Ace Hole

“Pull back! Harder! More! MORE! That’s it! Tighten your stomach. Keep your eye on him! LEFT! Keep pulling back, but push the stick to your left knee!”

Upside down, banking left in the middle of a vertical loop – a barrel roll attack or an Immelmann. i had no fucking clue. Head back, looking up through the canopy as my eyes watered, i was trying like hell to keep track of the other plane – which was doing the same sort of maneuver. Pulling over 4 g’s.

It wasn’t the fear of death that was chewing on me. It was the fear of failure. The instructor pilots fly these “missions” three times a day, or more. Thousands of hours experience. They’re not going to let an ego-driven derp, with more money than common sense, do something stupid and wreck one of their sexy Marchetti SF-260′s.

When i realized we were going to be ‘scored’ on our dogfighting skills? That’s when i got a bit puckered. Why? Because i don’t know how to fly a damn plane!

“He got you! But you hung in there! Level out a bit, catch your breath. OK. I’ve got the plane.” i looked back and caught a glimpse of theatrical smoke coming out of the tail of my plane.

Not exactly what i was expecting when i drunkenly raised a paddle at a charity auction last February. What was i expecting? Not upside down, three-dimensional combat, with my hand on the damn stick! Not a fur ball over Lake Erie!

The day started with our “Mission Briefing”. i met my “opponent”, Dennis, as he arrived with his father-in-law. JR, our instructor pilot, asked us both what brought us to the briefing room on that particular day.

Dennis: My wife bought me this as a gift!

daisyfae: Jack Daniels.

JR: Yeah. We get a lot of referrals from Mr. Daniels…

JR briefed us on basics of safety, including how to use a parachute. Fundamental Air Combat Maneuvering (ACM), specifically basic fighter maneuvers. We were instructed how to maintain 500’ clearance, and how to hold our opponent in the gun sight before firing. The flight plan included formation flying on the way to the operation zone and tactics – trading altitude for airspeed, avoiding overshoot. After two practice dogfights, we would be engaging in four freestyle fur balls.

JR used two toy planes on sticks to show us how to execute the maneuvers. They were cute. At first, i tried really hard to track and internalize what he was saying about “angle of attack”, and the proper method to perform a Low Yo-Yo. After about 10 minutes, i started to think about whether the sanitary undergarment i had put on under my flight suit would be sufficient to contain what i’d eaten for breakfast that morning…

When i bought the Air Combat package, Studley (the world’s most amazing wingman) briefly considered buying one as well, so we could play together. After further thought, he realized i might need a driver… and that as a licensed pilot, he had a lot more to lose by a shitty performance… He also figured it would be fun to watch.

It was out to the planes.  i’d already put on my true safety gear before getting into my flight suit.  For what it’s worth, these things are quite comfortable!  Good to know, i guess…

Additional safety gear included a parachute and life vest.  “That’s your ‘D-ring’.  No!  Don’t pull it right now!  Only if I say ‘Bail, bail, bail!’”

 

With a little bit of WD-40 and a crowbar, my instructor pilot, Smudge, corked my lardass into the itty bitty cockpit.  Left seat. Yeah. Totally didn’t expect that either…

It was a stunningly gorgeous day – and we launched in formation out to the ‘battle zone’, 16 miles north of Cleveland over Lake Erie. Once we cleared the pattern for takeoff, Smudge informed me that it was my turn to fly the plane.

“Just follow Dennis. Stay to the right and down.”

Simple enough, in theory. i couldn’t do it. Tiny movements of the stick led to gigantic movements of the plane. i had expected the stick to sort of be ‘neutral’. Nope. For all 16 miles i was bouncing around, trying to stay stable. It occurred to me that if i couldn’t manage this simple task, doing anything more complicated was going to be impossible.

We did some basic tracking and targeting. Then the High/Low Yo-Yo maneuvers. These were fun. Diving speeds you up, so you work the angles in all three dimensions. Swoop back up, and drop right down on his tail.

Maybe i could do this?

We rolled into the dogfights. i lost the first one – totally surprised at the intensity of that whole ‘upside down’ thing. For the second round, i decided to put my mind on hold and listen to Smudge, who was telling me exactly what to do. “Pull back”, “Hard left”, “Nose down”, “Track”, “SHOOT!”

i got him. Smoke from the ass end of his plane. “Shack!”

Two more rounds. i won the next fight. Dennis wore me down after an extended battle for the fourth. By the time he finally hit me? i was relieved. Having done at least three vertical loops in a row? i was wrung out.  Time to head back. 

“It’s your plane. Just keep your nose down a little bit, and aim to the right of downtown. Can you see the airport? Make an easy turn so we’re flying parallel to the runway.”

Without realizing it, i was now flying the plane – steady and level – and getting us back to the airport. How the hell did THAT happen?

We landed, taxied back to the apron. Shaking hands with Dennis, we went inside for the ‘mission debriefing’ – which, in my case, included removing my completely un-soiled undergarment!. Watching the cockpit videos was a little bit surreal. “i just did that? Whoa…”

Studley drove home, as i was still a bit rattled even an hour after getting out of the cockpit. We had a chance to do a bit of a post-game analysis in the car.

What i spent on that “charitable donation” would have gone a long way toward becoming a pilot. It would have at least paid for my “Pinch Hitter” course – how to land a plane in an emergency.

The flight was fun, and definitely exciting. But it wasn’t on my bucket list. That’s because i don’t actually have a bucket list. i put this in the category of “contrived thrills” – where all risk is managed, and you pay money for an adrenaline rush, and a chance to say “I did that! Woo Hoo!”.

It required no skill. There really wasn’t much risk. When you get down to it? Not much different from bungee jumping, or doing a tandem parachute jump. i have done neither of those activities, nor do i wish to…

Excitement? Of course. Growth as a human being? Not so much…

As we worked through this in the car, Studley asked if i’d do it again.

daisyfae: Probably not. i mean, it was pretty amazing. But…. It was a stunt. What about you? You were getting pretty jazzed during the mission briefing!

Studley: I might think about it….

daisyfae: i would probably do it with you… but i think i want to learn to fly first.

Life on the Imaginary Axis

The wonderful world of scientific research has suffered some seriously crunched financial cherries this year.  As is always the case, one of the first things that gets cut is the travel budget.

This has had made planning and organizing productive and useful technical conferences virtually impossible, as even the rock stars of the scientific community are grounded.

Trying to recruit an alternate for a tech session i’m organizing, i snagged one of our brilliant junior geniuses, AU*, in the hallway this afternoon.

daisyfae:  Hey, i know it’s a long shot that we’ll have a travel budget anytime soon, but would you be willing to be an alternate for my session at the “Nerdliness is Next to Godliness” Symposium next November?

AU:  I would LOVE to do that, but there’s no way I can commit.  I’ve had to back out of the last two Plenary talks I was invited to present.  I’ve finally had to start telling people “No!” before they ask!  I’m tired of letting people down!

daisyfae:  Yeah.  i know the feeling.  i’ve got to do the same thing when the supermodels come knockin’ at my door…

image found here

* i’ve written about AU before – here and here.  He is a million kinds of awesome…

Crickets and Tumbleweeds

Lots going on here at Chez Daisyfae, but the compelling urge to write has left the premises…

Being a blogger, however, i must uphold the “Blogger Oath”, and not let the complete lack of having something worthwhile to say stop me from posting!

Some scores, highlights, and coming attractions…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For lack of meaningful pursuits, i ended up in the midst of a “Jello Shot Bake Off”.  Two friends and i talked enough shit about the quality of our alco-culinary skills that it seemed reason enough to have a party.  Although my entries to the contest were out-classed by my compatriots, i crafted a Rainbow Jello Shot Cake.  Took almost an entire bottle of vodka, and 5 1/2 hours, but it scored the coveted “Holy Shit!” award…

It wasn’t just the jello shot smack talkin’.  Spent a good bit of energy (and money) over the winter renovating my downstairs theater room.  It turned out to be a nice space – suitable for play.  Not just because of the wall mirrors in the fitness area…

Over the course of the long holiday weekend, i managed to work in a long bike ride, a cardio-horseback riding lesson, and a ride on the motorcycle.  Somewhere along the way, i wrenched my lower back, and am momentarily hobbled.  Part of my self-prescribed physical therapy involves being flat on the floor, legs in the air, working the core muscles to un-wrench the knots.  My dog does not understand physical therapy.  He wants to play.  He is a turd.

Remember that time i got drunk at a charity auction?  Oh, yeah.  That time last February to be more specific (Smart asses… All of you…).  In a few short weeks, i’m going to suit up and sit in the right seat of this thing.  And foul my undershorts at very high speeds…

photo from the combat usa website.  holy shit.  what was i thinking?

The first half of the year has gone pretty well, but i’ve missed traveling.  Due to circumstance, most of my holiday time is going to take place over the next three months.  In addition to shopping for booze, turns out i’m also a fiend for shopping for hotels and airfare!  Getting pretty jazzed about what lies ahead…

Might be running into some blog mates soon, too.  Oh, and fishies.  The SCUBA habit demands attention. Suspect i’ll be even more scarce out here over the next few months!

Onward!  Adventure awaits!

photo found here.  i’ll have my own to post in a few months!

Another fine mess…

With one exception, i despise shopping.  Hate it.  Not shoes.  Not food.  Not baubles, bangles, and beads.  Put me in a shopping mall for more than the briefest interval, and i hyperventilate and run for the fire exits.

The exception?  Liquor.

Like a kid in a candy store, i will jump excitedly when i spy the new offerings in the vodka aisle, or bargains on single malt scotch!  Despite limiting my alcohol consumption to only weekends, i still find tremendous joy in the hunt for treasures…

Preparing for a big ass throw down festive soiree at my place this weekend, i needed to stock both of my bars.  Studley and i dropped into a favorite local haunt on our lunch hour today to retrieve a tasty limited edition strawberry vodka.

With four bottles of vodka, and two bottles of liqueur on the counter, the clerk started to ring up the purchase.

Clerk:  Will that be all?

Studley:  That’ll get her through til dinner.  How late are you open?

daisyfae [to clerk]:  Yep!  Making some gourmet jello shots for a party!  This will do nicely!  [sticks tongue out at Studley].

Clerk:  That’ll be $120.

i started counting fresh bills from my wallet…

Studley:  Hey, those look a lot better than the last batch you printed!

daisyfae:  You’re just a big damn help today, aren’t you?  Remind me again why i brought you along?

Clerk:  Would you like a box?

daisyfae:  Nah.  We’re just gonna drink it in your parking lot…

By then?  The clerk was giggling at us.  He grinned as he handed me my change.

Clerk:  The way you two are carrying on?  I’d say you’re either co-workers or brother and sister!

daisyfae:  Well, damn! i guess that makes that thing we did last night a crime, don’t it?

Studley [to Clerk]:  Momma says I’m the best kisser!

image found here

horse d’oeuvres

It started with a coupon – buy one lesson, get two free.  Studley jumped on the offer to take a few horseback riding lessons in November, 2011.  It was something we had discussed, and put on the “one of these days” list.  With the winter chill looming, and a good bargain, we went to the stable for the first time.

We had no idea where it would lead.  It has brought tremendous joy.

If someone had told me that i’d learn to assemble gear on a horse?  That i’d be comfortable grooming a 1,200 pound animal on my own?  That i’d have no hesitation in grabbing a horse by the ankle and confidently picking manure out of his hooves?

That i’d be riding in my first horse show at the age of 50?

Inconceivable!

But last weekend, that is just what happened!  It was a “Fun Show” held by our stable, to raise money for Saddlebred Rescue.*  Not a competitive event, it is used by the instructor to help the newer riders train for more serious competition.

Last year, Studley and i had been riding for a few short months – so we just sponsored a few classes and went to watch.  Sitting in the arena on a chilly spring morning, we watched the youngsters, and some older riders, get their horse game on…

daisyfae:  Do you think we’ll ever be able to ride like that?

Studley:  Probably not, but it’s fun to think about!

This year?  We decided to take a run at it. Well, a “walk-trot” at it.

The kids would have their parents, and grandparents, in the barn… Encouraging.  Cheering.  Proudly saying “That’s my kid!”

Receiving a random signal from the trailer park planet, i hatched a plot to get MY mommy there, too!  With serious support from Studley, she was in the arena with us that Sunday morning.

She encouraged.  She cheered.  Her advice to me as i headed out to mount up – “I’ll be proud of you if you just stay on the horse!”  When my name was called for a second place ribbon?  She hooted and hollered and said “That’s my kid!”

Studley and i also rode in a pairs event — similar to the “Pas de Deux” in Dressage, our instructor modified it to make it more accessible to novice riders.  Instead of the team riding side-by-side while riding a pattern, we rode “mirror” patterns – with the goal of staying synchronized and not running into each other when crossing paths!  We referred to it as the “Faux Pas de Deux” event.

We got second in that event… out of two teams!

That night, we decided to figure out what those ribbons cost.  A year and a half of weekly lessons, riding gear (helmets, boots), entry fees…  Right around $1,300 EACH.  And worth every penny…

The Helmet Shelf in my garage

* WARNING – adorable animal alert!  You might end up with a four-legged friend in your guest house if you look at these lovelies…

** We had to ride with the adults – it wasn’t proper to let us ride in the “Youth” class.  Probably because those 12 year olds would have kicked our asses!  i placed 2nd out of three riders!  And Studley just missed knocking me out of second place by a few thousandths of a point!

Polyamory

When i completed my undergraduate degree, i treated myself to a spiffy new guitar – a 1985 Fender Balboa, with on-board electronics and a cut-away.  That guitar and i had some times, we did…

Open mic nights, festivals, garage bands – even a brief stint playing in a bluegrass band.  Mostly?  He was my therapist.  He held fast through some rough times – the years i took my anger out through music.

Some of my friends refer to it as my “Angry Lesbitarian Music” phase.  i could take a Carole King song and make it scary enough to creep out a room.  Will you still love me tomorrow?  Huh, motherfucker?  HUH?!?!

i was rough on him.  Aggressive flat picking tore up the sound hole.  We spent 25 years together, and that guitar saw me through my separation, divorce and empty-nest  transitions.  A few spectacularly bad relationship decisions, too.

Somewhere along the way, i became less angry.  My passions were re-directed in far more productive and pleasant pursuits.  The guitar was collecting a good bit of dust.  Other than pulling it out for a few weeks before the annual Christmas gig at work?  Neglect.

In 2009, i started playing around… with other guitars.  Checking out the Martin owned by my gig-buddy at the office.  The sweet Taylor my “chicken pickin’” friend adored.  Pretty soon?  i was visiting guitar stores.  Checking them all out…

Fell hard for a Gibson DSR CE Acoustic Electric.  Loud.  Clear.  Balanced top and bottom.  Felt right as i worked all the way up the neck.  He came home with me a few days later…

The euphoria lasted about a year – even pushing me to do my first (and only) guitar corset Friday!  i soon got busy with other pursuits.  Played a few gigs here and there, but lost the spark and the Gibson became a bit of a ‘hangar queen’ – looking lovely in my living room, but getting very little love.

The old Fender had been stowed back in his case, and taken to the basement storage room, with all of the other much-loved, but abandoned toys.

Got word a couple of months ago that an exceptional local guitarist would be accepting a limited number of new students.  This awakened the dormant guitarist, and i jumped on the offer!  The chance to put some discipline into the process while sitting at the knee of screamingly crushworthy guitarist?  Hells yeah!

Nervously taking out the dusty Gibson for my first lesson, i discovered that he had some alignment issues.  High end of the neck was out of whack.  My guitar teacher offered up the name of her most trusted repairman.  Not wanting to let her down so early in the game, i made plans to get the Gibson to the shop for a tune up.

Dennis asked me to sit down and play a little so he could work the set up to my style.  The good news?  An easy tweak – no more than a few days.

Just in case it took longer, i climbed into the storage room and blew the dust off the Fender.  A fresh set of strings, and i was able to keep putting in time every day to work the callouses and restore muscle memory.

It was a little like rediscovering a lost love!  i remembered why i fell for that Fender in the first place!  He can take anything i throw at him – and beg for more!  The harder i play?  The better he sounds… i was looking forward to introducing him to my guitar teacher.

But Dennis had worked his miracle, and the Gibson was ready on Tuesday.  Retrieving him on my lunch hour, Dennis was anxious to see my reaction.  Sheer, unadulterated joy!  Dennis had built a custom saddle, and the sounds coming out of that guitar were astonishing!  Better than when i bought him!

Still loud and strong, but very fast. A delicate touch!  Think about touching the strings and it happened…  i couldn’t wait to get him home where we could be alone for a while.

Dennis:  If you want the action a little higher?  I can do that!  Can set it up with some heavier strings, too.  It sure has a beautiful sound, though.

daisyfae: i like this.  It feels good, but completely different from the Fender.  i…. i think i want to keep them both. Just the way they are…  i’m pretty sure i can maintain both relationships…

in case you came here looking for info on polyamorous relationships?  nice article here…

Lessons of old dogs

“Do you think your pup needs to go outside?”

“Nah! i took him out a couple of hours ago! He’s just being a pest!”

Studley and i went on about our project du jour, while my ancient dog continued to try to join the game. He eventually wandered off to the living room and we went on with our adventures. Only to be interrupted a few minutes later by the unmistakable sound of a torrent of urine* being unloaded onto carpet.

Rushing toward intervention i got him hooked to his leash and opened the front door so he could take the remainder out into the bushes. We came back inside, and the poor fella looked rather forlorn, knowing he wasn’t supposed to paint the rug.

Giving him a pat on the head, i assured him that it was ok, as i set about mopping up the mess.

“It’s ok, Buddy! You tried to tell us! Nothing more you could have done!”

i got out the SpotBot to do some extraction.  Mr. Pickles sheepishly wagged his tail and looked a little less grim.

“You know, at his age?  There really isn’t anything he can do to piss me off…”

i stopped dead in my tracks.

“Why don’t i feel the same way about Mom?”

Turns out?  i do.

When i launched the blog back in 2008, one of my primary demons was my relationship with my mother.  i was angry and resentful at her for the way she treated my father.  i was frustrated by her history of ‘one bad damn decision after another’ – primarily in the arena of enabling my siblings to continue to make ‘one bad damn decision after another’.  i could not comprehend her bitterness with life, given that the last half with Dad had been far better than the first half – and she never seemed to demonstrate gratitude for the gifts around her.

But i’ve since realized that her relationship with my father was/is none of my business.  He understood and accepted her.  Who am i to weigh in on that?  Every decision she ever made regarding my siblings was made with love – she wanted to help.  She was born bitter, and will die bitter, and there’s nothing that can change that.  Her heart is generous, it just has a really thick crust on the outside.  She’s done the best she could with what she’s been given.

i can honestly say – “At 84 years old, there is nothing my Mother can do to piss me off.”

* My dog has a phenomenal capacity for piss. Through the years, he has developed the ability to hold onto it for many hours.  When he lets go? It’s Victoria Falls. In yellow…

For now…

There is only one reason to write.  Because you must.  You can join a workshop, read a ‘self help’ book, take a class or join a silly writers bootcamp, but that’s forcing the issue.  Write because you have something to say.  Something that has to come out of you or you’ll explode.  Write because you have to.  There is absolutely no other reason to do it.

Where have i been lately?

Living well.  Loving well.  Being well.  Rolling in life like a dog on a dead fish.

i don’t have a lot to say.  These days?  i spend a lot of time laughing and dancing.  So i’ll let these photos of me and me doggie say it…

We are all about “now”.  Because it won’t last.  Nothing does.

i love.  i am loved.  what the fuck else is there?

What is your legacy?  What REALLY matters when we’re all reduced to carbon?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THIS link – thanks to The Unbearable Banishment.  Mr. Bukowski says it far better than i ever could… and since i’m not a writer, i suppose that should come as no big surprise!

Get lost

“Add some of these green shavings first, then put the yellow on top.”

“What about putting something in it, so that it kinda floats on top when the crayons melt?”

“Yeah!  A penny!”

We were about 8 years old, and intently focused on creating an objet d’art in Jenni’s Easy Bake Oven.  Melting a kaleidoscopic pile of shaved crayons in the aluminum pan.  We were pleased with our product, and discussed the obvious sales potential with unbridled enthusiasm.  We would certainly be discovered as artists, and become international celebrities of the art world!

But it was time to go home for dinner… We didn’t realize until a few days later that we’d ruined the oven, as there was no market for Crayon-Flavored Cake.

Two decades later, i watched my daughter at her “Project Table” in the family room.  Be-bopping to the music in her head, she arranged scraps of colored paper, cloth and glitter* into a collage.  She spent hours and hours at her table, lost in the act of creation.

As we become responsible adults, we stop doing this… thing.  We start to feel pressure to be “good” at it.  We feel judged.  We fear failure.  We become afraid that we are “not good enough”.  So we stop doing it.

We lose something.  Something good.

i first learned of ‘spirited painting’, through blog pal CompuDiva.  The idea is to gather a group of friends, or find a class, and spend a few hours under the gentle supervision/coaching of an instructor painting and drinking.

As luck would have it, a local art studio opened, offering classes and private parties.  Arrangements were made, invitations sent, and food prepared.  Last Tuesday night?  Twenty five friends, and friends of friends, descended upon the studio for an evening of…

Well, most of us didn’t really know what to expect.  “I’ll be there, and that’s saying something, given that I have no idea what this is all about, and the last time I painted it was my bathroom, which took three months and is the shittiest paint job ever. Pretty color though.”

Getting settled, our instructors explained the process.  Some sample prints were available for inspiration, and we were welcome to work from any of the paintings in the studio.  Have a favorite photo on your camera? Print it and start painting.

Some tentative, some brave.  We just started.  An eclectic mix of friends – i wasn’t sure how the interactions would go.  Biker divas.  High school friends.  My new boss and a few other work colleagues.  Breast cancer broads.  Rabid cycling enthusiast with artistic tendencies.

This thing… happened.  We weren’t worried about being judged.  About being good.  We just started doing.  We got lost together.  We smiled.  We encouraged each other.

Oh, and we destroyed fifteen bottles of wine and the better part of three pizzas.

Somehow at the end of the evening?  This was on my easel.  i’m not sure how it got there.  i’d been pretty lost for the previous three hours…

“We don’t stop playing because we get old.  We grow old because we stop playing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* A friend of mine refers glitter as “the herpes of the craft world.”  i would have to agree with that assessment.  That shit gets EVERYWHERE and there is no cure…

Incomplete Truth

As much as i love my new job, i have been incredibly busy since January – and it’s good to earn my pay!  The combination of frenetic pace and new operational environment has led to some speed bumps.

i am fueled by coffee. Not that fancy girlie stuff – coffee beans harvested by one-armed nuns and orphans, roasted over dried goat turds, then slowly brewed in a recycled art glass urinal.

Folgers. From a giant plastic tub. Brewed thick as oil in an ancient drip communal coffee maker that hasn’t been cleaned or sanitized in twenty years.

This is the kind of brew that i grew up on. Chugged into the early morning hours slamming for final exams, finishing a project, or working details.  This is the kind of brew that fueled Thomas Edison, Henry Ford and Jack Kilby.  THIS is what powers my engine.

My new lab is inhabited by so many young scientists and engineers that i couldn’t FIND that communal pot. They grew up with refined tastes. Starbucks, for fucksake!  An espresso machine in the “collaboration space”. Really?  French press, if you’d prefer your coffee to be especially effeminate.

Fuck.

This would not do.

Finally found the dirty, nasty pot in the corner of the building on a lower floor. Where the old and crunchy scientists gather.  And it’s only twenty cents a cup!  Sufficiently cheap and suitably crappy coffee. Score!

So things had been going pretty well until i hit this week – caffeinated and productive. Hosting a visitor on Tuesday led me to a new problem: Where to get HIM coffee?

Not the fancy-assed stuff. Not the dirty pot.

The only solution was to take him to our building canteen, The Ptomaine Palace. While i wouldn’t make anyone eat the food there, it works as an emergency snack bar. Coffee would probably be sort of fresh, and they have all that sugar and cream stuff that people use sometimes.

He was agreeable and we went on about our business, trekking from office to office in a carefully orchestrated series of meetings. Same schtick each time, different audience.

After the fourth tour stop, i started to zone out. Noticing the unusual pattern on the styrofoam cup. What does that say?

“An average weight paper hot cup with a cardboard sleeve generates 379% more solid waste by weight than a comparable foam cup.”

What? Corporate defensive marketing? Highly specific corporate defensive marketing?

Obviously, because statistics are involved, it must be the truth! But aren’t there a few other salient points left out?  To paint the full picture, perhaps there should be a few more details.

“A foam cup will last over a MILLION years in a landfill, while a cardboard cup only lasts 2 months.”

“Polystyrene cups are made from petroleum – which NEVER degrades – so you can use it once and not worry about finding a recycling bin!”

“Cardboard cups can’t hold heat!  Nevermind that reheating your coffee in a polystyrene cup will lead to styrene leaching into your body!  Some studies suggest that despite detrimental health effects, styrene in food can be a flavor enhancer!”

As we rolled into our next meeting, i found myself in the back of the room while my guest performed like the expensive circus pony i paid him to be… In my hand?  A foam cup half full of cold, bad coffee. And an ink pen…

What is an incomplete truth?  It is a lie.