[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 15 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Friday, October 31st, 2008|
Yeah. Holy cow. I still don't believe it.
Now all I have to do is get a job, hee hee. Current Mood: ecstatic
|Monday, September 29th, 2008|
|ani d is on Tell Me More
right this very minute. Audio will be here
in a few hours. She's been at it almost 20 years; her daughter is almost 20 months old.
And while I'm at it: Here's
Wanda Sykes on Jay Leno;
Donna Brazile making Stephen Colbert blush
back in April (skip to about 2:55);
and how the heck did I miss this
Quote of the Century from Donna Brazile: "Look, I'm a woman, so I like Hilary; I'm black, I like Obama; and I'm grumpy, so I like John McCain!" Seriously, she is awesome, and I need to read her book.
As soon as I can settle on a name I'm going to be moving this somewhere else and posting "for real." We'll see what happens.
In other news: This gas situation is out of freakin' control. If you are going to let your establishment be overrun by hungry cars, I don't think it is unreasonable to expect someone to be out there directing traffic. Otherwise weenies like me will get the hell out of dodge as soon as an SUV-wielding biznatch cuts in front of them, and end up stuck at home with an eighth of a tank. I should say here that I loathe parking lots and have become completely neurotic about them. In part thanks to Mythbusters
, I look at a gas station as a smaller, scarier parking lot where shit can blow up. Throw in a mob of stressed drivers and you end up with a situation that I am happy to avoid even if it means I can't leave the freaking house.
|Thursday, September 11th, 2008|
|Book Binge II: B&N
Since I am under no time pressure to get these read, I thought I'd might as well list these here, for archaeological purposes if nothing else. The Barnes & Noble in town is moving to the mall and so all their remaindered hardcovers, calendars, blank journals, board games, etc. etc. are on sale-o-rama. I spent a pleasant two hours Sunday picking out books. I had TWO shopping baskets full and this is what I took home after culling those. Rise and Shine
, novel by Anna Quindlen. I like her a lot. The primary differences between her and Maureen Dowd, who seems to have replaced her at the Times
: Quindlen doesn't take cheap shots. Also, there is never any question as to whether she's a feminist. Don't get me wrong, I think Dowd is a feminist too, but she also dabbles in throwing knives, and doesn't seem to worry much about where they ultimately land. I read her faithfully during the primaries and was taken aback by that approach. It's hard to tell whose side she's really on, and I always imagined the fun part of being a columnist, as opposed to a beat reporter, would be the option of openly advocating for favorite causes. Anyway, I've enjoyed Anna Quindlen's other novels, and I like her column in Newsweek
.The Man of My Dreams
by Curtis Sittenfeld. I love that font on her book covers! The inside flap contained a number of pointed questions (including, "At what point can you no longer blame your adult failures on your messed-up childhood?") and they all went straight to my gut. So I felt compelled to buy it. Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith
by Anne Lamott. I Heart Anne Lamott. I've actually already read this from the library but figured for $3.59 I might as well start my own collection. Mom is going through some God-thinking herself so she is borrowing this, although very skeptically. Collected Stories
, Carol Shields. I loved The Republic of Love
so I figured I'd enjoy this. Hope Dies Last
, interviews by Studs Terkel. Dad asked for The Good War a couple Christmases ago and I know he liked it. I think this skews a little lefty for him, though, so I may end up keeping it for myself.Love and Other Impossible Pursuits
, Ayelet Waldman. I read a thumbs-up review of this somewhere--maybe in O[prah]
magazine? A History of God
by Karen Armstrong. She's an ex-nun who writes about religion. Why I Am a Catholic
by Garry Wills. (Yeah, there's a theme going. Hush.) He wrote this after Papal Sin
came out, because he got so many letters asking him why anyone should be Catholic if the popes were that horrible. I'm afraid to read Papal Sin
.Dark at the Roots
, a weird-sounding memoir by Sarah Thyre. When You Are Engulfed in Flames
by David Sedaris. This was decidedly NOT on sale, but I had promised myself that if I waited until after the bar to buy it, I could get in in hardcover.
A book of logic puzzles for K.
Really stupid purchase: I got one of those craft-projects-in-a-box--y'know, the kind that exclaim, "Ridiculously easy instructions! Your bonehead inbred poodle could make these!" This one came one with beads and wire and hardware to make earrings and junk, and when I read the directions at home my heart sank. There are knot-tying and braiding-like skills involved. I may need pliers and Krazy Glue. (I am not meant to use Krazy Glue. The sole reason I own nail polish remover is to dissolve Krazy Glue.) My prediction is that I will give this away to K's craft-enabled sister, who can maybe use the beads, but only after I injure myself trying to make something. It is probably a Good Thing that I didn't buy the ten-pound craft book that I had been lugging around the store. Why am I craft-nutty? I like baking. I have reasonably good luck with it, and when I don't, I usually enjoy eating the results anyway. There are any number of people out there who are intimidated by it. Why can't I be happy with baking? Why do I keep bonking my head against a wall, smeary with Mod Podge?
|Tuesday, September 9th, 2008|
|Book Binge I: Library
So a couple of weeks ago (it will be 3 weeks on Friday), I had an interview for My Dream Job. It seemed to go wonderfully well. They seemed to really like me. But I haven't heard anything yet and am going completely bonkers. I am doing some serious disaster-cizing (if I don't get this job, I won't get any other job; if I didn't pass the exam, I am really and truly fucked; etc.). There really isn't anything I can do other than wait, and maybe call next week if I still haven't heard anything. I've already emailed a thank-you (no answer, which makes me fret about whether I have the right address, of course).
Last week's library binge: Home: A Memoir of My Early Years
, the first volume of Julie Andrews' memoir. This goes through her being cast in Mary Poppins
and the birth of her daughter. Surprisingly, her childhood was as screwed up as anyone else's. I am dying to read the next one, because it will cover The Sound of Music
. Winner of the National Book Award
by Jincy Willett, a novel. I got this because I liked the quirky title and (confession time) because the cover featured blurbage by both Augusten Burroughs and
David Sedaris. Also the cover makes reference to her collection of short stories, called Jenny and the Jaws of Life
, which I thought would have to be interesting. All in all: Had I bought this, I would have been disappointed, but for a library pick it wasn't bad. I don't know how to describe it other than to say I found it rather strange. Some goofy discussion about weight, which I wasn't sure how to take. God in a Cup: The Obsessive Quest for the Perfect Coffee
by Michaele Weissman, about gourmet coffee and people, nearly all men, who are OCD about it. Mildly interesting but I felt rather indignant about the idea that there are right and wrong coffees and right and wrong ways of brewing 'em. Attempts to explain, among other things, why anyone would pay $12 for a cup of coffee out of a Clover rig. If you really want to dig into what "fair trade" coffee means and why it matters, this is worth reading.Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What It Says about Us)
by Tom Vanderbilt. I got this because I kept hearing about it on NPR, and usually when I was driving. Very detailed and true to its subtitle; not
a how-to guide for How to Avoid Getting Squished Like a Bug, nor for How to Avoid Squishing Anyone Else Like Said Bug. Caused a minor dust-up in our household after which I threatened never to drive my husband anywhere ever again. Strange Factoid: There was a 9% increase in road deaths in the three months after September 11, at least partly attributable to the fact that people eschewed flying and drove instead. The Unthinkable: Who Survives When Disaster Strikes--and Why
, by Amanda Ripley. Somewhat freaky. If you have issues with airplanes, this could in theory give you some idea of what to do in an emergency and lessen your anxiety. But because some scenes are so vividly described, it could have precisely the opposite effect. Read along with Traffic
and you could develop a realistic sense of the relative risks of various modes of transit, or you could find yourself unable to leave the house. Top Tips: (1) ALWAYS pay attention during the safety demonstration when flying. If you can't stomach that, at least read the danged diagram in the seat pocket. (2) If you are obese, particularly if you live or work in a tall building, consider making [ARRRGH] "lifestyle changes." At the very least, practice getting yourself out via the stairs at regular intervals. (3) If you hate yourself [or your spouse bemoans you, AHEM
] because you tend to freeze in emergencies, quit beating yourself up. Occasionally, freezing is exactly what you should do. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
, novel by Michael Chabon. This came out when I was living in Chicago and going through my comix phase, and I wish I'd read it then. A real treat. One of those novels, up there with Middlesex
and The Prince of Tides
, that seems to be "about" everything, including much of the world in its scope. A Wolf at the Table: A Memoir of My Father
, Augusten Burroughs. Yeah. Um. If you found Running with Scissors
at all hard to take, I'd leave this one on the shelf. Even if you are utterly in love with his observational essays I don't know that Wolf
is absolutely essential. As far as images I wish I'd never imagined being forever stuck in my head, this one is up there with The Road
. (Don't get me freaking started on The Road
. My mother lent it to me and I returned it with much fuss about Not Wanting That Book in My House. I have yet to give back Middlesex
, but I'm hoping she won't notice.) Me of Little Faith
, Lewis Black (of The Daily Show
fame). I sped through this and am probably going to re-read it before I return it. If you have a mad crush on this guy based on what you've seen him do on TV, as do I, you will probably enjoy it, especially if you can tolerate the occasional slightly groovy flight to the supernatural plane, a la Eat Pray Love
. He has one earlier book that I am going to hunt down. Rosie O'Donnell's Crafty U
. If you were a faithful reader of Rosie
magazine some of this will look familiar. Contains recipes for fake blood, silly putty, "goo," and "slime," plus two methods for invisible ink, at least FOUR different types of homemade clay, and ways to make fingerpaint, adhesive for lickable stickers, and even sidewalk chalk. And there are lots and lots of projects, some of which actually look do-able. I am frequently frustrated by my lack of sewing and knot-tying skills when looking at crafty-type books, but there is plenty to do here anyway. God's Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question--Why We Suffer
, by Bart D. Ehrman. This book is all about the Big Problem I have with religion. Ehrman is a Biblical scholar at Chapel Hill, formerly religious and now an agnostic, but this is not an academic book; it's accessible. [Pause for opening Econo-Size can of worms:] I have been trying to decide whether (A) to give up entirely on the religion of my birth and try something else, (B) to actually wrestle with Catholicism as an adult choosing to do so, or (C) to keep going 'round and 'round in circles. I have been doing (C) for over half my life now, and frankly, I'm finding it wanting, especially nowadays, with the ol' Biological Clock in overdrive and my hypothetical children clamoring to know how they might be raised. I guess I was rooting for Mass on some level, because I found this book intellectually satisfying but emotionally depressing. This book pretty well nails Christianity* as failing to sufficiently explain, or even to offer solace for, the Big Problem. I will probably try re-reading before it goes back.
*Pun NOT intended, but should Hell exist, I am so going there for typing it
|Thursday, August 7th, 2008|
|this is not where I meant to go, but here I am anyway
Sometimes I feel like the Interwebs are bad for me. I get overwhelmed by feeling like I'm not plugged in enough. I write in this box primarily for me, to keep the bats in my head quiet, and yet I allow myself to be diminished by the fact that I don't have a following.
Last night I spent some time trying to sort out what the hell went down at BlogHer. I do not understand this love-hate dynamic that seems to have evolved with what I call the "Bloggerati," other than as a manifestation of envy. As madly [read: INSANELY, garment-rendingly, foaming-at-the-mouth] jealous as I am of all of those women, with their book deals and their Twitter feeds and [ESPECIALLY] their moppets and [ONLY SLIGHTLY LESS SO] their bags o'schwag, I know damn well I don't have the stuff to deal with that. I've used my spouse's heightened needs for privacy as an excuse, but bottom line I don't think I could deal with the fallout from sharing on a Dooce-like level. I'd be precluded from it anyway, if I ever get a Real Job.
I used to be terribly open at Diaryland, and put the URL in my email signature. Now it makes me cringe. I have profile pages up at the big networking sites but I've never updated them and I don't check on old friends that way. I should probably take down what I do have listed, in case potential employers are weirded out by my reading interests ("What the hell are 'gender politics'? She probably doesn't shave her armpits! REJECTED!").
Sometimes I have to call b.s. on myself. The real reason I avoid MyFriendishFacesterBook like the plague: I'm not doing anything interesting! I have no job and no moppets! I have studied for 5 out of the last 6 administrations of the bar exam, okay? That is what I "do." That and go to therapy. Oh, and buy groceries. The LAST thing I want to do is read about people I remember from high-school nerd camp who are kicking ass and taking names.
K and I were talking last night about how turmoil is what makes blogs interesting. Frankly, if your diet is going well, you have achieved "work-life balance," or your loving life partner has finally learned how to work the dishwasher, I don't want to hear about it. I have zero interest in how toned anyone's arms are getting or how wonderfully centered yoga makes anyone feel. It's not quite schadenfreude
and yet I don't know what else to call it. I do wonder, however, if I am isolated in this particular weirdness, or if it is typical among blog readers. Yet, from the comments people tend to get ("This makes me feel so much better about MY [choose one
: eating habits! housekeeping! marriage! parenting skills!]"), it seems this is EXACTLY why many people read blogs [which, in turn, affirms my ordinariness and makes me feel better!]. God, it is kind of sick, isn't it? We're only worth reading about if our lives completely suck? Current Mood: don't even
|Tuesday, August 5th, 2008|
I have a lot of emotional crap to spew.
Things I need to honor:
- I actually got in the car, drove to Atlanta, checked into a hotel, and sat for the exam. I didn't do that in February.
- I studied everything. Maybe not as thoroughly as I needed to, but I got through everything at least once, even if it was just a lightning-quick run-through. I've never done that before.
- When terribly distracting things occurred I was able to Put Them Away to the extent that I was able to do the work anyway.
I wish I could say I knew that I passed, and I don't, and it blows chunks. Like over 1300 other people, I won't know until Halloween. My mood from day to day depends on two things, my ability to Not Obsess over certain annoyances, and my ability to convince myself that I did
get 67.5% of everything right, I did
get my D-minus-minus, and they will
let me do what I am supposed to do (or, if I didn't and they don't, that I will find something else to do, and will survive).
If it "worked" this time, it is attributable to two things: one, that I have a therapist who is very focused on the present, and on making my brain do what it needs to do, without navel-gazing about how or why said brain got stuck in the first place; and two, SPEED! Lots and lots of SPEED! That is, the prescribed, extended-release kind. It may be what I've needed all along. I am, after years
of bonking against a hazy-and-gray-yet-still-impenetrable barrier between what I was doing and what I was capable of doing, no longer in a constant state of hunger or exhaustion or drowsiness. The intense feeling of being absolutely overwhelmed--of drowning, really--is, at least for the moment, at bay. (Keep in mind I haven't started applying for jobs
or anything yet.) That's not to say I'm no longer Fucked Up. I remain very much Fucked Up. I am entirely too focused on the negative and need to wrench myself to some state of emotional independence from my spouse/family/friends/etc. I am far from the end of the tunnel but...the cars therein have their lights on? I dunno. Things are getting there, and I wish I had more than 20 covered appointments per year, but I need to be grateful for the appointments I have.
Our first anniversary is rapidly approaching, along with my 31st birthday. I used to think it was insane that etiquette allows an entire year between weddings and the mailing out of related thank-yous. I am now convinced that it takes at least
that long to get them done. This is for two reasons. First, it is impossible to write wedding thank-yous when one is pissed at one's dearly beloved. ("Dear Aunt Sally, thanks ever so much for the wonderful set of pots and pans! They make such satisfying
CLANGG sounds when I am angrily shoving them around in the sink after serving a lovingly prepared meal!
") Second, it takes a year to accrue enough "good" days, upon which one is both Not Pissed at Spouse and actually in the mood to write thank-yous, to get the danged things written and sent out.
I am desperately hoping this rapid-cycling Pissed/Not Pissed sitch is a newly-married/newly-cohabitating problem, and that eventually things will settle down and we will have some nice boring routines, such that it will NOT take forty-five minutes to order pizza (after a minimum fifteen minutes' discussion to render a decision that yes, indeed, pizza 'tis our food of choice, it being the only palatable food that is delivered around here, it also being too goddamned hot to get back in the car).
Sometimes I want to go online and see if anyone has printed T-shirts that say "Miranda Was Right,"* and if they come sized for fatties. Other times it is Just Fine, and sometimes it even ramps up into Quite Lovely, Actually.
reference Current Mood: heavily italicized
|Friday, May 23rd, 2008|
Breaking radio silence to say that I have found an elixir that makes avocados taste like...uh, like verdant, earthy green butter. Like themselves, only one zillion times richer and tastier. And it is Kikkoman soy sauce.
I have taken to making salsa of late, and had no lime juice, so I opened the fridge to see what I could throw in. Then I remembered an ad for Kikkoman that promoted their recipe for guacamole. At the time I thought it was completely goofy and dismissed it outright. But I thought, what the heck, it's salty, I'll try it. So I dashed some onto my avocado bits, along with some chili powder and cumin, and let it sit while I chopped up my other components.
And then...oh my Lord. Holy heck. This was avocado as if I'd never tasted it before, and the flavor held up, even when I accidentally dumped a whole can of plain black beans into the bowl.
Yum, to the infinite power. I don't know what their secret is but they are definitely onto something.
In other news, I have a new therapist, and this week he suggested I try studying strictly from 9-5, and fitting whatever other crap in during lunch hour or during the evenings. With breaks, it comes to a 6.5 hour day, which worries me, and yet, prior to this week, I had been doing roughly a 0.0 hour day.
So in the morning when I get started I leave him a voicemail, and at the end of the day I leave another one. He suggested I leave messages even when I go on and off breaks but that seemed overmuch, although given my tendency this week to take a 1.5 hour lunch, I may need to institute that.
And darned if I didn't get all my hours in.
Con(stitutional) law is in the can and contracts is almost there. Civ(il) pro(cedure) is started, at least, which is a big frakking deal for me, since traditionally it is one of the subjects that I leave until the very end, and it never works out very well after that.
So. "Trying something new" was sort of my mantra when I was growing my hair out. I need to bring it back out of storage. Current Mood: satisfied
|Sunday, January 13th, 2008|
|Death to bar review (this is not going to be a theme, I promise)
Christmas was pretty good. I started that end-of-year meme but am not going to finish it. I have started studying, and am rapidly going insane. I thought my last set of study materials sucked, and all I can say is, I had no idea how bad they could get. These are awful awful. I would be completely fucked without my mini Black's
Am getting swept up in all the primaries-related stuff, and it's distracting. Gloria Steinem's idiotic Times
piece made me think about abandoning the word 'feminist' as a self-descriptor. All I can say is that if being First Lady counts as "unprecedented White House experience," then hell, Laura should run. Anyway, way to set back your movement--a movement that is literally screaming for inclusiveness toward those who aren't white Boomer ladies--a good thirty-or-so years.
Personally, I thought it quite possible that the choking-up was affected, but then, I didn't see what the big deal of it was anyway. (Log a certain number of hours of therapy and suddenly crying in front of people is just not a freaking big deal.)
It is very hard for me not to crucify HRC for what I view as the sins of her husband. Not to assume that she would sell out just as easily as he did. I'd like to think, being a former CDF lawyer, that she wouldn't make gutting welfare a signature policy move. But who knows. It has only just occurred to me that I am almost certainly holding her to a higher standard because she's female. That I think I know her well, because she's female. I was thinking the other day about ubiquitous female experiences: being hurt by romantic partners. Being completely and utterly betrayed by women friends. Being rejected by your father for a boy kid. I don't know if these experiences are really that universal or not, or if that really means anything. If you are an ambitious, educated woman, it is hard not to compare yourself to Hillary and find yourself wanting in some ways, superior in others. Maybe our claws are sharpened by jealousy. Maybe we are trying to assure ourselves that if we had had those same opportunities and advantages we'd be running for President. I for one am remembering all the times people told me I could be anything I wanted to be, wondering what the fuck I am doing taking a fourth bar exam, and ruing (rue-ing) the fact that instead of studying, I'm going off on a tangent in this box.
I should point out that I'm not so much anti-HRC as I am a gushy Obama fan, but that's another topic for another day, preferably in March, when I can forget about fucking Corporations. Current Mood: grrrrrrr
|Friday, December 21st, 2007|
|Death to Snickerdoodles
recipe was a complete and utter disaster, as in half the damn dough went in the trash can, because the teeniest, weeniest little balls I could make were toast at 4 minutes. Martha Stewart's recipe came out a lot better but it's still not where I want it; the cookies came out crunchy, such that they are tasty, but people would probably think they're burnt. (Is that even right, "burnt"? I used to be so up on my past participles! Darn you Catholic school for making me anal about that stuff!)
The reason for all this snickerdoodling is that K's mom allegedly used to make them, only instead of rolling them in the traditional cinnamon sugar, she'd do red or green sprinkles. I gather from K that the important part seems to be the sprinkles, and we got these beautiful sanding sugars from a gourmet shop, so I'm going to try a regular sugar cookie recipe next and hope for the best. (The test runs have all been with regular ol' Betty Crocker red sugar, and I'm glad I waited to break out the good stuff. Ugh. Bleah. Stupid snickerdoodles.)
The test run of the Good Eats
"Chewy" chocolate chip recipe--it's literally the recipe from the back of the Nestle bag, with tweaks to make a chewy cookie--went super well, so I am probably going to make a double batch of dough tonight and let it chill. I like a cookie that's soft enough that you don't feel compelled to dunk it in your milk. These come out large enough that without eating half the cookie, they wouldn't fit in your average glass anyway. (Clearly I have eaten waaaaay more than my fair share of cookies during my 30 years of life.)
I'm going to do oatmeal raisin because my dad likes them, and then I need to make challah (promised to my mom), which I am nervous about, not having risen anything in I don't know how long. Also: My spouse is wrecking any cooking confidence I ever had. I used to cook, especially bake, a lot. I lived in a vegan co-op house for three years, so that's what I learned to do: vegan food for twenty-or-so people. And after a few months I got pretty good at it. Then I went to law school and learned that cooking for one, after cooking for a whole bunch of appreciatively hungry people, is...kind of a letdown. Nonetheless I was perfectly capable of keeping myself fed. But K and I have completely different tastes, and he's a born "nose"--he can taste quantities that are measured in parts-per-zillion, it seems like, which makes me feel like my palate is freakishly dull. Combine that with
a dearth of tact that borders on the Aspergian
the fact that he doesn't sugarcoat, and you, or I anyway, end up with hurt feelings.
Anyway. I'm clearly OCD about cookies anyway, but if you saw the cookiebaking operation my mother puts on every year, you'd understand I come by it honestly. Current Mood: perturbed
|Tuesday, December 4th, 2007|
I thought maybe I'd better start writing again. If only so I have a record of what I've been doing.
I am suffering snow withdrawal. Sigh. People are posting pictures of their snowy lawns and it makes me remember walking around in it, the lovely quiet, the crunching sound my steps made. (Remembered with less fondness: shovels, busting my butt any number of times, my ex-AmeriCorps boots that took half an hour to get on, and standing around for hours waiting for buses that never came.)
I have had a bottle of generic Ritalin in my purse since Friday. I am scared to death of taking it. The literature from the pharmacy is full of warnings about "anxiety," "emotional problems," "heart disease/defects," etc.--basically, "Hey You, Don't Ingest!"-- and it's giving me the willies. Am going to see my regular doctor today, in part to see what he thinks. The clinic shrink who I see once a year suggested it, even with my reservations, and I'm not sure how to digest that. My impulse is that he spends all day dealing with Real Crazy People, as opposed to me with my middle-class freakouts and multiple degrees, and he is therefore going to dismiss any input from me as insane ramblings.
Anything related to health insurance makes me break out in hives. I have not sought out Sicko
for this reason. Friday was the first time I tried my new, married insurance. I tried to get my brand-name crazy meds filled, but coverage would be unauthorized because Blue Cross in Georgia doesn't know my clinic in South Carolina. Hence a hastily scheduled appointment with my regular doctor, who happens to be on K's plan. If he won't prescribe my crazy pills, I am completely screwed, because market-rate my drugs would rival rent for a decent apartment around here. As soon as I got back from the pharmacy I spent a couple of hours trying to find a shrink in private practice that takes K's insurance and is actually accepting new patients. This is something I've been needing to do since I moved to Georgia, and I've been putting it off because I knew it would be a giant pain. Sometimes the universe times things in such a way that it's obvious some mystical force is trying to get me off my ass.
I called every shrink on my plan in a twenty-mile radius--I live in the second-largest metropolitan area in Georgia, home of its Medical College and several hospitals--and snagged an appointment in FEBRUARY, two weeks out from the bar exam. Yeeesh. I'm going to be hysterical.
I want to say I Am Ready to Make Changes. I was freaking out last night and this morning, about how I have to ask the doctor about the d-word (*whispering* diabetes
), and how I really don't want to have a fucking stroke. And yet: my primary source of sustenance today, other than my regular fiberrific cereal, lives in the freezer and is labeled "Double Fudge Brownie." Whoops. Current Mood: distressed
|Sunday, July 9th, 2006|
|Freaky roaring seal video
is the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen. It's that giant red gaping maw that comes out of nowhere, and then that ROAOOOOOOAR. I've watched it probably twenty times today. I, just, oh my god. It's short. Watch it and then tell me if you think it's actually two seals, or what. I can't tell. Aieeeee. From B3ta
newsletter; also posted at D'land
|Sunday, April 2nd, 2006|
|cross posted at d-land, under "more meta than I'd like ordinarily," or something like that
I feel strange about blogging anymore. I've written along these lines before, but especially now that I am working in my new job (at the place I interned this summer, whoo-hoo), the most interesting stuff I do, I can't write about.
And we had a family emergency three weeks ago, and that's easily the most shocking, compelling, heart-rending thing happening, and I don't feel comfortable writing about it here or anywhere else public. (Drop me a line if you want to know what's up. Everything's basically fine now, and I'm happy to discuss with anybody who emails me, I'm just Not Going There in this forum.)
My concerns on both issues are probably groundless given that there are maybe two or three people who read this anymore, down from a high of maybe ten people. But still. The risk is not worth it.
To be of any interest as a blogger/diarist/livejournaler, you have to be funny, but you also have to be willing to piss a lot of people off, I think, and I don't think I will ever be the type of person that could take going through all my hate mail and icky comments without having a coronary or swearing off the internet altogether.
And K is an intensely private person too, and he'd probably have his own coronary if he realized just how much I Went There about him, particularly when it was getting crazy.
One of the Bad Patterns in my life is, if I feel any discomfort, if I think I can't be the best in the world at something, I tend not to bother. (See: law school. See: not ever pursuing getting anything published. See: etc. etc.) With web stuff, it's like, I'm not Dooce, I have way too many boundaries to ever be Dooce, so I'm not going to bother with, say, making my blog legible. Or paying to put up pictures. Or learning enough html to make it as cool as I'd really want it to be.
Anyway. I'm probably not going to stop permanently. But I'm really short on time anyway.
P.S. I've decided I really like Death Cab for Cutie, or at least the two songs I've been hearing on the Columbia alternative station. They seem very literary. I'll probably buy the CD when my tax money comes in.
|Tuesday, November 29th, 2005|
In the great Scott Turow book Presumed Innocent
, the protagonist's defense lawyer defines "clong" as "the rush of shit to your heart" when you see all the state's evidence against you.
I would propose an second indication, for when your bar review materials come in the mail in very heavy boxes from UPS, and you peruse them and realize what deep, deep trouble you are in.
I am SO doomed.
Seriously, the Bar/Bri stuff is Hugh Mungous, and then all I have for the South Carolina stuff is two big fat scary 3-ring binders full of outlines, each of which is preceded by an ominous-sounding disclaimer saying You Have No Recourse If They Test Something We Didn't Cover, and Oh Yeah, Additional Preparation May Be Necessary.
Me to K, re Jessica Simpson, paraphrasing a Daily Show
segment: You know you wanna bounce that ass.
K: The only ass I wanna bounce is yours. Current Mood: tired
|Thursday, January 20th, 2005|
Diaryland is down. I was writing a redonculously huge entry about how great my Tuesday was when it happened. Andrew says on the "oh, shit!" page that such entries may still get posted. We'll see. I've lost enough stuff in there that I should just paste from WordPad or something. Sigh.
This is what I get for doing Nelson Muntz "ha
ha"s when LJ went kablooey. Phhhhht.
Spent yesterday, since my class was canceled, in bed reading books: The Secret History
, by Donna Tartt [consider yourself alerted to spoilers], and then, after it came in the mail, Running with Scissors
. I didn't get The Secret History
at all. I think it was supposed to be fairly contemporary, but it just seemed largely to be set in some other time period. Occasionally there would be a reference to a Gaultier bustier or something to bring it back. The book itself is a good ten years old, but still. Having a fabulously rich and handsome gay man marry a woman, named Priscilla, in order to stay fabulously rich, in Boston, seems so dated as to be untenable. I know that we can't all be bohemians, but Jesus.
Besides which, reading about rich people, esp. New England rich people, gives me the willies. It's partly because of this that I stopped getting the Globe on Sundays. I read the Trib religiously in Chicago and I think that kind of babbling was limited to the gossip column and the paid weddings pages. The Globe, particularly the Sunday mag, where they put the crossword, is just lousy with that sort of thing. There's always some feature about the lady who quit being a high-powered corporate whoever at fortysomething to collect sea glass and paint bad watercolors, or about the couple, with one blonde child already and another in pod form, that buys a modest fixer-upper in the outer 'burbs and outfits it with a SubZero fridge, Ralph Lauren recycling bins, Calvin Klein bed linens, and a vintage baptismal font for a bathroom sink.
It snowed for hours last night. I just...God. I am sick of this weather and I am even getting edgy in my own apartment (constanly marinating in other people's lives, and other people's stuff, and waiting in line for the goddamn bathroom, itself mostly vintage, but not in any of the good ways), and I never felt comfortable at school in the first place. You'd think this would have me busting my ass to get my work done and get the hell out of town in June, and yet I spent all day yesterday reading. Scissors
is very, very scary. I need to read it again, less quickly, but I much prefer the other Burroughs books. I thought my parents gave their lives over to the Evil Therapist, but I don't know the half of it. (Dad still sees her, which pisses me off anyway, plus he says they talk mostly about me.)
Anyway. Gotta get cleaned up and out the door. It doesn't matter that I don't want to. Current Mood: cranky
|Wednesday, September 1st, 2004|
This is Jenny's page. It mostly exists because she knows people on LJ and is sick and tired of posting comments as "anonymous." Also, the little icon she made really does look like her, which she thinks is cool.
Her other page, at least for the time being, is here
Yes, Jenny is a Web weenie, and no, she doesn't appreciate you laughing at her for it.