Redevelopment

Governor Jerry Brown is looking for a way to fix California's massive budget shortcomings. Early on, he let it be known that we had two choices: raise taxes or cut programs. Redevelopment agencies were on the chopping block, and Brown stated that he was going after services that would pinch the middle class. It seemed sound reasoning to me. Rather than cut programs that only impact the poor, which is what often happens, threaten things that the middle class actually cares about. Remind them that the taxes they pay serve them.

As the deadlines draw closer, however, I'm hearing more and more about cutting funding for the Redevelopment agencies and very little about extending and raising taxes.

The mania and hatred of taxes is something that I can't fully appreciate. We say we want smaller government and lower taxes (or no taxes), but we also complain about high unemployment. I don't know the numbers for every city, but in Oakland the city, county and state are the biggest employers we have. If you want to decrease the revenue of the government, then you're basically saying that you want less jobs available. Cutting taxes means more unemployment, more blight, more crime, more social ills.

There's a nice article about Oakland's need for redevelopment funding here.

What got my ire up this morning was this article in the Oakland Tribune. In particular, the Contra Costa County Supervisor John Gioia's comments really hacked me off. As someone who grew up in Pleasant Hill, I can affirm that yes, most of Contra Costa County doesn't need much redevelopment money. It's a great suburban sprawl full of wealthy people. What we have with Mr. Gioia is another example of the wealthy completely failing to take the needs of the poor into account. "If we don't need it, why should anyone else? After all, we've got space and lots and lots of shopping malls!"

So, please, Governor Brown, take Contra Costa County's redevelopment money. They neither need, nor want it. For the urban centers, however, just extend the taxes a bit. We can take it. It's worth the slight pinch.

New Day Dawning

I'm feeling a little bit shamed by the wonderful Becky Haycox, who has committed to writing every day this year, and by Neil Gaiman who is celebrating the ten year anniversary of his blog.

I used to update every day, but that slowed, and with the advent of twitter essentially stopped completely.

So, I'm going to try this again.

Be warned, I make no promises that it will be interesting. When I first started keeping an online journal back in... what was it, 1997? God, I think it was. Anyway, when I first started it then, it was because I wanted a record of my life that wasn't just the emo portions.

I'll be posting about my daily goings on, my thoughts on news of the day, trends, and whatnot. You're welcome to listen in, comment, or ignore. If I feel like I have to perform in this space, I imagine that nothing will get written.

So. That's that, then.

--------

Truth of the matter is, my life is much more boring than it once was. The curious thing is that I am not in the slightest upset by that. I'm forty years old. I have a house and a mortgage. I'm engaged to a wonderful woman. I have a dog, for crying out loud. If it was possible to be more settled down I'd be a potted plant.

This doesn't mean that I'm not quite active creatively or that I never have any adventures. It does mean that I am much more likely to stay inside. I'm not roaming around, looking for interesting experiences to have and interesting women to meet. Yes, it's true. Upon reflection, a major motivation for me to be out and about all the time was that I was looking to meet women. How very pedestrian. How very human.

To be perfectly fair, it's not quite as simple as I like to make it sounds. Part of it is age, to be sure. But part of it boils down to contentment. I'm not looking outside my home for anything to make me happier, or better, or more interesting. It also has a lot to do with investment. Each apartment I had, I felt a little more at home in. My last place truly felt like it was a part of me. Now, I have the house. I'm happy to be here, and I'm heavily invested in it. The financial commitment is one thing, but there's also the endless tweaks and improvements I'm investing in, as well as the sheer size of it. In a one bedroom apartment, there wasn't much space or need to interact with the environment. It was easy to leave and return to. With a house... it's different. It's a home in a way that an apartment never could have been. Apartments are launching pads. Houses are not.

And then, there's the dog.

I thought about getting a dog for a long time, but ultimately decided that I wouldn't because of my lifestyle. Dogs are social creatures, and I figured that I just wouldn't be around enough. It wouldn't be right to the pooch. Well, now I work from home, and I find it emotionally hard to leave him alone in it. His panic when we leave is only surpassed by his ecstasy when we return. I know that he's fine. But every time I leave with him pushed up against the window, whining as I walk away... it kills me a little. So, I find even more excuses to stay at home.

We've talked about getting a Beatrice for our Benedick, and talked about fostering dogs for a while to see if it makes a difference for him. Time will tell if and when we follow through on that.

Packers

So, New Scientist magazine is having a "flash fiction" competition. A 350 word or less short short story about "a future that never was." I.e. a forgotten vision of the future, a future or present, with promised technology that never arrived, or where debunked scientific theories turned out to be true.

Writing a story in 350 words or less not easy. The first draft was easily 200 words too long, and a lot of good stuff that I hated to lose had to be jettisoned. I may need to write a more fully fleshed out story in this world, and with Dr. Pitts.



Packers

“We’ve got another flyer.”

Dr. Pitts frowned, uttered a quick “excuse me” to the man whose leg he had been prodding. A clutch of nurses and orderlies were already at the body while the paramedic shouted out “Caucasian male, twenty years old. Third degree burns on the buttocks and all down the back of the legs, left tibia appears to be broken, second degree burns along the back, abrasions under the arms, swelling and lacerations on the face arms and chest.”

“Thank you Matt. Why is he naked?”

To his credit, Matt didn’t crack a smile. “Frat party. 1.5 BAC. He’s not feeling too much pain.”

Pitts shone a light into the boy’s eyes. “Stupid bastard. What’d he hit?”

“A tree. Smashed right into it, safety straps released on impact. Obviously, no chute. He’s lucky he only broke one leg. Firefighters got there when we did, but the tree’s a lost cause. The pack got caught in the branches. Fwoosh!”

“All right, get those burns treated and then get him to Radiology.” The orderlies grabbed the hover-gurney and moved the quietly groaning frat boy down the hall.

“Busy night?”

Pitts shook his head. “Not too bad. Just the usual.”

“This is ‘usual’?”

“You’re still new. This is nothing. You know, people are so afraid this or that thing is going to kill them, and then they go and strap on a jetpack without a thought. Every night we get people in here because they didn’t want to wear the helmet, or took out the emergency chute because it was uncomfortable.”

The paramedic nodded. “I forgot to take the heat shields out of my jumper once before washing it. Got a nice burn on my ass the next time I wore it.”

Dr. Pitts sighed. “I was just starting my residency when the first consumer models came out. My very first E.R. patient had been convinced he could make it home without refueling and lost control a quarter mile from his house.”

Matt chuckled. “That was your first? You’re a relic!”

“Yes. And this isn’t the future they promised me.”

love, new directions, and general updates

Wow, I haven't posted here since September. Quite a bit has happened since then.

First off, I feel madly in love with Juliet Heller. I don't often talk about my personal relationships in this space ( a lesson forcibly learned a long time ago), but this is something of such momentous importance that it really needs to be noted.

We met doing The Heidi Chronicles with Custom Made Theatre company. One of the actors in the company, Fred Pitts, had contacted me to ask for suggestions for actors to play "Scoop Rosenbaum" for the company's remount. After I gave a short list of potential actors, he asked if "I" would be interested. My calendar was free, and I thought it'd be fun to work with Fred again, and I'd never worked with Custom Made, despite working *alongside* them for years. So I made my availability known, did a quickie audition and joined the cast.

Juliet wasn't at the first reading due to other commitments, and my scenes were almost exclusively with "Heidi" and "Peter", so I didn't meet her until we had a rehearsal at my home with the whole cast. Our normal rehearsal space was booked for the night, so I offered my living room as a suitable space to do line and character work (although not really enough for full blocking). Juliet showed up, and I learned that she was the one playing my wife in the show (although we only have about 1 minute of stage time together). She definitely caught my eye, but as I had just begun seeing someone, didn't have a history of "showmances" and wasn't looking to complicate life, I didn't do anything about it. Rehearsals moved on, and I saw little of most of the cast, including Juliet.

It wasn't until tech week that I began to get the slightest glimmer of an idea that I had caught her eye as well. It wasn't until our only night off between a solid week of runthroughs and tech-preview-opening that I accepted that there was something there. She was in Oakland for the day and asked if we might hang out that night. Seeing as how it would be our only night apart from each other over two weeks, I was intrigued, but still wary. I most emphatically wasn't looking to, here's that word again, "complicate" things.

We hung out for a few hours, talking, watching videos, just exploring who the other person was outside of the context of doing a play together. After three hours, I kept hearing my friend Chris' voice in my head, telling me that the first time he met his wife Ann that he knew if he dated her, that was going to be it. I knew that if Juliet and I got involved, it was going to be major.

That was two months ago. She officially moved in about a month ago, although we've actually only spent two or three nights apart since that Sunday. I'm happier and more emotionally secure than I've ever felt I had the right to be, and daily amazed at the joy I receive from having her in my life.

She's off at rehearsal for her new show, Jubilee, now. We're both looking forward to having some time off, with no show requirements for a while. Time to simply "be", which is not something I'm known for.

This is largely why I've been so silent on this blog. Lack of time. We still had a show to do, one that ran for five weeks. I've still been doing Radiostar, and we've both been working on the house and savoring our downtime. Life has been full, and very good.

This week, we'll be hosting her father, her brother and his girlfriend, and my mother for Thanksgiving.

I have a lot to be thankful for.

Music to our ears

Sorry for the comparative radio silence, although I've been happily twittering away, so if you miss me lots you can follow me on Twitter.

I'd like to talk about a recent project, but first I want to alert folks to a couple of notable Sweetie Tanya musical releases.

First, Rachel Efron (who penned "Terrible Thing to Dream", "Not as Old as You", and "Mouse Becomes the Cat") just released her second CD, and it is a thing of loveliness.

Second, The Endless (who composed "I Never Wanted This") just released a video for "Hunt for the Heart", off their latest album. The album and the video are both filled with the strange beauty that characterize Adriana and Dave, so go check it out.

Also, I did some singing lately. I cannot claim it was lovely or filled with strange beauty, but people seemed to find it very funny.

Suraya Keating (Vagina Dentata) asked me to fill in for a lost actor on her project Zen Boyfriends. It was only a couple of days of rehearsal and one show, so I happily agreed, despite the fact that I was up for a role (which I also got) in Custom Made Theatre's "Heidi Chronicles". It was a lot of fun and we did our performance at the California Institute for Integral Studies last night.
Zen Boyfriends is essentially a cabaret piece about a woman reflecting on her struggles with men who use their "enlightenment" to dominate others and avoid emotional intimacy and personal responsibility. It was written and co-directed by someone who graduated from CIIS, and the particular form of spirituality and social consciousness being satirized is fervently endorsed by the institution. So depending on your point of view, we were either in the belly of the beast or inviting the larger family to be in on the joke.

I think it was a little from column A and a little from column B.

What I found most interesting about the project was that most of the cast are not semi-professional performers and I was repeatedly "checked in" with by them to be sure that I was enjoying myself and that I was glad to be involved with the program. There was a kind of nervousness that I might find the project unworthy or something. Truth was, the show is a lark, required minimal time, and is clearly enjoyed by the targeted audience (who turns out in droves).

For the most part, the performers have a hard time singing in the same key (myself included), and while the music is quite catchy nobody would buy a CD of *us* singing the songs. The script is perfect for a cabaret style performance with broad, satirical characterizations, but is ultimately 2 dimensional and cartoony. The entire show has a very "let's do a show in the barn" feel to it, and will probably never play in an actual theatre. But there's nothing wrong with any of that. It's a specific piece written for a specific audience and it runs on cleverness, good will, and high energy. People who come to see it have a good time (even if they end up feeling a bit chagrined by the end). It's what Peter Brook would call "Rough Theatre", and in many ways is more special to the audience for happening outside even the rough and tumble world of independent theatre.

We are probably doing it again next month, which will result in me doing Zen Boyfriends on a Sunday afternoon, and then doing Heidi Chronicles that evening. It should be interesting, to say the least.

Of, and for the fearful, I only sing as part of a chorus.

7 questions to ask about health care

I was inspired by an article a friend on Facebook directed me to. It's 10 questions to ask your representatives about health care. While I disagree with the tone of the article (the author, Hugh Hewitt, gives his own answers to the questions and asserts that they are what any representative will tell you if they are honest), I agree that there are some important questions we should all be asking.

With that in mind, I present my own take on the 10 questions. I only have 7 though, as I feel that if these seven are answered the remaining three from Mr. Hewitt's list will be answered. (in particular, "have you read the bill and know it will enough to be interviewed on it". If a representative can answer these questions intelligently, then he or she has clearly read the damn thing and understood it.)

1. What will be done to ensure that my employer will not ditch my current health plan in order to go exclusively for the public option? How can I be ensured that I can keep my employer-provided plan?

This is at the root of the question. It's been very clearly stated that you will not be forced off your current plan, but the question of employer decision is a valid and important one.

2. What are the differences, if any, between the coverage provided in the general public health plan and the current federal employee health plan?

If there are no differences, then we can get a good look at what the public option will offer us. If there are, we should know those up front.

3. How will the new health plan impact Medicare funding? Will funds be pooled between the two programs (i.e. will Medicare be subsumed as a sub-program of the larger health system) or will the two be funded and administered separately?

The question isn't, "will the seniors get screwed?" The question is about the relationship between a current, functioning program and the proposed one. Is it possible that the new system break the old? If it is possible, then what is being done to prevent that possibility from happening?

4. If a doctor decides a procedure is necessary or extremely beneficial, can we be sure that the new plan will cover it? If there is not a cap on care, how does the government plan to deal with costs?

Again, let's not make this about he seniors. If Medicare has worked this long, let's assume that things aren't going to change for them or for the Veterans (unless the answer to question #3 shows a danger). The question of caps on are is important on both sides of the coin. Insurance companies just decided not to pay for things. The Public Plan shouldn't have that option, but what *is* in place to ensure that costs don't skyrocket?

5. How will the influx of new patients, waiting for medical services, impact the time it takes to receive the care that is needed?

If we are expanding the base of people who can take advantage of health care services, but not expanding the number of hospitals or medical professionals, this is a valid concern. It doesn't mean that we have the option of not providing health care to people, but we should have our eyes open to the idea that non-emergency procedures might involve greater delays than we're used to.

6. What incentives or requirements will be in place to ensure that doctors don't prioritize patients from private insurance over patients on public insurance?

I'm not entirely sure how this works currently for non HMO-Doctors. It'd be good to find out. The question of doctor compensation is important for a number of reasons, but I'm less concerned about the arguments that anesthesiologists and pathologists are suddenly going to be dropped from hospital staffs because their jobs are less essential. Again, what is the answer to question #2?

7. While socialized medicine is practiced in many countries, there are many reports of long delays and problems (especially in Canada). What systems are being put into place to avoid the pitfalls revealed by other nation's programs?

I'm sick of everyone talking about wait times in Canada, as if they were the only country in the world to have socialized health care. Many countries are doing this, some better than others. I want to know how we're learning from their successes and mistakes and how that impacts our plan.

new skins on old fears

Everyone has at least one recurring dream. I tend to find myself back in school, being informed that I have to retake a class that I never took, or failed, or else they'll revoke my diploma. In these dreams, I am having a hard time finding my classroom, trying to negotiate the requirement with my work needs, and generally trying to deal with the fact that I'm 25, 30, 35, 39 years old and stuck in a high school class.

The underlying fears are pretty clear. My forward progress in life is halted or retarded by something left undone, a failing never acknowledged or discovered. Something hidden in me threatens everything should it ever be discovered. This failing, this inadequacy will bring me not only inconvenience but shame.

Last night I had a different dream. Same theme, new twist. This dream had friends with tech connections asking me veiled questions about an old computer of mine, and then flat out telling me that due to video files on my old CSLA computer, I was under investigation by the federal government for copyright infringement. (I used to identify short clips in movies to be used to illustrate points in presentations. Everything was fair use, and our process was checked by a lawyer.) In my dream, I knew that what this ultimately meant for me was that they would come for the house.

I woke up reflecting on this. It's ultimately the school dream. But instead of something undone being revealed and threatening my forward progress, something DONE was being revealed. From the sin of omission to the sin of commission. Also, instead of simply causing embarrassment, the danger is to my home. For the first time, I have something concrete that can be threatened.

My life has undergone a major shift, and now my dreams are catching up to that shift. Social stigma is no longer the worst that can be done. I can be financially ruined now, left homeless and deep in debt. I can be a target.

This is probably part of the lassitude I've been feeling lately, the ennui that's settled over my otherwise quite content existence. I shouldn't be surprised that my standard dream is undergoing changes as well.

Feelings

I've been oddly emotional lately.

It's not that I find emotions odd, but that I find the emotions I've been having odd. Odd in their timing, odd in what triggers them.

My last breakup really bothered me, but I kind of retreated into a protective emotional shell when I saw it coming. I think I've seen the signs too many times to be surprised any more, so I sort of unconsciously start to buffer myself. But as I talk to people, months later, the hurt and the frustration come out and friends say "I was wondering about that. You seemed to take it all weirdly well."

I get brief spurts of energy. I'll be interested in the idea of dating for maybe ten minutes, but then lose all my steam. I can't even get through a single online personals ad.

I get weepy, but not at sad things. I get weepy at happy, hopeful things. Movies that show people deeply in love, or long friendships, or childhood dreams that are still alive. When I see these things, I feel my eyeballs begin to float and I wonder ... "why?"

The simple answer is depression. I'm a bit depressed, and have been for a bit. It's a hard word to own, because I often feel quite content, but I guess that content doesn't really cut it. Still, why else would images of loss and sadness leave no mark upon me, while scenes of happiness reduce me to tears? Why else would this respite from project-mania leave me so listless and unwilling to get to the real work that I claim to want to do? Why do I want to nap all the time (even though I never do)?

I keep talking about getting a dog, but I'd probably be a terrible dog owner. I can barely take care of myself, let alone a puppy. I resent restrictions on my freedom, and am not an outdoors person. Again, the answer is fairly straightforward, but hard to face. A dog would be an attempt to fill whatever void I'm trying to ignore. That's a bad position to put people in, and it's not a good position for an animal either.

Not a very upbeat journal entry, but the bit about tearing up over happy moments has been preying on me lately.

I guess I just am hoping that putting it in words, throwing it to the ether, will help a little bit. Name a thing and it loses power over you ... at least to a certain extent. And who knows, this depression may just be the result of disappointment and fatigue, neither of which go away quickly just because you want them to.

With that in mind, I'm off to bed. We shall see what tomorrow brings.

Curious conversation

I head into the back yard to water the garden. From over the fence I hear:

"Hey!"

"Hey," I reply.

Hey!

"Hey," again.

I continue watering and a young man's face appears over the fence. I've met a couple of the guys from that house, but it seems to have a lot of visitors/family/etc. Not someone I'm familiar with.

What're you doing?

"Just doing some watering."

Is that a garden?

I look at the neat and ordered rows of plants, the row of flowers, and the netting on pipes that keeps cats away.

"Yep. It's a garden."

A slight pause here, then

What are you growing?

I give the usual litany. Tomatoes, green beans, zucchini (although it is not growing well), lettuce, etc.

Do you like weed?

Ok, now the conversation just got interesting, although I'm not sure where this is going.

"No, never really been a big fan."

Do you know how to grow it?

While I would have to assume it would involve light and water, I say that I don't.

Oh.

A longer pause, then finally

I have my medical card.

He then proceeds to mutter something about his legs being fucked up, and then drifts away.

I've been offered weed to smoke (or eat) on numerous occasions but not until I became a homeowner was I asked to grow it for someone.

More history

I continue to slowly explore the history deposited in my home. It turns out that I am not descended from an outlaw, as the Jesse James who died was not the historical thug, but a farmer in the Ozarks who ran afoul of Confederate sympathizers. My own ancestor literally had the noose around his neck when word of Union forces arrived and the "bushwhackers" ran away, leaving him to his own devices.

A lot of the interest in the records is what I can glean from inference. Ancestors in Missouri who married at 13 years of age. People having 11 children. Family names that recur in marriage records. These things tell little, but are reminders of what life was like five or six generations back.

Closer to home, time and space wise, is my father's Senior yearbook. Dad was a Castlemont High School, Oakland, graduate of 1960. I've learned a few things from going through the old yearbook, reading the signatures, and looking at the photos. One, Dad's high school looks way more interesting than my high school was. Even the clubs were cooler, or at least had cooler and more enigmatic names. The women's swim team was the "Aquadettes", but many of these club names give no indication of what was going on: Bishops, Block C, Caduceus, Excaliber, Guild of the Lance, Ladies of Avalon and the Ladies of Devon and the Ladies of the Holy Grail, Shamrocks, the Six Footers, Trianion, Ye Castle Hams, and the Undertakers. This doesn't even consider all the groups with greek letters for names.

Dad was on the Varsity Basketball team, but has very few signatures in the Varsity section. He does however have a lot of messages from women throughout the entire book, many of which imply that Dad was ... well favored by the ladies. This jives with something he implied back when I was in High School. I didn't date in High School, and my Dad had an issue with that. I didn't realize at the time that my Dad was a bit of a player.

He also had some interesting classes. In particular, people write about Bookkeeping Class, Yearbook (he was the Sports Editor), Office Practice, and American Problems.

I want to take a class in American Problems.

I wish, now, that we had gone over this yearbook together... away from my Mom... and had him tell me about these people and experiences. My Dad never really talked about the past. Just a few comments here and there, but no real stories. Really, you'd never know that any of these people who hoped that they'd be "friends forever" ever existed. Like a lot of men of pretty much every generation, Dad wasn't a "sharer".

It really is a loss.

I'll keep the yearbook and let my own imagination fill the gaps of my Dad's unknown past. I'll give him some great adventures, and maybe you'll get to read or see them someday.

World's best haircut

This is fantastic. Stephen Colbert doing a USO show in Iraq, and at the end is the best military haircut EVER

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Obama Orders Stephen's Haircut - Ray Odierno
colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Stephen Colbert in Iraq

History (part 1)

My mom has been cleaning out her storage space, and in addition to a cabinet, table, chairs, and antique secretary's desk, she's left several boxes of old photos and documents for me to go through.

I expected these to be mostly childhood scribblings of mine. Such detritus seems to proliferate in the back cupboards of parents, and I'd already gone through a few such "thinning" expeditions in the last couple of years.

I'm working through the first batch and have already found some treasures I wasn't expecting. A small vinyl record of the first moon landing was surprising, but it is nothing compared to some documents I found paperclipped together.

Three pages are sketchy genealogical notes, one is a handwritten letter, and one is from the Secretary of the Navy. The handwritten letter is from my paternal grandfather, Martin, to his brother Louis. This took me a moment, since my Dad's name was Louis and he never mentioned an uncle. Then again, he rarely talked about his family at all. The letter is dated November 4th, 1942, and is primarily about the details of a gear that Martin was crafting to fix my grandmother Elsie's washing machine. Parts were unavailable due to the war effort, so he was making one himself at the Caterpillar factory where he worked. Two and a half pages of grammatically questionable description of a gear, after apologizing for not writing more often. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why anyone would save this. At the very end, Mary mentions that Elsie is five months pregnant. "Ah," I thought, "that's the significance. That would be when she was pregnant with my father." Still, I wasn't sure why mom had the letter.

Then I read the attached telegram from the Secretary of the Navy. According to the telegram, on November 15th, 1942, 11 days after Martin wrote the letter, Louis' ship, the Preston was sunk. There were few survivors, and the ship sank rapidly. Louis had been "Missing in Action" for a year, and the telegram was to inform my great grandmother that her son was officially considered deceased.

He was a machinist, first class. That explained why the entire letter was about gears, and why my grandfather quipped near the end that Louis could take the letter to a machinist if he didn't understand any of what was written.

So, now I know why my dad was named Louis. He was named for the brother who never heard about the jury-rigged gear for my grandmother's washing machine. He was named for the one who was lost.

Also of interest is that my Great Grandmother, Una Garfield Wilson, lived on E 14th St, right off of Lake Merritt. I can only assume by the fact that it was addressed to her, that my Great Grandfather (Charles Salem Wilson) had already died. The genealogy notes give no dates for him. Una was born in 1881, though, and appears to have died in 1964. How interesting that, being born in Hayward, raised in Pleasant Hill, educated in Santa Barbara and Chicago, I should end up buying a house 2.7 miles from my Great Grandparent's home.

Update:
In the envelope, unattached, I found a letter from Great Grandma Elise, written the day before. It's full of hope for the new baby, tales of common friends, and the great fear about the war. It is much more what I would have expected. I'm considering starting a genealogy project. Nothing major, but I want a way to digitally organize this information. I may need to invest in a new scanner.

Because it's awesome

Ashes to Ashes

So, I asked the city of Oakland what the trees are that line my street.

I got the answer yesterday. They are "Raywood Ash", also known as "Claret Ash" due to the lovely wine color the leaves turn in the fall.

I called Kaiser to ask if they test for Ash, since it wasn't on my results. They don't. They do test families, but the allergist couldn't tell me offhand what family of tree the Ash belongs to.

Well, the Ash is part of the Oleaceae family of trees.

The average person may know them as OLIVE TREES.


And now I know that I have doomed myself, because I am allergic to Olive trees, and my street is lined with them.

I may buy stock in Claratin.

Allergies

So, the last four months have been a bit of a sinus nightmare. Between the endless colds and allergies, I haven't known if I was coming or going. Kristi was convinced that my immune system was being worn down by a low level wheat allergy. I was less convinced, but it was certainly the worst spate of nose awfulness I'd had in a good LONG time.

So, today I got tested.

The good news is that I'm not allergic to wheat or dairy.

The bad news is that I'm allergic to almost everything else.

In particular: Bermuda Grass.

This shit is everywhere. I'm not botanist, but it looks like it's growing in my miniscule back yard. It's impossible to kill, as has a deep root system and will grow back from the tiniest bit of remains. I'm tempted to irradiate the soil.
It doesn't like shade, which would suggest maybe planting a tree. But what kind? More on that in a moment.

Perennial Rye Grass

I had the strongest reaction to this. It appears to be the standard suburban lawn. I.e the stuff that my parents made me mow every week. Bastards. Fortunately, it requires lots of water and maintenance, so I won't be finding it growing wild on my property. I may need to secretly pee all over my neighbor's lawns at night, though.

Lamb's Quarter

I don't think this is growing here, but I've seen some pics that look like the stuff growing in between the cracks in my walkway. Hard to say, though. It's edible, and a substitute for spinach. Now, I can't each spinach in large doses because of my kidney stones, and now it looks like I'm at war with the entire family!

English Plantain

Ok, I've never seen this. So that's fine. You keep your distance English Plantain, and I'll keep mine. Just remember, there's not enough room in this town for the both of us. I see you... I cut you.

Oak Tree

Oh crap. I live in OAK-LAND. Of course, this city pretty much deforested itself of all oaks decades ago, but still. CRAP! My floor is made of oak! That's it, if my floor starts to pollinate, I'm gonna get it replaced with cheap linoleum.
In any event, I need to stop licking my floor.

Olive Tree

Olive trees? Really? I like olives. And the trees look so cool. Well, so much for my trip to Jerusalem.

Walnut Tree

This is just getting ridiculous. Walnut trees? Really?

White Alder

Clearly, I need to go into a career in forestry.

Elm Trees

Ok, FINE. I will never go outdoors again. Are you happy now?

Western Sycamore


So basically I'm allergic to grass and trees. Yes, I'm fine with ragweed, house dust, acacia, cedar trees.... and dogs and cats.

Wait, I'm not allergic to cats? How is that possible? Unless.... unless... they've been out and about rolling in perennial rye and bermuda grass! Kaaaaahhhhnnnnn!

Still, good to know that if I get an indoor cat, I should be ok with it.

How does your garden grow?

Have I mentioned lately how happy I am about the Obama administration?

I mean, sometimes it's the little things that just make me smile. A White House garden, with a portion of the vegetables going to feed the local homeless?

Marvelous.

Things on this end have been challenging. Work is kicking my ass, and I've fallen sick AGAIN, after coming so very close to getting over the persistent cough from the last cold. I'm seeing a doctor for a checkup in two weeks, but I don't know what he'll tell me besides "You should lose about 10 lbs" and "yeah, it's going around."

iScan, along with the rest of the Bay Area One Act Festival has closed, and I'm in rehearsals for The One Eyed Man Is King, by Carter Lewis. It turns out that Dylan Russell (Radiostar, Manumission) knows Mr. Lewis, proving once again that the world consists of about 500 people.

I'm horribly behind on editing Radiostar shows due to a freelance gig I just completed, but hope to get a new show out this week. I have a lot of hopes for productivity this weekend, but will likely accomplish very little as I really do need to rest. Still, all the grass I attacked a few weeks ago is back at "no one lives here" levels, so I may need to tackle it again. Yes, I'm turning into everyone's suburban Dad. God help us all.


No other news to speak of. Most of my energy right now is directed towards work, which is demanding it quite forcefully. I think I'm just about on top of things, though, so I'm hoping for a little equilibrium in the very near future.

I'm delusional in that way.

Watchmen

Sure, I could pontificate on the movie, but why bother when you've got this?

accountability

It occurs to me that I forgot to write an important part of the last post, which is that I'm immensely grateful to have someone in my life to hold me accountable to do the things for myself that I know I should.

I've looked at Dentist offices for years, thinking, I need to do that. I've signed up for a gym, and even lasted a couple of months. I've tried this thing, and that thing, and all without any real result.

Ultimately, I need someone to hold me accountable, even if all that means is that I have to look them in the eye on a regular basis and be reminded by their example.

It's why I started writing a blog, all those years ago. I knew that without some sense of audience, some sense of accountability I would never get beyond writing a journal only during times of great distress and heartache. How very boring. By feeling that someone out there was holding me accountable, I would write more consistently.

Like most people, in a vacuum, I move towards inertia.

Healthy choices

I've never been particularly good at self care. It's not that I don't acknowledge the benefits of a better diet and more exercise, I'm just not that good at maintenance.

Lame, I know, but there you go.

So, I'm now dating a vegetarian who loves to run and is highly invested in keeping me on the planet for as long as humanly possible. She's already got me eating many more vegetables than usual, and has gotten me to the dentist for the first time in *mumble* years.

Yeah, I'm not proud of that. When I moved to Oakland, I just never got around to finding a new dentist. For those of you who know me... yeah, it's been that long. Amazingly, other than cranky gums and an insane amount of buildup, my teeth seem to be none the worse for wear.

Also, I've undone the good I'd managed to do on my credit card balance by buying a Wii and a WiiFit. The WiiFit is sitting upstairs, and I should have the Wii proper by Friday. I think that she's more excited than I am, but from everything I've heard, this may actually work for someone like me.

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Of course what inspired me to share this with you is the news I got off today's White House Blog posting.

"President Obama also said today that $155M from the Recovery Act will go toward supporting 126 new health centers across the country, providing care to 750,000 Americans and creating 5,000 jobs."

Granted, California could stand to have all of those, given our size and population density, but overall this is an awesome use of federal moneys. I'm extremely proud of our president. I also love how his language on this issue hasn't changed from his campaign speeches, and that he's very aggressively preparing for the backlash from the health care and pharmaceuticals companies. Check out his weekly statement to see what I mean.

Did you know?

T.M. Camp asked (via Twitter) if this excited or scared me.

Excited.