Deborah Lipp

I work less than a quarter mile from the state line, so there are surveyors. You drive past. They’re measuring and whatever.

Until I worked here, I had seen surveyors maybe twice in my life.

They’re interesting.

My back’s been hurting like crazy. I hauled too much luggage or something. And I came home from the chiropractor, feeling a bit better after my adjustment, but still really stiff, like my lower back was fighting me. Getting out of the car felt awkward and tight, and I was tired and just dragging.

My driveway was full of leaves. I live in a condo complex, and we have landscapers, so I have no chores in regard to the leaves, I just noticed them.

Then I went to get my mail and I kicked my feet through the leaves. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Through ankle-high leaves. It felt so good. So good. It was like a tiny miracle. It wasn’t about my back anymore, or about my day at work, just three or four seconds of whoosh whoosh whoosh through the leaves.

Then I got the mail.

And went whoosh whoosh whoosh on my way inside. It felt just as good the second time.

My step-mother sent me this article about Ashfield, Massachusetts. We lived there from 1972 to 1977 (if I am not mistaken).

This is a sacred and special place for me. It is where I discovered the sacred voice of nature. It is where I first began worshiping the Goddess by moonlight. The pictures are mostly in town, although there’s a beauty of the lake; we lived outside of town, on a dirt road. But the feeling is there.

I don’t remember who I voted for the first time. Local races. My second vote, in 1980, was for Jimmy Carter. I had changed my address when I went to college, and they didn’t have my page, and I was at the Board of Elections demanding my right to vote until minutes before the polls closed. The race had already been called for Reagan by the time I voted, but I was BY GOD going to exercise my franchise.

So by 1992, I’d never voted for a winner. And since I’m a pretty far-left liberal, a progressive as we’re termed now, I’d never even voted for my candidate of choice in the primary. Because, you see, I’m from New Jersey, and our primary used to be in June, and by June you’ve usually got your actual nominee, and even if you don’t, the far-left candidates have long since been defeated.

(In my life, the only time I’ve voted for my candidate of choice in a primary was Bill Bradley the day before he conceded to Al Gore in 2000. And then a couple of weeks later I found out that my voter registration had been screwed up and my vote wasn’t counted—it was my first vote in New York).

So anyway, here’s the thing. I never voted for a winner until 1992, and minutes after getting into office, Clinton signs Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, and I felt betrayed. We of the far left felt we’d put him into office, just as the radical right felt they’d put Bush into office, and we felt betrayed.

At that point, I was done. Washed my hands. Fuck politics. In 1996, I didn’t vote. I’d just moved to New York, and I couldn’t trouble myself to change my registration in order to vote for Clinton, when in truth it didn’t feel better or different than politics my whole life. I thought it would be different.

Then came Bush.

Can we say “learned my lesson”? I knew we could. In 2000, I kind of believed Nader that there wasn’t a substantive difference between the candidates. I was wrong.

And here’s what I’ve learned. I will have to fight Obama. Without a doubt. He is more centrist than I am. He has already wobbled and wavered on gay rights, for one thing. It will not be Utopia; dancing in the streets was for Tuesday night, and now it’s back to work. The work of creating a more progressive society has not ended and will not end. But it is better, far, far better, to do that work with a liberal in the White House.

So I promise, here and now, not to become bitter when Obama pisses me off. I promise not to walk away again.

Yes we can.

Even though only Daven named the theme, I think everyone kinda had it.
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The woman in the cube across from me decorated for Halloween. She’s got all sorts of skeletons and stuff, it’s highly over-the-top. Which I approve of.

There are two ghosts. With wings.

Now the wings are confusing me. Surely ghosts can fly without wings? Casper could fly. He didn’t have wings.

Wingless

So, are these, like, clumsy ghosts? Or dead bats? What?

With the new Bond movie coming out, and the season finale of Mad Men tonight, my media writing obligations have taken precedence over my personal and Pagan writing. So be it. I am not researching a Deity of the Day today, what with all my party prep chores.

I will, however, answer the meme Inanna tagged me with.
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

RANDOM THINGS:
1. I like pajamas. I used to hate pajamas, except I would wear them when I was sick. Then about 2 or 3 years ago I got strep throat and spent like 2 weeks in pajamas, and now they’re a lifestyle.

2. I had Lasik in 2001. I like seeing. Seeing is better than not seeing. I used to be Coke-bottle girl, and now I can just basically see.

3. I’m a nursing school drop-out. Did you know the attrition rate in nursing school is 50%? True.

4. I have eleven tattoos. Sometimes I lose track and count them.

5. It is very difficult to use the SHIFT key with a cat in your lap. This is maybe not about me so personally, but right now it’s on my mind. For obvious reasons. See those capital letters? Challenging.

6. I have visited Australia and Brazil, but never anyplace in Europe.

The rest of these rules are too complicated. Roberta, Evn, Tom, Cosette, you’re tagged. If you’re reading this blog, and have a blog, and I didn’t tag you, you’re tagged.

my shifting is now at an end.

On the radio on the way to work, I heard the Who’s “Long Live Rock.” I am a huge Who fan. Huge. I survived high school by listening to “Slip Kid” over and over at top volume. And Long Live Rock, which contains the lyric, Rock is dead, they say. Long live rock! is a great song. Full of attitude, defiance, humor, and joy.

But I think rock is dead.

Certainly in 1972, when the song was released, it was WAY premature to write an obituary for rock & roll. But it’s 2008 and I think it’s time. Classic rock is a morgue. Some of the music is still vital, yes, but it came from a vital period, and to stick it in its own radio ghetto is a wax museum version of vitality.

There are excellent artists out there now, and some of them are working in a rock genre. Not most, and not the most interesting music being released. Not anything likely to be influential on future generations. I can’t think of a current rock group that I really believe will be remembered and sought after in five or ten years. Hip-hop, world music fusions, No Depression, Americana, and the resurgence of American popular standards are all more dynamic.

Meanwhile, the rock gods are mostly making other music. Robert Plant is doing country. Lots of rock and roll artists from the 60s and 70s are trying pop standards, some wonderfully, some badly. Some are doing Broadway or movies. Most are experimenting outside of the world of rock, or are doing self-conscious reunion shows without new material.

Rock is dead.

I’m not a musician, or a music critic, or an expert. I’m a person who has listened to rock & roll my whole life. I was a toddler when the Beatles had their first U.S. hits. I scream “BRUUUUUUUUUCE” as loud as any Jersey girl. The Who really did save my ass. Those beats, those lyrics, those attitudes are my blood and bones. But over is over. It’s a thing of the past.

Move along, nothing to see here.

My day job is as a tech writer. I do end user documentation, but I also work on things like interface design and usability. This all sounds like gobbledygook until you’re standing in the middle of a situation in which no one cares about interface design or usability.

So I ordered something for Arthur from Office Depot. Their website was down so I called. After the order was placed I was given a Customer ID number and a Confirmation number. These are the exact words the doofus on the phone used. Customer ID number. Confirmation number.

So Arthur didn’t get his item and I went to the website to see what I could see. I find a page called “Order Tracking.”

Step 1: Enter your Order Number.
Step 2: Enter your Phone Number or Account Number.

You understand, I had neither an “Order Number” nor an “Account Number,” and this is where most people would have given up. But being me, and kinda into these things, I entered the Confirmation number as my Order Number, and I entered the Customer ID as the Account Number, and ba-da-bing, there was my order.

On a usability scale, this is a FAIL.

So, my quest is to save the world one web page at a time.