Friends are like bras; a good one never lets you down
Dr. Julie is a psychologist who posts on the YouTubes. Her insights are simply fantastic.
My favorite description of depression is one she recently posted and is spot on.
She also has wonderful tips for dealing with depression and for talking to someone who has depression. I highly recommend digging through her videos and giving her a follow.
Not only does Dr. Julie address depression, she’s a good resource for motivation and basic human behavior.
Another find from here in Texas: Charlie Stout.
I originally started following him on the Tweety because of his photography (oh my God! It’s gorgeous
, y’all. Gorgeous.) and was surprised to run into him at the first night of the singer-songwriter competition here. It took a second for me to make the connection, but there it was. So, yeah, he’s a talented photographer AND a talented musician.
Please check out Charlie’s bandcamp page for more great music. I heartily recommend “The Windmill Song” from Five Years Ago Tonight, “West Texas in My Eye” from Oklahoma (live bootleg), and “The Hanging” and “Set Your Eyes on Things Below” from Dust and Wind.
Once again, I urge you to buy his albums because they’re worth every penny. And if you’re looking for some stunning art
, head on over to Charlie’s website.
I am very confused. I’ve just discovered a couple posts with weird code embedded in them. Nothing visible. The only clue there was anything amiss was odd spacing/breaks in a sentence here or there.
I’ve gone in and removed the errant code, but it bothers me it was there at all. I mean, how??? I know all three people who have access to the blog. Is there some weird ass bug with WP I should know about?
Ugh.
Not that I’m savvy enough to do anything about it, but I would really like to know what’s going on.
I am in utter disbelief that I’m now 56 years old.
There are days when it seems nigh impossible for that to be accurate. It was only yesterday when I was sliding down into the canyon (now just more houses, natch) to go make a fort with Michelle, Kecia, and/or Laurie.
We had the perfect place for our fort: on the bank of a hill, behind a huge bush/tree. Scrub bushes grew big in the canyon. This one had branches that gracefully arched overhead. Any that didn’t were summarily removed. Big boxes were broken down, used to slide down the hill a few hundred times before becoming the base of the fort. If we could manage to sneak a blanket out of the house, it would most definitely find itself an integral part of our refuge. Pads of paper, pencils, pens, crayons, and various cast off toys enjoyed a cushy life at the hideaway, too.
We never needed to phone one another to set a meeting time. Each of us ran through our Saturday chores (or homework if was a school day), made ourselves some sandwiches, and then hightailed it to the fort. If you got there first, you were responsible for making sure there were no spiders or rattlesnakes around. Stomping and waving cardboard about, nothing could sleep through the racket, and most definitely nothing stuck around! We once chased a javelina family from our sanctuary, but that’s about as exotic as our visitors got. Garter snakes, lizards, and tarantulas were common and became favored captives for short periods of time. None of us wanted to remove them from their homes or families for too long. Mostly, we just enjoyed their company before we released them back into the wild. We played Marlin Perkins and his trusty assistant, Jim. Or we took turns being Joan Embery visiting with Merv Griffin or Mike Douglas and presenting our latest finds to the host. (One guess who got to be Joan Embery most often.)
While we loved the canyon and the freedom we experienced there away from the prying eyes (and the beckoning calls to come home) of our parents, our days there were numbered. The same is true of childhood. However, the loss of our fort was due to discovering a real live adult human being we didn’t know taking up residence in our spot.
For once, Michelle and I met up at the corner across from my house before we made our way down the hill and over the uneven terrain to the fort. We talked loudly and stomped our feet in our normal “dangerous-animal-be-gone” manner. Unfortunately, it didn’t scare away the man we found. In fact, I think it’s safe to say it merely served as an alert for him to strip down and begin masturbating, because that’s exactly what we found upon arrival. We both yelled at him and began kicking dirt in his face, throwing wood and rocks and whatever else we could find. When he failed to stop touching himself, we left in disgust. We never returned to that spot again. Instead, we explored further afield and always with a buddy. It was just safer that way.
About a year later, the big machinery arrived and curtailed our adventures further. We just got a little more creative with the how and what of our play. On weekends, when the site was abandoned, we scrambled up and down the diggers and dozers and other vehicles. We yelled and ran through the giant concrete pipes that would someday serve the expanding neighborhood. We also caused minor mischief by hiding loose materials whenever we could. We didn’t go too crazy with it because we knew that anything major would only bring in security guards. We knew this because Michelle’s brother and his friends had caused that very thing to happen at another site.
In the end, the timing couldn’t have been more apt. We were nearing the age of more “serious” pursuits as we went from preteens into full-blown adolescence. And while we would occasionally make our way down to the canyon, it was less about play and more about sneaking cigarettes and maybe increasing the quality (and quantity) of our creative obscenities. No prying ears or eyes to limit our newfound endeavors.
I’m not entirely sure how this turned into a major nostalgia-fest, but I suppose it beats the other direction I could have gone. I was going to mention all the heartbreak of the past year and all the ways life has changed in that time. I’m actually very glad for the “remember whenning” about my childhood as it feels more relatable and somehow more comforting — and definitely healthier — to reflect in that manner.
So, here’s a great big “I’m so glad I’m still here at 56” shout declaration from my tiny corner of the internet. I hope I can do this again next year.
TTFN!
I feel like a total heel for not sharing any of this music at some point during the past 7-8 months. I’m very sorry.
Next up in the local musicians category is Jerry Serrano. Jerry’s incredibly nice, plays multiple instruments, and is just one of those people who draws you in.
He runs the open mic night at the Blue Light on Mondays and also hosted the singer-songwriter competition last fall. The best part about his hosting duties (aside from getting to hear a lot of performers) is when Jerry gets up to play.
The first song here is one I felt like I’d heard before and by the end, I could swear it was one I was super familiar with. Good songs are like that. They’re old friends you’ve only just met. (That would be a great title for a song and an album: Old Friend I Just Met™®. Anyone interested, email me at dagoddess@gmail.com. We can work out a deal.)
I started this blog twenty years ago today.
I can’t believe I’m still posting, if I’m being completely honest.
At various points over the years, I’ve considered quitting. Instead, I just didn’t do anything. I let the blog sit idle for long stretches. I posted nonsense (still do). Yet I kept coming back.
What’s kept me here? A number of reasons
Trying to adult when you don’t feel well is like trying to thread a needle when you can’t see.
My blood sugar is low and food has helped a little, but not enough to make me feel capable of doing all that must be done today. Plus, any and all energy I had yesterday (it was a very good day!) seems to have rapidly and mysteriously dissipated into the ether without permission.
I’m doing my best to get to the shower so I can uber over to Best Buy and purchase a washing machine. Ours is a total piece of non-functioning shit. I spent most of yesterday looking everywhere for a replacement. Thankfully
Okay, confession time: I’ve been holding out on you. Bob Simpson is probably my favorite local performer and I find his songs, songwriting, and voice to be just what the doctor ordered nine times out of ten.
I’m sorry I haven’t shared his music sooner. I hope you’ll forgive me.
I was tempted to post all of his songs because I dig each and every one of them. Instead here’s Bob’s Bandcamp page, have a listen, and then buy the album. I promise, it’s absolutely worth the purchase.
You know how much I love music, so when I say it’s worth plunkin’ down some money, you know I believe it’s worthy of your permanent collection.
Back in the early aughts, there lived an obsessive who would use computer games as a means of stress relief. Nothing fancy. Whatever came with the computer or was easily found doing a quick search.
Her favorites were Minesweep, Tetris, and Solitaire. Just the normal stuff.
Until she discovered Hoyle Games. Mancala was a game she’d already taught her children after making them a set with an egg carton and marbles (or sometimes dried beans). But on Hoyle, she could go up against a computer and have a real challenge! (Although, it must be said her daughter was a fine opponent.) Dominoes was another game she had also played with her kids, with her daughter — once again a formidable challenger — a frequent player. Still, the computer offered her a different level of competition.
Her absolute favorite game from Hoyle was Word Yacht. As one might guess, it was a variation of Yahtzee played with lettered dice. The object was to roll ten dice and make as many words possible with the letters from a single roll. The timer could be set at 180 seconds, 120 seconds, 90 seconds, and 60 seconds. Eventually, the obsessive found Hoyle had the same game available online, where one could play against others in real time. These were heady times, indeed. A community of people who loved words playing word games, people who also sought respite from the pressures of everyday life, people who just wanted a chance to challenge their brains in a way that made them happy, who wanted to play and chat with like-minded people. The community was strong and fun and inclusive and just all-around comforting.
The ability to escape the daily grind brought about a feeling of bliss. And so it was here the obsessive found her place of refuge. Her friends here were great listeners who offered thoughtful observations and who valued her thoughts and observations as well. The reciprocal nature of their exchanges meant they weren’t constantly laying their burdens at the feet of their partners. It was an arrangement most partners, spouses, families, etc., found beneficial. A few hours of a computer game meant a more peaceful person in the home. In between work, school, and childrearing, there was the pressure valve release in game form.
Oh, what a time to be alive!
Yacht, or sometimes Word, as the game was commonly called amongst the players, was a world of letters and laughter. It was a world of challenges and cheeky repartee. It was heaven for those who reveled in the randomness of a roll of the dice. The scoring was important, of course, but the camaraderie was a lovely bonus for those who regularly played together.
Our favored grouping played 90 second rounds for 30 minutes, followed by 60 second rounds thereafter. We were good. Very good. When tournaments became a thing, we regularly placed in the top three. Out of hundreds, we were the elite. We wore our victories with pride.
Hoyle became part of another game community and we, naturally, went obediently. This led to a larger collective of word junkies and many more friendships. Tournaments continued apace, but now prizes were awarded. Nothing big, just things like mods for avatars (which were able to be crafted to surprisingly accurate likeness). The modifications allowed for whimsical additions like crowns and horns and silly hair. Though it might sound a bit trivial, these prizes made great incentives to rise through the ranks of the Word Yacht tournies.
And then it all disappeared. It was just gone. For many of us, we quietly, but grumpily, returned to the game played against sims. We had our Yahoo groups, emails, and instant messaging to keep in touch (some of us even called one another on the phone — a radical concept!), but it wasn’t the same. We tried to find other games on other sites with diminishing returns in the way of enjoyment and, most frequently, quality of play. Our Yahoo groups grew quiet. Our IMs gradually faded to just names on a list. Phone calls stopped. Life without Yacht returned to its previous state of being and partners and families were once again burdened with the troubles of the obsessive and her ilk.
Occasionally, I find myself googling the game or popping in at the Yahoo group page (though it’s been inactive for quite some time, the rare “I just wanted to say hello” appears). I don’t do it often, though, as it tends to make me sad all over again from the loss of it all. Yes, I miss the people, but I really, almost desperately, miss the game.
Wordle and Concludle are fun diversions. But rarely do they offer the thrill of Word Yacht and never do they give the sense of community.
Perhaps I was one of the lucky ones. I found blogging early on. I built my own little world and made new friends along the way. Some of those people challenged me to be creative and express myself in words and photos instead of scores against a timer. Still…
In hindsight, it’s apparent that the ability to play a game with people who get you, who enjoy a certain level of gameplay, who challenge and cherish you, is really what’s missing from my world. I keep thinking of how much I would have loved to have my Yacht friends during the early months of the pandemic, how we would have been a comfort to one another, how our games would have provided the perfect diversion to the isolation, loneliness, confusion, and boredom so many of us felt and continue to experience.
What I wouldn’t do for a way to mash a bit of the past with a bit of the present.
Ah, well. If wishes were fishes, we’d likely be complaining about having to clean the aquarium.
I took a quick snap of my Peeps before they found their way down my gullet.
I had a whole package of cyclops/Peeps hybrids. These were the survivors. For a while anyway.
Lately, Peeps have been less than perfect. I’m not saying the don’t taste as good, but production seems a bit off in terms of quality control. If I worked at the Peeps factory, every single Peep would be a shining example of how Easter candy should appear. You know, for the sake of the children. Any Peep not meeting these exacting standards would have to be destroyed. By. My. Mouth. (My blood glucose levels say this is an acceptable solution.)
So, here are the Cyclopeeps, pink, 2022 edition.
Should I post the yellow ones as well sometime?
It’s been ages since I’ve done a Two-fer Tuesday post, so let’s get to it, shall we?
First up is a song I really dig by American Aquarium. They have a bunch of great music (including a very good album of covers), but this is probably my favorite…at least it is at the moment.
Next up is Sarah Shook. I was so looking forward to seeing her last month. However, as you know, I’ve been too poorly to travel and I missed out on the opportunity to catch her live and in person. Oh well, another time, yes? Anyway, here’s the song I picked for today.
Hope you liked the songs I’ve shared and are curious enough to check out more from both artists. H has turned me on to some fantastic performers and I look forward to sharing more in the coming weeks.