Bad Mo-joe

When Scott and I were in Minneapolis, my coffeemaker was the item I most anticipated getting out of storage. Scott's coffeemaker made good, fine coffee, and it was programmable, which was nice, but mine was programmable AND had a grinder on it so we could buy whole beans and have fresh ground coffee. I thought about it every morning when I made coffee, and every time I had to put bags of whole beans through the grinder at the grocery store.

The coffeemaker had been a wedding present. I was emphatic about putting it on the registry (although Dan and I already had three coffeemakers bewteen us), and I was thrilled when it arrived. At the end of our marriage, when Dan and I divied up the stuff and he said, "You can take everything on the counters," I was glad that I got to keep it.

So, when Scott and I moved here, the coffeemaker was one of the first items set up on the counter. I ran the basket and grinder through the dishwasher, although the inside of the machine was still stained from countless pots of coffee Dan and I finished together. I ran vinegar and industrial cleaners through it, but to no avail. The inside of it was still stained.

Eventually, I stopped using it during the week. It was a pain to clean, and I was only drinking one cup of coffee in the morning -maybe two sometimes- and it just wasn't worth the cleaning for two cups of coffee. Scott's coffeemaker, which was much easier to clean and far more practical, was in the back of a cabinet, because it seemed ridiculous to have two coffeemakers out on the counter.

It started to bother me. I figured out how to clean out the stains, but it was still a pain to clean out the basket and grinder every day. Even after removing the stains, the coffee tasted a little weird compared to what I got in coffee shops and restaurants. Not using it bothered me because it was nice, and expensive. Using it bothered me because the coffee was just ok, and it was a pain to clean. And it was big. And it didn't match the kitchen. And it was from my marriage.

The coffemaker had bad mojo.

So I listed it on freecycle. Lots of people wanted it. I got more than a dozen responses in one night. I gave it to a nice woman with small kids who picked it up on the way home from church. She was happy. I'm happy. I released the bad mojo from my kitchen, and a nice lady got a fancy coffeemaker for free.

Scott's coffeemaker has been in operation again for two weekends now. I ran some vinegar through it, got new water filter inserts, and a bag of ground coffee. It takes up less space on the counter, it is much easier to clean, it matches our kitchen, and the coffee tastes really good.

Inausearation Day

Unfortunately, the inauguration was on at the gym today. More unfortunate was that I committed myself to spend 40 minutes on the elliptical machine, which meant that there was no escape. I considered asking one of the desk people to change the channel -ESPN, cartoons, anything else- but fearing retribution, I stayed on the elliptical, trying figuring out what I would have said if I had asked them to change the channel:

That anyone who really wanted to watch it would have stayed home to watch it, and anyone in the gym at that moment probably didn't care all that much, or like me would be averting their eyes.
That to some of us, a sitting president spending $150,000,000 to pat himself on the back is deeply offensive.
That to some of us, today is not quite as bad as the day our first marriage ended, but it's close.
That throwing up on an elliptical machine probably is not a form of free speech protected by the first ammendment, but it should be.

I also considered waiting until the end of my workout, then walking up to the TV, raising up my right hand, and giving the inauguration the finger for about five or ten seconds.

But I did none of those things, although I did engage in a minor bird-flipping with my arm at my side. I don't think anyone saw, but it made me feel better.

And, I didn't spend any money today. It's not so much because of the goofy "not one damn dime" protests, although that did put the thought in my head. Realisticly, a few people buying all their stuff on the 19th and 21st instead of the 20th isn't exactly going to stick it to the man. It's more that after watching the inauguration of a guy who told us that we could defeat terrorists by going to the mall, and after a few weeks of clearing the house of all of the crap that I've unwisely bought and dragged around with me for years, and after driving for several miles behind a Ford Explorer with a bumper sticker on it that said, "Annoy a Liberal: Work - Succeed - Be Happy," well, after all of that, I don't think I really want to be a part of this economy anymore. It's just too fuckin' stupid.

Of course, I am going to be a part of the economy, because I live here and need to do things like eat and have shelter. But I believe the unbelievable has happened. It's true: I'm tired of shopping.

I'm tired of stuff. I'm tired of new clothes, tired of new shoes, tired of needing a bigger and bigger closet / house / bank account to handle all of my stuff. I feel like I am in some kind of store spending some kind of money every damn day. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the message that for me to be successful, my house needs to be accessorized seasonally, my teeth need to be whiter, my hair needs to be shinier, my car needs to be more entertaining, and my memories need to be more preciously preserved. I'm tired of this bullshit, and I don't need it. My house needs to contain the items that sustain me, my teeth need to be healthy, my hair needs to be clean, my car needs to get me where I'm going, and so help me god, if anyone ever comes near me with a Creative Memories (TM) catalog, I will self-flagellate with it until they depart in fear.

Anyway, the point here is that I detest the president as much scrapbooking. That's really saying something.

Stop Making Sense

For a while, I didn't think that music on my iPod would drown out the dreck at the gym because the audiobooks didn't really do it. But last week I discovered that the iPod does, in fact, have the ability to overpower even the dreckiest dreck crap ass crap, as long as I turn it up really, really, REALLY loud. It has made the elliptical machine an even greater release. The first night was Stone Temple Pilots, and the next couple of days were the Talking Heads. It felt fantastic, I had a great workout, and several times finished in a fantastic mood when I had started fairly aggravated.

The one problem, though, is that Stop Making Sense, while a great workout album (as long as I skip track 2), makes me want to butt dance, which is both dangerous and embarrassing on an elliptical machine. So I exercised some restraint (HA! Exercise! Get it?) and kept from dancing, but my urge to butt dance got me thinking about the dog's butt dance, and how that might translate into a human butt dance, and then I just started laughing like a freaking psychopath.

But I felt much, much better.

Accrued Interest

Talking to Dave this weekend was excruciating.

I don't think I have ever felt less spectacular about my life than after talking to an intelligent person who knew me when. I've pretty much cemented myself as a suburban housewife -in the midwest no less- who doesn't have to think anymore. Of course, I could always change this. But to what?

Objectively, my life should be far more interesting at this point. I'd like to think that the last four years of getting married, divorced, re-partnered, packing up and moving halfway across the country (twice) would at least give me a story to tell. But it doesn't, really. The only story I am telling is that I am a suburban housewife, who, at one point was going to make it big, but just kind of fell apart.

How exciting. So now what do I do with all of that information from the first 20 or 25 years of my life, about how smart, interesting, different, and talented I am? For three decades I've been carrying around all of this useless fucking potential. I wish some one, somewhere, just once, had told me to my face that I would never amount to anything. And not "never amounting to anything" in a sort of seedy and mysterious way, but "never amount to anything" in an average and polite kind of way.

Then there would be a fire. Then there would be a reason to move. How the fuck do I rebel against a past that did its best to set me up for great success? What the hell is the point? So, great, everyone has known that I am smart and have enormous potential for 30 years. Great. There is nothing left for me to do here. I have nothing to prove.

Dave kept going on about girlfriends he's had over the years and all of the women coming over his house that night, and somewhere in the midst of all of that, the dog threw up; I was forced to end our conversation abruptly and go off in search of the carpet cleaner. (Which Scott left upstairs. Empty - requiring another trot around the house to find the cleaning solution, while the dog barf seeped deeper and deeper into the carpet, closer with each passing second to qualifying as a permanent fixture of our home.)

I haven't called him back. I don't want to. It's not his fault.

Name That Tune

I've been hearing it every time I've turned on the radio since Thanksgiving. It's this commercial for a car donation charity. The commercial starts with a folksy lead-in on an acoustic guitar, and goes into a song sung by a really obnoxious sounding kid. One of those kids who oversings, with his mouth wide open like a giant bass.

"1-877-Kars for kids, K-A-R-S, Kars for kids
1-877-Kars for kids
DoNATE you car TUHday"

Then an older Tom Bodette-ish guy sings the same thing and the music gets softer as he tells us we should donate our used cars. Then the old guy and the kid sing together and the commercial goes out.

Thing is, the lead in at the very beginning sounds EXACTLY like the four-toothed lover song that Scott and I wrote back in Philly. So, for just a pavlovian instant I get sort of giddy. When the kid starts singing, the letdown and the irritation is so much more intense.

Anyway, the four-toothed lover song. It's about central PA.

Four Toothed Lover

I just walked outside today
My car was parked so far away
Think I'm gonna go to the store
And get me a new pack of rubbers (rubbers!)
I'm gonna git me some, I'm gonna git me some
From my four-toothed lover
(Then I'm gonna go have me a beer)

I'm gonna see her late tonight
I bet she'll be lookin' mighty tight
Think I'm gonna go down to the store
Get me a new pack of rubbers (rubbers!)
I'll get a stinky finger, I'll get a stinky finger
From my four-toothed lover
(Yeah, then I'm gonna go have me a beer)

When I suck them big old toes
She's like a german shepherd with a garden hose
Think I'm gonna go down to the store
Get me a new pack of rubbers (rubbers!)
I'm gonna suck them toes, I'm gonna suck them toes
Of my four-toothed lover
(Yeah, then I'm gonna go have me a beer)

Navel Gazing

I noticed a dark spot in my belly button. Figuring it was a piece of lint or dirt, I tried to remove it while I was in the shower. It was very small and black, lodged down in a fold of skin, and it wouldn't budge. I started wondering if it was not a piece of dirt, but a black spot on my skin. Bellybutton cancer. I tried some more to remove it, nearly turning my belly button inside out. No dice. It seemed more and more likely with each attempt that it was part of my skin. Cancer of the belly button! With the hot water on my back and intense focus on the middle part of my body, not to mention the stress of the possibility of terminal bellybutton disease, I started to get lightheaded. But I was determined to get to the bottom of this. Maybe it was neither lint nor cancer, but an actual hole in my skin? I persisted. The water beat down on my back. My vision started to get filmy. Finally, just as I was about to grab the shower door to keep from falling over, the black spot dislodged and went down the drain. Man, what a relief.

The Closure Myth III: Forgiveness is to Pants as...

Perhaps a better way to illustrate the point about the act of forgiving negating the essence of forgiveness is through analogy. Forgiving some one is like losing weight. Forgiveness does not occur at the moment of declaration any more than weight is lost at the moment one decides to lose weight. Rather, it is the ABSENCE of the situation that is recognized. Having decided to lose weight, one may engage in behaviors that have to do with weight loss and suddenly find that pants that once fit are now too big. But the weight loss does not occur at the moment of declaration, nor does it occur at the moment that the big pants go on. It occurs unconsciously over time. And once it has occurred, there is no need for it to be declared. I would no more go around telling people that I am losing weight once I have already lost the weight I needed to lose than I would go around telling people I am forgiving them if I had already forgiven them.

On an entirely unrelated note, I am listening to "Billy Breathes" by Phish. I think I listened to it once right after I bought it and didn't particularly like it. I wonder why - it's a much better album than I remembered.

Happy New Year!