I am feeling stressed to the point of breaking tonight, with one thing after another. I just sent out a slew of resumes, so wish me luck.

On the upside, tomorrow is May 1st, AKA May Day. Whether you plan to celebrate Beltane, International Workers' Day, or just radio for help I hope you have a good one. Pick some flowers, blog naked or something.

(I know a lot of people already discovered this site a while ago, but even though I heard of it months ago, today is the first time I bothered to visit.)

(Thanks to Mighty Girl.)

I really do own too many things. I plan to spend the next three months evaluating and streamlining my possessions. Maybe this year, moving will be a little less arduous.

Damn. Now that's surreal.

I'd be happy to IM, but I avoid AOL like a virus. I like Yahoo, though have recently succumbed to peer pressure and got MSN. (I feel so dirty 'bout that.)

Anandi Gandolfi wrote:

The question what do I want is very different from the question what do I
need..

What do I want?
1. To be Very very rich
2. To be in love and have that same person be in love with me
3. To be happy very day of my life
4. not to be in pain any more.

what do I need? to remember that life is a gift, not something to be taken
for granted

Little Bird wrote:

I want alligators to hatch out of my Christmas ornaments. I want my stuffed
owl to be able to coo and nuzzle when I'm not feeling well. I want to be
able to wriggle my nose. I want it to snow in huge, white, cotton ball
flakes and still be eighty degrees outside. I want the trees to look purple
and the stars to look like light bulbs and the light bulbs to look like
stars. I want there to be music to warn me when I really, really, really
shouldn't open that door. I want to have a love theme. I want it to start
raining at the perfect moment.

In short, I want the magic. I want the happily ever after. And I want it
for all of you too.

Solstice kisses. Blessed be.

Carl Klinger wrote:

Q. What do you want?

A. To get away. That's all.

Kerri Flippin wrote:

I want peace, serenity, and time to spend with the people I love.

Jackie Herman wrote:

What do I want? Geez I could go all deep and sappy and say that all I want
is World Peace...which don't get me wrong that would be WONDERFUL, but lets
be realistic. I'm a greedy little kid when it comes down to it and if your
asking me what "I" want it's probably going to get extremely materialistic.
What "I" want is a 2002 or latest version of a 4x4 California Concepts Black
Extended Cab Dual Diesel Dodge Ram Cumens Pickup Truck. SOLID black like
the sports ones only not the sports logo..it's tacky you know. That's what
"I" want. I don't want to have to care about gas prices and the ozone layer.
Or the fact that I'm indestructible to every little vehicle out there. I
want it I WANT IT NOW!!!!!!!

Jacki Olson wrote:

That is really a loaded question! I could go with the pageant style answer
and say world peace, end to disease and hunger, etc., etc....but that is a
given for any sane individual!

There are those that would say that I want a southern mansion but they would
be wrong.

So what do I want...I want the impossible to be possible.

Karyn Schairer wrote:

What I want is a lot more tape, wrapping paper, time, and peace and quiet.
I would like three days to go sit in a spa and not come out until all the
mall crazy people hunting for crappy gifts left the northern hemisphere.

I would also like a banana daiquiri. And a food processor to make said
daiquiri.

And i would like a roaring fire and a bearskin rug (it can be fake if i
offend animal lovers.)

Nathan Ferch wrote:

i want a tall frosty one.
i want to relax, please!
i want to get out of this place.
i want to put an end to the dave matthews band.
i want to stop obsessing over girls with glasses.
i want to not have straight hair.
i want to lay in the grass and look at the stars.
i want to kiss a girl.
i want to give peace and love to those who are deserving of it.
i want to be within the delivery area for pizza shuttle once again.
i want to be less picky and demanding.
i want to be count cocoafang.
i want a giant robot.
i want overpriced white trash food.
i want to travel the world.
i want a garage.
i want a qdoba burrito.
I WANT TO SUCK YOUR FUDGE
i want an audi s3.
i want to rave till dawn.
i want a pikachu costume so i can walk down water street at bartime and shock random people.
i want a girl who laughs for no one else.
i want a seared tuna steak.
i want the hall and oates tshirt that some idiot sniped from me on ebay in the last 15 seconds for fifty cents more than i bid.
i want the stupid idiots who live underneath me to stop blasting their crappy music.
i want sanity.
i want people in wisconsin to stop appending s's to nouns where they don't belong.
i want to name my firstborn darnell.
i want pocky.
i want a pint of guinness.
i want a doggy.
i want an ice cream van.
i want a week to wander around in a bookstore.
i want a mecha-streisand credit card.
i want 9/11/2001 to have never happened.
i want a 97 pinot noir.
i want a set of 300 thread count sheets.
i want to be less scatterbrained.
i want to be less of a slave to popular culture.
i want other to see my point of view.
i want to be able to fall asleep.
i want this night to never end.
i want an end.
i want what i cannot have.
i want our country not to be so stupid.
i want to grow old, but not tired.
i want to be less annoyed with life.
i want to be as funny as the swedish chef.
i want you to want me.
i want to rid the world of chemical dependance.
i want to not regret.
i want to be less envious, hateful, and spiteful.
i want to be less wanting.

Brian Akey wrote:

I would give up all my presents to have my cat back home.

Katherine Olson wrote:

In one word: Magic.

Yes, someone else has already beaten me to this one. It doesn't matter. I
don't need CGI, Lord of the Rings style magic, either (though that is always
pretty impressive). Quiet magic will do. Gaiman, De Lint, Carroll, Lewis,
Wynn Jones, Card...if you read any of them, you'll know what I mean. The
Looking Glass Land and Narnia are out there. Things happen in empty rooms
when the door is closed. Your dog really can talk to you, if he ever has the
inclination. And if you could forget for a moment that you can't, you really
can fly.

Jan Olson wrote:

I wish I had new siding on the house in Mountain.

Steamy stuff, that. It amuses me that some people have a desperate need to turn the verses of SoS into an allegory about the church, rather than letting them be the celebration sensuality that they are.

How Zen. I like this. I need to remember this one more.

I saw this apartment in the spring of 2000, and loved it on the spot, but my roommate-to-be was less than enthused so we went elsewhere. I, however, continued to dream of it. When the landlords and the place that *she* wanted refused to renew the lease for the next year (and she had popped off out of the city) I tried again, but there were no vacancies. As soon as I knew that I was looking for an apartment again, I dug up the number and called. I was told that if they got any openings for August they would let me know.

This Wednesday, I got a phone call from the landlord--he had an opening for August! I couldn't come out that very night, but I told him that I wanted to make an appointment to come by, look at it again and take care of the paperwork. I definatey wanted the apartment. He said he would get ahold of the current tenant, and find out when would be a good time to see the place. I should call him back in a couple of days. Thursday dragged by, and I raced home tonight to call him back and make the appointment. I called and....the apartment had already been rented. !?! He asked if I wanted him to let me know if any other openings turned up. I weakly said yes and hung up. Sometimes, there's just no winning.

*snicker*

The History of Contraception Museum

HCM, again.

History of Birth Control in Canada

Sterilization Abuse: A Brief History

History of Emergency Contraceptive

*uck
f*ck
fu*k
fuc*
duck
fock
furk
fuce

This particular word, I don't understand quite where it came from, how it got so powerful and taboo. As far asI can see, no one can even agree on the etymology of the word. Somehow, "screw" is at least marginally ok, but "fuck" is not. Wah??

"Putting the "riot" back into "patriot".

I don't think that locker searches, surveilence, and random drug testing are really meant to ensure the safety of school kids. I think that the real purpose it to get them used to giving it up to The Man. I agree with Janelle Brown on that. That way, when they grow up, they will be all ready for the USA PATRIOT Act.

OK, I should go to sleep before I really start sounding paranoid.

It can't be my browser, because there is nothing in the source code, either. Blogs of Note?

The Inexplicable Baby was a baby doll that would be wrapped up in a sling and secured to the back of one of us warrior women. The baby was inexplicable because we never excactly explained in our stories who she (always a she) was. Sister, daughter, or foundling orphan--it never really mattered. All that was important was that we had been entrusted with the care of this baby, and took her with us even when we were slaying dragons and rescuing princes from witches and pirates.

I am not sure which came first, these games or my love of fairytales that involved the plot device of girl meets prince, girl loses prince, girl saves prince from fate worse than death. I know that my earliest memory of such a fairytale was Beauty and the Beast from Andrew Lang's Blue Fairy Book. There are many versions of this tale, though they all follow the same basic framework. One of my favorite illustrated versions is the Mercer Mayer version, though I have never owned a copy. The watercolors are lovely and haunting. I guess I share Terri Windling's feeling on the Disney rendition of the tale. As Disney films go, it was delightfully refreshing, but some of the changes they made to the basic story irked me. Ah well, what can you expect? Not only does Disney rework every story they get ahold of, but fairytales themselves usually have multiple versions.

The next tale of this genre that I remember encountering was East of the Sun, West of the Moon. The book that my family owned was the Mercer Mayer story. Again, the illustrations are absolutely gorgeous. He alters the traditional Norwegian tale, substituting the white bear for a frog, amalgamating the tale with that of "The Frog Prince". I think it works well, and I simply adore the depiction of the trolls and the salamander.

As I got older, I discovered the ballad of Tam Lin. This certainly is a tale with many variations! I am always on the lookout for a good musical or fiction adaptation of it. I recently read and enjoyed both Tam Lin by Pamela Dean and Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne-Jones. I also was able to listen to a recording of Tam Lin by Steeleye Span.

Contrary to what some would have you think, there are quite a few fairytales with women taking the lead. I don't mean just modern re-telling, either. While I was looking around at some of these today, I rediscovered Mary Culhane and the Dead Man. This is a wonderfully gruesome tale that I heard on an audio tape from the public library when I was about ten. It had been so long since I had heard it, that I could only remeber a few details. It took several Google searches to find it, but I eventually scored with: "story about a ghoul and oatmeal". (Now if only I could find some of the other stories that I half remember....)

To begin with, I would like to state that I feel that ideally, a tip should be a little something extra, as a thank you for good service. However, the reality is that many people depend on your tips to make minimum wage. The This wage may vary a bit from state to state, but usually not by much. Granted, $5.15 and hour is not really enough to live on, but $2.13 is even more harsh. Technically, "Employers of "tipped employees" must pay a cash wage of at least $2.13 per hour if they claim a tip credit against their minimum wage obligation. If an employee's tips combined with the employer's cash wage of at least $2.13 per hour do not equal the minimum hourly wage, the employer must make up the difference. Certain other conditions must also be met." In reality, many restaurant employers do not make up for shortfalls in their employees' tips. There is, of course, debate as to whether a regular minimum wage for restaurant service employees would bankrupt small businesses, or drive prices up too high.

Like it or not, waitstaff depend on tips for their livelyhood. It is true that some people can make big bucks on a good night, but not everyone is that fortunate. Additionally, a run of bad nights can negate any advantage from the good ones. Many people simply do not understand how the tipping payscale works. It is not uncommon for a person to leave a $1 tip on a $30 bill, and think they are quite generous. Others will tip low for "lousy service" based on things that the waitperson could not control. The restaurant was too warm or cold, the wait for a table was too long, something didn't taste as good as it should, or a menu item was out. These things are usually the realm of the management and/or kitchen staff, yet the waitstaff bear the brunt of customer displeasure. Rude or incompetent service is one thing, general environment or cooking is quite another. This forum discussion features views from all sides of the debate. Particularly illuminating is the post by "Donna" (about halfway down the page).

If you are uncertain of how to tip: who, when, or how much; look for resources that can guide you in the etiquette. Around here, 15-20% of the total is the standard for waitstaff. What about bartenders, delivery drivers, cab drivers, hairdressers, valets....? Look it up!

One last thing. Stiffing a tip is pretty lousy. Stiffing a bill is downright heinous. Besides the fact that it is stealing, and therefore illegal, ponder who it is you are stealing from. Is it Denny's or the 3rd shift Denny's waitress that is going to have to pay for your meal? Think about it, chump.

After viewing the movie, I looked at several excellent commentaries on the film. They are worth a look if you have seen the movie. If you haven't seen the movie....well, you should.

On the upside, it is Friday. Also, I had a fantastic group of kindergarteners today.

That makes two ups to one down, I came out ahead today. Go me.

Time to go watch Key Largo.

I hopeI can get one with decent pay. I did some budget calculations, and with my current expenses, I can't afford to get my own apartment and still buy food for anything under $15 an hour. The sad thing is that I don't live an extravagant lifestyle. I hardly ever eat out, I grocery shop with coupons and buy generic, I buy my clothes second hand or on clearance, and I don't travel. I have a cell phone with the minimum rate plan, but that is because I drive a car that is constantly on the verge of breaking down. (It also helps me to be able to call in and get sub assignments.) I guess my computer is a luxury, but I use it for job hunting and for practicing the computer graphics skills that might help me land a job. I have some credit card debt, but it is for mostly dental work and necessary car repairs. I budget and balance my checkbook regularly. I am one of the most fiscally responsible people I know, and yet I barely scrape by.

I am starting to think that the only thing to do is sell off most of what I own and either go to Korea or join a local co-op.

Is anyone else getting scared yet?

(Thanks to Tom Tomorrow and Suburban Limbo for pointing me to that link.)

"Your luck has been completely changed today."
(Um, how? Is this supposed to be good or bad?)

"You will soon be crossing great waters."
(Cliche, yet portenious.)

"To one who waits, a moment seems a year."
(Well, at this rate I will live forever, or at least it will seem like I did.)

I was teaching 6th grade at a middle school today. At the end of the last class, I saw a folded up note on the floor. I picked it up and looked at it. The outside said, "Turn me over" and "Unfold and Read" on one side, and "Ms. Olson. You don't know who I am. Thanks For the Help." Huh? I opened the note. It read, "To: Ms. Olson, my favorite teacher this year. We never get nice teachers, only mean one's. (sic) We never get cute teacher's eather. (sic) From:???" It finished off with, "Nice, cool, smart. P.S. I like Markus. So dont (sic) tell him."

Uh, wow. I guess I'm kinda flattered.

Tomorrow may well be an exhausting day. I am going to be a Special Ed at a high school. Usually a draining job. I am also not sure how long a day it will be. The phone system said it went till 3, but all of the district's schools are supposed to be on a half day tomorrow. I guess I will just have to wait.

In the meantime, I am going to see Amelie again tonight. A couple of friends of mine wanted to see it, but didn't, and now it is at the budget theater. Apparently, Kandahar and The Endurance are going to be coming to the budget soon, too. That just tickles me! Usually, cool foriegn films and/or documentaries never come anywhere near the budget houses.

Still no luck in the hunt for a replacement job. At this point I am (almost) ready to sell out, just to get a good, steady paycheck and insurance. I haven't heard anything from the resume I sent out for the ad firm office manage position. However, they stll have the ad up on their site, and I know this sort of thing takes time. Hmmm, I'll just have to be patient and keep looking. This Sunday's paper had nothing in it for me. (Though I did find a job that is perfect for my sister.)

On the up side, I just took two really informative classes on studio lighting. I am less intimidated by te whole business now, and am ready to start practicing. Who knows, maybe I will be able to make photography pay one of these days. *sigh*

Which Member of the Endless Are You?

It was a very close call between her or Destruction, mostly because of the comfy clothes and the painting. He is certaily unpretenious.

I suppose it is the fact that spring is really and truly here. Maybe it is the warmth, maybe it is the pollen,doing funny things to our psyches. Maybe itis the fact that this town is relatively crazy even on a "normal"day. Who knows, but I am having fun.

I was downtown at the Richard Shindell concert. The show was great. Richard is one of those singer/songwriters that is a real storyteller, and he has something amusing to tell between each song. Long ago he was a seminary student, before he realized that he was an atheist, and therefore probably shouldn't be a minister. Nevertheless, many of his songs have a religious theme or feel, and his ancedotes are punctuated by occasional heavenward glances, as if to check on a different audience. There were two encores.

Leaving the show, I wandered out onto Library Mall, which was filled with colored lights. The UW Glass Department's outdoor neon and light exhibition was going in full swing. Pieces ranged from the lame to the amazing. I was mesmerized by a box on a podium containing a few tubes of neon that slowly changed colors. The box had a plexiglass window in the front, and all the other internal walls were mirrors, so the neon appeared to go on for etenity. I was also amused by a guy with a boombox and a huge box of kitchen matches. He would start a song on the boombox (always stadium rock), light a match, and holding it in the air screaming, "Queen! Yeah!" About five seconds of the song would play, then he would cue up a new song, light a new match, and start again."Deep Purple! Yeah!" There was an enormous pile of matches at his feet. There are people of all ages punking out to Irish rock at the student uinon (where I am blogging this now) and all up and down State Street, people in various stages of intoxication are singing and dancing to the street musicians that can usually be found busking there. One man plays flute, another steel guitar. A rather old, almost homeless looking man plays guitar for songs like "Margaritaville" and "Brown Eyed Girl", with the lyrics written in magic marker on large, laminated cards for drunken, happy sorority girls to wail. This isn't a holiday, it is just the town.

Times like this I can see why I haven't moved on yet.

David Meldman wrote:

I can only respond that it's easy to understand why fools fall in love, the
real bugger of it is why the rest of us do it. ;)

Lindsay Hayden wrote:

He used to tell this story...how he passed out, at Madame Tussaud's wax
museum, in London (in the chamber of horrors, they were having some sort of
a Jack the Ripper thing, and they had that peach flavored smoke, you know,
the kind they have at the rollerdrome and I guess he just lost it)
and at church once, too.
He was raised Catholic.
He was a Fainter, I guess.
I'm a fainter too, soI can relate.

Anyway.
The cut was tiny.
Eyelash length, maybe.
But prolific.
A real Bleeder, and
it was pooling up in my cupped hand
with a lot of splash and gore.
We had been arguing a moment before, but gently
which is how we always argue
(except this time it was me I had hurt his feelings which sort of pleased me
in a selfish way that he valued my opinion enough that it could affect him
so, that's what I mean)
He had been scowling and throwing spitballs at me
half-heartedly
But now here he was, the Fainter
working like a very technician,
scowl turned to concern as he held my hand under the tap, red-orange
droplets sputtering against the porcelain my blood running quietly over his
fine piscean fingers.

He put his hands into my wound
and did not flinch.
He made me think of mothers.

After, I apologized.
and he said
I already forgave you anyway.

Jackie Herman wrote:

Hermmmmmmm......

Why do fools fall in love? Everyone falls in love at some point, and I s'pose
in the whole spectrum of things...Fools would fall in love too then..right?
and Yes our Mr. Brian does have a point that people could look at a person
who is in love and call them a fool..and what would the fool care...after
all he is the one in love! So can I come up with a statement of my own? How
bout this...sorta goes back to the last question..."just who do you think
you are?" Well according to this question "I am a fool"

That is all

Aaron Pavao wrote:

At this, current point in my life, I'm either a bad choice for this question or an imminently qualified one.

Fools fall in love because they are people, and people, for what ever reason, fall in love.

Arguably, all people are fools, or rather act foolishly. Even those who are not foolish are foolish to someone. And so fools are people, and people are fools, and they fall in love. Ergo, the real question is "Why are people?".

But, sophistry and spurious logic aside, I think that this is less a question of a fool falling in love and more a question of a person falling in love foolishly. Love should be approached with the respect it is due, and as a very strong force in the psyche of humankind, it deserves a lot of respect. Falling in love is a great thing, but to be treated properly, it must be coupled with trust, understanding, consideration, caring, faith, teamwork, and probably a couple other things I can't name because I have yet to get it 100% right, myself.

Compare "only fools rush in".

Brian Akey wrote:

Alight, I've finally jumped in on this. It's been fun seeing what other had to say, and I'm kinda sorry I didn't put my two cents in. So, better late than never, no?

My response to the question posed - "Why do fools fall in love?"

All kinds of people fall in love - in fact, it's safe to say, that all people fall in love at some point in their lives. Which, in essence, makes us all fools. So, the question then becomes a two parter:
1) Why do I fall in love?
2) How does that make me a fool?

Addressing #1 - I think I fall in love to help fill a void inside me. Something is missing. The larger part of that is a need to share my life (life experiences) with someone. I have an innate or inbred desire to take care of, help, hold (dear), lean on, cherish, respect, foster, defend, admire, adore, revere and treasure another person. I don't know where the void comes from. I sometimes wish it didn't exist. Life would be a little easier without it, but it seems to be a large part of why life is so worth living.

Addressing #2 - Having just been a little existential there with #1, I don't think falling in love inherently makes people foolish. It can, however, make me vulnerable and appear foolish. The feeling of love is something of a narcotic - when I'm under it's influence, I don't particularly care how I look. Foolish or otherwise.

How 'bout them apples?

Carl Klinger wrote:

Fools fall in love, mostly, because they are raised to believe they must. Folks raised by TeleVision fall in love with the first attractive thing they see. Social elite do not fall in love, rather have mergers that are in some way beneficial.

I, personally, would probably fall in love with someone who is not short-sighted. Too bad I already fell in love with a truck from the early '70's. Talk about foolish!

Andrew Heinrich wrote:

I would simply say that it is a fool who does NOT fall in love when the
opportunity presents itself.

Little Bird wrote:

I keep thinking about this one. It is by far the most difficult for me, and I've realized the reason is that love is too subjective. I've been in love. I don't consider myself to be a fool. Sometimes silly, sometimes mean, sometimes I'm hurtful - often to myself, sometimes I'm oversensitive, but the thing is that all of these sometimes only prove that I'm human. And I think that's really the best answer of all.

Why do fools fall in love? Because we can. Because it's often more interesting than TV. Because it's more readily accessible than millions of dollars. Because we can.

Katherine Olson wrote:

I think that fools fall in love, hoping that it will make them wise. Wise
people fall in love knowing that it makes them foolish.

Kerri Flippin wrote:

To complete ourselves. I believe that we, on our own, are only part of what
we can be. Love is the spiritual connection with another that helps to
complete or accentuate both. We are pieces that can lock with and complete
each other. When we love another, we share ourselves, our experiences, and
our lives with another person and then exist as more then we are on our
own.

Love, unfortunately, is not a matter of the mind, but of the heart. Very
often, we have no choice when, or if, we fall in love. If anyone has ever
loved someone that their mind adamantly tells them not to, we realize that
pieces of ourselves can fit with another whether we want them to or
not...our spirits know what our minds cannot.

We are not fools for loving. We are richer.

Jacki Allen-Olson wrote:

Why Do Fools Fall In Love…that is the question.

I have fallen in love many times over the years. Foolish, perhaps but one of
the greatest feelings in the world. And of course as with many falls,
sometimes I got hurt but I picked myself back up and went forward not looking
for it but eventually tripping over that emotion once more. I don't know if
the question posed is the correct one, perhaps it should be do fools
recognize love when they find it. To love and be loved is one of the greatest
experiences a person can have in their lifetime and to miss out on even one
person with whom you can share that experience is sad.

And if you fools out there are really lucky, that love might just come
knocking at your door and give you a second chance. So don't be afraid , go
ahead and fall!

Gretchen Olson wrote:

I blame it on the media. A fool will watch a romantic movie or hear
a sappy lovesong on the radio and think

"well, gosh that sounds nice...maybe it would be right for me!"

That is why fools fall in love. Smart people fall in love because one
of them has blue eyes like heaven and the other smiles like a
summer day, perfectly logical reasons.

When I left the building I felt to gorgeous day for the first time...sunshine and 62 degrees. One of the best days yet this spring. I was walking to my car, and I noticed the playground was empty. I couldn't resist the lure of the swingset. I am sure if any kids or teachers saw me out there, they probably thought I was crazy, giggling and swinging as high as I could go. Most likley, I even looked like a kid. I already get mistaken for a kid as it is, and today I was wearing blue jeans and a pair of Chuckies.

I refuse to give in to the idea that playing is just for kids. I love swingsets. The feeling I get when the swing is at its highest possible point if better than any artificial stimulant I have over tried. Little wonder I don't drink much, given the comparison. The best part is the moment when the pendulum motion is just changing from up to down. There is about one second of weightlessness, followed by a delicious drop. Watch the ground coming up at me, or the sky getting closer and I am no longer the responsible adult person that I have been masquerading as all these years. Nope, I am just a happy 6 year old on a swing.

Sunday found me going to Minnesota for the first time ever, for the wedding of a friend. Everyone there had a wonderful time, and the Twin Cities seem pretty sweet. (Though the streets seemed a little confusing at first and apparently they pronounce the "t" in "Nicolet". I will have to explote them more thoroughly when I get a chance.

I saw Promises, which made me cry at times. I really admired the filmmaker for getting to know kids on both sides of the Palestinian/Isreali conflict. For one thing, adults tend to think of kids in situations like these as abstract concepts, rather than real people with thoughts and feelings. For another, he is Jewish, and spent part of his growing up in Isreal, yet he was pretty even handed in his approach to the conflict. Both sides were shown in a sympathetic light, yet neither side was allowed to get off scott free. Children on both sides had lost friends to the fighting, and one Palestinian girl's father was imprisoned, without trial, for an indefinate period of time. The most moving part of the picture for me was when two Isreali brothers spend the day with a group of Palestinian children in a refugee camp in the occupied territories. The kids joke, play, wrestle, and eat together, and you could almost forget that they were anything other than a normal group of kids. The reminders that they aren't are jarring. The children look at walls adorned with anti-Isreali graffiti and bullet holes. There is a warning to speak in English, rather than Hebrew, so as not to stir up anger in the neighborhood while they are there. There are tears when two of the Palestinian boys recount the death of a friend and brother who had been shot to death by soldiers while throwing stones. One of the boys breaks down completely when he says that he has become friends with the visiting Isreali children, but that he knows that the checkpoints and other manifestations of hatred between the sides will prevent the friendship from continuing.

My only complaint with the film was that the focus was almost entirely on the boy children, without a great deal of perspective from the girls of either side. Otherwise, it was really amazing.

After the movie I walked across downtown to the Neilds' concert. Nerissa and Katryna gave a great show, as usual. I think I am going to have to pick up more of their CDs soon.

The show ended by 9:30, and I wasn't ready to go home yet, so I wandered over to the student union and hung out ing the Rathskellar, listening to a great Latin band, Cabaret Diosas. Lots of people were up front dancing the mambo, and two couples were an absolute joy to watch. I wanted to join them, but lack of a partner and sheer physical exhaustion from all the walking finally got to me, and sent me home.

I'd say it was a pretty good day.

13 Conversations About 1 Thing was excellent. The vignettes were woven together in such a way as to mask the actual chronology at first. Characers in one storyline have brief encounters with characters in other, but it isn't always revealed until the end as to what point in each tale the interaction occurs. There is a satisfying mix of humor and sadness to the writing, and the acting is very strong. This film was directed by Jill and Karen Sprecher, Madison natives who were also responsible for Clockwatchers, another favorite of mine. (Watch it with Office Space sometime.)

Pickup Polka was a comic short that screened with No Sleep till Madison. Basket ball and accordians, who'da thunk it? I laughed my butt off.

No Sleep till Madison was both funny and sad (though more of the funny, thank goodness). I got a kick out off all the local color, and it was an excellent commentary on obsession, growing up, friendship and nostalgia. Oh, and hockey. can't leave out the hockey.

Kandahar is playing at the Orpheum for at least the next week, so I might catch it after the festival. I am considering hitting the 5 PM showing of Promises. However, I am seeing Nerissa and Katryna Nields in concert tonight, so that limits my festival time today.I can see a bit more tomorrow, and then I am road tripping to Minneapolis for a wedding. It is a full weekend for me.

So, I am spending the day sitting in the art room, reading the "New Yorker" and smelling that wonderful art smell. It is a nice antidote to the day I had yesterday--13 kindergartners. ( Nine boys and four girls, they were sweet but quite a handful. I was physically exhausted at the end of the day.)

For a twist, I sometimes play solitaire with my tarot cards, after removing the Trumps. The March 4 issue of The New Yorker magazine has an intriguing article by Burkhard Bilger, entitled "The Riddler", on the world of crossword puzzles. (If I could find a link to te actual article I would post it, but I can't. I read the hard copy copy of the magazine, and I'm sure you can, too. Check your library.)

I wonder what my options are? I should look into this.

What can I say about "The Orbital Death Platform"? After all, as of 04/02/02 there are only ten posts total on the site, dating from 02/09/02 to 02/21/02. It hardly seems that one could make an accurate accounting based on such a small sample. However, TV network execs base decisions on the fate entire series based on a single pilot episode, so why can't I?

For visual design, the site is straightforward and uncluttered. The graphic in the upper right hand corner could use a bit of runaround for the text. Viewed in Netscape, the photo covers about one letter or so of posted text. Viewed in IE the problem is worse--the photo and the links box below it cover up about two words worth. The photo is an old webcam photo (Feb 19, 2002 12:48) that continually updates unless specifically told to stop.

The few posts make discussing content tricky. The tone reminds me of Livejournals that I have read. The two post by Joseph Miller are quotations of advice from a Dr. Tijoe. The rest of the posts are by project icarus. These vary from off-the-cuff reviews of the Army of Darkness Director's cut and HoverDesk to updates on his webcam and message board, to limited reports of the goings-on in his life. Two posts on life in SLC during the Olympics make briefly interesting reading.

In short, "The Orbital Death Platform" is not quite ready for primetime. Very likely the demands of Real Life and other projects have kept the blog on the back burner. With some time and some effort, it might grow up into an entirely different beast from its current incarnartion. (Lord knows, my own first blog languished for months before I gave it a mercy killing and a re-boot.) If nothing else, I was glad to have read this line about the Olympics, "I watched the opening ceremony on TV but it really didn't hit me until this moment. It felt like I had a house full of people I don't know partying it up in my living room. Slightly uncomfortable."

I know some insanely chipper people who tell me,"Don't think that way! Life is what you make it! There is no such thing as luck!" To them I say, "Bull!" Try walking in my shoes for a while, and you may also find yourself believing that luck has something to do with it. Some people catch all the breaks, while others just get broken. I know some people who can't win for losing.

For those of ou who find that outlook to be horribly bleak and nihilistic, I will remind you that I and an optimistic pessimist. The glass is definately half-empty, but I am holding out for a refill. (It's just that the waitress is taking her sweet time.)

Well, here is the second in a series of survey compilations. This one took up the month of September, 2001. This time I upped the word limit, given how many people felt compelled to go over last time. Once again, there was fantastic variety to the responses. That would only make sense, given the fantastic variety of respondents. As last time, I have posted them in the order in which they were received.

Jacquelyn Allen-Olson wrote:

I am what I am. No more, no less.

-and-

Okay so you really want to know who I am? After so many years together it is about time that you find out:

I am woman. I am warrior. I am peacemaker.

I am Tigger. I am Pooh. I am wise old owl. I am gloomy Eyore.

I am a shy violet, a bold tiger lily and the questioning daisy, loves me, loves me not!

I am a romantic. I am a realist. I am a republicrat.

I am cool. I am hot.

I am the surprise in the box of Cracker Jacks, the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae.

I am a fine Bordeaux. I am a bubbly champagne.

I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt and a mother.

I am a friend. I am a lover.

All else is still to be discovered.

Karyn Schairer wrote:

A very very amused observer.

I guess you could also say I'm a collector, mostly found objects real and
metaphorical. Things like stories, quotes, ideas, anecdotes, all that.
For all those who don't know about the "Karyn Quote Board of Infamy" it's
time you learned.

Otherwise, I think I am.... asleep.

Carl Klinger wrote:

I was going to try to fill this with the maximum of words(Question for you- Just who do you think YOU are, making a fun-themed-essay 500 words?), but I'll boil myself down to one.

Philanthropist.

If you'd like 499 or so more words about me, I'd recommend hanging out with me for about an hour. That should be plenty of time for you to find words to define me, if that many words exist.

Jackie Herman wrote:

I'm not Over analytical. I thought about this question a long time
....still thinking about it. I discovered 2 things, the previous statement
I made, and If I knew who exactly I thought I was I would not be me. Cause
I don't know who I am, but Damn the Man...I'm having fun finding out!

Nathan Hall wrote:

A serious dipshit most days....the rest, just a jackass.

Aaron Pavao wrote:

Just this guy, trying to get some stuff done and to be with people without
causing too many problems.

Janson Olson wrote:

I am Iron Man. I am Batman. I am Woman hear me roar. I am the walrus coo coo ga jubb. I am what I am I'm Popeye the sailor man. I am Kaiser Soze. I am Tiger Woods. I am You. You are Me. We Are Free. I am not heavy. I am your brother. I am a rock. I am an island. That's about it.

Janson.
Ya know the weird guy in the group photos

Nathan Ferch wrote:

i am the operator, with my pocket calculator.

David Johns wrote:

I am the detective,
the inventor,
the analyst,
the dissector.
I discover its inner processes,
its methods
its reasons
its WHY.

Whatever IT is,
I incorporate it,
improve it,
or throw it away.

Little Bird wrote:

I think that I am the product of a bunch of seemingly innocent decisions. I think that I am a bell. I think that I am far away from home in a place where the keyboard a isn't where it should be and a very small apartment is a lot bigger -and scarier - at night than one would think originally. I think that I'm brave becauseI can open a bank account in French. I think I'm special because my mommy told me so.

And I think that I'm feeling far enough away from everyone now that I'm looking forward to hearing who you all think you are.

she who leaves country for fun

Lindsay Hayden wrote:

Oh, gosh. Y'know, it's ironic that I had a long ass response to "what's
wrong with people" but that, when I have to think about myself, I seem to
have nothing to say. Or, really, too much to say, none of which really
means anything. I think that "who do you think you are" may just be the
pivotal question of my life. I think that's the question that makes me get
up everyday. I think that's the question upon which all of my work
resonates. So in short: I don't know who I am. But here's a few ideas:
>From a sociological point of view, I am a young caucasian female vegetarian
feminist anarchist bisexual pacifist artist. I weigh 170 lbs, am 5'6" tall,
have blue yes and hair of an undetermined color that changes every few
months according to my whims.
On a personal level, I am a very shy person who has made it a life goal to
not be shy anymore. I love people too hard. I'm notoriously clumsy. I'm no
good at competition. I like to eat food that's bad for me. I like to move
and shout and be silly. I hate to be alone. I love to go on car-rides, as
long as I don't have to drive. I'm scared to talk to people on the
telephone, but I like to send letters. I'm too honest. I wish I could be
more honest. I wish everyone could be more honest. I'm more devious than
people give me credit for. I'm funny, especially when I'm really hurting.
I have secret dreams of being a rock star. (but who doesn't?) I wish my
hair was naturally flamingo pink. I'm no good at practical things, like
filling out job applications, yetI can do macramé or a half-lutz. I hate
bureaucracy, dogmatism, and complacency. I hate laziness, partly because
I'm sometimes too lazy myself. I love and fear change, which is why I force
myself into it.
...Oh yeah...
and I'm a damn good kisser.

David Meldman wrote:

...I'm the no pussy-gettingest cat in Milwaukee (or at least in the top five!)

Kerri Flippin wrote:

I am a Flippin by-the-book Virgo Martha Stewart wanna be much too young Miss
Havisham nurturing neo hippie yooper.

I adore olives, John Steinbeck, disco, kitty cats, and my boyfriend.

Katherine Olson wrote:

I am 4 going on 40. I am an assortment of riddles. I am a tomboy. I am
Tinkerbell. I am a Goblin. I am a Fairy Princess. I am sometimes a wolf in
sheep's clothing, and sometimes a sheep in wolves clothing. I am awkward. I
am an artist. I am part of something bigger than me. I am a student. I am a
wonderer and a wanderer. I am a collection of molecules and beliefs. I am
mostly water.

I believe in Love. I believe in Rock-and-Roll. I believe in a loving God. I
believe in Magic. I believe in "Brown Eyed Girl." I believe in the power of
a good kiss. I believe that there is something on the other side of the
looking glass. I believe that no chemical high can beat playing on a swing
set under a full moon. I believe in the Strange. I believe in my friends.

I believe that is just a fraction of what I am, but I believe that is all I
will write.

Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.

Jason Akira Barnes wrote:

I am a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and smothered with secret sauce. I am
sick of our armed forces going off half-cocked before they know what the
hell their target truly is. I am an insomniac. I am a poet of few words and
little skill. I am a geek of all trades.

I believe that music is the key to thought and happiness. I believe in
freedom of speech and thought. I believe that nothing is original anymore. I
believe that my body would kill me, if it could. I believe that I drink too
much caffeine. I believe that private property created crime. I believe that
jealousy and contempt and uncaring are the worst things there are. I believe
I shall have some food.

Bria Baetje wrote:

I am an open mind, empathizer, dirty minded, lover of many kinds of music, metal head, able to see the "ying and yang" in people. Love to laugh and make others laugh. I am a peanut M&M....a little shy, hard, thin skinned, and colorful on the outside that may melt if held onto too long, but on the inside Im surprisingly crunchy, loud, tasty, long lasting, creating a good balance for the outer shell. Just hoping most will take the time to bite down and want another handful.

Gretchen Olson wrote:

A big phony. That's right. I am a kid trying to pass for an adult. A klutz trying to tap dance while carrying trays of steaming spaghetti. A regular Holly Golightly, drinking milk from a champagne glass and living out of a suitcase.

I'm not actually cool, though many believe that I am. I'm a joker, I'm a smoker (well...once upon a time when it suited me) You may wanna ask my close friends about the midnight toker part.....

I even have a fake name. I used to be Gretchen Olson, but now I'm Gretchen Hall. My hair color is bottle-bought. My teeth are fixed up. My boobies are pushed-up. My confident swagger I learned by watching my alter ego.....

Yup, I'm a phony. But I'm a real phony. Proud of who I am and whatI can be. Perfectionistic and critical. I am your best friend and your worst enemy if you don't watch your step. The life of the party. A big dumb dork. A half-demon (also known as a fallen angel). The most beautiful girl in the whole world...OR.. a walking "Before" picture.

This is who Gretchen really thinks she is. But only behind the safety net of a computer screen would I ever tell you this. If you asked me to my face, I would have to say:

"I AM A GOLDEN GOD!!!!"

Anandi Gandolfi wrote:

I am not the person I was last spring and I don't know
who I have turned into yet but this I do know I am a
hell of a lot stronger then I ever thought I was

-and-

I am not who I was last april.

I don't know who I will be when all of tis cancer
stuff is in the past.

One thing I go know though is I am a hell of a lot
stronger then I thought I was!

Max Steiner wrote:

I am because I think. I think I am.
I am the sum of my parts. My parts are surely not mathematical.
I am part and parcel of a greater whole. I do not come in a box.
I am a whole lotta' sumthin'. I am certainly not nothin'.
I am something to be reckoned with. I cannot be compromised.
I am in debt. Once miserably, now joyfully.
I am the penny you drop for luck, but not the lucky penny you pick up. Lucky for you I'm not the bad penny that's always turning up.
I am not a poster child. Nor a poster boy. You will not see me on a postcard. I only require 33¢ postage. Unless you want to send me "Par Avion".
I am a traveler. Send Me On My Way. (Rusted Root, anyone?)
I am happy to oblige you, but you cannot oblige to make me happy. I just am.
I am man, hear me snore.
I am wealthy in all things that cannot be put in someone else's vault.
I am a soul with wheels. I am not a rolling stone.
I am bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, full of fun fun fun. But I am not the only one.
I am too cool for this letter. I am in need of a sweater.
I am, in the words of my father, a day late and a dollar short. I resent that. I like to think that I am early for the next opportunity and able to make change.
I am a believer.
I am a biker. Curse engines, bring on the pedals.
I am a boarder. Avast, and RIDE the plank!
I am in a constant state of love. I do not need directions.
I am not worthy; He is.

However, I am only what it is that you perceive me to be and tell your friends about, and there is nothing I am able to do to change that.

Patti Segerson wrote:

I am someone who doesn't know how to answer the
difficult questions that have arisen this past month.
I am someone who is so appreciative of the fact that
there are people out there who are willing to fight
for our right to live fearless lives. I am also
someone who is tormented by the fact that innocents in
afghanistan are dying. I am someone who can see the
big picture. But I am also someone who can see that
our bombing will cause even more deaths. I am a
godmother who has been asked some pretty hard
questions about why my godson's father has to go away
again and why someone could do what happened on
September 11th. I am someone who is happy to be alive
and is also feeling guilty. Today I am someone who is
confused. Confused by life and all it's little
miracles, mysteries and tragedies. Yesterday, now
that's another question.

Luke Arthur wrote:

I think I'm completely honest and logical, but I still manage to
baffle others. I'm too shy most of the time to advertise, but I do
think I'm well worth knowing. I am not a follower, but I'm not a
leader either. I'm more of an ingredient, and to see what I'm capable
of you need to mix me together with complementary ingredients.

I sometimes think of myself as a mirror. I return whatever energies
people direct toward me. Some long-time friends will tell me they're
amazed by how much I've come out of my shell since our first meeting.
They assume that I've grown. But really, it's our friendships that
grow, and the energy they see in me is a reflection their own most
inspiring attributes.

I'm too shy, too slow, too perfectionist. I've got limitless
potential, but limited time and access. I go through life as a keenly
observant critic with a "thou shalt not criticize" commandment.

Finally, I'm the guy _least_ likely to ever be asked, "just who do
you think you are?"

p.s. I'm also somebody who will ponder indefinitely over whether I
should have ended that last sentence with a period or a question mark.