A Meerkat's Bolthole

I have had my last (as a local) Archie Moore garlic burger and chicken wings.

*mourns*

I wonder if I can convince someone that Riverdale really really really needs an outpost of Archie Moore's?

Anyway. I have closed, and am now in posession of bits of official-looking paper, two sets of keys, and a deep and abiding sense of ohshitmoveTOMORROW!

Everything's pretty much packed, except for the things that aren't. It's all under control, except the things that aren't. This time tomorrow, Universe willing, the cats and I and all our worldly belongings will be in NYC.

Connectivity will be iffy. Expect me when you see me.

It's 7 degrees. -5 with wind chill. Clear skies, no sign of snow. High today not expected to reach 20 degrees.

I may cancel all plans and work from bed today.


ETA: we were out of dry cat food, so I hauled myself out. 18 degrees as a high, and falling again. At that point, it almost doesn't matter -- cold is cold is frozen. But home again, the cats have food [and also cosmic catnip because I am a good mommy] and back on the sofa, where I intend to stay until it gets back up to a reasonable 25 degrees, damn it.

well, I didn't get to the movies today, as it turned out to be one of those lovely, blue sky, winter-sunlit mild weather days where if you don't get outside and breathe the air you feel like you've squandered some rare gift.

So [after arguing with the guys at Dell for a while] I went outside and gave Darcy a good seeing-to/cleaning out of the trunk, did nefarious things with black spray paint, and walked down to Nica's to pick up fresh veggies for dinner and some fruit and half-price stollen while I was there.

The cats sacked out on the bed and snoozed.

And tonight, there is football. Hoo boy is there football. The announcers seem surprised that all the starters are playing and playing hard, in what is a 'meaningless' end-of-season game (The Pats and Giants both have post-season berths locked up). I'm not surprised at all. The Pats all want to be in on the game that might send them 16-0 for NFL history. And the Giants?

The Giants are a wild-card team going into the playoffs. Odds are they won't make it all the way through. But tonight? They're playing the as-of-now undefeated Patriots, the favored team to go all the way.

Tonight, this is their Superbowl. And they're playing with hearts and smarts, and sheer determination.

And going into halftime with a hard-won lead.

No matter the final score, they're making the Pats sweat. Go, J'nts!

ETA: I may be getting too old for this shit. I knew that scoreless series would come back to haunt us. Still a good game, mostly well-played, and while I personally would have preferred a different ending, at least it was the Pats, and not, say Dallas or Philly... *spits*

Congrats, New England Patriots.

All right, yes, I'm a forgetting-to-practice Jew. But I also grew up in the US of Christmas, and therefore I get to have an opinion. Rant ahead. Don't say you weren't warned.
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I am reminded again of one of the really nice things about this neighborhood -- limited holiday decorations, and the ones that do go up tend to be house-appropriate (i.e. Victorian, and/or proportional).

Call me a Grinch and you might not be wrong, but I never understood the need to do BIGGER!BRIGHTER!MORE PLASTIC! decorations. Especially when they totally overwhelm not only the house and yard, but the entire street. Some call them festive. I call them butt-ugly and annoying.

I'm not anti-holiday decorations, mind you. A strand or seven of lights illuminating the night are lovely (just please, don't mix chasing lights with still ones unless you plan it out beforehand!). A wreath of greenery on your door or winding around posts, delightful. A display of a creche or maybe a few reindeer and a Santa, sized approprately to your yard, I will admire and point out to others as lovely expressions of the season. I even admit to a sneaking if guilty fondness for the giant blow-up Frosties and Grinches you see occasionally, although I do wish that people would think about the relative size of the display versus their yard.

(and whatever you do INSIDE your house to decorate is your business)

But the people who festoon every single square inch of house, roof, and yard with blinking, chasing lights, plastic waving Santas, bobble-head reindeer, vinyl-wrapped gifts, and every other piece of crap merchandisers can think to sell? And let's not forget, although I wish I could, the blinking signs that they 'forget' to turn off at a reasonable hour?

I'm coming down your chimney, man. I'm eating your cookies. And I'm leaving fake coal* in your stockings.


*real coal's too expensive to waste on you idiots. I'm giving it to people who aren't wasting so much energy on stupid displays.

Snow, yes. No idea how much (the weathercritters keep changing their minds) but definitely snow -- already 2-3 inches in less than two hours, and falling hard. New Haven has declared a State of Emergency (AKA "get OFF the street, you idiot, so we can plow") which means they expect 4-5" by rush hour. The felines and I have made a nest on the sofa, there is hot cocoa made, and a pile of books to be read.

ETA: and OMG, this is so cold and cruel but FUNNY...

Meanwhile I am having a mild crisis. Springsteen tickets go on sale this Saturday for a July show at Giants Stadium. This should be a no-brainer. Bruce, on home ground. In the summer. And yet...
( a Quandry. )

The #1 reason never to move out of this neighborhood: My 'white man's bodega*,' where I can pick up a fresh-made sandwich, or a selection of imported cheeses, fresh organic produce, cat food, pistaccio gelato, Swedish lemon cookies, diet coke, or anything else I didn't know I needed until I walked in. Plus, fresh flowers and Jamiacan High Mountain coffee beans. Every writer should have one within walking distance. *nods firmly*

Work continues, despite being woken up at omfg early (even for me) by the sound of cats spatting at the top of their lungs. Not mine, although it took me a minute to realize that. The local bully-cat, a female black who is so bad-tempered even her owners are wary of her, had cornered another black cat from across the street, in our back yard. I leaned out the window and yelled "you!" The bully-cat looked up, and I snapped "go home!"

And she did.

The other black cat hung around for a few minutes, and then scampered. Hopefully she made it home without further incident.

Today is more overcast and cooler, but still humid. I wish it would rain. We need the rain.

EtA: Oh god. I need to slap this person: ( Intruders at Paris' Orsay Damage a Monet )

And me, back to the do-it list.


*(so-called because the ethnic it carries is Italian rather than the Latin American I was used to in NYC, in case anyone was wondering/thinking me being weirdly PC)

It takes a certain type of person to sleep in a sweatshirt rather than close the windows at night.

This is my favorite season, when I wake up and it's still dark (although I prefer to sleep long enough that it's not pitch dark, okay Boomer?) and I'm comfy under the 3-season quilt but can feel the nip in the air that makes me want to curl up and sleep a little while longer. When I get up and the cold floor and cold air invigorates without shivers, and an open window is okay because I know that it will get up into the 70's today and I'll be warm, so being chilled this morning is a nice change. When going to the gym is a pleasure rather than something to get out of the way before things heat up so much I don't want to move. When I know that late afternoon will require a sweater, and there's a slight tinge of decay and leafmould in the air.

And the leaves are beginning to change...

It takes a certain type of person to love autumn in New England. I'm one.


(and is it cider yet?

is it yet?

how about now?)

Came home from the gym and farmer's market (OMG it's Killer Basil!) to see a gentleman of perhaps 55 or so laying on his side on the sidewalk. Now, there are possible reasons for that -- he was checking the slant of the porch of his house, or trying an esoteric new exercise -- but something triggered my 'person in distress' reaction, which is, as someone pointed out a few months ago, to run into a burning building*. Or, in this case, do an emergency parking job and grab my med kit.

Sure enough, he had fallen and was unable to get up (no jokes, please). He was coherent, but there was a nasty bump and a lot of blood on his forehead, his glasses were cracked, and his knees were banged up, and though he insisted that he had to get up, he couldn't actually sit up, even with help. So I made him lay back down and cursed because I'd left my cell phone int the car when I pulled over to help. Thankfully, neighbors out for a stroll came by and had their cell with them, so we called 911.

Our guy didn't want us to call for help, he kept asking if his face was very bad and saying he had to go home, his mother was home and she was 85, and just being slightly verbally 'off.' And I'm thinking "damn, he's not (only) concussed, I think he's not entirely with us," either from the accident or preexisting conditions. So I invoked the Wrath of Dad, telling him that if I let him get up, my dad was going to be SO pissed at me, so could he just stay still a little longer? I got his glasses back on his face (I know everything's worse when you can't see) and the man with the cell phone helped him roll over a little so he was more comfortable on the sidewalk, and we waited for the paramedics, who came in a big white emergency vehicle, all five of them, big guys full of calm good humor and strong backs.

I was very very happy to let the professionals take over, hoo yah. They got the insurance -- and the latex gloves and wipes to deal with the blood.

Hell of a way to meet people.

(and even the paramedics commented on the Killer Basil. I may have guys showing up tomorrow for pesto...)



* apparently, no, I don't have any instinct for self-preservation in emergency situations. need to work on that....

Indy Fever continues. The earlier-referenced stalkers were indeed stalking through downtown New Haven, despite the (ugh) heat (it's officially a heat wave, with three days at 90-plus degrees). Serious stalkers, apparently, replete with wannabe Jones wardrobe, coming in from all over the US and parts of Europe.

Ford, according to the news, did not mingle with the masses, but his stunt double did. Vic's always been a class act -- and from what I've heard, he doesn't get enough to do*, even now. Ford likes to get his clothes dirty.

Reportedly, the motorbike-down-the-stairs scene was scrapped. Bummer.


Meanwhile at Ch. Felidae, it remains too warm and very busy. This weekend I have two client manuscripts to handle, plus the possibility of revising/updating a proposal for the day job (of all the things I ever thought I'd be doing, urban development proposals wasn't it!). And writing, yes. Several short stories are finally getting their chance on the screen.

And, in the world at large, some nice news -- the bald eagle has been taken off the endangered species list. Sometimes, as a species, we don't suck...



* a joke, Vic Armstrong's a damn busy man. Google him and be impressed.

or, 24 hours trying to be off the clock.
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You already heard about dinner, which was FAB. The Friday night movie was "Below."

Was what? you ask.

Good question. I'd never heard of this movie either. Damn shame, as it's the first movie since 'Blair Witch' to genuinely spook me (the mirror scene, for those who've caught it)

"Below" (2002) is the story of a WWII submarine that stops to take on passengers from a sunken boat, and finds that they have also taken on something of a supernatural aspect as well. Atmospheric, tightly-paced, and not a little spooky, even the obvious details and predictable plot twists wound me up tighter as I watched, and the penultimate scene was a solid payoff, with a nicely ambigious and yet satisfying ending.

And that mirror scene. Sheesus. I may have low-key nightmares about that, at some point.

This morning I got up at a disgustingly late hour (8am) and biked over to the Habitat for Humanity site to put in my volunteer time (the houses are beautiful, and I hope they help turn that neighborhood around, value-wise). Around 10:15, the opening line for book 6 ambushed me. I tagged it and released it back into the wild, being preoccupied with other things. But the brain had woken up and decided that this physical exertion thing was not to its taste, and could we please go back to sitting in front of a computer? (the fact that I've biked about ten miles in the past two days may have had something to do with that plea as well. This is why writers should always remember to get out and sweat -- it does wonders for the creative mind, which is a lazy SOB and will work to get out of sweat.)

After a trip to the farmer's market (loot: fresh ground lamb, fresh chevre with herbs, a small piece of organic honeycomb, and a literal mess o' leafy organic greens), I came home and found the new freelance gig propped up against my door. Hello, sailor.

So I spent Saturday afternoon sitting on my front stoop, reading a manuscript (rather than a finished book, as had been my original plan) and making sure the felines didn't get into too much trouble. Boomer's such a kid sometimes. He dashes off to investigate something, then comes back to make sure I'm where he left me, asks for scritches and reassurances, and then can go off on his own -- but not too far away -- again. Pandora stayed close, outside only because everyone else was, and was just as happy to go back in and sleep on the sofa.

Then there was weeding to be done (downstairs neighbor A. usually handles the landscaping duties, but it got a little out of hand this spring), and laundry to be finished off, and then I said the hell with it and took a nap.

Tonight, a huge green salad and Thai-style grouper, and reading an actual finished, bound, published book. but for now, I sit on the sunporch with a glass of wine and listen to A. practice a new piece on the violin, and watch people walk their dogs, and generally feel at peace with the world...

Kodak moment: the meerkat at rest.

Tomorrow, I have copy to write, and client to speak with, and seminar to plan and...