The FedEx guy thinks I'm married.

Or he's just presumptuous when it comes to messy handwriting.

Yesterday, Kevin received a package for which I had to sign. An hour after that, Kevin called me to ask why I'd signed for the package as "E. George."

I protested, of course, because I didn't sign it with anything other than my name, the driver--or whoever enters those things into the computer--must have assumed that my squiggly surname matched his typed one. "C" is about the only truly legible part of the word, and it's close enough to "G," I guess.

His manager overheard his end of the phone conversation, and started asking him about it, so he reiterated, and the manager found it hilarious. Some other coworkers overheard that, and so he had to tell it again, and they, too, found it hilarious, suggesting that I was planning to propose on Thanksgiving and that was why I did all this family finagling. Which is absurd! Not to mention I have no intention of changing my last name if I ever get married, anyway.

I know it was a joke to them, it just bothers me for some reason. You all know I'm not good at taking that kind of ribbing, for some reason, even though I know it's in jest. Maybe it's the thought that people would latch onto such petty misrepresentations I can't control that bother me to the point that I start in on futile damage control.

But today I made the effort to write my last name clearly. We'll see if it works.

Fuck!

It's been brought to my attention that I've grown lax in my swearing. This post-election haze has made me soft. I started out yelling, but just got hoarse.

I promise, though, that the swears and welling up in my throat all the time. It's just grown increasingly pointless to voice them.

And seriously, all I have to talk about is how stupid TV is and what food I'm obsessing over, which doesn't always require a lot of swearing.

Dammit.

Fahrenheit 210: The Temperature at which Bread Bakes.

Oh, you people. I've been all Suzy Homemaker for a few days with my urgent plea sitting there, and nothing.

No, really, it's fine. I'm not hurt.

I did, however, attempt to bake some crusty bread, which ended up a little heavy in the crust department and a little short in the baked-all-the-way-through department. No matter, it was a valiant first attempt. It LOOKED like good bread. Currently, I have a sourdough starter working its fermenting, gooey magic on the kitchen counter, so that today or tomorrow I might even start real bread with it. I even got a pizza stone so maybe this time the bread will bake properly. (Metal cookie sheet = no good in the bread world, evidently.)

It probably wouldn't hurt to have an insertable instant-read thermometer, either, or a kitchen that's warm enough for the bread to rise in something approximating the time indicated in the recipe. Maybe the latter is something else's fault, though, I have no idea.

The Thanksgiving menu is complete. I made a shopping list, which I will get into over the weekend. I'll make two pies, one apple and one pumpkin, although they will be hippie pies and of questionable deliciousness. Mom asked me to just get a regular pumpkin pie from the store for my brother, whom she said will eat the whole thing. Good god.

Rounding out the meal, we'll have halibut and an Unturkey, at Kevin's request, in lieu of the traditional turkey, homemade cranberry-orange sauce, aromatic vegetables, barley and wild rice pilaf with pomegranate seeds, herbed smashed potatoes (this month's Cook's Illustrated), a mixed greens salad with sprouts, shredded beets and carrots, a homemade Green Goddess dressing (from Steven Raichlen's High Flavor, Low Fat Vegetarian Cooking), and marinated mushrooms (also Cook's), and bread, either homemade, storebought, or both, depending on what happens. We're going for healthy, delicious, and ridiculously vegan-friendly. (But never fear, Paul, you will find stuff to eat, plus I got you some fancy burger patties, a can of chili, and I always have boxes of mac and cheese!)

Clearly, I put far too much time, energy, and thought into this already, but I want it to be good.

Still hoping Margot will have Monday evening free to attend the Gossip/Jon Spencer Blues Explosion show with me. That would be rad. Speaking of rad, the Wilco show last weekend was great. Our seats were crappy, but the band sure wasn't.

Um, and I had another decent job interview, but you all know where good job interviews have left me thus far.

Please write for me!

Okay, so I've been talking on and off about starting a zine for a few years now, and my friend Aron is once again kicking my ass to get to work. He wants to design, I want to edit. And we need you.

The project will be online at first, with the possibility of print in the future when all involved are less broke. Besides, we'd like to see what we can do without having the added pressure of paying for and distributing physical copies.

Here are a couple themes and deadlines. Meditate on these and e-mail me, leave a comment, whatever. I'd love to hear from you.

The New Depression: Dec. 13
It's a cold, cold world out there, but sometimes our sudden rebirth as responsible adults inspires us to higher things. Sometimes...not so much. So, since it's a topic that's weighed so heavily on my mind lately, I want to read about how people made the leap from cozy, comfy college student to productive member of society. Or how they're not making the leap, or the process of learning the jump in the first place.

Story ideas here include: the painful process of the job hunt; eating on the cheap (beyond ramen); something that happened to you which forced you to "grow up" very quickly; the music, the people, the whatever that got you through; the reality of post-college.

First Loves: Jan. 19
Was it love at first sight? The first time you locked eyes with that stuffed gorilla, you were in your pajamas, he was sitting under the Christmas tree, and the din of "Jingle Bells" drowned out the joyful shrieks of your siblings. How old were you when you felt that kind of love again? Or maybe there's been no one since Charlie Sheen (tm Josie). We can feel passionate about a lot of things besides boys or girls. What's your best story on the subject?

Story ideas include: your first musical love; your favorite food; the myriad first attractions (crush, boyfriend, kiss, etc.); your passion in life, your first broken heart/failure.

The stories can be creative non-fiction, essays, short stories, illustrated stories or comics, or captioned photos. I'm not big on poetry, so please none of that. You can include illustrations, recipes, reviews, whatever if it makes sense.

Pleeeease write for me! I would really like something fun to put together! If you want further ideas, just ask! Thanks!

Further proof I was the worst journalism major ever:

I am pissed that today is a not-so-slow news day in the Bay Area and all this news crap is breaking and I don't get to watch Cagney and Lacey. Bitches!

They are spending precious minutes talking about a juror on the Scott Peterson case who did independent research, which, they've reminded us now a dozen times, is illegal. They have also shared all kinds of trivia about the woman without identifying her.

Then they are talking about a gas line explosion in Walnut Creek behind a high school. That one is pretty spectacular, but there isn't a whole lot of new information to share. Yes, the pictures do tell the story. The rest of the story seems to beg for a next-day print story for people who want that. Not taking up several minutes of daytime when I could be watching vintage feminist cop drama, dammit!

I am so not a news junkie.

By the way, I got plane tickets home for Christmas. I'll be in and out of Portland on Dec. 22 through the 29th, with a side trip up to Seattle/Olympia on one side of Christmas itself. I want to see people. Let's make plans.

Cut the pie in half.

How is almost half of us voting to change leadership--and, supposedly, numerous things that come along with that--an indication that the lesser half is "out of touch" with Americans?

A win is a win, sure, but it was still pretty close, any way you cut it. Almost half of everybody said, get this fucker out.

And yet...almost. So much in life ends up being a near-miss.

Honestly, I'd rather be "out of touch" than agreeing with everyone I think is wrong. That's not uniting. That's not democracy. That's brainwashing. It's peer pressure, and what did Nancy Reagan tell all us '80s kids about peer pressure?

Before the election, I tried to be reasonable, rational, and able to see both sides. It's hard, you know, when everything you hear from the opposition makes you furious. I tried to see it their way, and I failed, because I think it's the wrong direction for America. It's not the country I learned about in school. It's not the place I want it to be to the rest of the world.

This is bigger than the Democrats and the Republicans. Fuck the parties, seriously. I am not and will never be a true-blue Dem. They don't care about me. And you can say that difference of opinion is what makes America so great, that we can still work together, but the way things are going, I disagree. Not in the sense that I advocate totalitarianism, of course, but in the sense that the two "opinions" are entangled in a war of words, with each step drawing nearer to each other, so close they are virtually indistinguishable but for their fringe crowds.

For America to be great, I have to believe we have more diversity of thought than that.

A President Kerry would have assuaged my concerns enough to smile, while for many Americans, President Bush does the same thing. But in my heart of hearts, I can't believe either one would be better equipped to address the concerns of every American. One has to pick and choose, not for the common good, but for the political benefit. It's the game we all play when we vote.

Reality is never as pretty as dreams. It's sad to have it smeared in my face every election now. It's an imperfect system, run by imperfect people. I have to have the grace to accept that much.

And the energy to work to change what I can.

Boston U reader?

Who are you? Just curious. I love referral logs.

I've calmed down, I promise.

I'm still pissed, naturally, but I'm calmer about it. I mean, what the hell can I do? I've got other, more personal and pressing things to get depressed about.

It's nice and all to see the "don't give up hope!" types, with their lists of what you can do, but it seems like many of them are things one can't do without already having a lot of money. Which, you know, I don't.

On top of the readily apparent woes, I'm starting to realize the rapid approach of Christmas, which means plane tickets, presents, and the birthdays of two people close to me (as well as my own). Goddamn, I need a job...

Kevin has discovered Curb Your Enthusiasm. He failed the yield the title instructions and watched half the episodes in a day, with me trapped by his side. Not that I didn't enjoy the show, of course, but it's painful to watch. It's that gnawing sense of dramatic irony, the knowing he's going to piss everyone off through some miscommunication and end up worse for wear, and having no power to stop it. That can drive me batshit.

But not like zombies, no.

I think some mention of zombies crept into my dreams last night, waking me up and giving me brief pause before I returned to slumber. Stupid zombies.

I'm going to puke.

I've already cried. I'm wearing all black because I'm in mourning for my hope.

Bush is again speaking on my TV and he will never get off. People are cheering like he's a fucking rock star. Nothing's going to change. They know they won by such a small margin, but it doesn't mean they'll defer to us in the slightest. They've got the White House, they've got the Congress, they'll have the Supreme Court, and they have us by the balls.

How can everything be so, so WRONG?

And people banned gay marriage in 11 states. Fuck you very much. Washington might have a creepy Republican governor by a margin of 1,000 votes. Fuck you guys, too. Fuck the kids who apparently didn't turn out, even though almost everyone I know did. And Kerry--how the fuck did you not win, man? You suck.

I am fucking infuriated right now, and you know why. Probably if you read this regularly, you're infuriated, too.

No, Mr. Bush, you are not regaining my trust, my support, or anything. You're shitting on my country and calling it freedom.

So fucked. Gah. Can't say anything rational.

Disturbing Search Terms of the Week:

"celebrity's vagina." I swear. And I have no idea how that brought someone to my domain.

Pumpkin Fever!

Maybe that's going a little overboard, but these titles, you know? Coming up with a good thing to have in bold, large type at the beginning of every entry is a lot of pressure.

Josie left this morning for L.A. We had fun, though we didn't make it up to San Francisco. She decided the $10+ required for transportation and fun wasn't worth the pain of not being able to walk very well in a city where one really needs to walk, so we hung out around here.

Well, first we checked out an Ethiopian place in San Jose. It was pretty good. Then we went to Safeway and got $5 in Halloween candy and saw some of those annoying noisemaker stuffed animal toy things they sell around this holiday. Some played "Monster Mash." Others, terrifyingly enough, played "Hooked on a Feeling." *shudder*

Then, I don't remember exactly why, we detoured into Campbell to go to Whole Foods. I got a cooking pumpkin and replenished my whole wheat pastry flour and evaporated cane juice (sugar) supplies, which were running low. They are both necessary for pancakes and cookies, and god knows what I'd do without those.

My mom and I are discussing cooking now. Again. As always. She sent me to a recipe for Indian-style aromatic vegetables (how authentic they can be coming from Parade magazine, I wonder, but they sound tasty) and I'm thinking it sounds like an awesome way to have our mixed vegetable dish at Thanksgiving.

My sister is going to veer away from the nasty canned cranberry sauce for the first time ever and make her own fresh cranberry sauce, perhaps spiked with pomegranates. Because Margot and I are obsessed with pomegranates. In fact, I have two pomegranates to bring her from the market down here, where they cost just $1 a pound.

I know. We overplan. But food is important and delicious. We get excited. It's a bonding thing.

Paul, don't worry, we'll still have mashed potatoes and some kind of meat just for you. And bread. And pumpkin pie.

Anyway, Josie and I did Halloween suburb-style: watching movies and waiting for trick-or-treaters. We doled out the two bags of candy by 7:30 and turned off the porch light. We watched all of the horrible (or just horrifying?) Mariah Carey vehicle, Glitter, made some Thai yellow curry with pumpkin and tofu, which turned out well, and popped in Firestarter. We only got partway through when 9 o'clock rolled around and we both wanted to watch Desperate Housewives, like the TV-addicted, unemployed dorks we are. (For the record, however, Josie is much less dorky than me, and probably infinitely more employable.)

Speaking of the pumpkin curry, though, were I to make it again, I'd make butternut squash curry instead. The texture would be preferable.

Anyway, the job search continues this week, and I owe a lot of people cheery e-mails. And, in case the entire universe didn't already remind you, if you're a registered U.S. voter and you didn't already do it, please vote tomorrow. (Subtext: Please vote for Kerry. And Washington voters: Please vote Murray for Senate and Gregoire for Governor. Not that I wear my political leanings on my sleeve or anything.)

Another gray day...

and I still have the Cagney & Lacey theme stuck in my head.

I'm baking cookies (Lindsay, I'm glad they worked for you! I'll email you soon) and sort of preparing for my first houseguest. Josie will probably meander down 101 and find herself here tomorrow evening. We'll probably go to San Francisco for Halloween. She's never been to the city, so it should be fun. Or incredibly hectic, who knows!

Is anything else happening? No!

But I did get TWO pieces of personal mail today, which must be some kind of non-birthday record. One was a thank-you card from Kevin's sister, which had a very cute picture of her and her new husband on the front. The other was a total surprise Trader Joe's gift card from my mom. My mommy loves me and knows my neverending need for "unique" groceries--oh, I'm such a TJ's tool.

Am I desperate enough yet to get them to hire me? Even temp agencies won't call me back. I don't know.

Did my civic duty.

THANKS A MILLION to Chris! And also, for the magazines! Silly me, moving right when they're mailing every subscription I have.

Regime change begins at home, wherever you may be.

Confessions of a pancake whore.

Though I was never especially fond of pancakes as a kid--they were okay and all; I just preferred a good waffle or french toast--but lately, I've begun to see the power of the versatile breakfast flatbread that we call pancake.

And since I don't tend to keep eggs in the house, I've been making variations of vegan pancakes with varying success. The basic recipe is good enough (with a little vanilla for good measure), but I had to get crafty.

First I tried adding cinnamon and a little bit of chopped walnuts. The cinnamon wasn't very strong, but I still approved.

Today, I was jonesing to attempt a new variety: pumpkin.

So I started from scratch and roasted, then pureed, a pumpkin of unknown variety. It was a volunteer in Kevin's mom's garden. It smelled nice.

Then I followed the basic recipe, substituting 3 Tbsp. of pumpkin for the applesauce. Also, I used soy milk instead of water. I added some cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves and chopped a handful of pecans. The result was a batter that was too thick and didn't cook very well, so I thinned it out with approximately 1/2 c. of water.

The pancakes were not fluffy like a traditional buttermilk type, but they are dense and flavorful. Well, I think I put a little too much spice in it, and taking a big ol' bite of nutmeg is not pleasant.

On a subject unrelated to pancakes, I still don't have my absentee ballot. This sucks. I don't know what to do. Bleh.

But I do have pancakes in my belly. That's just as good as voting for Democrats, right? No? Oh, well.

Ad Rant: 21st Century "Real Replacement Parts."

The ad that tries to cast both car insurance and breast enhancement surgery in a positive light.

A man's voice, off-camera, tells an onscreen couple about the insurance company's perk of insisting on "real replacement parts" for damaged vehicles. The woman, a well-endowed, middle-aged woman with bottle blond hair smiles perkily and says, "Ooh, I like that!" The man, wearing a leisure suit and sporting an obvious toupee, leers at his wife and says, "Ehh, I'm not convinced."

The off-camera voice protests that aren't real body parts preferable? The man agrees, in the case of a car. For some things, he explains, fake is just as good. His wife gives a little giggle, and they stare goofily at each other.

Every time I see this ad, I want to yell. Also, for its intended comedy? It totally drags on too long.

In other ad-related commentary, you know you're in California when you hear ads for medicinal marijuana on the radio. Hee.

Bitches du jour:

And you know I've got plenty.

Bush is on my TV. Shut up, Bush.

I still haven't received my absentee ballot. If it doesn't come, I don't know, tomorrow, I might not get to fucking VOTE. And I can't even blame a corrupt electoral system for it. This is freaking me out.

No job prospects. Not even any interesting postings for almost a week. Feeling pretty desperate.

I am so fucking broke, it hurts. Do not want to think about this; will cry.

Kitchen is still a mess. Landlords are insistant upon fixing the problem with Drano and a plunger, which I am halfway certain will not work because the pipe fitting is actually loose. The whole thing is a mess and making me hysterical.

Produce in the fridge from last week is probably going to go bad soon if I can't use my kitchen to actually cook things soon. What a waste. I should at least try to wash some of it in the bathroom and freeze it. That will work for some of it.

Rest of the house is also a mess and it's really wearing on me, but it's so cluttered and huge that I don't even know where to begin, and so do nothing. And it's not my mess! My stuff is all pretty neat! It's Kevin's. And like hell he'll do anything. Guh.

I'm so hungry. Today fucking sucks.

Nothing much to say.

I feel like writing, but I don't have anything to say but the same old whines. I'm listening to stolen records (Christine's, I forgot to give them back) and pondering my next move.

Wondering, if life is a journey, did I get left on the wayside?

Can I dust myself off and hitch a ride? Keep walking into the unknown? Rummage through the roadside debris for a new metaphor?

I realize the vast majority of what I write here is pretty superficial stuff. If it's not a cursory run-down of what's happening, it's bitching, whining, or ranting about the usual shit, or TV commercials. I haven't got a poetic soul, just a sad and undeserving one, if I've got a soul at all.

I've become disconnected from the intellectual pursuits that gave me any sense of competence, the people who gave me a sense of belonging, and the goals that gave me something to look forward to. And I've resorted to hyperbole and over-dramatic shrieking on more than one occasion. Since I've finished school, my one lifelong pursuit since birth, I've become empty and senseless.

I have to keep telling myself I'll get the hang of life, sooner or later, but who knows? People stagnate and stop growing sometimes, too. Not all movement is forward. Optimism hasn't always served me well.

Every silent moment, filled with the din of media totally unrelated to myself, builds to form something I don't know yet. Will I like the person I am when the movement stops or changes?

And in my searching for a purpose, don't tell me to find God. Don't tell me what I should look for, because sometimes I find things better by wandering than by mission.

That's it. I've got nothing. Back to the headphones.

It looks like someone vomited all over my kitchen.

For the love of god, no one here is even sick. I was trying to dispose of a variety of past-their-prime leftovers in the garbage disposal when I noticed the sickly reddish liquid emanating from below the sink and trickling across the tile floor.

Kevin calmly assessed the situation, asked me for towels, and called the landlord, who naturally isn't home.

I'm just sure they're going to tell me I did some stupid thing I didn't know I wasn't supposed to do with garbage disposals. Stupid goddamn garbage disposals will be the death of me.

This time, I seriously have no idea what I did wrong. There were no bad noises and I don't dump out anything that shouldn't go down the drain, that I know of--it's all soft, mushy, plant-based items. I've fucked up disposals before--causing the sink the overfill after peeling too many potatoes into it and letting the starchy mess expand most recently comes to mind--but this takes the cake.

Plus, it ruined our box of dishwasher detergent and some other useful items. And it looks fucking disgusting. Gah.

Oh, and also!

The Gossip is opening for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion at the Fillmore next month. I am hoping to catch that show with my sister, because... well... Kevin wouldn't care at all, and Margot and I love the Gossip. I enjoy JSBX and I suspect she will, too. We'll dance our butts off.

And Kevin has tickets for the San Jose Wilco show around the same time, so yippie. Wilco in a venue with good sound and seats from which I hope the band is not ant-sized!

I like doing things.

That's why I like having a reason to leave the house.

Lately, I haven't had too many. Besides groceries. But yesterday, I took BART to the city ("it goes under the Bay?") and my sister took care of the rest. She brought me a soda and a falafel and took me to see Team America: World Police, which we naturally enjoyed. She then had an appointment with her personal trainer to jump rope or something, so I wandered up and down Polk St. for awhile before settling down in a boho-style cafe with a pot of herbal tea and a SF Weekly until she was done. Then there was wandering and soup and bread in the basement of Macy's before she got called to work and I got back on the train.

Though I had absolutely zero happening today, I hope tomorrow will be different. We might catch a matinee of I Heart Huckabees, finally, and we might head down to Santa Cruz. Kevin has computers to fix at relatives' homes, and relatives to spend time with, and I'm happy to tag along. I haven't met his grandfather yet, and I like his parents. So, yay.

But that's it. There is really nothing happening, particularly on the job front. It's depressing as hell, but if I think about Doing Stuff and not that I'm Not Doing Shit, I can pretend not to be depressed for awhile.

People Who Need to Blog:

Lindsay should blog. Graylan should actually write in his. Chris's Empty Cupboard unfortunately lives up to its name. Lauren should blog from all the glory of her French Catholic boarding house. You know what feature should be added to Team Julie Grant.com? That's right, a blog. You people should be providing me with endless reading material about the ins and outs of your fabulous lives. And don't think that just because I didn't mention you by name, you aren't part of my scolding, missy (or mister). I'm running on empty here, dammit. Give me some rocket fuel.

Also, Goodbye, Lenin! was a fucking lovely film.

Mm. Pizza.

Last night, Kevin brought me an Al Capone from this place. Holy shit yeah good yum.

Now, I need to make blogger not think that my writing portfolio lives in the same place as this blog. Grrrrr.

Mock Cock Fights Sell Chicken Sandwiches?

I understood the "subservient chicken" thing, but people in rooster costumes staging faux cock fights in Burger King television spots? What the fuck? I'd like to think I'm not a humorless vegetarian by any means, but when did cockfighting become an acceptable subject for lighthearted commercial humor?

Yes. I changed layouts.

I know this will be difficult for all of you. Mourn the crappy gimp-edited title graphic. But it had to be done, for the sake of comments. Which were very broken.

Also, I am trying this email-a-post feature.

ETA: Holy crap, it worked. That's sorta rad.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies.

This is a modification of the vegan Chocolate Chocolate Chip (with walnuts/pecans) recipe I posted some time ago, but it worked pretty well. I've reduced the sugar and taken out the chocolate chips... mainly because I don't have any chocolate chips.

Oven: 350' F

Mix together in a bowl:
- 1/4 c. flour (I use whole wheat pastry flour)
- 1/4 c. cocoa powder
- 1/2 tsp. baking soda

Add and mix:
- 1/2 c. sugar
- 3/4 c. oats
- few pinches salt

Stir in:
- 1/4 c. water
- 1 tsp. vanilla extract

When it's all coming together, add:
- 1 tbsp. canola oil

Then mash in:
- 1/4 c. crunchy peanut butter (one big scoop; I don't mash it into the measuring cup and try to put it in the bowl from there or anything because that's insane)

Scoop rounded spoonfuls onto a lightly greased cookie sheet and bake about 8-10 min. They will not spread much, so you can put them fairly close together and mash them down a bit (possibly like you would normal PB cookies, with the criscrossed fork pattern) so they're not just crispy ball o' cookie.

Nummeh!

Someone try this with an alternative nut butter and let me know how it is? I am too cheap to buy those things.

Broken.

Okay, so the commenting is fucked for now. I'll try to fix it later. But right now, I'm just going to be sad and broken and wishing this could all be over. Being unemployed sucks, to sum up.

I'll FTP You!@#

Blogger, you old scoundrel. We meet again.

Blogger's crack support team ascertained that it was my use of SFTP over FTP which caused the error. Nevermind that I was using FTP when this problem arose, but hey. It works now, and I can quit posting at LJ. Oh, hooray. But go check for the handful of updates there in case you missed it and you just can't get enough of me, giggle!

One annoying thing of note is that my old commenting system, implemented on my server before Blogger added built-in commenting, has vanished, and with it any comments left in the past year and a half. Grrr. Rather than set that up again, I might as well let Blogger's version take over. At least it seems to support line breaks.

Battling Green Eye Shades?

I have no idea what that means. If anyone can explain it, let me know.

Bush used this phrase during tonight's debate in St. Louis.

I'm offering it up to the powers of the internet.

What's Up?

Nothing much here. There's some things on my to-do list, not the least of which is GET A JOB--I have applied for two today that sound like things I'd actually want to do, and I've learned the Fremont Trader Joe's is hiring. Woop-de-shit.

The farmer's market here in Milpitas kicks a little ass. It's twice a week, year-round, and features locally grown produce for a damn song. This is not the U-District market where the all-organic selection is at least as pricey as doing all my shopping at Whole Foods. Granted, there's only one organic stall, but locally grown is still better for the environment than imported. I got a pomegranate for a quarter. Peaches were $0.80 a pound, and I got a ton of other stuff that is beautiful and hopefully I won't ruin with my cooking.

I should've gone to Whole Foods today, though. I might go after rush hour. But now it's four and the roads will make me sad until probably 6 or 7. Besides, Ellen is on.

The drive down provided me with a valuable lesson in lumbar support: namely, that the way I sit in my driver's seat provides none, leaving my shoulders in excruciating pain. They still hurt today. My mom did, however, show me how I can adjust not only the seat back, but the angle of the seat bottom and the steering column, which was amusing, but I'm not sure how helpful it was.

Our overnight stop was in Ashland, Oregon, a lovely town neither of us had made it to before. We didn't see any Shakespeare, but we did have a yummy meal at the Green Leaf Restaurant and enjoy a lot of cable TV. I got my mom into Dead Like Me, for example, so we were both excited to see a new episode after watching the first season on DVD. But she fell asleep halfway through the episode.

And there was a "Behind the Scenes" special on ABC Family after their Gilmore Girls marathon that really sucked. Half of the vapid host's questions of the show's stars revolved around rehashing the major plotlines and themes of the first couple seasons. The only part with any sign of life was when Kelly Bishop and Edward Herrmann were on. We were yelling at the TV for the host's ineptitude and crappy questions. This was not behind any scenes; it wasn't even between the lines.

The night before we left, I hung out with Becky at Denny's, where they apparently routinely run out of vanilla ice cream, rendering nearly everything on the dessert menu unorderable. So I got strawberry ice cream with chocolate syrup on it, which was pretty similar to this.

On Friday, I had dinner with Christine at the Thai-ger Room and met up with Jenny quickly. It was good to see them both, and I wish I'd made plans with more people. But I should be back for Christmas and see more people, not to mention the people who should come to the Bay Area and see me. This means YOU.

I also browsed the University Bookstore and discovered a half-dozen books I want, including Jon Stewart's America: The Book, a book about building furniture with 2x4s, the How It All Vegan cookbook, and some O'Reilly pocket books on a variety of computer things I want to brush up on. Damn this no money thing.

I am going to get my sister to paint the shower curtain. Kevin agreed to a bathmat that has color, so perhaps she can incorporate that. Only make it less kiddie.

Yeah, this is disjointed. I don't have a prevailing theme; this is just what's going on lately. I'm still sorting things out. I'll let you know what's going on when it happens. Promise.

Just make sure you keep me in the loop.

Here

Hello.

I'm here. My computer is working. We have a couch that is comfortable, even though it's comfortable in the garage for now. I have a new GSM phone, but the same number. I went to Ikea with Kevin and didn't fight. And I am now very tired.

I will write more later.

'Splosions!

Who doesn't like it when things blow up?

Or big burps?

I give this one a damn 10.

So St. Helens had a hissyfit today, which looked spectacular but is causing virtually no problems.

If it'd happened 24 hours earlier, I would've been driving through Kelso right when it happened. That would've been rad, but the traffic would no doubt suck.

I'm leaving Sunday for California. I know. It's soon. Insane. I need a fucking job, though, and I can't very well fly down every time someone wants to grant me an interview. Which, admittedly, hasn't been very many times so far.

I need to pack some more and clean my bathroom. And probably my room, but that will be harder.

Today I'm supposed to see some people who say they will miss me. Hah, silly people.

I drove a lot yesterday: round-trip to Portland with a stop in Olympia on the way south so I could spend time with my nieces and their parents. They're cute, but Kahnya splashes in the hot tub too much. Puthyda didn't seem to mind me too much. I was in Portland just to see Josie. I saw pictures from Jordan and we talked. It was a good visit. Plus, delicious Ethiopian food was consumed and Presidential debates were watched from strange angles, so it was a good evening.

Kevin checked out a couch on sale for $75 on Craigslist and deemed it adequate, so mom and I can pick it up Monday night. Yay! $75 is much cheaper than the minimum $200 for a less-than-cozy couch from Ikea! We also found a kitchen chopping block island thing that would be cool if I can't move the red-topped counter thing we have up here.

I gave away a couple old j-school books to my brother, who's on his high school newspaper staff now--the very same one where I cut my teeth as Layout Queen--with a bunch of stupid kids with no sense of aesthetics or ability to write decent copy. My brother is a decent writer and takes editing well, so I am encouraging him to be a pain about this stuff so the paper sucks less. But it isn't his passion in life, so who knows how far that'll go.

I wonder if there are journalism camps for kids interested in that area. My brother goes to music camps; my sister went to art camp; I never went to any camp and thought my main options were those academic, university summer programs for high schoolers where you get college credit or something. If there had been a journalism camp, or had I known about it, I probably would've jumped at the chance. Oh, well.

Anyway, leaving Sunday. Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. Wow.

A Few Good Things

Despite the elephant in the corner that is my unemployment, there are some good things going around.

Yesterday, Lindsay left me a present to cheer me up: a nice note, an excellent chocolate bar and a $5 Jamba Juice card. This was most unexpected, thoughtful and delicious. (Well, I haven't consumed it yet, but I am sure it will be. I am saving it for when I desperately need it, which will be soon.)

Lauren is officially off for France. I hope she's getting some most excellent international flight beverage and lunch service right now, but I don't know how likely that is.

Tomorrow I'm going to Olympia to get the Civic tuned up for an interstate drive and my teeth cleaned up. I haven't been to a dentist for over a year because I haven't had insurance. I still don't have insurance, but this time it's at mom's behest, so that makes it easier for me.

House issues appear to be resolving themselves somewhat. Kevin is more supportive of my need for a couch, though the problem of getting it to our house may be a hurdle. He's been going to Ikea, like, daily to buy new light fixtures due to the woefully underlit house. At least two of the lights were ones I whined that we needed, even--one of the floor lamps with a little reading lamp arm for in the living room and some little cabinet-mounted spotlights for the kitchen. We'll still have to figure out appropriate dining room lighting and how to replace the ugly, bulbous kitchen fixtures. He's also agreed with me about replacing the fugly window coverings.

I've made a list of furniture I think I should be able to make: a platform twin daybed with storage underneath to serve as TV lounging/guest sleeping in my room, a video game consoles storage unit for the living room, and possibly a bench, side table, and/or tall, narrow table for dining room storage and plant display. Anyway, I think these should be doable since they are boxy and simple. The house might not be annoying yet.

There's going to be a specific timeframe to get things nice, though, because we're hosting Thanksgiving. At least, I'm hosting my mom and brother, and my sister will come down from the city. Kevin's been told we can include his mom if he wants, or he can run away, or he can just be here with us. I just need to be with my family.

Last week, I went to Oregon with mom and Koko. It was fun to see Koko again and be reminded of why I want to go to Japan (for real this time). We stayed at the beach and rented Lost in Translation, which was fun to watch with a Japanese person.

Other than that, though, I've been doing a whole lot of nothing. My tolerance for crap TV is rising exponentially. I cleaned the house, even mopping the hardwood floors in the dining and living rooms with vinegar and Murphy's oil soap. I'm hoping to move next week, but most of what I have left to pack is best left unpacked until closer to then because it's stuff I'm using.

Milpitas to Millbrae

While I'm still depressingly unemployed, the weekend wasn't a total loss. I explored some public transit, mainly Caltrain, which rocked. It took three trains to get to the airport--could've taken four plus a bus if I hadn't made Kevin drive me to the Mountain View Caltrain station--and holy crap, am I tired now.

The interview felt like it went well, but apparently it didn't. Or there was just someone they liked better. Or both. I hate this whole process so fucking much. I just want to settle down with something, hopefully something that doesn't suck my soul.

I just ate a little bag of chocolate covered espresso beans my sister gave me, so now I'm jittery and sick. Those things are delicious but deadly. Argh. She also gave me a coconut truffle, some peanut butter and Butterfinger fudge, and a large peanut butter cup [insert Homer-style drooling here]. And a variety of black licorice for Kevin. And she bought me falafel for lunch, as well as the cappuccino and cheesecake we shared later in the afternoon. And put up with me for an afternoon of city-walking. Which was needed since she gave me all that frickin' fudge.

After San Francisco, Kevin met me in Palo Alto--which was such a fucking hassle, it was crazy--and we went to Ikea. Of course, it was there we realized our tastes and ideas for how a house should look and feel are totally different, I got pissy, and he bought some lightbulbs.

I'm not feeling especially lucky at the moment, but I plan to just move down in a couple weeks and figure things out from there. In the interim, I can pack, try not to starve or go too much deeper in debt, and do free things as much as possible. The more bored I am, the higher I find my tolerance for shitty daytime broadcast TV becomes. I want to move so I can take jobs immediately, including temp crap, and so I can just get to work making our house my home, too. I'd like to try my hand at DIY furniture (better than Ikea! Or at least cheaper, possibly, and more fun because I hate going to Ikea), sewing, gardening, etc.

Milpitas isn't as bad as I thought it would be--it's the 'burbs, of course, but it's a damn ethnically diverse 'burb. Which isn't necessarily better, but it's more interesting to me. Our nearest grocery store is an Asian supermarket. Not the ridiculously upscale kind like Uwajimaya, but the kind where the prices are marked with little stickers and signs written in Chinese, Vietnamese, and sometimes English. Lots of interesting stuff, even if it's not what we might need to buy regularly.

Also, we saw Napoleon Dynamite, which was eh.

Tonight, I guess dinner is pasta and spinach, if the spinach isn't rotten now. Ergh.

But I'm going to Oregon with mom and Koko tomorrow, so I can't justify groceries yet.

And Josie is coming home. Early. Hope we can meet on Thursday.

I have lots of stuff I could blab about, but this is pretty random as it is.

I'll leave you with this: the commercial for STAR 101.5 with the kids lip-synching pop songs dressed up like the singers is really creepy in a way I can't put my finger on. I hate commercial radio.

Inevitable

Of course I didn't get the damn job.

Brief Update

I am packing, and I fly down to San Francisco tomorrow night. My interview is on Friday, so I don't have quite enough time to get the car tuned up for a 13-hour drive. I did, however, manage to get a pretty damn good fare on Alaska, considering it was less than seven days in advance--$169 total. Kevin's going to pick me up and I can play house for the weekend after I kick some serious butt at the interview. Ha!

They gave me homework. I like this place even more for that, really. My resume on its own isn't terribly impressive, so that they're giving me a very practical way to demonstrate my skills is fantastic. I am totally psyched up for this.

Rachel is doing better--she just stopped by--and Becky is, as well, so thanks for your good thoughts.

I'll be back Tuesday and ready to watch a ton of TV. It's Gilmore Girls season premiere night AND the two-hour finale of The Amazing Race 5, which I've been watching with rapt attention and mentally nominating friends to compete in future races. And packing, lots of packing. And sorting. And getting rid of things. And I think Koko, an awesome Japanese student who used to board with my mom, will be visiting, so maybe I'll get to see her. And maybe, just maybe, there will be time to squeeze in another beach trip.

Hell, Yeah!

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

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

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

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

I'm THRILLED.

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

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

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

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

Trying to Settle

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, and part of it's PMS.

This Monkey's Gone...

I saw the Pixies, bitches.

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

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

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

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

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

Am I Wrong?

I just might be.

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

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

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

What the fuck?

--

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

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

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

Go to Neelam's on Greenwood!

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

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

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

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

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

The stuff he served originally was definitely better.

Head Congestion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

California Allergy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LiveJournal Account of the Damned

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

Yeah, it's whoring, but whatever.

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

Wookin Pa Nub

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

I so need to dominate.

Nice Day for a White Wedding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Climbed A Mountain

Really!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Week Gone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Excitement Never Ends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did Stuff Today--How Novel!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Official Rejection

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone seriously in the running is better than Bush.

And that anyone is Kerry.

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

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

Silence Speaks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I gotta get out of this.

If Experience Is Required, It's Not Entry Level

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dietician. What in the holy fuck?

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

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

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

Something has to.

Emate. What the fuck.

Nothing New

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, That Wasn't So Hard

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

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

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

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

Like Clockwork

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

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

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

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

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

And I still need a job. Pooh.

Yay America!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How I Spent My Summer Vaction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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