Tired of constantly bemoaning the fact that I couldn't even walk up the 18 steps required to reach my front door without getting winded, I decided to take back up the idea of exercising. Specifically, exercise through weight lifting. Because, see, there was a brief period of my life(June 2001-September 2002) in which I was totally awesome at: 1) picking up heavy things and 2) having gigantic arms. I vaguely remembered it being pretty cool.
Sadly I forgot about the fact that it goddamn hurts to start lifting weights. Instead, I was all rose-colored glasses, chock full of enthusiasm, "getting in shape is awesome!", et al.
Good lord, what was I thinking? Enthusiasm is both dangerous and wildly overrated. I picked up a couple of sets of dumbbells from our local sports emporium over the weekend and started back up like I had never stopped. This was stupid on so many levels that it's hard to properly describe without the use of ridiculously large fonts. Even when I was in remotely good shape, just easing in to a normal routine is a pain and a half. Picking up a mid level set of weights and going through your old routine out of the blue is like joining an NFL team on opening day because you used to play pick-up flag football on the weekends 10 years ago.
Since then I have spent better than 5 days in monumental agony from ever part of my body, with the exception of maybe my scalp and ears. Arms, legs, chest, even my neck, you name it, it hurts. After the round of lunges I completed on Tuesday, based on the amount of pain caused by just sitting down, I firmly believe that my ass will be the most spectacular thing in the world when I get done. Otherwise there is no possible way that this pain could be worth it.
And see, that's how they get you. Now I have to continue on with this ridiculous regimen, since if I don't it will have been not only a huge waste of time, it's a huge waste of pain. It will have been an entire week of moaning every time I took a step, falling into chairs rather than sitting down, and wincing like a gunshot victim each time I reached for a piece of paper, all for exactly nothing. I'm way too narcissistic to admit that large of a tactical error. Plus, when you add in the fact that I tend to have a self-worth that is directly tied to the size of my biceps, you can almost guarantee that, short of the destruction of a tendon or similar, I will not stop until I reach crazy buff guy status again.
This is exactly why people think that guys who go to the gym have no brains. Because, seriously: makes no sense whatsoever, causes wild amounts of pain, physical cues the exact opposite of the intended result, yet I keep on going.
It's a sickness, I tell you.
...
...
...
But man, just check out my arms!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
June Showers
Even though I don't own the condo I'm living in, I take a weird sort of pride in the place. It's a combination of it's age and quirkiness, I think, along with the fact that I'm renting it directly form a landlord, rather than from an apartment complex.
So when I find that the floors tend to slant even more than I realized, I don't get annoyed and call maintenance, I find it adds character to the place and take my own precautions. And when I turn around and run into the wall in the bathroom, I don't get mad at the incompetent placement of the toilet, I chuckle at how charming and unique the layout is. Faced with faulty wiring, I would probably praise the rustic nature of my new home, but luckily it hasn't come to that yet.
For now all my annoyances are minor and are far outweighed by knowing that when you walk in the door to my house, your first thought isn't "What low-rent hell have I gotten myself into now?"
The fact that the thought is probably "Why am I sliding downhill in the living room?" is irrelevant to me.
In the spirit of appreciating what you have, I try my best to take care of things on my own and not get the landlord involved in minor inconveniences. Whereas two months ago I felt justified calling my apartment complex with righteous indignation because the florescent light in my kitchen had burned out after only 3 years of constant use, I am far more likely to tackle gigantic home improvement projects by myself now. Despite knowing absolutely nothing about even the basics of, say, circuit breakers, or how one goes about 'grounding' a live wire, I still like to go it alone. Usually, though, I'm far more concerned with other pressing issues, like whether it's an "Allen" wrench or an "Alan" wrench, and exactly who this Allen/Alan guy was in the first place. But in any case, it's become almost a matter of principle that I don't go for help.
When minor annoyance #23, the shower head is shorter than I am and sprays practically no water, finally became to much to bear, I went out and found a replacement fixture and decided that I would install it myself that same afternoon.
Extracting the old shower head proved to be a very simple process of unscrewing a single bolt, and I felt pretty good about my chances of completing the project without physically injuring myself or flooding anything. However, when I attempted to attach the new head, the connecting pipe proved to be 2 inches too long for the existing fixture mounted to the wall. I was a bit stymied at first, but ultimately decided that all I needed to do was use a hacksaw to saw off the excess pipe from the new piece and everything would work out fine. Necessity being the mother of invention and other similar trite platitudes, et cetera, et cetera.
Sadly, I do not own a hacksaw. Or a saw for that matter. I systematically went through the house and found that the only sharp edge I owned was a set of steak knives that I had bought over 3 years ago. These were a set of 5 plastic-handled knives that I had picked up on clearance at Walmart, chosen primarily because they came with their own wooden block for storage, and at the time I hadn't had anywhere else to keep utensils. Also, the fact that the whole set cost $3.99 was appealing to my broke self at the time. These knives were not serrated and I doubted they held a sharp edge at all. Knowing that I had never cut myself with them despite my innate clumsiness, it seemed almost impossible that these guys held any stronger cutting power than a butter knife or pair of safety scissors.
I still tried using them, though, as I hated to throw in the towel on my first real home improvement project so quickly. I worked for a full half-hour at the plastic pipe, sawing back and forth with varying degrees of fervor, often pretending that I was playing a particularly cheap violin, before finally declaring it a lost cause. 30 minutes of work had left a cut that barely qualified for the term. "Depression" might have been a more accurate word, in more than one sense.
Thinking that there may be other, less brute-force/round-peg-square-hole sort of solutions to my problem, I went to the nearby home improvement mega-store and explained my problem to a sales clerk there. He returned in short order with a smug look and a 37 cent pipe extender that would take care of the whole issue without use of a single tool. Never mind my initial request to be pointed in the direction of the hacksaw department.
Suitably chastised, I went home and applied his solution in under 2 minutes. The extender fit easily to the pipe, and similarly to the shower head. When I turned the water on a steady stream of water came out, at the proper height and pressure. I was vindicated by my domination of sheer will over plumbing, but was sad that it took professional guidance towards a piece of equipment that cost less than a pack of gum to achieve it.
The next day, I woke up and took my first shower with proper water pressure in a month, still slightly stinging over my not-quite-moral victory. I appreciated the strength of the water and the fact that I didn't need to bend at the waist to rinse my hair, but that wasted half-hour flailing at a plastic tube with the dullest knife in the world still irked me. As petty as it was, I really wished someone else hadn't been the one to solve the problem for me so easily.
As it was, I probably should have been a bit more specific in my wish. As I finished the final rinse of my hair, the pipe extender, so graciously provided to me by the smirking clerk, snapped in half. Causing the new shower head to come smacking down into the back of my head, and sending a wild spray of water that soaked the entire bathroom before I could recover from the blow long enough to get the water turned off.
It's a hollow victory, to be sure. Actually, thinking about it, it's not so much a victory at all but a complete and utter defeat. Still, I feel...better. So someday when I do get the shower to work (we are back to the old, wildly inferior shower head until I come up with a working solution) it will be all my own doing, and I can proudly proclaim my handiness and plumbing mastery for all the world to see.
So when I find that the floors tend to slant even more than I realized, I don't get annoyed and call maintenance, I find it adds character to the place and take my own precautions. And when I turn around and run into the wall in the bathroom, I don't get mad at the incompetent placement of the toilet, I chuckle at how charming and unique the layout is. Faced with faulty wiring, I would probably praise the rustic nature of my new home, but luckily it hasn't come to that yet.
For now all my annoyances are minor and are far outweighed by knowing that when you walk in the door to my house, your first thought isn't "What low-rent hell have I gotten myself into now?"
The fact that the thought is probably "Why am I sliding downhill in the living room?" is irrelevant to me.
In the spirit of appreciating what you have, I try my best to take care of things on my own and not get the landlord involved in minor inconveniences. Whereas two months ago I felt justified calling my apartment complex with righteous indignation because the florescent light in my kitchen had burned out after only 3 years of constant use, I am far more likely to tackle gigantic home improvement projects by myself now. Despite knowing absolutely nothing about even the basics of, say, circuit breakers, or how one goes about 'grounding' a live wire, I still like to go it alone. Usually, though, I'm far more concerned with other pressing issues, like whether it's an "Allen" wrench or an "Alan" wrench, and exactly who this Allen/Alan guy was in the first place. But in any case, it's become almost a matter of principle that I don't go for help.
When minor annoyance #23, the shower head is shorter than I am and sprays practically no water, finally became to much to bear, I went out and found a replacement fixture and decided that I would install it myself that same afternoon.
Extracting the old shower head proved to be a very simple process of unscrewing a single bolt, and I felt pretty good about my chances of completing the project without physically injuring myself or flooding anything. However, when I attempted to attach the new head, the connecting pipe proved to be 2 inches too long for the existing fixture mounted to the wall. I was a bit stymied at first, but ultimately decided that all I needed to do was use a hacksaw to saw off the excess pipe from the new piece and everything would work out fine. Necessity being the mother of invention and other similar trite platitudes, et cetera, et cetera.
Sadly, I do not own a hacksaw. Or a saw for that matter. I systematically went through the house and found that the only sharp edge I owned was a set of steak knives that I had bought over 3 years ago. These were a set of 5 plastic-handled knives that I had picked up on clearance at Walmart, chosen primarily because they came with their own wooden block for storage, and at the time I hadn't had anywhere else to keep utensils. Also, the fact that the whole set cost $3.99 was appealing to my broke self at the time. These knives were not serrated and I doubted they held a sharp edge at all. Knowing that I had never cut myself with them despite my innate clumsiness, it seemed almost impossible that these guys held any stronger cutting power than a butter knife or pair of safety scissors.
I still tried using them, though, as I hated to throw in the towel on my first real home improvement project so quickly. I worked for a full half-hour at the plastic pipe, sawing back and forth with varying degrees of fervor, often pretending that I was playing a particularly cheap violin, before finally declaring it a lost cause. 30 minutes of work had left a cut that barely qualified for the term. "Depression" might have been a more accurate word, in more than one sense.
Thinking that there may be other, less brute-force/round-peg-square-hole sort of solutions to my problem, I went to the nearby home improvement mega-store and explained my problem to a sales clerk there. He returned in short order with a smug look and a 37 cent pipe extender that would take care of the whole issue without use of a single tool. Never mind my initial request to be pointed in the direction of the hacksaw department.
Suitably chastised, I went home and applied his solution in under 2 minutes. The extender fit easily to the pipe, and similarly to the shower head. When I turned the water on a steady stream of water came out, at the proper height and pressure. I was vindicated by my domination of sheer will over plumbing, but was sad that it took professional guidance towards a piece of equipment that cost less than a pack of gum to achieve it.
The next day, I woke up and took my first shower with proper water pressure in a month, still slightly stinging over my not-quite-moral victory. I appreciated the strength of the water and the fact that I didn't need to bend at the waist to rinse my hair, but that wasted half-hour flailing at a plastic tube with the dullest knife in the world still irked me. As petty as it was, I really wished someone else hadn't been the one to solve the problem for me so easily.
As it was, I probably should have been a bit more specific in my wish. As I finished the final rinse of my hair, the pipe extender, so graciously provided to me by the smirking clerk, snapped in half. Causing the new shower head to come smacking down into the back of my head, and sending a wild spray of water that soaked the entire bathroom before I could recover from the blow long enough to get the water turned off.
It's a hollow victory, to be sure. Actually, thinking about it, it's not so much a victory at all but a complete and utter defeat. Still, I feel...better. So someday when I do get the shower to work (we are back to the old, wildly inferior shower head until I come up with a working solution) it will be all my own doing, and I can proudly proclaim my handiness and plumbing mastery for all the world to see.
Monday, June 11, 2007
How I Spent My Weekend
This is my nephew, Elijah. He is awesome and 5 days old. Also, he's very tiny. He tends to sneeze a lot. I held him for upwards of 20 minutes, and didn't break him at all. I now feel older than the earth.
That is all.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Notice of Construction
Update (6/7/07): Total blog overhaul complete. Let me know if you see anything broken or out of place.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Hear What I'm Sayin'?
On Sunday night I had my usual 3 month ear treatment for my allergies, as is common for all people who are chronically and unendingly sick for no apparent reason. It's just a quick flush of my ears to keep them from swelling too much because of whatever allergy du jour I am suffering from.
It's nothing big, takes maybe an hour all told, but does require me to lie on the couch with my head perfectly sideways for two long stretches of time. This is not so much a hardship, seeing as that's how I spend the majority of my weekends anyway. Usually my reasoning for doing so is less defined, like "oh, I was out late last night (until 11:00!)," or "I have to go to work in a couple of days, I really should conserve my strength." Now that I had a genuine excuse, lying on the couch was an excellent, guilt-free chance at laziness.
The problem I had though, was that the treatment leaves me deaf for the duration, since while the medicine is acting my ear is totally closed off. This made watching TV an issue, as the speaking component tends to add a lot to the pretty, pretty pictures that are flashing by. And closed captioning was out of the question; since my head was at a 90 degree angle to the TV and I don't possess the mental wherewithal to read vertically.
So what is a person to do? In my case, I decided to watch the latest movie in our Blockbuster queue in complete silence, and just fill in the dialogue in my head as it went along. You would think this would be difficult, especially seeing as it was a movie I had never seen before. Until I tell you the title of the movie (The Hitcher) and you realize that if anything, the actual dialogue in the movie probably would have detracted from the overall experience.
(Note: Wildly Extensive, All Encompassing SPOILERS are upcoming for the entire film. On the bizarre chance that you actually care for a single second about the plot behind this movie and have not yet experience the (wrong-kind-of) horror of it firsthand, I would recommend skipping this post entirely. And also seriously reevaluating your priorities in life.)
Y'all, deeply and truly - there has never been a more painfully telegraphed movie since the age of silent films. I didn't hear a single word any of the cast members said, but I bet I could give you just as good a synopsis as anyone who was unfortunate enough to see and hear the whole thing without the hindrance (aid?) of ear medication.
And okay, I know that people always say that movies should "show, not tell" in order to get their message across, but at some point you reach the overkill stage. And in this movie, I'm pretty sure we reached that stage approximately 20 minutes in, when we were treated to our 5th close up of Sean Bean's face looking as menacing as possible. And then again in the 21st minute when we got our 42nd close up of Sophia Bush looking scared.
I suppose I could have potentially gotten a little confused when the protagonists stole a cop car and started what seemed to be a multi-state high speed chase (with helicopter!). But the movie helpfully cleared all that up when it had Sean Bean kill every police officer and destroy every police car (and almost the helicopter!) involved, without so much as blinking.
And then for good measure, killed off the main character hot guy (In the most awesome and ridiculous way possible. Seriously, that was the best part of the movie by a mile.). At that point, I rapidly lost interest.
Without the particular brand of attention grabbing that only a cute guy can provide, I got intensely bored and tried to take on the near insurmountable task of misinterpreting the most obvious movie ever, with the remaining 15 minutes. Was there any way Sophia Bush could be interpreted as the villain and Sean Bean the tragic anti-hero, arrested for the wrong crime, a la Harrison Ford in The Fugitive? This was my new quest and I attempted it with every fiber of my being.
Sadly, I think I failed. Primarily because immediately after my vow, Sean Bean totally ripped some guy's throat out, shot another policeman in the head, and then did the same to a third. Shortly afterwards I thought I might make a go of it when, for some unknown reason, Sophia Bush stole the last remaining policeman's gun, leaving him helpless and trapped in a crashed car to die, and released Sean Bean from the back of a locked police vehicle to finish the job for her. But in the end, even when she smoked him with a goddamn shotgun, I still didn't feel like I came anywhere near my goal. I mean, her death count was only 1. I'm pretty sure at final count Sean had at least 14, two of which were kids and one in which he literally ripped a guy in half.
Sadly, no one wins with this abomination of a movie.
On the plus side though, with or without sound, I can recommend that no one ever, ever, ever again watch this movie.
I'm glad I could be of service.
Oh, and hey, now my ears are super clear.
It's nothing big, takes maybe an hour all told, but does require me to lie on the couch with my head perfectly sideways for two long stretches of time. This is not so much a hardship, seeing as that's how I spend the majority of my weekends anyway. Usually my reasoning for doing so is less defined, like "oh, I was out late last night (until 11:00!)," or "I have to go to work in a couple of days, I really should conserve my strength." Now that I had a genuine excuse, lying on the couch was an excellent, guilt-free chance at laziness.
The problem I had though, was that the treatment leaves me deaf for the duration, since while the medicine is acting my ear is totally closed off. This made watching TV an issue, as the speaking component tends to add a lot to the pretty, pretty pictures that are flashing by. And closed captioning was out of the question; since my head was at a 90 degree angle to the TV and I don't possess the mental wherewithal to read vertically.
So what is a person to do? In my case, I decided to watch the latest movie in our Blockbuster queue in complete silence, and just fill in the dialogue in my head as it went along. You would think this would be difficult, especially seeing as it was a movie I had never seen before. Until I tell you the title of the movie (The Hitcher) and you realize that if anything, the actual dialogue in the movie probably would have detracted from the overall experience.
(Note: Wildly Extensive, All Encompassing SPOILERS are upcoming for the entire film. On the bizarre chance that you actually care for a single second about the plot behind this movie and have not yet experience the (wrong-kind-of) horror of it firsthand, I would recommend skipping this post entirely. And also seriously reevaluating your priorities in life.)
Y'all, deeply and truly - there has never been a more painfully telegraphed movie since the age of silent films. I didn't hear a single word any of the cast members said, but I bet I could give you just as good a synopsis as anyone who was unfortunate enough to see and hear the whole thing without the hindrance (aid?) of ear medication.
And okay, I know that people always say that movies should "show, not tell" in order to get their message across, but at some point you reach the overkill stage. And in this movie, I'm pretty sure we reached that stage approximately 20 minutes in, when we were treated to our 5th close up of Sean Bean's face looking as menacing as possible. And then again in the 21st minute when we got our 42nd close up of Sophia Bush looking scared.
I suppose I could have potentially gotten a little confused when the protagonists stole a cop car and started what seemed to be a multi-state high speed chase (with helicopter!). But the movie helpfully cleared all that up when it had Sean Bean kill every police officer and destroy every police car (and almost the helicopter!) involved, without so much as blinking.
And then for good measure, killed off the main character hot guy (In the most awesome and ridiculous way possible. Seriously, that was the best part of the movie by a mile.). At that point, I rapidly lost interest.
Without the particular brand of attention grabbing that only a cute guy can provide, I got intensely bored and tried to take on the near insurmountable task of misinterpreting the most obvious movie ever, with the remaining 15 minutes. Was there any way Sophia Bush could be interpreted as the villain and Sean Bean the tragic anti-hero, arrested for the wrong crime, a la Harrison Ford in The Fugitive? This was my new quest and I attempted it with every fiber of my being.
Sadly, I think I failed. Primarily because immediately after my vow, Sean Bean totally ripped some guy's throat out, shot another policeman in the head, and then did the same to a third. Shortly afterwards I thought I might make a go of it when, for some unknown reason, Sophia Bush stole the last remaining policeman's gun, leaving him helpless and trapped in a crashed car to die, and released Sean Bean from the back of a locked police vehicle to finish the job for her. But in the end, even when she smoked him with a goddamn shotgun, I still didn't feel like I came anywhere near my goal. I mean, her death count was only 1. I'm pretty sure at final count Sean had at least 14, two of which were kids and one in which he literally ripped a guy in half.
Sadly, no one wins with this abomination of a movie.
On the plus side though, with or without sound, I can recommend that no one ever, ever, ever again watch this movie.
I'm glad I could be of service.
Oh, and hey, now my ears are super clear.
Friday, May 25, 2007
A New Fall
Okay, after all this research (and I have done a ton), I am officially underwhelmed by the new season of TV supposedly coming in the fall. Frankly, there may be more completely laughable entries than interesting looking ones.
Just glancing down the list we have:
Just glancing down the list we have:
- That previously discussed vampire detective,
- Those goddamn Geico cavemen,
- A show that has a tagline of (and I swear to God I'm not making this up): "Computer geek by day, government agent by night."
- A buddy comedy starring that boy from The Hills Have Eyes and a Muslim foreign exchange student (You know it'll be tasteful, because it's on the CW!),
- A show about a rum and sugar empire (I am so jealous that Joe R. made The Simpsons joke before me that it hurts),
- And one about an immortal New York homicide detective.
But oh well. I'm still planning on tuning in to a crapload of new shows, at least for one or two episodes before my attention is distracted by some kind of shiny object.
NBC
Journeyman - a) it's on right after Heroes and you know I hate changing the channel, b) the description sort of sounds like a cross between Quantum Leap and that gross Sandra Bullock movie that came out a couple of months ago. I fully expect this to be a bad of trainwreck proportions, but I kinda want to watch it unfold.
Chuck - No, seriously, "Computer geek by day, government agent by night." Go read that page and then just try and tell me how you could not want to watch this. "Hopefully, [being the government's most valuable weapon] won’t take away from his video game time!" Is it bad that the only new shows I'm watching on NBC, I'm watching strictly because they look so terrifyingly horrible?
FOX
The Sarah Connor Chronicles - It's midseason, but omigosh. River's back! And she still kicks ass! And that boy from Heroes who started out gay but then refused to play a homo so they wrote him out of the show! I am so on board with this, you have no idea.
The Return Of Jezebel James - Parker Posey! The writer from Gilmore Girls! Lauren Ambrose! This show could be about two girls reading the phone book and I would still watch, is what I'm saying.
ABC
Sam I Am - Call me crazy, but this looks mildly interesting. I don't know where my like of Christina Applegate comes from, but it's apparently pretty strong. It conflicts with Heroes, though, so if I do watch, it will need to be with some heavy duty time-shifting.
Pushing Daisies - Go watch that trailer. Do it! Do it right now! I have never, ever been more pumped up for a new TV show in my life. And I don't even know a single cast member. Whatever. I'm going to be watching this one so hard.
Private Practice - I'm thinking Grey's Anatomy made some sort of pact with the devil. That's the only explanation I can come up with because I really want to watch this, even though I know it has every indication of sucking so, so bad. Maybe I just have a latent heterosexual girl crush on Kate Walsh. I dunno, but it's going on the list.
Women's Murder Club - It's on Friday, so obviously it has no chance, but this looks really good. Also, I've read some of the books that this is based off of and I dug them a lot. I don't want to get too attached though. Because seriously, Friday night.
CBS
The Big Bang Theory - Neeeeerds! Oh man, it looks so bad. But it's on right after How I Met Your Mother so again it has that whole channel changing thing going for it. And they cancelled The Class for this, so I need to watch it long enough to be able to properly mock how less-funny it is and fume about all the injustice in the world.
Viva Laughlin - A musical drama! That's really all you would need to say to me to get me to watch. But then they go on to add in a casino, Wolverine as a producer with a recurring guest role, and elements of a thriller. All, I guess, to make the whole Sophie's Choice bit between this and the Simpsons on Sundays as dramatic as possible.
CW
Reaper - Fine, I'll watch this, but I won't like it. Especially since it looks like it's trying to horn in on the Pushing Daisies turf, my love of which has already been predetermined. Kevin Smith is just trying to get on my bad side. (It sort of looks cute, though.)
Gossip Girl - Since they have officially cancelled every single teen drama from the WB and The OC, something has to take their place, right? I'm not sure if this is it, but it is created by the same guy who made The OC. Let's hope the homoerotic subtext is just as high in this one, although with the word Girl in the title, the outlook is not good.
--------------------------
Obviously it's insane to consider that much new TV -- yeah, like I'm going to shoot for 16 hours a week -- but most of those will very quickly fall by the wayside, once I remember that very often bad TV is not fun to watch in the same way that some bad movies are. It's just bad.
So I now present it to you, internet-type people, what will you be watching come Fall?
(And don't say that you don't watch TV, because people who do not watch TV do not read this blog.)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
A TV Guidepost
With the season finale of Heroes on Monday, I completed my television watching schedule for the 2006-07 season. It was a good year for TV in general and a very good year for my shows in specific. As such, I feel the need to revel in a year-in-review sort of thing while the afterglow is still there. And quickly, before I become bitter with the whole 4 months of reruns thing.
Monday
The Class (CBC) - Y'all, I loved this show, and now it's cancelled. I really wish it had been given more of a chance, but network TV is very anti-sitcoms lately, which is too bad. The show started off really rocky, but by the time they had jettisoned the excess cast and toned down some of the melodrama, it was great. It was one of those shows that I couldn't adequately contain my laughter around, which led to truly ugly bouts of braying laughs that no one should ever be subjected to. Really, it was wildly unfortunate. But the show was solid, the cast was excellent (Jason Ritter, call me! Or Lizzy Caplan, I love you too!), it just suffered from that slow start and lack of network support. Too bad.
Wednesday
America's Next Top Model (CW) - Please don't judge me. There has never been a better definition of a guilty pleasure show in the history of time. And thisseason *ahem* cycle was horrifying TV at its finest. From the non-mail-order Russian bride, to the crazy girl with the clown weave and short term memory loss (due to being hit by a car!) who couldn't stop cursing, to the eventual winner (who I give excellent odds of actually being a man), there was no end to the joy that this show brought me.
Thursday
Ugly Betty (ABC) - Soap opera-y to a degree that seems impossible, and yet completely charming throughout. Benefits from a great cast more than any other show, possibly ever, but rides that goodwill to excellent results. Another one that I can't wait to follow up on next season.
Grey's Anatomy (ABC) - Went from Great (season one), to Pretty Good (season two), to Oh My God Why Am I Still Watching (season three) without a pause. Melodrama is all fine and good (see: Ugly Betty) but only up to a point. And that point is a lot closer in a drama than Grey's thinks it is. I still enjoy it enough not to give up entirely on the show, but I expect improvements and quick.
The Office (NBC) - Such a good show. I'm glad that NBC has decided to pick it up and run with it, despite the unamazing ratings. The show stalled out late in the season, but ended on a four-episode-long high note that was amazingly funny. I may hate the arc they took with the Jan character, but it was at least somewhat telegraphed over the course of the season, and that's my only real gripe with the show. We won't even get into the whole Jim/Pam thing, lest my squees of joy drown out the internet. Again, greatly looking forward to next season.
-----------------------
So I was able to pare down my TV watching to right at 6.5 hours this year, thanks to lame seasons by:
Monday
The Class (CBC) - Y'all, I loved this show, and now it's cancelled. I really wish it had been given more of a chance, but network TV is very anti-sitcoms lately, which is too bad. The show started off really rocky, but by the time they had jettisoned the excess cast and toned down some of the melodrama, it was great. It was one of those shows that I couldn't adequately contain my laughter around, which led to truly ugly bouts of braying laughs that no one should ever be subjected to. Really, it was wildly unfortunate. But the show was solid, the cast was excellent (Jason Ritter, call me! Or Lizzy Caplan, I love you too!), it just suffered from that slow start and lack of network support. Too bad.
How I Met Your Mother (CBS) - Now that it comes down to it, I'm almost bashful to talk this show up. It feels almost unseemly at this point, all of my gushing. So I'll keep it light, with three simple points:
- The 'Robin Sparkles' episode is now my single favorite episode of TV ever, displacing Arrested Development's 'Pier Pressure' and Buffy the Vampire Slayer's 'Becoming'.
- Neil Patrick Harris and Cobie Smulders both deserve Emmys for their work this year. NPH for his pitch-perfect character acting throughout the entire season (for serious) and Cobie for her vastly underrated comedic timing, which consistently gets at least two huge laughs in every episode (often just from her facial reactions).
- I was practically sick to my stomach for the three days leading up to the network upfronts because of rumors that the show was cancelled (Note: It was picked up for a full third season, beating out the much less funny New Adventures of Old Christine, which is something of a Christmas miracle in May). I have never been this involved with a show, and it's a horrible, horrible feeling. But shows that it's really good, right? Or maybe just that I'm insane. Either way.
Heroes (NBC) - Easily the most consistent show all season long. Never really hit a bad note, constantly put you on the edge of your seat for the next episode, and made you really care about all the characters. Also, it didn't hurt that basically every actor in the cast was hotter than your average supermodel. I was a bit disappointed with the finale, but it would have been hard to live up to the rest of the season as is, so I'll give them a pass. I anxiously look forward to the next season, for reals.
Tuesday
Friday Night Lights (NBC) - I refuse to even comment on this one, because everyone makes fun of me for watching it.... Except, whatever, you don't know me! The best acted thing on TV in ages. It is so note perfect that it makes you want to cry. And then when you watch the show, you do cry. Constantly. The fact that it was renewed puts a nice little fire, right in my heart.
Wednesday
America's Next Top Model (CW) - Please don't judge me. There has never been a better definition of a guilty pleasure show in the history of time. And this
Thursday
Ugly Betty (ABC) - Soap opera-y to a degree that seems impossible, and yet completely charming throughout. Benefits from a great cast more than any other show, possibly ever, but rides that goodwill to excellent results. Another one that I can't wait to follow up on next season.
Grey's Anatomy (ABC) - Went from Great (season one), to Pretty Good (season two), to Oh My God Why Am I Still Watching (season three) without a pause. Melodrama is all fine and good (see: Ugly Betty) but only up to a point. And that point is a lot closer in a drama than Grey's thinks it is. I still enjoy it enough not to give up entirely on the show, but I expect improvements and quick.
The Office (NBC) - Such a good show. I'm glad that NBC has decided to pick it up and run with it, despite the unamazing ratings. The show stalled out late in the season, but ended on a four-episode-long high note that was amazingly funny. I may hate the arc they took with the Jan character, but it was at least somewhat telegraphed over the course of the season, and that's my only real gripe with the show. We won't even get into the whole Jim/Pam thing, lest my squees of joy drown out the internet. Again, greatly looking forward to next season.
-----------------------
So I was able to pare down my TV watching to right at 6.5 hours this year, thanks to lame seasons by:
- Lost (goodbye forever, show that never answered any questions!),
- Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip (proof that Sports Night truly was a one-time perfect thing)
- The Amazing Race (when they said "All-Stars" there was a reason they used those sarcastic quotation marks),
- Jericho (who would have guessed that the end of the world would be so lame),
- and Survivor (uh, just regular old lame, actually).
I feel very proud of this fact, despite knowing that 6.5 hours is still a ridiculously large amount of TV. Oh well, I'll take my victories where I can.
Once I get a chance to go through it, I'll make up my preliminary fall schedule to see how many new shows I'm willing to take on in addition to the returning 8(!) shows I'm keeping on the schedule. I've heard there's a new show about a vampire detective, and this time it doesn't star David Boreanez! Talk about great times to be alive!Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Moving Sucks (And Other Tales)
Y'all, I don't even know where to begin. You can tell I'm at a loss because I just used the word "y'all." Speechlessness leads directly to my inner Southerner.
Let's just dive right in:
My apartment switchover is complete, and we mostly survived. In fact, unless you count the fact that we had no electricity for two days, no washer/dryer still, and the hot water heater has a mind of its own, everything pretty much worked out perfectly.
------------------------
Last week was spent nailing down all of the moving related items: electricity setup, cable setup, movers setup, etc. This mostly involved me pledging piles and piles of money (that did not necessarily exist) to people who would in turn give me vague guarantees that they might give me something in return. Someday. Maybe.
(By the end of this story, I will have spent literally every cent I have in the world on this move, and then put some more on my credit card. Moving is fun!)
I got our shipping boxes from the movers on Tuesday afternoon and then spent the next 5 days using every spare moment of my life to box up our entire apartment into 20 containers or less. Considering we only have a two bedroom apartment, this should not be such an issue, right?
I realized that I was a fool, right around the time that I found that my book collection alone filled up 7 boxes. We own a lot of shit. A whole lot. And by "we" I mean "me," because Frnak's contributions to the move were two 1'X2' boxes, a bed, and a suitcase full of clothes.
A quick and dirty breakdown of my life through the things that I own:
My DVD collection? Two boxes.
Things On The Kitchen Counters? Two boxes.
Stuff in the Tiny Closet In the Living Room? Two boxes.
Things in the Kitchen Cabinets? Two boxes.
Are you sensing the theme yet? And I haven't even mentioned Things in the Bedroom, which is where the real horrors start.
The only thing that ended up saving me was the fact that I have some epically huge storage containers from college moving, each of which count as only one box per the moving guidelines.
In the end, I was only 2 boxes over the limit. The end being 12:00AM on Sunday morning, exactly 12 hours before the movers were scheduled to arrive. Also known as "When I finished the final item (boxing the last dishes while Frnak lay drunk in the living room.)"
Only, the movers decided that it would be more efficient to show up 4 hours ahead of schedule on Sunday. Meaning I was blasted out of bed at 7:45AM after about 6 hours of sleep with a phone call notice that several large burly men would be arriving within the half-hour.
Good times.
But, ignoring the legendary sleep deprivation, it all worked out very well. The movers were super efficient and had us entirely installed in the new place by noon, and I didn't once have to pick up a single box. Which is all I ever ask in life: That I never have to do any manual labor ever again.
Since moving was finished at pretty much the exact time we expected it to start, we had the entire day to get everything unpacked and arranged into a semblance of a real-live house. I was very impressed with our can-do spirit, and also my wild compulsion to get my books back onto the bookcase before I even had my bed put together.
I don't know what was up with that.
-----------------------
Now I split my afternoons at home between my new two favorite pastimes in the world:
Let's just dive right in:
My apartment switchover is complete, and we mostly survived. In fact, unless you count the fact that we had no electricity for two days, no washer/dryer still, and the hot water heater has a mind of its own, everything pretty much worked out perfectly.
------------------------
Last week was spent nailing down all of the moving related items: electricity setup, cable setup, movers setup, etc. This mostly involved me pledging piles and piles of money (that did not necessarily exist) to people who would in turn give me vague guarantees that they might give me something in return. Someday. Maybe.
(By the end of this story, I will have spent literally every cent I have in the world on this move, and then put some more on my credit card. Moving is fun!)
I got our shipping boxes from the movers on Tuesday afternoon and then spent the next 5 days using every spare moment of my life to box up our entire apartment into 20 containers or less. Considering we only have a two bedroom apartment, this should not be such an issue, right?
I realized that I was a fool, right around the time that I found that my book collection alone filled up 7 boxes. We own a lot of shit. A whole lot. And by "we" I mean "me," because Frnak's contributions to the move were two 1'X2' boxes, a bed, and a suitcase full of clothes.
A quick and dirty breakdown of my life through the things that I own:
My DVD collection? Two boxes.
Things On The Kitchen Counters? Two boxes.
Stuff in the Tiny Closet In the Living Room? Two boxes.
Things in the Kitchen Cabinets? Two boxes.
Are you sensing the theme yet? And I haven't even mentioned Things in the Bedroom, which is where the real horrors start.
The only thing that ended up saving me was the fact that I have some epically huge storage containers from college moving, each of which count as only one box per the moving guidelines.
In the end, I was only 2 boxes over the limit. The end being 12:00AM on Sunday morning, exactly 12 hours before the movers were scheduled to arrive. Also known as "When I finished the final item (boxing the last dishes while Frnak lay drunk in the living room.)"
Only, the movers decided that it would be more efficient to show up 4 hours ahead of schedule on Sunday. Meaning I was blasted out of bed at 7:45AM after about 6 hours of sleep with a phone call notice that several large burly men would be arriving within the half-hour.
Good times.
But, ignoring the legendary sleep deprivation, it all worked out very well. The movers were super efficient and had us entirely installed in the new place by noon, and I didn't once have to pick up a single box. Which is all I ever ask in life: That I never have to do any manual labor ever again.
Since moving was finished at pretty much the exact time we expected it to start, we had the entire day to get everything unpacked and arranged into a semblance of a real-live house. I was very impressed with our can-do spirit, and also my wild compulsion to get my books back onto the bookcase before I even had my bed put together.
I don't know what was up with that.
-----------------------
Now I split my afternoons at home between my new two favorite pastimes in the world:
- racing around the apartment in my socks, sliding over all the fake-wood floors like I'm 8 years-old,
- and trying to settle on what color curtains and lamp shades would look best in the new living room, now that I've finally decided that it's time for my fur-and-leather curtains to go the way of the dinosaur.
It's a pretty nice living.
But it's not all immature running around and homo-decorating. As I alluded to in the beginning, there are things that are less nice:
- The washer and dryer could not be installed until we get a repairman out to the new place to get a dryer vent in working order and I find a place that can sell me a hot water hose for the washer (as I could not get the original one off the fixture in the old apartment. It will remain there forever, I suppose.) Already my clean clothes are running short. I'm half a week away from searching out nudist colony brochures. Because I'll be damned if I'm ever going to a laundromat ever again. I have grown accustomed to a certain standard of living, by God.
- The hot water heater has some sort of ADD, since it seems to randomly spike the shower with shots of superheated water in an otherwise nice and relaxing cleansing period. It's like playing Press Your Luck (in the shower), only instead of Whammies this time it's someone flushing a toilet while you are in there. And instead of flushing a toilet, it just happens completely at random times. (That works out, right? Follow the stream of consciousness.)
- TXU can go straight to hell. After I finally cancelled my service with them at the old place (because they cost a damn arm and leg each month), I got my new company all set up to start service on Wednesday. Which worked out very nicely, as my landlord had continued his service with TXU out through the end of the week. Except no, TXU cut off the power on Tuesday morning immediately after confirming the extension with the landlord. Meaning we had two fun filled days without any electricity at all. The high point of which had me sitting on our balcony wrapped in a blanket like a crazy old lady, huddled under the one working light outside (controlled by the condo association), trying to read a book while mosquitoes feasted on my all-you-can-drink blood buffet. Apparently my survival cutoff point is 36 hours without electricity. After that, I'm pretty much just fodder for the wolves. Good to know I suppose.
But yeah, power's back on and I'm back in the real world, sort of. It'll still be a while before I get into a normal rhythm again, though.
I mean, I've got a whole lot of sliding around the apartment to do.
Monday, April 23, 2007
One-Trick Pony
[Programme note: Website upgrade failed miserably, when A) I forgot to renew my hosting bandwidth along with my domain name, so there was no place to put anything, and B) my CSS-fu was so weak that I destroyed the style sheet entirely and had to scrap the whole thing, starting all over again at 2 in the morning on Saturday. So the move is massively delayed.]
I've decided that this week has a theme. It's a Week of Lists! Because who doesn't love a good list? Communists, that's who.
Without further ado:
List of 10 Things That I Have At Some Point In The Recent Past Been Completely Unable to Shut Up About, To The Horror Of Everyone I Know
I've decided that this week has a theme. It's a Week of Lists! Because who doesn't love a good list? Communists, that's who.
Without further ado:
List of 10 Things That I Have At Some Point In The Recent Past Been Completely Unable to Shut Up About, To The Horror Of Everyone I Know
- Firefly/Serenity (category: television/movies)
- So, Did I Tell You My Sisters Are Both Having Babies and I'm Going to Be An Uncle? Oh I Did? Maybe I Should Tell You Again. (category: lame personal anecdote)
- Mika - Life in Cartoon Motion (category: music)
- The Story Of How I Learned That I Have Bad Cholesterol (category: lame personal anecdote)
- (cont.) Things that I Cannot Eat, Due to my Bad Cholesterol (category: super lame personal anecdote)
- Being In Charge of My Office, Because my Boss is in Italy for Three Weeks (category: personal martyrdom)
- How I Met Your Mother (category: television/movies)
- Moving to a New Apartment (category: lame personal anecdote)
- (subcategory: Moving is hard!)
- (subcategory: The new place is so close to work!)
- (subcategory: Going into detail about the layout of the place and where I think furniture is best suited to go, despite the fact that whoever I'm talking to has never even seen the place) - I Broke My Tooth In Half, The One That I Had Fixed Last Year, And It Hurts Like a Sumbitch (category: painful personal anecdote)
- Hey, I Have Really Bad Allergies. Really Bad. Don't You Want to Know (In Exacting Detail) How Bad? (category: super-duper lame personal anecdote)
Friday, April 20, 2007
Restlessness on Review Friday
With the move now officially in full swing (we pick up the keys/gate openers on Tuesday) I am starting to feel the sway of complete wanderlust. So be on the lookout for a complete site redesign over the weekend. The place may be down for a day or so whilst I get everything organized.
Or I'll get lazy and never actually get around to uploading all the changes.
Either way.
-----------------------------
Short review day, because I have no attention span at all right now.
Books
Lisey's Story, Stephen King - I have such a disconnect when I read Stephen King books. Despite their tendency to run wildly long and go absolutely off the wall in terms of crazy plot devices, I almost always come out satisfied. After the very fun departure that was Cell - just a straightforward zombie horror-fest - this book is much more standard late-career King, very much in the vein of Insomnia or Bag of Bones. That is: widow(er) discovers deeper meaning/horrors in their now-dead spouse's past, leading to violent/horrific events in the present.
It's very well done (and better written than usual for King, by a good margin) although the seams tend to show a little bit in the structure of the plot. The whole book runs in continual flashbacks of the "Oh I remember something horrible from the past that I had repressed" variety, which can get old really fast. Especially when the thing you are remembering is someone telling a story. A flashback of a flashback of an 8 year-old child's narrative stretches my reading mind to near the breaking point.
But like I said, very well done and well written. So while you see exactly where the story is going (he actually give you the ending around page 100 but couches it so that you've pushed it out of your mind by the time it comes around) you don't mind the trip.
World War Z, An Oral History Of The Zombie War, Max Brooks - Seriously, just let that roll off your tongue a couple of times. An Oral History of The Zombie War. There is practically no way that this book could be bad. Until you start reading it and realize that it is a much more difficult task to manage than you thought.
The idea is great - a pseudo-documentary of interviews with key figures in the carefully imagined near-apocalyptic war against the walking undead. There's enough room for juicy story that by the end I was absolutely amazed at how well he pulled the whole thing off. Because it really is fraught with peril - going overboard, losing the narrative in all the winding interviews, keeping the tone in-character as you shift. Except for what I saw as a few melodramatic missteps (the downed Air-Force pilot and the soap-opera worthy submarine story) the book is tightly focused on giving you the timeline, highlighting it with personal vignettes, and then leaving you to fill all the blanks in for yourself.
It even manages some genuinely touching moments, even against a ludicrous backdrop of zombies who neither breathe nor pump blood overrunning the entire world. Big time recommended reading.
Music
Mates of State - Bring it Back. I will not lie, I have never been a huge Mates fan. More appreciative than anything else, I'd never actually bought one of their albums, just listened to a few of their songs and was decidedly "Eh." But on a recommendation from my music advisers, I picked this one up and I'm much more on board now.
Catchy, lo-tech, what I swear is an organ/drums combo, it's all just very listenable. It's gone into my main rotation as a CD that can run uninterrupted straight through. Not going to win any awards, but I'll keep my eyes open for anything they do in the future.
Amy Winehouse - Back to Black. How weird is it that these two albums have near matching titles and I got them in the same week? Anyways, I refuse to gush about this CD like everyone else. I do love a good throwback song, though, and this thing is chock full of them. It's very much old-school Motown crossed with a lot of Billie Holiday torch standards, which is very refreshing. I like a return to old things I love made new.
That said, I'm not super big on the album. I do love a couple of the songs, particularly Rehab and the title track, but the sum total is a little boring to me. I feel like a little variety would have really helped keep me more interested. I dunno, I feel sort of bad for not liking it as much as I should.
Mika - Life in Cartoon Motion. Have I not written about this one before? I really feel like I have, because in real life I couldn't stop gushing about this CD for two months straight, but I don't see it in the archives. Oh well. I love this album so hard. I can't do a coherent review, so instead I direct you to the Amazon page, which has a fever-dream-induced editorial review which is much better than me at describing such things.
----------------------------
God, that took way more concentration than I expected. Back to flailing in every direction!
Or I'll get lazy and never actually get around to uploading all the changes.
Either way.
-----------------------------
Short review day, because I have no attention span at all right now.
Books
Lisey's Story, Stephen King - I have such a disconnect when I read Stephen King books. Despite their tendency to run wildly long and go absolutely off the wall in terms of crazy plot devices, I almost always come out satisfied. After the very fun departure that was Cell - just a straightforward zombie horror-fest - this book is much more standard late-career King, very much in the vein of Insomnia or Bag of Bones. That is: widow(er) discovers deeper meaning/horrors in their now-dead spouse's past, leading to violent/horrific events in the present.
It's very well done (and better written than usual for King, by a good margin) although the seams tend to show a little bit in the structure of the plot. The whole book runs in continual flashbacks of the "Oh I remember something horrible from the past that I had repressed" variety, which can get old really fast. Especially when the thing you are remembering is someone telling a story. A flashback of a flashback of an 8 year-old child's narrative stretches my reading mind to near the breaking point.
But like I said, very well done and well written. So while you see exactly where the story is going (he actually give you the ending around page 100 but couches it so that you've pushed it out of your mind by the time it comes around) you don't mind the trip.
World War Z, An Oral History Of The Zombie War, Max Brooks - Seriously, just let that roll off your tongue a couple of times. An Oral History of The Zombie War. There is practically no way that this book could be bad. Until you start reading it and realize that it is a much more difficult task to manage than you thought.
The idea is great - a pseudo-documentary of interviews with key figures in the carefully imagined near-apocalyptic war against the walking undead. There's enough room for juicy story that by the end I was absolutely amazed at how well he pulled the whole thing off. Because it really is fraught with peril - going overboard, losing the narrative in all the winding interviews, keeping the tone in-character as you shift. Except for what I saw as a few melodramatic missteps (the downed Air-Force pilot and the soap-opera worthy submarine story) the book is tightly focused on giving you the timeline, highlighting it with personal vignettes, and then leaving you to fill all the blanks in for yourself.
It even manages some genuinely touching moments, even against a ludicrous backdrop of zombies who neither breathe nor pump blood overrunning the entire world. Big time recommended reading.
Music
Mates of State - Bring it Back. I will not lie, I have never been a huge Mates fan. More appreciative than anything else, I'd never actually bought one of their albums, just listened to a few of their songs and was decidedly "Eh." But on a recommendation from my music advisers, I picked this one up and I'm much more on board now.
Catchy, lo-tech, what I swear is an organ/drums combo, it's all just very listenable. It's gone into my main rotation as a CD that can run uninterrupted straight through. Not going to win any awards, but I'll keep my eyes open for anything they do in the future.
Amy Winehouse - Back to Black. How weird is it that these two albums have near matching titles and I got them in the same week? Anyways, I refuse to gush about this CD like everyone else. I do love a good throwback song, though, and this thing is chock full of them. It's very much old-school Motown crossed with a lot of Billie Holiday torch standards, which is very refreshing. I like a return to old things I love made new.
That said, I'm not super big on the album. I do love a couple of the songs, particularly Rehab and the title track, but the sum total is a little boring to me. I feel like a little variety would have really helped keep me more interested. I dunno, I feel sort of bad for not liking it as much as I should.
Mika - Life in Cartoon Motion. Have I not written about this one before? I really feel like I have, because in real life I couldn't stop gushing about this CD for two months straight, but I don't see it in the archives. Oh well. I love this album so hard. I can't do a coherent review, so instead I direct you to the Amazon page, which has a fever-dream-induced editorial review which is much better than me at describing such things.
----------------------------
God, that took way more concentration than I expected. Back to flailing in every direction!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Heightened Other Senses
I have gone deaf in my right ear. As in no hearing whatsoever, except for a very loud rushing sound. And I'm almost certain there is nothing that is actually rushing near me.
Considering the just-completed weeks of illness, I think my body is officially in full on riot mode now. This is so lame. Are you allowed to just trade in your entire body for a new one yet? Because I want an upgrade. Maybe to one with a visible six-pack or at least less of a caveman brow.
The future should be now.
---------------------------
Also, I thought when you lost one sense, the others became all heightened and more powerful. Apparently that is a load of crap. Now not only can I not hear, but my vision seems to be getting actively worse. Granted, this is probably because I haven't changed out my monthly contacts since something like December, but still. It's the principle of the thing.
Wait, maybe it's just one other sense that is heightened. Because, man, I got a paper cut just now, and that was pretty much the most exquisite pain I've experienced in a while. Of all senses to go up, what are the odds that Touch is the one I get? Lame.
This just increases the likelihood that when I eventually develop my awesome mutant power, that it's going to be a stupid one, like that kid from the X-Men movie who's special power was having a green tongue. Or the other kid who could just change television channels with his mind.
Although I wouldn't mind having that power. I hate looking for the remote control.
But I'd much rather get that whole super-hot-looks/ice making power, instead.
Unlikely apparently. Double lame.
----------------------------
Speaking of TV (weren't we?), Frnak has some sort of obsession with obtaining television capture ability on his computer, so that he can edit videos and become one of those Internet famous guys. Which is admirable in its own right and has somehow resulted in him gifting me my very own TV tuner to attach to my computer. It's a little convoluted in how we got there, but I do love it when people give me gifts, so I'm all on board. (Thanks, Frnak!)
But last night I went to install it, and found out that somehow the television drivers conflict with my aftermarket video card that I installed ages and ages ago. I say "found out" like it was some simple little operation, but in truth it was an epic struggle with the computer wherein mostly I kept shouting at the screen and kicking the tower, while Frnak stared at me like I had lost my mind. It was not my finest computer-science related moment.
I know there must be some way to work around this (setting up two different profiles for the different cards, etc) but I certainly can't find it. This only serves to highlight exactly how far gone my computer skills have fallen - now pretty much to the point where I'm really glad that my degree is so carefully bound up in a frame on the wall, so it's impossible for anyone to take it away.
I mean, it's in a frame, it can't be revoked, right?
Whatever. Triple lame.
It's going to be a long day.
Considering the just-completed weeks of illness, I think my body is officially in full on riot mode now. This is so lame. Are you allowed to just trade in your entire body for a new one yet? Because I want an upgrade. Maybe to one with a visible six-pack or at least less of a caveman brow.
The future should be now.
---------------------------
Also, I thought when you lost one sense, the others became all heightened and more powerful. Apparently that is a load of crap. Now not only can I not hear, but my vision seems to be getting actively worse. Granted, this is probably because I haven't changed out my monthly contacts since something like December, but still. It's the principle of the thing.
Wait, maybe it's just one other sense that is heightened. Because, man, I got a paper cut just now, and that was pretty much the most exquisite pain I've experienced in a while. Of all senses to go up, what are the odds that Touch is the one I get? Lame.
This just increases the likelihood that when I eventually develop my awesome mutant power, that it's going to be a stupid one, like that kid from the X-Men movie who's special power was having a green tongue. Or the other kid who could just change television channels with his mind.
Although I wouldn't mind having that power. I hate looking for the remote control.
But I'd much rather get that whole super-hot-looks/ice making power, instead.
Unlikely apparently. Double lame.
----------------------------
Speaking of TV (weren't we?), Frnak has some sort of obsession with obtaining television capture ability on his computer, so that he can edit videos and become one of those Internet famous guys. Which is admirable in its own right and has somehow resulted in him gifting me my very own TV tuner to attach to my computer. It's a little convoluted in how we got there, but I do love it when people give me gifts, so I'm all on board. (Thanks, Frnak!)
But last night I went to install it, and found out that somehow the television drivers conflict with my aftermarket video card that I installed ages and ages ago. I say "found out" like it was some simple little operation, but in truth it was an epic struggle with the computer wherein mostly I kept shouting at the screen and kicking the tower, while Frnak stared at me like I had lost my mind. It was not my finest computer-science related moment.
I know there must be some way to work around this (setting up two different profiles for the different cards, etc) but I certainly can't find it. This only serves to highlight exactly how far gone my computer skills have fallen - now pretty much to the point where I'm really glad that my degree is so carefully bound up in a frame on the wall, so it's impossible for anyone to take it away.
I mean, it's in a frame, it can't be revoked, right?
Whatever. Triple lame.
It's going to be a long day.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sorting Through the Books
Alternately titled: Wherein I Reveal Deep-Seated Prejudices and Rant and Rave like a Crazy Old Man
I am entirely enthralled by home-improvement shows on TV right now. Mostly because I'm moving in a couple of weeks and love the idea of hidden potential in ordinary spaces. I've spoken about my love of Sell This House recently, but the best place for me to get my fix (anytime that I'm jonesing, day or night) is the HGTV, a channel I previously didn't even know existed. But now that I have found it, I love it unconditionally. It could be 3:30 in the morning on a Friday, but you can tune in and watch some fool trying to update a bedroom by spackling a mirror to the front of his dresser. It is a flawless way to waste a couple of hours.
Also? Carpenters are wicked hot. (Not the point of this post)
My rant-filled issue is only marginally related to this, but it's the jumping-off point. One of the shows that HGTV uses as filler during the day is called Operation: Organization, or something similar. Basically, they find some poor homeowner who is a complete slob and then spend thousands and thousands of dollars to get their place all organized and classy. Until the second the cameras leave and they go back to their old slobbish ways, I assume.
It's sort of a cool show because the transformations are so dramatic. Since you start out with papers and crap everywhere, the end result is amazing. The problem I have is with one of the professional organizers that they use. They have a whole stable of go-to people (Flamboyant Asian Guy, Strict British Girl, etc.) but the most used one is a Type-A Woman who is super effective at getting shit done. She cuts through all the crap and gets things organized ridiculously quickly, with her specialty being convincing people to throw away/donate stuff that they don't really need. This ability speaks deeply to me because I am horrible about throwing anything away. I envy her power so hard.
My issue, though? She hates books. Hates them. Every time she starts the sorting process, the second they get to a book shelf she starts throwing as many books as possible into the donation pile. "If you've already read it, there's no reason to keep it around taking up space. Donate it to someone else who can get some use out of it." This is like her mantra.
Never has such an innocuous comment inspired such rage in me.
The worst was when she was working with this one family with three kids. Despite the fact that she had no problem keeping something like 4 chests full of lame toys, she totally took this mom to task for wanting to keep her books, even though she had already read them. When the mom said something like "Well, every one of these books I have read at least twice," the organizer looked all disbelieving and snorted "Well, you're not going to read them a third time, right?" All the while staring at the husband with a look that clearly said "How d'you get hooked up with this nutball?"
White hot rage. Made even hotter by the fact that this is a very common belief. If you've managed to get through a book once, there could never be a reason to go back again. Arg.
Books are meant to be read multiple times. They are not the sole entertainment medium in the world that is one-use only. No one ever suggests that once you've seen a movie or listened to an album you've gotten all the use you'll get out of it you'll ever need. DVDs, CDs, these things are collected in bulk by everyone. Why? Because you can get plenty of enjoyment from repeat uses.
The same is true with a book, too. There are books I own that I have read literally dozens of times. Are they less enjoyable in the later times? No less so than watching your favorite movie or listening to your favorite album years after purchase. The fact that people can't understand this just boggles my mind.
I guess I'm just completely out of step with the rest of the world on this issue. Because seriously.
No wait, actually it goes even deeper than that. Because I hear this constantly and every time I am left completely speechless.
"Well, I just don't read." (And it's a proud declaration, like a blow for human rights or something.)
Nothing in the world, short of telling me that your hobby is Mime, will make me discount your opinions faster than telling me "Oh, I don't read." Bullshit.
Okay, not bullshit, I'm perfectly willing to believe that you don't read. But, what? Seriously, what?
There is just no way I can relate to that. People who are all "I don't watch TV, it rots your mind," I can at least just silently roll my eyes at and move on. But reading? This is a fundamental sort of thing. I'm not even talking the snobbish sort of "You've never read Tolstoy?!" crap. I mean just reading - for enjoyment, for knowledge, for anything.
Lord knows I'm not the most literary person in the world (I just spent the entire weekend reading a 400 page novel about the oral history of the zombie war, for God's sake), but so much of my world-view is colored by the reading I have done. I don't understand how people can say that they've never read a book since high school, and even then they only did it because it was required. This is a level of disconnect that I don't understand at all.
I mean, I know that it is possible to be a well-rounded individual without a background in literature. There are very few things in the world that can only be picked up from a book and those things are even less likely to be real-world necessary. That said, dismissing an entire medium out-of-hand just drives me crazy. Why limit yourself like that? Yeah, some books are boring. Or poorly written, or full of words that you don't know. But there are tons and tons of things out there to read that are hilarious, or thought provoking, informative, or just wildly interesting. And your default setting is to ignore it all?
Why?
I just, ugh. See? Complete disconnect. What is going on there? Were you abused by the written word in your past? Was getting through A Separate Peace in sophomore year really that traumatizing? (Actually, if that's the reason, then I totally have your back. God, I hate John Knowles.) I don't understand and it's making my blood pressure rise trying to figure it out.
Yeah, okay, I've gone on my snob rant long enough. But there it is.
Really, you should read.
But even if you don't, please don't tell me. It makes my brain hurt. So much.
I am entirely enthralled by home-improvement shows on TV right now. Mostly because I'm moving in a couple of weeks and love the idea of hidden potential in ordinary spaces. I've spoken about my love of Sell This House recently, but the best place for me to get my fix (anytime that I'm jonesing, day or night) is the HGTV, a channel I previously didn't even know existed. But now that I have found it, I love it unconditionally. It could be 3:30 in the morning on a Friday, but you can tune in and watch some fool trying to update a bedroom by spackling a mirror to the front of his dresser. It is a flawless way to waste a couple of hours.
Also? Carpenters are wicked hot. (Not the point of this post)
My rant-filled issue is only marginally related to this, but it's the jumping-off point. One of the shows that HGTV uses as filler during the day is called Operation: Organization, or something similar. Basically, they find some poor homeowner who is a complete slob and then spend thousands and thousands of dollars to get their place all organized and classy. Until the second the cameras leave and they go back to their old slobbish ways, I assume.
It's sort of a cool show because the transformations are so dramatic. Since you start out with papers and crap everywhere, the end result is amazing. The problem I have is with one of the professional organizers that they use. They have a whole stable of go-to people (Flamboyant Asian Guy, Strict British Girl, etc.) but the most used one is a Type-A Woman who is super effective at getting shit done. She cuts through all the crap and gets things organized ridiculously quickly, with her specialty being convincing people to throw away/donate stuff that they don't really need. This ability speaks deeply to me because I am horrible about throwing anything away. I envy her power so hard.
My issue, though? She hates books. Hates them. Every time she starts the sorting process, the second they get to a book shelf she starts throwing as many books as possible into the donation pile. "If you've already read it, there's no reason to keep it around taking up space. Donate it to someone else who can get some use out of it." This is like her mantra.
Never has such an innocuous comment inspired such rage in me.
The worst was when she was working with this one family with three kids. Despite the fact that she had no problem keeping something like 4 chests full of lame toys, she totally took this mom to task for wanting to keep her books, even though she had already read them. When the mom said something like "Well, every one of these books I have read at least twice," the organizer looked all disbelieving and snorted "Well, you're not going to read them a third time, right?" All the while staring at the husband with a look that clearly said "How d'you get hooked up with this nutball?"
White hot rage. Made even hotter by the fact that this is a very common belief. If you've managed to get through a book once, there could never be a reason to go back again. Arg.
Books are meant to be read multiple times. They are not the sole entertainment medium in the world that is one-use only. No one ever suggests that once you've seen a movie or listened to an album you've gotten all the use you'll get out of it you'll ever need. DVDs, CDs, these things are collected in bulk by everyone. Why? Because you can get plenty of enjoyment from repeat uses.
The same is true with a book, too. There are books I own that I have read literally dozens of times. Are they less enjoyable in the later times? No less so than watching your favorite movie or listening to your favorite album years after purchase. The fact that people can't understand this just boggles my mind.
I guess I'm just completely out of step with the rest of the world on this issue. Because seriously.
No wait, actually it goes even deeper than that. Because I hear this constantly and every time I am left completely speechless.
"Well, I just don't read." (And it's a proud declaration, like a blow for human rights or something.)
Nothing in the world, short of telling me that your hobby is Mime, will make me discount your opinions faster than telling me "Oh, I don't read." Bullshit.
Okay, not bullshit, I'm perfectly willing to believe that you don't read. But, what? Seriously, what?
There is just no way I can relate to that. People who are all "I don't watch TV, it rots your mind," I can at least just silently roll my eyes at and move on. But reading? This is a fundamental sort of thing. I'm not even talking the snobbish sort of "You've never read Tolstoy?!" crap. I mean just reading - for enjoyment, for knowledge, for anything.
Lord knows I'm not the most literary person in the world (I just spent the entire weekend reading a 400 page novel about the oral history of the zombie war, for God's sake), but so much of my world-view is colored by the reading I have done. I don't understand how people can say that they've never read a book since high school, and even then they only did it because it was required. This is a level of disconnect that I don't understand at all.
I mean, I know that it is possible to be a well-rounded individual without a background in literature. There are very few things in the world that can only be picked up from a book and those things are even less likely to be real-world necessary. That said, dismissing an entire medium out-of-hand just drives me crazy. Why limit yourself like that? Yeah, some books are boring. Or poorly written, or full of words that you don't know. But there are tons and tons of things out there to read that are hilarious, or thought provoking, informative, or just wildly interesting. And your default setting is to ignore it all?
Why?
I just, ugh. See? Complete disconnect. What is going on there? Were you abused by the written word in your past? Was getting through A Separate Peace in sophomore year really that traumatizing? (Actually, if that's the reason, then I totally have your back. God, I hate John Knowles.) I don't understand and it's making my blood pressure rise trying to figure it out.
Yeah, okay, I've gone on my snob rant long enough. But there it is.
Really, you should read.
But even if you don't, please don't tell me. It makes my brain hurt. So much.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
On Illness and Housing
Our two great national nightmares are finally over: I have gotten over the dreaded cold that left me incapacitated last week AND we have found a new place to live come May 1st.
I know you were all so worried.
----------------------------
The illness was pretty unbearable, but at least now I can look back on it and laugh without hacking up a lung. It's one of those weird quirks I have, but almost like clockwork each Spring I get wildly sick for about 7 days and then slowly bounce back. The first time this happened was back in college when I first learned the joys of the SMU health center and how fun medicine induced blackout hallucinations can be. Since then it's happened with regularity each year, usually in March, but sometimes a little later. This year was particularly bad because I was still getting over the allergy attacks from a couple of weeks ago, I had a metric ton of work on my desk and couldn't take any time off, and we had some freak cold weather hit Dallas right as I was already experiencing wild chills from the illness.
So basically, I've been an irritable, over-medicated zombie for the last 9 days, without interruption. I'm getting back on my feet, but it is super slow going, to be sure.
-----------------------------------
But in more exciting news, Frnak and I totally found a new place to live. I know my specifications were pretty strict, but somehow we managed to find a place that fit a majority of them, without too much horror and/or panic attacks from yours-truly.
It's a 2 bedroom/2 bath condo with: all wood flooring, a fireplace, balcony, more square-footage than currently, and a closet so big it could qualify as a third bedroom. All that for less than we're paying now with an even shorter commute to work (For me, at least. Which is what truly matters, right? Egocentricity has to pay off at some point, I figure.).
There are a few drawbacks - the exterior is pretty low rent, the neighborhood is highlighted by a liquor store/beauty supply shop, the ceilings are lower than I like, and the foundation of the building could collapse at any minute. But overall I am so incredibly psyched that I'm having trouble getting to sleep at night, what with all the visions of redecorating in my head.
We sign off on the lease and pick out the paint color for our living room tomorrow. It feels so adult that I can barely wrap my head around it.
---------------------------------
As a side note, have you ever tried to pick out a paint color for a room? It has got to be the most maddening thing in the entire world.
Even with this incredibly helpful Sherwin-Williams Color Visualizer program (Which not only lets you pick out wall colors, but lets you try to approximate the color of your furniture. Whoever created this program is a genius) , Frnak and I were still up arguing over colors at 10:30 last night.
Frnak: "What color are the couches? Tan?"
Jason: "Tan? I would not own couches that were that mundane. When I bought them, the saleslady called them 'champagne'" (Clicks on the Champagne option)
Frnak: "Oh, our couches are so not that color. Try the other one...sequin?"
Jason: "Okay, conversely, I am not gay enough to own something that is 'sequin' colored...oh yeah, okay maybe they are that color. Damn."
(45 minutes later)
Jason: "I refuse to live with walls the color of a fratboy's pink polo!"
Frnak: "We are not painting the living room Orange! What is this crazy Orange obsession you have? Enough!"
Jason: "Hey, it fits my complexion!"
Eventually we agreed to go with the color that the landlord already had on hand from when he painted his own house, to save us from coming to blows (read: ineffectual slap fight).
So our living room color will be 'Bagel,' which is sadly one of the few words in the English language that I hate (along with: "impetus", "tofu", and "caveat"), but is pretty good as colors go and should match the furniture pretty well.
Our condo-warming party is soon to follow.
-----------------------
Now comes the horrifying prospect of actually moving, a concept so loathsome that I hate to even consider it. I've pretty much decided though, that I will be hiring movers to do all the hard work for us, despite the exorbitant costs. There are few things in the world I will absolutely not do, but lifting a washer/dryer combo up three unique sets of stairs and installing them into a closet is almost certainly on that list.
I know you were all so worried.
----------------------------
The illness was pretty unbearable, but at least now I can look back on it and laugh without hacking up a lung. It's one of those weird quirks I have, but almost like clockwork each Spring I get wildly sick for about 7 days and then slowly bounce back. The first time this happened was back in college when I first learned the joys of the SMU health center and how fun medicine induced blackout hallucinations can be. Since then it's happened with regularity each year, usually in March, but sometimes a little later. This year was particularly bad because I was still getting over the allergy attacks from a couple of weeks ago, I had a metric ton of work on my desk and couldn't take any time off, and we had some freak cold weather hit Dallas right as I was already experiencing wild chills from the illness.
So basically, I've been an irritable, over-medicated zombie for the last 9 days, without interruption. I'm getting back on my feet, but it is super slow going, to be sure.
-----------------------------------
But in more exciting news, Frnak and I totally found a new place to live. I know my specifications were pretty strict, but somehow we managed to find a place that fit a majority of them, without too much horror and/or panic attacks from yours-truly.
It's a 2 bedroom/2 bath condo with: all wood flooring, a fireplace, balcony, more square-footage than currently, and a closet so big it could qualify as a third bedroom. All that for less than we're paying now with an even shorter commute to work (For me, at least. Which is what truly matters, right? Egocentricity has to pay off at some point, I figure.).
There are a few drawbacks - the exterior is pretty low rent, the neighborhood is highlighted by a liquor store/beauty supply shop, the ceilings are lower than I like, and the foundation of the building could collapse at any minute. But overall I am so incredibly psyched that I'm having trouble getting to sleep at night, what with all the visions of redecorating in my head.
We sign off on the lease and pick out the paint color for our living room tomorrow. It feels so adult that I can barely wrap my head around it.
---------------------------------
As a side note, have you ever tried to pick out a paint color for a room? It has got to be the most maddening thing in the entire world.
Even with this incredibly helpful Sherwin-Williams Color Visualizer program (Which not only lets you pick out wall colors, but lets you try to approximate the color of your furniture. Whoever created this program is a genius) , Frnak and I were still up arguing over colors at 10:30 last night.
Frnak: "What color are the couches? Tan?"
Jason: "Tan? I would not own couches that were that mundane. When I bought them, the saleslady called them 'champagne'" (Clicks on the Champagne option)
Frnak: "Oh, our couches are so not that color. Try the other one...sequin?"
Jason: "Okay, conversely, I am not gay enough to own something that is 'sequin' colored...oh yeah, okay maybe they are that color. Damn."
(45 minutes later)
Jason: "I refuse to live with walls the color of a fratboy's pink polo!"
Frnak: "We are not painting the living room Orange! What is this crazy Orange obsession you have? Enough!"
Jason: "Hey, it fits my complexion!"
Eventually we agreed to go with the color that the landlord already had on hand from when he painted his own house, to save us from coming to blows (read: ineffectual slap fight).
So our living room color will be 'Bagel,' which is sadly one of the few words in the English language that I hate (along with: "impetus", "tofu", and "caveat"), but is pretty good as colors go and should match the furniture pretty well.
Our condo-warming party is soon to follow.
-----------------------
Now comes the horrifying prospect of actually moving, a concept so loathsome that I hate to even consider it. I've pretty much decided though, that I will be hiring movers to do all the hard work for us, despite the exorbitant costs. There are few things in the world I will absolutely not do, but lifting a washer/dryer combo up three unique sets of stairs and installing them into a closet is almost certainly on that list.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Too Sick for Anything But a Meme
Because not even debilitating illness slows down a cliched blog, dammit! (Borrowed from Erin's archives from 1 million years ago)
Firsts
First best friend: Dustin (Last name withheld. And not just because I totally can't remember it), in the 2nd through 7th grades.
First car: 1997 Red Ford Ranger. Aka: The TOM. Still in use 10 years later.
First date: I'm stretching to remember. Probably Peggy? Did I ever date before then? I was(am) a bid nerd, so I doubt it.
First real kiss: Also Peggy, pretty sure on that one.
First screen name: Beaverguy. Some things never change, sadly enough.
First self purchased album: No Doubt - Tragic Kingdom.
First funeral: None so far (one of those knock on wood situations, for reals)
First piercing/tattoo: Nope
First pet: Spot, the hamster
First enemy: Daniel Patel, in the 4th grade. Man I hated that kid.
Lasts
Last car ride: A bleary drive into work this morning.
Last kiss: Jordan.
Last good cry: Um, gosh... oh wait! When I reread The Time Traveler's Wife last month. God that's a sad book.
Last movie seen: All the way through: Blades of Glory. More recently, I made it through the first 10 minutes of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind before I started throwing up. (Unrelated to the movie)
Last beverage drank: Mug full of chocolate-coffee first thing this morning.
Last food consumed: Bowl of Cheerios before bed last night.
Last crush: Neil Patrick Harris on the How I Met Your Mother. Because I am sick in the head, obviously.
Last phone call: Frank, trying to tempt me into Whataburger despite my vows against cholesterol.
Last shoes worn: My wildly uncomfortable work shoes. Very professional.
Last album played: Mates of State - Bring it Back
Last annoyance: When we were out of milk last night for my Cheerios.
Last disappointment: That I missed Sean's debut of his movie at the AFI Film Festival last week.
Last time scolded: Yesterday when I did something monumentally stupid at work. Sometimes I wonder how I function in the real world.
Last t-shirt worn: My faux-vintage orange SMU shirt that is three times too small for me.
Last website visited: www.penny-arcade.com
Last song you sang: Queen - Somebody to Love, on the way home from work on Monday before the illness descended.
Whats
What's in your cd player?: I will assume this means the last CD I physically bought at the store, which would be Regina Spektor - Begin to Hope, which I have since loaned away and will probably never see again.
What color socks are you wearing?: Black
What color of underwear are you wearing?: Blue
What's under your bed?: All of my important documents in a file-folder and the box that my cell phone came in.
What time did you wake up today?: 8:10. Nyquil played a significant part in that.
Future
Where do you want to go?: Boston, to visit Julia, the entrepreneur.
What is your career going to be?: We're going to ignore this question so I don't end up curled into a tiny ball sobbing uncontrollably.
Where are you going to live?: Dallas.
What kind of car?: Once I am rich and/or famous, a dark green Jaguar.
Currents
Current mood: Brooding over illness
Current music: The Best of The Proclaimers, randomly split with some of Amanda Palmer's live stuff.
Current taste: Tiny cup full of mandarin oranges.
Current hair: Recently cut, still longer than usual, spiky and out of control.
Current longing: Some vacation time
Current desktop picture: Penny Arcade picture: "Roll for Inititative"
Current favorite artist: Regina Spektor, still #1 in my heart.
Current time-wasting: Puzzle Quest, for the Nintendo DS. I have spent more time playing this game in the past week than I have watching TV and messing around on the Internet combined. It's an addiction, people.
Current hates: Allergies, illness, the word "Whatev."
Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go try and find a dignified way to lie down in my office without throwing up or offending anyone's sensibilities concerning office decorum.
Firsts
First best friend: Dustin (Last name withheld. And not just because I totally can't remember it), in the 2nd through 7th grades.
First car: 1997 Red Ford Ranger. Aka: The TOM. Still in use 10 years later.
First date: I'm stretching to remember. Probably Peggy? Did I ever date before then? I was(am) a bid nerd, so I doubt it.
First real kiss: Also Peggy, pretty sure on that one.
First screen name: Beaverguy. Some things never change, sadly enough.
First self purchased album: No Doubt - Tragic Kingdom.
First funeral: None so far (one of those knock on wood situations, for reals)
First piercing/tattoo: Nope
First pet: Spot, the hamster
First enemy: Daniel Patel, in the 4th grade. Man I hated that kid.
Lasts
Last car ride: A bleary drive into work this morning.
Last kiss: Jordan.
Last good cry: Um, gosh... oh wait! When I reread The Time Traveler's Wife last month. God that's a sad book.
Last movie seen: All the way through: Blades of Glory. More recently, I made it through the first 10 minutes of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind before I started throwing up. (Unrelated to the movie)
Last beverage drank: Mug full of chocolate-coffee first thing this morning.
Last food consumed: Bowl of Cheerios before bed last night.
Last crush: Neil Patrick Harris on the How I Met Your Mother. Because I am sick in the head, obviously.
Last phone call: Frank, trying to tempt me into Whataburger despite my vows against cholesterol.
Last shoes worn: My wildly uncomfortable work shoes. Very professional.
Last album played: Mates of State - Bring it Back
Last annoyance: When we were out of milk last night for my Cheerios.
Last disappointment: That I missed Sean's debut of his movie at the AFI Film Festival last week.
Last time scolded: Yesterday when I did something monumentally stupid at work. Sometimes I wonder how I function in the real world.
Last t-shirt worn: My faux-vintage orange SMU shirt that is three times too small for me.
Last website visited: www.penny-arcade.com
Last song you sang: Queen - Somebody to Love, on the way home from work on Monday before the illness descended.
Whats
What's in your cd player?: I will assume this means the last CD I physically bought at the store, which would be Regina Spektor - Begin to Hope, which I have since loaned away and will probably never see again.
What color socks are you wearing?: Black
What color of underwear are you wearing?: Blue
What's under your bed?: All of my important documents in a file-folder and the box that my cell phone came in.
What time did you wake up today?: 8:10. Nyquil played a significant part in that.
Future
Where do you want to go?: Boston, to visit Julia, the entrepreneur.
What is your career going to be?: We're going to ignore this question so I don't end up curled into a tiny ball sobbing uncontrollably.
Where are you going to live?: Dallas.
What kind of car?: Once I am rich and/or famous, a dark green Jaguar.
Currents
Current mood: Brooding over illness
Current music: The Best of The Proclaimers, randomly split with some of Amanda Palmer's live stuff.
Current taste: Tiny cup full of mandarin oranges.
Current hair: Recently cut, still longer than usual, spiky and out of control.
Current longing: Some vacation time
Current desktop picture: Penny Arcade picture: "Roll for Inititative"
Current favorite artist: Regina Spektor, still #1 in my heart.
Current time-wasting: Puzzle Quest, for the Nintendo DS. I have spent more time playing this game in the past week than I have watching TV and messing around on the Internet combined. It's an addiction, people.
Current hates: Allergies, illness, the word "Whatev."
Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go try and find a dignified way to lie down in my office without throwing up or offending anyone's sensibilities concerning office decorum.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Bad Blood
[A PSA For the Tl:dr People - You should always go and get a blood test at least once a year. It is responsible and sensible, despite the horror that results in the following novel of a blog post.]
---------------------------
I mentioned earlier that I had to go to the doctor a couple of weeks ago with a really bad allergy attack. At the time I was running a fever (probably due to a minor sinus infection) and so the doctor wanted to do a full blood work-up to make sure it wasn't anything more serious. Since I had missed my normal blood test on account of me being a lazy bastard (I usually get tested once a year on the week of my birthday), I agreed and had them run the whole thing.
-----------------------------
A week passed and I didn't even think about it, since my allergy problems cleared up after a couple of days. Then last Tuesday arrived and I went to check my mail after work. Inside was the envelope that the doctor has you address that usually contains your test results. I popped it open, but rather than a list of lab results, instead there was the most ominous letter I have ever seen in my entire life that was not written by a kidnapper.
[Note: This is a literal transcription of the letter, not an approximation.]
"Dear JASON," the letter read. "We have received the documentation from your recent blood test and they contain ABNORMAL TEST RESULTS. We need to discuss these results with you! Please contact our office as soon as possible to schedule a time to come in to meet with the doctor."
------------------------
First off - Seriously, how ominous is that? I went from zero to ready-to-vomit in about 7 seconds.
Secondly - Who the hell came up with the wording of their form letter? Do they have Satan on retainer as a copywriter?
You really feel the need to bold and CAPSLOCK the part about the abnormal test results? Yes, I understand that it's an important part of the letter, but short of springing for color and putting it in blood red, you're not going to make it any scarier.
And that little exclamation mark after the next sentence? I don't know why, but I read that line in this relentlessly perky voice that just grates my mind like a block of cheese. I mean, really, after that whole capslock adventure from 0.2 seconds ago, I get that it's important. That exclamation point just puts me in a bad mood.
The only way that letter could be more ill-advised would be to include a pre-tied noose in the envelope.
-------------------------
Anyways, continuing. So I freaked the hell out in as hardcore a fashion as one can. Because really, if you're a gay male in his early twenties who's already something of a hypochondriac, you tell me where your mind jumps first. Yeah, within 5 minutes of letter receipt, I was entirely sure that I had The Aids, and they were all over the place. Never mind the fact that I'm way less of a whore than I let on (almost monk-like, usually) - the deviancy had finally gotten me, only after 5 years as a practicing member. I felt like the first kid out in a game of freeze tag. Only with a lot more nausea.
I ran inside and grabbed my phone to see if I could catch the doctor's office before they left for the day. Of course I missed them by 3 minutes and got the office-closed recording instead. At that point I then realized that I would have to stew on this horrifying letter and what it could possibly mean for at least 18 hours, and probably more if I had to go in to get the results.
So I barricaded myself into my room and continued to freak out for the resulting rest of the night. Talking online, Jim tried to comfort me with the idea that maybe it wasn't so sinister. Maybe my diet of nothing but Pixi Sticks, Dr. Pepper, and pie had finally caught up with me and I had The Diabetes, instead. Which made me even more nervous, because what if I could never have Pixi Sticks or pie ever again?
This letter was the source of all evil in the world.
--------------------------
The morning finally came after the longest night in recorded history. The doctor's office opened at 9:00am. I managed to hold off calling until 9:01. The nurse who answered the phone managed to discern my name from my incoherent babbles and grabbed my file.
"Oh yeah, here we go," she said. "Yeah, we need you to come in in person to discuss the results. I can't do it over the phone. Will this Friday at 3:00 work for you?"
Note: At that point it was 9:00am on Wednesday. If two more days like the previous 12 hours were to pass before I found out the results, I would probably be a puddle goo at the end. I explained that fact to her and asked her if she could maybe at least give me an indication of how serious we were talking here: "Come on. Just tell me. Oh, is someone watching you? How about you cough once if it's life threatening. I promise, no one will ever know."
She was less than cooperative.
Finally, (perhaps sensing my imminent mental breakdown) she agreed to try to fit me in that afternoon as a walk-in, but couldn't guarantee me a time. I managed to make it through half a day at work without losing any excessive amounts of money or yelling at anyone, which considering the circumstances, I thought was very admirable.
Then, after an interminable 2 hour wait in a waiting room packed with (conservatively) 3,000 small children, I was finally able to get into an examination room. By that point I was as close to total insanity as a human being can get. And then just to top it all off, the exam room they put me in was not a normal one, it was an interview room with a literal fainting couch. Like they had this room specially reserved for giving homos bad news.
--------------------------
Then the doctor came in and told me that I had high cholesterol, and should really consider going on a diet.
--------------------------
SONOFABITCH
--------------------------
Ahem.
Well, that's the short version. She actually came in, glanced over my file, cocked her head to the side and said "So tell me about your parents."
Umm, my father is a minister and my mother is devoutly religious? Is this the part where we pour salt in the wound? Is that really where we've decided to start?
"Because you're very thin, but your cholesterol is near the range expected in the morbidly obese."
Oh.
Still.
Rage, man. Rage unlike you have ever seen. I would have probably exploded, except for the fact that I needed to watch my blood pressure, what with all that cholesterol I've got going on.
--------------------------
So now I'm supposed to be on a diet, where I don't get to eat things that are good, and instead have to only eat things that are gross. And oatmeal in the mornings. It's uniformly horrifying and I'm really bad at following the rules.
Considering where my mind was at before, though, I'm totally pretty cool with it.
But yeah, screw that doctor's office.
---------------------------
I mentioned earlier that I had to go to the doctor a couple of weeks ago with a really bad allergy attack. At the time I was running a fever (probably due to a minor sinus infection) and so the doctor wanted to do a full blood work-up to make sure it wasn't anything more serious. Since I had missed my normal blood test on account of me being a lazy bastard (I usually get tested once a year on the week of my birthday), I agreed and had them run the whole thing.
-----------------------------
A week passed and I didn't even think about it, since my allergy problems cleared up after a couple of days. Then last Tuesday arrived and I went to check my mail after work. Inside was the envelope that the doctor has you address that usually contains your test results. I popped it open, but rather than a list of lab results, instead there was the most ominous letter I have ever seen in my entire life that was not written by a kidnapper.
[Note: This is a literal transcription of the letter, not an approximation.]
"Dear JASON," the letter read. "We have received the documentation from your recent blood test and they contain ABNORMAL TEST RESULTS. We need to discuss these results with you! Please contact our office as soon as possible to schedule a time to come in to meet with the doctor."
------------------------
First off - Seriously, how ominous is that? I went from zero to ready-to-vomit in about 7 seconds.
Secondly - Who the hell came up with the wording of their form letter? Do they have Satan on retainer as a copywriter?
You really feel the need to bold and CAPSLOCK the part about the abnormal test results? Yes, I understand that it's an important part of the letter, but short of springing for color and putting it in blood red, you're not going to make it any scarier.
And that little exclamation mark after the next sentence? I don't know why, but I read that line in this relentlessly perky voice that just grates my mind like a block of cheese. I mean, really, after that whole capslock adventure from 0.2 seconds ago, I get that it's important. That exclamation point just puts me in a bad mood.
The only way that letter could be more ill-advised would be to include a pre-tied noose in the envelope.
-------------------------
Anyways, continuing. So I freaked the hell out in as hardcore a fashion as one can. Because really, if you're a gay male in his early twenties who's already something of a hypochondriac, you tell me where your mind jumps first. Yeah, within 5 minutes of letter receipt, I was entirely sure that I had The Aids, and they were all over the place. Never mind the fact that I'm way less of a whore than I let on (almost monk-like, usually) - the deviancy had finally gotten me, only after 5 years as a practicing member. I felt like the first kid out in a game of freeze tag. Only with a lot more nausea.
I ran inside and grabbed my phone to see if I could catch the doctor's office before they left for the day. Of course I missed them by 3 minutes and got the office-closed recording instead. At that point I then realized that I would have to stew on this horrifying letter and what it could possibly mean for at least 18 hours, and probably more if I had to go in to get the results.
So I barricaded myself into my room and continued to freak out for the resulting rest of the night. Talking online, Jim tried to comfort me with the idea that maybe it wasn't so sinister. Maybe my diet of nothing but Pixi Sticks, Dr. Pepper, and pie had finally caught up with me and I had The Diabetes, instead. Which made me even more nervous, because what if I could never have Pixi Sticks or pie ever again?
This letter was the source of all evil in the world.
--------------------------
The morning finally came after the longest night in recorded history. The doctor's office opened at 9:00am. I managed to hold off calling until 9:01. The nurse who answered the phone managed to discern my name from my incoherent babbles and grabbed my file.
"Oh yeah, here we go," she said. "Yeah, we need you to come in in person to discuss the results. I can't do it over the phone. Will this Friday at 3:00 work for you?"
Note: At that point it was 9:00am on Wednesday. If two more days like the previous 12 hours were to pass before I found out the results, I would probably be a puddle goo at the end. I explained that fact to her and asked her if she could maybe at least give me an indication of how serious we were talking here: "Come on. Just tell me. Oh, is someone watching you? How about you cough once if it's life threatening. I promise, no one will ever know."
She was less than cooperative.
Finally, (perhaps sensing my imminent mental breakdown) she agreed to try to fit me in that afternoon as a walk-in, but couldn't guarantee me a time. I managed to make it through half a day at work without losing any excessive amounts of money or yelling at anyone, which considering the circumstances, I thought was very admirable.
Then, after an interminable 2 hour wait in a waiting room packed with (conservatively) 3,000 small children, I was finally able to get into an examination room. By that point I was as close to total insanity as a human being can get. And then just to top it all off, the exam room they put me in was not a normal one, it was an interview room with a literal fainting couch. Like they had this room specially reserved for giving homos bad news.
--------------------------
Then the doctor came in and told me that I had high cholesterol, and should really consider going on a diet.
--------------------------
SONOFABITCH
--------------------------
Ahem.
Well, that's the short version. She actually came in, glanced over my file, cocked her head to the side and said "So tell me about your parents."
Umm, my father is a minister and my mother is devoutly religious? Is this the part where we pour salt in the wound? Is that really where we've decided to start?
"Because you're very thin, but your cholesterol is near the range expected in the morbidly obese."
Oh.
Still.
Rage, man. Rage unlike you have ever seen. I would have probably exploded, except for the fact that I needed to watch my blood pressure, what with all that cholesterol I've got going on.
--------------------------
So now I'm supposed to be on a diet, where I don't get to eat things that are good, and instead have to only eat things that are gross. And oatmeal in the mornings. It's uniformly horrifying and I'm really bad at following the rules.
Considering where my mind was at before, though, I'm totally pretty cool with it.
But yeah, screw that doctor's office.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Head of Household Hunting?
Alright, so I'm moving in exactly 56 days. This sounds, in my mind, like a ton of time.
Only, after extensive consideration, it's totally not.
Break it down! (like in that song, except math instead of dancing):
Or, y'know, I'll be broke and living in a cardboard box under the 635 overpass, drinking Wild Turkey out of a brown paper bag.
Either way: Drunk and awesome!
Only, after extensive consideration, it's totally not.
Break it down! (like in that song, except math instead of dancing):
- 9 days to officially declare that I'm vacating my lease. (47 days left)
- 7 days for the application/credit processing (40 days left)
- 14 days subtracted to make sure we have a house in place two weeks ahead of moving time and don't end up without a place to live and have to resort to freeway overpasses for shelter. (26 days)
That's 26 days (or 3.7 weeks) to scour Dallas and all the surrounding areas for a house that meets my exacting criteria and will still accept Frnak and me as tenants. Other words: Less than 1 month to find both a perfect house and a gullible-enough landlord to accept the shiftiest guy on the planet and a Borders employee as trustworthy. Factor in the (outlandishly) high costs of living in Dallas proper and the current (monstrous) energy expenses with summer coming up and what do you get? Someone call Felicity and that Crazy Couch Jumping Guy, what we have here is one of those Mission: Impossible scenarios.
It's not all horror, deadlines, and plummeting bank accounts, though. Looking at houses is a really heady, powerful feeling. And we're not even buying, we're just renting a place for a year. But the idea of even semi-ownership of any size space is really intoxicating. The first house I went to visit, I almost swooned right there on the porch when the realtor explained that the whole yard would be mine.
I now totally see why emperors always end up corrupted. Just the thought of ruling over a 15x15 plot of bermuda grass had me dreaming about planting a flag and expansively gesturing with big arm flourishes while saying something about being a "master of all I survey." I would totally do that at least 2 times a day, every day after we moved in, until Frnak stabbed me with a dagger or killed me with ear poison while I slept. (As is the end of all awesome emperors.)
Also totally sweet about a new house? Decorating and furniture arrangement! I don't know why, probably a deep-seated combination of my father's genes and my homo-tendencies, but both of those things just fill me with joy. I've been watching that A&E show Sell This House religiously for about 2 months now, and it is just the best thing on TV that's not How I Met Your Mother. I am enthralled by all their machinations and can't wait to try it out for myself.
Oh man.
What if I was allowed to paint the walls in the new place? I got goosebumps just typing that out.
Y'all can bet that when this whole ordeal is finally complete and I've moved into the new place, there will be a housewarming party of epic proportions, the likes of which no one has ever seen and lived to tell the tale.Or, y'know, I'll be broke and living in a cardboard box under the 635 overpass, drinking Wild Turkey out of a brown paper bag.
Either way: Drunk and awesome!
Monday, March 19, 2007
Erryday is Friday
(Note: I totally started writing this on Friday, so I'm still allowed to make it a multimedia review day. So there.)
My head feels like it is fourteen times its usual size. And since I have quite possibly one of the largest heads in the known world, you can understand why this is a bad thing.
The drugs, they do nothing. I'm thinking today might need to become a real-live sick day. I haven't had one of those in over 2 years. I'm pretty sure my available balance of sick hours at work stands somewhere around 160. I could contract the Ebola and have enough paid time off work to wait it out.
Anyways, before it comes to that, various bits of reviews, notes of interest, and other things to keep my mind away from thoughts of my brain exploding directly out of my ears.
Books
Accelerando, by Charles Stross - Quick! Take every single idea you have ever thought of about technology in the future, be it good, bad, or indifferent, and write them all down in a list on a single sheet of paper. No time for punctuation! Okay done? Congratulations, you have now written one page of Accelerando. Please now repeat step one approximately 400 times, never re-using the same idea twice, add in an occasional poorly-drawn character and/or bit of plot (oh, you know readers, they just love plot) and then stir until you can't remember why you started the book in the first place. And, bam, you're done!
Yeah, we're done.
Admirable book, with admirable intentions, but reading this book was like hacking away at a redwood tree with a plastic butter knife - you might eventually finish the job, but by the end will you really care?
Book of the Dead, Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child - I know I must have said this several times before, but I love me some really cheesy suspense/horror. And nothing comes as close to perfection in that genre as these two authors. As a stand-alone book, this novel will not make a single lick of sense, as it is basically the second half of the already bloated Dance of Death, which was itself actually the second half of another book that I can't even remember the name of. The sum total of the trilogy is great, though. They use established characters (from a half-dozen other great genre books) so you don't have to worry about characterization because it's already built in, and instead get to work rocking out with a ridiculous series of exploits.
Yeah, the "shocking museum exhibit gala goes horribly wrong" bit is overwrought, but I got over it pretty quick. That said - Seriously, how many museum galas in this universe have ended in complete tragedy and multiple deaths? I count at least 3 or 4. And every single time the heroes warn everyone to stop, and every time the bureaucracy pushes the event through anyways. Is there no pattern recognition, people? Whatever, it was entertaining, that's all that matters.
JPod, Douglas Coupland - Several disclosures to start things off: I hated Microserfs for no real reason. Hey Nostradamus! was weird and really compelling, but still put me off. And I really hate when authors get all pretentious and do things like insert themselves into the story (see: King, Stephen) or mess around with fonts and word placement without any real reason (see: Danielewski, Mark - Only Revolutions).
Now that those are out of the way, I really dig this book. A lot. In fact, I read the entire 500 pages or so in a single day. Sometimes you just want to sit down with an incredibly quirky, completely unrealistic and improbable story and just ride it to the end. It's a really sweet (and gory) little book that just keeps ratcheting up the coincidences and jokes until it seems like the author got tired of typing. It was just fun and mindless and forgettable, and geeky enough to suck me in completely. Plus, I really tend to love books that randomly have strange lists for no other reason than the fact that lists are cool.
Movies
Breach - 1) Laura Linney is awesome and will always be awesome. 2) Chris Cooper is a really good and really underrated actor. 3) Ryan Philllllipe has got a giant knot on his forehead that might be the most distracting onscreen feature since Tom Cruise got that weird middle tooth thing corrected.
4) This movie was great, even though there was a very decided lack of action and a plethora of weird Catholic guilt all over the place. Might be a little too measured for my tastes, but in general I am way more of a fan of the thoughtful movie than the mindless one. A-.
Zodiac - And here we are again. Another really great (almost amazing) movie that pulls back from the action so hard that you're constantly left wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. I mean it's a serial killer movie and the guy directing it is the same dude who made Fight Club and Panic Room. In which several people were beaten with sledgehammers and Jared Leto was set on fire in one and had his face basically bashed in in the other. I was expecting more gore. But it is more thoughtful, more focused on how the killer affects those who are chasing him rather than his victims.
The ending really is something of a letdown, if only because the bottom just drops out of the movie. It fits well with the overall scheme - you're just waiting for a payoff that is never going to happen. Which, I guess, is what the whole movie was about, so bravo.
Whatever, Jake Gyllenhaal is so pretty and awkward and swoon.
--------------------------
So yeah, that was my Spring Break week, lots of books and a couple of movies. I blew my entire monthly entertainment budget in abotu 5 days, so look for way more discussions about household events in the coming weeks, while I store up money like a squirrel with his nuts, for the long winter that will be my house moving experience.
Wow, that was a tortured metaphor. I better get out while I still can.
My head feels like it is fourteen times its usual size. And since I have quite possibly one of the largest heads in the known world, you can understand why this is a bad thing.
The drugs, they do nothing. I'm thinking today might need to become a real-live sick day. I haven't had one of those in over 2 years. I'm pretty sure my available balance of sick hours at work stands somewhere around 160. I could contract the Ebola and have enough paid time off work to wait it out.
Anyways, before it comes to that, various bits of reviews, notes of interest, and other things to keep my mind away from thoughts of my brain exploding directly out of my ears.
Books
Accelerando, by Charles Stross - Quick! Take every single idea you have ever thought of about technology in the future, be it good, bad, or indifferent, and write them all down in a list on a single sheet of paper. No time for punctuation! Okay done? Congratulations, you have now written one page of Accelerando. Please now repeat step one approximately 400 times, never re-using the same idea twice, add in an occasional poorly-drawn character and/or bit of plot (oh, you know readers, they just love plot) and then stir until you can't remember why you started the book in the first place. And, bam, you're done!
Yeah, we're done.
Admirable book, with admirable intentions, but reading this book was like hacking away at a redwood tree with a plastic butter knife - you might eventually finish the job, but by the end will you really care?
Book of the Dead, Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child - I know I must have said this several times before, but I love me some really cheesy suspense/horror. And nothing comes as close to perfection in that genre as these two authors. As a stand-alone book, this novel will not make a single lick of sense, as it is basically the second half of the already bloated Dance of Death, which was itself actually the second half of another book that I can't even remember the name of. The sum total of the trilogy is great, though. They use established characters (from a half-dozen other great genre books) so you don't have to worry about characterization because it's already built in, and instead get to work rocking out with a ridiculous series of exploits.
Yeah, the "shocking museum exhibit gala goes horribly wrong" bit is overwrought, but I got over it pretty quick. That said - Seriously, how many museum galas in this universe have ended in complete tragedy and multiple deaths? I count at least 3 or 4. And every single time the heroes warn everyone to stop, and every time the bureaucracy pushes the event through anyways. Is there no pattern recognition, people? Whatever, it was entertaining, that's all that matters.
JPod, Douglas Coupland - Several disclosures to start things off: I hated Microserfs for no real reason. Hey Nostradamus! was weird and really compelling, but still put me off. And I really hate when authors get all pretentious and do things like insert themselves into the story (see: King, Stephen) or mess around with fonts and word placement without any real reason (see: Danielewski, Mark - Only Revolutions).
Now that those are out of the way, I really dig this book. A lot. In fact, I read the entire 500 pages or so in a single day. Sometimes you just want to sit down with an incredibly quirky, completely unrealistic and improbable story and just ride it to the end. It's a really sweet (and gory) little book that just keeps ratcheting up the coincidences and jokes until it seems like the author got tired of typing. It was just fun and mindless and forgettable, and geeky enough to suck me in completely. Plus, I really tend to love books that randomly have strange lists for no other reason than the fact that lists are cool.
Movies
Breach - 1) Laura Linney is awesome and will always be awesome. 2) Chris Cooper is a really good and really underrated actor. 3) Ryan Philllllipe has got a giant knot on his forehead that might be the most distracting onscreen feature since Tom Cruise got that weird middle tooth thing corrected.
4) This movie was great, even though there was a very decided lack of action and a plethora of weird Catholic guilt all over the place. Might be a little too measured for my tastes, but in general I am way more of a fan of the thoughtful movie than the mindless one. A-.
Zodiac - And here we are again. Another really great (almost amazing) movie that pulls back from the action so hard that you're constantly left wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. I mean it's a serial killer movie and the guy directing it is the same dude who made Fight Club and Panic Room. In which several people were beaten with sledgehammers and Jared Leto was set on fire in one and had his face basically bashed in in the other. I was expecting more gore. But it is more thoughtful, more focused on how the killer affects those who are chasing him rather than his victims.
The ending really is something of a letdown, if only because the bottom just drops out of the movie. It fits well with the overall scheme - you're just waiting for a payoff that is never going to happen. Which, I guess, is what the whole movie was about, so bravo.
Whatever, Jake Gyllenhaal is so pretty and awkward and swoon.
--------------------------
So yeah, that was my Spring Break week, lots of books and a couple of movies. I blew my entire monthly entertainment budget in abotu 5 days, so look for way more discussions about household events in the coming weeks, while I store up money like a squirrel with his nuts, for the long winter that will be my house moving experience.
Wow, that was a tortured metaphor. I better get out while I still can.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
So Where Were We?
You may have noticed that I haven't been around lately. When I say "you," I'm obviously referring to the imaginary readers that I still have after letting this place lie fallow for about a month. You're awesome, imaginary people that most likely do not exist.
Rapid fire updates of how I spent the last 20 odd days or so:
Rapid fire updates of how I spent the last 20 odd days or so:
- Working. Working, working, working. Like a house elf. Coming into work at 8:00, leaving at 6:00-6:30, stopping only for about 30 minutes once a day to eat a sandwich at my desk. People want their mortgages and they want them right now, dammit. I am freaking exhausted and earning every red cent of my raise.
- Devon's birthday weekend, which was full of things that I would normally abhor, like piano bars and tequila but turned out to be wicked fun and was also full of things I love, like vodka sours, avocados, public drunkenness, IHOP, and that Proclaimers song about walking 500 miles.
- House hunting. I have just less than 2 months before I need to move. And I am determined to find the absolute best house out there. Items that I am looking for in my new house (in no particular order): Three bedrooms, at least two full baths (preferably 3), a distance from my office that does not make my commute more than 30 minutes, a back yard, a neighborhood in which we are not across the street from a crackhouse on one side and a church converted into a hippie/cult den on the other, a lease that starts approximately on May 15th, no longer than a 12 month commitment, that looks relatively new, with all appliances supplied except for washer/dryer, hardwood floors or very new carpet, at least 1,650 square feet, and showers that have really excellent water pressure. All for as little money as humanly possible. Is that so much to ask?
- Wild allergy attacks. The last of which happened yesterday and left me so incapacitated that I had to leave the office and sit in a waiting room with 2,000 small screaming children for 2 hours, rather than endure another second wondering if my head would actually explode like that one scene in Total Recall. I eventually left with an allergy shot that was effective for approximately only 14 hours, 4 different sets of blood tests taken (when it was determined that I was running a fever in conjunction with a sinus infection), 5 different stab wounds (3 small blood tests on various fingers, one full vial of blood taken from my arm for a complete blood workup, and an ass wound from the allergy shot), 2 kinds of antibiotics, a nose spray, a new type of allergy pill that is supposed to be less paranoia-inducing, and some lovely hydrocodone spiked decongestant that made sleeping last night incredibly enjoyable.
And, hmm, I think that's it. I finished a couple of books and saw a couple of movies, but it's not Friday and would still like to avoid reviews on non week-ending days.
How have all you imaginary people been?
Friday, February 23, 2007
Even Further Tales of Stupidity
Two short stories for you, just in case you had any thoughts about challenging my title of Reigning Champ of the Clumsy:
This was a couple of weeks ago now, back during that winter storm that hit Dallas for 3 really boring (and cold) days. So I'm out at a restaurant with some friends. We're finishing up dinner, settling the bill and whatnot. The place isn't too crowded, even though it's a Friday night, mostly because it's (at max) 25 degrees outside with a super cold wind blowing. It feels pretty full though, because all the tables and booths are placed really close together and they've put everyone in one section of the building. The restaurant's pretty big so I don't understand why they've got everyone crammed into the one small portion of the floor, but who am I to judge? (This is a rationalization for what occurs later. This whole incident obviously was not my fault. It was the restaurant's lack of spatial planning sense.)
I down the final bit of my drink and we get our checks back. Using my mad math skills, I calculate a tip and sum the total up in record time. We pour out of our booth and start getting ready to brave the crazy cold. I'm already mostly ready to go, I've got three layers going even indoors, so all I need to do is apply my jacket and scarf and I'll be good.
Unfortunately I don't properly scope out my surroundings before attempting to get my arm in the jacket sleeve. There were several things that I did not take into account:
But really, why does she have to be walking so quiet-like? And shouldn't one really expect that a patron who is getting ready to leave might suddenly and for no reason shoot his arm out into your path? And as such, shouldn't you plan for that kind of event accordingly?
Yeah, I got nothing.
I apologized profusely, turned very red, and endured many angry glares from the other non-waitress-punching restaurant goers, and then amended my tip as generously as possible without sending my bank account into the red.
Good times.
---------------------------------
Yesterday I was in a crazy hurry to get home from work. I was meeting someone approximately half an hour after I got out and had at least 5 different tasks that needed to be completed beforehand. I decided on the trip home to try and consolidate as many of those errands as possible into a smaller number of super-errands in order to up the likelihood of being on-time with my bad self.
I decided that the easiest of the consolidations would be to go ahead and get the inside of the Truck of Malfunction cleaned while I was driving home, saving valuable seconds in my apartment parking lot that otherwise would have been wasted throwing empty fast food wrappers into a plastic bag. Thus at each stoplight on the way home I did just that - lurched around the cab of the truck grabbing every reachable piece of trash and throwing them into the grocery bag that I tend to use as my lunch container. While at the same time winding up all the various cell phone/miscellaneous car adapter cords that had accumulated over the months and storing in my glove compartment.
This seems like a foolproof plan, no? It worked quite well, at first.
Until at the busiest intersection on my trip home. This light tends to run excessively long, so I figured I had plenty of time to reach over to the far side of the passenger's seat and get at all the difficult trash that has fallen outside of my field of view. I rummage around back there and toss everything I can touch up to the front of the cab for easy disposal into the trash bag. Step One: Success.
However, when I pull up to start transferring all the trash into the bag (Step Two), it turns out that the trash that I wasn't able to see was all very dusty. Enough so that when I grabbed the next piece, a huge cloud representing 6 months of car foot-traffic debris billowed up into the air.
This sent me into a horrible sneezing fit, which occurred while I was still reaching across the length of the car. And just so you know, when I sneeze, my body gets into it. Enough so that of the four uncontrollable sneezes that wracked my body, two of them shook me so violently that my head and shoulder bounced off the steering column hard enough to honk the horn (so conveniently placed right in the middle of the wheel).
Just stop and imagine for a moment that you are sitting at the bus stop at this particular intersection through all of this. What do you see?
Some guy pulls up at the stoplight. He begins to root around in his truck, throwing huge amounts of receipts, empty fast food wrappers, and sundry other pieces of crap into the air towards the front of his car. He finally stops this after some time and begins digging through the junk he has just unearthed, only to pause for 5 long seconds with a decidedly unattractive look on his face, and then suddenly starts rapidly jerking his head forward. In the process ramming his body 4 times into the steering wheel, honking twice.
The light then turns green and he speeds away, while turning a most violent shade of red.
Yeaaah. Awesome.
This was a couple of weeks ago now, back during that winter storm that hit Dallas for 3 really boring (and cold) days. So I'm out at a restaurant with some friends. We're finishing up dinner, settling the bill and whatnot. The place isn't too crowded, even though it's a Friday night, mostly because it's (at max) 25 degrees outside with a super cold wind blowing. It feels pretty full though, because all the tables and booths are placed really close together and they've put everyone in one section of the building. The restaurant's pretty big so I don't understand why they've got everyone crammed into the one small portion of the floor, but who am I to judge? (This is a rationalization for what occurs later. This whole incident obviously was not my fault. It was the restaurant's lack of spatial planning sense.)
I down the final bit of my drink and we get our checks back. Using my mad math skills, I calculate a tip and sum the total up in record time. We pour out of our booth and start getting ready to brave the crazy cold. I'm already mostly ready to go, I've got three layers going even indoors, so all I need to do is apply my jacket and scarf and I'll be good.
Unfortunately I don't properly scope out my surroundings before attempting to get my arm in the jacket sleeve. There were several things that I did not take into account:
- Our waitress is pretty shy, and very quiet. In fact, she's downright near silent when walking between the tables.
- All those aforementioned tables are very, very close together leaving not much room for a single person to maneuver, let alone two people.
- My layers are already so thick that in order to get my jacket on I must fully extend my arm out behind me before I can begin the process of shimmying the rest of the way in.
But really, why does she have to be walking so quiet-like? And shouldn't one really expect that a patron who is getting ready to leave might suddenly and for no reason shoot his arm out into your path? And as such, shouldn't you plan for that kind of event accordingly?
Yeah, I got nothing.
I apologized profusely, turned very red, and endured many angry glares from the other non-waitress-punching restaurant goers, and then amended my tip as generously as possible without sending my bank account into the red.
Good times.
---------------------------------
Yesterday I was in a crazy hurry to get home from work. I was meeting someone approximately half an hour after I got out and had at least 5 different tasks that needed to be completed beforehand. I decided on the trip home to try and consolidate as many of those errands as possible into a smaller number of super-errands in order to up the likelihood of being on-time with my bad self.
I decided that the easiest of the consolidations would be to go ahead and get the inside of the Truck of Malfunction cleaned while I was driving home, saving valuable seconds in my apartment parking lot that otherwise would have been wasted throwing empty fast food wrappers into a plastic bag. Thus at each stoplight on the way home I did just that - lurched around the cab of the truck grabbing every reachable piece of trash and throwing them into the grocery bag that I tend to use as my lunch container. While at the same time winding up all the various cell phone/miscellaneous car adapter cords that had accumulated over the months and storing in my glove compartment.
This seems like a foolproof plan, no? It worked quite well, at first.
Until at the busiest intersection on my trip home. This light tends to run excessively long, so I figured I had plenty of time to reach over to the far side of the passenger's seat and get at all the difficult trash that has fallen outside of my field of view. I rummage around back there and toss everything I can touch up to the front of the cab for easy disposal into the trash bag. Step One: Success.
However, when I pull up to start transferring all the trash into the bag (Step Two), it turns out that the trash that I wasn't able to see was all very dusty. Enough so that when I grabbed the next piece, a huge cloud representing 6 months of car foot-traffic debris billowed up into the air.
This sent me into a horrible sneezing fit, which occurred while I was still reaching across the length of the car. And just so you know, when I sneeze, my body gets into it. Enough so that of the four uncontrollable sneezes that wracked my body, two of them shook me so violently that my head and shoulder bounced off the steering column hard enough to honk the horn (so conveniently placed right in the middle of the wheel).
Just stop and imagine for a moment that you are sitting at the bus stop at this particular intersection through all of this. What do you see?
Some guy pulls up at the stoplight. He begins to root around in his truck, throwing huge amounts of receipts, empty fast food wrappers, and sundry other pieces of crap into the air towards the front of his car. He finally stops this after some time and begins digging through the junk he has just unearthed, only to pause for 5 long seconds with a decidedly unattractive look on his face, and then suddenly starts rapidly jerking his head forward. In the process ramming his body 4 times into the steering wheel, honking twice.
The light then turns green and he speeds away, while turning a most violent shade of red.
Yeaaah. Awesome.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
The Great Flood And Other Hyperbole
So over the weekend the radiator exploded in the apartment next to mine. Since that apartment is the model unit (oh, the actual irony!) that they show to potential renters, no one noticed this fact until Frank realized that half our apartment was under water. (I was back home visiting family at the time, but I probably wouldn't have noticed anyways. I'm oblivious like that.)
Incidentally, the call from Frank informing me of this fact was brilliantly dramatic:
Jason: Hello?
Frank: Jason?
Jason: Hey, what's up?
Frank: Disasters and tragedy!
Jason: Uhh, what happened?
Frank: There! Is water! All over the kitchen!
Jason: That accounts for disaster and tragedy?
Frank: Well it's other places too! Doom!
You can't fault the boy's ability to ratchet up the drama in any given situation.
I tracked down a number for him and Frank got a call in to the emergency maintenance people. Who at least got the water to stop flowing like a river into our house, but their overall solution to the problem was just to rip up all the carpet in Frank's room and the hallway. And then leave, with a vague promise to come back. At some point, maybe in the future. This was not comforting to me, especially after it took them 3 full months to replace the garbage disposal in the kitchen last year. We could live with that at the time, but we sort of need that room.
Because suddenly I had a displaced Frank in the living room and roughly half of our usual floorspace to work with. I don't know if I've mentioned it lately, but I own a lot of stuff. Consolidating all that crap into 1/2 the normal amount of space basically left us climbing over mountains of debris anytime we wanted to walk between two rooms in the house. The only saving grace is that Frank owns basically no furniture (a bed and a TV) so we didn't completely collapse in on ourselves. Still, by midweek it was like we were living in one of those pack rat homes that Oprah sometimes goes to, with the trash and old newspapers piled to the ceilings. We are not built for small locations. Or cleaning, for that matter.
And oh yeah, the smell. Dear God. Water is gross. Standing water that has festered under some carpet is horrible and leaves your apartment smelling like low tide on the Gulf Coast. Frank Febreezed every available surface in the house, I coated the entire building with air deodorizer, and you would still choke when you walked in the door. We spent the entirety of Tuesday night with all the doors and windows in the place wide open, just in case any robbers/vagrants/hippies from down the street felt like wandering in for a quick chat and/or theft of our lovely property.
Because it wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that they finally got around to actually repairing the carpet, and even that was done poorly. (Probably because I left them this horribly bitchy message on Tuesday after they failed for the second time to do what they goddamn said they would do and fix the crap they started.) They knocked over everything that was anywhere near the area they had to work on, didn't vacuum after they were done, and left tons of debris and excess carpet stuff all over Frank's room.
And the place still goddamn reeks.
Incidentally, we're moving in two months, the second my lease expires.
Anyone know of a nice house for rent?
---------------------------------
Y'all know that I hated my job, right? Well with the advent of this thing called the Internet, I have been able to apply for other jobs with surprising ease, although I've had very little overall success at getting chances to escape from my current hell.
That was until about a week ago, when I got an offer from a new place. New job, new title, new location, more money, and less chance that I would need to pick up someone's fur coat from storage as part of my college-degree-requiring job. I was ready to bolt like a ninja and told my boss so, to my utter delight. Getting a chance to finally tell off your boss is akin to winning the lottery in my mind. Luckily, I held off from going nuts right away, since she then immediately asked exactly how much money it would take to get me to stay on board, horrors be damned.
I worked it over in my mind and ran the figures to put a dollar value on exactly how much I disliked my current job, and came up with the amount of money I would need to make that feelings of hatred melt away in the face of wads of cash. The final figure I came up with was (only mildly) ludicrous, and I was pretty sure there was no way in hell they would be willing to throw enough money at me to make me stay, despite my total awesomeness at my job.
And then she matched it without blinking.
So yeah, hi. I'm staying where I am. And suddenly I have a way better outlook on employment.
Also soon: Richer than Astronauts!
Incidentally, the call from Frank informing me of this fact was brilliantly dramatic:
Jason: Hello?
Frank: Jason?
Jason: Hey, what's up?
Frank: Disasters and tragedy!
Jason: Uhh, what happened?
Frank: There! Is water! All over the kitchen!
Jason: That accounts for disaster and tragedy?
Frank: Well it's other places too! Doom!
You can't fault the boy's ability to ratchet up the drama in any given situation.
I tracked down a number for him and Frank got a call in to the emergency maintenance people. Who at least got the water to stop flowing like a river into our house, but their overall solution to the problem was just to rip up all the carpet in Frank's room and the hallway. And then leave, with a vague promise to come back. At some point, maybe in the future. This was not comforting to me, especially after it took them 3 full months to replace the garbage disposal in the kitchen last year. We could live with that at the time, but we sort of need that room.
Because suddenly I had a displaced Frank in the living room and roughly half of our usual floorspace to work with. I don't know if I've mentioned it lately, but I own a lot of stuff. Consolidating all that crap into 1/2 the normal amount of space basically left us climbing over mountains of debris anytime we wanted to walk between two rooms in the house. The only saving grace is that Frank owns basically no furniture (a bed and a TV) so we didn't completely collapse in on ourselves. Still, by midweek it was like we were living in one of those pack rat homes that Oprah sometimes goes to, with the trash and old newspapers piled to the ceilings. We are not built for small locations. Or cleaning, for that matter.
And oh yeah, the smell. Dear God. Water is gross. Standing water that has festered under some carpet is horrible and leaves your apartment smelling like low tide on the Gulf Coast. Frank Febreezed every available surface in the house, I coated the entire building with air deodorizer, and you would still choke when you walked in the door. We spent the entirety of Tuesday night with all the doors and windows in the place wide open, just in case any robbers/vagrants/hippies from down the street felt like wandering in for a quick chat and/or theft of our lovely property.
Because it wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that they finally got around to actually repairing the carpet, and even that was done poorly. (Probably because I left them this horribly bitchy message on Tuesday after they failed for the second time to do what they goddamn said they would do and fix the crap they started.) They knocked over everything that was anywhere near the area they had to work on, didn't vacuum after they were done, and left tons of debris and excess carpet stuff all over Frank's room.
And the place still goddamn reeks.
Incidentally, we're moving in two months, the second my lease expires.
Anyone know of a nice house for rent?
---------------------------------
Y'all know that I hated my job, right? Well with the advent of this thing called the Internet, I have been able to apply for other jobs with surprising ease, although I've had very little overall success at getting chances to escape from my current hell.
That was until about a week ago, when I got an offer from a new place. New job, new title, new location, more money, and less chance that I would need to pick up someone's fur coat from storage as part of my college-degree-requiring job. I was ready to bolt like a ninja and told my boss so, to my utter delight. Getting a chance to finally tell off your boss is akin to winning the lottery in my mind. Luckily, I held off from going nuts right away, since she then immediately asked exactly how much money it would take to get me to stay on board, horrors be damned.
I worked it over in my mind and ran the figures to put a dollar value on exactly how much I disliked my current job, and came up with the amount of money I would need to make that feelings of hatred melt away in the face of wads of cash. The final figure I came up with was (only mildly) ludicrous, and I was pretty sure there was no way in hell they would be willing to throw enough money at me to make me stay, despite my total awesomeness at my job.
And then she matched it without blinking.
So yeah, hi. I'm staying where I am. And suddenly I have a way better outlook on employment.
Also soon: Richer than Astronauts!
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