlanders to be the result of a futuristic genetic experiment gone wrong and sent back in time to kill the woman who will give birth to the scientist who made them.

Man this pisses me off. Why do we have to know why immortals exist? Isn’t enough to say, “There are these guys and gals who live forever unless you cut off their heads and the last living immortal gains all the knowledge of all the immortals who ever lived.”

Do we really need to know WHY they’re around? Maybe they’re some sort of “release valve” to protect the earth. Who knows, who cares. The crap in Highlander II – expelled prisoners – was bad enough. But now they’re time-traveling mutants?

Oh, come on! Boo! Boo!

Okay to my resident “Digi-Cam” know-it-alls …

I’m looking to get a digital camera in December. Actually, my mom told me she & dad were going to get me one. The problem is, as she understands it, its important to know what kind of computer a person has to get it. Well, I don’t really see why that would be the case, but really the only thing that I know about digicams is that you should get one with optical scan and not digital scan.

So, please, I’m looking for a digicam in the under $200 price range. All comments & know-it-all knowings welcome.

Danke!

Also – a rep from Amazon.com replied to me today. In short – they think my package got lost, so they’re sending out another one, no charge to me. If I get the original package, they want me to contact them so they can figga’ out what to do from there. In the meantime, they’re shipping two-day shipping …

… and then I logged onto my online banking to notice that they ARE billing me for the shipping. Oh, I don’t think so! But I’m sure they’ll take care of that when I bring it to their attention, I’m just happy they’re sending another package! Woot!

Because I just got in after a seven plus hour drive, and I’m tired and wanting a nap, I’m just going to recycle this post from an e-mail I sent out yesterday, if you’ve already read it, it gets funnier, and if you haven’t, trust me – it’s funny:

You have to understand that I have a certain reputation for running my car over defenseless woodland animals. In my old Jeep, I could have painted half a dozen deer on the side, if I’d chosen, sort of like how fighter pilots in WWII (and other conflicts, I imagine) would paint the flags of their downed opponents onto the side of their planes. Some friends teased that on this trip to Connecticut to celebrate Thanksgiving with my extended family, the deer population of New England would be severely impacted. So there’s a certain bitter irony in what DID get run over. Wednesday afternoon, my cousin Maggie & I went out to get some beer for Thanksgiving (well, I went to get the beer, but she knew where all the liquor shops were). On our way back to the house, what did she hit? Not a deer, not a squirrel … she annihilated a *turkey* which leaped out of a yard onto the road, flapping its wing wildly. It actually gained some air, until it rather unceremoniously bounced off the windshield.

Maggie later told me she felt so guilty that she’d killed the bird, which was undoubtedly preparing to celebrate avoiding getting killed and cooked for the holiday. That’s one toikeys plans dashed.

Alright – well, I’m just about out of here. I’ve got to get showered, brush my teeth, and get dressed, because, really, who wants to drive up the New Jersey Turnpike naked?

This will be my last blog post – ever. “Ever”, of course, being Friday.

So, now I’m going to turn off my computer, do all that stuff I said above, plus go to Circuit City and buy “Harry Potter & The Prisoner of Azkaban” and then find a gas tank and fill my car up. Nevermind that I’ve only put 40 miles on it since I last filled up, it is just something I’ve *GOT* to do.

So, wish me luck on my trip, it is a cloudy, overcast day, but I’m hopeful that [breaks into song] “The sun will come out tomorrow” [breaks out of song] or even better, later today.

Adios. Fare thee well. Al-veda-zain*.

Happy Toikey Day, everybody!

* Yes, I know I spelled that wrong! Renee, if you’re reading this, feel free to correct my Deutsch.

The release date for “Serenity”, the Joss Whedon/Universal film based on the short-lived TV series “Firefly” has been pushed back from April ’05 to September ’05.

Dammit.

Remember that clip of the Marine shooting the insurgent? The cameraman has a blog:

The Marines have built their proud reputation on fighting for freedoms like the one that allows me to do my job, a job that in some cases may appear to discredit them. But both the leaders and the grunts in the field like you understand that if you lower your standards, if you accept less, than less is what you’ll become.

The burdens of war, as you so well know, are unforgiving for all of us.

This is powerful stuff.

My alarm went off at 8:30 promptly, and I wobbled my way to the shower. I brushed my teeth, dressed, and was out the door a little before 9 o’clock. Got to Goodyear a tad late, and spent 45 minutes waiting for my car back. Turns out Ted thought I was just dropping it off, or he’d've had it ready sooner.

I got down to Jiffy Lube a little before 10, and was gone from there by 10:30. Hooray! I breezed through a haircut and then to Borders, getting a nice Rand McNally atlas for $10. Actually, I still had $4 or so on my gift-card from last year, so it wound up being $6. Even BETTER!

I made two attempts to get to Beltway Liquors off Joppa Road. The first time … well, it was just too crowded. I couldn’t even get into the parking lot. I swung by Record & Tape Traders and bought a copy of the Special Edition of Casablanca for $16. Someone had mismarked it (hooray!) but they honored the price. Most places have it for a cool $25/$30 bucks. After Record & Tape Traders, I hit Toys ‘R Us real quick and bought a couple of lego sets.

I tried Beltway Liquors for the second time and found a parking spot. Sadly, they didn’t have either Cider Jack, or the Fat Bastard wine I was going to bring as a Thanksgiving present. Eargh! Well, I only had one last stop to make – braving a supermarket in the days before Turkeyday. Waited for 20 minutes at the deli for ham and cheese, then spent about 10 in line waiting to check out.

Still, I got home a little after 1:30. I started some cleaning, and then felt tired so I curled up on the couch and took a nice – hour long! – catnap. Sort of ironic, because Guy (the older of my two cats) jumped on to the couch to play and I wound up holding him as I slept. He was not very happy about being held for an hour as I snored away.

When I woke up, I fired off an e-mail to Amazon asking, “WHERE THE HELL IS MY PACKAGE, BITCHES?” and now I’m off to … I don’t know. Some laundry, certainly, maybe fix dinner. I don’t cook (well, I do, if it’s Chef Boyardee), so I’ll have a ham and cheese sandwich. Toasted white bread with mayonaise, white american cheese, livingston farm smoked ham, and just a *dab* of jalapeano mustard. All this with a tall frosty glass of milk, and a side of cooler ranch doritos.

And Humphrey Bogart on the TV. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”