"There is no spoon..."

There is also no empty bedroom closet. There is no large box you are not ever allowed to scratch EVER DO YOU HEAR ME where the table and chairs used to be. There are no walls without pictures. There is no ginormous pile of crap for the Salvation Army. There is no pile of flattened empty boxes you are not ever allowed to scratch EVER DO YOU HEAR ME NOW CUT IT OUT. There is no bookshelf without books, there are no Buffy DVDs in hiding, there are no balcony plants that have gone m.i.a., there are no strangers constantly freecycling in the apartment.

This is what I keep telling Her Majesty to try to get her to shut the fuck up already.

Yes, things are in disarray. No, I'm not comfortable either. Now shut the fuck up already. This time next week you'll be even more miserable. Enjoy your carpet and your corduroy chair and your broken water filtration system that just spits unfiltered water every hour or so in your general direction while you have them, already.

Maybe I should just show her this instead. A little Uri Geller never hurt anyone, furry or otherwise.

I tried really hard to make this a pre-Friday five of SF Gate Dishing.

First I read this and laughed:
In response to the allegations [of Charlie Sheen being accused of spending a monumental amount of money on an escort service], Sheen's publicist Stan Rosenfield tells Page Six, "This is an old, old, old story. But, if you're looking for a really good story, I heard that Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe are getting a divorce."

Then I saw these two headlines and laughed:
Remains of Waters' Missing Pig Found;
Black Eyed Peas Reject China Boycott

(Because yes, the image of actual black eyed peas rejecting anything is hilarious. Think about it.)

But that was all. The rest is just drivel and, well... who really cares? Please enjoy the first ever "Wednesday three"... And marvel at the fact that I still know what day it is. Have I mentioned that voluntary unemployment rocks?

An actual IM with my friend who is experienced in long-distance moves.

me: so... when packing clothes in boxes, should i also put them in plastic bags first?
her: i never did
me: do the clothes end up smelling like boxes or trucks? what if another box in the truck explodes spilling someone else's olive oil all over my clothes boxes?
her: i've never had that happen
me: o-kay.....
her: but if you want to be on the safe side
her: pack in plastic
her: then wrap up with tape
her: then put in bubble wrap
her: then roll up with a drop cloth or tarp
her: then retape
me: EFF YOOO
her: LOL
me: ... sigh
me: ... you actually had me until the bubble wrap
her: LOL

Public service announcement.

I finally caved too, and Connie was right.

She's crafty.

I was embellishing on a scrapbook from a group of friends the other day. There were far too few drunken banter photos, so I pulled a bunch out of my archives and added them in. Mostly for my own amusement, but also to give any future viewers a true "picture" of the gang. ;) Suddenly - finally! - I got an inspiration for a Mother's Day gift.

See, I think I started buying Mother's Day gifts when I was about 8 years old, which means that for at least 5 years she got handmade macaroni necklaces or handmade Sunday school Mother's Day cards with glitter that got all into the carpet (but that she probably has saved anyway). And that for the remaining MANY years I've scratched my head every May and tried to come up with something creative. Usually it ended up being flowers or a Paul Simon CD or something else I ran across at the last minute. But this year I decided to make Mom a scrapbook (of sorts) of family photos for Mother's Day. Unemployment has its privileges, after all.

Although I bought the smallest photo album in the world (it only holds 24 photos), it was surprisingly still a struggle to find 24 photos of me and her/the entire fam/me and my bro (which she particularly likes)/her and my bro. (Lesson to all: take more family photos!)

But after some scrounging and a lot more Martha-Stewarting, I'm quite happy with how it turned out and I think she will be too. Here's the cover art:

The album mostly contains photos from the last 6 years of Christmases or other home visits, but there is also one from my high school graduation (over 15 years ago - holy @#$% I'm old!). Truly "past" photos are few and far between but I did manage to accidentally pilfer a few while I was home for Christmas, including this claim to fame and also this one, circa 1982(ish??):


(If memory serves, I think the instructions on this one were: "Look happy and wave hello to Dad, who couldn't make it home from his crazy job on his own birthday, but he still totally appreciates the cake you painstakingly decorated for him." Sorry, Dad. But we enjoyed the cake immensely.)

Happy early Mom's day to all you moms out there. Enjoy your early mom days of macaroni and glitter. It gets much better as the years pass.

Just don't achy breaky my camera...

Forget Miley's risque photo shoot. Check out Annie Leibovitz chatting with Billy Ray Cyrus (2nd picture from bottom).

He seems to be making her laugh.

THIS is news, people.

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Hey, it was a slow day, OK? The movers aren't coming until next Monday so I opted to abandon the packing frenzy and "last" quests for one day, and instead succumbed to god-awful daytime TV while prepping Mom's Mom Day gift. It was either this post or something about "all I learned from Oprah." Be happy it's not the latter.

Proof that learning is inspirational.

Last week at the Oakland Museum I saw a stuffed version of a vagrant shrew. That's it's common name - vagrant shrew. I don't think the naming people were even trying on that one.

It gave me a great idea though. If things don't work out in Portland, Plan B is to be a vagrant shrew, just wandering the world scolding people in an ill-tempered manner.

Get it while you can.

Her Majesty, eeking out the last days of Vitamin D exposure before the big move...

She's getting suspicious. Today I packed another six bags for the Salvation Army which are now sitting in a pile where the dining "nook" table used to be. And all the large framed photos are off the walls, leaning up against the wall near her food bowl waiting to be packed into a box. (She actually looked up at an empty space on the wall today and meowed. Perhaps she is smarter than I give her credit for.)

Not to mention all the funny smells this morning as I dumped 19 spare bottles of suntan lotion, at least three bottles of perfume/lotion, 187 travel bottles of shampoo/conditioner/lotion I've collected from numerous hotels in my lifetime (all partially used, so I couldn't donate them to womens' shelters) and hair products for short hair that I will never use again - until my next midlife crisis when I chop it all off again - so that I could recycle the containers.

And THEN? Then! There was the man who came into the apartment with the other man, to look around and see if HE might like to live here! It wasn't the catsitting neighbors, it wasn't the friendly maintenance guy, it wasn't a remotely familiar face. You could almost see Her Maj gasp and swoon before running like a banshee into the bedroom to hide under the bed.

Wait till I tell her there's a ten-hour drive in her future. Don't spill it - I'll break it to her gently... and then sedate her heavily... and then be on my way.

I can't, in good faith, say there's a connection BUT...

When Bill Clinton was inaugurated in January 1993 the average price of regular grade gasoline in the US was $1.06/gallon, depending on your source of information.*

When George Bush Jr was inaugurated in January 2001, the average price of gas in the US was $1.38/gallon (a 30% increase over the eight years Clinton was in office). At Bush Jr's second inauguration, gas prices were averaging about $1.80/gallon (another 30%, this time in just four years).

Today, the average price of gas in the US is about $3.35/gallon. That's an 86% increase in just four years, and a 142% increase in his eight years as our fine president.

Somewhere in there (I think) is a 373% increase between a 30% increase in eight years versus a 142% increase in eight years.** Regardless - inflation hasn't gone up that much*** in sixteen years.

Earlier this week, I actually drove around looking for cheaper gas for the first time EVER IN MY LIFE.**** The cheapest I could find was just under $4.00/gallon, but I think the money I spent on gas driving to various gas stations ended up saving me money in the end.

Gas prices also influenced my decision to drive to Big Sur in one day, versus driving down the night before, paying to stay somewhere and driving back the next day. So now I'm one of those fun travel-related statistics you hear about on the 5 o'clock news. Suh-weet!

Figures that this is the year I decide to move myself and, separately, all my crap, 500 miles away via good ol' highway 5. Meh...

________________
* Mine was the Energy Information Administration... lord knows we probably can't trust THEM for reliable data.

** I think. Math nerds - I failed high school calculus - hook a sister up!

*** Substitute any of the numbers you see above for "that much."

**** On principal alone I tried to save money on gas - not because I'm unemployed and trying to save money. If it were the latter I wouldn't have succumbed to the $22/lb cheddar whiskey cheese yesterday. I only bought $5 worth, but I just ate a few slices on a mere 4 crackers and it's half gone. But those 4 bites were sooooooooooo worth that $2.50.

14 hours.

Beginning.

Middle.

End.
More here.

I'm sorry, Billy.

Yesterday in the car I was scanning the radio and ran across "Release Me" by Wilson Phillips.

It is with great remorse that I admit I remembered all the words to this song, yet I missed some of the words to one of my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs a few minutes later. (On on a different station, obviously.)

A travesty, I tell you. A horrible, embarrassing travesty. The brain is a mysteriously complicated organ.

_________________
In case you've forgotten, it just goes on, and on, and on...

Whoever said "never put off till tomorrow..." wasn't unemployed.

I can't remember if I've already told this story. I think I have, but it was eons ago if so.

When my dad retired, he bought a dry erase board to keep track of all the house-related things he needed to take care of in order to be able to sell the house and move them to a smaller place. If he woke up one morning and didn't feel like doing what was on the dry erase board for that day, he would erase it, write it in for the next day and do whatever he wanted on that day.

Ahhh, retirement.

Granted, it's been almost three years and the house-related things are not even close to being done, but...

Tomorrow I plan to drive to Big Sur for the day. I've never been, and it just seems like something I should do before I leave California. But I had a pleasantly longer-than-expected evening with a former coworker tonight, which put some prep for tomorrow out of whack, and I have some volunteer things I should really take care of, and what if the moving company can't reach me via cell to schedule a move date? I'll have to wait until Monday, which puts everything out of whack. And also, the wine isn't helping other than helping me to forget the several work-related calls over the past few days which sent my blood pressure reeling. (Seriously. Check my blood donor card. Yesterday was OFF THE CHARTS.)

I suspect I will still go tomorrow. I might get a late start, but time is running out and I do want to see the the road a-winding go from golden gate to roaring cliff-side and the light softly low as my heart becomes sweetly untied beneath the sun of California One.

Plus my cat is driving me fucking crazy right now, and they're coming to do maintenance in the apartment tomorrow, so it will be nice to get away.

But if I choose to erase and re-write for one day next week, I have that option. And that's a beautiful thing.

You always wanna know why they call it Inspiration Point? Well, take it in...

Exhibit A:Exhibit B:

Which apparently caused some tree-art inspiration:

And some Jen(n) art inspiration (is it me, or is the tree art modeled after the cattleguard?):

And say hello to my little friends... This is Sam:

And this is Jake:
I {heart} unemployment.

Uninspired + unemployed = bad combo.

I have no idea what to do with my day today. I have Friday through Monday covered, and Tuesday/Thurs/Fri evening next week covered as well, with the days next week filled with packing/cleaning.

But today... Hmm.

I have a free pass for the Oakland Museum. Maybe I'll check out the EB Parks photography exhibit and get inspired to go hiking.

Maybe I won't enjoy retirement as much as I think I might.

Who am I kidding - YES I WILL.

Comment disclaimer.

I finally figured out how to log in to blogger with my gmail account. (OK, it really wasn't that hard. But still. Now I don't have to sign out of one account and sign into another in order to blog. Priceless. Or worth a small smidgen of my unemployed dollars, anyway.)

But I haven't figured out how to get comment notifications sent to my gmail account. (I don't require permission to comment - yet - but I like to see who's commenting on what, so I request a notice when something gets posted, and I've noticed several things posted that I haven't seen before tonight.)

So until I figure this last piece out, which should really take two seconds of googling but I'm just lazy right now... If you make a particularly astounding comment, or any comment at all, really, and I know who you are, and you get no reply comment... I'll get to it soon. Promise. In the meantime, please email me if you have something REALLY IMPORTANT to say. :)

Net loss: one box.

I am officially on a quest to reduce the amount of crap I take to Portland. I've already decided on new dishes, flatware and pots and pans so the old stuff is going as soon as I run the dishwasher one last time. Most of my current stash was donated by former coworkers ten years ago, and I just don't want to be reminded of that anymore. The one-offs I will keep for travel/relocation purposes and eventually get rid of up there.

Turns out that Ikea has a curiously similar set of flatware to the one I covet from NY MOMA and some cute dishware. (From my experience Ikea dishes hold up better than Cost Plus dishes, but I haven't compared them to Ross dishes yet. And I have a gift card to Ross, so perhaps all bets are off. Regardless - whatever I buy, it will be of my own choosing, for once. And it will be for one person... So if you come to visit, BYOG, BYOP, BYOB, BYOS.)

This afternoon when I got home I looked at the seven boxes of books I'd already packed, took stock of books I'd brought home from work or collected from various people over the past few weeks, reminded myself of the movers' estimates and decided ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH. I have too many books.

So I went through them again, this time with a very selective eye:

• I have one favorite bread machine cookbook that I always use. Why am I schlepping four other bread machine cookbooks up there? For my bread machine that I will not use for at least 6 months because there are only eight outlets in my apartment? Buh-bye.
  
• Books from high school and college that I enjoyed at the time, but that I will never, EVER read again yet I have on hand to make me look smart... Because, you know, so many people walk through my bedroom on a day-to-day basis and peruse my bookshelf and say, "wow, you must be so smart." Buh-bye.
  
• Not to mention textbooks on social deviance, death & dying, social inequality, statistics and the history of film which I will never, EVER, crack open again. Buh-bye.
  
• And why do I still have A Confederacy of Dunces, which I loved to a certain point but then he just got on my ever loving nerves and I know I will never, EVER finish it? And also the book itself reminds me of someone I have no desire to be reminded of? Buh-bye.
  

So several second-guesses later I'm up three bags of books to sell/give away and down one box after I added in the aforementioned work/collected books. Net loss of one doesn't sound great, but I think this is progress... I mean, emotional progress counts, right?

________________
Want any of the aforementioned books? Let me know by next Wednesday.

An abysmal #$%! showing.

I'll be sure to work on that in the coming months. Perhaps I can start with today's bloody adventure (literally... and also in the English cussing way).

After a lovely discounted massage at NHI, I did some browsing at Ikea for microwave carts, coat racks and computer desks (all of which I will need one of in my new place) and then headed over to my blood donation appointment.

[Ed. note: Easily squirmish readers should skip to the next post. Ye be warned.]

I have small arm veins, and my right arm is especially tricky so I always opt for the left, which is why I have numerous hole scars where my elbow bends. Today it took the guy several pokes and some rooting around to find my vein. Literally, rooting around. While the needle was in my arm. I've had nurses who had trouble finding my vein before but there was usually just lots of poking, no rooting, and in all but one case it took less than a minute.*

Anyway, whenever I give blood I am always fascinated watching the needle go in, and today was no exception - what with all the rooting - although since I felt kinda bad for the guy I occasionally looked away or over at my magazine to reduce any pressure he must've been feeling. At one point I said something like, "good thing I'm not a heroin addict, huh? heh heh heh" to try to ease his nervousness. (I don't think it worked. I later suspected that joking about heroin addiction in a blood donation clinic is on the same level as joking about bombs at the airport.)

I'm not particularly bruised from the experience, and I got to read about Drew Barrymore's design secrets, and I gave "the babies" some blood, so all in all it was a good experience despite a minor setback in the beginning.

I mean, a good fucking experience. Now go give some goddamned babies your blood. Ahem.

________________
* The one case where it didn't? About ten years ago, a novice nurse was poking poking poking and finally found a vein, but the gadget w/vial she was supposed to attach behind the needle malfunctioned which sent the needle careening into my arm. I actually felt it hit my bone... At which point I said something to the effect of "Jesus fucking Christ!" and she apologized profusely and called over her boss to finish up.

"Hey, over here! Have your picture taken with a reclusive author! Today only, we'll throw in a free autograph!"

I went to a dinner party of sorts Sunday evening. It was a small party, but I only knew about half the people there and a big part of me was dreading being social with the other half. I just don't do "parties." Or "strangers." Especially in large groups.

Of course they were all very nice and told amusing stories and initiated stimulating conversation and in the end it was all fine. But it did make me question the issue of not really knowing anyone in Portland, and how I intend to change that when I don't do "strangers." I'm sure that in time, I will meet nice people through work and meet more nice people through them. And I think my plans to join a running group and volunteer are sound starts to meeting non-work people (especially seeing as how I don't have "work" at the moment). As long as I actually do those things, rather than holing up in my apartment which has been my tendency lately.

In the end it will all be fine. It's just the middle that I'm a little worried about...

________________
Today's subject brought to you by Thomas Pynchon, who I have not read... yet.

Actual Friday five.

Five CDs I bought today instead of buying a Mother's Day gift for Mom, in no particular order:

• She & Him - Volume One
• Colin Meloy Sings Live!
• The Moldy Peaches
• M. Ward - Duet for Guitars #2
• Modest Mouse - This Is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About

I'd love to say I bought the MM disc based solely on the title of the album (or based on the combination of the album title plus the song called "Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset"), but that wouldn't be entirely true. It is partly true though - they had a lot of MM discs I don't yet have and yes, I pictured the next 10-hour drive involving repeated listening of this disc. But really, I just love the band.

I did almost buy a bargain bin disc for $1 because the band's name was Early Man... But I feared that I'd listen to it and it would either be lots of grunting and drums, or REALLY LOUD METAL, and neither of those were worth my $1.

And can I just say, I am so back to the real live music store concept of purchasing albums. It was nice to browse through pretty cover art and talk to the checkout guy about the Colin Meloy CD and get a good recommendation for another M. Ward CD I need to find. Of course, I also ended up buying more than I should've and since I'm unemployed I actually have TIME to browse for 45 minutes and chat for another 10. But still. I hope it sticks.

But... what will I use to prop up all my folded empty boxes?

I'm now down to selling stuff on Craig's List. Need a pretty decent computer desk? A corduroy chair your cat will love?

I'm also giving stuff away. 120 empty CD cases, mostly in good condition, free for the starving art project or musician.

I did get a bite on the bar stools for sale... But after giving away the small dinette set this afternoon to a coworker, they're all that's available to hold up the pile of empty folded boxes that I have to keep propped against the wall or Her Majesty will sit on them and scratch the hell out of them and render them utterly useless for packing.

You just don't know. Moving is complicated.

I can relate.

Yesterday morning at the airport I bought a copy of SPIN to read about REM's new album and how they agree with the world that the last three albums were not very good. I haven't downloaded the new one yet but I plan to as soon as I free up some space on my hard drive...

Anyway, there was also an interview with Kim Deal. In speaking of her newish-found sobriety, she made this comment:

"In the beginning, it was just weird to be sober. I was stunned by the length of the day. You just wake up, and you're like, 'okay,' and then ten hours later, you're like, 'is this ever going to @#$%ing end? God, what do people do with their @#$%ing day, man?'"

I've been up for 6 hours. It's noon. I have done everything I wanted to get done today. If not for late lunch plans, I'm really not sure what I would do.

________________
I know, I KNOW I keep talking about this, I'm sorry. But really, it sucks. I just need to start running again and all will be well with my sleep habits.

And of course I'm kidding in that last part - I have a mile-long list of things I want to do before I leave the Bay Area...

OH. MA. GA.

Are you sitting down? Sit down. OK, ready?

My dad has a gmail account.

{pause}

MY DAD HAS A GMAIL ACCOUNT! Sorry, but this is just very unexpected and exciting news.

There was even mention in his gmail email (ge-mail?) of perhaps getting a cell phone... Which just begs the question, who are those people and what have they done with my parents?!?!

What a long, strange day it's been.

It went a little something like this:

4:30am - wake up with a start, toss and turn, try valiantly to go back to sleep.

5:00am - give up and get up... make coffee, check email, check in for return flight this evening.

5:30am - oatmeal time.

6:00am - check Portland weather, check bag for cashier checks and all other required lease-signing information for the NINETEEN MILLIONTH TIME... finally clean the oven which was sprayed with Easy Off about a week ago and hasn't been used since.

6:45am - shower and get ready.

7:30am - pace... play with cat... check bag for cashier checks and all other required lease-signing information for the TWENTY MILLIONTH TIME.

7:45am - leave for airport... no traffic, yay.

9:35am - leave for Portland... no canceled flight, yay.

11:05am - arrive in Portland... no rain, yay.

11:15am - head to Lloyd Center to kill some time and buy "something" for the apartment, just because I wanted to leave a newly purchased decorative item to watch over the place while I wasn't there.

12:30pm - purchase cute silver photo frame from Marshalls... eat lunch... try to read and kill more time.

1:00pm - head to 2pm signing appointment at apartment ten blocks from Lloyd Center.

1:10pm - arrive at apartment where neighborhood cats are happy to greet me... realize I'm not in Oakland when they all have tags and owners and are just friendly little kitties instead of feral rabid beasts... look at my watch, sigh, then continue up Broadway to see what else I'll be within walking distance of, in addition to Peets and the MAX and crazy ice-rink mall I will never shop at (other than today)... scrapbook store, tattoo shop, vet, 2 brewpubs, 1 pizza place quite highly ranked, 3 movie theaters, lots of interesting restaurants, Fred Meyer (my new BFF)... SCORE... head back.

2:00pm - sign lease and all other required paperwork... hand over my cashier checks... point out hole in floor and make guy write it down ("I did not do that!")... see guy to the door.

2:20pm - FREAK OUT completely.

2:30pm - measure rooms and document layout for later furniture placement planning... lament proximity of exterior garbage bins to living room windows... lament 4 pairs of outlets in the whole joint (apparently people didn't need too much electricity in the 1930s when the place was built?)... further lament that only one of them is a 3-prong pair of outlets... think of all my electrical needs and FREAK OUT again... realize all the rooms are well lit so no lamps are needed (three outlets free - woohoo!)... wonder what I'm going to do about my electric toothbrush (hmm).

3:30pm - start off on a nice long walk to explore and CALM THE HELL DOWN (people do this every day... the lamenting will only serve as incentive for me to begin the house hunt shortly after relocating... etc etc).

3:35pm - realize that I'll be living in a neighborhood called "Sullivan's Gulch" (really)... wonder who I am all of the sudden... remember the neighborhood cats who lounge on car hoods and trot up to say hello... decide it's a lot like Alameda... decide it's all good.

4:30pm - circle back, hit Fred Meyer for miscellaneous necessities and the latest Portland Magazine featuring all kinds of articles on why it's the best time EVER to buy a house in Portland and restaurants I would kick myself for missing out on.

5:00pm - drop stuff off, spend another 30 minutes FREAKING OUT trying to visualize all my crap fitting into this place.

6:00pm - give up, head to Rogue Brewery for celebratory beer and pizza... read Portland Magazine... calm down.

7:15pm - head to airport.

9:05pm - leave for Portland.

11:00pm - wonder how many more times I will actually walk up the stairs to my Oakland apartment... FREAK OUT.

________________
I've done day trips for work before, but usually with laptop in tow and always within the same state. It was quite surreal to do all of this today, and still I'm amazed that nothing has gone wrong. The more things go right, the worse the "wrong" thing is gonna be whenever it happens... (Still freaking out. But in a very tired way. And I think, a very happy way. I definitely grinned when I saw the pine trees on the train from the airport to downtown.)

Voluntary unemployment, day #2.

Got up around 6am (what is it with this getting older crap??). Made some coffee. Putzed around getting things together for today's errands. Worked on a volunteer thing for a bit.

Went to lunch at a local favorite taqueria, then walked around the lake in hopes of a) exercise and b) baby geese sightings (too early still?). Came home, showered, pulled the hair back (ahhh the joys of 15 minutes to get ready) and went to the blood donation appointment. Got denied (darn hemoglobin!), walked up and down College Avenue wondering what all those other daytime wanderers did for a living, spent approximately 90 minutes in two bookstores. Bought some books including a SF restaurant cookbook. I already have plans for my first week in Portland, when I will be jobless and hungry and yearning for the tastes of SF.

I was restless, though. I thought about sitting down in a cafe to peruse my new book with a latte, or sitting down at a cafe to have a snack and peruse my new book. It wasn't the money-spending that turned me off from those ideas. It was the idea of SITTING.

Unless TV is involved, I am not a sitter. I need to be on the move, checking things out, constantly, well - on the move. I was saddened to realize today that I could never be one of those writer folks who spends hour upon hour at a coffee shop poring over their latest potential novel. Unless there was wireless, and I had a laptop with wireless, at which point all bets are OFF.

Later - watched my cat get exploded upon for no reason whatsoever by the kitty water purifier. PRICELESS, although I do hope she will ever consider drinking again after the trauma... Injections of hydration ain't pretty.

And now, making a pizza and drinking some wine in prep for my one-day trip to sign a lease which I am totally prepped for.

Still waiting for the bomb to drop - this is all still WAY too easy - but otherwise, loving life.

Mid-week Friday five.

And now for something completely different - five things I absolutely covet from the NY MOMA's spring catalog, which I would never buy for myself but which would go on a wedding registry (hell, probably even a baby registry) in a heartbeat, in no particular order:

• Yagani flatware
• Mosaic placemats (but not the coasters so much)
• Lizard organizer
  
• Garland table lamp
• Tripod trivet
  

I also kinda like the index chopping boards but they didn't make the cut. They might get gross after a while anyway.

Pot Kettle Black.

If Wilco were doing a live show tonight, and if they were the type to dedicate songs to politicians, I suspect they would dedicate Pot Kettle Black to Mrs. Clinton and Mr. McCain, and all their advisors and spouses and supporters, from Mr. Obama with love... (Live in a cave? Read all about it here.)

Let the record show that I am so effing sick of Hillary Clinton. If it's her vs. McCain, veep candidate depending, I will probably consider voting for McCain. And that's saying A LOT.

(Oh wait - I could just vote for Nader. That'll show 'em. Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. Oh, Ralphie, sigh...)

What I would LOVE to see, is rural America's response to this. You know - bitter, clingy rural America. Who have no jobs because all their jobs have been off shored so that the suits can make a profit, who can barely feed their families because only the crazy SF (OK, and Portland) liberals care about buying locally and organic, who risk their lives at war or at sea because there are no better ways to make a living given the tanked economy that started its downfall with "Reaganomics." Heaven forbid they hold on tight to their God and their guns and hope that something better comes along.

(Disclaimer: read yesterday's post - I'm not smart, I don't claim to be smart, I react to news, and especially politics, based on emotion... Just like most of America, for what that's worth. Correct me if you must.)

I searched for a while for such a response, but other than some content on Obama's web site the best I could come up with was a couple snippets from the 622 comments (and counting) about the SF Gate article, which turned out to be way more amusing than any truly relevant comments I ran across. Here are a couple favorites, typos and all:

• "Help me figure this one out- Hillary and Bill practically live at Susie Buells house, Hillary has raised more money from SF liberal elite then anyone and she is supported by the gay marriage mayor for pete shakes and she now drops "San Francisco" like a pejorative term..." (my official new exclamation - "oh for pete SHAKES!!")
• "if obama loses he will move to the napa valley, build a house made out of earth, and open a vegetarian restaurant which serves brie and chablis" (um, I'll take my brie with a fine cab, thank you very much)
  
• "Yes, we're so "elite". In fact, we're so "elite" that over 60% of San Franciscans have to rent and can't afford to buy their own home. We're so "elite" that we have chronic homeless problem. We're so "elite" that we're so exclusive that we don't exclude anybody for any reason. Yeah, we're "elite", all right. By the way, "elite" means "the best or most skilled members of a group". So I guess this all means we're being trashed by the worst and least skilled members of our society... yeah, good to see that the old Roman tradition of catering to the mob is very well alive and well in modern America. I have to go be "elite" now. Bye." (and it all comes back to the SF motto!)
  
• "SF is tolerant my @$$. Just try being a Christian, or a conservative, or try supporting our President in SF. SF is tolerant of those who agree with their liberal policies. If you don't tow the line, SF is the most INtolerant of cities." (a few close friends would probably wholeheartedly agree with this comment, and I can't disagree with it either.)
  

I will say this - my parents used to be conservative. Twelve years of Reagan/Bush, two layoffs and retirement with a very meager Social Security payment later, they have switched teams. And now, talking with them about politics is a treat.

And I will say this - my rural country relatives refer to "California" as some foreign exotic country whenever I go home to visit.

I will also say this - I think those who offer the criticism that his comments could've been just as easily directed at inner cities, are right on.

Next I will say this - Obama is not good with off the cuff speeches but he's brilliant with pre-orchestrated speeches... JUST LIKE EVERY PRESIDENT SINCE KENNEDY. Cut him a little slack already. At least he doesn't make up words.

And finally, I will say that if Wilco were doing a live show and dedicated some songs to Mr. Obama, they would have quite a few to choose from:

• Misunderstood
• Shouldn't Be Ashamed
• That's Not the Issue
• What's The World Got In Store
• Christ for President
• On and On and On
• Let's Not Get Carried Away

... and hey, if Wilco* endorses him, I think I'm sold. OBAMA 2008!

________________
* The idea that Wilco endorses him is completely fabricated by the author... although I think it might be true.

I think you need to fire Bob in marketing.

In today's mail I got a preview of Ode magazine - a self-proclaimed "magazine for intelligent optimists." OK...

A) being an "intelligent optimist" is basically impossible in today's world, in fact it's somewhat of an oxymoron to me, and

B) I am really neither, and especially not both combined, when all is said and done. I don't even need the "non-optimist" disclosure, and I am not smart enough to read Utne, the Economist... I don't even bother with Time anymore. Occasionally I'll hit the BBC news web site, but if it's depressing, or requires some knowledge of historical events, or doesn't feature a cute baby animal, or requires any significant level of thought, I ask my smart friends for the summary. And then I go Dishing.

Next thing you know, I'll be getting a preview of FUD, the magazine about government organization, or Ego, the magazine about things that are of medium large size. Or perhaps Jonx, the quarterly periodical about authentic replicas people take to the Antiques Roadshow only to be told they're worth about $0.50.

________________
Make your own magazine! Take an oxymoron, then find a hip word that somewhat resembles the oxymoron in the Urban Dictionary to use for the magazine name... Or start with the dictionary and then find an oxymoron that fits. It's fun!

Er... I suppose it's even more fun if you're unemployed...

Apparently, I am not one of them...

... because I didn't really get it.

It felt unbearably long at a mere 95 minutes, and it was a bit like Dan In Real Life, which I did not particularly like... But it had some redeeming qualities (the main one being Thomas Haden Church's performance) and it was not about effed up middle class people bitching and moaning. One small step for Hollywood.

At least being in a stale-air enclosed movie theater made my allergy/sinus headache go away for a little bit. (I really thought it was a slight hangover from yesterday's BBQ, but 44 oz of water and all the right foods later, and still all I really want is to remove the front part of my brain with a hack saw, or whatever will do the trick in a timely and efficient manner...)

Belated Friday five.

People keep asking me what I'm going to miss about the Bay Area. Other than the obvious - my friends - I don't really have an answer for them. So I gave it some thought, and I hereby post five things I will miss about the Bay Area, other than the obvious one, in no particular order:

• KFOG's Kaboom
• watching the fog roll in from the East Bay
  
• SF's annual Pride parade (at least I will be able to stream Live 105's KGAY, which is sometimes even more fun than watching the parade)
  
• the Fillmore, the Great American Music Hall, the Greek Theater, Bottom of the Hill
  
• taking first-time visitors to Muir Woods to be wowed by the massive redwoods

So, dear readers, if you were leaving the Bay Area, what would you miss the most? Other than the obvious, of course...

As an aside, last night I went to another "last time we'll get together" gathering with some friends (there have been at least three "last time we'll get together" gatherings just with this group of friends - and we're still talking about getting together for lunch "one last time"). Nine hours, many drinks, one fire pit construction, too much food and one mustache shaving later, armed with photos to remember everything, I started my car and the radio played the last chorus of "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)."

Strangely coincidental, or serendipitous? Given the added Seinfeld connection, I'm going with the latter.

"You don't need a million dollars to do nothing, man."

I am officially unemployed.

Voluntarily officially unemployed.

In today's economy that just seems so wrong. But not wrong enough to stop me from enjoying the "doing nothing" part for the next few weeks.

"Pleasure, of course, is a slippery word... Our pleasures ultimately belong to us, not to the pleasure's source.”

Last night I learned from Billy Collins that I am supposed to steal from others and twist their creativity to fit my own style. OK, not really, but something like that.

So I have to say, I would've called it "BSG budget gets drastically slashed," or even "MST3K budget gets drastically slashed (which may or may not be redundant)" but hey, whatever.

And to also surprisingly quote Billy Collins, sort of - I was like OMG hahahaha!

I know this, yet still I look, every single day, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Thus ends the pop culture references for the evening.

"I don't know where I'm gonna live, don't know if I'll find a place."

About 30 minutes into the drive up to Portland I listened to one of those aforementioned "old tapes" from Beach Week 1992. That was fun. (Really!)

One song from that tape stood out to me - Matthew Sweet's Divine Intervention. I think that set the tone for the entirely-too-unnecessarily-stressful week.

For starters, I got to the cute-but-cheap Vancouver motel at 7pm Sunday night only to realize that there was only wireless access, and the laptop I borrowed from work appeared to not have wireless (not that I even knew what wireless looked like on a laptop - punchline to follow). OH MY GOD PANIC DID ENSUE. How the hell would I log on to Craigs List or the property management company I'd been working with? Oh yeah, and I was supposedly "working" for 3 of the 4 days I was on the road - how would I deal with THAT without wireless?

I stopped by the motel office ("yeah, um, is there, like, a Best Buy around here somewhere?") and headed up the street to get a USB wireless gadget. Along the way I saw a FedEx Kinkos and a library, and figured - hell, if I can't get this laptop thing figured out I can just hang out there for a couple hours...

And my heartbeat and racing pulse immediately slowed, and it was right then that I realized that no matter how stressful this whole interstate move might be in the end, I can FUCKING HANDLE THIS SHIT. It was quite a revelation. I do not jest - I slept like a baby under this revelation Sunday night.

(And the next morning on the phone with the Help Desk guys, turns out the laptop did have wireless, which just made the whole problem laughable - and entirely sleepable.)

The rest of the trip was tolerably stressful - what with the not knowing my applicant status on the apartment I really wanted, but still valiantly searching but not really wanting the rest of the apartments I saw in that short three days. Wednesday afternoon after looking at a small studio while (STILL) waiting to hear back from the apartment I really wanted, I mentally resolved myself to another road trip to Portland, and yes, things don't always work out well the first time around, and... and that would be OK.

And I think I grew a lot mentally on this last trip. And I think I got the apartment I really wanted, which just makes this whole story pointless, but... Not really. The next year is going to be a huge challenge for me. Knowing I made it this far helps... A LOT.

"Marriage is like a tense, unfunny version of Everybody Loves Raymond, only it doesn't last 22 minutes. It lasts forever. "

I took my portable DVD player with me when I drove to Portland. I was sorta thinking that if I got bored with my music, I had two DVDs (Knocked Up and OT: Our Town) that required no actual viewing, just listening, so I could put the DVD player on the seat next to me and pass the time listening to the movies, accident-free, just fine.

And more important than being accident-free, getting these out of my queue would put me THAT MUCH CLOSER to a few more episodes of Battlestar Gallactica Season 3, which I have the first couple episodes of, and which I really need to catch up on so that I can start watching Season 4 in a reasonable amount of time.

But with all my excellent preplanned music I didn't need to do any of that. However, Tuesday night I did watch Knocked Up. I guess I would just have to say... Meh. I got the "everyday man/woman" references, with the goofball dialogue and "it could happen to anyone" situation... But otherwise...

{can you call these spoilers? if you are HOLDING YOUR BREATH to watch this movie, skip to the next post, I guess}

... I would love to think that an unemployed waif would agree to father a child with a one-night stand, and that the career-driven female party in this one-night stand would consent to stick it out with him for nine months despite all the obvious lacks of commitment on the unemployed waif's part but... I just don't think it happens in real life.

So I guess I hereby change my review from Meh to Bah.

Until I meet the completely different guy who knocks me up and disagrees with me on minor shit, who doesn't read the fucking baby books, but then ends up reading the baby books, that I end up marrying. When that happens I take this whole post back.

Have I mentioned that Yet. Another. Friend. Is pregnant?

I love other peoples' kids dearly and all, but... I think I'll just run another marathon.

"I forget what eight was for."

So for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to go to the 2008 Whiskey Expo the night before I drove 19,000 hours to Portland. Except for a little fuzziness while packing the next morning, it turned out to be fine in the end.

And in the beginning, and in the middle as well. I lost track of what we'd tasted about 2.5 hours into it, but I was happy to follow my far-more-knowledgeable-about-whiskey (but no-less-drunk) companions' leads to continue tasting. And unlike the last WOW, where apparently we attended several lectures but I really only recall one of them, I do remember everything that happened last Saturday night. (Helpful hint: drink a gallon of water and eat several LARGE MEALS the day of the next WOW. You won't be sorry.)

I do recall missing some folks on the departing "I love you man!"s as we parted ways on BART, but suffice to say - I love you all dearly and I very much look forward to WOW 2009. That's an event worth coming "home" for.

And to everyone else - try the Alchemist's Macallen. YUM, and affordable. Unlike the YUM, and $800-a-bottle others I would also highly recommend...

Early Friday five.

Much to tell. But too tired to tell it. Let me start with an early Friday five, and a bonus early Friday five, and then I'll tell the rest this weekend.

Ahem.

Five things I would say to almost all the I-5 drivers I encountered this week, in no particular order:

• What part of "slower traffic keep right" are you having trouble with?
• It's called CRUISE CONTROL. Use it. It's your friend, especially on those pesky hills.
• If there are no cars behind me for miles, you really CAN wait another 5 seconds to go around the semi, instead of squeezing yourself into the 20 foot gap between me and the car in front of me and forcing me to end my cruising. (Every time I step on the brake while using MY FRIEND CRUISE CONTROL, God kills a puppy. You know that, right?)
  
• If there are no cars in front of me for miles, you really CAN go around me instead of riding my ass for 5 miles straight. Really. You can.
  
• It's called RAIN. You live in OREGON. 55 mph? COME ON, already.

And the bonus Friday five - which is really a "Friday one" split into five, but who's counting: five signs you know you're in Medford, OR, in no particular order:

• You pass a strip mall, which features
  
• a store called "Good Guys Guns," which is next to
• a liquor store, which is next to
• an "Adult Shop, open 24 hours," which is next to
• the Hometown Buffet.

Ahhh, small towns.