Wikiality-it's contagious

Further fandom-
Stephen Colbert mentions Wikipedia-Heroes log on en masse and begin editing articles for "Wikiality"
For a brief but hilarious moment-captured by addicted fans with mad internetz skillz the world can read about how Oregon is Canada's Mexico and California's Canada but really it's Idaho's Portugal. It's true-it's on Wikipedia. In the same segment he stated that the amount of African Elephants had tripled!!! He tells the viewers to log in and change the entry to reflect that reality-so several someones informs the world! (Sorry-only a screen cap-since it's been de-truthied.

Wikipedia is not pleased-everything related to or tangentially approaching the Colbert Nation is locked.

The fangirls laugh maniacally-Meanwhile at colbernation.com:

6 pages of discussions on Elephants

It is truly a great moment in fan history.
And here I was gushing over the Monopoly thing. When obviously the real power of Colbert is not in his ability to hold a grudge over a thirty year old board game played in a nefarious manner-no, his skill is in breaking the Internets.

This has got to be the best abuse of an open forum I've seen in ages. And I was too busy laughing to spread the Wikiality. God--dammit.

Oh wow, there's still a real world-and I have only just learned there was a shooting at the Citgo at McGavock and Riverside. Like a drive-by. At 3pm yesterday afternoon. Helicopters over the house again and all that. But I was at work-so I missed it. Good.

What would you do if I sang out of tune?

Fandom moment-
Hugh Laurie was on Inside the Actor's Studio today, Someone asked about the House/Wilson ship. The fandom explodes: everyone has an thought. Hugh just hates interviews! James Lipton is a dick! The question was worded all wrong! (All of these seem fairly reasonable)
No one wants to say that House just isn't gay. Which-of course, he isn't. But that doesn't necessarily mean he isn't in crazy love with Wilson. This is SO Mulder and Scully all over again. Only they were the right genders. It's so much easier to accept that a man and a woman might be in love with each other than two men or two women. And it is also difficult for the 21st century fandom to accept the idea that a dreamt of event may never take place. As long as there has been an Internet there has been this concept of fan culture entitlement. (See-SVU fandom for further proof-Olivia and Elliot are TOTALLY in LUV!!!!)
It is not a particularly healthy belief system. The reason we, the fans, are attracted to a show is the emotional response that show provides. If we wanted to write a show (and this is writing as someone that loves fan fiction FWIW) we would write it and enjoy THAT world and not invest so much time in watching it. Thus, despite my flutterness when Mulder brushes Scully's hair from her eyes and smiles that smile I have to admit my response is not the same as the writers. My reaction is much simpler. That's why they're the writers-more creativity.
So-AFA H/W it will happen. I know this-the writers may not play with the fans but they are aware of where they play. It would be hard, I think, to not be. But it will happen with in a way that will keep the whole audience happy.
Isn't that the point of television? Keeping as many people happy as possible without actuallly answering so many questions as to eliminate the possibility of speculation?

Furthermore-I am so much in crazy love with Stephen Colbert (and his talk of playing Monopoly with his siblings-last name pronounced Cole-Bert) that if he were to ever find out how I feel he'd probably take out a restraining order. Such is life.

Or perhaps I am just wasted.

O RLY? NO WAI! YA WAI! SRSLY OMG! I M TEH DED!

There is LJ drama like whoa over on my Flist. (The earlier TDS or TCR related buggery has encountered the wrath of the mod. So no linkage.)
I think the heat is making everyone haters. I'd participate but even when it comes to things I care about bunches I am too tired and have too many YouTube videos to watch to participate in that junior high crap. I'd rather just internally process the action than participate in the stupid. I look much smarter that way.

Do love this tho:
P.S.- And guys? Making stupid "snarky" comments doesn't make you House.
Heh, heh, laughs and gets up to grab another beer. Winces at stupid never ending knee pain.*

Besides all the logic in that anti-snark statement summing up most stuff being spewed-this eppy of Rescue Me I watched on Tuesday is on again right now. That'll keep me busy. That and watching the online car crash.

Speaking of which-2 stories:

First the funny-I was outside picking pitiful little tomatoes off my pitiful plants when a pickup truck came hauling ass down the street-a couch fell off and crashed to the pavement. A minivan came up behind the truck and ran over the couch-didn't miss a beat. Pretty impressive. Another car comes by-drives over the (now crushed) couch and swerves around the (now stopped) truck and van. The next car comes down the street and STOPS. There's no couch to speak of at this point-just pitiful shreds of seating-and this guy stops. I laughed.
Now the not funny-My aunt (the one that just had heart surgery, she's coming along BTW) her sister-in-law was in a head on collision a day or so ago. Broken neck-not sure what that'll mean. But it rarely is good.

The happy never stops.

*That would be way meta-except it's all true.

ETA:
free enneagram test

There's a link to take the personality test on the left. If yr into that sorta thing. If you take it-tell me what you are. Curiosity is a thing with my type.

Welcome to America, How may I help you?

Oh my God. Just got home from seeing Will Kimbrough at the Basement. And I don't even know where to begin. I'd been on the fence about going-tired, third night this week I'd be out, money-but it's Will. Gotta support Will, wouldn't want to alien deciding to leave this planet for a more conducive realm.
Got there just about at 9-forced my way through the already big crowd to get a Shiner. As I stepped off the ramp to the main part of the club someone ran into me.
"Oof!" said me.
"sorry," mumbled the offender.
"'S'alright," I said, only then looking up.
"Oh hey! Sorry, 'bout that," Will smiled and patted me on the shoulder.
"Yeh, geez, I paid good money to see you and you beat me up."

The first act was good enough. But I don't have much room for ernest singer-songwriters. Not because I don't like them, but because that kind of music is best listened to alone, while eating chocolates.

Will got onstage probably around 10-ish. I didn't have a watch. The crowd had probably doubled from when I'd gotten there and the club was well over what I would call capacity. I took a spot over by the merch table (being run by miniature Kimbroughs) and stood on a chair for most of the set.
The new album is highly political and obviously awesome. It was great to see someone up onstage-on a personal career upswing making a statement against war and for peace--against the President and for the people. Against the Christian Wrong and for Jesus. He's so freakin' awesome it's not funny. Even when it really is-like at the end of the show when he was shakin' it singing about going on vacation in Kurdistan during "Betty Was Black"
The crowd was much more huge than the Basement should accomodate-but everyone was friendly and we made room for each other. Even tho that was a physical impossibility.
I was trying to figure out what it is about how Will performs. He's unassuming in person-on stage too, in a way. But he commands the crowd-can pull them in, play outrageous too good to be for real riffs-he can growl a lyric or sing a quiet love song. I was trying to draw a comparison and I can't. The music he's playing is his own-but it is a reflection of the songs and performers that are meaningful to him. That's a great compliment-it may not sound like it-but it is. It's one thing to be derivative, that's not good. But to acquire knowledge and to incorporate that into a performance (any performance) is to push forward a form.
After the show I decided to get a t-shirt. The Americanitis t-shirts are great. They come in men and women's sizes and are of that soft, thin material that made classic rock t-shirts so classic. I asked for a medium. Will's wife Jessica searched through several bags.
"We were organized at the start of the night."
"And the worst part is, I'll have you looking for a medium and I'll end up needing a large."
She pulled a medium out of the pile and held it up to me, "I think you're a medium. And if you're not email me and I'll arrange to meet you somewhere so you can get a larger or smaller size."
"Thanks, can't pass that deal up."
I paid for the shirt, left, and got stuck in traffic in downtown Nashville.
The shirt fits in a manner that I shall call fantastico.

Maybe I think too much

Oddly enough I think that I am less happy when I spend time with people than when I don't.
I feel sort of awful when I try to converse casually. Or-I should say-I feel very awful after I have carried on conversations. At the moment I'm fine. Then, thinking back, (obsessing back as it were) I become more and more uncomfortable. As I converse about odd things and tend to speak in the same manner as I do whilst on the Intertubes.
It's a distinct and vague sensation that everything I say is so particularly outlandish or ridiculous as to render me more than a little mad.
Is that something everyone does? Is it normal to feel like it's better not to speak at all rather than risk fearing that those to whom I have spoken view me as-not stupid as I don't think I appear stupid, but eccentric. Very, very, eccentric. Possibly high functioning autistic or similar. Possibly worthy of pity.
This is why I don't talk to people. I am convinced that any time I have contact with people they are left wondering how it is I manage to cope in society.
Something I wonder all the time.
Otherwise-despite being in pain-I enjoyed myself this evening.

Threw the bums a dime in your prime-didn't you?

With the job not being anything but suited to my particular personality I have little to report. Without trauma I am so predictable. Hell, with trauma I'm predictable-comforting even. I'm like a cozy blankie, a BooBoo Kitty and a nice cup of PG Tips on a rainy day with a Hallmark Hall of Fame TV Movie on telly.

(Pukes from the cute overdose. Pretends there isn't a DVD copy of Brian's Song on the shelf just waiting to be watched.)


So yeh, there's that. Went out for drinks last night with S. We hadn't been in any kind of contact since-May? Sometime around then. Lots of catching up-all very interesting. I must remember to make a mental note to never use any phrase involving the word 'skinny' around her. She actually said, I know not meaning anything "The white part I can agree with" in response to my comment that the woman at the Sect 8 office probably just saw me as an "over educated, skinny white girl." OK-moving on...
We had fun-it was nice to hang out and have a few drinks, eat some chips and dip, with no particular plans. It was nice until she started lecturing me about getting a better job or how I need to be more social and out-going and positive thinking and stuff. I'm glad it works for her and must I point out-I WAS being social. I'm trying to get myself to a place where I can decide to make changes (or not) from a rational and reasonable perspective. Some people seem to feed-thrive-need people around them-to reinforce their place in the world. I do as well-in small doses and at my discretion.
C'est la vie. I'm not going to hold that we disagree on what's best for me against her.

Nothing else today-off tomorrow. Work Sat. Off Sunday. A pattern emerges.

Two can be as bad as one

Main Type	Overall Self

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test

Fun with personality tests. I don't usually publish these things-but I had a conversation tonight (SO unlike me!) that inspired me to take one of these things...


"You think your anger makes you unique and special-it doesn't. You need people or you wouldn't be here"
"I never said I didn't need contact once in awhile-I'm saying that if necesssary I can learn to deal without it. And even if I want to be around someone that doesn't change the fact that I don't trust or desire companionship with most of humanity. I'm not trying to be unique-I'm just saying what I think."
"You're miserable."
"I'm honest."

I'm well adjusted for a 5.

Mary, it's me, don't you know me?

"Yep, you'll probably get about a buck fifty."
-My Dad--Best use of a slang term, July 2006

Alright then readers. New week new gig. This one in a library.

"You broke up with him, and never dated again."
"Think the inverse of Mary's fate without George in It's a Wonderful Life-that's what happened to me."
-Me and Mum-Best explanation of my criminal record, July 2006

Not enough hours-but I'll tough it out and work hoping for a full time position to open up. Or, if things go on enough-then I'll look for a morning job a couple of days a week. I don't need a lot to get by-but I need to be able to afford my rock'n'roll lifestyle. The job is what I'm into-books and all that jazz. Lower stress than the last assignment. A nice blend of solitary and interactive work. We'll see-it's convenient and it's something better than nothing.

The only drawback is that I have to work 'til 7 on Tuesdays. My precious House time! NOOOOOOOO!!!!! I might have to learn how to set my VCR to record. The horrors of missing the collapse of the patient of the week cannot be expressed in words. (That's about all I'd miss-the branch is only 10 minues away) I will explain this emotional trauma using this word that I will make up as I type it horrifictroubitarnation. Oh-and Radiohead t-shirts or anything else from my awesome collection of rock tees are not allowed. But tennis shoes are-happy happy joy joy.

My aunt is not recovering at the preferred rate-but she's not not recovering. It is juts FAR too slow. There is some infection-probably caused by an abscessed tooth. I asked Mum if she had marvelled at how much information we had because of medical dramas.
"Are you thinking about House?" she asked.
Other than how I am always thinking about House when I'm not thinking about Stephen Colbert or Eddie Izzard or myself? "Not just that-ER or even MASH. We just know these terms and procedures. We have expectations. It's a bit odd when you think about it. We can get on the Internet and research any possible medical ailment. It's fascinating, really. What would it have been like to go to the doctor before we had all of these options."
"I was-I just keep seeing the infection zipping through her bloodstream," said Mum.
"Well, yeh, that too. Tho I try to keep House from my thoughts when it comes to people I care about. It's a thing I do."

Feels like I'm walkin' on broken glass

Coupland loves the Who he's singing along with 'Behind Blue Eyes' right now. He's out of tune. This does not detract from how cute that is.

Another non-stop funn (sic) day for me. I'm making dinner right now-cuz in a fit of pique I bought an eggplant so before it went off I had to make bread and simmer eggplant and tomatoes (anyone have a recipe involving eggplant but NOT tomatoes? just curious) for an hour and then when that's done I'll fold them into clever little calzones.

The job search continues.
I contemplate my resume.

SKILLS:
Type-70+ words per minute
Microsoft Office- Intermediate
Phone- several lines
Customer service- over 10 years experience
Worked steadily since age 15
Able to overcome obstacles
Master of Arts- degree confirmed Summer 2006

OTHER NOTABLE SKILLS:
Can cook
Know all the lyrics to over 75% of Billy Joel's career output-Similarly Paul Simon, Elvis Costello, Todd Snider and Black 47 (% possibly higher or lower-margin of error 10%)
Able to quote literary figures or works at appropriate times in a conversation
Can work without guidance
Vast and seemingly unending knowledge of depressing quotations from film and book
Ability to cry on cue
Willing to look like an ass if it gets a laugh
Oddly perceptive about details yet considered by those that have know her longest to be flaky
Usually pays bills on time
Unbelievably easy to talk to
Can curl tongue

WEAKNESSES:
Angry
A bit to sarcastic at times
Would rather walk away than fight (in general-exceptions exist)
Unlikely to express emotion vocally when sober
Damaged
Anti-social
Prone to addiction
Better with things than people
Trusts no one-Denies everything

Meanwhile-my aunt (Mum's sister) is in and out of CCU after heart surgery. Thrice intubated and as of this morning still on a respirator. Having heard nothing since then I am hoping that means she's in a room now. Daddy made a point to remind me that things may not be what I want from life but I better goddamn well keep perspective. (He didn't say those exact words. But I know what he meant.)

One of my favorite things about fandom is the fanmix. The collection of songs about a show or 'ship or what-have-you. So today I pretended I had a fandom and I was a member of it-and I made a fanmix. A playlist in moder terminology. Or-in total Gen X speak I made myself a mix tape.

Here it is with some explanations and lyric quotes-copies available if it floats yr boat.

I Can't Wake Up to Save My Life-Richard Thompson

In my nightmare you forgive me
The cruellest gift you could ever give me
You say that you understand me now
But your eyes say, brother, I'll get you somehow

An all to familiar nightmare-you can't wake up since you're not likely to be lucky enough to be asleep.


Don't Give Up-Peter Gabriel
Moved on to another town
Tried hard to settle down
For every job, so many men
So many men no-one needs

You can move and change everything about yourself but you're just one of many fighting for one available space.

Fakin' It-Simon and Garfunkel

Im such a dubious soul,
And a walk in the garden
Wears me down.

That common feeling that even the littlest effort requires far too much effort-especially what with all the effort it takes to be the person I have worked so hard pretending I am.


Bonnie Brae-The Twilight Singers

There was a rapture
so I can never see you anymore
The nightmare is believeable
walking into sweet oblivion

I don't even really know what this song is about. But when I hear it I get the distinct and discomforting feeling I've lived the entire thing somehow. A lot like how I'm going through life these days.


We Can't Make it Here-James McMurtry and the Heartless Bastards

Will work for food
Will die for oil
Will kill for power and to us the spoils
The billionaires get to pay less tax
The working poor get to fall through the cracks

I realize that by virtue of my education and all that shit I should be excluded from being a subject of this song-but I'm not. For whatever reason.


The Devil You Know-Todd Snider
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You can fuck gettin' any kind of job you want
Unless you really wanna work in a fast food restaurant

That line and the fact that the song takes place practically on my front porch. I love my ghetto-but I'm not under any illusions. I'm an interloper on these people and I bet despite my poverty most of the really poor suspect I chose it rather than was born into it like they were.


Unbreakable-Todd Snider

She kinda likes to watch him walk away

It's just so much easier to pretend to be prepared for the inevitable let-down than to admit any kind of vulnerability.


Miami 2017 (Seen the Lights go Out on Broadway)-Billy Joel

I've seen the lights go out on Broadway-
I watched the mighty skyline fall.

Disillisioned. And the obvious.

One Safe Place-Marc Cohn

How many roads you’ve traveled
How many dreams you’ve chased
Across sand and sky and gravel
Looking for one safe place

Nothing I can say can explain the song choice bettert than the song itself.

Rockin' in the Free World-Neil Young
Keep on rockin' in the free world

When I was in high school I worked at a library. I'd get out of work every Friday and get into my white '81 Toyota Corolla Hatchback and tune into WMMS 100.7-this song was the Friday afternoon getting out of work song. This is as close to a motto as I'm willing to pretend I have. It's a song about faith, isn't it?

It's Only Fear-Alexi Murdoch
Don’t hold your head too high,
Don’t be afraid to cry,
Because you know my dear, it’s only fear, it’s only fear

Alexi Murdoch sounds shockingly and painfully like Nick Drake. His singing is piercing, the pain comforts. He's young still-only one EP and a full length album under his belt.

Walkin' on Broken Glass-Annie Lennox
The sun's still shining in the big blue sky
But it don't mean nothing to me
Oh, let the rain come down
Let the wind blow through me
I'm living in an empty room
With all the windows smashed
And I've got so little left to lose
That it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass

Another instance of the song saying it better than I could.


Not an Addict-K's Choice
The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts, there's no more pain
I'm in heaven, I'm a god
I'm everywhere, I feel so hot

Here we go-the addiction portion of our evening ladies and gentleman. There's something to be said for battling your demons in a room of your own.

Comfortably Numb-Pink Floyd
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ships smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I cant hear what youre sayin.

This only happens if you're doing it right. If you're doing something wrong you're likely to wind up the next morning with a useless hand or a new scar in the making. But then, that sort of thing only seems like a good idea at this stage of the evening.

Behind Blue Eyes-The Who
But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be

You didn't think annihiliation is so easy-did you?


Heaven Adores You-Earlimart

You knocked on the door
Tell me what it's all for
Who am I supposed to be?
Anyone but me

The time of the evening when we lay on the floor and let the music take over all emotions. It is much easier than admitting feelings.

Lonely Boy-Black Lab

you say
you like to sleep alone
and i say
i miss the way you breathe
you say
i get away with murder
but you know i've paid for hurting
someone i cant leave behind

Now would be a really opportune time to mouth these lyrics-preferably through a haze of whisky.

This Woman's Work-Kate Bush
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.

Yet, despite all the posturing, there's all these things-these feelings and thoughts that refuse to be drowned. There's still tomorrow to deal with.

You'll age ten years in 19 days

Pardon me while I have a screaming fit-

OMIGOD OMIGOD OH NOEZ OH NOEZ!!!!

Some people that have tickets don't even get into the Colbert report. If I don't get in then I will probably walk into the East River or the Hudson-whichever's closer.
Geography isn't my strong suit.
I'm spending the last of the money that is keeping me alive to go see Stephen Colbert and not getting in would mean that I've spent a mothafuckin' month's rent to sleep in a crummy bunk bed and eat day old bagels (which I am sure, are the the nth power better than any of the bagels available in the South) and fear for my general safety in New York City.

What the fuck am I doing? I am so screwed. I'm going to end up spending my entire last day in New York City sitting outside of the studio because I am so goddamn obsessive compulsive that arriving fewer than 4 hours early will lead me to a panic attack. I'd better pack some cigarettes-I'm sure this whole thing will have me smoking and I sure as hell can't afford to buy smokes in NYC.

Fuck me in the ass with a lit cigar. This is far too stressful for me. I have no money and I'm going to one of the most expensive cities in the world. I'm going to one of the most cut-throat popular hard to get into shows currently being broadcast on basic cable or elsewhere and I'm doing in the midst of a nervous breakdown. Oh boy-this is gonna be bloody fun, isn't it? Oh, and lest we forget, I'm without a place to stay that night as I have a very early flight out the next morning so I might well be carrying all of my worldly possessions with me as well. Oh goody!

Shite, what have I got myself into?

How many of you want to wake up in a bathroom lying in what you HOPE is a pool of your own filth?

Some spambot that only recently discovered the wonderful series of inter-connected tubes that is the interwebs has been leaving comments to my posts stating that I have great graphics and am very informative. If you're researching nervous breakdowns I suppose I am a very good reference source otherwise, I think I might disable comments from mice if I get any more of these.

Today I was driving across town to drop off my timecard that job. THAT caused me far more stress than I think was reasonable, just getting up the gumption to leave the apartment is difficult some days. I'm doing my best damned impression of a person not participating in the human race, and yet people keep acknowledging my existence and throwing off my singularity. Like today, when I ran into Kroger to get some bread and the U-Scan wasn't taking my change.
"Quarter-change-slot-dammit," I mumbled as I fed a quarter into the change slot for the third time only to have it spit back out at me once again. Cute indie-boy buying equally important stuff at the next U-Scan over caught my eye and smiled. I rolled my eyes and decided to forego exact change. Before he went from bemused to afraid.
Then later I was taking small dog out for a quick stroll when the neighbor (who knew my name-first and last, how is that again?) came over to formally introduce himself and shake my hand. Ahhh! Human contact, now I need to act like that doesn't cause me to have irrational thoughts involving washing my hands not because I fear germs or contact from other people but because I'm a lunatic lacking the ability to have rational thought processes.

The best and happiest moment of the day came when I was out driving and actually DID turn on the classical rock station right before the instrumental part of Layla started. Then I heard Believe in Kroger and The Waiting on my way home. Three rockin' pieces of tunage-and I heard Jenny. Why, you'd think I was listening to the radio or something. That was the highlight of my day.

Upon my return home I started to watch my Strangers With Candy DVDs. I was eating popcorn, laughing and being thoroughly amused, listening to the audio commentary and everything a person does with a DVD for about three hours. Then, a new episode started (the one with Buddha Stalin) and I felt so dirty. Just-like-how sick am I that I've been enjoying this sickness and twisted worldview so joyfully for three hours. (Jerri Blank voice) It's just more shame.
So I turned them off until I've overcome the shame. When that time comes I'll resume watching until that need to shower returns.

I was taught to fight, taught to win, I never thought I could fail

Today was another banner day in the continuing saga of me.
Yet another job and yet another chance to be reminded how prepared for the professional world I am not.
Unless I want to work part-time nights at a deli in a grocery store on the other side of town.
Oh, now, I despise myself and everything about me-but I just can't put myself through that kind of torture yet.

Talking to Mum today we had this conversation:
MUM: You need to get ahold of your network see if any of them can help you or connect you to someone that might be able to find work for you.
ME: I don't really have a network. I got out of touch with people and at this point I'm so down on myself I couldn't do it.
MUM: Well, you should. While you're still fresh out of school and not after you've been working at Wal-Mart for 6 months.
ME: I agree but I'm in a very bad place. I don't know what I'm going to do.
MUM: It's a tough place.

We talk for a couple of sentences. I say that it's not a good topic of discussion. It is bounced but caught.

ME: I'm afraid-I'm out of ideas. I can't even express how bad things are. I couldn't.
MUM: Well, I don't want to talk about this. I have to get off the phone. There's nothing to say. I can't help you.
ME: I know.

How well I know.

There is nothing to say. She's right. It's all been said and said and nothing changes. There's nothing that can be done to help me. If I can't help myself then I might as well brace myself for it to get a whole lot worse. There's only a little more time I can keep going on the little bit of money I have but that's not the big problem.

The #`1 Threat to America

The usual suspect keeps the blinds closed and acts irrationally.


So nice not going to that sucky little office. After re-watching a most delightful episode of Colbert (that couch looked SO like mine-SRSLY) and laying down on the floor to watch Degrassi--all I know is I woke up the next morning in the same shirt I'd worn yesterday afternoon. I slept sound last night.

Got my confirmation email for the Colbert Report tickets today. Hadn't booked a flight-I'd given the idea up. That email reminded me this is STEPHEN and I can be in the audience. My favorite show and I can go be in person to see it. It's STEPHEN-dammit! Live! Like, flesh and hair and character break-I can be immortalized on audio as a member of the audience. Which is wicked cool and not something I get to be too often.

Reader, I booked the flight.

Oh-I'm broke as a joke. Reasonable people-adults is a good description-don't do this sort of thing. Fear not-I'll do something resembling getting a job soon. I'm determined. Hell, I'll even put forth a real concentrated hard-core effort starting oh, right after I get back from New York. Or get the credit card bills. One of those.

Besides-The Devil You Know comes out on hard copy that day. That's like one of those crazy turns of events-is it not?

OK-I'm reaching. But I see a connection-The Devil *I* Know is what I plan to do that week.

Got a flight for $210 and a room for 2 nights for $76 total. I'll take that money I earned at the hell office and pay for much of the plane ticket. And I'll try to have cash on the barrelhead for the hostel. I would really, really LOVE to be able to charge up a couple hundred dollars in amusement and have THAT be the sum of my trip to the big city. 'Sides, I have to buy at least 1-I *Apple* New York t-shirt as a thank you for watching Coupland. An offer from Little Dude's Godparents that I am taking up and for which I am expressing huge thanks in writing.

That's me getting all sappy. By the by.

I'm going Tuesday thru Friday 'cuz the cost of Wed-Fri was over $100 more and my leaving flight is at 6:30am so I'll be spening my last fun filled evening on the East Coast in the Newark airport. Whoo. I'll work it out somehow I am sure.
But I'm excited-I'm going to try to see a Broadway show. (Not betting on it-course-but I can dream I'll see Spamalot on my one trip to NYC this life) I get to see B47 in Bayonne, NJ on Wed. If things go really, really well Mik will make it up from South Jersey to the city to see the show with me and spend the day hanging out in New York. I'd like that a helluva lot. I hear she's in good spirits. That would be good to see. Might help me get there too.

I'm just really damn excited.

Stephen-motherfuckin'-Colbert. LIVE. And that same weekend-Snakes on a Mothafuckin' Plane!
It's like a cannoli in a sea of shit.

Suck all the marrow out of life

Wherein our heroine watches a film.

The last day at this rotten excuse for an assignment was completely painless. Except for the physical pain. My right hip hurts. So I put my weight on my left leg, but that's my bum knee. A knee that is only bum on special, verily inconvenient occasions. After spending the day walking up and down the hall and climbing a step-ladder more than any of those wacky step class people I was hobbling down the hall like Quasi-freakin-modo.
It was way sexy.
So glad I don't have to go back.
Not happy about the 'discussion' I had with the woman in charge of the temp agency. My God, does that place RECRUIT cunts? It's the only possible explanation. Other than the highly unlikely one wherein I'm the one with the problem.
I don't want to go into it. Other than she said "Maybe we should just try to place you in a library assignment if one comes up."
"So, am I to understand that what yr saying is, basically-I shouldn't hold my breath regarding anymore assignments?"
"Will you let me talk?"
Thinking-"Will you stop acting like yr shit doesn't stink?"
Out loud I said, "Of course, I just want to know my position within the company."
"If a position comes up that caters to your specific skills then we will contact you."

Remind me again-why do I bother communicating with people? I don't come off as particularly wonderful in their eyes. I hate them. They infuriate me and never cease to amaze with their adoration and flaunting of limited and unimpressive power. The more I try to learn to adapt the less time I want to spend around humanity.

What do I care. At some point I am bound to find employment. I'm on the list for a CA-I position at the library. No idea how long that list is-but I'm on the short list. There's been a hiring freeze since I applied-so no one else has the job. I might not get it-but I haven't not got it yet.

+++++++-----HERE THERE BE CONTINUITY SHIFT-----+++++++++


Tonight's DVD amusement was Dead Poet's Society.
I am re-watching movies that made an impression on me when I was a teenager.
Soon, I will revisit Reality Bites.
'Cuz I guess I was a HUGE Ethan Hawke fan in my youth.
Who knew? But-I think, in the early 90's everyone just kinda was.

This re-viewing was to remind me of how much I am capable of loving Robin Williams. (RV --the promos anyway-I could never watch the movie, made me think maybe he was never funny and that he's always been talentless and annoying.) Also there's that Robert Sean Leonard thing.
OH the so young-ness of it all.

DPS came out in 1989. I was in grade 8. My AP history teacher, Miss Lackey (yes, Miss, not Ms if my memory serves) took us out to the football field behind the school and we raced at each other re-enacting a Civil War battle taking turns screaming rebel yells. We stood on our desks and made grand proclamations. She staged debates in the classroom about art and war and other such importat things. I'd spend my lunches away from the rabble (see-in case you thought the misanthrope thing was new-I already had a well developed hatred of people when I was pubescent.) A few of us would gather and not have to deal with the nightmare of forced interaction and mingling that was middle school lunch. After my first nervous breakdown, Grade 9, she tutored me. Taught me not just history, but poetry and faith in myself. It was all very Dead Poet-esque. I should look her up.

The movie must have touched me. I have often thought that I've wanted to be a teacher for years longer than I've realized. I have thought about teaching-despite hating school and the conformity and emotional stifling and being told to not bother returning for the last of my senior year. It was Lois, my French teacher, that got me through the limited amount of time I actually attended high school. She is a wonderful insightful woman. She took an interest in me more than one would expect from a language teacher. During the preview to nervous breakdown 1 and the aftermath of nervous breakdown 2 and meltdown and eventual near expulsion she stood up for me not because I asked (further backstory gentle reader, I didn't ask for help at some distant point in my life either) but because she wanted to do so.
I've had a soft spot for teachers for some time.

What I remember about the movie is the "Oh Captain, My Captain"--"our fearful trip is done, the ship has weathered every rack the prize we sought is won
The port is near, the bells I hear
While follow eyes the steady keel the vessel grim and daring
But o heart! heart! heart!
O bleeding drops of red
For on the deck my captain lies
Fallen cold and dead"
(I remembered all of that except that line about following eyes. It's filed away near the first couple of verses of "The Wreck of the Hesperus" If you ask me sometime I'm sure I'll freeze up and not remember any of what is in fact a clever parlor trick.)
And the meetings in the cave. I remember that.
But mostly my mind pulled up images of Neil standing bare-chested at his window. Cold air blowing in-his crown of twigs on his head. He walks into his father's den and kills himself.
I remember that. And sobbing-feeling all very Dead Poetish was I. Figuring, because I was well on my way to the depths of despair myself, I'd finish myself off before I was out of high school.
On another thought I didn't even give a moment to until I re-watched it-because it was just so damn obvious even at 13 I didn't think about it--but Neil was gay wasn't he? That was completely clear to everyone wasn't it? I'm thinking if it had been just that he wanted to be an actor he may have been able to put up with a semester at military school-but that wasn't the problem, really. He was afraid of the very center of himself and how his father-who couldn't bear to see his son ACTING it was such a disgrace-would react.
Correct me if I'm wrong. I've been known to see teh ghey where it isn't and miss it where it is obvious.

Further movie thoughts...A generation of English teachers are trying to be to one student what John Keating was to that entire group of boys. "Carpe diem" is a lovely phrase and sentiment but it should be used only when necessary and not as a rallying cry. It didn't work that well the first time.
The movie holds up much better than most films do. Even a great movie is likely to go through a stage when it seem oddly anachronistic. DPS must have been out of my frame of reference during that time.
At times it's corny. Just because youth is prone to corniness. The young are SO over-wrought.
Robin Williams was delightful and restrained. He should do that more often.
Ethan Hawke was adorable and so baby faced it was almost terrifying. If he looked like that 17 years ago, and he's 6 years older than I am--my God I was young.
Robert Sean Leonard must sleep in a stasis machine. He isn't bothering to age. What a wonderful role-such a great character.

If you're wondering if I cried this time even with the knowledge of the climax-of course I did. What other reaction could a feeling person have? If you don't cry when Todd is running across the snow covered field, over whelmed with grief and anger at the senseless death of his friend--then you are seriously lacking a soul. When the boys stand up and proclaim their allegiance to their teacher and lost friend there is no other reaction but whatever pure emotion you are capable of feeling.
Stand on your coffee table. Wave your fists in the air. Don't give up-even if you have to give in.

Being miserable doesn't make you better than everyone else--

It just makes you miserable.
--J. Wilson.

NOW WITH MORNING INSIGHT!!


Next Morning In Explanation: I didn't mean to erase that first part. I'm not covering my tracks or anything. I added thoughts and erased a bunch of stuff and I'm too lazy to replace it.

Basically-I was pissy. It made me feel very good...like an otherwise induced high.

Flinging virtual pooh-my anti-drug.
I am exciting.

That's how great it is to be me.
Want to change places?

Nothin' to lose. Nothin' to gain. One way ticket to cruise in the passin' lane.

As Todd has said repeatedly.

If everyone was this angry nothing would ever get done.
It cannot possibly be healthy.

Plus, I will admit. I am seriously fucked up right now.
I feel better than I have in a LONG time.

NME: Nothing like letting a long lost mental imbalance run the show for a few hours. I'd feel great after that catharsis if it weren't for how hard it was to sleep. So I'm just exhausted.

That's reassuring.

Oh and, Mr. Thinks He's Clever calling me a pseudo-intellectual:
Die in a fire.

The only thing I really am is an intellectual. Not that that's a selling point. But it's true.

See, Wikipedia even agrees with me. You don't have to go past the first paragraph.

I'm the picture of mental health.

And tomorrow-my hand will have a crescent shaped bruise.


NME: No bruise, but I look like I got in a fight with a cat. I lost.

Something's clicked in me.
I've gone off.
It's not pretty.

But it is-it would seem funny.
If yr following anything where I was talking about.
I suppose my nervous breakdown is a jolly joke.

So very very awesome is my self destruction.
Stay tuned for details.

We're so creative, so much more-We're high above but on the floor

Am I really that difficult? Do I expect people to live up to some standard of decency that is irrational?
Glares.
Blinks.
Yeh, you probably shouldn't answer that.
I've put in my 24 hours notice with the gig.
There are things I can take. I can be yelled at. I can work fast. I handle stress with maybe not grace but gritted teeth. I will not be treated like a fool.
What do I mean?
When I go to do a job I expect to know what that job is. Not in a vague sense, ("You'll be doing some kind of clerical work.") I need to know if I'm supposed to answer the phones or deal with customers/clients what have you. I need instructions so that I am capable of surmising my role. Most of all, if I'm going to be doing a job that is the same as a person trained specifically in the field-I need to at least receive some training. I thought that I'd got this.
Today, the rules changed and I went from promising and happy at the assignment to miserable (my usual state) in under 2 hours. By lunch I was at the gas station buying cigarettes. During my afternoon break I was trying to get ahold of my supervisor at the temp agency to explain why this assignment would not work for me.
Still no explanation about the fool thing...OK let me try. The assignment as I understood it was to field the occasional phone call but basically I would work in the mail room. Putting away files, sorting mail, sending faxes. Stuff like that. Today-I was told I had to train on the front desk. This is an area about the size of my couch + the space behind my couch to the wall. It is very small. Three people with two phones and about 6 lines ringing constantly and the poor people of Nashville asking questions that in general don't have answers. I went up there, watched, answered the occasional phone call, did the best I could. After maybe an hour I went back to the woman who'd shown me the ropes yesterday and asked if I was supposed to be working the front AND re-filing files AND sending faxes AND sorting the mail. Trust me when I tell you-this is a great deal of work. It's not undoable if you have been trained-but I wasn't so I was concerned.
The Person in Charge (TPIC) a large (about 6'4" I'd guess) black woman with dyed blonde hair and an abrasive attitude heard this and decided that I needed WATCHED. So, unbeknowst to me, she went up front to hawk me. I just did my best to do my job with my zero knowledge. I answered phones, passed out paperwork. I honestly tried-it was crazy. I hate hectic-I am not made for hectic. I like quiet, methodical and reasoned. If I was fond of crazy I probably would spend more time around the most hectic thing on the planet, people-but we know how I feel about them.
Word came that TPIC had decided I should spend limited time up front. Good, right? No. Because she wanted me off the desk because she decided I wasn't capable. To use a phrase for which I have a great deal of animosity, but it applies better than any other: No shit, Sherlock. Capable implies a level of learnedness one cannot attain in an hour. Capable suggests training and background in a field. Would I be expected to be a capable attorney? At least I've met attorneys and used a law book or two. But that doesn't make me a lawyer. And being assigned a job at the Sect 8 office doesn't make me an expert in the field of subsidized housing.
This seems so logical, doesn't it? Try to tell TPIC-I was told things about her that I will refrain from repeating but she makes me sick. I'm not good. I do lousy things. But I do my best to not act in a way that is immoral. Dishonesty and immorality are two different things. There are different kinds of immorality. What she's doing is number one on the commandments you should avoid breaking professionally. (No-not murder. The other one.)
It got worse. For goodness sake, I was smoking. That's not something I should have to do in orer to get thru a shift. Unless I want to.
I am at the point where I am beginning to wonder if I can actually deal with people on any level. Alone, I'm fine and can do any job as long as it provides near total autonomy. With people, I am miserable. I'm either too nice, too polite, or too short.

I'm miserable.
Just in general. Right now-I am miserable and I'm going to hold onto that. It seems like it might be my salvation.

Music: Not an Addict-K's Choice.

If that's the way she feels then why doesn't she end it all?

This thing's been bugging me and I've gone on about it a bit-feel free to quit reading if I'm getting boring. I can't afford therapy so I do what I must. It's all a repeat. Luckily it's summer and everything but Rescue Me is in repeats. You want new? Tune to FX on Tuesdays at 9pm.
More and more I am becoming convinced that I actually wasn't particularly aware of anything or experiencing anything since-probably since about Grandma died. And it got worse when school kept getting more awful and the money was so tight. Even when things got better they didn't. GH got diagnosed with a death sentence and passed away. Baxter-the only genuine friend for all those years life-died. Why does it keep bothering me? They're gone and it's got to be better to not exist at all than to live like their lives were at the end. Right? No, I'm really asking.
School became a grudge match. I was only there because I'd be goddamned if I'd be beat. Even when over and over I was knocked half senseles by school I kept going because the other option was to admit I'd made a gigantic mistake. When I admitted I made a mistake-and in case I haven't here:
That Master's Degree from Western Kentucky University in the field of Folk Studies located in the Department of Folk Studies and Anthropology a department headed by Michael Ann Wiliams is the worst mistake of my life. The program is poorly run and costructed. The redeeming qualities do not make up for the damning elements. I'd rather be a charter accountant than a folklorist. I'll work the rest of my life in a mindless drudge office if it keeps me away from ever being associatd with this program. Yes, I know this is all on the Internets. It could very possibly turn up on Google. I could be blacklisted from the American Folklore Society. One can only hope.
If I had it to do over again, even given that I would lose the few really good things (all having to do not with the program but with the people) I would give up those experience to have the last two years of my life back.
I don't know what I'd have done. I think I would still be here-or would have been at least. Because, I moved down here not sure I'd participate in the program. I wanted to live here. The program was an excuse. Two years ago, I needed an excuse. Today, I'd go anywhere on a moment's notice if I thought it would make me happy. But I also am fairly sure that happy is brief and sudden and unexpected and can't be plannd or run to. So there's no real reason to uproot myself as I was so used to doing for so many years. My life was going nowhere-I was in no future territory and if I didn't MAKE a future I might not have the option.
Because I had something that took my energy, my days, forced me to focus on SOMETHING-Even if I didn't give a flying fuck about that something, it was a challenge-I was able to accept that the world I knew was disappearing.
Now that I have no forced focus I am thinking far too much. I wonder how much damage I've done to myself over the last two years. The damage I've done to other people. If I was always this angry but now I can give it a new cause. It's not something that happened when I was 18 or 22 or 12 or whatever. Those are old news-for some time I've had a good, solid, new cause for my tumult. Without that-I'm just weird.
A few days ago my landlady stopped by to tell me that the bug people were stopping by-"In case the little dog (she doesn't know his name, tho I tell her regularly) has fleas, or Baxter did. Poor old Baxter..." Every time she mentions Baxter I want to slap her, she always makes it sound like a half remembered episode of Little House. Not really, emotionally draining, painful lingering bruise. Lose yr dog Old Woman and how 'bout I mention him whenever I see you. It'll be great. We'll reminisce. Oh-I know she's old and crazy-but that doesn't give her the right to talk about my life.
I lie to her. Very well, apparently. She thinks I'm sweet and "smile all the time." A good girl. She trusts me. I honestly believe she honestly believes I don't have any vices worse than candy. Actually, even the candy is debatable.
But then, that's the major 21st century survival mechanism as far as I can tell. Lying. Mostly to ourselves.
Why am I even talking about this? If you've read this far you have to have wondered that by now. The truth is-I don't know. Maybe I'm sad. Not depressed. There's no imaginable circumstance that would cause me to admit to depression as it's a rarely anything but a cry for medication. Or it could be some kind of jealousy for people that coast through life and have the easiest ride imaginable but act like the world owes them a living. Or an explanation. I don't know, not at all.
I've got it good. A great family. A lot of awesome acquaintances and even the certifiable friend or few. I'm unlikely to end up homeless anytime soon. I have Coupland and a good likelihood of going to see Stephen Colbert in a short time. (If I grow some balls and just buy the damn ticket already-tomorrow-maybe tomorrow. The commitment issue is for another rant.) Things are good. If I were more Christian-or for that matter, a Christian I'm on the fence about that-I'd thank God for his goodness. Instead I just think:
Is that all there is?
Then let's keep dancing.

Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city

For those of you that have been on the edge of your seats, worrying with all yr might all day wondering what my first day at this assignment was like-take up drinking or narcotic abuse. You clearly have issues that can only be dealt with through extreme and destructive measures.
But, before ordering some OxyContin off the Internets here's a rundown:
Anyone worrying I would get in trouble for playing Sudoku or reading fan fiction can breathe easy now. The job doesn't allow for such frivolity. I'm being run ragged----
up and down the hall to fax things or pick up mail
rolling the moveable shelves and crawling around to put away client files
running back down the hall for some other thing
answering phones and trying to come up with creative answers to questions that may as well be re: Dutch traditional dance practices.
~~~Sidenote, the dog is so polite, he just stood square on my bladder and stuck his hinder square in my face and just stayed there. I had to push him along to get back to typing He think he's SO funny that one.~~
The job keeps me busy. I actually did 8 hours of work today. When was the last time I did that? As a seriously lazy bitch I do my best to avoid an honest day's work for the same. I prefer putting in a solid 4 hours. But I also really like shelter and food so I will do my best to adapt and not fuck it up.
I'm working right in the middle of the projects. But I don't feel uncomfortable-except when I go outside. But that's not the surroundings-it's that breathing is nearly impossible to do anything but long for the A/C to kick on really soon.
That's about all I have to say right now.
I'm too tired and hungry to bother with interesting anecdotes.
Oh-cept it's all hot and shit.

Update

Killing a few minutes at BookMan/BookWoman before seeing SWC I heard this:
(ding ding-door opens)
Girl 1: "Oh, I totally just fell in love with that guy!"
Girl 2: "He is so your type."
Girl 3: "You guys, I am way not into books. I'm leaving."
"irl 1 (I think) "God, I hate books. I can't even read a thing all summer. Let's go."

Inside, I died a little.

Funny-Funny-So wrong-HA HA! movie.
I laughed. A lot.
And wondered about what kind of person would attend a 4:30 showing of such a film on opening day.
Answer: about 3 guys in faded jeans, 2 confused looking women and a straight-gay might've made sense-couple in their mid-50s.
Oh yeah, and me.

Stopped for beer at Frugal McDoogals (to continue the stereotype fun started with the movie). Went up to the counter.
Me: "Hi."
Dude Behind the Counter "Hello."
We stare at each other for a few seconds. He scans the beer. Returns to staring at me.
DBC: "What are you, like 17?"
Me: (blinks) What?
DBC: "ID please."
Me: (pulls out ID) "I'm 29."
DBC: (looks at ID-looks again) "OK-thought you were trying to pull one over on me."
Me: "Right. No."

Then I stopped at Kroger and bought a pre-packaged curry. It wasn't too bad. But I'm still hungry after it. And I'm confused to report that the dog likes curries.

Everybody loves a acrimonious pessimist

Today I got a call from that temp agency I'd written off as a wash almost a month ago. Dude wondered where I'd been hiding. Oh-just steeping in my anger and bitterness. You know how time consuming that can be.
Would I be available next week? For at least a two week gig?
Gee, let me check my Blackberry---well, I was going to re-tile the kitchen floor but I guess I can put that off.
SO
The hours are day shift.
The pay is good-ish.
It's in the 'hood.
I'm wearing a HUGE happy hat right now.
No. Really, I'm thrilled. I'm just reserved-as we all KNOW that when I am happy things tend to go horribly, miserably, imcomparably wrong.
So I'll just keep any positive thoughts to a minimum. Wouldn't want to expect anything like a job that would actually drag me up to almost the poverty level.
I swear if I were anymore bitter I'd have Angostura tattooed on my chest.

Not at all annoyed is the small amount of ego stroking I've been getting in the "How did you discover...?" discussion since it somehow managed to devolve into being somewhat about me. And I wasn't trying, even if I only ever talk about myself believe me when I say it's not because I think I'm great it's because I have information about little else, except TV.
That self propping thing happens not just there (tho, of course...) but on the interwebs a lot. I have no problem with ego, it's misplaced and irrational egotism that annoy the hell out of me. An interesting person is interesting without trying. A desperate and needy person plugs his or her glory (a phrase that sounds oddly dirty, doesn't it?) until it becomes unbearable. I could go on-but I won't. Don't feed the wankas. No matter how much fun it looks to be.

Yea! Strangers With Candy in 2 hours! Huzzah!

I don't need to fight to prove I'm right I don't need to be forgiven

some of the things related to going home~~~

On my way home I'd called and said I expected "cham-pag-ne and filette mig-none" as a return of the prodigal daughter meal. I got sparkling wine and t-bone steak. Good enough.
The parents went camping on Friday and I had-wait for it! The Whole House to Myself! Woo! Party!
Except I don't know any people in Akron anymore. So I watched Degrassi. Which was groovy.
On Saturday I was set to go to a BBQ but neglected to get the time when I would be picked up. So starting around 2 I just waited to hear from someone...I couldn't find a damn phone book to call and get details.
J and her S/O turned up around 4:30--she stood on the deck and yelled "KENZ!" presumably to avoid the untamable attack dogs-which is the universal way of summoning me. In case any of you were wondering. When I lived at home Daddy used to wake me up for school by opening my door or walking downstairs when I slept in the basement and just saying that one syllable. It can shake me from the deepest reverie.
The highlight of that event was we got to go swimming. "We" being me and J and the younger, married female A. That was fun, even if it was cold. The boys supplied us with more alcohol. We all sat around the pool drinking Budweiser and telling stories about "that time I was SO drunk that..." and other things that are funny when yr drinking Budweiser.
Sunday the 'rents got home. Monday we went and looked at the work Aunt and Uncle were doing on Auntie's parents' house. Mum got painfully creeped out by the events and how she wouldn't do that job that way (for logical reasons) so we went home and watched General Hospital. Tuesday-being the 4th of July-and being midWestern-we grilled out. Everyone had fun-I watched House-I mentioned that party in an earlier entry. Wednesday, Dad was back at work after vacation, so me and Mum bonded---by watching General Hospital. I was very worried about Sonny, as he was having a nervous breakdown. Then we all (being all people with the same last name as have I in the general vicinity of Akron-Canton at that time) went to Dano's for Spaghetti night. I don't like the new jukebox-it's one of those digital boxes that'll play any song from the last 4 decades. I couldn't find 'Devil Went Down to Georgia' and 'Scenes from an Italian Restaurant' as I am impatient and didn't want to search through more than one page of song listings. I want the old box back, I knew right where all my favorite songs were.
Thursday, the truck all packed to go home. I took Bad Man out for a walk before we left at about 11. E had her screen door open. As long as I've lived in that neighborhood (and admittedly, I don't live there now, but the codes haven't changed) that has meant guests are welcome. So I knocked on the door, "HEY!" I yelled, my hand on the door handle.
"Are you trying to sneak in on me?" 'Rin asked.
She let me in and we sat down on the steps in the front room and talked for about a half hour. Then we decided we should move outside-because Coupland was being a rotten brat.
We were sitting on the front steps-like ya do-when a whistle echoed through the neighborhood. We stopped.
"I think that's yr mom," she said.
"MA?" I yelled.
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
"NEXT DOOR!" (mind you this conversation is being carried on through a thick line of trees and across two rather large suburban lawns-that's the kind of neighborhood I grew up in...small enough to recognize I whistle.)
Ma made her way through the trees, walking across the yard. It made me both happy and sad. Sitting on the front porch with Erin and watching my mum approach and how it was so much like those days when we were kids and the three of us (me and Mik and Erin) would go between the two houses on weekend afternoons. Except now we all were adults and there was no safety in a clubhouse in the woods. I miss GH, often.
She has a giant dog named Rocky. He and Coupland got on alright-but Rocky could swallow Cope and still be hungry for dinner so I tried to keep the apart (mainly, because my beast thinks he's a tough guy-big dogs rarely have such thoughts I have found). Erin let Rocky in and he proceeded to circle me and the dog as I tried to escape his jaws. We danced in circles in a waltz that could only be hilarious
The gigantic but stupid dog she was sitting had peed on the rug in the sideroom. A room that I can honestly say if I had been in at all it was well over 20 years ago. Mum insisted we help move the carpet.
As we three were dragging the piss soaked remnant out of the house I directed the weight of the thing in such a way as to plow my mother directly into the wall.
"Ow, dammit!" she grumbled.
"Sorry."
"Don't hurt Maw!" Erin laughed as we dragged the heavy wet material out of the house. GH always called Mum 'Maw.' For some reason. He was the only one that ever did, far as I know. Daddy calls her 'Marth' I call her 'Mummy' I presume Mik calls her 'Mom' or possibly 'our mother.' For what I can only assume is the obvious reason, that made me happy and sad at once.
We sat around jawing for about 2 hours the three of us. By then it was too late to get in the car and drive. So me and Mum went looking for wallpaper. We had a blast digging through the boxes and boxes of disorganized wall covering at the store called 'AS IS' A name that is written in felt tip marker and stuck in the window with smaller letters stating 'Don't barter No Returns' The place was brilliant.
Daddy got home and looked at me funny. Cuz I wasn't supposed to be there. We sat around, I might well have watched General Hospital.
"I've been really good, but can I ask..."
"I knew you would"/"Can we go for Mexican tonight." Damn mind reading parents.
So we did.
We drank cheap margaritas and enjoyed plates of food and chips and salsa. Daddy gave me two dollars to buy candy from the honor bar candy selection. That doesn't make up for his refusing to buy me a fudgesicle all week.
(Cue Ice Cream Man music)
(Scene: the van on the way to the grocery)
"Daddy! Daddy! Wave him down! I wanna fudgesicle!" (pronounced: fudge-icle.)
"I will not buy you a fudgesicle." (pronounced fudge-sicle.)
"I wanna damn fudgesicle."
"Too bad."
"AHHHH!!!!" I waved my arms in protest.
"I am just that mean."
"I'll hold my breath!"
"Go 'head."
And I did. Til Dad said,
"You're not convincing me, you'll be laughing soon."
And I did.
Mean dude. Not buying me ice cream.
But he did provide me with candy money.
On the way home I was doling out chocolates.
"So," I had a mouthful of tiny Snickers bar as I was speaking, "I have a brilliant idea."
"You do?" said Mum.
"I do. See, I was thinking and it's a cunning plan that I've worked out and what it is is I'll drive the van home and Mum can drive the Honda when it's out of the shop and Dad you can keep driving the truck. See it's brilliant, so no argument. Alright. Good." I opened another chocolate.
"Yeh, we thought of that, talked about it and decided if you can't afford the payment you can't have the car."
"Well that's just unfair."
"You want to try to pay the car note?"
"No."
"Then you're taking the truck home. End of discussion."
"Hmph. And I had a brilliant idea, too."
We got home and watched Countdown with Keith Olberman. In the morning I got in the truck and headed home.
Every time I come home I think about all the time I don't get to spend with my parents since I live so far away.
That makes me sad.
We really don't know how much time any of us have. I was 24 hours away from blood poisoning 2 months ago this week. For no other reason than I am stupid and stubborn. I could've died-but I didn't change much because of that. After all, as House said: "Is almost dying any excuse for not being fun?"
Life is a prime example of schadenfreude. Assuming I understand the concept correctly.

ETA: At some point (I think Tuesday) Mum insisted on cutting my hair. She eliminated the last of the dead, frizzie bits. But she cut it, what I consider, VERY SHORT.
I rolled my eyes up and directed the rest of my features accordingly.
"My God, you make such faces. Rolling your eyes into the back of your head and looking ridiculous."
"I think I made my point," I said.

Furthermore:
We were watching All My Children and discussing the square-jawedness of JR (AKA the worst Lucky on General Hospital).
"You know that a cleft chin is something a person can only have if one parent has it?"
"Why, yes, Mummy, I did know that. And do you know where I learned that?
Same place you did I bet.
From an episode of House."
"No," she said a-blushedly, "I think I knew that before that episode."
"Sure. Sure."

No substance here-just some imagery

I'm running a contest-can you name the significance of everything in the shrine? Winner gets a Free Hat!







The Close-ups of wallpaper that's clearly no longer on a wall- are the previous tenant's idea of attactive wall decoration. C'est na pas moi. Quelle horror!






There ya go lot of not very high-res pics of the bathroom and kitchen. Kinda obvious which is which.



Coupland says Hi-i-i-i-i!!!!!!

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of 51

The kitchen-again...
I wish I had one of those fancy digital cameras the employed get to have so I would have some pictures to put up here. But I'm ever so not employed so I don't get to have nifty electronics. If I cancelled my cable I could. But then I would weep and gnash my teeth. Choose what's important. That's my theory.
Anyhow-the kitchen is finished. And it is something that the freakshow that used to live here/owns this house could never understand-it's tasteful. OK-maybe that's the wrong word-but it's not fugly which seems to be the main theme of the previous interior design of this place. The uglier the better I think. I still say that wallpaper is usually ugly shit but it succeeded in covering up the years of grease and unidentifiable stains on the unpainted walls. For that I am a fan of wallpaper. Around the stove was the worst. Three coats of paint and a layer of plaster and it still looked the design equivelent of throwing pooh on the wall. Mum and I put our collective minds together...she suggested I put wall paper down the wal and then trim the edges of the paper with the border of the border that I'd put along the top of the wall. Then I went all ghey and cut out the sunflowers and watermelons and stuff and decorated the wallpaper and the wall directly above the stove. It's pretty lame ass-but it also is seven kazillion times less lame ass than what it looked like 48 hours ago. Anything is an improvement upon that-and what I have in there is truly better if I do say so myself.
(Ooooh Oliver's Army is the ironic music on I Love the 70's the Return. Swell, but wrong year dudes.)
The windows look quite nice with what I believe is called a 'treatment' I call it a not ugly piece of crud blind like every rental unit in the US comes equipped with right along with the beige carpet and the inconsistent hot water. This is a-uh, thing, (goes and checks the wrapper) matchstick blind. It has some amount of individuality to it, not that my apartment doesn't have that anyway but the less amount of stuff that belongs to Ann or is left over from Sandra I'm using the better. No ill will or anything-I just don't want to have to contribute to the purchase of a new version of something as cheap and flimsy as all the stuff that came with this place.
I dread painting the living room/bedroom and hallway. That's all I'm doing. No fancy-ness or anything. I'm just going to patch any big gaping hell mouth holes and slap a coat or two of paint on. When I get around to it. Which could be tomorrow or never. Depending mostly on my mood.

Houses of the Holy was a really bitchin' album

Let me go on the record for saying that redecorating is bullocks.
Teh suxors.
I am not enjoying myself.
If I ever meet the sainted Sandra I will kick her firmly in the shins and hit her on the head with an iron skillet for her half arsed wall patching and painting jobs and her taste in Godforsaken wallpaper.
What kind of mental disorder must she harbor to have called what she did to that kitchen wall 'painting'? (Now, I don't know that she did, but something was clearly done to the wall, and my guess is that she considered it a job well done.)
Since having time to notice how truly shite the walls of this place look (I'd been distracted since mid-2004 after all) I can finally realize what everyone that came to visit saw. It's a shithole. I have been scrubbing walls on a monthly basis and all I've succeeded in doing is take down the dangerously thin coat that seperates the drywall and me.
Who, I wonder, is crazier--my landlady or the woman that inhabited this tiny ass apartment for 14 years? My money is on the latter-since at least Ann has an excuse. Sandra must just be a freakin' looney.
Hmmm? Oh yes, Glass Houses. Indeed it isn't just an awesome Billy Joel album. True enough. Point taken. But I have integrated the madness into my charming persona and I'm not fucking hanging wallpaper with arsing mushrooms and watering cans as the main motif.
It's sunflowers, watermelons and grapes. Thank you very much.



Footnote on Emmy noms:
Much yea for Stephen Colberts multiple noms. He'll walk off with host and writing-everyone else can stay home.
Steve Carrell is the best of the lot in Lead Actor in a Comdedy.
But wha? No Jason Bateman? Dude's show is cancelled, if all the totally dumbass noms for Will and Grace and the West Wing (WHY? I want an anwer RIGHT NOW!) are any indication that's what the Emmy voters love the most.
Glad to see Denis Leary finally getting noticed for Rescue Me-he was great last year and deserves to win. He hasn't got a chance.
What the fuckity fuck fuck with the lack of kudos to Hugh Laurie? No, really-the fuck? Let me rephrase that-was I watching the same television as the voters? Did they get the GOOD episodes of Two and a Half Men and the AU crap episodes of House? Cuz, Charlie Sheen got a nod, and that's just wrong on toast right there.

On the highway--in my head

Somewhere around Columbus, by now I really don't remember-it might have be Cincinnati...It was all the same stretch of road I-71 to I-65 scanning the dial for a decent song or the local public radio station fighting to keep Hamhock Butt on his side of the truck wishing I had a damn CD player or something so I didn't have to listen to the nightmare that is the FM dial...I got circled around the city the wrong direction due to a road closure. Made for an extra hour of driving.It was my only real issue the whole trip home.
I'm here now. Unpacked and ready to paint or wallpaper or whatever I might find amusing. I shouldn't put any time or energy into this place-but I have nothing going on in my life so I might as well have something to do. And this will certainly fill the hours...days...who knows how long...sometime anyway.And the next time I go out I'll have music-yet another reason why it would've been a bad idea to buy an mp3 player. And lest we forget my over-educated under-skilled ass can't even get a job as an online tutor or an adjunct professor at the University of fucking Phoenix. I am 40 shades of worthless in the realm of employability. So I might as well redecorate.
So now I'm back on the Eastside. Mr. Baby is so tired he isn't even annoying-after all, he only got about 2 hours of sleep all day. Sucks to be him.
Now that I have made note of this I will return to enjoying the benefits of high speed internet.

Chrome wheeled fuel injected, and stepping out over the line

It's Always Sunny in Phildelphia is babbling on television. I think it's funny but I'm distracted by some wank inducing RPS. I always wonder about people that write slash--I mean slash with actual slashing! and angst!, not just nerdy musings featuring the off same sex chaste kiss the sort that completes a halfway decent joke-why the author doesn't just change the characters names and write a work of completely new fiction. Uninteresting fiction mayhaps, but it would be fiction and cause less ire. This is one of the questions for the ages. I keep reading the stuff. I don't think the Real People (always men mind you-I can't think of an instance featuring women, but then, I'm not in the Buffy fandom so I dunno) would ever in life speak in such poorly constructed sentences or spend so much time musing over a brand of cigarettes or sheet thread count. If they were to engage in what is nearly always an extramarital affair with always a co-star (or cohort in the Jon/Stephen world of slashy slashness) I think they would worry less about the details and more about making sure the cutains were closed so as to avoid being papped. But that's just my crazy worldview. The writers surely know their subjects better than I ever could.
For example: everyone smokes cigarettes without shame, everyone smokes pot and drinks scotch or gin and listens to jazz (perhaps because two guys getting wasted on margaritas and munching on potato chips whilst digging the rockin' sounds of John Mayer is too girl-y...something hot guy on guy sex simply by definition cannot be.)

Ahhh...but in reality....I am heading home to Nashville tomorrow. I'll be driving the truck, not the Honda. Cuz the Honda has decided to be unpleasant-some kind of computer issue and what Dad calls a "hinky" (technical term) clutch. This is all groovy except said truck has no CD player or tape player or any kind of crap like that. What it has is an AM/FM radio. Suckage.
I was all set to go out and buy an mp3 player and FM transmitter thing so that I could have a great deal of music to amuse me on my trip but I got to the actual store and said unto me, "Self," said I, "do you really want to purchase something that is not what you want out of desperation? Or would you rather not tough out the 9 hour drive wherein you will surely hear such rock classics as Layla and endless entreaties to Get the Led Out and save yr money to purchase the item you want? Hmmm, Self? Be honest."
Being honest, I wanted instant gratification. But that would've been silly. I mean, hey, Layla on the whole may be annoying as hell, but the last few bars (the ones written by the guy that went crazy and killed his mother) those are good. Maybe I'll always tune to the station when that part of the song is playing. I'm not good at maths, but I think there's some statistical probability of that.
It'll be fun. Me and Coupland will sing the old folk songs and tell funny stories. The time will fly.
Or, somewhere around Cincy I'll go insane. Then it won't matter anymore whether i have music or not.