It's not a tumor.

And to round out this post-o-mania of a day, I must relate a story from this weekend. It was Saturday night around 3am and I'd just woken up with a killer migraine (which I only get every 6 months or so). I laid down for a while in the dark with an ice pack on my head. After a while I got bored and turned on the TV, but switched the contrast to dark, just so that I had something to listen to.

Sometime in the middle of a replay of a classic SNL episode, which they apparently do on Saturday nights at 3am, there was some kind of brief infomercial about lupus. The man talked about how lupus affects women more often than men, younger rather than older, and how it includes symptoms like fatigue, arthritis, weight loss, vasculitis and... migraines.

Please don't misunderstand. I don't mean to downplay the seriousness of this disease. I'm just trying to verbalize how impressionable one can be at 3am when one has an ice pack on their head. The evils of television, if you will.

My thought process at that time: "Hmm. I have been really tired for no reason lately. And I've had arthritis in my knees since I was ten. And those pants fit again. And that eye thing was just weird. And now I have a migraine."

The next day I got on the old WWW and looked up info on lupus. I'm monumentally optimistic that I don't have it. But I made an appointment next week... just to be sure.

"Two fer one, dude!!"

Although to my short-lived dismay they didn't do "July, July," last night's Decemberists show at the Fillmore was really incredibly good. So good, in fact, that I actually found myself nodding along to the guy walking out behind us after the show who kept repeating this saying to everyone who came within two feet of him:

"It was like, two fer one, dude! I expected something amazing, which was, like, one, and then they, like, totally EXCEEDED it, which was like, two fer one!"

Why I will always love Michael Stipe, exhibits X&Y.

Can I be the first to say that I am not a big fan of Coldplay's latest endeavor? I gave it the college try at the gym tonight, really listening to each song as I tried not to die on the jogmaster.* Made it through about 30 seconds of each song and had to skip to the next one.

This happened with Live too - after four amazing records filled with angst and pain and suffering and politics, their fifth album stunk. Just like Chris, Ed found love and had a baby, and could only make happy cheery lovey "life is wonderful" songs as a result.

Thank God some things will never change.

____________
* I don't know what it's really called. I do know that it hurts.

Damn you, James Lipton.

Why? Why did you have to do an Inside the Actor's Studio with Johnny Depp? Every time it comes on, no matter what I am doing at the time, or where I need to be, or how exhausted I am (like last night at 1am), I am physically incapable of turning the channel or turning off the TV.

I have the entire interview memorized. I know when he's going to hide behind his hair or when he's going to sweep it out of his face, I know that he called his dad "Pop" and his mom's name is Betty Sue, I know when he's going to be humble in his response and when he's going to be confident with his answers. I know that his favorite curse word is "shit." I know that Hunter Thompson shaved Johnny's head for the Fear & Loathing role. I know...

Well, you get the idea. I really don't need to see this particular episode ever again. And yet I watch. Again, and again, and again.

Damn you to hell, James Lipton.

Premium reaction.

Yesterday I filled up my tank - 8 gallons - and paid $30. I only bought "plus" grade but my reaction was more of the "premium" variety.

A coworker friend wisely suggested we start saying "premium!" in place of other expletives at work. I'm down with that.

Thumbs go down.

When my brother was here a while back, he kept raving about Tommy Boy. He couldn't believe I had never seen it, he couldn't believe it only got one star, and when he got back home he kept sending me TV Guide listings of when it would next air.

On general principle, if something airs regularly on TNT, there's a low chance that I will like it. If something has a lot of slapstick humor, there's a low chance that I will like it. If something has Dan Ackroyd, there's a low chance that I will like it. But sometimes my brother and I enjoy the same stupid things, so I put it in my Netflix queue and recently sat through it.

It seemed like David Spade and Chris Farley had fun making it. That's about the only nice thing I can say about that movie.

And, probably just because of all the controversy (oh and because Vincent Gallo is HOT - crazy psycho narcissist - but HOT) I watched The Brown Bunny last night. One of the first opening credits was "written directed produced edited by Vincent Gallo"* so I had a good sense of what I was in for... I beg to differ with Roger Ebert, though. I found Elephant more self-indulgent and offensive than Gallo's effort (which just bored me, frankly).

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* IMDB also credits him with cinematography, casting, production design, art direction, set decoration, costume design, makeup, art, camera operator...

Warning: exercise is hazardous to your eyes.

Or, the TMI Post. Or, Why Getting Older Is For The Birds.

After I started going to the gym early this year, I woke up one morning with a red dot in my eye. It was all I could see whenever I looked in the mirror - I felt like I had the world's biggest zit on the tip of my nose. (Of course no one else really noticed.) A coworker advised me that it was a broken capillary and that it would go away soon. It did.

I've been lifting the same amount of weight ever since, under the guise "I'm not lazy I'm just trying to tone rather than build muscle yeah uhhuh that's it." Yesterday at the gym I upped the weight on a few of the machines, just for fun. I could feel myself straining a little but it was a "good" strain... Yunno, like a "good" hurt. When I got home I noticed a dark bump under my eye, about the size of a jellybean, that wasn't there before I left for the gym. It didn't hurt, it was just obvious. Once again, it was all I could see when I looked in the mirror - which I did frequently last night hoping it would go away. This morning the bump was gone but the darkness wasn't and no amount of concealer could make it go away. I could only presume that I broke a blood vessel. A different coworker advised me that it would go away soon. It's starting to fade.

But I have to wonder - broken capillaries, broken blood vessels... What on earth (or in my eye, I should say) will break next?

Just call me Jeb Bush.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time at work today ballot-stuffing votes for the theme to a fun new program I signed up to lead. (And also recruiting others to help me ballot-stuff.)

I mean, people, please. I KNOW what to do with a pirate theme. Beach theme? Ehhhhh, maybe. Sports theme? Anyone who caught my baseball-themed presentation on "the project from hell," where I basically threw in baseball terminology incorrectly and frequently, only because the World Series was upon us at the time and I wanted people to pay attention to the topic, knows that I don't do sports. But pirates? Shiver me timbers, I am SO there.

Here we go again.

And then every thought I've had today seems meaningless and stupid in light of what's going on in our own country. Thanks, Anne, for this link. And thanks to others who've reminded me today, and who continue to remind me...

All I need to know, I learned from What Not to Wear.

I have this rule that I can't buy more clothes than I have hangers for. In with the new, out with the "something I barely wear anymore." This ensures closet-user-friendliness and, in theory, a tax writeoff when I donate all the "barely worn" stuff twice a year, but I always forget to get a receipt.

Anyway. The glitch in that concept was that last year I'd gained a little weight so half my clothes didn't fit, and new clothes were kind of a necessity. So about a year ago I put a bunch of summer clothes, and clothes that didn't fit at the moment, into boxes at the bottom of my closet and went shopping. TLC fans will know that Peter would not have approved of this move, but hey. One self-help program at a time.

Having lost a little weight recently, and having spent a good portion of the last year watching episodes of TLC's What Not to Wear, I decided to attack my closet today with a vengeance. I went through every boxed item with a critical eye: A) did it now fit? B) regardless of how cute it was, did it make me look short/fat/overly-pear-shaped/like I didn't have a waist? C) was it a color other than black, brown, green or white? D) really now, would I ever wear it again knowing what I know now?

I ended up with a large donation pile, including several skirts I've been hanging onto that are so adorable but just don't fit me well. And a nice pile of "hey wow this fits again!" which pleases me greatly because I SO HATE TO SHOP. Although I also have a nice pile of "crap I need to iron this stuff" which does not please me so greatly because I SO HATE TO IRON.

And I do still have a small pile of "ten more pounds and these will fit again," but I have promised myself that if I don't lose ten by Christmas they are all goners. It helps that I do most of my shopping at Ross - wear it once, you've pretty much gotten your money's worth. Anything after that is gravy.

Today's stupid human tricks.

Contestant #1: the guy at Home Depot who kept cursing (literally and frequently) at the sales guy because they never had anything he needed. Uhhh, why do you keep coming here, then?

Contestant #2: the lady in the "10 items or less" lane at Longs who thought her 465 individual embroidery thread items counted as one item. Uhhh, in what alternate universe do you live in and can you please go back there now?

Contestant #3: the checkout lady at Safeway who berated me for not telling her I didn't want a bag for my one item until she'd already bagged it, because apparently there are people who don't want their items placed into a crumpled bag, and she then threw the crumpled bag in the trash can. Uhhh, it's A BAG, get over it already.

Contestant #4: me, who spent a full minute wishing malfortune on the jackass who rammed their cart into my car thereby scraping paint off my front bumper. Uhhh, wait, that's a car alarm sticker - I don't have a car alarm - D'OH that's not even my car.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed.

I have lived in my apartment for two years. Ever since I moved in, I've been wondering about the sliding door to the kitchen. The kitchen itself has one of those counter-divider-dealies that opens into the dining/living room area, so it's not like closing the sliding door would give anyone privacy in their culinary endeavors. And believe you me, it doesn't help in shielding the smoke detector from an endeavor gone horribly wrong.

Of late, I have discovered a heavenly use for that door. When I go into the kitchen, and I'm planning to be in there for more than thirty seconds, and Luna has not yet had her squishy food for the day, I CLOSE THE DOOR. Instead of following me about and entangling herself with my feet while meowing like a banshee, she sits outside the closed door with her back to it - clearly pissed, but quiet as a mouse.

She often gets up onto the counter-divider-dealie so she must know, in some area of her wee little brain, that she could access the kitchen that way when the door is closed.

Perhaps she opts for silent protest of my clearly inhumane act of shutting the door. Or - and this is the more likely scenario - she's really just not that bright.

Mother Nature saying hello.

As a general rule, I don't read the news. Well, the real news - the Dish doesn't count as news. More specifically, ever since 9/11/2001 I have avoided media coverage about disasters. This is because after 9/11, I found myself glued to CNN for days at a time watching clip after clip of airplanes flying into buildings and firefighters cleaning up rubble and people running and screaming and bleeding. And wondering why I was even going to work and trying to be a normal person when all this was going on 3000 miles from here - it all seemed meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Not the most constructive use of my time, for sure. Occasionally I lapse and regret it, but otherwise, avoidance is the key.

It's not that I'm insensitive to others' pain and suffering - don't get me wrong, I gave today, and will probably give again (if not again and again). But other than knowing that Ellen Degeneres's aunt lost everything, I truly have no conception of the magnitude of what has happened. And I'm choosing to keep it that way. So this week when people have mentioned the south in meetings, or when my parents told me to be thankful for what I have, it has thrown me.

I am certain that there's a balance between becoming emotionally wrecked and/or philosophically jolted over disasters like this and being able to look at them sympathetically but objectively. I'm not there yet, and I don't imagine I will be anytime soon. So Mother Nature, give us a break already, will you?

"I'm a stalker in a Taurus."

The last line of this review made me decide to see Broken Flowers. Normally I am not a big fan of Bill Murray (or Jim Jarmusch, if we're being totally honest) so I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this movie.

Not really because the plot - which was a bit too reminiscent of when my ex called me out of the blue last summer - but for the acting and the use of silence. (The "pregnant pause," my class instructor called it last week.) There was a point where I was actually squirming in my seat along with the actors who were sitting in prolonged uncomfortable silences on the screen.

And unlike with Lost in Translation or The Life Aquatic..., this time Murray actually convinced me that he was a sad older man wondering where his life had gone. I truly empathized (and sympathized at times) with his character - something I have never said about Caddyshack Man before.

In summary... thumbs up.

Attention, charities who send me mail asking for money:

Spell my name wrong (first or last) and your envelope automatically goes in the trash. So if you really have the cure for cancer and just need a few more benjamins, kindly do your research.

Sadly, this can help. And starting September 1, you can even add comments to my ZabaBlog saying what a cheapskate bad samaritan I am!

Jesus H Christ.

Know thyself.

According to many of the oh-so-helpful web resources on prepping to enter the interview world, one of the things you are supposed to be able to describe at the drop of a hat, are three scenarios where you felt highly motivated to "finish something." I presume they mean something work-related... Which is really unfortunate, because all I can really think of being highly motivated to do are:

• getting through the first disc of season four of Six Feet Under so I can start on the second disc
  
• getting Riley to the crematorium so that I don't have to touch his poor little dead body ever again
  
• getting through the damn interview so that the torture will end

Oy vey. I am in trouble.

A funny way to insult someone.

From ThinkGeek's local fortune file, which has stolen about 15 minutes of my life tonight:

Charles: "You know that hole, the one you put pie in?"
Gabe: "You mean my pie-hole. Yeah."
Charles: "Shut it!"

Constructive feedback.

Day two of my class featured BILL AT MY TABLE! Joy of joys. Thankfully he left early, but not before monopolizing the group activities and also giving me a hug goodbye.

Anyway. The class also included a section on the ever-hokey topic of how to "develop the constructive feedback message." The instructor warned us against trying this at home before mastering it at work (due to the emotional ties that come with home attempts), but because it's so hokey to me that I can't do it without heavy sarcasm, I've been practicing on Luna:

"When you meow incessantly for no apparent reason, I feel frustrated, because I don't know what's wrong and you don't accept any attention I try to give you to try to soothe your angst."

"When you meow incessantly when I go into the kitchen, I feel annoyed, because me visiting the kitchen does not automatically mean that you get your daily dose of squishy food."

"When you meow incessantly [are you sensing a theme here?] while glaring at me while I sit on the couch, I feel perplexed, because you can see a lap prime for the taking but instead you sit there and glare."

See? Hokey. Even more so in the business world...

I am not a crook.

Today I went to Nordstrom to see if I could find some things. All I ended up finding were some quality "hosiery" that I would never spend that much money on if I didn't have (approximately) 86 $10 gift certificates. The total came to $23.something, so I handed the Nordstrom lady two $10 gift certificates and a $10 bill. The only bill in my wallet, which I knew for a fact because this morning I'd had $16 and spent $6 of it at the car wash.

She gave me back $1.something in change. I stood there waiting and finally she asked if something was wrong. I nicely explained that I'd given her a $10 - the only bill I had in my wallet - but she'd only given me change for a $5. She glared at me very suspiciously and finally handed over another $5.

While she was glaring it was all I could do to keep myself from saying, "Come on, lady. Surely your uber snotty sophisticated eye can see that I am dressed entirely in clothes from Ross - do you really think I don't know how much money is in my wallet at any moment during the day?"

I want to live in a van down by the river.

We recently got a survey at work requesting our input about an offsite later this year. One of the questions had to do with motivational speakers - as in, "if we got a motivational speaker, who would you like to hear from?"

It is absolutely killing me not to reply with "Matt Foley." Out of respect for the dearly departed, I shall refrain, but how funny would that be...

The almost-Friday five.

Top five things that negatively impacted my "I'm going to have a good day" attitude today, in no particular order:

• Waking up at 7:08am and realizing I need to be in San Francisco by 8am for a class.*
• Bill, in the class, who insisted on sharing a personal story or commentary in response to EVERY SINGLE scenario or example the instructor discussed during the class.**
• Being denied a store credit card after making a very large clothing purchase at one of Union Square's chain stores and therefore not saving $40 with their "10% off this purchase" deal.***
• Seeing a really cool shirt at the Gap, on what appeared to be a sale rack, which is the only reason I decided to buy it, and then finding out at the register that it actually wasn't on sale.****
• Giving money to the clearly-strung-out-heroin-addict-playing-a-rare-Beck-song-on-his-guitar rather than the guy-with-the-dog-who-asked-politely-for-change on the street.*****

And so to make up for my bad day, I went to this store and spent lots of money on these, and suddenly everything was allllllll good. The "Waving not Drowning" one sounds pretty good right about now.

________________
* In an unprecedented series of events, including me leaving the apartment at 7:23am and even remembering to feed Her Majesty before leaving (a new personal record for me), I was only 15 minutes late.

** And ANOTHER fun day of Bill tomorrow! Yay!!

*** The only time I ever apply for those things is when I am spending a ridiculous amount of money. And then once it's paid off I cancel it. And WHY THE HELL did they deny me anyway?? My credit is perfect. I'm banking on the fact that it's because I have zero debt and therefore they knew they wouldn't make any money off me. Bastards.

**** I bought it anyway. What the hell, I never go shopping.

***** Thus perpetuating my internal conflict of giving money to homeless/begging people. If I'm in a good mood and see someone outside of the grocery store, I offer to buy them food. Or if I'm in a good mood and pass someone on the street that I'm going to pass again shortly, I keep a dollar handy for when I go back their way. But if I'm in a bad mood there's no point in them even asking. Unless they happen to know a rare Beck song, in which case all bets are (apparently) off.

Bored now, part two.

Luna is SO not amused with my new digital camera.

You can practically hear her saying "oh jesus christ, wtf already??"

Tales of the heart.

I recently, finally, saw House of Flying Daggers. No one told me it was a love story. Despite that, it was well worth my time. I need to watch more kung fu movies. Suggestions accepted.

And then last night I watched The Laramie Project. And I had to wonder: is the fact that I hate people who hate other people, just as bad as them hating other people?

Why?

Why does Microsoft need to send an error report when Firefox dies? Who are they sending it to?

Not that I ever send those stupid error reports anyway. I'm sure THE MAN is behind the scenes looking at where the error occurred. Lord knows, with all the porn sites I frequent, I'm already due for a visit from the Patriot Act folks at some point.

Exercises in cause and effect.

For the past three weeks, it seems that my going to the gym is directly related to how much cheese I eat the night before. A sprinkle on some pasta doesn't warrant getting up at 6am, but you can bet that a quarter of a package sure does.* I was doing really well for about six months but then work got crazy and I was traveling every week and... Well, maybe the ultimate reason is that I needed a break before beginning my next ten-pounds-down endeavor.

Whatever the rationale - I will be resuming my routine of going to the gym regularly starting again on Monday. I WILL. You can't stop me. Go ahead, try. I dare you.

________________
* For more exercises in cause and effect, go here.

Only so much brain space for the Y chromosome.

Re: car situation. I was very sad (well, ultimately happy, but momentarily sad) to learn that the multiple clicking sound the other day was, in fact due to a dead battery rather than a starter/alternator issue. Those must be single-click issues.

I used to know that. I guess all my "car maintenance" brain space has been superceded of late by "power tool" brain space.

I would gladly give up my "where to buy cheap cute shoes" brain space to get that "car maintenance" brain space back...

Yay me.

I've been reading through old performance evaluations and some recent comments on my resume from people I've worked with over the years. Even though I don't always feel like I'm doing a good job, I think I am, in the grand scheme of things. And gosh darn it, it seems that people like me.

Except for maybe the guy I yelled at (again) on Friday.

But otherwise... Let's just hope the job-poster-people think so too.

If they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire...

To put a perfect cap on a day that reeked of pointy haired bosses (or is it pin headed bosses? I can never remember), spending 3 hours doing someone else's job, and feeling utterly incompetent because documentation I'm responsible for has been wrong for some time, is now and will always be wrong, world without end... My car is dead.

SIGH.

Dead in the "this requires AAA to come and haul your car to the dealer" dead, not dead in the "wait for someone to come into the garage to give you a jump" dead. Dead in the "radio still works fine but there's a weird clicking noise when you turn the ignition" dead - which implies alternator or starter, if I recall correctly.

SIGH.

However! Today a boss of the non-PHB variety randomly gave me a beautiful new red Swingline stapler. And a friend is driving me to run some errands tonight even though I blatantly said "I need to use you" rather than "I need some help" (though to be fair I did say I'd buy her dinner*). And I got out of an evening meeting I wasn't really looking forward to.

So... I don't know what all that means. Except that I will probably be spending my weekend at the dealer. As a friend uttered (about something unrelated) today - "worse things have happened - but that doesn't mean I can't spend a few hours complaining about it."

________________
* Which, you are damn certain, will involve a margarita. And if I ask for no salt, NO salt on the margarita, and it has salt on it, big grains of salt, floating in the glass... That'll be okay with me.

For the sake of momentum.

A recent Aimee Mann* concert provoked me to buy a copy of Magnolia, which I saw in the theater in 2000, absolutely loved, and haven't seen again since. I'm having trouble getting up the nerve to watch it again (kinda like with American Beauty). Yesterday I sat through about an hour of the "diary/making of" and it was enough to remind me why the film was so brilliant in its first viewing, and how seeing it again might ruin it completely.

So instead I watched The Princess Bride (also purchased on DVD yesterday) for the 9,856 time... Anybody want a peanut?

________________
* Some of you might recall her performance in season seven of Buffy... the Sleeper episode, to be exact, the one where they cliffhang Giles dying, where she's playing "Pavlov's Bells" at the Bronze and all hell breaks loose between Spike and his newest recruit, and Aimee walks out of the club saying, "Man, I hate playing vampire towns." Very reminiscent of Grandpa's quote from The Lost Boys: "One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach, all the damn vampires."

Bored now.

To those who have inquired recently - thanks, and Her Majesty the Cat is doing much better after a week of 'roids. So well, in fact, it appears that she doesn't know what to do with all the time she was spending scratching and grooming. Really, she sits there and looks at me like, "what do I do now?" It's quite amusing.

Either that or the 'roids have a stoning effect.

It's probably a little of both.

I'm okay with that...

If it ain't broke...

My method of buying expensive technological gadgets has usually been not to - I wait until my gadget-loving friend upgrades and gives me her leftover gadget, or I just convince myself that I don't need the gadget. Usually the latter works exceptionally well... There are so many options out there and I have no patience or time to research all the variations and accessories and bonus features. But recently I've been coveting peoples' digital cameras, especially since the sand that got into my Elph during the Belize vacation finally did it in.

When I do buy expensive technological gadgets, I ask a different gadget-loving friend who has coincidentally (without my prior knowledge) bought the gadget recently. Such was the case with my printer (something like this - but an older model), which I am quite happy with. And I think such will also be the case with the digital camera I just bought, based mostly on his recommendation.

And then if it turns out to be a piece of crap, I know where he lives. We'll know in about a week.

Testing, testing.

Blogger allows images now. Gosh, wish my Firefox would allow images.* Anyway, this is the double arch rainbow I saw in Estes Park. (Essssssstes not Esteeeeeeeees.) It's not as clear in the picture but man, was it amazing.

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* One day it worked, the next day it didn't. I didn't change anything relevant, that I can think of. Suggestions accepted.

To lose no overage hairbrush.

Is the subject of this post:

a) the subject of a recent spam email I received?
b) my new goal in life?
c) all of the above?

"Bleach smells like bleach."

That was my favorite quote from Million Dollar Baby. My entire family (all three of them) raved about this film, and with the Oscar wins and all, I figured I should check it out.

I liked it. I did. Other than wondering why the hell Clint was still attempting to act (AGAIN with the still wondering) and why Morgan always gets the narrator roles, I was enthralled for the whole two hours. Yet that ("bleach smells like bleach") was my favorite quote. Says something about the story, I suppose.

So that's my review.

She is here to PUMP. YOU UP.

My cat is now on steroids.*

It all started about a year ago when I got a couch from Ikea, which she immediately developed a reaction to (and a bald spot on her tummy as well). One vet trip and multiple couch cover washings later, all was fine. Then last April she apparently developed "seasonal allergies." Another vet trip and a bottle of liquid-omega-acid-vitamin-something-or-other later, all was okay for a while, then not quite okay. When I took her to the vet again today she'd lost yet another pound (a year ago she was 12 lbs, in April she was 10lbs, now she's 9lbs)... Hence the 'roids.

If all goes well, she's going to be pretty fucking buff in about three weeks. I can't wait to see it.**

________________
* Alternate post titles:

• "She was a juicer. Using steroids. Diabonol, then Wisterol - they use that on horses, for Christsakes."
• "Just call her Rafael Palmeiro."
• "My cat can beat up your cat."
  

** OK, if all goes well she will not be scratching constantly and will have gained a pound or two. But wouldn't it be funny if she ended up that way instead?

SERIOUSLY??

The Dukes of Hazzard movie topped the box office this weekend. WTF IS WRONG WITH AMERICANS??? I'm soooo with Cooter on this one.

And unrelated but also sad... Man. He was the only one of the lot I could actually stand.

On dogs and penguins.

Yesterday I wasted 1.5 hours of my life watching Must Love Dogs. Rationalize it however you like - I had a free pass, it was at the theater 2 feet from my house, I didn't feel so hot but wanted to get out of the house, how bad could any movie with John be, I wanted to see a successful online dating story since my recent endeavors had been fruitless... All of these were true yesterday. But it just sucked. One hundred percent sucked. The two main characters didn't even have dogs. I've not been so bored during a movie since... well, I guess since The Woodsman less than a month ago.

So today I saw March of the Penguins to make up for yesterday's disappointment. I {heart} penguins. Those little beasts in Antarctica trek back and forth 70+ miles several times during the year just to survive. Next time I complain about my life, remind me of that fact, will ya?

Attention foodies...

Some news you might be interested in. Some other news. And finally, a quiz. (I'm a "debonair diner" - thanks in large part to some of the people I associate myself with... Otherwise how would I know what foie gras or a NY Strip was?!)

Hmm...

So it's NOT just me! Cool.

Death of a toaster oven.

Last night my beloved toaster oven died. Yeah, that's right, I said beloved. Yeah, that's right, about a toaster oven. See, a girl like myself who lives alone doesn't have a lot of use for a big oven most of the time, especially when said girl barely cooks a real meal more than once a week. So seven years ago I bought a toaster oven, and it's proven invaluable ever since. Well, until last night.

Now, do I replace the toaster oven, or do I swap that space out for a new microwave instead? I don't have room or electrical outlets for both right now... I've never really found the need for a microwave at home (I just take leftovers to work instead), but I'm starting to wonder if that's because they've always been so big and expensive rather than not needing one. These days you can get a .7 cubic foot dealie for just $50. (You can even get microwaves with built in toasters and microwave/toaster oven combos. Something about that just seems wrong to me.)

Hmm. Easily defrosted frozen veggies vs toasted bread. Popcorn in 2.5 minutes vs heating fake meat without turning the apartment into a dry sauna. Decisions, decisions.

Delayed reaction.

Two days ago, I missed the bus by literally 30 seconds, twice... Both going to work and going home from work. I also came 10 seconds from being hit by a car twice that same day. I was paying attention to where I was going - the drivers of the cars apparently weren't, though.

I'm not sure what it means, but surely it means something.

End of random bolded text for emphasis. It was just kind of weird.

And the award goes to...

Most clever cat name given by a 2.5 year old: "Sidewalk."

I'm wide awake it's morning.

And I would be so much happier sitting at home on my couch, with Bright Eyes blaring from my headphones, than doing anything I need to do today.

Oy vey.

From a recent Dish:

Hilary Duff is banning confetti use from all of her future concerts, after learning it's bad for the environment during one of her online classes.

During her environmental science class on Harvard online the singer learned that the use of excess paper has a negative impact on nature -- and she's already changing her ways.

She tells MTV News, "It's so weird now how much I conserve. I turn the lights out, and no more confetti, because that's not recyclable. I did the math for the amount we used, multiplied by 36 shows? We don't need it."

While the teen star is struggling to juggle her busy schedule and read 50 pages of work three times a week, Duff -- who has also learned about the ozone layer and waste management -- enthuses, "It's so fun!"

"Because all hippies are Jewish."

Many amusing anecdotes were shared amongst friends before, during and after tonight's viewing of the uber-classic anti-Vietnam based-on-a-Broadway-musical film, Hair...

But for some reason that one is the only one I remember.

And not for the reason you're thinking.

"Two monologues do not make a dialogue."

According to many web sites, this guy said that. And after attempt #2 at this online dating thing today, I'd have to agree with him. If it ends up working out with today's coffee date please remind me to delete this post immediately... However, given that we struggled to keep up conversation for 45 minutes, and there really wasn't any spark there, I'm not too optimistic.

So I will use my last 50 days of my match.com subscription, which they "kindly" renewed for me without my knowledge (yeah I've already bitched about it, so what) to try one last time. After that, three strikes, you're out... Or so the saying goes.

Got ink?

{Digression #1: This is the most self-indulgent, and also probably the longest, post I have crafted to date. You've been warned. End of digression #1.}

There's this new show coming out on A&E that I'm really excited about. It's called Inked, and apparently during parts of it, people explain the meaning behind their tattoos.

I should probably first disclose that I can be somewhat... I'll say nosy rather than of a voyeur. I'm always looking into peoples' houses when I drive by them on the street, just to see how they've arranged their living room or what they're watching on TV. I don't know why this fascinates me so (other than discovering new ways to decorate), but it does. And ever since I got my first tattoo, I've wondered what the stories were behind others' ink. Kinda timely, since I'm on the verge of going under the needle for the fourth* time, I'll share my stories for anyone who's ever wondered.

Max was my first. I was eighteen, just done with freshman year of college where I'd undergone a remarkable transformation from mediator-doormat to free-thinking-confident-self-sufficient-new-me. I'd also been exposed to quite a bit of new music I'd avoided in the past because of the stereotypes that came along with it... Some band called the Grateful Dead, this cool new grunge deal named Pearl Jam, and the Doors, featuring vocals by a guy named Jim Morrison.

It didn't take long, in my new shell, to become absolutely obsessed with Jim. I listened to CDs, I watched concert videos, I read books, I bought t-shirts. I loved his fuck-it-all attitude, his words, his moves, everything. And when a few of us at the dorm started bantering about getting tattoos before we went home for the summer, only one image came to mind: the lizard at the bottom of his (ohsofineshirtless) An American Poet poster.

I felt like a dork walking into the tattoo studio with a rolled up poster of a semi-naked dead guy under my arm, but the guy was really cool about it, and said it would have to be about five times the size of the one on the poster to come out well... Which was much larger than I planned... And I freaked out... And then I said okay. And Max was born.** (I dunno where Max came from. Had to call him something.)

The daisies around my ankle came about during my first cross-country road trip. I was with Crazy Psycho Boyfriend (CPB), who was really into the Dead and Dylan and all that hippie shit. We had been driving for about two weeks, and were on our way to San Francisco to see what Haight/Ashbury was all about. Turned out that we had crossed the Golden Gate Bridge the same day Jerry Garcia died, and the whole city appeared to be in a weird funk.

{Digression #2: That was my first exposure to Dave Morey on KFOG, who was usually the morning DJ but who came on that night to play songs and let listeners call in with their stories. Sometime over the next 24 hours I knew I needed to live here. End of digression #2.}

So CPB and I hung out in The City for a few days and then headed down to Ventura Beach, where we both went under the needle and I got my "flower power" tattoo in memory of Jerry Garcia. I'd never been to a Dead show but I loved the music, and I loved what he did for so many people (well, okay him and the drugs, but he played a big part there), and I loved the happiness he brought me just from the music that I never got to hear live in concert.

My upcoming adventure is still in the development stage, but will involve some sort of water symbol placed in a location where it will either not be visible to most, ever, or will nicely offset the balance of the other two. (Not sure where that would be exactly, but that's the plan.) Why water? Well, the obvious reason is due to my zodiac sign, but the deciding factor was that I can't imagine not living near the water in my life, and according to my "past lives" psychic I have never not lived near the water in my other lives either. So it seems fitting.

Any cool water symbols out there for consideration?

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* I only have two at the moment, but have done this three times so far. On his tenth birthday I got Max's color re-done, and added some eyes and red spots just to give him a little more personality. Or something.

** I will save my father's reactions to both tattoos for a later time. Suffice to say, they weren't pretty.

I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record.

For some reason, and I really, really don't know why, I keep getting into conversations about who has or hasn't committed a felony amongst the people I know. I tried to find a list of California felonies tonight to see if I had committed one without knowing it. If this list is correct, then I am happy to report that I have not...

Unless following a cute boy around campus incessantly during my freshman year of college counts as "stalking"... Or "assault and battery" also applies to the Bush-occhio Fire Me doll I still have in my backseat... Or lying about my weight at the Blood Bank counts as "fraud." If so, I guess I'm in the "in crowd"!

File under: There Oughta Be

There oughta be a real-time web cam of the security line at Oakland Airport, so I know how much time to leave for that completely random time-suckage step of travel.

There oughta be a product that can completely wipe out any trace of cigarette smoke in a hotel room which, at one time, was a smoking room.

There oughta be a law against sending me to Southern California for three and a half days.

"I'm eatable. But that, my children, is called cannibalism...

... and it is frowned upon in most societies." And thus begins my review of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, 2005 stylie.

I haven't read the book so I have no idea what was true to it and what wasn't - other than what I've read in the reviews. I will say that I laughed a lot more during this one. The Oompa Loompah songs got on my nerves, not for their variety (which was amusing) but mostly because I couldn't understand a word they (well, he) sang. The characters were all very well cast. I think I prefer this version - it explains Willy's history, and it's clearer that he and Charlie have a bond from the start.

Overall, thumbs up. Line that I need to incorporate into everyday life, whenever someone says something I don't want to hear: "You really shouldn't mumble, because I can't understand a word you're saying..."

Just call me Tim the Toolman Taylor.

As a thank-you for helping my friend frame (and soon lay) his deck, he bought me a tool belt. For a few minutes one work day I was lamenting about how I didn't have a tool belt, not under the guise of "you should buy me a tool belt for giving up three weekend days to help you" - I was doing this for my own pleasure, I'm in full "live vicariously through others with houses" mode these days - just under the guise of "I can't believe I don't have a friggin' tool belt given my extracurricular activities." And now I have a tool belt! Totally unnecessary but totally cool.

I also used the deck-building-days as an excuse to buy a framing hammer, which I've been coveting for some time now. It's 19 ounces of pure heaven, let me tell you. Even after 5 hours of hammering my arm and wrist weren't sore at all.

And! I got to cut 45 degree angles with a skill saw. Not something I'm anxious to do again -it's kind of hard for lightweight wrists - but it's something to check off my "things to do in my construction lifetime" list. Woohoo!

To think that normal women get this excited about shoes.

Elimination nation.

Lately most of my television viewing has been limited to movies and Six Feet Under on DVD - I typically don't watch much regular TV, aside from the occasional Saturday 5-hour Food Network/Animal Cops marathon or South Park (or the aforementioned once-in-a-while guilty pleasures). But since I spent the last few days not feeling well, laying on the couch without the benefit of any recent Netflix deliveries, I got quite cozy with my cable TV.*

Hell's Kitchen. America's Top Model. Dancing with the Stars. Rock Star: INXS. Last Comic Standing. The Next Food Network Star. Designer's Challenge. The ever-intriguing Fire Me Please! And of course, Survivor and American Idol and Fear Factor and Amazing Race and The Apprentice and The Bachelor and The Bachelorette.

The utter lack of creativity on television today is astounding. What is the fascination with watching people get picked off, week by week, while some not-really-deserving moron gets a huge check and a fat record/restaurant/designer/modeling/marriage deal?

Yet, still I watch. And watch. And watch. Better to waste my time on reality elimination shows, I guess, than Hogan Knows Best...?

Please let me feel better tomorrow.

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* Not all shows mentioned are currently airing - I learned about them through this scary web site. Perhaps, with all this fancy internet news information available, I should follow Grandpa's advice : If you read the T.V. Guide, you don't need a T.V.

Freedom is the only way, yeah!

Oh. My. God. I finally watched Team America: World Police last night.

The premise. The songs. The dialogue. The puppets. THE PUPPETS.

Run, do not walk, to your local video store to rent this flick. Fuck yeah!

And in an unprecedented turn of events...

Just yesterday I was balancing my checkbook and discovered that match.com had renewed my trial membership without asking me. BASTARDS!! I immediately wrote them a nasty email demanding that my account be credited and my profile canceled. And tomorrow I'm gonna call them and give them hell.

Today, for the first time in two months, I got an email via match.com from a seemingly very nice guy. Outdoorsy, looking for a dance partner (swing, salsa, things I've been curious about for a while now), goofy, has a cat... Granted, he doesn't watch much TV and he doesn't drink, but there was no indication that his date couldn't do those things.

The moral of this story is clear: I should cancel my match.com membership more often.

How's that working out for you... being clever?

While in Denver I went for drinks with some coworkers. Coors Light. For old times' sake. Mmmmm... Just kidding.

I had to leave a little early to take care of non-work stuff, so I handed them a $5 and started to walk away. They insisted on refusing my money, which I thought was really, really silly, so I ended up tossing it on the table and leaving.

The next morning one of them said he'd put my $5 in the Focus on the Family jar at the bar. I believed him, and continued to believe him (and be very annoyed with them) and be comforted in the fact that at least FF didn't have my name, until I got back to the office Monday. There, on my chair, was a mocked-up contribution letter thanking me for my donation and asking me to consider a monthly sponsorship commitment, which could fund:

• pickets for those camped outside abortion doctors' homes
• engraving two commandments, part of a larger drive to erect 47 additional granite monuments across State Supreme Courts in 2006
• eradication of gays - last year $100/month supported the eradication of 12 gays, but recent mounting legal defense funds has increased the need for sponsorship of this effort*

So, I'd say being clever is working out pretty well for these guys. I wish I were that clever. Being gullible? Not working out so great for me. The only bonus seems to be that I get funny stories like this to share...

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* For those offended by any of this - who are you and why the hell are you reading THIS blog? GO AWAY.

What a world.

How is it legal, that the street adjacent to a major recreational area downtown, has parking restrictions on Saturday afternoons? From 1PM TO 7PM??? That's just so wrong.

I am starting to think that my parking tickets alone subsidize the city of Oakland's budget. Or at least Jerry Brown's salary. Or that I should give up running. :)

File under: Dear God Why.

I randomly caught a few minutes of Being Bobby Brown tonight. It was a bit like Britney and Kevin: Chaotic ... except on crack. Oh wait, can I say that? Crack is whack. And, um, I've never watched Britney and Kevin anyway. I swear. I haven't. Really.

But seriously - what the fuck happened to cute little Bobby Brown?

Unrelated, file under "bored now": The Woodsman. To be fair, I didn't really pay attention... but to be fair, I really didn't need to. Sorry, Kev.

Thank God for yeti's notes.

As previously mentioned numerous times, I don't follow the news anymore, it's too damn depressing. But I did find this summary of recent White House events rather interesting. And I read it in 0.1% of the time it would've taken me to follow the whole story! Magic.

It all feels like a West Wing episode to me, though, when all is said and done. And I don't even WATCH West Wing. EVER. I am scared to know what that says of me.

"I have the feeling that my age is precarious..."

Watched Kinsey last night... Not much to report on the film itself. However!

About ten minutes into it, it clicked. The Kinsey Sicks. Call me deprived, call me sheltered, call me just plain ignorant, but I never got the name. NOW I get it. And how. (Take a listen to their audios or a peek at their videos if you've not heard of them... and if you're warped and twisted... which you all are in your own special ways, and you know it.)

"It's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care."

Today during a meeting, a managerial type, more along the lines of a Bob Slydell than a Bill Lundberg,* spoke highly of the movie Office Space.

All I could think about for the next 15 minutes was what would happen if I asked him, "What would ya say you do here?"

Don't even ASK me about my TPS report story. That freakin' debacle just won't end.

________________
* So I guess it COULD be worse...

File under: ongoing required reading.

This. And this. And this.

What? You think I'm kidding?

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

On the attitude check:
Lasted at least two hours the first day. After that, all bets were off. Sorry, I tried. It didn't help that I got three "NEED THIS RIGHT AWAY!!!" emails on Friday afternoon.

On Estes Park:
So when you drive west on highway 36, you drive through some cornfields, then you drive past Gay Street with the church on the corner ("and who would've thought, it figures"), then you start seeing very large boulders by the road, then you start to see mountains, then you round a curve and [insert heavenly music] there it is, in all its glory - Estes Park. (Esssssstes. Not Esteeeeeees.)

After checking in, I headed downtown to poke around and saw a double full arch rainbow. A DOUBLE FULL ARCH RAINBOW. This is a day when it's hard to wear a frooowwwn... Hope that cheap ass camera did the remotest bit of justice on that one.

Spent most of Saturday traipsing around Rocky Mountain National Park checking out all the lakes. Well, at least five of them anyway, and two massive waterfalls, and lots of mini waterfalls and chipmunks. Later, back to the park to do some driving - up Old Fall River Road and back down Trail Ridge Road - and then the Estes Park Brewery for a well-earned IPA.

I love this park. I love this place. Thirty-eight hours. What the hell was I thinking...

D'oh! The camera.

Rats. Judging from the disposable camera pictures my brother scanned from his visit, I'm in for disappointment. Oh well, at least I've been there before, for the most part.

But the Colorado rocky mountain high...

I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain hiiiiiiiiiiiiigh...

And so I'm all packed for five days and four nights in fun-filled Colorado. Well, at least Friday evening through Sunday will be fun-filled. Can't guarantee the same for Wednesday through Friday. Checking my attitude at the door, though. Promise.

Everything fit into a fairly small duffel bag, and now I'm just waiting for the "oh shit" factor to kick in - the moment in time when I realize that I have forgotten to pack something large and important. This moment usually occurs on the plane, and the size and importance of the item is usually directly correlated to how far away I'm going. Going to LA for a night? Oh shit, forgot my toothbrush. Going to Belize for 7 days? Oh shit, forgot my gallon of SPF 50 sunscreen.

Double checking... Cool. The hiking boots are packed. Really now, on a trip to some of the best mountains this side of the Mississippi, what could be more large or important than those?

Because people like to say "sampayne."

And speaking of drinking before noon... Another fun thing to do with tourists (especially those who don't really care for wine but who do like the bubbly), is to go on a champagne tour in Napa. And then drink a bunch of champagne afterward. And then (of course!) hit the Neibaum Coppola museum and tasting room. On empty stomachs.

Good times, good times.

We also visited Old Faithful "Geyser" of California (apparently also known as Calistoga "Geyser", Little Old Faithful, or Mt. Saint Helena "Geyser"), which is really only fun if you've never seen a geyser before (note all the quotes around "geyser" in the various names), and the Petrified Forest of Calistoga, California, which is really only fun if you haven't spent the day drinking heavily.

And thus ended our Napa/Calistoga excursion, which was followed by... Hal Sparks! Hey, have I mentioned lately that I {heart} Hal Sparks?

Live from the archives.

Something I ran across a few nights ago while perusing my email archive from 2000:

I watched an ant climb a blade of grass this morning. When he reached the top, his weight bent the blade down to the ground. Then, twisting his thorax with insectile precision, he grabbed hold of the next blade. In this manner, he traveled across the lawn, covering as much distance vertically as he did horizontally, which amused and delighted me. And then, all at once, I had what is sometimes called an "epiphany", a moment of heightened awareness in which everything becomes clear. Yes, hunched over that ant on my hands and knees, I suddenly knew what I had to do...

Quit drinking before noon.

I didn't write it but I wish I had... However, other than little gems like these, I do not under any circumstances recommend reading old email archives, or journal entries, or letters from the past... Unless you have this burning desire to relive what a jackass you were back in the day (and how little you have changed in some areas over the past five years).

Sigh.

I've tried and I've tried, and I'm still mystified.

One thing I've wanted to do since moving here, was go to the Mystery Spot. I figured it would be cheesy and touristy, but I kept seeing those bumper stickers and wondering what it was all about... so my brother and I decided to go while we were in Santa Cruz. (Well, technically I decided. He was just along for the ride.)

Three outstanding mysteries about the Mystery Spot:

• The tour guide began the tour by stating that they were able to understand about 80% of the Mystery Spot, but they couldn't figure out the other 10%... What about the last 10%? It's a mystery!
• You get a free Mystery Spot bumper sticker after you complete the tour... Why, in Santa Cruz, California of all places, did someone feel the need to put their bumper sticker over my sorryeverybody.com bumper sticker?* It's a mystery!
• We spent $8 each to visit this site... Was it worth $16? It's a mystery!
  

It was cheesy and touristy at times, but not overly so. And while it was interesting, I didn't really understand a lot of it - partly because it was hard to discern optical illusions from the "true" mystery, and partly because I don't remember one single thing from my 11th grade physics class. But I got to be taller than my brother several times throughout the tour... and that made it all worthwhile.

________________
* Fortunately they just slapped it on, and it peeled off without any trouble. My brother (the Republican) got a big kick out of that though.

I {heart} Hal Sparks.

Last night my brother and I went to a show at Cobbs Comedy Club.* It was a lovely evening, chock full o'laughs all around, but the highlight of the show for me was getting to meet Hal Sparks afterward. I got to shake his hand and say thanks and tell him how funny he was. (He wasn't HIGH-larious, but he was pretty funny.)

My first brush with fame. Hey, he's no Bono, but given my complete adoration of him in "Queer as Folk" and "I Love the [insert decade of choice]", shaking his hand was damn exciting for me.

THEN! We (my brother and I, not Hal Sparks and I) went to dinner after the show, and while walking back to the car we saw Hal Sparks! Again! Just walking down the street with his friends! So my brother says "Hey Hal Sparks! I saw your show tonight!" and shook his hand. And Hal Sparks was very gracious and friendly. And that was pretty random and cool.

And THEN! Today we were driving around the 49-mile scenic tour and right there, in Fisherman's Wharf, we saw Hal Sparks! Again! Getting into a cab! So my brother leans out the left backseat window (quite a feat from the passenger seat) and says "Hey Hal Sparks!" and gets a picture of him waving somewhat confusedly and/or annoyedly. But still graciously. And that was pretty random and cool.

At that point we ditched the 49-mile scenic tour for a few minutes and made up our own "Where's Hal Sparks" game (akin to "Where's Waldo"), where we pictured ourselves running into Hal Sparks in various places throughout the day and in our everyday lives. We wondered what would've happened if we'd offered him a ride to wherever he was going. We pondered whether another sighting and "Hey Hal Sparks!" exclamation from my brother would warrant a restraining order. And we questioned whether "Hal Sparks" was really his name... ??

Good times, good times.

More on this week's antics to come.

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* For the record: Cobbs is no longer in the Cannery - it's now about six blocks up on Columbus. Let ye be warned.

Friday five.

In honor of my brother's recent visit, I bring you the top five things we pseudo-natives tend to forget about the Bay Area (or at least I tend to forget):

• The number of cars without license plates. I've had a number of visitors point this out to me, and having recently purchased a vehicle and not gotten plates for about six months I can now explain, firsthand (and in exactly four words if you count "DMV" as one word), why this is so.
• How big California really is. I had it in my head that we could hit Santa Cruz and Monterey in a day, easily. We hit them both in one day, but there wasn't much ease about it.
  
• How bloody much there is to DO here. Three point five days, approximately eight sights seen, approximately 4,689 sights skipped over in favor of the eight. In DC, eight sights would take about a day. (OK I exaggerate just a bit. But, particularly in June, you'd be lucky to hit one sight before you high-tailed it back to your hotel and hit the pool.)
  
• How healthy we all are, generally speaking. Must be a reflection of all the vegetarian non-smoking mountain-biking bottled-water-drinking types.
• How much fun Pier 39 can be, if you're in the mood.
  

Tom Shane vs George Zimmer... only one will survive.

One of the least enjoyable things about living in the Bay Area: Tom Shane. His voice gives me the creeps, his radio commericals are intolerable, and in fact the most recent radio commercials have him sounding like he's barely paying attention to the question asked of him before replying. BAD advertising. BAD. I'll take Men's Warehouse radio ads over his any old day.

And today at the gym someone had turned on The View and one of their segments reminded me of that bank ad on the radio that talks about how kids get rewarded for losing teeth, but adults don't get rewarded for losing their car keys. (I can't remember how that part ties into the bank part, but it does.) Anyway this segment had viewers voting online for the most disgusting bathroom, and the winner got a free remodeling job. This particular winner didn't seem particularly "needy" in the traditional sense of the word - she seemed to have just neglected to clean her bathroom for about 15 years. As a result, she was rewarded with a free remodeling job.

People. I ask of you. What kind of behavior is this instilling in our youth?? I mean, entire shows centered around household neglect on TLC are one thing (especially when said shows come with hot hosts/carpenters), but to feature such a thing on such a reputable show* as The View? That's just wrong.

_______________
* Yes, I am kidding. But not about the "what kind of behavior is this perpetuating" concept... Even with TLC.

It's no longer raining men, hallelujah!

Today I went from approximately eight straight (no pun intended) fun-filled hours of KGAY to Glen Phillips at the Great American Music Hall. Talk about culture shock... Not quite the culture shock intensity level of going from rafting down the cool calm Colorado River in the Grand Canyon to the NEON LIGHTS IN DISGUSTINGLY HOT HUMID VEGAS in the period of about three hours, which I will never willingly do again. I would definitely do today all over again.

I am 100% certain that no one reading this shares my emotional connection to Toad the Wet Sprocket. (I'm actually fairly certain that no one has even heard of that band.) But he was their founder, and he did an admirable number of their songs tonight, and they are all stuck in my head right now. And despite the fact that those songs are mostly about dysfunctional adult relationships, that makes me very, very happy.

In keeping with the interest of belated top fives, which will not be a regular occurrence but is here because a) I can't seem to do this in time for Fridays, like, EVER and b) it came to mind tonight during the show, I hereby bring you the top five voices I would marry in a heartbeat. Regardless of the person attached to the voice - partly because these persons are, generally speaking, already married - but mostly because of the obvious limitations of this concept - in no particular order, the voices (of more people you have probably never heard of) that I would marry are:

• Glen Phillips
  
• Jack Johnson
• Grant Lee Phillips
  
• Shawn Mullins
  
• Mark Kozelek

Please note that this list is subject to change at a moment's notice depending on my mood at that particular moment. Sometimes Michael Stipe can really do it for me. (OK, really now, am I a gay man?!)

One small step.

Ashcroft Gone, Justice Statues Disrobe

SOOOOO Bay Area.

AKA the post-Friday five. The other morning KFOG did a listener survey of what "sooooo Bay Area" means. It made me think... And so I bring you what "SOOOOO Bay Area" means to me, in no particular order:

• KGAY, when Live 105* turns its station over to the likes of the Bee Gees, Erasure, New Order, Depeche Mode, Culture Club, DISCO!,** etc. for three days each Pride weekend.
• Being able to drive 2 hours in any direction and hit beautiful mountains, or stunning beaches, or both.
• More liberal bumper stickers per car than anywhere else in the United States.
• June 25, 64 degrees fahrenheit.
• I will never own a home here.
  

Add your own!

I guess "SOOOOOOO not east coast " would also be an explanation. On the way to my first temp job when I moved here (almost eight years ago - wow!), the person sharing the elevator ride with me started a pleasant small-talk coversation. I'd honestly never experienced that back east and it freaked me out. There's just a different vibe out here.***

________________
* I love this station in general, even though I don't always like the music they play. Any station that announces the days, hours, minutes and seconds that have passed since the last time they played Creed (last count: a looooong time) is a damn fine station in my book.

** Between my total thrill with this weekend's musical selections and my recent obsession with Queer as Folk, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm really a gay man trapped in the body of a straight woman. (OK, I'm probably just nostalgic for that music and curiously fascinated with the show, but hey, it's kinda funny to think about.)

*** And the award for stating the obvious goes to...

Damn.

Oh well, fellow former-Aquarians, we tried. At least the million robot march was successful.

"Bloody brilliant! Literally!"

For once, an IMDB user comment I agree with (and will therefore quote freely, though I reserve the right to correct punctuation and capitalization). Shaun of the Dead had me laughing out loud, heartily and often. "Clever, witty, sweet and nasty and, at times, gory and horrific, SOTD has it all." A lot of thought went into this film - it's really evident in much of the dialogue and in the scenes where Shaun is watching TV. "This film should be seen side by side with Romero's Dawn of the Dead as both films cleverly and sarcastically comment on our zombified society and virtually show no difference between the living and the living dead." I must argue that SOTD has many more amusing pop culture references than DOTD, though.

"SEE THIS FILM!!! You do NOT have to be a fan of horror movies to appreciate the sublime satire that is Shaun of the Dead."

Word.

Oh, and watch for cameos of some of our favorite, and not so favorite, English folk. (Pardon me. Favourite.)

How to be productive at work.

CANCEL ALL EXISTING MEETINGS IMMEDIATELY. For the past two days I have had NO MEETINGS. And over the past two days I literally checked off almost everything with a deadline on my to-do list. The few remaining deadlined items, I can easily complete tomorrow (despite the fact that I'm booked pretty solidly all day). And vacation can begin at 5pm - as it should.

This might sound like common sense, meeting-free days resulting in uber-productivity. But it has been a looooooong time since I felt like I got anything done at work, anything at all, and particularly anything of any quality, and I am starting to think it's because of all the meetings. Several regular gatherings are very useful, several are fun to go to (for various reasons), but the rest of them are just annoyingly time consuming.

On a totally-related note, how is it possible to have a blog and not talk about work? I spend [ ... pause while I do the math ... ] approximately 35-40% of my waking hours per week there.

YIKES. I sooooo should not have done that math.

Gay schmay.

Proof that Kyan and I are destined for each other (despite the fact that he "thinks" he's gay): his iTunes playlist. REM? Joy Division? U2? Jane's Addiction? Morrisey?

Man, we are soooooo meant to be.

Weird conversations du jour.

This afternoon... Ikea chair delivery guy, who apparently knew his Ikea deliveries and whose mind was clearly elsewhere, to other Ikea chair delivery guy: "Wow! This whole apartment is from Ikea! There's the matching Karlanda sofa... That's a Billy bookcase with glass doors, there's a Lack coffee table, that's the Skyberg side table... and they come in different colors too! Birch, beech..." Me: "Veneer..." Ikea chair delivery guy: "Beer? There's a color named beer?"

Outside the Albertson's tonight... Needy person asking for money: "Spare some change?" Me: "No, sorry." Needy person: "What the HELL you carrying a purse for if you don't got no change?"

For your (guilty) viewing pleasure...

A few shows I have been watching lately... All are utter crap, but in the train-wreck-can't-help-but-watch sense of the word. Shockingly, they are all on MTV/VH1.

Viva La Bam: It's been on forever but only recently have I become addicted. What can I say... He's hot, they're all certifiably insane, and every episode is another notch on my "hell no I'm not having kids" belt.

Pimp My Ride: Xzibit takes us on a tour of the crappiest cars in the universe, then turns them into the most ridiculous modes of transportation one could imagine. His mockery of the original car's state, and the 'board meeting' where all the tattooed guys with metal spikes coming out of their faces sit around a table with straight faces deciding what to do with the car, are totally worth my 30 minutes. Totally.

Strip Search: Fifteen moderately attractive guys with the maturity level of four year olds, competing for seven spots in a traveling striptease act. The drama that ensues is far greater than any episode of Seventh Heaven, let me tell you!

And, sadly, yes, Inferno II, which has long since been over but they keep replaying it and replaying it and replaying it... I think I only watch it because of Dan, the finest, funniest gay man east of the Mississippi.

I'm sure there are more that I'm forgetting. Sigh. Think it's probably time to update my Netflix queue...

30 Days, then back to your plushy lifestyle.

I guess I understand what he is trying to accomplish. After all, I watched and loved Super Size Me. But I'm not sure how I feel about this new show - perhaps because the topic I saw tonight (Minimum Wage) was really insulting - probably because of my volunteer life. Pretend to be poor for 30 days and then when you're done, go back to your swank New York apartment and on to the next gig. Why not pick a topic and actually DO SOMETHING about it? Hell, with the Oscar nomination under your belt you could easily take down McDonald's, one franchise at a time.

Oh, right. But then FX wouldn't pay you for it.

Maybe I've been watching too much of the Awful Truth lately, where actions are actually taken and bad people are actually brought to justice. Regardless, I don't think I'll be watching 30 Days again.

Friday five: how to keep your sanity at work.

Stolen from a very old, very extensive list of suggestions in my email archive. My five favorites, in no particular order:

• Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.
• Put mosquito netting around your work area. Play a tape of jungle sounds all day.
• When the money comes out the ATM, scream, "I won!" "I won!" "3rd time this week!!!!!"
• Finish all your sentences with "in accordance with the prophecy."
• Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "in."

Off to the gym for more closed-captioning fun! Happy weekend everyone.

Must. See. Immediately.

Why was I not informed of this? According to the Dish, Colin Hart, director of the Christian Institute, fumes, "genuine religious debate and criticism is one thing, but this public service broadcast was an offensive, spiteful, systematic mockery and wilful denigration of Christian belief" and previously described the show as "the most offensive and spiteful show ever broadcast by the BBC."

AWESOME!!!

Attention, fine residents of California.

It's called rain. R-A-I-N. It doesn't sting you, burn you, melt you, or otherwise hurt you in any way, shape or form. It's really only water. Really. I promise.

Now please learn how to drive when it occurs.

Thank you!

File under: If I Hear This One More Time...

Lately my life (meaning work and extracurricular activies - I have no actual life per se) has consisted of a lot of people saying, in so many words, "thanks so much for all you do it's soooo appreciated you're so great oh and by the way here's a shitload more crap for you to do since you don't have much choice but to grin and take it."

It's gotten to the point where the "thanks so much" piece is just incredibly condescending and worthless and I just wait for the shitload of more crap. I know that part of it is my own fault - in some situations I'm a control freak who wants to be sure that things are done right, so I go above and beyond and, in doing so, set my own bar really high. And I know that part of it is pure cynicism, which I am trying to work on.

But the rest of it is just patronizing. Maybe if I thought that any what I was doing was remotely helpful or worthwhile in any sense, I might feel differently. But I don't, so I don't.

Therein lies my main issue with my "life" right now. And boy, if I had an ounce of energy to address it, I would change it... But I don't, so I don't. Lather, rinse, repeat again tomorrow.

Overheard on a conference call today...

... from someone who was attempting to summarize a particularly complex conference call for clarity: "Now I get to play my meathead role."

Also known from here on out as: my new disclaimer.

What to my wondering eyes should appear...

The perfect ending to an otherwise crappy day was a package containing TWENTY-FOUR CDs, including music I haven't heard for about twelve years...

Now Cracker! Now Primus! Now Elvis Costello and Offspring! On White Stripes, on Ozzy, on Mos Def, on [bunch of new things]!

I sprang to my computer and imported every single one; after an hour plus iPod update I was finally done. Donning headphones and sliding into bed with the greatest of ease, at last I was off to dreamland to sail the Seas of Cheese.

Thanks, Cousin Jay...

________________
Twenty-four = Christmas Eve. Twelve = days of Christmas. Package o' stuff = Christmas. See? This was justified.

Things that made me tired today.

In no particular order...

My crazy dream about a crazy ex-coworker. Technology. Being the (only) one to offer up a few hours of her evening in an attempt to make sure things go a little more smoothly tomorrow. Having to buy a lunch because no veggie options were available. The amount of extracurricular work I was going to have to do tonight. People checking email through the whole training session. The prospect of another day just like today.

And so back to work.

Tryin' hard to look like Gary Cooper.

I am still grappling with the concept that my company has a corporate rate at the Ritz. I walked into my room last night to find classical music playing softly in the background, robes at my disposal, the plushest towels and pillows I could ever imagine, and regal curtains adorning the windows. My coworker and I hit the bar for a quick drink-and-rant, and I felt supremely out of place in my tye-dye t-shirt and ratty tennis shoes. Yeah, I don't get out much.

Tonight I was a little surprised to find that they didn't put the ironing board away while they were straightening the room. The bath mat (the one with the rubber padding on the bottom) was folded on the bathroom sink, which was kind of odd. The end of the toilet paper roll wasn't folded into a neat little triangle. And I still couldn't figure out how the hell to set the alarm. My opinion started to waver.

But then I got a rose, and the best damn sourdough rolls I've had in years, with my room service and all was forgiven.

Super duper.

Good to know.

I learned last night that I can get the same Wilco show at home on my couch with the CDs, that I can by paying money to see them live.

For the record, the same can be said for Cake and the Pretenders. Don't get me wrong - I'm glad to have seen all of them live, but I probably won't be paying money to do that ever again.

All I want for Christmas...

Aw, c'mon. It's only $130,000 dollars at Costco!!

Because no one died when Clinton lied...

The "email your friends" text from the confirmation screen of a petition I just signed:

Hi,

I thought you might want to join me in asking Senators to speak up about the Downing Street Minutes. They were secret minutes taken at a meeting with British Prime Minister Tony Blair -- they document that the Bush Adminstration made the decision to go to war in Iraq no matter what the intelligence or the truth about the threat. We have to alert the American public about them.

Senator Kennedy is speaking out about this memo, ask your Senator to do the same:

http://www.tedkennedy.com/page/petition/downingstreet/fdfzzp

Senator Kennedy said the following about these Minutes:

"The contents of the Downing Street Minutes confirm that the Bush Administration was determined to go to war in Iraq, regardless of whether there was any credible justification for doing so. The Administration distorted and misrepresented the intelligence in its attempt to link Saddam Hussein with the terrorists of 9/11 and Osama bin Laden, and with weapons of mass destruction that Iraq did not have.

In addition, the Downing Street Minutes also confirm what has long been obvious – that the timing of the war was linked to the 2002 Congressional elections, and that the Administration’s planning for post-war Iraq was incompetent in all its aspects. The current continuing crisis is a direct result of that incompetence."

Please stand with Senator Kennedy and ask your Senator to speak out:

http://www.tedkennedy.com/page/petition/downingstreet/fdfzzp

Thanks!

Please leave a comment about any other relevant links to petitions or information about this if you have it... This is what I get for actively avoiding all news sources like the plague for the last 3 weeks. I had no idea there was even buzz about this.

A little coincidence and a little serendipity.

Yesterday I had to fly to LA for an afternoon meeting. Everything was going great - I got up on time, even tried to go to the gym* before heading to the airport, and got to the airport with plenty of time to spare (unlike last time when I was one of those people I absolutely hate, who runs to the front of the security line waving their itinerary frantically while everyone else wonders why they got up two hours early instead of pulling that same stunt).

But then IT happened.

Not having anyone with me to watch my stuff, I had to shlep everything including my full cup of coffee into the bathroom with me. I was worried about leaving my coffee on the sink counter - I didn't want anyone to throw it away - so I took it into the stall with me.

Note to fellow Oaklanders: the t.p. roll holders at Oakland airport are not completely flat, but if you're careful and lucky, you can balance a cup of coffee on them successfully. Suffice to say that "careful" and "lucky" were not on my side yesterday. The stall next to me became immediately occupied with a door-slammer and there I was with coffee literally ALL OVER my nice "trying to look like I have a professional job" shirt and pants.

Before I got mad or sad or upset in any way, I took a moment to reflect on Zack's post from a few days ago, and after that moment, said to myself, "yeah well you kinda knew that would happen, really now, didn't you?", put my jacket on over my coffee-stained shirt, and left the bathroom figuring I'd just wear my jacket for the rest of the day. About 10 minutes later, to my complete and utter shock, it turned out that the coffee blended so well with my avocado button-down that it wasn't even visible after it dried, and the pants were black so it really didn't matter. MAGIC! Even more magic when the afternoon meeting we were all dreading ended up going really well instead.

And then a little serendipity when it was time to head back to the airport... I asked a local (or so I thought) at the meeting for help getting a cab, and he ended up not being a local but as a result had a really good taxi service that he called for me. I spent the 20 minute ride to the airport talking with the Hungarian ex-patriot driver, who came to the States because his government sucked even more then than ours does now, and who used to be a rural veternarian and is seeking to continue practicing here in the States. He and I made a promise to each other that even though it's expensive, and even though a lot of our school credits are no longer useful so it will be hard, and even though some situations you find yourself in are not entirely pleasant, we will pursue becoming practicing vets on the West Coast.

I'm not entirely sure what that means. I've been thinking about it a lot though. Everything happens for a reason, eh?

__________________
* "Tried" being the operative word... It seems that, as usual, you get what you pay for. My $18/month gets me a lot of days of an empty-other-than-me gym, and the occasional day when the building security system doesn't trip the gym door locks at 6am like it should, and I end up sitting outside the door with the trainers for about 15 minutes before I give up and go home.

May I have my attention please?

Tomorrow morning, when I wake up to the alarm at 6:00am, which is really 5:25am because the only way I will psych myself out to get up is to set my alarm randomly early, and I hit the snooze till 7:30am, I need to acknowledge that snoozing for 90 minutes will only serve to make myself more tired than if I just got up and went to the damn gym as intended.

So - get my ass out of bed at 6:00am tomorrow.

No, um, really, don't panic.

The end is near... Oh well, at least it will get me out of all my work and extracurricular responsibilities.

I guess the other way to interpret this, if not in the Hitchhiker's way, is to say that females are smarter than males in other species too! Hah.

Hoots pa.

Two more long-overdue amusing closed captioning sightings:

1) The night the viagra/blindness story broke, they were referring to erectile dysfunction and I SWEAR TO GOD I AM NOT KIDDING one time it said "erectile did I function." No offense to anyone with this disorder - I'm sure it's traumatic and nothing to joke about etc., etc. - but between the irony of the myth and this particular mistype, good lord I nearly fell off the treadmill.

2) Last Friday I was reading along to the Michael Jackson story on whatever station was on when I got there, and there was mention of him not having the "hoots pa" to stand up to his father.

New phrase to incorporate into everyday writing: hoots pa.

And the Oscar for best crying scenes goes to...

... Imelda Staunton for Vera Drake. I didn't dislike this movie. I didn't love it either. I can't give really good reasons for either of those oh-so-eloquent critiques. She did cry a lot in the movie, though, that's for sure.

While I was out.

Got a catalog in the mail yesterday from Design Within Reach. I'm really not sure whose "reach" they are within, other than "not mine." But it did inspire me to seek out a chair for my bedroom like I've been meaning to do for weeks now. So off to Ikea I went.

Those of you who hated my orange corduroy "captain's log" chair will be sorely disappointed with my purchase. Those of you who loved it (which I am guessing, really just comes down to me and the cat) will be pleasantly surprised with the new dark red corduroy chair. I just offer the caveat that it is called the Lunna chair, so minus an "n" how could I resist? (It also totally matches the rest of the decor in that room, and it's really comfy...)

She has yet to grace the chair with her presence but given how little I paid for it, I won't be too sad when she uses it as a scratching post like she did the orange one.

I also bought a matching armchair for my couch, which cost me about five times as much as the red corduroy chair. So in some karmic universe it all balances out... Right?

The almost-Friday five.

My favorite five song lyrics at the moment, in no particular order, and for various reasons:

• "I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve, I have a history of losing my shirt" (Barenaked Ladies)
• "Take a long drown with me of California wine" (The Decemberists)
• "We've got rules and maps and guns in our backs but we still can't just behave ourselves even if to save our own lives so, says I, we are a brutal kind" (The Shins)
• "I was always brave and kind of righteous, now I find I’m wavering... crawl out of your grave, you find this fight just doesn’t mean a thing" (Buffy)
• "If no out there understands you start your own revolution and you cut out the middleman" ... followed closely by "the revolution is just a t-shirt away" and "if you've got a blacklist I want to be on it" in the same song (Billy Bragg)

Add your own!

Auras and readings and healings, oh my.

Today I participated in a group aura photo. I think it was originally intended as a gag gift for someone's birthday, and I think some of the participants still think of it as that... But I was very intrigued by the whole thing. When the people conducting things like aura photos/readings/healings/etc truly seem to believe in what they are doing, it's surprisingly hard for me not to believe in it too.

The psychics were quite patient with us as we did our group photo, though I'm convinced they were cringing inside at our seven clashing auras the entire time. We only got one copy of the good one and all I really recall in terms of being able to interpret it, is a bright splash of yellow near one of the people. "In good health and friendly..." Yeah, that sounds about right.

They do pet aura photos too (and pet aura photo/reading combos, all of which I must admit I am not at all likely to buy into). But if I did, and if I could get her to sit still long enough, Luna's aura would be DARK RED. I'm pretty sure of that.

Low prices and inhumane working conditions aren't all they offer!

Attention single folk: "keep checking your circulars; the trend could arrive soon." Awwwwwriiiight!!

(In light of my post a few days ago, is this a spooky coincidence, or is it just me?)