fingers-in-my-ears time

Now that the presidential candidates have made their picks, it's time for me to stop paying attention. I didn't even have to wait this long, really; I knew who I was voting for since Obama got the nomination. Everything from here on out is pointless, and anyone who has a couple of brain cells to rub together and reads the news more than twice a year knows how the candidates stand on the issues already and have made up their minds. I firmly believe that those wavering on voting for Obama because of "inexperience", or "is he the right kind of candidate" are covering for their racism, possibly racism they don't even know (and certainly won't admit) they have.

But I let myself get angry this morning while innocently turning on the television to watch a soccer game. McCain's pick for VP just infuriates me. The utter contempt McCain and the rest of these people show for women is unbelievable. He really thinks that if he puts a woman on the ticket that he'll get women to vote for him. He thinks we're that dumb! I'm not going to vote for someone simply because we share the same anatomy, and to think that I'm going to overlook the fact that we have nothing in common in our background (other than hunting and living on the west coast) and certainly nothing in common for our vision of the future, and vote simply for some sort of solidarity with my gender is insulting to say the least.

Having said all that, I have a terrible feeling that Obama is not going to win. This joke of a pairing McCain/Palin are going to run our lives for the next four years. Can you imagine what depths they'll pull us to? I was devestated and mind-blown that Kerry lost four years ago. I simply could not believe the majority of Americans could vote for that bastard again. But I won't be surprised this time - disappointed, yes, but not surprised.

Hurl! (and then whine in pain later)

Just when I think I'm sort of in shape... I go and start a new activity. A few weeks ago, that activity was sawing logs and chopping wood while camping. I know how to chop and saw, it's just been a really long time since I'd done so. This week my roommate has suddenly become infatuated with the Irish game of hurling, which if you're unfamiliar with it, is similar to field hockey or lacrosse. It's played with a big stick, called a 'hurley', and a ball that's slightly smaller than a baseball.

The hurleys got here two days ago and I've ended both nights with a large dose of Ibuprofen and about half a bottle of Arnica (rub-on hippie medicine). My hamstrings are sore, my groin is tight, my obliques and lower back hurt and the muscles in my forearm are so tender that I can hardly make a fist. The outside of my forearm is so covered in bruises from the hurley handle and last week's soccer game that, as my roommate put it, it looks like I have a disease.

But it's a fun game involving some familiar movements like positioning on the field and using one's body to shield the ball from opponents, and completely unfamiliar motions like picking the ball off the ground using only a stick, and swinging the hurley with one's hands in the opposite grip as in baseball. Those new movements have totally tweaked a few muscles who seem to rather have been left alone.

planes, dreams

I've had a reoccurring dream for years, every few months or so, about planes falling out of the sky. Sometimes they come for me and I try to run to one side or another, but there's just no dodging a huge jetliner bombing towards your head. Other times, like last night, a plane on the horizon just dips and falls into a fiery mess and I try and pick people out of the wreckage. I'm sure it's a metaphor for something and I could probably look it up somewhere. I just wish I was smart enough to undo the riddles my own brain has created for me.

Anyway, this might have had something to do with my urge to go to the airport today. I do that every now and then. I get some coffee from Coffee People, find a seat near the window and watch the planes take off while reading or writing in my journal. I had a book to finish (American Gods, if you're wondering. It was fabulous, too.) and I kind of wanted to rid myself of the lingering disturbing thoughts of last night's dream by watching planes go up, up and away, exactly as they're supposed to.

Like most of my time this summer, today's events did not have a point and neither does this blog post. I'm struggling to find a conclusion here, but really, nothing happened other than some nice thoughts and a few overheard conversations, and certainly nothing reaching the revelation(s) with which I'd like to justify this post. But that's what I wanted this summer. Timeless, pointless, rambling, wandering...

A camping pic

Ah, eastern Oregon. Home of desert, cattle ranchers, 9,000 ft peaks surrounded by ponderosa forests, rushing rivers full of trout, and of course... a few people. Who like guns with their ice.

More pics to come...

Summers rule, too

I've been camping and stuff. Will post some pictures when I get a more reliable connection and before I head back out again. Summer breaks are the best. They ought to be mandatory in the employment world.

Birthdays rule

The oldest little boy that lives in my house, Pete, had a birthday yesterday. This provided his dad, my housemate, the opportunity to get a gift for him a month ago that would enrich everyone's lives: a Wii. Don't you hate those gifts, those that were given because the giver wanted them more than the receiver? Pete didn't care. And today he had a party. By the time I got up this morning both his parents had combined to clean the kitchen, the bathroom, even the intimidating dining room table. There wasn't an ant in sight! He invited a bunch of classmates, all of whom were cute as pie, and we played soccer, and ate hot dogs and watermelon, and they had a massive water balloon fight. His mom tried in vain to establish order and rules in a game format involving the balloons, but there was a whined "awwwwww!" of disgust that could be heard clear over in the next neighborhood and the game quickly became established as a free-for-all. Then Vegan Rob showed up, the vegan weighlifter that was featured in one of the premier weekly newspapers in Portland this week. He's a longtime friend of the family, so he dropped by to say hello to the kids and the their parents. He quickly became a target of every kid's waterballoon, and was forced to take his shirt off and run around the yard, dripping wet.

To reiterate (that phrase will forever remind me of an evil 1sg of mine, so I apologize for using it, in case it brings up unpleasantries in your life, too.), the house was cleaned spotless and a weightlifter ran around my yard without a shirt. I've instructed Pete to have a birthday at least every other month from now on.

Discharge!

My dad informs me that something that appears to be discharge papers arrived on my parents' front door step yesterday. hoots and hollers I couldn't tell ya how many times I've changed my address with those people8 and yet they continue to mail their important things - and my important things! - to my parents. Good thing they haven't moved during these past eight years!

Going on a camping trip tomorrow! I ransacked my room to re-find my fishing license, put line on the reel, bought a cooler and a pup tent (so as to not have to squeeze into my one-person backpacking tent), and now I just have to find some yummy treats. We're heading over to the Wallowas, a mountain range in northeastern Oregon. It's a mountainous desert, lots of Ponderosa pines, rushing fish-filled rivers and hiking galore. Man, I'm excited.

*In case you've just tuned in, "these people" mean the U.S. Army.