Well then...

Now that I've upgraded to Movable Type version 3.2 I guess I should post something. Who wants to look at a blank page?

So, it's been, what? Four months, give or take? Yeah. Um. Well. I don't really know what to say anymore! Imagine me, at a loss for words! Can you believe? No.

In four months, you'd think a lot would happen, right? Yeah. Well. No. I have this domain registered for eternity, so I might as well use it for something good. I have been updating the paroles page on a regular basis. I needed a quick way to access the song lyrics for some...well...all of the French music I listen to and can't quite understand, so I made me up some help. So the site has some usefulness left to it. And you know, I think I'm gonna try to keep this a diary like I wanted to ever so long ago. No holds barred. You don't like it? Don't read it. Whatever. We'll see. Every day seems to be the same anyway. I guess I can elaborate a little later. Let me collect my thoughts. I'm gonna go get Taco Bell. See ya.

A Little Bit Later

It has occurred to me that a blogging absence makes my heart grow fonder...for blogging. A couple of months off and I'm getting back into this whole thing.

So, I'm at work. It's 8:29 p.m., PST, on Saturday night. We have a submission being filed in a couple of weeks, so it's my turn to cram and get the stuff done on time. Unfortunately, we got a few key pieces a little late, so I'm trying to get caught up as much as I can for Monday. Sadly, I won't be able to make all of it up by this weekend, and I really don't want to come in on Sunday. I need a break, if only for a day. Oh well. I guess I'll be working late next week. That's OK. I expected as much. This is a small submission, fewer than 20 volumes if printed, but it's all electronic, so that reference doesn't mean much. There's still a lot of work to do. At least I have about ten episodes of Lucky Bitch Radio with the fabulous Wanda Wisdom to keep me occupied. Gawd, I love listening to her. She's just so fabulous!

Which reminds me. A couple of months ago, I forewent an opportunity to see Garbage at The Catalyst in Santa Cruz and then again at the Warfield in San Francisco in order to take a very impromptu road trip down to Palm Springs. (I'm still kicking myself for not seeing the beautiful Shirley Manson on stage, and the road trip was more of an escape than a vacation. I'm far too comfortable with this escapism than I should be.) I think I have fallen in love with Palm Springs...as a vacation destination, that is. I can't live there. No way, darlin'. It's far too hot to survive there. It was...when was that? Beginning of September? Anyway, it was still very hot there, in the hundreds when I got there. And sitting half-naked by the pool for a couple of days was a good thing. I met some very nice people again. One was a very cool drag queen from LA who was in town for a gig, which seems to be a regular thing for her. And I'm headed back that way in December for a week of seclusion and recreation. I don't know how much recreating I'll be doing in December. Well, I can't recreate, if you get my drift, but I can sure have some fun. It's just such a nice place to relax. I hope it doesn't rain. And seclusion? Yeah right. Last time I was there, there was this...well, now hang on. Though this blog rebirth has inspired me to drop the faux concern for the potential reader who might be turned off by my lack of tact regarding all things queer (this is my diary, after all, let's be straight about this, pun intended), I'm not going to go whole hog and get all dirty and sleezy. I'll save that stuff for my other website...

So on my road trip, I made an audio blog entry, a sort of podcast, I guess, which didn't go anywhere but my Mac when I got home. I had every intention of posting that audio entry, but then I got a little apathetic about the whole blog thing, and so now it's just sitting there. And I'm a little insecure, I have to say, about putting audio entries on this blog or even making a full-fledged podcast of my own; although, I have some clever ideas about what to do with it. I don't know why it's so hard for me to talk. If you really knew me, you would have to be a little puzzled at that, because sometimes it's hard to shut me up. I just ramble on and on...kinda like how I write. And while I think I could really get into podcasting, I just don't think it's going to happen. I'm better with the written word, I think. Where am I going with this...and to be real here, I've been recording my thoughts into a tape recorder since 1995 when I drove across the country for the second time. I spent the whole four days in each direction dictating and recording my thoughts for posterity, and since then, I have always had my little recording device with me in case some clever bit of wisdom popped into my head. I've upgraded to an iRiver recorder, which is super cool because it records FM radio, too, and I've made lots and lots of recordings. So if I really wanted to bore the Internets, I would post them all, but no, I don't think that's a good idea right now. And besides, I'm sure I've mentioned this all before.

Taco Bell was wonderful, by the way. I love that place. I could eat that stuff every day. That stuff is like crack, I'm telling you. And so cheap! A funny thing happened on the way to the Taco Bell. I drove all the way down there and when I got there, I realized that I left my wallet back at my desk at work. So I had to turn around, go back to the office, pick up the wallet, and drive all the way back. Can you believe? I stepped...on...the ball! Well, I just squashed it to bits! Imagine! It was ghastly! It was just ghastly! But it gave me plenty more time to listen to some new Madonna stuff from my special place, which is simply addictive. Love it.

K, so, I'm not getting anything done here. I'm gonna go home now.

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

I worked until nine o'clock last night. The submission is being rammed down my throat in order to get it out even earlier. That's really OK because it's doable; I just wanted to have more time to fine tune everything. But the more I think about it, it's really a good thing because I want to be done with it. You know, I had ten months of down time between September 2004 and July 2005. Down time is a killer for me. I hate it. I cringe at it. I am the worst employee during down time. So when the submission activities started up, I was very excited. I was glad to feel needed and wanted again (I know boo hoo for me). But even during all of the activity, there comes a point when enough is enough and I want it all to be over. Now is that time. We're still two weeks (give or take) from the filing date, and I want it over now. So, the more hours I work during the day, the more work I get done, and the faster this whole thing goes away.

Anyway, I get home around ten-ish to find the October 24th issue of The New Yorker all ripped and messed up from our cheapy mailbox. And before I get too far, the only reason I have a subscription to The New Yorker is that it was a free gift from Salon after I subscribed to their website. And I do like Salon. It's a good source of lefty news. But I read it more for the Broadsheet which is a punny name for their female-oriented blog, which has some good content that most men should know about. I also like their advice column, Since You Asked and especially the column from 13 July 2005 about planlessness which applies to me so much it's nice to see in print. But I digress.

So, I'm falling asleep flipping through, not very amused by the cartoons in this issue, when I come across a four-or-so-paged article on Sarah Silverman. Great article, by the way. Funny as shit. The first time I saw Sarah Silverman anywhere was in an episode of Star Trek: Voyager, "Future's End" where the Voyager and her crew are hurtled back in time to 1996 and are stuck there for a while. That's the same episode that the Doctor got his mobile holoemitter, which finally granted him the freedom to leave sick bay at will, blah blah blah. Anyway, she was a geeky astronomer in this two-part episode, and she wasn't all that funny, so I didn't think much of her when I heard, nearly ten years later, that she was in The Aristocrats, which was supposed to be (and is) hilarious. And then I got to see just a teensy bit of who she is, and now I want to see more! Hilaaaaaarious.

So then I got up, reluctantly, at 0630 hours, showered, and went to vote. It's an election day in the US, and while we're not voting for a new governor (which is too bad) or new senators or representatives, or even better a new president, there are eight measures in California that need to be voted on. I don't get political here, but Arnold Schwartzenegger is a putz and doesn't deserve to be governor here. He's never held down a real job in his whole life, and he's gonna tell us what the unions should do with the dues collected from the people who do have a real job? Please. I'm not going to elaborate further, other than to say that Maria Shriver is a stupid idiot for staying married to this fuck and practically denouncing her family's heritage by supporting this fuck's political agenda. Whatever, Maria. Does he beat you or something?

On that note, I have work to do, so have a happy election day and do your civic duty...if you're American, that is. Otherwise, have a happy Tuesday.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRS­TUVWXYZ

I totally snagged this from Roo mostly because I desperately want to keep this blog alive and I can't think of a damn thing worth writing about, unless you want to hear day-in and day-out about my commute and my long hours and my ignorant boss...which I don't think you do.

So thanks, sweetie!

A is for Age—34
B is for Booze—Cabernet or Newcastle or Guiness
C is for Career—Submissions publisher at a pharmaceutical company
D is for Dad's name—Michael (I am not a junior)
E is for Essential items to bring to a party—My sense of humor, my fake smile (because I hate crowds, and don't take it personally), enough cigarettes to get through the night and share with the inevitable "recent quitter," enough gum to cover up cigarettes and booze in case Mr. Right just happens to appear that night, which he never does, of course
F is for Favorite article of clothing—my blue hoodie sweatshirt, so soft and warm, and my new blue baseball cap, five bucks from Wally World, with a big yellow "M" on it, which stands for "Michael" and not "Michigan"
G is for Goof off thing to do—I so wanted to come up with something more intellectual, but intellects don't goof off, do they? The Internet or more specifically del.icio.us
H is for Hometown—Now, is that the town you grew up in? Or the town you currently call home? Cedar Rapids, Iowa for the former; Oakland, Calif. for the latter.
I is for Instrument you play—Ha ha. Oh, I'm laughing at that one. I used to play the clarinet and the bass clarinet. That's not the funny one, though.
J is for Jam or Jelly you like—Strawberry jam
K is for Kids—None ever!
L is for Living arrangement—Share a loft with a crazy
M is for Music I like—I can't believe people still ask this. I love so many artists, I can't possibly name them all here. Let me just say again that I have become mildly obsessed with Shirley Manson and Garbage, and I think she's super brilliant.
N is for Name of your first pet—A bitchy calico cat named Samantha.
O is for overnight hospital stays—When I was like six or something, I had a distended bowel or something, and I had to have a hospital stay. Nothing since.
P is for Phobias—Spiders, suffocation, crowds
Q is for Quote you like—The one on the home page about men and women not living together or some such from Katharine Hepburn
S is for Siblings—One sister, three years younger
T is for Texas, ever been—Only in the Dallas airport during a layover from CID to SAN on the way to basic training in the US Navy
U is for Unique trait—My gift of not being concise when I speak or write. I can't do it. I just can't.
W is for Worst traits—I'm a brooding, sometimes self-obsessed individual who worries inwardly and tends to never talk to anyone around him unless absolutely necessary, even though I am a fairly friendly sort when you get me going.
X is for X-Rays you've had—My right hand when I fell on a patch of ice and thought I may have broken it, and which was only sprained. Drama!
Y is for Yummy food you make— PB&J, English muffins with lots of butter and strawberry jam, chocolate chip cookies, brownies, banana bread
Z is for Zodiac sign—Cancer

Mutterings

OK, here's something that's always good to do. At least it's something. And it's also because the last entry, the ABC thing, was entry number 666, and that always creeps me out even though I'm not a religious person; it makes me think of Damien, the Omen. I'm getting chills just thinking about it. I need to put Poltergeist in my queue, which is now at 493 movies. How stupid is that? They'll cute me off at 500. I love that movie. It always scares the shit out of me. Especially that clown under the bed, and then the tree breaking through the window of the snotty kid's room. And then how the mother falls into the unfinished pool and she's swimming with corpses who are falling out of their caskets...love it. Why do I think that's so funny?

1. Mighty :: Mouse
2. Gotta find time to ... :: sleep
3. Statistic :: sad
4. Midnight :: the right time of the night
5. Thaw :: Spring
6. Hips :: Rose
7. Reader :: My book club QPB
8. Related :: Can't choose your relatives
9. Brilliant :: Shirley Manson and Garbage
10. Posture :: Oh I have such bad posture. My mother used to dig her fingernail into my back in order to get me to stand up straight.