Alert!

I am in the process of upgrading my blogging experience to a new level. So, if you reach a dead end, it's only temporary, darlings. I know you are all dying to learn of my new exploits, etc., etc., etc. But I couldn't resist all the free time on my hands, with this "vacation" from work and all, so I took it upon my geek self to make the switch. I hope it is quick and painless. You'll hear about it regardless.

Thank you for your continued patience and support. My love to you all.

(Yes, I'm drunk.)

Mwah!

Like, wow.

I did it! In less than six hours, collectively. This is my new deal. Let's see how long I can go before I fuck it up. The archives are still incomplete, and I am going to attempt an import from Blogger to MT. Ha ha ha ha. I know. "Surely, you jest." No really. That's for tomorrow. I hope it goes as easily as the move over here did. Boy those stylesheets are something else, you know?

Oh well.

My limited ability to use CSS has resulted in the left side being a little lower down than the rest of the damn thing. This was "fixed" to allow Safari users (myself included) to see the whole thing. For some funky reason, the post part was...um, riding high...and covering the header. We can't have that now, can we? So, I fiddled with the CSS until I could get the post at least down a bit, but that resulted in pushing the left column down with it. Are the two related? I'm sure. Is it past 11 on a school night? For sure. Is tomorrow another day? I guess. Maybe I'll leave it and chalk it up to the charm of the whole thing. Still missing a few things, though. A work in progress...

So. Now what?

I have successfully imported every single dingle post that I've ever written for this blog, and it seems that they've all been properly archived as well. All done. Easy as pie.

Now what?

Not to Be a Downer

I think a road trip to Phoenix is in my near future. My grandmother is not doing well, and they (my mother and aunts) say that it's just a matter of time now. That fucking sucks. I have had this discussion before, but it still sucks. You know, people get sick and the news gets bad. Then they get better and the news is better, too. Then Denial comes along as says, "hey, what are you worried about now? They're all better, see? Just forget about it." And we do forget that the "better" is just temporary when you're 84.

And because of my own sitch, I'm kinda stuck driving. No chance in hell that I'll afford a last-minute plane ticket. Besides, it's only about 12 or 14 hours away, right? And you all know how I love to drive, right? And there's not a chance in hell that I won't go.

Ah, the mysteries of life. It's too easy to become complacent. It's too easy to forget our own mortality.

So I guess that's what.

The Friday Drive

1. What vehicle do you drive?
   A 2002 VW GTI VR6. Blue.
   

2. How long have you had it?
   One year, four months.

3. What is the coolest feature on your vehicle?
   Let's see. The sunroof. The CD player. The power windows. The fact that it's still so damn fast.

4. What is the most annoying thing about your vehicle?
   The fact that I am still paying on it.

5. If money were no object, what vehicle would you be driving right now?
   This very one. I like the Eurovan camper. I also like the Saab convertible. I also really like the Kenworth T2000. But that might be pushing it a little. And maybe just for fun, the USS Voyager NCC-74656.

Happy Friday.

Jeanne D. Strout (1919–2003)

I got a call from my mom last night at about eleven o'clock my time. She told me that my grandma died. She left right around the time I was making my post about her leaving. My Aunt Sue was there, Grandma asked for a glass of wine, she took a few sips, and then she left. Just like that. I hope she's in a good place now. And I hope she'll let me know.

I don't know when the services will be. My Aunt Jan will arrange everything. There will probably be two services: one in Phoenix for friends and relatives there, and one in Chicago for the rest of us. Because I'm just in a bad place right now, I might go to both. What the hell? I don't have anything else to do, and I want to be there.

I don't know what else to say.

It's Not Right, but It's OK

Well, I won't be driving home. The services for my grandmother will take place on the 18th in Glenview. My mother called today to let me know. She'll be cremated and laid in the same plot with my grandfather in Phoenix. But the service for the whole family will be in Chicago because it's the most central place for all of us. As such, it's a little more than I would be able to drive, though I've done it before, so I've borrowed again and will fly instead. I know it's the best way to travel, and I really do hope that I'm working before then. I don't know where I'm going with all of this. Just trying to keep up, I guess.

I've been watching reruns of "Dynasty" courtesy of a neighbor who's taping them all from the Soap Network or something. I totally love that show. I loved it in original run in the 80s, and I love it now even more that I can pick up on the innuendo and the total gayness of the show itself. I mean, isn't it obvious that it was written by and for gay men? Come on. Oh, and if there were ever a character that I could assume, I think it would be Fallon for sure...that is, Fallon before she had amnesia and before she was "abducted by aliens."

Tomorrow night I'm going to see Olivia Newton-John in concert at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco. I've been so looking forward to this concert. It was postponed because of the death of Olivia's mother in July. I've been really anxious to see her, and I've been worried that I slept through it and missed the date altogether. That would crush me to bits, I just know it. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event for me, and I couldn't bear to have tickets to it and then miss it. I worry too much.

Good night.

Unconscious Mutterings

1. Coat :: Check
2. Allowance :: Travel
3. Mist :: Through the mists of time
4. Disorder :: Borderline Personality
5. Scheme :: Color
6. Dick :: Head
7. Homework :: No More
8. Milton :: Bradley
9. Shampoo :: Lather, Rinse, Repeat
10. Z :: I am livin' on Channel Z...

I Can Die a Happy Man, Now

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed last night. I cried all freakin' night long, from the first song ("Have You Never Been Mellow") to the last song ("I Honestly Love You"). Olivia Newton-John is my favorite singer ever. If I had to choose, there is no choice. I couldn't believe that I was sitting like ten rows back from where she was singing, and I was watching it all. I cried my eyes out. It was awesome. She looks fabulous and still sounds great. It was totally excellent. Thank you so much.

Are There Any Memes Today?

I just don't have anything to write about. See below if you really want to know. Otherwise, I'll be back...oh my god, I didn't just say that.

I'm over the recall. I've done my laundry for the week. I made banana bread yesterday out of some overripe bananas that were headed for the compost pile, or they would have been headed for the compost pile if I had one but now they're a delicious cake-like bread dusted lightly with powdered sugar. I got a $322 ticket on American to my hometown next week for the services. Because of my travel next week, my plans to get out of here permanently are put on hold until November. A class that I was scheduled to start conflicts with the travel and so I'll have to wait until next month to start my future. I can't find a job to save my life. Even the temp agency to beat all temp agencies wrote me back and politely told me that the positions I'm qualified for are fewer in number than the applicants applying for them, and as such, they are innundated with candidates for the same jobs. I hope that you wise people of California have made the correct decision with what's-his-name. I hope that his brand of politics saves this state. If not, well, I don't know what. It's just that kind of day. Cheers.

Je ne suis pas du tout sportif.

One of the sincerely great things about Movable Type is that you can segregate your post into different areas that you can hide in case you know that not everyone wants to read the whole thing. I think I'll be using this a lot.

Happy Friday. It's Fleet Week up here in the Bay Area. Woo fucking hoo. I'll be out on Saturday night, you know it!

1. Do you watch sports? If so, which ones? Not usually. But during the winter, I like to watch figure skating (no comments please), though that is a newish thing for me. I picked it up during my unfortunate incarceration at Rancho Relaxo. I don't know if it will persist.
2. What/who are your favorite sports teams and/or favorite athletes?
   Don't have any, or at least I don't know any by name. There are a few guys I've seen that are hot hot hot, but who they really are, what sport they play, what teams they're on...couldn't tell you.
3. Are there any sports you hate?
   Hmmm, the longer I live the less I hate sports, which is true. In fact, I'm even becoming more impartial to boxing, which I always thought was an absolutely horrid, vicious sport. But it's got a hook that grabs you and keeps you there after a while. I think hunting animals as a sport is disgusting. I'm not really a fan of basketball, but that probably has a lot to do with the fact that I had a crush on a guy in high school who was on the basketball team, so I have flashbacks of high school rejection and unrequited love from time to time when basketball comes around. (It's not really a chronic problem, mind you.)
4. Have you ever been to a sports event?
   Sure, plenty of them. I like swim meets. I loved college wrestling...duh. I would like to go to more of the professional sports in the area. I went to the 49ers last year, which was cool. I haven't seen the Giants or the As play, but from what I've heard in the news, the last few games left much to be desired.
5. Do/did you play any sports (in school or other)? How long did you play?
   The closest I came to playing a sport was the marching band in high school. We had to march at the home football games...well, they were all home games because my town only had one stadium that all the high schools played at. Looking back on marching band, I really was a geek. But, I learned how to march to a beat, a skill that proved useful when I joined the navy a few years later. I only used it for a few short months during basic training in sunny San Diego, but still, I knew how to march to a rhythm, correct steps that were out of sync, and mark time. Who says that what you learn in high school can't be applied to real life? Comme j'ai déjà dit, je ne suis pas sportif.

Up, Up, and Away

I spent most of this day in the city watching the festivities of Fleet Week in the San Francisco Bay. We got there this morning to watch the parade of ships under the Golden Gate Bridge. We had perfect seats in which to do so, as well, right on Crissy Field. It wasn't as grand as I expected, and I don't really know what I expected.

After a bit of milling around the spectators, we left for some lunch, and then to the gym. (I sat in the car and waited. I was completely unmotivated.)

I was only able to see a couple of the "flying aces" as they did their aerobatics over the bay. I didn't see any of the Blue Angels. I've never seen them before, so I don't know what I missed. It was cool to see these planes fly by. I've only ever really seen them on TV and in movies. They're very loud. And fast. And it looks like a lot of fun. Too bad that they use these planes often to kill people and destroy things. (That was really a downer moment. I apologize.)

And then we came home.

I have spent the last three days out in my storage clearing and purging. I tell you, it's not cathartic, because I think that word is far too overused. It's more that I've accepted that I must do it. I've made my peace with this whole deal, and it's time to move on. I've shed the sentimentality of keeping all of this stuff, which has made the process that much easier.

When I was forced to get a storage about six years ago, it was under less-than-honorable conditions. I was escaping and going into hiding. It depressed me greatly to pack up everything I owned into a tiny little space with a measly little padlock to keep it safe. When I went to visit or retrieve things in the storage space, it would always overwhelm me a little to see everything crammed ungracefully into such a small area. Up until this week, it was a cross I had to bear, and I was ashamed of it. And what's worse, I felt that I needed everything in that storage: every single scrap of paper, every last shoe, every video tape.

But this week, I don't know if it was because I was so fed up with everything that I've been dealing with in the last few months or if I was really making the break. It's like I had finally understood that keeping years worth of "Details" magazines was just ludicrous. I don't care if David Duchovny is on the cover. Throw the damn thing out! Or at least recycle it. So far, I have cleared out six rather large boxes of junk that I had been saving for absolutely no other reason than "perhaps I'll need it some day." Well some day has arrived, and I don't need it.

I don't know what it is about me that makes me a pack rat, either. It's not genetic, I don't think. My parents weren't like this. It must be psychological, and I can't do that whole analysis thing right at the moment. I just have to get angry with myself and say, "do you need this? DO YOU NEED THIS RIGHT NOW? WHY ARE YOU KEEPING THIS?" And then I'll pitch it. So why do I need to escalate this whole thing just to get a point across to myself?

In my own defense, I have gotten better than I used to be. I remember, as a kid, cutting interesting articles or cute pictures from papers and magazines and saving them in special folders, so far as cutting out the mast head of the local rag from December 31, 19## to January 1, 19## just to acknowledge the new year. I know you can't see me, but even I'm shaking my head at such nonsense. And I recognize that some of the periodicals which I receive do hold some sort of informational value for a definite period of time. I subscribe to a Mac magazine that frequently doles out specific advice on how to cure certain ills or shortcuts to make life easier. These articles are useful to keep up until the point where a newer operating system or a newer version of the application in question is released, at which point the magazine's value is nill. So, as long as I can see the window of necessity, I think it's OK to keep these items.

I don't think I can get rid of the storage in its entirety any time soon. The path that I (would greatly like to) follow right now doesn't permit that. This is the main reason for the purge in the first place. It is temporary, though. I will not bequeath the belongings of my storage unit to any family members upon my demise (knock on wood). I think that would be rude. I do plan to get more organized as time goes on. Baby steps are good for now.

That's all.

Unconscious Mutterings

1. Timeshare :: Boca
2. Accounts :: Receivable
3. Temptation :: "Just My Imagination"
4. Hack :: El Presidente
5. Shadow :: Government
6. Infection :: SARS
7. 800 :: Call me now.
8. Infidelity :: The American Way
9. Springfield :: Rick
10. Gardener :: Ava

It Just Occurred to Me...

...that the Dock in OS X is a little like the front row of contestants on "The Price Is Right." The Dock is the equivalent to the task bar in Windows 98 and above. It holds running applications as well as shortcuts to other applications and folders on your system. When you launch an application, the icon for that app appears and bounces up and down for a little bit until the application loads completely. Then it sits there. It's like all of the icons for the apps are waiting just out of sight of the dock, and when their number is called, they run down and appear in the dock, ready to be used. So, yes, Michael, it is like what's-his-name announcing "Betty Jones...come on down! You are the next contestant on The Price Is Right!" She leaps up from her chair, runs down the aisle to the front row and bounces around a little bit until Bob Barker greets her and asks her about herself. You know, I think that is a fair comparison.

11:55 AM

Contrary to what I said earlier, I didn't go anywhere last night. I was too exhausted and dehydrated from all of the prancing around I did on Saturday afternoon. I never think that being out in the sun will drain me, but it always does. I guess I'm not used to being out in the sun enough for it to be a thought to have. Hmmm. But from what I've heard, it was a pretty good time out there. And then again, they all could be pulling our chains.

Does anyone ever cancel a post because they can't think of a title for that post?

Going Home

I got up bright and early at 4:00 am this morning. It was a rough night, and I didn't get as much sleep as I needed. Roommate took me to the airport where I got in by the skin of my teeth. I didn't realize that when they say to get there two hours in advance, they really mean to get there two hours in advance. I thought an hour would suffice on a 6:00 am flight, but no, it did not. Fortunately, the ticket agents called my flight to the head of the line so I could get in and get to the gate. <rant>The ticket agent told me to run my own baggage through their security gates and x-ray machines. That was odd. But that's not my rant. I wore tennis shoes on purpose this morning to avoid having to take off my shoes at the security gate, which I think is a wholly undignified experience; why don't they just ask us to strip down naked? They asked me to remove them anyway. There has got to be a better way to do this! Herding us like cattle, humiliating us with the removal of our clothing, and then reminding us that it's for our own good. What. Ever. </rant>

I will add that my flight more than made up for the indiscretions of the security at SFO. The plane was not full, and though I was in row 25 of 36, I was the last person in the last row of the plane, and no one sat next to me. It was nice to stretch out and fully enjoy myself without having to (god fear) touch someone else for three hours. I mean, I think the only time I would really want to touch someone for that length of time is during sex, and since it's been so long since I've had sex, I wouldn't even know that's like anyway. Whatever.

I'm in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport now waiting for my connecting flight to the homeland. This is the longest that I've ever spent in Texas, and though the accents are charming, I think I want to keep it short and simple. But that's so intolerant and closed-minded of me, now, isn't it?

Friday Night

OK, let's see. I'm in Elk Grove Village, IL, at my aunt's house. My mother, sister, nephews and niece are at a hotel away from here in order to not be a burden. I guess one person is better than six.

Last night was spent getting reacquainted with my nephew, meeting my niece for the first time as a cognizant human being, and meeting my new nephew (six weeks old) for the first time ever. I'm sorry to say, but nephew number two is just the cutest thing. He's so adorable. And I don't go for kids. I don't spend any time around little people, and so I don't know how to act around them. I certainly don't know how to talk to them. I don't have that instinct, you know the one that says "take an interest in what they're saying and say this in response." Do you all have that instinct? I am so grateful for that little gene that made me different. I don't have to reproduce. I don't have to (and can't) get married. I'll never have children, and I know I won't miss it. I'll live vicariously through my sister. How's that?

So, now it's Friday night, and I'm just sitting here. I forgot my tie at home, so I don't know if I should borrow one from my uncle or go to the mall first thing and pick one up. Let's see. I had a couple of things I wanted to say, but as usual, they're gone now.

Do you ever go to your hometown after a long absence and feel out of place or time? Like you just don't belong there anymore? That's what I feel when I go home to Cedar Rapids. It's been thirteen years since I haven't lived there, and when I go home periodically, usually in the winter, it's not the same. I feel like as soon as I hit the streets I'm going to run into people I grew up with, people I went to high school with. Chances are slim or none that I would, but you never know. And how egotistical of me to think that they're all just waiting for me.

Oh, I remember what I wanted to say. The flight from Dallas was long. I was on a Embraer 145 which has a maximum capacity of like forty-eight people. A row of two seats on one side, and one seat on the other. I was in the last row of the one seat row, and wow, I forgot they made planes that small. But I did that on purpose. I booked this flight on Expedia.com, and you have the ability to select your seats for all of your flights when you book the ticket. So, being the xenophobe that I am, I booked seats as far away as possible from the rest of the people. Too bad this little puddle-jumper was a full flight. Every seat filled. It was only an hour.

I'm so babbling here. I'm not used to being around my family. And I do that to myself. I sequestered myself out on the West Coast far away from all the people that know and love me. I never write or call (oh, Michael, you horrible person). I rarely visit, but that's due to financial difficulties and my lot in life. So it's not like they're all that used to seeing me anyway. It's time like these that I think about where I'm going, what I'm doing, and how I'm moving into the future.

That's enough for now. I'm tired, and I know I'll have a long day tomorrow.

Family Reunion

The memorial mass for Grandma was very nice. It was held in the same church that the family used while they were growing up in Glenview, Illinois: Our Lady of Perpetual Indulgence...Help, Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Sorry. I can't help but think of the Sisters when my mother says the name of her church and grade school.

The church itself was absolutely beautiful. I haven't been to church in like an age, and no, lightening didn't strike me as I entered, and the host didn't burn my tongue. I didn't cry as much as I thought I would. I guess I got it through my system before the service, so I didn't have to do it every time the father mentioned Jeanne, my grandmother. It's still very sad, but as I hear more from my mother and my aunts, her passing was a blessing. She was very sick and in a lot of pain in the last few months of her life, so it's definitely better that she move on to a more peaceful existence.

My mother's aunt and cousins were there, too. I haven't seen any of them in so long. So we did the whole "I haven't seen you since you were this tall," routine. "Oh, you're so grown up." I'm 32. I haven't seen you since, well since I can't remember. And then they stare like they're trying to read your mind and they can't quite get in. It makes me wonder just what kind of stories have been told about me when I wasn't there. They all know that I "live" in San Francisco, and thank heavens no one mentioned the gay thing. It's still such a taboo, you know.

I haven't seen my first cousins in so long, it was weird to talk to them again, and we didn't really talk at all. I was never close to my cousins. I always felt an animosity between us all, and it was clearly my fault. I think it's an inferiority complex that I haven't quite grown out of. It was in evidence again today, and I wish that I could just get over it, but it's not always that easy. So, we're all productive adults now, and that's good. I never really knew them well to begin with. There's the whole inferiority complex, but then there's legitimate distance involved.

My father moved us to a different state when I was nine years old. I never got to see my cousins as often as I had before. So I never really got to know them as people, just as members of an extended clan. You know? Like, oh yeah, she's my mother's sister's daughter, and I know her name, and that's it. I don't know anything about her. But the rest of my cousins saw each other on holidays and graduations and even just randomly. And maybe I'm a little resentful that I missed out on that. So I move myself even farther away where none of my family lives, and I hide from them out there.

It still reinforces this little quest I'm on, though. I mean, I have this road before me, and the forks are branching into more and more forks. Every time I talk to someone whom I haven't seen, they remind me of ideas and plans I had the last time I saw them, which could have been years ago. It's not that I would consider some of these ideas again as even viable alternatives, but it reminds me of who I was then. And it reminds me that I have alternatives, that I have other things to think about instead of pigeon-holing myself into one way only.

That brings something else along that I encountered when I was at my storage. I was digging through boxes of letters and pictures, and I found many letters from penpals that I had years ago. These people lived all over the world, and we wrote to each other regularly. I remembered that, standing in my storage, and I remembered how much personal mail I used to get as a result. That made me sad. It reminded me of who I used to be and who I've become. Most of my mail nowadays is magazines and bills. I rarely ever get personal correspondence. When did this change? What happened to change that? Can I get it back again? Do I need it back again?

So much thinking makes me verbose and tired.

OK, I'm Home

After a long day of flying the friendly skies, I'm home at last, with a big glass of cabernet at my side. I got lucky again as the flights I took were not full, and I did not have to sit next to anyone at all. I was loving it. Believe me. The flight from Chicago to SFO was shorter than expected, but comfortable. I was in the next to the last row of the 767, and because the flight was half-full, it was heaven back there.

I wish I could fly more often. I really do enjoy it. I always ask for a window seat so I can spy down on the people below. I usually have no idea where I'm flying over, but the landscape is fascinating. I forget just how much of America is rural farmland. Even in the mountains there are farms.

Anyway, now that I'm home, I really have to get back to looking for a better job. I can't wait any longer. And no, the "boss" hasn't paid me a cent of what we agreed to. He says that he hasn't been paid for his own services yet, and no one is willing to expedite his payment or some baloney. I don't know how he could possibly run his company like this. I am so glad I'm not there anymore. What a waste.

On that cheery note, good night.

Ikea

I was out and about today. I got my mail for the first time in over a week. Lots of magazines to catch up on. Most of them are catalogues, and it really makes me wonder why I bother subscribing to so many periodicals. Maybe it makes up for the lack of personal correspondence that I receive nowadays. Among the catalogues was one for Ikea. Instead of catching up on their sales on paper, I decided to pay the store itself a visit.

I drove home to the Beast and stopped for a leisurely hour-long romp through the bizarro maze of Ikea. There was so much stuff there, stuff that I forgot that I need. Like a new computer desk, or a whole cabinet filled with 50¢ coffee mugs that are a lovely color of blue. Or how about a table full of tea light holders made of solid, colored glass in dark shades of red, blue, purple, and green...also for 50¢ a piece with a bag of 50 tea lights for $1.99.

I can't wait for the day I can move out and get my own place. I love my Roommate, don't get me wrong. We've known each other for over a decade now, and he's my best and most trusted friend. But we can't live together. Well, we can, I guess, but it would probably be better if we didn't until we can get a huge house or a huge property with multiple residences on it. You know, a nice house with a guest house next to the pool or something. (I would live in the guest house.)

Anyway, with all of these forks in the road ahead of me, I just don't know what is more important: tea lights or happiness; a totally cute, square dinner table with matching chairs or adventure? I'm 32, and I keep telling myself that I have time to go, do, and be, and still have a chance at a comfortable life after that. I'm starting to doubt myself. It's not easy being unemployed. It tends to bring me down to a point where I forget how to believe in myself.

I've been applying to jobs almost nonstop since I got back from the heartland. I must have sent out close to two dozen resumes in the last two days. It's probably not even enough, either. I found one today at a company I have been looking at for a long time, and I won't name any names, but I would so totally love to work there. It would be heaven for me. So I did what I could, typed up a decent, honest cover letter, included my resume, and clicked the send button.

I wish there were a subtle way to tell prospective employers that they need to call me and talk to me about their jobs. I would be able to convince them over the course of the call that I really am the perfect person for their job. All I need is a chance. And at the risk of being needy and pathetic, please, please, someone give me a chance!

I'm sorry. I just had to get that out.

WTF?

OK, this is how bad it is around here. This is a downer, so click on only if you dare. You have been warned.

I applied at a local fast food joint because I need some income. I'm a very proud person who can type 72 words a minute, am an expert at Microsoft Office and a slew of Adobe applications...I can even transcribe from dictation for Christ's sake, so yeah it was hard for me to do this because I'm so damn proud...and competent. I got a phone call back from the manager of the store who read my application and references. She told me that I was "overqualified for the position and not a good candidate" because of my likelihood to flee to a better job when it comes along. So, I've reached the bottom of the barrel, and even it rebuffs me.

My deadbeat loser ex-boss won't pay me, and I'm this close to sicking a lawyer on his cocaine-filled nose just to get the one lousy month of pay he owes me. The Bay Area has become the black hole of the employment world. And I'm on the verge of something personally fulfilling, only I can't get any further because of the money. I hate money. I hate it so much when I don't have it, and I hate it even more when I do have it. It truly is the root of all evil. I wish we didn't need money.

Sunday

Damn, it was hot here today. It was in the 80s for sure. I mean really, what is it, July? Um, no, it's not. It's the end of October and we just turned our clocks back. *Dancing in my chair.* I love autumn. It's my favorite season. I love it when it gets dark at 5:00 pm. I love the chill in the air. I especially love sleeping with the windows open when it gets cold out at night. I sleep much better when the room is cool, my clothes are off, and the blankets are warm and heavy.

Oh, and don't forget the changing of the leaves. I was lucky to visit my hometown during autumn this year instead of the frigid winter. There were still leaves on the trees, and they were brilliant colors of red and orange and gold. The grass was still green. Hallowe'en decorations everywhere. It was hot there, too.

So anyway. It was hot hot hot today. So what did I do? Housework.

I am doin' my housework
Got no time to fool 'round
I am doin' my housework
Cleanin' up and I'm gettin' down

From the moment I woke up this morning, until I had to quit for chow, I was workin'. And I've come to the conclusion that, even though it's nice to have a neat and tidy apartment,

I'm so tired of this vacuum
Need a man to help soon
Don't need a man to make a move on me
I need a man to move in with me

Don't need a man to treat me mean
I need a man to help me clean

Someone who's heaven sent
Someone to help pay rent
Someone to share dreams and wishes
Someone to help me do the dishes

Then all would be well in my life.

What did you do today?

1. Roadtrip :: Heaven
2. Honey :: Secret Ingredient
3. Flanders :: Howdy, neighbor.
4. Vampire :: Bite me
5. Justice :: of the Peace
6. Marine :: Yowza. Come and get it, boys.
7. Protractor :: I nearly flunked geometry.
8. Rubber :: Cement
9. London :: My favorite place on Earth.
10. Jerry :: Ben &

Good Morning

You know, I'm a night person, wholly and completely a night owl. But there is something to be said for the very wee hours of the morning, just before dawn, and just before the rest of the world starts to wake and make its way out. I like this part of the day, too. I like the quiet, just before the birds start to chirp. There's only me and the bus drivers. Or me and the street cleaners. Or me and the paperboys um...well you get the point.

"So what's your point?"

My point is that my Sherlock has a channel devoted to the road conditions throughout London via the traffic cameras courtesy of Transport for London, where they are eight hours ahead of us here on the West Coast. So, as you're all waking to breakfast and the Monday morning dash to work, I'm getting ready for bed. And I'm looking at some of the neighborhoods on these cameras thinking about the chill in the air, the dew on the cars and grass, the noises just starting to grow louder with each passing minute...and I suddenly got all philosophical and all that, when we all know that I'm not and shouldn't be.

The fact is that I'm missing it all a little. I had a funky idea that if I got paid, I could take the whole thing, buy a cheap flight on some discount airline to London and just hide out for some time. Yeah, yeah, I know. It's silly. I was daydreaming, you know.

Cheers.

The Swedish Chef

Well.

Since I'm home on a restricted allowance nowadays, the job of cooking for two adult men has fallen on my shoulders. It's not something that I relish (no pun intended) because about the only thing I cook well is a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I can make pancakes and bacon, too, but we can't have that for dinner in this house. No.

So, I'm totally testing the waters with my attempts at following directions out of a cookbook. It's easy to read, I mean, I understand how to do what they're all saying to do, but I guess the recipes aren't the best because what I get out of them looks funny and tastes funny, too. OK, OK, I can't be Julia or Jacques on my first real attempt at cooking from scratch. I can make a can of soup. I can follow the directions on the box of Mac and Cheese...well, I don't need to follow those directions, they're too easy.

I have had this book for a long, long time, and I've never made anything out of it. So I'm testing something new tonight. I hope it works out. I like cooking, from what I've done so far. I think it's cool to take a bunch of non-related items, chop, dice, and mix them all together, and voilà, you have dinner. And this home time stuff has gotten me real interested. I mean, Martha's on at 9 am, then we've either got Michael Chiarello or Lydia on at 1 pm, and then Burt Wolf touring and tasting at 1:30 pm. So I'm watching and hoping to pick up some tricks. I'm even going to attempt risotto later this week. I totally love risotto. Let's hope I don't fuck that up.

So, Roommate, I have to thank you for all the cooking you've done in ten years. I'm sorry that I never carried my own weight, and I'm sorry I took your cooking for granted. You're a natural at it, though. (He really is, and he never uses a cookbook...all from memory.)

Let's see what this is all about tonight.

In vino veritas

I think I'm addicted to wine. I'm not saying that I'm becoming an alcoholic. But I am saying that the flavor and that certain quality that hits my tongue and makes it feel all warm and good is just too sweet. Because we have like almost a hundred gallons of (red) wine in the place now (totally long story that I'm not going to write about), I'm drinking it regularly now. I'm not getting drunk or even tipsy off of it, either. I think I'm developing a resistance to it. I don't know, can you do that? Anyway, it's to the point that I'm starting to long for the sensation that the wine makes on my tongue and that wonderful taste it leaves behind more than the high.

And I just love the fact that it's so good for your heart. I'm so glad that some of my favorite things (wine, garlic, sex) are good for you. I'm so tired of hearing about how bad everything is.

I haven't had a cigarette in months. I know, tell me about it. You can go either way on that one. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry." OR "Oh, that's fantastic!" My neighbors on each side of me smoke, and they go outside to do so. Every night I can smell their secondhand fumes drifting into my open window, and I enjoy it until I have to close the window.

I guess I don't have an addictive personality because I know that if I bought a pack of cigs tonight, I could smoke a couple and be done with the pack and not have to finish it or make it a regular routine. I've always been like that.

I wish the US would sell the 10-cig packs over here. They're sold in the UK and in Europe, and I thought they were a great deal, especially when you're just going out for the night, and you don't want to smoke that much. You know, have a couple, share a couple, and then you're done. Easy. Oh, whatever.

I just heard a car accident outside. Do I dare and be the lookie-loo that goes out and stares? No, I guess not. I am in the ghetto after all. Could be bad.