Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

The mighty light of ten thousand suns

I had a couple of comments on my SAD posts. I'm not sure if they are real or not, since the commenter didn't leave a name or a valid e-mail address...if they're spam, they aren't very good spam, because they forgot to add the "serotonin serotonin serotonin tryptophan buy viagra cheap" link.

I'm actually taking the comment at face value...somebody out there thinks I oughta just go the pharmaceutical route.

I have nothing against drugs. They pay my mortgage, for one thing. And the chemistry is absolutely fascinating...some days I dream of hitting the lottery so that I can go back to school and become an organic chemist so that I can really understand it.

If it were as simple as, say, checking and adjusting the chlorine in a swimming pool, I'd be more inclined to call the doctor and ask for an antidepressant. But psych drugs are notoriously difficult to fine tune...it can take years of different meds and doses before the chemicals are adjusted where you need them. And believe me, if I couldn't get out of bed, or if I couldn't do my job, drugs are the road I'd take. But if I can whack the brain chemistry back to July levels with a lamp, that makes a lot more sense to me than drugs.

And I can say that after four days of bright lights, the difference in my mood is, well, like night and day.

Gimmie the serotonin and nobody gets hurt

I'm not joking about the light box. (Not joking about getting one, and not joking about the fact that they're more expensive than a ticket to West Palm Beach.)

My self-diagnosis of SAD didn't come from out of nowhere. I was talking to a woman at work who's been diagnosed with it, and she was the one who advanced the hypothesis (when I said "It's like I've had raging PMS for six weeks straight.")

She also pointed out that last year I worked in an office with a floor to ceiling window, and now I work in a basement. (I told Bill that if they move my desk one more time, then, then I'm, I'm quitting, I'm going to quit. And, and I told Don too, because they've moved my desk four times already this year, and I used to be over by the window, and I could see the squirrels, and they were merry, but then, they switched from the Swingline to the Boston stapler...)

So maybe I need light. That damn serotonin, it's not going to make itself under the flicker of a 15-watt fluorescent desk lamp.

I think maybe

Here is my ideal schedule:

Wake up
Breakfast
Long hot bath
Nap
Lunch
Wrap up in fleece blanket, watch a little tv
Nap
Dinner
Wrap up in fleece blanket, read a magazine
Ponder a long hot bath
Bed

I'm thinking perhaps this suggests a touch of what the clinicians call seasonal affective disorder. I lost my DSM-IV, but a quick Google search gets us the symptoms. Let's see...

Sleep more/difficulty staying awake
Except that it's crappy sleep full of bad dreams, but yeah. Especially that difficulty staying awake thing. Is 7:30 an unreasonable bedtime?

Fatigue often incapacitating/slump in energy in the afternoon
Yep. If I haven't gotten something finished before lunch, come back and see me tomorrow.

Craving for carbohydrates and sweet foods
I was going to say no, not really, then I remembered the Macaroni & Cheese thing.

Weight increase
This I actually have been able to reign in, but it's taking an effort. If I ate macaroni & cheese at the rate I wanted to, I'd be up ten pounds easy by now.

Difficult to concentrate often with additional memory impairment
Huh? I don't remember. (In seriousness: I feel like I've lost 50 IQ points.)

Irritability, problems relating to people. Withdrawal and isolation.
Leave me alone.

Stress and anxiety; sense of misery.
Didn't you cry because that stupid whale that swam up the Thames died?

Hmmm.

The prescription?

Boat drinks
Boys in the band ordered boat drinks
Visitors scored on the home rink
Everything seems to be wrong

Twenty degrees and the hockey game's on
Nobody cares they are way too far gone
Screamin', "boat drinks," something to keep 'em all warm

Or maybe I'll get some of those fancy lightbulbs.

I'm going to bed, I'm pulling the covers over my head

Maybe I'll sleep, but I haven't been doing so well at that. The last several nights, as soon as I've hit the pillow, it's been like thoughts of every sad, awful, infuriating, or disappointing thing going on in the world has had to march through my brain. It's a dysharmonic convergence of personal and public, small and large, stupid and profound.

I wish my brain had a dial like a radio, so I could tune in some easy listening and get some rest.

Yucky macinernie

When my niece (the first kid of her generation in the family) was a toddler, Victor, my father, and I babysat her one afternoon. As I said, she was the first kid. She was a novelty, plus those of us who aren't her mother or grandmother weren't very adept at babysitting yet.

I made her lunch: a package of instant macaroni and cheese. My father said "Do you know what you are doing?"

"Of course I know what I'm doing!" I scoffed. "Who can fu- mess up instant macaroni and cheese?"

When I put it in front of her, she said "Yucky macinernie."

Ok, if you don't bother to read the directions, and you assume that the measuring cup that was left out by grandma was meant to be filled only once, you can fu- mess up instant macaroni and cheese. (That is, the powdered cheese stays a bit crumbly, and a toddler will refuse to eat it.)

My niece is now in second grade, and has no memory of that lunch disaster. Victor, on the other hand, remembers it vividly and gleefully. Any time I make any type of macaroni and cheese, he calls it Yucky Macinernie.

I just got this cookbook: Macaroni And Cheese by Marlena Spieler. When I make gratin of penne with artichokes and four cheeses he'd better keep his mouth shut.

If there's an R & B Heaven

Wilson Pickett Dies of Heart Attack at 64

Lou Rawls, now the Wicked Mister Pickett.

Well, you know they've got a hell of a band.

(And I'm going to Music Hell for paraphrasing the Righteous Brothers.)

Or perhaps macaroni & cheese, we could talk about that

That resolution about not being So Damn Serious has limited my blogging topics, I'll say that.

So.

Anybody care to talk about grilled cheese sandwiches again?

Havarti...you can make a good grilled cheese with havarti.

Ok, it's not like I have such terrible shit going on now. Nothing Earth shattering. A lot of it is even removed a generation or two from me, so it's not directly my stress. I did realize today, though, that I absorb stress and sorrow from other people. A friend got some bad news, something that depressed her a lot, and as I listened, and for hours after, I was depressed too.

Actually, I'm still sad. I'm a bad mood sponge.

I may actually go flip through those grilled cheese recipes again. (They go state by state. Under Alabama, they've got a deep-fried sandwich. There's nothing deep southerners won't deep fry. There's one from D.C. incorporating chocolate, an abomination if ever I've seen one...y'know, I'm feeling a bit happier. Grilled cheese really is a comfort food.)

Bumper Sticker of the Day

Visualize Grilled Cheese

I'm assuming this is just a spoonerism and not some pop culture slogan with a meaning I don't get. I liked it, because it made me visualize grilled cheese, and there's not much I like more than grilled cheese.

If you need help visualizing: the Greatest Grilled Cheese Sandwich in America contest.

These kids today

Driving through the neighborhood today I had to stop while some young teenage boys decided whether or not they felt like getting out of the middle of the street. (It was tempting to go ahead and drive right over them, but their parents are probably lawyers and I'd end up getting sued.)

While I waited, I got some amusement from the fact that they seemed to be taking their fashion cues from a 1978 issue of Tiger Beat.

Hey, Leif Garret! How about you and Shaun Cassidy take Willie Ames there and get out of the road, huh?

My note to the subscription department of the Washington Post

As a Sunday subscriber, apparently I was eligible for free weekday papers starting back in September. I have not been getting these papers, but since I wasn't paying for them, I haven't felt the need to complain.

I'm sure whomever you contract with to make the sales calls isn't local, but I just thought I'd let you know that not only did that operator not get you another sale, I'd cancel my Sunday subscription if I didn't want the coupons.

Mama don't take my 512 MB Compact Flash card away

Nikon Says It's Leaving Film-Camera Business

"Nikon Corporation has made the decision to focus management resources on digital cameras in place of film cameras. This decision will allow Nikon to continue to develop products that match the demands of an increasingly competitive market place," the Japan-based company said in a statement posted on a Web site for its British division.

I feel an odd twinge of sadness seeing this, yet I can't remember the last time I shot a roll of film.

My new hero

I'm not sure if this proves I'm distracted from the Real World, but I've spent the last half an hour on the Internet looking for pictures of all of Clinton Portis' costumes from the season.

Cool thing is: I found 'em.

I think another of my resolutions is going to be quit taking everything so damn seriously.

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to the Senate Hart Office Building?

I remember Watergate. Also, as you might expect from a journalism major, I find the whole Watergate story fascinating. I know a fair amount about Watergate. But going back to remembering it...I was just a little kid, and what I remember is that on television in the afternoons, instead of Sesame Street and the Electric Company, the moms were watching men in suits talking.

I babysat my younger nephew for awhile this afternoon. I watched him at my house, which isn't particularly toddler-friendly...sharp things, bottles of chemicals, biting rodents...but I figured I could turn on PBS and we'd watch some tv. I know Sesame Street is still around.

PBS was showing the Alito confirmation hearing.

Yeah, just try to entertain a toddler with men in suits talking.

(I did scrounge up some Schoolhouse Rock videos, and a copy of In the Night Kitchen to read to him, but in the end he was most interested in going up the stairs to wash his hands in the upstairs bathroom over and over and over again.)

Things you don't hear in every household

I took the Christmas decorations down today. If it were up to me, the tree would stay until February (and it probably could too, since I cut it fresh...as of today it had dropped maybe one needle). Still, Victor subscribes to the notion that Christmas is over around New Year's, so I only get to stretch it out to the weekend after Epiphany.

(I almost had him. I tried to convince him that the Redskins' winning streak coincided with putting up the tree, so to take in down while we're in the playoff would be bad luck.)

He did help me put all the ornaments and stuff away, and here's where you get "Things you don't hear in every household":

I have a Zombie attack at four, but as soon as I'm done with that I'll finish taking down the Christmas lights.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety

I've been having trouble sleeping. I'd expect it would be work, or concern over health issues of my family, or maybe money, because these are on my waking mind. And as they say, infected minds to their deaf pillows speak.*

So last night I'm trying to sleep, but one thing keeps nagging me, and I can't seem to shut off my mind to rest. At some point during the tossing and turning it strikes me that my sister might know the answer, but if I called her in the middle of the night to ask, she'd kill me. And she'd be completely justified.

The question that was bugging me?

Was Roscoe married to Boss Hogg's sister, or was Boss Hogg married to Roscoe's sister?

*Technically: "...infected minds/ To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets" (Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 1)

Stream of consciouness blogging

Wow, I just realized how completely without context that last post is. You'd have to be a Washington National fan or a reader of my mind to have a clue what the heck I was talking about...

Offseason

I'm bummed.

Last year, Charlie Slowes and Dave Shea served as the radio broadcast team, and though Slowes is expected to return, Shea said he received a call this morning from a team official, who told him he would not be asked back.

"I'm really disappointed," Shea said in a telephone interview. "I really loved doing it. I thought I had been received well. Not well enough, apparently. I'm not sure what the future holds." Slowes did not immediately return a phone call seeking comment.
(from the Post.)

Charlie and Dave made my summer last year. It also sucks that they waited this long to let him go, although I suppose the Bruins had probably already hired a new guy by October.

Rick Short won't be back either, in New Orleans or with the big club.

New Orleans Zephyrs infielder Rick Short will not return to the Zephyrs, or the team's parent club - the Washington Nationals - in 2006. Short's contract has been purchased by Tohoku Rahoten of the Japanese Baseball League. (press release)

This is why I don't follow the offseason too closely. It's depressing.

4 x

Yay, a meme! Instant content! Thank you, RP!

The Meme of Four

Four jobs you’ve had in your life: Clown, minor official for a box lacross league, office clerk, technical writer

Four movies you could watch over and over: Casablanca, His Girl Friday, Philadelphia Story, To Kill a Mockingbird

Four places you’ve lived: Virginia, Maryland, Florida, Maryland...I'd have to break down the cities in Maryland to get more than that. I'm not very mobile.

Four TV shows you love to watch: MASH, Mystery Science Theater 3000, X-Files, Sheep in the Big City

Four websites you visit daily: Washingtonpost.com, Medscape, Munuviana (and from there the various Munuvians), Google

Four of your favorite foods: Avocado, cheese, asparagus, spinach & artichoke dip (Ten years ago I would not have touched any of those but the cheese.)

Four places you’d rather be: Actually...I'm fine with here.

Four albums you can’t live without: Days of Future Passed, All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes, Atlantic Rhythm & Blues 1947-1974 (Is that cheating? It's a many-album set.), Photographs & Memories

Four of your favorite drinks: Shiraz, coffee, cranberry juice (sweetened), ginger ale

The baton is out for anyone who wants it...

The year of the century

A century is a 100-mile bike ride. In some circles, you're not really a cyclist until you've done one. I have friends who can knock off a century before lunch even if they've been at a party the night before, and I know people who've ridden double centuries.

I've never ridden more than 83 miles in a day, and I can't even remember my last 30 mile ride. My excuse is my knees, and my fear is suffering the humiliation of being SAG'd well before the 100 mile mark if I try it again.

I have a friend who has been cajoling me for two years now to do a century ride down on the Eastern Shore. There is, as usual, a Good Cause involved, and the Eastern Shore is nice and flat. (Although if it's a head windy day, you're screwed, because at least hills go down.) Last week I told him I'd do it.

I'm not signed on the dotted line yet, because registration doesn't open until May. (The ride isn't until October.) Plenty of time to train. Plenty of time to back out like a wuss. But I've been saying since the 83-mile day that someday I want to complete a century, and somehow I don't see it getting any easier.

I'll be tracking diet and exercise, because I've been slacking off a lot lately. To avoid turing this blog into an utterly tedious list of reps and miles and ounces of protein, I signed up at Fitday.com. To keep myself honest, I linked to it over there on the left.

New Year's Resolution #1

Back up computer files. (And write down passwords.)

Thunderbird ate all my e-mail this morning, and I've spent most of the day trying to find and restore old messages that had information that I actually need, and then recreating the twenty accounts I use. To say I'm not loving Thunderbird today would be an understatement.

In fact, the headache I have right now may be even worse than the headaches I used to get from that other Thunderbird when I was in school.

Finally, just now I was able to find the e-mail that had my free dessert coupon from Silver Diner. Like I said, I have important things in these files.

It's the Hoppin' John

We bailed on the hockey game a bit early this evening (at 10 minutes left, I was pretty convinced that the Caps were not going to mount a miracle comeback), and I had the second half of the football game to watch, not to mention a Crockpot of Hoppin' John to eat.

The football game, though, wasn't going so well. I'd been worried all week, because it's those games that look on paper like we should win...well, they don't play 'em on paper, as they say.

But all was well in the end, with Washington beating Philadelphia and securing a postseason trip. Prove it wasn't good luck from the Hoppin' John!

I even ate greens this year. (I need the money. Luck from Hoppin' John, prosperity from greens.) The corn muffin is just a corn muffin, as far as I know, and the Abita beer rounds out the Southern theme.

Stop by if you're hungry or in need of extra luck, I have a boatload of leftovers.

Or, if you're in the mood to extend the holidays, check the Carnival of Recipes at Caterwauling this week. I'm thinking some of those boozy no-bake cookie things may be showing up in my kitchen sometime soon (like in time for the Tampa Bay game next week.)

Happy New Year

Something about it being a new year made me decide I had to screw around with my site design. (If I had known when I started that the blog would become a habit, I'd have given it a better title, one with more design possibilities. It's not that I'm sick of the oysters, I'm just, well, sick of the oysters.) So now that I've mucked for a couple of hours, I've gone back to where I started, and it's time to quit wasting time and get the Hoppin' John made.

Yesterday Victor and I enjoyed the hockey game with Dawn and the Rocket Joneses. If I were going to be making New Year's resolutions, one would be to spend more IRL time with my blog friends.

(Pause for half an hour to try one more design thing that won't work...)

Happy New Year, all. I really do need to go chop an onion now.