Muscles like rocks
If I were a bodybuilder, that comment would be a compliment. But I'm just a wuss with a bad back and that comment is a diagnosis.

Today I had my first session with the physical therapist my acupuncturist recommended. I am hopeful. He's a very nice guy who knows a lot about the ills and pains of an over-stressed body. Everything he said sounded like me. Long-term pain. Muscles so tight you could use them to bang in a nail. Stress that never goes away -- even when there's no reason to be stressed.

I had a 90-minute session where we went over my history and he poked around and found all my sore bits. By the time I left I felt more even (frequently one side feels much tighter than the other) and optimistic about his ability to help. I have another long session scheduled next week.

He has a very common-sense approach to treating this kind of pain. Some hands-on therapy from him, then lessons on how to treat myself at home. Some basic exercises and "homework" on the right way to move, sit, stand, etc., so that I don't keep making the same mistakes over and over again. I feel really good about this and hope I'm not doomed to disappointment again.

In other news one of my favorite people whose blog I read daily has decided to take a blogging break. Completely understandable with a busy life, two gorgeous children, and a sweet and handsome husband. Not to mention her own interests and responsibilities. I will miss her posts. It's amazing how much we rely on technology to stay up to date with our friends and family. I myself, through this blog, keep my loved ones apprised of what's going on in my world. It's faster than sending out a dozen e-mails every time I end up in the hospital, and it gives me an outlet to just rant when I want. Luckily I will still see her on a regular basis, thanks to our book club, but the daily visits into her life were small gifts in my day that I shall miss.

Oh, and now that we've made reservations for our Grand Tour, I find myself lusting after new luggage. It's the funniest thing. I'm looking online and drooling over super-cool suitcases. Well, I do need 14-days worth of clothes. Wash-and-wear will be my friend since I insist on traveling light.

Have a lovely weekend, dearies. Sunday is Husband's birthday. We're having dinner and going to a concert at the new San Francisco Yoshi's but the day is free. If it's not raining, we may walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, which he's never done and has always wanted to. In case of rain, who knows? The Asian Art Museum, perhaps?

Poor little rich man
Larry Elllison must be so proud. According to this story in the San Francisco Chronicle, Ellison "has bagged a $3 million tax break after arguing that his flamboyant Japanese-style estate in Woodside is functionally obsolete."

The man is worth $25 billion and he's worried about $3 million? And who really "pays"? The money would "otherwise would have gone to schools, the county general fund and cities, among other things, Deputy Controller Kanchan Charan said. The hit to schools alone will be nearly $1.4 million." Yeah, it's not like our schools could use $1.4 million, is it? As long as Larry's got his $3 million we should all be happy.

The thing that cracks me up (as opposed to pissing me off) is that this estate of his cost $200 million to build because he wanted a 16th century Japanese warlord's country palace. And now he's arguing that his property was over-valued because there is" a finite market for high-end luxury homes, limited appeal for 16th-century Japanese architecture and the "over improvements" and "excessive" landscaping are costly to maintain." A limited appeal for 16th century Japanese architecture? No, I don't believe it.

I absolutely hate these "rich get richer" stories. The many should be giving away at least that on a regular basis to charity but instead he's tying up the courts, haggling over what would be the equivalent of $300 for the rest of us, and smugly going off to buy another ridiculous boat.

Turning the same old pages
What makes a book re-readable? Why are there some books that you can't even get through once and others that you can pick up every few years or so and enjoy every time?

Last night in one of my middle-of-the-night rambles I picked up Dorothy L. Sayers's classic "Have His Carcase," which I've probably read 6 or 7 times -- and started right in. And I'm enjoying it just as much as I always have. Even though it's a mystery and I am completely aware of whodunnit, I'm loving the characters (I'm a sucker for Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane), the setting (a 1930's seaside resort), the crime (body found on a beach) and the wonderful prose. It's incredible how the old familiar favorites can still deliver.

Most of the time I read a book and once is more than enough. But then there are those rare gifts that you can enjoy time and again. Jane Austin. Ms. Sayers. Agatha Christie. Ngaio Marsh. (I know, I'm heavy on the mysteries.) Authors who can get you through even the longest nights (or longest flights) with comfort and joy. Thank heavens for old favorites!

Rome, if you want to
Well, it's official. Husband and I have booked our long-planned cruise. Florence,Rome, Mykonos, Rhodes, Santorini, Istanbul (not Constantinople), Ephesus, Athens, Athens, back to Rome. We can't wait. Thanks to our fairy godfather for the magic. Now we just countdown to October....which gives me plenty of time to feel guilty about leaving Cipher, the World's Most Amazing Cat Screw You if You Don't Agree (tm) for two weeks. Wahhhh! Whattawegonnado about our kitty?

It's all about hate
Husband and I are long-time supporters of The Southern Poverty Law Center, one of the most under-rated and yet most important organizations in the US. Their cause? Ending hate. Hate in all its forms: racism, Nazism, anti-gay movements -- in short, if it's based in hate due to someone's skin color, religion, politics, ethnicity, country of origin, sexual orientation, or gender -- they're there to fight it.

I urge everyone to read their magazine, The Intelligence Report for a bone-chilling, frequently terrifying reality check. The current issue is entitled "The Year in Hate" and it's a eye-opener for those of us who feel safely cushioned from such things here in the beautifully multi-cultural Bay Area of San Francisco. You'll be stunned at how many klan groups there are (155!) (and yes, even in California. There are 7 in the state.) There are 207 neo-Nazi groups in the country (13 in California). And in the "general hate" category, California has 24 -- including groups that are anti-gay, anti-immigrant, Holocaust deniers, radical traditional Catholic, and others.

Many have seemingly innocent sounding names. One of the Holocaust denier groups is called "the Institute for Historical Review." Sounds harmless enough, doesn't it? One of the anti-immigrant groups goes by the name of "Rescue without Borders," which pisses me off as it steals from the wonderful organization "Doctors Without Borders" and sounds like a relief organization.

Other groups don't even bother to deny their affiliations. In the list of active websites we find such distasteful URLs as "adolphthegreat.com" "allwhitedating.com" and "godhatesfags.com" Just typing those leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

So why am I telling you all this? Because I think it's important to remember that hate exists. And that organizations like the SPLC also exist, dedicated to making sure that groups like the klan don't win. As part of an interracial couple, I take this kind of hatred personally and refuse to accept it. If you're looking for a great cause to send a check to, you might want to consider the SPLC. In the meantime, teach love.

On strike
Husband has informed me that I'm not allowed to go to ER for the next week or so. The reason is that the nurses at our "local" are on strike.

Great, for most people their "local" is a nice place to get a drink after work. For me, my "local" is a nice place to get an ER after zarfing for 12 hours.

OK, Husband. I promise to do my best to avoid ER until the nurses come marching home.

In other news I think I've been fired by my acupuncturist. After 2 or 3 really good sessions, a lot more sessions that didn't seem to do anything/much, he's decided that he really can't do anything for me. Boo. He tried something new yesterday and I'm to call him on Monday to report how it worked. Considering that I woke up at 2 am in severe pain and it took 2 vicodin to get me through the next 9 hours, I'd have to say that it didn't. But all is not lost, he shares office space with a massage therapist who is apparently amazing and will refer me to him. Keep your fingers crossed.

Thanks to Mama D for her advice on the Eddie Bauer catalog. I'll check it out. I broke down and dashed into Mervyn's the other day for a new pair of jeans, since I got fed up with having to cinch my old jeans so tight. I bought a size 8 which is still a bit large, but I think they might shrink. Good lord, an 8! I haven't been in single digit clothing since I was in high school -- if then. I looked in the mirror this morning and realize that I've misplaced my butt. If anyone finds it, please put it in the mail. Thanks.

An island of one
Apparently I am the only person in the United States who doesn't need/want to lose weight.

I always knew in the back of my dim mind that the majority of Americans are overweight, but it never really sunk in until I lost weight thanks to the mystery syndrome. Today's doctor's appointment found me tipping the scales at a whopping 119 lbs (and that's wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers!) My doctor gave me the wonderful advice of "eat" and I would love to comply, but I have no appetite and when I do eat, a few bites fills me up. But I'll nibble when I can because I really, really don't want to lose any more weight.

Which puts me firmly in the minority. Turn on the TV and you're bombarded with ads for Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, and some scary thing called "hoodia." Not to mention Low or no fat diet foods. Non-fat yogurt -- indulgence without the guilt. 100 calorie cookie packets -- indulgence without the guilt. (What a unique slogan!)

How ironic to basically have free reign to have cookies if I want -- and yet not want them. Oh the humanity! Many's the day I'd have given anything to know I could have a hot fudge sundae without feeing guilty but now that I can -- well, I just can't.

R.I.P. Paul Scofield
Just a few weeks after watching his Oscar-winning performance in A Man for All Seasons, British actor Paul Scofield has died of leukemia at the age of 86.

I am sad. He's always been one of my favorites. Unfortunately he didn't make many movies, but whenever he appeared on screen he was magic. In his role of the French King in Branagh's Henry V he was a model of subtle power and sadness. There was something so clean about his acting. No frills and yet always believable. I will always regret that I never had the chance to see him on stage.

I drop first, so I don't shop
Thanks to the mystery syndrome, I no longer fit into any of my clothing. Nothing. My jammies fall off me. My jeans have so much extra room I could smuggle something in them. Even my sweats are too big.

I know many people in America would love to have that problem, but the one thing it signifies to me is this: I must go shopping. And oh, how I hate to shop. Bookstores and music stores notwithstanding, the world of retail bores and annoys me. I hate the trying on of clothing. I especially hate how women's clothing is so ridiculously sized compared to men's. Men's clothing, with great logicality, goes by actual measurements. If you know your neck/arm measurement, you can buy a shirt. If you know your waist and inseam, you can buy pants. You might not even have to try things on.

With women's clothing it's a huge crap shoot. Am I a small or medium? A regular or a short? A 10 or a 12? And if I'm a 10 in this line, am I also a 10 in that line? Oh, no, wait, according to this other manufacturer I'm an 8. Everything must be tried on.

I've put off shopping for quite a while now. Firstly because I hate it and secondly because lately I've been too sick to do much of anything except hang around the house all day and envy the cat. But it's gotten to the point where my jeans are riding so low I look like a wanna-be gangsta rapper.

There are a lot of things I'm looking forward to doing when (if?) I get better, but shopping is not high on the list. But, alas, it's probably also the first thing I have to take care of.

The ghost in our kitchen
Our kitchen appears to be haunted. Cipher, the world's most amazing cat, screw you if you don't agree (TM) is suddenly afraid of the corner of the room where her food is.

The first appearance of the ghost came three weeks ago. She was fine at breakfast. Come dinner, however, she wouldn't get anywhere near her food. She backed away like we were trying to feed her live cobra for a snack. If I picked her up and tried to put her down near the food she squirmed like an eel. Her food is right near the fridge, and we traced the source to some highly spiced leftover Chinese food that she apparently didn't like the scent of. (Memo to self: cat does not like Mongolian beef.) We cleaned out the fridge, opened the window, and she was fine.

Until Wednesday, that is.

Wednesday night, same problem. A dubious look towards the food area. A refusal to go near it. If we moved her food out a few feet, she dove in with her usual lack of table manners. But the ghost of the food corner had returned and nothing would induce her to confront it. And it's been like that ever since. I've cleaned out the fridge, but there wasn't anything there particularly fragrant. I've cleaned the area around the food space. And still she's skittish. I'm thinking next time I'll clean with Holy Water, maybe that'll do the trick.

So we're moving her food dish out when we feed her, but it's hardly convenient to have it in the middle of the room. We've debated moving to another area of the kitchen entirely but it's currently in the only spot that doesn't get a lot of foot traffic. Any other spot and we're likely to be spending a lot of time mopping up spilled water. But we can't have the poor thing afraid to eat. Although I suppose she'll confront the ghost when she's hungry enough, it's just kinda sad to see her looking at that area like Jacob Marley is standing there.

Why do they always wear pearls?
Enough with the trotting out the loyal political wife for these "I have sinned" press conferences! Of course I'm talking about Gov. Spitzer, the latest in a long line of "can't keep his pants zipped" politicos who got caught with his penis in the cookie jar.

But what I can't understand is why they always make the wife stand there like a shell-shocked zombie through the whole thing. Why can't she just say "listen fuckhead, you screwed up, you take the heat. I'm going to the Bahamas." I suppose they're trying to show he's not a total sleeze; that if the wife will stand by him, why can't the voters, that kind of thing. But it still seems surreal, pointless, and just plain mean. The poor lady has just found out that after all her sacrifices on his behalf he turns around and spends thousands on hookers. That's bad enough, but then she's got to be on the front page of cnn.com too?

I think the women of America should take a stand in the whole "sisterhood" myth by saying "OK, screw the politics. Give the wife some privacy and dignity. No more stoicism in the face of sex scandals."

I am not every woman...
This kind of goes along with the "I am not fashionable" post, but I am so sick of phrases that begin "every woman."

"Every woman dreams of her wedding day." (Overheard on a news program about the cost of weddings.)
Nope, not once. I didn't play "dress up bride" as a child. I didn't spend hours in high school designing my perfect dress. I never poured over Brides magazine and daydreamed about flowers and limos. Never. And I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Blanket statements like this piss me off, because it makes it seems like there's something wrong with women who don't go along with the pre-conceived flow. But there's nothing wrong with not dreaming about your wedding. I mean look at me. I never have, never did, and I'm still happily married -- even if I didn't start planning the day when I was 7.

"Every woman has her own beauty secrets." (Overheard in a commercial about some beauty product whose name and purpose eludes me.)
Again, no. I have no beauty secrets. I have no beauty routine. I brush my teeth. I wash my hair. I bathe. I use prescription lotion on my face because I have some minor skin problems. That's it. No eye liner tips. No super-special lipstick. No hints for the best way to pluck your brows. I think the only beauty secret I have (and it's not much of a secret) is "don't care what other people think."

"Every woman wants a Prince Charming." (Overheard in a cheesy movie.)
Oh God, spare me! Are we still, in the 21st century, perpetuating the myth that women are fairy princesses who need big, strong men to rescue them? Come on, ladies, grow some balls! I can't think of anything worse that perceiving of myself as a helpless flower waiting for the knight on the white horse. I don't need a man to rescue me. And I'm not sure what I'd be rescued from. There aren't a lot of dragons in the SF Bay Area. All I ever wanted was a nice guy who'd treat me well and whom I could love and respect in return. I wanted a best friend, not a romance hero. And I got exactly what I wanted in Husband.

"Every woman needs the perfect little black dress." (Read in a magazine while waiting at the doctor's office.)
Why? Why do I need a black dress? Why does it have to be little? Will a little red dress do? Will a big black dress suffice? What if it's not perfect? What if it's only marginally acceptable? Oh the pressure! I can't stand it! My head will explode! You know, not once in my 40+ years of life have I ever gone anywhere where a "perfect little black dress" was required. And guess what? I survived. I'm happy. I have a great marriage and good friends. But do I deserve all that happiness if I don't have the dress? Is my happiness just a sham?

No, I must believe I'm happy....even without the dress, the prince, the beauty tips, and the dream wedding. Pity me.

And how was your Saturday?
So what did you do with your day? Me? Well...any guesses where I spent Saturday night? Anybody?

Yes, that's right, ER!

I'm OK. Just spent 8 hours zarfing and was really dehydrated and generally miserable. So, two IVs of fluids later, plus two shots of painkillers and anti-nausea medicine, and I was home. Today I feel fine. Really weak; kinda shaky, sort of just this side of absolutely no energy at all, but not sick. Going into the kitchen for water (trying to load up on fluids if I can) pretty much wipes me out for about 30-minutes afterwards. But so far, no zarfing. No nausea. No incapacitating back pain.

Once again, Husband was my hero. Driving me to ER at midnight. Holding my hand. Giving me lots of TLC and even managing to make me laugh. How in the world did I get so lucky?

Anyway, I'm trusting you all had a better Saturday than I. Today's plan is lots of rest, some juice, bland food, and trying to get my feet back under me.

Oh, on another topic. The other night Husband and I watched the most recent "Die Hard" flick: Live Free or Die Hard and our review is surprisingly positive. Completely unbelievable on so many levels, but pure escapist fun. Bruce Willis can still carry of balls of steel action hero, and Justin Long was charming and really funny as a young hacker in over his head. Great fun.

CD Pick of the Week: Johnny Whitehorse
Totemic Flute Chants was the 2008 Grammy Award-winner for Best Native American Music Album. Whitehorse is the alter-ego of Robert Mirabal, an extremely talented singer/songwriter/guitarist/flutist and one of my top two favorite Native American performers. This blend of flute, keyboard, tribal drums and vocals celebrates our animal spirit guides. Beautiful music, ranging from meditative to quietly powerful.
(For the record, I'm an owl. Husband is definitely coyote.)

...and still nothing on
Yeah, 80+ channels on TV and still nothing on. Why is that? Why is American TV so, well, crappy? Reality TV (why would I want to spend time with people that I wouldn't invite into my home?). Entirely un-funny sitcoms. Crime dramas so lacking in mystery that my cat could solve the crime before the TV detective can. One-hit wonder has-beens. Bad movies. Newsmagazines. Remember when TV was good? No, I'm not sure I can either.

Like most people, Husband and I have cable TV and yet with all those channels to chose from, we still can't find anything worth watching. Even PBS...I mean if I have to skip one more "Golden Age of Do-Wop" show I may cry. Yes, there are the good old PBS standbys. Masterpiece Theatre, Mystery, Nova, American Experience. But there is so much out there that I have absolutely no interest in seeing.

I have a few don't-miss favorites. I'm completely hooked on the Discovery Channel, especially Dirty Jobs andMythbusters. I love Torchwood and Doctor Who. And I'll watch pretty much anything about history....it doesn't even matter what the subject is. World War I. The Renaissance. Civil War medicine. Women's rights. The development of the atom bomb. I don't care. But one can only watch so much history before it begins to slide out of the brain.

I miss pure escapism. The simple joy of watching a comedy that is actually funny. (Reruns of I Love Lucy will always make me laugh more than any comedy currently on the air.) Or enjoying a drama with an intelligent script and solid acting (not just pretty people who know how to recite.) But today's audiences seem content with so little. And really, why should a network pay for writers and actors when it's so much cheaper to invite a bunch of second-rate celebrities to tango?

But I just wish America had higher standards? Where are today's classics? Will any show currently on the air rank up there with The Mary Tyler Moore Show in terms of being remembered? The only network show our TV ever turns to is Lost which Husband completely loves. I don't watch anything on network. I'm strictly a cable girl. And it seems that HBO is the answer to most people's hunger for good TV. But even there nothing appeals to me. I never could get into The Sopranos or The Wire.

When I was a kid (and I'm dating myself here), before there were 80 channels of cable, I remember my family turning the TV on after dinner and enjoying it all evening. OK, so not everything was great, but even something like The Waltons or The Wonderful World of Disney was better than How I Met Your Mother and Survivor: Pacoima.

Thank heavens for good books.

Puttin' on my cranky boots
- It's amazing that people will pay $30,ooo for a brand-new SUV that apparently doesn't have working turn signals. Why is that? Why do SUVs not come with working turn signals?
- Why is "popular" American music so bland and soulless? And when did lyrics stop making sense? Have you heard any song in the past year that you think will be remembered 30 years from now?
- Why is it that female newscasters all have to be thin and beautiful, but male newscasters can look have faces like the north end of a south-facing cow and still have a successful career?
- Why is it that conservative bumper-stickers are short and to the point but liberal bumper-stickers are 27-work epics that you can't read while driving behind them on the freeway? No, really. Why? For every "Support our troops" sticker there's some poor Prius driver with a sticker that reads "I really don't think war is a very good idea and I think we should all wage peace. Oh yeah, and don't eat meat."
- What is the appeal of American Idol? Why is it that a million people can tell you who won last season but can't tell you who is the Prime Minister of Great Britain?
- Is there a reason why so many has-beens have there own reality show? Is there a line? A waiting room? Does one show get cancelled and some secretary comes out into the waiting room and says "Erik Estrada, you're next?"
- How come the smaller the purse the more expensive it is? And are they small because you spent so much money on the damned purse that you can't afford stuff to put in it?
- Not knocking Christmas cheer and all that, but why doesn't it occur to people that the underprivileged kids who need presents at Christmas need new shoes in the summer, and school supplies in the fall, and a warm coat in the winter, and...?
- Why can't I seem to ever finish reading National Geographic before the next issue arrives?
- The man who invented informercials should burn in a fiery hell. Worst thing to ever happen to insomniacs.

That's it. Talk among yourselves.

A productive use of jail time
Convicted of fraud, Jonathan Lee Riches is spending his 8-year sentence in an obviously productive way. by suing pretty much everyone on the planet. He claims Tiger Woods stole his luggage, Barry Bonds benched-pressed him against his will, and Mike Tyson pulled the plug on his jukebox. He's apparently also suing Daniel Day-Lewis, George Orwell, and the Unabomber.

CD Pick of the Week: Kat Parra
Stylish, sexy Latin jazz from a local vocalist with an all-star band that includes percussionist John Santos, Ray Vega on trumpet, and Wayne Wallace on trombone. Her new release Azucar de Amor showcases her warm, delicious voice, effortless style, and engaging way of phrasing things. Several tracks are non-Latin tunes given a fresh (and colorful) coat of paint. Great stuff, one star each track. Lyrics in Spanish and English.

And the winner is...
During the recent Academy Awards they showed a montage of all the Best Picture winners over the years. It made Husband and I realize that there were many we'd never seen and we decided to remedy that. Within reason, of course. I'd rather have a bikini wax than ever have to sit through Terms of Endearment or Titanic ever again.

This past weekend we crossed one off the list. The wonderful 1966 costume drama A Man for All Seasons featuring Paul Scofield as Sir Thomas More. Since it deals with More's martyrdom for refusing to reject the Catholic Church and support Henry VIII's quest for wife number two, it lead to a discussion of moral courage. Husband said he'd probably wimp out and sign whatever they wanted. I said I wasn't sure. I don't think I'd ever be a religious martyr, but I'd like to think there are some things that I have the strength to die for. But I'm sure I'm idealizing my own courage. It's easy to paint yourself brave when safe at home with a mug of tea and a cat purring contentedly by your side.

We have two more Best Pictures saved in TiVo: the Charles Laughton/Clark Gable version of Mutiny on the Bounty and Kevin Costner's epic western Dances with Wolves. Husband has seen neither. (I love the man, but his film career is sadly lacking.)

It'll be interesting to see how far we get in this quest before we lose interest or forget our goal. Between the two of us I think we've seen most of them...though I'm a bit thin in the recent winners category. We're both very strong on the 30's and 40s films, but we do have a few gaps. Oh yes, and we've both seen Wings, which is good because that doesn't show up on TV very often.

We're hoping to get through all of them in 2008. I'll let you know how it goes.

Yeah, about that carjacking?
Um...she's 27. She's a stripper. And she has a curfew?