Yay America!

Do I do this every year? Friends, I will never comprehend the celebration of our nation with the explosion of copious items that make one feel as in a war zone.

"HOORAY, WE SECURED INDEPENDENCE FROM THE BRITS 200+ YEARS AGO, LET'S BLOW SHIT UP!!!"

I know. I lack patriotism. So sue me. (Never know if the FBI will come knocking on your door, either.)

I mean, yes. America means a lot to me. It's where I'm from and all, and I've grown to have a fondness for the people I know, the places I've seen, and the ideals I've espoused that come from my exploration of a country I've seldom left since I was born. When you consider I'm 22 years and 6 months old and I've been outside of the U.S. for maybe two months, total, it adds up to a lot of American Experience.

There's a lot to like, admire, respect, and even love about America. But that doesn't mean I can't be irritated when people choose to express that by acting like complete idiots.

I just spent a few weeks touring the interstates and state highways of several western states. We've built roadways that allow you to see some amazing scenery while you're zooming happily from place to place. (We'll forget for a moment that we have to drop a pantsload of dollars on gasoline to fuel the cars that take the roads, and what a disaster that is for the environment and what a mess it makes of our foreign policy.)

I saw huge chunks of nature set aside and reserved for future generations as state and national parks. The sights are incredible. I love the city, but being somewhere like Yosemite or the Arches give me pause.

I saw a film by a man who, using his Constitutionally guaranteed freedom of expression, railed against the current administration with damning evidence mixed with humor and sadness for two hours. And I experienced a theater full of people watching and applauding as these men were torn apart. I saw that dissent is alive and well.

I bought fruits and vegetables from local growers who brought their wares to Ballard to sell on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Independent, organic agriculture is thriving in my state, at least in a small way. I still have options besides the bin of tomatoes from who-knows-where at Safeway.

I saw many people all over the place, many of whom are no doubt immigrants. I don't know what they were all looking for when they came here, but I hope they're finding it. I have nothing but respect for people who choose a country. It has to give a person a deeper valuation of what it means to be part of a nation like that, something I wouldn't know unless I emigrated somewhere.

I saw my housemate's smiling face as she told me her fiance, stationed for the last year and a half in Iraq, was on his way home. That she might see him again in a month.

And I thought, maybe there is still some hope left.

But why do the kids gotta blow up firecrackers until 1 a.m.? That shit ain't right.

How I Spent My Summer Vaction

Usually, people write these essays at the end of the summer, rather than the beginning. And they're 9 years old, not 22. The former is a fatal flaw: Unless the most stunning part of your break from school occurred at the end of August, you've probably forgotten all the best details.

It's weird to be home again, and using a proper computer with a mouse and real keyboard. I just ripped out all my lettuce and spinach, which were overgrown and infested with some kind of disgusting insect. So sad. At least I know they'll grow next time I try.

Anyway, leaving off from the previous entry, which saw our heroes rocketing their way south to Santa Cruz via the scenic Silicon Valley suburbs of Milpitas and Fremont, the mall was a success in that it wasted sufficient time, and we found our way to Fremont, a Cost Plus where mom drooled over cobalt blue dishes, the BART station, and a Trader Joe's with little difficulty.

The house in Santa Cruz was advertised as "funky and eclectic," and it was, I suppose. Mom said this disdainfully upon seeing the place, though I'm not entirely sure why. It was a fine base, located near Paradise Point, which is very popular with surfers. The stereotype of surfers as hot, shirtless white boys in the California sun is a myth, however--every surfer I saw, boys and girls, were dressed in full-body wetsuits, negating the influence of hotness on my opinion of them.

Santa Cruz's downtown is one of my favorite among smaller-town shopping districts. Lots of neat little spots to eat and spend money on things you actually want. Terrible, really. I went to Streetlight and limited myself to only three CDs, including some older Lambchop and Mountain Goats releases and the new Wilco. I didn't even browse the vinyl, knowing it might melt in the van before it got home. I went to Bookshop Santa Cruz (bypassing the giant Borders entirely--support local businesses!) and picked up five goddamn magazines. My mom got David Sedaris's new book on audio CD so we could hear him read six hours of fabulous text on our long drive up the coast. And I got a new pair of shoes.

One can't wear scratched and falling apart 8-hole Doc Martens to job interviews she has yet to even secure, can she?

Among other highlights, we went down to the other end of the Monterey Bay and enjoyed Point Lobos State Reserve, which is one of my favorite places anywhere. This time we saw harbor seals sunning themselves on the near rocks, while the sea lions were farther out. My sister and I also witnessed two gulls have a fight to the death, which was pretty interesting. I didn't know gulls fought over anything but sand-covered hot dogs.

After a few days, we took the scenic route up the coast and into San Francisco to help my sister move from a shitty apartment to a great one, but the traffic and the parking made mom anxious about staying, so we didn't.

And because she insisted on taking Highway 1 up the coast, it took about four hours to arrive just slightly north of San Francisco, in a tiny town called Gualala. The next day, we drove until we reached Crescent City. The next, Seaside, to check progress on the beach house, then Portland to stay with the Cambodians. By this time I was quite done with beautiful beach scenery and welcomed the smiling faces of my little nieces before passing out on the family room floor.

In Portland, my mom and I went to Lloyd Center to shop for her very particular model of sneakers at Nordstrom and see Fahrenheit 9/11. We would've seen it earlier, but it was totally sold out in Santa Cruz. I would spout some opinion, but I don't have one--it's worth seeing, if only so you can participate more intelligently in the dialogue surrounding the film and the issues it brings up.

And, joy and rapture, Burgerville for lunch. Mom just ordered whatever I ordered, so I hope it didn't kill her stomach. Usually dairy is not a happy thing, and the berry smoothies (not so much a Jamba Juice-esque deal as a milkshake made with fat-free frozen yogurt and fresh berries) have a lot of that.

I hung around Olympia for a few hours, in part to avoid rush hour and in part to make sure I saw Becky. We met for dinner at Apollo's, which is a good, happy medium for us.

And then I went home, so now I am there. With little to nothing to do besides get groceries, put crap away, and find a fucking job.

The listings today are depressing as hell, but I'll get some delicious food to make some healthy meals and be cheery anyway.

"Let's Get the Hell Out of Reno"

...And other early-morning adventures in auto travel.

After leaving Aspen, we made a mid-day side trip to Arches National Park in southeast Utah, which was beautiful. (Pictures will arrive on the photo gallery at some point, I promise.) Unfortunately, it was hot--being a midsummer's afternoon in the desert and all--and mom isn't much of a hiker, like, even less of one than me, so after eating lunch and taking a looksee at a few easy-to-reach arches and one distant viewpoint of the famed Delicate Arch, we got back on the road.

There were lots of Sunday drivers. And boy, do we hate Sunday drivers. By the time we got to Salt Lake City, we were so full of malaise about the whole state that instead of keeping with original plans to stay the night in SLC, we kept driving west on I-80. This enabled us to have some amazing views of the salt flats in the late afternoon, which was a pretty surreal sight to behold. We ended up staying just across the border in West Wendover, Nevada, where the rooms were dirt cheap and the amenities remarkably good.

Monday morning was an easy drive: clear across Nevada (passing three "no hitchhiking--they could be prison escapees" signs) to Reno. Reno was confusing and sketchy, but we did find some good all-you-can-eat sushi lunch special near the mall/airport. We ended up staying at the Best Western near the airport, which looked good at first but ended up being stupid. They advertise all over that they offer wifi in all the rooms, but they mention nowhere that there is an exorbitant charge for this service. It was a bit of a fiasco that made us write an angry complaint letter. Also, the walls were paper fucking thin, and apparently my nose whistles and sounds like a baby crying.

Mom wanted to go to a casino and get rid of the pile of nickels she'd won at the border casino the night before, so I went along. We went to the Peppermill, which isn't in downtown, because we were afraid of downtown, and had dinner at the insanely flashy new Oceano. But the food was good. Then we spent way too long upstairs while mom kept winning nickels and I pissed away a $5 bill just so I wouldn't bug her to leave as often. And I lost constantly.

I learned that I really don't enjoy gambling that way. Maybe if I knew how to play the table games, it would be more enjoyable, but slots as they are now lack even the most elementary sensory stimulation to seem exciting. They're just surrounded by flash and insanity that I think could give me a seizure, and all you're doing is pressing buttons. It was worse than playing video games and bowling combined, two things I find intolerable, frustrating, and unbelievably dull. (Note: I do, however, like watching other people play some video games. I have no explanation for this. I just hate playing them myself.)

Also, the trashy old ladies who hover over nickel slots like that's how they're going to make their fortune are very sad.

When we woke up at 6:30, the room was pitch black. When we realized we were both awake and not disturbing one another's slumber, mom said: "Let's get the hell out of Reno, then." And we did.

It was a 3-hour drive to Tioga Pass on the east end of Yosemite, but another two hours across the park and back in to see the Valley. It was gorgeous, but hot and full of people. We realized it was probably out of our means to stay in the park, and mom didn't want to have to drive all the way back in the morning. So we decided we'd seen enough for this trip--I'd love to come back--did our business with scattering the ashes, and headed west.

Originally we planned to stop somewhere short of the Bay Area, a place at a junction in the road with a Comfort Inn, but when we got there, we decided not to and just kept driving. We made it to Oakland before sunset.

Mom wants to avoid driving and parking in San Francisco, so we're skipping that for now. We'll do it on our way back north. So today we're just going to some giant suburban mall and getting Margot to take the BART to Fremont and we'll pick her up. We'll head to Santa Cruz from there, a day early.

I Belong at Sea Level

My mom and I are in Aspen until tomorrow morning, when we're leaving for Salt Lake City. I don't like Aspen much: though surrounded by picturesque mountains and all manner of babbling brooks, greenery, and chirping aviary, the altitude isn't good for my head. Neither are the price tags and people that pay them.

I have, however, seen many a prairie dog, and for that I am grateful. Or something.

I even saw one popping its head out of a hole!

It totally reminded me of this game I had (which was promptly taken away due to its violent content) where you shot prairie dogs. No, not Oregon Trail. That was hunting, for life-or-death purposes, not just shooting helpless but potentially diseased rodents for pleasure. And in the end you still got dysentery and died in your caulked wagon while your family hocked three sets of clothes to pay for your funeral on the side of the dusty road.

So, anyway, Aspen is not my kind of place. There's no...what's the word...poor people? That probably sounds bad, but I realized that the thing I like about big cities that do have all this fru-fru shopping and gourmet restauranteuring is not that it only has those things, but that those things contrast with the amazing range of diversity of people, culture, socioeconomic status, and, of course, food. I don't know what to think of $9 falafel. It's just unheard of.

(Okay, so actually I had the $9 falafel in Boise, and it was really tasty, but I wouldn't put it past these Aspen culinary snobs.)

Just, I don't know. Anywhere that doesn't have at least one part of town devoted to thrift, eating on the cheap, and people who don't own $3 million summer homes isn't my kind of place.

It's reverse snobbery, but whatever.

Boise was surprisingly nice. We had a bad experience at the Pizza Hut getting my brother some takeout dinner, but what do you expect from teenagers in the middle of Idaho? The cities in Utah sort of frighten me, but the scenery is lovely. Not as lovely as Colorado, but lovely like Arizona but without the totally insane heat. Just unpleasant heat. The town we stayed in, Green River, is a glorified truck stop in the middle of nowhere, the junction of SR-6 and I-70.

I'm thinking that when I get back, I need to make a mix CD (or just a playlist) of songs detailing the road trip. Yes, John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High" will make an appearance, if only because my mom loved John Denver and had to play it soon after entering Colorado, in part as retribution for all the raunchy comedy CDs my brother and I played. But so will Built to Spill's "Twin Falls," because every time the signs said Twin Falls I started getting that song stuck in my head:
My mom's good, she got me out of Twin Falls, Idaho...

There will be more.

Anyway, as I said, tomorrow we're headed for SLC once more. I'm hoping to have a gander at Arches National Park, having read a book about it once and finding it interesting, although we'd be doing just the thing the author of the book found so stupid: driving right through. The next day, we're off to Reno, because... well, it's on the way. Then, we're planning to go to Yosemite, which neither of us have seen, and scatter some of dad's ashes, because he wanted us to. Then it's to San Francisco to collect Margot, and we're off to a few days in Santa Cruz, which I am definitely looking forward to. Movies, hippie towns with good food, a record store I actually like, gorgeous ocean views, the beach--ahhhh.

I think we're going to explore a little more of Aspen's downtown today, have dinner with my brother, and try not to spend a third day in a row watching cable in the condo we're renting. Because that just isn't right.

Road Trip Readiness

I still have to pack, and I'm leaving tomorrow as soon as I get up. Which will have to be early, because I want to avoid some traffic. I probably won't, though. I'm not capable of getting up at 5 and 6 is too late. Oh, well.

Even morning people have limits.

Here's the basic rundown of where we're going, how, and why:

Day 1: I drive to Olympia, then mom and I pack the van and pick up Paul from Sarah's and head to Boise via Portland. One night is promised in this scenic city.

Day 2: We make a long drive from Boise to Green River, Utah, where we stay one night. I would've preferred making it to Moab, but that's way out of the way.

Day 3 through Day 6: Drive to Aspen and stay four nights outside of town, in Snowmass. Make sure Paul is comfortably settled and aware of how to use laundry facilities.

Day 7: Begin trek to San Francisco by driving to Salt Lake City and staying one night. May stop to see ghost towns on the way; mom is big into ghost towns.

Day 8: Continue trek (and ghost town stops, perhaps) into Reno for the night.

Days 9 and 10: Make the 3+-hour drive to San Francisco. Crash one night with Margot. Or two, actually, if all goes according to plan.

Day 11 through Day 13: Drive to Santa Cruz and stay three nights in a house near Pleasure Point. We plan to kidnap Margot for this. I also hope to take my mom down to Monterey for at least one day.

Day 14...: Head back up the coast. May stop longer in SF; may not. Meander up to Seaside, where we check on the house's progress. Then home.

I will probably be very ready for home at this point. And still desperately seeking employment. Sigh.

Peekatures from Graduation

Are here.

Speaking of pictures, I'm thinking of getting a new digital camera with grad present money (but not spending all of it). My Olympus is very...tired and sad. So I'm looking at prices and comparing details on DPreview.com and thinking maybe I should do something more productive with the cash than pretend I want to take pictures of something other than overgrown onions on my counter at night.

Well. Eventually, I'll be able to travel again, and then I'll want to spend my money on traveling expenses and need to already have a camera that doesn't suck. So it's sort of an investment in that respect.

We're getting ready for the road trip. We leave on Monday as soon as my brother finishes his early finals and head straight for Boise. The second night we're aiming for Green River, Utah, and by the middle of the third day, we plan to be in Aspen. We've got four nights in a studio in Snowmass, which is cheaper than actually staying in Aspen, plus we'll have a kitchen of sorts and don't have to pay the exorbitant costs of eating out all the time in Aspen, either.

Did you know they make coffee machines you can plug into the cigarette lighter in your car? Is that a bad idea? I am leaning towards it being good, because instant soup or red beans and rice on the road sounds like a better lunch to me than McDonald's, which sounds like death. Plus, you know, coffee that isn't ass.

After surviving a few days in a fancy-ass resort town, we leave my brother and head for San Francisco to see my sister. This looks like a two-day drive, with a stop at the Utah-Nevada border. The hope is to get a few days away from it all in Monterey or somesuch before heading home. I might also be able to score an interview or two with places I've applied and never heard back from (insert sad face).

The beach house is about two months away from completion. It's going to be awesome.

I Am A 1950s Housewife

Oh my gosh, you guys, I've been having the most fun time evar!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111

Well, except not really. But it's all right.

I cleaned my house.

I am DONE with motherfucking UNDERGRAD. This feat is very anticlimactic.

I'm gonna start missing it soon. Any day now. Yep.

No, really, there's a lot to miss about college. This isn't like finishing high school, you know. Besides, I now (well, whenever they mail it months from now) hold a piece of paper that says maybe I'm qualified to work somewhere more prestigious than, say, Wal-Mart. More prestigious, just as overworked and underpaid. But I probably don't have to wear a uniform. I hope.

...Oh, hell.

To celebrate the astonishingly dull presentation of our award, Marilee and I went out to Ivar's Thursday night for some much-needed grub. The next day, only Kim joined us for some Thai lunch to say good-bye and whatnot. The rest of the group is seemingly done with us, I guess. Well, bye, then.

Friday night I made Indian food with Kevin, which we both totally forgot to put onions in, so it wasn't quite right.

Most of the weekend I am spending doing relaxing chores around the house. Yep, very relaxing indeed. Cleaned the entire top floor of the house, including my room which has needed sweeping since January. Did an insane amount of dishes. Made the vegan roasted potato salad again--recipe forthcoming--and when the late-night munchies hit, made the low-fat vegan chocolate chocolate walnut cookies that are awesome. Seriously, they are awesome even if you don't know about the vegan and low-fat parts. The funny part is the vegan boyfriend doesn't like them unless, as he found out last night, they are still warm and melty.

Today I await the awakening of Kevin so we can go to Uwajimaya and get stuff to make a ridiculous amount of Thai red curry tomorrow. I'm going to make one typical tofu and veggie, one pumpkin (maybe mussuman), and one mussuman fish curry with tilapia. Mmmm.

I am on a bit of a tilapia kick after making up a yummy dish of them at mom's house last Sunday. I just threw them in a dish with soy sauce, fresh-squeezed lime, sherry, and a dash of chili-garlic sauce a few hours before dinner and let them marinate, then cooked them in the pan with the juices for maybe 10 minutes total. Delish. I am especially fond of tilapia upon learning that they are a sustainable food, able to be farmed nearly anywhere in the world with little environmental damage and eat vegetarian food. Neat. (I would provide a link, but my source appears to be down. Check out the Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch program if you are curious.)

It seems like a good sign that I'm obsessed with food again. I was too dizzy and busy for a few weeks there to even think about it. Whew.

Another thing I am able to do again that I've missed for the sake of the project is renting DVDs. I picked up the next disc of Queer as Folk I hadn't watched and the first disc of Chappelle's Show since everyone is talking about it. I am amused by the latter, but increasingly frustrated with the former. It's predictably trashy, and not in a good way. Oh well.

Before I stop babbling, here's the potato salad:

-Probably about a pound of red potatoes
-Some cloves of garlic, the tips trimmed off

Wash and chop potatoes into bite-sized portions, but do not peel unless you are lame and don't like red potato skins. Leave garlic in the skin. Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast until tender. (I've been doing about 18 min. in the toaster oven on broil.)

Chop the following:
-About 8 gently rinsed marinated artichoke hearts
-A skewer of fresh rosemary
-2-3 stems of fresh basil
-Small handful of pinenuts

Mix with a spoonful of olive oil, a dash of basalmic vinegar, and salt and pepper.

When the potatoes are roasted, pick out the garlic and remove skins. Crush or chop as necessary. Put potatoes and garlic in the bowl with uncooked, chopped ingredients and mix. This is best if allowed to sit and mellow for a few hours at room temp, but can also be eaten immediately or refrigerated.

Th-th-th-that's all, folks.

All's Well That Ends Well. Well, Well...

The past few days have been From Hell, and not like the ill-advised Johnny Depp movie.

Since Monday, I've been clamoring to finish up every last pesky detail of our project, which you can currently find living here until we find a more permanent home. There are a lot of pesky details, indeed. Some of them have gone uncorrected in this version because of some last-minute fuckups. But there it is, graceful as she goes.

That's the behemoth that's turned me into the weird-dreaming, tired-in-every-conceivable-way, hating-to-help-people-with-software-ever-again monster that greets you tonight.

Except I just found out we learned the class prize for best project. Pot was $400, so each of us gets $80. We have to attend some wonky award ceremony--I sure hope it's not during my work shift, but I won't find out until tomorrow--and make a poster and stuff, but hell. $80.

And on Friday we find out if we won the big $1000 library prize. That would be rad, but I'm not holding out too much hope.

In job news, I'm looking at Amazon and a bunch of Bay Area places still. I think this weekend will be another mad cover letter-writing session, sigh.

And I'm basically done with college. Hell yeah.

Brilliant, Disastrous Disaster

This summer's hot apocalyptic fantasy is everything I expected: bad, bad, worse, and rife with cliches. In other words, AWESOME.

I mean. Just. Wow. For one thing, I always find it amusing when a movie features Los Angeles getting destroyed. I like L.A.'s self-destructive fantasies. If I'm ever a grad student in film, I'll write a masturbatory research/analysis paper on the subject.

Rupert Murdoch evidently financed the movie. You can tell, not only from checking the IMDb listings, because every fake news clip is a FOX News channel. Even funnier is that the movie is quite heavy-handed in its anti-global warming stance, and conservatives are all Skeptical Environmentalist on us lately. The explanation for this I see? Perhaps Murdoch took into consideration the utter uneblievability of the film when he paid into it, thinking that people might be swayed to the opposite point of view. The global warming stance is portrayed, in the eyes of the discerning moviegoer, as completely unreal.

Dennis Quaid is a terrible actor.

Plus, they used the exhausted cliche of a main character making a pointless journey to "save" a family member, and in the process finds affection once more with an estranged ex-spouse. Couple that with the lone scientist who has the explanation for the problem that no one else believes except one other dude, but then it's TRUE, only by the time they figure that out they're all doomed, anyway, and you have the major plotline of any disaster movie.

But this had even less motivation than most I've seen. The fact that it has characters is almost incidental.

The cgi wolves were terrible. The tidal wave that swallowed Manhattan was really terrible, because anyone who has ever seen a regular wave knows that the ocean wouldn't move like a big pile of sludge like it did here. It moves fast and it moves hard. You can't really outrun it like they did.

I don't want to write spoilers (although, really, who cares? You don't see this crap to be surprised if you see it at all), but what happened with the scientists in Scotland was insanely stupid.

I went with a big group--including Jana, who normally dislikes it when I ruin movies by mocking them, but in this case, she mocked right along with me--and we got shushed at least once. Dude, who takes this seriously? Half the theater was laughing at all the badness, too, so it wasn't like we were lone assholes.

But anyway, I loved this because it was so incredibly bad. If you like to watch bad movies and laugh at them, watch it. Otherwise, skip it.

Jebus Lord

I finally saw the real Jesus movie: Monty Python's Life of Brian.

Thanks to a theatrical re-release, I've finally not slept through a Python film. I think I've mentioned this before, but until last night, I've never stayed awake during a Monty Python movie, no matter how amusing. And I do find them funny, I just... can't... stay... awake... couch so comfy... mmmmssffghhzzz.

So, I saw it. The whole thing. That's about all I have to say, because everyone else, everywhere, has already seen it and can quote multiple lines and would recognize the whistling from "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" after two notes and I'm spent.

Hee.

Tonight I have plans to see The Day After Tomorrow with Haremites who also enjoy bad disaster movies. My only concern is the audience at Mountlake, Jana's favorite theater. Will they be snark-friendly, or honestly horrified at the havoc "global warming" wreaks on Earth depicted in the film? (Not that I'm a global warming doubter, I just know this is fake to the hilt. I'd be disappointed if it weren't.)

It's Memorial weekend, so lots of stuff is going on. Jana's celebrating her birthday, Graylan's hosting a barbecue, my sister's flying up (and will give me some paperwork regarding a place in SF)...

My projects are damn near complete. The copyediting/layout final might require some further nitpicking or rearranging, but I could leave it alone, come in on Wednesday, hit 'print,' and be done. It was about two solid hours of layout work, and I think it looks all right. I don't have much to contribute to my other group project at the moment, but I'm sure I'll help finish it up. We present on Wednesday.

I am still contemplating this whole moving thing. As I see it, I have three major options: One, stay in Seattle, find a job that pays but isn't what I want to do forever (like working at Trader Joe's), and see what I can do to pick up some useful experience on the side. Two, stay in Seattle until I can find a place in California that will hire me, then move. Three, move to San Francisco in a month or so and get a job from there. I don't really like the first option unless I can find something semi-good up here, like doing editing for Amazon. Still not what I want to do forever, but it's closer. The trouble with the other two is that I don't even know if I can get a job doing what I want, if I could get a job that would pay the bills in the meantime, or how to build up sufficient experience to get hired anywhere. So, anyway, I don't know. But I'll keep you posted.

Almost

I'm almost sure I'm moving. Margot found a place that sounds absolutely lovely: a block from Golden Gate Park, backyard we can plant edibles in, pets are allowed so we can so get a bunny, big rooms and lots of space, reasonable (for SF) rent, landlords about to renovate the place a bit so it's even more inhabitable.

I don't have a job landed or anything, but I will. I'm sure of it. I'll figure something out. So far I've made out seven cover letters and resumes, with and without writing samples. I'm sure I'll need to do a lot more fishing before something bites, but it's a good start.

I'm almost done with school, forever. Not an absolute forever, maybe, but probably permanent. One project is nearly finished--I'll post a link when it's up on the school server instead of my home box, which I don't want Google to cache--and another will be done shortly because it's fricking easy. I have to copyedit five stories, trim two, and stick them (up to four can jump) on a broadsheet layout in InDesign and on a paper dummy. With photos that she'll send us. And write headlines and captions. And print out the full copyedited originals. It's nothing compared to the insanity of the other.

I am almost really fucking bored of work.

I am not even almost off work, though. And I'm hungry.

I am almost sure I'll listen to Sufjan Stevens when I get home, though.

Sunsets and Silhouettes

It struck me tonight as I was driving home: I love the look of traffic at dusk in Seattle. There's something about the slowly deepening blue sky as it meets the black pavement swarming with a dizzying sea of lights, marked by the occasional tree silhouette. I'm sure it's just as romantic elsewhere, but nowhere like Seattle.

Everything about Seattle and the Pacific Northwest has me contemplating sadness today. Yesterday I made somewhat of a decision about my future--it's looking increasingly like I'll end up moving to San Francisco this summer and getting a place with my sister.

I'm still coming to terms with this idea.

I'm not sure if it excites me, or if it just terrifies me. The more I look for a job, the more jobs I see in the Bay Area. Pretty much a handful there to none here, as far as jobs I'd actually want go. And really, I have wanted to live there for awhile. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

On Saturday, I wrote five cover letters and sent emails to the appropriate persons. All were jobs in California and all were jobs I think I'd actually want. The jobs in Seattle are either crap or require more experience than I have.

Of course, I don't know if this means I actually have a shot at gainful employment in San Francisco. I just know my options are by far less limited. I didn't even know what kind of job, exactly, I was looking for until I found a half dozen postings for it on the SF Craigslist.

To answer your next question, it's likely Kevin would move back to his home state as well. His landlords are selling the apartment he's lived in for the last year and a half and the new owner might kick him out within a month. Besides, he hasn't found a job here yet, anyway.

We both like Seattle more--but realize we may have to wait 'til we're older to be able to appreciate it. With jobs and things. Is California truly the land of opportunity? I don't know. But for me, it's sure looking that way.

Satire Disobeys

I received some peculiar spam on my seldom-checked mail.com account:

From: roberta
To: bad_day@cheerful.com
CC:
Subject: -
Date: Sun, 16 May 2004 02:09:58 +0000
Show Full Headers Back To [INBOX]

veze strook somer.
asshen neigh, eldres themsel twyes.
anthiocho stanch noot
satire disobeys.

Maybe I'm getting hexed over the intarchathexweb.

(Also, double entendre!)

I Only Blog When I Am Bored

That's right. Because I am a serious writer. I write to fill the gaps in activity. And I am sorta busy these days.

So, I figured out one thing in Flash. This came after two afternoons and several hours of futzing around and pulling our hair out, trying to get Flash to do one stupid thing: Fade in and out of each picture in a slide show without requiring buttons to advance, etc. Sounds like a simple animation, right? But it took us until Wednesday afternoon to find the right help file that made any sense or actually worked at all.

I officially hate Flash, but the thing is basically done, so that's all right.

Last night we got a lesson in Avid from the same guy who showed us how to use audio and video recording equipment. He is great. But it's going to be a complete bitch to crank out the video by Monday.

All the cool shit is happening right now, too. It's SIFF, so a bunch of movies I wanted to see but don't have time are closing early, not to mention the stuff actually at SIFF. Lauren organized a weekend trip to her uncle's cabin in the San Juans that would be awesome, except I can't go. Even if I'm not bogged down with editing all fucking weekend, I'm obligated to go to Portland for my niece's one-month birthday. (Not that I MIND, mom, if you're reading this--I want to go.) And there are a handful of shows I wouldn't mind seeing, but, you know, time and money.

I'm looking for jobs and have a couple that are vaguely promising. Not really, though. Just jobs.

Also! Gilmore Girls season finale? My FUCKING god. If you don't know, you don't care, but god-DAMN. Total 180 there with the Luke and Lorelai kiss to Dean and Rory cheat-o-rama. The real cliffhanger is: Will it actually jump the shark? It's pretty clear something will happen between Luke and Lorelai, and that was supposed to end the series.

Now that the doubters have lost all respect for my intelligence, I'll just go cry in a corner that LATimes.com is experiencing technical difficulties and I can't get my crossword on.

Who Am I Gonna Be?

What am I gonna do?
I've been foolin' everybody.
I've been uptown at the zoo.
I have seen the chimpanzees in the afternoon sun.
It's quiet in the snake house, and my legs have turned to jelly...
(Luna, Double Feature)
--

I'm enjoying my last weekend of doing nothing before the hell begins.

Did you know I am about to graduate from college? I mean, yeah, what the fuck? College? Done? In, like, a couple weeks? Fuckin'... yeah. Yeah.

You'd think I would've learned some better vocab by now, but no.

I've been killing time and enjoying it. Yesterday I futzed around with my website more than necessary, ever, then I went to Value Village with Kevin. I found some nice stuff, too: a chocolate brown jacket that I think flatters me, a soft white cotton blouse, and a brown/tan plaid skirt that is cute. If I actually shaved my legs and learned to walk un-gimpily in my high-heeled boots, I could look sorta hot. Not that Kevin would give me the satisfaction of saying so; when I don this outfit, all he can say is that it's funny how much taller I look in heels. Thanks, dear.

In all fairness, he's not one for comments on looks.

Every time I wear something that isn't just jeans and a T-shirt, I feel like a little kid playing dress-up. I am usually too self-conscious to wear these combinations out of the house, but I've had my moments. (Green "Don't Be A Dick" shirt with red plaid skirt to the '02 Bumbershoot Gossip show, for example, where the door stamp lady recognized me from my ridiculous get-up... hee.)

Today I hung out with Chris. We made a field trip to Shoreline to visit the Big Lots! so I could buy plastic storage tubs for my closet/pantry. In that respect, it was a success. I also managed to not buy a huge bag of M&M's or box of "fancy" chocolates; also a success. I got a small tube of mini-Reese's Pieces, which is much better because it is extremely limited. I know I'm weak, so I won't buy more than I feel I should be allowed to eat.

The new plan for the Aspen trip is that mom will drive to San Francisco with me so she can keep her van and not have to do a ton of driving on her own later this summer. I think this is a perfectly reasonable compromise, plus it saves me the pain of buying train/plane tickets to San Francisco, then home. My sister may also be moving while we're there, so we could help her out. And I'd like to show mom Monterey and Point Lobos. They're purty. We also might go to Zion on the road trip over, or something.

And, holy shit, I will be celebrating my graduation in less than a goddamn month. This coming week will be busy: Monday and Tuesday are Flash project work time with Marilee; Wednesday is video editing workshop; Thursday through Monday is editing the shit out of the video and making sure Kim gets sufficient quotes for the companion story. My mom wants me to go to Portland on Saturday for the baby niece's one-month birthday party, but I'm not sure yet if I can. I know I'd like to. The following week, many things must be done. I think I also have projects in copyediting lurking on the back burner. Memorial Day weekend brings Jana's birthday party at Deception Pass, which should be great.

By the time July rolls around, things should settle down and I can go out into the world, really. I need nicer shoes for hte job hunt, that's all.

Blogger's Many Uses

I just reorganized and updated my writing page using Blogger. It's a silly template, but it looks better than what I felt like whipping up today. That contains several things I wrote in high school and some in college--very few academic papers, mostly newswriting; don't worry. Anyway, if you ever wondered what the hell I've actually been doing over the past few years, take a gander. It's not great, but it's something.

Ex-Loves

I was talking to my brother last night about Jason Webley. My brother, who's six and a half years younger than me, went to see him last night in Olympia. He took his girlfriend, who was apparently enthralled by the experience. Paul's seen him perform before, but it's been a few years. He said Webley was as excellent as ever.

For a couple years, I saw Webley every chance I could. In total, I think I saw him a dozen times. I'd never before and haven't since felt such a personal connection with a performer I didn't actually know personally. The reasons surrounding my departure from the Webley flock still confuse and sadden me.

Every Halloween, he died. The first Halloween, I was a freshman in college. My then-boyfriend, KK, best friend, Becky, and I saw him at the now-defunct Pearl Cafe on the Ave. We followed the carrot to Sylvan Grove on the UW campus, a gorgeous spot for what was about to occur: his clothing was stripped and hung on a stick structure, then burned. Jason was carried off in a coffin to the crowd's riveting chorus. We all knew the words, even if we'd never been before, even if we didn't know what was going on.

In the spring, I'd convinced my friends to go with me to his re-birth. It remains, perhaps, one of the best live music experiences I've had: the feeling of love, joy, community was so strong, I felt compelled to give him a hug afterwards.

The following Halloween, he died again, this time "lost at sea" as we burned an effigy of Time and set paper boats containing tealights afloat in Portage Bay. In the spring, he returned in a glorious performance upon a crowded boat anchored near Gasworks Park.

But something happened the next Halloween. We had a big group this time--the crowd was overall immense. The show was typically theatrical and entertaining, but the air was a little different, somehow off... I can't explain it.

Jason died by Damocles' sword and was carried off on a slab of wood, all the way to Ravenna Park, where he was tied to a tree all night. I felt tired and was pretty turned off by this sudden change in tone and so didn't follow the crowd, but my friends who went said it was eerie, chilly, and deathly quiet. No love, just hushed awe, which is totally wrong, to me. My friends seemed to agree, as no one else has gone to see him since then, either.

My emotional relationship with this performer was pretty deep, all things considered. I felt almost betrayed. We broke up immediately, in my mind. The more I thought about the end of that show, the sicker I felt. The more I realized there were people who took it painfully serious, the more disturbed I was. We'd always joked that the whole thing was a cult, but then it felt like it sort of actually was.

I still feel I'm missing a piece. I haven't gotten over it. But I was glad to hear he still has the same power over his audience: even Paul's girlfriend danced and sang along, he told me, no matter how ridiculous the requests. It's a power I admire and always used to enjoy, until that one night I feel it was abused.

And I can't go back, and I won't get resolution.

Drip, Drip, Drip

Something's falling from the sky, and it isn't all rain. It's beginning to smell of deadlines, a rotten stench indeed.

Today is Christine's birthday. We're celebrating with dinner at Cedar's and crepes at my house. It's going to be lovely. We'll put birthday candles in her crepe.

I looked at the calendar and as of next Wednesday, after receiving training on video editing, we'll have effectively three days to edit down our footage to a five-minute pearl for the website.

So it's sort of insane. The anticipation, anyway; as of now, we're not doing a whole hell of a lot. A lot of planning and getting frustrated with roadblocks like time conflicts and inability to reserve equipment at the necessary times and such. But I think we'll be okay.

I am basically over my cold and drinking coffee again. Thank goodness. I found a bag that I can use to carry a tripod over my shoulder. I'm sleeping regularly. I don't have much to say.

I went to Costco last night with Kevin and Chris, and Kevin wanted to get a bunch of more expensive things--a blender, a compact flash card, a bunch of 9V batteries--which, combined with my pitas, Clif bars, and basmati rice made Costco earn its nickname "The $100 Store." Except, and I forgot this lovely bit, they don't take credit cards besides AmEx, so I had to use my debit card which is annoying for several reasons. Grr. Whatever.

Some people at work today are mildly stupid and I am irritable, but I am off in a few minutes, so I can stop this infernal typing and try not to kill myself on the way home.

A Week Without Coffee

(But plenty of tea. Green or peppermint, spiked with honey.)

I am so tired. And for what? I don't know. I'm still getting over a cold, which I didn't mention because I haven't been particularly loquacious this week.

I woke up Monday with a nasty cold. I got my ass off to school only after pumping it full of ibuprofen and cough drops. I filled several snotrags with grossness over the course of my two-hour lecture. Then I met my groupmate in the faraway lands of the Montlake parking lot to haul gear up a steep hill and to the third floor of the building where equipment lives and bailed. I told her I was going home and not to expect me in class.

I thought it was just baaad allergies or the beginnings of a sinus infection, but it wasn't painful enough.

I took a nap. It sucked, because there was a show Kevin and I wanted to go to Monday night, but neither of us were up for sitting in a loud, smoke-filled room until the wee hours of the morning. And I had to work opening on Tuesday.

Tuesday was equally hellish. By that point, I'd procured groceries after my weekend away and off-brand nondrowsy antihistamine (without pseudoephedrine, which makes me feel unpleasant) and was drinking water nonstop. Usually I don't drink nearly enough water, so having to pee all the time comes as somewhat of a shock. Heh. At least all I had to do Tuesday was sit at work, and even then, I went home before the second half of my shift. To nap. Perchance to dream.

It's hard to sleep when you're breathing through your mouth and wake up every couple hours with a need to expel mucous and drink water and wish your nasal passages were clear enough to breathe so you would've wake up with such a sore throat. But it's worse if you're on drowsy meds.

By Wednesday, my symptoms were cleared up enough that I made it through the long-ass day without bailing on anyone.

However, eating was somewhat difficult because in addition to the now-raging sore throat, I'd managed to bite my tongue in at least three places and get a cold sore on the roof of my mouth and on the gum between my tongue and a back molar. Yuck. The cold drops, which were nice for the throat, stung the sores; everything that required effort from my tongue hurt the bites.

You sure like my details, right? I knew you did.

I came home on Wednesday night and was the first person there. That never happens, since I work until 9 p.m. So I was stuck with garbage duty and I had to do a huge pile of dishes since I was finally conscious enough to do it, but Kevin decided to reorganize my freezer at the same time because he wanted to store his nine tubs of organic tofu in there until he went home, and it's a federal disaster area so that wasn't possible as-is, so I had a pissy little meltdown, got over it, and did the fucking dishes.

Also, Kevin stupidly let his car run out of gas completely--the second time I've known him to do this--and took my car home again. Which annoys me, even though I don't use the car *that* much, but I could've needed it.

And did. Because on Thursday, I ended up having my mom, brother, and brother's girlfriend up after my brother's lesson for a sort of mother's day brunch and had to go to Whole Foods and buy supplies to make brie and apple stuffed french toast. On the fucking bus. Meaning it took an hour and a shit-ton of walking when it would've taken 20 minutes by car. Grrr.

But that's okay because driving is bad for the envirrrrronment and gas is expensive and I have a bus pass! Why do I feel guilty for not wanting to waste that much time? Why?

The food was all right, though. It was nice to host dinner; I enjoy doing that. I don't have many opportunities to do so. I think the last time was when I lived in the apartment with Jenny and I made mom salmon on the George Foreman with tzatziki, which she loved. The french toast could have been improved upon, flavor-wise; the wonderful brie was out of place. It came out like more of a french grilled cheese than anything; it was bland.

After dinner, though, I put on Johnny Cash's Live from Fulsom Prison record--mom loves it--and mom started singing aloud the line: "I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die." Which elicited confused looks from the brother, of course. When the side was finished, he told me, "Uh, your Johnny Carson CD is broken." Hee.

Friday I dragged my ass again because I knew I had to pick up equipment, but we didn't have specific plans to use it. I'd wanted to cancel it, but I hadn't been able to consult with my groupmates. So I picked it up anyway, and we decided to go back to the Muslim Student Association. The guy took photos--he's quit being a slacker and takes direction well--and the artist and I talked to two of the sisters and got a lot of footage (or at least audio) of one girl saying a lot of great stuff.

We were going to drop by the Northgate Mosque Community picnic this afternoon, but the weather is less than grand and our interviewer didn't feel the need to interview more people. All we'd definitely like to get now is video from the Northgate Mosque, or at least some video of our tour guide from last Friday, who was great.

There's still this terrible elephant in the corner of learning to use the editing suites and looking at our footage. I'm afraid it's all going to look and sound unusable and I won't be able to handle the editing or anything... but we'll cobble something together, I'm sure. I should get some cut-away footage of the mosque and Northgate area or something, just in case the interviews look terrible but the sound is good, so we can have v.o. or something. I don't know. This is hard; I've never done it before! But I did want to learn, so there you go.

I was so tired this morning that I woke up after 8 and even still felt so tired that I went back to sleep until 11 or so. At which point I fully awoke so I could listen to This American Life, of course. The last story told of a boy who can't eat. I think that's the saddest thing I've ever heard.

Freedom Isn't Free

Or so they tell me.

I have a friend who's lived her life in pursuit of freedom. She's a refugee from Cambodia--or, rather, she was born to Cambodian refugee parents in a camp on the Thai border. She's now been in the United States for ten years, long enough to qualify for citizenship. Those who were under age 18 when the ten-year anniversary rolls around, like her two younger brothers, are automatically granted citizenship. My friend, and both her parents, must take a test to demonstrate their knowledge of this country they've chosen as home. A test that the average American might have a difficult time passing, but immigrants do it all the time.

They overcame the struggles of their homeland, travel, sickness, employment, language, culture, and time to reach this.

And now, they have to pony up $300 to get it.

My friend has grown to be a beautiful, intelligent girl. A straight-A's student at her suburban high school. She was awarded a scholarship to a local university (close enough that her mother will permit her to attend).

But for all the benefits she retains as a permanent resident, she still lacks the full privilege of being American. For all citizenships' guarantees, there is one that affects us all: she won't be able to vote, either, and at a time we should all make our voices heard.

I want to help her out. (She doesn't know it yet.) Anyone with me?

I Am Angry

Every time I sit down and read the news, I think I need to stop reading the news because it never fails to infuriate me.

At the risk of sounding just as partisan as those on the Right who rant and rave about all the stupid shit Liberals say and linking to notoriously lefty sources, here's a short list:

I'm angry about Help America Vote and black people who get erroneously branded as felons.

I'm angry about TV station-owning corporations that think the news from Iraq needs to be a little more cheery.

I'm angry about angry liberals who make us all sound like jackasses.

I'm angry about Bush's basically worthless testimony before the 9/11 panel.

I'm angry that John Kerry is my best choice for president this coming election.

I'm angry that art is getting kids in trouble.

I'm angry that due process is disappearing at GWB's whim.

And that's just 10 minutes of trying to remember everything I read that made me angry today.

'How to Grow Up'

I wanted to make the zine thing its own post, so here it goes.

I really want your contributions. If you have anything, ever, please pass it along.

Some ideas include:

• Comics/cartoons
  
• Letters exchanged between friends (either made-up, paraphrased, or copied verbatim--please make sure I can obtain permission from all parties, though)
  
• Photos of people doing goofy things
  
• Imagined, paraphrased, or dictated dialogues
  
• Photos of inanimate objects that are goofy
  
• Doodles from your class notes that are exceptionally odd
  
• "One time, when I was..."-type stories
  
• Tales of the Terror that is doing Weird Grown-Up Things for the first time, like a job interview, or even something more mundane
  
• Reviews of albums, movies, etc. that have personal meaning to you

EVERYONE I KNOW is capable of submitting at LEAST one of the above. So PLEASE DO.

My Arm Hates Me

No, I haven't been masturbating excessively.

...

I did, however, try to carry--on my own--one large suitcase containing a fancy video camera plus gear, one larger suitcase containing a shotgun mic, cables, and analog sound mixer, and one very heavy tripod, none of which had shoulder straps or anything of the sort to, say, facilitate single-person carrying functions. No. No, indeed.

I got tsked for five minutes by the guy who showed us how to use the cameras and sound mixers. At first, I took it as gentle teasing and told him it wasn't very encouraging. He continued his tsking. Then I gathered the things together for the first time and prepared to leave. His tsking escalated and he noted that *that* was why.

Oh. Duh.

So this was an exciting adventure in killing myself slowly with expensive media gear. I took the elevator downstairs and knew I was fucked. I called Chris, who ended up not being on campus, and didn't have the phone numbers of anyone else who might be on campus and willing to help me. So I took the bus. From north campus to south. Two stops. Pathetic. But, really, one shouldn't try to carry this stuff alone, so I don't know what I was thinking.

By the time I got to work, my left elbow--under which I'd tucked the heavy tripod--was about spasming with unhappiness and my whole arm felt heavy. Not a good sign.

It's ridiculously sore today, and that's after I got a ride home after work (with help carrying gear to the car), a ride to campus just prior to our filming plan, and so I only had to carry the whole shebang into the HUB and down a flight of stairs once I got there.

Anyway, we got about ten minutes of footage down so far. Yay. And that may be unusable because of the angle of things and stuff... it's hard to explain, but the shot isn't set up in the best of ways, nor is the space particularly helpful, and blah. The sound should be good, though. We taped the Muslim men praying in the basement of the HUB, so there is chanting and whatnot.

Oh, and there was a chair shoved into the middle of my shot mid-prayer. Annnhhh.

For Friday, I have it arranged so at least one other person will be around to help pick up and return gear.

Anyway, I am taking off this weekend. Heading to Portland Saturday with my mom so I can meet my new niece, who's name is Puthyda--pronounced "puh-tea-dah" and meaning "angel" in Khmer. Also, I am driving home with Christine, who is stealing her mom's car. We are going to go to Burgerville FOR REALS. I am getting a berry smoothie. Their smoothies are like fat-free frozen yogurt milkshakes and as such are divine.

OH. And. Guys. I am making a zine, I think. The title is How to Grow Up. A lady at Bulldog told me that because I was buying three other zines, or something, I should make a zine for them to sell. And I always meant to do that, y'know? So far, I am making Lauren do comics--y'all will love Lauren's comics if you haven't seen them already--and Chris will write stories about lessons learned in his youth, which will be high-larious. Anyway, it's not a theme issue this time around, so if you want to write (nonfiction, please, and no poetry) or send me art or photos of weird shit in exchange for, umm... well, nothing, really, but I could give you a copy of the zine when it comes out... yeah, e-mail me your idea or the whole thing sometime soonish. I would love to hear from you, whoever you are.

Referral Logs

I love them.

Without them, I'd never know people are reaching chiasmus.org with searches for "peanut butter and jelly, that's what I like in my belly." It's good to know other people remember that line and I'm not crazy or a musical visionary.

Or that lots of people are finding my 11th grade literature review of Ken Kesey's works.

Or that "shaved pits gallery" gets you my site, somehow.

Or that these two photos seem to get stuck in google's image search an awful lot.

Thank you, google.

New and Newer

I have updated the links a couple times now, most recently to add links to things you might want to listen to. One displays my interest in liberal political issues (hello, duh), one in a local indie rock station (I have gotten lazy and cheap), one in the best damn radio show currently in production, and one in my boyfriend's pretty music.

The newer news is that I have a new niece. I'll have to get back to you on the name and how it's spelled, but she was born at 1:30 in the morning yesterday, and I'm sure she's lovely.

Movies and Such

Saw Kill Bill Vol. 2 over the weekend. Walked out of the theater feeling a little dazed. That pair of movies is what makes going to see movies worth it for me. Just great stuff. I'd never argue it's the best movie ever made or be offended if someone else disliked it, but I sure enjoyed myself. Hurrah.

Also rented The Triplets of Belleville on PAL DVD. Yay for cheap region-free players! The movie was lovely--see it if you haven't, or wait for the Region 1 to come out--and Kevin tells me it's his favorite movie of the year. Big words from someone who usually whines when I want to watch a damn movie.

In other matters, a prof from my department spoke to my class today about his latest hippie to-do: The September Project. They're trying to organize events at every public library in the country on Sept. 11 to... they're not really clear, but create some kind of civic engagement and discussion of issues among citizens. Seems like a noble, if ambiguous, goal, one I'll rightly support. There's nothing like the energy of 30,000 people gathered in earnest for... something. There was a lot more discussion than that, but I don't feel like blathering about it right now. Maybe some other time, especially if I decide to get involved. Which I might.

Nothing much else going on, I don't think. I finished the New York Times crossword today and that made me get the them to Happy Days stuck in my head. I saw some weird, half-erased grafitti in the restroom--it read, in sloppy red letters: "I want some fucking juce (sic) right now." No idea.

Weird Dreams

For people who hate reading about other peoples' dreams... you know what to do.

I had two odd dreams last night.

The first revolved around a guy--who happened to be Theo from The Cosby Show--who was pregnant with my kid. Apparently we were former lovers, a long while estranged, but reunited in a sense to discuss the kid-thing. He asked me if I'd consider getting back together with him, and my eyes welled up. I told him I'd thought of the same thing, but didn't want to ask, since the circumstances of our breakup were my fault (I think I cheated), and anyway I'd love to. A few minutes later, after much hugging and crying, I backed out, remembering Kevin, and how in love we were, and how I couldn't possibly leave him. Theo said he understood, but he was, naturally, hurt. The dream ended with me telling him how very serious the relationship was, and thinking how I wished I could still have something to do with the kid.

Later, I dreamed that I was traveling the globe again. One night, after some weird workshop in a place that was partially house and partially woods, I tried to walk across the house through the woods to where some other people were standing and was attacked by some vicious cats--they later said the black ones were panthers and the paler, multicolored ones were coyotes, but neither had the size or look of their supposed namesakes. I shooed away the first two when the third bit my hand and clamped down. I started yelling "help" after a few moments of confusion. My group leader got the beast's jaw detached from my hand and applied a band-aid to a small part of the wound. My hands and legs began feeling numb. I asked if anyone would take me to the hospital--a middle-aged white woman said she would, in a bit. I waited while she filed her nails, growing increasingly anxious about the spreading poison and the jiggly piece of bone visible in my wrist. Everyone brushed me off when I requested help.

Good thing I woke up before anything worse happened. It was almost a conscious decision.

Possibly Maybe

For some reason, I wanted to post that I love this song.

Bjork. Many odes have been composed to your beauty and brilliance. To them I can add little but chime in with my support.

As much as I definitely enjoy solitude,
I wouldn't mind spending a little time with you...

I don't know. So good it makes me want to cry.

Additionally, some people should listen to the Books, for they are kinda rad.

Need...Food

Ugh. I was dumb this morning and couldn't locate the plastic tub of leftover red curry, just the rice, so I could only pack one meager meal for my 12-hour day. I ate it very slowly--one piece of sauceless spinach and cheese whole wheat pizza at lunch, one piece at the 3:30 dinner with a side of peanut Clif bar and water. Now I am all lethargic and dreaming of the meal it will take every last ounce of energy to prepare in the event that I actually make it home someday.

Today there have been some amusing stories in the news. Like Jack Nicholson wanting to buy a(nother) castle, but in Iceland, until he learned that there were no castles in Iceland [citation here]. And the new president of my university is getting paid twice as much as the president of the country--oh, wait, that's not amusing, just disgusting.

My group project is really interesting, but it seems sort of amorphous and disorganized, at least mentally, so far. The one guy in our group is silent and seems willing to do only the absolute minimum required. He will die. Otherwise, though, I like the people in my group and we have good discussions and some synchronicity of thought.

Did I tell you our topic? Probably not.

The focus is something along the lines of: Muslims in the Middle East are fighting to reassert Islamic values amid Western influences because they view it as an assault on their beliefs and way of life. There's a secondary focus that views the Christian Right in the United States as a parallel. Obviously this is just one idea we're exploring; there are at least a dozen related ideas that we'll get into. And I'm loathe to discuss it on this site because, honestly, my knowledge of these issues is practically nothing, really, and it's not a subject I'm interested in debating online, just researching.

I do have opinions, at least loosely held, but y'know, I'm a white girl from a shade-grown, liberal town. What do I know about the realities of life there? Of the life of my politicians or military officials? I don't know. I just don't want to get into it. I'll show y'all the project when it's done, sure. I'm just not going to talk like I know from where I speak, because I don't, and without tons of reading and/or experience I'm unlikely ever to have, I never will. I'll just listen.

I can call it "objectivity," not that I believe in the concept, really. But it's what journalists are supposed to do.

In my copy editing class, some students argued with the instructor over whether or not it was reasonable to think that Congress censored President Clinton after the Lewinsky mess. This was a single sentence in an AP Stylebook exercise; we had to mark it so that "United States" was abbreviated, congress and president were capitalized, and the word "censored" replaced with "censured," because that's what the Congress did, and that was all in the damn stylebook. Why argue over something that indicates that you had no idea what those words meant? Just note to yourself that you were ignorant about something and move on. I do it all the time. I am pretty ignorant about a lot of details.

But the big picture, man, I know it all. Right.

Kill Bill: Vol. 2 this weekend. Chris is working until 5 Friday, so we're probably going to catch a Saturday matinee at either the Neptune or the Oak Tree. None of this paying-full-price garbage. Also, Rachel has informed me she will be in town and wishes to grace me with her presence, so I'll look forward to that.

My brother got into his fancy-schmancy music camp this summer and gets to spend two months in Aspen, Colo., studying bass with the principal bassist for the New York Philharmonic who moonlights as a teacher at Julliard. And he might get to do something with Edgar Meyer. I mean, yeah, wow. And I might get to be mom's driving partner. I've never been to Colorado.

Wow, I need food. Brain is dying, quickly.

Calming Down

After my SUCCESS with Java!!

Woo-hoo, crosswords!

I Am Win!

Hey dude I rule! I got it working! Janeane Garofalo is ticking my ears with her witty political insights, or whatever!

Gosh, liberals can be just as harpie as conservatives! Shocking!!!

Hacking It Up Oldschool

I confess: I am nothing but a geek hanger-on. I run Linux only because I think Microsoft is despicable and can't afford a yummy Mac; when it comes to making almost anything work in my system, I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing. I try. I try, then fail, then whine at my boyfriend to make it work, because he is Linux-proficient.

However, even he can't get Java to work. Which is so frustrating because my crossword addiction has been forcibly cut off. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore.

I guess I'll just have to take up smoking or knitting or something.

Anyway, my current debacle involves getting something to stream RealAudio so I can listen to Air America Radio like a good pinko, as well as This American Life archives. Google and its results are being uncooperative and unhelpful.

"Download this thing!" Bash can't execute this file. "Register here and then download this other thing!" I have no idea what I'm looking at. But I am determined that I will figure it out before Kevin wakes up, by gumb, because I must figure something out for myself on this wretched machine.

However, Kevin did get that $40 CyberHome player that can be s3kr3tly turned into a region-free player and it worked, which is so rad. We rented the R2 PAL second season of The Office and it played. VCDs are also working. We have yet to test mpg on CD that it supposedly also plays, but those two alone make it more than worth the $40. ***AWESOME***

Thinking, Thinking

The weather has turned spring-like here in the great Pacific Northwest, and no one I know is complaining about it. We've plenty else to complain about, to be sure, but not the weather.

I swear to god I've had things to talk about the past few days, but wasn't really at a place to blog about them--and now that I've got all the time in the world to blog my brains out, I've got nothin'. What bullshit.

My computer is evidently working. Yay. I don't have powered speakers unless I plug it into my ancient, power-sucking stereo, though, so that doesn't make me happy. And when I do that, xmms (linux sound player) gets angry and won't do anything and I am too ennnggh to do anything about it. Also, at present, my power supply and heat sink don't fit in my case at the same time. So the insides of my computer are a major crumb-magnet. Always a good thing!

My boss made the mistake of introducing me to the LA Times Online crossword puzzles, so that's a huge time-suck at work. It doesn't work at home because the x-java-vm shit is confusing and I can't figure it out. The Seattle Times decided that giving me the paper for free wasn't working for them anymore, so I don't have a hard copy, except for the Daily and its grainy-but-still-really-hard New York Times crossword on weekdays. Chris's Christian Science Monitor apparently has a weekly (very easy) crossword, but I feel bad stealing his paper unless it's been abandoned on the dining table all week.

I am the biggest dork in the universe for so avidly seeking out motherfucking crosswords like this, for serious. Like I don't have anything better to do.

School is good. I honestly feel excited about my two classes. I've applied to graduate, which took all of a minute in each advising session. My psych adviser took the opportunity to harass me about going to the Career Center and Career Fairs and blah. I should get my resume fixed up all purty, yes, but I have looked at the Career Fair. It's big corporate or government stuff for which I have no interest or qualification. So it was smile-and-nod time.

I still don't know what I'm going to do when I'm done. I guess I better get cracking on that.

Yesterday my Digital Journalism workshop was about shooting. With video cameras. While returning heat sinks at Fry's last night, I checked out a camera that seemed like the equivalent of the newer one we get to use and it was about $3,000. And extremely cool. It's a high-quality miniDV Sony PD170. It does a lot of stuff.

Let's see, what else. Not that much going on. This week's rentals included a Frontline documentary about Islam in the 21st century (useful for my group project), The Ben Stiller Show, and Kurt and Courtney, which sucked. I read a dopey piece of chicklit entitled Good In Bed, bought at a thrift store, as well as the new issue of Bitch.

And I am addicted to the fruit-flavored Xylichew gum that is evilly expensive but great because it isn't sweetened with aspartame, nor does it make my teeth feel like rot. And dammit, I need gum, or I will bite my nails constantly. Or snack. I just don't need that.

So Much Stupid Crap, So Little Time

Nothing like a few days that feel like a waste to make you angry at life.

I hate April Fools. The "jokes" are not really funny, and usually, I forget about this little "holiday" until I am brought back to reality and have to disbelieve everything anyone says all day, which is a pain in the ass. In addition, this year, a few remarkably stupid things happened that made me question my sanity.

For one, at work, I found out that the week before, when I'd been doing installs, I had disabled the security program incorrectly, voiding all the work I'd done. This meant 20 machines had to have virus software and security updates reinstalled, a program one class needed had to be upgraded again, and another program (an Excel add-on) that was totally wasted. That one was the worst, because its nonexistence was the reason we learned of my big mistake in the first place. The instructor said they couldn't find the program on any of the machines but the one my boss did. I'd done all the others. And the kicker was we couldn't just go back and install it again because the license codes were submitted online and limited, so once I installed them the first time, that was it: no more licenses. So my boss had to call the company and get them to give us something to work with--another version of the software and new license codes--and made sure I did it right this time. Bleh. It was a pretty big screw-up and I felt so badly. Fortunately, I didn't get in a lot of trouble because my boss is a nice man and I was helpful in righting the situation, or something.

Then I got a call from Rachel (!) who was on campus with her mom for new student weekend--she'll be attending grad school here in the fall. I called her back and told her to swing by my work before 3, so she did. Which was nice. We made plans to see a late showing of Good-bye, Lenin! later.

And then I went home and couldn't find my car keys. I turned my room upside-down, but no car keys. I began thinking perhaps Kevin stole them as some stupid April Fools prank, but he swore up and down he wouldn't do that. Rachel called, and I told her I couldn't make it due to the lack of car keys, so that was sucky.

On the good side of things, we picked project groups (a.k.a., production crews) for my digital journalism class. I'm in a group of five focusing on Islam in Iraq. We have to write two stories, a "breadth" story and a "depth" story, on that subject, and create a multimedia project with a web interface for it. There is an art student and semi-professional web designer in my group, so hooray. The rest of us were pretty well able to divide up the tasks we'd like to learn, which was mostly everything--I'll get to learn a little bit about shooting and editing film, which I'm pretty excited about.

Steph and I were fiending for a lazy but cheesy dinner that night and decided to call a place in Lake City for which we'd received a delivery menu in the mail, addressed to "Resident." We chose cheesy pasta dishes (that came with salad and bread) and phoned in the order. The guy on the phone had the most hilariously stereotypical Italian accent--he actually said things like, "It'sa no problema!" The food arrived quickly and was appropriately satisfying, if not the most health-conscious choice I could've made.

Trouble continued the next morning, when I got up to use the computer and the wireless card was suddenly not being detected. Then the machine froze up, and refused to respond to rebooting requests. This was problematic. Kevin couldn't get it to work and suggested my motherboard might be on the way out.

This meant a painful, two-hour trip to Fry's, my most hated place to be short of maybe Wal-Mart, McDonald's, or Hell, where my credit card took a beating to the tune of $250. I had to replace my ancient motherboard, and of course my processor, RAM, heatsink, and power supply had to go as well. We were going with the cheapest reasonable choices, too. It just sucked. I am grateful for Kevin and Chris, who tirelessly debated my options so I didn't have to, but man, do I hate spending any amount of time at that store, let alone two hours. Or spending so much money I don't really have to spare.

An aside: one of the girls in my project group came to class on Friday and nervously admitted that she hadn't been able to get any research done on our topic yet. I interjected, "Oh, me neither, my computer blew up this morning." Never have I been so glad I chose that metaphor over another common description when she told me her excuse was that her grandmother died unexpectedly last night.

The new motherboard seems to have done the trick, although the heatsink we first bought is about as loud as a jet engine. This meant another trip to Fry's today to pick another (and, of course, slightly more expensive) heatsink that purports to be "quiet."

I also found my car keys. They were hanging on a nail in the wall. So I wouldn't lose them.

Kevin's crazy Canadian friend Simon is in town this weekend, so I finally got to meet him. He's... interesting. And I am now very bored. But I did finish David Sedaris's "Naked" this morning, while being naked, so the day wasn't a total loss.

Basmati Rice

I am addicted to basmati rice. Addicted, I tell you! Too bad it's not brown basmati, which I have yet to try cooking with the method described on a bag of white basmati I just bought that works like a frickin' dream.

You know how the rice at an Indian restaurant has a consistency impossible to replicate with the usual method of cooking rice in a rice cooker or the like? It's because they do something way, way different from that, apparently. And the bag told me how.

Sorry to turn this into a food blog, Paul.

Anyway. There are many steps involved, but it goes pretty fast. The bag calls it the 'open-pot' method. First you rinse your amount of rice (say, a cup) in cold water (typical), then you soak it in cold water for half an hour and drain it. Then cook it in a big pot of boiling water--more than it would absorb when fully cooked, say, 6 cups--for less than 10 minutes (7.5 seems to be my magic number) and drain. The bag also says to rinse in boiling water again, but this step has proven unnecessary to my palate.

Seriously. It is perfect this way, texture-wise.

We have also learned to cheat and use Patak's seasoning pastes mixed with plain soy yogurt to make certain dishes. Marinating tofu in a tikka masala mixture turns out rather well.

My stupid little "handy" chopper appliance has come in handy for mincing onions, and tomato puree is great for just the right color and texture. I never even knew.

It is dangerous to be able to satisfy your food cravings at home... or cheaper, I'm not sure which.

Here We Are Again

Me, not update for a week? Unpossible.

(Yeah, yeah, tired Simpsons reference, but whatever.)

I was thinking of an entry on the way to work, but I think I left it on the bus. Or it blew away in the bitter, cold wind as I walked from the bus to work. Update from last week: The 68 doesn't even run on Saturdays until 9 a.m., which is just too late for me. So I took the 73, which drops off a 10+-minute walk from the after-hours entrance. Exercise good; bus running late and having exactly 10 minutes to get here and not quite making it on time bad. But not too bad.

Oh, well, I'm not working on Saturdays during the quarter, so this is a problem of limited scope. My only bussing problem arises with the one night I close and can't catch a bus for almost an hour after I get off work. I'll just have to beg rides off Kevin every week, and I have no problem begging.

My many free afternoons, if unpopulated with coursework, are mostly left open for such exciting things as volunteering for SIFF at the end of the quarter, which, sadly, I haven't done for a few years. Except for Thursdays, I guess; mom is usually up on Thursdays with Paul and his bass for lessons and she likes to spend the time with her daughter, aww. We have been meeting at Uwajimaya or some other shopping destination where free parking is plentiful.

Whoa, it's time to follow that train of thought:

1. We went to Uwajimaya yesterday and bought rice, basmati from India (Cook's Illustrated blew the lid off why actual Indian basmati is preferable to California-grown stuff) and brown jasmine from Thailand;
2. then we came home to find the mess of a kitchen that was half my fault and half not, leaving me depressed and completely disinterested in cooking anything at all for a few hours until
3. the hunger pains became to great, so we made sun-dried tomato hummus and feasted on that with some reheated pitas and tomato slices, but
4. I still really wanted sugar. Crunchy, chocolatey sugar. Which I can't get at a store without getting pissed off about the shittiness of the ingredients.
5. So I baked the awesome vegan double chocolate chip cookies right then and there.

Hey! I've got an idea! Anyone want a recipe?

That's what I thought!!

You will need:
-1/4 c. flour (I've been using whole wheat pastry flour, but others work fine.)
-1/4 c. cocoa powder
-1/2 tsp. baking soda

-3/4 c. sugar
-3/4 c. oats, pref. toasted
-1/3 c. semisweet chocolate chips
-1/4 c. chopped pecans or walnuts
-pinch salt

-1/4 c. water
-1 tsp. vanilla extract
-splash tasty liqueur, like amaretto, if you've got it

-3 Tbsp. canola oil

Preheat the oven to 350'F. Sift or otherwise mix together the first group of ingredients. Mix in next group of dry ingredients. Add wet ingredients (except oil). As the mixture is coming together, stir in the oil. Mixture should be thick and not at all runny. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto lightly greased baking sheets. Bake 9 minutes. Let cool on sheet before using a spatula to pry off.

This recipe was culled and slightly modified from Dreena Burton's The Everday Vegan.

--

Some quick pimping: Jesse's recent entry about Christian Evangelist missionaries from Alabama visiting his Romanian town is rather interesting and enlightening for someone like me, who isn't Christian and is curious about how different sorts of Christians interact. My little brother, on the flipside, wrote a dismissive entry containing the phrase "fuck off," resulting in a comment war from his hosts/benefactors about how inappropriate it was. Take a pill, guys. And Wulffmorgenthaler is funny. Go read it.

Back in the Saddle Again

I'm at work for the first time since December. It's anticlimactic after my paltry job search of February 2004. I'd hoped to find something--not better, but different; something with new lessons for me.

This place is so familiar, like riding a bicycle, except not, because riding a bicycle always makes me nervous.

And no one is here to give a fuck that I was 15 minutes late.

It wasn't my fault. Somehow, I missed the 8:30 bus without ever seeing it, so I drove to work and figured out where to park right at 9 a.m. Then it took me 15 minutes to wander around and through the behemoth that is the Health Sciences/UWMC complex to get to the library. Matters were, of course, complicated by it being Saturday and as such, most doors were locked, or I would've been here sooner, but never mind that. I was late, I noted it in my timesheet, and only one person was here to be bothered by it.

At least when I have to work tomorrow, I'll already know all this and can plan accordingly. I'll have to drive, too, because the 68 doesn't run on Sundays. Parking is free on Sundays, though. None of this $3 so you can sit at work shit. Thank god football season is over.

I really need to get my act together on sending Josie things. I kept a journal-letter-thing awhile ago that I need to send; I should write another letter to enclose with the CDs Kevin burned for me to send her. (Josie, you will have to wait with bated breath to see just which CDs they are! Heh.) So, lots of letters from my lazy ass.

I really should've packed a lunch or something. I am starting to get the munchies. I've forgotten how long four hours here seems.

Fascinating

Kevin is concerned with the privacy issues herein, but this shit is public record, as it should be.

FundRace 2004 allows you to search by zip code, address, or name for who's given what and how much to which campaign. I live near a lot of Deaniacs and a former city council member that I voted against gave money to Kerry. My old zip code features a lot of Bush supporters, but they're in the part that isn't heavilty populated by students. Which is where I lived. And there are very few donations to anyone from that part.

Spring

Spring in the Pacific Northwest is a mess of subtle contradictions, like mismatched socks under long slacks. It can be sunny, windy, rainy, freezing, or even snowing, all in one day. But much has already been written of our region's fickle weather.

It's the kind of weather that inspires the outfit I'm wearing today: a paper-thin souvenir t-shirt from a Caribbean island covered with a long-sleeved sweater; thick wool socks and flip-flops. The thermostat in my house says it's staying put at 60'F (being set around 52'F to avoid increased electric bills), though it hardly feels a degree over 55. The sun shines through my iron-clad bedroom window, casting a prison-motif shadow across the red and pale blue pillowcases, yet I am unsatisfied with the climate and won't work in the yard or take a walk to return videos. Yet.

Spring is, to me, a transient time, one that flies, one that's forgotten, one where things only begin to happen. It's winter and summer where the actual doing occurs, where memories are made. The trouble with spring, as opposed to that other transient season, fall, is that it occurs to soon after the new year. We begin the year in winter, incidentally, full of new hopes and dreams and goals and plans, but all too often fail to get started on the real legwork for them until spring starts making itself evident.

"Oh, I'd love to garden," I tell myself, "but it's too cold now to start the beds. I don't have money to buy the necessary equipment. Let's wait 'til spring."

And now spring is here.

I've started, at least. But nothing going to happen until it's summer. Because summer is when things actually happen.

Spring is for announcements--like the Pixies playing Bumbershoot--for watching TV, for reading books, for doing crosswords. For just passing the time until things can actually happen. Like graduation, and ending my academic career in favor of a real career. Whatever that may be.

I can only hope I won't flit through that season like some extension of spring, wearing wool socks with flip-flops and wondering when it's going to rain.

Belated Friday Five

Because why the hell not.

1. What was the last song you heard?

"How Soon Is Now," by the Smiths. It was at the end of an episode of Queer as Folk. I rented Nos. 4 through 6 last night, so I am having myself a little marathon.

2. What were the last two movies you saw?

Pieces of April last night -- good, and April reminded me of my sister. Like, exactly, but I think our family hates her less. Or doesn't hate her at all, rather. And I hope I don't come off like her sister Beth, sheesh. And I watched part of The Birdcage on TV Saturday.

3. What were the last three things you purchased?

Groceries (vegetables, a loaf of pain au levain, and some chocolate), books at Value Village (The House of Sand and Fog and Good in Bed), and a TV antenna at a yard sale benefiting some kids from the Audobon Society trying to go to Texas.

4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?

I never need to do anything anymore, but I think this upcoming weekend I need to work. I think I get my job back that soon, anyway. I should also work on the fledgling garden--Steph is in; she's started sweet peas--and buy textbooks. And a fourth, hmm... play with Kevin. Yeah. Gotta do that.

5. Who are the last five people you talked to?

Kevin, my mom, my housemate Chris, Gabe in Yuma, and Rachel, who had a shitty thing (first story on March 9) happen to her this week. Yikes.

Rapture Is Coming

There other day, Kevin and I were driving down Broadway to avoid nasty freeway traffic. At a major intersection, a Cadillac was stopped just after the light, its hazard lights blinking, and not a responsible soul in sight.

The only explanation: God is taking his chosen back to heaven.

I always saw those bumper stickers and laughed. Maybe now I'll have the fear of God put in me, huh?!

Cycle Transition

For the first three years of college, I lived in the neighborhood where I worked and learned. Near my many different abodes, there were movie theaters, cheap restaurants, grocery stores, book stores, and a zillion buslines--everything a girl could want. It was for the taking if you just stepped outside and took it. You didn't worry about parking, gas money, or missing the hourly bus home. You just went and came back when you were ready, and if you still needed to go out later, it was easy as pie.

Your comsumer decisions were driven not by what store was easiest to park at. Parking didn't even enter into the equation.

But eventually, you move away from this hub of activity. You can still do a few things by walking--a hardware store, decent video rentals, Chinese restaurant, and 7-11 aren't too far. There's a busline to campus and downtown that works all right, albeit nowhere near as frequent service as that you were accustomed to in your old neighborhood. You have to start planning differently.

No more stopping by Bulldog News after class to browse the new magazines. You have to plan a trip to the University District that allows for that stop, either by bus or by car. And if by car, you have to figure out when you can go, park, and still visit the shops you want. Usually, though, it's just for Thai food.

You don't want to go to your favorite grocery store as much because the thought of parking there terrifies you.

You start shopping places that have a better parking situation. You start choosing businesses not for the quality of the shop or its services themselves, but for their ability to accomodate your newfound "convenience" in the form of a fossil-fuel-munching Honda Civic. Suddenly, what was a bastion of convenience--stores and restaurants you loved lining the block--is now a mess of frustration. Pay for parking? Fight for a spot? Shriek at traffic? It all detracts from the once-peaceful experience of simply shopping your way down the block, because instead of making your way home at a leisurely pace, you have to rush it, either to beat the meter or catch a bus.

I used to joke about embracing my inevitable yuppiedom in the form of eating silly hippie foods and whatnot, but I am beginning to know what it really means: choosing Barnes and Noble over the Ave based on parking availability.

As if that weren't soul-crushing enough for this self-proclaimed champion of independent business, it's pathetically environmentally unfriendly. It makes me feel like a dirty whore.

Maybe this will change, at least a little, once I start work and school again. I have my bus pass again and I'll have good reason to bus to the old 'hood almost daily. I can run my errands between classes and catch the regular bus home. It'll work out okay.

I just have to figure out a better way. I can't believe I bought shit at Barnes and Noble. It goes against everything I believe in. Or something.

I'm Updating, OK?

Certain out-of-towners (here I count Olympia and Aman, Jordan, equally out of town relative to me) have requested I update this blog. So, here I am.

The problem with updating is: I have nothing to talk about.

I am less angry today. That's a start.

On Sunday, I rented Season 1, Disc 1 of Showtime's Queer as Folk. On Monday, I rented Discs 2 and 3. And watched them all on Monday. Steph is playing catch-up before I return them tomorrow night. It's trashy as hell, but entertaining, and a damn sight better than, say, Judge Judy.

Today I planted some seeds in expanded peat pellets wrapped in mesh. I am trying to grow spinach, cilantro, flat-leaf parsley, and a variety of lettuce, some of which will go in the dirt and some in pots. I am also planning to grow tomatoes, carrots, strawberries, and some sort of viney thing--Steph likes sweet peas despite their impracticality; I am thinking of sugar snap peas.

Kevin and I explored the shed/former garage in my yard. It has an awful lot of random shit in it, including the crap we've put in there. Some of it may even come in handy.

I wish we were allowed to have pets, because I suddenly really want bunnies again. Although I am far too selfish to actually own animals, I do miss the bunnies. And those sweet little guys look so much like the Holland Lops I used to have, except they live indoors and won't fuck anything that moves.

I am feeling very lazy in the kitchen and nearly skilled with the crosswords.

The second wireless card from buy.com was incompatible with the version of PCI my motherboard support, meaning my computer wouldn't boot with the card inside. Kevin decided the easiest way to find a card that WOULD work was to buy five different cards at Fry's and try them all until something worked. I will pay him for the card that works and he returns the rest. Good lord.

I'm going back to my old job over spring break, so at least I'll have some income for a few months before I no longer have the excuse of school. Hooray.

Oh, and last Saturday--after getting absolutely no sleep at my mom's house, *through no fault of her own*--I met Christine, Graylan, and Adam (Ad-man!) at Voula's for brunch. Awesome! Hadn't seen Graylan since the new year and Adam in... I don't know how long. Adam reserved the seat at the edge of the table for Josie.

And that, as they say, is it.

Feel Like Beating Something Up?

Cos I sure do. I'm not especially angry at one thing--I'm just mildly angry at everything, which makes me want to, I don't know, throw plates.

I am doing nothing these days. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. And it is really B-O-R-I-N-G, if you catch my drift. I mean, for Christ's sake. I'm watching fucking Oprah right now. Oprah! And it's not even interesting! It's just better than Ryan Seacrest or whatever!

I have a bunch of almost-somethings-to-do that don't actually happen for whatever reason. I had a job interview last week for an internship that, evidently, I didn't get, since it would've started that week and Wednesday has almost passed without a word. It's late enough in my two months of no plans that I might as well wait until spring break or the quarter to begin and return to my old job, at least for a few months before I graduate and have to find a real-real job. Not really a happy prospect in any sense. I feel very unproductive. Because I'm not doing anything and there isn't anything I can do.

At least that doesn't involve money, which I am trying to avoid spending. Since I don't have a job, spending money isn't exactly in abundance. I just need to eat and occasionally do something to save my sanity, like rent a video. Buy gas. Send a letter. Something.

Today, actually, I found out about a screening of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a movie written by Charlie Kaufman and starring Jim Carrey. There were free passes on campus (available to people with current student IDs, anyway) and the kicker? Kaufman and director Michel Gondry were doing a Q&A post-screening. I found out about this, told Chris, who was equally excited (Charlie Kaufman, if you didn't know, wrote some of the more interesting films of the past few years, including Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind), and immediately asked Lauren to be his date. Steph was going to get a pass for me, so all should've been well.

But, of course, the passes ran out before Steph got there, so I'm not going. And that fucking sucks. But I can't do anything about it besides sit here and stew.

So my alternative was to go to Olympia and hang out and help my mom, but my car? Is in Ballard. Because I passed out last night long before Kevin finished playing fucking Vice City at 4 a.m. and he had to drive himself home somehow.

On the plus side of life, Portland's marrying gays. Hooray for my hometown.

On the news, I'm seeing some guy with a sign that says "God hates shrimp [something illegible]." Shrimp? Is that some homophobic epithet I've not heard?

If you couldn't figure it out? I am all for gay marriage. I yell at the TV when they let church leaders babble about how it's "wrong" according to the Bible, WHICH IS NOT THE SAME AS THE EYES OF THE LAW. Thank you, fuck you very much.

Wow, even the happy things make me angry. It's PMS, in part, but also disappointment in everything including myself. Blah.

Does anyone else feel like this Atkins thing is a huge cult? It is really creeping me out.

Life may mostly suck, but at least I'm getting laid.