It's all learning though, isn't it?

Here's what I learned today:

The military is stupid. If you believe in art you should go on one of those programs that studies organic farming in Europe or something.

Planet Earth is really cool, especially while smoking "a lid".

Getting "the memo" is school equivalent to getting THE SYLLABUS and people who get the memo often don't really seem to get the memo.

Yoga is good for you, even more so than the Tylenol with codeine. Go figure.

'Ey, RocCO

So the boy's name is Rocco Joseph, which, as you know, I had some misgivings about. Until I saw who he was named after:

Wheet-wooo. (What gorgeous teeth!)

Everything's gonna be arright.

It's a boy, Mrs Hateful. It's a boy.

The wee brother has a masculine child now, and Pop is so pleased to have "someone to carry on the Hart name" ... since the world is completely void of Harts right now. No first name yet, although the brother was kicking around Rocco or Nico. I'm all for Nico -- sultry singer or Williams driver ... what's not to love? Rocco is Madonna's kid, and that's got a touch of celebrity fun about it, but it's also got a touch of mafia/cab driver. I expect more from my neph. Like being a cab driver who becomes Pope with help from the mafia. (The Pope - the Holy Father himself - has this very day blessed Michael Corleone; and you think you know better than the Pope?)

He was 8 lbs something. (Is that a baby or a turkey? It's a baby. Pretty small for a turkey.)

The Things They Carried

First day of Winter Term and I'm lugging around the following bits of junk:
2 books for Digital Freedom
3 books for Poetry
1 book for MacroEconomics with cd
1 500 page wirebound notebook for all classes
2 report covers
1 yoga mat
1 pair of pants
1 umbrella
1 mini laptop with plug

Added:
1 bottled water

It was as I was buying that bottled water that I was deciding if it was really worth it to carry one more mutha effing thing around. I was already at about 75 lbs of stuff (not counting the overcoat) spread out over 2 bags. But it meant being a dollar lower in weight and I was thirsty, so ...

Then, it turns out that I don't have class from 3 to 5 like I thought, but from 4 - 6. Which means that I can come home for lunch. Which means I didn't have to tote all that crap to school this morning because I only needed 2 books, 1 yoga mat and 1 pair of effing pants.

Which makes me stupit.

Und der Kittenbox mach ein grobe gehen

www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com. Proving once again that the internet is a wonderful and glorious tool.

Scraping the life back in order after California -- I still have Christmas cards to open and the cousin/roommate has already taken down the tree (Veda liked to climb it and pee on it, so...). I don't think I have clean clothes to wear to work today, which means dressing up in skirts n' junk.

It was a good if busy holiday. Family time is a special time full of anger, disappointment and envy, but travel means being able to finally read some non-school books: Ian Fleming's short stories ... dude ... 3 really good ones and some that just serve to expose Fleming's inner weirdo; Robert Wagner's autobiography, which I read in one day because I couldn't stop -- Barbara Stanwyck, that's all I'm sayin'. Pick it up. Read it now.; and I started Gene Wilder's "My French Whore" which is pretty delightful so far.

Flight Highlights:

- getting to the airport 2 hours before the flight (3:30 am) only to discover that airport employees don't start work until an hour before the flight
- getting docked $25 for my second suitcase after being told by email that it was only $15 and that was because gas prices were high and now that they're low again ... what the?
- sitting for an hour in Portland as they de-ice the plane twice and breathing in that toxic nastiness while the autistic woman next to me repeated random phrases like "Windows," "Posted Placards" and "Bathroom"
- oh yeah, she would repeat them by leaning over into my personal space to make sure I heard her
- coming back next to the extra-large man who wouldn't put down the arm rest and then proceed to try to sleep with his head on the tray table

But my luggage got to the carousel without underpants falling out, so all-in-all a successful journey.

Now I just really, really want to sleep.

Merry Xbox

The last card has been sent. Santa has already come to the house (and left a lovely King Size KitKat bar) and Netflix has sent Kal Ho Naa Ho just in time to take it on the plane to California. Dear person who will sit next to me, I'll try not to dance to this in my seat, but I can't promise anything.

I don't like Christmas in general because I don't think you should be nice to people only one day a year, so pretend this is just like any other day ... oh, except that it's also D.W.'s birthday.

And that makes it special.

See you all in a few days.

How do you NOT dance to it?

Snap

It's freezing here. No. Really. I know, that sounds wussy to my friends "back East" but we don't usually get down to 10 degrees here in Eugene. It just ain't fittin'. I was kicking icicles off the bumper of the car yesterday. That ain't right. That ain't Oregon.

But the Christmas cards are done and I shipped off the wee brother's presents yesterday, so I feel I'm ahead of the game holiday-wise. Sure I've still got to come up with gambling money for next week and it's going to be freezing rain and snow today which kiboshes shopping for in-town family, but that doesn't mean I can't keep changing my avatar on Rock Band, right? I need to figure out how to screen shot it for the blog. She's all cuted up -- although I don't remember opting in on the tongue piercing ... that's troubling.

Grindhouse now rocks most of Western Europe (Dublin was particularly receptive to our panicky sight-reading of "Alex Chilton") and once we win that plane in Madrid ... dude ...

It's a little bit of a concern that we only just bought this thing on Saturday. I'm afraid the early obsession will quickly turn into boredom and then resentment. Are there help groups, therapy sessions, for people who have lost the love for Rock Band 2? Or am I anticipating all of this disappointment simply to keep off the depression that will come with failure once we stop playing on the Easy level?

It's 12 degrees outside and Christmas is next week.

How the hell did this happen?

You Only Christmas Twice

Friday I got the report that the platelets were down again (42), and the doctor doesn't seem too concerned that they're going the wrong way, although we just watched an episode of House where there was fictional concern that a patient's platelets were down to 35, but anyway... not happy.

Saturday the cousin/roommate's parents left town and I shopped for other people n' junk and then ran across town and went to the company Christmas party where the boss kept asking cousin/roommate/coworker and me to sit at the big table, but since we were kind of cheating on the one free drink (I gave mine to the c/r/c) ... it just wouldn't be fittin' to do that in front of the guy who was paying, ya know?

And throughout all of this we keep hearing about STORM WATCH with the worst snow in 10 years on the way, and me with no paper to write and no story to cover in other towns, decided we needed a stay-in day. So with everything taken care of Saturday afternoon, Saturday night we bought Rock Band 2.

This is the bestest Christmas present EVER.

MPH on drums and Veda Vacant on guitar (and some other people who fill in, like the female vocalist who sings like Beck) ... ladies and gentlemen, presenting ... GRINDHOUSE.

We've already won a van and traveled from our hometown of Stockholm to Amsterdam. We've rocked out enough for me to buy the combat shorts I'd had my eye on. I toyed with piercings, but I've got this librarian look going and I'm not sure yet where I want to go with the face jewelry.

We'll see.

I love Christmas.

Debtors ring, are ya listenin'...

End of term, time to sleep and reassess the meaning of it all, and buy a bunch of stuff I can't afford.

Actually, the cousin/roommate's been spending the most $$ lately, but he can afford it since he ain't got none credit card debt.

Really, that's our house n' stuff. We live with this beautiful oak bit of loveliness. The decorations are by the cousin/roommate's mom. Isn't that a sweet buffet? I envision having decanters of scotch on top so I can invite people in and offer them a drink. Or, on our hunting party weekends we'll put out the samovar and the heated pans of eggs and Irish bacon. "Have you breakfasted yet, Sir Henry?"

Or we'll store tea things and playing cards in it.

This is the cousin/roommate's bed.

Yeah ... I don't want to talk smack about Ikea, but you can see why I feel a little ashame'd to be sharing a house with this across the hall from my rounded pine Schuflenfurger.

Thank you all for your nice comments on the story -- it helped me rate an A+ in Reporting II. Do I still want to give up on reporting? ... ... eeeyeah, kinda. It's fun and all, but the chances of scoring a job right now are really slim. And, honestly, I just want Ebert's gig at the Sun. The name dropping and reminiscing that fills the reviews now ... dude. Gimme da keys.

okay okay

School meeting story here.

This week's city council story should be up later ... although he was doing a lot of editing. It was late. I'd been up since 3:30 am, so I don't expect front page this time. After the high comes the low low.

DUDE!

Not only did I make the paper, my story was front page at the top.
Front.
Page.
Top Story.

As God as my witness, I'll never be humble again.

Ladies and Gentleman, I'm a Cook!

Saw my name in print yesterday. I like the taste of it.

Reporting is still an irritating job, but so is answering questions about erasers, so maybe I'll do both one day. Can't quit the cash cow in favor of a dying medium. But there's something really satisfying about telling someone "I'm Li'l Hateful from the Sentinel -- did you mean what you said about the governor being a big fat liar?" and then seeing "xxx says the governor is 'a big fat liar'" in the paper.

Not that my story included that line ... because it didn't fit and she just said he was "inaccurate" not a liar, but still...

Watched Harold and Maude for class last week. I've seen it about 40 times and it makes me cry every time. Our little Harold ...

I don't think he's a nihilist.

I'm just sayin'.

One more day and then finals and then I can concentrate on important things like blogging. Sweah.

Good Dog, Creck

Lars axed me to put up my police ride story, so here it is. I'm not counting this as published. I'm going to hold firm to the idea of traditional journalism in the form of newspapers, print and the dinosaurs that deliver them to your front door. Blogs. Don't. Count.

It was a slow Saturday night on the swing shift. Officer Creck only left the patrol car twice, once just to chase his rope ball.

Creck is one of four K-9 officers in the Springfield Police Department. He is a German shepherd from the Czech Republic (by way of Bakersfield, Calif.) and has been patrolling the streets of Springfield for more than four years with his partner, Officer Tony Del Castillo. Creck’s trained to search buildings and inspect cars, but his favorite pastime is the vehicle pursuit. That’s where Creck gets to show off.

Only two patrol cars are allowed on a vehicle pursuit and one of those will always be a K-9 unit, Del Castillo said. This is in case the suspect leaves the vehicle and runs. Police dogs like Creck can track a suspect quickly. Human officers can take much longer and are not always effective, Del Castillo said.

According to the Springfield Police Department website, the K-9 program started after it took five officers over 90 minutes to find a theft suspect in a Bi-Mart store. When caught, the suspect admitted that he had been hiding in a box, close enough to touch one of the officers. A similar situation happened shortly afterward at a K-Mart store on 21st Street. Police officers made two inspections of the building and found no one. The K-9 was called in and found the suspect within minutes.

Like his fellow police dogs on the force, Creck is trained from a puppy specifically to assist police officers. Police dogs and their human partners spend four months living and training together before hitting the patrol on a work schedule. The first month is just for bonding, Del Castillo said. He fed Creck and played with him but issued no commands apart from disciplinary ones. Once they build a trust with their human partners, police dogs begin two to three months of command training.

All of Creck’s commands are in Czech because that’s the language he was raised with, and it’s easier than retraining in a new language, Del Castillo said.

When Del Castillo throws the rope ball Creck’s instinct is to run for it, but one command will stop Creck in his tracks. He will not move, no matter what distractions surround him, until Del Castillo gives the “go” command in Czech.

Last Saturday Creck had little to do, and that’s okay, too. There are only a couple of pursuits a month. The rest of the time is spent on patrol with Del Castillo. Sometimes that means riding in the car and waiting, never getting the chance to track “the bad guys.”

According to the 2007 “City of Springfield Police Department Annual Statistical Report” reported crime dropped 14.5 percent from 2006 and arrests were down 17.3 percent.

“We deal with 10 percent of people 90 percent of the time,” Del Casillo said. That can make for a slow Saturday, but Del Castillo doesn’t mind. Slow days means people aren’t breaking laws.

“Someone walking down the street is just someone walking down the street,” Del Castillo said.

Creck is just as easygoing as his partner when he’s not on alert, willing to come up to a stranger for a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears. But when he hears Del Castillo issue a command, Creck is all business and ready for any situation that comes his way, even if it’s just chasing down a rope ball.

Thanks, I'm Giving This to You

I'm thankful that this year is almost over. The cat, the blood thing, the mystery illness, moving again, economics ... dude ... I'm so done with it.

I'm thankful that in one week I'll be able to read a book and finally finish watching Chak De! India ... maybe even sleep a little.

I'm thankful that I live in a house with heat, a neighborhood with neighbors, a city with a conscience, a county that includes city and country people, a state that includes Powell's City of Books, a country that is moving forward and may one day actually be what it imagines itself to be, and a world where a deadbeat can be in internet star: Where The Hell is Matt (and thankful that Wuh sent me the video today).

In the Meantime...

I'm working on 2 media papers and a website, so for your reading pleasure I'll be using someone else's literature. This is probably ... almost definitely ... the best review I've ever read on Amazon. It's for Sixteen Tambourines by The Three O'Clock (found at random while looking for the lyrics to "Jet Fighter Man"):

What Time Is It?
April 21, 2003
By A Customer

Jesus died at three o'clock. The previous band name (The Salvation Army) had to be deep-sixed, for copyright reasons. But you can't keep a good band down, and the boys were going to have their last laugh, at the expense of the petty Christians and their humanity-serving organizations. Take that you Bible thumpers!

But is this a good band, and are they boys? Yes to the first part, no to the second part. These are chipmunks with bad haircuts and oxford shirts. But unfortunately, the name "The Chipmunks" was also copyrighted...

But again, you can't keep a good band down. And even a chipmunk can dream...of being a Jet Fighter. Jet Fighter Man/That's What I Am/Cuz Tanks Go Too Slow.

When I was in grammar school, the word "gay" was tossed around among the kids as a perjorative. Immature young punks we were, but the word "gay" wasn't a sexually loaded insult. Just a derisive term for things that weren't cool, or tended towards the "sissy" part of the coolness spectrum. If I may return to my grade school days, let's just go ahead and call this the "gay"-est music you'll ever hear. If Isaac Hayes is matter, Michael Quercio is anti-matter. If you're driving through the "tough" section of town, you do not want your windows rolled down with The Three O'Clock blaring on your stereo.

But I sincerely love this band, and have taken much abuse for listening to them. Funny looks, shaking heads, snide remarks. I have received much disdain for my appreciation and affinity of this band. And Sixteen Tambourines is their finest album. Even with the Bee Gees cover.

Jet Fighter is quite simply the perfect pop song, and who'd a thunk it, with the less-than-promising intro to the song. Weird electronic twang into a cheesy high keyboard with a stupidly-simple drum rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Then the most absurd guitar progression ever, a chromatic run of notes that goes absolutely nowhere. Verse one is shouty and stupid. But then...the chorus kicks in. And the song takes off. Like a Jet Fighter. And then you're tapping your foot, having a good time. The Stone Roses would imitate this in the closing song to their classic debut. I Am the Resurrection starts out with a simple drumbeat, a repetitive bassline, and a chant-chanty verse. And you don't appreciate it until you hear the song again and again and again.

Compare the guitar line in Stupid Einstein to Sally Cinnamon. This is a formidable band we're dealing with here. You can forgive the reference to the "master race" in this song. It's bubble gum pop sui generis. Tomorrow is driven by a pulsing keyboard riff and a heavenly vocal melody, and the middle eight is the highlight of the song, not just a trite instrumental but more vocals telling us to "Stay Young/When Life/Goes Wrong/I'll Help You." Have more soothing words ever been sung? It took me...over three years...to appreciate On My Own, but now I think it's possibly the class song of the album.

It seems that most Three O'Clock aficionados consider Arrive Without Traveling to be there magnus opus. I think they are tragically misguided. The songs of AWT are more complex, the band is tighter, and the opening track is ferocious (for chipmunks that is). And then Hand in Hand...oh I SWOON just thinking about that song. But on Sixteen Tambourines you have this onslaught of pop diamonds, one after the other, and they turn your brain into that sickeningly sweet red jelly inside of those powdered donuts. This is one of the top 5 albums from the 1980s, in my estimation. And the places this album will take you. A Day in Erotica...hear what chipmunks sound like when they are in heat! When Lightning Starts...funky chipmunks with saxophones! And don't forget that Bee Gees cover!

Oh yeah. Ignore tracks 11-16.

I'm busy, really

You'd think now that I'm portable I'd be more regular about putting stuff up, but it looks like I'm slipping even further behind. I guess I can put it down to the problem of using the laptop to run episode of "House" instead of blogging -- but I'm writing a 20-page analysis of gender, race and disability stereotypes, so I need to research. Right?

Academics come first.

Almost typed "Academics come fist" ... and that amuses me.

It's been a boring week anyway, or at least one that I didn't really keep up with as it went by. I'm still a little thrown off by today being Friday. Wasn't yesterday Monday? I'm sure it was. I remember ... doing something ... Monday-ish, although I'm not entirely sure what it was.

Class is starting up and we're discussing White Heat (which I compared musically to King Kong -- honestly, listen to the score and show me where I'm wrong. That nutty Max Steiner, man. He knew exactly what he was doing).

The Changeling

No, not the new Jolie picture -- not to knock the Jolie and Squint, but that movie looks kind of bloated and Oscar-panderish. I think JCVD is going to be the movie of the year.

The changeling in this case is the cousin/roommate, who has yet to come out of his new adult bedroom. I predict he will awaken as a new man. Yesterday he removed himself from the floor and onto a real mattress on a real bed. I know in Japan sleeping on a floor is just fine, but in Eugene ... I guess it's still just fine in most places, but today that trend has ended on Taylor St. As proof of it, he's still snoring in there.

We also have a lovely sectional with a chaise lounge and in about a week we'll have a dining room table. Ad-Dults. We are adults, and it feels right fine.

Other news -- the mini Dell ... you know, if they weren't such bastards I would recommend buying one. If you do decide to get one I have 2 bits of advice: cry into the phone and, if they delay shipment, tell them you want to cancel the order. They shipped it 3 days after I called to cancel it, which got it to me 2 weeks before I was scheduled to receive it. Had I known that would work I would have tried it weeks ago.

It's not a bad little laptop and it will fit into most lunchboxes. It weighs less than my AP Stylebook. For $500, that's pretty sweet. Now, with my cellphone and my iPod and my laptop, I can finally fit in with the kids, right? Time to buy some Hollister jeans ... oh, wait ... am I an woman or a misses, even though I have to buy juniors pants? Being an adult is tough.

Yes we can

Last night I wasn't going to watch it because I didn't want to get my hopes up only to wake up to another Republican morning. So we took time to buy some food, make some food, hanging around the kitchen away from the television, until about 7:30.

When he won Pennsylvania I nearly had a coronary. When he won Ohio I thought maybe this time it'll be okay, maybe this time it'll work, maybe this time -- Then came Florida! Then Virginia -- Virginia was looking totally McCain and then THEN it went blue! Then McCain gave in and wisely didn't allow Palin to speak, but as eloquent and old-school McCain, the McCain I used to like, as he was, it was disturbing to hear the boos in the Biltmore audience.

What the f...?

Tried calling my mom all night to find out that she was on the phone with the little brother the whole time. The little brother and wife voted McCain/Palin. What the F...?! WHAT??? And mom tells me that my one of my aunts claimed to have "proof" that Obama was the Antichrist.

But then, this morning, he was still president and it was all okay.

Some kids in the student union were talking about how they knew Obama would win and so they just went to bed.

I couldn't sleep.

For the record

I've decided I don't want to be a copy editor anymore. I don't want to be a reporter either. Can't I just watch movies and review them? How the hell did Ebert get his job? Do I need to write some crap sequel to an exploitation picture to get noticed?

That is all.