Eesh.

My last dorktastic entry made me want to start making Venn diagrams of musical taste.

This also hearkens back to an entry where I listed some albums I still love and Julie suggested I do it again in the future and make graphs charting my own musical taste.

I don't even work in data processing, but I have definitely been exposed to too much statistics already.

Mix CD madness.

Awhile ago, I made a mix CD for my lunch buddy vegetarian coworker with music I like that she might also like but probably hasn't heard before. (I don't really like making mix CDs with songs people already know, unless there is some reason for it. I don't know why, but it's less fun.) My boss heard and wanted to know why I didn't make her one.

Now, I have a personal policy of not talking about work on the blog, but this has very little to do with actual people and everything to do with music, so I think it's fair game.

So here are some reasons why I haven't made her a mix CD before:

Our tastes in music align in strange and unpredictable intersections. For the most part, I don't hate anything she likes (she says because she only likes good music), though some of it isn't anything I'd listen to of my own volition. However, there are definitely things I like that she actively hates. I have helpfully outlined these below, along with the stuff we both like.

Music I like that she hates:
Bjork
Ben Folds
The Mountain Goats when John Darnielle is really nasal
Stuff that is happy
Presumably a lot of other stuff I am not remembering

Music we both like:
Portishead
Pulp
Tom Waits
Massive Attack
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Ween
She would be angry if the Cure did not appear in this column, although let the record show she is a way bigger Cure fan than me
Hip-hop
Stuff that is depressing or angry

We have been keeping the office door closed to listen to her Launchcast station a lot lately, so I've gotten a better idea of what she likes overall. And, of course, we inevitably talk about music in the way only people who give way too many shits about music do.

And to be honest, the list of places where our tastes overlap would be greater than it would be for, say, Kevin and I. At least, I actively hate some stuff he likes.

So I'm working on a mix CD now. There is nothing on TV and no good movies out this weekend, so what the hell?

Here's what I'm putting on it:

1. John Vanderslice - Pale Horse
   
2. The New Pornographers - Use It
   
3. Blackalicious - A to G
   
4. William Shatner - Common People*
   
5. Beat Happening - Hangman
   
6. Jad & David Fair - Nosferatu
   
7. Xiu Xiu - Sad Pony Guerilla Girl**
   
8. Peaches - Fuck the Pain Away
   
9. DJ Shadow - Mashin' on the Motorway
   
10. Del the Funky Homosapien - If You Must (Dan the Automator remix)
    
11. Ween - "Where'd the cheese go?" jingle, dirty version
    
12. The Paper Chase - Said the Spider to the Fly
    
13. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow
    
14. Handsome Boy Modeling School feat. Cat Power - I've Been Thinking
    
15. Neutral Milk Hotel - The King of Carrot Flowers (Part I)
    
16. IQU - Temptation
    
17. The Gossip - Sweet Baby***
    
18. The Mountain Goats - Oceanographer's Choice
    
19. The Decemberists - The Mariner's Revenge Song
    
20. The Streets - Fit But You Know It

*I actually sort of like this cover, but it's horrifying all the same.
**Xiu Xiu is not a band I really like, but I want to like them, and this song is...fucked up crazy, but listenable.
***Strangely, the only Gossip song on my hard drive at the moment. Not their best, but a lot of their songs are basically the same.

Bunnies are cute.

I raised them as a kid. Sometimes I still want one, though it switches off with my desire for a kitty, neither of which is going to happen anytime soon.

But this. This is just too much.

I do not need a "smart object" that is some kind of bunny nite-lite that reads you the weather and sings "I Just Called to Say I Love You." Just, no.

Kevin sent me the link. "I thought you liked rabbits," he said defensively.

I like their fluffiness and pettability. I do not like their creepy, cartoonish modern counterparts. And I REALLY do not like "I Just Called to Say I Love You."

First person to comment with a quote from High Fidelity wins.

I hate tile floor.

I want to know what brilliant psychopath (teenage billionaire) came up with the idea for putting surfaces in the kitchen area which are prone to causing glass to break. In the kitchen, you tend to handle a lot of wet, soapy, greasy glass objects and items with loose lids and handles. Isn't the best possible surface for them to land on NOT made of something as unforgiving as fucking tile?

I can't tell you how many stupid things I have smashed in the last year: a pyrex bowl, TWO ceramic mortar bowls, at least one drinking glass, and a tiny pottery vase that was Kevin's grandmother's, to name a few. It's not that California has made me more accident prone, no, it has to be the introduction of tile into my daily kitchen life.

I'm sure I dropped tons of shit in previous kitchens, which had normal counters (laminate or something), metal sinks, and wood or linoleum floors. And sometimes stuff breaks. But not nearly as much stuff as I've broken here, and it sucks.

Today the lid on my peanut butter jar was loose and it fell to the floor as I carried it three feet from the fridge door to the counter. It smashed into a dozen pieces and got glass fragments in the remaining peanut butter, rendering it unsalvagable. A jar of fucking peanut butter!

On one hand, maybe Whole Foods' peanut butter shouldn't be sold in stupid glass jars, but something a little sturdier--after all, kids eat the stuff. But on the other, WTF? Peanut butter smash! Aaaaagh.

Also, the DVD-R somehow managed to not keep the episode of Gilmore Girls I checked to be sure it was recording on Tuesday, which made me irrationally angry. It saved the episode of House all right, though. Heaven forbid it save the show that isn't formulaic that I've been following since the end of the first season, but it got good ol' Hugh Laurie.

These are just two examples of the sort of "What the fuck just happened?" moments of annoyance I have had this week. They are not earth-shattering (only glass-shattering) and certainly predicaments lots of people in the Gulf would be happy to have at this moment, but this is a journal of whining, so whine I shall. I am sort of shallow.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose: A list.

1. The movie debunked itself throughout the plot. Even if I wanted to buy the priest's story, the movie itself kept giving me reason after reason not to suspend disbelief. I expect the idea was for viewers to question the reality presented by the prosecution, but it fell flat.

2. The visuals weren't even that creepy. You've seen the trailer. I won't have nightmares. I guess you can't do much with a PG-13 rating.

3. Extraneous plotline about the agnostic becoming a believer? Shut up.

4. I won't even bother to rip apart the characters and dialogue, because really, it goes without saying that they are absurd. But I will say this: porn 'stache.

5. This is not a spoiler because it didn't happen, but the ending? Would have been so much better if the priest turned out to be Lucifer. Just sayin'.

Thumpin' Thursday.

I can't be creative right now. It's just not in me.

My horoscope for this week gives interesting advice. Advice I need right now, despite its hippy-dippy trappings.

Every morning this week, I have woken up around 6:40. My alarm is set for 7:10, so I don't go back to sleep. After the initial burst of energy from waking up, I crash pretty hard and feel exhausted for the rest of the day. It's possibly hormonal bullshit, possibly just my body being stupid once again and reminding me I need to, uh, exercise and stuff. I think my exercise routine should consist of (1) rocking out and (2) dancing to punk rock in my kitchen, because that's about all I can squeeze in while the futon is down and the living room is full of Kevin's music/synth project stuff. My body, I'm sure, disagrees.

Last night, I became the last person on Earth to discover the New Pornographers. (OK, I'm sure some of you out there haven't, either, but you are not trying.) Fucking hell, why did no one tell me? Did you really think the excessive alternative press attention lavished upon them would do the trick? Because let me tell you, it didn't. No, I had to poke around eMusic and feel like trying it out on a whim. Yeah, so, I dig. Reminds me a bit of some poppier Elephant 6 stuff, (some of) which I love. (I don't love Of Montreal. I'm sorry.)

Also in my eMusic wanderings, I downloaded a beautiful song by a guy named Jose Gonzales. I immediately knew I had to share this song with others of a certain temperament and made sure to get the file to Aja. I think my mom might even like this guy. I mean, maybe. She's hard to pin down sometimes. I think she also has some of my Radiohead CDs still and suddenly became a U2 fan over the summer. Not that Mr. Gonzales sounds anything like those bands.

Anyway, back to the early mornings. This kind of insomnia makes my mornings extra slow and my lunches and dinners especially uninspired. I returned to my once-faithful bulghur-spinach-cherry tomato-chickpea-feta-garlic yogurt salad yesterday, only to find my palate dulled (though not by my lunch buddy's delicious Indian leftovers, which are Indian by virtue of heritage and not of restaurant leftovers and always fantastic, despite her humility). Today I was cranky and found myself eating out of Safeway again: crappy "everything" bagel with neufachel cheese and a cup of add-hot-water split pea soup. And the "energy" flavor Vitamin Water, which isn't bad, although it tastes sort of like a less sweet Tang. It failed to make me energetic, however.

For dinner, since Kevin informed me that his office got Indian takeout, I drove over to the Lee's Sandwiches on Calaveras. The bi chay sandwich (veggie baguette) is a decent and inexpensive little meal for someone who would otherwise gorge herself on the remainder of fucking awesome vegan brownies for dinner, though perhaps I should not have ordered the iced mint milk. I don't know exactly what's in that drink, but it's... really fucking sweet. And vaguely fruity. I drank about half of it. Maybe Kevin will try the rest of it, though I doubt he'll have something so obviously non-vegan and sugary.

That is all for today.

I guess we have some time to kill.

Last night, I saw the Decemberists again, this time with the Editor's girlfriend (who requires a moniker that doesn't define her in the context of her significant other). It was all kinds of fantastic; they are better every time I see them. They opened with the five-part song, "The Tain," and completely rocked it. They made jokes about Dick Cheney and put "The Chimbley Sweep" in his mouth, complete with a light saber fight to the death in the middle of the song. And in the end, we were all swallowed by a whale.

I learned that Petra Haden, of the defunct that dog. and the opening act Petra Haden and the Sellouts, an all-girl a cappella choir, is the new girl in the band, the violinist and backup vocalist. It took me two shows to make this connection. I am slow. Anyway, her a cappella choir was interesting, though the Fillmore is a strange venue for it: the first openers, Sons and Daughters, were rocking, then we got... a cappella arrangements of the Who? Which is hard to dance to, at any rate, so it was a theater full of sweaty kids, listening politely. They did some cool things, though I don't think I'd ever seek it out.

Today I am very tired, but again, it is for a good reason. Rocking out is always a good reason to be tired. It makes me feel alive.

I need to see The Exorcism of Emily Rose out of mock-narcissistic curiosity. And also to prove I am less of a dork than I think I am.

Additionally, it is the beginning of the fall TV season, a.k.a. Television Addiction Excuse season. Tonight, it's Gilmore Girls (though I'm spoiled like milk) and House, which looks to be more of the same formula this season as last, but it's still watchable. There are a few other shows I will probably enjoy, but the only absolute appointment TV, the only one I will be totally upset to miss a single episode, is, of course, Veronica Mars, which isn't back until the 27th.

Oh, TV. You will be the death of me.

ETA: I have been getting a number of referrals from inboxes to this entry and Sitemeter locates the hits in 'burbs around LA. If anyone comes here that way, would you mind leaving me a comment to help me satisfy my curiosity? My site doesn't get mailed out much.

Wow.

I don't really talk about major disasters that much, mostly because usually I don't know what to say that hasn't already been said a million other places and ten times more eloquently than I could ever phrase it.

My brother sent me a link to this photo gallery of one man's walking tour of his adopted city before, during, and after Katrina. It's lengthy, but worth it. Amazing photos and storytelling.

And today is, of course, the anniversary of 9/11. Which comes with its own can of worms I can't even begin to comment on.

Another pathetic Saturday.

I have really got to work on writing more positive headlines for my blog entries.

Kevin came home within half an hour of me last night, which is an unusual and unexpected occurence. Unfortunately, it was because he was feeling under the weather, so I went into annoying-caretaker mode and pestered him to see if I could bring him rice, broth, or tea. He did actually want some of these things, as well as a thermometer to read his temp at 101'F. I think he was able to sleep it off, but he's been pretty blah still today. How this differs from his usual weekend mood, I'm not exactly sure, but I'm treading lightly. Besides repeatedly asking him how he feels or if I can make him any bland food that won't trouble his stomach.

This morning, I stayed in bed until noon reading The Red Tent, which Kevin's mom lent me awhile ago. It's the kind of story I enjoy occasionally--in some ways, it reminded me of Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children, though nowhere near as rich and beautiful. It's a very girl-power sort of story, and that's good sometimes, especially outside the context of contemporary chick lit I couldn't tolerate anyway.

The afternoon consisted of cleaning the kitchen. The dishwasher failed to properly use the detergent bomb during the last load, and as a result, every single glass I washed and a few dishes came out crusted with that sandy crap that causes me great consternation (never mind my horrible alliteration). I've found that running them again, this time in the lower rack, solves the problem. Are you fascinated yet? I know I am. Also, I swept and mopped the floor.

And there was the disc of Rescue Me I finished. Still depressing. I have one disc of the BBC series MI-5 to watch. Salaam Bombay! has yet to appear in my mailbox, which screws up my whole Netflix system: I try to watch everything over the weekend and return it Monday, though usually if I mail it by Wednesday at the latest, I will still have something over the weekend.

I am dressed like an absolute slob. The neighbors are having their house painted by a noisy bunch of Latinos who covered our cars with plastic wrap. I want to bake more fucking great vegan brownies, but I'm pretty much out of sugar that isn't confectioners.

Why don't more of you live here and have no lives?

I am a boring person.

It's true. Don't deny it.

When you call me and ask what I've been up to, I'll say, "Nothing." And it's true.

Except for seeing Ken Stringfellow's pink panties, this week's activities have included mainly being a lazy bum and also going to work. Work has even been busy, though not hectic, so it's good. There are even more new people and one of them has been hanging out with our lunch crew. She is also less than two years older than me, so I feel less hilariously young. (I don't know if I've said that about my coworkers, but they are--or were--all at least five years older than me. I don't mean that in an "omg they're soooo old" way, but it does end up making me somewhat the butt of some jokes about how freaking young I am.)

But really, I am a lazy bum. I haven't cooked anything all week. I baked a bunch last weekend, including some really fucking awesome vegan brownies (no, really--they were fucking awesome, and also dinner one night) so I guess I was spent. I discovered that Target sells my preferred mac & cheese for $1.20 less than Whole Foods does, which came as an utter shock, so I bought two of those horribly unnecessary crutch meals. And that was dinner for two nights. And one night I felt shitty and had dressed-up Thai Kitchen rice noodle soup (if I add onion, tomato, carrot, cilantro, lime juice, and copious sriracha sauce, it's almost like cooking). For lunches, I brought shitty sandwiches two days, then got bored and got burrito takeout the next two days. I know most people would read this and think, "Yeah, so? That is the level of laziness most people are at." But I would like to hold myself to a higher standard, and I am failing miserably. I have to expect times like this, however.

And then I come here and write entries like this. Which is boring. I can't believe you're fucking reading it.

I feel the need to be creative, but I don't ever feel like I have a good outlet. Writing isn't really a creative act for me; it's a compulsory and compulsive act of compilation. It's a matter of spitting out the stuff in my head to make room for the new stuff, then, if I'm feeling really fancy, organizing it into something readable.

Here's the thing: I get complacent. I have a job, and to be honest, for as boring as it sounds, it's not that awful. It requires some thought and debate and I learn stuff all the time. I am pretty good at it, even if it's not where my heart is. And I'm sure I've said this before. I just feel sort of defensive about it. Maybe I could do better, but for now, it's more than okay. I'm still feeling out this real world, and in many ways, this isn't a bad way to do it, at least for me.

Anyway, when I get complacent, I get stuck. I know I get stuck. I plant myself firmly in my seat and don't get up without considerable prompting. And the things I should be doing are the kinds of things you don't get prompted for, you have to go out and fucking do them. I just hope I don't sit here my whole life, hoping I'll eventually work up the courage.

Also, music is pretty awesome right now. I have all these TV DVDs and all I want to do is peruse my ancient mp3 collection and think about assembling mix CDs for people I never see and people I've just met. That, and I need to chop off some of my hair and dye it dark brown.

If you want to be free, be free.

Flakes are great.

At least where concert tickets are concerned. Sometimes.

Thank you to Jessica's friend Tommy for being unable to go see the Posies last night. I ended up going, and it rocked supermegahard. I am going to be deaf as fuck and I don't think I will ever get the image of Ken Stringfellow in pink bikini briefs out of my head, but it was totally worth it. Even the opening bands weren't crappy. Hanging out with Jess is always fun, too.

Goddamn, I am so fucking tired. Why is it only Thursday?

Or else you'll be funky.

I have lately been deviating form my usual eMusic behavior of downloading only complete albums in favor of downloading random songs and/or EPs. Some pleasant surprises so far: Dan the Automator's remix of Del the Funky Homosapien's "If You Must," which may or may not contain a sample of Mr. Rogers, Decemberists EPs (shit, so much pretty), older Minus 5 (back when they weren't down with Wilco) which is pleasantly Beatlesque, and, shit, I downloaded most of Hedwig and the Angry Inch because it's so nice. The Decemberists covering Bjork is good, and I figured out that I have, in fact, heard "Fuck the Pain Away" by Peaches, because it was in the strip club scene of Lost in Translation and I never knew because sometimes I am that dense. I paid way more attention to the presence of My Bloody Valentine in that soundtrack.

The apple pie I am baking is starting to smell. Fuck yes.

A coworker lent me a DVD of Massive Attack music videos, none of which I've ever seen, so this should be interesting.

This week's Netflixes include the actual last disc of Home Movies season 2, the first disc of Rescue Me season 1, and the original (not Coen Bros.) The Ladykillers. The latter was Kevin's pick due to the presence of Peter Sellers, but I'll probably end up watching it at some point this weekend. I am still bitter about the Coen Bros. descent into suckitude (starting with Intolerable Cruelty), so I will probably never see their version. I have already watched all the TV on DVD stuff, so I can say it was good. Rescue Me is fucking depressing, but it doesn't take as long to get into as Deadwood.

I am thinking that stuff happened this week that is worth reporting, but I can't think of anything.

It's Labor Day weekend and I'm not at the Seattle Center. That's kind of sad, but at the same time, I don't feel like getting that stressed out right now. I have a pie in the oven. Pie, or tons of bands and other performances and insane crowds and friends and ridiculous airfare? Pie makes me feel accomplished. The rest makes me happy and exhausted and poor. I'll settle for accomplishment now.

I have a lot left to accomplish, though. I'm dragging my feet.

Piracy teams.

Though the New York Times may be loathe to admit it, I think "piracy teams" or some variant thereof may be WAY cooler than "warez groups."

"Warez" is so 1998.

Go pirates!

ETA: Um, apparently I put the wrong link in there, so I just deleted the hyperlink. The sentiments, however, stand.

I am a slug.

This weekend, I have done a fat pile of absolutely nothing. Yesterday was dedicated to watching TV shows and movies that happened to be on TV. Today, I watched another DVD and I want to do pretty much nothing at all.

I mean, I'm watching the fuzzy PBS cooking shows. They're cooking meat, for god's sake. I don't ever even cook meat. The occasional fish filet, maybe, but beyond that, I have no need for knowing how to prepare osso buco the right way, but now I sort of know. Damn you, America's Test Kitchen, for being so fascinating. Now it's Barbecue University with Steven Raichlen. Oddly enough, I have one of this guy's books--but it's called Low Fat, High Flavor Vegetarian Cooking, and there are some pretty tasty things in it. And a lot of things I would never make, but they look pretty.

Oh, he's preparing some salmon. Because you can't visit Seattle without sampling salmon, even though he's in West Virginia. Man, I haven't had salmon in a long fucking time. And he's talking about Ivar's! Holy crap! Damn you for making me miss Seattle, even if it's something as inconsequential to me as Ivar's.

On Friday, Kevin and I did our semi-regular Ethiopian dinner out, which was good as always. Afterwards, I wanted to pick up the new John Vanderslice album, so we went to Streetlight on Bascom. I bought more stuff than necessary, but I do have the new John Vanderslice, among other things.

Yesterday I watched the rest of the second season of Home Movies, which I didn't enjoy as much as the first for some reason, and the last disc of the first season of Deadwood, which was so fucking great I increased my Netflix rating of it to 5 stars. That show took a few episodes to get into, but now I'm clamoring for the next season to come out on DVD.

Broadcast TV had a surprising number of non-shitty movies on yesterday: UPN aired The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai and This Is Spinal Tap back to back, which I watched despite missing the first hour and a half of Banzai and owning an uncensored VHS copy of Tap, and in the evening, PBS showed Fargo. Sweet. I totally do not need cable.

Or that's what I keep telling myself.

I watched Jackie Brown this morning. I liked it more than I expected to, though I think I would've given it the same number of stars either way. Tarantino has to really suck before I give under 4 stars for his shit.

Speaking of suck, I am disappointed in the reviews The Brothers Grimm is getting. I can't be the only one. Terry Gilliam, what did you do to make your movie something I avoided on its opening weekend? Why? It's not fair!

I have in front of me a recipe for beet curry. I think I'll go attempt it in a bit.

Upcoming shows of hooray.

12 Sept. - The Decemberists @ The Fillmore
Tickets are in my desk. The 11th was sold out when I got them!

13 Oct. - Dan Bern @ The Attic (Santa Cruz)
I'm told he's an interesting performer. I definitely like his songs.

22 Oct. - The Gossip @ Bottom of the Hill
Who's in? Is my sister the only other Gossip fan I know in the area? You people.

5 Nov. - John Vanderslice @ The Independent
I'm fairly certain Kevin would actually go to this. Would love it if others would come see this guy.

I am sure there are more to come.

Excited ornithologists and lethargy.

For whatever reason, I've been in the shittiest mood today. I've been shrieking louder and longer at those drivers around me who are stupid and getting bored as fuck by NPR's long reports about fucking ornithologists and their search for some kind of woodpecker sound clip. I am tired and cranky and I was irritated at work and bitched out a guy on IRC for no real reason.

I am so ready for the fucking weekend. Not that I have plans, but fuck. I'm tired.

I've done some things this week that were good. Last night was the Rufus Wainwright/Ben Folds show at the Mountain Winery way up in the hills in Saratoga. You'd never know Silicon Valley was so ugly from the view in the parking lot. I've never heard crickets chirping between songs, either. It's a rather nice outdoor venue and I enjoyed the performances. Kevin and I grabbed falafels from Gyro's House in Mountain View on the way there, which are always delicious.

I don't have much to say about them right now because...I'm fucking tired, but I feel sort of obligated to just post something because I haven't in a few days, and since this is really more for my own benefit than yours, I'd like a basic record of what has happened in my life. Yes, that's the point of a paper journal, but I don't seem to bother with those consistently enough. I do with this.

On Tuesday, I hung out with the Editor and saw The 40-Year-Old Virgin. I was not terribly impressed, though it had its moments. It felt way too long and tried to do a few too many things, but there were some genuine laughs.

I've been making a pretty decent lunch this week, which is described below:

-1/2 c. bulghur
-big handful baby spinach, chopped
-1/2 can chickpeas, drained
-12 or so cherry tomatoes, sliced in half
-feta cheese, if you like
-salt and lemon juice to taste

Soak the bulghur in enough water to give it the right texture. Add everything else and mix.

-1/4 c. plain yogurt (I've been using nonfat Greek)
-1 clove garlic, crushed and minced
-salt and lemon juice to taste

Mix everything together until it's creamy and set aside. Stir into the bulghur mixture when you're ready to eat it. This takes 15 minutes, tops, with chopping and everything.

Today I made some crappy pasta because the company-provided lunch was non-vegetarian. Well, there were some corn muffins and a basic salad (iceberg + romaine + red cabbage). It was from a barbeque joint. I couldn't even go in there because the smell of meat was so overpowering. (Sound dramatic much? Sorry. I don't mind meat smells mixed with other smells, but a predominantly meat aroma is...disconcerting.)

Anyway, I need to de-bitchify and think more positively and eat more tomato pizza.

2-1/2 restaurant reviews and two movies.

This weekend, my family visited four restaurants and ate at two. Only we can spend hours stomping around the foodie capital of America and come up starving and empty-handed at 9 on a Sunday night.

Lunch was an easy, if terrifyingly expensive, choice in Rose Pistola. The food was delicious and the service fine, though the price is enough to drive away any thought of returning. My brother had the penne with beef bolognese--shocking--while my mom and sister and I shared several antipasti: a roast beet salad with chunks of cheese, a spreckled romaine and red grape salad with a wonderful vinaigrette, an absolutely divine caprese with melt-in-your-mouth buffalo mozzarella and gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, a trio of bruschetta, and, most interestingly, deep-fried chickpeas with capers and lemon zest.

As we were visiting the Haight, Margot suggested a place called Asquew for dinner, which is an informal, inexpensive, healthy, and most likely tasty kebab spot, but we ended up not eating there due to the lack of available seating. We poked around a few thrift stores before heading back towards my sister's place.

We got off the bus a little early and decided to eat at a Greek restaurant on Polk we'd been to a few years ago. A large party had been seated just ahead of us, so we agreed to wait 10 minutes for a table. We looked at the menu and decided what to order while we waited, but when we were actually seated, no one came to take our order, bring us water, or even say hello. For thirty fucking minutes. The waiter spent ten minutes chatting with a another table, a party who were seated *after* we were. They got their orders, even. We stormed out.

Eventually, we ate at a little Italian place on Post called Caffe Bella Valencia or something like that. The prices were not unreasonable and the food was decent. The pasta was overcooked, but the flavors were all right. The service was a little slow after the initial bringing of water and bread and taking of the orders, but the place seemed somewhat busy and it was the poor guy's first night. Or that's what they told everyone to compensate for mediocre service. It took for-freaking-ever to get the check, and at that point, I wanted nothing more than the hop on BART and go to bed. On the plus side, I have leftovers for lunch, including my brother's vegetable side and polenta, which he mistook for potatoes and did not much care for.

On Saturday, mom and my brother were staying with us in Milpitas, so we had to devise some way to spend the day. My brother really wanted to see The Aristocrats, which is unlikely to show in Olympia soon, plus mom should never see that movie. She would be horrified. Comedy is something my brother and I have always bonded over--it's my fault that he's the only kid I knew who was reading The Onion at 12. The theater at Santana Row was playing Broken Flowers at 2, the same time as The Aristocrats was playing at the Camera 7, so we dropped her off for the less offensive film and went to ours. It was really entertaining and, we thought, surprisingly tame. Or we're just horribly desensitized, or context is everything.

Later, mom told us she looked up the joke online. She gave us quite a look.

Late Saturday night, after we'd feasted on tilapia filets I smeared with a potent mixture of spices and a garlicky greek yogurt sauce, mom and I watched The Motorcycle Diaries. She lent me the DVD at the beginning of the summer and I never got around to watching it, so I needed to do that and give it back to her while she was here. It was a damn fine film, and not entirely too heavy-handed considering the subject matter. Might have been nicer on something larger than a laptop screen, though.

It was good to see the family, but it was a very long weekend, and I am really tired today. I am a little concerned that my allergies are flaring up again, after months of respite, or that I'm coming down with a cold. Either of these possibilities would suck, but I am hoping a good night's sleep will do the trick. Heh.

Otherwise, I fully anticipate being a snot-nosed medicine head at Wednesday's Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright show.

(Ab)using Waiter.com.

I'm not sure how, but I made it almost to age 24 without really feeling much love for takeout. Oh, sure, I've used it--I can't count the number of times I ducked into a teriyaki joint on the Ave for chicken teriyaki (back when I wasn't a hippie) and some of that cabbage salad with the strange and wonderful dressing to take home and enjoy for the next two meals. Or the cheap and delicious lunch-is-anytime special Chinese that my Hong Kong-born roommate swore by. Or the time only a styrofoam container of bi bim bap could soothe my angry mind. Or, naturally, the zillions of boxes of leftover Thai.

No, since moving to California, takeout has been a bland experience, dotted with overpriced and surly Whole Foods lunches, cheap but bland Togo's sandwiches, and vegetarian Chinese that was of a sub-par quality compared to its in-restaurant brethren. Until recently, we suffered under the early closures of area restaurants--10 p.m. is hardly late for the man who gets home at 9 and his girlfriend who staves off the hunger pains with unnecessary junk food.

But there is a solution, and it's one so beautiful, I find myself wondering what the catch is: Waiter.com.

The Internet. No phone, no need of a photocopied takeout menu, just a few clicks and a short drive before closing and bam, there's your bag of delicious food. It works for pizza that is far more delicious (and expensive) than Pizza Hut. It works for goddamn burrito joints. Tonight we got Indian, which was so enormously satisfying, I don't even care that I was eating the Indian equivalent of supersized french fries in my order of spinach pakoras. They were too delicious, and came with three vats of equally delicious chutneys. The moong masala dosa, while not up to my beloved Udupi Palace standards, especially taking into account the comparative distance. I didn't even have to change out of my skanky workout clothes.

I am so full now, I could burst. And it's much later than I like eating, but I'll suffer through the inevitable bizarre dreams. Every gram of buttery fat is worth it.

Tomorrow my mom and brother will be here and the food wars will begin. Who will win: The middle-aged dieter, doing a damn fine job of working down her dress size? The tall not-quite-18-year-old with a penchant for steak, potatoes, and fettuccine alfredo? Or the neo-local with knowledge of area ethnic restaurants and a deep sympathy for vegans? Tune in next time.

The first one is free.

Lately I've been thinking about the bands I like (or used to like) and the first songs I'd ever heard--or at least really listened to--by them. Only some of them have just one definite hook. The following is a list of some bands and the first song I heard by each of them, and maybe, just maybe, a little story.

Pulp, "I Spy"

I was reminded of this tonight as I listened to Different Class and sang along loudly. One summer, Becky and I visited our then-Internet-buddies Tristan and Sarah in Corvallis, Ore. Tristan sat us down in an overcast parking lot by the river and placed a pair of giant headphones on each of our ears and played this song.

Luna, "23 Minutes in Brussels"

This was the work of Sammy. I listened to this and iimmediately wanted more.

Blur, "Beetlebum"

Yeah, so everyone heard "Song 2," but it was a 1-minute clip of "Beetlebum" that made me get the album. I'm kind of a sucker.

The Mountain Goats, "See America Right"

Gabe sent me this mp3 like a hundred years ago. I didn't pick up Tallahassee for a couple years, but I did get a few other albums. It took me awhile to be convinced based on this song alone, but there's no turning back. (Had he sent "No Children," I don't think wild horses could have stopped me from running up to fucking Cellophane Square and dropping full price on the CD.)

The Decemberists, "The Soldiering Life"

A KRS freebie that, in conjunction with a damn fine Bumbershoot set in ought-three, forced me to buy a CD that, while it isn't their best, got me in line with the Youth and Beauty Brigade.

DJ Shadow, "Midnight in a Perfect World"

Probably everyone's first DJ Shadow, considering how many between-NPR-bits it occupies, among other things, but you know what? For good reason.

Ben Folds Five, "Battle of Who Could Care Less"

I know, it was a radio single, but there is a little story behind why this song, which I absolutely loved, failed to get me to obtain the album for years. I heard it on the radio once and was excited. The second time, I managed to tape it--at the time, I carried around a 90-minute cassette full of songs I liked that I taped off the radio--and listened to it on my Walkman for weeks. I forced certain friends to listen to it, and they hated it, so I didn't buy it. And that is a lesson about the power of peer pressure.

Built to Spill, "I Could Hurt a Fly"

Ah, finally, something Kevin sent me. There isn't much else to say about it, but this song rocks, and I really like BTS now. Yay.

Anyone else got a list of firsts?

Dorkier than DDR.

I have started working out. To a video game. No, not DDR. Worse than DDR.

Yourself! Fitness.

For fucking serious, the exclamation point is in there.

It's totally designed for soccer moms. And it is kicking my ass.

I am super uncoordinated, so some of the movements are like whoa, but overall? I sweated and I will be sore. That's probably a good thing. And it's slightly less embarrassing than actually going to a gym, and a hell of a lot cheaper. It also doesn't require me to leave the house and potentially interact with my potentially irritating suburban neighbors, for whom I feel vague scorn, just because. I am a horrible person.

However, I have many delicious snacks in my house. I am hoping Kevin will help me consume at least some of them, as they are all vegan: apple pie (*vegan* apple pie, natch), organic raspberries, and Double Rainbow chocolate sorbet (bestest sorbet in the westest), and a 70% dark chocolate "save the animals or whatever" bar. (I do think that brand is silly. They give something like 10% of profits to some vaguely animal-related charity. The chocolate is decent, however, and reasonably priced, so I'll buy it sometimes.) I imagine he won't partake of the chocolate items, but he personally OK'ed the pie, so he better be in for at least half.

Fuck, I'm hungry. Today my awesome vegetarian coworker--with whom I have split pretty much every lunch since she started--brought homemade idly, which was all kinds of delicious. If you've never had them, idly are a little white cake made of ground-up rice or rice flour and a pale dahl, with a texture sort of resembling polenta. In restaurants, they are usually served with a cup of sambar, which is a kind of vegetable soup for dipping. She taught me how to eat it like she does, which is to put a couple idlies in a bowl and pour the sambar over it, then used the spoon to cut up the idly so more of the flavor soaks into it. Her sambar had something I thought was potato, but turned out to be bottleneck gourd, which was really tasty.

While I'm on the food kick, Kevin and I tried a Lebanese restaurant in Fremont the other night. The proprieters were chatting with a family when we got there, so we overheard some of their discussion of Beirut (apparently, it's a nice place) and how the restaurant had been at that location for something like 20 years. Impressive. We tried the fattoush salad, which was a little too tangy to finish, the falafel sandwich, and the veggie combo. (Sometime I think I should write about the "veggie combo" at several different restaurants.) The combo featured falafel, hummus, and yabraks, which appear to be the Lebanese version of dolmas. I didn't try those, but the hummus was delicious and the falafels were awesome. They were rich with spice and had a good texture, an even consistency, and weren't too greasy or crispy. Next time we go, I'd like to try the tabbouleh, order the falafels as an appetizer--just eat 'em straight or with some hummus--and try this one thing the owners had the table next to us try: something like hummus, but made with cauliflower. That sounded so intriguing.

And finally, here's this week's roundup of Netflix rentals:

Deadwood: Season 1, disc 3: This shit is getting good. I wasn't totally digging it immediately, but something about it said, "Give me a chance, you cocksucker." So I did, and I'm definitely into it now.

Ran: I have now officially seen it. Damn good and beautiful and fucking long as fuck.

Hard Eight: P.T. Anderson's first movie boasts an impressive cast and isn't a bad movie. I was expecting way more violence than it had, though, and I am not sure I totally understood the main character's motivations. It seems like it might bear repeated viewings, but that isn't high on my priority list.