Speaking of weddings...

Thursday I sent an email to some people saying "I'm not sure what value I'm adding to this project, I originally signed up to do this (which I was very interested in doing) and now I'm doing that (which I don't really have any experience or interest in doing)." Then I offered some suggestions for what I could be doing with my time that would a) be more interesting to me and b) be more valuable to the project in the long term.

The response I got was that I should take a few weeks off.

At least it wasn't a request to take a permanent vacation.

Stolen from someone who pretty much summarized my raison d'etre these days: "I'm not even a bridesmaid around here, more like a crazy relative no one wanted to invite to the wedding, but didn't really have a choice in the matter, let's sit her in the back row and hope we don't have to interact with her!"

And now for something completely different.

OK, in addition to the author's biased intro to this clip ("Enjoy this performance of a song made famous by Elton John, George Michael and Freddie Mercury!"), the final cinch... He sounds EXACTLY like Cher.

I am SOOOOO with Kathy Griffin on this one.

(Oh and also, that was kinda my favorite Elton John song, especially since Roger Daltrey remade it for the Lost Boys soundtrack. 'Til now, anyway.)

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life.

Sweet, because today two friends announced their impending nuptials. There aren't many people I clearly see as "meant for each other"* but these two definitely fit the bill. About a year ago, after way too much whiskey at the WOW! I vaguely recall gushing to the future groom about how lovely their relationship was, and how inspiring it was to me, and how I wished the best for them, and "why the hell haven't you proposed yet?!". And now here they are. To the happy couple, huzzah!

On that note. Bitter, because I am now the last single woman standing in that group of friends. Saaaay... I should get a prize! But seriously. It just makes me wonder if I'm in the right place. Most of the time I am content. Men schmen. Babies schmabies. It's only when I'm around six or seven couples, most of whom have kids or are on their way to parenthood, that I start to wonder what this life is all about. And I remember that I often don't do things because I don't have anyone to do them with, and it's always more fun to do things with other people. I think about missed opportunities (which inevitably leads down several ex-boyfriend trails followed by a few "THANK GOD I didn't marry HIM!"s). And most importantly I wonder if my friends and I will still have things to talk about in two years when everyone's a mom and I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

Crazy Aunt Jenny indeed. I'm a million different people from one day to the next. Veterinary school looks pretty competitive, from what I can tell. There don't even seem to be many vet tech schools around. Maybe I should just volunteer at the local shelter and call it a day.

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* a. I hate the phrase as a general concept, and b. most people tend to generally get along and then meld well together over time versus being clearly "meant" to be together.

In 10 words or less...

Transamerica: I loved Walk the Line, but Felicity Huffman was robbed.

Capote: I don't use this word often, but - riveting.

Grey's Anatomy, Season One: the best thing on network TV right now.

Beck at the Fillmore: Team America puppeteers, what more could you ask for?

Thumbsucker: better than Chumscrubber.

Jarhead, Hustle and Flow, Good Night and Good Luck: couldn't watch - must re-rent during the winter of our discontent.

You! Out of the gene pool!

Magician Penn Jillette has become a father for the second time after his wife, Emily, gave birth to a baby boy on Monday.

Zolten Penn Jillette was born at a Las Vegas, Nev., hospital weighing 8 pounds, 13 ounces.

Jillette says, "Zolten is a common Hungarian name, it's my wife's maiden name and most importantly, it's the name of Dracula's dog."

The couple have an 11-month-old daughter named Moxie Crimefighter.

Special invitation, just for you!

"Because you were referred to me, I wanted to personally invite you as my guest to attend the nation's #1 conference on Real Estate Investing & Total Asset Protection. At this conference you will learn how to: 1. Use the tools that other millionaires are using..."

WAIT, Reed West of Achieving Excellence. Am I a millionaire? Why do you, my junk mail, know that I'm a millionaire but I DON'T?

Oh and also, I've never seen a "formal invitation" with a P.S., a P.P.S. and a P.P.P.S. Reed West must also be a high school sophomore.* If so - L.Y.L.A.S., Reed!

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* Yeah, yeah. I use multiple P.S.'s in emails all the time. But that's email - not a formal invitation to be someone's VIP guest at a bloody $69 seminar on real estate investing.

Trendy, man.

My favorite excerpt from the help page of Google Trends:

Keep in mind that instead of measuring overall interest in a topic, Google Trends shows users' propensity to search for that topic on Google on a relative basis. For example, just because a particular region isn't on the Top Regions list for the term "haircut" doesn't necessarily mean that people there have decided to stage a mass rebellion against society's conventions. It could be that people in that region might not use Google to find a barber, use a different term when doing their searches, or simply search for so many other topics unrelated to haircuts that searches for "haircut" make up a very small portion of the search volume from that region when compared to other regions.

Is it just me, or does that explanation seem directed at our government and Dubyah himself in particular?

What's in a name? (Another pre-Friday five.)

Five things I really want to read/see/hear, based solely on their name, in no particular order:

1. this band, playing at the Independent in a few weeks
2. Bill Clinton "triangulating the war on fat"
3. How WOULD A Patriot Act? (if a patriot could chuck wood)
4. MoonPie : Biography of an Out-of-This-World Snack
5. this album by the Drive By Truckers (who get points for their own name)
   

Born in the wrong decade.

(AKA my rant for the week.)

The subject could be a parody of a fairly decent song by His Majesty The Boss, a much better parody than "Born in East LA" by Cheech and Chong. But it's true. I was born in the wrong decade.

Tonight after a few Muppet viewings I remembered that the re-aired Martin Scorsese PBS special about Bob Dylan was on tonight and tuned into that instead. While remembering how totally fucking awesome Dylan is, I also recalled the sad fact that our generation doesn't really have a cause.

I mean, there's the war, but other than cringing at the news and Daily Show every day, do we as a collective society really have any more energy to put toward fighting this? My guess, from the reactions I've seen lately, is... not really. What good has our energy to date done? None. What good will it do going forward? Not much, I'm guessing.

While driving downtown last week, I saw a street protest about the war that consisted of about 50 people walking down the street waving signs and pounding on drums. They had a cavalcade of police escorts. All I could think was, "do the downtown Oakland police really have nothing better to do than escort 50 people waving signs and chanting?" I immediately felt like an old person.

It's not that I'm against collective peaceful protests, or fighting the good fight, or anything like that. I'm just feeling a bit defeated right now. I think the Axis of Evil (or Axis of Weavels, or Axes of Weebles, or whatever the hell they're called now) has won for the moment.

On the upside (because I'm all about upsides these days) I do think that people are tired. I do think we just need a little vacation before the next ridonculous governmental mandate, and then we'll be prime for the fight.

I can't say that I don't love Masters of War, particularly Pearl Jam's remake of the song. I've said it before and I'll say it again - it's a great song overall and ironically or not, it's also a great workout song. But I currently live for the day when "all the money you made will never buy back your soul" will have some impact to people who should be impacted by it.

The pre-Friday five.

Top five corporate buzzwords or buzzphrases I never, EVER want to hear again, in no particular order:

1. "leverage"
2. "smeeee's" (for those fortunate enough to be outside of corporate life, this stands for "subject matter experts" - but it's pronounced "smeeee's" because this seems to be the only way to make corporate life tolerable)
3. "artifact"
4. "matrix reporting relationship"
5. "risk aversive"

On the upside, the 10-page buzzword-ridden document I partially wrote and completely edited, for voice and tone and stuff like that, was very well received. It's the first thing I feel like I've contributed lately, and even though I don't really know if it will be valuable to others, the aforementioned upside fact is valuable to me.

And I now hold, in my hot little hands, 604 minutes of Muppets. Do doo be-do-do be-do-do be-do-do be-do-do-doodle do do do-doo do!

And then this one time? At fat camp?

I was looking for a little inspiration today, after staying home to fight a bug I apparently contracted yesterday after several doses of novocaine and 30 minutes of drilling at the dentist, plus a really hot apartment for several hours when I got home, plus the aforementioned salmon debacle.

Also yesterday, my stylist had to cancel my eagerly-awaited haircut appointment to go to the emergency room (the AUDACITY!)... so that didn't really help my mood.* Plus my leg hurt from Sunday's run, so I probably couldn't have run my 30 minute maintenance run today anyway... so that didn't really help my mood. And the NSA is tracking every call I make, but no one will tell me who keeps trying to fax me something at all hours of the night... And Britney is going to rap... And they kicked Chris off American Idol... Bah, bah, bah. But hey, at least I wasn't at work.

I channel-surfed for about 30 minutes - breezing past HGTV, skipping a "raising baby clouded leopards" special on Animal Planet, not pushing the + button fast enough when I landed on "the fabulous lives of..." and FOX news.

And then I found Fat Camp.

OK, I thought - kids losing weight, that could be inspiring. Five minutes into it I realized that the actual fat camp was a side story. OH MY GOD the drama. I forgot what it's like to be 13, 14, 15 and socially awkward, emotionally volitile, and subject to the superficialities and overall jackassedness of other teenagers.

And that was my inspiration. I'm in my thirties now. Never again will I have to go through that hell. It's all gravy from here.

Or so I hear. :)

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* Of course I pray she's well. If not now, then by Thursday at my rescheduled time, so she can cut my freakin' hair. Kidding. (Sorta.)

Salmon for dummies... indeed.

Next time you're in Trader Joe's, and you see pre-packaged salmon in a bag, marinated with dill and lemon, and you just have to pop the bag in the oven for 10 minutes and the salmon is ready to eat... DON'T DO IT.

I have finally learned my lesson. I am never, ever, EVER buying pre-packaged fish again. It's all fancy restaurant fish from here on out. Nevermore will meat enter this apartment.

Bleeeeaaaaaahhhhh...

[Editor's belated note: in retrospect, I actually think the salmon was fine - not the greatest fish I've ever had, but edible and I didn't have to touch raw fish, which is what I was going for. I think it was the combo of a bloody hot apartment and novocaine/drilling earlier in the day that all added up to BLECH.]

It's a musical emergency. Or a spell.

Tonight I was fixing dinner while Her Majesty literally sat at my feet and whined. She'd already been fed her daily dose of squishy food, most of which was still sitting there prime for the taking. And it was the kind she tended to slurp down immediately - lobster and chicken, mmmmm. Bleah.

I kept looking at her in an exasperated manner, asking what she wanted. At some point I went against every better judgement I've ever had, and broke into that song by the Spice Girls. And I was fairly appalled at how many of the words I knew.

Then, for no explicable reason, I started bursting into random Motown songs for the next several minutes... At least I didn't burst into flames.

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She's otherwise fine, as far as I can tell. I'm thinking she just needs a permanent lap.

I [heart] Kathy Griffin.

No reason for the subject, other than I'm watching one of her specials right now and she's totally dogging on Oprah, while admiring her at the same time. Genius.

So I'm trying to offload all my extraneous CD cases via Craig's List, and it's turning into quite the ordeal. I offered first picks to the first person who replied, who luckily lives about a mile from me, but we keep missing each other. Meanwhile about 83 people have replied asking if they are still available. Do I ignore the first replier (is that even a word?) and just get rid of this stuff? Or do I remain loyal to the first replier and play phone tag for all eternity (or until we can coordinate schedules)?

I'm currently following the latter advice. I think this explains a lot about why I'm still in my current job.

Look what I made!

I was going to use up my last two tomatoes in the veggie taco mix I was making for dinner. They were organic, and I should've eaten them eons ago, but I hadn't. When I sliced them open, I discovered that they had other plans for their last days on this earth:


(That's the clearest shot I could get - damn this fancy schmancy camera.) I've never seen seeds sprout inside a tomato before. Tomatoprocreation. It's pretty freakin' cool.

Her Majesty, on the other hand, is indifferent to the matter.

More fun with iPods.

(Cribbed from Connie who cribbed it from someone else. I'm dog tired, despite sleeping till 2pm today, but I just can't resist shit like this. And no, I didn't cheat... although it might look like I did with some of the songs that came up.)

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see you?
Poor Places, Wilco ("they cried all over overseas - it makes no difference to me - it's hot in the poor places tonight - I'm not going outside")
Well, I have been a bit of a hermit lately...

Will I have a happy life?
The Celibate Life, The Shins ("you'll learn to live like a mouse, searching the cracks in the floor to remember all the dregs in the crowd you barely recall")
Wow the title doesn't really bode well, and the song itself doesn't get much better. Greaaaat.

What do my friends really think of me?
Down, Pearl Jam ("won't let the light escape from me - won't let the darkness swallow me")
So I'm tough despite my weak exterior. OK, I can get behind that.

What do people secretly think of me?
Dead in the Water, David Gray ("sell it like it is - it’s like the old man says - we’re dead in the water now")
Jesus, I need some happy music.

How can I be happy?
Handshake Drugs, Wilco ("oh I was chewin' gum for something to do - the blinds were being pulled down on the dew - inside, out of love, what a laugh - I was looking for you")
Or maybe I just need some of those handshake drugs.

Will I ever have children?
If I Had $1 Million, Barenaked Ladies ("if I had a million dollars - I'd buy you a monkey - haven't you always wanted a monkey?")
Hmm... monkeys ARE as much work as small children, I hear... and I've never said "I want a child" but I have said "I want a monkey."

What is some good advice for me?
So Whatcha Want, Beastie Boys ("you can't front on that")
No fronting. Check.

How will I be remembered?
Movie Star, Cracker ("the movie star, well she crashed her car - but everyone said she was beautiful even without her head")
'Nuff said.

What is my signature dancing song?
Pacific Theme, Broken Social Scene
It's an instrumental song. But probably one of the few I would dance to without prodding, actually.

What do I think my current theme song is?
Stayin' Alive, Bee Gees ("feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’, and we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive - ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive")
Yeah, that sounds about right.

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
You Just Have to Be Crazy, Grant Lee Buffalo ("you just have to be crazy don't you - you just have to be out of your mind")
I don't think everyone knows just how true this really is.

What song will play at my funeral?
I'm Still Standing, Elton John ("don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did - looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid")
This is just weird.

What is my day going to be like?
Window Seat, John Wesley Harding ("And I know I’ve got the whole world at my feet in my window seat...")
I can dig it.

Girls, rock your boys.

I have no idea what's on my iPod anymore. While making a playlist today, I ran across a song by Sufjan Stevens called "Come on! Feel the Illinoise!"

Also, I just noticed the song list for a Z-Trip CD, which I got at some show a while back, that reads:

1. This CD
2. Is Strictly
3. Promo Only
4. If You Are Holding
5. This In Your Hand
6. Consider Yourself Lucky.
7. Again, I Only Did
8. A Small Run Of
9. These For A Reason.
10. This Is Just To
    
11. Hold You Over
12. 'til The Major Label
13. Album Drops.

Pretty sneaky, sis.

Bad news, good news.

The bad news: I have been instructed by several doctors not to run the scheduled 18 miles tomorrow.

The good news: I DON'T HAVE TO RUN 18 MILES TOMORROW - YEEEEEHAW! As I sit here enjoying my glass of wine, looking forward to sleeping in and enjoying fun with friends tomorrow night, I have to say that I am very happy about that.

The other good news: There's apparently nothing seriously wrong, I just need to rest my leg and do my stretches and I should be OK. And also, I'm only halfway through the training so if I recover well from this, all should be fine for the next few months. Better to take a break halfway through, than have this hit 3 weeks prior to the marathon - or run through the pain and cause major injury.

Oh, and also - I DON'T HAVE TO RUN 18 MILES TOMORROW - YEEEEEHAW!

The agony of defeat.

Nothing like spending a totally enjoyable full day at work with people you actually really like, followed by an evening at unpaid-second-job with people you really like, and then coming home to a letter stating that your $250 parking ticket appeal was denied despite your best efforts and newspaper citations/article inclusions and the fact that it was a totally bogus ticket to begin with.

BAH.

That said, other than Her Majesty replaying scenes from "She Hate Me"* for the past week because I've been coming home late and going straight to the computer to finish up things for work and then going right to bed, I'm feeling much better than I did on Monday. I'm still bummed about my leg - the prognosis from the orthopedic doctor yesterday wasn't really promising ("I've never seen anything like this... bodies weren't meant to run 26 miles... why not sign up for a half marathon instead... I'm getting you to a physical therapist... etc etc"), but we'll see what the PT says tomorrow.

In part I think I don't want to come to terms with signing up for the half (versus the whole) because I know it will blow my whole motivated regimine out of the water, and I feel like I've already gained 5 pounds this week just from "resting."

Also I have about 50 people who ask me how it's going all the time, and honestly, I don't want to let them down. It's really dumb - they aren't going to be the ones pushing my wheelchair around when I rip all the tendons and ligaments in my legs to shreds. But still they motivate me.

On the other hand, being able to walk when I'm 50 is kinda appealing...

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* No, I didn't actually watch that crap. It's just the only thing that comes to mind when I glance over and see the cold glares of annoyance radiating from the small ball of fur that is clearly resenting the fact that I'm not sitting on the couch with a free, warm lap.

It's the little things.

Seriously.

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No kittens were drugged in the making of this video. (I hope.)

"Cleanliness is godliness, and god is empty just like me."

Nothing like a little upbeat Smashing Pumpkins line in the subject to set the stage for this post.

Up until recently, when I was depressed I would clean like mad. LIKE MAD. Nothing was spared - the closets, the grout in the bathroom, the windows... nothing.

Lately I find that depression equals a messy home. I can't even tell you how many clothes are in that pile that need ironing, how disgusting my oven is right now (to the point where I've unplugged my smoke detector because every time I turn on the oven, the damn thing goes off... hopefully the building won't catch fire before I actually clean it and reassemble the smoke detector), how long it's been since I vaccumed. Never mind the safety issues. Given an uber-sheddy cat who has no regard for how much spare litter she gets all over the place, and the fact that I've done nothing about it... It's quite clear to me that I'm depressed.

So today, after coming to terms with my depression, I finally consented to watching North Country. I got this from Netflix several weeks ago in an effort to catch up with my post-Oscar viewings, but haven't had the patience to sit through it until now. I've been told by various people (of the non-work variety) that I needed to watch this film because of its underlying community organizing message, but after a particularly grueling day at work today, I thought I could use some inspiration.

It was inspiring. And it was based on a true story. And I was moved to tears at the appropriate places and I think they all deserved their respective Oscar nominations. But all in all, it was a Hollywood flick with a happy ending. I am no more inspired to take grassroots efforts in order to make corporate life a better place, than I was before watching it. I'm no less inspired to stop looking for a new job in a new place that's a little more functional than the one I'm in now, and I'm no more optimistic that any other job will be any better than this one. I'm no less annoyed and antagonistic about the prospect of waking up tomorrow to get through yet another day.

And worst of all - or perhaps in addition to all this - my leg. STILL. FUCKING. HURTS. And the EasyOff I sprayed is still sitting in the kitchen sink on the oven accessories (read = burner plates, not actual oven which is a whole other project), probably destroying the lungs of myself and Her Majesty as I type, preventing me from making a tasty heated snack that I am so craving right now. And no one has called in response to the 9 million applications I have sent out over the past few weeks.

On the upside, I do have food in my pantry and water in my faucet and a warm comfy bed to retire to in a little while, with books a'plenty should I choose to read them. And Her Majesty isn't too pissed at me for taking a shitload of flash-filled pictures of her tonight as she lounged cutely on the sofa. (None turned out well, but her lounging was cute. Believe me.) And I've got motrin to accommodate the PMS I am so clearly suffering from right now. So I've got that going for me.

I just wish tomorrow was Thursday. That's all.