Thursday, February 27, 2003

I can't fall asleep. I get the week off from work and I am restless. Figures. So here I am, entertaining myself with the Internet. I remember when I was very young and couldn't sleep, I would act out plays in my head. In junior high, I would make collages out of old Sassy magazines. As a sleepless teenager, I'd stay up all night, making mixed tapes and listening to college radio. Now I find myself drawn to the Internet. I think of all of the plays, collages and music complilations I am ignoring. For what? For this:

Read this article for the last paragraph. Through mind-numbing quotes from Zora's ex-boyfriend, the article tries to invoke scandal and intrigue while reporting that Zora, the winner of the Joe Millionaire Extravaganza, watched illicit Meg Ryan movies with her ex-boyfriend before she moved to France. "Zora wanted to learn the language in France a little bit better... we didn't watch too much of the movie if you know what I mean," the sly dog confesses, implying that they did more than just watch a movie named after tongue kissing. Forget his implication, though. How about his actual meaning? Astounding: the idea that Zora brushed up on the language and culture of France by watching French Kiss with Meg Ryan! Is she a moron? No wonder the French hate us.

See also:

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

I woke up at five this morning. I ate breakfast, washed my hair (big commitment in the morning), stopped for coffee, took the light rail (and then the bus) to work and had every intention of completing my day. My bus driver said, "Good morning, stranger!" to me. He remembered me! When I was car-less, I'd bring him a blueberry muffin every Wednesday morning. Then I got a car and dropped RTD services like a hot potato. They put in a new shelter at the stop--that was nice to see. Now all they need to do is heat it. Oh, and put in a french bistro next door. There is a new Starbucks across the street. Not nearly the same as a bistro but oh, how things change in three months. Anyway, I made it halfway through the day. Around lunchtime is when I was told to go home. I kept reinjuring myself by walking into door frames and walls and stuff. I think I made everyone nervous; they told me to take the week off. I took the bus back to school, which is where I transfer to the light rail. Once on campus, however, I was able to guilt myself into going to the library to research Colorado Senate Bill 00-186 (school report cards...sigh. I shan't get started on my frustration). I ran into Erin who wanted me to go listen to Michael Moore give some talk tonight but I sensed that gun control and its surrounding politics were not part of the healing aura my co-workers had in mind when they sent me home today. I am 0 for 3 this week in classes. Tonight was the only one that I regret missing because he makes us write essays if we miss class. Eh.

My reliance on pain killers vexes me. I am irritable and incoherent when I am taking them, albeit pain-free (save for when I walk into doorways. The pain killers do nothing for the sting). When I don't take them, I am fully coherent, amiable and consumed with gut-wrenching pain. I was able to get my research done, though punctuated with the occasional "ow. ow. ow." On the ride home, I chatted amicably with a girl about France and French and Je Ne Sais Quel Autre. Were I doped up, I could have managed maybe a "Huh?" with a Parisienne sneer and toss of my hair. I don't know how drug addicts do it. It's driving me crazy. I need the hurt to stop.

Tuesday, February 25, 2003

I didn't go to work yesterday. I didn't do much of anything. I finally washed my hair and then took the light-rail to school, with every intention of going to class. Alas, I was far-too-drugged to sit through a three-hour class. I told my professor that I was pretty sure that I would cry or confess my love to everyone in class if I stayed. He agreed that I shouldn't go to class. Erin and I went to the library instead and ate the leftover pizza she had in her backpack. Then we took the bus to the 16th Street Mall and walked around. I didn't feel guilty once for not being in class. That's how good the pizza was. Spinach and Pine Nuts. Mmm. I didn't go to work again today. I can't believe how easy it is to sit around and convalesce. I don't feel sorry for myself. I just don't feel like doing anything.

This is the email I just sent my professor for tonight's statistics class:

I am writing to tell you that I can't come to class. I cracked a rib and chipped my shoulder while snowboarding on Sunday. As I am heavily medicated, I am pretty sure it's in my best interest to stay home tonight.

I have spoken with my group and they said that they will give me the notes from tonight's lecture.


Here's his reply:
Feel better soon.

Cracked ribs are painful, I know.

I cannot contain the excitement of my life when I do absolutely nothing. I think I am going to go watch daytime television. I may even walk to the coffeeshop later.

Monday, February 24, 2003

I went snowboarding yesterday. My brother's best friend has been trying to teach me how to snowboard, off and on for the past three years. This is my first dedicated Colorado winter season to learning the sport, so we've been going up every weekend. Still I am awful. Since Mu Son is so much better than I am, we decided to split up in the morning as there was fresh powder and I didn't want my clumsy ass keeping him from having fun. I'm awfully slow and fall all the time. I'm trying to overcome my fear of speed. The next time Mu Son saw me was at the bottom of the mountain, when he was standing in line at the lift. As he was waiting. he happened to look behind him and see me being pulled off the stretcher. Oh yes. It was the moment where I was trying to overcome my fear of going too fast that I went too fast and fell. At first all I could do was make this god awful sea otter bellow noise, gasping for the air that was knocked out of me. Two men immediately stopped to help me, as they saw me clutching my stomach and rocking to and fro as I bellowed loudly. One man went to get help as the other removed my snowboard for me. I finally caught my breath but then exploded into noisy and horrible sobbing. The man tried to calm me down, but once I gained my senses, I realized just how hurt I was. Mike Somebody from New Zealand helped me into a stretcher and skiied me down the mountain. I screamed the whole way. Three hours later, I was a cracked rib and a chipped shoulder hurt. They gave me a sling for my arm and told me to take pain pills as necessary. I'd feel better in a few days, they told me. Now I am all hopped up on Vicodin and trying to find a way to wash my hair while I finish eating this roast beef and horseradish sandwich that is so good. I can't leave its side but I must find a way to wash my hair. It's at times like these when inventions are born... a plastic bag/plate specially designed so that you can eat your sandwich while in the shower. I must have one. I love this sandwich.

I told Mu Son that I wasn't going to give up snowboarding on account of my injury. My brother (who, with his wife and daughter, amazingly drove up into the mountains to rescue my drugged-up ass and Mu Son's driver's license-less ass) said that if I stopped doing everything I hurt myself by, I'd never be able to leave the house. Point taken.

Saturday, February 22, 2003

I just got back from watching “Dark Blue.” I had no idea what to expect. Five minutes into the movie, I was reminded of The Black Dahlia, the book I’ve recently finished and love like crazy. Even though the stories were separated by 44 years, I sensed a common pace. It turns out that the movie was based on a book by James Ellroy, who also wrote The Black Dahlia. He must become my favorite author. After I finish Fast Food Nation.

I met a guy after work today. It was my very last Internet date, as my subscription runs out tomorrow and I am tired of trying. We were to meet for a drink at the Rock Bottom Brewery. Lame, but his choice. I walk in the bar at 5:30, not exactly sure what to expect. His trio of online photos varies in appearance, ranging from very cute to horribly awkward. Really it was anyone’s game. As I am filtering through the single men in the bar, looking for the one that is waiting for me, I make eye contact with a man. I think it’s Cory. He smiles brightly at me, stands up, and exclaims, “Oh my god! Are you a model?” I recoil in horror, thinking that if this is my date, I am feigning a headache. At that moment, Cory comes to my side and introduces himself (appearance leaning toward horribly awkward). Man #1 loiters, turns to Cory and says, “You’re a lucky man. Let’s thank god for women like her.” Then Cory said, “God already finished his work on her.” Huh? I thought that was gay. Stupid gay, not sexual preference gay. Man #1 shakes Cory’s hand and says, “Thank you.” Then Man #1 turns to me, shakes my hand and says, “No, thank you.” I was sure to tell Cory that I hired the guy to ease our initial meeting. Wow, though. That could not have come at a better time—the same day where I started polling the office to see who thinks I need to lose weight. Answers ranged from, “God no!” (what I want to hear) to “You’re just curvy. You don’t want to be skinny.” (gag) or my personal torturous response, “You’re tall.” What the hell is that? Ugh. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this—dwell. Fuck you Britney Spears. You did this. You and your damned rock and roll videos.

When I met Cory directly after work, I hadn’t eaten and it was fair game for food. Dinnertime! Two beers and a movie later, food still hadn’t entered the field. Homeboy expects to meet a gal at 5:30, keep her out until 10, and never mention dinner? I dropped hints. Did I ever. But nothing.

Thus ending my rash of Internet suitors and our mildly interesting yet uninspired conversations.

Incidentally, this movie showcased the controversial police politics immediately surrounding the LA riots and consequently, Bernard Parks's exemplary rise to become the first African American Chief of Los Angeles Police. I wonder if Ellroy will write a sequel, detailing the Chief's gross mismanagement and fall from grace following the Rampart scandal.

Friday, February 21, 2003

There's a man at work whose son is about to go into hospice. He's 49 and dying of cancer. I don't have kids. I can't begin to imagine the pain of watching your child suffer as he waits to die. I didn't know what to say. That there's somewhere else he has to be? I hope that's it. Or is the pain for nothing? It's at these points that we turn to god and say, "He's got something planned." It's so easy to be independent of higher powers when life sails along, but the moment you need an explanation just to be able to get through one minute of your day, how convenient--and necessary--it becomes to attribute the tragedy to god. What about the hugely reverent people who invite god into their lives on a daily basis? While at times grating, is there something to accepting god at every twist and turn so that when truly tragic things happen to you, you've avoided hypocrisy? Or is it more than that? Existentialists have it easy. Who can tell?

Also tragic, two 17-year old boys sped through the streets of Denver in a stolen SUV yesterday afternoon. The boys were in police pursuit. According to news reports, the two boys ran multiple stop signs, signaling the SUV's horn to warn other cars. The pursuit came to an end when the SUV crashed into another car, wrestling the cars onto a front lawn and killing the second car's driver. The driver was a piano student at the University of Denver, on a scholarship from China. The image is sickening. What I don't understand is why the police didn't have their sirens on. They were in pursuit of a stolen vehicle in a residential area, packed with pedestrians, intersections, and traffic. What were they thinking--the police and the teenage boys? Was the chase worth all this? It makes me so angry.

Also tragic, the West Warwick fire. The toll is up to 86. Just imagining any one person at the nightclub puts a lump in my throat and a clutch in my stomach.

Thursday, February 20, 2003

I'm going to be just like this lady. Except that when I become a spinster, my 75 cats are going to be vibrant and robust. And they are all going to wear capes.

  • war, protest and the press.
  • cost of war.
  • you'll thank me later.

  • My professor made an interesting point last night about our president: It's disconcerting that George Walker Bush truly sees life--and politics--in terms of black & white. Right or wrong. Evil or good. You're either with us or against us. We are lead by a president who does not see nuances. Maybe he thinks that taking this hard-line approach will reap positive results--tough love. I don't think so, though. I think that he really believes that there are only Two Kinds of behavior--Good and Bad. If that's not a kindergarten perspective, I don't know what it is.

    Wednesday, February 19, 2003

    ooh, ooh. It's Johnny Cash singing "I'm On Fire" on the radio. Trés sexy.
    From the Badlands album, Sarah says.

    I've been asked to design my company's website.
    And I get a new executive leather chair this afternoon... giddeup!

    Tuesday, February 18, 2003

    i've inspired kim to make her own page

    My brother made a bet with friends a few years ago, to see who could go the longest without cutting their hair. My brother won. He tells me he now has a crew cut, though he sent me this picture of the cutting process. I'm not quite sure how long this stagelasted. It's too bad it had to end.

    Monday, February 17, 2003

    I found a catchy song to memorize!

    I am somebody!

    Who is this on the radio... I must know. I can't wait until the end of the song. I am going to call the radio station... I know the voice. It sounds like someone I know well... Oh! It's Galaxie 500. Same voice as Luna. That's why I know the voice and not the song. Note: Buy more Galaxie 500 CDs. "This is our music" is the name of the CD, according to Milkman Dan.

    There was little to no traffic this morning. I am surprised by how many people have President's Day off. I sure don't. I worked less than 40 hours last week. I asked my boss if she was going to fire me. She said yes, pack my bags. I said "good, I'm going snowboarding then." She said she wasn't serious. Dammit.

    This weekend, I did my own laundry. Eh. It's so much easier dropping it off. They fold it for you and it always smells so nice. Average weight of one month of laundry: 22 pounds. For 75cents a pound, it's worth it. Except that by the time I finished cleaning on Saturday, it was too late to drop off my month's laundry for same day service and I needed it for the next morning. So I did it myself. It wasn't as bad as I remember. It's still nicer having it done for you.

    Yesterday I went snowboarding. I finally understand what it means to be rhythmic. I remain sans rhythm and continue to cruise down the mountain pretty darn erratically, but I Understand what rhythm can do for me.
    This week: Memorize tune to catchy song.

    Saturday: Keep song in head as beat promotes rhythm while riding down mountain.

    Howdy, Ma'am!

    I know that I am foreign to the world of the Wild West, but why does everyone at the company insist on calling me ma'am? Thank you, ma'am; Yes, ma'am; Excuse me, ma'am. It makes me feel so old. Sigh. Is it a cowboy thing? Or am I just old?

    Friday, February 14, 2003

    I was driving to work today, thinking about how much I loathe Valentine's Day. Then when I got to work, I saw that my boss had bought the company Krispy Kreme donuts. Gloria, from the warehouse, gave me some sweets and Veronica gave me a box of chocolates. In my mildly-bitter annoyance at being single and having no one buy me flowers (save for my landlady), I must have overlooked something...

    Thursday, February 13, 2003

    i've consumed so much mountain dew today that i think i am going to be dew sick. it's overcast and smoggy outside. why doesn't it snow? what have we done to the seasons? aurora, colorado has banned outside plants or flowers for the summer, since watering them is not an option, what with our drought and all.

    after reading my memo to my local government class last night, the consensus revealed that their favorite part was the request that "we hold our heads high above the swamp of political distrust."

    Tuesday, February 11, 2003

    Due this week: Read two chapters in statistics, a book, another book, write a memo, go to classes, meet Erin for coffee, go on a date or two, go snowboarding, civil rights luncheon today, work every day, clean house and continue to diet. Sigh. And run at least three days at the gym. And promote concert on Thursday that I want to go to but have a date and can't. Next week: plan nothing.

    Monday, February 10, 2003

    The Onion | America's Finest News Source™

    What's your Inner European?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    allons enfants de la patrie, la jour de gloire est arrivee

    According to an article that I read today, results show that the Breakfast Club character high school sophomores identified most closely with in 1985 were the ones they tended to grow up to resemble.

    Also the jocks made the most money, though their drug/alcohol rehab enrollment rate was high, second only to the delinquents.

    Which Breakfast Club Character are you?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    it's a family name

    You're Claire Standish! A "princess" with
    a dysfunctional family. You're known for: shopping, being center of attention, and playing miss popularity. But really though you hate it... with John Bender as a boyfriend, I'm sure
    people will start to get the hint.

    This is my favorite radio program ever:
    Sounds Eclectic

    Matt was the victim this weekend of the leave-behind. His last girlfriend was at his house for a party and left her hat behind. She wanted The In to call for it back. Which she of course did, the next day.