list o' holiday hankerin's (AMENDMENT)

Amendment 1. I also want an electric toothbrush. Because who wouldn't want the inside of their mouth to feel like it has been cleaned as thoroughly as the outside of the space shuttle?









Amendment 1.1 Barefoot Contessa At Home, by Ina Garten
This cookbook has the best recipe for fried chicken that I've ever used in it. I love her. I guess if you're going to have an electric toothbrush, you should have a reason to use it.









Amendment 2. Clive Owen. "Hello, my name is Clive Owen and I frequently save the world and look remarkably beautiful while doing it. I don't need an electric toothbrush because I'm genetically prefect. Merry Christmas."

list o' holiday hankerin's

I'm sitting in DFW waiting for Tim's flight to land and feeling this odd mixture of hypnotized by watching the baggage belt go around and around (you're getting very sleeeeeepy) and feeling very much like JESUS CAN'T I BE IN SHREVEPORT ALREADY?

So I'm going to distract myself by putting together a Christmas list.

I'm not doing a very good job at Christmas this year because I'm traveling all over the place and all I really care about is getting into graduate school. Normally, all of November and most of December is spent hording presents for people, sending out cards, and getting reading to make one short, weird awesome and inevitably sad trip home. (Sad because I have to leave when New Years comes.)

This year--no cards, no time for shopping. I don't really want anything. I have no idea what anyone wants or when I'm going to have time to give it to them and to be frank, I couldn't give a CRAP about presents, which is very unlike me because normally I LOVE to give presents to everyone I know (and I don't mind getting them, I'll admit). I'm just really, really glad I get to see everyone for so long and that's kind of all I care about in the immediate present. Not presents. Presence. Get it?

Now, that being said, this is a blog and it should have some damn content. So this is what I would want for Christmas if I cared.

1. Don't bother getting me this because I already got it: Onyx Scrabble. OMG this is the coolest Scrabble edition EVER. It's like the BMW of Scrabble. Thank you Dad and Kirsten!










2. Wind chimes. Yup. I don't have any where to hang them that wind would ever come in contact with them, because I live in an apartment where I'm not allowed to even open the windows. But I can pretend.







3. A wok. Easy enough. Yum.










4. I'm in the process of transferring my VHS tape collection to DVD. So I want any DVD that is on my specially created Amazon list. I had no idea how many VHS tapes I had until I made this list BTW. There are 64 DVDs on this list.

5. A red KitchenAid Mixer. Look at its shiny loveliness. Imagine all the cakes, cookies, pies, ice cream, meat balls, frosting, pudding, cup cakes, pastries, and untold happiness that could come out of this thing...








6. I want a crystal to hang in my window. My mom always has these and they make little rainbows all over the house in the afternoon. I like it.








7. Super Mario Galaxy. Boom Blox. Wii Fit. And Rayman Raving Rabbids TV Party. All for the Wii of course.








8. To own the Boulder Bookstore.













9. A greyhound. These two. In fact. Mojo, and Smokin' Hippo, from the Colorado Grayhound Adoption agency. OH MY GOD look at their beautiful faces. You can click on either one of them to go look at their website.








10. More than anything I just want to get into graduate school. Then move somewhere where I can sit on my porch with my greyhounds and listen to my wind chimes while I smoke my pipe and think about the American literary tradition. Ok, maybe not so much about the pipe. But all the other stuff for sure.

What About You? How Would You Answer the Question?

My grandmother, Karen Gallob, writes a monthly column for the North Fork Merchant Herald, a small paper local to the North Fork Valley, in Colorado, where my family lives and I went to high school. This month, she sent me a copy of her column ahead of time and I thought I'd share it on my blog, not only because I'm always impressed by her writing, but because she's taken the time to say something meaningful, while I've just been a bum for the past month. I hope you enjoy.

What About You? How Would You Answer the Question?
By Karen W. Gallob
DCI, December 1, 2008

The week after the election, and six weeks before Christmas, I called fourteen households to ask them an important question. Dave and I tried to pick a variety of people from all over the Outback, and we tried to cover the political spectrum. When I called these people, I suggested that they think about the question and talk it over with others, then call me back. The question I asked was: "If you could give your country one Christmas gift to begin the year 2009, what gift would you give it?"
Well, we did run the gamut, all right. One person snapped at me that he would give the country a different president elect, and that person would not discuss the matter further. I think some men hid behind their women's skirts, because I started with a gender-balanced call list, but all my respondents were women. I will say, however, that most of the women had conferred with at least one male.
The answers I received were excellent--thoughtful and full of heart. One person gave me a clear answer on the spot, and five others called me back. Some had conferred with friends and family, not just here, but all over the country.
The first thing I notice is that it was almost impossible for people to narrow their response to "one" gift. People love their country, and what it stands for is important to them. As if it were a well-loved family member, you'd like to put a whole bunch of stuff under the tree for it. Angel Rodstrom and her family took an end run around that problem to make a score. I'll print her complete response below because I think you'll love it. Her family would like to give the United States "C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E."
C--Compassion for all others
H--Humanity amongst the whole human race
O--Old fashioned values
C--Community support
O--Omitting discrimination in its entirety
L--Life and honor
A--Ability to work with other countries toward world peace
T--Trust in others to make solid decisions
E--Equality for all
Angel then wrote:
"I got a call the other day from someone who has written a lot of stories that I have so much enjoyed reading. She asked me a very good question that I thought was worthy of a family discussion. She only gave me a couple days to come up with an answer. I wanted to come up with a good answer to a good question asked on the heels of the election, our crumbling economy, and our troops going on seven years of war. My family and I discussed it and we came up with some good answers. My daughter thought everyone should have food and then, the more we discussed it, we had some other pretty good ideas, too.
"What this country is missing is good, old-fashioned morals and values. There used to be a strong sense of community where people really cared how people were doing. They were there during the good times and the bad times. Families used to be a lot closer. What we need less of is discrimination and people judging each other. The more people judge each other the more laws that get made. The more laws that get made, the less freedoms we have as a people. If we want to get this country back on its feet we have to do it together, and I mean the whole human race. We have to base our decisions on the whole human race, not color, gender, religion, or whether you are Republican or Democrat. So our family's gift to our country would be "CHOCOLATE." With a little bit of our CHOCOLATE, this country could be even SWEETER."
*******
So, there. How do you like that? Angel's answer illustrates that real people can't be stuffed into media dictated categories; her ideas are complex, well-rounded, and thought provoking.
Another interesting take on the "How can I pick just one gift" issue was expressed by Rita Claggett. Her first instinct was to give her country world peace. Folklore has it, though, that when you rub the bottle and get the three wishes from the genie, you usually get tricked. That genie will escape you by bringing on the unintended consequences of your wish. Rita said, "No one can know the unintended consequences of anything, so I ruled out 'peace.' What it takes to get there is not known."
I said, "Do you mean like a world dictatorship or the complete subjugation of a people?" and she replied, "Yeah, like that."
After talking it over with friends and giving the question a good mulling over, Rita settled on the answer, generosity of spirit, because "that encompasses so many good things to make the country and world a happier place."
As we discussed this, Rita made sure that I understood she is not referring to material generosity. "Many Americans are exceedingly, maybe excessively, generous," she pointed out. She is referring to an intangible, a blanketing concept that would include tolerance and people giving other people the benefit of the doubt. Properly understood, her idea of generosity means a generosity of self, energy, and assets, and it can be seen as a way to counteract the greed that is destroying not only our infrastructure, but much of our natural world and valuable human culture. "Generosity of spirit," she emphasized. "That's what I would like to give."
Did you notice that Angel's and Rita's gifts have very similar elements? Two other callers, whom I know to be from opposite ends of the political spectrum, came up with ideas that relate directly to each other. These callers were Carolyn St. Geme and Erin Gallob.
Erin said, "You know what I hate? I hate the sexualization, materialism, negative role models, and in general the culture of outlawry that is glorified to our young people. I like the idea that Obama is from a racial and ethnic minority; his family was poor; he was raised in part by a single mother on welfare; he was tossed around the world as he grew up. All of these things could have made him act like a victim, or end up as a gangsta or pimp, but he overcame his background to get where he is today. So, my gift would be that kids who are struggling and come from tough backgrounds could see Obama as a role model: I want them to see that if they work and try, there is an alternate future for them."
Now, compare Erin's, as well as Rita's and Angel's, answers to Carolyn and Jim St. Geme's clear, concise, and cogent statement: "[Our gift would be] a recommitment of our American society to personal responsibility, a return to family morals, and to a spirit of unselfishness." That's nice, isn't it? It's the other side of the same coin.
The very first person I called for this exercise was Ann Critchley, and she blew me away by giving me an eloquent answer on the spot--no need to call back for Ann! Ann is deeply rooted in America and in the sacrifices people have made to create this country. Some of her ancestors came here as bond servants ("essentially as slaves," Ann stresses) from France, before the constitution was written. In that side of the family, in fact, there was a man named James Bowdoin who helped write the constitution. (You can look it up.) On the other side of the family, people came from Denmark for the American opportunity, plus her father was a quarter Lakota (Sioux). He was orphaned early and by age seven put into a hobo camp to survive. When adopted at age 12, her dad still could not read or write. Ann herself has experienced homelessness. Because of all this, Ann is irritated with the victim mentality, the bailouts of people and companies who brought on their own problems, and the poor management of our country's resources.
So, what would Ann's gift be? "I would have the country return to the constitution and our pioneer spirit. We need our country to have an old fashioned, let's-get-it-done, mentality. People need to be willing to step in and do it, regardless of the sacrifices." Ann added, "I was taught to rely on the Lord, my own ingenuity, and hard work."
Theresa Adam was the last person with whom I spoke. When I asked her the question, she said softly, "Oh, I'll be darned. I'll be darned." She then talked with Jay and her family here, called her son Jesseb in Ft. Collins, and spent time on the phone with her sister, Pat Dwelley. The main issue that concerns her family is the anger, fear, and dissension that seem to be plaguing our country. Finally, after much soul searching, Theresa and her family formulated the following:
"To begin the year 2009, we would give to our country the gift of courage and wisdom to accept cultural and social differences as a joyful reflection of world diversity, not an excuse for divisiveness."
Isn't that beautiful? I love it--it gives me goosebumps.
After all the preceding thoughtful suggestions, I wasn't sure I could add anything new. However, it is only fair that I try to answer my own question. I am concerned about the number of people who seem to speak and act before they put their brains in gear. Not just now, mind you, but for the past several years. There seems to be no serious, civilized discourse among real people. People either duck their heads and refuse to "talk politics," or they spew a rehash of what they've heard from their favorite, rabble-rousing media source, or they crack an offensive joke. Now, I am an expert on humor and jokes; I wrote a Ph.D. thesis on humor. Really, I did--no kidding! Let me tell you up front--some jokes aren't funny, and some humor can be extremely damaging. In fact, if you like your country, thoughtless "jokes" may have unintended consequences.
So, now to get off my soapbox: my gift to America would be to have it return to the old fashioned value of being a deliberative democracy, meaning that adults of all opinions listen to one another, think, and remain open to the possibility that they could be wrong.
It was a bruising election, and you may be feeling cranky or fearful; maybe you think you need to get tough in your party after a two year media bath in political polarization. Maybe you don't like having your yard signs removed or shot at, or maybe you don't appreciate having your heartfelt beliefs, worries, and values belittled. You may be irritable, ready to nitpick and criticize the gifts for the country that are proposed in this article. Maybe you could say that Angel's "Chocolate" is too gooey and unrealistic; Rita's "generosity" too broad and fluffy; Erin's "hopeful roles for youth" too idealistic; Carolyn's "family morals" just code for a far right agenda, while Ann's "get-'er-done" ignores some very real victims in impossible situations, and Theresa's "courage and wisdom to tolerate others" is a naive idea in a terrorist world. Sure, you could do that. It's your choice. Or you can stow your anger and fear and give this country your own gift. You can show some generosity of spirit, as well as personal responsibility, and package up some hope, courage, and wisdom. You can trust that your fellow community members really aren't complete dolts, even if they see things from a different perspective than you do. Giving the world and the people in it the benefit of the doubt, you can set out, like a true patriot, and "get 'er done" with a great, big, tolerant, old-fashioned American grin.

Book quote fun

Rules:

* Grab the book nearest you. Right now.
* Turn to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post that sentence in the comments. Include the title of book and author.

This is my result:

"My mother of course saw clean into the marrow those dreams, and laughed."

The Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

(Thanks for the timekiller, Snodge)

In an instant I shall blink again...

If you ever need proof that every person has the potential to lead hundreds, if not thousands of lives, other than the lives they're currently living--take a leave of absence.

Maybe it's a little different for me since I have no kids, no pets, no spouse (Tim can still say "Yes, please" or "No, Thanks" to any shenanigans I get into), no investments, all of my stuff can be sold or given away in a moments notice. Hell, my only valid form of ID is a passport. Still, I think even for someone with some or all of those things it might be easier than it seems to have a totally new life.

I've been thinking a lot about this in the past week. The most obvious reason is that I'm not in my DC life right now. Time has suddenly slowed down again. Days are passing like they used to pass, before I was so stressed out and every day was completely the same seemingly down to the minute. In DC, four weeks pass before I can catch my breath, suddenly a month is over and I haven't bought groceries, spoken to my friends, finished half the things I wanted to do... and suddenly another month has passed. Maybe this is just what it means to grow up but I doubt it.

There's a poem by Pete Winslow that begins:

I blink and half my life is over
Yet I am still making plans
In an instant I shall blink again
My eyes are half closed already

It's a sad and terrifying poem about what I don't want my life to be. Even if I love (or perhaps like is better word) my job and what I do, I hate the way it feels to blink and feel as though I've missed it, whatever it is.

I've been in Arkansas just under a week and I feel like I've been here forever. It takes me a solid minute to remember what day it is. I had completely forgotten what luxury feels like. It's not that I'm not working, I'm working on all of my graduate school applications which is soooo nice in a moderately frustrating but invigorating sort of way. It's another way of looking in the scrying mirror at the potential lives that are out there. Right now I'm looking at Georgetown, Tulane, Purdue, CU, and University of Washington, which--as Tim points out--covers all four U.S. time zones. Frankly, I don't know where I want to be. Only that I want to study English. And soon.

In a perfect world, I'd be able to go to graduate school close to all of my friends and family, but since my friends and family live all over the freakin' place if and where I get in to school will decide whom I'm close to, I guess. Having this time off has made it possible for me to reconnect with people I don't talk to much, or see EVER, and I don't want it to end. It's all very mushy and touchy-feely.

Which is pretty much exactly how I want my life to be. No matter which one of the hundreds of thousands of possible lives actually ends up happening, I want there to be lots of trees and deep breaths, friends and family, novels and reasonable grammatical correctness, and long, numerous days.

Thank you for bein' a friend...

If you want to watch the rest of the interview, where she talks about getting stuck in her own refrigerator for an hour (among other things), it's here.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I can't sleep.

And I just spent about a half an hour writing about how the past three months of frustrations with my incredibly stressful job have lead me to this point of insanity.

That post started off well enough. It started off like this:

"I. Can't. Sleep.

And that's ok. It's just not really what I expected at this current point--I should be sleeping like a rag doll. I took the GRE on Thursday, Ok, "took" is not the right word. I "shrugged my way through" the GRE is more appropriate. I got pretty much exactly the score I was expecting on the verbal portion (maybe a little lower than I wanted, but higher than average) and I got WAY higher than necessary on the math, which I may or may not have achieved by solid guesstimation.

I say I shrugged my way through it because I have been so insanely stressed out by my ridiculously insanely stressful job that by comparison, the GRE was a walk in the daisies. Basically, I didn't have any stress left to spare when I got to the testing center. It was sort of nice to not have to go to work for the morning actually. To get to wear jeans... To write a couple of essays... Sit in a quiet room with some strangers... ahhhhhhh... Niiiiiice..."

But then I went a little crazy--for about 9 paragraphs. Frankly, I want to go a little crazy. But I also am at a point where working myself into a froth three days before I get the hell out of dodge won't do me any good. I've done the best I can to prepare everyone for my absence and I wasn't kidding when I said I have a special ring tone when my office calls me called "Horns of Destruction" so I know not to answer unless I'm getting paid.

It's not personal, it's business. The whole reason I'm taking this leave is because when I'm here, my work takes up so much of my life that I'm too mentally and physically exhausted to even contemplate applying for graduate school. I literally have to remove myself from the timezone to get anything done. If that means taking myself out of cellphone range too, so be it. Let the record state that I offered to be on call two days a week, but they didn't want to pay me.

Anyway.

I still can't believe I am such an idiot that I bought my plane ticket for ELECTION day. I spent 45 minutes on hold trying to have it changed, but it would have cost over $900. And I love Obama, but I don't love Obama that much. I just can't believe... if there's one stupid city in America that you want to be in on that night it's this one, and what do I do? I put my self on a plane, where you get no TV, no phones, no internet, NOTHING. OMG. I've been waiting 8 years for this crap to end and I did this to myself.

*sigh*

The outside of the white house looks like a trailer park right now with all of the modular dwellings set up for the media hullabulloo that will be going on in the coming months. And of course they're going to start building stages and whatnot for the inaguration... My office building is on the parade route and inaguration day should be exciting either way. We'll either get it off because we'll be shut down for security reasons, or we'll have a view from the 8th floor window of the whole parade.

That is, if I still have a job when I get back.

I'm filling up the candy dish on my desk as a peace offering before I go. I really wish that going on this leave didn't feel so much like a break up--because I AM coming back ("It's not you, Work, it's me. Wait, maybe it is you."). I tried so hard NOT to leave frustrated, but I guess that's how it goes. I still have to go to work on Monday (grrrrrrrrr), so though I very much doubt that will make me feel better since that's largely the source of my bitterness ( I should be FREE right now!!) maybe a miracle will occur. :)

Vote!

Ok, on a more positive side: this says everything I want to say about voting in this election in less than ten minutes AND it's funny. What's not to love?

...

Now, I don't normally do this, but this is too insane for words. Thank you Rachel Maddow for calling a spade a spade.

Seriously, October, INSIDE VOICE.

Stress.

Stress.

Stresssssssssss.......

My GRE is scheduled for the morning of Thursday, October 30 at 9:00 a.m. Interestingly enough, that is also the day my company is having the grand opening party for our new project space, which--for those not familiar with the legal staffing world--is a 4000+ sq. ft. office suite where we'll be squeezing a little over 100 Contract Attorneys for document review work. This space is a HUGE deal, as we've been working on finding the location, building it out, outfitting it (Mae has been losing sleep over this for the past two months solid) for over a year.

Even more interestingly, the following day, October 31, I will have to have all of my ducks in a row because it's my last day of work for the last two months as I am PEACING OUT.

I've never tried to complete three months worth of work in one month before, but I'll tell you right now, I do NOT recommend it. When I took this job, I thought, "Administrative Assistant, that's a bullshit job! I'll never have to think about that outside of the office! I might even have time to study at work if I'm not needed!"

Ha!

How totally wrong I was. Even if it HAD been a bullshit job, now I'm the Marketing Coordinator for a growing company and my life has been completely Clutch-ified. I was at work until 10:30 on Thursday night. I worked a half day yesterday (Saturday!), and if I had been available, I would have had to work today. Now all of that is neat-o burrito for any 20-something who wants to make their career their life. Or really, for anyone who's not TAKING THE GRE IN THREE WEEKS.

I'm about a hair's breadth from a walking panic attack.

And it is SOOOOO beautiful outside. It's the kind of beautiful fall weather outside that makes it almost physically impossible for you to touch the doorknob when you have to go back inside. The temperature is so perfect you can't tell that there's any temperature at all--if you want to wear a tank top, wear a tank top! If you want to wear a sweater, wear a sweater! It's THAT perfect. There's a tiny little breath of a breeze. Not a cloud in the sky.... Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh... ughhhhhhh.... being inside is so painfullllll... I just want to go read under a tree! Have a picnic--or better yet, grill and drink beer! Play frisbee and football! Nap in the Sun! Dig in the garden! Throw the flippy flopper for Buster! Go star gazing! I can't take it!!!

Anyway, in an attempt to save my brain and spend a little bit of time away from my desk, Tim and I went to this INSANE play called MacHomer last night. It's a one-man show by Rick Miller, wherein he reinacts MacBeth entirely using voices from The Simpsons (with Kermit the Frog and Eric Cartman thrown in briefly). It's insane and brilliant and hilarious. I have no idea how one person is able to channel literally over 50 characters from The Simpsons in less than two hours. The encore, in which he sang "The Bohemian Rhapsody" in the voices of the most annoying pop singers of the past 30 years made my face hurt so bad. Ahhh, it was great. If you appreciate the Simpsons at all I recommend it.

I'm just praying that the next 18 days stretch out niiiiiiiiiiiiice and long because otherwise I'm in big, big trouble.

*cough cough*

Here are the circumstances under which I actually kind of LIKE to take a sick day:

1. It's rainy outside and leaving the house would involve bundling up, carrying an umbrella, and possibly a change of shoes.
2. The illness is readily cured by over-the-counter drugs and home remedies like chicken soup, hot tea, wearing socks, taking a bath, wrapping a hot towel around your head, or pity.
3. The illness involves the following tolerable symptoms: sniffling, tiredness, fever, sore throat, sneezing, napping, or watching TV.

Here are the circumstances under which a sick day is no longer acceptable:

1. The sick day is actually three days.
2. The weather is in any way nice, not raining, cool, pleasant or otherwise agreeable.
3. The illness defies all classification/medication (defiance of medication, being the most annoying part).
4. The symptoms include a 72+ hour migraine which means light-sensitivity (which prevents the use of the TV, computers and books), aches, pains, and, if you're really unlucky anything involving vomiting, bathrooms, bleeding or anything else that might tempt you to call an ambulance, but in my case, just the Migraine and something crazy going on in my lymph nodes, which is enough.

I know I shouldn't admit it, but I really don't mind having an innocent little cold. But after three days, and the worst headache I have had in months, I am SO sick of this apartment and SO, SO sick of this headache. Besides literally being a pain, it's such a waste of time. Jana and I have been trying to study for the GRE every Monday and Wednesday and we've missed every day for three weeks--which is especially painful because the GRE costs $140 to take. YIKES.

On the bright side, before the attack headache struck, Alsn came to visit and she, Tim and I played tourist on Saturday. We went to the National Book Fesival, which was pretty much a totally loss because, well, there weren't any books. It was too hot and muggy to stand around listening to some author I've never heard of talk about PTSD, so we went to the National Gallery of Art instead. Alsn is absolutely, hands down, no question, my favorite person to look at art with, ever. Here's why: she makes art too, but she doesn't take it too seriously. She knows enough about a wide range of artists to enlighten every conversation without ever making me feel like an idiot, which is particularly hard, because I feel like I should know something about art but am usually faking, so it's not hard to make me feel like an idiot. Also she's funny. So thank god for that.

Afterwards, it was Scrabble. And I got royally beaten by both Alsn and Tim. It was a fluke. I'm not claiming it.

It was clearly a prodrome of my on-coming mega-headache. Which, btw, if this headache ever goes away, I challenge anyone to a rematch.

Postcards from the monkey house

Roxie : Motivation :: The Pope : A Funny Hat

Clearly something freaky is going on--I've been saying that I'm going to take the GRE since probably half way through my fifth year at Centenary. I went to lunch with my Coworker Jana the other day and found out that she too is studying for the GRE and it's like something in my brain snapped. Apparently, all it took was having some one else to study with, to get me out of the apartment and whine with (and not to). I'm so motivited, FINALLY.

Jana and I went and studied after work on campus at George Washington and we studied almost 3.5 hours before I noticed. This was two days in row. Two things have come out of this:

1. I am SO relieved to find myself inspired and motivated. I've been stressing about the GRE, as a terrible chore. Instead, I find myself almost freakishly excited to see how well I can make myself do.

2. Spending the evenings back in that environment, around students, thinking in a totally different way (and for totally different reasons) than I have been at work for the past year, I am SO ready to be in school in again. I miss classes and professors and books and wearing a sweatshirt without feeling guilty.

All that being said, I had the day today all by myself (Tim's playing in a softball tournament) so I planned to spend it at the library, studying. I originally planned to go to the Library of Congress, but I felt like it might be a little stuffy so I went to the MLK library which is closer anyway. But I never really made it (not right away, anyway) because there was a GIANT street festival for all the local restaurants, galleries, artists, performers, museums, radio stations, colleges, newspapers... you name it. I had tenderloin, white cheddar mashed potatoes, and pork tacos for $4. I saw a troup of Bhangra dancers that reminded me of my mom's belly dancing troup.

It was just an awesome way to spend three hours. I'm bummed that Tim missed it, but I was fully entertained and well fed for pennies on the dollar.

Afterwards, I walked back past the library (at which point it was entirely too late to study, since they close at 5:30), but they were having a sale in their book store, which is usually closed on weekends. I bought 5 books and a t-shirt for $12 before heading home to watch Jeopardy and relax. An excellent end to the afternoon indeed.

I think this may have been the most awesome Saturday I've had since I've been here, which is good since yesterday was a pretty terrible day at work. Ahhhhh.... thank the Lord for Saturdays, motivation, art fairs, book sales and beef tenderloin.

Nothin' Doin'

Tropical Storm Hannah, as I'm sure you've heard, is bearing down on the east coast, and so it is incredibly rainy and dreary in DC today. It's been raining solidly since about 7:00 last night, which actually works out perfectly because Tim and I decided that we're going to go an entire weekend without spending a single cent.

(BTW: Naming a storm after a current teen sensation makes incredibly difficult to get information about said storm on Google, Thanks National Hurricane Center.)

Of course, this means I can think of nothing I want to do more than go out to a matinee and then to dinner, but the rain is helping. And to deter myself even further, I've put the lemon tree in the shower and sprayed it with bug spray that has to dry before I can move it, so we couldn't take showers and go out into the world if we wanted to. (A note on the lemon tree: It FINALLY has a lemon, which is about the size of a penny right now, BUT in addition the brown scale bugs it has--don't worry they only like citrus and tomato plants and don't spread to people or other plants--it's got some sort of weird almost microscopic spiders that may have come in on this stupid bamboo-type thing I bought. DAMNIT.)

Really though, I like wandering around on rainy days like this. There's something kind of nice about how everything looks different when it's rainy and the sky is gray. I also like wind, and although I love summer I'm looking forward to sweater weather. Also, I'm sure there will be plenty of elbow room at the museums today. Elbow room is remarkably important. Now, when I think of the Rosetta Stone, my first thought isn't of the key that unlocked the Egyptian language and opened up one of the richest and most important cultures to ever exist, but of the terrible woman in the British Museum who stood directly in front of the case talking about some television show and blocking the view of literally 45 people who wanted to catch a glimpse. Classy. Thanks a lot awesome American Tourist Lady.

Anyway, apparently, there's a new ocean exhibit at the Natural History Museum--although I'm not sure if it's open now.

Mostly, I think the plan is to stay in and finish our current books. I lent "A Confederacy of Dunces" to Tim over a month ago and while I'm really happy that he'd finally reading it, I'm officially never, ever, EVER, lending a book to anyone ever again. So don't even ask. It look like it got run over by a thresher. I know there's that philosophical argument that book-manglers make that if a book doesn't look like crap when you're done with it, then you haven't appreciated it. Bullocks. That was the kind of philosophy that might have been ok when I was I was 12 and my parent bought all my books for me, but now, thank you very much, I have to buy them all with my own money, so I'd rather not have them falling apart at their literal seams. (Ahhhh, now that was a cheesy book pun.)

Anyhoo, I'm reading "Falling Man" by Don DeLillo, which, like everything by Don DeLillo, is briefly engrossing, and then confounds me, and then loses my interest completely, and then engrosses me again, over and over, in waves. I don't know if I can finish it today but I hope to, because I'd rather be reading Harry Potter.

The only person who could ever make me hate Friday

It's truly, truly unbelievable.

Every day of the week, when I exit my metro stop, there is always a different musician at the top of the escalator--playing some familiar song and holding out the hat, as it were. They have varying degrees of talent--there's an awesome guy called Banjo Dan (The Banjo Man) and a man who plays the Spanish Guitar (and wears his hat tipped down over his eyes). There's a man who plays the guitar and lays all of his crazy sort of half-decent splatter paintings on the ground in front of him (we saw him again tonight outside of the baseball park--the Nats beat the Dodgers).

Among the not-so-winning musicians is a t-shirt wearing dude who I think might have found his sax in a dumpster. He stands across the street and plays what I imagine Homer Simpson might play if you handed him a saxophone. It's fairly terrible. I'm almost certain all of his earnings are pity donations. But he's at least funny.

In general, these people range from "this is a treat" to "well that was interesting" but there is one, mother-effing-son-of-a... I hate this guy. I call him the Light-Jazz-Syntho-Dredlock-Asshole. Imagine if you a will, a musician with the ability to use joy to single-handedly ruin every single Friday morning of your life. He's like an ambush, because I always forget that he's going to be there until I've already swiped my metro card and I have no way to get out of the metro without going past him.

He stands at the top of the escalator and plays his god-forsaken synthetic keyboard renditions of casino hits like "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" and "What the World Needs Now (is Love)" and lots of other cheesy, Bacharachy gems that get stuck in your head just at the completely utterly wrong time of your life.

It's Friday, for God's sake. Don't bore me into a coma just when I was feeling good about things, Man. And he'll stop in the middle of the song to utter in this breathy voice "I hope you all are having a blessed, blessed day" and "sometimes when the world has got you down..." He wears sunglasses for no reason. Why does he have dredlocks if he's singing the kind of lite pop music that grocery stores pump in at low volumes to psych people out of shoplifting? Are they even real?

And the "music" is so insanely, unreasonably, institutionally loud. It starts all the way on the train platform as an atonal murmur and by the time you're up the escalator it's drown out whatever legitimate music you've been listening to (or thought you might have been having) and replaced it with canned happiness of the smarmiest most unavoidable kind. It follows you up the block.

The irony of how irate this makes me does not escape me.

And I have no idea what it is, but for the first time in my life, I actually get the physical urge every single Friday morning to go over and kick his keyboard off its stand, smash his amp with his mic stand, throw the keyboard in front of a passing bus, shake my finger in his face and tell him that he actually owes me fifty dollars for ruining every single Friday morning for the past year of my life.

I would feel guilty about these terrible thoughts except that I'm certain that everyone else must feel the same way, but they're all wearing business casual so they can't flip shit. I'm not heartless. I love Banjo Man and awesome Chinese plucky music guy--even teenage flute kid doesn't bother me for the 35 seconds I hear these people one day a week.

But something makes me want to offer Banjo Dan a crisp c note to start a turf war. And if Light-Jazz-Syntho-Dredlock-Asshole doesn't redeem himself or disappear himself soon I might do it.

UPDATE: God does create miracles for the weary; for the first time in months, not was Light-Jazz-Syntho-Dredlock-Asshole not there this Friday, Crazy-Angry-Jesus-Bullhorn-Yeller and Gypsy-Rambling-Frank-Synatra-Loving-Lady weren't there either. Just a bunch of casuall dressed people on a rainy Friday morning before a long weekend. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh...

From here to there.

I can not believe that Tim and I have been here for an entire year already. It's sort of like some kind of strange hallucination. It's a surreal feeling partly because I've just been sloooooowly acclimating to entirely new lifestyle (sometimes I actually miss those 4:00 am nights in the newspaper office, if only because I knew I could sleep in the next day and not risk looking "unprofessional."). It's also surreal because I NEVER would have predicted being where I am now. I can more easily imagine myself pushing a popcicle cart in Florida than I can sitting at a desk all day in Washington DC.

But the biggest thing is that all of my familiar landmarks are all different themselves, and it's a little hard to get my bearings. I don't think hardly ANY of my friends live in the same houses they lived in last year. It seems like nearly everyone--friends, family, coworkers--has gotten married, engaged, had a baby, Moved (with a capital "M"), graduated, started school, changed jobs, had surgery, or otherwise gone off the map in the last 12 months.

It's a weird "untethered" feeling to have, even at the moment when I have a steady job, an apartment, a sane boyfriend... How interesting to be so effected by all of these people even when so many of them are so far away...

Our one-year-in-DC anniversary (Aug. 15) was fairly uneventful, even if this week wasn't. Last Saturday my boss called to tell me that he was officially announcing my promotion to Marketing Coordinator. It's not as high of a title as had been originally proposed, but honestly, for not having any sort of training in Marketing or anything more than one year in the industry under my belt, this makes me feel slightly relieved. I can pay more attention to craft and leave the other stuff to the newly-hired Marketing Manager, who seems like a nice guy so far.

Tuesday I went to see a Neurologist about my migraines. There's not really anything to report other than that I'm trying some new medicine which will either make me a basket case or it won't. I'm not putting my money on one or the other but I'm hoping for the "won't". The jury is still out as to whether it's better to be a reasonable, sharp-minded person with migraines or a basket case without them. Time will tell. Or maybe Tim will tell, since he's the one who has to deal with/take care of me everyday migraine or no.

Last night we went to a house-warming party for my friend Jana and her two roommates. This summer has been decidedly lacking in those sorts of events and that was precisely the perfect way to spend the evening. I've noticed that as far as beverages are concerned Jana and I usually like whatever the other person hates, but she loves dip, and I love dip, and that makes us party food compatible. She also invited Brittany, who worked at Clutch when I first started and who is utterly precious. I DO NOT use that word to describe just anyone. I haven't seen her in ages--she's planning a wedding and I've been traveling all over the country like I have a travel show (which I totally should).

Any party where Tim falls asleep on the metro ride home is a good party.

And today we walked to Chinatown and saw "Tropic Thunder." I'm convinced that Robert Downey Jr. is a genius but I still think that Ben Stiller is a fool, but not in a good way. Afterwards we ate ice cream on the steps of the Portrait Gallery and then walked to the Old Post Office to ride the elevator to the top of the bell tower and see if we could see our building (we couldn't). Very different from how we spent August last year, buried under a giant pile of boxes, trying to figure out where to buy food and how to get it back to our apartment, playing Wii until our thumbs hurt... (OK, maybe that part is not so different, but we aren't spending as MUCH time playing Wii.)

I'm sure I'll look at this post next August and laugh my ass off trying to figure out how I got from here to there.

Good Evening, Wrangler II

Fayetteville, AR: November 4-November 17.
Boulder, Colorado: November 17-December 5.
Dallas/Shreveport/New Orleans: December 5-December 16.
Crawford, Colorado: December 16-January 3.

These are the tour dates for the official "Roxie's Leave of Absence Tour '08." Get your all-access pass TODAY!

How is this possible? you ask. How is this possible for someone with a full time job and no money?

Well, it's possible largely because my boss is a benevolent and understanding soul who appreciates that as long as I am under his employ, I am too busy to plan for my future, but that planning for my future is key to me not going a little Courtney Love everywhere and throwing my computer monitor through my office window. It's true that I'm broke, but in reality, this trip is an investment in a number of ways:

First, the combined tickets were actually CHEAPER than buying individual tickets for Turkey Day, the Longnutzer Nuptials, and Christmas seperately--and in order to attend all or even just one of those things, I would have had to take unpaid vacation anyway.

Second, if I don't apply for Graduate school this year, I will honestly hate myself and I will become a raving, spitting beast in stuffy office clothes.

Third, when I return, I'm taking a new position with the company which I am very excited about. No word on my official title yet, but suffice to say that it's a higher position and a more creative one, which is NEVER a bad thing.

As I told many people back a few months ago, I had intended to quit work as soon as my lease was up, put my things in storage, sleep on various people's couches cleaning out their fridges and shoveling their sidewalks for pocket money until I figured out what I want to do with myself (i.e. not being and Administrative Assistant and sitting on $40K worth of degrees). No sooner had I informed (most of) the world of this decision, than my boss offered me a new position. He looked sort of disbelieving but mostly skeptical when I told him my intended plans but--and this is the incredible part--he negotiated with me to make both of our desires possible.

So Tim and I are signing the lease. We're staying here at least until next August.

At which point I will hopefully have a choice between keeping my marketing job or going to Harvard and getting my PhD in English. Ok--maybe not Harvard, but hopefully somewhere will want me.

If anyone has any tips about taking the GRE or applying for Grad School (or what schools I should apply to somewhere in the Colorado/Louisiana/Washington State neighborhood) feel free to call me and let me know. You know where you'll be able to reach me in November and December.

A fragile bubble

Know thyself, pathologically, what a fragile bubble you are, and exposed to a thousand calamities. If you understand these things, you are man, and a genus very distinct from all the others.
-Linnaeus

While trying to maintain a little sanity in my bubble, I have actually read enough books in the past month(s) that I can pick just the good ones to tell you about. But first things first, three one-sentence reviews:

1. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë: I mean, it's JANE EYRE for pete's sake, but I've read better classics.
2. Dune, Frank Herbert: Meh. Don't watch the movie either; if you're the kind of person who gets off on this stuff, you've probably already read/seen it.
3. Snuff, Chuck Palahniuk: I read this in one sitting on a plane and spent the entire trip trying to hide it's filthy, filthy pages from the guy next to me--but I liked it anyway. Well, that was... brief. On to more important things:

Personal Days
By Ed Park

If you work in an office, and you only read the first section of this book, that will be enough for me. The whole book is excellent. But the first section is so goddamned hilarious and so, {SHUDDER} frighteningly DEAD ON that I read parts of it multiple times. Here, I'll let it speak for itself, this is the first page:

<1> Who died? On the surface, it's relaxed. There was a time when we all dressed crisply, but something's changed this summer. Now while the weather lasts we wear loose pants, canvas sneakers, clogs. Pru slips on flip-flops under her desk. It's so hot out and thus every day is potentially casual Friday. We have carte blanche to wear T-shirts featuring the comical logos of exterminating companies, advertising slogans of the early '80s. Where's the beef? We dress like we don't make much money, which is true for at least half of us. The trick is figuring out which half. We go out for drinks together one or two nights a week, sometimes three, to take the edge off. Three is too much. We make careful note of who buys a round, who sits back and magically lets the booze appear. It's possible we can't stand each other but at this point we're helpless in the company of outsiders. Sometimes one of the guys will come to work in a coat and tie, just to freak the others out. On these days the guard in the lobby will joke, who died? And we will laugh or pretend to laugh.

People to whom I would recommend this book: Kristin, Jared, and Vijay, who doesn't read my blog but would appreciate this this book is compared to P. G. Wodehouse. Seriously, if the opening credits on The Office freak you out because you might as well live in them, read this freaking book.

Mutants: On Genetic Variety and the Human Body
By Armand Marie Leroi

I'll admit it, I picked this book up because of the promise that it might have pictures and I was rewarded for my curiosity. I bought the book out of a simple morbid desire to read about people with deformities--which sounds terrible. And maybe it is terrible--but I'm surely not alone. Why else would the word "Mutants" be featured so prominently on the cover, with the sub-title nestled in the bones of a deformed skeleton?

I don't care who you are, everyone judges a book by its cover. Leroi must know this, because right away he sets out to assuage our rubber-necking guilt and let us know that not only are we all deformed in some way (the average person has 300 genetic mutations), but that this fascination with the unusual has led to some of the most important genetic discoveries. Though it is occasionally dry, this book is difficult to put down because it accomplishes the great feat of being informative, sensitive, accessible, and wildly fascinating all at the same time.

Whether he is explaining how the right-side twin in many sets of conjoined twins can be born "situs inversus," with their organs positioned in a mirror image of most human beings, with the hearts on the right and their livers on the left.... Or how one out of every ten people has an extra set of ribs (and not all of them are male--like Adam)... or how children and animals can be born cycloptic, with one eye in the center of the face... what matters to Leroi is not that these things occur, but how they occur and what they mean to all things constructed of DNA.

In general, this is the kind of book I wish I was smart enough to write.

People to whom I would recommend this book: Jess Long and my Aunt Tanya, because both of them are interested in how biological things work, but also seem to be more interested in real life than in dessicated, lifeless lab specimens. Also, people who enjoyed Stiff, by Mary Roach.

The World According to Garp
By John Irving If someone was going to take certain parts of my mother's character, multiply them by 1000, and write a chapter about her, it would be the first chapter of Garp. I hope this doesn't peak my mother's interest in the book and then leave her brutally disappointed, but it's true. All of my favorite traits of Jenny Fields, Garp's mother, are traits that make my own mother so uniquely wonderful. "My mother," Garp wrote, "was a lone wolf."

She even works as a nurse at an all-boys school, which is sort of a fictionalized version of what my mother does for a living. Jenny's other traits--like her starched white uniform--are distinctly unlike my own mother. I'm not sure if I'm much interested in being like Garp--except that I'm profoundly interested in what the world is like, according to me.

I can't honestly rave about this book. It was good. It's a good, solid, entertaining read, which a few really wonderful characters and one or two parts that left me in complete shock. Irving is a master at creating a world which is wholly believable, and convincing you to fall in love with his characters like you fall in love with the weird, flawed people in your day-to-day life.

This probably doesn't sound like a winning recommendation to anyone but maybe my mom, but it is. This book was good.

People to whom I would recommend this book: Anyone who isn't afraid of a best seller.

Contact
By Carl Sagan

Oh Carl, you lovely, lovely person you. Unlike the movie, which glosses over the effects of something so profoundly earth-changing as a MESSAGE FROM INTELLIGENT LIFE BEYOND EARTH (which is a pretty big deal and probably belongs in all-caps), instead focusing on what Matthew McConaughey looks like shirt-less and how nerds like Jody Foster are generally lonely people--this book has incredible social, religious, philosophical, AND astrophysical importance.

This is sort of like the astrophysical answer to The World Without Us, which I reviewed a while ago. Only this time, it's The World With Us, When We Know There's Also a THEM.

There are only a few points in the book when Mr. Sagan gets his predictions about what life was like at the turn of the millennium wrong (how could he predict the collapse of the Soviet Union?). Otherwise, his observations about religion and society 20 years later (the book was published in 1985) are sort of disappointingly dead-on. It's disappointing only because we, as humans, are so predictable.

In general though, this is an excellent, sort of mind-blowing discussion about the nature of science and religion, set in a very inviting, very engrossing fictional world. Mr. Sagan is also wise enough to know what makes this kind of philosophy palatable to plebes like me.

People to whom I would recommend this book: My dad, and maybe Kacie--but for different reasons, which I won't go into. Both of them like science fiction (within reason) and are both sort of personally invested in the whole "What the hell is religion?" question.

So that's that. More actual news to come at a later date. :)

The Iceberg: Tip Of.

UUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHH.

I'm in one of those fazes where everything feels like it's pending, so I don't want to speak too soon. Is my job awesome? Maybe, maybe not. Am I moving home? Maybe, maybe not. What are Tim and I going to tell our building manager when the lease is up in August? Who knows?

It's frustrating.

What's more frustrating is all of these awesome trips I'm taking and how they make me just want to take trips all the time and not have any responsibilities. I have like, 1000 pictures to post from my trip to Colorado, but that means I have to admit it's over (which I still haven't, even after two weeks back in DC).

But Tim and I are going to Jason and Kristin's in Fayetteville tomorrow, so that keeps me from freaking out about my job for at least four more days.

If I can't have my own dogs, at least I can borrow someone else's for a weekend.

Let's get good. And dirty.

WARNING: if you don't find acid-tripping fraternity boys on The Price is Right, porn films that set out not only to break... but to shatter world records, or the question, "Wait, is there a chance I might have given my dog AIDS?" even remotely funny, don't read any further.

If you believe that any of those things can be both hilarious and heart-warming, read on.

I never promised that this blog would be interesting and I never promised that it would be socially appropriate so I make no apologies for what follows.

You know it's going to be an entertaining night when you walk into a theater to hear an author read his work and someone hands you a) an autographed copy of the author's newest book, and b) a string of blue pearlescent ass-beads.

Wait, did I say "ass-beads"? I meant "bookmark."

No, I meant ass-beads.

If you don't know what that means, kindly DO NOT Google it at work. Again, I make no apologies.

The aforementioned item is a promotion for FoxSearchlight's (yes, that Fox, as in Rupert Murdoch: hyper-conservative and... ass-bead enthusiast?) new "dirty-minded love story" Choke, based on Chuck Palahniuk's novel of the same name. The warning on the "bookmark" reads: "For your book not for your bum. And not for small children." Which is appropriate on so many levels.

We have our books, we have our beads, we take our seats and prepare for what lies ahead. Chuck Palahniuk is giving a reading in the only remaining non-chain movie theater in DC, sponsored by Olsson's books.

If you've ever read any of Chuck's books--you might vaguely anticipate what's coming despite all outward appearances. And when he walks out amidst cheers and hoots, he looks like one of the characters from his books. He's just a guy. In a shirt and pants. Normal height. Normal haircut. He taps the mic, which doesn't work, and some Olsson's employee runs over and turns it on--just like the beginning of 85% of all events where someone has come to speak to a group of people about something normal. It's an awful lot of normal for someone with so much gleeful filth going on upstairs.

Everyone in this giant room knows all the rules of Fight Club. That might not seem that impressive, since most people know at least the first rule of Fight Club. But thanks to Chuck, these people also know what it's like to eat a lobster with it's heart still beating. They know that the best place to meet an easy date is at a sex addiction recovery meeting. They all feel slightly superior and slightly guilty that they know these things.

Except Tim. Who has never read anything by Chuck Palahniuk and is just here to have a good time.

The reading starts like many others; the author tells a little story from his life. It's a heartwarming story that starts with a pact between a couple he knows. They've agreed to put their fat, diabetic, incontinent, 17 year-old cat to sleep as soon as his bag of outlandishly priced cat food runs out. When the punchline comes we all have a a hearty chuckle about the power of love playing out over such an unlikely hero. I won't tell it to you, in case you're lucky enough to hear it in person some day.

Then Chuck tells us we're going to play a game and the blowup dolls come out.

And that's just thing. It's amazing how a situation that just sounds so wrong can really be highbrow and funny and innocent and never remotely uncomfortable. Typically, if you're in a theater with that many people frantically blowing up that many sex dolls you are in the wrong place.

But this was just a little good, clean fun. Floppy pink plastic legs sticking up everywhere in this theater with red velvet seats and cherubs on the ceiling. The sounds of furious huffing and puffing. Chuck Palahniuk, world-famous author, yelling at everyone "You've got to squeeze the little valve thing or you're never going to get anywhere!" To the first fully-inflated male and female doll blowers went a book of short stories. The games are over. It's time for a reading.

Chuck reads an unpublished short story of his called "Loser" because he wants us all to have something fresh. Because we came all this way to see him and it's the least he can do. It's about a fraternity boy during pledge week who drops a "hello kitty" tab of acid and is the next contestant on that game show where the giant, god-like voice asks you to "come on down!!!" It's a hilarious story. It hurts your face to hear it.

It hurts my face now to think about it.

So then some local author comes up and sits with Chuck in their little chairs and they have an interview. And of course the guy's first question is "I know you hate this question but...." (then why are you asking it?) "...how do you feel about the way Fight Club has been received?" And it's wonderful. Chuck gives this wonderful, unintelligible answer that only happens when authors try to speak but they realize that what they're trying to say is so full of nuance and significance that it should be written down, but it's too late! He's already started speaking!

It's something about the Titanic. And culture digesting things. And cud. And it makes almost no sense but you know he's thought about it until his brain bled. And he just wants us to know how it feeeeeeeels, DAMNIT!

And there are more questions from the audience. Those typical audience questions that start with "So, first of all I think you're awesome and now I'm going to tell you about me, because someone handed me a microphone. I'm um, a (insert current level of education/addiction here) and I have a lot of friends/problems/questions/diseases. My entirely unrelated question is (insert some intellectual-sounding gibberish about characters/method/plot/inspiration)." Bless their little hearts.

Two really good things did come out of the Q & A. One guy asked Chuck to tell "the Pug Dog Story", which is a true story someone sent to him in a (long) letter. I won't relay the whole story but I will say that it's not the kind of story one should ever tell in a crowded Barnes & Noble. And don't worry. Nothing at all bad happens to the Pug Dog. Dogs really can't get AIDS--at least, they can't get HIV.

The second good thing is that they revealed that Choke has been made into a movie starring Sam Rockwell. And since we were already in the theater, the dimmed the lights and showed us all the preview, which made everyone a little bit giddy. No one was expecting a multi-media experience.

At this point in the evening, it seemed like things really couldn't possibly get any better, so we played another round of the blow-up doll game and Chuck handed out a few books to people who correctly answered various trivia questions. He also informed us that instead of sending thank you letters in reply to his fanmail, he sends gift packages full of things that make him happy.

That's when I realized, as he stood there telling this amazingly serious story about how all of his characters are essentially lonely people who are searching for ways to be intimate and to be loved without actually having to build honest, intimate relationships, and how he's constantly amazed at the level to which strangers will share their darkest and most traumatic stories with him because he's so clearly someone who has no shred of dignity left.... he's standing there, pouring it out... sincerely sharing his discoveries about the beauty and tragedy of the human condition... and in his arms he's holding about fifteen limp, wadded up, deflated blow-up dolls.

That's when I realized that Chuck Palahniuk is not only someone whose writing I enjoy and admire... Chuck Palahniuk is someone I like. He's someone I'd like to be friends with.

For the first time, I'm looking at an author I might actually like more than I like his books! How can this be? Authors are usually like giant wet blankets woven from unbreakable fibers of pomposity and ennui. Either that or they're just flat out boring--they live in their heads.

But Chuck seems to be, as he stand there in front of us all, primarily interested in making everyone feel good. In making us laugh the way porn makes you laugh. It's so desperate and dirty and terrible but it's also just too ridiculous not to laugh at it. In the end, it's just there because people want to feel needed, important, and loved.

And so the last thing that gets thrown into the audience is fitting. Here, he drags out a giant cardboard box full of Autograph Hounds and says "I spent my winter signing these." Apparently, among the important objects in the new book, Snuff, is an autograph hound. It's just a stuffed dog that you have everyone sign. It's like a memento to prove that people like you.

Chuck and his assistants from the Olsson's throw probably 100 of them into the audience for people to catch. And I think it's his way of saying that he likes us wants to be our friend too.

It's a great two hours. Everyone get up on their feet and applauds. Chuck ducks out the back door. A crowd of people carrying half-inflated blow-up dolls, stuffed dogs, books and ass-beads rumbles towards the metro.

Everyone feels good about all the bad things we've just seen and heard and done together. But the point is that everyone feels good.

Mystic Pizza

Standing in my underwear in my kitchen, eating three day old cold pizza out of the box, a singular thought occurs to me. A year ago today I was in India.

And I live in a time warp.

How can it be that an entire year has passed? And more oddly, how can it be that almost an entire month has passed since Tim and I went to Shreveport for Carly's graduation?

Graduation weekend was one of the best weekends I've had all year. It was so great to be back in Shreveport, in fact, that in the car on the way in from Plano, I cried tears of joy. I'm not kidding. I thought about being in a car, on the way to see my friends, having a whole weekend of Shreveport ahead of me and I started crying because I was so happy.

And the weekend was no let down. It was more than amazing to see everyone. Kacie was in rare form (I think she was the outward expression of the giddiness I felt), everyone was in a supreme mood, the food tasted better, the weather was more tolerable, even the nap I took in the hotel was far superior to any other nap I've taken this year. Just walking into the stupid Target in Shreveport felt like walking into the Louvre or some glorious temple of commerce and capitalism. Let's not even mention the drive-thru daiquiris.

So why didn't I write about it in my blog?

And why haven't I written about Memorial Day Weekend? It's not like there's nothing to report. In fact, Tim and I took a pretty impressive vacation.

We rented a car and drove to Cape Henlopen in Delaware, where we camped for one night and then spent the following day getting patchy and ridiculous sunburns on the beach. (It was too cold to swim--the kind of internal-organ-clenching cold where you'd actually rather haul yourself all the way to the bathhouse to pee than get in the ocean and do it.)

When we were breaking down camp, a tiny spider swung down out of the rain flap almost dropping onto Tim (who was sitting in the tent, with his feet outside on the ground) and I said "Hey silly spider, don't go on Tim" which is when Tim and I both saw the OTHER spider that was ALREADY on Tim and we lost our minds a little bit. She was not only the size of a nickel, she was carrying a couple hundred baby spiders, which exploded EVERYWHERE when poor Tim slapped her off his leg and I dropped the rain flap on his head and we both started screaming.

Ah, the stuff that comedy and nightmares are made of.

After the tragic spider event and the procuring of quality sunburns, we came home for a night and then took our rented car to Gettysburg. I like the idea of Gettysburg. Not that it's the site of the bloodiest battle in the Civil War--that's terrible. But that the entire town and all of the woods surrounding it are inside of a giant national park. Everything is clean and green and pristine and covered with hiking trails and historical markers. My kind of place.

The only really disappointing part was the gift shop with its Battle of Gettysburg mugs and shotglasses and the weird pink baseball hat with hearts all over it. What sort of statement is THAT supposed to make? "I like, totally loooooove the place where almost 50,000 Americans slaughtered each other in three days Ya'll!"

Puzzling to say the least.

And here I am, weeks later and I haven't posted pictures or talked about it at all. At this pace, all my "news" gets stale and all my funny and exciting stories start to sound like that boring 20-minute story your co-worker wants to tell you about this one guy they knew in high school and the time they... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Still, for the past year, it's been driving me nuts how many intentions I have. I intend to finish Trina's baby present (as of one month ago). I intend to paint my toenails (as of three months ago). I intend to send out this stack of greeting cards I bought (as of two months ago). I intend to order groceries (a week), put my laundry away (two weeks), finish reading Dune (a month), upload my photos, call my friend Eben, put away my jewelry, go to the zoo... write on my blog.

None of it happens and I think I've finally figured out why. There are two reasons.

The first is that my "real" life only happens between 5:30 p.m. on Fridays and about 1:00 a.m. on Mondays. Any other time is my non-life when I have work and I have to wear terrible business casual clothes in public and decide what kind of monotonous sandwich/soup/salad I'm going to pay too much for at lunch. So when a month passes for everyone else who, I flatter myself in imagining they're waiting for me to post on my blog, only about a weeks worth of "real" days have passed for me.

In real life, it's not unreasonable to go a week without writing on one's blog. Unless one lives in a time warp.

The second reason--and I've known this since the minute I started dating him--when I'm around Tim I'm just a generally less-productive person. Most of my artistic impulses come from, and have always come from, the fact that I'm an only child and I like to entertain myself productively. Now I have someone to entertain me.

Not to mention that a great deal of art comes from wondering "WHAT DID I DO WRONG?" and "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LOVE ME?" Which are not things that people in healthy relationships often have time to feel. (NB: I'm not saying that single people necessarily feel that way, I'm just saying that those who do are more likely to write bad poetry and create ugly art in proportion with the amount of free time they have--myself included.)

Once again, I intend to do all sorts of creative and fulfilling projects but I end up just sitting on the couch with Tim, watching Jeopardy! or playing scrabulous on Facebook even though we have a real Scrabble board not five feet away.

On weekends, it's worse, because his time warp and my time warp collide creating a sort of cosmic time-gap where it takes us 24 hours to make one 2-hour trip to the bookstore and a whole load of clean towels can disappear into a black hole where it won't re-emerge for sometimes up to four weeks.

What the solution is to any of this, I don't know. But if you don't believe that it's as dramatic as all that, take note: the only reason I'm writing on my blog now (over a month after my last meaningful post) is because Tim is at a softball game and because I had a major revelation while eating cold, hard pizza in my underpants.

These kinds of things don't happen every day.