Hell, Yeah!

The beach was a lot of fun, the weather was nice, the company was wonderful, and Burgerville's seasonal smoothie of the month is wild Northwest huckleberry. The house is gorgeous.

I ate a lot of not-incredibly-healthy foods that were very yummy regardless, but now it's back to strict vegetarianism and no real ice cream. Or even delicious ice cream substitutes. I had some awesome Tillamook ice creams this weekend, aummmnumnum. There will be no more bloothbaths made of overpriced spinach bunches from lack of time to cook anything. I've got nothing but time now.

Kevin is in Milpitas now and starting back to work in the morning. (Well, I'm assuming he makes it there before noon at least on the first day.) He had a lot of stuff in the truck, but not enough time to take any of my furniture. I've been left with a few tasks, like retrieving boxes and cleaning implements from his house, returning the cable modem, and going through the move-out checklist with his landlord. Hoo-fuckin'-ray.

I was, until about an hour ago, expecting not to see him for another month, but I've just learned I got a second interview for the job I really want, so I've got to go down sooner than that.

I'm THRILLED.

So I think I'll spend the week packing, hope to schedule the interview for Monday, drive down with a Civic load this weekend, interview, fly home, and drive down with mom and a van load of stuff that won't fit in the car. This is all tentative until I actually schedule the interview, of course.

Damn, do I want that job. And I already miss Kevin, but I'm going to miss my family and friends, too. This weekend was just further proof.

But everyone's getting busy and scattering. Chris is moving to Tacoma, Lauren to France, and almost everyone else is insanely busy already. It was a small miracle I got six people to come to the beach with me.

However, life is not all happy-crazy. Please leave some room in your thoughts for my two oldest friends, who have apparently suffered under the cruel fate of being my friend as long as they have by encountering physical distress. Becky's back is in bad shape, and Rachel, who was supposed to join us in Seaside, got very ill last week and is probably in the hospital now. Not to minimize Becky's pain, I am really worried about Rachel, so send happy thoughts.

Trying to Settle

I've been pretty depressed the past few days--save for the Pixies high, of course--just thinking about the flux-state of moving and the lack of serious job prospects. Talking to most people doesn't seem to provide much comfort, though seeing my friends tonight, all of whom have been in my place and are finally scrambling out, was probably the most comfort, no matter how general.

It was also a reminder of how much I'll be leaving behind. Even though the friends are slowly scattering and becoming more involved in separate lives, we still make the effort to be there for each other, and that relationship naturally has to change as people move apart physically. And my family... while I'll be moving closer to my sister, I'll be farther from my mom and my brother. Though my sister and I probably have more common interests, I feel closer to my mom than anyone, and my brother and I can amuse each other without getting at each others' throats.

But it's time to move on. Time to fly the coop. The door's open; I want to go play outside. I just need to pick a date.

I'm thinking the week of October 4. This gives me a little less than a month to pack and see everyone and maybe line up interviews. And if I'm lucky--which I don't think I am in this matter--I might even hear back from the Ideal Job in that time.

Part of my depression, I think, is that I'm in this uncertain place, and if I can only land in a sense of certainty, I might find stability. And a fricking job.

And the other part is the stress of moving and, moreover, the stress of what I'm leaving behind.

Well, and part of it's PMS.

This Monkey's Gone...

I saw the Pixies, bitches.

We got there insanely early, got in a line to get in the gate to get in a line to get a wristband so later we could wait in another line to sit around for an hour and a half before the band opening (Built to Spill!) for the Pixies went on.

The BtS show was wrought with troubles--we were surrounded by chatty assholes who didn't think it was appropriate to cease idle conversation while the band played music, because apparently BtS is a jazz combo at the neighborhood bar or something, some whore called her friend to ask "HEY, WHERE ARE YOU?" in the middle of the song and yelled this IN MY EAR, and there was some weird lady making anti-Bush ramblings audible between songs that Doug Martsch told to "shut the fuck up" at one point; no idea what the hell was really going on there. I mean, the band played well, they played good songs, etc. I've just seen them from the front row at the Showbox, which is ultimately a million times preferable to this.

The Pixies were, of COURSE, superfabulousamazing. I mean, god. They played practically everything I could think of (though I'm not a die-hard). There were two versions of "Wave of Mutilation" and they played "Monkey Gone to Heaven" because they love me, I guess. Sometimes I could even actually see members of the band. (Bumbershoot desperately needs a giant projection TV of the mainstage shows for those of us not fortunate enough to be tall and pushy.) I rocked out all the way and now I stink and hurt and for a brief while, I was totally parched, until a sealed, unopened bottle of water made its way to my feet as we exited the stadium. Anyway, it was a fulfilling concert experience.

Earlier in the day, Lauren, Chris and I spent a lot of time in lines because we're giant cokeheads. Oh, HA-HA, funny. Um, we saw Harvey Pekar speak and take questions from the audience, which was pretty cool. I would've wanted to just shake the man's hand, and I think everything has already been said about him, but he's just great. If you haven't seen the movie or read any of the American Splendor comics, you should. We also saw a bunch of comedians, including the duo responsible for that lovely bluegrass medley of Radiohead songs called "Rodeohead," who were fricking hilarious a number of times. My brother would have loved that shit--Paul, Hard 'n' Firm is the new comedy duo sensation for you. Fred Armisen was also among them, playing Sadaam Hussein...as a guy with a British accent and a rock/jazz guitar fetish.

Waiting in lines forever and ever was basically my life today, so I made the best of it. Everything I waited for was, at least, well worth the wait for me.

Am I Wrong?

I just might be.

So Kevin was at the U Village last week running other errands, so I asked if he'd pick up my Bumbershoot pass from Starbucks. It's past the cheap phase, so all you don't pay is the crappy service fee, but you do pay a whole $40 for two days. Yeesh. And the guy at the Starbucks accidentally gives him an extra pass.

Kevin does not want to go to Bumbershoot. He'd rather be packing. So he just wants to give the ticket away.

But not to me, see, so I can sell it for $20 and end up paying only 1/2 price out of pocket and he gets his $40 in a more timely fashion, because, you know, I'm basically broke and unemployed (and completely irresponsible!). If I sell it, see, the money's his. Not mine to combine with another $20 so I can pay him back and everyone wins.

What the fuck?

--

Otherwise, I had a good time yesterday and I damn well better have a good time tomorrow. Today, I'm being whiny, but I am going to go see people at Agua Verde and wish Anna a happy birthday. And not buy food, because I shouldn't. Not everyone can land sweet aerospace jobs straight out of college, right?

I saw Marc Maron's standup yesterday, which was wicked. He made fun of audience members, Jesus, and Bush. A good mix. Also saw a bit of the laptop battle and all of Plan B's set at the Sky Church, which continues to be my favorite venue at the festival. Hung out with Rachel and her friend Adam awhile before the comedy stuff, then Jana and her Little Sister, Angel, while we wandered around, looking for something else to see for awhile. We discovered the free Kettle Chips, which are my only potato chip weakness (salt and pepper krinkle cut!) and watched a little emcee battling, which was amusing for a bit. The acoustics in there suck, though, so it's difficult to understand the words. It's only a little better for just DJs or breakdancing.

After Plan B's set, Rachel, Adam, and Scott found me and we did silly stuff, like win Rachel a really ugly, cheap stuff pug in a roll-a-ball/race-a-horse game, which she proceeded to carry around like an infant in her sarong, skee-ball, air hockey, and bumper cars, which is surprisingly a lot of fun after you've learned how to drive.

Go to Neelam's on Greenwood!

I feel sad that we've only gone there today and all this time, it could have been one of our favorite Indian places in Seattle.

All I had was the dahl and a roti, which the owner at first questioned: "Do you know what dahl is? It's more like a side dish." But it was all I wanted and a whole order is plenty of food. And as we chatted with him after the meal, he said I'd eaten like an Indian: scooping the spicy lentils up with pieces of bread. Mm, mm.

Kevin opted for the $9.95 meal platter with more dahl, raita (which I stole and he didn't try), yellow rice, channa masala, and a naan. A damn good naan, too. The owner, larger man (who admitted to being diabetic), noted Kevin's skinniness and begged him to eat more, bringing additional rice and dahl until Kevin was completely full. The owner smiled and told us that is how you feed someone in India--keep bringing them food until they beg you to stop. I remarked they must be full at that point, and he laughed and shook his head. "Not full. Content," he told me.

We also learned about fruits. Kevin ordered a mango juice, which on first taste he thought was too tangy to be just the juice, that it didn't taste like mango juice normally does, so he asked the owner. The owner began telling us about the many varieties of mango--how some, like the ones normally used to create the pulp that's used for bottled mango juice, are gigantic, their name translating to "jackass" or "donkey," and that they often have flies inside them and the flesh is the texture of banana, and that they are oversweetened. The mango juice he served Kevin, on the other hand, was from a good variety of mango, not too sweet, a bit sour, and a much better texture.

And then he brought out a glass of the regular stuff to prove his point.

The stuff he served originally was definitely better.

Head Congestion

As if my mind weren't full enough, my sinuses are full of crud and air that seem content to sit there forever. The mind I can take; the sinus shit I don't want to deal with.

I'm not sick... there's nothing else wrong. It doesn't hurt. The lymph nodes in my throat aren't noticeably swollen. No coughing and no sore throat, not even after sleeping with my mouth open. Not even spicy tom yum soup helps for very long. Well, it might if I shelled out for more of it, all five stars' worth, skip the milky beverage to spare me the pain of spice consumption. But anyway, it's just that feeling that my ears won't quite pop coupled with being constantly stuffy-nosed, and it sucks.

I'm starting to pre-pack. I'm cleaning up my room and separating out the trash, the donations, and the little piles of stuff that belong in boxes because I don't need them on a daily basis. I've got six grocery bags of stuff to bring to Goodwill--clothes, mostly, but some other stuff that is functional but has ceased to be of value to me.

And this weekend is Bumbershoot! Starting today! Rachel offered me wristbands for the Presidents/Death Cab for Cutie mainstage show tonight, but I think I'll pass. The United States of Electronica is opening, and no matter how much good press they get, I will still find them annoying. I'd rather use my tickets tomorrow and Monday. And Monday I need to get there as early as possible to ensure I get a wristband for the mainstage show--I'll be damned if I miss the Pixies. And I may well be damned.

I gave away my lovely vintage (but broken) stereo on Craigslist to a guy who likes tinkering with old Pioneer stereos. A number of other people have expressed interest in buying the Numark turntable from me, and I am hoping someone wants to buy the mixer. I feel very guilty about selling these things, but honestly, I so rarely use them, and I don't think I'm willing to spend the money necessary to make it a worthwhile hobby: I need more and better records, as well as different needles, and oh. Who am I kidding. The whole set-up is silly. I'm keeping the Technics, though, because it is a thing of beauty and I do love me some records.

Still no word on the job. I need to not freak out, but dammit. Want job! Good job! Pet job...

I feel guilty about a number of things lately, stupid things. Like not voting for Ron Sims for governor on my Democratic primary absentee ballot. That was stupid. Oh well, Christine Gregoire is going to win, anyway; may as well resign myself now. And I'm moving to a state where the fucking Terminator is governor and says things like "economic girly-men," so really, anyone is better than that, right? Jesus. And if Patty Murray loses her Senate seat, I will cry.

What the hell am I doing? California? The suburbs?!

God. I'm so terrified I'm going to dead-end and do nothing productive the rest of my life. And dammit, I deserve better. But it's really fucking hard.

California Allergy

Apparently, I'm allergic to Northern California. Or the second bedroom in Kevin's mom's house; it's a toss-up. I sneezed all weekend and am now so congested, I feel loopy. Not that I'm allergic to Seattle, understand, I'm just dealing with the residual congestion. And it sucks.

Other than that, and being exhausting, the trip was pretty good. Santa Cruz was brilliantly foggy and pleasant, which was nice after being in super-death-hot San Jose all day. After looking at about a half dozen places, we decided to go for the safe bet: a rather nice place with a nice yard and a sorta-nice view of the foothills in the boring as hell suburb of Milpitas. The yard is maintained and has four fruit trees--two apple, one orange, and one lemon--and the house is spacious enough without fixtures that are too weird and ugly. Pretty much nothing is nearby, though we're told there's a park of some sort. And a Catholic church, in case I stop being agnostic and give in to the "guilt." Which is not, by the way, going to happen.

We have to drive to get to pretty much any grocery store, much less one that sells stuff I'll buy without cringing (closest Trader Joe's is in Sunnyvale; Whole Foods in Campbell or Cupertino; haven't found any obscure co-ops in the whole valley). Same goes for movie theaters. However, it's located at that southeast corner of the bay that means I could reasonably commute to Oakland or even San Francisco, if up to an hour is "reasonable."

I'll have to learn all the freeways, and Kevin's mom gave me a map so I can start memorizing. It'll be hard--the freeways in Seattle are pretty basic. There's I-5 shooting straight through town, with I-90 and 520 heading to the eastside 'burbs, and 405 connecting the two of those. It's like tic-tac-toe. Down there, it's more like a goddamn maze, and I can't print out directions every time I need to go somewhere.

And yes, my interview went well. At least, I think so. And I still want that job, because, well, it's a sweet job. It's pretty much everything I could want in a job right now--doing stuff I know how to do and improving on it, combined with gaining skills I want to have (namely, editing), to produce something that is valuable (stuff for ESL teachers). I liked the interviewers, and it's a small company where I'd be important without being lost in a large, corporate structure. But I need to stop enthusing because as much as I want it, I have no idea if they're even going to call me back for a second interview, and even then, who knows if I'd make the cut?

Other than that, I skipped coffee for two days, which sucked, but I got Jamba Juice two days in a row, which was pleasant. Just, you know, not coffee, or as cheap as coffee.

I still need to get my Bumbershoot tickets and do dishes. There are a fuckton of dishes, and I don't feel like doing them, and I can't eat until I do them, so I guess I'll starve.

LiveJournal Account of the Damned

I did not know LJ accounts were free-without-a-code again. Now I know. If you have a LJ and you are my friend, why don't you go ahead and add me?

Yeah, it's whoring, but whatever.

And I promise not to start posting "friends only" shit over there, much to the chagrin of the less-cliquish blogger friends who have my heart.

Wookin Pa Nub

Quick entry to selfishly request all kinds of good thoughts for my job search. I have an interview on Friday in a town near SFO that I really kinda want, that seemingly rather meshes well with my skills and career goals (such as they are). So in addition to the whole "new living situation shopping" and "Santa Cruz" joys of this weekend, I have a damn job interview.

I so need to dominate.

Nice Day for a White Wedding

Though it rained much of the weekend, for at least an hour this Saturday, the Methow Valley was dry enough to let one very cool couple get yoked before everyone they love.

Something about weddings usually makes me cringe, but this was minimally cringe-worthy. The setting was gorgeous, the ceremony sweet, and everyone seemed genuinely happy to be there for this couple.

In addition to seeing Kevin's dad, his partner and her teenage daughter again, I got to meet an old family friend and Kevin's mom for the first time. I was nervous about that at first, but I ended up really liking her. There is a definite resemblance between mother and son, and in talking to her, I feel like I understand Kevin a little more.

On both Saturday and Sunday, we went hiking with his dad's family. The first day we did the Blue Lake trail, which took us to a spectacular lake. The water was a deep shade of twilight and immediately surrounded by some craggy peaks, trees, and (squee!) pikas. Lake Ann at Rainy Pass--which was, in fact, rainy during our visit--yielded even more pikas and other wildlife, one of which Kevin's dad identified as marmots. I need to ask Lindsay if marmots live in the Northern Cascades, but at any rate, it was a pretty cool-looking critter. The lake wasn't as amazing, but the walk was quite pleasant, even if we were all freezing cold due to lack of appropriately warm clothing.

When Kevin's mom arrived on Thursday, we went out to Thai-ger Room for dinner. When we got back to Seattle Sunday night with Kevin's dad, we went to the Thai-ger Room again. It was a lot of Thai-ger Room for awhile. Today, Kevin was tied up doing things with his dad, so he asked me to hang out with his mom and the old family friend, which struck me as odd, but it was quite fun. We hit Agua Verde for lunch to enjoy delicious food and a view of Portage Bay/Lake Union, then parked near the Museum of History and Industry and walked the length of the north end of the Arboretum, which crosses over a few little islands and through some lovely vegetation. After both parties took off for the airport--they happened to be on the same flight--Kevin picked me up.

And now I'm just lookin' for a job and watchin' reruns. Wheee. We are heading to San Jose this weekend to find Kevin's new abode, and we'll be staying at his mom's. So I get to go to Santa Cruz again, which is a bonus.

Still need to get Bumbershoot passes for Sunday and Monday. This sounds like a reasonable amount of Bumbershooting for me this year, and there are a few things I'm looking forward to besides hanging out with friends in a crowded, artsy environment. If I were feeling spendy, I might go Friday just to go to Pizzazz!, but I'm not sure I should.

Beach house is basically done. AWESOME. Paul should be home from Aspen tonight. HOORAY FOR THE ALMOST-BIRTHDAY BOY. That's about it for now.

I Climbed A Mountain

Really!

Thanks to the capable leadership of Lindsay and a gang of hardcore hikers and huffers-and-puffers like myself alike, we reached the summit of Mt. Pilchuck in about three hours. It was more difficult than Lindsay had anticipated, and while she took this well, a couple of us had a hard time. But we made it, and it was great, and that's what counts.

And there were wild blueberries and huckleberries all along the trail. Delicious.

Yesterday I made it to Reid's birthday party for the first time ever. It was good, until the mosquitoes came out en force and I was wearing a knee-length skirt. There was salmon, s'mores, and fabulous hummus made by her future father-in-law. Hummus and salmon go together surprisingly well, by the way. I also witnessed a backyard volleyball game that involved a machete. To cut down the blackberry vines the ball inevitably landed in, of course.

Kevin is working on moving details now--his manager is expected to send an official offer today, and whatever start date he ends up with will doubtless affect matters, but right now, the basic plan is he'll go down next week after his sister's wedding and find a place to live and such, then move either the first weekend of September or shortly thereafter. I imagine I will visit at least once at the end of September or the beginning of October to scope things out and look for a job, then get to the business of moving at the end of October or beginning of November. But it's hard to say for sure how things will go.

I am displeased with the possibility that he'd miss Bumbershoot, but he says there isn't really anyone he's dying to see... but you know, it's not about that. Oh, well. There are others who want to see stuff I want to see, especially Built to Spill and the Pixies--and I am not making the same mistake as last year; I'll get there when the gates open and get my wristband, bitches.

The beach house is apparently THIS CLOSE to completion, so I hope to get down there with my mom when she comes back from Nebraska, Colorado, and New Mexico. And I've got the second weekend of September blocked out for friends of mine to come down there, too. So far the headcount is pretty significant, but it will be a lot of fun.

And since I've neglected this entry for the last half hour or so, I believe that's all I have to say for now.

Another Week Gone

This week's rentals included the first three discs of "Freaks and Geeks," Rebecca, Hearts and Minds, and Raising Arizona, which I never properly saw and now I have. All good viewing, all good time-killers.

And, really, that's about all I've done this week.

Kevin and I attempted to go paddling on Wednesday at a King County park on the Snoqualmie and Tolt rivers near Carnation, but it was sort of a mess. Well, he enjoyed himself, I was pissy. We couldn't make ourselves paddle upstream very well, so we were stuck in one part of the river. His kayak had a small air leak that wasn't a problem at the time, but after awhile would have been. I found it insanely difficult to coordinate our paddling, which frustrated me to no end. He insists on navigating even when he sits in the front and takes very long strokes at his own pace, so I can't match it and we hit oars all the time.

But it was pretty and we were in the shade. The only environmental factor of unhappiness involved jet skiiers blazing up and down the river, which seems like a shitty idea to me, but I'm rudely anti-jet ski.

When Chris and I were rafting with Julie and her friends last Sunday, we had no trouble coordinating after awhile and had a fabulous trip down the river. There were no jet skis or motorized watercraft of any kind that I recall, and it was the same damn river, just farther up.

Tomorrow I'm going to hike up a mountain with Lindsay and Lauren and some others I don't know. It will be my first real hike, so I am nervous about holding up these seasoned hikers, but looking forward to enjoying it anyway. At least, I don't think I could pick a better person to guide me up a mountain: Lindsay practically hikes for a living and seems thrilled that I would even want to try it, so she picked what sounds like a pretty good route for a first-timer like myself.

I am, however, going to go find myself a sports bra or something, because my ancient, cheap-o cotton underwires never fail to remind me that D-cups are not fun to take serious walks in. Really, I just need a bunch of new bras anyway, and the shit I got from Victoria's Secret via mail-order needs to get mailed back, 'cause it sucks.

In other news... it sounds pretty certain Kevin is going back to work for his old employer in Silicon Valley, which he's jazzed about because his coworkers are his friends and he enjoyed working there. So he's probably moving in the next month or so. And so I have to decide what I'm gonna do.

The lease on our house here in Little Canada is up at the end of November, so I suspect I'll be moving around that time. Unless I find some fabulous gig before then, I imagine I'll be bumming around the Bay Area for awhile before I find at least some temporary employment. As far as living situations go, I have a few options, none of which are necessarily entirely enviable or horrible, but which I must mull over and decide.

The whole concept of moving, which in June sounded so exciting, is now a little more terrifying. My confidence as far as finding a cool job goes is draining day by day; I hardly feel qualified to scrape shit off public restrooms at this point. But I know I'm good and I know I can do a kickass job at something if someone gives me a chance. I just don't have the paper to show it.

Ugh. No more depressing thoughts. I'm off to Target to spend money I'm not making, but hopefully not too much.

The Excitement Never Ends

No, not the excitement of full-time, regular employment, silly. That would be too much to ask.

No. I'm having a very full weekend for once. It's startling.

On Friday, I watched Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down because it needed to be returned with all the other DVDs I rented. It was very good. And weird. And kind of hot in places.

It was a rainy day, but I chose to walk to Rachel's new place. It's not that far, really. It took me about 20 minutes to return DVDs and walk there. I helped her unpack some boxes and paint her bedroom. We made a trip to Home Depot and got drenched between getting out of the car and huddling under the umbrella. We painted until 6:20 or so, when Rachel took me home and went to pick up her boyfriend. She said people were going out drinkin' later that night, and she would love me to come, but I just said I'd think about it.

Jana and I had plans to hit garage sales on Saturday morning, which we did with gusto. Her friend Robin from high school, who just returned from a year in Thailand and seems like a fun person, joined us. We hit several sales in Ballard, including a church rummage sale, and another rummage sale at the University District Historical Theater (the Paradox's old home), and finally a Value Village in Lake City when it seemed most other sales were closing up shop. Jana got a lot of crazy stuff, including a little babbling fountain for $2 and clothes for work. I picked up a few books (two of which were free because the lady didn't want to break my $10 for $1 worth of books), shirts, and sneakers.

The chocolate cravings hit soon after I got home, so I went to Whole Foods. Because they have the good chocolate, you know, and if I'm going to eat fatty, delicious chocolate it may as well be good chocolate (i.e., not Hershey's Special Dark). And I figured since I usually go there on Mondays for groceries anyway, I would try to get the things I needed anyway, so there was also produce, baking staples, and gum in the basket.

As soon as I got home, I saw Jana and Robin in the living room, as well as Lindsay, Chris, and Lauren. They asked if I wanted to join them for dinner at Sushi Land and a game night at Jana's. Well, hell yeah, I want to join you.

This was in lieu of sitting around, either alone or with Kevin, because I did not want to go out non-drinking with Rachel and 20 of her closest friends. I feel I must excuse this: I would like to hang out with Rachel. I would like to meet her friends. I would even enjoy going out at night. But I do not enjoy watching people drink if that's all that's happening. If they were going to a show--I'd be there. If they were going to dance or listen to a cool DJ--I'd go. But just bar hopping... definitely not my thing. So I took a pass and got sushi instead. Yay!

So today I'm going river rafting for the first time with Chris. This was instigated by Julie, and I'm not sure how many people or rafts will be involved total, but it should be fun, anyway.

Did Stuff Today--How Novel!

Despite a completely random but slowly healing shoulder injury--I just woke up one morning with sharp shooting pain eminating from my shoulderblade, cramping my neck and making my arm feel tingly--I actually did stuff today. It was a remarkably full day for once.

As my usual reruns of Roseanne were ending, Christine called and wanted to hang out. And me, being otherwise unoccupied, was more than happy to do so. So she came over and we started a gave of Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture--with DVD pie questions!!! At some point, Chris needed a ride somewhere, so we stopped the game and gave him a lift, then went to Trader Joe's and Whole Foods so I could do my usual shopping. Christine has this funny way of imitating the beep of the scanner at grocery checkouts; I think she's done it for awhile, but I was just noticing it today. Very funny.

We came back to the house, made delicious mac and cheese with peas and sauteed a whole bunch of fresh spinach as a side. Completely fabulous, lazy lunch, because I didn't have the energy to prepare Indian-style food. I did later write out the basic process and necessary components as per her request, but that takes a lot less energy.

Then I barely kicked her butt at the Trivial Pursuit game. My winning question was about Martin Short playing Charles Grodin's annoying son in the movie "Clifford," which I actually saw. This was after probably a half dozen questions where I could only stare blankly at the screen as an admission of defeat. Christine could have gotten just as lucky.

Almost as soon as she left, Kevin and I decided to attempt to find a beach at Discovery Park again, so I headed to Ballard to pick him up and go to Magnolia for some walkin'. It was a pretty long walk, and I was pretty wussy at first, but it got better. I wanted to remove my boobs for most of it, not to mention insta-heal my shoulder/neck/whatever crap.

I have been meaning to try an Indian-style coconut curry recipe since trying a similar dish at Spice Rack last week, but I was missing the curry leaves. This was the impetus for our impromptu visit to Uwajimaya for assorted sundries and a split tofu bahn mi. Kevin discovered his idea of the Best Drink Ever: aloe vera juice with real lychee. He claims that the presence of aloe vera is nigh undetectable, but the lychee is pulpy and delicious to him. I still think I'll pass.

Of course, at this point, I felt totally dead and had no interest in attempting to make the no doubt prep-intensive curry, so we just had pizza. My pizza toppings included olive oil, garlic, spinach, the Mediterranean blend of cheeses from Trader Joe's, sundried tomatoes, zucchini, and artichoke hearts. His? Sundried tomatoes, zucchini, artichoke hearts, a thick saucy mash of fire-roasted tomatoes and cannelini beans, and--this is where it gets weird--bamboo shoots and a blend of dried herbs including mint. He claims this was good. I sort of wish he'd go back to his "weird" berry pizza toppings.

Yeah, so. Not a whole hell of a lot else going on. Still perusing job listings, still feeling depressed and disappointed and blah. It's sort of hard to have that as a starting point when you have to write convincing cover letters touting your skills. "Selling yourself" isn't something I'm particularly adept at in the first place, so throw depression in there and it's no good.

If you pray, or just think good thoughts about others who may be strangers, please keep the proverbial light on for some friends of a dear friend, whose newborn daughter was hospitalized for thus far unexplained nastiness. And for the dear friend, who probably needs a few good thoughts of her own lately.

Official Rejection

Today's only real low point was the arrival of a letter containing my rejection for the job I interviewed at, twice, and well. Since it's been weeks of silence on their end, the rejection was presumed; I guess it was nice to know I wasn't just forgotten.

So my current plan in life is to continue looking for gainful employment here--maybe temp work, which I know absolutely nothing about--and plan to move to the Bay Area in December or January if I find nothing suitable in Seattle. I will continue looking both places until then.

Anyway, since the job hunt is my least favorite topic of conversation lately, I'll move on.

I've been watching several speeches from the Democratic National Convention, like many bloggers. And of course I was impressed by Barack Obama's speech and, when that man runs for president in 15 years, I'll gleefully vote for him. Teresa Heinz-Kerry was also nice; I know she gets a lot of flack for... whatever the non-Stepford political wives get flack for, like speaking French or whatever, but I liked her. She seems thoughtful and intelligent, as well as possessing a unique perspective, which strikes me as a good thing to influence a president.

But despite all of this, I still find it hard to honestly *like* John Kerry. I mean, I'll vote for him, and on paper, he's got enough going for him that I don't hate myself for saying so, but I watch him and I just don't especially like him. Can't explain it. He just doesn't inspire a lot of enthusiasm. I just hope that won't be his downfall.

Yeeep. So, politics on my mind, as usual. Go Dems. It's like sports, but not as boring.

Today was a good day, which I needed. This week has been depressing and confusing, but I can't really go into it except for the fucking job hunt blah. So suffice it to say some shit went down that wasn't about me, but affects me.

Last night was fun, too. Kevin and I had dinner with his sister and her fiance, who are just about to move to Portland. They're good people. And today my mom came up and I cooked a bunch of food that was good. I made some roasted red pepper sauce and baked it with some penne and zucchini; I made some tofu salad that is good on sandwiches. I was going to make some superchocolatevegancookies, but I didn't want to abuse the oven on such a hot day. After we ate, mom and I went to the mall so mom could get some hot-weather clothes at Lane Bryant to wear while she's in Nebraska, visiting friends, then we got Ben & Jerry's Half Baked frozen yogurt and a DVD from the fourth season of "Sex and the City" to trash out on the futon in the nice, cool basement. Then we went and got Chinese food, which was yummy and filling.

I have so much already-made food now, I can eat happily for days. Leftover pasta, tofu salad, garlic spinach, rice, and mu shu with pressed tofu... *dies*

Also! We have met Steph's fiance, Steve. Whose unit also happens to be transferring to Fort Lewis (near Olympia) next year. They'll possibly have, like, a normal relationship for the first time ever.

Still listening to Kerry's speech. It's on PBS on the TV behind me. He's babbling about some stuff. You'd think I don't care, the way I talk. I swear I've heard this all before, it's such a blur. He's disappointing as an orator, but better than Bush.

Anyone seriously in the running is better than Bush.

And that anyone is Kerry.

This is completely insane. Since the government approved this drug once, and they can never be wrong, the companies that produce the drug are officially beyond reproach. Just, I, what the fuck? (Hit up bugmenot.com for a login if you don't already have one.)

Yeah, I'm posting just for that. I spent the day up at Lauren's grandparents' house on Camano Island, which was wonderful in all ways. Good folks, good food, good fun. I "attempted" waterskiing, which was a majestic failure, but hey, at least I tried. And at least I didn't get partway up, only to fall badly and swallow a mouthful of saltwater, ick. Other than that, the day was a smashing success.

Silence Speaks

When it's quiet, I imagine all the things that the silence is trying to tell me.

I imagine that my phone is ringing, only I can't hear it.

I imagine that the next e-mail I receive won't be from a mailing list.

I imagine that the distant slam of a mailbox will bring something other than a credit card offer.

I imagine that the sound of car tires on gravel is someone I want to see.

I drown out the silence with news radio and mp3s, running water and the clatter of dishes against a soapy sponge. I awake at the same time and go to bed at the same time, filling the interim space with all this listening to no avail.

As the sun comes up each day, I imagine my hopeful chances evaporating with the heat. I see my yard go to waste and housemates come and go. Plastic fan blades continue to spin, providing minimal relief.

I make lists of things I should be doing, but none of them seems important enough to actually do.

I gotta get out of this.

If Experience Is Required, It's Not Entry Level

Many classified ad writers seem to fall into this trap. They mean to say they are looking for a relatively inexperienced worker--probably so they can justify paying them dirt--but they call it "entry level." And, within mere sentences, contradict themselves by requesting that applicants have under their belt at least a year of related experience in addition to that oh-so-useful college degree.

If you need experience IN ADDITION TO college... IT'S NOT ENTRY LEVEL.

In other pointless rants, the LA Times crossword last week had the clue, "Apple portable computer," five letters. No, not an iBook! Through cheating, I learned they meant the Emate, which, according to my friend Rob, is something related to the Newton that had a little fold-out keyboard and was similar to a PDA for educational purposes, or something. At any rate--that was a bad clue! I was very mad about this clue! I wanted to yell at the people who wrote the puzzle! Because I am just that bored and frustrated!

So I still haven't heard from the people I interviewed with over a week ago, and people are telling me I should call and have a little speech like, "Uhhmmm, yeah, so what's up with the job? I still totally want it. Oh, right, here's where I kiss ass, awkward-professional-style, and say if you have any additional questions that can help you make the decision, let 'em rip! I can take it."

The thought of making this call--not to mention the question of which interviewer to direct my call to--makes me want to puke. I already sent a damn thank-you card reiterating that I really want the damn job. It was pretty. I used a nice pen.

What I really want, though, is to stop looking at job ads. Because they are depressing.

The other day, it occurred to me that I might want to go to school to become a dietician--I have no idea what kind of schooling this entails--because it might be fun. I've been unemployed a month and already I've sunk this low.

Dietician. What in the holy fuck?

That sounds almost as bad as the Kids in the Hall Hecubis sketch where Dave Foley doses Kevin McDonald with sodium pentathol to put him in a "trance" and discovers that he fantasizes about being a dentist. "'Cause they've got it all figured out, man!"

I've gone too far, and for too little.

On the sort-of-amusing side of life, Kevin got some nice clothes to wear to his sister's wedding, and actually contemplated wearing a tie. You have no idea how much that would amuse and please me.

Something has to.

Emate. What the fuck.

Nothing New

I didn't want to write until I had something to say, and I don't have anything to say, but I feel like I need to write. Except every time I get to this point, the words don't come. They're all in my head at random times and don't come out right. I've always had this problem. It's always bothered me.

Everything is in flux, and I mean everything. And it's not like I'm a caterpillar trying to become a butterfly. There's no proscribed course of change, I can't go make a cocoon and become something else, something with a specific purpose. I can't go through college and come out employed. I have to stalk my future. Purpose doesn't fall into my lap.

My second interview went very well, by the way, but I won't hear until at least tomorrow, I guess. The more time goes by between the interview and the notification, the less confident I am.

So I'm biding my time, rifling through job boards across the Internet, looking for something else even remotely worthy of notice and finding not a whole hell of a lot. I mean, I know I've only been at this a short while and really, I might be in for the long haul when it comes to finding gainful employment, but I'm really bad at that. I got fucking depressed about being unemployed from day one. And the more I look, the gloomier I feel. I guess that's normal. That it's normal is no comfort, though.

I'm reading and watching documentaries and getting really fucking angry. If I can't find a job and I can't spend all my time doing the dishes, well, I might as well get hyped up about politics. What good it's going to do me, I don't know, but it's something to focus the mind. Last night I watched The Weather Underground, which was pretty fascinating. It really brought out the cognitive dissonance I feel about radical leftist movements--I totally sympathize with their goals and philosophies, in a lot of ways, but the methods can be extreme (the Weathermen, for example, bombed a bunch of buildings during the Vietnam War) and even the philosophy can be too extreme for me. It's just hard to know where to get a foothold on the issues. But they talked about wanting to be a part of the revolution, of giving up comfort for the sake of the cause, and--yeah. I get that. I haven't done it... haven't felt it's necessary yet. What would make it necessary, anyway? Where's that line? And at the same time, it makes me question my long-standing plan to move to Canada if things get any worse--what good is running away? Do I have any resolve, about anything?

Anyway. Rachel was up last weekend, which was lovely. Her new place is damn near walking distance from here, even, and I'm hoping we'll be able to get in some good hanging out time. We have pretty similar music and movie tastes, so if nothing else, I am hoping we can get out and do that sort of thing on a regular basis. I helped her shop for decor and met the new boy, who was pretty cool. She also tells me that our third best friend from 8th grade, Sasha, will be coming to check out the UW Law School next month, so we'll all get to see each other for the first time in, I think, seven or eight years. How serendipitous if we all ended up in Seattle as adults after being quite suddenly separated after 8th grade?

Well, I must enjoy one last DVD before they all go back and I try to get Dead Like Me, which was out on $2 Tuesday, drat! (The woman working that day revealed that it embarrassed her that some people called it Tightwad Tuesday, a nickname that honestly never occurred to me.) And here is a comic (of sorts) sent to me by Chris that you should all enjoy.

Well, That Wasn't So Hard

I had my first post-college, real-job interview. It was relatively painless, and I scored a second interview on Monday. So, here's hoping. It sounds like a good fit for my skills and goals, and the company has good benefits and a decently casual atmosphere. Oh, and it's in Seattle.

I want it. Not more than anything; it's not a dream job or anything, just a good match. And if it's not, it's not. A job isn't marriage, you don't say 'til death do us part.

Tonight we're celebrating Lauren's birthday at Araya's, everyone's favorite vegan Thai restaurant of joy and love. Tomorrow I have at least one social engagement, and my mom's bringing a set of plastic yard furniture up in the morning. Yay for outdoor dining!

That's about all from me today. Wish me luck.

Like Clockwork

Few things change, really. I mean, they change progressively, they move on, but they don't vary wildly from one instance to the next. Like all the bullshit associated with my menstrual cycle, for instance.

The day or two before things start, I get emotional, depressed, and have some big speech for Kevin about things that annoy me in the relationship. The next day, I realize I'm fucking bleeding. By early afternoon, I'm doubled over with severe lower abdominal discomfort. Is this too much for your eyes? Too fucking bad. It's too much for my afternoon, and I'm living it. You can always stop reading. I feel like puking--though I won't--and no position or amount of ibuprofen helps.

Fortunately, this is only for the first day. The other days are just annoying for the whole bleeding thing, but not feeling nauseous.

Also, Kevin did not like the Muppet Show episode I showed him last night. This is unconscionable.

And I need to set up filters on my chiasmus.org e-mail inboxes. I have gotten way too many piece of shit virus spam in the past few months. Not that these matter on a linux server when I'm reading mail in pine, but they're irritating.

And I still need a job. Pooh.

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?