and I don't know what I'm doing tonight.

I arrived home tonight with an aching bladder to find a locked house. I had foolishly given my key to a notoriously absent-minded fellow who forgot when I came home from work. I waited for a halfhour before resorting to spry methods to enter my apartment. Luckily the offender didn't show up for another halfhour still. My temper had subsided along with the pressure in my bladder. Now I am in a mood. Which one I can't decide. Perhaps it's a mood-to-be, waiting for the right impetus to propel it into fruition. Perhaps. Perhaps it's a call to take it easy and read a book. Who knows? Guess I'll sit back and find out.

Soyeon, that journal is so friggin' cute [inlink]soyeon,51[/inlink]. I especially like my cool breakdancing style, I'm really feeling it!

Stickboy, go with the tank bra [inlink]stickboy,119[/inlink]. Is there even a question as to whether you need a tank bra? Who the fuck doesn't need a tank bra. I want one too. Think it fits on a fish tank?

I wonder if I should slow down a little. But maybe I should just wait for the inevitable winter slowdown that will come soon enough. Hmmm...

to answer your question MK [inlink]mk,120[/inlink]: the camp-site is located just outside of westfield. You go over the big bridge and make an immediate left and then drive for a couple minutes until you get to some other street that veers to the left (I think it's called Ogden). After a couple minutes on this road you'll se a white farm house with 3-4 grain silos. You turn left on the little road right before the house and go until you see a sign that says it's just a footpath now. Park there and hike down to the creek. There are a couple sites down the creek that you can choose. If you keep going you'll start seeing signs stating that it's a nude area (which to some extent it is-though the legality is perhaps questionable). We camped about 15 minutes down the stream where there's a waterfall leading into a swim-hole. Good luck.

About camping: It was mucho fun (see matt's journal for some pics [inlink]matthew,303[/inlink]). The highlight for me at least was when we tackled the tree. There used to be a swing rope attached to this gigantic tree which hung out from a 15 ft embankment over the swimhole. The rope snapped (and I feel very sorry indeed for the poor fool who snapped it, most likely midswing) a while back, and I guess someone became very angry at the tree. They sawed through half of it (a feat in itself as the tree is about 2 ft in diameter) and then graviy took over, propelling the tree into the exact middle of the swimhole. We arrived after all this, to find our nice little swimhole not very swimable. The task became to somehow remove the tree.

At first I despaired; our attempts to even budge the tree proved to be of very little effect. It was about 20 ft long and the half that was completely submerged was heavily waterlogged. The attempt was put off till Sunday. Luckily, reinforcements arrived in the shape of Pat and Terri (some of you may remember them as the folks who tarried till well after dark on a cross country ski trail, eventually leading us to call the rangers to haul them out), who came rambling into out campsite at like 11PM Saturday night. As soon as Pat saw the tree in the hole he became obsessed. Soon he had found a 30 foot sapling which we used as a lever to lift the tree while the rest of us pushed/pulled/groaned. After about an hour or so we had managed to move the offending tree to the far side of the pool where hopefully nature will take over with the next heavy rain. Who said that half-drunk potheads never get anything done!? The next part was slight overkill. Dave suggested that the pile of broken tree parts littering the island (refuse from said tree) should be put to final rest. A lighter and some dilligence resulted in a pretty big blaze (with accompanying explosions from moist riverstone shale), there's a pic on matt's journal showing the fire being lit. Who needs a gym to work out? Just find youself a 1000 lb. tree and start shoving!

sidenote: The Progressive has a great new section called McCarthyism Watch where they're detailing abuses of the Patriot Act in removing or obstructing protestors from carrying out there 1st Amendment right to free speech. Just yesterday a man was removed from Kutztown, PA for holding a sign. He wasn't read his rights, detained for over three hours, and best of all "On the citation where it says victim's name, they put 'society'". Whose society is that?

sidenote2: Beast, if you've read this far, I think letterboxing sounds superduper fun, reminds me of Artbomb [inlink]terry,168[/inlink]! If you wanna start looking call me up and we'll have an adventure night. Looks like Sqb has some experience too, maybe he'll help us?

Somehow I think it's in my destiny to be a housewife. The one thing that brings me joy above just about anything else is a house full of people with happy tummies. Tonight we had an unexpected dinner party of sorts. Fried catfish ala matt(gluten-free of course), collard greens, zucchini with mushies garlic and parsley, steamed clams in butter-lemon sauce, and sweet taters fried in the same canola as the fish. Divine, and all the folks so happy, courtesy in large part to my efforts in the kitchen. I think about being a cook sometimes, but think that it's not quite the same. I like the kitchen ambience, the people talking, slicing the odd veggie, swapping the tales of yesternight, battering the fish, picking up the 40, and just making revelry: the kitchen should be the life of the house. Maybe that's why so many housewives have become so disaffected. When I think of the kitchen that nonna [inlink]paul,1412[/inlink] was brought up in and contrast it to the kitchen of most modern households I can see why no one wants to work there anymore. They're disinfected: of both germs and society. Isolated hubs of efficiency, and slow asphyxiation (is that really how you spell that?). Who whats to hang around there when everyone else is watching the tube?

I can't decide how to take it. Do I rebel in masculine fury over my slow emasculation? Should I feel less of myself that I don't want to be out there earning bread for the table (instead of baking said bread, I suppose)? Am I nearer the feminine me I want to be in touch with (or am I treading dangerously close to the nongender entity I dream about)? Do other people want to be more degendered, like me? Caught up in stereotypes with nowhere to turn. Bake a pie and you're covered. But really, if all I do is sit around and take care of those I love, do I even deserve to live? Is this really an occupation? Obviously not one without accompanying stigma attached. I want to get back into my routine though. I love to cook. I do it well. It makes me happy. Why do I doubt? So let's make some kinda chintzy vow now, to cook at least said number of times a week. But I'll try, I really will. And please, if you're in a position to wish me well along the way (especially if you wanna come partake: there's barely nuthin' makes me happier'n feedin' folks), please do. I happily descend past my gender threshold.

sidenote: As Matthew said, the triplets of belleville is something worth seeing, it's pretty nuts. In a good way. I was even sad when it ended so early. Gotta download that theme song now...

This here monkey (macaque type, she is) only walks upright now. Apparently she had a bad tummy ache and after she got better won't go down to all fours anymore . Don't she know her place? Get down animal, leave the walking to those who been doin it for a while. Stop yo usurpin! Do you think she's available though?

sidenote: US food companies are going to have to label their food for allergens starting 2006 . This is good for those of us who suffer from these horrible maladies of digestive uncooperativeness. The allergens that must be labelled are: milk, eggs, fish, shellfish, tree nuts, wheat, peanuts and soybeans.