The Fleegans were talking about superpowers today, as in what would be our super power if we had one. It got me thinking about Chris's uncanny ability to find things, or I should say, know where things are. Finding suggests looking, and he doesn't have to look. This ability of his seems to exist in full force 24 hours a day and have no correlation to his degree of alertness or even consciousness.
For example, this is a morning scenario not unheard of at the Woodlayson household:
Liz gets up and starts getting ready for work.
Chris's cellphone alarm goes off. It beeps about five times before there is any movement. Without opening his eyes, Chris reaches a hand to the nightstand and picks up the phone. "Huhluh?" Dial tone. He carefully places the receiver on the floor and reaches for the TV remote. "Huh? Hello?" Nothing.
Liz manages to crawl across the bedroom floor from the doorway where she has crumpled into muffled snickering and hands Chris his cellphone, without turning off the alarm, of course.
Chris presses every button on the phone like a sedated monkey until it stops beeping. In the time it takes Liz to catch her breath, he is snoring.
Liz continues getting ready and realizes she can't find her shoes.
"Hey Chris, do you remember where I put my shoes?"
"Huh? Oh, they're under the couch. You accidently kicked them under there last night."
"Thanks. Hey, how about my keys?"
"In your purse."
"No they're not. I already looked in my purse."
"Not the side pocket where you usually put them. In the big pocket where you keep your wallet."
"Oh, yeah, here they are."
"Told you."
"Well, I'm gone to work. Would you like a wake-up call in a little while?"
"No, those tomatoes went bad. We need to call a florist."
9.08.2006
9.06.2006
Paradigm Shift
You may think I'm posting to commemorate the monthiversary (as the prefix "anno" is in this case obviously inappropriate) of my estrangement from that fickle harpy, the Internet. But in fact, I post for no occasion, and for no man, and reveal myself to be the fickle harpy. Some believe Inspiration to be an elusive muse, and probably bi-polar, as those artistic types tend to be. I know, however, that she is a garden in need of tending and that I have been letting the weeds strangle the vines. So I ask you to read this paragraph carefully and ask yourself: just how many mixed metaphors is too many?
I've been noticing something lately, about myself and -- although I haven't asked him about it out loud -- about Chris too. You twenty-somethings can tell me if you've experienced something similar. At some point I can't recall, our worldviews started to shift dramatically. I can best explain this with an example:
Before: I'd like to exercise more and eat better so I can be healthier, and thus improve the quality of my life.
After: I'd like to exercise more and eat better so I can be healthier, and thus be there for my family for as long as possible, in the process setting a good example for my children to follow so they'll learn to appreciate an active, healthy lifestyle.
Honestly, this is what goes through my head. Chris has talked about things like financial stability in terms of paving the way for the option of having a family.
My point here is not about the prospect of having kids. We're another three years away from even having that conversation. It's about this strange, gradual shift in the way we think. In the example I gave, it might seem like the shift has to do with becoming less selfish, but believe me, that's not it. I really don't know what it is. Voodoo. That's all I can think of. I don't want a family any more than I did yesterday, or the day before that. If my feelings about starting a family have changed, they have slowly shifted from revulsion to complete indifference, and I think that's the best I can expect from my underachieving biological clock.
They say that when you begin your life, you are unaware that other people exist and that their lives are as meaningful as yours. You have to learn things like empathy as part of the developmental process. Could it be that that part of human development never really resolves itself? Could it be that the crux of maturity is this expansion of one's definition of self? Could it be that I really need to take it easy on the caffeine?
I've been noticing something lately, about myself and -- although I haven't asked him about it out loud -- about Chris too. You twenty-somethings can tell me if you've experienced something similar. At some point I can't recall, our worldviews started to shift dramatically. I can best explain this with an example:
Before: I'd like to exercise more and eat better so I can be healthier, and thus improve the quality of my life.
After: I'd like to exercise more and eat better so I can be healthier, and thus be there for my family for as long as possible, in the process setting a good example for my children to follow so they'll learn to appreciate an active, healthy lifestyle.
Honestly, this is what goes through my head. Chris has talked about things like financial stability in terms of paving the way for the option of having a family.
My point here is not about the prospect of having kids. We're another three years away from even having that conversation. It's about this strange, gradual shift in the way we think. In the example I gave, it might seem like the shift has to do with becoming less selfish, but believe me, that's not it. I really don't know what it is. Voodoo. That's all I can think of. I don't want a family any more than I did yesterday, or the day before that. If my feelings about starting a family have changed, they have slowly shifted from revulsion to complete indifference, and I think that's the best I can expect from my underachieving biological clock.
They say that when you begin your life, you are unaware that other people exist and that their lives are as meaningful as yours. You have to learn things like empathy as part of the developmental process. Could it be that that part of human development never really resolves itself? Could it be that the crux of maturity is this expansion of one's definition of self? Could it be that I really need to take it easy on the caffeine?
8.07.2006
Heat Retardation
Every other blogger in the state of Alabama has mentioned it. I might as well.
My God, the HEAT! THE HEAT! NEED...WATER...aaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh
It's not so much that it's hot, but that there's absolutely no reprieve from the hot. It's hot at midnight. It's hot in the shade. It's hot in the rain, which, by the way, doesn't happen here anymore.
I started thinking about the heat (as if I ever stopped) when I noticed that even the most steadfast blogs I read are getting sketchier with their posting. That's not a criticism, mind you, as I have absolutely no room to talk, but an observation. I wonder if others are experiencing the same mental lag I am. I can only deduce that it has something to do with the heat. That is, I would deduce that, if I were able to deduce anything through the haze of puddling, thumb-sucking bald sun piercing brick and concrete, unchallenged by our meager ducts and vents.
Honestly, I feel stupid. I feel tired and slow and I can't form sentences or add numbers. It takes me forever to come up with clever descriptors, like "pretty" and "blue." Don't even ask me to splel anytheng for u.
It's not so much that it's hot, but that there's absolutely no reprieve from the hot. It's hot at midnight. It's hot in the shade. It's hot in the rain, which, by the way, doesn't happen here anymore.
I started thinking about the heat (as if I ever stopped) when I noticed that even the most steadfast blogs I read are getting sketchier with their posting. That's not a criticism, mind you, as I have absolutely no room to talk, but an observation. I wonder if others are experiencing the same mental lag I am. I can only deduce that it has something to do with the heat. That is, I would deduce that, if I were able to deduce anything through the haze of puddling, thumb-sucking bald sun piercing brick and concrete, unchallenged by our meager ducts and vents.
Honestly, I feel stupid. I feel tired and slow and I can't form sentences or add numbers. It takes me forever to come up with clever descriptors, like "pretty" and "blue." Don't even ask me to splel anytheng for u.
7.28.2006
Heist
Over a month? I must've forgotten to set my alarm.
-----
My office used to be the control room of a recording studio, so I have this big window looking out into the next room. My brother's been working with the business this summer and he just now came into said room to pick up his check.
I heard the door open but no one came in. Then I saw West's head peaking around the corner. He tip-toed through the door and looked around to see if anyone was watching him, which, as he knew, I was. Then he stalked across the room toward his check, which was clipped onto the wall with his timesheet. He grabbed a sheet of paper lying on the ping pong table and carefully clipped it to the wall as a counter-weight, so he could nab his paycheck without setting off the weight sensors. After carefully sliding the check off the clip and pausing to see if he'd set off any alarms, he sighed in relief and slowly backed away. Halfway back to the door, he turned and went into a flat-out run for a clean getaway.
I laughed so hard.
-----
Last night we had sort of a girl's night over at Jaimie's house with meatless spaghetti and copious amounts of wine (or Jack & Coke, or both, depending on who you ask and whether or not they remember...anything). I stayed up until 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, because I'm still young and free and unconstrained by societal conventions like consciousness in the workplace. And because I can totally handle a four-hour sleep night without feeling old or crotchety or ill the next day. And also, I'm not a liar at all.
-----
I was at kottke earlier today and read this article he linked to about...well, it's sort of about the online community and also, other things. I'd try to give you the run-down but I'd just ruin it for you. In any case, I found it intensely interesting. The downsides are that it's kinda long and kinda heavy. But in my opinion, it's well worth the read.
-----
My office used to be the control room of a recording studio, so I have this big window looking out into the next room. My brother's been working with the business this summer and he just now came into said room to pick up his check.
I heard the door open but no one came in. Then I saw West's head peaking around the corner. He tip-toed through the door and looked around to see if anyone was watching him, which, as he knew, I was. Then he stalked across the room toward his check, which was clipped onto the wall with his timesheet. He grabbed a sheet of paper lying on the ping pong table and carefully clipped it to the wall as a counter-weight, so he could nab his paycheck without setting off the weight sensors. After carefully sliding the check off the clip and pausing to see if he'd set off any alarms, he sighed in relief and slowly backed away. Halfway back to the door, he turned and went into a flat-out run for a clean getaway.
I laughed so hard.
-----
Last night we had sort of a girl's night over at Jaimie's house with meatless spaghetti and copious amounts of wine (or Jack & Coke, or both, depending on who you ask and whether or not they remember...anything). I stayed up until 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, because I'm still young and free and unconstrained by societal conventions like consciousness in the workplace. And because I can totally handle a four-hour sleep night without feeling old or crotchety or ill the next day. And also, I'm not a liar at all.
-----
I was at kottke earlier today and read this article he linked to about...well, it's sort of about the online community and also, other things. I'd try to give you the run-down but I'd just ruin it for you. In any case, I found it intensely interesting. The downsides are that it's kinda long and kinda heavy. But in my opinion, it's well worth the read.
6.23.2006
Mother-F^$%ing Hot
I knew when I wrote that last post that I would hear about it. Let me just inform you all: everyone, every single person who has called me in the last week has made some crack about how gracious I am to answer their call. And that...is true enough. I'm glad you finally appreciate what an honor it is to speak with me. Just be advised, it's been done.
On to other business. Like this damn drought. Let me tell you a story about the time Liz decided that it would be a good week to abandon her desk job in favor of a more challenging, stimulating, earthy task. Liz? Isn't here anymore.
I took this class a while back. Some people came and they taught me and several of my co-workers how to install landscape lighting, those pretty outdoor lights that make neat shadows on big fancy houses at night. This week, I got my first opportunity to actually install one of these systems, so I jumped at the chance. I thought about the insane hotness and dryness and miserableness of the weather we've been having lately, but, I thought, people work in hot weather every day. And I'm a people.
Anything you can do, I can do better. Yes, I can do anything better than you.
Things I learned about myself this week:
1. There is a limit to how much of God's unforgiving sun I can take, and I almost found out what it is.
2. I can't dig trenches. Digging trenches is so far past my capability as a human being that I do not even hope to aspire to one day become the kind of person who is able to dig a trench. At least, not in 105 degree weather through what may as well be concrete.
3. It is possible for me to fully appreciate the life-saving value of sunscreen and despise its existence at the same time.
4. You know what sucks worse than death? Working outside, all day, in the hot hot heat, never more than ten yards from the siren call of the most inviting swimming pool you've ever seen.
5. When I get really hot and miserable, I cuss a lot. I mean...like...A LOT.
There was this little vacuum snake thing that skulked along the floor and walls of the pool all day. Every now and then, it would walk up just above the water line and spit out some pool water. I remember praying to God that if He really loved me, He'd make that vacuum snake spit on me. I can't be sure, but I think that's the first time I've ever asked God to please make something spit on me.
On to other business. Like this damn drought. Let me tell you a story about the time Liz decided that it would be a good week to abandon her desk job in favor of a more challenging, stimulating, earthy task. Liz? Isn't here anymore.
I took this class a while back. Some people came and they taught me and several of my co-workers how to install landscape lighting, those pretty outdoor lights that make neat shadows on big fancy houses at night. This week, I got my first opportunity to actually install one of these systems, so I jumped at the chance. I thought about the insane hotness and dryness and miserableness of the weather we've been having lately, but, I thought, people work in hot weather every day. And I'm a people.
Anything you can do, I can do better. Yes, I can do anything better than you.
Things I learned about myself this week:
1. There is a limit to how much of God's unforgiving sun I can take, and I almost found out what it is.
2. I can't dig trenches. Digging trenches is so far past my capability as a human being that I do not even hope to aspire to one day become the kind of person who is able to dig a trench. At least, not in 105 degree weather through what may as well be concrete.
3. It is possible for me to fully appreciate the life-saving value of sunscreen and despise its existence at the same time.
4. You know what sucks worse than death? Working outside, all day, in the hot hot heat, never more than ten yards from the siren call of the most inviting swimming pool you've ever seen.
5. When I get really hot and miserable, I cuss a lot. I mean...like...A LOT.
There was this little vacuum snake thing that skulked along the floor and walls of the pool all day. Every now and then, it would walk up just above the water line and spit out some pool water. I remember praying to God that if He really loved me, He'd make that vacuum snake spit on me. I can't be sure, but I think that's the first time I've ever asked God to please make something spit on me.
6.15.2006
Phone Phobia
A few things.
First, Jaimie, you may think you're off the hook for that J. D. Robb book, but you're really not. I just don't want you to see it coming. *cough*NoraRoberts*cough*
Second, about the Ask Liz thing. I took an unscheduled break from Ask Liz this past week because I TOTALLY. FREAKING. FORGOT. I mean, completely. Didn't cross my mind. Jaimie asked me about it Monday night and I just blinked for a minute, as if I were some alien clone of the real Liz trying frantically to access one of the more obscure memories I downloaded from her unconscious brain. Boy did I think my cover was totally blown. But as it turns out, Liz forgets shit all the time, so the Earth friend just rolled her eyes and said, "Oh Liz."
Now, about the phone thing. I'm feeling especially candid today, so I'm going to tell you all about how much I hate phones. Cell phones, cordless phones, wall-mounted phones, phones with the curly wire thing, big phones, small phones, ear phones, micro phones...
People who haven't known me since way back sometimes have a hard time believing that I'm an introvert at my very core. I'm actually pretty proud of myself for overcoming some of the more crippling social drawbacks of that personality type, but in many ways, I'm still the posterchild. I write a hell of a lot better than I talk. I have a very few very close relationships as opposed to many acquaintances. I prefer smaller, more intimate social gatherings, and even though a great big party might sound like a lot of fun, when I get there, I'm exhausted in about 10 minutes. And as competent as I've had to become at talking to complete strangers in a friendly, outgoing manner, it wears me out. It sounds crazy, but I feel better after 30 minutes on the treadmill than I do after 5 minutes on the phone with someone I don't know, and I don't just mean psychologically.
This impairment even carries over into people that I do know but, for whatever reason, I'm not completely comfortable talking with. Maybe it's an acquaintance or maybe it's just someone I don't talk to on the phone much, even if I see them a lot in person. What it boils down to is that, as you all probably suspect by now, I ignore phone calls a lot. I'm working on it, and it doesn't mean I don't love you.
There is, however, a short list of numbers that I don't typically ignore. I started thinking about this when Jaimie said on the fleeganforum that I was hard to get in touch with, and I got all indignant and thought, "But I actually DO answer your calls. Do you have any idea what a step that is for me?"
You can leave out the comment where you point out I'm psychotic, Mr. Obvious.
Chris, Mom, Dad, West, Jaimie, Kris'n'Laura, and Mommie Ann (my grandmother). That's the short list of folks I never blow off, at least not without a good, sane, normal reason. There's other numbers that would probably fall into that category, including most other family members, but I'm only including those who call pretty frequently.
Calls I absolutely never answer include any number I don't recognize, even if it looks vaguely familiar. This often causes Chris fits. He doesn't have these phone issues and can't relate in the least to this particular quirk. He MUST KNOW the identity of the mysterious caller on the other end and can't fathom why I'm not in the least bit curious.
Calls that don't fall into either of those categories depend entirely too much on my mood. That's what I must apologize for to anyone who has been the victim of my phone-hate. Until I get that under control, you might try text messages, which for me, again with the preference for the written word, is more like opening a present.
First, Jaimie, you may think you're off the hook for that J. D. Robb book, but you're really not. I just don't want you to see it coming. *cough*NoraRoberts*cough*
Second, about the Ask Liz thing. I took an unscheduled break from Ask Liz this past week because I TOTALLY. FREAKING. FORGOT. I mean, completely. Didn't cross my mind. Jaimie asked me about it Monday night and I just blinked for a minute, as if I were some alien clone of the real Liz trying frantically to access one of the more obscure memories I downloaded from her unconscious brain. Boy did I think my cover was totally blown. But as it turns out, Liz forgets shit all the time, so the Earth friend just rolled her eyes and said, "Oh Liz."
Now, about the phone thing. I'm feeling especially candid today, so I'm going to tell you all about how much I hate phones. Cell phones, cordless phones, wall-mounted phones, phones with the curly wire thing, big phones, small phones, ear phones, micro phones...
People who haven't known me since way back sometimes have a hard time believing that I'm an introvert at my very core. I'm actually pretty proud of myself for overcoming some of the more crippling social drawbacks of that personality type, but in many ways, I'm still the posterchild. I write a hell of a lot better than I talk. I have a very few very close relationships as opposed to many acquaintances. I prefer smaller, more intimate social gatherings, and even though a great big party might sound like a lot of fun, when I get there, I'm exhausted in about 10 minutes. And as competent as I've had to become at talking to complete strangers in a friendly, outgoing manner, it wears me out. It sounds crazy, but I feel better after 30 minutes on the treadmill than I do after 5 minutes on the phone with someone I don't know, and I don't just mean psychologically.
This impairment even carries over into people that I do know but, for whatever reason, I'm not completely comfortable talking with. Maybe it's an acquaintance or maybe it's just someone I don't talk to on the phone much, even if I see them a lot in person. What it boils down to is that, as you all probably suspect by now, I ignore phone calls a lot. I'm working on it, and it doesn't mean I don't love you.
There is, however, a short list of numbers that I don't typically ignore. I started thinking about this when Jaimie said on the fleeganforum that I was hard to get in touch with, and I got all indignant and thought, "But I actually DO answer your calls. Do you have any idea what a step that is for me?"
You can leave out the comment where you point out I'm psychotic, Mr. Obvious.
Chris, Mom, Dad, West, Jaimie, Kris'n'Laura, and Mommie Ann (my grandmother). That's the short list of folks I never blow off, at least not without a good, sane, normal reason. There's other numbers that would probably fall into that category, including most other family members, but I'm only including those who call pretty frequently.
Calls I absolutely never answer include any number I don't recognize, even if it looks vaguely familiar. This often causes Chris fits. He doesn't have these phone issues and can't relate in the least to this particular quirk. He MUST KNOW the identity of the mysterious caller on the other end and can't fathom why I'm not in the least bit curious.
Calls that don't fall into either of those categories depend entirely too much on my mood. That's what I must apologize for to anyone who has been the victim of my phone-hate. Until I get that under control, you might try text messages, which for me, again with the preference for the written word, is more like opening a present.
6.06.2006
Yard Sale!
Chris and I took some crazy pills last week and decided to have a yard sale. Actually we'd planned it for the week before, but the Times forgot to run our ad the day before. That's what they said. They forgot. The lady I talked to said that isn't that just the funniest thing and of course she owes us a free day of advertising. Lady, first of all, no it is not just the funniest thing and second, if I wanted something from you it wouldn't be a free day of advertising in your yard sale section.
The whole first yard sale attempt last week was already going badly. Chris was supposed to have the day off, a very rare occurrence on a Saturday, so we planned it about a month in advance around this phenomenon. Then sometime early that week, he found out he was going to have to work that day after all, because another city building had a function scheduled and they just didn't feel like having it there. He'd be going in that afternoon, so we let our plans stand, but I felt bad that he would have to get up early on a day he normally got to sleep in, work until noonish, grab a sandwich, and run to his real job where he would work until sometime in the AM. I was already fuming over the injustice of the world when the ad thing came up, so we just put it off a week. At least that way, Chris would have more time to get mentally prepared for a 20-hour day of hell.
In the three days leading up to the yard sale, I think we did the most heavy lifting we've done since we moved into the Dreamplex. And then, at least, we could take our sweet time doing it. I try to think back on my childhood memories of yard sales, those pleasant thoughts burned into my brain during the crucial developmental years that I must have called on in deciding that this would be a fun way to spend a Saturday morning, and I don't remember that part.
The actual sale was pretty interesting. I've always been an informal student of sociology, so I found myself studying our patrons looking for patterns of behavior, social cross-sections, buying habits, etc. I could probably write a paper on it. There were high-brow junkers, middle-class hybrids (nice cars, bad teeth), affable conversationalists (they were my favorite because they bought more and because they tended to buy things no one else seemed interested in), and of course your subsistence buyers who, whether by birth or meth, you could tell they did all their shopping in this manner. We even had one family come by that I'm pretty sure had at least five generations of inbreeding under their belts. I've never actually met anyone whose family tree I knew went straight up, but don't you think you'd know a circus clown if you saw one, even if you'd never seen one before? There were two women, one who talked too fast to be remotely understood and had weird joints that didn't point exactly the right way, and one who was large and lumbering and didn't have ankles and I swear she looked just like an urRu. They had a boy with them who was high school age and obviously a bit slow. They rode around in a compact car with strange religisms hand-painted on the sides.
What I learned from the whole experience is that while yard sales can be profitable and mildly entertaining, the same can be said of selling your body for scientific experimentation, and that doesn't usually involve lifting large appliances.
The whole first yard sale attempt last week was already going badly. Chris was supposed to have the day off, a very rare occurrence on a Saturday, so we planned it about a month in advance around this phenomenon. Then sometime early that week, he found out he was going to have to work that day after all, because another city building had a function scheduled and they just didn't feel like having it there. He'd be going in that afternoon, so we let our plans stand, but I felt bad that he would have to get up early on a day he normally got to sleep in, work until noonish, grab a sandwich, and run to his real job where he would work until sometime in the AM. I was already fuming over the injustice of the world when the ad thing came up, so we just put it off a week. At least that way, Chris would have more time to get mentally prepared for a 20-hour day of hell.
In the three days leading up to the yard sale, I think we did the most heavy lifting we've done since we moved into the Dreamplex. And then, at least, we could take our sweet time doing it. I try to think back on my childhood memories of yard sales, those pleasant thoughts burned into my brain during the crucial developmental years that I must have called on in deciding that this would be a fun way to spend a Saturday morning, and I don't remember that part.
The actual sale was pretty interesting. I've always been an informal student of sociology, so I found myself studying our patrons looking for patterns of behavior, social cross-sections, buying habits, etc. I could probably write a paper on it. There were high-brow junkers, middle-class hybrids (nice cars, bad teeth), affable conversationalists (they were my favorite because they bought more and because they tended to buy things no one else seemed interested in), and of course your subsistence buyers who, whether by birth or meth, you could tell they did all their shopping in this manner. We even had one family come by that I'm pretty sure had at least five generations of inbreeding under their belts. I've never actually met anyone whose family tree I knew went straight up, but don't you think you'd know a circus clown if you saw one, even if you'd never seen one before? There were two women, one who talked too fast to be remotely understood and had weird joints that didn't point exactly the right way, and one who was large and lumbering and didn't have ankles and I swear she looked just like an urRu. They had a boy with them who was high school age and obviously a bit slow. They rode around in a compact car with strange religisms hand-painted on the sides.
What I learned from the whole experience is that while yard sales can be profitable and mildly entertaining, the same can be said of selling your body for scientific experimentation, and that doesn't usually involve lifting large appliances.
6.01.2006
Nose Issues
I break a two-week silence to bring you this important update:
My nose itches.
Actually it doesn't itch so much as it just annoys. I can't stop messing with it. I told Chris I probably looked like a crack bunny. At first I thought I had something on it, some invisible film that had to be washed off. Then I remembered I first noticed it when I got out of the shower this morning, so it must be dry skin. Upon close examination, however, I find no evidence of alleged dry skin. After poking and prodding at my nose like a retard for several hours now, I think it may be numb. But it's hard to tell sometimes if it's numb. My office is like an ice box right now because our so-called "central air" only seems to care what the temperature is in the front of the building, so it's possible that the cold has numbed my nose and further clouded the issue, but it's also possible that my nose was numb to start with and I couldn't tell because it wasn't cold before and my nose has never gone numb before for any reason other than being cold.
Do any serious medical conditions manifest in the early stages with nose numbness?
If you see me today and I'm ceaselessly poking at my nose until I finally start trying to mash it inward with my thumbs in frustration, don't laugh. It's not funny. IT'S NOT FUNNY!
My nose itches.
Actually it doesn't itch so much as it just annoys. I can't stop messing with it. I told Chris I probably looked like a crack bunny. At first I thought I had something on it, some invisible film that had to be washed off. Then I remembered I first noticed it when I got out of the shower this morning, so it must be dry skin. Upon close examination, however, I find no evidence of alleged dry skin. After poking and prodding at my nose like a retard for several hours now, I think it may be numb. But it's hard to tell sometimes if it's numb. My office is like an ice box right now because our so-called "central air" only seems to care what the temperature is in the front of the building, so it's possible that the cold has numbed my nose and further clouded the issue, but it's also possible that my nose was numb to start with and I couldn't tell because it wasn't cold before and my nose has never gone numb before for any reason other than being cold.
Do any serious medical conditions manifest in the early stages with nose numbness?
If you see me today and I'm ceaselessly poking at my nose until I finally start trying to mash it inward with my thumbs in frustration, don't laugh. It's not funny. IT'S NOT FUNNY!
5.15.2006
Christmas, Part II
Mother's Day usually isn't so action-packed as it was yesterday. Or as exhausting. Maybe because it's usually preceded by a Saturday. Not that I'm complaining about Mother's Day. God knows those women deserve to be venerated. If not for whatever chemical imbalance led them all to procreate, none of us would be alive. It's widely regarded as the only constructive form of mass hysteria, although some have argued the contrary.
Not to belittle the occasion, but it's what you might call a minor holiday, as opposed to heavy hitters like Christmas and Thanksgiving. As an aside, have you noticed how the big holidays don't have "Day" in their titles? You can add the "Day", but it's totally unnecessary. It's as if to say, "Of course I'm a day...I'm The Day." Holidays that have to point out that they're a Day just end up looking like they have something to prove. Of course, holidays that omit the "Day" come off as pretentious. It's a lose-lose, really.
Right, my point is, why do holidays have to be so tiring? You're spending quality time with people you love. Okay, maybe not everybody has ideal relationships with their family, but there doesn't seem to be a correlation between the exhaustion levels of those who do and those who don't. Is it psychosomatic? An epidemic of codependence? Is it the shopping?
Not to belittle the occasion, but it's what you might call a minor holiday, as opposed to heavy hitters like Christmas and Thanksgiving. As an aside, have you noticed how the big holidays don't have "Day" in their titles? You can add the "Day", but it's totally unnecessary. It's as if to say, "Of course I'm a day...I'm The Day." Holidays that have to point out that they're a Day just end up looking like they have something to prove. Of course, holidays that omit the "Day" come off as pretentious. It's a lose-lose, really.
Right, my point is, why do holidays have to be so tiring? You're spending quality time with people you love. Okay, maybe not everybody has ideal relationships with their family, but there doesn't seem to be a correlation between the exhaustion levels of those who do and those who don't. Is it psychosomatic? An epidemic of codependence? Is it the shopping?
5.08.2006
At the Drive-In
Ever since Uncle David mentioned going to the drive-in a couple of weeks ago I've been dying to go. So when Chris had a rare Saturday off, we caught up on a week of house-cleaning and rewarded ourselves with a double-feature. Of course, there wasn't a great movie combo anywhere in the tri-state area, so we couldn't get anyone to go with us. We settled on Mission Impossible III and Silent Hill (which we'd already seen, so I felt safe watching it outdoors in the dark). The other screen of the drive-in was playing RV and American Haunting. This may not bother people who didn't have as many marketing classes as I did in college, but who the hell is their target audience? I mean, I can see maybe showing a scary movie, then a funny one to lighten the mood before you go home, which I still think would have a schizophrenic effect on the audience, but that pairing made no kind of sense to me.
On to what we did watch.
M:I-III-$%! : Do-Over
I found this MI installment to be more stressful than the other two (by the way, does anybody remember what happened in the second one?). But also, Tom was more crazy-looking, and crazy-acting, so that was fun. And his girlfriend did kinda look like Katie Holmes, although in certain scenes she looked exactly like Liv Tyler. Who she actually was, I don't know.
Silent Hill : Creep and Circumstance (May contain spoilers)
I liked SH the first time, and I'm glad we watched it again because this time we could discuss. I found it very discussable, which I like in a movie, especially a creepy one. It's funny because, at the theater the first time, these guys (I think they worked there?) asked us if we "got" the ending, and we were all, "Well yeah, we're not retarded." But then we stood outside afterward and talked about it and discovered that no one really got the ending. It's not that we lied to the guys. It's just that we all had our own ideas and when we laid them out, they all seemed equally plausible.
So the second time...I still didn't get the ending. But I reached new heights of not getting the ending and asked much more intelligent unanswered questions than I did the first time. Chris and I talked on the way home about the spiritual symbolism in the film (which you will probably point out originated with the game but I wouldn't know because I never played it).
Liz: You suppose they intentionally named the mom Rose and the daughter Sharon? They must've, right?
Chris: I wondered about that. Had to be. And then the dad's name is Christopher.
L: Yeah, because Christ is going after the Rose of Sharon and blah blah. But he can't get to them because they're in limbo? And of course the eternal fire thing underneath, well, I won't dignify that one.
C: And then there's the false prophetess, Christabella.
L: Everybody wants to be the Son of God. I don't get that. I sure wouldn't. At the risk of sounding anti-feminist, it's probably important that she's a woman.
C: Betty Friedan just rolled over.
L: Is she dead?
C: Yeah, here just a while back.
L: Huh. Well anyway, it's just symbolically important that she's a woman, because, be it arbitrary or no, the whole Trinity has always been described in masculine terms. So a female Christ is a usurper, an obvious imposter, and the others are responsible for not seeing it.
C: Hm.
Our drive continued like this until it inevitably degraded into silliness.
Liz: What about the name of the town? Silent Hill? How is that significant?
Chris: Well, it's creepy.
L: Yeah, you couldn't just name it anything I guess. Not many towns would make good ghost towns.
C: Yeah, I mean, we know that Attalla is creepy, but who would be afraid to go to "Attalla"?
L: Hee. Piedmont. Nobody goes to Piedmont.
C: The roads don't go through Ohatchee anymore.
L: We'll deal with Foley. You just let it rest in peace.
Maybe you had to be there.
On to what we did watch.
M:I-III-$%! : Do-Over
I found this MI installment to be more stressful than the other two (by the way, does anybody remember what happened in the second one?). But also, Tom was more crazy-looking, and crazy-acting, so that was fun. And his girlfriend did kinda look like Katie Holmes, although in certain scenes she looked exactly like Liv Tyler. Who she actually was, I don't know.
Silent Hill : Creep and Circumstance (May contain spoilers)
I liked SH the first time, and I'm glad we watched it again because this time we could discuss. I found it very discussable, which I like in a movie, especially a creepy one. It's funny because, at the theater the first time, these guys (I think they worked there?) asked us if we "got" the ending, and we were all, "Well yeah, we're not retarded." But then we stood outside afterward and talked about it and discovered that no one really got the ending. It's not that we lied to the guys. It's just that we all had our own ideas and when we laid them out, they all seemed equally plausible.
So the second time...I still didn't get the ending. But I reached new heights of not getting the ending and asked much more intelligent unanswered questions than I did the first time. Chris and I talked on the way home about the spiritual symbolism in the film (which you will probably point out originated with the game but I wouldn't know because I never played it).
Liz: You suppose they intentionally named the mom Rose and the daughter Sharon? They must've, right?
Chris: I wondered about that. Had to be. And then the dad's name is Christopher.
L: Yeah, because Christ is going after the Rose of Sharon and blah blah. But he can't get to them because they're in limbo? And of course the eternal fire thing underneath, well, I won't dignify that one.
C: And then there's the false prophetess, Christabella.
L: Everybody wants to be the Son of God. I don't get that. I sure wouldn't. At the risk of sounding anti-feminist, it's probably important that she's a woman.
C: Betty Friedan just rolled over.
L: Is she dead?
C: Yeah, here just a while back.
L: Huh. Well anyway, it's just symbolically important that she's a woman, because, be it arbitrary or no, the whole Trinity has always been described in masculine terms. So a female Christ is a usurper, an obvious imposter, and the others are responsible for not seeing it.
C: Hm.
Our drive continued like this until it inevitably degraded into silliness.
Liz: What about the name of the town? Silent Hill? How is that significant?
Chris: Well, it's creepy.
L: Yeah, you couldn't just name it anything I guess. Not many towns would make good ghost towns.
C: Yeah, I mean, we know that Attalla is creepy, but who would be afraid to go to "Attalla"?
L: Hee. Piedmont. Nobody goes to Piedmont.
C: The roads don't go through Ohatchee anymore.
L: We'll deal with Foley. You just let it rest in peace.
Maybe you had to be there.
4.26.2006
Big Girl Pants
Maybe I shouldn't air my money troubles on the Internet. Many people seem to think that subject is "private". Well, I think my sex life and reproductive tendencies are private, but others don't seem to. So I'm going to talk about money.
NO! I'm not pregnant.
Chris and I have been married for going on two years. We are already over $30,000.00 in debt. Debt haunts me. We hates it.
Now, a lot of that is student loans, and that's not really real debt. But then there's the car we bought when Chris's crapped out. Why we didn't roll it down a hill into a tree and collect the insurance on it, I don't know. I guess 'cause that would be wrong. And because we'd have to kill the mechanic to cover our tracks, and he's a pretty nice guy.
And of course there's credit card debt, which we haven't tackled yet. We're waiting until after we've assassinated an insanely high-interest "supplemental loan" Chris got for school. A word of advice: Say NO to Sallie Mae.
To top that all off, Chris had to have two root canals. Two. That shit's bad enough without having to worry about how you'll pay for it, or why exactly you should pay for someone to drill holes into your teeth. Gitmo must be rolling in it. Anyway, the root canals were performed about a month apart, and we still haven't gotten the bill for the first one. Another thing we hates is suspense.
Oy, being a grown-up sucks. Just had to vent. Better now. On the bright side, we've never made a late payment and we've never had to beg for money, so we must be doing something right. Either that or God has some plan for us that doesn't involve debtor's court. My money's on the God thing.
NO! I'm not pregnant.
Chris and I have been married for going on two years. We are already over $30,000.00 in debt. Debt haunts me. We hates it.
Now, a lot of that is student loans, and that's not really real debt. But then there's the car we bought when Chris's crapped out. Why we didn't roll it down a hill into a tree and collect the insurance on it, I don't know. I guess 'cause that would be wrong. And because we'd have to kill the mechanic to cover our tracks, and he's a pretty nice guy.
And of course there's credit card debt, which we haven't tackled yet. We're waiting until after we've assassinated an insanely high-interest "supplemental loan" Chris got for school. A word of advice: Say NO to Sallie Mae.
To top that all off, Chris had to have two root canals. Two. That shit's bad enough without having to worry about how you'll pay for it, or why exactly you should pay for someone to drill holes into your teeth. Gitmo must be rolling in it. Anyway, the root canals were performed about a month apart, and we still haven't gotten the bill for the first one. Another thing we hates is suspense.
Oy, being a grown-up sucks. Just had to vent. Better now. On the bright side, we've never made a late payment and we've never had to beg for money, so we must be doing something right. Either that or God has some plan for us that doesn't involve debtor's court. My money's on the God thing.
4.24.2006
Ask Liz
Just when I said I had nothing to give. I'm so full of it.
And to prove it, I have an online advice column for your perverse pleasure! Every Sunday, I will be contributing my wisdom to Fleegan Central in the form of snide, snarky, bad advice. And in answer to your next question, yes, I do take your question submissions. Please limit two per week, as I have a day job (I'm looking at you, David).
That's not to say I won't be posting here. Only God knows whether or not I'll be posting here.
And to prove it, I have an online advice column for your perverse pleasure! Every Sunday, I will be contributing my wisdom to Fleegan Central in the form of snide, snarky, bad advice. And in answer to your next question, yes, I do take your question submissions. Please limit two per week, as I have a day job (I'm looking at you, David).
That's not to say I won't be posting here. Only God knows whether or not I'll be posting here.
4.21.2006
Hiatus
It has now been five weeks since my last post.
It has been three weeks since I have read a single post from anyone else...including derfleeganforum.
What's up with that? I tell you, I have no idea. I have nothing left to give the Internet right now. Just know that all is well and that you should probably stop checking this thing every day until further notice. Unless you have nothing better to do. To each his own, I guess. Trespassers will not be shot.
It has been three weeks since I have read a single post from anyone else...including derfleeganforum.
What's up with that? I tell you, I have no idea. I have nothing left to give the Internet right now. Just know that all is well and that you should probably stop checking this thing every day until further notice. Unless you have nothing better to do. To each his own, I guess. Trespassers will not be shot.
3.07.2006
Randoms
Chris and I will both be 25 this month. He hits the quarter-century mark twelve days before I do. What a codger. I'm throwing him a party this weekend and can you believe he wants to cook for it? Well yes, I'm sure you can.
Last Friday, my band was playing a gig at Country Club until 8pm. I made them do an instrumental for the last song so I could rush off and join my comrades for The Moxie's grand opening. I caught the tail end of the festivities and the last sip of that weird effervescent wine. The place looks killer. I'm going to have to start saving up to get my hair done there before I do something drastic involving two mirrors and a pair of kitchen shears.
My jazz band got offered a recording contract yesterday by a studio that's been giving us free recording time. I mean...what? I'm not a dumbass, okay? I've seen every episode of Behind the Music. Just when it was starting to get really fun, these people want to turn it into a profession. Did you guys know that there are special lawyers that do nothing but negotiate recording contracts? I mean, of course there are, but I've never thought of it before.
Last Friday, my band was playing a gig at Country Club until 8pm. I made them do an instrumental for the last song so I could rush off and join my comrades for The Moxie's grand opening. I caught the tail end of the festivities and the last sip of that weird effervescent wine. The place looks killer. I'm going to have to start saving up to get my hair done there before I do something drastic involving two mirrors and a pair of kitchen shears.
My jazz band got offered a recording contract yesterday by a studio that's been giving us free recording time. I mean...what? I'm not a dumbass, okay? I've seen every episode of Behind the Music. Just when it was starting to get really fun, these people want to turn it into a profession. Did you guys know that there are special lawyers that do nothing but negotiate recording contracts? I mean, of course there are, but I've never thought of it before.
2.28.2006
Year of the babies, indeed.
No, I'm not pregnant.
STOP ASKING.
It annoys me. I don't know why. Maybe because people don't really ask. They look at you as if they know and what follows is usually a loud outburst of maternal enthusiasm, after which some crowd control is usually necessary to prevent the wildfire of rumors that could culminate from the cigarette butt of whatever stupid allusion to motherhood you unintentionally uttered.
That's neither here nor there. I just had to let it out. No, you see, every year has a theme. There was the wedding year and the new house year and...I dunno, doctorate year or something. This year is baby year. I think Laura called it first. She has a post listing all the expectant or recently post-expectant mothers we know, but I'm too lazy to go find it.
The reason this preoccupies me today is that I fear God is trying to trick me into getting pregnant. I'm tempted to shake my fist in the air and tell Him it'll never work, but then He'd just cheat and do the whole immaculate conception thing just for spite.
Wal-Mart is holding my birth control for ransom. I'm a Sunday starter, people. It's Tuesday. AFTERNOON.
See, I've known all month that my prescription was due to expire sometime soon, which is why I've been trying for weeks to get an appointment with the lady doctor. Why can't I accomplish this? Because my doctor is booked up? No, I don't have "a" doctor. I just ask for first available. I know most women have preferences about that kind of thing, but the way I see it, it's going to be one of the most mortifying, undignified, uncomfortable experiences you have to look forward to every year, no matter whose hands are doing the walking.
I digress. I couldn't get an appointment because, and I quote, "Our computers are down. Call back in a few days."
Your computers are down? Is your pen out of ink too? Poor you.
I called three times in two weeks trying to convince them to take my money so they can violate me. Their computers were down. So, the time came for my trip to the pharmacy and lo and behold, my prescription had expired.
This was Saturday. Nothing to be done until my doctor stumbles into his office sometime around 2pm on Monday. So I called my pharmacy first thing on Monday to see if they'd gotten in touch with my doctor. No, they hadn't, and it might actually be quicker if I tried calling myself. Fine. I called my doctor's office and they said they'd handle it. Fine. I called my pharmacy around lunch to see if I could pick it up yet. Still no word from my doctor. Fine. I called his office back to get an ETA. Sometime around 5pm, they'd make sure and call so I could pick it up that night. Fine. I go to the pharmacy that evening to pick up my prescription, where I find out that my doctor's office never called them, nor did they ever get around to calling him.
FINE.
This morning, I spent over an hour calling my pharmacy, then my doctor, then my pharmacy, then my doctor, then my pharmacy. Apparently, they're mad at each other. The pharmacist must be shtooping the doctor's wife or something. Well guys, it could be worse. SHE COULD BE PREGNANT. BUT I'M SURE SHE'S NOT BECAUSE SHE'S PROBABLY TAKING MY BIRTH CONTROL PILLS. Bitch.
The last call I made to my pharmacy this morning was mostly begging for them to please, for the love of God, please break the wall of silence and call my doctor. They said they would call and to check back before they went to lunch to see if my prescription was ready.
I just checked back in to find that sadly, my pharmacy was unable to reach my doctor's office, the same one I've called half a dozen times in the last two days. But they're sure everything will be cleared up by this evening. Well, sing me a song and call me Henry, because I think I've heard this verse before.
Next week, Liz develops a hormonal imbalance! Will she get her birth control in time, or will she begin inexplicably crying at the sight of a pineapple? Tune in and find out.
STOP ASKING.
It annoys me. I don't know why. Maybe because people don't really ask. They look at you as if they know and what follows is usually a loud outburst of maternal enthusiasm, after which some crowd control is usually necessary to prevent the wildfire of rumors that could culminate from the cigarette butt of whatever stupid allusion to motherhood you unintentionally uttered.
That's neither here nor there. I just had to let it out. No, you see, every year has a theme. There was the wedding year and the new house year and...I dunno, doctorate year or something. This year is baby year. I think Laura called it first. She has a post listing all the expectant or recently post-expectant mothers we know, but I'm too lazy to go find it.
The reason this preoccupies me today is that I fear God is trying to trick me into getting pregnant. I'm tempted to shake my fist in the air and tell Him it'll never work, but then He'd just cheat and do the whole immaculate conception thing just for spite.
Wal-Mart is holding my birth control for ransom. I'm a Sunday starter, people. It's Tuesday. AFTERNOON.
See, I've known all month that my prescription was due to expire sometime soon, which is why I've been trying for weeks to get an appointment with the lady doctor. Why can't I accomplish this? Because my doctor is booked up? No, I don't have "a" doctor. I just ask for first available. I know most women have preferences about that kind of thing, but the way I see it, it's going to be one of the most mortifying, undignified, uncomfortable experiences you have to look forward to every year, no matter whose hands are doing the walking.
I digress. I couldn't get an appointment because, and I quote, "Our computers are down. Call back in a few days."
Your computers are down? Is your pen out of ink too? Poor you.
I called three times in two weeks trying to convince them to take my money so they can violate me. Their computers were down. So, the time came for my trip to the pharmacy and lo and behold, my prescription had expired.
This was Saturday. Nothing to be done until my doctor stumbles into his office sometime around 2pm on Monday. So I called my pharmacy first thing on Monday to see if they'd gotten in touch with my doctor. No, they hadn't, and it might actually be quicker if I tried calling myself. Fine. I called my doctor's office and they said they'd handle it. Fine. I called my pharmacy around lunch to see if I could pick it up yet. Still no word from my doctor. Fine. I called his office back to get an ETA. Sometime around 5pm, they'd make sure and call so I could pick it up that night. Fine. I go to the pharmacy that evening to pick up my prescription, where I find out that my doctor's office never called them, nor did they ever get around to calling him.
FINE.
This morning, I spent over an hour calling my pharmacy, then my doctor, then my pharmacy, then my doctor, then my pharmacy. Apparently, they're mad at each other. The pharmacist must be shtooping the doctor's wife or something. Well guys, it could be worse. SHE COULD BE PREGNANT. BUT I'M SURE SHE'S NOT BECAUSE SHE'S PROBABLY TAKING MY BIRTH CONTROL PILLS. Bitch.
The last call I made to my pharmacy this morning was mostly begging for them to please, for the love of God, please break the wall of silence and call my doctor. They said they would call and to check back before they went to lunch to see if my prescription was ready.
I just checked back in to find that sadly, my pharmacy was unable to reach my doctor's office, the same one I've called half a dozen times in the last two days. But they're sure everything will be cleared up by this evening. Well, sing me a song and call me Henry, because I think I've heard this verse before.
Next week, Liz develops a hormonal imbalance! Will she get her birth control in time, or will she begin inexplicably crying at the sight of a pineapple? Tune in and find out.
2.15.2006
Exercises in Humility
Hope everyone had a lovely VD. Jaimie's fleegan dumped her last night to go to his niece's basketball game, and my husband dumped me to go to work. How lame are they? Good thing Jaimie and I don't believe in Valentine's Day.
So as not to be total humbugs, we went on a date without the guys. TUESDAY NIGHT BOWLING WITH THE LUTHERANS!!! YOW!
Bowling with the Lutherans is so much fun. We drink and cuss and bowl. Except not all Lutherans cuss. One sweet old lady on our team would say "BAD WORD!" everytime she wasn't happy with her roll. It made me giggle.
I learned something about myself last night, bowling with Lutherans, that I'd like to share: I have no luck. I am luckless, for better or for worse.
We bowled two games, and my scores, respectively, were 72 and 45. The first is bad enough, but the second is shockingly bad. People's eyes got wide when I told them. I felt like they were going to put my picture on the wall next to the people who've bowled perfect 300s, because my achievement warranted recognition as well.
There was this lane beside ours with a bunch of high school kids playing, most of which were not what you might call proficient bowlers. One guy bowled like he thought the gutter was the target. Watching them over the course of the night, I noticed something. No matter how bad they were, they made a decent shot at least one time in four. Most of them had scored at least one strike by the end of the night. In the two times I've bowled with the Lutherans, four games total, I've scored exactly one spare and no strikes. This, I have decided, is because I have absolutely no luck.
That's not at all a bad thing from a certain point of view. Those kids beside me had luck, like most people do. They had good luck and bad luck. I have neither. I can't think of anything in particular about myself and my life to make me believe that anything terribly unlucky has ever happened to me. Lots of bad things have happened, of course, but not unlucky things. No flukes, abberations, or tragedies of fate. Which brings us to good luck.
Let's take bowling. I know nothing about bowling technique, the feel of the ball, the right throw, what weight I should be using, any of that. So, is it bad luck that I bowled four zero frames in one game? No. It stands to reason. It displays, rather, an exceptional lack of good luck. Some kind of good luck would have to be involved for me to do well in any endeavor for which I am so poorly equipped.
The way I'll interpret this is that in most things, I'll get no tip of the scales in either direction based on any unfair influence of fate. I can handle that. I'll work on my bowling skills and eventually get better, knowing that while I may never acheive an undeserved strike, I'll also never blow the big game.
So as not to be total humbugs, we went on a date without the guys. TUESDAY NIGHT BOWLING WITH THE LUTHERANS!!! YOW!
Bowling with the Lutherans is so much fun. We drink and cuss and bowl. Except not all Lutherans cuss. One sweet old lady on our team would say "BAD WORD!" everytime she wasn't happy with her roll. It made me giggle.
I learned something about myself last night, bowling with Lutherans, that I'd like to share: I have no luck. I am luckless, for better or for worse.
We bowled two games, and my scores, respectively, were 72 and 45. The first is bad enough, but the second is shockingly bad. People's eyes got wide when I told them. I felt like they were going to put my picture on the wall next to the people who've bowled perfect 300s, because my achievement warranted recognition as well.
There was this lane beside ours with a bunch of high school kids playing, most of which were not what you might call proficient bowlers. One guy bowled like he thought the gutter was the target. Watching them over the course of the night, I noticed something. No matter how bad they were, they made a decent shot at least one time in four. Most of them had scored at least one strike by the end of the night. In the two times I've bowled with the Lutherans, four games total, I've scored exactly one spare and no strikes. This, I have decided, is because I have absolutely no luck.
That's not at all a bad thing from a certain point of view. Those kids beside me had luck, like most people do. They had good luck and bad luck. I have neither. I can't think of anything in particular about myself and my life to make me believe that anything terribly unlucky has ever happened to me. Lots of bad things have happened, of course, but not unlucky things. No flukes, abberations, or tragedies of fate. Which brings us to good luck.
Let's take bowling. I know nothing about bowling technique, the feel of the ball, the right throw, what weight I should be using, any of that. So, is it bad luck that I bowled four zero frames in one game? No. It stands to reason. It displays, rather, an exceptional lack of good luck. Some kind of good luck would have to be involved for me to do well in any endeavor for which I am so poorly equipped.
The way I'll interpret this is that in most things, I'll get no tip of the scales in either direction based on any unfair influence of fate. I can handle that. I'll work on my bowling skills and eventually get better, knowing that while I may never acheive an undeserved strike, I'll also never blow the big game.
2.14.2006
Memed
Laura invoked the tag (albeit a week ago). I am it.
By the way, happy Valentine's. If you're into that.
Four jobs I've had
1. Newspaper desk clerk/obituary writer
2. TV production studio writer/director/producer/editor/talent/grip/chode
3. Art museum graphic artist/receptionist/tech support/carpenter
4. Family business Girl Friday
I never was happy with just one hat.
Four movies I can watch over and over
1. The Fifth Element (Why do I love that movie? I really shouldn't. But oh, how I do.)
2. Any Jack Ryan movie (Um, except that one with Ben Affleck. Nothing wrong with it, just not the same.)
3. The Pelican Brief
4. Boondock Saints
Four places I have lived
This may strike some of you as sad, others as endearingly old-fashioned, but I don't move around a lot.
1. The trailer my family lived in when I was 3 months old
2. The house I lived in with my family (about 2 miles away from the trailer) from ages 1-23
3. The dorm room I where I sort of stayed my first semester in college
4. The downtown dreamplex
The dorm room wins the prize for Farthest Distance from Birthplace, coming in at a whopping 25 miles. It may be disqualified, however, since I'm not quite sure "having a place nearby to crash two nights a week" is the same as living there.
Four TV shows I love
I think I've mentioned that I go through TV phases in life. I'll go months forgetting that there is a thing called television which exists to entertain me. I kind of prefer these phases. I get a lot more done. Then there are other times, times like now, that when I sit down on the couch, I am compelled by some deep-seeded conditioning to turn on the TV and keep it on for the rest of the day. I don't even have to be watching it. It just has to be ON. I think there's a mind-controlling gnome in Chris's TV. I knew we should've used mine.
Anyway, even in times like these when I can't seem to have enough mind-numbing entertainment, I've never had a lot of regular shows. Sure, I'll get obsessed with one, maybe two shows at a time and that's cool. It doesn't cut into my schedule too bad. But it's funny you should ask about shows I love at this time in my life because I'm telling you, all of a sudden, there are millions. That's a slight exaggeration, but let me just say I'm hard-pressed to pick four. And for me, that seems like MILLIONS. I have chosen multi-genre representation as my method of selection.
1. Drama: Medium (Can Jake Weber be my TV boyfriend?)
2. Sci-Fi: Battlestar Galactica (If you're not already watching this, don't start. You'll sleep better.)
3. Comedy: Family Guy
4. Animated: Boondocks
I realize there's some overlap with the Comedy and Animated categories, but I rationalize it by saying that the fact that Family Guy is animated is itself a comedic device. And Boondocks, although funny, can certainly be appreciated from a purely aesthetic point of view.
Four TV shows I hear I should be watching, but as yet am not
I picked up this extra category from kottke.
1. Lost
2. Veronica Mars
3. American Idol (Could 37% of the viewing public be wrong?)
4. 24
I almost listed Six Feet Under, but I don't subscribe to HBO or Netflix, so I see myself as having insufficient opportunity to have brazenly ignored this one.
Four places I have vacationed
I choose to exclude cruise destinations, because I vacationed on the boat. The destinations were more like beer runs.
1. Santana Maya, Central Mexico
2. Savannah, Georgia
3. Chattanooga, Tennessee
4. Just about everywhere in Florida that's not a retirement community or the restricted area of an airforce base
Four of my favorite dishes
1. Chris's Greek chicken pitas with cucumber sauce
2. Santa Fe soup
3. Anything with noodles
4. Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper
Four sites I visit daily
1. www.google.com
2. www.fleegan.com
3. www.dooce.com
4. Any random combination of the other links you see to your right
Four places I would rather be right now
1. Camping at Horse Pens 40
2. Watching a really awesome meteor shower
3. In bed
4. Someplace where it still snows
Four people I am tagging
Sharight.
By the way, happy Valentine's. If you're into that.
Four jobs I've had
1. Newspaper desk clerk/obituary writer
2. TV production studio writer/director/producer/editor/talent/grip/chode
3. Art museum graphic artist/receptionist/tech support/carpenter
4. Family business Girl Friday
I never was happy with just one hat.
Four movies I can watch over and over
1. The Fifth Element (Why do I love that movie? I really shouldn't. But oh, how I do.)
2. Any Jack Ryan movie (Um, except that one with Ben Affleck. Nothing wrong with it, just not the same.)
3. The Pelican Brief
4. Boondock Saints
Four places I have lived
This may strike some of you as sad, others as endearingly old-fashioned, but I don't move around a lot.
1. The trailer my family lived in when I was 3 months old
2. The house I lived in with my family (about 2 miles away from the trailer) from ages 1-23
3. The dorm room I where I sort of stayed my first semester in college
4. The downtown dreamplex
The dorm room wins the prize for Farthest Distance from Birthplace, coming in at a whopping 25 miles. It may be disqualified, however, since I'm not quite sure "having a place nearby to crash two nights a week" is the same as living there.
Four TV shows I love
I think I've mentioned that I go through TV phases in life. I'll go months forgetting that there is a thing called television which exists to entertain me. I kind of prefer these phases. I get a lot more done. Then there are other times, times like now, that when I sit down on the couch, I am compelled by some deep-seeded conditioning to turn on the TV and keep it on for the rest of the day. I don't even have to be watching it. It just has to be ON. I think there's a mind-controlling gnome in Chris's TV. I knew we should've used mine.
Anyway, even in times like these when I can't seem to have enough mind-numbing entertainment, I've never had a lot of regular shows. Sure, I'll get obsessed with one, maybe two shows at a time and that's cool. It doesn't cut into my schedule too bad. But it's funny you should ask about shows I love at this time in my life because I'm telling you, all of a sudden, there are millions. That's a slight exaggeration, but let me just say I'm hard-pressed to pick four. And for me, that seems like MILLIONS. I have chosen multi-genre representation as my method of selection.
1. Drama: Medium (Can Jake Weber be my TV boyfriend?)
2. Sci-Fi: Battlestar Galactica (If you're not already watching this, don't start. You'll sleep better.)
3. Comedy: Family Guy
4. Animated: Boondocks
I realize there's some overlap with the Comedy and Animated categories, but I rationalize it by saying that the fact that Family Guy is animated is itself a comedic device. And Boondocks, although funny, can certainly be appreciated from a purely aesthetic point of view.
Four TV shows I hear I should be watching, but as yet am not
I picked up this extra category from kottke.
1. Lost
2. Veronica Mars
3. American Idol (Could 37% of the viewing public be wrong?)
4. 24
I almost listed Six Feet Under, but I don't subscribe to HBO or Netflix, so I see myself as having insufficient opportunity to have brazenly ignored this one.
Four places I have vacationed
I choose to exclude cruise destinations, because I vacationed on the boat. The destinations were more like beer runs.
1. Santana Maya, Central Mexico
2. Savannah, Georgia
3. Chattanooga, Tennessee
4. Just about everywhere in Florida that's not a retirement community or the restricted area of an airforce base
Four of my favorite dishes
1. Chris's Greek chicken pitas with cucumber sauce
2. Santa Fe soup
3. Anything with noodles
4. Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper
Four sites I visit daily
1. www.google.com
2. www.fleegan.com
3. www.dooce.com
4. Any random combination of the other links you see to your right
Four places I would rather be right now
1. Camping at Horse Pens 40
2. Watching a really awesome meteor shower
3. In bed
4. Someplace where it still snows
Four people I am tagging
Sharight.
2.08.2006
Quitting
Chris is kicking the camel. As in The Camel. As in soft-pack menthol filters. It is now Day 2.
Pray for him. Also, pray for me. If you've ever "been there" for someone who's detoxing, you'll know you should pray for me more. I kid. Sort of.
Jaimie, just so you know, that's why we didn't go bowling last night. We both really wanted to, and we both thought it would probably be a bad idea to subject him to a dozen chain-smoking Lutherans at this juncture.
Chris's mom gave him some Nicorette for Christmas, and he'd wanted to quit for a long time anyway. I was all for it because I want him to live a really long time, and because he has annoyingly expensive taste in cigarettes. Why can't he just be a Marlboro-smoking redneck like the rest of us? Anyway, we had the cruise coming up and that just wouldn't do, and then he had a particularly difficult group to deal with at work. While I'm sure there's no good time to quit, he thought things might calm down enough by this week to give him a little more of an edge.
Things don't ever really calm down, do they? I'm sure it could've been worse, but have you ever tried car-shopping and/or groveling for a bank loan while kicking a 12-year-old smoking habit? It sucks. Then again, so does blinking.
Pray for him. Also, pray for me. If you've ever "been there" for someone who's detoxing, you'll know you should pray for me more. I kid. Sort of.
Jaimie, just so you know, that's why we didn't go bowling last night. We both really wanted to, and we both thought it would probably be a bad idea to subject him to a dozen chain-smoking Lutherans at this juncture.
Chris's mom gave him some Nicorette for Christmas, and he'd wanted to quit for a long time anyway. I was all for it because I want him to live a really long time, and because he has annoyingly expensive taste in cigarettes. Why can't he just be a Marlboro-smoking redneck like the rest of us? Anyway, we had the cruise coming up and that just wouldn't do, and then he had a particularly difficult group to deal with at work. While I'm sure there's no good time to quit, he thought things might calm down enough by this week to give him a little more of an edge.
Things don't ever really calm down, do they? I'm sure it could've been worse, but have you ever tried car-shopping and/or groveling for a bank loan while kicking a 12-year-old smoking habit? It sucks. Then again, so does blinking.
2.06.2006
Milestones
Carrie Married - There's some reason that those words rhyme which goes beyond the natural. My cousin is one of those people whose destiny and primary ambition it has always been to start a family. Her wedding was two Saturdays ago. I was the matron of honor.
I should explain that when children of our clan get married, they have a choice to make in regards to their representative maids. Two roads diverge in a wood, as it were. There are five of us cousins who are, shall we say, birthing age, and we're all pretty close. So when one of us gets married, it just makes good sense for the other four of us to stand up there and look pretty. Four is a good number; not too many, not too few. The choice comes when one of the brides has other friends that she would also like to have in the wedding. You can't have just one friend-maid, because she'd have to hang out with a bunch of cousins who've known each other all their lives and probably don't know her from Adam. Wouldn't be fair to her. So you'd have to have at least two friend-maids, which now brings your total to six or more. For a family which seems to prefer smaller weddings, this will not do. Also, how many guys do you know who could come up with six groomsmen? We're also into symmetry.
When I got married, I went the friend route. It was a small, outdoor, informal wedding and even four seemed a bit much. I had a matron of honor and a maid of honor and that was it. As a sidenote, I also find it interesting that two of the cousins are married now and neither of us saw fit to designate any attendants as simply "bridesmaids". Equality for all. Hm.
Carrie went with the pre-packaged family plan, and it was a lot of fun. I always wondered if she would turn out to be a bridezilla, but that wasn't the case at all. It was just a good time, even after ten hours in heels. She even gets bonus points for not freaking out when she got mud on her satin wedding shoes.
That makes two down, three to go in our quintuplet of cousinly couples, and all smooth sailing so far. Another interesting tidbit: so far, we're getting married in birth order.
I should explain that when children of our clan get married, they have a choice to make in regards to their representative maids. Two roads diverge in a wood, as it were. There are five of us cousins who are, shall we say, birthing age, and we're all pretty close. So when one of us gets married, it just makes good sense for the other four of us to stand up there and look pretty. Four is a good number; not too many, not too few. The choice comes when one of the brides has other friends that she would also like to have in the wedding. You can't have just one friend-maid, because she'd have to hang out with a bunch of cousins who've known each other all their lives and probably don't know her from Adam. Wouldn't be fair to her. So you'd have to have at least two friend-maids, which now brings your total to six or more. For a family which seems to prefer smaller weddings, this will not do. Also, how many guys do you know who could come up with six groomsmen? We're also into symmetry.
When I got married, I went the friend route. It was a small, outdoor, informal wedding and even four seemed a bit much. I had a matron of honor and a maid of honor and that was it. As a sidenote, I also find it interesting that two of the cousins are married now and neither of us saw fit to designate any attendants as simply "bridesmaids". Equality for all. Hm.
Carrie went with the pre-packaged family plan, and it was a lot of fun. I always wondered if she would turn out to be a bridezilla, but that wasn't the case at all. It was just a good time, even after ten hours in heels. She even gets bonus points for not freaking out when she got mud on her satin wedding shoes.
That makes two down, three to go in our quintuplet of cousinly couples, and all smooth sailing so far. Another interesting tidbit: so far, we're getting married in birth order.
1.20.2006
Am I in trouble?
I just blew off a lunch date with friends with no notice to go to some silly work meeting. Oops. I actually had no concept of the fact that we were all working right through lunch until it was over and I glanced up at the clock. It said "12:45 you friendless bitch". Seriously, that's what the clock said. I would've been offended if I hadn't been so impressed. Anyway, sorry guys. Next time.
I've been holding off on my vacation review until I got my pictures uploaded, but considering their sheer numbers and the fact that I will probably have to go through them as anally as possible, weeding through them, discarding the ones where someone walked by the lens or the many nighttime shots I attempted without a tripod -- and then there's the editing process, deblurring and sharpening and color correcting -- little Woodlaysons will probably come along first.
The Rundown:
Royal Caribbean - Better than Carnival insofar as you don't feel like a refugee family of Irish Catholics when reclining in the top bunk of your "cabin". It also got points for not trying to pack 4000 people in a 6000 sq. ft. boat. One of my most vivid memories from cruising Carnival was a 10 foot square pool, dotted with algae, with about 20 kids crammed into it, all trying their damnedest to look like they were having fun and avoid inadvertantly losing their virginity. The RC pools were spacious, clean, and didn't smell like the ocean. The only suggestion I have for anyone thinking of vacationing on the RC is this: Drop the notion altogether that cruises are "all-inclusive". Just don't think about it in those terms. You won't feel quite so cheated everytime you find out that you have to pay $3.00 for a Coke, and that you owe five different waiters a tip and you've only ever met two of them, and that you'll get charged $1.00 for every fingerprint they find on the minibar. If you're on a budget, just don't cruise. Just don't.
Cococay - First stop. Kinda sucked. But if you get off the beaten path, there's some pretty inter-island trails. I found a cave there, and if I ever go back, I'm bringing my spelunking gear. Pay for an excursion? Thank you, I'll make my own fun.
St. John - Beautiful island, weird vibe. It's one of those places where, on one side of the street, there will be this ostentatious mansion, and on the other side, there's a driftwood shack with half a roof. There is a literal hierarchy here, considering the whole place is basically a mountain sitting in the middle of the ocean. The rich people look down on the poor people. Every cliche you can think of, you can go to St. John's and take a picture of it. Upper class, middle class, lower class. Upper island, middle island, lower island. It's just creepy.
St. Maarten - We are not in Kansas anymore, and I freakin' love it. This place was just awesome. I don't know how this place got so cool, but I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that it is the smallest freestanding parcel of land to be divided between two coutries. It's half French and half Dutch. The personality of the place is a pretty uniform blend of the two cultures, although they still bicker about whose system of local government is better. They're all islanders at heart. I may never again run into so many friendly people with French accents. I'm going to write France a letter and tell them how much more becoming it is. St. Maarten goes on my list of places I must return to before I die. I could see myself going native there.
I've been holding off on my vacation review until I got my pictures uploaded, but considering their sheer numbers and the fact that I will probably have to go through them as anally as possible, weeding through them, discarding the ones where someone walked by the lens or the many nighttime shots I attempted without a tripod -- and then there's the editing process, deblurring and sharpening and color correcting -- little Woodlaysons will probably come along first.
The Rundown:
Royal Caribbean - Better than Carnival insofar as you don't feel like a refugee family of Irish Catholics when reclining in the top bunk of your "cabin". It also got points for not trying to pack 4000 people in a 6000 sq. ft. boat. One of my most vivid memories from cruising Carnival was a 10 foot square pool, dotted with algae, with about 20 kids crammed into it, all trying their damnedest to look like they were having fun and avoid inadvertantly losing their virginity. The RC pools were spacious, clean, and didn't smell like the ocean. The only suggestion I have for anyone thinking of vacationing on the RC is this: Drop the notion altogether that cruises are "all-inclusive". Just don't think about it in those terms. You won't feel quite so cheated everytime you find out that you have to pay $3.00 for a Coke, and that you owe five different waiters a tip and you've only ever met two of them, and that you'll get charged $1.00 for every fingerprint they find on the minibar. If you're on a budget, just don't cruise. Just don't.
Cococay - First stop. Kinda sucked. But if you get off the beaten path, there's some pretty inter-island trails. I found a cave there, and if I ever go back, I'm bringing my spelunking gear. Pay for an excursion? Thank you, I'll make my own fun.
St. John - Beautiful island, weird vibe. It's one of those places where, on one side of the street, there will be this ostentatious mansion, and on the other side, there's a driftwood shack with half a roof. There is a literal hierarchy here, considering the whole place is basically a mountain sitting in the middle of the ocean. The rich people look down on the poor people. Every cliche you can think of, you can go to St. John's and take a picture of it. Upper class, middle class, lower class. Upper island, middle island, lower island. It's just creepy.
St. Maarten - We are not in Kansas anymore, and I freakin' love it. This place was just awesome. I don't know how this place got so cool, but I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that it is the smallest freestanding parcel of land to be divided between two coutries. It's half French and half Dutch. The personality of the place is a pretty uniform blend of the two cultures, although they still bicker about whose system of local government is better. They're all islanders at heart. I may never again run into so many friendly people with French accents. I'm going to write France a letter and tell them how much more becoming it is. St. Maarten goes on my list of places I must return to before I die. I could see myself going native there.
1.19.2006
Tonight on ER
Two relatives of mine went to the emergency room yesterday, in two completely separate, dangerously serious, incidents.
My cousin-in-law had a head-on collision with a kid who was apparently still new to traffic laws. He broke three ribs and tore up his knee, but the doctors say he'll be okay. The kid came out without a scratch, but I think he would've preferred it the other way around.
For a few days, my uncle has had some sort of bite on his forehead that was starting to look like it came from something with venom. He wasn't going to go to the doctor, but I guess he woke up yesterday and decided it was bad enough to get checked out. The doc prescribed him an antibiotic. Within minutes of taking it, he started experiencing hearing loss and difficulty breathing. I don't know how bad it was, but it was bad enough to haul him to the ER in an ambulance. Doesn't that just figure. He's okay too, but I doubt he'll seek medical attention next time.
Our family was being watched over yesterday.
On a lighter note, the rest of the day was nice and peaceful. Chris and I got to sit down for about the first time since we got back. We watched Part 2 of the Battlestar Galactica episode that left us hanging before we left (the cruise got off to a pretty bad start when I found we didn't get Sci-Fi in our cabin). I took a long, hot shower, to my great relief, and yours also, I'm sure. Despite the craziness, it's good to be home.
My cousin-in-law had a head-on collision with a kid who was apparently still new to traffic laws. He broke three ribs and tore up his knee, but the doctors say he'll be okay. The kid came out without a scratch, but I think he would've preferred it the other way around.
For a few days, my uncle has had some sort of bite on his forehead that was starting to look like it came from something with venom. He wasn't going to go to the doctor, but I guess he woke up yesterday and decided it was bad enough to get checked out. The doc prescribed him an antibiotic. Within minutes of taking it, he started experiencing hearing loss and difficulty breathing. I don't know how bad it was, but it was bad enough to haul him to the ER in an ambulance. Doesn't that just figure. He's okay too, but I doubt he'll seek medical attention next time.
Our family was being watched over yesterday.
On a lighter note, the rest of the day was nice and peaceful. Chris and I got to sit down for about the first time since we got back. We watched Part 2 of the Battlestar Galactica episode that left us hanging before we left (the cruise got off to a pretty bad start when I found we didn't get Sci-Fi in our cabin). I took a long, hot shower, to my great relief, and yours also, I'm sure. Despite the craziness, it's good to be home.
1.18.2006
I'm not dead. Yet.
For those of you who didn't know, I've been out of town. Way, way out of town. Tell you all about it when I have more than 15 seconds.
For those of you who did know, I'm getting the evil eye because you know I've been back since Sunday night and haven't blogged. All I have to say is this: I also haven't showered.
Seriously.
I'm not kidding.
A combination of jetlag, work, impromptu obligations, and lots and lots of laundry have kept me far from having time for anything but sleep. So count your blessings and kiss my ass. Don't worry, that's the coffee talking.
Vacations are great, aren't they? But Liz learned a lesson: If you come back on Sunday, you're not going to be worth a shit on Monday anyway, so save yourself the trouble of spending all day trying to remember what you were just doing, what you were just saying, and where you laid your damn pen, and take the day off.
For those of you who did know, I'm getting the evil eye because you know I've been back since Sunday night and haven't blogged. All I have to say is this: I also haven't showered.
Seriously.
I'm not kidding.
A combination of jetlag, work, impromptu obligations, and lots and lots of laundry have kept me far from having time for anything but sleep. So count your blessings and kiss my ass. Don't worry, that's the coffee talking.
Vacations are great, aren't they? But Liz learned a lesson: If you come back on Sunday, you're not going to be worth a shit on Monday anyway, so save yourself the trouble of spending all day trying to remember what you were just doing, what you were just saying, and where you laid your damn pen, and take the day off.
1.03.2006
Smooth sailing?
I had the lamest New Year ever. Well, ever for me. I'm sure someone out there has had a lamer New Year than me, but I don't know this person, and if I did, I probably wouldn't talk to him because he'd be so lame. Anyways, I was all psyched up to go to this party at a friend's house (a friend's new house that I've never seen because I'm a bad friend). Actually I had four different options for New Years: friend's house, brother's kick-ass party (complete with Moon Walk), church party, and visiting Chris at work around midnight. About 3 p.m., I came down with one of those kick-in-the-ass dizzying vomitous headaches I get sometimes and I don't think I lasted past 9. I sat at home and tried to find something to stare at that didn't hurt and took enough Tylenol PM to knock out a baby elephant, or a good-sized cow (provided they had my constitution, which is nil...on the bright side, I don't foresee ever needing a prescription sedative).
So that's how my year began. Comatose.
This will be the year that I either learn to be less of a flake or die of frustration over my aptitude for losing things and forgetting things in direct proportion to their value, importance, or urgency.
This will be the year Chris and I decide our financial future, in terms of whether we set ourselves up for eventual solvency or eventual bankruptcy.
This will be the year I either apply myself to truly learning the art of the iron, or Chris finally gives up and starts sending everything to a dry cleaner. This should have some direct effect on our aforementioned financial future.
This will be the year I decide whether to be a company man or a free agent.
This will be the year I either decide to live a healthier, more active life, or decide to quit caring and rot away slowly like the other 70 percent of America's population.
This will be the year I decide to live by the Spirit or the Flesh.
This will be the year we start making decisions about our lives, or the year we decide to put them off for another year.
I wish I could speak with any certainty or authority on these topics, but most of the time, these things get decided for you along the path of least resistance. I shudder to think where that will take me.
So that's how my year began. Comatose.
This will be the year that I either learn to be less of a flake or die of frustration over my aptitude for losing things and forgetting things in direct proportion to their value, importance, or urgency.
This will be the year Chris and I decide our financial future, in terms of whether we set ourselves up for eventual solvency or eventual bankruptcy.
This will be the year I either apply myself to truly learning the art of the iron, or Chris finally gives up and starts sending everything to a dry cleaner. This should have some direct effect on our aforementioned financial future.
This will be the year I decide whether to be a company man or a free agent.
This will be the year I either decide to live a healthier, more active life, or decide to quit caring and rot away slowly like the other 70 percent of America's population.
This will be the year I decide to live by the Spirit or the Flesh.
This will be the year we start making decisions about our lives, or the year we decide to put them off for another year.
I wish I could speak with any certainty or authority on these topics, but most of the time, these things get decided for you along the path of least resistance. I shudder to think where that will take me.
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