Goodbye, Ashy Larry

My fish died. I know he was just a fish, but I am saddened.

Audio Weasel, if you're reading, Ashy Larry had a brother...and his name was Uncle Ray. Uncle Ray passed very early in his stay with the Ramseys, so I didn't see much point in bringing it up.

OK, since I brought it up, I'll share with the rest of the class:

My friend Scott (seen commenting as audio_weasel) and I worked together traveling to do live Video/Audio production. (I was the video part, and, well, you can put it together.) It was a very stressful job, so along with one or two others, we would occasionally indulge in a cocktail after work. Since we worked for a church-related organization we sometimes had need to make plans to have said cocktails in code on the crew headset. It went like this:

Let's get Methodist = Crew call's early tomorrow, let's have one drink

Let's get Presbyterian = OK, it's an early call, but today was tough enough for two

" Episcopalian = Today was horrid, time for a whole different holy trinity

" Catholic = Bartender, keep 'em comin'

" Uncle Ray (in honor of Scott's raging alcoholic Uncle) = This might be a rager. Don't let me dance on the bar.

In honor of the trauma we all endured during those dark days, I named a fish Uncle Ray. Dude, he died really fast. I hope it wasn't the name that killed him. I mean, you can't be Uncle Ray every day.

Back to his recently deceased brother. Ashy Larry was a dwarf gourami who looked exactly like this: Because I'm obviously a little tweaked, he's named after a character on Chappelle's show who looked like this:
I guess I thought his blue markings (fish Ashy) made him look kinda ashy. But in a good way.

You were a good fish, Ashy. A strong swimmer, and you carried a lot of joy on your irridescent little fins. You will be missed.

Wanna Get Away?

Lately, I frantically nod up and down in response to the Southwest commercials that end "wanna get away?"

Don't feel sorry for me, Internet. It's not like I have some kind of horrible life to get away from, I just need a place to decompress. A chill place, if you will.

When I was a kid, I used to chill on the roof. My folks had a hundred-foot HAM radio tower that served as my ladder to the roof of our house. We were pretty far out in the country, so it's not like the neighbors stared. (I guess that's obvious; I couldn't see many suburban neighborhood associations giving the "thumbs up" to a hundred-foot tower.)

I was always amazed by how much more peaceful the world could be just ten feet off the ground. I was mulling over ideas for a small getaway, when my TiVo recorded something perfect. (My TiVo, despite being an inanimate object, has remarkable insights into my soul. Except for the time it decided I was a gay black woman just because I watch the "L Word" and BET's "Grown Folks Music." OK, so maybe my TiVo runs a little hot and cold with the insights.) Anyway, this cool show was about tree houses. Here's one of them - built by Treehouse Workshop, Inc.

That particular tree house is way too rich for my blood, but the idea of a grown-up tree house sounds fantastic to me! I love the idea of being above things. Away from the world, but still close to it. Unfortunately, I couldn't even fund a treehouse construction with Monopoly money.

Alas, I'm still searching for my own private chill place. Where do you go (or what do you do) to get away? And have you ever felt your TiVo was getting the wrong idea about you?

St. Pepper's Day

Loving this logo:

It's from a bar on the south side of Indy called Peppers. http://www.pepperslive.com/featured_poker.php

Let me explain: my maiden name is Pepper, and I come from Irish stock. I won't go a St. Pat's without having corned beef and cabbage. It's just not done.

I identify mostly with my Irish heritage because I'm so freakin' pale. The other big influence in my family is Native American (Choctaw, specifically) and I do exhibit some attributes of that influence. I'm kinda short, have dark eyes, dark hair, and more booty than your average white girl.

So, my darker relatives make fun of me for my complexion. Given the genetic combo, it is somewhat vampiresque. Not really what you're used to seeing.

From the Irish angle, I could pass as part Black Irish. Of course, like most Americans, after the genetic marbles were thrown who knows what's Irish or Choctaw or English or whatever in the end. We're all truly a bunch of mutts here in America, which is cool, but it's also nice to identify with something.

To see this logo that coincidentally links St. Pats to my family of origin's name, well, I kinda dig it. First of all, I miss my maiden name. It's very distinctive. It's pretty easy to forget Ramsey (no offense, Bryan, Bob, and Deloris - I LOVE being a Ramsey) but Pepper kinda sticks in your mind. Plus, being fair skinned when the rest of my family was dark-complected made me feel particularly Irish. Like I might fit better in the Irish culture.

I've always dreamed of going to Ireland. Maybe I'll get there someday.

But, 'till then, happy St. Pepper's Day to all.

Rocky Watch '07

A family who lost their golden retriever has posters up all over my community. The picture shows a beautiful dog named Rocky whose owners are offering two thousand dollars for his return.

Immediately my heart went out to them. My dog is a golden retreiver mix, and I know what adorable personalities those dogs can have.

Then I thought, "Two grand? For real?"

After seeing the poster at a stop sign I caught myself sub-consciously scanning the cornfields for this dog. The longer I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed to take a drive around the area. Just to see. I mean, they're offering two large for this dog. Who couldn't use that kind of money? Maybe I'll put a bowl of dog food in the back seat of my car...or carry some treats in my purse. At what point does one become a lost dog stalker?

Here, Rocky! Come here, boy!

Then I wondered, is this family just loaded, or is their kid suicidal over the loss of this dog? Or both? Is this a show dog? Can he bring you a beer from the fridge? As I began to fantasize about finding Rocky and returning him for a fat wad of cash, I hit a disappointing ethical wall. Should you take that kind of money for doing something you're supposed to do anyway? I mean, a decent person would return a lost pet for free. But I have anal glaucoma about turning down two grand. (In other words, I don't see my ass doing it.)

Tell me what you think:

1. Would you go out of your way (even a little) to find this dog?
2. If you found it, would you accept the reward?
3. If you lost your dog, what's your reward offer ceiling?

My dog loves to chase geese, and there are a lot of geese around the lake. I'm just going to, umm, well, I had to go by the lake anyway because I have this thing...

Hell with it. I'm gonna look for that dog.

Post-LASIK

I CAN FREAKING SEE!!! IT'S UNBELIEVABLE!!!!

I'll calm down a bit lest you think I'm using all caps because I have to. The surgery went perfectly, and I had a good bit of vision yesterday, but this morning I rolled over and saw the alarm clock. Like - REALLY saw the alarm clock. No squinting or anything.

I had intralase (where they make the flap with another laser rather than a blade.) During my first post-op exam this morning, the doctor had trouble finding the incision with a light and a microscope...you can't see it at all with the naked eye. Not that you're interested in all the details, but I'm 20/25 in my right eye and 20/50 in the left. That's expected to improve over the next few days, and I'm already cleared to drive.

The experience: painless and quite fascinating. A little creepy, sure, but fascinating. Bryan even got to watch it on a video screen from another room.

The results: WOW WOW WOW WOW WOW.

One of the Biblical descriptions of Jesus healing a "blind" man described the guy's vision by saying he saw "people as trees walking." I estimate that dude needed about a -10 prescription, because I always thought that was a great description of my vision. I certainly feel like a miracle right now. Thanks to everyone who prayed and/or sent good vibes my way. It worked.

Of course, now it's time to make my victorious Post-LASIK play list. So dust off your old mix tape skills and give me a hand. I only have three so far:

Jackson Browne - Doctor My Eyes
Van Morrison - Brown Eyed Girl (forget the theories of what
it's really about and keep it simple, ok? I'm a girl, my eyes are brown,
and they FREAKING WORK for once.)
Johnny Nash- I Can See Clearly Now (the rain is gone)

Any more ideas?

Pre-LASIK

Today is the day. In approximately three hours I'm going under the laser. Hopefully, I'll be seeing clearly for my next post.

In other news, I am working now. I started as the secretary at my church Thursday. It's pretty cool. Basically low-key, and I get to visit with people. Hopefully "pastor-lite" isn't a blasphemous description. The pastor went on vacation on my third day of work, so apparently she trusts me.

The music thing is creeping along slowly, but surely. I should be on the scedule at a nice restaurant/bar venue in April, and I'll run a CD down to a local coffee house. Good response at an open mic recently and I'm making some good contacts. Every musician I know is urging me to get a myspace page. However, I promise to honor my friend James' request to make sure it doesn't look like it was designed by a "14-year-old lovesick, color-blind cheerleader."

See ya later. Hopefully, without the aid of corrective lenses.