Where pirates meet grammar naziiiiiiiiiiis...

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

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

-- GAAAARRR!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Early Friday five.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tin or aluminum? Gee...

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

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

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

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

I couldn't possibly make this stuff up.

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

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

Where was this feature in 1996?

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


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

I {heart} Google.

Man's best friend.

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

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

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

Like a bridge over troubled water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday five.

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

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

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

I knew his voice sounded familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

Raise your hand if you're sure.

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

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

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

SIGH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They paved paradise...

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

Really late Friday five.

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

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

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

Post-Friday five.

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

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

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

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

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

This is a big step for me.

A big, scary step.

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

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

Note to self.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{shudder} Must go shower now.

My latest impression of Homer Simpson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Show me the money.

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

Seriously. Alton? Call me.

Oscar mania!

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

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

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

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

I need to reassess my Netflix queue.

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

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

Oh, and also?

I have got to get out of the Bay Area.

Observations.

Lucky is the new Albertsons. When I first moved here all the stores were Lucky. Then they turned into Albertsons. Now they're turning back into Lucky. This is even worse than the annual re-corporatization of our beloved sports arenas. It disgusts me to think about all the money that has changed hands over this debacle.

Another small step for mankind...

I was quite disturbed at the report that Owen Wilson attempted suicide this past weekend. He's my favorite Duke brother. I can only hope that the Dish is wrong this time.

Speaking of... Perhaps Amy Winehouse should say "yes, yes, yes" to rehab once and for all.

Perhaps this cat also caught the nine millionth rerun of Jaws this weekend on TNT. It's really annoying but much like with the Princess Bride, I can't not watch this whenever I run across it. Maybe because the TV version is so similar to the original, except with commercials (unlike with movies like the Breakfast Club where they have to delete entire scenes which ends up totally detracting from the movie). I know the movie Jaws from start to finish. I sing the "show me the way to go home" song after a long day at work. I flip to another channel right before Dreyfuss's character sees the dead body while he's diving (that scene still freaks me out). Like with Poltergeist, my feet can't touch the floor while I'm watching any part of the movie. Overall though, I blame Quint. He's just a fascinating character. Very pirate-like.

And still, I would love to go in a shark cage someday.

I love Scrubs. It's a fairly recent obsession. It's witty and engaging without all the Gray's Anatomy/ER drama. (Which I also love, but can only take so much of.) The soundtrack for each Scrubs episode is particularly endearing. Right now a Toad the Wet Sprocket song is playing in the background...

If you offer me a product I like as two-for one, or more likely as two-for-less-than-the-price-of-two, I will buy two of them even if I only need one. Curse you, marketing world. Curse you.

Sweet, gas guzzling, expensive relief.

My allergies are back with a vengeance. Some might think I'm lucky for having the non-runny-nose, non-sinus variety of allergies, but I would argue that this is the worst kind of allergy to have. I feel like I'm in a complete fog, I'm not the least bit hungry, I have no energy, I walk around in a daze and nothing seems to help.

I've spent the weekend in my apartment with most of the windows closed except at night, where I open them wide to encourage fresh air to replace the CO2-riddled air that surely my houseplants are loving, but I am not.

After sleeping very late due to not sleeping at all Thursday or Friday nights, I woke up and vacuumed again, as has been the custom these past few days to try to get rid of any traces of whatever is causing this allergy nonsense. Then I ironed and drove to Alameda to look for a few things and otherwise pass some time.

(Married people with kids: you are so jealous of me right now. I have to find ways to PASS THE TIME. Ha!)

The 15-minute air conditioned ride to and from the shopping center was sheer, utter bliss. After about five minutes my fog lifted and I could think clearly. After ten minutes I was singing along with the radio. And then it was time to venture out into the "real air" and "breathe." Sigh.

I seriously considered just getting back on the highway and driving around for three hours to enjoy my clear-headedness. But I didn't have my iPod with me, and that darned Tom Shane kept popping up between all the crappy radio songs, and it would just be wrong to take a Sunday drive in this day and age.

So now I'm fuzzy again but at least I have a plan for my four-day weekend next weekend. Road trip! To somewhere off the beaten path, given the holiday weekend! The possibilities are actually endless.

From the guy who brought you The Notebook...

This morning while I was ironing my 4-foot stack of shirts and pants, I popped in Alpha Dog to pass the time. It seemed like one of those movies I didn't have to pay too much attention to in order to know what was going on.

For the most part, I was right. At some point near the end I had to put the iron down because I was watching too much of the TV and not enough of the pair of pants I was ironing. It was good, JT was good, Bruce Willis was good, Harry Dean Stanton makes an appearance (and who doesn't love Harry Dean Stanton?) and... Well, this comment pretty much sums it up. I would just add that at one point Eminem does make a soundtrack appearance - shocking!

It wasn't until I watched the "making of" that I learned it was a true story. (I'm sure all the former LA folks already know this.) I also learned that all the actors worship Nick Cassavetes and all the movies he's ever made, which I thought would be more like 20 but it's really only about five, one of which was Blow, and one of which was - yes - The Notebook. Maybe I should reconsider on that one. Seems odd that Ryan Gosling would choose a crappy teenage love story... are there drug dealers in The Notebook?

If you do opt to queue it up, I recommend watching it at night with the blinds closed and the lights off. Many of the scenes are at night and it was really difficult to see what was going on with the sun shining in the room.

(You might also close the windows - according to IMDB the word "fuck" or its derivatives is said 310 times, according to me it's said very loudly most of those 310 times. I ended up closing my kitchen window so as not to offend the new neighbors who were in the process of moving in next door.)

GAAAAR!

I was wandering around the new "unique" and "quirky" gift shops on Lakeshore this afternoon and ran across this.

Oh. My. God! The mystery of the pirate obsession becomes clearer by the day... My grandma had one of these at her house when I was teeny.

Grandma just got even cooler than she already was (raising seven kids during the depression already won her big points in my book).

Bonus Friday five.

I got an email from my good friend Adam Yauch telling me about this movie that I need to go see. His email sparked a random Wikipedia series of events which brings you five things you might not know about the Beastie Boys, in no particular order:

• My boyfriend Adam Horovitz, who you probably know was married to Ione Skye for a few years, is now married to riot grrrl extraordinaire and former lead singer from Bikini Kill, Kathleen Hanna. (Damn.)
  
• The band is over 25 years old. (Damn!)
  
• The Dust Brothers sampled "So What'cha Want" on Beck's song "E-Pro." (I don't hear it, but whatever.)
  
• According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the Boys are credited with coining and popularizing the word "mullet."
• The band was the first to win Grammies in both rap and alternative categories in the same year.

I knew there were reasons I loved these guys other than just their albums.
________________
OK, the email went to the entire web-based fanlist, but I know he had me in mind specifically when he sent it. I just know it.

Friday five.

Five things not to say to me in your reply to my online dating ad, in no particular order:

• My housemate said I'm looking german today - I think by "german" she meant "hot."
• I have probably seen every episode of Law and Order.
  
• Take a deep look at the man behind this note and the pictures.
• I ride a motorcycle (Japanese crotch rocket).
• I don't have a t.v.

(Oh and also, how can someone "sound cute" in an online ad? "Sounding fun" I get - but "cute"? Yes, sports fans, it's that time again. Twelve replies were automatically deleted, and I responded to the remaining seven... albeit five days later, because just the thought of spending time on this made me tired so I put it off for too long and now I'm responding in my insomniatic state at 4am and they will probably all think I'm a weirdo. In spite of that, this is my most optimistic attempt to date. I'll keep you posted.)

Just. Get. Dark. Already.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I am probably the only one I know with reverse SAD. I do love the Bay Area "summers," with their overcast mornings that eventually burn off into a sunny haze. But I don't understand why it's 8pm and still sunny outside. Um, hello, daylight savings time? We are no longer an agrarian society! Get with the times!

To remedy my ailment, as soon as I get home, I close all my blinds. It's the only way I can justify sitting on the couch watching TV. Her Majesty doesn't like this, of course - she's all about sitting in the sunbeams, and early evening is really the only time my apartment has a sunbeam to sit in.

Too bad, so sad.

This is why Portland is very appealing. I hear it's often overcast and/or rainy there. Not to mention, my rent would probably be about half what I'm paying now. (Granted, so would my salary, but whatever.) But could I really piss of the Portlanders by joining the masses who are moving there from the Bay Area in search of cheap property?

Yeah, I could. It would save me a bundle on airfare for the annual Pirate Festival, after all.

Poetic justice, or sumthin'.

This made me laugh out loud. You go, girl!

Holy time flying, Batman.

It's football season already?

Wow... I really am going to be 40 before I know it.

(It had to do with the scent of cloves.)

In another stellar attempt at procrastination (paper for a class is due Wednesday) I was looking at some old writing projects. I found one for a friend's writing group that I never ended up joining. The theme was "one of the five senses" or something along those lines:

I step onto the elevator going down and inhale a man’s cologne. Without warning I am four years old, sitting in my pediatrician’s office with a scratchy throat, silently pleading with the nurse with the pretty long black hair to call me into his office so that I can be enveloped in that comforting scent instead of that of the waiting room, rank with dirty diapers, germs and disinfectant.

I sidestep around construction workers rebuilding the inside of a nearby shop and sawdust fills my nose. In a moment I’m twelve, in my parents’ house helping my father remodel our kitchen, hoping he’ll trust me enough this time with the hammer – or at least the measuring tape – so that I can prove to him that I am able.

After lunch I take the long way back to the office, passing the park where a man is cutting the grass. The smell of freshly cut lawn takes me back to countless childhood summer nights playing flashlight tag with my brother and our neighbor, where I would hide for what seemed like hours in the still and silence of the night, and just when I thought they’d left me for good, the flashlight would shine in my eyes.

I step off the elevator and into the stifling, used air of the office. Someone has burned popcorn in the microwave down the hall again. I realize that this is my life now, and I sigh and walk down the hall to my desk.

I deleted one paragraph from the original piece before pasting it above, because it had to do with an ex and there wasn't a way to edit out the potentially personally-identifiable specifics without losing the meaning of why that memory made it into the piece.

Then I did something dumb. I googled him, again. Usually nothing comes up, or nothing new comes up. But this time I learned that he's got a LinkedIn contact in common with one of my LinkedIn contacts.

You know... It's bad enough that I probably live four feet from him and don't even know it... It's even worse that when I see a car that looks like his old car I momentarily panic, even though he probably has a different car these days... Worst of all, it's ridiculous that I STILL THINK ABOUT HIM. But now? Now?!

Now I have to live with the knowledge that there are two degrees of separation between him and myself.

I think it's time to put Kelly Clarkson on repeat and go for a looooong walk.

Oh, I totally forgot the most obvious observation.

If you ask me to lunch and/or dinner six times in a row, and six consecutive times, I say "no," you should really get a clue.

Belated Friday five.

Five observations from today, in no particular order:

• I don't like the new Smashing Pumpkins album. I really hoped I would, but alas, I do not.
  
• How the hell can it be legal to close an entire bridge for an entire holiday weekend?
• I am 7.5 years from turning 40.
• These sweaters from Old Navy? Sooooooo comfy, and only $20!
• It should be craft night EVERY night.
  

I loved it. It was much better than Cats. I'm going to see it again and again.

[If you can't see the show, buy the soundtrack. You won't be sorry. And you'll actually understand this post.]

On the BART ride to the city last night to see the second best Broadway show ever, a woman was reading a book called Racism Explained to My Daughter. I thought of that during one of the songs in the musical. And during another song I thought of the people who were running runNING RUNNING to catch the train only to have the door slammed in their face, and the people who were running runNING RUNNING to catch the train only to have the train sit there for five minutes. And during another song I thought of David.

Actually, I thought of a lot of things during a lot of the songs. What a remarkably relevant (to me) piece of work. For now.

________________
And at last, I was validated: crabby old bitches are the bedrock of this nation!

Early Friday five.

Thank God for dooce, who reminded me of this brilliant song I used to love once upon a time. And so I bring you the top five songs from the early 1990's I could not live without, in no particular order:

• The Last Day of Our Acquaintance - Sinead O'Connor (I love her work, I don't care whose photos she rips up on SNL or what anyone says about her)
  
• Unbelievable - EMF (mock me if you will, but it always reminds me of the Billy Bragg/Michael Stipe parody which always makes me laugh - OK, and it's a sad point of pride that I can recite the whole "rap" section which makes no sense anyway - OK, and the lead singer was hot)
• Three Strange Days - School of Fish (because it reminds me of Steve, who made the tape for me, who was my first college-aged crush)
• Stay - Lisa Loeb (again, mock if you must, but Reality Bites was a defining moment in my life)
• More Than Words - Extreme (I make no excuses... it's a cheeseball song, but I'm a cheeseball at heart)

But mostly during the early 90's I was into all the grunge and electronica. Pearl Jam will always be my favorite band, and I still love Erasure and New Order and the Smiths and Depeche Mode and ... OK, done rationalizing this list now.

Now you! What's your defining 1990's song?

File under: fucking creepy.

This evening at the gym I was perusing a semi-recent issue of People magazine while on the treadmill. I ran across an article about Oscar the cat, a two year old "resident" of a nursing home in Rhode Island, who has allegedly predicted 25 deaths.

According to the article I read, the researchers believe he can "smell" death coming. Also according to the article, the staff has taken to alerting family members when Oscar starts pacing or jumps up on a living breathing person's bed and starts kneading them and purring - alerting, as in "family members, the time has come."

Okay, first of all? GROSS.

Second of all? Strangely fascinating. Her Majesty certainly freaked the hell out right before the last earthquake, and her dearly beloved brother Riley had an uncanny ability to know when I was upset (he would force himself onto my lap even when I tried to push him away, and he would bat his little paw at my tears). I don't think cats get the credit they deserve.

Third of all? THIS is news? People, please.

Confessions.

I am totally addicted to So You Think You Can Dance.

This makes me laugh.

It was really cool to hang out with former coworkers and hear them talk about the issues and the lingo and the corporate bullshit, none of which has changed a single bit in six months, and be able to sit back and just enjoy my beer.

I'm also strangely addicted to My Boys. Probably because that will be me in 5 years. (She's 37, right??)

Sugar-free Oreos are really good.

But so are peanut butter cup brownies.

"I can't believe we're paying to watch something we could see on TV for free!"

I only paid $6.25 to watch The Simpsons Movie. Afterward I made up a word that summed up how I felt about it: funforgetable.* As in, I enjoyed watching it, but afterward, I couldn't really recall any of the good jokes and actually didn't think too much about it. Except for that motorcycle trick - that looked AWESOME.

For fans, it would be well worth your $6.25 (or better yet, a two-for-one Parkway viewing). Non-fans probably stopped reading at the first sentence in which case, goodbye, everybody!

________________
* Go ahead - google it. You'll get three major responses, only one of which is in English. Therefore I can claim that I made it up. Where's that Oxford Dictionary entry form...

Belated Friday five.

Five things I learned today, in no particular order:

• There is a children's coloring book called Great Lawyers. No shit - a coloring book. Only Borders* would have such a thing. (It's hilarious to me that when I googled "Great Lawyers coloring book" the post that came up was pretty much the guy doing what I did - leafing through it in fear and awe - and then blogging about it.)
  
• People can be quite reasonable when they want to avoid a lengthy and costly car insurance claim. (I was backing out of my space, and in true Brady Bunch form I checked and double checked before I started moving, and this SUV also backed up without looking, but the only damage was a scratch on my bumper and quite frankly I couldn't have cared less, so we basically said to each other, "I don't care - do you care? No? OK, well great, have a nice day!" and went about our business.**)
  
• The Indian joint in the Emeryville Public Market isn't very good.
• Trader Joe's has General Tsao's sauce which may allow me to recreate my favorite vegetarian dish that I can only find in Maryland (General Tsao's "chik'n" if you will), which irritates me to no end but also gives me something to look forward to after a 7 hour plane ride. [pause] If that doesn't work I will try this recipe. Gosh, it never occurred to me to search the web for a recipe. [pause] Apparently it also didn't occur to me to search the web for a restaurant near me that serves said dish. Next time I go to the Shoreline, I am soooooo there. [pause] Say, wait a minute... OK, next time I go to San Francisco, I am soooooo there. [pause] WOW. There are several others too. To sum up, today I learned that I have a new and exciting mission ahead of me.
• It's surprisingly easy to kill two hours in Ikea.
  

________________
* Lest ye judge, I only went to Border's because I wanted to buy one of my favorite childhood books as a gift for my long-time friend's son. In case he already has it, they don't have Diesel or Pegasus or Moe's back east, okay?! They didn't have Danny and the Dinosaur in stock, which was probably my favorite book at age 4. I really wanted to read that one again. Bah.

** I'm running short on this type of luck. I've never had a major car accident. However, on my way home from a wedding a couple years ago I rear-ended a woman (though I just barely tapped her car). I was mortified - I was pretty emotional because of my lack of any prospects for a wedding in the foreseeable future - but she just got out of her car, looked at me, looked at her bumper, said "are you OK? I'm fine," I said, "I'm fine," and she said "OK, have a nice day" and drove off. Perhaps my teary reply worked in my favor that day. But there's something about the "three strikes you're out" rule... So I think my next accident will be a doozy.

Early Friday five. And some psychoanalysis.

Five things I learned from my "managing conflict" class this past week, in no particular order:

• I have a tendency to avoid conflict at all costs (using humor, bargaining, accommodation... basically not having the cojones to look someone in the eye and say "let me show you where I have trouble following your reasoning" or "do you have a suggestion to move us forward?" as the class materials suggest).
  
• I might consider myself a people person but really, I'm all about the facts.
  
• I'm too nice.
• Yet, I have no patience for people who have something to say about every single thing the instructor says.
• I don't think I'm cut out for upper management.

We were doing a case study/role play when the "too nice" comment came up. It's something I've known about myself forever - I want everyone else to be happy at my own expense, "no really, you enjoy the party, I'll do your dishes" might ring true for many dear readers - but to hear an almost-perfect stranger say that about me was kind of awakening.

Of course, I don't think my recent work behavior of being a total bitch in large cross-departmental meetings is so indicative of Ms Nice Guy. Incidents include pointedly stating that there are actually three stages to each project and the fact that mine is the last stage does not mean that I am the late one, how about let's look at some of the earlier stages and did they meet their deadlines? no? well, how about that... Or that time today when I suggested a new way to organize meetings without first talking to the original meeting organizer who wasn't even in the room during the discussion.

I'm not convinced that people can change their ways. I think if we take the time to be conscious about approaching a situation, we can temporarily adapt our ways to fit the situation. I would love to be a "conceptualizer" rather than an "analyzer," believe me. It sounds more fun, for one thing. But deep down, I will always need a spreadsheet of cold hard data before I can make a decision. And I will probably always be passive-aggressive and I will probably always want to make sure everyone is happy at my own expense.

There's gotta be a support group for people like me... Or at least a talk show that does not involve Dr Phil.

________________
But sometimes, when I'm doing the dishes at your party, it's really because I just need a break from all the socializing so leave me alone about it and just enjoy the fact that I'm doing them and you won't have to, already. Savvy?

I've got nothing to say.

I hope you have a nice day.

_________________
This post brought to you by Too Much Joy. To create, you must destroy.

Neither wind, nor rain, nor cold...

I went for a run anyway, even though it was cold and the sky was spitting on me for most of the hour. BUT, in an effort to stay focused on the work I needed to accomplish today I didn't take my iPod. Instead, I planned an MS Access relational database in my head as I pounded the pavement.

And now it's Sunday night, I'm having a glass of wine and documenting my database before I start to create it.

God, I'm a nerd...

I do have the TV on in the background. And I have to formally state my position on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I think that overall, the design team and CBS (or ABC?) and the community volunteers are doing great work by bringing new life and new hope to needy families. Where I have trouble is that, a) they build ginormous homes amidst teeny homes and I just have to wonder what that does to the family's relationship with the neighbors after they are done with the house?, b) there doesn't appear to be anything sustainable (as in, energy efficient, or global-warming-preventing) about the new homes they build, and c) there doesn't seem to be any consideration given to the fact that the family is typically low-income and building a ginormous house will drastically increase the gas, electric, and water bills every month - where is the follow up to see if this is a sustainable model for revitalizing homes and improving lives, and how many families can support themselves in their new home? End of soapbox. Oh and also, are families able to sell the homes on the market or are there any restrictions to that extent? Probably only I would wonder about that. I'd better call Ty.

Despite all of that, the show still makes me cry every Sunday night. Dammit.

Welcome to my thought process, 3-5:30am this morning.

I woke up at the usual witching hour this morning and wasn't able to go back to sleep. So I flipped through infomercials and prayer shows until I ran across The Bone Collector.

I'm sure no one cares but spoilers follow.

I was convinced that it was the stupid cop. He must've been doing it on purpose, losing evidence and not linking clues together. I spent 90% of the movie very disappointed in Denzel, that he would participate in such a lame movie. (But also very impressed with Denzel because his portrayal of a quadriplegic was astounding. He never moved a muscle he wasn't supposed to move. And also very jealous of Queen Latifah because she got to play his caretaker. Sigh.)

But then the end twisted and turned, and it wasn't the stupid cop, and even though the ending and the movie overall were still lame, my faith in humanity was restored.

And then I watched five minutes of Parental Control and all that faith went right out the window.

Well hung.

The tree is 100% done and hanging over my bed as I type. Laundry is done. It's cold and seems to be trying to rain so I'm hesitant to go for a run. I vacuumed. I've watched all my Netflix movies. There's nothing good on TV. My car is clean inside and out.

How am I supposed to procrastinate finishing all the work I'm supposed to do before tomorrow, when the world is against me?

Good day, great day.

On a good day, the smell of baking bread wafting through the apartment is enough to make me very, very happy.

On a great day, I've spent the day downtown in a very productive class, I've had a lovely 3 mile walk from downtown (with 1 mile detour) to home, I've picked up new houseplants along the way, and all three pizza crusts I've baked turned out PERFECTLY.

This has been a great day.

The more things change...

I wasn't alive in 1968 when Bobby Kennedy was shot. All the history books I read in school seemed to jump from 1964 to 1974, so before seeing the movie I didn't really know much about him other than the fact that he was a Kennedy and therefore he probably rocked. But I did finally watch, and very much appreciate, Bobby. Liberal bias and Rehab Queen aside, it was very well cast and well directed and well shot (no pun intended) and... Well, it made me kinda sad, actually. I don't feel like we've come very far in 40 years. It feels like as technology advances at warp speed, societal progression slows down. And I don't just mean in the "can't talk - text messaging" sense of it, I mean in the grand scheme of things - The-Man-keeping-people-not-like-himself-down sense of it. I know that adding a post-1968 human rights montage at the end would've been cliche, but that's all that was running through my head after I watched the movie. I'll have to ask my parents where they were when he was killed. And slightly unrelated but not so much, I've REALLY gotta see A Day Without A Mexican.

I was eight years old when The Big Chill came out. But on a whim I watched that last night. All those liberal arts self-righteous college kids who ended up in mainstream society, feeling sad and lost and lonely and unfulfilled... For a brief moment it made me appreciate my life, seeing as how I'm on the rebound from the corporate world. But then today I sat in a random meeting with people in my line of work, and I was kinda stunned to realize that none of them were wearing wedding rings. I chalked it up to the fact that they were all gay just to make myself feel better, but somehow the movie intertwined with the meeting and I walked out wondering if anyone was really, truly happy. An odd day followed.

And now I'm going to watch Kramer Vs Kramer, because my oldest friend raves about that movie, and I imagine I will cry at the appropriate scenes and appreciate the Oscar-worthiness of the movie, and then be left wondering why people bother to get married and what the meaning of life is all about.

Welcome to my Friday night! Good thing I have a full bottle of wine to accompany this viewing.

Thank you, Netflix, for reducing my monthly payments.

Tonight I watched The Last Picture Show. This movie has been recommended by many people over many years, but I held off for whatever reason - it's an older movie; it has Cybill Shepherd who I generally can't stand; Lost seasons 1 & 2 seemed much more important... you get the point.

This was one of the best black & white sleeper movies from the 1970s that I have ever seen. (It's also possibly the only black & white sleeper movie from the 1970s that I've ever seen.) Cybill was bitchy as all get out, and I actually loved it, mainly because I felt like the boy characters were spineless direction-less yahoos who needed to grow the hell up already. I also loved Cloris Leachman's character, and all the older-than-high-school women in general, they brought such an attitude and a heartwarming spin to the film.

So in summary: thumbs up, if you're a lady. Men should rent the Deer Hunter or Apocalypse Now instead.

Look what I made.

About a year ago, I decided that the perfect thing to hang right over my bed was a tapestry of a Japanese cherry tree, much like this one only with burgundy flowers instead of pink flowers (because I have a burgundy Asian theme going on in that room).

About nine months ago, I went to Chinatown and Japantown to look for such a tapestry, but the only one I found cost a lot of money, and I didn't particularly love it, and I realized that I could just make a tapestry myself for about $10.

About six months ago, I went to Michael's and bought some muslin and burgundy paint (being a crafty person, I already had the black paint). The Michael's bag sat on my dining room table for five months.

About a month ago my friend came over for craft night and while she worked on a crafty picture frame for her dad for Father's Day, I started my tree. I got about halfway done, and hung it over my bedroom door to dry until I could finish it.

It hung there for four weeks.

About ten minutes ago, I finally finished the tree:



I'm not thrilled with the leaves but overall I'm quite proud of this little project (though far less proud that it really took me a year, when in total the project itself took about an hour and a half).

I'm guessing it will continue to hang over my bedroom door "drying" until I get to Home Depot to buy a couple wooden rods to hang it with. And then maybe in about two months, I'll drag out the sewing machine and sew hems in the muslin for the wooden rods. And then in about three months I will hang it over my bed and not worry about it falling on my head and knocking me unconscious during the next earthquake (which is kinda how this whole idea came about in the first place).

Good thing my friend and I are starting on Christmas presents this week. Clearly it will take me that long to finish them...

I'm "Prufrock and Other Observations" by T.S. Eliot.

"Though you are very short and often overshadowed, your voice is poetic and lyrical. Dark and brooding, you see the world as a hopeless effort of people trying to impress other people. Though you make reference to almost everything, you've really heard enough about Michelangelo. You measure out your life with coffee spoons."

Sounds about right... Which book are you?

Harry dies.

At least that's what the young person working at Pet Food Express kept saying to the other young person (who kept replying "stop it! that would be so sad! I would cry!") and then the third young person announced that she had read the last page and was going to reveal the ending... And everyone squealed "NO NO NO!" including me and I don't even give a rat's ass about Harry Potter.

Remember when we were of that age, where teasing counted as flirting? Somewhere after age 25 flirting becomes much more purposeful and even somewhat daring. I'm much better at the teasing angle.

Hmm. Maybe I should hit on that first young person at Pet Food Express. He looked over 18...

Friday five.

Five random observations, in no particular order:

• If Safeway charges me for the two decaffeinated green tea boxes (2 for $5!) that I put in my basket after a grueling manual labor day at work, but they don't actually put both boxes in my shopping bag and just put one in the bag, once I get home and realize this fact I am far less likely to go back and demand the second box owed me. But I am also far less likely to frequent that Safeway for a few weeks.
  
• Antioch is HOT in the summer.
• When my cat jumps up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason and scampers at 90 miles/hour across the room, I should expect an earthquake within about 10 seconds. (And this one was a mile from my apartment, and therefore A DOOZY, like nothing I have felt in the ten years I've lived here. An acquaintance who lives a mile away had broken windows and broken kitchenware as a result of this one. My only casualty was a plastic frog that fell off the top of my monitor onto my desk. Oh, and a very freaked out cat that wouldn't let me get back to sleep for an hour... OK, so I was a little freaked out too and couldn't go back to sleep.)
• Reese's chocolate layered cookies, which I only bought on a whim for my PCT hiker friend who loves Reese's cups, and of course had to try before packing them up for her, are actually REALLY FREAKING GOOD.
• I'm the first to see any Adam Sandler movie without really thinking twice, but I just don't see how mocking domestic partner benefits is (or should be) funny and I hope this movie bombs.
  

"An educated, healthy and confident nation is harder to govern."

I saw Sicko this weekend. I was pleasantly surprised that Michael Moore toned it down quite a bit from his previous endeavors. There were all his usual examples of how other countries do "it" (in this case, health care) better than the U.S. but the examples in the film were much less stylized and much more to the point. They even seemed to feature real people. In particular, the Cuba scenes were both hilarious and heart wrenching (I will admit that I shed a few tears when the Cuban firefighters were honoring the 9/11 rescue workers - I'm not too proud to admit that, but mind you, I'm an emotional basket case these days so take it with a grain of salt).

Overall though, I was left with the feeling that the under served and underrepresented masses who needed to see this film and rally around it would probably not see this film, that just like Al Gore and as with Moore's 9/11 film it was all really just preaching to the choir... and that I really need to get the hell out of the United States.

Attention, single heterosexual males with no or little baggage between the ages of 30-45 in Toronto (or better yet, Paris): call me! (me téléphoner!)

It's not that I'm bored with this "writing" project.

Pardon me while I ramble with no real point to speak of. One or more readers will admire the excessive use of commas contained within.

Despite my lack of posts, I'm not bored with this blog. I have much to say, in fact. It's just that I'm very, very tired of staring at a computer screen by the time I get home at night, so I opt for the television screen instead. I expected to spend more time on the phone every day, and that's been fine, but I'm constantly surprised at how much time I spend on the computer.

This has been a good week, so far. Either I've been able to successfully (and permanently) remind myself that it's just a job, or I've come to terms with the "bad" and I'm trying to just deal with that and get it out of the way, while focusing on the more interesting and rewarding "good." I still have doubts that I will be in this job for more than a year, but this week I'm more optimistic, and change takes so damn much time and I want to be there to see it through, and I completely admire and respect all the people I work with. So we'll see. I can't believe it's already been 4.5 months and yet it feels like 9 years.

When I'm down about the job, as I was last week (7/9 was by far the hardest morning I've ever had getting up - EVER - I kid you not) I tend to drift toward thinking about all the people who were so supportive of this move who I don't want to let down. And then I get annoyed with myself because this shouldn't be about them, it should be about ME, dammit, but still I don't want to let them down. So I get mad at them and blame my unhappiness on them and peruse jobs in Portland, because God forbid I just quit a job because I'm not happy and find another job in the same city where I might run into former coworkers. Nooo. Must flee.

But then I have a week like this week, and really good, productive conversations with my coworkers and clients, and somehow it seems tolerable. I guess it's all about balancing the bad with the good, and making an effort to celebrate the good because in social service-type work it comes so rarely. I've also been reading The Tao of Pooh which - you will laugh but it's true - has helped my mental state immensely. I can't wait to move on to The Te of Piglet.

All this said, my dream job (if I MUST work, which it appears I must, sigh) continues to be veterinarian and I've been pondering how to get there within 10 years.

Damn you, biochemistry. Damn you and the injured horse you rode in on.

One of these things just doesn't belong.

Had the pictures turned out, you would be looking at the tips of four fingers on my left hand, three of which are normal looking and one of which is smashed beyond all belief. The pictures I tried to take don't do the lovely shade of purple and the swelling justice so I won't bother posting them. Suffice to say, when my index finger hits the keyboard it feels like a big numb mushball. (What imagery! I should be a poet.)

But it was worth it. I helped a friend frame a smallish wood shed this afternoon. Well, actually I did the framing while he worked on the finished doors - fine by me, because you can mess up in framing and it's all good. You mess up on the finish? All BAD.

So I was entrusted with plans, a circular saw, a pile of 2x4s, and of course hammer and nails. In total it took about 3 hours to complete the foundation base frame and back wall frame, because I measured-eight-cut-once on almost every cut (when I helped with his deck I screwed up a few cuts on expensive wood, never again would I let that happen). Oh and also, as I mentioned I smashed my index finger - but I didn't mention that it was on the second freaking nail 30 minutes into the day - so that slowed the progress a bit.

But once I got going it was all downhill, and tomorrow afternoon I will go back and finish the framing and live vicariously through his homeownership. And work out the stress that has built up over the past week. And maybe next week someone else will have a home improvement project I can help with to relieve some stress.

Bonus points if it's a demo project. I LOVE demo.

You wouldn't think I would be happy about this but...

Success - it's dead.

YAY!

One small step...

Not that it will happen, of course, but still.

I think I just need more of this stuff.

Tonight I read my friend's recent PCT entries, and in one she wrote "The climb that I was worried about last night? It turned out to be no big deal."

And then I read this story from Dooce and I laughed out loud the whole time I was reading it.

And then I got all six of the cult movie answers right on the World Series of Pop Culture.

And now I feel much better.

Hello, you have reached the summer of our discontent.

I seriously bruised the top and side of my foot while dancing at my friend's wedding this weekend,* and therefore the gym is out of the question for a few days, which means I get to imbibe tonight and share the following alcohol-related story with you, dear reader.

Sometime over the weekend, on one of my 6 plane rides to and from Puerto Rico, I read that a scary proportion of my generation has declared themselves an alcoholic and sought treatment, and most of them did it around age 30. (I think I read it in Blender, or maybe it was the US Air magazine, I'm not really sure - either way it was surely a credible journal.)

And NO BLOODY WONDER, I tell ya. Half a year into 32 and if this is all there is, count me out. Of course, you could go by the sentiment of the bar in Old San Juan:


But I'm not sure that's the answer either.

I don't think I have EVER dreaded going to work as much as I did this morning. I think I'm realizing that all jobs suck and mine especially sucks right now and this is all I have to look forward to for the next 32.5 years. I spent the 6 plane rides also trying to think of a job I would actually enjoy doing, and came up with basically nothing, except for maybe veterinarian if not for the chemistry.

It's not even the wedding thing, which normally bums me out - I've been to 2 in the span of 7 days and they were both lovely, and I didn't get sad at either. It's just that there must be more to life than working 8-10 hours a day, 5 days a week, and only having 2 days to enjoy yourself and 2 weeks vacation to see the GINORMOUS world around us.

I'm sure that most of this negativity has to do with seeing this 3 nights in a row...


...and then coming back to the stark reality of a crappy job and a loud fucking cat with hairballs and ridiculous bills and stupid people and George Bush (it all comes back to him, eh?) and just wishing I could sit on that beach for another 45 years and then die a happy death.

I really need to find a way to not work. And get exercise through manual labor versus running on a machine. And still be able to eat. (I'll eat ramen, twigs and berries, roadkill - I don't care.) I just don't want to work. EVER. AGAIN. I want to be closer to nature than I am, I want to be away from city life and all of the crime and muggings at gunpoint and panhandling and neon and chain restaurants and dirt and grime that go along with it (but still close enough to city life that I can get good Thai food when I want it, natch). I want to camp and swim in the river and watch the stars at night.

I don't want to be a soccer mom, I don't need a man or a kid or even this loud fucking cat and her hairballs right now. I need technology only when I want to download new music and watch DVDs and recharge shit. I need contact with people only when I want contact with people. I need the sound of waves crashing and frogs/birds/crickets/cicadas chirping and I need to get rid of this pink wedding nail polish on my fingers and toes before it drives me batty.

I really hope that this funk passes soon. I think I've hit my regular 3-year cycle of lowest of lows (last one was at 29, before that 26, 23, 20, 17... so the timing seems right... although sometimes I wonder if it's a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point) and all will be right with my world soon enough. In the meantime, forgive me if I don't return your calls or emails.

And to end on a less-than-sour note, I bring you Mini Me. (Is anyone other than me waiting for the "I Can Has Cheezburger in Paradise" post?)

________________
* I really have no idea. Just to round out this AA post, I'd had a sangria, a whiskey, a champagne and approximately three (give or take) glasses of wine over the course of about 3 hours when it happened. It was either during the Elvis song, or the big hair 80's montage, or the song that was much like the Macarena only it was not the Macarena but was more like a weird version of the Electric Slide mixed with a little Hokey Pokey (kewpie doll to the reader who can identify that song).

Luckily I quit drinking way before we hit the blackjack tables a few hours later, so I lasted for two hours at the table on a mere $20, at $5 a bet - pretty impressive for a novice.

Public service announcement.

World Series of Pop Culture is BACK. Tonight, 9pm, VH1.

Awwwwww yeah.

... because you might hit a bump and put your multiple tips in a drawer.

I wasn't all that frantic about the email sent at 3:45pm today from Expedia, which I read at 6:30pm this evening, saying "your flight tomorrow has been canceled, please contact us immediately." I figured, they owed it to me to find another flight that was fairly convenient, and after 2 hours on the phone with them, they did. It was a little nerve wracking, sure, but aside from the fact that I might miss my oldest friend's wedding, I really wasn't too broken up about dropping 18 hours in the air and 4 plane changes over the span of 3.67 days from my plan this week.

MUCH more nerve-wracking was the mystery of the alleged "multiple tips." I was talking with a friend on Saturday about the impending 18 hours in the air and my lack of a laptop to do some work, or more importantly, catch up on Netflix. Yesterday it occurred to me that other options existed, so I went to Best Buy to check out portable DVD players. Surely they would be cheaper than, but just as useful as, a laptop for this purpose.

I succumbed, but opted for the cheapest one (life span 2.5 hours), and bought a supplemental battery (life span 3.0 hours), and the price equaled out to a stand-alone device with 3.5 hours of life span so it felt like a good deal. I figured I would mainly be using this combination of devices on the trip home, and 5 hours would be just about right.

So I got home last night, opened a bottle of wine, unpacked my toys and started to charge them. A couple glasses of wine and lots of TV later, I went to bed.

This morning I was looking at the supplemental battery and trying to figure out how the hell it plugged into the DVD player. The cable plug looked nothing like the input for the DVD player, so I pulled the battery package out of the trash and noticed that it allegedly came with "five exchangeable tips" which would plug into any/all DVD players. I had no recollection of seeing such "tips" so at lunch I took the battery back to Best Buy to complain.

They were insistent that the "tips" came with the battery, and perhaps I had accidentally thrown them away with the packaging? It seemed feasible, so when I got home tonight after taking care of the 2 hour phone call I searched the trash and all other random packaging from the purchase for these alleged "tips." No luck.

I was three seconds from heading out the door to Best Buy to cause a ruckus, when it occurred to me to check my "I don't know what this is for but I should probably keep it so I will toss it in here for now" drawer, which mostly contains extra bolts and screws from Ikea purchases but also an occasional technological gadget. So I checked.

Lo and behold, there were the multiple tips! And one of them fits perfectly into the DVD player! Which means that during some portion of the 18 hours of flight time, I can finally watch the Battlestar Gallactica miniseries AND the other two Netflix movies I've been sitting on!

And never again shall I drink wine while opening technology. Youngsters, learn from the errors of my ways.

Foiled again.

Yesterday I woke up at 6am, considered getting up to take care of some chores and get them out of the way, reconsidered and went back to bed. I woke up again around 10am, putzed around for a bit, went for a leisurely run, and was eating breakfast and checking my email around 11:45am when I read the "parking for the wedding" email reminding me that the ceremony started at 1pm.

SHIT! I'd had it in my head that the ceremony started at 5pm! Miraculously, I made it to the ceremony with a few minutes to spare. And it was a truly lovely ceremony and reception, much fun was had by all - AND I got to play with an iPhone (who wants to touch me? I said who wants to fucking touch me?!).

This morning I was determined to better map out my day. I scheduled a haircut at 4pm, so my plan was to hit the Noah's in Alameda for breakfast just before 10am, run a bunch of Alameda-shopping-related errands, check out Ratatouille, then go to my haircut.

The Noah's in South Shore no longer exists. D'oh! I meandered dishearteningly into Starbucks, which OF COURSE still exists (as does the Starbucks in the GINORMOUS Safeway in the same shopping center), perused their dismal selection of fattening pastries, and cheered myself up with a raspberry mocha. Then I rushed through shopping so that I could get home and eat something without turning into Senorita Crankypants, skipped the movie to do laundry instead, and... well, that just about brings us up to speed on my day.

Because this post is seriously boring me, and I'm sure you as well, I bring you five fun Alameda facts:

• Alameda is the original home of Skippy peanut butter, and every year a Peanut Butter Jam Festival is held on Webster Street. (I so need to go to that this year!)
• The movie/musical Rent was filmed in Alameda. (I so need to watch that again to see if anything looks familiar!)
• Lots of Matrix-related stuff went on in Alameda. (I really don't need to watch anything Matrix-related ever again, but it's cool that they filmed scenes in Alameda.)
  
• The open space of the decommissioned naval base often hosts MythBusters' more dangerous experiments. (I... just don't care.)
  
• Phyllis Diller, Tom Hanks, and Jim Morrison all lived in Alameda. Presumably, not at the same time. (Ah, Jim... I knew there was a reason I am drawn to Alameda.)
  

Who knew?! I love Alameda. And Wikipedia, also.

Public service announcement.

"FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE -- June 28, 2007 -- Robert's American Gourmet Food, Inc.of Sea Cliff, New York is recalling Veggie Booty Snack Food all lots and sizes, because it has the potential to be contaminated with Salmonella..."

My great-aunt, rest her soul, used to call Salmonella "Silly Millie" because she couldn't remember the real name.

As an aside, is anyone else growing concerned with the number of recalls related to Salmonella and the food I eat? Where's that mad cow disease, anyway? If Pirate Booty gets recalled, I'm moving to Canada.

Misty water-colored memories.

Having nothing better to do, and enjoying that fact immensely, I was perusing the channel 11 program listings right before 8pm tonight. I noticed that The Dukes of Hazzard was on at 8pm on the Country Music Network. Or CMT, whatever that stands for. I've deprogrammed the CMT from my cable scanning so that I don't even have to see it when I skip through, so this was particularly interesting. And I had a moment.

Between the ages of 6-8, The Dukes of Hazzard WAS my Friday night. It came on at 8pm, and it was unusual for my parents to let us watch TV after 8pm at that point in my life. (I recall a random time now and then when I caught a SNL episode, which was VERY unusual at that point in my life. I can't recall which episodes I was actually able to witness as a young gal but the Mr Robinson's Neighborhood, James Brown parody and Shark Candy Delivery episodes were very familiar when I saw them later in life, so I can only presume.)

Anyway, my parents made an exception for the Dukes, for whatever reason. (Probably because my dad was huge Waylon Jennings fan, and my folks were both country when country wasn't cool.) It was a huge deal. My mom would make popcorn, and my brother and I would lay on the floor in front of the TV and eat popcorn out of those wooden bowls that still live in my parents' cabinet, and we would watch Luke and Bo get out of whatever ridiculous situation Roscoe P. Coltrane or Boss Hogg got them into each week.

We even had an insult for each other - "you're like Roscoe P Coltrane - you PEE in your COLE TRAIN hahaha." We had no idea what it meant, but we said it regardless.

And I recall going to a county fair, and playing one of those games where you have to shoot enough water into the clown's mouth, or get a ping-pong ball into a milk bottle, or pick the right rubber duck, and anyway I won a prize. For my prize I chose a poster of Daisy Duke because I thought she was just THE SHIT. I had a huge crush on Luke Duke when I was 6-12 years old, but I seemed to notice that Daisy Duke was able to get them out of all sorts of trouble using her wits and/or her feminine wiles. So I chose her poster.

[Now that I think about it, the Daisy Duke poster had a scantily clad photo of Catherine Bach in "Daisy Dukes" on it. Probably seemed kind of odd to the carnival guy at the time to give a poster of a scantily clad woman to a 6-year-old, but it damn certain made sense to me. After all, I had an older brother who would torment me at a moment's notice. A year later I also insisted on being Princess Leia. Little did I know that she would go on to be every male's fantasy in her Jabba slave outfit. "Women power and I'll be over here," indeed.]

I'm still watching this particular episode of the Dukes, and I still have a crush on (then) Luke, and I still remember this particular episode. And I'm OK with all of that. As scary as that may sound.

Early Friday five.

Top five office quotes from my Office calendar, in no particular order, and then one thrown in for good measure.

• "If at first you don't succeed, see if the loser gets anything." - anonymous
• "Thanks to wireless technology, I can hate my job almost anywhere." - John Caldwell, cartoonist
• "If you see a snake, just kill it - don't appoint a committee on snakes." - H. Ross Perot
• "Hard work has a future payoff. Laziness pays off NOW!" - anonymous
• "It sucks to be me." - Brian, Kate Monster, Rod, Nicky, Christmas Eve, Gary Coleman
  

Belated Friday five.

Only three other people will get this top five list of phrases uttered in Lake View Lodge, room 31, Lee Vining CA last Saturday night... And two of them are not currently reading this blog... But I'm OK with that.

• "If you want to vomit the cool whip..."
• "bluchini"
• "To be or not to expectorate - that is the bunnies."
• "Melt - yeeeeaaaahhhh, that's a good one."
• "Gourd-zzzzah."

The context to all of this can be summarized by the statement, "we may regret the fact that this is not an official Mad Lib." Oh and also, two bottles of wine and a good portion of Fromager D'Affinois was involved. But we mathed it out, and it was all good.

Why I need to quit my job and become a mountaineer.

Exhibit A, Glen Aulin trail, Yosemite:


Exhibit B, Save Mono Lake! (and the tufa!):


I have GOT to get to the mountains more often. This is bloody ridiculous.

Normally I don't forward this crap but...

Forwarded by my oldest and dearest friend:

"Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

"Now men.... Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with."

Ladies, share this with all the good apples you know.

Early Friday five.

The "sometimes you've just gotta know when to shut the fuck up already" Friday five, in no particular order:

• Isaiah Washington.
• Chris Daly.
• Tom Sizemore.
• Jeffre Cheuvront.
• George Bush, just on general principle.
  

Bloody hell, indeed.

I really need to re-examine my Netflix queue.

Friday night I popped in Blood Diamond, thinking it would be a good film because of all the Oscar hype and political content and... well, okay, and because of Leo. Bad South African accent or not, that man is FINE.

About an hour into it, I had to turn it off. I just wasn't up for such an incredibly depressing commentary on our capitalist society, that we don't even care that people are dying just so that Susie can get her 3 carat rock from Johnny. And I decided Friday night that if I ever get engaged, I will follow the lead from some gal I saw on a Food Network Wedding Planning Extravaganza special and insist on a plasma TV instead of an engagement ring.

(Please don't lecture me on the environmental perils of plasma TVs.)

So after that attempt I popped in 13 Tzameti, which was actually an interesting and disgusting commentary on our capitalist society (and also, the lead guy was FINE, in his French way), but I kept falling asleep so I finished it Sunday afternoon. Turns out it was rather bloody but in a subtle way, and the acting and cinematography were stellar. It reminded me a lot of the films that my "history of film" professor made us watch when I took that extracurricular class a couple of years ago, and I think that means it's a good film. Apparently Hollywood is going to remake it which (if history serves) will render the original meaningless and the remake just plain awful. So catch it while you can, but be ready for a downer.

And after I finished with 13 Tzameti, I popped in Saw III, which lasted approximately 10 minutes in my DVD player. I wasn't in the mood for gore, and also - WTF? The original Saw was a great psychological thriller with just a little gore thrown in for effect. Saw II at least featured Donnie Wahlberg, and it was nice to see the former New Kid getting roles better than the freaky naked dude in The Sixth Sense. But the first 10 minutes of Saw III had none of the thrills and all of the gore and damn it all to hell, what's the point of that?

Thank goodness Cars is next in my queue. I need a bloody break.

A sad state of affairs.

It's really sad when you drive past a gas station and say, "Wow! Gas there is only $3.40!"

"ONLY."

Yay, war! Sigh.

I love it when a plan doesn't come together.

This morning I was supposed to help a friend move, and this evening I had tentative plans to hang out with another friend. Last night I got an email from the former saying "actually we got most of it done today so you're off the hook" and this morning I got an email from the latter saying "something came up can we postpone?"

This left me with zero plans for today. I can't even begin to describe how marvelous it has been.

I finished laundry at 9:45am, ran a bunch of errands including a procrastinated trip to Berkeley Bowl to pick up tofu jerky for my PCT hiking friend (I even found PARKING! at BERKELEY BOWL - PARKING! and of course I also found a bunch of stuff I didn't really need but purchased anyway, because where else am I going to find veat bites, whole wheat orzo in bulk and organic... well, organic everything?).

Now it's not quite 2pm and I can finish the movie I started Friday night but kept falling asleep during, and maybe watch the other one, and it will still only be around 7:30pm.

THIS is how every weekend should be.

To the shock of all...

I am Charlie Brown. I am a world-weary person who just can't relax and have a good time. Sometimes I even hide my happiness behind a mask of cynicism. People like me more than I realize. So I will lighten up and enjoy life before it's too late!

Which Peanuts character are you?

June 23 can't come any faster.

I can't wait for KGAY/Pride weekend, when all this drama queen behavior I've been exhibiting of late will be much more appropriately channeled.

In the words of the great Homer J. Simpson...

"It's funny because it's true!"

Belated Friday five.

In an effort to fit new music on my iPod I've been trying to uncheck some of the music I don't listen to very often. It's been very, very difficult to uncheck. Which brings us to the belated Friday five - top five musicians/bands I have a zillions songs for, that I have whittled down to the barebones minimum for space reasons and refuse to whittle down any more, in no particular order, with a belated Friday five bonus of the five songs I could not live without by each musician/band (still with me?):

• Bob Dylan (Don't Think Twice, It's Alright ~ Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again ~ Masters of War ~ Bob Dylan's Dream ~ Buckets of Rain)
  
• REM (Try Not to Breathe ~ Rockville ~ Half a World Away ~ Diminished ~ You Are the Everything)
  
• Decemberists... honestly I have not unchecked anything by them just yet (July, July ~ The Island ~ Red Right Ankle ~ Sons and Daughters ~ We Both Go Down Together)
  
• Barenaked Ladies (Blame It On Me ~ One Week acoustic ~ For You ~ Break Your Heart ~ Leave)
  
• Pearl Jam (Porch ~ Given to Fly ~ Indifference ~ State of Love and Trust ~ Footsteps)
  

Brought to you by Carl's Jr.

Fans of Borat and South Park might appreciate Idiocracy, Mike Judge's commentary on the dumbing down of America. It wasn't so much the plot, or the dialogue, or the acting - although they were all just fine. It was the detail accompanying the mockery, which Judge has clearly developed a talent for (remember the scenes with the printer in Office Space, how they were a total aside to the story but ended up some of the most frequently quoted lines, at least in my office?).

Suffice to say, I will never be able to eat at a Fuddrucker's ever again, and for at least a month I will laugh when I walk by a Starbucks.

All I need to know, I learned from television.

OK.

I admit it. After all the hype, I was mildly curious about this book. (It's akin to hearing about how god-awful Jonathan Franzen's second novel is, and scouring used bookstores and libraries for it because you don't want to shell out the cash. Not that I have done that.)

Fortunately a friend saved me the trouble with Frey's novel and just lent it to me. I'm on page 24, and already I can tell that he's totally lying. No struggle with his family when they dropped him off at rehab? In day two of rehab, he's not craving alcohol or drugs and can eat and walk around like a normal person? He's actually social with the people around him? Not once has he had the urge to leave rehab to go shopping or work out?

COME ON.

Clearly Mr. Frey needed to spend some time with our good friends at A&E, or Meg Ryan, or Lindsay Lohan, before sitting down to write this novel.

I think it starts with P...? Or maybe C.

Yesterday after work I walked to the post office near my former place of employment. I passed several people I worked peripherally with. I was in a hurry so despite their "hey how's the new job" greetings, I just waved and kept walking. I didn't even apologize or explain my rush. What do I care? I won't have to work with them ever again.

Then I saw a guy I worked REALLY closely with for a long time (I want to say a year or more). This wasn't nine years ago, it was maybe two or three years ago. For the life of me, I could not remember his name.

I think this means I am fully acclimated.

The funniest thing, to me, is that I still hear all the office gossip well in advance of people who still work there.

I can has buried trezur?

And now, glory on high, I can pretend that this is a picture of Her Majesty.