Maybe it's biochemical...what's biochemical mean again?

Now that I've come clean about my snarling contempt for SUV drivers, I thought I'd be upfront about another little quirk I've been keeping secret: I'm invisible.
And I don't mean metaphorically. I obviously don't mean literally. I mean biochemically. Actually, I don't know if that's what I mean because I don't quite understand the definition of biochemical.
Here's the deal: You know those automatic doors in supermarkets and other large stores? They are activated by people walking up to them? They are convenient when carrying large loads or when the effort of just opening a door is too much? (They are, of course, quite necessary if one is disabled).
I don't activate them. Like, 80 percent of the time they just don't open.
Now when I first noticed this happening, I assumed they were all just broken. That might seem unlikely but I do live, after all, in a city where as best I can tell no one has replaced the receipt paper at any of the gas station pumps since 1998.
But it soon became clear, it's not them, it's me. Because if I sit and wait for someone else to come along, the door will open for them and I can sneak in.
This situation is not isolated to automatic doors; I often find that the body-activated hand-dryers and towel dispensers neither blow nor dispense when I put my hands under them. I can, usually, get them to work by punching them or occasionally leaning both hands on them with my entire weight. Not sure how this looks to others; probably better than me wiping my hands on my pants.
I'm also unsure if this relates to an incident some years ago in which my ex gave me a watch, as a gift, which promptly stopped ticking. Two replacement watches later, the watch salesman gently informed me I might be "one of those people who can't wear watches."
Unclear what kind of people that is.

In Which My Lack of Niceness is Revealed

Despite my ongoing quest for keeping an open mind, I have a little bit of a "thing" against people who drive huge, massive SUVs. Fortunately, for me, this is one area in which prejudice is acceptable, even politically correct these days. I'd like to say I resent them because they represent the worst of American oil-guzzling and because of the effect on the environment and, sure, this is part of it. But I have a sneaky suspicion my distaste for these things also is connected to some kind of deep-seeded dislike for excessive personal wealth (no doubt some kind of genetic predisposition toward communism). Most of all, I hate being bullied on the road and constantly facing the prospect of being squashed like a bug by someone who thinks they need to drive a tank.
So this would be, for me, selfishly, the upside of the hideous gas-price situation; a sense of smug satisfaction when I think about how much it is taking folks to fill up their Durangos/Expeditions/Hummers whatever.
I am aware this is not nice. In fact, it's not even rationale as my little car doesn't have particularly good gas mileage.
Most of all it's a mind-set begging for a universal reaction.
See, I have what we Santa Feans call "bad karma." Meaning, the minute I do something wrong, the universe tends to rebound. For this reason, I don't steal, cheat or lie (OK, there are other reasons).
So I figured it was only a matter of time before the Universe took notice of my shitty attitude toward SUV drivers and taught me a lesson.
The lesson came in the form of required auto repairs. My car went in for diagnosis a week ago and, after waiting a week for the parts to come in, the mechanic (at the dealer; thank god for warantees) called and told me to bring it in and he'd been done by the end of the day.
Except, once he'd taken the car apart, he realized one of the parts hadn't come in and he'd need it overnight. He curtailed my immedate reaction (to complain) by telling me he'd give me a loaner.
Now, if I were an employee of a car dealer, I probably wouldn't hand some tiny complaining customer the keys to a brand new 35,000 SUV without looking at her license, registration or insurance, but apparently, despite myself, I don't seem very suspicious to others, because that's exactly what he did.
I have no doubt this is some kind of ploy, and there is an expectation that when I return to pick up my tiny car, I will be so overcome with the joy of driving 20 miles above traffic that I will demand to purchase said vehicle. But this, friends, ain't gonna happen. In truth, I feel like a jackass driving this thing (although being higher on the ground than others is a rare and slightly exhilerating experience).
My favorite thing about the SUV is the imbecilic digital dashboard that informs the driver what is going on in the car. Like, for example, the image above, that explains in clear graphics that the AC is blowing on you. In case I was to get distracted ("Oh my God! What is this cold air? Where is it coming from?). There's an equally stimulating picture of a radio tower when one changes radio stations, you know, to explain radio waves. Too bad there's not a graphic of a person's brain being fried and then getting arrested for talking on a cell phone while driving.
It's early; I can't believe these are the things I wake up thinking about. Really must get back to yoga.

but where's the rain?

It's a windy blustery and intermittently thundering Sunday night. But no rain yet, though I wish it would rain and dispell some of the strange humidity that's been in the air all day. I spent most of the day cleaning the house, which has been sadly neglected what with all the travels and block parties and summer guides and what not. I am not much of a cleaner, so when the mood hits me I go with it. Thus the floors have been mopped a good three times, though I'm sure by Wednesday any signs of cleaning will be gone. The boy appeared around 5:30 and grilled tuna, marinated in curry sauce, on the new barbecue he bought for my house.
Last night we went and saw The Gender Offenders' drag show at Wise Fool, which was one of the kickoff events to this week's Gay Pride. Then we had a drink with friends at the St. Francis and headed home. I actually slept until 8:30 in the morning, which was exciting since Saturday morning I awoke at the ungodly hour of 5:45 am. I broke down and bought a new ipod, the old one having been swiped during my Philadelphia trip. Tomorrow, with any luck, the car parts will come in and I can get my rack and pinion (I know that can't be the right spelling ) fixed, since I am now driving around in a state of terror that at any minute it will go out.
And, yup, that's all that's shaking here as the weekend draws to a close. Pray for rain!

last night's block party

on the block

So tonight, from 5 to 9 pm, you'll find me and probably 5,000 other people in The Reporter's parking lot, Yes, it's time for our annual block party. If you haven't been before, come on over; it's lots of fun! I have been very busy and quite overheated, but mostly I've been working and having fun. Saw The Roots for the fourth time on Sunday (yes, I've become a groupie) and Erkyah Badu, who put on an amazing show, although some of the things she said between singing her ass off, were kind of nutso (I can't quite quote her, but somehow she managed to intermingle: The Zapatistas, the mountains, the Comanche "Indians," vortexes, bowling alleys, skating rinks and Barack Obama; don't ask me how).
And now, it's early morning, already almost 80 degrees and I need to get ready for work. See you tonight, I hope. If you can't find me in the throng, you may see me near the boy's booth at the party. Hint: lots of funky skull art!

the answer is blowing in the wind

I spent so many years not believing allergies were a real thing (since everyone in Santa Fe believes in something, I've decided to be different and believe in nothing), that it's hard to reconcile myself to this indisputable reality: I have allergies. This morning I woke up, eyes sealed shut (the sequel to Eyes Wide Shut), my head pounding on one side, my sinuses pulsating. What am I allergic to? Clearly this starts up when the winds kick up, so it's something blowing in the wind. But what? Elm? Juniper? Dust? Radioactive mites? Hell if I know.
I don't take allergy medicine because half the time it doesn't work and makes me either knocked out (if it's non-drowsy) or wired like a crackhead who just drank 10 espressos (if it's the sleep formula). Instead, I started today with a lovely cocktail of Musinex (grossest name ever), a sinucleanse, Excedrin sinus and, a few squirts of nosespray. The nosespray helps, but I'm paranoid about it having been warned by several people that it's "really easy to become addicted, and you don't want that." This is clearly what happens when one reaches a certain age. Suddenly, the gateway drug is no longer dope, it's nose spray. I can't think of anything more ignonomious than developing a nose-spray addiction. I'm not even sure what that would entail; Me, shaking and cold, panhandling for pennies in front of CVS to scrape together enough money for just a few squirts?

dental checkup

Ten days after surgery, my mouth is healing well, says Dr. R. today. Really well, really fast, he said, sounding surprised. Much faster than he'd expected.
'Well, I'm a really fast healer," I told him. Even I could hear the ridiculous pride in my voice. I mean, who feels a high-level of self-esteem over the ability to heal fast after dental surgery? Apparently, I do.
"I can see that," he said.
I restrained myself from asking him if I had healed faster than all of his other patients. I don't know if dentists make referrals to psychologists, but I'm pretty sure that feeling competitive about how fast one heals probably borders on some kind of crazy, although what kind I'm not sure.
Anyway, that was good. Less good was the vicious sinus headache brought on by the 300 mile an hour winds. That headache was compounded by watching a clip on CNN from a few months ago in which Bush expressed surprise at hearing there were predictions that gas was going to hit $4 a gallon in the near future. I try to restrain myself from too much Bush-bashing these days (it's boring and futile), but, really, how can you be president and be completely unaware of something like that? Even I had heard those predictions at the time that he said he hadn't. Unless he was pretending to be surprised. Which, though inexplicable, would almost be preferable. Though unlikely. Anyway, here's a link to the video, via huffington, via msnbc, in case you missed it, as I had.

OK, let's get serious

I had dinner last night with Heather, Brad and Darius at, of course, the Cowgirl. The dinner made me realize a few things:

1. I have never had a meal anywhere with Darius that wasn't the Cowgirl and this is his fault.
2. I have been blogging for way too long (last night there seemed to be a general agreement that I am the first blogger some of my friends ever knew) and
3. my memory is really really terrible.

It was great to see Heather, though; she and Brad were visiting for the first time in too long and hopefully they will remember how bomb Santa Fe is and move back immediately.
I have to say (no, really I have to), coming back from Philadelphia on Sunday was one of the first, if not only, times when I didn't get back to NM with a sense of epic relief (Hawaii was the other time). I am still puzzling through what a great, great time I had in my hometown. I mean, OK, I grew up there so maybe it's normal that I would go back and have fun except in my memory (which sucks), I ran away screaming with no memories of there being anything good about it whatsoever. If I was so wrong about that, who knows what else I am wrong about? What if I'm wrong about everything? That would totally wreck my sense of identity, which is based on being right about everything. It's kind of fucked up.
But, seriously, and in no particular order, things that made my trip to Philly super fun:

1. The Roots and The Roots. Two nights, two shows, one in my beloved Theater of the Living Arts (which used to be a movie theater, that's how old I am). The other at Penn's Landing. So great.
2. The conference, particularly Seymour Hersh, who was the First Amendment Speaker. So smart. So bloody depressing. But smart always trumps depressing for me.
3. David Carr, who spoke, as he often has for AAN, about the changing media landscape and the internets and all that shiite. It's kind of hard to explain what makes Carr so funny and engaging. I guess that's it, he's really funny and engaging.
4. Winning stuff. Yes, I do love winning stuff.
5. Lastly, but probably mostly, seeing Jen and Anne, who were both really close friends of mine back when I was a juvenile delinquent. We all agreed we look exactly the same (improbable, but we believe it). And I just had so much fun seeing them. And here we are, 20 years older, but, at least in my case, just as sweaty as ever.

back from philly

A more detailed post to follow (I am wiped out from lack of sleep and my ridiculously early flight). In the meantime, check out how well we did at the annual awards.
(the short version: two firsts, three seconds, one third and one honorable mention, aka, we rocked).

Homecoming

Apparently one can go home again, though it remains to be seen what
benefit there might be to doing so