olbermann counts it down

kitten mania!

my very extravagant mother. . .

just sent us nothing?

hey now rock star

do they sell orange obox in america?

don't you call me sinister.

Tomorrow is Left Handed Day.

From Wikipedia:

Right-handed actor Gary Cooper played left-handed athlete Lou Gehrig in the film The Pride of the Yankees.

For scenes requiring him to bat left-handed, Cooper wore a Yankee uniform with Gehrig's number 4 mirror-reversed on his back. Cooper batted the ball right-handed, then ran to third base (not first). The film was then optically reversed, turning Cooper into a southpaw.

everybody get the gutte.

motorola phones may be fancy

but the sound quality sucks. the only thing my phone is good for is iTunes (which is free to use and not quite as daunting as my iPod). so imagine me not really caring when Cingular turned off my phone for being ONE WEEK late with my payment. Verizon used to let me go at least three months.

So I called Cingular to try and pay my bill but I wanted to talk to an operator before I paid the measly $75.00 that they're crying about and make sure that they'd turn my phone on today. But lo! Cingular doesn't have operators on Sundays. Wha? Who in the telecom industry keeps those kind of hours?!

To summarize, I'll probably get my phone turned on by the end of the week but, with the exception of people worrying because it says it was turned off at my request when you call (lie!), I sort of like not being dragged down by a portable phone.

They're so trendy nowadays.

Muppets.

Sometimes, this is all you need to turn that frown upside down. You know. If you happen to be frowning.



Things to brighten the day and lessen the headache.

Roar!

For no other reason than procrastination (again), I just discovered this picture that I took years ago and wanted to immortalize the already-immortalized lions via a posting.

Morning news is dada.

Here's the thing is that Matt Lauer, who would appear a stranger to sarcasm/wit/cognizance, can't grasp why politicians would choose to be mocked by appearing on the (critically and publicly acclaimed) Colbert Report:

They think they're being hip; I don't know.

First, note that it's far better than setting oneself up for irrelevance by appearing on NBC's Absolutely Inane Today Show. Same goes for Good Morning America. Second, note that Matt Lauer is kinda stupid. Or a really good actor. Although, as I recall back to my undergraduate journalism classes, there was a wall of duh that separated the broadcast journalists from everybody else.

Prolonging the pain.

November 2008 is a long way off. As our administration muddles through in continued failure, have we stopped caring? Why aren't we impeaching everyone responsible for this debacle we call foreign policy?

Bob Herbert offers his own clearly-worded confusion:

Imagine a surgeon who is completely clueless, who has no idea what he or she is doing.

Imagine a pilot who is equally incompetent.

Now imagine a president.

The Middle East is in flames. Iraq has become a charnel house, a crucible of horror with no end to the agony in sight. Lebanon is in danger of going down for the count. And the crazies in Iran, empowered by the actions of their enemies, are salivating like vultures. They can’t wait to feast on the remains of U.S. policies and tactics spawned by a sophomoric neoconservative fantasy — that democracy imposed at gunpoint in Iraq would spread peace and freedom, like the flowers of spring, throughout the Middle East.

If a Democratic president had pursued exactly the same policies, and achieved exactly the same tragic results as George W. Bush, that president would have been the target of a ferocious drive for impeachment by the G.O.P.

Palabra.

baby kit

Clearly fatigued, the baby stretches. She is a hard worker.

I knew I smelled something.

From Gothamist,

The Department of Environmental Protection confirmed there is a sewage leak somewhere on the G line that is causing the disgusting smell.

A track inspector told am New York, 'It's like raw sewage coming from a pipe, disgusting. It smells real bad and makes me want to throw up.'

full story

The ladies smile because they are proud. They did it!

how many kilos can a kit carry?

kitten posts hit the trifecta

kittens, kittens, kittens

kitten!

My New Camera Phone

The latest in distractions.

waiting

in the interest of putting off everything else, I have made a decided effort to start posting again. Here I am, nearly two years later. Just as happy, just as rich, just as healthy. Well, moderately healthy and not rich at all. But happy.

Currently putting off:

• going to the gym
• writing progress in planning paper due tuesday
• grading assignments that were handed in friday
• cleaning house
• calling mom
• finding costume for halloween party tonight

you can't trick me

I can't believe it! I got my third Virus submission of the day! This one was from anna @ wellsfargo.com. You can't get me, Virus. I know what you are up to. You want me to unzip you when I've never even met you. You don't even know my name. What kind of computer user do you take me for? You keep trying, though. Don't give up, Virus. There are others who will fall prey to your exploits. Not me, though. I know you.

I know your tricks.

the nutmeg state

Wednesday I am going home. I think it has been almost five years. I also think that the only time I have written in my blog is when I leave town. Well, this time and then the last time. Okay, twice.

Oh, Connecticut. Do you miss me?

gotham city

Tomorrow I go to New York. I can't wait.

Today I go to the bank. Commercial Federal holds not nearly the same thrill as Gotham.

Adventures await!

m.i.a.

Dear Web Log,

how are you? I can't believe how long it's been since I last wrote to you. Almost a month! Time seems to go faster as I age.

What have you been up to? I've been so busy with school and my internship. I meant to check in on you but you know how that goes. If it's not one thing, it's another.

I'm just checking flights to NYC while I wait for friends to figure out what's going on for tonight and for Denver's illustrious own Oktoberfest. One can't go wrong with an eight dollar bratwurst--or can one?

Maybe I'll see you around. You should come downtown with us sometime--it would do you good to get out once in a while.

Later,

Your User

sauna love

I am addicted to the sauna at the gym. All of the toxins--gone! The smells of the wood and heat remind me of being a kid. Every year my family would go to Killington to ski. The house we always stayed in had a sauna. After a day of skiing, I would retreat to the sauna for as long as I could until my mom ordered me out. ('You're going to melt in there!')

Anyway, I love the sauna. Save for the sweaty men. And the ladies who insist on doing yoga inside. I'd like it better without them.

colin firth

I have been up since 4 am. The satellite is wacked out and I don't feel like turning the alarm off so that I can climb onto the roof and readjust the satellite (see: last Saturday's thunderstorm; Dish network's inability to send anyone out until next Sunday to readjust satellite). Plus I would just get sucked into the Lifetime Movie Network. Which isn't bad, per se, it just removes any hope of returning back to bed because I would be riveted to the drama of Kellie Martin, the passion of Lynda Carter or the schemes of Nicolette Sheridan for two solid hours. Anyway, here I am, redesigning my web site. I think I am finished. I may go back to bed. Or watch Pride & Prejudice. A solid 5 hour committment.

sweaty monkey

Nobody doesn't like monkeys.

On an unrelated note, I went to the gym last night. After two hours of strength and endurance training (giddyup), I decide to unwind in the sauna. Co-ed, by the way. Ick.

This is why Ick: I walk in and there's some man reading a book off in the far corner of the sauna. Good, I think to self. Man is reading. I can absorb hundreds of degrees in peace.

I lay down. I close eyes. I hear man adjusting himself.

I feel self being sprayed with something that is wet while man utters caveman 'moo boo moo boo' as he shakes himself, a la wet dog. I exclaim 'ew!' as I bolt upright and quickly wipe face and body with towel. Man continues to shake self. I move as far away from man as possible.

Man settles down. Sauna is quiet. Everything settles. I resume sleeping position.

THEN!

Man shakes self again. Sweat sprays across sauna as I get caught in crossfire. I shriek in horror and turn to man.

'Sir,' I ask, 'You keep hitting me with your sweat. Do you want to be alone?'

'Does it BOTHER you that I hit you with my sweat?' man asks in offense.

'Um, no, I guess not,' I answer meekly, 'I just thought maybe you wanted to be alone in here to exercise or something.'

'No,' man answers.

Sauna settles. Man leaves sauna. I leave one song after man has left.

Upon leaving the gym, I relay story to Keith at front desk who assures me that sweat spraying is not common male practice and I should have insisted that man stopped. I warned Keith that if he hears of a girl getting a black eye in the sauna, it was just me, getting sassy.

bill owens makes his own phone calls

I just took a message for our CEO today. His secretary isn't in so the call went to me. I wasn't really paying attention because I was reading an email.

Mm hmm, I said. Mm hmm, I said. Not really listening.

Then I hear, 'Well, okay, can you just tell him that I called?'

'I'm sorry,' I say. 'Who did you say you were?'

'Governor Owens.'

'Oh. Okay.'

Huh.

In other, work-related news, I quit my job. My last day is next week some time. Giddyup because I don't have another job and have little to no plans to find one. I plan on painting, writing, and taking a lot of classes so I can be done with my Master's in December. My plan is parent-sanctioned, even.

Then I don't know what.

I saw The Libertines last night. I love The Libertines. The Libertines are great. Go see them.

west coast flava

Dear California,

I love you. You make me giggle because you are so weird.

invasions get easier

Oh dear. I had no idea of our big plans for world domination.

---begin quote

...he [Lawrence Di Rita, a special assistant to Rumsfeld] and other Pentagon officials said, they are studying the lessons of Iraq closely -- to ensure that the next U.S. takeover of a foreign country goes more smoothly.

"We're going to get better over time," promised Lawrence Di Rita, a special assistant to Rumsfeld.

"We've always thought of post-hostilities as a phase" distinct from combat, he said. "The future of war is that these things are going to be much more of a continuum....

"This is the future for the world we're in at the moment," he said.

"We'll get better as we do it more often."

---end quote

I think we should stop telling George W. that we were wrong to go to war. Dammit, he's going to prove to us that imminent terrorism is a threat if he has to hijack that airplane himself.

Let's just let him think we're okay with him--then in the election, we pull the one-two switch. Then he won't be so hell-bent on being heard about how right he is.

When did it become acceptable to display graphic death photos? I'm pretty sure it's still not. I'm pretty sure that it is not okay to show two men, hated or no, at the ending seconds of their life, assaulted and bloody.

But they're our enemies, you say. But we hate them, you say. But they tortured and killed thousands, you say.

I agree that their behavior was awful, despicable, intolerable. However, I remain that it is not okay to release those photos.

My friend was all set to work with a very famous woman in a very famous movie, all contingent on relatively parallel heights. My friend is 5'10". The woman in question is 5'9". It was all ready to go.

Then my friend stood next to the woman in question to discover that the woman in question is actually 5'6".

While an upset that said friend did not secure illustrious job, there is a lesson to be learned.

You can take a beautiful woman, give her an amazing voice, a supportive family, a fabulous body, endless wealth--but wait. She wishes she was taller.

We all want something.

I don't think we will want to know the real discoveries of this probe. Say what?

Homeland Security Department , elements of the former Immigration and Naturalization Service "have been slow in providing briefings...

Impossible.

Re: My letter to the drunk guy who harrassed me as I was walking past the Church nightclub's parking lot last week.

I posted my letter on Craig's List. One reader took offense at my letter. So much, in fact, that he thought a threatening, degrading letter to me was an appropriate response to his offense. Sadly, this is an actual reaction to a woman asserting herself in the 21st century.

Begin message:

too bad he didnt just run your dumb self-absorbed 'ooh - as witty as can be' ass over.

next time keep your stupid shit to yourself, bitch. or better yet - bring it, you versus the car - i bet that make CL best of, and it wont be because people cant believe how stupid you are so they hit the button to show all.

---end of message.

It's going to get worse before it gets better.

Jeez, just stop eating so much, America. Must everything be handed to us?

Next:
Gyms begin making house calls to avoid litigation from lazy gym members who have a hard time waking up in the morning.

Just taking a moment out of research to profess, once again, my disdain for the command to 'smile!'

Here I am, working hard, concentrating, deep in freaking thought. A co-worker walks by, says Good Morning, Rebecca! How are you?

Busy, I answer, hoping to dissuade her from further conversation.

Well, so am I, she replies as she flashes me a deliberate grin, but at least I can smile!

Here's the thing: when I am in a good mood, I smile all of the time. People for miles remark on my smile and its welcome. Children cry to be near me, just to absorb some of my dental glow.

So fuck off, co-worker, because I smile enough to collect, save, and trade off for days when I am lost in thought and don't have time to pick my head up and beam at your passing.

I saw the Hulk last night.

I liked that Danny Elfman did the music for it.

I liked that Stan Lee and Lou Ferrigno had cameos.

I liked the direction. A lot.

I liked all of the action scenes.

I liked the way the movie ended.

I did not like that the Hulk was fed up with being the Hulk after a mere three appearances.

I did not like that Jennifer Connelly was an alleged brilliant scientist yet was helpless and dimwitted when it came to acting on her own accord.

I did not like that Jennifer Connelly was passionless in telling Bruce Banner that he was a passionless guy and she was fed up.

I did not like the poorly unraveled yet oft-alluded to rocky relationship between Jennifer Connelly and her dad.

I did not like the babies sitting in the rows behind me that kept crying during every scene of consequence.

I did not like that parents are slow to bring their crying babies out of the theater when there is a chance said parent may miss a scene of consequence.

I watched a short film on Eli Whitney with my parents last night. Weird. I learned that, around 1890, Eli Whitney pioneered the concept of mass production. He mass produced a musket like nobody's business.

Eli Whitney: More than just the cotton gin.

Nice that it's forty degrees today. Um, M. Nature? It's summer.

I'm going to see the Hulk tonight. I can't wait. I hope I love it.

Dear Driver of White Volvo Stationwagon Parked in Front of the Church Nightclub in Denver on Saturday Night:

I never formally introduced myself. I was so concerned with my personal safety that I wasn't able to tell you how much I wanted to punch you in the throat. I never got the chance to tell you what an embarrassment to humanity you are.

I appreciate your concerns in life. After all, I was walking on the sidewalk that your car was hovering over. Your car's presence did force me to reroute my steps. That may have entitled you to a simple, 'I'm sorry for blocking the entire sidewalk. I don't know what I was thinking.' That would have sufficed.

I am pretty sure that, 'What are you looking at, bitch?' was not the appropriate response to my crossing in front of your car. I know, I know, you had a young girl in your car and you wanted to impress her. I was surprised to see your companion laughing at my expense.

I can't promise that were I in a similar situation, I would laugh at my male companion harrassing a strange female and calling her a bitch. I am pretty sure I wouldn't laugh at all. You must possess some amazing charm.

That charm was further demonstrated when you continued to shout at me. 'Just keep on walking, slut!' was especially poignant. I admire your ability to pass judgement on a girl wearing an ankle-length skirt. Clever.

I think I realized the breadth of your charm when two men tried to calm you down. 'Get in the car,' they requested. 'She started it!' you protested. Mmm. I started it. I did, after all, walk in front of your car. If that's not grounds for verbal assault, then hell, I don't know what is.

It was good that you drove away when you did. Obviously at the height of your inebriation, it's always a good idea to operate a vehicle when you can do the most damage. Lucky for you, you drive the world's safest car--you should be all set. Good thinking, ace.

I guess I am most disappointed in my complicity. I was too sober to think quickly. Had I consumed a drink or five, I would have had the good sense to spit on your car, tell you how ashamed for you I was, and heck--I would have even taken a black-eye for the team just to see the number of men that would have jumped into the fight to kick your ass.

What am I saying--I could have kicked your ass. Regrets, I've had a few. Perhaps we'll meet again.

Signed,

The Tall Blond Girl Who Walked in Front of Your Car

What's almost as good as a snow day to send a girl home early from work?

A power outage.

What's better than a power outage in the middle of a savage thunderstorm in June?

Driving home 30 minutes and discovering that the day in her neighborhood remains warm and sunny.

Eli Whitney entered our discussion last night. We all know him as the inventor of the cotton gin. Thanks to our fifth grade teachers, that won't be quickly forgotten. Naturally, we were led to question what use the knowledge has ever given us.

How has knowing who invented the cotton gin ever helped us?

It hasn't.

Who was Eli Whitney, really?

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

You knowingly allow child molestors to continue working with children, you transfer molestors to new jobs without informing new employers of said molesting history and you hit and kill a pedestrian, drive away and then deny it?

'God's grace will help us through this challenging time'

Indeed.

The Hulk movie comes out this weekend.

The first bike I remember getting was a green and purple plastic tricycle. Sure, you might think that a three year-old girl wants something pink and flowery.

Not when she can cruise around in her Hulkmobile, growling and roaring at everything in her path.

And my mom wonders why I am who I am.

I had a talk with my dad yesterday about what I'm planning to do with my life. Our discussion began with my dad saying:

You know, you're not getting any younger.

Dad, look on bright side, I offered. I could be married to an abusive drunk with three screaming kids and an addiction to pain pills.

After a lengthy discussion, we agreed that it was my best interest to continue school. Advantage: even. My dad can proudly announce that his daughter has her doctorate, all the while I get to put off deciding what I'm going to do for another year or two.

I was telling Christine yesterday how much I love drama. I think I learned how to react to situations from watching soap operas as a child.

Today I am sick. The problem is that I can't just be sick and be a trooper and smile through my discomfort. Oh no. I'm not just sick. I am the sickest I have ever been in my life, I am convinced.

I woke up this morning with a horrible fever. I'm dying, I think to self. Barely able to talk, form coherent thoughts or walk without wavering back and forth, I long for my bed, soothing music and an attractive young European man to feed me peeled grapes and Chlortrimeton. Nobody knows the troubles I've seen, I think to self.

Enter: my life, the soap opera. Dramatic hand to my feverish forehead, I promise my fans that I will try my best to get through the day. If you see me lose consciousness and collapse, I warn, be sure to tell the hospital that I'm allergic to avocados.

You know, just in case.

I joined Friendster. I am going make friends online. Giddyup

Last night, Janine was showing my parents some yoga moves. Janine said that yoga will center them and give them peace. My dad put his arm around my mom and said: this is what centers me and gives me peace.

My parents rock.

They're not trying to jury-rig their way into charging us for email and information exchanges, oh no.

Those government kids are so afraid of this crazy Internet--allowing us access to information regardless of our wealth or class. Gasp.

They will find a way to regulate. All in the name of Spam.

janine and me.

I went roller skating this weekend. Memories of junior high flooded my mind as I found myself--once again--awkward and uncoordinated. All in all, it was loads of fun and my head only hurts a little today from when I fell and bashed my skull against the shiny waxed floor.

Last night, Janine and I went out to play trivia. Imagine our vexation upon spotting Janine's nemesis at a nearby table, replete with his sugar-coated grin and a smug appoinment for vengeance. He sees us and we know the game has begun. Our only goal is to beat his team, his smarmy know-it-all team.

Did we ever! Our team of two, Better Late Than Pregnant, came in first--winning us a seventy-five dollar gift certificate to the bar and bragging rights for at least one month.

don't think I forgot, let you slide.

let me ride, just another homicide...

Compton and Long Beach together on this m*therf*cker.

This all goes well until you get to the last sentence, which virtually guarantees that g.w.b. will come up with a new plan:

'Yeah, um, Iraq used to have WMD. Um, Syria bought them. Yeah. Syria. That's the ticket. They've got them now.'

just another genocide

Dear Congo,

We regret to inform you that we cannot help you with your tribal warfare. There's really little at stake for our country and as you are so far away and pose so little threat to our own safety, we're going to let France take the lead on this one. If only you had oil: we'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

As you may recall from Rwanda back in 1994, we prefer to wait until your casualties number in the hundreds of thousands. Quite frankly, five hundred casualties are little more than a common cold. Let's wait until your situation resembles an epidemic.

Maybe during your next mass genocide? Let's talk then.

Signed,

The United States of America
Land of the Free
or
If It Ain't Attached To A Tank, We Don't Want It

A headline in today's Rocky Mountain News:

Cheese More Than Just Topping For Pizza

What? Where? How? Why wasn't I called? I can--gasp--use cheese for more than just pizza? Sakes alive, next think you know, that jewel of a newspaper is going to be telling me that I can do more with eggs than throw them at people on my list of people to throw eggs at.

My bus driver is not on that list. I have a little kid crush on my bus driver. I got on the bus this morning and he said,

'hello stranger! long time no see!'

sigh.

Taking the bus to work in the morning is much more interesting than driving my car. I get to socialize, observe, relax with a book and a latte. I smile more when I ride the bus.

When I drive, I find myself glaring and swearing at whomever dares to get in my way: thirty-five minutes of slowpokes, morons and potholes. While sour and angry by the time I arrive at work, driving myself does offer ninety extra minutes of glorious morning sleep.

Therein lies the rub.

Surprise, surprise:
You see, this is what one gets when one resorts to unilateral dictatordom.
(see also:Stalin)

While in college, I lived in the city of Willimantic. With more Victorian houses per capita than San Francisco and a wide-scale resurgence in the arts, music and poetry, Willimantic has undeniable charm. It's also known as the heroin capital of Connecticut.

To promote tourism, residents have been dressing up like frogs and passing out candy and travel brochures throughout the East.

Come see our frog bridge and thread mills, they encourage.

Enter, my favorite quote from the article mentioning said tactics:

York wants people in other communities to know that Willimantic has a lot more to offer than a reputation for heroin trafficking and prostitution.

ha.

I've never been one to follow rules. Protocol doesn't apply to me, I've always thought. I'd rather do things my own way. Occasional offenses aside, my way has always worked out for me.

So why do I get so annoyed when someone else can't obey simple rules of traffic, grammar or spelling?

It drives me crazy when a car doesn't heed its appropriate right of way. Keep up with the posted speed limit and please, for the love of all that is good, take those freaking beanie babies out of the back window of your car. The open road is not the time to assert your quirks while you hinder your driving vision.

I shudder when someone overlooks the difference between a semi-colon and a colon or has no idea that one exclamation point is just as effective as four of them. The excitement of a statement does not grow exponentially with the amount of punctuation marks ending the thought.

Don't even get me started on spelling. To, too, two--recognize that there is a working difference. The power of your word is lost on me when it is spelled wrong.

Imagine my disdain at the email I received yesterday afternoon:

you know that old story about the one who throws the first stone? its the one who has never made a mistake before.. or a bad decision....

you could have just not e-mailed me back...

and if you think that i feel in any way good right now.. you are wrong...

but that is probably what you want...

i wish you well...

Never mind the content. It's just a guy who is angry because I called him out on his devastingly offensive behavior toward a friend last week. In any event, I couldn't even absorb the meaning of his message as I was distracted by all those damned ellipses. Improperly used ellipses, I might add.

Ellipses are three spaced dots, used to indicate that part of a quotation has been omitted. They are not used to connect thoughts. Ellipses are not the lazy man's transitional phrase.

Come on, America. Get it together.

DeVotchka played at the Bluebird Theatre in Denver last Friday night. I can barely describe the involuntary euphoria I felt throughout the show. There were times when the combination of words and music caused blissful tears. Colorado-based and named from A Clockwork Orange, DeVotchka is comprised of four very talented, very versatile musicians.

The show began with the lights dimmed and two powerful trumpets pulsating off the balcony above the audience. Evoking silence and chills throughout the crowd, the trumpets sounded off while an upright bass and a violin played on-stage. As the group finally joined together, the instruments were replaced with an accordian, a sousaphone, drums, a harmonica and a guitar.

With lyrics in English, the band produces a vaguely-Latin-esque musical sound, blended with both Russian Folk and Middle Eastern Arabesque melodies. Pair the impeccable harmony with the 1950s-esque croonings of the sexy lead singer and you have a stunningly unforgettable performance.

[DeVotcka is: Nick Urata--Vocals, Guitar, Trumpet; Tom Hagerman--Violin, Accordian; Jeanie Schroder--Sousaphone, Upright Bass; Shawn King--Drums, Trumpet]

I think I want Colin Powell to be our president. A strong, sensible well-spoken leader. I think we should demand his presence in the next election. Can he switch to the Independent ticket? He knows what is what.

He may not have a Presidential Ego but he his sense of dignity, morality and clarity are enough for me

The end.

My high school's ten year reunion is this August. I don't know that I want to go. For what? To score one for victory at the expense of all the girls that got really fat with seventeen babies and a drunk, unfaithful husband? To feel better about myself because I didn't wind up that way? To be hit on by a bunch of lame almost-30-year old men in whom I wasn't interested ten years ago and assuredly won't be now? To laugh at everyone with the friends I still talk to? Okay, okay, so that's the real reason for going. How awful.

I told Stephanie that I would only go if I can get really drunk and swear a lot.

Janine and I went out for a drink on Sunday.

I ordered my usual: vodka tonic with a lime:

waitress: what kind of vodka do you want?

me: well is fine.

waitress: you don't want a particular kind of vodka?

me: no, well is fine.

waitress: you don't want Smirnoff?

me: isn't it more expensive?

waitress: yes, but only 25 cents more.

me: no, really. well is fine.

waitress: okay. i need to see some id.

[i hand her my license. she examines it.]

waitress: hey, we have the same birthday.

me: yeah, but you were born in 1981 or something, weren't you?

waitress 1982.

me: same thing.

[waitress walks away.]

janine: how did you know she was so young? she looks older than us.

me: because she was convinced that spending 25 cents more for crappy Smirnoff vodka is worth it.

janine: oh.

me: if i ask for well, it's because i want well. if i want to pay for vodka, i'll ask for Grey Goose.

janine: good point.

I watched the Bachelor last night. My first ever complete viewing of a reality show, save for The Real World circa Puck. It was gut-wrenching, that final episode was. We were rooting for the nice girl, the girl we could all be friends with. We hissed and booed when that mean old Kirsten entered the scene. If she wins, we told each other, it means we have lost. If that guy, seemingly stable and sweet, picks the spite-filled and catty yet gold-digging primadonna, it means that there is no hope for any of us. It means our years of efforts to be sweet and considerate, educated and well-spoken--that all means nothing. Because we will lose.

Luckily, our television hero did pick the girl on our team, after many a suspense-filled commercial break.

Also to note that since this is a reality show I know something about, I can contribute something to office conversation. Usually I just duck my head and mutter something about not watching television. Not today.

Today I can begin a conversation with, 'Did you see the Bachelor last night? I thought I was going to throw up when it looked like Jen was going to lose!'

Naturally, lively conversation ensues. Finally, since the time when the New Kids were hanging tough, I understand what it's like to be part of popular culture. Giddyup.

That's real fucking clever, you fucking idiot.

Stop it.

Admire our newly colored twenty dollar bill. Are we trying to one-up Europe? That's their thing, not ours.

Countdown to statistics final continues. Imagine me, trying not to collapse from angst. Reviewing everything from the beginning, avoiding all distractions, study, study, study and... nothing. Still not there. Am destined to be a statistics moron. I don't need you or anybody. Stupid statistics. You're nothing to me.
The end.

Trans Fatty Nothing.

These babies are just plain good.

We are moments away from mind control. Get ready. Stop thinking. Now.

trying to work this all out.

sigh.

Isn't this called gerrymandering?
Isn't this illegal?

It's me on my birthday.
Flowers from Jenni.

Interesting how many Britons who made the cross-over to American celeb are on the list.

On second thought, isn't this a list of every British celebrity?

referred by Nik Rawlinson.

Another thing they were interested in was in defecating and urinating all over the keyboard.

Ha. Give monkeys the chance and they will tell you what is what. They're not going to waste their time on Shakespeare. They'll get down to business.

Recent phone call from dear East Coast cousin vacationing in sunny Las Vegas:

me: hello?

Jenni: hi.

me: hi.

Jenni: Becky, the thing is, the thing is... are you near Adams County?

me: um, I think so. Why?

Jenni: There are tornadoes touching down there. They're headed to Denver.

me: okay. the sky is pretty gray.

Jenni: okay. I'm in Las Vegas. I thought you should know about the tornadoes.

me: thanks.

Jenni: bye.

me: bye.

Update: coworkers inform me that we are in Adams County. these tornadoes are buzz of office talk this afternoon.

Update: thunder is shaking building.

Today's Morning Radio Surprise Song:
Down by the water.
come back here and give me my daughter...

The note from my landlord/houseowner last night read: We're getting satellite television tomorrow! I know you don't watch a lot of television... Over 200 channels!

My note back read: I am going to start watching a lot of television now.

Today's Morning Radio Surprise Song:
Rabbit in Your Headlights by u.n.k.l.e.
Performed by Thom Yorke.
fat bloody fingers are sucking your soul away...

This morning saw the continuation of my marathon initiative. Am working toward consistent six minute miles. Am close. Can feel it.

[ed. note: Shawnna has just reported to me that my dream of six minute miles is not as easy as two consecutive weeks at the gym. that can't be so, i insist.]

Today's Morning Radio Surprise Song:
The Whores Hustle and The Hustlers Whore.
Rock.

Today's Greatest Annoyance: People repeatedly ordering me to 'Smile!' Why do I need to smile so you feel better? What if I want to frown? What, I can't frown?

Why Being Told to Smile Bugs the Heck Out of Me by Rebecca:

I don't go around telling fat girls to lose weight.

Smiling all the time is for crazy people.

Perhaps I was in deep thought, interrupted by your trite command to 'smile!'

Don't you tell me what I need to do.

The end.

P.S. If you tell me to smile and I don't want to, don't challenge it. I've obviously decided I don't want my facial expressions to be commanded and don't want to hear, 'But you're such a pretty girl when you smile!' What the fuck.

After I got back from the gym this morning, I thought I'd see what early morning television had to offer. Mtv had its 21st century edition of Yo! mtv raps or something so I gave that a watch for three or six minutes. Imagine my surprise at the junk being offered our youth at six in the morning. It was awful!

There was this horrifying Jennifer Lopez video, filmed under the guise of an audition, which of course gives her an opportunity to prance around Jennifer Beals circa Flashdance style in a leotard and little else. Occasionally wet. Of course.

Then there was this astoundingly bad video in which three or four very attractive women stand in front of a Las Vegas-style sign lit by lightbulbs, reading DAMN. Cue to the rapper, who would say a word or two. Scroll back to the ladies, who harmonize Damn, then rapper repeats Damn, then ladies say Damn again.

Eek.

The one morning's redemption was a great song called something like I Can by somebody big but I can't recall who. Not Nelly. Oh! Nas! It was all motivating and telling girls not to dress slutty and telling youths they can be anything and not to do drugs and remember: Africa was once ruled by kings. Africa is where it all started.

I think it's a great trend for rap. Come on, role models. Come out, come out.

If the truth is told, the youth can grow

They learn to survive until they gain control

Nobody says you have to be gangstas, hoes

Read more learn more, change the globe

Ghetto children, do your thing

[ed. note: I see that this video has been released for over two months. Um, I should really try to watch Mtv more often.]

Happy birthday to me.

Every year, I vow to be a beacon of hush on my birthday. I'm not going to tell anyone it's my birthday, I think to myself. I imagine that three weeks from now, someone finds out that my birthday was three weeks ago and exclaims in surprise, "You Didn't Tell Us It Was Your Birthday!" Mystery will surround me.

It never works though.

This morning, the first question posed to me is "Rebecca, why are you so tired this morning?"

um, out late last night, i answer.

"Rebecca, you need sleep. You still haven't adjusted to the time change. What are you doing going out? You're going to make yourself sick!"

um, I answer, [thinking: mystery, mystery...] it's My Birthday! [end mystery.]

Wha-wha-wha-what???

Read this: AP Headline Casts Palestinians as Victims of Tel Aviv Terror Attack

And then read this: Israeli Troops Kill 12 Palestinians

I'm not saying any of it is fair. Or right. Or makes sense. But jeez, be consistent. The first article is fairly astounding and second article fails to mention in its headline that the Palestinians were 'masked gunmen.'

Down with media slants.

Oh! A new Yahoo article! Israeli Troops Raid Gaza; Infant Among 12 Palestinians Killed

Compare that story to this one: Chicago Tribune Headline Bias.

Very clever, Material Girl, and how easy for you to say. Because you're one of the richest ladies in the world and all. Those wretched American values got you where you are today. I think that's a very nice glass house you live in.

Phone call at 4:45 this morning:

Skip: Rebecca, it's Skip.

Me: Mmm hmm?

Skip: You coming to the gym?

Me: No.

Skip: Why not?

Me: Um. It's Friday.

Skip: [pause] No. It's Wednesday.

Me: Oh. Okay.

Skip: See you there.

Me:Mm hmm.

Oh, that's right. Here's 200 million dollars that will not go to education.

'If it ain't attached to a tank, we don't want it.'

200 million dollars.

My favorite parts from this article, besides (of course) the 200 million dollars George W. Bush will pee away, concern the leading candidates for the Democratic presidential nomination and their apparent inability to serve as serious contenders in the race to the White House:

...a Bush associate described Mr. Edwards [of North Carolina] as the Breck Girl of politics, a reference to the shiny-hair model for a popular shampoo in the 1960's.

Another Bush adviser said of Mr. Kerry [of Massachusetts], 'He looks French.'

Let the games begin.

I think that this guy probably likes to wear women's underwear but is just too embarrassed to buy them. So he steals them. In large quantities.

My favorite thought of the day comes from police investigator Michael Mason:

[He] is not aware of a suspect having this number of potentially stolen panties in his possession before.

Found on Obscure Store.

Nina Simone died today.

Keeping with today's them of what I think is funny and what I do not think is funny, this is so funny. So wrong yet so very funny. All at the same time.

This letter is exactly what I've been looking for. If you agree, send it to: ampas@oscars.org

Also via Andre, today's Hero of my online distractions.

This is funny too. Notice that the protestor's name is Heywood Jablome. Heh.

Link found via Andre.

I don't think this is funny. I understand that poking fun at retarded kids could potentially be funny to some, but the authors go about it all wrong. The way it is written brings the dreadful effects of mental retardation to light. It ends up making me a little sad.

But this--and this--these are funny.

What the hell is this guy talking about?

'Our irresponsible friends' in Turkey?

My goodness. Let's just freaking alientate everyone.

'It's bad enough that the Kurds are not receiving the proper affection and gratitude for all they have done to help topple Saddam. The kid glove treatment of a misbehaving alleged ally, Turkey, needs to stop now.'

Oh jeez. Scathing letter to author will soon follow.

'You give me 300, 400 billion dollars a year, I'll show you a good time, too.'

Baby, where do I sign up?

There's a kitten stuck atop a telephone pole outside. He's been there for three days. No one will save him as his precarious positioning fifty feet above and directly between power lines far outweighs general human empathy for small animals. Except, of course, in the customer service department. Their department is planning some sort of group effort to coax the cat down. Evidently a gaggle of females trained in customer relations will help the kitten to challenge gravity.

Ooh, news update. The kitten has been rescued. Our neighboring company has a truck with a cherry picker and was able to reach the ill-fated feline. Alas, there was a group of foxes lurking beyond the hill, watching every move. Waiting.

Odds are against our friend the kit.

There is an Elvis impersonator in the office today. The King goes well with western apparel. He can do little wrong.

I'm now watching the aftermath of the performance. The woman is mortified. It was a surprise from her husband. He asked her where she wanted to go for dinner. Her reply: I think I'm just going to drink my dinner tonight.

What the world needs now is Mason Jennings

Mired as we are in our daily complications, it’s refreshing to hear a smiling voice sing you a straight story. Charming and relaxed, the honey-coated sound of Mason Jennings resonates with a breathtaking clarity that, if only for a moment, makes you forget that you might have had something on your mind.

‘I believe if you fall in love,’ Mason sings with convincing sincerity on his latest release, Century Spring, ‘you should jump right in.’ Mason Jennings signals a powerful message of self-determination: Singing, writing and distributing his music with a declared goal of having no regrets, the songs reflect an undauntedly pure life perspective.

Accompanied onstage by Chris Morrissey and Brian Mcloud, you might ask yourself where you can find a similar elixir to afford such healthy precision. Then you’ll hear the band go off on a guitar-laden, Iron-Maiden-esque tangent and remind yourself, Oh! They’re just three guys, in love with life.

Mason Jennings is currently on tour. Check your local music listings and make an effort to be pleasantly surprised.

Fred Gray was the guest speaker at a dinner I was at last night. Listening to his passion about his career renewed my conviction that my dream to make a difference in education is not futile. I can single-handedly affect change--we all can. Fred Gray made a difference as one of our country's most influentual civil rights lawyer.

Fred Gray represented Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., and the participants of the Tuskegee Syphilis Study. He's currently the first African-American head of the Alabama State Bar Association. His argument for Gomillion v. Lightfoot laid the foundation for the Supreme Court's 'One Man, One Vote' decision, and later evolved into the voting rights acts. Fred Gray began his career with the sole intention to destroy every instance of segregation. One man. One dream. He made a difference.

Fred Gray offered his ideas on how we can destroy segregation in our lives.

Recognize that we really are not diverse. Look into our schools, our jobs, our temples and our churches, our grocery stores and our coffeeshops. See how homogenous our lives really are.

Devise a plan for diversification. If our government can devise a successful program for space travel, he said, then it can make one to effectively diversify, too.

Get to know each other. Talk. Smile. Be open to change. Make a pointed effort to be friendly to the people you encounter throughout your day.

It sounds hopelessly optimistic. So why shouldn't it work?

A friend of mine grew up in Arkansas in the 1950s. She once recalled what it was like getting ice cream in the sweltering summertime. There was a colorful awning and an open walk-up restaurant with kids lined up and laughing and exchanging change for their treats. She had to walk behind the building, where a little window had been cut out of the wall. You knocked on the opening, it slid open, you put your change inside and out came an ice cream. The window closed. Above the window was a sign that read, "Colored."

While instances like this aren't as glaring, we still continue to de facto segregate with our schools, our neighborhoods, and our politics. Get involved.

Dear Girl

Signed,

Girl Who Sits Across From You

Everybody's got a story to tell.

Go Connecticut.

Sort of related to my beloved constitution state, I had to buy deodorant last night. Deodorant usually lasts me like three years or so because I buy it in bulk from Costco. Consequently, it's been a long time since I had to comparative shop for anti-perspirant. Yesterday, I ran out. Off I went to Walgreens.

I don't know what it's like for men, but women's deodorants have these wacked out scents. They had Glacier Mist. Ocean Breeze. Tropical Satin. It's just like buying Gatorade. I decided on Mystic Rain. Now, thanks to Secret, every day can smell just like home. In the rain.

how to get a country to go to war

how to amuse yourself for less than five minutes

Came home Friday evening. Debated whether or not to go downtown. Saw that I had a phone message. Checked message. Was Shawnna, telling me she'd be on Law & Order on Friday night. Called her to tell her I was watching show.

Was worth staying in on a Friday night to watch friend on television while talking to her on phone. Will that thrill ever end? I doubt it.

Also in thrill category: Phone rang this morning.

This is Rebecca.

Hi Rebecca. This is Mason Jennings.

Interview to be written after Friday's performance. If you get the chance, send him all of your money. Or just go see his show. His breathtaking talent is worth the twenty dollars.

Finally. Someone besides myself who does not think that Bowling For Columbine was the best thing to happen to American cinema since the freaking Matrix. Which I still haven't seen, for the Keanu factor cannot be overcome.

Movies like that make people who wouldn't ordinarily crack open a book or observe the media critically think they're on to something big. Something revolutionary. But the thoughts have all been handed to them, so the thoughtful, engaging discussion that is guaranteed to ensue is trite and scripted. Or, quoth my brother regarding the Matrix, it makes dumb people think.

thanks Andre, for the link.

The Onion makes me chuckle:

At this difficult time, President Bush needs my support. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld needs my support. General Tommy Franks needs my support. It is not my function as a citizen in a participatory democracy to question our leaders. And to exercise my constitutional right—nay, duty—to do so would be un-American.

Colorado just approved vouchers. If a child is in a failing school, his or her parent can take money from the state and use that money to send the kid to private school. 85% of private schools are parochial, but the Supreme Court says no matter. Church and state remain separated, the Court promises.

But we're not sure that vouchers work, we protest. No matter. Government action is not about what works. It is about what those in power think should happen (see: current international state). And if it doesn't work?

Eh, we tried...

The one tie that inner-city neighborhoods consistently have is education. Minority groups tend to be politically disorganized. Take away education and you've taken away a viable connection. Vouchers remove the cohesion of neighborhood schools by fragmenting the education concerns of the community... keeps those inner-cities quiet.

Continuing our disturbing trend against public education, Colorado is the first state to consider vouchers at the university level. I can't figure out who that would benefit.

I think I know what I am missing in my mornings--a ritual. There's always coffee, but that's more of a dependency rather than a ritual. I need a media ritual.

When I was a kid, I always had the newspaper cartoons. That progressed into Dear Abby and daily horoscopes. Some years, the morning media ritual is just watching/attempting aerobics on the public television station. Other years, it has been a 6am dose of C.Hi.P.S. on TNN. For a while this year, I had a Wall Street Journal dependency. That has lost its thrill as of late.

I need a daily dose of stimulating yet entertaining media. Finding grammatical mistakes in the Denver Post doesn't count. As I put off writing my paper that is due tonight, will try to find a daily media ritual.

Yahoo news borders on a daily ritual. Though inconsistently riveting, is conveniently accessable.

Homeboy's on to something, poignant at best:

War should not be waged on the whole country due to one man.

Iraq is my country and it is called the Republic of Iraq not the Republic of Saddam Hussein.

We talked about the war last night in my policy implementation class. We were asked to leave out our emotions and just talk about policy. How, my professor wanted us to consider, could our president go from his original campaign claim that America should be more subtle in its foreign policy to... well, to this. No one had an answer. I was hoping my professor would. He didn't. I think he--a brilliant mind in policy implementation--is stumped.

Mike Watt is coming to a town near you.

Today is D. Boon's birthday.

If the fact that Mike Watt's a tremendous bass player isn't enough to bring you out to see him, how about the fact that he takes a few days hiatus off his tour at the end of April to play in the first Stooges reunion in 28 years, at the Coachella Festival. Mike Watt is taking the place of the only missing Stooge, Dave Alexander, who died in 1975. Without question, go see him.

Wow, I want to go to Coachella. Dammit! I have to be in Washington D.C. Arg.

I accidentally set my clock ahead an hour when I was setting my alarm last night. I didn't realize that I was an hour early for work until I was driving to work. I played an April fools joke on myself, I guess.