Enterprise

Nothing to do with business; I'm talking about the TV show. Apparently Rick Berman thinks people are tired of Star Trek. I think we're just tired of poor writing. There's really no excuse: They know anything Star Trek will make money. They should put the effort into it. I honestly don't care that it's being cancelled. Of course, now they start actually writing some interesting episodes. That's really sad.

Nearly May

I can't believe it'll be May tomorrow. I'm not used to April yet. I don't know how time gains such speed on me.

I need to set goals. That's the next thing on the agenda: goals and deadlines. I have yet to be able to get a decent digital voice recorder so I can start working on a book of my dad's stories. Money keeps going for bills. Silly things, those. I've wanted to do this book for years now, but I only recently talked to my dad about it ... and my cousin Frankie. He's got incredible stories, too. Then there are stories I won't be able to publish because they might incriminate someone. Maybe at some later date, in a book where I change everyone's name to protect the guilty.

That's about all for now.

--Mary

More About Music

This morning I woke up thinking about the music I listened to while I was growing up. My mom always had the radio tuned to WGSM (Long Island) in the kitchen. They played popular stuff, standards, nothing too crazy. It was the 1960s and it was as if rock and roll didn't really exist in our house. My dad was always a country and western fan. When he was a teenager, he'd go down to the beach in the middle of the night so he could pick up Wheeling West Virginia on his radio. Later on he'd have the preset in the car stuck on WHN (New York). While the other girls in the neighborhood were gaga over the Partridge Family and David Cassidy, I was listening to the Man in Black sing about trains. I still like Johnny Cash.

The music my mom listened to was calmer and at least more mainstream than the C&W my dad liked. I remember learning the words to "Those Were the Days," "Que Sera Sera," "Fever," and "Snowbird." One of my favorite songs was Dionne Warwick's "Say a Little Prayer." Looking back, I guess I was more interested in female singers back then. Now I find many to be hard to listen to for extended periods. Except Chrissy Hynde.

Then there were the stacks of 45s that some guy from the boat club gave to my dad. He also gave him a bunch of old exercise equipment that my brothers promptly set up in the basement and rarely used. There was this red box filled with old 45s: "Pink Shoe Laces" was among my very favorite songs. I probably played it more than anyone except me could tolerate. Then there was The Playmates' "Beep Beep." Cars always make for good music.

Another memory has my brothers and their friends playing 45s on the back patio. They used to have dance contests, and I would often win. I just let the music take me. What music? "The Bloody Red Baron" [I think that's what it was called], "Purple People Eater," and "Hot Rod Lincoln."

Then there was the Mad album. Some great stuff on there: "The Fink," "She Lets Me Watch Her Mom and Pop Fight," and "It's a Gas!" My brothers were heavily into Mad magazine. I used to sneak into their room and read the magazines and the paperback books (Snappy Answers To Stupid Questions was my favorite).

I'm not sure how old I was when I got a little AM transistor radio for my birthday. I used to stand at the side of the house by the woods and try to pick up WABC and WNBC; I believe they were 77 and 66, respectively. I don't remember any of the songs they played, which is probably why I can't place the year I got the radio.

For the most part, there was no heavy rock music. I remember that my Aunt Helen always loved Elvis (the original). I guess I remember playing some Elvis 45s, too. "Teddy Bear" was one of my favorites then, though I always liked "Jailhouse Rock," too. No Stones. No Hendrix. No Doors (though I do remember WGSM playing Jose Feliciano's cover of "Light My Fire").

My friend Katie was heavily into The Carpenters, so I listened to them a bit. Other friends down the street were big on The Supremes, so I listened to them a bit, too. At home it was mostly Johnny Cash and Jim Croce.

Aside: As I think more about those days, trying to remember, I remember more. Everything's jumbled, though; out of order. All I know is that at one time or another I listened to this stuff.

At some point my brothers discovered The Beatles, so, naturally, I discovered The Beatles. But by then they were all but busted up. The big thing became Wings.

That's about when everything changed. My mom died and eventually my dad married a crazy woman (they later divorced) who had a 15-year-old daughter. That's when I was exposed to Don Kirshner's Rock Concert and The Midnight Special. I was 10 or 11 years old. Some of the music this girl listened to became somewhat influential for me: Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin come to mind. She was also into Bread and The Allman Brothers. Again, nothing really heavy (OK, Janis and Big Brother & The Holding Co. weren't exactly elevator muzak).

I don't know what the point of all this is. I just wanted to write it down because I'm remembering it. I guess my music history is nondescript and not very interesting. But it's mine.

--Mary

Postscript:

I just have to say that I have a couple of lines from an Ian Hunter song going through my head and they refuse to leave:

The agony and the ecstacy meeting at the middle of my mouth
The agony and the ecstacy -- I can't spit it out

It's just stuck there like a barnacle.

--Mary

Brooooooce!

Last night I caught Bruce Springsteen on VH1 Storytellers. I've always loved The Boss. He's a brilliant -- and funny -- guy. The show last night was excellent. If you didn't catch it, check your listings for the next time they air it. I think I'm going to tape it in case my brother didn't catch it. He's the one who got me started on Springsteen when he used to play the 8-track of Born to Run in his blue Mustang (what was it? a '72 or '73 Mustang? It was cool). I think the track used to change in the middle of "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out," but I'm not sure. God, those things were awful, weren't they? My sister-in-law actually got to kiss Bruce; somehow my brother likes to tell people that. I guess it's that 6 degrees of separation/brush with greatness thing. (By the way, I have a 6 degrees of separation story to talk about later.)

I'm on a songwriter kick. Better than being on no kick at all. I've become thoroughly addicted to Ian Hunter's music. (I've been reading Ian's lyrics online because I can't always understand what he's singing -- and with every song there's some line or something that's just masterful. And I know how he does it! Sort of.) I've been obsessing a bit over Graham Parker (especially since he gave me his guitar pick). Last night's Storytellers with Bruce was well-timed for me.

I wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone, but if you see it you'll understand the meaning of: "Well, I wasn't thinking about any of that when I wrote it." I'm beginning to remember what it's like to let the poems come. I lost it somewhere, and it's a damn shame. These guys -- reading about them or listening to them -- are reminding me of where I started. The notebooks I kept. My electric typewriter (I named him Herbert) that I loved because it meant I could see what my poems really looked like. I get that these guys are songwriters; they work in a different medium. But there's a lot of similarity. Besides, songwriters are who influenced my writing more than poets (gasp!). It's true.

Actually, when I first started writing these things back in high school, I really wanted them to be songs. But I have no musical talent. I can play the cd player; I can work a turntable if I have to. Otherwise, it's a bust. I took piano lessons and had no natural ability (and I really didn't like my piano teacher either). All I learned on the guitar were the opening chords to "Smoke on the Water" (and who didn't?). Then my friend Lisa said I should write poems, which was good because I could do that all by myself. A college professor told me poems didn't have to rhyme. I really haven't written anything that rhymes since then. There goes my songwriting career. ;o)

Anyway... seeing Springsteen last night was just a wonderful little visit with someone I basically grew up with. Well, I grew up with his music; he's a bit older than I am.

That Six Degrees of Separation Thing

Marilee (my stepmom) was talking with my cousin Karl about music. I guess it was after I'd seen Graham Parker. She mentioned this in an email and then wrote: "Did I ever tell you that [my friend's] nephew is in They Might Be Giants" ?

Um ... no.

But did you know that Graham Maby (best known as the bass player for Joe Jackson's band) played on several They Might Be Giants albums? And that he's -- right now, today -- playing with Ian Hunter in Europe! Who would have guessed that there really are only 6 (or fewer) degrees of separation? I don't really know how you would phrase that to try to create an "in":

::walks up to Ian Hunter:: "Hey, Ian! My stepmom's friend's nephew played with your current bass player!"

::Ian Hunter looks nonplussed::

"So it's almost like we're friends!"

::Ian Hunter smiles nervously and begins to back away ... quickly::

"But, really! The guy who played with the guy who's the nephew of a friend of my stepmom plays in your band! Wait! Will you sign my cd?"

But it is fun to realize that, with a little thought and research, I might find that I have "close" connections to all kinds of people. Even you.

--Mary

I Abducted an Alien

I know I’ve written about geocaching before, but I’m not sure when. I’ve only done it a few times with my friend Melissa. It’s more or less like a treasure hunt with GPS units. You find the cache, look through it, enter a note in the logbook, and take something from the cache and leave something else (or not).

Last Monday, Melissa and I went geocaching. We found two caches that were in the same general area. The first one was pretty easy to find. Some of the things people had left there were stickers, a little gremlin doll, a little rubber lizard, a tiny dog statue, a little blue rubber ninja, and a small green alien.

Melissa had had a bit of a harrowing experience with geckos while geocaching with her mom in Florida, so she felt it was only right to take the little rubber lizard. I took the alien. I took it not because I necessarily believe in UFOs or anything like that, but because I wanted to be able to say that I abducted an alien.

We left some little do-dads -- I forget exactly what. Then we went on to the next cache, which was much more difficult to find. When we did find it, we were quite pleased. I’m not sure what Melissa took, maybe nothing. But I took $0.35 that someone had left in there. I felt I had earned it.

More About UFOs

Over this past winter, Eric got a box set of UFO DVDs. UFO was a British TV show from the 1970s. Weird is about all I can say. Though it was a lot of fun to watch.

If you’re not from the UK, you might not know that they don’t say, “You-Eff-Oh” like we do here in the States. They say, “You-Foe” as if it were a word. Which brings me to Graham Parker. (Huh?)

Well, on Graham Parker’s Squeezing Out Sparks album there’s a song titled, “Waiting for the UFOs,” and, being British, he says ... rather, sings, “You-foes.” At some point during every episode of UFO that Eric and I watched, the Graham Parker song, “Waiting for the UFOs” would go through my head.

But that’s not the weird part.

When Eric and I went to see Graham Parker a couple of weeks ago, he actually played that song! He said he didn’t recall ever playing it live.

Coincidence? I think not. That’s why I had to take the little rubber alien. He’s in my purse right now. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with him. Probably put him in another geocache somewhere.

Even More About UFOs

Eric directed me to this web site about UFO Communication. I tried to sign up for the affiliate program, but it’s broken in a very unusual way. Maybe folks who go for UFOs aren’t very tech-savvy. I don’t know. They claim they'll send me more information, but who can tell? I certainly couldn't get it to generate a link that made any sense. It does look like a kind of interesting book, though, doesn't it?

--Mary

Sometimes You Just Have To Say, "Thank You!"

Wow! Late yesterday afternoon we sent out a FerretNews newsletter in which I told people about our Amazon Honor System box (it's like a tip jar). We've gotten a wonderfully encouraging response!

Now Eric and I are trying to figure out why so many people are willing to pitch in a fiver, but aren't interested in purchasing something. My theory is that giving feels good; it's a selfless act. But buying something for yourself feels like you're not helping (even though you are).

Recieving feels good, too. I actually teared up because of our readers' generosity. (I know, I can be a sappy chick sometimes.) So ...

THANK YOU!

I now have a new sense of possibility.

--Mary & the Fuzz

Today's Little Diatribe About FerretNews and Money

I know I've said this before. I've meant it. I've believed it. But now I think I actually feel it. I'd really love to keep doing the FerretNews newsletter, but I just don't see how I can put time into it when it doesn't pay. It may seem to be a crass way to measure the value of it, but it isn't. I recognize the "good-will" and karma benefit of doing something for nothing. But this isn't even doing something for nothing -- we have to pay for the e-mail service and web hosting and the credit card processing and the cost of simply having the Yahoo store (Ferret Trading Post). We barely cover those expenses. Time spent on FerretNews is time not spent on actually making money to live.

Eric's been put off the work for some time now. I've been going along optimistically. It makes me very sad that the only thing that seemed to actually sell anything (that is, we actually made money to pay a bill or two) was Eric's diatribes about ferret owners not spending money on their ferrets' care and well-being. When we put straight information out there, we get nothing. That's not true: we get several e-mails from people who have questions they want answered.

I know I'll get crap from some people about how all I'm interested in is money. If I lived in a house (instead of a converted garage), if I wasn't behind on so many bills, if I wasn't concerned about how to choose between paying for gas or food, then I might agree. I've been torn for some time now: continue publishing the newsletter and hope that it makes us a little money or stop publishing altogether and concentrate on things that make a living. The thing is, if I were going to choose something to do in my spare time, it wouldn't be publishing a ferret newsletter. It would be writing poetry. For the past 10 years, I've put in the effort to make a living with ferret stuff. It just doesn't work. If you're not a company with a lot of backing and some amount of control over distribution channels (like Fancy Publications or Marshall Farms), you just can't get ferret folks to support the venture. I don't know why, though I have a few theories.

Anyway, I put an Amazon Honor System box on the last two newsletters. I figured, maybe some people already have all the stuff we sell, or they don't want to spend more than a couple dollars. The Honor System box lets people donate as little as $1.00. So far? Nothing. Just some e-mails from people looking for answers to questions.

While I'm on the topic of e-mail questions ... why is it that so many people will write to me, desperate for information and, after I spend time answering them, they don't even bother to say, "thank you"? I mean, really, it's not my job to do this; I don't get paid. I'm doing them a favor by answering their e-mail. The very least they could do is thank me for taking the time to answer it (and, in some cases, research it!). It's not that I don't want to answer the e-mail. I really like being able to help people. But all the good karma in the world doesn't pay my bills and it doesn't help me feel like I'm doing something people appreciate. A pat on the back once in a while would be nice. Without that, all I get is a warmfuzzy feeling for doing something nice. To be honest, after a while, that just isn't enough. It's nice. It's a good part of living. But it isn't enough. I simply can't continue to cater to people who feel they are entitled to ask for my time without even saying, "thank you."

I'm going to set a goal and a deadline to reach that goal. If we don't reach that goal by the deadline, I'm done. I wish it didn't have to be like that, but it does. Benjamin Franklin (or Albert Einstein) said "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." It's time to step out of this crazy circle. I'll let you know what the goal is and when the deadline is as soon as I figure them out. Then, expect that FerretNews is going to change dramatically. It might even end. But we'll always have Paris.

--Mary

Ferret News

I've been trying to redesign the FerretNews website, but I'm not sure I like it. Maybe you'll see it later this week ... maybe not. I have to run it past Eric, too.

No 20% Gratuity Added

Someone suggested that we put a tip jar on the FerretNews website. I think it's a great idea; we're working on that. Actually, I did put up an Amazon Honor System box, so if you don't want to buy a book or magazines, you can always just give us a buck or two to help defray the cost of doing the site. We'll be setting up a PayPal tip jar, too.

Gabby Crunching

I heard Gabby make a few crunches the other night. Mostly, though, she's not interested in hard food. We got her some of the new 8 in 1 moist food, which she seems to like. She ate a few of them. I figure they're easier on her mouth than kibble. She might actually start eating like a ferret again. We'll see.

That's about all for right now. Lots of work to do.

--Mary

Graham Parker!

Wow! Wednesday night Eric and I saw Graham Parker at the Brokerage in nearby Bellmore, LI. In-xxxxxxx-credible!

See, I first heard the song "Mercury Poisoning" back when I was home sick one day in high school. I don't know what year it was, but I think it was just as the album Squeezing Out Sparks was coming out (must have been, because it was while Graham Parker & The Rumour were recording that album that they recorded "Mercury Poisoning"). I was a fan in an instant -- well, technically it was 3 minutes, 9 seconds.

Bear with me, this actually does have something to do with ferrets.

I bought many Graham Parker albums -- on vinyl, because that's pretty much all there was. I listened to them or a bunch of Elvis Costello or Nick Lowe stuff before I'd go out for the night. The music put me in the proper mood. It got my brain working. It got words jumping around in my head. I promptly went out and drank myself silly. It was my thing back then.

I never had the money to go to many concerts when I was in high school. Anyway, I don't recall G.P. playing near enough to me. I never saw him. Then I was even farther from the city (NYCity) when I went to college (though I did go to see The Who at Shea Stadium -- The Clash opened, it was great). No concerts then. By the time I was back to seeing concerts, I don't recall G.P. playing in NYC (though he might have).

Publishing Modern Ferret really took up a lot of time. I stopped listening to the radio (which is probably a blessing); I stopped keeping up with the artists -- and friends -- I really enjoyed (and many, many other things). I lost touch with what G.P. was doing. Now I see what a shame that was.

Back to the main story.

Eric and I got to the club early enough that we were right in front of the stage. It's a small place -- I think it holds about 150 - 200 people -- and I was front and center. After doing that with an Ian Hunter gig back in October of last year, I'm spoiled. I like to be right up there to see what's going on.

We met some very nice people from the area. I saw a vet tech from our vet's office. Graham was, as I said, in-xxxxxxx-credible. I had read on his web site that he does an a cappella version of "Someone To Watch Over Me," but I really wasn't prepared. He came back (in a manner of speaking) for an encore and just started singing it. His voice has definitely improved over time (he says he actually realized that it's an instrument and started working on it!). Wow!

When he finally finished, he leaned over the railing and handed me his guitar pick! The woman we'd met said, "You got the prize!" It's now in a little round Ikea frame that's on a 5-inch metal stand. It looks like a lollypop.

But that's not all.

Graham pretty much always hangs around after a gig and signs stuff and chats with fans. He signed my book (Carp Fishing on Valium -- this is a fantastic collection of short stories) and the cd I bought (Live Alone: The Bastard of Belgium). We chatted about some stuff and I mentioned that I had ferrets.

Probably every British musician has a ferret story. Ferrets are just more common over there than they are here. Graham told us about a manager (or was it stage manager?) he had in the 70s who had a ferret. One night, while G.P. was on stage, the guy slid his ferret across the stage! He said the whole thing happened in slow motion -- suddenly there's this thing sliding towards him ... and it's a ... ferret. Graham picked it up and it promptly peed all over him. He assured me the ferret was unhurt, though plenty frightened and annoyed. G.P. is an animal lover, so he wasn't afraid of the ferret or inclined to harm it -- and, indeed, he gave the guy crap for tossing the ferret on the stage in the first place.

That was my wonderful Wednesday evening. I'm still feeling pretty good today (Friday).

Next I'm reading The Other Life of Brian, another book by G.P.

Ah, the joys of rediscovering the joys of life.

FerretNews

I just put up another FerretNews newsletter. Go look:
http://www.ferretnews.com/issues/ferret-news-101.html

I'll be back with more fun soon.

--Mary

Grrrr... Doctor

I take drugs. Well, I take prescription medication for a few different health problems. Last Monday I called to get prescription refills from my doctor. On Tuesday the office called to say the prescriptions were ready. On Wednesday I picked them up. When I got home, I realized that my doc had given me only two of the four prescriptions I need. I called and put in another request.

Following Monday I called to find out what's up with the prescriptions. By now I'm down to one pill of one of the prescriptions. It's Elavil (amitriptyline), which I take daily for fibromyalgia. It's a sub-clinical dose (10 mg.); by all rights it should do nothing for me, but it works beautifully. If I miss a day, I feel it. So far I've missed two days, trying to space out the pills I had remaining. My right hand hurts, I have this weird sensation in my elbows and other joints. My hip is beginning to ache. This is what happens when I don't take this itty-bitty dose of Elavil.

Today -- Tuesday, a week and a day since I first called about the prescriptions -- I get a message from the doctor's office that he can't write those prescriptions for me because he hasn't seen me in "a couple of years" (it's been about a month past a year). I need to make an appointment to see him.

Why it took over a week for him to get this information to me is beyond my comprehension. I could have had an appointment with him last week, before I had to skip days of Elavil, if he'd bothered to get back to me about this problem he has with writing these prescriptions. Even now, I have to wait to get an appointment (I had to leave a message). I will go see him. I will give him a piece of my mind (the piece I don't need and the one he obviously does need) and then I'm finding a new doctor. This is unacceptable.

I've lived a sheltered life when it comes to doctors. Sheltered, or maybe just a fantasy world. My two older brothers are docs and they are good docs (it's not just my opinion!). When I was a kid, I was protected from stupid people, even when those stupid people were doctors. Even as an adult, I lucked out because I had found a doctor who was very compassionate and very good. But when I moved and changed health plans I had to find someone new. I did -- and he was pretty good, too -- but he eventually left the health plan. I ended up with the guy I have now.

I've always been a defender of doctors. I still believe they shouldn't all be painted with the same brush. But I do see now why many people complain about their doctors. Some of them are just idiots in white coats.

Well, now I get to see how many times I have to call the office to get through to the appointment lady. What a fun day I have ahead.

--Mary