tammytoes

Last week, I got an email from a boy I knew during high school. He was very tall, drove a fast car, had curly hair, and took me to prom my sophomore year. As I recall, we dated for a short, unspectacular time. I couldn’t quite place the name he signed at the end of his email when I first read it – the memory wasn’t particularly strong. He was a nice guy. Polite. Harmless. Respectable. Naturally, that was not at all what I was interested in during high school. But I’m quite sure that his parents as well as mine have photos of the two of us dressed up for prom. That strikes me as terribly wired right now. Anyway, this guy is now an engineer for an oil company in Azerbaijan. His email was actually quite interesting, and so we exchanged a few correspondences. When I asked him what made him look me up, he replied that I was the inspiration for him to start playing music in a band. And apparently, he is still playing music in a band.

I actually have no recollection of ever talking about music with him or encouraging him to do anything. But I do have this very fond memory related to him: he had a beautiful large dog (husky of some type?) who was extremely white and fluffy. This thing was so big that you could throw a saddle on it and ride it around the yard. And it was super sweet. Well, along with the big white fluffy dog, this boy also had a severly fat asthmatic cat who was always getting picked on by the neighbor cats. And you know what? That big white fluffy dog would kick some serious neighbor cat ass when they started picking on the fat cat. And I just remember that being so cool.

As I wrote that, I realized that I *do* have a music memory about Azerbaijan man. I loaned him a Descendents tape that he left on his dashboard. Melted the hell out of the tape. I was kind of pissed off about that.

There are so many paths that we cross just going about our lives. We generally have no idea what impact we have on another life, but this was a nice reminder that we don’t really have to do anything but be ourselves and sometimes that’s important to someone else in a way we don’t really understand. Important enough to look up someone halfway across the world and say hello and thanks for the inspiration.

I’ve got a head cold and a sprained ankle and a wicked case of insomnia, probably due to the fact that I’ve been sleeping the past four days away because of the aforementioned head cold and sprained ankle. I’m a lousy blogger. But I’m a good eater. In fact, I think I’ve probably eaten every edible item in my apartment. I haven’t been to work since last Thursday – I can only imagine what my email inbox is going to look like. I’ve got March Madness but my chances of winning the office pool are dwindling. I seem to have stories to share that exist just beyond the edge of telling. My friend David burned me a copy of ‘The Descent,’ an excellent little Scottish horror film by Neil Marshall (who directed ‘Dog Soldiers,’ if there are any werewolf movie fans out there reading this) and it’s had me reflective for days because it’s one of the rare films that dares to delve into the realm of primal female violence. The Denver Roller Dolls has just turned 100 days old (happy birthday to us) and we had a bout last Friday at the Denver Coliseum – sold 1, 461 tickets. A stunning success. The Coliseum marquee read: “3/17: Denver Roller Dolls. 3/18-3/19: Midget Racing.” What more could you ask for? It’s my mother’s birthday today, so I had better remember to call. It’s Spring and it’s snowing that wet, heavy spring snow and all I can think of is how great short sleeves are going to feel in a month or so. On Saturday I drove myself to the doctor to get an x-ray for the ankle and discovered that in the world of HMOs, being injured on the weekend is expensive. A $50 co-pay instead of a $15 co-pay to see the doctor. So I guess that those of us who are unfortunate enough to need health care outside of bank hours really do deserve punishment. My friend Leslie yelled at me for being stubborn and driving myself. I blame that tendency on my father. Why would I ask for help when I still have one perfectly good leg left to drive a standard transmission vehicle? I am thankful for the abundance in my life (even the abundant craziness) and I welcome it all the more.