Blah Rain; Also, Hedgehogs & Welcome To The Super-Bitch

Uncle. I give up. I'll admit it: I fucking hate the rain. I hate it. I HATE IT. I don't care if that's why Oregon's so bleeding green. Well, to be honest, I hate it when it rains ceaselessly for DAYS ON END. Gray skies, a spot of rain, hell even a whole day of rain here & there, that's great. But it has been raining for four days with no relief.

Although waking up to melty rain on the skylight is pretty nice. I had a funny little dream last night about my folks' trailer converting to a spaceship, part of which involved David Thewlis having a button that would turn him into either a black cat or a hedgehog, depending. He also gave me chocolate. Apparently I like to plagiarize J.K. Rowling in my sleep. But the hedgehog bit, well, that's all me. One day. One day I will have my very own Spiny Norman. The dream lives!

Also, I quit smoking a couple of days ago. So I'm in super-bitch mode. I got a Chantix prescription from my doctor to help, but then I found out that I was going to have to take the pills for six months. Which seems kind of ridiculous. I quit once before, in 2003, & it only took a month before I felt human again. So I'm not taking any cessation aids, though I suspect I may break down today & buy some sugar free gum. I'm secretly fierce. Although being fierce is probably going to involve a lot of sleeping for the next few days, so maybe I'm more softly fierce than secretly.

I've got a couple of thoughts on the cold-turkey thing: (1) What's the point of eliminating poison if I have to use other poison to do it (including patches, gum, etc.)? & (2) I think it's better for me to get all the difficulty out of the way at once. I usually save the best for last, which means I have to go through the worst first, right? I'm not worried about reneging on the quitting so much - the way I look at it, it's goddamn hard & I ain't doing it but once. Besides, I'm in the process of detoxing my system overall in the next month or so, which won't exactly work if I pick up a cigarette, any more than it would work if I grabbed a cup of cofffee.

The only thing I think I have to manage is the way in which I react to sudden shocks to the system, because both times I started smoking, it wasn't really a gradual thing. It was a decision that I made in response to events - some retarded sort of revenge - "Oh yeah? Crap on me? I'll show you, world, I'll crap on myself!" But if my friend can go through freakin' Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans & not start smoking again, well sheesh, I got nothin' on that.

Also, I'm tired of having to go out in the rain to destroy myself. See? It's all a circle, folks. A CIRCLE OF ADORABLE HEDGEHOGS.

Oh, this is not some sort of lame-ass resolution thing, for the record. As if.

Finally: the third of season of "Lost"? I change my mind. I take back all those things I said about how "sick I was of the fucking Others" & that the six episodes I saw "kind of sucked". I suspect that Season 3 is, in fact, the best season yet. Those bastards got me back but good; & for the first time I truly believe that they actually do know where they're going with this. Bless 'em.

Folks Get Down In The Sunshine

23.12.2007 theme song:

Eddie Kendricks - "Date with the Rain"

It rained all day & night. At least from 9 a.m. to 4 a.m. It would have been a beautiful day to sit at home drinking tea & touching my new books. But no! My day was a three-mile walk to Northwest to acquire froufy Portlandia Christmas presents & then dinner & bars. It wasn't a date so much as assault. Blasted rain.

However, today I awoke to a pale white thing & mocking shards of blue sky piercing the vast canopy of gray. I even saw shadows for about 20 minutes. Which, in December's Oregon, passes for so much sunshine. Therefore!

24.12.2007 theme song:

Roy Ayers - "Everybody Loves the Sunshine"

Oh My God, Little Blobs Of Moisture Are Falling From The Sky!

For serious, people. YOU LIVE IN OREGON. How can you possibly FREAK OUT & drive like MORONS every time it rains?!?!?!


(The 7.9 is on a 0 to 10 scale, with 10 being super-jammed. On the website, it's a little scale going from green to red. The 16 MPH is on the only real interstate in Oregon (no, I-84 doesn't really count, unless you're going to Idaho), I-5.)

Guess it's "Alternate Route" drive time for me!

Why Not Then Continue To Look Upon It All As A Child Would...?

As a child growing up in very rural Oregon, I always loved walking in the rain. There was something about it that was so...real. It made me feel gloriously alive. Rain on the face, arms, whatever limbs I'd left exposed to its simultaneously de- & re- mystifying ways, had a way of taking me outside myself, beyond inner world & out into world world, something with which I've always struggled. (And yes, we can debate what real & world world mean til the butcher kills the cows, but I have yet to find a more concise & definitive argument than G.E. Moore's "Here is a hand. And here is another" in defense of the existence of the external world. Since I never could even approach a firm decision regarding that particular quandry, let's just make this a post about rain & leave it at that.) It's the quickest fix for an enduring issue. Forget hats, raincoats & galoshes, I just liked to walk in our field whenever it rained. (Which, this being, you know, Oregon, I had ample opportunity to do.)

So it was a bit out of the ordinary, then, when I went to college in Massachusetts & suddenly for the first time in my life found myself the proud(?) owner of...an umbrella (gasp!). If it was raining, the umbrella was my friend. I always chalked it up to growing up - assumed the rain simply didn't astound as it once had. The childlike wonder was replaced with irritability over sopping wet clothes. Also, the fact that around my third year I actually deigned to wear the glasses I'd been prescribed since I was 13 may have had some influence. (I still kinda miss blurry world, but that's a tale for another time.) And as anyone who wears glasses surely knows, glasses + rain = match made in hell.

As I found myself living in various areas of the East Coast, my newfound avoidance of the rain grew unabated. From Massachusetts to New York City to Pennsylvania to Virginia, I always had an umbrella or three. (This despite never actually having purchased one, umbrellas being one of those things that just kind of make their way into lives.) After many years of this, I pretty much assumed that rain & grown-up me could only communicate with each other through the umbrella-interpreter. Well, except for one night last summer when I stood barefoot & bare-headed in a constant rain listening to that song by Eddie Kendricks & that song by New Order & that song by Robyn on repeat on my iPod & chainsmoked & cried for a really long time. However, I think I was drowning myself more in vodka & tears than rain, so it doesn't really count.

But last November I learned to love the rain again. It wasn't a big deal - I was just walking in the rain. No barriers comprised of rain-retardant gear. And suddenly realized I enjoyed it again. (Don Ray's "Standing In The Rain" was my mental soundtrack, which probably didn't hurt.)

See, here's the secret: Pacific Northwest rain isn't really kin to the rain in those other states. It's immeasurably more pleasant to walk in the rain here. Usually. It drizzles, it teases, it's rain enough to be rain, but not so much rain that you feel the ill effects. It invigorates but does not overwhelm. And, best of all, as when I was a child, it still reminds me that I am alive in the world. And that the outside world is vastly more open & interesting & fascinating when you're in it, than it is when you're looking at it from the inside world. Inside is for grownups, which is not always a bad thing. But right now, outside is where I want to be. Even if my glasses get wet.