Dude, I ate too much. The annual feast was just insane with the pot roast, turkey, potatoes, the beets, those fantastic prunes that taste like candy, the greens, and my GOD the pies. And you have to eat it all because it's all really, really good. There are pictures, and I honestly meant to post them, but I'm too sluggish to get up and download them from the camera. The library suddenly seems way too far away ... being on the other side of the bathroom ... about 12 feet down the hall ... if you'd call it a hall since it's really only a kind of short, narrow bit of carpet. I'll lumber my Jabba body down there at some point so I can show off the way my cousin made the patitza.
It was good to see the older brother too. He's a quiet type, with a good heart. This time he actually stayed with us at the house instead of at the Hilton. I think it's better if he stays here, but he probably missed having his own bathroom and a heater.
Friday we battled the mall crowds to see the new Harry Potter picture. I liked it, but the last one was just a little bit better. (Maybe it was the addition of David Thewlis, because that always pegs a film up a few notches.) That whole tournament thing with the drowning in the lake really bothered me. The death of that guy didn't bother me as much. He was cute and all, but since they all could have died during the wizard thing anyway ... well, it leaves one with the impression that life is pretty bloody cheap at Hogwarts.
That is all.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Monday, November 21, 2005
Pound for Pound
Let's get ready to RUMBLLLLLLLLLLLLE!
Tonight's undercard ...
On my left, in the black with a spot of green and red corner, Steven and Wendy.
Let's go to the classy Jimmy Lennon Jr. for tonight's MAIN EVENT...
All-in-all, what with the parade of man-furs, watching Jim Lampley spit over the railing into the seats of the Rose Garden, and seeing James Toney (but getting a really bad photo of him) it was a great experience. Dammit I didn't wear my faux fur.
Actually, everything we ate there was good. Personally, I highly recommend the grilled cheese and tomato, and the coffee was fantastic. Super affordable too.
Tonight's undercard ...
On my left, in the black with a spot of green and red corner, Steven and Wendy.
On my right, in the green and blue corner, the cousin and L'il Hateful:
Let's go to the classy Jimmy Lennon Jr. for tonight's MAIN EVENT...
(that's Jimmy in the black suit holding the cards ... not the Bruce Campbell-looking character in the corner who's doing the crazy Kennedy finger pointing)
Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight we bring you twelve (or thereabouts) rounds of boxing. On my right, in the blue corner, wearing his trucks in shreaded pleats of blue and white and resembling a cheerleader from Fountain Valley High School (go barons):
Sharmba
"Little Big Man (who sometimes dresses like a woman)"
MITCHELL!
And on my left, in the ... other corner, wearing suede, I think, because we're a little too far away and the cousin has the binoculars, weighing in at 147 lbs
(47 lbs = man; 100 lbs = ego):
"Pretty Boy"
Floyd
"I Beat My Wife and Get Away With it"
MAYWEATHER.
Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight we bring you twelve (or thereabouts) rounds of boxing. On my right, in the blue corner, wearing his trucks in shreaded pleats of blue and white and resembling a cheerleader from Fountain Valley High School (go barons):
Sharmba
"Little Big Man (who sometimes dresses like a woman)"
MITCHELL!
And on my left, in the ... other corner, wearing suede, I think, because we're a little too far away and the cousin has the binoculars, weighing in at 147 lbs
(47 lbs = man; 100 lbs = ego):
"Pretty Boy"
Floyd
"I Beat My Wife and Get Away With it"
MAYWEATHER.
That's Sharmba in the back, so you don't get a really good sense of how fashionable the trunks are. He's a lovely little boxer, Sharmba, but, as the cousin said (again and again and again) it was "like a baby petting a cobra." (noted: the cousin was the only one pulling for Mayweather ... the easy money, but, morally, not very solid.) Floyd took my boy in the 6th with a hard pop to the ribcage. It was a sound hit, and, even if the ref had let Sharmba up, he would have gone down sooner or later. Honestly. It's my personal opinion that if Little Big Man had worn standard trunks he might have lasted longer. The cheerleader outfit clearly reminded Pretty Boy of his young, married days.
I hope Zab Judah beats the bejesus out of him.
I hope Zab Judah beats the bejesus out of him.
All-in-all, what with the parade of man-furs, watching Jim Lampley spit over the railing into the seats of the Rose Garden, and seeing James Toney (but getting a really bad photo of him) it was a great experience. Dammit I didn't wear my faux fur.
If you're in Portland, by the way, eat at The Roxy. These were the best gravy fries I've ever had.
Actually, everything we ate there was good. Personally, I highly recommend the grilled cheese and tomato, and the coffee was fantastic. Super affordable too.
Oh yeah ... and spent too much at Powell's again, but picked up a fantastic published dissertation called "George Meredith as Champion of Women and of Progressive Education" (originally two shillings and sixpence ... net ... or so says the cover). Had to put back the numbered copy of an unknown Stevenson story ... ... I know! I know! I'm off to cry ... again.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Hornets, Humps and One Last Kick at Danza
For the past week I've been followed by hornets. There was one in the car (Tuesday), one buzzed me in T'ai Chi class (Wednesday) and then a third one was on the light fixture over my desk at work (Thursday). I have not been able to find anything relating them to any specific superstition. If anyone knows differently I want to hear about it. Do I need to use the fig to ward them off or are they like crickets and should be caught and kept in a tin can next to the kitchen sink? Otherwise I'm going to assume it's just nature gittin' jiggy.
The cousin has hooked up Winamp to the stereo -- sucker ... I made him play "My Humps" to test the bass and it's making me want to throw down that street lingo the kids use today ... like "jiggy." ("I feel like I need a shower after that song," the cousin said.)
Last bit of news: Yesterday The Tony Danza Show bought pens from the website I work for. I had to complete the order. Le Cercle Rouge.
Tomorrow: The Fights (GO SHARMBA! GET HIM BABY!)
The cousin has hooked up Winamp to the stereo -- sucker ... I made him play "My Humps" to test the bass and it's making me want to throw down that street lingo the kids use today ... like "jiggy." ("I feel like I need a shower after that song," the cousin said.)
Last bit of news: Yesterday The Tony Danza Show bought pens from the website I work for. I had to complete the order. Le Cercle Rouge.
Tomorrow: The Fights (GO SHARMBA! GET HIM BABY!)
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Dream #Sixty-Nine: Maricopa, Come Significa?
[I would like to preface this by saying I did not watch "Lost" last night because of an exam coming up in Italian and, honestly, I was bone-tired and went to bed at 8:30 ... and this is what I get for it]
I'm on The Island with the other castaways of "Lost" and it's very dark --- The Others are coming. "Into the hatch," yells Jack, and we call squirrel in and close the door. The door to the hatch -- and this is the door that goes out into the jungle as opposed to the hatch lid -- has a glass window, and out of the darkness come these hands, pressing and pounding on the window. Jack grabs a large piece of cardboard and I hold it over the window as he goes to find some way of defending out position. It's totally horrifying. I know they're going to get in if they keep pounding.
Suddenly the hatch starts moving and the hands slide from the window as we drive away -- the hatch is a bus! And Jack has found the driver's seat. "Hold on back there," he yells. Sawyer joins him in the passenger seat as the rest of us find seats or hold on to furniture. "I don't know where I'm driving." "Who cares," says Rose. "Just go."
But wait! Stop the bus! There are people!
Jack stops and a group of normal (ie: not The Others) people run up to the door. "Thank God you're here. You have no idea how happy we are to see you." About 20 people get on board and we start off again. "Are you survivors of the plane crash?" asks Kate. "Oh God, yes," replies a man with a heavy English accent. "We've been living over in that stadium for the past ... I don't know how long." And I look out through the hatch door -- sure enough! There's a well-lit football stadium behind us. "We've got a lot of food," a woman says, "but it's mostly hot dogs and peanuts. How long can you live off that?" Phhhft, I think. You should try mangoes and fish. "But," asks Kate, "what flight were you on?" Before they can answer the bus surges forward and throws us around.
"Sorry," says Jack. "Change in the road." We've now left the jungle and are on some kind of weird jungle freeway system. This island appears to be a lot bigger than we all thought. "It's like Texas," says a voice on the red-box PA system. Where in Texas? I ask, but the voice comes back muffled and fuzzy. I look up front: it's Sawyer talking incoherently into the microphone -- something thatJack finds absolutely hilarious. I make my way to the front and hold onto Sawyer's seat to keep from falling [like we used to do as kids when pop was driving the motorhome and you wanted to ask mom for something].
Where in Texas, I ask him. Be specific. (Because I've got a really bad feeling about this.)
"I don't know, sweet pea. Some cheap, crappy apartment house. Same as you've got wherever you come from."
"What was it called?" asks Jack.
"The Maricopa. Why?"
Jack stops the bus and we all look ahead. We've stopped outside of a deserted and run-down apartment complex. On the wall facing us is a crazy early 70's shadow-painting of a happy family wearing crocheted sweaters. Next to the picture is the apartment name: The Maricopa.
We get out of the bus and stare at it. "This is it," says Sawyer. "This is where I used to live."
My heart stops and I grab his hand. Look at the side of the bus, I tell him.
The name of the bus: Maricopa.
[Maricopa (märĭkō'pə, mâr–) , Native North Americans whose language belongs to the Yuman branch of the Hokan-Siouan linguistic stock (see Native American languages). At some time in the past the Maricopa, under pressure from the Yuma, moved up the Gila River in Arizona from the Colorado River. In 1775 they lived near the mouth of the Hassayampa River in S Arizona, numbering some 3,000. The Maricopa were previously sedentary farmers who lived in somewhat permanent villages. In alliance with the Pima, they severely defeated the Yuma in 1857. The Maricopa, numbering close to 800 in 1990, now live with the Pima on the Gila River and the Salt River reservations in Arizona. Some Maricopa also live in Phoenix and Los Angeles. They are known for their excellent pottery.]
I'm on The Island with the other castaways of "Lost" and it's very dark --- The Others are coming. "Into the hatch," yells Jack, and we call squirrel in and close the door. The door to the hatch -- and this is the door that goes out into the jungle as opposed to the hatch lid -- has a glass window, and out of the darkness come these hands, pressing and pounding on the window. Jack grabs a large piece of cardboard and I hold it over the window as he goes to find some way of defending out position. It's totally horrifying. I know they're going to get in if they keep pounding.
Suddenly the hatch starts moving and the hands slide from the window as we drive away -- the hatch is a bus! And Jack has found the driver's seat. "Hold on back there," he yells. Sawyer joins him in the passenger seat as the rest of us find seats or hold on to furniture. "I don't know where I'm driving." "Who cares," says Rose. "Just go."
But wait! Stop the bus! There are people!
Jack stops and a group of normal (ie: not The Others) people run up to the door. "Thank God you're here. You have no idea how happy we are to see you." About 20 people get on board and we start off again. "Are you survivors of the plane crash?" asks Kate. "Oh God, yes," replies a man with a heavy English accent. "We've been living over in that stadium for the past ... I don't know how long." And I look out through the hatch door -- sure enough! There's a well-lit football stadium behind us. "We've got a lot of food," a woman says, "but it's mostly hot dogs and peanuts. How long can you live off that?" Phhhft, I think. You should try mangoes and fish. "But," asks Kate, "what flight were you on?" Before they can answer the bus surges forward and throws us around.
"Sorry," says Jack. "Change in the road." We've now left the jungle and are on some kind of weird jungle freeway system. This island appears to be a lot bigger than we all thought. "It's like Texas," says a voice on the red-box PA system. Where in Texas? I ask, but the voice comes back muffled and fuzzy. I look up front: it's Sawyer talking incoherently into the microphone -- something thatJack finds absolutely hilarious. I make my way to the front and hold onto Sawyer's seat to keep from falling [like we used to do as kids when pop was driving the motorhome and you wanted to ask mom for something].
Where in Texas, I ask him. Be specific. (Because I've got a really bad feeling about this.)
"I don't know, sweet pea. Some cheap, crappy apartment house. Same as you've got wherever you come from."
"What was it called?" asks Jack.
"The Maricopa. Why?"
Jack stops the bus and we all look ahead. We've stopped outside of a deserted and run-down apartment complex. On the wall facing us is a crazy early 70's shadow-painting of a happy family wearing crocheted sweaters. Next to the picture is the apartment name: The Maricopa.
We get out of the bus and stare at it. "This is it," says Sawyer. "This is where I used to live."
My heart stops and I grab his hand. Look at the side of the bus, I tell him.
The name of the bus: Maricopa.
[Maricopa (märĭkō'pə, mâr–) , Native North Americans whose language belongs to the Yuman branch of the Hokan-Siouan linguistic stock (see Native American languages). At some time in the past the Maricopa, under pressure from the Yuma, moved up the Gila River in Arizona from the Colorado River. In 1775 they lived near the mouth of the Hassayampa River in S Arizona, numbering some 3,000. The Maricopa were previously sedentary farmers who lived in somewhat permanent villages. In alliance with the Pima, they severely defeated the Yuma in 1857. The Maricopa, numbering close to 800 in 1990, now live with the Pima on the Gila River and the Salt River reservations in Arizona. Some Maricopa also live in Phoenix and Los Angeles. They are known for their excellent pottery.]
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Not Pretty
How bitter am I right now?
I push through reading flipping "Maxim" -- quite honestly one of the most offensive magazines out there today -- to compare it with "Cosmopolitan" -- also offensive in its way: like, how is bending over backwards (sometimes literally) to please your man somehow behaving like a modern woman?? Where's the feminism? But I like the fashion tips and makeup ideas for eyes because my eyes look so small when I wear glasses ... but I digress ... -- and I follow the rules for the paper in comparing and using examples and introducing and concluding in a professional student way, exactly how I've been taught in these past 8 weeks of school ...
And it's 4 pages, with no criticism on the first page ... nothing on the second ... oh, here's a note on the third page about how I didn't reference which issues my examples came from (whoops) ... nothing on the 4th ... oh! what's this at the bottom: "Overall, well done! Providing specific examples from the magazines to illustrate your point is great and effective"
A-
Mothercrocker! Minus?? A flipping minus???? What the ... did I miss a criticism in there? Did she note anywhere a mistake in grammar (there were none, NONE)? No. So I get knocked down ... what ... 8 or 9 for not stating which issue the examples came from? Are you kidding me?
GTFs man ... they're harsh.
I push through reading flipping "Maxim" -- quite honestly one of the most offensive magazines out there today -- to compare it with "Cosmopolitan" -- also offensive in its way: like, how is bending over backwards (sometimes literally) to please your man somehow behaving like a modern woman?? Where's the feminism? But I like the fashion tips and makeup ideas for eyes because my eyes look so small when I wear glasses ... but I digress ... -- and I follow the rules for the paper in comparing and using examples and introducing and concluding in a professional student way, exactly how I've been taught in these past 8 weeks of school ...
And it's 4 pages, with no criticism on the first page ... nothing on the second ... oh, here's a note on the third page about how I didn't reference which issues my examples came from (whoops) ... nothing on the 4th ... oh! what's this at the bottom: "Overall, well done! Providing specific examples from the magazines to illustrate your point is great and effective"
A-
Mothercrocker! Minus?? A flipping minus???? What the ... did I miss a criticism in there? Did she note anywhere a mistake in grammar (there were none, NONE)? No. So I get knocked down ... what ... 8 or 9 for not stating which issue the examples came from? Are you kidding me?
GTFs man ... they're harsh.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Feckin' A
How the hell did this happen? Why does Tony Danza have his own show?!? Not only that, but this week he has a contest related to "Lost", an "ExtravaDanza", and his own Feedback Panel!
WHERE'S MY SHOW?
WHERE'S MY FEEDBACK PANEL?
Mein Gott, you can even download Danza "buddy" icons for your pc. I'm thinking of using his face as the icon for my Wastebasket ... except that no one sees my Desktop so the image would quickly become more irritating to me than humorous to others.
On the other side of that, for once he's not playing an ex-boxer named Tony ......... or is he?
WHERE'S MY SHOW?
WHERE'S MY FEEDBACK PANEL?
Mein Gott, you can even download Danza "buddy" icons for your pc. I'm thinking of using his face as the icon for my Wastebasket ... except that no one sees my Desktop so the image would quickly become more irritating to me than humorous to others.
On the other side of that, for once he's not playing an ex-boxer named Tony ......... or is he?
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Who Will Weep for Shannon? We Will ... Maybe.
You know, I'm going to miss Shannon. She was really starting to get some depth to her character with the wacky lack of grooming she had awhile back and the all the crying, but, more than that, it means we won't ever be seeing Boone again. At least with her alive we had the chance of a flashback (although, last night, what was up with the Keith Partridge hair? Honestly, who's making these hair pieces for the flashbacks because they're really bad) and now we have nothing.
why? Why? WHY?
And who's going to take care of the dog?? Oh ... Michael, I guess.
In balance, I'm starting to really like Eko. He's good to have around.
And they didn't kill Sawyer ... yet.
That is all.
Friday, November 04, 2005
All I do the whole night through is dream of you-oo-oo
Part I:
This week has blown -- school is crazy; there's a co-worker on medical leave so my hours are increasing and I got no hours to give; I have no idea what's been going on in my head other than it's been clearly somewhere else (praying to St. Anthony ... not helping find the head); and I hate the kids at school. Dude, can they see beyond their cell-phone circle? Cahhhhh this whole thing with the advertising and the hate and the incredible stuff that comes out of their mouths. I blame the "O.C." for filling them with nonsense. Oh, and then I find out that "Most Haunted" was largely faked and Derek isn't really channelling -- that was the best part of the show! The silly voices, the weird ghost talk ... Fecking A, could they stomp on anymore of my butterflies?
Part II:
"Singing in the Rain" cures it all. I tell you, when they start singing "Moses Supposes" or anytime Jean Hagen opens her mouth ("What do they think I am? Dumb or something? Why, I make more money than - than - than Calvin Coolidge! Put together!") it's magic. I can't even explain why there's that weird, freakish musical number in the middle, but it's got Cyd Charisse being super-smokey.
Honestly, I hate musicals. God! "Oklahoma" just drives me crazy -- and watching Rod Steiger sing doesn't make it any better. "Jed is dead" what the hell is that anyway?? -- or "Oliver!", by God how I hate "Oliver!" (except for Oliver Reed who's just creepy-fascinating) but "Singing in the Rain" has something special. I don't know ... is it Gene's pants or Debbie's wide-eyed silliness or Donald O'Connor bucking for a laugh ... I just don't know...
Maybe it's this fun bit of trivia I found on the IMDB: Debbie Reynolds remarked many years later that making this movie and surviving childbirth were the two hardest things she's ever had to do.
Fahhhhh no wonder it makes me feel better. Can't say the week's been as bad as all that.
This week has blown -- school is crazy; there's a co-worker on medical leave so my hours are increasing and I got no hours to give; I have no idea what's been going on in my head other than it's been clearly somewhere else (praying to St. Anthony ... not helping find the head); and I hate the kids at school. Dude, can they see beyond their cell-phone circle? Cahhhhh this whole thing with the advertising and the hate and the incredible stuff that comes out of their mouths. I blame the "O.C." for filling them with nonsense. Oh, and then I find out that "Most Haunted" was largely faked and Derek isn't really channelling -- that was the best part of the show! The silly voices, the weird ghost talk ... Fecking A, could they stomp on anymore of my butterflies?
Part II:
"Singing in the Rain" cures it all. I tell you, when they start singing "Moses Supposes" or anytime Jean Hagen opens her mouth ("What do they think I am? Dumb or something? Why, I make more money than - than - than Calvin Coolidge! Put together!") it's magic. I can't even explain why there's that weird, freakish musical number in the middle, but it's got Cyd Charisse being super-smokey.
Honestly, I hate musicals. God! "Oklahoma" just drives me crazy -- and watching Rod Steiger sing doesn't make it any better. "Jed is dead" what the hell is that anyway?? -- or "Oliver!", by God how I hate "Oliver!" (except for Oliver Reed who's just creepy-fascinating) but "Singing in the Rain" has something special. I don't know ... is it Gene's pants or Debbie's wide-eyed silliness or Donald O'Connor bucking for a laugh ... I just don't know...
Maybe it's this fun bit of trivia I found on the IMDB: Debbie Reynolds remarked many years later that making this movie and surviving childbirth were the two hardest things she's ever had to do.
Fahhhhh no wonder it makes me feel better. Can't say the week's been as bad as all that.
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