McCan't

I'm not an expert, but after 3 years of being taught that everything is marketing and 2 years of working in the retail marketing sh*t, I know a little bit. Not much -- but I know enough to realize that John McCain needs to dump his PR staff and marketing team.

You'd think with all of the fallout over the Paris/Britney ad that he'd re-think the plan. That didn't work, no matter how many pundits attempted to defend it. Racial, personal, really unrealistic -- failure. But while I was in Vegas I saw one where he said he'd save us from the energy crisis by drilling in protected areas of Washington and Oregon -- like we've been keeping America back by our need to save wildlife. How could we be so selfish? Here, drive your giant car! Screw those animals and birds. I don't know what the hell we were thinking.

His latest is about how during the past 4 years things have gotten worse. No surprises there. It's going to be a tactic that everyone will use this election: Gas prices up and everyone is broke, and you can blame the leader. It's okay, he's expecting it and after 8 years who cares what people think now? But McCain will turn everything around with his experience in economics. To back up this claim, the announcer proudly tells us how McCain had "taken on Big Tobacco." I asked my mom about this, because I thought it was just me -- and she thought it was just her --- and we both agreed that statement A really doesn't connect to statement B. So taking on tobacco companies that make money regardless of every new regulation that comes about, will somehow save us from the gas crisis? What made this even worse, was that it followed on the heels of an Obama ad.

Obama's ad said things were bad, but "here's the plan: boom tax breaks on middle class, boom remove tax breaks on companies who send jobs out of the US, boom support education. Thank you." (Ticking off the plan is an old Clinton strategy, but it's a good one.) McCain's ad said things were bad, but "we have some vague ideas and McCain's such a great guy that he's going to turn it around. Okay? He took on Big Tobacco! See? He's there for you!" (The pal is an old Bush strategy and it's not so great unless you have a history of Bud drinkin'.)

John, I have nothing against you personally, but I won't vote for you, because I think you're campaign relies too heavily on reaction to your opponent (bad in boxing = bad in politics), and, honey, if you can't tell good advice from bad in your bid for the presidency, what will happen if you're actually in charge?

This Is (not) Spinal Tap

So the platelet count held at 45.

Good news: This means no bone marrow biopsy or messy spleen removal. I'm just one of those people with ITP -- and I have found 2 online support groups already. Go figure. The nutty thing is I don't really feel it, and the doctor says there's no problem as long as I stay away from brain surgery and extreme dental work. pfft like ... okay.

Bad news: According to the Platelet Disorder Support Association (who knew?), these things can reduce the ability to clot blood:
beer (especially dark beer --- GUINNESS! NOOOOOOOOOO)
blueberries
chocolate (dark)
garlic/onions
green tea
tomatoes

Basically, anything I like or have on a regular basis. I guess vanilla ice cream isn't so bad. You'd think wine would be okay, but alcohol is on the "can reduce plateletes" list. Life is too fecking unfair.

To celebrate the cousin/roommate and I rented Fight Night 3. Barrera knocked me out, but I went 8 rounds as El Terrible Morales, and, honestly, I let the Baby-Faced Assassin knock me out, so I could see what it was like. It was kind of cool. We toyed with the idea of renting Grand Theft Auto IV, but I'm not sure I'm up to pimpin' hos and cappin' asses yet.

Maybe tomorrow.

You tell 'em, Kimi

This is clearly one of the horsemen of the apocalypse -- Kimi Raikkonen did an interview. He must have had his vitamin B yesterday (that or Lauda's comments touched one of his few active nerves):

Raikkonen: Don't write me off

Eurosport - Wed, 20 Aug 15:33:00 2008

Ferrari's reigning champion Kimi Raikkonen has said he should not be written out of the World Championship battle just yet as Formula One heads into the final seven races of the season.

Former world champion Niki Lauda - who won two titles with the Scuderia and one with McLaren - had suggested that the Finn was not a contender for the 2008 crown, despite his second position in the drivers' standings.

Raikkonen indicated that he believes he is close enough to points leader Lewis Hamilton of McLaren to launch a title assault. He is only five points adrift but his form is suffering whereas the Briton is performing well.

Raikkonen's team-mate Felipe Massa lies third, three points behind the Finn.

"We haven't lost anything yet, but we need to get consistently better results," Raikkonen said. "I think the championship will be very tight, with Ferrari and McLaren very close together in terms of performance and three drivers in a position to win the title.

"I need to have at least one point more than my competitors after the last race of the season - this is the sole aim. The rest is [simply] details."

He acknowledged that he has to hit top form to pip Hamilton again in 2008.

"From now on every single race will be extremely important," he said. "Every single point will have great value. The less there are to be won, the more important they become.

"This season shows that you should never give up. There were some races where things didn't go well for us but, for one reason or another, I was able to collect precious points.

"My position after Hungary is better than before the race."

Raikonnen added that he was looking forward to racing at the new Valencia street circuit.

"We have to start well at Valencia, where it's more important than in other places to drive with continuity from Friday onwards," he said.

"I've only seen the new track from the position of an on-board camera, but it seems to be very fast for a street circuit.

"I always love to drive on new tracks and I am always very quick to get to know them, so I can't wait to race at Valencia.

"I just hope I'll have a trouble-free weekend to try to set the car up in the best way possible, especially for the qualifying lap.

"Qualifying will be extremely important, although I think that there are several possibilities on the track to overtake."

Crash.Net / Eurosport

I can't imagine being the one to have to transcribe the tape. "IjusthopeI'llhaveatrouble-freeweekendtotry tosetthecarup inthebestwaypossible especiallyforthequalifyinglap."

Synchronized Swimming is Seriously F**ked Up

If you had your choice, would you prefer to watch:

The French team performing to music from Schindler's List?
or
The swimmer from the Italian team who (I swear!) had a penis?

The horror ... the horror ... Why -- WHY -- is synchronized swimming an Olympic sport?

Man, it's cold

Come back, sun! All is forgiven!

Suddenly it's Autumn n' stuff. What the hell happened? Saturday it's 100 outside, Sunday it's thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening me. Now it's hovering somewhere around 60 outside. Crazy Oregon. My tomatoes are never going to ripen.

Oh, and someone called me "bitch" on the phone yesterday. He wanted to complain, not have his problem solved, apparently, and hung up with a final "BITCH" (or "BEITCH" as they say it in Alabama) -- which proves, yet again, that cowards abound. I'm going to call you a name and slam the phone down before you can respond. That'll show you! I was on fire at first, but the boss doused the flames ("Let it go") before I could do something stupid, like call the guy back, shout "ASSHOLE" and hang up.

Did you know that the longest part of a giant squid is his tentacles? And lantern fish engage in diurnal vertical migration. Good to know.

Man, it's hot

I've been afraid to look around the library to see what melted this year. I think we hit 99 outside yesterday, which means it was about 105 up here. Window fans sort of help, but not really. I mostly just stay out of the upstairs for as long as possible.

Events of the weekend -- I'm down to a count of 45 on the platelets again. Why? They don't know why. The doctor gives me this perplexed look like "Gee, that's kind of nutty. What do you think?" Like I'm the one who went to med-school. I'll say it again, House would have totally figured this out by now. Can't these doctors get the team assembled and start writing on the chalkboard? Anyway, I go back on Friday and if the platelets have gone down more I get stuck with this thing -->
Can't. Wait.

Lucky for me, it goes in through the back so I don't have to watch it, but, honestly, the idea of it is kind of creeping me out. But if it rules out leukemia, I guess I'm down with it. It's only if the platelets drop. If they hold at 45 then I'm told I might "just be one of those people with chronic ITP" -- which sounds friendly, like being one of those people who just likes dogs over cats.

Other events -- we have a Playstation 3 because it plays Blu-Ray discs, and I'm not one of those people who normally notices a difference between this player and that and sound and what's detailed on the screen and blah blah blah, but, boy-o, you can count the pores on Bruce Willis' face in Die Hard. It's a trip. I can't wait to watch The Hunt for Red October. And playing the Beijing 2008 game is equally as exciting as watching it ... take that however you like. I can't wait to take the cousin/roommate on in Fight Night Round 3.

JIAYOU!

I like the Olympics, but it irritates me that you never get to see events like archery, which isn't sexy like beach volleyball. Or shooting. They never, ever show shooting. Maybe if the shooters wore underwear like the beach volleyball players they'd get on television, but since the shooters are usually from Muslim countries, that probably won't fly. And I haven't seen any equestrian events. Maybe they're not taking place yet or maybe it's because NBC is so in love with Michael Phelps that anything not featuring him is clearly a lesser sport and undeserving of coverage.

Go ahead, call me a communist, but I'm tired of hearing about Michael Phelps. We don't see the other medal ceremonies, why do we have to keep focusing in on his pinched lips and earnest tears every flippin' time he takes the podium? I agree that what he's doing is historical (if he can beat Spitz, which he hasn't yet, but probably will), but stopping men's gymnastics to "get into the head of Michael Phelps" ... dude ... e-feckin'-nuf.

By the way, hilarious that the American men's gymnastics team was hopping and whooping (JIAYOU!) about getting the bronze and the Japanese looked like they'd been pushed down a well on hearing they took silver. Let's face it, the Chinese were rating 16's on things that we'd get 15's on, but it's their country n' stuff, and they were pretty impressive on the floor exercises and the rings, so let them have it. But we should have hit perfect on that last pommel horse (oh yeah ... the pommel horse ... ... yeah ... I loves the pommel horse). That guy was on fire. But whatever. Bronze for the alternates is pretty impressive. Japan, silver is good. Get it? Goooooooooood.

What I learned on my summer vacation

"... mesopelagic fishes--that is, those in the region between 200 and 1,000 meters (-660 to 3,300 feet) below the sea surface--... have gas-filled swim bladders to help them remain neutrally buoyant. When these fishes are caught and brought rapidly to the sea surface, the consequent drop of hydrostatic pressure may cause, among other physiological stresses, expansion of the gas bladder, which will force internal organs out of their mouth and cause death."

This, and finding out that the eyes on a flatfish will move to one side of their head like a Picasso painting, are the coolest ocean fun facts ever.

Boy, what the hell with Isaac Hayes? Bernie Mac had pneumonia, so that wasn't going well already, but Isaac Hayes? What the hell happened? Weird, weird.

Don't Fear the Creeper

This karma cleansing is not working worth jack. Whaddya do when you've got something like this crawling down your sweaters in the closet?

That's right, you scream like a girl and stomp it into the ground. It's instinct. Primal, basic, elementary instinct.

Being modern, I searched the internet for answers to my problems (and for a photo to post) and found this little gem on eHow.com ("How To Do Just About Everything"). The Difficulty level is described as "Moderately Challenging":

Things You'll Need
Toy spider and/or pictures of spiders

Steps
Step One
Firstly you should know that you can't escape spiders and that they are everywhere, so there's no point stressing out about them. Think to yourself things like, how often do you hear of a spider killing someone? They are probably more scared of us than we are of them, look how big we are compared to them. They are unavoidable so you must overcome the fear of them.

Step Two
Do some research into spiders in your country. It's unlikely that there are dangerous spiders where you live as these are rare, but it's best that you know the facts. Should you have dangerous spiders near where you live, research what they look like, what you should do if you see one, etc. If you know what to do, should you see a risky spider, you wont be bitten if you are calm and follow the instructions. Should the spider get to you, there is always a cure for spiders at the hospital.

Step Three
Get some toy spiders and pictures of spiders and get someone that you know well and trust to look at these pictures with you. The more you do this, the more you'll get to know what they are actually like.

Step Four
Lastly, you must face your fear. I'm not asking you to touch a spider but when you do see one (assuming it is not a harmful spider) look at it. Each time you see one, gradually get closer to it. It really will work.

Firstly, this reminds me of when I was 11 and thought that I could write a self-help column in the newspaper. "I know why you're a bully. It's because you have insecurities about Algebra II. Just solve for x and you won't have a need to punch people anymore."

Lastly, she's right, how often do you hear of a spider killing someone? They can't buy ammo at Walmart and or carry chainsaws. It's just silly to fear them.

But they still don't belong in my closet trying on sweaters.

Tag This

She stood on the scales. Her Christmas present from Denise. What sort of a fuckin' present is that?
--I got it for the colour, said Denise.

David Sedaris is out of the room, so the closest book was the (as yet unread) Paula Spencer by Roddy Doyle. I'm still waiting for him to finish that A Star Called Henry trilogy. Come awn, ye daft wee...

And welcome back Reverend Dick! Ye daft wee...

---
Pick up your nearest book and go to page 123. Find the fifth sentence, and post on your blog the next three sentences. Acknowledge who tagged you, and then tag five more people.

I tag :
Archival Clothing (la lars)
Hot Air (the haskes)
And three non-bloggers who usually have good books close at hand:
DWilton
Mr. Bascomb
Wuh
(non-blogs can post in comments or email me and I'll post it in the Big Show ... either way works. It's a free-flowin' organic summer project, man.)

--

Side note: Week 2 and no one's interested in buying the duplex. Not only that, but we're so unpopular and unnoticeable that we can't even get the abandoned Volkswagon towed from the street in front of the house. That's going on week 7. I thought it might belong to the hillbillies across the street, but they park on the lawn. For those coming into town for the fair next week our neighbors will sell you a spot on their lawn for $5, but you have to clear out by midnight, because that's when they like to ride their ATVs around in the backyard.

Modern Parenting

Israeli parents forget daughter at airport

JERUSALEM - Israeli airport police say a couple going on a European vacation remembered to bring their duty-free shopping and their 18 suitcases, but forgot their 3-year-old daughter at the airport.

The couple and their five children were late for a flight to Paris Sunday and made a mad dash to the gate. In the confusion, their daughter got lost. A policeman found her wandering around the terminal, crying for her mother.

---

Oddly enough this happened on my flight home. We were taxiing to the runway in Seattle and this man behind me shouted "WAIT A MINUTE!" The stewardess was on the way to being strapped in and turned, but kept walking: "Sir, I don't know what you're looking for." "MY DAUGHTER! DID SHE GET ON THIS FLIGHT! SHE'S ONLY SEVEN!"

Mortified, his daughter looked back from the front row and waved.

You know, I don't know a lot about raising kids, but maybe this is something to think about before you hit the tarmac.

I'm Always Write

I was doing my rounds of blogs today and checking in on this guy I know, his name's Mike (but, really, Michael) and the new writer's blog he's put up with another UofO MFA writer:

notacafeinparis.edublogs.org

So I went there and I read their entries and it made me think a lot about writing and how I'm not really doing it anymore apart from the odd paper for school and the crazy journalism bit, and I thought about how much writing I used to do and I want to believe that my gig is fiction, but I'm beginning to think that I'm not really good at it compared to the academic writing -- and that's all Copperman's fault, by the way, for encouraging my non-fiction in Writing 121. Because of him I can work through an argument, and maybe that's got to be good enough from now on. I don't think the fiction I write is bad, but it not as good as I'd want it to be ... I don't know ... There's a lot of crap out there. A lot of crap. So why can't I throw my crap into the ring as well?

Probably because I'd be ashamed to do so. It was that library sale that did it -- Mom and I in Lake Arrowhead standing in the heat and watching women paw through those multi-colored Danielle Steele paperbacks trying to remember which ones they'd read and which ones they hadn't. That's the fear, friends. That's what gives me chills. "Is this the one about blah blah blah?" "No, I think that's the yellow one. That one's about blah." "No, no -- blah is in the green one."

All this said here in the private blog because I'm too embarrassed to post it on the writer's blog among people.

In the meantime, feckin' A, that new David Sedaris book is fantastic. I don't care how many times he talks about owning a fake nylon bottom, it gets me every time.

The Poorer but Wiser Girl

Vacation is over, time to start vacation.

Yesterday I only worked 8 hours. I kind of liked it. I was able to spend the rest of the day catching up on everything. I've finally mailed the graduation card to my god-daughter (okay, yes, it's been sitting on my desk for the last 2 months, staring at me, daring me to put in a gift card and mail it off, and I just never scraped it together in between the action films, oceanography and blood thing, okay? OKAY? Yeah, I've been on my own back about it, sure) -- and I'm mailing out bills today with the few pennies I still have in my checking account.

Dude, if it wasn't for President Bush giving me the gambling incentive check I don't know what I would have done in Vegas -- although we did have two really, really wonderful days poolside. Usually we turn bright pink on the first day and can't go out again, but this year we were able to double our pool time and that was sweet. The kids want me to come down at Christmas and go with them to Pala. And I'd like to, sure. I like hanging out with the girls, but something tells me the funds will be missing and I'll be one of those sad sacks putting the retirement fund into the Lucky Lemmings machine, crying every time it comes up with "consolation 2" on the bonus spins.

On the plus side, I finished a book (!) while traveling -- Sarah Waters' The Night Watch -- and started Barbara Ehrenreich's Bait and Switch -- a nice little story about getting into the corporate world and how a degree and experience won't keep you employed in the corporations. I thought it would be a good balance to starting my last year of college.

But first ... I'm going to watch the Criterion High and Low. Sheryl, you are way too good to me. It tingled in my hands when I opened it.

Oh. See?

Every time I come down to California I think it'll be with just that five minutes of stranger-ness and then the 37 years of living here will come back and everything will be comfortable again. And then five minutes turns into ten ... twenty ... three days ...

I feel like such a hick. I have to close my eyes while my parents drive because it scares the bejesus out of me. I can't even watch my mom maneuver a cart through Walmart because I'm afraid she's going to hit someone. And that's the funny part -- she doesn't hit anyone. She can go in and out of car and cart traffic without even looking and no one gets hurt, except for me, who gets worked up and worried every time she skirts around someone's backside.

My turn comes today when we get on the freeway (mom won't drive on the freeway). I usually only have to drive the second leg into Vegas, which is flat desert two lanes and only a little shifting when we get into town. This time we're meeting my aunts in Manhattan Beach and I said I'd get us there. I don't know why I said it, although I suspect it was while I still thought it would only be five minutes before I got used to things ... that was two days ago.

Side: Mom and I watched The Seven Samurai last night ("Is Kikidoodoo going to die? He is, isn't he?" "It's Kikuchiyo and I'm not going to tell you.") and she liked it. So, I convinced her to Netflix Om Shanti Om ... yeah, I may have overstepped it... But it's a musical. I figure if she can sit through Seven Brides for Seven Brothers more than once then she can handle Bollywood. Cahh ... she loves Carousel, for heaven's sake.

Up to 171 platelets from 39 -- WHOO HOO.

gimme drugs gimme drugs gimme drugs -- but now I can take them in smaller doses.

Now I really am going to work on that paper. Honest.

These are not the 'roids you're looking for

So I haven't bulked up really. Well, no more than usual with the ol' PMS and heat and all. Belly went up. Belly went down. My thighs are kind of huge, but that's because I'm back on the La Tour again -- although, dude! Some cotton-top in a Cadillac nearly crashed me down yesterday as she tried to run me into the car that was making a right turn behind me. She was turning left against us both and even honked her horn like what right did we have to cross the street in front of her car! Like the green light was just for her or something. It was surreal. All I could think was, if she hits me I'll die. If she hits me I'll die. I'll bleed to death and die. Which is yet another reason to hate doctors. I get that hypochondria, just like my dad, and I start imagining that my hair color is causing me cancer and junk.

If she hit me I wouldn't die, but I'd be mighty feckin' pissed.

Anyway, tomorrow I go in and they poke another needle in my arm so they can tell me if I need to keep poppin' pills. Honestly though, I don't have heartburn and the euphoria only lasted about a day, so I'm not sure these things are real anyway. Where's the Hulk body and the need to clean and bake? I just don't have it.

Next week is Vegas. If I don't get this John Woo paper finished by Saturday, I'll have to save blogging until I'm back. I'm sure you'll manage.

Buggin and Bullets

I think I'm going to have to rethink this whole karma cleansing thing. The steroids kicked in yesterday and I started cleaning my room only to find that some spider gave birth somewhere and those little white bastards are into everything.

One just crawled across this monitor. Just now. They're mocking me even.

It's also summer finally in Oregon, which means that it's stopped snowing and I'm glad for the heat, sure, because we had 8 months of winter this year, but wee moths keep squeaking in through the blades of the window fan. Is the greater good served by letting them live or by protecting my woolens?

So far I've been pretty lenient. Just now I brushed the spider from the monitor, but did not intentionally squish or kill it ... although it may not have survived the brushing, but my aim was true. I think I should be given a little something for the effort. That's all I'm sayin'.

This is the last week of the action film class and I'm really going to miss it. Sure, there was a lot of reading and paper writing, trying to bring philosophy to The Transporter and junk like that (my final paper is on how Hard Target reflects the global economy.), but last week we watched Hot Fuzz under the guise of studying genre and that was really great. "Pack it in, Frank, you silly bastard!" Today we're watching Lady Terminator. It looks kind of naughty on YouTube. I can't even post the trailer. You'd never catch them showing this in a community college class. Viva academia.

Cancer Ward

Friends, there's a reason I don't go to doctors --- By the way, how tired am I of the question "Who's your primary physician?" I'm plenty tired, let me tell you. What is this obsession with having a primary doctor? -- I don't like getting weighed and measured. I don't like reading Sunset magazine in the waiting room or trying to start work on a paper and get called and have to scrape my reference crap together because some nurse is impatient to get me into the room where she will weigh and measure me. I think my fear of needles has been well-documented.

Mostly I don't like illness. I know -- I know -- people get sick. It happens. But it worries me to see it and have no helpful thing to say. ("Gee, that oxygen tank sure looks heavy...") It makes me uncomfortable. The people at this cancer place all had cancer (yes way) and had faces in various shades of gray and pale with bits of pink. They all seem so dependent on the doctors and the medications and that kind of stuff just makes me edgy and fearful.

So I don't go to the doctors. I didn't want to go to this one, but when the guy in the emergency room says it's important what can you do?

Upshot is, there's no idea why I have this ITP thing. I don't have any cancer symptoms, everything was poked and listened to, so it's been put down as an auto-immune issue. I guess that's supposed to be better, but it means I have to take steroids. Prednisone.

"You'll bulk up," the doctor tells me. "You may have heartburn," he says. "But you'll have euphoria." Oh well, that's something to look forward to. "And then you may come down from that pretty hard." Oh. Great.

Not quite Barry Bonds, but more like a momentarily happy whale, I guess. As long as I don't grow a mustache or have hair coming out of my ears, I guess it's okay.

Oh! And I have a toilet again. Things are looking up!

Call it fate ... call it ... karma.

Yes sir, that's my bathroom. No sir, don't mean maybe. Contractor: "We just need to pull out a few tiles in the shower to see what's back there." Yeah, the shower is where the toilet is sitting. And they left the toilet brush hanging, but took out the toilet .... what the? The horror. THE HORROR.

When the ... I mean, honestly, is this year ever going to end? It's like Hurricane Hell around here. The cat dies, I have to take Economics, the house is getting sold, I have to sit in a waiting room with a toofless old woman picking fights with people, and now I ain't got none toilet. Friends, don't step on that spider. Don't kill those garden snails. Keep your karmas clean and fresh.

That is all.

one more time one more time

Doctor called this afternoon and freaked me out by saying I needed to come back in because my platelet count was low (what the?) and he wanted to do a CT scan of my head (!).

Oh, and can I do that today? As soon as I can get in. Yeah. That would be great.

Fecking a ... so I freak out the cousin/roommate and the big brother who's supposed to be here for a good time and we all speed over to spend another 5 hours at the hospital (the boys did get hustled off to Taylor's for fish n' chips, hush puppies and some harassment from the Bud Light girls).

The head scan was negative -- nothing in there, ha HA -- but the platelet count was still low. Dude, I know that sucker was high when I went to the university doc in February, but this virus has apparently knocked it back. What the hell kind of virus did I have? And when do you think I'll eat at the Bell again? How 'bout nev-fucking-ever. Anyway, now I've got ITP, which will be treated by a cancer doctor, even though it's not cancer and I'm not to think for a second that I have cancer, because it's not that bad, but the blood doctor is the cancer doctor on the side or during or whatever way they double-up on jobs there.

Fahhhhhh, not to talk like a grumpy old woman, but what the hell is all this gonna cost me? Vegas is looking like one cheap week, friends.

Oh, and no exciting stories from the ER this time, although I guess the waiting room was pretty interesting. Too bad the big brother shut down the blog.

When you get out ... of the hospital

Wednesday night we had Taco Bell for dinner -- I didn't feel like cooking and it was hot and I had to finish up my presentation on Jackie Chan, so we cheaped out and ran for the border. cousin/roommate had the encherito and fiesta nuggets, I had a double-decker and the steak taquitos. At 7:00 that night I started vomiting. This trend continued into Thursday. At 10am the cousin/roommate came home from work and took me to the emergency room where I was to spend the next 7 hours getting pumped full of saline (what? no D5W?) and aurally observing the underside of humanity.

The space next to me had an elderly cancer patient who was looking for a doctor's note to get him into a hospice. He lived on his own and couldn't take care of himself anymore. He was told by the doctor that going in to hospice care basically amounted to giving up trying to live: no more treatment for the cancer, no more physical therapy, nothin'. It would be time to make a will and sign over power of attorney. He wasn't sick enough for the rest home, but he was too sick to live on his own and he wasn't quite ready to give up, but couldn't decide how much he wanted to live. Dude ... that was a vision of the future that I just didn't need.

Two spaces down the ambulance brought in a woman who had fallen against her fireplace and cut a 5" gash into the side of her leg. She was drunk and based on what I heard, that was a constant state for her. She kept shouting that her leg "HURT LIKE HELL" but that she didn't want anymore needles. Mostly she just wanted a cigarette. "I just want a GODDAMN CIGAREEEEEETTTTE!" Her husband showed up later and told her she had nothing to worry about because he was making arrangements for her to stay overnight. When the doctors told him that they had no reason to keep her he raised a fuss. For better or worse, sickness and in health didn't seem to go 'round there no more. He went out arguing with the doctors and she eventually passed out.

This was all mixed with the shouts of "Just kill me!" from down the hall and the moaning guy who may have had the same thing I did, but was making a bigger fuss about it: "Ohhhhhh God, pleeeeease --- [retch] --- ohhhhh Goddddddd." He was irritated that he had to wait over an hour to get in. I had to wait 3 hours. Big baby.

3 litres of IV and 4 nausea pills later, I feel like I'm getting back to myself. The head still feels a little dizzy and food is unappealing, but I'm out of bed and I get to postpone the Jackie Chan show-and-tell until Monday. All ist claar, herr commisar. Tell you what tho', that morphine, never again. That was a funky, funky feeling.

I was looking up images from Buster Keaton's "Cops" to compare with Jackie Chan's "Supercop" and found this great picture of Buster and Roscoe Arbuckle.


It makes me happy, so I shared it.

dard-e-disco

How much do I love Shah Rukh Khan right now? We watched Om Shanti Om last night and it's going to be my favorite movie for a long, long time. This song is a lot funnier in context (not that it doesn't have plenty of laughs as-is, especially since it's "the pain of disco"...). Warning to cousin/roommate -- I'm getting the soundtrack.

Kickin' Ass and Takin' Notes

This man-movie class is going to be a little more difficult than I thought it would be. I'll have to re-think my shhedule for the next 4 weeks to get everything done. It's summer school, sure, and I guess I went in thinking movies+summer school = no worries, but it's a lot of outside stuff that I don't really have much time for. You know, watch action films or make dinner ... what should I do?

Although I've already watched the homework movie Mr and Mrs Smith, and spent most of my watching time obsessed with Jolie's lips. They're unnaturally huge and the camera was up against them through the whole movie, so they just looked bigger than usual. It bothered me for a good hour before I made the connection.

Alone Again. Naturally.

The cousin/roommate is off to Hav-a-ee for the week leaving me the run of our side of the duplex.

I've decided to only have one bad dinner this week. I've got a fatty, heart-attack-inducing pot pie in the freezer, but I also went out and picked up a number of lovely vegetables at the Saturday Market. Salad, beets, two colors of squash, onions -- honest, I'm going to make a serious go at it. Not only that, but I found an affordable balance ball and I'm going to do all those wee balance ball exercises. No, really. I've got the fever for fitness.

Although I'm kind of loopy from being up since 1:30 am and I haven't eaten much since we had breakfast at The Roxy at 4 this morning. And ... well ... I know you should never use the bathroom on the right at The Roxy, but I didn't listen to myself and I ... well, there were these people outside and I didn't want to look like a sissy-mary, so ... cah. Do you want to know what was in there? Do you? Things that no one other than a hospital orderly should have to pick up. That's all I'm sayin'. And the toilet paper was wet on one end -- dude, you don't want me to go on.

It's killed my appetite for the whole day.

Anyway, cousin's off sunning and I'm already bored from the lack of fighting with him over dumb stuff, so I'm going to go read a book or something.

(Do you guys know the words to "Alone Again Naturally"? Duuuuuuuuuude... that's a messed up little song. How the hell was it a #1 hit?)

My My! At Waterloo Napoleon did sur-ren-dah

It's how I remember that today is the cousin/roommate's birthday. Same day as the Battle of Waterloo. I used to wake him up with Abba, but that was when his bedroom was directly above the stereo. Now he can close the door and it doesn't work as well.

I'll just have to bang pots and pans around instead.

Almost relaxed for summer -- it's only Tuesday, so, ya know, give me a minute, okay? I've been gardening and reading ("Night Watch" by Sarah Waters) and trying to get into the summer mood before the return of the long day next week. But I suspect the next 4 weeks will go by quickly and I'll be at the Bally's pool sooner than expected. I hope anyway...

Events:
Nothing new from the real estate guy and it's not listed on their website yet, so I guess we just have to keep it clean a little bit longer. The front lawn is mowed and (sort of) weeded and the spare room is organized. What ta do... Our previous landlord had a house for rent, but I ain't got none $1350 to pay (even divided in two), so we had to pass.

Wow, maybe it really is summer and the livin' is easy. No drama. No excitement. Just a birfday dinner of salmon on the new beebeeQ and all ist gut, ja. Bon.

How I spent my summer vacation

School officially ended on Friday. My last final was Thursday, but Friday night was the initiation into Kappa Tau Alpha -- no paddling or beer bongs, and we didn't have to wear red robes or sleep with a Phi Beta Kappa to join. It was a collect the pin/get a photo/go celebrate type of thing. Saw the Ethics professor after the initiation and he had this look on his face like "I know you, but who are you" -- as if I didn't flipping bark questions at him in every class period for the entire term. I'm officially smart, Herr Mac. So there! Side note: bookstore wouldn't take back his textbook. "We're not buying it," they said. Neither am I -- so, through with it, I threw it in the donation bin, which is a collection of books going to Africa. What they'll do with it, I can't imagine. I'm sure it'll be just as useful in Africa as it was in Oregon.

I'm KTA number 61301 (I am not a number! I am a free ... erm ... student.). I celebrated with a nasty bout of food poisoning Friday night and all day work on the house Saturday. We're fixing the "problem areas" for the real estate guy and hoping that our quick gloss will convince the would-be buyer that we're worth keeping on as tenants. I really don't want to move the books again. I mean, this place isn't the greatest -- and last night's serenade of losers and creeps outside ("That's 5 years in San Quentin, man" -- reminiscing about the past or planning for the future? And why did he have to yell it?) confirmed that this is one of the worst locations in the city -- but, I've got to say, this place grows on you. And now that we've Rug Doctored I feel a sense of ownership.

I don't know. No possessions, as the Daoists say. Possessions make you heavy. I'm ready to let it go, but not until I have to. I'm not going to hole-up with 10 sticks of dynamite and threaten to blow the place if they make us move, but I'm not going to roll over either. Didn't I just plant Italian tomatoes in the back? (I did.)

Now ... if we can just convince them to kick out the duplex neighbors...

good, bad, ugly, good, bad, sweet, nondescript

We got the phone back yesterday and the real estate guy came to give a cursory glance around the place. It goes up on the market next week (!!), which, yeah, kind of freaked me out a little. But RE guy says that it's marketed as an investment property and that people would rather have it filled with reliable tenants than chase everyone out ... but they would give us legal notice if it came to that.

Cousin/roommate and I were watching that episode of Star Trek where Spock cries about his mom and we were both getting choked up. That's the state we're in. It doesn't help that it's still fecking winter outside. It's a wonder the entire town doesn't have SAD by now. Why the hell am I wearing a sweater and 2 pairs of socks in June??

We did look at a house the other night. Good things - location, HUGE yard, hot tub (!), solar heating and cooling, 2 car garage.

Bad things - The living room was ... oh ... about 6' x 6', give or take. Maybe a tad bigger, but with a stone fireplace on one of the walls, which kiboshes it's use as a TV wall. The whole space is located between the tiny wee kitchen and the tiny wee bedrooms, so it's more of a hallway with a bit attached for a couch. I didn't like the house much because it smelled like socks, but cousin/roommate was really trying to make the living room work, coming up with all kinds of positions for the couches and the stereo. No way. Like Scotty says, you can't change the laws of physics no matter what happens.

Funny thing is the landlady called us last night (our first call!) to ask if we still wanted it. I didn't have the heart to pick up. We didn't even turn in the application and she still called, which I thought was kind of sweet. Most of the time they just blow you off. Made me almost want to go back and re-measure the place ... I mean, gee whiz, it had a hot tub ...

One more final and then I'm done done done -- for a week -- during which time we've apparently got to finish painting the hallway in time to show the place. fahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

side note:
Looks like those fuckwits who share the duplex with us cut the phone lines to the whole house.

sad note:
We didn't notice it for a week.

Why does it always happen during finals?

Hello [li'l hateful] and [cousin/roommate] –

I have decided to put your duplex on the market and sell it. My realtor is [the Man]. I would like to have him come by and scout out the place next week. He can come either Tuesday 6/10 between 4p and 6p, or around midday on Thursday 6/12. Do either of those times work for you to let him in? Please contact [the Man] via email (cc’ed) or at [666-xxxx] as soon as possible.

Thanks,

[landlord]

I was better than Cats!

To celebrate the end of the regular school term, the cousin/roommate and I went out and caught the new Indiana Jones movie.

Dude, I don't know if it was because I had a headache or if it was the smell of the guy next to me or what, but this movie kind of sucked. And that makes me sad because I loves the Ray Winstone and I've had a crush on John Hurt since I was eleven (because he's just amazing, that's why -- he can be Caligula, the Elephant Man or a gay undercover cop and he's just brilliant, brilliant), but they just seemed intensely wasted in this movie. I mean, gee whiz, when you're stealing bits from "The Mummy Returns" you've got to be a little desperate, right?

That little Shia labeef kid wasn't bad tho'. This is kind of a sad comment, but whenever he took out his comb or his switchblade the movie picked up and was entertaining. So, yeah, it hinged on the minor props, sure.

Oh, well, actually, it was better than the Temple of Doom, so there you are. I'd see this one again over Temple of Doom any day of the week.

The Big Screen

How does "Emergency!" look on the new television? Check out the duds on Dr. Kelly Brackett.


Now, picture that on a great big giant screen.

Wheet-whoo. Man, the 70's have never looked so good.

Gittin kinda feminist n stuff

You know, that "No Country for Old Men" is super fantastic. Sure, like "The Departed" women play minor roles, but not entirely, because if you took Carla Jean out of it, there would be a hole in the film. Not so much with "The Departed".

And Javier Bardem, even with the bad hair, is intensely smoking hot.

Oh, and no cell phones. I think that was the best part.

Goin' round the outside, round the outside, round the outside

Yeah, it's the end of the term. What of it? Maybe I've been working on a feature story. Maybe I'm the judge in a libel case for the law class. Maybe I keep getting B's in the ethics class taught by the guy with no ethics. And maybe I'm passing Human Physiology because we get to use our notes on the exams, but I don't really know the name of the things around the nerves ... mylar? phhft I don't know, man. Maybe this time of year when you're not supposed to have homework because you're supposed to be studying is the time of year when everything in the frickin' term is due, man.

That and we now have a ginormous television, which, like all shiny new things, is distracting. I know. It's television. It'll be around for a while. The movies that we're watching we can watch any time (except "No Country For Old Men" which has to eventually be returned to Netflix and is turning into a 3-4 day film festival). But no no, you've got to watch it now. You've got to see the color on it now. It'll never look this good again. Never.

Yeah, well ... 3 more weeks and we're all done, that's all I'm sayin'. Then I'll watch television ... until summer school starts.

Gnarly

We got to look at cadavers in the anatomy lab today. It was the BOMB. Table 1 was a woman with a HUGE green liver (she died of colon cancer). Table 2 was "Roscoe" who had many, many tattoos of the prison kind ... PSI, what's that mean? Other than pound per square inch. Whatever. I got to make his tendons move on his leg and that is all that matters.

We had one person leave the room, but no fainters or upchuckers. The movies lie.

Hangin' With D. Wilton

Spent last night in Portland hanging out wid my boyee D.W. It's always a pleasure, and I'm not saying that because I know he reads this here blog. He's a choice friend, no doubt about it. We drank a few and then bought books. It was just like the good old days in San Francisco. Tank up and wake up the next morning with a stack of Mickey Spillane dime novels and a beat up leather-bound copy of George Meredith's poetry. Last night's purchases include books by movie stars, books about Bollywood stars and a book written by the wife of an ex-boyfriend. Well-rounded all around.

D.W.'s hotel selection was the Ace, which was a sweet little hip joint, right close to Powell's and the Roxy. The room was affordable and at 3 a.m. we found out why. All of the recycling bins were located directly under the window. I swear, the kid was throwing the bottles in one at a time. Oh yeah, and with the hip rooms come the hip guests. Watch out when the bars close because your door looks just like the door to the bathroom. "HEY! HEY! IS THIS THE BATHROOM!" "Shhh, no man." "COOL!"

The other issue was one of modesty. The shower was a glass-encased booth, like the old Money Volcano on The Diamond Head game show. It was a nice shower, but it was also right next to the bed. D.W.'s drunk solution was that he would go for donuts while I got cleaned up in the morning. The hungover reality was that this was not such a good idea really. No one was going for donuts at 5 a.m. So I was sticky and a little waxy all day at work.

Yes, drove the 2 hours back to Eugene and got to work at 8:05 -- ka chow! -- and stayed there all day, even after I started to fall asleep at my desk at the hangover witching hour of 2:00. I couldn't tell you what I did all day, apart from get paid for being there.

All and all, fantastic trip. Dude, Portland people go out on school nights. It's crazy. There were 3 clubs packin' up last night. D.W. caught The Dirtbombs on Wednesday. I missed out. Jealous much? Maybe. They're a sweet band. I'm completely sold on their sound.

By the way, it's frickin' HOT, just so's you know. 10:00 at night and it's 79 outside. Dude. We don't even get that during the day. It's like a hair dryer. Jaysis, didn't it just snow??? We've completely skipped over spring and jumped right into summer. All hail summer.

Overheard Student Spring Edition

Now that we're all allowed outside again:

"No, no, NO! Geology is the study of states and countries n' stuff. Geography's the study of the Earf."

p.s.

Just now outside some guy was yelling outside in the street, so being a Gladys Kravitz, I peeked out the window to see what the fuss was about. This kid was walking up the street and explaining to a tattooed guy (who, I guess, lives across the street from us, but I've never seen him before) that someone had just stolen his truck. I think he said his girlfriend took it. Anyway, here's what he was saying as he hitched himself around the corner (apparently to chase the truck on foot):

"My truck's my life, dog."

Oh yeah, he's white, wearing big basketball shoes and long shorts, his baseball cap sideways.

dude. maybe some of us would speak hip-hop ... feckin' Eugene, dog. word.

DIVERSITY TRAINING: How To Talk To Black People

As if we'd talk hip-hop to anyone. Dude. Fact-checking is for swabs.

I'm my own ayn rand

As part of listening to "On the Media" for Reporting class, I sat through an amusing (although not really media-related) discussion of Ayn Rand and her philosophy. She's one of those authors who people get really worked up about. Tolkein is another one. Their fans are completely obsessed, and if you question it or think it's weird that they dress like hobbits (complete with large hairy feet), well, you're the freak. I only just learned (through Human Physiology class of all things) that the "all who wander are not lost" bumper stickers around here were not Grateful Dead-related but tied into some bit of poetry from Lord of the Rings.

I was falling into the Lord of the Rings obsession while I was in junior high. Friends, I was completely sucked in. I even have a board game based on the Ralph Bakshi animated movie (maybe I'll eBay it ... I'm sure the pieces will be in immaculate condition). I found solace in that whole fantasy world where no one called me "scum" or laughed at the fact that my Dittos weren't saddle-stitch or sailor-bib. If it wasn't for discovering boys I'd probably still be there.

And when I say "discovering boys" I mean specifically the Three Muskateers. Friends, if you have not read past the first book or if you skipped ahead to The Man in the Iron Mask, you're missing out. d'Artagnan is so bitter -- if you ever feel like you're not respected in your job and you want to quit, read Twenty Years After. Talk about bad jobs. You know, you save the royal family time and time again and they still can't remember your flippin' name.

Maybe I'm still a little obsessed with d'Artagnan.

I can't understand how I missed out on Rand.

The other outcome of listening to that radio show was the questioning of why the hell the cousin/roommate and I bother feeding the cat or mowing the lawn. The lawn can mow itself and the cat, well, if she can't open her own Friskies can it's not my business.

I'm sorry, which state is the most important? Which one?

If you answered Oregon - YOU'D BE RIGHT!

From The Oregonian:

Clinton and Obama heading for Oregon this week
Both campaigns see the state's primary as a vital date

However one parses the numbers, Oregon is clearly in the thick of what has been one of the closest, longest primary elections in decades.

Chant it with me:
My vote counts!
My vote counts!
My vote counts!

(well, kind of ... I know it's the superdelegates that count, but it's good to know that we have a reason to read through the pamphlet this time.)

foo fah rah

I'm a'pposed to be writing up my midterm essays for Ethics and Reporting, but I can't focus. Break. Must. Take. Break. (Break? What is break?)(sorry, lame Star Trek reference there)

Although the past couple of days have been a pretty continuous break really. Thursday I watched television, last night we went to the mall to find a coffee grinder/maker -- by the way, going to the Gateway Mall in Springfield is like walking through a Fellini film drawn by R. Crumb -- and then today was spent checking out pet stuff for my feature story and buying a coffee grinder/maker. In sum: I haven't done jack.

Last night, if I remember correctly, I went to bed at 8. Fahhhhhhhhhhh old.

Okay, you're right. I've got to scrape it into a pile. By the way, I just want everyone to know that this blog is made possible by the generous work of the cousin/roommate who fixed our Belkin router issue this morning. Long live the king.

Think Greek!

First of all, the weak rhyme is the best rhyme of all. If Wordsworth can throw out "chord" as a rhyme for "word" then it's open season, friends. Besides, you can't say Theek Greek, can you?

I gots this here mail thing what says I gots smarts enuf for to be in this here society with the funny name: Kappa Tau Alpha. Says here you gots to be nominated and be super smart to be in it. And I is! It's unpossible!

I'm a little worried about shelling out my dough to get the KTA key (does that mean I can play with it like District Attorney Ellis Lowe?) because what if I blow it this term? What if the GPA takes a dive because I'm having a really, really, really hard time keeping up with the classes. Will they drum me out? Such fear. And if they drop me like a bag of dirt, do I get my $30 back?

Do I have to dress like other Kappa Tau Alphas? I hope there's a secret handshake, but if I have to live in a house with them, it's probably not going to work out ... unless someone else does the cooking.

That is all.

Post-Posted Depression

So I'm sitting here at work by myself and "Stardust" sung by Nat King Cole comes on the earphones and I think about Cat and I start to cry, and I've been worried all day because maybe I shouldn't have put in that thing about how I'm irritated at "the situation" -- not that it isn't true, because it upsets me most of the time, but maybe I shouldn't have put it in anyway -- and I think about how I work and go to school with a lot of people on anti-depressants, and, sure, you've got to wonder why the hold out, and what the hell makes you think you're above it when the rest of the community needs that emotion inhibitor to get through the day and you're sitting at your desk alone in the dark at work letting people bark at you on chat about how your company has this agenda to screw them and the Internet is run by witches, all the time worrying about school, work, friends and crying about a departed cat.

But you've got to wonder how much would be missed by inhibiting these moments. Emotion is a too way street, and putting up the tire spikes is going to keep traffic from traveling either way.

I guess the trick is making sure you can ride back up the hill from the bottom.

Back to work now. Hey! But here's today's customer of the day:

It will purchase the [item #] from Korea lye, it does. The post office thuk the possibility of receiving with Song it is?

Where do you even begin to try answering it?

Just a blog before I go

I promise, I won't use YouTube to fill the space anymore. At least not today.

Veda was taken in for her first shot and did very well in the car. I think she'll be the traveling pet, the one that goes with me across the country in my Winnebego and helps me solve mysteries (and help people with their personal problems). She was fine in the vet's office until the temperature-taking part. Telling her that we've all been through it and that we still respect her didn't seem to help. She didn't like the first shot either and made that sound that I would hear other cats make at the vet -- the sound that made me think "Geez, I'm glad that's not MY pet." And now it is. 3 more weeks until she can go outside, which is too bad today because it's finally SPRING!

I left the window open all night last night. Crazy, I know, but it was so nice, and I saw Mercury on the horizon just like the scientists said. (Veda's on my lap trying to paw me back from typing. Is it because I talked about your butt? We all have one.) Time to pull the weeds and save up for a new barbecue. It's making me itch to solve some issues and have friends again, but that is apparently not my business and that's all I can say because it will already lead to an angry shouting match with the cousin/roommate (Why did you have to say that on the blog?!?). But it irritates me and I want a new barbecue, but only if we're going to use it. I won't be publically censored anymore. Besides, opinion is protected under Oregon's First Amendment (King v. Menolascino, 276 Ore. 501, 555 P.2d. 442 1976).

Speaking of law, in terms of groups projects, I'm pinching myself. So far all of the groups I'm in (Reporting and Law) are filled with people actually taking an active part in the project! I know, it's weird. It's making up for 3 years of slugabeds. Did I mention the sorority teams that copied each other's paper, even the typos? The professor put it on the overhead and said he wouldn't name-names, and they went and outed themselves anyway: "You didn't tell us we couldn't work together." You copied the typos. One person worked, the other one copied. Get it? A really nice student from my Reporting class is trapped in one of those groups. Pray for him.

Ethics? We don't need no stinking ethics!

Best overheard remark in Ethics: "Dude, this guy's a total douche-bag."

Nice to know the kids still throw around insults like "douche-bag".

I'm supposed to be doing school work, but I've completely lost the love. I don't want to be a newspaper reporter anymore. I want to be a normal person. I know -- I KNOW -- there are reporters out there that don't pay half as much attention to what they write and they can still buy a house. Plenty of them don't give a rat's ass about ethics either, tell you what. Big test tomorrow on Physiology too -- have to remember how humans go pee and where the mitral valve is. I've got the PowerPoint slides, so it should be okay. Something is due tomorrow though ... and I really don't remember what it is. There, I'm a college student at last. Screw grades. YEAH. pass the beer bong, I'm goin' in.

Speaking of ethics, Hobbes and Kant ...

Ed Words

You've got to love a class with homework that includes watching this:

• First -- it's snowing
• Second -- I just heard on "On the Media" that the Pennsylvania primary "may be the deciding factor in deciding the election." Fahhhhhhhhh that was supposed to be Oregon. Kiboshed again.
• Third -- it's snowing. Not small snow. Real snow. Big, fluffy, snowy snow. It's April and we have real snow that we don't even get in December. It's pretty tho'. But it's going to suck taking the bike to work. The Le Tour isn't really all-weather, although it does run better in rain than sun.
  

They're talking about the debate last week -- this is still on "On the Media" -- and how boring it was. I had to turn it off because I didn't like the way either one answered the questions, but maybe it was because the questions WERE STUPIT. Why didn't they just ask about first boyfriends/girlfriends? Or whose clothes they were wearing -- oh, wait there's the question about the flag pin. That counts.

I'm moving to Australia. This country is irritating me -- pretty when it snows, but irritating.

Conversation

"How do you do it?"
"What?"
"That whole work and school thing?"
....
....
....
....
"I don't know."

Wouldn't you know it? I blog about Wilson and then he's gone.

He is sorely missed.

Oh yeah -- a little gem -- I overheard this at the Friends of the Library Book Sale on Sunday:

"Are books for reading or for smelling? I think they're for smelling, especially the really old, yellow ones."

WILLLLLLLLSOONNNNNNNN

This is Wilson. He showed up last Monday. First he was in our driveway. Then he disappeared. Then he came back on Wednesday on the lawn next to the drive way and he had the red hand and face you see above.

And, sure, I thought "Voodoo" right away. Because that's what I think. That's what I am.

Now he's like a friend. Every day I say goodbye to Wilson. Every night I say hello. Sometimes I miss him.

He was kicked last night and is now down in front of our neighbor's house. No one's moved him back yet. Or picked him up. He's like the neighborhood pet.

I'm afraid one day he'll be gone.

And then I'll cry. Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiillllllllllllllllllssoonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

Makes you want to ride around the blacktop on a red tricycle, doesn't it?

Hot Butter - Popcorn (1972)

Everybody Must Get Blogged

Me mum, a very clever chick and fun in Vegas, was recently laid-off from work after being lackey to the man for about 23 years. She now has a lot of time on her hands and some small measure of bitterness, and, in the tradition of my family, she has decided to take it out online in a blog.

She had actually sent these articles into her local newspaper where they disappeared, until she got a call from an editor in Real Estate/Business (!) who told mom to post them in a blog attached to the paper and maybe they'd print one someday. Here I bust my hump in J school to get in and ... well ... Anyway, she's good, is mom, and t'anks God they didn't get the ol' laugh-and-heave treatment at the City Desk.

Now she's blogged and has a cute little avatar as well.

Ma's linked at the right. I hope my use of the F word the other day doesn't work against linking to the newspaper blog (they have rules about profanity), seeing as how it is my First Amendment right to express myself. God bless Americur.

I hate your commercial! But I love your product!

Head hurts. Mom sent me Head On about 3 or 4 years ago ("It's supposed to work" which is one of her favorite sayings, especially about new, untested products) and it's been sitting on my dresser ever since. I only just realized today that it's that irritating crap they advertise on Jeopardy!.

No. It's never worked. I just tried it and it actually hurts. I'm going to go wash it off right now.
(mother corker. It's just an irritant to make you forget about the other irritant. That's not right.)

So, yeah, this is really hard, this school stuff. I'm going to have to do something about work if I'm going to have time to write papers and read when it's not 4 am or 10 pm or a time when I could be calling my mom to find out how my cousin's wedding was last weekend. These are the considerations of time. Time won't give me time. And time makes students feel like they've got something real.

I can quote you some court cases tho'. Fecking A this law class is fun. There's Socialists, Communists, guys with "Fuck the Draft" on their jacket, Krishnas, picketers, flag burning, cross burning and leaflet throwing. I seem to be the only one in the class that enjoys it, and that makes me a little bit of a kiss ass, but I get kind of goofy around citations, especially when it's taken me 4 days to pull them all up with summaries, judgments and dissenting opinions.

So far my favorite has to be Cohen vs. California, 403 U.S. 15 (1971), which is the "Fuck the Draft" case:

"That the message was thrust upon unsuspecting viewers, who were not captive and could avert their eyes, did not entitle appellee to protect the sensitive by curtailing all such speech."

Yeah! Fuck the Courts! .... oh ... wait ...

S.A. - T.U.R. - D.A.Y. ... night-night

Spent the day typing up a 3-page response to a silly ethics scenario and reading legal briefs. Of the 40 cases we're supposed to know from last week and this week, I've looked up and summarized only 19. It's taking forever and there are another 15 for next week. Stopped long enough to make dinner and ruin the ending of "Dog Day Afternoon" for the cousin/roommate -- DUDE! I thought he'd seen it before. Turns out he hadn't. On the question "Does Lance (Henrickson) ever say anything in this movie?" I replied with the old "Yeah, at the end just before he ..."

Yeah. Well done me.

We watched "Capote" while eating food and settling in -- I could afford a couple hours away from the Supreme Court, right? Fine little movie. Philip Seymour Hoffman is unsettling. Cousin/roommate hasn't read "In Cold Blood" either, so there's another story ruined.

Hey, but Kubica's on pole in Bahrain, so all is well. All is well. All is well. (It's the wave of the future - the future - wave of the future - it's the wave of the future)

I'm going to bed.

First pole for Pole

YAYYYYYYYYYYYY Kubica on Pole and Matchett wins the Speed Channel Pole Pool.

Watch how quickly I can pedal backwards

Okay, so the first day of Spring Term wasn't that bad, all considered. The workload is going to suck, but I actually like the majority of the professors, even the J school ones. The Ethics class ... that's going to take some getting used to. "What's the difference between Ethics and Morals?" hahahaha right out of Election. I wanted to raise my hand and give the Tracy Flick response, but was afraid my face would freeze like Reese Witherspoon's. I'm dying to pipe up one day with "I'm not talking about ethics! I'm talking about morals!"

But Law and Reporting are fun so far, although both seem to promise a kind of Info Hell-style project that's worth some huge percent of the grade. It's a group project in Law and I know -- I KNOW -- I'm going to end up with the two girls behind me who began class with this scintillating conversation: "Um, like, is this Law or Econ?" "Oh, yeah, like, I don't know." "Does anyone know?" "I guess we'll just wait and see." "I hear this class is hard."

Which class? Law? Or Econ?

Maybe they're right to call us all collective morons. I swear these kids are stoned. If not, they should be. They need some excuse.

my major malfunction

Got up early to read my 4 newspapers available online (have to pick up the paper copy of the fifth one at school since it's not updated online until noon) and I feel prepared for another term of school.

It's going to suck. You know, last term was bad bad, no doubt about it, but the instructors weren't a-holes. They didn't talk to you like you were an a-hole. Or maybe they did and I didn't notice, but if they did it wasn't that "I know going in that you, student, are a woodentop, so just sit back and try to see if you can follow along" kind of a-hole talk. J classes are different. We're already getting emails telling us about how we'll be molded into moral agents and how our excuses won't be tolerated. We haven't even had a class yet.

If you ladies leave my classroom, if you survive recruit training, you will be a weapon. You will be a minister of death praying for war. But until that day you are pukes. You are the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human, fucking beings. You are nothing but unorganized grabastic pieces of amphibian shit. Because I am hard you will not like me. But the more you hate me the more you will learn. I am hard but I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here. I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers; freshmen, sophomores, juniors, or seniors. Here you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved News Corps. Do you maggots understand that?

Culture Spot

Bryn Terfel - Tosca - Va, Tosca (Te Deum). Tosca makes him dimenticare his Deo.

It must have been that goofy laugh from Kiss of Death, or his lovely teeth, and the way he kept reaching for the translator earphones between speeches in Judgement at Nuremburg, or how he kept apologizing to Sidney Poitier between takes on No Way Out because his character shouted racial slurs, or how you can watch him lipread the other actors in Rollercoaster so he'd know when to speak his lines without screwing up, or seeing him in all those westerns even though he hated guns, and how last Christmas we watched Death of a Gunfighter because he was in it even though it was a bad, bad, bad, bad movie, or watching him chase Palance down in Panic in the Streets shouting "YOU HAVE THE PLAGUE!", but mostly I think it's in the way he played Harry Fabian in Night and the City so that it wrenches your heart to see him lose that innocence, because he really thought he knew what he was doing.

But Pickup on South Street ... that's the one I can watch over and over and over and over and over, because he was the best.

Thank you, Mr. Widmark.

Lost Weekend

Not that I watched "Lost" or caught up on the new season or anything of importance. I'm just sayin'.

Took some books back to the Duck Store to get my (fair share of abuse) usual $10 for each $130 that I spend there, and walked away about 20 lbs lighter with $84 in my pocket. But I kept the Astronomy book back. She was only giving me $30 for it! No deal. I'd rather be a nerd and keep it for reference then lower its value that way. I wasn't as attached to the book on television -- kind of dry for such a magnificent art form.

Spent the dough at Value Village and somewhere else ... I can't remember. But I got 4 nice sweaters and I think some food for the week. Oh and some booze for a party Saturday where I behaved like a freshman and slugged a few too many, but I stuck with Vodka and that made all the difference. I was still a little puny yesterday, but managed some laundry and some proper Easter God-film watching. Jeffrey Hunter a Jesus in "King of Kings" ... dude ... Christopher Pike died for us all, friends, and Rip Torn led him there. Good ol' Rip. Two minutes of him as Judas and we were compelled to put in "Men in Black".

Work all week and then school next week. I'm too old for this. 4 more months until July. No. Sleep. Til Vegas!

I shall list each excuse clearly and succinctly

So I hopped right on www.barackobama.com as soon as the visit to Eugene was announced. I was there RIGHT THERE and I put in the RSVP and then saw ... "this does not guarantee entrance" and the balloon up and deflated. No tickets. It's first come, first seated.

Friends, I'm all for Barack. I'm waiting only for the coffee mugs to be added to the the Bobama store before I place my order, because I want everything at once, and the water bottle isn't going to cut it. I want real stoneware before I start harassing others to vote like me. VOTE LIKE ME. I've got a brand new bumper on Rudy just waiting for the sticker (did I get rear-ended because of Kerry? .... .... this is going to take some investigation).

But, you know, if Econ has taught me nothing else, it's taught me how to do a cost-benefit analysis.

Cost:

• riding to school in the cold (it's 42 now) and coming back at midnight (when it's supposed to drop to 31 degrees)
• jockeying for position among Eugene's finest, most of whom don't cotton to washin'
• and ending up thrust into the EMU with the overflow anyway because I didn't get off work until 5:00 and people were lining up at Mac Court as early as 2:00
  
• leaving the cousin/roommate home with a bad case of trotskys (I told him we shouldn't have eaten at that Taco Bell)

Benefit:

• yeah, okay, sure, it would be great to say "I saw the President when..."

The cost -- including opportunity cost -- is just too high. Students were already crowding the doors before I'd even had a lunch break at work. So I picked up some pretzels and Squirt for the cousin/roommate and we watched a pretty weak episode of Taggart (I know, weird, but they can't all be great), and now I'm going to bed to sleep the sleep of the wimpy. I had a chance to see the President when ... and I didn't go.

This is my story. This is my song.

The End is Nigh

Friends, I know I may say this every time, but this time I really mean it. This was the hardest term of my entire college career so far -- although, honestly, what could beat it? The cat died, there was the run-in with the hobo, there was Economics, and today I had to come up with the names of 2 Bollywood directors and their films, and I couldn't do it. But it's over and done and the first grade came in and it's a P for Pass in Econ so I'm DONE with that shite ... until the next Econ class, since Journalism majors have to take 8 credits ... Whatever n' junk. I'm done.

I'm going to miss astronomy though. That was fun stuff.

Release the hounds, it's time for some vodka.

Or sleep.

Basically, I was just gonna say...

That's how most of my fellow students begin each sentence. They usually end with "or whatever" like that will absolve them from any responsibility in the sentence. ("Basically, I was just gonna say that the Earth revolves around the Sun, or whatever.")

Yes, I should be studying. Yes, the Economics final was today -- had a freakout at the start (and it was on a cost table, the only thing in the class I can really do confidently and it still freaked me out), so I skipped to the next section, maintained, and was able to return and balance out. I think I'll pass with a D. If I have to take it (or something like it) again, at least now I'll know how to figure the elasticity.

Basically, I was just gonna say, I know I should be studying for the film and astronomy finals, but I want it on the record that the Ashera designer cats really freak me out. I know, they're old news, but it's the first time they were Yahoo news, so it's the first I've seen of them, or whatever.


Nice use of the frilly model in the background to give a light, feminine, somewhat Euro touch to the photo. "Ees theese your veeceeous jungle cat? Oooh la la, may I geev heem a petteeng?"

Finals Week.

That is all.

Densha Otoko (Train Man)

We watched this in film class today and I cried like a baby. Nerd love is sweet.

Yreka

While having my yogurt and coffee (Not-Quite-But-Almost South Beach Diet) lunch today I overheard a conversation that suddenly made everything clear.

Boy 1: So what are you going to do after graduation?
Boy 2: I don't know. My parents just keep saying "Get a degree. Get a degree." But I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it.
Boy 1: Yeah, most companies just want to see if you have one when they hire. They don't care what it's for.
Boy 2: That's what I figure. Maybe I'll get a teaching credential or something. I don't know. What are you going to do?
Boy 1: I'm going to go work for the [previously mentioned Christian] youth group.
Boy 2: Cool.

So, I guess I shouldn't be worried about having to compete with these kids for jobs. Most of them are just filling time to get the degree paper, so competition should be minimal. Not that I'm counting on that, I'm just sayin' ... the less fish to fight and all ... Maybe this will all work out okay.

And, not to jinx it, but, pssst, I get it. Economics. I think I'm beginning to get it. Monopolies ... that's where the money's at. You need to monopolize. I'm still working on the equation flash cards, since I need to get an A to pass ... or at least to keep my C (based on the curve) average. Black holes, neutron stars and supernovae -- why are those so much easier to understand than supply and demand? Go figure.

Pudon yer dancin' shoes, bisches!

I gotta say, I kinda missed seeing the fighting French couple in this week's Horrible People.

But it still made tea come out my nose.

Hey, nice Marmot
Dude, the rain gear from the cousin/roommate is the Christmas gift that keeps on giving. It was rainy and I had a vague meegraine, so I almost took the bus home from school today, but rode it and was rewarded with the smell of flowers blooming and wet pollen in the trees. The Marmot jacket and Hammer pants (can't touch this) ... how did I live without you for so long? PS: It's weird how I can be dressed like a clown (powder blue jacket, black Babu pants, turquoise shoes on a red bike) and still have cars not see me as they turn right ... fecking cosmic justice, man. I'll never get my karma back.

Some Weird Territory

Last night I had a dream where Cat was still alive, and it made me miss her all over again ... but Veda was sleeping next to me in bed, so when I woke up I felt guilty about still having affection for Cat.

In the same dream a massage therapist (it's a long story) was telling me that trans fats were good and it was a myth that they were the bad fat, because they transfer the nutrients to the places your body needs them most. The fat is just a catalyst. A helper-outer. A little sugar to make the medicine go down.

I know it's because I was eating those fecking Girl Scout cookies. Those little drug dealers were selling them on campus yesterday and I was only going to buy one box, but they were having trouble making change, so I bought two (I also felt bad because in greeting I said "You guys are so bad" and none of them got the joke ... hmpf ... not even the mom. We used to have a lot more laughs when I was a Girl Scout ...).

My Big Fat College Book Deal

So I've come up with my pitch ... or my title without the pitch:

Thank You For Spiking The Curve: Adventures of a 40 Year-Old Undergrad

I think of it as a how-to book, as in how not to blow your retirement on your kid's college education. Among the quotable gems (just from this week alone):

"I haven't cracked a book since I started school and I'm already a Sophmore." Followed by "I take all of my classes pass/no pass, but I haven't passed one yet except for the gym ones."

Related
"I just can't get up the enthusiasm to go into Pool class. It's too late in the day to interest me." (yeah, we have a class on shooting pool. We also have bowling, trampoline and fly fishing. His companion in this conversation is taking badminton next term.)

"That was my favorite film because it was the shortest. If the teacher"(sic)"had been there we'd have had a lecture, which would have sucked."

Plus other tidbits from faculty friends. Too bad it's all real or I'd probably have a publisher already. Maybe if I did it as a graphic memoir ... except I can't drawr drawrings.

Speaking of, and raking up, sent the cousin (sister of the cousin/roommate) the link to the New York Times article where Whiteaker is described as the ghetto. She had no idea, and now has suitable shame. She doesn't know "Peggy" personally, but is aware of the pit bulls she used to raise (apparently for "the Bloods").

Eugene, Eugene, it's a wonderful town. Fairmount is up and Whiteaker's down -- Eugene, EUGENE! It's a wonderful town!

You con man conning me with your con

This whole Margaret B. Jones/Margaret Seltzer situation is a crack up.

I don't know if it's the half-assed fact checking done by Riverside Books ('I've been talking to her on the phone and getting e-mails from her for three years and her story never has changed,' Ms. McGrath said."), or the way Whiteaker was described as the "ghetto" of Eugene in the NY Times Feb 28th article (sugar, if that's the ghetto, then where the ffff do I live?), or just the whole white girl/black story sold to gullible whitey and how that's both funny and sad.

This is the best comment so far, from Kevin Allman's really great blog series on the subject:
Were any actual black people involved in the publication of this book?

I highly recommend reading the rest of his commentary here.

So where's my book deal? Word.

Thank you THANK YOU Reverend Dick. I can't wait for episode 5

Is there a doctor in the house?

Since we've been here almost a year, we decided maybe it was time to Rug Doctor the living room. There were strange smells that would seep up every time it rained and colors in the carpet that could have been anything from bike grease to bongwater to God only knows -- seeing as how the previous tenants would often pee on the front lawn and didn't have regular trash pickup. Notwithstanding the fact that drug dealers and hillbillies still live across the street, we may actually stay here now.

The water that was sucked up was (according to cousin/roommate) purple in color and full of grit ... eeeuw ....

Before

After

After I calmed a bit and stopped yelling at Geico (who also tried to tell me bike law, refuting what I was reading off of the Oregon DOT website, that a bike in motion is a vehicle and being in a crosswalk doesn't automatically make you a pedestrian because ped means WALK), I went to school yesterday and was almost hit twice on the way home by people turning their cars into me.

Which brings home what really irritates me about this incident.

We'll side with Kevin first. So he's got this residual pain after the accident, and he goes to the emergency room because he's got no insurance for a standard doctor and when you don't have insurance you go to emergency (which I had to clarify for Geico: he went to an emergency room for treatment, but it was NOT an emergency), and they say well there's some swelling, blah blah blah, we can give you a prescription to something, blah blah blah, but how are you going to pay for this? And he's got no money (unless he sells the bike and the cellphone), so he pins it on my insurance, but to make it really worth going after, he's going to have to throw in the damage to the bike, and he'll have to increase that damage, because a ding in the rim is going to be too small for Geico to pursue.

Now, since I was in the car and he was the vulnerable vehicle, and regardless of how he was or wasn't riding, I ran into him (although, in a funny touch, the fire department report states "bike into car") and I've got to take care of these problems. Whereas if he really was considered a vehicle, it would be his fault for riding the wrong way.

So, what irritates me, is that when I ride legit with helmets and lights and all and sundry, and some car hits me, rather than sorting out damage and fault in a reasonable way like car drivers, this kind of mentality comes up -- "she's a bike. shit. she's going to take me to the cleaners over this" -- and that's why we have hit and run. And we have a lot of that in Eugene because we have a lot of bikes and a lot of guys like my pal Kevin who think that bike law is this free-for-all that allows them to behave however they want on the road and then they get compensation when stuff like this happens -- and he'll probably get it too. That's the cherry on top. Geico started in on me with the assumption that it was my fault -- probably because I didn't report it, probably because there was nothing to fecking report! -- and will look at the 2 ton car versus the 5 lb bike (and 200 lb man), and make me pay up money I don't have to a guy that doesn't deserve it. And, regardless of detail, I think that's probably an insurance industry standard (correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Bascomb). You can call it a vehicle, but when something happens it's suddenly the drooping violet in need of protection against the evil smog monster.

You know, I should have blown off going to Econ and taken his bike right to Center for Appropriate Transport and watched them take out the ding for free. But I didn't. I told him to call me with the cost of repair and he didn't. Now I have to fight against the stuff I've been fighting for, because the details are against the stuff I'm for, and it's turning me into the ugly driver fighting the vulnerable righteous cyclist and it's just wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I leave you with a paragraph from my paper on vehicular homicide (my horn - tooted), incorporating the words of the great John Forester:

Considering their bicycle as a vehicle inspires confidence in the cyclist. John Forester states that “The vehicular-style cyclist not only acts outwardly like a driver, he knows inwardly that he is one. Instead of feeling like a trespasser on roads owned by cars he feels like just another driver with a slightly different vehicle … other drivers treat him largely as one of them” [18]. Among the top fear cyclists have of riding is the interaction they’ll have with motor vehicles and the implications of an accident. If a cyclist is confident that he has as much right to the road as a motor vehicle driver, this fear soon dissipates, and, with proper education about the rules of the road, in all but subtle differences in speed, a confident bicycle driver is equal to an automobile driver on the highway.

It's hard to have that confidence when regardless of the law you're still looked on by drivers as vulnerable and out for a lawsuit. Thanks, Kevin.