That's A Wrap

My 28th birthday week can officially go down as the best ever. Against everyone's will but my own, I managed to stretch a birth day into an entire seven-day span, Sunday to Sunday, all in honor of aging. Mother's Day launched it, Leiah's baby shower capped it, every day in between was perfecto. After my excellent massage with Alli on Tuesday, I had my last-ever board meeting as president of the Lexington Art League on Wednesday. I've been volunteering with the LAL since Jen and I went to the Nude exhibit about six years ago and have been on the board for the last four years. I've made some incredible friends and accidentally acquired a phenomenal mentor at the LAL, but more than that, I've been blessed with feeling first-hand how art enhances life. If you haven't discovered the heightened existence that art can bring to your days on this planet, use the LAL as your portal -- www.lexingtonartleague.org.

On Thursday I spent the rainy day at work and then came home, crawled into bed and watched Amandla, a beautiful movie about how song helped stop the Apartheid in South Africa. I slipped into a rainy day nap and woke up to warm snuggles from a boyfriend I had been really mean to earlier in the day. Birthdays are great for milking forgiveness.

Finally Friday came, and that meant putting on some roller skates and seeing how much more vulnerable my bones had become in the last five years. I spent my 23rd birthday at the skating rink, when it was $2 to get in and $1 to rent skates. I guess since allowance is up to like $20 a week, the rink can raise its entry fee to $7 (skate rental is still $1, but brace yourself for the smelliest skates in the world). As Ruble so adequately observed, there are 12-year-olds with more sex appeal than I've ever had skating around that rink... girls making up skate dances and flittering by in glitter and sequins, boys with puffed up afros bouncing around the outer edge at 35 miles per hour. I didn't fall down this time, so I must be getting better with age. It probably didn't hurt that my skates were so cool even the sexy 12-year-olds jocked me. Loser babies.
Mai Thai was delicious as expected, and even though Liz, Mel and Paxon couldn't come to the dinner part, I got to have a great dinner with the rest of my skating posse -- Mack, Shannon, Charles, Jamie (some of you may know Jamie as Tracy Taylor from the Halloween party), Leigh, Phil, Jon and Ruble -- and Leiah and Allie met up with us. Ten good fortunes later, we split up, me and Mack, seeing as how we were carless, with Shannon and Charles to go to John Rose's birthday party. John and Charles have been buds since high school, and I've known John as the drummer for the Mecca belly dancers and through S&C's wedding. We had a great time drinking beer once Shannon got rid of the sour milk smell that emanated from some cream sauce on the coffee table. Teresa Tomb, one of Mecca's mothers, brought back an interesting liquor called Das Komet from the local liquor store, where the clerk actually said to her, "I could dance around you all night." The bottle was dusty, but the liquid was vanilla and smooth. The fun part was really in the name... saying Das Komet just forces you into a German accent that gets harder to shake the more Das Komet you have. Charles, ever responsible, carted the drunk wagon home, and I slept deep and good until Mack started pushing a vitamin on me at 8 a.m. to stave off any possible hangover... when the water ran out and he had to get a refill "cause it's my birthday week."

Saturday took me back to the Ketch to work, but it wasn't too bad. Shannon and Charles came in for bloody marys and Liz met up with them later. Once my patio section slowed down I sat with them, drinking Red Stripe and laughing at the rednecks on their wedding anniversary sitting at the next table over. It was a quiet laugh until after they left, when I went to clear their table and Shannon informed me that the woman had shoved four placemats up her shirt and stolen them. I guess she needed an anniversary gift, and the Ketch's stripy Big Lots placemats were what she really wanted. After work, I collected Mack from Marikka's, where he was wowing girls with his awesome new magic tricks, and played Taboo until Liz said she was tired and the rest of us finally admitted to it.

Sunday I slept in a little bit and then woke up to read the paper with Liz before getting ready for the shower. About 2:30, people that I love started coming over, by 3:15 I was laughing so hard I was crying, and by 6:30, it was like nothing ever happened. We had a co-ed shower, which got to be my dad's first-ever baby shower, and played some of my favorite shower games -- Guess the Poo, Who Sucks the Best and Feeding Frenzy.
Feeding Frenzy is lodged in my memory forever from Kate's baby shower, when Jeremy picked spinach-flavored baby food and had it fed to him by Jennifer. His face was priceless, but he was such a good sport. I was relieved when he got mango this time, but I think he still has a baby food curse. His food was gelatinous and came out in huge clumps, but he delivered yet another memorable performance. David and Lisa also gave a strong performance, but this time Heidi and Nick were the most fun to watch. Heidi made out with the apple blueberry baby food jar while Nick tried to spoon it into her mouth. Somehow between drinking it and having it shoveled in, Heidi managed to address the crowd to let them know "This stuff is good." That almost made me pee my pants.

Who Sucks the Best came down to a heated finish between Phil and Rachel. Rachel ended up winning, but only by about 1/2 a teaspoon. Basically it was a race to suck 5 oz. of juice from a baby bottle. This is an awful game to participate in, because all the sucking wears out your mouth and gives you a headache that shows up a couple hours later, but it is a great game to watch. Grown-ups acting like babies.
It was great to meet Matt's family and see some of Leiah and Matt's friends, and they made out with some loot. Thanks to everybody who came to the shower and to my birthday party. You made it more special than I hoped it would be. Now, just 298 days until my 29th birthday week!!

The Endorsement Series: Part 3 in however many merit it

Allison "Alli" Reschke, one of Leiah's best friends who I have known since Leiah and she were 12 or 13, has always been sweeter than honey, even when she is puking peppermint schnapps on the back deck or letting me douse her with fake blood to complete her Carrie costume for Halloween. See, Alli shows us up at Thanksgiving by bringing our Mom flowers. She brightens our Christmas by popping over with some thoughtful gift. And on birthdays, she tries to give us free massages, even though her massages are already cheap and even though we go out of town when it's her birthday.

Alli has been through some of the most insane and unfair reality god has bestowed upon one human and that she still lights up a room with her smile is all the more incredible considering what she has endured. Alli has been there for Leiah through everything - through her move to Louisville from Lexington, from Louisville to Lexington, through college, and college, and college, through boyfriend, and boyfriend, and boyfriend, and through baby time. Where other friends have ebbed and flowed, Alli has been steady and strong and supportive. And our family has come to love her and claim her as one of our own.

Today I personally experienced the Alli touch. I needed to get these old stress wads out of my back and neck, so I called the masseuse I adore for other reasons... Ms. Alli. I'd never had more than a sampling of her magic touch before today. She fit me in in no time, rubbed out all the ouches, and left me feeling like I had a new back. It feels like a single unit now, whereas before it felt like a neck, shoulders, upper back, bra-strap back, lower back and side back. Each part had its own complaints, but now they are singing in harmony.

And at $40 an hour, she adds "most affordable" to her title of Best Masseuse in Lexington. Go, see her, be touched by her, claim her as your own.

(Alli can be found at Southland Medical Center, at 137 Cherrybark off of Southland. Her number is 539-6155. She is not one of those weird, "I'm gonna touch you all over," "That hurts but I'm embarassed to tell her" masseuses either. She does just what you want, just hard enough to work.)

Birthday Week Begins

The World's Greatest Mom, with her Little bodyguard

What better way to celebrate your birth than to wrap it up in Mother's Day. Well, since I'm pretty close to perfect, I got to start my birthday week the perfect way. Not only did I get my mom, but I got my dad, my Betsy, my Leiah, my Shannon, my Charles, my Mack, my mostly-mother-in-law, my mostly-father-in-law, my mostly-new-little-sister-in-law and my still-in-the-belly nephew Ben all under one roof for strawberry cake and presents.The Littlest Sisters

Leiah's First Mother's Day

The Whole Fam Damily, the Originals

The Original Male and His Imposters Clamor for Power

It was one of the best days of my almost-28-year-old life, made even better today, when, after acting like Cinderella all day and scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees until I got blisters on my knees (which I didn't realize until many hours after I was finished with said scrubbing), Leigh came over with a brown sequined scarf and some gold Chinese Laundry heels as my birthday present (okay, she then proceeded to help me wear them so I wouldn't look completely dorky, which was the best gift). Then, I got to go for pizza, specialty Guiness drinks and bowling with two of my favorite people to hang with. I missed volleyball, which I didn't realize until many hours after its scheduled time, but I had a fabulous birthday week Monday nonetheless. I even got two strikes in the tenth frame for a bonus bowl.

My Patented "White-Girl-Arms-in-the-Air-Excited" Dance

And to think, tomorrow I've got a massage at 1pm with Allie to work the knots out of my neck and back. At this rate, by my skate party on Friday I should be positively floating. Life is good.

Boy Oh Boy

I called my friend Heather last Monday to see how her belly was feeling. She was due to have her second son, Cole Henderson Wall, any day now, and I had a couple of meetings and didn't want to miss the call if she suddenly went into labor. She was ready to be done being pregnant, but assured me that I had a couple of hours to live a normal life. I had plans to be with Heather for this birth, mainly because she's a fellow photography worshipper and wanted to capture some of the special moments associated with having a baby. My mom promised me it would change my life, and as usual, Mom was right.

Relying on what must have been some subconscious awareness I brought my cell phone to bed with me Monday night. I read a little of Us Weekly and finally went to sleep around 1 a.m. A few minutes later, say 120 of them, I got a call from Heather Cell. It must be time.

In my surprisingly alert 3 a.m. state, I packed a bag, grabbed my camera, and drove to Louisville. The drive was pretty uneventful until I got to the Jefferson County line and the heavens decided to open up and show off the lightning and thunder they'd been brewing. I arrived at the hospital at 5:10 a.m. and walked into a labor and delivery room to find my best friend of 18 years gritting her teeth and contorting her body trying to get comfortable. She was three centimeters dialated and, between contractions, was as lucid as a person can be expected to be at 5:15 a.m. Just don't touch her.
She breathed and squirmed and told her mom to tell the nurses to get her something for the pain. They said she couldn't have her epideral since she wasn't far enough along so she settled on chewing ice and smelling alcohol swabs to control her nausea. I tried to make her comfortable or make her laugh, but she was somewhere else. Something was taking over her body, distracting her mind from realities outside of herself. The nurses gave John, her husband, an ID bracelet, and he casually watched television and made some phone calls. Her mom came back in the room, and Heather scooted up the bed. "My water just broke."

Are you sure? her mom asked. She left to tell the nurse, who brought in a strip of green paper that reminded me of the litmus paper from 9th grade science and dipped it into what I have come to call a puppy pad, which Heather sat on. The color changed in confirmation, and when the nurse said a little too softly for comfort, "You're really moving. You're at seven," the entire atmosphere of the room changed.

Seconds turned into hours, heartrates increased both in and out of the womb, and breathing became the most important thing in the room. When the nurse said, in that too soft and too calm tone that make nurses professionals, that Heather might not get an epideral, the room hushed. What are you talking about, no epideral? No way. That is not how this was supposed to go. She's not ready for a natural birth. I'm not ready for a natural birth.
The nurses called for the doctor and started setting up the room to receive Cole. Two tables and several pairs of clamps found a place in the room. Heather breathed and twisted her face into expressions of pain that I had never seen before. I wanted to reach in and take some of her pain from her. John was scared at how fast it was all moving and began to sob in a way not ever expected from a man as tall as he is. He rubbed her head and heaved his body up and down. Her mom moved in and held her hand, reminding her to breathe, trying to bring John back to her. Prayers, pleas, groans and fear came from Heather's mouth. She said she couldn't do this, but at that point she had no choice. Her body was just a tool that nature was using to further its own agenda. She almost cried when she said, "It burns so bad," and then whispered to God to get her through this.

I was stunned. John was sobbing. Jan was coaxing. Heather was breathing and had retreated to someplace deep inside herself that the rest of us couldn't even imagine. I think it's where you go if you're ever assaulted or shot or kidnapped or in a car accident or have a really violent parent, that place where your body keeps you from fully understanding what is happening to you. Just then, something screamed.
Cole was bloody and small with blue hands and feet. He kicked his legs and splayed out his fingers. His nose and eyes and lips were too big for his tiny face. He was like a raging loaf of bread. His cries expanded his little chest and puffs of air came out with them. John cut the cord, and the baby was placed on his mommy's chest. Heather, who is one of the most modest people I know except when it comes to gas, sat accessible and courageous in the bed, color rushing back to her face as quickly as it dripped from her body. Cole blinked his milky blue eyes and the nurses cleaned him up, took his footprints, and gave him the Wall family ID bracelet. His six-pound body was the most active it will be for the next two months in its first two hours.
I still can't imagine what it is like for him. Leaving the warm fluid world inside his mother's body and coming into ours, rotten with gravity and changing temperatures and oxygen. How does he know to breathe? How can he transition from an aquatic environment to an atmospheric one without any knowledge? How amazing is his little body? How amazing is his mother's that it was able to grow him?
Seeing Cole come to life changed mine. It wasn't beautiful or romantic or meaningful in the way they want you to think it is. It was rugged, awful, scary, thrilling and dangerous. It was a miracle -- that people can survive the process is a miracle, that people repeatedly go through childbirth is a miracle, that children never fully have to understand what their mothers went through to bring them into this world is a miracle.
Thank you for sharing this part of motherhood with me, Heather and John. And thank you, Mom, for keeping it from me.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

It Turns Out I'm a Major Nerd

Shannon said to me once, "Maybe I'm not as attractive as I think I am." She wasn't saying it as in, "My god I think I am so incredibly fantastically beautiful and people should know this," but more like, "Jesus, I might be worse off than I thought. How mortifying that I've been walking around thinking I'm a 7 and here I am a 4." That is how I feel after making a video for a travel show casting call.

Maybe I'm even more of a nerd than I thought I was.

I've never really meshed with the total dorks, well, because I liked to party and was able to make conversation. And I never really meshed with the cool kids, well, because I find them annoying and I didn't understand hair and makeup until a year ago. I happily existed in the not-quite-a-dork-not-all-the-way-cool realm for my entire life. It let me merge with losers and winners, the pretties and the uglies, the smart and the dumb. I always thought I was a good, strong, unmoveable 5. I was great with that. Until this video thing.

I've always hated my voice on video, mainly because I sound like a man trying to be a woman or a woman in a transgender pre-op state. I growl and squeal at the same time, and it's just not natural. I've always hated the way I look on video because I have a big ass. Usually I can keep my dorkiness from being the only thing that comes across by having gigantic expressions or licking the lens. For this video, no such tricks could be enacted. And now, I'm left with a greater self-awareness, this time not for the better.

See, Mack and I are applying, most likely fruitlessly, for a show on the travel channel based on the book 1,000 Things to See Before You Die. I lack the video creativity that Phil has and Mack lacks the patience that I have, so together we made the most embarassing video ever created. No, it's not funny. It's not endearing. It's just bad. And we are nerds.

We are majorly nerds. I talk out of the side of a curled up mouth like I just had a stroke. He gets an Al Bundy persona on film. I become some sort of perky cheerleader optimist. He unsuccessfully channels James Dean. The end result is obvious to me, so to all of my friends and family who spend time with me, sorry and thank you and what's wrong with you?

Hopefully this video will stay under wraps at the Travel Channel. In the meantime, I'm sticking with still photography. It captures our nerdiness in a much more flattering light.

7-Day Warning (with a Bonus 3-Day Window)!!!

Dear Beloved Friends and Family,

Just seven days from today I will be celebrating the successful completion of 27 years on this planet and welcoming the 28th year of my existence. To celebrate my continued mobility and because it's just about the most fun thing to do ever, I am having a roller skating party followed by a Thai dinner on Friday, May 19. Plan to join me at Champs on Palumbo at 7pm, roll around a bit, and then head to Mai Thai on Limestone at 9pm for some yummy Thai food, which is very good if you haven't ever tried it. Originally we had planned to skate on my actual birthday, but since Lexington is worthless, the rink is only open from 1-4pm on my actual birthday, and that just doesn't work with my lifestyle or with the lifestyles of my amigos with real jobs. So, there you have it. Friday, May 19, 7pm. Kids can come too, and maybe, just maybe, if I'm really sweet and dress like Princess Leia, Jonah will do a couple skate with me!

And, that same weekend, on Sunday from 3-5 at my house, Leiah's baby shower!! Don't forget! Hope to see you all at both fun things! I LOVE MAY!

Love,
Amber

I Made Chokes! (Well, not me exactly...)

Last week, inspired by a warm afternoon and a long walk, I decided to have a little cookout. I called my peeps, Leigh and Ruble, to see if they were hungry and scanned my tastebuds to see what might satisfy my charcoal cravings. In popped the Carribean Chicken with Avocado Relish that we made last year at my mom's Bon Voyage/Mother's Day party. It was just what I wanted, so after our workout, me and Leigh and Ruble headed to Kroger to load up on some groceries. I'm all for new food experiences, but sadly, my cooking knowledge base is restricted to what's in the cookbooks my mom gives me or the old standby Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook that I have lost somewhere along the line. So when Leigh, the mistress of the kitchen, suggested we make an artichoke, I was all for it. Well, all for watching her do it.

A pot of water set to boil was flavored with olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette, as best as I could see, and a spikey, weird artichoke was placed on top in its grated bowl to steam for 45 minutes. It came out looking more sage green than avocade green, but it still was a mystery to me. How do you get to the goodness that is the artichoke? Leigh whipped up a creamy dressing from mayo and worchesteshire sauce and did a little demo for us. Take a "leaf" from the outside edges, dip the bottom half in the dressing (you could also use melted butter) and then scrape it into your mouth using your teeth. It's weird at first, but it's how I've been eating bananas for a few years now, so I warmed up to the teeth scrape pretty quickly.
We ate around the core until a weird last layer was left, sitting in a wad on top of a round base.
Leigh pulled it up and offered it to me. It was just like the leaves I'd eaten before, hearty like a meat but still vegetablish, except this was a lot less work for a lot more reward. Underneath this wad was a prickly little sheild, something that I would have thought meant the end of the artichoke if it were just me.
But I would have missed out on the heart... The heart is the richest, thickest, heartiest part of the artichoke and is just beneath the prickle. It's worth the effort, and is even better when you've got three pals on a warm spring evening helping you seek it out.
Here's the delicious, fresh Carribean Chicken w/ Avocado Relish in case you're inspired to cook out (and maybe if you ask really nicely, Leigh will give more extensive tips for the artichoke):

Caribbean Chicken With Avocado Relish

Ingredients:

3-1/2 pounds boneless -- skinless chicken
breasts - split and trimmed
(12 small pieces or 6 large pieces)
-----marinade-----
3 medium clo garlic
3 medium oranges
1 cup peanut oil
1 can chipotle peppers in -- (7oz)
adobo sauce
1 cup loosely packed cilantro
leaves
-----avocado relish-----
1 large tomato concasee
2 medium avocados; peeled and pitted
cut into 1/4" dice
1/2 small lime
1/2 small orange
1 small onion - minced
1 small cl garlic - minced
3 medium scallions - thinly sliced
1 small jalapeno chile - seeded and
minced
2 tablespoon minced cilantro
1/8 teaspoon hot red-pepper sauce
1/8 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
salt & freshly ground black
pepper to taste
3 small plantains or bananas
2 tablespoon vegetable oil

Instructions:

For the marinade: peel the garlic and put in processor work bow l fitted with metal blade; squeeze in 1 cup orange juice and remaining marinade ingredients; process until pureed; transfer to a non-reactive bowl; rinse chicken, pat dry and add to marinade insuring chicken is covered completely; cover and refrigerate 12 hours or up to 2 days. (I'm never prepare long enough in advance to fully marinade the chicken and it's still delicious... I usually marinade for 45 minutes to an hour)

For the relish: put tomato and avocado in medium bowl; squeeze in 1 tbsp lime and 2 tbsp orange juice; add remaining ingredients; mix well and set aside. (May be covered and refrigerated up to 2 hours). (I never buy plantains, but instead use banana in the relish. You can also use bananas or omit them below. If you don't like something, leave it out. I usually use 1/4 the amount of onions.)

Remove breasts from marinade and let drain; grill turning once during cooking until juices run clear when chicken is pierced with a skewer, about 6 minutes. Peel plantains and halve lengthwise; oil lightly and grill, turning once, until marked by grill surface, about 2 minutes. Transfer 2 pieces of chicken and 1/2 plantain to serving plate; spoon 1/4 cup relish along side chicken. Serve immediately.

Five Down, Four To Go

Leiah has turned the corner on the half way point of her preggers session. We found out last week she's having a baby boy, to be named Benjamin Ace Messer (BAM!), but the poll is still going from the previous post if you want to make a guess as to birthday and dimensions (weight, length, etc). Congrats to Leiah and Matt!

We'll be having a shower for them on May 21, Sunday, from 3-5 pm, so plan on being there. It's a party for boys and girls, and everyone will be expected to fight for prizes by competing in exciting baby contests. Jeremy, start growing that affinity for spinach that you had at Kate's shower! Look for your invites in the mail this week. In the meantime, here's the progress update and the first glimpse of the thing that makes Ben a boy (the last on the right) as well as his hands and feet and manly little profile.
Which reminds me of the totally parasitic question mom posed to Leiah after her last visit: "Do you realize you've got ten toes inside your body? And ten fingers? And a penis?!" In effect, Leiah has a penis right now. That's just gross. And weird. Good one, Mom.

They're BAAAACK... almost

The love birds flew south for the winter, and are now on the grey isle of England, soon to be hopping the ocean to springtime Kentucky. Charles sent us this pictures to tempt us, and since they're beautiful -- both the pictures and the people in them that I love -- I wanted to share. Shan and Chaz get home in 6 days!!! I have not seen their faces in eight months, have only heard her voice once in that time, and have happened to catch her on Google chat twice since she left. Finally, that space in my heart will get filled again!

What a Long, Strange Week It's Been

I guess in honor of the full moon's shift to a half moon, this week has decided to be one of the strangest in my life. Not bad strange, just weird, kind of how every week of Shannon's life is. First, it's the incredible, intense, inspiring Women Writers Conference weekend, so since Thursday I've been nurturing the words in my brain and trying to coax them out in some way that leaves them with the meaning that they had in my head. Trouble is, well, there's not much time for it. Good news is that I've got lists of blog topics, so stay tuned as I detox from inspired to mundane.

On to the real action. As some of you know, my house at 411 Picadome Park is a couple of stone's throws from Bob-O-Link, which, as some of you know, is where at some point or another Leiah, Amy, Phil, Elizabeth, Justin, Phil and Tracy (unofficially) lived with me and David, the original dwellers. Dave stayed til the end, and when I moved out, Venus and I took a few walks over to the old homestead for some visits. Venus loves David, probably more than she loves me, but I will never fully accept or believe that, even though it's probably true. When we all lived together, she slept in his bed. When she got in trouble, she'd go to his room to sulk. I think she thinks they are married (sorry Lisa!), which is why, one afternoon when Phil called to let me know Venus had stopped by unannounced for a visit, I was suprised but not in disbelief. We'd made that walk together sooo many times before, since I walked in the neighborhood I live in now even when I lived at the Link. That stretch was a beaten path for me and my canine companion, and that she felt competent to do it on her own on that one occasion really made me proud. See, to get to Bob-O-Link, you only have to cross neighborhood streets and negotiate Lafayette High School's grounds. No immenent threats there, unless you count the teenagers.

The other day, after frantically driving to Frankfort to apply for a temporary liquor license it turns out I didn't need to get and wondering why I know Kentucky has Unbridled Spirit at the expense of having street signs near government buildings, I came home and felt that weird, scary, vacant feeling that comes when Venus doesn't run up to me when I pull in. Where did she go?

I rode the bike around the block to see if I could find her. Nothing. Hopped in the car and drove over to Bob-O-Link to see if she'd braved that journey again. Nothing. At this point it was time for work, and Mack had asked 25 times, "Do you think she went to Dave's?" and I had answered, "She wouldn't go there. She doesn't know where it is," I decided to swing by just in case. We've only walked to Dave's house once, we've only driven there four times, and she's only stayed with him on a couple of occasions for no more than two days. There was no way she would know how to get there, how to safely cross both Rosemont Garden and Clays Mill, how to figure out which house was Dave and Lisa's.

Imagine my surprise as she ran up to my scooter to greet me then.

I was so excited to see her stupid, bad face that is too smart for my own good that I forgot about the tears I'd shed earlier while on the phone with the Humane Society. I put her in the back yard at Dave's and went to get the car to bring her home (I was on my scooter, see). By the time Mack and I got back, David was home, understandably confused to see Venus in his backyard. I explained the situation, which he still probably doesn't believe, and on our way to the car he says, "I get off around 5, Venus."

Venus and Her Lover, Reunited at Long Last, if Only for the Afternoon

Venus heads home as I go to work, where the weird Ketch people contributed to the weirdness of the week in their special way, and when I got home I noticed the moped we have for some stupid reason which recently sold on ebay wasn't in the carport. "Hey," I say to Mack as I come in the door. "Where's the moped?"

"It's not out there?"

After some speculation we had several scenarios of possibilities, but nothing that left us feeling vindicated. Mack wanted to show me the car Bubba had just bought at the auction, a golden 4-door Ford Escort all clean and posh inside, for $1800. (ASIDE: If you need a car, set your ego and class aside and go to the KASP auction. They're cheaper there than anywhere else, and the auction experience is worth a blog itself. I mean, they sell nachos at the auction, it's such a big event!) We hopped in the car and set off around the block, where, about half way up the hill, we spotted our abandoned moped laying on its side, unharmed and still a piece of crap. This newfound evidence led us to believe that either our theives were lazy and got tired of pushing the scooter up the hill or reconsiderate and realized they wouldn't be able to ride it around the neighborhood without us spotting them. Whatever the reason, we got the stupid moped back and are again waiting for the ebay winner to claim his prize.

So the next day...

Dave calls me around 6, while I'm in the midst of the Dinner & A Movie event with the WWC, to ask if I'm missing anything. I didn't know, so I called Mack, who couldn't locate the dog. She did it again, this time in the pouring rain! Dave let her spend the night and I picked her up the next day. Hopefully she's had her refill of Dave and will stick around for a while. If not, Lisa, I'm afraid you might have some smelly, biting, angelic competition on your hands.

Ice, Ice Baby

He asked.
I said yes.

And so begins
happily ever after.





Boo. Ya. Ka. Sha. Respek.
Seriously, the ring is a little too pretty for my manly hands, but I guess I'll wear it if I have to.

Something I Discovered

This was the quote of the day courtesy of google's personalized home page. I loved it. Realize it.

Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
- WH Auden

Heroes & Sickos

Just finished watching a documentary called Sick about S&M expert Robert Flanagan, who also suffered from cystic fibrosis , and would like to officially proclaim him a hero. Yes, the film is disgusting and painful, both watching him suffer through every breath and watching him hammer a nail through his penis, but his courage and his strength is one of the most inspiring things I've watched since beginning my subscription to Netflix. Flanagan and his partner-in-crime Sheree Rose shied away from nothing ugly and left a picture of raw human, flesh and bone made beautiful through its honesty and realism. Before he died in 1997, at the ripe old, record-breaking age of 43 (most CF sufferers die before their 20s, and two of his sisters died from the disease -- one as an infant, one at the age of 21), he kept a pain journal, which you can read here, and exhibited several performance pieces from New York to Los Angeles. In the documentary he talks about an exhibit he wanted to do post-humously called The Viewing, where a video camera would be placed in the coffin with him and subscribers/collectors could subscribe and watch his evolution beyond death. I don't think this happened, and although I think it's cryptic and sad and somewhat mocking that he would do that, I can't help but admire his bravery at showing even the most disgusting parts of his life/death in real time and without any fancy make-up or lighting tricks. Bob Flanagan, self-proclaimed SuperMasochist. Just goes to show you never know where you'll find a hero.

This is the poem that wraps up the documentary. It's difficult, brutal, pure and bare. I loved it.

"Why"

by Bob Flanagan

Because it feels good;
because it gives me an erection;
because it makes me come;
because I'm sick;
because there was so much sickness;
because I say FUCK THE SICKNESS;
because I like the attention;
because I was alone a lot;
because I was different;
because kids beat me up on the way to school;
because I was humiliated by nuns;
because of Christ and the Crucifixion;
because of Porky Pig in bondage, force-fed by some sinister creep in a black cape;
because of stories of children hung by their wrists,
burned on the stove, scalded in tubs;
because of Mutiny on the Bounty;
because of cowboys and Indians;
because of Houdini;
because of my cousin Cliff;
because of the forts we built and the things we did inside them;
because of what's inside me;
because of my genes;
because of my parents;
because of doctors and nurses;
because they tied me to the crib so I wouldn't hurt myself;
because I had time to think;
because I had time to hold my penis;
because I had awful stomachaches and holding my penis made it feel better;
because I felt like I was going to die;
because it makes me feel invincible;
because it makes me feel triumphant;
because I'm a Catholic;
because I still love Lent, and I still love my penis, and in spite of it all I have no guilt;
because my parents said BE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE, and this is what I want to be;
because I'm nothing but a big baby and I want to stay that way, and I want a mommy forever, even a mean one, especially a mean one;
because of all the fairy tale witches, and the wicked stepmother, and the stepsisters, and how sexy Cinderella was, smudged with soot, doomed to a life of servitude;
because of Hansel, locked in the witch's cage until he was fat enough to eat;
because of "O" and how desperately I wanted to be her;
because of my dreams;
because of the games we played;
because I've got an active imagination;
because my mother bought me Tinker Toys;
because hardware stores give me hard-ons;
because of hammers, nails, clothespins, wood, padlocks, pullies, eyebolts, thumbtacks, staple-guns, sewing needles, wooden spoons, fishing tackle, chains, metal rulers, rubber tubing, spatulas, rope, twine, C-clamps, S-hooks, razor blades, scissors, tweezers, knives, pushpins, two-by-fours, Ping-Pong paddles, alligator clips, duct tape, broomsticks, barbecue skewers, bungie cords, sawhorses, soldering irons;
because of tool sheds;
because of garages;
because of basements;
because of dungeons;
because of The Pit and the Pendulum;
because of the Tower of London;
because of the Inquisition;
because of the rack;
because of the cross;
because of the Addams Family playroom;
because of Morticia Addams and her black dress with its octopus legs;
because of motherhood;
because of Amazons;
because of the Goddess;
because of the moon;
because it's in my nature;
because it's against nature;
because it's nasty;
because it's fun;
because it flies in the face of all that's normal (whatever that is);
because I'm not normal;
because I used to think that I was part of some vast experiment and that there was this implant in my penis that made me do these things and that allowed THEM (whoever THEY were) to monitor my activities;
because I had to take my clothes off and lie inside this plastic bag so the doctors could collect my sweat;
because once upon a time I had such a high fever that my parents had to strip me naked and wrap me in wet sheets to stop the convulsions;
because my parents loved me even more when I was suffering;
because surrender is sweet;
because I was born into a world of suffering;
because I'm attracted to it;
because I'm addicted to it;
because endorphins in the brain are like a natural kind of heroin;
because I learned to take my medicine;
because I was a big boy for taking it;
because I can take it like a man;
because, as somebody once said, HE'S GOT MORE BALLS THAN I DO;
because it is an act of courage;
because it does take guts;
because I'm proud of it;
because I can't climb mountains;
because I'm terrible at sports;
because NO PAIN, NO GAIN;
because SPARE THE ROD AND SPOIL THE CHILD;
because YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE.

photos by Sheree Rose

A Learning Journey

Took a journey down the Bluegrass Parkway, which I hereby rename Most Boring Stretch of Highway on the Planet, on Tuesday. Mack had a HIS 109 exam and I wanted to come along so I could give his history teacher, Ms. Plummer, a piece of my mind. The class is a whopping three credit hours, and she releases hour-long lectures about 20 times a week. Then she has required reading. Then she has required discussion boards. Someone needs to remind this woman that it's HIS 109, that it's offered over the internet, and that the information contained therein does not need to be so specific as to trace the lineage of every Roman emperor, especially if they attained that status by being the fastest runner. The thing is, I'm not in Ms. Plummer's class, but because Mack is, I, by default of us living together, have to listen to her monotone drone word vomit academia swollen head babble without end, and frankly, I want to kill her. Well, maybe not kill her, but a serious curling iron accident or toenail loss might even the score.

Turns out Ms. Plummer was in Germany reading dusty old books, as Mack likes to say, this semester, so I used my campus journey to learn a couple new things.

1) No college campus is immune to the short, yellow Oxford donning, Jesus-freak sidewalk preacher with bumper stickers stuck on his briefcase that applaud abstinence without acknowledging human nature, regardless of the college's geography.

2) Jesus-freaks will never learn.

3) There are no fewer than 18 semi trucks per mile on the interstate anymore (I took several random samples).

4) Americans need, desperately, to resurrect the train.

A tad bit of explanation. The Jesus-freak was surrounded by so many people, about half of them black and a third of them with cameras, that I actually thought I had walked up to a real live battle, the kind Eminem does in 8 Mile. Not so. The group started to disperse right after we walked up, and then we were in the middle of all these cameras. That's when we spotted the briefcase and its attached weirdo.

The train/semi lesson came from this:
and this:
and this:
and this: While I was driving home from Louisville one night, I called Eli only to have my cellular reception interrupted by the semi I was passing. A few select words and a compressed gas pedal on mom's Celica convertible later, and that over-sized truck was a thing of the past... until I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the headlights make a 90-degree, counterclockwise turn toward the lane I was just in, saw a billow of smoke rise up behind it, and watched, horrified and feeling grateful, as the semi skid on its side in my direction. I never slowed down, and with my newfound reception, called 911 and hoped that the cars behind the trucker were able to stop in time. If we had trains, I'd have been on it reading a book and sipping a glass of wine, that cargo would have been on it getting transported safely and efficiently, and that driver would have been getting the rest he obviously needed instead of living what had to be a nightmare.

Four down, five to go

Leiah's turned the corner on her fourth month of babydom. We still don't know what she's having but should find out soon. Everything is going great, and we'll be having a shower for her in May (don't worry, boys, I do co-ed showers so you can be invited too!), which is a little earlier than most people do it, but we want to have one when Shan and Chaz are home. I'm also having a skate party for my 28th birthday party, so get out the ankle braces and knee pads. Details on both to come. In the meantime, I thought it might be cool to take bets, no money involved yet, on due dates and sex. She's due Sept. 6, according to the docs, but mother nature has a way of changing that stuff. Also, if you have any name suggestions, let's hear those too. If it's a boy, I think they're leaning toward Benjamin Ace Messer, but if someone can beat that, I'm sure they'll consider it. So, post your labor date guess, including the time, gender guess and any name suggestions NOW! For the record, I think she's having a boy on Sept. 3, 2006, at 3:19 p.m. Whoever gets closest without going over will win something so cool you won't be able to stand it. Maybe a weekend in LA???

Attack of the Killer Geese

It started out early, mostly because Liz was involved. Even in the midst of the worst hangover of your life, Liz will rise at dawn and sneak into your room to wake you up. Basically, she needs someone to play with, and even if you're still stuck on Cali time, 9 am is the latest she can stand. So, her familiar footsteps came into my tired world and lulled me into life. I was grateful, since it was the most beautiful day we've had all year.

This was Thursday. I was off work all day. Liz and I drank hot tea and chit chatted until Leiah showed up and we all went to get lunch at Good Foods. I caved and bought a slice of carrot cake for us to share. Liz and I ended up sharing it until only one bite was left for Leiah (okay, I have a problem), but in our defense, Leiah eats so slowly! It was the perfect start to a perfect day.

After lunch, Leiah lounged on the hammock while Eli and I weeded the bulb garden. The tulips had trumpeted the arrival of Spring and the hyacinths had perfumed the air, so pulling dandelions was an unnatural treat. All we needed to make it perfect was Mack to wake up and bring us some fresh lemonade.

Leiah had to go to class, and then Eli had to go retrieve her charges from class, and in contemplating her departure she mentioned driving through Harrodsburg to get to Danville. I've driven that route probably four times in my life, the most recent on a trip to get Shan from a cycling adventure, and I'm always amazed at how beautiful it is. You go through beautiful countryside, then wind your way across the Kentucky River, and climb out into pristine pastures. The mention of it was enough to get me and Mack in the car and on our way, despite $2.59 gas prices.

I took my camera and Mack took his literature book, we grabbed a blanket and a couple bottles of water, and we were off to Shakertown. After parking we walked toward the lake and wandered until we encountered King Goose.
I've never encountered King Goose before. Most of the geese I've met basically diarrhea everywhere and want bread. King Goose was my first taste of aggressive goose, and Mack, being the naturalist that he is and having a supernatural exposure to animals, was fearless in the face of King Goose. He knew all the King's tricks, and played along, letting King Goose win in the end, for the sake of a few innocent laughs.
I never knew how much geese like to bite butts. It was hilarious. Every time we'd try turn to walk away, King Goose would put his head low to the ground and charge our butts. His little goose butt would wobble back and forth and he'd stick out his tongue and show off its serrated edges. It was wild.

We couldn't get close enough to see what he was so fussy about, but we assumed it was a nest he was protecting. He had a Queen Goose, but she was quiet and kept eating things she found on the grass. I think she was even annoyed at him. He was ridiculously protective, going to the point of flying across the lake to scare off possible intruders.

Mack tried to get me over my fear of the charging King Goose by having me point my butt towards it and let him charge.
Yeah, I lasted about a second. Who knew posturing was so effective? Here I am, weighing six times what this goose weighs, with a hand strong enough to end its life if I wanted, and I was tucking my evolutionarily destroyed tail and running for the hills upon being charged. I was definitely what farm boys would call a sissy.

Mack's fearlessness comes from having been hunted by these birds on several occasions before. He's also unafraid of preying mantids, spiders, roaches, dogs (even German Shepherds that try to eat Venus when we go on walks), cats, opossums, raccoons, snakes, monkeys, lizards of all sizes and hedgehogs. When we were in England a hedgehog went running across our path, and me and Shannon and Charles were all, "You better leave it alone. It's probably poisonous, or it has rabies and will bite you." Well, Mack had a hedgehog once in his life, and he picked this little guy up with his shirt, and it was the coolest thing I've ever seen. He looked like a little baby and his bristles were like natural needles. Us fraidy cats gathered around and learned a lesson that day.
Despite our newfound connection to nature, we still weren't as brave as Mack when, the day after Hedgehog 101, he tempted a swan with his thumb. I think I prefer being behind the safety of the lens, but I gotta say, put Mack in an outside ring with creatures, and you'll have endless fodder for capture.
King Goose didn't like us hanging around, but we managed to lay in the sun and practice cartwheels and look at sheep without pissing him off too much.
It was an amazing day, that one rare Spring day when the air is being cleaned by the sun, before the mosquitoes get here and after the frost has let the flowers come to life.