Quo Vado?

After 1033 entries into “the journey” portion of this site I have decided to start a brand new module. (Squarespace does things in a really cool way that means I can keep all of these entries like they are, but begin anew within the site.)

This change means that if you choose to continue reading Quo Vado? via a feed reader you will need to change your feed to
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If you stop by here to read, you should have no problems. Thanks!

Squid, introduced me to a great place for wi-fi near the new homestead. It’s a great little coffee shop where I got a beautifully smooth Turtle Mocha. I’d write more but Squid and I going to head to the Pizza Hut for some ‘hometown’ pizza. ‘Tis been an interesting weekend - I write more laters.

My heart fell as I stepped into the security line in the Atrium. I’ve never started in the security line so far back. I forgot that the folks here setup the journey to the TSA folks with a ‘maze’. Like rats hunting for cheese we follow the right path back and forth among those who had chosen the left path wondering just how many more steps we had to take before handing over our boarding pass and photo identification. For a line that looked like it might take an hour and a half, I made it cleanly to the escalators in twenty minutes. While listening in on the conversations around me in line, my choice to not check my ‘duffle’ was validated.

Every holiday season there’s a snag in the system somewhere. The first time I flew out from here for Christmas I waited ninety minutes to check-in. It was so bad that I pulled out my copy of Lord of the Rings and began my first reading of this epic while standing next to south terminal baggage belt #1. Shortly after my Tolkien experience, they installed the self-service kiosks, which made the whole thing much easier. In addition to the check-in fiasco, I’ve been stuck on a MARTA train, waited more hours in the security line than I care to admit, and forgotten the departure gate. For the mandated trip home for Christmas, I now know to allow two hours or more in the airport itself - and to pack a book.

I had chili-shaped pancakes for breakfast, the pancakes were a little thick for my taste, but they beat the emergency peanuts I travel with hands down.

I had yet to experience today’s snag when I started writing this post, but I found today’s snag just after finishing breakfast. I somehow managed to find the bathroom stall with the door that wouldn’t stay closed. It’s not that the door didn’t want to close. It’s that to much door banging in the stalls down the line worked the latch free and the door would pop open - outward.

The hurry up and wait nature of holiday travel is trying my patience this very moment. With help of Xavier I’ve stopped eavesdropping on my neighbors conversations, but right now all I want to do is get this show on the road. I’ve only been sitting in the gate for about five minutes, but the uncomfortable unproductiveness claws at me. I’m OK with general laziness, but to be uncomfortable and lazy at the same time just doesn’t work for me.

I left the flat today without checking to see what the weather at the new homestead will bring for the next several days. I’m not even sure what I packed last night, much less if I can actually make solid warm outfits from the stuff in the duffle. I think maybe next time Î pack I should be awake. We’ll see what I forgot when I get there, but this could be very bad. Not as bad as my freshman year in college when I left all of my dirty laundry at school and was home for three weeks with the clothes on my back and what I’d left in the closet when I ran away to school. The worst part is that I’d left those clothes behind on purpose.

Well, I’m off tomorrow for the new homestead. I don’t know what posting will be like for the next several days. If I don’t see/read you all before Christmas, I hope you and yours all have a great holiday. Thanks for listening. LLP -kel

Dear White Suburban Driver:
I know that here in the wilds of Atlanta, Georgia the large populations of deer, moose, elk and caribou make your vehicle choice the safe one. After all, you’d be dead six times over if it hadn’t been for the gas guzzling oversized vehicles you used to own that mowed down three dear, side swiped a pair of moose and had a close encounter with a caribou. I know that you put safety above all things when you drive - even above the conversation you’re having with your husband who’s on a business trip in Chicago. I would, however, implore you to remember that you share the road with smaller people. So, in this season of giving and peace, I ask as kindly as possible, please stay on your side of the road. Moron.

Cheerfully yours,
kmsqrd

Well, though things have been silent here for days, I’m not dead yet. I’ve been working on a new banner background for here, it’s not ready yet - but keep an eye out for it. In addition to working on a piece of ‘art’ I’ve been playing with my new toy. I promised Squid my computer last year, but he didn’t want it until now. I’ve spent the last several days cleaning up ‘hawk’ and setting up ‘hawkins’ [I couldn’t give up the name hawkins for my laptop] and in general trying to get better about sorting things out.

I had a blog post started in my head last weekend that never escaped and now I’m kind of stuck. I’m not sure where to get back into the writing groove from. Dude, being stuck sucks green rocks.

There seems to be one every holiday season - the family coming together farce, advertised with enough slap to shake a stick at. This year’s entry, The Family Stone fills the screen with a tight family headed by Craig T. Nelson and Diane Keaton. The Stone family of ten, including the five children, one husband, one life partner and a grandkid, finds their ‘better’ natures emerging as golden boy, Dermot Mulroney as Everett, brings home his tightly wound girlfriend. The thought that Everett might actually propose to Meredith, beautifully played by Sara Jessica Parker, drives the family’s frenzy. Parker manages to find the vulnerability and heart behind Meredith’s external strive for perfection. From the slim black skirt to the tightly wound bun, you get the sense that Meredith on some level finds herself to be claustrophobic. Luke Wilson, as Ben, once again stole my heart as the stoner younger brother who takes the time to look behind Meredith’s frosty facade.

The acting of all the ensemble does a beautiful job of bringing this somewhat contrived story together. It’s not entirely a happy-fun Christmas movie, but it is good.

The Family Stone

• Matinee or Evening Movie: Evening
• Add to Collection: Yes
• Grade: A-

Yoda



A venerated sage with vast power and knowledge,
you gently guide forces around you while
serving as a champion of the light.

Judge me by my size, do you? And well you should not - for my ally is the Force. And a powerful ally it is. Life greets it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us, and binds us. Luminescent beings are we, not this crude matter! You must feel the Force around you, everywhere.

As seen at Angry Pregnant Lawyer

John Spencer
(December 20, 1946 - December 16, 2005)

Squid floored me yesterday when he told me. John Spencer was a great actor who brought life to one of my favorite television characters. This news saddens me. I never met him, but I think faced with the possibility I would have jumped in the hole with him.

This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can’t get out.

A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, ‘Hey you. Can you help me out?’ The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, ‘Father, I’m down in this hole can you help me out?’ The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on

Then a friend walks by, ‘Hey, Joe, it’s me can you help me out?’ And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, ‘Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here.’ The friend says, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.’

Written by Aaron Sorkin in The West Wing episode “Noel”
Delivered by John Spencer as Leo McGarry

I have a post rolling around in my head about new version of The West Wing. To provide the buffer between the watching the new and old versions of TWW, I’ve been rewatching Sorkin’s first foray into television. Sports Night was a half hour show, that highlights the amazing ability Sorkin has with words. I’ve heard it said that people don’t talk like some of the more non-repetitive fast paced exchanges found so frequently in his dialogue. What I love about both of these shows is that they remind me that when people are passionate about what they do, and have conversations about it conversations really can move that quickly. I haven’t heard one in real life in a long time. I frequently found myself a spectator of such conversations in college and it’s one of those things I miss about being in the ‘real’ world.

Lunchtime has become a bigger decision than before. In addition to figuring out what I’m going to eat, I’ve recently begun debating over whether to read or write during lunch. The case for reading is simple. I follow somewhere in excess of one hundred blog and news feeds a day. One whole day spent away from the feed reader leaves me, on average, one hundred and fifty posts behind. Given that I actually want to read rather than skim most of the feeds I’m subscribed to, becoming that far behind is just daunting. The writing side of the coin today, however, had a more compelling set of arguments. I can write just about anywhere, so if I decide to write for lunch I grab the Moleskin and head out the door, knowing that I’ll type the post in later (like I’m doing now). While getting out of the cell sounded good today, I was hopping that the act of writing itself would do me some good. As resistant as I am to expressing incompletely considered personal thoughts out loud, the filter between pen and paper - or fingers and keyboard - is magnitudes thinner. Writing helps to organize my thoughts. As anyone who read QV regularly knows, oftentimes the stuff I write lurches from here to there and back again until I find the core question or problem or thought. The resolution of the thoughts rolling around my mind makes me calmer.

Today, I write for a reason other than bring calm. I’m writing to hopefully rile something up. I’ve felt dead lately - probably since sometime before Thanksgiving. I know part of the room rearrangement and organization was a response to the anxiety about my career change and the idea of going back to school in an independent study manner. Beyond the self-doubt coloring my plan, lays the sense that I’m just marking time. While I have a long term purpose and plan, I don’t know what I’m doing with today.

I am something of a holiday Grinch. It doesn’t really matter the holiday - Valentine’s Day, Flag Day or Christmas - I don’t much care for them. While I admit to appreciating Christmas lights and enjoying shopping for gifts, the hoopla around most holidays twists my stomach. As a perfectionist by nature, the added social pressure of setting the ‘perfect’ table, decorating the ‘perfect’ tree and finding the ‘perfect’ gift heaped over the number of people involved in most gatherings becomes more than I can handle. The logical, mostly sane part of my brain tells me that panic that fills my head has no purpose. My family certainly doesn’t expect ‘perfect’ from me. They definitely expect ‘pretty darn good’, but never require ‘perfect’. I actively work to reduce expectations, so even my friends don’t expect perfection. So, why is it that I expect perfection? What is it about who I am that cannot get beyond this crazy idea that if it’s not perfect, I’m going to burn alive - or at least suffer some extreme embarrassment?

The other reason I don’t like holidays is constant bombardment of commercialism. The blaring speakers, the holiday music and the decorations all shouting that I’m supposed to be joyous this time of year. My contrary nature just wants to yell rude things at the world and tell it that I’ll feel how I’m going to feel and do what I’m going to do when I’m good and ready to do it so stop trying to shove it down my throat.

So, you take pressure and add a bit of contrariness and you get me singing Christmas carols in May. See you then!

You Are Donner

The most loveable and sweet reindeer, you’re also a total dork! Why You’re Naughty: You keep (accidentally) tripping the other reindeer while flying. Why You’re Nice: You’re always smiling, even if you’ve fallen flat on your horns.

Via Blogthings

I am indeed a dork, and I lack a certain amount of grace - this is way too true.