My unconscious mind has worse habits than I do. Tries to make up for all the stuff I won't touch. I've had dreams about smoking since I was young. Last night, I had a dream that I drank an entire bottle of sweet blush wine and started staggering around, hoping no one would notice my drunkenness.
(For the record, I've only been noticably intoxicated once. When I do consume alcohol, it's one serving, maybe once every two months at the most. And I don't really like it. And I never smoke. Drugs? Uh, no. I am a goody two shoes.)
I woke up with an entire leg number than anything. It happens sometimes when I sleep on my side.
It's so cold today. I had to walk by Bartell's with its temperature-displaying sign just to see how cold: 33' F. Just above freezing. Sheeeit. No wonder I was still cold under two thick layers of blanket.
Anyway, everyone is feeling stressed these days. We had the big house meeting last night after Gilmore Girls and talked about moving. Josie was upset because moving now screws her up a bit--she was planning to be out by the end of January, so now she'll be stuck couchsurfing for a couple weeks if she still wants to work. Moving at the end of November is a big bitch to everyone because of the holidays and finals, but staying more than a month is potentially hazardous to our health, among other things, so our solution is to let the lease lapse and give notice in December. We'll find a place and move between finals and Christmas and/or Christmas and New Year's.
And we are confident we'll find an ideal place. Yep.
If anyone knows of a three-bedroom dwelling in one of the neighborhoods directly to the west and north of the University district--south of 85th, say, and east of Phinney--with free off-street parking that would be about $1500 a month or less and available in mid-December, let me know. That doesn't seem like too much to ask, does it?
Ideally, it'll be spacious, well-maintained, and not owned by a useless prick. But that may be asking too much.
So now that we're only casually on the hunt, here's to doing schoolwork. Ta.
Friday, October 31, 2003
Thursday, October 30, 2003
World Blows Up Around You
My life could be a lot worse. I could live in a war zone. I could be in the military. I could be experiencing another bout of depression. I could be sick. The rest of my family could be dying. My house could be burning down.
That doesn't stop me from complaining about all the shit that's going down right now.
At the crux of my complaints is that there is a growing puddle of sewage in my basement and the landlord wants to raise the rent by $130 after our lease is up in a month.
Considering the egregious lack of proper maintenance of the property, my housemates and I are crying foul. We don't think a house with sewage in the basement, quickly encroaching on expensive and heavy electronics among other things, is worth the $130 extra in rent. His letter claims expenses have increased, thus the need for higher rent. Bullshit. He doesn't pay any of the utilities for this house, and I am pretty confident property taxes haven't gone up. His previous "maintenance" has been sending a non-English-speaking guy out to "fix" the leaking shower, which was not, in fact, fixed; replacing the broken ceiling fan in Chris's bedroom with an inexpensive light fixture; and giving us a smelly, tiny, 30-year-old fridge to replace the one that died and ruined all of our frozen food. The fuses have blown from that fridge. He's been a useless prick of a landlord, not to mention sexist, only dealing with my male housemate directly, despite two females (myself included) being on the lease.
I love this house. The location is primo--close to everything I love, even though it's ghetto as hell and surrounded by noise, I'd prefer it to frat row--the space is magnificent, the parking is free, the rent was exceedingly reasonable. It's not perfect, but it is nice. Except for those pesky little things mentioned above, which are intolerable. The sewage is the anvil that broke the camel's back.
So we're planning to move.
Maybe if the sewage gets taken care of quickly and we can make an agreement that maintenance conditions improve dramatically, the $130 will be worth it and we'll stay. I'm thinking not, though.
Obviously, this leads to a whole new set of complications. Where to move, when, how to deal with Josie who's leaving at the end of January, not to mention her cat... Moving sucks, it does. But so does a clusterfuck of disgusting house problems.
What else is going on? I don't know. I have a cold and I'm on store brand sudafed, which always makes me spacy as fuck. I slept at Kevin's so I could, you know, shower and use the bathroom--being on the rag sort of necessitates these things--and I grabbed food and coffee at Ballard Market on my way to the bus to work. The coffee spilled all over the place and got cold from sitting around forever. The bus stopped at every stop. The cup I brought for Chris was unpleasant, and of the three sugar packets I brought him, one wasn't sealed properly and spilled all over my grocery bag.
I'm here at work until 4:30, too brain dead to do anything really productive and hogging the only functioning workstation. The printers are being wonky and people keep having retarded and overlong issues that make me want to fall on a sword.
Everyone else has midterms this week and is freaking out over that. The University Neighborhood Service Center, my closest passport application site, is closed until further notice due to flooding, so I need to haul ass to Ballard during appropriate hours. Tomorrow is Halloween and my costume will be Dirty Insomniac. It won't require me to dress up at all and will probably scare patrons and small children alike.
And I need to find a new place to live and move over Thanksgiving weekend, it looks like.
Fuck.
That doesn't stop me from complaining about all the shit that's going down right now.
At the crux of my complaints is that there is a growing puddle of sewage in my basement and the landlord wants to raise the rent by $130 after our lease is up in a month.
Considering the egregious lack of proper maintenance of the property, my housemates and I are crying foul. We don't think a house with sewage in the basement, quickly encroaching on expensive and heavy electronics among other things, is worth the $130 extra in rent. His letter claims expenses have increased, thus the need for higher rent. Bullshit. He doesn't pay any of the utilities for this house, and I am pretty confident property taxes haven't gone up. His previous "maintenance" has been sending a non-English-speaking guy out to "fix" the leaking shower, which was not, in fact, fixed; replacing the broken ceiling fan in Chris's bedroom with an inexpensive light fixture; and giving us a smelly, tiny, 30-year-old fridge to replace the one that died and ruined all of our frozen food. The fuses have blown from that fridge. He's been a useless prick of a landlord, not to mention sexist, only dealing with my male housemate directly, despite two females (myself included) being on the lease.
I love this house. The location is primo--close to everything I love, even though it's ghetto as hell and surrounded by noise, I'd prefer it to frat row--the space is magnificent, the parking is free, the rent was exceedingly reasonable. It's not perfect, but it is nice. Except for those pesky little things mentioned above, which are intolerable. The sewage is the anvil that broke the camel's back.
So we're planning to move.
Maybe if the sewage gets taken care of quickly and we can make an agreement that maintenance conditions improve dramatically, the $130 will be worth it and we'll stay. I'm thinking not, though.
Obviously, this leads to a whole new set of complications. Where to move, when, how to deal with Josie who's leaving at the end of January, not to mention her cat... Moving sucks, it does. But so does a clusterfuck of disgusting house problems.
What else is going on? I don't know. I have a cold and I'm on store brand sudafed, which always makes me spacy as fuck. I slept at Kevin's so I could, you know, shower and use the bathroom--being on the rag sort of necessitates these things--and I grabbed food and coffee at Ballard Market on my way to the bus to work. The coffee spilled all over the place and got cold from sitting around forever. The bus stopped at every stop. The cup I brought for Chris was unpleasant, and of the three sugar packets I brought him, one wasn't sealed properly and spilled all over my grocery bag.
I'm here at work until 4:30, too brain dead to do anything really productive and hogging the only functioning workstation. The printers are being wonky and people keep having retarded and overlong issues that make me want to fall on a sword.
Everyone else has midterms this week and is freaking out over that. The University Neighborhood Service Center, my closest passport application site, is closed until further notice due to flooding, so I need to haul ass to Ballard during appropriate hours. Tomorrow is Halloween and my costume will be Dirty Insomniac. It won't require me to dress up at all and will probably scare patrons and small children alike.
And I need to find a new place to live and move over Thanksgiving weekend, it looks like.
Fuck.
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Fighting Invisible Monsters
I have bug bites in the most random locations. I don't even know where the bugs came from. Some people wake up to the sound of mosquitoes buzzing in their ears--not I. If they're around, I don't see or hear them. The only bugs I see are the fruit flies that were thriving on an empty carton of Thai leftovers buried deep in my trash bin until I took it out this week.
(If most of your trash is kleenex, you can crush it down almost indefinitely. Tip of the week.)
Anyway, I've had bug bites/pimples/god knows what on my knuckle, elbow, mid-back along the spine, and cheek. The one on my cheek was particularly odd, as it hadn't swelled or begun to itch when I found it.
Why am I writing about minor bug bites? I had a topic, for reals. It's just escaping me now.
In ethics yesterday, the grader, in our prof's absence, lead a discussion about coverage of Columbine and similar trauma situations. (Isn't it strange how readily we interchange "trauma" and "tragedy?" The words have different meanings, but you wouldn't know that to look at most headlines. Something traumatic occurred. Let's jazz it up and call it a tragedy because we have pictures of people in tears. So much for objective journalism.) I found it a little difficult to say my piece when the woman was quite clearly moved to emotion about the subject--I'm simply not.
I mean, I can see why people covering it day in and day out would be moved. I can see how it's moving. It's fucking scary and terrible and having to look at images of kids being pulled out of windows and diving under desks for weeks at a time, having your car surrounded by angry citizens, constantly being pressured to harass those who lost someone? Yeah, that's crappy. And it's worth discussing.
But at the same time, what the fuck!
The vocal qualities of some of my classmates makes me not want to say anything at all. Theirs is the voice of self-important authority. It's my biased perception, sure, but it doesn't make me want to say what I'm thinking: "I don't need fucking Katie Couric to come to my hometown when it's insane and tell me and all of America how terrible it is. I don't need it glossed over with fanfare, pomp and circumstance, on the evening news. I don't need to answer the call when a big name wants a quote." I totally felt for the local journalists; they were getting fucked. And I can't say that. It's hard for me to formulate these thoughts on the fly and verbally.
Why is it, self-important authoritative voice, that it was wrong for the students, parents, and faculty to want to control the message? How is it blocking news or making people forget if they don't show images and name names of the perpetrators on the one-year anniversary? Why can't it for once be the news to present the story as "these people were traumatized" and not "those fuck-ups did the traumatizing"?
I wish my prof had been there for the discussion. He's the same prof I had for Advanced Newswriting, and trauma reporting is his thing. Our trauma unit was, to some extent, his pet project. It was strongly emphasized that to be more responsible reporters, we should give less power to the perpetrators of trauma and more to the victims. It's a complicated issue, but one I would have liked to have my prof to direct a little.
Maybe I'm a little too interested in compassion to be a hardcore reporter. That's never been my intent, anyway. Compassion, to me, is not just crying when something is difficult. Objectivity is useless. If the "truth" the people want to hear is a rehash of terrible events and not the harsh reality of the present, fuck them.
Of course, I speak with a voice of no authority. Just an opinion and, apparently, a differing set of ethics to most of my classmates.
Truth be told, I don't remember any of the trauma coverage of Columbine. I refused to watch more than five minutes of 9/11 on CNN. I wanted everyone to stick a sock in it with the OJ Simpson case. It's not that I don't care about these things--well, I didn't give two shits about the Simpson case--I just don't feel the need to reexamine them for months on end. There is so much happening in the world that it seems disastrously short-sighted to have so much attention called toward just one thing. It becomes a collection of images and sound bites--low signal-to-noise--a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
We ask for meaning, but we just want a message.
And why am I majoring in journalism, anyway, if I don't want to be a journalist?
Good question.
I quit Children's. After one week. I don't know why, exactly, I just decided it was not a place for me to be. I have no desire to go into clinical work, and moreover, I have no desire to take the bus to Sand Point every Tuesday. Lazy? Yes.
I need to find a real internship; I need to get a passport; I need to make plans. I need to get organized; I need to start cooking again. But I do have tickets to see Built to Spill on the 17th and Death Cab for Cutie on the 21st of November; Kevin has tickets to see Beulah on Saturday. A month with at least three concerts can't be all wasted.
(If most of your trash is kleenex, you can crush it down almost indefinitely. Tip of the week.)
Anyway, I've had bug bites/pimples/god knows what on my knuckle, elbow, mid-back along the spine, and cheek. The one on my cheek was particularly odd, as it hadn't swelled or begun to itch when I found it.
Why am I writing about minor bug bites? I had a topic, for reals. It's just escaping me now.
In ethics yesterday, the grader, in our prof's absence, lead a discussion about coverage of Columbine and similar trauma situations. (Isn't it strange how readily we interchange "trauma" and "tragedy?" The words have different meanings, but you wouldn't know that to look at most headlines. Something traumatic occurred. Let's jazz it up and call it a tragedy because we have pictures of people in tears. So much for objective journalism.) I found it a little difficult to say my piece when the woman was quite clearly moved to emotion about the subject--I'm simply not.
I mean, I can see why people covering it day in and day out would be moved. I can see how it's moving. It's fucking scary and terrible and having to look at images of kids being pulled out of windows and diving under desks for weeks at a time, having your car surrounded by angry citizens, constantly being pressured to harass those who lost someone? Yeah, that's crappy. And it's worth discussing.
But at the same time, what the fuck!
The vocal qualities of some of my classmates makes me not want to say anything at all. Theirs is the voice of self-important authority. It's my biased perception, sure, but it doesn't make me want to say what I'm thinking: "I don't need fucking Katie Couric to come to my hometown when it's insane and tell me and all of America how terrible it is. I don't need it glossed over with fanfare, pomp and circumstance, on the evening news. I don't need to answer the call when a big name wants a quote." I totally felt for the local journalists; they were getting fucked. And I can't say that. It's hard for me to formulate these thoughts on the fly and verbally.
Why is it, self-important authoritative voice, that it was wrong for the students, parents, and faculty to want to control the message? How is it blocking news or making people forget if they don't show images and name names of the perpetrators on the one-year anniversary? Why can't it for once be the news to present the story as "these people were traumatized" and not "those fuck-ups did the traumatizing"?
I wish my prof had been there for the discussion. He's the same prof I had for Advanced Newswriting, and trauma reporting is his thing. Our trauma unit was, to some extent, his pet project. It was strongly emphasized that to be more responsible reporters, we should give less power to the perpetrators of trauma and more to the victims. It's a complicated issue, but one I would have liked to have my prof to direct a little.
Maybe I'm a little too interested in compassion to be a hardcore reporter. That's never been my intent, anyway. Compassion, to me, is not just crying when something is difficult. Objectivity is useless. If the "truth" the people want to hear is a rehash of terrible events and not the harsh reality of the present, fuck them.
Of course, I speak with a voice of no authority. Just an opinion and, apparently, a differing set of ethics to most of my classmates.
Truth be told, I don't remember any of the trauma coverage of Columbine. I refused to watch more than five minutes of 9/11 on CNN. I wanted everyone to stick a sock in it with the OJ Simpson case. It's not that I don't care about these things--well, I didn't give two shits about the Simpson case--I just don't feel the need to reexamine them for months on end. There is so much happening in the world that it seems disastrously short-sighted to have so much attention called toward just one thing. It becomes a collection of images and sound bites--low signal-to-noise--a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
We ask for meaning, but we just want a message.
And why am I majoring in journalism, anyway, if I don't want to be a journalist?
Good question.
I quit Children's. After one week. I don't know why, exactly, I just decided it was not a place for me to be. I have no desire to go into clinical work, and moreover, I have no desire to take the bus to Sand Point every Tuesday. Lazy? Yes.
I need to find a real internship; I need to get a passport; I need to make plans. I need to get organized; I need to start cooking again. But I do have tickets to see Built to Spill on the 17th and Death Cab for Cutie on the 21st of November; Kevin has tickets to see Beulah on Saturday. A month with at least three concerts can't be all wasted.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
The world is a crazy place. We had so much rain here in Seattle on Monday that no one, and I mean no one, got out without everything they carried being completely drenched. Things are still damp today. My boots have a spot of mold growing on the tongue, and the leather has tightened so I must break them in again. My gum, sitting in my purse, which was sitting in my backpack, got damp and the pieces stuck together and to the side of the box. Everyone's textbooks and notes have serious water damage. It's quite impressive.
Of all the shows in the past...month, I think, that I wanted to attend, I've gone to one. And I left early because I was tired. This is a sad state of affairs. I haven't been insanely depressed about it, though. Don't know why.
I've been busy. I feel like I don't have much free time, then I end up with plenty. My housemates would like to crucify me for lack of prompt dish-doing, although I don't neglect the kitchen entirely. Not at all. I'm just pushed into the corner on this matter because one must make allowances for living with other people, y'know. A 24-hour rule has been instituted, with leaving dirty dishes in your room as a loophole. Which I suppose is fair, I just don't like it. I don't know why, but having rules like that bothers me. For some reason, the institution comes off as my housemates telling me I don't do my share and they all do everything, which isn't the case--the insinuation or the actuality. People just...tend to think that when they do something, they are the only ones doing it.
Anyway, just a bad taste in my mouth.
People are getting on my nerves in lots of little, subtle ways. Nobody's perfect.
I haven't updated in ages. On my last movie-renting jaunt, I had Dead Man saved for last. I loved it. Particularly the scene where the two sheriff dudes are wandering around and see Johnny Depp wandering around and one of them points a pistol at him and yells, "Hey, aren't you William Blake?" Johnny Depp calmly steps forward and responds, "I am. Do you know my poetry?" and shoots the guy in the head.
In my journalism ethics class, we watched a screener copy of Shattered Glass the distribution company sent to my prof. It was pretty good. My prof hoped it would spawn discussion, which it has, so I guess it served its purpose. I don't think I would've paid to see it in the theater, but it's a decent flick.
Now I want to see The Station Agent.
I started volunteering in the psych ward at Children's Hospital this week. I observe for two hours a week and am supposed to learn something about charting and the presentation of various mental disorders. This week, I observed the older kids, most of whom were girls with eating disorders. It was pretty interesting.
On Monday night, the fuse controlling the circuit that supplies power to half the house blew when a super-duper space heater got plugged in and the compressor on the evil, shitty old-new fridge kicked on at the same time. I didn't sleep well since I was awakened at midnight so I could find an alternate alarm (yay for cell phones) to get up at 6 for work. I didn't take a shower because I wasn't sure if there was, in fact, hot water, and it was too dark to see anything. I used my lighter--devoid of adequate lighter fluid, so I was going by sparks here--to make sure my clothes were the correct color coordinations. The only reason I wasn't in the bitchiest mood ever was Kevin stayed over and drove me to work, stopping to let me get coffee and a muffin on the way.
I don't really have anything to talk about. The biggest dork of a lab user is here now and I hope above hopes that he doesn't ask me anything. About a week ago, Chris and I encountered this, our favorite lab patron, requesting our boss's business card. Our favorite lab patron is prone to asking endless stupid questions with an annoying tone of voice; I've taken to being curt and playing dumb with him. That's old news.
Anyway, on this particular day, Chris and I decided to play dumb about whether or not the boss had cards (he does). Chris went into his office to ask if he had any business cards, trying to subtly imply that boss's answer should be, "Gosh, no, haven't got any of those!" loud enough for annoying lab user to hear.
But boss didn't get the message and said sure, they're right there in front of you, Chris! And of course lab user can hear this. Chris gave lab user a card, but as soon as he walked away, we went into boss's office and told him: "Headphones guy wanted your card! We were trying to give you an out!" Boss laughed and said he hadn't gotten that message, and at least the card didn't have his home phone number. Sheesh.
Now I'm starving and it's probably another half hour before any coworkers arrive. Meh. Oh well. My brother should come online and talk to me.
Of all the shows in the past...month, I think, that I wanted to attend, I've gone to one. And I left early because I was tired. This is a sad state of affairs. I haven't been insanely depressed about it, though. Don't know why.
I've been busy. I feel like I don't have much free time, then I end up with plenty. My housemates would like to crucify me for lack of prompt dish-doing, although I don't neglect the kitchen entirely. Not at all. I'm just pushed into the corner on this matter because one must make allowances for living with other people, y'know. A 24-hour rule has been instituted, with leaving dirty dishes in your room as a loophole. Which I suppose is fair, I just don't like it. I don't know why, but having rules like that bothers me. For some reason, the institution comes off as my housemates telling me I don't do my share and they all do everything, which isn't the case--the insinuation or the actuality. People just...tend to think that when they do something, they are the only ones doing it.
Anyway, just a bad taste in my mouth.
People are getting on my nerves in lots of little, subtle ways. Nobody's perfect.
I haven't updated in ages. On my last movie-renting jaunt, I had Dead Man saved for last. I loved it. Particularly the scene where the two sheriff dudes are wandering around and see Johnny Depp wandering around and one of them points a pistol at him and yells, "Hey, aren't you William Blake?" Johnny Depp calmly steps forward and responds, "I am. Do you know my poetry?" and shoots the guy in the head.
In my journalism ethics class, we watched a screener copy of Shattered Glass the distribution company sent to my prof. It was pretty good. My prof hoped it would spawn discussion, which it has, so I guess it served its purpose. I don't think I would've paid to see it in the theater, but it's a decent flick.
Now I want to see The Station Agent.
I started volunteering in the psych ward at Children's Hospital this week. I observe for two hours a week and am supposed to learn something about charting and the presentation of various mental disorders. This week, I observed the older kids, most of whom were girls with eating disorders. It was pretty interesting.
On Monday night, the fuse controlling the circuit that supplies power to half the house blew when a super-duper space heater got plugged in and the compressor on the evil, shitty old-new fridge kicked on at the same time. I didn't sleep well since I was awakened at midnight so I could find an alternate alarm (yay for cell phones) to get up at 6 for work. I didn't take a shower because I wasn't sure if there was, in fact, hot water, and it was too dark to see anything. I used my lighter--devoid of adequate lighter fluid, so I was going by sparks here--to make sure my clothes were the correct color coordinations. The only reason I wasn't in the bitchiest mood ever was Kevin stayed over and drove me to work, stopping to let me get coffee and a muffin on the way.
I don't really have anything to talk about. The biggest dork of a lab user is here now and I hope above hopes that he doesn't ask me anything. About a week ago, Chris and I encountered this, our favorite lab patron, requesting our boss's business card. Our favorite lab patron is prone to asking endless stupid questions with an annoying tone of voice; I've taken to being curt and playing dumb with him. That's old news.
Anyway, on this particular day, Chris and I decided to play dumb about whether or not the boss had cards (he does). Chris went into his office to ask if he had any business cards, trying to subtly imply that boss's answer should be, "Gosh, no, haven't got any of those!" loud enough for annoying lab user to hear.
But boss didn't get the message and said sure, they're right there in front of you, Chris! And of course lab user can hear this. Chris gave lab user a card, but as soon as he walked away, we went into boss's office and told him: "Headphones guy wanted your card! We were trying to give you an out!" Boss laughed and said he hadn't gotten that message, and at least the card didn't have his home phone number. Sheesh.
Now I'm starving and it's probably another half hour before any coworkers arrive. Meh. Oh well. My brother should come online and talk to me.
Monday, October 13, 2003
Fashion Disaster
Some things I'll never understand. Like wearing "comfy" sporting outfits to school. I think I'd freeze, for one, if I wore sweatpants (with my sorority's greek letters spread across the ass) with flip-flops in October. And matching velour pantsuits. They look flimsy, too tight, and like clothing old ladies would wear.
But then, I am the one who wears whatever crap sort of matches as long as it kind of fits after hating on shopping so hard that it takes me two years to decide I even want anything I'd actually wear. Furreals, but I've got new wool boot socks that go up almost to my knees. They kinda kick ass.
But velour pantsuits. I don't understand. And then with the damn cargos again. Cargos look oogly-boogly on normal pants; they look ten times clunkier in purple velour.
My stereo's treble knob was just turned all the way up. It almost sounded better that way, just awfully sharp. I love this album, though. Track Star's Lion Destroyed the Whole World. It's fucking breakup emo indie rock, but it transcends somehow. Also, they need to come play in Seattle so I can be in the front row when they play something offa' Communication Breaks and I rock the fuck out.
Maybe it's the kind of thing where I just feel so blah that I gotta hear someone else feel fucking sad as hell so I stop feeling so blah. If that makes any sense.
Why don't I know how to rock?
Anyway. I was going to go see Quasi last Friday night, but during dinner at Tandoor, my stomach decided to hate me so intensely that I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep (after, erm, making my GI tract empty of unpleasantness). So we skipped it. Which was okay since we didn't have tickets. If we'd had tickets, I think I would've made the effort. For as often as I've mocked Kevin for missing shows he actually held tickets to--expensive ones, even--I can't do the same thing.
I need to get tickets to some shows. Particularly Death Cab for Cutie (the 21+ show, rar! no children singing along!) and Guided by Voices. Maybe others. So confusing.
And I'm still in the research process for Asiatrip. Meeshy, we gotta talk. I am talking to Winnie right now. Planning is wild. I just hope I don't do something stupid and call the whole thing off because it is so much money and work. Speaking of money, I should start saving some. Heh.
Oh, so what I did actually do this weekend was watch a buttload of movies. Chris and I went to see Kill Bill Vol. 1 Friday afternoon, which was fucking cool. I felt a little uncomfortable with myself for finding the nonstop and excessive violence so entertaining--usually not my bag--but it was so... fun. And interesting, actually. Not the plot, I mean, but various elements were intriguing to me. But this is definitely a movie that's dividing people. And not just Uma Thurman with her katana, haw haw!
...yeah.
I rented Hell House, a documentary about the first church to put together one of those "scare you straight to Jesus" fucked up haunted houses. It's an Assembly of God church in Texas. It was a well-made docu, I thought--fairly objective, considering the tendency to go all liberal on such a subject--though the people were insane to my point of view. I also got Devil's Playground, about rumspringa, the time when Amish kids get to go "english" and decide if they want to be Amish. The film wasn't quite as compelling, though the subject matter is interesting. Chris rented another docu, The Kid Stays in the Picture, about Bob Evans, a former bigwig at Paramount responsible for making them one of the top movie studios in the '70s. That film was a slick as hell and pretty interesting.
Yesterday, Josie got me into Intolerable Cruelty, the new Coen Brothers film. Suffice it to say I was underwhelmed. There was little about it that felt like a Coen Bros. picture, and that was sad. It wasn't bad, not at all, it just... could have been more. I don't know.
I need to buy some books and think about traveling. Hurrah.
But then, I am the one who wears whatever crap sort of matches as long as it kind of fits after hating on shopping so hard that it takes me two years to decide I even want anything I'd actually wear. Furreals, but I've got new wool boot socks that go up almost to my knees. They kinda kick ass.
But velour pantsuits. I don't understand. And then with the damn cargos again. Cargos look oogly-boogly on normal pants; they look ten times clunkier in purple velour.
My stereo's treble knob was just turned all the way up. It almost sounded better that way, just awfully sharp. I love this album, though. Track Star's Lion Destroyed the Whole World. It's fucking breakup emo indie rock, but it transcends somehow. Also, they need to come play in Seattle so I can be in the front row when they play something offa' Communication Breaks and I rock the fuck out.
Maybe it's the kind of thing where I just feel so blah that I gotta hear someone else feel fucking sad as hell so I stop feeling so blah. If that makes any sense.
Why don't I know how to rock?
Anyway. I was going to go see Quasi last Friday night, but during dinner at Tandoor, my stomach decided to hate me so intensely that I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep (after, erm, making my GI tract empty of unpleasantness). So we skipped it. Which was okay since we didn't have tickets. If we'd had tickets, I think I would've made the effort. For as often as I've mocked Kevin for missing shows he actually held tickets to--expensive ones, even--I can't do the same thing.
I need to get tickets to some shows. Particularly Death Cab for Cutie (the 21+ show, rar! no children singing along!) and Guided by Voices. Maybe others. So confusing.
And I'm still in the research process for Asiatrip. Meeshy, we gotta talk. I am talking to Winnie right now. Planning is wild. I just hope I don't do something stupid and call the whole thing off because it is so much money and work. Speaking of money, I should start saving some. Heh.
Oh, so what I did actually do this weekend was watch a buttload of movies. Chris and I went to see Kill Bill Vol. 1 Friday afternoon, which was fucking cool. I felt a little uncomfortable with myself for finding the nonstop and excessive violence so entertaining--usually not my bag--but it was so... fun. And interesting, actually. Not the plot, I mean, but various elements were intriguing to me. But this is definitely a movie that's dividing people. And not just Uma Thurman with her katana, haw haw!
...yeah.
I rented Hell House, a documentary about the first church to put together one of those "scare you straight to Jesus" fucked up haunted houses. It's an Assembly of God church in Texas. It was a well-made docu, I thought--fairly objective, considering the tendency to go all liberal on such a subject--though the people were insane to my point of view. I also got Devil's Playground, about rumspringa, the time when Amish kids get to go "english" and decide if they want to be Amish. The film wasn't quite as compelling, though the subject matter is interesting. Chris rented another docu, The Kid Stays in the Picture, about Bob Evans, a former bigwig at Paramount responsible for making them one of the top movie studios in the '70s. That film was a slick as hell and pretty interesting.
Yesterday, Josie got me into Intolerable Cruelty, the new Coen Brothers film. Suffice it to say I was underwhelmed. There was little about it that felt like a Coen Bros. picture, and that was sad. It wasn't bad, not at all, it just... could have been more. I don't know.
I need to buy some books and think about traveling. Hurrah.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
For Once, Something Doesn't Fail Me
School of Rock was very entertaining. In the Sister Act vein, which, admittedly, I loved and owned on VHS when I was younger, but entertaining as hell.
Sex Mob was good, too, although I left after their first set because it was 10:30 and I am an old lady who goes to bed at 11 now. Boo-hoo. Among other things, the quartet performed a jazzy jam on Abba's "Fernando." And "The Blue Danube Waltz," which is probably one of my favorite orchestral pieces--perhaps less because of the music itself and more because of certain memories attached to it, like riding around the Yelm Highway Safeway parking lot in my '99 Honda Civic EX with my little brother, windows rolled down and that song blaring, or the beginning of 2001.
Anywhoo. The real unfailing thing that happened today was I walked into Communication Advising and asked about journalism skills electives slated to be offered this spring. She told me copyediting and digital journalism both should be, and since those are the two I want above all others, I'm ditching winter quarter and doing something exciting.
Something...different.
Something...very expensive and exhausting.
I'm gonna travel. I hope.
I'm looking into going to Malaysia (hi, Meesh!), Japan (particularly Osaka, where Koko lives), and possibly Thailand. That hardly exhausts me list of places I want to go in Asia, but they are places I can potentially plan to go where people I know will be, and therefore more "safe" for me to travel since I won't have a traveling companion, unfortunately. Unless someone reads this and is in a position to offer themselves up.
I've got a lot of research to do still on the subject, and my trip should only be about three weeks in the first part of January, so I'll have to find other things to fill my time in February and March. I'll probably try to get an internship or something of that nature.
My constraints are many. I want to be back before Josie moves out because we'll need to have a big goodbye fiesta. She's headed to Jordan on Feb. 6 and moving out before the end of January. I'll have to help my roommates find a new roommate (unless Aron comes through on his hope/plan to move to Seattle and take the room, but I can't count on that). I probably won't leave until after New Years Day because the fares I'm looking at are wildly less expensive if I travel between Jan. 1 and the end of March. Before that, I'm hoping to be in the Bay area for holidays, either with my family or Kevin's. Anyway, it's all pretty up in the air at this point.
Boo just broke into my room. Crazy cat. She feels it's necessary to put her scent (and shed fur) on all my stuff. Because I must really enjoy cat allergies while I sleep, you know? Hee.
Sex Mob was good, too, although I left after their first set because it was 10:30 and I am an old lady who goes to bed at 11 now. Boo-hoo. Among other things, the quartet performed a jazzy jam on Abba's "Fernando." And "The Blue Danube Waltz," which is probably one of my favorite orchestral pieces--perhaps less because of the music itself and more because of certain memories attached to it, like riding around the Yelm Highway Safeway parking lot in my '99 Honda Civic EX with my little brother, windows rolled down and that song blaring, or the beginning of 2001.
Anywhoo. The real unfailing thing that happened today was I walked into Communication Advising and asked about journalism skills electives slated to be offered this spring. She told me copyediting and digital journalism both should be, and since those are the two I want above all others, I'm ditching winter quarter and doing something exciting.
Something...different.
Something...very expensive and exhausting.
I'm gonna travel. I hope.
I'm looking into going to Malaysia (hi, Meesh!), Japan (particularly Osaka, where Koko lives), and possibly Thailand. That hardly exhausts me list of places I want to go in Asia, but they are places I can potentially plan to go where people I know will be, and therefore more "safe" for me to travel since I won't have a traveling companion, unfortunately. Unless someone reads this and is in a position to offer themselves up.
I've got a lot of research to do still on the subject, and my trip should only be about three weeks in the first part of January, so I'll have to find other things to fill my time in February and March. I'll probably try to get an internship or something of that nature.
My constraints are many. I want to be back before Josie moves out because we'll need to have a big goodbye fiesta. She's headed to Jordan on Feb. 6 and moving out before the end of January. I'll have to help my roommates find a new roommate (unless Aron comes through on his hope/plan to move to Seattle and take the room, but I can't count on that). I probably won't leave until after New Years Day because the fares I'm looking at are wildly less expensive if I travel between Jan. 1 and the end of March. Before that, I'm hoping to be in the Bay area for holidays, either with my family or Kevin's. Anyway, it's all pretty up in the air at this point.
Boo just broke into my room. Crazy cat. She feels it's necessary to put her scent (and shed fur) on all my stuff. Because I must really enjoy cat allergies while I sleep, you know? Hee.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
P-A-R-T -- Why? Because I Gotta!
Yes, I laughed at that movie. But I haven't seen it since I was about 13.
It seems sad to me that 15 rambunctious friends can show up at a party where alcohol and food are plentiful, but only three people dance for more than an awkward minute.
People arrived slowly. People have lives. Over the course of the evening, however, Jen and her roommate Cora, Christine, Jesse, Lindsay, Graylan, two of Stephanie's friends, Kevin, Lauren, Jana, Shane, Julie and Ross all graced us with their presence. Additionally, everyone brought things.
Jen and Cora brought delicious frozen desserts from Trader Joe's: A chocolate torte and a chocolate-orange torte. Fuck yeah.
Christine and Lindsay were responsible for crepes. They brought it all. They are awesome.
Jesse brought bread and cheese. Baguettes, brie, and smoked gouda, to be exact. Yum!
Graylan I think may have pitched in for a can of whipped cream later in the evening, or at least accompanied Lindsay to Safeway to buy them.
Jana and Shane brought themselves, which is enough for anyone.
Stephanie's friends, I think, brought her a much-needed respite from hectic strangers.
Lauren brought a cornbread mix to make vegan crepes (which she later described as being like Russia for its tendency to break off at the edges into little -stans and because "the sun never sets on my crepes") and pumpkin butter. She briefly danced during "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."
Kevin brought me a video with a Wilco and Sonic Youth concert that my VCR didn't tape right.
Ross and Julie brought Munchies (suspiciously like Chex Mix), an Aqua Tour Diary video, and records that Julie's mom wanted to throw out. AWESOME. I think I might get to play with them today. There is a box of "gold" vinyl (really a transparent yellow) containing stuff like the best of Lawrence Welk's rhythm section. I could really throw a kickin' party at the retirement home.
Speaking of which, there is a rummage sale at a senior center a few blocks from here today. Their flyer says nothing of records, but what rummage sale is complete without them?
Chris was in charge of drinks. He went crazy and bought a ton of ice, lined boxes with trash bags--we have no coolers--and stuffed them full of hard cider, good beer (so I'm told), and the one bottle of Bud Ice that Will Never Die.
And I...I made the veggie plates and hummus and dumped a bag of pita chips in a bowl. The veggies and chips mosty disappeared, and half my hummus is gone. Success!
Later I will post pictures of Josie's hand on Christine's boob. Maybe.
Smoothie season is officially over. The farmers' market no longer has peaches for sale. Sob! I am very attached to my peach-pineapple smoothies. I won't buy peaches from Safeway because their vegetable selection is crap, especially the joke of an organic section. It's probably for the best--an icy drink just before heading out into an autumn morning chill shouldn't be relished.
Here's hoping I actually get to go see the Mountain Goats tonight. I need a show.
It seems sad to me that 15 rambunctious friends can show up at a party where alcohol and food are plentiful, but only three people dance for more than an awkward minute.
People arrived slowly. People have lives. Over the course of the evening, however, Jen and her roommate Cora, Christine, Jesse, Lindsay, Graylan, two of Stephanie's friends, Kevin, Lauren, Jana, Shane, Julie and Ross all graced us with their presence. Additionally, everyone brought things.
Jen and Cora brought delicious frozen desserts from Trader Joe's: A chocolate torte and a chocolate-orange torte. Fuck yeah.
Christine and Lindsay were responsible for crepes. They brought it all. They are awesome.
Jesse brought bread and cheese. Baguettes, brie, and smoked gouda, to be exact. Yum!
Graylan I think may have pitched in for a can of whipped cream later in the evening, or at least accompanied Lindsay to Safeway to buy them.
Jana and Shane brought themselves, which is enough for anyone.
Stephanie's friends, I think, brought her a much-needed respite from hectic strangers.
Lauren brought a cornbread mix to make vegan crepes (which she later described as being like Russia for its tendency to break off at the edges into little -stans and because "the sun never sets on my crepes") and pumpkin butter. She briefly danced during "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."
Kevin brought me a video with a Wilco and Sonic Youth concert that my VCR didn't tape right.
Ross and Julie brought Munchies (suspiciously like Chex Mix), an Aqua Tour Diary video, and records that Julie's mom wanted to throw out. AWESOME. I think I might get to play with them today. There is a box of "gold" vinyl (really a transparent yellow) containing stuff like the best of Lawrence Welk's rhythm section. I could really throw a kickin' party at the retirement home.
Speaking of which, there is a rummage sale at a senior center a few blocks from here today. Their flyer says nothing of records, but what rummage sale is complete without them?
Chris was in charge of drinks. He went crazy and bought a ton of ice, lined boxes with trash bags--we have no coolers--and stuffed them full of hard cider, good beer (so I'm told), and the one bottle of Bud Ice that Will Never Die.
And I...I made the veggie plates and hummus and dumped a bag of pita chips in a bowl. The veggies and chips mosty disappeared, and half my hummus is gone. Success!
Later I will post pictures of Josie's hand on Christine's boob. Maybe.
Smoothie season is officially over. The farmers' market no longer has peaches for sale. Sob! I am very attached to my peach-pineapple smoothies. I won't buy peaches from Safeway because their vegetable selection is crap, especially the joke of an organic section. It's probably for the best--an icy drink just before heading out into an autumn morning chill shouldn't be relished.
Here's hoping I actually get to go see the Mountain Goats tonight. I need a show.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Hello, Hi
School's started, and that's exciting as usual. I've been to exactly three class sessions so far. Yesterday's psych class was cancelled and tomorrow's has yet to be. I'm working 18.5 hours a week. I taped Gilmore Girls with an iron fist on the pause button. I'm prepared to make hummus and a plate of veggies for our potluck tomorrow. I have a birthday present for one of my best friends. She'll be 22 on Sunday.
It's not quite 8 a.m., and I've been awake for over an hour. I don't have anywhere to be until 10.
Tonight is the Gilmore Girls Social Club night (my own recent dubbing; more often it's just referred to as "GG"), relocated from the old Harem apartment to my house (the New Harem). People will be dropping by starting around 5. Some just want to hang out, some actually have a television-watching agenda. Chris has a new TV, or will by tonight. GG certainly merits the dethroning of the oppressive 13-inch majority, right?
I have some confessions to make: I didn't go see Pleaseeasaur. Or the Long Winters. Or the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players or Damien Rice. I was this close to seeing the Trachtenburgs, but we decided there were, hmm... more amusing things to do with our time. And the Trachtenburgs are, honestly, pretty amusing.
I have to convince someone to see the Mountain Goats on Saturday or that, too, will fall by the wayside. Incidentally, people are welcome to come to the potluck on Friday night. If you know me, of course. And you want to bring some food. We should have crepes. It takes a lot to eat a giant stack of crepes, you know.
Next week, however, are two shows I'm half-certain I will go to because Kevin likes the bands: Sex Mob and Quasi. I have never heard Sex Mob, but I am sure they're good, because they call themselves Sex Mob.
I need to do something good for myself, like take yoga again. And go to more shows that make my clothes smell smoky, my feet hurt, my ears feel plugged up, and my heart happy.
Yesterday I consumed no caffiene. Well, okay, I had a cup of green tea in the evening, but I don't think that's as bad as my usual big mug o' coffee. And the day before, we went to A Taste of India on Roosevelt where I had copious refills of sweet, delicious chai in addition to the daily dose of coffee. Anyway, yesterday I was tired and headachey all day. It could have been the need for speed. It could have been the onset of a cold. It could have been because my body is dumb.
Speaking of copious chai refills, I think we've now tried all the Indian restaurants in the University District, at least the ones with coupons. A Taste of India was pretty all right; we decided it was in the top three. It had the same stuff as the revered Cedar's, but the service isn't as oppressive. I don't like feeling doted on to the point of being watched. Tandoor is one of our favorites for its decent portions and non-presumptuous atmosphere. Rounding out the top three is Spice Rack, which always feels dimly lit and moody, but not quite stuffy, even on a summer afternoon. I've had two excellent meals there, though they are a tad more expensive than the other restaurants. I've heard we should try the lunch buffet at Himalayan Sherpa and Neelam's, but Kevin is seldom awake at lunch time.
And classes. Yay fun. They might be tolerable. I'm only taking two. My journalism ethics class is taught by the same prof I took for advanced news reporting, whom I liked. I think he'll be pretty good here, too. Infinitely better than the blowhard I had for That Crappy Class I Took Last Winter who also teaches the class.
My psych class is on child and adolescent behavioral disorders (i.e., developmental x abnormal psych) and we're covering ADHD, autism, etc. There's a volunteer opportunity tied to the class, only a few hours a week at Children's, that I've asked to join. I need something else to do besides class and work, and I think this will make the psych class more relevant to me, which is good since I tend to get really bored of my psych classes. At least this isn't all theory, which is probably why I dropped the other two 400-levels.
I need to go talk to the advisers in Communication about skills electives being offered winter and spring quarters. It doesn't look like they're offering the ones I want this winter, so I need to find out if they will in the spring. Then I need to make a decision: find something better to do with myself winter quarter and take the classes in the spring, or stick with what I've got in winter and just graduate already.
I could've been done at the end of this quarter had I been on the ball about getting an add code for classes last spring. I didn't know I needed them. Dammit.
It's not quite 8 a.m., and I've been awake for over an hour. I don't have anywhere to be until 10.
Tonight is the Gilmore Girls Social Club night (my own recent dubbing; more often it's just referred to as "GG"), relocated from the old Harem apartment to my house (the New Harem). People will be dropping by starting around 5. Some just want to hang out, some actually have a television-watching agenda. Chris has a new TV, or will by tonight. GG certainly merits the dethroning of the oppressive 13-inch majority, right?
I have some confessions to make: I didn't go see Pleaseeasaur. Or the Long Winters. Or the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players or Damien Rice. I was this close to seeing the Trachtenburgs, but we decided there were, hmm... more amusing things to do with our time. And the Trachtenburgs are, honestly, pretty amusing.
I have to convince someone to see the Mountain Goats on Saturday or that, too, will fall by the wayside. Incidentally, people are welcome to come to the potluck on Friday night. If you know me, of course. And you want to bring some food. We should have crepes. It takes a lot to eat a giant stack of crepes, you know.
Next week, however, are two shows I'm half-certain I will go to because Kevin likes the bands: Sex Mob and Quasi. I have never heard Sex Mob, but I am sure they're good, because they call themselves Sex Mob.
I need to do something good for myself, like take yoga again. And go to more shows that make my clothes smell smoky, my feet hurt, my ears feel plugged up, and my heart happy.
Yesterday I consumed no caffiene. Well, okay, I had a cup of green tea in the evening, but I don't think that's as bad as my usual big mug o' coffee. And the day before, we went to A Taste of India on Roosevelt where I had copious refills of sweet, delicious chai in addition to the daily dose of coffee. Anyway, yesterday I was tired and headachey all day. It could have been the need for speed. It could have been the onset of a cold. It could have been because my body is dumb.
Speaking of copious chai refills, I think we've now tried all the Indian restaurants in the University District, at least the ones with coupons. A Taste of India was pretty all right; we decided it was in the top three. It had the same stuff as the revered Cedar's, but the service isn't as oppressive. I don't like feeling doted on to the point of being watched. Tandoor is one of our favorites for its decent portions and non-presumptuous atmosphere. Rounding out the top three is Spice Rack, which always feels dimly lit and moody, but not quite stuffy, even on a summer afternoon. I've had two excellent meals there, though they are a tad more expensive than the other restaurants. I've heard we should try the lunch buffet at Himalayan Sherpa and Neelam's, but Kevin is seldom awake at lunch time.
And classes. Yay fun. They might be tolerable. I'm only taking two. My journalism ethics class is taught by the same prof I took for advanced news reporting, whom I liked. I think he'll be pretty good here, too. Infinitely better than the blowhard I had for That Crappy Class I Took Last Winter who also teaches the class.
My psych class is on child and adolescent behavioral disorders (i.e., developmental x abnormal psych) and we're covering ADHD, autism, etc. There's a volunteer opportunity tied to the class, only a few hours a week at Children's, that I've asked to join. I need something else to do besides class and work, and I think this will make the psych class more relevant to me, which is good since I tend to get really bored of my psych classes. At least this isn't all theory, which is probably why I dropped the other two 400-levels.
I need to go talk to the advisers in Communication about skills electives being offered winter and spring quarters. It doesn't look like they're offering the ones I want this winter, so I need to find out if they will in the spring. Then I need to make a decision: find something better to do with myself winter quarter and take the classes in the spring, or stick with what I've got in winter and just graduate already.
I could've been done at the end of this quarter had I been on the ball about getting an add code for classes last spring. I didn't know I needed them. Dammit.
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Memo to the Weather: It's Autumn Now
What the fuck is this shit? It's been hot all day. It's returned to being truly unpleasant in my room. I don't approve. I don't even know what temperature it is, but it's unacceptably high, whatever it is. Anyway, it needs to cool the fuck down, pronto. I don't want this shit anymore. Fuck the heat. If I wanted heat, I'd move to Arizona.
Working closing this last week finally got to me. I wanted to murder everyone being a pain in the ass at closing, which was more than usual. First, one lady was convinced that a certain computer and its floppy drive were broken because Word informed her that her disk was too full to save the changes to her document there, despite my showing her how the disk was, in fact, full. She was freaking out and was pacified quickly enough when she moved to another computer with the same results and I showed her how to email the document to someone, which she wanted to do anyway. That was at 15 minutes before closing. Ten minutes later, she got her floppy disk stuck in the drive on an e-mail terminal. Sheesh.
Worse, however, was the guy who, despite my repeated calls that closing would come soon, the computers would be shutting down and people ought to print and/or save their work, hadn't finished saving his shit appropriately when the computers did shut down, and, at 6:55 (when the librarians downstairs get really cranky about kicking people out), turned the computer he was using back on (after I told him he couldn't) to see if his file there, which it wasn't because the new shutdown procedure cleans off the desktop. Which I told him. And then he said that this wasn't how the other libraries were (um, too bad; and would you mind paying attention to the numerous signs and vocalized warnings next time?) and that it was a very important document he'd been working on all day. The girl with him pleaded with me that it was his first time here and maybe he was too absorbed in his work to listen. I just looked (and was) pissed and they finally scurried out.
I'm glad my new schedule doesn't have me closing at all (although opening two weekdays kind of sucks; that's damn early).
Today has been inexplicably exhausting for a full day of leisure. Seven Haremites met for brunch at Paul's Place, the restaurant conveniently located across the street from me. It was quite tasty, especially the triple berry coffee cake. Ohhh, yeah. That was the shit. (Note to mom: you would dig the place. They have non-breakfasts, too, of course, but the coffee cake was excellent.)
Then people kind of dispersed, slowly--Lindsay had a train to catch, then Christine went for a run, Graylan and Chris went to Hardwick's, and eventually Jana and Shane went back to Shane's to nap or whatever. Then Christine came back from running and Stephanie finally arrived with her dad, two hired mover boys, and a truck full of boxes.
Christine and I decided then would be a good time to duck out and grab a quick lunch. We initially wanted salad rolls/fresh spring rolls at a Thai place, but the nearby restaurants weren't serving them, so we ended up at Pagliacci's. Christine ordered a small pesto salad for us to share, but then I saw the Eggplant Primo slices and had to have one. All in all, an excellent (and relatively cheap) light lunch.
For a brief while after Josie returned from lunch with her aunt, just us housemates were around. So we did what housemates are wont to do: we bitched about politics. Stephanie mentioned her pleasure at living with lefties. Hee.
Several hours later, people came back to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes Christine had taped and get S.U.B.S. takeout, which is always delicious. I got the tuna salad on wheat. Nummy. We watched about four episodes, including the one where Picard, Guinan, Ensign Ro, and Keiko get turned into children and defeat the renegade Ferengis and the one where Worf, Alexander and Troi get stuck in an old west holodeck program where all the bad guys turn into Data, so there was some good stuff there. But I was exceedingly sleepy by 9 p.m. Chris suggested it was communicable jet lag.
All right. It's almost cool enough to sleep now, so that may be where I'm headed.
Working closing this last week finally got to me. I wanted to murder everyone being a pain in the ass at closing, which was more than usual. First, one lady was convinced that a certain computer and its floppy drive were broken because Word informed her that her disk was too full to save the changes to her document there, despite my showing her how the disk was, in fact, full. She was freaking out and was pacified quickly enough when she moved to another computer with the same results and I showed her how to email the document to someone, which she wanted to do anyway. That was at 15 minutes before closing. Ten minutes later, she got her floppy disk stuck in the drive on an e-mail terminal. Sheesh.
Worse, however, was the guy who, despite my repeated calls that closing would come soon, the computers would be shutting down and people ought to print and/or save their work, hadn't finished saving his shit appropriately when the computers did shut down, and, at 6:55 (when the librarians downstairs get really cranky about kicking people out), turned the computer he was using back on (after I told him he couldn't) to see if his file there, which it wasn't because the new shutdown procedure cleans off the desktop. Which I told him. And then he said that this wasn't how the other libraries were (um, too bad; and would you mind paying attention to the numerous signs and vocalized warnings next time?) and that it was a very important document he'd been working on all day. The girl with him pleaded with me that it was his first time here and maybe he was too absorbed in his work to listen. I just looked (and was) pissed and they finally scurried out.
I'm glad my new schedule doesn't have me closing at all (although opening two weekdays kind of sucks; that's damn early).
Today has been inexplicably exhausting for a full day of leisure. Seven Haremites met for brunch at Paul's Place, the restaurant conveniently located across the street from me. It was quite tasty, especially the triple berry coffee cake. Ohhh, yeah. That was the shit. (Note to mom: you would dig the place. They have non-breakfasts, too, of course, but the coffee cake was excellent.)
Then people kind of dispersed, slowly--Lindsay had a train to catch, then Christine went for a run, Graylan and Chris went to Hardwick's, and eventually Jana and Shane went back to Shane's to nap or whatever. Then Christine came back from running and Stephanie finally arrived with her dad, two hired mover boys, and a truck full of boxes.
Christine and I decided then would be a good time to duck out and grab a quick lunch. We initially wanted salad rolls/fresh spring rolls at a Thai place, but the nearby restaurants weren't serving them, so we ended up at Pagliacci's. Christine ordered a small pesto salad for us to share, but then I saw the Eggplant Primo slices and had to have one. All in all, an excellent (and relatively cheap) light lunch.
For a brief while after Josie returned from lunch with her aunt, just us housemates were around. So we did what housemates are wont to do: we bitched about politics. Stephanie mentioned her pleasure at living with lefties. Hee.
Several hours later, people came back to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes Christine had taped and get S.U.B.S. takeout, which is always delicious. I got the tuna salad on wheat. Nummy. We watched about four episodes, including the one where Picard, Guinan, Ensign Ro, and Keiko get turned into children and defeat the renegade Ferengis and the one where Worf, Alexander and Troi get stuck in an old west holodeck program where all the bad guys turn into Data, so there was some good stuff there. But I was exceedingly sleepy by 9 p.m. Chris suggested it was communicable jet lag.
All right. It's almost cool enough to sleep now, so that may be where I'm headed.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Never What It Used To Be
Has it only been a month? I have lived entire lifetimes in Septembers past; this year was no different. And it leaves me tired and bored. Like everything.
Working all the time leaves me with little to talk about. Working closing makes me have multiple dreams about people not getting out of the lab on time and causing me a headache. I don't like dreaming about that. It's stressful and stupid.
To occupy my otherwise empty time, I've been reading (The Da Vinci Code, most recently), watching taped miniseries (Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea), and... well, not much else.
Oh, wait, that's not entirely true. I went to trivia night at O'Shea's Pub in Wallingford on Monday with Josie. That was different and fun enough.
But mostly, I've been doing nothing. And I don't love it.
I keep thinking there is something to say, but there isn't.
There are plans upcoming. Yay for plans. They involve friends. Yay for friends. I still have to figure out how to get to Olympia for the day Oct. 5, or even if I can find dirt-cheap airfare to Las Vegas for early November. The latter isn't a necessity, but some friends will be in town for other friends' wedding and I'd like to kick it with them since they live far away. But no dirt cheap fares have turned up in my searches. Besides, it might be fun to do Vegas right: i.e., not arriving after a day-long car ride through the Mojave with my bitchy ex-boyfriend. And me being equally bitchy.
Anyone want to go see the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players at the Sunset Tavern Sunday night? Opening bands at 9, I guess, so they'll be on later. My Monday doesn't begin until 9:30, heh, so fuck it.
Chris is coming home today. Jen is moving out tomorrow. Stephanie's moving in Saturday. Christine is back in Seattle and a bunch of people are doing brunch and, later, Star Trek: The Next Generation near and at my house on Saturday, so rah. The only sad thing there is Jen's leaving. I think.
Oh, and the plum came out with a little plunging. Tee hee.
Working all the time leaves me with little to talk about. Working closing makes me have multiple dreams about people not getting out of the lab on time and causing me a headache. I don't like dreaming about that. It's stressful and stupid.
To occupy my otherwise empty time, I've been reading (The Da Vinci Code, most recently), watching taped miniseries (Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea), and... well, not much else.
Oh, wait, that's not entirely true. I went to trivia night at O'Shea's Pub in Wallingford on Monday with Josie. That was different and fun enough.
But mostly, I've been doing nothing. And I don't love it.
I keep thinking there is something to say, but there isn't.
There are plans upcoming. Yay for plans. They involve friends. Yay for friends. I still have to figure out how to get to Olympia for the day Oct. 5, or even if I can find dirt-cheap airfare to Las Vegas for early November. The latter isn't a necessity, but some friends will be in town for other friends' wedding and I'd like to kick it with them since they live far away. But no dirt cheap fares have turned up in my searches. Besides, it might be fun to do Vegas right: i.e., not arriving after a day-long car ride through the Mojave with my bitchy ex-boyfriend. And me being equally bitchy.
Anyone want to go see the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players at the Sunset Tavern Sunday night? Opening bands at 9, I guess, so they'll be on later. My Monday doesn't begin until 9:30, heh, so fuck it.
Chris is coming home today. Jen is moving out tomorrow. Stephanie's moving in Saturday. Christine is back in Seattle and a bunch of people are doing brunch and, later, Star Trek: The Next Generation near and at my house on Saturday, so rah. The only sad thing there is Jen's leaving. I think.
Oh, and the plum came out with a little plunging. Tee hee.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Elections Are A Crock
Washington Presidential Primary Might Be Eliminated
And really, who cares, right? The state caucus will only pay attention to 20% of the primary votes compared with 80% of the caucus votes. And that's new, besides. So primary voting is essentially "worthless" and wastes a ton of state funds, right? And the people have to work much harder to have a goddamn say. Have to not find it hard to align yourself with a party whose political ideologies are to be as centrist as possible.
I'll vote Democrat. I just don't consider myself one. I'm left of Dem. I don't see real change as a possibility except in the sense that things are pretty fucking terrible right now and most of them are things I'd sure as hell expect any Democrat to get rid of or change so significantly that they aren't the problem they are now.
But I could be wrong. I've been disappointed before.
The news is all bad today.
And really, who cares, right? The state caucus will only pay attention to 20% of the primary votes compared with 80% of the caucus votes. And that's new, besides. So primary voting is essentially "worthless" and wastes a ton of state funds, right? And the people have to work much harder to have a goddamn say. Have to not find it hard to align yourself with a party whose political ideologies are to be as centrist as possible.
I'll vote Democrat. I just don't consider myself one. I'm left of Dem. I don't see real change as a possibility except in the sense that things are pretty fucking terrible right now and most of them are things I'd sure as hell expect any Democrat to get rid of or change so significantly that they aren't the problem they are now.
But I could be wrong. I've been disappointed before.
The news is all bad today.
A Plum in the Plumbing
Jen could hardly contain her laughter when she confessed to dropping a small plum down the kitchen sink.
Of course, it will require a big plumbing wrench to get out. Not sure that anyone home feels sufficiently confident they can clean the trap out, but we'll see.
Speaking of food, my mom and I cooked a buttload of food this weekend. The biggest recipe source was a colorful vegetarian cookbook with lots of pictures. Mom is excited by pretty pictures of food accompanied by recipes, so we picked out a handful (out of the two dozen we were particularly enamored of) and made a few meals.
On Friday night, we made a green curry with sweet potatoes and eggplant. We ate it with brown rice and french bread while watching Season 1 of Sex and the City on my mom's laptop. It was a little too spicy for us--the curry, not the show.
Saturday's lunch, before the spa experience, consisted of several appetizer dishes.
Our second salad with the wonderful pecan and pear combination, the dressing on this fell a little flat. It could have benefited from a nice berry vinaigrette, but brie is always good.
The first of two bruschetta/toast-type items, this would have been better if done properly. I did it the lazy way and stuck the untoasted slices of french bread and raw tomato slices under the broiler without roasting the tomatoes separately or anything. However, the taste was good (to me), and I would make it again.
Yeah, okay, just: yum. Homemade pesto (sans cheese), marinated sun-dried tomatoes, and a pinch of parmesan, stuck under the broiler for a few minutes. Yes, yes, yes.
These...were not my thing. I could've done without the croutons and a less spicy stuffing receptacle might have been appreciated.
Pretty tasty. The same homemade pesto, spooned into big white mushroom caps with a pinch of parmesan and baked. Hard to go wrong. But the picture is mightily overexposed, eh?
Saturday night was our last hurrah. We did the last few things we didn't have time for before, even though they didn't quite go together.
Holy cow yum. The pancakes were fluffy and a tad sweet, like a cross between a corn tortilla and a crepe. The salsa was fresh and filling. If I made it again, though, I'd put a little bit of whole pinto beans in the mix with the salsa, for protein and substance.
It was from a mix, but it's still good. Mm-mm, beer bread.
I did these all wrong. Kevin said they looked like confused shellfish. They didn't taste good at all. The batter was too thick and, being dense at the time, I didn't actually, you know, FRY them, just pan-fried. So they sucked, the end.
Of course, it will require a big plumbing wrench to get out. Not sure that anyone home feels sufficiently confident they can clean the trap out, but we'll see.
Speaking of food, my mom and I cooked a buttload of food this weekend. The biggest recipe source was a colorful vegetarian cookbook with lots of pictures. Mom is excited by pretty pictures of food accompanied by recipes, so we picked out a handful (out of the two dozen we were particularly enamored of) and made a few meals.
On Friday night, we made a green curry with sweet potatoes and eggplant. We ate it with brown rice and french bread while watching Season 1 of Sex and the City on my mom's laptop. It was a little too spicy for us--the curry, not the show.
Saturday's lunch, before the spa experience, consisted of several appetizer dishes.
Our second salad with the wonderful pecan and pear combination, the dressing on this fell a little flat. It could have benefited from a nice berry vinaigrette, but brie is always good.
The first of two bruschetta/toast-type items, this would have been better if done properly. I did it the lazy way and stuck the untoasted slices of french bread and raw tomato slices under the broiler without roasting the tomatoes separately or anything. However, the taste was good (to me), and I would make it again.
Yeah, okay, just: yum. Homemade pesto (sans cheese), marinated sun-dried tomatoes, and a pinch of parmesan, stuck under the broiler for a few minutes. Yes, yes, yes.
These...were not my thing. I could've done without the croutons and a less spicy stuffing receptacle might have been appreciated.
Pretty tasty. The same homemade pesto, spooned into big white mushroom caps with a pinch of parmesan and baked. Hard to go wrong. But the picture is mightily overexposed, eh?
Saturday night was our last hurrah. We did the last few things we didn't have time for before, even though they didn't quite go together.
Holy cow yum. The pancakes were fluffy and a tad sweet, like a cross between a corn tortilla and a crepe. The salsa was fresh and filling. If I made it again, though, I'd put a little bit of whole pinto beans in the mix with the salsa, for protein and substance.
It was from a mix, but it's still good. Mm-mm, beer bread.
I did these all wrong. Kevin said they looked like confused shellfish. They didn't taste good at all. The batter was too thick and, being dense at the time, I didn't actually, you know, FRY them, just pan-fried. So they sucked, the end.
Monday, September 22, 2003
The Empress Has New Clothes
Because she'd freeze to death without them.
I have lots of photos of the vegetarian dishes my mom and I cooked and of beautiful sunsets in Seaside to share, but there was more to the weekend than all that. But I do think they were mom's favorite parts.
I'll just link to the sunset photos, 'cos I kept them rather large. But that is for the next entry.
Mom and Livia, her quiet new student from Indonesia, came to Seattle to pick me up Wednesday evening. I'd just eaten a big bowl of noodles, but they were hungry, so we went to New China Express. On Thursday morning, mom and I set out for Portland to grab lunch and go shopping. As per my last entry about clothes, mom wanted to take me clothes shopping, so we went to Lloyd Center.
But first, there was lunch at a place near the mall called Wok 'n' Roll, which was pretty tasty. I got some grilled tofu with lemongrass thing; quite yummy indeed. Impressively yummy for non-fried tofu, anyway.
We walked all over the mall and ended up buying a few things. I got some hazelnut brown corduroys at Sears (heh) and several items at Meier and Frank: brown sweater, white blouse (sans serious bust-popping issues), nice slippers, cozy black hoodie, and a very nice black microfiber raincoat with warm lining and hood. I am expecting the worst from this winter, so I'll need all the help I can get from my clothes.
The only other serious shopping trip occurred on Saturday, after our spa experience (I'll get to that later). We went to the outlet mall to see if the Jones New York store had these t-shirts in mom's size that she liked at Meier and Frank. No such luck, but I did get stuff at Bass. Bass is a hell of a lot like the Gap, except it's not actually the Gap, and therefore I feel less dirty going there. Besides, their pants like to fit me. So I got a couple pairs of pants--gray tweed slacks and gray-blue cords--two fuzzy warm v-neck sweaters in dark gray and maroon, a lambswool lime/sage green sweater, zip-up dark blue hoodie sweater, and long-sleeved t-shirts in red and sky blue with polo-type collars and v-necks. Very preppy, but in a way I can use with my less-than-preppy other stuff, maybe. Warm, anyway.
I will get to the actual weekend stuff later, assuming I don't have to do anything at work.
Oh, and there is something funny going on with the billing for gas at my house and I have to attempt to straighten it out with the landlord. If I can get it straight myself, that is. Unnughh.
I have lots of photos of the vegetarian dishes my mom and I cooked and of beautiful sunsets in Seaside to share, but there was more to the weekend than all that. But I do think they were mom's favorite parts.
I'll just link to the sunset photos, 'cos I kept them rather large. But that is for the next entry.
Mom and Livia, her quiet new student from Indonesia, came to Seattle to pick me up Wednesday evening. I'd just eaten a big bowl of noodles, but they were hungry, so we went to New China Express. On Thursday morning, mom and I set out for Portland to grab lunch and go shopping. As per my last entry about clothes, mom wanted to take me clothes shopping, so we went to Lloyd Center.
But first, there was lunch at a place near the mall called Wok 'n' Roll, which was pretty tasty. I got some grilled tofu with lemongrass thing; quite yummy indeed. Impressively yummy for non-fried tofu, anyway.
We walked all over the mall and ended up buying a few things. I got some hazelnut brown corduroys at Sears (heh) and several items at Meier and Frank: brown sweater, white blouse (sans serious bust-popping issues), nice slippers, cozy black hoodie, and a very nice black microfiber raincoat with warm lining and hood. I am expecting the worst from this winter, so I'll need all the help I can get from my clothes.
The only other serious shopping trip occurred on Saturday, after our spa experience (I'll get to that later). We went to the outlet mall to see if the Jones New York store had these t-shirts in mom's size that she liked at Meier and Frank. No such luck, but I did get stuff at Bass. Bass is a hell of a lot like the Gap, except it's not actually the Gap, and therefore I feel less dirty going there. Besides, their pants like to fit me. So I got a couple pairs of pants--gray tweed slacks and gray-blue cords--two fuzzy warm v-neck sweaters in dark gray and maroon, a lambswool lime/sage green sweater, zip-up dark blue hoodie sweater, and long-sleeved t-shirts in red and sky blue with polo-type collars and v-necks. Very preppy, but in a way I can use with my less-than-preppy other stuff, maybe. Warm, anyway.
I will get to the actual weekend stuff later, assuming I don't have to do anything at work.
Oh, and there is something funny going on with the billing for gas at my house and I have to attempt to straighten it out with the landlord. If I can get it straight myself, that is. Unnughh.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Target Has Nothing
I went to Target yesterday with Jen and we spent no money. I had every intention of buying a sweater, or maybe slippers, and I found nothing that would satisfy me. There were a lot of ugly clothes and a lot of overpriced clothes and a lot of slippers that were fuzzy on the outside and not on the inside, which seems to defeat the purpose. (The ones I did like were only in baby blue. Not that I dislike the color, but it's just not, y'know... me.)
But damn, did they have a lot of ugly clothes. Especially the abundance of badly-colored sweaters with badly-matching blouse pieces sewn into them where a blouse would appear if you wore a blouse under such a sweater. Just... bad.
I do want to update my wardrobe (*snicker*), but I am so cheap and so picky. It's a bad combination. It's why I have been unsuccessful for, seriously, about four years now in finding a new winter coat and/or all-purpose jacket. It's why I'm still wearing my sweatshirt everywhere to serve that purpose. And it doesn't even serve it well.
I can't even imagine what I want, though. I just figure I'll know it when I see it, and I never see it.
Skirts are pretty. I'd wear more skirts if I didn't hate wearing skirts. And shaving my legs. It all makes me feel so self-conscious and girly. Not good for everyday use, especially in rainy Seattle. I wish the skirts-with-pants look wasn't frowned upon, because I actually like it. It makes sense to me.
I have a problem with a lot of shirts, too, because I love button-down shirts, but my bust prevents me from wearing ones that should be form-fitting and instead forces me into shirts that are too baggy about the torso. I tend to wear a lot of t-shirts with an overshirt, which isn't too bad and allows me to wear damn near any ill-fitting thrift store find with a pattern I like, but it would be nice to be able to button them up without fearing for the life of my chest-area buttons.
I could use more pants, I guess. I just hate capris, cargos, low-rise, tapered legs and pleats. Basically, I've been wearing my one decent pair of jeans (Bass outlet size 14) exclusively but for the few times I've trotted out my super-comfy perfect brown corduroys from Lane Bryant. (They do not make them anymore. I've looked. They are so three years ago. Now the cords have to be low-rise with pre-frayed edges. Why. Why!) So I guess I could use a few more pairs of jeans and some cords of a different shade.
Also, shopping for underwear is the worst ever.
The only thing in my wardrobe I'm happy with are my shoes. My Docs are all perfectly comfy and wonderful and I have no need of anything else. Even though I do have other shoes, I rarely wear them. Well, my monkey slippers are falling apart, thus the need for new ones, but other than that... I am not a shoe-whore.
I'd just so much rather spend money on music and movies than stupid, boring, time-consuming clothes.
But damn, did they have a lot of ugly clothes. Especially the abundance of badly-colored sweaters with badly-matching blouse pieces sewn into them where a blouse would appear if you wore a blouse under such a sweater. Just... bad.
I do want to update my wardrobe (*snicker*), but I am so cheap and so picky. It's a bad combination. It's why I have been unsuccessful for, seriously, about four years now in finding a new winter coat and/or all-purpose jacket. It's why I'm still wearing my sweatshirt everywhere to serve that purpose. And it doesn't even serve it well.
I can't even imagine what I want, though. I just figure I'll know it when I see it, and I never see it.
Skirts are pretty. I'd wear more skirts if I didn't hate wearing skirts. And shaving my legs. It all makes me feel so self-conscious and girly. Not good for everyday use, especially in rainy Seattle. I wish the skirts-with-pants look wasn't frowned upon, because I actually like it. It makes sense to me.
I have a problem with a lot of shirts, too, because I love button-down shirts, but my bust prevents me from wearing ones that should be form-fitting and instead forces me into shirts that are too baggy about the torso. I tend to wear a lot of t-shirts with an overshirt, which isn't too bad and allows me to wear damn near any ill-fitting thrift store find with a pattern I like, but it would be nice to be able to button them up without fearing for the life of my chest-area buttons.
I could use more pants, I guess. I just hate capris, cargos, low-rise, tapered legs and pleats. Basically, I've been wearing my one decent pair of jeans (Bass outlet size 14) exclusively but for the few times I've trotted out my super-comfy perfect brown corduroys from Lane Bryant. (They do not make them anymore. I've looked. They are so three years ago. Now the cords have to be low-rise with pre-frayed edges. Why. Why!) So I guess I could use a few more pairs of jeans and some cords of a different shade.
Also, shopping for underwear is the worst ever.
The only thing in my wardrobe I'm happy with are my shoes. My Docs are all perfectly comfy and wonderful and I have no need of anything else. Even though I do have other shoes, I rarely wear them. Well, my monkey slippers are falling apart, thus the need for new ones, but other than that... I am not a shoe-whore.
I'd just so much rather spend money on music and movies than stupid, boring, time-consuming clothes.
Strange Dreams
I had a restless night. I've been suffering from allergies (it's nearing time for an annual check-up; I'll get a prescription soon) and kept having weird dreams.
If you don't like reading about other peoples' dreams, stop right there. I know it can be dull sometimes, but I just wanted to write this down.
There were two distinct dreams. One had multiple parts. I'm not even sure what the order was.
One dream was about me and a few friends of mine. I think Graylan and Lindsay were the friends, but it wasn't absolutely clear. One friend (the Lindsay-like one) had been swimming at dusk in this huge lake by an abondoned highway or train tracks and caught a giant salmon. She just picked it up and it opened its mouth. In its mouth was a rock about the size of a plum, which Lindsay then ate. Then the fish swam away and Lindsay realized eating the rock meant something bad would happen to her insides. I remember her telling me, in a terrified voice, that she didn't want to die from a giant spider inside her. Anyway, it wasn't a spider, but a weird bone-like structure did grow around her torso, with a little piece poking out in the middle of her spine. Then, for some reason, both Graylan and I had the same affliction. We knew we had to get operated on to get it out. It was all very weird and sinister.
The other dream or dream sequence was somewhat more comical. First it was black-and-white documentary-type footage about the Manhattan Project and how the scientists involved were living in secret locations that were specially protected throughout New York City. A pair of would-be assassins were casing an apartment at the top of the Empire State Building, looking for Einstein's dwelling. Upon seeing inside, it was just a young couple, amused that someone would be sneaking around so high up.
Then I was inside that apartment, one of a gaggle of children around Halloween. Several of us--but not all--had managed to swindle a million pieces of Halloween candy from a contest gone awry, and we kept discussing how to keep the candy a secret. But then I thought these younger kids overheard and would tell on us. There were some capers and whatnot later in the dream, but I don't remember them. I think I also had another dream, if not last night then the night before, that a similar thing had happened only with $1 million instead of candy and over some kind of football contest.
If you don't like reading about other peoples' dreams, stop right there. I know it can be dull sometimes, but I just wanted to write this down.
There were two distinct dreams. One had multiple parts. I'm not even sure what the order was.
One dream was about me and a few friends of mine. I think Graylan and Lindsay were the friends, but it wasn't absolutely clear. One friend (the Lindsay-like one) had been swimming at dusk in this huge lake by an abondoned highway or train tracks and caught a giant salmon. She just picked it up and it opened its mouth. In its mouth was a rock about the size of a plum, which Lindsay then ate. Then the fish swam away and Lindsay realized eating the rock meant something bad would happen to her insides. I remember her telling me, in a terrified voice, that she didn't want to die from a giant spider inside her. Anyway, it wasn't a spider, but a weird bone-like structure did grow around her torso, with a little piece poking out in the middle of her spine. Then, for some reason, both Graylan and I had the same affliction. We knew we had to get operated on to get it out. It was all very weird and sinister.
The other dream or dream sequence was somewhat more comical. First it was black-and-white documentary-type footage about the Manhattan Project and how the scientists involved were living in secret locations that were specially protected throughout New York City. A pair of would-be assassins were casing an apartment at the top of the Empire State Building, looking for Einstein's dwelling. Upon seeing inside, it was just a young couple, amused that someone would be sneaking around so high up.
Then I was inside that apartment, one of a gaggle of children around Halloween. Several of us--but not all--had managed to swindle a million pieces of Halloween candy from a contest gone awry, and we kept discussing how to keep the candy a secret. But then I thought these younger kids overheard and would tell on us. There were some capers and whatnot later in the dream, but I don't remember them. I think I also had another dream, if not last night then the night before, that a similar thing had happened only with $1 million instead of candy and over some kind of football contest.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
It's Raining on 17th Street
I left my room this morning and heard the curious sound of water running. It wasn't the shower, but in my glasses-free blindness, I couldn't see any rain, either.
Upon closer inspection, it was raining. Water was running down the roof and into the dirt and weed-filled gutters of the neighbors' house. Everything was so gray I could barely see the rain itself.
If there's one thing that frustrates me--but of course, there are a thousand things that frustrate me--it's wasting time on other peoples' account. It's one thing to wait around for a few minutes while your friend gets to the appointed meeting place at the appointed meeting time, but lately I've experienced a waiting around of another sort. It's driving me crazy.
The month of September remained completely unplanned for me until about a week ago, when I was let off the hook for jury duty. Had I known I wouldn't actually have to serve, I could've made all kinds of plans. Granted, my boss needed me to work a bunch of that time, so I ended up working. I've had four-day weekends but worked a buttload, too.
The four-day weekends have so far been a waste of time, however.
I drove to the beach last weekend. It was pointless. I already wrote about that. It was kind of my own fault.
I did go see Lost in Translation on Friday night, though. It was delicious.
On Saturday, Kevin and I were supposed to go to Olympia to set up ethernet stuff in my mom's house. He was going to install wall jacks and everything.
First, he didn't get up until pretty late. We didn't sail into town until 3 or so. Second, he spent all day crawling around in the crawlspace (wearing an impressively amusing get-up--oversized windpants, flannel shirt, latex gloves, Knott's Berry Farm ballcap, dust mask and lab goggles) with me in the room, yelling at him through the floor and exchanging knocks. He drilled holes. He moved fiberglass. We poked sticks at each other through the fiberglass. Ne'er did the twain meet.
Third, we hadn't planned on staying over, which is what ended up happening. So we stunk on Sunday.
I thought the whole thing was hopeless after awhile, and Kevin said wireless would be cheaper anyway. Mom agreed. We returned as much stuff as we could to Home Depot and ordered wireless cards for the remaining computers. Then, in an effort to do...something, Kevin installed XP on the computer in the living room that no one reall uses.
We got back to Seattle around 6 p.m., at which time Kevin was too sleepy to even drive home and fell asleep for five hours. I watched a movie and the Conan O'Brien 10 Year Anniversary Special before joining him. He left 40 minutes later.
So I was gone for two days and did jack shit. I hate that.
Yesterday we went to Costco in the early evening and bought too much crap, then came home and made something resembling baigan bharta, which has of late become my favorite dish to order at Indian restaurants. I'd roasted the eggplant earlier that afternoon according to one recipe online that suggested it should be cooked under the broiler until the skin is slightly burned, and slivers of garlic should be wedged in a deep crack through the middle of the vegetable. I think it turned out all right.
Today I have to go to work briefly to turn in my timesheet since on Friday I couldn't figure out how to print the damn thing. I'm sure it's something I should've known, but didn't, and I'll look and/or feel like an idiot. I didn't see any actual printers in the Printers control panel! I can't print it from a lab machine because it's not installed. I don't know how to install the printer. So. I am dumb. And I have to go to work and bother my boss for five minutes.
What else to do today? Umm... we bought some enoki mushrooms at Costco and maybe we'll cook something with them. There are a lot of them, but they were cheap.
Tomorrow I work and Thursday I am supposed to go to the coast with my mom. I guess we are trying to cook exciting things and go to a spa or something. I just want a massage right now, though. My back hates me.
Upon closer inspection, it was raining. Water was running down the roof and into the dirt and weed-filled gutters of the neighbors' house. Everything was so gray I could barely see the rain itself.
If there's one thing that frustrates me--but of course, there are a thousand things that frustrate me--it's wasting time on other peoples' account. It's one thing to wait around for a few minutes while your friend gets to the appointed meeting place at the appointed meeting time, but lately I've experienced a waiting around of another sort. It's driving me crazy.
The month of September remained completely unplanned for me until about a week ago, when I was let off the hook for jury duty. Had I known I wouldn't actually have to serve, I could've made all kinds of plans. Granted, my boss needed me to work a bunch of that time, so I ended up working. I've had four-day weekends but worked a buttload, too.
The four-day weekends have so far been a waste of time, however.
I drove to the beach last weekend. It was pointless. I already wrote about that. It was kind of my own fault.
I did go see Lost in Translation on Friday night, though. It was delicious.
On Saturday, Kevin and I were supposed to go to Olympia to set up ethernet stuff in my mom's house. He was going to install wall jacks and everything.
First, he didn't get up until pretty late. We didn't sail into town until 3 or so. Second, he spent all day crawling around in the crawlspace (wearing an impressively amusing get-up--oversized windpants, flannel shirt, latex gloves, Knott's Berry Farm ballcap, dust mask and lab goggles) with me in the room, yelling at him through the floor and exchanging knocks. He drilled holes. He moved fiberglass. We poked sticks at each other through the fiberglass. Ne'er did the twain meet.
Third, we hadn't planned on staying over, which is what ended up happening. So we stunk on Sunday.
I thought the whole thing was hopeless after awhile, and Kevin said wireless would be cheaper anyway. Mom agreed. We returned as much stuff as we could to Home Depot and ordered wireless cards for the remaining computers. Then, in an effort to do...something, Kevin installed XP on the computer in the living room that no one reall uses.
We got back to Seattle around 6 p.m., at which time Kevin was too sleepy to even drive home and fell asleep for five hours. I watched a movie and the Conan O'Brien 10 Year Anniversary Special before joining him. He left 40 minutes later.
So I was gone for two days and did jack shit. I hate that.
Yesterday we went to Costco in the early evening and bought too much crap, then came home and made something resembling baigan bharta, which has of late become my favorite dish to order at Indian restaurants. I'd roasted the eggplant earlier that afternoon according to one recipe online that suggested it should be cooked under the broiler until the skin is slightly burned, and slivers of garlic should be wedged in a deep crack through the middle of the vegetable. I think it turned out all right.
Today I have to go to work briefly to turn in my timesheet since on Friday I couldn't figure out how to print the damn thing. I'm sure it's something I should've known, but didn't, and I'll look and/or feel like an idiot. I didn't see any actual printers in the Printers control panel! I can't print it from a lab machine because it's not installed. I don't know how to install the printer. So. I am dumb. And I have to go to work and bother my boss for five minutes.
What else to do today? Umm... we bought some enoki mushrooms at Costco and maybe we'll cook something with them. There are a lot of them, but they were cheap.
Tomorrow I work and Thursday I am supposed to go to the coast with my mom. I guess we are trying to cook exciting things and go to a spa or something. I just want a massage right now, though. My back hates me.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
More Upcoming
So the new Quasi is definitely hot shit. Har har.
I wrote this big thing this morning with all the movies coming out I want to see, but Blogger has been upgrading, see, and since I just leave my Blogger page open and logged in, it ate it when I had to re-login. So you don't get that post right now, because I'm just getting back to the ol' blog here at work, and I didn't bring my dayplanner containing the list. I *could* look on IMDb.com again, sure, but we're closing in 30 minutes and that would be silly.
So you get nothing. NOTHING!!
You ask for everything and get shit. That's just how it goes.
Today is crazy shit. I mean, it's boring, but the world is crazy. You have Ashcroft doing his usual bullshit and Bush promoting the hell out of it too. You have the myriad "never forget" crap to commemorate the second anniversary of something really terrible. You have teachers on strike at the beginning of the school year. You have too many directions to look that you're hardly taking notice at all. Or maybe that's just me.
What the hell. I have nothing to say right now. I said it all on IRC already. People who talk to me on IRC already KNOW what is UP: Nothing. But we talked about it real good.
Happy birthday to everyone born this month. That's a shit-ton of people, by the way. You know who you are. And I do, too--even if I forget the exact dates.
I wrote this big thing this morning with all the movies coming out I want to see, but Blogger has been upgrading, see, and since I just leave my Blogger page open and logged in, it ate it when I had to re-login. So you don't get that post right now, because I'm just getting back to the ol' blog here at work, and I didn't bring my dayplanner containing the list. I *could* look on IMDb.com again, sure, but we're closing in 30 minutes and that would be silly.
So you get nothing. NOTHING!!
You ask for everything and get shit. That's just how it goes.
Today is crazy shit. I mean, it's boring, but the world is crazy. You have Ashcroft doing his usual bullshit and Bush promoting the hell out of it too. You have the myriad "never forget" crap to commemorate the second anniversary of something really terrible. You have teachers on strike at the beginning of the school year. You have too many directions to look that you're hardly taking notice at all. Or maybe that's just me.
What the hell. I have nothing to say right now. I said it all on IRC already. People who talk to me on IRC already KNOW what is UP: Nothing. But we talked about it real good.
Happy birthday to everyone born this month. That's a shit-ton of people, by the way. You know who you are. And I do, too--even if I forget the exact dates.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Upcoming
Coming off the still-total-bummer of not seeing R.E.M. and Wilco last week, I went through an actual paper copy of the Stranger for concert listings and ads placed by clubs with all their listings. I found many things I must attend.
And I wrote them all in my dayplanner, because that's the kind of dork I am.
That's about it for now. Some bigger-name acts might come through at the Moore or the Paramount or something and I might drop big bucks to see them (as I did last year for Aimee Mann and Beth Orton, both of which were worth it), but this is what's on my calendar for now.
Anyone up for a show?
And I wrote them all in my dayplanner, because that's the kind of dork I am.
- Friday, Sept. 12 Radio Nationals at the Tractor Tavern. Their set at Bumbershoot was fun. They are probably even more fun in a different setting that's not 12:30 in the afternoon.
- Saturday, Sept. 13 Pleaseeasaur at the Sunset Tavern. Chris kept telling me what a crazy show they put on. Too bad he's out of town! He's out of town for a lot of good stuff and I kept saying so, not thinking about the whole thing, which made him go, "Awwww!" followed by Lauren mock-suggesting he just stay home. Ha ha. Also, today is Lindsay's birthday, I believe.
- Tuesday, Sept. 23 The Long Winters at the Tractor Tavern. Kevin says they were better live than the CD. He didn't dig the horns. Ptooie. But they were good live.
- Saturday, Oct. 4 Mountain Goats at the Tractor Tavern. Aja and Gabe are always talking about this band. I have only heard one song, but what the hell?
- Monday or Tuesday, Oct. 6 or 7 Sex Mob at the Tractor Tavern. All the good shows are in Ballard now. Ha, ha. Um, Kevin likes this band, and I will go see just about any live show if Kevin would actually go with me since he is usually hesitant to see a lot of stuff I want to see. I would even see Tori Amos if he wanted. I went to see Guster with him once. I don't even particularly like Guster. I have more faith in a band with a name like Sex Mob.
- Friday, Oct. 10 Quasi at the Crocodile Cafe. This band is so good. I think I will go pick up the new album on my way home--it's coming out today, as far as I know. We were right up in front to see them a few months ago at the Showbox, and it was excellent. Kevin and Josie should come with me.
- Tuesday, Oct. 21 Guided by Voices at Graceland. I think they came through town about a year ago, just before I turned 21, and played a 21+ show I was upset I couldn't see.
- Tuesday, Oct. 28 Hieroglyphics at the Showbox. Too bad I don't think any of my Seattle friends would go to a hip hop show with me.
- Thursday, Oct. 30 Damien Rice at the Crocodile Cafe. Aron on #n00n recommended "O" to me, and it's pretty nice. I might have to check out this show.
- Friday and Saturday, Nov. 21 and 22 Death Cab for Cutie at the Showbox. I'm sure this is all ages and will be packed full of emokiddies. I don't care. Death Cab for Cutie has thus far rocked me live twice and I look forward to the trend continuing. Also, they have a new album soon.
That's about it for now. Some bigger-name acts might come through at the Moore or the Paramount or something and I might drop big bucks to see them (as I did last year for Aimee Mann and Beth Orton, both of which were worth it), but this is what's on my calendar for now.
Anyone up for a show?
Monday, September 08, 2003
Cable TV Is Bad for the Brain
"How was the beach?"
It was so boring.
And I don't mean that the way my 16-year-old brother told my mom their last weeklong beach stay with his girlfriend was "boring" or not that much fun or whatever (hi, Paul, "being honest" is not the same thing as "being rude and ungrateful"). I just didn't plan for the trip as it happened and was therefore bored out of my skull.
For one, Seaside is not an exciting town. For another, it doesn't have any exciting places to eat. I was alone, and cooking for myself without the help of my usual kitchen assortment isn't that great. The weather wasn't nice, either, so I spent all of an hour and a half on the beach itself, which was nice enough.
I brought a few magazines to read and demolished them all. I went to the outlet mall and decided everything in the one store that had anything I could remotely picture myself wearing was too much. That killed an hour. I went to find takeout one night and walked downtown, got a crappy vegetarian pizza, and walked home with it. I was pretty bored and suffering from hunger and low blood sugar, so the hot rods that were "happening" in town weren't much more than idle amusement. It was very foggy and chilly the whole time.
I rode a bike for the first time since probably before I got my driver's license. Still don't like it. I'd rather walk. Or even drive, and I'm not a big fan of driving.
See, I hadn't planned to be alone. It just turned out that way. Even being with other people counts as doing *something,* typically. At least talking. And I did call when the minutes were plentiful. I just miscommunicated with Rachel so we ended up meeting Saturday evening way down in Pacific City, a drive-time compromise for us both.
That part was nice, though. It was good to spend time with her. The beach there was cool, too, even though the weather was not cooperative. There is a big red cliff with caves and tidepools jutting out of a gigantic sand dune. We had dinner at a place called Grateful Bread, which was quite tasty.
But mostly, I sat on my ass, either because I was driving somewhere or watching that sweet, sweet opiate of the masses, cable television. I spent a large chunk of Friday watching I Love the '70s on VH1. I watched several episodes of Trading Spaces to lull myself to sleep on Saturday. And there was more, much more. I was so bored. I cannot even tell you how boring it is to have nothing more appealing than television for me.
Also, for what it's worth, a movie that an ex once told me to see happened to be on HBO while I was watching VH1, so I flipped back and forth for awhile. PCU? Is a terrible, unfunny film. It tread all the same ground as Revenge of the Nerds but with less character and not even starting with the underdogs. Anyway.
I drove back to Olympia on Sunday. I was leaving the car at mom's house because it is due for routine maintenance, so Kevin was supposed to come pick me up. I'd figured he'd get his ass out of bed mid-afternoon and come get me. I called at 4:45 and woke him up. He arrived around 7 and brought an armload of networking stuff to play with on their computers--something he's supposed to do anyway, but I didn't realize he was planning to start that night.
All I wanted to do was go home. Not that I don't enjoy seeing my mom, but I was very tired and bored and cranky and probably not the best company in the world, but she fed me and we watched more bad TV anyway. Yay. I didn't get home until about 1 a.m., which sucked because I didn't sleep until probably closer to 2 and I wake up by 8 a.m. no matter what because my body is stupid. So I'm nearing the end of a 7-hour shift at work--oh, yes, I was relieved of jury duty, yippy--the first of five days straight and very tired. And hungry. I need to go grocery shopping when I get home.
On the upside, I picked up a few CDs and magazines before I left, and they were all pretty good. The Long Winters' When I Pretend to Fall received heavy rotation in my car this trip due to its infectious poppiness; Kinski's Airs Above Your Station is beauuuutiful, of course, though paling in comparison to the show; Slint's Spiderland got me to the end of my initial nighttime drive to Olympia in style. Of course, I wasn't snobby enough to buy it in its proper vinyl form, but whatever. I enjoyed an issue of Seed magazine and read Giant Robot and Utne Reader for the first time, but was not quite as intrigued by those.
So, hurrah, it's the beginning of a long and boring week of work! We'll be doing a lot of actual work because the new machines are to be placed in classrooms and a new image must be installed on everything and tweaked for appropriateness. There is a lot of new in the lab this week. Exciting, rah. I must now go eat my Clif bar before my stomach caves in on itself.
It was so boring.
And I don't mean that the way my 16-year-old brother told my mom their last weeklong beach stay with his girlfriend was "boring" or not that much fun or whatever (hi, Paul, "being honest" is not the same thing as "being rude and ungrateful"). I just didn't plan for the trip as it happened and was therefore bored out of my skull.
For one, Seaside is not an exciting town. For another, it doesn't have any exciting places to eat. I was alone, and cooking for myself without the help of my usual kitchen assortment isn't that great. The weather wasn't nice, either, so I spent all of an hour and a half on the beach itself, which was nice enough.
I brought a few magazines to read and demolished them all. I went to the outlet mall and decided everything in the one store that had anything I could remotely picture myself wearing was too much. That killed an hour. I went to find takeout one night and walked downtown, got a crappy vegetarian pizza, and walked home with it. I was pretty bored and suffering from hunger and low blood sugar, so the hot rods that were "happening" in town weren't much more than idle amusement. It was very foggy and chilly the whole time.
I rode a bike for the first time since probably before I got my driver's license. Still don't like it. I'd rather walk. Or even drive, and I'm not a big fan of driving.
See, I hadn't planned to be alone. It just turned out that way. Even being with other people counts as doing *something,* typically. At least talking. And I did call when the minutes were plentiful. I just miscommunicated with Rachel so we ended up meeting Saturday evening way down in Pacific City, a drive-time compromise for us both.
That part was nice, though. It was good to spend time with her. The beach there was cool, too, even though the weather was not cooperative. There is a big red cliff with caves and tidepools jutting out of a gigantic sand dune. We had dinner at a place called Grateful Bread, which was quite tasty.
But mostly, I sat on my ass, either because I was driving somewhere or watching that sweet, sweet opiate of the masses, cable television. I spent a large chunk of Friday watching I Love the '70s on VH1. I watched several episodes of Trading Spaces to lull myself to sleep on Saturday. And there was more, much more. I was so bored. I cannot even tell you how boring it is to have nothing more appealing than television for me.
Also, for what it's worth, a movie that an ex once told me to see happened to be on HBO while I was watching VH1, so I flipped back and forth for awhile. PCU? Is a terrible, unfunny film. It tread all the same ground as Revenge of the Nerds but with less character and not even starting with the underdogs. Anyway.
I drove back to Olympia on Sunday. I was leaving the car at mom's house because it is due for routine maintenance, so Kevin was supposed to come pick me up. I'd figured he'd get his ass out of bed mid-afternoon and come get me. I called at 4:45 and woke him up. He arrived around 7 and brought an armload of networking stuff to play with on their computers--something he's supposed to do anyway, but I didn't realize he was planning to start that night.
All I wanted to do was go home. Not that I don't enjoy seeing my mom, but I was very tired and bored and cranky and probably not the best company in the world, but she fed me and we watched more bad TV anyway. Yay. I didn't get home until about 1 a.m., which sucked because I didn't sleep until probably closer to 2 and I wake up by 8 a.m. no matter what because my body is stupid. So I'm nearing the end of a 7-hour shift at work--oh, yes, I was relieved of jury duty, yippy--the first of five days straight and very tired. And hungry. I need to go grocery shopping when I get home.
On the upside, I picked up a few CDs and magazines before I left, and they were all pretty good. The Long Winters' When I Pretend to Fall received heavy rotation in my car this trip due to its infectious poppiness; Kinski's Airs Above Your Station is beauuuutiful, of course, though paling in comparison to the show; Slint's Spiderland got me to the end of my initial nighttime drive to Olympia in style. Of course, I wasn't snobby enough to buy it in its proper vinyl form, but whatever. I enjoyed an issue of Seed magazine and read Giant Robot and Utne Reader for the first time, but was not quite as intrigued by those.
So, hurrah, it's the beginning of a long and boring week of work! We'll be doing a lot of actual work because the new machines are to be placed in classrooms and a new image must be installed on everything and tweaked for appropriateness. There is a lot of new in the lab this week. Exciting, rah. I must now go eat my Clif bar before my stomach caves in on itself.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Living Under Rocks
Good lord. This lady I've been helping is so bizarrely clueless about computers. Not quite "what's a mouse?" bad, but bad enough. Also, I think she is a nun. It's an older woman with long, gray hair, no makeup, and wearing a simple black skirt and white blouse.
First she wanted to know where to open Word. All she could see was someone's personal file on the desktop and she thought that was it. Fair enough. I told her to open the Start Menu and go to Programs and there it'd be. Then she asked about printing, and she seemed to think that she'd have to tell the printer to print off each page in her Word document individually. Again, she had some reason to believe that to be the case; an article on the web had multiple html documents to print. I assured her she didn't have to do that.
A few minutes later, she came back to the desk saying she couldn't see a Start Menu.
Crap. I'd foolishly assumed she was on a PC when she was using a Mac and didn't even know the difference.
I had to explain. I told her to use a PC, and since she didn't even know there was a difference, she was fine with that.
Then she wanted to change the margins of her document because the default view onscreen is page view, zoomed out to 75% for some reason, which didn't look right to her. Her one inch margins on every side were also the default, but she didn't understand. I had to patiently explain that what she saw on the screen was what she wanted and that it would print out the way she wanted.
...
For the first time since the end of Fall Quarter last year, I am not the only girl to work behind this desk. Yay! Aleks is returning. She dropped by today to discuss schedules and such with Paul. It was nice to see her again.
Chris and Lauren left for London this morning, a few hours before I took my sister to the airport to return to San Francisco. They didn't even say goodbye, though. You bastards! Kidding, but send postcards, mmkay?
(Like they are going to sit in internet cafes and read my fucking blog while in London.)
I am really stuck on Built to Spill's Ancient Melodies of the Future lately for some reason. I keep getting all the songs stuck in my head.
Anyway, tonight I am leaving for Olympia, then heading to Seaside tomorrow. Rachel will be joining me there at some point, which will be wonderful.
I am at work right now, getting over some day-one-of-menstruating sickness crap that ruined my afternoon. This is the second time it's happened to me, but not the worst. The first time I just felt crummy, went to class, then felt like absolute shit. I thought I needed to puke but didn't. I called my mom and she asked me if I was pregnant. Hello, I'm *menstruating,* and not lightly. But that was like five or six cycles ago.
So yeah. Not much to talk about. I'm leaving.
First she wanted to know where to open Word. All she could see was someone's personal file on the desktop and she thought that was it. Fair enough. I told her to open the Start Menu and go to Programs and there it'd be. Then she asked about printing, and she seemed to think that she'd have to tell the printer to print off each page in her Word document individually. Again, she had some reason to believe that to be the case; an article on the web had multiple html documents to print. I assured her she didn't have to do that.
A few minutes later, she came back to the desk saying she couldn't see a Start Menu.
Crap. I'd foolishly assumed she was on a PC when she was using a Mac and didn't even know the difference.
I had to explain. I told her to use a PC, and since she didn't even know there was a difference, she was fine with that.
Then she wanted to change the margins of her document because the default view onscreen is page view, zoomed out to 75% for some reason, which didn't look right to her. Her one inch margins on every side were also the default, but she didn't understand. I had to patiently explain that what she saw on the screen was what she wanted and that it would print out the way she wanted.
...
For the first time since the end of Fall Quarter last year, I am not the only girl to work behind this desk. Yay! Aleks is returning. She dropped by today to discuss schedules and such with Paul. It was nice to see her again.
Chris and Lauren left for London this morning, a few hours before I took my sister to the airport to return to San Francisco. They didn't even say goodbye, though. You bastards! Kidding, but send postcards, mmkay?
(Like they are going to sit in internet cafes and read my fucking blog while in London.)
I am really stuck on Built to Spill's Ancient Melodies of the Future lately for some reason. I keep getting all the songs stuck in my head.
Anyway, tonight I am leaving for Olympia, then heading to Seaside tomorrow. Rachel will be joining me there at some point, which will be wonderful.
I am at work right now, getting over some day-one-of-menstruating sickness crap that ruined my afternoon. This is the second time it's happened to me, but not the worst. The first time I just felt crummy, went to class, then felt like absolute shit. I thought I needed to puke but didn't. I called my mom and she asked me if I was pregnant. Hello, I'm *menstruating,* and not lightly. But that was like five or six cycles ago.
So yeah. Not much to talk about. I'm leaving.
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