So Much Stupid Crap, So Little Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Basmati Rice

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

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

Sorry to turn this into a food blog, Paul.

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

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

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

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

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

Here We Are Again

Me, not update for a week? Unpossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's what I thought!!

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

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

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

-3 Tbsp. canola oil

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

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

--

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

Back in the Saddle Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fascinating

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

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

Spring

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

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

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

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

And now spring is here.

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

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

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

Belated Friday Five

Because why the hell not.

1. What was the last song you heard?

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

2. What were the last two movies you saw?

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

3. What were the last three things you purchased?

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

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

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

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

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

Rapture Is Coming

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

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

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

Cycle Transition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm Updating, OK?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that, as they say, is it.

Feel Like Beating Something Up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jan. 2, about 4:30 a.m.

Why I am awake now, I don't know. Earlier, perhaps, I could blame it on the roosters, but I think they stopped. So has sleep for me, evidently.

Things are a little wild! Andy [Malaysian guy from the hotel/flight] convinced me that since Winnie's address was in the same area as his family's house, I should just go to his house with his family. This has turned out pretty well, although I'm not sure how much of a burden it is on the family. I felt like an invader, though they were welcoming. His mother, father, grandfather, a brother and sister, and several young female cousins met him at the airport and went to a Chinese restaurant for dinner.

It was loud, busy, and slow, but good. Many dishes were passed around the table, although Andy had them bring me a larger plate, fork and spoon. They stripped me of my chance to prove my mettle with the chopsticks. I think I was the only non-Chinese in the whole place--probably the first time I've felt truly foreign. Seems fitting.

Last night was also the first time in months I ate meat on purpose. It felt a little strange, but I had no adverse reactions. I wasn't about to go against my fundamental travel edict: try (almost) everything.

I don't quite have the ear for English-Malay accents yet. Andy's little cousins and brother would talk to me and I could hardly understand. It was so fast.

Andy put me up in the guest room once we arrived at the house. Again, I have no idea hwo his parents feel about this. Around 11:30, I finally got through to Winnie, but she and Meesh wouldn't be back in KL until around 1. I was so exhausted I figured I'd be asleep--turns out I wasn't--and I didn't want to disturb his family in the middle of the night. So we're going to meet at 8 this morning. I said I'd walk up the street but then Andy said he'd give me a ride (after I got off the phone, of course). So we'll see.

It's so different already. There's no mistaking my location far away from home. It's beautiful and terrifying and I need to call my mom. She's got to be worried.

And I have to pee again. All this tea, straight to my bladder.

Happy New Year

First entry of many to be ripped from the pages of my travel diary

Last year for New Year's Eve, Kevin and I had dinner at his house and fell asleep early, too early to fulfill our plans of, ah, fulfillment. This year yielded a similar sleepiness.

After arriving at the hotel, I fell asleep within the hour. I saw a few wacky Japanese shows and commercials before giving up.

Customs and immigration was no big deal at all. I showed my passport and they looked at the little form and I was gone. I didn't really have anything to declare--probably the most valuable item I brought was my CD book. There are 24 CDs in there that'd do all right on the used CD market, although without cases... Anyway. I still doubt it's over the 200,000 yen limit or whatever.

I met a guy on the shuttle bus also staying at the Holiday Inn, also booked for my flight to KL tomorrow, and also at least as bewildered by the whole experience as me. He is Malaysian, but going to school in Pennsylvania. He doesn't like the snow. We're meeting up to catch another shuttle back to the airport in the morning.

I got here far too late or any exploration of Narita or even the airport. I was exhausted. I crashed, on the hardest mattress I've ever slept on, wearing the hotel-provided kimono/robe thing. It's a logo product. I'm just glad to be out of the clothes I was wearing.

Also, I stunk. I felt bad for the Chinese woman on the plane next to me. She was going to visit Beijing and Shanghai for the first time since she left seven years ago. She's been working in computers in San Francisco for a few months, but first lived in Vancouver, where her parents still live.

I don't think I'm really in Japan. Someone trying to make me believe so would need a much more elaborate ruse than this Holiday Inn, exactly like the others but with more characters.

OK, certain things are odd. Like the hot water thing. It eluded me at first, especially with the Zojirushi branding. In the state, Zojirushi only sells rice cookers. Here, apparently, they do everything. And there is always green tea. And the only coffee is INSTANT. Ew. Maybe I'll bring a packet of that back to my boss for a laugh. Maybe I'll have to try some myself. But probably it sucks. Instant coffee crystals are Bad News Bears.

Did I mention how much green tea they served on the plane?

I hope my stupid phone card calls weren't long distance. It costs a lot more to call to the US than it does to call from it, apparently. Or my card just has shitty rates for Japan.

I've slept nine hours. That's fantastic. Now I just have to figure out how the hell to adjust to Malaysian time, or at least Winnie and Meesh's time -- or as Kevin accidentally called them, Minnie and Weesh.

Sipping green tea now. What to do, what to do... repack bags for maximum usefulness in case I have to check my larger pack again? Read the new issue of Mother Jones? Watch more TV I can't understand? See if there's a net cafe I can use?

We'll see.

It Ends Now

My seventeen-year silence, I mean. Or however long it's been since I last did this.

I've been home about three weeks now. The laundry is tumbling in the dryer, Chris is yelling at his parents on the phone, Steph is away, and Kevin is sleeping. So everything's more or less business as usual. Except I have no job, and thanks to the conjoined powers of no real schedule and jetlag, I've lost my internal alarm clock that kept me in bed from midnight to 8 a.m.

I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

But I am looking. I have a month and a half to kill before school starts back up, and it would be handy to have some income so I can, you know, buy groceries and not sit around like a lump all the time. I'm looking. It's depressing, but I'm looking.

And if all else fails, I can work my old job spring quarter. Then graduate and have to find a job all over again, but I might have to do that anyway. Hooray.

It's a little late in coming, but I should talk about my trip, in all its wonderfulness. Honestly, though, it feels so long ago that I'm not sure I can do it justice. So I've decided to pull out the ol' journal and post snippets.

Along with the photo gallery, it'll be just like you were there.

Pictures FINALLY Up

Hi guys! I will write a proper entry soon, which is sad since I've been home a week already, but I finally got a photo gallery of my trip up and running. Commenting should be available, and I will be adding proper titles and captions over the next couple days, as well as making it look better overall. Or so I plan. Anyway, enjoy the pictures.

Hi from Thailand!

I have no new e-mails on my UW account and chiasmus.org isn't loading for me, so I figured I'd waste some net cafe money and blog a bit.

I'm at a resort town in the Krabi province on the wesat coast of Thailand. We just got here a few hours ago. I can see a reflection of the perfect blue waters and palm trees in the monitor. It's hot--midafternoon sun is a bitch--but lovely.

The past three days were spent outside of the Khao Sok National Park, which is a rainforest. We didn't actually go inside the fricking park or anything, but we did a lot of walking around and seeing crazy shit like MONKEYS and MONKS. And caves! And riding elephants. The other twenty-somethings in my tour group like to go out drinking seemingly every night, so I've gone out with them, but it's sort of annoying to go out with revelers when you yourself fail to revel.

ETA: there was more to this post, like, a lot, but blogger decided to eat it for some reason. and it wouldn't post yesterday, when it was all still here. erp. bleh.

not in the mood to write more presently, so you gotta wait.

miss me yet? :)

Hello from Malaysia!

It's so hot and sticky here!

I will blog actual content later, perhaps!

I have been keeping an extensive paper journal!

But I need to write more since I have met Meesh and Winnie, who are, by the way, awesome, and have been showing me the sights and the FOOD since 8 this morning. GOD damn.

So!

More later!

Happy New Year!

White Christmas

It seems better to me that my first 'white Christmas' was not full of cold snow drifts and terrifying driving conditions. No, it was full of frothy ocean currents washing piles of seafoam high up the shoreline.

The waves have been impressive the last few days--they came up high and lapped angrily at the sand and rocks here on the Northern Oregon Coast. It was awe-inspiring. My mom, sister, and I, each armed with our digital cameras, ventured to the best vantage point in town south of downtown Seaside and en route to Tillamook Head just to watch the ocean turn.

If I get the chance soon, I'll post pictures.

Speaking of which, the kids' gift to mom went over well. Of course it did. We banded together to get her something good, something she really wanted, for the first time ever. We got her a digital camera. A Fuji Finepix A210, specifically. It's pretty snazzy. I think she will have a lot of fun with it. She is already taking spectacular shots of the results of some holiday fight between Neptune and everyone else on Mount Olympus.

I think everyone got a good haul this year. I got a new blender, some DVDs, the Magnetic Fields box set (finally), books, and several other nice things from my mom. My aunt sent a lovely cashmere scarf. My sister brought me a mortar and pestle from Chinatown and my brother bought me a copy of Al Franken's book (also finally). The latter was given to me saying, "You can borrow it or keep it, up to you. But Sarah wants to read it." Hah. I'll lend it when I finish, or while I'm gone if I don't finish it before then. I am not taking a hardcover book on the plane with me.

I neeeed to call Winnie. Things are sort of lined up--I need to stay in a hotel my first night in KL as the Malaysians will be in Singapore, but after that I get to annoy them from home. Yay! I got my shots and meds and all kinds of scary crap from my visit to the ARNP travel clinic and now just need to figure out how the hell I'm taking my stuff, and what stuff exactly I'm taking. It won't be much. The lighter, the better. I have the haul this shit around.

Not sure yet if I'll be heading back to Seattle tomorrow or Saturday. If I hear from Rachel tonight or tomorrow morning, I will stick around an see her, otherwise I'll go back to Seattle and pack, then have plenty of time to spend with Josie...and Kevin! Who changed his plane ticket to come home Sunday morning and see me before I leave because he is the best boy ever! So I will be busy and need to be ready to go before I have intensive Josie time and happy Kevin time. And I have to finish Josie's thing, shit.

So much to do and so little time!

I've been eating so well here. By well, I mean richly. Mmmmm. Shellfish! Vegetables! Cookies! Deliciousness in excess! Mmmm!

...I'm going to explode. After my teeth fall out.

And the weather has been exciting and so has the TV. So yay. Cable with HBO. God bless us, every one.

This May Be the Last...

...time you hear from me before my trip. Before everything. But it's hard to tell.

We're still trying to figure out how to set up a network at the new house. Chris's room is directly below mine, but he's terrified of making holes in the wall/ceiling/floor to poke a network cable through. The outlets in my room are the only ones in the house not grounded, so Chris will have to do something makeshift to ground them. He's hoping it will be easy (just have to ground to the case inside the outlet), rather than stringing grounding wire all over creation. It's complicated.

The phone line is moving tomorrow, and it will likely take a few days for the DSL service to catch up. Chris will have to set this up remotely, as he is going to Wenatchee after we move everything on Saturday.

And today is my last day at work, land of wonderful internet access.

All this adds up to it being pretty likely I won't be touching blogger for the next week.

Maybe I'll catch up in net cafes in Thailand or from Meesh or Winnie's computers. But I am thinking maybe not. How connected do I need to be? Can't I just keep a paper journal and bring you three weeks' worth of highlights when I get home?

We'll see.

Everything is so up in the air right now, I don't know what to think. We've got about three days to get everything, I mean, everything, settled. Houses, rents, bills, furniture placements, trips, holidays, everything. I get a few days after Christmas to pack and spend time with Josie for the last time in forever (2-3 years is a fucking long time in my book). I need to figure out what and how I'm packing and put together an appropriate travel kit. I need to figure out luggage and daypacks and everything. I need to make sure I have money.

I made an appointment to see the same nurse practitioner I saw Tuesday on Monday, this time for a travel consultation. I think I'm getting a vaccine for Typhoid Fever and anti-malarial meds. On Tuesday I got the annual physical, including happy-fun gynocological exam (she told me I had a beautiful cervix) and Hep A and first Hep B shots.

Oh, I'm also putting together a semi-artsy going-away-present for Josie that will be left to the organizational powers of Christine to fill in the blanks. It is sort of time-consuming and requires Internet access. Why I'm not working on it now, I don't know.

Driving to Seaside for Christmas, probably on Tuesday. Maybe Monday after I see the ARNP I'll go to Olympia for the night, spend some time with my sister if she's not partying with her friends or definitely try to see Becky. Come home on the 26th, I think. Or the 27th. Rachel wants to visit, too. Mom wants to see Sua in Portland one day. May the weather not suck.

Kevin is leaving tomorrow night. I thought he was leaving in the morning, but it's great that he's not. I am going to make him help us move some stuff, maybe help with networking. Then I'll give him a ride to the airport. He wants me to go check on his stuff while he's away. He is very concerned with getting burgled. He even asked me to stay there, which is sort of a no-go. I probably don't get to see him until I come back from my trip, either, and I'm sad about that.

Good god, there is a lot going on. I can't believe how inactive I'm being considering how much is going on. We need to pack, move, and clean in the next three days or else. Fuck.

Then Christmas. Time with the family. Insane amounts of driving and, no doubt, traffic.

Then packing and intensive Josie time. (I suppose that's actually a good thing.)

Then trip.

Insane.

Nice Weekend; Too Bad It's Over

Birthday dinners, Christmas parties, and game nights are wonderful things.

There were eleven of us at dinner Thursday night. We decimated four vegetarian dishes, a chicken plate, five naan, three plates of rice, and assorted desserts and beverages. It was delicious and wonderful. I tried kulfi for the first time, which was excellent. I want to try to make it with soy ice cream (so Kevin can try it) and ground-up pistachios, almonds, and cardamom. Yummy. Both Livia and Reid (Reid came! For the first time in months I got to see Reid! And she brought me a pretty assortment of teas!) tried Indian food for the first time and apparently enjoyed it.

People gave me birthday presents, too. Lovely surprises. Besides Reid's tea assortment, Lindsay gave me a cylinder of blackberry sage loose tea, which smells amazing. Chris gave me a couple CDs (the Postal Service and the Talking Heads' More Songs About Buildings and Food, both brilliant records and nice to have in the car) and Lauren gave me a box of vegan mac & chreese. Christine and Josie are way cool and got me a rice maker, which rocks because I make terrible stovetop rice.

Friday afternoon's party prep was quite abbreviated, as I arrived around 2 p.m. only to find the house was already cleaned and organized. I just mopped the kitchen floor and did a few dishes (for the house I haven't lived at for a week, nice). Livia used my computer after preparing the easiest brownies on earth (box + yogurt + stir) and I hung out with Josie. Christine and Danger showed up 45 minutes early and helped with things like slicing bread and listening to records.

It was a slow party that lasted until nearly 11 p.m. with chattering, music, snacking, gifting, and gaming. Jen was my Secret Santa and gave me a couple nice books--a seafood at fancy San Francisco restaurants cookbook and a book with advice on organic gardening. My Gift of a Llama went over well with Lauren, who, along with Chris, spent much time playing with the stuffed llama (a fabulous thrift find to accompany the information about the Heifer International donation and a card with a picture of a llama sandwich).

Lauren, Chris and I were the most inept and unlucky Cranium team ever. The game dragged; it did not quite live up to my expectations. I did, however, get to pantomime a "rainbow" for them by jumping around the room and trying to mock a leprechaun.

We stopped by Jesse's party only briefly, as it is likely to be one of the last times many of us will see him for several months at least. He was crowded in a bathroom with several others (both boys and girls), teaching the delicate art of eye makeup application.

On Saturday, I had the whole day free to do things with Livia that were not hanging out with an enormous group of my friends. I feel bad because she is so bored by almost everything that I really have to make an effort to do things that vaguely amuse her; she's a difficult houseguest, but somehow this feels like my fault. I suggested to go to the Henry Art Museum on the UW campus: it has interesting exhibits I've been meaning to check out for months now and is free with a student ID. We killed about an hour and a half wandering around there. The karaoke pods were most fun, of course, but there were some other interesting pieces. (And some sort of pretentious crap, but hey. What do I know about art?)

We then bussed to Uwajimaya, where we ate bahn mi for lunch and Livia tried a sip of my Vietnamese coffee, proclaiming it "bitter." I laughed and told her that, well, yes, coffee is bitter, but this coffee is very sweet! I guess it would be bitter to a girl who puts a spoonful of sugar in her whole milk. Then we wandered the store, picking out gift wrap and random food items including fresh tako sashimi, which tasted like very chewy king crab.

At my old house, we disassembled my stereo and packed it in the car, then met my mom back at the new house. Soon after, we went to Chamber Music Madness at University Prep, in which my brother's quintet was performing. It was long, but there were some pretty good performances, my brother's group included, of course. I hadn't eaten dinner and it was 9:30, so I went home and everyone else went home and Kevin came over and spaghetti was consumed. Hooray.

Sunday I had grand ideas about seeing the Bad Santa matinee with Chris, then heading to Reid's place in Edmonds for game night. The movie was excellent; very funny shit. Kevin was planning to come to game night, but when the time came, he was too tired to make it, so I was pissed about him flaking out again, but got over it enough. Chris and I picked up Lindsay and managed not to get lost or killed in the great gray area between I-5, 99, and Reid's apartment.

Anyway, here it is, Monday. I'm at work, covering for people taking finals. Hah! Finals. I'm done, seriously. And working. Yay money. Yay big long break coming up. Yay scary.

Happy Birthday to Me

I'm officially well-established as a 20-something. Today is my 22nd birthday, hooray! I am still younger than at least half my friends, sure, but that's okay.

People will be meeting up at Tandoor for dinner. Hooray for Tandoor! Yummy. I think perhaps we should just order one of each item on the menu and share, but that might be too much.

Livia is staying with me a for a couple days. She is quiet so I end up talking way too much. I try to explain everything before I tell her to make a decision, like: "What movie do you want to watch? Let me tell you about every movie on this shelf." She rode the bus to work with me today and sat at a lab computer until 1 p.m., when I wanted to go eat lunch. Afterwards she went to upper campus, hoping to talk to admissions folks. I can only assume she got there okay, since I never heard my cellphone.

The other day, I made a visit to the Greenwood DOL to renew my license. I brought with me an abundance of paperwork with my new address, in case they wanted it to confirm I lived where I said I lived, despite my old address being somewhere my parents no longer own. However, this was completely unnecessary. It was a relatively quick and painless process (for something occurring at the dreaded DOL), aside from having to wait in line just to get a number because you have to explain what you want to do before the guy will give you a number, and that means some people take longer explaining than others.

The only problem was that as soon as I left the office, I checked my temporary license and noticed an error. Not of my address; she had me check that on the screen while I was there. No, no, something much sillier that I failed to check: my weight.

I know I told the woman 160. She put down 115.

115!

Because I look to waifish! Hah!

Maybe she thought I was delusional. I don't know. But to the state of Washington, I weigh 115 pounds.

What's it called when you take abnormal psych and think you have all the disorders you learn about? Maybe I had that after the unit on anorexia/bulimia and didn't notice.

Things are all in order for the major gift-giving of the season. Mom's big present is ready to wrap, Kevin's presents have been ordered or already arrived, Margot's gift has been unearthed, and the Secret Santa present is ready to go for tomorrow night. I am excited about the Mom and Secret Santa gifts, as they are cool. I need to get something small for Paul and maybe things for other people, but not big things. Probably most people will be satisfied to receive a souvenir from my big Asia trip instead if they are, in fact, wrongly overlooked for Christmastime giving.

I have received birthday gifts already. Kevin gave me the 128mb SmartMedia card for my camera and the 160gb hard drive dubbed Nibbles last week so he could be sure they worked before the time to return defective items had elapsed. My mom brought me a sampler of delicious bite-sized desserts from Tasha Nichole, picture frames (ostensibly for the pictures I have my dad painted), and a CD/tape/radio boombox so I can blast the music (or NPR) while doin' dishes or readin' in the living room without just blaring my real stereo. I haven't had a tape deck for a few years now, so I can finally listen to my small collection again! Woo-hoo!

I am in a rotten good mood today for no reason...except it's my birthday!

Yeah!

Woo!

Top Five Live

In ethics today, we discussed pleasure and offensiveness. It was a sort of lovely discussion, the kind where I can't quite formulate anything to say (except to point out that, at least for me, rock shows are effectively the same as attending a sporting event in that you can shed certain social controls, etc.) but I end up thinking a lot.

Side note: my neighbor's fucking neglected dog is barking again. I'm surprised the fucker still has the ability to bark, it is so constantly noisy. I'm glad we are moving, or that I have moved, for all intents and purposes. I receive mail at the new address. My stuff is there, except this desk and computer. I sleep there. It's nice. Anyway.

So I was thinking about that feeling of freedom that comes with being part of a throng of joy like that, the energy. It's what keeps drawing me to live shows, it's why I have to dance and enjoy the show by participating. I wanted to say things about some of the bands I've seen that exemplified the notions we discussed, like TchKunG! and the controlled anarchy, or Jason Webley and the marches down the middle of the road. One girl brought up how people were being jerks at the Red Hot Chili Peppers show and security got involved, though, so I didn't think this was my crowd to listen to that.

Not that I want to be a snob--even though I am--but normal kids getting rowdy at a funky pop band (they are pop now, dudes) is fundamentally different from the mild insanity at a good punk show. For reals.

God, I wish that fucking dog would shut up already.

Anyway, here's my top five live shows (bands I've seen multiple times grouped together) that get this kinda feeling, and how, and why.

1. TchKunG! - They are fucking anarchists. It's incredible, the sense of freedom and rebellion that comes when you're part of a mob that's shouting to tear down the government. Even if I don't honestly embrace those politics (I am a lefty, but I'm not an anarchist by any means), I did for the duration of the show. It's liberating as hell, ironically, to be part of a group all saying the same thing.
   
2. Jason Webley - There were two shows in particular (of the dozen times I saw the man) that made the disparate crowd feel like a loving family: The Birthday Show and the Halloween Show of 2001. The Birthday Show involved eating a giant tomato cake and made me want to give the man a hug afterwards (which I did). The Halloween Show lead us all on a long trek down the middle of University Way to the water, where we set stuff on fire and bid Jason farewell (forever, once again). Webley has fallen out of favor with me, however, after a Halloween show that put a nasty taste in my mouth and I was too exhausted to follow anymore.
   
3. The Gossip - I've said it before, but Beth Ditto is one of the only performers who makes me want to put as much into my enjoyment of the show as she puts into performing it.
   
4. Radiohead - When Becky and I saw them on the Running from Demons tour in 1998, it was the first big concert we'd been to, and it was nearly transcendant in that regard. The band is fabulous live, of course, and we danced and sang along and did everything possible to enjoy every last minute of it.
   
5. I'm having a hard time coming up with five...so, for now, it's four.
   

Sooo...I'm off to the new place again, this time with Josie and her laundry. Woo hoo for afternoons with friends!

Empties

These days are void of content. My new house, too. My mind. Drained of thought and purpose, just going through the motions.

Moving slowly is at once exciting and frustrating, and nothing at all. I'm alone in a house filled only with my possessions, and few at that. But still, I don't want to be here--at work or at my old house--I want to be louging on the hard futon, watching DVDs on my 13-inch television. I want to re-read my travel guides and butcher Thai pronunciation out of the phrasebook. I want to move boxes of things, one carload at a time, and arrange them in my new house. I want to settle in before I have to leave.

Here I'm already settled in. Too settled, maybe. But soon I'll be unsettled all over again. I'm losing my job--my own fault, really, for wanting to take a vacation during the quarter. I can find another. No more sitting in the high un-ergonomic desk chair, feeling fizzled by fluorescent lights. No more immediate knowledge of nearly any question. No more watching people feed $20 bills into a machine that seldom accepts them.

It's transition time. Will it be as lovely as a sunset fading into the horizon, or something more dismal, gray, and harsh?

Do I still really have to go to school? I have three more days of classes (today, Monday, and Wednesday) and then no more until spring. That's brilliant. I have a paper to write on the relative journalistic ethics of McCarthyism, Watergate, and the Starr report. I have to take a test on autism, childhood schizophrenia, and eating disorders. That's the end of psychology, by the way.

Before Thanksgiving, we watched a film in ethics about the Mumia Abu Jamal case. I'd heard bits and pieces of it before, coming from Olympia where the Greeners are occasionally obsessed with it, but it was much more intriguing in the documentary. In psych, we watched a PBS docu about eating disorders I'd seen in another class. One of the subjects was filmed at various Seattle locations: you could pick them out, especially the Tully's on the corner of 45th and Brooklyn, that fishbowl window and blurred Neptune marquee prominently featured. I walk by it every day and someone in that same window usually looks at me funny for daring to look back at them.

I've discovered the Postal Service makes nice driving music and I love Mojave 3.

I need to do Christmas shopping: we've got mom's taken care of (sshhhh) and I have one thing for Kevin, but I need to do a little more. I need to get Margot's and Paul's token (he got a huge birthday present, so Christmas will be little). I need to learn who my Harem gift exchange person is and get them something nice. I think that's the extent of my Christmas necessities.

I can't believe I'm leaving in less than a month. I'm excited, but it's still unreal. I slipped on the phone with my grandma on Thanksgiving and told her about it; I didn't know, but everyone tells me that she'll worry incessantly. So I'm sorry if she calls my mom every day and pesters her.

Things will happen, sometime.

New Things Are Nice

I have a new house. I have a new house! New house! Yay!

It has a washer and dryer! But the washer must be ultra-low-water usage because I tried to run a load last night and I don't think any water came. It was on--it locked and spun--but no water. Hmm. Time for a chat with the landlords.

Already. Sheesh.

It sounds like we won't be able to finish moving all the big stuff until Saturday the 20th. Jeez. I am going to try to enlist Graylan and his truck to move stuff like bookcases and mattresses and move little things like pillows, small furniture, books, and kitchen crap in my car (and Kevin's and Steph's). Let's drag this process out as long as possible, shall we?

I understand why, of course. The weekend before finals is unacceptable for moving, and we can't move mid-week because the truck rental is being offered by Steph's parents, who have to work, and Steph works afternoons anyway. Besides, Josie and her mom and sister, I think, will be staying here the weekend of the 13th and need somewhere to sleep besides floor.

I am moving my stuff bit by bit as I can, anyway. I want out of this house and need some time to settle in the new place before I leave for three weeks.

Last night, Kevin and I brought up my vintage stereo (with the broken turntable that's been living in my room, being used as an amp attached to my portable CD player), CDs, and a futon. I am hoping to sleep there before I actually get the chance to bring up my bed, so I wanted something decent. The futon is nice on the floor. We also put up the bamboo blinds from Ikea.

Today I need to call my travel agent and give her my passport number (and figure out why I never received the email she said she sent), tell the landlord the washer ain't washin' and try to figure out what we can do to fix that, and go to the DOL to renew my license. I made the poster for my psych project last night--it's about drugs they give kids with Tourette's. It looks sorta cool despite being a relatively dull subject with little or no potential illustrative qualities (I dug up some random pictures in google).

I made the poster while watching a really terrible movie called The Magic Christian. It starred Peter Sellers, Ringo Starr, and the repeated use of a catchy but annoying Paul McCartney song. I think it was trying to say something about capitalism and what average people will do for money, but through drug-tinged lenses. I'm not sure I've said "what the FUCK!" so loudly or as often during a movie in recent memory.

I would like to point out that the Peter Sellers thing is not mine. It's Kevin's. The man has a strange fondness for Peter Sellers (even greater than his passing whimsy about Gumby, it seems). Not that I dislike Peter Sellers, but I am not so into him. And since being with Kevin, I've seen more than my share of weird comedies featuring Peter Sellers. Some were good; some not so good. Really, I can only take so much Inspector Clousseau. Anyway, Kevin insisted on renting these two bizarre-looking Peter Sellers movies from the British Comedy section in Scarecrow, and I swear, one of those movies got a "Oh, I saw that when I was a kid; I thought it was awful!" remark from one employee to another in the back room.

Me, I wanted Bonnie and Clyde 'cause I'd never seen it and Fargo because I don't remember it.

Kevin gave me early birthday presents last night because they are computer hardware that needs to be tested before the ability to return them disappears. He gave me a 128mb Smart Media card for my camera (it read as having 205 pictures left! neat!) and a 160gb hard drive. Sweet! That effectively quadrupled my picture-taking capacity and gave me more than ten times the space for miscellaneous computer files. I think I'm going to make my current 13.5gb drive all Linux OS (right now about 3gb is OS, 8gb is fat32-formatted storage, mostly mp3s, and the rest is irretrievable swap) and set up the new drive as massive storageland. And give myself permission to use it without logging in as root.

Seriously, I think I will never use all of 160gb. That's what they all say, though, isn't it? You start downloading movies, and BAM! No space ever. Okay, I won't download movies.

I'll get all the crazy TV shows Chris has, though.

Gossip

Two Fridays in a row now of excellent rock shows. I went to see the Gossip at the Vera Project with Josie and Eva, who sympathized on TUS after I didn't end up seeing Built to Spill last week.

The Gossip was fabulous as usual. It's one of the few bands who makes me try to put as much effort into enjoying its performance as it puts into performing. I wish I had noticed the coat room, though, as dancing with a raincoat on can be quite sweat-inducing. (Duh.) But in some ways, being too warm enhances the show--you get a vague idea of that Arkansas heat. And it makes you really appreciate the cool drizzle when you leave.

I want to write a fan letter to the band to thank them for being so awesome. I don't usually write fan letters to bands that aren't really new, but I have done worse. Like the time I saw Jason Webley in Los Gatos, Calif., and had a brief chat with him in which I revealed that was the 10th time I'd seen him and he kind of jumped backwards. (I eventually saw him 12 times, I think, before the Halloween 2002 show put a bad taste in my mouth. I was such a groupie.)

We arrived at the venue in time to see about half of King Cobra's set. I had forgotten that was the band with Rachel from the Need, which is awesome. And eardrum-assaulting. The Need was a band I saw at Yoyo-A-Gogo a few years ago with my sister and we felt very dumb for not having earplugs, but privileged to see such a rocking pair of women. This was equally as fascinating, I think.

The new Vera Project facilities seem cool, too. I guess they're not that new, actually, but it was the first time I've been there. Beth Ditto said they had a pool table. Wooo. And I approve of any venue that can draw such a nice crowd where people just want to enjoy music, not just sit around and drink and smoke or whatever, have to get out by midnight, and charge less than $10 admission. Why don't I go to more all-ages shows?

Spam Is Grand

From: "AIR SUPPLY EN CONCIERTO" < exito@conocimiento.com.mx >
To: < emily@chlamydia-is-not-a-flower.com >
Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2003 11:09:32 -0600
Subject: AIR SUPPLY EN CONCIERTO POR EL SURESTE DE MEXICO

That is just so awesome. It's even accompanied by a beautiful illustration and the command, "haga ¡CLICK!"

Do the click! C'mon, c'mon!

Next time I'm in southeastern Mexico I should go see Air Supply.

Thanks for All the Fish

Thanksgiving at my house, until a few years ago, was a family going through the motions of a holiday such as this: There was always turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, mom's 7-layer salad that no one else eats, the canned cranberry jelly that only my sister likes. Some things never change, but some things must.

For example, only one person in my family has any particular fondness for turkey, and that's my brother. I don't eat meat anymore and was never particularly into the big holiday roast in the first place. Last year--which was, admittedly, in a period of mourning and so markedly different from any other Thanksgiving I could hope to celebrate in my life--the closest thing to turkey I ate was a cold chicken satay skewer from the Whole Foods deli case while sitting on the floor of a hotel room in San Francisco. I mean, there was nothing of tradition at that meal, and yet it was wonderful. Thanksgiving should be what it is and nothing more. Placing too much emphasis on it seems to detract from the day.

Today was more of a decentralized holiday feast. We'd decided weeks ago to forego turkey entirely; my brother grudgingly agreed on the basis that grilled salmon would be served instead. I offered to make mashed potatoes, but I made them with red potatoes (skins on) and mixed them up with olive oil, fresh rosemary, and a whole bulb of roasted garlic. I also made a strange coleslaw with a sweet yogurt dressing and mixed with dried cranberries and almond slices. Unfortunately, they paled next to the host of other dishes that were offered.

My sister dutifully prepared several sushi rolls: some with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and shrimpmeat and some with just vegetables. Always a winner. She also seemed to like my suggestion of making a dessert-like roll with almond on the outside and cranberry on the inside.

My brother's girlfriend's mother brought a casserole her daughter likes, as well as potato pancakes and applesauce. Anyone who brings potato pancakes is a-ok in my book. She also taught my mother that her pronunciation of "challah" is incorrect: mom had always pronounced it phonetically and no one could tell her any different, until, you know, someone who is actually Jewish finally figured out what she was saying. I just wish an Italian person would correct her on the "espresso" thing, but perhaps that will happen when she goes to Italy in April.

The Cambodians brought a big pot of stir-fried noodles. Mom requested they used only shrimp and no chicken, etc., for my sake. Which was nice. The visiting parents of the Indonesian student who lives with mom made a couple dishes involving chicken that looked good, but I did not try. They also failed to come to dinner themselves, which was a little odd.

Mom's salmon was, of course, delicious. And the fried rice with shrimp. Her challah, too. My sister-in-law, who's pregnant with her second baby, has always loved the bread and couldn't stop eating it. I think she would've eaten nothing but bread if mom would let her.

There was so much to eat it was a wonder we could eat anything at all. Too many choices.

And then, dessert. Pre-made pies/cakes, of course. We're a lazy bunch after all that other cooking. I brought a cheesecake. Mom picked up pecan and pumpkin pies, even after saying she was sick of pumpkin pie and didn't want to get one for this dinner. I had to eat some of all of them. It was all good to me. Mmm, sugar.

My sister is looking gorgeous after all the work she's done in the last couple months of lose weight. Get healthy, is more like it. She's been walking every morning with a woman my mom's age who sounds like a great walking partner, not to mention being on the poor college student diet that sort of forces healthy eating if you're not letting yourself buy junk exclusively. Anyway, she looks very healthy and beautiful.

(It made me think I need to stop with all the sugar...heh. I have sort of lapsed into a less good diet, which is, uh, less good, for obvious reasons. My schedule has been somewhat prohibitive, although I'm not sure how. But it must be rectified.)

I spent the evening watching Dogma on cable and then trying to beat my brother at Trivial Pursuit. The biggest problem with the latter part was that the version we were using was at least as old as I am (and older than my brother), so we were more than perplexed by a lot of the questions. I like playing with my set from last year better, even though it, too, will be far behind the times soon enough. At least the entertainment questions are things I can get.

I took the Civic back and drove myself home. I received a ride from Steph and her parents (and their very sweet dog Jake) down to Olympia this morning, since they happened to be going to Tumwater for the day. Very convenient. Traffic was fine both times, amazingly enough.

All in all, another jolly good Thanksgiving holiday.

Tomorrow I work 9 to 12:30, which is kind of crappy (cropped hours) and again on Saturday, covering Chris's usual hours. I'll still be short on hours for this pay period just from holidays, but what can you do. I'm hoping to to see the Gossip at Vera tomorrow night with whomever I can convince to go.

Monday is New House Day, and I plan to celebrate by bringing laundry up after class. Ha!

Headphones Guy

There's an annoying lab user we like to call Headphones Guy. He usually comes in wearing one of those radio-headset things; thus the name. Then he asks us stupid questions about stuff that usually have nothing to do with anything remotely related to this lab's purpose or within the realm of things it's fair to ask the help desk. Rather, he asks about things like how to burn CDs of pirated materials he just downloaded on onto our lab machines, or what piece of shitty, broken hardware to buy on ebay. But he's here legitimately so we can't kick him out.

Anyway, Headphones Guy just asked me a question about headphones. Not "can I borrow a pair," either; an actual question about power ratings or something that I know nothing about.

Hee.

Angry, then Not Angry But Glad

I spent much of last week being mad as hell. I was about to kill my boyfriend, if I ever saw the lug again. I'm not entirely certain why, and honestly, it's not a feeling I'd like to revisit now, as the goodwill has returned in spades.

Friday was the Death Cab for Cutie show I bought tickets for. I knew Kevin wouldn't make it, and so lined up Chris to come with me. That evening, I made some offhand remark about the smokiness of clubs and Mr. Pneumonia realized perhaps his lungs wouldn't tolerate the show well. Which, really, is understandable. And strangely, okay. The Showbox is a club I've been to many times and feel confident about getting there and back in one piece. The weather wasn't hideous. And, dammit, I wasn't going to waste another night because I couldn't find an appropriate show-going partner in time.

So I went all by my damn self. After a nice cup of coffee and dark chocolate bar elevated my spirits considerably.

And then the show was great. I grabbed a spot on the left edge of the stage, a fabulous view. Of, you know, Ben Gibbard's sweaty ass. And the whiteboy-nasty-dreadlocked (uuggghhh) bassist from Nada Surf. And the beautiful punkrock bassist from the Catch who caught my gaze a couple times and gave me a truly wonderful smile in return. That was nice. The whole band was rocking that ugly-on-purpose haircut style with short pleated skirts and vintage calf-high heeled boots. Fun stuff.

DCFC was excellent as usual. Damn, are they good. But I didn't avoid the people who knew all the words; there was one cute thing with deep brown eyes staring at Gibbard the whole time and mouthing the words to every song. Which I (meanly) thought was sort of amusing when he's singing "you are beautiful, but you don't mean a thing to me."

I had to take off before they had a chance to do an encore, though, because otherwise I would've missed the last bus home, and that would've sucked.

During this long but thoroughly entertaining show, I decided the best thing to do with respect to my anger towards Kevin would be to forgive him. And I suddenly felt so much better. What was wrong had little to do with something meriting much more than an apology and just...not continuing with the way things were, and it was making me so much more angry than I needed to be about it, so...forgiveness. And it was much better. I wanted to call him as soon as I left the show, but I knew he'd be asleep.

***

In Really Good But Scary news, I booked my tickets yesterday. I'm going to Southeast Asia this winter. I'll be in Tokyo (well, a Holiday Inn at the damn airport) for New Year's Eve, probably watching crazy Japanese TV and falling asleep. The next day, I'll be in Kuala Lumpur for a stay of about 8 days, hanging out with Meesh and Winnie and getting the lay of the land, before I fly to Bangkok and meet a tour that travels down the Malay Peninsula for two weeks, then fly home from Singapore.

Anyone have any tips? Requests for tchotchkes to bring home? Sweet luggage and other reusable supplies for traveling light you'll let me borrow? Leave a comment.

Screaming Political Epithets

Here's where I start to have problems.

According to this, admittedly a biased source, a draft is in the works for 2005.

I told my mom. Her reaction: "But...my...son..." She grew up with Vietnam. Paul will turn 18 in '05. He'll be a senior in high school. He's college-bound for sure, but will that be enough?

My boss, who showed me that link in the first place, laughed. His generation slipped in just in time to miss the draft, ten years too late.

The topic was brought up because a friend of his is in the National Guard. His group got called up for duty in Iraq. He made it sound like their group was one of the last possible groups of any use, so a draft couldn't be far behind. Again, biased source, but scary nonetheless.

I started wondering about my male friends, what they'd do if their number was up. Some of them will probably be too old by then--if they start with the 20-year-olds in 2005, when most of my friends will already be solidly in their mid-20s, they will probably get out of it. But if not? Who runs? Who conscientiously objects (I think nearly all my friends object)? Who just goes?

And, of course, there are still those who joined up, to pay for college or whatever other reason, and are now in Iraq or thinking they will be soon. I know a few of those, at least peripherally. How can you tolerate being somewhere and doing something that is so blatantly based on lies and wrongs? It's impossible for me to conceptualize the cognitive dissonance that must go on at some level.

...

I've started seriously planning this whole Asian trip thing. I just have to decide, I guess, and give people a boatload of money.

What sounds to me like the best plan would be to hang out in Kuala Lumpur for a few days with the Meeshness and Winnie before she heads back to Buffalo, then catch up with a tour in Singapore that heads up the Malay peninsula and through some Thai beaches, ending in Bangkok. A sampler platter of Southeast Asian travel seems like the best idea for me right now, so next time--and there will be a next time, if all goes well--I have a better idea what I do and don't want to see.

My alternative is to go some other time altogether and hit up a five-day plan involving cooking classes in Chiang Mai, then spend time in KL independently of any tour. But that sounds less relaxing than I'd like for this trip.

Where is Japan in all of this? I would still like to go, but it sounds a little out of the way for this trip. So perhaps another time.

Looking at the tours, it would be super fun to do a food tour of...well, actually, anywhere, but especially Thailand, India, and Vietnam. Because yum. Maybe sometime my mom and I could do that. (C'mon, mom...India gourmet tour with a visit to the Taj Mahal? You know you want to.)

2004 is to be my year of international travel, I've decided. Besides this Asia trip, mom is planning to spend a chunk of the summer in Tuscany, so of course I have to go, too. And then I'll have to travel around to, say, Spain, maybe Greece. Maybe go visit Josie in Jordan if that's feasible. I'm trying to convince Kevin he should come to Europe for a bit, too--we could go to London and try to catch a show by some band that is finicky about playing the U.S. Or the Jerry Springer opera. Hee.

And through all of this, I feel sort of conflicted about the right to travel, what it all means, am I being irresponsible, etc. I don't really know. But that's kind of why I want to go: I want to see the world differently. You know, by actually seeing it.

Throwing Plates

It's confusing to want to kick in the teeth of someone you've technically wronged, rather than the other way around. Even if it feels like you're the one who got fucked. It's a sick mixture of anger and frustration and selfishness that makes one particularly ugly.

Check the time stamp: 9:22 on Monday, Nov. 17. I have tickets to see Built to Spill right about now, but I'm not there. Why? Let's recap.

Last night, Kevin came over less than an hour before my bedtime very depressed. He'd forgotten the paper he'd printed for me which was the reason for coming over at all. He'd earlier scoffed at me for saving the new Death Cab for Cutie CD I'd just bought to listen for the first time with him. I didn't *mean* anything by it; just we'd planned to drive to Olympia for some computer-fixing crap that night (which I was already unhappy about) and I thoyght I'd save it for that at first, but then he got up too late to do that, either... anyway. Kevin is seemingly depressed and back to his sleep-all-day schedule which is annoying to me and probably for him, too. He was just...so...I don't know, not right-seeming that I told him if he didn't feel up to it, I could probably find someone else to go to the show with me.

That was foolishly charitable of me. I gave him an out. He took it, as of late this afternoon.

And so, mad as hell, I began trying to find someone else to go with.

Why couldn't I just go alone, you ask? Well, I could. But (1) I'd have to take the bus (2) to a neighborhood that kind of isn't so great in the first place and (3) a club I've never been to. (4) The bus routes drop off about half a mile from the club and (5) may or may not run reliably into the night, meaning (6) I probably wouldn't get home until late late late (7) chilly and wet from the nasty weather and still pissed about being alone. Yeah, it's excuse-ridden, but I think I'm allowed these excuses. They are still better than my excuse for not seeing REM/Wilco at Bumbershoot when one girl gave me a wristband but we couldn't get one for Kevin.

So anyway, I told Aron to get to Seattle by 9. Jokingly, of course; the guy's in Phoenix and not exactly in a position to charter a flight or whatever. I posted to TUS with my petty bitch about the situation. Of course none of my housemates could or wanted to go. I emailed Jesse, which I'm sure he didn't get in time and is probably busy anyway. Or doesn't like the band. I have no idea. I IM'ed my old friend Rachel, who's down at OSU in Corvallis, Ore., telling her she should drive up to Seattle and see Built to Spill with me tonight.

Forty-five minutes later, I got an "ok."

Incredulous, a bizarre conversation ensued in which she told me she was going to come up that night, what the hell! She wants to see me. She tells me to go to the show, leave a ticket at will-call for her, and she'll meet me there. I'm like, well, um, how about you call me around 9 and say where you are, and I'll decide if it's feasible for you to get here in time. She said okay and took off.

Amused by the whole thing, I decided to go to Trader Joe's with Stephanie and get junk food. She's all about the frozen key lime pie and black soft licorice. I got no-pudge brownie mix and cappuccino meringues, thinking these fat-free items may be Rachel-diet-approved. And I wanted sugar.

I heard from Rachel as the brownies came out of the oven around 9 p.m. She was in Vancouver. We decided that she wouldn't make it in until after midnight, and that was ridiculous. But she is thinking of coming up tomorrow instead, which would be cool.

The Rachel thing had temporarily alleviated my anger, but I had to call Kevin and tell him what was going on, just to make it come back.

He told me I'd promised not to nag.

Ohhhh, fuck.

Well, I'm still angry. I'm out $40 for tickets and fees--at least some of the money supposedly goes to help Dub Narcotic's medical bills after their bus accident last month. At least it's not a total loss, I guess. And I've missed being around my otherwise pleasant boyfriend, who seems to be having a hard time. I just have a hard time being nice, apparently. Sometimes I just want things to go my way so bad that I revert to being a bratty 2-year-old.

Focus Your Ears

I'm not sure if it's an actual physical problem or simply the phone/social phobia that causes this, but when I'm on the phone with someone, I can't hear well. This isn't as much of a problem with people like my mom, my boyfriend, etc., and I'm not sure if maybe it's because I can picture them saying things and know their voice much better than most people I talk to on the phone or something else.

Anyway, my brain sort of freezes up when I'm on the phone with people whom I need to deal with on a business level (interviewing, jobs, rentals) and I can't really process everything that's said to me. Like I can tell that something is being said, and I think maybe I get the gist of what's being said, but I don't really understand it. Some kind of selective auditory dyslexia?

Additionally, I forget what I wanted to ask or discuss. I just got a call from my soon-to-be landlord telling us the credit checks came through and we're set to move in (yay!). Then he was saying something about the other paperwork (the lease) and picking it up and did I have any questions about it. Well, yes, I do, specifically: Aren't you supposed to be present when we sign it? Because what he was saying didn't give me that impression, although it goes against every other lease I've signed. And don't we sign it just prior to moving in and pay all fees at that time as well? I mean, sure, it's a difference of about two weeks now, but still. That's over $1000 each. But the only question that came to mind was: "Um, yeah, about the pets section, Stephanie has a little frog in a terrarium and the lease is pretty complete about excluding everything and wanted to know if we could do something about that." To which he responded in the affirmative, I think. Something about writing a note in there about a frog in a terrarium is okay.

I vastly prefer e-mail for obvious reasons, not the least of which is I can clearly understand what the other person is fricking saying.

It's weird, though, because it feels like the auditory version of losing focus. When your eyes can't quite get anything in the fovea, nothing makes sense...it's all a blur. It's disorienting. I get the same thing with my hearing sometimes. I don't know what it means that I think of auditory distortions in terms of visual perception metaphors.

But yay, we have the house!

No, I Would Not Like Some Free Stuff

Two promo goons from The End accosted me this morning. I was trying to explain to the girl at Bulldog that I wanted to fill my travel mug with some of her coffee, and here is the money to prove it.

I could spot them before I even approached the store. I passed them on the sidewalk. The guy was wearing a black hoodie with the station logo on the back; the girl had a '28 Days Later' backpack. I stop, and suddenly they're on me like flies to shit. Flies with no apparent self-respect.

"Here you go!" they said cheerfully to my un-caffienated, non-showered self at 7 in the goddamn morning. (Who the fuck does promo goonership at 7 a.m.?!)

"Uh, no thanks."

"You don't want any free stuff? C'mon we're from The End; we're not weirdoes or anything."

I take issue with the last statement, but keep it to myself. "No, thanks."

"Not even a free CD?"

Yeah. Cos I love those promo sampler CDs with half a dozen snippets of songs by I'd never listen to, and not because I've never heard of them, but because they suck. From the radio station I figured out by the time I was 16 played only the most banal and popular modern rock songs. I mean, guys, I love rock, I love indie, and homogeneous, corporate giant rock stations don't exactly whet my whistle even when they do occasionally play something non-shitty. Millions of people can't be wrong all the time.

So here are these two alterna-fashionista promo goons for one of the most frustrating stations in town, covered in advertising and trying to give me free trash, making babble behind me about how they're not weird, geez, aww. Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's some psychological game promo goons play to make people take their stupid crap, and I'm not buying it.

Anyway, this coffee is some of the nappiest-tasting coffee I've enjoyed recently, which is an absolute first for Bulldog. It's also the first cup of coffee I've had in nearly a week.

Tonight we're hosting a slumber party. Girls only! Makeovers, pizza, chick flicks, and gossip are the apparent order of the day. I object to half the chick flicks I suspect will be proffered; I don't wear makeup, like, ever. It's kinda icky. But I'll go hang out, and I'll buy supplies to make french toast in the morning. Yummy.

And if the sewage--oh, yeah, we've got fucking sewage in the basement again--isn't cleaned up by the time I get home, my landlord is getting beaten with the hose.

We're Moving

Chris finally checked out the house last night. He approved. The landlords are supposed to bring me a rental agreement form today so we can get started on the whole crazy renting process.

Here's the deal with the house: It's in Maple Leaf, near some good buslines, but rather far from campus and the only neighborhood I've ever loved. But it's not quite to Northgate, which is a neighborhood I definitely don't like (far too...you know, mall-y with surrounding accoutrements. I don't like my dining choices within walking distance to include Olive Garden).

The landlords, at least so far, are very friendly, receptive, and seem overly willing to perform routine and necessary maintenance. They are new at this game, having only previously rented to friends, but are knowledgable in all things housey as (1) they are real estate agents and (2) used to live in this house prior to having it completely renovated.

Oh, and it's completely renovated.

It's a 1300-square-foot 1920s house with hardwood floors on the main level, new carpet in the basement, two full baths and three bedrooms. They have clearly put a lot of work into the place. It's very comfortable. While not huge, it seems to use its space well. The kitchen is full of all-new stuff, and despite being relatively small--but not the closet I had in my apartment with J.--it's well laid-out with plenty of storage.

When Steph and I saw this place, we were squeeing like mad: "There's a washer/dryer!" "The kitchen sink isn't surrounded by shitty counters and bad caulking!" "The water heats up right away!" "THERE'S HEAT IN THE BATHROOM!!"

The husband of the couple who owns it seemed amused by our squeeing and shared his own UW-slumlord experiences from back in the '80s. I think his stories beat ours, but still.

Anyway, I feel lucky we found this place first. It should be a welcome change of situation.

I think our current house is making us all sick, anyway. Seriously, the draft from the blatantly unsealed doorways and window shafts combined with whatever mold is growing in the walls and totally unhygienic basement has to be exacerbating whatever cold or flu is going around. Chris has fucking pneumonia. I felt like shit all Sunday and Monday. Sudafed has stopped working for me, which is fine, because now I can focus on the crappiness without medicine head. (My drug regimen now includes ibuprofen, honey lemon echinacea Ricola, saline nasal spray, and a ridiculous amount of green tea.)

Anyway, things to think about. I have little more to say here today.

I Know Perfectly Well I'm Not Where I Should Be

We're all sick here.

Chris has bronchitis like crazy. Josie's got a sore throat and isn't too happy about it. Steph is a little overwhelmed with stress. And me, I'm just going crazy.

Well, that, and the stagnant air created by my stupid wall-unit electric heater made me very congested. That sucks.

I'm listening to the Beach Boys and loving it. Not "Surfin' USA," not that there's anything wrong with that, but I am listening to Pet Sounds. It's making me think. About things that are not the introduction to my paper on current treatment of tics in Tourette's syndrome.

I so don't care about school anymore. I just need to get through this quarter, find something productive to do with all of winter quarter, then take two more classes and be done already. That is seven stupid more months of blah before I can go be an overeducated, underpaid (or unemployed) stiff in the real world. Grad school? No, thanks. Even if I wanted to go spend another 3+ years in academia, I don't know what I'd want to study. It'll still be there 20 years from now, anyway.

(fast forward four hours)

Intro done. Sore throat and congestion slightly abated. Dishes done. Wearing an off-white thermal with a St. Maarten t-shirt on top--sort of a visual irony with the warm clothes and the sunny, tropical locale design. Have really nothing more to do today unless I decide to throw my computer out the window in favor of a laptop I can't afford. Hurray.

I need some plans. And money. But mostly plans.

Viva Las Vegas

But not for me.

Some friends from Phoenix are getting married in Vegas this weekend. I wasn't invited--and had no intention of crashing the party; I know these things are expensive and crowded and online friends are pretty low priority--but I did want to go and kick it with the friends who would be in town that I don't get to hang out with much. That sentence was overly complicated, but anyway. It costs too much to fly to Vegas, bussing takes too long, and Amtrak doesn't go from Seattle to Vegas, so I'm not going, and that makes me sad.

The world is a crappy but exciting place. The following are examples:

Bush signed the partial-birth abortion ban into law today. Hur-fucking-rah, asshole, for banning a procedure that doesn't technically exist. I'd say it's less about eroding our rights as women to do as we please with our bodies and more about just being completely idiotic. No one gets to her third trimester and thinks, "oh, shit! I don't want to be a mommy! Please let me have an abortion right now!" Well, she might think it in a moment of panic, but that's not what actually happens. There are extenuating circumtances for such a procedure (dilation and extraction) that go beyond a woman's right to choose. It's about saving lives, for real. Yeah, it sounds like a nasty process, not one anyone would want to go through, but it's something that happens out of necessity, not irresponsibility and immorality. But I'm fucking preaching to the choir here, right?

And, because I'm feeling ultra-pedantic today, I'd like to explain why I am pro-abortion. Again, it's not about a woman's right to choose, ultimately. It's because people are going to get abortions anyway, so they should be safe and legal. And to counter the argument that murders aren't legal: murderers don't typically die in the process of killing another human being. Or even really get hurt. Back alley, coat hanger abortions are excessively dangerous to the pregnant woman.

I don't care about the question of when life begins. It's not practical and it shouldn't be written into law. I will admit, however, that the world is overpopulated now to the point that maybe electing to decrease the number of people created isn't such a bad thing.

Whew. That went on a little too long. Does anyone want to hear me justify porn and legalized prostitution now? I didn't think so.

OK, so the other thing that was more on the positive side of sad/exciting was a foreign correspondent who's worked for CNN, NPR, and the Associated Press, among other organizations, talked to my journalism ethics class this morning about his experiences in Afghanistan shortly after 9/11, going to Chechnya, and covering the Moscow theater hostage crisis. It was a fascinating talk, even for one who has no interest in doing what he does. I had lots of questions, but I couldn't quite ask them. But it was a good listen.

In my own effort to go out and see how sad and exciting the world is, I finally turned in my passport application. My crumbling 1988-issued birth certificate received a staple and was put in an envelope with two 2x2 Polaroids of my head, a laser printed form, the clerk's stamped approval, and a check for $55.00 made out to the US Department of State. I think the form contains about three different mailing addresses--the one on my check and driver's license (old Olympia house), the one where I actually receive mail, and my mom's current address.

My plans are getting varied--I need to go talk to someone at STA Travel about my options at this point. I'm not sure the beginning of January is going to be the best time for me to go, so I'm looking into tour packages for Southeast Asia (downside: being an obvious tourista; upside: not being alone) and hoping to swing by KL and visit the Meesh anyway. She's promised to feed me, and I can't miss that shit. I want the cravings.

Chris has some crazy upper respiratory infection and has been coughing nonstop for the past several weeks. He finally went to the doctor yesterday and got a bunch of crazy meds. They like to give him codeine. All this meant I worked 7:30 to 9 a.m. today since his absence was such late notice. It all works out, but Chris is still sick, and that sucks for him. Hack, hack, hack. It's pretty bad.

It's freezing cold still. The first Sloan album sounds very shoegazey--some of the songs strongly recall My Bloody Valentine. This rocks because I love both Sloan and My Bloody Valentine. Right now I want all the money in the world to buy indie rock records. I've had Stereo Total's "C'est la Mort" stuck in my head since yesterday and it's about to drive me insane. I want the new Decemberists album and I want to steal Kevin's copy of their first. He doesn't like it anyway. He also says that song is annoying. He also bought Elliott Smith's last 7" and only wants to play it once.

I have to pee. Bye.

Latitudinarianism

Best weird question of the day: An elderly man whose wife is in the hospital for dental work asked for the definition of this word. He'd written it in all-capitals, red ballpoint pen, on the top wide line of an index card.

We consulted the OED--M-W.com says with greater brevity than those Brits that it means "a person who is broad and liberal in standards of religious belief and conduct"--and printed out a sheet of paper in 16-point type with the definitions. He said he couldn't work a computer.

It was, perhaps, sort of a "Harvey Pekar experience."

My Halloween weekend was uneventful. I may be one of the laziest asses in the world, but I managed to both bleach-mop the shitty basement and help clean Kevin's house. That was a blast. Oh, wait, no, it wasn't, but it is kind of nice to not step in shit when I venture downstairs to get something or have it smell awful everywhere. I mean, really, I shouldn't have had to do that--but the landlord is a useless prick. We'd be waiting forever for him to clean the fucking thing, so I cleaned it enough and we're fucking moving.

Speaking of which, pickings are slim. There are a few ads we should reply to for places that might be nice. This sucks immensely.

Halloween I went to see the matinee of Bubba Ho-Tep with Kevin. He said we should sneak in candy, a first for him. I had chocolate and he had jelly beans. The movie was amusing, definitely, and good Halloween fare. We had some kind of dinner I made up in a pinch and wasn't too excited about, then rented movies. I was exhausted and falling asleep by 10 p.m., watching Jerry Seinfeld's I'm Telling You For The Last Time.

Saturday was sort of our anniversary. I'm not one to count these things, but he moved here on Nov. 1 last year, so I'd say that's the definitive, official beginning of the relationship. Of course there were precursors, but the whole moving-from-California-to-Seattle thing made it stick. It ceased to be crush-from-afar territory. I could go sleep at his house and take the bus home. Anyway, we got together for a late Indian buffet lunch, and later went to see Beulah at Graceland.

I didn't care for the club. The tickets said 8 p.m.--a reasonable assumption is 8 is doors, show at 9. We weren't especially keen to see the first act, Jen Wood, so we made it there closer to 10. Which happened to be just when Jen Wood was starting. Beulah was scheduled to go on at 11:45. Now, I normally go to bed around 11. I woke up at 6:30 that morning, for no reason. 11:45? Is late. Anyway, we enjoyed the show up until probably halfway through Beulah's set, at which point I was so completely exhausted I couldn't stand anymore, so we left.

That night, I stayed at Kevin's so I could be a nag of action in the morning and try to help him clean. (His house is, seriously, so unkempt that I don't like to go there. Usually messiness does not deter me to such an extreme, and I feel bad for being naggy, but seriously, it's bad.) I woke up much earlier than him, however, and hung out at the coffee shop at the end of the block for a bit, then came back and spent 20 minutes convincing him to let me clean his bathroom. He was troubled because he should clean it, which he should, but he hasn't, and I'm offering, so let me. How fucked up is it that I had to argue with my boyfriend to clean his fucking bathroom? I'm guessing very. So I cleaned the bathroom a bunch, then started to go around and pick up obvious trash and sort recycling, which was found in piles all over the house.

I spent a good three solid hours cleaning before I was exhausted and it was clear there was little else I could effectively do. He was helping at this point, too. I walked to Taco del Mar and got us vegan burritos. After we ate, he took me home.

My housemates and I have been playing a fun game of Let's Buy Bags of Fun Size Halloween Candy Bars To Share. Josie first bought Three Musketeers, most of which found themselves in Chris's mouth. Chris then bought Almond Joys--split between himself and Lauren--and Nutrageous, which I consumed in mass quantities. Sunday I decided to share Peanut Butter Cups with the house, so I headed out to Safeway for some post-Halloween discounts.

At Safeway, my time for Encounter with a Dweeb had arrived.

I grabbed the PBCs, a half-gallon of Dreyer's Light that was on sale for $3 and has the additional benefit of being delicious, and a loaf of Essential Bakery Rosemary Diamante and got in the slowest line in the world. The guy in front of me commented, "Good thing we're in the Express Lane, huh?" I responded in the affirmative. After an awkward pause, the weird thing began.

The guy did that thing where you scope out the contents of the other person's basket. I mean, most people do this on a regular basis, but surreptitiously and without the intent of using information from said scopage to make conversation. This guy did it to make conversation. He did it to hit on me like a big dweeb.

"Chocolate fudge, huh?" he asked, referring to my ice cream.

Oh, shit. I did my best to avoid eye contact. "Uh, yeah, it's pretty good for being light."

"Oh, it's light, huh?" he replied.

I let the conversation fade into oblivion for a moment. Then I got stupid.

"I don't know why I even come here. It's always like this."

"Maybe it's for the people you meet," he said. Oh, like that wasn't fucking pointed or anything.

I tried to diffuse the situation by bringing up crazy people. "I don't know, a lot of crazy people are around here. My housemate always runs into them. He has the best crazy people stories."

"Maybe you should make some up," he suggested.

"Uh, no. One time a lady tried to hit him with a pay phone. Not at the pay phone, with the pay phone. I can't beat that."

"Oh, ha ha," he said.

The line moved forward. People used the space between us to move carts, for which I was grateful. Then it was his turn.

After he paid, he waited at the end of the checker stand and rifled through his bags. I hate it when people hover there. Even worse is when they hover in front of the card reader so you can't do your business, so at least he wasn't doing that. I punched in my number and slid my card, not looking to my right at all.

Then the man wants cigarettes.

I should point out that I'm a little paranoid he was in part attracted to me because I smelled like cigarettes at the time. I was wearing a jacket and scarf that had accompanied me to Graceland, where they soaked up all kinds of second-hand smoke. (Side rant: You can talk about smokers' rights all you want, and I think you have a point, but at the same time, I know a lot of nonsmokers who don't like going out to things like shows--so not like a bar where you can "choose" a non-smoky one or whatever--partially because their clothes will fucking reek afterwards.) So I'm afraid he wants to make conversation with me over his damn cigarettes.

And the checker goes to get him a pack while I'm waiting for him to press a fucking button to complete my transaction. I could have smacked the idiot.

Anyway, after that, I high-tailed it out of there.

Join us next time, for more tales of woe and bitchy Whole Foods sales clerks!