I was watching the seagulls this morning. They are plentiful here in the International (nee Chinatown) district where I work - only 4 blocks to the waterfront, and plenty of prime dumpsters to scavenge from. This morning though, as I crossed the old Uyajimaya parking lot, I noticed a couple dozen of them appeared to be playing as they flew around above the lot. There was plenty of squawking and they swooped around in big lazy circles, diving in front of each other (I watched several almost collide mid-flight, only to pull up just before impact, without any seeming panic or hostility. You ever see crows dive-bomb each other? Those are some mean, cranky birds, but these gulls were all very mellow), it was like they were a bunch of winged skaters just sessioning for the sheer joy of it. I immediately remembered reading Jonathan Livingston Seagull and how JLS was so into the joy of flight. It sure seemed like those gulls were digging on being gulls - sort of like when you watch sea otters (and i love to watch sea otters) they just look like they really LIKE being who they are. Yes, yes, I'm anthropormorphasizing animals again, so sue me. My head is in a wacky place at the moment. I feel like some major changes are gonna have to happen, and not all of them are going to be pleasant, so I'm daydreaming about seagulls. Riiight.
Meanwhile, it's Friday so here we go:
1. What is your most prized material possession?
I don't really prize possessions, but I guess my camera or Rickenbacker bass both qualify, as things I'm proud to use and own.

2. What item, that you currently own, have you had the longest?
The small stuffed koala that was my first ever retail purchase with my own money. I was 7. It has a safety pin in it's ear, 'cause y'know, punk rock and stuff.

3. Are you a packrat?
Not nearly to the extent that I was. SMRGE is though. A throw-it-in-a-box packrat no less. I've gotten progressively better over the years, lightening my load.

4. Do you prefer a spic-and-span clean house? Or is some clutter necessary to avoid the appearance of a museum?
I was raised in a tidy, but lived-in house, and that's what I prefer. I have a dog, so spic&span isn't even a reality. Clutter bugs me.

5. Do the rooms in your house have a theme? Or is it a mixture of knick-knacks here and there?
Hell no. The whole place is "decorated" with stuff from our lives. Art we made or people made for us mostly.

Here's the thing George, (can I call you George? I mean, sure, Mr President is the official title, but you have really sold america on the "i'm just one of the guys" thing, so I feel like y'know, if we were at a meeting ((you used to go to those, right George? Maybe you still do? Maybe you still should since it seems like you've forgotten about humility)) I'd call you George B, and you'd know me as Michelle O, so I figure it's okay to call you George, but maybe I should stick to Dubya, because back in the day, when I was addressing yer dad (and I did address your Dad a lot, because I really thought I was fighting evil and making a difference, but then you come along and prove that evil begets evil and that well, here we frigging go AGAIN) I called him King George, so it would just be too confusing for both of us if I did that, so...yeah, Georgie, maybe?) the thing is, you do have a responsibility to do what we the voters want. I'm pretty fucking sure that it's in your job description - something about the representational form of govornment. If a lot (in this case millions) of people display a preference (like, oh, not having a pointless war in the name of oil and your families' retarded need to dominate the planet) then you are supposed to make decisions based on that. We have freedom of speech not just to get shit off our chests, George, but in order to be able to directly influence political representatives. I'm pretty goddamn sure you don't read your email, much less the written stuff. Sure, that has more to do with your inability to read as opposed to what I firmly believe is an overall disrespect of the Amercian Public, but I digress. What I'm saying is that just because 40 percent of the American public is so stupid that they care about a lying construction worker/model looking for love from 20 money-grubbing golddiggers, doesn't mean that the hundreds of thousands all over this grand country aren't protesting the war just to piss you off. People are in the streets because they are pissed, Dubya. Even the little guys, the mechanics, the gas station attendants, the accounting drones are pissed. They are starting to think (!) that you are a power-hungry war-mongering functionary of the upper class. Yeah, George, sure you know that I, and all the other people with the CIA files filled to the brim with ties to freeing Nelson Mandela, and getting the US to divest from South Africa, and fighting bastard organizations like Operation Rescue and your Dad's little forays into Central America...sure, you know that we're all on to you, but the bad news (and you're making it worse) is that you are now tipping your hand to the Springer People. The TV folk, the people who swarm Wal-Mart when you tell them to buy duct tape ( hey George, did you ever see the British animated movie, "When The Wind Blows" about what happens after a nuclear war? You should check it out George, it's a cartoon, and it's educational, you might learn more from it than listening to Dick Cheney and his boys tell you how they did it back in '90) they're starting to wonder what in the hell is going on. They're not gonna like getting pulled over at the airport in the name of "homeland security" they aren't gonna like it when you start telling them when and where they can go, and what they can watch or read. Ask your Dad what happened when he started pulling this shit. Have you seen "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" George? Of course you have. Your dad is a punchline ("Voodoo economics" George. Don't do it. It's never ever worked. Everyone knows it. Bad call.), and you are on your way. I'm just afraid this time, we're a bit too close to the edge. You need to chill out. I'm sorry if Jeb picked on you a lot as a kid, or knocked your ice cream on the gorund, or whatever it is that makes you think you need to play the bully role, but you need to cut it out. You are the (unfairly) elected leader of the most powerful nation on the planet, and you are being an asshole. I don't appreciate it. I could go on and on about how I was in Europe when your dad lost the election in '92 and how amazingly happy everyone in all 12 countries that I travelled to were about it. They were stoked. Which means they were sick and tired of the oppressive nature to begin with. I haven't been back recently, but word on the street (and the internet, you do know about the internet, right?If not, ask Al, he'll explain it. Or ask yer daughters, they're very popular in cyberspace as well) is that no one likes you. At all. You make bad choices. It looks like you don't really have a plan at all, except to be a bully. That's lame George, and it's not very humble.
Please listen to the people of this country when they go out of their way to display their wishes. It's your job.

So this weekend I took another step back in the direction I was headed about 3 years ago, and then proceeded to let myself get derailed by love. This time though, I'm going to be both thinner, and married. I got the bike out of the storage area, and put it on the damn training rack, and got a new smooth tire, set it up in the bedroom (because we have no other space) and proceeded to ride it. Now, I only got through 3 Severna Park songs (I used to do the entire record, or the whole Sicko "You are not the boss of me" LP) before I thought my heart would explode, but I did it. and I have done it every night since. Already I feel 100 percent better, just sweating for 12 minutes. I'm anxious to get back to where I was - doing the 30 minutes and not thinking twice about it. Because THAT is what got me out of my rut before. No matter how little I eat, I only lose weight if I sweat. Walking 3 miles a day doesn't even cut it - my body is so used to that as a daily routine sort of thing that it doesn't even register as a workout anymore, it is just part of my day. Which blows. But anyway, I'm stoked that I might return to that mindset that I had a few years ago - I remember going with my mom to Vegas while she visited with friends, and I was so freaked out by not having a bike to ride, I just started walking around the frigging desert - walked from the MGM to the Hard Rock, and back around...almost in a fit about not burning calories. Sure that sounds nutty, but for me, it was a big improvement over simply not giving a damn.
The weird thing this time is now I share my life with someone, so I sort of feel obligated to behave in a somewhat normal manner (no dinners of air-popped popcorn for me) eating-wise, which with any luck will mean I will actually create habits that will stick, and I won't slide into a rut again.
It's strange though, sometimes I feel like SMRGE thinks the whole idea of sweating is silly. It's easy for him though - he has that massive cancer to feed, and it keeps him rail thin. Yeah.