Christmas time in Wisconsin was fun. It usually is, though this year seemed to be especially whirlwindy. I got a fuzzy pink bathrobe, some new clothes and jewelery (including a Black Hills Gold bracelet my parents got on their trip to Rount Mushmore), Pirates of the Carribean 2, and a book called "What Should I Do With My Life?" by Po Bronson, among other things. I tried to flip to the end for the answer, but apparently it doesn't work that way.
From Joe I got a Battlestar Galactica Mug and a t-shirt that says "So Say We All." I'm the coolest nerd around, and I will wear my nerdery proudly.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Paperback Joy
I decided to go to Barnes & Noble during my lunch hour and get hot chocolate and sit in the cafe reading magazines. I deserved it. It was one of those days.
On my way through the store, I noticed one of those book donation centers, where they have a bunch of tags like "Boy, Age 9" or "Girl, Age 11" that you grab and buy a book for. There were quite a lot of tags left, considering there are only 5 days until Christmas. Hmm, (I thought, as I wandered by) I should maybe do that. I like giving kids books. Maybe on my way out. Maybe next year.
My Conscience: STOP. Turn around. Actually do it, instead of thinking you SHOULD maybe do something.
Me: But I'm broke! And I just spent a whole bunch of money on gifts!
MC: If you're broke, why did you spend so much money on gifts for people who already have a lot of stuff?
Me: uhhhhh
MC: You should do something nice for someone who might not have much.
Me: But I don't donate money. It's a policy of mine. I donate time.
MC: But it's the holidays.
Me: So?
MC: And if you skip that overpriced hot chocolate you were about to buy, that'll cover at least half a kids' book, won't it?
Me: ...you win again, conscience.
Which is my long-winded way of saying I bought "Aliens Ate My Homework" by Bruce Coville for an annonymous 9-year-old boy. I do so love spreading the gospel of Coville.
On my way through the store, I noticed one of those book donation centers, where they have a bunch of tags like "Boy, Age 9" or "Girl, Age 11" that you grab and buy a book for. There were quite a lot of tags left, considering there are only 5 days until Christmas. Hmm, (I thought, as I wandered by) I should maybe do that. I like giving kids books. Maybe on my way out. Maybe next year.
My Conscience: STOP. Turn around. Actually do it, instead of thinking you SHOULD maybe do something.
Me: But I'm broke! And I just spent a whole bunch of money on gifts!
MC: If you're broke, why did you spend so much money on gifts for people who already have a lot of stuff?
Me: uhhhhh
MC: You should do something nice for someone who might not have much.
Me: But I don't donate money. It's a policy of mine. I donate time.
MC: But it's the holidays.
Me: So?
MC: And if you skip that overpriced hot chocolate you were about to buy, that'll cover at least half a kids' book, won't it?
Me: ...you win again, conscience.
Which is my long-winded way of saying I bought "Aliens Ate My Homework" by Bruce Coville for an annonymous 9-year-old boy. I do so love spreading the gospel of Coville.
Hack, Cough, Die
The cold has now moved into my lungs. I am not looking foward to flying. However, due to the magic of modern medicine, I plan to be asleep before the plane even takes off.
Merry Christmas to me.
Merry Christmas to me.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Ode to Cold
Do you know what it's like to WANT to be cold? To wish you could stagger around in flurries of snow that fill every nook and cranny of your eskimo outfit?
First you start with boots so big and heavy that they make you walk like a 400 pound man. Inside there are a few extra pairs of socks you stole from your dad. On your legs are long underwear, heavy jeans, and snow pants that make that zipzip sound when you walk. These are what make falling over into the snow feel like tumbling into a cloud in snow motion. On top is your brightly colored ski jacket (because they only wear black in New York and white is just silly, for many reasons). A pair of gloves, then mittens on top of those, a thick hat down around your ears, your hood pulled up tight, and a long scarf wrapped around that, keeping it all in place.
After being outside for a while, your breath will make a sheet of ice form on the inside of your scarf. You rotate the scarf, forming a sheet on the other side as well. Eventually this ice will chafe and chap the entire lower portion of your face.
Your feet will get cold. They always get cold, no matter how many pairs of socks or how expensive your ice-fishing boots are. But you wiggle your toes and feel them rubbing against each other like blocks of wood and know they will be okay for a little while longer.
As you stagger across fields of untouched, unseen, unbroken snow, you have to lift each foot as high as you can to take the next step. If you have layered your clothes properly, no snow will get in your boots. Snow whips across the field, lifting and twisting, looking like white sheets flapping in the wind on a clothesline. And when you find somewhere to hunker down, in a hollow under a pine tree, or between two small hills, you'll feel colder, somehow, but safer than you ever have in your life.
I remember when we were little my brother and I used to crawl under the one tree on the bus stop corner. Trees, no matter how much snow there is, always have that tiny clear space just around their trunks. We would huddle together there to be out of the wind and then emerge in an explosion of snow like awakened bear cubs when the bus pulled up.
When I was a teenager, I would heat my car until I could strip off my jacket inside, and somehow this felt more dangerous than they way we would all expertly slide through stop signs.
It's wishing your lungs would burn until they hurt while sledding, the way your cheeks turn an impossible red, how your hands will never get warm once your gloves are wet, and the fact that the harder it snows and the darker it gets, the harder it gets to resist going outside into it.
That is what it's like to miss the cold.
First you start with boots so big and heavy that they make you walk like a 400 pound man. Inside there are a few extra pairs of socks you stole from your dad. On your legs are long underwear, heavy jeans, and snow pants that make that zipzip sound when you walk. These are what make falling over into the snow feel like tumbling into a cloud in snow motion. On top is your brightly colored ski jacket (because they only wear black in New York and white is just silly, for many reasons). A pair of gloves, then mittens on top of those, a thick hat down around your ears, your hood pulled up tight, and a long scarf wrapped around that, keeping it all in place.
After being outside for a while, your breath will make a sheet of ice form on the inside of your scarf. You rotate the scarf, forming a sheet on the other side as well. Eventually this ice will chafe and chap the entire lower portion of your face.
Your feet will get cold. They always get cold, no matter how many pairs of socks or how expensive your ice-fishing boots are. But you wiggle your toes and feel them rubbing against each other like blocks of wood and know they will be okay for a little while longer.
As you stagger across fields of untouched, unseen, unbroken snow, you have to lift each foot as high as you can to take the next step. If you have layered your clothes properly, no snow will get in your boots. Snow whips across the field, lifting and twisting, looking like white sheets flapping in the wind on a clothesline. And when you find somewhere to hunker down, in a hollow under a pine tree, or between two small hills, you'll feel colder, somehow, but safer than you ever have in your life.
I remember when we were little my brother and I used to crawl under the one tree on the bus stop corner. Trees, no matter how much snow there is, always have that tiny clear space just around their trunks. We would huddle together there to be out of the wind and then emerge in an explosion of snow like awakened bear cubs when the bus pulled up.
When I was a teenager, I would heat my car until I could strip off my jacket inside, and somehow this felt more dangerous than they way we would all expertly slide through stop signs.
It's wishing your lungs would burn until they hurt while sledding, the way your cheeks turn an impossible red, how your hands will never get warm once your gloves are wet, and the fact that the harder it snows and the darker it gets, the harder it gets to resist going outside into it.
That is what it's like to miss the cold.
Monday, December 18, 2006
The Spirits Did It All in One Night!
Yesterday, despite a very fast-moving cold that has taken residence in my head, I went to the Great Dickens Christmas Fair out at Cow Palace in San Francisco. I didn't expect it to be so involved! Not being dressed up, we were actually in the minority here. It's sort of like a renaissance festival, only for 19th century Victorian London. I was really very impressed and had a lot of fun.
The first thing we did was hit the bar (of course). You could get mead, festival ale, irish coffee, hot toddys and hot cider & rum (my favorite!). Everywhere there was music and noise and corset shops and urchins running around. There was a Christmas parade, a bawdy dance hall revue (not recommended for children!), and drunken chimney sweeps that would bounce off you, barely muttering "sorry." Occasionally you would run into Scrooge being lead around by the Ghost of Christmas Past. There was a man walking around with a live owl on his arm. We ate fish & chips for lunch, then roasted chestnuts afterwards, which are tons of fun to eat. We ended up at Fezziwig's dance hall, where you could learn traditional Victorian dances, and were then treated to a dance troupe's display of Scottish and Irish dances and music. Scrooge even showed up there.
By the time we stumbled out, we all felt a little displaced, dehydrated, and sorely in need of fresh air. Sort of what I imagine what I would feel like if I stumbled into the real London 150 years ago!
The first thing we did was hit the bar (of course). You could get mead, festival ale, irish coffee, hot toddys and hot cider & rum (my favorite!). Everywhere there was music and noise and corset shops and urchins running around. There was a Christmas parade, a bawdy dance hall revue (not recommended for children!), and drunken chimney sweeps that would bounce off you, barely muttering "sorry." Occasionally you would run into Scrooge being lead around by the Ghost of Christmas Past. There was a man walking around with a live owl on his arm. We ate fish & chips for lunch, then roasted chestnuts afterwards, which are tons of fun to eat. We ended up at Fezziwig's dance hall, where you could learn traditional Victorian dances, and were then treated to a dance troupe's display of Scottish and Irish dances and music. Scrooge even showed up there.
By the time we stumbled out, we all felt a little displaced, dehydrated, and sorely in need of fresh air. Sort of what I imagine what I would feel like if I stumbled into the real London 150 years ago!
Friday, December 15, 2006
A Giant Burrito for Breakfast
WisCon is the feminist science-fiction convention that takes place in Madison, WI every May. I went last year and one year during college and I always have a blast.
Last night was my office holiday party. Joe's was the night before. Joe's was much more swank, with fancy appetizers being carried around and hip DJ music. I really like the people Joe works with (I met them the week before at his coworker's housewarming party where we ate Indian food and played poker). However, computer programmers get to show up to work whenever they want, which means that at midnight they were still going strong and I was whining, "I can still get five and a half hours of sleep if we leave NOW."
At my party, which significant others were not invited to, I was rather nervous, not knowing that many people. So, even though I knew better, I had a drink before dinner. It hit me hard. Dinner is hazy, and I hardly remember having my third drink. I don't drink much anymore, so it hardly takes anything these days. I still had the sense, luckily, to give away my fourth drink ticket at that point. I don't even remember who I gave it to. I just shoved it at someone walking by. I actually had a LOT of fun though. I hung out with some new people, met a girl who also went to college at Madison and even danced a little.
However, 48 hours of no sleep and too much alcohol have left me wobbly, braindead and FAMISHED. Drinking always makes you hungry the next day. One of the guys showed up with a giant burrito for breakfast. Normally that would disgust me but this morning I was rather jealous. Mmmm...beans.
Last night was my office holiday party. Joe's was the night before. Joe's was much more swank, with fancy appetizers being carried around and hip DJ music. I really like the people Joe works with (I met them the week before at his coworker's housewarming party where we ate Indian food and played poker). However, computer programmers get to show up to work whenever they want, which means that at midnight they were still going strong and I was whining, "I can still get five and a half hours of sleep if we leave NOW."
At my party, which significant others were not invited to, I was rather nervous, not knowing that many people. So, even though I knew better, I had a drink before dinner. It hit me hard. Dinner is hazy, and I hardly remember having my third drink. I don't drink much anymore, so it hardly takes anything these days. I still had the sense, luckily, to give away my fourth drink ticket at that point. I don't even remember who I gave it to. I just shoved it at someone walking by. I actually had a LOT of fun though. I hung out with some new people, met a girl who also went to college at Madison and even danced a little.
However, 48 hours of no sleep and too much alcohol have left me wobbly, braindead and FAMISHED. Drinking always makes you hungry the next day. One of the guys showed up with a giant burrito for breakfast. Normally that would disgust me but this morning I was rather jealous. Mmmm...beans.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Christmas Present for Me!
I bought myself a Christmas present yesterday. Can you guess what it is? C'mon, guess.
You're right! It's a membership to Wiscon 2007, including a dessert salon ticket!
I've never actually signed up early enough to get dessert tickets before, so I'm especially excited. Of course, I don't actually have plane tickets yet. And I don't know what job I will have, where I will be living, where I'm going to sleep at Wiscon, or what my financial situation will be then, but dang it! I have dessert tickets!
I think I will make myself a goal now: Get something published (or accepted for publication) by the time Wiscon rolls around. It's a daunting task, but it will push me to send more stuff out. If it happens, I will be one of the beautiful people.
You're right! It's a membership to Wiscon 2007, including a dessert salon ticket!
I've never actually signed up early enough to get dessert tickets before, so I'm especially excited. Of course, I don't actually have plane tickets yet. And I don't know what job I will have, where I will be living, where I'm going to sleep at Wiscon, or what my financial situation will be then, but dang it! I have dessert tickets!
I think I will make myself a goal now: Get something published (or accepted for publication) by the time Wiscon rolls around. It's a daunting task, but it will push me to send more stuff out. If it happens, I will be one of the beautiful people.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Ooch, ouch, aahh
Sometimes a job I dislike motivates me to write. I think a part up my brain jumps up and reminds me that if I am successful in my writing career, I can get out of this rat race. At least partly.
But this particular job leaves me too mentally and physically exhausted to want to do much of anything. Mentally because all day long I focus on ridiculous little details until it drives out all creative thought. Physically because I SIT ALL DAY LONG.
You think that's not physically exhausting? Have you tried it before? Yes, I'm a writer. And I've had desk jobs. But they usually involve jumping up and down fairly often for meetings, filing, dubbing, whatever. But I don't move here. I drink water constantly just for the chance to get up and get it, and then the chance to get up and pee 20 minutes later. I spend my lunch hour walking around to work out the kinks in my body. By the time I get home my shoulders ache from un-ergonomic typing, my eyes are tired of staring at screens 12 inches away from my face, and my back is a painful rod of steel.
Thus the lack of desire to sit at another desk and type.
I think if I am really determined (which I usually am) I will figure out how to write during my lunch hour.
But this particular job leaves me too mentally and physically exhausted to want to do much of anything. Mentally because all day long I focus on ridiculous little details until it drives out all creative thought. Physically because I SIT ALL DAY LONG.
You think that's not physically exhausting? Have you tried it before? Yes, I'm a writer. And I've had desk jobs. But they usually involve jumping up and down fairly often for meetings, filing, dubbing, whatever. But I don't move here. I drink water constantly just for the chance to get up and get it, and then the chance to get up and pee 20 minutes later. I spend my lunch hour walking around to work out the kinks in my body. By the time I get home my shoulders ache from un-ergonomic typing, my eyes are tired of staring at screens 12 inches away from my face, and my back is a painful rod of steel.
Thus the lack of desire to sit at another desk and type.
I think if I am really determined (which I usually am) I will figure out how to write during my lunch hour.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Wisconsinites Are Scrappy
You gotta give 'em that. No one calls US second-rate cheeseheads!
Wisconsin Clings to Cheese Title
Wisconsin Clings to Cheese Title
Friday, December 08, 2006
The Saddest News
I think the saddest news I've ever heard is the story about the San Francisco programmer and his family who went up to Oregon. I don't know how much coverage it's getting outside of the west coast, but it's everywhere here. I've had to turn off the TV because it makes me cry and feel a little sick.
I think what makes me feel the most horrible about this is that I could see myself being there, doing all the same things. Usually news seems very distant to me and I feel bad for people, but it doesn't actually affect me. For example, there was a big story just before we left NYC about a young girl who went out to a night club and was raped and killed that night. It didn't scare me because she did so many things wrong that night. She had to call an ambulance for her friend, then left her because she was afraid of getting in trouble for drinking (never leave a man behind!). She got in a car with a bouncer she'd met that night because he said he would help her. I'm not trying to say she deserved it (obviously not) I'm saying that particular scenario would never happen to me because I would never do those things.
But the Kim family was going to stay at a lodge on the Oregon. Something I would love to do. They made a wrong turn. Something anyone could do. Their cell phones, which we all rely on so much, wouldn't work out there. The police say they did everything right. And still James Kim died, trying to save his family.
I think what makes me feel the most horrible about this is that I could see myself being there, doing all the same things. Usually news seems very distant to me and I feel bad for people, but it doesn't actually affect me. For example, there was a big story just before we left NYC about a young girl who went out to a night club and was raped and killed that night. It didn't scare me because she did so many things wrong that night. She had to call an ambulance for her friend, then left her because she was afraid of getting in trouble for drinking (never leave a man behind!). She got in a car with a bouncer she'd met that night because he said he would help her. I'm not trying to say she deserved it (obviously not) I'm saying that particular scenario would never happen to me because I would never do those things.
But the Kim family was going to stay at a lodge on the Oregon. Something I would love to do. They made a wrong turn. Something anyone could do. Their cell phones, which we all rely on so much, wouldn't work out there. The police say they did everything right. And still James Kim died, trying to save his family.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
That Warm Holiday Spirit
Yesterday my boss sent around an email saying that everyone has to work overtime either over the Thanksgiving weekend OR Christmas weekend. But on Monday, the day I started, I had sent him an email telling him, sorry, I already bought tickets for both holidays and will be gone for many extra days each time.
I'm getting away with this AGAIN! Mmwha haha!
So maybe I'm kind of screwing everyone else over, but then again not everyone has the manic need that Joe and I do about going home for certain holidays. Anyways, they get paid overtime.
I'm getting away with this AGAIN! Mmwha haha!
So maybe I'm kind of screwing everyone else over, but then again not everyone has the manic need that Joe and I do about going home for certain holidays. Anyways, they get paid overtime.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Happy and Unhappy Rejections of All Kinds
For DAYS now I have not been able to log into Blogger. Sorry all. I don't know if it is a fluke in Blogger or my computer--which, I must say, is looking worse for the wear. In addition to funky grinding noises, it turns out my keyboard files are corrupted so I can no longer disconnect the external keyboard and use the laptop keyboard, which sort of defeats the purpose of having a laptop.
Luckily, I live with a computer programmer. Soon I'll get him to fix it.
Anyways, what I've been itching to put up is an email I received last week:
Jasmine,
My name is John O'Neill, editor of Black Gate magazine. Last month Black Gate's managing editor, Howard Andrew Jones, forwarded a copy of your story "Her Own Accord" to me, part of a very small handful passed along for serious consideration for publication.
First I'd like to thank you for your exceptional patience with us. Please accept my apologies for holding your story so long as we clear away our substantial submissions backlog. It really is inexcusable.
I was very impressed with your story, which I found very well written. But it's too bleak for Black Gate, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll have to return it, with genuine regrets.
We've worked hard this fall to improve our response times, and I hope you'll try us again.
Warm regards,
- John
Now, before you ask what's so great about being rejected by a respected, well-paying magazine, let me refer you to the first line of the email. He's the EDITOR. Only 1 or 2% of all stories (I made that number up) ever make it through the slushpile to the editor, and it sounds like I just barely missed it. It is a rather depressing story, so I can hardly blame them. So I thanked him and fired off a less bleak story back at them, then found a "dark" magazine to send this one to again.
My Big Interview I had last week I thought went really well. I loved the company, and I wasn't nervous at all. I bought a brand-new suit jacket to wear and even had it tailored.
Two days later they called me up and said, nope, I didn't get it. In fact, they were so kind as to inform me that I came in sixth out of six applicants. What was the point of that? Kicking me while I'm down. Apparently the guy (it's always a guy!) they did hire was a DP (i.e. camera guy) with "years" of experience in the Bay Area. How can I compete with that? I don't have years of experience in anything.
So that afternoon I called Multivision and I start there Monday. It will be nice to have a paycheck again. It was time to suck it up, and it will be interesting to explore Oakland, anyways, though I'm not excited to spend $5.50 a day on public transportation.
We finally bought our Christmas Plane Tickets to Green Bay! (Mom, I tried to email the itinerary to you, but your inbox is FULL. What's up with that?) Joe and I looked for hours Wednesday night and couldn't find anything under $650. That's right. So I said we'd have to just wait and see if they added more flights or figure out something else. I had nightmares about it that night! The next day an affordable flight popped up and I bought it on the spot. Luke, Joe and I will be in Wisconsin for almost a week.
Luckily, I live with a computer programmer. Soon I'll get him to fix it.
Anyways, what I've been itching to put up is an email I received last week:
Jasmine,
My name is John O'Neill, editor of Black Gate magazine. Last month Black Gate's managing editor, Howard Andrew Jones, forwarded a copy of your story "Her Own Accord" to me, part of a very small handful passed along for serious consideration for publication.
First I'd like to thank you for your exceptional patience with us. Please accept my apologies for holding your story so long as we clear away our substantial submissions backlog. It really is inexcusable.
I was very impressed with your story, which I found very well written. But it's too bleak for Black Gate, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll have to return it, with genuine regrets.
We've worked hard this fall to improve our response times, and I hope you'll try us again.
Warm regards,
- John
Now, before you ask what's so great about being rejected by a respected, well-paying magazine, let me refer you to the first line of the email. He's the EDITOR. Only 1 or 2% of all stories (I made that number up) ever make it through the slushpile to the editor, and it sounds like I just barely missed it. It is a rather depressing story, so I can hardly blame them. So I thanked him and fired off a less bleak story back at them, then found a "dark" magazine to send this one to again.
My Big Interview I had last week I thought went really well. I loved the company, and I wasn't nervous at all. I bought a brand-new suit jacket to wear and even had it tailored.
Two days later they called me up and said, nope, I didn't get it. In fact, they were so kind as to inform me that I came in sixth out of six applicants. What was the point of that? Kicking me while I'm down. Apparently the guy (it's always a guy!) they did hire was a DP (i.e. camera guy) with "years" of experience in the Bay Area. How can I compete with that? I don't have years of experience in anything.
So that afternoon I called Multivision and I start there Monday. It will be nice to have a paycheck again. It was time to suck it up, and it will be interesting to explore Oakland, anyways, though I'm not excited to spend $5.50 a day on public transportation.
We finally bought our Christmas Plane Tickets to Green Bay! (Mom, I tried to email the itinerary to you, but your inbox is FULL. What's up with that?) Joe and I looked for hours Wednesday night and couldn't find anything under $650. That's right. So I said we'd have to just wait and see if they added more flights or figure out something else. I had nightmares about it that night! The next day an affordable flight popped up and I bought it on the spot. Luke, Joe and I will be in Wisconsin for almost a week.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Le Sigh
I've been emailing this HR guy about a job the past few days, and I really really want it now. It seems perfect, both corporate and production work. I'm pulling out all the stops when I email him, trying to make myself look like the best candidate without actually lying. This job seems like it might be a little bit over my head, but that's GOOD. I would like a job that I can grow INTO for once, instead of OUT of within a few months. Is it any wonder I keep job-hopping?
Plus, I can't keep doing this. It's not just the running out of money, it's the fact that applying for jobs constantly (and being roundly rejected and ignored by them) is draining on your brain. I can't focus. I make mistakes. I apply for dog-grooming jobs (better than people-grooming, I guess. Ick.). I LIKE working. I want to be doing something. Even semi-boring jobs usually have something to teach me.
Please let this be the one!
Plus, I can't keep doing this. It's not just the running out of money, it's the fact that applying for jobs constantly (and being roundly rejected and ignored by them) is draining on your brain. I can't focus. I make mistakes. I apply for dog-grooming jobs (better than people-grooming, I guess. Ick.). I LIKE working. I want to be doing something. Even semi-boring jobs usually have something to teach me.
Please let this be the one!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Big Libraries Make Me Giddy
I am absolultely TEARING through books. I normally read fast, and often read three books at a time, but this is unprecedented. I would say that I haven't read this much since I was a teenager, except when I was a teenager I didn't have access to such a large public library.
Maybe that summer I spent in Duluth. I only worked part-time, had exactly one friend, and their public library was ENORMOUS, and only a bike ride away. Here it is only a few blocks away.
When I was between the ages of about 7-17, my parents and teachers had difficulty keeping up with me. I had already toasted the school library (the "Public Library" consisted of a few shelves within the school library) and we didn't have a ton of money to keep buying books.
Still, remember those book clubs in grade school? The teacher would hand out a little two page catalog, and you'd come back the next week and put in your order, then the next month the books would arrive at school and the teacher would hand it out. My class would always get two small boxes: one for me, and one for the rest of the kids. Seriously. I have a very distinct memory of a teacher passing out books to everyone else, then looking at the second box and just putting it on my desk without opening it because I was the only one left who hadn't gotten her books. I'm sure there was some eye-rolling among the other kids. I'm also pretty sure my mom always bought at least a few of the back page clearance books, no matter how tight money was, just to put words in my hands. I've always been grateful for that.
I'll always be grateful, too, to my maternal grandmother for handing me "Carrie" when I was just nine years old. She helped alleviate this dearth of books, plus helped to develop my twisted imagination early on.
Maybe that summer I spent in Duluth. I only worked part-time, had exactly one friend, and their public library was ENORMOUS, and only a bike ride away. Here it is only a few blocks away.
When I was between the ages of about 7-17, my parents and teachers had difficulty keeping up with me. I had already toasted the school library (the "Public Library" consisted of a few shelves within the school library) and we didn't have a ton of money to keep buying books.
Still, remember those book clubs in grade school? The teacher would hand out a little two page catalog, and you'd come back the next week and put in your order, then the next month the books would arrive at school and the teacher would hand it out. My class would always get two small boxes: one for me, and one for the rest of the kids. Seriously. I have a very distinct memory of a teacher passing out books to everyone else, then looking at the second box and just putting it on my desk without opening it because I was the only one left who hadn't gotten her books. I'm sure there was some eye-rolling among the other kids. I'm also pretty sure my mom always bought at least a few of the back page clearance books, no matter how tight money was, just to put words in my hands. I've always been grateful for that.
I'll always be grateful, too, to my maternal grandmother for handing me "Carrie" when I was just nine years old. She helped alleviate this dearth of books, plus helped to develop my twisted imagination early on.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Weekend Alone
Weekends alone can be nice, though I usually appreciate them more when I don't spend all my DAYS alone as well. Still, I did lots of cool things, most notably attending the LitQuake LitCrawl Saturday night. They set it up like a pub crawl, by making a whole bunch of readings take place within a few blocks of each other in the Mission over the course of a night.
Next year I hope they add more readings and more time slots, since every reading was WAY crowded. I magically got a good seat at every one, though.
The best was Pat Murphy's essay she read at the Borderlands scifi reading. It was all about becoming the Marketing Director for The Crucible. The best part was that I had been looking over the fall class schedule for The Crucible, mooning over a jewelery making class in December that I can't afford to take. If I don't get a job soon, maybe I'll just ask someone to buy me an early Christmas present! (such as people who go to Las Vegas to lose money...)
Joe is in Vegas, and last time I spoke with him, he was desparately trying to drag Alex away from the tables to go eat sushi. He said they can't afford to lose any more money! (As though they can afford to lose any? As long as they're having fun...)
Friday night Megan (who just moved here from Wisconsin!) and I saw the "live billboard performance" in the Mission. Basically interpretive dancers strung from ropes and harnesses, dancing on a billboard thirty feet in the air, expressing how horribly women are still portrayed in the media.
Then Sunday I went to the Japanese Tea Garden with Christy and her friends from out of town. It's just what I expected, tea near a waterfall and gardens. Ahh...
Next year I hope they add more readings and more time slots, since every reading was WAY crowded. I magically got a good seat at every one, though.
The best was Pat Murphy's essay she read at the Borderlands scifi reading. It was all about becoming the Marketing Director for The Crucible. The best part was that I had been looking over the fall class schedule for The Crucible, mooning over a jewelery making class in December that I can't afford to take. If I don't get a job soon, maybe I'll just ask someone to buy me an early Christmas present! (such as people who go to Las Vegas to lose money...)
Joe is in Vegas, and last time I spoke with him, he was desparately trying to drag Alex away from the tables to go eat sushi. He said they can't afford to lose any more money! (As though they can afford to lose any? As long as they're having fun...)
Friday night Megan (who just moved here from Wisconsin!) and I saw the "live billboard performance" in the Mission. Basically interpretive dancers strung from ropes and harnesses, dancing on a billboard thirty feet in the air, expressing how horribly women are still portrayed in the media.
Then Sunday I went to the Japanese Tea Garden with Christy and her friends from out of town. It's just what I expected, tea near a waterfall and gardens. Ahh...
Friday, October 13, 2006
Happy Anniversary Part 2
After packing up our new coffeetable, we headed to our next vineyard, called "Ridge". It is literally at the top of a mountain. We made our way slowly up the winding road, feeling a bit hungry (I actually felt a bit whoopsy from the sharp corners) but excited by the views. In places, the road was only wide enough for one car.
The Ridge tasting room was more formal than the other one, but they had a couple of good wines. In fact, Joe and I bought our very first "age-able" wine there. It is a 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It will be "ripe" for drinking in 2011. It would taste good now, but will taste amazing then. Since we don't have anything resembling a wine cellar, this is somewhat of an experiment. We're hoping that San Francisco weather is cool and humid enough on its own to keep the wine from going bad. Guess we'll see in 5 years!
Ridge is a great place to have a picnic, except for the hornets swarming everywhere. I'm not usually afraid of bugs, but there is something about big hornets that make me jump up and run for the hills.
We headed back down the mountain to our hotel in Los Gatos. Los Gatos is an adorable little town, and our hotel room was really nice, with our own little balcony (facing the parking lot, but still). We had some snacks in the bar, then went out to explore the area a little bit. It is full of cute shops and restaurants. The window of an art gallery caught our eye as well. They had a display of Markus Pierson originals, and I swear if I had an extra $5000, I would buy this one.
We went back to the hotel to read on the balcony and then get ready for dinner. Joe had tried to get reservations at Manressa, the fanciest, only-two-Michelin-starred restaurant in town, but it proved to be difficult. Instead we went to Cafe Marcella, supposedly the best Italian food in Los Gatos.
It turned out to be some of the tastiest food I've ever had. Honestly, at least for the price. I got crab risotto and Joe had asparagus soup for an appetizer. Then, when our entrees were taking a long time to come out of the very busy kitchen, the waiter felt bad and turned our "glasses of wine" into "bottomless glasses of wine." Even at the end of our meal, after dessert, he came by and filled them up. Our entrees were delicious, fish in an amazing tomato-basil-butter sauce and duck confit. For dessert I got a raspberry tart and Joe got warm bread pudding, both of which were really above and beyond. Our waiter, though he got sweatier and more crazed as the night went on, was really cool.
The next morning we had a tasty but small and simple breakfast at the popular local breakfast joint. At 9 am on a Sunday, Los Gatos is FILLED with people. It's insane. Everyone gets up to go jogging, and then goes to breakfast or to the farmer's market, all of which we did. Well, except the jogging, of course.
Then we had some tough decisions to make. Go to more vineyards, or head back into San Fran to see the Blue Angels air show? We decided on the show, and boy was it worth it. We sat on a hillside in Fort Mason, facing the water right about where the Blue Angels do their death-defying, 100-mile-an-hour near-misses of each other. It was very cool and they're so LOUD! Very exciting.
To finish off our weekend, we HAULED BUTT down to Golden Gate Park to catch the very last performance of the Bluegrass Festival (which we originally didn't know about, or we might have stayed in town for it. Oh well, next year...) which was EmmyLou Harris. We were way at the back, but the whole place was so relaxed and happy, and we both love her music. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful weekend, for a wonderful two years.
The Ridge tasting room was more formal than the other one, but they had a couple of good wines. In fact, Joe and I bought our very first "age-able" wine there. It is a 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It will be "ripe" for drinking in 2011. It would taste good now, but will taste amazing then. Since we don't have anything resembling a wine cellar, this is somewhat of an experiment. We're hoping that San Francisco weather is cool and humid enough on its own to keep the wine from going bad. Guess we'll see in 5 years!
Ridge is a great place to have a picnic, except for the hornets swarming everywhere. I'm not usually afraid of bugs, but there is something about big hornets that make me jump up and run for the hills.
We headed back down the mountain to our hotel in Los Gatos. Los Gatos is an adorable little town, and our hotel room was really nice, with our own little balcony (facing the parking lot, but still). We had some snacks in the bar, then went out to explore the area a little bit. It is full of cute shops and restaurants. The window of an art gallery caught our eye as well. They had a display of Markus Pierson originals, and I swear if I had an extra $5000, I would buy this one.
We went back to the hotel to read on the balcony and then get ready for dinner. Joe had tried to get reservations at Manressa, the fanciest, only-two-Michelin-starred restaurant in town, but it proved to be difficult. Instead we went to Cafe Marcella, supposedly the best Italian food in Los Gatos.
It turned out to be some of the tastiest food I've ever had. Honestly, at least for the price. I got crab risotto and Joe had asparagus soup for an appetizer. Then, when our entrees were taking a long time to come out of the very busy kitchen, the waiter felt bad and turned our "glasses of wine" into "bottomless glasses of wine." Even at the end of our meal, after dessert, he came by and filled them up. Our entrees were delicious, fish in an amazing tomato-basil-butter sauce and duck confit. For dessert I got a raspberry tart and Joe got warm bread pudding, both of which were really above and beyond. Our waiter, though he got sweatier and more crazed as the night went on, was really cool.
The next morning we had a tasty but small and simple breakfast at the popular local breakfast joint. At 9 am on a Sunday, Los Gatos is FILLED with people. It's insane. Everyone gets up to go jogging, and then goes to breakfast or to the farmer's market, all of which we did. Well, except the jogging, of course.
Then we had some tough decisions to make. Go to more vineyards, or head back into San Fran to see the Blue Angels air show? We decided on the show, and boy was it worth it. We sat on a hillside in Fort Mason, facing the water right about where the Blue Angels do their death-defying, 100-mile-an-hour near-misses of each other. It was very cool and they're so LOUD! Very exciting.
To finish off our weekend, we HAULED BUTT down to Golden Gate Park to catch the very last performance of the Bluegrass Festival (which we originally didn't know about, or we might have stayed in town for it. Oh well, next year...) which was EmmyLou Harris. We were way at the back, but the whole place was so relaxed and happy, and we both love her music. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful weekend, for a wonderful two years.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Happy Anniversary to Us
Last week was my and Joe's 2nd Anniversary and we celebrated by getting the heck out of the city! Joe planned it all, only revealing hints about what we were going to do. I suspected we would leave SF, and I also suspected we would go to wine country, but that's all.
Friday night we stayed in SF. We went to dinner at Ana Mandara's, a beautiful Vietnemese restaurant right on the water near Fisherman's Wharf. The inside looks like a lush movie set, and the food was delicious. Joe gave me my present, which was the first season of Battlestar Galactica (score!) on DVD.
We tasted some wine at a little shop in Ghiradelli Square to kill some time, then sat on the stone steps leading out to the water, waiting for Fleet Week fireworks. It was a beautiful night out, and Joe gave me a second present, which was a box of chocolate truffles. My favorite, I wonder how he knew?
Unfortunately the fireworks were on the east bay, not the north where we were, and because of the cloud cover we couldn't see them at all. We started to walk towards them, but on the way found a cool bar where an Irish band was playing, so we decided to abandon fireworks for that.
The next morning we got up bright and early, packed overnight bags, and went to breakfast at Sears Fine Foods in Union Square. They're famous for their 18 tiny Swedish pancakes dish, which I got, along with lots of coffee.
The next suprise was...our Avis rental car! We picked it up, Joe handed me directions, and off we went! Turns out we were headed for the Santa Cruz Mountain wine region (Napa being swamped at this time of year). It's about 45 minutes away, not counting the time we spent lost among the steep and twisting back country roads.
The first vineyard/winery we went to was Cooper-Garrod Vineyards in Saratoga. The owner himself gave us an hour long tour that was very good. He taught us things about the area, and the history of that particular vineyard. We got a free tasting of their wines, though I didn't love most of them. We did buy an interesting 2000 Claret, though. They also run a horse stable and we watched some of the students practice doing tricks on horseback, which was pretty neat (though scary, since most of them appeared to be eight-year-old girls on the brink of falling off and being crushed).
On the way to the next vineyard, we passed an estate sale. Since we actually had a car and we saw some furniture for sale, we decided to stop. It was more of a rummage sale coop, really, but we found a neat old coal bucket and a coffee table. The coffee table is extra long, and a little beat up, but it was only $15 and we managed to fit it in the car by laying the seats down. The wood inlay along the sides is beautiful. The center of it is what I at first took to be plastic. I thought it was like those plastic countertops that are made to look like marble. Nope. It's marble. Unless they make fake marble so heavy even Joe can't lift it on his own. Luckily the center piece comes out so we could carry it together.
To be continued...
Friday night we stayed in SF. We went to dinner at Ana Mandara's, a beautiful Vietnemese restaurant right on the water near Fisherman's Wharf. The inside looks like a lush movie set, and the food was delicious. Joe gave me my present, which was the first season of Battlestar Galactica (score!) on DVD.
We tasted some wine at a little shop in Ghiradelli Square to kill some time, then sat on the stone steps leading out to the water, waiting for Fleet Week fireworks. It was a beautiful night out, and Joe gave me a second present, which was a box of chocolate truffles. My favorite, I wonder how he knew?
Unfortunately the fireworks were on the east bay, not the north where we were, and because of the cloud cover we couldn't see them at all. We started to walk towards them, but on the way found a cool bar where an Irish band was playing, so we decided to abandon fireworks for that.
The next morning we got up bright and early, packed overnight bags, and went to breakfast at Sears Fine Foods in Union Square. They're famous for their 18 tiny Swedish pancakes dish, which I got, along with lots of coffee.
The next suprise was...our Avis rental car! We picked it up, Joe handed me directions, and off we went! Turns out we were headed for the Santa Cruz Mountain wine region (Napa being swamped at this time of year). It's about 45 minutes away, not counting the time we spent lost among the steep and twisting back country roads.
The first vineyard/winery we went to was Cooper-Garrod Vineyards in Saratoga. The owner himself gave us an hour long tour that was very good. He taught us things about the area, and the history of that particular vineyard. We got a free tasting of their wines, though I didn't love most of them. We did buy an interesting 2000 Claret, though. They also run a horse stable and we watched some of the students practice doing tricks on horseback, which was pretty neat (though scary, since most of them appeared to be eight-year-old girls on the brink of falling off and being crushed).
On the way to the next vineyard, we passed an estate sale. Since we actually had a car and we saw some furniture for sale, we decided to stop. It was more of a rummage sale coop, really, but we found a neat old coal bucket and a coffee table. The coffee table is extra long, and a little beat up, but it was only $15 and we managed to fit it in the car by laying the seats down. The wood inlay along the sides is beautiful. The center of it is what I at first took to be plastic. I thought it was like those plastic countertops that are made to look like marble. Nope. It's marble. Unless they make fake marble so heavy even Joe can't lift it on his own. Luckily the center piece comes out so we could carry it together.
To be continued...
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Fleet Week is Here!
Fighter Jets have started roaring over our house constantly, so low that sometimes I can read the lettering on their sides from my bedroom window.
Fisherman's Wharf is in chaos. It will take my brother two hours to get to work in that mess, but he'll probably make buckets of money because of it!
Fisherman's Wharf is in chaos. It will take my brother two hours to get to work in that mess, but he'll probably make buckets of money because of it!
An Evening with Mr. Gaiman
Last night I hopped the BART on up to Berkley to see Neil Gaiman read. He was absolutely delightful, not to mention hilarious.
As I stood in line outside the theater, I tried to remember why I like Neil Gaiman so much. Partly, yes, it's because everyone else likes him. He's become a sci-fi cultural icon. He got famous for Sandman, which I haven't read enough of to be able to call myself a fan, and then solidified it with American Gods, which I honestly didn't even like all that much. Of course, his writing for TV is brilliant. But what I remember the most is when I finished Wolves in the Walls. I was gasping. I've never read a children's book (at least, not as an adult) that delighted me so much. I loved Coraline too.
The reading was held in a theater, and you had to buy a ticket to get in, though it got you 20% off an already-signed book. Neil explained later that last time he read in Berkley, he was still there at 2 a.m., signing, so they decided to try it this way.
His stories were amazing, and his voice rolls through them in such a way that you have to pay attention. Afterwards, I heard groups of people standing around gushing about his voice. The owner of Comic Relief, who held an after party, said that every time he reads a Gaiman story, he hears Neil's voice inside his head. I think it's also because his stories lend themselves to being read outloud. They are bedtime stories, even the scary ones.
The funniest part of the night, though, was the Q & A. Audience members wrote questions on index cards ahead of time, and then he had intended to go through and pick out the ones he wanted to answer. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to do this, so he just chose from the top and read outloud, answering each question seriously.
My favorite:
"Dear Mr. Gaiman, Number one, you are swell." Neil looks up, smiles and says, "Gee thanks. Number two, if you could chose how you die, what would it be?"
I believe his answer was, "the heat of the universe." Don't quote me on that though. The accent throws me off sometimes.
I went to Comic Relief afterwards for wine and cheese and of course ended up buying a comic book (as though I have money to burn.) But there is a dog, a cat and a bunny on the cover. IN SPACESUITS!!!
As I stood in line outside the theater, I tried to remember why I like Neil Gaiman so much. Partly, yes, it's because everyone else likes him. He's become a sci-fi cultural icon. He got famous for Sandman, which I haven't read enough of to be able to call myself a fan, and then solidified it with American Gods, which I honestly didn't even like all that much. Of course, his writing for TV is brilliant. But what I remember the most is when I finished Wolves in the Walls. I was gasping. I've never read a children's book (at least, not as an adult) that delighted me so much. I loved Coraline too.
The reading was held in a theater, and you had to buy a ticket to get in, though it got you 20% off an already-signed book. Neil explained later that last time he read in Berkley, he was still there at 2 a.m., signing, so they decided to try it this way.
His stories were amazing, and his voice rolls through them in such a way that you have to pay attention. Afterwards, I heard groups of people standing around gushing about his voice. The owner of Comic Relief, who held an after party, said that every time he reads a Gaiman story, he hears Neil's voice inside his head. I think it's also because his stories lend themselves to being read outloud. They are bedtime stories, even the scary ones.
The funniest part of the night, though, was the Q & A. Audience members wrote questions on index cards ahead of time, and then he had intended to go through and pick out the ones he wanted to answer. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to do this, so he just chose from the top and read outloud, answering each question seriously.
My favorite:
"Dear Mr. Gaiman, Number one, you are swell." Neil looks up, smiles and says, "Gee thanks. Number two, if you could chose how you die, what would it be?"
I believe his answer was, "the heat of the universe." Don't quote me on that though. The accent throws me off sometimes.
I went to Comic Relief afterwards for wine and cheese and of course ended up buying a comic book (as though I have money to burn.) But there is a dog, a cat and a bunny on the cover. IN SPACESUITS!!!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
BSG 3
I like TV. I like most things on TV, just because they're on TV.
I like Science Fiction and Fantasy. I will read/watch almost anthing involving SF & F just because I'll always like it.
Almost everyone has "their shows." Shows they will not answer the phone during and shows that you always eat dinner in front of if the two coincide. Shows that you call up your best friend to tape if you're out of town. I've had quite a few of those. The X-Files, Gilmore Girls, Seaquest (back in the day) and I'm sure plenty more.
I've never really understood people who get obsessed with certain shows though. I mean, they're just TV, folks, and not usually that great of TV either. "Trekkies" are the classic example. Even with my love of sci fi, I didn't get it. Why would you want to dress up like these people, collect postage stamps with the characters faces on it, or fly across the country to attend a convention with other people who also obviously have too little of a life and too much money? They write academic papers about Star Trek, or Xena, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. People write fanfic, which seems silly to me because that's time I could spend writing my "real" fiction. And to me, it always seemed like people just decided they wanted to associate themselves with something for comfort, or to feel unique or accepted, or to have something to put on a knick-knack shelf in your house.
Until, that is, I found Battlestar Galactica.
I wake up in the morning and want to breathe and eat Battlestar Galactica (or BSG, as it's known) all day long. I've never actually thought about a TV show between episode before, but I can't get it out of my head. When we were watching Seasons 1 and 2, Joe and I would watch 2 or 3 episodes a night, staying up until 2 a.m. sometimes. I dream I'm on the Galactica. I lie awake in bed, seething over Admiral Cain's injustices. I make up for myself what happens between episodes, or with minor characters. I'm considering writing fanfic.
The second season was split up into two parts: Season 2 and season 2.5. Joe and I weren't caught up enough to watch 2.5 on TV, so we waited breathlessly for the September 19th release of the DVD. We've finished them all already.
And at the end of the final episode of 2.5, I actually jumped up and screamed "YES! STARBUCK IS BACK!" I knew she was gonna say that!!!
Which is nothing compared to the ending of the cliffhanger between season 2 and 2.5. I think I cried, or just curled into a ball, whimpering "nonononono." Someone had to die in that one. Maybe that's why this latest cliffhanger is easier to take. I can't even imagine what's going to happen or why the Cylons are back. Or maybe it's because I know I'll have my answer when Season 3 starts on Oct. 6th. Yeah baby! We're caught up!
I wonder if I can rig myself a Colonial Fleet uniform in time for Halloween?
I like Science Fiction and Fantasy. I will read/watch almost anthing involving SF & F just because I'll always like it.
Almost everyone has "their shows." Shows they will not answer the phone during and shows that you always eat dinner in front of if the two coincide. Shows that you call up your best friend to tape if you're out of town. I've had quite a few of those. The X-Files, Gilmore Girls, Seaquest (back in the day) and I'm sure plenty more.
I've never really understood people who get obsessed with certain shows though. I mean, they're just TV, folks, and not usually that great of TV either. "Trekkies" are the classic example. Even with my love of sci fi, I didn't get it. Why would you want to dress up like these people, collect postage stamps with the characters faces on it, or fly across the country to attend a convention with other people who also obviously have too little of a life and too much money? They write academic papers about Star Trek, or Xena, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. People write fanfic, which seems silly to me because that's time I could spend writing my "real" fiction. And to me, it always seemed like people just decided they wanted to associate themselves with something for comfort, or to feel unique or accepted, or to have something to put on a knick-knack shelf in your house.
Until, that is, I found Battlestar Galactica.
I wake up in the morning and want to breathe and eat Battlestar Galactica (or BSG, as it's known) all day long. I've never actually thought about a TV show between episode before, but I can't get it out of my head. When we were watching Seasons 1 and 2, Joe and I would watch 2 or 3 episodes a night, staying up until 2 a.m. sometimes. I dream I'm on the Galactica. I lie awake in bed, seething over Admiral Cain's injustices. I make up for myself what happens between episodes, or with minor characters. I'm considering writing fanfic.
The second season was split up into two parts: Season 2 and season 2.5. Joe and I weren't caught up enough to watch 2.5 on TV, so we waited breathlessly for the September 19th release of the DVD. We've finished them all already.
And at the end of the final episode of 2.5, I actually jumped up and screamed "YES! STARBUCK IS BACK!" I knew she was gonna say that!!!
Which is nothing compared to the ending of the cliffhanger between season 2 and 2.5. I think I cried, or just curled into a ball, whimpering "nonononono." Someone had to die in that one. Maybe that's why this latest cliffhanger is easier to take. I can't even imagine what's going to happen or why the Cylons are back. Or maybe it's because I know I'll have my answer when Season 3 starts on Oct. 6th. Yeah baby! We're caught up!
I wonder if I can rig myself a Colonial Fleet uniform in time for Halloween?
Monday, September 25, 2006
Being San Francisco-ish
This weekend there was a lot going on in San Fran. The love parade, moved here from Berlin, apparantly, was Saturday. We fully intended to go, but we just kept on finding other things to do first (it didn't help that we found Disc 2 of Season 2.5 of Battlestar Galactica at the video store) so we never made it.
Sunday was the Folsom Street Fair, San Francisco's S & M fair. Now THAT we made it to. We were couch shopping, originally, and we found some possibilities but decided we weren't ready to buy yet. We got on a bus where we saw 2 people dressed in leather with their butts completely showing. I wasn't shocked until the girl decided to sit down on a bus seat. Gross. For her and for the rest of us.
Anyways, then at least we knew where to get off. We followed the naked-butt people.
The fair is VERY San Francisco. They don't do this kind of stuff in New York, that's for sure. There was a transsexual man who was doing a dance to a Madonna medley (very well done, by the way), food stands, merchandise (ahem) stands, and of course, lots of leather and lots of nudity. We weren't the only non-dressed-up people there, at least. There are plenty of tourists with fanny packs and cameras as the $5 entrance fee is not too steep for the casual gawker.
It's long too. We had planned to go down one side, then back up the other, but by the time we reached the end, we were beat (no pun intended). Besides, we figured we wouldn't see anything we hadn't seen already (probaly not true, though).
I'm very glad we went. Our $5 went to an AIDS awareness charity, and it was the beginning of starting to understand these very non-New-York people.
Sunday was the Folsom Street Fair, San Francisco's S & M fair. Now THAT we made it to. We were couch shopping, originally, and we found some possibilities but decided we weren't ready to buy yet. We got on a bus where we saw 2 people dressed in leather with their butts completely showing. I wasn't shocked until the girl decided to sit down on a bus seat. Gross. For her and for the rest of us.
Anyways, then at least we knew where to get off. We followed the naked-butt people.
The fair is VERY San Francisco. They don't do this kind of stuff in New York, that's for sure. There was a transsexual man who was doing a dance to a Madonna medley (very well done, by the way), food stands, merchandise (ahem) stands, and of course, lots of leather and lots of nudity. We weren't the only non-dressed-up people there, at least. There are plenty of tourists with fanny packs and cameras as the $5 entrance fee is not too steep for the casual gawker.
It's long too. We had planned to go down one side, then back up the other, but by the time we reached the end, we were beat (no pun intended). Besides, we figured we wouldn't see anything we hadn't seen already (probaly not true, though).
I'm very glad we went. Our $5 went to an AIDS awareness charity, and it was the beginning of starting to understand these very non-New-York people.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Furniture-less
Yesterday Joe and I cleaned the apartment and reveled in how much we love it. Big (at least comparatively) kitchen; big, sunny living room with a gorgeous HDTV; big bedroom with a bed and closets, and more.
It was nice having Luke and Aliza here for a while, though. They made us sushi one night, then we all played Euchre together. Another night we watched Shrek just because it looked so good on the new TV. I miss those everyday "hanging out" times.
However, our revelry didn't last long. Because while they moved all their stuff out Saturday, we still had the furniture. Then today those jerks came and took their furniture back! How dare they! We have nothing to sit on, no table, and the TV is on the floor. I must go scour craigslist to find us SOMETHING.
We did, however, get a TV tray table for $1 at the flea market on Saturday. Also a clock painted by a homeless man, a picnic basket, and a groovy Victorian looking necklace for me. No real furniture though.
I applied for some really cool jobs today. However, sometimes I make tiny little mistakes. Like one job ad told me to include my "salary requirements." I forgot to put it in my email, because I'm a space case sometimes. If all my skills match the job, they might call me anyways. It seems like such a little thing, not a big deal, right? Then again, maybe they'll think, man, she can't even follow simple instructions. Why would we trust her with our online video department?
Get it together, girl!
It was nice having Luke and Aliza here for a while, though. They made us sushi one night, then we all played Euchre together. Another night we watched Shrek just because it looked so good on the new TV. I miss those everyday "hanging out" times.
However, our revelry didn't last long. Because while they moved all their stuff out Saturday, we still had the furniture. Then today those jerks came and took their furniture back! How dare they! We have nothing to sit on, no table, and the TV is on the floor. I must go scour craigslist to find us SOMETHING.
We did, however, get a TV tray table for $1 at the flea market on Saturday. Also a clock painted by a homeless man, a picnic basket, and a groovy Victorian looking necklace for me. No real furniture though.
I applied for some really cool jobs today. However, sometimes I make tiny little mistakes. Like one job ad told me to include my "salary requirements." I forgot to put it in my email, because I'm a space case sometimes. If all my skills match the job, they might call me anyways. It seems like such a little thing, not a big deal, right? Then again, maybe they'll think, man, she can't even follow simple instructions. Why would we trust her with our online video department?
Get it together, girl!
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Secret Bars
We went to a secret bar Sunday night. It is a plain brown door on a random corner in the worst part of town. You ring a doorbell and they let you in to drink some of the most amazing drinks you've ever tasted. My favorite involved gin, basil, apple juice and other things I cannot remember.
Also, we bought a bed. No more air mattress!
We had a nice day in Oakland on Saturday at their Art & Soul Festival. We saw Calexico, sampled local Oakland food, saw some cool lady drummers, ate a giant Italian sausage (jokes to yourself please!) and saw a welding and glassmaking demonstration that has nearly convinced me to take a jewelery/metalworking class from them in Oakland.
Job: Nada. The Stanford people are ignoring me. I am considering calling Multivision.
Writing: Some work on the new novel. My bro is so stoked about getting to read the finished version of the first novel that he is picking up a new ink cartridge for me on the way to work. Nice.
Having a table and a desk helps me focus more on writing (my back doesn't hurt after ten minutes of sitting on the floor). However having my bro and his roomie crash here for the past week takes a lot of that away. Still, it's kind of nice to have them around.
Also, we bought a bed. No more air mattress!
We had a nice day in Oakland on Saturday at their Art & Soul Festival. We saw Calexico, sampled local Oakland food, saw some cool lady drummers, ate a giant Italian sausage (jokes to yourself please!) and saw a welding and glassmaking demonstration that has nearly convinced me to take a jewelery/metalworking class from them in Oakland.
Job: Nada. The Stanford people are ignoring me. I am considering calling Multivision.
Writing: Some work on the new novel. My bro is so stoked about getting to read the finished version of the first novel that he is picking up a new ink cartridge for me on the way to work. Nice.
Having a table and a desk helps me focus more on writing (my back doesn't hurt after ten minutes of sitting on the floor). However having my bro and his roomie crash here for the past week takes a lot of that away. Still, it's kind of nice to have them around.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Jobby Jobs
So today I spent HOURS searching for jobs, and I actually found a lot of stuff that I'm interested in. Of course, they have to be interested in me back, but that's another issue.
I found one job ad that was all cheeky, like "tired of being left in the technological dust" and "we never sleep here, so you can always sleep on the floor." Stuff like that. So of course I made my cover letter just as cheeky right back. "Dear Team Who Never Sleeps (because "Human Resources" sounds stupid..." And of course they wrote back to me ten minutes later, interested. And of course they are located in Stanford. Which is, what, an hour and a half away? By car? Which I do not have?
Still, I would commute to Idaho to finally get a job I love at a company I love, so I'm just going to roll with it for a while. We'll see.
On the writing front, I've finally filled in all those unfinished patches, and am now attempting to print it out to have Luke read it. Attempting, because my catridge faded halfway through the 166 pages. Punk.
I found one job ad that was all cheeky, like "tired of being left in the technological dust" and "we never sleep here, so you can always sleep on the floor." Stuff like that. So of course I made my cover letter just as cheeky right back. "Dear Team Who Never Sleeps (because "Human Resources" sounds stupid..." And of course they wrote back to me ten minutes later, interested. And of course they are located in Stanford. Which is, what, an hour and a half away? By car? Which I do not have?
Still, I would commute to Idaho to finally get a job I love at a company I love, so I'm just going to roll with it for a while. We'll see.
On the writing front, I've finally filled in all those unfinished patches, and am now attempting to print it out to have Luke read it. Attempting, because my catridge faded halfway through the 166 pages. Punk.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Closets
The last days of our trip, the short version:
Crazy Driving: corkscrew curves, smashed between the sparkling Pacific Ocean and towering tree-covered California mountains. Beautiful, less sickening than I would anticipate, and Joe drove most of the way.
Big Sur: we couldn't find the trails. We ended up walking through an overcrowded campground for most of the time, making me exceedingly frustrated. At last we got away a little, and found some redwoods, which we huge, but small by comparison to what we will see someday in Sequoia National Forest.
Monterrey: we got the last crappy, overpriced yet affordable room in the whole city. Actually, it was north of the city in Marina, but no matter--we were 2 blocks from the beach. We sat and watched our first California sunset on the cooling sand, then had a terrible dinner at a frightening place called AJ Spurs. Overpriced meat, too much food, terrible service, and half-hearted servers singing "Happy Birthday" to someone every five minutes. The only good part were the free root beer floats.
Now, a week and a half later, I am sitting in an extended stay hotel in San Bruno, a half hour south of SF. Joe and I are waiting for Christy to get home to drive us to move some of our stuff into our new apartment. I can't wait to be settled. Hopefully we'll get our boxes of books on Friday. It would be nice to fill our giant empty apartment with SOMETHING. It's funny--in San Francisco they have these extra little rooms off every room in an apartment--sometimes two. They call them "closets." In NYC we call that a second bedroom.
Crazy Driving: corkscrew curves, smashed between the sparkling Pacific Ocean and towering tree-covered California mountains. Beautiful, less sickening than I would anticipate, and Joe drove most of the way.
Big Sur: we couldn't find the trails. We ended up walking through an overcrowded campground for most of the time, making me exceedingly frustrated. At last we got away a little, and found some redwoods, which we huge, but small by comparison to what we will see someday in Sequoia National Forest.
Monterrey: we got the last crappy, overpriced yet affordable room in the whole city. Actually, it was north of the city in Marina, but no matter--we were 2 blocks from the beach. We sat and watched our first California sunset on the cooling sand, then had a terrible dinner at a frightening place called AJ Spurs. Overpriced meat, too much food, terrible service, and half-hearted servers singing "Happy Birthday" to someone every five minutes. The only good part were the free root beer floats.
Now, a week and a half later, I am sitting in an extended stay hotel in San Bruno, a half hour south of SF. Joe and I are waiting for Christy to get home to drive us to move some of our stuff into our new apartment. I can't wait to be settled. Hopefully we'll get our boxes of books on Friday. It would be nice to fill our giant empty apartment with SOMETHING. It's funny--in San Francisco they have these extra little rooms off every room in an apartment--sometimes two. They call them "closets." In NYC we call that a second bedroom.
Friday, August 11, 2006
California
After the Grand Canyon, it was finally time to head into California. Somehow we managed to time it just right to hit rush hour in L.A. on a Friday afternoon, but we were still OK. Joe drove and I navigated. We took the long way around the city so we didn't have to go THROUGH the city. Then we were on Highway 101.
When you're still in the L.A. area, you can't see much ocean yet. We were trying to get as far away as we could, but 101 is still running mostly west at that point, so we were blinded by the sun. Besides we were exhausted. Suddenly a mini golf course loomed on the horizon, dominated by a ten foot tall Cinderella-like castle.
"Oooh!" Joe and I looked at each other. "Should we stop?"
We considered. Probably not, we decided. We should try to get a lot farther tonight.
We looked at each other again. "Well?"
"I think I'm taking this exit," Joe said.
"I think I saw a Motel 6 back there too," I said.
It took us a while to find mini golf again, and even longer to find the Motel 6 (there were only 5 rooms left when we got there!!!), but it was totally worth it. We relaxed, played mini golf and skee ball, ate sushi, and slept well in our barely adequate, leaky AC, Motel 6 room.
When we discovered that we had barely gotten a room here, we decided we should really reserve something ahead of time if we wanted to spend the next night near Monterey. So we started calling hotels from our AAA books.
Sold out, sold out, sold out, we have just one standard room left.
"Really? How much?"
"$225."
I nearly fainted. We were on the verge of deciding to wake up at 5 a.m. and drive straight through until San Francisco, when Joe discovered that Motel 6 kept a book of all their hotels in the room. We called up the Marina location (just outside of Monterey) and got one of THEIR last rooms.
Whew.
Tomorrow: Monterey, Big Sur, Crazy Driving
When you're still in the L.A. area, you can't see much ocean yet. We were trying to get as far away as we could, but 101 is still running mostly west at that point, so we were blinded by the sun. Besides we were exhausted. Suddenly a mini golf course loomed on the horizon, dominated by a ten foot tall Cinderella-like castle.
"Oooh!" Joe and I looked at each other. "Should we stop?"
We considered. Probably not, we decided. We should try to get a lot farther tonight.
We looked at each other again. "Well?"
"I think I'm taking this exit," Joe said.
"I think I saw a Motel 6 back there too," I said.
It took us a while to find mini golf again, and even longer to find the Motel 6 (there were only 5 rooms left when we got there!!!), but it was totally worth it. We relaxed, played mini golf and skee ball, ate sushi, and slept well in our barely adequate, leaky AC, Motel 6 room.
When we discovered that we had barely gotten a room here, we decided we should really reserve something ahead of time if we wanted to spend the next night near Monterey. So we started calling hotels from our AAA books.
Sold out, sold out, sold out, we have just one standard room left.
"Really? How much?"
"$225."
I nearly fainted. We were on the verge of deciding to wake up at 5 a.m. and drive straight through until San Francisco, when Joe discovered that Motel 6 kept a book of all their hotels in the room. We called up the Marina location (just outside of Monterey) and got one of THEIR last rooms.
Whew.
Tomorrow: Monterey, Big Sur, Crazy Driving
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Canyon So Grand
We arrived at Grand Canyon Park later than we had hoped--about 1 in the afternoon--then had to wait in line at the entrance for a half hour before we could even drive in. $25 just for us to get in! Not so bad, I suppose, since that's the only fee.
It's very confusing when you first arrive there. We parked in the first spot we found, not even sure if we could stay there, took a few pictures from a vantage point there and thought, what now?
At that point, Joe was not particularly happy, being hungry, confused, and less optimistic than me that we would figure everything out. So we sat down and ate our Arby's sandwiches on a bench (the best view I've ever had for a picnic by the way, though the Colusseum in Rome is a close second). Then I tore apart half the trunk to find Joe's sneakers, slathered us both with gobs of sunblock, and headed towards the Vistor's Center where a nice forest ranger explained everything to us.
First we hiked 2.5 miles along the Rim Trail, the easiest hike in the park. The Grand Canyon is amazing (obviously) but still feels distant, like I'm looking at a computer generated backdrop. There aren't a lot of safety fences there--they like to keep it very raw. You can go right up to the edge and if you trip, you're screwed. The Canyon is ten miles long and about a mile across (I think) and the most beautiful part is the individual rock formations. They are so unique and are on such a large scale that they are breathtaking.
Next we went a little ways down Blue Angel Trail. This is the easiest trail to take that goes below the rim. We didn't want to go too far because it was pretty hot out, and I don't take well to heat. Besides, neither of us is exactly in tip-top shape, and the altitude makes breathing even harder. So we meandered down the trail a bit, already feeling the heat. There is mule poop all over the trail, but I didn't get to see any mules. Boo. However we did see Indian Rock Paintings, ancient red paintings of deer high above us on the rock cliff. The Grand Canyon was inhabited by Native Americans for thousands of years until the bastard white people threw them out to make it a national park. We took it easy walking back up, stopping the shade to drink lots of water. We saw one middle-aged man sitting on a rock sweating and gasping and rubbing his legs while two women hovered worriedly around him. They said he needed electrolytes and eventually some people walked by and offered him their Gatorade (which we didn't have or we would have gladly given it). I don't understand the mechanics of dehydration completely, but I know that water isn't enough. You need salt and electrolytes too.
Finally, we took the free shuttle bus (okay, I supposed that's where our $25 goes, and it's totally worth it) out to the farthest end we could get to--Hermit's Point. The ride was really neat. From there we could finally see the Colorado River, which I know is huge, but just looks like a tiny brown ribbon at the bottom of the Canyon. At the point you can see the Canyon laid out in all its glory, almost end to end.
We decided to stay for sunset. We wanted to avoid most of the craziness though, so we stayed away from the most popular spots and just went out on a point near our car. It was very cool, the way the setting sun hits the cliffs all slanty, highlighting each ridge, though it wasn't life-changing or anything, probably due to our less-than-great spot and a lot of clouds. Christy says that sunrise is even better, but we didn't know yet where we were spending the night and besides, I managed to lose our receipt for re-entry, so we would have had to pay again.
The Best Western we'd hoped to stay in was sold out, but we managed to find a room at the Red Feather Inn that was even cheaper anyways. Still more expensive than going back to Flagstaff for a room, but worth it to have a relaxing night of watching zombie movies after a hard day of hiking. I only got sunburned on my legs a little and got a little heat rash (aka flesh-eating disease) on my hands.
All in all, our "winging it" has been working well.
It's very confusing when you first arrive there. We parked in the first spot we found, not even sure if we could stay there, took a few pictures from a vantage point there and thought, what now?
At that point, Joe was not particularly happy, being hungry, confused, and less optimistic than me that we would figure everything out. So we sat down and ate our Arby's sandwiches on a bench (the best view I've ever had for a picnic by the way, though the Colusseum in Rome is a close second). Then I tore apart half the trunk to find Joe's sneakers, slathered us both with gobs of sunblock, and headed towards the Vistor's Center where a nice forest ranger explained everything to us.
First we hiked 2.5 miles along the Rim Trail, the easiest hike in the park. The Grand Canyon is amazing (obviously) but still feels distant, like I'm looking at a computer generated backdrop. There aren't a lot of safety fences there--they like to keep it very raw. You can go right up to the edge and if you trip, you're screwed. The Canyon is ten miles long and about a mile across (I think) and the most beautiful part is the individual rock formations. They are so unique and are on such a large scale that they are breathtaking.
Next we went a little ways down Blue Angel Trail. This is the easiest trail to take that goes below the rim. We didn't want to go too far because it was pretty hot out, and I don't take well to heat. Besides, neither of us is exactly in tip-top shape, and the altitude makes breathing even harder. So we meandered down the trail a bit, already feeling the heat. There is mule poop all over the trail, but I didn't get to see any mules. Boo. However we did see Indian Rock Paintings, ancient red paintings of deer high above us on the rock cliff. The Grand Canyon was inhabited by Native Americans for thousands of years until the bastard white people threw them out to make it a national park. We took it easy walking back up, stopping the shade to drink lots of water. We saw one middle-aged man sitting on a rock sweating and gasping and rubbing his legs while two women hovered worriedly around him. They said he needed electrolytes and eventually some people walked by and offered him their Gatorade (which we didn't have or we would have gladly given it). I don't understand the mechanics of dehydration completely, but I know that water isn't enough. You need salt and electrolytes too.
Finally, we took the free shuttle bus (okay, I supposed that's where our $25 goes, and it's totally worth it) out to the farthest end we could get to--Hermit's Point. The ride was really neat. From there we could finally see the Colorado River, which I know is huge, but just looks like a tiny brown ribbon at the bottom of the Canyon. At the point you can see the Canyon laid out in all its glory, almost end to end.
We decided to stay for sunset. We wanted to avoid most of the craziness though, so we stayed away from the most popular spots and just went out on a point near our car. It was very cool, the way the setting sun hits the cliffs all slanty, highlighting each ridge, though it wasn't life-changing or anything, probably due to our less-than-great spot and a lot of clouds. Christy says that sunrise is even better, but we didn't know yet where we were spending the night and besides, I managed to lose our receipt for re-entry, so we would have had to pay again.
The Best Western we'd hoped to stay in was sold out, but we managed to find a room at the Red Feather Inn that was even cheaper anyways. Still more expensive than going back to Flagstaff for a room, but worth it to have a relaxing night of watching zombie movies after a hard day of hiking. I only got sunburned on my legs a little and got a little heat rash (aka flesh-eating disease) on my hands.
All in all, our "winging it" has been working well.
Monday, August 07, 2006
I Heart New Mexico
Well, we've arrive safe and sound in San Francisco, but I'm going to pick up where I left off in...New Mexico.
It is beautiful there, and out of all the states we visited, it is the one I would most like to return to. I was amazing by the landscape...red, rocky outcroppings, trees, canyons popping up around corners. We stopped quickly in Albuquerque (is that how you spell that?) to eat some tasty burritos, then stopped at "the cave of fire and ice." We had to drive 20 miles in the backcountry of New Mexico until we got onto Indian land. The "fire" part is an ancient volcano crater, a half a mile across. You hike up and up until you can look over this giant, dizzying hole. The path we walked on was covered with lava, and you can see the path the lava took 10,000 years ago from up there.
The "ice" part was a cave, just 30 feet or so below the surface, where it never gets above 31 degrees. It is part of a collapsed lava tube. The ice on the bottom is twenty feet thick and would be even thicker except the people in that area used to chop blocks out of it to keep their food cold! No one knows how it started, but the ice that's already there helps it stay that cold.
We saw some little lizards on the way back and learned about the trees in the area, which are very cool, though prone to being hit by lightning because of the iron in the lava rocks around them.
The Zuni Pueblos were just 30 minutes away, but we didn't have time to go see them. That will be number one on my list for when we return!
We stayed in Gallup that night. All in all, wonderful people in New Mexico.
Tomorrow: Canyon, Grand.
It is beautiful there, and out of all the states we visited, it is the one I would most like to return to. I was amazing by the landscape...red, rocky outcroppings, trees, canyons popping up around corners. We stopped quickly in Albuquerque (is that how you spell that?) to eat some tasty burritos, then stopped at "the cave of fire and ice." We had to drive 20 miles in the backcountry of New Mexico until we got onto Indian land. The "fire" part is an ancient volcano crater, a half a mile across. You hike up and up until you can look over this giant, dizzying hole. The path we walked on was covered with lava, and you can see the path the lava took 10,000 years ago from up there.
The "ice" part was a cave, just 30 feet or so below the surface, where it never gets above 31 degrees. It is part of a collapsed lava tube. The ice on the bottom is twenty feet thick and would be even thicker except the people in that area used to chop blocks out of it to keep their food cold! No one knows how it started, but the ice that's already there helps it stay that cold.
We saw some little lizards on the way back and learned about the trees in the area, which are very cool, though prone to being hit by lightning because of the iron in the lava rocks around them.
The Zuni Pueblos were just 30 minutes away, but we didn't have time to go see them. That will be number one on my list for when we return!
We stayed in Gallup that night. All in all, wonderful people in New Mexico.
Tomorrow: Canyon, Grand.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Oklahoma!
Now, while Kansas is disgusting in its boringness, Oklahoma is actually rather stunning in its starkness. The soil turns red and rocky. Oil machines dotted the fields in one area. At first we thought they might be irrigation machines, since they were only 10 feet tall or so, but then we saw them in fields that had no crops. Those huge, huge energy generating windmills lined the highways too. We guessed they are 120 feet tall or more. Those windmills always freak me out. I imagine that when the apocalypse comes and the world end, those arms will just keep on turning, even when there are no more humans.
We blasted past Oklahoma City to a cute little town called El Reno. Sid's in El Reno is famous for making onion-fried burgers. They take a ball of ground hamburger, thwack! it onto the grill, smush it flat, then drop a handful of sliced onions on top of it. They press the onions into the meat and fry it up crisp. It was one of the biggest suprises of the trip. Who knew non-rare burgers could be so delicous? The waitress was really nice too.
"So," she says, as soon as we order, "where y'all from?"
"New York."
"Y'all must have a book to know what to order." We laughed and told her we had "Road Food." They get a lot of out of towner from being featured in a few books.
We pressed on to Amarillo, TX. Texas is amazing, sweeping expanses of grasslands. We saw the second largest cross in North America. There are lots and lots of "Jesus Loves You" type signs here, both handpainted and purchased by organizations. Lots of bumper stickers too. It is vastly different from New York, and even different from Wisconsin.
By the time we got to Amarillo, we were exhausted. We considered going to the Big Texan where they have the 72 oz steak and a limo with steer horns on the front to pick you up for free. But instead we bought a six-pack of Lonestar at the Shell station and ate dinner at the IHOP.
We are moving slower lately. Stopping earlier and leaving later. We're having fun, but it does get tiring.
We blasted past Oklahoma City to a cute little town called El Reno. Sid's in El Reno is famous for making onion-fried burgers. They take a ball of ground hamburger, thwack! it onto the grill, smush it flat, then drop a handful of sliced onions on top of it. They press the onions into the meat and fry it up crisp. It was one of the biggest suprises of the trip. Who knew non-rare burgers could be so delicous? The waitress was really nice too.
"So," she says, as soon as we order, "where y'all from?"
"New York."
"Y'all must have a book to know what to order." We laughed and told her we had "Road Food." They get a lot of out of towner from being featured in a few books.
We pressed on to Amarillo, TX. Texas is amazing, sweeping expanses of grasslands. We saw the second largest cross in North America. There are lots and lots of "Jesus Loves You" type signs here, both handpainted and purchased by organizations. Lots of bumper stickers too. It is vastly different from New York, and even different from Wisconsin.
By the time we got to Amarillo, we were exhausted. We considered going to the Big Texan where they have the 72 oz steak and a limo with steer horns on the front to pick you up for free. But instead we bought a six-pack of Lonestar at the Shell station and ate dinner at the IHOP.
We are moving slower lately. Stopping earlier and leaving later. We're having fun, but it does get tiring.
We're not in Kansas anymore (thank God!)
Kansas is an awful, horrifically boring place, to the point of pain.
Joe and I attempted to kill each other but were unsuccessful.
Joe and I attempted to kill each other but were unsuccessful.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Goin' to Kansas City, Kansas City here I come
This morning we woke up at the crack of dawn (literally--I set the alarm wrong and I was in the shower already before either of us realized it was only 6 a.m.) and headed towards St. Louis, Missouri. Just outside of St. Louis is the tiny town of Collinsville, Illinois, home of the World's Largest Catsup bottle. That's right folks. The bottle itself is about forty feet tall, plus it stands on top of a tower several stories high. You drive through this tiny little idyllic neighborhood, go up a hill and as you go over, the bottle simply appears before you, looking at first like it is hovering over the trees. It stands over a former ketchup plant. We jumped out, took pictures, and then jumped back onto the road again to race to the next attraction, Cahokia Mounds.
I accidentally spotted the Indian Mound site on the atlas and mentioned it to Joe, who had no idea what I meant by Indian Mounds, so we decided to go. It turns out that one of the mounds there, Monk's Mound, is the largest man-made earth contruction on this continent--even larger than mounds in Mexico. Cahokia was still a city of thousands of people in 1200 AD and the chief lived on top of Monk's Mound, which covers over 14 acres and is over 100 feet high. In the nearby burial mounds, archaeologists have excavated hundreds of bodies. It was very cool, but blisteringly hot, so we didn't actually climb Monk's Mound.
We pressed on into St. Louis where traffic was nasty. We had 2 possible food destinations: Ted Drewes frozen custard and C & K BBQ. We decided to go for custard first, since it was a little out of the way and BBQ would be on our way out of the city. The custard was amazing. It is located on the old Route 66, so they get a lot of attention, but they live up to it. I got a Cardinal Sin Sundae--vanilla custard, hot fudge and tart cherries, while Joe got a Hawaiian concrete--vanilla custard, pineapple, coconut, and macademia nuts blended into a mixture so thick that they hand it to you upside down for effect. There was nowhere to sit that wasn't in the sun, so we stood off to the side of the order window and devoured them in minutes. Even then we couldn't keep up with the melting. We seem to be following the heat wave.
Traffic had put us behind schedule, so we decided to forego St. Louis BBQ for lunch to be sure we didn't miss Kansas City BBQ for dinner. We made the right decision. Arthur Bryant's BBQ is the most famous BBQ in the country. It's in the warehouse district and is such a run-down plastic-chair kind of place that I wouldn't have even looked twice at it. Until I smelled it. We had a pulled pork sandwich, ribs, ham, baked beans, fries and a red cream soda. My favorite was the pulled pork, though I wasn't blown away by the ribs. I've had better. Same with the fries. But the rest of the meal made up for it. The ham was amazing. It was piled on white bread and it's perfect to dump their famous sauce all over. The restaurant was filled mostly with families and good-ole-boys, who sometimes sat down with more than one platter plus a pint of beans on the side.
We're relaxing in a cheap hotel now, waiting for it to cool off enough to swim in the outdoor pool--the first time we'll have spent more than 8 hours at a hotel. Today was an amazing day, the best of the trip so far. Tomorrow we head into Kansas.
I accidentally spotted the Indian Mound site on the atlas and mentioned it to Joe, who had no idea what I meant by Indian Mounds, so we decided to go. It turns out that one of the mounds there, Monk's Mound, is the largest man-made earth contruction on this continent--even larger than mounds in Mexico. Cahokia was still a city of thousands of people in 1200 AD and the chief lived on top of Monk's Mound, which covers over 14 acres and is over 100 feet high. In the nearby burial mounds, archaeologists have excavated hundreds of bodies. It was very cool, but blisteringly hot, so we didn't actually climb Monk's Mound.
We pressed on into St. Louis where traffic was nasty. We had 2 possible food destinations: Ted Drewes frozen custard and C & K BBQ. We decided to go for custard first, since it was a little out of the way and BBQ would be on our way out of the city. The custard was amazing. It is located on the old Route 66, so they get a lot of attention, but they live up to it. I got a Cardinal Sin Sundae--vanilla custard, hot fudge and tart cherries, while Joe got a Hawaiian concrete--vanilla custard, pineapple, coconut, and macademia nuts blended into a mixture so thick that they hand it to you upside down for effect. There was nowhere to sit that wasn't in the sun, so we stood off to the side of the order window and devoured them in minutes. Even then we couldn't keep up with the melting. We seem to be following the heat wave.
Traffic had put us behind schedule, so we decided to forego St. Louis BBQ for lunch to be sure we didn't miss Kansas City BBQ for dinner. We made the right decision. Arthur Bryant's BBQ is the most famous BBQ in the country. It's in the warehouse district and is such a run-down plastic-chair kind of place that I wouldn't have even looked twice at it. Until I smelled it. We had a pulled pork sandwich, ribs, ham, baked beans, fries and a red cream soda. My favorite was the pulled pork, though I wasn't blown away by the ribs. I've had better. Same with the fries. But the rest of the meal made up for it. The ham was amazing. It was piled on white bread and it's perfect to dump their famous sauce all over. The restaurant was filled mostly with families and good-ole-boys, who sometimes sat down with more than one platter plus a pint of beans on the side.
We're relaxing in a cheap hotel now, waiting for it to cool off enough to swim in the outdoor pool--the first time we'll have spent more than 8 hours at a hotel. Today was an amazing day, the best of the trip so far. Tomorrow we head into Kansas.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
I Ate at the Nauti Mermaid
This morning we headed to Cleveland to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It's beautiful, a glass pyramid on the shore of Lake Erie. It's somewhat pricey (counting parking, though my ancient student I.D. got me $2 off admission). It's intense in there. Music, movies, voices, displays come at you constantly. We saw outfits from David Bowie, Christina Aguilera, Prince, and more. We took our time through the special exhibit--two floors devoted to the life and work of Bob Dylan. I'm not much of a music person, but it was interesting to learn facts about him many people don't know. Like that he was born in Duluth, MN, and that he left MN to go to New York City to find his idol, Woody Guthrie. That's where it all began.
After the museum, which got to be a bit much, we walked a few blocks to find the World's Largest Rubber Stamp. First of all, it's not really rubber. It's made out of aluminum. Second, I thought it would be about as tall as me, not forty feet high. We were strangely impressed by this corporate art-like monstrosity. The stamp says "FREE". Hmm.
One thing we have learned about mid-sized mid-Western cities--they shut down on Sundays. Joe really wanted to go to a few nice, well-known restaurants, but every one of them was either closed or didn't open until 5 pm. We landed at one of the few open places we even saw, "The Nauti Mermaid." A nautical-themed (duh) restaurant/bar, they had good crabcakes and decent sandwiches. We were getting hungry and cranky enough to eat anything.
Then we drove south to Columbus (stopping at a truck-stop so shady it was funny) and then west to Indianapolis, IN. Here we had a destination. Mug N Buns, a drive-in burger joint on the edge of town. We got majorly lost, which ended up not being a problem, since the streets were EMPTY. We just drove around until we found the right street. In the process, we got to see downtown and the rundown part of town under the El Train.
Mug N Buns was glorious, the kind of place we dream of. Their rootbeer is homemade and their onion rings are hand-battered; both were stunning. We got a cheeseburger, which was fine, and a tenderloin, which is a CD-sized disc of pork breaded and deep-fried and put on a bun. I was good, though I don't know if I would eat it too often! We finished off with a chocolate malt and are now crashing at our decently priced, adequate hotel just a mile away from the restaurant.
A shaky start of a day with a great finish. Tomorrow: Kansas City, MO
After the museum, which got to be a bit much, we walked a few blocks to find the World's Largest Rubber Stamp. First of all, it's not really rubber. It's made out of aluminum. Second, I thought it would be about as tall as me, not forty feet high. We were strangely impressed by this corporate art-like monstrosity. The stamp says "FREE". Hmm.
One thing we have learned about mid-sized mid-Western cities--they shut down on Sundays. Joe really wanted to go to a few nice, well-known restaurants, but every one of them was either closed or didn't open until 5 pm. We landed at one of the few open places we even saw, "The Nauti Mermaid." A nautical-themed (duh) restaurant/bar, they had good crabcakes and decent sandwiches. We were getting hungry and cranky enough to eat anything.
Then we drove south to Columbus (stopping at a truck-stop so shady it was funny) and then west to Indianapolis, IN. Here we had a destination. Mug N Buns, a drive-in burger joint on the edge of town. We got majorly lost, which ended up not being a problem, since the streets were EMPTY. We just drove around until we found the right street. In the process, we got to see downtown and the rundown part of town under the El Train.
Mug N Buns was glorious, the kind of place we dream of. Their rootbeer is homemade and their onion rings are hand-battered; both were stunning. We got a cheeseburger, which was fine, and a tenderloin, which is a CD-sized disc of pork breaded and deep-fried and put on a bun. I was good, though I don't know if I would eat it too often! We finished off with a chocolate malt and are now crashing at our decently priced, adequate hotel just a mile away from the restaurant.
A shaky start of a day with a great finish. Tomorrow: Kansas City, MO
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Outside of Cleveland
We drove for 9 hours and didn't quite make it to Cleveland. It was a long haul, and will hopefully be the longest of the trip, but we wanted to really push to get as far away as possible on our first day.
Loading the car was intensely hot, to the point where I felt sick a few times, but we got everything we needed in, plus half of our maybe pile. As soon as we cleared New York, I fell asleep for 2 hours. I couldn't help it. I couldn't have stayed awake if you paid me.
Pennsylvania is beautifully, but a bit uniformly beautiful. Layers upon layers of green mountains are constantly unfolding before you.
I'm exhausted, so this one is going to be short. Hopefully we'll continue to have decent internet.
Loading the car was intensely hot, to the point where I felt sick a few times, but we got everything we needed in, plus half of our maybe pile. As soon as we cleared New York, I fell asleep for 2 hours. I couldn't help it. I couldn't have stayed awake if you paid me.
Pennsylvania is beautifully, but a bit uniformly beautiful. Layers upon layers of green mountains are constantly unfolding before you.
I'm exhausted, so this one is going to be short. Hopefully we'll continue to have decent internet.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Chaos Theory Part 2
Our. Elevator. Is. BROKEN!
On the day before we move, when it is 102 degrees out with 99.9 percent humidity, our elevator breaks. This morning we had to bring our books to the Post Office, which meant we had to carry 8 incredibly heavy (remember what a good packer I am?) boxes down four flights of stairs (OK, so down is much easier than up, and I really only carried 2 while Joe had to take 6). Still. It was annoying.
We saw the super and he swears it will be running by tomorrow morning, when we have to do the actual move. Then he laughed and said, "This is a record. It's never been down this long." Great.
On the day before we move, when it is 102 degrees out with 99.9 percent humidity, our elevator breaks. This morning we had to bring our books to the Post Office, which meant we had to carry 8 incredibly heavy (remember what a good packer I am?) boxes down four flights of stairs (OK, so down is much easier than up, and I really only carried 2 while Joe had to take 6). Still. It was annoying.
We saw the super and he swears it will be running by tomorrow morning, when we have to do the actual move. Then he laughed and said, "This is a record. It's never been down this long." Great.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
One Hot Italian
New Favorite Music: Regina Spektor
I am listening to her in our almost-empty apartment. The bed actually sold, upstairs is empty and the computer is sitting on the windowsill. The next time you hear from me, I will probably be On the Road.
I said goodbye to one of my best friends today. Last time we parted, it was when she left Wisconsin to go back to New York. When I left her house that night, I paused every few feet to turn and wave. She stood at her living room window and watched until I was out of sight.
Today we did the same thing on the subway. I was still sitting on the train, smushing my face against the window to watch her walk down the platform, as she turned and waved every few feet.
"That man was one hot Italian," a woman next to me said.
"Huh?"
"That man was one hot italian."
"Uh, yeah."
Apparently she thought I was staring at some guy who got off the train at that station too. Doesn't she know there are more important things?
Of course, the last time we said goodbye, I followed her to New York just over a year later. So who knows what will happen this time?
I am listening to her in our almost-empty apartment. The bed actually sold, upstairs is empty and the computer is sitting on the windowsill. The next time you hear from me, I will probably be On the Road.
I said goodbye to one of my best friends today. Last time we parted, it was when she left Wisconsin to go back to New York. When I left her house that night, I paused every few feet to turn and wave. She stood at her living room window and watched until I was out of sight.
Today we did the same thing on the subway. I was still sitting on the train, smushing my face against the window to watch her walk down the platform, as she turned and waved every few feet.
"That man was one hot Italian," a woman next to me said.
"Huh?"
"That man was one hot italian."
"Uh, yeah."
Apparently she thought I was staring at some guy who got off the train at that station too. Doesn't she know there are more important things?
Of course, the last time we said goodbye, I followed her to New York just over a year later. So who knows what will happen this time?
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
New Technology
The day after I arrived in New York, still reeling from the people and noise, I went to a Verizon store and bought my first cell phone. You can't survive here without one.
I've had that same phone ever since. It was getting to be time to get a new one, plus Joe and I wanted to get on a family plan together. We figured we would wait and do it in California, in case we specifically needed a California plan. I thought it would be very fitting for me to buy a new phone the day after I arrived in San Francisco.
Unfortunately, Joe's phone did not agree with my cosmic alignment. It decided to die yesterday (see the Chaos Theory below for an idea of why). There was no reason for him to get a new T-Mobile phone if we were just going to switch, so yesterday we ran to the Verizon store and signed up.
My new phone is sooo pretty. It takes pictures! And video! When Joe calls me, I made a picture of a hamburger pop up! And it was FREE!
Yes, my $150 phone was free because I re-signed with Verizon. Joe had to pay a little for his flashy black phone because he's not technically a customer, just an add-on line to my account, and of course he wanted a fancy-ish one. But he got all that fun stuff too.
Both of our phone numbers stay the same, which is awesome. It's cheaper, and free for calls between us. The only annoying part is that free minutes still don't start until 9 pm. Which, once we're in CA, is midnight on the east coast (though Joe's mom, Jen, and many of our other friends have Verizon anyways, so it doesn't matter) and 11 pm in Wisconsin. Guess I'll be calling home on weekends more often.
I've had that same phone ever since. It was getting to be time to get a new one, plus Joe and I wanted to get on a family plan together. We figured we would wait and do it in California, in case we specifically needed a California plan. I thought it would be very fitting for me to buy a new phone the day after I arrived in San Francisco.
Unfortunately, Joe's phone did not agree with my cosmic alignment. It decided to die yesterday (see the Chaos Theory below for an idea of why). There was no reason for him to get a new T-Mobile phone if we were just going to switch, so yesterday we ran to the Verizon store and signed up.
My new phone is sooo pretty. It takes pictures! And video! When Joe calls me, I made a picture of a hamburger pop up! And it was FREE!
Yes, my $150 phone was free because I re-signed with Verizon. Joe had to pay a little for his flashy black phone because he's not technically a customer, just an add-on line to my account, and of course he wanted a fancy-ish one. But he got all that fun stuff too.
Both of our phone numbers stay the same, which is awesome. It's cheaper, and free for calls between us. The only annoying part is that free minutes still don't start until 9 pm. Which, once we're in CA, is midnight on the east coast (though Joe's mom, Jen, and many of our other friends have Verizon anyways, so it doesn't matter) and 11 pm in Wisconsin. Guess I'll be calling home on weekends more often.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Our Furniture is Gone!
No, it hasn't been stolen! We sold it!
Most of our furniture has left the building as of Saturday. Alex came to take everything that belonged to him, I sold a few things, we all trashed a few things, we gave some away, and I hope to sell the bed soon. The apartment looks so much bigger when it's not filled with random inefficient shelves and ugly tables. The rest of our things are slowly being condensed into essential, managable parcels.
Someone FINALLY took the futon today. It was such a piece of junk, we actually debated PAYING someone to come take.
Zero planning has been done for the actual roadtrip so far. I think the decision is "We're going to wing it." We have our route mostly mapped out (except we may or may not detour through Memphis, TN, rather than Kansas. Although I've been to Graceland, The Boy has not, and Tennessee has to be all-around more interesting that Kansas), and we have AAA books for every single state we're going through along the way, so we'll be fine.
We had our first going away part on Saturday for The Boy's extended group of friends. Wednesday will be Karaoke with MY friends. But Saturday was lots of fun, despite the first place not having AC, the second one being expensive, random tensions among friends, someone throwing a bottle off the roof of a building at a house party, and most everyone drinking more than they should. I was fine, and one of the few who was ready to keep going after we stopped to eat potato pierogies. I was fully awake and un-drunk, but happy to go home.
I'm going to miss that crew, particularly Zad and Oriana. They are definitely not dime-a-dozen type of friends.
Most of our furniture has left the building as of Saturday. Alex came to take everything that belonged to him, I sold a few things, we all trashed a few things, we gave some away, and I hope to sell the bed soon. The apartment looks so much bigger when it's not filled with random inefficient shelves and ugly tables. The rest of our things are slowly being condensed into essential, managable parcels.
Someone FINALLY took the futon today. It was such a piece of junk, we actually debated PAYING someone to come take.
Zero planning has been done for the actual roadtrip so far. I think the decision is "We're going to wing it." We have our route mostly mapped out (except we may or may not detour through Memphis, TN, rather than Kansas. Although I've been to Graceland, The Boy has not, and Tennessee has to be all-around more interesting that Kansas), and we have AAA books for every single state we're going through along the way, so we'll be fine.
We had our first going away part on Saturday for The Boy's extended group of friends. Wednesday will be Karaoke with MY friends. But Saturday was lots of fun, despite the first place not having AC, the second one being expensive, random tensions among friends, someone throwing a bottle off the roof of a building at a house party, and most everyone drinking more than they should. I was fine, and one of the few who was ready to keep going after we stopped to eat potato pierogies. I was fully awake and un-drunk, but happy to go home.
I'm going to miss that crew, particularly Zad and Oriana. They are definitely not dime-a-dozen type of friends.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Something Goes Right
I called BlueCross today and I am officially approved for health insurance. About $100 for decent coverage in California, and it will start July 27th, just like I wanted it to. The email telling me must have gone astray, since I was approved last week. Whew! That means Joe still has plenty of time to sign up for the same thing.
Someone looked at our entertainment center, but hasn't decided if she wants to purchase it.
I cleaned out the desk upstairs entirely.
I am off work tomorrow to do things like sell books to the Strand, pack Alex's dishes for him, watch "The Color Purple", and donate the rest of our books/movies to the library.
The high temperature today is a sickening 98 degrees. With a humidity index of a thousand. I can't wait to leave this stinkin' city. There was a Heat Advisory on the news for crying out loud! I think that means you're not supposed to leave Air Conditioning if you are old, have a heart condition, or are from Wisconsin.
My brother's roommate in San Fran just wrote me an email saying this is the coldest summer she has ever experienced. I say Hallelujah.
Someone looked at our entertainment center, but hasn't decided if she wants to purchase it.
I cleaned out the desk upstairs entirely.
I am off work tomorrow to do things like sell books to the Strand, pack Alex's dishes for him, watch "The Color Purple", and donate the rest of our books/movies to the library.
The high temperature today is a sickening 98 degrees. With a humidity index of a thousand. I can't wait to leave this stinkin' city. There was a Heat Advisory on the news for crying out loud! I think that means you're not supposed to leave Air Conditioning if you are old, have a heart condition, or are from Wisconsin.
My brother's roommate in San Fran just wrote me an email saying this is the coldest summer she has ever experienced. I say Hallelujah.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Chaos Theory
The theory is that everything must happen at the most inconvenient times. For instance, everything in our apartment starts to fall apart right before we move out. Why not right after?
First our toilet seat cracked. Random, right? And not such a big deal. But we didn't want to ask the landlord to replace it because of our whole illegal-subletting-thing. I swear, from this day foward, never to sublet from friends again. I eventually replaced it and now it looks clean and beautiful and only cost $10. Plus, I was proud of myself. OK.
Last night, I was drifting off to sleep, feeling cool breezes wash over me, when suddenly the air conditioner made a loud and disturbing sound. WHAA WHAA WHAA...then the compressor (or something) shut off, and all you could hear was a fan. A few moments later it kicked in again. Still, I was disturbed. It had never made that noise before, and it didn't sound right. Last year it didn't always work so well, and Joe and I had discussed how it probably needed a filter change. Discussed, but never did anything about because suddenly it was winter again.
I woke up this morning at 5:30 a.m. and realized I couldn't hear the air conditioner. I went downstairs and I could hear the fan, but not the compressor. I turned it off, waiting a minute, and turned it on. Again, only the fan. Shit. I'm guessing it made that noise again, which is what woke me up.
Then Joe gets up and starts freaking out a bit. Alex's sister bought this air conditioner, and of course Alex insisted that we have to sell it and put that on our heads (OK, Joe's, but I'm the one who has to hear about it). If we don't sell it to the incoming resident, they are throwing away money because it's only 3 years old and cost $800, blah, blah (which I'm not sure I believe) etc. And we can't remove it, because then there will be a giant hole in the wall, open to the outside.
Joe tried to open the front of it, but it wouldn't budge. Finally I saw a small, handle-like hole on the front of the AC, with slots on either side.
"That's it," I said. Joe pulled and it slide up and out, like the lint trap from the top of a dryer. And it was just as disgusting as a lint trap too. It doesn't look particularly disposable--the filter part is attached right to that plastic handle, so Joe tried to wipe off some of the dirt with a damp cloth until we could see through it again. He put it back in and the whole thing started right back up like normal.
Sigh with relief.
It runs a lot quieter than before. I was terrified that that noise was the sound of the motor burning out. Who knew it was so easy to fix?
What's next?
First our toilet seat cracked. Random, right? And not such a big deal. But we didn't want to ask the landlord to replace it because of our whole illegal-subletting-thing. I swear, from this day foward, never to sublet from friends again. I eventually replaced it and now it looks clean and beautiful and only cost $10. Plus, I was proud of myself. OK.
Last night, I was drifting off to sleep, feeling cool breezes wash over me, when suddenly the air conditioner made a loud and disturbing sound. WHAA WHAA WHAA...then the compressor (or something) shut off, and all you could hear was a fan. A few moments later it kicked in again. Still, I was disturbed. It had never made that noise before, and it didn't sound right. Last year it didn't always work so well, and Joe and I had discussed how it probably needed a filter change. Discussed, but never did anything about because suddenly it was winter again.
I woke up this morning at 5:30 a.m. and realized I couldn't hear the air conditioner. I went downstairs and I could hear the fan, but not the compressor. I turned it off, waiting a minute, and turned it on. Again, only the fan. Shit. I'm guessing it made that noise again, which is what woke me up.
Then Joe gets up and starts freaking out a bit. Alex's sister bought this air conditioner, and of course Alex insisted that we have to sell it and put that on our heads (OK, Joe's, but I'm the one who has to hear about it). If we don't sell it to the incoming resident, they are throwing away money because it's only 3 years old and cost $800, blah, blah (which I'm not sure I believe) etc. And we can't remove it, because then there will be a giant hole in the wall, open to the outside.
Joe tried to open the front of it, but it wouldn't budge. Finally I saw a small, handle-like hole on the front of the AC, with slots on either side.
"That's it," I said. Joe pulled and it slide up and out, like the lint trap from the top of a dryer. And it was just as disgusting as a lint trap too. It doesn't look particularly disposable--the filter part is attached right to that plastic handle, so Joe tried to wipe off some of the dirt with a damp cloth until we could see through it again. He put it back in and the whole thing started right back up like normal.
Sigh with relief.
It runs a lot quieter than before. I was terrified that that noise was the sound of the motor burning out. Who knew it was so easy to fix?
What's next?
Monday, July 10, 2006
I am an excellent box packer
I really am. I twist and turn and squeeze and measure and repack until everything fits together like a jigsaw puzzle. Heavy books on the bottom, small books saved until last to fill in the cracks.
As a result, I packed a Strand-size box full of Joe's cookbooks until it was so heavy I couldn't pick it up. Joe heaved it onto the scale and we discovered it weighed over 60 pounds. The Post Office in San Francisco had already warned us that, even though book rate goes up to 70 pounds (which is could have been, since our scale is not too acurate) the boxes have to be able to be lifted by one person for General Delivery. So picked through the remaining pile of Joe's books to find all the lightest ones, then ripped open the bottom of the big boxes and did a switcheroo. Then I took a box that we thought would be too small for books and filled it with the heaviest ones. As a result, they weight almost the same amount.
The point of this slightly boring explanation is that we are packing very, very carefully. Space and money is tight. It is going to take a long time to get it all right, but in the end it will be worth it, making for a smoother move. Wait until the morning I pack up the rental car. It will take longer than it should, but in the end, there won't be an inch wasted. I just hope the axels aren't scraping bottom.
In other news, Multivision called today. Multivision is the company I worked for before this one, and their main office is in San Francisco (well, actually Oakland, which is sort of like the Brooklyn of SF). I had emailed my old manager to let her know I was moving out there and to ask if she could do anything, but never got a response, so when I saw them advertising jobs on Craigslist, I sent my resume. A guy who worked at the NY office for a while, then moved back to SF was the one who called and he said he remembered me. He said my manager did mention I was coming to SF, plus he saw my resume. He gave me his cell phone and told me to call when I got there and he would work something out for me. They have a very high turnover--finding a position for me is not a problem.
So that's taken care of.
It's reasuuring, though I'm not sure I want to work there again, even in the interim. It would be taking a step back, and I'm pretty confident that getting another job is not going to be a problem. Then again, they are part of a much larger company now (they were bought out just before I left) so there might be more opportunities that didn't even exist last time I was there. We shall see.
As a result, I packed a Strand-size box full of Joe's cookbooks until it was so heavy I couldn't pick it up. Joe heaved it onto the scale and we discovered it weighed over 60 pounds. The Post Office in San Francisco had already warned us that, even though book rate goes up to 70 pounds (which is could have been, since our scale is not too acurate) the boxes have to be able to be lifted by one person for General Delivery. So picked through the remaining pile of Joe's books to find all the lightest ones, then ripped open the bottom of the big boxes and did a switcheroo. Then I took a box that we thought would be too small for books and filled it with the heaviest ones. As a result, they weight almost the same amount.
The point of this slightly boring explanation is that we are packing very, very carefully. Space and money is tight. It is going to take a long time to get it all right, but in the end it will be worth it, making for a smoother move. Wait until the morning I pack up the rental car. It will take longer than it should, but in the end, there won't be an inch wasted. I just hope the axels aren't scraping bottom.
In other news, Multivision called today. Multivision is the company I worked for before this one, and their main office is in San Francisco (well, actually Oakland, which is sort of like the Brooklyn of SF). I had emailed my old manager to let her know I was moving out there and to ask if she could do anything, but never got a response, so when I saw them advertising jobs on Craigslist, I sent my resume. A guy who worked at the NY office for a while, then moved back to SF was the one who called and he said he remembered me. He said my manager did mention I was coming to SF, plus he saw my resume. He gave me his cell phone and told me to call when I got there and he would work something out for me. They have a very high turnover--finding a position for me is not a problem.
So that's taken care of.
It's reasuuring, though I'm not sure I want to work there again, even in the interim. It would be taking a step back, and I'm pretty confident that getting another job is not going to be a problem. Then again, they are part of a much larger company now (they were bought out just before I left) so there might be more opportunities that didn't even exist last time I was there. We shall see.
Friday, July 07, 2006
I Want Summer Fridays
This week at work has been boooooring. But I have officially put in my (3 weeks) notice!
I had to tell Rick, my boss, first. I wasn't going to tell him until this past Wednesday, but last Friday afternoon he sent out an email saying he would be out all this week on vacation. So Friday, twitching with nervousness, I went into his office and told him the news.
He was very calm, just said congratulations and we'll miss you and opened up a calendar to figure out my last day. Then suddenly he turned to me and said, "Did you tell Dan yet?"
"No."
"He's going to lose it."
So on Wednesday I had to tell Dan, the production manager. He is, you could say, my direct boss, but is also the person I work closest with here. He was just back from vacation.
"Dan, can I talk to you?" I pointed at the audio room. That's where we go to talk about serious things, like the time someone got fired, because it is soundproof in there. So he knew something big was up.
He shut the door. "Please don't say your quitting," he joked.
I smiled at him.
"Oh no!" He fell over into a chair. My quitting is not coming at a good time for them. Adam is just starting to become competent. The new receptionist is slowly coming to be hated by everyone. Dan is going to have a helluva time doing his job and mine, unless they can get a replacement in here soon enough for me to train them, which I said I would be happy to do.
After he recovered, Dan said good luck and all that. He said they are always looking for producers on the west coast, and I can definitely produce RMTs as a freelancer, since they're just over the phone. So I will have some money to tide me over between jobs. That made me really happy. Also Rick said he will contact people he knows and the studios that my company uses now in SF to see if they have any openings. It would be fun to work at a studio, and both Rick and Dan will give me great recommendations.
So now I'm spending my days freely hating the new girl and trying to teach Adam everthing I know.
I had to tell Rick, my boss, first. I wasn't going to tell him until this past Wednesday, but last Friday afternoon he sent out an email saying he would be out all this week on vacation. So Friday, twitching with nervousness, I went into his office and told him the news.
He was very calm, just said congratulations and we'll miss you and opened up a calendar to figure out my last day. Then suddenly he turned to me and said, "Did you tell Dan yet?"
"No."
"He's going to lose it."
So on Wednesday I had to tell Dan, the production manager. He is, you could say, my direct boss, but is also the person I work closest with here. He was just back from vacation.
"Dan, can I talk to you?" I pointed at the audio room. That's where we go to talk about serious things, like the time someone got fired, because it is soundproof in there. So he knew something big was up.
He shut the door. "Please don't say your quitting," he joked.
I smiled at him.
"Oh no!" He fell over into a chair. My quitting is not coming at a good time for them. Adam is just starting to become competent. The new receptionist is slowly coming to be hated by everyone. Dan is going to have a helluva time doing his job and mine, unless they can get a replacement in here soon enough for me to train them, which I said I would be happy to do.
After he recovered, Dan said good luck and all that. He said they are always looking for producers on the west coast, and I can definitely produce RMTs as a freelancer, since they're just over the phone. So I will have some money to tide me over between jobs. That made me really happy. Also Rick said he will contact people he knows and the studios that my company uses now in SF to see if they have any openings. It would be fun to work at a studio, and both Rick and Dan will give me great recommendations.
So now I'm spending my days freely hating the new girl and trying to teach Adam everthing I know.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Fourth of July BBQs
Despite the running around and craziness, this was one of the most relaxing Fourth of July weekends I've ever had.
My first year I worked because I got holiday pay. I ran out of the Strand at 9 pm, leapt onto a train, and arrived in Williamsburg just in time for the fireworks. I was on a seriously crowded rooftop, and Jen and I stood on top of a cooler to see, holding onto each other to keep from falling off. Then, I had a magical NYC moment. I said, "The only thing that would make this better, is if I had an ice-cold beer." And a guy standing in front of me, without even turning around, reached behind his back and handed me a 40oz Bud. Ask and ye shall receive.
The next year Christy was visiting. She destroyed me in many ways (see Flesh Eating Diseases from last year) but I will never regret sitting out on the FDR to watch fireworks. It is not exactly relaxing, but I highly recommend it for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
This year was the parade of BBQs. On Saturday, we went to Sonal's loft (Joe's friend Rupal's sister) and drank for 8 hours. It was me, Joe, this random guy who kept blending drinks in a frenzy of 3 blenders in front of him, and about 50 Indians. A super friendly crew who puts on a fancy BBQ. Rupal was about to explode with child, so we spent a lot of time sitting inside (where there's AC) chatting with her.
Sunday we went to Joe's mom's house in Jersey. What is normally an hour and a half bus ride, turned into over 3 hours with a combination of holiday weekend traffic and a nasty motorcycle accident ahead of us. A few girls had to jump off the bus to go pee in the woods, then run to catch up with the bus again (okay, walk. We were going half a mile an hour). I was fine, but Joe didn't feel so great (after 8 hours of drinking--see Saturday) and he was worried about his mom waiting for us at the station and the guys home alone. Everyone was fine in the end, as I knew they would be, and we had a really nice time. Joe fired up burgers, Nancy blended Margaritas, and I eventually whipped up some really tasty Orange-Rum Juliuses, if I do say so myself. A really wicked lightning storm knocked out the lights for a few minutes at the end of the night. It was amazing to watch. It was the last time I'll see Joe's mom before we move, and the last time Joe will see that house, since they're moving the same weekend we are. His mom held up admirably though, and only cried a little.
Monday Joe worked and I watched TV all. day. long. I was in heaven. Also managed to finish polishing my resume and apply for a few jobs.
Tuesday was the Day O'Brooklyn. We went to Dina and Noah's for a Kosher Vegetarian cookout in their backyard. It was incredibly hot, but they filled up the kiddie pool and I splashed around with Mya, their 18 month old daughter, and some neighbor kids. Later, I saw Mya about to stick her fingers in the fan and I grabbed her and pulled her away. I expected her to start shrieking because normally she doesn't want much to do with me. Instead she held tight to my hand and dragged me into the living room to play. Jump to ten minutes later and I'm swinging her around by her ankles while she screams with happiness. I was sweating buckets. I was afraid her little legs would slip out of my slimy hands and she would go sailing across the room like a discus. But she did not want me to stop and when we left she cried.
We cut across Brooklyn on the G train and arrived at Bibbi's BBQ just in time for food. Turkey burgers (where's my cow?!?!?) but real hot dogs and a tasty strawberry shortcake someone showed up with later. It's always fun hanging with the gang. Then we rushed to Oriana's rooftop in time to see the fireworks over in Brooklyn. They were underwhelming, considering we were almost directly beneath them last year, but there were enough fireworks being shot from our rooftop and the rooftops around us to still be exciting.
My first year I worked because I got holiday pay. I ran out of the Strand at 9 pm, leapt onto a train, and arrived in Williamsburg just in time for the fireworks. I was on a seriously crowded rooftop, and Jen and I stood on top of a cooler to see, holding onto each other to keep from falling off. Then, I had a magical NYC moment. I said, "The only thing that would make this better, is if I had an ice-cold beer." And a guy standing in front of me, without even turning around, reached behind his back and handed me a 40oz Bud. Ask and ye shall receive.
The next year Christy was visiting. She destroyed me in many ways (see Flesh Eating Diseases from last year) but I will never regret sitting out on the FDR to watch fireworks. It is not exactly relaxing, but I highly recommend it for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
This year was the parade of BBQs. On Saturday, we went to Sonal's loft (Joe's friend Rupal's sister) and drank for 8 hours. It was me, Joe, this random guy who kept blending drinks in a frenzy of 3 blenders in front of him, and about 50 Indians. A super friendly crew who puts on a fancy BBQ. Rupal was about to explode with child, so we spent a lot of time sitting inside (where there's AC) chatting with her.
Sunday we went to Joe's mom's house in Jersey. What is normally an hour and a half bus ride, turned into over 3 hours with a combination of holiday weekend traffic and a nasty motorcycle accident ahead of us. A few girls had to jump off the bus to go pee in the woods, then run to catch up with the bus again (okay, walk. We were going half a mile an hour). I was fine, but Joe didn't feel so great (after 8 hours of drinking--see Saturday) and he was worried about his mom waiting for us at the station and the guys home alone. Everyone was fine in the end, as I knew they would be, and we had a really nice time. Joe fired up burgers, Nancy blended Margaritas, and I eventually whipped up some really tasty Orange-Rum Juliuses, if I do say so myself. A really wicked lightning storm knocked out the lights for a few minutes at the end of the night. It was amazing to watch. It was the last time I'll see Joe's mom before we move, and the last time Joe will see that house, since they're moving the same weekend we are. His mom held up admirably though, and only cried a little.
Monday Joe worked and I watched TV all. day. long. I was in heaven. Also managed to finish polishing my resume and apply for a few jobs.
Tuesday was the Day O'Brooklyn. We went to Dina and Noah's for a Kosher Vegetarian cookout in their backyard. It was incredibly hot, but they filled up the kiddie pool and I splashed around with Mya, their 18 month old daughter, and some neighbor kids. Later, I saw Mya about to stick her fingers in the fan and I grabbed her and pulled her away. I expected her to start shrieking because normally she doesn't want much to do with me. Instead she held tight to my hand and dragged me into the living room to play. Jump to ten minutes later and I'm swinging her around by her ankles while she screams with happiness. I was sweating buckets. I was afraid her little legs would slip out of my slimy hands and she would go sailing across the room like a discus. But she did not want me to stop and when we left she cried.
We cut across Brooklyn on the G train and arrived at Bibbi's BBQ just in time for food. Turkey burgers (where's my cow?!?!?) but real hot dogs and a tasty strawberry shortcake someone showed up with later. It's always fun hanging with the gang. Then we rushed to Oriana's rooftop in time to see the fireworks over in Brooklyn. They were underwhelming, considering we were almost directly beneath them last year, but there were enough fireworks being shot from our rooftop and the rooftops around us to still be exciting.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Sexist Commercial Alert
Both of the sexist commercials are for pizza. What's the deal? Disclaimer: I don't remember the exact wording of the dialogue in the commercials, but believe me when I say it is true to the spirit.
Sexist Commercial #1 is for DiGiorno. A man and his buddies are sitting out on his lawn in chairs watching "the game" on a TV out there. His wife pulls up in a minivan and walks by carrying the groceries. The man sees the pizza sticking out of the top. "Hey, let's order a pizza," he says to his buddies. He pulls out his cell phone and calls his wife in the kitchen.
"Yes, I'd like to order a pizza."
"Bob, is that you?"
"Of course. Put everything on it!" His buddies smile at his aggressive and manly tone.
"But, Bob--"
"And make it snappy!" he barks and hangs up.
The woman gasps in disbelief.
Cut to the men EATING THEIR PIZZA! She brought it to them! I hope she put arsenic on it. She then turns on the sprinklers to get back at them, but they sit there calmly eating their pizza, cuz dang it's so good. She throws up her hands and goes back inside the kitchen (where she belongs, of course).
Perhaps she is going to file for divorce.
Sexist Commercial #2 is for Pizza Hut. A woman wearing pearls sits primly at a nice dining room table.
"My husband loves to eat Pizza Hut Pizza. Of course, I just sit there, eating a small salad." She pauses and looks around furtively. "Well, sometimes I have a piece, but just a small one." She pulls a piece of pizza out from under the table. "See how small it is?" She takes a bite. "It's veggie, I swear."
AHHHH! So now, not only are we supposed to cook pizza and serve it to our man, but we're not even supposed to be eating it?
I suffer.
Sexist Commercial #1 is for DiGiorno. A man and his buddies are sitting out on his lawn in chairs watching "the game" on a TV out there. His wife pulls up in a minivan and walks by carrying the groceries. The man sees the pizza sticking out of the top. "Hey, let's order a pizza," he says to his buddies. He pulls out his cell phone and calls his wife in the kitchen.
"Yes, I'd like to order a pizza."
"Bob, is that you?"
"Of course. Put everything on it!" His buddies smile at his aggressive and manly tone.
"But, Bob--"
"And make it snappy!" he barks and hangs up.
The woman gasps in disbelief.
Cut to the men EATING THEIR PIZZA! She brought it to them! I hope she put arsenic on it. She then turns on the sprinklers to get back at them, but they sit there calmly eating their pizza, cuz dang it's so good. She throws up her hands and goes back inside the kitchen (where she belongs, of course).
Perhaps she is going to file for divorce.
Sexist Commercial #2 is for Pizza Hut. A woman wearing pearls sits primly at a nice dining room table.
"My husband loves to eat Pizza Hut Pizza. Of course, I just sit there, eating a small salad." She pauses and looks around furtively. "Well, sometimes I have a piece, but just a small one." She pulls a piece of pizza out from under the table. "See how small it is?" She takes a bite. "It's veggie, I swear."
AHHHH! So now, not only are we supposed to cook pizza and serve it to our man, but we're not even supposed to be eating it?
I suffer.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Packin' Up
Last night I packed all the books I am keeping into one small box. We are hoping that this General Delivery business works out and we can ship all our heavy stuff pretty cheaply to San Francisco.
Joe went through his bookshelf too. It is four times the size of mine, plus a few random pils throughout the house. It took him until 1 a.m., but I'm glad it's done. Now we have YES piles that need to be packed into boxes, MAYBE piles that we will have to go through again, and NO piles. I'm going to take a bag of the most decent looking NO books to try to sell to the Strand. Everything else will be first picked over by our friends and then donated to the library around the corner.
The rental car is reserved and we got the whole insurance business figured out. Plans are in motion.
Joe went through his bookshelf too. It is four times the size of mine, plus a few random pils throughout the house. It took him until 1 a.m., but I'm glad it's done. Now we have YES piles that need to be packed into boxes, MAYBE piles that we will have to go through again, and NO piles. I'm going to take a bag of the most decent looking NO books to try to sell to the Strand. Everything else will be first picked over by our friends and then donated to the library around the corner.
The rental car is reserved and we got the whole insurance business figured out. Plans are in motion.
Friday, June 23, 2006
New Journal
So I've decided to start up a Live Journal. It's basically the same thing as a blog, but the Live Journal Community is much more active. Some of the posts will be the same, some will not. I am going to try to focus more on reading and writing in the Live Journal posts, but it will be about random stuff too. Some day I will probably quit one or the other. Here's the link if you want to check it out: http://jasminesmith.livejournal.com/
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Midgets & Balloons
My brain is gone. Fried. Zip. Running around NYC in 90 degree weather will do that to you.
Saturday we went to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum, which is WAY fun and I can't believe I've never done it before. It's this huge echoing room, swarming with Chinese families. Women push carts of food around and you wave and point to get some. She doesn't usually speak English, so you don't know what you're getting, but it doesn't matter because it's all delicious.
Later we went to a concert in Central Park. It's sort of an odd set-up. You can sit on metal bleachers in back, or park yourself in the sun on the green-rug-covered cement ground in front of the stage. Which is probably perfect if you're going to see the Flaming Lips or something, but for chill concerts like this it's mildly uncomfortable. Still, I loved Ollabelle, the middle band. Bluegrassy, twangy, gospel with strong vocals.
That night we ate at Big Nick's. I exhausted my parents by making them walk there, but it was all worth it because those burgers are the king of all ground meat--huge, messy and delicious. Even my mom was talking about it for days.
The next day we saw a photography exhibit, which was nice if a bit skimpy. But luckily outside was a street fair that filled 6th Avenue from 34th street all the way up to 59th. I bought a giant yellow starlet-on-the-beach hat, which still did not prevent me from almost stroking out. I was not made for warm weather. My mom bought more jewelery and my dad, after all three of us were accosted by a band of Chinese masseuse-ninjas, got a ten-minute massage for Father's Day. We ate food on the street and then headed for Cirque Du Soleil. Some ups and downs, but overall pretty neat. Highlight: a midget in a harness hung from 5 giant ballons. The main character flung her into the audience and she bounced around. Whenever she started to come down, the audience would push her back up and she would float around the ceiling for a minute. Ah, surrealism.
Saturday we went to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum, which is WAY fun and I can't believe I've never done it before. It's this huge echoing room, swarming with Chinese families. Women push carts of food around and you wave and point to get some. She doesn't usually speak English, so you don't know what you're getting, but it doesn't matter because it's all delicious.
Later we went to a concert in Central Park. It's sort of an odd set-up. You can sit on metal bleachers in back, or park yourself in the sun on the green-rug-covered cement ground in front of the stage. Which is probably perfect if you're going to see the Flaming Lips or something, but for chill concerts like this it's mildly uncomfortable. Still, I loved Ollabelle, the middle band. Bluegrassy, twangy, gospel with strong vocals.
That night we ate at Big Nick's. I exhausted my parents by making them walk there, but it was all worth it because those burgers are the king of all ground meat--huge, messy and delicious. Even my mom was talking about it for days.
The next day we saw a photography exhibit, which was nice if a bit skimpy. But luckily outside was a street fair that filled 6th Avenue from 34th street all the way up to 59th. I bought a giant yellow starlet-on-the-beach hat, which still did not prevent me from almost stroking out. I was not made for warm weather. My mom bought more jewelery and my dad, after all three of us were accosted by a band of Chinese masseuse-ninjas, got a ten-minute massage for Father's Day. We ate food on the street and then headed for Cirque Du Soleil. Some ups and downs, but overall pretty neat. Highlight: a midget in a harness hung from 5 giant ballons. The main character flung her into the audience and she bounced around. Whenever she started to come down, the audience would push her back up and she would float around the ceiling for a minute. Ah, surrealism.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Parental Unit Plans
What to do with my parents this weekend? I don't even know what time they get in Thursday night, but some sushi eating or, at the very least, wine-tasting at Vintage will be in order.
Friday: Put them on a Grayline Bus, those red double-decker monsters that cruise NYC. They can do an All-Loops tour, or just Brooklyn, or just Uptown (cuz they've pretty much seen all of Downtown) or one of the specialty tours. I have to work all day, but the earliest bus leaves at 8 am, and there's even a night tour that leaves at 5:45 pm, so they're covered.
On Saturday, there is the Renegade Craft Fair. It could be interesting, but I've never been to it, and it's in sort of an odd part of Brooklyn. Later in Prospect Park, Laurie Anderson and the Tuvan throat singers of CHIRGILCHIN are performing for FREE at 7:30pm. You know you wanna hear the throat singers.
The rest of Saturday is pretty wide open for now.
Sunday, of course, is Cirque du Soleil at 5 pm. We'll probably have brunch at Barney Greengrass (the Sturgeon King) and find some other relaxing afternoon activity.
Monday might be a museum day, including the Cloisters if they didn't get to see it on their bus tour. Other ideas for Monday will pop up over the weekend, I'm sure. Most Broadway shows do not play on Mondays, so if we want to see a show, Saturday would be the day to do it.
That's all for now. More ideas to come.
Friday: Put them on a Grayline Bus, those red double-decker monsters that cruise NYC. They can do an All-Loops tour, or just Brooklyn, or just Uptown (cuz they've pretty much seen all of Downtown) or one of the specialty tours. I have to work all day, but the earliest bus leaves at 8 am, and there's even a night tour that leaves at 5:45 pm, so they're covered.
On Saturday, there is the Renegade Craft Fair. It could be interesting, but I've never been to it, and it's in sort of an odd part of Brooklyn. Later in Prospect Park, Laurie Anderson and the Tuvan throat singers of CHIRGILCHIN are performing for FREE at 7:30pm. You know you wanna hear the throat singers.
The rest of Saturday is pretty wide open for now.
Sunday, of course, is Cirque du Soleil at 5 pm. We'll probably have brunch at Barney Greengrass (the Sturgeon King) and find some other relaxing afternoon activity.
Monday might be a museum day, including the Cloisters if they didn't get to see it on their bus tour. Other ideas for Monday will pop up over the weekend, I'm sure. Most Broadway shows do not play on Mondays, so if we want to see a show, Saturday would be the day to do it.
That's all for now. More ideas to come.
Monday, June 12, 2006
I ate half a pig
The Big Apple BBQ was this weekend, and I can't believe I ate the whole thing. We got there at 11 a.m. and they don't even start serving until noon. That's not the amazing thing. The amazing thing is that we weren't anywhere near first in line. I tried four different sandwiches (I swear I shared them all with my friend, though the boy didn't). My favorite was Ed Mitchell's Whole Hog. We watched them haul entire hogs into the tent, tear them apart, mix the meat with salt, cider vinegar and mysterious spices, all while Ed Mitchell himself had his hands in it up to his elbows (he was wearing wicked black rubber gloves) and mixed like crazy. Later there was a sausage-and-brisket sandwich, ribs, and pulled pork.
It's not up yet, but I'm sure Joe will write a more extensive account of the BBQ soon.
I got exactly zero writing done this weekend. BBQ+cleaning because my parents coming next weekend and the landlord is showing our apartment this week+planning a move to the other side of the country in 6 weeks+a pity dinner with the gang because Iran lost to Mexico in the world cup=zero writing.
It's not up yet, but I'm sure Joe will write a more extensive account of the BBQ soon.
I got exactly zero writing done this weekend. BBQ+cleaning because my parents coming next weekend and the landlord is showing our apartment this week+planning a move to the other side of the country in 6 weeks+a pity dinner with the gang because Iran lost to Mexico in the world cup=zero writing.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Cop Rock
As I was walking home yesterday, I saw a cop standing next to a taxi and screaming at the driver.
Cop: You cut me off!
Driver: But (incomprehensible argument here)
Cop: No! You don't understand! Traffic does not make it okay for you to cut me off!
A crowd was gathering around to watch the spectacle this cop was making of himself. Aren't Police Officers supposed to set an example for the rest of us? What good does getting angry do, especially when you have the upper-hand of power anyways? This cop didn't realize that by arguing, he was undercutting his own authority. By allowing the driver to argue with him, he was suggesting that the driver even had an arguement to make. Here is how it should have gone:
Cop: You cut me off, sir. Here's your ticket. Have a great day.
Driver: (Gives him incomprehensible lip)
Cop: Here's another ticket, sir, for giving me lip. Give me any more, and I'll have to double your fine and/or arrest you. Again, have a great day.
It's the same with kids (so my mom tells me). When you say something is a law--uh, I mean, rule--it just is. Let them argue with you, and you are suggesting that their arguement is valid. Kids only whine when they think they have a shot at winning. I wasn't much of a whiner, for a very good reason. I never won.
I'm pretty sure God works the same way too, in case you were wondering. You can beg and whine, but all you'll get is what you deserve. He doesn't make deals. He doesn't take your arguement into consideration, no matter how well you defend your side. It would undercut his authority.
Cop: You cut me off!
Driver: But (incomprehensible argument here)
Cop: No! You don't understand! Traffic does not make it okay for you to cut me off!
A crowd was gathering around to watch the spectacle this cop was making of himself. Aren't Police Officers supposed to set an example for the rest of us? What good does getting angry do, especially when you have the upper-hand of power anyways? This cop didn't realize that by arguing, he was undercutting his own authority. By allowing the driver to argue with him, he was suggesting that the driver even had an arguement to make. Here is how it should have gone:
Cop: You cut me off, sir. Here's your ticket. Have a great day.
Driver: (Gives him incomprehensible lip)
Cop: Here's another ticket, sir, for giving me lip. Give me any more, and I'll have to double your fine and/or arrest you. Again, have a great day.
It's the same with kids (so my mom tells me). When you say something is a law--uh, I mean, rule--it just is. Let them argue with you, and you are suggesting that their arguement is valid. Kids only whine when they think they have a shot at winning. I wasn't much of a whiner, for a very good reason. I never won.
I'm pretty sure God works the same way too, in case you were wondering. You can beg and whine, but all you'll get is what you deserve. He doesn't make deals. He doesn't take your arguement into consideration, no matter how well you defend your side. It would undercut his authority.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Six Years of My Life for this Purpose
I've done it! It's done! My novel is finally done! I just finished typing the last chapter. It's all there and it's glorious.
Of course, I haven't quite figured out how they defeat the trolls in the mountains just yet. I just kinda summarized parts of that chapter. And the beginning is too choppy, and there are all kinds of inconsistencies throughout the whole thing. Plus it's WAY too long. Right now it tops out at about 91,800 words. Unless you're J.K. Rowling, editors won't even consider anything over 80,000, preferably 60,000 for YA novels, like mine. But cutting is easier than adding, and heck, it's done!
Well...so I guess I'll go get drunk now.
Of course, I haven't quite figured out how they defeat the trolls in the mountains just yet. I just kinda summarized parts of that chapter. And the beginning is too choppy, and there are all kinds of inconsistencies throughout the whole thing. Plus it's WAY too long. Right now it tops out at about 91,800 words. Unless you're J.K. Rowling, editors won't even consider anything over 80,000, preferably 60,000 for YA novels, like mine. But cutting is easier than adding, and heck, it's done!
Well...so I guess I'll go get drunk now.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Friends and Breastfeeding
Here's a cute pic of me at the Carnivale Fancy dress party at WisCon. My head looks weird because there's a mask on it, though you can't tell. Rebecca and Carla are with me, two friends I actually managed to make this weekend.
On the plane home from WisCon, who just happened to be sitting by me, but Sharyn November, senior editor for Peguin's YA scifi/fantasy line. Watch me twitch with anxiety. She noticed I was reading her latest anthology as we waited to board the plane, and then on it, she was sitting just behind me. As the plane landed and we waited for everyone to get off (we were waaaaay at the back), I got her to sign the book and chatted with her about past and future anthologies. Now, I didn't exactly secure an invitation to submit, but she did mention that she never gets enough science fiction and is looking for it for her next anthology. So in the next 30 days, I must finish the sci fi story I'm writing right now and send it to her. She's one of the top editors around, which means my chances are slim, but what the heck, it's a chance.
So, last time I wrote my dispatches from WisCon, I was just sending them as emails to Jen. In them, I wrote extensively about the heavy-breather girl I recognized from an English class I took and her Jesus-esque boyfriend. They were back this year. The entire weekend, he wore Ali Baba-style pants that allowed us all to see his lovely black brief underwear. And guess what? They've procreated. There was a kid, walking and talking, probably 2 or 3 years old. Which means she could have been pregnant last time I saw her, three years ago. OK.
So I'm sitting in the room where everyone gathers between panels. They have soda and cookies and cheese and tables for everyone to hang out and eat. I'm waiting for my bagel to toast. Heavy-breather English girl is lying on a couch nearby napping, until her child comes and sticks its hands down her shirt. I kind of laugh, because kids do things like that. Heavy-breather then proceeds to haul her shirt up, yank her bra down and pop out a boob. Snack time for junior.
Now. I am all about women breast-feeding in public. Most women are very discreet about it, covering up with a baby-blanket and kind of just tucking the kid under there. It's beautiful and healthy and brings joy to my heart to see it. But don't just flop it all out there, people. And how does the saying go? "If they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old to have it." This kid stood next to the couch, took a drink, then went back to playing with legos. Ugh ugh ugh.
On the plane home from WisCon, who just happened to be sitting by me, but Sharyn November, senior editor for Peguin's YA scifi/fantasy line. Watch me twitch with anxiety. She noticed I was reading her latest anthology as we waited to board the plane, and then on it, she was sitting just behind me. As the plane landed and we waited for everyone to get off (we were waaaaay at the back), I got her to sign the book and chatted with her about past and future anthologies. Now, I didn't exactly secure an invitation to submit, but she did mention that she never gets enough science fiction and is looking for it for her next anthology. So in the next 30 days, I must finish the sci fi story I'm writing right now and send it to her. She's one of the top editors around, which means my chances are slim, but what the heck, it's a chance.
So, last time I wrote my dispatches from WisCon, I was just sending them as emails to Jen. In them, I wrote extensively about the heavy-breather girl I recognized from an English class I took and her Jesus-esque boyfriend. They were back this year. The entire weekend, he wore Ali Baba-style pants that allowed us all to see his lovely black brief underwear. And guess what? They've procreated. There was a kid, walking and talking, probably 2 or 3 years old. Which means she could have been pregnant last time I saw her, three years ago. OK.
So I'm sitting in the room where everyone gathers between panels. They have soda and cookies and cheese and tables for everyone to hang out and eat. I'm waiting for my bagel to toast. Heavy-breather English girl is lying on a couch nearby napping, until her child comes and sticks its hands down her shirt. I kind of laugh, because kids do things like that. Heavy-breather then proceeds to haul her shirt up, yank her bra down and pop out a boob. Snack time for junior.
Now. I am all about women breast-feeding in public. Most women are very discreet about it, covering up with a baby-blanket and kind of just tucking the kid under there. It's beautiful and healthy and brings joy to my heart to see it. But don't just flop it all out there, people. And how does the saying go? "If they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old to have it." This kid stood next to the couch, took a drink, then went back to playing with legos. Ugh ugh ugh.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Final Report
I just finished accosting Holly Black in the book signing room. She wasn't sitting at a table with a name sign like everyone else, probably because her books weren't being sold at the convention, but I had brought "Tithe" with me. So I screwed up my courage and walked up to her and asked her to sign it. Here is what she wrote: "To Jasmine--what belongs to you, but others use it more than you do? Holly Black"
My name.
She was really nice and I got to talk to her a little while about her award and about the sequel to "Tithe." Then I made a rather ungraceful exit because I was afraid I would bug her. I like her a lot. I attempted to get Kelly Link's signature, but have failed so far. She's not at a table either, and accosting her has been more difficult.
I have mixed feelings about this weekend. It made me more frustrated that I haven't been published yet, but it didn't make me doubt my own writing abilities. Which, I guess, is a good thing. It made me want to grow up to be Jane Yolen, and it made me want to take more classes and read more books. I made enough friends to be able to sit around talking to them until 1 a.m. last night. But will the friends get me anywhere? I understand that that is not the point of friends, but that is part of the point of coming here. To make contacts that can help me out. But you never know who the next Holly Black will be. I hope I can come back; I hope I will be published by next year. I hope the panels will get better, or I will get better at choosing them and at understanding what they are telling me.
I cried at the Guest of Honor speeches last night. Jane Yolen spoke about her husband who just died, Kate Wilhelm told us how she would never compromise what her books were about, even if it meant they wouldn't get published. Easy to say when you're Kate Wilhelm.
One last thing. I have decided I need to go to Clarion. Maybe not next year, or the year after, but soon. It is six weeks long, but it's something I have to do (if they'll take me. But why wouldn't they?).
There is such a great community, and such great personalities here. Even when I can't stand the level of nerdiness (I heard a guy say today: "I'm biligual--I speak English and Computer. I put that at the top of my resume...") it's still an incredibly open and creative atmosphere.
My name.
She was really nice and I got to talk to her a little while about her award and about the sequel to "Tithe." Then I made a rather ungraceful exit because I was afraid I would bug her. I like her a lot. I attempted to get Kelly Link's signature, but have failed so far. She's not at a table either, and accosting her has been more difficult.
I have mixed feelings about this weekend. It made me more frustrated that I haven't been published yet, but it didn't make me doubt my own writing abilities. Which, I guess, is a good thing. It made me want to grow up to be Jane Yolen, and it made me want to take more classes and read more books. I made enough friends to be able to sit around talking to them until 1 a.m. last night. But will the friends get me anywhere? I understand that that is not the point of friends, but that is part of the point of coming here. To make contacts that can help me out. But you never know who the next Holly Black will be. I hope I can come back; I hope I will be published by next year. I hope the panels will get better, or I will get better at choosing them and at understanding what they are telling me.
I cried at the Guest of Honor speeches last night. Jane Yolen spoke about her husband who just died, Kate Wilhelm told us how she would never compromise what her books were about, even if it meant they wouldn't get published. Easy to say when you're Kate Wilhelm.
One last thing. I have decided I need to go to Clarion. Maybe not next year, or the year after, but soon. It is six weeks long, but it's something I have to do (if they'll take me. But why wouldn't they?).
There is such a great community, and such great personalities here. Even when I can't stand the level of nerdiness (I heard a guy say today: "I'm biligual--I speak English and Computer. I put that at the top of my resume...") it's still an incredibly open and creative atmosphere.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Report of Exhaustion
I'm tired. I'm tired of talking about science fiction. Scratch that. I'm tired of listening to mostly uninteresting people talk about science fiction. There are very few panels today that I had any interest in.
Last night was the Tiptree Auction, which is the highlight, not to mention the heart and soul, of WisCon. It is hilarious, and they auction off some really cool stuff--like a fan letter from James Tiptree (aka Alice Sheldon) to Carol Emshwiller. It went for $700. Also yesterday I attended an excellent panel titled "Never the Hero: Girls in Genre Literature." Sharyn November, a YA editor, moderated it. She's fun to listen to and so incredibly knowledgable.
I got to speak very briefly with Carol Emshwiller last night too. She is so amazing, and older than my grandma. She writes books and stories that I, even if I could manage to think up this stuff, would be too afraid to write.
Tonight the Guests of Honor will give their speeches. I love listening to Jane Yolen. She is the reason I came this year, and I have enjoyed all of her panels. She is so interesting and wise and truly intelligent. I can't wait to hear her speech.
Last night was the Tiptree Auction, which is the highlight, not to mention the heart and soul, of WisCon. It is hilarious, and they auction off some really cool stuff--like a fan letter from James Tiptree (aka Alice Sheldon) to Carol Emshwiller. It went for $700. Also yesterday I attended an excellent panel titled "Never the Hero: Girls in Genre Literature." Sharyn November, a YA editor, moderated it. She's fun to listen to and so incredibly knowledgable.
I got to speak very briefly with Carol Emshwiller last night too. She is so amazing, and older than my grandma. She writes books and stories that I, even if I could manage to think up this stuff, would be too afraid to write.
Tonight the Guests of Honor will give their speeches. I love listening to Jane Yolen. She is the reason I came this year, and I have enjoyed all of her panels. She is so interesting and wise and truly intelligent. I can't wait to hear her speech.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Report #SI565
I tire of social ineptitude.
I went to a panel on "Dark Fantasy" yesterday that I was looking forward to very much. It was so painful I wanted to leave but I was trapped in a corner by several barge-sized women with bad hair. The moderator was one of those girls who always acts like she's putting on a show. She's one of those people who will talk at top volume while waiting in line in case someone around her thinks she's funny. I made a mental note never to buy her books. Most of rest of the panelists were barely published women who giggle about vampire erotica and ghost stories the rest of the time.
Why are three-quarters of the people here overweight? Why do I have to be part of their cliche?
I did go out to dinner with a group of first-timers and managed to make a few friends--including one girl who writes Fan Fic, something I have no interest in. It was still fun to hear about.
At last, I went to a really good panel. Probably because it was sort of a wise old woman panel, with Jane Yolen and Suzy Charnas, among others. This morning was an even better one, again with Jane Yolen and also Sharyn November, an editor I really respect, and who is incredibly funny.
I caught my first whiff of Weirdo B.O. yesterday, which is unusual. Most people must have showered for the Opening Ceremony, and are only now becoming rank. I dread tomorrow, where it's supposed to get up to 88 degrees.
After a near social anxiety attack at the parties, where even Spotted Cow on tap wasn't enough to coax me to approach random important editors, I went home and got in bed.
Ten minutes later, my cousin showed up with a bachelor's party. Give me strength. Luckily they didn't stay long, but he then proceeded to play music for the next hour. The walls in that apartment are nonexistent. I was pretty sure he had fallen asleep by halfway through it, but I still thought it might be rude to barge in there and turn it off. Oh well, beggers and choosers and all.
I went to a panel on "Dark Fantasy" yesterday that I was looking forward to very much. It was so painful I wanted to leave but I was trapped in a corner by several barge-sized women with bad hair. The moderator was one of those girls who always acts like she's putting on a show. She's one of those people who will talk at top volume while waiting in line in case someone around her thinks she's funny. I made a mental note never to buy her books. Most of rest of the panelists were barely published women who giggle about vampire erotica and ghost stories the rest of the time.
Why are three-quarters of the people here overweight? Why do I have to be part of their cliche?
I did go out to dinner with a group of first-timers and managed to make a few friends--including one girl who writes Fan Fic, something I have no interest in. It was still fun to hear about.
At last, I went to a really good panel. Probably because it was sort of a wise old woman panel, with Jane Yolen and Suzy Charnas, among others. This morning was an even better one, again with Jane Yolen and also Sharyn November, an editor I really respect, and who is incredibly funny.
I caught my first whiff of Weirdo B.O. yesterday, which is unusual. Most people must have showered for the Opening Ceremony, and are only now becoming rank. I dread tomorrow, where it's supposed to get up to 88 degrees.
After a near social anxiety attack at the parties, where even Spotted Cow on tap wasn't enough to coax me to approach random important editors, I went home and got in bed.
Ten minutes later, my cousin showed up with a bachelor's party. Give me strength. Luckily they didn't stay long, but he then proceeded to play music for the next hour. The walls in that apartment are nonexistent. I was pretty sure he had fallen asleep by halfway through it, but I still thought it might be rude to barge in there and turn it off. Oh well, beggers and choosers and all.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Dispatches from a SciFi Convention--Report #JH975J
My arrival was flawless, though filled with anxiety. I stood around in the hallway waiting for the lunch room to open. People immediately grouped into laughing circles, while a few of us stood against the wall. Eventually, I managed to introduce myself to another wallflower, a soft spoken woman who stuck close to me all during lunch. Only two weirdos spied at lunch: one woman with the fiercest mullet I've seen this side of the Mississippi and another guy who came with business cards with a short story printed on the back.
My writing workshop went well--great, actually. No weirdos there. I got some new ideas and new friends. Dinner was leftover meatloaf at my cousin's, which is conveniently located a block and a half from the con. He is conveniently gone most of the time too.
I volunteered to stuff packets, which was fun and chocolate-filled, but overwhelming. No matter how much I WANT to make new friends, after a certain point I can't talk anymore. Luckily someone told me I should go to the reading down the street rightnow and cash in on the cheese plate. I saw Kelly Link. Froze up when I thought about talking to her. I heard Jane Yolen read and liked her even better. Now I'm waiting to go to an evening party.
I have a few things going for me here: one, my age. There is definitely a younger crowd here, but I have mostly talked to older people. I think it makes me unintimidating to them. Two: my tattoo. Great conversation starter, especially in this audience. Three: my Strand sweatshirt. Covers the tattoo, but anyone who knows the Strand digs it.
My writing workshop went well--great, actually. No weirdos there. I got some new ideas and new friends. Dinner was leftover meatloaf at my cousin's, which is conveniently located a block and a half from the con. He is conveniently gone most of the time too.
I volunteered to stuff packets, which was fun and chocolate-filled, but overwhelming. No matter how much I WANT to make new friends, after a certain point I can't talk anymore. Luckily someone told me I should go to the reading down the street rightnow and cash in on the cheese plate. I saw Kelly Link. Froze up when I thought about talking to her. I heard Jane Yolen read and liked her even better. Now I'm waiting to go to an evening party.
I have a few things going for me here: one, my age. There is definitely a younger crowd here, but I have mostly talked to older people. I think it makes me unintimidating to them. Two: my tattoo. Great conversation starter, especially in this audience. Three: my Strand sweatshirt. Covers the tattoo, but anyone who knows the Strand digs it.
Friday, May 19, 2006
You know you're a loser when your Great-Aunt parties harder than you
It sounds weird, but I actually had a really good time going home for my grandpa's funeral. I was homesick. I got to spend Mother's Day with my mom and to see all kinds of relatives I haven't seen in years. One of my mom's cousins has four kids--two of which I've never even heard of, much less seen. My Uncle Marty flew in from Germany. Even though he drives us up the wall, it was nice to see him.
Sunday night, after the wake, we had a few family memebers over for pizza. We plowed into the pizza and beer, then sat around the kitchen talking. It was getting late, nearly 10:30, and I was thinking about going to put on my pajamas, when my great-aunt Sandy (my grandpa's little sister--she is, by general family consensus, our favorite relative) came over and put her hand on my head.
"How late is the casino open?"
So we called the casino, found out we had a few hours left, and I, my parents, my two great-aunts, their husbands, and a cousin or two piled into cars and drove over. I played nickel slots most of the night and came out two dollars ahead. My mom won thirty bucks at one point. Then for the last hour we were there, I sat next to my dad and played the poker machines. We both had a lot of fun and we're thinking of making this a family tradition.
The funeral the next morning was perfect. We thought hymns for my grandpa would be silly, so there wasn't going to be any music but a guy volunteered to sing and play guitar and it was beautiful. I read my blog entry and actually made people laugh (at a funeral!). Then I handed out lollies afterwards and I got a few requests for copies of what I read. I'm glad people liked it so much. The graveside service was short and then we all went to T-Bob's for fried chicken and beer. All in all, it was a fitting tribute to my Grandpa Hammer.
Sunday night, after the wake, we had a few family memebers over for pizza. We plowed into the pizza and beer, then sat around the kitchen talking. It was getting late, nearly 10:30, and I was thinking about going to put on my pajamas, when my great-aunt Sandy (my grandpa's little sister--she is, by general family consensus, our favorite relative) came over and put her hand on my head.
"How late is the casino open?"
So we called the casino, found out we had a few hours left, and I, my parents, my two great-aunts, their husbands, and a cousin or two piled into cars and drove over. I played nickel slots most of the night and came out two dollars ahead. My mom won thirty bucks at one point. Then for the last hour we were there, I sat next to my dad and played the poker machines. We both had a lot of fun and we're thinking of making this a family tradition.
The funeral the next morning was perfect. We thought hymns for my grandpa would be silly, so there wasn't going to be any music but a guy volunteered to sing and play guitar and it was beautiful. I read my blog entry and actually made people laugh (at a funeral!). Then I handed out lollies afterwards and I got a few requests for copies of what I read. I'm glad people liked it so much. The graveside service was short and then we all went to T-Bob's for fried chicken and beer. All in all, it was a fitting tribute to my Grandpa Hammer.
Monday, May 08, 2006
George Hammer, the Devil, and Pete Kevilus.
My Grandpa Hammer passed away this weekend. He had lung cancer, and was doing very badly for a while, so this was not unexpected. He smoked two packs of Camels a day for most of his life, so the lung cancer itself wasn't even unexpected. For the first few minutes after my mom told me the news I felt...nothing. Then I shed some tears and felt sad. Now I am left with a feeling that I never would have expected: confusion. I have no idea how to mourn my grandfather's death.
It's not like when my great-grandma died. It was just a few years ago, but I had only met her a half-dozen times in my life. "That's so sad." I spoke my sadness rather than felt any and continued on with my life.
Nor is this like when my maternal grandmother died. I was just thirteen. I cried hysterically, comforted my brother who was crying even more hysterically, and looking at my mom's and grandpa's faces, I thought "Nothing will ever be the same." Nothing ever was.
But with my grandpa's death, I have to think about what will be different. No one will show up to family functions an hour late, carrying either cheap alcohol or greasy food. I will get $20 less every Christmas. There will only be one grandpa sleeping in front of the TV instead of two. When people hear he has died, they ask me if we were close, and I don't know how to answer that. Close, as in confidantes, as in a wise grandfather who taught me valuable life lessons? No. But growing up he lived just two miles away from us. I saw him at least once a week. I guess I knew him pretty well and it turns out I actually really liked him.
But what about my mom? Was she "close" to him? I'd say yes, even if she seems to have had the same relationship with him as I did. For the last few months of his life, he lived with my parents. My mom shuttled him back and forth to doctor's appointments. She got him in and out of bed when he needed help. Before all this, she still spoke to him once or twice a week, still gossiped with my aunt about his antics. She remembered his birthday, asked him out to go shopping or to the movies, even when he drove her nuts.
I wasn't sure whether or not to go to the funeral. It's a lot of time, a lot of money, time off work, hassle. All for a grandpa I can't even decide whether or not I was "close" to. Then I saw that my mom might spend Mother's Day at her dad's funeral--with neither of her children there and I decided that I had to go. Because, after all, funerals are not for the dead, but for the living. They are so that those left behind can be comforted by how many people they still have around them. I want to be one of those people. I want to hug my mom and my dad and my uncle and my cousins and cry over that gruff old tavern-owner who gave me lollies and always let me turn up his jukebox when Roxette came on. I am going to miss him.
It's not like when my great-grandma died. It was just a few years ago, but I had only met her a half-dozen times in my life. "That's so sad." I spoke my sadness rather than felt any and continued on with my life.
Nor is this like when my maternal grandmother died. I was just thirteen. I cried hysterically, comforted my brother who was crying even more hysterically, and looking at my mom's and grandpa's faces, I thought "Nothing will ever be the same." Nothing ever was.
But with my grandpa's death, I have to think about what will be different. No one will show up to family functions an hour late, carrying either cheap alcohol or greasy food. I will get $20 less every Christmas. There will only be one grandpa sleeping in front of the TV instead of two. When people hear he has died, they ask me if we were close, and I don't know how to answer that. Close, as in confidantes, as in a wise grandfather who taught me valuable life lessons? No. But growing up he lived just two miles away from us. I saw him at least once a week. I guess I knew him pretty well and it turns out I actually really liked him.
But what about my mom? Was she "close" to him? I'd say yes, even if she seems to have had the same relationship with him as I did. For the last few months of his life, he lived with my parents. My mom shuttled him back and forth to doctor's appointments. She got him in and out of bed when he needed help. Before all this, she still spoke to him once or twice a week, still gossiped with my aunt about his antics. She remembered his birthday, asked him out to go shopping or to the movies, even when he drove her nuts.
I wasn't sure whether or not to go to the funeral. It's a lot of time, a lot of money, time off work, hassle. All for a grandpa I can't even decide whether or not I was "close" to. Then I saw that my mom might spend Mother's Day at her dad's funeral--with neither of her children there and I decided that I had to go. Because, after all, funerals are not for the dead, but for the living. They are so that those left behind can be comforted by how many people they still have around them. I want to be one of those people. I want to hug my mom and my dad and my uncle and my cousins and cry over that gruff old tavern-owner who gave me lollies and always let me turn up his jukebox when Roxette came on. I am going to miss him.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Sally Field is Crankier than you'd think at 6 a.m.
But she knit between interviews which was cute. So it's OK.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Back that thang up
So yesterday morning, I was on my way out the door to work. I leaned over to grab my keys from the table, and BAM! my back went out. People think your back going out is like a snap, like something is dislocating. In the movies, there is always a big cracking sound when someone's back goes out. But for me, I have a back spasm. Usually just one. Every single muscle in your back squeezes soooo tight, like a fist clenching, and then just let's go, completely. It's like when they let go, they have given up working. "Yep, we're tired of carrying you around all day, so we're gonna take some time off. Here are some incredibly painful nerve endings to replace us." At that point all I can do is grab my cell phone and my bottle of pills and slump to the floor.
This time I started crying, nearly hysterically. I could tell it was going to be bad. Last week I'd had a tiny spasm, which scared me, but didn't actually hurt me. That should have been my first clue.
So I lay on the floor, while Joe did what he could to help me. I got a few more spasms, which is very bad, and cried more, but mostly because I did NOT want to call out of work. The head of my department was not going to be there in the morning, I had gone home sick (very sick) just the week before, and I knew this was not a good day to call out.
However, due to my inability to even stand up, I had to. I then proceeded to take muscle relaxers until I passed out for a few hours. Sometimes when my back goes out, I lose entire days without meaning to.
Back at work today, I can't sit for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. My brain is foggy because I have to take more drugs to keep my back from spasming even more. And, what's worse, the one guy who actually was here yesterday morning didn't notice there was a satellite feed to do. My boss, who should step in at times like these, didn't notice either. Technically, it's his fault, but try telling him that. Now we're going to have to have another "meeting." Ugh.
This time I started crying, nearly hysterically. I could tell it was going to be bad. Last week I'd had a tiny spasm, which scared me, but didn't actually hurt me. That should have been my first clue.
So I lay on the floor, while Joe did what he could to help me. I got a few more spasms, which is very bad, and cried more, but mostly because I did NOT want to call out of work. The head of my department was not going to be there in the morning, I had gone home sick (very sick) just the week before, and I knew this was not a good day to call out.
However, due to my inability to even stand up, I had to. I then proceeded to take muscle relaxers until I passed out for a few hours. Sometimes when my back goes out, I lose entire days without meaning to.
Back at work today, I can't sit for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. My brain is foggy because I have to take more drugs to keep my back from spasming even more. And, what's worse, the one guy who actually was here yesterday morning didn't notice there was a satellite feed to do. My boss, who should step in at times like these, didn't notice either. Technically, it's his fault, but try telling him that. Now we're going to have to have another "meeting." Ugh.
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