thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me

When I started T'ai Chi it was with the idea that I would somehow lose the frantic craziness that fills my head all the time. Stuff runs through my head constantly, like speeding down the Autobahn with a soundtrack made up of 1970's am radio. It isn't pretty, and it's always like I'm right on the verge of being completely manic. Swear. And when I started mixing up work and school, I knew that this kind of speed-thinking would get worse. So I signed in for the chi class and things were going great --

And then they changed the instructor.

Rather than take the second level class from someone new, I decided to continue on the original teacher, who is now my good friend Brian. And I stuck with Brian, because ... well, here was what I said at the time:

"I don't want to end of taking this from someone who does stick fighting or some weird thing like that."

You know the kind of guys I mean. The ones who have nunchucks in the truck of their Chevy Cavalier; the ones who are really Really REALLY serious about martial arts; guys with their own samurai swords (bought at The Magic Castle of Swords in Springfield) and call their room their "dojo"; guys who walk up to us in the park and show off their akido moves: "What would you do if I did this, man? Huh?"

That said ... ... I'm actually really enjoying this new Stick Chi. I have my own stick (it was in our back/side yard and looks like something broken off of an old shovel -- probably broken by the last tenants when they tried to dig that concrete out of the front yard) and it's loads of fun to swing that sucker around. It's kind of nutty to practice it in the public park and all, and it draws attention in a really embarrassing way, but it's a laugh and it works the same way as the regular chi, in terms of balancing the energy and yah yah yah. Not only that, but now I can break elbows with my hands or with my handy, dandy stick -- although most of the moves seem to concentrate on taking out knees.

I know ... I KNOW ... but when I pull the stick back like Mifune in Ichijoji no ketto and bring it around and down ... ooh la la, it's really satisfying.

I really don't think I'm going to go in for the sword practice though. I'll just end up sticking the cat or slicing off my own ear. And the idea of going into The Magic Castle of Swords to get a practice weapon ... ... no. no way.

I believe in America. America has made my fortune.

My good friend Wendy passed along her Associated Press Stylebook and Libel Manual for my continuing studies in Journalism. (Side note: she switched to the English Department when she discovered that the J-school was full of a-holes ... a studies change that I am also thinking about doing since the J-school is still full of a-holes.)

As of this summer my new goal is not to work for People or US (although I wouldn't turn them down, especially if offered the Stars Are Just Like Us segment in US). I've decided to aim much lower and go for a job at Star. There's much more creativity involved in a story at Star. My theory is that most stories are built around a photograph, or short series of photographs. The interviews are usually with people unconnected with the story ("Doctor has not treated Britney/Lindsay/Nicole/Paris/Paula Abdul") so it's really just so-and-so appears to be causing a scandal and what the general opinion is of the scandal or the so-and-so. It's totally made up. It's like creative non-fiction that's mostly fiction, but presented and believed to be non-fiction.

Which made Chapter 6 so much fun to read: "Don't try to fix a possibly libelous story by elimination, correction, sub or new lead. If there is any unprivileged or unsafe material in the story, the dangerous portion MUST BE KILLED ... It is not necessary to kill the entire item." fah ha ha -- Star has no such guideline, clearly. Nicole Richie looks anorexic ... she won't comment, the doctor interviewed has never treated her, but thinks she's anorexic, and there's no medical proof ... but there's the photo ... so ... uh ... okay RUN IT.

Working for Star has also cemented my desire to own a Cooper Mini convertible. My paparazzi can shoot out of the top of the car while we chase down the celebs. "You just get a photo! I'll make a story!"

A few hours after finishing the last entry, I had a phone call from a woman who had entered her address wrong on her order -- she told me she did it; we didn't do it wrong. I said "Are you sure?" and gave her every opportunity to blame us, but she wouldn't budge. She typed it wrong -- and was hysterical because she had to go to UPS to pick up her package. She was screaming at me on the phone that she wanted us to compensate her for the "misery and heartache" this caused her. And when I say screaming, I'm not exaggerating.

All we did was fill her order, man. That's it. That's all. We charged her card and shipped her stuff.

She said she was going to see that no one NO ONE ever bought from us again and that she would "blog your company into the GROUND."

Honestly, it was kind of cute to run into someone who still thinks that blogs are read by someone other than their mom ... ... although I don't think my mom reads mine. Anyway, I haven't found her blog yet or I'd link it, so looks like I beat her to posting.

Punchline: I was told to call her back and offer her a credit of $5.

Dude.

will these hands ne'er be clean?

Yesterday cousin/roommate and I had another blowup about why I'm an asshole, and it made me think of what makes other people assholes, and then I came into work and figured it out.

Every day some jerk is taking an inch out of me over stupid, trivial crap. It's usually because they think that the company I work for is somehow screwing them over, as if that was an American business policy. And that made me sad -- not only that people are "stupid, panicky animals" (to quote Tommy Lee Jones), but also because I take that home with me.

Jaysis, I was so relaxed after the vacation and it's completely blown apart after only 2 weeks back at work.

I know you're not supposed to take what these people say as a personal attack, but when the phone call starts with "I own my own business and you work for somebody else. Get it?" it's hard to let it roll off without some residual grime hanging on your neck. Today I asked someone for a correct phone number (the one on their order was wrong) and got this response: "You don't want to ship? - Fine! Cancel the Order! I'll buy from other merchants!"

I mean what the f**k is that?! Over a fecking phone number? It's crazy sad.

I need another vacation.

D. Wilton

You da best.

What I did on my summer vacation

It started with sleeping. Then packing. Then sleeping again. Then flying on a plane that had a salmon painted on the side of it (kooky Pacific Northwest).

Mom and I spent the first weekend blowing her $250 Nordstrom gift card on girly things like perfume, but it was nice to be treated like people at Nordstrom. Maybe it was my fake (?) Louis Vuitton handbag or mom's willingness to have anything sprayed on her wrist, but Linda at the perfume counter was so very nice to us, just like we could afford to actually shop there n' stuff. We picked up a really pretty Givenchy Organza Fleur d'Oranger 2006 and a sample of the best thing ever: Quelques Fleurs L'Original. Mon Dieux, it's absolutely lovely. When I make lots of dough working at People this is the first thing I'll buy, and not at one of those perfume-mania places either. We went to one in an outlet mall and their Quelques Fleurs did not smell the same as the Nordstrom sample ... of course, I might just be snobby and it did smell the same, but because one is Nordstrom and the other is Perfumania ... No. I'm sure it was different.

End of story: I'm hoarding every last drop of the sample until the People/Us/Star job comes through in 2 or 4 or 14 years.

Vegas was fun. I only lost $200.00, which is better than usual. Mom won as usual -- I swear, she can put a nickel in a penny machine and walk away with $60. It's amazing. I don't know how she does it. Maybe it's the lucky bracelet. Maybe it's the Virginia Slims Lights. I don't know. It's the 8th Wonder. We sat at the pool on the first day and turned this color, so we had to spend the second day gambling (feck). Thursday I had a lovely Trout Grenobloise with Escargots de Bourgogne and a fine chardonnay for my birfday dinner (followed by Carls Jr. chicken strips and french fries on the actual birthday), and, all together, even with the saucy/embarrassing dinner discussions and gambling losses, a very fine trip.

It's good to hang out with the parental units too. I got a whole week with mom and a few days with pop. We watched movies (caught up on dvds with "The DaVinci Code" and "The Devil Wears Prada") and went to the show ("Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix") and finished the week with reading the last 15 pages of the latest Potter book. I know who dies. Done and done.

And the little brother -- it's always a pleasure to hang out with the most neurotic wiener dog in California.

Sleepy pets on beds. That sums up the summer so far.

Oh, and I finished reading Dante's Divine Comedy: Hell and On Her Majesty's Secret Service while in Vegas -- one more book and I'm done with the Library Summer Reading for Adults 2007. WHOO HOO! Does reading the end of Harry Potter count?

Back. Lost. (typical) Need dough so work now, blog later.

40's not so bad. Go figure.

that is all.

Training for the BIG WEEK

This is from a Golden Boy press conference call with 42 year-old Bernard Hopkins, who fighting next weekend in Mandalay Bay, Vegas:

I think that, you know, in the course of Bernard Hopkins being native born (ph), something split inside my system that, you know, that I guess extended where I’m at. I’m saying it’s like when you’re young, you know, you ate the bad foods, the candy bars, and stuff like that. I figured this is genetics; I figure it comes all the way back to genetics, and also taking care of yourself, and also being a guy that, you know, understands the sport, the physical part of the sport.

A strange and yet inspiring note for those of us turning 40. It's genetics. That's all. And taking care of yourself ... even though you ate junk as a kid. But take care of yourself now and genetics will see you through ... and understanding the physical part of the sport, which I do ... I just don't actually do it. But I understand it.
Amen.

He also said Winky's calling him a "dirty fighter" is sending out a subliminal message "that if things get rough and if things get tough, that he’s going to be a bitch that and he’s going to start crying" hahahahahahaha

Man, I loves the Executioner. He can be a dirty fighter sometimes tho'... Think there's a chance I'll run into him on the Strip? Mom once met Larry Holmes at Caesar's Palace, so I'll take her along. She's got Vegas-Boxer luck.

Last day of work and then tomorrow I'll celebrate with a trip to Wienerschnitzel in Huntington Beach. WHOO HOO!

Blows, but don't suck

Had the broken tooth pulled yesterday and went through a box of gauze trying to get it to stop bleeding. Old women in Bi-Mart pitied me while I waited for my Vicodin. I've never taken Vicodin before. It gets rid of the toof pain, but gave me a headache. I don't know if that's how it's supposed to work, but there you are. The tragic beauty of balance.

5 more days until vacation. 10 days until I'm 40.

I guess that Vicodin's kicking in after all. I feel zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I had a dream...

Last night Barack Obama and his family had dinner at my parent's house. This is not the first presidential candidate dream I've ever had, and it's weird how they keep happening in Huntington Beach at my parent's house. Even better, they end with my dad becoming a Democrat. Every time.

My mother and I ran into the Obamas while shopping for desks and pianos at a garage sale, and mom invited them over for dinner. We had a lovely roast and watched "Tennessee Johnson" on Turner Classic Movies, which led to a strange discussion over whether or not the Civil War was ultimately good for America.

I don't think I've ever seen more than 5 minutes of "Tennessee Johnson" ... but I get Johnson confused with Andrew Jackson all the time. ... ... just so's you know.

Run for Life

Results have been posted for the 2007 Butte to Butte. The older brother (737 out of 1959) came in at 1:09:35, while the cousin/roommate (1019) and I (1020) pulled in a (fairly) respectable 1:14:38 and 1:14:44.How I ended up 6 seconds slower than the guy I was walking next to is still a mystery, but the brother definitely dropped us going into the 3rd mile of the walk. That's only fair. I was getting a stitch and I've developed some kind of weird tendon-pain-thing in the left foot, so there was no way I was going to race him to stay ahead.

All-in-all, we appear to be in the middle to the end of the walkers -- the fastest was an absurd 28:34 -- it was 4.5 miles! I know this guy took a subway. He finished before the first runner ... there's no way -- and the slowest was 1:40:55.

Health, health, health. And then we went and had beer and tequila tonics.

Had a good time with the brother. It doesn't look like he'll be moving up here now that he's on the fast track for a promotion at work. But I know that one day he'll fold, just like the others down there in Cali. He could double the size of his house for half the cost and not pay sales tax or pump his own gas. Oh yeah. He'll move.

Honesty is the best policy

Found this on Craig's List ...

I am an italian 39 years old and I live in Avellino near Naples. I live in Italy but I would like to live and to work in USA. I have been in Boston many time and I love the USA. The easiest way for me to do this is to marry an American woman, between the ages of 28-45 that is believable to INS, to get the permanent residency ( Green Card ). I am interested both a serious relationship and a business relationship; about business relationship logically you might continue to do the same life and after 3 years we can divorce if you like, else if we like us after that we have get to know us then we can live together. Anyway, if you think that you can help me also in another way then answer me, please. I am 5'7'' tall and athletic body, genuine and easygoing guy who is following his American dream for ages. I am single, never married and I have not children. I am electronic technician who loves music, soccer, going out, wine and conversation. I am hardworking and I can do many different types of jobs. Well, if you are interested to get to know me replay me. Ciao e a presto!

Changing Rooms has been here

We didn't add a window in the living room. The last photo is of the other side of the living room, because I thought it was pretty. So long dusty coral or dirty rose or whatever Walmart bucket paint color that was.

And so long ghosts too, apparently. There seems to be a wee one hanging around my bedroom, but I can't see any in the other photos. The chair/bedroom photo shows the cat's scratch post -- you know, I'm not a photographer. I got the dirty clothes out of the way, but the scratch post is kind of like an ottoman for the chair, so ... whatever.

And, yeah, that's my Phil Oakey/Giorgio Moroder 12" single next to the record player. What of it? Sure, it was a bad song in 1984 and has not aged like wine or cheese (maybe a little like cheese), but in my office, it helps make the magic happen. So there.

Don't Stop Slee-eepin'

A, A, A-, just so's ya know. This college junk is a snap! Since finishing the year last Thursday I've done a lot

of sleeping.

The narcolepsy is back. Wake up, sleep, wake up, nap, work some, sleep, go back to work, nap, get up, go to bed.

It's like I'm trying to catch up on 10 weeks of sleep deprivation by taking a constant nap. When I'm awake I'm cranky like a 2 year-old. I haven't yet started the round of friend calling either. The day's gone before I even get moving. Coffee helps a little ... to make me an anxious cranky 2 year-old.

Summer Reading Series:
I started with Richard Wright's "Black Boy" and I'm not sure if this will be the summer of the American author or not. I've got plenty to get through, but I've got a hankering to get into that Nick Hornby one from last year. Maybe it'll be the summer of the boy author. Maybe I'll just randomly select books from the giant pile and burn through as many as I can before September. Effin' A, tho ... "Black Boy" is a serious bummer. I'll need some Jeeves to bounce me back when it's over.

Found the camera hook-up and the software, now I've got to photo and load. When will the work end ohhhhhhhhh Godddddddddddddddddddddd

25 days to the Vegas trip

I passed! I passed! I passed that m&$^@#-f(&%@$ grammar test!

DRINKS for all my friennnnnnnnnnnnnds.

Est-ce que j'ai mentionné combien j'aime Charles Aznavour ?

Other People's Mail

I'm not breaking the law. I don't think catalogs count as mail. Most of the time they include "or current resident" so it's okay. Right? Maybe not, but I love wayward mail that doesn't get forwarded. There's always the odd bank statement (you'd think something like that you'd be a little more careful about) and investment and 401k statements which get scratched with "NOT AT THIS ADDRESS" and popped in a mailbox, but there's not much you can do with catalogs.

At the last house we would get fluffy pajama catalogs for a while and Popcorn Factory and that one with the pens. I had JCrew (I'll need to get a new one .... hmm ...), but I pity the people picking up my selection of Anthropologie catalogs now. In this house it's come-ons for strange, obscure magazines and lovely Buddha gifts from The Monastery Store.

Maybe it's because it's from Dharma Communications, which gives me that Lost vibe, but I had to check out The Monastery Store stuff. No plain-wrapped chips or peanut butter, but some fun mountain seats, some helpful meditation timers so you don't over do it, and this fantastic Tibetan Meditation Cloak that I can see myself living in or building a fort out of during the winter. Honestly, I do this with my blankets for 4 months out of the year. Might as well make it official. The Malas are pretty, but it makes me think of "King Kong" and the word for friend. "He says we've ruined the ceremony ... Mala. Mala." I like the Beginner's Practice Kit as well, but only for the copy: "Everything you need to jumpstart your practice into stillness." [copyright © Dharma Communications.] Wait ... what ... jumpstart to stillness? Is that one of those nutty Zen ironies?

Manic peace to you all.

When it comes to Paris, I'm just like any other blogger

Sure, it's a media circus. Yes, justice in the country is a complete sham. No, if she was poor she would not have been given special treatment. Yes, it's stupid that so much fecking time and resources are spent on this story.

Ma dai! Celebrities that cry about not having privacy are crazy. Sugars, what are you thinking? You dress in fancy clothes, get your make up done and your hair set by professionals paid just to do that for you, and you live a life that most of us probably will never experience. It's a total fair tale. Then maybe you break the law or shoplift a scarf or lower yourself in some fashion, and, yeah, maybe it is weird for you to get your head around the fact that you would suddenly have to live a non-fairy tale life. It would be like me winning the lottery.

But since Roman emperors had their likeness carved and erected in the public square, certain people want attention and get it and everyone knows who they are (except for my friend Steven, who I think is now aware of Paris Hilton, but, like the rest of us, is unsure of why she's a celebrity), and these people are watched and studied and admired and hated. Trouble is, you can't turn it off, my pets. If you could, Princess Diana would probably be alive.

I'm going to by a weed digger-outer now.

schoooooooooool's out for SumMER

I still have that grammar test and a paper to write for history, but since Italian is all done and we're watching movies in the Lit class, it already feels like the semester is over. For Sophomore goings-on, it didn't suck. I've had worse years. There were ups (Info Hell) and downs (Visual Communication), but it all seemed to balance out.

It's sad to think that I'm halfway through the process. I'm not scared of graduation in the sense that it means "going into the real world" but I don't like the idea of paying off the student loans. It's also hard to put together internships or journalism work experience with my present job. I've got the application for the Emerald and I know I need to get something in print, but I've gotta pay the rent, man. feck. Although, honestly, there's always graduate school.

Or Cash Cab.

All of my troubles would be solved if I could just get on Cash Cab.

sing. sing a song.

Today I went to Target and bought my own record player for the upstairs library.

I wanted something to play while I worked on the PC, but mostly it was because my records were pariah to the cousin/roommate's nice stereo. Sure, not everyone likes Andy Gibb and I know I'm the only one holding onto the virtues "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard. I get it and I've got no problem with that. And most of my records are in good condition, but I liked to play them. A lot. So some are a little more worn out than others and it would irritate the cousin/roommate to hear his millionaire needle scratching over the top of "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves". Now that I'm upstairs I'm indulging in a gluttony of great records without the guilt of sharing crap with everyone or bouncing the needle. And the player was hella cheap, so I'm not worried about playing scratchy stuff like Bobby Sherman on it. The replacement needles are $15. No diamond tips here, for sure.

So, I started with "Love and Pride" by King and followed up with "Afternoon Delight" by the Starlight Vocal Band. Now it's The Carpenters. Yeah, they're corny, but "Superstar" is a bomb song. "Rainy Days and Sundays" ... who could not like these songs? "When they get to the part/Where he's breakin' her heart/It can really make me cry..."

They remind me of my late Aunt Florence. I didn't like her much because she was kind of loud and rough and pushy, but when she died my cousin told me how much her mom loved The Carpenters. Now I think of her every time I put the record on and it makes me appreciate Aunt Florence more than I did while she was alive. She arranged for a beer truck at her funeral -- that's right, a truck full of beer with taps on the side. She was loud and pushy and rough, but she also had some shine.

That's what The Carpenters will do for you, man.

Amen.

Hard Cheese (melted)

Can't post pictures because it involves either setting up the computer with the camera software or finding the camera software. Since we have been unable to find the pepper, finding the software is not as easy as it sounds.

I think it might be in the box with the pepper.

It's suddenly summer in Eugene -- that time of year when it goes from crappy rain to sunburn hot in one day. The house, turns out, is really hot upstairs. To top it off, it's only been about 80 - 85 degrees. I'm thinking of warning the parental units against visiting in August unless they want to lose a few pounds. There's an air conditioner that was left on the floor of my room ... but it's kind of ... erm ... well ... like everything here, I'm afraid of installing it and have it break the window or suck in a bird or whatever. But, then again, it's hot, hot, hot.

Oh decisions.

This week's house thing: the last tenants had cleaned the oven with an oven cleaner (good) that had never been wiped off (bad), which led to some toxic-ness, which was fixed (like everything because I suck at fixing stuff) by the cousin/roommate. And the oven timer doesn't work, but it also doesn't turn off. We're on 11 hours and it's still running down there. But, it works and that's a Good Thing.

Memorial Day

Haven't really been able to put anything away yet, but the plumbing works now and the refrigerator has been cleaned by the cousin/roommate, so we're good for today. It's a holiday weekend, so I'm not saying that everything will run smoothly, but for now we're all good. I should have the books sorted and shelved by mid-July.

In Memoriam:
Everything is now moved from the old house into the new house ... and I'll miss Jackson St. in some ways. Not so much in the winter, pretty though it is in this picture, but my room, which was not in the direct path of the fire-heat, was usually about 5 degrees colder than outside on days like this.

Still, it was yar.

Won't miss the screaming child on the left or the passive-aggressive bickersons on the right and their many, many, many, many, many home improvement projects. Sure, give me drug dealers any flippin' day of the week over that crap.

Before/After pictures coming soon.

In and nothing like Flynn

Bitch post, so look out.

We've moved in and so far:
- the phones really don't work (we have 2 that do in all 7 rooms (not counting garage or bathrooms). isn't that funny? I'm psychic!
- there's a leak coming from somewhere. we don't know where. so I had to come downstairs to shower this morning at 4 am and I'm not happy about it, mostly because the increasing drip seems to prove what I've said all along which is it doesn't effing matter if I use upstairs or downstairs, because it's going to leak either way, but now I'm cranky and my hair is wet in weird places where it was supposed to be dry and and and and and
- and the refrigerator doesn't work. our milk is in the freezer

oh, but the rototiller guys are coming to fix the front yard, which is nice, because it looks like pants, but I feel bad throwing a plumber and a new refrigerator at the landlord since he's already shelling out for the yard.

What's good is having friends to help you move and stop you from crying.

And, honestly, I kind oflike sitting on the living room floor and using an upside-down soup pot for a desk. It's cosy and bohemian. I guess that's weird, but there you are.

Now I have to figure out where I put my house keys yesterday.

Last blog before the move. Tomorrow all goes off to go on again at some point this weekend. The prospect of a day without Internet or television is really jacking with my head. But, there's nothing too exciting on Turner ("3 Worlds of Gulliver" ... as if ...) and I've missed "Most Haunted" for the last 8 weeks, so I think I'll be okay for tomorrow. But what if it's not hooked up by Saturday? OR SUNDAY?

No ... no ... I've got homework to do, and the books are moved but not filed by country, author and year yet. Oh and putting the bed together, sure. That's important. And food. I guess at some point we should buy food and stop eating out of greasy bags. (side note: greasy bag food depression is not a myth.)

I can't believe how often I used to move when I was younger. I swear it was every other day. My friend Kelly and I are in a race to see who can fill the other's address book section first. It's double-dipping now that she's moved out of the C's and into the F's. But, yeah, what a flippin' drag packing, moving, unpacking. Next time I'm just selling this shite in the yard.

Fingers cross that the cable works over there.

Moving = Good: I found my bowling ball!

Moving = Bad: everything else.

As an addendum to the last post, cousin/roommate has met the meth-addict drug dealers from across the street. One of them came to the door today looking for "Michael" ... is that what the kids call it now? I still maintain that there are few neighborhoods in Eugene that don't have some form of drug traffic. Go your own way, crack heads, just don't touch our stuff. The days of peeing on the lawn are over. Human beings live here now.

"You guys were lucky"

I feel like I'm working 3 jobs. That house is a disaster. This is our second week of painting, cleaning and fixing. This is after the cleaning lady and the handy man have been there. According to our neighbors, for the past few years it's been a party house. They've been subjected to broken windows and public urination, not to mention issues with garbage -- our next-door neighbor came over to tell us how happy she was to see that we had trash cans (!) because the last group of people would just let it pile up in the side yard (!!) -- which I discovered decomposing yesterday while pulling up some plastic sheeting (!!!) ... the horror ... it might make for some good compost though.

Speaking of, the yard container is already full of weeds and plants that ... dear God ... I can't even begin really ... I chopped down weeds yesterday -- CHOPPED DOWN -- that were the size of a greyhound.

The punchline: our landlord told us that we were lucky because he has 2 other houses up for rent that were abandoned by the tenants and are a mess.

Not like our house.

Chico

I still can't get my head around the idea that Diego Corrales is dead. I wanted to find a picture for the blog, but maybe it's better not to put one. He could look really bad in a fight.

He was mouthy, but I liked him.

It just seems kind of stupid that he's dead.

That's all.

yin and yin and yang and yang

Yin: Earned an A+ on my paper about World War II trauma (I used pictures)
Yin: Some letter came in the mail saying I've won a university award (but they don't want to tell me what the award is because it would ruin the surprise so I've got to eat some dry chicken at a luncheon to find out -- the award ceremony is when? when? on moving day, that's right.)
Yang: Then Mal's bike was stolen FROM OUR BACKYARD and I'm still not sure which part of that upsets me more: bike or backyard.
Yang: There was another yang and now I can't remember what it is ... there, see? It's all passing. All of life is suffering, but suffering can be alleviated.

that is all

Signori e signore we have a HOUSE

Okay, so we went a little crazy and rented this 5 (really 4) bedroom house by the fairgrounds.


2, count 'em, 2 bathrooms! Plus library, big living room, appliance garage in the kitchen (note appliance garage at the corner of the counter and the awesome '50s decor)




But there's also some weird stuff, which might explain why it's so cheap:

Upstairs room, lots of light, dead bird in crawlspace ... What the? Oh wait, it's a bird made of wood. Wooden bird in crawlspace? What the?

And then there's this photo. This is our living room. In the top, center are (according to "Most Haunted") light anomalies. (The patchy blotch on the left is a patchy blotch left by the last tenants, so it doesn't count.)











There's another one in my bedroom. If you concentrate, you can see it in the right corner of the picture, just above the line where the ceiling starts.







Ghosts? whoa ... cool...

Nonrebel With a Cause

I'm starting to get really, really aggravated over the house situation. There is f-all going on in this town that doesn't already have 30 college kids arm-wrestling over it. We're reaching the point where I'm going to have to cry on the phone to the landlord and ask for another month and I'm tired of fecking crying on the phone to landlords! wahh wahhh please rent to us. wahh wahh she's just a small cat. I can't believe that it's harder to find a house in Eugene than it was to find an apartment in San Francisco. That's really weird to me.

In 20C Lit yesterday we started watching "Rebel Without a Cause" because it features the weakening of the American male after World War II (which, honestly, you can get from just about any Nicholas Ray film) and when Jim tells the cop and future Chief of C.O.N.T.R.O.L. that he "just wants to hit something" I thought ... yeah ... me too ... Although I suspect that if I tried to beat up a desk (or loaf of bread) my reaction would be the same as Jim's

only more so.

Pet(s) Okay?

Still no house yet. We have to wait until Tuesday for a final answer on the second house we looked at (the more expensive one ... payday is coming soon ...). The first one ... well ... we have to wait for 2 other people to say they don't want it or that the property management place doesn't want them. Maybe I'll call on Monday if I've got any confidence saved up.

Consulted a different psychic after getting crossed out by the one at Saturday Market. Most of the reading was about what I expected (I'm bored ... I should stay in school ... I need to eat healthier), but then there's this excellent paragraph:

I also see around you a white dog with black spots...not a dalmatian its smaller than that but a dog I can't quite pinpoint and I feel like this is a creature that came into your life by accident/surprise (or will soon) but he just grabs onto you and it feels like you are this animals confidante – it immediately trusts you and becomes your shadow.

Yes! Somehow I don't think Cat will be as excited about it...

G-A-N-K : Gank

Fecking students keep getting into houses before we do. We looked at a second one today and were told that a list of people had seen it ahead of us. These are places that only just opened for rent -- the one we looked at yesterday had only opened up YESTERDAY and we were already behind 2 other sets of renters in the approval process ("If they decide they don't want it, we'll give you a call.")

I offered to throw a wad of cash at the landlady in this second house. She seemed both shocked and excited all at the same time. I felt dirty.

The place is big and spacious, but apparently a herd of rhino just moved out. I'll still claw, beg and shell out $3200 for it though. Why?

Forced. Air. Gas. Heat.

fecking paradise in Eugene, man.

ABC - Always Be Closing

Aside from buying a new paper towel holder (why is that always necessary?), the worst part of moving is the dough you've got to fork out on move-in fees.

We're looking at a house today and if we like it here's what we have to come up with to seal the deal:
$925 1st month
$850 security
$300 pet (dude, she's just a cat)
$125 cleaning
$75 carpet
cha-ching: $2275 / 2 = $1137.50 ea

Which will, in short, empty my bank account. We get $200 ea back on this place, but I'm sure we'll need that to buy a new paper towel holder.

So, to my friends and family who have not received birthday presents or only received a card at Christmas, I want to say thank you for giving me a roof over my head. My lack of time management ("what? it's your birthday today??") with regard to birthdays/holidays/important occasions has made this move possible.

Vegas ... well, this leaves me about $34.50 for gambling in Vegas and lots of opportunities for hanging out at the pool. Allora...

the heave-ho

Landlord sent us a note today. He's selling the house in June and we have to be out by the end of May. The sweet pea I just planted is starting to shoot, my anemone has risen from the dead of winter and is showing signs of new growth, the daisies I put in last year have doubled and Golden Showers has 4 times as many roses on it than it had last year and the white fly hasn't come back to eat it yet! Cahhhhhhhhh we'll have to move the remains of the boonie, Sarafina, lovingly put to rest in the back yard.

It's daunting and painful, although I'm not as panicked now as I was at noon today. But, feck! I'm going to miss this place. It's wee and cold in the winter (cold right now in fact), but it's been home for almost 4 years and I've gotten used to it.


[So it goes.]

email of the day

Looking for /boorum & pease
Standard # 12 Record Ledger
500 pages.margin line.
Last ledger purchased in 1866.
now in need of 2nd volume.

psyche!

Saturday Market started today, which means fresh parsley in the tortilla rolls tonight (whoo hoo). And I finally worked up the nerve to put my name down on the waiting list for the psychic next to the sushi station (or is it the crepe place ... non lo so ... anyway). She looks like she knows her business and doesn't have "Affirmation Station" or angel voices advertised on her booth, so I figure she probably rates a little higher than the other ones. My time was 11:20. I get there at 11:10 and her customers from 11:00 leave, but there are some friends who have stopped by to chit-chat, so I wait, and some woman walks up and I think she's with the chit-chatters, but she's not because she stops at the list and picks up the pen ....... and then she sits down. And I wait a bit and psychic starts to flip her cards and she asks woman "remind me when your birthday is again" and it's a feckin' reading. So I check the list and my name has been crossed out (!).

Dude, if she's not psychic enough to know that I was muscled out then she clearly isn't psychic enough to tell me anything worth $20.

yin and yang

the english class is going to be okay, so far. we're watching movies and reading books and i can dig that, so everything was balancing out from the emergency on monday and then my cd rom is broken in my history book and i can't find the effing receipt to effing return it and half of the effing class is on that effing cd and i've emailed my gtf to see if i can burn his disc, but i feel like i'm asking him to rob a bank or something even though it's not like i didn't buy the book and want the material, i paid my money and the book is fecking defective, so it's not against the law but it feels like it's against the law and i was a dork in italian today, which is not unusual in and of itself because it happens lots of times, but it was glaring and idiotic and that doesn't go well with me and it makes minor irritations like this monumental and i cry like the little boy in "parenthood" ("MY RETAINER!").

so where's the good luck? some year of the pig. it's all gone downhill and pear-shaped so far.

cah ... i want some ice cream.

CRAP

Just now realized that the sign language class I'd registered for was ADVANCED sign language (the syllabus had information about interpreting myths on video -- what the?). There was a pre-requisite of CDS 169. Yeah. I haven't taken that class -- Why the hell didn't the system stop me?!?!?!? So I had to scramble to find something to fill the spot: 20c Lit ... we're reading The Bell Jar and Malamud ... and Hiroshima ... dear God. I'm going to need some Prozac.

I don't hate kids, I just don't respect them. It's not the same thing.

Okay, so I was totally irritated on Saturday. It can all be brought down to one obnoxious kid in Old Navy, but that's all it takes when you have low blood sugar. I came home, had some left over #20 Special from Vietnam, bitched about it in the blog, sang along with "No Sleep Till Brooklyn" and everything was suddenly all better.
And, yes, I was behind that one obnoxious kid in Old Navy. He shouted "MINE" at his mother throughout the store-- in the dressing room (where it was actually "NO" and "I WANT it!"), in the aisles, in the line to check out ... and his mother's response was always an inefficient "shh shh shh -- hey, [fill in sister's name] these are on sale." So, when I was waiting behind them in line to check out I gave him a look that showed how he was becoming the camel that broke the straw's back. He quickly shut up, but the bitter aftertaste clearly remained until I got home. Feckin' hell, why do I have to shut up other people's children?

Today is the first day of school. I did nothing of worth during Spring Break (except buy 4 tank tops at Old Navy -- they actually had the nice colors in size Medium for the first -- and probably last -- time ever) and now I'm going back into the books for another 10 weeks. Bene. Allora.

Baby Bust - or How Shopping Can Sometimes Suck

I'm tired of hearing about, listening to, being bombarded on the Internet, television and other media by, and the constant discussion of babies and children.

You with kids, you go and have your family and peace on the path. You teach your offspring all that you've learned and pass on your experiences. Fa bene. But stop telling me about it and for the love of God, stop trying to convince me that my life is somehow empty without a baby. This is directed less at people I know (because people I know don't generally do that) than at the media who keep pushing children at me left and right in commercials, on billboards, and every flippin' time I open up Yahoo.

This is why I love old movies. They feature adults doing adult things without the hindrance of perky moppets (apart from that kid in "Three On a Match" whose screeching cuteness is perfectly matched with Ann Dvorak's plunge into adultery, alcoholism and drug addiction -- all within the space of an hour!).

And those out there in the retail stores with your screaming, howling, drooling, animal children, if you don't speak to your beast about his or her lack of good behavior, I will speak to them, because I don't give a damn if you think I'm butting in on your parenting (or lack thereof) skills. Let's face it, if I have do it for you, then clearly, you must suck at it.

that is all.

Quarterly Report

3 months down, 9 to go. Not a bad year so far. Grades came in 2 A's and 2 B's, which is legit and better in some ways than expected, but it means that I rated a B- or C on my final project in J204 (went in with an A-). Whatever. I never have to take that class again, so I won't go on about how I WORKED MY ASS OFF on the project, because I'm bigger than that.

My Friday nights are free for sleeping now, instead of sitting in front of a flippin' Mac at school, and that's all that matters.

This time off is making me extra cranky about work though. 8 hours of people barking at me on the phone with stupid questions ("When am I getting my order?" It's scheduled for delivery today. "Can't I get it any faster than that?" or last week's favorite: "Do you have any Jamaicans working there?" what the f...?). T'ai Chi Man says I should keep the Dalai Lama in mind and consider these customers as people who are "helping me with my patience". I wonder how long the Dalai Lama would last in retail. You know that mommy-swap show? There needs to be (if there isn't already) a work-swap show. The D.L. and I can trade. Or the Pope. I've always wanted to be the Papal See. It would look good on business cards.

L'il Hateful
Papal See
Seeing the world for over 1,000 years

Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo

Spring break has started. As of this morning I have had a full 12 hours of sleep, I'm 3/4 of the way through Sartre's "Intimacy" and I've just finished a satisfying cup of coffee that was not brewed by a barista.

I predict boredom by 2 pm today.

The Ducks are now moving on -- I actually intended to watch the game last night. I thought I did very well last Sunday. I didn't get involved. I think I only barked once at the television and it was positive ("YEAH!"), so I thought I could handle it. Then I watched Vanderbilt/Georgetown and realized that I'm not ready. That a-hole was fecking traveling AND that was a g-damned foul at the end! WHERE THE HELL WAS OUR FREE THROW? The 'dores were robbed. I turned it off, focused on Sartre and went to bed. Now the Ducks are in the Elite 8 and I'm going to burst a blood vessel. I know it. If they get into the Final Four and have to play UNC ... ... I'm just going to have to leave the country or find a cave or turn into Tommy.

Here's what happened: The test was only half about grammar usage. The other half was defining and identifying grammar terms. 20 years ago in high school I would be able to tell you what a prepositional phrase is or a subordinate clause or any of that other junk. Now? Now I had to guess. But, honestly, is the editor of the Small Town Bee going to tell you to fix the spelling on that sentence and make it PUNCH out of the page? Or are they going to say "Can you change the gerund in the second independent clause to an intransitive verb?" Honestly.

I don't think I'm giving anything away on this blog. Those who actually get into the class will be told to study what I'm blogging about now. It's not like I'm putting down actual questions (although I can remember 2 of them and I'll sell them for $1 a piece).

I can take the test again, so now that I know what I'm up against I'm buying the book that goes with the grammar class (the class was full). By the way, the book is $78.25 and it's written by the professor of the class and it comes with a workbook, which means that there are no used ones, which ... hey ... wait a minute .......)

STUDENT EXPOSES TEXTBOOK SCAM

I didn't pass the grammar test.

Stop me, oh-ho-ho stop me. Stop me if you think you've heard this one befor-or-ore

Today I traded in 5 semesters worth of books. They gave me $123.00 for them.

Then I got rooked for $83 on my books for the next term.

My math is bad, but ...

And well-done Commodores! Sail on honey.
('n stuff)

Tear That Bracket A New One

Gee ... Duke lost. Gosh. I'm all choked up.

I was asked today how my bracket was doing and had to explain that it's like asking someone in AA what they think of vodka: Love it, but can't touch it.

Had to quit the NCAA for a time. After crying at the table at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino, Las Vegas (while my friend Don was yelling at the television "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU'RE THROWING IT AWAY!"), I decided it was time to stop watching the tournament. That was about 7 years ago, but even now when I catch a single play I get stressed out and emotional -- even if it's Old Dominion vs. Rutgers. "Come ON, Old D., what the hell kind of defense is that! You mother-f--kers! DO IT!"

It's not pretty. But it's okay to check the scores after the fact and dance on the dead giant's head when they DROP like a bag of dirt in the first round. (Okay, I know it was close, but still, DROPPED, yo.)

I'm in no mood to go to school today.

School is stupit. Want sleep.

And sun. Can the sun come out? pleeeeeeeeese.

I just answered this email:

"Our 11 month old just swallowed the
tip off the "accent" neon marker.
Is it poisonious? Should we call a
doctor?"

What the f...? What was your 11 month-old doing with a highlighter pen and how did he get the tip off it? And why are you emailing a retail company for advice on a Sunday? [EMAILING by the way - not calling, but email. What the hell?]

Makes me feel smarter tho'.

bring out your dead

It used to be that the word "cemetary" would make me sparkle with glee. It's not so much now, but the old flame still burns from time to time.

This came via a link from another link:
Russian Mafia Tombs

This one is my favorite:

epifanny

I've decided that journalism is just selling dope and lying to suckers. It's a career in RETAIL!

What a bunch of poo.

I'm switching to something useful like anthropology or biochemistry or medieval literature. Journalism is for a-holes.

I'm cranky.

Just a couple more things and then, I swear, I'll stop blogging today.

Montoya spins teammate, wins Busch Series race

Surprised? Anyone?

Boxer Burgos survives surgery but in coma after loss to Aussie

crap.

And to my friends, I apologize for wondering about Michael Buffer's skills in bed this weekend. That was one of those "Shite! Did that come out of my mouth?" moments. It was the beer talking.

Yo Lo Tango

During t'ai chi practice we sometimes get interrupted by people who want to use the room we're in. Since we're space-squatters we let people in, but most of the time they're working on karate or hip-hop dance or something that crowds us out.

Last Friday we had tango dancers.

It was kind of crazy at first to try and focus the chi while listening to Astor Piazzolla, but then it started to sink in and it turns out that Astor's really great for chi'ing ... I think so anyway. And maybe they think so in China. Based on what I've learned in Chinese Religions (aside from other, more important things) in Chinese parks they'll have t'ai chi in one corner and ballroom dancing in the other corner. Maybe they tango ... could be ...

These guys were really good too. I know, weird that two men were dancing a tango, but they would switch off leading. Did the back kicks and everything.

I think the instructor was my Uncle Bob.

8 8 I forget what 8 is for

No idea what to blog about. This is your brain on blog. I would like to throw a bone back to the dreamblog and add that I had a dream last night that Jack Nicholson was part of a group of zombies who invaded a small California town. They wanted me to open the safe in the office of the PTA (run by Jessica Lange -- what the?). Turns out zombies are afraid of fire. Go figure.

Finishing up school over the next 2 weeks for the big 1 week spring break whooooooooooo! which will be spent at work (whoo). I get to be in Claudia's Italian class next term and I can't get into Writing for the Media until I pass the grammar exam. I thinks; that'll not be, a problem, but I wish I could register for it now and have something to look forward to in the spring. Right now I've got the most frustrating Italian class ever, African American History (where my whitey ancestors will take a deserved beating -- my family came over on the boat loooonnnng after slavery. We brought you pasta, whiskey, step dancing and the notion of vendetta, so no blame on me, man) and the Evolving Earth, which I'm sure will be much more fun than Writing for the Media. "And then the volcanoes beneath the ocean surface zzzzzzzzzzzzz." I really wanted to take Monkeys & Apes, but I couldn't find it. Paleoprimatology sounds close ... or maybe it just sounds really cool. "What are you taking this term?" "The usual ... Italian, History, Paleoprimatology ... you know."

Blog & Order: CI (crisis of intent)

DUDE! they took The Little Match Girl off of YouTube, so now I can't even give mom something to cry over. And they only have a promo for West Bank Story instead of the whole thing. Freedom's just another word for they've got money they don't want to lose.

This Journalism thing isn't really working out. Maybe it is. I don't know. I've got that slacker "I don't want to friggin' work anymore" feeling and it's combining with the "I don't want to work at this to work at other stuff anymore" feeling. I'm busting my a for a C grade and it's really, really irritating me. According to my midterm progress the only thing I can do is write (hey zeus, I even get A's on my Italian essays), but they keep drumming it into us that that's not enough to "make it" out there. Crap. Maybe I'm just having a hard time with allergies or the fact that winter won't go away or because we watched The Rockford Files in class last week and I keep remembering how fun LA was, but knowing that the Jim Rockford LA is long gone and it's been replaced by the Paris Hilton/Lindsey Lohan LA ... I don't know. SAD

But Alan Arkin was my role-model when I was a kid (maybe still is, really) and it was good to see him get thrown a bone. Am I the only one that owns his book "The Lemming Condition"? Buy it. Everyone needs to buy it. And, yeah, it really is about lemmings. I keep it by the bed.

On the title, I'm totally sold on old re-runs of Law & Order: CI. I've only seen 2, sure, but they were a good 2. I'd have watched sooner if I'd known that Jonesy was in it. ("It was Paganini.")

I don't really like Burt Lancaster much. He had no upper lip and I always picture him in a swimsuit running through fields like a Bruce Webber photo.

And that disturbs me.

But he just uttered this fantastic line in "From Here to Eternity" and it's not the line so much as the delivery. Say it fast and clipped like Burt and you'll see what I mean.

"What makes you think I'd think a thing like that"

Brilliant.

shrovin' shrovin' shrovin'

Here begineth Lent. Although, due to the flu thing, I did not have a big hamburger yesterday like I usually do, and, actually, for lunch it was this vegan pad thai thing at school (which didn't sit well at first ... stomach rebellion at the lack of food rebellion maybe).

So for 40 days it's time to fast and give up something (um ... I give up passing J204 and casual sex) and confess. In the tradition of my first confession, which was in the glass-doored lobby of the church, I'm going to make this in the glass room of Blogger:

Bless me Blogger for I have sinned. It's been (1 ... 2 ... 3 ...) 28 years since my last confession. In that time I have --

• Frequently used the Lord's name in vain and had other gods (Owen Wilson, Kimi Raikkonen, Robert Louis Stevenson) before Thee. (So that's the first four right there, although I don't think I've made any images of them. I have images, but I didn't make them.)
• I keep the Sabbath Day holy ... for Formula 1 racing.
• I like my mother and father a lot, but I'm not sure if I honor them. I guess I do, so we're all good on that one.
• Haven't killed anyone ... that I'm aware of. If I did something, like if I cut off a guy on the freeway and then he went home and kicked his dog who ran away and bit a child who grew up with fear psychosis and turned into a serial killer ... where would that fit in?
  
• Adultery ... uh ... what are the technicalities? I might be guilty of a technicality.
  
• Jesus (oops! sorry...) I've stolen a lot of Branch's candy since I was a kid. I don't think it's enough to constitute grand theft though, so maybe I'm okay.
• I lie every day. That's a fair cop. But I work in retail, so it's a requirement. I don't think I should get a demerit for this.
  
• I don't covet my neighbor's house -- oh wait, there is that one house on the corner. They have art and everything. Okay, yeah, guilty.
  
• I'm not interested in my neighbor's wife so much, but I like their garden. But maybe that falls under "house."

Other than that I think I'm good with a few Hail Mary's and some sackcloth and ashes, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Happy Lent.

24

Bad news: Another C in another class. This time I deserved it. The 16 credit-term is no effing good, man.
Good news: I've weened the cat off Pop-Tarts. Might help save on the kitty dental bill.
Bad news: I caught some weird flu-thing either off of one of the bus folk or probably from one of my fellow studente.
Good news: That flu thing helped me fit into newly-washed jeans this morning.

eh ... cosi cosi.

What's in a Name?

So there was Ronald McDonald ... the Hamburglar ... Mayor McCheese ... Officer Big Mac (who was really a Mick) ... the Fry Guys -- these names all make some vague kind of sense.

What's the story on Grimace?

Does he make faces? What? Wikipedia's no help. He's described as a "well-meaning doofus" but not much on the name, except that it's a hold-over from when he was a bad character ("Evil Grimace"). Can't he get his name changed to Doofus and be done with it? Who's up for the petition?

Daoism InAction

Today I got a C on my magazine cover project in that class. This set-back is, in short, devastating.

Unlike Creative Writing where I figured out what the instructor wanted and then gave it to him, I have no effing idea what these people expect. They picked the topic (Formula 1 Racing) and then graded me down because they didn't understand the visuals I used. Why didn't I label Kimi Raikkonen's picture so people would know who he is? Why were the "d" and "p" looped together on the words "Grand Prix"? (They formed a track.) People who would read this imaginary magazine know who Kimi is. You, graduate student, are not my audience. You are not my target (as outlined specifically in my proposal and in the cover essay with the project -- twice I've explained that the magazine is for people already interested in racing). The answer: "But I might look at this in Borders and pick it up." Yeah, but you wouldn't buy it unless you were interested in Formula 1, which you clearly are not, and those interested in Formula 1 would know who the hell Kimi Raikkonen was. I might pick up a copy of Guns and Ammo ... doesn't mean I'd buy it.

Also, my cover line for the article on Danica Patrick was "Why this 'domestic appliance' is qualified to race in Formula 1." I was told that "domestic appliance" was pejorative. I said, I know. That was the point. The quote is from the President of Formula 1 and the article proves him wrong. She said that didn't come across on the cover. What?!? The sentence ends with "is qualified to race in Formula 1." Get it? She is qualified and is not a domestic appliance.

Summation: I'm doomed. Why am I working on a project that was chosen by someone else to be graded by them when they don't understand the topic of the project? What the f@%$#k is that? Why didn't she let me do the magazine on classic film?

So, I figure it's some kind of past-life retribution that I can't change. This is payment for some kind of serious injustice I pulled last time around and I've just got to roll with it. I just need to pass the class, not ace it. Who needs the Dean's List anyway?

Bring it in ... let it out again. Focus on the Dao...........

A Starbucks barista called me "ma'am" today.

Not for Nothin' But

Magazine writing is too serious at my school. I know, I'm off on that class again, but, feckin' hell, it just bothers me like few things do ... or like most things do ... but this sticks like ... like ... like ... it just sticks, okay? I don't want to write stories about racial tension at the university or depression or how the salmon are dying or any of the other "award winning" pieces of heaviness that generate talk among academics, but no one else really reads them. Honestly, who reads them? Honestly.

I'm starting to doubt my calling. Maybe it's time to switch to newspaper journalism and doing time on the Emerald writing complaints about the liberals.

Holy #*$%! I'm missing Chappelle! "I'm Rick James, bitch."

I haven't even brushed my teeth yet

This is the problem with having a full day off. I just don't feel like doing a g.d. thing. I finished my paper on Philip Marlowe, I can't work on the commemorative stamp for Journalism since the effer needs to be done on one of the Macs at school, and I just can't bring myself around to scriverendo nel mio diario della studenta l'esperianza (immaginativa) in Italia. Instead I've talked to mom on the phone, irritated the pet, and wandered around the house muttering crap about Daoism and the positive uses of chick flicks.

I can't tell if all of this is bad or good, needed or wasteful, yin or yang.

Argle bargle or foofarah?

Never Mind the Bloggocks

Thought I'd post, although I like seeing my grandmother looking swanky ... and it puts that catchy "Shanghai Lil" in my head. Days before I kept singing "Pettin' in the Park" so it's a nice change.

It's in my head again. I've been lookin' HIGH and I've been lookin' low ... lookin' for my Shanghai Lil.

Also in my head is the idea that some of my friends rank the Pope with the devil in his capacity for evil. I don't know why I was thinking of this, but I was ... maybe it was the presentation on Lazio that we had this week in Italian class, but it made me think of psychics who don't use their power to win the Lotto. You know, if the Pope is so powerful why have we only had 1 Catholic president and, sure, wasn't he shot while in office? Fahhhhhhhh I say. The Pope is no bigger than the Queen Mum in terms of political power.

Which made me think of the Queen Mum, which made me think of "Taggart" (apparently it was her favorite show), which made me think of the TV detectives class where I need to somehow namedrop characters from "77 Sunset Strip" (Stu ... Kookie) and "Hawaiian Eye" (Cricket and ... who was that other guy? ... that Robert Conrad guy ... right the "local" Tom Lopaka ... thanks IMDB) into my paper about Philip Marlowe. Which made me think of how that weird TV channel the American Life Network or whatever it's called which has "Harry O" and "Perry Mason" has 2 - count 'em, 2! - Robert Conrad shows on it ("Hawaiian Eye" and "Wild Wild West") and why don't they just sign on "Blacksheep Squadron" and get it done with? Maybe because the Pope isn't powerful enough to change programming and the American So-Called Life Network.

Q.E.D.

Isn't caffeine GREAT?

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.