My only claim to fame.

I just saw a repeat of the Inside the Actor's Studio with Martin Lawrence, where in the first 10 minutes he spoke so highly of the wonderful high school art teacher at our alma mater with whom I never got to take an art class.

That's the closest I've come to celebrity-ism, like, ever.

I need to start stalking Marin County.

The fear of God, plus some disappointment.

So my leg has been hurting for a few weeks now, ever since the training program put us through 14 miles of hilly San Francisco. The regular coach kept telling me to ice and rest it, and so I did, but it continued to hurt. I should've made a doctor's appointment but I've been traveling a bit for work, so I just didn't get around to it. And I figured I'd be okay today, since we were only running 8 miles. (I'm once again the Real Slim Shady.)

After the run today, I asked about my leg and the substitute coach put the ABSOLUTE FEAR OF GOD in me by reprimanding me for running through the pain. He took quite a bit of time to tell me what steps to take next, including new shoes, icing for just an hour two days in a row (10 minutes on, 10 minutes off for 3 cycles - who knew? - I'd been leaving the ice pack on because it made my leg feel better), and cutting back on the cross-training (even though the bike and elliptical seem to help stretch my leg muscle out and they said to do 3 days of cross-training).

Part of my disappointment is that the regular coach didn't give me such detailed advice when I first said my leg was hurting. Part of it is that my opposite knee has started to hurt, probably because I'm overcompensating. Part of it is that I haven't made it a priority to get to the doctor. (Yes, I have made an appointment.)

But the biggest disappointment is the potential of not finishing this marathon in July. It's still early - only halfway through the training - but there's 18 miles ahead of me next week and suddenly things aren't looking so optimistic...

Well, actually the biggest disappointment is that the eggplant parmesan I was so craving, and hobbled to the grocery store and around the kitchen to make this evening, isn't looking so promising.

Ah, the world is right again - all things come back to food.

Moviepalooza.

So first there was A History of Violence. I didn't love it - the story was a bit predictable and I don't favor gangster-type movies in general - but the actors were outstanding. All of them. Of course Viggo was great, but William Hurt really stole those scenes. And I must give credit to the choreographer, or whoever told them what to do during the fight scenes. I haven't seen anything that seamless in a long time.

Then there was The Chumscrubber. I guess it was supposed to be along the lines of Donnie Darko - teen suicide, idealistic fucked up suburbia, etc. I didn't love this one either, but again the actors were really impressive, and what a cast - Glenn Close, that kid who played Billy Elliott, William Fichtner, Ralph Fiennes (as a remarkable slowly-going-insane mayor), Allison Janney, Rita Wilson, Carrie-Anne Moss... I guess with a cast like that I expected a little more.

And then for something completely different, there was The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. What a lovely film. Her Majesty and I enjoyed that one very much.

Three movies in one night. I really need to get a life.

Many thoughts + zero energy = recommendation.

Next time you are on a plane, look out the window. Don't the puffy clouds look like you could just bounce on them, like a trampoline? Aren't the green grass and brown mountains (beneath the layer of smog) lovely? Isn't it so very cool to go 10,000 feet into the air, through the overcast skies, and have the sun hit you in the face?

In case it isn't blatantly obvious, I'm tired. Too much travel + an awful dream last night = cranky me.

"I'm sure gay people have problems, too."

Yes, Timothy Treadwell, you were a very troubled man. I was with you in the beginning of this film. Who amongst us hasn't yearned for the opportunity to live with the animals in nature? (OK, well, I have, maybe others have not.) And you were bringing the beauty of nature to the children of the world, and you thought you were doing the bears good. That was your mission and I bought into it.

But about 30 minutes into it, I heard the native Alaskan guy saying that you crossed the line, that you were socializing the bears to live with humans. And that was wrong - the natives respected the bears and avoided them, and vice versa. You tried to be friends with them and every other animal in your presence. The fox on your tent was cute, but then you took it as a pet and assumed it belonged to you, and that you belonged there. You assumed that they loved you like you proclaimed to love them. And you assumed the same about the bears.

Um, OK. They're BEARS. Not domestic cats or dogs, not genteel brown bears either - they were grizzly bears, who survive on instinct. Who don't kill for fun like polar bears, but rather for survival. (Oh and also, you were just 100% fucked up.)

This might be controversial, but I have to say that I'm glad you suffered the fate you did. In some sick way, I almost wanted to hear the audio of your last encounter where you died. Almost. But then I didn't because it would just be too gross. But just for validation that your existence amongst them was utterly wrong. I have utmost respect for the director for not playing this audio on the documentary, but...

But I've been in the presence of bears in their natural habitat, and yeah - humans and bears were not meant to co-exist. They were meant, as the native Alaskan referenced, to live in constant fear of each other. The bears were here first, so they get first rights to anything. Period. And we should be scared of them. And given the progression of gun enhancements in recent years, they should be scared of us.

Oh and also, you irritated me. I'm sorry you were so disappointed with your life, but bringing that into nature and exploiting these beautiful beasts and then ultimately turning them into a monster who brought about your demise - not cool.

Why do humans insist on doing this? You're in the desert, rattlesnakes live there, you get bit by one, no one is around, you die. Period. Desert, wilderness, cool mountains, it really doesn't matter. We are the inferior species. We think we can rely on our cell phones, our medical and technological advances, our "intellect." We can't. We will lose in the end.

Perhaps I'm excessively heartless these days. Maybe. But I'll happily stay in my technologically-savvy world, you stay in your natural habitat, and if the twain shall meet you get priority. All will be fine, I will deserve any fate you bring my way.

Except for ants. I fucking hate ants. Stay out of my apartment, you goddamn fucking ants.

Pointless ranting.

Simon is being nice to the people who suck. The peppy blond just made a joke about having the right shoes if nothing else. Ace is singing one of my favorite songs ever (others include this, and this, and this... hmm, maybe I will do one of these).

I have officially lost all respect for reality television. Excuse me - quote, reality television, unquote.

I only watch for Chris and Elliott anyway. Because they're hot.

I wish they would make a show about people who actually write their own songs. There's a novel concept.

Actually, I just wish I was in the mood for either of the movies I got in the mail today.

Actually, maybe I should just go to bed.

Pessimism city - population ME.

I have been obsessing for the past week over the fact that I misplaced Crazy Cat Lady Neighbor's spare keys that I use when I catsit for her. I mean, obsessing. (I'm pretty sure I threw the keys away with the trash the last time I fed the "kids" - I'd only gotten 2 hours of sleep the night before so anything is possible.)

See, she's kind of, um, particular, shall we say. A few months ago I took her dry laundry out of the dryer (all blankets) and folded it neatly and left it on the top of the dryer while I dried my clothes. Apparently the blankets fell off the dryer after it ran for a while, and she didn't know it was me who put them there, so she left a slightly catty note saying "if you must remove clothes kindly make sure my clothes don't fall on the floor" or some shit. WTFE, lady. I considered leaving a note back saying "I folded your damn clothes, kindly get your shit out on time, or leave a basket for your shit, as the sign suggests, so that this isn't an issue going forward." But of course I let it go.

Anywho. Last week she left me a note asking if I could feed the "kids" this weekend, and I was just imagining the conversation that would ensue. "How do you lose spare keys? Why did you wait so long to tell me? You're paying for a new lock."

She came by tonight to drop off another set. She was very nice. It's all fine. In general, she is very nice. She's had me over for male-bashing dinners and we've had tons of hallway conversations and the like. I don't know why I projected this insane reaction to my minor mistake.

I really don't.

Who on earth would react like I imagined she would?

The only thing I can think is that I'm feeling particularly insecure in my new "assignment" at work, and that's translating to other areas of my life. It doesn't help that I haven't heard a word about the eight applications I put out two weeks ago. It doesn't help that I have to sit in all-day meetings once a week feeling insecure the entire time. It doesn't help that I couldn't care less about failing in this "assignment" - you would think it would.

I wish I could end on a funny note. But I can't right now... so leave a punchline, will ya? :)

A strangely rare music review.

You would think that since I am obsessed with music, I'd offer more commentary on recent spins. I still don't go to enough shows and I still don't seek out the indie stuff often enough, but yesterday on one of the crappy local morning radio shows they were talking incessantly about Wolf Parade. And how awesome this band is, except that one of the DJs didn't think so, but apparently he was a moron, and Wolf Parade was the NEXT. BIG. THING.

So I did a little research and actually learned that their album was on a DVD of about a thousand indie bands a friend recently burned for me. All 100% legally burned of course - I sent all the bands royalty checks and everything. Um, yeah.

I'm still weeding my way through the DVD alphabetically and Wolf Parade starts with W, which is why I hadn't realized I have this album already. So I listened to it just now.

I don't know about Wolf Parade being the NEXT. BIG. THING. They're either a bit dated, or they sound sorta like Modest Mouse. I think I prefer Modest Mouse, personally.

I do concur that this particular DJ is a moron though. Just on general principal.

And speaking of moronic morning DJs, it seems that two of them on another moronic station are now properly engaged. Not to each other - that would actually just be funny - but to members of the opposite sex who do not work for the radio station. So apparently the morons are preparing to breed. Oh, the humanity.

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I suppose I should be cautious, since someone recently emailed the latter morons with a link to a blog critiquing their show, and they read lots of her posts aloud in a mocking tone. But really, I just don't care. If you have to read my blog on the air to fill the time, you've got bigger problems than my critique.

Oh and also, it drives me nuts when people bitch about radio station DJs but continue to listen to them just to complain about them ongoing. I should caveat this to say that I only listen to the morons when I'm in my car driving to/fro the gym in the wee hours, because it's easy to punch a button during commercial breaks. Otherwise it's all KFOG all the time in the mornings for me. Their musical selections aren't always great but they do at least have brains.

On carpet indentations and some other junk.

My work laptop has been sitting in its case, in the same spot on the floor, since the evening of 3/29. Tonight I picked the case up to put it near the door so I wouldn't forget it tomorrow morning, which I would totally do (and have done before). There were indentations in the carpet from where the case had been sitting.

Thus ends watching Molto Mario and Ellen/Oprah every day. Thus ends not knowing what day it is. Thus ends having viable brainpower to expend upon my unpaid job when normally I am all tapped out and fairly useless. Thus ends going ot the gym at 10am when it's completely empty.

During my two week stint of personal time off, I resisted the urge to check work email even though it would have been so easy to do so. I applied for at least 8 positions, 3 of which I would really love to have. I tried to spend as little money as possible. I saw no movies in the theater (none worth seeing, really). I kept up with my exercise regime. And I had a really good time seeing really cool sights with my brother, e.g.:


If I didn't have to sit in an all-day meeting tomorrow, I'd probably be okay with going back to work.

Oh, who am I kidding - I am never going to be okay with going back to work.

Mrs. Roper.

Is it wrong that I insist on reminding my building manager about an annoying but tolerable noise, just because I want to remind him that I live here, oh and also I live here alone? I know that he recently broke up with his live-in girlfriend who recently moved out and he's just so nice and cute and sorta my age. And he likes cats. And music. And carpentry.

I think it's time to go back to match.com.

Blah blah blah.

This is just disgusting. Not only could they have done something much more meaningful with the money they spent creating this stupid thing... They've ensured that any alien beings who contact us will be akin to fraternity brats or horny old men. Note to Maxim: don't you think we have ENOUGH of those roaming our streets already? Do we really need to lure them in from outer space??

Oh and also. I don't care if it's true or not. The mere idea of it has made me officially lose all recently-gained respect for Gavin Newsom.

And finally. Wouldn't it just be oh so utterly creepy if the next big one hit on the 100 year anniversary of the first big one? I really can't stop thinking about it.

Because if you can't laugh...

After reading an email with a laundry list of their recently-diagnosed health issues, I called my parents in a worried state to see how they were doing. I first talked to my mom, who laughed about all her health woes and talked excitedly about her upcoming trip to the beach, updated me on the extended family's cancer episodes and heart attacks, and handed me over to Dad. Who joked about his hearing aid (dear blessed lord THANK YOU he finally got a fucking hearing aid) and then handed the phone back to Mom.

They've really come a long way, from obsessing over their health issues (back when they were still smoking 900 packs a day even after having heart attacks and cancer and other terrible ailments) to now writing them off to old age and past poisons, and just enjoying life while they have it. They're still mentally so young, but their bodies are not, and I am acutely aware of that.

So much so, that I think one of these days when Mom asks when I'm moving back east, I'll actually have an ETA.

But it certainly won't be before July - not till I finish this freakin' marathon.

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I think that Six Feet Under really brings out this need to be closer to home. (I watched 4 episodes today.)

"I feel like a run-on sentence in a punctuation-crazy world."

I hate it when you go to Costco with $6.50 in coupons for things you actually need, and then you forget to use them. My whole Costco trip today was premised on the fact that I had these coupons. I put them in my bag, referred to them while shopping to make sure I got the right brand/size/etc., bought a bunch of other crap I didn't really need, and then forgot to hand the coupons over at the register.

When I got to my car I noticed my oversight and seriously contemplated going back in to see what kind of hassle I had to go through to get my $6.50 back - would they just reimburse me, or would I have to return the items (two of which were large and heavy, as Costco items are wont to be) and then go back through the line...?

For $6.50 I considered it a lesson learned... one that I have repeated in the past and will probably repeat many, many more times in my lifetime. Does that make it a "lesson acknowledged" instead?

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Today's subject brought to you by Woody Harrelson.

Yes we're gonna party for the right to fight.

OK, I am also probably the only person I know who saw the Beastie Boys' creative... um... endeavor. I was curious because it was the same tour I saw a few years ago, and I wanted to see how the NYC show differed from the SF show.

Not much, turns out. It was still worth my $7.50 though. The concept was definitely there - give 50 people in a stadium concert their own handheld videocamera that they use to tape the show, or the crowd, or the bathroom, or whatever, and then piece it all together... Play some good songs, and have some paid camera operators to supplement the amateur videos... It was very much akin to actually being there - except a little bumpier and with a lot of deja vu replays.

But being able to say, on any given Thursday afternoon, "yeah, I went to the gym, and then I went to Jupiter and had a beer, then I caught a movie" is the COOLEST THING EVER. This "work" thing is for the birds.

Oh and also, I'm probably the only person I know who will love Adam Horovitz till death do us part. It's a growing-up-in-the-80s-on-the-east-coast thing. You wouldn't understand.

Contains spoilers.

Not to generalize, heaven forbid, but REALLY. When is somebody going to give all the bored midwestern kids something to do with their time, so that they don't get hooked on smack and go off beating up their siblings and/or killing themselves or other people or family pets? When is someone going to whack all the midwestern parents upside their idiotic heads?

Otherwise, Dandelion was a nice little sleeper. I believed the characters, all of them. Look for an intriguing performance from Mare Winningham.

Is it me?

I am probably the only person I know who ...

• listens to the Avenue Q soundtrack during workouts
• includes a news article written by a friend when contesting a [insert expletive of choice] $250 parking ticket for stopping in a dangerous part of town at 10pm to drop people off at BART (thanks Ryan!)
• sings the South Park movie theme song incessantly while in mountainous areas on Sundays
• seriously considers writing Longs Drugs an angry consumer letter after trying to return something at one store, only to be told that since they don't carry that item, I have to return it to a store that does - even though the receipt clearly states "You may return merchandise purchased at Longs to any Longs Drugstore" with no caveats about inventory
• actively opts to listen to Jack Johnson

... It's me, right?

African or European?

So I'm trying to catch up on my 3-job-apps-a-day-on-my-vacation vow (so far I am 1 for 12 - woohoo!). One undisclosed company's job submission site asks you to submit your resume, then they ask a barrage of questions including "What is your work phone number?", "What is your current department?", "What is your manager's name and phone number?"

Halfway through the questions I started to read them in the Bridgekeeper's voice... "WHAT... is your current job title?" "WHAT... is your current work location?" "WHAT... is your quest?"

I think that officially means that I'm a geek. In addition to all the other reasons that qualify me.

Po-tay-toe.

For those of you who haven't heard, I recently spent four days with my brother in the Grand Canyon and Zion National Park. We had a time. A TIME, I tell ya. Having never been to either before, he was like a kid in a candy shop, and it made me appreciate the Grand Canyon that I'd seen years ago on a whole new level. I'd never been to Zion, which was part of my grand plan, and I think I saw more because he was there poking around even though he claimed not to be a hiker. Example:

AND I successfully maneuvered around any political talk without causing any sibling rife. Bonus.

What I didn't know going into this, is that he's on some variation of the Atkins diet, where he needs to eat slabs of meat approximately every 4 hours or he will become food-grumpy. This was fine, schedule-wise... Sure, you need to eat, let's take a break, we're on vacation for God's sake. Except that being in the Southwest, with every slab of meat inevitably came a potato of some sort. He was very considerate of my marathon training carb-intake needs and insisted on getting a baked potato with every meal, so that I could eat it then or take it with me. Of course most of my veggie burgers* came with fries because we were in the Southwest... But we also had microwaves in the hotel rooms, very convenient for heating up late night snacks like baked potatoes... So over the course of four days I ate a lot of freakin' potatoes.

I never thought I would say this but: if I never see a french fry or baked potato again, I will be the happiest person on the planet.** I have never been so happy to eat non-iceberg-lettuce salad and asparagus and tofu as I have been these past few days.

As for me, I only had two grumpy days (according to him). One was the second day when we were walking down a trail admiring the view and I realized it was 6:30pm. The last bus was to leave at 7:30pm, so I started to panic about finding the road and the bus stop. He was fairly patient with me while we got to the bus stop, where I proceeded to freak out because we'd just missed a bus when we arrived, and 20 minutes passed and the next bus hadn't come by (they were supposed to run every 10 minutes). Then I consulted my "Grand Canyon Guide" and noticed that the buses were only running every 30 minutes after sunset, so I calmed down slightly and then did a little "the bus is here!!" dance when it arrived. And he just nodded.

The second grumpy occasion occurred late in the trip. We parked in the Hard Rock parking lot in Vegas after 3 fun-filled days of 100% nature. (Neither of us are gambling folk, we were just killing time until the airport.) After wandering around the smoke-filled, screech-ridden, neon-infused Hard Rock Hotel for about 30 minutes I got a terrible headache and asked that we walk down to the Strip for some air. It was all downhill from there... With every sex poster or spring-break-group-of-guys-looking-to-hook-up, I got more and more ill. My brother tried to be patient with me - it had been my idea to show him Vegas after all - but I just kept saying "I hate this place" and after some key Kodak moments, he got me off the Strip and we found a place to eat in slight peace, then headed for the airport.

I've been told I'm a patient traveler, but I really have to hand it to him for putting up with me that last night.

The bus night though - that freak-out was totally justified.

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* Veggie burgers!! In Arizona!! My, how times have changed.

** Of course, all bets are off the next time I go to Barneys. Mmmmm... curly fries.

Thumbs go eh, thumbs go down.

So the end of Emily Rose (the actual exorcism part) wasn't as scary as the beginning. Maybe because I watched the second half when it was still light outside and I wasn't totally dog tired. Maybe because the second half just wasn't as creepy. Not sure. Overall, I give it an "eh." Made me think, for a few minutes. And then I returned to my atheistic ways. I do love that Laura Linney though.

On the other hand, Irreversible was like Memento (which I loved) on steroids with an awful premise. Or so I read. I wasn't able to get through more than 20 minutes of it without being bored. My mind started to wander... I started to contemplate moving back home and hanging out with my family more. I pictured flying my brother out here to help me pack up the U-Haul and drive cross-country to live in Maryland. This had nothing to do with the movie, but it freaked me out enough that I turned off the movie and won't be finishing it.

When all is said and done, I'm just trying to get through my rentals so that Netflix will send me the last season of Six Feet Under. One more to go... I think I might actually like this one.

Ladies and gentlemen, here's your moment of Zen.

Rationalization nation.

I have decided not to pursue a new kitten at this time. I know I said I was going to use the rest of my vacation to obtain and socialize said new kitten with Her Majesty. However, I think the timing is not right because I have friends staying with me next weekend, and trying to keep two cats separated with three people in a one-bedroom apartment is an overwhelming thought.

It's also pretty expensive to obtain a new kitten! Berkeley Humane Society (rightfully) asks for $100, and add to that the new toys, food, climby thing, etc, and the costs associated with making sure Her Majesty is up to par for a new addition, and... well, last year's bonus wasn't THAT great.

Oh and also. I was thinking about the undue stress this addition would cause me and Her Majesty for probably about a month. It probably wouldn't be quite as stressful as the last attempt, according to everyone I know who says cats adapt to kittens better than cats. But frankly, I just can't deal with undue stress right now. So for now I've vowed to spend more time with Her Majesty, which involves a lot of me sitting on the couch. I'm okay with that. It probably also means a lot more of this:


I'm okay with that too.

Speaking of undue stress and couching - time to finish The Exorcism of Emily Rose, which I couldn't get through last night... Um, because I was tired, not scared. Yeah, that's it. Uh huh.