B1ue

I have to view it from a skewed perspective, reducing it to a less detailed shape that I can manipulate my perception of, in order to view her spinning counter-clockwise. A coworker got this in her email, and we all tried it out. I was the only one that couldn't see her going in both directions. I half-thought they were lying to me, to be honest.

I think there is the crux of the matter, and the solution to your logic tangle. Incompetent SAs with little to no experience (or, granted, sometimes with heaps of experience) get hired all the time, because somebody has to wear the kick me sign. I find that they generally blend unnoticed, because it is fairly difficult to tell the difference between a competent SA that is either dealing with faulty users or faulty management, and so unable to do their job, or one that is unable simply because they don't have the skills. High level tech apps might as well be black magic, for all that most people are willing to learn about it. Hell, at my last job, it was difficult to find someone willing to refill the printer when it ran to empty.

Short entry today. Three years ago, I was trying to write my second novella. The first had been demanding as hell, and I never did complete the follow-up. I have since written a second novella, however. Two years ago, I was trying to figure out why a boy from work had let a third boy, who we'd all assumed was gay and had found many reasons to talk to me in the few weeks since I'd been hired, believe we were a couple. This is a question that has yet to be answered to my satisfaction. One year ago, I put in my two weeks to my first after college job. The CEO, who I reported to directly, told me no. I wouldn't wind up leaving for a further five months. November isn't a traditionally good month for me. Here's hoping my plane doesn't crash in a few weeks. And this little image is something I came across at work. She looks like she's spinning either clockwise or counter clockwise, depending on whether you are right brained or left brained. Apparently if you have genius level IQ, she'll spin both ways for you. I'm not so sure how much stock I'd place in the last, knowing as I do that Visual intelligence doesn't show up well on an IQ test, but that's what the email I recieved with this image said.

Seriously? I didn't notice at all. I meant to mention this in my other post, but my favorite "California-esque" quote from a movie is during Independence Day. "Is that an earthquake?" "Baby, it's only a four-pointer. Go back to sleep." I...hope you mean that in a joking way. Keep in mind I am a couple years older than you. I'd hope I'd be a little further along in building a life for myself. You'll be there soon, quicker than you believe.

Okay, California does periodically shake off the dander that acumulates, but no more so than anywhere else. Everyone fears earthquakes for some reason, but really they don't happen all that often. Our last big one was what, almost fifteen years ago? Even then, compare the damage of the Northridge Earthquake with the Kobe earthquake.We've got it together fairly well here. And as a counter point, weather. While we have seasons in California, they aren't really as energetic as they are elsewhere. In New York though, you'll get seasons that mean business, including summers that will leave you dripping just at the effort of getting dressed and winters that will shut the city down for hours at a time. Oh, did I mention we have hardly any humidity here? Plus, the housing market isn't near as crazy here in LA as it is in NYC. (Bay area gets close though, so I hear, but there is always the central valley). I have my own 1 bedroom apartment for under a thousand a month, in a clean neighborhood within walking distance to the beach. Find that in New York City.

A bit delayed, but how that was a good link. I grinned the entire time I read it.

You are absolutely correct, of course. I merely stated that the topic lent itself to tales of regret, bittersweetness, and wist, which was the first thing to pop into my mind when I started to think about the topic. Well, the second thing. The first thing was a story about getting lost in the woods, but I discarded that as a bit flippant. I may go there, naturally, but I wouldn't stop there. But as you say, the topic also lends itself to themes of, "There but for the grace of god go I." My problem with that interpretation is that one of my favorite authors, Lois McMaster Bujold, has written extensively on this topic, enough that most of the words I am using to describe this type of story come from her novels. See, in a large way, I learned my style of writing reading her novels, so it would particularly easy for me to simply retrace paths she has already walked. I never thought about it before, but I learned how to create characters from her, how to dialog and describe from Alice Hoffman, and how to structure (sentences and plot) from William Faulkner. How very odd that I've missed that all these years.

Contrary to popular belief, California does have seasons. They are Tourist, Fire, Holiday, and Flood. I find myself strangely homesick, because I can smell ash in the air. Not that I can escape out of the city if I wanted to, all the places I would run to has a fire blocking access. I wonder how the people at my old job are coping. At my current job, hair is being pulled and feet are being stomped, and I got to gently tell customers that it sucks to be them that the fires cut off major shipping routes. I'm trying to think of a way to approach the next anthology, but I'm having trouble. I think my intention to do a more humorous version of Khayyam may not will out, due to the heavy tinge of regret the theme seems to lend itself towards. Now I don't in general regret, so that in and of itself is unfamiliar to me, but the idealized and simplified personalities that I use for my characters never regret. That's a flaw I have as a writer, I know, but you will never hear me state that I'm any kind of great novelist. Also, I have already pretty much summed up my feelings on "the Road Not Taken" right here1. Anything even close to that would only be a sloppier rehashing of that poem, of which I am quite proud. The opposite view, relief of a danger avoided rather than wist, might work, but I need to think about it. Edit: I accomplished something this past week, I finally beat Final Fantasy XII. This isn't a major accomplishment, but one nonetheless. As usual, it was the story that I played for, though the gameplay was a thousand leagues ahead of the previous incarnation. What I liked this time around was that they deliberately f--ked with everyone's expectations. There was the usual band of misfit heroes: the mercenary, the witch, the thief, the princess, the sidekick, the knight, etc., and I'll bet money that everyone who followed the games expected the story to fall into a certain pattern and to revolve around a tormented love between the princess and the main character. Except it didn't happen. In fact, the main character didn't get any action at all, which I cannot recall ever happening since the first game. Hell, in seven, eight, and ten the main characters got a couple beauties to choose from (in nine the main character was hit on by just about everyone, including a male villain and a six-year-old girl). I kept waiting for them to pair off, sure that, even though she was clearly still in love with her deceased spouse and he was more interested in a big brother than a girlfriend, they would get their minds untangled and knock boots. I waited until about two thirds of the way through, when I realized that it wasn't going to happen, and that the game was subtly mocking that expectation. Usually, that kind of behavior irritates me, but it only made me smile this time. It wasn't mean spirited after all, just a joke. 1Whoa. 700 reads. Crazy.

...are getting out of hand. The Terry Pratchett row has not only spilled onto the next shelf, but that shelf is fighting back. I can't fit anymore there, but I also don't want to break up what organization I've manged to create. I don't want to buy another bookshelf, but I fear it may come to that before too much longer. I try not to take myself too seriously. I know that I'm basically a twit in the general scheme of things, but I have an Education, a Salaried Position, and an Interest in the Arts, and sometimes those parts of me do more talking and non-thinking than I really want them too. My biggest flaw in this regard is my book collection. Now, every friend and family member I have is book mad, and has a collection of paperbacks that is probably easier to weigh than to count. I try very hard not to think about how much money I spend at bookstores, as a more exact figure than "lots and lots" will probably depress the greedy bastard that is at the heart of my soul. As a rough estimate I put it at around 10,000 over the last six years, which is just f**king stupid. Despite the fact that I was an English major in college, bookstores worry the liberal in me. Yes, it can be argued that television stupifies the masses (hell, I'll even agree), but that doesn't change the fact that it is a relatively cheap way of distributing a lot of complex information very quickly to a hell of a lot of people. While for the most part that information tends towards what the lastest Disney Blonde is wearing, that doesn't mean the medium itself is worthless. ON the other hand, books are expensive, and getting more expensive as the years pass. Owning as many books as I do serves no purpose. Oh, it'd be fine if I still intended to devote my time to semi-professional analysis of those books. In fact there is nothing really stopping me from doing exactly that. But since I'm not reading for research, having heaps of paperbacks is pure conspicuous consumption, nothing more. And that bothers me. Now, this isn't to say having an Education, yadda, yadda, yadda, is a bad thing. It isn't. Nothing can convince me of that, because my parents, teachers, and I made too many sacrifices to get me where I am today for me to now say it wasn't worth it, that it'd be better if I was half-killing myself to survive like my parents had to do at my age. What I am saying is that I'm letting myself act like an idiot, and worse letting myself think I'm superior to others because I have a high enough disposable income to waste on books. It's like being good-looking I suppose. I have never nor will ever really think of myself as good-looking, but I've seen other people let themselves be defined by their looks, let it set them apart from everyone around them. I can't really say that it was a bad thing, and indeed knowing when their physical attractiveness gave them an edge and how to exploit that edge is something only to be admired in my opinion, but still... I've wanted to ask them at times what it felt like, to be treated as a hollow object of only skin and air. I never did ask, because I was afraid they wouldn't understand the question. I'm afraid of a similar process taking me over. I don't want to be a person that disdains others, that feels superior because I never watch television, like only drones would ever let themselves fall so low. I know that attitude it bullshit, yet I can feel it happening anyways. So I don't know. There has to be a way to act that would satisfy my own tastes and morals, but damn it if a part of me doesn't feel I deserve to feel superior, and I'm afraid pissing that part of my personality off would have long term consequences of its own.

The opening chapter of The Sound and the Fury, as well as Of Mice and Men, sound like good things for you to read and consider for this venture. I'm fairly sure most are familiar with the general outlines of the Steinbeck novel, but the Faulkner is slightly more obscure, due to its obtuseness. Basically, the opening chapter is written from the point of view of a developmentally challenged man, whose grasp of "now" is tenuous at best, let alone his understanding of morals. Even if you don't ultimately use it, I've found that another author's take on a challenging subject to be helpful.

I had to sit down and draw a diagram for that second to last paragraph. I think I got it now, but it was a near thing . You're lucky that you can forestall crushes like that. I wish I could. I develop crushes often, and almost always on either a straight or taken man. It's rather irritating, actually, but fun also. Oh, and that guy does sound like someone worth keeping around just for himself. --Gabe

It never fails; I'm always the first person of my acquaintance to catch any free-floating strain of cold or flu virus. In fact, sometimes the first sign I have that the latest virus is loose is that I get sick again. This happens three or four times a year, and this last week. By now I've quit bothering to stop work or chores or anything really. I'd never get anything done if I let a little thing like the flu shut me down. Only once in the last couple years did I actually have to take a break, and it turned out later I'd had Hepatitis A. The reason I don't kick back is that, while I do get sick with alarming frequency, it is never particularly severe (again, excepting that time in college, and even then it was only bad the one night and next morning). Apparently, my immune system has the same attitude towards work as the rest of my mind: ignore it until this is no longer a possible option, then tackle it all in one go. Most people's seems to practice constant vigilance, but when that one strain slips in the crack, all hell breaks loose. I have asthma. Hell is not allowed to break loose. Heck, sure, but not hell. I don't want to visit that tropical destination anytime soon, and if any part of my body betrays me, it will be my lungs. In the words of Scott Adams, I had a point when I started all that, but I suspect it was not that compelling. In other news, the story I wrote instead of the anthology piece is now posted in efiction. It's a Harry Potter fanfic, but, hell, I like it. Like Cats and Dogs

I quite thoroughly botched the Khayyam story, which I've tentatively titled "Happily Ever After." Oh well. I will finish it, because I want to see what happens next more than anyone, and I can't find out until I've finished what happens this time. Next time, I'll need to write a more humorous one. I tend to write one funny Khayyam story for every serious one, but so far none of the humorous ones have been published. It's a bit sad, but oh well. "The Road Not Taken" is the next anthology theme, so I'll have that work cut out for me, but it'll be fun. On the other hand, I did manage to write something just tonight. I'm half-tempted to submit it. It's a Harry Potter fanfic, so I don't think it qualifies for the anthology, but hell. I find this small success at once invigorating and somewhat pathetic. I always do better when I react to someone else's work, but I wish that for once I could have a purely creative idea, not just a creative interpretation. Even the story I'm half-through with for Khayyam is a reaction to Bryan Adam's "Run to You."

My coworkers have learned it is best that I am steered away from real coffee. They at first, as most people do, thought my habit of drinking decaf to be a bit silly at best and counter-productive at worst. There was a time when I would have agreed with them. Of course, that was before the worst parts of puberty had really set in for me, and my body chemistry worked quite a bit differently. At that point, coffee relaxed me. Now if I so much as smell caffeine I get wired like a five-year-old that just ate all of his Halloween candy in one go. I don't notice the effect so much anymore, but the guy I get along best with at work (who, strangely enough, is that homophobic guy I mentioned a couple entries back*) threatened to make me sit in a corner if I went near the coffee pot again. There is a point to this. I had a red-eye about an hour ago, which for those of you that don't know is a cup of coffee with a shot of espresso mixed in. And that coffee? I made it what my father calls "Mexican style," boiled instead of dripped. I did it for all of those that want to see me write another entry in the anthologies, which I still have only just started. I picked a decent topic, I think, after pondering the feedback Lucy, TheZot, and a few others have given me. But I only have a week to crank it out, so I'll need all the hours in the day I can finagle if I'm to get it done in time. So when I crash and start drooling over my keyboard, know I am suffering for my art and my audience. Oh, here's a line from the opening. Not the first line, mind, but nearly. "I was coming home because my brother Satar had, fulfilling our parent's every expectation of him, managed to knock up his date the senior prom and then asked me to be his best man." *For the curious, the situation has settled itself in precisely the fashion I thought it might. He brought up golf with me, a game I detest, and asked if I played at all. I told him that only one person has ever managed to get me to play, and I was sleeping with him at the time. He dropped the conversation immediately. Since then, the comments have decreased to a frequency and magnitude I will tolerate.

As I have also had those types of jobs, I'd agree with you right up to where your friend, and the guy, reacted. Saying something like that moves out of politeness and into confrontation. I have to know someone very well before I'll take any kind of attitude out of them, unless I start it first. In that case, I'll take whatever they care to dish out, so long as they don't continue to do whatever it was that irritated me in the first place, such as continuing to provide an obstruction to service. Further, I think it is asking a lot to require a response on the part of the customer. They're paying for the service, be it service with a smile or simple efficiency. Three guesses which one I favor . If the customer is willing to play along, then yes, employees should do anything up to and (when appropriate) including mild flirtation to get the customer in a good, tip-happy mood. If the customer is not willing to play along, and is being deliberately brusque, antagonizing them further serves no purpose. I know my bosses would have preferred to get problem customers on their way as quickly as possible, as from a productivity standpoint they're hardly ever worth what money they bring in.

It continually surprises me when people, when they first meet me, take my generally sunny disposition and smiling manner as an indication that I'm also nice. This is not true. I may have been nice at one point, and I act nice when I don't have anything better to do, but I'm not terribly good at it. But people ignore the odd moments by and large, until something happens that they can't ignore. Case in point: a few weeks ago, I went into a coffee shop. I'd just done my grocery shopping, and since I'd walked there I was carrying my bags on my arms. It was later afternoon, and I was getting both tired and cranky. The barista helping the line wasn't in any kind of hurry, but since there were few customers I could forgive that, especially since the patrons were playing along. I stepped up. He asked me, lisping cheerily, "And how are YOU doing today?" I gritted my teeth around my initial response, and fired out my order at guy. He put a hand on his hip (I kid you not) and admonished, "Well, that doesn't tell me how you're doing." I grinned. He was asking for it, and I saw no reason to refuse. "Well, if you must know, I am tired, these bags are heavy, and I'm rapidly getting pissed off. That answer you sufficiently?" I let that sink in a moment, satisfied by the "oh my" reactions of absolutely everyone in the store. When their shock was beginning to ease away, I continued. "So, do you think you could give me order now?" As it turned out, he wasn't able to complete my order. He disappeared almost instantly into the back, and his two coworkers took my money and made my drink with a bare minimum of communication, except for a couple glares when they thought I wasn't looking (why does no one remember even clear glass is reflective?). I left, once again with a light lilt to my voice and a smile on my face. Now, with after witnessing incidents like that, I'd think people would know to keep me at a distance. Some do, but most attribute it to stress or a bad day, never realizing that I am like that all the time.

Edited, because after reading the comment a day later, it sounded quite mean spirited (there's another word I mean here, but I won't cuss on someone else's blog). I have no problems with that in general, but I usually want to intend it. So we'll go overboard the other way. ::pats Zot on the back:: There, there. We, the majority (if not the entirety) of your blog's readers have all been there too. We feel for you. I feel for you. Think of it as dental work. It might be painful now, but keep in mind how wonderful the final results are going to feel when you put your name on them. And thank you for reviewing my stories. I finally just made time to read them, which means I'm past due for my own painful, albeit less public, ordeal. Wish me luck!

Oh, absolutely. I think everyone needs to know this story, especially those who have ever felt envious of someone better looking.

One of my cousins used to work in a strip bar. Actually, two of my cousins on opposite sides of my family have, and a great-aunt was a whore, but I digress. The first cousin told me about how she had two coworkers, which we will call Lucy and Emily. Emily was a very pretty, attractive woman, and Lucy was, while lively, not anywhere near Emily in looks. Yet night after night, it was Lucy that had the bigger roll of tips to count. My cousin was extremely curious as to why this was, because she decided that if she ever did strip, she wanted to do it for the most money possible. So she asked Lucy, "Lucy, what's your secret?" Lucy laughed, jiggled her chest, and said, "These," she pointed to her smile, "this," and then she spun around, "and that." After laughing, my cousin asked Lucy again how she made her money. Lucy, more seriously, said, "I just go out there and get it." Immediately, my cousin understood. Emily, for all her good looks, was a bit shy. More people might want to worship her, but damn few felt the nerve to approach her. As Lucy put it, "These guys might think they want the good looking girls, but really they're afraid of them. That's why they're here. If they had the balls to go after Little Miss Emily, they'd do it for real, and not have to tip." Meanwhile Lucy went out there, raised hell, and made it clear she was having the time of her life and that every single man who put a twenty in her lingerie was a god. My cousin could see that people responded well to that. My cousin never did get up to that pole, but she did think the story was worth passing on, and I feel the same now.

You should try out Battleship with Sam. My mom routinely kicks the crap out of all her children at that game. On one still talked about occasion, she missed once the entire game, and had me beat while I was still trying to find a second ship to detonate.

I do plan to retire Khay. He irritates me as a character, in the same way that Jake does, in that he has personality traits that, while I express them myself, I hardly ever tolerate in people I meet. In Khay's case, he has a lot of angst. I don't do angst well. Now that I think about it, the only time in my life that I really had any angst to speak of was when I moved out of Los Angeles, at age nine. Not since then. Not even after getting raped, when it would have been permissible to be a little maudlin, I didn't give in. I was bat-shit crazy yes, but not angst ridden. I'm willing to bet Khay found it hard to deal with his own sexuality, tried to fight, agonized over whether or not to tell his parents, until his brother came out and made the question moot. This is mostly why I didn't use him in the summer anthology. He didn't have anything to say (that, and Rainy Day just isn't something I associate with summer, this summer's weather notwithstanding). Listen to me, talking like Khay is someone real. I need to have more sex.

It is what we call earthquake weather here in Los Angeles. Well, not quite proper earthquake weather, the wind is not as still as a celebrity's last photograph, but as we did have a small shake down here this morning, it is hard to quibble. I've noticed that just about everyone who writes about Southern California uses the phrase "earthquake weather" at one point or another, so I thought it best to get it out of my system early so I wouldn't be bothered by it in my later years. I tend not to associate the movement of ground with August in any case. For now, for me, this is the time of year that fires wait in the darkened wings for that first trembling melody that begins their dance. I have a confession to make. When I wrote that last sentence, I got all the way to the end before I noticed I used "rights" instead of "writes." These are the accidents that sometimes make fine literature, timeless jokes, but more often acute embarrassment. Lucky for me, I noticed, as I have not the talent for literature or the temperament for jokes. I think I will try to make one last Khayyam story before retiring him from the anthologies. There is one last aspect of his personality that I want to explore, that I need to make sense of, before he goes off the the happy pasture where Memorio/Mimi, Faye Ryan, "Whiskey" Jack, Cody the clairvoyant, and all the rest of my main characters go when I'm through with them. (I suspect that the poet part of my personality--that I accidentally named Jeremy--takes them to a distant haven of my mind and shoots them.) Khayyam has a love of making hard decisions, and taking the high road to his own detriment. He gets fairly maudlin about it all, even if he winds up with what he really wanted anyways, and I think it is high time that I explore that aspect of my own psyche.

In a day or two, depending on your location, I will have been a member of this site for two years. It seems strange, that it has been two years. On the one hand, since I have done so little here, it feels like it has been hardly any time at all. On the other, since I have checked this site near daily during a a time when my entire world has come apart and brought back together, so that I am now quite a different person than I was when i first joined, I can hardly believe it has only been two years. From that August to this has, for me, been a lifetime. While on the whole, most of the changes I have wrought in myself have been positive ones, but there is something that I cannot stand. I have found myself more or less back in the closet, at least at work. Mostly it is because I don't want to rock the boat, and quite frankly I haven't liked many of my coworkers, so why should I share more of my life with them? But still, it has been easier to just let people assume whatever about me, to nod and demur when people ask who I've been dating, and that makes me slightly ashamed of myself. Where's the little political animal I once was? Well, he hasn't completely left me. One of my coworkers is homophobic. Blatantly homophobic. He's not an asshole in general, but he is extremely uncomfortable around people he perceives as gay, which may or may not include me, I'm not sure. This has created a situation I find irritating. Especially since he will make fun of our "gay" coworkers when they aren't in earshot. Today I told him mid joke, "That's enough," and thankfully he didn't push it. I do wonder if he is doing this in an attempt to push my buttons, and if I should retaliate with subtly irritation of my own. I know the best thing to do, the honest thing, would be to talk it out with him and explain that I do not feel such jokes are appropriate for the work place, and maybe why. But I don't think that's going to happen. As I tend to react explosively if something irritates me long enough, the conclusion to these events should prove interesting.

As I've said, here (I think) and elsewhere, I am a fan of blogs. I don't care so much for the idea of me running one, but where we are anyways. I'm told it is the fate of all English majors, so I don't feel too bad about it. I am a fan of the idea of blogging, and I especially like reading other people's blogs. My favorite sort of blog is a stream of short stories, but just about any blog will do for me, provided it is well written and there is something to interest me. A good deal of the time I spend on the internet, besides trying to untangle a phrase or play video games, is check my list of RSS feeds for updates. The following the blogs I am most happy to see an update on: 1. Tom and Lorenzo. I first happened upon these two through their Project Runway satire blog, which allowed me to appreciate the show in new and better ways. I already like the show, it is one of the few programs I will actually watch, provided I remember that I have cable and what time it appears. This, their second blog, is all about the world from their perspective. Which happens to be a screamingly gay perspective, a label they not just embrace but sell as a product. Currently, my favorite feature is "Musical Mondays," where they post each Monday a "gay" critique of some musical, and how it relates to Mores and views of the movie's time. It is rather interesting. Their take on Cabaret has been one of the best so far, and according to a couple of my friends obsessed with the movie, a pretty neat and thorough analysis of both the ridulousness and seriousness expressed within the film. 2. The Devil Wears Brooks Brothers. Even wittier than the boys above, Sarah, styling herself at times as "The Devil," details her life as a legal assistant and world wide web personality. Mostly, it is about hot guys, stupid people, and bashing her bosses and coworkers (though in a way that makes them laugh, in an "I am a bit ridiculous" sort of way). These are topics I approve of and value, so I looks forward to the weekly updates. She also has the quality I find most attractive in women: a sense of self you could plow a field with. Actually, I find that to be the most attractive part of anyone, but with guys it isn't so difficult to find. I've selected one of her earlier entries to show, because it made me smile. 3. Back of the Cereal Box. Written by a guy I met in college, this was probably the first blog I started reading on a regular basis. It has neither the wit of the Devil or the topical focus of T&L, but I find it has a character all its own which I can enjoy. Actually, I link to him because links to him drive him a little bit crazy, which is fun. If you read even the first page of his near-daily updated chunk of cyber-reality, you'll see that crazy and him are well acquainted, perhaps even best friends. I will say this: his blog provides me with just enough current pop-culture knowledge that I can sometimes understand what the hell my coworkers are babbling about. That he keeps his readers updated on the latest pop culture chronicles is another thing that drives Drew crazy. This is one of his more recent posts, and one that basically states that the act I am performing, linking to him without his knowledge or consent, is an internet faux pas. Hopefully this act of linking to a post that disapproves of links to posts will not rip a whole in the universe. I will try to update this piece of sky once per my week. We'll see how long that lasts me. On another random tangent before my signature, I got a random string of melody in my mind this afternoon, and started putting words to it. I got through one stanza before I realized I was ripping off Fergie's "Glamorous." As I dislike this song, I was not pleased, though my dislike did soften a bit. But in any case, here is the stanza: Joe and I were reminiscing About the days that we'd be sipping Mint ice tea and midnight brandies Swinging on my daddy's porch ~Gabe

Speaking of education, at a wild animal park once, my family was informed that there were no remaining Mountain Lions in California except those in captivity. Intrigued, my mother asked the idiot who'd said this what crack he'd been smoking, since there was currently a small pride living a bit north of our house that seemed fond of the long grass next store. Actually, knowing my mom, she was a bit more polite about it, but that was the version I got. Anyways, the trained expert shook his head, sadly I'm told, and told my mother she was mistaken. "Oh, so its been the other tawny-colored six-foot long mountain cat leaving paw prints shaped like the letter 'M' all over my driveway," she said. With a roll of her eyes, she left. My sister, who worked at the park and had taken the day off to join my mom and the grandkids, said that my mom had said all of this in front of a small crowd, which included the guys supervisor. We think he was told to brush up on his endangered species statistics before the next presentation, but that's only a guess. Oh, and aside from your house troubles, I'm happy you are getting so much rainfall. It's dry here in LA, and your gain will eventually be our Aquafina.