Will I finish the ride?

I am a sucker for anything divination related, because deep down, I believe that someone or something truly can portend the future... and that I can then go in and affect the outcome. So I went to the Runes section on facade.com and asked the question that's been on my mind since I ate those four custard pasteries yesterday.

For those unaware, Runes are stones each emblazoned with a letter the old Futhark alphabet (think Nordic). Each letter is a symbol for some kinda something.

I did a single rune draw, which provides a simple yes or no answer. Yes, the Rune is in its correct, upright position. If reversed, the answer is no.

So I asked the big question, the one on everyone's mind: "Is Dick Clark seriously going to appear on ABC on New Year's Eve?"

Okay that was my second question.

Actually, the first one was: "Will I finish the ride?"

My answer:

"The rune represents the critical factor in the issue at hand. Dagez means daylight, and represents divine light. This rune generally refers to dawn (the initial sparking of energy) or to midday (the climax of energy). Both dawn and midday are symbolic of change, but unlike the changes in the perpetual circle of the year which are slow and subtle, the changes over a day are much faster and more dramatic. The breaking of a new day is symbolic of the rapid illumination of dismal circumstances, and is suggestive of Satori. Be careful - although this rune generally suggests a positive change, the symbology of a peaking point suggests that there must be a change downward as well. Fortunately for some, this rune is cyclic and irreversible, and so permanence is not promised - the only thing you can be sure of is an exciting ride."

Happy Winter Solstice!

Today is the winter solstice. Known in many countries as Yule, this pre-Christian celebration marks the longest night of the year.

The ancients-- which is to say, not baby boomers, but rather, people from a really, really long time ago-- believed that on this night the veil between the living and spirit world was at its thinnest. Hence, the winter solstice is a time of honoring those who have passed, and meditation. A fire would be lit, and a single, very large log (with many different types of trees branches tied to it) would burn the whole night through, providing light in this, the darkest of times. People would stay up all night, watch the fire, maybe sacrifice a pig, drink some ale... a time of grand partying and chatting with the dead had by all.

For more information about this very splendid holiday, check out Wikipedia.

life

Coffee: Do not diss my best friend.

I want to express something, just so we're all clear about where I stand on this issue: I flippin' LOVE coffee. And I get tired of people saying that it isn't good for me, because it seems like every other week some article comes out in favor of the health benefits thereof.

So I Googled "coffee health benefits"-- just to prove she ain't all bad... and found the following on MotherNature.com.

Benefits:
• May reduce the risk of suicide among women.
• Helps prevent gallstones and symptomatic gallbladder disease in men.
• Contains caffeine-related compounds (theophylline) that can alleviate the symptoms of asthma in some cases.
• Can increase alertness and prolong waking hours.
• May improve short-term recall.
• Promotes the effectiveness of certain migraine drugs.
• May reduce the risk of cirrhosis of the liver among heavy drinkers.
• May postpone muscle fatigue and thus enhance athletic performance and endurance.
• May protect against free radical damage to tissues – one study found that coffee has more antioxidant activity than red wine, green or black tea, or orange juice.
• Can reverse polarity of the neutron flow. (Okay, I made this one up.)

Risks:
• Increases blood pressure among people with high blood pressure. (So I'll drink a little red wine. Big deal.)
• Causes insomnia, anxiety, and irritability. (I HAVE NO FREAKIN'CLUE WHY THEY SAY THIS! BASTARDS!)
• May worsen symptoms of PMS in some women. (Shut up. Less talk. More chocolate.)
• Can reduce fertility in women trying to conceive. (Lies! Everybody knows women don't TRY to conceive.)
• Can cause heartburn and indigestion. (One word: Tums.)
• May increase the risk of osteoporosis in postmenopausal women. (Ffs-- who cares. I already got vericose veins, cardio-myopathy, and macular degeneration heading my way-- like a little hump on my back is going to scare me.)
• May increase blood levels of homocysteine and the associated risk of cardiovascular disease. (Science-shmience. I have no idea what this means.)

Happy birthday, Matt!

Those that know him, today's his day! Those that don't, you're leading a cold, empty life. Today is the anniversary of my big brother's birth.

I have only the greatest memories of my brother, enhanced by a deep, overwhelming fondness. Apart from being one of the most affable people I've ever known, he is also quite charming; add on caring, witty and self-less, and you got the whole package, right there. No one knows more about movies or television, including the directors, crews and entire cast of actors, A,B or Z list, than Matt. He likely knows the name of the key grip on the 1957 version of I Was A Teenage Werewolf.

My brother has always been a source of my overwhelming adoration. He's no fancy-pants; just a regular Joe who picked me up when I fell at age one; stopped me from cutting off all my bangs at age three (well, just so he could cut them first); taught me to play stuntman and allowed me to follow after him and his buddies from that point on. My very first essay ever was about him. First grade, "Who I Want to be When I Grow Up."

He even indulged my love of Underdog, and later forgave my age-four surprise naked-with-a-cape impression ("Duh, duh, DUUUH!!! Have no fear, UNDERDOG IS HERE!!") in front of he and his swimming buddies. Granted, I was 28 by the time he forgave me, but still. Great guy.

Greatest of guys. Happy birthday, Matty. I'm blessed to say I know you, let alone brag about you being my brother.

Cousins' Christmas

Last night was the annual Cousins' Christmas exchange. Since there are sooo many kids in our family, each kid draws the name of a cousin, and makes one gift. The kids love the gift making; they get so excited to show off what they made, and what they can do.

We all get together-- this year at Château Schock-- and the kids open their gifts, one by one. It's fabulous.

Trevor was Katie's secret Santa this year.Trevor says, "Happy holidays, everybody!"

Harry was Colin's secret Santa this year.Harry says, "Merry Christmas to all!"

Sydney was Allyson's secret Santa.Sydney says, "There is no Dana, only Zuul!"

My arse hates me.

It grows, like some forgotten, mammoth zuchini, hiding beneath the leaves of my clothing. I know it. I can feel it THINK about getting larger. It's the oddest sense.

These arse thoughts are pervasive. They intrude upon every waking moment. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. Cream Cheese anything. The entire family of Mexican foods. I'll be sitting here, working away, coding, creating images, in a meeting, driving-- WHEREVER-- and suddenly the arse thoughts begin. Images flood my brain while whispers of "Embiggen me," flutter in the background.

Lemon Merangue Pie. Coffee. Chocolate. Cream cheese anything again.

...embiggennn.... And it always sounds like such a good idea.

My bed loves me.

It doesn't like me to leave it in the morning. I know this because it whispers sweet nothings as I lay there, just moments before the screaming red blare of the alarm takes hold of my senses. My goose-down pillow with its flannel pillow case cradles my head lovingly and soothingly. Perfection.

The fog outside is like a voyeur, pressing against the window pane. I can feel it watching, waiting for me to stumble from the enveloping comfort into the cold, forbidding bathroom to wait for the shower. Why would I want put on a peep show for the weather outside? I wouldn't. That's sick. Sicko fog.

My bed loves me. I will stay where I am ALL DAY LONG.

...*sigh*...

The holidays are here

The cheerful music, the sparkling decorations, the specialty coffees at Starbucks. All these things tell me that the holiday season is upon us. But mostly I can tell this because people suck.

I went to Savemart this evening to buy groceries. The Bee Gees were crooning in an unnatural falsetto over the sound system. My daughter toddled along with me, pushing a miniature shopping cart and insisting on filling her tiny, "Customer in Training" basket with our comestibles. Those who have known the subtle, easy-going demeanor of a toddler know that you gotta pick your windmills.

Syd then ran straight for the bulk candies and snarked down a fist-full of candy corns before I could wrench her away from the bin. My gawd, she is so my daughter.

Other than her highness having various issues with virtually everything-- declaring each item at eye-level as "mine"; the sudden change of heart from one direction and the immediate scurry across the store in the dead-opposite direction; and her ability to develop spaghetti limbs at random-- the trip was typical. We had a delightful time. Really.

So we go to get in line-- I, the mother of the beautiful, sunshine girl, and she, the ruler of all humanity-- whereupon some sneaky woman promptly and unceremoniously cuts in front of us in line. Throwing the elbow, no less!

She was really sinister, too, because after she juked her way past me, she tried to fake-out the woman ahead of me. No go there. Still, I didn't seem to mind, I mean-- she was buying a can of Maxwell House. That's all. One lousy can of one lousy coffee. Clearly the woman had no taste to begin with, neither figuratively nor literally.

So the line is long and snaky and another clerk comes forward, and opens a new line. This puts me second in line to the juker, who promptly rammed her way in front of me YET AGAIN. But here's the surprising part: Yet another woman tried to squeeze her corpulent self in front of me in line. AND she had a cart full of stuff.

Well, no sir, I would not stand for this and I actually said so, quite forcefully... in my brain. Out loud, my voice-- not unlike the Bee Gees overhead-- squeaked, "Excuse me, but I was next."

"WHHAAATT??" said Mrs. Big-boned, eyes a-bulgin'. "Are you ACTUALLY saying YOU'RE NEXT?!"

"Yes." This made her spittin' mad. So for fun, I added, smiling, "I'm next." What was she expecting me to say? Oops, no, since you yelled at me threateningly over your tub of "I Can't Believe People Actually Eat This Crap," I'm going to back down? That I'm going to let you and your Barbara Bush eyes thrust your way ahead of me the way I allowed the tasteless juker to do? No ma'am. No ma'am. I wasn't going to stand for it.

Before I could squeak anything more, her husband chimed in with, "Aww, honey let her go. She's just got that tiny little cart." It was like a movie. We all turned and looked at the ridiculously small, miniscule "Customer in training" shopping cart, at my bunch of bananas, yogurt, ziploc bags and Syd's puppy.

Dramatic pause.

SYD! Where was Syd??

Panic sets in as I realize I had lost sight of my little tornado for a total of 3 seconds. Was I crazy?? She could have dismantled the entire cereal aisle in that time!

"I right here, mommy," says a small voice, peering from behind a display of Krispy Cremes. Awww, she IS my girl.

I scamper over, grab my beautiful monkey all wrapped snuggly in her lavendar faux-fur coat, and kiss her sticky cheeks.

Jabba the Bulgy Eyed, whose veins are now so large and throbbing so intensely they're obscurring the store's flourescent lighting, grumbles loudly in that bricka-brakca-fricka-fracka Fred Flintstone kinda-way, and lumbers over to another aisle.

The song changes to a cheery jingle about an elderly woman being carelessly trampled by a group of heathen deer. Holiday lights shine. Tinsel glows. The air drips with good intention.

And that's how I really know it's the holiday season: People suck.

Training thoughts & tips

I learned from last week's horrendous riding failure and actually wore clothing on my ride this morning. Proper clothing. Let me say this:

* The $120 I spent on the steel girder riding shorts might as well been shoved up my a--... ear, for all the good it did me. What the hell, man? Seriously-- this is a flippin' SPORT. My bike was 1/4 of what I spent on my CAR. (The car I had in college, but still.) There are people who ride all the time, in all kinds of weather-- am I the only one asking about this rump issue? That is IT, man. I am so getting a banana seat.

* No matter how properly you may dress for the cold, it doesn't make up for being a big lazy dork the week before. It just doesn't. My muscles were warm, I was excited to be out there, I even ate an energy bar before heading out. All of this, while good, couldn't possibly overcome the fact that I sat on my arse most of the week before. THINKING about riding, apparently, is not the same as ACTUAL riding.

*No more fast food. I hate it. It's greasy and gross, and ohmyGAWD the Big Mac I had last week was heaven. (It's the second one I've had in the last 7 years). They should call them the Crack Mac--you have one and the next thing you know you're jonesing for them. NO MORE. And no more pizza, plain cheese or otherwise. I won't do it. Maybe.

I got a note from my riding buddy, a woman who works for LifeCycle and coordinates events. Technically, she's like hundreds of people's riding buddy. Anyway, I leave you all with this interesting training tip:

"Many of you have been out training even as the temperatures begin to drop. This is great, but we want to make sure you are taking care of yourselves out there.especially your knees! If the temperature dips below 70 it's important to cover your knees when you're out riding. Why? Because your knees are vulnerable when exposed to the elements! If your knees are cold, blood flow is reduced, and the sinovial fluid (the lubricant around your knees) becomes less fluid. This lack of circulation can lead to micro-tears in the connective tissue (the stuff that's helping you bend and straighten your legs with every turn of the pedal), which can lead to more serious damage down the road."

bitter disappointment tastes like chocolate

I think adults should teach their young this from a very early age, and then, when they totally let their kids down, they should demand to know, "Can you taste the chocolate?" And when the kid says, "No," the adult should yell, "Well you're not really disappointed then, ARE YOU?!"

That way, we're teaching kids to excel in all things.

beer

I love it. And yet, I drink it-- or any alcohol-- quite seldomly, for no other reason than the fact that I am a total wimp. What used to be a simple appetizer in my drinking feast, one beer makes me drowsier than Nyquil. Sad, sad, sad.

There was a time when I drank well; which is to say I excelled at the art of pounding said brewskies. Alcohol just didn't affect me. I mean, not in a bad way; as everyone knows, alcohol only has positive side-effects. Duh. Back then it made me more attractive, smarter, and doggone it, people really liked me when I drank. I was damn witty. I uttered only perfectly formed sentences with the most brilliant articulation-shunnigton. In fact, I believe I excelled in the art of polyglotism. I will admit that I don't think it ever made me a better driver, but I wouldn't know because I never drove while even slightly inebriated. So nya-nya-nya. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

But the fact remains that while I once was quite the early-20s drinking expert, I rarely drink now. Socially, yes, of course, I will politely, publicly make an ass of myself. At home? I can make a perfect ass of myself without the booze, thanks much. That said, I've had the same bottle of vodka for 5 years. Same goes for the rest of the fully-stocked bar. I'm told it never goes bad, so I keep it. It is it's own preservative. And so it sits there, all sad-eyed, depressed and ignored. Poor babies.

Conversely, the beer I've only had around since October-- the Halloween party. Apparently the case of Fat Tire I got for the party was a bad choice. The 30 or so 10 year-olds took no interest in it. Neither did their parents for that matter.

I was told recently by a friend that it's just odd for women to drink beer. It just wasn't "ladylike," I think was the word she used. Of course, she wasn't stating this factoid to offend me (as I happened to be sipping an ale at the time); I think she thought more of me as "one of the guys." So you know, it's not that I'm unladylike for drinking a beer. It's that I'm already kinda butch to begin with. (What the...?!)

I mention all of this because... well... I am drinking a beer. Right now, as I type this, I am drinking the same beer I have been for the last two hours. And I like it. And in another hour, I'll be just about done with it and I'll tell you this: I am not butch for drinking it. I am so totally one of the cool kids.

Now please excuse me while I finish the dishes, fold the laundry, feed the dogs, change a diaper, vacuume the hall and scrub a toilet before I completely pass out. Ehhh, screw it. I'm passing out anyway.

Kevin Spacey, where are you??

I'm putting this out there, because frankly, I want to know. I need a little honesty in my life, and damn it, I think we all deserve some answers.

What the hell happened to Kevin Spacey?

Anyone? Anyone?

Wasn't he one of the hottest actors on the scene just a few short years ago, and now-- what? I mean, did I even spell his name correctly? He went from being that incredible actor in Seven, the one that scared the crap out of me and made me think death by deadly sin was inevitable; to then being the sole reason why I love the movie The Negotiator so much. Him and Sammy L. And American Beauty-- GAH! I ask you, was there ever a better potential pedophile? Really. I mean, what sixteen year old virgin WOULDN'T have offered herself to up the Altar of Spacey? And then...there were others... The Usual Suspects, LA Confidential, and the ne'er to be forgotten K-Pax, which oddly, reminds me of K-Crap, which is what the reviews called it. Then that David Gale movie, which took a completely different approach to public relations, and raised the question, "Kevin Spacey, are you gay or what?" (His answer was evasive. Whatever.) And now...

Now he's that actor I refer to as "that bald guy."

According to his filmography, he's been in a few movies since then and is destined to appear in Superman Returns as Lex Luthor. Great. A movie I could give a rock-solid crap about.*sigh*

That's really all I had to say.

brrrrrr....

The weather has changed. Apparently the Universe decided that the temperature must be lower in December than November, simply as a matter of principle. That, or knowing that I had inadequate riding gear, dropped the temperature by 70 degrees just as I was leaving the house.

In the words of 101 Dalmatians,
My nose was froze.
My toes was froze.

Wanting to turn around and go back was not an option for AT LEAST 15 yards. At that point, not turning around became a steady argument with myself. For about 2 miles.

And then I simply wanted to die.

How do people in Siberia do it? CRAP it was cold. There was no one out there, it was 7 AM, after 15 minutes my hands were two solid blocks of ice. Nobody was there to see me turn around. No one was there to see me fail. Except me. And ffs, I had already defined chickening out as survival.

Just as I turned around, just as I hit the other side of the street... two small groups of riders passed me on the opposite side. Long-fingered riding gloves. Proper attire. Smirking.

Flippin' snobs.

A view of the bitter cold on my ride. You can't really see the snow, per se, but the sky is just thinking it. You know it is.

World AIDS Day

"WASHINGTON (AP) - Money is available, treatment is better and much of the mystery is gone from prevention, treatment and care of AIDS.

Yet, more people will become infected with the AIDS virus and will die from the disease itself in 2005 than in any previous year, the World Bank said Wednesday."

...and this is why you should support the LifeCycle. AIDS bad, cure good, cycling will make it better.
Read about World AIDS Day.

Thursday

It's December first.

Thirty days left to meet the Windbreaker challenge.
Thirty, short days to raise $75.00.
That's all. Just $75.00...
...that's just 75 small donations of $1 each...
...or just 15 small donations of $5 each...
...or 5 donations of $15 each...
... or 3 donations of $25 each...
I mean, really, the mathematical possibilities are endless.

:^)