Coming clean
For a second there I was starting to think I was becoming pretty hip. My CD player is spinning The Postal Service, Josh Ritter and the newly beloved Hem. So, I'm thinking, "I'm grown up. I've got these sophisticated indie music tastes now. I'm enjoying the subtleties of lyrics and the powerful harmonies of instrument and voice." And then it hits me, I'm not hip. Because, I'm wailing, I'd warble if I knew how, but I don't, so I'm wailing, in my finest falsetto, "LET THE RAIN FALL DOWN" and I'm loving it. The hipsters can't handle Hilary D. They don't even try.
And that's why they'll never be as cool* as me.
*They will also never be as cool as me, or I as hip as them, because they no longer use the words "cool" and/or "hip". I would tell you what they do use, but they won't even look at me.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
My friends
are rock stars. They're out there doing it and if they aren't huge by the definition that most of the world will give you for "huge", they're huge to me.
They're making things happen. They're becoming Masters of Creative NonFiction and Masters of the Universe. They're changing the way you read the paper and the Internet. They're making families and saving kittens. They're buying houses and growing roots. They're searching for happiness and figuring it all out.
It's amazing to me. And it's so cool that I get to watch, to participate, to help take over the world.
Rock stars. Solid and Far out.
are rock stars. They're out there doing it and if they aren't huge by the definition that most of the world will give you for "huge", they're huge to me.
They're making things happen. They're becoming Masters of Creative NonFiction and Masters of the Universe. They're changing the way you read the paper and the Internet. They're making families and saving kittens. They're buying houses and growing roots. They're searching for happiness and figuring it all out.
It's amazing to me. And it's so cool that I get to watch, to participate, to help take over the world.
Rock stars. Solid and Far out.
Monday, February 23, 2004
A chance of a hint of something I might like to do
I went to a little presentation on Personas today. "They" swear they're different than just thinking about demographics, but I'm not convinced it isn't just a different way of thinking about the same things. However, demographics are kind of interesting. Web site behaviors- kind of interesting. Some sort of demographic, marketing, website reasearch gig? maybe? Might satisfy my "group dynamics" urges and my "paycheck" urge.
No one get carried away yet. I'm not making any changes until I'm good and ready.
I went to a little presentation on Personas today. "They" swear they're different than just thinking about demographics, but I'm not convinced it isn't just a different way of thinking about the same things. However, demographics are kind of interesting. Web site behaviors- kind of interesting. Some sort of demographic, marketing, website reasearch gig? maybe? Might satisfy my "group dynamics" urges and my "paycheck" urge.
No one get carried away yet. I'm not making any changes until I'm good and ready.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Do you realize?
-That Sex and The City (everybody else is going to blog about it) is over and I've only been a fan for two months and I still almost cried.
-it was the Miranda stuff if you wanted to know what got me.
-That this was one of the most satisfying weekends in a long time and I have a funny feeling most of that satisfaction came from a punishing 18 minutes.
-That Do Topia only represents a fraction of the nonsense that comes out of my brain, but my kind housemate is generous enough to listen to a big chunk of the rest of the nonsense.
-That I fully expect tomorrow to be just another manic Monday.
-That Sex and The City (everybody else is going to blog about it) is over and I've only been a fan for two months and I still almost cried.
-it was the Miranda stuff if you wanted to know what got me.
-That this was one of the most satisfying weekends in a long time and I have a funny feeling most of that satisfaction came from a punishing 18 minutes.
-That Do Topia only represents a fraction of the nonsense that comes out of my brain, but my kind housemate is generous enough to listen to a big chunk of the rest of the nonsense.
-That I fully expect tomorrow to be just another manic Monday.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Slow twitch muscle fibers
Ah. Race day. It's been more than 2 years since I've had one. Bits of running have been mixed in with a steady diet of Ultimate; game day had replaced race day. Not today.
Today the old routines came back like the last race was last weekend. The old routines still work. I left the warm-up "I'll- never -run- faster- than- molasses" jitters after a nice stretch. I would at least beat molasses today.
I eyed my competition wavering between confident "Whose ass will I kick today?" and supremely unconfident, "Do I remember how to do this? Everyone looks like they are going to kick my ass."
I had moments of zen, peaceful calm as I touched the grass and eyed the Potomac river on three sides of this penisula 5k. Those moments alternated with something more like wild drunken butterflies in my stomach. The zen was pleasant, but the butterflies were more familiar and thus a greater comfort before the race.
The flag dropped and we took off, or rather plodded slowly off. I'd forgotten the starting pace of the average road race. I have never been much for plodding and so I began to eye the leaders and move with them. Since lately I haven't been much for training, this strategy worked for something like 600 meters. By 800 meters I had what is commonly called the "Gut Check." I know it's been a while since I raced, but I distinctly remember the gut check coming at 2.5k or 4k, not this early, not this early at all.
I've got guts and I checked them, and I checked them, and I checked them some more, at one point I even checked them in my throat. The guts checked out at acceptable levels, but would appreciate not being checked so often in the future.
I struggled all the way to the end, battling it out with several runners and my arch nemesis-- me.
It wasn't the fastest race I've ever run, nor the smartest, nor any other -est that I can think of, but MAN was it satisfying.
Ah. Race day. It's been more than 2 years since I've had one. Bits of running have been mixed in with a steady diet of Ultimate; game day had replaced race day. Not today.
Today the old routines came back like the last race was last weekend. The old routines still work. I left the warm-up "I'll- never -run- faster- than- molasses" jitters after a nice stretch. I would at least beat molasses today.
I eyed my competition wavering between confident "Whose ass will I kick today?" and supremely unconfident, "Do I remember how to do this? Everyone looks like they are going to kick my ass."
I had moments of zen, peaceful calm as I touched the grass and eyed the Potomac river on three sides of this penisula 5k. Those moments alternated with something more like wild drunken butterflies in my stomach. The zen was pleasant, but the butterflies were more familiar and thus a greater comfort before the race.
The flag dropped and we took off, or rather plodded slowly off. I'd forgotten the starting pace of the average road race. I have never been much for plodding and so I began to eye the leaders and move with them. Since lately I haven't been much for training, this strategy worked for something like 600 meters. By 800 meters I had what is commonly called the "Gut Check." I know it's been a while since I raced, but I distinctly remember the gut check coming at 2.5k or 4k, not this early, not this early at all.
I've got guts and I checked them, and I checked them, and I checked them some more, at one point I even checked them in my throat. The guts checked out at acceptable levels, but would appreciate not being checked so often in the future.
I struggled all the way to the end, battling it out with several runners and my arch nemesis-- me.
It wasn't the fastest race I've ever run, nor the smartest, nor any other -est that I can think of, but MAN was it satisfying.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
That's not the deal
Just make it past Valentine's Day I told myself. I just miss her because everyone is falling all over each other with candy and flowers. It's a symptom of the season. The season, yea, I just miss her because it's cold and dark. There were always nice moments in the cold and dark. Love hangs better in the crisp night air.
Wait until it gets warmer, then it'll be fine. Warmer? Like spring time? The season for falling in love? The season when short shorts make their triumphant return? No. No. after that.
Oh, summer then? It'll be fine when summer hits? When I'm on the beach sipping lemonade and rocking silently on the front porch of a cute little inn farther north sharing the sunset with yours truly? Or when I walk the scorching streets, disc in hand, knowing she'd throw with me?
Fall? How about Fall? When I'm out looking at the leaves change color? Out on a Sunday drive stopping at the overlook and exchanging smiles with myself in the rearview mirror? That Fall?
No. No. The next one? That's winter again. It's cold and dark again.
Yeah. I know.
Just make it past Valentine's Day I told myself. I just miss her because everyone is falling all over each other with candy and flowers. It's a symptom of the season. The season, yea, I just miss her because it's cold and dark. There were always nice moments in the cold and dark. Love hangs better in the crisp night air.
Wait until it gets warmer, then it'll be fine. Warmer? Like spring time? The season for falling in love? The season when short shorts make their triumphant return? No. No. after that.
Oh, summer then? It'll be fine when summer hits? When I'm on the beach sipping lemonade and rocking silently on the front porch of a cute little inn farther north sharing the sunset with yours truly? Or when I walk the scorching streets, disc in hand, knowing she'd throw with me?
Fall? How about Fall? When I'm out looking at the leaves change color? Out on a Sunday drive stopping at the overlook and exchanging smiles with myself in the rearview mirror? That Fall?
No. No. The next one? That's winter again. It's cold and dark again.
Yeah. I know.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Blogging adds 5 kilos (11 pounds, if I must) to your weight
In a recent scientific study involving the exhaustive survey of someone, as well as extensive field research, or at least searching in a field, Scientists, or men and women with white lab coats, determined individuals appearing on blogs, like those before them who had appeared on television, are saddled with a perceived addition of at least 5 kilos (11 American pounds) to their weight.
Men and women in white lab coats are unclear as to what causes this paradigm shift, or even what a paradigm shift is. They have, however, confirmed that a paradigm shift sounds "pretty nifty".
Survey results did reveal that the additional imagined 5 kilos were also accompanied by a perceived extra level of cuteness. More searching in fields is in progress, but for now the men and women in white lab coats are content with the assertion that "blog writers are perceived as cuter and chubbier than real people".
I, for one, look forward to the outcome of further study and urge you to support this research in whatever means possible.
In a recent scientific study involving the exhaustive survey of someone, as well as extensive field research, or at least searching in a field, Scientists, or men and women with white lab coats, determined individuals appearing on blogs, like those before them who had appeared on television, are saddled with a perceived addition of at least 5 kilos (11 American pounds) to their weight.
Men and women in white lab coats are unclear as to what causes this paradigm shift, or even what a paradigm shift is. They have, however, confirmed that a paradigm shift sounds "pretty nifty".
Survey results did reveal that the additional imagined 5 kilos were also accompanied by a perceived extra level of cuteness. More searching in fields is in progress, but for now the men and women in white lab coats are content with the assertion that "blog writers are perceived as cuter and chubbier than real people".
I, for one, look forward to the outcome of further study and urge you to support this research in whatever means possible.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
It's hard to be a jerk...er...coach
The point I was trying to make was "Be patient. Don't just throw the disc up and expect your teammates to bail you out." It's not an easy thing to tell someone, so when I caught the swill, I immediately threw it away. It was a statement, "That's not what we wanted." I'm afraid my young friend heard a different statement, a "You must be perfect" sort of statement. That's not what I meant. And when we exchanged the loud words that's what I tried to explain.
By the end of the game, he had stopped throwing it wildly.
Did I win or lose? I got the results I wanted. Was there a better way?
The point I was trying to make was "Be patient. Don't just throw the disc up and expect your teammates to bail you out." It's not an easy thing to tell someone, so when I caught the swill, I immediately threw it away. It was a statement, "That's not what we wanted." I'm afraid my young friend heard a different statement, a "You must be perfect" sort of statement. That's not what I meant. And when we exchanged the loud words that's what I tried to explain.
By the end of the game, he had stopped throwing it wildly.
Did I win or lose? I got the results I wanted. Was there a better way?
Monday, February 16, 2004
These are troubled times
It only dawned on me at dinner tonight. I have reached a troubling point in my life. My memory of leaner times is starting to get fuzzy. It's getting harder to recall a time when I did not have the luxuries that I do now. I can only vaguely recall a time when my only condiment was BBQ sauce. Now I'm free to choose amongst Heinz 57 sauce, BBQ sauce, ketchup, mustard, and of course salsa. I have 4 varieties of salad dressing that go almost untouched. I seem to recall a time when meat was a biweekly extravagance, and now, NOW I buy myself ribs to eat on a whim. I haven't touched Ramen in nearly 10 months. So the Ramen baby can't be mine!
I've reached a comfort level. If not in the lap of luxury, I must be at least near the kneecap. I have the money to buy two mustards, but it's much easier to go to work fighting for just one. So the trouble, you see, is what am I fighting for? Is it to maintain this "rock 'n' roll" lifestyle? The one which sees me aimlessly careening from movie theater to movie theater? The lifestyle which affords me the occasional book or CD not borrowed from the library, but actually purchased? Is that enough to sustain a man? How can two mustards and ownership of books and music drive a man the way survival does?
They can't. That's why I'm going to become a Friend of the AFI Silver Theater. Because if I can't figure out what I'm fighting for, the least I can do is support the cinema and escape to a darkened theater.
It only dawned on me at dinner tonight. I have reached a troubling point in my life. My memory of leaner times is starting to get fuzzy. It's getting harder to recall a time when I did not have the luxuries that I do now. I can only vaguely recall a time when my only condiment was BBQ sauce. Now I'm free to choose amongst Heinz 57 sauce, BBQ sauce, ketchup, mustard, and of course salsa. I have 4 varieties of salad dressing that go almost untouched. I seem to recall a time when meat was a biweekly extravagance, and now, NOW I buy myself ribs to eat on a whim. I haven't touched Ramen in nearly 10 months. So the Ramen baby can't be mine!
I've reached a comfort level. If not in the lap of luxury, I must be at least near the kneecap. I have the money to buy two mustards, but it's much easier to go to work fighting for just one. So the trouble, you see, is what am I fighting for? Is it to maintain this "rock 'n' roll" lifestyle? The one which sees me aimlessly careening from movie theater to movie theater? The lifestyle which affords me the occasional book or CD not borrowed from the library, but actually purchased? Is that enough to sustain a man? How can two mustards and ownership of books and music drive a man the way survival does?
They can't. That's why I'm going to become a Friend of the AFI Silver Theater. Because if I can't figure out what I'm fighting for, the least I can do is support the cinema and escape to a darkened theater.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Saturday, February 14, 2004
No Humpty Dance for Dave
I was trying to figure out what to wear out to see Digital Underground, they of Humpty Dance fame (and little else no matter what the radio and print ads have been trying to say all week.)
That's when the personality of my evening started to sink in. I'd be 1. at a bar and 2. listening to Digital Underground. I know I complain that I want to "DO SOMETHING", and it would be nice if this involved trying new things, but bars aren't new and DU certainly isn't new, are they retro yet?
I've been to bars and I can't remember too many that I've enjoyed. Perhaps a few in New Orleans, but that was more due to the quality of the company and the otherworldy scene that is Bourbon. If I wanted to be at a bar on Valentine's Day, I should at least go to the new Coyote Ugly where the single ladies are getting in free (not to mention dancing on the bar). No. So why go tonight? Valentine's Day pressure could crush a lesser man and it could seriously injure me.
Go for DU and the Humpty Dance? I've seen them. I saw them in a tavern in Frasier, CO. And at that time, I was mildly excited to take my chance to do the hump. I know it's only been a couple of years, but it felt safe then and still feels safe now to say, "once with the big-nosed man is enough."
I was trying to figure out what to wear out to see Digital Underground, they of Humpty Dance fame (and little else no matter what the radio and print ads have been trying to say all week.)
That's when the personality of my evening started to sink in. I'd be 1. at a bar and 2. listening to Digital Underground. I know I complain that I want to "DO SOMETHING", and it would be nice if this involved trying new things, but bars aren't new and DU certainly isn't new, are they retro yet?
I've been to bars and I can't remember too many that I've enjoyed. Perhaps a few in New Orleans, but that was more due to the quality of the company and the otherworldy scene that is Bourbon. If I wanted to be at a bar on Valentine's Day, I should at least go to the new Coyote Ugly where the single ladies are getting in free (not to mention dancing on the bar). No. So why go tonight? Valentine's Day pressure could crush a lesser man and it could seriously injure me.
Go for DU and the Humpty Dance? I've seen them. I saw them in a tavern in Frasier, CO. And at that time, I was mildly excited to take my chance to do the hump. I know it's only been a couple of years, but it felt safe then and still feels safe now to say, "once with the big-nosed man is enough."
Friday, February 13, 2004
I think I got a real Valentine
It was a bit of a hurried morning, but I felt compelled to wear my Smooches tie, you know, the one with all the smooches on it. It seemed appropriate, because I'm not anti-Valentine in any way. I hope that's not the impression I gave. I like love, love love even. I'd tied the smooches tie on and suddenly that didn't seem enough either. Forget casual Friday, this tie would look great with my used car salesman sportcoat. Sportcoat on and I'm out the door.
I hit the end of my driveway when I remember that today isn't just a casual Friday, today is "Clean-up Friday". We'll spend the day undoing the dirt that we've spent so long creating. Should I turn back and ratchet down the outfit a few notches? I don't think so. If anybody asks, I'll just say, "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get to work and in about the time it takes a bull rider to become a champion, I get "It's clean up day. Why are you so dressed up?"
As promised (I don't tire of my own jokes easily) "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get some laughs, but what does this have to do with the Valentine?
The Valentine. There's cleaning, there's working, and then there's sticking my hand in my sportcoat pocket. I feel a piece of paper. I don't remember the last time I had my sportcoat on. What could this be?
I pull it out and unfold it. In Memory of Marian Inez Schmidt it says. Grandma. She always remembered to write- birthdays, postcards, Valentine's.
Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Grandma.
It was a bit of a hurried morning, but I felt compelled to wear my Smooches tie, you know, the one with all the smooches on it. It seemed appropriate, because I'm not anti-Valentine in any way. I hope that's not the impression I gave. I like love, love love even. I'd tied the smooches tie on and suddenly that didn't seem enough either. Forget casual Friday, this tie would look great with my used car salesman sportcoat. Sportcoat on and I'm out the door.
I hit the end of my driveway when I remember that today isn't just a casual Friday, today is "Clean-up Friday". We'll spend the day undoing the dirt that we've spent so long creating. Should I turn back and ratchet down the outfit a few notches? I don't think so. If anybody asks, I'll just say, "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get to work and in about the time it takes a bull rider to become a champion, I get "It's clean up day. Why are you so dressed up?"
As promised (I don't tire of my own jokes easily) "I think I clean up quite nicely, thanks."
I get some laughs, but what does this have to do with the Valentine?
The Valentine. There's cleaning, there's working, and then there's sticking my hand in my sportcoat pocket. I feel a piece of paper. I don't remember the last time I had my sportcoat on. What could this be?
I pull it out and unfold it. In Memory of Marian Inez Schmidt it says. Grandma. She always remembered to write- birthdays, postcards, Valentine's.
Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Grandma.
Ways that my house is not like my Res. Hall
*I have to walk outside to do laundry.
*I have condiments, lots of condiments, and they don't all come from Taco Bell.
*There is very little chance that a girl is going to knock on the door before I go to bed.
*There is very little chance that I will run into Johnny in my bathroom.
*The urinal in my bathroom is not out of order.
*No one writes messages on my front door, and if they did, I'd probably call the cops.
*My front door reflects my personality in exactly zero ways.
*The people at the front desk are way too quiet.
*We don't have enough fire drills.
*I cannot knock on doors and create a game of frisbee, or soccer, or anything, except maybe cribbage. Reuben, are you up for cribbage?
Ways that it is
*I just had a long spontaneous conversation with my roommate.
*There is nothing good to eat here.
*I'm up and it's quiet.
*I could go to Dunkin' Donuts right now if I wanted to.
*Ron's Country Boy is still not open, no matter how hard I wish.
*Green Naugahyde-still a chick magnet after all these years.
*I have to walk outside to do laundry.
*I have condiments, lots of condiments, and they don't all come from Taco Bell.
*There is very little chance that a girl is going to knock on the door before I go to bed.
*There is very little chance that I will run into Johnny in my bathroom.
*The urinal in my bathroom is not out of order.
*No one writes messages on my front door, and if they did, I'd probably call the cops.
*My front door reflects my personality in exactly zero ways.
*The people at the front desk are way too quiet.
*We don't have enough fire drills.
*I cannot knock on doors and create a game of frisbee, or soccer, or anything, except maybe cribbage. Reuben, are you up for cribbage?
Ways that it is
*I just had a long spontaneous conversation with my roommate.
*There is nothing good to eat here.
*I'm up and it's quiet.
*I could go to Dunkin' Donuts right now if I wanted to.
*Ron's Country Boy is still not open, no matter how hard I wish.
*Green Naugahyde-still a chick magnet after all these years.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
The pressure is mounting
Mom sent me a cute little article about this couple getting married. They met on their morning commute on the subway. It's not enough to let me infer that I could meet someone on my morning commute. She writes, "It could happen to you" in the margin. Thanks Mom. I'm Nic Cage and I was married to Rosie Perez, but now I'm in love with the waitress who I promised 2 million dollars.
My aunt sent me a Valentine in the mail--very sweet. The message to me was surely innocent, but it says "I hope you get a real Valentine." I thought this was a real Valentine? Now I have to hope for a real one? Will I know a real one if I see it?
My coworkers were talking this morning. I'm overhearing. I'm always overhearing. I know so much about everyones' personal business that it's probably dangerous. Married, motherly coworker says to younger (there are a few of us) one, when are you going to marry that girl and have babies? He answers glibbly and walks away.
It's coming. I know it. This woman has never acknowledged that I have a life outside of work, but I can tell that is about to end. Seconds pass. Maybe I'll get out of this after all.
The turn. The look at me. "And you? When are you going to get married?" ME? I've barely managed a date in this millenium. I have a new found fear of women. MARRIED? Why ask me that now? Right before Valentine's Day? You've never cared before, but two days before V-day and suddenly you're interested? Why do you hate me? Is it because I'm not going to be buying any high-priced jewelry or flowers for the weekend? Is that it?
"Dunno. I've got to get a date first."
Indeed.
Mom sent me a cute little article about this couple getting married. They met on their morning commute on the subway. It's not enough to let me infer that I could meet someone on my morning commute. She writes, "It could happen to you" in the margin. Thanks Mom. I'm Nic Cage and I was married to Rosie Perez, but now I'm in love with the waitress who I promised 2 million dollars.
My aunt sent me a Valentine in the mail--very sweet. The message to me was surely innocent, but it says "I hope you get a real Valentine." I thought this was a real Valentine? Now I have to hope for a real one? Will I know a real one if I see it?
My coworkers were talking this morning. I'm overhearing. I'm always overhearing. I know so much about everyones' personal business that it's probably dangerous. Married, motherly coworker says to younger (there are a few of us) one, when are you going to marry that girl and have babies? He answers glibbly and walks away.
It's coming. I know it. This woman has never acknowledged that I have a life outside of work, but I can tell that is about to end. Seconds pass. Maybe I'll get out of this after all.
The turn. The look at me. "And you? When are you going to get married?" ME? I've barely managed a date in this millenium. I have a new found fear of women. MARRIED? Why ask me that now? Right before Valentine's Day? You've never cared before, but two days before V-day and suddenly you're interested? Why do you hate me? Is it because I'm not going to be buying any high-priced jewelry or flowers for the weekend? Is that it?
"Dunno. I've got to get a date first."
Indeed.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Self-esteem is on the rise
It started some time yesterday. I returned to college, not my college, but A college for a little Ultimate. It often starts with Ultimate. There they introduce me to new kids as "Super Dave" or decide I should be called the blasphemous "Davior". It's kind of nice, but kind of silly too. The thing that got me going yesterday was the collective "OOOH" as I made a grab around a guy. He wasn't really looking, but to everyone else it kind of looked like I went through him. A good start.
Then, today was evaluation day at work. Evaluation day can be a scary day. I was a little nervous, for the unknown, if for nothing else. My supervisor was nothing but complimentary. I even had to press to find anything to improve on. She was barely able to throw me a bone on that one. My coworker did point out that my supervisor doesn't really have time to notice when I screw up anyway, but those comments can be ignored when self-esteem is headed up, up, up.
Then more Ultimate. And a run. They don't call it Do Topia for nothing. (They don't really call it anything, unless "they" are Dave and Dave's Grandma "DG", then they don't. Which is what I said. I'd be worried you weren't listening anymore, but I am not in a self-doubting mood.)
Oh yea, and let us not forget my marriageability.
It started some time yesterday. I returned to college, not my college, but A college for a little Ultimate. It often starts with Ultimate. There they introduce me to new kids as "Super Dave" or decide I should be called the blasphemous "Davior". It's kind of nice, but kind of silly too. The thing that got me going yesterday was the collective "OOOH" as I made a grab around a guy. He wasn't really looking, but to everyone else it kind of looked like I went through him. A good start.
Then, today was evaluation day at work. Evaluation day can be a scary day. I was a little nervous, for the unknown, if for nothing else. My supervisor was nothing but complimentary. I even had to press to find anything to improve on. She was barely able to throw me a bone on that one. My coworker did point out that my supervisor doesn't really have time to notice when I screw up anyway, but those comments can be ignored when self-esteem is headed up, up, up.
Then more Ultimate. And a run. They don't call it Do Topia for nothing. (They don't really call it anything, unless "they" are Dave and Dave's Grandma "DG", then they don't. Which is what I said. I'd be worried you weren't listening anymore, but I am not in a self-doubting mood.)
Oh yea, and let us not forget my marriageability.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
An unfinished song of admiration
There are places in this world where the banjo and the guitar combine forces to make rollicking good music. Matt's living room is not currently one of those places. I picked "Bile Dem Cabbage Down" and "Goodnight Ladies" and even "Cripple Creek" to the best of my limited abilities and when Matt wasn't playing "Boyz in the Hood", he strummed and concentrated and considered to the best of his ability, but my banjo and Matt's guitar did not seem to come from the same string family.
There was one moment where I was picking softly and Matt was strumming softly, with the heat pouring loudly out of the vents it almost sounded like something- not a song really, or shared notes so much, but more like a feeling. My little banjo and his guitar shared a feeling. They looked into one another's stringed soul and they thought, "someday we could make music together." And then the heat stopped roaring, and the pickin' and strummin' were again the focus. Poor banjo and guitar had lost that feeling.
I heard it though. Matt's guitar and my banjo may someday meet again, and if nothing else we'll play our songs with shared passion and volume. Together, we'll make beautiful music separately.
There are places in this world where the banjo and the guitar combine forces to make rollicking good music. Matt's living room is not currently one of those places. I picked "Bile Dem Cabbage Down" and "Goodnight Ladies" and even "Cripple Creek" to the best of my limited abilities and when Matt wasn't playing "Boyz in the Hood", he strummed and concentrated and considered to the best of his ability, but my banjo and Matt's guitar did not seem to come from the same string family.
There was one moment where I was picking softly and Matt was strumming softly, with the heat pouring loudly out of the vents it almost sounded like something- not a song really, or shared notes so much, but more like a feeling. My little banjo and his guitar shared a feeling. They looked into one another's stringed soul and they thought, "someday we could make music together." And then the heat stopped roaring, and the pickin' and strummin' were again the focus. Poor banjo and guitar had lost that feeling.
I heard it though. Matt's guitar and my banjo may someday meet again, and if nothing else we'll play our songs with shared passion and volume. Together, we'll make beautiful music separately.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Sunday, February 08, 2004
What am I so afraid of?
On the way home from places tonight, I was switching between the Techno-Trance and the Bluegrass. Back at the ranch, Josh Ritter and The Postal Service spin often when the radio ain't blasting the radio hits. All that to say, eclectic music tastes aside, nothing continues to evolve and move me the way that Hem does. Concert in March. Let's go 'cause I think I love Hem.
On the way home from places tonight, I was switching between the Techno-Trance and the Bluegrass. Back at the ranch, Josh Ritter and The Postal Service spin often when the radio ain't blasting the radio hits. All that to say, eclectic music tastes aside, nothing continues to evolve and move me the way that Hem does. Concert in March. Let's go 'cause I think I love Hem.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Is it me?
A friend of mine told me to read "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" because it could've been my book. I have tortured myself wondering what she meant.
Is it me because the author plays frisbee, loves the way he plays frisbee, will talk endlessly about the way he plays frisbee? Or is it me because he likes streaking or thinks that streaking and public nudity make some sort of statement, not quite sure of the statement, but some statement? It can't be me because of the heartbreak, I've never known that sort of soul-ripping loss. But he could be me because he runs from problems, runs across the country chasing what isn't there.
Did she mean it was me because of the self-absorption? Because I would write a book about me and only me and if I included you in it, you would only be reacting to me or an anecdote for me. Lori says it's ok, and maybe it is, but I don't want you to call me self-absorbed, that's only something I can call myself, and even then only through clenched teeth. Who is she to say something like that about me?
Then again, maybe she just meant that I could write a book, should write a book, with my voice, and even if it was self-serving might sell a few copies, might make somebody laugh or somebody cry. Or maybe she just meant I'd enjoy the book.
I did, so thanks.
A friend of mine told me to read "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" because it could've been my book. I have tortured myself wondering what she meant.
Is it me because the author plays frisbee, loves the way he plays frisbee, will talk endlessly about the way he plays frisbee? Or is it me because he likes streaking or thinks that streaking and public nudity make some sort of statement, not quite sure of the statement, but some statement? It can't be me because of the heartbreak, I've never known that sort of soul-ripping loss. But he could be me because he runs from problems, runs across the country chasing what isn't there.
Did she mean it was me because of the self-absorption? Because I would write a book about me and only me and if I included you in it, you would only be reacting to me or an anecdote for me. Lori says it's ok, and maybe it is, but I don't want you to call me self-absorbed, that's only something I can call myself, and even then only through clenched teeth. Who is she to say something like that about me?
Then again, maybe she just meant that I could write a book, should write a book, with my voice, and even if it was self-serving might sell a few copies, might make somebody laugh or somebody cry. Or maybe she just meant I'd enjoy the book.
I did, so thanks.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Friends
Sister: My friends don't have blogs. They're not computer geeks like your friends.
Me: My friends aren't really computer geeks, well, some of them are, but that's not why they have blogs.
Still me: It's just that my friends are more self-absorbed. *
*I actually said something like "journalists" or "writers" or "like to write", but self-absorbed is my new favorite description, which you would care about if you weren't so self-absorbed.**
**I don't really think you're that self-absorbed. I'm trying to be funny here.***
***Besides self-absorbtion, I am also enjoying the "footnote asterisk." Don't ask me why.****
****You could ask me why, but I don't know the answer, so it wouldn't really be worth it.
Sister: My friends don't have blogs. They're not computer geeks like your friends.
Me: My friends aren't really computer geeks, well, some of them are, but that's not why they have blogs.
Still me: It's just that my friends are more self-absorbed. *
*I actually said something like "journalists" or "writers" or "like to write", but self-absorbed is my new favorite description, which you would care about if you weren't so self-absorbed.**
**I don't really think you're that self-absorbed. I'm trying to be funny here.***
***Besides self-absorbtion, I am also enjoying the "footnote asterisk." Don't ask me why.****
****You could ask me why, but I don't know the answer, so it wouldn't really be worth it.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
It's time for a fake conversation that seems all too real*
Hi J-Crew girl,
I know we've never met, but I've thought about it and it seems like it might be a good idea. I mean it kind of sickens me that you would pay 68 dollars for that shirt, but it is cute. I'll give you that. And those chinos, they're just to die for. What are chinos again? No, but I love them. I mean they look great on you, so maybe they are worth it. But they intimidate me. I'm not used to fancy shirts and fancy pants. The next thing you know you'll be shopping at Baby Gap and the sucking sound you hear will be your checking account emptying.
Yours is empty already?
Credit debt?
Reeeally?
I would have never guessed. Still, cute outfit.
Do I want to go out for drinks?
I don't drink. It's expensive and kind of pointless and yea, I just don't really do it.
What do I do? Like, jobwise? It's hard to explain. Most of the time I don't know myself. It's got variety though, I'll tell you that. I'll tell you that. You?
hmm. Interesting.
For fun? Me? There's Ultimate.
Yea, it's frisbee.
No. No. It's quite active actually. There's a big scene here in town.
Do I always repeat everything that's asked of me? Not always. It gives me a little time to think. That way I can be kinda clever, you know?
I did start.
No, really.
Bye then.
Nice meeting you too.
*except for the part where I am talking to a strange girl and the part where she asks me out for drinks.
Hi J-Crew girl,
I know we've never met, but I've thought about it and it seems like it might be a good idea. I mean it kind of sickens me that you would pay 68 dollars for that shirt, but it is cute. I'll give you that. And those chinos, they're just to die for. What are chinos again? No, but I love them. I mean they look great on you, so maybe they are worth it. But they intimidate me. I'm not used to fancy shirts and fancy pants. The next thing you know you'll be shopping at Baby Gap and the sucking sound you hear will be your checking account emptying.
Yours is empty already?
Credit debt?
Reeeally?
I would have never guessed. Still, cute outfit.
Do I want to go out for drinks?
I don't drink. It's expensive and kind of pointless and yea, I just don't really do it.
What do I do? Like, jobwise? It's hard to explain. Most of the time I don't know myself. It's got variety though, I'll tell you that. I'll tell you that. You?
hmm. Interesting.
For fun? Me? There's Ultimate.
Yea, it's frisbee.
No. No. It's quite active actually. There's a big scene here in town.
Do I always repeat everything that's asked of me? Not always. It gives me a little time to think. That way I can be kinda clever, you know?
I did start.
No, really.
Bye then.
Nice meeting you too.
*except for the part where I am talking to a strange girl and the part where she asks me out for drinks.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
And I swear
Today my brain has not shut up. Where usually it's content with a song and the mole of some soon-to-be-forgotten girl, today it was chattering away profanely. So pardon my beeps as we join my brain in search of the local post office.
"Where the BEEP is the BEEPing post office? It's got to be around here somewhere. Who the hell needs so many BEEPing hair dressers? It's not BEEPing here. BEEEEP. I'll cross the street then. Why the BEEP are the buses trying to run me over. I'm not even in the street. Well BEEP them. What are you looking at, woman?
Quizno's. huh. I didn't know that was here. FINALLY, there's the BEEPing post office. Why does it say closed? It's not even 5 o'clock. Mother BEEEEP. Oh, that's 'closed from 2 to 3:30', my mistake. (Approach door, stop.) I don't feel like dealing with postal workers. BEEP it. (Walking away) That guy probably thinks you're leaving. He thinks it's closed too. Who cares what the BEEP he thinks?
Would you please knock off the profanity? You're like a BEEPing sailor. DAMMMit, don't you ever shut up?"
And then I had to walk the rest of the way home. It's hard escaping your own mind. Apologies to the children and the offensive, er offended, er sorry.
Today my brain has not shut up. Where usually it's content with a song and the mole of some soon-to-be-forgotten girl, today it was chattering away profanely. So pardon my beeps as we join my brain in search of the local post office.
"Where the BEEP is the BEEPing post office? It's got to be around here somewhere. Who the hell needs so many BEEPing hair dressers? It's not BEEPing here. BEEEEP. I'll cross the street then. Why the BEEP are the buses trying to run me over. I'm not even in the street. Well BEEP them. What are you looking at, woman?
Quizno's. huh. I didn't know that was here. FINALLY, there's the BEEPing post office. Why does it say closed? It's not even 5 o'clock. Mother BEEEEP. Oh, that's 'closed from 2 to 3:30', my mistake. (Approach door, stop.) I don't feel like dealing with postal workers. BEEP it. (Walking away) That guy probably thinks you're leaving. He thinks it's closed too. Who cares what the BEEP he thinks?
Would you please knock off the profanity? You're like a BEEPing sailor. DAMMMit, don't you ever shut up?"
And then I had to walk the rest of the way home. It's hard escaping your own mind. Apologies to the children and the offensive, er offended, er sorry.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Super Trends
or
I learned it from Henry Hager
My advertising professor, the best one I had, the only one who actually made me want to be in advertising, once said, (He never said anything only once but it makes the story flow better) "Three things sell- Animals, Babies, and Sex."
Let's look at that Super-est of Bowls, shall we?
1.There were animals- donkeys, bears, etc. etc.
2.Were there babies? There were kids at least (Soap in the mouth for Chevy was my favorite commercial.)
3. There was sex, or at least nudity, and the web and the office are blazin' with talk of it. (Who says advertising has to be in the paid spots?)
The sad part
or
You can't blame this on Henry
For all the controversy that the nipple is creating, the streaker got lost in the shuffle. How can streaking return to favor if dumb halftime acts are going to upstage it? HOW?!
or
I learned it from Henry Hager
My advertising professor, the best one I had, the only one who actually made me want to be in advertising, once said, (He never said anything only once but it makes the story flow better) "Three things sell- Animals, Babies, and Sex."
Let's look at that Super-est of Bowls, shall we?
1.There were animals- donkeys, bears, etc. etc.
2.Were there babies? There were kids at least (Soap in the mouth for Chevy was my favorite commercial.)
3. There was sex, or at least nudity, and the web and the office are blazin' with talk of it. (Who says advertising has to be in the paid spots?)
The sad part
or
You can't blame this on Henry
For all the controversy that the nipple is creating, the streaker got lost in the shuffle. How can streaking return to favor if dumb halftime acts are going to upstage it? HOW?!
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Gene Hackman's been there
All I really knew about the restaurant that I was going to last night was that I was getting 7 courses and there were belly dancers. Imagine my dismay when we arrived and people were waiting outside looking ready to enter a club. I don't go to places that are ICE COLD, especially when it's ice cold outside. Fortunately, being in a throng of people was warming. Eventually we made it through the little door within the door-- it was very Wizard of Oz that way--where we got to wait a little more.
Once we got through the initial shock of all the people waiting, and the door within the door, and the internal waiting, we sat down to what I can only call a typical Moroccan meal. Now that I think about it, the meal was EXACTLY like every other Moroccan meal I've ever had. I've never had another Moroccan meal.
The seven courses were all quite tasty. There was some good bread and an excellent coffee cake made slightly odd by the inclusion of chicken, and then a whole chicken, and then things started to get really tasty. There was candied lamb, and couscous with squash, and fruit and nuts, and little pastries with sweet hot tea. I may have been able to continue eating at the pace we were on for about 3 years shy of eternity. My rear end would not have enjoyed the continued sitting, however.
Nearly all of this was finger food, but the belly dancer wasn't. I'm not sure what I had expected here, but I was very willing to sit back and watch the undulating woman. You don't, or at least I don't get those opportunities very often, or certainly not often enough. It was fairly mesmerizing. I was slightly disappointed by the belly, though I admit those expectations were probably a little too high. I guess I just figured someone featured as a belly dancer would have an incredibly belly-licious, um, you know, belly. Hers was nice, but easily overlooked if it hadn't had a spotlight on it. There was a sexy little scarf number and a sword-balancing number, but to be perfectly honest it all kind of blurs in my mind into one giant Moroccan shimmy. Then again, isn't that what Ameritesh or Jamertesh or whatever the place was called, really all about?
All I really knew about the restaurant that I was going to last night was that I was getting 7 courses and there were belly dancers. Imagine my dismay when we arrived and people were waiting outside looking ready to enter a club. I don't go to places that are ICE COLD, especially when it's ice cold outside. Fortunately, being in a throng of people was warming. Eventually we made it through the little door within the door-- it was very Wizard of Oz that way--where we got to wait a little more.
Once we got through the initial shock of all the people waiting, and the door within the door, and the internal waiting, we sat down to what I can only call a typical Moroccan meal. Now that I think about it, the meal was EXACTLY like every other Moroccan meal I've ever had. I've never had another Moroccan meal.
The seven courses were all quite tasty. There was some good bread and an excellent coffee cake made slightly odd by the inclusion of chicken, and then a whole chicken, and then things started to get really tasty. There was candied lamb, and couscous with squash, and fruit and nuts, and little pastries with sweet hot tea. I may have been able to continue eating at the pace we were on for about 3 years shy of eternity. My rear end would not have enjoyed the continued sitting, however.
Nearly all of this was finger food, but the belly dancer wasn't. I'm not sure what I had expected here, but I was very willing to sit back and watch the undulating woman. You don't, or at least I don't get those opportunities very often, or certainly not often enough. It was fairly mesmerizing. I was slightly disappointed by the belly, though I admit those expectations were probably a little too high. I guess I just figured someone featured as a belly dancer would have an incredibly belly-licious, um, you know, belly. Hers was nice, but easily overlooked if it hadn't had a spotlight on it. There was a sexy little scarf number and a sword-balancing number, but to be perfectly honest it all kind of blurs in my mind into one giant Moroccan shimmy. Then again, isn't that what Ameritesh or Jamertesh or whatever the place was called, really all about?
Saturday, January 31, 2004
This is January
or
Takin' the Tide for a Ride
I have one real complaint about my home. The dryer here sucks. It doesn't dry. It has ONE job, and it fails to do it. It's worse than a weatherman. Well I've had it up to here with the dryer. Actually slightly lower than that, but it annoys me. Today I decided I'd show my stupid dryer a thing or two-- I'd go to a Laundromat. I'd do all my laundry at a place that didn't require multiple dryings.
And you're thinking, ah but the coins and the inconvenience of taking your undergarments out of the house... well, that's the other thing you should know about my dryer. It's coin operated and it's 50 feet from my house in the basement of my neighbors. So, forget that.
I pile my clothes into the car and head to the laundromat. I'm going to defeat my dryer once and for all, at least for a week. This is when the trouble begins. The first address I have for a Coin-op has no coin-ops around. There aren't even businesses around. If this address is correct, I'll be doing laundry in the basement of someone's house, and we already know that's not working out for me. I'll go to the other address I have, it looks like it's only 5 blocks from here. And it is, if each block is a mile. Sonofa!
At least I'd made it to a Laundromat. When I was younger, my parents used to stop on vacations at laundromats. We'd spend a while puttering around a slightly odd little place filled with washers and dryers quietly churning away with an occassional passerby wandering in to launder with us. That's what I was picturing.
This laundromat was a zoo. There were people everywhere. It smelled funny. How does a laundromat smell funny? People are cleaning. There were no seats open and so my dream of reading would've been a standing room only dream.
Why were my dreams ruined? It could have nothing to do with the fact that the laundromats from my memory were in little towns some day during the week and here I was just outside of the District in the middle of a Saturday, could it? No. I didn't think so.
I stared at the washers briefly. I looked at the dryers and I looked at all the people staring at their whirling, twirling rainbow of clothes and I decided that this wasn't worth it. The clothes went back into the car, and I went the 5 mile-blocks back to my home. I'm still debating whether clothes that have been for a Saturday drive can be considered clean. We all know they aren't getting any dryer.
or
Takin' the Tide for a Ride
I have one real complaint about my home. The dryer here sucks. It doesn't dry. It has ONE job, and it fails to do it. It's worse than a weatherman. Well I've had it up to here with the dryer. Actually slightly lower than that, but it annoys me. Today I decided I'd show my stupid dryer a thing or two-- I'd go to a Laundromat. I'd do all my laundry at a place that didn't require multiple dryings.
And you're thinking, ah but the coins and the inconvenience of taking your undergarments out of the house... well, that's the other thing you should know about my dryer. It's coin operated and it's 50 feet from my house in the basement of my neighbors. So, forget that.
I pile my clothes into the car and head to the laundromat. I'm going to defeat my dryer once and for all, at least for a week. This is when the trouble begins. The first address I have for a Coin-op has no coin-ops around. There aren't even businesses around. If this address is correct, I'll be doing laundry in the basement of someone's house, and we already know that's not working out for me. I'll go to the other address I have, it looks like it's only 5 blocks from here. And it is, if each block is a mile. Sonofa!
At least I'd made it to a Laundromat. When I was younger, my parents used to stop on vacations at laundromats. We'd spend a while puttering around a slightly odd little place filled with washers and dryers quietly churning away with an occassional passerby wandering in to launder with us. That's what I was picturing.
This laundromat was a zoo. There were people everywhere. It smelled funny. How does a laundromat smell funny? People are cleaning. There were no seats open and so my dream of reading would've been a standing room only dream.
Why were my dreams ruined? It could have nothing to do with the fact that the laundromats from my memory were in little towns some day during the week and here I was just outside of the District in the middle of a Saturday, could it? No. I didn't think so.
I stared at the washers briefly. I looked at the dryers and I looked at all the people staring at their whirling, twirling rainbow of clothes and I decided that this wasn't worth it. The clothes went back into the car, and I went the 5 mile-blocks back to my home. I'm still debating whether clothes that have been for a Saturday drive can be considered clean. We all know they aren't getting any dryer.
Baby, it's cold outside
1. I should not be allowed to read about hypothermia and then spend large quantities of time underdressed in the biting cold. I THINK I'VE GOT IT!
2. The best time to see the monuments is on a Friday night when it's frickin' freezin' outside. NO LINES!
3. Ben's Chili Bowl does not mess around when they put onions on your chili or cheese on your fry. THAT'S RIGHT!
4. Maybe it was the snow, maybe the cold had gone to my head, but the Korean War Memorial really hit me hard. Those guys were my age and they're trudging along through the snow and the cold and they're miserable and they're going to die and for what? FOR WHAT?
1. I should not be allowed to read about hypothermia and then spend large quantities of time underdressed in the biting cold. I THINK I'VE GOT IT!
2. The best time to see the monuments is on a Friday night when it's frickin' freezin' outside. NO LINES!
3. Ben's Chili Bowl does not mess around when they put onions on your chili or cheese on your fry. THAT'S RIGHT!
4. Maybe it was the snow, maybe the cold had gone to my head, but the Korean War Memorial really hit me hard. Those guys were my age and they're trudging along through the snow and the cold and they're miserable and they're going to die and for what? FOR WHAT?
Friday, January 30, 2004
A little lonely poem
If you were candy I would eat you.
If you were juice I would drink you.
If you were a hat I would wear you.
But you're not.
If you were mine I would love you.
If you were gone I would miss you.
If you were close I would kiss you.
But you're not.
So here I am eating
and here I am drinking
--all alone.
And there I go loving
And there I go missing
with my hat on my head
and no one for kissing.
If you were candy I would eat you.
If you were juice I would drink you.
If you were a hat I would wear you.
But you're not.
If you were mine I would love you.
If you were gone I would miss you.
If you were close I would kiss you.
But you're not.
So here I am eating
and here I am drinking
--all alone.
And there I go loving
And there I go missing
with my hat on my head
and no one for kissing.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
They have ways of looking that up
On the track snow is gone of Hello Starling does Josh Ritter say, "Confectionery ass"?
-If he doesn't, he should, that's a delicious lyric.
-If he does, eww. gross.
Yes, they do
And no he doesn't. He says, "you were beautiful when I first saw your feathers and confectionery airs".
False alarm. Please return to your seats.
On the track snow is gone of Hello Starling does Josh Ritter say, "Confectionery ass"?
-If he doesn't, he should, that's a delicious lyric.
-If he does, eww. gross.
Yes, they do
And no he doesn't. He says, "you were beautiful when I first saw your feathers and confectionery airs".
False alarm. Please return to your seats.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Monday, January 26, 2004
Elbows:sore; Heart:soar
There is something very special about a group of men (in this case it was men, but women would have been special too) who will get together on a frozen lake covered with 4 inches of snow to throw a red light-up disc between 8 glow-stick cones. I tip my frozen hat to those gentleman for making my Monday.
There is something very special about a group of men (in this case it was men, but women would have been special too) who will get together on a frozen lake covered with 4 inches of snow to throw a red light-up disc between 8 glow-stick cones. I tip my frozen hat to those gentleman for making my Monday.
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Passing it on
Good Grief! this is cooler than cool, Charlie Brown.
Dean's Yargh! to music. Lots and lots of music.
End of the World as we know it. (This is actually funnier when The Ranman tells it.)
Thanks to Lenar, PLU, and The Ranman.
Good Grief! this is cooler than cool, Charlie Brown.
Dean's Yargh! to music. Lots and lots of music.
End of the World as we know it. (This is actually funnier when The Ranman tells it.)
Thanks to Lenar, PLU, and The Ranman.
My night at the movies
I was off secretly to Win a date with Tad Hamilton. By going alone, I figured I could get away with seeing this flick, without actually admitting it, if necessary. One review I read said it was like a 90 minute date with Kate Bosworth. I could think of worse fates. The other review said freezing to death was a better way to spend my time. I was going to ignore that review. Halfway to the theater, I ran into some ice covering the side walk. I had just heard a woman slip on the patch and so I eyed it carefully. I picked a spot that I thought I could land on and slide to safety. I leapt, but there was no sliding, for this was not ice. This was slush. And my shoes were now soaked. The woman's scream that I thought had been a slip, now made sense. It now seemed possible that by seeing Tad Hamilton I might both freeze to death and see a bad movie. A fate I was unprepared for.
Upon my arrival at the ticket booth, I figured I'd freeze my feet, but at least I'd see a movie my parents had liked-- Something's Gotta Give. My mother had mentioned that perhaps I wouldn't like it, something about it being geared to an older audience. I'm always a little leary when my parents like a movie, since our cinematic tastes don't seem to converge all that often. In this case, I had nothing to worry about. Jack and Diane go great together. This is such a sweet love story. I ate up. Granted, it could have been the 70 year old woman in me, but I really think this has a broader appeal. It seems to me that if you like the romantic comedy and Jack nor Diane bother you-- this is gravy. It's got jokes. It's got cuteness out the wazoo. It's got emotion. It's got seniors in love. You like seniors in love, don't you? Call me what you like, but there's something about love at that age. It seems like what we're all looking for-- Maybe not Hef, but most of us. A lot of us? Some of us? Me. I'm looking to be in love at that age. I think it's a beautiful thing.
AND, Keanu Reeves nor Amanda Peet are on screen long enough to be too annoying. So don't let that stop you. Also a beautiful thing.
I was off secretly to Win a date with Tad Hamilton. By going alone, I figured I could get away with seeing this flick, without actually admitting it, if necessary. One review I read said it was like a 90 minute date with Kate Bosworth. I could think of worse fates. The other review said freezing to death was a better way to spend my time. I was going to ignore that review. Halfway to the theater, I ran into some ice covering the side walk. I had just heard a woman slip on the patch and so I eyed it carefully. I picked a spot that I thought I could land on and slide to safety. I leapt, but there was no sliding, for this was not ice. This was slush. And my shoes were now soaked. The woman's scream that I thought had been a slip, now made sense. It now seemed possible that by seeing Tad Hamilton I might both freeze to death and see a bad movie. A fate I was unprepared for.
Upon my arrival at the ticket booth, I figured I'd freeze my feet, but at least I'd see a movie my parents had liked-- Something's Gotta Give. My mother had mentioned that perhaps I wouldn't like it, something about it being geared to an older audience. I'm always a little leary when my parents like a movie, since our cinematic tastes don't seem to converge all that often. In this case, I had nothing to worry about. Jack and Diane go great together. This is such a sweet love story. I ate up. Granted, it could have been the 70 year old woman in me, but I really think this has a broader appeal. It seems to me that if you like the romantic comedy and Jack nor Diane bother you-- this is gravy. It's got jokes. It's got cuteness out the wazoo. It's got emotion. It's got seniors in love. You like seniors in love, don't you? Call me what you like, but there's something about love at that age. It seems like what we're all looking for-- Maybe not Hef, but most of us. A lot of us? Some of us? Me. I'm looking to be in love at that age. I think it's a beautiful thing.
AND, Keanu Reeves nor Amanda Peet are on screen long enough to be too annoying. So don't let that stop you. Also a beautiful thing.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Every party needs a Poopah
Someone has to sit apart from the group and tear carniverously at the pork ribs, while cornbread crumbs dribble down his beard. Someone who'll wash it all down with lemonade and lick the excess BBQ sauce from his moustache like so many bearded animals. And then with nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, he'll try to find a way into the conversation when he shouldn't. He'll make the sort of snide remarks he should keep to himself, loud enough to stop the conversation, for a moment, before receiving the shaking head and fluttering eye movements of dismissal. Then our poopah can return to the book he is only halfway perusing or the other conversation he is only one quarterway involved in. This is the awkward exsistence of the Poopah.
As the night wears on, and the laughs around him grow heartier, his strength lessens. At the crossroads of fun and enjoyment, the poopah grabs his coat and bounds offroad to the valley of grump where he can be alone. This particular poopah manages a goodbye, but one that leaves his irksome presence lingering. It is not only the poopah who suffers from this existence, but partygoers everywhere.
Someone has to sit apart from the group and tear carniverously at the pork ribs, while cornbread crumbs dribble down his beard. Someone who'll wash it all down with lemonade and lick the excess BBQ sauce from his moustache like so many bearded animals. And then with nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, he'll try to find a way into the conversation when he shouldn't. He'll make the sort of snide remarks he should keep to himself, loud enough to stop the conversation, for a moment, before receiving the shaking head and fluttering eye movements of dismissal. Then our poopah can return to the book he is only halfway perusing or the other conversation he is only one quarterway involved in. This is the awkward exsistence of the Poopah.
As the night wears on, and the laughs around him grow heartier, his strength lessens. At the crossroads of fun and enjoyment, the poopah grabs his coat and bounds offroad to the valley of grump where he can be alone. This particular poopah manages a goodbye, but one that leaves his irksome presence lingering. It is not only the poopah who suffers from this existence, but partygoers everywhere.
Friday, January 23, 2004
The illusion of posting
Sometimes you gotta know when to point people elsewhere-
*So if you've missed the sound of Kella's voice: read this. It's like she read it aloud.
*If you're looking for something to cheer. Try Kristin.
*Need a funny dmv story?
* Wonder who answered all of yesterday's questions? It was Rob. But was it fair Rob or was it dark pensive Rob?
Sometimes you gotta know when to point people elsewhere-
*So if you've missed the sound of Kella's voice: read this. It's like she read it aloud.
*If you're looking for something to cheer. Try Kristin.
*Need a funny dmv story?
* Wonder who answered all of yesterday's questions? It was Rob. But was it fair Rob or was it dark pensive Rob?
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Some questions for you
*Why do Thank-you notes come in packages of 8 and buns in packages of 10?
*Why doesn't Tupperware tout its burping abilities anymore?
*If a stitch in time saves nine, what saves 6 and 1/2?
*How can you feel so alone in a big city and so not-alone in a cabin in the woods?
*Why do the people you love drive you so freaking crazy?
*Who did those stupid Hallmark ads (for the kissing dolls)? And worse who let them?
*Who titles a good book "The Secret History" and expects people to buy it? (Someone wiser than me perhaps, since it was a bestseller.)
*Is there any significance to the fact that my questions involve marketing, relationships, and ridiculousness?
*Where have all the cowboys gone? Deh doo Deh doo dehdoo dehdo
*Why do Thank-you notes come in packages of 8 and buns in packages of 10?
*Why doesn't Tupperware tout its burping abilities anymore?
*If a stitch in time saves nine, what saves 6 and 1/2?
*How can you feel so alone in a big city and so not-alone in a cabin in the woods?
*Why do the people you love drive you so freaking crazy?
*Who did those stupid Hallmark ads (for the kissing dolls)? And worse who let them?
*Who titles a good book "The Secret History" and expects people to buy it? (Someone wiser than me perhaps, since it was a bestseller.)
*Is there any significance to the fact that my questions involve marketing, relationships, and ridiculousness?
*Where have all the cowboys gone? Deh doo Deh doo dehdoo dehdo
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
The best part about the trip
One might argue that the Perfect Pancake Pyramid was the pinnacle of this excursion, but I am going to have to argue for location. Never before have I been able to roll out of bed, layer my clothing, throw my board on my back, and walk to the hill. It was a long half mile up hill, but I found it very satisfying to be heading up just as the sun climbed into the sky. I seemed to be alone, save an SUV or two passing by. I may never board in the backcountry. I'm not even convinced that's something I want to do, but to be able to walk to the snow, snap in, and "shred" was something special. The fact that I had my shoes lashed to my back in my bag and I was able to walk back home that evening after a long day of ripping up that little hill was just icing.
Now, this sounds like a ski trip. And makes my heart pound.
One might argue that the Perfect Pancake Pyramid was the pinnacle of this excursion, but I am going to have to argue for location. Never before have I been able to roll out of bed, layer my clothing, throw my board on my back, and walk to the hill. It was a long half mile up hill, but I found it very satisfying to be heading up just as the sun climbed into the sky. I seemed to be alone, save an SUV or two passing by. I may never board in the backcountry. I'm not even convinced that's something I want to do, but to be able to walk to the snow, snap in, and "shred" was something special. The fact that I had my shoes lashed to my back in my bag and I was able to walk back home that evening after a long day of ripping up that little hill was just icing.
Now, this sounds like a ski trip. And makes my heart pound.
Don’t call it a ski trip
It seems I now take a new breed of vacations. These vacations involve cabins, geographic entertainment, and larger quantities of friends. I am not sure when vacation came to be defined this way. Since I’ve been taking vacations sans parents, vacation roughly translated into piling into a car, driving for 6 or 8 hours and staying in a seedy motel or with friends. If it was a ski trip, we would then drive an hour or more to go skiing. And we would ski. We wouldn’t discuss the possiblity of skiing; we might grumble about the price, but we would pay it and we would be as close to the front of the lift line as we could manage in our already exhausted state.
This revised version of a vacation isn’t like that at all. In this version we all have separate rooms, with our own beds and a kitchen more equipped than our own, or at least my own. There are people, my friends, who don’t plan to ski at all. And some who may or may not ski depending on their mood. This cabin has a view and watermelon knick knacks. I didn’t used to stay in places that had knick knacks, I stayed in places that might or might not have rats. On this vacation the inability to move due to a hard day on the slopes is not our main plan for the evening. It seems that most cabin dwellers plan to be well rested and refreshed all weekend long. We’ll play games, the old-fashioned kind, we’ll read, or we’ll sing loud off-key songs. Even this new version of vacation has its abrasive moments, though fewer than I expected. On this vacation, we’ll cook meals, actual meals like pasta and garlic bread or hot dogs with mac ‘n cheese--not elaborate meals, but meals that did not come from South of the Border or require a lay-away plan. And when the meals are over, people will clean up, not “people”, like housekeepers, or elves, but people who made the meal or who ate the meal.
It’s quite impressive really, but to call it a ski trip doesn’t convey an accurate picture of the experience. We’ll call it a cabin trip, or that “Trip near the hill that had fake snow.” Maybe we’ll just call it fun and relaxing. That seems fairly accurate.
It seems I now take a new breed of vacations. These vacations involve cabins, geographic entertainment, and larger quantities of friends. I am not sure when vacation came to be defined this way. Since I’ve been taking vacations sans parents, vacation roughly translated into piling into a car, driving for 6 or 8 hours and staying in a seedy motel or with friends. If it was a ski trip, we would then drive an hour or more to go skiing. And we would ski. We wouldn’t discuss the possiblity of skiing; we might grumble about the price, but we would pay it and we would be as close to the front of the lift line as we could manage in our already exhausted state.
This revised version of a vacation isn’t like that at all. In this version we all have separate rooms, with our own beds and a kitchen more equipped than our own, or at least my own. There are people, my friends, who don’t plan to ski at all. And some who may or may not ski depending on their mood. This cabin has a view and watermelon knick knacks. I didn’t used to stay in places that had knick knacks, I stayed in places that might or might not have rats. On this vacation the inability to move due to a hard day on the slopes is not our main plan for the evening. It seems that most cabin dwellers plan to be well rested and refreshed all weekend long. We’ll play games, the old-fashioned kind, we’ll read, or we’ll sing loud off-key songs. Even this new version of vacation has its abrasive moments, though fewer than I expected. On this vacation, we’ll cook meals, actual meals like pasta and garlic bread or hot dogs with mac ‘n cheese--not elaborate meals, but meals that did not come from South of the Border or require a lay-away plan. And when the meals are over, people will clean up, not “people”, like housekeepers, or elves, but people who made the meal or who ate the meal.
It’s quite impressive really, but to call it a ski trip doesn’t convey an accurate picture of the experience. We’ll call it a cabin trip, or that “Trip near the hill that had fake snow.” Maybe we’ll just call it fun and relaxing. That seems fairly accurate.
Friday, January 16, 2004
It's a whole new outlook
I've decided to stop living my life for me. From now on, it's all about the blog. If I'm in traffic and I get cut off, I'm going to think, will it make a better post if I shout dirty words or just go ahead and ram the sucker? Instead of doing things for me, I'm going to do them for you. Or at least for your entertainment. Think of me as the "Real World" online. I've dropped the pretense, see. I'm Real with a capital "r", a capital R followed by two small rr's. To Rrreally get things Rrrolling. I think the extra r's add zest, don't you? When I'm faced with the truly tough decisions--I'm going to serve them up like Comment Pie. Haven't tasted Comment Pie? It's a little like jello, but jigglier.
Then, you my readers, can guide me on the right path. I know you're up for it. I can see it in your eyes.
Where are my glasses?
I've decided to stop living my life for me. From now on, it's all about the blog. If I'm in traffic and I get cut off, I'm going to think, will it make a better post if I shout dirty words or just go ahead and ram the sucker? Instead of doing things for me, I'm going to do them for you. Or at least for your entertainment. Think of me as the "Real World" online. I've dropped the pretense, see. I'm Real with a capital "r", a capital R followed by two small rr's. To Rrreally get things Rrrolling. I think the extra r's add zest, don't you? When I'm faced with the truly tough decisions--I'm going to serve them up like Comment Pie. Haven't tasted Comment Pie? It's a little like jello, but jigglier.
Then, you my readers, can guide me on the right path. I know you're up for it. I can see it in your eyes.
Where are my glasses?
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Desolation Row, this isn't
Rue de la Hyperactivite it just might be. It's arts night at the carriage house. Besides finishing a book and posting more than you wanted to know, I have also: sketched a pair of jeans, introduced myself to a new banjo technique (melodic style), tested out my acting ability in preparation for a Murder Mystery Game (Should I be a high-pitched squeaky marginally British old woman or a breathy deep voiced old woman? Neither was particularly good looking.), made myself lunch complete with love note (Dear David, Have a good lunch. Love, David) and managed to find time to dance, sometimes with my banjo and sometimes by myself.
Rue de la Hyperactivite it just might be. It's arts night at the carriage house. Besides finishing a book and posting more than you wanted to know, I have also: sketched a pair of jeans, introduced myself to a new banjo technique (melodic style), tested out my acting ability in preparation for a Murder Mystery Game (Should I be a high-pitched squeaky marginally British old woman or a breathy deep voiced old woman? Neither was particularly good looking.), made myself lunch complete with love note (Dear David, Have a good lunch. Love, David) and managed to find time to dance, sometimes with my banjo and sometimes by myself.
Answer:Question
Last week I read the answer: 42
This week I read the quetion: Why are girls weird? from Why Girls are Weird by Pamela Ribon. The only thing this book lacked was an editorial assistant struggling to be a writer in New York. Pamela did an incredible job of creating a brand new cliche- struggling blogger turned author. (Or online diarist turned author, what's the dif, eh?) It left me feeling much like a stack of Cosmos would-- slight headache, slight case of vapidity creeping into my brain.
I can't fault her for trying. And you'd think that blogs, quarterlife crisises, and boy-girl drama would be right up my alley, but it seems you'd be wrong. There were a few moments of nicely written prose. The ailing father pulled at me a bit and the sisterly banter was good for a laugh.
Still, while I dig blogs, I figure some things are better left unbooked.
Last week I read the answer: 42
This week I read the quetion: Why are girls weird? from Why Girls are Weird by Pamela Ribon. The only thing this book lacked was an editorial assistant struggling to be a writer in New York. Pamela did an incredible job of creating a brand new cliche- struggling blogger turned author. (Or online diarist turned author, what's the dif, eh?) It left me feeling much like a stack of Cosmos would-- slight headache, slight case of vapidity creeping into my brain.
I can't fault her for trying. And you'd think that blogs, quarterlife crisises, and boy-girl drama would be right up my alley, but it seems you'd be wrong. There were a few moments of nicely written prose. The ailing father pulled at me a bit and the sisterly banter was good for a laugh.
Still, while I dig blogs, I figure some things are better left unbooked.
Think warm thoughts
When I feel the cold wind blow through my shoes and thin black socks, I smile and think, "Somewhere in Virginia they are making snow. right now."
Ignore past thoughts
When I feel the cold wind blow through my shoes and thin black socks, I try not to think, "Somewhere west of here, Mother Nature is making snow and she's dumping it on a giant slope."
When I feel the cold wind blow through my shoes and thin black socks, I smile and think, "Somewhere in Virginia they are making snow. right now."
Ignore past thoughts
When I feel the cold wind blow through my shoes and thin black socks, I try not to think, "Somewhere west of here, Mother Nature is making snow and she's dumping it on a giant slope."
Sometimes I feel lonely
Sometimes I don't. Tonight it's the latter. Why? Because I have no clue what I'm going to eat for dinner, but when I decide- I'll have it. No one will argue. No one will complain. No one will say, "Come on, we just had that" or "I don't like that." It will be dinner and it will be mine.
Sometimes I don't. Tonight it's the latter. Why? Because I have no clue what I'm going to eat for dinner, but when I decide- I'll have it. No one will argue. No one will complain. No one will say, "Come on, we just had that" or "I don't like that." It will be dinner and it will be mine.
Monday, January 12, 2004
Icy Anticipation packed with Trepidation
The snowboard is out. The goggles are on. The "Best Ski Resort in the South" is softly calling my name. "Come to my icy hills. Let your board free."
"Yes, Wintergreen. I hear you Wintergreen. Your wish is my command." "But I'm nervous Wintergreen."
"Why? Don't you like to rip?"
"Yea. I'm afraid you might suck."
"I don't suck."
"How do I know?"
"Check out the $52 lift tickets."
"Maybe you're compensating."
"For what? I've got it all- skiing, golf, tennis..."
"All. What about snow? elevation? powder? mountains?"
"When I said all, I meant besides that. I've got 5 chair lifts. One of them even seats all your friends.
"I have more than 6 friends."
"I see you've done your homework. No matter, you won't have that many friends when the weekend is over.
"You're going to kill my friends?"
"No. They'll kill you. Have you ever been skiing with you? It's obnoxious.
"How would you know?"
"Mountains talk"
"You're not exactly a mountain."
"You're not exactly a molehill."
"What? You're not making sense."
"I'm not the one talking to a mountain."
"Shut up. You're not a mountain."
"Is that all you've got?"
"No. I just don't want to hurt your feelings."
"I'm tough. I'm made of stone, you know."
"Funny, I thought that icy exterior might house a softer side."
"It's not exactly funny."
"No. You're right. You're pretty sharp for a land mass."
"Thanks."
"Maybe we should put aside our differences. You know, be friends."
"All right. I'll try. But don't come crying to me when you catch an edge and go flying down the hill, sliding on the ice."
The snowboard is out. The goggles are on. The "Best Ski Resort in the South" is softly calling my name. "Come to my icy hills. Let your board free."
"Yes, Wintergreen. I hear you Wintergreen. Your wish is my command." "But I'm nervous Wintergreen."
"Why? Don't you like to rip?"
"Yea. I'm afraid you might suck."
"I don't suck."
"How do I know?"
"Check out the $52 lift tickets."
"Maybe you're compensating."
"For what? I've got it all- skiing, golf, tennis..."
"All. What about snow? elevation? powder? mountains?"
"When I said all, I meant besides that. I've got 5 chair lifts. One of them even seats all your friends.
"I have more than 6 friends."
"I see you've done your homework. No matter, you won't have that many friends when the weekend is over.
"You're going to kill my friends?"
"No. They'll kill you. Have you ever been skiing with you? It's obnoxious.
"How would you know?"
"Mountains talk"
"You're not exactly a mountain."
"You're not exactly a molehill."
"What? You're not making sense."
"I'm not the one talking to a mountain."
"Shut up. You're not a mountain."
"Is that all you've got?"
"No. I just don't want to hurt your feelings."
"I'm tough. I'm made of stone, you know."
"Funny, I thought that icy exterior might house a softer side."
"It's not exactly funny."
"No. You're right. You're pretty sharp for a land mass."
"Thanks."
"Maybe we should put aside our differences. You know, be friends."
"All right. I'll try. But don't come crying to me when you catch an edge and go flying down the hill, sliding on the ice."
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Introspection Week continues, now with assistance
Kim decided and so far I can't disagree that I am basically made of two people- "Dave" and "Dave's Grandma (DG)". "Dave" is the zanier side and "DG" is the more conservative side. Neither is particularly persuasive, so whoever is in charge sets the tone. For instance if "Dave" is in command on a given day and decides that I need to wear a kilt, no amount of pleading from "DG" is going to talk me out of it. Likewise if "DG" takes charge and decides that I will not be drinking on this particular evening, I have no chance of imbibing anything, no matter what "Dave" or my peers have to say. This theory works remarkably well and manages to explain a good chunk of my behavior. I contend, with Dave and DG's agreement, that occasionally they compromise and something not of the extremes happens. I do not, however, have any idea how Dave or DG takes control on any given day. Back to the introspection...
Kim decided and so far I can't disagree that I am basically made of two people- "Dave" and "Dave's Grandma (DG)". "Dave" is the zanier side and "DG" is the more conservative side. Neither is particularly persuasive, so whoever is in charge sets the tone. For instance if "Dave" is in command on a given day and decides that I need to wear a kilt, no amount of pleading from "DG" is going to talk me out of it. Likewise if "DG" takes charge and decides that I will not be drinking on this particular evening, I have no chance of imbibing anything, no matter what "Dave" or my peers have to say. This theory works remarkably well and manages to explain a good chunk of my behavior. I contend, with Dave and DG's agreement, that occasionally they compromise and something not of the extremes happens. I do not, however, have any idea how Dave or DG takes control on any given day. Back to the introspection...
Friday, January 09, 2004
There has been a lot on my mind lately
I spent much of the last couple of days worrying about why I was worrying about two things.
1. Why do I care if someone goes on a ski trip and doesn't want to ski? I gave this a lot of thought and came to the conclusion that I care because since childhood I tend to bond by doing, through activity. I made friends with the kids who played kickball with me. I didn't know what to do with the kids who didn't. I've outgrown that a little bit, but not as much as I thought.
2.Why am I so worked up about Tequilamock... copyright fight? I still don't know. Maybe it's about soul and it's about motivation. You can't take somebody's soul like that for no conceivable reason. At least if the guy was gonna make a few bucks off the deal I could understand it, still despise it, but understand; but to just out and out steal someone's (or several someone's) words just to impress his mom or something. What the @#%? Obviously I still don't have a handle on this one.
Then last night I found something else to occupy my mind.
FIRE.
I was talking to a friend on the phone and said, "I think there's an alien landing on my street." Then I saw a flash of orange. "No, more like a fire." Some more flashes and a funny humming sound. "I think we're going to get cut off. I'm ok. It's not my house. It's next door. I'll be over soon."
CLICK
The power was out for about 3 seconds. When it came back on I snatched up the phone again and sort of stared at it wondering who to call, since I now saw smoke. I ran over to the bookshelf and grabbed a phone book. I tossed the book aside and called 911. Someone had already called them.
Fire trucks showed up, blocked off the streets, and I left deciding I didn't want to be around if my house was to burn.
It didn't. And today I see no traces of the whole ordeal.
I spent much of the last couple of days worrying about why I was worrying about two things.
1. Why do I care if someone goes on a ski trip and doesn't want to ski? I gave this a lot of thought and came to the conclusion that I care because since childhood I tend to bond by doing, through activity. I made friends with the kids who played kickball with me. I didn't know what to do with the kids who didn't. I've outgrown that a little bit, but not as much as I thought.
2.Why am I so worked up about Tequilamock... copyright fight? I still don't know. Maybe it's about soul and it's about motivation. You can't take somebody's soul like that for no conceivable reason. At least if the guy was gonna make a few bucks off the deal I could understand it, still despise it, but understand; but to just out and out steal someone's (or several someone's) words just to impress his mom or something. What the @#%? Obviously I still don't have a handle on this one.
Then last night I found something else to occupy my mind.
FIRE.
I was talking to a friend on the phone and said, "I think there's an alien landing on my street." Then I saw a flash of orange. "No, more like a fire." Some more flashes and a funny humming sound. "I think we're going to get cut off. I'm ok. It's not my house. It's next door. I'll be over soon."
CLICK
The power was out for about 3 seconds. When it came back on I snatched up the phone again and sort of stared at it wondering who to call, since I now saw smoke. I ran over to the bookshelf and grabbed a phone book. I tossed the book aside and called 911. Someone had already called them.
Fire trucks showed up, blocked off the streets, and I left deciding I didn't want to be around if my house was to burn.
It didn't. And today I see no traces of the whole ordeal.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Crazy
I hate to go back to this and post some more, but the more I think about this the crazier I become. What if someone like this moron is out there stealing my life and screwing it up? Or worse, what if they are stealing my life and doing a better job of it?
I know you're thinking, "trust me Dave, no one wants to steal your life," but...but... they might. And some of you must be thinking "sheesh, I thought when Reuben got back we could return to the witty one-liners and I wouldn't have to read so much. I don't come here to read. I come here for nonsense."
Well this is NONSENSE, it's just taking me longer to get there!
I hate to go back to this and post some more, but the more I think about this the crazier I become. What if someone like this moron is out there stealing my life and screwing it up? Or worse, what if they are stealing my life and doing a better job of it?
I know you're thinking, "trust me Dave, no one wants to steal your life," but...but... they might. And some of you must be thinking "sheesh, I thought when Reuben got back we could return to the witty one-liners and I wouldn't have to read so much. I don't come here to read. I come here for nonsense."
Well this is NONSENSE, it's just taking me longer to get there!
It doesn't stick
With very little ceremony I have changed wallets. The little money I have fit quite snugly. Credit card, bank card, Safeway card, college ID--check, check, check and check. The list of things to do before I die- check. Thirty- someodd of my own business cards? What? Why? I cut that down to a more manageable fifteen, making room for at least another fiver. All right fine, I cut it to twenty. I just wanted to say fiver.
And the last piece to go from the old wallet was a tiny square of tape that had been over the logo for quite some time. Now nearly as brown as the wallet, no trace of "I love you" remained visible, and once removed, I found out no trace of the sticky stuff was left either. I don't remember exactly how it got there. Something about a borrowed set of keys in a res hall mailbox. I doubt she even knew it was there, I forgot a few times myself.
What am I supposed to do with a little brown piece of paper? I hate to throw it away, but it doesn't stick, so I can't really keep it. It doesn't stick.
With very little ceremony I have changed wallets. The little money I have fit quite snugly. Credit card, bank card, Safeway card, college ID--check, check, check and check. The list of things to do before I die- check. Thirty- someodd of my own business cards? What? Why? I cut that down to a more manageable fifteen, making room for at least another fiver. All right fine, I cut it to twenty. I just wanted to say fiver.
And the last piece to go from the old wallet was a tiny square of tape that had been over the logo for quite some time. Now nearly as brown as the wallet, no trace of "I love you" remained visible, and once removed, I found out no trace of the sticky stuff was left either. I don't remember exactly how it got there. Something about a borrowed set of keys in a res hall mailbox. I doubt she even knew it was there, I forgot a few times myself.
What am I supposed to do with a little brown piece of paper? I hate to throw it away, but it doesn't stick, so I can't really keep it. It doesn't stick.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
My apologies to the frog
"Hardcore Collection" to the tune of "Rainbow Connection"
Why are there so many sites about pornos?
And how much they are to buy.
Pornos for cruisers, but not just losers.
And pornos leave nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it.
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Some day we'll find it, the hardcore collection
the perverts, the psychos, and me.
Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
when wished on the pooorn star
Somebody thought of that and someone believed it.
And look what it's done so far.
Why does the groaning keep us downloading
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the hardcore collection
the perverts, the psychos, and me.
All the web under it's spell
we know that it's probably tragic---
Have you been half aroused? And have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the shrill sound that calls to our failures?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.
It's something I shouldn't have found.
Someday I'll regret it, the hardcore collection
the perverts, the psychos, and me.
"Hardcore Collection" to the tune of "Rainbow Connection"
Why are there so many sites about pornos?
And how much they are to buy.
Pornos for cruisers, but not just losers.
And pornos leave nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it.
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Some day we'll find it, the hardcore collection
the perverts, the psychos, and me.
Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
when wished on the pooorn star
Somebody thought of that and someone believed it.
And look what it's done so far.
Why does the groaning keep us downloading
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the hardcore collection
the perverts, the psychos, and me.
All the web under it's spell
we know that it's probably tragic---
Have you been half aroused? And have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the shrill sound that calls to our failures?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.
It's something I shouldn't have found.
Someday I'll regret it, the hardcore collection
the perverts, the psychos, and me.
Monday, January 05, 2004
Thinking. The first mistake.
What is it that makes me think that there must be more? Always more. Five lazy days into a new year and already I'm wondering, "Can this be all there is?" Maybe it can. And why not? Four lazy days into the new year and I was just fine with that. What a difference a day makes, indeed.
This is the problem when I stop to think.
You'll have to excuse me now, I have to get back to my life of distractions.
What is it that makes me think that there must be more? Always more. Five lazy days into a new year and already I'm wondering, "Can this be all there is?" Maybe it can. And why not? Four lazy days into the new year and I was just fine with that. What a difference a day makes, indeed.
This is the problem when I stop to think.
You'll have to excuse me now, I have to get back to my life of distractions.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
45 seconds of service
The local KFC/Taco Bell drive-thru has instituted a new "45 seconds to take your order" policy. I support efficiency, but not at the cost of stupidity. We pulled up to the talking box and heard Barry White or reasonable impersonator say, "Welcome to KFC/Taco Bell where we take your order in 45 seconds". Then the recording cut away and frantic order taker female (FOTF) took his place. FOTF shrilly asked, "CANITAKEYOURORDER?" Hold on, let us look at the menu. "THENBACKUPPLEASEBACKUP". So we backed up because no one was behind us. I couldn't really see the menu anymore, but at least FOTF wouldn't be punished for taking a slow order.
We made our selections and pulled back up to the box. I ordered a Santa Fe Gordita and FOTF replied, "WEDON'THAVESANTAFE. HOWABOUTSUPREME, SUPREME? SUPREME?" I was saying "Baja", but FOTF was too busy auctioning off supreme to hear me. I might have wanted more to eat, but by then I was so unnerved that I couldn't remember what. I think they also promised to have our order out in a minute, but the woman in the window had a much more relaxed approach. I bet they haven't figured out a way to time her yet.
The local KFC/Taco Bell drive-thru has instituted a new "45 seconds to take your order" policy. I support efficiency, but not at the cost of stupidity. We pulled up to the talking box and heard Barry White or reasonable impersonator say, "Welcome to KFC/Taco Bell where we take your order in 45 seconds". Then the recording cut away and frantic order taker female (FOTF) took his place. FOTF shrilly asked, "CANITAKEYOURORDER?" Hold on, let us look at the menu. "THENBACKUPPLEASEBACKUP". So we backed up because no one was behind us. I couldn't really see the menu anymore, but at least FOTF wouldn't be punished for taking a slow order.
We made our selections and pulled back up to the box. I ordered a Santa Fe Gordita and FOTF replied, "WEDON'THAVESANTAFE. HOWABOUTSUPREME, SUPREME? SUPREME?" I was saying "Baja", but FOTF was too busy auctioning off supreme to hear me. I might have wanted more to eat, but by then I was so unnerved that I couldn't remember what. I think they also promised to have our order out in a minute, but the woman in the window had a much more relaxed approach. I bet they haven't figured out a way to time her yet.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
Friday, January 02, 2004
Book Review: Horse of a Different Color--Lame.
I really enjoyed Seabiscuit, so I figured I'd give Horse of a Different Color a try. This book focuses on the money and the dumb-luck of the breeder (and author) of Monarchos, Derby winner from a few years back. The author uses self-depricating humor and name-dropping en masse to turn an undoubtedly exciting story into a painful, annoying tale. In a few paragraphs of unwisdom, author Jim Squires mentioned Seabiscuit, only compounding my fury at what this book is not. Instead of interesting characters (although I imagine they were there, Mr. Squires just didn't let us know them), we got names and generalities. Instead of heart-pounding tales of horse races, we got ho-hum descriptions of only two races.
I will admit that there were a few worthwhile pages. I was unaware of the foreign interest in horse racing nor the internal politics of racing and breeding, but I would have rather read that in a short magazine article.
Maybe this book is selling to all the hopeful newspaper editors turned lucky breeder. If that's not you, I'd stay away.
I really enjoyed Seabiscuit, so I figured I'd give Horse of a Different Color a try. This book focuses on the money and the dumb-luck of the breeder (and author) of Monarchos, Derby winner from a few years back. The author uses self-depricating humor and name-dropping en masse to turn an undoubtedly exciting story into a painful, annoying tale. In a few paragraphs of unwisdom, author Jim Squires mentioned Seabiscuit, only compounding my fury at what this book is not. Instead of interesting characters (although I imagine they were there, Mr. Squires just didn't let us know them), we got names and generalities. Instead of heart-pounding tales of horse races, we got ho-hum descriptions of only two races.
I will admit that there were a few worthwhile pages. I was unaware of the foreign interest in horse racing nor the internal politics of racing and breeding, but I would have rather read that in a short magazine article.
Maybe this book is selling to all the hopeful newspaper editors turned lucky breeder. If that's not you, I'd stay away.
Thursday, January 01, 2004
New Year's Day- Start a resolution
1. Stop and smell the flowers-- done. United States Botanical Gardens. Particularly enjoyed the orchids, the cacti, and the trains.
2. The pursuit of happiness and other inalienable rights-- examined. The National Archives is not a crowded place on New Year's Day. I am however worried about that fourth one in the Bill of Rights. I'm not sure I still have privacy regarding my personal effects since they went through two X-ray machines. This erosion concerns me.
3. Do something for you- How about Chili and a milkshake for brunch? Yep-pers.
4. And we're off. Come along, I think it's going to be quite a year.
1. Stop and smell the flowers-- done. United States Botanical Gardens. Particularly enjoyed the orchids, the cacti, and the trains.
2. The pursuit of happiness and other inalienable rights-- examined. The National Archives is not a crowded place on New Year's Day. I am however worried about that fourth one in the Bill of Rights. I'm not sure I still have privacy regarding my personal effects since they went through two X-ray machines. This erosion concerns me.
3. Do something for you- How about Chili and a milkshake for brunch? Yep-pers.
4. And we're off. Come along, I think it's going to be quite a year.
New Year's Eve- Football and Sex
Feeding off the lowered expectations of him and others, I decided that New Year's Eve didn't have to be about expectations and a lot of silliness, it could just be. And be it did. Finding no Tiger fans, I made my way to a sports bar that didn't charge a cover and I watched a telling half while eating. During commercials I watched all the metrosexuals and their high-heeled womenfriends getting ready for the night.
Heading to the only party that had materialized for me, I joined some friends for a quiet viewing of Sex in the City as we waited for the ball to drop. I liked Sex; so much so that I stayed up until 5 am to watch a Season 6 marathon to top off the start of season 5 I'd seen earlier. I'd been told before that I should watch the show, but I guess it took the end of '03 for me to be ready. It does require a certain maturity.
Feeding off the lowered expectations of him and others, I decided that New Year's Eve didn't have to be about expectations and a lot of silliness, it could just be. And be it did. Finding no Tiger fans, I made my way to a sports bar that didn't charge a cover and I watched a telling half while eating. During commercials I watched all the metrosexuals and their high-heeled womenfriends getting ready for the night.
Heading to the only party that had materialized for me, I joined some friends for a quiet viewing of Sex in the City as we waited for the ball to drop. I liked Sex; so much so that I stayed up until 5 am to watch a Season 6 marathon to top off the start of season 5 I'd seen earlier. I'd been told before that I should watch the show, but I guess it took the end of '03 for me to be ready. It does require a certain maturity.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Let me tell you why life is good
I got yelled at by a volunteer and all the boss said was, "you're going to have to try much harder than that if you want to get fired."
I came home and made my dinner.
I called my friends and talked about the Holidays.
Kim invited me over and I hung out with the Smiths for quite a while. They're better than apple pie.
I came home again and my cousin asked me which Ultimate disc she should buy. Can you hear my heart sing?
I exercised. I'm reading a book that I don't think much of, but it's better than not having a book at all.
My leftovers at lunch were better than dinner last night.
I don't have to wear as many clothes because the housemate is out of town. (FYI: I'm fully dressed in a comfy pair of sweats and a long sleeve T-shirt at the moment.)
My toenails are so happy they have their own happy faces.
My new tie looked so spiffy with my new shirt and my new pants.
I can't sleep, so I have more time to blog.
One more day of '03 and then we're on to '04-- the year of the Dave
I got yelled at by a volunteer and all the boss said was, "you're going to have to try much harder than that if you want to get fired."
I came home and made my dinner.
I called my friends and talked about the Holidays.
Kim invited me over and I hung out with the Smiths for quite a while. They're better than apple pie.
I came home again and my cousin asked me which Ultimate disc she should buy. Can you hear my heart sing?
I exercised. I'm reading a book that I don't think much of, but it's better than not having a book at all.
My leftovers at lunch were better than dinner last night.
I don't have to wear as many clothes because the housemate is out of town. (FYI: I'm fully dressed in a comfy pair of sweats and a long sleeve T-shirt at the moment.)
My toenails are so happy they have their own happy faces.
My new tie looked so spiffy with my new shirt and my new pants.
I can't sleep, so I have more time to blog.
One more day of '03 and then we're on to '04-- the year of the Dave
Monday, December 29, 2003
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Stop the screaming
I met the offspring of one of my best friends tonight. Two undeniably good-looking people produced, not surprisingly, one undeniably good-looking baby boy.
His was not the screaming that I wanted to stop. That would be the other guys. It's strange to say, but Brian's friends, my friends I keep in touch with through Brian, have grown up, but they haven't stopped hurling insults at the top of their lungs. Some things change and some things never do.
I met the offspring of one of my best friends tonight. Two undeniably good-looking people produced, not surprisingly, one undeniably good-looking baby boy.
His was not the screaming that I wanted to stop. That would be the other guys. It's strange to say, but Brian's friends, my friends I keep in touch with through Brian, have grown up, but they haven't stopped hurling insults at the top of their lungs. Some things change and some things never do.
Friday, December 26, 2003
There's something in my eye
My dad gave my mom the runaway Christmas gift hit; he converted old home movies from the 8mm to VHS. So yesterday, I watched as my parents got married, had a son, and had a daughter to the sounds of generic piano music. I watched little David try and steal the spotlight back from his new little sister. It was all very cute and made everyone a little misty, but what got me was a noise my Grandpa A. made.
The film showed one Christmas about 1983, I received a new toy and excitedly raised it up for my Grandpa to see. On the screen he puckered his lips in mock-thrill. In my head I heard the little "Woo" that always used to accompany it. From that point forward I couldn't get the tears out of my eyes. I rememberd the traps that Grandpa S. used to put me in with his feet. It all made me miss my grandparents terribly. My sister asked me if I wished I was a kid again, but I don't. Sometimes I miss that innocence. Little David jumping wildly on the screen Christmas morning, while little Becky rubbed her eyes trying to wake up.
I'm so lucky to be in such a wonderful family. I wish I had more time with my grandparents. I just barely got old enough to appreciate them as they were getting too old to let me. There's something in my eye again. I want to enjoy the time I do have with my parents and my aunts and uncles, who turn out to be real people after all. I'm looking forward to June, when all my cousins (all 4 of them) and I can wreak havoc on some dance floor in Colorado as my sister and her fiance tie that knot.
My dad gave my mom the runaway Christmas gift hit; he converted old home movies from the 8mm to VHS. So yesterday, I watched as my parents got married, had a son, and had a daughter to the sounds of generic piano music. I watched little David try and steal the spotlight back from his new little sister. It was all very cute and made everyone a little misty, but what got me was a noise my Grandpa A. made.
The film showed one Christmas about 1983, I received a new toy and excitedly raised it up for my Grandpa to see. On the screen he puckered his lips in mock-thrill. In my head I heard the little "Woo" that always used to accompany it. From that point forward I couldn't get the tears out of my eyes. I rememberd the traps that Grandpa S. used to put me in with his feet. It all made me miss my grandparents terribly. My sister asked me if I wished I was a kid again, but I don't. Sometimes I miss that innocence. Little David jumping wildly on the screen Christmas morning, while little Becky rubbed her eyes trying to wake up.
I'm so lucky to be in such a wonderful family. I wish I had more time with my grandparents. I just barely got old enough to appreciate them as they were getting too old to let me. There's something in my eye again. I want to enjoy the time I do have with my parents and my aunts and uncles, who turn out to be real people after all. I'm looking forward to June, when all my cousins (all 4 of them) and I can wreak havoc on some dance floor in Colorado as my sister and her fiance tie that knot.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
The story of Casino Santa with commentary
Casino Santa is a recent addition to folklore. While the real Santa has European ties or Coca-Cola ties, Casino Santa has Mob ties.
Like Claus, Casino Santa (C$ from this point forward), comes around once a year. He just happens to arrive 2 nights before the other fat man. Instead of a sleigh, C$ rides in a black Lincoln with tinted windows. Instead of hearing bells, you might hear the holiday peel out and the next day find fresh skid marks. These are all clues that C$ has come for a visit. Look closely at your door and you will probably notice that the lock has been jimmied. Do not leave out cookies for C$; they are not good for his diet. C$ prefers a glass of Chardonay and your silence.
Like the other Santa's, C$ keeps a list. Some historians have called it the "hit list", but authorities will not comment on this accuracy. If you've been good to your word and kept your mouth shut, C$ will leave you some nice shiny casino coins and a pair of socks. The coins are for spending at one of the local casinos, to be supplemented by your last paycheck, of course. The socks are a subtle reminder. They say, "F*(* up, and we'll slide you right into a pair of concrete shoes." Stay on your best behavior and you can wear the socks with little concern. Anger C$ and you will pay the price.
Do not think C$ is an evil man. It is mere coincidence that his intials are an anagram of SIN CAO SATAN which roughly translated means "Come sin with the devil." C$ brings jobs to many of local workers. He gives money to the local schools and he gives riverboats to the local rivers.
You are probably better off if you don't meet C$. If you do happen across him, smile, do not comment on his weight and do not ask why his thugs wear elf shoes. Just smile politely, avoid making deals and leave as fast as possible. As C$ would say, "Merry F-ing Holidays suckers."
Casino Santa is a recent addition to folklore. While the real Santa has European ties or Coca-Cola ties, Casino Santa has Mob ties.
Like Claus, Casino Santa (C$ from this point forward), comes around once a year. He just happens to arrive 2 nights before the other fat man. Instead of a sleigh, C$ rides in a black Lincoln with tinted windows. Instead of hearing bells, you might hear the holiday peel out and the next day find fresh skid marks. These are all clues that C$ has come for a visit. Look closely at your door and you will probably notice that the lock has been jimmied. Do not leave out cookies for C$; they are not good for his diet. C$ prefers a glass of Chardonay and your silence.
Like the other Santa's, C$ keeps a list. Some historians have called it the "hit list", but authorities will not comment on this accuracy. If you've been good to your word and kept your mouth shut, C$ will leave you some nice shiny casino coins and a pair of socks. The coins are for spending at one of the local casinos, to be supplemented by your last paycheck, of course. The socks are a subtle reminder. They say, "F*(* up, and we'll slide you right into a pair of concrete shoes." Stay on your best behavior and you can wear the socks with little concern. Anger C$ and you will pay the price.
Do not think C$ is an evil man. It is mere coincidence that his intials are an anagram of SIN CAO SATAN which roughly translated means "Come sin with the devil." C$ brings jobs to many of local workers. He gives money to the local schools and he gives riverboats to the local rivers.
You are probably better off if you don't meet C$. If you do happen across him, smile, do not comment on his weight and do not ask why his thugs wear elf shoes. Just smile politely, avoid making deals and leave as fast as possible. As C$ would say, "Merry F-ing Holidays suckers."
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Ch Ch changes
I'm home, er, I'm at my parent's house that used to be home. Some of my residue still hangs around, but it doesn't feel like home. It feels smaller. I felt almost claustrophobic wandering around the house this morning. (This comes from a guy who lives in a carriage house). It could be the clutter, I decided. Some of it is Christmas clutter and some of it is sister clutter. The former I could do nothing about, but the latter I picked up and organized a little bit, got some of the clutter out of the living room. When my mom realizes that I picked up things unprompted in her home she will probably have to sit down and gasp for breath. But don't worry, she will survive. It's not like I dusted or cleaned the toilets. I'm not drunk, I'm just a little claustrophobic. (I am not implying that I only clean the toilets or dust when I'm drunk, even though I suspect my mom thinks they occur with the same frequency.)
In an aside I am also trying to avoid the sass that gets me in trouble while I'm here. It's worked so far. So far being the three hours between plane arrival and bedtime.
I'm home, er, I'm at my parent's house that used to be home. Some of my residue still hangs around, but it doesn't feel like home. It feels smaller. I felt almost claustrophobic wandering around the house this morning. (This comes from a guy who lives in a carriage house). It could be the clutter, I decided. Some of it is Christmas clutter and some of it is sister clutter. The former I could do nothing about, but the latter I picked up and organized a little bit, got some of the clutter out of the living room. When my mom realizes that I picked up things unprompted in her home she will probably have to sit down and gasp for breath. But don't worry, she will survive. It's not like I dusted or cleaned the toilets. I'm not drunk, I'm just a little claustrophobic. (I am not implying that I only clean the toilets or dust when I'm drunk, even though I suspect my mom thinks they occur with the same frequency.)
In an aside I am also trying to avoid the sass that gets me in trouble while I'm here. It's worked so far. So far being the three hours between plane arrival and bedtime.
Sunday, December 21, 2003
There are some things I think you need to know
*I sing in the car. I sing in a piercing falsetto-- the higher the better. Sometimes even when I don't need a falsetto, I use the falsetto.
*I talk to Orion. Not the cat in Men in Black, I talk to the constellation. He's been there for me through some lonely nights. He used to hang over my little Colorado town. That's where we began speaking.
*I'm into guilt trips. I don't like them that much, but I use them. My favorite at the moment is, "You'll ruin Christmas."
*I get uncomfortable when someone gets left out, so I lie to people about what I'm doing "this weekend."
*a) I often get caught in those lies and I look like an idiot.
*I like to do things that everybody else isn't. I try not to let that be my only motivation, but it can be a strong one.
*I sing in the car. I sing in a piercing falsetto-- the higher the better. Sometimes even when I don't need a falsetto, I use the falsetto.
*I talk to Orion. Not the cat in Men in Black, I talk to the constellation. He's been there for me through some lonely nights. He used to hang over my little Colorado town. That's where we began speaking.
*I'm into guilt trips. I don't like them that much, but I use them. My favorite at the moment is, "You'll ruin Christmas."
*I get uncomfortable when someone gets left out, so I lie to people about what I'm doing "this weekend."
*a) I often get caught in those lies and I look like an idiot.
*I like to do things that everybody else isn't. I try not to let that be my only motivation, but it can be a strong one.
What is real?-- online book review
If you're a reality TV fanatic, or even if you've secretly seen a few episodes, but refuse to tell anyone, you'll probably enjoy Lizzy Hated Pantyhose. This online novel is well-written and entertaining. It manages to celebrate reality TV even as it pokes fun at the genre. The Tyrant tells us that it's a first draft, but I found that hard to believe.
It has a few dud jokes "you might remember me from such TV shows as..." being the most repeated dud. It starts to drag a little with the introduction of America's Top Model but by that point I had to find out the ending. The main character was a little too versatile for my tastes, but maybe reality TV watchers have a knack for slipping into their favorite shows that I don't know about. My biggest regret about the whole experience was that I couldn't curl up under the covers with my iMac. Online novels are a pain in the eyes, but this one is worth a look.
Don't believe me? Ask Clare.
If you're a reality TV fanatic, or even if you've secretly seen a few episodes, but refuse to tell anyone, you'll probably enjoy Lizzy Hated Pantyhose. This online novel is well-written and entertaining. It manages to celebrate reality TV even as it pokes fun at the genre. The Tyrant tells us that it's a first draft, but I found that hard to believe.
It has a few dud jokes "you might remember me from such TV shows as..." being the most repeated dud. It starts to drag a little with the introduction of America's Top Model but by that point I had to find out the ending. The main character was a little too versatile for my tastes, but maybe reality TV watchers have a knack for slipping into their favorite shows that I don't know about. My biggest regret about the whole experience was that I couldn't curl up under the covers with my iMac. Online novels are a pain in the eyes, but this one is worth a look.
Don't believe me? Ask Clare.
Cruisin' I-60-- Dotopian review and promotion
If you look at the DVD cover and Amy Smart you might think Road Trip. If you look at the rest of the cast you might think Back to the Future (same writer). If you combined the two, Interstate 60 is about what you'd get. It's perfect if you're looking for a comedy that's not too brainy, but has a some quaint social commentary, some great wisdom, "It's inevitable if it happened", and Michael J. Fox, not to mention a few laughs, a couple of surprises, and a happy but predictable ending. Go ahead, take a little trip on I-60 with the top down.
If you look at the DVD cover and Amy Smart you might think Road Trip. If you look at the rest of the cast you might think Back to the Future (same writer). If you combined the two, Interstate 60 is about what you'd get. It's perfect if you're looking for a comedy that's not too brainy, but has a some quaint social commentary, some great wisdom, "It's inevitable if it happened", and Michael J. Fox, not to mention a few laughs, a couple of surprises, and a happy but predictable ending. Go ahead, take a little trip on I-60 with the top down.
Saturday, December 20, 2003
Holiday Oddities
Oddity 1: I made it to the dance floor at the work holiday party yesterday. My Electric Slide went pretty well, but then they asked for some "right foot; left foot; crossover, crossover" jig and it wasn't working for me. A very large woman who had been instructing me became displeased with my performance and began to grab the back of my pants/belt and move me to where I needed to be next. I like a little help, but usually prefer it to stay off my rear end. Intimidated and uncomfortable, I left the dance floor.
Oddity 2: In a bold gesture the party planning committee decided monetary door prizes was the best way to get people to stay for the whole party. Because we had to be present to win, we spent the last 45 minutes to an hour grumbling, "Where's my money?" Holiday spirit out the wazoo.
Oddity 3: DJ peanuthead (not his real hip hop handle) kept calling for all the fellas to get out on the dance floor. I'm not sure he realized that we made up only 25% of his audience. Even if we had all poured onto the dance floor he would still be wondering where we were.
Oddity 4: Never before have I so hoped that a movie would end and yet not ever end. Thank you Peter Jackson.
Sorry tushie.
Oddity 5: Odd is the new word and there are new numbers, but always odd.
Always odd.
Oddity 1: I made it to the dance floor at the work holiday party yesterday. My Electric Slide went pretty well, but then they asked for some "right foot; left foot; crossover, crossover" jig and it wasn't working for me. A very large woman who had been instructing me became displeased with my performance and began to grab the back of my pants/belt and move me to where I needed to be next. I like a little help, but usually prefer it to stay off my rear end. Intimidated and uncomfortable, I left the dance floor.
Oddity 2: In a bold gesture the party planning committee decided monetary door prizes was the best way to get people to stay for the whole party. Because we had to be present to win, we spent the last 45 minutes to an hour grumbling, "Where's my money?" Holiday spirit out the wazoo.
Oddity 3: DJ peanuthead (not his real hip hop handle) kept calling for all the fellas to get out on the dance floor. I'm not sure he realized that we made up only 25% of his audience. Even if we had all poured onto the dance floor he would still be wondering where we were.
Oddity 4: Never before have I so hoped that a movie would end and yet not ever end. Thank you Peter Jackson.
Sorry tushie.
Oddity 5: Odd is the new word and there are new numbers, but always odd.
Always odd.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
E a O 's
Of the 1 restaurants where my sister lives, the interesting ones are listed.
No wonder tourism is so H-O-T.
Of the 1 restaurants where my sister lives, the interesting ones are listed.
No wonder tourism is so H-O-T.
If I was a freak show,
I wouldn't sell many tickets.
Little oddities I have noticed today:
*Generally, I loathe myself on the first 3/4 of my commute home. We're talking all-out "you've never done anything right in your life" loathing. And then it disappears- just like that.
*There may be no such thing as a free lunch, but the three I haven't paid for this week sure were nice.
*It's not my fault. It's the beautiful women.
*Jealousy is an icky pointless emotion as far as I can tell.
I wouldn't sell many tickets.
Little oddities I have noticed today:
*Generally, I loathe myself on the first 3/4 of my commute home. We're talking all-out "you've never done anything right in your life" loathing. And then it disappears- just like that.
*There may be no such thing as a free lunch, but the three I haven't paid for this week sure were nice.
*It's not my fault. It's the beautiful women.
*Jealousy is an icky pointless emotion as far as I can tell.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Good night Ladies
is the other song I know, but here's Bile Dem Cabbage Down.
Have a listen!
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Look Mom! Sound!
is the other song I know, but here's Bile Dem Cabbage Down.
Have a listen!
audio post powered by audblog
Look Mom! Sound!
It's either very important or not important at all
I was happy, but lonely until I got to making my daily blog rounds. Now I'm sorry and reflective. Maybe it doesn't matter what I think, but blog family, DC family, family family, and even the nonreaders, you should all know that I feel very lucky that you're MY FAMILY.
I was happy, but lonely until I got to making my daily blog rounds. Now I'm sorry and reflective. Maybe it doesn't matter what I think, but blog family, DC family, family family, and even the nonreaders, you should all know that I feel very lucky that you're MY FAMILY.
Monday, December 15, 2003
Sunday, December 14, 2003
Merry FAKE Christmas
It's what Christmas is all about, minus the religion...
Last night and today, I had the joy of attending a very merry FAKE Christmas. It included food,
holiday cookies, board games, my DC family and lots of frankincense. I lied-- there was no frankincense. However, there was snow and Christmas songs. We got to sing "I'm dreaming of a white FAKE Christmas". And our dream came true! We also got to sing "I'm dreaming of a Dirty Christmas", but that's a story for another time.
Last night we all cuddled up on the floor to watch "Coupling" as Christmas tradition dictates. Then we fell asleep at 3 in the morning and hoped that the sugar plums dancing would not prevent Santa's arrival. I don't remember exactly how slumber parties and Christmas go together, but I'm sure that even Santa has to sleep.
Lucky for us, Santa did come. He skipped munching on the cookies and I think maybe he brought us bagels and oranges. He didn't cut the oranges though, Rob had to do that. Santa also made us coffee, but it was a bad batch.
Then we opened presents. FAKE Christmas ended, and the children were joyful.
It's what Christmas is all about, minus the religion...
Last night and today, I had the joy of attending a very merry FAKE Christmas. It included food,
holiday cookies, board games, my DC family and lots of frankincense. I lied-- there was no frankincense. However, there was snow and Christmas songs. We got to sing "I'm dreaming of a white FAKE Christmas". And our dream came true! We also got to sing "I'm dreaming of a Dirty Christmas", but that's a story for another time.
Last night we all cuddled up on the floor to watch "Coupling" as Christmas tradition dictates. Then we fell asleep at 3 in the morning and hoped that the sugar plums dancing would not prevent Santa's arrival. I don't remember exactly how slumber parties and Christmas go together, but I'm sure that even Santa has to sleep.
Lucky for us, Santa did come. He skipped munching on the cookies and I think maybe he brought us bagels and oranges. He didn't cut the oranges though, Rob had to do that. Santa also made us coffee, but it was a bad batch.
Then we opened presents. FAKE Christmas ended, and the children were joyful.
Saturday, December 13, 2003
Now there's no reason to ever leave the computer
Ultimate-the computer game.
(It's tough, but not nearly as satisfying.)
Ultimate-the computer game.
(It's tough, but not nearly as satisfying.)
The Amazing 5th Wheel
I found myself feeling remarkably like a fifth wheel last night. Let me state perfectly clearly: "The 5th wheel for me is a very lovely wheel." It means that I am hanging out with four of my fabulous friends. The funny thing about last night was that I wasn't with two couples. I'm very comfortable as a fifth wheel and last night was no different. It surprised me, but I was almost relieved to fall into that role. Odd.
His Majesty awaits his food
I have never had as many managers and waiters speak to me as I did eating at the Austin Grill. I got the wrong order and sent it back to the kitchen. I wasn't even hungry and not the least bit worried about it as my friends began to eat their meals. I had really come to hear the live music. A manager came over and he addressed the table, but he seemed to be looking at me. "It'll be out shortly," he said looking at me. I couldn't figure out why he seemed to be focusing on me. How did he know that I had asked my friends to come to his restaurant. Then as he left I realized he meant my food would be out shortly, not the music.
My food wasn't out shortly, but I didn't care. The Austin Grill cared. Another manager came over and said, "Where's your food?" and then scurried off to take care of it. The first manager soon returned and looked at me horrified. I joked, "It was great. I ate it really fast." He said shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I'll go check on your meal."
Most of the table finished their plates when a waitress arrived with my order. After a single bite that I hadn't chewed, she said, "Is it good?" It had barely had time to hit my taste buds, but I said "yes." It was good. The Austin Special may be the best meal the grill serves.
We listened to Elizabeth McQueen play her live music and I ate. Then I took a bathroom break and when I returned we had lots of free desserts. When the bill came my meal was on the house. Three more people apologized.
Delightful. I think I'm going to get the wrong order every time.
I found myself feeling remarkably like a fifth wheel last night. Let me state perfectly clearly: "The 5th wheel for me is a very lovely wheel." It means that I am hanging out with four of my fabulous friends. The funny thing about last night was that I wasn't with two couples. I'm very comfortable as a fifth wheel and last night was no different. It surprised me, but I was almost relieved to fall into that role. Odd.
His Majesty awaits his food
I have never had as many managers and waiters speak to me as I did eating at the Austin Grill. I got the wrong order and sent it back to the kitchen. I wasn't even hungry and not the least bit worried about it as my friends began to eat their meals. I had really come to hear the live music. A manager came over and he addressed the table, but he seemed to be looking at me. "It'll be out shortly," he said looking at me. I couldn't figure out why he seemed to be focusing on me. How did he know that I had asked my friends to come to his restaurant. Then as he left I realized he meant my food would be out shortly, not the music.
My food wasn't out shortly, but I didn't care. The Austin Grill cared. Another manager came over and said, "Where's your food?" and then scurried off to take care of it. The first manager soon returned and looked at me horrified. I joked, "It was great. I ate it really fast." He said shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I'll go check on your meal."
Most of the table finished their plates when a waitress arrived with my order. After a single bite that I hadn't chewed, she said, "Is it good?" It had barely had time to hit my taste buds, but I said "yes." It was good. The Austin Special may be the best meal the grill serves.
We listened to Elizabeth McQueen play her live music and I ate. Then I took a bathroom break and when I returned we had lots of free desserts. When the bill came my meal was on the house. Three more people apologized.
Delightful. I think I'm going to get the wrong order every time.
Friday, December 12, 2003
Like the magnet?
Attraction is a funny little concept, isn't it? I use some form of it quite often. I saw an attractive woman on the Metro. That's an attractive little car. That movie star is the most attractive of all. What am I really saying? I'm not drawn to the woman on the Metro. I don't feel a pull toward the little car. I do not press my lips against the movie screen (lest they kick me out).
Then when I suddenly feel that tug at my innards like someone is trying to pull them through my rib cage, I remember what attraction is. My friend Rodger always used to argue with me about attractive people. I think what he was trying to say was that calling someone "attractive" isn't the same as calling them "pretty" or "cute" or even "dead sexy"; calling someone attractive is saying that you feel that pull on your innards. It's saying that this person has their own little gravity. It's more like a magnet and less like an adjective.
Attraction is a funny little concept, isn't it? I use some form of it quite often. I saw an attractive woman on the Metro. That's an attractive little car. That movie star is the most attractive of all. What am I really saying? I'm not drawn to the woman on the Metro. I don't feel a pull toward the little car. I do not press my lips against the movie screen (lest they kick me out).
Then when I suddenly feel that tug at my innards like someone is trying to pull them through my rib cage, I remember what attraction is. My friend Rodger always used to argue with me about attractive people. I think what he was trying to say was that calling someone "attractive" isn't the same as calling them "pretty" or "cute" or even "dead sexy"; calling someone attractive is saying that you feel that pull on your innards. It's saying that this person has their own little gravity. It's more like a magnet and less like an adjective.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Everybody needs a mantra for a pillow
Today when "they" came at me with work-related requests that I didn't want to hear I said, "But I saw dolphins from my hotel window." This stems largely from the fact that I saw dolphins from my hotel window.
Keep your receipts
I bought Christmas Gifts that may not be "up to snuff". In a noble display of character, I did buy things that I thought people would want, rather than things I would want if I had the same taste in stuff, even though I resided in their bodies.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful
Please.
It's my parents fault.
Today when "they" came at me with work-related requests that I didn't want to hear I said, "But I saw dolphins from my hotel window." This stems largely from the fact that I saw dolphins from my hotel window.
Keep your receipts
I bought Christmas Gifts that may not be "up to snuff". In a noble display of character, I did buy things that I thought people would want, rather than things I would want if I had the same taste in stuff, even though I resided in their bodies.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful
Please.
It's my parents fault.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Friday, December 05, 2003
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Such great heights
is not only the song stuck in my head, but currently, my favorite song. I am as of yet undecided if I like "the postal service" version or the "iron and wine" version better. Having two versions of a favorite song at the same time on the same CD is wonderous. This must be how people felt when they combinded peanut butter and jelly. And I owe it all to the housemate I hardly see- The Sandwich, not to be confused with peanut butter and jelly.
is not only the song stuck in my head, but currently, my favorite song. I am as of yet undecided if I like "the postal service" version or the "iron and wine" version better. Having two versions of a favorite song at the same time on the same CD is wonderous. This must be how people felt when they combinded peanut butter and jelly. And I owe it all to the housemate I hardly see- The Sandwich, not to be confused with peanut butter and jelly.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Baby, it's cold outside
If this were the winter of '96, and my buddy Borman lived up the street, this is what you might hear on an after-school phone call.
M: Hello?
D: Hey. It's freakin' freezing. Are we running today?
M: whal, I dunno...
D: Come on.
M: (whiney) but it's cold.
D: So? We want to be good, right? Let's go.
M: I don't know.
(Silence)
M: 10 minutes.
D: See you out there.
Instead it's the winter of '03, and this is the after-work discussion in my head.
D: I should run today.
Mr. Negativity: Why?
D: It's good for me.
MN: So?
D: Um.
MN: It's getting dark.
D: Yea.
MN: Run tomorrow.
D: Yea.
I'm much stronger against a real live Mr. Negativity.
If this were the winter of '96, and my buddy Borman lived up the street, this is what you might hear on an after-school phone call.
M: Hello?
D: Hey. It's freakin' freezing. Are we running today?
M: whal, I dunno...
D: Come on.
M: (whiney) but it's cold.
D: So? We want to be good, right? Let's go.
M: I don't know.
(Silence)
M: 10 minutes.
D: See you out there.
Instead it's the winter of '03, and this is the after-work discussion in my head.
D: I should run today.
Mr. Negativity: Why?
D: It's good for me.
MN: So?
D: Um.
MN: It's getting dark.
D: Yea.
MN: Run tomorrow.
D: Yea.
I'm much stronger against a real live Mr. Negativity.
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
Excitement levels
I am not the type of person that gets excited when you first tell me something. I need time to process it. Then slowly, almost like a leaky balloon I begin to let my excitement out.
So when you first ask me, "Are you excited that we're going skiing in 2 months?"
I say, "uh, yeah."
Then what you might not see is the slow leak. First, I replace the "Colorado" on my SKI2BHI bumper sticker with a very homemade "Wintergreen". Then, when I put my Christmas decorations up, 3 of the 5 ornaments are skiing related. When I go outside I smell the air and am a little disappointed when I don't smell snow. How long will I have to wait? And is it snowing in the hills of what Skiing is calling "the best ski resort in the South"? And what exactly does it mean to be the "best ski resort in the South"? Is that kind of like being "the classiest junkyard"?
Do not mistake those last two questions for lack of excitement. I'm a leaking balloon. pfffffffffffff...
I am not the type of person that gets excited when you first tell me something. I need time to process it. Then slowly, almost like a leaky balloon I begin to let my excitement out.
So when you first ask me, "Are you excited that we're going skiing in 2 months?"
I say, "uh, yeah."
Then what you might not see is the slow leak. First, I replace the "Colorado" on my SKI2BHI bumper sticker with a very homemade "Wintergreen". Then, when I put my Christmas decorations up, 3 of the 5 ornaments are skiing related. When I go outside I smell the air and am a little disappointed when I don't smell snow. How long will I have to wait? And is it snowing in the hills of what Skiing is calling "the best ski resort in the South"? And what exactly does it mean to be the "best ski resort in the South"? Is that kind of like being "the classiest junkyard"?
Do not mistake those last two questions for lack of excitement. I'm a leaking balloon. pfffffffffffff...
Monday, December 01, 2003
Kansas City here I come
I just got back to the District, I know. However, I am now excited about the 27th of December. On that day I will get to meet the new son of Brian and Amanda. I've been friends with Brian since third grade. We created Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle animations using BASIC on an Apple II E. We traded baseball cards. We played street football. We stayed up late. We got in fights. We played tackle Hide 'n' go seek. We talked about everything, as long as everything included sports. We walked to school together. We played video games together. We wrote, produced and starred in a short movie. We went to high school. We went skiing. We imagined a fantasy ski resort called, "Davidsucks" We made different friends. We saw each other less. I ran fast, he hit homeruns. We still talked about everything. We watched football on TV. He got a girlfriend. I went to college. He hit more homeruns. I hurt everything you could hurt below my waist. We played poker with his friends that adopted me when I was home. He came to college. He lived clear on the other side of campus. I had new friends. He made new friends. He was a genius. Once and a while we would meet for a meal. We'd talk about everything. He transferred. He found God. I stayed.
Once a month, once every two months, I'd hear from him. We'd see each other in KC or stop by one campus or the other. We could still talk about everything, but we didn't have to. Now we could talk about anything. I graduated. I didn't get a job. He tried to talk some sense into me. He fell in love. I got a job. He graduated. He had an engagement party. I met his friends. They ruled. He got married. It was beautiful in every sense of the word. He moved to Florida. I wandered about. I moved to DC. I knew he was around. He encouraged me when I was down to the last dimes. I stayed in DC with a job. He had a kid. He disappeared. He reappeared. He is the best.
I just got back to the District, I know. However, I am now excited about the 27th of December. On that day I will get to meet the new son of Brian and Amanda. I've been friends with Brian since third grade. We created Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle animations using BASIC on an Apple II E. We traded baseball cards. We played street football. We stayed up late. We got in fights. We played tackle Hide 'n' go seek. We talked about everything, as long as everything included sports. We walked to school together. We played video games together. We wrote, produced and starred in a short movie. We went to high school. We went skiing. We imagined a fantasy ski resort called, "Davidsucks" We made different friends. We saw each other less. I ran fast, he hit homeruns. We still talked about everything. We watched football on TV. He got a girlfriend. I went to college. He hit more homeruns. I hurt everything you could hurt below my waist. We played poker with his friends that adopted me when I was home. He came to college. He lived clear on the other side of campus. I had new friends. He made new friends. He was a genius. Once and a while we would meet for a meal. We'd talk about everything. He transferred. He found God. I stayed.
Once a month, once every two months, I'd hear from him. We'd see each other in KC or stop by one campus or the other. We could still talk about everything, but we didn't have to. Now we could talk about anything. I graduated. I didn't get a job. He tried to talk some sense into me. He fell in love. I got a job. He graduated. He had an engagement party. I met his friends. They ruled. He got married. It was beautiful in every sense of the word. He moved to Florida. I wandered about. I moved to DC. I knew he was around. He encouraged me when I was down to the last dimes. I stayed in DC with a job. He had a kid. He disappeared. He reappeared. He is the best.
Sunday, November 30, 2003
It's all about the people
There were some people I met in college and they continue to be some of the best people in all the land. It's hard to believe that I could meet such a high concentration of people in the middle of Missouri (especially hard to believe if you live on the East Coast and think that Missouri is a cornfield.) But I did meet a great group of people there and tonight I got to visit with the Adrian,Chris, Kristin, Sarah, Tom, Kella variety. And I love them.
Theories on space and smiling at strangers
After being in the Midwest for 4 days, it occurs to me that there is a lot more space here -- space between cars on the roads, space between houses, space between people shopping. I wonder if this space translates into friendliness. My theory is that because people have enough space to function, because their comfort bubble is not constantly being invaded, they are more welcoming to strangers.
Why do I antagonize my mother?
That's it. I don't know. I'm hoping you do.
There were some people I met in college and they continue to be some of the best people in all the land. It's hard to believe that I could meet such a high concentration of people in the middle of Missouri (especially hard to believe if you live on the East Coast and think that Missouri is a cornfield.) But I did meet a great group of people there and tonight I got to visit with the Adrian,Chris, Kristin, Sarah, Tom, Kella variety. And I love them.
Theories on space and smiling at strangers
After being in the Midwest for 4 days, it occurs to me that there is a lot more space here -- space between cars on the roads, space between houses, space between people shopping. I wonder if this space translates into friendliness. My theory is that because people have enough space to function, because their comfort bubble is not constantly being invaded, they are more welcoming to strangers.
Why do I antagonize my mother?
That's it. I don't know. I'm hoping you do.
Friday, November 28, 2003
Oy Seuss heirs
What was that?
Cat in the Hat?
More like an SNL skit,
a giant 2 hour bit.
(1 hour and some change,
still long and strange.)
Mike Myers tried much
and the designers had touch.
There were some giggles
and cute childish wiggles,
but for all the colors, bright and shiny
the movie left me sadly whiney.
The plot was less than twisted.
The jokes I must have missted.
Elementary teachers on the other hand,
laughed so hard they split a gland.
They can't wait for friends to tell,
and now I know why the tie-ins sell.
What was that?
Cat in the Hat?
More like an SNL skit,
a giant 2 hour bit.
(1 hour and some change,
still long and strange.)
Mike Myers tried much
and the designers had touch.
There were some giggles
and cute childish wiggles,
but for all the colors, bright and shiny
the movie left me sadly whiney.
The plot was less than twisted.
The jokes I must have missted.
Elementary teachers on the other hand,
laughed so hard they split a gland.
They can't wait for friends to tell,
and now I know why the tie-ins sell.
Thursday, November 27, 2003
The thankful post
Happy Thanksgiving friends.
I give thanks for-
DSL,
my family,
my friends who help me survive in DC,
and my friends who don't.
sweet potatoes, bike rides with my dad,
grandmas,crisp winter air, snow,
ski trips, business trips, any kind of trips.
Naugahyde, table legs that fit like a charm,
health- yours and mine,
Reuben's cooking, my ability to not burn down the house,
Christmas shopping, town decorations,
pretty girls, public transportation, a job with variety, coworkers that I like and respect,
paychecks and bonuses, creativity, movies that don't suck, etc. etc. etc.
Happy Thanksgiving friends.
I give thanks for-
DSL,
my family,
my friends who help me survive in DC,
and my friends who don't.
sweet potatoes, bike rides with my dad,
grandmas,crisp winter air, snow,
ski trips, business trips, any kind of trips.
Naugahyde, table legs that fit like a charm,
health- yours and mine,
Reuben's cooking, my ability to not burn down the house,
Christmas shopping, town decorations,
pretty girls, public transportation, a job with variety, coworkers that I like and respect,
paychecks and bonuses, creativity, movies that don't suck, etc. etc. etc.
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