I smell high maintenance!

OK. Nothing really came of my last effort at online dating - and by that I mean MY LAST EFFORT AT ONLINE DATING. Nothing, except for one guy who I corresponded with twice and since then, he has sent me five follow up emails reminding me of his existence.

It doesn't help that all those emails go to an address I don't remember to monitor regularly, and it doesn't help that I've been monumentally busy lately, and it doesn't help that this is the last thing I want to get involved with at the moment.

But seriously? When motorcycle boy didn't write back, I let it go. When indie music boy didn't write back, I let it go. When teacher boy didn't write back, I let it go. It's the nature of online dating.

Attention, single dad: LET. IT. GO.

(OK, I'll be nice and send him a "let it go" email. But seriously.)

Celebreality.

Oh, sigh. Sigh. SIGH.

See? Gene Simmons gets it. Even crazy Mariah Carey gets it. The rest of the world - WTF?

Public service announcement (bordering on an advertisement).

I realize we are in the digital age, man, where CDs are, like, all obsolete and shit.

But if you're like me, you have a bunch of CDs you have no need for anymore because of said digital age, and you're craving all those CDs you sold in college (or lost in breakups) and never repurchased, and spending $10 on iTunes isn't really that appealing.

If you're more like me, you tried to condense your CD stash by pulling them all out of their cases (keeping the front cover art) and donating the cases to random art projects via Craig's List. So what was once a 5-bookshelf collection is now a 7"x7"x24" collection.

And if you're even more like me, you have a 7"x7"x24" collection of CDs taking up space but you don't want to throw them away because they're not recyclable, and you can't take them to Amoeba because they wouldn't want it in the first place. In fact they would probably laugh at you for bringing it in. ("The Bee Gees Greatest Hits. Uh... no thanks." Clearly they haven't read this post.)

So. If you are like me, you should sign up for this cool new CD trading service. It's super easy - it uploads all the music you have stored on your computer, you add any others not stored on your computer and indicate which CDs you want to keep (for me, it's all my grunge, anything sentimental and anything I bought digitally that I can't legally trade), you browse others' CDs to add to your own want list, the company sends you shipping materials and you pay a mere $1.75 when someone ships you something from your want list. And you ship your crap you don't want anymore to people who want your crap. And they pay a mere $1.75 to receive it.

It's quite ingenious. It's almost like the eBay of CD recycling. Over the past month I've managed to get rid of things like The Jayhawks, Lucinda Williams (don't tell Kim), Cake, and a lot of stuff I bought secondhand in the first place and didn't end up liking. Of course, I kept a burned copy in case I change my mind in six months and want to listen to all that stuff.

In return I've completed my Too Much Joy and Dead Milkmen collections, built up my Beatles and Run DMC collections and recovered a copy of the DGC Rarities that I loved in 1994. (I had tape versions of all of those, but seriously, TAPES? That's like, soooo 19th century, man.)

And today the standard company CD case (ironically for a Dead Milkmen CD) included a hand-written political message, "Vote Ron Paul for President, 2008" (no hyperlink because I cannot in good conscious support that), which of course inspired me to start writing "Stewart/Colbert 2008" on all the CD cases I send out.

So here's the true public service announcement, brought to you by the Dead Milkmen:

The man said "Keep your head and arms inside the mixer at all times." But Bill Jr., he was a daredevil, just like his old man. He was leaning out saying, "Hey everybody! Look at me, look at me!" POW! He was decapitated. They found his head over by the snowcone concession.

"Curse you, Whole Paycheck!"

In case you live in a cave, the new Whole Foods opened this morning.

I'm not sure Oaktown is ready for all this patchouli, bulk granola, soy cheese, bring-your-own-bag, $12/pound salad bar hipster nonsense (newfound or natural). Or ready for, as the article states, "the progressive, food-sophisticated, dynamic and diverse culture of Oakland and the surrounding communities."

Now, don't get me wrong. I've been as excited about this, as I have been for the two new Trader Joe's (Trader Joes's? Trader Ji?) to open near my apartment. Being able to walk there for lunch, or to shop after work, do ONE LOOP in the grocery store and catch the bus home with my millions of dollars of fancy schmancy grocery items, is very appealing.

But seriously? It took me 10 extra minutes in my lousy 10-minute commute to get home this evening due to all the commotion and traffic. The people sitting in the cafe got an amusing view of me literally shaking my fist at the store while screaming the subject line of this post as I drove by...

I suppose the joke will be on me tomorrow when I stop for coffee (and the obligatory perusal) before heading into the office!

Where pirates meet grammar naziiiiiiiiiiis...

I am filled with remorse for not posting something on International Talk Like a Pirate Day. But now I can combine that with National Punctuation Day and be at peace with myself.

Ahoy matey: I be needin' t' recognize something... (International Talk Like a Pirate Day) "Did ye know [I hope so]?" I ask ye, Dear Reader. Avast - all out of ideas t'incorporate pirates and punctuat'n.

-- GAAAARRR!

This post brought to you by lack of sleep daily for the last week. Hopefully you at least now have "Soul Meets Bodeeeeeeeeeeeeeey" in your heads.

"Sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time is."

(Which is why I'm writing this even though I'm sooooo tired.)

The difference between a Wilco show and an Arcade Fire show is that after a Wilco show, you kinda feel like this. Whereas after an Arcade Fire show, you kinda feel like this.

It probably helped that all the elements were perfect - real actual lightning was striking in the background, the opening act was fairly amazing in their own sense, the crowd knew every word to every song and the band loved that the crowd sang along, no weirdos were sitting in front of me, and my seat was in row 13 with a perfect view. Maybe I had a slight advantage because I'd seen a video of them live - maybe on the Coachella DVD? - and was impressed and intrigued.

But really, I think it was because the band is just amazing live. Even if the songs don't stray too far from the CD version when played live (there is no need for them to stray), the energy and theatrics that come along with the songs are unforgettable, and therefore I conclude that anyone who remotely likes that song "Rebellion" but hasn't seen them yet is a dumb-dumb head.

Early Friday five.

Top five examples that suggest that the Democratic Party should consider taking the Program Evaluation class I'm currently taking due to their inability to formulate an unbiased question in the survey I received in the mail today, in no particular order:

• "Thinking about Democrats' role in the 2008 campaigns, which of the following strategies do you think is the key to electing Democrats in 2008? Please choose one answer only." (My personal favorite option is, "Democrats need to invest in all smart and strategic plans in order to win in 2008." Way to avoid specificity and accountability!)
• "How important is eliminating the Republican culture of corruption in Congress to restoring the public's faith in our government?"
  
• "How aggressively should Democrats investigate potentially illegal and unconstitutional actions by the Bush administration?"
  
• "Should the Medicare prescription drug benefit plan be reformed to make it less confusing to seniors?"
  
• "How seriously will the Republican failure to fully fund the No Child Left Behind Act impact our children's future?"

It's almost as if answering "not important," "not aggressively," "no the Medicare plan is JUST GREAT" or "not seriously" should have in parenthesis "(note: choosing this option will make you look like an asshole)."

The other thing that kills me about this survey is the part on universal health care: "Should every American be guaranteed access to quality health care?" "Should Congress take steps to extend universal health care coverage to every child?" "Should Congress extend health care coverage to all low-income Americans who can't afford health insurance?"

The answer options are all black and white, yes and no. Where is the "well of course but not before you show me how the hell we are going to pay for it without it detracting from all the other woefully underfunded social services due to spending trillions of dollars on an unwinnable war and without increasing the minimum wage we're not France or Canada for Christ's sake" option when you need it?

(See? I'm a rational liberal, not a crazy left winger. I am!)

Tin or aluminum? Gee...

If the ten-year wedding anniversary is something made of tin or aluminum, I think I will get divorced at year nine. Actually, I'm not too keen on year one either - paper? - ... unless it's in the form of cold hard cash. "No, honey, I don't want your cheap ass card saying happy anniversary, but I'd love a Benjamin. Or two. Thanks."

Today is my ten-year anniversary of the day I arrived in the Bay Area. Ten years ago tonight, I was in a motel in Vallejo with my boyfriend and his friend who moved out here with us. All of our worldly possessions were in three cars outside, we'd just spent almost two weeks on the road in our last "hurrah" before getting "real jobs," we were getting drunk on a couple bottles of port to celebrate our arrival in Californ-i-a, and we were watching fuzzy HBO (Oz, if memory serves). Said friend later puked on the rug, which was REALLY pleasant for the rest of the week we stayed there while looking for an apartment.

Tonight I'm sitting comfortably amidst all my worldly possessions, drinking just one glass of wine to celebrate, before I watch the Food Network, then the Daily Show, then go to bed.

I think one could say I've grown up a bit over the years.

I couldn't possibly make this stuff up.

What, you ask? Why, this. And this.

Oh, and also, this. (I said I couldn't possibly make this stuff up... I didn't say anyone else couldn't.)

Where was this feature in 1996?

Thanks to a new GoogleMaps feature which lets you drag and drop if you want to change the route to your destination, I have recreated (approximately) my first cross country road trip:


It's not perfect because we actually went eleven thousand some odd miles, and this trip is only nine thousand some odd miles... but it's pretty darn close.

I {heart} Google.

Man's best friend.

I'm sorry, but I just can't look at a large man walking a rat dog and not think that they both look absolutely ridiculous.

And now, it's peanut butter jelly time! (With a baseball bat!)

[Follow-up: there was NO peanut butter at the Peanut Butter Jam. What false advertising.]

Like a bridge over troubled water.

I already know I'm not going to do this post justice, but bear with me.

Last night I watched The Bridge. I kinda wished I'd watched this The Bridge instead, or this version, or even - God forbid - this version, but alas, I did not.

I don't even know what to say about this documentary. Part of me was absolutely furious that this was acceptable as a film. Seriously? You stand a quarter mile away from a bridge and film people jumping off it for a year? You are not at least partially responsible for their death? Wouldn't your time and your documentary have been better off standing on the bridge talking people down from their death?

The other part of me was fascinated. Not with watching people fall to their deaths - which this film does show, and it was horrifying, ye be warned - but with the thought process demonstrated by the family members/friends of those who jumped.

I've known a few suicidal people in my life who thankfully didn't end up going through with it for various reasons (heavy medication and/or 24 hour family/friend surveillance and/or incarceration in one way or another) and I've experienced how difficult it can be to "talk someone down" from wanting to end their life.

Throughout the film I had mixed feelings toward the family members and friends who described their loved ones with straight faces and no tears, and I wondered - did they really do everything in their power to save their family member or friend...? But in the end, who am I to judge? All accounts indicated that they did what they knew how to do, and their feelings of frustration and helplessness and subsequent exhaustion and straight-facedness (as heartbreaking as they were) were understandable. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, this was the best resolution for the men and women who jumped.

I hate the idea that the Golden Gate Bridge seems to romanticize this option for those who have no hope for anything better. Or even make it easy for people. When my brother visited a few years ago and we walked across the bridge, he and I were both actually surprised to see all the "emergency call boxes" - I had no idea how frequently this type of thing occurred. Twenty-some deaths in 2004, and surely the number grows by the year.

I'm not pro-wires or nets or whatever to prevent people from jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. What I am "pro" is for us a society to take a good hard look at why so many people are depressed and what we can realistically do about it.

Attention, future new president of the USA: How about, out with the reactive, in with the proactive. In this instance and in so many other instances. We need an FDR, a JFK, an MLK. And we need them NOW.

Friday five.

Top five excerpts from my 2007 "The Office" daily calendar (no, not that Office, or that Office, or even that Office, calendar but now I want all of those), which I ripped through to December 31st tonight because I just couldn't stand the suspense, or I needed the desk space, whatever, in no particular order:

• Murphy's Work Law - You will always get the greatest recognition for the job you least like.
• Useful Phrases for Coworkers - I see you've set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.
• Job Performance Terminology - "Approaches difficult problems with logic": Finds someone else to do the job.
• The Stages of an Employee - Executive: Despite having vast riches and grown children, chooses to come to work because it's fun. Says things like, "We need more market penetration in Liberia" and, over the next few months, it happens. If it doesn't, the executive must do even more work by saying, "Why don't we have market penetration in Liberia?" Magically, it happens and executive is called a visionary. Life is great!*
• From The Official Rules at Work: The principal function of an advanced design department nowadays is to keep up with the public relations department.
  

________________
* I once had a high-up boss who would breeze through the office making obscure requests. At first we would scramble to achieve these obscure requests, only to find that by the time we presented her with our results, she'd forgotten about her request. We eventually took the stance of ignoring them until they were repeated at least three times, at which point we would scramble to achieve the obscure request. It saved us hours, upon hours, upon hours. Seriously.

I knew his voice sounded familiar.

I've heard Daniel Handler on KFOG many, many times speaking "on behalf of Lemony Snicket." I've never read the books, I didn't see the movie, and I really have no interest in ever doing either, but I always found his radio appearances rather amusing.

Tonight I got to watch Daniel Handler interview Ben Gibbard at the Palace of Fine Arts. Except I didn't know I was watching him until now, when I clicked this link. I just thought he was the funny guy who was a friend of Gibbard's who was interviewing Gibbard. (Clearly, I bypassed the program stack on the way in.) I also didn't know that he has played with the Magnetic Fields, Stars and The Mountain Goats (who I learned about in Seattle earlier this year). From his radio appearances I would've guessed that he was older.

On the other hand, I did know I was watching Ben Gibbard. That's kinda who I paid $21 to see. For a few minutes during the interview I was amazed at the fact that I'm a year older than him, yet he is so much more articulate and talented than I could ever hope to be. And I marveled at all the failed relationships that he's written songs about, and I wished for a moment that I'd had dozens of failed relationships that I could write songs about. He's lived more than I have. He's seen more than I have. And he's younger than me.

Then I realized that I had plenty of failed relationships I could write songs about, but instead I've chosen to move on (for the most part). Pictures, emails, mix tapes, letters have all long since been thrown away and forgotten (for the most part). But he's got to sing those songs about those failed relationships often and with energy.

So actually, I don't envy him one bit.

Raise your hand if you're sure.

I have this nasty habit of obsessing over decisions I make that are pending a final result. During the "pending" phase I'm always convinced that I made the wrong call, and that the result will be completely disastrous, and that I'll be left with a lot of clean up (or eating crow, or admitting I was wrong, or... well, you get the picture).

In the end things almost always work out fine. In fact, I can't think of one time when something I've obsessed about has actually been disastrous. Slightly askew, sure. Not 100% resolved, absolutely. But disastrous? Never.

I can already tell that tonight is going to be one of those obsessing nights.

SIGH.

I wish I had something funny to say to end this post. Oh wait, here's a joke: What do you call a cow that won't give milk? A milkdud!

"Hey, I thought I put iTunes back on shuffle..."

"... oh, I did, it's just an 18-minute Decemberists song. That's all."

Show me one other band that can make an 18-minute song that fakes you out and makes you think it's several completely different songs rather than just one song, and I'll give you $10.

And in this week's "guilty pleasure" news, has anyone besides me noticed that the chorus in "Song Sung Blue" sounds a little like "Do Re Mi" from the Sound of Music? (Not that I worship Neil Diamond or watched the Sound of Music two of the three nights it was on over Labor Day weekend, or anything.)

And in other normal news, after today I officially go back to "no way." At the craft store I overheard several moms repeating "put that back, put that down, put that back, put that down..." in what appeared to be a robotic voice.

Then on the walk home from the drugstore this evening I saw a family of four out for a stroll, or what seemed to be a stroll, until I passed the mom and older son and overheard the mom saying "you need to let me know EXACTLY where you are and EXACTLY when you'll be home ALL THE TIME do you hear me" and the dad and younger son walking about 50 feet behind, and the dad saying "you can't just go picking fights with kids smaller than you..."

And now I'm drinking a little wine, and I might just have cheese and crackers for a late dinner, and I'm getting ready to watch a curse-word-riddled movie, and let me just tell you. LIFE IS GOOD.

They paved paradise...

... and painted over the happy face. :(

Really late Friday five.

Five bands from my college days that apparently still exist, in no particular order:

• Gene Loves Jezebel, playing at the Red Devil Lounge in November
• The Pogues, playing at the Fillmore in October
• The Jesus and Mary Chain, also playing at the Fillmore in October
  
• Ween, playing at the Warfield in November
• The Waterboys, playing at the Fillmore in November

And one band I'm SO HAPPY still exists: the Decemberists, playing FOUR NIGHTS at the Fillmore in November. La de da de da.

Post-Friday five.

I've been reading this book, Maybe Baby, that I got when I renewed my Salon membership a while back. It was borne (pun intended) out of a letter to the editor of Salon asking for more articles about people who choose not to have children, and it's broken into three sections: No Way, Maybe, and Yes Please.

There are many, many reasons I currently have no desire to have kids, including but not limited to selfishness, wanting to move to Hermitville USA, barely remembering to feed the cat, barely tolerating said cat who WON'T SHUT UP EVER, flashbacks from babysitting Satan's offspring as a teenager, I'm only 32 freakin' years old already, and my mom's warning: "Don't have kids."

Notwithstanding the foregoing*, I bring you five reasons I might actually want to have kids someday, in no particular order:

• Stories about kids I don't know, including this one about the Squiggle.
• Stories about my oldest friend's kid, including the one about the soft plush frog I sent him for his second birthday that he loved so much that he dragged it around muttering "ribbit ribbit ribbit" under his breath for days.
  
• More stories about kids I don't know, like this one about Leta. If I ever become a mom, I will emulate Heather in almost every single way.
  
• Stories about my local friends' kids, many of which involve pirate-related photos or tales.**
  
• And more stories about kids I don't know, like this one about Nora (scroll down to THIS WEEK'S NORA section).

So, I'm not saying Yes Please but I'm also not saying No Way.

This is a big step for me.

A big, scary step.

________________
* I've been reading a lot of lawyer gobbledygook lately. This is one phrase I really Just. Don't. Get. Why not just say, "but anyway..." or "despite everything I just said..." or "with the following exception..." Silly, pretentious lawyers. {To my lawyer friend: notwithstanding the foregoing... To everyone else: silly, pretentious lawyers.}

** The youngsters might not appreciate this place as much as I did last night, but it's definitely worth checking out the first Friday of each month. Free rum for wearing pirate gear? GAAAAR.

Note to self.

Note to self: if you haven't run more than 5 miles in the past 3 weeks, perhaps you should start off with a long walk.

I thought I would be just fine. It's not like I haven't done that 5-mile run a million times in the past year. (Well, okay maybe I've done that particular run 20 times, but whatever.) Man. Ten minutes into it and I was DONE. DONE DONE DONE. I forced myself to walk the 5 miles instead, and tried to pick up the run again halfway through, but it didn't work. I found myself breathing heavy and lightheaded.

The breathing wasn't really surprising but the lightheadedness was a little alarming. It's not like it was hot, or sunny, or even early morning. It's not like I hadn't eaten my new diet of "nothing but carbs" all week (even pasta and bread for lunch today) along with tons of water. I hoped that my lightheadedness was due to the fact that I was wearing very old glasses (I worry too much that I'll break my new glasses if I run in them, and my semi-old glasses are all scratched up now). But even after a shower, grocery store run and another glass of water I bent down to pet the cat and when I stood up, I had to hold onto the wall.

Weird. I think this calls for a(nother) night on the couch. DARN!

Like rubbernecking while a train collides full speed into an existing car wreck.

GOOD LORD (no pun intended), what was I thinking?

Actually, it was... well, it was pretty much what the subject of this post says it was. And in addition, very well directed and pieced together.

{shudder} Must go shower now.

My latest impression of Homer Simpson.

So I was downtown at the annual Art & Soul festival this afternoon, and sometime between Luce and Lucinda Williams (who both rocked, by the way) I got a little hungry. The following is a re-enactment of my thought process as I wandered through the streets in search of a snack:

"Let's see what they have... BBQ, chicken on a stick, fried chicken, french fries, garlic fries, fried catfish, fried twinkies {insert Homer shudder}... Jesus. It's like, NINE THOUSAND DEGREES, do they really think all people want is fried - OOH! Hush puppies!"

I haven't had hush puppies since I was about eight years old. There was a once-good-turned-bad-turned-condemned all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant near my house growing up, and once or twice a year my dad would treat us to dinner there (we went during the "good" days). I always got the same thing - popcorn shrimp and hush puppies. All I could eat fried goodness.

After standing in line for 10 minutes I eagerly placed my order for hush puppies. The woman behind the counter sighed and said, "we're out of hush puppies." I literally could not stop my lower lip from poking out in protest. "Oh. OK, thanks anyway," I said, and I turned and - "OOH! Samosas!"

________________
Oddly, the once-really-good-turned-really-bad Chinese restaurant was in the same shopping center as the seafood restaurant. And the once-really-good Shakey's Pizza Place turned into a laundromat, the Hechinger's (east coast hardware store chain) turned into a Walmart and the Denny's turned into a strip club. I honestly believe that the whole neighborhood went to hell in a handbasket when I went off to college. "And the pool hall I loved as a kid is now a 7-11..."

Oh, and also? My new business plan involves a traveling fresh fruit, yogurt and granola stand that I can take to all the local summer festivals throughout the Bay Area. I figure I'll work about 15 days a year and make A FORTUNE.

Show me the money.

WAY TOO MUCH FOOD NETWORK VIEWING ON A SUNNY SATURDAY AFTERNOON LATER... I decided today that I would eat meat again if someone would pay me to taste-test. I'd happily go diner to diner, I'd joyfully ride a motorcycle across the country, I'd willingly tour the world in search of the best bacon and egg omelet, or fried chicken, or kangaroo burger.

Seriously. Alton? Call me.

Oscar mania!

Five years later, I finally watched (or attempted to watch) these Oscar-nominated movies:

The Aviator. OK, I got this one through Netflix and it sat next to the TV for about three weeks. Thursday evening it was showing on cable so I watched enough of it to appreciate Leo's performance, and also to know that I didn't really want to watch the whole movie.

The Queen. I can see why it won all those awards. It occurred to me while I was watching it, that I don't often think about the fact that England has a Queen who they have to curtsy to. If I ever had to curtsy to George Bush I think I would kill myself.

Little Children. I guess it was well done, but I'm rather tired of movies about adults who can't get their shit together.

I need to reassess my Netflix queue.

________________
I'm not sure what I actually learned in school about England and the Queen, but I just spent about 45 minutes refreshing my knowledge on the subject. I can't believe the amount of responsibility that comes along with being the Queen.

I also can't believe that, given her history, her apparent lack of tolerance for bullshit and her viewpoints on certain things, that she is such good friends with Bush. Maybe it's all a big conspiracy to add the United States to the laundry list of countries she currently reigns supreme over (Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Jamaica, Barbados, the Bahamas, Grenada, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Antigua and Barbuda, Belize, and Saint Kitts and Nevis). SERIOUSLY? I want to be Queen of Saint Lucia.