Well, there is only one song to comfort me. Look it up. There's a Michelle Branch version. I prefer the Rickie Lee Jones version.
"Stewart's Coat"
Hold me love,
I can't sleep again,
will I have to kiss your nose,
I wanna lay here next to him,
love,
I remember walking in the rain,
rain was falling on my hands,
I don't wanna live through that again, no.
I know it takes love,
love is a healing thing,
when you give everything,
you're loving the world,
the world gives you love to hold onto,
remembering,
we seldom remember love.
Just give me many chances,
I'll see you through it all,
just give me time to learn to crawl.
In September,
when the rain comes,
and the wind blows,
I will see you walking in the coat of,
If you let me,
I will keep you here inside the stars,
I will love the salt on my sheets, oh you'll love me.
Just give me many chances,
I'll see you through it all,
just give me time to learn to crawl,
time to learn to crawl,
time to learn to crawl,
time to learn to crawl.
Covered on "Traffic from Paradise", given to me by RD in 2004. Best thing he ever passed on. Find the Mp3, it's soothing. Not that I know what I know what that feels lately. Shitty way to end my 34th year. I don't understand, I don't understand...
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Eat THAT, Simon Cowell
Yes, Jenny won last night. After she took off that horrid Patti LaBelle collar. See? You can succeed even when someone tells you you're not good enough. Spite is everything, kiddies. And how do I know? Well, I was fired from the new place.
THAT old place finally saw fit to give me my W2 and my final paystub after bullshitting me from December 1, 2006. THIS place turns around and tells me that I wasn't what they wanted, I had no skills, and was basically grasping at straws over crappy little things. My verdict? And now that I've discussed this with three friends, two mentors, and a professional former-Wall Street recruiter, I know: my asskissing wasn't up there, and I was picked, not chosen. Funny thing is the first thought that popped into my head was, "I only had one interview and got the job? Strange." That never happens. Not when all my other interviews were 5,6,7 times going back, meeting with HR, meeting with project managers, meeting with the people in the next department over and even the janitors and being told that I was in the final three, but not chosen. This place was stupid, half-assed and poorly run. Sounds like THAT old place, doesn't it? It was the director of HR that got on the phone with me, not the person I worked for. And, come to think of it, the last time I was fired was by a woman, too. I guess the saying is true, "Don't work for a woman." Lory Antonelli was right. I learned my lesson. Men simply don't fuck around like that. No passive-aggressive bullshit. Just facts, projects, things to do, fix, learn.
Fine. Whatever.
I'm still sick with bronchitis (which annoyed the shrew, I'm certain since the shrew was perfect and never gets sick), and this gives me time to redo everything: resume, cover letter, I can even redo my typical interview outfit. I paid my rent through April, I'll put up stuff on EBay to get by, and see if I can cover my Cobra health care on unemployment.
My desk was dirty and broken, my computer ancient (Windows 2000), the files stuffed to capacity, the carpet stained with those who worked before me--and from what I saw, the spot was a revolving door: every few years a new person came in--so maybe this is just a lovely opportunity to say thanks to the universe for getting me out of the hole. Now I can begin again.
Plus, I have time to blog again. Something I haven't had any time for at all.
I'm down, kiddies, I ain't out.
THAT old place finally saw fit to give me my W2 and my final paystub after bullshitting me from December 1, 2006. THIS place turns around and tells me that I wasn't what they wanted, I had no skills, and was basically grasping at straws over crappy little things. My verdict? And now that I've discussed this with three friends, two mentors, and a professional former-Wall Street recruiter, I know: my asskissing wasn't up there, and I was picked, not chosen. Funny thing is the first thought that popped into my head was, "I only had one interview and got the job? Strange." That never happens. Not when all my other interviews were 5,6,7 times going back, meeting with HR, meeting with project managers, meeting with the people in the next department over and even the janitors and being told that I was in the final three, but not chosen. This place was stupid, half-assed and poorly run. Sounds like THAT old place, doesn't it? It was the director of HR that got on the phone with me, not the person I worked for. And, come to think of it, the last time I was fired was by a woman, too. I guess the saying is true, "Don't work for a woman." Lory Antonelli was right. I learned my lesson. Men simply don't fuck around like that. No passive-aggressive bullshit. Just facts, projects, things to do, fix, learn.
Fine. Whatever.
I'm still sick with bronchitis (which annoyed the shrew, I'm certain since the shrew was perfect and never gets sick), and this gives me time to redo everything: resume, cover letter, I can even redo my typical interview outfit. I paid my rent through April, I'll put up stuff on EBay to get by, and see if I can cover my Cobra health care on unemployment.
My desk was dirty and broken, my computer ancient (Windows 2000), the files stuffed to capacity, the carpet stained with those who worked before me--and from what I saw, the spot was a revolving door: every few years a new person came in--so maybe this is just a lovely opportunity to say thanks to the universe for getting me out of the hole. Now I can begin again.
Plus, I have time to blog again. Something I haven't had any time for at all.
I'm down, kiddies, I ain't out.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Zenyatta Mondatta
That is my favorite Police album. Second only to Regatta de Blanc.
Yes, I know I'm supposed to be fascinated with this whole Anna Nicole thing, but she was a train wreck with an entire pharmacy running through her blood. You KNOW that wouldn't end on a good note. I think of it as Anna, Daniel, and her oil-hubby are now reunited. She should have never had that baby. And, come to think of it, if she were doing as many drugs as they said she was? There's a good chance that infant will die soon, too. Sad, but that's how it goes.
The big news for me is I'm watching the clock with SUPREME anticipation for 8 o'clock to arrive. The Police, one of my favorite bands of all time, are reuniting on the Grammys tonight. I can't wait I can't wait I can't WAIT! If they play "Shadows in the Rain" I will WEEP AND FALL ON THE FLOOR FROM JOY. The only thing better than Sting, Andy and Stewart back together is Joe Strummer coming back from the dead. I'd have THAT footage up and running on YouTube in about 15 minutes flat.
So, that's pretty much it. That's all I'm wanting at the moment. That, and some snow. Come on, Mama Nature, it's February. Gimme some snow. A dusting, an inch. Enough to cover my hat.
Workwise, my new place continues to be good. That HOLE continues to taunt me. I still have not received my W2, only a badly faxed version that you can barely read. I also just received my Aetna switch-over Cobra coverage. If I don't reply by February 15, I will lose coverage. They were supposed to send this to me on December 5, 2006. That's 2 months ago. ASSHOLES I tell you. I've called a lawyer and let's see what happens. Three phone calls to payroll netted me bullshit excuses, four phone calls to HR got me ignored, and another call on Friday to a new admin got me switched from the national desk to an operator then on hold, then hung up on. Nice. But typical. They treat their employees like shit when they work there, then they rub it in even further when you leave.
Now it's time for me to bring in the big guns. NYS labor board, IRS, and I've even written a letter to Spitzer and the Better Business Bureau. If he can't steamroll Shelly Silver, maybe he can go over the mannequin, the Ugly Version of Eva Longoria, and Dickhead himself, the Bald Snake. Should I have any tax penalty because THEY screwed things up?
I'M GOING TO NAIL THEM TO THE WALL. Now, I have legal grounds. They are breaking city and state laws.
Stay posted, kiddies! Should be lively.
Yes, I know I'm supposed to be fascinated with this whole Anna Nicole thing, but she was a train wreck with an entire pharmacy running through her blood. You KNOW that wouldn't end on a good note. I think of it as Anna, Daniel, and her oil-hubby are now reunited. She should have never had that baby. And, come to think of it, if she were doing as many drugs as they said she was? There's a good chance that infant will die soon, too. Sad, but that's how it goes.
The big news for me is I'm watching the clock with SUPREME anticipation for 8 o'clock to arrive. The Police, one of my favorite bands of all time, are reuniting on the Grammys tonight. I can't wait I can't wait I can't WAIT! If they play "Shadows in the Rain" I will WEEP AND FALL ON THE FLOOR FROM JOY. The only thing better than Sting, Andy and Stewart back together is Joe Strummer coming back from the dead. I'd have THAT footage up and running on YouTube in about 15 minutes flat.
So, that's pretty much it. That's all I'm wanting at the moment. That, and some snow. Come on, Mama Nature, it's February. Gimme some snow. A dusting, an inch. Enough to cover my hat.
Workwise, my new place continues to be good. That HOLE continues to taunt me. I still have not received my W2, only a badly faxed version that you can barely read. I also just received my Aetna switch-over Cobra coverage. If I don't reply by February 15, I will lose coverage. They were supposed to send this to me on December 5, 2006. That's 2 months ago. ASSHOLES I tell you. I've called a lawyer and let's see what happens. Three phone calls to payroll netted me bullshit excuses, four phone calls to HR got me ignored, and another call on Friday to a new admin got me switched from the national desk to an operator then on hold, then hung up on. Nice. But typical. They treat their employees like shit when they work there, then they rub it in even further when you leave.
Now it's time for me to bring in the big guns. NYS labor board, IRS, and I've even written a letter to Spitzer and the Better Business Bureau. If he can't steamroll Shelly Silver, maybe he can go over the mannequin, the Ugly Version of Eva Longoria, and Dickhead himself, the Bald Snake. Should I have any tax penalty because THEY screwed things up?
I'M GOING TO NAIL THEM TO THE WALL. Now, I have legal grounds. They are breaking city and state laws.
Stay posted, kiddies! Should be lively.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Hi there
So, I realize I haven’t blogged in a while. Honestly, I’m getting used to the pace of my new “world.” People are nice, the work is challenging. Whereas I used to have constant intensity with no end, now I have 20 little things every day I have to remember and keep going. Those 20 little things are do-able, which is probably throwing me off. I keep waiting for the big BOOM to come down on my head.
Kjou and others still wading the murky waters have told me how unbelievably bad the Hole has become (like a certain gossip columnist who’s redacted Paris Hilton’s name, I will no longer mention THAT PLACE by name ever again on this blog.) This is incredibly fitting since last night,during my shredding meditation (shred-itation?), I found old documents, post-its and letterhead I’d taken home with me from 2005. That still-familiar feeling of helplessness, anger, and confusion washed over me. I am still digging out my apartment, paper by paper, pile by pile. I will, of course, have more moments such as last night. That Aha! Ugh. Grrrr feeling. It truly shocks me how my lack of money, paying bills on time, and horrible hysteria went on for so long.
I am now coming down, and it’s strange—once you’re not in “survival” mode anymore? Deep breaths feel almost painful. My fibromyalgia’s definitely staying steady, not stabbing me intensely day after day. More than one person—including two medical specialists—have marveled that I am not on disability*. I am firmly reminded of my childhood when eviction loomed over my family not once, but twice, which gets me out of bed. [*Mom went on disability due to a severe back injury, no doubt aggravated by carrying me for 8.5 months, and Dad followed as well—gout and his back.] Ah, disability. The thought of it terrifies me. Even if my lower back kills me, which is about 4 days a week. Did I mention my parents met at a Christmas party with the same back injury and their surgeries scheduled one after the other by the same doctor? Fate has a psychotic sense of humor. The doctor Vincent Sclafani, if you’re wondering. His office remains on Bay Ridge Parkway. He’s in his 70’s now. I went to visit him when my left knee fell apart in 1993. Best second opinion I ever had.
“Yeah. Your knee, huh? Get it fixed. It’s swollen. Not good. Tell me how it goes.” That was barely 10 minutes. He looked, he poked, and told me I look exactly like my mother. I laughed. My body problems haven’t ended yet.
I am still on skating sabbatical, made only sadder since last weekend was the first US Nationals I was not on the ice to discuss the programs with anyone. Alissa Czisny was divine, as usual. Best layback since Sasha Cohen. Emily Hughes is killer, I love this girl. I remember her and Bonnie at Rockefeller Center zipping around like waterbugs flying through middle ice. I could never tell her to watch or slow down, she was too fast. Talk about a good “run” on the blade. Klingbeil boots and Pattern 99’s. The choice of Dorothy Hamill, too, now that I think of it. And my poor Johnny. Flat on the triple loop. That was his coach’s best jump, but not his. Let’s see if he can pull out all the stops at Worlds, which is in Tokyo this year. I will be watching with baited breath.
My new thing is bedding. Since fibro’s a partial sleeping disorder, I’m investing in making my bed the best it can possibly be. Flannel sheets, new pillows, the whole nine. I need to be comfortable. Now that I’m actually able to shut my brain off and sleep. Fibro “fog” is another thing. I am not able to remember and respond as quickly as I used to. Losing my mental quickness…..let’s hope my sense of humor kicks in.
Kjou and others still wading the murky waters have told me how unbelievably bad the Hole has become (like a certain gossip columnist who’s redacted Paris Hilton’s name, I will no longer mention THAT PLACE by name ever again on this blog.) This is incredibly fitting since last night,during my shredding meditation (shred-itation?), I found old documents, post-its and letterhead I’d taken home with me from 2005. That still-familiar feeling of helplessness, anger, and confusion washed over me. I am still digging out my apartment, paper by paper, pile by pile. I will, of course, have more moments such as last night. That Aha! Ugh. Grrrr feeling. It truly shocks me how my lack of money, paying bills on time, and horrible hysteria went on for so long.
I am now coming down, and it’s strange—once you’re not in “survival” mode anymore? Deep breaths feel almost painful. My fibromyalgia’s definitely staying steady, not stabbing me intensely day after day. More than one person—including two medical specialists—have marveled that I am not on disability*. I am firmly reminded of my childhood when eviction loomed over my family not once, but twice, which gets me out of bed. [*Mom went on disability due to a severe back injury, no doubt aggravated by carrying me for 8.5 months, and Dad followed as well—gout and his back.] Ah, disability. The thought of it terrifies me. Even if my lower back kills me, which is about 4 days a week. Did I mention my parents met at a Christmas party with the same back injury and their surgeries scheduled one after the other by the same doctor? Fate has a psychotic sense of humor. The doctor Vincent Sclafani, if you’re wondering. His office remains on Bay Ridge Parkway. He’s in his 70’s now. I went to visit him when my left knee fell apart in 1993. Best second opinion I ever had.
“Yeah. Your knee, huh? Get it fixed. It’s swollen. Not good. Tell me how it goes.” That was barely 10 minutes. He looked, he poked, and told me I look exactly like my mother. I laughed. My body problems haven’t ended yet.
I am still on skating sabbatical, made only sadder since last weekend was the first US Nationals I was not on the ice to discuss the programs with anyone. Alissa Czisny was divine, as usual. Best layback since Sasha Cohen. Emily Hughes is killer, I love this girl. I remember her and Bonnie at Rockefeller Center zipping around like waterbugs flying through middle ice. I could never tell her to watch or slow down, she was too fast. Talk about a good “run” on the blade. Klingbeil boots and Pattern 99’s. The choice of Dorothy Hamill, too, now that I think of it. And my poor Johnny. Flat on the triple loop. That was his coach’s best jump, but not his. Let’s see if he can pull out all the stops at Worlds, which is in Tokyo this year. I will be watching with baited breath.
My new thing is bedding. Since fibro’s a partial sleeping disorder, I’m investing in making my bed the best it can possibly be. Flannel sheets, new pillows, the whole nine. I need to be comfortable. Now that I’m actually able to shut my brain off and sleep. Fibro “fog” is another thing. I am not able to remember and respond as quickly as I used to. Losing my mental quickness…..let’s hope my sense of humor kicks in.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
A Chance of January with a Coat Event
Ok, kiddies.
I'm getting pretty sick of the weatherma...um, METEOROLOGIST'S reports of possible snow with some chance of a rain event near some precipitation but now we're moving on! Back to you, Bill.
IS IT WINTER OR IS IT NOT WINTER???? If they're going to screw it all up, why can't they just admit it? This isn't El Nino, it's GLOBAL WARMING. The Polar Bears in Central Park are learning how to wear sunscreen and bermuda shorts, why do the weathermen/women keep LYING???? I CAN'T predict what'll happen when I wake up due to my ever-increasing fibro attacks, I'd at least like to know what kind of clothing I'm supposed to wear. We went from 68 degrees to 50. Then 50 to 45. Then back up to 70, now it's 22 outside. Doppler can't predict anything if Mother Nature's in a pissy mood, they should just keep a gag reel instead of the weather reports. I like to see Funny Videos from Other Stupid People around the World. That's five minutes we all need on a broadcast. Get to it, already. God!!!
In other news, I goofed and thought Nationals was on this weekend. Wrong. It's next, and I planned to go out. I'll have to scratch that to keep up with my skating buddies. We'll all be glued to ESPN next weekend with the ABC recap on Saturday night of the Ladies event. If it snowed next weekend, I wouldn't care. I'm going to be inside in front of someone's t.v. I've taken a break from skating due to my bad fibro and increasingly swollen left knee, but I'm sure I'll jump in the saddle (the blade?) soon again. Nationals always inspires me. This will be my 30th year of following the event. Linda Fratianne won all the way back in 1978. I think Wendy Burge took the bronze that year. '78 was also the year Vern Taylor of Canada landed the first triple axel and Denise Biellman landed the first triple lutz in the ladies event at Worlds. Some moments stay with you. sigh....
As for everything else, I'd made this the year to not die and choke inside my clutter. My shredder is getting used regularly, and the recycling bundle is every few days rather than just the weekends. I saw the inside of my vacuum cleaner and was truly stunned at the amount of dust I'm breathing in. Maybe the dust mites are also contributing to my state of health? I'm sure they're not going to be happy when I evict the little buggers. It's time for change and a positive state of mind.
Work is well. Strong. Good. I am still not used to people having casual conversations with me, since it was so long ago that I had human beings around me. I feel like Mowgli the Jungle Girl put into civilization for the first time. The adjustment is just so jarring. I didn't think it would be this way. I also keep waiting for the work to get piled on, but I realize it's a bunch of recurring little things I have to keep track of, like conference calls, calendars and checks. That's a manageable workload. I never thought I would have that again. Time to go to lunch. Time to clean off my desk. Time to do virus scans and filing. Oh, I worked with the personality disordered, alright. These people have quirks, those people were BIZARRE. And, as Kjou told me, they will be HANDLED. Let's see if the new board has anything to say about it. I sit and wait with a toothy grin.
Wow. Sky got dark again. Should I wear my coat when I go out to do laundry today? Hmmm....I'll just have to guess.
I'm getting pretty sick of the weatherma...um, METEOROLOGIST'S reports of possible snow with some chance of a rain event near some precipitation but now we're moving on! Back to you, Bill.
IS IT WINTER OR IS IT NOT WINTER???? If they're going to screw it all up, why can't they just admit it? This isn't El Nino, it's GLOBAL WARMING. The Polar Bears in Central Park are learning how to wear sunscreen and bermuda shorts, why do the weathermen/women keep LYING???? I CAN'T predict what'll happen when I wake up due to my ever-increasing fibro attacks, I'd at least like to know what kind of clothing I'm supposed to wear. We went from 68 degrees to 50. Then 50 to 45. Then back up to 70, now it's 22 outside. Doppler can't predict anything if Mother Nature's in a pissy mood, they should just keep a gag reel instead of the weather reports. I like to see Funny Videos from Other Stupid People around the World. That's five minutes we all need on a broadcast. Get to it, already. God!!!
In other news, I goofed and thought Nationals was on this weekend. Wrong. It's next, and I planned to go out. I'll have to scratch that to keep up with my skating buddies. We'll all be glued to ESPN next weekend with the ABC recap on Saturday night of the Ladies event. If it snowed next weekend, I wouldn't care. I'm going to be inside in front of someone's t.v. I've taken a break from skating due to my bad fibro and increasingly swollen left knee, but I'm sure I'll jump in the saddle (the blade?) soon again. Nationals always inspires me. This will be my 30th year of following the event. Linda Fratianne won all the way back in 1978. I think Wendy Burge took the bronze that year. '78 was also the year Vern Taylor of Canada landed the first triple axel and Denise Biellman landed the first triple lutz in the ladies event at Worlds. Some moments stay with you. sigh....
As for everything else, I'd made this the year to not die and choke inside my clutter. My shredder is getting used regularly, and the recycling bundle is every few days rather than just the weekends. I saw the inside of my vacuum cleaner and was truly stunned at the amount of dust I'm breathing in. Maybe the dust mites are also contributing to my state of health? I'm sure they're not going to be happy when I evict the little buggers. It's time for change and a positive state of mind.
Work is well. Strong. Good. I am still not used to people having casual conversations with me, since it was so long ago that I had human beings around me. I feel like Mowgli the Jungle Girl put into civilization for the first time. The adjustment is just so jarring. I didn't think it would be this way. I also keep waiting for the work to get piled on, but I realize it's a bunch of recurring little things I have to keep track of, like conference calls, calendars and checks. That's a manageable workload. I never thought I would have that again. Time to go to lunch. Time to clean off my desk. Time to do virus scans and filing. Oh, I worked with the personality disordered, alright. These people have quirks, those people were BIZARRE. And, as Kjou told me, they will be HANDLED. Let's see if the new board has anything to say about it. I sit and wait with a toothy grin.
Wow. Sky got dark again. Should I wear my coat when I go out to do laundry today? Hmmm....I'll just have to guess.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Do the Right Thing, Buy a Lipstick!
Sigh.
Revlon's prospects continue to wane. Crain's magazine reported today that the cosmetics giant is carrying over $1.4 billion worth of debt. They're trying to resuscitate the brand by bringing back a line of Almay shadows and liners aimed at busy women (huh?), but CEO Ron Perelman needs to find some private investor to bail 'em out.
I feel bad. By age 16, I'd amassed a lipstick collection that topped 100 tubes, and about 40 of those tubes were all Revlon colors. My faves, in order...
Bronze Coin
Certainly Red
Love That Red
Cherries in the Snow
Bare Sand
Rosewood
From what I can see, only Cherries and Certainly are still in production. And, if Ron really wants to save his company, perhaps he could lay off the celebs selling his stuff? Yes, I adore Halle and Susan like everyone else, but I'm sure they're minting their own money off appearance fees.
Just a thought. Carry on...
Revlon's prospects continue to wane. Crain's magazine reported today that the cosmetics giant is carrying over $1.4 billion worth of debt. They're trying to resuscitate the brand by bringing back a line of Almay shadows and liners aimed at busy women (huh?), but CEO Ron Perelman needs to find some private investor to bail 'em out.
I feel bad. By age 16, I'd amassed a lipstick collection that topped 100 tubes, and about 40 of those tubes were all Revlon colors. My faves, in order...
Bronze Coin
Certainly Red
Love That Red
Cherries in the Snow
Bare Sand
Rosewood
From what I can see, only Cherries and Certainly are still in production. And, if Ron really wants to save his company, perhaps he could lay off the celebs selling his stuff? Yes, I adore Halle and Susan like everyone else, but I'm sure they're minting their own money off appearance fees.
Just a thought. Carry on...
Monday, January 1, 2007
Happy New Everything!!!
Little things can be very funny....
My calendar hurled itself...yes, you read that correctly...HURLED itself off my door last night without me even touching it. How? It was either a ghost, my previous boss (I love ya Wick), one of my mother's "faerie" friends (that woman's even witchier than I) or it simply didn't like my jacket hanging right next to it. Either way, I didn't have to take it down, it took itself down. At about 9 pm, well before any Swarovski ball-dropping occurred. So much for 2006.
There is something about 7, I must say. 7's and 9's have always been good to me. I was born in '72 (add 'em up, it makes 9), my childhood address was 1738, then 6735 and now 547. 1979 was my favorite year of my childhood and I was 7 years old. 1987 was my best in my teens, and 1997 was pretty good, too. I was 25: 2 +5 = SEVEN. I think I'm onto something.
20 years ago, I had a gift. I was walking with my Mamiya camera and took some shots of the sunset. It was December 30, 1986. When the film was developed, a picture of a stairway and a saint appeared. The rest of the film was black. 1987 was the greatest year, too. An omen, maybe? I've never forgotten it.
Last night, I had some dreams about a giant room with family I'd never seen. Skeletons and dust, Halloween-looking things gave way to lights. Christmas-y, but popping on by themselves. Out with the dark, in with the light? And I didn't know any of these people sitting at a table. I was little again, too. I felt happy when I woke up. When's the last time that happened?
Dick Clark broke my heart again last night, he still can't speak. But the shot of him kissing his wife warms my heart. I loved the "dis" of Christina turning her cheek to Ryan Seacrest. Um, Ryan? Chrissy's a married woman now. And Mariah's in Aspen. You'll have to get your kisses from Teri Hatcher or someone else next year!
07. I like the sound of it already.
My calendar hurled itself...yes, you read that correctly...HURLED itself off my door last night without me even touching it. How? It was either a ghost, my previous boss (I love ya Wick), one of my mother's "faerie" friends (that woman's even witchier than I) or it simply didn't like my jacket hanging right next to it. Either way, I didn't have to take it down, it took itself down. At about 9 pm, well before any Swarovski ball-dropping occurred. So much for 2006.
There is something about 7, I must say. 7's and 9's have always been good to me. I was born in '72 (add 'em up, it makes 9), my childhood address was 1738, then 6735 and now 547. 1979 was my favorite year of my childhood and I was 7 years old. 1987 was my best in my teens, and 1997 was pretty good, too. I was 25: 2 +5 = SEVEN. I think I'm onto something.
20 years ago, I had a gift. I was walking with my Mamiya camera and took some shots of the sunset. It was December 30, 1986. When the film was developed, a picture of a stairway and a saint appeared. The rest of the film was black. 1987 was the greatest year, too. An omen, maybe? I've never forgotten it.
Last night, I had some dreams about a giant room with family I'd never seen. Skeletons and dust, Halloween-looking things gave way to lights. Christmas-y, but popping on by themselves. Out with the dark, in with the light? And I didn't know any of these people sitting at a table. I was little again, too. I felt happy when I woke up. When's the last time that happened?
Dick Clark broke my heart again last night, he still can't speak. But the shot of him kissing his wife warms my heart. I loved the "dis" of Christina turning her cheek to Ryan Seacrest. Um, Ryan? Chrissy's a married woman now. And Mariah's in Aspen. You'll have to get your kisses from Teri Hatcher or someone else next year!
07. I like the sound of it already.
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