Jennet Snow

Agropolis Rex

Sat, 07 Jan 2006 04:09:31 GMT

I have decided to start a blog with a southern Minnesota theme.

Agropolis Now!

Will Write for Comments.

Or Food.

And One Day Later

Wed, 21 Dec 2005 01:36:31 GMT

Got a place to live.

Got a cellphone.

Got a bank account.

Now I just have to, like, move.

What a Difference a Month Makes

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 02:57:51 GMT

Well, I got my driver's license.

In the past month:

1. I've gotten exactly the job I've been wanting.
2. I've gotten a license.
3. I've gotten a car. (Thank you, dad, for your generosity. That's one hell of a princely gift.)

And tomorrow we'll be looking at apartments in Albert Lea. So:

4. I will get a new apartment.
5. I will move out of my parents' house.

Annnnd we can all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Get a Job, Na na Na Na, Na na na na Na

Fri, 02 Dec 2005 01:21:52 GMT

My resume and cover letter are done.

If anyone has any suggestions as to where I could apply as a reporter, post 'em.

Pain, Suffering, & Pie

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 17:07:44 GMT

I do SO love the holidays. This morning I woke up with a headache that ranked as probably the fifth or sixth worst I've ever had, definitely in the top ten. Got up anyway, took some coffee (caffeine dilates the blood vessels in the brain and can help headaches; it is one of the two effective ingredients in exedrin). Then I went to lie down, telling my mum I had a very bad headache. She made a sort of scoffing noise and asked if I was going to go to church. I said, "Probably not."

She gives me three ibuprofen, for which I am very grateful, and heads off to start getting ready. I just lay there trying not to move too much (and isn't it unfair to get a hangover when you don't drink?), and later she comes back to do her hair.

"Grandma and grampa both think you're faking it."

Hell Is Other People

Sat, 26 Nov 2005 18:36:31 GMT

It's amazing how awful it can be when a bunch of well-meaning people get together to tell you how to run your life. Needless to say, the holidays are a stressful time for many, but the stress can be greatly exacerbated by "helpful" family members who think you've slipped up in your life (or in my case, completely failed in every imaginable way).

Now of course, their suggestions are eminently sensible. So sensible in fact, that I had already been attempting them ("Get a job," and "Get your driver's license.") It did rather make me wonder why on earth they were bothering to elaborate on that particular theme.

The hard thing is keeping my temper, which I need to do because they really do mean well. There's no problem with their suggestions per se, it's just a problem of approach.

Telling a depressed person what to do, and that their moods and perceptions are their own problems, is not helpful. Telling them that they messed up and their debt is a natural result of that, is not helpful. Telling them that they need to get a job (for the millionth time) is also not helpful.

What would be helpful would be some positivity, since a depressed person has a lot of difficulty doing that for themselves. Instead of telling someone (like me) to get a job, for instance, one might say "Goodness, Jen, how about we work on your resume tonight?" or perhaps "Let's go jobhunting tomorrow, we can get coffee afterward." Instead of saying "You need your license," one might take the licenseless person out driving and buy them some hot chocolate. Instead of complaining about someone's odd sleeping habits, one might try to give them a reason to normalize said habits, like going out for breakfast or lunch (granted, one's work schedule CAN make that difficult). Instead of telling someone that their having no friends is their responsibility, their problem, and that they aren't making any effort, one might try introducing them to other people, or inviting them to social events. Instead of agreeing to chaperone dances on someone's birthday, one might oh, I don't know, do something with them on their birthday.

What one SHOULDN'T do, however, is get into a circle with two or three others and start making a laundry-list of everything the depressed person needs to do. Depressed people are easily overwhelmed by negativity or by being given tasks that seem impossible or difficult. Instead, try encouraging, offering help, and above all, being positive instead of critical. The slightest bit of criticism, to a depressed person, is going to be remembered for days, whereas positive things tend to get forgotten right off the bat.

Depressed people often don't feel active. Instead of bitching at them for sleeping all day, try making a point of scheduling things to do with them. Depressed people often feel lonely and mopey. Instead of complaining about sleeping habits, or being critical, try inviting them out to do things that they like. Instead of relentless reminding a depressed person about the mountains of debt they created... well, don't. There's no possible way you can be any harder on a depressed person than they are on themselves.

It isn't that I don't appreciate my parents' financial support, because I do. I am appreciative. They let me move back into their house, they're paying for all the food I eat, and they're paying for my medical bills ($300/month).

This is help, but it is not support. I understand where they're coming from, but I would almost rather not have their money if it meant they could be positive for me. What good is health insurance if you're so miserable no day goes by without a desperate prayer to God that you get hit by a bus as soon as possible?

Sony Lied, Computers Fried

Sat, 19 Nov 2005 04:50:08 GMT

Tonight another piece of the Sony debacle has come to my attention.

It was originally thought that 20 CDs had the XCP windows hack included on them.

In fact, fifty-two CDs had it.

Sony is now recalling all of them and sending purchasers new copies without the pernicious software on them. Talk about too little, too late!

Fifty-two, not twenty.

To find out if Sony has screwed you, click here!

Sony: Caught in the Act

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 03:58:05 GMT

I don't know how many of you have been listening to the latest in the war between the record companies and their customers (also known by said companies as "pirates," "online music traders," "copyright infringers," and "victims"), but the latest tactic consists of embedding spyware on the computers of users foolish enough to *gasp!* try to play CDs on their computers.

That's right. Those who try to play CDs on their computers. Not record. Not convert to MP3s for their own use or anyone else's. Not burn and sell pirated copies in foreign countries for huge profits. We're talking anyone who uses their computer as a convenient CD player because it displays the names of the songs and artists and enables them to change the order of the songs easily. A lot of people do this.

It isn't the data that Sony is stealing (and I use the word "stealing" judiciously here), which is a listener's IP address and music preferences (although that is certainly somewhat creepy). The real problem is that these discs (there are 19 confirmed as containing this technology) do not ask before they install the software. Nobody gets to decide whether their data goes straight to Sony's marketing division; they just decide whether to stick the CD in their drive or not. Pretty slick, huh?

But even worse, the software initially did not come off the computer. Not only did it take a Microsoft engineer to find the software in the first place, but that same engineer could not figure out how to remove it. What hope do average users have? In addition, the software essentially hacks windows, burying itself so deep in the code that it's probably easier to remove mildew from your basement than it is to get rid of Sony's little ones and zeros. Plus, the software provides a conveniently wide-open window for hackers.

I have no idea how they thought they would get away with this. I hope that the Class Action suit being talked about moves forward. I also hope that Microsoft itself notices that another multi-million dollar corporation has deliberately propagated a program that hacks the Microsoft software, necessitating a patch of some kind.

And no, Sony, I am not willing to take your word for it that only 19 CDs have the program. I am not willing to take your word for it that the patch you have released can expunge the malignant program you have released, nor do I believe it can make pigs fly, or cure dandruff. In fact, I no longer believe anything you say, although I am a little curious about one thing.

How did you think you would get away with it, anyway?

Visit from JoseB!

Wed, 06 Jul 2005 03:23:10 GMT

Well, JoseB's visit is going well. Right now he and Jeh are playing Baldur's Gate, but before we played an extremely silly card game that involved making up your own rules, drawing a representation on the cards, and then playing them. It was a lot of fun, and quite, quite crazy. It's kinda too bad there were only three of us, but what the hey.

We also got a whole bunch of fruit, so we've been snacking all evening, but in a healthy way. Peaches and plums and pluots and strawberries, along with some iced tea. I dunno what we're going to do tomorrow; we may go to the Como Zoo, or else to the Sculpture Gardens by the Walker (or as James Lileks calls it, WOK-AR, God of Art That Makes People Feel Bad For Not Getting It).

Still have to get to bed at a decent time because Chris has work tomorrow and I'm still kinda tired from my massive cleaning binge, although I'm very proud I accomplished so much.

Woot.

Harry Potter Fanfic: Guaranteed No Sues.

Wed, 04 May 2005 23:09:05 GMT

Wrote a short Harry Potter fanfic. The first part is already up; I'll likely put up the second part later today. It's quite short and deals with Salazar Slytherin and the falling-out between him and the other three founders.

The Slytherin Legacy

Reviews appreciated.

Second Day of School

Wed, 08 Sep 2004 21:01:09 GMT

Well, it's been forever and ever since I updated this thing, so I MUST have lost my audience by now. If I ever had one to begin with.

But I thought it was worth starting over yet again, as it helps me keep track of what in the world I'm up to.

Actually that'd be a pretty short entry! School. School school school.

THREE of my FOUR incompletes are taken care of. I have one left. I've also registered for classes here at Luther: Ecclesiastical Latin, Wisdom Literature, 1 and 2 Chronicles, and of course, History of the American Church.

So far I adore my Wisdom teacher, she's wonderfully funny and also, has a surpassing interest in feminism. I'm looking forward to hitting that topic.

Had a doctor's appointment today. I'm still on the Lexapro, it's going well. Nothing's wrong with me at all now, yay me!

... I've been drinking coffee so I'm a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bit hyper right now, if you can't tell. Figured I'd treat myself to some real coffee at the coffeeshop while I was down there, and also picked up some fresh, delicious, soft, white bread at the bakery. Mmm. Am considering skipping dinner and just pigging out on bread, butter, jam, and slices of muenster cheese (which I found out I liked solely due to the fact that we served it at work--they have definitely broadened my food horizons there!).

Other than that: Nothing much new. People are recognizing me in the halls now, and saying hi, which is cool, but I feel kinda bad that I can't remember anybody else's names, though I recognize their majors and what classes I know them from instead. Bad ole' memory for names, the sole exception being historical names. Evidently I remember the dead better than the living. The deader the better!

Anyway, I'm having a good if very busy (woo homework!) time. Much love, toodles!

Church History

Wed, 08 Oct 2003 04:21:28 GMT

"There are two kinds of people in this world. People who divide everything into two groups, and people who don't."
--Prof. Sundberg

-"With that little idea in mind, let's take one glacial step forward..."
--Prof. Sundberg

"We're so dangerous, we're X-rated... Jesus, the name that can't be spoken! Don't say it!"
--Prof. Sundberg

Why the Danish church used laypeople in ordination ceremonies:
"The purpose of the layperson is to pollute the ordination..."
--Prof. Sundberg.

-"This is the faith that lasts. All the rest are cucumbers and melons."
--Prof. Sundberg

-"The only question for Lutherans in Salt Lake City was 'My daughter will not marry a Mormon.'"
--Prof. Sundberg

"There are some things that are more important than Ecumenical unity, and you'd better figure out what they are."
--Prof. Sundberg

"At my age there are only certain pleasures I can get out of life.... having my prejudices fulfilled is one of them."
--Prof. Sundberg.

In the early church:
"Who cares what [Jesus] said, he's coming back soon!"
--Prof. Sundberg.

"I'm not asking you to like it. I don't really care!"
--Prof. Sundberg

On the Montanists, a heretical Christian sect:
"Somebody claims to be the Holy Spirit, you call 911! You don't listen to anything he says!"
--Prof. Sundberg

"Let's get ready, put on our white robes, and climb the mountain! If we have time, we'll carve shaker furniture..."
--Prof. Sundberg

"Walter is a terrible name... but in Medieval Germany, it meant 'horny warrior!'"
--Prof. (Walter) Sundberg

Quotes from the Profs

Wed, 10 Sep 2003 04:24:03 GMT

"You're going to be doing a lot of the same things whether you have a yoke... I mean stole... around your neck or not."
-Throntveit

"That would be dumb."
-Fryer

"God always comes down."
-Fryer

"There's nothing any of us can ever do or say that would make us worthy enough to turn that arrow [from God to people] around."
-Fryer

"They say their job is to find the lost. I AM the lost. Every day I need to be converted to Christ."
-Fryer

"In the end, the good guys always win."
-Fryer

"In history, size matters."
-Sundberg

Adults like to prank:
"And he stood up and said, 'Whoever let off that firecracker last night, I damn you to hell.'"
-Sundberg

Festivities of the Day

Tue, 02 Sep 2003 14:47:45 GMT

We just had opening chapel at Luther today. Now, as much as I hate getting up in the morning, I'd have to say waking up today at 8:15 was well worth it.

"God likes pizzazz" and "Imagination is important" are really things that I can be enthusiastic about.

Of course, I get the impression that a lot of things will be that way at this school. I really think I can do well here.

Must go, the President has an address in fifteen minutes and I don't want to be late twice in one day.

Books I Bought Today For $1

Sat, 07 Jun 2003 22:57:20 GMT

Ship of Magic, Robin Hobb
The Moor, Laurie King
The Crucible, Arthur Miller
The Space Merchants, Frederik Puhl and C. M. Kornbluth
The Stainless Steel Rat Saves the World, Harry Harrison
A Stainless Steel Rat is Born, Harry Harrison
The Andromeda Strain, Michael Crichton
The Copenhagen Connection, Elizabeth Peters
The Lovers, Philip Jose Farmer
Rendezvous with Rama, Arthur C. Clarke
The Stainless Steel Rat's Revenge, Harry Harrison
The Stainless Steel Rat, Harry Harrison
Myth Directions, Robert Asprin
The Divine Comedy, Hell, trans. Dorothy Sayers
The Divine Comedy, Purgatory, trans. Dorothy Sayers
The Divine Comedy, Paradise, trans. Dorothy Sayers
Bill, the Galactic Hero, Harry Harrison
Tunnel Through the Deeps, Harry Harrison
World of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Le Cid, Pierre Corneille
Marat/Sade, Peter Weiss
R. U. R., Karel Capek
Feminist Literary Criticism
Killobyte, Piers Anthony
The King's General, Daphne du Maurier
Everyman and Medieval Miracle Plays
Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
Kindred, Octavia Butler
Ayesha, H. Rider Haggard
She, H. Rider Haggard
Milton's Complete Poems
Myth Adventures, Robert Asprin, which includes the following:
Another Fine Myth
Myth Conceptions
Myth Directions
Hit or Myth

More Wulf Issues

Thu, 05 Jun 2003 04:50:59 GMT

I hope he's all right.

And I would like to be his friend again at some point in the future.

However, I can't be around him again until after he's fallen out of love with me.

Will wait however long it takes.

Murr, quiz.

Mon, 02 Jun 2003 08:01:01 GMT

Which Saturnalia Character are you?

Artists Wanted (Nonfiction)

Wed, 14 Aug 2002 05:08:26 GMT

I have the first complete story script for the comic done. It should be about eleven strips long, and involves a coffee shop. (No, it's not an adaptation of the coffee story.)

I would like to get an artist to do this storyline of the comic. (Note: This is not a forever commitment, as the premise of my comic is that one artist does a storyline and another does a different storyline.)

If eleven strips are too many for you, I am also looking for artists to illustrate any of my poetry (well any of my GOOD poetry). That would be a nice one-shot deal for those of you with little time and/or comics of your own.

Feel free to leave a message here, or write me an email at clytemnestraofatreus@yahoo.com.

I have MANY poems to choose from, some serious and some silly, some short and some long. I can send you a collection of them upon request and you can pick which one you'd like to do.

I especially love "realistic" types of art, but really, I'm hardly in a position to discriminate given the fact that there are a million writers and about six artists who don't already have a comic.

What kind of Goth am I?

Mon, 29 Jul 2002 05:10:02 GMT

What
Goth Are You?

ARGH.

Mon, 29 Jul 2002 04:19:21 GMT

I hate to use this space to do a rant, because it's supposed to be my writing journal, but maybe it would feel good to whine for a little while.

And now that I've stated my intent, I find it hard to even start.

In one sense, I have no right to complain at all. I've chosen my own friends over the years, and if they aren't good, it's my fault for choosing the wrong ones. However, the question isn't really whether they're good friends or not, it's what kind of good friends they are.

My friends are great friends, as long as I'm convenient to them. Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I'm the convenience food of the great mall of friendship. I have at least three friends who haven't done anything with me since school started, because they are "too busy." Now, don't get me wrong. I understand business. BUT IT'S BEEN THREE MONTHS! You can't make an HOUR of time in THREE MONTHS???

Somehow I doubt that.

I have two other good friends besides those three, though.

One of them calls me up whenever she's upset, and whenever she's really bored. When she's not upset or she can find someone else to do something with, she doesn't bother with me.

The only friend I haven't mentioned so far is my REAL friend, the one who does stuff with me at least once a week, usually twice a week. Fun stuff! And she's come to me when she's upset, and I've gone to her when she was upset. Quid pro quo. We have fun.

So I really shouldn't complain. I have a real, REAL friend.

As for the rest of them... they can go jump in a lake. I'm not a book to be picked up when bored or a movie to be seen when you can't think of anything better to do. I am a HUMAN BEING.

And I am tired of calling and calling to see if you want to do anything only to be told for the hundredth time that you just don't have time for me, unlike your job, your family, your girlfriend, and your canoe. I'm sick of hearing it.

Hey, whaddaya know. I do feel better.

A Fairly Bad Poem

Mon, 29 Jul 2002 03:54:19 GMT

Once upon a time
In a faraway land
With witches and warlocks
And sea and sand
I met a fair maiden
And asked for her hand.

Once upon a time
In a land farther still
With stockcars and techies
And their President Bill
I met a brave knight
And told him "I will."

Eh. Was that even worth writing down? Probably not. But oh well! Might as well make people suffer! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

I don't think this is very accurate.

Thu, 25 Jul 2002 13:53:58 GMT

The test was really cool, but how could I be a ranger when I HATE nature???

I Am A: Lawful Neutral Half-Elf Ranger

Alignment:
Lawful Neutral characters believe in the triumph of law and order above all else. It does not matter whether the leader is for good or evil; the leader will be followed, because the order they provide is the most important thing.

Race:
Half-Elves are a cross between a human and an elf. They are smaller, like their elven ancestors, but have a much shorter lifespan. They are sometimes looked down upon as half-breeds, but this is rare. They have both the curious drive of humans and the patience of elves.

Primary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.

Secondary Class:
Monks are strange and generally not understood by the world at large. They live apart from people, and follow strict codes that restrain their behavior and lifestyle. They have an exceptionally calm outlook on life, and generally do not resort to violence unless absolutely necessary. Even when they do, their code of conduct forbids the use of all weapons - except their hands. As such, monks are extremely skilled at hand-to-hand combat, and no other style.

Deity:
Silvanus is the True Neutral god of nature. He is also known as the Patron of Druids. His followers believe in the perfect balance of nature, and believe that nature's bounty is preferable to any other 'civilizing' method. They wear leather or metallic scale mail, constructed of leaf-shaped scales. Silvanus's symbol is an oak leaf.

Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy ofNeppyMan (e-mail)

For Love of Coffee

Sat, 20 Jul 2002 05:04:17 GMT

*****THIS IS COPYRIGHTED. STEAL AND DIE.*****

***It is also one of the pieces I'm developing for my thesis. Therefore constructive criticism is welcome. Go ahead and post comments.***

One of the perks of being a barista is getting to see all the people who come in here. It’s almost like going to the zoo, only in a zoo the animals are caged and don’t usually ask for cappuccinos with whole milk.

Some of them are pretty straight-laced, like me. They come from the nearby college and always ask if they can pay with plastic. (They can’t. We don’t have the machine for it.) Sometimes we get the more colorful students, too, and by color I mean mostly hair color: fluorescent orange, neon blue, and that color fashion people call “chartreuse.” Looks like “ugly” to me, but like I said, I’m pretty boring. Occasionally the frat boys hit on me, forcing me to employ the time-honored “Oops, did I spill hot coffee on your lap?” tactic. Some of the people who come in here are neighborhood people, too. They don’t have that “My daddy’s paying for my tuition so won’t you get me an extra-large skim decaf latte with an extra shot of espresso and no foam whatsoever and make sure you leave at least enough room for four teaspoons of sugar” look that the students do.

I also get fifty percent off on my coffee, which actually saves me more money than is ever in my tip jar full of corroded pennies. Coffee’s a strange thing, but I like it. Some guy in a jungle noticed his goats acting frisky after eating some weird beans, and immediately choked down a few himself, discovering the coffee bean. He was lucky; safe for goats doesn’t necessarily mean safe for humans, and there are an awful lot of things that can kill you in a rainforest. And then someone had to devise the process for making coffee. What kind of nut does it take to say, “Wow, these beans taste horrible. Maybe if I roast them, grind them up, heat up some water, pour it over the crushed beans, throw the beans away, and drink the water?” I don’t think most of the people who come in here think about things like that. Of course, I’m not sure they think about anything at all other than whether they want cream or not.

This girl might. I had just poured the decaf beans into the hopper on top of the grinder when she came in, and was busy lingering over the heavy scent of coffee beans. Then I looked up, ready to take her order.

She looked absolutely nothing like me. She had short bleached-blonde hair with the ends dyed bright red; it stuck out all over her skull like little tongues of flame. I have thick black hair in a braid that goes down to my waist. She had a pointy little face with a Jodie Foster nose that could’ve cut cheese. I have a wide, blunt face, with a nose that looks like my mom had a habit of smacking me against doorframes as a child. This girl could probably have stood to lose twenty or so pounds, and I’m too skinny to fit into normal clothes.

But none of that really mattered. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen this side of Japanese animation. They practically glowed. And they were exactly the color of a twelve-ounce coffee in a clear mug, no cream, no sugar. Incandescent coffee.

I only saw her from the back, at first, because she was looking at some postcards on the other side of the room. I took the lid off the espresso machine and poured caffienated espresso in, wondering if it was time to take out the garbage yet. Then she turned around and those fire-roasted eyes hit me like six shots of espresso all at once.

I dropped the lid onto the floor, and was too stunned to notice. It rolled around for a few seconds and finally stopped when it hit the counter.

I never believed in love at first sight until today.

It was those eyes that did it. I could tell that her hair was an extension of her personality, that she was on fire for some important cause or other. Maybe it was saving the whales, or the rainforests, or gay marriage. I didn’t care what it was, but if that girl wanted to save a whale I was willing to damn well swim out and put a leash on one for her. If she pointed at a tree, I’d utilize my blue belt-level skills to karate chop anyone even thinking about a buzzsaw.

One look from those eyes and I was ready to die for her. I was ready to kill for her. I was certainly ready to buy her coffee.

If only I could figure out what to say. “Hello, I love you won’t you tell me your name” was already taken. “Please please please give me your phone number” just sounded pathetic. “Please tell me you’re a lesbian too” sounded like a line you’d hear at a bar, and this girl was too important to lose.

So logically, I made this weird wordless croaking noise instead.

After I cleared my throat a couple of times I managed to come up with something a little more appropriate, but it was more of a reflex than anything else. “What can I get for you?” I asked. If I were ever in a traumatic accident, the first thing I’d say after I regained consciousness would be “What can I get for you?” As a pick-up line “What can I get for you?” is about as effective as “Would you like fries with that?”

In the flickering fluorescent light, I noticed that her eyebrows were white with red tips, too. They scrunched together adorably in a little fuzzy fiery line. She didn’t answer; maybe I’d whispered it by mistake. I stuck to the familiar, comforting lines: “What can I get for you?”

She smiled suddenly, and I swear the room literally brightened up. Maybe it was just the effect of that fire-hair. She pointed at the sign overhead that listed our drink-of-the-day; today it was a depth charge, a nasty concoction involving a shot of espresso lurking at the bottom of a cup of coffee, biding its time. “What size?”

She pointed at the twenty-ounce cup, and I fell in love with her again. She was a real coffee-lover. I knew somehow that she would never condescend to take cream, and certainly not sugar.

But I was dying, dying to hear her voice. What if she screeched like Fran Drescher? If she did, I’d beat myself to death with the grinder right there in the shop. Either way, I had to know. “What’s your name?” I asked.

The eyebrows scrunched up again, and I repeated myself. Was it just the background noise from the ice machine, or was the roaring in my ears making me speak too quietly? I couldn’t tell, but she smiled again, and her coffee eyes crinkled. She put her mocha-colored purse down on the plastic counter and suddenly she started to sign, way faster than I could keep up with, with fluttering, elegant hands. Her fingernail polish was bright red.

I panicked, squeaked “What?” and asked her to repeat herself. I’d learned the letters in fifth grade, but that was an awful long time ago and she had to sign her name twice before I could figure it out. “Sarah,” I repeated after her. “I’m Meredith.” My clumsy, bony fingers took forever to spell it out, and she laughed a couple of times. I wonder what I had said, exactly, and decided not to ask. Then I signed my nickname. “M-e-r-r-y.”

I asked her where she was from, giving up on sign language for the moment. She could read lips pretty well. I’d just been talking too fast before. I damned myself for an inconsiderate bitch as she answered, spelling it out slowly so that I could understand. “C-h-i-c-a-g-o.” That wasn’t too far away from Minneapolis. I could move to Chicago, if she wanted. Or Timbuctoo, if she preferred.

Suddenly I realized I hadn’t made her drink yet, and mentally begged her forgiveness. Then I cursed my cowardice and pulled a short shot of espresso. The machine whirred and spat, and an ounce of espresso dribbled out into a tiny metal pitcher. I poured it into a big coffee cup, and filled the cup the rest of the way with fire-roasted coffee, the kind that costs two hour’s wages a pound.

I set the cup on the counter, and shook my head when she gestured at the cash register. “O-n m-e,” I signed, and she got this real puzzled look, like she wasn’t sure what was going on with that. I made the sign for “Please,” one of the very few full words I actually remembered.

She said “Thank you” with tiny cream-colored hands, and looked at something behind me: the hideous, orange, three-foot diameter clock on the wall. Her java-eyes got even bigger, and she grabbed a plastic lid from the little wooden shelf beside the postcards. She made the sign for goodbye, turned her back to me again, and before I could blink, or grab her arm, or shriek “Stop that girl!” she was out the door of the shop and on a busy street near the university at noon.

By the time I managed to run around the counter, bash my hand on the chair, hit my knee on a table, and sprint out the door, her fire-hair was out of sight. I ran around the corner. I checked all the cars on the block, and all the pedestrians, but I didn’t meet those caffienated eyes anywhere. She was gone. I only knew her first name, and she was gone.

Life is so unfair sometimes. I sat down, crushed some beans, poured hot water over them, threw away the beans, and drank the water, wondering if I should go out, buy some goats, and move to Timbuctoo.

I haven’t decided yet.

Love Lies Bleeding

Thu, 18 Jul 2002 04:54:52 GMT

Love lies bleeding
A gasping breathless death
Love lies bleeding
Passion's final dream
Love lies bleeding
A fair and savoured sight
Love lies bleeding
A fiery graveside shell
Love lies bleeding
A sinner's fare is paid
Love lies bleeding
Watered deserts bloom
Love lies bleeding
Grieve not, grieve not
For me love--
I do not go alone.

Things in Heaven and Earth 7: That's Why They Call It

Tue, 16 Jul 2002 20:50:25 GMT

Roger held Fluffy tightly as he walked down the stairs of his building. His sister followed, tiptoeing, like Captain Kirk in an old Star Trek episode trying to sneak around a sleeping alien bad guy. She couldn't have been more obvious, unless of course she'd gotten herself into full Were-Coyote mode. But all that would happen later.

For the first time in his life, Roger looked almost normal, wearing black slacks, a white shirt, and a black sport-coat. He felt that the green combat boots added to the outfit, providing some color that the bilious orange and yellow tie couldn't quite match. Lily wore the same kind of jacket, shirt, and dress pants as her brother, but her tie was more somber: purple and blue paisley. Her bright red stiletto-heeled shoes made up for the tie.

Both had stylish black sunglasses, despite the fact that it was still early in the afternoon. The sun shown through the glass door as Roger, in the lead, pushed it open.

"Got ya covered, bro!" gasped Lily, out of breath from jumping around on the steps spy-style. "What's the plan?"

"You'll find out when we get there," Roger answered, patting Fluffy's grey-ridged body. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure himself, and planned to make it up as he went on. A couple of his more interesting inventions nestled in his coat's more capacious pockets, emitting an occasional confused-sounding "bleep!"

They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, eyes rapidly adjusting to the sun. Then Roger strode forward to an ancient, though well-cared-for, monster of a black car. He reached for the handle as Lily said, "Hey, I didn't know you had a car!"

"I don't," he answered enigmatically, and opened the door.

The life-sized inflatable doll on the passenger side of the car shriveled up when Lily opened the door. Roger tried out a Mike Green grin on his sister, but it failed miserably. "For carpooling," he muttered sheepishly. "If you have a passenger you can be in the diamond lane."

Lily rolled her eyes, and picked up the object on her side of the dashboard: A package of Marlboros. "You don't smoke, either, do you."

"No," her brother answered amiably. "It's 10 miles to the museum, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses."

"It's not dark!" she protested, and Roger hit a button on the dashboard.

The windows darkened to an even brown, and to the pair inside the car, the landscape outside looked as dark as night.

"Okay," Lily admitted grudgingly. "Hit it!"