you know it

Goddamn right I do.

My dad called me back tonight. From a restaurant. I asked him about the two sets of mixing bowls. Apparently he realized that he'd already sent me one immediately after spending a truly ridiculous amount of money (a dollar amount that he was careful to share with me, of course) in order to get the other box to me before Christmas. So now I am telling myself that I'm not going to feel guilty because he stupidly felt obligated to spend more money on shipping that box than he could possibly have spent on all of my Christmas presents combined (including both sets of mixing bowls). Especially not if getting the box o' socks to Randy was his main priority (as he claimed it was). And fuck me, I'm done thinking about this.

I'm going back there for a week on the 14th. What am I doing that for, I'd like to know.

Here's some good news: work is letting me keep my money for the time being. Apparently one of the partners felt that because I am now working part-time and also presumably no longer going to let them squat on my life forever and ever and ever, I should just get fucked. Luckily, the other partner was more reasonable. More proof for my Theory That Worrying Fixes Everything. I am so writing a self-help book.

* * *

I want to apologize for the quality of my blogging lately. Okay, so mostly I just want you all to know that I'm aware that it's awful. Everyone! Important Bulletin! I Am Aware That I Am Gazing Into My Own Navel! Perhaps You'd Like To Take A Look As Well!

Gah.

Here are some random and fuzzy pictures from my cell phone.

Rainbow above the McDonald's this morning. It was much prettier than that before my camera phone got to it.

In a public bathroom along the route to Barstow. Ladii Gems is an excellent gang name, don't you think?

Gummy candy. In case you can't read that, it says: "MUSCAT GUMMY. A translucent color so alluring and taste and aroma so gentle and mellow offer admiring feelings of a graceful lady. Enjoy soft and juicy Kasugai Muscat Gummy." Also has a pleasing soft mouth feel.

Incidentally, I am now in possession of the best hoodie in the world (close-up of the image here). I wore it to Randy's family's house on Christmas, hoping to start something. However, the only comment I got was from Randy's mom, who read it carefully, laughed, and said, "Oh, how cute!" Then later, when I answered The Question by saying that I was in the same boat as Randy career-wise — i.e., the only thing one can do with the degree I'm going to end up with is to teach — his family somehow managed to interpret that to mean that I intend to teach elementary school.

In other news, my father didn't send his usual Christmas email this year (he usually sends one email to all three of us kids which says, "MERRY XMAS!!!!" and that's it). Instead, he tried to call me at home yesterday morning while I was at work. He did not want to call me on my cell phone, and instead told Randy that he would call me back last night. Shockingly, this did not happen. I wish this didn't bother me. I also wish it didn't bother me that he didn't bother to sign his own name to the Christmas card his girlfriend sent me. I wish the two sets of mixing bowls didn't bother me. I wish it didn't bother me that he sent a Christmas present to Randy (box o' socks) which demonstrates that he has an infinitely better understanding of Randy's interests than of mine.

I'm almost over Christmas, I promise. Very soon I'll stop whinging.

So, hey! It's lovely and windy and rainy out. And look at that pretty rainbow.

felicitations

Guess whose birthday is today? Was today? Yes, okay, Jesus', but more importantly, the Idler King's. I kinda wish my brain wasn't rattled all to hell at the moment so I could think of something funny to say, and preferably something nice as well. But, nope, I'm pretty mushy upstairs presently, so I will just say: happy birthday, Idler. You're not very old right now. May you eventually get much, much older, and have an excellent time doing it.

Also, merry Christmas to everyone, and thank you for being my friends. Mush mush mushy mush.

Goddamn it, now the Golden Girls theme is in my head.

p.s.

My employer informed me today that they're going to take away 1/3 of my pay as of a week from now. When I freaked out, I was told that I should remember that they've accommodated my part-time hours, and that's been "quite a challenge" — as if they were doing me some kind of favor by keeping me there, when they'd be fully up shit creek if I left. Oh, and also, the person they hired specifically to help me with my workload, which used to keep 37.5 hours a week fully-occupied and now has to be crammed into 20-30? Not so much. Apparently other people have already given her too much work to do and she now just can't help me. So not only am I going to be doing the same work I was doing when I was working full-time, but I'm going to be doing it in fewer hours, and getting paid something like 3/5 what I got when I was working full-time.

But oh! I should be grateful, because they gave me a 3.5% cost of living increase on my base salary. And they might or might not implement some new program that would give me back some of what they're taking away, at some point in the future.

Would someone please show me where the Christmas Spirit pool is, I'd like to piss in it.

i've sure got the christmas spirit now

Most of you have already heard that my father sent me a set of five purple mixing bowls for Christmas this year. Guess what? I opened another box from him today, and inside was another set of five purple mixing bowls.

Dad? I have a message for you:

I'm also seriously considering putting this in a box and sending it to him. (Brilliant idea, Idler.)

and so it turns out i am a lady after all

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Milady the Right Reverend Amanda the Prickly of Throcking in the Hole Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

one-liners: only one week left

• I ate some vindaloo yesterday; it was my first. The Bollywood videos at the restaurant were entrancing, but the vindaloo was kind of tasteless. Like the Shosh said, it doesn't seem to translate well to tofu.
  
• I also ran down an up escalator yesterday. That, on the contrary, was everything I'd ever hoped it would be. (Next weekend I plan on going up a down escalator. Then, in through an out door.)
  
• All right, so I knew about the Flat Earth Society, but until today I didn't really know about the Flat Earth Society. Look! They have forums, and a FAQ, which "was created in light of the realization that for someone with a 'round-Earth' (RE) background, the FE theory would appear at first glance to have some glaring holes." No worries, though, they lay it all out for you. Basically, dudes, the earth is flat. There's a giant conspiracy, authored by "the government" and everyone else in the world who has ever said they had any kind of evidence that the earth was round. What's more, if you personally have ever witnessed any evidence that the world is round, you were mistaken, and so were your scientific instruments. Ergo, the world is flat. QED. See, they even have a map, with a cute little flat sun and moon too. Also, it turns out, some of the flat earthers are unclear on the question of why sex with children is bad. Don't get me wrong, they're all totally, totally against it, they just want to make sure that the logical position against fucking babies is sufficiently rigorous. Because they are all about the motherfucking logic over there at the Flat Earth Society.
• Chocolate is apparently made out of enslaved children. (Scroll down, second item.) Now, that was an unpleasant piece of information, and I apologize.
  
• On a less horrifying note: Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake have something for you, babies.
• Victorian backwards slang and rhyming slang. I could use a tinep o' reeb right about now.
• We missed monkey day.
  
• I'll have you know, I have been drinking wine coolers ironically for over a decade now. I am just that far ahead of my time, I guess. Also, Strawberry Shortcake is the tits. (I do not know from cachet, however.)
• This scares the shit out of me.
• This is so worth it for the last line. You can start about halfway down if you're already familiar with the progress of the War on Christmas thus far. (Our side is losing, of course.)
  

nicey-niceness: because nice things are nice

1. My post-1800 professor has told me not once but twice that my reading of Frankenstein is, and I quote, brilliant. Thanks, Randy and Idler, for helping my drunk ass work it out. Or, possibly, handing my drunk ass the only brilliant things I ended up saying. I don't remember, because I was drunk. I also may have just now written a bunch of gibberish on my final. Sh! This is supposed to be a post about nice things.
   
2. I have decided what my next tattoo will be. Just need to pick a place. And an artist. (One who won't make fun of me, Shosh. I am not that tough.)
3. Here is a video of a puppy who just... can't... stay... awake.

I guess that's all the nice I've got in me today. Actually, three things is really very good, for today.

one-liners: tiny flying bears edition

• Stephen Colbert re this news story: "This is just more support for what I've always said — that bats are nothing but tiny flying bears."
• It's not funny, but goddamn is this a good post about feminism. So I'm sharing. Feel free to ignore it if you're not interested.
  
• Now, this? Not funny either. In fact, it's fucking terrifying. And kind of vomit-inducing. Do not click that link while you're eating.
• No good deed goes un— wait, there are no good deeds involved in this exchange.
• He's right, ROTFLMFAO doesn't even come close.
• This person is blogging his way through the new Thomas Pynchon. Why? I don't know, why does anyone do anything?
  
• Knit a boob, knit a uterus. Where is the pattern that will show me how to knit a prick, I'd like to know. Sexism! Oh, and here's a Princess Leia hat.
• This man can scat like nobody's business. Check out "Folsom Prison Blues."
• These Italian science fiction novel covers are dead awesome.
• That Jesus was a total fag. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
• And while I'm being offensive: gallery of freaks. Because we all love a good freak now and again.
• People, people, when will you learn? It is sheer folly to leave an Irish camel alone with booze and mince pies.
  
• Several creepy things made of meat. But of course I think most everything made of meat is creepy.
• More creepiness: ladies, apparently if you stick some Lysol up your hoo ha, you'll never grow old. From this Flickr pool (and there's one for dudes, too -- my favorite there is "Puttin' on the Dog").
  
• Speaking of Flickr pools: I hereby present you with the I Crush Your Head pool.

mild and temporary relief

One final exam over with, and all my post-1800 assignments taken care of. Now I have two exams tomorrow (which I haven't begun to study for), another one due by Wednesday night, and a full semester's notes to re-write (longhand) and make pretty in order to turn in at my last exam on Friday. My back is killing me, the phlegm-head continues unabated, and I haven't moved from the couch in three days. I'm not kidding, I think my leg muscles have atrophied. Oh well, at least the heart palpitations are down to one every few minutes (I hit a high earlier tonight of one about every three seconds). Fucking decongestant, am I right? Fuck you, decongestant.

Well, moving on, here's a thing I think is cool. It claims to be like Flickr but without the pictures; but what it really means is that it's like Flickr, but with words instead of pictures. As you might guess, I am ridiculously enthusiastic about this. Here's mine so far.

Also: Hail Mary Shelley. And now I needs my intelligence sleep.

this is the equivalent of me blowing my nose into the internet

So, okay, I'm sick now. And I have an assignment on Keats and one on the Victorians to prepare by the end of the day today. I haven't even read the Victorian stuff. And my head is so full of phlegm that I can't begin to fathom how to talk about what the function of imagination is, or how that function is Romantic, especially not as it pertains to Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale." So instead, I blog, because it doesn't require a working brain.

I went to my company's Christmas party last night, where my boss got absolutely fucking hammered within the first hour and went around telling people she was horny and slapping them for not dancing with her. Then I watched a friend of a friend just barely stop himself from crying because his dog died recently (the dog understood him, people). Later, he proceeded to inform his boss, who called him from China with work to do, that he couldn't do it because he was completely shitfaced. A perfectly competent band called, according to the invitation, "A 'Touch of Soul'" played. (A friend who no longer works there but got invited to the party anyway suggested that we get Gwar next year, a proposition I wholeheartedly support.) Somewhere in all that we watched an insufferably awful — and stultifyingly boring — murder mystery play. We then had to fill out questionnaires to see who could come closest to solving the mystery. I filled mine out using the name Washington Irving, and guessed that one of the characters died of scurvy, and the other was shot by John Wilkes Booth. I was trying to be funny, but as you can see I failed utterly (in my defense, my head was full of phlegm and I wasn't drunk at all). Then later I felt guilty for insulting the murder mystery troupe.

Will someone please notify J.R.R. Tolkein that the phrase "chainless winds" can kick "cellar door"'s ass.

jazz hands!

Well, that was fun. Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins were lovely. Jenny was, disappointingly, not wearing The Boots. But she sure can belt it out, I tell you what. And wear a spangly dress like nobody's business. I liked her songs better live, too, which can only be a good sign.

The other band, which shall remain nameless because that is not the kind of crowd I want visiting my blog, was — well, let me say this. The highlights of the show were:

• A thirteen-year-old girl in front of me was so excited at one point that she spontaneously made jazz hands.
• During their cover of the Sonics' "I'm Going Home," as Ben Gibbard sang a line about going home to mom and dad, a thirteen-year-old boy behind us yelled, "Mom and Dad!! Woo!!!"
• Sometimes the stage lights made cool shadows on the walls.
• It's fun to mock Ben Gibbard's dance. (He kind of looks like a muppet.)
  
• After the show, instead of handing out flyers listing other bands playing in the area like at a normal concert, people were handing out little postcards advertising the band's fan club. No, really, it was adorable.

As you can see, there's something missing from that list. Well, that's okay. I don't have to love every band I see. As a wise man once said, this life is filled with many sweet companions, many satisfying one-night stands. Etc.

The best, best, best part of the evening was that they played Wire's "Three Girl Rhumba" as we were walking out. It was just like the time I was at that Sisters of Mercy concert and they played the Doors' "Love Her Madly" after the show, only the opposite.

Now I have to go write about Frankenstein. And also for some reason listen to everything that Spoon has ever released. (N.B.: Their website can be found at spoontheband.com. I could do that.)

p.s. Unrelated: posts like this are why justalittleguy is my favorite cuteness blog. No homo.

things i really hope i will do when this semester is over: first installment

• Do my laundry. How gross would it be if I hadn't done laundry in three and a half months? Hypothetically.
• Start going to the gym again. I had a dream last night that I went to my company's Christmas party and then I saw a video of myself at the party and I looked like an elephant. Also my fly was open.
  
• Clean up my piles of crap around the house. Randy! No more wading through piles of boxes and dirty laundry to get to your closet! You know, until next semester starts.
  
• Go grocery shopping. It might be nice to eat something other than Taco Bell sometimes. I don't know, I'm going to try it out.
  
• Get sick. This one's more of a bowing to the inevitable than a plan, per se.
• Do fun things. Dudes. I feel like I haven't done anything spontaneously fun in decades now. I want to go roller skating and play mini golf and paint pottery and go to the beach for no reason at all and hang out at the mall and go to McDonald's in the middle of the night and... wait, that's the high school fun I never had, not the college fun I haven't been having. What's college fun? I hope it involves cemeteries.
• Make some collages. I'm no artist, but I like it, and I ain't done it much lately.
  
• Do some crafts. What? I'm in a creative mood.
  
• Listen to more music. I've been listening to a lot, but not really appreciating it. It will be nice to be able to listen to music without having to do something else at the same time.
• Read Paradise Lost. I'm buying a case of egg nog, Idler. Do not let me down.
• Do my Christmas shopping. It's fucking December, I just found out.
• Go to the French conversation group at Pacific Crepes. This one will probably not happen. The level of courage it would take for me to do this is pretty much inconceivable. Still, I think it's a good idea to put at least one thing you'll never ever do on any list of goals you make. Keeps you humble.
• Sleep. It's a rose, as the Persians say.

in which i waste some more time

Okay, this is my last post of the day, I promise. I'm procrastinating, in case it's not obvious.

I'm a little shocked that Morrissey isn't the "pseudo historical figure" who "best suits" me. I'm going to assume that it's because the quiz sensed my moustacheular affinity with Nietzsche. I can't believe I'm more Hugh Hefner than Charles Manson, though. Weird.

You scored as Friedrich Nietzsche. Well you're an egotistical maniac, and you are so very iconoclastic that you probably are currently lost in a post-modern Jupiter, I mean jungle of self-definition. Don't let it get you down though, someday, through a willful onslaught of reinterpretation of dated forms and ideas, you will strike on something that passes as remotely new, and people WILL be into it on the basis of how hip it is alone. Also, the average espresso drinker looks up to you. Friedrich Nietzsche 100% Dante Alighieri 75% Steven Morrissey 75% Miyamoto Musashi 67% Adolf Hitler 58% C.G. Jung 58% Elvis Presley 42% Stephen Hawking 42% Hugh Hefner 42% Sigmund Freud 33% Jesus Christ 33% O.J. Simpson 25% Charles Manson 25% Mother Teresa 8% What Pseudo Historical Figure Best Suits You? created with QuizFarm.com

set that on fire

I love, love, love this site. It makes me like people again. It also makes me want to write graffiti all over town.

Some of my favorites:

• Well, would you?
• Absolutely everything.
• Yep.
• Don't make me cry, wall.
• Roll on 4 wheels breaks the law!!
• It's not with Robin, if that's what you're thinking.
• Never!
• Agreed.
• Now, there's one that would understand me.
• ... Asked ... and answered.
• Well, get on the pill if you're that worried about it, dumpster.
• And this one is my favoritest of all.
  

fun with itunes

I probably don't need to explain this game to any of you. And so, with very little comment, I present to you one music-collection-shuffling game:

1. Opening Credits: Johnny Cash - "Down There By the Train"
2. Childhood: Richie Havens - "Going Back to My Roots"
3. First Day of School: Stone Temple Pilots - "Sex Type Thing"
   
4. Falling in Love: The Pixies - "Silver"
5. Breaking Up: Sonic Youth - "Silver Rocket"
   
6. Falling in Love Again: American Analog Set - "Punk as Fuck"
   
7. Breaking Up Again: Okkervil River - "Dead Dog Song"
8. Prom: The Streets - "Has It Come to This?"
9. Birth of Child: Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds - "Papa Won't Leave You, Henry"
   
10. Life Sucks: Baby Dayliner - "Shah With That" [But! I don't see how life can suck with lyrics like "Diamonds bigger than a cyst / my nemesis / is to not get kissed."]
    
11. Life's Okay: Interpol - "A Time to Be So Small"
    
12. Mental Breakdown: The Velvet Underground - "What Goes On" [Lady be good!]
    
13. Driving Theme: New York Dolls - "Vietnamese Baby"
    
14. Flashback: Depeche Mode - "Judas"
    
15. High School Reunion: The Pixies - "Trompe le Monde"
16. Commitment Ceremony: Joy Division - "The Only Mistake"
    
17. Middle Age: Johnny Mercer - "Glow Worm"
    
18. Last Years: Fugazi - "Bulldog Front"
    
19. Funeral Song: The Beatles - "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"
    
20. End Credits: Julee Cruise - "Summer Kisses, Winter Tears"

and fuck you too, schopenhauer

From On Women:

It is only the man whose intellect is clouded by his sexual instinct that could give that stunted, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped, and short-legged race the name of the fair sex; for the entire beauty of the sex is based on this instinct. One would be more justified in calling them the unaesthetic sex than the beautiful. Neither for music, nor for poetry, nor for fine art have they any real or true sense and susceptibility, and it is mere mockery on their part, in their desire to please, if they affect any such thing.

Personally, I have rather long legs, and I must insist that anyone who believes me unsusceptible in any degree to poetry, music, or fine art go and seat himself enthusiastically on a unicorn's forehead. But why does this even bother me? It was written 150 years ago, and it was crazy then. Fuck Schopenhauer, right? (Well, or not, cause whoa. Talk about unaesthetic.) But it does upset me. As ridiculous as it is, it still feels... threatening. I mean, I'm over it, it's okay, but I couldn't even bring myself to read the whole essay.

Anyway, that's all. Just your daily episode of Sexism That Freaks Me Out.