curling up to chaos

porn-star redux?

2006-06-03T08:28:07Z

Did I ever mention that a roommate of mine once dated a "porn-star"? (I put that in quotes for a reason, I do not believe that small batches of internet porn make you a star.)

She was actually quite sweet, but the sex noises were more than I could take.

She sounded like a small chihuahua, small but insanely loud. Seriously, nobody sounds like that. Not only did she practically yelp, but it began from the first second and lasted the entire session. And she was like clockwork: small yelp, pause, small yelp, pause, yelp, yelp, yelp, YELP, sigh. Over and over, every 30 seconds. Either she was some weird human-hybrid capable of infinite repetition without variation or she was faking it six ways from Sunday. For fun you should ask me for an impression if you actually talk to me, typing does not do it justice.

It carried not just through walls, but through rooms. I could hear her when I was sitting outside on the porch on the opposite side of the building.

So why write about this sitting in a hotel in sunny Santa Monica?

I was outside just a moment ago when an overly-tanned, and overly-blond thing in a long black skin-tight dress limped past me. She was wearing a tiara and a sash that said "Prom Queen".

So I have an extremely tired, or fairly drunk prom queen and her escort bedding down in the hotel room next to me. I fear I am in for a night of listening to prom-sex.

I can only pray that she is too drunk or too tired to be much fun tonight. And if she is fun, I beg at the least that she is not the sort of person to sound like a robotic chihuahua. I've had all of that that I can take for one lifetime.

cursed?

2006-05-24T07:17:56Z

I promised a certain someone I'd update my LJ more than once or twice on this next leg of my personal journey.

I shall beg for forgiveness then for being here over a week and not writing. But I feel I have ample excuses.

I broke something in my foot.

It's not a life-ending, or even life-altering, situation. It's a small bone, almost inconsequential in daily life. Until it's broken. Then it hurts like a bitch.

I was walking through our store, and being clumsy as I am (and no, I had not been drinking), I stepped wrong. Hard to believe but true. I didn't trip over something. I didn't slip on something. I simply put my foot down, and then broke a bone.

You know how all surfaces are to some degree imperfect? You walk every single day, and there are small slopes, or pebbles, or what have you. And each time you put your foot down, somehow your body senses those small irregularities and moves small muscles in your foot, or ankle, or leg, and compensates for it all so that you don't fall down. Apparently I'm missing those signals into my brain, or from my brain back to my feet.

There was a small slope in the floor, and I put my foot down, and my body didn't correct for the slope. So my foot rolled to the outside and some ligament stretched out of place, and I fell and broke some small bone.

But no big deal right?

It certainly didn't seem awful enough to warrant a trip to an LA E.R. on a Saturday night. I didn't even know anything was broken. So I waited until Monday and visited an Urgent Care Center I found though my health care provider's web-site. It all sounds so smart and logical -- not paying outrageous ER fees, using the resources the World Wide Web has given me.

Yeah, real smart.

On my way to the doctor to check my foot out (and find out that I've broken something), I got rear-ended.

I think California is trying to kill me.

motorized metropolis

2006-03-09T06:29:18Z

I'd forgotten how much the Midwest relies on its cars. And Michigan perhaps more so than any other place, or so it's reputation would have you believe.

Sad to say (never having traveled to the charming state), I never thought of 8 Mile as more than a movie. Perhaps I've spent too long among the cow-path-inspired paths of New England, or the winding man-made by-ways of modern suburbia, whatever the case, I'd forgotten how great a system man can impose on his world till I came here. 8 Mile is preceded by 7 Mile, and followed by 9 Mile, parallel lines strung across the country, ever farther from the center. How logical! How inspiring! Or, perhaps, how uninspired?

And yet, as a visitor, you can't help but be thankful. Monkeys could navigate this city if they could count as we do. Children could drive around and never get lost, if only their feet would reach the pedals.

And that is not all the glory this place has to offer.

I'd never heard of the 'Michigan left" until I was here. Now this is truly something you have to experience to believe. It all seems so logical on paper. So logical I almost find myself thinking that all the world should work this way instead of having the insane round-abouts that no one can find their way out of. Sure, it all sounds good until you try to commute to work.

No matter how many times I've driven this same route, no matter how much I try and tell myself to be ready for it, I still find my poor human habits betraying me. I know I need to turn left. I get in the left lane. And ... I find myself foiled by the logical traffic flow of this traffic-driven city. No amount of thinking can overcome my previous training. At least not yet.

My singular goal for the two months I am here (aside from doing my job and then some, aside from making some small difference in the running of this store) is to become comfortable enough with the automotive-inspired world that is this city that I now longer half to spend several minutes in advance of every turn thinking about which way to turn.

Yeah, I'm clearly shooting for the moon here. Never think that I set my sights too low, people.

we don't pay our teachers enough

2006-02-27T04:49:22Z

As if it weren't bad enough to hear people ask (over and over and over), "so if this is like a hundred dollars, then how much is it after the 50% discount?"

I'm not kidding. A person could go crazy working sale retail.

"And then what would it be if I got two of them, after the discount?"

You actually get immune to that after a while. But this one stopped me in my tracks. I actually had to leave them so I could walk away and laugh.

Picture three women, two older women and one daughter. One of the older women picks up a display set of serving silverware, a large fork and spoon bound together, and then she picks up a box of that serving set. She walks over to me and the other people in her group.

"Is the thing in the box the same as this? The box feels lighter. Are you sure it's the same? Really, feel this, the box feels lighter."

Other people feel the two weights, they agree.

I feel the two weights, they feel essentially the same.

"Sorry, I think they're pretty much the same. In any case, the box is sealed. I promise that it's the serving set in there. Do you want to open it and check before you buy it?"

"No, I'm not worried about it. I just think it's strange. They feel different. Can't you feel it? The stuff out of the box is heavier."

I assure her they are the same. She assures me they feel different. She actually insists on an explanation. Instead of walking away I bother to hypothesize that the box more evenly distributes weight across your hand, instead of concentrating it at the thinnest point of the silverware where she's holding the sample set. I can't believe I'm discussing this.

The young girl interjects, "Maybe they are the same. Maybe it's just because the set in the box is all wrapped up in that fluffy foam packaging. Maybe that foam is absorbing some of the weight."

...

Yeah, adding mass to an object can totally decrease its apparent weight.

The older women agree with her, surely that must be the case.

I walk away before I can figure out whether to laugh or cry.

ps- I tell the other people gathered at the register what just happened and they all laugh. If you were ever paranoid that salespeople were laughing at you while you shopped, I can assure you that they might be. But only if you haven't mastered a basic grasp of the principles of physics.

the seven-day itch

2006-02-25T07:24:34Z

For the first-time in my life the evil dry-skin-itch has struck me.

This afternoon, curled up on my couch knitting, I realized that my arms actually hurt from being dry. I've lived most of my life in cold and dry places, so you'd think I'd be used to this, but I'm not. I keep trying to find a reason for this, when the answer is probably not to think about it and just to go buy some moisturizer, but I can't help over-thinking any situation I'm in.

Could the weather be so different here than the other winter wonderlands in which I've lived? Is it just that the water here is different and my daily shower has become my enemy? Or is it some strange sympton of getting older? Am I know unable to re-hydrate the way I once was, the same way that I am now unable to do the splits without streching when once I had the flexibility of Gumby?

And should I really waste any mental effort on this question when I should be worrying about what I am going to do once this hiatus is over?

Whatever the answers I am definately going to have to go and buy some yummy body moisturizer tomorrow.

idle hands

2006-02-23T06:05:44Z

I've decided I'm a knitter.

It's strange how when you take away all your structured activities and all your unstructured habits, you find out just how many hours there are in a day.

I was wandering this area and found a knitting store. It seemed like the perfect opportunity.

So now I spend my evenings cooking -- really cooking, not just making food to eat, but enjoying the process of cooking -- and knitting and introspecting and all the other things I never thought I had time for.

These are the things you find when you aren't looking and aren't busy maintaining the life you've always lived.

fyi - for those that care, or are simply bored

2006-02-21T11:15:38Z

Just over two years ago, I took a job. A temporary job. "Just to pay the bills".

Only low and behold I discovered I was good at it.

Good, I think, because of the control I was offered. It's the sort of job where I get to hire who I want with little outside input. I get to promote who I want. I get to institute any little program or project I want and then watch the results. For a results-oriented, mathematical-freak like me, it's dream come true in some ways. I can institute contests and see how they affect everything. I can track sales by person and by day and by department and by item and by hour and graph it all on big giant graphs ... god do I love graphs.

But the store closed.

For those not used to the retail world, think of my situation like Old Navy was closing. Not all of Gap Inc (Gap, Banana Republic, Old Navy, etc.), just Old Navy. That's the situation I was in. They were closing my brand, but not the whole company.

And I was offered a nice comfortable position just down the street with another brand. But I don't 'do' comfortable. I dont't want what they'll give to anyone else. I want what I earn, nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

So they offered to send me far away, to place that needed help, to a place that wouldn't ever survive.

So, being me, that's the job I took.

They sent me to one of those states that look like the back of your hand, to the Motor City of the last century, to a store that had an end date. Like a batch of eggs or a carton of milk already on the shelf, we had an end date. They send me here for two months, to close a store where most of the managers had left, but we still had two months to go. They sent me here on a plane, with a rental car, and a hotel room, and a per diem, and little else.

And I feel a little like Alice. Too large and too small. Too old and too experienced and too corporate-backed to be just one of the guys, and yet too young (in my mind) and too silly to be a representative of the man.

So hello Alice, too small and too big, and little scared, and quite alone.

So that's where I am, and why I am where I am, and how long I will be here. But for any other answers to any other great questions, you just have to stayed tuned.

familiar

2006-02-21T10:22:52Z

I think I may be a little bit drunk.

Odd that I've been here this long before that happened. More odd (or less I suppose, if you've been through this) that I find myself doing less and less of the things that normally eat up my time, and more and more of the things that I never have time for.

It's been well over a week since I've had any chocolate junk food (the one or two Godiva chocolates from the two-pound box I got for Valentine'd Day don't count in my book, especially since I brought 99% of them to work). Seriously. With an empty kitchen, I have found no reason to stock it with ice cram, or candy bars, or anything else resembling junk food.

I mostly eat a lot of spinach.

And I have no time for the TV that goes on while I am out of this room.

Normally it might be distressing that I missed an episode of something or other, but here it doesn't seem to matter. It comes and it goes, and if I'm not home to see it, it's like the proverbial falling tree.

I have however found time to knit things. Hilarious, as I have not knit anything since I was about nine years old.

Still this taste of being a hair away from drunk is familiar.

More familiar still are the sounds on my car stereo and this feeling I can't shake. This feeling is halfway between wanting to connect with anyone who will meet me halfway and wanting to cocoon into my loneliness until I'm certain of who I am without anyone else around.

Driving through these depressed and yet supposedly wealthy suburbs reminds me so much of Portland that it hurts me. I don't know if the remembrance is in my eyes, because it all looks so familiar -- or in my heart, because Portland was the last time that I probably felt this alone. I suspect it's some combination of the two, but I think the analysis might kill it, or me.

For the meantime, I will enjoy, in some 'mean red' spirit, this feeling. This feeling of being alone, of trying to figure out in this short amount of time what it means to be alone, what I can accomplish alone, what I can survive alone.

And just how much knitting and vodka one can survive in a hotel room by oneself.

hello, goodbye, i love you, whatever

2006-02-06T05:42:05Z

I'm procrastinating.

Surely no big surprise to those of you that still remember me through the mists of time and all.

I'm reading Franzen right now, and I just finished a Hornby book. I'm not sure those are the wisest choices given my current life situation. Hornby always seems to sadden me. In the movies it seems all cute and charming and everyone ends up where they should be, they just take a while to figure it out. But in print it's a different sort of story (at least it is in the three stories I've read). In print it seems that people simply end up where they do because they are lazy, or unimaginative, or blocked in by life. The ending is an ending because people can't figure out where else to go, not because destiny designed it for them. Although I suppose that is in itself some sort of destiny - just not the kind endorsed by Hollywood.

This is neither here nor there. Although that may be fitting, as I feel neither here nor there too at the momen

I'm not much for goodbyes. Nor am I much for "Hello Ohmygod It's been so long Tell me absolutelyeverything since I sawyoulast!"s. So let's shorthand this shall we?

I moved to the Land of Lost Rs about two and half years ago. I met some fascinating people: some brilliant and a bit crazy, some just crazy, some semi-brilliant, and mostly a lot of people not brilliant or crazy but kind and fun and smart too. Sadly the story gets interrupted here by a member of the cast who fell on or off a wagon, or just took an alternate storyline. And it ruined me.

Those movies where the heroine walks in the rain and there's a soundtrack of musical agony, and the people walking by don't notice ... that was me. I cried a lot.

If you know me and you know him, it makes sense. If you don't, well then, your loss, cause we're pretty awesome people when we're not going to pieces.

Whatever. End of sob story. He rejoined the main storyline and life has been dreamy ever since. Well, that's only true if by "dreamy" you mean "working in retail".

In all honesty (or as much honesty as I can muster in a fake persona in front of a fake audience) it hasn't been bad. In fact some might define it as good. It turns out I have skills that the world of capitalism needs and values.

So in the blink of an eye, the job I took 'until I got a real job', turned into a real a job. They promoted me and gave me benefits ("yay for dental insurance" say all the risk-averse in the crowd). They promoted me again. I found a boss who I like, who happens to love me. A boss who believes he can’t do his job without me, and will therefore fight to retain me, and also give me all the national recognition he can.

And bing-bang-boom here we are two and half years later. Except, oh, did I mention that the place I work at has closed? Small bump in the road. So instead of staying in The Land of Lost Rs, the powers that be are sending me to one of the states that looks like the back of your hand. (And yes, there are actually two states that fit that bill, depending on how you hold your fingers, in case you were wondering).

So there, that's the long of the short and the short of long. Two years in a few hundred words.

And now I'm packing. Or rather I'm procrastinating. Funny how some things never really change.

tease this

2005-04-27T02:47:52Z

I saw my beloved stylist today.

Every time I go I am surprised by the force she uses while wielding her brush. She reminds me of a mother brushing a child's hair, that slightly forceful yank that only comes with love and experience and the occasional lack of patience. I never understood how mothers brush hair like that until I was a nanny. It must be some instinctual behavior that only surfaces after a few months of dealing with young girls with knotted hair who are running late in the morning.

Between her brush, the heat of the hair dryer, the dye, and the hair-pulling I sustained earlier in the week, my scalp is faintly buzzing.

Luckily for me, the buzzing that follows such abuse is pleasant, as in fact are some of the things that caused it.

There's nothing like a little pain and the sweet release of it to wake you up on a slow spring day.

work and world wearied

2005-04-26T02:05:57Z

It is a shame that I come home from work so often tired.

I have things I need to do, for my self and for my sanity, but it becomes hard to do them when I get home bone-tired.

I need to start writing in this journal more. I feel as though I lose perspective when unable to ponder occasions and attempt to distill them into (somewhat) coherent sentences. I also feel as though the big giant whore side of me loses out when I don't get to this corner of the web often enough. Because let's face it, I truly am a glutton for attention, and attention on LJ is still better than nothing at all.

Resolved: I will simply not be as tired as I have been in the past. That will fix everything. That will give me time to go to more shows. That will give me energy to get to the gym more often. That will give me the mental fortitude necessary for writing journal entries. Indeed, it is now resolved. And so shall it be.

you have been warned

2005-04-11T03:33:49Z

Prepare yourself one and all for the coming of Lord DJ Fauntastique!

do you copy?

2005-04-08T06:51:50Z

Ever wonder certain things?

Who decides the margin of error on a poll?
Do they actually just do another poll about how accurate any responder is to a given poll?
Am I the only person who wonders about polling?
Does anyone really do fact-checking anymore?
More importantly, does anyone edit anything anymore?
What genius decided Hootie should sign new lyrics to "Big Rock Candy Mountain"?

I was walking past my local convenience store and saw a sign that made me stop and wonder.

"Looking for a new career? The opportunity to advance? The chance to interact with people? A close encounter?"

What? A close encounter???

Is that another way of saying, "Come work the graveyard shift, you may get shot and almost die"?

Who approved that sign?

And who thought it was a good idea to have a little excitement bomb (you know, those little cartoony exploding shapes with text inside) on my mother's shampoo bottle that said "NEW! same great scent!"?

New and yet same? Have you been introduced to the English language and the idea of logic?

Things like this either make my head explode or make me entertained for days on end. Depending on what mood I'm in when I read them.

mark this one down in the record books

2005-03-28T07:43:27Z

A week like this really makes you stop and think.

I wonder if my horoscope would have predicted this. If astrology actually worked, if my horoscope were correct, it must have read something like this:

This week everything in your life will just go crazy. Everyone on the brink will topple over, and people you didn't even think were on the brink will go with them. This week will suck in ways you can't imagine, but there may be some bright spots along the way. The ride's gonna be insane so just buckle up and hope for the best. Try not to fight it, cause it's not worth your energy.

Yup, something like that.

It's not enough to come back from a supposed vacation, which was no real vacation at all to a week jam-packed with work -- 12 hour days and a corporate visitors. No, on top of a hard, but unusual work week, everything else still had to go crazy.

A friend is pregnant, a friend that no one expected to be. A family friend was hospitalized and pulled out of school after some ... issues. Another friend passed away.

What a wicked week it's been.

the one where i don't play catch-up

2005-03-13T02:00:39Z

I'm tired of writing entries to an imagined audience where I play catch-up for everything that has happened since I last cared to write.

Because I know that the truth (though I delude myself often) is that not many people read this, and those that do ... well, half of them I know in real life and they either do know what I've been doing, or if they don't but they really cared much, they could just call or write me and ask. And the other half? Meh.

So where have I been since the last time I wrote here? Well, I know the answers, but I'm not telling.

Instead, let us (and by us I mean me) focus on the present.

I need more friends that now how to have fun. And by "fun" I mean the sort of fun you had when you were 5 or 9 or, for some of us, even 13 and 15. The sort of fun you had when you weren't afraid to fully embrace an idea, to do something whole-heartedly. Because I'm tired of "fun" being going-out and being detached, and occasionally mocking the people who are out there behaving silly but doing so with all their souls, and because they want to being doing it.

Let's face it, detachment, irony, and the subtle superiority that so often goes with those attitudes are just so 1994.

So from here on out I am out for myself, out to have fun, not caring what looks I get from the strangers on the street, or even from the friends I know across the room. What I do now, I do because I want to enjoy my life.

Anyone out there want to join me?

take that, crazy-mixed up emotions!

2004-11-15T08:48:49Z

I can't decided if I'm angry or grateful; three guys, who are so often my would-be protectors, decided to protect me from the majority of a show tonight.

On the one hand I'm glad we went early enough to catch a friend's film and still have time for some food. And yes, at the same time, I did enjoy the beer we had afterward. (I love having people around me who are experts in fields I am not, such as beer, so that they can choose excellent beers for me to drink.)

Still, upon making it back to the show, I wish we could have stayed longer and enjoyed the show without ... dare I say it ... judging it. But I wasn't the person with the car, or the power, that night.

Half of me hopes it was great so that they learn what they missed, because I am still mad we didn't stay for more of it. Half of me hopes it sucked so that I didn't miss too much.

In the balance, I still had a good time. I talked theory and politics. I hope I talked someone, anyone, into taking me sailing next summer. I learned exactly how one determines sea level when making a map of North America -- seriously my lack of knowledge about that one small issue has bothered me for over 5 years, does that make me a geek? I discussed the lack of good dancers and polite men in the world today (and my love of a strong guiding hand, which may be the topic for another entry).

And now, mostly satiated, I retire. Good night sweet world. I hope your evening was as good as mine was.

PS - Did your know that obliquity was a word? I did not, not for certain, not until tonight.

Yes Virginia, there are nice people

2004-11-14T05:40:10Z

I left my wallet at the Friday theater gig.

Normally leaving my wallet at a theater show wouldn't distress me, but this show is held in a nightclub. At the time, the club owner said to call back Saturday night, since while the club was running the lightening was bad and there were DJs in the booth (where I'd been working) and so they wouldn't be able to find anything.

Everyone else told me it would be gone.

I called tonight and the wallet was there. When I went to pick it up, I found it had all my cards and cash still in it.

Thank you nice DJs from last night who did not take my wallet.

red and yellow crunches and cocktails

2004-11-06T07:21:40Z

After one or two or ten cocktails, I walked home from my somewhat-weekly theater show.

Somewhere crossing Comm Ave, I ran into a big pile of leaves. I kicked them left and right and right in front of me. I kicked my way straight througt to plain boring concrete and brick.

Then, I stopped, hearing the giggles, and turned to watch to two young women kicking their way through the leaves, perpendicularly to me.

Sometimes, late at night, that's the best thing about fall: the crunch and crackle of leaves as they fall in front of your feet. And letting yourself be free to kick the leaves? Sometimes that's what Manhattans are good for.

just another voting post

2004-11-03T05:18:27Z

There were no curtains. There were no levers to push or pull. That especially saddened me, as they were still around just four scant years ago.

Instead, in a repeat of high school I had to fill in bubbles completely. But, rebellion of rebellions, not in pencil. When the woman told me to fill it in with black pen I did a double-take. She confirmed that she said "pen" and she meant "pen". Clearly this was NOT like high school at all.

I've voted before, but always by mail. Somehow that felt less real, but more comfortable. Today (well, yesterday I suppose) I had to do my research ahead of time. I had to find a website that would tell me exactly what and who would be on my ballot so I could do some research. I had to walk in the windy gray morning. I had to wait in line.

It was great.

obligatory post-Halloween update

2004-11-02T06:03:25Z

Went out. To a concert, in fact.

It reminded me that I haven't been going out enough lately. Between the job, which half the time requires me to work until 9pm, and the theater shows once or twice a week, and the job search, plus keeping up with the minimum amount of housework required to keep my world in some semblance of order, I have been neglecting the outside social world. I need to make time out a priority, to keep myself sane.

This year saw the continuation of a good line of costumes. Not great, but consistently good. I have always prided myself on my costumes, or at least on my enthusiasm for costumes. I feel half of what makes a good costume is commitment, and I have never lacked that. This year was no exception.

I went as Gaz (of Invader Zim fame). Sorry folks, no photos, longtime readers should by now be accustomed to my aversion to posting photos of myself). While the costume as a whole wasn't out of this world, I must say I made a noble, and essentially successful attempt to have square purple hair. And if you think that was easy, well, you've never worked with generic synthetic wig hair. A job well done, I must say, since no one else is around to toot my horn.

The show was great. I'd OD'd on that particular band a while back, but after a respite, I found this concert fantastic.

That may in part be due to the company. There's something about being around people who are unashamedly enjoying themselves that breeds contentment (contrasted to the usual crew I hang out with at these concerts who have become so weary of the band that they spent all their time backstage or outside smoking and drinking and avoiding the concert itself).

I need to be around people who enjoy themselves more often.

I also definitely need excuses to get into costume and be pretty more often.

All in all, a very good night.

the anti-homecoming

2004-10-27T03:46:00Z

I've just returned from the ancestral home. Well, not ancestral at all, but "home where i spent most of my childhood and all of my teenage years, at least until college" sounds positively stupid.

My mother "encouraged" me to clear out all my belongings. Other people seem to think that this is cruel. I, however, understand. I've been out of that house for seven years now. This is not her way of saying that I am unwelcome in her house, it is simply her way of proving, viscerally, that I am an adult, that my home is where I am, and it's time for me to start thinking that way -- thinking of myself as an adult, with my own home and my own life.

I have actually been thinking that way for at least a year now, I'm not certain I needed proving of that point.

I think this is in fact not for me as much as it is for her. A spiritual cleaning out of her closet, of ensuring that her children really are grown and able to stand on their own. I think she has seen too many "grown" children move back in to their parents homes, seemingly indefinitely, and this is her way of making sure that she is not the sort of parent who encourages that sort of behavior.

Whatever it is, whyever it is, I've just cleaned out my things out of my childhood home.

Now that it's done it feels, well, it feels just like it felt before. That hasn't been my home for quite some time, whether I had things there or not. What's interesting to me is not the aftershock, or lack thereof, what's interesting is the process. At home, among what was left of my high school years I find myself missing some of my friends from that time. Not all, just some. And I wonder where they are and whether I'd like them now in reality as much as I miss them in my mind.

celebrate celebrity

2004-10-04T00:11:38Z

Jimmy Fallon.

I saw Jimmy Fallon.

I was walking. I stopped walking. Jimmy Fallon walked right past me. I hadn't even known he was behind me.

"This is really good ice cream."

The man walking next to Jimmy Fallon nodded.

Jimmy Fallon likes ice cream.

Jimmy Fallon walked to the corner and stopped. He walked across the street just to find a garbage can to throw away his ice cream debris into. He walked back across the street.

Jimmy Fallon likes ice cream, and apparently Mother Earth as well.

I just really like saying Jimmy Fallon's full name. "Jimmy Fallon." It's a fun name. Say it with me now, "Jimmy Fallon."

Yup, my life is terribly exciting.

lost and losing, weak and woozy

2004-08-13T18:09:05Z

i'm feeling a little paralyzed at the moment.

not physically of course. well, aside from the finger that i can't move at the moment (which, by the way, makes typing a bitch). a more metaphorical sense of paralysis is what i have currently.

i'm just not where i want to be, not where i thought i would be. and getting someplace else seems a little difficult.

it's a dilemma i've created in my mind: if i make a choice to do something that leads me down one path, then don't all those other paths that i am also contemplating moving down get cut off just by virtue of making that first choice?

and sure the wise man might say that not making any choice in one direction is making a different sort of choice, and i'm still altering my options through inaction, but it doesn't seem to feel that way.

i've never liked wise men anyway, they tend to seem self-righteous, and they think silly things like frankincense and myrrh are good gifts for infants when everyone knows that baby showers should involve soft stuffed animals and cute baby clothes.

hectic, or not

2004-05-23T04:59:20Z

my life is a desert. emptiness and nothing else, save for little gritty bits of nothingness that get stuck of your face and in your teeth and in your eyes when the wind blows.

is that too desolate? too empty? too trying-too-hard-to-be-poetic to be posted?

and yet it seems to be too true.

I promised you updates (the amprhorous "you" - "you" who are my readers - "you" who are, no doubt, dwindling by the day, by the second, by the moment, that I don't tantalize you with amazing tales of my life). But, it seems to me that my life is no longer worth mentioning. Or that I don't have time to mention my life anymore.

Whatever the disease, I see no cure. I am too busy with the individual moments of life, those moments all filled with nothingness -- with getting the job done, and making sure the laundry is finished, and trying to keep the place clean -- those moments seem more and more to take up all my time, so that I have no time left to either live the adventures that make up life or do digest the moments and adventures and distill them into (semi) clear and coherent sentences for you all to digest.

Does this make me a bad person? A bad journalist? Or does this simply make me a person too busy surviving moment to moment to see the big picture -- that my life has become a practical Nothing?

it should be a national holiday

2004-04-16T05:13:35Z

No wings, but I was a fairy today. A tax fairy.

It's amazing how many people have little idea what they're doing or what they ought to be doing.

But patience, perseverance, and ... umm, purity (just for the sake of threes) won out in the end. Well, that and the fact that I live close to work and so was able to go home and print out some tax info for those lost little ones who were still unfinished as of noon on tax day.

When did I become the proverbial mother of most every group of people I know?