Fowl Feature

Some of you know that during the last year or so I've developed what might be called a creative affinity for fowl. Hence, the title of this here blog.

So, I am pleased to discover last week's episode of This American Life was dedicated to birds, primarily of the fowl variety.

I'm sharing this for any of you who may be in search of new audio entertainment that is both thought-provoking and funny. This American Life always brings forth at least one audible chortle from my being. Perhaps similar to how Baby Boomers with Scandinavian heritage can't help but giggle at A Prairie Home Companion. 

Every week This American Life features a specific theme and people from around the country, mostly writer types, share funny and poignant stories related to the theme. Every year before Thanksgiving the show's theme is dedicated to poultry.

My favorite segment from this particular episode is the mystery of chickens, who after tornados are often found, "alive and clucking, but plucked clean as butterballs," which, I learned, is a long documented phenomenon.

The download is free. Enjoy.

Poultry Slam 2008

Reply to Anonymous

I'm really annoyed because for some reason blogger won't let me add comments to my last post and I wanted to reply to the Anonymous person who didn't sign their name. My response is as follows:

"Thanks for the input, Anonymous.


Your comments sting, but they are true. I appreciate the honest advice and also for teaching me the term "apron strings."

But I wish you would at least identify yourself!"

That's all for now.
Have a nice weekend, folks.

The Sky is Falling (disclaimer: unnecessary self-pitying to follow)

I've struggled to find happiness, contentment, and fulfillment since childhood. Thus far, it's been fleeting. I've changed my surroundings, my medications, my beliefs, my routine, my goals, and yet I always end up with this vague...or not so vague depressed sense of hopelessness and futility.

I know that the only true source of peace available to me comes from within. Challenges and victories will enter and exit my life, alternately elevating and lowering my mood and my general sense of well-being. But underneath all the surface stuff that happens, somewhere deep inside, all is calm and well. Intellectually, I know and believe this to be true, but I'm having great difficulty actually living it.

I'm really fucking sick of being unhappy. And I'm sure all of you are really fucking sick of me bitching. An intelligent, attractive enough, middle-class white American whining about her piddly non-problems in the face of serious world issues.

Wah, wah, shut the hell up.

I thought coming to St. Thomas would solve all this. Such strong forces pulled me here. I thought to create a life less ordinary. I thought to force a mental and spiritual breakthrough. But now I just miss the comforts of my old frozen home. The Current, First Ave, trash collection, a decent salary and health benefits, Trader Joe's, Motley, among other such things and people...

I call this Woody Allen Disorder, or The Grass is Always Greener Syndrome (I thought I penned this term, but after googling it, apparently I did not). There's an actual scientific-sounding word for this that I've just spent the last thirty minutes trying to look up. Woody Allen refers to it in Wild Man Blues. He says that when he's in NYC, he always wants to be in Europe, and when he's in Europe, he always wants to be in NYC. If anyone knows the word he uses to describe this, please let me know. I think it either starts with an "A" or an "M", and if my computer time wasn't limited, I would still be looking for it. (Okay, I found it. Anhedonia, which actually means the inability to experience pleasure...not exactly accurate to what I'm describing, but close enough.)

Why is my computer time limited, you may ask? Well, because I spilled a minute amount of water in the general direction of my new laptop on Tuesday morning and now the hard drive is gone. I have grown exceedingly attached to my laptop in the last two months. It's my connection to the world. To the music and people I love. (Um, not in that order.) I'm an information addict! I need constant Internet access! So, I have to send my computer to Toshiba where hopefully they'll replace my hard drive for free, but maybe they will tell me there is water damage and, thus, I'll need to pay for it with money that I don't have.

Also, the last chapter and a half of my book will need to be rewritten because I am irresponsible and neglected to save it to my jump drive. *Sigh* It will be interesting and hopefully not too maddening a process.

I thought I would have to stop writing until the computer is fixed, thereby eliminating one of my major sources of joy. But I've decided that I'll just write by hand in a notebook. Tolkein and Hemingway penned masterpieces on little scraps of paper in the midst of flying bullets on the battlefield, so I think I can manage writing longhand in a composition notebook for a couple weeks.

I will have plenty of time to do this, considering that both Mom and Mike will be gone for the next week. It will be interesting to spend a week alone on this island. Luckily, I have to work every day this week, so the amount of time I can spend in an empty house crying and feeling sorry for myself will be limited. I am grateful to have made one girlfriend to hang out with as well. Mom probably won't be back until December after her surgery and recovery period. I'm thrilled that she's going to be okay (although I never really thought otherwise for some reason). But, I'm actually not convinced she'll ever return. Can you say "ironic"?

So, because of all this wah wah nonsense, Mike has given me another nickname. The poor guy didn't realize what he was getting into with me. Another crazy skinny bitch to add to his list of girlfriends. (His bff claims that this seems to be his type. Ha.) I did, however, offer plenty of disclaimers about my lack of mental stability and tendency toward moodiness. He chose to ignore them or not believe me, I guess. So anyway, he has started to call me Chicken Little.

I don't think it's wholly inaccurate. In fact, I'd say that he's come up with a good one.

At least it's in keeping with the chicken theme.

Hasty Update for Those Who Care

Good Night!

I know. You're thinking, "Why would she start a post with that phrase?" It's a West Indian thing. If you want to start off a relationship well with a local, you had better remember to say Good Morning, Good Afternoon, and Good Night, respectively, when greeting them. And Good Night is said upon approach rather than departure. It takes awhile to get used to. I'm not completely there yet.

It's been a week since I posted, mainly because I've been spending most of my time at my apartment with Mom where you have to walk down our steep driveway and sit at a particular spot on the wall that bisects our little road in order to get AT&T Internet and phone service.

As you may imagine, the wall is not a gentle seat for butts to rest upon.

I wish we had those little bleacher cushions.

Since I'm talking about it and even posted a picture, I might as well tell you the wall's history. At one time this was a singular roadway. But then some new people moved into the neighborhood and started to build houses. Apparently, their heavy construction equipment was ruining the road, which had been built and paid for by the current tenants. A disagreement ensued, and it was taken up with the local courts. The judge ruled that a wall be built down the middle of the road. The new neighbors were to use one side, and the old neighbors the other. And that is the history of our communication bench. Mom spends much time on this wall talking to her man in Oklahoma.

Speaking of Mom, she is currently en route to the leaveless land of Minnesota, where she will be treated for her little spot of breast cancer at Mayo. We have no clue how long she'll be there and what sort of treatment she will endure. We will know more by the end of the week. Neither of us have started worrying about it yet. Hopefully we will refrain altogether, as it will not do her any good. So, if you care about Pam, please send positive, healthy vibes her way instead of nervous, negative ones.

She just texted me from the plane and said she's already missing St. Thomas. Who can blame her with a view like this from our porch?

This picture doesn't do the water justice. Too many clouds.

Still, it's no view to scoff at.

And flowers like this growing in our yard?

Aren't those white mini-flowers delightful?

That's about it for news. My new job as a barista is going well. I am meeting a lot of people, and having a purpose with a paycheck helps my outlook and pocketbook significantly. Learning to do things like make croissant sandwhiches, run a register, and mop properly has a way to bust down my ego, which I think is a good thing. And they are all low-stress tasks. I'm definitely enjoying that part of working while it lasts.

I should hopefully post more often during the next couple weeks because I'll be spending more time at the boyf's where I can connect to the Internet without straddling a concrete wall.

Good Night!

PS. For some reason starting and ending this post with Good Night reminds me of Spanish sentence punctuation. Yeah, I know. You want some of what I'm smoking.