Why my friend Krista is All That

She has a garden (usually).

She is like the other half of my brain- the more likeable, friendly half.

She loves me enough to be trusted with my most awkward moments and will listen to the things that I never tell anyone else. I don't know if she's aware of how important that is to me, but she's really the Only Person that I can actually verbalize the things that go on in my head to. Talking to her is like lying down on my favorite couch- I feel completely comfortable and don't have to worry that she'll take things the wrong way.

Also she has amazingly attractive red hair.

This is the part where I get close to having an epiphany, but don't actually have one

Once upon a time, in a vain attempt to understand me and my weirdo brain, my mother asked me how I think. Which is a kind of hard-to-answer question, if you think about it. "How do you think" is about as easy to describe as "what does it feel like to breathe" or "what does blue look like." You've only ever done it one way and therefore have no basis of comparison.

The final answer that we came to was that while she (my mother) thinks in a kind of... string of words?, I think in a picture. In fact, pretty much none of my thinking happens with words anywhere attached. This explains a lot about how I act and feel in general, so I'm happy that we figured that out.

The weird thing, then, is that recently I've noticed that when I'm very tired, and in that same almost-asleep state where you dream that you're walking along a curb and suddenly fall off it, or a car drives by really close and you have to leap out of the way, and your muscles jerk around and wake you up, I've been having... word dreams. Like, not really a dream, so much as a floating persona in front of me, saying words at me. I can hear someone, my friend or relation or coworker, saying these words, these words clearly and in a kind of loud but conversational tone. Words like amorphous and defensible and caricature and baffled and leeway. The words are spoken in a string and I can recognize each word, but only after they've said about twenty words or so and I startle myself awake do I realize that they weren't actually saying sentences at all, but long strings of nice-sounding words.

I wish I understood me and my weirdo brain.

Hip hip hurray, tomorrow's the big day!

Not that you've seen me around here recently anyway, but be prepared not to see me here in the next week and a half or so. Come back later for maybe a picture or two of the upcoming excitement.

From the Wikipedia entry on Erdos-Bacon Number

Daniel Kleitman, a mathematician at MIT, was an advisor for the movie Good Will Hunting and appeared briefly as an uncredited extra. Minnie Driver, who appeared in that movie, also appeared in Sleepers with Kevin Bacon; as such, Kleitman's Bacon number is 2. He also coauthored a paper with Erdős. This gives him an Erdős–Bacon number of 3.

The only ways a lower number could be achieved would be:
- for an individual who had co-authored an academic paper with Paul Erdős to appear in a movie with Kevin Bacon;
- for Bacon to co-author an academic paper with someone with an Erdős number of 1, which would give Bacon an Erdős–Bacon number of 2;
- for anyone who appeared in the documentary N is a Number along with Erdős to appear in a film with Bacon, which would posthumously give Erdős an Erdős–Bacon number of 2;
- for Kevin Bacon to appear in a film that also uses stock footage of Erdős, giving Erdős an Erdős–Bacon number of 1;
- for a heretofore unknown joint academic paper by Bacon and Erdős to be published, giving Bacon an Erdős–Bacon number of 1.
- for Kevin Bacon to be revealed as Paul Erdős in disguise, giving Erdős-Bacon an Erdős-Bacon number of 0.

Why my friend Cammie is All That

She's smart and she's not afraid to use it.

She tries to live sustainably but she also eats brats on a regular basis.

She is my catalyst for doing cool stuff like dancing in public, going on vacation and buying CHiPs sunglasses.

She's kind of loud.

She consents to themed dinner and a movie nights with me.

She laughs a lot.

For all her amazing qualities, she is still fallible and human.

Clearing out all my old text messages. Here's my favorites. Some of them might be interesting, but maybe some aren't that great if you aren't me.

Yay for courage! -Cammie

Right. I will be there at a fish past 6:40. -Tyler

Up for some singing tonight? Beatles, baby! -Cammie

The line is sooo long, I am not standing in line for an hour for a burrito. -Richard

That's cool. I'm loafing around drinking grape juice. -Laura

We are not afraid. We shall live in peace. Deep in my heart I do believe, we shall overcome... Right?! -Isabel

*This one isn't a text at all, but a picture my Mom sent me of a shopping cart full of Mother's cookies*

Ceiling proctor is watching you fill in ur ovals. -Isabel

Really, what colors? I was getting choked by my shirt collar. -David

Isaiah 61:3. -Cammie

Have you lost your mind? -Mom

Is that a bicycle on your shirt or are you just happy to see me? -Cammie

And then I have codine for afterwards. What more does a guy need? -Killen

Or jamaica. -Tyler

I got really excited when I looked at a map! -Cammie

Woo! -Dad

Holy Middle of May, Batman

Little things that need to be said

For someone not really talking about robots, Ira Glass certainly says the word "robot" a lot. Is it because his main goal in life is to narrate the innately human that robots are just kind of on his mind? Or do robots just come up in speech a lot in general? I will have to pay more attention to my own conversations and do some research.

I really need to track down a good recipe for lamb korma, because it is the food of the gods. If I was forced to eat that every day, I don't think I would mind as much as I would mind being forced to eat, say, Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Apparently Oprah has the power to bring fast food, and the population of the country, to its knees. This kind of ruined my lunch plans today. Curse you, Oprah!

I ran into my friend's house to grab something I'd left there this evening, and her roommate had some friends over as an end-of-semester type party. I was in the house no more than two minutes, just picking up my belongings and then walking back out, when one of the attendees, a person I want to describe as flamingly and outspoken-ly gay (but whom I won't describe that way because WHAT IF HE ISN'T AND I'M COMPLETELY WRONG ABOUT HIM), walked up to me and started talking to me. He was talking to me in the frank and open and unnecessarily personal way that only drunk people usually talk. Since I know that no alcohol was being served at the party I must draw my own conclusion that either a) he had provided his own libations or b) he must have thought I was someone else? Anyway. He walked over to me and began talking: "Thank you. You know, I LOVE the LDS. I really do. I love them with all my heart. My first voice teacher was a bishop and I just love him. You're all great. I know I'm just playing into stereotypes, but that's how I feel." About halfway through he lightly placed his fingertips on my belly in the way that most people would place their fingertips on a person's shoulder to make a serious point, and that kind of creeped me out, like, please don't touch me, I'm not worried about catching The Gay, but what if I catch The Overly Chatty?

Also, hurrah, because I didn't work this morning and because I blew off my usual Saturday bike ride with my Dad, I was able to get some major cleaning done! Laundry: hung up! Bedroom: cleaned and vaccuumed! Bathroom: spotless! Chinchilla cage: no longer full of poop! I also finally fixed the two flat tires my bike has had for the past two weeks, just in time for the thermometer to hit the triple digits and school to let out so I will be driving to work and parking for free for the next three months. The bright side to my bike needing to be fixed is that I finally broke down and bought a pump. This means that next time I have to fix a flat I won't have to walk down to the gas station around the corner to fill up my tires, although I may do it sometimes just for the sheer thrill of walking down the alley holding a wheel in my hand.

This is how you know I should be asleep in my bed

When I sit around reading forums just because I'm awake, and then laugh big, barrel-chested laughs when I find this: "Maybe spending my formative years cleaning restrooms at a fast food joint has given me a bit of bias here, but I'm fairly certain that a couch in a guy's restroom would be a heinous piece of furnature that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole."

Also when I look long and hard at the "Monetize" tab in blogger and wonder how they intend to make my blog more like Monet's. Why is there no tab labelled Michelangelize?

Also when as I'm doing both the above things I keep looking over my shoulder because I can very plainly hear my doppelganger sneaking up behind me, timing her steps with the rhythmic sway of the washer/drier. I hear you! You think you're being sneaky and silent but I can hear your presence behind me!

Safe as Howard's End

Hmm, in answer to your question, Lu, yeah, it worked in that the crocs became cleaner and the washing machine did not break. It did not work in that one of the little doohickies that keeps the strap on somehow opened up in the machine. It would have been less of a problem if I had put the doohicky back on the shoe in the correct place and snapped it back together. Unfortunately, I first had to make sure the snap thing on the doohicky still worked, and so snapped it together, unconnected to the shoe or the strap. Turns out those doohickies are dang strong and do not come apart for the WORLD. So now I have one nonworking shoe out of six. I was thinking of putting that shoe back together with an unraveled paper clip, but does anybody else have any grand ideas that are less white trash?

In other news, I've heard the term "safe as houses" twice during the past 24 hours, before which I can safely say I had never ever heard it at all, in my life. Has this always been a common phrase? Am I missing something? It isn't even that I heard it from similar sources- once was on a Shark Week episode of Mythbusters (I feel lucky that the one time I've felt like watching tv for the past, uh, three years or so, there was a Mythbusters marathon going on) and the other was spoken by Helena Bonham Carter's character in Howard's End.

Which brings me to my next point: what gives, Howard's End? I liked Where Angels Fear to Tread, I liked A Room With a View, I tried Howard's End, muscled through about half of it, failed to find the plot, and ground to a dejected halt. "I'll watch the movie," I thought. "Certainly with Emma Thompson, Helena Bonham Carter, and, oh crud, you know, that dude. The Silence of the Lambs dude. You know his name. Anthony Hopkins! Certainly with those three niftiest of actors the movie will help me understand the awesomeness of the book. The book's a classic, right?

Turns out the book is a classic in the same way that the freaking Great Gatsby is a classic: because it's kind of boring, you feel nothing for the characters, and feel a little more than vaguely annoyed when you finish and realize you can't get those hours of your life back. They are gone forever.

Ok, so I guess that the movie at least had one redeeming quality- Emma Thompson had a few really amazing outfits. There was this one grey striped dress kind of in the middle of the movie, before she got all fancy, but only just before, and it was quite beautiful. And then at some point she's wandering around the outside of a... castle thing... and wearing a really fancy gold-ish dress that you don't get to see enough of because you're mostly looking at her back in that scene.

Anyway. Back to my point.

What was my point? Where was I going with this? I guess all I really wanted to say was that the movie sucked. And I'm glad I didn't keep reading the book, if that's where it was all heading anyway. That is all.

Simple pleasures

So yesterday, I did the most amazing thing! I cleaned my bedroom!

"... and underneath a dirty sock you found a hundred dollar bill?"

No. I just cleaned my room, is all. It made me feel good, so good in fact that today when I got home from work I vaccuumed it, and then I started to feel really adventurous and decided to clean my three pairs of crocs. They've been getting kind of sad and dusty, and I think it should be ok that I threw them all into the washing machine.

Please don't tell me if it's a bad idea, because it's already in progress. My roommates will be relieved, I am sure, that I didn't dump in a bunch of dish soap the way I wanted to. I thought better of it for the sake of the machine and people's clothes, and went with regular clothes detergent. Hopefully that gets them clean.

My favorite part? The amazing squeaky noises eminating from the hallway. All that wet croc material, rubbing up against itself! I love it.

Thank You, Cathartic Internets

Holy mackerel, when did the internet get so funny? Maybe it's because I've spent most of this week being crushed by sadness and depression and general sitting-on-the-couch-after-work-alone time. And then today I get home from work and get on the computer at home (for the first time in a good while) and boom! People are saying all these great things!

In other words, it felt really, REALLY good to sit down and laugh out loud this afternoon. So good, in fact, that I will share the awesomeness that was our Pi Day Pi Party from last Saturday.... sometime. Tonight.

Until Then

So I've been having a hard time getting motivated enough to sit down with my computer and upload the pictures on my camera (frankly, I've been having a hard time getting motivated to do anything, including opening my eyes in the mornings), and until I get that done I won't be able to tell (show) the world about my adventureful weekend. I'm very excited to tell about the great times that were had by all on Saturday, which was a holiday for the math nerd in all of us, so perhaps tomorrow I'll get up the gumption (whoa that doesn't look right at all... gumtion? gumpshun? sigh. No longer am I my own dictionary) to get the ball rolling. I am sure everyone will wait patiently until then.

No Curds or Whey Were Harmed in this Production

You know that show, America's Funniest Videos? Back when Bob Saget would make the funny voices for animals and you would sit your younger self down to laugh and laugh at others' misfortunes? Yes? Ok. Let's get more specific.

You know those ones where you see this woman in her kitchen, maybe she's baking a cake, maybe she's singing along to loud music? Maybe she's baking a yellow cake with orange zest in it that will be delicious, and singing and dancing while using the mixer because all her roommates are out and she can be as obnoxious as she wants while alone in the apartment? And then you see someone sneak up behind her with a fake spider on a fishing pole and lowers it down until it's about an inch from her eyebrows and she jumps three feet in the air and screams bloody murder?

Yeah, that just happened to me, except it was a Freaking Real Spider coming down from the ceiling, no fishing pole involved. Boy am I glad there was no one around to see that or capture it on an old 90's camcorder to send in to Bob Saget.

My Life is a Spelling Bee and I'm Winning

Last night as I was getting ready for bed my roommate popped her head in the door.

"Hey ViolaSaint, how do you spell mediocre?"

I told her, she said thanks, and walked back to her room.


This morning I was sitting at my desk and doing something or other, you know, working, and my phone rang. Looking at my caller ID, I saw it was my boss' cell phone. This is not uncommon, as he frequently disappears to meetings and otherwise walks around campus for hours at a time, meeting with people from everywhere and generally Getting Stuff Done. I picked up the phone.

"ViolaSaint! How do you spell cabbage?"

I let him know how to spell cabbage, he said ok, and hung up.


What the heck, folks? I know I'm very dependable as a dictionary and thesaurus, and so I'm handy to have around, but usually my services aren't needed twice within the same twelve hour period. Also, why in the world did my boss need to know how to spell cabbage? I can think of myriad reasons for my roommate to use the word mediocre, but cabbage? Really?

On an unrelated note, I dislike jogging about as much as I like sitting around talking and laughing with friends

So we got a new roommate recently (ok, so maybe it was a month or so ago by now), which means no more filling up the whole closet of clothes, no more naked time after showers, and no more falling asleep to weird music on the iPod for me. Which are all sad things to be without.

On the plus side, she's very nice and likes to laugh and likes to make other people laugh. She's easy to get along with, and thus far hasn't complained about anything I do, although I'm sure there are things to complain about.

My new favorite thing about the newbie roomie, the favorite thing that I just discovered this afternoon upon returning home from work, is that she is secretly Witch Hazel.



Yes, beneath that skinny, pretty, blonde exterior is a giggling, fat green witch with high-heeled boots. How do I know this? Simple. She leaves a little scattering of bobby pins all over the floor, whenever she (apparently) jumps onto her broom to fly off for the evening.

I'm not sure if the bobby pins will ever annoy or otherwise upset me, but for now it just makes me laugh, imagining her cackling and getting ready to split a hare with her big ol' cleaver.

Reasons I love the internet in general

And youtube in particular.

Here's a reason.

Here's another.

I guess these also might be reasons why I love Russians as well?

BIG... CLOSE TO EVERYTHING...

I once had a set of roommates that had this annoying habit. If they found something funny or otherwise entertaining, they would laugh for a few moments and then declare that they "almost peed [their] pants! Really!"

I think this bothered me mostly because hello, we are adults now and it is unnecessary and undistinguished to talk about pee. It annoyed me in the same way the whole "I just threw up a little in my mouth" thing annoyed me for a few years there where Everyone was saying it All The Time.

That being said, this McSweeney's List caught me so offguard that, well, you know. The rapidfire hilarity of the seventh and eighth entries is what really got me. And you know, I read these lists for the exact reason that I expect them to be funny. Somehow that one just really hit the right spot for me. Thank you, Eric Feezell.

Thoughts on Hoboes

Discussion with my roommate: who has the moral upperhand? Hoboes or office drones? What is the American Dream, and is it different from the American Ideology? I contend that the American Dream is to get your money for nothing and your chicks for free, and that the American Ideology is that if the Dream doesn't come true, you will always be able to get the money if you just work hard enough. Being a hobo is the Dream, and the protestant work ethic is the backup. Eh?

On hoboes: My roommate couldn't be one for moral and also for hygienic reasons. She thinks she would not like to smell bad. I don't think I would mind, and that puts me in mind of the idea of pheromones. Are they real? Do they actually work, and if so, how? If you were in a room with a bunch of people, how would your Jacobsen's organ know which person was emitting the good pheromones? Is that the reason why people go on dates, is to cross-check in a number of situations and make sure that the pheromones remain constant? Could a person effectively mooch off a friend's irresistibility by never being separated from them? This seems a tricky business.

Also on hoboes: man, I'd like to be one. And barring that, I wish I could at least see one. I have always watched passing trains diligently when stopped at the crossing, hoping to see one of the majestic dying breed. Hoboes make me think of wheat fields and the Rootabaga Stories and why is there such a rich hobo tradition in our culture if hoboism is not the American Dream?

Bums vs. hoboes: what is the difference? I feel like there is something naturally inferior about bums, like maybe because they stay in the same place it's proven that they've simply got problems and can't afford or otherwise manage having a home. Hoboes, on the other hand, just have places to go, and keeping a home would be logistically a bad idea when they've constantly needing to be in different places. Hoboes are maybe bums with a purpose?

At one point, written on the wall of the music building on campus there was a message: no oboe can compare with the music of the soul, or something along those lines. Although it was happy and good-natured graffiti that made my day brighten every time I saw it, I also felt the urge to graffito the graffiti to read, no hoboe can compare with the music of the soul. I feel like defacement of state property can always be improved, and often without too much effort or added visual impact. One little letter could have changed a simpering hippie sentiment into a real good chuckle for the students, musicians and hoboes alike who used that building.

This Moment is Accounted For

I'm currently in the middle of what I will call, for lack of a better term, a time audit. At the suggestion of the Austenite, I've created an excel file that has a running tally of every hour (it's actually accurate to five minutes, sort of) of my day. During the past three days, I've spent around 25 hours at work, 21 hours asleep, and close to 9 hours have been marked as "social," which basically means sitting around talking to roommates and/or watching movies with folks. I've spent between 2 and 3 hours each on exercise, computer time, and bathing, with service taking the smallest chunk of time at an hour and a half. I'm kind of adding categories as they come up, and although I had kind of planned on needing a "sinning" category for the hours I couldn't figure out what I was doing during the day (and thus must obviously have been sinning) I have so far been pretty good about marking stuff often enough that my time is all accounted for at the end of each day.

I'm kind of looking forward to analyzing everything at the end of the week to see what I can improve on (prediction: sleep more, spend less time on the computer). I was recently listening to an old This American Life about a guy who makes lists and tallies of everything he does every day for the past like 40 years, and I thought, "gee. I could be that guy, except I'd have statistical data for how long I did stuff for!" Obviously I need more sleep.

Time for Lunchtime Musings!

Which is worse: the fact that the lady who used to sit at my current desk spilled coffee down the front of it SOMETIME IN THE PAST and never cleaned it up, or the fact that I noticed it last week and I still haven't cleaned it up?

Followup question: does it matter?

Maybe I'll sit on the couch all day and watch movies

Two nights ago I was happily sitting and watching an old movie with my roommate and a friend, and something in the movie made me laugh. Not because it was meant to be funny, but something dated the movie, maybe it was when the leading lady was supposed to be crying but instead it looked like she had snorted a handful of pepper?

Anyway. So I started laughing too hard and choked on a little blob of misplaced spit, and suddenly I was coughing and couldn't stop, and then when I did stop, I still had to cough every couple of minutes for the rest of the evening. Weird, huh?

Then the next day I *still* had to cough every couple of minutes, all through the day at work, and on top of that my neck and back were really achey and sore, and then as I rode my bike home my throat hurt so bad from the breathing and the coughing and the achiness that I almost gave up halfway through my commute to live in the park for the rest of my life. And then I realized that I was sick, that I caught whatever it is that my roommate was home with.

While I was at work still, I went in the bathroom and looked down my throat in the mirror to see what I could see. Which is really silly, because I've never been one of those people who can look into a throat and see that the tonsils are too big, or whatever. I have some friends who can do that, but to be honest, when I look into my throat all I see is a bunch of flesh. I could have an alien life form nestled in there and I would never know.

So I went home at the end of the day and made myself and my roommate some chicken noodle soup which was pretty amazing, considering the fact that I could barely roll out the dough for the noodles without sitting down for a rest in the middle.



I'm finally starting to be congested today, but the achiness is starting to go away. It's like having a cold... in reverse! Starting with the weak, lingering cough, then the achey muscles, now the snot. In a few hours I'll probably start sneezing, and by tomorrow morning I'll be better!

Favorite passage from a lunchtime read

This is out of David Sedaris' When You are Engulfed in Flames, and I think that if you stop at just the right point in this section it's a beautifully poignant look at human nature. Fortunately for us, Sedaris goes beyond that point and gives us something to snort with laughter at in our offices.

"I remember once riding in the car with my dad. I was twelve, and it was just the two of us, coming home from the bank. We'd been silent for blocks, when out of nowhere he turned to me, saying, 'I want you to know that I've never once cheated on your mother.'

'Um. OK,' I said. And then he turned on the radio and listened to a football game.

Years later, I mentioned this incident to a friend, who speculated that my father had said this specifically because he had been unfaithful. 'That was a guilty conscience talking,' she said, but I knew that she was wrong. More likely my father was having some problem at work and needed to remind himself that he was not completely worthless. It sounds like something you'd read on a movie poster: sometimes the sins you haven't committed are all you have to hold on to. If you're really desperate, you might need to grope, saying, for example, 'I've never killed anyone with a hammer' or 'I've never stolen from anyone who didn't deserve it.' But whatever his faults, my dad did not have to stoop quite that low."

Not counting my chickens yet, but...

Dang, that's some fine cheese. I know because I made it and pressed it and dried it myself. I lovingly (perhaps a little paranoidly) turned it over and over as it dried, so one end wouldn't be any moister than the other. I smelled it sometimes.

Ok, I smelled it a lot. I smelled it every time I turned it over, perhaps 50 times in four days. Sometimes I smelled it twice when turning it over. Sometimes I smelled it in between turnings. It just smells good, ok? I'm not sure I can stand to wait a whole four weeks before eating it. More than once I nearly took a big chomp out of it while smelling. There might even have been drool.

I think I covet my cheese.

What I do not covet, however, is the crappy waxing job I did on it. Yes, that is a big ol' thumbprint in the top of the wax, and no, I don't own a pastry brush. Turns out that putting a few layers of wax onto a cheese without using a pastry brush and without burning your fingers is pretty difficult to do. But it's done! Now I have to wait. Probably the most difficult stage of all the cheesemaking stages. You should check back with me in a month. I'll let you know how it went.

Also? I've got two more gallons of milk in the fridge (it was on sale, I promise!) that will begin the process on Saturday. I'm stoked.

A promise I have no problem with

Alright, so yesterday I found an amazing book on a free books pile. A free books pile in itself is a beautiful thing, and when there's a book in there that looks interesting, it's just an added bonus. I've come across a couple of these books; sometimes I just take it because I like the cover (see: five paperbacks of, like, academic journal bibliographies swiped from a geography department in Canada, and an issue of American Quarterly with a picture of a woman wearing a gas mask while pushing her child in a stroller, also be-gas masked), while other times it's an actual book that I read and enjoy (like the memoirs of some blind guy on how being blind doesn't preclude you from being a normal guy).

The book I got yesterday was an encyclopedia of religion. Yes, you can open the book and find entries on faith, necromancy, and every kind of protestantism there was in 1945. I was standing there next to the book pile, gloating over my good fortune in finding this gem, when our Jane Austen-loving male friend came up and asked what I was reading. I showed him the book with glee, and he totally confirmed my good taste. Thank goodness, because on other occasions when I have been excited about things I have been shut down by people who do not understand the coolness! of the things! He got excited about the book and asked me to look up a few things, and expressed his jealousy that I got to it first.

Just as we were about to part, me going back to work and he going back to work on his comps, he asked in passing the name of the compiler. The best part! This man's name was Vergilius Ferm. If we ever had any doubt as to the legitimacy or accuracy of the book, or even the sheer wonder of the book, the name on the spine would be an instant reassurance. Vergilius Ferm. The stamp of authority. Vergilius Ferm! Before we parted, the Austenite made me promise that my firstborn son (or even my firstborn daughter) would be named Vergilius Ferm.

Things that Make the World a Sadder Place

Little Women (the Winona Ryder version)

War

Police chase video TV shows

Arm Fat (stomach fat and leg fat as well)

That scene in Animal Farm where the starving, cold animals smell barley wafting from the house and think the pigs are making them a warm mash, when they're really making beer for themselves. *Sob*.

Capitalism (sort of)

Things the World would be Sadder Without

Pyrex bowls

James Thurber

Dr Mario

Bacon

Deodorant

Ice water

Smells

Scrabble

Hershey's fake white chocolate with minty sprinkles in it

Bicycles

The Beatles in general, and George Harrison in particular (also John Lennon [Ringo Starr as well {I guess Paul is ok, although, as Mimi Smartypants pointed out, he does look a little too much like Angela Lansbury now that he's old}])

The whole concept of dinner and a movie

Pamper-y bathroom things like lotion and nice soaps

Psssst

This guy is "inspired by lotteries, lying and elderly people." Just thought you ought to know.

To a Mouse

I ran over a mouse today in the parking garage. I didn't even see it, but I definitely heard my wheel going over it when I pulled into my spot, late for church. I was curious as to what could have made that scary popping/crunching sound, so I briefly glanced under the car as I got out and locked my doors. I didn't see anything, and scurried off to sit in the back of the chapel on one of the hard, overflow chairs next to some guy I don't know.

After church I came back to my car and had the time to make a full inspection. There it was, the broken remains of the mouse. At first the damage didn't look too bad and I wondered if I could maybe revive and keep it at my house. Then I reached under and picked it up to examine it in better light, and saw that yes, the end of its life had come. The casing was cracked and in some places gone altogether, the batteries crushed and viewable through the gaping hole in the top, and the buttons would not push. Oh well.

I set it aside next to the wall in front of my car before driving away. I just wonder, though, who leaves a perfecly good mouse just sitting on the floor of a parking garage? A nice, wireless one, for that matter? Seems kind of careless, if you ask me. Was it one of those situations where they got it without knowing what they were getting into, just because their child asked for one, and now they realize they don't want to deal with it, and so let it loose in the wild? That's so irresponsible, especially when other people would have been willing to adopt it and give it a good home.

Aaaaaaauuuuugggghhhhh!

Can I take a moment to tell the entire world how mad I am at my sister right now? Yeah? Ok. Here it goes.

I am so mad at my sister right now! She's made my life pretty miserable the past couple of days by keeping me up far later than I should be up last night and again tonight, during a time at work when I really should be getting a lot of sleep, and not only that, but now my little heart is broken, and it's all because of her! She must've known all along that if she introduced me to Wonderfalls I would become addicted and obsess about the characters and be forced to watch episode after episode until I'd gone through everything on youtube (when I SHOULD have been sleeping), and THEN I would find out that not only will it not work out between Jaye and Eric, but that there won't even be a chance for it NOT to work out, because the freaking show only had one season! How can I live knowing all of that? It's almost too much to bear.

I could kill her. If I fall asleep at work tomorrow and get fired, I hope she knows it's all her fault. I feel like I am maybe in emotional distress right now.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket

Please tell me it's ok to go to a party, spend three minutes inside the house saying hi to the hosts, and then going out to the front yard to watch a meteor shower alone in the dark, ok?

If it helps, I saw thirty-five shooting stars in the space of an hour and a half, just staring at one section of sky. Can I just say I had a lot of important wishes to make? Because man, that house had way too many people in it.

Maybe the stars were defective, though, because my very first wish, while I was on my way there, was that I would have a good time at the party. Except, maybe, my wish actually came true.

Lunch break of awkwardness

So I've already eaten around the outside of my not-cooked-too-well tamale, and decided to brave the outside world to pick up a manual that I should have picked up days ago, and I'm wearing my ill-fitting university t-shirt because it's casual friday, so of course who should I meet but my friend whom I haven't seen in months, who's been out living it up in Sweden and being a fancy PhD student in speech and hearing sciences. So of course he waves me over to say hi and as I'm maneuvering around chairs outside the student union I put my hand down onto the back of a chair, except it wasn't so much putting it down on the back of a chair as it was putting it down into a fresh glob of bird friendliness, and right as it starts to ooze between my fingers he outstreches his arms for a hug. Not to make things more awkward, I pause, wipe my fingers off as best I can onto a different chair, then turn back to him for the hug, being sure I don't actually touch him with that hand. I'm not sure if he realized what was going on, or if he just thought I was insane and maybe a little OCD.

Of course, the awkwardness went both ways, because he had something stuck between his teeth that he was trying to get out throughout the entire conversation that ensued. Aren't we classy.

Perhaps we shouldn't look too close at my unconcious self

Two bits of information that were very important that I spread to the world when I woke up from a dream of watching the turbulent ocean at dusk just now:

1. The correct spelling of the word churl and its near cousin, cheauxrl.

2. Although this has no bearing on the righteousness or evilness of hairy people, naturally hairless people will all end up in heaven because hairlessness is an indication of innate perfection. The destination of the hirsute is up in the air.

What's my name again?

Do you think it's possible that something that's an inherent part of my personality could lead me to do some action on a daily basis that could be the reason why I have a terrible short term memory? No, I'm not doing drugs or spending my afternoons hitting myself in the head with a mallet. At least, not that I remember.

I only ask because during the past year (almost!) of working at my current job, I've noticed that my short term memory isn't up to snuff. I'll be standing in my boss's office, and he'll tell me something I need to do in the next hour, I'll say ok, and go off to my office to do that thing. But somewhere in the six feet between his office and mine, I forget what I'm doing and then I'll remember two weeks later (sometimes earlier, like when my boss asks me why didn't I do that thing).

So I was thinking about this tonight, while I was sitting on the ground listening to the same song over and over, wondering why I have a bad memory. Then I thought, maybe it's because I've trained myself only to remember stuff when it's repeated six or seven times in a row! Maybe my compulsive/addictive personality is to blame for my woes at work! Of course, I'm not a scientist, and have not thoroughly thought through this idea of mine. Perhaps a controlled experiment with mice and a cardboard maze is in order?

Maybe I should remove my blue shower gel from the bathroom, while I'm thinking about it

My roommate has this big bottle of "Frozen Daiquiri Shower Gel" that's been sitting in the shower for a long time, maybe even as long as my neverending bottle of shampoo.

I have problems with this!

Where do these things come from, anyway? No one would go to the store and buy "shower gel" for themselves. They would buy soap. This stuff is masquerading as liquid soap, when it's just some pink viscous material. It must have been given as a gift, but again, WHY? Why would you give someone you love a bottle of fake soap?

Frozen Daiquiri? If I "washed" myself with a daquiri, I'm pretty sure I'd come out of the experience sticky and smelling like oversweetened syrup, like my apartment after my roommates' famous margarita parties. Gross.

FROZEN Daiquiri? Aren't those types of drinks, by definition, frozen? Unnecessary adjectives! (see also: flame-broiled Whopper, sinful chocolate cake, and young children).

I'm pretty sure that technically, the flavor of a daiquiri can best be described as "pink." Can't we just call it Pink Shower Gel and get it over with?

Why is it in the shower still? This type of product is best dealt with in one of three ways: immediate disposal (either by garbage can or by re-gifting), storage under the bathroom sink to assuage guilt until spring cleaning, when it can be thrown out, or usage for one week or one application (whichever comes first) followed by disposal or storage under the sink. There is no need for this bottle to be sitting in the shower for more than a few days, really.

I Blogged Every Day in November and All I Got was My Roommate Winning Some Scented Oil

I think I just found the perfect Christmas gift for someone to get me. For someone that loves me exactly $17 + shipping, and not a penny more.

In other news, holy cow tonight we did something fun! Ok, it was pretty dorky and cliche, but we did a photo scavenger hunt, and we ran around the university, sneaking pictures of dudes playing DDR (man, they were good. They must have no lives), and walking up to older couples to ask if we could take a picture of them hugging (they were suspicious of our intentions: "so, where exactly are these pictures going to end up?" They hugged in the end, and it was way cute. Go old people!)

The most awesome part? Our group won! We got pictures of everything except the bursar's office (because it was so far away) and... a class schedule? I think that running around for an hour once a week, taking pictures of anything and everything might be a good idea in general, especially if you get to walk up to two mean-lookin' toughs to ask if you could take a picture of their bald heads for a scavenger hunt. The one guy actually looked a little freaked out and didn't want to be in the picture, but his friend was pretty cool.

UPDATE: Holy smoking bananas, not only did I find the best shirt ever, but I just saw the most hilariously sweet song on youtube! Who in the world comes up with this stuff? It's so bad, but also so so good!

I Hate Being Martha

We had a friend over for Magic Bullet Shakes! tonight, which should have been fun and relaxing and a good time to catch up. However, about five minutes before he arrived, my roommate reminded me that there were some dirty dishes lying about the kitchen, so I set to work getting them into the dishwasher so we could pretend that we don't live in filth. I was still working on this task when our friend arrived, so everyone else sat around on the couches and talked and laughed while I cleaned. Finally our friend addressed me: "well, you're just a regular Martha over there, aren't you?"

Cue the resentment! First I resented my roommate for making me feel too guilty to stop cleaning once the company arrived. Then I resented everyone that was just sitting there when they could've helped out with the cleaning. Then I resented our friend for mentioning it, and also, according to that analogy, he's kind of calling himself Jesus. Then I resented the fact that everyone else was happy-why wasn't I? Then I resented myself for being so resentful.

Sheesh, it's hard enough for me to enjoy entertaining people and having conversations to begin with, do I really need all that extra stress in my life?

On the plus side, my shake tasted really good once I made it, and I kind of got over my resentfulness before everyone left, so I was able to socialize with people in a more pleasant way for some of the evening.

Thanksgiving Calories Burn-Off Program

Thanksgiving day: spend all day cooking. 'Nuff said.

Friday after: bike ride! After last Saturday's 66 miles, 20 miles seems like a piece of cake! Except that there was this nasty hill that made me want to faint and die, and then when we came back down the hill it was so fast and bumpy that by the end of the hill every part of my body was itchy as all get-out. Why does coldness + vibration = itch? The world may never know.

Also: walk around campus for a good hour, taking pictures like you always meant to. Yay!

Saturday after: hike up the steepest trail you can think of, go all the way around the canyon via ridgeline (cold, windy ridgeline!), then come back down the second steepest trail in the canyon. Freeze your fingers and arm fat off.

Also: take pictures of your hiking buddies' cute baby and also the frost you found on the leaves at the top (FROST!)

This is my grown-up Christmas List

1. A non-reactive pot that will hold at least one gallon of milk plus the volume of a human hand (including about 5 inches of arm). A nice pot, that doesn't get all scratchy or weird. No non-stick or aluminum or anything. I would prefer the two-handle variety over the one long handle.

2. A vespa! No, not really.

3. A wii, though, would be nice. I like non-shooting type games- mario things are fun, like mariokart or paper mario or something like that.

4. Hmm, the only thing I really want besides those things would be somebody to pay for jeans that I would pick out, and somebody to pay for the lock on my drivers' side door to be fixed. Other than that, I'm sure I'll love anything you want to give me.

5. Ok, I lied. There is something else that I want, but I feel selfish just thinking about asking for it. Please read my mind, figure out what it is that I want, and wrap it up for me in shiny green wrapping paper. I will love you forever, but also feel guilty forever, because I really don't need it, and probably won't use it with enough appreciation to deserve it. I mean, really- just don't buy me anything nice, because it'll only make me feel unworthy. Perhaps I just need some sessions with a shrink to figure out my self-esteem issues? Get me that instead :)

Happy Thanksgiving, Everybody! (also, wow- 500 posts)

What a momentous and amazing day. Think how grand life would be if every day your sole purpose and intention for the next twelve hours was to make something delicious to eat. Just think about it for a minute. There would be no war, no crime, no economy problems. Just a lot of happy people. If you spent every day making good things to eat, you would not only be satisfied from making something with your own bare hands, but also satisfied from being well fed.

May we all spend more days like this, and less days in strife and stress.

Here's a little favorite moment from the day for you:

I'm getting the turkey ready to put in the oven, washing it off and picking out stray feathers. My mother says, "Oh, you're going to be such a good mom! You're bathing it tenderly like your firstborn son!"

"Well, I don't want it to have nasty junk all over it when I eat it later."

My sister, joining in on the conversation: "Just like her firstborn son!"

Hurrah!

My coworker seems to think that everyone else takes just about every Friday afternoon off. If the phone doesn't ring for more than ten minutes in a row on a Friday any time after lunch, she usually remarks something along the lines of "well, I guess everybody's already gone home for the day. We're the only ones left."

And I think that she really believes this. Today, however, we were both pretty sure that a lot of people had left after lunch, or at least by three. Around 3:45 I was beginning to mildly wonder how I would spend my last hour at work- I was admittedly tired and antsy to be home, and there were only a few of us left in the office.

You know what's even better than knowing you only have to work until three the day before Thanksgiving? Thinking you have to work until five, then suddenly being reprieved at four. It's like a beautiful gift bestowed upon you by your boss. And really, I think it's better for everyone- believing that you have more time that you have to be there, you're probably more productive during the hours you do work than if you were sitting there counting down the minutes till you get to leave early, and the end of the day catches you by surprise and puts you in a good mood for the rest of your day. Plus, your boss gets to look really kind and merciful, even if he was planning on sending you home early all day.

Of course, if all that extra time you gain is eaten up by a massive kitchen-cleaning frenzy, the moment is kind of bittersweet.

Mmm-Mmm Good

There is something magical and thrilling about inviting one's friends and neighbors to dinner at one's home. It's like, you're going about your life, your home is just that place where you spend all your non-work time sitting on the couch and surfing the internet, then suddenly it's a warm, inviting place filled with amazing people and delicious foods, and everyone's happy to be there. How marvelous is that!

What's even better is when you get to show off your skillz in the process: your skillz of not being able to time the food to be ready at the same time, your skillz of not being a good conversationalist, and your skillz of ignoring the filthiness of the chinchillas' cage which should have been cleaned on Saturday except you were home for all of ten minutes on that day. The food was truly delectable- I got to make another galette and my roommate made the most lip-smacking sweet potato pie I've ever tasted. I did get to clean the bathroom, so my goal for the week has been completed! Now who's going to clean the kitchen and wash all the dishes I dirtied in the process of making dinner?

Things I am Thankful For

- I only have to work three days this week!
- I didn't get killed or otherwise run into during the race on Saturday
- Butternut squash
- My great neighbors that let me borrow their games and also come play the games with me.
- My camera, and technology in general



- and tiny dinosaurs visiting destruction on vacant lots!

Ding dong merrily on high

A long time ago, in galaxy far, far away (alright, it was only Saskatchewan), I had some roommates that were more different from me than most of the other roommates I've had in my life. Not just that they were Canadian, but that in general, they weren't my type of people. We found that we were still able to live together quite well, and we really liked being roommates; we all brought something special to our arrangement, and we did have certain things in common. Things like deciding that we would have dinner together at the table most nights, and we liked to play Pretty Pretty Princess together, and on several occasions found ourselves playing Mario Party till five in the morning and talking about whatever it is that people talk about at five in the morning.

But there were some things that we could never get over about our differences. We had more than one fight regarding whether the correct term was "colored pencil" or "pencil crayon," and I never accompanied them on pub crawls (or the more frequent "dorm crawls" where they would fill up a commuter mug with their alcoholic drink of choice and then stroll up and down the dorm hallways to the various parties that were going on every weekend, stopping back home every time their drinks got low). Probably the biggest difference, though, and the one that caused the most grief, was that of holiday music. I tried to play Alice's Restaurant for them on my American Thanksgiving, and after about five minutes they made me turn it off. We also had our differences of opinion on what constituted Christmas. I go for the more traditional stuff, like old English carol-type music, while their idea of "traditional" consisted of the Chipmunks' song "Oh Christmas Don't be Late." I would play some song for them and they would say "that's a Christmas song? It doesn't sound Christmassy to me," when to me, everything about it screamed Christmas. Now I kind of wonder- is there something special about "my" Christmas music that makes it sound Yule-ish, or do I just think so because that's what I grew up with?

I guess this is all just to say that, although I am usually a "Christmastime starts the day after Thanksgiving" person, I've started early this year. I don't know, it just seemed right tonight to put on the Chieftans' The Bells of Dublin.

Testing, 1 2 3

Ok, so the ride today was pretty awesome, and this year my dad and I were able to finish at the same time, with an amazing high-five right before the finish line. Although I did beat him by a split second.

Fun fact on the weird things adrenaline does to my body: it makes my thumbs hurt! During the first three or four miles of the race, my thumbs hurt like no other, as if I had been using them to pedal a hundred-mile race, rather than what I was really using them for, namely holding my hands on the handlebars during the first ten or fifteeen minutes of a race. Thankfully, the bizarre thumb malady wore off fairly quickly, and I was able to finish the ride without further digital incident.

Oh boy Oh boy Oh boy

In about ten hours, I'll be standing around the starting line for a bike race (well, it won't be a race for me, but you get the idea. They will be timing me), waiting to begin a long-ish journey. Hopefully I will make it without incident and without running out of steam too early on.

I am excited for two reasons: most importantly, wow, it'll be a great accomplishment and it's somehow more exciting to ride with a million other people riding around you. It's like a strange mobile community, slowly changing as you pass some people by and others pass you by. The finish line is a great place to be, and hopefully this year my father and I will cross at the same time. (Funny story, last year we crossed maybe an hour and a half apart, because towards the end of the route he lost a couple of spokes and couldn't go any further. I had to go on to the end by myself, then drive back to where I had left him sitting around on the side of the road, and switch out our back wheels so he could finish the ride.)

The other reason why I am so excited for this race may seem a little odd, but, my bathroom is filthy! For the past several months I have been spending every Saturday morning (prime bathroom cleaning time) training for the ride. I have let it take over my Saturday life because frankly, riding bikes is much more fun than scrubbing a toilet. This means that whatever cleaning I am able to squeeze in isn't really... of a thorough nature. I am looking forward to being able to devote some time and effort into keeping house (other things too will be cleaned, such as my bedroom, the kitchen, my office at work- the possibilities are endless! I may even clean my car!). There will be much loud Beatles-playing and singing along as I chisel away at the built-up grime and nastiness, and, dare I say it? I will open the windows and air out the house!

Surprise!

I love it when I go on a hideous 2-hour shopping trip in which my list consists of "giant hand sanitizer, pants, pastry blender, lunch foods?" and I come home with 1.5 of my desired items (pants, and a small hand sanitizer). I love it even more when I come home from such a trip and find some random guys sitting on my couch, watching a basketball game, with all my roommates in their bedrooms.

This raises some questions in my mind. Who let you people in? Why don't you watch the game on your own tv's? Why did you choose my house, instead of other people's? Is it just because we've got this great tv, or is it because you like to be around us in particular? Most importantly, how long will this game last? Because I want to hang around in my pajamas, and they're pretty old and threadbare and you probably don't want to see that.

This was really more interesting in my mind

I know this is probably one of the least interesting things I can do to an audience, along with letting you know what I had for lunch, but let me tell you about the freaky dream I had last night.

Ok, first, I dreamt that I went to work with my hair all wet, up in a towel. Freaky! Then, I get to work, and my boss calls a meeting with everybody from the office, as well as a friend of mine that I'm not even sure why he was there. So weird! Then! Right as we're sitting down for the meeting, me with my wet towel hair, the girl whose life I ruined yesterday charges in, yelling and chasing me around and I'm trying to hide somewhere so I can quickly un-towel my hair and brush it and pretend to look professional. Stressful! Then, she disappears and in her place a bunch of people from another office come for a meeting with us, but they keep wandering around the front desk and touching things, and I'm trying to herd them like a bunch of sheep, to get them back to the conference table where we're supposed to be meeting, and the whole thing is a fiasco because I still haven't brushed my hair! What a terrible dream!

Nyargh!

Sometimes I think about my job, and how much I would love to go work at a bookstore or maybe even the Taco Bell I worked at just out of high school. Ok, maybe not the Taco Bell, but perhaps the bagel place. That was a pretty sweet gig- I went there, I sliced bagels and made sandwiches all day, made some lattes and stuff, then went home. The only bad part about that job was the way I came home reeking of garlic every day.

The bad part about my current job is that sometimes I have to ruin somebody's life. I hate that! Today I ruined someone's life over the phone (speakerphone!) and she yelled and screamed at me, as if it was my fault and as if yelling and screaming would get anything done. Newsflash, sister: yelling and screaming is at best a waste of time, at its worst it might make less-patient people even more unlikely to help you. Why don't people realize how incredibly counterproductive that kind of a response to bad news is?

The sad thing is that I really didn't want to ruin her life at all. I wanted her to be happy and un-ruined. When it became clear that I had to ruin her life, I would have been so happy if she had listened to what I had to say, took a deep breath, and said something along the lines of, "wow, I'm really frustrated and angry at this situation. What can I do to fix it?" Because then I could have told her the two approaches to fixing the situation that I had figured out with my boss, and she could have started working on them. Instead, she yelled and screamed and demanded my boss' boss' phone number before hanging up on us. And her life is still ruined.

America at its best

Awhile back I mentioned that my favorite cookies in the world are just about gone, that I spent an entire evening searching the local stores for whatever was left over. About a week later, I spent an afternoon with my mother, searching for cookies in the stores around her side of town. We went into all the nastiest places, the places I generally avoid like the plague. The 99 cent store! Big Lots! WalMart! None of the evil places had the cookies, but we did hit a jackpot of about... five? six? packages at Target, which almost made up for everything.

Spending time at the dollar store-type places, though, I got to see some amazing things. Things like... a big Elvis guitar with popcorn in it! A steal for only $10! If you're not an Elvis fan, then you most likely still like beer. Except it's popcorn, not beer! Silly you, thinking there would be beer in there.

I'm a Phoney

Man, I love pretending that I'm good at things. Really, all you have to do is choose a pastime that none of your friends is professional at, and then do it a bunch until your work is passable. People with think you're amazing!

Like biking. I'm not great, I'm not in shape, I'm not really fast, but I can plug away and do 70 miles in one go. So I'm cool! People think I'm superwoman!

I play about five chords on the banjo, but you only need three to play about 75% of all singable songs, so I look pretty good, and people seem amazed at my talent.

I only know two stiches of knitting and one of crocheting, but my willingness to patiently crochet an entire blanket earns me credit among my friends who know more than I do, since they've only ever made scarves.

Right now, my galette is in the oven, smelling marvelous and looking more better than I thought it would when I initially turned out all the ingredients on the rolled-out pastry. The pastry seems to be oozing some butter (I guess I didn't cut it in quite enough) but is otherwise divine. I suppose I shouldn't count my chickens until they're hatched, but it's looking pretty good right now.

I think that my next project will be the bagpipes. I will learn to play a few songs on the bagpipes, and will force everyone I know to listen to me belt out Amazing Grace.

I Ride Bikes

Today on our training ride (52 miles, with heinous headwinds no matter which way we turned) we were going uphill when we got stopped by a red light. It was a three-way intersection such that we could have kept going without it being dangerous, going across the top of the T, which is a habit of many bikers around town. Being the good citizens that we are, we stopped and waited for the light to turn. Lucky thing, too, because the car that pulled up next to us as we waited was a cop. He rolled down his window and shouted, "I'm surprised you guys didn't just keep going!" I yelled back to him, as the light turned green, "But that would be against the law!" It was pretty funny at the time, I thought, but as I consider it now, I wonder if he was really kind of annoyed, because maybe he was deep down wanting to get someone in trouble, wanting to yell at someone for something, and we could have been an easy target. I guess either way I'm glad we stopped.

Later on in the ride, I ate a bug. Well, almost. A bug appeared in my mouth, even though I didn't notice it fly in or anything, it was suddenly just there. I bit down on it lightly, because I cannot control myself, and the bug released this terrible taste, this taste of essence of old man in a suit. And it lingered! The taste lingered in my mouth until like fifteen minutes later when I stopped to eat a luna bar (raspberry and chocolate, quite tasty but had melted as it sat in my pocket against my back, gross). I guess the moral of the story is keep yer mouth closed unless you want to taste old man taste.

Oh, the humanity!

Wow, folks, I saw a (kind of) fight today on my way home from work! I was riding past the spot where I saw the barefoot frisbee league the other day, except today it was football, shirts and skins. As I coasted by, I noticed that there was a shirt who had a skin in a half-nelson, and suddenly there's guys from both teams rushing and yelling to try and break it up.

Do people actually do this? Do they get into physical fights where one of them could do serious damage to the other, all over a friendly game of football on the mall? I guess I've just lived among such nice people, such civilized people, such rational people, that I've never encountered an actual fight amongst friends. Siblings, yes, but not friends. It was fascinating, and although the whole thing was over almost before it got started, it left a strange taste in my proverbial mouth. I guess I'll try to be more kind and patient, because I sure don't want to be those guys.

Things that I have enjoyed in the last four days:

Armwarmers on my ride to work in the morning.

I saw what appeared to be the Barefoot Frisbee League out in full force on my way home from work.

Looking at pictures of Saskatchewan on flickr, and watching Beatles videos on youtube.

Hearing my friends' hilarious stories of their first kisses.

Catching the chinchillas after letting them run around the apartment in the evening.

Eating apples with peanut butter and homemade cheese.

The prospect of swing dancing and cake-baking tomorrow evening.



Things that I have not enjoyed tonight:

Dang hiccups.

Blogger's font sizes not working the way I want them to.

Yum!

I'm suddenly feeling very into Autumn this year. How amazing is this season? It isn't blasted hot anymore, and it's getting to be a fun part of my morning putting on the arm-warmers so I don't freeze myself on my ride to work. Autumn also means sitting on the couch with a blanket because the apartments haven't switched over from air conditioning to heat yet, and listening to fall-y music. Cozy!

Awhile back my roommate experimented and bought a spaghetti squash. Neither of us had ever had squash of that kind in our lives before- we've done some family research and it turns out that my mother has a deep and abiding hate for squash of all but the yellow, cucumber-shaped variety, while my roommate's mother likes squash, but just "never bought it" when my roommate was growing up.

The spaghetti squash turned out alright, although it was strange and stringy. Then we proceeded to try other squashes, and we've found that butternut squash is truly an amazing and beautiful thing of beauty. It's so orange! And so good just roasted with salt and pepper put on top! I don't even feel like it needs butter, although I'm sure it would be delicious with it. We've had three squashes in this format thus far, and now I'm wondering about the possibilities of cooking it with other stuff, too. I just came across an amazing-looking recipe for a butternut squash and caramelized onion galette that looks so delicious I will need to try it soon, and I'm also considering the ubiquitous-sounding butternut squash ravioli. Come to dinner next week at my home, also known as Chez Pretension!

Maybe Not

In the last 24 hours I've overeaten exactly... four times. With some snacking in between, I guess. Dinner last night was something we'd looked forward to for several months, so when we got there and saw that the portions were more than we should handle, we just kind of went with the flow. And then breakfast! It was so tasty, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? Lunch was just a mistake; all the components of the meal were small, but I guess all of them combined were kind of more than expected. Dinner was provided for us by some very nice church ladies and I didn't want to offend by being the only one who didn't eat two servings. It was a social responsibility.

Is this something I can blame on society? I really want to blame society for this, because certainly someone else taught me to ignore my body's needs and to practice absolutely no self-control. Right?

I really do like my neighborhood, though

Just a quick note as I'm on my way out of town for the next 18 hours or so: If you're looking for the place to be tonight, it's crazy night at the Walgreen's parking lot. Homeless? Yay! Want to leap out of a car as it cruises past the door of the store without stopping? You'll be in good company! Feeling like riding your bike conspicuously close and staring at people loading their bags into their car? Go right ahead! Just try not to run me over when you're parking your car over the line between two handicapped spots so you can sprint into the store with your engine still running.

All I Want is a Room Somewhere

We have a couch here in our apartment, well, actually we have one leather couch and one black futon thing. We like to have couches for sitting and napping on, and because sometimes when we have all of our favorite people over it is nice to be able to seat folks comfortably.

Unfortunately, both couches are feeling their age- the futon is pretty much flattened into a pancake of discomfort. The disgustingly old foam cushion that once gave a foam-o-phobic friend of ours fits (true story!) is no longer doing its job, and the back of the futon sags like an old lady's knee-highs. The leather couch, although still amazingly comfortable, is sadly scratched and water-spotted beyond any semblance of the fine furniture it once was, and a few of the cushions are so worn out that the seams have split open, revealing the stuffing inside.

Basically our couches look like we got them cheap off some hillbillies. I'm pretty sure the futon thing should be easy to fix- just buy a new cushion thing, problem solved. The real couch, though. It is comfortable, so we don't really want to part with it, but it is ugly as sin, so we don't really want other people to see it. We're thinking of getting a slipcover for it, but the very word (slipcover!) just sends thoughts of grandmas and poor folk through my mind. And where does one go to obtain such an item? Truly, the only place I can think of to look for one would be WalMart, and that seriously doesn't help my fear of grandma/poor folk associations. Any other ideas for our couch?

Brave New World

My roommate don't really do a whole lot of fast food, and when we do go out for food, it is more often than not of a Mexican variety. Which is what made last night so special- we went to McDonald's! Not only did we eat McDonald's food, but we actually dined in. Such an activity I haven't participated in for many years, and I think we both agreed that there is a good reason for that.

The high society that was gathered in that restaurant could not be beat. From the worker around the corner from the front door, smoking a joint next to the newspaper stands, to the man in big fat John Deere suspenders (they make those?) to the confused-looking man who parked his bike inside the dining area, between two tables, to the man who (I only heard about this later from my roommate) went to pull his waistband up on his pants and brought the underwear right on with it. We were in fine company, let me tell you.

I guess none of those things is really all that bad, and I wouldn't bat an eye at any one of the people separately, but all in unison, all just slightly more uncouth than the norm, the difference seemed more pronounced.

There was this one lady, though, who was dresed nicely, looked clean and intelligent, who was sitting nearby, eating alone and reading... her journal? notes from a conference? somebody else's journal? I don't know, but she seemed pretty nonchalant about her incongruity in the place. She seemed like an alpha in the midst of gammas, but she didn't seem to mind. I guess I'm just glad I'm a beta.

Lame-O Belated Halloween Post

Somehow jack-o-lanterns are always scarier a few days after Halloween than they are the night of. When I tried to pick them up with a trashbag each punkin just kind of, uh, liquified through my fingers. Moldy chunky punkin liquid. It was like running your hands through a big bowl of cafeteria jello cubes, only less sugary and more... furry.

The hilarious thing is that we only carved the punkins the night before Halloween, and by, let's see, Sunday morning, they were already in a nasty state. I finally had the time to clean them up Monday after work, and that was pretty much Too Late. I tried scrubbing the leftover punkin puddles with bathroom cleaner and a green scrubby, but the stains remain.

The weird thing is that we don't really live in a humid place where I would expect that kind of fast forward rotting to take place. In fact, to find a more arid home, we'd have to move to Yuma. I am absolutely sure that moving to Yuma could never be an answer to any of my problems, so my only conclusion has to be that moldy, liquified punkin is not actually a problem to begin with.

The minds of not-so-super villains at work, inconveniencing me

Yesterday after work I got the surprise of my... week... when I stepped onto the pedal of my bike in the act of initiating movement on my commute home, and I found myself nearly eating my handlebars after a huge CA-CHUNK! Some me-hating villain had clicked my bike up from 3rd gear into 7th during the day while I was in the office, and I can only guess but I'm pretty sure they did it while cackling in a sinister manner before walking off to go kick a puppy. What kind of antisocial, sadistic fiend makes such a passive-aggressive move against a person they don't even know, knowing that they will not be able to witness the consequences of their action? What are they thinking? "Hey, I'm kind of surly right now, I think I'll set a trap for a random person who will be mildly freaked out and have their ride home ruined in about six hours." I guess that's what they're thinking, but if I was feeling surly, I'm pretty sure I would just walk around glaring at people and get huffy at slow-walking pedestrians.


For dinner tonight we went to our favorite local sandwich place and bakery. They make their own artisanal breads which is just a fancy way of saying they make breads that are beautiful to look at and beautiful to taste but just you try and eat a sandwich made from those crusty breads which nearly rip your teeth out of your head. We were cold today so I got a hot sandwich, and if there's anything worse than a crusty-bread sandwich, it's a toasted crusty-bread sandwich. I now have a million little lacerations all over my gums and the roof of my mouth, so I guess no swilling orange juice for me tonight.

Happy Guy Fawkes' Day, everybody!

Remember, remember the fifth of November;
Gunpowder treason and plot.
I think there's no reason that gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.


I think this year, today, might be the first time that I've actually remembered *on* the fifth of November. All too often I realize on the seventh or the tenth, and by then it is TOO LATE. I've been wanting to have a bonfire all day, but I (sadly) live in an apartment with no backyard of my own, and (even more sadly) am too tired to pick up and drive out to a part of the desert where a bonfire would not be minded. Perhaps I can build a tiny fire on a plate here in the apartment? Yet another reason my roommate would have to think I'm not quite right in the head.

For those of you who have the time and the opportunity and the desire, here's to a great bonfire!

PS, Hurrah.

I applaud you, John McCain, on your gracious concession speech. Thank you for not being bitter and embarrassing us. You fought hard, and you lost, and you're alright with that. Thank you.

I applaud you, Barack Obama, on your stirring victory speech. Yay, we won, and wow, we've got work to do. And you made us feel even more confidant that you're the man to look to for getting that work done. We support you, and we look forward to the next four years with hope.

Tragedy

Alright, so today I read this which led me to this which led me to spending an hour and a half of my life driving around to five different grocery stores to buy $24.14 worth of Peanut Butter Gauchos and $3.99 worth of Striped Shortbread (also $3.59 worth of Hydrox- had to see what the hype was about).

Which leads me to this:





I truly do believe in acting in a rational manner during crises, and I feel that in the current economic situation our best bet is not to panic, but to act carefully with our money on an individual as well as national level. I also beliee in gaucho shakes. I think that based on the situation with Mother's cookies, I acted in a perfectly acceptable way.

I dunno, I guess I'm idealistic

I pretty much tend to be non-passionate about politics, and I think justly so. I am too lazy to really research things well enough to earn the political passion, so I am generally content to watch others get worked up about things and debate and such.

This election season I have gotten more (more than nothing doesn't really have to be much, though) involved and thoughtful about what and who I am voting for. I have opinions, woo! My opinion is that our nation has a chance to do some really great things tomorrow, and I hope that we do. I feel like for many, even though times are kind of rough currently, right now is a time of great hope and promise.

I was riding my bike to work this morning, and listening to my iPod, and this Bob Dylan song kind of struck me as being pretty relevant for this week:

Oh the time will come up
When the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be breathin'.
Like the stillness in the wind
'Fore the hurricane begins,
The hour when the ship comes in.

Oh the seas will split
And the ship will hit
And the sands on the shoreline will be shaking.
Then the tide will sound
And the wind will pound
And the morning will be breaking.

Oh the fishes will laugh
As they swim out of the path
And the seagulls they'll be smiling.
And the rocks on the sands
Will proudly stand,
The hour that the ship comes in.

And the words that are used
For to get the ship confused
Will not be understood as they're spoken.
For the chains of the sea
Will have busted in the night
And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean.

A song will lift
As the mainsail shifts
And the boat drifts on to the shoreline.
And the sun will respect
Every face on the deck,
The hour that the ship comes in.

Then the sands will roll
Out a carpet of gold
For your weary toes to be a-touchin'
And the ship's wise men
Will remind you once again
That the whole wide world is watchin'.

Oh the foes will rise
With the sleep still in their eyes
And they'll jerk from their beds and think they're dreamin'.
But they'll pinch themselves and squeal
And know that it's for real,
The hour when the ship comes in.

Then they'll raise their hands,
Sayin' we'll meet all your demands,
But we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered.
And like Pharaoh's tribe,
They'll be drownded in the tide,
And like Goliath, they'll be conquered.

Help!

The last six albums I've imported into my computer have been from the following years: 1992, 1985, 2006, 1966, 1964 and 1964. The most recent one, from 2006, doesn't really count, though, because it's just some Weird Al. I'm trying to rationalize by telling myself that it's just that no music made today is as good as earlier stuff, but really, deep down, if I'm completely honest, it's really due to my own sudden Beatlemania. I rented and watched A Hard Day's Night, which was pretty silly, and then when I turned that one in I saw that Help! was back on the shelf, so I checked that out and proceeded to watch the entire movie 4 out of the 5 nights I had it rented for. I start almost every day by playing "Rain" on youtube while I get dressed. My roommate is I think starting to worry about my sanity. She came home one evening to find me sitting on the couch, watching one of the movies, stood in the door, and announced, "you know, this isn't going to help your obsession much," before passing through the room.

At this point I feel fine about my obsession. If it goes on strong for another 6 months, maybe I'll worry.

NaBloPoMo Day 1: I didn't forget!

On top of my regular job and my regular social life and my other regular duties, for the past few years I've spent a fair amount of time proctoring tests- the SAT, ACT, LSAT, PCAT, GRE, you name it, I've proctored it. The great thing about this gig is that all you have to do is give up a Saturday morning, and be willing to stand around and look stern, and they give you money for it! It is a wonderful way to make a quick buck.

This past Saturday, I worked an exam, something to do with engineering. As I walked up and down the aisles, one of the examinees motioned toward me with a question. I walked up to him, and rather than tell me what he wanted or what was the matter, he simply pointed to one of the questions, something with graphs and symbols and terms I didn't have a clue about, and then pointed to something he'd written down in the book, which I also didn't understand. He looked a little confused and also triumphant, which is the only thing that made me realize that he believed the question to have some serious flaw in the way it was printed. I let him know about the comment form he could fill out after the test, and walked away, chuckling to myself.

I'm not sure that the people taking these tests realize that we (the people administering the test) have absolutely no background in the content of the test. I don't know if they think that high-caliber engineers spend their Saturdays watching people take tests, or if they think that we're a team of experts that drive around the country, administering that one test to every hopeful engineer, but it's always kind of funny and sad when you have an interaction like that and you see it dawn on them that you don't know the first thing about what they're being tested on.

If you think about it, it makes sense- the examinees aren't allowed any help on questions about the content of the exam, so why in the world would the test be administered by people who could possibly give such help? I like to think of it as like hiring blind men to guard magicians' secrets, or staffing a harem with a bunch of eunuchs. We are valuable in our impotence.

There She Goes Again

Yay silly meme! I kind of like this one, actually.

1. Put your music library on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY?" YOU SAY?
What Made Milwaukee Famous (Flogging Molly)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Look For a Grandma (from the Safety Kids album)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Selfless, Cold and Composed (Ben Folds Five)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Cotton Fields (Harry Belafonte)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
I Ain't Got No Home (Bruce Springsteen cover of Woody Guthrie)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Be Still My Heart (The Postal Service)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Albuquerque (Weird Al Yankovic)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Daria (Cake)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Amity (Elliott Smith)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Lord Only Knows (Beck)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
I Fought Piranhas (The White Stripes)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Below the Gallows Tree (The Weavers)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
The Rebel Jesus (The Chieftans)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Believing is Art (Spoon)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
The Picnic (Much Ado About Nothing soundtrack)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
No Woman No Cry (Bob Marley and the Wailers)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Something (The Hippos)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Pirates Who Don't Do Anything (Not sure who this is)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
How Bizarre (OMC)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Out of Jail (They Might Be Giants)

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
The Rest Will Follow (...And They Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead)

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Between the Bars (Elliott Smith)

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
I Could Have Lied (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
What a Good Boy (Barenaked Ladies)

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
The Things We Did and Didn't Do (The Magnetic Fields)

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Mars, the Bringer of War (Holst)

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Wild Honey Pie (The Beatles)

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Secret of the Easy Yoke (Pedro the Lion)

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Femme Fatale (The Velvet Underground)

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
St James Infirmary Blues (The White Stripes)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
There She Goes Again (The Velvet Underground)

Things I've Youtubed Recently

- Satellite of Love (Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain) (also Orange Blossom, Shaft, Fly me off the Handel, and pretty much anything else by them)

- Sweet Caroline (Neil Diamond)

- If You Want to Be Happy for the Rest of Your Life (Jimmy Soul)

- Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa (Vampire Weekend)

- Weekend War (MGMT)

-How Six Umbrellas Took Off Their Hats to Show Respect (Carl Sandburg)

Another crazy random happenstance to tell you!

Man, if you want inner turmoil and general bad-feelingness, you need to come and spend a lunch with me. Like that time I created a bird revolution with my sandwich, or that other time I ran into a friend on campus, had a great conversation, and left feeling like I was the biggest jerk on earth, my lunches are fraught with tiny crises.

Today, for example.

I go to my favorite on-campus cheap-food place, the pasta-and-garlic-bread restaurant. At some point maybe a year or so ago, they started offering "Vegan Sauce" as one of their options, along with the regular Meat Sauce/Marinara/Alfredo triumvirate. Out of curiosity, I asked for it one day, and saw that all it consists of is marinara with some mystery... pebbles... mixed in. Like, you're standing there, and they get out this bowl and pour some marinara in and scoop in these whitish-yellowish breadcrumb-looking pebbles, mix it up with a whisk, and plop it on your penne. I must say, it's quite delicious. I don't know what the pebbles are, or how they enhance the marinara sauce, but they do. I like it, so I always get it now.

There was a server girl I'd never seen there before today, and when I asked for the vegan sauce she dutifully made it the way she should. Then she reached for the garlic bread, stopped herself, and presented the plate to me sans bread.

"No bread, right?"

I haven't really been on top of my game recently, I think I'm coming down with a cold, so I just kind of stood there, looking at her, saying, "uhhhhh...." In my head I was wondering if maybe they had some policy that the vegan sauce no longer comes with bread because it's already got those expensive extra pebbles in it, so maybe I shouldn't say anything. Finally I asked, meaning to be sheepish (but I think coming across as rude-ish), "the bread comes with the pasta, right?"

At this point I began to get an inkling of what was going on. "Well, it's just that usually when people want the vegan sauce, they... don't want... the bread."

Ah hah! Suddenly I'm being judged because I asked for this health nut protester lunch, with a side of unhealthy brick o'butter. I wasn't sure what to say except that did want the bread, and walk away quickly. By this point our conversation had slowed up the rest of the line and people were starting to pay attention to what was going on. I wondered what they thought of me- did they think I was a vegan and also stupid for not knowing that there is butter all over the garlic bread? Did they think I was a selfish jerk who wanted to get as much food as possible jammed into the low, low price of a plate of pasta? Did they think I was a total idiot who doesn't even know what vegan means?

All I wanted was lunch, but what I got was lunch with a side of guilt for ordering vegan food when I am so obviously not vegan.

How to make my day

I'm standing around the deli counter waiting for the very slow deli man to give me fried chicken and coleslaw for dinner when a woman wearing a nametag (engraved, not like, "Hi! My name is Zoe") and pushing a young girl in a cart comes up to the counter.

"Excuse me, are you really familiar with the store?"

Deli man says no.

"Oh. Well, do you happen to know where the polenta is?"

Deli man says he knows what it is, so try looking in the baking or hispanic aisles (huh?).

The lady seems surprised as well, but starts off in that direction. I lean over and tell her she might try the spaghetti aisle (since that's where it is. I think about polenta a lot, although I've never used it, so I conciously look at it every time I'm in the spaghetti aisle).

She scoots off, obviously in a hurry (I wonder what she needed it for? If she was the type that made things with polenta, she would either a- know where it is already or b- not even be shopping at my grocery store. Maybe she was having a fancy dinner party and trying to impress her guests? Maybe her mother in law really likes it, and has descended on her home without warning?), and I continue standing around the deli counter waiting for the man to give me my chicken and coleslaw.

A minute or two later, another employee hurries into the counter to ask the deli man if he knows what polenta is. After a brief argument, employee #2 leaves and I am assured that the rushed lady is leaving the store polenta-less. Deli man finally gives me my bag o'chicken, and I head off toward the spaghetti aisle, just to make sure I was remembering right.

There it is, the polenta! I wonder briefly if she wanted the sun-dried tomato kind, or just regular. I pick up a tube of the regular kind, and head off in search of the lady. I hadn't gotten a good look at her to begin with, but I remember that she had a nametag and a blonde daughter, so that's something at least.

By the time I find her, she's in line at the checkout, unloading her groceries onto the belt, and talking to the lady behind her. I sneak up next to her and hold out the tube.

"Did you find the polenta?"

She immediately brightens, and asks in wonder where I had found it. She'd looked up and down the store for it and had given up hope. She gratefully takes the polenta and says to the cashier,

"See, she found it!"

I walk off to my regular cashier, pay for my chicken, and feel better than I have all day.

Let's All Celebrate!

Happy October 9th, everybody!

You're probably saying to yourself, "yeah, October 9th is alright, but what has it done for me lately?"

Really? Are you really thinking this? Because if you are, maybe you've forgotten some key events in the history of the WORLD. Events like...

-Leif Erikson landing in Canada, pretty much discovering the Americas, in 1003.

-Slavery being abolished in Costa Rica, in 1824. (woo!)

-A 13 kilogram (est.) fragment of the Peekskill Meteorite lands in the driveway of the Knapp residence in Peekskill, New York, destroying the family's 1980 Chevrolet Malibu (1992).

-The 1835 birthday of Camille Saint-Saens. How would you feel if the Carnival of the Animals had never been written?

-Or try the 1900 birthday of Alastair Sim.

-And last, but not least, on this day, 68 years ago, our own beloved John Lennon was born.

And what better way to celebrate such a momentous occasion than to attend the John Lennon Birthday Bash and Beatles Singalong!



It was pretty amazing, let me tell you. There were prizes for best costume (this one guy won all three prizes, because he was the only dressed up. But he clearly would have won anyway, because he was wearing one of those Sgt. Pepper costumes? The icky pink suit thing? Yeah, we think he might have been on drugs, or maybe he wasn't a native English speaker, because the questions he answered on stage were definitely not the questions being posed to him by the emcee. Hilarious!), and dancing on the stage while the videos played and the non-dancing audience sang their hearts out.

The only problem was that after an hour or so of singalong, they stopped the music and put on some documentary about John Lennon, which my friend and I were having none of. If there is no singing along, there is no reason to be there anymore, so instead we drove off in her sporty little car, and blasted some non-Beatles music to sing along with.

One funny thing, though: in the video of Instant Karma, (I'd never seen it before!) there's an incredibly uncomfortable-looking, be-suited man trying to play the tamborine but not really seeming to know what to do with it. Also: Yoko Ono is crocheting... blindfold? Once we'd gotten a chance to look closely and she really WAS doing what we thought she was doing, my friend shouts to me over the singing, excitedly:

"She's making a political statement!"