Some things you just shouldn't do.

People shouldn't cross an arterial road at night against the light. That's just fucking insane. That's how I just almost fucking hit someone coming home tonight.

I was driving down a 5-lane road near my house with a speed limit of 35 mph, probably going about 40. Everyone does. I approached a light where there is a left turn signal. The oncoming traffic was stopped so someone could turn left from my side of the road and I had a green, so I kept driving. Suddenly, she appeared from among the stopped headlights, crossing against the light, and I screeched to a halt, certainly inches from her. She was running away with a terrified expression, but I didn't hit her. So I kept going, which was maybe not the right thing to do. Are you supposed to stop if you didn't actually hit? But jesus christ, she was running away.

If you're going to jaywalk, do it responsibly. Especially at night. Jesus fucking christ.

My heart was pounding and my body was shivering for the rest of the drive home. My god, what if I did hit her? What would have happened? Who is at fault?

As a driver, I know I have a responsibility to look out for pedestrians, which I do. I stop to let pedestrians cross when I'm waiting to turn right; I look both ways at the mid-block crosswalks in my neighborhood. I spent a long time as a pedestrian myself; I know what assholes drivers can be. Pedestrians should be given the right of way in all cases, but what if they're breaking the law and you don't see them?

What if my eyes failed me and I ran a red light without even knowing it?

What if someone witnessed it, thought I hit her, and called the police on my ass for a hit and run?

Thought-showers.

I wasn't even going to post today--not a whole hell of a lot to say--but I wanted to respond to this week's Free Will Astrology for me.

This week's horoscope was about brainstorms: "I don't care what term you employ, Sagittarius, as long as you just do it. You're overdue for prolonged encounters with mind volcanoes, imagination avalanches, and creativity hurricanes."

I AM A HURRICANE. I have killed people!

But I'm having trouble with my creative side. I just can't get started. I need to spend more time talking to people. This isn't even possible at work anymore because we are too freakin' busy. Unfortunately, that is my greatest exposure to fellow humans.

It's getting a little desperate up there in my head.

Also, cats are cool.

And in case you hadn't already seen these sites which have been making the Internet Dorkdom rounds for weeks already, here they are.

Kitten War

and

Stuff on my Cat

If I ever get a cat, I am naming it Snark. But I am allergic to cats and so is Kevin, so that isn't happening any time soon.

I will also take this opportunity to tell Aja that she needs to come here in August and we will go see Dinosaur Jr. Because just saying so on IRC isn't meaningful enough. I also promise pancakes and a rousing game of Apples to Apples.

Back and forth. Forever.

This is blatant google-baiting, but please go see Me and You and Everyone We Know so you will understand the line above. And then you will laugh with me about it. I cannot explain the joke because you will think I am dumb and it will ruin everything. Just, go.

And now, a round-up of recent search terms that brought people to my humble web abode.

mclenin's explanation
What's to explain? It's a tshirt with a drawing of Lenin and the Golden Arches. It says "The Party is Over." It's kind of awesome.

"daybed with storage"
Well, that's a fascinating search that brings you to a blog.

"bittersweet symphony" lyrics mourn
I don't know what this is referring to, exactly--I don't recall the word "mourn" in the song. Maybe a band called Mourn covered it.

skittles sheep boy commercial
I'm surprised how many hits I get from people searching for commercials. I wasn't sure what to make of that commercial, and I'm definitely not sure what to make of people who want to see it again so badly they google it.

carkeek park train pictures
Oh, this is a good one. My favorite park in the city of Seattle has a rickety pedestrian bridge that crosses the railroad to get to the beach. When the trains come, you can stand on the bridge and it feels almost like you're going to be swept away. (This effect is best felt with freight trains; Amtrak feels wussy in comparison.)

mister olympia 2004
Given that this referral was from the Portuguese google, I can only assume they are not referring to some kind of male pageant in my hometown.

Gravy Train song " You Make me Nervous" and
You make me nervous. hella, hella nervous
I get so many fucking hits for this lyric, I swear to god. The last time I did this, I had the same thing. Go here.

i was driving when the radiator burst mountain goats
The lyrics game will be the death of me. "See America Right" was the first Mountain Goats song I ever heard.

"trivial pursuit pop culture" questions
Oh, dude. These are fun, but ridiculously easy. RIDICULOUS. I recently played--I think it was the '90s edition; whatever it is Josie has that is recent--mopped the floor with it, friends. There is too much excess information floating around up there. This is how I know I am my father's daughter.

questionnaire Would you come to my funeral
Weeeeeird. I don't know what questionnaire you'd need someone to fill out to ensure full funeral attendance. I know at least two songs that refer to funerals, though: "Dress Sexy at my Funeral" by Smog and "With Bells On" by Sloan. Have fun searching.

"netflix for music"
Netflix for music that works exactly like movie Netflix would be lame. However, I can recommend eMusic as a cool mp3 downloading site.

"united state of electronica" KEXP dancers
Sometimes I'm surprised that my seething irritation with the U.S.E. doesn't get me hate mail, considering (1) how apparently popular they are in Seattle and (2) how many freaking hits I get about them.

the daily growl lyrics
I couldn't google them, either. Some bands are hard to find straight-up lyrics listings for when the 'net is so cluttered with reviews. Lambchop must be one of them.

swirlie
I don't even know what to say about this. It's so whimsical, and yet depressing.

No one has searched for "peanut butter and jelly, that's what I like in my belly" recently. I'm sad.

P-p-p-p-p-por favor!

Telemundo is showing Who Framed Roger Rabbit? right now, dubbed into Spanish, of course. Every time there is a visual component with English writing on it, there's some narrator who VO's the interpretation. This happened at least six times in the opening Baby Herman cartoon. It's awesome.

I spent a large chunk of the day watching episodes of Airline so I can return the DVD, then He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, which was really, really dumb. I saw the preview a few years ago and knew then what the basic plot would be. I'm not sure why I added it to my queue or how I neglected to take it out before I actually got it.

If it cools off around 6, we might go for a walk near the Bay, but otherwise, today is a day of extreme laziness. It's 80 degrees and that makes me want to die. I know, I know--that's nothing. Still, air conditioning is about the only reason to look forward to work tomorrow.

Man, Roger Rabbit has a more hilariously adverse reaction to liquor than I do. I just think it tastes like cough syrup, no matter how low the alcohol content or how tasty the supposed flavor. But it would be much cooler if my response to, "What? Why don't you drink?" was: "My eyes pop out of their sockets and I start changing colors and shaking violently."

Riding the electrified third rail.

First of all, it was a mistake to think I could get away with wearing my new boots in San Francisco. My sister and I, no matter how lazy our plans, always spend at least an hour walking all told. She will say a place is at "the end of my street," and it's 12 blocks away.

So by the time I reached the Powell St. BART station around 8 p.m., my calves and toes were crying out for mercy.

Not that this precludes the day from being full of joy and wonder, mind you. Margot's new apartment is in an awesome location and looks amazing. Her new roommate is sweet. Her bar is stocked, not that this matters to me, but it does to her. Her kitchen has a gas range. You could do a lot worse.

We picked up a falafel to split and had coffee from somewhere--iced--and hung out at her place for awhile before the day's activity was decided. It was determined that we would go to a store and buy things to cook. This involved a bus trip up Geary to Trader Joe's, where Margot stocked up on liquor, coffee, and coffee-flavored liquor, and I got things to make a small Mexican-style feast.

The food turned out amazing: tilapia fillets baked in a jar full of Cuban mojito sauce, black beans mashed with garlic and baked with pepper jack cheese, and avocado mashed up with fresh lime and salt; finished off with pico de gallo and thick corn tortillas. We ate it all. We are gluttons.

At that point, we determined that a visit to Good Vibrations was in order. Margot said it was "just up the street" from her apartment, which it was, in fact, not. That is when my toes inside my boots started screaming at me. Perhaps I really am not cut out for wearing shoes with a 2-inch heel after all. Anyway, we went to Goodwill on the way, which was amusing and somewhat productive. I found two boring shirts to wear to work; as we were heading to the register, Margot spotted a cute, hippie-ish top that fit her perfectly and was quite flattering, really. Score. Good Vibrations yielded the expected level of amusement from penis pasta, boob cake tins, flaccid dildos for sexual acts we are too young to know about, and multicolored vibrators of all shapes, sizes, and species. I don't even want to know how many high-larious google hits that last sentence is going to get me.

My feet were trying to fall off my body, so we thought about catching a movie, but our timing was all wrong, so we parted ways and I got on the next train towards home.

And here I am. Home. Happy to be barefoot.

I know it ain't gonna last.

Hello, America. Got any good weekend plans?

Me, I'm just taking advantage of the unfortunate circumstance of my sister's boyfriend's jerkiness which lead her to be in San Francisco and not scheduled to work this weekend (when she was supposed to be in Seaside, Ore.). That is, I'm going up to the city tomorrow to check out her new place and probably bug her for a few hours before coming home to rot further in front of my TV and/or stereo.

Things that are good for my ears this week: John Vanderslice, Dan Bern (thanks to the Editor), Sufjan Stevens, the Pixies, Charles Mingus, and oddly, Mercury Rev. I am just barely over the Mountain Goats obsession hump. My boss popped in a Sleep Chamber CD while we worked overtime alone in the office the other night, which was alternately interesting and creepy-hilarious.

I haven't been spending much time watching TV. It's too hot to not listen to music. Besides, even the second-rate reality crap I was watching is now ending, so it's a whole lot of who-the-fuck-cares. Besides, music is much less enraging.

I'm so fucking tired from this week. Restless and tired.

Time and a half.

Christine said something interesting in an email. She suggested we should be able to network for friends like some people do for jobs. I suppose that's ultimately what happens on the Internet, but it doesn't make what she wrote any less amusing: "Instead of saying, 'I'm looking for a job, these are my skills and interests, do you know of any' you say, 'I'm looking for friends, these are my skills and interests, do you know of any?'"

I'm going out of my head with boredom. I really am. I am so bored that I am trying once again to like Xiu Xiu. No one is talking on IRC, no one is on AIM, no one is at my house, and you know how I feel about the phone when it comes to people who are not already considered "safe." (Yeah, I have some fucking issues I need to resolve.)

I was at work until 7. It's after 9 and I can't even find my boyfriend. Not that he wants to do anything besides curl up with his musical equipment this week, so I'm not sure which is more frustrating: that he's not here, or that he probably wouldn't want much to do with me if he were here.

That's a sad fucking statement. I promise that isn't all there is to life all the time. He's a software engineer with an artistic side and a deep loner streak. These things happen.

I need some mental stimulation. I need more things to get excited about and less to whine about. I need to go out and find those things.

Category 2!

Hurricane!

Is it wrong to be amused by a destructive storm that shares my name?

Deeeeeeluxe.

Bean sprouts, that is. Stolen from my memory of the Thai-ger Room.

-1 block of firm tofu, drained of as much water as possible
-cornstarch
-oil to fry

Cut the tofu into wedges and dust it with the cornstarch. Then fry on each side until lightly browned.

In a wok or other large pan, saute:

-little oil
-tons of garlic (no, really. Tons)
-as much red pepper as you can handle

Add the fried tofu wedges and:

-soy sauce, to taste
-3 chopped scallions

Cook the wedges a little more until they are coated with flavor. Mmmm, flavor. Take out and set aside, but be sure to leave most of the scallions, garlic, and pepper in the pan. Then add:

-a whole bunch of bean sprouts
-a little extra soy sauce if you need to deglaze the pan or something

Stir the flavor and the bean sprouts quickly, being careful not to overcook the sprouts.

Serve with rice. Brown if you're a health nut like me. Hah.

Aside from the time it took to prepare the tofu, this takes maybe 10 minutes to do. And you can buy pre-cooked fried tofu from many Asian markets. Yum.

Three entries in one day? It may be a RECORD.

As fucking promised.

Without further ado, here's a list of movies. Or two lists. Or one list broken into two sub-lists. Anyway, there's 10 of 'em; I've committed.

5 for Funny

1. The Big Lebowski

But of course, it isn't great only because it's funny. I laugh and I quote, but there is so much more. If you have not seen it or you do not like it, you do not understand. If you were stoned and/or drunk for it, you might not understand. This movie makes me want to write analytical papers of LOVE.

2. Harold and Maude

Again, not an entirely hilarious movie, but the comedy is black as night. I've already made all of you watch it. I don't have to explain it.

3. Dr. Strangelove (or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb)

So many perfect lines. It's probably my favorite Kubrick (though A Clockwork Orange and Full Metal Jacket are awesome as well).

4. Rushmore

God, I have nothing intelligent to say about these movies, at least not in this context. The criteria appear to be: This movie made me laugh. This movie made me think. This movie made me watch it again and again. This movie made me force my friends to watch it. This movie made me repeat lines and situations from it. Rushmore's more oft-quoted line: “Oh, ARE you?”

5. The Princess Bride

This failed to make me think too much, but it succeeds on all other counts. It's a shared cultural experience, really. Best in Show receives an honorable mention here.


5 for Not-Funny

1. Hedwig and the Angry Inch

This is the only—ONLY—musical I have ever loved. Well, okay, The Sound of fucking Music (Nazis!), but this totally wins. I actually like the music and there is some semblance of plot and character development.

2. Rear Window

This may be only because I own it on VHS, but I've watched it many times, and it only improves with each viewing.

3. Heavenly Creatures

A Peter Jackson movie that isn't horror or fantasy? With a young Kate Winslet and disarmingly fucked-up based-on-a-true-story plot? Love it.

4. Annie Hall

I know Woody Allen is both hated and a comedian, but I don't find his movies very ha-ha funny, at least not the ones that resonate.

5. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

If for no other reason than the amazing score...but of course, the movie is at least as good as the score.

I have a hard time committing to the latter group, especially, because a lot of movies I think are amazing I've only seen once, and I don't feel comfortable plopping those down in my top 5 or 10 or whatever.

Confidential to the Editor: Happy now?

Here I am.

Rock you like a hurricane.

Notice my emphasis on LIKE A. Because right now I am only a tropical storm. But I can pick up wind speed and make landfall and fuck some shit up!

Always look on the bright side of life.

Apologies to Monty Python.

Things may be hectic and ridiculous at work, but one big headache got shoved out the door along with almost everything else by 5 p.m., and I made it through the day without shooting myself in the head. Any day where I don't actually die is probably okay on some level.

After work, I met up with the Editor again. He scored passes to the Santa Cruz Built to Spill show, but we decided to skip it in favor of not driving over the hill and getting back after midnight or worse. Instead, we saw Me and You and Everyone We Know, which was better than anticipated. I mean, I'd heard it was decent, but I enjoyed it very much. Some people, who shall remain nameless, with certain in-jokes with me about poop will enjoy its humor, though it is at times even more surprisingly crass than we could ever imagine.

Don't we all have a few in-jokes about poop with someone? No? You people live sad little lives.

AND ALSO. For those who are about to fucking ask. This is not dating. If I were to hang out with a chick and do the same things, no one would say that. This annoys me, for some reason.

When I arrived home, a USPS package containing my new boots was waiting for me. They are so cute! They will require much breaking in, but they are cute! I have cute shoes! And I did not pay $150 for them! ...Only $50. They were on sale from Nordstrom.com, and only in black and only in my size.

Okay, tomorrow I will do up the 10 movies. I made a promise. I will also make my pathetic approximation of bean sprout deluxe (a la the Thai-ger Room). That is the plan. But plans, as we all know, are wont to change.

Empty title.

I'm completely devoid of commentary this week. I've had pretty much nothing to do at work when everyone else is crazy-busy. (It was this crazy-busy-ness that cheated me out of Friday night's plans, incidentally.)

So I keep wanting to write, but I don't know what to write about (besides the movies, which I want to be in the mood to do, because right now I'm liable to be all, "I dunno, I kind of don't give a fuck about anything, here's some shit I gave 5 stars on Netflix, blah").

Lots of parentheticals. I am bored to the point of being drained.

I tried to get Kevin to go hiking today--pursuant to his desire to not use up an entire weekend or even a day on these sorts of activities, what bothers they are, I attempted to pick a moderate difficulty 2-3 hour trail in advance that is located less than an hour drive away, and I could have directions and food ready to go in the morning. The 45 minutes it would take to drive up in the hills west of here was too far, he said, as was anything around Hwy 9 in the redwoods. He said maybe something closer, but still with trees. I don't think you can get trees much closer than 45 minutes. I grew weary of this argument (mostly one-sided on my part, because he doesn't get angry, he just picks a branch of logic and goes with it) and have had a lazy Saturday to show for it.

Maybe we can go to the wildlife refuge in the early evening, after the sun goes down a little. It won't be muddy and stormy like last time we went, and it is reasonably pretty.

In happier news, my new burner rules. I burned a CD in under 5 minutes. Kevin found an app, k3b, that supports on-the-fly decoding of mp3s and OGGs for audio CDs and works very much like Easy CD Creator and all that. The interface is a little fluffy and clumsy, but user-friendly and functional. I think he also got DVD support working because he was using it earlier.

On the other hand, I have apparently lost my old homepage/blog layout graphics, and that is really annoying. I must've deleted them from everywhere I still have access to. Fuck. Redesign in the works when I fucking feel like it.

My old blog is depressing me, because even though the summer of 2002 was a crazy time, I was writing a lot and I actually like the way I wrote some things and was excited about stuff. Pretty much everything I've written lately has been so lame, it reminds me of why I quit playing guitar: it's frustrating and I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere with it. I must've lost my callouses.

People have commented that I am a very angry person. I'm not sure if I was always this angry, or if it's just been building. I take it out on things I can't control, but I know it isn't about other drivers and television commercials. I think it's okay to scream sometimes, even if it's petty, because it lets a little of the deeper anger slip out, too. But maybe I'm fooling myself on that one.

For my own amusement, may I present...

Me, at age 20. A tumultuous year, indeed.

I fixed the template so it isn't using images that have long since been deleted from UW's servers. That was a pretty, pretty layout, though.

Whine and dine.

I promised The Editor (how's that for a creative moniker?) I'd write about my top 10 movies this week, but I'm not feeling up to it today. I received M in the mail and still have my mom's copy of The Motorcycle Diaries to watch, but I've strangely not been in the mood.

This did not, however, stop me from seeing Kung Fu Hustle last night, which was exactly the kind of happy pill I needed this week. I also realized how much I fucking miss going to movies and doing things and oh man. I gotta do shit more often. Talking to cool people + seeing cool things + not sitting home on my lazy white ass on an otherwise dead weeknight = good. I even have plans for Friday night, as my coworker and I decided to go see (probably) Howl's Moving Castle and have some dinner.

I cannot stop listening to the Mountain Goats. It's sort of driving me insane, but it's all I want to hear anymore. This happens sometimes after I see a band, though, and the obsession always fades.

I don't even know what I was thinking I'd write about today. It's weird times. I woke up to the news about London, as I'm sure everyone did. I'm slowly contemplating where I want to be in life and how to get there, that sort of thing, because while I'm okay now, it certainly isn't where I want to be forever. But who is at that place at age 23? Or, for that matter, 30?

I've known since I was a teenager I could do better.

God bless America.

It gets harder every year to think of an appropriately cynical way to mark this holiday.

Instead of making a picnic and heading for a grassy knoll with 60,000 others to watch pyrotechnics in a designated locale, Kevin and I headed to the Redwoods for a stroll, where Kevin came up with a potentially brilliant idea I will discuss in a moment. After that, we headed into Santa Cruz, browsed Streetlight, noticed our favorite Thai restaurant in town had disappeared, and went to Capitola to eat dinner at Dharma's. (When I crave a salad, I crave the basic salad from Dharma's with their tahini-lemon dressing that's inexplicably good.)

Kevin's brilliant idea is to rent another place near Santa Cruz in which to spend the weekends. He wants the Redwoods. He was torn between a tiny place or a big place; considering whether or not to move his music equipment; questioning how much time he could realistically spend there. Upon checking rental availability and rates on Craigslist, I think he may be reconsidering, but it's kind of a happy thought, anyway.

The Redwoods are always lovely to visit. There's a certain serenity in the carpet of shamrocks, each on their own planes tilting toward sunlight. While younger trees stand straight and tall, the more ancient creatures and those recently passed display knots and gnarls and the gentle patterns of age as though imbued with the likeness of the divine itself. This visible spirit is awe-inspiring, really.

We never made it to the sand. Several beaches were blocked to traffic and already overrun with eager fireworks spectators, and by the time we parked somewhere in Aptos, I didn't feel like making the trek. I saw the ocean and felt the breeze; that was enough for me. Not so for Kevin, but he's sort of at my mercy as a bitchy girl.

I haven't seen a single firework today, though I've heard dozens. With or without them, these days there's little to stir the rah-rah spirit within me as far as national pride goes.

Three days of nothing.

I must have some kind of cosmic time-management problem. Only typical weekends seem to get packed with activity, while this expansive holiday weekend, I can barely find a reason to drag myself out of bed. I've been spoiled by houseguests, who always want to do things.

Sure, I've got DVDs to watch—or did, until I watched them all—and I'm in the middle of a great book, The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. Yesterday I found a decent pair of jeans at Ross and bought some pretty black slacks at Target. Kevin got my burner working, at least the CD capabilities and using a command line interface I'm not nearly smart enough to know how to use yet, so I can listen to Tallahassee in the car. It's been hot as hell, and yet I made soup yesterday. I'm not feeling creative enough to throw together anything else; in other dishes, overcooked vegetables are more of a detraction. My plants are almost certainly dying.

I painted my short (but not bitten) nails Vixen red, much to Kevin's amusement. He seems to find it funny whenever I do something girly. Wear a skirt; he giggles. Shave my legs; he's laughing. Go shopping for clothes; he's confused. Dye my hair; he marvels at the disgusting state of affairs while the color sets. I have never met a boy so strangely and openly beguiled by a girl's simple vanity. (And it is simple—if you've ever met me, you probably know I put minimal effort into my appearance. The hair gel is just because my hair doesn't take barrettes kindly and it sucks to have hair falling in my face all day at work.)

So today may or may not be filled by an assortment of activities from the following: thrifting at the Savers on Bascom (Savers is to California what Value Village is to Washington), visiting Kevin's coworker's holiday party, watching streaming video of Deep Impact, a round of mini-golf, seeing a movie like Me and You and Everyone We Know, going to Whole Foods for tahini to make hummus, visiting a park or one of the open spaces. So far we've agreed to exactly none of these activities, but if I don't get out of the house today, I'm going to be whiny. How this differs from the norm, I don't know.

Last night we went to Udupi Palace, which serves vegetarian South Indian food that is relatively non-greasy and tends to be yummy. I ordered a spinach masala dosa and masala tea. Because I was starving when a regular masala dosa arrived, I figured my order was misheard and dove in. A few minutes later, a spinach masala dosa arrived, followed by Kevin's order. I figured there was a mistake in the order, that the waiter thought I ordered a masala dosa instead of masala tea, but when the bill arrived, I saw that wasn't the case. I paid a little extra tip, packed up the spinach masala dosa, and went home, confused and very full. I never did get any tea.

We saw the fireworks at Great America from 237 as we went to the restaurant. I've heard events in my neighborhood since Friday night, as well as the loud POP sounds from kids playing with explosives. This is going to go on for the next week, at least. I hate the 4th of July.

One of those weeks.

Some nights, I really wish I liked the taste of alcohol. Work has been hectic, to say the least, and I'm so glad it's a 3-day weekend, despite my complete lack of plans.

Well, there's DVDs, and possibly some movies, and maybe we'll go down to Santa Cruz or a park. And my bathtub needs cleaning. My new burner arrived, so I'll have to get Kevin to work on it. There are many CDs I'd like to burn, many Mountain Goats records from emusic I want to have in my car, many fun mixes to create, many cover songs to gather for the stranger from the Internet (whose name is TOP SECRET, apparently, in my mind).

Oh, I fucked up. I was going to write, but I turned on the TV. The TV kills all writing thoughts that do not involve irrational anger toward commercials. Bad TV!

Things could be worse, though. I could be homeless and begging for money in the Whole Foods parking lot.

Foods that are making me happy today.

Besides all of them.

Breakfast of Trader Joe's California complete protein bread with almond butter and marionberry preserves, strawberry yogurt, and cranberry-orange juice.

Lunch from the Trader Joe's refrigerated section: vegetable sushi, noodles with carrots, cilantro-lime dressing, and toasted coconut and peanuts, and a protein with PZAZZ (I swear that is how they spell it, inexplicably) shake.

We picked up a box of lime juice popcicles, too, and enjoyed them later in the afternoon.

Dinner? Ethiopian again. This time with Kevin's mom and grandfather, so we were able to order pretty much every vegetarian item (and his grandfather had the lamb, thanks to Chris's previous recommendation). Gojo's vegetarian menu includes a veggie combo of the spicy red lentils, mild yellow split peas, collard greens, a mixture of cabbage, carrots, and potatoes, and a lightly dressed green salad. In addition to that, we get mitten shiro, which is a smooth gravy of pureed chickpeas and spices, and timatim fitfit, a cold, sour mixture of tomato, onion, bell peppers, and pieces of injera. It is all super delicious and I LOVE IT.

Despite my very full belly, I felt the need to break into my super dark chocolate bar. It soothes the soul. Plus, I have some sparkling lemonade.

And this is all I can think to write about today.

Fellow bloggers, avail yourselves.

The MIT Weblog Survey is cool. It's like making science!

Putting it out there.

I'm not a writer. I write, but I don't think of myself as a writer. You'd think a girl who got a degree in journalism and has a(n admittedly paltry) portfolio of published and non-published nonfiction would be a writer, but no.

But I'd like to be, I think. I'd like to be part of that process. It's enthralling.

And so, as a kind of first step in that direction, I'm going to write down why I'm not a writer now. The stupid excuses I have to get over before I can think of myself as fully realized adult and claim myself for what I want to be. My sister's the artist, my brother's the musician, and I'm the writer.

Is that self-absorbed enough to start? Good. It's about to get worse.

I need to be confident in my abilities. I can get through an interview without stuttering or making people think I'm a complete asshole; I need to stop thinking like I can't.

I need to believe in my own ideas. People read the boring shit I throw up here; surely even a half-researched and competently written story about not-me would be interesting to more people.

I need to stop thinking that the butterflies in my stomach give me an out.

I need to trust people. I missed a lot of opportunities in college because I wasn't willing to put myself out there.

I need to find a way to get the thoughts in my head out that doesn't involve waiting until I reach my destination. I also need to hope these ideas don't come out only to reveal themselves as crap.

I need to think of bedtime as flexible.

I need to value ideas and process over laziness.

I need to treat my blog as more than a schedule receptacle.

***

This isn't quite a to-do list, just a list of things I'm aware that I blame for my complacency.

Anything you want to know about? I'm accepting story requests. They can be anything that could be covered in a brief entry and wouldn't require press credentials to competently research.

It's an experiment I'm willing to try. Anyone else out there?

Ten Records I Still Love.

In no particular order, and subject to change at whim.

The Northwest Bands:

• Death Cab for Cutie, We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes
  Before I had to explain to people that the guy from the Postal Service was in this other band, which is also, believe it or not, ridiculously popular for an indie, there was this record. And it is love.
  
  
• Unwound, The Future of What?!
  Every time I try to explain why this record rocks me, all I can come up with is lyrics: “I'm on a subway to a place I can't pronounce / But at least I didn't pay. / A train of thought for a movie plot / Starring me and you, insane. / Can I tempt you with natural disasters?”
  
  
• 764-HERO, Weekends of Sound
  Great driving music from a band named after the number you call in Western Washington to report carpool lane violators.
  
  
• Quasi, Featuring 'Birds'
  A divorced couple sings dirty harmony about broken relationships, bitterness, and depression. I don't know why I wouldn't like it.
  
  
• The Gossip, Arkansas Heat
  This EP captures the essence of their live shows better than the full-length LPs (not to mention the actual length of the average show). It makes me shake my ass for 20 minutes straight, which is no small feat during traffic.

The Non-Northwest Bands:

• The Pixies, Doolittle
  This should be obvious.
  
  
• Massive Attack, Mezzanine
  So sexy, I want to die.
  
  
• Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane over the Sea
  Again, obvious. For the uninitiated, this is a spectacle of near-perfect indie rock insanity. Not for the faint of heart.
  
  
• Talking Heads, More Songs About Buildings and Food
  I don't know if it's cool to like the Talking Heads or what, but I do. David Byrne strikes me as completely fucking nuts in a way that rivals Bjork, which is great. Plus, again, it makes me wanna dance.
  
  
• The Mountain Goats, Tallahassee
  This may be thrown on due to its freshness in my mind, and also for “No Children.” Which is not to discount its awesomeness in any way.

That's all I can commit to at this time. I should update this list every couple months, just to see how it shifts. Yes. I aspire to make list so obsessive that I can put them into a spreadsheet and create a graph. To post on my blog. That would be awesome.

Frustrations.

I want to preface this by saying I try not to talk about work, and I sure as shit don't name names. I'm easily googled and a few coworkers (friendly coworkers) know about the blog, even if they don't read it much. (I don't know why anyone reads this, actually.) But considering a majority of my wakeful hours and social interaction occurs at work, sometimes I feel like talking about it--and by it, I don't mean the work I do, just some things I think about as a result of those social interactions. So, coworkers, if you do see this, don't take it personally that I'm a dork.

That enough bullshit disclaimer for you?

On Friday, some people were giving me grief about my "date" for the evening, which did not help my nervousness in the slightest. I get nervous about meeting people. I get nervous about meeting people I think will be cool because I don't want to be a dork. I get nervous about doing things with strangers where I could get in trouble. I do not need the additional crap that is my coworkers wrongly accusing me of going on a "date."

I have no idea why I'm so sensitive about that. But making fun of me was their reaction to my nervous state, and it wasn't helping.

At 5 o'clock, I was so sick of being in the office that I just walked outside and leaned against my car, waiting for a call. It was sunny but not too warm, even in my black jacket. One coworker emerged from the office and made her way to her car, calling out, "You look like someone who's waiting for a date!"

To which I did not react kindly, though (I think) in a sarcastic enough way. I'm not very tactful.

And as she drove off, I waved.

Today at lunch, she announced with a laugh that I'd flipped her the bird. She also did an amusing impression of my body language that I hope to god was greatly exaggerated.

I'm sure I turned bright red as I leapt to my own defense. I only flip off people with whom I have the kind of relationship that we have an understanding it's a joke! Like when you tell your best friend to fuck off! You don't mean it! It isn't undercut with the severity reserved for true ire. The kind of ire I wouldn't dare direct at a coworker I hardly know in the parking lot on a Friday night when all she's done is tease me.

Sometimes I feel like such a little kid in the office. I'm not used to relating to people 5+ years my senior as peers. When I tell everyone I'm fucking 23 and a baby, I don't mean it to imply that I think they're all REAL FUCKING OLD, just that I'm really young, as if this means anything besides half of their pop culture references are meaningless to me. Anyway, it's a weird feeling. I've always had friends who were within 2 years of me, besides adults in teacher-type roles. I've also always been a student. I'm still adjusting to this new role in life. There's still cognitive dissonance to work out.

In other news, my mom and I visited Big Sur this weekend, where the gas is a good $1 more than the Bay Area (the fabled $3.50/gallon!). It was gorgeous, especially this little trail mom read about on the Internet where you drive 36 miles south of Carmel, look for a row of colorful mailboxes on your right, then go around a bend and down the hill a bit and park in a turnout near a locked iron gate (not marked "private property"). It's about 2 miles and you see some nice redwoods, a stream, and some spectacular swells crashing against the rocks.

Did I mention we were on a sailboat Saturday? It was cool.

We also visited Hot Pot City for the first time, which felt like a strange combination of fondue, Mongolian BBQ, and campfire cooking, but it was a satisfying meal.

And today I ordered a DVD-RW/CD-RW drive that supports dual layer DVDs and a bunch of other acronyms and stuff from New Egg for $50 with tax. My 7-year-old 6x Smart & Friendly CD-RW won't burn anymore, but it's had a good run.

I visited a petting zoo with a murderer.

Or, rather, went to San Francisco to see the Mountain Goats with a stranger from the Internet who could easily have been a murderer, for all I knew.

Obviously, I lived to tell the tale.

So the story is this: Last Monday, someone replied to my repeated requests for a show buddy. He said he was qualified to be my Mountain Goats friend and claimed work for a San Jose altweekly. As the editor. I looked it up and it seemed legit, so I wrote back and said he could definitely have the ticket, but I'd have to think about being show buddies with a total Internet stranger, for obvious reasons.

In subsequent emails, he came off as a cool guy, plus the whole editor thing, plus he has a girlfriend so there went that whole potentially-creepy factor. I decided to take him up on his offer to drive.

This worked out well. We had fun talking (about bands that suck, movies that are scary and give some people panic attacks, how Silicon Valley is boring, the journalism game) before and during the show, even though it was a ridiculously late night. The opening acts started at 10 and were pretty annoying, and the Mountain Goats didn't get onstage until 12.

They played for a lovely and amazing hour and 20 minutes, ending the second encore with crowd favorite "No Children." Though we all wanted a longer set, despite the late hour, "No Children" was enough to shut us all up and make us go home happy.

I'm not effectively communicating the level of hilarious good fortune involved in this encounter, but believe me, it was there.

At 2:30 a.m., I finally arrived home. I got to sleep around 3 and woke up at 9. My mom was here by 10, and we were on a sailboat by noon. It was a great day for sailing, and I learned a few things about sailing and ropes. Not much, but a little.

Now I am tired, but I cannot nap.

Now that was a weekend.

While most of my days off are spent watching DVDs, cleaning, cooking, and irritating my boyfriend, I did very little of any of that this weekend. Chris was here, and we had a blast.

Friday night, we went to our favorite Ethiopian place. On the way home, we stopped off at Albertsons so Chris could get some milk and, apparently, booze that is considerably less expensive than in Washington, and I realized I'd left my purse in the restaurant. Fortunately, the proprietor found it and kept it behind the bar for me. All was well.

On Saturday, we drove down to Point Lobos State Reserve, which some of you may recall is, in my opinion, one of the prettiest places in the country. We wandered around for a few hours, basking in the near-perfect weather (not too hot, not too windy), taking in the sights. We had a picnic lunch overlooking some tidepools, though a smiling park ranger cut our meal slightly short when he informed us that we were setting a bad example by not dining in a designated picnic area.

We drove up beautiful Highway 1 to Santa Cruz in the midafternoon to spend some time downtown. When the sun was starting to set, we went to a beach in Aptos. I enjoyed the sand on my bare feet and Chris made a pair of sand pants. Dinner was at Charlie Hong Kong, after which we were all pretty tired and decided to head home.

Sunday morning Chris informed me that he'd like to do some touristy activities, like driving across the Golden Gate Bridge. Kevin said he'd rather stay home, so we headed up in Chris's car. The bridge was the first stop, and it was lovely aside from all the crazy traffic at Vista Point (please hold your eye-rolling). I learned from my sister that North Beach was a zoo of a street fair, but we parked under a hotel on Washington and walked up Columbus to visit her candy store. We at lunch at a nice little place that wasn't insanely busy.

Chris's old friend just finished nursing school at USF, so we headed to Inner Richmond to hang out with her for awhile. We took a long stroll around Golden Gate park, stopping to watch (1) rock 'n' roll roller skaters and (2) drum circle hippies along the way. Then we got ice cream in fresh crepe cones, which was memorably delicious.

Next weekend I'll go see the Mountain Goats (and someone has claimed the ticket--story to come after the fact), then hang out with my mom. Apparently on a sailboat owned by someone who was a friend of my dad's.

Bleary-eyed, but awake.

This is how I greet my Saturdays. Before the normal time my alarm would jolt me out of bed and into the shower, I'm awake, and once I'm awake, there's no turning back.

I realize there's 80 miles of highway before me, full of swerving sports cars and careening RVs, glistening with the sun of every promising Saturday this state has to offer. I'm recalling the blue skies and groves of evergreens that overlook the churning bay, the dusty haze of wildflowers and overgrown brush, and the cool yelping of sea lions, all lazily sunning themselves. Their only traffic jam is atop the rock with the best sun exposure.

My lips are wrinkled from a night of open-mouthed breathing. My back is a little sore from my harsh mistress of a bed. Without my glasses, the AAA Bay Area map I have tacked to my wall is blurry even from two feet away. But that doesn't matter. Once we get out of here, my maps won't even know where we are.

Soon there will be blueberry pancakes and coffee. I hope the other two are on board.

Come on, now.

I offer a free Mountain Goat ticket and show companion--even a fucking ride to SF from San Jose--and not a word from any available and interested party. Not a word.

Fucking Internets letting me down again.

Someday I will write about my boring-ass life, but not tonight. Except to say that Veronica Mars season 1 reruns are on Wednesdays as of tomorrow, and you should be watching.

Preemptive strike: The Mountain Goats.

Hello to anyone in the SF Bay Area or anyone planning to be here on June 24!

Have I got a deal for you!

If you enjoy the fine sounds of the Mountain Goats, I have tickets to their Friday night show at Bottom of the Hill, and I want someone to go with me. This is a fairly open invite: my usual suspects have been kinda "eh" on the subject, but this should not preclude them from nabbing my extra ticket if they ACT FAST. Or even slow.

Please! Don't make me be a lonely loser! Be my friend! I'LL PAY YOU.

I got paid to watch "Star Wars."

Seriously. My entire company went this afternoon, and we got some cash for snacks. My boss and I went an hour early to reserve seats for everyone, which involved a lot of jackets. (My boss is--and I cannot overstate this--a huge Star Wars fan.) Did I mention that my job is pretty sweet?

I did enjoy it. It was about as good as the reviews generally say--the visuals are great; the dialogue is cheesy. Most of the characters were fairly flat for me, but Ewan McGregor was good. The first thing Darth Vader says and does once he gets the helmet is too, too much. Padme and Anakin make me want to vomit. This is probably the first and last time you'll see me write anything about Star Wars.

So now it's the weekend. I have some more Scrubs to watch, the first Twin Peaks DVD to finish, and the biopic about Peter Sellers to be annoyed by. I might attempt to henna my hair again; maybe it will take better this time. I also might catch some other movie at the Cinema Saver if they still have Sin City or something.

Other than that, I just need to try not to die, or to let my plants die.

Long weekend, short nights.

I didn't sleep much this weekend. I don't do well when I'm not in my own bed, for some reason. But it was all good because I saw some friends, I saw my brother, and I saw my mom. It was good times.

Jana and her new boyfriend Tom picked me up from the airport on Saturday. We headed immediately into North Seattle to pick up Chris and meet Josie and Christine at a Northgate Starbucks, which was mercifully air conditioned. (Seattle was hotter than San Jose that day, ick.) We sat around lamenting the heat for awhile before deciding what the plan was.

The plan ended up involving Jana and Tom picking up her new bicycle (and doing whatever else took them a few hours to do) and meeting us for food at Pete's Pizza. The rest of us piled in Josie's car and hung out at Chris and Jana's apartment for awhile before heading into the University District to meet up with Josie's boyfriend, Joel, order calzones, and pick up beverages from Safeway. Jana and Tom were still running late, so they agreed to meet us at Gasworks, where we were bringing all the food.

They showed up as the rest of us were polishing off our delicious calzones. Mine was the Florentine: spinach and chopped hard-boiled egg. Mmmmm. And also: so much food.

The evening was spent at Chris and Jana's, playing a game that I spent 20 minutes trying to explain to Kevin and failed, but was somewhat entertaining. I won, because apparently, I know what people think of me. Hah. Everyone left, Jana let me have her bed, and I talked to Chris until we were both about to pass out.

On Sunday morning, Chris and I both woke up early, and, expecting everyone else to appear at 10 a.m. for pancakes, visited PCC for some ingredients and coffee. The coffee was eh, and Josie and Christine bailed in favor of Jesus and stuff, then Jana and Tom didn't show up until almost 11. The pancakes, however, were delicious, as was the Naked orange juice and--apparently--the bacon.

Josie and Christine showed up about 30 minutes after I'd eaten some pancakes and were jonesing for some Agua Verde lunch. I didn't eat so many pancakes, so I managed to scarf down a bowl of vegetarian pozole (the corn grains, by the way, are hominy, Josie--my coworker from Mexico had some in her soup today and I asked), and it was delicious. Lunch was followed by a game of '90s Trivial Pursuit at Josie's apartment (Boo!), which I won by boring the crap out of my opponents. And by a lifetime of filling my head with useless knowledge!

My mom picked me up. She has lost a lot of weight since Christmas, so yay on her! We managed to stupidly drive through downtown Seattle on our way south, which was a mess because of Folklife. She made dinner and I was dead tired, but dinner was so good--baked tilapia, brown rice, and a ton of stir-fried vegetables. After dinner, Becky came over--her hair is cute!--and we went out for a night on the town. Or as much of a night on the town as you can have on a Sunday night in Olympia. We drank root beers and ate mozzarella sticks at Jake's, the local gay bar she's been spending her evenings in. The music was good, and the company was even better.

But I am lame and wanted to pass out early, so I made her take me home.

Sunday, my mom and I got a late start because I was coming down with a cold, but we browsed the local Value Village (50% off everything sale) and Goodwill ($0.99 orange tags). She found stuff, mainly for my brother, and I just looked. We went home and made soup, which I put too much black pepper in for her (though the perfect amount for me). I spent a little time with my brother, who is preparing for his second summer at Aspen with a new tux, new laptop, and new iPod. My mom and I watched "Hell's Kitchen," which was kind of painful and stupid. We went to bed early because my flight? Was at 6:40 the next morning.

And I got up at 5. It takes about 50 minutes to get from Olympia to Seatac. I made my flight, but just barely. I went directly from the airport to work and was in time for the weekly meeting. My boss thought it was insane that I didn't just take the day off, but I'd already made the arrangements and I was already up, so I figured it would be stupid to lose a day of pay.

I was so fucking tired, but it was a good weekend. Thanks to everyone who made it possible, and I hope I get to see the people I didn't see this time around some other time soon.

Oh, fuck. Summer in California means heat.

I don't like it one tiny bit. Hey, Seattle, think you can arrange temperatures below 80 degrees for me this weekend? That would rock.

This weekend, I had some movies. Kevin and I watched Kinsey together, which we both enjoyed, mainly due to the interesting subject matter. Unfortunately for me, the narrative structure was pretty much a predictable biopic with weak dialogue and character development, but the content and the acting mostly rose above it to make a nice movie.

Also, I watched The Pillow Book. I'm actually not sure why I thought I wanted to see that, but I have very mixed feelings about it, post-viewing. It was visually interesting--occasionally exciting, even, mainly due to a really hot young Ewan McGregor--but also gross in at least one particular spot, not to mention convoluted and boring. So I didn't really care for the movie, but Ewan McGregor gets four stars. Until he dies. Then, ew.

My side yard gave me a bit of a workout Sunday, because I cleared out some of the weeds and planted squash seedlings and green beans and pea pods. Yay. They are all going to die.

In other news of the stupid fucking yard, Kevin received a call from our landlord yesterday that the neighbors finally filed a complaint, and we had to, you know, trim the lawn. So he bought a weedwhacker and gave it a haircut. It's enough that the neighbors can shove it. I hate lawns. What a pointless thing.

We also trekked to Santa Cruz Sunday night, just for fun. There was forest romping, beach sitting, Charlie Hong Kong eating, and Kevin's mom visiting.

I will be in the PacNW this weekend, dividing my time between Seattle and Seaside, most likely. Hope to see some of you around.

The last show of the regular TV season that I care about is about to begin, so I am going to turn my attention away.

Summer begins...now.

That is, when the shows all go into reruns, the bad reality TV crops up, and the summer concert season is upon us. A great time to be alive, basically.

Aside from most assuredly seeing the Gossip for a 6th (or 7th?) time next Thursday, I just learned that the Mountain Goats are playing Bottom of the Hill two nights in late June, which I am so down for it isn't funny. Even if no one will go with me.

A handful of Bumbershoot acts have been announced, including Devo, Son Volt, Digable Planets, and the Decemberists, so that's not a bad showing. Full lineup in mid-June, I guess, so I can decide how much of it I need to pay for then. But I'll start hunting for good fares into Seattle Labor Day weekend and possibly take off that Friday.

I don't know how I managed to avoid this for so long, but I finally obtained and listened to a full Dinosaur Jr. record. Wow, that is some happy shit. I mean, it made me happy, not that it sounds cheerful or anything. The new Mountain Goats is also lovely.

Someone will come with, right?

Free will of the stars.

This post is in response to this week's Free Will Astrology, which I happily own up to getting via email every week...

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): ... As long as you cooperate with the unusual flow of fate, you will thrive. Here are some exercises to get you in the proper frame of mind: Picture yourself having the body of the opposite gender.

There's a thought. Walking around like I had external genitalia and could pee standing up while pretending these appendages hanging from my chest simply weren't there might create some odd interactions at work, though.

Hold a pen with your non-dominant hand as you write about your taboo fantasies.

I used to practice doing that first part in my pre-calculus lecture. My taboo fantasies should stay firmly planted in my mind, though, I think.

Gaze at yourself in a mirror that reflects your image from another mirror.

I love doing that! It makes me feel awfully self-obsessed, however.

Consider the possibility that there's something you really need but you don't know what it is.

I consider it often. In fact, I'm sure of it.

Make up a dream in which you change into an animal.

I've never been good at forcing dreams. I wonder what animal my unconscious would pretend to be.

Compose a prayer in which you ask for something you think you're not supposed to.

I'd have to think of what I'm not supposed to ask for first. I'm not supposed to ask for... things I don't need? things I don't want? things that can't reasonably occur? things with negative, unintended consequences? I ask for lots of things I know I won't get, but I'm not aware of a line not to cross where whatever higher power is concerned. I guess I'm too agnostic for this item.

I'm always vaguely amused and inspired by these horoscopes, but I never know what to make of them.

Our fabulous prizes.

I need to get out of here. A little mini-vacation is appearing very necessary, very soon.

And don't get me wrong, Washington people, but visiting in a few weeks won't be a vacation. It will be a lot of shuttling around and seeing as many people as possible. It will be a lot of transient face time and happy smiles and nice-to-see-yous. Not to sound unappreciative, because I do love you. Better than a family reunion, but not a vacation.

There is an unrelenting march of the increasingly familiar that drags from day to day until I just want to cry. The same stretch of highway filled with cars and drivers of dubious ability; a front lawn growing taller and taller; a mailbox full of advertising and things addressed to previous tenants. An office where I itch to spill red, purple, or green ink and log my time, just to justify my existence and meager paycheck.

I'm getting good at mediocrity, and there's no end in sight. I watch endless hours of TV, and I don't even get cable. I don't know where to go from here or when to start leaving.

Embracing my liberal anger.

I mean, I'm pretty much always angry at something. Sometimes it's a righteous anger, or an emotional/hormonal rage, but mostly it's just vague ire directed at, for example, other drivers or my neighbors I am afraid will try to bitch at me about the lawn in the 30 seconds I appear in front of my house every evening.

I've got a lot of the vague ire going on right now--I am having my period, which, while not an excuse, does tend to make things seem less rosy, ironically and disgustingly enough--but there's also some righteousness mixed in for good measure.

In case your eyes glazed over for the news that the Senate unanimously passed and Bush today signed $82 billion in war spending, anti-terrorism, and tsunami relief, let me enlighten you on one particularly unsavory aspect of this feel-good measure. The Real ID act is one Wisconsin Representative's underhanded way of slipping a national ID program into law. What's so bad about a national ID, you ask?

Well, I'm not smart enough to tell you, but I can link to a few people who are. I highly suggest you read up, at least a little, because this shit is going to affect everyone, and you should know what it is and how it can fuck you over.

Declan McCullaugh's FAQ of how Real ID will affect you is condensed and informative. His Politech mailing list is a great source of information and discussion on the subject, as well. Text of the law here for all those fluent in legalese. Google News rounds up the mainstream media coverage, which shows a remarkable lack of discussion on Real ID, while geeks with security and privacy concerns over at Slashdot and News.com pick apart the new law.

And it may just be my naivete regarding how the Senate works, but those Democrats quoted as being against Real ID who voted for it anyway? Where is their sense of dissent? Did they not learn in school that, for true/false questions, if even part of a question is false, the whole thing is false? Is it really so impossible to get a clean bill through Congress to fund things that evidently need funding, or at least a bill clean of major, divisive legislation?

No?

Wow, fuck the legislative process, then.

It's no fun reading fortune cookies to yourself.

Points to whoever knows the song.

Yesterday I had a henna experience. Henna is a much more awkward dye experience than, say, Manic Panic, and the results are more subtle. I tried to follow the Lush instructions to the letter, but I think I only tinted my hair a shade darker. It's treading chocolate territory, though I doubt anyone but me will notice.

For an hour and a half, my head was caked in what looked and felt like green mud and enveloped with sheets of cling film. It was squishy to the touch. The first rinse took awhile, and my hair was impossible to comb afterwards. The waxiness was so thick, I could barely style it into something less anime-freak and more just-having-a-bad-hair-day-greasy. But I let it stay that way for a few hours to see the full effect of the henna.

Three hours later, I was desperate to fix it, so I shampooed it. The waxiness was a little better, but not 100%, so a few hours after that, I applied probably 4 times the amount of shampoo I would normally use and let it sit for a minute before rinsing it out. The texture was fine and the color was somewhat apparent still, so I'm calling it good.

It's true I have no patience for things that are aesthetically displeasing.

The henna seemed only to stain the soap scum in my bathroom, which just highlighted the need to scrub it all down with Bon Ami. Which I did today, because Kevin would probably freak out if I didn't.

He's visiting his mom and sort of implied a desire to go alone because he doesn't go to see his family much without me anymore. When I pointed out that the last time he actually visited his mom--Christmas--I was in Oregon, he replied, "Hmm." We've seen his dad a few times, but not his mom. I can appreciate the desire to want to spend time without chatty ol' me, since he's quiet and tends to let me monopolize the conversation (I like both his parents, and we can talk about a lot of things that he doesn't care about). I only felt bad because I've been trying to get him to go to Santa Cruz for months, and he hasn't wanted to, and now that he has gone, he didn't want me to go. I just hope this doesn't make it look like I'm the reticent one.

Anyway, I really need to make some damn friends. Doing nothing with my free time is starting to wear me down.

This week's rentals: Home Movies: Season 1, disc 1, which totally rules; The Yes Men, a documentary about lefties who pretended to be WTO members and were responsible for the long-deceased WTO parody site; and Two-Way Stretch, an old Peter Sellers movie that was Kevin's selection and I probably won't watch.

If we get through this alive, I'll meet you next week, same place, same time.

Yes, Pulp's Common People has made it back into my frequent rotation. I know that's weird.

A potent combination of raw garlic and tahini still lingers in my mouth from last night's hummus, and I need to get my shit together for work, but I have the need to write some things down.

First, I was having this unsettlingly weird dream as I woke up this morning involving some kind of God-appointed, nukes-safe bunker in the middle of a huge lake that Kevin and I, as well as a hundred or so other people and a few pets, were permitted to enter when some rogue enemy nation announced they had nuclear weapons trained on us and, apparently, there was little we could do to retaliate. I think that was the least freaky part, though.

The way you got to this semi-submerged bunker was by swimming. If you didn't drown on the way over, you got to meet your maker, who decided whether you would live or die. Only I didn't know it was God until someone told me once we were inside. I laughed and said something about God being real and saving me, literally, after all my years of agnosticism.

There were many other creepy details I don't really remember. Everyone slept on giant bunkbeds and wore orange linen jumpsuits. Our hands were marked with a specific scratch pattern for re-entry. Fresh tomatoes were preserved in boxes and not jars. I'm not sure we had enough food to hold out for an entire nuclear holocaust.

Anyway, it was bizarre, and I hope it doesn't sit with me like this all day, because that would suck.

Margot is now 21 and hopefully not sleeping off too much of a hangover. I completely missed her friends and the one roommate I haven't met, but we had a good time. There was Thai food, delicious desserts from a bakery in Chinatown, visits to her candy store, a new Trader Joe's, and Cost Plus, and tons of walking.

We have Gossip tickets for the 26th, if anyone else wants to go to that, but Mike Doughty at Cafe Du Nord is sold out. I'd still like to see the Books if anyone, ANYONE has any interest. Opening acts include Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, so come on down.

For a few movies more...

Watching movies was about the only exciting thing I did yesterday. Yesterday was stupid. Today will be at least marginally better because I am leaving the house to go to San Francisco and celebrate my sister's 21st birthday.

The birthday is actually tomorrow, so depending on the pickiness of establishments, she is still a minor and unable to purchase or consume alcohol legally until then, but I doubt that will stop the festivities much.

I really enjoyed Sideways. I'm not much of a movie reviewer, and a lot of people have seen it already and had more intelligent things to say about it, but I did like it. I also liked The Anniversary Party, but not to the same extent. The making of that movie is a little more interesting than the plot, anyway: Alan Cumming and Jennifer Jason Leigh attempted to sell photos of their own fake wedding to the tabloids to fund it, for one thing.

My third DVD was from the HBO series, The Wire, and I have to say, I couldn't get into it. Maybe I just wasn't in the right mood for it, but I gave up.

Movies are fun.

Well, sometimes. Unemotional Holocaust movies like The Grey Zone aren't really fun, but The Incredibles is.

Possibly seeing seeing Star Wars Episode 3 with my entire office will be fun, but who knows. My boss is the biggest Star Wars fan I know, and somehow that translates to the entire company getting to take off an afternoon in June to go to the movies. Awesome.

Netflix finally sent Sideways. Woo! I also have The Anniversary Party and some other movie when they get The Incredibles tomorrow. If The Motorcycle Diary's long wait holds out, it'll be some TV show.

But mostly, I have been watching TV. VERONICA MARS TOTALLY RULES, YOU GUYS. Yes, I have to mention it in every post now. I am still excited from last night's revelations. It's so insane. I want it to be Tuesday again so I can see the next one. Aaaaaaaasdf. I can't even explain it in a way that doesn't make it sound totally stupid, but I swear, it's an awesome show. And it even got renewed!

God, I'm so boring. I don't even have a commercial to bitch about lately. I don't understand the sheep-boy smoothie Skittle commercial, though. It feels like a bastardized edgy comedy sketch.

Monday is my sister's 21st birthday. I'm gonna go up to San Francisco on Sunday and do some celebratory lunching, but I can't stay for the midnight drink-fest. I have work. You darn crazy kids.

Okay, I'm done. Tell me something interesting.

It is some strange conspiracy of fates that I was home before 6.

It's the same fates who decided that when my department at work would be inundated with work that, even with two people in the office, would appear overwhelming, my boss would be out of the office for three days and unable to do any of it.

I try not to discuss work here, but I'm just saying. I've been busy. It was an unfortunate miracle that I wasn't working overtime--unfortunate because it meant there was something so wrong with a project that it wasn't worth further testing until someone else could fix it, meaning nothing until Monday.

I have really got to figure out how to get exercise in a way that makes sense. Or get over at least one excuse. I know I've complained about this before. I really wish I lived in a city and could walk places; I hate this car-dependent, homogenous, engineered setup.

What I really want, though, is a renewal of the Bop of the Day project. A few years ago, my IRC channel, #n00n, had a private FTP site where about six of us uploaded a song or two every day, called the Bop of the Day or BOTD. I think we all collected a lot of decent and interesting music that way. It's the equivalent of an ongoing mix CD project, and I miss it.

You guys who aren't watching Veronica Mars are fucking missing out, by the way.

Let's see. I didn't review my third movie from last week yet, which was Hotel Rwanda. I don't have any intelligent thoughts on it. I cried for most of the movie because it was just that sad. It felt kind of like a horror movie plot with real events. It was a pretty awful thing to watch, and it was no doubt cleaned up considerably for the benefit of audiences and that PG-13 rating. Very affecting.

This week, I have more Homicide: Season 1, The Grey Zone, and The Incredibles. Yeah, what was that I said about not liking animation much? I think my sister would hate me forever if I didn't watch Pixar movies, though. They are good. More wholesome than my usual fare, but good. Miyazaki and Pixar are the exceptions to my "family-friendly animated films are dumb" rule. Except Monsters, Inc., which I didn't like much. Because I am heartless.

Whether or not I'll do anything productive this weekend remains to be seen. My house needs some cleaning and the yard needs some tending, although the latter aggravated my allergies horribly in last weekend's botched attempt. Anyway, I'm not keeping my hopes up for anything besides watching my DVDs and having pancakes and listening to This American Life tomorrow.

A bit about the monotony of everyday life.

There's getting up in the morning, driving to work, sitting at my desk, eating lunch, more sitting, driving home, being lazy, making dinner, and going to bed, only to do it all over again. Everyone knows this song and dance.

I have absolutely got to figure out how the hell to work in some exercise. I'd consider even a stupid workout machine dealie that I can stick in my room and use while watching TV. I've been perusing craigslist for such a device. I tried getting up early to walk around the neighborhood and jump rope, but it lasted for three days and I felt exhausted from getting up even half an hour earlier than usual. Going out after work is...unappealing, and I fucking hate the gym. Don't even suggest biking to work: it's 12 miles each way, fraught with danger, and I feel unsteady on a cycle. So while my diet is about as healthy as I'd like it to be (maaaaybe a few too many snacks, but even then), I am one of the bemoaned inactive Americans contributing to the obesity statistics you hear so much about.

Also, I blame living in the suburbs. The suburbs suck really hard in a lot of ways.

And I am full of excuses.

God, KQED is running calls from people suggesting their favorite places to run in San Francisco. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Running is bad with boobs, though.

I am, in a lot of ways, filled with loathing for my current situation, and though I'm not entirely powerless to get out of it, I feel a sense of obligation to keep at it, at least for awhile. Maybe things will improve, or I'll at least feel better about them.

Our lawn requires mowing (supposedly according to the laws of the City of Milpitas). We do not want to mow it because we are lazy and it is very, very tall. I refuse to do it; Kevin said he would, once, last Sunday, "after [he] eats." He ate after dark and went to work and did not mow the lawn. I think we should just hire someone, seriously, because fuck it. I also think people who rent houses should just hire people as part of the lease if they want things done right, but what do I know? I am just a lazy non-homeowner.

Finally, I watched two movies so far this week:

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, which I really want to watch with my nieces, for some reason, and think I would have loved to see as a kid. It's a nice little movie. Normally I have zero interest in anime, but I have loved all Miyazaki I've seen.

Bad Education, Almodovar's latest, which has a male lead character for once. (He may have other movies with a male lead, but I've seen more than a few of his movies and they all had female protagonists.) It's an interesting story involving a priest abusing a choirboy and breaking him up from his beloved peer, then writing a story about it as an adult. I'm not sure how it got the NC-17 rating, though, because the sex was no more explicit than a lot of R movies. Maybe because it was gay sex, that is somehow more graphic. Whatever. I'm over 17 and can watch whatever the fuck I want to.

Who likes music?

Anyone? Bueller?

Fri     04/22/05                 Pleaseeasaur             Hemlock
Sat     04/23/05                 Amy Correia              Bimbo's 365 Club
Tue     05/03/05                 Sloan                    Slim's
Wed     05/18/05                 The Books                Cafe Du Nord
Fri     05/20/05                 Mike Doughty             Cafe Du Nord
Thu     05/26/05                 The Gossip               Bimbo's 365 Club

Watching Vera Drake today made me cry. We Don't Live Here Anymore was only okay.

I have new bras. They are Wacoals. They are pretty damn nice.

I need to pick an internist at the Milpitas Kaiser facility within a week, or they will pick one for me. That sounds so ominous. I need to go use my benefits.

That is all. I am on the rag, but I was not incredibly sick today. That was nice.

Bad and good.

Bad: I set the DVD-R wrong last night and failed to tape Veronica Mars. This made me irrationally angry. Someone on TUS offered to send me a tape, but I am not sure it is necessary. Sweet of her to offer, though.

Good: Netflix let me report the mislabeled DVD as lost, finally, so this week I should get 3 DVDs again. Maybe Sideways. That would be great.

Also, my cupcakes were good. But also, evil. That's the trouble with things containing a pound of butter, four eggs, and a cup of sour cream. Yummy.

Cupcakes are made of death.

I swear these are going to kill me, anyway. The batter has a consistency approaching dough (drop cookie dough, anyway) and contains 1/2 cup butter and 1/2 cup full-fat sour cream. I don't know what the fuck I'll do with the remaining sour cream when the two batches are finished.

But HOLY GOD, do they look like they will taste awesome. Like artery-clogging awesome. What better way to honor a coworker who is about to have a baby? I can't think of one.

I don't know what to report about this week. It was a week. Work is starting to get busy. I was forced to socialize with coworkers Thursday after work and drank so much water, I thought I was going to explode. (Needless to say, almost everyone else was drinking something a little less hydrating.) Being a non-drinking semi-vegetarian makes for strange company in most circles.

Netflix is fucking up again, which is wonderful. Last week they sent Homicide: Season 1&2, Vol. 1, but disguised as Vol. 2. I had just returned Vol. 1 (not disguised as anything), so I did what I thought I was supposed to do: reported it as mislabeled and mailed it back on Monday with the other two movies. By Tuesday, Netflix had received the other two movies. As of now, they haven't received the mislabeled disc, but I can't report it missing, because apparently, if you report one problem, you're spent. No more problems are allowed. So I emailed customer service, but have yet to hear back beyond the confirmation message. Grrrr.

Maybe I will write more later, but that was about the extent of my week outside copious Tuesday-TV watching. Why must House AND Veronica Mars be so good and on at the same time? Why are Scrubs and The Office, which I would like to give a second chance, on then, too? And the goddamn Amazing Race? Fuck you, network programmers.

Teh intarchatweb is funny.

Things which are good or at least not terrible.

Things which have happened this week. Things which may be HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. Things you may not even know about.

ALL THIS WEEK...ON AS THE EMILY BLOGS.

I...hi.

Dude, the Decemberists were fuckin' great. Also, all their shit got stolen in Portland just days before, so if you are into them, try to pick up a legit copy of the new record. Or go see a show. Anyway.

So I went up to SF Wednesday night with Jessica. We were both dead fucking tired, but the show? Was totally worth it. The trip to Bimbo's was in three parts: Drive to Bayfair Mall, BART to Embarcadero, hoof it to North Beach. Our timing was impeccable, as we arrived around 9 p.m. and the Decemberists were on stage within 20 minutes. The show let out a little after 11, leaving us just enough time to make it back downtown to catch the last train to the East Bay. Also, Jessica paid me back for the ticket by buying me their new CD, which rocks, but more on that in a minute.

It's a rare show that features a lot of new music from a band I already really like that makes me really want to hear it all again. Usually, I'm interested in a couple songs and bored by the rest. I dug pretty much *all* the songs I didn't already know, and most of them were on the new CD. The performances were over the top. They really nailed it, and with brand-new instruments, too (see: shit was stolen). Totally satisfying, and of course, they played many of my favorite old songs, like "Grace Cathedral Hill." Because how could they play San Francisco without playing that goddamn song? Really.

Okay, other things. Kevin and I braved the astonishingly strange weather last Sunday afternoon to walk around the Don Edwards San Francisco Bay National Wildlife Refuge. We got sopping wet and our boots were caked with mud. It was pretty nice, but the weather was nuts. When we got home, I saw on the news that a freaking TORNADO touched down that same afternoon just across the Bay, if that gives you an idea of the insanity.

Mostly, though, this week has been a work week. Someone cool is leaving, some new people are coming in, and I got thrust into an interview looking slovenly and having just gulped down 32 oz. of water, which was, needless to say, a very bad idea. Half the office left today before noon, if they were there at all, and I was home by 3. Ridiculous. The last time I got time off for Good Friday was when I was attending Catholic school.

Our internet connection has been spasming every evening all week, which is annoying as hell and making us consider switching to DSL. And, um, cable is now motherfucking $60 a month? Huh? Speakeasy OneLink is practically *cheaper,* and definitely less evil.

We need to cut out lawn. It is a jungle. Also, the front yard smells excessively floral, and the neighbor's cat, who likes to hang out under my bushes, is scared of me.

Nothing else is going on. I would like there to be, but I can't have everything just for the wishing.

Commercials I hate.

Besides all of them. There are a few I actually like, but this post is not about those.

#1 offender: Carl's Jr. ads. Namely the one with the cgi fetus threatening to rip out part of his mother's womb "on the way out" if she eats more jalapenos. I know I'm not in their target demo, but...I just want it off my TV. So gross.

The Lay's "get your smile on" ads. With the kid who won't smile for a Sears fucking portrait until his worried parents nervously pull out a bag of potato chips, at which he cries, "Cheese!" Because, why smile if your WASPy parents aren't bribing you with disgusting salt and fat-laden empty calories? Get your smile on my ASS, bitches.

Commercials for local mainstream radio stations. Lately, the ad for a new popular country station, "The Bear," has been driving me absolutely insane. They keep playing clips of awful, catchy songs, and the goddamn MIX gets STUCK IN MY HEAD. AAAAAGGGHH.

McDonald's and Wal-Mart. Mainly on principle, but also because they promote perverted American corporate ideals that sicken my heart.

That Ford Focus commercial with the girl who's smugly discussing her new car and acts all indignant when her friend states that he was considering a Civic. Yeah, because buying a car that's reliable and has a decent resale value is just retarded. But her Ford Focus came with a moon roof and an MP3 player! And an "environmentally friendly" engine, whatever that means! And you can't get all that in a Civic! Just shut up, bitch.

Yeah, okay, just for fun? I like the Geico "Tiny House" commercial. There, I feel better.

"This is NOT awesome."

The week is long.

And I am tired.

For the first three days of last week, I started my morning before 7 and took a walk around the neighborhood, followed by a little jump roping (jumping rope? Rope-jumping? The correctness of any usage is unclear). This made me VERY tired all day, because apparently I need that extra half hour in the mornings to get my shit together. Or maybe I just always wake up tired.

Either way, I totally punked out on Thursday and Friday with regard to my "fitness" plan, but tried again today. In the rain. My pants are wet and it's not my fault. Blame it on the rain, YEAH YEAH.

A number of intriguing links have popped up while I've been at work, and it was not, at the time, appropriate to get on Blogger and share them with you. Some people already know I keep a blog and are aware of the domain, and...yeah. Not that they'd come over to me all, "Why weren't you putting red ink all over something instead of posting to your childish BLOG, little girl?" if they even read it, but you know. It IS in the employee handbook.

Anyway, yeah, intriguing links. I'll pull 'em up in a minute.

Margot came over Wednesday night, by the way. We ate tilapia, asparagus, salad, and apple pie. I put probably 40-some damn miles on my car transporting her to and from Fremont, but we had a good time.

And now it's raining. I so wanted to go hiking this weekend. A wussy day hike, but a hike all the same. Maybe the weather is nice when you drive inland. I'm picking up my new backpack and water bottle from REI today. The pack is red and the bottle is blue.

Speaking of blue, I bought a Le Creuset dutch oven in blue this week from Amazon because it was on sale: $154 instead of $250, plus $25 off with a code, plus free shipping and no sales tax, plus a free (insanely backordered) 1 1/4-qt. saucepan. Yes, that is a lot of money to spend on a pot, but it is supposed to be a superamazing (although not magic) pot that will last forever. (The blue is more subdued than it appears in the picture, though.)

Interesting Link #1 is about a new paradigm, I guess, for thinking about diet. I thought it was pretty interesting, and it made me want to go home and eat a pile of broccoli. Which, actually, I did.

Interesting Link #2 comes from the PoliTech mailing list and talks about a self-identified Canadian blogger who was refused entrance to the U.S. and harassed by the border guard for...we don't know why. But it's fucked up.

Interesting Link #3 comes from a blog I've been enjoying very much, but this particular post discusses an apparent link between European people who were resistant to the Plague and a genetic mutation in their descendants that makes them resistant or immune to HIV.

And finally, earlier this week, I felt like writing up a top 5 list of my favorite female rock performers. There were going to be comments, but work came in and I lost interest. However, I will share with you the list. Every time I put it together, I think of someone I forgot, though. What's yours?

5. Beth Ditto of the Gossip
(ETA: Janet Weiss of Quasi and Sleater-Kinney previously lived here, but I thought about it, and while Janet's contribution to Quasi, which I love more than I like S-K, is excellent, it's Beth Ditto's performances that kill me. And the whole band, which is not male-fronted. I don't really like Janet's songs on the Quasi records.)
4. Aimee Mann
3. Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth
2. PJ Harvey
1. Bjork

Fuck Sarah Jessica Parker and her enjoyment of being a girl. Fuck it in the eye.

Yummy Saturday.

Graylan just stopped by! It is always good to see Graylan. He's on his way to LA.

Also, I made some soup and some bread. I would like to share with you what was made, because it was good.

Curried Bean Soup

1 1/2 c. dry beans/grains mix (I used 1 c. Trader Joe's 17-Bean Soup Mix and 1/2 c. kidney beans)
1 medium onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. or so each of red pepper flakes, curry powder, cumin, coriander, turmeric, cayenne pepper
1 28-oz. can chopped tomatoes, not drained
salt to taste
water to cover

Precook the dry beans any way you want--I did the lazy, cheater method of bringing them to a boil then simmering for awhile, but traditionally, you'd soak them overnight then cook them, etc. If you are extra lazy, you could just use canned beans. Normally I would, too, but I had this dry stuff to use up.

Saute the onion and garlic with olive oil in a large pot. Add red pepper flakes and saute a little more. Mix in other spices. Add cooked (or partially cooked) beans, tomatoes, and water. Stir, bring to a boil, then let it simmer forever until the beans are fully cooked. Salt to your liking.

Lemon-Rosemary Polenta Bread

Going off this recipe for vegan cornbread, I devised this strange alternative.

Preheat oven to 400'F and grease an 8-inch round pan.

Mix together:
1/4 c. whole wheat flour
1 c. all-purpose or whole wheat pastry flour
3/4 c. dry polenta
1/4 c. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt

Add:
1 c. water or soymilk (including the juice of one lemon, optional)
1/4 c. oil
1 Tbsp. cornstarch dissolved into 1 Tbsp. water

Then mix in:
1 stem fresh rosemary, chopped (do NOT use dried herbs)
zest of 1 lemon

Pour resulting batter into prepared pan and bake until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean (approximately 25 minutes).

The bread should hold together admirably well, all things considered, though it may be delicate, so handle gently.

WIN!

Boots arrived today. They are LOVELY. Also got paid, plus a $300 bonus, which is what happens when certain sales/collection/invoicing/whatever goals are met in a month: every full-time employee gets a bonus, depending on the amount of the goal met.

So in addition to having lovely new shoes and being able to pay for car insurance, I also just paid off the balance on my credit card. OMG AWESOME. And I am not totally shit-ass broke now, I don't think.

This weekend already rocks!

A productive 8:09 to 8:28 a.m.

Or at least one in which a lot of money was spent on (hopefully) worthwhile things.

I ordered this pair of hiking boots after checking, totally by chance, to see what was up with the models I'd bookmarked awhile ago. And wouldn't you know it, they were on sale. So, bye, money.

Then I headed over to REI.com to find a daypack with (1) sternum straps, because they help if you're booby, and (2) two side pockets for waterbottles. I found it for...an acceptable price, and sprung for a 32-oz. Nalgene bottle (my other 32-oz. bottle is a crappy Eddie Bauer, but it ain't broke). I told the site I wanted to pick up my order from a store rather than pay shipping. Pfft! Shipping. It can't cost $6 in gas to get to Fremont in a '99 Civic. Well, maybe if gas prices go up just a little more...

In the midst of this hopeful outdoorsy shopping spree, my mom messaged me to say her Southwest Airlines "Ding" application brought up some do-or-die, today-only, super special deal between San Jose and Seattle, $52 each way, which she was able to book for me to go home Memorial Day weekend. Yay!

The rest of the day was pretty blah, since I was cooped up inside for most of it and sweating profusely anyway. Dude, I am not gonna like being here most of the year. It's already too fucking hot, and it's early March. I need to find clothes that look less slovenly for work and also aren't going to make me DIE.

OK, it wasn't quite DYING proportions today, but I can't imagine it will get much better, right? Heat = bad. Radio weather reports saying nothin' but 80' and sunny is "great weather" = stupid. Temperatures that knock me on my ass and ensure I won't do anything physical, ever = awful. See? Why did I leave the Pacific Northwest? We have like three of these days all year.

Speaking of things that are bright and blinding as the sun, what the fuck is up with those xeon headlights or whatever that are almost purple and make cars look like their driver saw no distinction between regular headlights and high beams? Californians are trying to get me killed, I'm telling you.

Anyone for a show or three?

And by "anyone," I obviously must mean the exactly two people from the Bay Area who read this. But if anyone else is interested, hey, new friends are good.

Friday, March 11: IQU @ Cafe du Nord

Quirky Olympia-now-Seattle-based dance-y indie pop. When I saw them before, the guy was playing a guitar, a theremin, and a turntable, and occasionally using the guitar neck to manipulate the thermin while he used his other hand to scratch. Also, there is a girl who does things with keyboards and such. They are neat.

Monday, March 14: Joseph Arthur @ Cafe du Nord

Kevin is interested in this one, but from what I heard, it didn't make me want to fall asleep or die. However, Monday shows that begin at 9:30 are problematic.

Wednesday, March 23: Decemberists @ Bimbo's 365

Already have my tickets, baby! And so does one of the people who read this. The other one wants to come. But for the sake of completeness, here it is.

Tuesday, May 3: Sloan @ Slim's

My sister says the sound at this club sucks, or so it did when she saw the Gossip there, but you know what? Sloan. Fuck it. Damn you, Canada.

Tuesday/Wednesday, May 17-18: The Books @ Cafe du Nord

None of y'all will have even heard this band, I bet. But I swear to you they are interesting, and I have no freakin' idea how they can do a live show besides maybe a laptop, but if it's not as interesting as the record, I will be sad.

Friday, May 20: Mike Doughty @ Cafe du Nord

Is it not cool to like the guy from Soul Coughing anymore? I think he's handy with an acoustic guitar alone, and that by itself merits a ticket for me. And for my sister, who will finally be 21 and able to come along.

I keep hoping I'll see something in April I want to spend money on, but it hasn't happened yet. Oh well, I'll have a busy May, at least.

What's going on?

I had some delicious green curry tonight at a nearby Malaysian restaurant, Banana Leaf. When I ordered it, the waiter told me it was VERY spicy, and was I sure I could handle it? I confirmed that I liked spicy, knowing their regular red curry is fairly mild.

The green curry was the perfect amount of spiciness, with a hint of a smoky flavor and a lovely assortment of vegetables and tofu. But when the waiter came by to check on our meals, he made a face at me and asked if it was too spicy. I can't quite explain it, but he fully seemed to expect that it would be way too spicy for my delicate white-girl palate. I delighted in telling him it was not.

This weekend was interesting. On Saturday, I spent the first half of the day being pissed and depressed because I wanted to go spend time with Kevin in San Francisco and see my sister and stuff, but Kevin did not want to go. It was one in a long list of things I'd wanted to do with him, things I am under the impression he generally enjoys, which he has refused to do in favor of doing nothing. And then he complains about how much TV I watch? Yeah.

Fortunately, there was a great reversal of fortune in that his dad called to invite us to go hiking with them on Sunday at Pinnacles National Monument and we both wanted to go, and since he asked me to do something with his family, he felt he couldn't, in good conscience, turn down my request to do something with my sister. So we went to San Francisco.

It was pretty easy to park and ride via Bayfair, where BART does run late directly from the city, unlike certain stops closer to home. We ate dinner at Shalimar on Jones, then walked to Polk and passed the other Shalimar on our way to the Lumiere to see a bunch of animated shorts. Also, there were crepes somewhere in there. And prostitutes on the side of the road. And Kevin had bubble tea. Ew.

We didn't get home until 1 a.m., and I set my alarm for 6:45 so I'd have time to prepare some food and pack a bag before our 8 a.m. departure.

Both of us were exhausted in the morning, but we arrived at the park around 10:30 and almost immediately proceeded to begin the hike. First we walked through park of some caves, but somehow missed all the caves after we climbed above the waterfall. Then it was the High Peaks Trail, the "Steep and Narrow" route to the Condor Gulch trail, which winds around the dramatic peaks and heads back to the visitor center from which we came. It was a beautiful hike, and the weather was perfect: just warm and sunny enough that a t-shirt was just right, not so hot that it felt like burning. Despite my incessant 30 spf sunblock slathering, though, I managed to get a little color on my face and arms.

The hike also reinforced my need to do this kind of thing more often, as it remains about the only form of exercise I like that doesn't involve inconvenience for little reward. (I hate gyms. HATE.) Like I told Kevin, we need to do this every weekend--okay, maybe not exactly that, but even a couple hours in the open spaces in the Palo Alto Hills would do the trick--so I can get good enough that it doesn't kill me. And also, proper hiking footwear is desperately needed. An extra water bottle and a handy, balanced pack wouldn't hurt, either.

That night, tired and stinky, we went to the other Malaysian restaurant in town, Penang Garden, which has a nearly identical menu and similar quality of food. All I wanted, though, was a simple fried rice, which is what I got. Kevin got something with tofu and mango (in the mango skin, no less) slathered in a nice sweet and sour sauce. Yummy.

Apparently Graylan is swinging through town this week, so I hope I'll get to hang out with him. Yay for the people I know!

Remembering Suka Suka.

The itinerary read Kuala Kangsar, but where we ended up wasn't really anywhere.

Oh, it had a name: Suka Suka Lake Retreat. It was a series of cabins on an island in the middle of Malaysia's largest lake, a waterway created by a dam and populated with exotic flora and hundreds of nameless landmasses. Our hosts, a Malay couple with a newborn son, navigated the complicated maze from the visitor pickup spot on one edge of the lake to their island home, then the nearest village, via motorboat. The ripples the boat left in its wake were almost as tranquil as the motor was loud.

Out there, so far from anywhere I don't think I could even tell you where I was, there was such a different state of mind, it was amazing.

I often think of one evening, when I spent an hour in the hammock teetering just over the water. A thunderstorm was brewing behind me, but before the rain, I took a few moments to relax and enjoy the gray.

There was nothing like it in the world. Unless, of course, you were someone who also experienced it.

Usually, banner ads are dull, if not downright annoying.

But sometimes... sometimes you find a gem. Or, in this case, a pair of gems.





Had to share.