Lookin' for my Shanghai Lil....

Gramma? Is that you???

I can't believe it ... 5 am has become the best part of my day. That ain't right.

I've been thinking of renaming this blog, since it's turning into a running bitch session about that one Journalism class. What about: "How many weeks left to the term?" or "Me + Hate + Fear = J204". This is way worse than Info Hell.

Our first project is due today and I feel like crying. You know on Halloween and it's the 5th grade when you're fully socialized, but you're double-digit age so the pressure that will be 6th grade is already coming on, but you're still in the last year of play-school so you want to have fun, but you don't want to be a loser? You know that feeling? So it's Halloween and you dress up for school and the entire way there, walking with your brother whose class didn't dress up, you're sure that you're going to be the only person in a costume.

And that feeling haunts you every time you have to dress up for a social function.

This project is like that. I know that there are fellow students out there that have thrown this thing together, because they started on Tuesday and had no idea what they were doing. Their projects probably look cheated and half-ass. They may even be in the Mac lab now trying to fix them before class. On the other hand, I feel like I'm forgetting something (primarily: that we needed 2 copies of it to turn in, or that we needed to fill out some form somewhere to go with it that explains our type style use or something) and, as far behind as the others are, they will all have done that forgotten something.

(And I'll be standing there dressed as a gypsy and it's only October 29th.)

Okay, so maybe this a lesson to kids about the "real world" where clients, bosses, etc... don't always give you all the information you need to complete the project. Okay, I concede that point, but in the "real world" you can re-work the project to the client's/boss's, etc... liking. Here we turn it in and it's graded and there's no fixing. Bogus.

mmmmm crow

I didn't intend to post again about the InDesign class, but...

When signing up for this class we were barked at about the following:
- be there or miss out (which I've blogged about already).
- be there on time and if you're in one of the 8am classes, don't party the night before, because the information is intensive. It's 4 hours to learn detailed design software.
- eat before you come, because the class is 4 hours long.
- make sure you can log in to the system by logging in to one of the other computers in the lab BEFORE you take the class. The IT guys don't work on Saturday and if there are any problems you need to know before you show up.

Yesterday I heard the following student remarks, one after the other:
"Dude, I'm so tired." "I know. I'm totally starving."

and, my favorite, which caused real student tears and almost made me sad, but not quite:
- I can't log in.
- Did you go to the lab to log in before this class?
- No.
- Then you can't take this class today. You won't be able to open the programs.
- But!
- I can't help you. You were told to log in 2 weeks ago.
- I know, but!

Conclusion: students really are as stupid as the professors think they are.

Quote of the Week

The class was TV Sleuths (man, I love that class) and the topic was "Why have police?" as in what prompted the government/people/Man to set up a formal police force.

Answer: "Because God is dead."

Side Note: If you have Turner Classic Movies, watch "In Caliente" tonight. I swear my grandmother's in it. This is based on a 5 second clip from a Busby Berkeley documentary, but the movie's not on video/DVD, so there's no way to prove it ... until now.

Side Note to the Side Note: I dreamt last night that I was watching television with my grandmother. We were watching a series of deleted scenes from "8 1/2" while my grandfather talked to Jean Renoir about what clothes to wear to church. Best dream in a long time.

Okay, I'm not quite over it. Here's the punchline to Saturday's rant:
(from class today -- this is with reference to the InDesign classes over the weekend:)
"Some of you who signed up for Sunday didn't show up to class. I took roll, so I know who you are. You can't sign up again. If I see your name on the list for next weekend, you will be bumped for someone who missed class on Saturday. I didn't get an email from anyone. Did you get an email Dr. X?" "I didn't get any emails." "We didn't get any emails."

Yeah. Hey, by the way we didn't get an email either.

all done.

I'm over it now. The online overview of InDesign is pretty helpful -- it's not telling me how to use the thing, but it's got a run-through of a lot of the great functions. I had no idea Adobe was responsible for PageMaker. Dude, I used that 15 years ago. Nice to know it's still around and can upgrade into CS2.

Flip. It snowed again. Better put on the long underwear. In some ways this weather's great, because the houses all look like they have frosting on them, but standing at the bus stop waiting to go to school kinda blows. But ... it is so pretty and when it comes down in those Hollywood flakes and it's so quiet ... yeah ... that's nice. And it's like having seasons. Sure, it killed the anemone, but there will be others. Maybe I'll try again to swipe the seeds of our neighbor's Iceland poppy.

R.I.P. 2003 - 2007

My Big Fat Ugly Rant

Today I was supposed to take a class on InDesign. This is for the Visual Communications class. The class where we're all idiots, blow-its and full of "young ideas." Twice we were told that it was our responsibility to show up to the InDesign class and to be on time. If we did not make it to the class we could not make arrangements to take it again. This was it. Be there and be on time or else.

Fine.

I get there today and there's a sign on the door: "InDesign class cancelled due to family emergency."

It's Saturday. This is my only day off, so this class was something I set aside my limited personal time for. It's been hovering around 25-30 degrees all day. Buses don't run to the University on Saturday. I live across town.

Now, I understand that family emergencies come up. There's nothing you can do about them. You've got to take care of it. But, ya know, an email this morning or last night would have been considerate. Maybe then I wouldn't have put on 4 layers of clothing to go out and walk through ice to get to a locked door. Not only that, but if I went to professor and said that I couldn't make it to the class due to a family emergency, what do you think? Think I'd get a tutorial on how to use InDesign on another day that was convenient for me? Hardly.

Bitter. Isn't. Pretty.

And I have a cold now. I'll get really sick. That'll show 'em. yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

First Week Roundup

It's only Thursday, so maybe this is bad luck ... maybe not.

Italian -- ma dai! I love this instructor and it's getting easier to participate in class. That said, the fall is bound to come soon ... like when I take the first oral exam and sit there trying to remember the word for "go" ... but for now it's fun fun.

Chinese Religions -- Rules About Taking Classes From People You Know. Rule #1: Don't take classes from people you know. I met Dr. Cline at a New Year's Eve party and now not only does it seem weird to address her as Dr. Cline instead of Erin, but when she calls roll I have this strong inclination to answer "Hey! How are you?" instead of "Here." Class-wise, it's going to be really interesting. This tortoise-shell/bone divination stuff is cool. I've got to find a volunteer tortoise and a burning stick.

Journalism/Visual Communication -- I just don't know ... it's a required class for the major, but the professor is one of these superior types who talks down to the class and assumes that all of the students are party-ers and morons. Dude, that's my job. Anyway, we get to learn Photoshop and InDesign, so it's not all bad.

English 399/Television Sleuths -- It really is a class, yes. I'm doing my final project on "Taggart" for those who want to know. The professor is great fun, but the class is especially worthwhile for people-mocking. There are the dudes, who say their favorite detective is Inspector Gadget ("heh, yeah, dude!") or Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers ("ho, TOtally, dude. yeah.") and on the other end of the spectrum are the two Philosophy/English majors who despise television. My favorite is the one who claimed that she hadn't watched television since she was 12 and then later made the bold, shocking statement that sitcoms were really programming meant to conform the masses into predisposed ideals of sociological norms (I'm paraphrasing, of course). Why the f@*&! are you in this class? Is it to confirm your superior status above the brain-washed pedestrians who watch this stuff? Or are you so insecure about your intelligence that you've got to validate yourself with pretentious blow-hole posturing that will show us all how really superior you are?

I'm glad someone else has taken on the posturing job. I was getting tired of it.

Puzzle Place

This was on my Journalism professor's office door. You may post your answers in comments.

How many headlines can you make from the following words:

1. Boy
2. Mother
3. Weds
4. Alligator
5. Raised by Apes

(You have to use all the words, but I don't think it's fair to be limited by them: Mother of Boy Raised by Apes Weds Alligator)

It Rubs Off

This is a bad man.

At least according to maxboxing.com's headline:
Jim Lampley Arrested for Domestic Violence

You hang around with Mayweather long enough ...

According to the accuser (a former Miss California ... yeah, with Lampley ... go figure) he was drunk and "also high on pot" (!!)

I can't wait to see follow-up stories featuring Lampley takin' it out on Larry Merchant or Emmanuel Stewart. The next time Stewart uses "himself" incorrectly Lampley's going to reach over and paste him one. Merchant's kind of a sucker target. He's usually so lit up on gin that he'd be a one punch k-o.

Gosh ... Has watching boxing made me a violent person? Makin' bets on who will get hit next? Look at Lampley. He's a smiling, upstanding guy. They even let him sit in the lodge and boss the Olympics. If he can turn ugly anyone can, even me!

Of course ... this kind of behavior may have been in him all along. We did see him spit over the rail at the Rose Garden in Portland. Bad, bad, bad.

No mugshot yet at www.thesmokinggun.com.

RNR with PBNJ

All this week I've been trying to decide if it's harder to work from 6am - 5pm or to work from 6am - 11am and then go to school from 12pm - 5pm. It's the same amount of time spent out of the bed or off the couch, but the work is all in one place and school is going from place to place to place to place.

This being the last day of my vacation (which means the last of the 10 - 11 hr work days -- thanks cold and flu season!), I've come to the conclusion that work is harder. At least at school I can go outside and sometimes there's even time for a pop-in to Starbucks. At school people don't constantly bitch at me and call me a liar ... as much ... At work I get paid, but that's all it's got going for it, really. If they paid me to go to school it would be totally ideal.

But when I think things have been tough for me, I remember that tomorrow is the return of the cousin/roommate from Hawaii.

Current Honolulu temperature: 74, feels like 74.
Current Eugene temperature: 37, feels like 29.

That's got to suck.

Back to my sammich. Peanut butter is a good, good thing.

P.S. what the ...? The brother's supporting my man, Obama? Is this a sign of the apocalypse? Welcome to our side, brother mine.

Customer Comment of the Week

(from a return request)
"I wanted a refillable duster, not a duster that needed to be refilled."

Scrapin' it into a pile for 2007

Looking over last year's weak resolutions, I've decided that it's pretty useless to form any for 2007. I considered doing a Best/Worst list too, but the Best all had elements of Worst and vice-versa, which left everything in a kind of mediocre-ness that is (in short) mediocre. So I am choosing instead to sum up 2006 thus:

Your Honor, my learn'ed colleagues, members of the jury, ladies and gentlemen, this year has seen levels of normalcy unsurpassed in years previous (at least those that the defense can call to mind at this moment). There were weddings, births, birthdays at the 40 level, and countless airline flights, and yet, as we close the proceedings on 2006, it would appear that very little change has actually occurred in the day-to-day existence of the defendant. I would like specifically to call your attention to the following topics: friends, school, health and, finally, finances.

We'll begin with friends. During 2006 one Kelly Feinberg (nee Cockburn) was married in the backyard of a lovely house in Fort Collins, Co.

[Exhibit A] This event is significant not only because she is a close friend and one who has waited a long time for this moment, but also because the defendant was one of the only single people attending. It is also significant because it was where the defendant met a doctor named "Peter" who subsequently vanished when they parted ways at the bar. Was it the double vodka? Or the absurdly heavy eye makeup that shows up looking like tar in the wedding photos? Who can say...

I submit also one Sheryl Montgomery and her baby, Mia, of whom there are no online photos because the defendant forgot the camera last July and all we have are the flippin hard copies and no flippin scanner. But I digress. There are also the virtual friends, whom the defendant has not met, but who have been monitored in an unobtrusive (we hope) fashion. I speak of the Haskes, who have also had a baby - Huckleberry - this year, and online photos as well as video are available through their blog. Here also is Jack, the defendant's second cousin. The photo (featuring the defendant's mother) explains it all. Don't you want to pat his cheeks?
[Exhibit B]

I submit that these events, while significant in their own right, have had no direct effect on the life of the defendant, apart from the moments of pleasure at viewing photos, squeezing cheeks, burping and swinging the child(ren) to sleep, etc...

School. Apart from a couple of B grades in Italian, life on the University level is starting to agree with the defendant. She had to ignore everyone for 10 weeks while working on the 20-page, 35-source Information Gathering project, but it's hoped that the grade of A+ will explain the distances and help mend bridges. The defense would like to submit (while we back-pat ourselves) that a passing grade in that class is a D and some people have to take it a second time to pass. The defense thanks you for your indulgence.

Health came in the discovery that acupuncture really works (ladies and gentlemen, 30 million Chinese people can't be wrong) and is much cheaper and less of a hassle than Workman's Comp and disability for carpal tunnel. Acupuncture, however is not covered by insurance because insurance can't make a buck off of it. Another set-back for ancient wisdom.

Finally, finances, which are at a low thanks to an unnamed uninsured motorist and some unfortunate investing at the Pala Hotel and Casino last July. That's why you all got a card full of air for Christmas. Next year (this is not a resolution) Next year the defendant will double her paycheck at Pala, and Christmas will include hot tubs, trips to the Grand Prix of Monaco, fancy bicycles and whatever else the defendant can indulge you all with.

You'll see. You'll all see.

(predictions are for entertainment purposes only)

Work + Holidays = Hangover

What I've done instead of the stuff that needs doing ...:
- won booze at 2 Christmas parties on 2 consecutive nights
- saw the new Bond picture and it's gooooooooooooood
- slept. a lot.

Daniel Craig is the new best Bond. Go ahead, crack me one, but he's even better than Connery. Now, I'm not saying he's better looking than Sean, by any stretch. But in terms of being the book-Bond, he's spot on.

Unrelated, but worthy of note: Next weekend is my grandmother's memorial service. She was a game gal, that gramma. I don't have any of her pictures from her chorus girl days (because she supposedly tore them all up, although I saw one once at my Great Uncle Paul's house) so I can't post one that features her, but I think one of the joys she had of being in a Busby Berkeley chorus was the anonymity mixed with the glamour.

She could be any of the dancers in this photo (or none of them), and I have a feeling that that's the way she liked it. Fancy dress, big show job, and no one ever has to know you were once a part of it ... unless you have grandchildren who needle you constantly for stories about it ...

Final Final

One more final and then I promise to:
- call people
- sort out ideas for Christmas cards (and maybe follow through and send them)
- sort out Christmas
- do laundry
- stop talking about the use of outdoor settings in F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu (1922)
- de-worm the pet

or is that too much?

Parla come devi...

Si amo. This has just topped Ok Go on my online video clip obsession list:



(if it doesn't play - because I don't think it's embedding right on the blog ... this is my third try at it - you can get it by clicking on "This")

The Happiest Place - Part 2 "What's That?"

(I could study for finals, but ...)

This is my niece, Francesca. She's great, but she doesn't really know who I am. Her favorite question: "Grandma, what's that?" Meaning what's me, meaning who's me. Her second favorite question was "Name?" By the end of the second day we were all sorted out. Of course by the end of the second day we were all going home.

This is one of the main reasons I distrust Disneyland:
Terror in Toon Town.


There are mountains in Orange County. They're back there somewhere, but where? Those green things aren't real! And is that the sky? It's so hard to tell! Where am I? Oh Godddddddddd.


For Thanksgiving there was a choice of pretzel & beer (mmmmm) or large corndog, then, to finish it off there was Disney pot roast or Disney turkey. I had the pot roast, which couldn't touch J's recipe, except that the brown gravy was good in a brown gravy way (but you can't really screw up brown gravy). But I digress, I had the pot roast, which, though technically non-trad., sat better in the belly than the turkey, based on after-dinner reviews from the parents.

Here are the parents, by the way.

I take after mom ... no pop ... no more like mom ... or maybe more like pop ...

To round out the trip, cousin/roommate and I were rear-ended on the way back from the Eugene Airport.

me vs. other car ... winner?

The Happiest Place - Part the First

So many lovely photos, but no time to download. They are coming soon, since I up and coil-bound my journalism project yesterday. Now I just have to study for my other classes (... heh ... forgot I had other classes n' stuff).

In the meantime, I will say that for all of Disneyland's shortcomings (lack of evidence that real animal life exists in Orange County, the people, the way beer tastes at California Adventures, the people, the constant references to "cast members" and "guests", the people...) I always see the best t-shirts there. I usually end up getting one for my brother for Christmas. Since this one is not available on Amazon, and is therefore unavailable as a Christmas present (so far), I can post it here.

Not a very clear picture ... but you get the gist of it.

Next post: real pictures of actual things. Honest. I swear.

WHOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOO

I'm done, dear God, all done.

Kind of.

I'm done with the first draft of the Great Project and I feel free. Although I had to take a 20 minute break from the computer before starting the blog (this involved flipping the television stations between "Revenge of the Nerds" and "Black Orpheus"). Honestly, I have no idea what happened over the past two weeks. I remember only waking up, working on the project, going to work, coming home, working on the project, going to school, coming home, working on the project, going to bed. That's been it. No "Lost". No blog. No contact with the outside really. Tomorrow I will print 116 pages out at work and pack it into a bag for editing as I fly to California.

Information Gathering is a tough class, tell you what. It alternately makes me want to give up on Journalism and keep going -- honestly, you finish the hardest class, it's all downhill right? And I've seen what people use for research at Us. Nothing takes 35 sources in the real world of entertainment journalism. You ask two friends what La Jolie did last week and job is done.

One thing I do remember from a couple of weeks ago was a fight that was an undercard to the Mayweather/Baldomir fight. It was Paul Williams (loved him in "The Muppet Movie") against this guy named Santos Pakau. Williams beat him pretty easily, but Pakau had the better walkout song: "Golden Brown" by the Stranglers. Maybe no one told him it was about heroin.

I think it was Pakau ... that was 2 weeks ago, so I can't be sure.

(Just heard on Fox Movie Channel was this gem from Borat: "A woman journalist is like giving a monkey a gun".)

if it walks like a nerd and talks like a nerd ...

"You are most like Hermione Granger!"

well duh.

I'm also like Wesley Crusher, which I think is a little unfair and also a tad uncool.

Personality tests ... This is what happens when you finish homework. The attention goes right into crap'net.

had to add this -- customer of the day:

"I see that you have free shipping for orders over $49.00."
- That's true, we do, yes.
"My order's only $39. Do I still get free shipping?"

That would be no.

It's probably going to be some time before I'm free to post. Information Gathering has been historically known as the toughest journalism course at the university. Scoff and derisive laughter. I thought it was a total breeze.

At first.
It's not anymore.

It's not a hard class in terms of the work, but it takes more time than I have available. It's almost 8 and I have to rush to work so I can come home and get a few more hours done on the project before ... on and on and on. Although I'll more than likely end up doing school work at work.

Don't be surprised if this sits idle until after Thanksgiving. Not gone for good, just gone for a day or two or twenty.

That said --- did they really kill Mr. Eko? I don't feel so bad about missing Lost or never watching it again. Ever. Fahhhhhhh why can't they kill Charlie? What's he done for us lately? $5 says they kill Desmond next.

Is it magic ... or...?

Is it Halloween?

(If those are ghost cookies, it must be Halloween.)

This year was a literary theme.

Ladies and Gentlemen ... before your very eyes, two (somewhat) normal people will become ...two somewhat abnormal people.

Later on I ditched Raoul and was hanging out with Nancy Drew.
(Note the dainty pinky on the machette.)

"Hey, Boo."
I figure that 'ol Boo, bein' that he was child-like in the mind and all, was a good match for Scout, seein' as how they was both drankin' and shouldna' been, but it's okay 'cuz they's from the South.

This year's winner is not literary, but ... well ... see and judge for yourself. Even trying to explain makes me have to pee my pants because I'm laughing so hard.
All the way from Hawaii, I present the cousin/roommate's parents as Dog, the Bounty Hunter, and his lovely wife, Beth:

one more

I just overheard this from the t.v. in the living room and remembered how great it was.

"You were ice cream for freaks!"

That's the best movie line ever.
Ever.

blogging not working out time-wise. been staying up staring at court cases involving dui's and dead people and it's making me sleepy, irritable and is a total fecking drag-bummer. and it's midterm week (the only one i have is in film, but still ... who is dixon and where does he fit in? everything before the studio system is a technical blur). must save energy for "lost" watching.

coming soon:
the L'il Hateful Halloween Spectacular (oh boy!)

My Best 'Feined

It started with Deep Fry's confession and was compounded by a discussion at work about why we get headaches on the weekends. I decided that I'm quitting caffeine.

Okay, not entirely. Like smoking, the plan is to continue with it socially. I'll be a social caffeine drinker. I already feel brighter and lucid and the withdrawal syndrome really only carried through until Tuesday. After that everything was really great. I wasn't half as irritable as I usually am and I was getting a lot of stuff done.

One week later: Saturday. I slept in late and woke up without a headache. Bene. I don't need that 5:00 am cup. I'll be okay.

And then I went on a bender. I had 2 cups of coffee this morning at 9 am and I'm still buzzing at 2:40 pm. I want to concentrate on Italian, but after 30 seconds of it I'm restless and need to do something else. Even posting this is making me manic because it's taking TOO DAMN LONG to finish.

Demon, demon 'feine.

HA!

WASHINGTON (AFP) - It is by no means dead, but for the first time, a new survey has shown that traditional marriage has ceased to be the preferred living arrangement in the majority of US households.

I'm not dancing on the grave of traditional marriage, by any means. I'm just happy to be in a majority, one of the gang, on the bandwagon, and so on.

It's amusing that journal "US Society and Values" states that this trend is either "catastrophic or evolutionary." Just a little fun Halloween scare-talk for the Bible Belt.

shoppin'

I don't mean to intentionally steal from La Lars, but while scanning the coat racks yesterday at Value Village I was reminded of how wonderful Trevor Howard's coat was in "The Third Man"

This isn't a good picture of it, but it was the only one I could find on the 'net (we don't own the movie .... yet), but it's heavy wool and has those wooden closures I love. It's like a post-war Paddington Bear coat.

My friend Don has a coat like this, but he won't trade me, so I've got to find it somewhere else.

Cah ... you'd think J Crew would make one.

Anyway, while sorting through photos related to "The Third Man" this one popped up:


It's Robert Kubica, the pride of Poland. He's a Formula One driver for BMW ... I guess it's because he used to be the third man/driver for them. Now, of course, he's a WINNAH! We loves the Kubica.

Remember how they used to pose you like this in grade school? They'd turn your chair to the left, but make you look right, but don't turn your head! just look right. perrrrrrrrrrrfect.

Week 3

The first 2 weeks of school are pretty exciting. The classes are new and there are all kinds of nutty situations with the fellow students -- first I love, then I hate, then I love again, and then ... then it's all pear-shaped. It all falls apart in the 3rd week. That's when the getting up at 4:30, the irritating situations at work, the unending homework, and lack of personal time really starts to take its toll. Why? Why? What will come of this? Is it worth it? Why?

And other pathetic whinging.

That said, after 3 weeks I can safely sum up the classes. La:

Italian 201 - Dios mio! I love this class. I still suck at spelling, but I'm starting to understand the instructor as the class continues. She's patient with us and illustrates what she's talking about when we get lost in the discussion -- she actually acts out the word or phrase. She's the best. I hope I can score her again next term.

Journalism 202 - Info Hell. Not as bad as I thought it would be, but since when is the Eugene Register-Guard an alternative paper? I got marked down for that? Whatever.

Film History - enough said on this, except for one more note: "Forrest Gump" was mentioned in class, was asked by professor to general class if it won best picture, my big mouth blurted out "yes", and grad student teacher shook his head at me. Wh-what? It sure as hell DID win. It was the worst movie ever and it fecking beat "Pulp Fiction" that year! You were what ... 10 when it came out? Huh, sonny? Let me tell you, boy-chick, if there's one thing I know it's crap trivia and that crap trivia was correct (this time ... okay, yeah, I was wrong about United Artists being a production company, sure).

Back to homework now. No more weekends until Christmas. Cah ... school + work = stupit idea.

I'm in Love

I haven't felt like this in so long, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like. I have a reason to go to school, to continue on, to exist. Everything everything revolves around this.

I can't even begin to describe the way my heart leaps when I turn the corner and my glance drifts and I forget the stress of Italian 201, and finding government documents that will support my argument about a change in public policy, and cell phones, and the way I have to spend every day listening to stupid boys talking like idiots to vapid girls ...

This.

This is what I live for.









It's GREEN. Could it be more perfect? Zut! Mein Gott: it even has a basket!

It's the love that dares to speak its name:
PEUGEOT.

Today's Sermon: Bikes, Man

I was yelled at today. It was on my way home from school. I was waiting for the light and I heard this frenzied, high pitch "YEAH, MAN! BIKES, MAN!" I turned to the car next to me, all the windows down and the driver was leaning over just to yell at me. In his enthusiasm he nearly tipped over his Dutch Brothers coffee cup. "YEAH! WHAT IF WE ALL GREW OUR OWN FOOD AND RODE BIKES! WHAT A BETTER WORLD IT WOULD BE! RIGHT? YEAH! RIGHT? LOOK AT THIS CAR" He was driving a Chevy Cavalier (I think) painted with alternate splotches of primer gray and Bondo. "WHO NEEDS IT?" he yelled as he turned in front of me, cutting me off at the light. "THIS CAR IS A PIECE OF SHIT!"

Amen brother.

Not for nuthin' but ...

Why do people still start emails/letters/etc... with the general address "Sir" or "Sirs"?

I mean, I'm no feminist (in that I shave my legs and I wear a bra), but for feck's sake, welcome to the new world, men. Chicks work n' stuff. And "To Whom it May Concern" is preferable, even in it's ambiguity, than "Sir".

By the way, I'm at work. It's Sunday. Usually I get this day to myself, all 8 hours. I wear scrappy clothes and work while listening to the Sony pod. I often sing along with Abba, albeit not in key (or even close to key), but it doesn't matter because with the pod on I can't hear myself and that's fine. This morning, in particular, I did not wear makeup even though I have dry patches and red splotches on my face due to the climate change. My hair is not combed.

So far 5 people have come in, including my boss, who showed up while I was starting this post.

I ask you, is that fair?

Overheard Cell Phone Conversations - Love Hate

Hate: "Hi! What are you doing? I just got out of class."

Love: "Yeah, so I had to spend 38 hours in solitary confinement..."

Art? Forgeddabowdit

I was going to post something today and then I totally forgot what it was. I'm sure it was important, however not so important that I would remember it.

School + Work = Me no think so good

I mean, good golly, when you're stressed out practicing t'ai chi, something's effed up. It's probably an art deficiency. These pictures always help...

This is Maurice Quentin de la Tour.

I used to think he looked a lot like Kevin Spacey.

But here he looks a little like Jack Benny.

Art is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

I'm calmer already.

Message to the future Dr. K:
"While it was never definitively established where Barney Rubble worked, the general consensus was that he also worked at Slate & Co. with Fred (though in another part of the quarry, as we did see some scenes in the locker room in which they both appeared, but never in the quarry itself)." (www.stupidquestionsanswered.com/answered/barney.htm)

He was also a geological engineer and a furniture repossessor. Barney was a true (Prehistoric) Renaissance man.

Sure I look down on my fellow students.
I feel as though I'm above them.
I feel that I'm better than they are.

I sneer at them.

Today in Film History we watched "The Freshman" with Harold Lloyd. The lights went off and not only did my fellow students laugh in all the right places, but they didn't talk through the film or make fun of it as being boring or lame or corny, or any of the things they say when the lights are on. They enjoyed it like a film audience in the '20s. When Harold is at his lowest, when he realizes his friends are all fakers and he's been used and made fun of, the classroom was dead silent. At the end, they applauded.

Dude, I love my fellow studenti.

L'il Happiest

See this toddler.
This is my niece.
She is now 3 1/2 years old.
She loves the Disneyland.
For this toddler I will practice the art of Happy.

For this toddler I will spend my Thanksgiving at Disneyland.

So I'll get my Disneyland hate questions out of the way and clear space to begin the slow path -- baby steps. baby steps -- to happy:

1. Why are there no flies at Disneyland? (saw a mosquito once.)(once.)
2. Why do they make it so you can't see outside of the park? And why does that make me hyperventilate?
3. Why is it that every time I go I end up parking in Thumper? (She, along with "Bambi," was one of those bikini-clad assassins from the weirdest scene in "Diamonds Are Forever.")
4. Why do I have to shell out $3.00 + tax for a certified, registered, only-at-Disneyland Carnation ice cream bar? It doesn't taste better than the $1.25 Circle K Carnation ice cream bar.
5. Was the Snow White ride really better on schrooms?

I feel free and happier already. Oh God ... what if she makes me go on It's a Small World?

(Duff Beer for me. Duff Beer for you. I'll have a Duff. You have one too.)

baby steps.

Back to School - Back to Reality?

Heard on campus today:

• Dude, my tv's too big for my cooler, dude. (2 uses of dude in the same sentence. Va bene.)
  
• Like, that's when you, like, discover how to, like, you know, use a calculator. Right?
  
• It sucks. Like, I've got to read this WHOLE BOOK.

And 4 instances of "I was just going to say" to begin a sentence. That's a new record. Sure, 2 of those came from the same student, but it still counts.

Over it

Okay, I'm done with the tantrum. I realize that this will come up a lot in my future career in journalism. Sure, I'll want to cover the Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie baby/wedding/breakup/new house, but I may be relegated to covering Jessica Simpson's new boyfriend. That's just the way the game is played in the news business. And the university is a good place to start learning how to master apathetic reporting.

(It took 4 glasses of red wine to calm down, sure ...)

busted before I even begin

fucking shit fuck. I can't do my research project on Asperger or autism or anything else I was interested in. I have to do it based on one of the topics/news articles already selected by the professor. Fuck! How bitter am I? As if I care about teens and net porn! dammit janet.

And classes haven't even started yet!

"Jackass Number 2" ... Can't do it justice in words. My jaws ache from laughing so hard.

In fact, the movie ended half an hour ago and I'm still laughing. God ... the valentine ... and the bungee jump ... and the rocket ...

Last Hurrah

This is it. Monday school begins (which means Sunday I work, which means the end of the weekends). I have a first day of school outfit already picked out, I've started my research topic for my Journalism paper (Asperger syndrome), and I think I've got a handle on the Italian, at least enough to get me into the class and answering questions about my l'estate. I figure History of Film will take care of itself, and will be approached with an art-flows-over-you method of study. We'll see how long that lasts.

To celebrate the new academic year, cousin/roommate and I are going to pay full price for "Jackass 2".

Man, I love Party Boy.

Yesterday's customer comment of the day: Do you have inventory in your warehouse? And, yes, as I found out, he really did mean it in a general sense, not on a specific item. Are there retail companies out there that are just fronts? And, if so, what are the benefits of a business like that? I may want to consider that as a career. No inventory = No overhead. Bene.

HOT fecking DOG

Checked my school shhhedule today (since last year I started off my college career with 2 changed rooms and no notice) and that's when I noticed it:

SHE'S GONE! MY ITALIAN CLASS HAS CHANGED OUT THE INSTRUCTOR!

My Italian 201 instructor is now someone named Nobuko Wingard. Not a very Italian name, but that's ideal. Really. I-fecking-deal.

Of course, the devil you know and the devil you don't and yah yah yah, but I was having a really hard time coming to terms with the fact that I'd have 2 more months of trudging uphill in shite. One term of heart break (cuore male) in that fecking language is enough. It's good to know that I have a fresh chance with a new instructor who might have a handle on the English language -- which, oddly enough, is useful when you're bouncing students around the complexities of fare, essere and avere in a foreign language. You might want to have the ability to translate it. Yeah.

I should add another random class and up my credits.

Or is that cocky?

Customer service comment of the day by a customer in Texas:
"I've got to go. The dog and the monkey are starting to get into things."

To Knit or Not To Knit

Fall is coming, so it's back to knitting stuff. Last night I was watching "To Be or Not To Be" and I've decided to make this:

It's some form of hood with a scarf attached, and it seemed to keep her warm in Hollywood-Warsaw, so why not try it out in Eugene? It looks like something that will fit under the bike helmet too. Of course it may look completely freakish under the bike helmet ...

Maybe I'll just wear it on the bus.

This is similar to shopping at the movies, with the less than instant shopping-finding gratification. It's also probably going to look wayyyyyyyyyyy different when it's finished.

September 11th, 2001

- I remember not being able to wake up my roommate and boyfriend to tell them about it because she slept with ear plugs and he was clearly worn out from their marathon sex (in the bathroom, the bastards) the night before.
- That afternoon I was reprimanded at work for placing a Red Cross donation jar on my desk. I was told I needed to get it approved by management first. I never actually took it down, because giving-in would be chicken, but no one put money in until the boss said it was okay.
- That night I came home to a note in our mailbox saying that we were evicted from the house so the landlady could move her son in. He needed a stable home environment to win custody of his kids.
- It was the day my plane tickets arrived for visiting Eugene. Four weeks later I was living here.

These are my September 11th memories. God bless Amurca.

Revelations

After 2 days of searching, I've come to the conclusion that I somehow inadvertently donated my bowling ball to Katrina relief last year.

Our 1 Hour Mission

As part of the Eugene celebration of specialness, the McDonald Theatre acknowledged the 40th Anniversary of Star Trek in their "Best of the Best" Film Festival. They showed "The Man Trap" -- the first televised episode of Star Trek -- and it was free. Why free? Well, "Best of the Best Film Festival" didn't really apply to a film in this case. It meant a rented DVD from Flicks n' Picks. Can't show those to the public and charge for it. That would be bad. Even worse is enlarging it for a big screen. Odd how the sound was so funny. Oh well. On the plus side it had Kirk running in serpentine and the memorable line "Quit thinking with your glands" -- not said to Kirk in this case, but to Bones. Weird. [The second most memorable line of the night was from Steven Brence: "Bones is a post."]

Makes you wonder what would have happened if someone had checked out the disc before the McDonald got hold of it. Would have been a short festival, I guess.

There was also a costume contest with no contestants and a Q&A session led by a production assistant (see: "lackey") who worked on The Next Generation and a director of a web film who not only seemed completely unconnected to his film, but also didn't really care much about Star Trek outside of the fact that it gave him a low-paying job for a few hours. But I digress. As an example of Eugene specialness, the Q&A was typical: "I like to speak in Vulcan."

We left quickly afterwards.

Noon in the Garden of Good and Hateful

This is a Japanese Anemone.

Almost 3 years ago I planted 4 anemone bulbs and this is the only one to survive both a seemingly endless snail family and 2 winters with snow. Finally I have something that looks almost like what it's supposed to be. And there are 4 more buds on the way.

This Zinnia was going to be thrown away a couple of weeks ago.

The Before picture wasn't taken because I didn't think there would be an After picture. It used to have 1 flower and a bunch of dried leaves.

It is my finest hour.

That is all ... except to say Feckin', the Croc Hunter! It's too big to get my head around right now.

But I wanted to be Heihachi

According to the What Samurai Are You quiz, I'm Gorobei. I smile a lot and tend not to take things seriously.

I can live with that. Gorobei is pretty cool.

By the way, I want this.







It's a bargain at 126000 yen.

First Mahfouz. Then Glenn Ford. Who's next? Widmark??

Theory of the Week

Now that John Karr is cleared of murdering JonBenet Ramsey, the obvious question came up at work about why he would confess to something like that if he didn't do it.

Theory 1: He's mental. Most of us agreed with this one.
Theory 2: He wanted to be an answer on a card in the Trivial Pursuit 2000's (or 15th) Edition. This was my theory and no one really agreed with me ... and yet they all thought it was plausible.
Theory 3: He needed a free flight out of Thailand. Sure, the drugs, sex and drink are cheap and plentiful there, but it's over a grand to hop a plane back.

We all agreed with Theory 3.

And it is wonderful in our sight

The week is over. Long live the week.

Here's a weird one: I'm actually looking forward to going into work today. Sure, last week there was a lot of overtime -- enough to pay for my books this term, if I calculated right ... and I'm bad at math -- but I finally have a new p.c. to work with and overtime's not too bad. No more working with Windows 98 and a memory that needed to have cookies and internet files cleared on a daily basis. We're into XP with Office 2003. It's like a rocket on fire compared to the old system. I can actually get stuff done efficiently. It was always a little embarrassing to explain delays to people on the phone. "Yes, we're the Internet Department ... Ironic? Yes. You're right, sir/madam."

But last week went right by with no real memorable moments apart from the lovely dinner on Friday with an Italian table wine that led to some problems on Saturday, and then, of course, Kimi out of the race AGAIN yesterday in the Turkish Grand Prix. McLaren, why you break my heart? Oh, and Manchester City beat Arsenal ... I really don't know how I feel about that. Good. Then bad. Then good again, but then bad. So I try not to think about it at all.

perche e pazzo ... wha?

To prepare for my second year of Italian and another go-around with the instructor who screwed me over last spring, I'm spending this last summer month reading Jeffrey Deaver's "La Sedia Vuota" as a dual-text with its English-language original, "The Empty Chair." So far I get most of what's going on and it's really helpful in verb conjugation. Mein Gott, but they sure use fare a lot in Italy. Fare, stare and essere ... mamma. What's kind of nutty are the parts in the Italian version that are not in the English one. There are whole paragraphs (3, count-em, 3 so far) that don't have an English equivalent. I could see it going the other way and having parts that were edited out. That's assuming that Jeffrey Deaver wrote it in English first and then it was translated into Italian and not the other way around. Hell, maybe I'm wrong. I don't know. Or maybe these sections were in the hardcover and didn't make it into the paperback. Non lo so. E un mistero.

The best part is coming across an idiosyncrasy that didn't translate well. Oh sure, the translator is great with changing miles to kilometers (although 500 miles = 800 kilometers? That seems weird, but it's math, so how would I know), but cultural references seem to be too obscure for them to track down and translate properly:

English: ... flashing vividly back on the most gruesome scenes from the ... novels she read late at night with her companion, a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

Italian: ... the vivid imagination ... from the novels she had read with her companion, drinking a bottle of Ben & Jerry's.

A pint's a pint, I guess. And it's nice that the Italian version has her drinking with a companion rather than have the pint as the companion. There's a nice correction for you, Deaver. He's so mean to overweight single women.

Damn that fecking kid next door is screaming again ... he's got issues and I've got issues with his issues.

domo arigato

This is what we heard while walking back from the market tonight:

Oh mama, I'm in fear for my life
From the long arm of the law

followed by screams and cheers.

Feckin' A, Styx is playin' the county fair.

Fair's Fair

Cousin/Roommate and I went to the Lane County Fair tonight. I had big plans to eat funnel cake, corn dogs and Hawaiian ice, but instead had a plate of passable pad thai and a cherry Pepsi -- the latter after being overtaken by nausea on the Tilt-O-Whirl.

Unfortunately this means I was a complete wuss and reneged on my agreement to ride The Zipper. Yeah ... yeah ... Get off my back. It was too much. So what. The tilt of the whirl really gets to you when you're riding on a belly full of pad thai. Anyway, I figure I can save The Zipper for next year. It's fitting to finally ride The Zipper when you're over 40.

While on the subject of age, I'd like to say that although I'd prefer to be like my grandfather who would ride anything at any amusement park at any age, regardless of health limitations ("they don't have to know about my heart"), I find that I'm turning into my grandmother, who used to drag us around the floral exhibitions and quilt displays when we were kids (Mein Gott! I still remember sitting in a stuffy exhibition hall watching a fountain show called Magic Water --- just fountains with colored lights ... dude ...). I love the textiles and the baked goods under netting. Today was opening day, so the cakes still looked pretty fresh. They're even better about 4 days into the fair. I know the chocolate meringue is not going to make it all the way to the end.

It kind of ruined it when I noticed that the cakes, cookies, muffins and breads were almost all made by the same kid. I always thought that the fair was the Grail quest of some obscure 4-H Club in Veneta, but instead it's completely eclipsed some single over-achiever named Ashley. Her sister Stacey had a few competing breads, but they didn't have the ribbons like Ashley's entries. Kind of like the Schumacher brothers in Formula 1: Michael is always getting first prize; Ralph has to settle with runner-up, no matter how well-formed his pound cake is. Galling.

I've found my match!

In my monthly trip through Yahoo personals I found Eric.

He's only 36 (or so he claims), but he doesn't appear to be a Christian gun-nut or follower of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire like the 400+ Oregon guys out there. But, more than that, it's the picture of Glenn Ford on the profile. I think it's from The Big Heat. How perfect is that?

Too bad he's looking for 21-37. Ah well...

Go back, go back, go back, go back...

I was thinking back today (and yesterday and the day before) about my first car: a 1964 beige Ford Falcon Station Wagon. Myyyyyyyyyy she was yar. 2 doors, with a crank-down back window ... oh man. You don't truly appreciate something until it's gone. I loved Christine. She was the best car ever, even with the rust holes and having to put the tarp on the roof when it rained. I wish I had her back, even in Oregon.

This website not only has a picture of a car just like Christine:













-- it also has a photo of the car I took my driver's test in (not the same car, but an amazing likeness):















The website describes it as "The WORST car ever made." I prefer to see it this way: if you can pass the California driving test in a 1979 Chevette, then you can drive anything anywhere.

Sic

The narcolepsy has evolved into a crap cold that is now evolving into some sort of nutty bronchitis, just like I used to get as a kid. It was better when I was younger, because I could stay home from school and have soup, not to mention getting the television moved into my room. Now, it blows. I have soup and maybe I'll come home early from work, but the television is too big for my room and it's freakin' summer, man! The weather is actually at a decent temperature and the sun is out and I want to ride my bike. Why why why? So I can have a childhood illness and whine like a baby, but it doesn't appear to be getting me anywhere.

There also used to be these little rubber dinosaurs that the doctor would hand out. I'd go to a doctor if I thought they still had them (and if there was an off-chance of getting in to see one today. Fat feckin' chance o' that ... stupit preferred provider bullshit, man).

Although ... it is Gregory Peck day on Turner Classic Movies, so maybe I'll stay home ... ach! but they're showing "How the West Was Won" and "The Big Country". Boring. Monday is Burt Lancaster. Eeuw.

Near-Greatness

At work this morning there was an email sent from someone who ordered a planner for 2007 and received one for 2006. The order was apparently placed in March, but she only just checked it now and wanted us to "send the right one out immediately" because she was "distressed and irritated"about the situation.

She had sent the email to the wrong company and the spelling was a little hit and miss, but I didn't care because it was signed Marni Nixon.

I started 3 replies alternately praising ("You should have received billing for the singing on 'My Fair Lady'") and condemning ("How do you sleep at night knowing how much Natalie Wood trained for 'West Side Story' only to have you come in like Kathy Selden on the sly and dub her?") until finally I just sent the robot response ("Unfortunately I do not show that you have ordered with -company name here-. You may have ordered it from the manufacturer directly. They can be reached at...").

It's as close as I've come with celebrity since Clive Cussler ordered a customized name plate.

Some of you may care.

Narc

Well that was a big week, let me tell you what. Non-stop action from Saturday to Saturday, with a sick day on Thursday, because I just could not keep my eyes open anymore. Cousin/roommate thinks it's narcolepsy. I think I was just action-wrecked. Spent the day on the couch watching movies: "Narrow Margin" great; "Towering Inferno" not so great. In fact, I feel asleep twice during the Inferno and each time I woke up that fecker was still on. (My God, has Steve McQueen reached the building yet?) Also checked out "The Big Lebowski" which has some really good moments, but has some irritating bits. The disk skipped so it was easy to by-pass the whole trip-to-the-valley part where they go to get the car. That part goes on just a little too long. I mean, I like Walter and all, but he's really irritating in that scene. The Dude says it best: "I love you, Walter, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face the fact that you're a goddamn moron."

Saturday was spent in Portland with a precious baby. No, I don't have pictures because I didn't remember about the camera until I was 65 miles out of Eugene. I've faced the fact that I'm a goddamn moron.

38 Only More So

Now that I have been home and frying for two days (103 degrees yesterday at 6:30 pm -- it's about 99 now. By the way, I love the Yahoo Weather distinction of "99. Feels like 99." Yesterday it was "103. Feels like 105.") I have had time to analyze completely the birthday changes.

There are none.

Since I'm dying my hair I have no idea if there are more gray ones. I still ride the bike to work (cooler than sitting in a car, alright alright). I'm no more concerned with my cholesterol than I was last week when I was only 38. It's been a huge let-down. Based on the birfday conversation with the brother and various friends and relations, 40 is pretty much the same. I have a feeling all the metabolism changes really did hit at 25 and I've got a few more years before the sagging starts. I figure 45 or so for the sagging. This means that I can start the "That's when she began drinking heavily" phase of my A&E Biography now while I've still got some stamina.

I've also played with my presents. DWilt, you the man.

not so hot

Had a nice vacation in the OC -- not profitable by any stretch, but nice. Mom and I went on the annual gambling junket with the aunts and the uncle, but no Vegas this year because gas is too pricey. Instead we went to Pala, which is cheap, fast and filling. It's sad to think that last year in Vegas we were putting our dough into quarter slots and this year it was all pennies. In fact, twice I ended up on nickel machines by mistake and freaked out at how fast $20 could disappear. When we weren't gambling or eating or crying in the room, mom and I were getting sunburnt by the pool. That's always the best part of the trip. We just relax, get fried by the sun, smoke Virginia Slims, and drink margaritas. Honestly, there's nothing that tops a week of gambling, smoking, drinking and burning.

Sort of like Burning Man, I guess, but with slot machines and drinks ... and clean folks. Although some machines had an odor-linger. Boy, nothing clears your luck faster than a stinky machine.

Highlights:
- "You're not bringing that on the plane, are you?" spoken with disgust by a girlfriend to her boyfriend who had a McDonald's bag. Girlfriend was wearing gold, spangled Mickey Mouse ears.
- The Monkey Lady, who would flat-hand slap the slot buttons and appeared to be irritated when she won bonus rounds. I kept waiting for her to beat the top of her head and show her teeth. "Jackpot party? weeee weeee weee aarhhh ahhhhhhhhhh!"
- Driving Pop's super monster Truckasaurus. This thing came with 2 zip codes and a stewardess. It was great fun to barrel over the top of Miata's and Audi TT's. It was, however, a bee-otch to park.

(ha! the cousin has just been waylaid by a missionary at the door. sorry, honey, we're all definitely broke here.)

I'm Freee-eeeee

And freedom tastes nothing like reality, but it kind of tastes like a Louie Blue Raspberry Otter Pop.

Vacation is official. Cousin/Roommate and I have already played a round of mini-golf and I've had a beer. Next stop mom's house for many adventures. Next time you hear from me I will be broke, hungover and 39 years-old. That's 273 in dog-years.

(yes, I needed to use a calculator to figure that out. so what.)

California here I come.

Confession

You all deserve to know this about me ...

I'm dying to see Little Man.

That is all.

Not Too Old Not Too New

Now that my anger at France and Zidane has dissolved into sadness and disappointment I can move on. I've decided that this will be an all 20th Century literary summer. So far the books I've read have all been recent-ish, but not too recent to be 21st Century:

Lady Oracle by Margaret Atwood
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Thank You For Smoking by Christopher Buckley
and now On the Road by Jack "call-me-Sal-Paradise" Kerouac

I'm going to pass up the stacks of Dumas (fils and pere), George Meredith (there's still one I haven't read yet), and anything beyond 2001, and just stick to the last century of fine fiction. This still leaves me Faulkner and Sherwood Anderson, as well as a couple of other Margaret Atwoods ... although maybe I should have a no-duplication policy to keep favoritism out of it. We'll see. Sadly, the no-21st Century rule leaves out the novelization of "Lost" that mom gave me at Christmas:

Sayid deftly ducked a punch and then landed a vicious jab to Sawyer's solar plexus ... The two of them hit the ground hard, still doing their best to pummel each other.

When will they learn to get along?

Zinedine Zidane Bad Man

Mi piace molte che l'italia vincano. Non gli ho tifato, ma ora contento perche la francia hanno giacato molto brutto.

Boo la francia. Boo.

Rooney was just playing the ball, ref

This is by far going to be my favorite news item from the World Cup:

England striker Wayne Rooney said Monday he was "gobsmacked" by his red card in the FIFA World Cup™ quarter-final against Portugal and said his apparent stamp on an opponent "didn't warrant" his dismissal.


"I'm bitterly disappointed to have been sent off in a World Cup finals match for England," Rooney said in a statement.

"I remember the incident clearly and have seen it several times since on television. I am of the same opinion now as I was at the time that what happened didn't warrant a red card.

"If anything, I feel we should have had a free kick for the fouls committed on me during the same incident.

"I want to say absolutely categorically that I did not intentionally put my foot down on Ricardo Carvalho. He slid in from behind me and unfortunately ended up in a positioning where my foot was inevitably going to end up as I kept my balance. That's all there was to it.

"When the referee produced the red card I was amazed - gobsmacked," the 20-year-old said. "If you ask any player - and indeed almost any fan - they will tell you that I am straight and honest in the way I play. From what I've seen in the World Cup, most players would have gone to ground at the slightest contact but my only thought then was to keep possession for England."

(AP Photo/Matt Dunham)

pull the other one, Rooney. it's got bells on it.

The Richmond Gimlet or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Gin

When I was 18 I was a court jester for Halloween, complete with painted symbols on my face and an agenda of mischievous frivolity. That night at a friend's house I went through 4 gin tonics in about an hour ... maybe an hour and a half. At the 5th one I staggered to the bathroom where I spent most of the night, struggling home at 3 am. My father didn't ground me or impose any kind of teenage restriction. As I was flat on the couch trying not to move I was the subject for a lesson to the little brother on the horrors of alcohol drinking: "So why is she sick like that?" "Because, son ..." It was a lesson, by the way, that the brother clearly didn't learn anything from, except that he eventually found a way to get around the hangover. It also led to this great line from dad: "I'm not going to punish you, because what you're going through now is punishment enough." Gee, thanks dad urnmwaahhhhhhhhaup oh Godddddddddd.

For years I couldn't go near gin. The smell of it made me physically ill. Even thinking about gin made me physically ill and I would chew Razzles to get the memory-taste of it out of my mouth. (Later I would drink bottles of white Zinfindel to cover the taste ... I was so very young ...)

Yesterday I had a Richmond Gimlet. I have been toying with the idea of gin for the last few years, but yesterday was my first true, full-length test and it couldn't have gone better. I had two and developed a nice buzz, completing the evening with a first and last bookend of Sessions beer. This morning I had no hangover ... ... ... although the tummy is not happy and not excited about the digestion process, but I blame that on ... erm ... well it could be anything. Couldn't be the gin. Gin is good.

From www.extratasty.com

2 parts Gin

1.5 parts Lime juice 1 part Simple syrup

Shake gin, lime juice and simple syrup with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

VIVE LE FRANCE!

Hot enough to fry an egg? Hot enough to fry a girl's brain

Summer's here. One day it's windy-cold and the next it's a hair dryer at 100 degrees. That's Oregon for you. Actually, today was reminding me of California and those unbearable days in Temple City when I would drive and hour and a half to my parents house in Huntington Beach just for the 10 degree temperature change. I swear living in the San Gabriel Valley is what warped my Ultravox albums.

As it's too hot to exercise, think or do much besides drink vodka and sit around on the couch, I've been getting a lot reading done. I'd nearly forgotten how great reading for pleasure was. Geez, go figure. So this Donna Tartt is pretty good. I thought following up Margaret Atwood would hurt the impact, but I'm really enjoying "The Secret History." Okay, sure, it's from 1992 and she thanks Bret Easton Ellis for his help, but it's got a timelessness about it that you don't see much in modern fiction (certainly not in anything by Ellis). I'm kinda diggin' it.

Sports Break: Aussie's are out of the cup. Ghana's got to face Brazil now (ha. ha. Good thing we got bumped). And England still hasn't faced anyone really strong yet. Cup action is business as usual. I was sad to see Mexico drop. Cah, I hate Argentina. Who's left to support? Viva l'italia, bambini.

When I think about me I pat myself

A
A
A-
(Hello, Dean's List, hello.)

It's only been a week and I really, really miss school. Does that make me a nerd? Feck. I need to scrape it together. Sheryl, I swear, I'm scraping it together. Katie can expect a birthday present in mid-late August. It'll get there. I swear it.

I need a syllabus for the summer. Wingin' it is not working out.

Things accomplished today: ... ... ...

Things not accomplished today: lost an eBay bid on a Kimi Raikkonen shirt, failed to improve upon "Cloud Hands" after an hour and a half of practice (thing accomplished: bored T'ai Chi Man with my obsessive repetition of the same 30 second position: "I'll get it this time. I'll ... dammit! Do over?"), did not finish watching "The Scarlet Pimpernel".

Clearing some stuff out

Just to list a few things:
- Since school ended I've been sleeping or watching TV or both at the same time. I have accomplished nothing of worth. I will note that I have missed my god-daughter's 16th birthday, her mother's graduation from college and her brother's graduation from junior high. Q.E.D.: I suck.

- Our new neighbors have a child who screams all day. This is not an exaggeration. It's his way of communicating and it's not only allowed to continue, but the parents answer to it. I predict he will grow up to be a Loud Talker that people will avoid everywhere except the frat house.

- Yesterday I took the cousin/roommate out miniature golfing for his birfday. On the course ahead of us was a hideous family of hideous people with a 2/3 year-old named Ben. Like Screaming Child next-door, Ben was allowed the freedom to growl, strike things with his golf club and wander aimlessly into other groups. "He's a handful, isn't he?" was the only excuse given for his behavior. This bon mot was followed by the request (which was made to complete strangers): "Can you keep an eye on him for a second?" Why, because making that hole is too important for you to corral your young 'un? Yeah, mini-golf is a tough racket. You want to keep your eye on the game at all times.

- So far grades are 2 A's (Shakespeare and - way - Creative Writing). Asked the parents what I get for a 4.0 this term. Answer: "A diploma?" Thanks, pop. Are you coming to my graduation in 3 years? "If you pay for us to come up there." ma dai.

All done!

Last final in Shakespeare today. I'm hoping that I've aced it since I am a genius n' stuff. Anyway, I knew who said what when and made up what it meant to the play (Ophelia as one with nature, Pistol trying to save his own neck while pleading for Bardolph, Claudius calling Hamlet a big girl's blouse, etc...). Turns out studying helps on tests. Go figure. Based on the first draft comments, I should rate an A on the final paper in Italian (I can write great compositions; too bad I blow at exams - viva la compozione finale!), and that will balance me out to an A- in the class. The wild card is flippin' Creative Writing. Who'da thunk it? B-, B+ and A on the stories. Crap. The only thing that will save me is the participation grade. I participated like it was going out of style. So what if I can't create disparity within a 700 word story, I participated! Whatever. So no Starbucks gift card or Dean's list all because I can't state character desire in the first paragraph. cah. What a drag.

Celebrated tonight with some Mezzaluna pizza and an argument with the cousin/roommate (man ... sometimes ... I just wanna shake him like a Polaroid pictcha). Tomorrow I return to full time in hell, but at least I now have the entire weekend free. Viva la fine settimana!

soon

one more final and then I can blog.

and sleep.

Hem

I was asked the other day to defend my love of Hemingway's non-fiction over his fiction (which I have no patience for). I explained to my co-student (and then later to the cousin/roommate) that I thought his non-fiction had a less imposed structure and was more natural than the fiction. Unlike the fiction, Hem's not trying to impress a style on you, he's just talking. And he's hilarious. Outside of his trip to Lyon with F. Scott Fitzgerald, my favorite example of his non-fiction is this short bit:

"I looked at him and his marked-for-death look and I thought, you con man conning me with your con."

Say what you want about him, I might knock a few drinks back with Hem. (He'd hate me though.)

Care if I Oki?

I can't do the top 30 songs like the brother. Mine are all on my Sony pea pod anyway, so a list is redundant. (At least for me. It's all about me.) So I picked a list of stuff I might be drunk enough to karaoke if given the chance. In no particular order:

- The Theme from "Shaft" - yeah, I know they did it on the Simpsons, but they totally stole my idea. The big opening intro is great for drinking up the courage and you don't have to sing high to get through it. It's win-freakin-win.
- Babies (Pulp) - "I only went with her cuz she looks like you MY GOD"
- She's a Lady (Tom Jones) - just for the whoa-ooh-whoa-ooh-Whoa-Ooh-Whoa-Ooh-WHOA part
- I Think I Love You (Partridge Family) - hey, didn't Danny Bonaducci play with Mingus...?
- Fernando (Abba) - I could probably do it like Shatner too. "Do you. Hear. The drums. Fernando."
- The Theme from "Super Fly" (not done on the Simpsons)

Actually, I can't think of any others. It helps to have drink both to make the list and to sing it. I guess this means I have to go back to writing my finals. Flippin' school n' all.

What I do for a living

Good things come in three's. Here are three messages sent to us yesterday on the customer service email at work. Just to bring everyone up to date, the company I work for sells office supplies:

Nature: request for quotation
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Message: THE FLORIDA ALLIGATOR PROBLEM IS JUST A BUNCH OF BULL
ALL OF US IN LA, LAUGH AT THE IDIOTS BECAUSE WE HAVE TONS OF GATORS AND WE
KEEP THEM IN CHECK BY KILLING THEM TO EAT AND THERE HIDES AND I CAN'T
UNDERSTAND WHY THEY JUST DONT HIRE A FEW OF US COONASSES TO COME THIN THEM
OUT. AND BELIEVE ME WE WOULD ENJOY DOING IT .

*****

Subject: When you were offline (via LivePerson)

i need the MSDS sheet for blue ink in refill kit # RF197. we had a kid get
into it and ink is everywhere. the cats got it on their fur, want to make
sure it is harmless to them when they clean themselves!

*****

Nature: product inquiry
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Message: Please send me an internet E-mail address so that I can send you
a picture of the index tabs that I am looking for. These cannot be
adequately described in words. Believe me, I have tried.

Just a note, that last one came via email. ba boom.
(although, honestly, if I could keep a running tab of how many times people call and then ask for the phone number...)

the pokey man

Yesterday I went to the acupuncturist for my carpal tunnel issues. Here's a comparison to what two of my co-workers went through and what I get:

Co-workers: sling and metal contraption that limits movements. This has to be worn for 2 months, then there's a check up and if there's no improvement it's worn for 4 more months. If there's still no improvement they recommend surgery.
Me: 30 minutes poked with needles while soft music plays on speakers. This will happen once a week for 4 weeks at which point the doctor says it will either be cured or 80% better. No surgery.

Co-workers: workmen's comp, hateful stares from the boss as comp insurance comes in to photo the workstations, forced time off with comp pay (only a percentage of regular pay)
Me: I take it easy for 24 hours after the treatment. No time off.

Co-workers: Insurance and comp pays the bills
Me: Ah, the rub. Turns out our insurance doesn't cover poking. But the total for the exam and the treatment was only $110.00. Compare that to the exam, x-rays, slings, MRI's and assorted peripheral of Western medicine and I'm still coming out ahead.

Here's a nutty thing: like a skeptic meeting a psychic I didn't believe much about this stuff until the doctor popped off with the proof. While taking my pulse he asked me "How's your appetite?" Sacre bleu! Ever since the friend's wedding I haven't been hungry -- I thought it was due to the altitude in Colorado, but it's been hanging on for the past week. "Your digestion is week," he said. He could tell just by taking my pulse.

Pussycats, I'm sold.

The one about the box is good too

I was supposed to be studying this morning, but instead the cousin/roommate sent me this link about a guy selling a car on eBay

Oh, and the box.

Much better than studying...