Monthly Archives: March 2004

starring Aunt Ann’s…

Watch Find on KQED tonight and you might see me and the other gals of Aunt Ann’s answering phones during the Pledge Drive.

Okay, going out now! The temperature’s supposed to be 80 degrees today!

LATER: Well, here we are…

Aunt Ann's at KQED

Didja see us?

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can you spell "who cares?"

Spellbound is supposed to be such a fantastic movie. It’s the story of 8 kids competing in the National Spelling Bee. See Monday, March 1. Another movie about competition. Every one of these kids can spell 20 times more words than I can, even if they don’t know what they mean. Still, the words in the competition are so hard and the dictionary so big, that it’s pretty much guaranteed that no kid is going to know every single word that will be asked. So what determines the champion? Chance. The chance that she will only be asked words she knows how to spell, that some other kid will be asked the words she doesn’t know, and that in the event she gets an unfamiliar word, the educated guess she makes will be correct. So the winner gets all this praise and recognition for being the best speller. But is she really?

Mark’s coming over to do his taxes, Michael’s making chicken kebabs for us, and then I’m taking Michael to see Triplets of Belleville at the Shattuck. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll walk past 2433 Durant (read Yogurt Park) on the way home from the theater.

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Happy Birthday, Kmeelyon!

Kmeelyon's 36th Birthday Party

Kmeelyon’s 36th Birthday party (Well, the 36th birthday. I doubt it’s the 36th party.) at Kingman’s Lucky Lounge on Grand Avenue. We hadn’t seen each other in 3 years. Her boyfriend blew up her face and had everyone write on it. What a sweet guy. But my guy’s sweet, too, because after the party we walked to Fenton’s Creamery for ice cream cones. Just what we needed after Kmeelyon’s carrot and mocha birthday cakes!

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cheap Chinese…

Eve’s Hunan is not as fantastic as Red and I thought it was going to be. But what a gorgeous day! You don’t mind that I forced you to walk 2 miles to Yogurt Park for the best frozen yogurt in town, do you? Wasn’t it worth it, Red? Or that I made you wait while I tried on clothes at Eddie Bauer’s going out of business sale? Or that I almost persuaded you to buy a cell phone?

Spring is here! Take a deep breath! Mmmmmmmm… Taxes!

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what else is wrong with me?

Do not worry about the mote in anyone else’s eye when you might have a cinder block in your own. About a month ago, Saturday, February 7, to be exact, I woke up, opened my eyes, and screamed, “Help! Oh my God! There’s a BRICK in my eye! Get it out!”

Michael did his damnedest to pry the eye open and have a look, but neither he nor I could see anything that would be causing pain. I cried and fussed and jumped up and down, and then I called Teresa to tell her I wouldn’t make it to the Meditation Group steering committee meeting that morning and went back to bed. Odd that I didn’t mention anything about the incident in my blog here. Or not so odd, since when I woke up an hour later, the pain was gone.

Since then, although the pain hasn’t been as severe, I feel like I’m ripping my eyeballs out each morning when I open my eyes. Usually the pain is gone in a few minutes. But this past Monday, both eyes were sensitive to light all day long. Then Tuesday found me wearing sunglasses in the office for the first hour or so. I called Kaiser and made an appointment for this morning.

Of course, this morning I opened my eyes with no problem. No pain. Only the slightest irritation if I really thought about it hard enough. I’m thinking, “Oh, great. This is all in my head. The doctor’s gonna look at me funny, say he doesn’t know what it could be but since it’s not hurting now, it’s just some unexplained irritation that is now gone, and send me on my humiliated way.” But NO! Joy of joys! THERE REALLY IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME!!

I’ve got Recurrent Corneal Erosion caused by Basement Membrane Dystrophy. If you don’t believe me, here it is in my doctor’s own handwriting:

Recurrent Corneal Erosion

“What’s that?!” I asked in horror.

“You’re going to become an expert on it,” he said, “because as soon as you get home, you’re going to type it into Google and learn all about it.” And that’s what I did: See for yourself.

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how NOT to pit an avocado…

1) Do not hold the avocado in your hand. Put in on the counter.

2) If you do hold the avocado in your hand, do not STAB the avocado pit with the sharp point of a steak knife.

3) If you insist on stabbing at the avocado pit with the sharp point of the knife, do not miss!

4) If you DO miss the avocado pit and stab your index finger instead, do not faint! You brought this on yourself. Run your hand under cold water while shouting to someone to drive you to the Emergency Room for stitches. Keep pressure on the wound so that you don’t bleed all over your friend’s car. Apologize profusely to anyone you may have freaked out — and especially to anyone who was left behind to clean up the blood. Later, after the mayhem is over, take a picture of your sutured finger and post it on the Internet as a warning to anyone else who might not know how to remove the pit of an avocado.

Beth's stitched up finger

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And the 2004 Oscar Pool goes to…

Me! Beth Terry! I won it! I guessed more correct Oscar winners than anyone else at Ruby’s party last night! The $35 goes to me! I am a superior person! And yet…

You know the sinking feeling, the letdown, after working really hard to win something and then actually winning it? There’s elation when you find out you’ve won. Then, a few hours later, maybe even a few days later, after people have stopped talking about it, after you have told everyone you know, the darkness creeps in and knocks you on your ass. That’s Reality with a capital “R” baby. Disillusionment. Emptiness. The VOID.

Because a part of you knows that it doesn’t matter who has won. It could have just as easily been one of the other competitors. And then they would be having the moment of glory, and you’d be the one disappointed. And so? Does the Universe care? Nope.

As I watched the Oscars, I thought about the movie people in their glamorous gowns having their moments in the spotlight. What does it actually mean to be named “Best Actor” when your fellow actors have all worked just as hard and done the best that they could do? At that high level of achievement, how can you really say that one is better than the other anyway? And then, halfway through the show, they play the tape of all the movie people who have died during the year, and you realize that in such a short time, very few people are going to know your name, much less have been alive to remember you directly.

That’s why I don’t enjoy sports movies. I was trying to explain this to Michael Saturday night after forcing myself to sit through Seabiscuit. The formula is familiar. Athletes work really hard to overcome some handicap and initial disappointment to win the big game — usually, as was the case with Seabiscuit, by a nose (or a basket or a touchdown or a homerun or a lucky punch…) Cheers all around! And then what? Seabiscuit could have just as easily lost the race… and then there would be no book or movie or Academy Award nominations. Where’s the story about the horse that lost — by a nose. Like I said, at that level of skill, maybe on a different day another horse would have won.

And it’s all about living for the future, isn’t it? The big goal. A lot of us know this. It isn’t breaking news. But we do it just the same. Perhaps this is why I stayed in bed all day today, didn’t leave the house, and missed meditation.

That’s life. You gotta pay to play.

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