Because I am/was a lazy bum, most of my friends are more highly educated than I am (does the word "highly" belong in that sentence?). This is fine, as it serves to keep me in my place (it's also helped me hone my well-developed self-deprecating sense of humor). And it means I got to have a lot of fun retail jobs while they were off getting drunk at college.
One of my friends is a professor of Spanish at a private college in some state on the other side of the country. He's currently kicking my butt in a Scrabble game on Facebook (he figured out that he wins 4 out of every 5 games he plays with me. I really didn't want to know that, I guess, but I'm addicted. So? He's really good at Scrabble. That one game out of 5 that I win is celebrated like, I don't know, something historical and wonderful that was won which everyone thought would be lost. You fill in the blanks, smartypants), and on Monday, he was in town visiting.
I've known this guy for a long time: we went to high school at around the same time (though I'm about 3 years older than he is; if we'd gone to the same high school, I wouldn't have deigned to talk to him. This could be why I have so few friends). We met through my flute teacher, who was also his flute teacher. He got more of her - she taught at his fancy music school, so he saw her all during the week instead for one hour at a private lesson. I think she liked him and the other kids she saw in that program more than she liked me (at the time) because they were terrific musicians, and obviously well-trained, but I don't know, that could be the scared 16 year old kid I was, speaking. They were fearless musicians. These kids had musical dreams that some of them actually fulfilled. Even though I was older, he and his buddies at the fancy music school were a bit more advanced than I was. She'd pair us up into groups occasionally to sight-read, and because I was shy, and unconfident, they walked all over me for awhile. Also, when I'm in a group of people who know each other well like that, I tend to get intimidated, and these kids could play. My friend can B.S. his way through any piece of music, and it took me a lot longer to learn how to do that convincingly (I have been known to cry at difficult passages). But we all grew up, he moved away (we kept in touch sporadically until the Miracle of Facebook), and I continued to study privately with my flute teacher until well into my 30s. I learned a lot from her, including how to count, sight-read, and play in tune (my proudest skill). He went off to college and got some fancy advanced degrees in interesting subjects and became a teacher. Oh, I'm sorry: a professor. And me and our flute teacher nourished and grew a friendship out of our student-teacher relationship that I treasure to this day. There's nobody I'd rather room with at a flute convention, that's for sure.
Incredible, isn't it?
Anyway, my friend was in town on Monday. He'd been traveling, doing some research on a subject I'm not going to name here (it's interesting, a bit risque, and his own business to tell), and we all got together for lunch and quartets (we were joined by another flutist). I was surprised that I had quite a bit of information about the subject he's researching (let's just say it's not something Nice People know about; then again, when did I ever profess to be "Nice"?), and it was fun to discuss it with him and our former flute teacher, now our friend. Now, I couldn't go on and write a scholarly paper or anything on the subject (nor would I want to), or probably, any subject, but it was great to have a highbrow conversation about an indecent topic and not feel like I was uninformed and stupid.
And the quartets were a lot of fun, too.
This has come to mind because for the last couple of days I have been feeling less than brainy. At work I have been slow; I'm not dyslexic but you wouldn't know it from listening to me talk (a little while ago I was telling my boss and her secretary that the second floor bathroom is closed and being repaired. They asked how I knew, and I stated that "there's a door on the sign"). Yesterday I managed to date something November 19, 2010; I filled in an Excel spreadsheet with the wrong data and didn't understand how, exactly, I had managed to do that; I couldn't figure out how multiplying something by 0.9 results in being 10% less than the original number even though I tested it and can see that it works... My brain was fried, and I don't even know why. I have done nothing to cause this (i.e., there has been no alcohol in my recent past). Today I feel a bit more logical, but I wonder if I just need more flute playing. I was smarter when I knew it was in my future. Luckily flute choir starts tomorrow night, and I'm counting on those 2.5 hours to smarten me up.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Because apparently I have some kind of strained muscle in my back
(and not a UTI as I thought), I am on drugs right now for the PAIN. It's not a lot of pain; I think two prescriptions was overkill, I probably will not continue to take them both because they both make you (or me, as the case may be) tired (duh), and maybe a bit confused, so I'm not capable of writing much else right now, SO I am going to do another question-y thing. Misspelled words, questionable grammar, and typos are to be blamed on my new, white, round little friends.
I got this one from the Middle Aged Diva (hands off my Stewart Copeland, babe; otherwise she seems totally charming and fun).
Oh, and this is a bonus: there's not a damn thing on television I want to watch right now, so I'm watching "Ski Flying."
Do you get regular massages? Not since Bruce retired. I've been frequenting once in awhile this reflexology place that opened last year near my house, dry cleaner, and hair salon. Just got one on Sunday, and it was perfect.
Do you have an answering machine? Yes but if you really need to get in touch with me I recommend calling my cell phone.
What cuss word do you use the most? It depends upon to whom I am speaking. Variants on the F word, I guess.
Are you underweight or overweight? I'm pretty much borderline overweight, I guess, though I just lost 4 pounds without really trying, much to my surprise.
Can you see your veins? Some of them. They don't spell out words or anything.
Favorite...
Soap? Cetaphil
Fruit? Blackberries (is that a fruit? or a berry?)
Kind of red meat? As of Dec. 30 I've sworn off meat. I did love steak (bloody but not cold). And lamb, but I didn't allow myself to eat it very often. Lambs are too cute to eat. Other meat, well, maybe one day again but probably not any time soon.
Fish? I've practically almost decided to be the type of person who doesn't eat meat but on occasion eats fish (the last time I had fish was probably a year ago, not counting tunafish, which, I don't know why you wouldn't count it, it's fish, those big ol' tunas deserve to live too...). I'm not a big fish eater, and so my answer here will be vague, until I can make up my mind.
Candy bar? Hershey bar with almonds.
Have you ever...
Eaten a whole bag of potato chips? Unfortunately. It's also very easy for me to devour an entire tin of Pringles.
Eaten lobster? Yes, but not very often. I like it a lot.
Climbed a mountain? Hell no. But there was that hill at Leadership Camp that Rachel and I stupidly climbed up and then couldn't get down without Adam's intervention...
Been skydiving? No.
Been water skiing? No.
Do you...
Wish you could change something about your life? Yes.
Like your nose? I wouldn't change it or anything, but my nostrils are kind of large.
Like salt and vinegar chips? Sometimes.
Eat salsa? Mild salsa. Tito's salsa.
Own a boat? No.
What is a small thing that people let slide but that actually has dire consequences? Not signaling lane changes. Or jaywalking.
Your most macho trait? I'm not very patient. Is that a macho trait?
The longest relationship you've ever had? Married 11 years, met my husband when I was 17.
Your most embarrassing thoughts? Please see http://meetingstewartcopeland.blogspot.com/ for examples.
Your most shameful moment? Breaking up with Drew in a poorly planned and unfair way in a parked car near my elementary school.
This/That
Bath/shower? Shower but if I'm in a nice clean hotel...
Markers/crayons? Markers.
Pens/pencils? Both
Jelly/cream cheese? Either
Bagel/toast? Decisions, decisions...
Finish...
My greatest weakness is... My fantasy life; buying music.
I wish I was... Skinnier. Motivated. Braver. Had better personal style.
Three things I wouldn't do for a million dollars is... kill, kill, kill
The oddest thing I've ever put in my mouth is... Bleh.
Firsts
Credit card you had? I think it was an American Express card.
Loan you got was for? Used car.
First paycheck was for how much? No idea. But they don't pay 15 year old library pages a whole lot of dough.
Time you had stitches? I have never had any stitches that am aware of.
Time you went to the hospital for something? I had some kind of eye surgery when I was a baby.
Lasts
List everything you ate in the last 24 hours? Popcorn, a diet Coke, veggie chipotle burrito, yummy spinach scrambled eggs, banana bread with raisins and cream cheese, frut, half a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, orange juice
Last thing you used a credit card for? Shoes
What was your last job? Before my civil service job I was a bookstore manager.
Last thing you celebrated? My brother's birthday.
Last time you were at a sports bar? Years and years. The staff of 20/20 Video used to go to Gabes, a crappy sports bar, where we went to see a crappy cover band, drink, and play that weird game with the little football guys. I was not impressed.
I got this one from the Middle Aged Diva (hands off my Stewart Copeland, babe; otherwise she seems totally charming and fun).
Oh, and this is a bonus: there's not a damn thing on television I want to watch right now, so I'm watching "Ski Flying."
Do you get regular massages? Not since Bruce retired. I've been frequenting once in awhile this reflexology place that opened last year near my house, dry cleaner, and hair salon. Just got one on Sunday, and it was perfect.
Do you have an answering machine? Yes but if you really need to get in touch with me I recommend calling my cell phone.
What cuss word do you use the most? It depends upon to whom I am speaking. Variants on the F word, I guess.
Are you underweight or overweight? I'm pretty much borderline overweight, I guess, though I just lost 4 pounds without really trying, much to my surprise.
Can you see your veins? Some of them. They don't spell out words or anything.
Favorite...
Soap? Cetaphil
Fruit? Blackberries (is that a fruit? or a berry?)
Kind of red meat? As of Dec. 30 I've sworn off meat. I did love steak (bloody but not cold). And lamb, but I didn't allow myself to eat it very often. Lambs are too cute to eat. Other meat, well, maybe one day again but probably not any time soon.
Fish? I've practically almost decided to be the type of person who doesn't eat meat but on occasion eats fish (the last time I had fish was probably a year ago, not counting tunafish, which, I don't know why you wouldn't count it, it's fish, those big ol' tunas deserve to live too...). I'm not a big fish eater, and so my answer here will be vague, until I can make up my mind.
Candy bar? Hershey bar with almonds.
Have you ever...
Eaten a whole bag of potato chips? Unfortunately. It's also very easy for me to devour an entire tin of Pringles.
Eaten lobster? Yes, but not very often. I like it a lot.
Climbed a mountain? Hell no. But there was that hill at Leadership Camp that Rachel and I stupidly climbed up and then couldn't get down without Adam's intervention...
Been skydiving? No.
Been water skiing? No.
Do you...
Wish you could change something about your life? Yes.
Like your nose? I wouldn't change it or anything, but my nostrils are kind of large.
Like salt and vinegar chips? Sometimes.
Eat salsa? Mild salsa. Tito's salsa.
Own a boat? No.
What is a small thing that people let slide but that actually has dire consequences? Not signaling lane changes. Or jaywalking.
Your most macho trait? I'm not very patient. Is that a macho trait?
The longest relationship you've ever had? Married 11 years, met my husband when I was 17.
Your most embarrassing thoughts? Please see http://meetingstewartcopeland.blogspot.com/ for examples.
Your most shameful moment? Breaking up with Drew in a poorly planned and unfair way in a parked car near my elementary school.
This/That
Bath/shower? Shower but if I'm in a nice clean hotel...
Markers/crayons? Markers.
Pens/pencils? Both
Jelly/cream cheese? Either
Bagel/toast? Decisions, decisions...
Finish...
My greatest weakness is... My fantasy life; buying music.
I wish I was... Skinnier. Motivated. Braver. Had better personal style.
Three things I wouldn't do for a million dollars is... kill, kill, kill
The oddest thing I've ever put in my mouth is... Bleh.
Firsts
Credit card you had? I think it was an American Express card.
Loan you got was for? Used car.
First paycheck was for how much? No idea. But they don't pay 15 year old library pages a whole lot of dough.
Time you had stitches? I have never had any stitches that am aware of.
Time you went to the hospital for something? I had some kind of eye surgery when I was a baby.
Lasts
List everything you ate in the last 24 hours? Popcorn, a diet Coke, veggie chipotle burrito, yummy spinach scrambled eggs, banana bread with raisins and cream cheese, frut, half a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, orange juice
Last thing you used a credit card for? Shoes
What was your last job? Before my civil service job I was a bookstore manager.
Last thing you celebrated? My brother's birthday.
Last time you were at a sports bar? Years and years. The staff of 20/20 Video used to go to Gabes, a crappy sports bar, where we went to see a crappy cover band, drink, and play that weird game with the little football guys. I was not impressed.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Dream
Last night I had a dream that Patrick and I had a huge fight, bigger than any argument we've ever had in real life but I can't remember what it was about or what we said. I just remember feeling very un-connected with him and separate and damn that was scary.
I woke up at 5:30 and couldn't go back to sleep. Instead I turned on the heater, brought a blanket and pillow out to the living room, fired up the laptop, wrote a long silly letter to Stewart Copeland and have been uploading music for my mom's iPod, my super-project.
Patrick's in bed, snoring away, obvlivious.
I think I'll do some laundry, too. Since I'm awake anyway.
I woke up at 5:30 and couldn't go back to sleep. Instead I turned on the heater, brought a blanket and pillow out to the living room, fired up the laptop, wrote a long silly letter to Stewart Copeland and have been uploading music for my mom's iPod, my super-project.
Patrick's in bed, snoring away, obvlivious.
I think I'll do some laundry, too. Since I'm awake anyway.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
From the "things I should've known already" list:
- Jeff Porcaro is dead.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Housekeeping
2010 opened with me having a renewed interest in the care and upkeep of my home ("renewed" indicates that there was a previous interest that had gone stagnant... well, I'll just let you keep thinking that), and over the past weekend, I spent a lot of time in my living room, bedroom, and bathroom. Since I apparently have lost the ability to single-task effectively, all three rooms were looked at and worked on at the same time; none of them has been finished just yet. Maybe this will be an ongoing project. I suspect that's all housework is, anyway.
So I got out all my vaccuums (for some reason I have three, and none of them is all that great): the little hand-vac for small jobs, the slightly larger red one for slightly larger jobs (it's the best for kitty litter), and the medium-sized green one for the one patch of carpet in my whole house (living room). I bought a couple new microfiber cloths for dusting, refilled my Swiffer Wet Jet, and had my sister pick out a mop thing for me (she is better than Martha Stewart at keeping things clean, and the model for my new life as someone who cares about cleaning). I went through all my books and the bookshelves in the living room, and rid myself of things we had been collecting for no apparent reason and the things I was hanging onto for sentimental reasons but it was time to let go of (my decrepit, dusty, and disintegrating bridal bouquet, for example. Now, if I had handled it correctly from day 1, I could have kept it as a treasured memento from a beautiful day with my husband and family; unfortunately, the thing was just too fragile and jacked up to keep. Pieces of it were all over the place. I took a farewell photo of it, told Patrick, who probably didn't realize what event that particular graying bunch of roses was even from, kissed him, and then I unceremoniously dumped it in the trash.
I don't have a ton of books, but I decided it was time to let go of some of them, and so I filled a couple of paper grocery store bags with the ones I don't want anymore. I mostly kept the ones I've read more than once, and even after culling out the losers, I have quite a few more books than I probably should (and man, how'd I get so many Philip Roth novels? I must have like 15 of his books). I always said I'd I never get rid of any books, that they were all treasured friends, but some of them were just embarrassing (though: I did keep my high school copies of "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Fountainhead" - two examples of bad writing/thinking that for some reason I have a soft spot for that Ayn Rand probably wouldn't appreciate). It is time to lighten the load, and then maybe in a little while, get some more.
Last night, Patrick was out at a band rehearsal so I stopped at the library on the way home to see if I could find any CD's for an iPod I'm planning on loading for my mom's birthday. Surprisingly, they had quite a lot of music I think she'll enjoy (and I need to figure out how to get her music into my iTunes but not on my iPod - believe me when I tell you that nothing will piss me off more than cruising down the freeway and having, I don't know, Tony Bennett or Sandy Patti come streaming out my stereo speakers), and when I got home, I started uploading CD's. While that was going on (my laptop is slow at this), I took a look around the living room, and decided it was time to tackle: The Crickets.
I think I wrote about the crickes awhile ago. They've sort of invaded our living room, but they're not visible or annoying except for doing that thing crickets do. It doesn't really bother me when I don't think about it too much, but last night I started thinking about it.
(Time out here: I admit that Patrick and I have sort of been living like sloppy college students all these years. Every once in awhile I get inspired to clean, but we never really keep things clean. We run the dishwasher, but we never empty it, so new dirty dishes pile up. We do laundry, but unless I do it, there's always a basket full of clean but slightly wrinkled clothes around. If we're having company, we clean up, and the place looks nice on the surface... but hidden away in closets and various cubby holes, if you looked closely, you would find all our mess, ready to take over again once the guests leave. I would like to be more like my sister, and my friends who have homes that would be presentable even with no notice or a special cleaning crew beforehand. Yeah, it's a big change, but I'm gonna try.)
So I moved a few bookscases, got out my trusty hand-vac (it's perfect for crickets and cat food; not necessarily one and the same, but sometimes...), and found a couple teeny tiny crickets hiding behind the TV. Franny was a big help in this venture. Just saying "Franny! What's that?" put her in huntress mode, and my kitty is no scaredy-cat. We conquered some of the crickets (but I'm sure there are more. Hiding. I'm not really strong enough to really move the TV), and then I was walking behind the couch in this big open space we have there, and I saw what I thought was some fluff from the carpet. It was black (we have some black in the carpet), and it looked just like those fibers that come off the kitty scratching posts. So I aimed my hand-vac at it, and... right before it got sucked in, it moved.
Turns out that piece of fluff was some kind of large bug (disturbed, probably, when I moved the bookcases), now trapped in the tiny body of my hand-vac, along with who knows how many baby crickets and whatever else had been caught up in there. And suddenly I acquired an irrational fear of my hand-vac.
I set it down without folding it up (it folds up to go live on it's base) in the middle of the living room floor. Franny came sniffing around, and we both just looked at it. Here's the thing I was envisioning:
Being in the hand-vac was probably heaven to that stupid bug: all the crickets he could eat! Lots of dust and hair and what-not to roll around in, and did I mention the crickets? So I pictured the bug swelling to astronomical un-bug like proportions, and then me forgetting the bug was in there, opening the little side door to empty the little canister, and being confronted by super-bug.
"Ewww" was the only word I could muster out loud. So I gingerly picked the thing up, took it outside and set it on the back steps, and waited for Patrick to get home so he could be the one to empty it. He didn't want to (poor guy was beat up after that band rehearsal, wherein he utilized his crazy new mega-bell ride cymbal for the first time, which is practically gong like but crashy and fucking loud), but he finally did it. He brought it back in the house and let me examine it. There was no trace of the havoc I had wreaked on the animal kingdom earlier that night. I put it back on the base, pushed all the bookcases back up against the wall, and went back to uploading CD's for my mom.
This weekend I plan on finishing, finally, the living room, bathroom and bedroom, and then I'll set about tackling the kitchen, which shouldn't be too difficult - we never use that room. Then I'll have to set my sights on my office, which is chock full of crap to be shredded and painted and we need new blinds, and I'd like a smaller desk and less computer equipment, and maybe a sleeper love seat, and...
So I got out all my vaccuums (for some reason I have three, and none of them is all that great): the little hand-vac for small jobs, the slightly larger red one for slightly larger jobs (it's the best for kitty litter), and the medium-sized green one for the one patch of carpet in my whole house (living room). I bought a couple new microfiber cloths for dusting, refilled my Swiffer Wet Jet, and had my sister pick out a mop thing for me (she is better than Martha Stewart at keeping things clean, and the model for my new life as someone who cares about cleaning). I went through all my books and the bookshelves in the living room, and rid myself of things we had been collecting for no apparent reason and the things I was hanging onto for sentimental reasons but it was time to let go of (my decrepit, dusty, and disintegrating bridal bouquet, for example. Now, if I had handled it correctly from day 1, I could have kept it as a treasured memento from a beautiful day with my husband and family; unfortunately, the thing was just too fragile and jacked up to keep. Pieces of it were all over the place. I took a farewell photo of it, told Patrick, who probably didn't realize what event that particular graying bunch of roses was even from, kissed him, and then I unceremoniously dumped it in the trash.
I don't have a ton of books, but I decided it was time to let go of some of them, and so I filled a couple of paper grocery store bags with the ones I don't want anymore. I mostly kept the ones I've read more than once, and even after culling out the losers, I have quite a few more books than I probably should (and man, how'd I get so many Philip Roth novels? I must have like 15 of his books). I always said I'd I never get rid of any books, that they were all treasured friends, but some of them were just embarrassing (though: I did keep my high school copies of "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Fountainhead" - two examples of bad writing/thinking that for some reason I have a soft spot for that Ayn Rand probably wouldn't appreciate). It is time to lighten the load, and then maybe in a little while, get some more.
Last night, Patrick was out at a band rehearsal so I stopped at the library on the way home to see if I could find any CD's for an iPod I'm planning on loading for my mom's birthday. Surprisingly, they had quite a lot of music I think she'll enjoy (and I need to figure out how to get her music into my iTunes but not on my iPod - believe me when I tell you that nothing will piss me off more than cruising down the freeway and having, I don't know, Tony Bennett or Sandy Patti come streaming out my stereo speakers), and when I got home, I started uploading CD's. While that was going on (my laptop is slow at this), I took a look around the living room, and decided it was time to tackle: The Crickets.
I think I wrote about the crickes awhile ago. They've sort of invaded our living room, but they're not visible or annoying except for doing that thing crickets do. It doesn't really bother me when I don't think about it too much, but last night I started thinking about it.
(Time out here: I admit that Patrick and I have sort of been living like sloppy college students all these years. Every once in awhile I get inspired to clean, but we never really keep things clean. We run the dishwasher, but we never empty it, so new dirty dishes pile up. We do laundry, but unless I do it, there's always a basket full of clean but slightly wrinkled clothes around. If we're having company, we clean up, and the place looks nice on the surface... but hidden away in closets and various cubby holes, if you looked closely, you would find all our mess, ready to take over again once the guests leave. I would like to be more like my sister, and my friends who have homes that would be presentable even with no notice or a special cleaning crew beforehand. Yeah, it's a big change, but I'm gonna try.)
So I moved a few bookscases, got out my trusty hand-vac (it's perfect for crickets and cat food; not necessarily one and the same, but sometimes...), and found a couple teeny tiny crickets hiding behind the TV. Franny was a big help in this venture. Just saying "Franny! What's that?" put her in huntress mode, and my kitty is no scaredy-cat. We conquered some of the crickets (but I'm sure there are more. Hiding. I'm not really strong enough to really move the TV), and then I was walking behind the couch in this big open space we have there, and I saw what I thought was some fluff from the carpet. It was black (we have some black in the carpet), and it looked just like those fibers that come off the kitty scratching posts. So I aimed my hand-vac at it, and... right before it got sucked in, it moved.
Turns out that piece of fluff was some kind of large bug (disturbed, probably, when I moved the bookcases), now trapped in the tiny body of my hand-vac, along with who knows how many baby crickets and whatever else had been caught up in there. And suddenly I acquired an irrational fear of my hand-vac.
I set it down without folding it up (it folds up to go live on it's base) in the middle of the living room floor. Franny came sniffing around, and we both just looked at it. Here's the thing I was envisioning:
Being in the hand-vac was probably heaven to that stupid bug: all the crickets he could eat! Lots of dust and hair and what-not to roll around in, and did I mention the crickets? So I pictured the bug swelling to astronomical un-bug like proportions, and then me forgetting the bug was in there, opening the little side door to empty the little canister, and being confronted by super-bug.
"Ewww" was the only word I could muster out loud. So I gingerly picked the thing up, took it outside and set it on the back steps, and waited for Patrick to get home so he could be the one to empty it. He didn't want to (poor guy was beat up after that band rehearsal, wherein he utilized his crazy new mega-bell ride cymbal for the first time, which is practically gong like but crashy and fucking loud), but he finally did it. He brought it back in the house and let me examine it. There was no trace of the havoc I had wreaked on the animal kingdom earlier that night. I put it back on the base, pushed all the bookcases back up against the wall, and went back to uploading CD's for my mom.
This weekend I plan on finishing, finally, the living room, bathroom and bedroom, and then I'll set about tackling the kitchen, which shouldn't be too difficult - we never use that room. Then I'll have to set my sights on my office, which is chock full of crap to be shredded and painted and we need new blinds, and I'd like a smaller desk and less computer equipment, and maybe a sleeper love seat, and...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Happy new year, Irene!
Last week I had to run an errand to the post office during lunch. It took awhile, and so I was left with not a lot of time in which to get something to eat before I had to be back to work. Luckily there's a Starbucks around the corner, so I went there for a sandwich.
I was the only customer. I was the only customer for awhile. The guy behind the counter was young. He's cool (I've been there before but he didn't recognize me), and we talked a little bit about what I was ordering. He and his co-workers were listening to Radiohead. Starbucks-sanctioned, I guess. I love his East LA accent. I've worked in East LA for a little over a year now, and have really started to appreciate that this area has a special sound. It's not all that lilting, or a sexy accent: it's angular, and harsh, and the cadence can be strange, but there's something about it that I just love. Some of the people I've met with this accent don't even, like me, speak Spanish or any language other than English - they were born here, like me. But whereas I sound like every other person on television or straight out of Culver City, they have these exotic voices and speech patterns. I'm learning to imitate it for Patrick's entertainment, but I'm no minic. Still: it's fun to try.
The guy who helped me was really nice. I chose the mozzarella, tomato and pesto sandwich, a Rice Krispy treat (those things are dangerous) and a blackberry Izze. After I paid, he asked if I wanted him to heat up my sandwich, and he explained just how much heating it up improved the experience of eating it. He was very helpful, and friendly.
While he was doing that, I was just standing there, kind of staring out the window. The barista was standing at the counter to my left, not paying any attention to me, which was fine, because I didn't order a coffee drink. He had the same coloring as me. I think we look like we could be from anywhere: Mexico, Iran, India... Hawaii. Both these dudes were young, probably in their early 20s.
Suddenly, in the silence of the totally empty (except for me) Starbucks, the barista yelled, "What's UP Irene!"
Someone had entered the store but I didn't realize it. I looked at him all startled and googly eyed, and then I realized he wasn't talking to me. I was glad I had my sunglasses on. A young woman had walked in and she was standing in line behind me. I got out of the way to continue to wait for my sandwich and so she could order, and she and the barista had a funny but not very original conversation about how drunk they had been last night/that morning, and how drunk they planned on being later that day. She was tall, with short dark hair with lighter colored streaks in it, and she was wearing an apron. She had the same East LA accent, but female. She was tough-sounding. And pretty.
At a lull in their conversation, I spoke to her.
"Your name is Irene too?" I said.
"Yeah! You're Irene?" She said.
"That's why you looked at me all funny," the barista said.
I smiled. "I never used to meet people my age with my name," I said. "But now we're all over." (Usually the name Irene was reserved for crazy old neighbor ladies or somebody's crackpot maiden aunt on TV; I work with three other women, all about my age or younger, with the name now. Yes, I realize that makes me the crazy neighbor lady now. Oh, and there's also that weird Captain Beefheart song about a woman named Irene and a man named Harry who are well known for their tunafish sandwiches. Oh, that Captain Beefheart!)
"I know, huh!" Irene said. "I met a guy named Irene the other day! For real!"
"Really," I said. "That's weird."
"Yeah, man [looking at her barista friend], he kept saying it was his real name!"
At this point my sandwich was ready, and the other Irene and the barista continued their conversation about their upcoming plans to continue the drinking from the night before. They were defnitely entertaining me at this point. I miss working in retail!
I turned around to leave, and Irene said, "Bye Irene! Hey, it was nice meeting you!"
"Bye Irene! Happy New Year!" I said.
I was the only customer. I was the only customer for awhile. The guy behind the counter was young. He's cool (I've been there before but he didn't recognize me), and we talked a little bit about what I was ordering. He and his co-workers were listening to Radiohead. Starbucks-sanctioned, I guess. I love his East LA accent. I've worked in East LA for a little over a year now, and have really started to appreciate that this area has a special sound. It's not all that lilting, or a sexy accent: it's angular, and harsh, and the cadence can be strange, but there's something about it that I just love. Some of the people I've met with this accent don't even, like me, speak Spanish or any language other than English - they were born here, like me. But whereas I sound like every other person on television or straight out of Culver City, they have these exotic voices and speech patterns. I'm learning to imitate it for Patrick's entertainment, but I'm no minic. Still: it's fun to try.
The guy who helped me was really nice. I chose the mozzarella, tomato and pesto sandwich, a Rice Krispy treat (those things are dangerous) and a blackberry Izze. After I paid, he asked if I wanted him to heat up my sandwich, and he explained just how much heating it up improved the experience of eating it. He was very helpful, and friendly.
While he was doing that, I was just standing there, kind of staring out the window. The barista was standing at the counter to my left, not paying any attention to me, which was fine, because I didn't order a coffee drink. He had the same coloring as me. I think we look like we could be from anywhere: Mexico, Iran, India... Hawaii. Both these dudes were young, probably in their early 20s.
Suddenly, in the silence of the totally empty (except for me) Starbucks, the barista yelled, "What's UP Irene!"
Someone had entered the store but I didn't realize it. I looked at him all startled and googly eyed, and then I realized he wasn't talking to me. I was glad I had my sunglasses on. A young woman had walked in and she was standing in line behind me. I got out of the way to continue to wait for my sandwich and so she could order, and she and the barista had a funny but not very original conversation about how drunk they had been last night/that morning, and how drunk they planned on being later that day. She was tall, with short dark hair with lighter colored streaks in it, and she was wearing an apron. She had the same East LA accent, but female. She was tough-sounding. And pretty.
At a lull in their conversation, I spoke to her.
"Your name is Irene too?" I said.
"Yeah! You're Irene?" She said.
"That's why you looked at me all funny," the barista said.
I smiled. "I never used to meet people my age with my name," I said. "But now we're all over." (Usually the name Irene was reserved for crazy old neighbor ladies or somebody's crackpot maiden aunt on TV; I work with three other women, all about my age or younger, with the name now. Yes, I realize that makes me the crazy neighbor lady now. Oh, and there's also that weird Captain Beefheart song about a woman named Irene and a man named Harry who are well known for their tunafish sandwiches. Oh, that Captain Beefheart!)
"I know, huh!" Irene said. "I met a guy named Irene the other day! For real!"
"Really," I said. "That's weird."
"Yeah, man [looking at her barista friend], he kept saying it was his real name!"
At this point my sandwich was ready, and the other Irene and the barista continued their conversation about their upcoming plans to continue the drinking from the night before. They were defnitely entertaining me at this point. I miss working in retail!
I turned around to leave, and Irene said, "Bye Irene! Hey, it was nice meeting you!"
"Bye Irene! Happy New Year!" I said.
Monday, January 4, 2010
First (and probably last) silly list of questions of the year
I found these questions on the blog of a woman who appears to have a crush on Stewart Copeland, and I decided that answering them would be interesting. Well, for me. You have to make up your own mind. Anyway, this other woman who likes Stewart is also funny, and interesting and un-hateable. So. Jane? I hope Jon Hamm calls you right before Stewart calls me, because I would hate to fight you. Really. I would hate it, but I would do it.
Here we go!
Where did you take your profile pic?
I think it was taken in the bathroom.
What exactly are you wearing right now?
Black boots, a pair of Patrick's black Christmas socks, greenish-brown pants, black sweater over a black tank top, black panties and bra, my watch, wedding ring, hair thing around my right wrist, a black metal barrette (it was early when I dried my hair this morning), hundred-year old Banana Republic earrings that I am always wearing, glasses, face of sleepiness, Essie nail polish "Cherry Pop."
What is your current problem?
Do I have to go to tomorrow night's pickup rehearsal for the Trojan Women? Do I have time (i.e., money) to get my flute fixed before flute choir starts? Was my last post on my Stewart Copeland blog too personal?
What makes you happy most?
When Patrick and I are cruising down some highway with metal or weird jazz or Captain Beefheart on the radio and he's explaining some musical/alien lifeform/complicated computer/politics-related thing to me.
What's the name of the song you're listening to?
"Because the Night," by Patti Smith. Just in my head, though.
Any celebrity you would marry?
Yes, but only with Patrick's permission.
Name someone with the same birthday as you
I can't think of anyone with the exact same birthday, but Patrick's cousin Adrian's birthday is right around mine and he's an amazing guitarist and excellent person, and so for those reasons alone, I name him now at your request: Adrian Esparza, you have been named.
What this means, I have no idea.
Ever sing in front of a large audience?
If what I did to those Stevie Nicks songs at karoke counts as "singing," and if the 20 or so people at The Scarlet Lady who saw/heard me do it count as a "large audience" (less, probably, because I think some of them were playing pool), then, yes. Or did you perhaps mean all the people who saw me singing along with Patti this morning on the 710? Or the two friends who received a recording of me singing the first three lines to "Blue Moon" in their inbox on New Year's Eve (neither has acknowledged receiving that particular message; maybe they're playing "if we pretend this never happened," which could be okay, because I sort of forgot the melody by the middle of the second line)...
Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Not really. Andrea has a photo of a little girl from a Quaker Oats ad she claims looks like me... but she's hardly a celebrity. In fact, I think she's a drawing. So? No.
Do you speak any other languages?
Nope.
Has anyone you've been really close with passed away?
Yes.
Do you ever watch TV?
All the time.
What's something that really annoys you?
Self-righteousness, parking lots that ignore the fact that pedestrians will be using them once they get out of their cars; when people come visit me at work and they stand right behind my chair; that it takes five guys/girls at Subway to make my sandwich. Wouldn't it go much faster if just the one guy did it and I didn't have to tell everybody in the damn store what I want five times?
Middle name?
It was Laura. Now it's Casarez.
Nickname(s):
Bean, Beanie, Beans, Goofball, Dumbass
Current location:
Super-secret location
Eye color:
Brown
Do you get along with your parents?
Yes, most of the time.
Are your parents married/separated/divorced?
Married. And still sweet on each other.
Do you have any siblings?
Two brothers, a sister
Ice cream
Sure. Chocolate malted crunch, please.
Season
I live in LA., so whatever season means 72 degrees, not too windy, that's fine with me, thanks.
Shampoo/conditioner
Whatever Nina tells me to use
Dance in the shower?
Oh, yeah. I need a new tub mat - almost took a spill yesterday.
Do you write on your hand?
Mostly unintentionally - I'm left handed and sometimes it drags on the ink. Made that calligraphy class I took in 1991 lots of fun.
Call people back?
Yes. I hate answering the phone but not actually using it.
Believe in love?
Of course.
Any bad habits?
Idealizing people
Any mental health issues?
Hmmm... maybe a tiny bit.
Broken a bone?
You mean, of my own?
Sprained stuff?
Probably.
Had physical therapy?
No.
Gotten stiches?
I don't think so.
Taken painkillers?
No. Well, Advil.
Gone scuba diving or snorkeling?
Snorkled in our little backyard pool - it's fun! But the ocean is scary.
Been stung by a bee?
Yes! My finger swelled to about three times it's normal size. I might be allergic.
Thrown up at the dentist?
No. Eww.
Sworn in front of your parents?
Maybe.
Had detention?
Yep. PE infractions, and once I got caught leaving school, um, during school.
Last movie seen?
At the theater: I have no idea, it's been so long.
On my laptop: "The Answer Man"
Last three people to text you?
Angie, Andrea, Patrick
Last person you called?
FM
Last person you hugged?
My niece Diana
Last person you tackled?
Patrick
Last thing you touched?
Dictionary
Last thing you ate?
Veggie subway sandwich
Last thing you drank?
Diet Coke
Last thing you said:
"Okay! See you Friday, then!"
Were you named after anyone?
Yes, but I didn't know that person.
When was the last time you cried?
Sometime last week. Hey, "The Answer Man" gets kind of touchy-feely.
Do you like your handwriting?
Under specific conditions, yes.
What is your favorite lunch meat?
I have recently foresworn meat of any kind (well, let's be specific: of the animal kind), including that of the sub-category "lunch." However, were this a perfect world where I could eat the meat without killing the animal, I would probably say turkey.
Do you have kids?
Yes. Three cats. Allow me to introduce you to Puma, Dora, and Franny.
If you were another person, would you be friends with you?
This question is all kinds of wrong.
Do you use sarcasm?
Ocasionally, to great comic effect.
(Did you believe me?)
Do you still have your tonsils?
I think so. Lemme check.... yes.
Would you bungee jump?
Yes, but I'd be scared. And then I'd probably want to do it again. But let's don't test this: I'd rather think I'd do it than be faced with it in reality and find out that I'm chicken.
What is your favorite cereal?
"Magic Shapes," aka, fake Lucky Charms. I really just like the groovy wizard guy on the box.
Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
What is your favorite number?
3. It's the magic number.
What is the first thing you notice about a person?
Them, as a whole. Then the shoes. Then the nose. Then the smile.
Red or pink?
It really depends upon which red and which pink we're talking about, and what the application is going to be. As a rule, probably red. But there are pinks that I like, too.
What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
I'm always smiling at myself in mirrors.
Who do you miss the most?
--
What color pants and shoes are you wearing right now?
Didn't I answer this already? Green-brown, black. I'll leave it to you to figure out which is which.
What are you looking forward to about tomorrow?
Possibly carpooling to Santa Monica. That it's one day closer to Friday.
What are you listening to right now?
Patti Smith, Green Day, Klark Kent
If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Beaver. (Shut up. That's a real color.)
Or how about Green Blue?
I like Green Yellow, too.
Hot Magenta is pretty!
Manatee?
Orange Red?
Orchid?
Favorite smells?
Thanksgiving dinner, any kind of anything baking, lavender, the smell of people's clean laundry in the dryer when walking around my neighborhood in the evening; Franny; fresh breath on a guy; Patrick's Axe deoderant
Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
Wrong number.
Favorite sports to watch?
Cycling, sometimes baseball, figure skating, gymnastics, ultimate fighting with Patrick, most of the Olympics
Hair color?
Darkest brown possible.
Eye color?
Still brown, but thanks for checking up.
Do you wear contacts?
I did, a few times. I look better in glasses.
(No pun intended)
Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings
Last movie you watched?
We saw part of "The 40 Year Old Virgin" the other night.
Favorite food?
Popcorn.
Mexican.
Lobster.
Roast turkey.
Blackberries.
Pomegranates.
What color shirt are you wearing?
You sure are interested in my clothing! Black, black, black.
Summer or winter?
Both.
Hugs or kisses?
Kisses. And keep 'em coming.
What book are you reading right now?
I'm reading two books: the new John Irving novel, and a book about cymbals by a guy with a funny name.
What's on your mouse pad?
My mouse.
What did you watch on TV last night?
Iron Chef America; Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video with my niece and nephew
Favorite sounds?
Franny's purr, an in-tune flute choir, Patrick's drums, certain voicemail messages
Rolling Stones or the Beatles?
The Beatles!!
What is the farthest you've ever been from home?
France; my dreams
Do you have a special talent?
Probably not.
Where were you born?
Santa Monica
Who was your favorite teacher?
Joe Nazzaretta. Middle and High School band.
What's your secret?
To what? My shiny, flowing hair?
What's your biggest goal/dream?
Short term: For Stewart Copeland to come see a show at City Garage and take me out to dinner afterward, and for me to have good hair and not feel too fat at the time.
Long term: To figure out how I feel about not finishing college and either decide to go once and for all and shut up about it or not to go and to stop feeling bad about it.
Or I could just have a kid, right?
(That's a joke, people. Put the phone down.)
Here we go!
Where did you take your profile pic?
I think it was taken in the bathroom.
What exactly are you wearing right now?
Black boots, a pair of Patrick's black Christmas socks, greenish-brown pants, black sweater over a black tank top, black panties and bra, my watch, wedding ring, hair thing around my right wrist, a black metal barrette (it was early when I dried my hair this morning), hundred-year old Banana Republic earrings that I am always wearing, glasses, face of sleepiness, Essie nail polish "Cherry Pop."
What is your current problem?
Do I have to go to tomorrow night's pickup rehearsal for the Trojan Women? Do I have time (i.e., money) to get my flute fixed before flute choir starts? Was my last post on my Stewart Copeland blog too personal?
What makes you happy most?
When Patrick and I are cruising down some highway with metal or weird jazz or Captain Beefheart on the radio and he's explaining some musical/alien lifeform/complicated computer/politics-related thing to me.
What's the name of the song you're listening to?
"Because the Night," by Patti Smith. Just in my head, though.
Any celebrity you would marry?
Yes, but only with Patrick's permission.
Name someone with the same birthday as you
I can't think of anyone with the exact same birthday, but Patrick's cousin Adrian's birthday is right around mine and he's an amazing guitarist and excellent person, and so for those reasons alone, I name him now at your request: Adrian Esparza, you have been named.
What this means, I have no idea.
Ever sing in front of a large audience?
If what I did to those Stevie Nicks songs at karoke counts as "singing," and if the 20 or so people at The Scarlet Lady who saw/heard me do it count as a "large audience" (less, probably, because I think some of them were playing pool), then, yes. Or did you perhaps mean all the people who saw me singing along with Patti this morning on the 710? Or the two friends who received a recording of me singing the first three lines to "Blue Moon" in their inbox on New Year's Eve (neither has acknowledged receiving that particular message; maybe they're playing "if we pretend this never happened," which could be okay, because I sort of forgot the melody by the middle of the second line)...
Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Not really. Andrea has a photo of a little girl from a Quaker Oats ad she claims looks like me... but she's hardly a celebrity. In fact, I think she's a drawing. So? No.
Do you speak any other languages?
Nope.
Has anyone you've been really close with passed away?
Yes.
Do you ever watch TV?
All the time.
What's something that really annoys you?
Self-righteousness, parking lots that ignore the fact that pedestrians will be using them once they get out of their cars; when people come visit me at work and they stand right behind my chair; that it takes five guys/girls at Subway to make my sandwich. Wouldn't it go much faster if just the one guy did it and I didn't have to tell everybody in the damn store what I want five times?
Middle name?
It was Laura. Now it's Casarez.
Nickname(s):
Bean, Beanie, Beans, Goofball, Dumbass
Current location:
Super-secret location
Eye color:
Brown
Do you get along with your parents?
Yes, most of the time.
Are your parents married/separated/divorced?
Married. And still sweet on each other.
Do you have any siblings?
Two brothers, a sister
Ice cream
Sure. Chocolate malted crunch, please.
Season
I live in LA., so whatever season means 72 degrees, not too windy, that's fine with me, thanks.
Shampoo/conditioner
Whatever Nina tells me to use
Dance in the shower?
Oh, yeah. I need a new tub mat - almost took a spill yesterday.
Do you write on your hand?
Mostly unintentionally - I'm left handed and sometimes it drags on the ink. Made that calligraphy class I took in 1991 lots of fun.
Call people back?
Yes. I hate answering the phone but not actually using it.
Believe in love?
Of course.
Any bad habits?
Idealizing people
Any mental health issues?
Hmmm... maybe a tiny bit.
Broken a bone?
You mean, of my own?
Sprained stuff?
Probably.
Had physical therapy?
No.
Gotten stiches?
I don't think so.
Taken painkillers?
No. Well, Advil.
Gone scuba diving or snorkeling?
Snorkled in our little backyard pool - it's fun! But the ocean is scary.
Been stung by a bee?
Yes! My finger swelled to about three times it's normal size. I might be allergic.
Thrown up at the dentist?
No. Eww.
Sworn in front of your parents?
Maybe.
Had detention?
Yep. PE infractions, and once I got caught leaving school, um, during school.
Last movie seen?
At the theater: I have no idea, it's been so long.
On my laptop: "The Answer Man"
Last three people to text you?
Angie, Andrea, Patrick
Last person you called?
FM
Last person you hugged?
My niece Diana
Last person you tackled?
Patrick
Last thing you touched?
Dictionary
Last thing you ate?
Veggie subway sandwich
Last thing you drank?
Diet Coke
Last thing you said:
"Okay! See you Friday, then!"
Were you named after anyone?
Yes, but I didn't know that person.
When was the last time you cried?
Sometime last week. Hey, "The Answer Man" gets kind of touchy-feely.
Do you like your handwriting?
Under specific conditions, yes.
What is your favorite lunch meat?
I have recently foresworn meat of any kind (well, let's be specific: of the animal kind), including that of the sub-category "lunch." However, were this a perfect world where I could eat the meat without killing the animal, I would probably say turkey.
Do you have kids?
Yes. Three cats. Allow me to introduce you to Puma, Dora, and Franny.
If you were another person, would you be friends with you?
This question is all kinds of wrong.
Do you use sarcasm?
Ocasionally, to great comic effect.
(Did you believe me?)
Do you still have your tonsils?
I think so. Lemme check.... yes.
Would you bungee jump?
Yes, but I'd be scared. And then I'd probably want to do it again. But let's don't test this: I'd rather think I'd do it than be faced with it in reality and find out that I'm chicken.
What is your favorite cereal?
"Magic Shapes," aka, fake Lucky Charms. I really just like the groovy wizard guy on the box.
Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
What is your favorite number?
3. It's the magic number.
What is the first thing you notice about a person?
Them, as a whole. Then the shoes. Then the nose. Then the smile.
Red or pink?
It really depends upon which red and which pink we're talking about, and what the application is going to be. As a rule, probably red. But there are pinks that I like, too.
What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
I'm always smiling at myself in mirrors.
Who do you miss the most?
--
What color pants and shoes are you wearing right now?
Didn't I answer this already? Green-brown, black. I'll leave it to you to figure out which is which.
What are you looking forward to about tomorrow?
What are you listening to right now?
Patti Smith, Green Day, Klark Kent
If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Beaver. (Shut up. That's a real color.)
Or how about Green Blue?
I like Green Yellow, too.
Hot Magenta is pretty!
Manatee?
Orange Red?
Orchid?
Favorite smells?
Thanksgiving dinner, any kind of anything baking, lavender, the smell of people's clean laundry in the dryer when walking around my neighborhood in the evening; Franny; fresh breath on a guy; Patrick's Axe deoderant
Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
Wrong number.
Favorite sports to watch?
Cycling, sometimes baseball, figure skating, gymnastics, ultimate fighting with Patrick, most of the Olympics
Hair color?
Darkest brown possible.
Eye color?
Still brown, but thanks for checking up.
Do you wear contacts?
I did, a few times. I look better in glasses.
(No pun intended)
Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings
Last movie you watched?
We saw part of "The 40 Year Old Virgin" the other night.
Favorite food?
Popcorn.
Mexican.
Lobster.
Roast turkey.
Blackberries.
Pomegranates.
What color shirt are you wearing?
You sure are interested in my clothing! Black, black, black.
Summer or winter?
Both.
Hugs or kisses?
Kisses. And keep 'em coming.
What book are you reading right now?
I'm reading two books: the new John Irving novel, and a book about cymbals by a guy with a funny name.
What's on your mouse pad?
My mouse.
What did you watch on TV last night?
Iron Chef America; Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video with my niece and nephew
Favorite sounds?
Franny's purr, an in-tune flute choir, Patrick's drums, certain voicemail messages
Rolling Stones or the Beatles?
The Beatles!!
What is the farthest you've ever been from home?
France; my dreams
Do you have a special talent?
Probably not.
Where were you born?
Santa Monica
Who was your favorite teacher?
Joe Nazzaretta. Middle and High School band.
What's your secret?
To what? My shiny, flowing hair?
What's your biggest goal/dream?
Short term: For Stewart Copeland to come see a show at City Garage and take me out to dinner afterward, and for me to have good hair and not feel too fat at the time.
Long term: To figure out how I feel about not finishing college and either decide to go once and for all and shut up about it or not to go and to stop feeling bad about it.
Or I could just have a kid, right?
(That's a joke, people. Put the phone down.)
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy new year!
We had a pretty quiet new year's eve - we were going to go to downtown LB and see if we could get close enough to watch that crazy guy Travis Pastrana jump a car from a bridge to a barge, but even though I was lucky enough to get to leave work a little early, I still got home pretty late. Also I'm coughing now and I don't know, we just didn't want to get out in the cold and the crowds and battle all that. So we resigned ourselves to watching it on TV.
It was pretty exciting. That guy is crazy! He made it, of course, though we wondered what would happen if he crashed or failed.
It was a great parade: I made a huge bowl of popcorn (hey, it's never too early for popcorn) and curled up on the couch with a blanket to watch. I loved all the marching bands (the Oregon State Marching Band has cool uniforms!), in particular, the Ohio State School for the Blind Marching Band. They were very good, and great to hear.
So I did.
After that, we watched TV and played around with video chatting on our laptops while sitting 3 feet away from each other. Google Talk is pretty cool. Then we ate some bean, rice and cheese burritos and just hung out, listening to music and watching "The 40 Year Old Virgin." I love that movie. We went to bed around 1:30 but I didn't want to go to sleep until I was sure that a friend of mine (who had been sending me drunken, cryptic texts) had a sober ride home. Once I was reassured, we went to bed: I wanted to get up in time for the Rose Parade.
When it was over, I switched to the Universal Sports channel. They're showing all the past Iron Man competitions, and it was fun to watch, but I decided I wanted to get on my own bike, too.
So I did.
These are not very flattering photos of me (but my bike looks great), but I'm including them because I need to not be so weird about stuff like that. Also I need to lose 10 pounds and what's better inspiration than these photos?
Patrick went off to buy a cymbal (it has a ridiculous name: Mega Bell Ride!) over in the Naples area of Long Beach and I'm ready to take a shower. I wonder if Target is open today...?
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Things to think about for 2010
On Sunday, my friend Sarah and I visited Animal Acres in Acton. It's a sanctuary for (farm) animals who have been abused, abandoned, and otherwise mistreated. We went there last year with Patrick, and were impressed by the tour (I wish I could remember the name of the woman who lead us on both tours! She was wonderful, and had a kind spirit). Patrick and Sarah are already vegetarians (Patrick has, in the past, been vegan for many years but is not a vegan now), but I'm not. I'm starting to seriously think about it, especially after considering what we learned about commercial farming.
(Don't get me wrong, though: I mostly enjoyed hanging out with Sarah and the goats and sheep! I love goats and sheep, and Sarah is awesome!)
One thing I heard this time on the tour was that though some of the animals rescued by Animal Acres do end up dying soon after they're rescued (some of them are just so far gone, too abused, too neglected, to be saved) that what they try to do is to make the last days easy and loving for the animals anyway. That kind of thinking is something very, very special.
On Monday, I happened to catch Jonathan Safran Foer on "Ellen" (he's written a book called "Eating Animals") and he said something that really surprised me: he was talking about the poultry industry, and he suggested that if you can only do one thing (in other words, you still want to eat meat), the no. 1 thing you can do to help animals is to stop eating eggs. Then he gave some grisly details about the poultry industry that were cruel, disgusting, heartbreaking and totally convincing. We also heard about this kind of thing at Animal Acres.
Right now I'm thinking about it from a "helping to end cruelty to animals" mindset. That's what they talk about most at Animal Acres, and it really struck me that animals are not only being killed to feed me, but are forced to suffer and to live their lives in pain because I want a cheeseburger, and because some big agricultural corporation wants more profits. I need to read more and think more about it before I can really start talking about it here, but for now, I have decided to definitely cut meat out of my life. I am not against people having meat in their diets in general, but it seems to me that there needs to be better laws, better protections for animals to make it something honest and healthy and fair to the animals, and if I can do something about that, I'm going to try to find out what it is.
This is complicated. I'm not sure I am ready to go vegan (and all the literature and websites I've visited suggest that making a huge leap into veganism is a mistake), now or ever, but I'm going to look more carefully at the foods I eat and where it all comes from.
I admit that I am already having a hard time with the eggs thing. Today I went looking for information about cruelty-free eggs, and I read a lot of contraditory stuff. Basically, what it comes down to is that these labels are not very well regulated. I got a little overwhelmed by the idea that the labels on cartons don't always mean what you think they mean: that outright lying is going on (I know: I'm naive) by the food industry kind of shocked me. I mean, this is our government we're talking about, and they're letting this go on? I don't eat eggs all that regularly (Chrismtas morning, with my tamales!) but they're in practically everything. Unless I start raising my own chickens (here's the law for the city of Long Beach, from a website called "The City Chicken": "Homeowners are allowed up to 20 hens. No roosters. Must be 20 feet from a dwelling and confined." Um, my backyard is big, but I don't think it's big enough), how do I know how the birds were well-cared for? The other thing is, not only are the animals being abused, but they're being fed horrible things, and given hormones: besides being cruel to them, how can it be healthy for us? I'm not a health nut or particularly spiritual, but it seems greedy, and ignorant, and wrong.
I'm kind of conflicted: I have some facts about the cruel things that are done, I know it goes on, but I'm not sure I can handle reading about it in detail. I'm afraid it's so awful that I won't handle it well. I trust what I learned at Animal Acres, but I'm not sure I'm ready to dive right in and (for example) watch PETA videos or see evidence of cruelty. I want to learn more, but seeing it for myself feels too scary. Can I be effective without seeing it myself? I don't know.
So. I am not perfect. I will make mistakes with this, but I'm going to try to help, and will do my best.
If you're interested in finding more information about Animal Acres, click on the link to the right of this post. They can tell you, in much more detail and much more eloquently, about what they do, and why, better than I can.
(Don't get me wrong, though: I mostly enjoyed hanging out with Sarah and the goats and sheep! I love goats and sheep, and Sarah is awesome!)
One thing I heard this time on the tour was that though some of the animals rescued by Animal Acres do end up dying soon after they're rescued (some of them are just so far gone, too abused, too neglected, to be saved) that what they try to do is to make the last days easy and loving for the animals anyway. That kind of thinking is something very, very special.
On Monday, I happened to catch Jonathan Safran Foer on "Ellen" (he's written a book called "Eating Animals") and he said something that really surprised me: he was talking about the poultry industry, and he suggested that if you can only do one thing (in other words, you still want to eat meat), the no. 1 thing you can do to help animals is to stop eating eggs. Then he gave some grisly details about the poultry industry that were cruel, disgusting, heartbreaking and totally convincing. We also heard about this kind of thing at Animal Acres.
Right now I'm thinking about it from a "helping to end cruelty to animals" mindset. That's what they talk about most at Animal Acres, and it really struck me that animals are not only being killed to feed me, but are forced to suffer and to live their lives in pain because I want a cheeseburger, and because some big agricultural corporation wants more profits. I need to read more and think more about it before I can really start talking about it here, but for now, I have decided to definitely cut meat out of my life. I am not against people having meat in their diets in general, but it seems to me that there needs to be better laws, better protections for animals to make it something honest and healthy and fair to the animals, and if I can do something about that, I'm going to try to find out what it is.
This is complicated. I'm not sure I am ready to go vegan (and all the literature and websites I've visited suggest that making a huge leap into veganism is a mistake), now or ever, but I'm going to look more carefully at the foods I eat and where it all comes from.
I admit that I am already having a hard time with the eggs thing. Today I went looking for information about cruelty-free eggs, and I read a lot of contraditory stuff. Basically, what it comes down to is that these labels are not very well regulated. I got a little overwhelmed by the idea that the labels on cartons don't always mean what you think they mean: that outright lying is going on (I know: I'm naive) by the food industry kind of shocked me. I mean, this is our government we're talking about, and they're letting this go on? I don't eat eggs all that regularly (Chrismtas morning, with my tamales!) but they're in practically everything. Unless I start raising my own chickens (here's the law for the city of Long Beach, from a website called "The City Chicken": "Homeowners are allowed up to 20 hens. No roosters. Must be 20 feet from a dwelling and confined." Um, my backyard is big, but I don't think it's big enough), how do I know how the birds were well-cared for? The other thing is, not only are the animals being abused, but they're being fed horrible things, and given hormones: besides being cruel to them, how can it be healthy for us? I'm not a health nut or particularly spiritual, but it seems greedy, and ignorant, and wrong.
I'm kind of conflicted: I have some facts about the cruel things that are done, I know it goes on, but I'm not sure I can handle reading about it in detail. I'm afraid it's so awful that I won't handle it well. I trust what I learned at Animal Acres, but I'm not sure I'm ready to dive right in and (for example) watch PETA videos or see evidence of cruelty. I want to learn more, but seeing it for myself feels too scary. Can I be effective without seeing it myself? I don't know.
So. I am not perfect. I will make mistakes with this, but I'm going to try to help, and will do my best.
If you're interested in finding more information about Animal Acres, click on the link to the right of this post. They can tell you, in much more detail and much more eloquently, about what they do, and why, better than I can.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The best of 2009
Here it is! 18 (I know 18 is a random number... I think I have another sinus infection; I definitely have a stuffy head; I'm not thinking very clearly right now) of my favorite posts from this past year. Maybe next year I'll be able to come up with 20 of them. Also, maybe next year I'll get them in the right order.
1. January 9, 2009
Do crickets carry the plague?
2. March 12, 2009
I discover that "Don't Let Me Down" is one of my favorite Beatles songs, especially when sung by a cute guy in a dark alley at 11:30 p.m.
3. May 20, 2009
I get a tad bit maudlin when discussing a performance of mine. Still: I like this one a lot.
4. June 25, 2009
I wrote this the morning of Michael Jackson's death, which I didn't know about because it had not yet happened. I was feeling somethng that day, I guess.
5. June 2, 2009
Not much happens in this post, but I like it because it's a fairly typical example of my writing, and the things that interest me.
6. May 5, 2009
I bought tickets to see Stewart Copeland in San Diego and surprisingly put quite a bit of thought into it.
7. August 20, 2009
I wrote a letter to Stewart Copeland.
7.5 September 25, 2009
I wrote another letter to Stewart Copeland.
8. June 6, 2009
We traveled to Washington, D.C., and had a great time. Everything was excellent.
9. July 12, 2009
I helped a friend celebrate his birthday at the theater and got to perform for a bunch of friends.
10. July 29, 2009
Occasionally, I get annoyed.
11. August 25, 2009
I am a fan of moonlit bike rides. Especially when the moon is made of cheese.
12. August 12, 2009
After doing this blog thing for like three years or something crazy like that, I still like doing quizzes. Sometimes I can't think of anything to say on my own.
13. October 8, 2009
I met Stewart Copeland in Hollywood at a booksigning. He signed my hand. He's awesome. No, really: totally, 100% rad.
14. September 24, 2009
My mom had knee surgery. Re-reading this one was hard for me, so I understand if you skip it too, but I don't want to forget that time, either.
15. October 13, 2009
I got cheap and then I colored my hair in my own bathroom. I would like to point out that while it wasn't a total disaster, this month (December) I went back to the salon and let a professional do it, with much better results.
16. November 2, 2009
I start off talking about my outsides, but what I was thinking about was my insides.
17. December 2, 2009
A random bunny sighting makes me happy.
18. December 11, 2009
I can dance if I want to.
1. January 9, 2009
Do crickets carry the plague?
2. March 12, 2009
I discover that "Don't Let Me Down" is one of my favorite Beatles songs, especially when sung by a cute guy in a dark alley at 11:30 p.m.
3. May 20, 2009
I get a tad bit maudlin when discussing a performance of mine. Still: I like this one a lot.
4. June 25, 2009
I wrote this the morning of Michael Jackson's death, which I didn't know about because it had not yet happened. I was feeling somethng that day, I guess.
5. June 2, 2009
Not much happens in this post, but I like it because it's a fairly typical example of my writing, and the things that interest me.
6. May 5, 2009
I bought tickets to see Stewart Copeland in San Diego and surprisingly put quite a bit of thought into it.
7. August 20, 2009
I wrote a letter to Stewart Copeland.
7.5 September 25, 2009
I wrote another letter to Stewart Copeland.
8. June 6, 2009
We traveled to Washington, D.C., and had a great time. Everything was excellent.
9. July 12, 2009
I helped a friend celebrate his birthday at the theater and got to perform for a bunch of friends.
10. July 29, 2009
Occasionally, I get annoyed.
11. August 25, 2009
I am a fan of moonlit bike rides. Especially when the moon is made of cheese.
12. August 12, 2009
After doing this blog thing for like three years or something crazy like that, I still like doing quizzes. Sometimes I can't think of anything to say on my own.
13. October 8, 2009
I met Stewart Copeland in Hollywood at a booksigning. He signed my hand. He's awesome. No, really: totally, 100% rad.
14. September 24, 2009
My mom had knee surgery. Re-reading this one was hard for me, so I understand if you skip it too, but I don't want to forget that time, either.
15. October 13, 2009
I got cheap and then I colored my hair in my own bathroom. I would like to point out that while it wasn't a total disaster, this month (December) I went back to the salon and let a professional do it, with much better results.
16. November 2, 2009
I start off talking about my outsides, but what I was thinking about was my insides.
17. December 2, 2009
A random bunny sighting makes me happy.
18. December 11, 2009
I can dance if I want to.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas greetings
I am so glad to be able to spend this day with my family!
We're wearing purple because it's the color for the type of cancer my mom has (leiomyosarcoma).
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Bye... for now
(If you can name all the people you're referring to as "everyone" and count them off using one hand... can you still call them "everyone"?)
Not that I'm all that busy or anything (my Christmas shopping is finally done!), and I'm working through the holidays (no time off for me!), but I think I need a bit of a break. Oh, I can admit it: my last post was pretty lame. So, in an effort to regroup, re-engergize, and reload, I am hereby granting myself a holiday from blogging. I have been working on a "Best of 2009" list (which will also include content from I Can't Stand [Meeting] You), and I'll get that posted in the next couple of days, but for now, I wish you the happiest of holidays, and I'll be back soon.
I'm so glad you're here and I hope you join me in all my silliness in 2010.
All the best,
Irene
Monday, December 21, 2009
From an LA Times article about a car accident:
(Actually, I am going to be talking mostly about one of the comments from a reader.)
Over the weekend, there was a horrible, fatal accident in San Bernardino where a woman was rear-ended on the freeway by a drunk driver going over 120 miles per hour. She had two people in the car with her, but she was the only fatality. The driver of the other car (the drunk person) survived. The story was pretty short, mostly a retelling of the facts of the accident.
Follows is one of the comments on the story (excerpt):
LAT - not to be morbid, but for people who want to know which cars are safer, not just what NHTSA or IIHS says, how about publishing photos of the vehicles and who was sitting where in each?
Posted by: My Next Car
December 20, 2009 at 10:53 PM
My first reaction was, hell yes, this is morbid. This person is basically asking for diagrams, with circles and arrows indicating the victim's position in the car, so that readers can take this into consideration when buying a new car. "Hmm... the driver of this [Unnamed Make and Model] died but the passenger survived..."
Then I thought - well, maybe just showing a photo of the accident...? Wouldn't it be like those totalled cars they always put up around the local community colleges during the holidays? I think Mothers Against Drunk Driving is responsible for those displays. Now, thinking about it this way, I think it's a great idea. The LA Times should post the photos. I don't know about the idea of using it for car buying data, though (what if it's an older car, for example) but a big color photograph might have some impact (no pun intended) on people.
Anyway, it's a sad story. A lady died because some jerk got in their 2009 Acura after drinking and got that car up to 120 miles per hour (some of the other comments on the story were related to the speed and why vehicles need to go that fast. I don't know about that, but I think it's more important to wonder why assholes need to drink and drive).
So now I preach:
Don't just think about this stuff at the holidays. Drinking and driving is probably the stupidest thing you could possibly do. The drunk person in this story will be charged with gross vehicular manslaughter, driving while intoxicated and causing the death of another, and live the rest of his or her life with this on their conscience. Personally, I don't think I could live with myself.
Be safe.
Over the weekend, there was a horrible, fatal accident in San Bernardino where a woman was rear-ended on the freeway by a drunk driver going over 120 miles per hour. She had two people in the car with her, but she was the only fatality. The driver of the other car (the drunk person) survived. The story was pretty short, mostly a retelling of the facts of the accident.
Follows is one of the comments on the story (excerpt):
LAT - not to be morbid, but for people who want to know which cars are safer, not just what NHTSA or IIHS says, how about publishing photos of the vehicles and who was sitting where in each?
Posted by: My Next Car
December 20, 2009 at 10:53 PM
My first reaction was, hell yes, this is morbid. This person is basically asking for diagrams, with circles and arrows indicating the victim's position in the car, so that readers can take this into consideration when buying a new car. "Hmm... the driver of this [Unnamed Make and Model] died but the passenger survived..."
Then I thought - well, maybe just showing a photo of the accident...? Wouldn't it be like those totalled cars they always put up around the local community colleges during the holidays? I think Mothers Against Drunk Driving is responsible for those displays. Now, thinking about it this way, I think it's a great idea. The LA Times should post the photos. I don't know about the idea of using it for car buying data, though (what if it's an older car, for example) but a big color photograph might have some impact (no pun intended) on people.
Anyway, it's a sad story. A lady died because some jerk got in their 2009 Acura after drinking and got that car up to 120 miles per hour (some of the other comments on the story were related to the speed and why vehicles need to go that fast. I don't know about that, but I think it's more important to wonder why assholes need to drink and drive).
So now I preach:
Don't just think about this stuff at the holidays. Drinking and driving is probably the stupidest thing you could possibly do. The drunk person in this story will be charged with gross vehicular manslaughter, driving while intoxicated and causing the death of another, and live the rest of his or her life with this on their conscience. Personally, I don't think I could live with myself.
Be safe.
Friday, December 18, 2009
I treasure my iTunes library a bit more than is, um, sane (disappointed update)
Note: this message was started Friday, December 18.
Lately I've been having an annoying problem with iTunes. I've been getting an error message that I can't figure out:
"The iTunes library file cannot be saved. You do not have enough access privileges for this operation."
Could anything be more ominous? iTunes gives you no suggestions or options for solving this problem: they merely state that a problem exists. Searching their help files is no help. How does one remedy a lack of access privileges? "Cannot be saved" is apocalyptic and makes me apoplectic when there's seemingly (a) nothing I can do about it and (b) no explanation of what this even means.
Patrick and I both tried to figure it out but none of the suggested solutions we found at Apple's site and various chat boards or whatever have worked (I'm not going to tell you what we did because for one thing, none of it worked and I don't want to perpetuate a bunch of useless fixes. For another thing, people can be very judgmental or unhelpfully helpful about this sort of thing, and I'm not looking for more suggestions at this point, unless you're willing to come over here and do it yourself. I'll buy you lunch!). It started, I guess, when we got a new computer and operating system (yay for Windows 7!). Patrick reinstalled iTunes and everything was good for awhile, until we started getting this error message a blurry amount of time sometime later. I never had this problem when I just had my iPod, so I also don't know if it's the combination of having an iPod and and iPhone? It seems unlikely but what the hell do I know? Earlier this month (or maybe it was last month) I talked to an Apple "Genius" and he told me to do something I had actually done (uninstall and reinstall iTunes, which apparently you have to do in a verrrry specific order or else the planet will blow or the aliens from "Independence Day" will return to Earth intent on destruction). I mean, does the fact that I did what he said before I was told by a Genius to do it make me a Genius? I think not, because one morning soon after, I woke up and came in here to my messy office to download some music and sync my iPod, and my entire fucking library had been wiped out. iTunes was still there, but none of my songs were. We tried all kinds of stuff, but none of it worked.
So I, of course, cried.
My library isn't super-huge (I have about 6,000 songs) but I have cared for and nurtured it for a couple of years now, and it is always growing and being perfected. Yes, I know that sounds creepy. Anyway, I felt like a tool for crying, but Patrick got pissed off (or pretended to be pissed off: all I know is he was incredibly sweet about it) and said, "That's it! Apple sucks! You shouldn't be crying!" I had to leave so I couldn't stick around and see what he did, but while I was at the theater, he fixed it. I didn't even bother to check when I got home because I had resigned myself to having to rebuild my library, but when I did look, there it was, exactly like it had been before the Great Erasure, and everything was fine. (He used the "previous version" thing that's a feature of Windows or something and there apparently were more technical things involved, but I wasn't here to see what he did, and realizing my long-lost library had been saved, I really didn't have time to listen to the details. He was a hero, got a big kiss, and I got reacquainted with my library.)
A few weeks later I started getting the message again. So now, afraid that there's a limited amount of times you can see that message before the whole library is erased (again!), I've once again called Apple.
Right now I am on the phone with Mike (Suzanne started helping me, but Mike is a Senior Advisor. A Genius's Genius, if you will), and he's puzzling it out for me. I have him on speaker phone so while he's crunching this problem, I'm typing. I wonder what he thinks I'm doing? He has a slight Southern-ly accent. When he's thinking, he clucks his tongue. Somehow it's charming. Other times, I think he puts the phone on mute, because all the background noises go away.
Right now we have discovered that my music is in two folders: the iTunes Media folder, and inside the Music Folder that is inside the iTunes media folder! What the hell this all means and if it's the cause of the problem is for Mike to figure out.
Update: Saturday, December 19
So, Mike and I were on the phone together for two hours. He assessed the situation, put me on hold for awhile, I played a few moves in FB Scrabble, kept a kitty from vomiting on the bed, and when he came back, he had some things for us to try. I think basically what I did was created a new iTunes ("iTunes 1"), which he had me do by holding down the shift key, clicking on the start menu, and opening iTunes. Several steps later, a new iTunes had been created. We repopulated (his word, not mine) the new iTunes with my library, which took forever (Mike was impressed with the number of songs I have). Oh, there's something else we did, too, which involved the duplicate library that we did before we created the new iTunes but beats me what it was. I just followed instructions.
Anyway, I was able to stay on the line with him until my library finished but at that point I absolutely had to go: I had to be in Culver City to pick my mom up to take her to chemotherapy at noon, and it was about 11 already when it was finished, and I still had to take a shower! So Mike gave me some parting words of wisdom, counseled me to email him on Monday if anything new happened, and sent me on my way. I didn't have time yesterday after getting home from Culver City (it took me two hours in traffic, and that's not an exaggeration) to play with iTunes: I was too tired and worn out. Instead I watched a couple of cheesy movies on TMC ("Amazing Grace and Chuck," I've already forgotten the name of the other one), and went to bed.
I've been using iTunes all morning (unfortunately my iPod is in the car and I'm still in my pajamas so I haven't synced it yet, but my iPhone synced and backed up just fine) with no problems. And I am getting to know and appreciate my library yet again.
Last 25 songs I listened to during this post (I'm way slow today) - with links:
So I was syncing my iPhone (I'd changed some settings) when I got the goddamn error message again.
Something is seriously wacky here.
Lately I've been having an annoying problem with iTunes. I've been getting an error message that I can't figure out:
"The iTunes library file cannot be saved. You do not have enough access privileges for this operation."
Could anything be more ominous? iTunes gives you no suggestions or options for solving this problem: they merely state that a problem exists. Searching their help files is no help. How does one remedy a lack of access privileges? "Cannot be saved" is apocalyptic and makes me apoplectic when there's seemingly (a) nothing I can do about it and (b) no explanation of what this even means.
Patrick and I both tried to figure it out but none of the suggested solutions we found at Apple's site and various chat boards or whatever have worked (I'm not going to tell you what we did because for one thing, none of it worked and I don't want to perpetuate a bunch of useless fixes. For another thing, people can be very judgmental or unhelpfully helpful about this sort of thing, and I'm not looking for more suggestions at this point, unless you're willing to come over here and do it yourself. I'll buy you lunch!). It started, I guess, when we got a new computer and operating system (yay for Windows 7!). Patrick reinstalled iTunes and everything was good for awhile, until we started getting this error message a blurry amount of time sometime later. I never had this problem when I just had my iPod, so I also don't know if it's the combination of having an iPod and and iPhone? It seems unlikely but what the hell do I know? Earlier this month (or maybe it was last month) I talked to an Apple "Genius" and he told me to do something I had actually done (uninstall and reinstall iTunes, which apparently you have to do in a verrrry specific order or else the planet will blow or the aliens from "Independence Day" will return to Earth intent on destruction). I mean, does the fact that I did what he said before I was told by a Genius to do it make me a Genius? I think not, because one morning soon after, I woke up and came in here to my messy office to download some music and sync my iPod, and my entire fucking library had been wiped out. iTunes was still there, but none of my songs were. We tried all kinds of stuff, but none of it worked.
So I, of course, cried.
My library isn't super-huge (I have about 6,000 songs) but I have cared for and nurtured it for a couple of years now, and it is always growing and being perfected. Yes, I know that sounds creepy. Anyway, I felt like a tool for crying, but Patrick got pissed off (or pretended to be pissed off: all I know is he was incredibly sweet about it) and said, "That's it! Apple sucks! You shouldn't be crying!" I had to leave so I couldn't stick around and see what he did, but while I was at the theater, he fixed it. I didn't even bother to check when I got home because I had resigned myself to having to rebuild my library, but when I did look, there it was, exactly like it had been before the Great Erasure, and everything was fine. (He used the "previous version" thing that's a feature of Windows or something and there apparently were more technical things involved, but I wasn't here to see what he did, and realizing my long-lost library had been saved, I really didn't have time to listen to the details. He was a hero, got a big kiss, and I got reacquainted with my library.)
A few weeks later I started getting the message again. So now, afraid that there's a limited amount of times you can see that message before the whole library is erased (again!), I've once again called Apple.
Right now I am on the phone with Mike (Suzanne started helping me, but Mike is a Senior Advisor. A Genius's Genius, if you will), and he's puzzling it out for me. I have him on speaker phone so while he's crunching this problem, I'm typing. I wonder what he thinks I'm doing? He has a slight Southern-ly accent. When he's thinking, he clucks his tongue. Somehow it's charming. Other times, I think he puts the phone on mute, because all the background noises go away.
Right now we have discovered that my music is in two folders: the iTunes Media folder, and inside the Music Folder that is inside the iTunes media folder! What the hell this all means and if it's the cause of the problem is for Mike to figure out.
Update: Saturday, December 19
So, Mike and I were on the phone together for two hours. He assessed the situation, put me on hold for awhile, I played a few moves in FB Scrabble, kept a kitty from vomiting on the bed, and when he came back, he had some things for us to try. I think basically what I did was created a new iTunes ("iTunes 1"), which he had me do by holding down the shift key, clicking on the start menu, and opening iTunes. Several steps later, a new iTunes had been created. We repopulated (his word, not mine) the new iTunes with my library, which took forever (Mike was impressed with the number of songs I have). Oh, there's something else we did, too, which involved the duplicate library that we did before we created the new iTunes but beats me what it was. I just followed instructions.
Anyway, I was able to stay on the line with him until my library finished but at that point I absolutely had to go: I had to be in Culver City to pick my mom up to take her to chemotherapy at noon, and it was about 11 already when it was finished, and I still had to take a shower! So Mike gave me some parting words of wisdom, counseled me to email him on Monday if anything new happened, and sent me on my way. I didn't have time yesterday after getting home from Culver City (it took me two hours in traffic, and that's not an exaggeration) to play with iTunes: I was too tired and worn out. Instead I watched a couple of cheesy movies on TMC ("Amazing Grace and Chuck," I've already forgotten the name of the other one), and went to bed.
I've been using iTunes all morning (unfortunately my iPod is in the car and I'm still in my pajamas so I haven't synced it yet, but my iPhone synced and backed up just fine) with no problems. And I am getting to know and appreciate my library yet again.
Last 25 songs I listened to during this post (I'm way slow today) - with links:
- Back to the Wall, by Divinyls (Make You Happy)
- Seen and Not Seen, by Talking Heads (Remain in Light)
- You've Never Been Right, by Melvins (A Senile Animal)
- Naked Eye, by the Who (Who's Next)
- Videotape, by Radiohead (In Rainbows)
- My Life Would Suck Without You, by Kelly Clarkson (All I Ever Wanted) shut up
- These Foolish Things, by Bryan Ferry (More Than This - The Best of Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music)
- Walk, by Blind Melon (Soup)
- Caligulove, by Them Crooked Vultures (Them Crooked Vultures)
- Vamos, by the Pixies (Surfer Rosa)
- Doublewide, by Corrosion of Conformity (America's Volume Dealer)
- Sofrimento, by Waldemar Bastos (Luaka Bop 10th Anniversary: Zero Accidents on the Job)
- Timeless Melody, by the La's (The La's)
- Celebrated Summer, by Husker Du (New Day Rising)
- Glider, by Captain Beefheart (The Spotlight Kid)
- I Heard Her Call My Name, by the Velvet Underground (White Light/White Heat)
- Statue of Liberty, by Descendents (Milo Goes to College)
- Can't Get Used to Losing You, by the English Beat (I Just Can't Stop It)
- Water Buffalo, by Aldo Romano, Louis Sclavis, Henri Texier, Guy Le Querrec (Suite Africaine)
- The Love You Save, by the Jackson 5 (Anthology: Jackson 5)
- The Smiling Cobra, by Melvins (Nude With Boots)
- Everyone Says Hi, by David Bowie (Heathen)
- Mongoloid, by Devo (Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!)
- Iluvya, by Thom Yorke (Analyse)
- Understanding, by fIREHOSE (Fromohio)
So I was syncing my iPhone (I'd changed some settings) when I got the goddamn error message again.
Something is seriously wacky here.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
So this is Christmas
(This is a horrible iPhone photo; obviously my sister-in-law got better shots, but I really just wanted to demonstrate how packed the place was. Also I shushed these three men twice during the performance. Just because you're at the back of the house or your kids sang already doesn't mean you can TALK during all the other performances!)Last night we went to my niece and nephew's school Christmas pageant (they go to Catholic school, so they've definitely left Jesus in the holiday). Usually attendance at these pageants is incredibly high so we try to get there early so we can score a couple of seats, but it's been taking me more than an hour to get home, and last night was no exception. I couldn't leave early - I had to work on a project. When I finally got home at 6:25, we decided to walk, since we knew parking would be terrible. It was kind of fun, walking through our neighborhood in the dark, looking at the Christmas lights, together, making it across the Intersection of Death alive.
When we got there, all the seats were taken, and so we ended up standing behind a very nice man and his wife in the doorway to the church (the inside doorway). It turned out to be a great place to be, because we got to see both our niece and nephew make their entrances and exits. My nephew is younger, and when we saw him in his sporty red sweater and khaki pants, I almost didn't recognize him: he looked so serious, and (maybe) a little nervous. My niece, who is growing up, was of course more sophisticated, looked so pretty in her sophisticated black and white wrap dress, with her hair all shiny and perfect (my sister-in-law does a great job with her hair! I wish she'd do mine before work!). The school is K-8, and each class performs one song. They do it with a piano accompaniment, and a conductor, their music teacher. That guy does a great job, because all the performance were wonderful. Some of the song selections are better than others (I have to find out the name of the song my nephew's class did: it was rhythmic and interesting), but the kids are so cute. They get all dressed up and you can tell that for them all, it's a pretty exciting night. If this many people came a to flute choir concert, I would be super nervous and excited too (and I would think Improv Everywhere was punking us)!
We didn't have a program, so we had to guess at each class's grade and if it was our niece or nephew's turn (the little kids, of course, are the easiest) by going, "These kids look younger," or "These kids look older" but eagle eye Patrick spotted each of them first. My niece's class ended the concert (the kids don't perform in order of grade; they keep it interesting by mixing up the little kids with the bigger kids). She was in the front row, so even I, with my lousy vision, could sort of see. Her class did "Happy Christmas (War is Over)," and it was absolutely beautiful. Sometimes I think that's a sappy song, and sometimes I think it's an angry song, and sometimes I think John Lennon was a genius and sometimes I think he was fool, and a bunch of elementary school kids singing "War is over if you want it" in a Catholic church isn't going to change anything... but man, that line right there made me totally cry. The other classes joined in (after they perform, the kids take seats in the front rows and on the floor near the stage); they stood up where they were and faced the audience. I loved it. I think Patrick did too.
We were so proud, and I finally felt a bit of the Christmas spirit, which, I have to admit, has sort of been eluding me this year.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Winter recital
Today I joined Patty's students at her winter recital. I haven't played a solo, as I'm sure I've mentioned, for a couple of years, so I (rightly) chose to play something I knew already - Suite de Trois Morceaux, by Benjamin Godard (first two movements). I pulled my usual act of not practicing nearly enough, but I tried something new this time around: I knew I hadn't worked hard enough but I was really, really calm about it beforehand.
I was also trying not to worry about my flute - it's been making some noises (mechanical in nature) that are worrisome. I totally need to get it into the shop, but I've been putting it off. For one thing, it's way expensive. I had no idea what was going to happen today, so I just wished for the best. Nothing seemed to be wrong with it today, but after Christmas, before flute choir starts in January, I need to have it looked at. Shozo, here I come!
I also played in a trio with Judy and Meagan (the unavoidable Tchaikovsky; we did an arrangement for three flutes and piano of three of the movements from The Nutcracker; my favorite was "Arab Dance"), and played with everyone on three holiday songs (Infant Holy, Infant Lowly; O Hanukkah; and We Wish You a Merry Christmas; I have a distinct fondness for "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," because it was my first ever duet. I played it with Melissa a hundred and one years ago. She played the top, and nailed it. I think I was too green to do much but be nervous about it. This time around I played the bottom, and it was short and sweet). Since I don't get to see Patty's other students very often, it was fun to see and hear them. She has two high school students, Patrick and Meagan, and I love seeing them grow up. They're both great kids. Meagan's playing is wonderful now: she has great tone and is so self-assured and elegant.
My performances were okay. At first I was being very hard on myself - my plan to be calm was fine, and I certainly was very relaxed during the piece, but afterward, I felt bad because of some of the silly things I did. For one thing, my stupid right hand was out of control for some reason. I just could not make it work on this one measure that unfortunately is repeated like a hundred times during the first movement. After the third or fourth time of flubbing the figure, I realized that it was just funny. I let it go but it didn't make it better. I also flubbed my entrance at the end. But afterward, people were very nice about my playing, and I think it must've been better live than it was in my head. Patrick (my Patrick) recorded it with his Blackberry, and though the Blackberry's recording equipment is horrible and the quality is shoddy, I heard the things in my playing that even I have to admit are good: my tone, my pitch (I think - I seemed to have conquered yesterday's problems with being in tune); I was light where I needed to be light and except for the aforementioned figure, I played almost all the fast bits well.
Here's where I get to totally talk up our accompanist, Mark Abulencia. He's an amazing pianist, a wonderful musician, a sweetheart, professional, much more than merely competent; he listens and follows you and when weird things happen (and weird things will always happen) he figures it out and leads you out of it, and sounds great himself while doing it. He's wonderful, and I am so lucky to get to play with him. Thank you, Patty, for hiring him! He makes me want to go back and fix the things I need to fix, re-learn the third movement, and perform it all over again. Maybe next time. Maybe in January I'll take a few more lessons and try to get serious again.
I was also trying not to worry about my flute - it's been making some noises (mechanical in nature) that are worrisome. I totally need to get it into the shop, but I've been putting it off. For one thing, it's way expensive. I had no idea what was going to happen today, so I just wished for the best. Nothing seemed to be wrong with it today, but after Christmas, before flute choir starts in January, I need to have it looked at. Shozo, here I come!
I also played in a trio with Judy and Meagan (the unavoidable Tchaikovsky; we did an arrangement for three flutes and piano of three of the movements from The Nutcracker; my favorite was "Arab Dance"), and played with everyone on three holiday songs (Infant Holy, Infant Lowly; O Hanukkah; and We Wish You a Merry Christmas; I have a distinct fondness for "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," because it was my first ever duet. I played it with Melissa a hundred and one years ago. She played the top, and nailed it. I think I was too green to do much but be nervous about it. This time around I played the bottom, and it was short and sweet). Since I don't get to see Patty's other students very often, it was fun to see and hear them. She has two high school students, Patrick and Meagan, and I love seeing them grow up. They're both great kids. Meagan's playing is wonderful now: she has great tone and is so self-assured and elegant.
My performances were okay. At first I was being very hard on myself - my plan to be calm was fine, and I certainly was very relaxed during the piece, but afterward, I felt bad because of some of the silly things I did. For one thing, my stupid right hand was out of control for some reason. I just could not make it work on this one measure that unfortunately is repeated like a hundred times during the first movement. After the third or fourth time of flubbing the figure, I realized that it was just funny. I let it go but it didn't make it better. I also flubbed my entrance at the end. But afterward, people were very nice about my playing, and I think it must've been better live than it was in my head. Patrick (my Patrick) recorded it with his Blackberry, and though the Blackberry's recording equipment is horrible and the quality is shoddy, I heard the things in my playing that even I have to admit are good: my tone, my pitch (I think - I seemed to have conquered yesterday's problems with being in tune); I was light where I needed to be light and except for the aforementioned figure, I played almost all the fast bits well.
Here's where I get to totally talk up our accompanist, Mark Abulencia. He's an amazing pianist, a wonderful musician, a sweetheart, professional, much more than merely competent; he listens and follows you and when weird things happen (and weird things will always happen) he figures it out and leads you out of it, and sounds great himself while doing it. He's wonderful, and I am so lucky to get to play with him. Thank you, Patty, for hiring him! He makes me want to go back and fix the things I need to fix, re-learn the third movement, and perform it all over again. Maybe next time. Maybe in January I'll take a few more lessons and try to get serious again.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Misplaced sense of obligation? / Solo dance party
I just straightened up my house in preparation for a visit from... the Gas Man, who is coming to relight our pilot lights (they did a little work outside today on our street - we all got new pipes).
This does not speak highly of my (admittedly horrible) housekeeping skills. Then again, maybe if we had visitors more often, perhaps my home would be cleaner more often, too. (Usually I only clean when my parents are coming over, or for my catsitter, who as of yet has not commented on the state of my home while we were in Vegas over Thanksgiving, but I'm sure he could, especially in regard to the mammoth furballs we seem to create.) Yep, we need more guests. Maybe I should plan a Rizzoli Christmas party during the actual holiday season, if it's not too late already.
Hang on, I have to go make the bed. Surely he won't be going in the bedroom but it is sort of visible from the living room.
...
After the gas man left (his name was "Gato," by the way. Seriously? Gato?), I turned the music back up (I had been listening to my iPod while I straightened up; the song playing when I shut it down was some Pearl Jam song), my iPod played "Linger," by the Cranberries, and "Kid," by the Pretenders, and then? Then my iPod hit me with some English Beat. I had started feeling good during "Linger," then couldn't help but sing along with "Kid," but when "Mirror in the Bathroom" came on, I was struck by the unfamiliar desire... to dance.
So?
I turned it up, made sure all the doors were locked, and proceeded to dance around my living room like it was the 9th grade again, and I was at Leadership Camp. The only difference? It wasn't all that dark, and Michelle Broadus wasn't leading the way (that girl could dance). I think those Leadership Camp dances were the last times I ever danced in public, or with someone (Patrick and I like to do a few moves in elevators sometimes but that hardly counts). Nobody was here except the cats, and they were all bundled up under the blankets in the bedroom (obviously the bed never got made), but for about 30 minutes, I pretty much bounced around like Belinda Carlisle in those old Go Go's videos (or the Police, in the video for "Don't Stand So Close to Me"), only not as good. I was definitely leading with my elbows.
I'm all sweaty now, and "I Just Can't Stop It" is still playing in the living room, and I need to practice my flute and finish the laundry before I have to go to Santa Monica for "The Trojan Women," but if a good song comes on next (ooh, maybe "Best Friend" - that's a great song), I'm going back onto the 7x5 rug and, um, cutting it.
See you later.
This does not speak highly of my (admittedly horrible) housekeeping skills. Then again, maybe if we had visitors more often, perhaps my home would be cleaner more often, too. (Usually I only clean when my parents are coming over, or for my catsitter, who as of yet has not commented on the state of my home while we were in Vegas over Thanksgiving, but I'm sure he could, especially in regard to the mammoth furballs we seem to create.) Yep, we need more guests. Maybe I should plan a Rizzoli Christmas party during the actual holiday season, if it's not too late already.
Hang on, I have to go make the bed. Surely he won't be going in the bedroom but it is sort of visible from the living room.
...
After the gas man left (his name was "Gato," by the way. Seriously? Gato?), I turned the music back up (I had been listening to my iPod while I straightened up; the song playing when I shut it down was some Pearl Jam song), my iPod played "Linger," by the Cranberries, and "Kid," by the Pretenders, and then? Then my iPod hit me with some English Beat. I had started feeling good during "Linger," then couldn't help but sing along with "Kid," but when "Mirror in the Bathroom" came on, I was struck by the unfamiliar desire... to dance.
So?
I turned it up, made sure all the doors were locked, and proceeded to dance around my living room like it was the 9th grade again, and I was at Leadership Camp. The only difference? It wasn't all that dark, and Michelle Broadus wasn't leading the way (that girl could dance). I think those Leadership Camp dances were the last times I ever danced in public, or with someone (Patrick and I like to do a few moves in elevators sometimes but that hardly counts). Nobody was here except the cats, and they were all bundled up under the blankets in the bedroom (obviously the bed never got made), but for about 30 minutes, I pretty much bounced around like Belinda Carlisle in those old Go Go's videos (or the Police, in the video for "Don't Stand So Close to Me"), only not as good. I was definitely leading with my elbows.
I'm all sweaty now, and "I Just Can't Stop It" is still playing in the living room, and I need to practice my flute and finish the laundry before I have to go to Santa Monica for "The Trojan Women," but if a good song comes on next (ooh, maybe "Best Friend" - that's a great song), I'm going back onto the 7x5 rug and, um, cutting it.
See you later.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
This looks more promising.
Label/Receipt Number: ##################
Scheduled for Delivery: Thursday, December 10, 2009
Class: Package Services
Service(s): Delivery Confirmation™
Status: Arrival at Post Office
Your item arrived at 5:31 AM on December 10, 2009 in LONG BEACH, CA 90808. Information, if available, is updated periodically throughout the day. Please check again later.
Detailed Results:
Scheduled for Delivery: Thursday, December 10, 2009
Class: Package Services
Service(s): Delivery Confirmation™
Status: Arrival at Post Office
Your item arrived at 5:31 AM on December 10, 2009 in LONG BEACH, CA 90808. Information, if available, is updated periodically throughout the day. Please check again later.
Detailed Results:
 | |
 | Arrival at Post Office, December 10, 2009, 5:31 am, LONG BEACH, CA 90808 |
| Electronic Shipping Info Received, December 09, 2009 |
| Arrived Shipping Partner Facility, December 07, 2009, 11:14 pm, UNION CITY, CA 94587 |
Dear Apple,
Why has my package been sitting in Carson since 3:50 yesterday morning?
(I just ordered a case for my iPhone; don't get excited.)
(I just ordered a case for my iPhone; don't get excited.)
| Date | Time | Location | Activity |
|---|---|---|---|
| 12/9/2009 | 03:50 AM PST | Carson, CA | ARRIVAL DESTINATION DHL GLOBAL MAIL FACILITY |
| 12/8/2009 | 05:45 AM PST | Union City, CA | DEPARTURE ORIGIN DHL GLOBAL MAIL FACILITY |
| 12/8/2009 | 12:08 AM PST | Union City, CA | PROCESSED |
| 12/7/2009 | 11:14 PM PST | Union City, CA | ARRIVAL ORIGIN DHL GLOBAL MAIL FACILITY |
| 12/7/2009 | 08:15 PM PST | Elk Grove, CA | PICK UP |
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Reading stuff
In the summer, I read a story in the LA Times about a little girl who was diagnosed with Childhood Onset Schizophrenia, a very rare (disease? condition?) diagnosis in children. I'm not going to link to it. You can find it quite easily. Anyway, I read the article, and was impressed by the writing, and how the disturbing subject matter was handled. It made me extremely sad, but curious about the topic. And I hoped there would be future updates or features on the little girl (there have been, but not many).
Then, while I was visiting my mom on Monday, we were watching Oprah, and she did a whole show on the little girl the article was about, and interviewed the little girl, her parents, and the author of the LA Times story. It turns out this was a re-run, but the original ran just a couple of months ago.
I was disappointed: Oprah provided nothing that the LA Times story didn't say. She brought nothing to the story but herself, and this is why I am not a fan. But, seeing the show and re-reading the article got me to thinking about the little girl again, and that lead to a Google search, and that lead to me finding her dad's blog.
I read a lot of it it, until it kind of started feeling very exploitative. It's seriously a very raw journal, the full-on "truth" (truth in quotes because that's what he says it is, but how can we know?), and it's rough reading. He writes some very scary things about his past, his own mental health issues, wanting to kill himself, about his relationship with his wife, and about his daughter. To be honest, as I kept reading, I thought, this guy wants to be famous. He must be writing one of those memoirs like "A Million Little Pieces" where the author writes the most horrible stuff about himself and gets rich and famous from it. I'm no longer interested in this type of book (Augusten Burroughs, Dave Eggers... thanks but no thanks). He admits that he's writing a book (and boy I hope he gets an editor. He needs one). The parts that are purely about him were the least interesting things to read (sorry, dude). I am really only interested in the story of the little girl. It's another example of figuring out when too much is too much. I feel very sorry for this little girl: she will probably never have a normal life. Her parents have made decisions that probably mean that they too will never have normal lives. I read a few other blogs that comment on the story, and I read the comments on the father's blog, and most people were either sympathetic or judgmental. I'm not judging - I don't know anything about mental illness or parenting, and I'm definitely not qualified to make any pronouncements on anything related to this story except to say that it affected me, a lot.
I don't know why.
Then, while I was visiting my mom on Monday, we were watching Oprah, and she did a whole show on the little girl the article was about, and interviewed the little girl, her parents, and the author of the LA Times story. It turns out this was a re-run, but the original ran just a couple of months ago.
I was disappointed: Oprah provided nothing that the LA Times story didn't say. She brought nothing to the story but herself, and this is why I am not a fan. But, seeing the show and re-reading the article got me to thinking about the little girl again, and that lead to a Google search, and that lead to me finding her dad's blog.
I read a lot of it it, until it kind of started feeling very exploitative. It's seriously a very raw journal, the full-on "truth" (truth in quotes because that's what he says it is, but how can we know?), and it's rough reading. He writes some very scary things about his past, his own mental health issues, wanting to kill himself, about his relationship with his wife, and about his daughter. To be honest, as I kept reading, I thought, this guy wants to be famous. He must be writing one of those memoirs like "A Million Little Pieces" where the author writes the most horrible stuff about himself and gets rich and famous from it. I'm no longer interested in this type of book (Augusten Burroughs, Dave Eggers... thanks but no thanks). He admits that he's writing a book (and boy I hope he gets an editor. He needs one). The parts that are purely about him were the least interesting things to read (sorry, dude). I am really only interested in the story of the little girl. It's another example of figuring out when too much is too much. I feel very sorry for this little girl: she will probably never have a normal life. Her parents have made decisions that probably mean that they too will never have normal lives. I read a few other blogs that comment on the story, and I read the comments on the father's blog, and most people were either sympathetic or judgmental. I'm not judging - I don't know anything about mental illness or parenting, and I'm definitely not qualified to make any pronouncements on anything related to this story except to say that it affected me, a lot.
I don't know why.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Maturity IS a bitter disappointment.
Side by side comparison (sort of) of my new banner.
Turns out Patrick doesn't like either the hat or my font. He thinks serif fonts are too old-fashioned (or something - I was listening to something at a rather loud volume). Maybe so. Since I like both the goofy photo and the font, I'm not sure how I'm going to handle his notes. My friend Paul's critique was easier to understand: he thought the orange-iness of the font was too brutal. Then again, he only had about two minutes to look, and that was on my iPhone in the dark lobby of the theater.
For now I am going to try just changing the colors around. Maybe the font is just too big or something - but I always fall in love with something and then other people don't fall in love with it and it takes me a long, long time (if ever) to come around to their way of thinking. For now, this is how I want this to look (one of the two choices). Maybe I'll change it later. Maybe not. I mean, I'm not a graphic designer or anything (obviously). I've seen blogs with way worse designs than this one, and who cares, really?
That said, I will definitely appreciate any comments* you all may have, since it's pretty obvious that to the question "who cares," the answer is "I do."
*Well, by "any," you know that I, of course, mean only the nice ones.
Today's silly hat photo
Yesterday I left work early and headed over to Culver City to spend the day with my mom. She had a doctor's appointment (just a follow-up with her primary car physician) but she wasn't feeling good so we stayed home. She ended up taking a nap and we rescheduled the appointment.She had her second chemotherapy treatment last Friday, and this one seems to be affecting her more than the first. She seems okay, but it takes a lot of out of her. Luckily she has this week off from therapy, and can hopefully recuperate some before starting the whole thing all over again.
Before the nap, though, she asked me to make lunch for her and my dad. I made them tuna melts, at their request. I think I freaked them out because instead of celery (which they were out of) I used carrots. They seemed to like their sandwiches, which looked yummy - perfectly golden on the outside, nice and squishy on the inside. I wasn't that hungry so I made myself half a toasted tuna sandwich (minus the "melt" part), but I added raisins to the leftover tuna. I wish I'd had some nuts to put in it, too! Yum, but I think my parents would be shocked. Shocked, I say!
While my mom was napping, I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen (I never cook or clean as much at my own home as I do at my parents' house!) and watched the rain. It was a cold day in Culver City yesterday.
After lunch and my mom's nap, I took the dog for a walk. I don't know if I've talked about Goldie, their dog before, so I will tell you now: Goldie is an aging, beautiful golden retriever. She is 100% retriever: though she's graying and getting a bit less agile, Goldie will play catch with you forever. It's her favorite thing to do. I have literally tossed that ball for her until she's practically limping. She's a sweet dog, and I have been tempted many times to take her home, but she needs more attention than we can give (I work too much! I wish I could stay home with a dog!) and would totally miss my dad, her best friend. It stopped raining for about 20 minutes, and I put on my coat, my scarf, and borrowed my brother Dan's hat (see photo), and took her out. I looked a little weird but it was cold and wet. That hat was warm. I think I look a bit like a chauffer (I always thought that would be a fun job, but that could just be because I loved that movie with Eric Stoltz). Goldie had a good time, I think, but we turned around earlier than I wanted to because of the rain. I didn't want to bring home a wet dog to my mom's clean house.
After the walk, when we got back my mom was up and watching TV with my dad. My dad has a strange fascination with the Maury Povich show (his favorite, Ricki Lake, went off the air in 2004). Total trash! The topic of yesterday's show was typical: DNA tests to determine the fathers of babies. Some of the stories were hard to watch because the people were such trainwrecks. Maury seemed like a good guy, though, I don't know. I could never watch that stuff on a regular basis.
After Maury, I went back in the kitchen, put on my mom's apron, and put together a turkey meatloaf my mom had her heart set on. It was easy, and no gourmet recipe (I followed the directions on the flavor packet, which includes a layer of ketchup on top of the whole thing) but was complicated by the fact that my parents' oven is jacked up. I'm not sure how my brother cooked a whole turkey in there on Thanksgiving, because the temperature was all over the place. It took much longer than I expected to cook that thing (my dad's going to get the oven checked out soon). My dad made mashed potatoes, I cooked a can of corn (ah! Just like the old days!) and finally we sat down to eat. Just like the old days, I helped myself to seconds (and, ahem, thirds). It's a good thing I don't cook at home (see, Patrick?) because we'd have even more serious weight issues to deal with.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Thursday's random thoughts
A friend posted something about the full moon tonight in his Facebook status. I could've sworn the moon was full last week. Which one of us is wrong?
I am ashamed to admit that I am compelled to watch the skanks of the Real Housewives of Orange County, and I find it interesting that now that Jeana, the only one who was pretty enough to be an actual Playmate, is gone, the show seems even skankier than ever. Could it be that she had some class?
My feet hurt.
I'm not getting enough sleep and I'm eating too much and I haven't been on my bike in a MONTH.
I think I am thinking about a new job and this worries me because my current job is kind of great. It might not be the job that's the problem.
I had mentioned awhile back that I was considering taking a writing class at UCLA Extension starting in January but it looks like the money is not readily available (I don't want to put it on a credit card; those classes are expensive) so I will wait until the spring. This is fine. I just wonder how much of my sanguinity about putting it on hold is due to the fact that I might be scared. That's fine, too. It's just something to think about. Also, I'm not sure if I used "sanguinity" properly. Spell check keeps thinking it's misspelled. The word I'm really looking for would mean "acceptance." Whatever: I'm tired.
I had a weekend off from being in the booth, and I go back tomorrow after a very busy day (errands around town in the morning, then a concert at Lamp Community in downtown Los Angeles for the residents there, then a flute lesson, then hopefully a nap on Patty's couch), and I'm totally looking forward to it, but at the same time it's a lot to do. And this month is just getting busier.
Finally, Patrick doesn't like my new banner, and I'm trying to figure out if it's him, or me. I like it, but that might be because I made it. Now I'm not sure. I made new ones for the Stewart Copeland and Flute Choir blogs too (he likes those just fine). What do you think? It could be that he just doesn't like that stupid hat, but the hat is supposed to be stupid. I am supposed to look ridiculous. His actual comment was concerning the size of the font, but like I said, I like it. He has a very good eye for this sort of thing, though, so I don't know. Grr.
My co-workers and I may have seen a baby mountain lion on our walk today. That's really cool, but it doesn't bode well for the bunny I saw yesterday.
I'm going to bed.
'Night.
I am ashamed to admit that I am compelled to watch the skanks of the Real Housewives of Orange County, and I find it interesting that now that Jeana, the only one who was pretty enough to be an actual Playmate, is gone, the show seems even skankier than ever. Could it be that she had some class?
My feet hurt.
I'm not getting enough sleep and I'm eating too much and I haven't been on my bike in a MONTH.
I think I am thinking about a new job and this worries me because my current job is kind of great. It might not be the job that's the problem.
I had mentioned awhile back that I was considering taking a writing class at UCLA Extension starting in January but it looks like the money is not readily available (I don't want to put it on a credit card; those classes are expensive) so I will wait until the spring. This is fine. I just wonder how much of my sanguinity about putting it on hold is due to the fact that I might be scared. That's fine, too. It's just something to think about. Also, I'm not sure if I used "sanguinity" properly. Spell check keeps thinking it's misspelled. The word I'm really looking for would mean "acceptance." Whatever: I'm tired.
I had a weekend off from being in the booth, and I go back tomorrow after a very busy day (errands around town in the morning, then a concert at Lamp Community in downtown Los Angeles for the residents there, then a flute lesson, then hopefully a nap on Patty's couch), and I'm totally looking forward to it, but at the same time it's a lot to do. And this month is just getting busier.
Finally, Patrick doesn't like my new banner, and I'm trying to figure out if it's him, or me. I like it, but that might be because I made it. Now I'm not sure. I made new ones for the Stewart Copeland and Flute Choir blogs too (he likes those just fine). What do you think? It could be that he just doesn't like that stupid hat, but the hat is supposed to be stupid. I am supposed to look ridiculous. His actual comment was concerning the size of the font, but like I said, I like it. He has a very good eye for this sort of thing, though, so I don't know. Grr.
My co-workers and I may have seen a baby mountain lion on our walk today. That's really cool, but it doesn't bode well for the bunny I saw yesterday.
I'm going to bed.
'Night.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Be vewy, vewy quiet....
At my work, like most places, I get two 15 minute breaks. Since I usually I roll into work about 11 minutes late every morning, I skip the first break and hope that my boss notices (or doesn't notice, whichever works out better for me), but later in the day, I do try to take a walk. Getting out of the office at least once is a must or else I go nuts and start thinking about my co-workers in less than friendly terms. Today I was ready to go at 3:30 but apparently there was some brouhaha from yesterday about coverage and nobody being here (I was scheduled off so I missed the whole thing)... so instead of standing around waiting for my co-workers to figure out what they should do, I went by myself.
A couple of months ago, we received a message from one of the executives warning those of us who walk (East LA! I work in East LA!) that a mountain lion had been spotted up in this area, which is literally just above the 710 freeway. There is a helicopter pad and a dog run where the sheriffs' department people bring their K-9 companions for lunch time ball breaks. There's a shooting range. It's definitely not desolate up there. In the communication we were warned not to go by ourselves, and given tips on what to do should we see a mountain lion (don't run, don't crouch down, wave your arms and try to appear larger, fight back, etc.).
In spite of the mountain lion scare, and because by going alone, I could call my friend Michael earlier in the day rather than waiting to do it on my way home, I was fine with the idea that I had just ditched my co-workers. I was walking up the hill, had just passed the fire station on my right, and I was talking to Michael about some upcoming comedy gigs he has and mocking his pantry and what he would serve a surprise guest ("What are you offering him? Cigarettes and beef jerky?") when coming toward me, down the hill, was the cutest little bunny you've ever seen. He was brown, with a big fluffy white tail. He was running, fast. I interrupted Michael and said (and by "said" you should realize that I mean "screeched") "Bunny!" Michael kept talking. Apparently at this point my voice was only audible to dogs. "Bunny!" I said. "I saw a bunny!" By this time the bunny had bounded toward me, crossed the street, and plunged himself into a big bush of flowers. I laughed - how could I not? Bunnies make me happy! - and Michael laughed, and commanded me to write about it, which I have just done.
Now, it's not that interesting, what I have just written, but it is done. I am nothing if not obedient.
When I came back and told my co-workers, who were just then gearing up to go for their own walk, one of them asked how big Mr. Bunny was. "He was pretty small," I said. "Darn," he said. "I'm starting to get hungry." Tomorrow I'm going to recommend that this particular co-worker of mine start taking solo walks. What do mountain lions eat, I wonder...
(Yes, I am aware that mountain lions probably eat bunnies. Shut up now, please.)
A couple of months ago, we received a message from one of the executives warning those of us who walk (East LA! I work in East LA!) that a mountain lion had been spotted up in this area, which is literally just above the 710 freeway. There is a helicopter pad and a dog run where the sheriffs' department people bring their K-9 companions for lunch time ball breaks. There's a shooting range. It's definitely not desolate up there. In the communication we were warned not to go by ourselves, and given tips on what to do should we see a mountain lion (don't run, don't crouch down, wave your arms and try to appear larger, fight back, etc.).
In spite of the mountain lion scare, and because by going alone, I could call my friend Michael earlier in the day rather than waiting to do it on my way home, I was fine with the idea that I had just ditched my co-workers. I was walking up the hill, had just passed the fire station on my right, and I was talking to Michael about some upcoming comedy gigs he has and mocking his pantry and what he would serve a surprise guest ("What are you offering him? Cigarettes and beef jerky?") when coming toward me, down the hill, was the cutest little bunny you've ever seen. He was brown, with a big fluffy white tail. He was running, fast. I interrupted Michael and said (and by "said" you should realize that I mean "screeched") "Bunny!" Michael kept talking. Apparently at this point my voice was only audible to dogs. "Bunny!" I said. "I saw a bunny!" By this time the bunny had bounded toward me, crossed the street, and plunged himself into a big bush of flowers. I laughed - how could I not? Bunnies make me happy! - and Michael laughed, and commanded me to write about it, which I have just done.
Now, it's not that interesting, what I have just written, but it is done. I am nothing if not obedient.
When I came back and told my co-workers, who were just then gearing up to go for their own walk, one of them asked how big Mr. Bunny was. "He was pretty small," I said. "Darn," he said. "I'm starting to get hungry." Tomorrow I'm going to recommend that this particular co-worker of mine start taking solo walks. What do mountain lions eat, I wonder...
(Yes, I am aware that mountain lions probably eat bunnies. Shut up now, please.)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
A couple things I learned while visiting Las Vegas:
During the relatively quick trip there (4 and a half hours):
Patrick has the best music for road trips. Though I may have more actual music on my iPod (over 8,000 songs but it doesn't function in his vehicle) his music has not all been listened to over and over again. My music lacks a certain amount of newness. A sampling of what we listened to from LA to Las Vegas: Meshugga (from Wikipedia: "Meshugga is a Swedish five-piece experimental metal band formed in 1987"), Captain Beefheart (Clear Spot, The Spotlight Kid), Dr. Nico, Melvins, Eric Dolphy, Bolt Thrower, Slayer, Fela Kuti. So we had some avant garde weirdo stuff, a bunch of metal, punk, jazz, afrobeat, and SLAYER. I was most pleased with the Slayer. We pulled onto the Strip listening to Fela, though, and it was perfection.
About drinking:
If one is a casual drinker (myself), i.e., I really don't drink very often anymore, maybe once every couple of months, perhaps starting things out with four gin and tonics and half of Patrick's whiskey sour in quick succession was a poor decision. Following the G&T's with a couple of Newcastles? Total insanity.
However, this face (see photo) can be eradicated quite simply: one must simply drink a ton of water and take a couple of Advil. A couple of hours later, problem solved! Let's do it all over again (with a bit of moderation this time)!
About hotels:
We stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel, which was fun, loud, young, with lots of fun stuff to listen to and see (including an in-house tattoo parlor). Our room was a bit disappointing but Candice and Adrian's mini-suite with corner windows was really nice. Well, the price was definitely right. We walked around to other hotels and casinos, and finally went to the Wynn, which is, in one word, GORGEOUS. Totally sublime. Elegant. Beautiful floors. Patrick and I had a couple of margaritas while sitting on a heated patio overlooking a lovely pool and waterfall. We were a tiny bit scruffier than the rest of the crowd, but we loved it.
On foreign languages:
While visiting the Paris casino, it is funny how funny all the ladies in the ladies room found the translations provided via speakers of "Useful phrases" from French to English ("What happens here stays here," "Would it offend you if I told you how sexy your body is?," "Oh sheet! I lost my wedding ring!"). I'll admit it: I thought it was funny, too.
On gambling:
I would prefer to spend my money on drinks and cabs.
About showgirls:
We saw the classic Vegas production Jubilee! on Saturday night at Bally's (we saw the topless show, not the earlier, family-friendly show), and it was beautiful, fun, and just a bit too long for my teeny attention span (though I suspect Patrick and Adrian will disagree). Those women have beautiful bodies and incredible posture. I got inspired to stand up straight. Shoulders back, chest out: I can do that. Also? I think I need feathers.
During the longest ride home:
.jpg)
It took us twice as long to get home as it did to get there. I had received tips from a few friends advising us that Sunday was a bad day to go home, but our schedule couldn't be changed. Patrick is a champ, and didn't need relieving at the wheel (that sounds different than what I was originally trying to say) (also, it took awhile for the giant mimosa I had at breakfast to wear off). Also, it's amazing what Slayer can do. We were in good spirits and had fun. And I learned: never eat an entire can of Pringles during an 8 hour drive.
Best of all, I was reminded that a road trip to Vegas with Patrick is fun, fun, fun. We laughed so much, and had a great time. More pictures later.
Patrick has the best music for road trips. Though I may have more actual music on my iPod (over 8,000 songs but it doesn't function in his vehicle) his music has not all been listened to over and over again. My music lacks a certain amount of newness. A sampling of what we listened to from LA to Las Vegas: Meshugga (from Wikipedia: "Meshugga is a Swedish five-piece experimental metal band formed in 1987"), Captain Beefheart (Clear Spot, The Spotlight Kid), Dr. Nico, Melvins, Eric Dolphy, Bolt Thrower, Slayer, Fela Kuti. So we had some avant garde weirdo stuff, a bunch of metal, punk, jazz, afrobeat, and SLAYER. I was most pleased with the Slayer. We pulled onto the Strip listening to Fela, though, and it was perfection.
About drinking:
If one is a casual drinker (myself), i.e., I really don't drink very often anymore, maybe once every couple of months, perhaps starting things out with four gin and tonics and half of Patrick's whiskey sour in quick succession was a poor decision. Following the G&T's with a couple of Newcastles? Total insanity.
However, this face (see photo) can be eradicated quite simply: one must simply drink a ton of water and take a couple of Advil. A couple of hours later, problem solved! Let's do it all over again (with a bit of moderation this time)!About hotels:
We stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel, which was fun, loud, young, with lots of fun stuff to listen to and see (including an in-house tattoo parlor). Our room was a bit disappointing but Candice and Adrian's mini-suite with corner windows was really nice. Well, the price was definitely right. We walked around to other hotels and casinos, and finally went to the Wynn, which is, in one word, GORGEOUS. Totally sublime. Elegant. Beautiful floors. Patrick and I had a couple of margaritas while sitting on a heated patio overlooking a lovely pool and waterfall. We were a tiny bit scruffier than the rest of the crowd, but we loved it.
On foreign languages:
While visiting the Paris casino, it is funny how funny all the ladies in the ladies room found the translations provided via speakers of "Useful phrases" from French to English ("What happens here stays here," "Would it offend you if I told you how sexy your body is?," "Oh sheet! I lost my wedding ring!"). I'll admit it: I thought it was funny, too.
On gambling:
I would prefer to spend my money on drinks and cabs.
About showgirls:
We saw the classic Vegas production Jubilee! on Saturday night at Bally's (we saw the topless show, not the earlier, family-friendly show), and it was beautiful, fun, and just a bit too long for my teeny attention span (though I suspect Patrick and Adrian will disagree). Those women have beautiful bodies and incredible posture. I got inspired to stand up straight. Shoulders back, chest out: I can do that. Also? I think I need feathers.
During the longest ride home:
.jpg)
It took us twice as long to get home as it did to get there. I had received tips from a few friends advising us that Sunday was a bad day to go home, but our schedule couldn't be changed. Patrick is a champ, and didn't need relieving at the wheel (that sounds different than what I was originally trying to say) (also, it took awhile for the giant mimosa I had at breakfast to wear off). Also, it's amazing what Slayer can do. We were in good spirits and had fun. And I learned: never eat an entire can of Pringles during an 8 hour drive.Best of all, I was reminded that a road trip to Vegas with Patrick is fun, fun, fun. We laughed so much, and had a great time. More pictures later.
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