Here's what I've done today:
1. Got up early (for me) to drive to Sac's version of the 'hood to open up a community center and sit in an office waiting for my 9 a.m. client to arrive. And my 10 a.m. And my 11 a.m. A hat-trick of no-shows.
2. Read through almost my entire Google list on my Treo. No small feat with a screen that size. Got caught up with lots of people's blogs.
3. Drove back home, listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. A very good thing since laughter is the best medicine, etc. etc. etc. Stephen Colbert was on. He's funnier, I think, when he's not doing a character. Wondered whether he has ever discussed why his ears don't match. For the longest time, I thought it was a costume thing. But I think not. I think his ears don't match. And I'm curious as to why.
4. Didn't need to check my email since I had checked and rechecked it while waiting for the hat-trick of no-shows.
5. Packed up for mailing a blouse I bought at a Tupperware party. Well, not really. But like a Tupperware party, except for clothes. CAbi--heard of it? Neither had I. The blouse was too small and too large. That is, too small in the boobs and too large in the shoulders. This is my fate these days since I've grown these headlights. I don't know what to do with them. I have no experience at dressing them. I wish they would go away.
6. Went to Kinko's to mail the blouse. Got the new boy on the job. The one who didn't know what he was doing wrong so he just kept doing the same thing over and over again. Isn't that the definition of insanity? Or maybe just stupidity. I was a model of patience, I must say. He would never know that I'm usually a fire-breathing dragon in such circumstances.
7. Went to Target to see what new tops they have in. For my headlights. I need something that is not T-shirty, clingy, 1% spandex. If you have wandered through Target recently, you'll know how impossible that is. Tried on one top which fit everywhere except--my boobs. Tried on another which was on a rack labeled Voluminous. I believe this was the name of the garment. Or maybe it referred to the size. Either way, it fit everywhere including my boobs, except--it made me look pregnant. This is, I realize, the current fashion. I believe it has everything to do with the latest fashion accessory: the baby bump. That is, pregnant or not, if you wanna be in, you need to wear maternity clothes.
8. Came home. Decided to bake. Was chagrined to realize that I didn't have a stick of butter and thus, was thwarted in my urge to create.
9. Wrote this post. Lucky you.
Showing posts with label Yadayadayada. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yadayadayada. Show all posts
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Late Night Ambition; Day Time Lassitude
I get fired up at night. Plans are made, creative juices flow, and vows are taken to realize in the morningthe greatness thought of the night before. When I get up. Around 7 or so. If not earlier.
And then............in the morning, my bed becomes a huge float, bobbing along in the daytime sun. Molly pushes up against me (and sometimes on top of me) for her morning belly rub. Together we're a coccon, rubbing, dozing, bobbing along. In the daytime sun. Until--holy fuck!--it's much later than 7. It's probably later than 8. If I can rip myself from this womb before the big hand is on the 12 and little one on the 9, I consider myself successful. If not, well, so what. I can't remember the plans of the night before anyway. Or if I can, they seem silly, fruitless, or nigh on to impossible to achieve.
Last night, in an effort to harness at least one good thought, I took a pad and pencil to bed. Here's what I wrote:
And then............in the morning, my bed becomes a huge float, bobbing along in the daytime sun. Molly pushes up against me (and sometimes on top of me) for her morning belly rub. Together we're a coccon, rubbing, dozing, bobbing along. In the daytime sun. Until--holy fuck!--it's much later than 7. It's probably later than 8. If I can rip myself from this womb before the big hand is on the 12 and little one on the 9, I consider myself successful. If not, well, so what. I can't remember the plans of the night before anyway. Or if I can, they seem silly, fruitless, or nigh on to impossible to achieve.
Last night, in an effort to harness at least one good thought, I took a pad and pencil to bed. Here's what I wrote:
This morning I sat down, as I do every morning, hands poised over keyboard, ready to write the Great American Blogpost. And this morning, as has happened every morning for a week or so, I am faced with the Great Meh! I can't get inspired. I don't feel clever or witty or even willing to try. I'm just not really that into it. My ambition is on the waning side of the tides. It'll come back. It always has. But until then--talk amongst yourselves. Enjoy the scenery. Eat an apple. Bake a scone.
- There are the thing I know and then there are the stories I tell myself about the things I know. Stories I imagine to be true, but cannot possibly say for sure. Stories in which sometimes I'm the victim and sometimes the hero.
- If you could see this page, you would know for certain, as I do, that one of the lasting effects of the cerebral aneurysm is that my penmanship sucks.
- I am ruled by inertia. And always have been.
- A friend tonight started spinning the story of D's and my early relationship. Her tale was so full of passion, and it made me laugh to think how little resemblance it bore to reality. But maybe her version is true. What do I know to say it's not? The stories we tell ourselves are, after all, simply narratives. They aren't histories."
Monday, August 27, 2007
A Girl and her Phone[s]: A Sad Story
This is a sad story about a girl and a telephone and how she misused and abused it and how it eventually did her in.
Once upon a time there was a girl who had several telephones, none of which she liked to use. She simply didn't like to talk on the phone. This was rather curious seeing as she was intimately related to someone who had a telephone permanently attached to her ear. But perhaps the particular gene pool from which these two arose only allowed for one telephone person. Perhaps that was why the girl didn't like to talk on the phone.
Or perhaps it was that when she was a teenager, and harnessed all her courage to call a boy and ask him to a party, when she said, "Shelly (yes, that was his name), this is XY" and paused waiting for him to respond, "Hi XY," instead he said "So what." Perhaps she always hears "so what" when she announces her name to the person she's calling.
Too, this girl is a master at reading faces so as to move in sync with the mood of whoever she's with. This is a tactic that enables her to maintain seemingly precarious relationships. But the telephone does not allow for this mastery, and thus, she is awash in a sea of insecurity when she is on the phone with someone. Do they want to get off? Are they bored? Am I bothering them? Or, at times, My God, what does this person want from me? Is it too soon to say goodbye? Have I missed much of that program? The girl has a horror of evoking such thoughts in a person she's called, and thus, she calls few people.
In fact, she has a syllogism of sorts that rules her calling people. It is this: If X wanted to talk to me, X would call me. Since X hasn't called me, X doesn't want to talk to me. Since I don't want to talk to anyone who doesn't want to talk to me, I won't call X either.
This syllogism, while definitely not valid (or even really a syllogism) from a logician's point of view, is, the girl realizes, SICK from a psychotherapeutic point of view. Especially since the girl is hyperaware of who is and is not calling her. And what they are or are not saying, when they do or do not call her.
The girl is sick of herself and her telephone-phobia and is appealing to all and sundry for HHEEEEEEELLLLLPPPPPPPPPP!
Once upon a time there was a girl who had several telephones, none of which she liked to use. She simply didn't like to talk on the phone. This was rather curious seeing as she was intimately related to someone who had a telephone permanently attached to her ear. But perhaps the particular gene pool from which these two arose only allowed for one telephone person. Perhaps that was why the girl didn't like to talk on the phone.
Or perhaps it was that when she was a teenager, and harnessed all her courage to call a boy and ask him to a party, when she said, "Shelly (yes, that was his name), this is XY" and paused waiting for him to respond, "Hi XY," instead he said "So what." Perhaps she always hears "so what" when she announces her name to the person she's calling.
Too, this girl is a master at reading faces so as to move in sync with the mood of whoever she's with. This is a tactic that enables her to maintain seemingly precarious relationships. But the telephone does not allow for this mastery, and thus, she is awash in a sea of insecurity when she is on the phone with someone. Do they want to get off? Are they bored? Am I bothering them? Or, at times, My God, what does this person want from me? Is it too soon to say goodbye? Have I missed much of that program? The girl has a horror of evoking such thoughts in a person she's called, and thus, she calls few people.
In fact, she has a syllogism of sorts that rules her calling people. It is this: If X wanted to talk to me, X would call me. Since X hasn't called me, X doesn't want to talk to me. Since I don't want to talk to anyone who doesn't want to talk to me, I won't call X either.
This syllogism, while definitely not valid (or even really a syllogism) from a logician's point of view, is, the girl realizes, SICK from a psychotherapeutic point of view. Especially since the girl is hyperaware of who is and is not calling her. And what they are or are not saying, when they do or do not call her.
The girl is sick of herself and her telephone-phobia and is appealing to all and sundry for HHEEEEEEELLLLLPPPPPPPPPP!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Interview With A Blogger: The Official Version
Whit, over at HoneaExpress, didn't start this, but he's the one who caught my attention. These are the rules, as quoted by Whit:
.
That's it. According to the rules, which I am a stickler for, I am to post this information: Interview rules:And here are the five questions that Whit asked me:
1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with a post containing your the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
.
1.� You've bitten me twice, turning me into a vampire and a zombie, respectively.� What's up with that?
There are many responses that come to mind and tongue here, but the truth is--I thought you bit me. The fact is that there aren't that many kids in my sandbox, so you get picked a lot. I would spread the wealth a little, but having freelanced, I know a needy soul when I see one. There is nothing quite like looming deadlines for shit that you don't want to do to make one pump up the effort in other arenas. When I was freelancing, I had perfectly plucked eyebrows. Used to keep a little mirror and tweezers by my computer and groom away when the writing got rough. So, consider my bites as invitations to play when you're so inclined.
There are many responses that come to mind and tongue here, but the truth is--I thought you bit me. The fact is that there aren't that many kids in my sandbox, so you get picked a lot. I would spread the wealth a little, but having freelanced, I know a needy soul when I see one. There is nothing quite like looming deadlines for shit that you don't want to do to make one pump up the effort in other arenas. When I was freelancing, I had perfectly plucked eyebrows. Used to keep a little mirror and tweezers by my computer and groom away when the writing got rough. So, consider my bites as invitations to play when you're so inclined.
2.� I've had dogs my whole life and I have never seen one in a carseat until your Molly. �Did you come up with that?
I wish I had invented carseats for dogs; I'd be rich if I had. I just googled it and got 3,120,000 hits for dog carseats. We got ours when we travelled a lot with our Yorkie, and she would slip and slide all over the place. Perhaps your dogs have all been on the larger side? Perhaps they are used to riding around in the back of your pickup?
I wish I had invented carseats for dogs; I'd be rich if I had. I just googled it and got 3,120,000 hits for dog carseats. We got ours when we travelled a lot with our Yorkie, and she would slip and slide all over the place. Perhaps your dogs have all been on the larger side? Perhaps they are used to riding around in the back of your pickup?
3.� You said that you have a lot of books by your bedside.� Do you always have that many, or do you dwindle the list down before building it back up?
I neither dwindle, nor build. I just haven't edited the list...because I would have to figure out the code for strikethrough, and that would be a pain. But since you bring it up, I will revise my list. And update. And maybe even annotate. I cannot go to sleep without reading in bed for a while. Milk and chocolate helps as well.
I neither dwindle, nor build. I just haven't edited the list...because I would have to figure out the code for strikethrough, and that would be a pain. But since you bring it up, I will revise my list. And update. And maybe even annotate. I cannot go to sleep without reading in bed for a while. Milk and chocolate helps as well.
4.� Did you ever feel bad that you didn't include me in your list of people you met at the L.A. Blogger Party?� It's because I teased you about the apron, isn't it?
I didn't?! Well, now I do feel bad. Maybe it's because I went straight from meeting you to putting you on my Google Daily Reads list. That's a pretty big deal, you know. Not many people are on it.
I didn't?! Well, now I do feel bad. Maybe it's because I went straight from meeting you to putting you on my Google Daily Reads list. That's a pretty big deal, you know. Not many people are on it.
5.� The URL for your site is one letter off from a site full of naked men.� Did you do this on purpose?
Are you going to make me guess the letter? And how do you know?
And who's being interviewed here, you or me? Or is this a case of, enough about me, let's talk about you--what did you think of what I just said??????
Well, that was enlightening, wasn't it. If you want me to interview you, follow the rules in green above.
Are you going to make me guess the letter? And how do you know?
And who's being interviewed here, you or me? Or is this a case of, enough about me, let's talk about you--what did you think of what I just said??????
Well, that was enlightening, wasn't it. If you want me to interview you, follow the rules in green above.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
My DayThus Far: By Jane
Molly and I got up relatively early this morning and hit the road for Starbucks by 8:30. We do the Starbucks trip every other day. When D is in charge, they do it every day: Grande Drip with room for cream and a Maple Nut Scone. They share it. Me, I'm not so generous. I do the Grande Drip, but not the scone. And the reason I go every other day? I only drink half the coffee. You know, there is really nothing wrong with heated up Starbucks the next day. You can trust me on that.
First stop: gas station. No problem.
Second stop: Starbuck's drive through. Very, very crowded. I listened to a program on organ harvesting on NPR. Very, very interesting. Gave my order, and decided to treat Molly to a shared Maple Nut Scone (she is definitely missing D). Waited for my order. Took my order, put the cup in the Very Inadequate Cupholder that my VW offers. Drove away. Stuck my hand in the bag to break off a piece of Maple Nut Scone. Broke off a piece of Oat Nut Scone--gag! Dry, tasteless, not worth the calories.
Third stop: Drove back to Starbucks and exchanged the scone. Drove away, again. Heard a popping sound: the coffee cup had flipped out of the Very Inadequate Cupholder and all the coffee was now sloshing around on the floor. Said fuck.
Fourth stop: Another Starbucks, closer to home. No drivethrough. Went in and ordered another Grande, etc. Mentioned in passing that it was my second of the morning and the barista handed me back my card. "It's on me," she said.
Drove home thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about Starbucks. Pulled into garage. Exited car, carefully placing second Grande, etc. on a safe surface. Picked up clot of coffee-soaked napkins and keys in hand, went to throw them in the garbage.
Threw something in the garbage. Something that made a metallic sound when it dropped. Clot of coffee-soaked napkins still in my hand. Peered into the garbage can. Saw my keys lying in the garbage soup at the bottom.
Garbage can very, very big, i.e., deep. Not to mention very, very stinky. Can't reach keys. Curse D for not being there with his long arms to fish them out for me. Go into garage to see what is there that I can use to get the keys.
Passing by car on right side, see that I never refastened the gas cap. Have done all this motoring with it dangling outside the car. Flash on what might have been if I still smoked. Yeah, right....flash, indeed.
Get a wire hanger, open it up and, breathing through my mouth, lean into garbage can far enough to fish out the keys. Pretend I am doing it on Survivor. Get the keys. They are coated in something white. Don't look. Dump them in sink and run hot water. Will disinfect and think about them later, at Tara.
---some time later--
Clean off desk. Find bill for health insurance--due July 1. Wonder if I'll have to beg, or if I'll be forced to endure Kaiser. Blue Cross, bless their heart, is amazingly understanding and cancels my cancellation. I love Blue Cross. I tell them so.
It is now 3:06 and my day is only half over. What next, I ask you, what next?!
First stop: gas station. No problem.
Second stop: Starbuck's drive through. Very, very crowded. I listened to a program on organ harvesting on NPR. Very, very interesting. Gave my order, and decided to treat Molly to a shared Maple Nut Scone (she is definitely missing D). Waited for my order. Took my order, put the cup in the Very Inadequate Cupholder that my VW offers. Drove away. Stuck my hand in the bag to break off a piece of Maple Nut Scone. Broke off a piece of Oat Nut Scone--gag! Dry, tasteless, not worth the calories.
Third stop: Drove back to Starbucks and exchanged the scone. Drove away, again. Heard a popping sound: the coffee cup had flipped out of the Very Inadequate Cupholder and all the coffee was now sloshing around on the floor. Said fuck.
Fourth stop: Another Starbucks, closer to home. No drivethrough. Went in and ordered another Grande, etc. Mentioned in passing that it was my second of the morning and the barista handed me back my card. "It's on me," she said.
Drove home thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about Starbucks. Pulled into garage. Exited car, carefully placing second Grande, etc. on a safe surface. Picked up clot of coffee-soaked napkins and keys in hand, went to throw them in the garbage.
Threw something in the garbage. Something that made a metallic sound when it dropped. Clot of coffee-soaked napkins still in my hand. Peered into the garbage can. Saw my keys lying in the garbage soup at the bottom.
Garbage can very, very big, i.e., deep. Not to mention very, very stinky. Can't reach keys. Curse D for not being there with his long arms to fish them out for me. Go into garage to see what is there that I can use to get the keys.
Passing by car on right side, see that I never refastened the gas cap. Have done all this motoring with it dangling outside the car. Flash on what might have been if I still smoked. Yeah, right....flash, indeed.
Get a wire hanger, open it up and, breathing through my mouth, lean into garbage can far enough to fish out the keys. Pretend I am doing it on Survivor. Get the keys. They are coated in something white. Don't look. Dump them in sink and run hot water. Will disinfect and think about them later, at Tara.
---some time later--
Clean off desk. Find bill for health insurance--due July 1. Wonder if I'll have to beg, or if I'll be forced to endure Kaiser. Blue Cross, bless their heart, is amazingly understanding and cancels my cancellation. I love Blue Cross. I tell them so.
It is now 3:06 and my day is only half over. What next, I ask you, what next?!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho....
...'tis off to BlogHer I go. And if that little ditty doesn't stick in your brain, here's another one. "Leavin' on a jet plane/don't know when I'll be back again...." Except I do, Sunday night.
Of course this trip has been in the works since the winter. But yesterday I decided that I absolutely had to get my hair cut. I went to Chris, at Something or other Spa and Salon. I picked him because he was incredibly freaky, and freaky is familiar to me, coming from West Hollywood. Chris would have fit in very well at one of the leather bars there. How he manages in Elk Grove, I'm not sure. I told him I wanted something 'edgy.' He wanted me to define edgy. "You know, edgy. How do you define it." We discussed etymology and I guess we were each satisfied, because he picked up his scissors and began.
I don't have a photo of what I looked like at the end. I have, as well, managed to repress the few glimpses I got in the mirror. Suffice to say, I had a bundle of hair in the back, some awkward tendrils at the nape, and a long curving payess jutting out from the front of each ear. The whole mass was such a gooey glop of product, product and then more product that I had to get in the shower when I got home.
D arrived today to stay with Molly and said, "oh, you decided to cut your hair." He was trying his best to be diplomatic, and really he was, but one of his strong suits as far as I'm concerned is that I trust his judgment about how I look. So I asked him, and he answered: "Well, it's kind of wild." I was thinking I could get away with a mop-of-curls, je ne sais quoi look, but maybe I was a bit overly optimistic. "Do I need to get it cut again?" "Yes," he said, and D isn't a man who is affirmative that often (mostly he likes to hedge). So I hied myself to SuperCuts, where Verushka applied her magic scissors to my head.
Is it better? That's debatable. But it is what it is, isn't it. And that, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, is my Zen for the day.
I'm taking my laptop, of course, but last year the wireless connection at the hotel died from time to time, due to hundreds of women tap-tap-tapping away. This hotel in Chicago is much fancier, not to mention expensive, but what that will mean connection-wise, I'm not sure. So you may get full-blown posts or I may be updating on my Treo.
Of course this trip has been in the works since the winter. But yesterday I decided that I absolutely had to get my hair cut. I went to Chris, at Something or other Spa and Salon. I picked him because he was incredibly freaky, and freaky is familiar to me, coming from West Hollywood. Chris would have fit in very well at one of the leather bars there. How he manages in Elk Grove, I'm not sure. I told him I wanted something 'edgy.' He wanted me to define edgy. "You know, edgy. How do you define it." We discussed etymology and I guess we were each satisfied, because he picked up his scissors and began.
I don't have a photo of what I looked like at the end. I have, as well, managed to repress the few glimpses I got in the mirror. Suffice to say, I had a bundle of hair in the back, some awkward tendrils at the nape, and a long curving payess jutting out from the front of each ear. The whole mass was such a gooey glop of product, product and then more product that I had to get in the shower when I got home.
D arrived today to stay with Molly and said, "oh, you decided to cut your hair." He was trying his best to be diplomatic, and really he was, but one of his strong suits as far as I'm concerned is that I trust his judgment about how I look. So I asked him, and he answered: "Well, it's kind of wild." I was thinking I could get away with a mop-of-curls, je ne sais quoi look, but maybe I was a bit overly optimistic. "Do I need to get it cut again?" "Yes," he said, and D isn't a man who is affirmative that often (mostly he likes to hedge). So I hied myself to SuperCuts, where Verushka applied her magic scissors to my head.
Is it better? That's debatable. But it is what it is, isn't it. And that, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, is my Zen for the day.
I'm taking my laptop, of course, but last year the wireless connection at the hotel died from time to time, due to hundreds of women tap-tap-tapping away. This hotel in Chicago is much fancier, not to mention expensive, but what that will mean connection-wise, I'm not sure. So you may get full-blown posts or I may be updating on my Treo.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Ten Bold-Faced Lies, a meme in quarter time
Karen, formerly of Troll Baby now renamed Vodkarella, has a meme going that appeals to me, for various reasons. She's created a list of ten personal statements, some of which are true and some of which are bold-faced lies, i.e., patently untrue, that is, without verisimilitude. She's asking people to guess which are the true and which are the false. Every couple of days, she writes the backstory of one of the truths. And she seems to be awarding some sort of prizes, which seem to be some sort of YouTube hit, but I could be wrong about that. Whatever. I came in the middle of the contest, just enough time to steal it for my own (in the writing biz, this may be called collaboration). I like the idea because it is (a) interactive (which they say is just a down home bonus for all blogs), and (b) it gives me something to write about other than the sorry state of my affairs.
So--here are my ten statements, some true, some not. Which are which? You can answer in comments, or email me (my email is somewhere on this site, isn't it?????). I will find something suitable with which to award the winners. And I will be posting the back-stories as the contest progresses (and even if it doesn't--so there!)
1. I won a date with a famous pop star when I was in high school.
2. I have never been a blonde.
3. After three years of high school I went to college, and after three years there, I was asked to leave
4. I love Progressive Jazz.
5. My athleticism is such that I could be a professional swimmer if only it didn't require my getting wet.
6. I once peed in my pants in the street in New Barnet, Herts.
7. The name I go by now is not the name I used to go by, but it is the name I went by once.
8. I am a neat-freak who would rather clean than do almost anything else.
9. I have been pregnant three times.
10. In sixth grade, I was named Miss Irresponsibility and held the record for being paddled more than any other student, female or male.
So--here are my ten statements, some true, some not. Which are which? You can answer in comments, or email me (my email is somewhere on this site, isn't it?????). I will find something suitable with which to award the winners. And I will be posting the back-stories as the contest progresses (and even if it doesn't--so there!)
1. I won a date with a famous pop star when I was in high school.
2. I have never been a blonde.
3. After three years of high school I went to college, and after three years there, I was asked to leave
4. I love Progressive Jazz.
5. My athleticism is such that I could be a professional swimmer if only it didn't require my getting wet.
6. I once peed in my pants in the street in New Barnet, Herts.
7. The name I go by now is not the name I used to go by, but it is the name I went by once.
8. I am a neat-freak who would rather clean than do almost anything else.
9. I have been pregnant three times.
10. In sixth grade, I was named Miss Irresponsibility and held the record for being paddled more than any other student, female or male.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
It's One of Those Days...
...you know, the kind where not much gets done and what does is totally unsatisfactory or unsatisfying, whichever of the two you need. I've spent much of today getting up and sitting down, walking into other rooms, walking out again, coming back to my desk and sitting down and then getting up again. You can tell by this blog entry that I'm having one of those days, can't you.
D got back from Oregon last night. He spent the week wandering around Grant's Pass, seeing if he could fantasize himself into a life up there. Sorta, he thinks. Kinda. But he's not really sure.
I, on the other hand, have no intention of moving to Oregon. Perhaps, you might say, that accounts for it being One Of Those Days. And, of course, you'd be right, as you always are.
It's also one of those days when I feel overwhelmed with my Stuff--the detritus of my life. I would probably feel better if I threw some things out. That's what I'll do. Right now--.
D got back from Oregon last night. He spent the week wandering around Grant's Pass, seeing if he could fantasize himself into a life up there. Sorta, he thinks. Kinda. But he's not really sure.
I, on the other hand, have no intention of moving to Oregon. Perhaps, you might say, that accounts for it being One Of Those Days. And, of course, you'd be right, as you always are.
It's also one of those days when I feel overwhelmed with my Stuff--the detritus of my life. I would probably feel better if I threw some things out. That's what I'll do. Right now--.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Shopping For One
I've just come back from a trip to the supermarket. The larder is bare, D is away, and I can indulge myself. Here's what I got: 10 for $5 cups of yogurt. Eight varieties of frozen diet dinners. Apples, Orville Redenwhoozie Popcorn, a Cantaloupe Melon (as opposed to a Cantaloupe What???), toilet paper, and an InStyle AtHome magazine. The last two items belong quite properly in the bathroom.
This is how I eat when I'm on my own. Quick and dirty, as it were. Without any thought at all. For much of my life, eating bored me. Food was fuel. I was pleased if it tasted good, but generally, I resented the time it took to eat. I had much better things to do. I can't remember what, but I can remember thinking so.
Then, sigh! as happens so often, life intrudes and food became--well let's just say we have had a rather too close relationship at times. There was the period when I couldn't go to sleep without a glass of milk and five Hershey kisses. I broke myself of that, but then when my mother died, I took to toasting marshmallows over the gas burners. My own little campfire in the privacy of my own little kitchen.
Life is--can I say 'extruding'?--these days. I'm not sure what I mean by that but I like the symmetry of the verbs. Whatever. At least for these days, I'm eating quick and dirty again. Yogurt, Lean Cuisine...and, yes, I admit it, Hersey's chocolate in bed at night. With milk. So sue me.
This is how I eat when I'm on my own. Quick and dirty, as it were. Without any thought at all. For much of my life, eating bored me. Food was fuel. I was pleased if it tasted good, but generally, I resented the time it took to eat. I had much better things to do. I can't remember what, but I can remember thinking so.
Then, sigh! as happens so often, life intrudes and food became--well let's just say we have had a rather too close relationship at times. There was the period when I couldn't go to sleep without a glass of milk and five Hershey kisses. I broke myself of that, but then when my mother died, I took to toasting marshmallows over the gas burners. My own little campfire in the privacy of my own little kitchen.
Life is--can I say 'extruding'?--these days. I'm not sure what I mean by that but I like the symmetry of the verbs. Whatever. At least for these days, I'm eating quick and dirty again. Yogurt, Lean Cuisine...and, yes, I admit it, Hersey's chocolate in bed at night. With milk. So sue me.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
In Search of a Title which expresses the meaning of t his post...
...which is actually a compendium of topics, or--as I prefer to think of it--a bunch of shit that has occurred to me which I am sure you need to know.
- Award for the Dumbest Name of A Business: a local massage/spa type business called Massage Envy. This is not a massage parlor in some seedy backwater stripmall whose offerings are euphemisms for blow jobs and the like. Which is definitely what the name references for anyone in the Western world who has heard of penis envy. But maybe that's the problem. Maybe the owners are not of the Western world. A lot of the businesses in our area are small operations run by Asian immigrants grabbing onto the American dream, and that, at times, has led to some strange names for businesses. Like ChopSuey ChopSuey Bar. Or Get Your Hair Cut Beauty Shop. I imagine, when I come across such names, that the owners have translated from their own language to English and aren't comfortable enough (a euphemism of my own) with American vernacular to know that their well-thought-out business name is just, well, dumb. Or, as in the case of Massage Envy, is a really loaded piece of language, a word bomb of sorts.
- AP reported today that the CBS Evening News last week had its lowest audience since at least 1987. ABC's World News is, as Nielson likes to put it, the ratings winner. The AP report that the numbers "add to the sense that Charles Gibson is eclipsing Brian Williams as the nation's favorite network news anchor." My kneejerk construction of the results was--and listen to all of the pundits who fling their legs in the air with me--that Americans prefer an older male giving them their news. But then I thought of what Evening News I watch and why: ABC, because (and I'm about to shout now) I CANNOT STAND the local news leadins on my NBC and CBS affiliates. The NBC affiliate in Sacramento has a news reporter who has clearly gone to the Geraldo Rivera School of Journalism, and this would seem to be the same place that spawned the entire news-team of the CBS affiliate in Sacramento. They so offend me that I want to throw sharp objects at my flat screen television, and that has only ever happened before when Cheney is on the tube. I can't afford to kill my TV, so I simple refuse to watch these two local news programs. And I'm wondering if there are others in other cities who feel the same about their local news? Is there a Sense of The News vibe that is ordained by the networks? Is the local CBS news so inane because it is following in the Katie Couric happy news programming?
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
OCD & Me
I am cleaning out my filing cabinet for reasons that shall remain private, but not the least of which is because it overfloweth. With shit that I've saved. Or, in some cases, that my mother, now dead these past six years, saved. Which also included stuff my long emparidised father (which is how he referred to his father at his Bar Mitzvah) saved. But I've told you all that before, haven't I. Or some of it, anyway.
So I am cleaning out my filing cabinet and here's my problem: file colors. What should they be? Or, actually, should they be? I have a masterfiler box of those army green ones that are ubiquitous. But at some point, I got a tad daring. And went with color. At Lehigh, I had red. My psych stuff is in dark blue. And sometime between those colors, I bought a box of multi-colored. For no reason. Because they were pitty, pitty, pitty.
[A Note: what's with all these phrases, these non-clausal clauses? Can I not. Write a Full. Sentence. With correct, like, ah, punctuation.]
Consequently, my file drawers are a mishmash. They are a color catastrophe. They make my retinas hurt, and they confuse my already beleaguered frontal lobe.
Any suggestions????
So I am cleaning out my filing cabinet and here's my problem: file colors. What should they be? Or, actually, should they be? I have a masterfiler box of those army green ones that are ubiquitous. But at some point, I got a tad daring. And went with color. At Lehigh, I had red. My psych stuff is in dark blue. And sometime between those colors, I bought a box of multi-colored. For no reason. Because they were pitty, pitty, pitty.
[A Note: what's with all these phrases, these non-clausal clauses? Can I not. Write a Full. Sentence. With correct, like, ah, punctuation.]
Consequently, my file drawers are a mishmash. They are a color catastrophe. They make my retinas hurt, and they confuse my already beleaguered frontal lobe.
Any suggestions????
Monday, April 30, 2007
Who Is This Soulful Girl??????
Is she posing for a Mary Mother of God contest? Or perhaps she thinks she looks--I don't know--intense, mysterious, sexy. Isn't that bob great--although I personally think she'd look better with a wisp of a bang. But I understand that she had these headbands, which I don't know that you can see, in a variety of velvets, wrought by her own hand. Because she was nothing else if not a girl who aspired to match.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Moody Me...
I am in a crappo mood. Don't ask why; you don't want to know. Or maybe you do, if you're into drama-trauma-and-inertia, but I don't want to tell you. I am not one of those people who spills it all to the Internet. Actually many of those people talk of "telling the Internets", nb: plural, and what's that about? Is there more than one? Am I on it. Or--trust me--am I on the wrong one?
I'm filing and throwing and shredding and--holy crap! there's that tax bill from 2005. And there it goes, streamers of paper flying out of basket marked Very Important.
I may return later with a more uplifting post, but for now, this is it...
I'm filing and throwing and shredding and--holy crap! there's that tax bill from 2005. And there it goes, streamers of paper flying out of basket marked Very Important.
I may return later with a more uplifting post, but for now, this is it...
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Things About Which I Might Write
Christ, my grammar is good. No dangling participles for me, nosireebob. (Picks nose, shuffles feet, clears throat)
1. I sent two--count 'em TWO--job apps on Monday, faxed them that is, and I have not heard from either. Such is my job search and thus it is going. D. posits that I might be a trickle or two hasty in expecting to hear back from them, but jesus, if they aren't dazzled by my resume and stunned by my letter, then what gives????? I expect major responses when I speak, people.
2. I signed up for BlogHer'07 today. I'm not eager or anything. Such is my social life and thus it is going, or not, as the case may be. I booked my hotel (the W) ages ago and got a double should anyone want to share (please send your Slam Book from high school as No Creeps Allowed. Just Nerds.)
3. This time I'm bringing cards. And t-shirts, the ones referencing Descartes: Blogito Ergo Sum that I'm having made up. I'll put them on the site when they're ready.
4. Blurbomat has a great photo on his blog, a sky shot, about which I commented, "Fan-fucking-tastic!" I am not only a grammarian of exceptional note; I am also articulate and well-spoken. If you like his, I refer you to mine on Flickr, which are pretty fan-fucking-tastic too if I say so myself. Which I just did.
5. I traded a necklace for a felted purse on LeahPeah's Trade A Craft site. This was our first trade, and we all shuffled around in corners fixing our hair and clearing our throats. Till one brave soul told me she liked mine and did I like hers and I did and we did and it was good. Go look. Join. Post photos. Be good.
6. Speaking of which, sort of, anybody else out there watching Work Out on Bravo channel? I'm trying to figure out what the demographics for the show are: gay women? straight men who like gay women? workoutbuffs hoping for a tip or two? Me, I watch it because it takes place in West Hollywood and makes me feel like I'm still a part of the real world there. I also like Jackie, although not in that way. Not that there's anything wrong with it. She's really brash and out-there (which I mean in the most non-gay way), but there is also a sweetness about her, a vulnerability that makes her seem like she'd be someone I'd want to know.
7. I have just drained the dregs of my morning coffee. And it's only 3 p.m. About tea time, yes?
1. I sent two--count 'em TWO--job apps on Monday, faxed them that is, and I have not heard from either. Such is my job search and thus it is going. D. posits that I might be a trickle or two hasty in expecting to hear back from them, but jesus, if they aren't dazzled by my resume and stunned by my letter, then what gives????? I expect major responses when I speak, people.
2. I signed up for BlogHer'07 today. I'm not eager or anything. Such is my social life and thus it is going, or not, as the case may be. I booked my hotel (the W) ages ago and got a double should anyone want to share (please send your Slam Book from high school as No Creeps Allowed. Just Nerds.)
3. This time I'm bringing cards. And t-shirts, the ones referencing Descartes: Blogito Ergo Sum that I'm having made up. I'll put them on the site when they're ready.
4. Blurbomat has a great photo on his blog, a sky shot, about which I commented, "Fan-fucking-tastic!" I am not only a grammarian of exceptional note; I am also articulate and well-spoken. If you like his, I refer you to mine on Flickr, which are pretty fan-fucking-tastic too if I say so myself. Which I just did.
5. I traded a necklace for a felted purse on LeahPeah's Trade A Craft site. This was our first trade, and we all shuffled around in corners fixing our hair and clearing our throats. Till one brave soul told me she liked mine and did I like hers and I did and we did and it was good. Go look. Join. Post photos. Be good.
6. Speaking of which, sort of, anybody else out there watching Work Out on Bravo channel? I'm trying to figure out what the demographics for the show are: gay women? straight men who like gay women? workoutbuffs hoping for a tip or two? Me, I watch it because it takes place in West Hollywood and makes me feel like I'm still a part of the real world there. I also like Jackie, although not in that way. Not that there's anything wrong with it. She's really brash and out-there (which I mean in the most non-gay way), but there is also a sweetness about her, a vulnerability that makes her seem like she'd be someone I'd want to know.
7. I have just drained the dregs of my morning coffee. And it's only 3 p.m. About tea time, yes?
Friday, March 09, 2007
Fortuitous Friday...
I don't know what it's fortuitous for, since I'm still feeling crappy. But it's Friday and fortuitous is just the alliteration I happened to come up with.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
MIA Me
For no good reason. Just because I haven't felt like posting. For no good reason.
I've been reading other blogs and commenting on some of them, although I have been a tad derelict about that too. There seems to be a low-level conversation going on at the moment about this commenting thing. It's rude not to. It takes too much time to. It's a way of participating in a dialogue because bloggers blog to communicate. No, bloggers blog willy nilly of anyone being out there. Yes, yes, yes, and yes. But if I can't think of something to say...why say anything? Just to register that I've been there?
I wonder why I haven't felt like posting. Let me deconstruct this. Let me count the ways.... Let me shut up.
I've been reading other blogs and commenting on some of them, although I have been a tad derelict about that too. There seems to be a low-level conversation going on at the moment about this commenting thing. It's rude not to. It takes too much time to. It's a way of participating in a dialogue because bloggers blog to communicate. No, bloggers blog willy nilly of anyone being out there. Yes, yes, yes, and yes. But if I can't think of something to say...why say anything? Just to register that I've been there?
I wonder why I haven't felt like posting. Let me deconstruct this. Let me count the ways.... Let me shut up.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Blog Lengths-- A Quiz
Today, class, we're discussing length, as in duration, and frequency of blog posts.
1. What do you think is the best, most felicitous, appealing and proper length of a blog post? I have blends (blog friends) who, in my humble opinion, go on forever. But maybe they think I go too short. What say you?????
2. How often should one post? This, obviously, does not apply to those entered in NaBloPoMo. But during so-called normal times--is it better to post one sort of majorly blog a day? That's what I try to do. But how about the times--today seems to be one of them--when I have lots of little things burning to be said. Am I talking too much? Should I be quiet over here in the corner? Do you not have to hear everything that I'm thinking as I'm thinking it? Whaddayahthink?
1. What do you think is the best, most felicitous, appealing and proper length of a blog post? I have blends (blog friends) who, in my humble opinion, go on forever. But maybe they think I go too short. What say you?????
2. How often should one post? This, obviously, does not apply to those entered in NaBloPoMo. But during so-called normal times--is it better to post one sort of majorly blog a day? That's what I try to do. But how about the times--today seems to be one of them--when I have lots of little things burning to be said. Am I talking too much? Should I be quiet over here in the corner? Do you not have to hear everything that I'm thinking as I'm thinking it? Whaddayahthink?
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Yadayadayada Day
I'm having one of those Yadayadayada Days. You know, the kind where you stay in bed too long, read too many spam letters, listen to too many E-OnLine news videos, and when asked any kind of specific question, can't think of a better response than yadayadayada.
I'm blaming it on an incipient bout of the flu. Feel sorry for me.
There are many things I could be doing. But, eh....yada, etc.
I'm blaming it on an incipient bout of the flu. Feel sorry for me.
There are many things I could be doing. But, eh....yada, etc.
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