I'm all messed up on cough syrup, so, like, nevermind.

Digression: I heard this on an Exploratorium radio ad, and now I endlessly wonder: "If I rub my eyes really hard, will I see the same thing you see when you rub your eyes really hard?" End of digression.

Re: subject. Not only is this a true statement for me right now, it also comes from an apparently ad-libbed line in a Dead Milkmen song. It was only recently that I read that Dave Blood, bassist for the band, passed away earlier this year. Sad. That band brought me much joy in college, and possibly one of my top ten concerts of all time was seeing them in the now-defunct Buddy's at Virginia Tech. Teeny tiny little club, unusually safe mosh pit, like-minded crowd screaming "I gave my ice cream to a shark and now I've got NOTHING TO EAT!!" Ahh. Those were the days.

My head is this big...

... but it feels THIS big. Bleah. Nothing like being double dog sick on New Year's Eve!!

To a healthy 2005.

However, re: Orlando Bloom.

That scene in Return of the King where he hops on the elephant and takes it, and everything on it, down, is pretty darned cool. And he's such a team player. If only he wouldn't make that "what stinks?" face...

Technology - WOW!

In the past week I have learned a few cool things that make me pretty happy that I haven't yet resorted to the Luddite lifestyle.

One is that, just by turning my driver side door key a little more to the left when I unlock the door, I can also unlock ALL THE DOORS! Yes, I have had this car since March and yes, I should've realized this by now. But all this time I've been opening my driver door and then unlocking all the doors using the push-button inside the car. Tonight I just so happened to turn it a little more to the left than usual and WOW!! Who knew?!?!

The other is that my iPod does more than play music. Yes, I have had this iPod since April or so, and yes, I should've realized this by now. But all this time I've just been using it to play music. Last week, while bored at the airport, I explored the "Extras" options. Solitaire!! My calendar!! Sleep timer (very important since I often fall asleep to music, and when I wake up 5 hours later the battery is dead)!! Alarm clock!! Address book!! To-do lists!! WOW!!

Maybe this technology stuff isn't such a bad thing after all... As long as it's used for good and not evil, that is.

The natives are restless.

One ray of light amongst all the terrible news of the day.

I just cannot do it.

I'm sorry, Orly fans. I cannot watch him in any of the LOTR movies without cracking up whenever he gets the "I smell a weird odor" look on his face. I don't care if they're about to go to war with a bunch of Orcs and he says something profound, if they've just finished the battle from hell and he says something profound, or if things are kinda calm and he's just making an observation. I just can't do it.

I did really like him in Pirates of the Caribbean though. No smelly odors there, apparently.

But Viggo, I could watch him reading the dictionary. Man oh man, could I.

Home from the holidays.

And thus ends another trip back east. No more washing the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher. No more making sure each and every of the 40 locks on the front, back, and basement doors are secure 847 times a day. No more listening to a 40 minute story that, in all actuality, takes 5 minutes to tell. No more watching the same damned channel on two different TVs in two adjacent rooms at FULL BLAST. No more praying for dear life that no one runs us over as we go 45 miles down the freeway. No more having to have the last word, no matter who's right or wrong ("OK, Dad, yeah I guess you can't skip to the next track on your CD player, don't know what I was thinking! I can't imagine what that wacky >> button is for!").

I miss them already.

But in order to fully detox, I need to watch my traditional Thanksgiving-and-Christmas movie now. I have never felt so much like Holly Hunter as I did this past week.

I don't care who you are, that's funny.

Yesterday my brother introduced us to Larry the Cable Guy, plus lots more reasons why we might be rednecks (vol I and II). I'm now officially scared of my immediate and extended family.

THIS IS MY NORMAL SPEAKING VOICE.

After spending some time with my family this past week, I started to think that my brother might have symptoms of VOICE IMMODERATION. Then I noticed that when company came over, he would revert back to his normal speaking voice. So apparently he just uses it around my parents, which probably saves him a lot of time and frustration with not having to repeat things two or three times. Smart guy, my brother.

All I want for Christmas is...

All I want for Christmas is for my parents to have something faster than a 56K DIAL UP MODEM. Jesus Christ. I mean, really, JESUS CHRIST. I think carrier pigeons would be faster than this. A decent cuppa joe would also be rather nice, right about now. So says the funk soul brother.

My lovely Christmas of time spent with the family eating too much food and opening too many presents was brought to an abrupt halt when, in an attempt to get the hell out of the house after being cooped up there for four days straight once the parents retired to watch "Fahrenheit"* that evening, I tried to catch Spanglish. The one theater playing the movie after 7:30 but before 10:30 was fairly close by so I took a little drive** only to find out that the theater playing Spanglish didn't have heat. Had I been in Oakland I would've gone straight in. However, that night in P.G. County it was approximately negative 25 degrees... OK maybe it was 35 degrees but let's face it, either one to me is REALLY FREAKIN' cold. So I stomped back to the car (literally - isn't it fun to be a 2-year old sometimes?!) and drove back to my parents' abode where I stood in front of their movie collection trying to decide between Space Cowboys and every single other Clint Eastwood movie ever made. Space Cowboys... Tommy Lee Jones, how bad could it be?

Pretty bad, is how bad. I'm not sure who recently told Clint Eastwood that it would be a good idea for him to act again (I know he used to be able to) but he was absolutely positively TERRIBLE in that movie. Donald Sutherland as the creepy old guy after all the young chicks was really, really disturbing, and not in a remotely amusing way. And that dude from the Rockford Files needs to hang it up. If you were an old guy on TV when I was 6, it's probably about that time.

I didn't finish it, but about halfway through, right before I said "the hell with this" and went to bed, I realized that I had a little crush on Mr. Jones. What's not to like? He's quirky and cynical and witty, but not in a Billy Bob Thornton creepy kind of way. And of course, in an "admire from afar" kind of way, seeing as how he could be my grandfather. I really am just kidding about that plan I have to marry an old guy and inherit his riches when he dies shortly after the wedding. Really I am. Ahem.

(I meant to post this on Christmas Day but I didn't have the TIME TO WAIT FOR THE SITE TO LOAD. Luckily I can just change the date on this post. Ha! Fooled ya.)

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* My father seems to be physically incapable of calling a film by its full title. This past week I heard references to the aforementioned "Fahrenheit," as well as "Miracle" [on 34th Street], "Bowling" [for Columbine] and "Grinch." He did get "School of Rock" out in its entirety, which pleased me greatly.

Incidentally, I was able to avoid all political talk by immediately changing the subject when my brother referred to "Fahrenheit" as "propaganda." I couldn't really deny his statement but as far as how I could say the same about Rush and Bill and Fox News... well, I just didn't go there. But I did read more Jon Stewart & co. later to make myself feel better.

** Addendum to runners up below - and the only other thing besides movie theaters open on Christmas Day in suburban Maryland, is the drive-through liquor store. Go figure.

Hey, you...

This morning during one of my many snoozes, I dreamt I was dating Mick Jagger. Well, a much younger, much more attractive, smaller-lipped Mick Jagger. I attribute 50% of that dream to my conversation with my mom last night about an ex-musician ex-boyfriend, and 50% to the fact that "Get Off My Cloud" was playing when the alarm went off for the 37th time this morning.

For the record: I am on VACATION. I know I said I usually can't sleep past 7am, but I am on the EAST COAST on VACATION after a VERY LONG MONTH. Please stop lamenting the fact that I mentioned ONE TIME in the past four days that I generally don't sleep past 7am.

(They do it just to bug me, just like they harp on things to each other just to bug each other. Old people, I am finding, get lots of pleasure in driving other old people - and especially younger people - absolutely batty. I admire that a lot. They've earned it.)

You know you're in suburban Maryland when...

5. Tomatoes on the vine cost almost $4 a pound.
4. There are smoking sections in restaurants.
3. Your only options for coffee are instant, Starbucks and 7-11. (But can I just say, and please know that it pains me to say this, Starbucks eggnog latte = YUM!!)
2. Despite the fact that Maryland was a blue state, you've only seen one anti-Bush bumper sticker in four days, and no one gets your 'sorryeverybody.com' t-shirt.
1. It's really really freakin' cold.

Runners up:
- You can't buy wine at Safeway.
- But you can buy wine at drive-through liquor stores.

Screw you guys, I'm going home.

Note to self: for the next six days you will sleep, eat, exercise and hang out with the fam. Maybe delve into Chronicles, Vol.1 or finish America.... Perhaps see Finding Neverland or Ocean's Twelve, or maybe drag the folks to Spanglish.* And that is all you will do. And you will like it.

Unrelated note to self: a squash by any other name is still a squash, but when you're expecting spaghetti and you accidentally bake butternut, it's quite a disappointing dinner.

Final note to self: work mantra to incorporate into daily life, which comes from someone explaining a potential vendor system error in layman terms during a meeting today - "I can't check because you didn't pay me."

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* Hyperlinks added for my friend who swears she doesn't get my pop culture references.

Life's a show, and we all play a part...

And when the music starts, we open up our hearts.* And so here I go. Speaking of coincidences...

Spent last evening with my coupled friends and a few of their current ankle-biter and future ankle-biter (who is too young and therefore still content to let her dad put her hand in her front jammie pocket in Al Bundy stylie, much to the amusement of others, but mostly to the amusement of her mom who is apparently severley sleep deprived, I would venture to say) offspring.

It was fun. It was weird. Knowing that they all have their spouses/future probable spouses and their life plans which include additional ankle-biters was kinda foreign to me. I don't have such plans (spoused or parental or otherwise) and don't expect to, ever. I am strangely content to be the weird single (in this case, pseudo) Aunt Jenny from the Brady Bunch, who never marries and never has kids but is always there for her family/friends who choose to do those things. Except for when she is running off to India or Zimbabwe or Toronto to save the world.

So there you have it, my future as declared by the monumental-for-my-generation show "The Brady Bunch." Just don't call me Jenny. Pain will ensue if you call me Jenny.

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* As quoted from the Buffy musical, "Once More With Feeling." Which I have watched approximately 20 times and have listened to the soundtrack approximately at least twice that. If you haven't seen it, or if for some reason unknown to man and/or your God you don't get the whole Buffy phenomenon, we need to TALK. Seriously.

Dead dove, do not eat.

MUST. REMEMBER. TO. WATCH. ARRESTED. DEVELOPMENT. TONIGHT.

DAMMIT.

There, now I'm accountable.

Ants in my biscotti.

That sounds like a bad idea for both a children's game and a name for a band.

In a "bursting with holiday spirit" spirit on Friday I made a bunch of cookies for friends and coworkers. One thing I tried was a biscotti recipe. Last night my Oregonian friend asked me if there were "ants" in the biscotti. "Huh?" I asked. "Ants. Did you put ants in the biscotti?" Once again, "huh? ANTS? as in, the insect??" I asked, thinking back to all the times I have eaten biscotti and wondering how many ants I may have consumed in the process. After a few more inquiries it was clear that he was talking not about the annoying little creatures, but about anise - and apparently in the alternate universe in Oregon where he lived, they pronounce anise "ants."

Not coincidentally, or perhaps entirely coincidentally, when I got home from the party last night I noticed a couple of ants wandering around in my bathroom. Hmm... Biscotti anyone?

Oxymoron du jour.

There are South Beach and other diet ads all over the cookie recipe web site I am searching. That's just wrong.

They multiply with water.

Digression: Overheard at the bus stop today - "I'm going to try that herbal remedy shit..." Not sure why, but it made me laugh. End of digression.

I had a dream last night that a little gremlin was terrorizing me. (Clearly 100% work related.) It was about 14 inches tall, green, skinny, creepy looking - your average gremlin. But it was driving me nuts, spilling everything all over my carpet (not liquid though - I learned my lesson from that bad 80's flick and kept the liquid AWAY), knocking lamps over, laughing maniacally, generally being a consistent pain in the ass. At one point I just decided to smash it, so I did, and woke up mid-smash to the sound of my cat running like hell out of the room and the feeling of my clenched fist. I deduced that I actually hit the bed as I was smashing the gremlin in my dream. I hope I didn't actually hit the cat in the process. I got up and followed her, did a little poking and prodding, and only got the normal grunts of protest so I think she's fine. Then I checked under the bed for that little asshole gremlin and, finding nothing, went back to sleep.

The only thing we have to fear is...

Top Five Phobias I Am So Very Glad I Don't Have

5. Lachanophobia - fear of vegetables
4. Methyphobia - fear of alcohol
3. Genuphobia - fear of knees
2. Alliumphobia - fear of garlic
1. Sinistrophobia - fear of things to the left (or left-handed)

Top Five Phobias I Most Certainly Do Have

5. Hoplophobia - fear of firearms
4. Scabiophobia- fear of scabies
3. Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia - fear of long words
2. Coulrophobia - fear of clowns (tied with pupaphobia - fear of puppets)
1. Maniaphobia - fear of insanity

More at The Phobia List.

Jingle bells, Batman smells...

Rather than discuss what's really bugging me today, which is the profound and unanswerable question of "ok really now why are we all here and what the hell is this all about," which hit me with unprecedented force last night for some unknown reason... And rather than talking about how much I do not like technology especially as it relates to my job right now... I will talk about my next career.

I decided today that my next career will be in greeting cards. Specifically, Christmas cards for family members. Even more specifically, Christmas cards for family members that do not oooooooze with utter sappy sentimentality and that don't declare, "you're the best brother EVER!!", or "you're the most wonderful parents I could've ever dreamed of having for my very own!!"

Never again shall people like me spend hours in the drugstore looking for a card that doesn't make them want to gag. My Christmas cards will have messages you might actually consider saying out loud to your family members. Messages that are 100% truth, that you would say on a day that wasn't Christmas. Like, "thanks, brother, for not calling me 'Billy' for no apparent reason* anymore. Merry Christmas." And "happy holidays, Mom and Dad, and here's to another year of you not asking me when I'm going to give you grandchildren."

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* I really don't know. It started about 15 years ago, it stopped last year. I gave up questioning it somewhere in between.

Hey you! Outta the gene pool!

Today I was attempting to do a little holiday shopping at Best Buy (which inevitably turned into "one for him, one for me! one for her, two for me!") and I ran across this.

Dear God Why. Is there really a market for this, and if so, can someone help me get the people in that market out of the gene pool immediately??

If you can dodge a wrench...

Digression: Yet another reason to move to Canada. Because we really needed another reason. End of digression.

The next time you have a really bad day, or a really long week, I highly recommend a double feature of Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story and Elf. (OK and adding some wine to the mix doesn't hurt either.) I think I burned more calories laughing last night than I did all week put together. How totally refreshing to see Vincent Vaughn in a non-creepy-disgusting-pervert role! And James Caan with a heart! Also fun were Jason Bateman as a completely random (and apparently gay?) sports commentator, Will Ferrell as a big loveable goofball, and Amy Sedaris with a normal face.

Latest saying I plan to incorporate into my daily life, taken from Elf: "It's just like Santa's workshop! Except it smells like mushrooms... and everyone looks like they wanna hurt me..."

Decision 2004.

Wow. This is kinda a tough call, actually. (If you haven't seen both Fahrenheit... and Eternal Sunshine... you might not understand why.)

However, since these awards also feature recognition for "favorite hair" and "favorite look," and "country group" is misspelled in the drop down list, I'm thinking I might forego my vote this time around. Don't worry - I won't complain if Natalie beats Scarlett.

Besides, look where the "people's choice award" got us on November 2... (she said sarcastically.)

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

I really thought Jon Stewart was kidding about this last night... Sigh.

Official, and unofficial, favorite new sayings.

Last weekend at a dinner party I got instructions from my English friend on how to respond to asinine questions/comments/suggestions from the many asinine people in my life. It's quite simple. You look them straight in the eye, adopt a temporary English accent, and say with authority, "Piss off, you're an idiot!" I practiced a few times that night but have yet to employ this in my daily life. I really hope to soon. I figure it's sure to be a hit.

Tonight I was watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and for the first time in my life, I really gave some thought to that kid, Charlie Brown. I mean, really now. What message does this send? What was the original intent? Did he not have parents? Did his parents not realize he was on the verge of suicide nearly every day of his life? What on earth kept him going every day? Did those obnoxious little brats he hung out with not have parents? Did their parents not teach them that it wasn't nice to ridicule their classmates and then kick them when they were down? What the hell did he ever do to anyone? No one ever gave Lucy shit for missing all those damn fly balls and losing games as a result (well no one except for Charlie Brown, that is).

I wonder how people would've reacted if he'd looked them all straight in the eye and said, "Piss off, you're an idiot!" Maybe it's not as effective when you're eight, though.

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Find out more than you ever wanted to know about Charlie Brown & Co. FAQs include interesting factiods, as well as answers like "There are two answers to this question: the official, and the unofficial." (Sadly, I'm not kidding. And yes, I fully intend to work that statement into my daily life as well.)

Rest easy.

Eagerly anticipating what you're going to hear about nonstop-till-your-ears-bleed-and-you-wish-court-TV-had-never-been-invented-and-OHMYGODWILLITEVEREND once the Scott Peterson trial is finally over? No worries - Michael Jackson's got it all under control.

Hello, and goodbye.

Today I said hello for the first time to the newest member of Baby CHM.* A precious little teeny tiny helpless creature has found her way into the world and into the arms of both a wonderful set of parents who will love her to death and teach her well, and a group of pseudo-aunt-and-uncle friends who will spoil her to her (and our) heart's content.

Also today, I said goodbye for the last time to the ED of the volunteer organization I'm knee-deep (okay, sometimes eyeball-deep) involved with. As with all goodbyes to coworkers and fellow volunteers it was somber and happy at the same time, what with everyone talking proudly about all that he did, sharing all their great memories and then having to say farewell. But it helped to remind me why the hell I give so much of myself and my time to this endeavor. So good luck and thanks, sir.

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* I'd tell you what CHM stands for, but then I'd have to kill you. (Seriously. The last letter stands for mafia. That's all I can say.)

Ignoreland.

Five shallow things I wish I didn't know right now:

1. that Michael Moore shaved, cut his hair and bought a suit.

2. that Michael Ian Black hosted the Late Late Show this past week.

3. that "they" are making a Dukes of Hazzard movie.

4. that Johnny Knoxville and Sean William Scott are playing Bo and Luke Duke in said movie (I won't even bring up the Jessica Simpson/Daisy Duke debacle).

5. that George Lucas still hasn't released Star Wars: Episode 3 and won't for several more months (no I'm not anxiously awaiting; rather, I thought that crap had already come and gone, for the love of Pete).

Nope nope nope.

Just got an email from my brother saying he's glad I'm coming home for Christmas - he was hoping I would... The randomness of it made me really happy. My family has come a long way in the last few years.

I have spent the last hour or so browsing free fonts that I can use on some certificates I have to make for Saturday. Have I made the certificates? Nope. Have I compiled a list of people I need to make certificates for? Nope. Have I done much at all else in prep for the all-day meeting? Nope.

It's really amazing how easy it is to kill time doing something fun but completely unnecessary when there's something else you REALLY don't want to be doing. I guess that's why George spends half his time at the ranch goofing off.