You talkin' to me?

So I'm walking home from work yesterday, and as I'm about to pass by this church on First Ave. in Belltown, I idly notice a guy with a guitar sitting on the front steps. I only glance at him, but it's enough to gather an impression that this is an average guy. Not young, not old. Not homeless-ish, but not snazzy.

As I am about to pass the man in question, he says "Hey there. How's it going?"

I display what I intend to be an I'm-acknowledging-your-existence-but-I'm-not-going-to-talk-to-you smile.

Well, either he didn't see the smile, or it simply failed to meet his expectations, because he starts to yell, "Hey! You! I'm talking you you! Yeah, YOU!"

This verbal tirade continues as I walk down the street, until I put about a half block between us. I never responded, never looked back, which I'm sure irked him far more than if I turned around and told him to F-off, with accompanying hand gestures.

As I walk, I ponder: Why do some people believe that when they speak to a stranger on the street, that the stranger has an obligation to respond?

Every few months or so, I come across some jackass like Mr. Church Steps Sitter (the same church where a rightous young couple bitched at us for letting Doofus take care of his dog business on the building's side lawn...only to start swearing at us when I said we weren't Christian...but I digress).

In many cases, it's someone asking for money who gets mad when I ignore him (yes, always a him) and keep walking.

Occasionally, it's one of those sidewalk telemarketers who piss me off so much (Some days, I swear that if I hear someone ask me "Do you have a few minutes for the environment?" or "Do you have a moment to help ensure better health care?" one more time, I'm going to punch somebody. It's a good thing I don't carry a gun.). You would think they would have to be polite, but some of them get a bit pissy when you ignore them. Again, only the guys.

I may have spouted about this before, but I firmly believe that my only obligation to strangers is to not cause them harm. As an extention of that, I believe that if I came across someone who was choking, having a heart attack, or was physically hurt or in immediate danger of becomeing so, and if helping them would not put myself in the same or worse danger, then I have a moral obligation to involve myself with that person.

But talking to someone just because they talk to me first? I don't think so.

One caveat: Living in Belltown and working downtown, I am often asked directions by tourists or people from the 'burbs. I always try to help them, unless it's a lone guy asking, and I suspect he's just asking directions as a means to engage me in conversation. I have a pretty good radar about that sort of thing.

The church steps incident reminded me of my heady college days, when the Political Correctness demon ran amok on campuses across the nation (this was the late 80s, early 90s). I distinctly remember the argument being made by various women's (and sympathetic men's) groups that, because "any man could be a rapist," nice guys should go out of their way to cross the street should they ever find themselves sharing a sidewalk with a woman after dark. So she wouldn't think "Oh, no! There's a man on the sidewalk with me, and I can't tell by looking at him if he's a rapist, because it's dark and because even in daylight you can't really tell just by looking at someone."

I understood the though process behind that idea, but always felt it went a bit too far. I would never expect a man to cross the street to avoid scaring me, but damn it, if he talks to me and I don't want to talk to him, than he can just shove it!

Phoenix rising

On my way home from walking Doofus today, I stopped by my community garden to do a little pre-fall cleanup on my plot.

I pulled out some mildewed calendula, cut back a few sunflowers that had been completely picked over by birds, and pulled out the bush bean plants that were finished producing. Then, as I cut back a tomato vine that was straining to reach beyond the boundaries of my plot, I witnessed a small miracle.

The artichoke plant that had been so rudely broken off at soil level, victim to a random act of vandalism, is growing back. Yes, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, this artichoke plant has mustered enough strength from its young root system, without benefit of any foliage to gather energy from the sun, to push skyward a dense thicket of beautiful, green new leaves.

I am so happy. My small garden has seen justice.

And shortly, I am off with He Who Puts Up With Me to go see "The Aristocrats," a movie all about the raunchiest joke ever told. That makes me happy, too.

What else is making me happy right now? The weather has turned cool enough for my boy cat to become a lap cat again (my girl cat is a lap cat year round, because she's an attention whore). And I have a crockpot full of spicy black beans with chorizo sausages simmering away. Yes, life is good.

See, I'm not always moody!

Ups and downs

As tired as I was, I came home from baking class riding high on the fact that I successfully made chocolates. Yes, chocolates. Three kinds actually: white chocolate with a white chocolate-lemon ganache filling (delicious in spite of the fact that I usually consider white chocolate to be a sham), semi-sweet chocolate with an espresso-chocolate ganache filling and semi-sweet chocolate with a raspberry ganache filling. They are all delish, if I do say so (just don't look at the undersides, which are a bit on the amature side...but on top they look great!).

I have to take something to my community garden's potluck tomorrow, so I decided on the harvest squash loaf from my Macrina Bakery cookbook, mostly because it was the first thing that occured to me that I had all the ingredients for. I've been a bad planner! So, to bolster my resolve to measure out the ingredients for it, so I could bake it tomorrow morning without much effort, I asked He Who Puts Up With Me (who, incidentally, is still boycotting my blog because I allegedly insulted him in it, but really he is being a Big Baby) to "buy a girl a drink." So he made me a Silk Stalking, which involves tequila, creme de cacao, cream, and amaretto in place of the grenadine that we didn't have.

I drank one while I measured out sugar, flour and spice and toasted walnuts, pecans and pumpkin seeds. Then I had a second while we started to watch Nightline. Big mistake. Ted Koppel was interviewing congressmen and other people talking about how little was being done to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, and how white people were getting preferential treatment. I started to cry like a baby, because I don't doubt it's true.

Just tonight, in my baking class, someone said "I bet if it was LA that was flooded, and all the beautiful people were out of their homes, all kinds of people would be rushing to help. But have poor black people be the victims, and no one cares."

I have to do something to help the victims, but I'm not sure what would be the best thing to do. I want to send them food and clothes, but that's clearly not practical. But at this moment I'm too tipsy (no, I'm not kidding...damn Silk Stalkings...I might add that it is a testament to my training and experience as a writer that I am typing coherently at the moment. Is it wrong to blog while under the influence?)

Anyhoo...I have to do something, because stupid how-could-he-have-been-reelected-I-mean-honestly? President Bush is too busy sending resources to fight a clearly unwinnable war to actually help his own people as we go sliding into a recession (no, I'm not bitter or anything!!), the rest of us must do something. Damn it!

Clearly I am in no state to form a plan now. Maybe tomorrow. I really want to organize a bellydance benefit, but I have no time! Damn it again! OK, no more drunk blogging. Jeez, I'm a lightweight! And I will not delete this post tommorrow...

Critical mass

I've hit a wall. It's that point in the school term where weeks on end of combining a full-time job, school, dance class and home responsibilities start taking their toll.

This happened to me last term, so at least this time I was kind of prepared for it.

Too many nights of not enough sleep, too little "me" time, after a while it's hard to bounce back. I crave sleep, I crave sloth. I've been finding it harder and harder to get up and work out in the morning, even though working out generally involves a cool bellydance workout DVD.

Yesterday morning I worked from home, rolling out of bed at 7:55 a.m., enough time to answer nature's call then check my work e-mail at the start of my business day.

This morning, the alarm going off at 6:30 a.m. was not making me happy. "No, you have to get your butt out of bed and then do something to move it!" I told myself. So, fine, I stumbled into the second bedroom, fired up my iPod, scrolled to my "Bellydance" playlist (which I finally uploaded this weekend...I've had my pod since Christmas, and so far all it had on it was the complete U2 discography) and hip circled, undulated and chest locked my way into conciousness and proper blood flow.

And damn if I didn't feel better. Now if I can only make it through the next two weeks, when I'll have one week of full vacation (no work and no school) followed by another week of partial vacation (no school). For now, I'll have to make do with the holiday weekend. TGIF!

Two perspectives

There's a lot going on in the world and in our own country right now that is less than ideal.

I think it's safe to say that many of us tend to forget to be grateful for what we have, in terms of health and creature comforts.

Anyone watching the news coverage of Hurricane Katrina is probably regaining a little perspective on what's really important, but in case you need more, here are a few tips:

1) Watch Sarah MacLachlan's video "World On Fire." Even if you're not a Sarah fan, or even if you've already seen this video, it's worth a look. Be warned, it might make you cry.

2) Go see "The Constant Gardener." This movie is a fine example of acting and filmmaking, but it also gives some startling examples of how Western governments and corporations view Africa and its people. One case in point: when a character, talking about "donations" of expired prescription medications to Africa, says "disposable medications for disposable people."

A dish best served cold

This work week got off to a rocky start, what with the extreme demoralization handed to me last week. But by Tuesday afternoon, I was flying high.

Why? Because the sources of my distress got their comeuppance. The main instigator, my boss-once-removed, can no longer run amuck, spending money like there is no tomorrow and trying to punish people who actually have the best interests of the company and its products in mind. Yes, she and all her little yes-lings are feeling the pain. And it's glorious. Maybe it makes me petty to feel this way, but I don't care.

After watching scads of people in her location of our department get promoted to "director" positions when they don't even direct anyone, after hearing how they come into work late, go to breakfast for an hour or more, come back to work a little before taking a long lunch, going back to work for a bit and then leaving early...I think I earned my bitterness.

Is it so wrong that I find it amusing that the head of the company is asking for job descriptions and project status reports from everyone in her department? I must add that my workload is sufficiently full and my work is of a nature that no one else currently employed by my company could be trusted to do what I do and do it right. And I have many, many other people in other departments to back me up if need be. So I am confident that my job is secure.

For now, the universe is righting itself, and things should be better until I find myself a different job. (Recent reversals of fortune aside, my company still has issues.)