Friday, July 30, 2004

There's a brand new dance...

One of the earliest memories I have, is that of my mother and I at her parents house. My grandparents, as it were. I was young, 3ish perhaps, maybe a little bit older and she was attempting to dress me, or at least have some influence over what I was going to wear. Her insistence was that I wear a 'tummy shirt' or whatever you might call them. you see them today, but only on females and very 'secure' males. They come to just above the navel showing a stripe around the midsection. Today the 'stripe' has grown to epic proportions with the help of the low-rise jean, love it or hate it, they tend to be somewhat sexy. Well, unless your thong is hanging out, or your ass-crack, which, I don't care who you are, is just a tad skeezy. Anyway, these 'tummy shirts,' as I will call them, had a brief popularity in the 80s, but luckily were driven away only to rise again in the near future. The late 90s. Well, to get to the point. I wouldn't wear the shirt. I threw a fit. Try as she might to convince me that it was warm outside and this would keep me cool, seriously, that was her argument, I ran away and cried no. I didn't want to wear it and that day, I got what I wanted. I take this as an early example of fashion sense. I knew that I was going to look stupid, despite the fact that I was three, it didn't matter. It was just going to look like my shirt was too small. Besides, it was the middle of summer, I was a three-year old, why not just slap me with some sunscreen and throw me outside without a shirt? That I could have gone along with. Of course, that was one of the only showings of fashion sense I held. I had in no way, any opportunity to adopt one as my family was poor and you wore what we had. That is, except for ill fitted shirts with horizontal stripes. (loatheing...) As I ventured into college I realized that the times of high school and it's $3 courdory glory as well as the purple shoelace belt, was truely, a thing of the past. I needed to move on, adopt something new that spoke to who I was. Not some disheveled pile of crudeness that wore Bush t-shirts and pants with much to big a hole in the crotch for society to forgive, but instead someone with an idea. It was of course, to be frumpy in highschool. I mean, come on. Puberty anyone? Why not match the confused meanderings of the mind with your coutoure. I dressed how I felt, confused, misunderstood, hapless and uncaring. Though I still hold one or two of those personality traits, I tried my best to overcome the worst, and it produced a change. A new approach. One day you realize that you want to dress like David Bowie, because if anyone has it all together, it's him. One thing I can say for high school, was that my idea of wearing sport coats with casual wear was ahead of it's time. Way to go me. Now of course as I move around the country my mother has invaded my closet and gotten ride of many things that I had that she decided I didn't need anymore. Like an expensive hand me down suit from my Uncle, which, sadly, I probably now fit into once again. All of my sportcoats are long gone as is the shirt that Tom gave me from Saks 5th Ave., which didn't fit him and was the most expensive piece of clothing I had at the time. It actually was quite the ugly shirt though. So, from the past to my beginnings at the Gap in college, trust me, my big sister was freaked out by that for a while, I have come to what I believe is a full circle, innate sense of wanting to look good, feel confident and something else truely insightful here. I must however instill in all of you to dress as you feel. Don't follow the trend, that merely brings pain. Trucker hats, well, they're dumb.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

A time of change is upon a lot of us.  As I type this, Lorn is on her way to Texas of all places to begin her new journey as a private trombone teacher. Along with a faithful sidekick, our mutual friend Chris, they will set up their apartment and begin their journey together. Everyone that we went to school with, all of our good friends are scattered now. Germany, Colorado, Maryland, Georgia, Michigan, Illinois, Iceland, Canada the list goes on. It's sad at times. We had all shared such a grand time together and saw a lot of triumphs and tragedys, but all learning expieriences as they unfolded at the University of Wisconsin. I won't get to see them much anymore, me in New york, or wherever I will be in the next week or two. I guess it has come to that time though. More like that obligatory time in high school where everyone gets all sappy and cries and stuff. That never really happened to me. I was ready to get the hell out of their. High school wasn't good or bad, it was just four years where I studied a lot and smoked some weed here and there. It really didn't leave anything profound on me aside from some great long-term friendships I have held. If I took anything away from high school it's that my friend Tim and I, together, have one of the most incredible imaginations. That, and I know how muscles work by the sliding of actin and myosin filaments against each other. Ultimately though, college was the time where I made friends and created those bonds. I am not going to say they were the best times of my life. That would short change the rest of my life, which hasn't happened yet and honestly, I want to have a kick ass life. So, really what I want to say is that from college till death was the best time of my life. I am going to hold everyone to that. Of course there were bad times. Like, when Lorn and I had fights. Or, when Griffin, Ian, Tony and I got in that really weird fight and Griffin got a fat lip two weeks before his recital and I got punched in the head. Not as bad as Griffin, but it really fucking hurt. Oh yeah, there was that crazy 4th of July where Lorn and I got mugged for a lawn chair by a drunk guy and he sprained my wrist. Those were the crappy times. Numerous good times shine through though. So, this has in essence become a very sappy post on the evolution of a post collegiate lifestyle. That, being a fancy way of saying a bunch of artists and shit growing up and trying to make a living at what they think they want to do. Honestly, I ownly hold any sort of fear for the thought of never talking to these people again. I know that we will all be successful when we finally find our niche. It's hard to be afraid when you have just graduated, you have a little money, an idea and nothing to hold you back except the impending fear of student loans. So, really I have just turned this into a big sap-fest. I apologize. When Lorn asked me to guest blog I don't think she wanted this. The last few days have been weird so I will try to work on something utterly hilarious or at least insightful for tomorrow. That way I won't feel like a tool and perhaps someone will recieve some sort of entertainment...or, at least some sex.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

how could i forget?

My official San Diego song is, and has always been, "My Town" by Buck-O-Nine.

i got the tunes in my pocket
in an old ass walkman
walking to the beach
with a bottle of black and tan
keys in the velcro
where it always should be
times tickin' by but it doesn't concern me
i'm killin' time with nothing to do
that's all i seem to think about or do
my soul is sound
when i'm in my hometown
no place i'd rather be

my town, my street
gives me peace of mind
that can't be beat

i can sleep all night
to the sound of the ocean
wake up in the morning
and i do it all again
seven days a week
i pay no attention
i spend alot of time
with my record collection

i heard the sound of a skateboard
rolling down my backstreet
reggae music coming
from the neighbor across from me
as time ticks by
i never stop to ask, i never wonder why
my soul is sound
when i'm in my hometown
no place i'd rather be

steven's lorn's last night in town

[I can't sleep. I keep mentally arranging boxes in my car and worrying about minor things that I'll forget to do anyway.]

Heidi from work asked me the other day if I have a "going away" song or album that I will be playing as I leave San Diego, and while I thought it was an excellent question I didn't have an answer for her.

Sublime has a place in my San Diego consciousness that would be fitting, but I'm driving with my mom and I just get the feeling she wouldn't appreciate it as much as I do.

Tom Waits has a song called "San Diego Serenade" that is wildly appropriate, but I don't have a copy of it.

Maybe Ben Folds Five "Steven's Last Night" as my title suggests- but I don't plan on coming back over and over again (sorry, Mikey C) as a joke wearing thin.

Ani D is good for anything, but I think I'll save "Every State Line" for crossing into Texas, and besides, I'll be sad about the concert. I had sort of planned to listen to "Shy" a few times ("I am leaving in the morning, so let's not be shy"), but now I'm not leaving in the morning, besides not having anyone to seduce. Educated Guess would be a good album but I've packed it away.

No to Radiohead, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, and Blur. Elvis Costello? Eh. How about Bowie "Ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strange)" huh? Followed by a hearty dose of "Golden Years?"

I know Jerry has a thing for Less Than Jake when he's traveling in and out of La Crosse. Do any of the rest of y'all have a band/song that signifies your departure from a dear place?

Leaving Madison last September I cried buckets. Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head, while touching and clearly written for the particular kind of heartbreaking emotional experience I was going through, is not the best choice of music when sharing the road with hundreds of motorcycle fanatics on their way to the Harley Davidson 50th anniversary celebration in Milwaukee.

I don't think I'll be crying buckets this time around; after all, it hasn't been the greatest of times. But I will be sad. I am very much venturing off into the great unknown from a place that has been home to me for many, many years. It's an experience that deserves a fitting tribute, a song or album that will make me think of the feeling in the years to come. What would you choose?

Monday, July 26, 2004


From Righteous Babe:

Due to the recent passing of Ani’s father, she will not being playing at the State Open Air Theater on July 27th. Unfortunately, this show cannot be rescheduled, and refunds will be available at the point of purchase. We apologize for any inconvenience this causes those of you who have purchased tickets and truly appreciate your understanding at this time.

Much love to Ani and her family. How could you not be sad for Ani, and understand her needs?

I can't help but want to cry a little. This was my big sendoff from San Diego, my farewell present to myself, my soundtrack for the long highway ahead. I've been preparing for weeks by listening almost exclusively to Ani. I've been thinking about it constantly, anxious, on the edge of my proverbial seat.

Because of this my mom and I are leaving tomorrow afternoon instead of Wednesday morning. We're going as far as Tucson, then on to Albuquerque the next day. That will give us a little more leisure time to get there, and more time with Megan. Arrival in Plano still estimated Thursday around 6.

If I don't get a chance to blog tomorrow (I have two swim lessons and a lot of stuff to arrange in my car), this will be it until I a)get internet connection and a computer in Texas (or use Chris's) or b)find a public library to mooch off of. Therefore, I bid you a warm coupla days until I am online again, take care of yourselves and don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Want to guest blog?

Saturday, July 24, 2004

squirmy with excitement

I talked to Chris today as he was looking through our new apartment looking for things to report to the landlords. I asked him how it was and there was a pause.

"Jesus Christ, it's fucking awesome!"

As we have a loft, the ceilings in the living room go up about 25 feet, which means Chris will be practicing his golf swing. I didn't know Chris golfed. Well, he can take my dad out when he comes to visit.

The management was also cool enough to leave a basket of cookies and toilet paper in the kitchen. I imagine both will be all gone by the time I get there, but it's the thought that counts. I can't fucking wait to see this place. I only saw the model apartment on my trip in May, which was ridiculously nice but then again no one's ever lived in it. I asked about my shower, as it is a stall and not a tub, because I still have nightmares about our little telephone booth shower at the Henry house. It's not that small, thankfully. I'm reminded of a Douglas Adams' line from So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish:
a bathroom which, she explained, you could actually swing a cat in. 'But,' she added, 'only if it was a reasonably patient cat and didn't mind a few nasty cracks about the head.'

The waiting is killing me.

only connect

I started to write a post here about how looking forward I am to Texas, where I will hopefully begin to meet people who will fill me with that intense joy of getting to know lifelong friends. It was inspired by last night, a silly and fabulous evening of bowling, DDR, air hockey and late night Denny's with friend Mike from work. I was going to say some shit about how it was thrilling to finally hang out with someone I connect with and can hence "be myself" with, but I got about halfway through all these tortured lonely-girl sentiments and thought, fuck.

The fact is, I already know this, you already know this, and there's not one single reason why I should waste your precious blog-reading time with it. There are people out there in the world that are fun to be with and there are others that you just either don't fit in with or don't like much. About equal numbers of both, I'd say, and anywhere you go you're bound to find a handful of wonderful joyous friends to keep you company. This is not in anyway to say that any of my current friends are replacable which of course they are not, and I still miss them deeply.

It used to be my thing to piss and moan about how there were only a very few people in the world that I felt comfortable enough in their company to let off the facade I normally wear (the kinds of people I can say shocking shit to, like "tuna just doesn't taste as good without the dolphins"), but lately I've been thinking that this is useless. I've decided to be unashamedly and unabashedly myself with everyone I interact with on a personal level from henceforth and see just where it gets me. I'm a weird kid, I make weird noises, I think weird thoughts, and hell if I bottle that shit up anymore.

You know the one thing that I am really excited for about Texas? The fact that I'll actually start thinking of something interesting to blog about instead of this self-examination drivel. Man, I did all that crap in high school and college. Now's the time to start using everything I know to have a fucking good time at life, no apologies.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

allow me to wish

Robin Williams, Ernest Hemingway's memory, some pope dude from the 15th century, Wes Hixon, and my friend bickle from the OTJ forum a Happy Birthday!

As my friend Toby once said, "Here's to being 23. Hope it doesn't suck."

Off to the beach for the remainder of the day.

Monday, July 19, 2004

a funny story about armpit hair

I'll tell this to you guys, because you'll appreciate it. At least, Davis will appreciate it. I would like someone to do so, as I found it quite amusing and thus far not one of my coworkers has done anything but grimace slightly and give a tight smile at the punchline.

At Frogs the other day, during ESS (every day between 1 and 3 hundreds of elementary aged kids pour into the pool and wreak havoc upon the chemical levels in all sorts of ways...your imagination can fill in the gaps in my description), I was guarding on the pennisula, a small strip of concrete that separates the beach entrance/shallow end of the pool from the deeper, lap swimming end. Two girls who, a few weeks before, had introduced themselves to me, came swimming up to say hi (actually, the one girl I remembered had introduced herself to me by way of asking if I was a boy or a girl, which was a little disconcerting- goofy looking though I may be I am definitely a woman), took a look at my leg hair, and squealed a little.

Our exchange:
"Do you shave?" they asked.
"Does it look like I do?" I responded.
"Why not?"

I shrugged. A complicated explanation is in order- feminism, socialized gender, economical purposes, but heck, they're only 8. I stuck with "Because I don't like to" which is true enough. Now that I've stopped for this long, the thought of starting again makes me tired enough that I quickly put it out of my head.

"Do you shave your armpits?"
"No" and I showed them.
"Ewwwwww!" in stereo. I laughed.
"My mom shaves her armpits, so you should too!" says the impudent one.

At this point, "fuck your mother" and "to hell with your razor burn" are going through my head, but I continue to smile tersely and look pointedly at the pool trying to be the cool, in charge lifeguard that I am.

They start chanting, "Shave your armpits! Shave your armpits!"

Oh my darling children, though now you long for the day you too will be old enough to wield your razor high, or even when you are just barely old enough, when that thin layer of fuzz you've had from your toddler years will succumb to an electric shaver barely amped enough to shock a molerat, one day long past even that far off day you will realize that it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

And maybe you'll read all the right books or listen to the right kind of music and you'll just stop, as I have, and frolic in the giddiness that defying social norms and saving minutes in the shower brings to you.

It is also a fairly effective method of jerk protection.

I leave you with the wise words of Alix Olson:
They say, "cut your clits and shave your pits,
and cover your tits!"
We say- bullshit.
Cause I use my curls to be at one with the world
like when I’m out camping
And I lay myself to rest
I sleep with my arms up
so the birdies can nest.
So stop and reconsider just what they consider natural
Cause armpit hair is simply
Mammally Factual.

Sunday, July 18, 2004

oh bother

Poor timing on the account of my body to let sickness creep up on it. I work so hard to keep myself from being sick (echinacea, vitamin c, folic acid, etc) that it makes me incredibly frustrated when I come down with something. This particular something is the kind of achy muscled, sharp ear pained, foggy headed sinus disaster that warrants a day of bedrest and lots of fluids.

Unfortunately, although Sunday is usually my day off and reserved for the kind of well-placed laziness I've perfected, I agreed to sub for a coworker at Frogs from 12-6. I usually work at HCW on Saturdays, and I didn't yesterday, so it was a replacement day off and, needing money, I was happy to take this shift. Now however, I want nothing more than to languish and moan in bed, occasionally getting up for a glass of water and looking properly pathetic whilst doing so.

I did get quite a lot of packing and room-organizing done yesterday, which makes me incredibly excited to actually move. A week and a half. I don't work on my birthday, and I'd like to spend it at the beach. Hopefully someone will be able to join me, but I suppose I could just go alone if it comes to that. Going to the beach alone is better than staying at home alone.

That is possibly the saddest birthday thought ever.

Sigh. Well, lifeguarding today will be done high under the influence of Dayquil. All hail Dayquil!

Friday, July 16, 2004

in honor of getting older

The countdown is narrowing rapidly:

-5 days til birthday
-11 days til Ani
-12 days til moving

I hooked up my HP computer from Madison and took off all the stuff I needed- suprisingly not very much as the email addresses are out of date and I don't need any of the term papers. What I did find was a link to something very valuble.

Presenting: The Wes and Lorn Birthday Extravaganza 2001

[Edit: Bastards! Remote linking forbidden my pasty white ass!]

Unfortunately it is in directory form, and there are a lot of pictures to shuffle through. If you enable the thumbnails you can get a better idea of what you're looking at.

This is all the fun of my hot, sweaty, 20th birthday, graciously hosted (and mostly for) my wonderful birthday buddy Wes (whatever in the world is he up to these days, anyhow?).

The best pictures (i.e. the ones with me/Emily/B/Davis/Wes in them) start at 1240.

Can you tell I'm being nostalgic again? Sometimes it hurts a little to be packing up all this stuff AGAIN, and thinking about the memories AGAIN.

This time, mixed with the nostalgia is a glimmer of hope that Texas, where I'll be reunited with two old Madison friends, will produce happiness and fun times. AGAIN.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

boob tube

There's usually only one reason I turn on the TV, and that's Futurama. In recent weeks, I haven't even been watching that, so it is to my chagrin that tonight I sat down with my microwaved lasagna and watched three straight hours of VH1's I Love The 90s.

The 80s version was fun, but a little over my head, at least until they got to about 87 or so. The 90s had the honor of welcoming me into my social consciousness, and it is with great pride that I can say I remember almost every hyper documented fad/movie/band/tv show represented on ILT90s. I grew up on this stuff, man. Ren and Stimpy, The X Files, Boyz II Men.

The inclusion of Ren and Stimpy in the lineup does mean that I can reference Futurama; the always-great Billy West makes an appearance and...well, is hilarious. Note to Jerry: you can catch your 30 second fix of Kyan Douglas in 1994 AND 95, bonus conversation about Prince Alberts included.

I have a major girly crush on Michael Ian Black. I can't fathom it: he's mildly annoying and predictably sarcastic. Still, kinda cute.

Anyway, the point of this post is not to wax nostalgic about the recently departed decade of my adolescence, but to wax philosophical about the phenomenon of "pop culture documentaries" like ILT90s and its ilk.

VH1 is especially guilty of flashy, highly caffeninated collages, glossy representations of our inclusive American consciousness. Nothing the commentators say is ever particularly enlightening or insightful but then again, I'm not saying they necessarily give you anything to think about. Waterworld was a conundrum, to be sure, but it didn't change my life in any degree.

It is impressive that I managed to stomach three hours of the show, as the method the producers use of giving you only three seconds or so of the footage in question, followed by a logo or dancing cell phone superimposed over the commentators' goofy reenactment, makes me vaguely homicidal. My brain goes slow, my eyes go slow, I need to see these things slowly to know what's going on. Sure, Michael Bolton is telling me these are the hotties of 93, but you can't hold the picture still long enough for me to even figure out what color her hair is (thank the goddess he got a haircut, by the way). I know this technique has been calibrated to the attention spans of the average VH1 audience, but it drives me nuts.

This is standard issue for the youth channels, which is why I find myself drawn more and more to less hectic episodes of Sunday Night Sex Show. And more and more I turn the TV off for longer and longer. It's getting too easy to see all the tricks they use to keep you watching, keep you tuned in and brainless. Don't forget to buy a CD tomorrow, and wash your floors with Swiffer. Here's some more flashy colorful effects to keep you entertained inbetween commercials.

Removed as I am from my mentally stimulating college environment, where we never had cable and every night was an adventure, I must adapt to my new surroundings. My coworkers are, on average, between the ages of 16 and 21, smoke a lot of dope, study things like marketing and political science, and, while pleasant, do not have the broadest worldview. I am in the need of companionship, and in order to keep up with Joneses some sacrifices are in order. I don't get to rage on about the current state of political affairs nearly as much as is healthy for me, and must instead watch my tongue and discuss the Switchfoot album. Which I have not heard, and could care less about. No one knows who Ani Difranco is and when I mention attending the March for Women's Lives their eyes glaze over and they say, "oh, that's cool."

[Disclaimer: this does not apply to Heidi or most of the people at HCW. I'm a little bitter at Frogs and co. at the moment]

So, it's three hours of teenage nostalgia for with a bonus half hour of Johnny Depp trivia for good luck (that last not being so painful). Which is not to say I didn't enjoy the ride- more I am lamenting the factors that have led me to watch television in the first place. TV makes my brain hurt- which I assume must be the feeling it suffers just before it asphyxiates from lack of intelligent content.

Monday, July 12, 2004

romantic comedy? oh.

When Harry Met Sally is Emily's and my favorite movie from our roommate days. Harry Connick Jr, clever dialogue, and the small, yet exhilarating, hope that someday our best guy friends will be...the one.

It was on AMC tonight and I watched it.

Besides making me incredibly anxious to see Jerry, in New York, during the winter with the pretty snow and the holiday cheer, it also made me rather heartsick.

Here's a question I ask myself: armed heavily as I am with feminist rhetoric and theory, am I allowed to moon over such touching saccharine romance?

The answer is, of course a feminist can have romance.

But oh, to have someone sprint city blocks for me in New York, on New Years Eve, to tell me he/she loves me, has always loved me, especially when I do that thing with my eyebrows.

Then there was a new emotion, utterly confusing and gut-wrenching for the very strangeness of it to my collective emotional psyche.

I actually wanted to get married.

My vendetta against marriage is not really against marriage- I would consider the actual union as a possibility- but rather I have (or had) no desire for the actual ceremony, the pomp, the circumstance, the delightfully 80s puffy sleeved bridesmaid dresses in tones of mauve and forest green.

Tonight there was a little twinge in the back of my mind that tried valiantly to build me up into a fervor (my sensibility being much more authoritative, it was silenced and rebuked heartily). Something about getting to dress up and be the most beautiful woman of the day (unless of course I marry a woman, in which case, it's a photo finish), to glow and have flowers and fuss over which uncle has gotten drunk enough to serenade me with Men At Work songs.

Just so you know, I've checked my temperature and I'm not running a fever. It's likely the late hour and the aftereffects of the combination of controlled substances I used yesterday are working together to create an irrational and completely silly Meg Ryan sympathizer. This feeling will likely pass after I sleep on it, which I will point out, embarrassed, tomorrow.

For now, I have promised myself a luxury: I will indulge the fantasy this evening as I settle into bed, knowing that my imagination will not be satisfied with touching romantic comedy and will in the end introduce a rampaging rhinoceros, or perhaps a scorned transsexual lover, that will tear down the whole facade and leave me helpless and depressed. My imagination likes me that way, because misery creates the greatest art.

It's an odd thing, this romance. Sneaks up on you while you're brewing green tea and taps you on the shoulder quite in the same way your young cousin might when she's put gummy bears in your underwear. Suddenly I'm looking around at the people I know and thinking, "if the lighting were just dim enough and I was idly swirling a glass of red wine, well..." Disconcerting and foolish, all at once.

Upon reflection, gummy bears in my underwear sounds quite enticing, and I think I will dream about that instead.

Sunday, July 11, 2004

cleaning up

Changed the template (this one matches charmingly with my Tara profile picture), gussied up the comment and trackback links, reorganized the blogroll and got rid of a few things that are extraneous. Should you miss desperately any of the links I have removed, contact me and I will send you the url.

It's near freezing in our house because of the air conditioner. I seriously dislike climate control- although in the middle of humid Madison July it has it's moments- because right now it is not necessary and my toes are frozen. I think I will sit outside and read, waiting for Heidi to call me back about the beach tonight.

explanation of the previous evening's adventures

In succinct and unslurred tones, I will commence to tell you the story of my Saturday afternoon, which as Saturday afternoons go, was quite the party.

High Country West (the small, community club I work at) has an annual picnic in July, with a DJ, pool games, various forms of meat between slices of bread, ice cream, pony rides, and beer.

That last is vitally important to the storyline.

I arrived at 2 to do my part, starting out by guarding for the pool games, and at 3 serving ice cream (the worst job there, and the stickiest). At 4 Aaron and I cleaned up the ice cream table and joined the rest of the staff in picking up trash, rearranging patio furniture, and just generally getting the place back in order. Aaron West and his brother Cameron were playing a live set, which made it quite a pleasant sunny July afternoon (today, I have Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" stuck in my head). As I wandered back to the area with the drinks and grills, I found Dana (boss), Sean, McKenna, Heidi, and Jared standing amicably around the keg. I was given a cup. I thought, "this job rules" and tucked in.

I wandered back and forth between the keg and the music, pretending like I was actually doing work, but mostly just feeling a general warmness of being that often comes with summer days and community happenings. At the drinks patio, the guards mentioned above were rapidly becoming drunk as proverbial skunks, teasing the tweenagers and behaving rather erratically. I had to work til 10, so I imbibed responsibly up until a point. The point were I thought, "fuck it," this opportunity comes so rarely, and you're only young once, Cameron's just played "Vienna" for me and all is right with the world. My headguard, McKenna, is the one encouraging me to drink, so what can you do? The boss says jump, you say "how high," the boss says drink, you say "how much?"

We had quite a good time 'round that keg. It was my turn to lifeguard, so I went, did my half hour (the Red Cross specifically warns against the imbibement of alcoholic beverages whilst lifeguarding, as it impares the mind's ability to think quickly and make decisions. Also, it makes it hard to care), and wandered back again to find them still firmly planted about the keg.

The rest of my shift went uneventfully- McKenna and I walked down to the elementary school to smoke (I watched) and chatted. She's quite a cool kid, and closer to my age and mental state than some of the other employees. Also, she's much in need of friends in San Diego, so there will be many more good times with her before I leave.

I left early- cleaned the bathroom counters and toilets as penance for my misdeeds, and ended up at a party in the same neighborhood (behind Megan's house, coincidentally enough) with McKenna and Aaron. There was much pot smoking. It was the kind of evening that lately I've been having a lot of- this desire to put something bad in my lungs and swirl it around a bit. It's not the kind of desire that makes me want to take up smoking (lords no) but just one that wanders around after I've been drinking and encourages me to "lighten up" and "live a little." Just so. The party was rather dull but it did the trick and I left, after sobering up, much satisfied with the events of my evening.

The post below is not a reference to any sort of hook up (sadly so), but just to my laziness and general sense of partied-outness. Today I find that my room is a wreck: there are clothes scattered on every available surface (not all of this is from last night, it has been steadily building the past week or so) and papers and boxes are taking up my limited floor space. Today I have nothing to do, as planned, and intend to pack up my clothes. Books are done, many things are already in boxes. Could get started on my CDs, as well.

With that anticlimactic end to my nocturnal adventures, I leave you, dear reader, to shake your head in wonderment and go about your day as if nothing has changed. No, nothing whatsoever.

i have been a bad girl

think i'll sleep naked. anyone have a problem with that?

don't chastise me. I haven't partied in forever, and i needed this.


Saturday, July 10, 2004

why high country west is officially my favorite workplace

because I got ridiculously drunk, at work, with my coworkers, at our annual neighborhood picnic. i skipped out on the end of my shift early because i'm pretty much useless as a lifeguard, and plus, there's more drinking ahead with said coworkers. just thought i'd let you know, that this pool is awesome, and i hereby take back anything i've said about any of them being prudish and goody two shoes.

mwah. stop moving, computer screen.

Friday, July 09, 2004

competitive edge

Was watching the trials for Olympic swimming on NBC tonight. Michael Phelps and Natalie Coughlin, damn.

Thing is, watching it just makes me itchy to race again. The thrill of competition sings in my nerves and I want to be up on a block, sizing up my fellow swimmers. I want to be neck and neck with the girl in the lane next to me, each of us bound and determined to win. I want to hear the cheer of crowd after I touch the wall and swing my head up to see my time.

I was never really fast enough to be even close to Olympic good, but I often wonder what kind of races I'd be swimming if I'd kept at it competitively. Or would injury stifle my strokes?

I've been swimming for fitness at Frogs during my down time, but tomorrow I think- I think I'll race the clock. Pretend like that girl I never liked from swim team is next to me and I'm kicking her ass big time. Hee.

just to be totally random

There are still pictures of my Royal Regiment days floating around on the internet.

here you see me looking extremely peeved about not having sunglasses, whilst Kyle Mitchell leans over to tell me that I missed a note:

And now I'm in London, looking sassy, yet virginal. Hey, it's Jonny standing next to me, before I got annoyed with him and his brother (second from left) and told them to fuck off in Switzerland:

One more, for posterity. I'm a good marcher, and look, I'm always prepared with my field charts in a binder on a string. (ahem...DORK ALERT!) Ooh, Brian Harris!:

There you have it. I was cool, in the bando universe. Carry on about your normal business.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

by request

For DeAnn, here are the answers to my July 6th post.

1. "My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within"
-- Fiona Apple, Pale September
2. "He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand"
-- Johnny Cash, Ballad of Ira Hayes
3. "What kind of scale compares the weight of two beauties: the gravity of duties, or the groundspeed of joy?"
-- Ani Difranco, School Night
4. "Land, land of liberty we're run by a constipated man, when you live in the past you refuse to see when your daughter comes home nine months pregnant"
-- Tori Amos, Sweet Dreams
5. "They'll beat him up until the teardrops start, he can't be wounded cuz he's got your heart"
-- Elvis Costello, Watching the Detectives
6. "Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it"
-- The Pixies, Where is My Mind?
7. "I want you always to remember for me, baby if you can, how much you hated the woman who made you a man"
-- Ani Difranco, Bubble
8. "Someday, we'll put it together and we'll get it all done"
-- Beth Orton, Oooh Child
9. "I am your failed husband contender, I'm your loan shark of bliss"
-- Jeff Buckley, Vancouver
10. "The sea takes us back too quickly, and I'm far from grounded. Now's the time to sail before the last tree falls"
-- Youngblood Brass Band, Culture: Envy: War
11. "His wicked sense of humor, suggests exciting sex"
-- Bjork, Venus as a Boy
12. "If I don't find it this time, then I'm better off dead"
-- PJ Harvey, My Beautiful Leah
13. "The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on"
-- George and Ira Gershwin (sung by Ella), They Can't Take That Away
14. "Nowhere is no escape, only flailing arms and bellyaches
When it all started coming down, fight, or did you run and hide?"
-- Phantom Planet, Big Brat
15. "Please, let me forget all those sweet smiles, all of the passion, all of the peace, the heat, the pain"
-- Jewel, Don't
16. "And your hair is so dirty, it makes you look like you're thirty!"
-- The Donnas, Dirty Denim
17. "Political incapatability lead to their downfall"
--Johnny Cash, The One on the Left is on the Right
18. "And her conscious lit a cigarette, and just stood there, waiting for her to crack, waiting for her to fall"
-- Ani Difranco, Fierce Flawless
19. "I'd love to live in Paradise, I love my brothers on a Saturday night"
-- Blur, Crazy Beat
20. "For when she thought of summer rain calling for her mind again, she lost the pain and stayed for more."
-- Nick Drake, Riverman

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

flattering, but not completely right

From 20 questions to a better personality:
Wackiness: 62/100
Rationality: 74/100
Constructiveness: 68/100
Leadership: 32/100

You are a WRCF--Wacky Rational Constructive Follower. This makes you Paul Begala. You are unflappable and largely unconcerned with others' reactions to you. You were not particularly interested in the results of this test, and probably took it only as a result of someone else asking you to.

You have a biting wit and intense powers of observation. No detail is lost on you, and your friends know it--relying on you to have the facts when others express only opinions. You are even-tempered, friendly, and educated. Foolish strangers may mistake your mildness for weakness--they will be surprised.

You entire approach to life is enviable. You will raise good kids.

I had to look up Paul Begala.

I'm not really all that observant, but I agree with the rest of it. I'm totally enviable.

Actually, "foolish strangers may mistake your mildness for weakness," rings true this summer, as I encounter new folks who take my quiet nature for naivete. Some have even gone so far as to boss me around- and they've realized they don't get very far with me that way.

I wouldn't say that the "follower" bit is far off, but it's more like "loner"- I'd rather not lead, I don't mind following, but what I really want to do is go off on my own and create my own universe. You can come too, if you want, but don't expect to have too much say in the position of the planets.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

oh, all the things i could have been doing

On your current playlist, hit shuffle and pick the first twenty songs on the list (no matter how cheesy or embarrassing), and write down your favorite line of the song. Try to avoid puting the song title in the line. Then have your friends comment and see if they know the songs! (stolen from Jane)

1. "My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within"
2. "He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand"
3. "What kind of scale compares the weight of two beauties: the gravity of duties, or the groundspeed of joy?"
4. "Land, land of liberty we're run by a constipated man, when you live in the past you refuse to see when your daughter comes home nine months pregnant"
5. "They'll beat him up until the teardrops start, he can't be wounded cuz he's got your heart"
6. "Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it"
7. "I want you always to remember for me, baby if you can, how much you hated the woman who made you a man"
8. "Someday, we'll put it together and we'll get it all done"
9. "I am your failed husband contender, I'm your loan shark of bliss"
10. "The sea takes us back too quickly, and I'm far from grounded. Now's the time to sail before the last tree falls"
11. "His wicked sense of humor, suggests exciting sex"
12. "If I don't find it this time, then I'm better off dead"
13. "The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on"
14. "Nowhere is no escape, only flailing arms and bellyaches
When it all started coming down, fight, or did you run and hide?"
15. "Please, let me forget all those sweet smiles, all of the passion, all of the peace, the heat, the pain"
16. "And your hair is so dirty, it makes you look like you're thirty!"
17. "Political incapatability lead to their downfall"
18. "And her conscious lit a cigarette, and just stood there, waiting for her to crack, waiting for her to fall"
19. "I'd love to live in Paradise, I love my brothers on a Saturday night"
20. "For when she thought of summer rain calling for her mind again, she lost the pain and stayed for more."

Monday, July 05, 2004

about loneliness

Jerry, I feel you. That's how I've felt most of this year, well, mostly. It wasn't so much the physical loneliness as the psychic that got to me. Not having someone to talk to unconditionally. Missing you. Not knowing what's next or why or how it will come.

Maybe I'm still looking for that fling, maybe work has made me some friends that manage to keep me busy, maybe I've perfected the art of thinking about other things, but you're always on my mind, hon. I have to put parts of me in hibernation to go so long without seeing you, or I'll rot away from sadness. Maybe we won't ever have what we used to, because life is just working out like that. I want you to know that I'm going to have a hard time finding anyone to mean even half of what you mean to me.

And yeah, I wish things were different. Things I could have changed, things I have no power over.

I'm ready for a new adventure, and I know you are too. You look around and see tenderness, and wonder when it's coming back for you. It's hard not to get frustrated, but if you don't keep trying- well, it's not going to fall into your lap. The joy of getting to know someone new, of working things out, of giddiness and nausea, that's what you're missing. Me too. Little crushes and shy smiles. The awkward dance, the contrived meetings and things you go out of your way to do. Feeling like a fool but having it all come out alright at the end. Stories to tell.

Good luck, but don't be a stranger. I love you.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

more blogging than you can shake a pixie stick at!

I know, I know, I am a liar. I said I wouldn't blog much, but when I'm in a good mood, I blog. When I blog, I'm in a good mood. It's a vicious cycle. Actually, the thing is when I am in such a mood I think of funny things to say and then I feel worthwhile again.

So I just wanted you to know that I watch the Time Zones page on my Sitemeter and enjoy the competition over highest percentage of my readership between the Central Standard Time (props to the Wisconsinites!) and the Eastern Standard Time folks (with the addition of Jerry, you are fighting a close race!). It sways back and forth each day and is quite exciting. Go EST! You can do it! Don't let them catch up, CST! 2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate? Illinois! Rock on Michigan, tell it like it is, Florida!

What's up, California? I friggin' live here, you think you'd represent your homie. Fine, fine, be that way.

Here's a toast to my Australian readership. And those loyal European fans (I know it's you, Bethany!).

Who's googling me? (or yahooing, rather, but that sounds naughty and I want in on it) You are a PSTer, you can't hide from me. Have I googled you? (Probably, I like to googlestalk people) Are you having a good time here? Would you like something to drink? Some chips and salsa? Make yourself at home.

This is what you get when you combine chai lattes and lack of sleep. Another random train of thought: Check out my old buddy Aaron, whom I saw perform tonight and enjoyed thoroughly.

Friday, July 02, 2004

more on coincidences

Wednesday night I went to the Martini Ranch with Natalie and her friend Deirdre (sp?), to hear David Patrone (and his awesome quartet) do a little crooning. Guys and Dolls was on the big screen. I mentioned to Natalie that I thought young Marlon Brando was quite the hunk, and we wondered what the hell happened as he aged.

Today I go over to Pamie and find that Marlon Brando has died at age 80.

Dan's convinced that he killed Brando, but I think I have a part in it. We weren't nice to old Brando. Whoops. Hope I didn't sabotage the Beastie Boys, too, while I was at it.

Oh yeah, and...AYN RAND!

friday! july! i love july!

I'm in a better mood, Sunday's the fourth of July, my birthday is in 19 days, I leave for Texas in 25, hurray!

I'd been a bad mood all week mostly because of work, because I was working non stop, I hadn't worn dry clothes for seven days, and people at work were being petty and dramatic. Today I thought, "fuck this" and shrugged it all off. My buddy Mike came back from vacation and I was so happy to see him I gave him a big wet-out-of-the-pool hug and I realized, I haven't been genuinely, truly hugged in forever. Everyone needs hugs. He was happy to see me, too, and I could cry from the joy of having someone be happy to see me. You never miss it til it's gone.

I don't know if I'll be blogging that much in the next few weeks; my work schedule is still fairly insane and I've got lots of packing and planning to do. As Davis mentioned in my comments, however, it is possible that the different environment of Texas will encourage my snark and feminist wit. Look forward to that.

I'll leave you with something I delight in: the thrill of coincidences. For example:

As my kids and I played noodle races today I mentioned that anything goes, you can sabotage your opponents by stealing their noodle, dunking them, or squirting water through the hole. One of my boys loved the word "sabotage" so much he kept repeating it for the rest of the lesson. Official word of the weekend.

When I went out to my car to go home, what song should be on the radio but the Beastie Boys, "Sabotage."

I love it when life does that.