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restoring from a note to my sweetie, midday.

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From about 1 to 6 today my sense of time had stopped functioning properly.

Minutes seemed like hours. I kept getting a bad case of the nods, blinking off into Russian sleep and then finding myself looking at a clock, only to discover I’d only been out of it for a moment or two.

I drifted back and forth to being able to hardly keep my eyes open… my body was feeling like a limp dishrag… and my mind, (while firing solidly at code) continued to wander or settle places in the darker recesses of my cranium.

I think that they’re all symptoms of being overtired. Upside, I didn’t feel crabby, though I was rather numbskulled for a while…maybe that’s not the right term. My mind was sharp, but scattered. Thought confetti filled a lot of the cracks.

I feel that the bike ride is what really woke me up. I was a member of the walking dead for a while there.

Some dinner will set me back to totally right.

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A moment is eternal… for as long as it lasts.

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Ahhh… back from getting groceries. Hooray for a bike with a cargo space! I got a good workout, because I wanted to get ice cream home before it’d melt. A grand experiment. Looks good!

Cherry chocolate chip!

I have too many friends that take the wrong things seriously. Like looking for gritty realism in a BEM movie. They should be appreciating the real story in signs, I think, and not yelping about plot holes… I liked the flick, but a few plot inconsistencies, and many of the geeks I know are treating it like it’s coated in Ebola monkey feces. Pooties on them! They don’t get that it’s a framing technique and that the real story is what’s important.

Ah well.

Moment of Zen –

In my young days I never
Tasted sorrow. I wanted
To become a famous poet.
I wanted to get ahead.
So I pretended to be sad.
Now I am old and have known
The depths of every sorrow,
And I am content to loaf
And enjoy the clear autumn.
– Hsin Ch’i Chi
(Translated by Kenneth Rexroth)

Hmmm – “Most L.A. theater productions get a standing ovation. Are we less discerning, more easygoing or just polite?” Most theatre I’ve gone to does this too…I was wondering if it was a politeness thing, too. I personally like to show appreciation to performers, and to respond to them.

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It’s not smoking you have to worry about…

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…it’s the ashtrays.

As we all know, smoking is really bad for your health. What a lot of people don’t realize is that when you smoke, those few minutes of your expected lifespan are literally transformed into the ash you flick away into an ashtray. Ashtrays, each and every one of them, are constructed by a single group running several dozen front companies.

Basically, unless you’re putting out your smokes beneath your heel or in the ashtray your kid made at camp, you’re dispensing your ashen life into this group’s eager little receptacle. Their ashtrays absorb the life force from the ashes and sends it to a central holding facility. No one knows for sure what these guys are going to do when they’ve collected all that life energy, but it’s probably going to be huge.

Incidentally, there’s talk of a rival organization leading the anti-smoking political agenda from behind the scenes. They probably figure removing smoking sections, and thus ashtrays, from restaurants and bars is a good first step towards thwarting whatever it is this ashtray company is trying to do.

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Here comes the Snickitty-Snackitty Man. His services are whispered of half as threat, half as promise. For the Snickitty-Snackitty Man can reach inside your head with those long, long fingernails of his, and *snick* *snack* there goes a memory.

Want to relive the first time you tasted pistachio ice cream? *snick* *snack* there goes the first time.

Want to reread Shakespeare, or Mark Twain, or Bob Wilson for the first time, to experience that sense of wonder again? *snick* *snack* and the books are an unknown land to you.

Want to experience the rush of first love? *snick* *snack* and you’ve never loved before.

There you are, free to experience these things again. Of course, you can’t quite remember the name of the little girl who had strawberry when you had pistachio, or the smell of the cut grass in Central Park on that hot summer night when he read Othello’s part with such majesty, or the name of your wife and children.

But that’s not important. *snick* *snack*

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This Looks Like a Job For…

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…a complete scan of Action Comics #1. I dig old comics, I dig Superman, & I dig Joe Schuster’s simple but effective art. There’s something really endearing about it. I adore the early vision of Superman as someone who stops wife beaters and munitions manufacturers. He was so populist and leftist…too bad that changed into the cosmic demigod we have today. (Although I like that version of Superman, too… just not as nearly as much.)

Also…The cutest psych test ever. with just enough bad English to endear it to me. Hello, Dr. Kitty!

“You easily feel stressful. – Only with a little bit of additional work plus controlling your temper, you would then lose energy.”

They recommend “Not only you would accumulate your stress, you are weak to release it. for this type exercise and Karaoke will be the best way.”

Thanks for showing me those links, josh!

I’ve decided to name the bike the “Hofmann Zephyr“… a combination of missv and ldy‘s suggestions. Bright color trails and a gentle breeze. I like that. All the suggestions were fun ones.
The Hofmann Zephyr! I need to get some glow sticks or crepe!

I feel that I can only vaguely conceptualize infinity, not really understand it. I can make a sign for it and manipulate it in an equation, I can make up metaphors for describing it or “understanding” it, I can come up with synonyms and thought experiments…but I cannot experience infinity. How the heck can I possibly understand infinity when everything I experience is finite? Do not confuse a facility for description with understanding. Map and territory, menu and meal.

Hitting the sack… sweet dreams, dear journal. Warm thoughts to any who read this. Peace.

A quick quote before I go –

“I share the belief of many of my contemporaries that the spiritual crisis pervading all spheres of Western industrial society can be remedied only by a change in our world view. We shall have to shift from the materialistic, dualistic belief that people and their environment are separate, toward a new consciousness of an allreality, which embraces the experiencing ego, a reality in which people feel their oneness with animate nature and all of creation.”
–DR. ALBERT HOFMANN

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Exciting, sexual, emotional dreams last night… Very erotic and pleasant…I woke up a-tingle, with my sweetheart’s name on my lips. I wrote more about it in my dream log… I’ll transcribe it for private reading later today.

Somehow or another, the computer turned off last night… very odd. was there a power outage? I didn’t hear the ups chirp.

I’m vain enough to notice that I’m getting more gray in my beard… but not so vain that I mind. I must’ve been on testosterone overdrive this weekend, because my face furred up fast…it was like mowing the yard after a week of summer rain.

I’ve currently got no real complaints… I could certainly bitch about a few things, but nothing so major that it bears talking about. I think that’s a good place to be. I like to count my blessings regularly. Those that I love know it. (I feel that Newt understands, even though English isn’t his strong suit.)

Scotto factoid time. Is it? Sure, why not?

I go through cycles of sound. Some periods, I need to have something going in the background… soft music, television, the whir of the A/C… If I can hear myself breathing, then it becomes a distraction.

Other times, I want it so quiet that I can hear the blood pump in my body while at rest. I like to lay awake at night, with my ear pressed against a bicep, or Newton’s side, and just listening to things happening inside…the creak of a tendon, squish of blood being pushed through a vein, or in Newton’s case… hear his tummy digesting a midnight snack or purring like a lawnmower. It’s also fun to hear him eat.

When I smell ozone, I think that I can fly. I have no idea why that is, but I feel simultaneously energized and relaxed by the stuff.

Before Newton, there were times when I’d gone an entire weekend without speaking a single word aloud. I wonder if I was trapped on a desert island on my own, how long my silence would rule. I think I’d end up “singing in the shower”, if there was a warm waterfall nearby, but might not speak much outside of that.

I’m really impressed by Charlotte Church lately… she’s got an amazing talent.

Time for me to move… see you later, dear journal!

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We’re tested all the time. Some tests are more challenging than others…tests of skill… authority, knowledge, faith, adaptability, trust…probably quite a few more that I’ve not put my finger on yet.

I wonder if people who suffer from test anxiety in school also suffer from test anxiety from those that the world throws at us?

Even though I’m very fortunate in that most of the tests I’ve had to deal with are usually challenging, but not so difficult that they can’t be overcome. I’ve had quite a few take me right to the edge, though, and I can certainly think of a couple that I’d rather not take again.

note to self, post about some of the more interesting or challenging tests.

I’d like to see this take off as a meme, folks posting in their journals about a particular test they had to deal with…(and lazy me would like folks to post a link here if they do…so I can read ’em all!)

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The rain was really falling hard this morning… Even though my pickup spot is only a few footsteps from the house, I’m confident that without my umbrella, I’d have been drenched to the skin by the time I arrived there, let along waiting the five minutes for the bus to arrive. I do need a new umbrella, however (something bigger and more rugged). The winds near the beach are quite good at breaking the more namby-pamby of bumbershoots.

More rough sleep last night. It must be the season for it…New moon last night. I can think of a few people that suffered last night, and have been suffering over the course of this week.

Where do you go when you fall asleep? I think that I keep returning to the same land, not too different than the one I live in while awake. There is a stronger element of the surreal, of course, but generally, I don’t notice that there’s a problem until I reflect on it after waking. Newt can change colors, and is as big as I am? It makes perfect sense to me, at the time.

Here’s an irrational but minor annoyance I have. It’s when my image shows up in the dreams of other people. That’s fine in and of itself, but sometimes my doppelganger acts like a jerk there. It’s foolish of me to feel this way, as it’s someone else’s psyche that’s pulling his strings, but I feel somehow responsible for my dream-image’s actions and doings. I’d much prefer that he do an act of compassion or act heroically than do something unkind or craven.

Recurring themes in dreamtime for me are: Pursuit (either chasing or less frequently, being chased), socializing (anything from going to a bar with friends to Christmas morning with my sweetheart and our dream-daughter ten years from now), defending someone from harm, or exploring a familiar, but changed landscape. (That can include a time-shift, decorations for a party, or a disaster like a flood). Things that stand out are unusual quantities, like rains of razors or having someone turned into a chameleon for parking in someone else’s space.

I don’t recall much of last night’s dreams. I know that my visualization before drifting off was a comfortable one. My beloved and I cocooned up in blankets, her resting peacefully in my arms as I began to loll. It’s one of my “happy places” to go. The bed is a soft, living thing, like resting on the back of a mammoth. When Newt recognizes that I’m officially lying down, he’ll come over and lie down on my right shoulder, and nuzzle his face into the angle of where my chin turns into my throat. This permits me to wrap my right arm around him and stroke his back and head while he purrs me to slumber. If, for some reason that location isn’t comfortable for him, he’ll lay against my side or calf, propping his head up on one of my knees. On a few occasions, he’ll even lay on my chest, lengthwise, his head at my throat again, but I can hug him softly with both arms. I do remember waking up two or three times during the night, and finally waking about 9ish from a thick sleep.

I wonder what Newt dreams about… I’ve seen him in restless sleep, maybe a nightmare? Usually he lounges quite quietly. Do cats have REM sleep? I think dogs do. Note to self- look into that.

I can’t help but wonder if dream interpretation books have any value, or if the real interpretive worth is better judged on individual basis. I suspect that’s more of what it’s all about. I think that if I see an anchor in my dream, it probably means something different than if Fred Smith in Wyoming sees one in his. I suspect a lot of the interpretation changes as the viewer grows, too. Dreams I had as a little pod probably mean something other than what I might translate them into now.

I wonder how Danger the turtle is doing? I think about him, Coal, and that gang pretty often.

The Finn is back from her native country, seeing her mom through cancer surgery. It seems to be the season for that, too… Danny’s pop had something done just recently. She brought back chocolate for everyone, which is quite tasty (truffle-filled milk chocolate). The label says truffelitaytteinen maitosuklaa, which has me guess that Finnish for chocolate is suklaa? The ingredients are listed in (FIN) Finnish, (S) Swedish, (GB) English and (EST) Estonian (maybe, unsure). In any language, it’s dang tasty and a pleasant surprise.

Late lunch today, Sandwiches and chips from Champp’s (It’s supposed to have two Ps). The only time I can palate tomato soup is if there’s a grilled cheese next to it.

Mike finally paid me back the money he owes me. Brother slipping me back a healthy chunk too. He’s doing very well these days, and for that I’m happy.

Missed my sweetheart by inches… I got home 3 minutes after she popped offline. dang! maybe I’ll see her before sleepies.

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seven colors in a rainbow.

seven chakras in the sanskrit texts.

seven varieties of barbasol shaving cream, if you count the discontinued wintergreen gel.

do I have to draw you a picture?

Man.. everyone forgets the other five symbols of the zodiac, too.

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The Poison Is Arsenic, and the Suspect Wood… the things you find researching peg legs.

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Huh huh. Huh huh. You said ‘wood’.

From http://www.nytimes.com/2002/06/26/health/26ARSE.html

“HERNANDO, Miss., June 19 – It took six hospitalizations and a number of misdiagnoses before Lynn Milam learned what was causing the vomiting and diarrhea that almost killed her in 1999. The arsenic levels in her body, her doctor said, were about 100 times what they should have been.

Ms. Milam was relieved to have a diagnosis, however terrifying. That relief vanished when the police arrived. “They said someone was trying to kill me, and they were almost 100 percent sure it was Tom,” her husband, Ms. Milam said.

But she refused to believe it. “I know the man,” she said. “If he were going to kill me, he’d just shoot me.””

Well, it turns out that after testing the husband that he had even more arsenic in his system than she did. They had been doing some home improvements with treated wood.

“Vicki S. Wood, one of the Milams’ lawyers, said the couple were victims of chromated copper arsenate, or C.C.A., the predominant wood preservative in the United States and the subject of an emerging body of product liability lawsuits around the country. Some of the lumber for the Milams’ two-story cabin frame had been treated with C.C.A., which prevents decay and repels termites. It also contains arsenic.”

There is a whole lovely story about product liability and industry and so on and so forth. You know the drill. The industry sort of crossed the Ts and dotted the Is by putting the responsibility for handing out the warnings on the lumberyards, but:

“Mel Pine, a spokesman for the trade association, said that the industry had fulfilled its obligation to inform the public about the dangers of treated wood but that until recently, “at the retail stores the compliance was less than perfect.””

Been there, seen that every few months. The product is being phased-out with a replacement that doesn’t include arsenic.

“Mr. Brugge said the decision was based on “changes in perception, changes in the marketplace” and a new generation of preservatives without arsenic.”

(How much do you want to bet that the “new generation” of preservatives were around before, but were not as cheap as arsenic?)

No, what is interesting about the story is that attempted murder was suspected and a case was being prepared.

“The police here worked the case hard. They questioned the Milams repeatedly and always separately. They advised Ms. Milam, a 50-year-old computer programmer, to leave her husband, 46, or at least prepare her own food. They sought help from the F.B.I., and the district attorney went to a grand jury to have it consider a charge of attempted murder.

I felt like the Hernando Police Department came into it predetermined like it was attempted murder, and they had a pretty good little case,” Ms. Milam said. “It was really big for them.”

“Mr. Artis, the F.B.I. spokesman, said the case was dubious from the start, because it lacked a motive. “She was the breadwinner,” he said. “There’s no big insurance policy. There’s no girlfriend.””

So, without any of the tried-and-true motives present, why did the D.A. continue with the attempted murder scenario?

“He recalled being convinced by an F.B.I. analysis implicating the treated wood. On the other hand, a member of his staff had consulted the industry. “One of my investigators kept telling me that lumber companies had told him that this couldn’t be,” he said, meaning that the F.B.I. was wrong.”

Who says experts don’t lie? Calling for an unbiased opinion these days is more tricky than ever, I imagine.

Perhaps I’ve read far too many Agatha Christie mystery novels as a kid, but I need to research and see if it is true that ingesting small doses of arsenic over time lead to an immunity from the poison. This came up in a few novels I recall reading (Lord Nannybone of Soddom-on-Gamhora takes small doses of arsenic to build up an immunity, then he and his wife eat from the same hors de vour tray… intrepid detective outwits police by finding arsenic bottle under bush, etc. etc.).

The article makes me think no, but perhaps those dosages were too large… I was also under the impression that repeated arsenic ingestion leads to thickening nails, change in skin tone and other symptoms. Perhaps skin absorption is different.

I guess that the real problem is that they had not received any of the warnings that were supposed to go with purchasing the treated wood. I suppose big red and yellow stickers saying “DANGER. TOXIC WOOD!!!!” would have made for a lousy store display. I know that I would tend to promote the termite repelling qualities and downplay the HAZMAT aspects of putting in a new deck.

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good news, dear journal.

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jay-ee-ell-ell-oh.

there’s always room for hooves!

bleh.

Bill Cosby, what did they pay you to hawk that stuff?

I was wondering… in the olden days… did wooden legs warp? I’m thinking about pirates out at sea in the salt air and rain, especially. My sweetheart, ever the font of wisdom suggested that they be made of cypress wood, the same as ocean vessels… minimal bulging and warping. She always surprises me with the knowledge she has stored inside… wonderful having ideas bounced back and forth between us. I was thinking of sandalwood for its durability… (It was used to make sandals, after all… and it’s a fragrant material, too.)

It’d be cool to see a peg leg carved like a totem pole or a tiki god.

I wonder how feasible a robotic monkey tail would be… worn with a belt, controlled by muscle flexes ? upholster it like a Muppet or with faux leather.

I got my place. I met with Francesco tonight, and gave him first, last and security… and now have a signed receipt from him noting the duration of the lease, and a set of keys. (It’s active until 6/30/03).. I will be moving in Saturday Morning… and calling tomorrow about getting my assorted utilities turned on by that time, and the current landlord about getting my security deposit back. (that $525 will come in quite handy. for my new bed.) He still needs to finish a few things… clean the shelves and polish off the bathroom and kitchen, but it’s nothing that he can’t have done before I back the truck up. He tried to act like he didn’t know about Newt… but I nipped that in the bud. No Newt, No Deal.

Now, I just have to spend tomorrow night packing up everything but survival gear and cleaning this place up… make it sparkle so that I deserve every last penny back.

I suspect that I’ll be moving again in a year (or maybe sooner, if the right place comes along in the area) but for now, it’ll do just fine. Cheers, Dear Journal!

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Francesco put me off again today, but assured me that I’d be signing a lease tomorrow, at 9pm if all goes properly.

The current landlord came by tonight asking what my plans were… I told her that I’d let her know for sure when I knew, certainly by July 1. She gave me a key to the laundry room around back… so I can do a free load of laundry before I go. ;P

I’ve been wanting a new bed.. moving in is the perfect time to get one.

King bed sizes can be confusing. There are actually two “king” sizes: Standard King, also known as “Eastern”, and California King, also known as “Western”. These two mattress sizes are different by about 4″ in each direction. (The Standard King is wider by about 4″ whereas the California King is longer by about 4″.)

California is the way I lean, with my long ol’ bod. California King beds are 12″ wider than a Queen but a few inches longer. This size may be the best choice for taller adults. A California King is also known as a “Western King” and bedding may be labeled either “California King” or “Western King”. California King bed set comes with one mattress and two half-width box springs to be more manageable when moving.

Overall: 72″ wide x 84″ long… ample room to fit me, my sweetie, and any kitty-folk that’d care to rest, too. Much better than the long twin I have now.

Newt’s very talkative tonight… so I’ll go play with the baby boy some….

nighters, dear journal.

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note to self when I get my hydro-electric blimp, let newt pilot it. That boy knows everything about airborne maneuvers imaginable.

I just saw him jump from the windowsill to the top of the TV set, to the top of the fridge, making it look graceful and planned… this is the boy who when he runs on all fours, his back legs overtake the fronts, so color me impressed.

debating if I should just toss the Adirondack chair, or park it in front of my apartment for “night sitting”… it’ll probably get chucked.

Laundry is done, and I think one or two more boxes will have me packed to go, if that. it’s typhoon-raining out right now, so my body is calling out to me… “Scotttttttoooooo.. naaaaappppptime”

Who am I to argue with my body? it’s as big as I am.

I bet a dollar as soon as I lay down, Newtie’ll be in my room, and all snuggly. Let’s find out… results when I return, dear journal.