Pampering

I got my first facial the other day. And it was great, but I also thought it was a tad bit on the odd side. It kind of seemed like the esthetician was trying to seduce me.

I mean I get there and they offer me a beverage. Then this woman with a sultry, low voice and perfectly coiffed hair leads me through a dimly lit labyrinth (which I became completely lost in), to an area in the back where I was told to strip and put on a robe.

After that I was led to another alcove where once again I was given a drink and then the lady (I forget her name so I'm going to call her Calliope because I like that name) came back and soaked my feet in some weird smelling bath.

Next we went into an even darker room, acoustic guitar music was piped in, where I was told to lose the robe and get under the covers. Calliope comes back in and starts talking in her hypnotic voice, I can't recall what she said but it lulled me into some sort of trance. Soon she started rubbing goo all over my face, before wrapping me up in a hot towel. She then gave me a neck, shoulder and arm massage before removing the goo and adding more goo but with a slightly different smell. I once again got a rub down (loved it), before she removed goo #2.

Finally she sprayed some mist on me and rubbed something else on my face. This was apparently the end of my session, and I must admit if she had been trying to seduce me I totally would have let her. Calliope, with sexy voice and magical hands, could have done whatever she wanted to me, I was so relaxed.

Of course when I left the spa and got into my car, my face was a scary, fire engine, splotchy red. But meh it was worth it. I will definitely have to do that again.

My castle

So I've got my shnazzy new place (shnazzy is defined as about the size of a closet but with a stove), and today I decided to clean it as my landlord's definition of clean and my definition didn't seem to match up. So I rented one of those lovely steam cleaners and dragged it up to the third floor, vowing to hit the gym so that I can carry slightly heavy items more than five feet without stopping and gasping for breath, when I finally got to my apartment I realized I had accidentally rented a place whose location randomly shifts to the surface of the sun.

After a few hours I think I lost 30 pounds of water weight and I get to repeat the process tomorrow. But at least now I can sit on the floor without feeling like I'm going to get hepatitis.

Now I just need to move all my furniture in, oh wait I don't have any furniture and I'm pretty sure when my friends see the stairs they are going to run for the hills (thankfully those are probably on fire so they will have no choice but to help me move).

Wireless

Sick of borrowing shoddy Internet from my neighbors I went out and purchased a wireless router yesterday. And I swear “tech” sales people are the most misogynistic guys around, I get more respect from mechanics. I get asked about 30 times if I was sure that I could do this myself, and if I was comfortable using computers? The manager highly suggested I get the inhome installation so that they could set up security, after all they were “certified.” He looked very skeptical that I could set it up without help.

After taking five minutes to set the whole thing up I’m pretty sure a retarded monkey could get certified. You plug a freakin cord in and then you run a CD. Why the hell would I pay $100 for some greasy-faced asshole to invade my home to do this?

But I now have Internet so I’m happy, no more websites crashing just as I’m paying a bill, no more gmail chat kicking me off just when a friend is about to say something interesting, and finally being able to quickly download porn, I must watch two girls one cup again with out it starting and stopping so often — I feel like I missed parts.

I'm ready for my close up

So Friday, after the debacle that was my flat tire, I came into work thoroughly wind blown and frazzled. Instead of getting to work I decided I needed some cookies and some Internet surfing time.

As I was sitting at my desk drinking a coke and munching on Oreos (no I did not dunk them in the coke and I don’t twist the tops off either) I saw the editor and the photographer talking. I heard my name come up and then they both turned to look at me.

“Colleen has a lot of hair,” this coming from my editor.

Now I was confused, the quantity of my hair has never come up in conversation with either of these two before, actually we’ve never discussed anything with regards to my hair before (which I think is for the best). Then I find out that they need a model for next week’s issue and the criterion is: a lot of hair.

Also I think they wanted cheap and easy, wait that doesn't sound good.

So I head down to the “studio” (a little nook by the break room where we have to move around a big table and chairs) and for the next hour the photographer (who is a really cool guy but I’m pretty sure he was laughing at me the whole time) had me flip my hair around while trying to stick out my hip, and curve my torso in a way that is physically impossible. Needless to say I almost fell down a half dozen times and afterwards I was very dizzy.

But Monday came and apparently the pictures just didn’t work. So off to the “studio” again, but this time not only was the photographer there but the editor and the art director joined as well. Good times.

Actually in the end it was quite fun, except for the slightly tweaked neck, and I’m officially a cover model.


OK so you can’t tell it’s me, but in general I think that’s for the best. And the story is about being in debt so it also kind of fits.

Eleven years and counting

Saturday was my high school reunion, my eleven-year high school reunion. Sure most schools do 10 years but our class couldn't get our act together last year so it was slightly delayed.

I guess our class was always a bunch of slackers. During rallies and football games barely anyone showed up. And as a class that started with about 500 students our freshman year we ended with a little over 250. Not the best matriculation rate.

I guess any reunion is weird. What do you have in common with these people anymore? I have to admit though that there were a lot of really cool people that I never talked to in high school that I really enjoyed hanging out with last night.

Basically we went to a local pizza parlor and had pizza and beers for a couple of hours out on the patio. I was surprised at how many people had kids. I was really surprised to learn that one couple (who got married right after school) was expecting their fifth child.

It was really interesting to see what people were doing now, and how you would never have thought that a decade ago. One classmate, whom I had attended elementary school with) had become a luchadore (masked Mexican wrestler) for eight years (or that’s what he said and if he made it up kudos for a great story), one of the artiest girls ever turned into an engineer and there was a guy who laid oil pipelines down in Peru.

Later in the night, the families took off and a bunch of us headed down the block to what I’m sure is California’s last saloon. Boots hung from the ceiling and there were a lot of wranglers packed onto the stools. The AC didn’t work but the beers were cold and the patio was pretty nice by then.

Outside poor Deb was hassled by an old classmate, and my two other compatriots were tired so they took off. I stayed until a little after midnight hanging out with people I hadn’t talked to since the ’90s.

As I drove home I got a text that asked, “One more drink?”

And there’s always room for one more, so I changed course and headed to a local bar. That last one definitely put me over and I woke in a bit of pain this morning, but I guess reunions should not be done sober anyways.

And so it continues

I was driving to work, almost obeying the posted speed limit, thinking about everything I needed to get done today when a car pulls up next to me and the woman in the passenger seat starts gesturing wildly. I stared blankly back at her until she rolled down her window and informs me I have a flat tire.

Excellent, so I moved into the slow lane looking for a turn off when I hear a loud pop and my car pulls to the left. Well shit, I pull over on to the shoulder and shake my head. There’s something about me and freeways — I just like to be stranded on them. And I was only about five minutes away from work.

To top it all off I left my cell phone at home, this is the second time I’ve forgotten my cell phone and I’ve been stuck on a major freeway. Last time the accident was decent enough that a couple of cars stopped and called the police, this time I had to hoof it to the nearest call box, about a half mile behind me, and there was an exit in my path so I had to do a little traffic dodging. It was also about a thousand degrees out with gale force winds (or that could have just been the semis hauling ass past me).

I got to the call box and I talked to the nice lady who I’m pretty sure thought I’m an idiot for forgetting my cell phone, not having AAA and not knowing anyone’s phone number that could come and help. In my defense I do know two numbers; one is my old roommate from college who lives in San Diego and the other is my old boyfriend who probably wouldn’t appreciate the call. Note to self: try to memorize work’s number and that of at least one person who lives in San Jose. But at least a tow truck was on its way.

So I start my trek back to my car when I hear a honk behind me, and the slowing down of a car. I look back and it’s an old, faded green Chevy Astro Van. Now as a horror movie aficionado I should know better than to get anywhere near this guy, instead I basically skip over there and ask him what’s up. He was just being nice and offering to help but I told him I had a tow coming. Right as he was about to take off, a cop (with lights on) pulls up in front of us. I keep walking and the cop get out of his car and tells me to stop right there.

At this point I’m a bit confused as to why I’ve been told to stop but I do it because I’m not completely retarded. He then looks at the van, which suddenly decides to take off, and back at me.

“Where are you coming from?”

I laugh and tell him the car behind him, then go on to explain that I had to walk to the call box and that the guy in the van had just pulled over to be nice. I don’t think he believed me.

He then says that he’ll drive me back to my car as it is safer (my car is a good 200 yards away) but there is AC in his car so I’m excited. As we are about to take off the radio blares a thousand different codes. The officer then speaks for about five minutes with maybe two intelligible words spoken, which I translate into meaning “I’m taking a girl to her car.”

When we get there he talks code into his walkie talkie again, which I assume means, “We got there.”

Afterwards he tells me that whenever an officer transports a female they have to report the exact mileage he takes her, and that there had been incidents in the past. That didn’t really make me feel better. After about 20 minutes of sporadic, awkward conversation (he felt bad about leaving me on the side of the road) the tow truck shows up.

Now I’m kind of living out of my car right now, so to get to my extra tire I have to move the contents of my trunk into my back seat and the Bruce (the tow truck driver) is not amused. So about ten minutes later he gets started. And $70 later he finishes.

And I’m off to work two hours late — again.

I am lame

The day didn’t start off that bad. Ok I was two hours late to work but I don’t think anyone noticed, but it was all downhill from there. I decided that I wanted a burrito for lunch, so I got one that had everything in it and brought it back to the office. I then managed to spill its entire contents (chicken, beans, rice, sour cream, cheese and guacamole) all down the front of my pants. Not a pretty look. So I head down to the bathroom and try to clean it all off in the sink, frantically rubbing at my crotch as some older lady walks in pauses, gives me an odd look, then scurries into one of the stalls and hides there until I leave. I then go back to my desk in noticeably soaking wet pants.

I had plans with some friends later in the day so to kill time after work I decided to walk around downtown. As I head back to my car around 6:30, I see one of my coworkers taking off and he mentions that he set the alarm. I get to my car and realize that I don’t have my keys. I dump my purse on to my trunk convinced that maybe the keys were hiding behind that empty pack of orbitz bubblemint gum, but to no avail. Yep, they are sitting on my desk, locked in the office and protected by an alarm that I don’t have the code to. Wonderful. I vow (and I'm pretty sure this isn't the first time I've made this promise) to have an extra set of keys surgically implanted in my arm.

So I wait around for another hour for my friend to pick me up, by this time I’m hot and sweaty, pretty sure I don’t smell that great and my shoes, which are not made for walking, are pinching the living shit out of my poor toes. I’m standing outside and about every 30 seconds some guy drives by in some '80s POS, sporting a wife beater and decides to boost my self esteem by yelling or whistling at me, good times (one guy was kind enough to drive by three times). Finally my friend picked me up and we headed to dinner.

The next day I actually caught a few breaks.

I took the bus to work and it was spare the air day so the bus ride was free (took about 40 minutes though). And I like taking the bus, people watching on the bus is fun, staring at all the carefully blank faces wondering if they actually have personalities under those facades. There didn’t seem to be any fellow walk of shamers, but as I took a shower that morning I don’t think I was that obvious either.

My shoes continued to torture my feet on my mile walk from the bus stop to the office but thankfully I’m a chick and can usually push through footwear pains as long as the shoes are kind of cute.

Of course I felt like everyone I passed knew that these were the clothes from yesterday, I could feel the judgment radiating off the homeless man at Market and Santa Clara Street. Walking in the office I just kept my head down and ran for my desk. Thankfully I think most people think the editorial group is kind of odd anyways so I doubt anyone gave me a second look.

When I got to my desk, there they were. My keys were sitting on my notepad, all shiny and unused. Also I found that my boss is out for the day so I didn’t have to explain how retarded I am to him, which is good since he would point and laugh all day because that’s just who he is.

And to top it all off I had a change of clothes in my car and I found $3 in the parking lot! Yay me!

Parking tickets

I have this thing with parking tickets, I seem to collect them. I have three outstanding ones in San Mateo, San Jose (ok two in San Jose) and now, as of tonight, one in Walnut Creek. That's three different sections of the Bay Area, some that are separated by a bridge. Sure I would pay them but the moment after I get said parking ticket the stub seems to disappear. And it's not like I'm trying to not park correctly, but 2 hours tends to just fly by and I run out to my car to find that stupid white little envelope there. I wonder what would happen if I never paid them? Would they stick one of those boots on my car? How many tickets do you have to get before that happens? Because technically I'm at four. And is it per city or do you think they team up? And who keeps a meter running til 11 p.m. anyways that is just ridiculous. I think I'll just keep them in a drawer with my rejection letters for those days when I get too full of myself. Maybe this is just my version of civil disobediance, yep I'm protesting the disillusionment of the x/y generation with big government and their need to control every aspect of our lives by not paying my parking ticket. It's either that, or I'm lazy.

A challenge

I was 16 or 17 and this guy pulled into the gas station where I was filling up my extremely beat up Honda (back then I would pay for gas in change from the tips I made as a barista from a little coffee shop called Mocha Lisa, which has long gone out of business). But behind his pickup on a flatbed was this beautiful orange car. Sure it was faded and dusty and the tires were flat but you could tell it had potential. It just looked like it would be so much fun to drive. It was a 1970 Challenger and they have been one of my favorite cars ever since.

The owner came up asked me if I liked muscle cars. I didn’t know too much about them but like every other American I was a fan of early model mustangs. We then stood around as he talked about muscle cars and I decided that sometime in the future I was sooo going to get me one.

I still love cars but I know basically nothing about what goes on under the hood. Sure I can change the oil and tires but that’s about it (and if given the chance I don’t do those things). So the newer model of muscle cars that pay homage to their loud, heavy and fast ancestors, but also come with warrantees, are very tempting. And when I heard that Dodge was coming out with a new Challenger I knew I would want one. But I was a little worried; the new Charger leaves a lot to be desired.

So I was both delighted and saddened when I first saw the 2008 Challenger. It looks beautiful, its can get to 60 in 5, has a SRT-8 6.1L Hemi and it corners extremely tight. But the 2008 only comes in an automatic and of course the gas mileage is a bitch.

I mean what the hell!?!

I thought GM was the only company that was douchey enough to make fun cars minus the stick (I’m looking at you corvette, and no tiptronic does not count).

Ok so Dodge is already addressing the manual issue by giving the 2009 Hemi version the option of a 6 speed manual transmission. And the top of the line 6.1L Hemi will have an impressive 425-horse power under the hood so you really can’t bitch too much at that. But do I really have to wait another year? Not that I can afford the $40,000 price tag now or in a year but who cares, that’s what loans are for.

And it just looks so freaking hot. I want one (of the 2009 anyways the 2008 were all preordered).

The bad guy

Do you ever wonder: If my life was a movie what type of character would I be? First you have to figure out what genre you are in. Scifi/horror? Sadly, although it's my favorite, my life doesn't fall into that category (no aliens or knife wielding maniacs). Drama? Nope, although if I started fainting more maybe. So probably comedy, I get a laugh out of it anyways.

Next you go through the lists of your accomplishments. And it's not like you've ever killed anyone, but you start to realize that you aren't the hero. No you aren't even her frazzled hair friend that always makes witty comments, nope there's a good chance that you are the bad guy.

You go through the events that have led you up to where you are now, and yep it's true. That if people were watching your life they are probably wishing bad things on you and laughing when you inadvertently fall down the stairs. And you're not even a good villain, you're more one of those ones that no one is scared of, the ones that are laughably pathetic (in, hopefully, a slightly funny way).

Which is sad because I used to always think that if I got a chance to pick any role in a movie I would be the bad guy. they always seemed to have way more fun and they got really cool death scenes.

But to this I say no more. I think it might be time to truly explore my evil side. That's right no more rinsing dishes before they go in the dishwasher and I'm never letting anyone merge in front of me again.

Children

I've heard that caring for other people's children is the best birth control and I must say it is totally true. After a weekend with my sister's kids, whom I love, I'm very sure that I am not quite ready to have my own. I do want kids but just not any time soon.

And right now I'm in Utah where I'm pretty sure everyone has five kids and is expecting the sixth to pop out any time soon. Everyone looks tired. Almost makes one never want to have sex ever again just to be on the safe side — almost.

But to be honest I do like her kids they can be so sweet and cute. And even when they are being evil I can't seem to get mad at them, of course this is probably just guilt because I rarely get to see them, because well they live in Utah and it scares me out here.

When everything sucks

Oops apparently I’m not in the best of moods and it's seeping into my job. I’m supposed to be writing up little blurbs about bands and I was told the one I wrote just will not do.

“Before you check out Flock what you really should do is eat a shit load of peyote because that is the only way this bunch of acoustically challenged morons could be entertaining. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should. Mix in jazz saxophones, the av tech and a guy who just wants to be in a band, any band, and you get Flock, a visual and audio cluster fuck of epic proportions.”

So it’s back to the drawing board for me.

Curiosity

I’ve been looking for a room in San Jose and there are some disturbing ads on craigslist. In my short search I’ve seen two that wanted to fill a room with a “cute girl” for little or no rent with either some kind of compensation or massages. And one of the posts asked for a picture in all caps — twice.

And I’m so tempted to reply.

Not because I would ever live there but I want to see what these guys are like. What kind of person puts an ad out for that? Are they normal looking, are they the geekiest guys ever and thought that this was a genius idea, do they have weird growths that would actually impede them from getting sex in some normal way? I want to know!

Would they interview me and actually ask for sex? Do you need to bring references and possibly a clean bill of health? Are you the house bitch, and if so does that mean you can’t bring other people home? Would there be a schedule? Is there a list of dos and don’ts? Would there be a uniform of any type?

Not sure yet if I want to go to this place by myself. But if I’ll leave a note where I'm going it should be fine.

Stupid driving

I drove home last night, well I guess morning, at 3:30 a.m. it takes me an hour to get there. And while I was sober I was not awake. About twenty minutes into the drive I started dreaming. It was weird because I was still awake but for some reason I just couldn’t process the images coming into my head.

The reflectors ahead in the distance coupled with taillights became a two-headed serpent that writhed about in the road just ahead of me. A couple of blinks later and it was gone. A bush became a fat lumberjack that had no knees, and a shadow in the car became a weird pig-faced werewolf thing in my backseat (that one freaked me out a bit).

I turned the music up and the AC on but it didn’t really help. I know the road so well as I drive it everyday, but last night there were whole stretches that I can’t remember.

Thankfully there were no other cars on the road or I would have been screwed. I remember swerving a couple of times because I thought there was something in the road that wasn’t there. On the last stretch about a mile before home I screeched to a halt so I wouldn’t hit the tollgate. There’s no tollgate, but it took me a couple of seconds to realize it.

My head bobbed again and I knew I probably should have pulled over but a nice warm bed was only minutes up the road and I didn’t want to stop. I made it home and kind of sat dazed in the car for about five minutes before stumbling up to my room.

Next time I need to stop and get some coffee or something, that was just dumb.

Jobs

I used to get excited when school was over. Yeah the summer! But now when school is out it means I have to get a second job, give up my weekends and try to smile nicely at the world’s most retarded people.

I’ve had a crap load of jobs in my short life, some really mundane while some were pretty interesting. I kind of miss those stupid little jobs I had during high school and college, the ones that didn’t matter and that even while I hated the jobs I had fun while I was there. so here's an incomplete list of some of my working past.

I got my first job at 14 doing data inputting in a warehouse in Oakland, I crashed their system — twice.

I then worked at a lovely coffee house where I would come home smelling like double lattes and would use the nickels and dimes I got for tips to pay for gas, the attendant hated me.

I then moved on to a Pumpkin Farm (which my friend still owns), that was the best. All of my friends and I had really buff arms from throwing and catching pumpkins for two months.

This was followed by a few summers of waitressing where I learned humility, and that my old teachers were good tippers.

After that I was off to college and I graduated to bartending, where I gave alcoholics more alcohol. But they tipped really well and I had creepy guys always hitting on me so that was fun.

I then moved on to filing at a defense contractor, Sept. 11 hit and that job became no fun. Actually filing in general blows, and I love how managers feel the need to explain filing in great depth. I know the freakin alphabet lady back off.

After college I got a real job in marketing, which sucked, and was there for almost three years (I got hired by another company 3 months before my old job would have matched my 401k, how stupid am I?).

That last job was the only one I got fired from. I should have known better than to yell at my boss, but what a bitch. I can only hold my tongue for so long. So after three months I was jobless again.

I came up to the bay area and got a job working part time at a cemetery. This had to be the world’s most boring job. I spent most of my time forming escape scenarios in case the dead suddenly popped up and started trying to eat my brains. Because you need a few escape routes just in case, I mean you don’t know if they are going to be the slow shuffling zombies or that fast as all hell ones.

Now I’m at the Metro. Which I really like, but one of these days I’m going to have to get myself a real job again, and I don’t think I’m looking forward to that.

Kind of

It was later in the night and I just walked through the door to the bar. I was putting my I.D. away when this guy comes up to me grabs my arm and drags me in closer. His warm, alcohol-infused breath fans over my face, as he looks deeply into my eyes and says, “You’re kind of pretty.”

He then abruptly lets go and walks away.

What the hell? You’re drunk and you couldn’t commit to pretty? Was that supposed to be a compliment? Wow, well I don’t retch when I see you so that’s a good thing, right?

Were your beer goggles askew? I’m not some freaking gargoyle. Next time just commit to pretty, it’s not that strong a word. Or at least if you are going to insult me buy me a drink first.

Time, what's that?

The majority of my days I try to wake up at 8:30 a.m., shower get ready and out the door by 9:30 (this often doesn't happen). At work by 10 then leave at 1 p.m. and off to the daily at 1:30. These last few weeks I've been at the daily til about 2 a.m. I then drive a half hour home to tiptoe through the house and try not to wake up A.

I'm a little tired but lately have found it difficult to go to bed any earlier than two. It sucks because in general I still wake up around 9 a.m. So I really want to go to sleep but I can't, and if I try to go to sleep now I'll murder A because of the snoring (my temper gets really short when I can't sleep).

But usually I have a few friends that I can talk to online until the wee hours of the morning but tonight they have all left me. So instead I sit here, not enjoying, the Chronicles of Riddick, hoping a little more alcohol might quiet a restless spirit. It's not working but hopefully it will at least quell any dreams I might have, because lately they have gone places I truly wish they hadn't.

Little Annoyances

So Thursday I went on saw the Sharks play during the playoffs. It was great, we won and I had a really fun time. There was just one little kink in the night's joyousness.

The most obnoxious lady was sitting behind us yelling the whole night long. Now don't get me wring I love yelling during sporting events, cheering on my favorite players and screaming at the opposition, but she went above and beyond. Every second she yelled advice, pass it to blank, now man up, ok head down the ice. Holy crap lady they have a coach, do you really think that during the game they are like "holy crap I have the puck, but what should I do now? wait I hear a grating voice from the stands, what did she say? That was brilliant, yes I will shoot. Why didn't I think of that?"

I looked back and she looked like a slightly younger version of the villain from Goonies, with a voice that was a smidge deeper than Fran Drescher's. I really wanted to drop my beer on her but since she was behind me it would have been rather obvious, so I restrained myself.

Of course they lost tonight. But they were in Calgary, so maybe her yelling really did help.

Songs of the pathetically sad

So I live in the land of preppies. There is only one bar within walking distance (a must for stumbling home, I hate taking cabs), and it is the saddest thing ever. I went with a girlfriend last week and we started a count of all the old people versus the young people. I was surprised because throughout the night it stayed pretty even.

But I think the big draw, for other people, was the karaoke. The bar was kind of fun, people talking, you could hear laughter, and then the karaoke guy got there. And that's when things took a turn for the worse. It was painful, apparently the only songs you could choose from were old whiny ones that most people have never heard of. I just wanted to put some of these pathetic souls out of their misery, they weren't bad singers but the subject of the songs were painful.

The worst part is I'll go back because it's only four blocks away, and they have a pool table.

More work

So I've been trying to be good about writing for other publications than just the schools. And by trying to be good I mean hoping someone will contact me out of the blue because I haven't sent out a query letter in ages.

Well I guess I should be careful for what I wish for because I now have two articles due in a week for two different places and I really don't have time to do them. Wonderful.

So I will have to pretend to be a journalist for the next week and actually get my shit together.

Also note to self: learn to say no.

Perks

Finally being a journalist has paid off. I got to see the movie "21" a whole day before it came out. The movie was ok but what was really cool was that my name was on a list, I didn't have to wait in line, and I got to sit in a roped off area. But the best thing was that when someone asked why I was so special, I got to give them a haughty look and tell them it was because I was with the press. Which I'm a little pissed at myself for because two seconds after she left I would have told her it was because of the blow jobs, but oh well.

A man's role

After getting a few drinks with some of the reporters from the Daily I headed back to my car (ok it was after getting a hot dog, after sitting around the newsroom sobering up, after getting drinks) I found myself walking in front of this big guy talking loudly on his cell phone. I loved his conversation so much that I slowed down so that I could follow him around for a few minutes.

This is basically what I heard:

"I know you love to cook but that's not the point."
"You just can't do it."
"Listen, even if you love to cook, you're going to train her to expect you to cook for her, and you don't want that."
"You can't have her expecting you to be in the kitchen. That's not the man's role that's the woman's."

Sure I had to walk a little farther but I was so entertained. The guy was so irate. I kind of wondered if he had a girlfriend, and maybe he secretly loved to sew but didn't tell anyone because once again that falls into women's work.

If your friend loves to cook, let him cook. And make sure to invite yourself over all the time so that he can cook for you. There are a shortage of people who love to cook that I'm friends with so I try to encourage them as much as possible.

Sniff...

On Saturday A and I headed into San Francisco to check out the Chinese New Year parade. OK I just really wanted sparklers and thankfully some nice lady we were standing next to gave me one (they weren't as super-amazing as in my childhood memories).

To get to the parade we decided to take public transportation so we drove to Milbrae to catch the BART. I've taken public transportation throughout my life and the smells I usually associate with it are stale sweat, bad breath and B.O. so I was surprised at the scent wafting around the Milbrae BART station. It smelled like freshly baked cookies.

On our way back out we again smelled the delicious smell of chocolate chip cookies. We looked around but the only restaurant we saw was an In-N-Out, and to my knowledge they don't bake a lot of cookies.

Four days later and I'm still wondering where the smell came from. Will it be there next time? And where can I get some?

Opinions

Damn I've been slacking. But I've been busy doing stuff, no seriously.

With working on the Daily and a job and trying to get my thesis OK'd my food intake has suffered. Lately I've been living off of nutterbutters, coke and noodles, tasty tasty microwavable noodles. I get so much crap from my boss for my eating habits but he's a pseudo vegetarian (I feel vegetarians and health food eaters are weak and can't survive off the stuff that I eat) so I think I eat worse when I'm around him just to get him mad. Oh the things I do to entertain myself.

Anyways I've been trying to think of things that I feel strongly about so that I can write an opinion piece and I've come to the realization that I'm a shallow person that doesn't care about anything.

The first thing I thought about was those damn Helio commercials, "don't call it a phone." If I paid $100 bucks for something and another $50 a month I will call it whatever I want.

Next one I thought of was the left arrow turn light. OK in some places it makes sense but it seems like they are popping up everywhere, if I can see 500 feet down the road can't I just go when I see that it's safe?

And finally I thought of those stupid forwards about the good ol' days. They were better because you were younger and had no awareness about the world around you, things change that's life. I loved the smurfs too but at the same time the American Embassy in Iran was overrun and people were taken hostage. Does that really sound so peachy to you?

Oh well I'll have to work on the opinion thing, some how I have to come up with a coherent idea for it too, so many damn rules.

The pain of a used car

The day after I got my car the engine light went on. THE DAY AFTER I BOUGHT IT! And of course I bought it "as is" so I am shit out of luck. But it still drives ok so I am ignoring it for now (I know I'm a freakin genius), until something catastrophic happens or until I have a real job to pay for stuff.

I took another non-paid writing thing with a weekly paper. And I went to a staff meeting and everyone there seemed to be over 80. How they are still able to get around is kind of beyond me. They could barely hear each other with out screaming "WHAT? What did he say?" Every five minutes I don't see how they are able to hold coherent interviews at all. But I figured why not I need to get more writing in anyways and I love ramen so i don't actually need money anyways.

Well I am off to the dealership to try and beg and plead for them to fix my car for free (I'm sure that will work well, since I'm trying to talk to a used car dealer), wish me luck.

Newish Car

I bought my first used car tonight. Headed over to a pseudo sketchy car dealership handed them a decent sized check and drove away in a white, slightly scratched, 2000 Honda Civic.

I bought my first used car tonight. Headed over to a pseudo sketchy car dealership handed them a decent sized check and drove away in a white, slightly scratched, 2000 Honda Civic.

I've been looking for a couple of weeks since I totalled my car back in December. And I have to admit towards the end there I just wanted the whole ordeal to be over with. I was good I checked out the carfax and test drove the thing no black smoke anywhere, but I passed on the warranty, seems like a scam. Oh well it's shiny and gets me from point A to point B and that's basically what I want.

At least I don't have to drive around the Saturn anymore.

Shady dealings at MacWorld

After a couple of hours wandering the aisles of MacWorld I was tired and starving. So I headed out into the sunny (not quite warm but not that cold) streets of San Francisco and found the Cravery, which makes very tasty hand held pot pies. I took my pastry to a nearby bench and went to town on that thing.

When I could think of other things than food I saw across the street what appeared to be a homeless man that was "helping" people park their cars. And by helping I mean waving them into large obvious spots and then standing next to the back of the car behind the spot so they could tell how big the spot was. After all that hard work he expected payment.

If I had driven I would have been pissed. But I guess if people are willing to pay for such an obvious scam more power to the parking guy. And since I have been hearing more about such incidents people must be paying them or else it wouldn't have caught on. Which in my opinion sets a very bad precedent. What if you don't pay and the homeless guy gets angry and then doesn't something damaging or disgusting to your car?

This is a learned behavior, so those of you that feel the need to pay for some useless help grow a pair and say no.

A sad sad day

My favorite zoo animal has passed away, and no I don't mean Tatiana the blood thirsty tiger. No, Gemina the crooked necked giraffe at the Santa Barbara zoo has passed away at the ripe old age of 21.

I love giraffes. In college a friend said I looked like one and it kind of stuck. Although I often wish I looked like a prettier animal, you are what you are. But anyways it was always fun to go to the zoo and check out this crazy giraffe. She had at least two kids that I know of and her neck was the weirdest thing.

So here's to you Gemina, no longer will we hear shocked squeals from little kids, see old women pointing or hear docents explain for the twentieth time that hour that no Gemina was not in pain and that this is the first reported case in almost a hundred years of a crooked necked giraffe, the last one being in London. You will be missed.

Coffee accessories rock

Coming back from the bars last night we started discussing the ins and outs of Diet Coke and Mentos. When one of the guys mentions the amazingness of non-dairy creamer and fire. Now I'm always a fan of anything having to do with fire so on our way home we stopped by the 24 hour Safeway and bought some non-dairy creamer.

In front of our apartment at about 1:30 am (drenched from earlier rain) we stood in a little circle of five people. Then, each of us holding a handful of the nd creamer, one guy holds a lighter and sprinkles the nd creamer on the flame until it catches, when it does everyone else throws their creamer up into the flame creating a damn big fire ball.

It was glorious.

We did it quite a few times, and every time the flame got bigger and bigger. It was great and I plan on pulling this out next time I go camping. I mean who needs eyebrows anyways?

Damn you Fry's!!

I expect it at some places, mainly the autoshop or bar but not at Fry's, that bastion of capitalist greed.

So there I was was, A was looking for an external hard drive and we were in the computer section. I thought I would see if they had the Asus Eee PC there (because they are freaking cute and I totally want one). I didn't see one but I figured I would ask the helper man because, well hell, they're supposed to help you.

So I ask him if they have the Asus and he asks if I mean Acer, "No, it's the Asus Eee PC its really small about 8 inches."

"Are you sure they make computers? Asus makes motherboards" (a little condescending I might add)

A says yes they make a small computer and the guy totally turns away from me (the person he was supposed to be helping) and starts talking to A and totally believing everything he says about this ultra small linux computer, everything I had already told him and yet I got a condescending ass and A gets a friendly sales person. A, of course, is trying not to laugh because I was getting pissed and he finds just about everything funny. Stupid helper jerk isn't even up on new computers.

We walk away and go look for something else. While both of us are looking at hard drives another salesman comes up to us and says, "Excuse me sir can I help you find anything?"

Little bastard.

Happy New Year! Saturns suck

Ok I don't know if all Saturns suck* but the one that I have been driving for the past week does. A little background:

On Dec 18 I crashed my car into the center divider, that Friday they called me and told me that it was totalled. On Tuesday I borrowed my Dad's Saturn Sky. Now my dad is always trying to get me to like his car, but I've never been a fan. So when I crashed my car I think he was excited that I would finally drive his little car around (I try to take public transport now as much as possible), and realize just how wonderful it truly is.

But sadly there is a slight difference between my father and I when choosing vehicles, he chooses them for how they look and I choose them for how fun they are to drive (ok looks help too but that isn't the deciding factor). But as he was nice enough to let me borrow the car after I had just totalled one I was trying to be a little nicer about my rating but it just wasn't to be.

First off you basically lay down to drive, no matter how I messed with the seat I couldn't fix it. The gages are set quite far in and at some angles you actually can't see the gas gage. The shifter is nice, very easy but not too easy, all the gears are easy to find. First and second gear have a decent amount of power, third is ok but fourth and fifth are completely gutless, stomp on that accelerator all you want there is, sadly, no chance of whiplash. The driving is also too smooth you can't really feel the road. There is a huge blind spot on the drivers side and the radio is pathetic. Oh and it's a convertible, I hate convertibles.

So basically this is a car that tries to look sporty but my old Honda was more fun to drive. I wish my insurance would hurry up so I could get a new car. And by new car I mean a 2000 Honda with hopefully less than 2000 miles on it.


*there is a good chance that I just miss my car and therefore feel that all cars that aren't my cute little mini that gave up its life for me blow.

The tow yard

I visited my poor car in the lot today. I felt like I was visiting a sick patient or something. And I have to say I felt much better about my wreck after seeing the completely thrashed cars that were there. Most of them had something fly through the front window, a crumpled hood and at least one flat tire.

The lot manager and the tow trucker driver gave me pause though. Sure I watch way too many movies but these guys were walking stereotypes. The lot manager was a morbidly obese man who found it difficult to pull his ass away from his chair, so he used an intercom to talk to a guy who was just outside his window. A shiny balding head with a few strands still desperately clinging to his spotted scalp, topped the most spherical body I have ever seen. He also never stopped eating, and I had a feeling that if the food supply ever ran too low the cat asleep on his phone would make a quick substitute. He buzzed me into the tow yard, as I stepped in a wire fence wheeled shut behind me. The tow truck driver from Tuesday met me and I must have been a little dazed then because I didn't realize just how creepy he was. Under what was probably one a blue company ball hat, dark greasy hair hung to his chin. And he never seemed to stand up all the way. He was incredibly helpful but still I just wanted to get out.

I grabbed the few things left in my car and headed back out. I didn't look back, I felt like a traitor abandoning a good friend.

But then I remembered it was just a car and got over it.

Damn concrete and its non-bounciness!

Today was supposed to be great, last day of finals, no work. I could go home and stuff my face and veg out on the couch. But no, that's not how my day ended up.

After finals I headed home and of course it started raining. Driving down I-280 I decided it would be a great idea to take on the center divider. Sadly I lost, but I want a rematch.

OK what really happened was I hit a wet spot, my car spun out, hit the center divider (twice), airbags deployed, and I ended up perpendicular to oncoming traffic. To top it all off I received a fat lip and a few bag burns on my face, and I'm pretty sure I'll be very sore tomorrow. And I forgot my phone so I had to wait for a good samaritan to stop and call CHP.

When CHP got there they closed down all four lanes and had to push my car to the side. It was so sad as pieces of my poor little car were left behind. The tow truck driver doesn't think it's unslavagable but the insurance guy said it was a good possibility. I'd prefer to fix the car as I'm very attached to it, I actually felt bad as I watched it ride away to the tow yard. I swear it looked forlorn.

And then I spent the next hour on Caltrain to get home. And I definitely wont have a car for about two weeks.

SHUT UP!!

Listen I know you are passionate about subject x, but some of us have to be here, some mean person made it mandatory. Please keep your boring ass subject to the maximum 15 minute time limit, or I will rip your head off. Can you not see us sleeping? I'm in the fourth row back, can you see me now? I'm the one doing the sleeping head bob next to the girl that is drooling on herself, who is right behind the guy that is loudly snoring. I know you spent months on this but wrap-it-up, no one cares. The girl before you was nice enough to keep it down to 10 minutes and I almost ran up and kissed her. I don't even know your name and I actively seek your death. SHUT UP!!

Oops

So I love the library. I've always loved the library. When I was little I would go there for hours sit on the floor and stare at musty pages through my over sized glasses. So after so many happy (but yet nerdily sad) hours how can I be so cruel to the institution that was once so kind to me? Yep that's right I, a lover of the library, became part of it's most wanted list.

I somehow managed to rack up $102.50 in library bills.

It started to innocently too. I checked out The Affects of Oral (he he) Satire, for a class, and I read a good five pages out of about 250. So far so good. But then summer comes around and I head out of town and then I moved and completely forgot about this stupid little book. Now it's been six months and a few irate emails from the library and I finally return the book (it took some serious searching but good news I found a pair of shoes that I thought were completely gone). Now every time I head to the library I feel like I have a huge sign on me that reads BOOK THIEF, I swear the librarian glare at me as I walk by.

But my question is do I still owe $102.50? I mean the book wasn't that great.

Flying

I'm not a fan of flying. Don't like going to the airport, I hate taking off and landing is just evil. A huge tin can should not be soaring through the air. But a couple of times a year I suck it up and get on one of those flying death traps and start praying like I haven't for months. This year I'm headed to San Diego for Thanksgiving and so I'm lucky enough to travel on the busiest day of the year.

Flying into San Diego always gives me pause. You'd think in a place with almost perpetual sunshine the airline employees would be a tad bit happier. But last time I was there I got chosen for a random bag check. Which is fine but as I stood at the table, as the security lady rifled through my bag, I noticed a shelf above her head. On this random shelf were two items, a box of latex gloves and the biggest jug of Vaseline I've ever seen.

After seeing that I answered every question with a "yes ma'am," "no ma'am." And it seemed to have worked as I wasn't violated in the name of national security. But ever since then the San Diego airport has always given me the heebie geebies.

Published

It's official, I've finally been paid for writing. Sure it wont cover even one car payment but that is not the point. The editors didn't change that much but they did add a reference from wikipedia that I'm a little peeved about, if they asked I could have found a reputable source.

But I'm still pretty excited. So yeah!!

Where am I?

I live in lovely Menlo Park which I have decided is the scariest place on earth. It's so Stepford here. Apparently khaki is the uniform and every house comes with two loud children and the Eddie Bauer off-road baby stroller. I walk around downtown and expect passersby to break into choreographed song and dance numbers at any minute.

Every morning I leave around 9:30am and as I pass the local coffee shop (which of course is located right next to the world's most saccharinely sweet park that has live music for the whole family on Wednesday nights during the summer) and I notice families carrying their mocha chinos, pushing their designer baby strollers with a cute little dog running around their ankles. This wouldn't be so odd but it's a week day, who the crap is working in these families? The coffee shop is full of these happy, gap clad yuppies that are doing nothing (OK at this point one might point out my lack of a real job and the fact that I'm starting my day out at 9:30). Although I readily admit I'm probably just jealous.

Of course when I do walk around I'm pretty sure that I have "outsider" stamped on my forehead. I think maybe my unbrushed hair and clothes from yesterday and are a dead give. I went to go get bagels one Sunday morning at an early 11am, and two old people actually glared at me as I walked into the bagel cafe.

I must admit this place does not feel like home. But I like the apartment so I'll learn to live with the weirdos in the neighborhood. And the naked neighbor who's girlfriend is always yelling at him is at least entertaining.

Yummy

So the last few days I have had some weird cravings (no I'm not). Usually I crave bacon western cheese burgers, caramellos or soft serve ice creams, it changes from week to week. This week I've been craving avocados and cheddar cheese. I think it's because of the SoCal fires destroying large quantities of this year's crop, and me wondering if there will be any guacamole come Superbowl.

Sure A looked at me a little weird when I walked in with some avocados and a big block of cheese. But it was soo tasty, and I feel all good because I've had two servings of fruits and vegetables today. I am so healthy.

Musings of a grammatical idiot

In a class of about 30 students a good 80% of them have their laptops open. Of the screens that I can see all of two students actually have the assignment that the teacher is talking about up (I fall into the larger category). Most of the students are online but there are a few that are typing away in Word. The girl in front of me is checking out sales at target, the girl next to her is checking her SJSU account while the guy next to her is messing with his photographs. Why don’t we care about our education?

As I’ve returned to school after a protracted break I usually am a much better student. I try to pay attention and do my homework. But I must admit that this class is pretty boring and my friend I sit next to isn't here today, and he usually unconsciously guilts me into paying attention because he is, so my mind is wandering. It’s an editing class (which I truly need help in) and the 1000-year-old professor is trying teach us Indesign with mixed results. I think most of the students have at least messed around in the program before or they just really don’t care. Either way nobody is paying any attention to the old professor.

I think the best and worst part of the class is that it is co-taught by two professors that don’t always (never) agree on things. It’s both great and frustrating because they bicker in class about what the different editing rules are or how the A.P. guide says something. It’s funny, but on the downside I don’t know if I’m learning that much.

Guess I should have paid more attention in class as all I did was copy edit at my internship, because the copy editor is out of town and they have no one else. Oh well at least I got to read the paper two days before everyone else.

Impressively dumb

Some turn to a life of crime because they know no other way, others to try and make a fast buck. But apparently some are just to dumb to do anything else, take for instance the Mensa candidates that walked into the San Bruno Police Department this morning.

First off the two guys and a girl walk in and try to get back their impounded van, sadly they forgot to bring any proof of ownership and the van is not registered under any of their names.

Next, as the police are working behind their little Plexiglas barricade, the three start talking (loudly) about different super interesting things going on in their lives. Like how someone they know apparently owes them some money. Now I'm sitting in the middle of the room against the wall, the woman is seated to my left and the two guys are seated farther away on my right side. So their discussion is being yelled over my head, as I patiently go through the press log and try not to laugh. I'm not totally paying attention to the conversation (I do have a job to do) when I hear the woman say, in all seriousness, "Well then lets rob 'em."

I look over to the guys who are staring at her like she's suddenly sprouted a golden horn out of her forehead. "What?" She said, "It's not like they can hear us."

Genius, lets propose larceny in the Police Station.

Sadly I had to leave before I was able to hear the rest of their plan. I'm sure it would have made MacGuyver proud though.

What's your zombie plan?

Instead of putting together an intelligent presentation on Perspectives on media and our understanding of the social world, I’ve put together a list of things you should have or know incase of a zombie uprising (watching Shawn of the Dead).

1. Friends that you know wont freak out on you and randomly run away and either take something necessary with them or lead the zombie horde to your location.
2. A sharp and hopefully long object. Your gun only has a finite amount of bullets, your machete never needs reloading.
3. A gun, for when you’re surrounded and have no hope of getting away.
4. Snacks, many zombies are slow be prepared to wait them out.
5. A change of clothes, blood gets sticky and smells bad.
6. A defendable location, and as much as I’d love to say a bar they usually have big breakable windows, I’m thinking more along the lines of a secluded house or bomb shelter.
7. A get away plan, I live near the coast so I’ve always figured I’d sail into the ocean on a stolen yacht.

Although I do have a quick question why do the dead always want to eat the living? It’s not like they need the sustenance, and when they are done eating how exactly do their bodies process the meat? They’re dead so I would assume their digestive tracks don’t work anymore, does it just sit in their stomach, do really aggressive zombies that eat a lot become big and bloated? OK that wasn’t so quick.

Sticker madness

So A bought a sticker machine. He's wanted one for awhile and finally found one he wanted on eBay. I worry now for the poor cars of the Peninsula. He and Shane (OK mainly Shane) went a little crazy in SB, and from auto decorations alone you would have thought that the citizens of beautiful Santa Barbara were into some kinky stuff. And though hundreds of miles separate the two I'm a little on the worried side.

Randomness

Whenever a show can work in They Might Be Giants' Put a Little Bird House in Your Soul, you know that show is gold.

And thank you Deb for making me a tape of it, way back when, every song on the CD still makes me smile. Especially the minimum wage song, because it is so true. I'm just sad I lost that tape and so I don't have it anymore.

I will forever whistle in the dark.

The polite thing to do

I had an interview for an internship last week. I never know how those things go. In general I get kind of nervous and over-smile, I always wonder if the interviewer thinks I'm just really happy to be there or if they think I'm going to eat them. And usually I don't eat before hand so I could use a snack, not that human meat is an option or anything.

Anyways they said they would let us know back by that weekend. Sunday came and went with no response. When Tuesday rolled around I figured I didn't get it and that they just forgot about me. But then I also realized I had never sent a thank you note after the interview. It was almost a week, was that way too late to send one now? I wasn't sure about the etiquette of a late thank you letter, actually I'm not really up on any etiquette. But I figured I might want to try and write for them in the future so I should do the polite thing and send one in. So at about midnight last night I finally sent it in.

This morning I woke up and saw that I had a message in my inbox from the editor. It was in reply to my extremely brief and uninformative thank you note, it read, and I quote, "Can you come over to the office this afternoon to talk about scheduling?"

Now I of course assume this to mean that he thought I was someone else and that he was replying to the wrong email. But not one to let an opportunity pass I quickly write back letting him know I would come over. The rest of the morning I considered how I would take the rejection when they realized I wasn't the person they were looking for. Hopefully they would feel bad and I could parley that into them letting me write something.

And then I got a call around three. It was the editor letting me know that he couldn't make the meeting, crap I wasn't even going to get the rejection in person. But no, he wanted to reschedule for tomorrow and that I had gotten the job. That really wasn't what I had expected, so I tried to reorder my thoughts and sound coherent on the phone. I think it worked since I'm talking to him tomorrow.

But now I wonder, would I have gotten the position if I hadn't sent a thank you note? Or was it all just funny timing?

Stupid dreams

I've heard that dreams are supposed to be unconscious desires that you can't accept during your waking hours. Or that they are a way for your subconscious to work out issues. And I have to hope and pray that this is untrue because last night I had the weirdest dream, and don't know how it fits into either of those scenarios. Of course it is quickly fading into the ether but here's what I can remember of it.

For some odd reason I was with "Way of the Dragon" bad guy, Chuck Norris (OK fine, and Walker Texas Ranger star), and we were trying to get away from something. As the dream goes on I realize that Chuck and I are an item (ew), and that the longer I'm with him the fatter he is getting. Before I wake up poor Chuck is morbidly obese and now I'm trying to get away from him.

I wake up thinking what the hell? Chuck Norris? And now I'm just disturbed, I don't usually remember my dreams and this is the one my mind chooses to replay? And why couldn't I have chosen a cute guy to dream of? And is it wrong to try and get away from a guy if he's starting to visibly inflate?

Again, Chuck Norris, there is something wrong with me.

Pointless or cool?

I saw this on Gizmodo and at first glance thought it was pretty cool. It's the VinylDisc and on one side it contains 70 minutes of music on a CD, the other side is a vinyl record. Of course it only plays back three minutes so it's more a novelty but the idea is pretty cool. This is brought to you by those quirky Germans at Optimal Media Productions and they even have an English band, Fightstar, signed up (although they are only releasing 3,000 albums). I'd love to see it but sadly I have no record player and I don't tend to buy CDs anymore. But it looks cool and I'm always sold on packaging.


On a side note how many times did I use the word cool in a small little paragraph? Note to self: buy thesaurus.

Modern myths

When I was little my mom would read me bedtime stories, my favorite was Perseus and Medusa. I used to think that "Clash of Titans" was the best movie ever made, and I almost became a Classics major at UCSB. I always thought Enkidu got screwed and found it funny that every culture seems to have some type of Cinderella story. I've always loved mythology, any type from any region.

So while doing a paper for 290 I found it interesting that many scholars argue that the media are the new myth makers. Myths aren't just fantastic stories from the ancient world, instead they are stories told to help maintain the social order. They don't have to be fiction, instead current mythology explains the unexplainable, brings reasons to events, and helps maintain the status quo.

You can find the main myths in papers and broadcast news all over the country. The article I read mainly looked at the New York Times after September 11. The four main myths used were the end of innocence, the victim, the hero and a foreboding future. The victim could be you if circumstances were different, the hero (emergency workers mainly) have all the best qualities of society and are fearless leaders, in the end of innocence the utopia you once lived in is gone forever and you'll have to get used to a completely different normal, and a foreboding future warns you of strife to come and that this isn't the end of the pain and sacrifice. You see the hero and the victim in news a lot, but the end of innocence and a foreboding future not so often.

The one that I found rather disturbing was a foreboding future. It sets the society up for a future that they know is going to be hard. In the case of 9/11 it warns the reader that tough times are coming, that everyone had to be vigilant, that we had to be careful because an attack could come from anywhere. It got people ready for America to invade Afghanistan. A news paper primed the public for war.

I'm sure it has been done before and will be done again, but I don't know how I feel about that.

The myths that the Times created helped people deal with an act that seemed senseless. It helped them cope with loss, heal and come together as a nation. Mythology gives people a sense of belonging, you can relate to the story, you recognize the archetypes and know what to expect. Mythology isn't dead it's alive and well in journalism.


*Lule, Jack (2002). Myth and terror on the editorial page: The New York Times responds to Sept. 11. 2001.

Speaking of lame, oh wait

I've heard of banning books, and movies but never parts of speech. Apparently Brazil's Federal District Governor Jose Roberto Arruda has banned the use of present participles. Ok he didn't ban them from the entire country just government documents, because of inefficiency. That's great, basically anything ending in 'ing.' I thought our government got bogged down in frivolous pursuits but this wins. good thing Brazil has no other problems to worry about.

Rules of Debate

Seminar classes can sometimes be enjoyable because of the debates they produce. If you like to argue they can be rather enjoyable. But some people don't realize that there are some niceties that must be observed.

Ok when debating someone here are a few of the lamest things you can do:

1. Pull figures out of your ass, yes I could do this too but I’m only saying what I know to be fact, your 89% of randomness fact should be backed up by a source.
2. Don’t start off sentences with “as you know…” it’s manipulative and lame, no I don’t know that that’s why we’re arguing about it (especially if you are using it every other sentence)
3. Use hypothetical situations, if it hasn’t happened don’t try to assume you know what would happen, you can argue what ifs until you die but it doesn’t mean anything.
4. Try to win an argument with volume alone, this should be an intelligent conversation not a shouting match. Being louder does not make you right.
5. Try to form your arguments, they should be coherent, it shouldn’t take you an hour to say no you’re wrong. After two minutes cue the music.
6. Yes we know that you are the most informed person about every single issue, but if you are in a seminar setting you personally don’t have to comment on every single issue, let other people have a say.
7. If race or sex have nothing to do with the issue, don’t bring them up.
8. And the metric system is just plain better.

Congratulations!

I want to send out my congratulations to Jerry Roberts who will be receiving The PEN Society's First Amendment award on November 6th at a dinner at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

Former editor of the Santa Barbara News-Press, before the meltdown, and current publisher of the Daily Nexxus, UCSB's daily paper. An amazing guy and a wonderful teacher. I took a class with him last fall and really enjoyed it.

So I wanted to say congratulations and good luck with McCaw.

And come to find out the smell of eggs makes both of us think we're in trouble, yeah something in common.

Wow, just wow

So I've done my best bit of procrastinating ever. I admit I'm a procrastinator but I haven't raised it to the fine art that some others have, until today. tomorrow, no wait today I have a miniature literature (ha that rhymes!) review and presentation due in my MCOM 290 class and I still can't even bring myself to read the studies. It's 10 minutes to 3:00 a.m. and I'm fooling around on the Internet. It's almost as if I'm seeing what kind of grade I can get on a shitty paper. And tomorrow, crap no today, I will find out. The presentation has me a little worried, not enough to do anything about it but I guess we'll see how it goes. I should really take this more seriously, technically this is my most important class of the semester. Also least favorite.

I should have just gone back and gotten another bachelor's degree, I love my undergraduate classes.

And why isn't anyone up right now?

Oops

The main joy of grad school is the obscene amount of reading. Of course it really doesn't help that I tend to wait until the last minute to do my reading every week. This week not only do I have a copious amount of reading but I also have a mini literature review to do and a presentation in class. And yesterday I started to gather all my reading materials together so that I could pile it together and stare at it mournfully before putting it off for another day, when I found that I didn't have the main book that I have to do my presentation on.

Well sure it's half way through the semester and I probably should have purchased all the material for class already but I've been distracted. So I headed down to San Jose to purchase the required $80 book. And come to find out the bookstore closes at 3:00 p.m., it was 3:02. So of course I pounded on the door until someone came by. And then I had to beg and plead and still he wouldn't let me in, and instead went and got his manager.

So I'm waiting outside of the student center, dear god it smells like carnies and death out there, and finally some chick comes out. She looks at me and tells me in her most condescending voice, "I'm sorry but we've already been closed for five minutes."

Shit, what was I thinking? Five minutes! She probably could have written the book I need in such an expansive amount of time. So I have to fight down the sarcasm open the eyes really wide and beg and plead again.

Finally with an audible sigh she lets me in. I run down the stairs to the MCOM section and start searching frantically. I stare at the empty section where my book is supposed to be, it takes a few seconds for reality to process, the book isn't there. As I walk out of the store the chick glares at me so I wave and smile.

I grab my friends and walk over to Robert's books store, which is also closed. I console myself with some nacho fries dipped in yummy fat at Iguanas. I then head to a party and try to forget about the massive F I will receive on Monday.

Sunday rolls around and I decide to check out the library, hoping and praying they can help me out before I'm royally screwed. I get into my car turn the key and nothing happens. Ok not nothing, the tachometer and odometer start shaking like crazy. Wonderful I get out of the car, check the fuses and realize I'm screwed. Another week with Caltrain.

So I steal A's Blazer and head to the library. And nope they don't have the book either, but I was able to find it online for full price. So that kind of blows but at least I can do my assignment after I'm done slacking off. Did I mention I have about 200 pages to read before the library closes?

If you don't want to hear the answer, should you not ask the question? Even if you are asking yourself?

Name Calling

I’m weird, if I get along with someone I’m usually mean to him or her. Not viciously mean but pretty sarcastic. I like arguing, especially with someone that can hold their own; you don’t want to argue with someone if you know it will reduce them to tears.

One of my favorite antagonists was a guy I used to work with, he was a cool guy that was fun to argue with because he always had some random facts, usually gleaned from animal planet, that could shut me up pretty quick. That and he also liked to argue, about everything.

The reason he is my favorite because once when we were sparring, and after some heated words he called me bellicose. It sounds like such a pretty word, almost a compliment, for a second I was flattered. But no, it means hostile and war like.

The use of the word bellicose makes me think of warlike as in Boudica the Celtic queen who led her soldiers against the Romans and killed herself before being caught. I like this because visually I am anything but a warrior. I’m small and clumsy and I put fear into the hearts of nothing.

I’ve always been small, I was picked on in school and sarcasm became my defense. But I never felt that I was a fighter, I felt like I hid behind words, I always felt small.

But for a moment, to a guy who was much bigger than I, I was an adversary on an equal playing field. And I could hold my own.

Itching and books

Third day taking the train. It was a lot more relaxed almost enjoyable, I was able to do my homework on the way there and I didn't have to take the bus back as Chris was kind enough to give me a ride to the station. I grabbed a free Metro and settled down to read while I zipped along. I get about half way when I see a little black dot jumping on my leg. Yep I was getting attacked by fleas.

After twitching in disgust I got up and moved to another seat. It looked clean but now my suspicions were roused. The last half of my journey I spent constantly checking my seat for little invaders and brushing at my arms and legs. I was very happy to get off that train.

After a lovely trip on Caltrain I decided to get a book at Keplar's. The man working behind the counter had multiple items of flair, but I knew I couldn't mention it because he looked so serious. I don't think he'd even get the reference. How is it that a bunch of middle aged men work at a bookstore? And they all seemed so serious, lighten up you work in a book store, that's like my dream job although I'm pretty sure I would soon be fired for fondling the merchandise.

And other things that smell like urine

It’s 9:30 and I’m waiting at the San Jose Caltrain station until 10:30 p.m. for the next train. And I realize how much I miss my car. You would think that growing up with a father who is a bus driver I would have a little bit more appreciation for mass transit. When I was a little girl I always looked forward to take-your-daughter-to-work-days. I would swing on the bars and run up and down the aisles for hours. The passengers would tell me stories and then my dad would take me out to get an ice cream before we went home.

Now I get out of school around 8:30p.m. catch the 9:00 bus that gets me to the train station two minutes to late to catch the 9:10 train so instead I wait for another hour to catch the last train of the night at 10:30. The other riders are no longer smiling at me and telling me stories; instead everyone avoids eye contact and composes their faces in a carefully blank expression. All I want to do is get home and now I won’t be there till well after 11.

These last few days have killed the joy of public transport for me. It used to be so nice to ride the train into the city knowing I wouldn’t have to worry about parking. But now I will remember this boring night where there are only three other people in the station and they are talking in Spanish so I can’t listen in.

And I’m not so sure that Menlo Park feels like home. I’m not sure what it is but there is something missing there. I like the apartment but, I don’t know, it’s just not the same as Santa Barbara. I feel more connected with San Jose but that’s just because I spend all of my time there. I’m sure that after a few months I’ll like it better.

But I don’t know how long I’ll be there either. I’ve kind of gotten itchy feet, which I know A wont appreciate, although I’ve always had them I’ve just hidden them since I’ve been with A. After school I think I’d like to move to New York and live there for a few years but again A wont go for that. But that’s where all the magazines are. True a writer can write anywhere but to work on a magazine you have to be where that magazine is, very few people can survive off a freelance budget.

Oh the urine thing, mainly that was just the bus on the way over to Caltrain, how does a whole bus smell like pee?

More Bitching

I think I might have taken on a little too much. This semester I've decided to take two grad classes and two undergrad classes. MCOM 290 is going to completely kick my ass. The second day of class the teacher has boxes of paper brought in. Then she basically hands us each two reams of paper and lets us know that including our text books we will reading these as well. Oh joy. I mean other students have told me that this is the worst class I will be taking, but I just never realized how very wrong the class is. I think it will be one of those that as long as I pass without much scarring I will consider myself lucky. Of course if I could plan my time better the class would probably not be that hard. But I haven't even come up with a general idea for my thesis, and I'm supposed to come up with an intelligent question with which to base a thousand (slight exaggeration) page paper on?

And Access magazine is going to be one of those beloved pains. I love the class but it's going to be a large time investment and I think it's going to give me a decent headache. But it should be more than worth it. And yet I'm already scared that it might turn out to be horrible, it's hard to not try and take control of everything. But in the end if I did that it would probably turn out even worse than if I hold myself back and let people do their own jobs.

And now I really should get back to my homework, as painful as it is.

A Good R Movie is Not a Good PG-13 Movie

Ok I'm actually a pretty bug fan of sequels. I like the fact that a new Halloween comes out regularly or that ever 10 years you can expect another Romero movie (please let him live for at least 30 more years). But what makes me angry is when they make a sequel to an action/horror movie that was originally gory and cuss filled and then tone it down to reach a larger audience. Currently I am watching Die Hard and I loved the sequels (ok the second one wasn't that amazing but it still was good times), and the fourth one had so much potential and then they go and make it PG-13. To me that is a slap in the face to the fans who have faithfully watched over the years. Take for example Alien vs. Predator, which could have been awesome but instead they changed it to PG-13 and had the cameras cut away every time they killed someone, Boo!

Productivity at its finest

So today was the day at the magazine where we pick feature articles, and although it started off promising I think it kind of degenerated from there. Mainly we just ran out of time but it felt at the end we were just grabbing at any idea and throwing a writer at it. I guess I shouldn't worry too much as I feel we have a strong six or seven articles and if those work then I wont have to worry about the other ones as much. And that's the other thing that worries me, if we over-book the magazine and all of our authors come through how do we tell some of them that their article got cut? I put a lot of time into mine last semester and I would have been devastated if my editor told me they were no longer going to use it. Although if we have a website we could put them online, which I think they did last year, I'll have to look into that.

The Art of Unpacking

So A and I have been in our new apartment for almost two months. And we've been pretty pathetic in the unpacking department. Although we haven't had many weekends here its still no excuse, the truth of the matter is that we are both just lazy. So the only way we unpack is if someone comes to visit us. Thankfully (kind of) we've had a mad rush of people this month so we're doing better. Though we do still have so many boxes and I'm not sure what is in them or if we need them, because we've been doing pretty well without them so far. And A's parents are coming up tonight so we got a little more done but after tonight we don't have anyone visiting until the middle of October. So I'm pretty sure the unpacking will come to a dead halt after this weekend. But that doesn't mean I want anyone to come visit, I want a few weekends to myself. Of course it would also be nice to have my closet be full of clothes instead of piled high with boxes.

Me not write so pretty one day

So one of the reasons that i started this blog was to write more often and work on my grammar. But now that I'm taking an editing class I find myself fighting against learning what I was so desperately trying to improve. The grammar book is sitting next to me, beckoning me to open it and instead I stare passively at it and write in my blog instead. Oh well I'll try again at a later date.

It's 12:30 and I find myself easily distracted right now. Instead of doing my homework or going to sleep I find myself watching 'Sin City,' gratuitous violence helps relax me (I have issues). I sit here thinking that the Oscars need a few more categories like best action or comedy, not that 'Sin City' would win for either but it's late and I'm tired so my mind wanders. Anyways for those of us that really don't give a shit about gay cowboys eating pudding or people kissing in the rain, adding a few more categories for best action sequence or best fight would possibly make me want to watch it. Ok it wouldn't but still those actors should get some recognition for fun movies and not just the mellow dramatic crap that is normally nominated. Although I do want to add this caveat: I have horrible taste in movies.

And I'm Back

Well I'm proud of myself as I didn't take a whole year to republish, instead I only took 7 months. Thankfully I don't believe anyone reads this so I'm ok.

I'm at my second semester at SJSU and it looks to be an interesting one. I'm pretty sure I'm taking on too much but oh well. Not only am I taking two grad classes (and 290 looks to be a right bitch(not the teacher, the class)), but I'm also working on the magazine which should suck up the rest of my time. On top of that the editor called from SMDJ so I started that up again. At least I'm not working (ok occasionally but nothing definite).

Tonight instead of doing my homework I am checking out my snazzy new printer, the HP5280 all -in-one. Which so far is pretty neat, I've been scanning in old pictures and they seem to be coming out decently. I wish their photo edit had more functionality but I can do serious edits in photo shop. And I must say wow I was a little picture crazy in college and I always slightly possessed in pictures.

Cold SB

Its been freezing in SB, literally, I kid you not. It gets down into the twenties at night. Now I know that anyone from out of state scoffs at temperatures in the twenties, commenting that they walk around with shorts on at those temperatures, that it seems almost balmy. But I am used to a certain type of temperature and what I've been getting lately is definitely not it.

And as its my last week in SB it seems that we are eating out more often than not. Which I love eating out, but lately I've noticed a rather evil trend in restaurants. As I walk in from the freezing cold I notice that its not that much warmer in the restaurants, looking around I notice that most of the patrons have their coats on. As a service based industry this seems a little messed up, shouldn't they be trying to make the customer more comfortable, or do they figure a slightly cold patron won't linger over their tiramisu? Restaurants are supposed to be warm and cozy, a welcoming environment where one can relax and enjoy their meal. Instead I sit their trying not to spill on the scarf that I am required to wear. Is it just that not enough people are complaining about it, can the managers not see the preponderance of jackets, or am I the only one that is cold and everyone else just enjoys wearing parkas to dinner?