Friendster is mean.

I was of two minds whether I should join, but I wound up doing so because it couldn't really cause any harm.

Today around six or seven I got email notification of a message from my friend Mark. Yay! I clicked on the link. It took me to my message center thingy and told me that I had no messages. Around nine I got email notification of a testimonial from Katherine. Yay! My first one. My entire existence is validated! I clicked on the link. It took my to my testimonial page and told me that I had no testimonials.

my entire existence is worthless!

I signed out and am cursing Friendster repeatedly, in assorted languages.

My first thought as I walk out the door is that I should have worn my sunglasses. They're inside, up two flights of stairs. My eyes are already starting to adjust, and I want to walk. As I step onto the sidewalk a chilly breeze hits my bare white arms. Combined with the sun, it makes for the nicest weather Los Angeles has seen in weeks.

I walk, squinting a little bit, towards Western Avenue. My destination is Magic Tobacco, a shop whose name evokes images of something a bit different than the Marlboro Red Kings I'm planning to purchase. As if the universe heard my thoughts, I walk inside and notice for the first time a glass display case full of beautiful glass pipes. One of them is shaped like an octopus, which pleases me.

I leave the shop and as I walk past Carl's Jr the smell of french fries hits me. For a minute I think I'm hungry, but it's probably just the smell tricking me. The drivers, usually so inconsiderate in my neighborhood, wait patiently for me to cross the street at the four-way stops on my way home. I admire the climbing flowers on my favorite house and take the long way around my building so that I can check the mail.

Someone has given me a credit card, which is a bit of a shock. I try to push aside thoughts of vacations and new clothing, replacing them (with moderate success) with thoughts of emergency money and a long-overdue dentist visit.

I look outside and the last bit of sun is struggling to keep its hold on my deck. Downstairs there is a streak of light across the balcony. The fuchsia's leaves seem to be leaning toward it. I look down at the floor and see my book, waiting. The canvas chair sits next to the fuchsia, and the sun is low enough that my eyes will be shaded.

The temptation is stronger than any desire I'm harboring to be indoors.

It's separate but equal...but it's a start.

Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Gay couples win full rights to 'marriage'

Go Britain! I am not familiar with the 'traditional' marriage laws over there, so I am not really qualified to comment on this (the Civil Partnerships Bill), especially as very little information is offered. England seems to be our main political ally lately, so I have some hope that this could have influence on American gay rights. Some.

I can't believe I forgot to post this!

[spoiler for criticism of this week's Alias]
That was not a choker.
[/spoiler]

Oh, help.

I'm having another blonde moment. (I swear, I really do know the difference between memory and hard disc space...but I digress.) What is the name of the company whose catalogs usually show up on airplane seatbacks? They have Brookstone-like products, but aren't Brookstone.

Yes, it really is dreadfully important. Really.

Graceland

When I was a little girl and had never heard of Elvis Presley, I thought that Graceland was surely another name for heaven. My parents were not religious, but I knew about heaven and while I didn't necessarily believe in it personally, I had a fairly decent idea what believers thought heaven was like.

My father is a classical musician. He plays timpani for American Ballet Theater, and my favorite music growing up was Tchaikovsky. The Nutcracker, of course, but also Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty, and plenty of music by other composers too, mostly music that was written for or turned into ballets. The only rock and roll I remember hearing early on was The Beatles' White Album and Paul Simon's Graceland. I have memories of Bonnie Raitt's Nick Of Time as well, but I think that came later.

My favorite Beatles song was "Buffalo" Bill*, as I pronounced it at that age, and my favorite Paul Simon was Graceland. It wasn't until recently that I remembered my early assumption that Graceland was heaven, and even as an adult it makes perfect sense to me. "I have reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland." What a lovely image that evokes - heaven as a place that you get to on a train (always my favorite mode of transportation), where everyone is welcome.

My mother may or may not have met Paul Simon once. She moved to New York City sometime after high school and she once played frisbee in Central Park with someone who looked just like him. She asked if he was Paul Simon and he claimed to be his younger brother. I believe Simon & Garfunkle were still together at that point, so of course Central Park seems like the only place either of them could be. But I suppose it might really have been the younger Simon, or perhaps even just a look-alike.

I haven't made my mind up about heaven, but I'd like to go to Graceland. In the 20 or so years since I first remember hearing Graceland, I found out who Elvis Presley was. I have several records of his music, and I've heard countless covers at assorted rockabilly shows. I have Fit For A King, the Elvis Presley cookbook, and someday when my cholesterol is too low I might even try a few of the recipes. I love his rock and roll songs, but I really love his gospel music. I've never been to Tennessee.

But I'm afraid I might be disappointed if it turns out to be a real place.


*I didn't find out what a bungalow was until a few years later when I began devouring the Nancy Drew mystery stories. Interestingly, at that time I had never heard of Buffalo Bill either.

Because I am, deep down, a nice person...

Here is an entry for those of you who don't care/can't help with my computer traumas. (If you can help, though, I beg you to scroll down.) Of course, if you are Kirk, you disagree with everything I am about to say, so you might want to just keep scrolling or go away...

I am just loving Wonder Falls. I am not so very devoted to the Buffyverse that I've watched every show that involved Buffy alumni. I watched Firefly because Whedon's first two shows were pretty fine and because I liked the premise, and I was not disappointed. Well, not by the show - Fox made me see red over their treatment of the series. I never watched Jake 2.0 because as much as I liked David Greenwalt, the show had two major strikes against it - it was on against Angel and its producers had failed to give my friend Sean a writing job (though that is just as well, because I love Everwood, which he currently works for). I did watch Greenwalt's previous project, Miracles - see Firefly, replace Fox with ABC. I haven't watched any of the made-for-TV movies starring assorted ex-cast members, because they were all on cable, which we don't have. I haven't watched Miss Match, because Charisma Carpenter may be neat but I never did figure out when the show aired, and anyway I'm pretty sure it's on Fridays, which is not a good day of the week for me to remember to turn on the TV.

We missed at least two episodes of Firefly, which aired on Friday nights, because we just forgot. I didn't catch the pilot of Wonder Falls because...well, I don't remember if we were out or just didn't remember it was on - that whole Friday thing - but it re-aired the following Thursday and we caught it and it was great.

The lead (Caroline something-or-other) is just so charismatic and believable. I don't feel for one second that she is some stereotype of my generation (the actress and I are almost exactly the same age, and I believe the character is meant to be about a year younger than me), and while I have the advantage of never having seen her in another role, I never remember that she is an actress while I am watching her.

The show is shot in Canada and it shows. Not specifically because it takes place on the "wrong" side of the falls, but because actors from Nero Wolfe keep showing up. This pleases me immensely.

I haven't recognized any of the writers' names yet, but they all write clever, snappy dialogue without making it seem unrealistic, and the plots have all been coherent and interesting so far. The absurdity of the premise becomes charming in the hands of the actors and writers. And I recognized a Minear-ism in this past week's dialogue - he has either influenced the writers or taken a pass at the scripts. Either way, I approve. So far, Firefly's "The Message" is the only Minear-penned script I've hated, and I think the blame for that one lies with Whedon.

This coming week's episode airs on Thursday, which either means that Fox is fucking around another show I love or trying to give it a better chance. Either way, I am going to try my damnedest to remember to watch it.

I am useless with computers.

I've been having a lot of difficulty lately. The primary problem is that when I have more than one program running, at least one of them will freak out on me and freeze up, telling me that there isn't enough memory. I have about 11gb free, which seems to me that it ought to be plenty - but on the other hand, I have a 40gb harddrive and I can't figure out where the other 29gb are tied up (in reality, it's more like 37 total with 26 tied up). So I tried to run the defragment thingy but it told me that it couldn't run because there is an error on the disc. Now, due to the programs freezing up thingy, I often have to force a restart, and I usually let ScanDisc run, but I followed the prompt from Defrag and told it (ScanDisc) to run a Thorough check rather than the usual Standard.

So I leave ScanDisc running and go downstairs to drink some coffee. I come back upstairs to check on it, and there is an error message that reads:

ScanDisc has restarted 10 times because Windows or another program is writing to this drive. Quitting some running programs may enable ScanDisc to finish sooner.

And then there was a prompt to keep receiving this message (or not), which I clicked OK on. So ScanDisc tells me it's "Checking File Allocation Tables," then "Checking folders," and keeps restarting. The folder check never gets past two bars of progress before it goes back to the file allocation tables. There are absolutely no programs running, so it can only be Windows itself that is the problem. So what do I do here? Is there a way to run ScanDisc (thorough) before Windows starts?

And while I am at it, can anyone tell me why my very own computer would tell me that I am not allowed to copy my files to CD and should contact the Administrator? Last time I checked, that was me, useless though I may be. (Could the problem be that I have my computer password protected, so I am technically a sub-profile? I should check that, but it really seems nonsensical.)

I know that I should be calling Dell support with all these problems, but they've outsourced to Pakistan and I haven't gotten a single helpful suggestion from them since. I don't think it's worth being on hold for an hour and a half just to be told to use selective startup, no matter what the problem is. Useless fuckers. (Er, not all Pakistanis, just the ones answering the phones at Dell.)

*sigh* One of these days I'm going to follow through on that threat to start a collection for a Mac.

Money in the sand.

I found a $20 bill on the beach today. Yippee! We didn't run out of gas on the way home! (OK, so our finances weren't that bad, but I did use the money to put gas in the car.)

We've just dropped K off at the airport after a day spent primarily driving to and from the beach, with a ridiculously long detour to find a bathroom. It's a good thing we took the detour, too, because the beach was far more populated than I'm used to and I wouldn't have been able to do my usual squat behind the dune and hope no one sees me routine.

Have I mentioned yet how glad I am that the wedding shopping is done? I mean, realistically, we still have loads to do. But the clothing is taken care of except for the dreaded alterations on my dress. And I can't even begin to be bothered about that until the dress arrives, so I shan't. Of course, we still need clothes for Will, and flowers and cake and probably more junk than anyone could ever possibly need for one four-hour event, but nevermind. I'll think about it tomorrow. (Not literally - just having a Scarlet moment. I don't plan to think about it for days and days.)

I have thought of lots of stuff that I wish to post about, including the atrocity that is LA drivers; racial stereotypes; civil rights; and the fact that my hands itch like crazy and I can't figure out why. However, I am tired and I don't think I will do so tonight.

Thank god.

K and I spent literally hours shopping yesterday. I am, to put it mildly, not a huge fan of the shopping. However, we accomplished what we set out to accomplish, and I will never have to do it again. Unless I decide that I don't like these shoes...

The little one was asleep on the couch before 9:00. I had been dead on my feet for hours at that point, and was perfectly happy to retire to our bedroom and let her sleep (though I did make her move upstairs to her bed, which is much better than our couch). I read for not more than half an hour before passing into a weird dream state. Frankly, it's a miracle that either of us even made it through dinner - I think only the fact that it was Thai take-away kept us going. YUM!

It is a perfectly lovely day. I plan to waste most of it sitting inside, cowering from the dreaded sun. I have a grudge against it at the moment for the giganto headache I walked away from Melrose with.

"That time of the month."

Warning: Probably TMI.

It's funny how that could mean just about anything, depending on context, but there is one thing that just about everyone associates with the phrase and nothing seems likely to change that.

So: it's that time of the month. Not unexpected, since I'm on the pill and now have Regularly Scheduled Bleeding times. I was actually quite "regular" (another phrase with a specific connotation, this time not what I mean) for most of my adult life, but I never remembered where I was in my cycle. Now I have little pills to tell me. Rather convenient, that. Plus, no unplanned babies, which I am mostly pleased about.

Yesterday, in what I can only assume was a fit of PMS-induced insanity, I had a Bridezilla moment. I am terribly disappointed, because I expected it to be fun when it eventually and inevitably occured, but it was just lame and embarrassing and guilt-causing.

The good news is that my dress is ordered and K's is in my closet, ready to go. Pictures to follow if I am able to fix the sudden and inexplicable weirdness of my computer.

[later...]

The following is an $800 ensemble that K tried on before we looked at the pricetag. It is stunning and absolutely perfect but there was just no way in hell. Click the thumbnail for a larger version.



And here is the gorgeous outfit we wound up buying for her (the shoes are mine), same thumbnail dealio as before:



Thank you for your time and indulgance. The next entry will, I promise, be non-wedding-related, though probably equally self-serving.

Countdown...

My sister is arriving at LAX (boy-o, I hope it's LAX, as that is where I will be) in a little more than twelve hours. In the intervening time, I have to sleep, clean the kitchen, do two loads of laundry (well, at least towels, anyway), drink enough coffee to safely get me to the airport and back, possibly eat, and balance the checkbook. We went grocery shopping and although we bought only the basics, I'm just about certain that we've gone over. Damn it. (It should be noted that I am not entirely positive that our idea of "basic" is, in fact, basic.)

Though exhausting, cleaning was fun today. We listened to some great ska and punk music and just really dove in. I've been reorganizing and cleaning all week, so it is really a pretty thorough spring cleaning. I am expecting Ratty to show up any second. (Heh. I wonder what K would think if I called her Ratty all week.)

Darn. I wanted to clean the car before picking her up, but I just don't see that happening. I don't really care about washing the outside, though it should be done, but the inside desperately needs to be de-trashed and vacuumed and maybe have something done about the smell. Possibly an exorcism.

Lest anyone jump to conclusions, I have no illusions that I will fool my sister into thinking that the place is always this clean. Nor am I cleaning it for her, though the overhaul on the office was done to make it habitable, as she will sleep up here. She is just a very handy push toward something I've been meaning to do anyway but was otherwise too lazy to get started on.

I had a post in my head that involved complaints about several things as well as a few people, but I have decided not to bother. I may do it later, though. I am not very predictable.

Today, I don't feel like doing anything.

Last night, an unusual shift occurred. My sweet homebody fiance elected to attend our friend Chris's birthday party (at some hipster bar) without me, as I was too tired to get off the couch or out of my sweatpants. Usually I am the one pushing for us to do stuff, but I was completely without interest, even though I do like Chris a whole lot. I didn't even mind going to bed alone, which usually I hate. Of course, I was pleased when Will came home, but still - I think it is quite impressive that we were able to do separate stuff, even if only for about two hours (and even if mine was primarily sleep).

I cleaned our home office over the past week. I did a really terrific job, completed (for the most part) yesterday with a thorough vacuuming. I still have to find places to put a few things, and I just discovered that when I dusted the computer (scrubbed, more like), I forgot to clean the keyboard. It is yucky. Would anyone like to buy me some nice filing cabinets? We have this stack of Office Depot boxes next to the desk, full of files, and piles of papers and stuff pretty much everywhere. It is disgraceful. (Note: I don't actually expect anyone to buy me anything. I just like the idea.)

I'm working on a grocery list. I'm trying to keep the spending down, because now that I am keeping the bank balance in order (I'm using the register and everything), it would be very embarrassing to go into overdraft again. Of course, it was pretty embarrassing before, when it happened (more often than I like), but now it will be apparent right there in my own handwriting, rather than on those imposing bank statements that are not my doing.

I should get a waterproof tape recorder. Surely they make them. I tend to have ideas for stories while I am in the shower with no means of writing them down. And of course they aren't abstract ideas, they are actual line-for-line stories that never quite make it to paper (though yesterday's has been transcribed and I am fairly pleased with it so far).

I have to pee. When Will wakes up I have to clean the rest of the house in preparation for my sister's visit. I doubt that she'd think less of us if the house was messy (and I already cleaned the office, which is where she'll be sleeping), but it needs to be cleaned anyway, and I am grateful for the push.

fishnchips

In honor of the occasion, I made fishnchips for dinner last night. I also decided that it was only one word, but that is beside the point. Will said that mine were even better than the Cat & Fiddle's, though he had told me moments earlier that the food there was really good, so I don't know what to believe. Except - he took the massive leftovers to work today and gave half to his Limey co-worker Lara (who I am half in love with, by the way), and she said they were terrific, so I guess I can take her word.

In wedding news, I called a hotel today to try to reserve a block of rooms for the eight million out-of-town guests. I talked to two people and one voicemail and don't feel like I got anywhere at all, but at least I made the call. I can now go back to ignoring the planning stuff, at least until next week when my sister is here and we go clothes shopping. I am dreading the shoes.

I am now going to rearrange the bookshelves and dust in avoidance of laundry and job-searching. It's amazing the lengths I'll go to.

In other news, MSN messenger is being an asshat so I have signed onto be AIM and Yahoo to compensate. It isn't helping, because neither tells me when I have new mail on MSN.

This is important if you are not a member of the WD or just don't read posts there often.

I just want to fill everyone in on my antics over the past few weeks. I believe that I have achieved immortality.

I took a bath.

I became more popular than Jesus.

I got my own talk show.

Of course, if you have already read these posts, then you should feel free to do so again.

The Cat & Fiddle

I am not Irish, though I've had a little Irish in me (wink, wink). So I wasn't sure if I'd make a St. Patrick's Day-related post. That all changed when Will called to tell me that his lunch meeting had been changed from an Armenian restaurant to the Cat & Fiddle. He checked online to see what the reviews were like, having never been there. This one caught his eye:

User Rating: Below Average

if you like bad food/wrm beer-it rocks Posted by johnny69 on 02/05/2003
this place sucks...warm beer and bland food, but if you like that, you are in!

Dear Johnny69,

You are a moron. Guinness is supposed to be served at approximately 58°, which is probably a bit warm to your retarded Hollywood sensibilities. Fish and chips are a bland food - that is what the malt vinegar is for.

I suggest that if you are so free of culture that you don't know what an Irish pub is supposed to be like, you stay the fuck away and let the people who appreciate that sort of thing enjoy it.

Yours,
Disgusted By Your Ignorance

Vaughn/Sydney shippers are stooopid.

Everyone knows that Sydney belongs with Agent Weiss. He's my favorite! And now I have figured out what to do with stoopid old Vaughn, since the powers that be chose not to kill him off, again, much to Will's chagrin. (Er, that's my Will, not the one from Alias who actually made the show worth watching. Though he may have been disappointed as well.)

I would like to announce my new position as what may be the world's first Vaughn/Sark shipper.

Thank you for your time.

Yay! I am back on speaking terms with A&E.

I was pretty pissed off when Nero Wolfe got cancelled. I was pretty happy last year when they released the first season on DVD, even though we didn't (and still don't) have the money to purchase it.

But now - now! - A&E has season 2 available for pre-order. This is the best news ever! Someday when we have disposable income again we can have every episode of the best show ever available at our fingertips.

Neither season is available at Amazon, which has lowered my opinion of them somewhat, but season 1 is available at deepdiscountdvd.com for one-third the price that A&E is asking, and I imagine they will offer season 2 as well. It will be out with plenty of time to spare for my birthday.

lovey.

The conclusion to Six Years Ago Today, posted late, backdated, and with love.

Part 1 is here, part 2 here.

I could tell you about the intervening time. How we didn't see each other for three days and were both embarrassed and unsure and he had to get very drunk to come over and asked me to spend the night again. How we kept it a secret from our friends. How I kissed him right before his cue at a cabaret so he'd have to go onstage with lipstick on his face. How we started sleeping together in a way that involved more than sleep. How we watched Lonesome Dove. I could tell you all of that. I could tell you the exact dates and approximate times of day. It doesn't matter.

On Friday, March 13, 1998 I walked down the back steps of West dormitory in an old full-length wine-colored velvet dress. I wore new shoes, a borrowed shawl, and a blue garter. I was "given away" by my friend Craig, who has since passed away. Waiting at the stump where we drank our morning coffee and our evening beers was Will, in a white linen suit. Adam, a minister of the Universal Life Church, read vows that we'd written ourselves. They were terribly silly. Someone had a video camera. Will put a ring on my finger. I put one on his. The combined value of the rings was under two dollars. His was the ugliest one I'd been able to find. My hands were shaking.

After the ceremony I threw my "bouquet" (a black silk rose) and garter, and then we ate tiramisu that Craig had made for us. We'd forgotten plates and forks and made a terrific mess. That night there was a dance in the community space (technically called the Dance Space but I'll be damned if I'm going to say that outside of a parenthetical) and the coordinator gave us free passes. On the walk over Will stopped me and told me he loved me.

That seems like a pretty good place to end the story. The post script is about how we signed the certificate but never sent it to the courthouse. It's valid for 30 days after signing, which means that for 30 days we were legally married but after those 30 days we had never been married.

I usually hate posting quizzes, but...

You are Marcie!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I had to post this because I named my third car after Marcie. I spelled it Marcy, though, for a specific reason that I cannot remember. Her full name was Marcy Eileen June Solo. It's a lot of name for a car. Marcy I explained already. Eileen was for "Come on, Eileen," which I used to say to the car on hills. It turned out that the problem was a clogged fuel filter, which caused the accelerator to slip. June was for my best friend, and Solo was for Han because she was my Millennium Falcon. What? It was the year they released the stupid new Star Wars movies. You know, the original three with the unnecessary add-ons. I loved it because I got to see them in the theater. I wasn't even born when the first one came out.

I abandoned Marcy in the Antioch student parking lot after blowing the head gasket. She was not worth the $1000 repair bill. She had some great stickers on her, though. My favorite was green and said "Visualize Whirled Peas."

Apple pie would be great, thanks.

I am so very tired. Standing up all day hunched over STUPID FUCKING COOKIES does not do anything good for the neck and shoulders. On the other hand, I got my karmic payback for all that whining about wanting a dog. I had to decorate 150 dog-shaped cookies. To look like a specific dog. I do not jest. I had help, but it was still a crappy thing to have to do.

In entirely unrelated news, The Return of the King will be released on DVD May 25th. I have not yet seen a release date for the extended edition.

If I had $459 I could fly to Frankfurt.

Other than the dog cookies, work was fine. Afterwards we went out for a drink and some Japanese barbeque.

I have just taken a scalding hot shower and plan to do absolutely nothing that requires thinking or moving for the rest of the night.

I am upset, and it is all my own fault.

You remember how I said that Will's parents have a tendancy to steamroll us? (I might not have actually said it here, now that I think about it.) His mom did it to me today, and I am extremely ashamed of my inability to handle the situation. You remember Franny, Will's mom's boss that we are not talking to?

Will's mom called me today from work because they are having yet another problem with a factory in China. This time, the factory has told them that by Califonia law, stores cannot sell ceramics with decals on them. This sounds absurd to me, as most coffee mugs with designs on them are decal, not glaze. Anyway, it's got something to do with Proposition 65, which prohibits lead in drinking water and all sorts of other dangerous substances, including cadmium, which is apparently in the decals used on ceramics.

What the hell does this have to do with me? She wants me to find out if stores in LA sell ceramics with decals. I am going to keep right on typing ceramics with decals every time I mention ceramics with decals, because it is that ridiculous. She wanted me to call Pier One, because apparently she can't do that herself. I won't do that, but I offered (I don't know why) to stop in at a local store and look at the ceramics, to see if any of them had decals. I deduced all by myself that they would have to be ceramics for the purpose of eating or drinking, as ceramics with decals that were made for decorative purposes would almost certainly be excempt from this particular law. I tried to suggest that she just read the law in question, but apparently it is too long and complicated. Isn't that her job? So I did a search for it online, but for some reason I can't read PDF files, even though I could last week. I even tried to reinstall Adobe Reader. I AM NOT GETTING PAID TO WORK FOR THESE FREAKS! I can't imagine why I agreed to help. Much like Franny's phone call in September, I was too baffled to react appropriately.

So now I am stuck looking for ceramics with decals when all I want to do is finish the laundry and watch some Buffy. After a long break from season 5, I am up to The Body, which I can surely only handle watching if I do housework at the same time.

Anyway, I'm going to do it (not right this minute or anything, though - probably tomorrow), but then I have to figure out a way to ask her to NEVER GET ME INVOLVED WITH HER PETTY WORK PROBLEMS AGAIN - but nicely, because I am stuck with her forever.

I am so grumpy. Please send pie.

Everyone wants my money! And they can have it! I have forty-three cents. Divide it amongst yourselves.

On Tuesday I got mail from The Nature Conservancy asking me for money to help save the darling little endangered leopards. Yesterday I got mail from the HRC asking me for money to help save the darling little endangered civil rights of gay people. I love leopards (and I love gay people almost as much as leopards), but I don't have any money, so I threw away the letters.

Both organizations sent me, along with their pleas for money, "Free Personalized Address Labels!" The ones from the nature people had a really ugly bird on them, and the ones from the gay folks just had a logo (it's stripey).

I kept those.

Now. The way I figure it, the gay folks might care about the environment, and the nature people might care about gay rights (especially if there are gay leopards), but neither of them has the other as their main focus. So it is understandable that the HRC would send me an overweight letter full of paper. But I really don't understand why the nature people would. In order for endangered species to survive, they need habitats, and for most North American animals, this involves trees. The nature people must have killed two or three trees just to send my letter! I find that terribly irresponsible of them. What are the sweet little baby leopards going to climb up after I save their sweet little endangered lives? My letter? I doubt it, as it's unlikely that they'd fit in my wastepaper basket. Plus, no pets allowed. I'll have to double-check the lease, but I'm sure that includes endangered species.

And now I am worried that if I should happen to send any letters and use those return address labels, the recipients will assume that I have given money to these careless, tree-killing organizations. Of course, they will only be able to worry about that if they don't drop dead from the shock of getting a letter from me, so I suppose I have very little to worry about.

If I wanted to go to a resort, I would call a travel agent.

Our most frequent sales calls are from resorts. Always in San Diego. Always asking me to join them for some grand opening or another and offering me a free stay or complimentary airfare in exchange. There really isn't a convenient time for this sort of call, but I do think dinner time is particularly rude, even if I am not actually eating yet. (As a matter of fact, I haven't even started cooking yet and have no idea what I am going to make, but that does not change my point.) Also, I AM ON THE DO-NOT-CALL LIST!!! Apparently it doesn't count if you aren't actually trying to sell me something. I don't know, maybe it does. I should look into that. I don't even know if the DNC list is active, and if it is I don't know if it is working for us because we rarely ever got anything but calls from these (probably mythical) resorts.

And you know what's really annoying? If there were some way that I could know that it really was free and on the level, I would totally go to a resort. Even if it sucked, it would be free.

maybe good news.

First, the bad news: I have not been doing very well with my self-imposed job search. I have become completely wrapped up in the redesign of my website and am using the (entirely reasonable) excuse that it will look good on my resume. Sure, it is only basic html, but I think I am using it quite well.

The good news is that Elka called me out of the blue just now. She is the executive chef I worked for at the catering company. I never actually stopped working there, I just sort of stopped working there. I was always a back-up, so I assumed that they just didn't need me after the holiday rush. She only asked me to work two nights, and the pay is crap, but money is money and very welcome nonetheless. Besides, I like Elka and it will be nice to see her. And, I can find out how serious she was when she offered to cater the wedding, since it is about time for me to be shopping around and figuring that out.

I really don't want to do catering for a living unless I am making a far better wage than I get at this particular kitchen. Even then I am not sure I could do it full time. The hours tend to be inconvenient, especially with no transportation of my own. I don't like standing up constantly. I don't like the pastry chef yelling at me. (OK, being yelled at by Marta is kind of funny.) And washing my hands six hundred times a day is not high up on my list of things I want to do in the workplace. I have really dry skin!

What I ought to be doing is sitting at a nice cushy reception desk. I realize that doesn't sound very ambitious, but that is the point. I want a job that does not come home with me and holds little emotional significance.

breakfast.

I am really not a breakfast person. Most days, breakfast for me is coffee. Sometimes on weekends I will wake up and feel like breakfast, and on those occasions I will make everything*, but I would tend toward calling that brunch. I have no idea why.

Lately I have had to eat breakfast, because I am on a medication that has to be taken twice a day, with food. Trust me, I forgot it once and took it not even an hour after dinner, and it made me feel icky. So, food it is. I suppose I could take it with lunch and dinner, but sometimes I don't eat lunch until 4:00 in the afternoon, so breakfast seems smarter.

I love breakfast foods, but I rarely feel like eating them in the morning. So this recent morning meal trend has consisted largely of toast, which is good but a little boring.

*Everything generally consists of eggs, potatoes, meat, biscuits**, and sometimes beans, as well as the obligatory coffee.
**The American kind, often substituted with tortillas or even toast.

Secondhand Lions

I neglected to mention the reason that I've spent so much time looking at puppies in the last couple of days. We saw Secondhand Lions on Sunday, and just loved it. I highly, highly recommend renting it. I have not yet seen the special features, which are on a second disk (we got the first one only from Netflix), but I hear they're great, too.

The movie features a pack of dogs and a pig that run around together, being adorable. Most of them were either mutts or breeds I am not familiar with. One was an adorable little Bulldog-like creature; I asked Will what it was, he suggested French Bulldog, and there you go.

In other news, it turns out that I am very good with html if I start from scratch. While I remain incapable of fixing my blog template, I have completely redesigned several pages of my website. (The redesigned pages are not online, so don't bother looking yet.) I deserve cake! Alas, I already ate it all. I guess I could make more, but that sounds an awful lot like work.

Birthday!

Not mine, sadly.

Today is my sister's 23rd birthday! Twenty-three years ago today I cut her umbilical cord (no, really)! The poor monkey is probably knee-deep in schoolwork today. I will eat cake in her honor. CAKE IN HER HONOR!

In other news, I just cannot wrap my head around the fact that a Shar-Pei is not a teensy, fit-in-your-purse dog. It sounds bitty! I have never understood this and am surprised every time I see a photo, because my brain forgets that which it does not understand. Granted, they aren't exactly enormous either, but 50 pounds would not fit in my purse. (For reference, I should mention that I doubt I could even fit a Chihuahua in my purse.)

I have to stop talking abut dogs, because it is depressing Will. I guess I will start obsessing over real estate and job searching. Whee.

Dear Santa: I've been very good. Bring me a puppy?

I've been looking at pictures of different dog breeds all evening. Even Will got bored of it. Of course, since he likes dogs even more than I do, I suspect that he stopped looking out of a sense of self-preservation. We cannot have pets in this apartment, nor would I bring a large dog here if we could. And we are really large dog people. Unless we adopt a French Bulldog. They are really adorable.

My plan for us to buy a house will take about two and a half years, plus the time for me to find an income that will sustain the savings plan I made. I am not certain I can wait that long for home or companion. Maybe I ought to start looking into rental homes. In the northeast, I remember seeing many houses for rent with option to buy. I haven't seen anything of the sort here, but I haven't exactly been looking for that specifically. It would really be ideal, as (in my understanding) a percentage of the rent would go toward purchase in the event that we chose to do so.

I'll get right on that. Just as soon as I've taken a little nap.

p.s. Dear Santa, my current favorite is the Dogo Argentino. Just, you know, in case.

Boston Creeeeeam

Remember when I cut down on refined sugar? Remember how I stopped eating it altogether past dinnertime? Remember how healthy that made me feel?

I have just eaten the most delicious, custard-y donut on earth. I have no regrets.

This entry is for Rob. (Hi, Rob!)

MSNBC - Why 2004 election will defy history

WASHINGTON - It was Henry Ford who said �history is bunk� as he was busy reinventing American industry a century ago. Well, Ford is the man to see about this presidential campaign. So far, patterns of the past haven�t predicted a thing, and it�s going to remain that way right up to Election Day. For, based on history, neither George W. Bush nor John F. Kerry has a chance.

And now back to my regularly scheduled dinner.

I was rooting for you, Martha.

Apparently Martha Stewart was found guilty of all charges (obviously not counting the major one which was dropped last week). I haven't read any details, but I am oddly disappointed. I mean, if she's guilty, she's guilty - but I really like her, in an obscure sort of way.

Cold hands, warm heart?

Will insists that this is the case. I say he is really reaching. When I got out of the shower, he put his hands on my waist and I actually screamed, they were so cold.

Jenn's going to bring over her tape of this week's Angel later. I guess this means I can stop avoiding on-topic WD posts. Then again, I'm feeling a little bit burned out on the internet (my uncooperative computer is not helping matters), so I may take a little bit of a break. Of course, it's me, so that's probably not going to happen.

I have to pee. (I am thinking of ending all of my blog entries with unnecessary information from now on.)

I wish I liked martinis.

If I did, I would single-handedly reintroduce the world to the concept of the three martini lunch.

I think a lot of people could do with the de-stressing.

It's not exactly self-cleaning, but I guess it will do.

My friend Henry called me this afternoon and said he was coming over to switch around the hinges on our refrigerator door. I love having friends who will notice that you never got around to doing something and have been going to extra trouble every day because of it and will just do it for you. I have no idea why I never switched the hinges. I've done it before (to a different fridge) and the current one even came with instructions for that very task, but here it is a year after we bought the machine and the doors still opened the wrong way.

While Henry was doing the "manly" part of the job - you know, with tools and everything - I obsessively cleaned the outside of the fridge. Surprise! It's actually white. I had no idea. OK, it wasn't really that bad, but living next to the stove it gets a lot of grease splattered on it. Also, the top was covered in that lovely layer of greasy dust that seems to settle on anything in the kitchen if you let it go for more than a week. I do wipe the top down rather frequently, but since I am shorter than the refrigerator it can go a while without my noticing.

Then Henry left and I set about the task I had actually been procrastinating at the very time that he called: cleaning out the inside of the fridge. There was some old food that had to go, and I wanted to clean out the compartments on the door and the shelves and everything. I noticed when I took out the shelves, which are made of glass or a reasonable facsimile, that they say "spill-proof" on them. Now, I am no expert, but they were covered in what looked very much like spills to me. Also, they were fogged up, which made me laugh like a lunatic and then laugh even harder when I realized that of course they'd fogged up once I removed them from the colder climate and put them in the sink. And I know that they probably mean that the shelves won't allow spills to leak down onto the other shelves, but really. When it says spill-proof I expect no spills.

I didn't bother cleaning out the drawers. That would have meant admitting to myself that I have once again let produce go bad, which makes me rather depressed.

What the HELL?

Google owns Blogger, right? (Right.) And while Blogger does not offer built-in comments, surely they are aware that people install them on their own. I think that they even provide suggestions for commenting systems.

Google provides the Google Toolbar, which includes BlogThis! and a pop-up blocker. I love my pop-up blocker. I have it set to allow pop-ups on Buffyguide only, which means that I don't get very many pop-ups.

Today, a weird thing happened. My pop-up blocker started blocking comments on Blog*Spot blogs. Blog*Spot being, of course, the free Blogger host. This has never happened before. It isn't a pop-up! I have to manually tell the page that I want the comments to, well, pop up. Is it a JavaScript thing? Is it me? It's all right, you can tell me if it is.

*cries*

Starsky & Hutch: It doesn't suck.

In fact, it's dreadfully funny and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Ben and Owen have terrific chemistry, which I think everyone knows already, and they managed to make the characters their own while still playing them completely straight. Vince Vaughn was terrific as the bad guy, and Jason Bateman (Batman?) was unrecognizable as his sidekick. I didn't even hate Juliette Lewis, who I normally loathe. I loved Snoop Dogg too. I doubt that I could ever be so absorbed by a performance of his that I'd forget it was Snoop, but he was very good.

My only complaint is the scene you've all probably seen in the trailers where Ben takes on the "Do it" guy's identity as a disguise. The only reason this bothered me is that I don't find the "Do it" guy funny. However, the set-up for the scene is very funny, and of course Hutch makes fun of Starsky's disguise, so it's fine.

I don't want to give too much away or to seem as though I'm just plugging the movie because of my connections to it, but I do think it's worth seeing. It isn't as funny or clever as Dodgeball, so if you're only going to see one movie this year on my recommendation, wait. However, if you just want an hour and a half of fun, go see Starsky & Hutch. I'd pay for it if I hadn't gotten to go for free.

No Angel.

As in "I'm no..." but mostly as in "I won't be seeing..." We're going to a screening of Starsky & Hutch tonight instead of watching Angel. So if anyone gives anything away before I get a chance to borrow a tape, I will kill you. With my brain.

10 Things I Hate About You.

No, not the movie. (I liked it.) Just that so often I see blog entries by other people containing "10 Things About Me" or "10 things you never wanted to know about me" or, of course, the dreaded "100 things" that so many people do. Anyway, I thought I'd make some sort of list myself. And as soon as I thought "10 Things," my brain added on the rest of the movie title. So there you go.

1. There are photographs of me on a naughty website. I don't actually have copies of the pictures - anyone who feels like paying for a membership to the website, let me know. It's mostly lesbian stuff.
   
2. I attended school for a total of six years. Fourth grade through eighth grade and one year of college. The rest of my education has been self-led. (For the irrepressibly curious: Fourth, fifth and sixth grade were at the Woodstock Elementary School; Seventh was at the Onteora Junior High; eight was at Columbus Academy, a magnet school in Manhattan; college was Antioch.)
   
3. I would like to get a Master's Degree but have no intention of finishing a Bachelor's first. I have never been turned down for a job because of my education (or "lack" thereof). I think I would study Library Sciences or Film History if I were to attend a graduate program.
   
4. My dream job is to write a regular column for a magazine or newspaper. My preferred topics would be home life or entertainment (duh).
   
5. My dream career is to own a production company and develop film and television.
   
6. The movie version of Watership Down gave me nightmares for years. I have never had any interest in reading the book, even though I own it. I saw the movie when I was six. My (adult) friend Michael asked me what movie I'd like him to rent for me (we had no television) and I asked for The Black Stallion, my favorite movie on earth (at the time). The video rental place didn't have it and recommended the evil, scary cartoon. It's been twenty years and I am still terrified of it.
   
7. I haven't seen Michael since I was seven, and I still miss him. I know where he is (he's got a website), but I don't know if I want to contact him. Once he called me (again, I was about six) and when we got off the phone he wished me "sweet dreams." I dreamed about horses running through a field; I have never had a sweeter dream. I think perhaps I would rather keep my memories than know him now.
   
8. I went through my parents' divorce at age nine (and 10 and 11 - it was ugly) and although I dealt with it very well, it has made me fiercely pro-marriage. I will never get a divorce.
   
9. I am eating pretzels.
   
10. I have strange social anxieties. I crave human contact but feel very insecure when it is not on my terms. Large groups reduce me to silence. If I go to a party with someone, I stay very close to that person the entire time, even if I enjoy the company of the other people in attendance. I am better at written or telephone interaction than face-to-face.
    

*whistles*

Move along.

This is terrible.

Will and I watched The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen last night. I was very excited to come online today and trash it. The problem? I didn't hate it. I even kind of liked it.

Now. It is not the movie I would have made. For one thing, I would have essentially filmed the comic. And even if I were making the story they made, I would have changed the pacing quite a bit, among other things. And the special effects were all over the place - the Jeckyll/Hyde stuff was phenomenal, the Nautilus and other scientific equipment quite disappointing. But all in all, I liked it.

I am deeply ashamed.

Take that, stinky politicians!

I voted. For Dean. I know it's a "wasted" vote, but with him out of the race I will be equally satisfied with Kerry or Edwards (though Edwards is better looking), so I voted the way I wanted to, results be damned.

I am feeling deliciously irresponsible right now.

VOTE.

Today is Big Tuesday, or Splendid Tuesday, or Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Tuesday, or something. A bunch of states, including the one I live in, are voting in the Democratic Primary election right now. My state (California) is also voting on four propositions, all of which strike me as terrible ideas.

Now. I'm not a registered Democrat; because I don't like either party, I registered Undeclared. However, I can vote on the Democratic ballot if I request it. Of course, my plan to request it sort of centered around the fact that I was crazy about Howard Dean, who dropped out. So I am tempted not to vote at all. When Will said goodbye to me this morning, after bringing me a glass of water, he said he was off to vote and he looked unhappy about it (he really doesn't follow politics, lucky bastard), so I told him not to. If he doesn't care about the propositions or the local elections (even I don't care a fig about the local elections), and the Democratic hopefuls are all the same to him, I don't think he ought to (have to) vote.

I do think that I ought to vote, but I really don't feel like walking to my polling place. It's about twice as far away as the place where we voted in October (against the recall, thank you very much). I am lazy and out of shape and bitter about Dean.

Grrr. I'll let you all know what I decide to do. And I have lots more to say about the Oscars, which I may or may not get around to saying later today.

In which I rhapsodise on the subject of hobbits and Kings and golden statues.

I've only seen The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King once. I keep meaning to go back a second time and chickening out for a variety of reasons, including laziness and a lack of interest in crying for four straight hours again. The only time I can recall ever crying as hard as I did after seeing that movie was about four and a half years ago, right after my cat who I'd had since the age of five died. I am still not sure if I was crying over the cat or not, much like I am uncertain of what, exactly, it was about Return of the King that hit me so hard. Heroism in the face of impossible odds, I suppose. Beauty. See? I don't know.

On Saturday evening and again on Sunday I emphatically announced that I would be happy if ROTK's only award was for Best Director. Peter Jackson deserved that award more than anyone has ever deserved it. Well, that isn't true, but he really deserved it. A lot of folks have been going around saying that Best Picture was sort of a token for all three films. I think that Best Director is that, only more.

Roundabout the second award that the movie picked up, I turned to Will and said, "They're going to sweep." By the third award, I was loudly lamenting the fact that I hadn't entered any Oscar Pools, because ever single award was going the way I thought it would. Granted, it was a fairly predictable year, but still...

When the song from The Triplets of Belleview was performed, I whispered that I hoped it would win. When Annie Lenox and Howard Shore and darling Fran Walsh were announced winners, I whispered again that I didn't care which song was better, I'd really wanted them to win.

I must wholeheartedly agree with whichever Hobbit-lad it was who suggested that the Academy ought to adopt an award for Ensemble Cast. I could not in all honesty have chosen any single Supporting Actor from the group, though Sean Astin stands out a bit. If you ask me (and you don't have to - my blog!) Samwise is the hero of the story. Frodo may be the ringbearer, but Sam is the hero.

When I predicted a sweep, I impressed Will by telling him that such an event would tie the picture with Ben Hur and Titanic for the most Oscars. (Frankly, I thought everyone knew that.) When the ceremony was over, I decided to check out whether any other films had ever won every single award they were nominated for. Two have, but each for a 'mere' nine awards - Gigi and The Last Emperor.

In addition to tying/breaking those records, it is only the second picture ever to bring in over a billion dollars in worldwide box office. I am somewhat skeptical of that "honor," though, as it does not take inflation into account.

If I am not mistaken, the Oscar for Art Direction went to The Lord of the Rings all three years.

...Oopsie, no it didn't. Chicago beat The Two Towers and Moulin Rouge beat The Fellowship of the Ring. I was thinking of Visual Effects.

I lost my train of thought.

In totally unrelated news, I can't believe that Gunga Din wasn't nominated for a single award. I'm so shocked that I actually just checked to make sure it really was released in the year I thought it was (1939, which it was). Of course, I'm wrong once again - it was nominated for Best Cinematography, Black and White.

Now I've really lost my train of thought. I had lots of stuff to say about how anti-Oscar I've always been, and why I'm not a gigantic hypocrite for allowing this year to matter to me so much, but I don't know. I think I'm done for now.

Sources: my brain, Yahoo! Movies, IMDB.com, Greatest Films