The president of the Vall d’Hebron volleyball club – the largest volleyball club in all of Spain and the club with whom I have played for the past four years – called me the other day to see if I was interested in returning to the team this year. I didn’t know what to say.

I love playing volleyball, being forced to work out on a regular basis, and hanging out with the guys on the team, but the matches are on the weekends and they sometimes clash with rehearsals for the plays that I direct with my theatre company. Since I’m the boss, I can usually juggle the rehearsal schedule, but I inevitably have to miss a few games.

Over the years, I have proven my ability to be on the starting roster for the team but, because I have had to miss some high profile matches, I have also earned the reputation of being someone who can’t always be counted on when game time rolls around. I don’t want to mess them around, but I don’t want to give up either of these things either.

So I told the president that I would be there this Tuesday night for the first meeting of the year / first practice / try-outs. I’m pretty much guaranteed a spot on the team if I want it. I figure I’ll start with the team as usual and, if anything huge pops up in the theatre world, I’ll tell the team right away and then continue to train with them during the week but not play on the weekends. That would be easier than telling them “no” now and then maybe trying to get back on the team later.

I quickly realized that I hadn’t participated in any serious physical activity since the end of the last season in May. I think I actually heard my muscles atrophying while I was in Edinburgh. So, when Jan woke me up at noon today to tell me that she was going to the gym, I jumped up and told her that I’d join her. I don’t have a membership to her gym, but when I asked the girl at the front desk if I could pretty-please just work out with the machines for an hour, her heart melted and let me sneak in without paying the 9€ single-day fee.

The gym was packed full of people. While I was on the “Lat Pulldown” machine, I started to think how cool it would be if there was a gym that generated all of its needed power from generators attached to all of the exercise equipment. Wouldn’t that rock? Exercise bikes, stair masters, rowing machines, bench presses, and lat pulldowns powering lights, televisions, fans, and drink machines. I was so excited with this stroke of genius that I Googled the idea when I got home in preparation for my patent application. Wouldn’t you know it… someone beat me to it. Someone else actually pointed out that “having a gym of say 40 Olympians all pedaling at top efficiency for a full hour would yield a revenue stream of less than $1.” I was dumbfounded. I was also doing too many lat pulldowns with too much weight. I’m gonna be sore tomorrow night!

Last night, after a pleasant evening of baking banana bread, Mystic River, and guacamole, I sat down in front of my computer to catch up on the day’s events from some of my favorite internet sites. I have been keeping a close watch on the happenings in New Orleans (as I’m sure the rest of the world is, as well). Up until yesterday, I was under the impression that Katrina was the cause of this entire disaster. Now I see that the government is the real disaster.

Reading all of the late breaking news (NOT from the spin doctors) brings a tear to my eye. America is seriously fu*ked up. The Red Cross has been ordered to stay out of New Orleans. Critical firefighting equipment is being left untouched. Chicago’s offer of manpower and equipment is “snubbed” by FEMA, according to the Mayor. FEMA “forgets” to tell the military to airdrop food and water to the survivors. Northern Command has been ready for days, just waiting for the President to give the orders. Feds delayed paperwork giving permission for National Guard to act. Louisiana begged for federal help on Sunday in a formal request, but the Bush administration says they didn’t know anything about problems until Wednesday. Meanwhile, reporters apparently grow weary of the spin doctors.

Jan found a scary article explaining how US authorities had refused to evacuate British families trapped in New Orleans.

David Aaronovitch of the London Times observes, “It isn’t the failure to act in New Orleans that is the story here, it’s the sheer, uninsured, uncared for, self-disenfranchised scale of the poverty that lies revealed. It looks like a scene from the Third World because that’s the truth. It’s a quiet disaster that’s been going on for years.”

I wanted to write this entry last night, but I decided to first sit down in front of the TV and watch some Fox News to feed my ire. I was asleep withing 10 minutes.

The view of America from abroad is not pretty. Many countries have offered aid, but the official response goes something like: “thanks but we don’t need help with this internal matter”.

Jan’s parents tell us that the news coverage in Britain is overwhelmingly anti-Bush.

Sweden is offering help with water purification and temporary housing (two areas where Sweden has special expertise in disaster relief.) The response: “Vi har inte fått någon signal från USA om vad man konkret är i behov av.” – We haven’t received any indication of what the concrete needs are.

A German blogger says, “Most people here in Germany are stunned that the richest and most powerful country on earth is so slow and incompetent to save it’s own citizens.”

Pathetic.

I was just working on my round-up of all the shows I saw this past month at the Fringe. While I was writing about a show called Thrillseeking (probably the worst show I saw all month), I was floored when I realized that Winamp had ‘randomly’ started playing Thrillseeker by The Divine Comedy. Spooky. These things don’t just happen…

Today, as part of my sister Rebecca’s crap day, the news hit me that Oreo, that 15 year-old cluster of feline fur, has passed away. Oreo was a loyal, beautiful, incredibly stupid, and caring cat. She moved down to Florida with Rebecca who gave her hair cuts, painted her feet pink and blue, dressed her in fancy clothes and posed her for glamor photo shoots. Back when I was in high school, my cat Dude gave birth to Oreo and Dusty on my pillow, next to my head, while I slept. I distinctly remember the smell of the birth waking me up. Oreo will be missed.