Wrestling ... on Syfy?

I want to know who watches Wrestling? Seriously, who out there thinks that grown men running around in spandex onesies is entertainment? Are there still people out there who don't know that televised Wrestling is completely staged? I do not understand the attraction of watching overgrown teenagers juiced up on steroids jump on each other, especially knowing they're following a script. And yet, this is a huge industry. People spend small fortunes going to arenas to be 'entertained' by this ridiculous farce. It's basically a soap opera on 'roids. These must be the same people that keep programs like When Domestic Animals Attack! and Cheaters on the air.

There is a point to my trashing of Wrestling as entertainment. I've recently noticed that the Syfy network is featuring Wrestling. This just boggles my mind. Science Fiction by definition generally requires at least some small amount of brains to understand and enjoy. The neanderthals that regard wrestling as a sport cannot be the same people that are tuning in to watch programs on Syfy. Now don't get me wrong, Syfy broadcasts some completely ridiculous programs (Mansquito anyone?), but they are at least generally within the bounds of some type of science fiction. Where do these mental midgets in tights fit in? Could we be supposed to scientifically study how people with so few active brain cells can still function? Perhaps Syfy just lost the coin toss. No actual Sports channel will feature something that is so obviously not a sport, so one of the remaining channels was forced to take them. Maybe we could get Wrestling moved to a station that is more in keeping with the audience, like Spike or G4. Those channels are already aimed at people with more testosterone than sense. What say you, fellow Syfy watchers?

The beach ...

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Now playing: Christopher Cross - Sailing (Remastered LP Version)
via FoxyTunes


I said I'd blog separately about my day-trip along the coast, so here is an attempt to get the feelings and images across with mere words ...

I pulled out of the Park, and headed due South on Hwy. 1. The morning was cool and misty, and I found myself hoping the fog would lift soon. I needed a sunny day at the beach. After about half an hour, I arrived at the section of highway that truly hugs the coast. Even in the fog, that stretch of highway is beautiful. I rolled the windows down and cranked up the tunes as I drove in and out of sections of sun and mist, letting the cool ocean breeze blow through the car. As I got further south the sunny areas dominated, with the fog appearing only sporadically. Is there any other feeling like driving along the rugged coast in the sunshine, knowing you're on your way to the beach? I have yet to find anything quite like it for sheer release.

I finally arrived at Pfieffer Beach, and the weather was perfect. A freshening wind swept along the shore, and the sun shone brightly down, making the water sparkle. Waves swept up on the shore, and birds soared up above. Idyllic, you might think, and truly it was. I set up my little area, and settled in to enjoy my afternoon. The tang of salt was in the air when I breathed in, and I could feel the spray from the waves crashing just ahead. I was mesmerized, watching the play of surf, sky, and shore. The combers would break just before the beach, leaving lacy patterns where water met sand. Birds ran along these edges, looking for tidbits and occasionally finding something, and small children played there as well. As I sat there, I felt like the sights and sounds were soaking down into my very essence, layering a healing balm over all the stresses and difficulties I'd been dealing with lately. It was as if the wind was blowing through me, taking everything dark away and replacing it with a sense of lightness and calm. This wasn't time to think or worry, it was time to simply be. Time to sit or walk and just enjoy, with no thought of tomorrow or what's to be done later. This isn't a feeling I'm blessed with often, this ability to just let go, so I appreciated every second of it.

Eventually, it was time to return. The light was shading into that mellow gold that happens on late summer afternoons sometimes. I drove back up the coast, stopping at various spots to take pictures of particularly magnificent views. Some of that peaceful feeling I had fled as I drove away from the sea, but I took a small amount back, held closely deep within. Sometimes if I close my eyes I can still recapture the sensation just for a moment, now and then. Music helps, so I included the above song with this posting. I always get the most vivid pictures in my mind when I listen to it. It actually sounds like sailing to me. However, that's a thought for another post, so I'll close by saying what an amazing day I had, and that I hope some of the tranquility and joy I experienced was communicated to you through what I wrote.

Adventures in camping ...

I've recently returned from my very first camping adventure. I had never camped before, but I was invited to go, and since it was at the beach, I decided "Hey, why not?" Let me say that even though I did have some complaints, I did have a nice time. I wouldn't want to live life like that, but it was fun for a few days. I did once again learn that I need to check the whole story before I agree to things, however. My friend told me she had everything I needed except a sleeping bag. What she neglected to mention was that she didn't like air matresses and wouldn't use them. I got there and realized I'd be sleeping on the actual ground. Ouch. I think I got about two hours of sleep that night. I made sure the next day to go purchase a cheap air mattress, and whenever she'd tell me I wasn't really camping, I'd reiterate that I was sleeping in a tent, outside. That was indeed camping. (let the eye-rolling commence) Anyway, once I got the air mattress, sleeping in a tent wasn't half bad. It was nice to be able to hear the ocean while laying there snuggled up in the sleeping bag.

Let's progress on to the quirks of my tent-mate. She has a mosquito phobia, and that required that the tent be completely zipped at all times unless you were literally stepping right through the tent door. Even if you were merely ducking in to retrieve something and come right back out. Yeesh. Ok, fine. Constantly zipped tent. We all have our little quirks. Changing in the tent at night got very interesting, as she would insist on putting out all the lights. When I wondered why, she informed me that people could see your silhouette when you changed if you left a light on. "So ..." I thought to myself, but again, I wanted to be respectful of the desires of the person that invited me there. Have you ever tried changing clothes in a tent in the dark? It's no mean feat. Personally, if someone really wanted to bother to watch me undress or dress in the tent, I really didn't care. It's not like they would see anything. I guess I just have less of an issue with that than some.

My best day was actually the day I took off by myself to go to Pfieffer Beach. I invited the rest of the campers to come along, but one of the sisters was terrified of driving down Hwy. 1. Seriously. The most scenic drive in America. Thousands of people drive it every year. It's going to be a bright, sunny day, with no driving-related issues. Ok, your loss.

The sisters kept trying to convince me to stay and go to Capitola with them. Now I adore Capitola, but the scenery along Hwy. 1 is what's made it famous, and one of the most beautiful spots in California. I can't imagine missing it for something as ridiculous as that silly sister. I got up and had breakfast with everyone, wanting to still be social with the other campers. I ended up having a lovely drive down the coast, with the fog clearing right before I got to the beach. I'll have to devote an entire blog just to describing the beach and my return trip. It's one of my most favorite spots in California, and never fails to soothe any stress that I may have. I'm such a total beach person. I don't know if I can even explain what it is about the beach that I love so. It's like the wind blows right through to my soul, taking all the dark stuff with it for a little while. Obviously it doesn't last forever, but I find it necessary from time to time as a stress relief.

Ok, I've rambled enough for one post. I'll try to post the beach blog soon. It looks like someone might actually be reading this from time to time ...

Dogs, Books, and Dinner

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Now playing: Maxwell - Fortunate
via FoxyTunes

I haven't blogged in a bit, so I've got a couple things to catch up on:

I most foolishly agreed to pet-sit for some friends. I've dog and house-sat before, so I didn't think I'd have too many problems. Mistake 1: Assuming that because the kids aren't all that big, neither will the dog be. Mistake 2: Assuming that being asked to sit the dog without having met it means it's nice and friendly to everyone. I go over to the house Friday with plenty of time before the meeting (or so I thought) to take care of the dog, eat, and change for meeting. The instant I crack the door, the barking begins. The dog is almost as big as I am, and seriously ticked off to have it's house invaded. I go over to the counter, where instructions await me. After following the instructions provided on how to 'befriend' the dog, the animal still will not let me touch it. We're talking puncture marks if I don't stay out of range. I go back outside (in the heat) and start calling to see who can come and calm the dog down. I finally manage to get someone (Richard) to come and help. By this point, the dog has already pooped on the floor. Nice. Richard agrees to walk the dog while I clean up the poo, and when he comes back in, I make sure to make nice with the now friendly doggie. I finally get to eat and change, and arrive at meeting a mere forty-five minutes late. I consider getting there at all a victory after all the dog drama. The rest of the weekend goes a bit better, with the exception of the dog peeing on the carpet when I foolishly think it might appreciate some time not chained up. It's a good thing I got paid for this.

Saturday at dinner, I got invited to join a book group. Fantastic! I love to read. I'm a book-a-week-easy reader. They're meeting on Monday, and I'm invited to come and watch, since it's assumed by us both I can't get the book read in time. Sunday I decide I'm going to try, so I go out and purchase said book and start reading. And keep reading. And keep reading. And keep reading. It's a 500-page Isaac Asimov book. Now, don't think it was the size that was daunting. I consider that a nice size for books I truly enjoy. Let me tell you, this book wasn't a page-turner. There was no staying up 'till two a.m because you're so engrossed in this book. This was work. It wasn't boring enough for me to give up on, but I was certainly relieved when I finished it at three p.m. the day of the book club, after having started it about three the previous afternoon. (I did stop to eat and sleep in there.) I gave it a solid, middle-of-the-road review, because while it wasn't the worst thing I've ever read, it certainly wasn't the best. At least now I know I'm not missing anything not reading Asimov. He's a little dry for me. I prefer some wit and humor in the novels I read, or at least enough depth to the character that I truly care about or detest them. I think Anne McCaffrey has spoiled me. After her many magnificent books, most sci-fi authors don't have the same draw for me. Our next book is a spiritual one, so of course it will be a different kind of read. I'm interested to see the conversations we'll have.

Every year around the time we arrived here in good old California, Brad and I go out for dinner to celebrate our 'Anniversary'. This year we went a bit late, but we finally went. We decided to go to La Provence, a truly fantastic French restaurant in the area. Brad even agreed to dress nicely without my having to suggest it. Things are looking up. I go to pick him up, because of course we're not taking his van that reeks of chlorine. He comes out to the car when I pull up, and immediately I can tell that something is wrong with his outfit. I'm still not sure what it was that bugged me (the colors maybe?), but since I couldn't put my finger on it, I just told him he looked fine. Anything other than jeans and a tee-shirt is a major concession from him, so I didn't want to be discouraging. His pants could have used ironing, but they weren't horribly wrinkled either, so I again put the brakes on my I-need-to-fix-you impulses. I try not to mother-hen him constantly, even though he so desperately needs it sometimes. We get up to the restaurant and are seated. We order drinks and appetizers, and they are wonderful. We're sitting there drinking and eating in a civilized manner, and then Brad reaches over and grabs a potato puff with his hand. Quelle horreure! I quietly tell him to put it down. This confuses him, so he continues to hold it in his hand. I'm starting to get embarrassed. This is a very nice, upscale restaurant and my dining companion has apparently been raised by wolves. I tell him again softly 'Put that down Brad.' He's still holding the potato puff in his hand and seems to have no idea what I'm trying to tell him. I finally manage to get the message across without resorting to smacking it out of his hand and he puts the puff down. I gently explain that the only thing we're having that night that's appropriate to eat with your hand is the bread. This seems to boggle his mind (or maybe it was the drink, it was quite strong) and he feels the need to check that he should have picked up the puff with his fork. I confirm that yes indeed, you should have used your fork. We move on and are conversing while continuing to eat and drink and not five minutes later he does it again! At this point I just start to laugh. He looks down and gets that abashed look he has sometimes and at least drops the puff on his plate much faster than before. I tell him I'm good practice for a real date and he laughs. We manage to get through the rest of the meal without any other major faux pas, and enjoy ourselves quite a bit. La Provence is expensive, but well worth it in my opinion. Maybe someday I'll get to go there on a date. Here's hoping my date doesn't pick up the food with his hands. I may have flashbacks and laugh at the poor guy. ;-)