I have a job and work hard, just like you.  I pay my bills, just like you.  And I worry sometimes about money. just like you.  I love my family, just like you.  I go to church, just like you.  I laugh and cry at the humor and sadness in the world, just like you. 

Now quit fucking telling me I'm not a real American.  Thanks.

i feel: annoyed

there is nothing so deadly
as the forces of right
or some fool with a shotgun
in a house painted white

How important was it?  My dad called me at work to tell me.  I had to walk away from my desk and take a moment.  I liked to claim him as a Clevelander; he went to college and law school here.  He felt for his hometown what I feel for mine.  His hometown felt for him the way he did about it; the mayor ordered all municipal flags to half-staff yesterday.  As many people will say, he was a member of our family on Sundays.  He was the calm voice of the craziness of Election Night 2000.  I'll always remember the whiteboard.

Requiescat in pacem, T-Russ. 

i feel: sad

A few of you reading this will remember what I did in 2004--I worked actively for regime change here at home.  And a few fewer of you were good enough to answer my phone calls and offer support as I grew more and more unhinged from lack of sleep, from overwork, and from sheer worriedness that things wouldn't turn out the way I thought they should.  (I shan't lie; this bitch was crazy)  

One of the things that I told those few about was the recurring nightmare that I began having in September 2004:

 I was standing on the stage behind John Kerry at a rally, looking out over the crowd, when a glint of metal caught my eye.  Someone, always a faceless someone, near the front of the throng, was raising a gun and aiming it at Senator Kerry.  And I was always the only one who saw it.  And I ran across the stage to knock down the Senator and--I suppose, in hindsight--actually shield him from the assassin's bullet with my own body.  

Why was this a nightmare?  

I never made it in time.

I'm no hero, and I certainly would have had my fat, slow ass trampled by Secret Service on my way over to the Senator, but the fact remains that that nightmare is the single most horrifying one I ever had.  I had it two, three times a week, and kept having it more often as November 2, 2004 drew nearer.  Simply put, even a dream about assassination can be utterly terrifying; I cannot imagine the reality.  

Though they happened during my lifetime, I am too young to remember the attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan or the murder of John Lennon.  But I see the looks on my parents' faces when they talk about Jack and Bobby and Martin being cut down.  

And I remember how my dream made me feel.  And I remember, when Barack Obama first annnounced his candidacy, dreading that dream again.

And hearing someone that I admired fervently, someone my 12-year-old self had wished to emulate back in 1992, evoke that nightmare, I was horrified, terrified, and saddened. 

 God's in his heaven; all's right with the world  :)

*Everything is good.  The Giants won, and I enjoyed the game in excellent company (I mean, besides the Blue Moon beer).  

*Being adored for exactly who and what you are is absolutely underrated:).  

*I know how some of you feel about Progressive Field, but y'all are all gonna want to be my friends when you find out about the hookups I'm going to get:).

*U23D.  "I can't wait" doesn't even begin to cover it.  

i feel: indescribable

 To say the least I thought I'd seen them all
But then you took me by surprise
I'm dreamin' 'bout those dreamy eyes
I never knew, I never knew . . .

i feel: enthralled

snagged from aliste

For the first three people who reply to me and re-post this challenge, I will send you something. It might be something I've made, or something cool from my hidden stash, it might be a mix CD, or a rubber duck, a book I think you will enjoy, or something else that is awesome. Whatever it is, I promise that I will get it to you in 365 days or fewer. The only thing you need to do in order to participate is to be one of the first three to reply to this, AND post this very same thing on YOUR LiveJournal — because it's fun to give people stuff.

I've recently had the rear speakers in the X-wing replaced.  The car came with GM's Monsoon premium sound system.  I blew the factory speakers (probably courtesy of The Who) a few months after I got the car.  This pissed me off.  I have since been advised by both the friend of mine who replaced my speakers and by the twitchy dude in the car audio store that:

1.  They had never heard of anyone blowing factory speakers.
2.  They had never heard of anyone blowing premium factory speakers.
3.  They had never heard of a woman blowing any car speakers.  
4.  They had never heard of a woman getting a ticket for having her car stereo too loud.

Folks, I am striking a blow against the patriarchy here.

So, since I've had the speakers replaced, I am loving the sound in my car.  I don't want to leave the car.  It's like sitting inside the music.  Also, because "Somebody Told Me" in all it's New-Order-esque glory sounds so great in there, I have also not been able to stop playing The Killers' Hot Fuss.  Would hit Brandon Flowers, but without the 'stache, please. 

i feel: awake

you made me forget myself
i thought i was someone else,
someone good . . .