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

1. Firefly/Serenity (category: television/movies)
   
2. 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)
   
3. Mika - Life in Cartoon Motion (category: music)
   
4. The Story Of How I Learned That I Have Bad Cholesterol (category: lame personal anecdote)
   
5. (cont.) Things that I Cannot Eat, Due to my Bad Cholesterol (category: super lame personal anecdote)
   
6. Being In Charge of My Office, Because my Boss is in Italy for Three Weeks (category: personal martyrdom)
   
7. How I Met Your Mother (category: television/movies)
   
8. 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)
   
9. I Broke My Tooth In Half, The One That I Had Fixed Last Year, And It Hurts Like a Sumbitch (category: painful personal anecdote)
   
10. 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)

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.

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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.

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God, that took way more concentration than I expected. Back to flailing in every direction!

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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.]

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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.

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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."

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Then the doctor came in and told me that I had high cholesterol, and should really consider going on a diet.

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SONOFABITCH

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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.

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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.

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):

• 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!

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.

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:

• 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?

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:

• 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.

Yeah, with one quick extension of my arm I manage to basically full-on punch our waitress in the shoulder. Who happens to be carrying a tray of empty glasses by our table at the time. They fall, ice flies everywhere, and suddenly I have become the domestic abuser of friendly waitstaff who wear cute horn rimmed glasses.

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.

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!

Frozen Hearts

Oh look, it's Valentine's Day again. How lovely. (Note: This is a false statement.)

I have written at length, several times, on the subject of my distaste for this so-called "holiday," but that's not going to slow me down now (except for the time it takes to note that I used to be a way better writer than I am now. I have fallen out of practice, apparently).

So I walk into my office this morning, bitter and cold and partially frozen (it is 27 degrees outside with 20 mph wind gusts) and all I want is a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet. Instead, I am subjected to standing in line in the break room to reach the coffee machine. Someone has brought in brownies for the whole office, and these people are wild for free foodstuffs. Seriously, you would think they have been scavenging in the wilderness for days the way they are tearing into these things.

Also, the sounds. Good Lord, the sounds. Usually I am a big proponent of moaning about a particularly good piece of food, but they are taking it way too far. If even I - the guy who puts the flamboy in flamboyant - am thinking that you need to tone it down a bit, there is something seriously wrong with your behavior right now.

After finally inching my way through the teeming masses to the coffee pot, I find that not only is it empty (the jackals, they love their coffee) but we're out of grounds to make a new pot. Granted, there was decaf available, but why not just let the office pack kick me in the head repeatedly, instead. Decaf is the work of the devil.

Then, not only did I get no coffee, I had to spend another 5 minutes trying to escape without having a brownie physically shoved into my mouth. I don't understand why people refuse to believe me when I say that I don't eat in the mornings. Seriously and truly, it is really bad for my stomach. I think I would know, as I am somewhat familiar with the subject. Hard evidence and whatnot. But that does not stop these people, no sir. They are relentless. With the way they are swarming all over these things, one would assume they want them all to themselves, but no. I must share in their sugar-and-chocolate-fueled blood lust.

Finally I just took one with me back to my office to get them (almost literally) off of my back.

----------------------------

I make it into my office with the hope that I can finally enjoy some peace and quiet, and work on the 3 files that I need to get out of the office before noon. I manage exactly two minutes and 45 seconds of silence before the phone rings and I am ordered out into the cold once again. This time, to wait for a bouquet of flowers that are being delivered to my office. This was supposed to take approximately 5 minutes, as the driver with the flowers assured me that he was less than 2 minutes from my office and could just speed through the delivery area without having to find parking and all that jazz.

Yeah, no. Minute upon minute pass, as I waited in the freezing cold and the icy blasts of wind that managed to foil even the super effectiveness of my stylish faux-denim corduroy jacket (usually so perfect for all cold weather occasions). And then I waited some more. And then a little while longer. And then, completely frozen to the core, I gave up. Or more specifically, I gave up when a wind gust came through that was so cold and so huge that it literally unwound the scarf from around my neck and sent me running through the parking lot after it, jumping and flailing my arms in a wild attempt to capture it. All the while looking a lot like one of those rhythmic gymnasts with the ribbons, according to the elevator attendant who happened to be watching from a nearby window. Awesome. (Note: Also false).

I went back up to my office and found a message from the delivery guy: "Yeah, so I totally got the wrong address. I'll be over there in, like, 20 minutes. Hope you didn't already go down there."

Haaaate.

--------------------------

And now that the flowers are actually here and installed in the office, oh my god are they wreaking havoc on my allergies. The sneezing/not-sneezing ratio is so out of control right now, you have no idea.

In conclusion: I hate this holiday. I hate the commercialism. I hate the contrivance. I hate that I look really bad around the color pink. I hate the fact that I can't gorge myself on chocolate like usual because I'm trying to live healthy for once in my misbegotten life. I hate flowers that cause a deep abiding pain in my head. Hate hate hate, etc.

Bring on The President's Day, by God! I loves me some history.

Wired

Hi.
(Hi hi.)

How's it going?
(Right now)

Am I properly portraying my mental state through formatting?
(Englished!)

So I started taking some new allergy medication yesterday night, and then again this morning. I've been having some really bad allergy things happening lately, like bad headaches and the uncontrollable twitching of my right eyelid. Along with the normal sneezing, watery-eye, zombified Jason things that usually happen.

These new pills are actually old pills. They're part of that regimen that I was taking back during that really bad allergy attack in October. But I stopped taking everything when I realized that the nighttime pills were causing me to become wildly paranoid. Like "I think there's a monster in the bathroom carefully timing its breathing with mine so I won't be alerted to his presence" sort of paranoid.

But now I'm just taking half of the drugs (the daytime part), and the results are completely something else.

To wit: I'm wired.

No wait.

I'm Wired.
(In italics. Large-size. And Capitalized. You see?)

This results in quick speaking, super focused, hummingbird type darting around the office. I am one million times more productive than ever before, and also a little insane right now. My eyes feel very open. I finished about 4 days worth of work before lunch today. I'm afraid I have the crazy eyes going on, also, because of the wideness. I'm being really friendly too. I actually engaged some random person in the office in idle conversation, without being spoken to first. I think we were talking about the Mavericks. Maybe, I'm not sure. I don't remember that far back (3 hours).

This is why I don't like drugs. Why can't allergy medication just treat the symptoms without sending me off on some strange trip. Suddenly I'm some sort of bubbly, efficient, normally socialized human being? That's not me. Not me at all.

Stupid drugs.

(Whee! Wired!)

Did I mention that I'm having a really good hair day today? It's totally sweet. You should see it; I'm looking goooood.

Pure Brain Dump

During a discussion recently with a friend of mine, I mentioned that I didn't really have any good topics to write about at the moment, just a whole bunch of little bits of junk that were sort of floating around in my head. And she gave me some very sage advice: write about whatever you want; it's your damn blog.

So yeah, word to the max. Commencing random bits of info.

-------------------

My latest obsession: How I Met Your Mother. A TV show. Not even just a TV show, a fixed camera sitcom. I don't know what has become of my tastes. But this show is the most hilarious thing on TV that is not The Office, and it's way less cringe-inducing, which makes it a lot easier to watch. I got the first season on DVD for Christmas and by conservative estimate I have watched it all the way through at least 5 times. There is a really nice level of rapport that the cast has working, especially by the end of that first season. And the new second season has really hit its stride, to the point where I consider certain episodes at the pinnacle of good TV. (I would never have thought anything could challenge Arrested Development's Pier Pressure as the best single episode of comedy I have ever seen, but HIMYM's Slap Bet is right there.)

I also have a wicked man-crush on Neil Patrick Harris, who is almost criminally funny in the role of the crazy womanizer.

The show almost went off the rails for me in the first season with the obvious parallels to Friends and the Ross+Rachael4Life issue with the corresponding characters here, but they managed to avoid the really bad pitfalls and come up with some great TV.

And now I'm on some sort of holy quest to convert every person I know into a watcher. This is exactly like Serenity/Firefly, but I think I'm a little less crazed on this one. You should watch it, though.

-----------------------

Also for Christmas, someone (Frank) let me go wild in Borders books and I managed to pick up a nice pile of new Science Fiction, which I have been chewing through for over a month now, really enjoying some hardcore speculative future worlds. It's all from the very dense side of science fiction, the kind that normal people hate and that I absolutely love.

This is all to say that I am massively recommending the novel Spin by Robert Charles Wilson. It's the sort of book that I live for: hard science fiction with a realistic base, some really interesting ideas, and a payoff that doesn't completely suck (which is the problem I almost universally find with really ambitious science fiction). It's got a straightforwardness about the whole thing that I really respect - One day the stars disappear, the Earth is surrounded by some sort of shield that causes time on the planet to move incredibly slowly compared to the rest of the universe, and the main characters are left to deal with the fallout.

Even though it is structured in a stylized series of flashbacks, it manages it with such flair that completely forgive the trappings, where usually I would get tired after 3 chapters. And it doesn't hurt that the characters are surprisingly well written and sympathetic, something else that I tend to hate about sci-fi.

It really put me in the mind of Carl Sagan's Contact, which is pretty much the highest praise I can give to a book. It's not for everyone, but if you like this sort of thing, it's definitely the book to read.

-------------------------

I've started up the World of Warcraft again. I know, so shameful. I have no reasoning or defense, other than the relative cheapness of the entertainment. Your average video game costs at least $30.00 and only offers you limited replay value. By sticking with this one, I'm only incurring about $14.00/month and not wasting money elsewhere.

Also, the new races and areas they added in with the expansion are just great - I've got a new Blood Elf up and running and my hunter has been pulled out of retirement for the long haul up to level 70. If there are any of you out there who still play, I'm on that there server called The Scryers, character name Rohr.

--------------------------

New Musical Interest that I can't get enough of: Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not. I really enjoy me some up-tempo rock, and this album has it in spades. Classic exercise/running background music for me. And some of the songs are really sweet too.

I have almost nothing to add, except I really like British imports lately for some reason. I'm just a sucker for accents, I think.

(Other music related confession that ruins pretty much my entire life: I have that Daughtry CD on my iPod. And I sort of like it. A lot. I think I'm gonna go throw up now.)

--------------------------

Went and saw Pan's Labyrinth over the weekend. Completely amazing. Almost impossible to watch at times - the violence is astounding on occasion, but the movie as a whole is astonishing and immersive. The fantastic elements are almost tame compared to the realistic elements of war, and when you combine it with the amazing acting the result is deeply affecting. I don't think I've walked out of a movie that charged...possibly ever. And I include in that my recent viewing of Children of Men, which I imagined would hold the title for a very long time. I also really dug the open-endedness of the conclusion. In fact, I probably would have liked a little more - some additional shades of gray might not have hurt.

A great movie, though. Top three of last year to be sure. Actually to break it down, my real top 5 movie list in terms of best movies I saw for 2006 (say if I ran the Oscars): Children of Men, History Boys, Pan's Labyrinth, Little Miss Sunshine, and Stranger Than Fiction.

Destination: Alcoholism

I am on a serious furniture kick lately. The bookshelf/rearrangement process from a couple of weeks ago seems to have fueled my innate desire for the finer things in life. Well, if by "finer things" you mean, "beautiful dark-wood-looking yet wildly cheap knock-offs."

You see, for about 2 months, I have been coveting this particular wine cabinet from Target. I have always wanted a classy place to store all my potential liquors. And this one was almost too perfect: It has a fold out serving top, two swinging doors to hold your wine and wine glasses, two big shelves for your fine liquors, and two drawers to hold all your related alcohol paraphernalia.

The big bonus, though, was the price, which was approximately half that of any similar cabinet that I had ever seen. But lo those many months I had other purchases that took precedence, like bookshelves, Christmas presents, and food. Then about 2 weeks ago, I happened to be in Target and idly wandered by the furniture department and found that sucker on 40% off sale.

To say that I wanted the cabinet was an understatement that defies common convention. I was going to have that unit, no matter what. They had no boxes on the shelf, so I immediately grab one of the salespeople and breathlessly ask if they have any in the back. She says that she thinks there is one left somewhere, and goes to check, telling me to stay right there. I am practically drooling at this point.

Between the time when she leaves until she reappears, I become some wild animal protecting his nest: three different people wander by and start commenting on the cabinet.

"Hey, this is really nice! And it's 40% off," says one very tall customer.
"Uh, yeah, sorry. They're all totally sold out. Too bad." I say. I am very forceful. I may or may not have made little shoo-ing motions with my hands at the tall guy.
"Oh, that's too bad. Well maybe the display unit is on sale." This guy is a sneaky bastard, I'll give him that. (I hadn't even considered that idea, dammit.)
"Ohh, uh...nope! I already asked. It's a drag, I know. It's so cool, right? But maybe better luck next time!" This time the shoo-ing motions are real and pronounced.
"Uh, yeah..." The distrust in his eyes is obvious. He sees my fanaticism, I am too obvious in my machinations. I am wildly scared that he will ask why I'm waiting around and the jig will be up. I try to think up some excuse for my loitering, but can find no plausible excuse. I actively wonder if I could take him in hand-to-hand combat (final decision: uh, no.) Finally after an eternity he wanders off. I am able to breath once again.

The next two people are easier sells, and I successfully defend my turf with a quick and decisive "Oh, I already asked and they are sold out," combined with a dismissive flip of the head.

The whole thing proves for naught, though, when she comes back with the sad news that they don't have any in the back. And when I inquire about the display unit (thanks, sneaky tall guy) she explains that it's been bolted to the shelf and the back is full of holes.

Y'all, you do not understand the level of crushing disappointment that I felt. I had considered that cabinet as a member of my own family. Apparently the horror was evident on my face, as the salesgirl practically fell over herself telling me not to worry, because surely one of the other Targets in the DFW area would have one in stock. I am slightly mollified, but still near tears.

She manages to track down one unit at a nearby store which I acquire with much less drama than one would expect given the first round of theatrics. I didn't even have to lie to one person at the second (obviously superior) store.

And once it was put together, it is awesome. Remember, it's not alcoholism if the liquor comes out of an amazingly fancy cherry wood cabinet. We had a hugely successful bar initiation party over the weekend to celebrate my even newer-found newfound adulthood, in which the liquors flowed freely and deliciously.

This is a very slippery slope, however, since now I really want a new matching dining room table and chairs, and of course new end tables in the living room, not to mention a new matching entertainment center for the TV...

Wherein I Barely Restrain My Bloodlust

So when I was driving in to work today, I was waiting at a stoplight and slowly freezing into a chunk of ice, since the TOM has decided that the heater is no longer a vital component in its continued survival. I was just sort of sitting there, slightly shivering and mostly concentrating on getting into my office, where the newly installed thermostat is actually regulating the temperature in there. No more would I need to wear my scarf and jacket at my desk, like some sort of antarctic pole monitor. I should be able to warm up pretty quic--

When all of a sudden, some guy in the next car over from me has rolled down his window and just totally spits all over my TOM. Like a full on, super super super gross loogey from deep within. And it now occludes the majority of my passenger-side window. And did I mention it's like the grossest thing I have seen in 2007?

I cock my head to the side and give him the standard "Uh, what the fuck, man, did you just spit all over my car?" look. He just sort of shrugs and starts laughing, and taps the shoulder of his passenger to draw attention to his apparent masterful spitting job he has just done. They both enjoy a hearty laugh over this, until the light turns green and they speed off, still cackling away.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!

Okay, I have been in a bad mood this week, I will fully own up to that. My boss left the country and has left me in charge of doing many more jobs than I am capable of accomplishing, which results in a whole bunch of clients yelling at me all throughout the day, even though it is most definitely not my fault. This has sent me into a very angry space.

That said, good sweet and fuzzy lord, I was ready throw down against this redneck hick who somehow thinks it is the highest level of comedy that he has covered my truck in his disgusting bodily fluids.

I mean, that's just not done, right? I guess, on the incredibly odd chance that you feel the intense need/desire to spit out the window of your car and you happen to expectorate a little harder than you anticipated and it hits someone else's vehicle, the least that you could do would be to apologize or look a little ashamed of yourself. You don't point and laugh. I had to waste 5 bucks and be late for work this morning so I could drive through the goddamn car wash to clear off your shit from my car. (Cause I'll be damned if I'm going to let some fool's mucus dry on my truck).

It's now maybe 2 hours later and the bloodlust is still now only starting to subside.

Damn people. Always spitting on my car and shit.

Oscar Noms & Whatnot

Just because I am wildly bored today, I will make my amazing Oscar Non-Predictions. In every single category, even the useless ones. Exactly like the real show, only with fewer really bad fashion choices (as far as you can tell).

I call them Non-Predictions, because it's more my list of preferred winners, rather than who really will win. Watch as I make snap decisions about movies that I have almost assuredly never seen! Gape at my complete lack of movie sense! Fun for the whole family!

(Winners Giant and in Italics)
Best motion picture of the year
BABEL
THE DEPARTED
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
THE QUEEN

Those are my options? Really? No Dreamgirls? No Children of Men? Fine. I loved Little Miss Sunshine and haven't seen the rest. Woo! (And I was wondering why I wasn't that into the Oscars this year...)

Achievement in directing
BABEL
THE DEPARTED
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
THE QUEEN
UNITED 93

So people will stop going on about how Scorsese's never won an Oscar. Are you happy? Award due entirely to making people shut up. (See also: Why I want Peyton Manning and the Colts to win the Superbowl)

Performance by an actor in a leading role
Leonardo DiCaprio - BLOOD DIAMOND
Ryan Gosling - HALF NELSON
Peter O'Toole - VENUS
Will Smith - THE PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS
Forest Whitaker - THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND

For two reasons: 1) Because I love Ryan Gosling like nothing else, and 2) because the people who run movie theatres in Dallas refused to show The Last King of Scotland until this week and now I'm too poor to go see it. That'll show'em.

Performance by an actor in a supporting role
Alan Arkin - LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
Jackie Earle Haley - LITTLE CHILDREN
Djimon Hounsou - BLOOD DIAMOND
Eddie Murphy - DREAMGIRLS
Mark Wahlberg - THE DEPARTED

The only category in which I'll be using the reasoning that I need to see a movie to rate the performance. And in this case, Alan Arkin beats out Eddie Murphy, because frankly Murphy was the only thing I didn't like in Dreamgirls.

Performance by an actress in a leading role
Penélope Cruz - VOLVER
Judi Dench - NOTES ON A SCANDAL
Helen Mirren - THE QUEEN
Meryl Streep - THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA
Kate Winslet - LITTLE CHILDREN

Because I'm still bitter that she hasn't won an Oscar. Someday, dammit! Did you people not watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? I wouldn't mind if Meryl Streep won, though.

Performance by an actress in a supporting role
Adriana Barraza - BABEL
Cate Blanchett - NOTES ON A SCANDAL
Abigail Breslin - LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
Jennifer Hudson - DREAMGIRLS
Rinko Kikuchi - BABEL

Fine. And not just because her singing causes people in a movie theatre to spontaneously applaud a screen. You people do understand that she's not actually in the theatre, right? Who are you applauding for? It's creepy. But yeah, she was crazy good. I would also really like it if the little girl from Little Miss Sunshine took it instead. She was awesome.

Best animated feature film of the year
CARS
HAPPY FEET
MONSTER HOUSE

Come on. If you ignore exactly how creepy a world entirely consisting of living, talking cars actually is, the movie is totally awesome.

Achievement in art direction
DREAMGIRLS
THE GOOD SHEPHERD
PAN'S LABYRINTH
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST
THE PRESTIGE

Because I want it to win something.

Achievement in cinematography
THE BLACK DAHLIA
CHILDREN OF MEN
THE ILLUSIONIST
PAN'S LABYRINTH
THE PRESTIGE

Because I have never been as keyed up by a movie as that one. AWESOME.

Achievement in costume design
CURSE OF THE GOLDEN FLOWER
THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA
DREAMGIRLS
MARIE ANTOINETTE
THE QUEEN

How hot were those outfits in The Devil Wears Prada? And who else are they going to give it to? The Queen? "Yeah, that was a nice tiara she had going on." Whatever.

Best documentary feature
DELIVER US FROM EVIL
AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH
IRAQ IN FRAGMENTS
JESUS CAMP
MY COUNTRY, MY COUNTRY

I don't even know what it's about, but hot damn do I want it to win.

Best documentary short subject
THE BLOOD OF YINGZHOU DISTRICT
RECYCLED LIFE
REHEARSING A DREAM
TWO HANDS

It's got blood, so it must be interesting, right?

Achievement in film editing
BABEL
BLOOD DIAMOND
CHILDREN OF MEN
THE DEPARTED
UNITED 93

Seriously, I really liked this movie. Plus, the editing was out of control. According to the internet (obviously reliable) that one extended action sequence at the end was a single 15 minute shot from two cameras, uncut. Bold.

Best foreign language film of the year
AFTER THE WEDDING
DAYS OF GLORY (INDIGÈNES)
THE LIVES OF OTHERS
PAN'S LABYRINTH
WATER

Oh man, someday I'm totally going to get to see this movie, and it's going to be awesome. I can just sense it.

Achievement in makeup
APOCALYPTO
CLICK
PAN'S LABYRINTH

Because I refuse to vote for that Mel Gibson horror-fest, and I don't think Click is actually a movie. I would have heard about it.

Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original score)
BABEL
THE GOOD GERMAN
NOTES ON A SCANDAL
PAN'S LABYRINTH
THE QUEEN

Actually, a very pretty soundtrack. I was really impressed.

Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original song)
"I Need to Wake Up" - AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH
"Listen" - DREAMGIRLS
"Love You I Do" - DREAMGIRLS
"Our Town" - CARS
"Patience" - DREAMGIRLS

Because Beyonce deserves something for getting upstaged (and how) by an American Idol contestant who didn't even make the top 4 of her season. Plus, I really love that song. (Bonus: When she sings it in the movie, her mouth opens so wide it looks like she's a python about to devour some prey. That is committed singing right there.)

Aside: If Randy Newman wins for "Our Town," I will release upon the world a vengeance unlike anything ever known before. I haaaate that song so much.

Adapted screenplay
BORAT CULTURAL LEARNINGS . . .
CHILDREN OF MEN
THE DEPARTED
LITTLE CHILDREN
NOTES ON A SCANDAL

Borat? Really? Uh, anyways. So yeah, Children of Men was awesome. Have I mentioned that yet?

Original screenplay
BABEL
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
PAN'S LABYRINTH
THE QUEEN

Impressively real dialogue wins out over all the contrivance.

Best animated short film
THE DANISH POET
LIFTED
THE LITTLE MATCHGIRL
MAESTRO
NO TIME FOR NUTS

Once again, an awesome title wins out. Although if this is starring that damn squirrel from Ice Age, I immediately retract my vote.

Best live action short film
BINTA AND THE GREAT IDEA (BINTA Y LA GRAN IDEA)
ÉRAMOS POCOS (ONE TOO MANY)
HELMER & SON
THE SAVIOUR
WEST BANK STORY

Can't go wrong with a great idea. Or someone named Binta.

Achievement in sound editing
APOCALYPTO
BLOOD DIAMOND
FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST

Because I assume pirates are the most difficult thing to sound like.

Achievement in sound mixing
APOCALYPTO
BLOOD DIAMOND
DREAMGIRLS
FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST

So we really need two sound categories? Dreamgirls, because I feel bad that it wasn't nominated for Best Picture.

Achievement in visual effects
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST
POSEIDON
SUPERMAN RETURNS

Say what you will about this movie, but I loved how it looked. A lot.

----------------------------

So that was sufficiently boring, right? Just imagine how much fun it will be when that is protracted over 4 full hours. Methinks I'll be skipping the telecast this year.

Feel free to rip apart all my picks in the comments. But you leave Children of Men alone, dang it. I will not hear a word against the boat movie!

Wherein My Martyr Complex Kicks In

So Dallas is in the grip of the lamest ice storm ever.

I can remember an ice storm in Orange when I was a sophomore in high school when the entire town was without power for 4 days and the roads were all blocked by fallen trees. We survived by eating cold soup direct from the can, huddling in darkened piles of blankets, trying to read by flickering candle light.

Then we walked to school, uphill, both ways, barefoot, in the snow and ice.

And we were thankful for the opportunity, dang it.

In contrast, this storm has done nothing but be cold and ice up the roads in the mornings. Which I suppose is bad enough, seeing as I was trapped on the Northwest Highway overpass for 30 minutes on Monday morning because my Truck of Malfunction didn't have enough traction to get across the icy bridge, and eventually need two burly police officers to push me across. I've apparently fallen very hard since my younger, more hardy days of my youth.

But on the whole, this is just not your crushing winter storm. So when there was an ice advisory yesterday morning, I just sacked up (and put on a fabulous scarf) and left for the office about 20 minutes early, expecting delays. And people, let me tell you, when people say that Texas drivers aren't good at driving in ice, it is the understatement of the decade. Every driver on the roads decided as a collective unit that the maximum drive speed on any road would be 15 mph. It took me 45 minutes to drive the whole 8 miles to my office building. The ice was not that bad, but you would think it was the Storm of the Century the way everyone was reacting.

And when I get there? Ain't a soul in the building. Everyone is shut down: the receptionist, my corporate office, every other office in the suite. It is me, all alone at the cold end of a long empty hallway. It is at this point that my phone vibrates, indicating that I have a new voicemail. It's my boss, informing me that we're just gonna wait to open the office until about 11:00 or so.

This would be when the martyr part comes in: I had dragged my butt through the freezing cold, risked the absolutely insane other drivers on the road who don't understand the concept of ice and skidding, and pretty much icing off vital portions of my body in the process (of course the heater doesn't work in the TOM). And no one else in the world can be bothered to even try and come in? Oh the bitterness, how it flowed. No one was even around to appreciate my awesome scarf.

And to top it all off, the login server on my computer was down, which meant I couldn't even get any work done, because only our IT guys at the corporate office can reset the server. And they were all snug in their warm beds at home, no doubt, dreaming about redundant backup RAID systems or whatever it is that IT guys like.

Oh, and the heater in the office wasn't on, so my office was basically an ice box. It was warmer standing out in the foyer than it was in my office, which seems to leak in the cold from the outside like we're a rusty shack in the woods.

I don't think I have felt so unjustly put upon in ages and ages. Sometimes it's good to just revel in that feeling, though, which is exactly what I did for about 3 hours, fuming and pacing about the office. Frankly, the righteous anger was the only thing keeping me warm.

Then I came to my senses and bolted around 2:00 and took the world's most delicious 3 hour mid afternoon nap, all while feeling vaguely sick and sneezy. I think my body wanted to contract the pneumonia from having gone out in the cold in order to get the full martyrdom thing going on. That would show them. Show them all, but good!

But alas, I survived and lived to play a whole bunch of World of Warcraft that night, making an avatar of the gayest elf that ever lived, who has blond highlights, a pink & teal outfit, and has the job of jewelry maker. So in the end I guess it all worked out for the best.

Still, man, why am I the only hard worker in the city! Oh, the injustice of it all!