Flappy Mirfbay to Me!

I am still in Brooklyn, and will be returning home later today (Tuesday). I already got loot from my parents, sister, and bro-in-law. I am now the proud owner of an iSight web camera, which means that if you IM me and I am feeling okay about it, I will invite you to a video-conference and you can watch me type messages to you. It gives one a thrill, like, "omigod we are totally LIVING the FUTURE!"

I also got a nice bracelet and some yarn and other craft supplies and tools. Also the Modest Mouse CD everyone has. And a salad spinner. And my mom made me one of the stained-glass-in-cement garden stone things she's been making for a couple of years. So that was all quite nice.

Aw. I am sad. Here's an email from my mom alerting everyone to the death of the last remaining family pet that lived at my parents' house while I was living there too. She was a little tortoiseshell cat we named Thermos, and she was 15 years old:

We helped Thermos pass on today, so that she can pursue voles in the next
dimension. She wasn't pursuing any in this dimension -- she couldn't really
walk any more, couldn't digest food, and had become very quiet in the last
day or two.

Thermos was an excellent cat. She stuck to her own rules and maintained her
own domain. She had many favorite places around the outside of the house
and was a deadly hunter. In the last year or so she decided to sleep on a
pillow just behind and above our own pillows, so that she watched over us as
we slept. Sometimes she put a paw on my head. I've always felt that the
best thing she did was teach Debl how to teach a kitten how to eat solid
food.

(It's true, I did.)

I am a nice person. My good deed for the day was sending this message to someone who keeps contacting me thru the personals:

Thanks. I'm not interested in chatting with you, but thought I should write you back since you've contacted me several times. I hope you don't mind a piece of advice. Putting photos of your naked body in your profile and in initial emails to strangers is never a good idea. Most women find it creepy and a little too aggressive and narcissistic. I'd delete those, and save them for when you've got an email exchange that's heating up and there's already a connection established with someone - but even then, I'd think hard before sending them.

I hope you take my advice. Good luck!

EDIT: Not ten minutes after I sent off that missive, I get this in response from the guy! I guess he didn't like my advice...

Hello,

Thanks for getting back to me.

I'm certainly not narcissistic. Sharing tasteful nudes on an alternative lifestyle web site is common place and certainly not attributable to being narcissistic. If you feel as though you can label someone from that~ you're mistaken. You're probably the only woman that I've sent them to that hasn't complimented me and suggested further communication.

As well~ I didn't write to you for your advice and find it a bit pompous and condescending. You're cute but you're not that hot as though you need to be making suggestions to me on how to meet a woman. Thanks, but no thanks!

I'll stick with grown ups!


I wrote him back with just two words this time: Good luck!

Yikes.

I went to Transperformance last night and had a lovely time. The theme - animals and insects - managed to produce a really great lineup of acts. And everyone did extremely well. I took a few photos (until it got dark, and my camera pooped out).


Lo Fine were T Rex. One of the best things about Transperformance is watching all of the little kids dancing near the stage, and this girl was totally grooving on the T Rex.




The Fawns were Sheryl Crow. Here she is now! (It's a little blurry, I know it.)




Here's Spanish for Hitchhiking being Echo and the Bunnymen. I was surprised to know two of the three songs they did.




And hey hey it's the Monkees! Being played by School for the Dead! Reportedly, a 7-year-old audience member was convinced they were the actual Monkees, or at least "the guy with the curly hair, DEFINITELY" was one of the actual Monkees. And there was a big guy in a tour shirt checking out the action.

Quoted from an article about last night's John Kerry appearance on The Daily Show, of which, strangely enough, I can only find a transcript of here (scroll down a little):

Kerry said the debates would be a challenge. "The president has won every debate he's ever had," Kerry said. "He beat Ann Richards. He beat Al Gore. So, he's a good debater."


Did you see that? Kerry was THISCLOSE to calling Bush a master debater! Ha ha ha!


Ha!

A lot of people took the last quiz I linked to. Let's see if this one is as popular. Somehow I doubt it.

width="238" height="196" alt="Sophia Petrillo" border="1">
target="_blank">Which Golden Girl Are You?

So, hello. Man am I tired. I got into my usual weekend sleep scheme where I nap in order to stay up really late, and then come Sunday night I can't go to bed before 1 a.m. And then I'm all a wreck for Monday morning.

I had a fun weekend though. First there was a great show by The Fawns on Friday night, where I also whupped a little ass playing pool (only because I was playing someone who was, incredibly, slightly worse at pool than me). After the show I got to watch a crazy thunderstorm from a second-story porch. On Saturday I lazed about until it was time for dinner at Osaka, at one of their hibachi tables. I've done these before, a few times, but it's been a while. As soon as the chef came to the table I started giggling. He was funny, funnier than other places I've gone where the emphasis was on wowing you with skill instead of being goofy. Our chef did this thing where he'd shake a can full of sesame seeds or salt over the food, all the while thwacking the edge of the metal table with a metal fork, as though the shaker was making the noise. I laughed every single time. The food was great. In the other places I've gone, they give you noodles, but here it was fried rice. It was very tasty and the texture was perfect, but it's damn hard to eat rice with chopsticks (forks were only given when requested). I got the shrimp and scallops, and all was delicious. Our party of seven had to share our table with one other couple who seemed a little bit grim during most of their meal. I later heard that they had been having conversations about child molestation or rape or something equally depressing and not-hibachi-table-like.

After the food, L and H hosted another lovely shindig at their place, which ended up in a rousing game of Taboo. I laughed till I cried, several times. I think my team tied for third (out of five teams...); as I sobered up I could tell I was getting way better at it.

And Sunday I went (courtesy of H and L, who drove/provided the car) to the new shangri-la of home furnishings, Ikea in New Haven, and after that I went to Target and failed to find the thing I wanted, and then to Trader Joe's where I bought so much that my freezer is now officially full. And after that I finally did my dishes and vacuumed my apartment, and then I worked on a couple of artsy projects while watching Insomniac in Tokyo and a bunch of Adult Swim. And now here I am at work after not enough sleep. ZZzzzzzzzz.....

I know I owe y'all an actual post. In the meantime, I wrote two Craftytown posts this morning. One is a mildly snarky thing about the ugly new lamps they're selling at the store-formerly-known-as Beyond Words, and the other is about How I Became a VIP at HOT. Also, I re-added a site meter yesterday, which had vanished when I switched to a new template a couple of months ago.

Hey, so apparently I am this San-X character:



What San-X Character Are You?

Here's something fun. Go to this site, scroll to the bottom, and hey look, it's that band I like!

My brother-in-law is good people. Last night he said (and I'm paraphrasing here), "If you saw your friend getting beaten up, would you just stand there and not do anything about it? No. Then why are you treating yourself that way?" That is right on. Why is my first impulse to try and figure out what is wrong with ME? Why do I continue to believe someone else's criticisms of me, when I've always known that they were bullshit?

I need to be kind to myself. Like I was my best friend. It's sad that I have to remind myself to do such things, but there it is. When I take a step back, it's totally obvious that I've done the right thing and will be much better in the end for it.

Things are looking much brighter and calmer today. Thanks for reading and continuing to care about me, your cyber-web-friend.

This letter could have been written by me.

EDITED TO FIX THE STUPID BROKEN LINK

Things are happening in my life that I can't blog about. They are both bad things and good things. There are about three hugely bad things and one or two good things, so the balance is way off. Overall I've been wanting to flee, but to where? I've got to stick it out for now, so I Don't Let The Bastards Win. (Whoever they are; I've never met them.) What sometimes helps is to throw myself into some projects at home (and out) so I can feel more whole and less lost. I need a purpose in life beyond gathering a paycheck every week and watching the occasional TV show or drinking the occasional drink out with a friend. So it's time to turn back to making art in a more serious vein. At the very least, it will make me remember that I have mad skillz. At the most, I'll get a show together and a website and start publicizing myself. This will take time and energy, but September always acts as a catalyst for action - it's the school year permanently hardwired into my brain.

Getting more regular amounts of sleep wouldn't hurt. And if the fucking weather ever clears up, things will probably seem a bit less dismal.

Okay people, I never promised to be timely.

Here are some shots from my vacation in the Adirondacks a couple of weeks ago:


This is where I was:




This is who I was with for most of the time:




She might have foot n' mouth disease. But don't tell her parents.




And I wore my new shirt! It was an awesome vacation.





THE END.

My brain is very brave, but my body is a total coward. Whenever something exciting is about to happen, some big change that I've been anticipating., my body decides that it needs to go into "fight or flight" mode and never ever leave it. Thus, I don't sleep enough, I don't eat enough... which ends up making me even more clumsy and wan than I already am. It's like my primal brain can't let my cultured brain do what needs to be done. It takes effort to wrestle it into submission.

cultured brain: Look, something new is happening! It looks like it could be totally awesomely rad!
primitive brain: Something new, you say? "New" means carnivorous predators, falling rocks, or drowning. RUN AWAY!
cultured brain: But do you see that this new thing is not dangerous in any way? I'll even sit down and reason this out with you. ... See? No possible way anything scary will happen.
primitive brain: Yes, BUT WHAT IF IT DOES? Look at you, all ready to roll over and bare your tender underbelly! You shameless fool. Someone's got to be looking out for our survival!
cultured brain: *sigh.*

Seriously, people, it's a wonder I ever get to leave the house at all.

(p.s. This page has the best web poll I have ever seen.)

Howdy readers. I'm feeling pretty great today. I went out a bunch this weekend, which helped distract me from my first dog-less days off. Friday night I went to a show at the Elevens, which I ducked out of to dance to the Drunk Stuntmen over at the Horse. After the bars closed I ended up at an after-party at a hair salon, where I got drunk-shampooed (and drunk-conditioned, luckily). And then we dancercized. It was awesome, as you can imagine.

Saturday I walked to town to load up on corn, potatoes, onions, and lettuce at the farmer's market downtown, came home and promptly took a nap. As an aside, my relationship with my cat - now my only pet - is going through a renaissance. It's like a second honeymoon over here (without the dirty parts). For dinner I got takeout from Amanous and watched some episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Then it was off to meet L at the coffeeshop, where I stupidly got a medium chai. I never drink caffiene at night, and here it was almost 9 p.m. But I knew I was going to fade fast if I didn't imbibe something soon. L and I sat on the courthouse steps and watched people go by. A few of them were people we knew, but we were hidden in a cloak of invisibility; I know I never look over at the darkened stone stairs when I pass the courthouse. Anyway, we met some folks at the Basement, which is becoming like a food-free, alcohol-serving Fire & Water. The caffiene started kicking in and I was all fidgety (more than usual, I mean) and feeling oddly floaty. Eventually we went over to Hugo's where there were some other people we knew. I couldn't stop picking at the label on my beer bottle, and I kept on getting up off my stool.

After last call, I stood outside and did the 1:10 shuffle with a bunch of folks. Then I did the most amazing thing - I walked home. It was lovely. Cool but not cold, with some nice moon action. I walked through tunnels of shrubs and trees and was surrounded by the noise of a thousand crickets. I saw a few other people on their bleary walks home. It was great to be free again.

The next day I went to the mall with L. Somehow our little trip turned into FIVE HOURS. It was crazy. I had slept very little the night before, and I still have no idea what powerful reserves my weak little kitten's body drew upon to help me make it through the treacherous ordeal. But we managed to not pass out or get mall-eyed or anything. It was just good times. A Chicken Ranchero Soft Taco helped me drive home without losing consciousness.

Then it was time to make corn chowder with ingredients from the farmer's market. I used fresh butter-and-sugar corn. It took me like three hours, but the end result was delicious. I foolishly used the faulty big burner on my electric stove. The burner goes from not-hot-enough to way-too-hot with just a tiny nudge. I have yet to figure out where the magic point of combustion is on the dial. So I burned the butter just a little. It was, and is, still fantastic soup. And that's the most any of us should ever ask for really.

I have a tendancy to over-share.

It's something I'm very aware of, so I try to stop myself before I go too far. Usually, I do a good job. Usually I do a good job of it on this blog.

But it's especially hard to not over-share when I'm feeling exceptionally aimless, lonely, bored, and sickly (still have a cold, and it's cramping my style) and it feels like if I don't talk to someone about it, I might die. I have some notion that doing so will help me out. Like the other person will say, "I hear you debl. I know a great guy with a big crush on you, here's his phone number. And I found a job listing for an artist, they want someone to make fun crafts for 100k a year, and it says the person must have 8 years of magazine editorial experience, isn't that odd. And hey, we're all about to go white-water rafting, followed by a clambake, at which we've hired The Pixies to play just for us. Come with!"

In reality, I should be the one to make arrangements for the amazing clambake, if that's what I want to do. I'm just so tired and gross-feeling with the cold I have that I don't feel up to doing anything, while at the same time, I really want to be feeling great and going out and having adventures. And as hard as I try, I can't will myself into getting over this cold. Stupid viruses, they're so frustrating.

If you people aren't reading my comments, then you are missing out. I'm just saying.

My birthday is at the end of the month. I was just going through my blog archives, looking for a particular post (read the comments!) and I found an entry about last year's birthday, where I said something like "being 31 is going to rock!" because my 30th year kind of sucked balls. 31 was definitely better than 30, but I can't say that I truly rocked 31. Plus, now I'm going to be 32, which puts me firmly into my 30s. 31 is kind of like 30, in that it's really just the top of your 20s.

I really shouldn't care at all. I am trying not to, and I manage not to most of the time. It's unattractive, or so they say, to care about such things. I'm supposed to be all confident and carefree and secure in my lovely fresh ripe-peachiness. Maybe that will be my goal for my 32nd year.

So have you seen the new Victoria's Secret ad where Tyra Banks is all "Take a look at my tits"? It's all about some really nice bra (really nice if you have really nice, big breasts already), and at the end of the ad text on the screen says:

"IT'S" HERE!

What?? Why are those quotation marks there? I don't get why they're emphasizing that word. That's not how you emphasize something, anyway! Unless they're being sarcastic about "IT," which makes no sense. Can anyone explain this to me? Because this is the kind of thing that makes us editor-types lose sleep.

Hi everybody, I came home. My vacation was fine; there was a little swimming, a tiny amount of kayaking, a couple of hours of crafting (I made an enameled leaf pendant), some puzzle-piecing-togethering, and a lot of rain-avoidance. There were also many salads and ice cream cones eaten. Due to a warning about a stomach bug going throught campus, I got all OCD about washing my hands for a few days (and I didn't get sick like that, though I now have a cold, courtesy of A). I spent most of my time in the company of my niece, who turned six months old yesterday. Man she is a heart-melter. I let her drool all over my shoulders and chomp on my fingers. I made her laugh a couple of times, the cutest sound in the world. It was painful to say goodbye.

And then I came home, and there was no L-dog to pick up, because she has been adopted by the piano teacher from Salisbury. She seems very nice and says she already loves L. Of course, she also sent me an email today saying L had torn up the kitchen floor this morning. She asked me for L's behavior history, for her appointment with a doggie therapist. I hope that all works out for L.

As for me, the debl homestead is seeming a little lonely. It's quiet, too; I hadn't really thought about how much I speak to my dog. But I used to say things to her all the time. Many were directives, sure, but also things a person might say to another person, like "yeah, it sure is hot up here," and "soon we will go swimming" and "it will all be okay," as well as singing little songs with her name in them. It's been even weirder at work, where I keep on looking over to her empty dog bed, and I have to stop myself from automatically saying "Stay, L" every time I go downstairs. I'm trying to get into talking to my cat when I'm home, but come on. She's a cat. There's just no comparison.

I also have yet to fully realize all of the new things that can happen now that I'm dogless. I can ride my bike to work, for example. I can put the cat's food on the floor. I can walk into town or drive to the store during daylight hours. I can sign up for yoga class again. I can put on my give-up pants (or keep them off, as the case may be in this heat) much earlier in the evening, since I don't have to go out for a late-night walk. Tonight, if I can get a nap in first so I don't feel quite so crappy, I hope to walk over to see a show at the Iron Horse (you should go too). Tomorrow I can ride my bike to Shape-Note singing (unlikely, since it's all uphill, but I could if I wanted to). So I've got all that going for me.