I'm morbid

I confess. I read the obituaries every day. I hate it when people who read them daily say that they do so to ensure that they are not amongst those listed, and that's not why I do it. I do it because I have to. I've done this for as long as I can remember and, sometimes, I am very covert about indulging this little perversion when I am around others. I've even been in relationships (some long-ish term) with folks who never knew that I did this. I feel so sneaky.

In fact, this is how I found out that my friend, E, died about four years ago. I was just scanning the daily obit index, just like always, and there was her name - EVC. I even recall the initial feeling of disbelief - instead of looking at her name and thinking to myself Oh fuck. E died., it was more like Oh, that's weird. Someone with the exact same name as E died. Part of the denial step in the mourning process? Hell if I know. The obit itself was brief. Nobody had paid for the inclusion of a lovingly-written ode, complete with a smiling photo and a lengthy list of survivors - all named. Nope, just brief and to the point. Although the text never said as much, I knew instantly that she'd committed suicide.

I often notice the last names of folks with whom I went to high school. Most of the time, as I can tell by seeing their first name listed as a survivor, it's one of their parents. Other times I conclude that it must be a grandparent. It feels oddly intrusive and even too personal to be in the know with something like this.

About a month ago I saw the name of a fellow from high school. I didn't really know him in high school and I'm not even certain that I ever spoke to him. I remembered that he played football, that he was pretty large, his hair was blond and he was quiet and reserved. I don't really recall seeing him hanging out with anyone - he might have even been something of a loner...don't recall for sure. He worked as a construction worker and died at age 40, of sleep apnea. His survivors included both parents and a brother. I wondered if he died alone. I mean, really alone. I felt oddly sad for him when I read this.

I began to wonder what would happen if I died. Who would write my obituary and what would it say? Would my survivors pony up the dough for a lengthier and more personalized tribute? Would they include a photo of me and, if so, at what age? And who would see it? Would anyone from my past see my name and perhaps my photo and think of me - perhaps a thought with a memory attached? What about people who knew of me, but who never spoke to me, like people from high school for example?

My fascination doesn't end with the daily obits, though. Some five years ago or so, my friend, L, turned me on to Celebrity Death Beeper. CDB sends out a mass email blast to all of its subscribers whenever someone of note has passed away. And they are FAST. Seriously, it's as if they monitor the news wires constantly and report on a death as fast as any of the more reputable news providers. I swear I found out about the death of Anna Nicole Smith mere minutes after her passing.

In fact, CDB is how I learned of Julia Child's death. I was in Seattle, just beginning Librarian Action Figure School and saw that I had an email from CDB. Seeing Julia Child's name listed put me in a melancholy place. Since I was finished with classes for the day, I walked down to the local pub and put back a few in her honor. I thought of the joy that watching her cooking show brought me - remembering her adding more butter, dropping food on the ground and (in conjunction with the 10-second rule) throwing it back into the mix, sipping off of some sort of libation while cooking. I remembered her distinct voice, which made me laugh when I was a child. I remembered when my friend, David, met her ("She was tall," he said). I remembered when my friend David dreamed about her over Thanksgiving weekend. I miss my friend, David (who is still amongst the living - he just lives far away now).

And I miss Julia Child.

Confiscation, confiscation, what's your function?

Early this morning, J and I drove K to the airport so that she could fly off to attend a national conference. Always the activist, K will be presenting a workshop and then she'll be speaking as part of the closing day panel. Isn't this what all 15 year olds do during their summer break?

Although K is a frequent flier, she can be a little bit absent-minded at times. While she was gathering her belongings to load into the car, we asked her if she had anything in her carry-on bag that could potentially be confiscated at the airport security.

"I don't know. Like what?" You'd think this kid had taken a siesta with Rip van Winkle or something.

"K, you know what sorts of things...sharp objects/tweezers/corkscrews/knives, etc., water bottles, other liquid things - basically anything a terrorist might think to use to fuck things up...and then some."

"Oh." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a book of matches and hands them to J. After digging around some more, she pulls out some tweezers. And then another book of matches and then another.

"Sheesh! For a nonsmoker, that's a hella lotta matches." We weren't really concerned, but found it odd that someone who often spoke up to others about the damages of smoking would carry so many books of matches on her. We asked her why so many.

"Oh, it just seems like there's always someone who needs a light." Apparently she doesn't mind facilitating the smoking. She then continues to dig around in her bag and pulls out a switchblade knife. We both look at her.

"It's for cutting fruit," she tells us. Knowing K, there is no doubt in my mind that this is what she uses this knife for. Her braces make it very difficult for her to bite into things like apples. Luckily, she attends a school where the rules are viewed a little differently than at some high schools. The "think outside the box" approach at her school would prevent her from being suspended for carrying a weapon to school with her. In fact, she claims that when she was helping to create the design and execution of the set for her school's Winter Solstice program (no Christmas programs here, folks), the faculty advisor was delighted when K pulled her switchblade out of her bag after much time had been spent searching for an exacto knife that could not be located.

We made her hand the knife over and she gave us a lighter, as well. I began to wonder what would have happened if we hadn't prompted her to check her back for confiscatables. Natch, her switchblade, tweezers and maybe the lighter would have been seized...but then what? What exactly happens to all of the items separated from their owners at the security check point?

Someone once told me that, when an item that is not permitted on a flight is confiscated, one may mail the item to themselves from the airport rather than forfeit the item altogether. I have been extra extra careful, when I fly, to purge my carry-on baggage of my eleventy spare corkscrews that I carry on me. Way back in the day, I took a flight from Los Angeles to San Francisco about two weeks after 9/11 occurred. Ironically, security was over-the-top rigid and SLOW SLOW SLOW to process the peeps (we had to arrive 3 hours before our flight), yet it was probably the safest time to fly - ever. This was when the repertoire of what could possibly be confiscated grew exponentially to include things like tweezers, corkscrews, knitting needles, etc.

Having been a bartender/wine snob for many years, I have always carried a corkscrew on my for as long as I can remember. On numerous occasions, I've been very grateful about this quirk until Sam the Security Guy at the Burbank Airport deemed my most fabulous Dean and Deluca corkscrew a national threat.

"Oh crap. Nooooo!" I said as Sam the SG bored holes through me with his glare. Clearly, he was fed up with all the extra work he had to do and, quite likely, without additional compensation. I could see that he knew nothing about Dean and Deluca.

"It's my favorite corkscrew! I just bought it last year in New York."

Sam the SG's expression remained unchanged.

"Please don't take it," I pled. He said nothing and tossed it into this amazing and ginormous barrel containing all kinds of great stuff. I then began to wonder what happens to all of these seized treasures. Are they thrown away? (what a waste!) Do the employees in security get to choose which ones they want and take them home? (totally unfair) Are they sold on eBay for a profit? (sleazy) Are they sold on eBay and the resulting income given to charity? (a little thoughtful, still unfair) or???

"Wait! What do you do with this stuff?" Sam the SG just looked at me (he is mute?). "What if we do this: could you turn that in to lost and found and then I will pick it up when I return from San Francisco?" Brillz, I told myself, totally brillz.

"No can do." Ah, so he DOES talk.

"Well how can I get it back?" I asked as he was completing his full-body cavity search of my bag.

"Sorry, lady. You should have thought about it before you packed it."

Suffice to say, I never did see that Dean and Deluca corkscrew again. But I'll bet somebody did! But who? And under what circumstances? And did they pay for it (and, if so, how much?) or was it gratis? And so now, today, after rescuing K's switchblade at the last minute from a most certain doom, I again wonder about the fate of the seized treasures. Is Sam the SG kicking back and laughing while he opens a bottle of Chateau Margeaux with my Dean and Deluca corkscrew?

Nah, probably not.

Please excuse Bad Kitty from her tardiness...

Every now and then, I take an unplanned and unanticipated vacation from blogging. It just happens. It's inevitable. And, frankly, I feel less grounded when I'm not blogging - partly because I see stories everywhere I go and I want to sit down and retell them and it clogs me up to hold all of those stories inside.

Fear not, I didn't go on some sort of bipolar depressive bender and what I'm hoping and thinking will be a barrage of stories in the near future is not a bipolar manic bender. For realz.

I've had a lot going on and it's hard to believe that I've somehow been busier since school has ended than when I was in school. Here's a sampling of some of the topics that may appear here in the near future: my in-laws visiting for ten days, my pending job search, my mother, the fabulous Indian feast that I'm preparing for my father's 60th birthday this weekend, random happenings, my travels, a medical scare that I'm hoping is just a scare, my next tattoo, a project I'm working on that is taking much longer than anticipated, the continuing saga of The IncrediblyTrue and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, books I've been reading, concerts I've been to, etc., etc. and, oh yeah: J and I are trying to have a baby.

So, without further ado, I hereby declare myself...BACK ON!!!!

Poof!

Breaking News!!!

Disappearing blogger found buried up to shoulders in articles detailing the minutae of indexing and abstracting, after barely emerging alive from the planning of Mother's 60th Birthday Surprise Party...cites 60-hour workweeks, holidays, lack of Internet access and family drama

PORTLAND - Alive, but somewhat disoriented, relatively unknown blogger, Bad Kitty, emerged this week from an avalanche of homework, family dysfunction (good and bad, past and present), and internship-rude-awakening to find that she does, indeed, still have a life. Time was wasted watching the somewhat sucky Golden Globes, with the hope that something exciting would happen.

A summary of events and potential topics for the near future include:

* Mother - one of these days she'll get around to that dish
* The anniversary of her first brush with death
* restaurant tales, including the latest updates on Manager-dude
* the internship of enlightenment - now she thinks she know where she DOESN'T want to work
* the continuing saga of the incredibly true and heartbreaking tale of her first Hollywood break-up
* the onset of American Idol, Season 6

and so much more. She thanks readers for being patient and understanding and looks forward to her return to the blogosphere.