All you perverts need to migrate to Atlanta the weekend of 17th of March. The last OFFICIAL Fantasm (a sexually oriented sci-fi convention -- bring no children!) ist be held that weekend. It is a four day event of unbridled fetishism and fun. The room parties last year were eye-popping ("oral sex room") and wehope to send off the name with a flourish. They have classes on BDSM techniques (needle zippers, anyone?) and a playroom with suspended rope bondage (yes!)
Other than a participant, I am in no way connected with this endeavor financially, but when you have people chocolate pudding wrestling in the open airway and pony-girls prancing through the lobby while Wiccans gather at a fountain nearby to sanctify the place, and then the drumming group starts up and the Celts in kilts gather to stomp, you know it's gonna be a fun night!
Find more at www.Fantasm.org
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Influenza and the Emergency Department
Warning, highly individual opinion to follow (typed in at 0400 in the morning after three weeks of this!)
DON'T GO TO THE ER!
Okay, maybe I'm just joking, but only a little. Unless you are truly dying (and not just thinking you are) do not go to the ED (Emergency Department.) Number one, we can't get to you; number two, if you don't have the flu, you will after sitting there for hours waiting to be seen, surrounded by sufferers of the flu. Even face masks provide scant protection in the crowded waiting room.
In the area where I work (seven hospitals around here) most of the ED's are in gridlock. We can't move patients to the floors because they are full or have reduced staffing due to the nationwide nursing shortage; since we can't free up the beds in the ED, we are reduced to seeing a handful of patients at a time on the hall stretchers, in between the usual number of codes (dying or dead people) and car accidents and nursing home transfers, etc. This overloads the already overworked nurses (no, I'm not a nurse) who are dealing with inpatients that shouldn't be there, as well as the acutely ill. I know you feel like a walking corpse -- I've had influenza before myself -- but, unless you have some serious complication or underlying condition, you'll survive. Save yourself hours (around here 8-10 hour waits are routine these last few weeks) of misery and exposure to other contagions and stay home.
Call your boss, tell him the situation. Sending employees to the ED regularly to get work excuses during a flu season is cruel, unnecessary, and expensive (adding to the company cost of healthcare, remind her.) Going to work sick is not loyal, it's stupid. You'll make everyone else ill and the company will lose still more work time. Stay home, drink those fluids, dose yourself with ibuprofen or acetaminophen (if the fever returns before it's time for more acetaminophen, alternate between the two -- ibuprofen's better for the achiness anyway), get some soup into you, wash your hands religiously, and avoid contaminating the other members of your family or tribe. Nyquil really does help (just remember it has acetaminophen in it.) If you have a family doctor, they may be able to call something in for you.
If you develope more serious symtoms -- a cough with yellow or green phlegm production, chest pain, severe shortness of breath, or vomiting and unable to keep down fluids, certainly you may need to brave the crowds. But, bring a novel.
DON'T GO TO THE ER!
Okay, maybe I'm just joking, but only a little. Unless you are truly dying (and not just thinking you are) do not go to the ED (Emergency Department.) Number one, we can't get to you; number two, if you don't have the flu, you will after sitting there for hours waiting to be seen, surrounded by sufferers of the flu. Even face masks provide scant protection in the crowded waiting room.
In the area where I work (seven hospitals around here) most of the ED's are in gridlock. We can't move patients to the floors because they are full or have reduced staffing due to the nationwide nursing shortage; since we can't free up the beds in the ED, we are reduced to seeing a handful of patients at a time on the hall stretchers, in between the usual number of codes (dying or dead people) and car accidents and nursing home transfers, etc. This overloads the already overworked nurses (no, I'm not a nurse) who are dealing with inpatients that shouldn't be there, as well as the acutely ill. I know you feel like a walking corpse -- I've had influenza before myself -- but, unless you have some serious complication or underlying condition, you'll survive. Save yourself hours (around here 8-10 hour waits are routine these last few weeks) of misery and exposure to other contagions and stay home.
Call your boss, tell him the situation. Sending employees to the ED regularly to get work excuses during a flu season is cruel, unnecessary, and expensive (adding to the company cost of healthcare, remind her.) Going to work sick is not loyal, it's stupid. You'll make everyone else ill and the company will lose still more work time. Stay home, drink those fluids, dose yourself with ibuprofen or acetaminophen (if the fever returns before it's time for more acetaminophen, alternate between the two -- ibuprofen's better for the achiness anyway), get some soup into you, wash your hands religiously, and avoid contaminating the other members of your family or tribe. Nyquil really does help (just remember it has acetaminophen in it.) If you have a family doctor, they may be able to call something in for you.
If you develope more serious symtoms -- a cough with yellow or green phlegm production, chest pain, severe shortness of breath, or vomiting and unable to keep down fluids, certainly you may need to brave the crowds. But, bring a novel.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Snowboarding West Virginia
Just back from a snowboarding trip (finally -- was afraid I'd lose the knack) at Snowshoe Mtn, WV. There had just been a big blizzard when we arrived on Sunday the 23 January with wind blowing forty and the temperature about 0 F. It stayed cold the next day, too cold for two exhausted and middle-aged people who hadn't rested well the night before. It wasn't the accomodations (Highland House was great) but rather a combination of my coming off night shifts, the long drive, the bone-aching cold (hey, even kinky people get arthitis) and the fact that the snow plows started moving the accumulated snow about, oh, 0400! We were in one of the primo lodges and couldn't sleep late on any of our vacation due to the overzealous snowplowing.
But, we had a great time on the second day when we actually got out in that snow -- light and fluffy and powdery and soft. He took off on the skis like he'd been skiing all his life instead of last seeing slopes (if they can be called that in OH) back in the early 80's. I was stiff and scared for the first 60 minutes back on the board, then finally stopped trying to "think" my way down the hill and just started letting myself feel it -- letting go. This loss of control has always been my key to enjoying any physical experience. First I fight it, trying to intellectualize the experience, sort it, catalog it, monitor it, but to truly enjoy hanggliding, surfing, skiing, snowboarding, sex, I have had to learn to let go and just ride the sensation. Turn off my left brain.
Letting go is more difficult than many "natural" athletes realize. Those of us engineering types spend all of our life in our left brains, naming and identifying and cataloging, but only rarely allowing the non-verbal side of our brains to take over and just feel. We keep tripping up our feet by thinking too much about the dance steps.
So, after floundering about and getting frustrated with my physical self, I decided to turn off the brain. Worked wonderfully and my lover was even impressed with my grace on the board. As he pointed out, most of the really flying boarders were half my age and male, with a handful of female boarders mixed in (mind you we were only on the green and blue slopes) but none of them were anywhere near my age. It made me feel less judgemental of myself to hear that and to relax and just laugh the few times I plowed down a slope. Laughing reminds me that this is all just a game and the only one I'm really competing with is myself. No one lives or dies (except maybe me) based on my ability or inability to board with the big boys. It's purely recreation, a change from my usual job.
But, we had a great time on the second day when we actually got out in that snow -- light and fluffy and powdery and soft. He took off on the skis like he'd been skiing all his life instead of last seeing slopes (if they can be called that in OH) back in the early 80's. I was stiff and scared for the first 60 minutes back on the board, then finally stopped trying to "think" my way down the hill and just started letting myself feel it -- letting go. This loss of control has always been my key to enjoying any physical experience. First I fight it, trying to intellectualize the experience, sort it, catalog it, monitor it, but to truly enjoy hanggliding, surfing, skiing, snowboarding, sex, I have had to learn to let go and just ride the sensation. Turn off my left brain.
Letting go is more difficult than many "natural" athletes realize. Those of us engineering types spend all of our life in our left brains, naming and identifying and cataloging, but only rarely allowing the non-verbal side of our brains to take over and just feel. We keep tripping up our feet by thinking too much about the dance steps.
So, after floundering about and getting frustrated with my physical self, I decided to turn off the brain. Worked wonderfully and my lover was even impressed with my grace on the board. As he pointed out, most of the really flying boarders were half my age and male, with a handful of female boarders mixed in (mind you we were only on the green and blue slopes) but none of them were anywhere near my age. It made me feel less judgemental of myself to hear that and to relax and just laugh the few times I plowed down a slope. Laughing reminds me that this is all just a game and the only one I'm really competing with is myself. No one lives or dies (except maybe me) based on my ability or inability to board with the big boys. It's purely recreation, a change from my usual job.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Loca Luna
My lover's exotic clothing store in Chattanooga was voted the second best place (behind Victoria's Secret) to go if you are "in the doghouse and need to buy gift." I'd say, considering the disparity in ad budgets, that that's pretty wonderful after only 9 months in business. www.localuna.net
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Hanggliding competition news
Best site I've found for it is http://www.ozreport.com It usually keeps up with all the major comps and is reporting, right now, on the Worlds. I'm hoping, personally, to make it to Quest in April for those preliminaries, not as a competition pilot, but as a volunteer.
Only comp hanggliding I've ever done was local in the 90's, though I did set a personal best cross-country flight of 46 miles over in Sequatchie Valley during one of those (out and back). Flying back and forth along the ridge to the point of Lookout Mountain, while a glorious view, doesn't feel like nearly such an accomplishment (though it is about 22 miles total.) It's awesome to see the mountain fall away from you as you mount the thermal (or ridge lift) that is invariably there at the confluence of three valleys, Chattanooga spreading out below you, the tourists unaware that you are soaring overhead, unless some dog barks at you or a more curious than usual child looks up.
Only comp hanggliding I've ever done was local in the 90's, though I did set a personal best cross-country flight of 46 miles over in Sequatchie Valley during one of those (out and back). Flying back and forth along the ridge to the point of Lookout Mountain, while a glorious view, doesn't feel like nearly such an accomplishment (though it is about 22 miles total.) It's awesome to see the mountain fall away from you as you mount the thermal (or ridge lift) that is invariably there at the confluence of three valleys, Chattanooga spreading out below you, the tourists unaware that you are soaring overhead, unless some dog barks at you or a more curious than usual child looks up.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Simplicity
I get teased a lot by my love that I have a "Little House on the Prairie" attitude -- "We didn't have it when I was growing up, and we don't need it now." (Specifically, he's referring to the fact that I lack a dishwasher at age 45, though I could well afford one, and cable TV.) But, the truth is that I like simplicity and every gadget you add is another gadget to maintain and service. As an old boyfriend (into Zen) once told me, "Ownership of cow means care of cow."
Other than hiding the dirty dishes or storing the freshly cleaned ones, I can't see the advantage in a small household (two people, four animals) of having a machine to do my dishes. I can very well wash all our dishes in 20 minutes every other day. (Yes, she hangs her head in shame, every OTHER day.) I loathe paying the price for cable or satellite television since most of what is on is not worth watching anyway, let alone paying the cost of a decent bottle of wine monthly, and I don't have more than an hour or so a day to waste on it anyway. Likewise, I have yet to purchase an I-Pod, though I am not anti-technology. It's merely that I have so many other music-playing devices in my life and I'm not that intensely needy of a soundtrack to my life.
I think differentiating between what one desires and what one needs is vital. Once you have decided that you want something (rather than need it) you have to decide what price you are willing to pay for it -- not just in money, but in maintainance or space or clutter or aggravation when it breaks. Thus, I have not been willing to pay the price in space for a waffle iron or mutltiple other small, subspecialized equipment for the kitchen. Nor, for a dishwasher.
Other than hiding the dirty dishes or storing the freshly cleaned ones, I can't see the advantage in a small household (two people, four animals) of having a machine to do my dishes. I can very well wash all our dishes in 20 minutes every other day. (Yes, she hangs her head in shame, every OTHER day.) I loathe paying the price for cable or satellite television since most of what is on is not worth watching anyway, let alone paying the cost of a decent bottle of wine monthly, and I don't have more than an hour or so a day to waste on it anyway. Likewise, I have yet to purchase an I-Pod, though I am not anti-technology. It's merely that I have so many other music-playing devices in my life and I'm not that intensely needy of a soundtrack to my life.
I think differentiating between what one desires and what one needs is vital. Once you have decided that you want something (rather than need it) you have to decide what price you are willing to pay for it -- not just in money, but in maintainance or space or clutter or aggravation when it breaks. Thus, I have not been willing to pay the price in space for a waffle iron or mutltiple other small, subspecialized equipment for the kitchen. Nor, for a dishwasher.
When did you know you HAD to fly?
Hanggliding, for me, was an "aha" moment. I had never seen it, but when I first read of it in the early 1970's, it was as if I had been waiting for my wings to appear. I flew in my dreams all the time and used to leap from the top of our house with sheets, umbrellas, my faith alone. The bruises didn't matter (somehow I managed to avoid broken bones or brain damage) but I knew I would have to get into the air. Somehow.
Hanggliding was as if the gods had read my mind -- my own wings, no motor, silent, soaring with the birds. I loved the idea of hanging over the landscape, observing, isolated, contemplative. The lack of motor appealed even more since I loathe unnecessary noise and complications. No motor to maintain meant I was in charge of my dream even more -- no other humans need be involved. And the simplicity of the wing -- the apparent simplicity(nothing more than dacron, wires, and aluminum tubing) -- made the sport perfect in my eyes. Less equipment equalled less aggravation -- fewer things to break.
(Actually, I have found that hanggliding is a solitary sport in the air -- or can be if you resist the need to discuss every turn with your buddies over the radio -- and a group sport on the ground. You need help with windy cliff launches, hangchecks, and wind dummies.)
Hanggliding was as if the gods had read my mind -- my own wings, no motor, silent, soaring with the birds. I loved the idea of hanging over the landscape, observing, isolated, contemplative. The lack of motor appealed even more since I loathe unnecessary noise and complications. No motor to maintain meant I was in charge of my dream even more -- no other humans need be involved. And the simplicity of the wing -- the apparent simplicity(nothing more than dacron, wires, and aluminum tubing) -- made the sport perfect in my eyes. Less equipment equalled less aggravation -- fewer things to break.
(Actually, I have found that hanggliding is a solitary sport in the air -- or can be if you resist the need to discuss every turn with your buddies over the radio -- and a group sport on the ground. You need help with windy cliff launches, hangchecks, and wind dummies.)
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Flying with Hawks
I have flown with a hawk, wingtip to wingtip, and she stared back at me, repeatedly twisting her head to see what it was flying beside and whether I intended to attack. We were a mile over Lookout Valley on a clear cold morning and strong enough that I had the air to myself. We sat over the Cloudland Canyon gap and turned in the strong thermal, each circuit carrying us about to face northwest, the wind direction. I was too cold, but I couldn't leave that much joy. I'm sure I was chuckling, I wanted to laugh in triumph, but didn't want to frighten my flying partner. It was my first time, but it hasn't been my last.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Flew Yesterday despite...
Despite it not being a flyable day (i.e. very few getting up); flew despite my venoumous ex leanig over from the deck glaring at me (he works at the flight park); flew and landed well despite my ex parking himself prominently in the LZ. Thought I saw his truck as I flew past the flagpole checking out the wind direction, but too busy on my approach to dwell on it. Had a no-step landing within a hundred feet of the cone (not bad with only four landings under my belt in the last 15 months.) Realized after touching down that he and his buddy were both waiting down there, leaned against the pole. They drove off after I disappointed them. Felt good; felt right.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Christianity and BDSM
I grew up Southern Baptist in the late 60's which means that I heard about sex more by the lack of coherent comment than by explicit warnings to avoid it. By the time I came of age the sexual revolution was in full-swing -- post Stonewall and the original Women's Lib marches, long after the pill, adecade before AIDS terrorized us into being "good" and "celibate" like Mr. Falwell.
Sex was "bad" in general (except inside of marriage) but they never really specifically said which type -- man on top, anal, oral, fetishy. I assumed that that meant that what happened between the duly married was their business, and, having read the Bible through more than once (okay, maybe I skiped Job the second time and some minor prophets) I found nowhere (except in reference to a woman's "unclean time" in Leviticus -- the same book that talks about eating of clean and unclean animals and forbids spilling your seed on the ground and male to male intercourse) when specific sex acts were excluded. Therefore, except for the fact that I am currently unwed, I don't think that God cares if the woman is on top in a corset and nipple clamps with a reddened ass or if the man's scrotum is pierced multiply. And if they make each other feel good in their souls' houses then they are a little closer to heaven.
Sex was "bad" in general (except inside of marriage) but they never really specifically said which type -- man on top, anal, oral, fetishy. I assumed that that meant that what happened between the duly married was their business, and, having read the Bible through more than once (okay, maybe I skiped Job the second time and some minor prophets) I found nowhere (except in reference to a woman's "unclean time" in Leviticus -- the same book that talks about eating of clean and unclean animals and forbids spilling your seed on the ground and male to male intercourse) when specific sex acts were excluded. Therefore, except for the fact that I am currently unwed, I don't think that God cares if the woman is on top in a corset and nipple clamps with a reddened ass or if the man's scrotum is pierced multiply. And if they make each other feel good in their souls' houses then they are a little closer to heaven.
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