Sometimes strange things happen.  Things that are so odd that it almost feels as if the End Times are here (you know, if I believed in that sort of thing).  When I imagine the bizarre chain of events that have led to Tom Delay appearing on the next season of Dancing With the Stars, my head hurts.

Tom Delay?  Former member of the House of Representatives (R-TX) who is under indictment for money laundering Tom Delay?  Er… yeah.  I mean, first of all, I didn’t know Tom Delay danced.  Let’s just say that I have always been under the impression, given Delay’s uber-conservative nastiness, that he would not be the one giving the city council a talk on why dancing wasn’t sinful while Lori Singer flashes him a “Dance Your Ass Off” tee from the back of the room.  Secondly, referring to Delay as a “star” is, well, pushing the definition of celebrity quite a bit.

Apparently, Delay’s wife has been yakking about his intense workouts getting ready to trip the light fantastic.

Disco?  Disco? One can only hope that Delay must appear for the episode wearing a skin-tight, spangled body suit and a sequined head band.  Not that I want to see it, mind you… I just want to know that such a thing happened.

In my heart of hearts, I want the contestant pool to include Marilyn Manson, Alan Cumming, and Ani DeFranco. 

I forgot to mention that I recently had the opportunity to hang out with Ellison over the Fourth of July holiday.  He was in town for a conference, and Mr. Fish and I met him for drinks.  Those of you in the know will be jealous that we enjoyed Capogiro gelato, of which Ellison is now a huge fan.  I keep waiting for them to put in a Capogiro out here in my new work ‘hood, but I think I’m going to remain disappointed.  The shop on Passyunk has basil gelato today, as well as ginger sesame gelato.  The time before that they had sea salt gelato that was out of this world good.

Must stop talking about gelato.  There is drool involved.

This morning’s wake up call came too early: 4:20.  It being Friday, it was early practice day.  As much as I love my 5:30am practice time on Fridays, it sure does suck getting up early enough to make it to the river.  As is, I pulled in with a few minutes to spare and nearly decapitated a teammate by flinging open my car door to race down to the dock.  Friday morning is usually our endurance day - 90 minutes of good paddling.  We’re trying to increase our stroke rate while maintaining good technique, so today - while it was still endurance - was a speedy endurance practice.  I can definitely feel it in my back now, but it’s that good ache.

We were in Ithaca last weekend for the race there, and I was pleased to take home a silver medal and some cash for the team coffers.  My next race isn’t until September, but I’ll still be working like a maniac.  I’ve managed to lose about 20 pounds this Summer, and I’d like to maybe shed another ten and try to keep most of it off during the Winter.  The weight loss has not been an intentional thing - it’s the normal weight loss stuff of the season, plus having to take all the stairs in my new office digs, and just generally not being too interested in food right now.  There’s nothing wrong with me, but I find I have to remind myself to eat or I won’t notice that I haven’t.  It’s weird.

I’m not a nervous flyer.  In fact, I like to fly in planes, for the most part.  Yes, airports are often annoying and the people around me on planes are usually irritating… but it’s just as safe as any other mode of transportation, I suppose.

So today I was reading an article on CNN about the logistics of surviving a plane crash, and I noticed some statistics that kind of cracked me up:

I know that first class passengers and business class passengers generally pay more for more leg room, better amenities, and the chance to board and de-board first… but they’re more likely to die in a crash.  Huh.  I don’t know, I kind of find that funny.

I’m quite excited to get my first paycheck this coming Friday: I intend to pay off two credit cards.  It’s the beauty of getting paid three times in one month, I suppose. 

Over the last two years I have been getting paid twice each month.  In some ways, that’s good: each paycheck contains a little more than if one gets paid every two weeks.  The downside is that I never get the thrill of having two paychecks each year that aren’t part of my carefully laid-out budget.  For someone like me who finds it hard to save any money, getting those extra paychecks is like a little windfall of mad money.  My next windfall month will be in October.

So yeah, with this month’s windfall I will pay off two credit cards.  Mr. Fish and I have been plotting world domination, er, debt repayment options recently, so like a big girl, I’ll take the $70-ish in payments that I would have been making on those two cards and put it toward the effort to pay off another credit card.  You know, because apparently that’s what adults do instead of spending it on a pair of pants or a pair of shoes.

Mr. Fish has been in debt repayment mode for many years now doing that and he’s almost out.  Just a few more cards to go.  The good news is that because he’s such a good person, he’s decided that after he’s done he’s going to turn his debt-free ass to my debts.  Maybe we’ll both be sans debt before we hit 50 (or sooner).  Considering neither one of us is banking on Social Security to be there for us when we turn 70 (or whatever the retirement age is supposed to be), the stock market has decimated what little cash I have in my various 401K and 403B plans, that Mr. Fish only began saving for retirement this year… well, not having any debt may mean the difference between living in a van down by the river or living in a cardboard box on the street corner.  I’ll take the van by the river, thankyouverymuch!

Congratulations to Senator Al Franken - the Minnesota Supreme Court dismissed a challenge from the guy who lost.

Normally, I would not be so thrilled that a court had to decide an election, but in this case a recount had been done and I feel confident in the results.  We can all acknowledge that it was a very close race, but this shit has been lingering on since last November.

Apparently, former Senator Norm Coleman could still try to take this to the federal courts, but Minnesota’s governor says he will sign the election certificate.

It was a banner morning for me: not only did I put a $200K grant proposal to bed, but I also managed to drive to work without the benefit of Stewie, my GPS.  This may seem kind of insane to most people - I’m starting my third week of work in a city I’ve lived in for nineteen years… why wouldn’t I be able to drive from point A to point B without assistance?

I could fall back on the fact that I’m a blonde or that I’ve had to much exposure to the semi-polluted river water, but the truth is that I don’t know the part of Philly I work in… at all.  It’s a mystery to me, the Northwest.  These neighborhoods seem foreign and strange.  Center City and the surrounding areas are so much simpler to navigate, the streets laid out in an orderly grid of roads primarily named after numbers and trees. 

Out here is...different.  The street names are unfamiliar, the landmarks are few and far between.  Part of my drive takes me through Fairmount Park, a place where I get completely lost under the best of circumstances.  The roads are dangerously curving and, as I’m driving, I panic a bit at what it might be like to drive in the Winter through snow and ice.

But I did it.  Today I managed to get here all on my own.  It’s a Chriskwanzakah miracle, I tell you!

Interestingly, after being a card carrying (or, should I say car key carrying?) big girl for over a year now my biggest driving pet peeve remains the same: people who refuse to use their turn signals.  I think it might be a control freak issue - I want to know what other people intend to do.  It sets my teeth on edge when some guy driving a boat of a car changes lanes in front of me without indicating with a blinker. 

One day perhaps I will go insane and start ramming cars who don’t use their turn signals.  Mr. Fish would be unhappy with my use of his beloved car, but the satisfaction I’d get from doing so would be immeasurable… well, until I was thrown in prison or a mental ward.

I never thought I’d be excited about the idea of returning to Tennessee.  My last trip there - to Nashville last year - was rather horrifying, and I am even less fond of it now in light of recent events.  I think there was a single good thing that happened, and that was the opportunity to eat some fantastic crab beignets.

Everything usually revolves around food with me, I guess.

But next year it’s looking like the opportunity to visit Tennessee will rear its ugly head again, this time Chattanooga.  While this trip will likely not feature a nun harassing me for pitchforking fetuses (thank dog for small favors), it will be in July which means I will be able to swim in the air.  Good times.  Nothing is definite, of course, but that’s where next year’s National Club Crew Championships are being held.  If the team plays its cards right, we may get a bid to compete.

With luck, there will be more beignets.

Another option for next year, although far less realistic (not unrealistic for our team, but for me personally due to financial constraints) is the International Club Crew Championships in Macau, China...also in July.  Still, it would be cool to have a chance to compete in China.

We had an early practice today (5:30am, to be precise) and it was a nice day for paddling.  The river is very high on account of the huge amounts of rain we’ve been getting (more is on the way in the form of thunderstorms during rush hour tonight), but it was nice and calm.  A little stinky, maybe, but calm.  Tomorrow morning we’ve got another practice, for which I will steer half.  For being up at the crack today, I feel surprisingly awake, although I have to wonder long that will last.

I am now the proud (and slightly afraid) owner of a Blackberry Curve 8330.  It’s pink.

Mr. Fish was monkeying around in my Verizon Wireless account the other day and noticed that my contract was up.  I’ve been pissing and moaning about wanting either a Blackberry or iPhone for a few months now, so when he noticed that the Blackberry Curve was free if I renewed for another two years, he insisted that I snap it up… he also insisted that it be pink.

Why pink?  Because when his contract is up in a few months, he wants a Blackberry Curve, too...the black one.

Weirdly, the pink doesn’t really bother me.  In fact, I kind of wish it were more obnoxiously pink.  I have every intention of gluing pink rhinestones to the back of it to make it ridiculous.

I can see why people get so addicted to these things: it hasn’t been in my possession for 24 hours yet and I sit at my desk glancing at it, waiting for the red light to start blinking to indicate that there’s new mail.  All my gmail accounts (all four of them) point to it, but I flatly refuse to send my work email there.  Sometimes you have to draw a line, and that’s mine.

Lunch can’t come soon enough: I need to play with my new toy and transfer phone numbers and add information.  And I need to take a walk down the path behind my building to take some photos with it. I clearly already need treatment.

In an effort to be more positive, I wanted to list the good things about my new gig:

1. It is usually insanely quiet, because my office is in the servant quarters of an historic building that sits in the middle of a 50-acre park.
2. Right now all I can hear is birds chirping and the wind.
3. No one sings except the birds.  This is the first time in ten years where there isn’t someone constantly singing outside/in my office or veal cube.  It’s lovely.
4. My office space is quirky and kind of fun.
5. I basically have a bathroom all to myself.
6. The kitchen contains an oven/stove.
7. I can get to the river in 11 minutes.
8. When I get stressed out, I can be completely isolated in a garden within five minutes.
9. I don’t have to pay for parking.
10. Since there aren’t really any decent restaurants in the area and no where I’d shop at, I’m saving a ton of money on impulse buys.
11. I could probably wear pajamas to work and no one would notice.
12. I have a very flexible schedule.
13. There are two windows in my office, both which actually open.  Dude, fresh air...my immune system doesn’t know how to react.
14. So far, there aren’t any staff who are manipulative, vindictive, or ethically-challenged.

There are several drawbacks, of course - there are in any job.  I won’t list them, though, because I’m trying to focus on the good stuff.  What are the good things about your job?

I live fairly close to a community pool.  Normally, it’s pretty quiet.  I might as well life next to a graveyard it’s so quiet.  Today is not one of those days.  Occasionally, someone rents the pool for an event.  I used to think the worst of it was drunken pool parties late into the night with blasting techno tunes.  Today I discovered something worse: the Sunday afternoon church party.

All afternoon the dulcet tones of cheesy Jesus-lovin’ music has been assaulting me.  I can hear it inside my house with the windows and doors shut.  It’s disturbing.  Apparently, the god they suck up to doesn’t mind noise pollution, eh?

Of course, I have this funny picture in my head of what’s going on over there.  One scenario involves using the pool for mass baptisms.  The idea kind of tickles me - I mean, signifying your rebirth in Christ and all that by being dunked in a pool full of piss and chlorine.  Fitting!  The second scenario is even funnier - churchgoers walking around in their skimpy bathing suits ogling each other.  Maybe that’s the reason for the crap music?  You know, to remind folks to keep it in their pants and to keep their thoughts pure while tiny bikinis and grape smugglers abound.

I’m hoping fervently that the music stops soon.  I can’t take the torture. 

I don’t quite have words to adequately describe how I feel about the murder of Dr. George Tiller.  Tiller spent most of his life being dragged into court simply for providing women with much-needed legal medical care...specifically, late term abortion.  I’m pissed off and terrified and sad - not just for his family, but for the thousands of providers in this country.  Imagine how they must feel today.  Apparently there is no evidence (yet) to suggest the murder was related to his profession, but I think we all know it’s related.  And when I think about the providers I know, my heart aches for them.  None of them have ever felt very secure about their safety to begin with, but this...this is grotesque.

Will this drive some providers out of the business?  Yes, I’m sure it will.  But I’m sure it will also be a catalyst for many to become providers themselves, to fight the man, so to speak, to stand up to those who would intimidate them.

Mr. Fish saw the news earlier in the day and just didn’t tell me.  He knew I would be livid, and something along these lines was always his deepest fear when I was working in the field.  There was always talk that if religious conservatives finally lost their stranglehold on the Presidency and Congress that something would break, that violence would return.  I’m sad to see that the prediction has come to pass.  I hope things don’t escalate, but they probably will.  Whoever this fuckwit is that killed Dr. Tiller, he’ll become some sort of a hero and some other asshole in the pro-life movement will want that for himself. 

My thoughts are with Dr. Tiller’s family and the staff at his clinic and his patients.  And they are with all the providers today feeling a little less safe today.

I really like the word fuckwit.  By extension, I really like the word fuckwittery.  I don’t use either enough in conversation. 

Granted, I try to reign in the potty mouth when I’m in public.  Hey, I said that I try.

But yes, I think fuckwit rolls off the tongue nicely.  It’s melodious.  I like it.  And I’ve been finding more and more reason to use it lately.  I don’t necessarily know that this is a good or bad thing, of course.  As much as I love to say it, I’d much rather just think people were awesome and funny and nice.

Hey, a girl can dream.

I’ll be participating in a friend’s wedding this Summer, something I’m not particularly looking forward to.  Mr. Fish was in a wedding in the church at which my friend is getting married several years ago...the wedding was in July and the church doesn’t have air conditioning.  I remember sitting in the pews with a friend taking bets on who would be the first person to faint from the heat: the groomsmen had to wear wool suits.  Sadly, no one passed out...but it was close.  But it certainly gave the phrase “sweating like a whore in church” a whole new meaning!

The wedding I’m in will be the following month, so I’m a little concerned about it being me passed out this time around.  Happily, I’m not part of the wedding party...although I do have to do a reading during the ceremony (as of yet unnamed). 

What this really means is that I need a dress, something I was contemplating a few months ago.  Today I finally ordered a dress (mostly because JCrew was having a sale), and I think I’m happy with my choice.  I guess it was more of a joint decision - I made Mr. Fish help me decide on the color.  I ordered the silk chiffon Sophia dress in vintage blue, which is sort of a peacock blue color.  I really would have preferred an orange dress, but the orange-iest one they had is a cantaloupe color and not my thing.  Mr. Fish was angling for the brown dress, but I’m really trying to get away from brown, navy, and black.  I was leaning toward the bright yellow dress, but Mr. Fish hates the color.  Normally, I would have just chosen the color I wanted and ignored Mr. Fish’s opinion, but he’s been so awesome during the last five weeks or so that I felt compelled to be a little nicer.  I guess the blue is a compromise.  Silver sandals, I think, maybe?

I’m seriously hoping there are no Bible verses that I’ll need to read.  I keep hoping she throws me a bone and asks me to read a poem.  I mean, really, I’ll do it if I have to because I’m a good friend like that....but I’m sure you can imagine what I’ll be thinking!

I feel compelled to admit something horrifying: I read the entire Twilight saga.  And I kind of liked it. 

Look, I know the writing isn’t awesome and that Edward is a creepy stalker and that Bella is the ultimate anti-feminist.  The whole no sex until marriage thing was ludicrous.  And don’t get me started on the idiocy of naming one’s child Renesme and totally skipping over the sex when they do actually have sex.  I don’t know what to say - something about the books appeal to me.  Maybe they just appeal to my inner teenager or something.  Of course, I totally feel like a fandork: I had to own the movie, which was super bad.  I mean it: wretched.  The adaptation was just plain awful and, while certainly a pretty man, Rob Pattinson just kind of looks constipated throughout the film.  What makes this doubly bad is that I plan to see New Moon when it comes out.  Yeah, me and half a million 12 year old girls.

I finished reading them prior to the Great Shitcanning of 2009, but I have continued my weird obsession with vampire related young adult lit over the last few weeks by moving on to the House of Night books.  They’re just as silly, but in a different way. 

How did this happen?  I go from reading biographies, food politics, and history to reading vampire fiction?  I guess at this point my feels too weird, so I need all the crazy fiction I can get.  Admittedly, it’s a good distraction, and it certainly makes the time pass!

You may have heard about some kid in Louisiana who shot himself in school yesterday after failing to carry out his massacre plan.  The whole situation is sad and stupid, but things could have been way, way worse: he was packing a gun with only four bullets.  I feel weird thinking that way - like shooting up a school with four bullets is so much more awesome than none.  Ugh.

Maybe because this kind of thing happens fairly regularly now, but I’ve chosen to focus on this:

Seriously?  Manson hasn’t had a popular song in years, right?  I feel kind of bad for the guy - I mean, to be the patron saint of moron kids with guns and a vendetta?  That’s got to suck.  Sometimes I wish that after one of these stupid and tragic episodes goes down, that authorities would find a note crediting Pat Boone or those Jonas Brothers dorks with being the inspiration to take out a school.