Halloween is super fantastic this year. I want to post some pictures up here but alas, I am at work and do not have the hook-up to do so here. Trish has a picture on her blog though, as does Kane. But for anyone curious in seeing what I happened to take with my camera while I was a little bleary-eyed and drunkish this past Saturday evening… I will attempt to post some photos by this evening if I can swing it.
I went as Tippi Hedren from “The Birds” this year. I got an old suit from Savers, and a bunch of fake birds and attached them all over myself. I used a toothpick dipped in red makeup to simulate scratches and pecks, and did one bigger “cheek abrasion” because she has one like that in the movie. It turned out pretty decent, considering I had to get dressed super fast before the party and everything. And Greg went as “Ash” from the Evil Dead movies, and he looked really great, too. I must say, this holiday solidified just how much I care for him. We meshed really well in pulling this party together and in all of our Halloween thoughts and ideas. I felt giddy all weekend! And I still do…!
Moving on…
Like I said earlier, I am at work at the moment, and I am kind of between projects. Last week I worked my ass off here to get things completed and it paid off, since they are all done. I know I have some bigger projects coming up soon, but I need to wait for more information in order to proceed. I hate that. When you are the quickest little asshole and you need to wait for the other assholes to catch up. Still, it gives me some time to do word finds (I have one of those tiny little word find books they sell at the checkout in the food store at my desk, hiding under a manila folder) and occasionally, when no one is looking, pull out “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” and get a little reading done.
I hate to go all Potter on you all, but damn, this book is good so far. Don’t anyone dare tell me any details because I am only about 2/3 of the way through it, but I have been getting into it in a big way all of the sudden. I attribute my fervor to the fact that it’s so layered and detailed, and I have to keep visiting Harry Potter Facts in order to refresh my memory on ancillary characters from the previous books and events that happened in books 4 or 5. (I never really retain much from these books, from one to the next, so this site has been awesome) I also think I am getting psyched for NaNoWriMo, and it’s so fun to read something like Harry Potter to gear up. I’m noticing more about the way the story is unfolding, and thinking about the question of “why I care” as I get ready to start my new book. JK Rowling is definitely an incredible storyteller, and I am very happy that the younger kids who are reading these books are probably going to grow up with a strong appreciation for fun fiction and in-depth storytelling. I wish these books came out while I was still a kid—maybe I wouldn’t have wasted so many hours reading the Babysitter’s Club books by Ann M. Martin. Who knows the full extent of the damage to my writing skills those books caused. Well… I am trying NOT to think about it, really. But I know this much, Ms. Martin: the first publisher who turns down my book and says my writing is crappy, I am coming after you with a sawed off shotgun. I promise.
One final thought on NaNoWriMo before I head off to lunch: I know a lot of people are stressing out and stuff, worried about what to write about or how to structure the book, and I am wondering if there is something wrong with me that I am not stressing out. Now I know me, and I stress A LOT, about pretty much everything in my life. Yet this is curiously not stressful. I don’t know why! I just know I plan to write at least 1,700 words a day. I can do that since the things I write for work in a couple of hours are usually closer to the 2,000 mark. I just plan to go along for the ride and see what this character comes up with. She has a month of my time and attention, and I have no idea what the hell she’s going to say. I am really excited for her visit, though. I hope my lack of planning or stress is not a negative sign. Probably not. But still… is it true, am I finally learning not to stress out? That would be awesome if it were true.
Now if I can just figure out a way to kill off some Babysitters in my book, the circle will be complete and I can move on with my professional (and personal) development.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
I’m down with OPB. That’s Other People’s Blogs. I simply haven’t been caring for my own blog for the past week or so. However, I feel somewhat better because I have been doing the drive-by comments on the blogs of others, so at least some people who read this thing know I am not completely fried or dead or something. I am still here, peeps!
Can’t believe I just called you all “peeps.” I am so sorry.
The trip to Iowa went very well, indeed. It was a pretty state, and the people we met were so sweet and down to earth. Greg’s family was very, very nice and they seemed to like me, which is helpful. It always blows when a whole family hates you. I hate when families kick me out of their homes, lock the doors and call the cops on me. I also hate it when they dump vats of boiling oil down on me from the upstairs bedroom window. Luckily that has only happened once. Once.
I took a bunch of pictures and I plan to post some up here when I can. We went to Pella, Iowa, which was where Greg’s sister and her husband live. It is the home of the country’s largest working windmill, and hosts a tulip festival every spring. It’s a big Dutch town. It’s not very often that I get to say I was in a “big Dutch town”. And yes, I did see some wooden shoes in a store window. The town was really adorable and quaint, in a Dutchy sort of way. The leaves were all yellow and red; the town square was populated with ornate little brick storefronts dating to the 1800s.
We also visited Ames, home to Iowa State University. Greg took me on a tour of the campus, where we saw more beautiful fall leaves and old gorgeous buildings (even a clock tower—and I surprised myself when I found myself NOT yelling “Save the Clock Tower!” at least 8 times. I was probably too cold to quote movies; it was in the 40s and Greg and I are definitely not accustomed to that kind of temperature anymore). I recall being impressed that the students seemed relatively normal and not like a bunch of douchebags. I am thinking in particular of the douchebag college students I regularly encounter at ASU, or the ones I recall from places like Rutgers and other random Jersey schools. The ISU kids were just doing their thing, walking around looking perfectly normal and sane. I found myself wondering how MUCH older I looked than the students. When was that moment when I went from looking like someone who could still pass for a college student to someone who looks like she is exactly 30? I just don’t know.
Finally, we went to the family farm. Greg grew up in a tiny little town, on a dairy farm. His high school is in the middle of the town, and it housed all the grades-- K-12-- when he went there. The farm was really kind of beautiful… they had so much land all around them, and the farm was up on a hill so you could look out and see very far in every direction. A window in their kitchen looked out on a cornfield. We had dinner with the family and then we went to a tiny little bar in town to meet some of his old friends. They were really nice people, too. I felt like I could fit right in when I talked to them. It was funny because there was only a couple of other local people in the bar while we were there, and whenever the door would open we would all turn to see who came in. And they knew the name of every person who came in. Twice, two people we were sitting with yelled out, “Hey, Mom!” when the bar door opened. I liked that the Moms in that town regularly walk down to the bar to see what their grown kids are up to. (There was also a shifty character the guys called “John Rambo” who sat at the bar wearing a NASCAR jacket. Seemed harmless enough, but John Rambo had apparently walked into the bar earlier holding a Bowie knife at his side. Hence, the new nickname of John Rambo. John Rambo is also a known cross-dresser, and will sometimes show up at the bar dressed as a woman. The locals don’t seem to mind, though, and accept it with a shrug and a “That’s just John Rambo for ya.”)
Overall, the trip was just very calm and fun, and I enjoyed going somewhere totally different and seeing where the dude I am all hooked-up with and shit comes from. And it was nice to fly Midwest Airlines. They serve hot chocolate chip cookies on their flights. I really do like me some hot chocolate chip cookies.
Now we are gearing up for the Halloween Hullabaloo. (Anyone from Middletown remember the Halloween Hullabaloo at Croydon Hall every Halloween? I hope they still do that and didn’t rename it the Fall Harvest Festival or something.) Anyone who is in the Phoenix area and would like to stop by our party—in costume, please!—feel free! We would love for you to come by and see our pumpkins and other Halloween refinements.
I better go now. These dead babies are not going to sweep themselves out from under my desk, you know.
Can’t believe I just called you all “peeps.” I am so sorry.
The trip to Iowa went very well, indeed. It was a pretty state, and the people we met were so sweet and down to earth. Greg’s family was very, very nice and they seemed to like me, which is helpful. It always blows when a whole family hates you. I hate when families kick me out of their homes, lock the doors and call the cops on me. I also hate it when they dump vats of boiling oil down on me from the upstairs bedroom window. Luckily that has only happened once. Once.
I took a bunch of pictures and I plan to post some up here when I can. We went to Pella, Iowa, which was where Greg’s sister and her husband live. It is the home of the country’s largest working windmill, and hosts a tulip festival every spring. It’s a big Dutch town. It’s not very often that I get to say I was in a “big Dutch town”. And yes, I did see some wooden shoes in a store window. The town was really adorable and quaint, in a Dutchy sort of way. The leaves were all yellow and red; the town square was populated with ornate little brick storefronts dating to the 1800s.
We also visited Ames, home to Iowa State University. Greg took me on a tour of the campus, where we saw more beautiful fall leaves and old gorgeous buildings (even a clock tower—and I surprised myself when I found myself NOT yelling “Save the Clock Tower!” at least 8 times. I was probably too cold to quote movies; it was in the 40s and Greg and I are definitely not accustomed to that kind of temperature anymore). I recall being impressed that the students seemed relatively normal and not like a bunch of douchebags. I am thinking in particular of the douchebag college students I regularly encounter at ASU, or the ones I recall from places like Rutgers and other random Jersey schools. The ISU kids were just doing their thing, walking around looking perfectly normal and sane. I found myself wondering how MUCH older I looked than the students. When was that moment when I went from looking like someone who could still pass for a college student to someone who looks like she is exactly 30? I just don’t know.
Finally, we went to the family farm. Greg grew up in a tiny little town, on a dairy farm. His high school is in the middle of the town, and it housed all the grades-- K-12-- when he went there. The farm was really kind of beautiful… they had so much land all around them, and the farm was up on a hill so you could look out and see very far in every direction. A window in their kitchen looked out on a cornfield. We had dinner with the family and then we went to a tiny little bar in town to meet some of his old friends. They were really nice people, too. I felt like I could fit right in when I talked to them. It was funny because there was only a couple of other local people in the bar while we were there, and whenever the door would open we would all turn to see who came in. And they knew the name of every person who came in. Twice, two people we were sitting with yelled out, “Hey, Mom!” when the bar door opened. I liked that the Moms in that town regularly walk down to the bar to see what their grown kids are up to. (There was also a shifty character the guys called “John Rambo” who sat at the bar wearing a NASCAR jacket. Seemed harmless enough, but John Rambo had apparently walked into the bar earlier holding a Bowie knife at his side. Hence, the new nickname of John Rambo. John Rambo is also a known cross-dresser, and will sometimes show up at the bar dressed as a woman. The locals don’t seem to mind, though, and accept it with a shrug and a “That’s just John Rambo for ya.”)
Overall, the trip was just very calm and fun, and I enjoyed going somewhere totally different and seeing where the dude I am all hooked-up with and shit comes from. And it was nice to fly Midwest Airlines. They serve hot chocolate chip cookies on their flights. I really do like me some hot chocolate chip cookies.
Now we are gearing up for the Halloween Hullabaloo. (Anyone from Middletown remember the Halloween Hullabaloo at Croydon Hall every Halloween? I hope they still do that and didn’t rename it the Fall Harvest Festival or something.) Anyone who is in the Phoenix area and would like to stop by our party—in costume, please!—feel free! We would love for you to come by and see our pumpkins and other Halloween refinements.
I better go now. These dead babies are not going to sweep themselves out from under my desk, you know.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
This time tomorrow, I will be in Iowa.
I am going to meet up with Greg, who is already there for his school's homecoming... and I am meeting the parents. I have a couple of things to confess: One-- I have never been to Iowa. Two--I don't know much 'bout Iowa, except it somehow spawned a dude who can tolerate the Armsweat babble-n-bullshit mix. This is good. Three-- In anticipation of my trip to Iowa, I have been looking for "Iowa images" online to get some idea of what it's going to look like.
This photo is of "The Jones Family", taken in Des Moines, IA. (That's the city I will be flying into, and hot damn if I ain't excited... well, I am, to see Greg and all, but this is DES MOINES and it promises to be all action, all the time.) I sure hope all the folks in Iowa are as...comely...as these folks. Why do the children look so sullen, yet Mom is laughing it up over there in her pancake hat?
What a strange city awaits me!
Friday, October 21, 2005
So you know how when you get in a horrific car accident, and you are in ungodly amounts of blood-gushing pain, and it seems like the morphine drip is just not coming down that plastic tubing fast enough-- it seems like the slowest thing in the whole goddamn world? Yeah. Picture that kind of slow, and you'll have a clue as to how slow I am when it comes to responding to tags by fellow bloggers.
Rae tagged me to answer two simple questions awhile back and I failed to do it. Well, I guess I had other things to do or something like that. Who knows? I don't know. Christ, most days it is a flat-out miracle that I once more narrowly averted a pants-crapping.
Here it is. My response to a "meme" (how is that pronounced by the way? Is it "MEE-MEE" or "meh-MEH"? I really am bad at pronunciation, ask anyone.) follows:
10 Turn-Ons (in no particular order)
1) People who laugh a lot and can make me laugh
2) Water, preferably in nature (rain, the ocean, lakes, streams...)
3) A good novel
4) Halloween
5) Cemetaries and other old, overgrown, ornate places
6) Little notes left under my Transportation Frog statue next to my front door for no real reason, but that feature hand-painted hearts and clues to lead me on a scavenger hunt around my condo for a hidden DVD copy of "The Jerk" (this was so cool when someone did it for me once. Wink.)
7) Jersey produce. (I am pining for Jersey tomatoes, corn, apples...)
8) Getting the "church/ board room/ funeral giggles"
9) Having a dog cuddle up next to you and fall asleep... and then it has a dream
10) Anyone who can come up with a full list of 10 Turn-Ons, because this is kind of hard. Not that I don't have "turn ons", but it is becoming clear to me that this is more a list of things "I just really appreciate"... calling them "turn-ons" feels a little odd. I admire those that can do this, and are that comfortable with their turn-onality.
5 Things You Miss From Being a Kid
1) Swimming every single day in the summer, even in the rain
2) Going to the library on Saturday mornings in the fall to get Dorrie the Little Witch books
3) Going to Granny and Pop-Pop's house and falling asleep on their couch as we watched the Wizard of Oz
4) The first day of school (new school supplies rock!!)
5) Carnivals, fairs and amusement parks were the shit back then!
Oh, father Lord and sonny Jesus, that was good. Now, I must retire for the evening. And these dogs are not gonna walk themselves. What do you think I do, sit around and write blogs all day?
Rae tagged me to answer two simple questions awhile back and I failed to do it. Well, I guess I had other things to do or something like that. Who knows? I don't know. Christ, most days it is a flat-out miracle that I once more narrowly averted a pants-crapping.
Here it is. My response to a "meme" (how is that pronounced by the way? Is it "MEE-MEE" or "meh-MEH"? I really am bad at pronunciation, ask anyone.) follows:
10 Turn-Ons (in no particular order)
1) People who laugh a lot and can make me laugh
2) Water, preferably in nature (rain, the ocean, lakes, streams...)
3) A good novel
4) Halloween
5) Cemetaries and other old, overgrown, ornate places
6) Little notes left under my Transportation Frog statue next to my front door for no real reason, but that feature hand-painted hearts and clues to lead me on a scavenger hunt around my condo for a hidden DVD copy of "The Jerk" (this was so cool when someone did it for me once. Wink.)
7) Jersey produce. (I am pining for Jersey tomatoes, corn, apples...)
8) Getting the "church/ board room/ funeral giggles"
9) Having a dog cuddle up next to you and fall asleep... and then it has a dream
10) Anyone who can come up with a full list of 10 Turn-Ons, because this is kind of hard. Not that I don't have "turn ons", but it is becoming clear to me that this is more a list of things "I just really appreciate"... calling them "turn-ons" feels a little odd. I admire those that can do this, and are that comfortable with their turn-onality.
5 Things You Miss From Being a Kid
1) Swimming every single day in the summer, even in the rain
2) Going to the library on Saturday mornings in the fall to get Dorrie the Little Witch books
3) Going to Granny and Pop-Pop's house and falling asleep on their couch as we watched the Wizard of Oz
4) The first day of school (new school supplies rock!!)
5) Carnivals, fairs and amusement parks were the shit back then!
Oh, father Lord and sonny Jesus, that was good. Now, I must retire for the evening. And these dogs are not gonna walk themselves. What do you think I do, sit around and write blogs all day?
Thursday, October 20, 2005
OK, so... I am stressed out because lately my dog and Greg's dog have been fighting a lot, and I have sore feet and ankles and other symptoms that are making me think I am diabetic or something, and I am missing Greg because he left for Iowa today and even though I will join him there on Sunday evening, I already just sort of want to be with him... so blogging just isn't coming naturally this evening. And tomorrow is probably going to be busy at work, so here is my shot to post something up here of vague or at least passing interest!
So, I present a few photos from my father's visit earlier this month, for lack of anything else. Plus... wait till you get to the plaster Indian dude picture-- it might bug you out a little. I know I hate it! I hate it so much I wish I shoved over the plaster Indian dude when I had the chance! In fact, this stupid fucking plaster Indian (face and all) has already appeared in one wigged-out nightmare/dream for me. Yuck.
But screw that, look at that nice shot up at the top of this post first. Featured above, you can see me and my sister giving amiable smiles to the camera in front of a huge fake teepee at a trading post on the way to the Grand Canyon. Inside the trading post we saw a stuffed armadillo, positioned on its back with an empty bottle of Jack Daniel's balanced in its shellacked paws. Just the way nature intended! I would have taken a picture, but the lady who was working in this trading post seemed like she might punch me in the stomach for such an offense. She was dressed in old-west garb, which was funny-- and it wasn't the Whore of the Old West get-up either, it was more like School Marm. And she damned well looked like she was gonna punch someone in the stomach that day. Why take the risk?
Needless to say, Trish and I found it necessary to flee and go outside and poke around the teepee. Mind you, this was only a few feet from Plaster Indian. We are daredevils. But before you scroll down, check out how "Indian" we look here. You can totally tell we are Indians. And if you don't know what I mean by that, well then... go away goddamnit, because I shouldn't have to explain myself to you's guys anyway. Shaddup. Hic.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
MEANINGLESS QUEST DOT BLOGSPOT has been launched!
Today I created a blog just for my NaNoWriMo novel project! And it turns out I had a synposis of the book-to-be hiding within my brain, too, so I spit that out as the first post. Check it out by clicking here: The Big Meaningless Quest
The whole idea is to spoof the whole Lord of the Rings/ epic fantasy adventure books, from a female perspective, and from a female perspective that happens to be high a lot of the time and "just doesn't care a lot about who wins", she just wants peace and quiet and decent sales of her tobacco products.
I'm kind of excited, and I wish it was November 1 right now... but I am a stickler for playing by the rules and not posting a word until then. Wish me luck!
Today I created a blog just for my NaNoWriMo novel project! And it turns out I had a synposis of the book-to-be hiding within my brain, too, so I spit that out as the first post. Check it out by clicking here: The Big Meaningless Quest
The whole idea is to spoof the whole Lord of the Rings/ epic fantasy adventure books, from a female perspective, and from a female perspective that happens to be high a lot of the time and "just doesn't care a lot about who wins", she just wants peace and quiet and decent sales of her tobacco products.
I'm kind of excited, and I wish it was November 1 right now... but I am a stickler for playing by the rules and not posting a word until then. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Here's another shot from Brianna and Robert's wedding. I posted this one just for you, Brianna-- so that more of your dress is visible. For anyone not "in the know" already, Brianna designed and then sewed her own wedding gown. It was an off-white brushed satin, with a purple tulle underlay. Trish handpainted some purple swirls around the edges of the dress. The total cost was proportedly only about $80. VERY cool, indeed. I never did see the point of spending hundreds or even worse, thousands on a dress. I know it's your wedding day; I know it's special and important, but I fail to see the logic of spending that kind of cash for a dress. Well, Brianna, the point is-- you did an awesome job, you did it right, and your Dad was so adorable walking you down the aisle to the "Ice Dance Suite" from Edward Scissorhands-- I think it was right at this pictured moment that I started to get choked up. Honestly, your wedding was really great. I love you guys. (Sniff!)
Monday, October 17, 2005
I live a few blocks from a seasonal theme park called Arizona's Original Scream Park. I must say... it is very cool to be out walking the dogs on an otherwise beautiful and peaceful evening and being able to hear chainsaws, amplified "hacking" sounds and screams wafting through the evening air.
That's all about THAT. That's really too bad, because I am sure the AZ Original Scream Park is a wonderous place and deserves more than a paragraph about its enticing sounds. But I must share something else. I MUST. Allow me to move on to something that I am incredibly un-PC about when I see it:
Lately, I have been really bothered by those among us who are gender-ambiguous. I have seen too many Pats lately. Yesterday in Souper Salad one was giving me the stink-eye; prolly because I was staring like a motherfucker. The most infamous one is a teenager that lives four doors down in my condo complex. Up until a couple of months ago, I could have sworn this child was a boy. It skateboarded all the time, wore boy clothing and had that shaggy mop of unkempt hair that is all the rage these days. But then it went away for the summer. I don't know WHERE young androgynous types go for the summer-- Camp Maybe-Boy?-- but it arrived back in the complex a couple months back.
Since then, it has been skateboarding aimlessly around the parking lot, spooking my dogs and making a stupid amount of noise because not only does it skateboard a lot, but it doesn't skateboard well, so it bangs into things and falls a lot. Yet, you never see it without the board. It also tends to sit on curbs near the road and watch people drive in and out. It is a weird presence.
Like I said, up until recently I thought it had to be a boy. Never even occurred to me that it could be female. But the thing came back from the summer away with BOOBS. And longer hair.
I wasn't sure for the longest time if I was seeing smallish grrrl boobs or the beginnings of some Hispanic Man-Boobs. (Yes, it is Hispanic; and yes, its male parental unit appears to have Man-Boobs too, so you know it would be genetically pre-disposed to that charming characteristic.) The clothes are definitely boy's clothes, or that masculine chick stuff-- and the hair isn't a dead giveaway because even though it is longer, it still looks mannish. Still, this person sits on the curbs and falls down in the parking lot on a too-frequent basis, for my liking. It sat and watched Greg and I taking pumpkins from the back of my car yesterday with the freakish, sad and dead stare of one totally confused about its gender. It was unnerving, and I wanted to go home. But I was already home. And it lives here.
I cannot escape the Genderless Freak-Child.
Someone please either poison it, or spirit me away, before it gets really creepy looking. It reminds me of this famous poem of yore:
YESTERDAY --I LOOKED ON A DARE--
I SAW A GENDERLESS FREAK WITH LONGISH HAIR
IT WAS OUT THERE AGAIN TODAY
I WISH, I WISH, IT'D STAY AWAY.
That's all about THAT. That's really too bad, because I am sure the AZ Original Scream Park is a wonderous place and deserves more than a paragraph about its enticing sounds. But I must share something else. I MUST. Allow me to move on to something that I am incredibly un-PC about when I see it:
Lately, I have been really bothered by those among us who are gender-ambiguous. I have seen too many Pats lately. Yesterday in Souper Salad one was giving me the stink-eye; prolly because I was staring like a motherfucker. The most infamous one is a teenager that lives four doors down in my condo complex. Up until a couple of months ago, I could have sworn this child was a boy. It skateboarded all the time, wore boy clothing and had that shaggy mop of unkempt hair that is all the rage these days. But then it went away for the summer. I don't know WHERE young androgynous types go for the summer-- Camp Maybe-Boy?-- but it arrived back in the complex a couple months back.
Since then, it has been skateboarding aimlessly around the parking lot, spooking my dogs and making a stupid amount of noise because not only does it skateboard a lot, but it doesn't skateboard well, so it bangs into things and falls a lot. Yet, you never see it without the board. It also tends to sit on curbs near the road and watch people drive in and out. It is a weird presence.
Like I said, up until recently I thought it had to be a boy. Never even occurred to me that it could be female. But the thing came back from the summer away with BOOBS. And longer hair.
I wasn't sure for the longest time if I was seeing smallish grrrl boobs or the beginnings of some Hispanic Man-Boobs. (Yes, it is Hispanic; and yes, its male parental unit appears to have Man-Boobs too, so you know it would be genetically pre-disposed to that charming characteristic.) The clothes are definitely boy's clothes, or that masculine chick stuff-- and the hair isn't a dead giveaway because even though it is longer, it still looks mannish. Still, this person sits on the curbs and falls down in the parking lot on a too-frequent basis, for my liking. It sat and watched Greg and I taking pumpkins from the back of my car yesterday with the freakish, sad and dead stare of one totally confused about its gender. It was unnerving, and I wanted to go home. But I was already home. And it lives here.
I cannot escape the Genderless Freak-Child.
Someone please either poison it, or spirit me away, before it gets really creepy looking. It reminds me of this famous poem of yore:
YESTERDAY --I LOOKED ON A DARE--
I SAW A GENDERLESS FREAK WITH LONGISH HAIR
IT WAS OUT THERE AGAIN TODAY
I WISH, I WISH, IT'D STAY AWAY.
I nearly spit out my frosted flakes this morning as I read the book review section in a recent copy of Entertainment Weekly. I know this is the second post in a few days mentioning this magazine, but it's been my main portal into the world outside for awhile now (see the No Tv post below this one for reference), so I have to keep name droppin' it.
Why did I almost spit out corn flaked goodness covered in evil sugar? Well, it's simple, really: CHRIS ELLIOTT HAS A NEW BOOK!
This is HUGE news for me. I love this man. Almost as much as I love Mike Nelson from MST3K, Steve Martin's stuff from the 70s, Bill Murray and the current joys that are Arrested Development and Family Guy. The book is called The Shroud of the Thwacker and it is a take-off of the turn of the century crime novels such as the ones written by Caleb Carr, or stories about Jack the Ripper. The review in EW mentioned the killer leaving a dead prostitute's intestines coiled about her head in a beehive hairdo. If that's not good writing, I don't want to know what is. And I mean that.
Needless to say, this is a got-to-have item, I have got-to-have it.
Why did I almost spit out corn flaked goodness covered in evil sugar? Well, it's simple, really: CHRIS ELLIOTT HAS A NEW BOOK!
This is HUGE news for me. I love this man. Almost as much as I love Mike Nelson from MST3K, Steve Martin's stuff from the 70s, Bill Murray and the current joys that are Arrested Development and Family Guy. The book is called The Shroud of the Thwacker and it is a take-off of the turn of the century crime novels such as the ones written by Caleb Carr, or stories about Jack the Ripper. The review in EW mentioned the killer leaving a dead prostitute's intestines coiled about her head in a beehive hairdo. If that's not good writing, I don't want to know what is. And I mean that.
Needless to say, this is a got-to-have item, I have got-to-have it.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
I've been straightening up my place and reading blogs in between the pitiful tries at cleaning, and I have TV on. And I think I have pinpointed what it is I HATE about TV:
The soundtracks! The music! The pandering to our sentimentality! So...umm...grr, what is the word?! STUPID. Yeah, stupid!
First, tonight, as I cooked dinner, I had on "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition." First of all what is the problem with that asshole Ty? So loud, so coifed and so fucking annoying. When they had the host auditions, someone actually said, "Oh, my sweet GOD, call Cheryl* in here... this guy's GOT IT! Let's see if he will accept this hosting gig, for we believe he has the charm and personality to rope in a LOT of gullible Americans. Oh, and he has a certain smarmy and parasitic handsomeness to him, which is what the LADIES will go for. And you know those ladies in middle America! They love guys on a megaphone. Can get enough of 'em. Hire this actor. Let's Ty one on. Oooh...One more thing, Cheryl, call marketing and see if we can use that--'Ty One On'-- in our promos. That's good, that's REAL good. I think we have a winner here. Yes. We do. Now. Someone get me a blowjob from a young boy, WHEW!!"
(*PS: No idea who this Cheryl is. Run along, Sid.)
I don't watch a lot of this stuff, so I am sure other people have bitched about this prickly little Ty on blogs before, but damn, it really got to me tonight. I wasn't watching, but I was listening from the kitchen and I HATED the stupid piano-y music they played and I heard an audible sniffle as some woman said something along the lines of "...and you know, THIS is why we do this. It's for these kids. These kids are...SNIFF... angels!" Cue super-sentimental music.
At last, relief. As I ate, I watched an episode of Northern Exposure from my season 3 DVDs. But it couldn't last forever. I turned off the DVD and left the TV on as I began to do the dishes and stuff.
It turns out, "Grey's Anatomy" was on. Again, I didn't do much watching since I was busy, but I heard it. From my limited sensory experience, the whole show seemed to be a bunch of mumbling actors with that retarded "Dum-DUM! Dum-DUM-DUM!" music--I would guess it's some sort of string-section disaster, perhaps synthesized, but I have no fucking clue, really-- going the whole time. I was getting an impression that whatever was happening on screen was supposed to be whimsical and charming at times, with an occassional switchover to "dramatic." And then... and THEN... they started in with some emo-sounding, whiny girl shit music. I was in the other room so I have no idea what was happening on screen, but it sounded god-awful. I noted that the music drowned out any and all real dialogue. This is a phenomenon I have also noted on UPN and WB shows; when they are working extra hard to showcase some crappy new "alternative" band, usually a band that features one of more of those guys with the faux-mohawk trendy haircut and ironic glasses. You can't hear the pretty actors over the music. Terrible! Why, how will I ever know what the fuck Mischa Barton is emoting about with her skinny ass and her old lady clothes with all this... "music" playing?! Tragic, I tell ya.
Yes, I don't like the TV much. I realized how much this is true several months ago, when my semi-free cable ran out. I pay for cable, but I only get 23 channels. I honestly don't miss it. I sometimes miss being able to watch Comedy Central, Cartoon Network, Animal Planet or VH-1. But it hasn't been enough to pay for it. Weird how that works. The only time I miss having cable is when people come over. I feel bad that there are no true options for visitors who want to channel surf. My Dad and his wife were reduced to watching the public access channel and hear about xeroscape landscaping options in the Sonoran Desert during their visit. When Greg comes over, there is no quick checking of ESPN for Iowa State scores while I am in the bathroom. I feel a little bad about it... but then we just go out and do something and the guilt is gone.
Anyway, I don't intend to sound like a self-righteous asshole who is better than everyone else just because I don't watch a lot of TV. Nah. I just can't believe the awful, atrocious and flaming shit that passes for standard programming these days. I think I am sticking to watching DVDs, or silence, and this is just my personal choice. Shove me or leave me.
The soundtracks! The music! The pandering to our sentimentality! So...umm...grr, what is the word?! STUPID. Yeah, stupid!
First, tonight, as I cooked dinner, I had on "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition." First of all what is the problem with that asshole Ty? So loud, so coifed and so fucking annoying. When they had the host auditions, someone actually said, "Oh, my sweet GOD, call Cheryl* in here... this guy's GOT IT! Let's see if he will accept this hosting gig, for we believe he has the charm and personality to rope in a LOT of gullible Americans. Oh, and he has a certain smarmy and parasitic handsomeness to him, which is what the LADIES will go for. And you know those ladies in middle America! They love guys on a megaphone. Can get enough of 'em. Hire this actor. Let's Ty one on. Oooh...One more thing, Cheryl, call marketing and see if we can use that--'Ty One On'-- in our promos. That's good, that's REAL good. I think we have a winner here. Yes. We do. Now. Someone get me a blowjob from a young boy, WHEW!!"
(*PS: No idea who this Cheryl is. Run along, Sid.)
I don't watch a lot of this stuff, so I am sure other people have bitched about this prickly little Ty on blogs before, but damn, it really got to me tonight. I wasn't watching, but I was listening from the kitchen and I HATED the stupid piano-y music they played and I heard an audible sniffle as some woman said something along the lines of "...and you know, THIS is why we do this. It's for these kids. These kids are...SNIFF... angels!" Cue super-sentimental music.
At last, relief. As I ate, I watched an episode of Northern Exposure from my season 3 DVDs. But it couldn't last forever. I turned off the DVD and left the TV on as I began to do the dishes and stuff.
It turns out, "Grey's Anatomy" was on. Again, I didn't do much watching since I was busy, but I heard it. From my limited sensory experience, the whole show seemed to be a bunch of mumbling actors with that retarded "Dum-DUM! Dum-DUM-DUM!" music--I would guess it's some sort of string-section disaster, perhaps synthesized, but I have no fucking clue, really-- going the whole time. I was getting an impression that whatever was happening on screen was supposed to be whimsical and charming at times, with an occassional switchover to "dramatic." And then... and THEN... they started in with some emo-sounding, whiny girl shit music. I was in the other room so I have no idea what was happening on screen, but it sounded god-awful. I noted that the music drowned out any and all real dialogue. This is a phenomenon I have also noted on UPN and WB shows; when they are working extra hard to showcase some crappy new "alternative" band, usually a band that features one of more of those guys with the faux-mohawk trendy haircut and ironic glasses. You can't hear the pretty actors over the music. Terrible! Why, how will I ever know what the fuck Mischa Barton is emoting about with her skinny ass and her old lady clothes with all this... "music" playing?! Tragic, I tell ya.
Yes, I don't like the TV much. I realized how much this is true several months ago, when my semi-free cable ran out. I pay for cable, but I only get 23 channels. I honestly don't miss it. I sometimes miss being able to watch Comedy Central, Cartoon Network, Animal Planet or VH-1. But it hasn't been enough to pay for it. Weird how that works. The only time I miss having cable is when people come over. I feel bad that there are no true options for visitors who want to channel surf. My Dad and his wife were reduced to watching the public access channel and hear about xeroscape landscaping options in the Sonoran Desert during their visit. When Greg comes over, there is no quick checking of ESPN for Iowa State scores while I am in the bathroom. I feel a little bad about it... but then we just go out and do something and the guilt is gone.
Anyway, I don't intend to sound like a self-righteous asshole who is better than everyone else just because I don't watch a lot of TV. Nah. I just can't believe the awful, atrocious and flaming shit that passes for standard programming these days. I think I am sticking to watching DVDs, or silence, and this is just my personal choice. Shove me or leave me.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Wow! I recently read an article in Entertainment Weekly about Elizabethtown, and thought to myself that the very tone of the article seemed to be compensatory; like the author knew in his or her heart that the movie sucked, or would suck, but yet was trying really hard to make it sound like it was gonna be the next Say Anything.
(Which, OK, I gotta admit-- that movie never grabbed me. The soundtrack, yes. The character of Lloyd Dobler, yes. The move itself? ...Hell no. Not sure why, it just didn't pan out for me. So I guess I hereby revoke my memerbship in the Generation X School of Classic Movies.) Speaking of Lloyd Dobler-types this is a humorous little riff on "those type of guys": Whimpsters.
So it was highly entertaining to read this review in today's Arizona Republic about how bad the movie is. Check it out here.
In other news, I have decided after much "hemmin' and hawin'" to sign up for National Novel Writing Month. Starting November 1st I have to write a 50,000 word novel. Georgia has been extolling the benefits of such a forced-writing event, and I have finally heard through the static and noise in my own fictiony-head and jumped on board. Thanks, Georgia! I'll wring your virtual neck later, I'm sure.
This is it! The Weekend of Two Weddings! On Saturday I will be attending Robert and Brianna's wedding, and then leaving a bit early so I can attend Reed and Tricia's wedding. Not Tricia my sister; it's "some other Tricia." That's about all I know, as I have never met the bride. Greg is in the wedding as a groomsman so I am attending to support him. I have to get work finished here so I can go wrap up some very cool gifts and find some outfit to wear that will sufficiently cover my freakshow-wide ass. You know you have a problem with stress-eating when all your clothes are tight and you lament the sight of "waist wiggles" that appear through your T-shirt material. Oh, man. I so have to get my ass to a gym. And yes, stop with the stress eating. I wonder why it can't be "stress writing." That would be so much better!
(Which, OK, I gotta admit-- that movie never grabbed me. The soundtrack, yes. The character of Lloyd Dobler, yes. The move itself? ...Hell no. Not sure why, it just didn't pan out for me. So I guess I hereby revoke my memerbship in the Generation X School of Classic Movies.) Speaking of Lloyd Dobler-types this is a humorous little riff on "those type of guys": Whimpsters.
So it was highly entertaining to read this review in today's Arizona Republic about how bad the movie is. Check it out here.
In other news, I have decided after much "hemmin' and hawin'" to sign up for National Novel Writing Month. Starting November 1st I have to write a 50,000 word novel. Georgia has been extolling the benefits of such a forced-writing event, and I have finally heard through the static and noise in my own fictiony-head and jumped on board. Thanks, Georgia! I'll wring your virtual neck later, I'm sure.
This is it! The Weekend of Two Weddings! On Saturday I will be attending Robert and Brianna's wedding, and then leaving a bit early so I can attend Reed and Tricia's wedding. Not Tricia my sister; it's "some other Tricia." That's about all I know, as I have never met the bride. Greg is in the wedding as a groomsman so I am attending to support him. I have to get work finished here so I can go wrap up some very cool gifts and find some outfit to wear that will sufficiently cover my freakshow-wide ass. You know you have a problem with stress-eating when all your clothes are tight and you lament the sight of "waist wiggles" that appear through your T-shirt material. Oh, man. I so have to get my ass to a gym. And yes, stop with the stress eating. I wonder why it can't be "stress writing." That would be so much better!
I just haven’t been in a blogging mood these days. Well, to be honest, I was first too busy to even consider blogging. My Dad and his wife stayed with me at my place for their weeklong visit, and I spent a lot of that time driving around, eating out, and visiting touristy little shops all over the valley and the state. I slept on an air mattress and kept my essential hair, makeup and skin care stuff in a shoebox in my downstairs bathroom, and because I gave up my bedroom, had to do guerilla-style ambushes on my own closet when I had a minute where I could gain access to my bedroom, to grab clothes, underwear and shoes. It was a strange existence. I remember thinking at one point that I might have cracked a rib from the stress of it all. I now know that stress alone cannot crack a rib, even if stress is presaged by a twisting motion made as one rose to get off of an air mattress in the dark when a knock was heard at the door. My aches and rib-pains were probably just the result of lack of exercise and tons of unhealthy eating. Or something.
Either way, I am glad the visit is over and my life can now return to its regularly scheduled bullshitting.
I had a job crisis recently. It boils down to my employers are not very good at respecting the people who work for them, be it in terms of vacation time or quality of work that you do; and me wondering if I should throw it all away and learn a trade or something.
I started thinking about glass last weekend. What I mean is, windows. Old windows. You know how in older homes and buildings, the glass that was made about 100 years ago was thicker, more textured and often has that cool “wavy” effect? Reinforced with metal and old wood. I imagined learning how to make that type of window, perhaps even art-up some of the windows with some colored glass swirled in or designs made around the frame. I think there’s a market for those types of windows. So many people like that old-look to things, and I think if you had custom windows with cool glass it could be even better. Maybe I can apprentice someone and learn to make old-style windows. Old-style windows with a little color and funkiness thrown in. I would like to learn how to do something not everyone knows how to do these days. Make something unique and artistic, have a workshop studio and wear messy jeans to work everyday, and spend my day shaping and molding hot glass rather than shaping and molding my formerly-hot ass into a shapeless turd-shape that fits heavily into an office “manager’s chair.”
I thought this in Jerome. Anyone who’s been to Jerome, AZ, has probably thought at least once while they were there: “I wouldn’t mind throwing it all away to open a little gallery up here or something.” 99% of the time, you think that and forget it in the space of 3 minutes. Because you need to get back in your car and drive down to Sedona to show that off to the visiting relatives, and you need to buy gas and find a unique-yet-accessible restaurant for lunch… blah, whatever. But Jerome has all the older brick buildings, some very ornate iron and steel work on fences and gates, crumbling stone buildings falling into the scrubby brush on the mountainside, all of it pressed down by impossibly blue, dry skies and the lightest and freshest air ever. It makes you want to be there, and create things with a lot of color and organic materials mixed with things you find in the junkyard, and have an airy workshop that overlooks the sheer drop-off of the mountain.
I am not sure where one goes to study the art of glass and window making; particularly, the old-school look. Since it’s still on my mind about a week later, I am wondering about really investigating the possibility. I think I want a simpler existence in a lot of ways. I want to eat less and sleep more, and have my dogs but no cable TV; I want to get married and have a kid that I can read to and walk in the woods with after a rain. I’d like to be known as the Crazy Window Maker Lady Who Writes Those Weird Books. That would be a great name to be known by. Maybe I could get an old truck to throw my bike –and windows—in. I could finally attempt my secret wish of wanting to build a Snow Ostrich in the winter.
I gotta wonder if it’s all nothing but a simple wish we all have, and if it is really possible to attain. I am just like everyone else, trapped in the corporate machine of credit card debt, the need for health insurance, and carefully logging your PTO hours as you find yourself driving, hollow-eyed, to the nearest strip mall to buy something in Old Navy that you don’t really need, but shopping quiets the boredom-beast for just a little while, damn it, so you go… and the cycle continues in a traffic-clogged, slowly sickening word of too-fast and too-bland. But…
Hell. All that matters is that the “but” is there, at all. I hope to gain the courage and determination to go after that alternative and the maybe of “being a little realer.” I know that’s bad English, but in my world, sometimes bad English embodies some of the more-succinct writing.
Either way, I am glad the visit is over and my life can now return to its regularly scheduled bullshitting.
I had a job crisis recently. It boils down to my employers are not very good at respecting the people who work for them, be it in terms of vacation time or quality of work that you do; and me wondering if I should throw it all away and learn a trade or something.
I started thinking about glass last weekend. What I mean is, windows. Old windows. You know how in older homes and buildings, the glass that was made about 100 years ago was thicker, more textured and often has that cool “wavy” effect? Reinforced with metal and old wood. I imagined learning how to make that type of window, perhaps even art-up some of the windows with some colored glass swirled in or designs made around the frame. I think there’s a market for those types of windows. So many people like that old-look to things, and I think if you had custom windows with cool glass it could be even better. Maybe I can apprentice someone and learn to make old-style windows. Old-style windows with a little color and funkiness thrown in. I would like to learn how to do something not everyone knows how to do these days. Make something unique and artistic, have a workshop studio and wear messy jeans to work everyday, and spend my day shaping and molding hot glass rather than shaping and molding my formerly-hot ass into a shapeless turd-shape that fits heavily into an office “manager’s chair.”
I thought this in Jerome. Anyone who’s been to Jerome, AZ, has probably thought at least once while they were there: “I wouldn’t mind throwing it all away to open a little gallery up here or something.” 99% of the time, you think that and forget it in the space of 3 minutes. Because you need to get back in your car and drive down to Sedona to show that off to the visiting relatives, and you need to buy gas and find a unique-yet-accessible restaurant for lunch… blah, whatever. But Jerome has all the older brick buildings, some very ornate iron and steel work on fences and gates, crumbling stone buildings falling into the scrubby brush on the mountainside, all of it pressed down by impossibly blue, dry skies and the lightest and freshest air ever. It makes you want to be there, and create things with a lot of color and organic materials mixed with things you find in the junkyard, and have an airy workshop that overlooks the sheer drop-off of the mountain.
I am not sure where one goes to study the art of glass and window making; particularly, the old-school look. Since it’s still on my mind about a week later, I am wondering about really investigating the possibility. I think I want a simpler existence in a lot of ways. I want to eat less and sleep more, and have my dogs but no cable TV; I want to get married and have a kid that I can read to and walk in the woods with after a rain. I’d like to be known as the Crazy Window Maker Lady Who Writes Those Weird Books. That would be a great name to be known by. Maybe I could get an old truck to throw my bike –and windows—in. I could finally attempt my secret wish of wanting to build a Snow Ostrich in the winter.
I gotta wonder if it’s all nothing but a simple wish we all have, and if it is really possible to attain. I am just like everyone else, trapped in the corporate machine of credit card debt, the need for health insurance, and carefully logging your PTO hours as you find yourself driving, hollow-eyed, to the nearest strip mall to buy something in Old Navy that you don’t really need, but shopping quiets the boredom-beast for just a little while, damn it, so you go… and the cycle continues in a traffic-clogged, slowly sickening word of too-fast and too-bland. But…
Hell. All that matters is that the “but” is there, at all. I hope to gain the courage and determination to go after that alternative and the maybe of “being a little realer.” I know that’s bad English, but in my world, sometimes bad English embodies some of the more-succinct writing.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
width="240" height="180"alt="Logical Infiltration and Sabotage Android"
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(Thanks to Cate, who turns out to have a much cooler cyborg identity.)
Friday, October 07, 2005
In honor of my Dad being here for a visit, here is one of my favorite pictures of us. It's weird, but since I was about 4 in this picture, that means he is only 32 years old here. Already with the 'stache (which he doesn't have anymore)! I love the wallpaper and paneling, as well as that homemade cake my Mom made. That's her handwriting, all right. Even in piped frosting, my Mom has a distinct handwriting. Oh, and that's Dobie in the middle. She was supposed to be a watchdog at my Dad's shop, but he couldn't bear to leave her there all night alone so he started bringing her home. I loved her and used to crawl into her doghouse and sit on her, or drape blankets over her and 'tuck her in'. I have my Dad to thank for my crazy love of all things canine. Just tonight, we took Katie to the dog park, in fact. Anyway, I'm glad Dad's here for a visit. And that I was lucky enough to have a dog that huge who would wear a birthday hat once in awhile. All kids need that, I think. And paneling, lots of paneling.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
First they got the picture of the elusive giant squid, and now we have THIS!
We've all seen the classic movie. But up until now, seeing a real Maltese Falcon in the wild was a rare thing, indeed. As luck would have it, Greg is a skilled bird-watcher and he spotted this tonight. He was wise enough to snap a picture of it before it took flight, where it flew to a nearby school and slaughtered a room full of kindergartners. Luckily Greg carries a large tarp with him everywhere he goes-- he usually does this in case he encounters a wild Gallagher in the forest, but it also comes in handy during Maltese Falcon bloodbaths. Rest assured-- you do NOT need to worry yourself about this Greg fellow.
Returning to the creature at hand: These things are deadly, malicious, mercurial... and goddamn adorable. However! Don't make the mistake of looking one of them in the eye-- they take it as a sign of aggression and will attack without mercy and with all the fury of a thousand unleashed hellhounds. Flying, soft-haired and be-hairclipped hellhounds. Your death will not come quickly enough.
Eeek.
(Good work on this photo, G.)
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Look, I don't mean to be a bitch, but I have noticed a huge upswing in Breast Cancer Awareness this year, and it is making me annoyed.
What I mean is, there are so many things for sale to promote Breast Cancer Awareness Month that I want to puke. Here's the thing: I am aware of breast cancer, sure. But it isn't because M&Ms put out a bag of all-pink M&Ms, or that KitchenAid has a pink mixer for sale (although I have to admit that is one pretty fuckin' mixer)... or even worse, that Basha's grocery stores are selling ugly quilted totes with the signature pink ribbon worked into its tacky design. I am aware of breast cancer because I read a lot, I am interested in my own health and I go to a doctor. That's how I am aware. I really don't need to purchase "things" so that a few pennies on my dollar will go to some ubiquitous campaign to make women more aware and to promote research.
I'm not making light of breast cancer. I just wish we weren't constantly harassed by companies who are disguising their desire to make a cheap buck off of women under the guise of "awareness."
However. I DO still giggle when I see those pamphlets with the cartoon lady in the shower checking her breasts in a circular motion. "Ha ha, she's touchin her boobies! Dur!" That is something I will never get tired of. Or quoting the neighbor in Office Space who yells to Peter that the breast exam is on TV. So, feel free to keep publishing those pamphlets, and airing breast exam shows. The American public needs an immature giggle.
What I mean is, there are so many things for sale to promote Breast Cancer Awareness Month that I want to puke. Here's the thing: I am aware of breast cancer, sure. But it isn't because M&Ms put out a bag of all-pink M&Ms, or that KitchenAid has a pink mixer for sale (although I have to admit that is one pretty fuckin' mixer)... or even worse, that Basha's grocery stores are selling ugly quilted totes with the signature pink ribbon worked into its tacky design. I am aware of breast cancer because I read a lot, I am interested in my own health and I go to a doctor. That's how I am aware. I really don't need to purchase "things" so that a few pennies on my dollar will go to some ubiquitous campaign to make women more aware and to promote research.
I'm not making light of breast cancer. I just wish we weren't constantly harassed by companies who are disguising their desire to make a cheap buck off of women under the guise of "awareness."
However. I DO still giggle when I see those pamphlets with the cartoon lady in the shower checking her breasts in a circular motion. "Ha ha, she's touchin her boobies! Dur!" That is something I will never get tired of. Or quoting the neighbor in Office Space who yells to Peter that the breast exam is on TV. So, feel free to keep publishing those pamphlets, and airing breast exam shows. The American public needs an immature giggle.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Well, I brought the car in to get the brakes repaired this morning. Standard procedure; they needed to give me new brake pads and new fluid (no rotor work needed). Then I asked for an oil change. They obliged, and changed my oil.
However, I didn't ask them to tear off my driver's side door.
Yet... this is precisely what the repair shop did.
The story is that they had completed the repair and proceded to back it out of the bay so they could park it outside. But the driver's side door was still open, and it hit a huge pile of tires and bent all the way backwards and fell off. "Tommy Boy"-style. ("What did you DO?!")
I had to laugh, because this is the sort of thing that would happen to me just a couple days before my father gets here for a weeklong visit. However, since it was the error of the repair shop, they are paying for me to have the use of a rental car for two weeks while they fix my poor car. I just picked up a Jeep Liberty-- it's pretty nice, and it will do the trick of shuttling the 'fam around while we tour the wonderous state of AZ. But it's not *my* car, ya know? I have a moonroof, and everything just feels right. This car is tall, smells new (unlike a lot of people, I am not too jazzed with the new car smell thing) and it's not that easy to see clearly when you back up. Either way, at least the shop is paying for it, as well as extra insurance. I don't mean to complain too much, really... but I did feel the need to whine just a little, tiny bit.
The picture above was taken on Sept. 11, when my car broke down the last time. The sunbeams shower down like me and the Rav are blessed; when, these days, it feels like we are anything but. My poor sweet Violet (yes, I named my car. Now shut up about it) is injured and I can't wait for her to come back out of the car hospital with a new shiny door. Without dents. That's the good thing about this: the new door should be dentless. I had quite a few dings and dents in that door from being really unskilled at opening my door near columns and other cars. I was thinking of taking the car in to get those things hammered out, or sucked out, or whatever they do with dents in car doors nowadays, but now I don't have to pay for the removal of dents. Maybe the good lord was shining down on me, after all. Interesting.
Yesterday was an excellent day for mail. Not only did I receive another CMJ Magazine (I cancelled my subscription over a year ago, and recently I started receiving issues again even though I have paid no bill to legitimately do so), but I got 2 items of the 3 I had ordered from Amazon last week.
The first was Oingo Boingo's Dead Man's Party album-- I really needed this one, since I had it on cassette and it broke in my tape player. And I have been dying to hear "Just Another Day" for whatever reason. I am listening to this song right now as a matter of fact! Somewhere, Robert and Brianna are smiling. :)
The second CD was Polaris-- Music from the Adventures of Pete & Pete. I put it on last night when Greg was here and we were pleased with the sound. They are a garage band all the way, but it's fun stuff. I bought it because I was looking on Amazon for proof that Pete & Pete was on DVD (which it is), but there were some promising reviews posted there as well. One reviewer deemed this a "perfect autumn album" and that was just what I wanted to hear. Oingo Boingo is very autumn for me, too-- so to get the two CDs on one day was pretty great.
Now if it would just feel like autumn. I am jonesing for Macintosh apples, wearing a sweater and crunchy dead leaves. All I have here is a high of 95 today, with a chance of "some clouds." No rain. Just "clouds."
Nipsey Russell died. I feel bad about that; I heard he was a cool guy. Truthfully, I have no idea who he was. But I really LOVED his name. Nipsey Russell is an amazing name.
The first was Oingo Boingo's Dead Man's Party album-- I really needed this one, since I had it on cassette and it broke in my tape player. And I have been dying to hear "Just Another Day" for whatever reason. I am listening to this song right now as a matter of fact! Somewhere, Robert and Brianna are smiling. :)
The second CD was Polaris-- Music from the Adventures of Pete & Pete. I put it on last night when Greg was here and we were pleased with the sound. They are a garage band all the way, but it's fun stuff. I bought it because I was looking on Amazon for proof that Pete & Pete was on DVD (which it is), but there were some promising reviews posted there as well. One reviewer deemed this a "perfect autumn album" and that was just what I wanted to hear. Oingo Boingo is very autumn for me, too-- so to get the two CDs on one day was pretty great.
Now if it would just feel like autumn. I am jonesing for Macintosh apples, wearing a sweater and crunchy dead leaves. All I have here is a high of 95 today, with a chance of "some clouds." No rain. Just "clouds."
Nipsey Russell died. I feel bad about that; I heard he was a cool guy. Truthfully, I have no idea who he was. But I really LOVED his name. Nipsey Russell is an amazing name.
Monday, October 03, 2005
I think the two posts I put up here yesterday are some of the worst I have ever posted here. Meaningless! And the photos are terrible, too. Who the hell wants to see pictures of my washing machine? And the crap on the wall of my bathroom? What depraved levels of self-expression has this blog sunken to? Oh, my.
That being said, I have nothing of interest to say today. It's been a day where my mind is curiously quiet. I haven't taken any drugs or substances that would alter my awareness; I don't feel depressed or anxious; and I haven't been told anything interesting that would make me wake up and get interested in a subject of any kind. It's weird, today. I am definitely more on the "happy" end of the spectrum, but other than that I feel a little emotionless. It's probably because I haven't seen or read anything funny today. NOTHING! The closest thing to funny was when I was in Lowe's on my lunch hour, getting a spare key made. I saw a woman in a minivan ordering around a teenage-looking worker from the Garden Center-- she was telling him how to load the 18 or so buckets of roses she was buying into the car so as to not spill dirt on her rugs. I overheard her say, "Nah, don't TIP'em! No, just put it in straight!" She was also smoking at the time. Dangling it from her lip. She looked like such an asshole.
At least the workday is almost over. I just spent the past couple of hours playing around on the internet, looking for humor or fascinating news of some sort, and writing a long "manifesto" to myself about how to prevent shin splints. (Is THAT funny? It could be funny.) Basically, the point of my manifesto is to shame myself, upon re-reading the manifesto, into boosting my pre-workout stretching routine. Because the amount of stretching I had been doing prior to this was exactly no stretching, which is a LOT of not-stretching. It's the highest amount of not-stretching one person can possibly do-- exactly no stretching. Yes, we are talking "exacts", people. Another area of the manifesto makes explicit mention of "not walking too fast on the first part of the walk; don't let Katie lead."
I always walk with her, and she tends to pull like a maniac for the majority of our walk around my cute little neighborhood. At one point on our route, she likes to hop up and walk in this adorable little balanced manner on the top of a small brick wall that runs alongside the park. She walks faster when she is up there, so I walk faster-- plus it is uphill, and it happens to be in the first 2 minutes of our walk. This combination of not-stretching and pushing myself to keep up with a spastic dog is a perfect recipe for that time-honored classic repetitive-motion injury, SHIN SPLINTS! Yessss. So much fun. And so effective at making me lose my enthusiasm for working out. Pain will do that to a person.
Well, between the non-emotions and the shin splint manifesto, I have a lot of amazing and cunning things to share with the world. Times like this are times when someone should just forcefully take the blog away from me.
That being said, I have nothing of interest to say today. It's been a day where my mind is curiously quiet. I haven't taken any drugs or substances that would alter my awareness; I don't feel depressed or anxious; and I haven't been told anything interesting that would make me wake up and get interested in a subject of any kind. It's weird, today. I am definitely more on the "happy" end of the spectrum, but other than that I feel a little emotionless. It's probably because I haven't seen or read anything funny today. NOTHING! The closest thing to funny was when I was in Lowe's on my lunch hour, getting a spare key made. I saw a woman in a minivan ordering around a teenage-looking worker from the Garden Center-- she was telling him how to load the 18 or so buckets of roses she was buying into the car so as to not spill dirt on her rugs. I overheard her say, "Nah, don't TIP'em! No, just put it in straight!" She was also smoking at the time. Dangling it from her lip. She looked like such an asshole.
At least the workday is almost over. I just spent the past couple of hours playing around on the internet, looking for humor or fascinating news of some sort, and writing a long "manifesto" to myself about how to prevent shin splints. (Is THAT funny? It could be funny.) Basically, the point of my manifesto is to shame myself, upon re-reading the manifesto, into boosting my pre-workout stretching routine. Because the amount of stretching I had been doing prior to this was exactly no stretching, which is a LOT of not-stretching. It's the highest amount of not-stretching one person can possibly do-- exactly no stretching. Yes, we are talking "exacts", people. Another area of the manifesto makes explicit mention of "not walking too fast on the first part of the walk; don't let Katie lead."
I always walk with her, and she tends to pull like a maniac for the majority of our walk around my cute little neighborhood. At one point on our route, she likes to hop up and walk in this adorable little balanced manner on the top of a small brick wall that runs alongside the park. She walks faster when she is up there, so I walk faster-- plus it is uphill, and it happens to be in the first 2 minutes of our walk. This combination of not-stretching and pushing myself to keep up with a spastic dog is a perfect recipe for that time-honored classic repetitive-motion injury, SHIN SPLINTS! Yessss. So much fun. And so effective at making me lose my enthusiasm for working out. Pain will do that to a person.
Well, between the non-emotions and the shin splint manifesto, I have a lot of amazing and cunning things to share with the world. Times like this are times when someone should just forcefully take the blog away from me.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
This is what happens when you wash your blanket and you THINK you have put enough additional laundry into the machine so the load is balanced...but the load is in fact, NOT balanced at all, and the machine makes ungodly squeals and screams as it lurches out from its place against the wall and makes its way out into your kitchen. Which is a place it has no business being. Damn it, look at all that dog food and toilet paper. I have to get busy using that shit. I'll start with the tp. On to the bathroom, then!
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Go see "Serenity."
I think it's the best movie I have seen since-- well, a really long time. Sure, it's probably not everyone's cup of tea, what with the space setting, the fights and other sci-fi/geekish barriers...but trust me on this one. The writing is sharp, fun, and knows the right moment to suckerpunch you. SO much fun. So emotional, too. Just great. Popcorn movies should always be this fun. I had happy-tears. Happy-tears are really neat.
I couldn't be more in love with Joss Whedon. Sigh. (And just so everyone's clear on what good stock he is from-- his dad, Tom Whedon, was a writer on another of the best shows ever written-- The Golden Girls. This one family is responsible for Rose Nyland AND William the Bloody. Someone fire the Bush family from whatever it is they are doing, because we need the Whedons to be our new white-guy American royalty.)
Well. Off to bed.
Tomorrow's a busy day. I have to buy an air mattress and exchange some darts. I broke a bunch of Greg's darts and so I bought replacement darts last weekend. Only problem was I was too stupid to look closely and realize I was purchasing soft-tip darts and not real darts. This will be my first Wal-Mart return, so wish me luck. The excitement is palpable.
I think it's the best movie I have seen since-- well, a really long time. Sure, it's probably not everyone's cup of tea, what with the space setting, the fights and other sci-fi/geekish barriers...but trust me on this one. The writing is sharp, fun, and knows the right moment to suckerpunch you. SO much fun. So emotional, too. Just great. Popcorn movies should always be this fun. I had happy-tears. Happy-tears are really neat.
I couldn't be more in love with Joss Whedon. Sigh. (And just so everyone's clear on what good stock he is from-- his dad, Tom Whedon, was a writer on another of the best shows ever written-- The Golden Girls. This one family is responsible for Rose Nyland AND William the Bloody. Someone fire the Bush family from whatever it is they are doing, because we need the Whedons to be our new white-guy American royalty.)
Well. Off to bed.
Tomorrow's a busy day. I have to buy an air mattress and exchange some darts. I broke a bunch of Greg's darts and so I bought replacement darts last weekend. Only problem was I was too stupid to look closely and realize I was purchasing soft-tip darts and not real darts. This will be my first Wal-Mart return, so wish me luck. The excitement is palpable.
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