Socks Are Wicked Important

I own a shit ton of socks.  When I moved to California in 1999, I decided to start collecting cool socks, thereby pigeonholing myself as a sock person.  That means I've received socks for pretty much every gift-giving event for the past 14 years, so I am now the proud owner of over 80 pairs of socks (that's over 160 individual socks, for those of you who are math challenged).

The other day I attended an Oktoberfest event while wearing the cute cat socks pictured above.  At one point, I heard some folks giggling behind me.  When I turned around to see what the fuck was so funny (and yes, that really is how my mind works), a young woman showed me her phone, which now featured a picture of my socks.  "Sorry," she told me.  "Hope that's okay.  I love your socks."

I'd be willing to bet that, within ten minutes of the picture being taken, my socks were featured on the girl's Facebook page and had about 50 likes, plus umpteen comments featuring pithy observations such as:  "OMG!  Cat socks!  LOL!"

And do you want to know why?  Because socks are important to people.  Much like alcohol.  If you post a picture of alcohol on Facebook with the label:  "ALCOHOL!  YAY!" everyone will love it.  You'll be getting notifications all day long.  People you haven't heard from since sixth grade will write paragraph-long responses explaining why they, too, think alcohol is totally yay-worthy.

So yes, socks & alcohol are excellent ways to bond with your friends on Facebook.  The same may not be true if you choose to post something about an international crisis or social justice calamity.  Those topics are simply not as yay-worthy, as they may stimulate painfully uncomfortable debates that pit your Facebook friends against one another in disastrous, fury-fueled exchanges between total strangers who have quickly and resolutely determined that they absolutely fucking hate one another.

On the other hand, you'll find no room for debate when it comes to people identifying as alcoholic sock whores.  Go figure.  But I suppose that's precisely what makes something like a pair of cute socks so damn important.  

(And awesome.)

(I love my socks.) 

(I have sock monkey socks, too.)

I was searching for a picture of sock monkey socks, but I found this instead.  
I think I'm in love.

Even Snuggliness Has Its Limits

During a recent visit to Seattle, a friend introduced me to a phenomenon with which I was previously unfamiliar:  The Seattle Freeze.  Most of you probably know what that is, but I'd never heard of it.  Basically it means that it's hard to make friends in Seattle.  The people are friendly enough; they just have enough fucking friends already and don't have time in their lives for any additions.

In Asheville, North Carolina, I've experienced a very different phenomenon.  I'm going to go ahead and call it The Asheville Snuggle.

 
The people of Asheville have been unbelievably welcoming and lovely since my husband and I arrived a few weeks ago.  New friends have offered us food, drinks, personal tours of the town, and invitations to countless outings.  People on hiking trails stop to tell us about other wilderness areas we should explore.  A young man bagging our groceries sprinted across the store to fetch us samples of food he thought we'd like.  After showing us a potential rental, the landlady invited us over to her house for a beer.  When a worker at the PODS warehouse saw our car was packed full, he offered to loan us his truck to get more stuff home.  This afternoon, a neighbor knocked on our door and asked if we'd be okay with him filling in a hole in our driveway.  Seriously.  The list goes on and on. 

This whole experience has been somewhat baffling to a Massachusite and a New Mexican, but definitely in a good way.

It feels kinda like this...except not scary or culty

The one area where I have not experienced Asheville's snuggliness has been in my search for employment.  While part of me wishes I could just ignore that whole thing and spend all my time wandering around being treated with unbelievable kindness, the more practical part of me realizes that employment is the key to some important things such as housing, health insurance, and eating.  Unfortunately, my job search thus far has felt very much like this:

Thankfully, Craigslist offers many opportunities to escape from the feelings of depression and futility that accompany job searching.  Here are some examples of the comic relief postings I've seen:

"I'm looking for three people."  
I'm thinking you should try a little harder.  Maybe step outside and look around.  Craigslist seems like the wrong avenue to fill this need.

"Women to walk on a person."  
Um...what?  I mean, I could walk on you, but what the fuck?

"DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE A LOT OF MONEY???"  
If history tells me anything, the answer to this one is a resounding NO.

"Seeking heroes!"
That one was for a sales position.  Come on, now.  I believe one needs to get killed in combat (even via friendly fire, mind you) to earn that coveted title.

"THIS IS NOT A SCAM!"
= surefire way to know something is a scam. 

Riiiiiight.

But I've got to say, this one was by far the best of all the Craigslist postings I've seen:

Immediate need - this evening. Banjo player 4 front porch entertainment.

One banjo player desired for live music during front porch sitting of 3 lovely ladies.
$25-30 plus potential for tips.
- Chips included, canned Cheerwine, scenic lakefront view to be enjoyed.
- Not obligated, but possible make-out potential with 1-3 ladies for a cute enough, suave enough, debonaire enough, intriguing enough banjo player.  Purely PG.

(This was a real posting - I swear.)

I'm thinkin' this is NOT what those ladies had in mind.

Through Craigslist, I have also learned several abbreviations for jobs for which I have neither a single qualification nor interest, such as FOH, BOH, MIT, CNC, SMH & WTF.

As a long-time social service worker, it comes as no surprise that the kinds of jobs with which I'm most familiar have descriptions of about 20,000 words (detailing super-human responsibilities and expectations), require Master's Degrees and several years of experience, offer 2 weeks of vacation per year, and pay just above poverty wages.  Because, really, doing that kind of work is reward enough in itself, right?

Um, yes.  That's exactly right.

And since Asheville has been so snuggly with me so far, as I plow forward with my job search, I'm going to offer up this little prayer:

Dear Asheville:

Please save me from the kind of work

for which I am most qualified.

Amen.

Best of the Least

The other day, I was introduced to an adorable creature with a rather pathetic name.  It's called the Least Weasel.  I'm not sure if it's so named because it's the smallest carnivorous mammal, or (because there are so many of them) it's classified as "Least Concern" by the International Union for Conservation of Nature.  (This begs the question - how does the IUCN classify humans?  Seems like we should be in the "Least Concern" category numbers-wise but the "Most Concern," or "HOLY FUCKING SHIT - LOOK OUT!!" category impact-wise.)

Anyway, Least Weasels are both cute and ferocious.  Despite their teeny size, they eat things ten times bigger than they are, and when there's plenty of food available, they choose only to eat their prey's brains.  How badass is that?

Just in case you were wondering what comes up if you search for "badass weasel"

(Interestingly, that search also brought forth several pictures of President Obama.  I had no idea he was a badass weasel.)

After discovering the existence of the Least Weasel, I thought it would be fun to write a children's book about this marvelous creature.  I considered titling it Best of the Least and having it feature a young Least Weasel on a quest to discover how to be the best Least Weasel she can be.  But I soon realized I would never write such a book and decided just to do a quick blog post instead.  Much easier, and no literary agents or publishers required.

So don't forget, folks - even if you're teeny tiny, you can still totally kick butt and eat brains.  Don't ever let anyone tell you different.

"Yeah, I know I look cute, but I will fuck you up."

On the Road with Joe Rodeo & Chickenhead

2013 has been a big year for my family.  My dad turned 70, my sister and her family moved from Massachusetts to North Carolina, my parents had their 45th anniversary, we had a week long family reunion in Wapiti, Wyoming, my mom turned 65 (that's happening today, actually - happy birthday, Mom!), and my little family moved from Portland to Asheville.  Quite a collection of milestones.

Despite the evil speculations of my anxiety-ridden brain, our 2-week journey across the country went quite smoothly, with only a cracked windshield creating a brief delay.  Here are some highlights from our 3511 (but who's counting?) mile trek.

1.  Rockin' the Rest Area

A few hours into the drive, we stopped at our first rest area.  We used the bathroom, checked the cat carriers to make sure our two cats were still alive, gave the dogs water, and walked them around for a bit.  When it seemed all of our tasks were complete, I asked my husband if he was ready to go, and he replied:  "Yup.  I just need to do a cartwheel real quick."  

And he did.  He did several, in fact.  Then we got back in our cars and drove away.

"Might we also suggest turning a cartwheel or two..."

2.  Walkie Talkies Are Wicked AwesomeA couple of weeks before our departure date, my husband suggested we get walkie talkies.  I balked at the idea, arguing that we could use our cell phones for communication and that all we would gain from purchasing walkie talkies would be more wretched possessions.  (Nothing like a big move to make a person learn to hate everything she owns.)  But he insisted the walkie talkies would be a good idea, and I finally conceded.

It turns out he was right, because having the walkie talkies was super fun and also allowed us to have vital exchanges on the road, such as this one:
  
Him:  "Joe Rodeo to Chickenhead.  Come in, Chickenhead."
Me:  "Bah-gok!"
Him:  "Did you see that cow?"
Me:  "Sure did!  It was really cute."
Him:  "Mooo!"
Me:  "Ha ha ha!  Mooo!"

Ya gotta love cows

Here's another example of the critical information we shared via our walkie talkies:
 
Me:  "Chickenhead to Joe Rodeo."
Him:  "I'm here."
Me:  "My butt hurts."
Him:  "Mine, too."

3.  Jasper v. Libby
Our two dogs experience car travel very differently.  As soon as Libby enters a car, she becomes a hyperventilating train wreck of panic.  She paces, emits solitary, loud barks at sporadic intervals for no apparent reason, occasionally sneezes right in the driver's face, and pants ferociously.  During one journey from Santa Cruz to Portland, she proved that she could maintain Breath of Fire nonstop for ten straight hours.  Being her chauffeur is a terrible, exhausting experience.

Jasper, on the other hand, loves long drives, or really drives of any duration, because as soon as he enters a car, he does this:   

For Jasper, a car ride means a nap, so as far as he's concerned, the longer the drive the better.  So long as you're not looking for a whole lot of interaction, Jasper makes the perfect traveling companion.  And he's pretty freakin' adorable as well.

4.  America's New Mascot
During our family reunion (which began 2 days into our adventure),we toured a wildlife center outside Yellowstone and were introduced to a cognitively impaired Bald Eagle named Isis.  The folks who run the center don't know if Isis was born that way, got hit by a car, or what, but she is definitely more than a little off.

I was watching Isis' weird behaviors and starting to feel pretty bummed out when I heard my cousin's husband say, "A cognitively impaired Bald Eagle, huh?  Seems like a more appropriate symbol for America."  And that was when I stopped feeling bummed out, because I was so stimulated by the idea of that slight, yet critical, shift in American symbolism, and I imagined presenting the idea to the American populace like so:

"No, it's still a Bald Eagle.  It just happens to be cognitively impaired, just like this country.  So it's perfect."

"Um...is there something on my face?"

5.  How Not to Travel Light
If your goal for a long road trip is to travel light, then make sure not to (a) be in the process of  moving across the country, and (b) have a shit ton of animals.  Our daily setup and breakdown processes were completely ridiculous.  Every evening when we arrived at a destination, we had to empty our cars of the following:

• 2 dogs, including leashes, harnesses, and poop bags
• 2 suitcases
• 3 bags full of computers, chargers, books, maps, etc.
• 2 cat carriers (complete with cats!)
• a litter box and litter
• 3 different kinds of pet food
• 6 food & water bowls
• 2 pet beds
• 2 coolers full of ice, food and beverages
• 3 big plants 
• our wonderful walkie talkies & their charger

Each evening when we arrived at a motel or the home of some wonderfully loving and accepting relative, we'd set up all the feeding/drinking/pottying/sleeping stations, then break everything down, pack it into our cars, and drive off the next morning.  It was absurd.

Although it could've been much worse

But now we're here!  We have arrived in Asheville, and none of us wants to get in a car ever again.

As far as how everyone's feeling, I think this photo of our cat Sid explains it best:

We are super fucking tired.  And quite content.  :)

Here We Go!

Um...are you sure this is the way?

A few years ago, I had a dream that my husband and I were driving over a ridiculously high bridge, and all of a sudden he took a sharp turn, crashed through the railing, and drove us straight out into the air.  As we plunged downward and I felt my stomach respond to the free fall, I looked over at him, wide-eyed and terrified.  He looked back at me, grabbed the shoulder strap of his seat belt and said, "Here we go!"

HOLY CRAAAAAAAP!

That is very much how I feel right now (aside from the fear of imminent death), because tomorrow morning my little family begins our big move to the east coast.  My husband says that if our move were a Sesame Street episode, it would be brought to you by the number 2, because 2 humans will be traveling with 2 dogs and 2 cats in 2 cars over the next 2 weeks.  When those 2 weeks come to an end, provided we haven't driven off any bridges, we will arrive in Asheville, North Carolina.

I'm an anxious person by nature, and as such it's quite easy for me to whip myself into a horrified frenzy through the careful consideration of infinite, absurd "WHAT IF?!?!?" scenarios.  However, in an effort to prevent a full blown panic attack, I'm trying to think of the move as an adventure, rather than a series of potential disasters.  I think this sign is a good representation of my current thought process:

When I find myself thinking, "What if all our tires go flat in the middle of nowhere?  What if the cats escape from the car?  What if everyone in Asheville hates us?  What if we can't find work?  What if (insert worse case scenario here)???" I simply picture this sign and tell myself the following:

Don't focus on the DANGER, Al.  Focus on the WEEE!

Therefore, I have decided this journey will be brought to you by the number 2 and the word WEEE!

Here we go!  

Why I Take Pictures

Many years ago, I was talking with a loved one about her jerk of an ex-boyfriend (for the sake of anonymity, I'll call him Idiot).  After she went through a laundry list of all the awful things Idiot had done lately, I told her this:  "Idiot is an asshole.  Assholes act like assholes.  When Idiot acts like an asshole, it's not news.  If he ever doesn't act like an asshole, tell me about that, because that would be fascinating."

If it looks like a duck & quacks like a duck, it's probably not a poodle.

Lately, the USA has been acting like the USA.  The populace continues to ingest huge amounts of toxic food and sit around getting fatter.  Folks utilize their religious beliefs to justify hateful judgments against others.  People in great need of dictionaries refer to basic human compassion as "fascism."  Leaders don't follow through on their promises.  Money is valued more highly than life.  White people get away with killing black people while women are locked up for defending themselves against men.  And so on and so forth.  Although all of this is a total fucking bummer, unfortunately none of it is anything new.  It's America being America.  Or maybe it's humanity being humanity.  I don't know.  Either way, it sucks.

And it's also why I take pictures.  

Taking pictures helps keep me from becoming 100% cynical and despondent, because capturing images of our world reminds me about this piece of reality:  there is so much beauty around us, it's ridiculous.  Beauty is everywhere, from the reflections seen in a tiny drop of water to the endless cloudscapes we admire from aiplane windows.  

Since I started photographing my environs, I've begun looking at the world in a different way, noticing with fascination both the simplicity and intricacy of each little thing.  Instead of rushing towards destinations, I try to slow down and observe all the tiny details of what's around me.  When you look at your surroundings that way, even flies become cool.

And there are lessons to be found in these observations of beauty, simplicity and intricacy, such as:

The tiniest thing can be perfectly elegant

Even before blooming, one can achieve magnificence, and...

If a tree stump can be happy, then so can I.

I once wrote a screenplay featuring a depressed protagonist with an elderly mentor.  His mentor's advice to him was to work on counteracting his negative thoughts with positive ones.  For example, if he saw parents yelling at their kids in public, he made himself think about how much he loved the smell of garlic frying in butter.  If he heard a news story about a bloody coup going on somewhere in the world, he'd think about how much fun he used to have going to monster truck rallies with his siblings when he was a kid.  Stuff like that.  He didn't ignore the fact that terrible things were happening.  He simply allowed himself to remember that wonderful things happen, too.

I feel like my pictures help me do something similar.  When I find myself thinking about the hundreds of years of structural racism that have led this country to the place it is today, I'll ponder that for awhile, and then I'll let myself remember that sunsets happen every single day, and they are fucking gorgeous.

When I read about yet another species going extinct or waterway being irrevocably polluted, while many Americans are more interested in what's happening with Justin Bieber or the Royal baby's due date, I think about the fact that butterflies exist.

 
And when I saw pictures of George Zimmerman smiling upon hearing the jury's verdict, I remembered the time I saw a piece of ice in the shape of a hummingbird.

Things are bad.  It's true.  But they're not all bad.  Love, hope, generosity, compassion, joy, and courage are still with us.  Sure, they have to share space with fear, cowardice, hatred, greed, and other shitty stuff, but that doesn't negate their existence.  It only makes their persistence even more wonderful.

So, in conclusion...

 
Smile, folks.  One day you may get attacked by a pack of wild dogs, but on a different day an adorable dog may see fit to lick your eyeball.  And I mean that in a good way, of course.

It's Good to Have Goals

I have a new life goal, and that is to emulate the amazing, millimeter-long tardigrade. This fascinating little beast currently holds the title for Al's Favorite Creature.

"I'm gonna shoot you with my little tank nose."

Not only are tardigrades ridiculously cute, but they're also totally badass. As Wikipedia tells us: "Tardigrades can withstand temperatures from just above absolute zero to well above the boiling point of water, pressures about 6 times stronger than pressures found in the deepest ocean trenches, ionizing radiation at doses hundreds of times higher than would kill a person, and the vacuum of outer space. They can go without food or water for nearly 120 years, drying out to the point where they are 3% or less water, only to rehydrate, forage, and reproduce."  

Wow! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!

I don't think I'm the only person who is enamored of the tardigrade. In fact, I believe someone created the Ostrich Pillow in an attempt to make humans resemble the beloved creature.
 

Because really, why else would this thing exist?

If I had to sit next to this guy on a plane, I would laugh myself to death.

In lieu of being like a tardigrade, just in case that turns out to be impossible, I would like to emulate Special Agent Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks, in all of his classy, hilarious, clever, unflappable, free spirited glory.

Agent Cooper and I already have quite a bit in common. He's calm in a crisis. He loves nature. He's adventurous ("Harry, I have no idea where this will lead us, but I have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange"). He understands the power of a good cup of coffee.

Agent Cooper regularly practices yoga, explaining the benefits like so: "The pain retreats to a cul-de-sac in a distant suburb of my conscious mind." I also practice yoga, and it just so happens that I grew up on a suburban cul-de-sac. Coincidence? I think not!  I'm telling you, we're practically twins already. We even use the same earplugs. ("Diane, it's 6:42 a.m. Rough sleep. Dreamt I was eating a large, tasteless gumdrop. I awoke to realize I was aggressively munching on one of my air pillow silicone earplugs. Hence the tastelessness.")

Best earplugs ever.  Not so good for eating, though.

(Just as an aside...Agent Cooper's gumdrop dream reminds me of a dream my friend had right after she got her wisdom teeth out. She dreamt she was eating a giant bowl of garlic mashed potatoes, then awoke to discover the post-surgery gauze halfway down her throat.)

Agent Cooper has taught me many things through his overt awesomeness. For example, he taught me what to say in the face of praise, which is something that has always been a challenge for me: "I am honored beyond my ability to express myself." Perfect!

I adore Dale Cooper.

But not this much.

My first step towards meeting this goal is to find my own version of Agent Cooper's Diane. I already have a wonderful friend named Diane, but I very much doubt that she would want to listen to endless recordings of my daily activities (e.g., "Diane, I am now upside down"). Maybe I'll start recording all of my thoughts and observations, anyway, and just pretend that I have a Diane who's listening and responding to them. I think I'll call my Diane "Jacques." 

"Jacques, I have just returned from walking the dogs. It's a hot one today. Remind me to tell you about the one-eyed squirrel that observed our passage from the high branches of a Douglas Fir. I am quite certain it was trying to tell me something. Many thanks for sending the Grand Marnier-filled bonbons as requested in my last communication."

How random is this??

So yes, between the two options, I think it would probably be easier to model myself after Dale Cooper, rather than a minuscule polyextremophile. However, I plan to forgo the get-possessed-by-an-evil-entity-and-smash-my-head-into-a-mirror part of emulating Agent Cooper. Because that wouldn't be very cool at all.