I had an interesting idea last night, as I was settling in for a night’s sleep. I considered grabbing my phone and recording a voice memo, but talked myself out of it, believing I was still plenty awake to recall my thought in the morning.

Yep, you guessed it. This morning I had no clue what my brilliant idea had been the night before. I could have saved it simply with my phone … and did not.

Well. But that did get me to thinking about how much I do use my phone, for non telephonic type things. Non-communication things, even.

My friends who were early adopters of the iPhone, well, I thought they were just a little too “victim of technology” and I just couldn’t see the point in doubling my phone bill just to have that funny looking flat phone.

Silly me.

I wouldn’t say that I am addicted to my iPhone, but I do use it to:

• find my way around—A LOT—with the Google map feature (a lot!)
• keep track of my appointments
• manage my grocery shopping list
• assemble in one place all those movies and books that people suggest
• keep odd notes related to friends and family, e.g., the secret codes to shut off a house alarm
• take photos, photos, photos, photos
• get my bearings with a compass
• check the weather forecast, in my city and where friends live, too
• carry my music for driving in the car, and
• someday I will use the voice memo feature to capture my random ideas

I’m still astounded by the monthly bill for this phone service, but when I really think about how much my quirky, forgetful self uses this thing and how much easier it’s made my life, I think it’s worth it.

I’ve just lived the worst two or three months of my life. I believe I am on a good track of improvement, but some days still I’m not so sure.

It wasn’t the flu, although it felt quite like it. Intense, immense body ache, foggy brain, and constant need for a nap. Soooo tired.

Of course, all lab work says I’m “well within normal”.

Really? Me? Normal?

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

Did you know that right now, in Seattle, even for people with money, getting great mental health care is not easy? The doctors are not available. “No new patients right now.” “She can see you, but her first appointment opening is in seven weeks.”

See, I tried. I was so tired and so sore, and I became so blue-gray and grim, that I actually asked for help. That’s something I just don’t do (the reasons for which deserve another essay all to themselves). But somehow I had the fortitude to keep asking until someone said, “Yes, I can help you with this.”

Earlier today I was talking with a friend about how I hadn’t felt I could really tell my friends about what had been going on for me. And there were two things at play here. One, it’s America, right−we don’t show our weaknesses. And two, so many of my friends are in pretty dire straits themselves−I didn’t want to be their “last straw”.

I think that we are living in super difficult times right now. (No duh.) But seriously. We look at what is going on around us and feel the weight. It’s like there’s something prominently amiss that’s perfectly suited to fuel anyone’s anxiety. The classics: war, famine, drought, genocide. But also oil spills, earthquakes, unemployment, SARS, food contamination−stuff that is quite real and not some fear that’s been manufactured to keep us distracted.

And I don’t know about you, but even if my life was peachy keen right now, 75% or more of my friends and family are in rough times, many are just barely holding on.

My BFF’s life is crazy. In the last four years or so her life has been burdened with all the worst of what can happen to family members. Heart attack. Death from old age. Death from old age. Suicide. Guillian Barré. Foreclosure. Unplanned pregnancy. Foreclosure. Heart attack. Death from old age. Unplanned pregnancy. Suicide. (Yes, the repeats are true.) And because these things are happening to her family members, they zap her, and her most important support network. Meanwhile, she’s working to keep four children and a husband fed, alive, and happy.

So many of us are running around just barely holding on. And we’re not talking about it. Which skews perspective. The silence gives the impression that other people’s lives are okay. We compare ourselves unfavorably.

We also feel the rift in the energy of the world−all around us things are coming undone−in a quiet, invisible way, and that invisibility exacerbates our feelings of confusion and anxiety.

I can’t think of anyone I know who isn’t living with the stress of warp speed, even the folks with the simple lives are balancing inhuman loads.

We really have to give ourselves, and each other, a break.

Found this under the 1st Avenue bridge. The full heading reads, “FUCK HATERS.” How can you not love this?

Photo: Krylon Philosophy by me and using the Hipstamatic app for iPhone. Lens: Helga Viking Film: Float Flash: Off

The members of my family all received Disaster Kits for Christmas a few years ago. We did a lot of research into compiling them—to be expected what with a couple of professional safety pros and a Virgo or two in the family.

Here are the documents from which we worked. I hope they are useful to all of you who are pondering becoming prepared (or, more prepared) for natural disasters—which seem to be on the upswing.

There is an array of documents here. I found that different organizations and government entities had very different perspectives on “disaster” and none of these documents individually are as comprehensive as all of them together. I also liked to contrast the advice from New York City’s government to the approach of the LA Fire Department.

Anyway, please peruse and prepare.

Personal Workplace Disaster Kit, Red Cross

Family Disaster Kit, Red Cross

Food and Water in an Emergency, Red Cross / FEMA

Shelter in Place, Red Cross

Ready, New York City

2004 Emergency Prep Booklet, Los Angeles Fire Department

A few things to cover today. Succinctly, sex, sex, sex.

∞ First up, dating and sex and the infernal question, “Who Pays?”. As in, we are on a first date, who pays? And the question is answered with humour and insight by Single Ape. I especially like how he says

When you ask someone out, you’re inviting them into your world for a bit. It helps your case about a million-fold if your world is generous to them.

Of course Single Ape is addressing things from the perspective of a man asking out a woman, and the implicit agenda that the man wants to get laid. But I think the advice holds across circumstances and situations–boys, girls, courtship, companionship. Single Ape helps you sort out who picks up the check and why.

∞ Next, sex and happiness. Pfizer to our rescue. Because their recent survey found

that 57 percent of men and 64 percent of women were not satisfied with their sex lives. . . . the research also found that sexual dissatisfaction is primarily related to erectile dysfunction (ED) . . .

As reported by Jessica O’Reilly for Carnal Nation

And of course the Pfizer little blue pill is the answer.

This is so American. First, that so many people would be so mired in unhappy or unsatisfying circumstances. Secondly, that an isolated element of sex–in particular, an erection–would be blamed. And third, that a big corporation would be doing the “research” to reveal a problem for which they happen to have a solution.

Come on people. Really? First off, sex is sooooo much more than penetration with a penis. And lastly, sex is sooooo much more than penetration with a penis.

∞ And for my third topic, and further to all of the above. I have been thinking a lot about how we would have fewer problems to solve if we had more tolerance and appreciation for each other.

You know, the thing about how we can’t really know what someone else is going through, until we walk in their shoes. And, “don’t knock it until you’ve tired it.” And, “one man’s poison is another man’s meat.” Or however that last one goes.

The gist being that people in our society waste a lot of time and effort criticizing other people—instead of just, oh, I don’t know, maybe reaching out and lending a hand instead? Or, celebrating each other, and the fact that we’ve managed to get this far; let’s see how much further we can get if we build each other up instead of tear each other down.

I don’t mean to rant, here. I am seriously thinking about how to enable this kind of shift.

There’s this group on Facebook that is called “Correct Spelling, Punctuation and Apostrophe Use.” Now believe me, I am hyper sensitive to all three of those things (although I lean to the use of serial commas). But I also believe that to judge a person based on their ability to handle spelling, punctuation, or apostrophes, well, it’s as if you are judging me based upon my in-ability to sing, do card tricks, or surf.

Really.

So what does this have to do with sex? Oh yeah, right.

Well, the above-mentioned Facebook group recently posted a photo of a love note that some guy had written for his sweetie. And the note was full of spelling and punctuation errors. So the group lambasted him.

Really? People!

Let’s take this as an opportunity to say something like, “Dude. You can’t spell for beans, but a love note! Marvelous idea. Think I’ll go write one myself, thanks for the reminder.” And spin someone’s “faults” into a deed that makes the world a better place.

And the sex in that?

Setting aside that a love note is one of my favorite forms of foreplay, here’s the sex. Sex is made of many things. Sex is different things for different people. Don’t judge. Keep trying. Mix it up. Relish what works. And, talk about it.

And in that vein, let me present an opportunity for all of you in the Seattle vicinity to set aside pre-conceptions, walk your edges, and try something new that is often viewed as “bad” (but is also often viewed as way too much fun).

Go spend a weekend learning how to tie up people. Wrap them up in rope, tie knots, and confine them. Max’s two-day bondage intensive. Registration closes soon.

I know you geeky scout boys are salivating at the notion.

Photo: by Alicia and used with Creative Commons license.

I did it! In a moment of “what the hell” I moved my blog posts from my first blog over here to Ordinary Beauty, which is (and has been for awhile) my main blog.

This required making two moves on my server which can mysteriously fail and cause things to implode, so I am giving myself 8,000 points for being brave today.

If you’re curious (or, bored) you can dive back into my early days of blogging by using the drop-down menu to the Archives, over there to the right in the side-bar.

And just oh-by-the-way, I’m stoked to have this “ancient” stuff here now, but do note, my Web writings go back much earlier—they’re just missing now out there somewhere, lost in the bones of ISPs gone dead. Perhaps someday I’ll convert files from old floppy disks and repost my original Web musings . . . or perhaps I will leave it be with today’s resurrecting, and just move forward from here.

Cheers!

What’s the point of a Rube Goldberg contraption? Children get science-class assignments to build things, learning about different “laws” I suppose. But why should grown-ups invest hours!!! in building such things?

Well, because they are things of beauty.

I love the fern frond in this one.

And this one is just crazy amazing. Love the sounds of the contraption becoming part of  the song.

Pinball is in my DNA. My father was a gangsta pinpall player, back in the days when pinball machines paid out cash winnings. He’d cheat, frankly, on top of being an ace player, and he’d travel from one small Montana town to another playing pinball, and getting running out of town now and again.

Later, I ran a video game arcade–the largest in Seattle at the time–and our array of hot games included six or eight pinball games, electro-mechanical among them.

Funny, I never played much pinball, maybe it was the way that I had to turn my back to the rest of the arcade in order to play, and that’s obviously a lousy way to run a business, with your back turned on it.

Last night was the first time in ages that I have played a game. Dominique Johns built a new one, from scratch. She’s called Galactic Girl, she’s beautiful, and she had her debut at the Tiger Lounge–with a tournament and everything. Dominique’s parents came in from Illinois, even, to check out their new “grandchild.”

It’s kind of a big deal this building of a machine. Schematics and stencils and lights and sounds. Bugs galore to be squashed. Nuances to be nudged.

The tournament was winding up by the time I arrived, and Dominique dropped in a quarter for me to play. I racked up a grand total of 14 points; I was the new low score!

Later, he opened the game’s cash box and drew out a big handful of quarters, spilling them onto the glass top and setting me up to play ball after ball after ball.

It was by many appearances another instance of cute boy amusing himself watching cute girl play pinball. In truth, after the first minutes he stood and focused his attention on how the game was behaving, watching as it gave me points it wasn’t really supposed to, and puzzling through the possible causes and solutions. Funny, I actually find that kind of thing sexy.

I have always been a bit of a social klutz. I like to blame it on my  parents’ own dearth of social interactions (so I had little example from which to learn) and my Myers Briggs reading (INT/FJ) — I tend to the Introvert realm of existence.

But, I have been working on overcoming my awkwardness. One funny little one is the whole “hostess gift” thing. I have been a perennial failure at this, and always mean to do better. Well, we have just entered the primo season for those requisite tokens of appreciation, and I am off to a new start.

And I kicked it off last night with giving TWO, count ‘em TWO, little symbols of gratitude.

I made a quick stop into Whole Foods on my way to last night’s round of events and wandered the aisles looking for something more interesting than yet-another-bottle-of-wine, and finally chose a simple little Big Dipper candle already tied with a satin ribbon and locally made–love that. This seemed perfectly sweet for the first party–small and tidy, easy to carry along with me, and would require no attention at all from my host once I gifted it. And, if he doesn’t want it, it’s easy enough to re-gift.

The Subterfuge party last night would not be the place for toting a gift. It was at a public venue and any package would only be a burden on my hostess. I don’t have her physical address (modern world) so a thank you card is out. But, I can reach her online, so I bought an access code for a download from GIVE Seattle–a collection of music and video by local artists, which she can download at any convenient time. The money earned from the project supports local food banks and an arts organization; I know that my hostess will be happy about that.

Ah. I know we aren’t supposed to be all stoked about doing our social duties, but hey, I am. Whatev.