Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Incredible Journeys
I paid $3 per gallon for gas today. And $1.50 for a gas station bag of M&Ms, but that's not really the point. Remember back a few summers ago when we were all outraged about gas costing half this much? Wrote our Congressmen and so forth? That was so cute. Apparently Americans have gotten a lot more used to just bending over and taking it over the past four years. You'd think that would be the sort of thing this administration would want to discourage.
I also visited my sister in Champaign, IL. It's a fairly fascinating town, small enough to have patches on the city grid that contain only corn, but big enough to have "thai food" and a "fusion restaurant." Plus the university approximately doubles the population from September to May, leading to major congestion at the Old Navy and the Bed, Bath, & Beyond. Our main activity today was visiting one of my favorite fine dining establishments, the audaciously-spelled Merry Ann's Diner. They serve a dish called the "diner stack," which consists of biscuits, bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash rounds all smothered in a two-foot-thick layer of sausage gravy. Unfortunately, they do not serve an angioplasty on the side. But I like to live dangerously, so I have one about once a year. I also jaywalk occasionally. Damn, I'm such a rebel.
And I just got an email from my new employer asking me to RSVP for orientation. I'm leaning towards a "will attend," but mainly I'm just surprised to find I had a choice.
I paid $3 per gallon for gas today. And $1.50 for a gas station bag of M&Ms, but that's not really the point. Remember back a few summers ago when we were all outraged about gas costing half this much? Wrote our Congressmen and so forth? That was so cute. Apparently Americans have gotten a lot more used to just bending over and taking it over the past four years. You'd think that would be the sort of thing this administration would want to discourage.
I also visited my sister in Champaign, IL. It's a fairly fascinating town, small enough to have patches on the city grid that contain only corn, but big enough to have "thai food" and a "fusion restaurant." Plus the university approximately doubles the population from September to May, leading to major congestion at the Old Navy and the Bed, Bath, & Beyond. Our main activity today was visiting one of my favorite fine dining establishments, the audaciously-spelled Merry Ann's Diner. They serve a dish called the "diner stack," which consists of biscuits, bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash rounds all smothered in a two-foot-thick layer of sausage gravy. Unfortunately, they do not serve an angioplasty on the side. But I like to live dangerously, so I have one about once a year. I also jaywalk occasionally. Damn, I'm such a rebel.
And I just got an email from my new employer asking me to RSVP for orientation. I'm leaning towards a "will attend," but mainly I'm just surprised to find I had a choice.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Miscellany
Can I just say that my new gym has the worst Muzak ever? To the extent that I was showering this morning to the tune of the theme from M*A*S*H. Nothing like overtones of the Korean War to help you bathe efficiently. I guess I've officially started having flashbacks to things that never happened to me in the first place. Total hottness.
So my new roommate has been with me for a week now, and she's amazing! She hasn't had sex on my desk or on the couch yet, that I'm aware of, and she doesn't hide from me in her bedroom all day long! But seriously, it's really nice to live with a friend for once, instead of a psychiatric patient or a murderous hobo. We can chat while we cook or iron or watch So You Think You Can Dance, instead of sitting in ominous silence. We can go up on the roof and have cocktails every night, if we feel like it, at least until we're hospitalized for acute liver failure. And most importantly, we can listen to each other's sad stories and nod meaningfully. Between my roommate and this blog, I'm saving literally gazillions on therapy.
About a week left to go on the new job countdown. I got my last paycheck from the old job last Friday, so I'm starting to feel ready to get back. Because in our country money can be exchanged for goods and services. And that's one to grow on, kids.
Can I just say that my new gym has the worst Muzak ever? To the extent that I was showering this morning to the tune of the theme from M*A*S*H. Nothing like overtones of the Korean War to help you bathe efficiently. I guess I've officially started having flashbacks to things that never happened to me in the first place. Total hottness.
So my new roommate has been with me for a week now, and she's amazing! She hasn't had sex on my desk or on the couch yet, that I'm aware of, and she doesn't hide from me in her bedroom all day long! But seriously, it's really nice to live with a friend for once, instead of a psychiatric patient or a murderous hobo. We can chat while we cook or iron or watch So You Think You Can Dance, instead of sitting in ominous silence. We can go up on the roof and have cocktails every night, if we feel like it, at least until we're hospitalized for acute liver failure. And most importantly, we can listen to each other's sad stories and nod meaningfully. Between my roommate and this blog, I'm saving literally gazillions on therapy.
About a week left to go on the new job countdown. I got my last paycheck from the old job last Friday, so I'm starting to feel ready to get back. Because in our country money can be exchanged for goods and services. And that's one to grow on, kids.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Technical Difficulties
So the "o," "l" and period keys on my laptop have started to stick occasionally. This is pretty funny/annoying, since I now frequently type a brilliantly funny (natch) sentence or two only to look up and discover that it is nothing but gibberish. God love the people at Dell. In the five years I've owned this thing, I've had my hard drive replaced twice, my keyboard replaced three times, and the whole computer exchanged once. While I was still in law school this was almost sort of funny, since the school had hired five or six pale, Lord-of-the-Rings-loving guys to do nothing but sit in a tiny, windowless room and repair our computers. Now that my primary mode of repair is banging the machine with my fist until it makes a pathetic-sounding beeping noise, however, mechanical problems are much less amusing. I mean, how am I supposed to get by without my computer? It's not like there's some sort of store where I can get porn.
In other news from the world of science, I dropped my digital camera today. Well, not exactly dropped. My friend Liz and I were trying to take pictures of ourselves dressed as 1980s public access religious programming hosts (which is, obviously, a whole other story, and one I won't necessarily share), and I had propped the camera up on top of the remote control for my VCR and set the timer. Unfortunately, the camera apparently did not appreciate being used as an unduly expensive Jenga set, and fell off the remote onto the floor. No major damage, it seems, although I may now have to close the battery compartment with duct tape. Why must everything I own render itself as trashy as I am? Perhaps it's best not to wonder about these things.
So the "o," "l" and period keys on my laptop have started to stick occasionally. This is pretty funny/annoying, since I now frequently type a brilliantly funny (natch) sentence or two only to look up and discover that it is nothing but gibberish. God love the people at Dell. In the five years I've owned this thing, I've had my hard drive replaced twice, my keyboard replaced three times, and the whole computer exchanged once. While I was still in law school this was almost sort of funny, since the school had hired five or six pale, Lord-of-the-Rings-loving guys to do nothing but sit in a tiny, windowless room and repair our computers. Now that my primary mode of repair is banging the machine with my fist until it makes a pathetic-sounding beeping noise, however, mechanical problems are much less amusing. I mean, how am I supposed to get by without my computer? It's not like there's some sort of store where I can get porn.
In other news from the world of science, I dropped my digital camera today. Well, not exactly dropped. My friend Liz and I were trying to take pictures of ourselves dressed as 1980s public access religious programming hosts (which is, obviously, a whole other story, and one I won't necessarily share), and I had propped the camera up on top of the remote control for my VCR and set the timer. Unfortunately, the camera apparently did not appreciate being used as an unduly expensive Jenga set, and fell off the remote onto the floor. No major damage, it seems, although I may now have to close the battery compartment with duct tape. Why must everything I own render itself as trashy as I am? Perhaps it's best not to wonder about these things.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Postcards from the Edge
Unfortunately, the majority of my Mexico trip was not extremely photogenic, given that I look pretty much the same lying around or shoving tacos into my face in Mexico as I would doing it here. But I guess I've never really shrunk from sharing things that aren't interesting before, so I'll toss out a few more photos from my c-drive eating collection.
Apparently one of the most important religious practices of the ancient Mayans is the running of gift shops. Here, we see a Pepsi Challenge of sorts between carvings of a Mayan God and a relatively wimpy-looking Jesus. It's nice to have options, isn't it? Of course, I bought neither. Now if there had been a carving of Dr. Phil...
As the illustrations on this hotel-room chart show, in the event of a fire it's important to (#3) fall in love with your identical twin, (#5) quickly hail Hitler, and (#6) emit laser beams from your eyes.
In a stunning display of unnecessariness, the hotel maids folded our towels into different animal shapes every day. I almost wanted to stay an extra week, just to see them stretch themselves to octopi and aardvarks.
Synergy at work in a Mayan-themed mini golf course. The Gods must be marketers, yes?
Unfortunately, the majority of my Mexico trip was not extremely photogenic, given that I look pretty much the same lying around or shoving tacos into my face in Mexico as I would doing it here. But I guess I've never really shrunk from sharing things that aren't interesting before, so I'll toss out a few more photos from my c-drive eating collection.
Apparently one of the most important religious practices of the ancient Mayans is the running of gift shops. Here, we see a Pepsi Challenge of sorts between carvings of a Mayan God and a relatively wimpy-looking Jesus. It's nice to have options, isn't it? Of course, I bought neither. Now if there had been a carving of Dr. Phil...
As the illustrations on this hotel-room chart show, in the event of a fire it's important to (#3) fall in love with your identical twin, (#5) quickly hail Hitler, and (#6) emit laser beams from your eyes.
In a stunning display of unnecessariness, the hotel maids folded our towels into different animal shapes every day. I almost wanted to stay an extra week, just to see them stretch themselves to octopi and aardvarks.
Synergy at work in a Mayan-themed mini golf course. The Gods must be marketers, yes?Thursday, August 25, 2005
The International Perspective
Thought I'd start out the almost certainly painful process of sharing my vacation photos (much like your Aunt Agnes with her slide projector, except my language is much cleaner) with some images from the ancient city of Chicken Itza (which only sounds like something you'd order at the Kenny Rogers' Roasters) . If I'd listened more carefully to our tour guide, I could give you a lot of background information, but I was really distracted by the unfortunate prepoderance of people wearing denim shorts and by the fact that our tour guide had actively made fun of me for hitting my head against one of the tvs hanging from the ceiling of the bus. (The pain from this incident was only intensified by the fact that we were forced to watch Bruce Almighty on our way back to the resort.) So all I can really tell you is that Chicken Itza is like, well, real old and shit. And that they allow people to panhandle throughout it.
Here is the view from the top of the main temple. See why I was freaking out? There's like four hundred morons in fannypacks pushing and shoving behind me while I take this. And the ancient Mayans were definitely not ADA compliant.
I bask in my triumphant conquest of the temple. Okay, so I basically crawled down while clutching a rope and sobbing like a baby, but that's how they express triumph in some cultures, right?
A detailed carving, purportedly the work product of the ancient Mayans, although I swear I saw an Arby's in there towards the back. Mmmm, horsey sauce.
The observatory at Chicken Itza, as viewed from a desperate huddle underneath a tree in a driving rainstorm. In what only the tour guide viewed as a hilarious coincidence, many of the carvings here honor the rain god. That bastard.
Thought I'd start out the almost certainly painful process of sharing my vacation photos (much like your Aunt Agnes with her slide projector, except my language is much cleaner) with some images from the ancient city of Chicken Itza (which only sounds like something you'd order at the Kenny Rogers' Roasters) . If I'd listened more carefully to our tour guide, I could give you a lot of background information, but I was really distracted by the unfortunate prepoderance of people wearing denim shorts and by the fact that our tour guide had actively made fun of me for hitting my head against one of the tvs hanging from the ceiling of the bus. (The pain from this incident was only intensified by the fact that we were forced to watch Bruce Almighty on our way back to the resort.) So all I can really tell you is that Chicken Itza is like, well, real old and shit. And that they allow people to panhandle throughout it.
Here is the view from the top of the main temple. See why I was freaking out? There's like four hundred morons in fannypacks pushing and shoving behind me while I take this. And the ancient Mayans were definitely not ADA compliant.
I bask in my triumphant conquest of the temple. Okay, so I basically crawled down while clutching a rope and sobbing like a baby, but that's how they express triumph in some cultures, right?
A detailed carving, purportedly the work product of the ancient Mayans, although I swear I saw an Arby's in there towards the back. Mmmm, horsey sauce.
The observatory at Chicken Itza, as viewed from a desperate huddle underneath a tree in a driving rainstorm. In what only the tour guide viewed as a hilarious coincidence, many of the carvings here honor the rain god. That bastard.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Back in Inaction
My travels have ended and I am back in Chicago, primarily devoting my time to crossing items off of the two-page "to do" list I have composed to make sure my life is in order before I turn it over to my law firm. So far, this has involved a surprisingly surly conversation with the representatives at Comcast, the ritualized joining of (and subsequent failure to use) a gym, and the disturbing discovery that I now genuinely find Kelly Ripa funny. Obviously, it's been busy times.
Mexico was, all things considered, fairly amazing. We quickly tested the limits of the concept of the all-inclusive resort, ordering upwards of ten chocolate cakes a day and basically consuming margaritas intravenously. We nearly created at least six international incidents through our complete failure to understand both Mexican culture and, more importantly, Mexican currency. But the trip wasn't all just gluttony and ignorance, there was also learning: we made the obligatory climb up the pyramid at Chicken Itza, where I for the first time discovered I have a fear of heights, and nearly had to make my descent by construction crane. Frankly, I consider it somewhat amazing that the U.S. Embassy didn't have to intercede.
Of course, whenever air travel is involved, there will be irritations. Our original flight down there got cancelled, giving us the opportunity to make a completely fruitless one-hour Blue Line trip to the beautiful confines of O'Hare to be lectured about weather and aviation safety by a woman wearing a vest and neck scarf. Then our flight back was completely packed due to other cancellations, allowing us to sit behind the single most overprotective father I have ever seen as he hectored his children repeatedly about topics ranging from their choice of soft drink to their attentiveness to the cabin screening of Miss Congeniality 2. So in some ways, it was a relief just to get back here.
But relief or not, I am back, and I'm going to go defrost a pizza. More stories and pictures to come in the next few days.
My travels have ended and I am back in Chicago, primarily devoting my time to crossing items off of the two-page "to do" list I have composed to make sure my life is in order before I turn it over to my law firm. So far, this has involved a surprisingly surly conversation with the representatives at Comcast, the ritualized joining of (and subsequent failure to use) a gym, and the disturbing discovery that I now genuinely find Kelly Ripa funny. Obviously, it's been busy times.
Mexico was, all things considered, fairly amazing. We quickly tested the limits of the concept of the all-inclusive resort, ordering upwards of ten chocolate cakes a day and basically consuming margaritas intravenously. We nearly created at least six international incidents through our complete failure to understand both Mexican culture and, more importantly, Mexican currency. But the trip wasn't all just gluttony and ignorance, there was also learning: we made the obligatory climb up the pyramid at Chicken Itza, where I for the first time discovered I have a fear of heights, and nearly had to make my descent by construction crane. Frankly, I consider it somewhat amazing that the U.S. Embassy didn't have to intercede.
Of course, whenever air travel is involved, there will be irritations. Our original flight down there got cancelled, giving us the opportunity to make a completely fruitless one-hour Blue Line trip to the beautiful confines of O'Hare to be lectured about weather and aviation safety by a woman wearing a vest and neck scarf. Then our flight back was completely packed due to other cancellations, allowing us to sit behind the single most overprotective father I have ever seen as he hectored his children repeatedly about topics ranging from their choice of soft drink to their attentiveness to the cabin screening of Miss Congeniality 2. So in some ways, it was a relief just to get back here.
But relief or not, I am back, and I'm going to go defrost a pizza. More stories and pictures to come in the next few days.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Transitions
Back in Chicago now, but really just for long enough to pick up my dry cleaning, bring in the mail, and try to revive my much-abused plant (it's not looking good). I'm heading to Mexico for a week, and even if I do find Internet access, I quite frankly doubt that blogging will be a priority. Chances are I will be swept up in a high-stakes game of international intrigue and suspense, wouldn't you think? Either that or I'll be playing beach volleyball. Either way, it's going to be hot times.
I've asked Guest Blogger Kathy to check in a few times in my absence. She's on her own international spree at the moment, so I'm not sure what her availability will be, but I imagine she won't completely miss the chance to have fun at my expense. Just remember that everything she tells you is a lie. Bloggers are completely credible; it's the guest bloggers you have to watch out for.
P.S. Don't you think it's a little weird that the Blogger spellcheck doesn't recognize "blogger" as a word? It wants to change it to "blocker." And change "blogging" to "flogging." Which, come to think of it, could be a lot more fun.
Back in Chicago now, but really just for long enough to pick up my dry cleaning, bring in the mail, and try to revive my much-abused plant (it's not looking good). I'm heading to Mexico for a week, and even if I do find Internet access, I quite frankly doubt that blogging will be a priority. Chances are I will be swept up in a high-stakes game of international intrigue and suspense, wouldn't you think? Either that or I'll be playing beach volleyball. Either way, it's going to be hot times.
I've asked Guest Blogger Kathy to check in a few times in my absence. She's on her own international spree at the moment, so I'm not sure what her availability will be, but I imagine she won't completely miss the chance to have fun at my expense. Just remember that everything she tells you is a lie. Bloggers are completely credible; it's the guest bloggers you have to watch out for.
P.S. Don't you think it's a little weird that the Blogger spellcheck doesn't recognize "blogger" as a word? It wants to change it to "blocker." And change "blogging" to "flogging." Which, come to think of it, could be a lot more fun.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Living History
Since I haven't lived with my parents for almost ten years now, and since they haven't updated the decor in probably twice that long, my house in Quincy has become a veritable treasure trove (that's right, I used both the word "veritable" and the phrase "treasure trove") of useless and ridiculous artifacts from my childhood. Because I love you (but not enough to post regularly), I've taken some snapshots from this strange and wonderful Museum of Me.
Since I haven't lived with my parents for almost ten years now, and since they haven't updated the decor in probably twice that long, my house in Quincy has become a veritable treasure trove (that's right, I used both the word "veritable" and the phrase "treasure trove") of useless and ridiculous artifacts from my childhood. Because I love you (but not enough to post regularly), I've taken some snapshots from this strange and wonderful Museum of Me.
Apparently I enjoyed plagiarising from M.C. Escher (not to be confused with M.C. Hammer; the difference is in the pants) even at an early age. Note the sophisticated use of sharpie.
For some reason, I have a large collection of Pocahontas action figures from Burger King, seen here acting out a scene from Disney's The Lion King.
Yes, my parents have kept all of my trophies, including the dangerously pointy one from the good people at MathCounts. It's important to have documentary evidence of the fact that you are a huge nerd.
When I was in fourth grade I loved latchhooking for reasons that defy explanation. It was a youthful folly, like playing doctor with your cousin Kelly or watching Growing Pains. But at least we have this wonderful baboon-shaped puppy rug to show for it.
Friday, August 12, 2005
A Number of Items
So I rented National Treasure with my parents the other night. I know, I know. But it was basically between that and I, Robot, so I resigned myself to two hours of Nicolas Cage with what appeared to be a dead muskrat on his head. I don't think I overstate my case to say that this movie is the single greatest artistic achievement in the history of the world. It centers around the premise that our founding fathers were members of a secret society that had some kind of huge Egyptian treasure, but decided to stash it in a basement somewhere rather than spend it on powdered wigs and stamp taxes and the like. And it can only be uncovered by Nicolas Cage and some blonde chick with a German accent that manages to sound fake even though she is in fact German. There's a lot of fast driving and running up and down rickety-looking staircases involved. But mainly the movie teaches us that security at national historic sites is incredibly lax. See, it's a message piece. More funding for historical document protection, stat! Write your congressman.
I've also ended up watching several episodes of The Young & The Restless (or Y & R, as those of us in the know call it) with my 94-year-old grandmother. The great thing about this is that I can keep up with the plot even though I haven't seen it in a year. I know exactly what Nick did to Phyllis's son, and what happened with poor Cassie. I also have the advantage of not caring. No matter what happens, I still get my sandwich.
Plus, I've been going to my parents' fitness center, which gives me the opportunity to observe hundreds of old men wielding medicine balls and old ladies taking water aerobics classes. I don't really have anything else to say about that, but damn is it sexy.
Don't hate me for my exciting lifestyle. Believe me, there are much better reasons to hate me.
So I rented National Treasure with my parents the other night. I know, I know. But it was basically between that and I, Robot, so I resigned myself to two hours of Nicolas Cage with what appeared to be a dead muskrat on his head. I don't think I overstate my case to say that this movie is the single greatest artistic achievement in the history of the world. It centers around the premise that our founding fathers were members of a secret society that had some kind of huge Egyptian treasure, but decided to stash it in a basement somewhere rather than spend it on powdered wigs and stamp taxes and the like. And it can only be uncovered by Nicolas Cage and some blonde chick with a German accent that manages to sound fake even though she is in fact German. There's a lot of fast driving and running up and down rickety-looking staircases involved. But mainly the movie teaches us that security at national historic sites is incredibly lax. See, it's a message piece. More funding for historical document protection, stat! Write your congressman.
I've also ended up watching several episodes of The Young & The Restless (or Y & R, as those of us in the know call it) with my 94-year-old grandmother. The great thing about this is that I can keep up with the plot even though I haven't seen it in a year. I know exactly what Nick did to Phyllis's son, and what happened with poor Cassie. I also have the advantage of not caring. No matter what happens, I still get my sandwich.
Plus, I've been going to my parents' fitness center, which gives me the opportunity to observe hundreds of old men wielding medicine balls and old ladies taking water aerobics classes. I don't really have anything else to say about that, but damn is it sexy.
Don't hate me for my exciting lifestyle. Believe me, there are much better reasons to hate me.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Travelogue
Every time I come back to Quincy I feel a little bit like I've stepped back in time, and not just because half the houses here date from the 1890s and there are Civil War reenacters around every corner (warning: do not taunt them, they have muskets). This is, after all, a place where a family of four can still eat dinner for under $20 and the Knights of Columbus Ice Cream Social is still considered a viable form of weekend entertainment. I feel like everything moves more slowly, and that can't be attributed solely to the fact that I sleep until noon and spend my days playing piano and visiting my grandmother while I'm here. It's a quaint little 'burg, and a nice break from my normal agenda of getting elbowed in the groin by fellow passengers on the Brown Line and being screamed at by panhandlers.
I always kind of enjoy my little road trip across the state, too. I like small towns where the Bigfoot is the primary form of industry; even if their restrooms do sometimes have suspicious puddles and less-than-witty graffiti, they have inexpensive Big Gulp stations and a wide variety of beef jerky to suit my travel needs. It's nice to see broad expanses of green (or this summer, greenish brown) after the gray and vomit-beige of the city, too, even if I am only driving through. Sometimes I have the urge to stop the car and go running up into the hills. I haven't, yet, but if I don't show up back in the city next week, well, you know where to look for me. Or, rather, my bloated and partially dismembered corpse. I'm guessing I wouldn't fare well in the wild.
Every time I come back to Quincy I feel a little bit like I've stepped back in time, and not just because half the houses here date from the 1890s and there are Civil War reenacters around every corner (warning: do not taunt them, they have muskets). This is, after all, a place where a family of four can still eat dinner for under $20 and the Knights of Columbus Ice Cream Social is still considered a viable form of weekend entertainment. I feel like everything moves more slowly, and that can't be attributed solely to the fact that I sleep until noon and spend my days playing piano and visiting my grandmother while I'm here. It's a quaint little 'burg, and a nice break from my normal agenda of getting elbowed in the groin by fellow passengers on the Brown Line and being screamed at by panhandlers.
I always kind of enjoy my little road trip across the state, too. I like small towns where the Bigfoot is the primary form of industry; even if their restrooms do sometimes have suspicious puddles and less-than-witty graffiti, they have inexpensive Big Gulp stations and a wide variety of beef jerky to suit my travel needs. It's nice to see broad expanses of green (or this summer, greenish brown) after the gray and vomit-beige of the city, too, even if I am only driving through. Sometimes I have the urge to stop the car and go running up into the hills. I haven't, yet, but if I don't show up back in the city next week, well, you know where to look for me. Or, rather, my bloated and partially dismembered corpse. I'm guessing I wouldn't fare well in the wild.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Department of Unemployment
I think I could definitely get used to not working. I didn't wake up until 9:30, and I spent easily an hour after that lying in bed watching TV and wondering A) why Jane Pauley still has a show and B) what's happened to her hair. Other items on the day's agenda included several vigorous checks of email, a couple of hours lying on my roof reading and wishing it weren't so hot, and an unnecessarily long shower. Oh, and I did some laundry. It was completely amazing.
Just so you don't think I'm completely lazy, though, I will let you know that I carried two 27-inch TVs up and down several flights of stairs today. You see, my ex-roommate called on Friday to let me know that he had sold the TV and TiVo (and that's the point in the conversation where I had the heart attack) , and when the tiny girl arrived today to pick them up, I just couldn't feel right about allowing their weight to crush her one vertebra at a time. So I carried them over to her place for her, an act of stupid kindness exceeded perhaps only by the time I helped an ex move immediately after our breakup. Then, after successfully coercing America's Laziest Best Buy Clerk (sample line: "yeah, someone can probably help you with that, I don't know") into selling me another TV, I got to heft more heavy objects through 90-degree heat. Only then did it occur to me: I'm rarely home to watch TV, anyway.
Speaking of which, I'm headed to Quincy tomorrow to visit my folks for a bit. Posting should continue; in fact, I'm even thinking of taking some pictures, because lethargy and boredom really are much more compelling when depicted visually.
I think I could definitely get used to not working. I didn't wake up until 9:30, and I spent easily an hour after that lying in bed watching TV and wondering A) why Jane Pauley still has a show and B) what's happened to her hair. Other items on the day's agenda included several vigorous checks of email, a couple of hours lying on my roof reading and wishing it weren't so hot, and an unnecessarily long shower. Oh, and I did some laundry. It was completely amazing.
Just so you don't think I'm completely lazy, though, I will let you know that I carried two 27-inch TVs up and down several flights of stairs today. You see, my ex-roommate called on Friday to let me know that he had sold the TV and TiVo (and that's the point in the conversation where I had the heart attack) , and when the tiny girl arrived today to pick them up, I just couldn't feel right about allowing their weight to crush her one vertebra at a time. So I carried them over to her place for her, an act of stupid kindness exceeded perhaps only by the time I helped an ex move immediately after our breakup. Then, after successfully coercing America's Laziest Best Buy Clerk (sample line: "yeah, someone can probably help you with that, I don't know") into selling me another TV, I got to heft more heavy objects through 90-degree heat. Only then did it occur to me: I'm rarely home to watch TV, anyway.
Speaking of which, I'm headed to Quincy tomorrow to visit my folks for a bit. Posting should continue; in fact, I'm even thinking of taking some pictures, because lethargy and boredom really are much more compelling when depicted visually.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
End of Days
A couple of visuals to accompany the thrilling narrative of my last day of work. There would be more, but it turns out Guest Blogger Kathy isn't going to become Staff Photographer Kathy any time soon.
At my desk, where the magical and vitally important business of checking email and highlighting things takes place.
The gallery of holiday drawings fashioned out of tracings of my own hand. The world of art is larger than just the "hand turkey," you know.
A couple of visuals to accompany the thrilling narrative of my last day of work. There would be more, but it turns out Guest Blogger Kathy isn't going to become Staff Photographer Kathy any time soon.
At my desk, where the magical and vitally important business of checking email and highlighting things takes place.
The gallery of holiday drawings fashioned out of tracings of my own hand. The world of art is larger than just the "hand turkey," you know.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Closure
Today is my last day at this job. How weird is that? After two years of complaining about everything from the uncomfortable stiffness of my desk chair to the low quality of my insane litigants, enduring lame office gossip concerning who may have once had a crush on whom but not done anything about it or who might have been stealing office supplies, and reveling in my proximity to inexpensive salad sold on a per-pound basis, I am moving on. No more crashing around in the office at night after the automatic lights have already switched off. No more group lunches at the big conference table, which was actually four tables pushed together. No more cake parties. I’m out the door. We brought in donuts this morning, so it’s definitely official.
I’ve actually had a pretty good experience, I have to say. My writing skill have improved immeasurably, and not just those that involve making lame dick jokes and unnecessary Ashlee Simpson references online. My coworkers are really nice people, if sadly unlikely to grace the pages of Us Weekly at any point in the near future. And I got all the Internet time I wanted, so long as I didn’t go to any naughty sites. Okay, so that part was a little tough. I had to cancel my subscription to footfetish.com.
Anyway, I’m happy to have had the experience I had here, even if I am looking forward to taking a month off and, even more so, to finally making some real money once I enter the soulless world of corporate litigation. And yes, I’ll still be blogging, so your daily dose of self-important rambling will still be just a mouse click away.
Today is my last day at this job. How weird is that? After two years of complaining about everything from the uncomfortable stiffness of my desk chair to the low quality of my insane litigants, enduring lame office gossip concerning who may have once had a crush on whom but not done anything about it or who might have been stealing office supplies, and reveling in my proximity to inexpensive salad sold on a per-pound basis, I am moving on. No more crashing around in the office at night after the automatic lights have already switched off. No more group lunches at the big conference table, which was actually four tables pushed together. No more cake parties. I’m out the door. We brought in donuts this morning, so it’s definitely official.
I’ve actually had a pretty good experience, I have to say. My writing skill have improved immeasurably, and not just those that involve making lame dick jokes and unnecessary Ashlee Simpson references online. My coworkers are really nice people, if sadly unlikely to grace the pages of Us Weekly at any point in the near future. And I got all the Internet time I wanted, so long as I didn’t go to any naughty sites. Okay, so that part was a little tough. I had to cancel my subscription to footfetish.com.
Anyway, I’m happy to have had the experience I had here, even if I am looking forward to taking a month off and, even more so, to finally making some real money once I enter the soulless world of corporate litigation. And yes, I’ll still be blogging, so your daily dose of self-important rambling will still be just a mouse click away.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Tips to "Beat the Heat" This Summer
– If you do not have air conditioning at home, consider hanging out at Best Buy all day. They really love that.
– For a cool summer treat, eat an entire gallon of Ben & Jerry’s "Chunky Moneky" ice cream. Then sit back and let the self loathing begin.
– Dizziness, disorientation, and a rapid heart beat are all symptoms of heat stroke. Of course, they are also symptoms of having just met Jake Gyllenhaal, so self-diagnose carefully.
– Fanning yourself repeatedly with whatever tiny piece of paper you happen to be holding is a great way to indulge your compulsive tendencies without actually making yourself any cooler. Plus, the other people on the train will really love it.
– Make sure to ask as many people as possible if it is "hot enough for them" while you still have the chance.
– Light and breezy though it may be, a leopard print thong is not considered business casual.
– The heat may be especially hard on small children and the elderly; be careful not to trip over their corpses as you stumble home from the strip club.
– The song "The Heat is On" by Glenn Frey is actually a delicious treat any time of year.
– Avoid strong exertion of extremely hot days, such as running, yard work, or sitting through an entire episode of According to Jim.
– If you do not have air conditioning at home, consider hanging out at Best Buy all day. They really love that.
– For a cool summer treat, eat an entire gallon of Ben & Jerry’s "Chunky Moneky" ice cream. Then sit back and let the self loathing begin.
– Dizziness, disorientation, and a rapid heart beat are all symptoms of heat stroke. Of course, they are also symptoms of having just met Jake Gyllenhaal, so self-diagnose carefully.
– Fanning yourself repeatedly with whatever tiny piece of paper you happen to be holding is a great way to indulge your compulsive tendencies without actually making yourself any cooler. Plus, the other people on the train will really love it.
– Make sure to ask as many people as possible if it is "hot enough for them" while you still have the chance.
– Light and breezy though it may be, a leopard print thong is not considered business casual.
– The heat may be especially hard on small children and the elderly; be careful not to trip over their corpses as you stumble home from the strip club.
– The song "The Heat is On" by Glenn Frey is actually a delicious treat any time of year.
– Avoid strong exertion of extremely hot days, such as running, yard work, or sitting through an entire episode of According to Jim.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Planning and the Lack Thereof
Here’s the thing: I’m not so great at not being busy. So while I secretly thrilled on the days this job kept me at the office until all hours of the night parsing rules of civil procedure and writing deeply felt paragraphs about federalism, I’m having a little bit of a hard time with the deleting old emails and returning unused office supplies phase of things. Yesterday I spent half of the afternoon combining file folders with other file folders, and so far today I have filled out some forms and listened to a couple of CDs. I know I should be thrilled to have a break, but I’m not. Especially since one of the CDs was Lindsay Lohan’s. Chalk that up to morbid curiosity.
So I’m really wondering how I’m going to fill my time in the month I’m taking off before I start my new job. Well, I do have some ideas; I’m making trips to Mexico and Quincy (both equally exciting, I’m sure), and I have a feeling that a certain amount of pissing away nights drinking with friends (how very Chumbawumba) will fit in there somewhere, but many of my days are as yet completely unaccounted for. I don’t want to spend them all just lying motionless on my couch watching Dawson’s Creek reruns and moaning "Why, Joey, why?" so I definitely need to come up with some plans. Maybe I should join the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program or something. That’s it; I should definitely put my boredom to rest by ruining a child.
Here’s the thing: I’m not so great at not being busy. So while I secretly thrilled on the days this job kept me at the office until all hours of the night parsing rules of civil procedure and writing deeply felt paragraphs about federalism, I’m having a little bit of a hard time with the deleting old emails and returning unused office supplies phase of things. Yesterday I spent half of the afternoon combining file folders with other file folders, and so far today I have filled out some forms and listened to a couple of CDs. I know I should be thrilled to have a break, but I’m not. Especially since one of the CDs was Lindsay Lohan’s. Chalk that up to morbid curiosity.
So I’m really wondering how I’m going to fill my time in the month I’m taking off before I start my new job. Well, I do have some ideas; I’m making trips to Mexico and Quincy (both equally exciting, I’m sure), and I have a feeling that a certain amount of pissing away nights drinking with friends (how very Chumbawumba) will fit in there somewhere, but many of my days are as yet completely unaccounted for. I don’t want to spend them all just lying motionless on my couch watching Dawson’s Creek reruns and moaning "Why, Joey, why?" so I definitely need to come up with some plans. Maybe I should join the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program or something. That’s it; I should definitely put my boredom to rest by ruining a child.
Monday, August 01, 2005
File Under "Weekend Getaways, Magical"
Went to Indianapolis to visit my friend Jeanne on Saturday. I don't know if you've ever been, but it's a delight. They have an honest-to-God monorail (it's very Epcot) and about ten million chain restaurants. Plus there are monuments to wars I'm not sure I've ever even heard of. It's a very cultural city -- they even have an IMAX movie about country music ("for country music fans and folks who just don't know it yet"). Yup, it's a city on the grow.
The main highlight of the trip, however, had to be our decision to rent the movie version of Phantom of the Opera solely to make fun of it. It did not disappoint. Emmy Rossum played Christine as though she had just been hit by a tazer, and Gerard Butler's singing sounded like a slightly less tuneful Meat Loaf. Joel Schumacher's idea of direction appears to have been to cover everything in velvet and film his stars walking excruciatingly slowly while badly lip syncing. Plus, Jeanne and I had a little theme party -- I dressed up as the Phantom, and she was, well, someone in a mask; we never quite decided. But the whole thing was simply decadent. Photos follow.
The majestic Indianapolis skyline, as viewed from the canals. Yes, they have canals. They have to import the sleeveless t-shirts somehow.
Went to Indianapolis to visit my friend Jeanne on Saturday. I don't know if you've ever been, but it's a delight. They have an honest-to-God monorail (it's very Epcot) and about ten million chain restaurants. Plus there are monuments to wars I'm not sure I've ever even heard of. It's a very cultural city -- they even have an IMAX movie about country music ("for country music fans and folks who just don't know it yet"). Yup, it's a city on the grow.
The main highlight of the trip, however, had to be our decision to rent the movie version of Phantom of the Opera solely to make fun of it. It did not disappoint. Emmy Rossum played Christine as though she had just been hit by a tazer, and Gerard Butler's singing sounded like a slightly less tuneful Meat Loaf. Joel Schumacher's idea of direction appears to have been to cover everything in velvet and film his stars walking excruciatingly slowly while badly lip syncing. Plus, Jeanne and I had a little theme party -- I dressed up as the Phantom, and she was, well, someone in a mask; we never quite decided. But the whole thing was simply decadent. Photos follow.
The majestic Indianapolis skyline, as viewed from the canals. Yes, they have canals. They have to import the sleeveless t-shirts somehow.
Indianapolis is the city of fountains. No, Rome is not, I don't care what you've heard.
Masquerade balls are primarily about the fashion, sure, but they also involve staring lovingly at your glass of wine.
Oh no! It's the Phantom of the Opera! What if he brought Joel Schumacher with him?
Another party ruined by that crazy Phantom. Sure, the deformed face thing is a bummer, but we really just wish he'd stop puking in our houseplants. I don't care how many Zimas he's had, it's just poor form.
