The United Hates of America

Was there ever/A cat so clever

2007-03-05T16:06:00.000-05:00

I re-read Heather's post about losing Chuck today in hopes it would make me feel a bit better, like someone else understands, in light of losing Holmes last Thursday. I should find solace in the fact there's no one to blame in our situation. It must have been terrible for her to handle being solely responsible for leaving the dog alone outside. In our case, I suppose you could argue that my choice to allow the cat outside in the first place makes me culpable, but I certainly prefer not to. I know he never would have been happy staying inside all day--he was too full of life and too excited by chasing birds and exploring the garden. Despite knowing he could get outside if he pleased, he would still sit atop Ray's recliner daily, peering out between the blinds to survey any and all action that was occurring. I know he would have been miserable if he hadn't ever been allowed to participate.

But allowing him that freedom has left me miserable. Having had him for only two years, after never really planning on owning a cat in the first place, I suppose I didn't realize how much I'd miss him if he weren't around. I was never a cat person in particular, it was just this cat that somehow won me over entirely. I miss the little things I'd come to expect: that he'd always push open my bedroom door, the one I can't close fully, when I retired to my room post-shower on Saturdays, inevitably while I was completely naked and always leading me to chastise him for his compulsion to enter at that exact moment every week. That he'd curl up on the couch with me most nights, the only member of the household to celebrate the fact that I was wasting yet another hour on American Idol, and then stay up with Ray in to the wee hours, keeping him company after I'd already gone to bed. His favorite thing in the world was to play attack games with us inside, or in the yard, or with fake mice that seemed particularly wily when he was wide-eyed and wired off catnip. He'd always come running, because he was never far away, when either of us arrived home from work, a lovely greeting and reminder that after a long day there was always unconditional love waiting at home.

After five days I'm beginning to learn not to check the yard in the mornings or expect him to greet me when I get home. I'm not mis-hearing what I think is him, pawing at the front door to get in, and when I woke up this morning I wasn't surprised to realize I was alone in bed. My friends tell me to keep hoping, that maybe he took a break and will be home in a day or two, but I'm convinced this isn't the case. We've checked the SPCA and walked the streets. We've spoken to the neighbors and posted fliers and I feel like I knew this cat too well and I know that he's gone. He wouldn't have gotten lost and he wouldn't have left. It's hard not to have closure but I imagine the best case scenario, the one where some nice family, charmed by his his good looks and an excess of personality, took him in to be their own and love. I imagine this even if I don't believe it.

More Fun With Email

2007-02-09T11:03:00.000-05:00

Did someone just send me an email, inquiring about renting the room for an event, with not just one line song lyric as her signature but in fact the entirety or Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" written out? Oh yes, yes she did.

One Year Later

2007-01-23T18:29:00.000-05:00

It's my anniversary so I figured I would tell you about my boyfriend.

Before Jeremy asked me out, I only knew of him vaguely as the handsome parking lot attendant who sometimes gave me a break on my daily rate. This unwarranted discount, however, did nothing to dissuade me of my vague presumption that he was an asshole. Charlottesville is, you see, rife with attractive dicks and I suppose I just absentmindedly threw him in to that category for no good reason at all since that's the criteria I generally employ while baselessly judging people all day long like I do.

But he isn't, as evidenced during our first date, despite its being a somewhat uninspired pool session (although admittedly this was a mutual decision after I shot down his suggestion we go to a movie I'd previously seen). The real proof was when he followed up that date with a visit by the house later in the week wherein he a) watched reality tv with me b) pretended (convincingly!) to actually enjoy said reality tv and c)brought chocolate for me to devour during this boob tube session, and we all know it was a straight shot to my heart after that.

In the year since then, things have been largely consistent. By that I mean I continued to watch bad tv and eat too much chocolate and he continued to be nice to me and fake it like he meant it in areas where it really mattered (see: the music I like, the TLC shows I rot our brains with, all things horse-related, etc.). Of course he had to go and throw a kink in the chain with that whole 'moving to Houston and becoming a meat-eating, homo-hating, acid-making, cowboy' but somehow even that has not deterred us and things have only grown stronger and better by the day.

It sounds generic, but Jeremy is just about the best person I know and has made this past year the best year I can remember. Thanks.

Indeed, I have the best job in the world

2007-01-17T13:25:00.000-05:00

I suppose I don't talk about work too too much here since the consensus seems to be that blogging about your job = bad bad idea, but the fact of the matter is that I could and I should because my job is awesome and I am spoiled. Take for example, today. We've paid some advertising company too much money to promise us that anyone who searches online for an event venue in Charlottesville will find us at the top of his/her results page. Problem is, even I can't find us when I search using our agreed upon key words. So we whined to said advertiser who, rather than actually doing something helpful like explaining or fixing the issue, faxed over a USA Today article titled "How to get Google to notice you." (Before you ask, this advertiser is actually some subset of the Yellow Pages and yes, I too was expecting some sort of customer support other than blurry photocopies of a fluff piece from a poorly written newspaper.)

Anyway, the point of the story is that the article mentions the import of key words and and links and in regards to the latter suggests that you post links on Flickr pictures, MySpace, and in blog comments, and then, if you're really gung-ho, maybe start a blog yourself! My boss came in and I handed him the article while mentioning that if had to I would totally spend more time trolling the internets and linking our site on every blog I read. "Why don't you just start a blog instead?" he responded, "Make up some crazy soap opera about what goes on here."

The humor in this lies in the fact this place often could be mistaken for some crazy soap opera and we've talked, on more than on occasion, about how we so should have had someone make a reality show out of the business--at least that way we could pay the bills. Lately, my boss' (generally silent but not so silent anymore) partner has been meddling in all our affairs and, by and large, driving us all completely insane. So my next question to the boss was, "So what do I write about then? Your crazy partner and the fact that he's been in here lately and everyone hates him?" "Sure, I don't care."

This should be a better post

2007-01-05T17:51:00.000-05:00

I don't have a myspace page. Which is not to say that I don't sign on to the Ballroom's page and secretly peruse your own from time to time when work is slow, but still. My lack of myspace or facebook presence has imbued me with an inappropriate sense of holier than thou-ness, or at least it had, until today when Ray pointed this out. Looking at the first picture I've seen of me on the site I realized that in actuality, I am worse than all of you combined.

Dear Ray, I did a bad bad thing

2007-01-02T16:14:00.000-05:00

If my new year's resolution had been to post here more often, well then, dear internet, it seems I already would have thwarted myself. I have an addictive personality when it comes to media, you see, and lately I've been filling the gaps left by my half-assed crackdown on tv watching with internetting of the most useless variety. Not learning anything new, not IMing with friend, certainly not posting on here (because seriously, with the amount of time I spend on this thing I should be averaging somewhere around 1000 coherent words/day). So I figured now was the PERFECT time to send ye olde laptop back to Best Buy for yet another fix--that and the fact that I have 63 days left on my warranty and if it breaks one.more.time during said period I get A WHOLE NEW COMPUTER (commence to crossing your fingers and sending me viruses (or something)).

Anyway I thought this was a great plan and all until I realized that, hi, the computer? sorta like a lifeline for me. Or maybe like a life preserver. I can tread water, but only for so long (until, say, Britney Spears gets knocked up again and I mustfindoutwhosthebabysdaddyohmygodrightnow). Ray, on the other hand, lovely and amazing roommate Ray, he has become somewhat of a computer junkie. I hate to out him but it seems he may have more online friends than real live and in person friends lately and for him, that computer? IS THE AIR HE BREATHES. So let me apologize Ray, here's hoping you can hold your breath for two to four weeks.

memememememememe

2006-12-25T11:46:00.000-05:00

Ok. Finally getting around to my five things.

1. I really dislike hugging. Unless you are my s.o. or possibily some attractive celebrity I want to touch.
2. When I was little (elementary school age?) I was terrified every night that I was going to be killed. I would try lying really flat and covering myself, head to toe, in a blanket in hopes the intruder(s) wouldn't notice me. When I wasn't doing that I would sleep on my side, but only my right side and facing the door because I reasoned that I'd rather wake up, first see my killer, and then be stabbed in the chest than suffer a sneak attack and have a knife plunged in to my back. I couldn't sleep on my left side, regardless of whether I was in my bed or elsewhere, until I was about 12.
3. My second and third toe on both feet are kind of webbed. My mom says it's one of the first things she noticed about me when I was born. I prefer to think of them as 'growing from the same stump' rather than webbed, but man, I can swim like a fish.
4. I've never smoked a cigarette. Not even a puff.
5. I had lice something like 3 or 4 times in sixth grade. Now I think it's totally weird when people say they never had it, but they probably also didn't have a best friend at whose house they slept over all.the.time and who a)didn't know she had lice b)didn't admit she had lice even after you gently suggested she might want to get checked since you'd gotten it c)continued her reign as nice lice lady until your fed up mother finally called the school and insisted they send her ass home until she got rid of that shit.

A Day That Shall Live in Infamy

2006-12-18T17:45:00.000-05:00

Let it be known that on this date, December eighteenth, two thousand and six, I successfully completed my first EVER attempt at car care. Yes, yes I've taken the car to get inspected or have the oil changed and hatnot but today I actually changed my headlight bulb all.by.myself. And yes, my boyfriend conveniently provided some graphic instructions on ho to do this, but I didn't even use them!

Lest you think I am actually good for anything, however, I'll have you know that in fact I actually changed TWO bulbs, one on each side. That, you see, is because I switched out the working bulb the first time. Whoops.

Shhh.

2006-12-13T18:47:00.000-05:00

Were I to inexplicably begin blogging again today, this random Wednesday in December, rather than say, the logical choice of January 1st, I'm not sure what I would write about, and this, my friend, has been the lame lame reason for my absence these many weeks.

I could tell you that I just signed on for the first time in ages and switched to some newer! better! version of Blogger, even though I have no idea what the difference is.
I could tell you that other than this unnoticeable formatting alternation, nothing much has changed with me lately. Same job, same friends, same tendency to go to bed before 10:15 every night and same ability to be surprisingly okay with this and the lack of interesting blog fodder it brings.

But you wouldn't want to read about that would you?

Or I could be a little more specific and say that I psyched myself on that whole 'life' thing and somehow this paralyzed me and kept me from telling you anything at all. I could explain how I got all wrapped up in this idea of writing for real, for people--well not directly, I don't want to write necessarily, but I have narrowed my ideal career down to something word-related. And making that minor, minor decision threw me in to a bit of tizzy what with that whole overwhelming sense of self-doubt we women often seem so predisposed to. Because if I write anything, anything at all, I'll judge it, you'll judge it, and what if someone down the line judges it? And what if we all hate it? And what if I somehow allow your/my/our poor opinion of it to ingrain itself in this pretty little head? And what if I then let this eat away at my confidence night by night (but only before 10:15) until I have totally, unreasonably convinced myself that I am wholly incapable of ever doing anything word-related ever. Better to just stop with the word use than risk it, huh?

And I don't pine for the blog, or at least I don't allow myself time to pine for the blog (instead opting to fill my evenings with Top Chef and Dr. 90210...and sometimes a good book) but I do think its a good exercise. Particularly if I ever want to get this word-related dream job I have so precisely picked out.

So if I were to start writing here again I would try and quietly pick it back up. And I'd promise not to beat myself up for not posting if I get busy, or the boyfriend visits, or I decide to embark on the marathon that will be watching season two of Lost. I would also resolve to: make an effort to write here frequently and more openly, enjoy writing here in that manner, hit 'publish' already and get over it (and assume you will too) when I end a sentence with a preposition or begin with a conjunction, and never again write another post in a ridiculous, hypothetical manner such as this..

Oh, Valencia!

2006-10-06T17:46:00.000-04:00

I just watch the Decemberists' Conan appearance. They sounded great, or at least greater than bands normally sound playing live on TV. I found it particularly off-putting though to see:
1. their new drummer who is both a)male b)competent (I know I know, it isn't true, but I always secretly kinda felt like I could play drums about as well as Rachel Blumberg)
2. someone attractive (aside from Colin Meloy, naturally). Apparently there's some confusion over whether Lisa Molinaro is a new band member or just around for the tour but really--the whole pretty girl in a mildly modern outfit just seemed so contrary to their aesthetic, or at least my perception of it.

Remember? They Were the British Anarchists.

2006-10-06T11:09:00.000-04:00

Driving in to work I was listening to a Morning Edition story about the new body armor soldiers in Iraq are outfitted with these days. The central interviewee in the piece was a Marine who had been shot in the back by a sniper. Had he been wearing the old protective gear, the best case scenario would have been life long paralysis. With the new armor, though, he survived with no more than a bruise and a damaged protective plate that serves as a testament to what he endured. He plans to have that piece of armor mounted once he returns home, complete with commemorative plate that cites the date of the incident and, possibly, a quote from a song: "I get knocked down, but I get up again."

Chumbawamba? Ironic much?

I Saw You

2006-09-21T11:16:00.000-04:00

You: 25-30 y.o. WM Grad Student reading/chatting outside Alderman Library. Brown hair, brown shoes, khaki slacks, tweed blazer, smoking a pipe at 10:30 in the morning. FYI, you look like a prick.

About Last Night

2006-09-13T20:26:00.000-04:00

While I can't be sure, because I forget most of it, I think last night was pretty much perfect.

Announcing the Announcement

2006-09-11T14:51:00.001-04:00

So this Tuesday, as in tomorrow, promises to be fantastic, as we'll be making it so. Mikey B and I have slaved, oh how we've slaved, over planning "The Greatest Pre-Flaming Lips Concert Progressive That Charlottesville Has Ever Seen." Our intricately detailed agenda looks something like this:

3-3:30 begin convening at the Nice Jenkins house. Nothing gets lit on fire yet since some people have day jobs and I can't make it til 5 or so
5-5:30 start lighting shit on fire and drinking heavily at the Nice Jenkins house. This will mark the official start of TGPFLCPCHES
5:30-6 move on to Beth/Stanley's house. Drink more. Light more stuff on fire.
6-6:30 move on to Matt/Ryan/Dana's house. See above.
6:30-7 move on to Mike's house. See above. Again.
7 arrive at concert sufficiently inebriated and enjoy what is sure to be a fantastic show

So there you have it. We're not quite sure how many people to expect but it'd be great if each house could provide some sort of drink(s), preferably served on fire, suggestions can be found here, or pretty much anywhere else on the interweb. Barring that, at least have some beer available or something, lest we decide to burn your house down, all in the spirit of the event of course. And if you don't live at one of these houses then get on board anyway and come bearing gifts or coordinate with one house or something. Please send the good word along to anyone who likes a) the Flaming Lips b) drinking and c) not being lame.

New Neighbor

2006-09-10T13:50:00.000-04:00

You live in my shed. I kinda wish you were tame and lived inside.

More With the Mush

2006-09-08T19:56:00.000-04:00

Once you've been totally spoiled by all things vacation, love, and goodness-related, it's hard to transition back to the real world and people expecting you to actually "do things" and "be responsible." I was having some difficulty getting too excited for this weekend since I was so excited for last weekend and this time all I have to look forward to is the influx of UVA alumni who just cant.quite.let.go of the glory that is wearing tacky clothes, drinking until you puke, yelling homophobic slogans, and generally acting like an asshole all in the name of college football. That was, until, this lovely one announced not only that he'd be visiting C-Ville on the company's dime, but that this momentous event will take place in one week, no less. So.Fucking.Excited. And for this weekend now too. Cause I've got so much too look forward to.

I Already Knew I Grossed Me Out. Now It's Your Turn!

2006-09-07T20:16:00.000-04:00

I have no self control when it comes to food. For real. This is why I honestly can't keep anything sweet and delicious in my kitchen lest I gorge myself on whateveritisohmygodIdon'tcarejustfeedmenow the first night after purchase and am then forced to feel regretful and guilty, and quite possibly be ultimately compelled to use a machine next to GCG at the gym for the entire next week.

Since there was nothing legitimately sweet in my kitchen back in college, I remember allaying cravings by melting Smart Balance on a Wasa crisp bread and then sprinkling Splenda and cinnamon on top. I know right.

These days I don't deny myself everything but I still can't justify keeping cookies or ice cream around with any frequency. I always tell myself I'd just eat one Hershey's nugget an evening if I bought the bag but somehow I inevitably wind up with 15 wrappers in front of me at the end of each of the two whole days the package lasts. This is unless, of course, the chocolate in question is some of that supa bitter Lindt chocolate that your boyfriend bought you one time after you professed your love for all things dark chocolate and which is just oh.my.god. so bitter and which, for real, thank you so much for that honey it was so thoughtful, but the part where I told you I liked it? yeah I lied, and I could eat no more than like 1/4th a square bi-weekly. Then again, hello, tis gone all the same.

Usually when there's nothing around I can make due with a cup of sweet tea or a piece of fruit, but this evening I still had a savior in the form of one last diet pudding cup. After even that (surprise!) didn't quench the urge, it was time for desperate measures. Frozen bananas are super sugary and more delicious than you might remember, but fruit alone does nothing for my chocoholism. That's when the magic shell comes in. I had it leftover from my adventures in ice cream cake-ing and had kind of forgotten about it (see: lack of ice cream in the house) until a light bulb totally went off in my head today in terms of pairing the two. Once you get over the fact that if your forget to shake up the magic shell first it totally just pours out nasty oil which ruins your banana half and forces you to get a new bowl since your old one is now so greasy and gross and eww? it's totally a delightful dessert.

Blargh.

2006-09-06T20:21:00.000-04:00

I was so excited when we finally had the opportunity to put in an offer for a Ted Leo show at the Ballroom. I have been just itching to get him in the room ever since I started not only because I'm a fan but also because I think he's exactly the kind of artist that would work perfectly in the space. We've been contacting his agent for over a year now just asking for an opportunity to potentially host a show, so when we finally got that chance we went above and beyond what he asked for knowing not only that Ted Leo was worth as much but also that we really.freaking.wanted.this.show. Without asking for a revised offer we heard from the agent today that they'd decided to go elsewhere and were bummed. But wait! Ted Leo shall play C-Ville! Get your tickets here.

Thinking, That's All

2006-09-05T20:35:00.000-04:00

Leaving Houston was a bit like emerging from a dream (a dream where Steve Irwin is still alive, mind you). Everything there was a bit surreal—maybe because I’d built it up for so long in my head, or maybe because the way events unfolded far exceeded the expectations I’d concocted in even my best-case, fairy tale scenario. Some things run like clockwork and this was one. Not just the trip itself but us. Yes, there were approximately 3 minutes when things weren’t perfect: 150 seconds of my being pissy over forgetting to bring my make up bag to the beach and 30 seconds of Jeremy’s being pissy over the Houston DMV equivalent being dumb fucks. And yes Houston was much as it was described to me--that is, my boyfriend being far and away the best thing there, the humidity and sprawl (oh god the sprawl) being the worst. But it was still just about the best trip of all time and I am just about the luckiest girl in the world.

Recipe for Labor Day Weekend

2006-09-05T20:07:00.000-04:00

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Sam's Club is Hell

2006-08-25T13:20:00.000-04:00

I just returned from my second trip ever to Sam's Club. With multiple experiences at the establishment under my belt now, I feel justified in concluding that Sam's Club may just be the worst place on Earth.

There.is.so.much.crap. HUGE bundles of crap EVERYWHERE.

While the aisles are labeled, you need a map to navigate the place since walking around the store to figure out where bar towels are takes approximately 35 minutes. This is, of course, assuming that you're pushing your gi-normous, barely navigable cart around with you the whole time. You can't help but judge everyone you see there too. 13 pounds of grapefruits? 7.5 pounds of turkey jerky? Who are you people?

I apparently fit in perfectly with these people though, because not even at Sam's Club can I escape the mistake people always make wherein they assume I work at whatever retail store I'm patronizing, or, even if obviously a customer, ask me questions as if I work in said store. No, I don't have any idea where they moved the soda, and yes, I do have approximately 900 plastic cups in my cart at the moment, but that doesn't mean I know where things are in this hell hole, it means I asked someone in a vest.

It doesn't help that the store is located down the stretch of 29N that I happen to find the most depressing strip of road that I have ever traveled. My standard disdain was compounded today by the fact that, in addition to the water main work that forced two lanes to merge into one, there was a moving truck broken down on the way there, and a garbage truck broken down on the way back. No joke.

So to my coworkers who requested I pick up Shop Vac bags and hanging plant holders while I was there: I'm sorry I returned empty-handed, and admittedly I didn't even look for your stuff. Just be happy I came back with both my cups and my sanity.

Super Superficial Me

2006-08-25T10:12:00.000-04:00

If you were Jill Carroll and had guaranteed yourself seemingly unending media coverage by publishing a serialized account of your experience as a hostage in Iraq, wouldn't you do something about your hair?

Beach-y Keen

2006-08-22T21:05:00.000-04:00

Yes, yes--am woefully remiss in recounting our beach adventure. It was grand (most of the time). It looked like this:

Judgment Call

2006-08-19T10:09:00.000-04:00

Last night at The Extraordinaires show I was introduced to some guy who'd just moved to Charlottesville to attend Law School. He's been here three days and has somehow already managed to ingratiate himself with the notoriously pretentious? insular? awesome? staff and owner of the Bistro/Ballroom aka my friends.

He told me he'd moved to Virginia from Salt Lake City. Obviously of Middle Eastern descent, I felt free to launch in to some drunken rambling about how I've heard Salt Lake City is great and I've seen pictures that make it look beautiful and I'm told it's really not that bad living with all those Mormons and blah blah blah oh and yeah, my authority on the subject stems from this one blog I read, written by some woman I've never met and don't actually know, who sometimes talks about her experiences in Utah.

Dooce itself didn't ring a bell, but when I described her website a little further there was a hint of recognition in his eyes.

"Oh my god you read that? That's crazy--she totally wrote about me and she's totally a bitch."

And now I am faced with a dilemma. Do I believe the woman I don't know but who I feel like I know, who says he sucks? Or do I believe the guy I don't know but who I suspect I will know if he continues with his current drinking habits, who says she sucks?

Work?

2006-08-18T17:45:00.000-04:00

Check out our schedule, for it is kickass

F 08/18 The Extraordinaires, The Corndawg, Adam Got Robbed
S 08/19 Boston Afrobeat Society
M 08/21 "Happy Hollow" Happy Hour Cursive Listening Party
F 08/25 Bio Ritmo
Sa 08/26 Osmotic, Man Mountain Jr., Hippadellic
W 08/30 John McCutcheon, Greg Howard, Fundraiser--Al Weed for Congress
Th 09/07 Dr. Octagon aka Kool Keith, Q. Black & The Whoppaz
Su 09/10 The Reverand Horton Heat, Horrorpops
Th 09/14 Wrinkle Neck Mules, The Nice Jenkins, Cashmere Jungle Lords
F 09/15 Rogue Wave, Jason Collett, Foreign Born
M 09/18 M. Ward, Portastatic
Th 09/21 Flin Flon
F 09/22 Devil Music Ensemble scoring "Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde" @ Vinegar Hill Theater
Su 09/24 Architecture in Helsinki
M 09/25 Mates of State, Starlight Mints
Tu 09/26 Long Winters
Th 09/28 Of Montreal, Doofgoblin
Sa 09/30 Chuck Brown
Th 10/05 Jon Spencer's Heavy Trash, The Sadies
M 10/09 Xiu Xiu
Tu 10/10 Wolf Eyes, John Weiss, Grand Banks
Sa 10/14 Islands
Tu 10/17 Portastatic, Jennifer O'Conner
F 11/03 Hanzel und Gretyl, Bella Morte, InTenebris
M 11/06 The Slits, The Apes, Rah Bras
F 11/10 She Wants Revenge, Pretty Girls Make Graves
Su 11/12 Blue Cheer
Th 11/16 Cursive

Come to our shows.

GVSB

2006-08-16T20:47:00.000-04:00

Being all depressed-like for the past week or so means I've already caught up on the last two Project Runway episodes I slept through and don't have any 'worthwhile' teevee headed my way until 10 (when, no doubt, I will be sleeping). Good news is that this gives me more time to read, which is great because I've been engrossed in the Ian McEwan novel I started Monday, The Child in Time, ever since I picked it up (although admittedly I'm still only 1/3rd of the way through--don't tell me if that last 2/3rds sucks ass).

I've dog-eared a couple striking passages thus far and today's Unfogged posts kinda had the issue of differences between the sexes at the forefront of my mind so I give you this (p. 54-55):

"Such faith in endless mutability, in re-making yourself as you came to understand more, or changed your version, he had come to see as an aspect of her femininity. Where once he had believed, or thought he ought to believe, that men and women were, beyond all the obvious physical differences, essentially the same, he now suspected that one of their many distinguishing features was precisely their attitudes to change. Past a certain age, men froze into place, they tended to believe that, even in adversity, they were somehow at one with their fates. They were who they thought they were. Despite what they said, men believed in what they did and they stuck at it. This was a weakness and a strength. Whether they were scrambling out of trenches to be killed in their thousands, or doing the firing themselves, or putting the final touches to a cycle of symphonies, it only rarely occurred to them, or occurred only to the rare ones among them, that they might just as well be doing something else.

To women this thought was a premise. It was a constant torment or comfort, no matter how successful they were in their own or other people's eyes. It was also a weakness and a strength. Committed motherhood denied professional fulfillment. A professional life on men's terms eroded maternal care. Attempting both was to risk annihilation through fatigue. It was not so easy to persist when you could not believe that you were entirely the thing that you did, when you thought you could find yourself, or find another part of yourself, expressed through some other endeavour. Consequently, they were not taken in so easily by jobs and hierarchies, uniforms and medals. Against the faith men had in the institutions they and not women had shaped, women upheld some other principle of selfhood in which being surpassed doing. Long ago men had noted something unruly in this. Women simply enclosed the space which men longed to penetrate. The men's hostility was aroused."

Having read a couple other McEwan books I do think he truly believes this himself. I'd argue (weakly, for I am a woman) the part about it rarely occurring to men that "they might just as well be doing something else," but I do think men certainly have a stronger ingrained sense of duty to non-familial institutions. In general though I agree with the premise, at least insofar as I've experienced/observed trends as a twenty-something, and tend to think people who would refute the claim are doing so because they think they "ought to believe" otherwise.

This is the part where I would suggest that you provide your own insight in the comments because I know you, yes you anonymous lurker who, last time they were drunk at the Bistro/in my backyard/elsewhere, admitted they check out this blog, are reading this. If that request is for naught though, then I'd just say Ray, I hope you'll let me know what you think.

Are My Expectations Too High?

2006-08-16T13:12:00.000-04:00

Me: "...so just send me an email, it's beth at satellit...."

Him: "-okay, Beth, at, now is that at the word or at the symbol?"

Me: "Uhh"

p.s. in a concerted effort to post more/daily? expect significantly less quality/content per post.

Me and My Reality TeeVee

2006-08-08T21:24:00.000-04:00

How fitting that RockStar: SuperNova was on while I wrote that last post. Has anyone seen that? I hope not, because it is a waste of your life.

Too Heavy Too Light

2006-08-08T21:01:00.000-04:00

Driving home from visiting my Mom this evening I heard 7 Mary 3 on the radio. If I remember correctly, and I'm not trying to implicate my brother here by any means, I actually went to the trouble to steal that album (was there only one? was there only one with a hit?) from him after I noticed it in his library. Truth be told, I do not believe he actually paid money for it, but rather seem to recall it somehow migrated to our house via my father who used to bring home free promo CDs from the record store he sometimes did work in. How I was ever deluded in to believing that there was anything redeeming about that band, and particularly 'Cumbersome,' is beyond me.

People I Hate at the Gym, Part II

2006-08-02T13:25:00.000-04:00

Aside from this guy (who now needs a name to distinguish him from other gym-goers I hate and who thus will henceforth be known as Boring Grimace-y Face Guy or BGFG), there is one other gym regular who unknowingly suffers my silent wrath most mornings.

Loathed for myriad reasons, Gold Chain Guy insists on wearing a Gold's Gym emblazoned tank top every day and complimenting it with a number of unflattering, retired Floridian/my high school chemistry teacher-esque gold necklaces adorned with various charms. He's that dude that not only wears, but frequently answers his cell phone mid workout, an act I superficially view as one of the seven deadly sins of gym etiquette-- I used to think maybe he was someone so vital to the Earth's rotation that he had to be reachable at every.single.moment., but I've decided no.

Over the past year I've noticed him offering unsolicited form advice to a number of patrons. This, combined with the fact that he does his sit ups on the smallest of small exercise balls that leaves his butt approximately 11 inches off the floor and follows those up with these swing-y, feet-way-up-above-the-head, Cirque de Soleil-like ab moves which just can't be doctor recommended, has all resulted in the development of a deep-seeded and completely irrational distaste for the man. (Plus he used to be work out buddies with awful ex girlfriend of otherwise lovely friend, which only further confirms that he is, in fact, my gym's version of the devil incarnate.)

I had already successfully avoided BGFG this morning, through a series of stealthy moves, including, but not limited to, burying my head in a book, strategic machine choices based on his current and anticipated locations, and a spur of the moment detour in to "Ladies Gold's" (the only place I am truly safe) right when he was about to corner me and regale me, I suspect, with (anything but) scintillating tales of how the Sprint store is now the Embarq store. Who knew!

Maybe smugness over my perceived success led to a hint of a smile or some other mild expression of approachability, because next thing I know GCG is giving me the universal "take your head phones out of your ears" motion. I quickly pursed my lips and prepared for him to tell me in the nicest manner possible that I'm an incompetent boob and really should lock my wrists and keep my elbows at my sides when working triceps on the pull down. But no.

Out loud: "You come here consistently and you know, sometimes people don't get the uhhh reinforcement they need, so I just wanted to let you know it's really paying off."

In my head: "Why than...eww eww gross stop talking to me with your unnaturally hairless body and flashy jewelry and cell phone which no I have not heard ring thanks to my headphones but that I suspect plays some lame, mildly obscure late 70s/early 80s song from your youth that makes you feel hip and with it and just a bit edgy but really just confirms that you are a complete ass and skeezy to boot. Plus you do sit ups wrong."

Out loud: "[Awkward chuckle.] Oh. Thanks."

And thus Gold's Gym was officially anointed the new battleground for human interaction avoidance.

2006-08-02T12:04:00.000-04:00

This totally happened at the Bistro last year with my ID and some girl I didn't know. How come I'm not famous.

The One About The Orthodontist

2006-07-18T22:00:00.000-04:00

Nice Bossman from Heaven told me to take the day off today when I told him I’d be late due to an orthodontist appointment. Really, it wasn’t that I was just gonna be late, but that I’d miss two thirds of the day since I insist on seeing an orthodontist located two hours away. It’s all logical and easy in my head when I reason out that I had an awful orthodontist when I was younger who left me with an increasingly noticeable snaggle tooth despite being paid thousands of dollars and having total control over my teeth for 3 years. When I found a great doctor last year and then moved down to C-ville soon thereafter it seemed worth it to make the trek every 2 months or so. But that was when it was every two months or so. In the past 4 months he must’ve had me up there 10 times. At first I was dealing with the the drive and the ridicule I receive from friends and co-workers over my apparent dependence on this mystery man, but today I almost had it.

I arrived at his office clean, but still obviously disheveled. Some mornings I wake up and all I’ve gotta do is throw my hair on top of my head and I’m immediately convinced I’ve never looked better. Other mornings, despite 8+ hours of sleep and meticulous make-up application, my face looks bloated, tired, and old, and kinda like someone hit me with a board the night before. Today was one of the latter days.

I knew my agenda for the morning involved my appointment, the drive down to Charlottesville, and a workout, so while I made the effort to shower, I figured I could get away with a bordering-on-slutty tank top I wouldn’t have normally worn were it not for the stifling heat and my lack of self respect. Of course, I get there and am promptly informed by the assistant that today will be picture day for me. So I do my best to arrange my bra straps just so in hopes that they will somehow miraculously not peek out from the shirt when my picture is taken—a picture which is destined to be displayed on the waiting room wall, with all the rest of them, and that I am fairly sure is certain to make me look strung out and/or entirely destitute.

Following my photo shoot I casually mentioned to the good Doctor that I had in fact managed to break my second retainer—a point I’d neglected to disclose 2 weeks ago when it happened because it’s not really totally broken per se, and also cause that piece of plastic crap costs $150 to replace.

“Oh how did that happen? Are you soaking it in really hot or cold water or brushing it too hard?” the assistant asked.

I decided against letting her know how disgusting I actually am and rather than admit that I broke it while shoving it in to my pocket, likely in a flurry of action when something chocolate was placed in front of my face, I told her it broke while I was taking it out. Lucky for me no ever asked how I broke the first one—it was death by pocket for that one too.

A short muffled conference between doctor and assistant ensued and next thing I know I’m advised that I’ll be getting a new retainer. An old-school metal and wire one, much more visible than the clear plastic I had before, but much more durable.

“It’ll be touch to break this guy,” he assures me, “unless you do something like step on it.” Little does he know how likely this is.

I left the office defeated—I’d been immortalized for their wall at my worst and had subsequently revealed myself to the staff as completely incapable of handling the care of a piece of plastic, a metaphor I somehow imagine they extended to my life and my inability to say, run it. But I can’t stay mad at the Doctor. I know my teeth are gonna be straight after this and I’ll never have to suffer the indignity of a snaggle tooth comment again. So I’ll be back to get the new retainer. I won’t like it, but I’ll be back—a two hour drive in two weeks at that.

Everyone Else Posts Open Letters to the Person(s) They Hate at Their Gym, Here is Mine

2006-07-07T20:21:00.000-04:00

Dear Fellow Gym Go-er Guy:

Who I met one time at a party
Whose name I have no notion of despite being told it multiple times
Who insists on talking to me every damn time he sees me at the gym, even when I don't pull out my glorious noise canceling earphones or stop lifting within the first minute of his hovering over me
Who I know nothing about other than where he works (the Sprint Store) and thus have nothing to talk about with as there is only so much small talk in the world
Who insists on initiating contact every single time by clenching his teeth and striking mock body building poses until I take out said earphones and fake laugh
Who totally does not take a hint to leave when I've given him the time of day and gone so far as to talk about the weather or traffic or something but then stop talking and sit there in awkward silence,

please stop periodically asking me if I remember your name. I don't. Also? In general? Just stop talking to me at all.

Thanks much.

Last Night

2006-07-07T11:23:00.000-04:00

This

Oh Say, Can You Send Me More Free Junk?

2006-07-05T22:23:00.000-04:00

Something was obviously amiss when my order from Victoria's Secret arrived looking like this:

But at least the Postmaster had included his kind words about how he "regret[ted] the damage to [my] mail" and "hope[d I would] understand," which, fine, I do/am forgiving. It was only when I finally got through the 2 f-ed up bags that I grew a bit concerned when I found the bra I ordered all scuffed to hell, like it had either inexplicably come out of its packaging and wound up snaggled in some greasy mail sorting contraption or someone else had previously tested its fit by getting hot and heavy on newly laid asphalt.

Next, I pulled out half the swimsuit I ordered, which, yes is what I expected as the top is backordered. According to this invoice should have been the second of the two items included in this mailing:But wait! There was still more! First this, which, huh? Had I known this product even existed I still would have had no desire to get it, even for free. According to its instruction manuel it's some bag in which to wash bras, which, while I've heard of, never thought of as something my life was lacking. I've already managed to kinda break it (who knew the support piping was made of inflexible plastic) but no worries, I'm sure that small alteration will do nothing to effect the way it sits unused under my bed for the next 10 months.

Just when I thought I'd lucked(?) out, I realized there were even more presents in store. Namely this...except wait, the picture won't upload, but suffice to say it's the top to this suit in a size medium--an article of clothing that might house approximately one fourth of one of my boobs if I really stretched it and which I never would have come even remotely close to thinking about ordering.

But all of this is not to say I'm not excited by free stuff. What's more American, really, than wanting to get something for nothing? So rather than send back the unwanted bra sack and fabric swatch I will keep them both, in all their useless glory, and in doing so will, one day late, celebrate America and the triumph that is our freedom to horde impractical junk.

Success!

2006-07-05T09:22:00.000-04:00

Two Posts, One Day!

2006-07-03T23:44:00.000-04:00

Isn’t it always the case that you never do anything productive when you have the time, meaning when you do have something imperative to attend to it’s all you can do to find one free minute in which to cram in all your work. Tonight, rather than bettering myself in any way shape or form I’ve wasted almost all the evening

Surfing lame internet sites that have nothing new or interesting to say because, hi, why is no one posting anything whatsoever—the holiday isn’t til tomorrow, entertain me now
Uploading CDs I never really liked in the first place and probably will never listen to again to my iTunes (how many albums does Oasis have? This one is not the one with hits and thus it is, for all intents and purposes, dead to me. But maybe?…someday?, I’ll be totally dying to listen to it. P.S. for real, is Oasis still a band?)
Making an ice cream cake in what has somehow become a yearly ritual that I’ve felt compelled to undertake every July 4th for the past 3 years.

Two years ago I did the classic American flag-decorated cake made with blueberries, strawberries, Coolwhip (blech! what was I thinking?) and all that nonsense which, quite honestly, looked awesome. I’m told it tasted alright too, although in my humble opinion I made a fundamental error when I didn’t include at least three kinds of chocolate in that one (really it should’ve been more like 5—to offset the nutrition from the berries and all). Unfortunately, due to the combined effects of partying in the middle of nowhere, some psychedelics, and one special friend who decided to freak the fuck out forever and ever I missed all of said cake and will have to make due with the memory of a bunch of drunkards I’d never met telling me it was “like, totally awesome.”

Last year, I, with a little brainstorming help, came up with idea of decorating the ice cream cake with the Iraqi flag. We’d been over there almost a year and half at that point and most everyone I know was already convinced of what a total debacle it was. I figured I’d be the star of the party by presenting this delicious, yet ironic frozen delight that would provoke both laughter and contemplation.

Alas, much like the invasion itself, the cake was doomed from the start. Giving myself less than 4 hours within which to create this masterpiece meant the work of art I had envisioned, when fully realized, amounted to little more than a shapeless blob of ice cream atop sodden pound cake that even to me, dessert consumer extraordinaire, looked inedible (ok, ok I may have tried a tiny bite, maybe). Last time I checked it still continued to reside, in hardened, freezer-burned form, in Adam’s ice box, although his recent relocation means it must have met an alternative ultimate end (I hope). If not for his move we could have symbolically pulled it out too if the government ever goes through with that suggestion.

This year though, I’ve set myself up for success. Over two days I will craft the ultimate ice cream cake featuring a home made cake base, what I’m told is going to substitute perfectly for those delicious Carvel crunchy things, and 4 different chocolate ingredients as well as coffee and mint. I will arrive to the party tomorrow victorious and play the belle of the ball for the evening as I am commended again and again for my over the top efforts.

My only hesitation came in driving back from the store when I wondered how I should decorate the thing. I’d decided the old stand by American flag theme was a little too middle aged stay at home mom-ish and I needed something fresher and edgier, yet still apt for July 4th. With limited decorating supplies and despite the fact that I fell asleep when we rented “Team America: World Police,” I settled on “America, fuck yeah!” After relaying my plans to Ray, however, he had a much better idea: “America: Fuck. Yeah.”

Pictures of said piece de resistance to follow (unless of course it winds up being an utter failure, in which case, fuck off, I’m busy eating leftover ice cream).

Triumphant Return!

2006-07-03T20:08:00.000-04:00

I have returned from the world of 'spend every waking minute with your handsome and amazing boyfriend who is moving to Texas' as well as the land of 'continue not to blog post-his departure as you are all bent out of shape and uninspired and fully aware that no one wants to hear you talk about how attractive/generally perfect he is and until you can wrap your head around something else you should shut up'! So there's that. Still getting back in to the swing of things but hopefully more frequent/interesting/worthwhile posting to follow...or maybe just more frequent?--why not aim low, huh? But before all that, one more picture you don't care about, for old time's sake, and because he's cute, you know?

Happy Birthday to Me

2006-06-05T19:46:00.000-04:00

I had just about the best birthday, or birthday three day weekend, that anyone in the history of history has ever had. Who knew you could win me over so easily with good food, good wine, and approximately 11 double dark chocolate desserts served over the course of 72 hours? Ok, ok, maybe that one was totally obvious. But then the boyfriend went above and beyond all that I've ever deserved with a well-organized day trip to Baltimore complete with an aquarium visit,

(we went swimming!)(i somehow managed to find the escalator the most interesting part)

and a Yankees/O's baseball game.

(to my surprise the O's tied it up in the 9th...)

(but lost in the 10th as they are fairly terrible.)

Real (non-pictoral!) blogging to resume in a few weeks(?), I suspect, post s.o. departure, subsequent heartbreak, etc etc.

Live Blogging: Wine and David Blaine

2006-05-08T22:06:00.000-04:00

I know I know. Blogging overload. I've had all these great posts 3/4ths done and they never got published. So I've been thinking about it, just not doing anything. Til today. When you are INUNDATED with content. Hurrah.

For now. Am occupied with "David Blaine: Drowned Alive" and boxed wine.

This is apparently "everything he's been working for for the last 2 years"....uhhh. ok. He also advises we "not try this at home." Last time I checked I didn't happen to have access to a human aquarium and nine or whatever days available to waste floating in it. But maybe he will wow me. Apparently he's either gonna wow me or die, so that's something.

***

It's taken 127 professionals to keep David Blaine alive in this tank. Or something like that. And maybe he's gonna wind up brain damaged. Somehow I think none of this is gonna happen because, hello, if it really was then jackass wouldn't be in said tank, but it's better teevee this way.

***

David Blaine might be the most poorly-spoken ass-talker I've ever heard. Really. But who knew he did all this stuff with the being frozen in ice and buried alive and living in a box and standing on some tall thing for a long time. Very survivor-esque. I mean I had some awareness of David Blaine before this, but really, what is this kid doing? I don't know whether to conclude his stunts are just less daring than the media relays or if he's really just a totally retard.

***

How does this vignette about David Blaine: Good Samaratin to Inmates in a Maximum Security Prison fit in to this whole Drowned Alive shenanigan? Like, hmm they're gonna die in this jail, just like he might die in this fishtank except wait, no, sike! he can get out whenever he wants and is just doing this for the hell of it! Oh snap! What an inspiration to all these guys with life sentences!...or something like that.

***

Ok David Blaine, you want me to think you're a hardass. I get it. But when you're filming an interview with that guy who cut off his own arm with a dull knife when he was trapped under a boulder? Is it really necessary to wear short sleeves in the snow? I mean really. Just put on a coat dude.

***

I'm beginning to think this blogging endevour is totally less than entertaining for everyone but me.

***

8:52. wtf? how long does this shit go til. Honestly. Looking like he's not gonna emerge til 10pm and really this is not that engaging.

***

9:04. David Blaine speaks! Sike. He just went back underwater sans words. This is uhh, retarded.

***

Just remembered how much I don't read other people's live blogging as it is totally boring.

***

"No stunt doubles. No rest. This is America's heart." Navy SEALS are hardcore. You know what they probably wouldn't do? This stunt. Then again, while they may be harder core than Mr. Blaine, also? Poorer.

***
Ray came home. My live bloggings gone to shit. Mainly because this is idiotic. Predictions: David Blaines survives, we all forget about this by Wednesday.

***
Update: David Blaine loses! Well he's not dead but he didn't break any breath-holding record. Really, it was all for naught huh.

Photo Blogging: Beer Dinner

2006-05-08T20:21:00.000-04:00

I wanted to do a before and after post about the Beer Dinner. But then I realized there weren't really any before photos since the drunkeness came in to play about halfway through the first course. So here's the after.

It's Meat

2006-05-08T10:31:00.000-04:00

Last week I had to go buy $65 worth of chorizo at The Organic Butcher for the Ballroom's beer dinner. Somehow I never imagined it'd be that much so I went there before I went to Feast! to buy the chocolate we needed. So there I was, traipsing around Feast! with eleventy hundred pounds of the heaviest most sausage-y looking sausage there is searching for chocolate which I could.not.find and lord help me if I have to ASK someone, because I don't even wanna ask the librarian where the book I want is and THAT'S THEIR JOB. Ultimately I got it and while checking out politely excused myself to the cashier for the huge tray of phallic cold meat I was laying down on her counter while I wrote the check.

"What's this for?" the cashier queiried.

"The chocolate's for dessert. This is for dinner."

"Yeah. I got that." [insert snooty tone here]

I wasn't trying too be condescending but I suppose it came off that way. Not that I wouldn;t pre-judge someone carrying a huge stinky tray of meat in to my store as well, but honestly, didn't she realize I'd already suffered enough?

I About Pooped My Pants

2006-05-01T16:27:00.000-04:00

When I heard Radiohead was playing Philly on my birthday. Yeah, it's not that close, but it's the cloeset they're coming and you're all coming too, right?

Chicks and Salsa

2006-04-24T20:00:00.000-04:00

If you know me, you know how much I hate dancing, or, let me refine that statement, how much I hate dancing unless I am so unbelievably inebriated that I totally think its okay to grind all up on some random sweaty bald dude in a wife beater at some skanky nightclub in Daytona Beach where bikini-clad girls peddle shooters in test tubes and oh my god that so never happened I swear. So I was more than surprised with myself when I readily agreed to go salsa dancing Sunday night. I can only imagine that it was Nate and the lovely Lauren's insistence that it really is great, combined with a hot date and my guilt over having a boyfriend that really does want to dance that clouded my judgment.

By the time we got to the salsa lesson I'd been drinking for something like six hours over the course of our pre-Wilco-concert-I-wasn't-attending BBQ. As much as you think rule number one for klutzy goons attempting to dance should be 'Drink Lots,' it isn't. Drink a fair amount, maybe.

But at the beginning things were okay. We're there, we're learning the basic step, and I am, for the most part, not falling over myself or moving too clumsily. In fact, I'm truly enjoying myself, thinking, 'hey, I could get in to this...I could be a salsa dancer,' or maybe, more honestly, 'I could possibly way down the line represent myself as someonewho has some basic grasp on how to salsa.'

But then we got to the turning part. I was more than proud of myself the first time I somehow got roped in to being the instructor's example partner and didn't wind up looking like an ass, but the second time? with the turning? No such luck. Lo, how I could not do it. Over and over again I could not do it and I felt like an idiot because it was just me that was messing us up and why can't I count right or turn right and why.am.I.still.getting.this.wrong.argh.

I should've seen this coming many miles away. We Lees, as a family, not so much with the coordination--at least the immediate family. Yeah Mom and Dad play instruments, and we all work out--we can pull and push on things without much trouble I suppose--but there are no athletes amongst us. Both my brother and I (I hope you agree Tom) were kinda pathetic at sports. I played right field softball and blamed every fly I missed on a lack of depth perception. I know neither one of us scored a goal in soccer. Ever. And its not like we were goalies or anything. When all the middle school girlies were getting excited over dance team and cheerleading tryouts in sixth grade I knew it was useless. Yes, there was the shortage of inherent girly, but moreso was the fact that over and over I tried the clap-stomp-clap-clap-stomp-turn-stomp-whatever of the 'be aggressive, b-e aggressive' cheer and not once did I come close to clapping and stomping on the right beat, or offbeat, or whateverthefuckfuckthiscrapgah!

When the lesson ended and the music started up, that's when the real salsa dancers took to the floor. And the thing with salsa is that its just super sexy. It wasn't just the reality of the paunchy 30-something who probably lives with his mom and works as a skeezy IT guy by day but is here now dancing with some hot young thing, but also that I almost found this goober enticing. Almost.

Its not just beer helping ugly people have sex anymore. Without fail every time I have watched experienced salsa dancers I have been drawn to someone I would have never normally found attractive, because really, in the end, its kinda like watching someone advertise that they're amazing in bed.

The longer we watched, the more pathetic I felt. As the minutes passed the more convinced I was that I am just some woefully uncoordinated monster oaf walking around in my day to day life and that I should just be thankful that a)people talk to me and b)people don't just burst out laughing at the sight of my attempts to navigate the world in general.

All this because I can't salsa dance.

And I'll give it another go. I enjoyed it more than I anticipated and I expect it can only get better. Maybe I can make this some new goal to aspire to. Its certainly easier than saying I'm going to run a marathon or learn a foreign language, plus there's a cute boy involved and unlike marathoning you can justify drinking, at least a little, while you practice. And just maybe, in some lame still-can't-get-over-middle-school-trauma sort of way, the girly in me is hoping to make up for the fact I never could be a cheerleader.

Overload

2006-04-20T17:53:00.000-04:00

I know, I know--I've been much too squee! lately for both my personality and my recent state of dump-ed-ness, but it occurred to me while driving just now that this kind of weather really feels like the world giving you a hug.

Just Now

2006-04-19T18:55:00.001-04:00

Four guys walk in to the Ballroom...

"Hi, we're Goatwhore."

Awesome.

"Give me your eyes, I need sunshine"

2006-04-19T16:51:00.000-04:00

Admittedly, I was very slow on the uptake with Wolf Parade. I'd heard numerous glowing reviews of the record but was convinced the Modest Mouse ties would mean I wouldn't truly adore it. Just recently I've felt like everyone is conspiring to get me to love the album. I've had my own copy since Monday and have listened to nothing else since.

First it was 'Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts' that had me hooked. Like many I tend to fixate on a poppy cut early on in getting to know a record. I'm not sure how much Dooce's entry about 'I'll Believe in Anything' effected my listening habits, but its morphed in to the song I've repeated in my car, on my ipod, and at home what must be eleventy-hundred times at this point. I love the way it sounds, but while it took me a few listens to sort out his lyrics, now that's what's really doing it for me.

And somehow it does go perfectly with the unbelievably beautiful days we've been having of late. The weather makes it so much easier to get up in the morning and enjoy the day--knowing you get to look forward to the sun beating down on you but that it'll still being cool enough to please everyone. And having a brand new mantra to sing over and over in my head helps too: We've both been very brave, Walk around with both legs, Fight the scary day, We both pull the tricks out of our sleeves, but I'll believe in anything, and you'll believe in anything.

Email of the Day

2006-04-18T21:39:00.000-04:00

From: ska_is_lovely@xxx.com
To: info@satelliteballroom.com

Im angry!

Dear whoever you are. i would like to inform you on my anger. it really pisses me off that i cant go to the Art Brut show. i have clue when they are coming to maryland, which is where i live, and Virigina is the closest place. there is no way on earth that i can go to damn new york on a tuesday night! nothing is going my way today so please let us in. my friends mom will be there so dont fret. we just really love art brut and need to see them.

thank you for your time,
sophie

ps. we wont tell anyone that you let us in. it'll be our little secret.

Re: Im angry!

Dear Sophie--
Sorry to hear you won't be able to make it to the Art Brut show, I've heard they're great too. I'm assuming its a matter of your being underage, although you didn't actually mention that in your email. Unfortunately, we don't generally make allowances for underage patrons. I say generally because its not unheard of, but I would suggest next time you not address your email to "whoever you are" and follow that up by informing me of your anger--its going to get you much better results. Kindness is a virtue, and we love it here at the Ballroom! Take care
Beth

Under Pressure

2006-04-16T11:02:00.000-04:00

We're gonna be rich.
Real blogging to return...eventually? Blame my recent lack of computer and an overabundance of un-blogables.

A Day (or Two) Late, A Dollar Short

2006-03-28T23:16:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd missed all the weekend fun when I slept through the Saturday night party I'd been talking up for days beforehand. A bit overzealous in my efforts to get wasted before the Les Savy Fav set at the alcohol-free Fest Full of Rock, next thing I know its 3am, the party goers are returning to my home, and I can't recall the point at which they left and I didn't. (I suspect that point followed closely my departure from the Ballroom, which came on the heels of my making a total ass of myself in front of the band when I went to go retrieve toilet paper from the green room. I somehow managed to drop the tower of rolls, twice, all the while blubbering to them about lord knows what and only after the fact realizing that the blank stares they wore matched perfectly with the "how did this idiot drunk girl get in here and what is she doing?" I'm now sure was running through their respective heads.)

Never fear though. Our seemingly low-key Sunday night soiree turned into a riotous good time. Naturally, however, I was asleep for that part and can only imagine the fun based on the accumulation of beer cans, random food items, and general mess that I found in the living room Monday morning that definitely wasn't there when I retired Sunday night. But before the big sleep, there was this

The Long One About the Urinary Tract Infection

2006-03-21T22:07:00.000-05:00

I was already in a bad mood on Sunday evening before I found out I had to go pick up the parental unit in the Boondocks post-bedtime. As a girl, I spend a good maybe fourth? of my time planning ways in which to be unreasonable and then executing said plans. The next logical step, of course, being a descent into grumpiness when the rest of the world somehow fails to cater to my whims. Sunday was a classic case study in this behavior I have so expertly perfected over the years.

So I woke up after a brief nap that evening all ready to crankily embark on this journey to No Man's Land when, lo, just like that I realized I had a urinary tract infection. If you've never had a UTI I can tell you its just as sexy as it sounds. The description that it feels like you need to pee really bad all the time really doesn't accurately convey the horror you experience.

Long ago I had one doctor mention to me that there is actually an over the counter medicine you can get to minimize symptoms. Somehow, this is the greatest kept secret of all time as every girl I've ever relayed the product info to has fallen down and wept at my feet in gratitude over the knowledge that there might be some brief relief available for the living hell they must endure pre-doctor's appointment. Once, in fact, when convinced I was headed down UTInterstate, I popped a couple doses, drank approximately my entire body weight in gallons of cranberry juice and actually never had to visit the doctor at all.

I was convinced this time that with the combined effects of said medicine, the fact that my work environment is heavy on the cranberry juice, and my sheer strength of will, I could actually beat this thing on my own.

But no. After a day and a half of pills and sucking back the entirety of the Ballroom's cranberry juice stockpile, I knew at 4am this morning (naturally!) that there was no choice. Onward! To the doctor's!

I'm bad. I know, I know. Save for a few Student Health visits for sore throats and whatnot, I haven't actually been to a doctor since high school. Maybe the fact that I've been visiting my orthodontist something like every other week for the past year has convinced me that I’ve had more than my fill of attention from medical professionals. I never managed to make an appointment for anything under my last job's insurance and the coverage from my current employer only kicked in last week. The point being that I have no doctor and no frame of reference on who to call first.

So I started with the closest doctor that accepted my insurance. Her very helpful receptionist really seemed to understand what a pain it is to a1)have a UTI a2)cold call practices at 8:30 on a nasty Tuesday morning and discuss your bladder issues with strangers. No openings with doctor number one this week, but the receptionist reminded me this really was something I should take care of ASAP.

And with that I was off--her receptionist kindly provided two references and so I embarked on the 'Never Ending Quest to Try and Find a Medical Professional to Write Me A Prescription For Common Antibiotics to Cure My UTI’ of aught six. One office manager almost laughed at the fact that I might actually try to make an appointment for, gasp, that day, without a history with the doctor. How dare I think there might be a free ten minutes in someone important’s schedule?--this afternoon no less!

So after a good 45 minutes of calling (and oh, how I longed for the days of Student Health) and having First Med mentioned twice, I gave up the dream of seeing a physician I might actually visit again and hauled ass to get "physician care, without an appointment." And I mean really, deep down, I didn't actually want any semblance of a time frame for this whole ordeal. Its a lot more fun, a bit like playing the lotto, you know, to just waltz in with no idea what the queue is like, how many doctors there are, or when in the world (if ever) I might actually make it in to work.

And at First Med, interestingly, when you walk in you just announce to the receptionist why you're there, in a room a set up so this proclamation is entirely audible to everyone else waiting. And I mean, I'm fine with this, I am telling the interweb afterall, but it seems a little odd maybe, and certainly likely to spawn more that a few awkward moments daily. Maybe that's why they do it--keeps things fresh.

My actual interaction with a doctor took literally less than a minute, much as I anticipated. Total time spent finding a doctor, waiting at First Med, and attempting to pick up my prescription = 3 hours 16 minutes. And I say attempting because I did not actually emerge from CVS with antibiotics after all this time. No, First Med had neglected to call in the prescription, I learned after 50 minutes waiting. No, they were too busy they told me when I called back. Too busy also, it seems, to worry about accepting insurance information if not in card form. Because "Yes, yes I am insured...no, I don't have my card, coverage just kicked in last week and I haven't received it yet--but I've got all my plan info right here for you...but no, no card....so you can't accept that, huh. So I'll have to pay you full price for the minute of your doctor's time, huh. So that'll be $112 total, huh. Rrrrright."

Luckily, I can thank First Med and CVS for providing me ample time to compose this entire blog entry while waiting. Not only that, but I had more than enough time to skim People, Good Housekeeping, and Cosmo. It was from Cosmo that I learned that the antibiotics used to treat UTIs are pretty much the same as those used to treat bronchitis. Not that I wouldn't have gone and gotten my own prescription eventually…but let's just say someone that lives with me may or may not have gotten an antibiotic prescription for bronchitis this week and had I known what was really in store for me with this endeavor?...I so totally just would've stolen some of his.

Whole Lotta Nothing

2006-03-16T11:16:00.000-05:00

There has been, really, nothing blog-worthy going on of late. I almost had a good story about witnessing Holmes having a playful romp in the yard with a bunny, but I didn't actually see that, Jeremy did, and I don't actually know if I believe him. But in the interest of providing half-assed content/pictures of cute things, there's this

Who's bigger?

2006-03-10T19:27:00.000-05:00

Pixies or Wilco? Go.

Truman Sparks is the new Growing

2006-03-05T15:38:00.000-05:00

My dependence on Ray is kind of a running joke. Not that I couldn't do stuff for myself, more like I just don't. Deep down, he probably really enjoys a sense of import gained from being "payer of the bills" and "sorter of the recycling" and "person who gets Beth a beer when she is too lazy to walk downstairs to the keg." I'm sure he will leave a comment to this effect in fact. I don't always whine to get something, per se, but it is funnier to imagine that all I do is lie about and moan "RAAAAaaaayyyyyy" every time I can't figure out how to work the teevee. Cause I totally don't do that. I swear.

But last night when Danny awoke me from my nap in search of Ray, that was just the way things went pretty much, with me croaking a drawn out call from my bed for my number one roomie. For once, I was giving Ray something, but tradition got the best of me and it still came packaged as a 'get me something' call.

It seems Growing had broken down en route to the show and we were suddenly faced with finding a new opener for Mogwai and hour and a half before doors. Truman Sparks had wanted to play this show since they heard it was booked, so in some kind of great twist of fate, they were finally getting their wish, and, for the purposes of this entry and my reputation as a good and kind human being (not just someone who bitches to her roommate all the time to do things for her), let's say I had some part to play in making this happen. Maybe?

In the hit reality show that sh/could stem from following the happenings at Bistro, Inc., this is the stuff that great episodes are made of.

The show went well, at least what I saw of it, although admittedly Mogwai were probably too big of an act for the room and the lights, sound, stage, etc., really didn't do them justice or allow for an optimal performance on their part. I didn't last the duration, however, because I am lame and also a had fall from a horse-induced headache so listening to ear-splitting music (except honestly it was that loud...or my ear plugs are awesome...or our sound system is shit) was kinda last on the list of things I wanted to do. I actually landed on my side then hit my head, and here is where I include the grautious bruise pictures

Last Night

Today

Famous Lees: First Robert E., Now This

2006-02-26T16:17:00.000-05:00

check it.

Also.

2006-02-20T19:14:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention (numerous, numerous times) that I should be directing all my dear and loyal readers (or the 2 of you who may not be Ryan or Stanley) to the blog http://www.wryandstanley.blogspot.com/. Because it's funny? Or witty? Or insightful? Or will be all these things? But mainly because I'm referenced on it. Twice no less! So go forth and read.

About the Rodeo

2006-02-20T19:11:00.000-05:00

I’d never even conceived of attending a rodeo before it was suggested to me last Friday that it might be a good way to spend the evening. I jumped at the idea because, I mean, who doesn’t want to take a spur(hah!)-of-the-moment trip to the rodeo when they have no alternate plans for the night? Away we went, sure that some kind of antics would ensue, but completely unsure of what, exactly, we were getting ourselves in to.

The affair, admittedly, should have been a much drunker one. There was a long drive though, what I'm sure was overpriced beer at the venue, and a lack of foresight on the bringing of flasks, which meant sobriety reigned king for once. At a rodeo of this caliber, the cowboys alone aren’t gonna cut it in terms of keeping my attention. My only previous experience being teevee viewership of similar affairs, I was a bit disappointed to see the broncos buck a little less, the calf ropers rarely manage a viable run, and piggy back couples barrel racing that was somehow more entertaining than the real thing (but come on! that second couple bit it! he just let her fall flat on her face!).

But there was still much to keep me entertained with, not the least of which was the crowd, comprised largely of drunken VMI students and less drunken rural central Virginians. As we neared the halfway point of the night, however, we were graced with what, at the time, seemed to be the most uniquely entertaining event some rodeo organizer on drugs had ever dreamed up.

It started with a new Dodge (not Ford! No, never Ford! The rodeo taught me that, apparently, Ford is bad. Did everyone else know this?) truck taking a lap around the ring. Lights flashing, music pumping--I really wanted to….well nothing. Not buy a new car, which, I guess? was the point? maybe?

Then these goats entered the ring. A herd of them. Upon further observation they may have actually been rams to go along with the Dodge theme, but really, they kinda just looked like goats. So they’re running around a bit, waiting for, oh, what?….oh the sheep dogs to enter. The goats will be herded by these sheep dogs. But what’s that on top of the sheep dog? Something is riding the sheep dog? It looked like a stuffed animal to me. A little stuffed sheep dog jockey was affixed to the back of each of the four or so canines.

But wait, that stuffed jockey just scratched it’s nose! THAT’S A FUCKING MONKEY!

So yes. The show was comprised of monkeys, in costume, no less, riding dogs around and herding goats. Ohmyfuckinggod. What is that? Why is that? How is that?

My photographic evidence documents (blurrily) the affair. Unfortunately, I did not manage to actually capture the “OhmygodIjustwatchedacowboymonkeyrideadog!” face that I know I, for one, certainly had plastered on my mug for the 5 or so minutes this debacle lasted.

If I'd had a better camera, or if those monekys hadn't been such darn good (and fast!) cowboys, I would've gotten a better picture and it would've looked something like this

The story could've ended there, and, indeed, I thought it had. But it had become my "story of the weekend," you know the one you tell every time someone asked you what you did or how your weekend was.

As I recounted the tale to Sam on Saturday night he nodded. "Ahh, the monkeys riding dogs. Always a classic." What? Who? Other people know about this?

The icing on the cake came this morning though. My co-worker asked me to tell him a funny story and I started in on the monkey tip. "Oh, right. I did a painting of that you know? It's somewhere here in my house. You've seen it I think." No, Danny. I haven't seen it. I definitely would not forget seeing an artist's interpretation of this phenomenon.

I definitely won't forget anything I have learned thus far, or stand to learn in the future, about this phenomenon.

Fun with Email

2006-02-08T21:54:00.000-05:00

Today I received this email. Are you f-ing kidding me this kid goes to UVA? It takes him a whole paragraph to express less than nothing:

"Greetings,
My name is xxxx xxxx, and I write you with a few concerns regarding The Satellite Ballroom. I am a member of xxxxx, an organization that has participated in a function at the Ballroom, very beneficial for our supporters and still being inquired about. I would like to express that the types of Venues that we like to produce are those that are essential and productive entertainment for those persons who understand are orginazations purpose. A national org. with principals that we function by;as a result, we can be held accoountable for the things that happen internally within are chapter in view of the public eye, thus safety is essential. If possible could you educate me on what The Satellite deals with the use of your space. I believe that I am able to present to you a few avenues that might prove benificial in your favor. If you could let me know if, I can meet with you, or speak through email/phone, as to come to an understanding of what The Satellite Ballroom is capable of producing, I would greatly appreciate it.
Respectfully,
xxxx xxxx
University of Virginia
Class of 2006"

In other email news.
I had to email a girl today named Sparks Lee.
I mentioned it in an email to Ray. To which he replied:
"Awesome. It's like you married Trog and had a baby and then had to e-mail the baby. Or something."

Play ball

2006-02-08T18:01:00.000-05:00

Feist's comment on entering the Ballroom yesterday: "Oh, it's like....a community center." Ouch.

I don't know about you. But when I think of community centers I think of this

Breakin' 2 anyone?

Score

2006-02-06T13:01:00.000-05:00

We didn’t have as many attendees at our Superbowl gathering as we might have hoped. Given attendance at the previous Sunday’s soiree I think we overestimated who might show. Ever-dependable Thom showed though, and Kristy stopped in between stints doing the 6 o’clock and 11 o’clock weather.

There’s something about seeing someone you know and drink wine with regularly on TV that never gets old. Despite the fact the local news here often leads with UVA sports scores or a story about something like the Blue Ridge Soapbox Classic, and the weather seems to take up about 13 minutes of the broadcast, I always watch when I’m home and know Kristina’s anchoring. In some minor way maybe it feeds my addition to celebrity and gives me the most minor connection ever to fame.

Michelle Kwan always pulls on her ear after she competes as a not so subtle sign to whomever it is she's messaging at home. When Kristy had to leave to get back to the station last night, we all agreed she needed to work a shout out into the weather report, cause we’d be watching, and drunk, and excited about it. She thought a head scratch or hand sign might be too awkward, and admittedly I wasn’t convinced she was going to play in to our key word dropping plan at all.

But then there she was. Telling us about the weather in the Midwest. I think she was somewhere over Iowa or Minnesota when it came. “For more frothy weather you can look to the West.” Touchdown.

Oh Stephanie

2006-02-01T14:52:00.000-05:00

DJ always was my favorite.

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/Entertainment/story?id=1564779

Hot

2006-01-23T15:25:00.000-05:00

Best. Name. Ever.

I Heart Atkins

2006-01-18T02:26:00.000-05:00

I have two coworkers. Two. They are both roughly 35, with families and kids and pets and one of them, FRANZ, has two peacocks which I've never seen but nonetheless beleive exist. We work together and it's nice, mostly because we keep a small unused desk constantly full of donuts and different kinds of coffee and cookies and brownies and peanuts and all good things. And, as I said, there are only three of us, so it's not like those bear claws are gone in a day. They could last a WEEK. That arabian coffee could be here ALL MONTH. And our greatest teamworking effort is keeping the desk stocked. We don't even discuss it. The second we're out of M&Ms, TED happens to bring more in. The second the milk gets low, FRANZ comes through with a two-liter. We all do our part. It's unspoken. It's amazing.

Anyway, a while back FRANZ and his family made a New Years resolution - "We will only eat sweets on the weekends" - not only to help stay in shape but also to establish a working system of discipline and community within their growing family. I thought it sounded like they were asking for a collective binge and purge attitude, but apparently it's been working fine. Problem was, as soon as this resolution was made, FRANZ was out of the candy desk picture. He no longer contributed and he no longer consumed. It was just TED and me.

We did good. The smaller, handful-type candies (Skittles, peanuts, brittle) were scarce - they had been FRANZ'S territory - but the Krispi Kreme selection did not waver for a moment. And to make FRANZ jealous, TED started bringing in pies, which were delicious. So the candy kept coming, while FRANZ sat eating his peach and salad, everyday. That's how it went for a year.

Now let's rewind about a month. It is this past New Years Eve, and TED turns to his wife at the stroke of midnight - "I think we should do that candy diet thing that FRANZ and his family do. He looks great! He's as happy as ever!" - and TED's wife says - "Okay!" - and they hug. So TED walks into work on whatever day we went back to work on after the break and tells me that he, too, will no longer be taking part in the candy desk and I am truthfully - truthfully - betrayed.

This entire month I have been filling an entire desk with candy that only I eat. Slowly and surely, the desk is falling apart. There are no more Ring-Dings. There is never any more milk.

That is what I hate.

Domin-Hate

2006-01-17T17:01:00.000-05:00

I just hate it when this happens.

Ray hates, too!

2006-01-13T19:48:00.000-05:00

For my first foray into these hate chronicles, I'd like to go ahead with a full-fledged dick move: I'm going to hate on Beth.

Not her specifically, mind you. But her attitude towards girls, specifically girls of romantic interest to me.

As you may know, I think Beth is downright apples 'n' pears. In fact, I count her among the best friends I have.

But when it comes to the ladies in my life, Beth hates. She hates almost every girl I date (present S.O. excluded, unexpectedly, {although Beth is hostile towards the present S.O.'s dog}). And I hate on her hating. I "hate-hate" if you will.

See, some random chick on myspace had her ostensible "friends" message me about how she was keen on me. She had even myspace-blogged about me. But she was nervous about contacting me first, so I was to contact her and befriend her and eventually wed her and make babies with her. (Well, she wasn't that specific, but one might imagine...)

Now, I presumed (and continue to presume) that this entire situation was an elaborate hoax, designed by one of my friends with too much spare time. (Come to think of it, Jordan's working only like 4 hours a day, right? Hm...)

However, I also acknowledge the remote possibility that she really exists and is just, well, maybe a little bit bonkers. Hey, it could happen, right?

Nope. Not according to Beth, who must ruin my fantasy and call me a dolt (not a direct quote) and mock that I could even believe this rubbish, blah, blah, blah.

Why Beth? Why?

Don't hate.

Love.

***

UPDATE: Jon "Blaze" confirms that he, too, received this request but wasn't dumb enough to click it. He said, "I think a lot of people got that."

So yeah: I'm an idiot. Beth was right. As always.

Notes

2006-01-11T17:11:00.000-05:00

When I browsed through the news stories listed on Yahoo earlier today the "Best Jobs for 2006" headline stuck out. Us News and World Report think you should be a
1. audiologist
2. optometrist
3. veterinarian
4. professor
All pretty standard I guess. I mean the professor thing, that's a given. That job is gravy baby, especially, I suspect at some of those smaller, more expensive liberal arts schools. The audiologist seems a bit odd, but I guess they figure all the baby boomers are going deaf right about now, and all those kids have their earbuds shoved in at all times and their ipods up so loud that there's great job security. But further down the list we have
5. librarian
Apparently this is an 'underrated' career. Hmmm. I knew one person with a masters in library science. She was definitely temping last I heard.
6. Clergy
2k5 was not so sweet to the clergy folk, maybe 2k6 will be better?
Further on down the list we have 'personal coach' and 'firefighter.'
Whatever

********

On an unrelated note.
I really hate people that have these dumb quotes as part of their signature at the end of their emails. Do you really think your musing from Mark Twain or Machiavelli or whoever is going to inspire me while I sit at a desk and read your work-related email? No, it isn't, it's just gonna make me think you're lame. And exponentially lamer if you are someone who corresponds with me regularly and thus I know that you actually go to the trouble to change your quote with some frequency from something like "don't cry because its over, smile because it happened" to "this above all to thine own self be true."

I was ranting to my co-worker about this phenomenon yesterday. He didn't seem to be quite as perturbed by it as I. He happens to be a former member of a famous band whose name rhymes with the cave crapviews land. I found it quite amusing, then, when he commented, "Beth, you don't even know how much lamer it is when that email quote is some trite song lyric from your old band."

Love,
me
'Celebrate we will, for life is short but sweet for certain.'

Woe is Internet-less Me

2006-01-10T16:34:00.000-05:00

Today the woes are technological. My computer, you see, is sick. Well not so much sick as fucked up. The end of the power cord or the part it plugs in to in the computer or something is apparently bent so unless all the stars are aligned, its 67 and cloudy, and god is smiling on me, or I wiggle the plug just right, the computer doesn't think its plugged in to a power source and it likes to loose power fast. If we were continue with the anthropomorphizing of said computer it would be along the lines of a person who...well you know, something.

So I took it to the Geek Squad at Best Buy (which, hi, tangent, I feel so sorry for because their job sucks. There were about 5 people in line in front of me and every one of them was a huge asshole to the service counter dude. I know it sucks that your computer sucks. Its fucking annoying. Its probably MORE annoying for the service dude who has to listen to eleventy hundred incompetent boobs like you who come in daily to yell at him about how their computer won't work when they are obviously oblivious to even the most basic of computer-related things and 99.9% of the time the problem is their dumb fault and their non-stop asshole-ishness makes the service dude want to die every night when he gets home. People that are jerks to service folk are the worst. Honestly. Haven't you ever had that job? Any job where you were someones bitch? Right. Most people have, so stop acting like a dickhead and remember what that was like...now back to regularly scheduled programming) and they tell me they have to send it back to Gateway and it'll take 2-5 weeks to fix this "common problem." AHH! what the f. how will I SURVIVE. I shall surely DIE and my final words will be "it was.....lackofinternet!" and my tombstone will read "she lost the web, and now we have lost her." So anyway that was crap. Also, I suspect even less posting (if that's even possible) once I finally come to terms with and actually give up my computer. gah!

2KSuck

2006-01-03T18:20:00.000-05:00

I know 2005 kinda blew around the world but 2K6 is really off to a spectacularly poor start. It's the first year I can remember actually being home alone at the strike of midnight NYE. January 1 saw a meltdown of epic proportions for me, post WAYY too much booze, and an unfortunate bringing up of various sleeping dogs. goo! Crappy weather and this news (while I didn't know the Harveys, Kathryn was the toy buyer for Plan 9 so it hit a bit close to home...or work, I guess) have rounded out a LAME first 3 days of 2006.

I'd been doing much better than I expected with my newest attempts at independence but honestly, the holidays are not the time to try. There's nothing going on around town and staying warm and cozy with loved ones is the most appealing thing I can think of, although not the best thing to do when trying to branch out on your own. But I am looking forward to the Bottom of the Hudson/Nice Jenkins show Friday, and our sure-to-be-spectacular-in-some-way-or-other work holiday party on Saturday. A Thursday trip to DC and get together with long-lost buds gives me hope the first week of the year can redeem itself.

Oh! and more blogging also. I didn't have any resolutions so this might as well be it. Certainly easier than that whole lose weight nonsense. But that also means more rambling nonsense posts like this.

Also...I just previewed this and it says I wrote it at 3:20pm. It's 6:39. Not sure why this irks me so, but it does.

Also...

2005-12-30T12:52:00.000-05:00

Re: Blogger...why does it always seem to assign arbitrary publishing times to my entries? I feel like I used to be able to change them to be accurate but now I don't see that ooption

Spoils

2005-12-29T18:34:00.000-05:00

So Christmas was decidedly low-key this year for the 5th or so year in a row. It began a few days early when I made my first trip out to my mother's new house in the boonies. She didn't want to send me home from that visit empty-handed knowing we wouldn't be together again until post-xmas, so she bestowed a gift for Ray and I that had "something to do with technology." I didn't wait. And upon my arrival home Ray and I unpacked this:
You might not notice the "technology" part. This..contraption has a solar panel enabling it to actually light up in three spots for apporximately 1.2 hours after the sun goes down.
I knew we were off to a good start.

Christmas proper took place at my great aunt's house. Why some relative, any relative didn't say something to the effect of 'hey, maybe we shouldn't have the spacey 80-something year old prepare dinner for the masses,' is a mystery to me. Tradition I suppose. But come on. There were only 6 of us so it could have been almost do-able, but really, it was too much. My great aunt's answer was to buy everything pre-made. goo! You can't do much to mess up the spiral cut ham. That was lovely. You don't think you can do much to mess up the microwaveable rice, broccoli, and sweet potatoes, but you can. By putting them all in the microwave at once and declaring that "we'll just have to guesstimate," rather than nuking one at a time for the never-fail/recommended amount of time. So the meal was made with love and that's all that matters I suppose. Wine was had, company was enjoyed, what more could you ask for? Presents of course! And Daddy outdid himself by presenting me with a check worth way more than I am...but he always was a spoiler.

I'd made out like a bandit and decided to use my new-found wealth to buy all the post-xmas presents I should've bought pre-xmas. In part this involved purchasing my brother this (which also, hi, wasn't that reduced at purchase time).

Christmas part deux took place last night. It started off with my mother gifting my bro-ham something that looked alot like this. Stellar! But it went all up-hill from there. My brother got me these which make me almost want to get up to go to the gym in AM. Honestly, they are so superior to any other earphones I've ever heard. So pleasant this morning.

Mom certainly didn't let down either. She provided some of the Lee xmas staples...
(Some people might think my need for chocolate is a bit 'overboard,' but hi, I was raised this way. It's in my blood. The yearly chocolate letter is just the start. Yeah, yeah I had Nutella too, but did your mother encourage you to eat chocolate sprinkles on toast in the morning? How bout chocolate shavings? No, I didn't think so. I've toned it down if anything.)

More practical, less-fattening gifts too. Check this out, this may just be one of the best presents my mom has ever picked out guidance-free.
Admittedly, Holmes made out better than anyone with this thing, courtesy of Adam.

He removed this guy
in about 3.6 hours. But at least it lasted that long.

Lest you think I am a good-for-nothing spoiled brat. I am I am! But also....

I left out the first part about my trip to my mom's. Out in the boonies, remember? I was cruising along getting to know the Black Sheep Boy Appendix, in an attempt to thwart? further? my current, unhealthy obsession with Black Sheep Boy. So maybe I was speeding, but definitely not more than 10 miles over in a 55 mph zone. I was behind 2 other cars when I saw the brake lights go on on the car in front of me. I figured she was slowing for the first car to turn so I slowed, figuring I could speed up again soon. But no. By the time I realized she was stopped dead in the road, it was too late and we hit. It was cow. A fucking cow. I saw him. I hate him. Her car looked fine and mine looked so...sad. But all she could talk about was the damn cow that she didn't even hit. So for xmas I got myself this
A prize worth an estimated $2775. There goes dads generosity and why did I buy all those over-priced presents for people? But yes I've got insurance, and yes it'll be ok, and yes it did remind me of what I should actually be thankful for.

Ooh La La

2005-11-28T20:08:00.000-05:00

The Fatales assure me my superspecialness alone has begat me exclusive access to these tracks, although I've actually already heard them already (save for Leitmotif) via their MySpace page.

Darkened Country
Stadtpark
Leitmotif I (Intro to Vanishing Act)
Vanishing Act

Either way, it's good stuff--very winter-friendly music I think, and more atmospheric than some of their earlier recordings in a way that makes me think Sigur Ros has been in heavy rotation on someone's iPod. I'm particularly partial to Vanishing Act, it being the most rock out-y song of all, and me having not transitioned over to listening to Hem yet, whose first release might just be the quintessential cold weather album.

I've also been listening to Illinois nonstop again. It was one of those albums that I bought as soon as it came out and kept on repeat for about 3 weeks afterward and until I couldn't stand to hear it one more time despite it's being so amazing. Anyway I'm back to fawning over it and discovering new things about every song with each listen. I was noticing the other day the various string arrangements, the common themes they incorporate in to some songs, and just generally recognizing what a major role they play in the whole effort. I guess orchestration is a common thread running through many of the albums I turn to when the weather turns cold and nasty. Something about strings just warms me up I suppose.

Supa Star

2005-11-27T14:05:00.000-05:00

While we got a big picture in this article, we didn't get more than a namedrop. Admittedly, the calendar was a little lacking in live acts the weekend he was in town, but I talked to him a couple times and now wish I'd stayed on the line longer. Ah well, at least we're in there.

TGiving 2K5

2005-11-25T19:06:00.000-05:00

If you already sorta hate people like me, riding the Greyhound bus really confirms your convictions. The smell of sanitizer in the morning, pre-7AM that is, was really the least of my qualms, even though I had a front row (or, more accurately, very back row) seat for that. Are you, my fellow-riders, really incapable of holding it for more than 55 minutes? Then there's the ticket counter clerk who informs you you'll have to pay a fee (interestingly cash only) to change your orginally discounted ticket. So after a mad dash to three different ATMs to find one that will actually dispense cash (since your bus "leaves" in 7 minutes), you get back in line to wait, only to subsequently be told you're not actually in line and when you finally do get to the clerk with 2 minutes to spare you're told you can board without changing your ticket at all.

Another sprint to the gate and we make it! Just in time to wait in the swealtering bus for 23 minutes. Which in an of iteslf wouldn't be so bad. But honestly people, its 9PM. Our family ate pretty early at 3pm and I definitely am not in the mood for leftovers yet, so why, oh why, must you unpack an entire Thanksgiving feast version 2.0 featuring turkey, sides, and drinks, and stink up the whole bus? We all dealt with the same smell all day and at this point it has changed markedly from mouth-watering to hurl-inducing.

Why Greyhoung, why? Was my $40 roundtrip ticket not enough to warrant some semblance of service? Must you toy with me just to assert your all-powerful role in this situation? Because yes, I need you. I can't afford the train. Or the plane. Or to entirely shirk familial responsibilities for another year. I guess the best thing I can do then is just make sure I don't get the seat next to the bathroom next time.

*****

When I wasn't busy hating people, being a bitch to my family, or stuffing my face, I was having a pretty enjoyable--well, the stuffing of face part was admittedly pretty good too. The most blog-worthy portion of our whirlwind trip was the part where we walked from the Port Authority to Grand Central and somehow forgot to remember that whole Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade thing that was blocking our own route. But that was a-ok because unlike the marvelors who stood out in the cold six-deep for hours to catch a glimpse of Joey Lawrence, we got front row spots as we waited to cross the parade path, even if it was only for about 2 minutes.

I thought the Crocodile Hunter was gonna be on this float (not sure how a girl holding a banner in front of it that read "Steve Irwin The Crocodile Hunter" gave me that idea), but he wasn't. Instead there was some man? woman? that looked like a mix between The Count from Sesame Street and Charlie from the Chocolate Factory up there and that was decidely less thrilling.

This was obviously the highlight of some band geek's year.

Some pink elephant.

Some pink elephant that's about to eat one cop and step on another.

Half Full

2005-11-18T19:35:00.000-05:00

My brother commented the other day about it being pretty cool that my job necessitated my keeping earplugs on my key chain. Things had been a little rocky at work for far too long but have been looking up of late which makes it easier for me to appreciate things like that. For example, I may bemoan the fact that I don't have co-workers to head to happy hour with at 5pm on Fridays but I do have a beer tap at work to treat myself to happy hour with at 4:30 on Friday. I may be alone here but at least my drink was free.

2005-11-15T20:13:00.000-05:00

From Yahoo News:

Web Site to Blend Journalism With Blogs
By ANICK JESDANUN, AP Internet Writer

NEW YORK - A media Web site scheduled to debut Wednesday will seek to blend traditional journalism with the freeform commentary developed through the emerging Web format known as blogs.
Some 70 Web journalists, including Instapundit's Glenn Reynolds and David Corn, Washington editor of the Nation magazine, have agreed to participate in OSM — short for Open Source Media.
OSM will link to individual blog postings and highlight the best contributions, chosen by OSM editors, in a special section. Bloggers will be paid undisclosed sums based on traffic they generate.
The ad-supported OSM site will also carry news feeds from Newstex, which in turn receives stories from The Associated Press, Knight-Ridder/Tribune News Service and other traditional media organizations.
"We're deliberately trying to do something new by affiliating blog and mainstream people," said Roger L. Simon, a blogger and the venture's co-founder.
According to the Pew Internet and American Life Project, about 9 percent of adult Internet users in the United States have created their own blogs, and about 25 percent read them. The audience tends to be more influential: blog postings can affect what news organizations cover or politicians discuss.
Many details of OSM remain unsettled. For example, OSM wants to create a mechanism for citizen journalists, including bloggers, to submit original news during natural disasters, civil unrest and other newsworthy events. Simon said organizers still have to come up with ways to check submissions for accuracy.
Initially, OSM will create blog-like discussion panels surrounding major news events, with three or four bloggers and non-blogging experts chosen to contribute.
Although Simon and co-founder Charles Johnson are often described as conservative, Simon said the site will transcend labels and include bloggers of all political leanings.
OSM was founded last year as Pajamas Media, a play on bloggers' ability to opine from home at all hours, day or night. It has raised $3.5 million from venture capitalists.

About Last Night [Three days late]

2005-11-12T10:59:00.000-05:00

*again with this writing and then saving as a draft and then not editing until umpteen days later and thenpost-dating the post to when it was actually written. nonsense i know.

Last night [Saturday] was actually my very first ever foray into solo concert attendance. And it really wasn't the worst thing ever.

It started out with a plan to attend Starr Hill's World Leader Pretend, Washington Social Club, Army of Me, Some Other Band show. Having stayed in too many nights while the boys were away I figured it was finally time to venture out and get over that fear of persistent akwardness induced by a lack of companion...even if that meant combatting it with probably too many pre-departure drinks.

En route to the venue I noticed Deke was bartending down the street so I stopped in there for a drink and quickly became 'that girl hanging out alone at the bar.' I actually resorted to doing a crossword to suppress my feelings of out-of-place-ness...which were also curbed said drink. Admittedly, I knew the bartender and the owner and a waiter so it was so entirely random, but still nto so entirely comfortable.

I headed up to the concert soon thereafter, right about when I figured AoM would be ending and WSC beginning. I was very sure the only band I really cared about was WSC--I'd listened to a WLP mp3 beforehand and thought it stunk pretty bad, and was confirmed in that assessment when I heard them on the local radio earlier in the night. I'd read very mixed reviews about AoM, some rave, some ripping, but I was still hoping to catch a song or two of theirs.

I walked in right as they were on their pentultimate song--something I'd heard on their EP about D.C. It was definitely better live but it was still a pretty lame song overall. Their final song was something they claimed to have written the night before and never tried live...which was painfully obvious. The lead singer was flat for the entirity of the song, a fact that was only amplified when the guitartist came in with on-keyish back-up vocals. Overall it left a nasty taste in my mouth about a band I suspect I will continue to make little to no effort to see at the myriad shows I'm sure they will continue to play around C-Ville.

Next up was WLP. Which pissed me off. As the out of town touring act, this band was the headliner. The majority of the promo for the show prominently featured the band above all others (althougha few (not surprisingly) touted AoM), leading any show-goer to assume they'd play last. A check of the venue website revealed them listed as the third band, so I called over and confirmed with some staff person that in fact they were playing last. Hence the timing of my evening and my intention to leave early if/when proved to underwhelm.

So they played third. I happened to know one of the soundmen working and he mentioned this was an oft-used tactic of the venue. But I think it stinks. The band did underwhelm. Decidedly. Their songs were boring and ran together since they all sounded too similar. The character their lead singer undertook to play on stage was entirely unbelievable and hence annoying given their musical style, not to mention that fact that 40 year old accountant trapped in a 20-something's body. Excessive bells and tamborines. I meant to bring a pad so as not to forget all the highlights of their mundaness but didn't. They were mundane. There you have it. Oh and also they're from New Orleans. I heard them on the radio pre-show discussing how they and their families suffered less than many down there. I'm sure it wasn't easy nonetheless to have their home state wrecked, but they seemed to mention their LA origins an inordinate number of times. It was like they were trying to guilt us in to liking them.

But they really didn't have to try very hard at all. People really seemed to like them. People knew the words. The crowd was certainly smallish but I just couldn't believe how some of the usual C-Ville suspects I spotted amongst the faces were obviously digging on it. I can enjoy a good Coldplay song. I'm not above that. But this was just such a boring take on piano-driven pop rock.

Thankfully, their set ended before too long and the musical saviors of the evening that were WSC took the stage. I've read numerous accounts citing how danceable WSC songs are, and it's true and it's great. I'd say I'm mainly listening to danceable indie rock songs thses months(?) but I can understand how some of them skew more towards the dance and less towards the rock and are resultantly less palatable to some of my more straight-up rock minded friends. So WSC was like palatable dance rock. No cheesily indulgent synth lines, no wacky vocal effects (although I'd be interested to see what their CD sounds like produciton-wise), just a bunch of kids playing quick songs to a danceable beat. It was nice.

By this point I'd had probably too many drinks (to make it through WLP?) so admittedly I'm not as clear on their set as I should be, but I do remember the fact that the front man was great--totally dorkish while simultaneously totally cool based largely on things like pelvic movements he pulled off that looked equally out of place yet natural coming from a guy who appeared to have just gotten off his paralegaling gig, and his palpable enthusiasm and energy even after the crowd had drastically dwindled post WLP (again and again, people in this town prove they do not know what is good for them musically but they're so emphatic that the music they like is spectacular. Grrr.).

Anyway I really enjoyed the set. I want to steal the CD from my brother so next time I see them I'll know the words. I knew about the band mainly from various DC venue calendars and blogs. And I totally told the guitartist that afterward, thus immediately losing any cool points I may have accrued for sticking around to see their set. Talking about blogs with strangers. Geez. It was the beer.

Afterwards I met up with Rachel and her friend at Bang!. I'd never been there--I was too intimidated by their over-priced food, the house they're housed in, and the fact that my old boss who scared me and had more money than god liked it. But it was ok, beer was only about $4 for a bottle of something decent. We chatted. I don't really remember to be honest. I think more talk about blogs...something about some kid we all knew whose blog I read. Her time in Amsterdam where everyone assumes any American tourist is there just to smoke weed.

Today I'm gearing up for some actual activity--horseback riding then a trip to DC to reunite with The Nice Sparks tour. More music, more beer, less drunken blog talk.

An evening with the Tele

2005-11-10T22:21:00.000-05:00

You know what was a great show? Matlock.

You know whats the dumbest advertising for the worst-named product I've seen in a long time? Choxie

Just What I Needed

2005-11-09T00:31:00.000-05:00

I came home today after another (this time full length) drive to Richmond to find the cat had smashed some dishes and generally enjoyed a day of mayhem. But also to find these!
Hooray.

Made my day.

DImY Ass

2005-11-08T01:15:00.000-05:00

So the cat survived and I selflessly stayed in tonight to wait on him hand and foot and coddle him as only seems appropriate for a tiny thing that just had his manhood ripped out. Except, oops! he really couldn't care less that I'm here. He'd rather just eat crickets that he somehow keeps finding and bringing upstairs and cryyyyyy because he's starving despite having been fed twice as well as having snacked on said crickets.

So instead of being out doing something fantastic as you all must know I am wont to do on normal Monday nights, I'm at home trying to finish up JJ's birthday present. Since I'm running a pretty low budget operation these days I thought I'd compile some DIY projects and send them her way to what I'm sure will be all glory laud and honor. Except that means I actually have to make something and of course that means I will over extend myself trying to create a masterpiece that will take too much time and cost too much money (see every cooking and/or baking attempt of late).

I started out with copying a few CDs I knew she'd like. She knows Jay so I'm sure The Extraordinaires is a solid bet, in addition to the newish Rainer Maria live album she may or may not already have. Then I figured I'd add some effort and actually make a mix. I've never achieved the mix perfection that is one of Ray's mix CDs. Of all people he's taught me the most about the importance of song selection, diversity, and order on mixes, but I have yet to feel like I've really conquered the science.

Thus far I've got the songs...

Jenny - Stellastarr*
Vanishing Act - The Fatales
For Real - Okkervil River
C'mon C'mon - The Von Bondies
God Is Going to Get Sick of Me - Aberdeen City
I Ain't Saying My Goodbyes - Tom Vek
High Travoltage - Truman Sparks
I Know I Know I Know - Tegan and Sara
The New Face of Zero and One - The New Pornographers
I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloow - Arctic Monkeys
Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson
Oh Mandy - The Spinto Band
The City - The Dismemberment Plan

but not the order. [Admittedly, Ray is owed some credit for this mix itself as it includes not only one of his band's songs but also a song I know solely from one of his compilations.]

So I should've been set with that. But noooooo. I had to go read the best section of the Sunday WaPo, Sunday Source, and learn about this nifty little craft. Suddenly, an epiphany. Kill all the upcoming November birthdays and possibly even some Xmas gifts with one stone/craft project!

What perfect timing! With all potential distractions away on tour, [busy urinating on the road into a makeshift toilet/beerbong], I had all the weekend in the world to craft it up. But here I am, three days later, about $40 poorer, and still batik placemat-less.

I haven't even tried the damn thing yet so who knows whether it's gonna be a catastrophic failure. I do know that my attempts to DIMyself and save some money have caused the devil of consumerism to LAUGH in my face as I've ultimately already spent more on supplies than I meant to burn through overall, and am not done shopping yet, not to mention the extra money I will probably use on a real present once I realize my craft project is a bust and decide I must get something to compensate for the failed artistic endeavour that I never intended to undertake in the first place.

I want to say it's the effort [and money spent on the effort] that counts, but really, it's only the effort that counts if you're recognized for that effort, and it's not like I'm going to send a note along with her CDs explaining what a nightmare my attempt to make her placemats was, but hey! at least I tried! that's almost as good as me actually giving you something cool and useful! If only I could trust she'd be so infinitely entralled with crickets as the cat.

Vicious Cycle

2005-11-07T15:11:00.000-05:00

Today. Thus far.

Woke up. Did not feed cat. Was hated on by cat.

Took cat to vet for shhh! neutering. Am probably being hated on by cat right now.

Forgot I had to drive to Richmond for work.

Drove halfway to Richmond. Learned from the guy I was meeting that I didn’t have to drive to Richmond. Drove back.

Am hating on Richmond guy right now.

"The magic of first love is our ignorance it can ever end."

2005-11-06T19:51:00.000-05:00

Having been a bit bummed out last night, I went through all my pix from Oz today in attempt to both cheer me up and inspire me to be crafty and get back to scrapbooking all my stuff from the trip over there.

Looking back it kinda feels like I fit a whole 4 years worth of fun in to 6 months. Which is a good thing, since the 4 years of fun college should have been really amounted to about .75 years worth of fun, 6 months of which was spent in Australia.

Of course it's a bit bittersweet to re-live everything again. I hardly hear from anyone I was over there with anymore, mainly due to the fact that when I got back I was so depressed I was barely functional for months so keeping up correspondence was not a top priority. Nowadays I couldn't even locate contact info for 99% of anyone so all I have to remember with is these pictures and some other assorted memorabilia.

Which is maybe the way it should be. There are a couple people I could imagine staying close with for years despite distance--Mark Keevers and Cat McCrimmon [last names for Google's sake] mainly (who were, respectively, my closest Aussie and American friends there).
And I did keep in touch with them at first when I got back. There was even talk of meeting up with Cat while I was in Cali or when she was on the East coast, but nothing ever came of it.

I took leaving Australia particularly hard because of what I had there and because of what I had to come back to. Most difficult was leaving my boyfriend over there, Luke Searles, who I grew extremely close with in practically no time at all.

Like Adam (who I had never even seen at this point so this shouldn't be any kind of slight), Luke was someone I saw and paid attention to before I knew. He worked at the Uni bookstore and in sitcom-like fashion I made extra unnecessary trips there just to run in to him, and repeatedly professed my love for the "bookshop guy" to Cat and Mark et al. during myriad drunken evenings, of which just about every evening seemed to be.

We finally actually met the first time I ever spotted him out at a bar (and was conveniently drunk enough to talk to him) and went out a few days later, after which we were largely inseparable for the remainder of my time in Oz. The last month or so of my trip I actually wound up moving in as my University housing had run out, as had my money, so previous plans to spend the last month traveling were scrapped.

I one hundred percent believed in how in love I felt, which was quite a contrast to the guarded, skeptical self I remember leaving behind in the US. I was always aware that my time in Oz was time in a fantasyland, but I somehow justified the craziness of our relationship...he was older, we'd both had long-term relationships before, everyone thought we were great together, and he believed in it just as much as me. I couldn't help but think this was something different so I allowed myself to let daydreams come true as we concocted plans for him to visit me--first a year down the line, later 6 months from my departure--and actually took action to make them happen--his setting up a new savings account and getting another job, as well as actually discussing the benefits of marrying before I left in order to ease future visa and immigration worries.

We continued on the path we'd lain before I left for a month or two after I got back to the States. I was still confident we could make this harebrained idea work, even if it felt as though I was falling deeper and deeper into a hole with each passing day. I'd left a sunny, carefree, wonder world, and even though Luke lived in Oz rather than being a visitor like myself, that still seemed a large part of the life he, and almost everyone else, led. I knew I was weighing him down each time we talked, until he finally just stopped calling.

I'll never know what happened--I haven't heard from him in years, and like most everyone else I met over there, I wouldn't know how to reach him if I wanted to.

And I sort of want to. And I think that's what bugs me to this day and makes me still have the occasional dream about him like I did last night. I kept a a journal for the entirety of my stay but I can hardly remember everything about him. I know there were things I didn't like and I have to wonder whether I've built him up inside my head to be greater than he ever was. I must have right?, if the way things ended taught me anything at all. But I want to know if my memories are accurate. I wonder whether he's gotten married. Did he ever finish his degree? What happened to all the friends I met through him? What's he doing for work these days? But I guess most of all I wonder if he still thinks about me.

Home Alone

2005-11-02T22:49:00.000-05:00

So the boys left tonight for night one of the tour de force or tour de france or tour of leaving beth home alone. Of course I'm happy for them but it forces me to face the fact that I have less than tons of friends here and 90% of them seem somehow spawned from my relationship with Adam, the other 10% being Ray. Soooo, it's just me and Holmes from now on...except I just found him locked in my car. whoops! He was only in there for like an hour, but honestly, I'm not even sure if they've hit the road yet and I've already lost my cat once so I must say I don't have the utmost confidence in myself for surviving the next ten or whatever days quite yet.

I haven't really lined up a ton of things to entertain myself with like I probably should have. I've got some spectacular mix cds I need to be creating for my father and jj, and some scrapbooking from years ago that has never been completed and sh/could be. Plus there's a couple of shows I could check out--I already skipped gogol bordello tonight since i am homebody magoo but theres also a washington social club show im considering and the dance party were having at the ballroom that i kinda am just really interested to see the result of since I kinda feel like months ago I kinda suggested the same sort of thing that they're doing and was kinda told it wouldn't work. So it's an interesting 'wanting it to work from a professional standpoint and hoping it fails from a personal standpoint' dicotomy.

Not to mention all the blogging I'll be doing now that I'm largely companion-less. I want to post more and not feel intimidated by self-created pressure to be funny or interesting or what have you. I figure that will come naturally with more posting and that waiting around and writing every week or less really isn't helping my cause so I should really just get down to it even if it's just a few sentences here and there.

In reality I'm sure the week plus will consist of drinking more wine than I should, watching more reality tv than is good for me, and going to bed earlier than most people can possibly fathom, but I'm hoping this [64 year old, divorced, retiree's] schedule will ease my mind as I pretend this is the worst kind of nonsense the boys could possibly be getting in to on their journey as well.

Cat Power, Cat Goiter

2005-10-17T16:59:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: Yes, yes this post is way late.

This past Friday Cat Power played the Ballroom which was a show we were all fairly excited about from a business standpoint. I liked 'You Are Free' quite a bit but this probably isn't a show I would have paid to see. And judging from the reactions I heard, I think a lot of attendees regretted paying in the end. Chan is renowned for her breakdowns and I'm sure a portion of the audience was interested in the show from a voayeuristic standpoint alone. Apparently they were not disappointed in the end [via Stereogum]. I brought three friends along who were similarly intrigued enough to go for free, but about 15 minutes in to her set we had to leave. The whole sitting down silently while she played two alernating chords and sang too quietly to be heard was not the Friday night affair I had envisioned. So we left to begin a real evening with drinks and conversation and such. I'm all for an artistic show but it almost seemed like she's exploited this whole crazy card to up attendance at shows people normally wouldn't care about because they're boring and uninsprired. At least we got our money's worth.

Saturday brought beautiful weather and a slightly hungover me realizing I should've thought about the horseback riding lesson I had at 1 o'clock before drinking myself silly the night before. Couple points on that--I have this fear that "horseback riding lesson" conjures up so what it shouldn't. At least in my case. Cause it's not like that. Promise. Also--1 o'clock. Even if I had thought about this the night before the thought process would've gone something like 'oh, tomorrow I have something I shouldn't be hungover for. oh but it's at 1, no way I'll still be feeling it at 1, who would? only a pussy. Another round!' But yeah, that's me, and it was me, and it was unpleasant. But I survived and post-lesson Adam and I started our trek to DC for the New Pornographers concert.

I haven't been a NP fan for as long as some of the tried and true, but I have the whole catalog and was looking forward to a sunny pop concert where I could sing along with every song and dance with my neighbor. I sang along regardless but it wasn't the care-free, feel-good experience I was hoping for. As usual the DC crowd was less animated than one might have hoped, but in the end it was the band that appeared least excited of all. Carl Newman may say NP albums are about "ways of seeing the world," but he readily admits that the most important thing is "the music and the melody, after that I'm just trying to figure out how to fit the words in there, because the words always have to have a certain feeling." To me, that feeling is gooey pop rock that makes me think of caramel or something. Seeing a candy-coated band play straight up versions of their songs straight-faced just doesn't do it for me. The feel-good songs and tight performance meant the show wasn't a let-down overall but the consensus amongst my companions was that it was definitely lacking.

Post-show Adam and I drove all the way back home (and by we I mean me, the only stick-driving SO) rather than crash in DC for the evening. Upon our return I was petting Holmes, [my normally cuter than cute cat who is widely accepted as the awesomest cat ever by people like myself who generally think cats are lame] only to discover some weird goiter-like mass on his tummy. [After a bit of freaking out, my fears were allayed when I learned on Monday that was not a tumor but and abscess [note to you, no need to Google it] could be easily drained, for some umpteen hundred dollars, natch.]

My Sunday freak out was somewhat stymied by preparations for Adam's birthday. After my stellar birthday performance last year when I [with some help] surprised Adam with a new car stereo, I couldn't believe he bought my blase attitude about the whole event--I suggested we might be able to get together on Monday during lunch to have cake and that I would get him a present eventually. He had to work Sunday night and plans were already in the works mid-week to surprise him at his job with presents and friends and general good times.

Naturally, we had to wait a bit for things to die down at the Bistro so we decided to continue the smashing success tht is our Sunday Summer BBQ [which will henceforth have to be called something else I guess] and have kids over for burgers and tots. Who knew the tater tots would be such a success--so much so that somehow 5 lbs of them got eaten. The cat? Seen above? About 6.something lbs. FYI. About a Holmes' worth of tots we ate. Maybe the tots were such a hit because the burgers were...not?

Nate also brought over some wine so our Sunday wine tastings continued, and Thom was inspired enough to make an apple pie from scratch.

Not to be out done, I had stealithy anticpated the creation of this deliciousness and prepared the birthday cake of birthday cakes.
Post-wine and tot tasting we headed to the Bistro and coordinated our entrance so as to create the biggest most annoying scene possible for any remaining Sunday night diners. It all worked flawlessly, Adam being both surprised and embarassed, as well as thankful for all the goodies, edible, inflatable, and otherwise, that we bestowed upon him.

******

Honestly it is so WAY past last weekend that I can't even remember what I wanted to say next or the witty closing I'm sure I had planned for this entry. Suffice to say there was one.

Disposal Ethics

2005-10-12T18:36:00.000-04:00

Our garbage disposal has been broken since this past weekend. I keep promising myself it has nothing to do with the shards of glass that went down there after Adam broke a pot top in the sink last week. I mean I stuck my hand down there and pulled out every last piece I could feel and after that? when I ran it? you could barely hear all the crackling and grinding and general breaking of the disposal, I swear.

Anyway the landlord promised someone would come check it out today and I kinda believe him given that he got over to the house last Saturday in about 3.67 minutes after we informed him that there was a foot of water in the basement and my cat's litter box was floating off toward the unexplored lands of Washer and Dryer. [No, the cat was not in the box, equipped with a small oar and sailor hat, meowing such as to make it sound as though he were calling "land ho! land ho!"....but wouldn't it have been funny if that had been the case?].

So today when I ran home for a late lunch I was dismayed to see that the garbage disposal fixer man had not yet visited us--largely because this meant I would be guilted into actually moving all the old dishes out of the sink that had been left there because hey! the water's not draining fast enough! guess I won't do any dishes at all! So I moved the dishes while heating up some lentil soup that I didn't really want but decided I should eat because it's cold outside and also soup is healthy [sort of] [when not eaten alongside a [delicious] toasted pita filled with cheese [two kinds]].

I knew I wasn't going to want all the soup so I poured some down the drain before I even put it in a bowl, and by the time I was about half way through eating it I realized I really didn't want the rest. I could've saved it, yes, but having recently thrown out about 139 Tupperware containers of lentil soup that Ray and I had accumulated in the fridge, I decided today was not the day to re-start my stockpile. So then what to do? The lentil soup was almost thick enough to warrant disposal in the garbage, but still soup nonetheless and hence it's logical resting place would be the disposal...or wherever food goes post disposal. goo! But do I really want to subject my disposal fixer to lentil soup? I mean with him not knowing what it is and all, that's gotta be one of the nastier things for him to stick his hands into, and I'm convinced that'll be his first plan of action upon arriving at our house [not sure why...maybe cause it would be mine]. Then again, I just changed the trash bag and I'm really not trying to have nasty soup sitting in the bottom of the trash for however long.

In the end I went with the trash. There was already lentil in the disposal so Mr. FixIt will have his fill I'm sure. And even though I'll bet he makes 14 times what I do to compensate for having to stick his hands in yucky gunk every day, I still want to make his experience at our place as pleasant as I can. But maybe that just means making him a cheese pita.

Extra Ordinary

2005-10-05T18:10:00.000-04:00

Everyone seems to be fawning over the new Fiona Apple album lately. Despite the general impression that all I want to listen to is indie-rock dance music, in fact I'm a huge Fiona Apple fan. Huge like I used a line from 'When the Pawn Hits...' as my senior quote which is, you know, a big deal in the whole 12th grade scheme of things. In the end, somehow my senior photo was omitted from the yearbook (a surreptitious plot against me by the yearbook staff?) so if I want to deny all this at a later date I still will, but for now I'm content in my affection for her. Or was. Cause I think this record blows! Granted I haven't listened to it enough to write a full review here, but I was skipping songs left and right this morning when I listened to it because I simply could not bear them. Ugh. It's like they took all the lamest tracks from her two previous efforts, mixed them together in a blender to deny any enjoyable highs or lows, and then laid them down as blandly as possible. Maybe I'll come around upon repeated listens but I suspect I won't be holding my breath for her next record, especially if it takes another 6 years.

Weekend Round Up

2005-09-26T12:52:00.000-04:00

This weekend saw the Shelter for the Storm benefit shows I, along with a heap of other people somehow related to local music, helped coordinate. That meant Friday I was at the Ballroom to see the Nice Jenkins headlining. Which was better than I expected for myriad reasons. Mainly, I thought the band sounded better than ever which was nice. Plus I had good company, a good buzz, and somehow managed to avoid the feelings sometimes brought on by extended Ballroom exposure [see previous note re buzz]. We raised a bit of money and hopefully all shows combined genrated enough to make a bit of difference down South.

Saturday was fairly worthless, aside from the penis shaped baking pan i so graciously received as a gift that day and the subsequent gorging on penis brownies and ice cream in which we partook. nice

Sunday, after Adam and I trekked to Target for etceteras, like you do, I came home to find my cat trapped in the sewer. In terms of cats I've known over the years, and not just because he's mine, I think Holmes is fairly cunning, but I understand that this foible places him squarely in that category of 'retarded' amongst most of my friends and fellow countrymen. A call to the fire department later, and theyre on my street with the huge hook and ladder truck making the biggest scene of the affair possible. Largely, I think, just to drive home the point that 'this is the biggest waste of time for us so we're going to make it the grandest affair ever. Your cat is an idiot and you obviously raised him as such.' Sweet. Anyway the cat was soon saved [only to go missing again later that night...but hes back now, for good, i swear] and our Sunday summer bbq could commence in peace, with at least one psuedo interesting story to relay throughout the evening. Unfortunately, attendance at the bbq was lacking, due, i figure, to the fact that it doesn't even really feel like summer anymore so people must just be really confused. Naturally, I'm sure it had nothing to do with us. Especially since this time we provided arts and crafts to entertain the masses...and the paintings came out GREAT, i swear. I'm sure they can find a home hanging in our basement, maybe next to the animal skull we recently found near the dryer.

As for the CD reviews I had such hopes and dreams for prior to actually starting this...well theyve fallen by the wayside haven't they. In fact lately I've been listening solely NPR, Interpol, and two tracks off the Bloc Party remix CD [2 & 3--good god isn't three good?!]. But now Ray's burned me the extraordinaires cd Adam has been raving about of late [so this isn't their page, but come on, it's awesome isnt it?...especially the sax player they photoshopped in] so maybe that will get reviewed? Maybe ill keep being lazy and continue not to give opinions on anything? Maybe I'll get off this danm thing and get ready for work already?

Rats in Togas and much much more

2005-09-20T19:59:00.000-04:00

So about two weeks ago I thought I'd finally do something around the house to give Ray and my mother (yes she was living with us, and yes that's a whole other story) a break from doing all the housework while i sat around and watched reality tv about the playboy mansion or avoided being home (see note re: mother) altogether. Anyway I just 'learned' how to mow this summer, it was always a chore my brother and father undertook growing up, but once Ray corrected my poor turn around technique and showed me how to start the damn thing, i realized i actually kinda liked that whole mowing thing. So I'm out in the yard thinking I'm doing a great thing and almost finished when i inadvertently run over the water meter cap. The mower stops. i give up after trying to restart it a few times and resign myself to letting Ray deal with it. Fast forward two weeks and indeed Ray has dealt with it, since he knows me well enough to know that it'd be about April before I did. Apparently he gets a call today saying the thing is totally broken. what the f? i BARELY run over something and were totally screwed? thats bs. what the hell. i demand a recount. honestly i will feel so bad if i broke the damn thing. who the hell breaks a lawn mower. i know how to mow! Ray taught me! grrrr!

In other news...there's a rat at my work. I probably shouldn't divulge that but there it is. A rat. I've been calling him Larry. I'm about the only person that sits in here quietly so I'm guessing I'm about the only person that ever hears Larry doing his calisthenics or whatever the hell he is doing that is SO FREAKING LOUD! It's like he's got a symphony of plastic bags back there that he's directing. Or he's invited all his rat friends over for a keg party where they all dressed up in saran wrap togas and got wasted on beer thats dripped on the floor. I'm not terrified of rats, but I wouldn't come to Larry's party in a toga either and the fact that this has been going on ALL DAMN DAY is starting to piss me off.

Adam wants to go see the Extraordinaires at the tea bazaar tonight. i wish i was more of a fan of that place. its a bit hot and uncomfortable and filled with 16 year olds smoking hookahs for me. and the sound leaves much to be desired. but theres good people there too. id just rather be somewhere more bar-like i suppose. plus theres apparently something fantastic going on tomorrow night there as well and theres no way i can do two nights in a row there i dont think. well see. i think the tentative plan is to see the aristocrats (i keep wanting to type aristocats after that lame disney movie i never saw but which had a preview on the copy of the lion king i watched a million times in middle school when it was totall cool [i swear] to ironically like childish things like the lion king) and then the show. maybe the supposed hilarity from the former will stave off any feelings of anti (likely spawned by sobriety) during the latter.

And finally.
I got to the gym this morning only to find a friend of a friend im less than friends with. At first I was a little cold--it was the first thing i did all morning, give me a break, but the longer i ellipiticalled the more i realized that if shes here now, shell probably be here again so i better suck it up and be civil before it turns my morning workouts into some kind of perpetually akward terribleness. So we get to chatting after a bit and discuss how she used to work out at night but now with a different work schedule blah blah blah see you tomorrow morning! While simultaneously being a bit bummed I will say that in some kind of sick way it spurred me to work way harder and 'beat' her by getting sweatier/using more weight/staying longer. I relayed the whole thing to adam later on who said it was the dumbest thing hes ever heard. And hes probably right.

dummily yours
the lawnmower extraordinaire

Still Getting the Hang of This

2005-09-17T11:44:00.000-04:00

Ever feel like the weekend is just passing you by when infact it's just begun? I hate that. I suppose we'll have to make the most out of today and tomorrow to make up for the feeling. Yesterday seemed almost like the weekend because instead of spending all day at work I had to trek over to Richmond to pick up backline for the Blackalicious show. Rather than being a two, maybe three hour excursion though, it somehow morphed into an all day event involving multiple friends. And new CDs. I picked up the Bloc Party remix and Architecture in Helsinki albums before we left [disclaimer, yes yes I will be pitfully behind on new music in general. alas] and naturally we stopped in to Plan 9 while in rva and i got a used Kinks album there and a used copy of Antics which I had lost months ago and which I can remember being the only CD I want to hear at all about eleventy hundred times since then because it's awesome. Anyway reviews of some of those might follow. More likely than not it will not be a review of Antics because we all already know it 's great, and it will not be a review of AiH because I'm not sue I could sit through that again.

Last night was Of Montreal at the Ballroom. Adam and I stopped by for a minute to experience the chaos and such but naturally I parked in the fire lane or something and the thought of finding new parking plus said chaos, times 9 since the opening band The MGMT was really grating on me, meant we left after about 3 minutes. But tonight. Blackalicious. Should be good. And chaotic. And involving friends from near and far. And today, horseback riding which is great because I haven't beeen in years and because I dreamed about horses, much like a Couting Crows song or something, last night. And tomorrow, Sunday Summer BBQ, this week ft. Nates Super Chardonnay Sipping Extravaganza. Or something like that.

The resolve to be more positive is still the MO. To the point where now I notice how negative comments from others are really a bummer. But I also notice how I still switch into anti mode when I've gotta sit in traffic or am runing late or someone tells me to move my car out of the fire lane. But today will be good. And positive.

Today's the Day

2005-09-15T21:00:00.000-04:00

I'm aiming to turn over a new leaf of late. It'll involve hating less and more positive thinking, but my blog title was already in the works before this great turn of events [yes yes we'll see how far it goes] occurred, and I figured this might be the best place to redirect the rants. and raves. and reviews. So that's the plan with this. We'll see how far it goes as well.