There's five big bags there, I swear.

In a strange turn of events today, I slept until 10am. (Well, technically 9am - stupid daylight savings time.) I had vague plans to start "doing something" toward the impending move...

But then I got sucked into a Quarterlife marathon on Bravo, which was another strange turn of events. I'd heard the buzz about this show and tried to watch it a few weeks ago at its regular time, and I got bored so instantaneously even my yawn was surprised. My interest today was either related to procrastination, or PMS (which makes these types of shows more appealing to me... me + PMS + Dawson's Creek = sheer heaven), or my adult onset ADD (which makes watching shows week by week intolerable, but hour by hour totally enrapturing - I'm pretty sure I will not have cable in Portland because I've become so accustomed to the Netflix Tv-on-DVD concept).

ANYWAY. I don't recommend the show unless any of the above apply.

The marathon ended at 2pm so I ventured out into the beautiful day to get a fish taco and the newspaper, then headed back home to start "doing something" toward the impending move. Since I don't know exactly when I'm going, or exactly where I'm going, packing is damn near impossible - what if I need that wool skirt/book I have yet to crack open/fourth (of four existing) color ink cartridge between now and "then"? What if my new bedroom closet doesn't have room for my wire Ikea shelf o'exercise clothes/six pairs of shoes I have worn once/nineteen thousand empty hangers?

So instead I am working on whittling down. Today I attacked the closet and dressers using the "if I haven't looked at it in a year, it's gone... OK, now if I haven't worn it in a year, it's gone" methodology of getting rid of things. I ended up with a respectable pile of space saved in the moving van (especially when you include the lamp and chair, which are not coming with me - unless I can't offload a cat-hair-laden red corduroy chair between now and then):


This is just the start. In the coming week I will work on the kitchen. Surely someone at work still drinks Celestial Seasonings tea, or needs a giant ladle or some mason jars, or would love a box of Cheerios purchased by my Dad in December 2005.

"Don't worry. I'm not here to eat."

I despise daylight savings time. Why?

Why, because I am apparently a pseudo-vampire who loves watching reruns of Buffy in the dark of winter when the sun sets at 4:30pm. Truth be told, I absolutely hate when the days are sunny for nineteen million hours at a time. Portland is just a step toward Alaska, which has one-hour-of-Mr.-Sun winters, after all.

But now, Yahoo!Tech ALSO gives YOU a reason to despise DST! Finally, a co-conspirator. Mwah hahahahahaha!!!!

(For geeks only: That's the extent of my pseudo-vampire impressions... Or is it? I DID quote Angel in the subject line, after all, and which of you Buffy fans thought they'd ever see the day I quoted THAT guy? Might as well be quoting Riley, for Pete's sake! Mwah hahahahahaha!!!!)

At last, I can sleep.

In order to round off the "comes in three's" we have to go back to last summer, but technically I think this counts because I just found out about it yesterday.

See, there was once this very sweet, very funny, very smart, very stylish person, the kind of person you wanted to be friends with, that I went to junior high and high school with. I wasn't good friends with her or anything, and we certainly didn't keep in touch after high school. But we shared six years of classes, and I liked her a hell of a lot more than most of the other people I shared six years of classes with.

A high school friend sent me a Facebook message about it. His wording was pretty somber so before I clicked the link, I sensed that the outcome was not good, but I suspected maybe a plane crash, or a car accident, or something having to do with some war somewhere. She seemed like the traveling Peace Corps-y type, after all. And I was on the Facebook high, poking people and taking movie trivia quizzes and joining social networks and what not, so clearly it had to have some positive spin to it. Never in a million years did I suspect that she had suffered a horrific death at the hands of her "boyfriend."

So I'm no longer fearing the reaper, as I tend to do while waiting for #3 to drop. Instead I've turned my attention to watching my faith in humanity continue to disintegrate by the ever loving millisecond.

From Postcards.

"I envy people who have the capacity to sit with another human being and find them endlessly interesting. I would rather watch TV. Of course, this eventually becomes known to the other person."

Last night I had the pleasure of attending a performance of Wishful Drinking. It was a personal, humorous, painful glimpse into the life of the woman who shall be immortalized as Princess Leia.

I hope my theatergoing friend will chime in, but my reaction to the show was all over the map. At times I felt disdain (oh boy, another sob story from Hollywood). At times I felt empathy (inbreeding, no father figure, men approaching you on the street proclaiming their love for you in "that little bikini number while you were chained to a giant slug," someone actually owning her likeness). At times I felt awe (Paul Simon wrote SONGS about this woman, I was Princess Leia for Halloween when I was four and I wrote a paper on the character in college - and there she is, RIGHT THERE).

But mostly, I appreciated her vulnerability, her openness, her engagement with the audience, her stories, her manner of storytelling, and her incredible sense of humor. Time has not been good to her, physically, but her inner strength is remarkable and I highly recommend this show for anyone who's remotely curious.

Now queuing Postcards from the Edge.

The silent treatment.

Her Majesty's incessant whining has really gotten out of control lately, to the point where I'm constantly barking "OMGSTFU already" at her, and she's waking me up at 4am to MEOW in my face, so after a visit to the volunteer animal gig tonight I decided to try another tactic: absolutely no acknowledgment of her incessant whining. (And also, I scheduled a vet appointment this afternoon.)

I have not said a word since I got home. Not to her, and not to my general surroundings. (I not only tend to acknowledge her whining, I also tend to talk to myself a lot when I'm at home.) Everything else has been as normal - she got her squishy food right away, she got pets when she was being quiet, she was calmly pushed away when trying to get in my lap while I worked on a paper online (which has never been OK - she has never been allowed to sit in my lap while I'm at the desk, but alas, this has never stopped her from trying).

She is now sitting at my feet, staring at me, occasionally moaning or groaning, reaching a paw up every now and then in an attempt to sit in my lap or sniff at the "other" cats I played with tonight. But in general, she's been fairly quiet for the past two hours.

Hmmm. I might be on to something...

But I'm still investigating kitty Prozac with the vet next week.

Two thumbs up.

After a many-year search for "vegetarian" General Tso's Chicken in the Bay Area that would rival that of Seven Seas (College Park, Maryland) version, which I got absolutely addicted to in college and which I ABSOLUTELY MUST have every time I go home to visit...

I have not found many competitors. In fact, until last week, I hadn't really found ANY competitors. Which shocked me, being in this culturally- and environmentally- crazy environment.

I have found several local sorry attempts to recreate the dish. They were pink and squishy and did not come with broccoli and they were not breaded, not deep-fried goodness, not at all spicy, and they made me throw them out after just a bite or two. Even after walking twenty or more blocks in hopeful optimism on my lunch hour. I just couldn't swallow them. So I threw them away and ate a backup Luna bar.

After all that effort, I have almost found it. I have almost found its rival. The texture was perfect, the broccoli was just enough, the underlaying sauce was just saucy enough - but not too saucy. The only issues I had were the lack of RED PEPPER OH MY GOD HOT spicy (that is, it wasn't quite spicy enough) and the size of the "chicken" (Seven Seas gives you big boneless wing sized portions, Big Lantern's were too small to be exactly chicken-sized - then again, they were easily consumed via chopstick whereas I have to use real utensils at Seven Seas).

And now, damn it all to hell, I'm moving to another state. So I suppose my new mission will be to find Portland's rival to Seven Seas' version of vegetarian General Tso's Chicken which I recently just about found at Big Lantern in San Francisco.

The job is suddenly coming together, the friend activity is suddenly coming together, and now the food is suddenly coming together. Must be time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Why I got nothing done today, exhibit #571.

Click this link, then wait for the site to load, then wait about 10 more seconds, then turn your sound down and enjoy. IKEA is fahrfrumgruvin' compared to these guys.

OK, back to the list.

My Saturday night.

We dug into disc one of Planet Earth, another wonderful BBC/David Attenborough collaboration. We laughed when the monkeys crossed the stream, arms upheld, looking annoyed. We stared in awe at the largest migration on the planet and rare footage of a snow leopard family. We cheered when the impala got away from those pesky hyenas (oops - spoiler alert!) and when the elephants frolicked in the water after a long, dry journey. And then we sat in awe through two more episodes about mountains and water.

It was brilliant.

The only thing I didn't like, that some people will probably love, is that the last 10 minutes of each episode featured a "how they did it" segment. It was easy enough to skip, but it wasn't in a separate "special features" section of the disc. When it comes to things like that, I don't want to know. I just want to experience the magic.

Come ON.

Yesterday in class I made a list of all the work and home things I want to get done this week. Eight for work, nine for home. Most relate to wrapping things up at work and getting ready for Portland.

I have been up since 6am, because apparently I'm old now and therefore incapable of sleeping in. It is now 3:43pm. I have done ONE THING on my list, and subsequently added about twelve more things. And done about six things that weren't on ANY list... And absolutely no TV was involved (well, except between 6:30-7am, when I watched a Buffy rerun on F/X during breakfast).

Finding time to do everyday normal things is hard enough. Imagine adding an interstate move... It's overwhelming.

On the upside, my allergies are back and I ran into a former coworker for the second weekend in a row, both of which cemented the thought that it's about time to get out of Dodge.

And on a totally unrelated note, the Parkway has joined the 21st century and now accepts credit cards. As when Trader Joe's switched from typing in prices to scanning items, this shift made me a little sad. There was something small-townish and charming about the prior situations. I know it's all about efficiency and the bottom line, but still...

Damn, I AM old.

Shockingly, I am not a comma.

I am a colon. No, not that type of colon. This type :

I am very orderly and fact driven. This is true. I am not concerned much with theories or dreams... only what's true or untrue. This is true. I am brilliant and incredibly learned. HA! Anything I know is well researched. This is true. I like to make lists and sort through things step by step. This is true. I am not subject to whim or emotions. This is mostly true. My friends see you as a constant source of knowledge and advice. HA! (But they are a little sick of me being right all of the time!) DOUBLE HA!

I excel in: Leadership positions QUADRUPLE HA!

I get along best with: The Semi-Colon

What kind of punctuation mark are you? Please identify yourself, semi-colons...

Friday five.

Five people, places or things I ask you to keep in your thoughts in the coming weeks, in no particular order:

• Kenya.
  
• My oldest friend's very adorable 6 month old baby boy, who was diagnosed with infantile glaucoma and will have his first (of probably many) surgeries on Monday.
  
• The residents, organizations, and volunteers who continue to work hard to get the devastated New Orleans region back on its feet, two and a half years later. (Stole that from S., who is still actively involved - thanks, S.)
  
• My aunt, who underwent a bone biopsy to determine whether she has bone cancer in the midst of having pneumonia. She's a great no-nonsense lady who always hosts Thanksgiving dinner and her jello marshmallow salads are to die for... I like her a lot.
  
• The animals at the SF Zoo, who apparently keep having to deal with IDIOTS. Yeah, I said it.
  

And a bunch of other important things, but these are what came to mind tonight. I am dreading the third scary personally relevant situation that is inevitably coming my way. These things ALWAYS come in three's.

Early Friday five.

Five songs from the 70s that the guys should've gone with this week on American Idol, in no particular order:

• Hot Rod Lincoln
  
• Thank God I'm a Country Boy
• My Sharona
  
• Escape (The Pina Colada Song)
• Theme From Shaft

Bonus early Friday five - five songs from the 70s that the gals should've gone with this week on American Idol, in no particular order:

• Kung Fu Fighting
  
• Y.M.C.A.
  
• King Tut
  
• America ("TODAY!")
  
• Theme From Shaft
  

I mean, come on, guys and gals - show some range already.

________________
(Yes, it's that time again.)

Inching my way toward the 21st century...

Since I'm so unimpressed with Comcast I decided to set myself up with a Gmail account. This way, if I don't carry my cable service over when I move, I can still get emails.

I have to say, I'm pleased with the ease of importing emails from my Comcast inbox and automatically forwarding emails sent to my Comast inbox. I like the user interface Gmail provides. And my Gmail address is not a cryptic version of my name, it's actually my name with a relevant number at the end, which will not only be more meaningful to recruitment folks as I start to submit job applications via email, it will also remind you all of my birthday.

But there doesn't seem to be a way to add sender info to your contact list with the click of a button, which is a drag, and I DO NOT like that the sponsored ads are directly related to the content of the emails in my inbox. I know it's all automatic but it's still creepy. (If you know how to fix either of these, please comment.)

But I'm sure they will fine-tune all of this and soon Gmail air will be thinner and more streamlined than ever. Oh wait, am I mixing my technology?

Belated Friday five.

Five Oscar-themed food items I would have served at the Oscar party I almost invited you to, except that I'm still coughing up various lungs and have three papers to write and haven't cleaned my apartment in weeks, in no particular order:

• blood oranges (or alternately, red velvet cake)
• baby carrots (or alternately, Alaskan smoked salmon)
  
• Caribbean jerk tofu
• twigs and berries (or alternately, Alaskan smoked salmon)
• cheese (think I would attempt ratatouille? you must be crazy!)

Now taking bets on whether I cry my eyes out during the "tribute" segment of the show (or alternately, during Jon Stewart's performance).

In the valley of Oh. My. God.

In a last ditch effort to educationally cast my vote for the Oscars, which, by the way, you have until 4pm Sunday, February 24 to do... which is a full hour before the event actually starts, and which I can still win if I get the most answers right, because no other personal marketing efforts have indicated otherwise... :)

Tonight I coughed my way through another nominee.

I was originally drawn to this film because of Tommy Lee Jones, who I love unabashedly (um, I voluntarily watched Space Cowboys to view his presence and subsequently pronounced my love for this man, hello?).

But I really didn't grasp the extent of why I should love this film based on the very limited trailers - anti-Iraq? Susan Sarandon? Charlize Theron? James Franco? "Sleeper film"?

Let the record show, Oh, My God. See this movie. Holy freaking cow, this is a Bay Area viewer goldmine...

And I will leave it at that.. Vote, baby, vote! Movie passes are at stake!

Why YouTube is a good thing, exhibit #36.

There aren't a lot of reasons, but now and then you run across one. This is one of those times... This is another one.

And while we're ranting, who the hell is Pete?

I am soooooo with you, Con. (Well, on Comcast's frakking jackholedness, not the shoes - which are lovely on you, but which would make me topple over in a fit of clumsy imbalance.)

Why do new customers get cheap rates for 6 months and old customers get jacked up rates every year? Who do they think they are, the county tax assessor, for Pete's sake? And why do I keep PAYING them? Honestly, the only cable shows I regularly try to remember to watch anymore that I would not want to watch as a series on DVD, or that I cannot get on ye olde Interweb, are Ace of Cakes and Dirty Jobs. And 7 times out of 10, I forget to watch them.

For this I pay $60 a month? What is WRONG with me?

I'm not saying I don't enjoy a good Project Runway or America's Top Model marathon on the occasional Saturday, or that I don't get good tips from Ina Garten or Alton Brown now and then, or that the Roloff family has lost their charm. (I won't go into the Reba reruns and Hanna Montana episodes I get sucked into, or the number of times I have watched 28 Days or A Walk to Remember, because something ELSE is clearly wrong with me. No worries, though, I'm going to redeem myself with American Psycho tonight... which clearly means that there is yet something ELSE wrong with me... SIGH.)

I'm just saying that I have gotten spoiled with this concept of queuing up an entire season of, say, Planet Earth or The Closer, and being able to watch up to 12 commercial-free episodes in a row.

And I'm also saying that if I didn't have cable, I could put the money I saved toward sending my brother an Ace of Cakes cake birthday cake 10 months from now. Because yes, they are THAT DAMN EXPENSIVE.

That's all I'm saying.

And another entry for the "next time I complain about *my* life, remind me about..." file.

Holy cow.

HOLY. FREAKING. COW. (They're some variety of warts, but they look like tree branches. TREE. BRANCHES. HOLY. FREAKING. COW.)

I really wonder what other strange illnesses are out there, that will soon be brought to me by the Discovery Channel or The Learning Channel.

Wait - Anthony Hopkins as a creepy murderer? Get out!

Yeah, Ryan Gosling notwithstanding, it was not that good. I do not recommend the time suckage.

And in other news - WOW!! (And by the way, YAY!! This might actually happen.) Regardless, it's fixing to be a very interesting November.

Wow.

And the award for best use of silence in a film goes to...

... certainly not me, who coughed my way through a double feature this afternoon.

The Oaks Theater was showing Michael Clayton and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly back to back, and I could see them both for $12 (now how much would you pay!). Even though MC was on my "no thanks" list I figured $5 for 2 hours of George Clooney couldn't be a bad thing. Plus, Her Maj would NOT shut up this morning, I had a pile of work glaring at me that I desperately wanted to avoid, and I really needed to get out of the house.

I was pleasantly surprised with MC (as I was with The Departed last year), and while I will be shocked if MC wins any of the awards with the possible exception of Best Original Screenplay, Clooney's performance was stellar throughout and especially during the last ten minutes. In the last 90 seconds (watch through the initial credits) you could've heard a pin drop in the theater.

And it was a surprisingly easy transition between that and DBB, which was just plain lovely and heartbreaking and inspiring. Dear lord, if I *ever* complain about anything ever again, remind me of this man. Except for the imagination scenes, it was impossible to believe that any of them were acting, that they weren't just filming a documentary. (And by that I mean the kind of documentary where you can hear what he is saying to himself, in his head. You know.)

I think I got even sicker throughout the day, but if it saves me plowing through Variety.com, HollywoodReporter.com, the NYT Carpetbagger blog and Nikki Fincke's Deadline Hollywood (as my crazy friend who [used to have] too much time on his hands recommended in order to win the Oscar poll), well, it was time well spent.

There will be blood. (Lots and lots and lots of blood.)

I saw American Psycho when it came out in 2000. I totally got Fight Club, released a year prior. Damn skippy, I was not my fucking khakis.

At the time, I did not get American Psycho. At. ALL. (Other than, hmm, Christian Bale is hot.) But I ran across the book at Powell's earlier this week, and it was on sale, so I figured I'd give it a go. After all, the author wrote Less Than Zero, and I got that movie. And it had "international best seller" on the cover, which meant it was surely worth my $8.

(My marketing teacher would be so unimpressed with me falling for such an elementary ploy.)

The rawness of it drew me in completely - I could not put it down. I think I get it now. The excess of the late '80s, obsession with everything money can buy, boredom from a boring job, frustration with being utterly indistinguishable from your peers, thinking that Genesis (sans Peter Gabriel) and Huey Lewis and the News were the greatest bands ever. Just the latter would turn me into a serial killer, for sure. But there's a lot more to it, and I would really like my future book club to dissect it. But first I want to watch the movie again.

(All of which is not to say, oh boo hoo you rich yuppie, so bored with life and your rich girlfriend and your $500 nightly dinners and your 2-hour daily workouts that you have to resort to torture to entertain yourself.)

And I did finally see the actual movie noted in the subject. I enjoyed it very much. My friend (who did not enjoy the film) was somewhat appalled when I laughed out loud at inappropriate times, like when DD-L's character was talking to the oil tycoon in the restaurant and he says "One night, I'm gonna come inside your house, wherever you're sleeping, and I'm gonna cut your throat." Or the very last line of the film. His behavior was so ridiculous I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Now, if only I could bear the thought of sitting through The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, In the Valley of Elah, Eastern Promises, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Charlie Wilson's War, Away from Her, Atonement, Michael Clayton, The Bourne Ultimatum, American Gangster, The Golden Compass, Transformers (REALLY??), 3:10 to Yuma and the third Pirate movie over the next seven days, I could actually make educated guesses for ye olde annual Oscar poll. Alas.

I do want to see everything up to Atonement (but nothing further than Atonement, including Atonement) in that list. Right after I get "The Heart of Rock 'n Roll" out of my head...

Pre-Friday five.

Five actual reasons why I am moving to Portland (now that I have visited, whereas before it was speculation), in no particular order:

• The transit system? ROCKS. $4.25 gets you all day access to ALL the light rail trains (which run from the airport to a lot of other places), ALL the buses (of which there are many) and ALL the streetcars (all two of them). ALL DAY. LESS THAN $5. For reference, take a one-way ride from SFO to Berkeley on your friendly BART train. Or use this example: it cost me $6.25 just to get home from the airport via public transportation (bus - rail- bus). And my money was only good for one ride on each of those.
  
• Oh and also, the bus drivers are soooooo nice. I made it a silent mission to find a mean bus driver but there were none to be found, even in the Tenderloin-y parts of town.
  
• The brewpubs? ROCK. I am not even a huge fan of beer, but I fell in love with my new best friend the Great Divide Oak-Aged Yeti (from Denver, but I had it in Portland)... at least I think that was it. After a couple, who can remember the name? But every one of the pubs we visited had locally grown ingredients, and that just might be reason #3.5.
  
• The Hawthorne District? ROCKS. A Parkway-like theater, a couple music venues, a lot of coffee shops and bars and restaurants and a Noah's and a Fred Meyer. Now how much would you pay... Not to say that the NE and the NW aren't cool as well. Just a little too much like where I live now, and the whole point of this is change, right?
  
• The weather? My kind of weather. Cloudy, overcast, cold, now and then a drizzle, now and then an hour-long shower, and then the sun comes out for a little while and goes back in. Much like Colorado weather.
  

And, of course, assuming I get a decent paying job... the price is so very right. I looked inside a couple of apartments and looked at the outsides/surrounding neighborhoods of a LOT of apartments, and yeah. The price is right.

No pun intended, but...

... there's a cat at the volunteer place who's been there for almost 5 months. (The longest I've seen any other cat in the adoption area was 3 months, I think.) Allegedly, she is somewhat docile in her cage but turns feral when you try to pick her up, so she hardly ever gets socialized, which means that she will have a very difficult time finding a home. (The notes on the clipboard on her cage are not encouraging to adoptees either - "experienced cat people only," etc.)

She is now my pet project. I spent a bit of time with her this evening while she was "behind bars," and not once did she emanate any feral tendencies. So after we played through the bars for a while, I told her that I would make it my job over the next two months to get her out and about, even if it means some scratches and bites along the way. If she stays in the cage she will never be adoptable...

It doesn't hurt her case that she shares the same name as Her Majesty. It also doesn't hurt that I seem to have cat pheromones in my blood. No kidding - I have never met a cat who wasn't 100% comfortable around me. (OK, well except that one cat the other week who seemed to be high on meth amphetamines and no one could go near her, but otherwise...)

Normal people might be alarmed at the prospect of attracting cats everywhere they go. But hey, they're furry and warm, and they're all about unconditional love. And especially on a day like today, you takes what you gets.

Enjoy your warm (with or without fur) S.O.s today. Her Maj and I will do the same.

________________

Let the record show that I will never, ever adopt a kitten again. Not only are there too many sweet older cats who wait and wait for adoption who - GASP AND SWOON - actually GET ALONG with other cats (ahem, Her Majesty, yes they exist) - but a mere five minutes in a room with one tonight reminded me that kittens are too damn much work.

OK, end of CCL post for now.

Observations.

Absinthe tasting night followed by a 7 hour class on marketing featuring a very energetic instructor who constantly refers to your organization's widely acknowledged brand identity and marketing angles, does not a happy Jen(n) make.

But the nap immediately following class? GOLDEN.

I sure have a lot of crap to get rid of before I move. Anybody need a desk? Red corduroy chair? Really used dining set with only two chairs? Too big for me clothes that, come hell or high water, will never fit me again because I am going to stay in shape dammit I am?

(I'm also appalled at the sheer number of pens I have accumulated in the past few years - need a pen? Or 14?)

I am kinda keen on this idea of a studio apartment and far less stuff than I have now. I do admit that a large, yet reasonably priced, one-bedroom apartment has been very nice to me and Her Majesty for the past three years, and it would really be cool to have an official crafting area in my abode at some point... But I think I'm gonna go small to start. Maybe the rest will come with the house I am destined to buy in Portland.

The Wire is a really, really good show, and I don't even usually like shows like that. As is Iconoclasts, if I haven't already mentioned that. Which I have - Ed Vedder and surfing legend Laird Hamilton? WOW. (Shameless plug - now available on iTunes! For REALLY CHEAP!) Season 2 also features Alice Waters interviewing Mikhail Baryshnikov and vice-versa, and the following other interview pairs: Maya Angelou and Dave Chappelle, Quentin Tarantino and Fiona Apple, Lorne Michaels and Paul Simon (which is particularly interesting when it gets to the discussion about 9/11)... Anyway - sheer genius. I want to work for Sundance someday. Season 3 features Mike Myers and Deepak Chopra - can you imagine?? Check it out.

And Oregon is one of the few remaining states that doesn't let you pump your own gas, and that doesn't have sales tax. The next week should be interesting as I try to remember that. But it might be a good angle to pitch to the folks when (and if) I tell them I'm moving up there, and they should consider it. They'll eat that stuff up.

Thank you, Jackie Moon.

Even if it was for the world's worst beer ever, it helps me rag even more on the LOSER. Tom Brady - suck one. Ha-ha!

OK, off to write a paper on how to revise legislation for nonprofits as it relates to interested parties. Sigh. Three more of these classes, and you can stick a fork in me.

The agony and the irony.

I made too much money last year to deduct my certificate program tuition (assuming I can even do that for non-university courses)... and I didn't give enough away to charities to deduct that either. AND I did something strange on my W2 when I started the new job, so I wasn't having enough taxes deducted throughout the year and now I owe a lot of money.

Get bent, tax man.

Public service announcement.

I confess that I am posting this without doing 100% of the research on this issue, simply because someone else I trust did 100% of the research and sent me the information. And also, simply because I can't believe we are still conducting aerial pesticide spraying in this country at all. Really? Has technology not advanced far enough to prevent this need?

STOP AERIAL PESTICIDE SPRAYING!
The California Department of Food and Agriculture (CDFA) has announced plans to resume aerial pesticide spraying for the Light Brown Apple Moth (LBAM) in summer of 2008. The campaign began in 2007 in Santa Cruz and Monterey counties using a synthetic pheromone along with other chemicals encased in microscopic plastic capsules. CDFA will expand the program to the San Francisco Bay Area with plans to continue spraying each month for up to 5 years or indefinitely until the moth is eradicated.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE LBAM SPRAYING?
1) Hundreds of people in Santa Cruz and Monterey County have reported adverse health reactions. The spray has not been tested for long-term human toxicity and is being applied in microscopic plastic capsules that could pose inhalation risks.

2) The spray contains ingredients that are highly toxic to aquatic species, as well as surfactants, that might have contributed to algae bloom (red tide) and the drowning of hundreds of waterfowl.

3) Biologists agree that the spraying - an outdated, unsustainable, expensive pest control method - will not eradicate the moth. The CDFA should switch to a control vs. an eradication program using least-toxic methods that farmers already apply, e.g. pheromone traps or sticky ties.

4) CDFA itself says the moth has done no crop damage in California to date. Priority must be given to public and environmental health and safety over speculative economic loss.

5) The aerial spray program disproportionately impacts vulnerable segments of the population, including those with the recognized disability of multiple chemical sensitivity, who are in many cases forced to relocate, and the homeless, who have no option to protect themselves from spraying.

[Ed. note: it's also a really cute little moth! I love moths.]

More information that has been vetted by scientists and other activists.

WHAT CAN YOU DO?

• Sign the petition at www.stopthespray.org, get informed and become active!
• Contact the media: newspapers, weeklies, radio and television stations - voice your concern.
• Ask Governor Schwarzenegger and CDFA Secretary Kawamura to stop the spray program and shift to sustainable methods of least-toxic pest control.
• Ask your Assemblymember to support proposed legislation to stop spraying without consent and safety data and to do whatever they can to stop the spraying until legislation can be passed.
• Ask your federal Congressional representatives and Senators to tell USDA to support safe pest control and to lift the USDA quarantine of California crops from areas where the light brown apple moth has been found.

Lo and behold, an actual Friday five.

Five questions I am growing weary of answering despite the fact that each time I am asked I get more and more excited about this decision, and their answers, in no particular order:

• Q: Why Portland? A: Varies among the following... I've always wanted to spend a good chunk of time there... I'm tired of sun... I'm tired of it taking me 30 minutes to drive .15 miles... Everyone I know thinks I would love it there... To borrow a quote from a friend, I want to live in a small town without having to live in a damn small town... Whaddya mean - why not Portland?
  
• Q: Do you have a job there? A: Not yet. I'm going to start looking in February (ack, which is officially now!), but to be honest, I would be happy and financially comfortable working at Peets for a few months while I figure it all out.
• Q: Are you going to apply for a job with [current organization]'s Portland affiliate? A: I will be more than happy to volunteer with [current organization]'s Portland affiliate, but no, I am not seeking employment with them. I am, however, looking into [previous organization]'s job postings. Could be an easy in for the first year while I figure it all out.
  
• Q: Do you know anyone there/Do you have a lot of friends there/Do you have family there? A: I know one person there. I know a lot of people who are planning to visit! I knew no one when I moved to the Bay Area, and that's worked out pretty well so far.
  
• Q (more of a statement): It rains a lot there. A (more of a response): Varies among the following... I like rain... Really? I had no idea!... Yes, I am aware - but the other 7 months are lovely... Not as much as Seattle!
  

I've gotten mixed reactions about the "do you have a job yet" question. I guess in some peoples' opinions, it's slightly inappropriate for an established 33 year old professional to pack up and fly by the seat of her pants - this privilege seems to be reserved for 23 year olds. And in other peoples' opinions, they are incredibly jealous of my lack of ties/mortgage/kids and my ability to just pack up and fly by the seat of my pants - these are the people I will likely keep in touch with.

This weekend I think I'm going to share the news with my parents. I've been dreading this immensely. I fear that Mom will cry because I'm not announcing that I'm moving back east. What she doesn't know is that this is a mid-step before that decision (which is possibly inevitable) - if I move to Portland, and end up moving back east, even temporarily, I will know whether Portland is worth going back for.

But don't tell Mom any of that.

Breaking up is hard to do.

I am loyal to two people: my stylist and my dentist. Both have seen me through various debacles, crises and compromising positions (bed head, front teeth filed into points prior to veneer caps, etc.).

This morning I bid farewell to my dentist. He was genuinely sad that I wouldn't be coming back, barring any dental emergencies while visiting the Bay Area in the future. I was genuinely sad too. I've been going to him for probably 8 years, and he always remembered the details of my life (where I was going on vacation, when my marathon was, when I changed jobs) despite the 6-month lag in visits. He even noticed when my hair was longer/shorter/redder/darker. Best yet, he was incredibly patient and explained every single step of whatever he was doing and always checked to make sure I was OK.

This is starting to get a little creepy so suffice to say, I will miss my dentist and I will happily refer anyone to him for their dental needs.

Next month: the stylist.

Maybe I should join the Army.

I have been up since 6am. So far today, I have done laundry, spent 5 hours helping a friend with his kitchen flooring, spent 2 hours at the local animal volunteer gig, made what looks to be KILLER cornbread and ran a few errands. And my day is only half done.

Isn't it odd that the older we get, the more rest we need, but the less we are able to sleep in? I can't remember the last time I slept past 6am. Except for yesterday, of course, when I woke up at 6am, laid in bed for a little while, and woke with a start at 8:15am... and my class was starting at 9am. Natch.

On an unrelated note, but not really because I was awfully jealous of the kittens and cats who were soundly sleeping while I was doing my volunteer thing, today I learned that black and black/white kittens and cats are least likely to be adopted. Other than my first cat who I had no say in choosing (Tiger, aptly named due to his orange and white stripes), all my cats have been black or black/white. Is it just the stigma of black cats bringing bad luck? Why's everybody hating on these particular kittens/cats? Can't we all just get along?

OK, off to do more stuff.

"When I was talking to the King last week..."

I have met a lot of interesting people in the classes I've been taking. Actually, I've met both interesting and "interesting" people.

By interesting, I mean the guy who is always able to relate his military experience to our subject matter without making me cringe, and the woman who has my dream job, and the guy who is working lots of small grassroots miracles in his home country through his ingenuity and his powerful connections (see subject line). I might actually have a little crush on that guy, he's very interesting, incredibly smart and cares a great deal about his country. And he has a cool accent.

By "interesting," I mean the woman who repeats the last word of every sentence the teacher says after s/he says it, and the group of Chatty Cathys who sit in the back and mumble to each other while noisily flipping through the pages of the handouts repeatedly, over and over again, with no regard to their surroundings, and the guy who says "SURE!" really, really loud whenever the teacher would ask if something made sense or if we understood the concept s/he was explaining.

On a related note, I smelled a lot of interesting and "interesting" things on the two mile walk back to BART (I parked there and took the train this morning... since it wasn't raining this afternoon and I was stiff from sitting all day, I opted to walk back to my car).

By interesting, I mean the scent of wonderful African spices wafting out of the shops, the perfumes and colognes of the people I passed, and the smell of the sky ready to drop another gallon of rain on us at any second.

By "interesting," I mean that smell coming out of the KFC.

Which brings me to Patton Oswalt (a.k.a. my future husband if all goes well*). How fitting that the voice of a prestigious (rat) chef would review the "failure pile in a sadness bowl" he has mocked on many an occasion - and (basically) live to tell the tale.

_________________
* By "if all goes well," I mean if I ever actually hang out in the same bar as him after one of his shows, gawk from afar for several minutes, work up the courage to offer to buy him a drink, laugh at his jokes for a while, get him into a political discussion for an hour, move the conversation into music/art/film for another four hours, stay up all night talking about our lives/hopes/dreams/baggage/crazy families, and finally convince him that I am the woman of his dreams at which point we fly off to Vegas immediately to seal the deal.

Hey. It could happen.

As an aside, it's really interesting to me that I've done a complete 180 from being attracted to the skinny punk skater beautiful (completely out of my reach) boys, to the boys who I think I would genuinely enjoy being around for several decades. Gasp and swoon, am I finally growing up?

WOOHOO! I mean... I hope he's okay and all, but...

Happiness is: having a hectic few days at work, leaving your office at 5:30pm to drive .15 miles down the street to park near the facility where your (second in a row) evening class (with an unrelated evening meeting the night before last night - all of which means I AM TIRED) begins at 6pm, getting stuck for 25 minutes on Webster Street between 12th and 8th (PEOPLE! 25 minutes to go .15 miles! THIS IS NOT NORMAL!), finally getting over to Franklin Street and parking, rushing to the building, sitting down and having a staff person come in and announce, "Your teacher is actually in the hospital, so there is no class tonight, please sign in and take your booklet for Saturday's class - he's sure he will be here for Saturday's class."

It sounds like he was held on a technicality but was otherwise fine. Which makes me feel better about not being the only one who sighed a big sigh of relief that there was no 3 hour class tonight... after which we all muttered "wow I hope he's OK."

Oh, and a warm gun is also happiness. So I hear. My warm guns kinda freaked me out a few years ago, so I can't confirm that one.

"The years have been short but the days go slowly by."

It's strange to be affected by the death of a person you didn't know at all, especially since I'm not really affected at all by the deaths all around me every single day of people I don't know at all who have just as much promise and future achievements ahead of them as the people I'm about to mention... (I'm actually having significant trouble coming to terms with this part of the story.)

But when I caught a headline of Heath Ledger's death Tuesday afternoon on my way to check email it really gave me pause. He was 28. I hope he enjoyed those years. I am sorry for the years he will not see, and for the years that his child and family will not have with him. Same goes for Brad Renfro (who as only 25).

Wish there was something optimistic I could end this with, but... Enjoy it while you're here. If you're not enjoying it, try to fix that. Do whatever it takes to fix that.

That's all I got.

You're older than you've ever been. And now you're even older.

I am not posting this in order to get "happy birthday" emails or comments, but if that is a consequence, I'm okay with it. I have already received many emails - and two voice mails where people sang "happy birthday" and neither were from my mom, so that was kinda cool. (Although I think those two folks now owe Warner/Chappell $10,000.)

Today is my 33rd birthday. This means that I now share the same age as Alyson Hannigan, Hilary Swank, Joaquin Phoenix, Leo DiCaprio, Ryan Seacrest, Posh Spice and Penelope Cruz... but that I am younger by a few months than Drew Barrymore, David Beckham, Angelina Jolie, Tobey Macguire, Kate Winslet, Tiger Woods... and Tara Reid.

Thank goodness there is someone on that list who I can look at and say, "My life is so much better than theirs."

And now you're older still.

Seacrest out. (Oh, did you think I meant Tara Reid?)

________________
(I did. Actually... it was quite a toss up.)

Three thumbs: "Eh."

One: The Savages. I thought they all did a very good job, particularly Philip Bosco who played the father, and it made me fear the day I will have to take care of my invalid parents, but the fact that the kids were both nearly-or-over 40 years old and didn't have a clue was disheartening. Which is not to say that I will stop listening to Michael Stipe songs, because while he also doesn't have a clue it costs me 3-4 minutes of my life versus 2 hours.

Two: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? After two attempts of watching this and falling asleep despite all the yelling, I looked it up online and discovered (SPOILER ALERT!) that their "son" is a joke they play on people. Have I mentioned lately that I am so tired of effed up middle class people bitching and moaning? If not, let this be the post. Liz was great and all, but still - BORING.

Finally, Hot Fuzz. I laughed a few times but I did not see what all the "fuzz" was about. Rent "Shaun of the Dead" again, you will have a better time.

And that is all for today. I can't wait for more episodes of The Wire, which I now love. (Have I mentioned lately that I need a life?)

"Wish you were here!"

I am putting together a relief package for someone I know who is going to Burma on a reconstruction trip. The package consists of vitamins for mom & baby, a comb, a mirror, infant nail clippers... all normal stuff, right? But I'm also supposed to include a baby toy, a postcard and a picture of myself.

On the photo - no thanks, too weird. On the postcard - what would I possibly say? I fear it will turn into a soliloquy like the ones scribed by Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt. ("And I know you are very poor, but listen to me whine about my fairly privileged life for just a moment, if you will.") And do I really want to send a picture of bright shiny San Francisco or the lush green hills of Oaktown? I don't think so.

On the baby toy - this one really stumped me. The drugstore and baby store have tons of learning toys featuring the English language, obviously out. I am guessing a Burmese baby wouldn't need a toy stuffed cell phone. The stuffed lobster with crinkly hands and "pull me" feet seemed inappropriate given the skirmish with the government a few years ago (see? I learned something in this endeavor). I settled on a Lamaze bug, which seemed neutral enough. I assume they have bugs in Burma?

This goodwill to others crap is hard. But not as hard as living in Burma these days, I suppose.

Periodic crazy cat lady post.

Cutest. Thing. EVER!! Makes me want to get another one. Well... Almost.

This one seems like a role Her Maj could easily play.

But otherwise, these are just mean. Unlike this, of course, which is just hilarious.

Question o' the day.

Why am I okay handing over $5 in cash to someone selling tickets to this, but not okay handing over any cash to the little boy with the laminated flier raising money for his basketball team? (Maybe because we're #4?)

On another topic, I had a very humbling conversation this afternoon with someone who moved here from a war zone in [an anonymous foreign country currently at war]. There, he got a great education, worked for his government and made lots of money. Here, he makes next to nothing while trying to support a family. How true this must be for so many immigrants. How frustrating it must be to learn after they get here that they could have a wealthier life in their home country. If America really is the promised land, perhaps we should change our promise... (Insert snarky cynical new U.S. motto here.*)

And then I went to Cost Plus and bought a bunch of things I don't really need, and all was well in my head. Yay, capitalism!

________________
* I can't remember if I already mentioned this... The boneheads on a local morning radio show recently had people call in their ideas for mottos for the Bay Area. My favorite? "The Bay Area - better than you since 1969." Haha.

Not really a Friday five.

Five questions you don't see too often on those "fill this out and send it to everyone you know including the person who sent it to you!" questionnaires, that I saw today, in no particular order:

• Ever been to Alaska? Yes.
• Ever been on a ship? Yes, on a cruise around Alaska, actually. I guess ferries don't count but I've been on many of those as well, some even in different countries. I do not recommend the ferry from England to Ireland - blech.
  
• How many times did you fail your driver's license test? Zero when I was 17, once when I was 23 (when I finally updated my MD license to a CA license - damn all those bike laws that us east coast suburbanites have to study for! How humiliating that was.)
• What do you do when you are bored? This, obviously. And also watch Buffy/Top Chef/Top Model/Food Network marathons.
  
• What do you want to do before you die? Wow... a lot: Visit Antarctica. Go on an African safari. Enjoy my job. Swim with dolphins, sea turtles, and great white sharks (not all at the same time). Drive across Canada. Learn how to surf. Write a book... about something. Fly in first class. Touch a grizzly bear. Visit the castles along the river in Germany. Be a food/movie/TV critic. See people actually care about their impact on the environment and make a conscientious effort to change their ways. Milk a cow.
  

It's a deep question but it's really fun to ponder. What's listed above are just the things I probably won't ever do in my lifetime but would love to do - it doesn't include things like "visit New Zealand" or "go to vet school" or "buy a house and have a garden where I grow my own tomatoes" which I totally plan to do before I die.

Think about it. What do you want to do before YOU die?

Animal rescue.

I am currently in training to volunteer at a local animal shelter-type place which shall remain nameless so that I don't get dooced from my volunteer job before I start it. The training is pretty intense, and it always includes a tour of all the rooms where animals are held... Probably because the place is a maze and they want to get us familiar with the layout so we don't end up in a corner, lost for days, like that stupid home improvement store commerical.

Each time I think, I am not sure I can do this. The kittens are adorable, the young cats are precious and the older cats are such divas ("yeah whatever I'll glance your way now and then, adopt me if you absolutely must") that I can't stand it. I WANT TO TAKE THEM ALL HOME IMMEDIATELY. Even the dogs are cute, and how often do you hear me say that?

But then we get to the room that holds the cats who are pending pickup because someone thought they were the cutest, the smartest, the most adoptable... and it all makes sense. And I realize I can do this and it will be doing a lot of good for good animals and good people. And I will get to help them find each other.

It actually puts a lot of things about my job into perspective, and I've been able to appreciate the happy moments long after they occur, and let the bad moments go, or just laugh them off. That's pretty huge.

It doesn't surpress the urge to want to take them all home immediately, of course. That's why I'm a card carrying member of the


Not really. But are you scared that such a thing exists? You should be.

Except that I can't get that damn pie song out of my head.

Waitress is just as good as they all say it is. With any other casting it just wouldn't have worked. Good job, Sunday Boling and Meg Morman.

And the same can be said for The Dead Girl, other than the part about it being just as good as they all say it is because I haven't heard much (if anything) about this movie. But as a general rule, I'll see anything with Toni Collette, and when you put her with Giovanni Ribisi, Piper Laurie, Marcia Gay Harding and the newly brilliant Josh Brolin, well... you find yourself overlooking the fact that you also have to watch Brittany Murphy - but even she was really good. Anyway, it's four vignettes about seven people affected by the same person's death, put together really well. Good job, people associated with this movie.

"Gonna make a pie..." AAAARGH.

This just in, brah...

100% pure adrenaline brings restored faith in humanity.

Of late I've become a believer that there is one thing out there for everyone, just one thing in the world that would cause them to agree to split the prize money equally just to be doing that thing they love with people who share their love of that thing.

I can't wait to find out what my thing is... I'm sure that like the dream house, or the timeless song, or the perfect wave, I'll know it as soon as I see it.

Coincidentally, or serendipitously, or whatever - I watched the Sundance Iconoclast session with Ed Vedder and Laird Hamilton this morning. And now I really want to learn how to surf. Maybe I should become AN F... B... I AGENT!

The objects of my affection.

Idea #37 from the magic book: if my apartment building was on fire, and Her Maj was safely caged and outside, what would I run back for?

Practically speaking:

• My iPod and charger. (Yes, this IS practical. Now shut up.)
  
• My wallet, social security card and passport.
• A Clif bar to tide me over while the chaos dies down.
  

Sentimentally speaking:

• My fifteen year old collection of concert ticket stubs.
• Riley's ashes.
• My marathon medals (one from the AIDS marathon gang, one from the actual marathon and a very cute silver "26" on a chain that some friends gave me after the run).

I'm not much on stuff, or sentimentality. Being frugal and moving four times in ten years has really helped to curb the "stuff" tendency (although I have more stuff now than I ever had before, and I'm dreading this impending move - my next apartment will be HALF this size so that I don't collect more stuff). And not wanting to remember much of the past has really helped the sentimentality bug. I have two shoeboxes of photos and another shoebox of negatives/CDs of photos, but in general all the photos I'd want to recreate are now safely online or at my parents' house. (Well, almost all - but I'm about to fix that.)

This reminds me... I've GOT to get those earthquake kits together. I stumbled across the cans of beans I put in the bottom drawer in the kitchen (a.k.a. my only lame attempt, ever, at an earthquake kit) and noticed the 1999 "best by" date. The flashlight in the drawer next to my bed has dead batteries. I have no radio that does not require electricity. And I ate the last Luna bar I had stashed in my car this weekend while I was running errands.

Mother Nature, take pity on a slacker and wait just one more week, okay? I'll recycle extra hard this week, I promise. Thaaaaaaaanks.

Circa 1978.

Monument with tree, #87.

(This is my favorite photo that I took while I was home.)

Proof that anyone can name a plant.

Taken at the United States Botanic Garden in Washington, D.C. It was actually pretty cool, especially the orchid room. And the "National Mall in miniature" exhibit (all the monuments handcrafted from natural plant materials) gave me hope that creative government jobs really do exist.

Dominic Monaghan better have another trilogy in the works...

... because there are no other reasons why they would've killed him off. All he had to do was close the door from the *other* side and get the diving gear, and he wouldn't have had to drown. Bah.

And in other Disgruntled Lost Viewer News, what is all the fuss about Jack? He's whiny, he's annoying and he seems to be ALWAYS WRONG, yet they still follow him like sheep. Ohhhh... it just hit me, he's Jack Shephard. Clever, boys, clever.

Finally, Kate - pick a man and stick with him already.

All this is not to say that I can't wait for January 31. Maybe I will actually watch it on television this season!

Gasp and swoon, an actual Friday five.

Five things I want my next job to have, in no particular order:

• No direct client, customer, or other 1-1 personal interaction service.
• Hot water in the bathroom.
• Projects that end within 6 months of their start date.
• Two or fewer staff that I manage.
• More than 10 days vacation per year.

Stay tuned for more unfoldings on this front... Happy weekend.

That's entertainment.

Several things I have enjoyed immensely over the past week:

The Last Season: If you had any interest in Into the Wild, read this book. Thanks, friend who loaned it to me - not only did it keep me sane and serve as an escape route with my parents, but it was a fascinating read. And boy do I want to live in the middle of nowhere now.

Speaking of, the soundtrack to Into the Wild: I. Just. Love. Ed. He can do no wrong.

Juno: Brilliant, except for the part about the 16-year olds falling in love (AS IF.). I bought into everything else wholeheartedly and overall I loved the movie. So did the audience I saw it with - they clapped at the end. (Have I mentioned that I {heart} Jason Bateman? I do.)

And also the soundtrack to Juno. Now that my indie music freak who used to spend hours upon hours of his time hunting down cool new music, which he would then share with me, is married with new house and soon-to-be child, I have to rely on indie flicks for my cool new music. I'm OK with that, as long as they keep putting out indie flicks like this.

Sweeney Todd: Also known as, but not to be confused with, There Will Be Blood. There are really only a few movies I've seen in the theater where I've laughed out loud and wanted to clap at the end. Grindhouse and Sin City were among those movies. This one also ranked as an "almost." I had never seen the theater show so I had no idea what to expect, and for anyone who thought that Helena and Johnny did a poor job singing, well - they lived up to my expectations (they're frakkin' actors, not singers already, sheesh) and the film made me smile at the end. (Fans of Buffy will appreciate my almost-gasp-out-loud exclamation of "GILES!" and ginormous grin somewhere near the middle of the first half.)

I Am America: And So Can You: People were looking at me funny when I was laughing out loud at 6am in the morning waiting for the plane to board. It's genius so far and I'm sure the last half won't disappoint. The scariest thing? When I opened it, my brother said, "Oh I love that guy, I agree with everything he says."

Lost: Seven episodes of season 3 watched on the plane ride home (it's a looooooooooooong frakkin' flight, especially when you're sitting on the ground for two hours for no apparent reason), three more watched NYE, today I needed the fix and couldn't wait 4 days for Netflix so I went in search of disc 4 but could only find disc 5, which I consented to rent under the rationale that I could watch disc 4 and then watch disc 5 again after disc 4. It's not even as interesting as the previous seasons, but still... Tie elastic band around arm, insert needle, push plunger, lather rinse repeat. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, sweet relief.

The trouble with moving to Portland...

... is that I really, really like where I live now. It really struck me yesterday as I was walking around my neighborhood doing a little shopping. Surely they have similar neighborhoods up there. But apparently while there are good places to live, there are also "plenty to ignore. Further south and east are unreformed redneck territory, sufficiently north is ghetto, dog racing, and swamp, southwest is rich people, universities, and river trolls, anything past the west hills is suburban sprawl." So says a friend who lived there once upon a time.

And to paraphrase another friend, wherever I go, there I am. Moving to Portland or Seattle or Chicago or Boston won't change the fact that I'm not happy with where my life is right now. It won't change my attitudes toward working and relationships, neither of which I am remotely interested in - yet this lack of interest seems to cause me grief. I don't understand how not wanting something makes me feel bad about not wanting it. (These things in particular, that is. I don't want an iPhone and I don't feel bad about that.) Maybe it follows the "grass is always greener" theory that caused me to consider moving in the first place?

But it's a new year. I'm turning 33 this month, which for some reason feels more significant to me than 30 was or than 35 will be. I've lived in the same square mile radius for 10 years. With aging parents (and other relatives) and dear oldest friends embarking on parenthood, chances are high that I'll be moving back east in the next 5 years or so, at least temporarily. Now seems to be the time to explore more of the left coast.

It's not like I get out that much anyway... As long as I'm within walking distance of an independent movie theater and a Peet's, and a bus ride away from the equivalent of the Great American Music Hall, I think I could be happy.

Here's to a year of exciting new adventures for everyone!

Belated Friday five.

This feels like a deja vu post, but five things I will not miss about being home, in no particular order:

• Dial-up internet access.
• Washing the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher.
• Calling to report my whereabouts every two hours.
• All the damn Bush bumper stickers.
• Not being able to buy wine at the drugstore.

All in all the trip was OK. I didn't plan in advance, so I spent way too much time cooped up with my parents,* all my visits with friends were somewhat rushed and I didn't get to see my extended family.

On the plus side, I did run about 30 miles throughout the week simply because the treadmill was an easy escape from the nitpicking questions (which Mom would ask, and then Dad would walk into the room and repeat a few seconds later) about every little thing I was reading or watching or eating or thinking. And I am now officially hooked on Guitar Hero, courtesy of my brother.

Next year if I go home I'm making an hour-by-hour schedule... Or staying at a hotel. Or taking some crack with me.

________________
* I spent this past Thanksgiving with a friend and his family, and the drama factor was so low that I forgot to detox by watching the movie I watch every single Thanksgiving and Christmas. I actually remembered the next day, put it in and got distracted so I never finished watching it. This past Christmas day, though? I was jonesing for it sooooo bad. Float. Just float.

"My precious time keeps slippin' past."

Even though parking is free at work, I try to take the bus at least once a week. It's a 5-minute walk from where I get off to the office, and if I'm early I can stop by Whole Paycheck and get a fresh bagel or latte. It's hard to be early, though, when the bus is constantly 20 minutes late. I really don't understand how that works because my bus line only RUNS every 20 minutes... So does another bus show up right after the bus I get on?

This morning I waited patiently for 20 minutes in the freezing cold* and just as my toes became frostbitten and I was about to cross the street, head back to my garage and get into my car... the bus arrived. Environmental duty of the day done.

Speaking of public transport. I fly home Saturday night, and I'd offered to spare my parents the trouble of picking me up at Far Far Away Land Airport in the wee hours of the morning by saying I would take the bus to the Metro and they could pick me up at the stop closest to them around 8:30am. The bus didn't even start running until 7am and this whole process was going to take me about 3 hours. So of course, secretly I was hoping they would say, "oh, nonsense, we'll pick you up at Far Far Away Land Airport, don't be silly," but instead I got "OK sounds good, call us when you're 3 stops away." Guess they finally caught on to all the Guess jeans and video games I insisted on having as a child, and for that I can't blame them.

I got a shocking call from my mom this afternoon. She said, "call your brother, he wants to pick you up at the airport on Sunday morning." I said, "does he know I'm getting in at 5:45am? And that it's Far Far Away Land Airport, not 15 Minutes Away Airport?" She said, "yes he does, now call him and say thank you." I said, "do I really have to call him?"

I never, ever talk to my brother on the phone. Occasionally I get a random email or text message from him, or vice versa, but rarely do we actually have a conversation unless we're in the same room. So I called him, and I said, "hello, this is your sister," and we proceeded to have a hilarious conversation and made plans to play Guitar Hero (awwwwwyeah!) and make homemade pizza while I'm home, and he really truly is going to pick me up on Sunday morning because I'm "already going out of my way to come home, why should it have to involve a bus and the Metro in addition to a six hour flight."

Of course, he is still my brother who has trouble waking up before 10am if his life depends upon it, so I'm taking all the bus-to-Metro info just in case, but still... He really surprises me sometimes.

Happy holidays to you and your crazy families this season.

________________
* HA! I thought this morning was cold? Wait till I hit 35 degrees on the lovely east coast!

Never thought I would say this...

... but I wish I lived in West Hollywood. Or at least, that I lived there last Monday. Have I mentioned that I {heart} Joseph Gordon-Levitt? (Recently, I mean?)

Short commutes are dangerous to my ongoing mental health.

You know how they say that if you can't get to sleep after trying for at least 30 minutes, you should get up and do something else, and that you shouldn't do anything other than sleep in your bed because it encourages sleeplessness if it's not your "100% pure place o'sleep"?

In my previous job I had to commute about 60 minutes round trip once or twice a week (luckily, in reverse traffic). In the "going" portion of the commute, I listened to either Plans, Transatlanticism, Oh! Inverted World, Chutes Too Narrow (the four albums I bothered to put on cassette tape since I don't have a CD player in the car), or my iPod on complete shuffle when I remembered to bring it with me. In the "return" portion, I listened to The Crane Wife and talked to myself about the joyous crises of the day and how I really, really, really needed to find a new job. (And cursed California drivers, of course.) It was therapeutic.

My commute is now 5 minutes each day. When I get home I usually spend the first 2 hours unwinding and talking to myself about the crises du jour/week and how I should've could've would've handled them better. And then I stew for another hour until I find some distraction, which usually ends up being something crafty, a TV series on DVD, a writing project, or a glass (or three) of wine. Or a combination of any/all of those things.

In some cases this is good because I am learning from my mistakes and I am definitely employing those learnings going forward. In most cases this means I never really escape from work.

I need a longer commute. Maybe I should've agreed to that second interview in Mountain View...

I will survive.

It's been a while since I've done a meme, and I saw one on a friend's blog recently, so I figured, what the heck. Apparently, each of the Survivor contestants have to fill out a questionnaire and they get asked the same questions each year, presumably to figure out where their weaknesses lay so that everyone else can tempt them with cocoa and fresh avocados and peanut butter and whatever.

I don't ever watch Survivor, ever (no patience) but I'm a sucker for a meme so here goes... Ironically, there's no "books/music you would want on a desert island." Guess I'll save that for a Friday five someday soon.

FAVORITES:

• Colors: sky blue, sunset pink (only in actual sunsets), any shade of green... and of course, black.
  
• Scents: the smell of bread baking, cinnamon, fresh coffee, sawdust, freshly cut grass.
  
• Flowers: any that are still in the ground.
  
• Board Games: Risk, Monopoly, Scrabble... I'm old school.
  
• Video/Computer Games: other than the pirate game on Facebook I don't play these things, unless you count the re-enactments of Coleco Vision's Zaxxon and Donkey Kong that my brother ran across a while back.
  
• Sports to play: flag football, long distance running (which I *will* get back into, I *will*).
  
• Sports teams: don't really know, don't really care (especially since John LeClair pimped himself to the Penguins), although occasionally I will watch a hockey or football game... Nothing like good clean violence to soothe the savage soul.
  
• Outdoor activities: hiking, running, walking, people-gawking.
  
• TV shows: “House," "Good Eats," "Roseanne" reruns, "Buffy" reruns.
  
• Movies: “Princess Bride" and "Hair" all the way.
  
• Music: the Decemberists, the Cure circa 1989, Modest Mouse... everything else depends on the time of day, the time of year, the weather outside, and my mood at the time.
  
• Magazines: Runner's World, Running Times, Sunset, Mother Jones.
  
• Books/Authors: anything by Hemingway, Kerouac, David Sedaris or Stephen King.
• Cereals: Grape Nuts.
  
• Fruit: Um... grapes? Bananas? Sadly, I don't like a lot of fruit. Unless it involves peanut butter, which apples go really well with.
  
• Chips/snacks: Frito's as a guilty pleasure (the "scoops" are particularly enticing), reduced fat Trader Joe's imitation Cheetos as a semi-guilty pleasure. Otherwise it's reduced fat Triscuits, no exceptions.
  
• Cookies: if there's no peanut butter involved, no thank you.
  
• Candy bars: if there's no peanut butter involved, no thank you.
  
• Alcoholic drinks: oh... any will suffice, no peanut butter required.
  
• Non-alcoholic drinks: Peet's anything, cranberry juice, decaf green tea if I need to chill out.
  

Et tu, Brute?

Belated Friday five.

Five movies I have watched recently, and my opinion of those movies, and in some cases, what you should watch (or rewatch) instead, in no particular order:

• Two Weeks. Sally Field, Tom Cavanagh, a bunch of other people who looked vaguely familiar... I really expected more from this. Go for Steel Magnolias instead. Even a rerun on Lifetime with commercials would be a better use of your precious hour and a half. (I've probably seen it 20 times and the hospital scene makes me bawl Every. Single. Time.)
  
• Freedom Writers. About halfway through I wandered off and started making cookies out of sheer boredom, meanwhile hoping that something in the film would grab me and pull me back in. No such luck. Watch Iron Jawed Angels instead - same lead characters, much better film.
  
• Dave Chappelle: Killin' Them Softly. Sixty minutes of pure genius comedy. Just keep watching his show.
  
• BSG: The Story So Far. A colossal waste of time, just as the reviews on Netflix predicted, but I still got a fix. Skip it and go straight into season 3 whenever it's BLOODY RELEASED ALREADY AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH.
  
• The Lord of the Rings trilogy. It was on some cable network yesterday, the whole trilogy, and while I was doing various cleaning and much-needed organizing things around the apartment I left it on in the background.

People. If it's been a while since you've seen these films (and I know all of you have seen these films) you should really watch them again. At some point during The Two Towers, probably around the time that Aragorn bursts through the castle doors in that manly way of his, I ended up just doing the cleaning during the commercials because I got totally sucked back into that world...

And I also realized that I really need to go to New Zealand.

Really. And really soon.

Public service announcement.

The Closer: the Singles gal as the Deputy Police Chief of the Priority Homicide Division of the LAPD? Really, really good.

Saving Grace: the star of my favorite holiday movie as an Oklahoma City police detective? Really, really good.

NCIS: any show that doesn't have characters vomiting when they enter a tomb where two bodies decomposed and subsequently blew up? Really, really bad. Maybe they need a gal to step into charge there.

"It's like my mom says, 'The weak are always trying to sabatoge the strong.'"

"Dear Voter:
You are receiving this notice because you are not registered with a qualified party... State law provides that voters not affiliated with a qualified political party may request the ballot of a political party in a Primary Election, if the party has provided for this in their rules... Not all political parties have chosen to participate..."

Options: American Independent, Democratic

Hmm. So is it a good thing or a bad thing that Republican is not an option? Or does it not matter anyway because Republicans are so adamant about their political party that HOW DARE ANYONE ASSUME they would not register with a qualified party? Maybe it's just us danged wishy-washy liberals who can't commit - and surely the elephants don't want us in their camp.

[Digression. How the hell did the "collective we," which I won't commit to, get stuck with a donkey as our mascot? Seriously? A DONKEY? End of digression.]

"Requesting a party ballot for the Primary election does not change your registration... However, your voting history will show which party you chose."

Um... EH?? Have I been naive in assuming that my vote really was anonymous to some degree? Did I know that and just suppress it all these years? I mean, I know they have to track the party I'm affiliated with so they know what to send me ahead of time, and they have to track the fact that I've voted so that I can't vote again, but... EH??

I am sooooooo moving to Canada. Or France. Yeah, France! That'll show 'em.

Animal crackers in my soup.

First up on my "background movie watch while I make Christmas cards" was Steal Me. I got what she was trying to do, but... Eh. I am glad to see that one of the kids has gone on to star in lots of other things, though. And I made a lot of Christmas cards while it was on in the background.

And then I popped in Zodiac, and HOLY GUACAMOLE. Between an all-star cast that did not disappoint (I {heart} Jake... and Mark... and Robert), a relevant and real plot, and excellent direction, I damn near caught the glue gun on fire.

OK, not really, but I did get awfully distracted for 2.5 hours. Watch this one.

My luck runneth over.

For my birthday about four years ago, a friend at work got me a "lucky bamboo" which flourished over the years due in most part to utter neglect (may I direct you to the snake plant challenge?), and now bears the honor of housing several barrels of monkeys. I added the monkeys as a Christmas decoration gag several years ago and they never left the tree.

For my birthday last January, my oldest friend sent me three stalks of "lucky bamboo" in a special vase in honor of my new job and my new start in life. I've maintained it as the instructions required, but two of the stalks have died and the other is on its last legs.

I think this is quite telling in sooooooooo many ways.

I'm considering a third tattoo for my 33rd birthday, but I now officially doubt that it will involve bamboo. Possibly a creatively drawn "33" in an ocean or wave motive (I must live near the ocean no matter what else, and I'm an Aquarius, so it all seems to make sense). Drawings and tattoo parlor recommendations now being accepted. I do love Zebra already, but I'm open to other options.

I think other people call them "damn I'm old" moments, but whatever.

I'm watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special extravaganza on ABC (or is it CBS? I can never remember) and I had a nostalgia moment.

I had a sudden wish to be eight years old, eagerly anticipating Christmas morning where I could open my presents and play with my new toys and forget about real life (which would've consisted of brother issues, friend issues and homework, I suppose) for a whole day. Eagerly anticipating candlelight services at my church the night before. Eagerly anticipating the warning of snow and our fireplace all lit up and cozy and me taking dictation while my dad narrated a holiday greetings letter to my cousins in New Jersey - our tradition for a few years there. Eagerly anticipating the trek to my grandmother's house to watch her make homemade rolls and watch everyone gorge on dinner and pumpkin pie.

At times like these, I realize the value of family, and I start to crave one of my own. I start to think that maybe I should be within three hours driving distance of my parents (but no closer than three hours!). I wish I'd gone home for Thanksgiving.

Then I change the channel and watch a disgruntled doctor barking orders at his peons, and all is right with my world again.

Public service announcement.

Misto sprayers should only be used by trained professionals. This morning I somehow managed to slice open my thumb and ring finger while I was pumping air pressure into the canister... And they think it's a good idea to mix Mistos with alcohol? Yikes.

Add to this morning's events the coffee mug I broke (one of my faves), the handmade Christmas ornaments I dropped on the floor (several casualties, not good), and the two wine glasses I broke yesterday at a friend's house ("no really, stop doing the dishes already"), and I think it's safe to say I should not leave the apartment for the rest of the year.

"I carried a watermelon?"

The 80's child in me was quite impressed with this recreation of the infamous "nobody puts Baby in the corner" scene. They totally nailed it.

And if you must do something unique for your wedding, I guess it's a little more appropriate than singing and dancing to this little ditty at the reception... Which is what I would do.

I prefer the other Dan.

I took today off and to prevent myself from being tempted to check work email, I left the house at 10:30, hit the gym, hit the Public Market for lunch and then paid way too much money to see Steve Carell's latest endeavor.

Commentary in my head throughout the movie:

"I don't know any 14 year old who acts like that... wouldn't it make sense just to TELL people that she's the one from the bookstore?... why does that actress look so familiar?... man, I REALLY don't know any 14 year old who acts like that... this is getting painful to watch... how is no one else noticing their googly eyes at each other?... hey dumbass dad, you forgot to see what your adorable daughter made you... OMG just effing tell everyone already... but not THAT way you dumbasses... who the heck IS THAT WOMAN??"

There were moments where I appreciated Steve. He actually did a really good job with a really crappy story.

OK, it wasn't a crappy story. It had a beginning, a middle, and a happy end. Maybe that was my issue with it. I suppose it would be a good date night movie.

Me, I should've opted for The Mist instead. Roger Ebert called it "a competently made Horrible Things Pouncing on People Movie." Sounds good. Maybe Sunday.

I did see a preview for Alvin & the Chipmunks featuring Jason Lee as the human. I have a soft spot in my heart, both for Jason who has worked magic in many Kevin Smith films and as Earl, and also for Alvin. I must've listened to Chipmunk Punk a thousand times as a kid. (I don't think any of the songs covered on this album were appropriate for kids' ears, but hey, neither was REO Speedwagon and I listened to that a thousand times as a kid too.) Point being, it didn't look terrible and I might have to check this out with my parents over the holiday.

And that was my day off. Could've been better, but it was a million times better than a day at the office.

(The familiar woman was Susan from Friends. Whew, thank goodness for IMDB. I can sleep tonight.)

Friday five.

Top five reasons I politely declined a second interview at a really cool company, in no particular order:

• I have enough road rage driving from home to Emeryville, can you imagine how bad it would be with a 2-hour commute each day?
• There were typos in the job description. (Seriously. To a normal person this wouldn't be a factor, but to me? Nix.)
  
• The position didn't really seemed like it belonged anywhere specific; it wasn't assigned to a particular project.
  
• My friend kinda wants the job.
  
• I hate technology.

I suppose one of my answers should've been, "I still have hope for my current job," but at the moment I can't honestly say that is true. Upper management is nothing to write home about, nor is the specific job I have ended up doing. It's been a tough week, but I could say the same about at least one week a month since I started, and it's not fixing to get much better. At least, not anytime soon.

So in the words of the great Billy Joel, "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than die with the saints - the sinners are much more fun."

Oh, wait, I meant, "momma, if that's moving up, then IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII'm moving out."

Belated Friday five.

OK, it's time for the obligatory "what I'm thankful for" Friday five. (Actually, I guess it's past the time. Whatever.) So here we go, in no particular order:

• I'm thankful that I have cabinets and a refrigerator/freezer full of food even if I don't always want to eat any of it, and that the food I AM eating has caused me to put on a few pounds so that my clothes aren't falling off me anymore.
• I'm thankful that I have money to spend on movies even if they sometimes suck, and on crafty gadgets like this one even if this card making thing is just a passing phase, and on books even if I've had them for three years and haven't cracked them open yet.
• I'm thankful that my building manager let me hang a bird feeder on my balcony so that I could spend an hour or so each day watching the teeny little sparrows flit and fleet about, and the big pigeons waddle around on the railing getting the scraps, and the squirrel leaping from the balcony to the tree whenever Her Majesty runs to the window. (Her Majesty is also thankful for that. It's the only fun she has these days.)
• I'm thankful that the weather seems to finally be turning, and that the leaves are crunchy under my feet and the air is crisp and clean.
  
• And of course, I'm thankful for my family and friends and that they are healthy and (generally speaking) happy.

I think that's more than five, but what the heck.

"It's bad enough that the movie is about uninteresting people's problems...."

"... what's worse is that it's about snobs..."

You would think that by now, I would know to read Stephanie Zacharek's movie reviews in advance.

"Is that a true story?" "It's true that it's a story."

Instead of the character film about "a mess of thrashed relationships and exposed family secrets" (saving that for tomorrow, it was too close to Thanksgiving to see such a thing), I took in the Coen brothers' latest endeavor, a masterful, beautiful tale of pure evil in search of $2 million and a sheriff in search of the good old days when being evil made sense.

I think I will be thinking about this film for days to come. It's stories like this that make me wish I still had that part of my brain that could write a five-page paper on foreshadowing through lofty prose and the symbolism behind the cattle stun gun. (Did you know that Simon from Lord of the Flies symbolized Jesus? ... Well, everyone knows that NOW, but did you know it in tenth grade?)

Then I hit BBV for my frakberry fix of disc 2, season 2.5. Because there is no way in hell I can wait until Tuesday's Netflix delivery to see what happens next, and the local indie video store only had disc 1, season 2.5, which I demolished yesterday when I got home from dinner.

DAMN YOU, CONNIE. I will never, ever listen to another one of your infotainment recommendations. You have stolen YEARS of my life from me. YEARS!! (OK, probably just weeks, but still. You made me resort to BBV. For shame, for shame!)

Moral dilemma.

On this lovely Black Friday, do I pay round-trip BART fare and full price for a movie ticket to see What Would Jesus Buy, or do I walk to the Piedmont and pay 1/2 price for a matinée of Margot at the Wedding?

I'm thinking the latter.

Would Jesus have bought paper towels today? (I really needed them.)

Courtesy of my aunt...

Happy Thanksgiving!