Tina's Musings & Misadventures

Fun with haiku

2004-08-27T19:09:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the dancers in Austin, I'm engaged in an almost daily exercise in writing haiku.... which is probably something I haven't done since a random creative writing class in high school.

Here are some of my gems. Ha ha.

Here comes the storm clouds
Black and blue, rumbling through the
City like clockwork.

Oh, my beloved
Gators! The season looks bleak...
God, how I miss Steve!

Ricky wants to come
Back to the Fish? Who needs him?
Go home and get high.

Looks are deceiving.
That innocent lad you see
Is someone's boy toy.

I'm a dope, you're a dope, we're all a dope at the Olympics...

2004-08-25T18:22:00.000-05:00

I'm listening to NPR on the way home from work yesterday (Tuesday) , when they do their daily Olympics recap. Bob Siegel announces with his usual aplomb about the latest doping scandal to hit Athens in as many days. It turns out that some Hungarian guy had to give up his gold medal in discus because he apparently gave a tainted urine sample to officials testing him after his win. Just the previous day (Monday) a Russian woman - the first to win the gold medal in shot put - was forced to give up her medal because she took performance enhancing drugs. Both athletes have not issued a statement and have pretty much left the Games in disgrace. (More on those athletes here: http://sports.espn.go.com/oly/summer04/gen/news/story?id=1866371)

Meantime today (Wednesday), American track goddess Marion Jones supposedly easily qualified for the finals of the long jump. (I'm trying to maintain my suspension of disbelief and actually wait for NBC's broadcast, which is another rant entirely). Anyone who's anyone knows that Jones has been shrouded in accusations of doping... which she has repeatedly denied. Whether she took the drugs or not is a moot point... because her rep is pretty much gone at this point.

Anyway, I'm listening to the radio about the discus guy and getting pretty peeved... it seems there hasn't been one day of the Olympic Games that hasn't been marked with some steroid scandal. Is it really that hard to stay clean? Or more accurately... why the fuck does a discus thrower have to take illegal drugs? To get that extra edge... on the other discus throwers? I mean... how many fucking discus throwers do you see on a Wheaties box or a Campbell's soup can (or the Hungarian equivalent thereof). And quite frankly, if you need a urine test to figure out that a Russian woman with a neck the size of a small oak tree is taking drugs, you have bigger problems. But I digress.

I mean I can understand the Marion Jones thing... not that I think she did it, or condone her cheating if she did... but at least I can understand it. I mean, Track & Field is big business... product endorsements, fame, fortune, interviews with Bob Costas... those are all real good reasons to cheat. And let's face it, Marion Jones is no longer an athlete... she's a business. Her name, her face, her feet, probably grace products from here to Nike plants in Taiwan. So if you're MJ and you've got to pop some pills or take an injection to give you that extra edge on the track, not to mention on the NYSE, then hell yeah... I can see it. There by the grace of God go I.

But discus... come on. Discus throwing is really only this close to frisbee throwing... and anything you can do with the family pet on a Saturday afternoon really cannot be an Olympic sport. But whatever. It's apparently so important to be first, to be the best, to be right, that staying clean and doing it the fair way is a secondary concern.

I can't wait for Beijing in 2008.

A picture's thousand words and Dinner with the Nuns...

2004-08-24T15:51:00.000-05:00

A somewhat interesting weekend in the life of Tina...

I was in need of a picture to send organizers of the Orlando Exchange, along with a bio. As most of my friends know, I staunchly hate taking pictures. I believe it's genetic, because my mom is the same way. Most of our pictures have the same pose... hand over face, running away from the camera like we're doing a white-collar perp walk. Anyway, I didn't think I had anything suitable for web dissemination and luckily a pal of mine named Keith (who's an amateur photog: http://www.kdsphotography.com/) offered to do some head shots for me at my place.

By the time Saturday morning hits and I've come back from a quick trip to the store, Keith has set up what I find out later to be about $6,000 worth of photography equipment in my living room. I felt like Olan Mills landed at my house. Obviously things were ramped up a bit.

We spent about 30, maybe 45 minutes, taking various shots of me in a couple of outfits in the attempt to get the "perfect picture". Keith had his laptop ready for me to view the proofs... and I was horrified. I don't think most normal people like looking at their picture, but for me, looking at my visage has always been filled with horror and dismay. Kinda like when Mel Brooks yells in "Spaceballs" about how big his ass is... he has no idea how big his ass is because, well, it's behind him and no one tells him it's so big.

And no, I don't think I look like an ass (just act like one) but I do feel that sense of disorientation... why didn't anyone tell me I looked so ugly!!!

I made Keith take picture after picture after I found out that he could use Photoshop to clean up blemishes, eradicate flaws and otherwise make me look better than God intended. I tried smiling, not smiling, smirking, staring, and otherwise looking all kinds of silly in order to capture the "essence" of me (my thoughts, not Keith's words). Which is nearly impossible when you look in a mirror and don't see what lies before you now... but see yourself as the shy, gangly, unformed teenager of say, 14 years. Eyes too small (and I still think my right one is smaller than my left one - I am clearly a mutant), nose too big, lips too... boring. Let's not even talk about the hair. I used to bemoan the fact that God didn't put such a smart, pleasant person in a more appealing package. Apparently it never occurred to me that I was stupid... just ugly. The beauty of hubris.

Anyway, I guess an exercise in self-examination is always a healthy thing, just never a fun thing. I will of course post the final pic here because I'm still a Leo and just as vain as ever.

***

On Sunday I had dinner with my friend Brian who's recently gotten married and is in the process of packing up (and selling) his home in Miami. Dinner was prepared by his wonderful sis Mary, who is a practicing nun. She shares her home with a couple of other nuns who teach at Barry University, a private religious university here in South Florida.

Have you ever had dinner with nuns? It's a very intimidating thing. I thought at least 60 to 70 percent of my dinner subject matter would be eliminated in the presence of God's servants. I had an ongoing mantra which was basically... "Don't use the 'F' word! Don't use the 'F' word!"

It was actually a very enjoyable evening... the nuns were cool! They live in this huge home that's had so many additions that it looks like a small villa. There's a hot tub (which unfortunately costs way too much to heat) and huge pool. I don't know why I was surprised... I guess I was under the impression that nuns weren't allowed to have fun.

Anyway, the dinner party included myself, Brian and his new wife Tiffany, Sister Mary... and I'm blanking on names here... two other nuns, one of which has a twin sister. The twin sister's husband was also in attendance as well as another gentleman who is the head of Barry's Theology Department (or Philosophy, I forget which), and a Franciscan. Again, who knew there were still Franciscans?

Anyway, we talked about everything from football, to pot smoking, to real estate, to the politics of academia and everything in between. Just in case you're wondering... The Cowboys are "not" America's team... South Florida real estate is a very good investment and if you were bored and living in New England in the 60s and 70s, there wasn't much to do but smoke pot and work at the Howard Johnson's. The twins had no clue where the pot came from (although they did partake once or twice). I guessed that it was from Canada... one of the twins supposed that it was from Springfield, Mass. since Springfield was the equivalent of the "big city" back then. So there you go... Springfield, Mass as the pot distribution center of New England.

They were all fine, intelligent people. You have no idea how rare that is in South Florida.

Apparently the nuns throw a rocking Halloween party every year at The Villa. Last year there was a costume contest and bobbing for apples... in the pool. Who knows what hi-jinx there will be this year. Lucky for me, I have a standing invite.

Express yourself instantly with MSN Messenger! Download today - it's FREE!

2004-08-21T00:15:00.000-05:00

Halloween 2003. A lusty wench am I.

In the beginning....

2004-08-20T23:49:00.000-05:00

... there was silence. Mainly because it's almost 1am on a Saturday and I'm too tired to compose anything of substance. But don't worry. It will come. :)

This blog was originally planned as a way for friends and family to track my travels throughout the states (and O, Canada!) before I move to Austin, Texas in mid-November. But, if I dedicate myself, it'll be around much longer. For I have lots of things bouncing around in my brain, and now a forum to express myself.

Which is exactly what I needed, right? As if I didn't talk enough.

Stay tuned kids... just getting started. But now... to sleep and dream.