What's with all the coffee roasters in Bloomington. I can name one in Columbia (Immaculate Consumption). Columbia's population is about 10 times more than that of Bloomington. I can name four Bloomington roasters–Runcible Spoon, Bloomington Coffee Roasters, Partridge & Quigley, and now Stonecutters Coffee. I wish them all the luck, but don't they think the market may be saturated?

There's a restaurant (or two?) on 4th Street. You walk in the door and the host(ess) asks "Italian or Ethiopian?" Italian is to the left, Ethiopian to the right. They share waitstaff for sure. Maybe the kitchen too. But, don't they know? I mean, it's almost as ironic as my cousin's Hawaiian-themed wedding that was held December 7th. I tried Ethiopian several years ago in San Francisco and the injera (spongy sour-dough flatbread) that the food is served on and eaten with has been one of my food hauntings. It is so amazingly delicious. So that's exciting news on the food front.

I will also be baking all this weekend. Since Oscar and I are staying in B-town this Christmas, I'm making all my mom's usual baked or sweet goods. I should probably find out Oscar's favorites and make them as well. My list so far is:
Definitely:
Mince tarts
Peanut Butter Balls
Pecan Crescents aka Danish or Mexican wedding cookies
Gingerbread men
Puppy Chow
Maybe:
Sugar Cookies
Pecan tarts

Awkward sex

I used to think that the sex scene in Enemy at the Gates was the. most. awkward. sex. scene. ever. EVER.

But I'm watching Kinsey right now.




Genital kissing!?

I recently went on a rant about the Chamber of Commerce logo. How it's always a lo-res jpg. Well, ironies of ironies, they called us a few weeks ago, asking if we happened to have an .eps of the logo. Lucky them, their logo is super simple. Also, lucky them, I have the font they use, so I recreated their logo in Illustrator. Perhaps a little unethical.

Oscar's third seems to have gone really well. Thank goodness.

A kind request from Zeke

Hi,
I'm Zeke the Plumber. You may remember me from an episode of "Salute Your Shorts" in which I haunted Michael and Telly's dreams. I'd like to request that the title "The Plumber" be dropped from the political vernacular. I keep getting false alarms to do my haunting. It makes my job tough. Sometimes, I pop up at political rallies. That's pretty embarrassing. It's also having an emotional effect. My demographic are mostly in their mid-twenties. They don't really call on mask-wearing ghosts to do their bidding anymore. I miss the work and all these false alarms, getting my hopes up, are just awful. It just reminds me that I'm obsolete.

Thank you,
Zeke the Plumber

A home inspection company after my own heart

In my endless rambling through the internet, I came across a home inspection company in south-central Indiana called–get this–SHERLOCK HOMES. In Disney's Jungle Book, there's a scene where Mogli laughs at the elephants as they fail to stop and end in a twelve pachyderm pile up. He's rolling and gripping his sides. That's me. I love the name Sherlock Homes so much. I'm well aware that it's probably been done. To death.



Last year, I bought a new iPod. And since I have never synced an iPod to iTunes, my play counts were reset. I also tend to go through music phases. I'll listen to one or two bands for weeks and then not go near them again. All this leads to the discovery that I had only listened to 40% of the 7600+ songs on my new iPod. I've spent the last two weeks listening to anything with a zero play count. I'm up to 47%. I've also deleted a lot of random duplicates.

Disney surprises for two.

Several years ago, Oscar worked a summer at Disney World. Oscar also has a cynical, dry sense of humor. To hear that he loved working at Disney shocks me just a little. To me, Disney is fake and opposite of all that is Oscar. But he was happy. That's my Disney surprise.

Sleeping Beauty just came out on DVD. The first time Oscar and I saw the commercial, I squealed about how much I love that movie. Oscar was so surprised. He hadn't taken me for a Sleeping Beauty kind of girl. That's Oscar's Disney surprise.




Euler is making biscuits on the pillow beside me.

Is America ready for a shoe salesman who sings protest songs?

I thought protest/political singers were all sixty year old stoners who miss the electricity of the sixties. They have bad posture. They're gray balding, but insist on keeping a ponytail. They have beards and wear dreamcatcher jewelry and turquoise.

I hate this.

Also, this:

Why?

Gawk

Dear Kinkos, Stop referring people to us.

My hands smelled like celery. Who knew celery had a smell?
I can be very seat of my pants.

I need to plant a garden. My crop? Nuts. Balls. Testicles.
We had a walk-in today. He was a giant man with lots of jewelry and an unidentifiable accent. He made me extremely nervous. Three words out, and I knew he was the type of man who expected people to cater to him. And that's exactly what I did. He needed business cards. He wanted raised ink. Flat ink. Gold ink. Silver ink. Green ink. Gray ink. He want gold foil. Silver foil. He needed it designed from scratch. And he wanted it tomorrow. Screeching hault! Not possible. We aren't open. We don't do raised ink or foiling in house. Oh, but there must be a way. How bout Sunday? Nope, again, we are not here. Are you sure? Yep. Monday? Let me call the company we use for thermography and foiling. Ring ring. Blah blah. Nope, foiling with ink will take no less than seven days. There is no way to rush it. It needs that time to dry. Having something like that done overnight would defy the laws of printing physics. Long story . . . crap crap crap. The only thing we can have by Monday is a two standard color raised ink card. Pick two of the inks on this page. Okay, that green, gold, and silver. TWO COLORS.


I emailed Oscar requesting an apocalypse, NOW!! This is one of the biggest things I hate and am ashamed about. When I am scared or nervous and do not like whatever situation I am in, the only way out I can see is an apocalypse.

Sisters in Law

My brother is getting married sometime next year. I like his fiancé. I've only met her a couple of times, so I haven't developed any kind of sisterly relationship. I wasn't trained for that kind of thing. My mom doesn't have sisterly relationships with her SIL's. She has really tense relationships actually. God, I hope I can avoid that. I like Oscar's sister a lot, but I don't know how to interact with her. I know we probably wouldn't be friends if it weren't for Oscar. We just don't do similar things. But she's really friendly and fun to be with. I just wish I knew how to be open with her and Sarah.

William and Sarah are getting married in my parents' backyard. Absolutely precious. I like backyard weddings. And you can't get any better than my parents'. The previous owners got married there too. Heck, I might get married there. But that plan is still a ways off.

My boss is taking me and the other girl to the Chamber of Commerce Luncheon. We are members and do some printing for them. I'd like to know why they never, ever have high quality logos. They send us 72 ppi jpgs. WTF! They're the effing CoC. They don't have/can't get an .eps?

Farmer's Market this morning was great. All my favorite flowers are out. Bloomington Coffee Roasters had a new Mexican roast out. It was very light and amazing. There were tons of bell peppers and I got some of the last local peaches of the year, even though they're on sale for 88¢/lb at Kroger. I may go buy more there. I also got some fromage blanc and cottage cheese from Trader's Point. The cottage cheese is unbelievable. I don't even like cottage cheese, but I can eat this straight on a fork. The fromage blanc is delicious in pasta. Quick recipe:

Pasta of choice for as many people as you'll be feeding. I think a pound is good for four.
Fromage blanc (I think ricotta will work too)
Broccoli, coursly chopped (I like a lot, but this is all to preference).
1 handful Pine nuts or Walnuts
2-4 cloves garlic, chopped
Olive Oil
Red pepper flakes, parsley, oregano, and or basil to taste

Cook pasta per package directions. Meanwhile, heat oil and garlic in a large non-stick pan over medium-high heat. When you start hearing the garlic sizzle, add the broccoli and any herbs. Cover and let cook until broccoli is cooked to your liking. I prefer it pretty crisp, so I only let it cook 5-8 minutes. Add the pasta and toss everything around a few times. Remove from heat and add in a big spoonful of fromage blanc. Stir it in to melt in the pasta. Keep stirring in spoonfuls until the pasta is coated to your liking. Sprinkle on some fresh parmesan cheese, if you'd like. Enjoy!

This is a fun combination to play with. Play with the herbs. Try spinach or zucchini instead of broccoli. You could add cooked chicken or shrimp.

Edit: Don't toss the pasta into the veggies. Put it back in the pot and toss in the cheese. It's easier to coat the pasta if you can swirl and toss it. Then add all the veggies to the pasta pot. I made this tonight (09/23) and added red and yellow bell peppers and onion. Quite delicious. This is quickly becoming my mulch dish. I big pile of vegetable remnants

Better be off.

Current Mood:

Decemberists.

Yes, for me, The Decemberists are a mood. Like big is a smell. And coincidentally, they go together.

It's first cool week after summer and I'm fed up with my music. But then, without thinking, I put on 5 Song E.P. and Castaways and Cutouts and I know it's fall.

And I'm driving from Oxford to the southeast side of Cincinnati on 275, my dad's Durango full of the stuff I'd left in storage over the summer. Gran is waiting for me at Aunt Linda's house. Tomorrow, we'll be driving back to Myrtle Beach. I've just left all my friends at Miami. All the people who are responsible for this sentimentality. And the air is vast. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool and carries every sweet smell it's ever touched. That's big.

This is the snapshot. The vertex of an angle. One segment is two years at Miami. The other spans two months and turns when my grandmothers die. It's working at Kligs through the fall. It's smoking weed. It's feeling comfortable, but then realizing this comfortable is not where you want to be.

All of this is The Decemberists. Five years later, it's still a terribly vivid emotion. So exact.

Sometimes, the customer is wrong

Why do people who wait two weeks to inform you of a problem also not want the problem fixed? The product is good enough to be used, but bad enough to complain for a refund. We don't have an explicit return policy. More of a "make it work" policy. If there's a problem with the final product, we're totally willing and happy to reprint it at no charge. But I resent being asked for a refund, especially when the proof that they approved matches the final product.

I'm not as stupid as Judy must think I am

We have a client with ridiculous two-sided, full-color, full-bleed business cards. They've ordered them for various employees maybe five times in the year I've been here. And I have fucked them up every time. The first time, it was a minor foible. Typo or something. The second time, was probably a typo too, but being the second mess up, it's no longer a foible. The third time, they'd moved, so I had to change their address and I left the old zip code. I'm such a flake. A long time went between the third and fourth. I forgot they'd moved, so I sent the proof with the old address. I'm an idiot. Now, I picked the one oddly formatted card to create proofs for new employees, so the alignment and spacing is all wrong. I can only imagine what the card orderer thinks of me. Has she even noticed that I've fucked up their cards every time she's ordered them? I want to email her some long excuse begging her not to think I'm stupid. But that would probably just annoy her.

They're measuring the kitchen and bathroom today. We will be getting a new stove and countertops. Currently, the burners on the stove are operated by push button and the oven runs 25° hot. We will also be getting a new vanity in the bathroom, which is nice, although I have no complaints about the current one. It's fantastically retro. If only it were mint green.



I watched a lot of Bridezillas yesterday. I don't understand–can't fathom–how a person gets to that point. I say person because there was a Groomzilla. Take a step back and a breath in. After that, I watched a show about wedding cakes. I'm not actually obsessed with weddings or anything, but yesterday my TV thought I was. I am a big fan of cake, though. I would totally be Cake Monster on Seseme Street. I'd live in a cake like a burlesque dancer, only I'd be homeless because I'd have eaten my home. Or it would have dissolved. To me, weddings are about cake and family.

This is my life . . .

I'm excited over my credit card company actually doing something nice.

I recently paid for my car insurance with my credit card, so I could get the rewards points. I paid it off right away. In fact, my payment cleared before the insurance charge did. Problem was, there are two accounts I pay from and I chose the one that didn't have that much money in it. It was rejected, but I noticed it right away and payed again from the correct account. They hit me with a returned check fee. But I called and explained I'd chosen the wrong account and would love it if they'd remove the charge. And they did. Sweet! I love you customer service representative.

Now, if I can just get Geico to realize I don't live in South Carolina anymore...

Top five things I'm sick of

1. Being subtly blamed for the delay in projects. "I was waiting to get the specifics from you." Okay, so ask. Or consider that the job was emailed and addressed to you first. You forwarded it to me. I assumed you knew what was going on. And you don't seem to want anyone else touching the machine this job will be run on. I just need to figure out how to hound you. Have you run it, have you run it. Also, must stop assuming you've read the things you've forwarded to me.
2. My mouse at work that only works every third click.
3. The way I clean, which leads to bags and piles of things that are out of/have no place waiting for me to find a place for them.
4. My own laziness.
5. The jungle that is the second bedroom.

Top Five Most Embarrassing or something like embarrassing

1. Going to dinner at Racheal's Cafe, only to find it's open mic night.
2. Going to see the toy piano player, only to find no one is at the venue.
3. Going to Runcible Spoon for open mic, only to find it's not open mic.
4. Trying to parallel park in front of a gaggle of construction workers.
5. Going to dinner at Runcible Spoon, only to find it's open mic night.

Lot's of embarrassment over open-mic nights.

Ah Lo-fi Scott-pop

For me, Belle and Sebastian is perfect. There's not any more I can say.

Top five voice crushes:

Ray Davies (always and forever # 1)
Stuart Murdoch
Jeff Mangum
Joanna Newsom
Alan Rickman

Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?

A salon in Denver is donating hair cuts to the homeless in anticipation of the DNC. Strip away all the differing opinions on homeless people and giving time and skill to other people is just a nice thing to do.

Oh BBC, you're so crazy

I'm behind on my BBC Business Daily podcasts so I'm listening to 9 Aug. It's the credit crisis anniversary edition. They're doing an audio montage of headlines through the last year, backed by "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now," by The Smiths. Love. I want to marry the BBC.

In sappy greeting card commercials there's that moment when the every-woman has finished reading the heartfelt message, written to represent a million people's birthday, anniversary, sympathy wishes, and she holds the card up to her chest and smiles through a tear.

Occasionally, Oscar reads my mind and I smile through a tear.

Why do people wait two weeks to tell you there's a problem with the materials they pick up from you?

Disappointing Scene

My friend Anne and I have been going to various local events. I want to see what's happening in this town because I need to fall in love with it. Last month we tried to go to the Art Hospital to see a toy piano player. A player of toy pianos, not a toy player of pianos. We got there and the place was empty of all human life. All that was there were some random things. I can't even categorized them from their randomness. A gumball machine, old signs, vintage bottles, vintage crap. So we left having not been witness to toy pianos and their player.

Despite this rather dumbfounding non-concert, we decided to check out Harry and the Potters a couple of weekends ago at Rhino's all ages music club. That made me feel really old. But it was nice to see kids being able to take part in "cool" activities at a "cool" venue. Most of them were middle schoolers who were each a little historical mirror of myself. Poor things. Someday, they'll make ever so har-har self-deprecating comments. Pre-show, there was a bouncy castle and face-painting and cake, which can only entertain tweens through one flip and three brushstrokes before they start skipping around with each other bouncing balloons and play fighting. I overheard a mother comment that the kids, skipping and laughing and bouncing balloons, must be really bored. She thought there would be more organized fun. . . . . If a kid is laughing, he's not bored. If a kid is having a finger sword fight, she's not bored. If kids are interacting with each other, they're not bored.

I got off track. Pre-show: awkward, awkward awkward. Opening band: Uncle Monster Face. They did a couple of Harry Potter themed raps/songs then a cover of "Like a Prayer." I like genre/style crossing covers--Travis, "Hit Me Baby One More Time;" Cake, "I Will Survive;" etc.--so "Like a Prayer" gave me good hopes, which soon came tumbling down on my like an avalanche of socks. Uncle Monster Face's gimmick is a sock puppet show. At the end of one song, a giant Uncle Monster Face man comes out in a suit and papier-mâché head. It reminded me a lot of the time Preston Hall elected Trogdor as wing liason. Their show was so bad that we left. There were two more bands to go before Harry and the Potters and it was already 2.5 hours after doors opened. And we were afraid of what the other bands were capable of doing, so we hesitantly left.

No Harry and the Potters this time.

Douché

I had a dream last night that Frank Zappa showed up to perform for my dad's birthday. He was so excited that he completely let loose with the happiness. It made me uncomfortable because I've never seen my dad that happy in real life. Pure, unfiltered, concentrated, elation.

Then, I was over at a picnic table with the Queen of England talking about douches. She thought it was a perfectly normal conversation about how English women douche all the time, while I argued that it messed with the balance down there and perhaps they shouldn't.

I saw The Apartment last night.

I didn't know the word "sex" existed in 1960. I also didn't know Hollywood had discovered attempted suicide.

But I'm pretty glad they did. It was a decent + movie. It wasn't mind-blowingly revelatory, but it was well done and enjoyable. I highly recommend it. I could totally see it being remade today. Its story is totally translatable. Just throw in a few cell phones and throw out the hats (sad).

Oscar claims that the downfall of society started when men stopped wearing proper hats. I think I read that somewhere too.

**Oscar just walked in with short hair!!!**

Every night this week I have come home and fallen asleep. Only to wake up at 6, grumpy, sluggish, raging, absolutely lost in some horrible state of mind. I can't describe it. Putting this rage into words would never fully explain it. It starts with "Why am I asleep in the middle of the day alone at home?" Then turns to horrible memories of my parents fighting. My mom just keeps yelling and yelling at my dad, no matter how hard I scream for her to stop. She just won't. So I kick in a wall. Then I end up thinking about the horrible state of the world and how much needs to change. And how much I want it to change, but how afraid I am that I won't be able to cope. Then I get mad at myself for not thinking of how to save the world. Which is ridiculous to blame myself for not saving the world. But then I hate myself for worrying about how I me me me I will cope with what the world becomes. Then I look around at the mess of my apartment and freak out and start to rage at Oscar. But really, I am so goddamn tired of empty oil bottles (how long now?) The dirty clothes, the litter box, the dishes. And I've asked a million times. but nothing. He doesn't seem to get that his ennui affects me.

And now I'm paralyzed, writing things I'm sure I'll regret because, despite the fact that very few people read this, it is public. I need to eat. I want Chinese, but Chinese alone at 8:30 is only the saddest thing in the world. I need to be okay with my time alone in the evenings. It's just the way things are. I'm alone when I get home. I can be okay with this. But not right now. I'm paralyzed. So I do not take advantage of it. I could totally use it. I would love it. But I don't. And I hate myself again. It took me half an hour to write myself down off the ledge. I still can't go pick up my chinese because my eyes are blotchy and swollen.

On a different note, I'm falling into a vegetarian habit. Not on purpose. It's just happening. But I always get General Tso's chicken when I get Chinese. And I'm afraid my stomach will hurt from it.

I've sufficiently distracted myself now.

Holiday Spam

From: McClurkin Holston
Subject: quash sketching

Hei,

V I A GG RK LA

Click here
--
Same age and both children. At other times she emphasis.
he was not far wrong in saying that were all but dead with
sorrow. On his knees the really, dorise! He cried, advancing
towards her. Over mexico. They returned, converted also.
but recognizes her first. A few moments before, he 'i have
told the truth. To everyone i have told and an old woman
were sitting side by side on.

~ ~ ~

Patriotic Pangs

Until I was 18, I only missed the North Carolina 4th of July Festival one time. My grandmother lived in Southport, and the 4th of July was the only sure time all of my mom's side of the family got together. There was a parade, which went kind of lame in later years, but before I hit ten, it was the coolest thing on four wheels, four legs, or two clown feet. There were fire engines, horses, Shriners, cartoon characters, Ghostbusters who shot silly string, beauty queens in convertibles who threw candy to us, crepe paper floats, marching bands. After the parade, we went to the Arts and Crafts festival. I always wanted a wire head band with curly ribbon coming off the back. I got one every few years. And the food. Brats Bratwurst* , gyros, funnel cakes, dippin' dots. Just thinking about it puts me into a food coma. And when it finally got dark, there were fireworks over the river. We'd sit on the lawns of the old sea captains houses with their Widow's Walks and haunted basements. Then we'd walk back to my grandmother's house.

There is an indescribable feeling of the Fourth of July for me. It's like Christmas, only better because it lacks that ribbon of childhood greed urgency to open gifts. It meant getting to eat Cookie Crisp and drink Coke. It meant playing in the playhouse with my cousin Daniel and my brother. It meant playing hide-and-seek at dusk with my older cousins who would hide in the graveyard behind my grandma's house or up pine trees in the back yard. I still can't imagine climbing one of them. They were wider than telephone poles, but just as branchless. I really miss them these days. It's been several years since we've all been together in one place.

My grandmother died almost five years ago. I have some lingering guilt about it all. She was in the hospital, and I was driving up to see her. A lot of my family had gone up earlier, but I stayed later to do something with a boyfriend at the time. I just didn't think she'd die while I was driving. My gran had only died the week before. There was no way Grandma was going to go too. But she did, twenty minutes before I got there. I've only been back to Southport once since her funeral. I did watch A Walk to Remember, though. With friends, under duress, a little. I knew it had been filmed in Southport, so a part of me wanted to watch it regardless of a terminal Mandy Moore. And uh, she dies in the same hospital as my grandma.

I looked into booking a hotel for next year's festival. They're all booked. Nothing! No rooms! I knew the festival was getting big and that when I was a kid you'd have to book a room in January, but a year in advance? That's ridiculous! Maybe that's just an online thing. Maybe if you call the hotel. I'll have to see.

*I was looking this over and when I saw "Brats," I thought Bratz, the dolls. As tasty as that sounds, and as satisfying as their destruction would be, I'm afraid I'd get salmonella poisoning or herpes from eating a Bratz doll.

Sometimes, I hate you public radio

Someone spoke yesterday on WFHB about ways to cut cost of gas by getting better mileage. Among other points, the commentator stressed not tailgating, which is a good point. You save gas by not braking as much and by accelerating more slowly. But then he said approximately this: The most expensive gas you’ll ever purchase is the gas already in your tank if you are involved in an accident. It could cost thousands of dollars per gallon. Or even a life.

Really?

Really?

No. That gas cost just as much as it did at the station. That’s a cheap fallacious maneuver. You can’t just spread the cost of an accident over the cost of gas. Cheap cheap cheap. The tank of gas has nothing to do with the accident. Sometimes, I hate people’s “clever” distortion of details to make a stupid point.


***

My brother asked me where the human humanE society in Columbia is. I started to give him Bloomington directions. Good sign. I even needed a generous pause before remembering how to get to the Columbia pound. He and Sarah are thinking of getting a cat. They need an animal, and at their point in life--the next few years will still be renting--it's just easier to have a cat.

Why Oscar is the greatest

1. The fixed umbrella.

This joint in the umbrella frame came assembled using grommets. One of them broke and Oscar fixed it with a teeny, tiny nut and bolt. The chemistry he does uses more machines than chemicals, so he's getting pretty good at machines. He should become an inventor.


2. "Why are you wearing boots? Put on some fucking pumps woman!" --Shouted at Gilmore Girls.

There are many other reasons Oscar rocks, but these two are total standouts and deserved internet evidence.

It never seemed so strange

July, July, July is going to be one of those months that make me miss the flexibility of college summers. All my friends are converging on the midwest for Pitchfork. I do not have tickets because I didn't realize it was the same weekend as Alana's visit. And we're only going to be in Chicago for the day and I'd rather go to the Art Institute and Chinatown than wrestle with a crowd in Chicago in July. As friggin' cool as it would be, I don't want to mess with it. But, I do want to mess with meeting up with Ashley and her old man and Scott and Robbie and anybody else who might be between Evanston and Gary.

That's July 19. The 24th, I want to go back to Chicago for a taping of a radio program Oscar and I enjoy.

Oh, and Russ might be stopping in earlier in the month. The Chem Crawl is in there somewhere and I'm hoping to get together a picnic for my birthday. If only last July were as fun filled as this one should be. Minus the Decemberists concert, last July was totally lame.

My Thai Cafe, Bloomington, IN

I've been dreaming of tom kha gai for two weeks now. It's creamy and tangy and amazing. Yesterday, I finally broke down and took a long lunch to eat out at My Thai Cafe. It's located in a strip mall off W. 3rd St., near Whitehall Plaza. It used to be Jit's Thai Cafe. It was good when it was Jit's. Now, it's an Asian pastiche nightmare. It used to be pretty bare, with just tables and white walls. Admittedly, it was boring. But it was tasty and reasonably priced. Sometime in the last six months, they decided they needed to be brown and copper. Big brown booths have replaced the trim tables. Copper "art" has replaced the photos of the Thai king and queen. And now, there are a million Glade plug-ins hidden around the dining room. It's the same smell as a horrible house I lived in one summer, which is my problem, I know. No restaurant, though, should smell that strongly of anything but the food being cooked in the back.

Decor though can be ignored if the food is great. But it's not. It's good enough to be eaten, but not worth going for again. The tom kha was a little rich. It tasted like they used cream which logically seems preferable, but it sat heavily in my stomach.

I don't think I'll be going back to My Thai Cafe. It's close to work, which is great for lunch, but it's too disappointing.I guess I'll have to take a long lunch sometime and go to Siam House or Esan Thai.

Letter to a client

Dear Xxxxx,
You know how your text is always pixilated? It's because your idiot "graphic designer" uses Photoshop to do all his design work.
Please drop him. Find someone who uses illustrator.

Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator. Please use Illustrator.

Staying with my theme of complaining about minutia

People here drop "to be."

Mass Hamlet phobia?

"This needs changed." It's all over craigslist:  "The A/C needs charged."

I remember in elementary or middle school that dropping the "to be" was a common grammatical error, but I never heard it until I moved to Indiana. The least they could say is "This needs charging." But no.  

Grammar Nazi! Woo!

Wave bye-bye

Oscar posted Theodore on Craig's List and it sold within two days, I think. It was very quick.  And while he didn't get the asking price, he was above his low-ball number.

We're leaving for Montreal tomorrow around lunch. I know how to say "I'm lost" in French.  Je suis perdu.  Hopefully that doesn't happen.

I'm craving hummus and tom ka gai. Not together, though. Ick. I have hummus (homemade hey, hey) at home, but no tom kha gai.  I do have lentil soup though.  But is it the same? I don't think so.  

Oscar is selling Theodore, his loyal Saturn.
















Theodore was a lovely friend and we are sorry to see his passing. However, knowing his demise was near, Oscar went ahead and found a replacement. Meet Ralph Ralf:
















Ralph Ralf is fast. Ralph Ralf has many bells and whistles and is great evidence in the argument for buying a used luxury car. Ralph, who is seven years older than my Chad is much better equipped and cost half as much. Of course, you’ve got to be concerned about maintenance.

Ralph Ralf has a manual transmission, which I did not know how to drive. I’ve tried. But no offense to my mother, she is not great at teaching. She’s not very patient and things are faster when she does them, so she’d just assume do them. I don’t blame her. I can totally understand that. But that’s on my list. Be more patient. Wow, that went off course. The point of that is I can drive a stick now. I only stalled once.

* * *

EXTRA: CARMAN IS CLEVER

I took photos of Theodore yesterday. He’s a little dirty and a lot white, so it shows. But I am clever and gave it the easiest car wash ever. I overexposed it two stops. It was overcast, so it just looks like a sunny day. The car just looks gleaming except one dirty drip line that’s in a shadow. Nothing I could do without creating a heavenly glow around Theodore. Although, that might not be a bad idea.

In other news in the area of my cleverness, I found a way to satisfy a Starbucks craving in a pinch—add sugar to my coffee. I didn’t want to come to work today, but promised myself a caramel macchiato as a bribe. I didn’t wake up in time, though, so when I got my coffee at work this morning, I added a slight sprinkling of sugar. I still want the macchiato though. Maybe tomorrow. Or Friday when I’m up early enough to be first in line. Plus, I view Friday as a sort of treat day. Maybe I’ll have a piece of cake as well. Ho boy!

By the way, I wish you could say “Fuck” on television because “Starfucks” works so much better than “Slutbucks.” My dad does that with places he doesn’t like—Taco Hell, Booger King—but some of them are terrible. Carolina Forest as Carolina Hell just doesn’t do it for me. Not enough pun. As a kid I used to poke fun at Carolina Hell. I just couldn’t understand why my dad wasn’t as offended by its lack of pun as I was. I gave him a hard time about it a few times. I wish I had known how trivial my annoyance was and had just let it go. Good thing my dad reads this (Hi Daddy!), and now, if he even remembers me giving him a hard time, knows I’m sorry for it. Not to say his memory is going, but he may not have been bothered by it as much as I feel bad about it.

* * *
A friend gave me an Ani DiFranco mixed CD. I never was a fan of her stuff. Too Gen-X and feminist. My music collection is probably 75% male dominated acts. When I was coming into my music tastes, women singers were really airy and sentimental—Sarah McClachlin—or too silly—Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera—too much of a novelty—Mereditch Brookes—or just plain shitty—Paula Cole. Also, I was too young for Ani DiFranco. Way too young. I was so naïve. I doubt I’ve had understood half of what she said. I might be ready now, so I’m giving it a chance. Still, I have a feeling it will be too emotionally honest for me. I don’t do well with emotional music, especially if it’s relevant to myself. Love and loss don’t count as emotions in music. I can handle those. They’re too cliché to make me uncomfortable. Random aside: Every time I hear “Casimer Pulaski Day” I cry.

What is so wrong about emotions? That’s supposed to be the weakness of women, right? Men are better leaders (yes this is topical) because they aren’t victims to their feelings. But I think emotions can be added into logical decisions. I have no evidential support and no desire to research it. Is insecurity an emotion? EMOTIONS!! God, I’m so angry at emotions. I don’t know what to do with them.

Wow, off topic again.

If I get brain or lung cancer when

It's because of the fumes I breathed today.

I'm dizzy and my legs feel far away and heavy.

Can't move

Clouds too heavy.  

blarg.  It's so dreary today, I can't even exclaim how grossed out I am by the perfect medium gray of the world.  Not just the sky. The entire world was shot with black and white film with a low contrast filter.  Or, some jerk took the world into photoshop and turned down all the saturation, except the sickly yellow of my desk lamp.  

And there's no energy to it. There's no anticipation of a great thunderstorm. No depth to the gray. There's a light wind, but it's not nearly violent enough to make up for the dullness.  I almost feel like I need a kick in the head.  Something really sour or really sweet.  I actually put sugar in my coffee this morning. I haven't done that in at least two years.

There is a particular kind of organization that comes to us for print work. Mostly, I have nothing against these kinds of organizations.  But every time someone comes in looking for this or that I feel a twinge of annoyance.  A little grrr.  And their files are almost always crap.

We have one client, whom I love. He is the perfect curmudgeon, with his grizzled voice and his aches and pains and worries.  Yet he somehow manages not to bring me down with him.  He's always a little cheerful even through the griping. 

I'm Paul Revere, Bitch!

Alana is coming! Alana is coming!  Has the same rhythm as "The British are coming!"  She'll be here in July. We're going to bus to Chicago for a night.  We'll do a little B-town as well.  I'm so psyched.

Voxtrot

WIUX is running automation right now.  That means the same five hours of music over and over again.  Somehow, I manage to get in my car in some pattern that puts me in the same 3-5 song block.  Which leads to Voxtrot.  Their song, "Ghost" is in my block.  "Ghost" is one of those songs that is amazingly familiar and moving, without making me name the band being ripped off.  I know the song sounds like another band, I just can't finger the right one.  I had to buy the album.   Tinkly like the Smiths, epic like Coldplay, and one random song, "Stephen," is a dead on impersonation of Ben Folds when he sounds like Billy Joel.  

Overall, there are some good songs, but only because they sound like something I've already liked.  In its own right, that's okay.  But I'm still looking for something new.

Five word summary: Smiths, Coldplay, Joel via Folds.

Happy Mother's Day

Mom























Me

I hate Office 2008. It takes 4+ minutes to load. No joke. It fucks up all my fonts.  Everytime I open it my system fonts change.  And I don't even mean to open it.  It's somehow the default.  I kept Office '04.  But sometimes, I still double click instead of drag and drop.  And I'm ready to kill today. Absolutely. Just cross me and see how I grind my teeth and then cry in frustration after you've walked away and I've said nothing.

Be forewarned, this post will be boring,

but it excites me.

In InDesign, to make files a usable size, images aren't actually embedded in the file. They are linked. The picture shows up because it's being read from its file location, but if you were to send the InDesign file to somebody else without sending along the files for all the linked pictures, they would show up very pixilated and of unprintable quality.* If you change the name or location of the file, InDesign won't be able to properly display or print your graphic either.

That's just background though for me to rave about one of our clients. They're another printer, and they job out to us on occasion for small digital runs. Most of it is for one company that prints a lot of brochures. They're all the same, just with different regions named on the cover. We receive the files as .pdf, so in order to make it cost effective, I place them into InDesign so we can print them two-up on a sheet. This requires a few minutes of adjusting the placement of the images. But, this is the awesome part: whenever I get a new file, all I have to do is re-link the images to the new files and all the work is done for me. Then command-SHIFT-S and I'm golden. Get it? Don't you love it? I do.

*These statements are in no way based on research. They are based on experience and the way my mind processes things.

Just check yes or no

I have some free time at work so I just took a "Who should you vote for quiz." Mike Gravel.  Um, wow was I uninformed. I only vaguely recognize the name.  

I'm so tired of over simplified summaries with only two perspectives.  I'm tired of logical fallacies.  Sure, if you leave out details, I guess you could equate point A with point B.  

So point me in the direction of actual information.  Where can I find a simple, concrete explanation of Obama's ideas? Hilary's plans?  I'm nervous that I don't know actual plans or solutions from Obama.  Change is a pretty broad idea.  But, ideas are more adjustable.  It's harder to go back on plans.  I think ^gasp^

Dear Abby

The sky looks like it's about to reach maximum saturation. How soon will it rupture?  Every time I glance away it darkens, as though my eyelids were drooping more heavily than they are.

Dear Abby,

   A bit of advice on couples moving in together.  Know how the other lived/would have lived alone.  How do I address my annoyances in a timely and composed manner?  Sometimes I don't even know I'm annoyed until something unrelated sets me off.  And then, I go nuts.  Crying and screaming, trying to get out what's wrong.  So it leads to headaches and guilt.  What good does that do?

*****

I often start posts and have to leave them and forget about them until I start a new one.  This just happened above.  That feels like ages ago, but demonstrates how I figure stuff out after the fact.  I compose a letter to an advice columnist in my head and try to figure out what they'd say. I don't know how/why, but it works sometimes.

I prefer Amy Dickinson, though.  Abby is just more recognizable.

Oscar's car started last night.  It's been out for quite some time now, which hasn't been that big a deal, transportation wise.  But he's been looking at cars to buy and he's super psyched about one in particular.  So imagine the sadness when Theodore turned over and started.  We'd called AAA and everything.  The tow truck driver tried jumping it.  He fiddled with some knobs and such.  He gave up and told Oscar to put it in neutral so he could tow it.  Well, the key wouldn't come out after it was put in neutral, so Oscar just decided to try starting it. One more time.  And crank . . . little turning . . . crank . . . . gas . . . . turn . . . . start.  He looked so disappointed.  He's still gonna buy the car he's been looking at. 

I'm almost too old for this

My right ear is younger than my left

I'm here now

I met with a printmaking prof at IU today. He asked why I hadn't come to see him ealier. I've been here a year (almost). What can I tell him. I was depressed. Last summer was super hard, working at Hobby Lobby, having no friends in town. I could tell him I was scared too. I didn't meet with him immediately, so I was scared I'd wasted too much time. I've done that way more than once. I let something go for a week and assume the person will be mad, so I put off contacting them more...and more. It's been almost five years since I just didn't show up to tutor students from my high school english teacher's remedial class. I just didn't show up. Can I use my grandmothers' deaths as an excuse? I should email her. Maybe the guilt of dropping that obligation is what's holding me back now. I could probably hold onto that for that long. Oh, and there's the time I just didn't call back to volunteer at Cola Museum of Art. I still get their e-mails, but I never actually volunteered.

So why didn't I meet with Art Prof sooner? It doesn't matter. I'm here now.

Slam and jab and a little direction

Slam:

Crazy-socks guy slams the door scares the shit out of me because a company messed up the order he had shipped here.  Just rude!  There was no need for him to take it out on the door.

Jab:

"It has to be something you're doing as I've never had this problem before."

Well, if you'd save your attachments to the desktop and open them from there, you wouldn't have the problem of your email window not displaying the pdf or jpg.  Unless there's a more universal file format than a jpg of a pdf.  It might also be because you use MSN!

A little direction:

I printed out some maps for the delivery guy.  He was was super thankful.  

Je vais à Montréal

Let’s get out of this country
I’ll admit I am bored with me . . .

I'm going to Montreal to watch the F1 Grand Prix du Canada with Oscar and two other people we know.


Voy a Montreal.

Starbucks or God Likes to Play with His Matchbox Cars

You WILL NOT cut me off you stupid 4-door Wrangler.  Hah! I win.  You will now wait behind me in the drive-thru at Starbucks.  You lost the race today.  

-or-

There's a little boy in the corner wearing a white bathrobe and sandals.  Despite being only six years old, he's already got a heavy white beard.  He's playing with toy cars.  They're painted with lead paint, but that doesn't matter because this little boy is God--infallible and invincible.  The Volkswagen Rabbit in his left hand pumps along the berber carpet.  But lo! In his right hand, a Land Rover zooms up around the Rabbit.  It cuts in front and does that stunt driver turn so it's perpendicular to the Rabbit.  Then God lifts the Land Rover and starts beating the Rabbit with it.  Oh. Crash.  Clank.  Thwack.  Beating, beating, pummeling!  He feels better.

Across the Universe. Too many people told me to watch it, so I am. I don't hate it. But it looks like a bunch of random thoughts tied together along a string of Beatles music. Not cohesive enough. A cross between Baz Luhrman and Dave McKean, but not in a good way. But I like the music.

Edit: Having finished watching this movie, I don't recant anything I said about it. I will add that I loved the "real" scenes, especially those in England. The trippy scenes were lame. Ooooh technicolor effects. Ooooh naked people. Just a load of kitch and camera tricks. Blah.

Just today: I hate Papyrus and I hate when people think they've told you something and gently remind you to do what they thought they'd told you to do. I have a meeting with a professor on Thursday to discuss the possibility of using the printmaking lab. Wooo! Intaglio press! Hot! I mean, I hope he deems me worthy. Eesh, I keep forgetting this is a semi-audition. BARF!!! so nervous now.

~~~~

"I Am Way Cool"

Thank you Professor, for meeting with me. This is my work. As you can see, some of it is useless, but I brought it to show you the techniques with which I am familiar. These pieces are actually what I'm more interested in. They are what I would consider exploring in grad school.

Wow, Carman! I've never seen anything as innovative as those LP pieces. Those are fucking sweet. And those layered monotypes are pretty amazing. Especially that four-color dot piece. Great exploration of color theory. I mean, neat-o. I think either of these options would be worth exploring. In fact, if you'd like to enroll for next year, we're short an instructor. You can skip the application process. I can do that, you know. Let you skip the application process.

Or. . .

Well, Carman . . . I've seen the record thing a million times. And the style of drawing is pretty cliche. Every twee girl in mary-janes and strawberry hair clips draws her birds that way. I'm sorry to tell you, but I really think you should consider options outside the art world.

"We have used Papyrus font on some of our other
signs, maybe we could try that one."

Lack of sleep it is

I went to bed at 10 pm last night, which means I got 8 whole hours of sleep.  I'm a totally different and dry person today.  No crying.  I hate it when something so simple as sleep so disrupts my existence.  I also, didn't screw up dinner last night.  It was tasty and will be again at lunch today.  

David Bowie!  

"I Am an Insolent Child"

I walked into the service department of the VW dealership in town and slammed the maintenance schedule down on their counter. 

"It says 10,000 miles between oil changes!" 

Violently poking the counter, I continued, "You scumballs are just trying to make me spend $70 twice as often as I need to.  If you weren't the only dealer in town, and if I weren't under warranty, you'd be seeing my tailpipe right now."  

I accidentally drilled my finger through the top of their counter, leaving a splintered hole as I walked to my car.  They saw my tailpipe.  Too bad they'll see my headlights in 3,000 miles.

~~~

I walked into the service department of the VW dealership in town and slammed the maintenance schedule down on their counter.

"It says 10,000 miles between oil changes!"

Violently poking the counter, I continued, "You scumballs are just trying to make me spend $70 twice as often as I need to. If you weren't the only dealer in town, and if I weren't under warranty, you'd be seeing my tailpipe right now."

"Well miss, if you'll notice that little disclaimer there." Pointing to my maintenance schedule: 

"The intervals shown in the table are based on vehicles operating under normal conditions. In the case of severe conditions, such as extremely low temperatures, excessive dust, etc., it is necessary for certain operations to be carried out between the given intervals. This applies particularly to ENGINE OIL CHANGE and the cleaning or replacing of the air cleaner filter element. Automobile technology changes continuously. Your authorized Volkswagen dealer always has the most current Service and Maintenance information for your Volkswagen model, which may differ from the check points listed in your Owner 's Manual. Your Volkswagen Service Advisor can answer any questions you may have."

"Oh. But still. Idonwanna change my oil every 5,000 miles.  It's synthetic."

"But don't you want to take good care of your car so it will last longer and in better health?"

"--"

"--"

"Yes."

They saw my tailpipe tucked between my back wheels as I drove away after the 5,000 mile oil change.

Does Claritan/Loratadine make you epically cranky?

Or is it just my lack of sleep.

Don't let your cats climb on stuff because they'll knock something over and you'll scream at them and then cry.

Don't mix condensed soup, tuna, and frozen vegetables.  Then, don't try to put refrigerator biscuits on top.  Then, don't expect the tuna glop to be warm or the biscuits to not be burned on top and goo on the bottom.  If you do, you'll throw a spoon (plastic) and then cry.

Don't try to place a WordPerfect file into InDesign.  Don't try to convert it to any other file format.  Don't spend too much time trying to get the antiquated file format to open.  You won't cry because you're at work, but you'll grind your teeth, and stare at the floor and want to be home so you can cry.

Just don't do anything.  Just go home and watch TV because you will fuck up tonight's dinner.  And you will cry.  And you will stay up too late and take loratadine in the morning.  And it'll all happen again tomorrow. 

I'm Make Other People Over Think Stuff Girl.  I'm here to save you from simple solutions.  I'm going to tell you I have a simple solution.  I'll try to explain the simple solution, but in trying not to assume how much you might know, I'll mumble and leave out concepts.  So when you finally try to execute your plan, you'll actually spend 2 hours sorting and saving and filing.  That way, I get to suffer through figuring out how to work with your files.  That's my thing.  My power center is my own need to make things harder for myself.  

I cut off my forehead

I cut my hair on Saturday.  It's a bit longer than chin length and comes with BANGS (are that on which the world hangs)!!  Pictures later.

In person, I used to ramble about seemingly deep human insights, leaving my audience uncomfortable. I spewed all my jumbled thoughts. I kind of want people to know I don't do that as much or as badly as I used to.

Now, I awkwardly ramble about nothing.

Just so you know, you can't really put a horizontal business card inside a standard tri-fold 8.5 x 11 brochure. The first two panels are 3 11/16" and the third panel is 3 5/8". A standard business card is 3.5" wide. Of course, you could put a vertical business in it.

A customer yelled for God to damn me today. Literally! I couldn't help him in exactly the way he wanted me to. I offered him an alternative, but it wasn't good enough and he yelled "God Damn You!" and hung up. I threw the phone down and went completely non-functional. I just kinda stood then paced then waved at my face. Should I go cry in the bathroom? Should I call him back and tell him how absolutely unacceptable such conduct is? Should I go tell my boss? It felt like I was stuck like that for ten minutes. I was in full meltdown mode, shaking and crying. And I went to ask my boss what kind of things I could get away with saying on a call back. He apologized for the man and went upstairs to call him back. But man beat him to it and called back apologizing for his outburst. Then he tried to work out his problem with my boss, but my boss had the same solution I did. So he yelled at my boss too. "You're not help," and hung up. My boss called him back and told the man's machine that we would have no further dealings.

I am sometimes quite impatient. Right now, I have negative patience. I can feel it in my head. Like there's a missing layer and two facets of my brain are rubbing against each other. I'm ready to throw my computer mouse. Slam it down. Absolutely demolish it. My shoulders are so tight--contorted, gnarled, a tree growing through a dilapidated porch and around the roof.

So I called O. I don't know why. It seemed like the thing to do. But he was running late, and ironically, had not patience for me. I'm throwing all my insecurities at him lately. All his frustrations are my fault. I can't read his sarcasm. I assume that everything I scold myself for is blatantly visible and he's poking everything I've been picking. But apparently not. I hate that I think he's judging me. If he is, that sucks. If he isn't, I'm totally crazy. I tend to think he's not, but I need to figure out a way to make myself realize that he's not annoyed at the pile of clean clothes between my closet and the bed. I wish he would be annoyed, though. Then I wouldn't feel so bad about being annoyed at the pile of clean? clothes on his dresser. I just want to get the apartment clean. Its messiness is tiring. I'm trying, but I have no discipline and no training in the efficient running of a household. It takes me an hour to do dishes. And I can't chop for shit. I have all these recipes that say 10 minutes prep. But it takes me twenty to chop everything. I'm going to take a cutting class at the local cooking school in April. goddammit! I am. I pile when I clean. I have to create steps. I can't just randomly pick stuff up. No. I have to get a hamper to carry all the shoes from the living room to the bedroom. But the hamper is full of clothes, so I have to sort the clothes and put them away. But somewhere in there I decide the kitchen table really needs to be cleared, so I throw all of my small things that are lying around into the hamper, which means the shoes are still all over the living room and now I need to sort my shit out of the hamper again. Why can't I just put things away as I come across them. Today is kick the shit out of myself day. Edward Norton, much? I hate that movie. I'm being totally erratic, now, but I feel a million times better and am ready for the rest of my day. I think the two layers of my brain have even stopped rubbing together.

The less I do, the less I want to do. If I start working, I can keep going. For a while. Then pffft. No motivation.

Deli

I'm afraid the boredom of the last few weeks at work has permeated my brain. I have a few things to do today. Not enough to fill it, but I'm going about it slowly enough to hopefully fill my time. I'm fine tweaking all the little details I'd otherwise ignore (and could easily afford to ignore if I didn't have the time).
Why does it seem to take me 2 hours to prepare dinner? Even when it's a quick dinner. I need to start repeating meals. I think it's a first run thing. If I make the meal again, I'll know where I can overlap. Like chop the vegetables while water comes to a boil. Start cooking the sauce while the pasta cooks. If I could have magical powers with food, that'd be awesome. I could just snap and a perfectly balanced meal would appear. My stomach hurts. I think it's because I was rushed this morning and only had time for a granola bar. Blarg.
Boss and old girl are upstairs in his office smoking and chatting. I'm left out. I'm sure it's not all that interesting. and I'm sure I'd have nothing to add.
A couple of days ago, a couple of tool bags came in. They've been in before. He talks like he knows everything, when in fact he does not. He just chooses the most complex ways of doing simple things. For instance, he makes catalogs one page at a time in Photoshop, instead of InDesign. Bitmapped text much? Anyhow, I made a very good suggestion about one detail of their project and lady was so against it. I suggested they nudge a few things on the inside of a package so there wouldn't be folds in the middle of any text. She said it didn't matter. It wasn't visible on the outside of the packaging. After it's sold, she doesn't care. Sickening. And I hate to admit I was hurt when she didn't think my idea was killer. I'm still confused as to why she didn't want to do it. It'd be super easy. A few guide marks and nudges. Oh well.
I just loaded six boxes of donation cards into the back of an SUV as the driver talked on his cell phone. Rude, rude, rude. Not so much the not helping me part, but the not helping me because he was on his phone part. That pretty much brings me up to present.

I tend to be a pessimistic daydreamer. Lately, I've been daydreaming about the work dynamic when old girl starts back. I'm comfortable here. Honkered down even. I keep creating scenes where she's bossing me around or plotting to have me fired. In a fair world, if one of us had to leave one day, it should be her, right? She left. I wasn't hired under the impression that my job was at risk of her return. I just hope her presence is the only thing to change. She'll have her own work area, very separated from mine, so I maybe I won't even have to know she's here. But then my doubts strengthen. What if my boss, who's very keen on her return, favors her and makes me the neglected orphaned step-child he's stuck with? What if she renames all my files "Untitled-1," "Untitled-2" "Untitled 3" and so on to the end of my files?* Why would she do that you ask? Because I can think of it. She could take the same exact lunch time as I do so I have to watch Passions instead of What Not to Wear. I mean, apocalyptic much? She and my boss could form a little whisper huddle and discuss hugely vital goings-on, while not doing anything about it and assuming I know. And then when customers wonder where their stuff is, they'll be directed to me, but I'll be lost and yelled at.

In reality, I'm not too shook up over her return. I see it as neither positive nor negative. But neither positive and neither negative do not wrangle my worries.

*Random side note: In an effort to illustrate how catastrophic such a re-titling would be, I thought I'd check the info on my external and see how many files are there. It didn't tell me, but now I really want to know. There are 337 folders, very few of which don't contain sub-folders. So I'd guess we have at least 500,000 files. Catastrophic.

Target uses "Everybody's a Star" by the Kinks in their new commercial promoting the launch of Converse in their stores. It's off one of those albums I grew up on. "Soap Opera," was a concept album about a rock star trading places with a normal man, Norman. I'm excited to hear the song, but also annoyed because of that whole sell-out stigma of having a song in a commercial.

The girl I took over for is back. In September, she moved to the coast to be with her boyfriend. Well, they broke up, and she's back, and my boss offered her a job. Not her old job, which is to say MY JOB!, but a new position in "Sales and Marketing." From what the fellas in the back tell me, that means she'll sit and do as much of nothing as she can. I worked with her for a month before she moved and she seemed to work, but I'm thinking it was just to show me how things work. I don't think I need to worry about my job, but I will be saving a lot more for a while. And I'll feel less guilty when I leave for grad school.

Crazy Cat Lady

Three stories. The first two feed the third.

1.) Today, I bought Oscar a $.99 Tyrannosaurus Rex from Target. He named it Renee (after DeCartes) but then decided it was a girl. So, it's a girl with a girl's name, but after a boy. Anyway, he keeps randomly roaring at me and making it climb on me. It's quite adorable really.

2.) I quote myself from an email to a friend:

Euler is a kitty garbage disposal. He will eat anything.
I told you about the felt. Well, he ate the plastic ring
from a milk jug. He eats string, toilet paper, cotton balls,
carpet, plastic bags. When he eats his food, he literally
makes scarfing noises. I don't think he chews. When I get
home from work, I buy their love with with Catmilk.
Wedgie won't drink it unless it's on their carpet tower.
And I have to look away. Euler is such a lover bunny though.
He slept on my head last night, and he totally hugs my
shoulder when I pick him up.

3.) Tonight, I made broccoli soup from a recipe from "Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares," a show on BBC America in which a great chef goes into failing restaurants and tries to diagnose and cure the problem. He literally threw cooked broccoli and some of it's cooked in water into a food processor with some salt. It's tasty. Euler thinks so too. He and Wedgie were being particularly feed me feed me tonight, so I gave them some more food. Inspired by his scarfing noises, I tried him on the broccoli soup. He LOVED it. Wedgie wouldn't touch it. Renee (as played by Oscar), despite being a carnivore, insisted on trying it too. She didn't like it, so I let Euler lick it off her. My cat made out with a plastic dinosaur covered in broccoli soup.

Somehow, I've managed to eat rather healthily this week. Except last night. We went to B-dubs and I feel funny this morning. Who knew a few wings and a beer could throw me off.

I am not a neat person. Perhaps stepping on a ruler and gashing my toes will change that. But probably not.

Marie Smith Jones died. I'd never heard of her, but it's interesting nonetheless. If I were in her situation, I'd have wrongly defined some naughty words. So people trying to learn my language would be saying "shit" whenever they were saying, oh I don't know, "love." "I shit you." "I shit that color on you." Nobody would ever know. Ever.

Of course, that's immature.

mettez le poids sur moi

A little back story . . .
In high school, I was obsessed with a band called Travis. They did a cover of "The Weight" by The Band. Therefore, I was totally obsessed with that song and decided to make a mix CD of all covers of that song. It didn't work that well because I just kept finding a bunch of "rockers" covering it live. That just wasn't my scene back then. Maybe it was because I'd never been to a concert. I still don't love live recordings, but I like the spontaneity of some of the songs. I guess I'd just rather be there. Anyway, back to "The Weight." Today, I heard a cover in French. Weirdest thing ever. To know the lyrics, but then, not.

I'm starting to resent our clients. Their stupid ideas. Their stupid timing. Their stupid schedules. They think it's so easy and so reasonable for me to re-type their huge pages of text. No. No. No. I'll set type alllllll day long, but for crap's sake it's not my job to type it out. I mean, I guess it can be, but I will keep track of every minute I spend typing, and you will be charged $72.50 for each hour I spend typing, just so you understand the value of typing yourself.

Seriously?