fuzzy sweater.

Friday, February 28, 2003

It’s a paradox of the ferret world: The more you bathe your ferret, the worse he will smell.

Maybe I haven't mentioned my Ferret Frenzy 2003 calendar quite often enough. Maybe it's not clear exactly how big a part this calendar contributes toward maintaining healthy levels in my day-to-day moods.

I don't know exactly when I developed this affinity for weird animal photography... but it had to have been prior to January 1, 2003. I've had brushes with animals dressed as people before... affixing antlers to cats at Christmas, for one. At any rate, I have really grown to love this calendar, and so has Dan. Somewhat unnaturally, in his case.

This morning, I invited Dan over for the ceremonious turning-of-the-calendar-page we've been holding at the start of every month this year. He's going out of town and won't be here on Monday, so I felt it was appropriate to start March a day early for his benefit.

Dan did a little drum roll with his tongue as I ceremoniously flipped the calendar from February [ninja ferret in a lavendar kimono ready to start trouble with a pair of nunchucks] to March, and pinned it to the wall.....

O! How I wish there had been a camera handy to capture the joyful gleaming in our eyes when we first saw the March pinup! It stunned us both. The ferret is taking a bubble bath!!! And there's a tiny daub of soap on his little ferret nose, and a tiny ferret-sized towel hangs over the side of the tiny ferret-sized bathtub... it's disturbingly perfect.

To be honest with you, I actually entertained the thought, My GOD, I would be so much happier if I had a job that paid me to dream up scenarios for ferret calendar spreads! Really! I think I could really do well at that. I would laugh all day long... I'm creative... I can get by in photoshop... just imagine the staff meetings! It would be like the office of The Onion and Xanadu, all rolled into one. Seriously, I would love that. Would this count as a career goal, do you think?

Okay, you know what? I'm going to look up the company. If they're in New York, I'm absolutely sending in my resume. I really will.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:08

Confidential, to the person who left a Pirates & Buccaneers Coloring Book (gently used) on my chair whilst I was away at lunch:

Arrrrrr!! [two-fingered hook gesture]

He'll get it.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:14

Thursday, February 27, 2003

If you've been paying attention, you'll have noticed that I stopped updating my "listening to" section every day like I said I was going to. I am still listening to (or at least bringing to work) four cd's every day in an effort to listen to everything I own alphabetically. I just got really tired of linking them every day. If you'd like, you can email me daily and ask exactly what's playing... but to be frank, if you actually DO find it interesting enough to ask me daily, maybe you should instead make some efforts to expand your world a little bit. Get outside. Take the dog for a walk. Buy a magazine. Meet a nice girl. Because I know my music collection can't be all that interesting. Which is, I guess, why I quit telling you about it.

For the record, today it's Morrisey: Kill Uncle, Monsoon Wedding soundtrack, Moby: Songs, and Minibar: Read Movies. Bo-ring.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:08

And today, we welcome a new entry into the "Does anyone up there have any sense at ALL??" Hall of Fame:

The official World Trade Center design. Taller?!? Why does it need to be taller?

I guess that whole "learning a lesson from past mistakes" thing really didn't settle on anyone with any say-so this time, did it? It's that stupid "size matters" / "mine's bigger" shit. Show me one woman who doesn't think it's a dumb idea to need to build The Biggest Building in the World and I'll give you five dollars out of my own pocket. Right now. Rrrah... boneheaded, egocentric, fallic-obsessed morons, all of them!

the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:35

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

My previous post has, in an offhand way, spawned the following exchange:

me: ....sadly i will never go on a vacation ever again.
liz: why?
me: i don't know. it just doesn't feel like i will.
liz: I am sure you will go on some kind of vacation at some point in your life. you’re young yet.
me: maybe to branson, mo.
liz: hey, I’ll take you there. it’s not half bad.
me: i should say not, with silver dollar city!
liz: the entertainment alone is mind-bogglingly exciting!!!
me: i don't doubt that! i have been to dollywood, back when IT was called silver dollar city.
liz: i would like to see dollywood. I bet that we could get some darn good chicken-fried steaks at silver dollar city.
me: you know it, gurl! and elephant ears to wash 'em down!
liz: I feel dumb asking, but what are those?
me: oh i forgot, you didn't grow up exclusively in the midwest going to state and regional fairs....

an elephant ear is a big floppy piece of dough, deep fried and then covered in powdered sugar and sometimes sweet fruits such as cherry pie filling. you eat it whilst walking around and it gets all over you, and by the time you're half done you're either ready to yak or you just did.

oh boy, this is a fantastic image:

lizzie, when we go to coney island this summer to stroll the boardwalks beneath a parasol built for two, i will buy you all the elephant ears you could ever want.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:39

Will you still need me? Will you still feed me?

In keeping with disturbing new developments in my personality's evolution [following yesterday's admission that I no longer have the sense of humor I used to], I am ready to confess to something else. You might think it's kind of minor, but to me it signifies a startling sign of my ever-lengthening tooth, my quickening downward spiral towards old age, senility, incontinence and ultimately, death.

The thing is... all of a sudden, I'm totally into these state quarters. I mean, I get excited about them. I hold them in my palm all new and shiny, and I compare them to each other and really feel that I'm learning a few things about some states that I didn't know about before... I think they're just fantastic. I'm even thinking of collecting.

And my major concern is this: if I'm getting excited about state quarters now, at age 25, can trips to Branson, MO be far behind?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:25

Tuesday, February 25, 2003

I think I've passed into a noteworthy new phase of life in which I don't think Monty Python is funny anymore.

Back in college, when I had the Irish boyfriend, we would lie around watching Python marathon after Python marathon on Comedy Central, hooting and giggling like it was the funniest thing ever. The Ministry of Strange Walks... that dead parrot sketch... boy, there was a day when that stuff really slayed me.

Now, I just don't like it.

One of the perks of having a birthday which falls neatly at the cusp of a new year is that I always get at least one calendar. This year, I got two. Kat got me a Ferret Frenzy 2k3 wall calendar, as you know, which provides me endless hours of happiness. And then my friend Kati got me a Monty Python page-a-day calendar, exclaiming excitedly that she had purchased it months in advance because she saw it and knew it was just "the perfect gift" for me. And I was excited to get it, thinking it was nice that a friend knew me so well (and was buying me a present at all). But now that I'm eight weeks into the year, I've come to realize that any possible humor that Monty Python possesses simply doesn't carry over to the page at all. I'm coming to scorn this calendar.

What's more, I keep getting stuck watching the end of Python sketches on BBC America before The Office comes on at 10:20 on Thursdays. I continually think the comedy is stupid. I guess Life of Brian and The Holy Grail are special cases... they might still make me laugh. That knight whose limbs all get hacked off might still make me smirk, I don't know. Maybe. But The Knights Who Say Neeh? I really don't see it anymore. I decree Monty Python NOT FUNNY.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:47

Monday, February 24, 2003

I just had the strangest experience. We went to a diner nearby for lunch, and we walked in and headed for a table by the window. It was then that i realized that I had eaten dinner at that exact table on the very first night I ever spent in New York, when I was 20. I think I had the egg salad platter. I remember I was with my friend Betsy and a couple of girls who went to college where I went, and it was highly unpleasant. Today I had the gyro platter. It was pretty good.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:01

And youuuuu will believe in looove..... and all that it's s'posed to beeee....

Could a person possibly listen to Rufus Wainwright sing "April Fools" enough times in a row? I believe not.

...although if I had to counter my own posit, I'd say maybe fifteen times is pushing it just a little.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:26

Friday, February 21, 2003

I'm slightly uncomfortable with the fact that I've been either relevant or preachy or review-y in all of this week's posts. Studs Turkel, David Lynch, Joe Millionaire... honestly, the last thing I want to do is drive away any of my shallow readers — it's you guys who make up my bread and butter, you know? I just want you to know that this recent phase shouldn't be interpreted as me growing up or becoming more mature or trying to sound smarter. Not at all, I swear. I'm the same old frivolous thinker, world issues ignoramus and part-time narcissist I've always been.

Happiness is: finding Dorito powder under your fingernails twenty minutes after you held the bag up to your face and funnelled the last crumbs into your mouth like a desperate six-year-old.

See? Still the same.

P.S.: Look at my banner today. "English Accent Reduction"?? What's that about?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:47

Thursday, February 20, 2003

"Aaaaah, I feel that if countries are gonna fight a war, find yourself an island with nobody and then just put all your men in there and let them kill each other. Or better, send the politicians, let them fight it out. Yeah, like this stupid race that we're having of atomic wars. So much money is being devoted to killing people and so little to saving. It's a crazy world." --John Garcia, WWII veteran

I'm reading a book right now by Studs Turkel called The Good War: An Oral History of World War Two. Like his book Working, which I'm also reading off and on and have really enjoyed, it's a collection of oral interviews that Turkel collected with various people regarding World War Two and its effect on their lives. I find this book completely compelling and one of the most powerful deterrents against war that I've come across. You must read.

I think the collection has a heavier importance and timeliness right now, even though the generations and wars themselves are so different... because really, basic human nature is still the same. People are still going to wig out when this thing really gets going. There's something in the earnestness and straightforward telling of horrors that I think we, as a generation facing war, really need to know about and try to learn from. People throughout the West Coast panicked like crazy when they thought the Japanese were going to bomb their houses. We get to read it in their own words, how they cowered in their homes and believed everything they were told on the radio, and really must have gone crazy with this fear which was totally generated by government and fueled by the media.

I guess the thing that hits me hardest is that I can see how the same thing might happen / is already happening / has long been happening here in New York. I mean, last week, I myself was taking the G train to work instead of the F because I figured nobody would care to blow up the G and sitting on the F train was freaking me out. [This week I switched back to the F because I know I can't live my life afraid like that. Even my mother said so, and she's a worrier.] That's the scary part. How easily we can all be influenced, even in small ways. And I know there are scads of dumber and more easily influenced people all around me. Me, I'm a fairly consistent cynic and I'm still constantly fretting.

Do people [you, you out there, the 60% of Americans who actually believe that this country is a champion of freedom, that war is our only option, I'm talking to YOU] just not think about how war will really affect them, let alone the rest of the world?? Do you think you can be better saved by duct tape and plastic sheeting than by speaking out against nuclear war?

Anyway, many thanks to David [my little brother and a new weblogger] for the loan. You might not get it back. I feel like loaning it to some people myself.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:53

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

By the way... is this not the perfect, perfect day for This American Life archive-trolling?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:32

Diane, please make a note.

Being somewhat short on suitable or interesting blogworthy material today, I'm going to double back to Sunday evening's activities.

While the snow was piling up and up and up outside, I was attending my first-ever Twin Peaks-a-Thon over at my friend Ben's place. Having never seen any part of Twin Peaks before, and having only seen one David Lynch film ever, and having understood exactly zero David Lynch films ever, I decided it was time I tried harder. Also, I enjoyed the company, and there was pie.

Actually, we prefaced the a-thon with a few episodes of Strangers With Candy, which I think might be my new favorite old show. I wouldn't say I want to be Jerri Blank exactly, but I'd definitely like to be Amy Sedaris being Jerri Blank. I just bid on a complete set of episodes on VCD on eBay this morning, actually.

Anyway, back to Twin Peaks. We all settled down around the television to eat pie and watch the pilot episode. I surprised myself by becoming completely engrossed by it, although really, who wouldn't be? I couldn't bear to watch the fingernail part, being somewhat easily grossed out by blood and knife scenes in movies, but that aside I was wholly enthralled. I love the way they hint at the personality of this person everyone thought they knew, this beautiful and enchanting Laura Palmer person, but they then let you know quietly, slowly, that she wasn't who she seemed, that nothing is going to be at all as it seems, and you haven't even come close to the tip of the iceberg, and below that iceberg there happen to be both a second and a third iceberg, and you just might not be able to comprehend anything at all by the end, and maybe you should just give up now, although it's obvious that you won't because you're not a quitter and you like a challenge and you want to be pushed a little bit.

Now, of course, I really need to watch the rest of it, even though I hear it amounts to about 90 episodes. I've got the time, I guess. I can make the time.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:27

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

Got drunk instead of watching Joe Millionaire.

Those who know me will find it quite a shock to hear that I missed the two hour finale to Joe Millionaire. For much of the evening I was playing Scrabble and drinking with good company in a bar not far from my home. It seemed a fitting way to spend a snowy day off work. It's true that I insisted loudly that I would not and could not miss this finale... and yet I did. I choose not to explain my actions beyond simply telling you that they had a fantastic Shiraz at this bar which was very reasonably priced and surprisingly suggestive, and things just took their course, away from Joe Millionaire. (The wine also contributed to my having lost fantastically at Scrabble).

Because I missed this television event-of-the-week, I would very much enjoy hearing a bit of dialogue among the fuzzy sweater readership about this finale. Yes, I do know that he picked Zora. I, for one, thought she was the clear choice from day three onward. (Also, if you happened to think that Sarah was a better choice, I'd sure like to know why). What else do you have to say about the show? We could really get something going, something similar to the Joe Millionaire Fan Forum,... no, something better, because YOU are better. Evan must have said at least a few boneheaded things last night... what were they? Did he and Sarah tongue each other one last time before he dumped her? What did I miss??

And while we're on the topic.... I would very much like to know, now that my comments are working again, how many of you would be interested in seeing my own reality TV show concept, Fat Camp Island (see 2.3.03) come to fruition. This is for posterity, so be honest.

If nobody comments today, I'll just take this whole post down and put up something dumb. Dumber than this, I mean. Maybe you'd like to see how much dumber I can get.... well, I guess maybe we'll just see.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:35

Friday, February 14, 2003

What I would like to happen:

I wake up on Saturday morning feeling good. I go with my friends to the war protest in Manhattan. Somehow, in the frenzy of the day, I become separated from my friends. I suddenly find myself shoved into a barricade. A national news crew catches my dramatic tumble to the ground, and the cameraman helps me to my feet. He asks me, "What are you here to say today?" Turning to face the camera, which is filming live nationwide, with tears in my eyes and an expression that exudes nothing but the simplest of urgencies, I say, clearly, this: "War is stupid." The cameraman sheds a tear.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me and my fellow protestors, in a secluded room in a wing of the White House, a group of very influential leaders are watching the coverage of the protest and eating from a bowl of honey roasted peanuts. One of these people is the President of the United States of America. Moved by my basic plea for understanding, he stands abruptly, spilling peanut crumbs and salt onto a 300-year-old rug. "What are we doing, fellas?" he asks his compadres. They look at each other silently. One by one, they stand to join the president, forming a circle around a coffeetable selected by Ladybird Johnson. Locked hand-in-hand, they begin to chant. "War is stupid. War is stupid! WAR IS STUPID!"

After five minutes or so of this, the president breaks away and reaches for a red telephone sitting on an end table dating back to the Jefferson administration. He speaks clearly into the mouthpiece: "Plan B, boys. Plan B. Let's roll." [He hasn't been able to stop saying "Let's roll" since last September, and it is starting to take its toll on Laura.] George then walks over and reaches into a desk drawer, pulling out a notecard with a picture of a kitten on the front. He scrawls a few lines and slips it into an envelope, writing the name "Saddam" on the front (except he spells it Sadamm), and asks his assistant to please mail it right away to Iraq. Inside, the note reads "Dear Sadamm: I guess you were right. My approval rating is the lowest ever. Let's just call it a draw, what do you say? Let me know ASAP!!! See you in May at Big Boy Osama's birthday bash... Later, W." Of course, Saddam will totally be up for a truce.

World peace restored. All because of me.

What will most likely happen:

I wake up at 12:30 severly hung over after a night of slinging single-girl fruity cocktails with Amber and Mapsy, and will miss the protest entirely.

[For further and more reasonable perspectives on the protest, check out what Wheelbarrow has to say about it. For once he doesn't even mention testicles. That's how you know he's serious.]

the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:52

Thursday, February 13, 2003

You know what?

Brooklyn rocks. Brooklyn rocks the most.

Manhattan is okay, and Queens isn't entirely unliveable... Cleveland is not quite as bad as its reputation would lead you to believe, and I hear that San Diego is quite nice this time of year... Amsterdam has its appealing qualities, and I'm sure Istanbul is very nice as well... but none of them can so much as hold a candle to my Brooklyn.

Sometimes I think I may be in romantic love with Brooklyn. Every day, when I'm walking to the subway and I'm passing these people I live among, little kids with their cool hats and their moms with their cool hats, other people who look sort of indie / business casual like me, lots of people who look nothing like me... I grab my coffee and my bagel and I go stand on the platform with everybody shuttling into Manhattan, and I pretend to be all annoyed by the slow trains and the pushing and shoving, but really I'm just kind of fluttering inside and still get excited just being a part of the whole thing. I thank god I found Brooklyn and Brooklyn found me. We're just so good for each other.

Brooklyn and I are probably going to stay together forever and some days walk cute dogs together, and maybe we'll go a little crazy together, but then we'll come back around and settle down together, and eventually maybe have some kids, or maybe choose not to, and as we mature as a pair we might buy some art and paint the living room of our brownstone a comfortably warm shade of mauve, and reminisce about our early days together when we used to still be cool and young and rad enough to hang out in Williamsburg (before Williamsburg turned so B&T that even Williamsburgians wouldn't hang out there - years back) and how we'd walk to Prospect Park through the industrial blocks in summer get Italian ices in the summertime and leak the sticky water all over our Sunday New York Times, and how we'd just laugh and laugh.

I don't know where else I'd want to live. Really no idea.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:14

Wednesday, February 12, 2003

[Aside: I can't help feeling that my music list for today could use a little explaining... but I'll just let it stand alone.]

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:12

When I woke up at 3:30 this morning, I was plagued by a variety of stressful thoughts. I really did toss and turn thinking about all of these things.

First of all, I find it absolutely wrong that I earned a whopping $6,000 less in this past year than I did the year before, all because my boss is too scared to ask her boss to let us have overtime back, even though every other department is practically swimming in overtime. I refuse to ask her about it because I know that when she tells me no, I will get extremely irate.

Also, of course, I was panicking over the fact that I could die on my way to work, or really at any time...

...while simultaneously being absolutely livid that our government is playing me for such a gigantic, believing, fearing fool...

...and mulling over my apartment situation which will soon be changing (don't worry, I love my roommate so much but she recently bought an apartment and will be moving out soon)...

...and stewing over my friend Kati calling me cheap (right after I shelled out $20 for friggin' appetizers last night without complaining, so tell me again who's cheap?) and being generally self-involved...

...and worrying over my window being open just a crack and what would happen if poison gases were let out in south Brooklyn overnight and I never woke up...

...and having really no idea what to do with myself professionally, and having neither realistic goals or dreams, or reasons for doing what I already do....

...also, I couldn't really breathe because of the cold.

When I woke up again at 6 a.m., it was from severe stomach cramps due to either the aforementioned stress, or the amount of mucous in my stomach, or bad $20 appetizers. I also awoke abruptly with very vivid memories of a dream I was having in which I was present at the filming of the Robert Palmer "Simply Irresistable" video, with the dancing ladies. And while I was watching the shoot from the sidelines, one of the crew members came dancing up to me and grabbed both my wrists and forced me to fondle his manboobs. The crew member turned out to be a stalker I used to have back in the day. It was horrifying.

I remember another dream fragment in which I decided to go to grad school in Canada. I think the dream me may have been onto something. Maybe I should just run away from home.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:36

Tuesday, February 11, 2003

I'm pleased to announce that the blood orange is back! I just had the most beautiful blood orange with my lunch... so good. So lovely.

For some reason, I can't view my comments. I know they're there... Liz confirmed that she can see them plain as day. But me? No. Life must be playing a cruel, cruel joke on me, I guess. Like I care!

Oh, I do care. Too much, some might say.

I got my new building ID this morning. For some reason, everyone else's heads were looking extremely flattened and wide in the digital photos, Cabbage Patch Kid style, so I took it upon myself to scooch the chair back a bit when the photographer wasn't looking. And thanks to my ingenuity, I do not look like a "what not to do" Photoshop manual example. However, considering the red nose and the bags under my eyes, compounded with the fact that my shirt was somehow unbuttoned low enough to imply a fully exposed chest, and my hair appears to have been affected by some sort of isolated static electricity cloud, I do look like a heroin junkie just coming off a three-day binge. Perhaps further preparation may have been wise.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:16

Monday, February 10, 2003

Monday night TV sucks. Real bad.

Sorry kids… I’m sick, tired, down, and feeling bland tonight. On top of this, I don’t know if I’ll be posting at work or not, now that I’m in the new cubicle with zero privacy. So, fuzzy sweater might become a medley of boring posts about prime time television and drunken posts about prime time television.

Does anyone have a really great cold remedy? I just squirted some stuff up my nose and it seems to be stinging just a bit. There has to be a better way.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 22:43

Sunday, February 09, 2003

Have you ever been to a professional wrestling event?

I have.

No, really. I have! Last night, in fact. And boy, was it HOTT!!! Katie's friend Jonathan's brother Paul London is a big rising star in the Ring of Honor wrestling federation... so naturally, Katie, Kat, Kelly and I went up to the Elks Lodge on Queens Boulevard and shelled out $18 apiece to watch an evenings' worth of real, honest-to-god wrestling entertainment. If by "real" you mean "fake", and if by "entertainment" you mean watching oversized goons wearing hotpants with their names on them vicegripping each others' heads with their sweaty thighs, and pounding on each others' faces, and pulling each other by the hair, and slapping each other in the chests repeatedly. It was really something else.

The fans! Oh my god, the fans... I can't even begin to describe them. I guess if the four of us were skankier, and not respectable ladies, we might have been overjoyed at the male-to-female ratio in the room. The auditorium was filled to overflowing with some of the greasiest, fattest, loneliest, most disrespectful, moronic social miscreants that this nation has ever produced. The four of us stood on the second level, looking down onto the ring in our cute little city girl outfits (I did wear a wifebeater tank, in an attempt to try to blend in) with our shiny, washed hair and our full sets of teeth, snapping pictures with our digicams and making snide sidecomments to each other well within the hearing range of the very people we were commenting on... truly, it was an awe-inspiring occasion.

You know what, though? I think I would go again. Going to a wrestling match seemed to me to be the epitome of ironic experiences, and it was. I haven't been so snarky in ages. But what's more, I actually enjoyed the sporting itself. My mouth was agape for at least half the night, every time somebody bodyslammed somebody, or flipped somebody on the crown of his head, or emerged from having been flung out of the ring with smudges of blood on their faces. I squealed... I cheered... I clapped... I recoiled. I liked it. Only a little... but enough to be slightly embarrassed about.

Pictures are forthcoming.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:07

Friday, February 07, 2003

In recent weeks, I've become increasingly obsessed with BBC America. Of course, if you know me well, you already know that I am and always will be obsessed with the dream of actually turning British, or at the very least falling in love with a British man and / or having British babies (if I have to have 'em at all, they might as well be ruddy cheeked and have sweet little baby British accents, right?) It's nice that I'm able to extend the fantasy thanks to the wonders of digital cable.

Anyway, my point: If you have BBC America, which I think now comes with all digital cable deals, you reallyreallyreally should be on the lookout for The Office. It's this fantastic mockumentary-style sitcom about an ordinary-to-unbearably-dull office and its goings-on. It's improv-ish, in parts hysterically funny, in parts so dead-on-balls accurate with the characterizations that it hurts to watch. It's one of the most deadpan, hilarious shows on TV. I do loves me some deadpan.

I'm also really liking Coupling, if you were wondering. It's a little like Friends, but with more deviant prime time humor in it. Or should I say humour? No, I shouldn't. No.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 00:36

Thursday, February 06, 2003

I think I must just be wonderfully well-rounded or something. Because last night I was standing in the Bowery Ballroom bar before the Dismemberment Plan* show explaining to Liz, Alissa and Bryan how I had seriously almost shed a tear for Charles** when America (and I) voted him into the top ten on American Idol. That's well-rounded, right? Not bipolar or anything. Dismemberment Plan... American Idol. Nothing odd about liking them both. Nope.

* Really awesome show. I had only really started listening to them about two weeks ago at the suggestion of Alissa, so I wasn't a hardcore superfan who got up and danced on stage like some people (Alissa)... but it was pretty excellent. Also excellent was the opening band, Enon.

** Okay, so I'm not an R&B fan in any way, shape or form... but this little guy has gumption, you know? Simon told him he wasn't good enough... and yet here he is, going to the top... and he actually said he was crying on the inside... and... damn it, where's my hanky? Also, seriously folks... what's with picking Julia?? She makes a weird face when she sings; therefore, I do not like her.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:35

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

sorry kids, moving day AND computer troubles.... maybe i'll write something when i get home from the d-plan show tonight, slightly tipsy. in keeping with the new e-floozy thing i'm trying out.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:31

Tuesday, February 04, 2003

drinking, drinking, drinking at work......
ahem! attention!

I have had:
1 glass red wine
1 cup rum and coke, heavy on the rum
2 bags microwave popcorn

in the past forty minutes. suddenly i like work again.... go figure! i think... yep, i am drunk.

p.s. my brother is totally the coolest. soon i will reveal to you exactly why!!!!!!

p.p.s. i accidentally wore a slutty skirt to work today because although it is a reasonable length, i forgot how high up the slit goes, and have been feeling trampy all day. perhaps the drinking at work thing goes along with this. maybe it's the new me. a drinking at work, slutty skirt wearing trampy fuzzy sweater. woo! new beginnings.

p.p.p.s. i just got junk mail with the subject heading "remote controlled mini-motorcycle!!!!! A lot of fun in a tiny package." i just think that's hilarious.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:58

I just love The Clash, London Calling... this CD has so much going for it. If you own this disc, if you have it handy, I think perhaps you'll do well to pull it from the shelf, remove it from its case, slip it into your CD player, and try to remember the first time you heard it. I think for me, it was in some boy's room at a frat house, but that's neither here nor there. It still resonates, it's still superb.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:35

Technical Foul.

I hear tell that many people using PC's and Explorer haven't been able to view the sweater at all over the past few days... I finally determined that it was a problem being caused by my stupid Klink family comments javascript. So for the time being, until the stupid Klink family responds with directions for fixing the problem, we must perservere with no comments section.

Sigh.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 11:20

Monday, February 03, 2003

My new reality TV show idea:

It's called Fat Farm Island, only instead of feeding the contestants healthy food, they only let people eat UNhealthy food! Because instead of sending fat people, they send skinny people [annoying skinny, like the contestants of most reality TV shows] and they are forced to eat junk food and GET fat!!! It's so American, so gawdy and manipulative, I can't believe no one has thought of it yet. And they only have their bathing suits to wear, and they aren't allowed to excercise or throw it up.

They'd probably have to trick the contestants to get them there, maybe by calling it "Beautiful People Island" on the top of the application or something... but now that there are no ethics on TV anymore anyway, it really shouldn't pose a problem, contractually.

Just imagine! Imagine it. Oh my god, it's brilliant.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:28

Worth noting: I went out drinking with some of Kelly's family on Saturday, and her aunt exclaimed at least four times that with my hair cut like this, I look "exactly like!" Jane Fonda in Klute. When she played a prostitute. I'm afraid I don't see the resemblance too much, but it was somewhat flattering to hear that I have the haircut Kelly's aunt has coveted for thirty years. And of course, that I look like Hanoi Jane.

This is going to go in my Top Three Celebrity Comparisons file, alongside "Parker Posey, but less rat-faced" and "Winona Ryder when she was all creepy in Beetlejuice".

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:54

Sunday, February 02, 2003

So I'm here in the office right now, sitting at my desk on a Sunday and eating some cold, week-old, leftover jambalaya I found in the fridge. I mean, it's mine... I made it, I left it here. But still. Kind of a sad scene.

We're moving offices in about four days, so I came in here thinking I'd put in some quality packing time. This is all well and good, very smart of me to do considering the amount of crap I have here after two years of sitting in this cubicle... unfortunately I've spent much of my time here today on the phone and shopping for books in the throwaway piles. Getting nothing done as usual. Though I did bring my suitcase, and will wheel out of here tonight with a bulletin board and an oscillating fan, so that's something.

As much as I dislike being here, or working in general, I'm really going to miss this space. It's perfect — I'm not sitting near anyone in my department, my monitor faces a back wall, I can always see when somebody's coming and I need to pull up a spreadsheet or make my "I'm concentrating very hard and therefore doing work-related things" face if it's too late to hide the email or blogger screen... I'm right by the copier which often disguises the sound of my superfast non-work-related typing... it's a good deal, sitting here.

In the new office, it's not going to be this sweet. My back, and my monitor, will be in direct view of both of my superiors! I'm fucked, and I know this. Livid. I'm actually supposed to have a different cubicle, one which isn't near anybody's office and is on the corner and is bigger... unfortunately the assistant will be taking it. Because when we first arranged everything, I was still the assistant. So my name, phone line, etc. have all been logged to that space. And now, even though I'm not the assistant anymore (praise be for that, at least), people will continue to think I am because I'm fucking parked outside the boss's office. My boss claims she didn't think it mattered enough to switch things around. Or maybe she just knows I'm less of a brown-nosed overachiever, lazier and in need of a little supervision, maybe. Whatever. Don't worry, kiddies, I'll figure out a way for us to stay together! You mean more to me than any stupid job, or earning a living, if it comes down to it.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:59