Oy vey.

From a recent Dish:

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

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

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

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

"Because all hippies are Jewish."

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

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

And not for the reason you're thinking.

"Two monologues do not make a dialogue."

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

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

Got ink?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any cool water symbols out there for consideration?

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

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

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

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

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

File under: There Oughta Be

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just call me Tim the Toolman Taylor.

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

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

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

To think that normal women get this excited about shoes.

Elimination nation.

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

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

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

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

Please let me feel better tomorrow.

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

Freedom is the only way, yeah!

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

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

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

And in an unprecedented turn of events...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a world.

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

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

File under: Dear God Why.

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

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

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

Thank God for yeti's notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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* So I guess it COULD be worse...

File under: ongoing required reading.

This. And this. And this.

What? You think I'm kidding?

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

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

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

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

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

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

D'oh! The camera.

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