i won't even ask for snow

back in STtotheL for the hols.

only an hour delayed through denver; could've been notably worse.

happy holidays, sea-town. i look forward to coming back home.

she'll be ridin' six white horses

it is the bizarre simultaneity of my being not only a grown up but also twelve years old (conjunction junction, what's your function?) that renders it nearly impossible for me to sing an entire verse of "she'll be comin' 'round the mountain (when she comes)".

hee.

brushing up on your small talk, part 17

me: "what do you need from me?"
"we need stats from you."
"ok, what stats do you need?"
"well, you could probably figure out what stats we need."
"you don't know what stats you need?"
"we don't always know what stats we need."
"so you can't tell me what stats you need?"
"like, we need to know how many people come for free."
"yeah, i have that."
"ok."
"it's in the document i gave your assistant."
"ok, but we need other stats."
"such as?"
"you know, interesting stats."

help me get my feet back on the ground

i'm in a mood.

a mood of doom. the impending type of doom.

this spring i will be helping redesign an entire educational program . . . whilst and at the same time writing most of the content for a special anniversary season keepsake brochure that will be roughly 3 times the length of the normal brochure.

we could call my interest level for both of these projects low, by the bye.

all this plus my normal high stress, time-intensive job duties.

so, forgive me for being exceedingly girly, but just typing all that makes me want to cry.

george burns was right

"doing theatrrr is hard"

was basically what she said. this was hard, she said. yes, i said. doing theatrrr is hard, i said.

so i guess i said it.

thing is, it was her indication that she wants out (well, a break, but. . .yeah) while i was finally feeling like i want back in.

so the show went well. got to do more of that.

i'm not always there when you call, but i'm always on time
or
my day without a cell phone: will i become a luddite?

7:54 am - after hitting the snooze for the second time, i unhook my phone from the charger and notice it looks odd.
squee, perhaps i have a message!
oh, i have a message alright. and it says "No service".
apparently my cell company switch over has happened a bit prematurely.

8:49 am - leaving for work, i think of calling in to tell them i'll be a bit late.
no phone. guess i'll get there when i get there.

9:29 am - stuck on the 520, i remember the reporter who is supposed to be contacting someone by 30 minutes from now. if she calls the office, i really hope they put on their critical thinking caps.

10:19 am - i try calling my cell. the voicemail indicates i am, indeed, now a customer of t-mobile.

10:21 am - i call t-mobile. they are very sorry. my problem is a) unusual and b) the opposite of the normal complaint. huh.

12:08 pm - running late to a meeting, i cannot call. guess i'll get there when i get there.

12:?? pm - bored at the meeting, i wonder when i can leave. that would involve knowing what time it is. without my phone, i am stumped.

12:?? pm - still bored, i really wish i could text someone. or get a call. or something.

1:?? pm - i do some drawing to pass the time.

2:02 pm - i check my voicemail via work landline. GMAC loves me.

3:32 pm - t-mobile emails me to let me know my account with them has been activated. quelle suprize.

5:07 pm - stuck in traffic on the 520, i wish i could call someone to chat. driving is boring.

Q: how do you make god laugh? A: tell him your plans

naturally the day i have a doctor appointment is the day my fever finally decides to break.

the white knight is talking backwards and your mind is moving low

my second zombie dream last night (gotta love fever/theraflu dreams) featured me trying to escape with my grandparents in a white station wagon and starred mario lopez (nee saved by the bell) as the zombie.

yesterday morning (gotta love sleeping in...even if you are sick) i had an involved dream about a small town in the mountainy hills ruled by The sheriffs. The sheriffs were about a thousand tiny tiny little people dressed in little house on the prairie couture. when you had been bad, they would surround your house and sing a song and then they would carry you out of town. i woke up before we got to a 'what happens if they won't stay gone?' crisis, but the undertone was very sinister, so i can only imagine it involves being torn to itty bitty pieces.

there was probably a song for that as well.

i continue to blame the delicious theraflu.

listen you will hear, tiny feet draw near, the mouseketeers come into view

i've been ill the past two days (no, didn't go any. where. near scotto). i finally drag my mending butt and dead sexy deep voice into the office, mostly to attend a lunch meeting and what is going on in the theatrrr?

a matinee of the nutcracker.

fuck fuck fuck.

thank goodness for headphones and streaming internet radio.

who's cooking monsters in the kitchen?
random, list-like and on my mind

- i just got the equivalent of an "attagirl!" for formatting an email with a piece of clipart and purple 14 pt garamond
- it was totally not ironic.
- supposedly today is International Ninja Appreciation Day
- have you hugged a ninja today?
- i'd ask if a ninja has hugged you but, really, how would you know?
- google does not reveal any trace of this holiday actually existing
- which makes sense
- but apparently blue mountain thinks it is BathTub Party Day
- which i can only guess was invented during Prohibition

ps. the spellchecker denies the existence of the word "ninja". damn, they're good!

someone's got a birthday, i wonder who?

ok, it's admittedly not my birthday BUT i DID get a birthday present, so i feel pretty special.

it's all like, december hit and lo! i'm being showered with presents.

it rocks.

only a hippopotamus will do

we have a board member who brings all the office staff similar but different fun office supplies for the holiday season.

last year i got stuck with the pink heart-shaped post-it notes. pro: no one steals them. con: the mocking.

this year, as the recipient of an Etch-a-sketch pen, i have been deemed the Winner.

and that is the true meaning of christmas.

everybody's smilin', a sunshine day

couldn't really expect today to be good, as my primary official duty in my 10 hours at work is to be Whipping Girl or, if i'm especially clever, Interference Girl. however, it got off to a weirder start than expected:

me: can i borrow your giant coffee urn?
elderly center employee: well, only if you promise not to make anything but coffee in it.
(there are people with whom this would be a bit of pleasant banter. naturally there would need to have been a sense of humor involved for this to be the case here.)
me: um, sure...
ece: cause you borrowed it once and made something weird in it.
me: well, a of all, i didn't do that, but i'll be in charge of it today and make nothing weirder than coffee. i promise.
ece: ok.
me: what else would you make in it, anyway?
ece: i think you made mulled wine.
me: hm.
ece: and we have a box of yours.
me: really?
ece: yes, someone found it in the road.
me: the box was in the road?
ece: yes, and it has some cds by your performer for today, so we thought...
me: what road?
ece: in bellevue.
me: i'll just, take that, then. thanks.

and the man comes on to tell me how white my shirts should be

i'm not sure which of the revelations from a commercial currently getting heavy air time disturbs me more:

the idea that the average family of 4 eats out five nights a week

or

the idea that KFC counts as a "real meal"

it does, however, take us a step closer to solving the mystery of why so many more kids are overweight than when i was a wee lass.

here's hoping many of them get a wii for misc winter holidays.

but the fire is so delightful

monday, as i fretted aloud about the nastiness of the weather, i was greeted one too many times with the response

"but you're a midwesterner!"

a of all) just because i'm from the midwest, doesn't mean i can automatically drive in snow
b) just because i _can_ drive in snow, doesn't mean i like to.
c) just because _i_ can drive in snow, doesn't mean the northwesterners and SouCal transplants around me can

i was very very content to spend yesterday holed up at home, working but warm, instead of venturing out and sliding for hours on the ice. my midwestern upbringing informs me snow is best enjoyed from inside flannel pjs.

at work today, but at the 1st sign of snowfall today, my ass is out of here.

ps. my only cavil at the NW's handling of the frozenness? forget the damn sand and get some salt. just as cheap, works muuuuuuuuch better.

and i've learned something today

two things, actually.

- a rice cooker is only "foolproof" until the fool refuses to measure the water to rice ratio. crunchy!

and

- when making a bonus rice dish for performers, keep it out of the green room until it is ready. otherwise said performers will, despite the presence of a superior sandwich buffet, pester you endlessly about the rice. this will annoy you.

and uses a machete to cut through red tape

i just used the phrase "pimp our educational programs" in a meeting.

a meeting with influential grown up people.

i feel like i should get some bonus points for that.

without at all knowing what game i'm playing.

makin' a list and checkin' it twice

as i head out to the store, i find my shopping list only has two items:

turkey
butter

can't go too far wrong there, i don't think.

rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river

i'm getting a rare treat and a taste of home today as i watch the ginormous grey thunderhead rolling over from the city. reports are that it's hailing there.

i'm going to get a hot chocolate and go outside to watch!

There'll be villainy! But with us on call, we'll fix it all real easily

so the great thing about being home sick, besides sleeping until 3 in the afternoon, is that it really lowers my movie-viewing standards.

when well, i have been known to squander away sizeable chunks of my available movie-watching free-time debating which movie will be most satisfying (sin city or pride & prejudice? hmmmm).

when sick, the dvd shelf is aall the waaay across the roooooooooom.
which just leaves me and the digital cable.
which means any slightly entertaining movie within 15 minutes of its start time will do.

it is thus that i enjoyed the following yesterday:

Blast From the Past- Brendan Fraser is a very good actor (yes, I said it) with taste is script choosing that i can only call unfortunate. this, however, is a charming little fluff piece that i enjoy every time i see it. utterly predictable, but you do get bonus actors christopher walken and dave foley, so how bad can that 90 minutes be?

9 to 5- when i first watched this movie i was a) a big little dolly parton fan and b) way too young to understand what was going on in the drug sequence. perhaps it warped me for life, but i found the revenge fantasies funny nonetheless.

Forget Paris- the more i watch this, the more appalled i am at how unpleasant married people can be to one another. also, i just don't find billy crystal very charming. didn't watch the whole thing.

to give an accurate idea of just how under the weather i was, Dune and The Shop Around the Corner were both under consideration and were both rejected as requiring too much mental energy. yeah.

the man with the golden gun will get it done

the evening began perfectly with a dirty vodka martini. shaken, not stirred. of course.

(ok, honestly, the evening began with an hour of shitty traffic and then a battle for parking. but i'm in seattle, so that was a given.)

the evening continued very well with a movie which exceeded expectations.

yea!

there was everything a bond fan could want: hot cars, sexy banter, lots and lots of killing, lots and lots of drinking, chases, crashes, 'splosions, exotic locales, double dealing, subtlety, lack of subtlety, tradition, mockery of tradition.

and then they added the whipped cream and sprinkles: good acting and good writing.

i don't know why we went through the pierce-as-bond years without the services of a writer, but mark me down as thinking that was a mistake.

the only two things missing were naked female silhouettes in the opening credits (not missed by me) and john cleese (definitely missed by me).

bond is back. and blond. it's a good thing.

and the sauce granmaw makes'll just stay there forever if you dare to get it under your nails

i can't for the life of me fathom why jones soda (makers of fine tasty bubbliness and artily photo-ed bottles) has traded out green bean casserole for pea in their holiday soda set. it's still going to taste gross. heck, it's still going to be green. why abandon the tradition factor? tradition is the cream of mushroom soup that holds this nation together.

they've given you a number
I'm Pierce Brosnan!



By many standards the best Bond yet, with four Bond movies on your resume including Tomorrow Never Dies, The World is Not Enough, Die Another Day and the highest grossing Bond movie of all time, Goldeneye, you're Pierce Brosnan.

Which James Bond are you?

Take Other Caffeine Nebula Quizzes

and taken 'way your name

Which Bond Girl Are You?

You are Wai Lin -- professional, dedicated, and dangerous. A roomfull of enemies just means more asses that need kicking.

Take this quiz!


Quizilla
Join
Make A Quiz More Quizzes Grab Code

if you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding
or, thou shalt not blog about what thou hadest for dinner

it was a tragedy of the most mundane sort, especially to a carnivore like myself. last night i got a hold of a bad piece of steak.

a t-bone, no less.

mr.d was political meeting for the evening (for reals; not at all in the "Gone With The Wind"-out shooting up bad guys sense), so i made a simple meal of baked potato, frozen peas (cooked), and the aforementioned t-bone.

it was good, it was very good. and so was the daily show rerun w/ guest ted koppel. then it was less good, but i just assumed i'd been wolfing the stuff down too fast and took a break.

and then the nausea set in.

it was bad, it was very bad. but never quite bad enough to, er, require embracing any bathroom fixtures. just needed a lie-down. for several hours. which kept me from my much needed free time for writing. and pretty much shot the evening.

ah well. could've been worse. it could've been bad bacon.

well he doesn't look a thing like jesus but he talks like a gentleman

i'm almost sorry the new bond film is getting such good reviews. not because i don't want it to be good; rather because it's having an impact on my expectation management.

also, it's making me want martinis.

mmm.

come down now, they'll say

random office fun: when an unexpected helicopter flies over, call out "uh oh, they've found you!" and see who responds.

sigh.

can i go home now?

A: no. but i _can_ go get coffee. coffee requires no explanation.

any way you look at it you lose

last night's Iron Chef (Lamerica) was, unfortunately, Flay vs. Ray.

yes, RachAel Ray. my mortal namesis.

and yes, Bobby Flay, of the utter wanker Flay's.

who the hell is left to root for there?

if it were celebrity deathmatch, there might have been a chance chefs Morimoto and CatCora would've dropped from the ceiling and cusinarted both, making a Flay/Ray puree.

but that didn't happen.

instead, i baked chocolate chip cookies.

(halfway through the process, i discovered i was out of eggs. substituting miracle whip seemed to work pretty well. who's your iron chef, now extRa-A-chAel?)

walk around in circles walk around in circles walk around in circles walk around in

i occasionally-to-often get flack here at The Job for my minimalist approach to volunteer usage.

today i approached receptionist volunteer with A Task.
me: "hey, mirna. you bored?"
mirna: (not looking up from her newspaper) "not really. (pause) but i could help you with something anyway."
me: "thanks. i just need 110 of these brochure booklets three-hole punched."
mirna: "do i have to count them out?"
me: "er, yes."
mirna: "is the hole punch set right?"
me: (testing it) "er, yes."
mirna: "where will i set them when i'm done?"
me: (fetches box) "here ya go."
mirna: "which side do you want punched?"
me: "the side with the staples. so the open end can still be opened."
(later) mirna: "how do you empty this thing?"
me: (does it, simultaneously answering a phone call that mirna misses because she's away from the desk.) "here"
mirna: (grunts) "this sure is good exercise."

yep. absolutely no idea why i might be reluctant to assign tasks to volunteers. none.

trust the amish touch

does anyone else find it odd that an amish furniture store has a website?

like an hour glass glued to the table

while i don't look forward to f.banjo's future untopia, where my latent alcoholism will stop me from being able to hire transportation, my current residence in the liberal northwest present allows me leisure to think it rather odd that it's easier for me to talk my pharmacist into bridging the gap at the end of the prescription for birth control than for emergency asthma inhalant.

this is me breathing.

more people will come if you say punch and pie

in my 'hood, civic responsibility tastes an awful lot like Free pumpkin pie.

you know how we roll.

can money pay for all the days i lived awake but half asleep?

i've set this boundary -deadline- saying it is honourable to stay the cOur$e until such a time, but i am obviously not fully committed to the whole honour thing as it becomes increasingly difficult to cajole myself into the car each day.

something i remember,

note to self: The Forgotten is a terrible horrible no good very bad movie. after the aliens have erased your memory, please do not be tricked into watching it ever again. even allowing for gary sinise, it is totally not worth it.

something i forget

yes, i've been distant lately. you're not imagining it. it would be hard to explain why. i guess lacking an idea of which direction leads happiness-ward, i've been moving to minimize pain. i suppose i thought that might leave me open for happiness, but i'm finding it just leaves me far away and numb.

memories are something

the really important things appear to have survived the hard drive fiasco. which means i need to get back to work. but even that is a relief.

i should've known, should've known

instead of going out to play, i spent wednesday night wrestling with my (NEW!) hard drive and reinstalling ye olde fascist operating system.

now delgamor is "working", but the display is inexplicably set to Duplo Blocks mode.

also, word from data recovery professionals is that they are damn expensive, yo.

maybe i need to get some data recovery amateurs.

maybe i should hire the A Team.

if i can find them.

skeletons will be after you

in an undelightful coincidence, i hurt my back the same day my hard drive dove into its deep blue hole.

yes, i knew better. yes, i was at ikea. yes, i've finally realized i prefer the theory of ikea shopping to the practice.

as a result of being in nearly constant pain, i spent most of the weekend on the couch watching tv and chatting with my computer's Hardware Help Line.

not to get uber-pathetique here, but this'll be the 3rd year in a row halloween has gotten kind of hosed. next year may require vigilance. and planning.

at least i managed to remember a costume today.

raise your hand if your harddrive crashed this weekend.

sigh.

i don't care if i never get back
or
play-by-rae

5:40 - ok, so i don't expect sportscasters to be, well, smart or anything. but i do sorta think it's their job to, er, do decent knowledgeable sports analysis. one place to find this writ brief might perhaps be in the Keys to the Game segment.
for the enemies? "need 3 one-game winning streaks." which a of all) is technically their key to the _series_, not the game and b) doesn't make any fucking sense.
for the home team? "win in front of the supportive home crowd." yes, i guess winning the game would be the key to, er, winning the game. glad we have knowledgeable people to point this out.

5:52 - new phrase on me, the catcher apparently just went to the mound for a "check up from the neck up."

6:08 - i love how these 'casters aren't even trying to seem unbiased at this point. they just told a relatively stupid story about how one of the enemy players lost a video baseball game recently finishing with "well, let's hope that doesn't happen tonight." scheesh.

6:09 - i reflect with disastisfaction on the fact that the Fairly Unbalanced Network has the series until roughly ought-twelve.

6:10 - Aaaaaand the other team really needs to learn how to throw after fielding. really.

6:27 - we loves the albert, but he is not so much with the running.

6:36 - on the other hand, we are not so fond of the duncan.
6:36:30 - fuck

6:45 - Pitchers Are Now Officially Being Babied Too Much when a guy has to come specially out of the dugout to get the dirt out of their spikes

6:46 - Aaaaaand the other team pitchers could really work on their (non-pitch related) throwing as well.

7:09 - meanwhile our pitcher seems relatively comfortable with the whole fielding thing. . .

7:11 - . . . but our right fielder doesn't?!? wtf? "that shouldn't happen," say the s'casters, correctly for once, if a touch Cpt. Obviously.

7:26 - yep. our pitcher fields.

7:29 - instead of listening to the newly obligatory Jingoist Anthem during the 7th inning stretch, may i recommend a few quick levels of orbox?

8:03 - the red sombrero with the baseball pom poms wins the Silliest Hat contest, for me

8:24 - augh. grafargleblahackyeeeeeeeeee. (bites bloody stumps where nails used to be)

8:29 - WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

it's on the street

silly me. i thought it was finally safe to tune into espn after last night's game. . .

". . .but they've blown a lead like this before, back in. . ."

fuck you, espn. fuck you fuck you fuck you.

i wish i had a rabbit in a hat with a bat
or
thou shalt not blog about thine breakfast

i don't think you can really say anyone wants chicken cheese taquitos for breakfast.

it's certainly not what i had in mind as i stopped-and-went through the pre-eight-a.m. grey yesterday, hoping with all my might i had left something edible in The Job's freezer.

however, it was food-ish and it only took 75 seconds to heat. so.

thing is, i should've known my karma had been used up when i arrived to find fresh hot coffee.

which was frankly much more important before dealing with 30 nine-a.m. teenagers and the receptionists who guard them.

just watchin the dandilions grow

it's kinda nice to see friendly relations among teams, such as jimmy giving the two tenors a quick shoulder rub during a pitching change.

however, playing "we will rock you" as the opposing catcher is writhing on the ground in post-racking pain? that's cold, dude.

fairweather friend

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 1,125 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

yes, but how many of them have my exact same birthday, hm?

just undead as can be

watching zombie movies by one's self, even in the middle of the afternoon? not such a good idea.

much better to pop in one's copy of firefly instead.

shiny.

note to self: bring the funny

dear aaron sorkin,

i love your writing.

i've loved your writing for a long time; ever sine high school, when i directed that play of yours you don't let anyone do anymore. even when being butchered by actors unworthy of you (tom cruise, moira kelly, amanda peet all come to mind) it sings sweet sweet rhythms to me. in fact, i love your writing so much, i don't even mind when it blunders ham-handed through oversimplified political territory.

you know i love you, right? so i can say this.

hire a sketch writer.

you do the conversational, everyday, awkward as hell funny very very well. few people do it better. the short, bitey, on-purpose ha ha funny, though? not so much.

i'm enjoying studio 60 has too long of a name. i really am. it would be better if you could resist showing the show within the show. it really would. but, since you can't seem to control yourself, you really really need a sketch writer.

for the sketches.

so they could be funny.

because that, in case no one has mentioned it, is the basic point of a sketch show.

maybe the next time your pick a setting, you should look a little more into what makes it work? just a thought.

glad you're on tv again, hoping to see it last,
raej

ps. don't let fiona apple name your shows anymore. thanks.

the way that we move on the diamond, it's just sheer poetry

having no mets fans among my aquaintance and being far from the red sea, that best i could do today was wear my dad's old jacket into the noah's-new-york-style-bagels store for lunch.

walking back to the office, i stepped out of the way of a man on a bike. he nodded his thanks and then did a double take.

"hey! cardinals!" he managed to get out.
"yeah!" i said.

i'll enjoy it while i can.

and your chicks for free

you know how when you accidentally leave some money in the pocket of your coat and then don't wear it all summer so when it gets cold again and you put it on for the 1st time you find the money and it's all like 'cool! free money!"?

that's what happened to me this morning.

except with a sock.

and i feel fine, coda

besides, it's silly to talk about protecting us from the terrorists when the terrorists have already won.

and i feel fine

if i attempted to fully express how much this pisses me off, well, we don't have all day, do we?

so i'll be brief.

it simply biscuits my gravy to try and absorb the idea that grown up people wearing ties honestly (poor choice of word, perhaps) think a law that gives us more leeway in "aggressive interrorgation" of suspects is a mark of our "patience", "decency" or "fairness".

Interrorgation (n): the act of forcefully questioning a suspected terrorist

ok, that was just 55 words. thanks for hanging in.

now back to my regularly scheduled project runway obsessing.

we ask the important questions

do i want to be the next food network star?

pop quiz, hot shot

two vehicles are zipping along to Crazyville. one is being driven northwest by the volunteer who is shredding documents sans pause. the other is being tag-team chauffered by every single other person in the office dropping by the "door" of my cubicave (which is actually 67% closer to the main foot-traffic drag than my previous unwalled desk). which vehicle will have me jibbering and throwing urine balloons off the fly loft the soonest?

brushing up on your small talk, part 15

on walking into The Job office the day after cube re"organization": well, my stuff's already in boxes, so this'd be a good time to quit!

die, cowboy, die

two unknown rotarians walk into a lunch room
me (making my lunch): oh, i didn't know there was a meeting scheduled in here.
co-worker (following the rotarians): it's ok. it's not a secret meeting.
me: good. i'll be spared the effort of listening at the door.
(co-worker laughs and exits)
rotarian 1: it's ok, you can stay and take notes.
rotarian 2: yeah, so i don't have to.
rotarian 1: or you can just stay and brighten up the scenery for us.
beat
me (in retrospective fantasy): excuse me, but unless i'm suffering some sort of mental disorder that involves both my having forgotten that i'm in your employ and the lapse of sanity which would have had me working for you in the first place, i believe i'm not your goddamn secretary.
beat
me (in real life):
(i exit)

grounded by pirates is good

a program text misread becomes a fun new game! simply replace the word "parent" wheresoever it appears with "pirate":

"Roald Dahl was born to Norwegian pirates in 1916."

"The Job suggests a ratio of one pirate per every ten students."

"How to Move Beyond "Cookie-Cutter" Pirating"

try it!

dogpile on the new guy

ok, so, it was funny at first guys, but i think it's time to give Belliard his cleats back.

(yes, i'm discussing a certain sport in an oblique way. yes, this is because i'm afraid of causing bad mojo. yes, the mets are pondscum. thanks for asking.)

i got out of bed for this?

damn you, central/pacific standard time zone difference!

sigh.

all there is to be is a celebrity
or, PR Isn't Really About "Fair"

let's say you're a pr professional, representing a non-profit organization (nightmarish, i know).
you're at a "workshop" which is actually a panel discussion.
you have, captive before you, five media professionals from your market.

what is the best use of your time in the question and answer session?

a) ask them a knowledgeable question about some detail of getting information seen/noticed/not immediately trashed by journalists

b) ask them a non-question question which is actually a rant seeking validation for your organizational outrage at lack of media attention

c) finish a quilt block, take notes and practice repressing inappropriate laughter

drive by shouting

"i think i just got called titface by a guy in a stocking cap."
ninja mike "oh, i thought he was yelling at me."

it's hard to argle bargle bowf

grrrr. graw grafarckle bagivvit habba na naaaahgh. tired. blaou gernfuft whtrwt. rum. auh auuuuh aaaaaaaaaauuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhgh. ACK ACK ACK HATE HATE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE!

there. yeah. much better now. thanks.

next day update

sleep is good. tends to reset sanity bar to green.

so i got home last night after a rahther trying rehearsal session and i only wanted to do one thing: bake. a cake. specifically, this cake. possibly with a jones soda substitution, but i was going to play that one by ear.

but could i? no. no, because i didn't have enough butter. could i have gone out for butter? i suppose, but i was tired. could i have substituted something else? maybe, but i didn't know what.

defeated, i curled up on the couch with a book, a bag of chocolate chips and a cup of rum and was soon sound asleep.

here is a muppet news flash:

improv-ers? who are a mix of performers and (what i am now going to unkindly refer to as) tourists? just as hard to keep together after the post-class/show "whee! let's work together always!" buzz has worn off as scripted veterans.

quelle suprize.

in other news, i met l0ni and3rson this weekend. really.

whistling in the dark

when you've two songs to learn in as many weeks, the season's beginning, you need to finish the seocnd draft of a play before the hols and you're trying to help create a performance troupe, obviously the smrt thing to do is go out and purchase an obsessive, giant, mind-sucking game.

whee.

i've been sailin these seven seas, since i's thigh high to a mermaid's knees

avast mateys! yo ho ho to it bein' Talk Like a Pirate Day!

now for some caffinated grog. . .

many years from now

well, i feel old right now. mostly because i just got off the phone from consulting on the ins and outs of PossesiveFinalfrontierBlogSite with PoolShark's teenaged daughter.

it's the blogosphere equivalent of asking the eight year old to program the vcr, y'know?

in my defense, however, i was actually doing just fine. i only got stuck when asked to do a specific bit of info crunching which, it turns out, isn't actually possible yet.

so, nanny nanny boo boo.

and now i feel less old.

hurray!

Let me tell you, sisters, seeing dried egg on a plate in the morning is a lot dirtier than anything I've had to deal with in politics. ~ Ann Richards

well, hell. this just makes me sad.

remember what the doormouse said

not that i like to admit to reading the Seattle Weakly or anything, butthis article while intriguing in subject matter and not badly written, has an horrendously stupid headline.

yes, yes, they're trying to make a play on words by switching out a word from a common phrase, i see that. the thing is, that tactic really needs two things going on to "make it work" (we heart tim gunn):

1) the new word needs to sound like the word it's replacing, either by beginning with the same letter or (for bonus points) rhyming with it.

2) the created phrase needs to be, hmmm how do you say?, surprising. unusual. something that doesn't regularly happen.

to sum up: when attempting to be clever in one's headlines, it is a good idea to make sure someone brought the funny. or at least the wit.

we were young and we were improve-in'

You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 9/10 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Math? . . .

. . .apparently the people who invented this little quiz couldn't, since they seem to think a 9 out of 10 is somehow an A+. imaginary numbers must be involved.

we're all in our places with bright shiny faces

i walk into The Job a bit early this morning and what should be sitting on my desk but a bright shiny new computer?

i'm a little giddy with the speed right now. how fast is it, you ask? check it, yo: when i click on a window? it appears or disappears Right Away. opening a new program? doesn't slow anything down! when i type? the letters appear at the speed i'm typing!!!

who wants to touch me?

wrinkle up your little nose
warning: NOT a happy tale.

i was on my way to The Q for lunch. pudding, to be specific. a furry blob off to the right caught my attention.

"squirrelly!" i said, ala meatwad.

i paused to look. ms. squirrel was actually not doing so well, since she was hugging the pavement in a way which could be described as "unhealthy". or "flat".

dead squirrel. bummer. moving on.

until she moved. or, rather, her torso heaved in a way that indicated she was attempting, against great odds, to breathe. or vomit. or perhaps both.

"oh, fuck." i took one step away, then turned back. the squirrel was going to die, that much was pretty clear. the squirrel was also very clearly in a lot of pain. the obvious kindest thing to do would be to kill her. but how? a severely injured animal seemed very likely to be bitey.

as i rapidly debated euthanasic alternatives which would not involve getting too close (hammer? rock? my car?), i watched seven or eight vehicles go by. i had a moment of hope that one of them would finish things, but no. all were cautiously and carefully driving around the injured squirrel. great. and a little late.

i had a big knot of "what the fuck should i do?" building in my tummy, so naturally i called mr.d...

"what's up?"
"there's a squirrel here in the parking lot who's been run over..."
"that's not good."
"...and i'm trying to figure out how to kill her without getting bitten."
"i'm not sure you're equipped to do that."

...confirming the conclusion i'd reached on my own. i think she died while i was on the phone, still standing nearby. she was definitely dead by the time i walked back to work.

it's probably foolish of me to go drawing large negative conclusions about my character based on my unwillingness to endanger myself to assist a squirrel.

try to remember

i've been fighting the pre-mature demise of my favourite season tooth and nail, as they say, - and if you've ever gotten a close look at my toenails, you know they're considerable - but despite my best mental adjustments and literal interpretation, summer died for me at 9:02 last Tuesday night.

i was leaving improv rehearsal and thus reapplying my sandals. to my horror, the right one snapped. not The Bondage Sandals! infinitely comfortable, infinitely cute at one and the same time (matched only for amazing comfort/sexiness ratio by the mythical sandals worn in The Summer of Love of Yore - 2001, i believe [i wasn't blogging yet then. sorry]-) they went everydarnwhere with me this summer.

just as i was sighing and resigning myself to a knew hunt for footwear, it occurred: there's a shoe repair place right near The Job.

it was thus i found myself pacing prince charming-like toward the strip mall at 2:30 this afternoon. . .

i owe my soul to the company store

horribly mundane, this, but i'm excited anyway: just made a payment that will take a huge bite out of my debt situation.

the only question now is: exactly what nature of celebratory drink should i go prepare for myself?

'cause it's easy when you know how it's done

i'm sitting here at my desk at home, blogging and surfing while i cross my fingers waiting for the latest tim gunn podcast to download and hearing the unmistakable sound of an ice cream truck.

this unmistakable sound has changed, of course, since my youth. back then, it was a simple monotonous bell, as if a lost ice cream ship were afloat on the streets of residential Bridgeton, MO, looking for a safe driveway harbor.

now the sound is a chirpy, endlessly revolving mix of childhood favourites, sounding for all the world like a traveling musical greeting-card.

what i can't decide is whether or not i want to go out and find it. i'm not wearing shoes, and the street directly outside is a rather busy one, and i have ice cream in the house.

but not brightly-coloured ice cream with bubble gum eyes.

hmm.

the low pro ho should be cut like an afro

it's definitely no secret that i've been unenchanted with theatrrr of late. i came this close () to writing theatrrr a break-up note right on this here bloggy blog. seriously, i had it drafted and everything. it was to be funny, bittersweet and then ultimately it kept getting just too sad.

theatrrr has been the most important thing in my life for as long as i can remember. she was a bitch goddess, but she was home. so, i did the only, last ditch thing i could think of and took myself and theatrrr to couples counseling.

improv.

improv classes (2) and a dash of performing (3 long, 1 short) to be specific. and, well, i haven't been talking about it, but i really like it.

why do i say that with such surprise? why have i been loathe to mention it amongst polite theatrrr company? i guess because of the weird stigma around improv in the theatrrr circles in which i used to tread.

but, i like it. i seem to be good at it. it's fun. and theatrrr hasn't been fun for a really long fucking time.

so i guess i'll be continuing then. whee.

i've seen your face before, my friend
blatantly stolen from GoGo

this program _may_ of course be total bullshite. however, since it told me i look like elizabeth taylor, i hereby deem it the Best. Program. Ever.


...and in this one. . . well. . . we're all facing the same direction. . . and i'm a huge jimmy stewart fan. . .clever program to read that in my eyes.


oddly missing from both collections? helen hunt. ah well. i did choose photos with less of ze nose.

i can't wait until the morphing feature is finally available!

well i tried to make it sunday

my latest excuse for writing laziness is the recent visit of the fam.
during their stay, did my sister:
a) buy a Smoosh cd
b) tell me i should get back into musical theatrrr
c) inform me i am moody
d) deem all the inhabitants of seattle to be "cute"
or
e) all of the above?

at work i just take time and all through my coffee break time

12 ounces of pre-ground breakfast blend with grocery store discount: $5.99

sampler bag of flavoured coffee that we can use since BarFly is out today: $1.79

having four cups of coffee before noon on monday: priceless

'round 11:13 my stomach was even more noisy than usual. hungry noisy. which was odd, as i usually don't eat lunch 'til one-ish. contemplating calling myself fatty fat fat, i remembered that i'd managed to get out of the house, over the 520 and through the Auel-saga-like Quest For Caffiene without having any breakfast.

so i deserved a break today and headed out for food. i returned with a chocolate croissant. to have with yet more coffee. lunch can wait.

ps. the song "one week" by my beloved BNL just went by on Odin the Tiny iPod and, er, it sounded really slow. does this mean i've had too much caffiene?

it doesn't matter what you had for lunch

so i picked up a bottle of the new Jazz from diet pepsi with my lunch because i saw a commercial for it on the food network (motto "eat us!") the other night and, of course, was appalled and thus, still of course, had to try it.

i chose the black cherry/french vanilla flavour because the other flavour involved strawberries, or an artificial facsimile thereof. since i like neither diet soda nor strawberries, it would be pretty ridiculous for me to attempt to form any sort of judgment there. as ridiculous, say, as the female judge on Iron Chef America (tag line "whose cuisine will reign less mediocre?") who likes neither rich food nor weird food. gee, i'm not suggesting Iron Chef USA is lame or anything, but i suspect commentary like that on the original Iron Chef would have caused Judge Lil Ms. Picky Eater to be the next week's secret ingredient. Also, i get the distinct impression one day ted allen will strangle jeffrey steingarten with a length of apple wood smoked bacon; i, for one, look forward to seeing it. and while i'm at it: puff pastry? as the secret ingredient? seriously? jesus, what's next? campbell's cream of mushroom soup for god's sake?

what the hell was i talking about? oh, right, pepsi JAZZ. putting aside my discomfort at the random naming of a soda after a basketball team after a music style, i have to say: tastes like cherry vanilla flavoured sweet and low.

some people started singing it not knowing what it was

i was minding my own business (never a good idea; as a nurse acquaintance of mine once observed, that's when all the bad shit seems to go down..."i was just minding my own business when this mofo drove by and shot me...") at work yesterday when Odin (my newish iPod nano) treated me to a Mundane Demonstration of Real World Probability and/or Jeff Goldblum's Chaos Theory for The Masses by shuffle playing the same song, performed by two different artists, twice in a row.

back when i was working as a pig race emcee in an apple orchard in illinois, i noted this phenomenon on the family fun farm's sound system. it had a 25 cd changer, stuffed full and set to shuffle. nevertheless, there were 12 songs it managed to play every day, and three it played twice a day:

Some Thing Like That by Tim McGraw
Cowboy Take Me Away by The Dixie Chicks
and
You Never Even Call Me By My Name by Steve Goodman

obviously, the only conclusion is the machine liked these songs. and, you know, they're probably very worthy songs, in their way. but i personally never need to hear any of them again. ever.

i made it home alive and you said that only proves that i'm insane

dear tipsy lady in the red sporty car in freemont saturday night,

(i know that doesn't narrow it down very much, but i'm not very good at make/model spotting being a grrrl and all. plus, i suspect you know who you are.)

setting off your alarm twice as you get into your own car is probably one of the clearer indications that you are too drunk to be driving.

however, if you _will_ insist on proceeding, don't be surprised when everyone sitting outside enjoying late night pie and wine gleefully spectates your parallel parking exit.

no, sitting there unmoving for five minutes will not make us lose interest.

i must, however, apologize for underestimating you. you only rammed the SUV behind you (hard enough to move it) once instead of the three times i was predicting.

please look into local taxi services; there are many.

love, raej

brushing up on your small talk, part 16
note: Red and Oliver are the leaders of the Tech Ninja Squad

Red "what do you think of BarFly's dog?"
Me "he's cute, but i'm not into this small dog phase overall."
Red "that mad scientist who genetically engineers dogs just came out with a miniature saint bernard."
Me "really?"
Red "comes with a miniature keg of whiskey."
Me "and as much drool as the original sized dog."
Oliver "i wonder what he does with the failed attempts?"
Red "owns the teriyaki place next door?"
Oliver "terioodle"
Red "poodleyaki"
Me "terrieryaki"

he started a band named evil petting zoo

you really have to admire - if you're like me and you admire finely crafted Evil (for example: GlenGary, The Job's tele-sales guy; i love to listen to him on a call, because he's so darn good at being pleasantly evil) - the way Project Runway's producers learned from the last two seasons and crafted The Nutter Defense.

The Nutter Accusation goes someit like this: The Wendy (season 1) and Satan-tino (season 2) only made it undeservedly to the Final 3 because they were kept on week after week to heighten the Drama; they were one of the two bottom choices to be eliminated umpteen billion times and every time the other person bit it instead of them. Eventually, attrition found them at the finals where they of course didn't win.

_This_ season (no spoilers), they wisely cast a Sacrifice Nutter. The Sacrifice Nutter is an Obvious Nutter, cast under circumstances which were questionable at best. The S.Nutter gets eliminated early, the producers point and say "see?! we don't keep people on because they're nutters!" and the On-Base Nutter torments us week after week after week. Genius!

Addicting Bastards. . .i think i'll put them On Notice.

never trust anything more complicated than a rock

so my computer at The Job has become the electronic equivalent of an old truck you have to pour a quart of oil through everyday just to go 30 mph.

which means very very little blogging, as i'm struggling to get my actual work done.

just explaining. you know, in case you'd missed me.

of all the assholes that won't be missed
gleefully stolen from agent smith



Put your enemies on notice!

nothing can go wrong, go wrong, go wrong, go wrong...

i'm back but i haven't been blogging. why? did i suddenly get a, i don't know, life?

now reader, you know me better than that.

there has merely been a server "upgrade" at The Job and now our computers are all running slower than the line to space mountain.

something they added to our computers had my hard drive operating with only 12 KB of free space. that fact probably just caused your head to explode, either because you didn't understand it, or because you did.

i spent a lot of time friday whittling enough space loose (needed 200 meg) to be able to run the file compression (good bye freecell! good bye msn explorer!). now it's running a bit faster than ass, but still a great deal slower than molasses.

as a result, blogging from work will be difficult for the foreseeable future.

which is not at all an argument i could present for buying me some more memory.

pity.

it IS a small world. after all.

wow. trying to catch up on the emails within hours of returning home from vacation? dizzying. how totally not there my head is when, a week ago, it was so there it was inthere.

dizzying, wobbly-making, slightly nauseating.

or that last bit could be the lack of sleep talking. 'Ve been travelin' since, er, guess that would've been 11:30pm here-and-now-time. 13 hours. damn. some plane naps, but those aren't really real sleep really.

nap now, 'splain later.

if he calls your name you're done
boring and whiny. my apologies

composing my reactions to last night's project runway - yes it ran wednesday, but i didn't see it 'til thursday - i try to get a grip on why i like watching the show so much.

yes = talented people doing things with their talent that we can experience fully from our vantage point, blah blah blah, but i don't think that amply explains the paroxysms of glee and dismay i allow myself while watching, nor the obsessive reading of other's bloggy reactions to something i've already seen.

it's an obsession, but why?

because i have no other obsessions right now? at least, no allowable ones? as romantically enticing as the _idea_ of having someone obsessed with you is, in day-to-day living people grow to not appreciate it. and nothing else in my life right now is even obsession-worthy.

truth to tell, i'm a little at sea right now. this day job has expanded to take up too much of my life. it's eaten energy and desire for things i used to love. so i've done some slate cleaning, fine, but now what? after sunday i very much become someone who works their 40-60 hours per week and then watches tv, goes to bed, wash rinse repeat. that's boring. so what next?

all the problems are too long considered, too familiar. i'm addicted to new shiny things and i haven't had any for a long long time now. the ipod nano is nice but it isn't what i mean. new shiny brain things.

and then there's slate cleaning, which can become addicting as well. when/where to stop?

meanwhile my hair keeps growing.

and i looked out and said 'yeah. she's really blond.'

just when you think you've heard every euphemism for female genitals, you find a new one in Blood Ray's comments section:

meat curtain.

really vivid one, that.

also does strange things if you mix it with the whole "as long as the carpet matches the drapes" maxim.

just sayin'.

they tried to kill him with a forklift, whoo!
random's all i gots today

- i want to create a new video game, inspired by the last mile of my morning commute. we shall call it: Construction 500. it will be a racing game. the track, marked out by little orange cones, will change Every. Single. Lap. little sign-bearing union members will occasionally halt you. points will be lost for hitting cones and/or people. naturally, there will also be a setting where the opposite will be true.

- sewing to the melodious sound of tim gunn's podcast is very soothing. so is the fact that i didn't manage to sew the end of the ribbon into a knot under the plate this time. tim's voice makes me feel like i'm better at it than i am. learning. also, My Second First Apron is almost finished.

- this heatwave? not really bothering me. full disclosure: mostly enjoying it. the only uncomfortable stretch of time was when i had to don jeans for an improv performance sunday. beyond that, well, er, it's July. it's sposed to be over 95. yea global warming!

- oh, right, improv: class-ending, recital-esque, performance thingie sunday at 7:30 at the HUT. just so's you know.

meet my friend, mr. interweb

for The Job i found myself on the contact page of an organization's website today. i'm always afraid there will be everything but an email address. not the issue this time.

"...if you'd like to contact us about This, That and The Other Thing, please email us: us@ourdomain.org.

if you can't use the internet, you can use our mailing address. . ."

if i can't use the internet, how did i get to this page? magic? if so, can't i just contact you that way?

perhaps that was in the FAQ section.

if i had a million dollars, i'd buy you a monkey, haven't you always wanted a monkey?

while monkeys are pretty darn cool, i must face the sad fact that they aren't appropriate in every situation:

Hygiene Monkey "Hey kids! Make sure to wash you hands after you fling your poo at the mailman!"

new york and japan

thanks to the miracle of digital cable, i was able to watch p-run 3.2 at my convenience - after working 'til (yes) 10pm (went in at 9:30. whoo and hoo to 11.5 hour days) - with nary a touch to vcr or tivo.

possibly spoilerish here, better give it some space

S
P
O
I
L
R
R
R

- mother fucking vincent, yo. i was beginning to feel bad and all for hating his fucking hat last time, what with him being so tragically owl-shit crazy...
- ...but the psycho is also a fucking lying backstabbing bitch.
- and you know what that means: he'll be around for a fucking while.
- and i vow: if he makes it to the final three, i cease to watch the p-run.
- which would hurt me way more than it hurts them.
- anyway, um, editors? yeah, i don't want to be able to tell who's going to be auf based on the touching clip you've choosen to show. knock that shit off.

eureka! the most pointless random name generator ever!

Your Penis Name Is...

Little Juan

Penis Name Generator

(you see what i'm reduced to?! sigh.)

on misery and company

i'm sure many people before me have become lost on the UW campus.

i'm sure many many many people will become lost on the UW campus sometime between now and when the earth crashes into the sun/the rapture/the resurrection and subsequent attack of the dinosaur zombies.

but does that make me feel less stupidy now?

no. not one very small unit of science measuring helpfulness thingie.

the rest is silence

granted that i'm in a bit of an edgy mood today, but.

there's a great deal of my life i don't discuss here, for whatever reasons, because i feel like i can't, for whatever reasons.

if i've been rightly informed, i think i'm about to lose an entire subject, ie. the single place i spend most of my waking time, due to connections obscure but inevitable.

and all i can think is: fuck it.

it remains to be seen, however, whether that would be "fuck it, i'm not blogging here anymore" or "fuck it, i'll just write about any old thing i want to".

if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks

the gods: "us damn it!"
~
"you know what i hate?"
all: "what?!?"
"the undead!"
"well, they speak very highly of you."
~
"and i've learned something: there's no reason to be sad when stupid people die."

PR3: this time it's personal, at more length
apparently i was drunk/tired enough after three hours of project runway to spew randomness sans explanation. then again, i do that sort of thing here quite a bit perfectly sober and relatively awake too. so.

thoughts from the show:
- and, lo!, the evil amusement level of episode one was very high.
- i thought mulan was a disney warrior princess. instead, she's apparently a male designer (malan) who's a cross between jack the ripper from babylon5 and peewee herman.
- i think his accent is fake, though.
- so does mrs. klum-seal.
- one of the designers (bonnie) has wendy pepper's hair. ack!
- which explains why wendy doesn't have it any more.
- "nun-uh! you touched it last, you have to keep it!"
- i vote the cross between elton john and woody allen designer (vincent) as Designer Most Likely To Have An Interesting Meltdown.
- also! michael h. white appears to be on the show. calling himself "keith" for some unexplained reason.
- straight up: i don't like angela.
- yes, already.
- i don't know why heidi stole one of david bowie's labyrinth costumes for the runway showing, but she should definitely give it back.
- one of the designers (bonnie again) needs to order herself some of kara saun's patented nipple tape tm.
- stat.
- i don't agree with the winner or the loser chosen.
- spoiler warning: don't follow the link in the next bullet if you haven't seen the episode yet.
- the alleged "text poll spoiler" didn't ruin anything for me; i thought the editors had already made it pretty clear which three were on the bottom.
- i am, however, glad i don't frequent the washington post.
- all in all, i think this promises to be an entertaining season. lot of talent on the ground, yo.
- i'm not emotionally invested in any of the contestants yet, though, so it's not officially a re-obsession yet.

i have set aside everything i love. i have saved everything else for you.

(minding my own business, i wander into The Job from lunch-purchasing)

PoolShark: "here, you'll want to look at this."

("this" is a catalogue. i assume it is for either a) tchotkes(sp?) or b) office supplies, the ordering of both types of items being, mysteriously, part of my job duties.)

me: "what are these? christmas cards?"
PoolShark: "yeah."
me: "oh, well, i'm a pagan. so there are at least two reasons i shouldn't send out christmas cards."
PoolShark: "no, that's for you to pick out cards for TheJob."

(i have been at The Job through two christmases now and have never before been requested to do this.)

me: "is this because i'm a girl?"
PoolShark: (mildly blustery) "no. it's a...public relations thing."

(my 1st job xmas, this duty was handled by Amazon, the development assistant and a female. 2nd xmas, it went to Neoamazon, the new development assistant and also a female. currently the development assistant position is held by a male.)

me: "it IS because i'm a girl."
PoolShark: "whatev..."
me: "wow. i'm very disappointed in you."
PoolShark: "..er..."
me: "and i don't think my uterus has any opinions on greeting cards, but i guess i'll go ask it."

i am not a crook

i'm no politician, but i think when you have to assert bluntly that you are not the evil figurehead of the opposing party, you may have strayed from your base a bit.

also, things are probably going very very badly for you.

conversation i never ever expected to overhear in the senior center's bathroom

elderly lady 1: are you going to see johnny depp?
elderly lady 2: no, i think that's just gladys and clara.
el 1: oh, ok.
el 2: they sure are looking forward to it.
el 1: i wish there was something i could get that excited about.

in my insecure condition

you know what i wish would come back? besides ridiculously large hats, i mean?

hostess pudding pies.

they came in both pudding flavours, they were very very tasty and who do they think they're kidding with these so-called "fruit" pies anyway?

a single pie-y serving contains well-nigh 500 calories AND more than half the saturated fat you need to get you through your day. i'm going to posit that fruit-related health is not the central concern of any person ingesting one of these pastries.

so why not coat it in chocolate and fill it with vanilla pudding?

and maybe work in some bacon.

emotions echo in so much space

welp, i was going to blather on a bit about my just-past minivacation and how, as i've returned to The Job no longer wishing i could spit flesh corroding acid at everyone who comes near me and also seem to be sanely less obsessive in other small ways, it appears to have worked.

but as a need for a press release for an event in nine days has been dumped on my head, guess that'll have to wait.

i've got a crazy teacher, he wears dark glasses

in my current pursuit of a more content daily existence (grown-uphood seems all about lowering expectations, some days) my thoughts are giving some heavy petting in the direction of school.

so in order to have more informed chit-chat with various university personsnel, i sent for a copy of my transcript. it was in the mailbox monday when i got home from The Job retreat.

and now i find myself a bit nonplussed. not by the happy fact that i appear to have taken calculus already, nor by the forgotten "d" in the criminology course i vaguely recall not attending because the lecture was during animaniacs.

it's these mysterious 5 hours of in residence credit toward a PhD in kansas city. the hey? yeah, i did a year of post-bacc but it a) is all listed normally as course credit b) sure as hell didn't happen in KC. i think i may have had a meal in KC. once.

but, i mean, you know: Free Credit! why pass that up?

maybe because if anyone asks me about it, i'll have nothing coherent to say?

but fixing it will involve at least one long-distance phone call. possibly three. because two wouldn't be funny. and that goes so far against my basic guiding principle of laziness i'm getting tired just typing about it.

off to take a nap, then.

oh wait. still at work. must do something about that.

third shot
for the benefit of the 2 people reading this blog who
- weren't directly involved
- aren't on the mailing list of someone directly involved
and
- don't read my other public journal

come Browncoats and slayers in need of Joss Shui
come moody vampires misplaced in LA
our Whedon's off Wondering. TV is dark.
please watch this pod serial, it's quite a lark.

the agony and the irony

i have, it seems, nothing left to talk about.

not to worry, five or six faithful readers, this is not a I Shall Blog No More Forever entry.

it's just, well, when i enter a large social situation or sit down to blog lately, i run up against the four walls of don't want to talk about it, tired of talking about it, can't talk about it and don't want to talk about it.

which leaves me very little value in either medium.

i suppose it should make me the world's most avid listener, but

a of all) there are very few people here i do that for

and b) i'm also unfortunately depressed, which is an horrendously self-involved state.

b.5) it is also very boring.

and, in the immortal words of harvey danger "if you're bored then you're boring".

how true.

(i imagine the normal snarky raej will return tomorrow. i'm just, feeling distance tonight.)

hey there mister christian, merry fucking solstice

dear pacific northwest,

you are green. and beautiful. the mountains are lovely. as are the lake/sound thingies. did i mention the green? and, though i still miss it a bit, i'm beginning to understand you just can't give me the comforting heat and humidity of my native clime.

but, pacific northwest? it's the first day of summer. and i'm wearing a sweater. that's just. not. right.

you hereby owe me a grilled cheese sandwich and mug of tomato soup. i think it's the least you can do.

your pal,
raej

i wish i had a river so wide, i would teach my feet to fly

her: "i have CRS."
him: "CR...?"
her: "Can't Remember Shit."
him: (laughs) "i've never heard that before."
me: "sure you have. you just forgot about it."

what we have here is a failure to communicate

know what drives me nuts? well, ok, these days: everything.
a specific handmaiden of my annoyance today is: people who see email as merely some sort of uber complicated "call me" indicating system.

i love email. i especially love it for work. i love having a written trail of the many many many details involved in my job so that when Big Apple Agent is all "where's the camel we asked for in Ms.B-List's dressing suite?" i can be all "i very clearly stated back here on the 14th that we could only provide a saint bernard and on the 16th you replied that was fine as long as it spits. mind your step, there."

to wit, this original email, sent two weeks ago in response to a voicemail message asking me to call this Educator:

Hi Educator.
I just tried to leave you a voicemail, but the box was full.
Yes, there are Asian Circus student matinees. Monthber 1st and 2nd, two
per day (9:30am, 12:30pm)
Let me know how large your group will be and I can suggest which
times are still open.
Thanks!
Raej

today, i received this:

Hi Raej,
Not sure how long the school's server will be operating.
Please call me at home xxx-xxx-xxxx regarding date/time that will work.
Thanks,
Educator

now, i know our teachers are overworked doing a very important job, but i ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, how was that any bloody easier or faster than just responding with the size (or even size range if he's not sure) of his group?

it wasn't. not for me. not for him.

i wonder if he leaves messages from his cell phone that say "call me on my landline"?

. . .tony orlando and dawn!
Take the quiz:
What kind of muscle car are you?

1968 Chevrolet Camaro Z28
You are a 1968 Chevrolet Camaro Z28. You love your car....your friends love your car and thats whats most important to you! Your car really hauls ass! You feel bad that they aren't making Camaros anymore....but don't worry...cuz you know they'll be back!

Quizzes by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!

she wished to say something intelligent, but knew not how

last week i finally got around to watching the latest pride and prejudice adaptation. i was putting it off because, well, the reviews, good and bad, scared me.

y'see, Caveat 1, i'm a jane austin freak. i don't have the action figure (yet) but i do own a well worn copy of each of her novels. purchased new, now very very well worn. 'nuff said.

Caveat 2, i'm a little gun shy on movies about this particular novel. two things work against it for me: the excellence of the fabulous BBC miniseries and the terror of the wretchedly horrendous trying-to-be-Clueless-and-failing-miserably modernization. bleah.

Caveat 3, it is not the purpose or intent of this entry to question or debate the hotness of keira knightly. fact: keira knightly is wicked hot. especially when she has dark hair (personal preference). so, was she hot in this movie? yes. yes she was. but uma thurman was hot in The Avengers and that didn't save it. shudder.

basically they took the story, sped it way up, and turned it into an 80's era teen movie: parents clueless or absent, female romantic rival a bitchy redhead, romantic male lead looking just like john cusack (complete with ausitn-era trenchcoat substitute) ("hey, i've just invented this new coat. do you like it?" "that's a great coat! what are you gonna call it?" . . .) and the center of the movie is the ever-important Party Scene.

thing is, i didn't really mind. i mean, these characters _are_ mostly teenagers or young-twenty-somethings and the treatment injected a very charming level of silliness into the whole story. it's a love story, it should be giddy.

most of the side plots and any characters not directly involved in the main two love matches were criminally minimized, but in two hours that's pardonable. (the BBC version had five to play with.)

my biggest actual complaint wound up being the whitewashing of the characters Keir-lizabeth likes best, her father and her best friend. in the book, they are well rounded creatures who we accept, warts and all, because she does. apparently the modern ideal is the people we love can't have faults. of course. what was i thinking?

my lengthiest during movie mockery revolved around the gratuitous rainsoaking of Keir-lizabeth (three times. three! that's once every 40 minutes. i guess to keep the guys dragged there on dates entertained?) and the fortuitous picturesque ruins handily available whenever we needed to have a private love scene. as it was, i don't see how you can walk two feet in england without tripping over some neglected church or rotting mansion foundation or something. must be hard to get things done.

overall i'll have to call it a pleasant movie-renting experience, purchase not required. oh, and? on demand rocks. i chose, rented and watched this movie, all without wearing pants.

movie-renting sans pants. a pleasant experience indeed.

someone's got a birthday, i wonder who? part 2

in the wake of my recent birthday, i've had many people point out that i've reached the age where i cannot be trusted.

yeaaah, that just happened. just now. new thing. trust me.

anyway, among the many things i now cannot be trusted about let us be sure to include: charge the batteries to the camera. in fact, let us expound: unpack the bag from the trip i took three months ago which contains (ie, hides) the camera batteries and camera battery charger.

so i've had to rely upon the kindness of strange people who are my friends. thank goodness i have strange friends. i mean, responsibile friends. with cameras. and swords.


as we see raej blowing out her candles, let us note she has one cake per ten years of life. ok, one of those is technically a pie, but that's what happens when you can't be trusted to: purchase your cake ahead of time.


i've always wanted a pony...pin~ata. it would totally've killed us if we hadn't gotten it first, so i don't wanna hear a peep out of PETP, y'dig?

brushing up on your smalltalk, part eavesdropping

the Minister (formerly the PM) (on the phone w/BarFly): " . . .i don't need your validation. asshole."

that should really go on the staff polo shirts.

lot of love at The Job right now.

The Bloodsucker Proxy
view from 2B
Day 3

otherwise known as Day Your Intrepid Blogger Was Not On Set. but you know who was? this reporter from Wired. enjoy.

someone's got a birthday, i wonder who?

so, thirty.

feels, you know, basically like 29.

except i'm having a much better day so far than any of the last handful or so have been.

yea, birthday!

The Bloodsucker Proxy
view from 2B
part three, Day 2, flashback

Day 2, 9:47am. this is the exact moment i met Buffy. not Buffy the hot slayer of undeadies. Buffy the B-cam. or the second camera. not clear which is more correct. frankly, we were called both in an interchangeable, patty and cathy duke sort of way. perhaps i was the second camera person operating the B camera machine. yeah, let's go with that.

it was a brief courtship. under the diligent chaperoneage of DP, we got through the awkward getting to know you phase in twelve minutes.

next thing i knew, my legs were spread wide, Buffy was over me, and i was pushing all of her buttons.

and i was lovin' it. oh yeah.

------------

in the afternoon, i switched over to zombie duties.

this essentially involved sitting around in pajamas while a guy (of the talented make-up variety...and i would give him a shout out if i could only remember his name) slathered layers and layers of latex all over . . . my face, you dirty minded penguins.

since i have a fondness for FX make-up plus was the go-to-girl to play elderly ladies in my college drama program, this did not equal an unfamiliar sensation. not really unpleasant, either.

except for my feet, which were very very soggy. this brings me to My Personal Lesson Learned on Day 2: when being a zombie in an outdoor film shoot, wear sandals under your footie pajamas.

(Lesson 2 for Day 2 involves never ever getting down on your knees to shoot. but more on that anon.)

how to insult: A Graphic Designer

tell him he's used too many fonts in his design.

this is equivalent to calling his mother a whore.

The Bloodsucker Proxy
view from 2B,
part 2, day 1, via the wayback machine

it never ceases to bemuse me: when i have something going on worthy of blogging, i generally neglect the hell out of it (the blog) because i'm too busy with it (the activity).

don't worry about this recap. history shows us i'll get tired of it after two, three days tops.

day 1 of Cherub saw me in my lone stint at servicing crafts. (note to self: ask michael m.f. white why it is called "craft services").

lone is a pretty good word for it, actually. due to the need for a kitchen, you either do the bulk of food prep off site, alone, or on-site as one of the only members of the cast/crew allowed on the second floor of the house. i did a bit of both. during the Day One Eve prep, i wrote the following, which i blame on the solitude. . .and the cooking wine:

finished pitchin'
to the kitchen
ain't no bitchin' time for you
need a pound of turkey roti filling
what you gonna do?
need a pound of turkey roti
and it ain't at all for you

grab your curry
in a hurry
'cause i ain't your kitchen elf
want a pound of turkey roti?
take those spices from the shelf
'cause this pound of turkey roti
sure ain't gonna make itself

cookbook lookin'
ain't what's cookin'
'cause the magic's in my head
want a pound of turkey roti bitches?
know that's what i said
rachael ray can suck my roti
now i'm gonna go to bed.

so i have no very accurate picture of Day 1, having experienced most of it from the ivory-tiled tower. but i learned something: pyllo dough needs some sort of fat to reach maximum tastiness. and: when making soup? bring bowls.

brushing up on your small talk, rantlette style

me: ". . .and if i had a frickin' quarter for every artist who's a 'unique fusion' of something and something else that should never even be joined in a good universe watched over by a benevolent god-being in the first place, i would be so rich i would buy bill gates and use him as a fucking pin~ata. . ."

The Bloodsucker Proxy,
view from 2B

i, like several others, am a new piece of the freshly expanded Cherub-machine 2.0.

brief stints on craft service team and zombie squad (note the new profile photo, courtesy of jen cabarrus) aside, i mostly monkey the second camera, Buffy, under the guidance of our DP of Awesomeness and Might. it is a task with a luxuriously low level of responsibility; as long as i and Buffy are in place on time, all is well; then i just frame the prettiest shot i can find; which is fun.

moreover, i enlisted instead of being drafted, so my attitude is relatively stressless. which is a pleasant change of pace for me. personally.

except when the tripod jiggles during a take. grr!

so, what's the scene on the set of a lowish budget indie podcast serial?

it's cool. it's insane. the energy is gung ho and manic. with occasional crashes due to lack of sleep. the time we're spending is very short, making the activity/relationship levels intense. the equipment is a mixture of latest-top-of-the-line-new-hotness and borrowed-from-friends-held-together-with-clothespins. there's a port-a-potty. sometimes squirrels get into the pretzels. sometimes it rains.

it's a lot like camp.

if i were walkin' in your shoes i wouldn't worry none
mood: moody
listening to: bnl, for you

what Have i been up to?
working here.
reading this.
shooting these people.

you know, the usual.

in the future, i have a dr. appt today, more shooting tonight, class starting next week, birthday coming up. . .and sometime after that i'd really like to pop out of town for a few days.

right now, though, i am too weary to contemplate any of that in great detail.

today! now with: 100% less vomit!

ho hum:

another day, another stretch of time not featuring drinking, puking in the matinee, resistance of arrest, tazering, bagging and dragging off to jail.

yawn.

the ability to say that yesteday? not so much.

everything is rosy now

probably few things sillier than to sit around trading glasses but, what the heck, C-Dad had a spanky new pair and i now have the dubious honour of being known to be more blind than both he and The Comte.

yet i'm not quite legally blind.

let's invite the person who set the sight bar that high to take a little joyride with me unspectacled.

and then we'll just see about that.

you are not your job

not much more to say. just getting loopy after ten hours here (and five more to go!) and thought i should remind myself. of. something.

every beat i hear of a drum

it is a sad thing for a citizen of this fair country of ours to be accosted by a parade.

in a responsible community, inhabitants are warned of impending parades by things called 'signs'.

"warning. parade crossing."

like that.

after an hour of commute at the end of a long day one of the last things, well ok, after an hour of commute at the end of a long day, amongst the many items on the long long list of things i would really rather not encounter, you would be able to find 'random parade'.

apparently, today is norwegian constitution day.

which, of course, thoroughly explains how it was i happened to wander unawares into "the largest Syttende Mai parade outside Norway".

yeah.

sad thing is, instead of being delighted to the tune of "Unexpected Parade! Yea!" i was very much "F#$%ing parade! Why are you in my way?!?"

it only goes to underline what we already knew: The Job? The 520? Cars? all evil.

fortunately i simmered down on my walk to the store for meatloaf supplies. then, thank goodness, i was able to respond to the parade like any other rational human being.

i bought a disposable camera and took pictures all the way home.

"every sip is an experience"...not necessarily a good one...

remember when you were young and unsupervised at home or, for utterly random example, at the dairy queen where you were employed and someone got the bright/bored idea to mix various flavours and beverages together and drink them? (we called these 'suicides'; your vernacular may perhaps have varied.)

and remember how you eventually stopped doing this because, sure, each concoction tasted great in its novelty but most all wore to stale tacky familiarity by the third sip?

yes? well, someone forgot to stop.

X is the sign of the times

last wednesday i treated myself to a visit to The Craft Store.

i don't know why snarky cross stitch hadn't occurred to me as an art form before. however, freshly inspired and armed with a hunter s. thompson quote, i was on a mission for a kit.

i hoped to find one featuring bunnies. or a light house. or jesus petting a bunny while watching over a lighthouse.

instead i found nothing. no wall of pre-packaged craftyness. no homespun goodness to be warped. no stamped tree ornament projects for beginners on the far left to thomas kincaide counted cross stitched calendar of light on the far right.

only the guts were available: floss and hoops and fabric and Pattern Books and organizational boxes and frames and blank blank blank baby booties.

feh. if i wanted to put that much thought into it, i'd just make a frickin' pin~ata.

what can compare with your beautiful sound?

ah, spring: the trees are greening, the flowers are blooming and the neighbors are tuning their hogs. if you listen carefully, you can hear them revving their engines even now.

just a chance that maybe we'll find better days

~ Nemesis is safely home from the car undenting shop. her wheels have never been so shiny.

~ the headache that had me in its clutches from saturday night through tuesday evening has apparently met its demise. thank you, excedrin migraine.

~ a class i've been waiting to take just opened up. whee.

~ and the fam has just completed getting the time off to enable a visit to SeaTown this summer.

~ so, yea.

~ i think i'll have some whiskey.

~ and that, too, will be good.

my sister's big fat WASP wedding

'tis the season, so i thought i'd share this picture of my sister's wedding. . .party.
yep, this is merely the group of people required to dress similarly. bridesmaids and groomsmen and junior bridesmaids (there are never junior groomsmen, have you noticed) and ushers and ring bearers and flower girls, oh my.
i knew about half of them.
the wedding entire encompassed ten times this many people.
pretty typical for a midwestern middle class methodist hitchin'.

truth be told i'm as fickle as hell

cruising through the Bead Tent during walkies in K-Land, i enjoyed examining the shiny things, but was paranoid too close examination would lead them to think i was shop-lifting. thus i adopted strange "nothing in my hands" motions above the bead vats. i can only hope it looked more like i was casting pagan blessings than the scratchings of an odd fingertip disease.

how's that working out for you?

Q: what drug would ron howard use?
A: opium.

R.I.P. Magic Window

at 10:38 this evening the television of televised goodness uttereda mighty ZipWhaut! and shut itself off. since then turning it on has rendered approximately twenty seconds worth of televiewing in bright green stripes before a return to blackness.

this wouldn't normally bother me a huge lot, but i was in the middle of the very first night of Texas Ranch House.

i guess this means it doesn't support public programming.

that which you bring me? is not mine.

passive aggressive sarcastic mother fucker.

my boss's boss at The Job, PoolShark, has this inCREDibly endearing habit of writing nasty critical biting emails over the weekend to his employees. i'm not sure i can accurately express how opening a crappy email first thing on monday morning makes me feel.

at least, not without swearing.

this happened last monday and if the asshole had been here instead of at a conference i probably would have walked in and quit. today i was braced for nastiness, so i'm way calmer.

but i'd still like to mosey in and invite him to suck my cock. i'd also like to mention that if he keeps writing to me like a bitch, i'm going to start smacking him like one.

anyone know of any temp/receptionist gigs open in the city proper?

weld a gold star to my forehead, i'm done

i don't know where it came from, but april was National Poetry Writing Month, or NaPoWriMo as the kewl kidz were calling it.

as i participated i now have the dubious accomplishment of thirty shiny new poems.

apparently i am keen to secure my seat on the level of hell reserved for people who share their poetry.

That's the thing with dames, sometimes all they gotta do is let it out and a few buckets later there's no way you'd know.

zippin' into work via the arboretum "shortcut" this morning, sun roof open, egg mcmuffin and tea to hand, things seemed pretty darn ok. . .except for the fact that it was work i was headed to. . .and even that's been less of a trial this week. . .more like a reasonable job. had most of the evening to myself last night and the combination of activity and inactivity seems to have provided a much needed level of relief. i feel taller. i've remembered how to breathe and how to eat. it's a good thing.

maybe piracy is our only option

A Pirate Raider
You scored 2 Honor, 1 Justice, 9 Adventure, and 11 Individuality!

More than just the usual swabbie, you demand not only the life at sea, free from landlubbers and their rules, but also you require adventure and excitement. You're happiest when the guns are blazing, the risk high, the outcome uncertain, but the chance for reward substansial. Your kind are welcomed as allies and feared as enemies.

Put on your wooden leg and hook. You'll do just fine!

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 0% on Ninjinuity

You scored higher than 0% on Knightlyness

You scored higher than 86% on Cowboiosity

You scored higher than 96% on Piratical Bent

Link: The Cowboy-Ninja-Pirate-Knight Test written by fluffy71 on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

really, this should be a surprize to absolutely no one.
i'd also like to underline, in passing, the fact that this cowboy/ninja/pirate/knight test was designed by a 34 year old man who identifies himself as "fluffy".

fuckin' non-for-profits ~ Wm. H. Macy

many a time do i wonder about a decision, seldom a time do i get smacked upside the head with the "you absolutely did the right thing at the right time" stick. today is such a seldom time.

a lovely and complete press release for annex zipped by my e-mailed eye view of the world today and (and this is the beauty part) And I Had Absolutely Nothing WhatSoEver To Do With It. oh, the retroactive extended release stress relief caplets that were then activated in my tummy as i imagined the utter sess pit of hate my life would've been these past few weeks if i still had my auxiliary job in addition to The Job.

it was so soothing my eye stopped twitching.

oh yes, my eye has started its stress-twitch again, to answer the two people this weekend past who asked if my The Job was really sucking as much as the blog makes it sound or whether i was just, per usual, overexercising my right to gripe.

yes. yes it is. how much suck? The Job Ate Hell. film at eleven.