Drunk Penguin

The First 3.1 Miles

2009-09-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

When I started the beginner's running program, C25K, this March, it stunned everyone who knew me. Far from being a runner, I had always been decidedly anti-running: "Why would anyone run unless they were being chased?" I absolutely hated it. And then, as I took on the C25K challenge just to show myself that I could accomplish whatever I put my mind to, I really started to love the feeling of pride I felt after running farther than I had before.

For the past 3 months, the extreme heat here in Southern Nevada has forced me to run only at night or early in the morning. Occasionally, in the middle of the day, I catch myself wishing it were cooler, just so I could go out and run.

This morning I ran week 9, day 1 of the program - 30 minutes - and then I kept going, until I reached 3.1 miles. It took me close to 40 minutes, but I did it. And on this coming Saturday, I'll run my first 5K. I'm certainly not expecting to get an amazing time. Just finishing it will be a victory that I could never have imagined just 6 months ago, and I'm looking forward to more to come.

As a side note, I just finished putting together my playlist for the race. Check the radness:

Yeah, my power song is by Jonathan Coulton. I don't care. That song was MADE for running. And yes, that is THE Final Countdown starting things off. You like it.

Checking in.

2008-08-24T12:09:00.001-07:00

Psst... Are they gone?

{Takes a sweeping glance around the empty spaces}

Okay, we can get back to it. Give me a second. I'll be right back.

We're on Mars.

2008-05-26T19:46:00.001-07:00

Truly amazing.

Violet Hill Alternate Video

2008-05-18T22:30:00.001-07:00

I'm not a big fan of Coldplay, but their new song Violet Hill (and accompanying alternate video, below) have me thinking I might need to check out the new album set for release in June. ...Or maybe not. Either way, the video's good for a nervous laugh.

"From the windows, they were watching while we froze down below..."

Much more entertaining than the original video, made up of Coldplay's usual fall-flat video stylings.

I cannot describe this.

2008-04-02T21:02:00.001-07:00

The strength of this urge is so GREAT - at times - my gritted teeth and clenched fists and straining ears can barely contain me - clawly at my shell - a NEED to crawl into another - the box of some crunching song or other - right there, all feedback and warm kick drum.

And you shake and you bleed while I sing my song...

You Ruined Everything

2008-03-30T17:58:00.001-07:00

If I ever wanted children - which I don't - and if I ever created a slideshow of pictures of my creepy little baby - which I won't - this would totally be the background music.

Leave it Jonathan Coulton to come up with a song like this that I actually like.

Falling Behind

2008-03-30T15:27:00.001-07:00

The next iteration of the Xbox needs to materialize soon.

The PS3, flawed gaming system that it is, is currently the cheapest and most versatile blu-ray player you can find. Then there's the Wii, which for all its shortcomings, is a fun little novelty and still offers a very usable and (for the Wii) sophisticated web browser.

Now that HD-DVD has been officially pronounced dead and the Xbox 360 still lacks a worthwhile internet browser, the 360 finds itself behind the pack in everything but gaming. For a console that was touted as being the home's all-in-one entertainment center, it's disappointing to find it becoming anything but.

As a sidenote: Third party applications such as MCEBrowser that are available for use on the 360 make internet browsing possible, just not practical. Frustrating to use at best, it's a poor substitute for functionality that should have been included from the start in a console distributed by the makers of the world's most popular internet browser.

Easy-post-isistible

2008-03-19T22:05:00.001-07:00

Oh goodness. Use your words, Jenny.

I can't.

Must...
post another...
video.

2008-02-02T17:19:00.001-08:00

Life Lessons

2008-01-27T23:25:00.001-08:00

50 Important Life Lessons

Among my favorites...

1. It’s better to sing off key than not to sing at all.

14. It’s not “political correctness” that dictates that we try not to insult others’ beliefs and identities. It’s common decency.

19. It’s never a shame when you admit you don’t know something, and often a shame when you assume that you do.

27. Four things that most people think are lame but really are a lot of fun: barn dancing, charades, volleyball and sing-alongs.

47. Your education isn’t complete until you’ve learned to take a hint.

49. Whatever your passion, pursue it as though your days were numbered. Because they are.

I don't have to care what you think.

2008-01-01T11:05:00.000-08:00

As with most of my minor epiphanies, this morning's probably won't last long. Let's hope it lasts all the way through this Los Campesinos song.

Smiles.

Drunken Rant #15

2007-12-21T20:52:00.000-08:00

Pretty Hate Machine is one brilliant album.
I was 9 years old when it came out, though.
That makes me feel less old than I have lately.

"But that's what I get..."

"Maybe it didn't mean too much, but it meant everything to me."

Oh. My brain operates behind walls 95% of my waking life, and when it escapes, in these mad drunken rushes, I scarcely know what to do with myself.

I do know that.... HAHA. Trent Reznor just growled, "I'm drunk and right now I'm so in love with you." You know. Love is really just a form of drunkenness. A kind of chemical imbalance that makes you feel all is right with the world.

"...the sweat in your eyes, the blood in your veins are listening to me. Well, i want to wrap it up and swim in it until i drown."

This is the only time I really feel alive.

Claude Lelouch's Rendevous

2007-12-10T20:34:00.000-08:00

Strangely compelling.

All you crosswalk gentimilade...

2007-12-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

Did I ever tell you that I dreamed up a new word in my sleep a week or so ago? I was part of or passing by some tour group walking the streets of my town, as I overheard the tour leader, a pretentious older man with a heavy British sauce all over his voice, warn, "And all the crosswalk gentimilade will do well to watch for cars."

I knew in my head, right then, "Hey, Jenny, that's not a word. Nonsense in dreams, sure, but nonwords?" But I also knew exactly what his word meant. It came from the Spanish word gente, meaning people, and the tail end of remoulade, a sauce mixture containing several different elements. Hence...

gén·ti·mi·lade
n. A grouping or mixing of different kinds of people

My brain. Honestly, it needs to take a break.

2007-11-28T20:26:00.001-08:00

I am desperately unhappy.

2007-11-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

I'm filled with a heady mixture of simultaneous apathy and longing.
Talk about uncomfortable.

Delicious and Moist.

2007-11-03T19:49:00.000-07:00

"Aperture Science: we do what we must, because we can."

That's my lame attempt at an Aperture Science logo pumpkin to the right there. It's like a ten-year-old got hold of a knife, isn't it? Anyway, if you haven't played Portal, do.

Now.
No, really.

And afterwards, we'll have cake and refreshments.

2007-10-08T10:12:00.000-07:00

Hospital week.
It's okay. I'm feeling numb.

Breaking the Chains of iTunes, and It Feels So Good.

2007-09-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

Kudos to Amazon for getting things right when no one else seemed to be able. Their newly-launched MP3 service, featuring music that is truly free of digital rights management, is clean, expansive, and... did I mention DRM-free?

While other outfits, most notably eMusic, have long offered clear and free MP3s, their selection is fairly limited, and unless you're a huge fan of, say, Deerhoof and similar indies, you're often left out in the cold. Itunes, on the other hand, has just about any music you'd ever need, from the big labels and independents. It's just that it's, well, evil. {Evil, here, indicated by freedom-choking DRM limiting how and where you listen to music, as well as contributing to the growing design-trumps-all Apple empire where software doesn't have to work as long as it looks pretty.}

Amazon's MP3 downloads sound great. They're often 89 cents per song or 8.99 an album, beating out the usual 99 cent sale tags from competitors by walking away from the one-price-fits-all model. And they're ready-to-go, good old MP3s. No weird proprietary file formats, no 5 computer limitations, just straight-forward use-as-you-will goodness.

Thanks Amazon.
It's about damn time.

"Help! Help! I'm being repressed!"

2007-09-21T22:16:00.000-07:00

Four things:

1. No one can honestly believe that that college student at the John Kerry speech was doing anything but making a scene to get attention.
2. He aggressively provoked the school police into handling him the way they did.
3. Tasers are the safest and quickest way for police officers to squelch altercations that could otherwise become far more violent and possibly fatal to the officers or the tasee.
4. Monty Python and the Holy Grail is bloody brilliant. Always has been. Always will be.

Themey

2007-09-17T21:40:00.000-07:00

Recently, I somehow got it in my head that I'd like to throw a 1940's theme party ("somehow" she says, as though she has no idea... {coughbioshockcough}). Surprisingly, there's not a lot of wealth of information online about the subject.

On the other hand, if I wanted to do something based on the roarin' twenties or the rockin' fifties, I'd be set.

Curses.

Hipster Olympics

2007-09-16T10:54:00.000-07:00

"Next up, the contestants will have a chance, at last, to review their appearances during a brief pit stop."
"Here they're looking to make sure they've maintained their own particular counter-culture aesthetic."
"It's a full-time job, isn't it, Neil?"
"Sure is, Greg."

Well-played, sirs.

Big Daddy Day Care

2007-09-14T22:39:00.000-07:00

Fantastic.

Honestly, though, I have to get away from all things Bioshock. This obsession is becoming a bit scary.

I hear the silence of morning coming on.

2007-09-10T17:18:00.000-07:00

The Way of All Flesh

It occurs to me that I was once aware of my mother being 27 years old.

As a 7 or 8 year-old I understood the concept that my mother had been alive for 27 whole years. An entire world history to a 7 year-old. It's an odd memory, one not of an event but of a notion, the fruition of a thought. And though I don't remember thinking of it in any more poetic terms than, "My mommy's 27," as if it needed to be recited to strangers, at the moment, it feels prophetic. I sit here now, age 27 myself, with time barreling through me like tiny cannonballs, destroying me one minute-sized piece at a time.

But once, I was 7.
She was 27.

I'm nearly moving past her, so that even my memory is out of time and... younger than I am.

Lollapalooza 2007 (Part Three in Which Jenny Wraps It Up, Finally)

2007-08-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

Day Three was to be the longest of all the festival days, but we weren't prepared for it to also be the hottest. It was immediately apparent that the temperate dampness of Day Two was gone the moment we stepped outside our hotel. I was convinced that Becky, who had dressed that day in t-shirt and jeans in order to wear tennis shoes and thus avoid muddy sandals, would soon be regretting her attire choices. On the other hand, shorts, like the ones I wore, seemed to provide little comfort from the 95 degrees and 85% humidity choking the air.

After a brief brunch debacle at a downtown Panera Bread which made me a true believer that Chicago has the worst customer service this side of the Seine, we headed toward Grant Park to get a start on our 11 hours of music.

A flock of geese grazed on the freshly-watered fields in front of the massive Bud Light stage as I lunched on a hamburger and thought, naively, "The day can only get better from here."

Our Stage Stops
Sunday, August 5 - Day Three

The Postmarks. To our great misfortune, we arrived to our first stage about 15 minutes early, just in time to endure the last couple of songs emanating from Juliette and the Licks, playing nearby. {I'd like to take this time to ask Juliette Lewis to please, please, stop performing horrible music and go back to horrible acting. Thanks.} And once The Postmarks finally sauntered on stage before their medium-sized morning crowd and began their first song, I realized that we had endured the torment of Juliette Lewis' shrieking for nothing. The chamber-pop Postmarks, who I had expected to be a bit slow and soft, outdid my expectations beyond all measure and did only a hair more than sleep on stage. The lead singer, a girl named Tim, stood motionless before the mic in face-swallowing black sunglasses, whispering "doo-doo-doo"s above the delicate guitar and keyboards backing her. Audience members would inevitably arrive and leave within 5 minutes, trying to avoid falling unconscious, shrugging their shoulders and checking their programs for more lifelike options. I'm a huge fan of acts like this (Azure Ray, Au Revoir Simone, etc.), but if you're going to bring nothing to the stage, you may as well just stay home.

Break. Giving up on The Postmarks after four songs and knowing even less about the bands playing just after them, I decided our best strategy would be to do some extra-musical browsing around the park. After the looks Becky was making during our first band of Day Three, I didn't want to chance compounding the problem. So we eventually wandered into the tree-dotted area of the MOTO Mindfield where a surprisingly large crowd had gathered on shady bleachers to watch bad comedians host a Playstation trivia game featuring depressingly ignorant contestants. Hey, we had time to kill. So much time, in fact, that after taking a seat on the bleachers, we decided to stay put for the half hour after the trivia game ended to catch the Second City improv comedy group put on a show. Sadly, sketch comedy and myself have never been on amicable terms, and after sitting through just ten minutes of loud and unfunny one-liners and lame songs, I turned to Becky with a raised eyebrow and off we went.

Los Campesinos. On my program for each day, I had circled a band at each time of day that I wanted to peek in on. On no other day, however, were my circles filled with as little conviction and desire as on Day Three. With choices like Smoosh, Amy Winehouse, and Blue October, how could they not be? I think Becky nailed it precisely when she mentioned the fact that the organizers had to move all of the good smaller bands to non-headliner days to increase ticket sales. We were falling victim to monetary maximization. So, forced to choose something, anything, to do for the next hour or so, I led us to Los Campesinos. I know just one of their songs, a fun little indie jaunt called You! Me! Dancing!, but I thought, "Maybe if half their songs are as entertaining, we'll have something to do for a while." Within two songs, Becky had spit more glares at me and frowns at the ground than I ever thought possible from one person's face. When they launched into a five minute noise jam session featuring squealing guitars and random keyboard solos, Becky shook her head and walked off. "This is awful. I'm going over to Amy Winehouse." I personally thought the experimental, giddy little septet was doing an okay job, and I'd be damned before I ever lowered myself to watching trash like Winehouse. So we split up here for a while, and as You! Me! Dancing! began and I rose to join the crowd in bouncy movement, I wondered if we'd be staying on separate paths for the remainder of the day.

Kings Of Leon. After Los Campesinos and Winehouse had silenced their respective noise, Becky and I wandered back together, again at a loss for where to be. We wafted momentarily past the forgettable Annuals, through steaming masses of overheating crowds, moving like schools of fish swimming up narrow pathways, past smoky grilled food booths, and over dirt baseball fields before once again ending up inside the air-conditioned oasis of the AT&T tent. This time, we spotted a coveted empty spot on the floor, right in front of a set of the mammoth fans spitting cold air. Taking our seats there in the corner, surrounded by a group of quiet people looking similarly bored and heat-stroked, we noticed the Kings of Leon on the widescreen next to us. Incidentally, they were playing on the big stage just outside the tent's front door, but out there... no air conditioning. So we watched and listened to the echoing weirdness of the TV's split-second delay tripping in behind the actual music happening outside. A good half hour would pass as we watched the Kings spin their oddly-appealing, messy, Southern, prog-rock until we decided it was time to get off our asses and actually join the living.

Peter Bjorn and John. Though I've been sick of Young Folks for a year now, I thought it would be interesting to see the trio play live. Apparently, it wasn't meant to be. The Lolla sound curse reared its ugly head once again to silence PB and J in the midst of just their second song. The band, looking a bit confused and only slightly less comfortable with improv than the Second City troupe, stood motionless for a few seconds before one of them danced a sad little jig and the rest of them shuffled silently offstage. Though the huge crowd (which I'm sure was eager to hear that aforementioned song of which I'm utterly tired) seemed content to stand and wait for the technical difficulties to be resolved, I thought it probably wouldn't be worth the wait anyway. Off we moved toward the Bud Light stage in preparation for Modest Mouse.

The Wailers vs. Yo La Tengo. I like Yo La Tengo. From the Yo La Tengo I've heard, they're quite unique and yet still accessible. This, however, this was not Yo La Tengo. I don't know who these people were, but their set, from minute one, came at me like an ugly, spiked toad, croaking and lurching, and if that's the true Yo La Tengo, then I don't like Yo La Tengo. And it gets worse. Recoiling from the mess happening on the Yo La Tengo stage, Becky and I took shelter on a tree-covered patch of soil with hundreds of lounging and seated others. (The blue Playstation ponchos we had wrenched from the hands of that poor Playstation rep the day before were now coming in quite handily as makeshift blankets upon which to sit.) Unfortunately, this little patch of land sat nearly dead-center between Yo La Tengo's stage and that of The Wailers, so it soon felt like we were guinea pigs, being tested by crazy scientists as to the combined psychological effects of cacophonous indie rock and reggae. No Woman No Cry mingled with squealing, low-fi jams, and I began to lose my mind. So I stared straight ahead at the water fountain in front of us, with its unending stream of sweaty kid after sweaty kid filling their water bottles. I played with the mulch on the ground beneath our plastic blue blanket. I watched Becky stare blankly from behind her huge sunglasses, holding her complimentary AT&T hand fan mere inches from her face. I took pictures of my feet. And then it was time for Modest Mouse.

Modest Mouse. Seated half a mile from the Modest Mouse stage at the North end of the park so as to more quickly reach the Pearl Jam stage afterward at the South end of the park, Becky and I waited for the band to arrive as crowds filed in past us, slowly consuming every bit of empty grass. And finally, the band appeared, ant-sized from where we were despite huge monitors on either side of the stage. I thoroughly believe that We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank is one of the better albums of 2007, so I was anxious to get this show on the road and hear real music for the first time that day. So I waited. And waited. Until I realized, that that crackling, muffled, ice-cream-truck tuneage I was hearing was all we were getting. The speakers nearest our position meekly hummed out every other note, sputtering at us and teasing us with only occasional clarity. Heartbreaking. One of the only bands I was looking forward to seeing and hearing... and I could barely do either. After 4 songs (which I'm sure were amazing to those right at the stage's edge), I threw in the towel and admitted defeat. "Do you want to head over to find a spot for Pearl Jam?"

My Morning Jacket. By now, in the late afternoon, the park was beginning to swell with people. Every path choked and clogged. Every porta-potty had a line. Luckily, we had plenty of time to pick out a position on the sprawling field before the Pearl Jam stage. When we reached it, however, we realized that My Morning Jacket was still playing. So we slid past the endless groups of 20-something white guys, and camped out to wait beside the elevated sound booth. I have to admit some ignorance here, as I had convinced myself somehow that My Morning Jacket was just another obnoxious emo band (probably because of that pesky My Chemical Romance titular similarity). But I found myself pleasantly surprised to discover that nothing could be further from the truth. The band on stage was rolling out epic soundscapes of melodic guitar and string backed by an entire youth orchestra. They were dressed in purple tuxedos and stood before a backdrop straight out of a Candyland board game: a frosting-pink wall littered with candy and ice cream. The music was foreign to me, but felt strangely familiar and warm. Because I can't offer a single song name, though, we'll just leave it at this for now: I was impressed.

Pearl Jam. As some of the My Morning Jacket faithful filed off the field after their last song, Becky and I moved forward with the remaining crowd to get a better view. I was amazed at the amount of people standing in that field waiting for a band that I was not only mostly indifferent to, but at many times, also annoyed by. But this was why we were here after all, and I thought, maybe this is just one of those bands you have to see in person to understand. ...Sadly, I'd soon be proved wrong. This was still Pearl Jam, same old boring Pearl Jam, with a lead singer that sounds 80 years old when he talks and predictable crunchy rock. At most points, as I looked over at Becky, I was convinced she was bored, too. She has seen them 5 or 6 times now, after all. Maybe it was just heat exhaustion. The interesting points of the set came when Vedder mumbled at the crowd between songs. Near the middle of the set, he noted that he was hearing fireworks, which for some reason had begun to explode above and behind the stage midway through an extended Even Flow. Later, he muttered something obvious about Bush, incorporating his understandable dislike into a little ditty, and then later offered up a chant against BP Amoco, urging concert-goers to boycott the oil company for crimes against Lake Michigan. To me, it was the irony that surged through the "Brought to you by AT&T" banners astride the stage that held more meaning. (And hearing later that that same company had censored some of Vedder's politics for the webcast of the event made it even funnier.) The set, however, chugged along, and I waited it out on feet that had seen the ugly side of three days' standing. One moment made it worth it: singing along to Better Man, the one good Pearl Jam song I know, along with thousands of others. The front man left it to the crowd for the full first verse and chorus and then, sliding toward the mic and smiling, praised us. "Fucking beautiful."

And now, the envelope please...
Absolute Worst Band: Powerspace
Most Ungodly Noise Generated By: Tie between Yo La Tengo and Juliette and the Licks
Worst Sound Production: Every Lollapalooza stage but the one on which Pearl Jam played. Go figure.
Best Corporate Freebie: AT&T battery-operated hand fans, followed closely by Playstation's timely blue rain ponchos
Most Surprising Moment: Tie between My Morning Jacket and learning that you could buy chocolate-covered strawberries at a music festival
Most Serene Moment: Standing in a light rain surrounded by chanting Snow Patrol fans
Most Fun You Can Have At A Music Festival: I'm From Barcelona
Winner of Lollapalooza: Matt & Kim, for being obscenely happy, and rocking the stage not for one, but two energetic and super-fun sets.

Overall, it was a weird little time, filled with bands I didn't care about and plenty of disappointments, but also with a few extremely great moments and a new-found appreciation for my sister's ability to withstand high humidity and wacky indie bands.

Good times.

Lollapalooza 2007 (Part Two in Which Jenny Goes Crazy for a Musical Collective with a Penchant for Kazoos)

2007-08-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

Day Two of the Lollaxperience began crispy and hypercolored. The one sunscreen that we had brought between the two of us had had a bit of a meltdown while on the plane, leaking entirely out onto Becky's clothes and leaving us open and naked to the sun (SPF-speaking) for an entire 7 hours. Needless to say, looking into the mirror on the morning of Day Two, I had a chance to ponder the origin of the word redneck. Then it was on to the festival.

The weather of Day Two, though, felt like a small gift. Overcast and cooler, rain hanging overhead but clinging to sun-blocking clouds. Now, if only it could stay just like this...

Our Stage Stops
Saturday, August 4 - Day Two

Dear and the Headlights. Making our way toward the north end stage where I'm From Barcelona would be playing in just over half an hour, we wandered past Dear and the Headlights at the all-shady BMI stage. Stopping to check them out, I listened for half a song and turned to Becky to ask, "Who are these guys? They're not bad." "Dear and the Headlights," she replied after consulting a handy pocket program. They reminded me a bit of a slightly louder Shins, with comforting and somehow familiar pop-rocky angst. And just as soon as we knew who they were, they finished up, prompting us to move on.
Matt & Kim. Okay. There's this band. It's a guy on a keyboard who yells his happy lyrics into a microphone perched atop a keyboard he plays while half-dancing upon a bench seat as a muscularly lean, short-haired girl keeps giddy, simple time on a set of drums next to him, smiling a constant 6-year-old-at-Christmas smile. Would you listen? Oh, you would. Seeing Matt & Kim live is all you need to be sold on their, for lack of a better term, jangle pop. Their infectiously happy interactions on stage pull you in so that the entire time you're listening, you can't help but smile, despite the lack of song-writing finesse or instrumental expertise. The couple, situated dead center of a large stage, was clearly dumb-founded by the ever-growing crowd they continued to draw, Matt making comment after comment about how "awesome" this all was. And then, in an event that would become a bit too common throughout the rest of Lollapalooza, their stage experienced some kind of sound meltdown, and Matt & Kim had to make a still happy, if somewhat early, exit.

I'm From Barcelona. But there's more than one way to start the day on an upbeat note, and I thought, "Well Matt & Kim were great, but let's see what I'm From Barcelona can do." So, a bit nervous about Becky's reaction to a band she had previously called "cultish" for their hand-clapping happiness on the single, "We're From Barcelona," we wandered over to one of the only two stages big enough to accommodate a 29-person band. Their set began as a surprisingly huge crowd welcomed the Finns with loud applause and the group took positions with a man in a bear suit posting himself out in front to the left of the red-headed singer. "Wow," I thought, "Becky's going to hate me for this." And then they proceeded to play a song that has easily become one of the best songs I've heard in ages: Treehouse. By the end of the song, complete with hand movements that most of the crowd had no problem imitating, lovely lyrics, and a gorgeous melody, I was officially in love with this band. A following song, Rec & Play, just confirmed it. Prefacing the song, lead singer Emanuel Lundgren said that he had planned to bring cassettes to throw out to the crowd at a certain point but that he sadly only had enough money for 50 tapes. And as he correctly noted, "There's a lot more of you than 50." So as the lyrics, "I will throw my tapes away because this will be the one worth saving," rolled around, Emanuel threw imaginary tapes out to the crowd who, playing along like it was second-nature, eagerly pretended to catch them. During their last song, one called Ola Kala, the entire crowd, nearly every single person, moved along, arms sweeping the sky slowly side to side, to "Don't be afraid... Don't be afraid... 'Cause everything is gonna turn to be okay.... Don't be afraid..." I've adopted that moment, memorizing every dumb smile in that crowd and on my own face, even Becky grinning with arms folded, the two of us standing in a cloud-shadowed field in Chicago - I go to that place any time I think, "I hate my life," and I smile.

Break. Leaving I'm From Barcelona, pleasantly surprised that Becky wasn't hitting me for dragging her into that little lovefest, we realized that there was no band that interested either of us for some time. So it was time to hit up those low-priced food booths and peruse Green Street.

Aqueduct. There's only so much time you can spend staring at hemp bags, however, and eventually I led us toward Aqueduct's stage. I knew and still know next to nothing about him/them. Halfway into the first song though, Becky was turning to me with furrowed brow and pursed lips speaking angry sarcasm without saying a word. I didn't think it so bad: a mix of funky pop with keyboards, bass, and drum. [It was right around the start of that first song that we spotted some festival workers carting in boxes marked "RAIN PONCHOS," and looking at the threatening sky and then at each other, we decided: good idea.] So we sat a bit longer on the pavement with the rest of the crowd along the side, me - trying to groove along to Aqueduct, Becky - deciding to leave and get a drink. And then he pulled out some song with lyrics about, "People don't change, bitch. Don't even try." Ugh. Yeah, maybe Becky was right.

Cold War Kids. Next on the program was a choice of either Stephen Marley (saw him at Vegoose 2006, and okay, I get it: reggae, whatever), Silverchair (the Hanson of grunge is apparently still around), and Lady GaGa (who? No.). So we spent about 15 minutes trying to track down those elusive rain ponchos. They had to have gone somewhere, but the vacant stare of the girl at the official store told us we were on our own to find them. Giving up for the moment, we found a tiny spot to stand amongst the throng of people awaiting the Cold War Kids at the small Citi stage. The small grass lawn in front of us was littered blanket-to-blanket with people, the pathways next to us packed, and the area in front of the stage and as far back as we could see: like sardines. Was there something I didn't know? I had recently gotten their album Robbers & Cowards but had so far still only liked the single Hang Me Up To Dry. This crowd implied that some kind of musical genius was about to stroll on stage. There were people in the trees! waiting to sneak a peek at these apparent post-modern gods. Becky suggested, "Well, there really aren't that many other choices right now." Good point. It was this or Motion City Soundtrack. Not good. The band eventually wandered out and began to play for their appreciative crowd and I thought, "Hm. Yeah." And then it started to rain. "This will be so appropriate once they start playing Hang Me Up To Dry," I chuckled to Becky, who had already started scanning the crowd for ponchos. After spotting 2, then 3, blue ponchos with a Playstation logo, we made a bee line for the nearby Playstation tent (along with about 50 others who had the same realization at the exact same time.) Poor Playstation guy, he was nearly run over by a horde of poncho-crazed concert-goers. And by the time he had handed out his last two, the rain was barely a trickle, Cold War Kids were still playing their mediocre tunes, and Becky had decided to wander off through the art installations. I hung on at the Citi stage, waiting to hear the only song I cared about, which, as it turns out, is just so-so live.

Matt & Kim, again. After the Cold War Kids had cleared out and Becky had returned, we grabbed some chocolate-covered strawberry kabobs and stood trying to decide our next move. Next up at this stage was CSS, but a man came out and addressed the crowd, saying that CSS had run into plane problems so Matt & Kim would be coming back for a second set to fill in for them. What?! Awesome. We knew where we'd be for the next hour or so. Matt & Kim's second set was even more fun than the first: confident, completely amped, a few more beers into the day, and with a crowd of stalwart and newly converted fans ready to cheer them on. "I'm Matt and this is Kim, and this is so cool!" When they launched into their infectious single of sorts, Yeah Yeah, for the second time that day, Becky and I were ready to sing along.

Snow Patrol. A mere half hour separated the end of Matt & Kim from the start of Becky's secondary reason for being at Lolla at all: Snow Patrol. So leaving the dynamic duo just a bit before they ended, we headed back toward the massive Bud Light stage where I'm From Barcelona had made me a believer. This time, the crowd was growing by the second and soccer chants were flying into the air at uneven intervals, Irish flags dotting the field. The set was what I had expected it to be, neither converting me to fandom, nor making for a horrible time. It was just pleasant, if a bit dull, the way you expect bands like this to be. There were the melodic poppy bits, bouncing the crowd like whack-a-moles for entire songs, and there were the lighters-in-the-air anthems with audience sing-alongs missing only the karaoke screen. I guess if it works, why not? Becky clearly enjoyed herself, hands together, as if in prayer, a pose she strikes as she sings along to something she loves. It was nice to finally see her so thoroughly pleased. The rain had returned meanwhile, and during a particularly nice moment of audience chanting, light drops began to glitter the thick air above our heads with coolness, and I thought, "Well, there are certainly worse ways to end a day."

After Snow Patrol ended their set, we headed, along with thousands of others, toward Spoon's stage on the other end of the park. As we reached it, the rain had begun to fall a bit more heavily, and I briefly donned that blue Playstation poncho I had pined for before realizing that standing around in a poncho is the quickest way to feel like an idiot. We stared out at the sea of people already cluttering the field in front of the already-begun Spoon show, and decided, yeah, let's head back to hotel for room service.

{Day Three to be continued.}

Lollapalooza 2007 (Part One in Which Jenny Rambles for Five Hours)

2007-08-16T21:44:00.000-07:00

It should come to no surprise to anyone who knows me that I'm only just now recalling my thoughts on the Lollapalooza experience from... what... 2 weeks ago. That's just how I roll.

In any case, I should give a small disclosure here that at the moment, I'm singing along {at the top of my lungs - sorry neighbors} to Treehouse by I'm From Barcelona, who I'm officially naming co-winner of Lollapalooza. That may tint my perspective on all things palooza. But more on that later...

I think key to the experience is: 1) a compatible festival-goer and 2) a fantastic hotel that's not so far away from Grant Park, because God knows, if you've been standing in the Chicago August heat for 10 hours, the last thing you want to do is walk 2 miles. Luckily for me, Hotel 71 turned out to be a lovely choice. The view from our 29th story room provided a breathtaking vantage of the Chicago river (shown left), and the room itself was enormous. [Though compared to the 1/5 sized room that Tony and I shared in San Francisco just a day before, my sense of scale may have been skewed.]

But as for Lollapalooza itself, a quick rundown of the logistics before it's on to the music.

Chicago in August, and I don't know if you know this, but it's like death. The entire weekend of the festival was dressed in 90-95 degree temperatures with 80% humidity, and for a girl from the desert who's used to scoffing at 90 degrees from the safety of her dry 110 degree summers, experiencing that kind of humid discomfort is a mighty humbling experience.

To their corporatizing credit, AT&T (the bastard fathers of the Perry Farrell lovechild called Lollapalooza) displayed genius marketing know-how, erecting a tent featuring, sure, cell phone charging stations and access to the internet and the company's Blue Room website, but also FOUR HUGE AIR CONDITIONING UNITS. Needless to say, it was the place to be. Had I not any sense of human decency and concert-going ethics, I may have stayed in that tent the whole weekend. They were playing the big sets on widescreen flat panels, for crying out loud.

Compared to most other festivals, Lollapalooza is a marketing exec salivating all over his new Armani suit. When you have a "Myspace Stage", that's when you should realize something may have gone wrong with the dream. For those managing to look past the brand names, there were some redeeming points in the consumerist venue: Green Street, for example, a collection of booths offering eco-friendly wares such as hemp messenger bags and guitar straps recycled from old car seat belts; exhibits from student and upcoming artists, which provided a nice respite from the hectic schedule of stage-hopping, featuring my favorite of the group, the "safety bunnies" shown above by artist David Todd Trust; and the surprisingly low-cost food tents. (Chocolate-covered strawberry kabobs at a music festival? Awesome.)

The setting for the fest couldn't have been better (humidity notwithstanding) with the Chicago skyline as its backdrop and beautiful Grant Park as host, welcoming music lovers past Buckingham Fountain into its north and south wings.

But what of the music? Well. That all depends on who you are, as I'd find out as the sets progressed.

The very primary reason I was there was due to the fact that I was born in July. No really. I'm a Cancer, a very typical family-oriented, giving, and moody Cancer. So when my sister asked me to go with her to Chicago so that she could see two of her very favorite bands (Pearl Jam and Snow Patrol) play in a city to which she'd never been, I said, "Sure!" despite the fact I had no knowledge of the rest of the lineup. I'd consider myself a fan of fairly unknown, indie bands, but even these, such as The Rapture, were more familiar to me than most of the lineup. The 1900's and Electric Six, anyone? Anyone?

But I'm also very open to hearing new things, and let's just say that Snow Patrol to me is a bit like elevator music (I have to say it, Becky.) My sister Becky's tastes... well, let's say they're a bit more narrow. Remember that number one key to a good festival-going experience?

Our Stage Stops
Friday, August 3 - Day One

Helicopters. After we finally made it through the entrance, the first band we happened to wander past happened to be the first band I had ever seen in Chicago. Helicopters had been playing at the Double Door when local Jimmy was guiding us around the late night Chicago experience. So I've always felt a bit of a kinship with this Chi-town local band. They had managed to land a spot at Lollapalooza as the result of winning a Last Band Standing contest. The boys were excellent to see live again, and despite the 11:15 sun beating down on us, the small crowd that had gathered for their early set clearly appreciated their presence.

The Fratellis. We moved on over to the aforementioned, ugh, Myspace Stage, to catch 2 songs in the set from The You-know-'em-and-love-'em-from-the-iPod-commericals Fratellis. Unlike the Helicopters' stage, which had grassy side areas blanketed in quiet shade, the Fratellis' stage was searing with sharp sun, the ground beneath us baseball field sand. And there's just no way to make that one-note Irish dancing music worth that kind of trouble. The rest of the crowd seemed to agree, standing stationary, staring ahead as if compelled to be there like it was a chore. So we moved on.

Tom Schraeder. A 7 or 8 person one man band. Eclectic folk with a variety of stringed instruments and boy-girl vocals that reminded me a bit of Damien Rice soaked in alcohol. They were situated on the nice BMI stage: shade and grass. Beginning to see the pattern in the more favorable reviews?

Viva Voce. I had known of VV from an old tune of theirs called Again, With Feeling and persuaded Becky it would be worth our while to pass up all of the other bands playing at the time to see them. Frankly, I can't remember a single thing about their set. I'm fairly sure I felt slightly disappointed. VV's more a studio band than anything else.

The Polyphonic Spree. We found ourselves near the Spree's stage wishing to God that they would just stop. Becky's always despised PS with a passion for their wacky culty tendencies and off-the-wall music. I'd always thought her feelings were a bit extreme. I happen to love the song Soldier Girl, for instance. But on that day, with the speakers of the Lollapalooza Bud Light stage screaming horns and choral vocals into my ears like knife-tipped hammers, I had to agree with her. I mean, really, are they serious about those lyrics?

Powerspace. To escape the cult of Spree, we ran back to the shade of the BMI stage where a band called Powerspace was doing what I assume they thought was playing music. Their crowd consisted mostly of confused-looking 30-somethings, 18 year-old girls with that ubiquitous middle swath of hair pulled backward from their forehead, and 19 year-old guys hoping to get said girls drunk later on. Powerspace themselves can only be described as a band desperate to be liked, an emo mess, the retarded and deformed offspring of Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. Sadly, even the shade and grass couldn't convince me to subject my ears to that for any longer than half a song.

Sparklehorse. Like Viva Voce, Sparklehorse failed to leave any real lasting mark in my memory despite the fact I own their album Good Morning Spider and count Chaos of the Galaxy among my top 50 favorite songs of all time. Unfortunate, really. I believe some of the reason lies with the fact that due to the crowd, we found ourselves at quite a distance from the stage and left somewhat early to get a better spot for The Rapture's set.

The Rapture. Whoo! Alright - Yeah... Uh Huh. has been one of my favorite songs to listen to when I'm looking to move since I first heard it, so I was excited to hear these boys live. They did not disappoint. Surrounded by a crowd equally ready to bust a move, The Rapture put on a soulful and lively set of energetic new wavy music full of keyboard vigor and vim with cowbell enough to satiate even Christopher Walken.

As much as I had wanted to catch some of G. Love's set, which overlapped with The Rapture, it had been a long, hot day. Though I'm sure that to say this is sacrilegious to some, the bands rounding out the night (The Black Keys, Daft Punk, and Ben Harper) didn't appeal to either of us. So we headed back to the hotel for well-deserved showers and a Chinese restaurant dinner with locals Jenni and Jimmy.

{Day Two and Three to be continued...}

Not news.

2007-08-11T07:23:00.000-07:00

I'm intolerably lazy.
I'm busting out all over with video and pictures and insightful reviews of things Pumpkiny and Lollafilled, but I just can't drag myself to the plate to knock it out to you.

Here's hoping for a procrastination-crippling boredom to set in.

Pumpkins at the Fillmore, July 30

2007-07-29T12:10:00.000-07:00

San Fran, here we come.

...and I hope he does a good job.

2007-07-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

{via my sister}
10 minutes of truth.

I could smell it in the air on my birthday, this glorious Fourth, the smell of decay and lost hope.

I honestly believe that it is only a matter of time before America collapses in on itself and we're all left shaking off the dust in the shadows of our holy new corporatocracy. A nation that so clearly embraces the hypocrisy of sing-song democracy commanded by cash cannot - should not - be a world power.

Thank you, Mr. President, for bringing this grand experiment to a close and for putting to an end all of this silly nonsense about the power of the people and their frivolous lives, liberties, and happiness.

Customer Service At Its Finest

2007-07-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

The new Verizon math.

"0.002 dollars and 0.002 cents... they're both the same if you look at them on paper."

Wow.

I could start breaking things, but I'd just have to sweep them up.

2007-06-24T10:34:00.000-07:00

So. What do you do when the person you live with forces you to take care of 90% of the household cleaning, even when you work outside the home approximately the same amount of hours?

Do you relent and become their maid in your own house?
Do you beg and beg until they tune you out and nothing you say has any meaning?
Do you stop cleaning altogether and get used to living in filth while you wait for them to realize how important it is?

Someone. Anyone with an answer. Enlighten me.

If it's a white hot soul they want...

2007-06-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

So here I am. All atwitter like a 17 year-old girl. Oh. Rawk.

Is it July 10 yet?

Musicovery

2007-06-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

I'm always on the lookout for new ways to find music, and it's Tony who stumbles upon Musicovery, a nifty web app that offers up whatever genre, and energy level for that matter, that your little heart may desire.

Slight caveat, though: this is an addictive little toy. You've been warned.

BRAVO.

2007-06-07T23:30:00.001-07:00

Once you reach 0:53, things start to rock pretty hard.

If my typical day at the office was like this, I have a feeling I wouldn't dread waking up in the morning.

Summer snow.

2007-06-07T23:10:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to believe it a touch more each day; that I have nothing to add to the conversation, your high talk, the big idea. I'm increasingly irrelevant and decidedly disappointing.

The verbal snub.
The condescending chuckle.
I'm beginning to wear them like coats you hand me from the closet.

"Here, put this on. You're not fooling anyone."

In every life comes a moment, a benchmark, a trial - a test to see just how far you've come.

Mine came.
And mine passed on by, shaking its head at me and my June parka.

The New American Century

2007-05-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

Impressively animated tidbit regarding the neoconservative movement.

I had never heard of this New American Century project until now. From the website:

The Project for the New American Century is a non-profit educational organization dedicated to a few fundamental propositions: that American leadership is good both for America and for the world; and that such leadership requires military strength, diplomatic energy and commitment to moral principle.

I love how they call it an "educational organization." Like it's a group of PTA members and librarians asking the world to give the US a chance.

I'm thinking it's not so innocuous as all that, though. The domination/"leadership" of one country over the rest of the world is a good thing, huh? ...So that the correct "morality" can be dispensed?

...Sounds familiar. You know, the German people were pretty willing to turn a blind eye, too.

That's it.

2007-05-22T17:01:00.000-07:00

I've stayed detached and cynical about this as long as I could. But I just can't hide it anymore.

I'm listening to the fucking Smashing Pumpkins.
And I'm 17 again.
God damn.

This fucking rocks.

Ding dong...

2007-05-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

I'm late on this, but:

Jerry Falwell is dead.
When I first saw those words, I immediately smiled and felt warm and happy. Maybe that's wrong.

Or maybe it's just right.
Search your heart. It knows the truth.

Only an Administrative Assistant would dwell on this...

2007-04-26T16:25:00.000-07:00

Comic Sans is the Benny & The Jets of fonts. Completely lame and intolerably obnoxious.

Hyperlink pudding.

2007-04-24T22:07:00.000-07:00

Word Plus One.
Every day, Frank writes a short story. And every day, the story is one word longer than its predecessor. The first one: yeah, one word long. (I suggest starting there. It's really quite good.) The entire concept is completely lovable, and I envy him immensely for coming up with the idea.

xkcd
One of my very favorite web comics. Very smart. Very funny. Check out:
Boombox
90's Flowchart
Nintendo Surgeon
And then there's the parody they did of my other favorite strip online: A Softer World.

Red Vs. Blue
Some of the best machinima ever written and produced. Only 5 episodes left in its 100 episode run. I'll miss it dearly.

family.

2007-04-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

One thing to like about my place of work: these guys.

This little family of three ducks. They're always out there, always together, even though the mottled one on the right looks -and sounds- to be of questionable mental capacity. They still keep him around, despite his incessant honking at nothing in particular, and skim the surface of the water between the marinas, above the fish, day in, day out, side by side by side.

There's something comforting in the sight of that bond. Even if they are just ducks.

Post Rehash: 1/14/03

2007-04-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

Still haven't realized it.

...I have always judged myself by others' acceptance (or rejection) of me. I just can't imagine being worth anything if no one else thinks I am. Maybe it's wrong. No, it is wrong. But will I ever be able to say, "All of you can go fuck yourselves. I am who I am."? I have my doubts. In fact, I have an army of them, waiting over that hill there, ready to storm over the fields of self-confidence at the very moment they sense an uprising.

It's why I need my own song.
It's why I have a comment system on this site.
It's why I haven't been alone since I was fifteen.
It's why I love cats....

....Cats?
Yeah, you heard me.

It doesn't matter.
What happens happens.
And if I'm meant to realize that I am what I love and not what loves me, then I will.

2007-04-22T18:40:00.000-07:00

Modern rituals
are downloadable.

So hey, alright, I've become less anal...

2007-04-12T19:06:00.001-07:00

...since I last took this test two and a half years ago.
Nice. I guess.

Freudian Inventory Results

Oral (73%) you appear to be overly passive and dependent, wanting things to be given to you instead of working for them.
Anal (50%) you appear to have a good balance of self control and spontaneity, order and chaos, variety and selectivity.
Phallic (40%) you appear to have a good balance of sexual awareness and sexual composure.
Latency (80%) you appear to be afraid or averse to present or future real world responsibilities, this will only make your inevitable transition more difficult, so learn to deal with the real world.
Genital (43%) you appear to be somewhere between a progressive/openminded and regressive/closeminded outlook on life.

Take Free Freudian Inventory Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Little more dependent now, though. Hm. Married life. By the way, though, I do totally want things to be given to me instead of having to work for them. Why the hell wouldn't I? Work is fo suckaz.

(Wow... it hurt my fingers to type like that. I apologize to you, dear reader.)

Post Rehash: 2/17/2005

2007-04-12T18:47:00.000-07:00

Still true as ever.

I'm a water sign, drowning under a wet moon.

When it rains, it... rains for days and days and days. {Jenny smirks at the insanity of dreading precipitation in the desert.} The sky has broken into bite-sized pieces of unmanageable stress and anger and resentment and et cetera et cetera et cetera, she says.

She says, "The water sliding off the stars is still just water."

And it doesn't make sense.

And she's tired. And overworked. And five miles underground.

"...because dude would totally do something like that."

2007-04-06T17:24:00.000-07:00

Pumpkins fans, I knew it.

"Apart from Corgan himself and possibly his drummer and BFF Jimmy Chamberlain, it's been frustratingly unclear just who will be part of that dadgum Pumpkins reunion. Guess we'll find out when the thing ignites at May 22's inaugural reunion gig in Paris, then gets consummated with the July 7 release of Zeitgeist. Perhaps Billy's spent the post-Zwan years creating clones of himself to back him, because dude would totally do something like that."

If it's not Billy, James, D'arcy, and Jimmy for this "reunion," it's just another empty shell of what once was.

..Or Zwan.

No way to make this sound like anything other than whining.

2007-04-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

I want to leave.
I want to be happy.
I want to enjoy waking up, not dread it.
I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
I want to just walk out the door right now and start living.

Honestly though, I don't know what happens next.
I'm cracking right down the center.

Ha ha. Very funny, Google.

2007-04-01T01:17:00.000-07:00

Wow. You know, they actually had me going. "All my emails printed and delivered to me for free? Niiiice...." Damn Jenny.

Happy April Fools Day everyone.

... of the Moment.

2007-03-31T21:28:00.000-07:00

Song: Voxtrot - Kid Gloves
"Cheer me up. Cheer me up. I'm a miserable fuck.
Cheer me up. Cheer me up. I'm a tireless bore.
Cheer me up. Cheer me up. I'm invisibly stuck
Oh, with myself. Yes, I'm a vanity whore."

Image: Exploding Dog - This Hole I've Dug Is Mine Forever

Emotion: Somewhere between disillusionment and self-contempt.

Yet Another New Way To Not Connect: Virb

Ze Frank Video: Cycle Bust

Runner-Up: Vegas Baby - "Everything is out of context, and that means context allows for everything."

2007-03-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

Love this.

This American Life

2007-03-29T21:52:00.000-07:00

New episode of This American Life on Showtime tonight at 10:30.
Watch and be edified.

For those not in the know, This American Life is the award-winning gem of a radio show that examines the ordinary and makes it extraordinary. Funny, sad, thoughtful, fantastic. Among my favorite shows:

Superpowers
Recordings For Someone
20 Acts In 60 Minutes

Just listen.

2007-03-28T19:07:00.000-07:00

I do not remember being 9 years old.

My subconscious mind does, mottled in the colors of a nine-year-old's experience - the breezes through hair on Saturday bike rides, the 1pm stretch of a fourth grade class, the 1am whispers of a six-girl sleepover, and life tumbling out ahead without end or thought.

But I don't. I'm very much all here. Trapped in this instant. At a keyboard. 26 unmemorable years trailing me in silence.

The gap has become a chasm.

No better place.

2007-03-22T23:45:00.000-07:00

With a second trip to Hawaii coming up in a month and a half, I've been looking into various adventures in which to partake. So, I'm looking at ads for helicopter rides in Kauai and thinking, "Wow. Just looking at this scares the shit out of me. But then again... what better place to die than in Kauai."

That slogan's on me, Kauai Tourism Commission.
I like it. It's catchy.

2007-03-15T00:50:00.000-07:00

The Ides of March are come.

Las Vegas is burning.

2007-03-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

Took this photo of Vegas burning itself into oblivion just past seven on Tuesday evening.

...Okay. So, no oblivion, but you know what? 90 degree RECORD-BREAKING MARCH temperatures and random fires: may as well be Hell.

You'll fake it if you have to.

2007-03-08T17:02:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, a week develops in such a way that a single song can become pure truth.

And sometimes when you're on
You're really fucking on
And your friends they sing along
And they love you
But the lows are so extreme
That the good seems fucking cheap
And it teases you for weeks in its absence
But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile
And you'll be better
You'll be smarter
More grown up and a better daughter or son
And a real good friend
And you'll be awake
You'll be alert
You'll be positive though it hurts
And you'll laugh and embrace all of your friends
And you'll be a real good listener
You'll be honest
You'll be brave
You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful
You'll be happy

Rilo Kiley - A Better Son/Daughter

Show and Tell: Weekend

2007-02-13T00:10:00.000-08:00

February 11 & 12, 2007...

Santa Monica by way of desert highways. Beach, pier, promenade wanderings. The eclectic crowd of California's coast. Driving down Sunset Strip at night before heading up through B. Hills to Mullholland Drive for kinking curves in the dark. Accidental slinkings into and out of questionable neighborhoods by Dodger Stadium. ATHF on a hotel room TV. French toast breakfast before the big drive home. Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu and through ubiquitous mountains onto freeways and more freeways. Podcasts on the stereo, all the way home.

What time is it? Oh. It's that time.

2007-02-09T21:54:00.000-08:00

Time: 10pm. 3 days post haircut.
Yelling Along To: Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh by Bright Eyes
Anticipating: The end of work tomorrow
Webcamming: Sleeping Glasgow
Feeling: Between moods, splashes of uncertainty, buzzing punchiness, self worth and debasement, a heady perfume of doubt
Now Pretending To Know The French Lyrics To: L'excessive by Carla Bruni
Current Desktop Accoutrement: Eight ball, Hulacat, little plastic dinosaurs, empty glass, tourist photo from Navy Pier in Chicago
Reading: Only Revolutions by Mark Z. Danielewski. Plays with the very form of narrative, physical and otherwise. Half prose, half poetry, two corresponding stories starting from opposite sides of the book. Delicious.
Now Hearing: Brandon Flowers asking me, "Don't you want to come with me?" ...Oh. I do. Wow, Jenny. Ahem. Such a little fangirl.
Last Dream: Involved the constant consumption of spinach artichoke dip amidst friendly debates and minor emotional explosions. My body wants more vitamins I guess.
Feb. 9 Thoughts On Vegas: Meh.
Tomorrowplans: Awake at 7:20am. At work by 8. Toil, type, etc. Leave work. Commence weekend with rabid photography and DV camming. Music. Dinner. Music.
Current Song Deserving Replays: Love Like Semtex by Infadels. Nonstop fun.
Holding In: Lots and lots of confusing ideas about life and place and purpose.
Next Up: Bed.

Another volume for your edification.

2007-02-05T11:19:00.000-08:00

Every now and then, I compile a playlist that's just too good to keep to myself. This is one of them. If you can pull together these songs, give them a listen. {Most are available on iTunes.} Hopefully you'll find them as infectious and eye-opening as I have. If not, well, at least maybe you heard something new.

1. Harvey Danger - Cream and Bastards Rise
“…Yeah, you can see it in their eyes.” Great kickoff song full of vim and vigor, and one of those songs I always catch myself yelling along to at the top of my lungs in my car. “And you know what that means. It means someone’s got to lose. It’s probably you.” Underdogs have an anthem.

2. Peter Bjorn and John – Young Folks
“We could stick around and see this night through.” Any song with bongos. I’m serious. …This song is a slow burner. Give it a couple listens and let it soak. That chorus is infectious, and there’s something so calming about those easy, whatever-happens lyrics. “All we care about is talking, talking only me and you.” Recommended for: anyone who’s had someone they could just talk to.

3. Matt Costa – Sunshine
“Someday, you will get the best of me.” Misleadingly uptempo acoustic number. Helps cleanse the palate without added sugar. Listen to the words and contemplate the quiet sadness of relenting or hear only the music and feel at one with the Jack Johnsonish vibe. Either way, it works.

4. The Rapture - Whoo! Alright – Yeah… Uh Huh
“People don’t dance no more. They just stand there like this.” Say what you will. Dance music has its place. For me, there’s no better than this place right here, inside some percussive guitar/cow-bell beat beneath half-yelled lyrics bemoaning a stagnating scene. Ultimate fun rewards come to those who wait and give this groove a chance. If you’ve passed the 2:20 mark and have felt no urge whatsoever to move your body, you may be beyond help.

5. Metric – Police and the Private
“Never expect to be sure who you’re working for.” Delicately-crafted pop beauty with thoughtful lyrics and Emily Haines’ heartbreaking vocals. I don’t know what else to say. Within 3 days of acquiring this song, I’d listened to it 10 times. Fantastic.

6. Laura Veirs – Galaxies
“When we kiss, bears and boulders vibrate through the air.” Taking it a notch down further, Laura Veirs provides the soundtrack to some 2am drive or stolen moment. It feels almost like a love song for people who are above love songs. …Yeah, and possibly the hardest to describe of all the tracks on this playlist.

7. I’m From Barcelona – We’re From Barcelona
“Love is a feeling that we don’t understand, but we’re gonna give it to you.” My sister told me once that this song sounded a bit cultish. You know what, though? If your cult sings upbeat hand clappers with “la la” vocals, sign me up, because this just makes me smile.

8. Camera Obscura – Hey Lloyd, I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken
“I can’t see further than my own nose at this moment.” Full of nostalgia and hard-to-place emotions. Quiet and demanding. Around 2:25, guitar gives way to horns backed by simple strings. And then you’re returned to that sweetly lilting voice asking for heartbreak. I love this song. Camera Obscura’s best work.

9. Fiona Apple – Extraordinary Machine
“Be kind to me, or treat me mean. I’ll make the most of it. I’m an extraordinary machine.” Like Fiona herself, you’ll either love this song or hate it. I happen to love every second of this oddly-instrumented proclamation of self-worth and individuality. “If there was a better way to go, then it would find me. I can’t help it. The road just rolls out behind me.”

10. Fujiya & Miyagi – Collarbone
“Got to get a new pair of shoes to kick it with her, not kick it with you…” I think when this song’s not out working as an anatomy professor's assistant, it spends its time in dimly lit, smoky clubs slow-bouncing with the ladies. Just relax and let it happen.

11. Infadels – Love Like Semtex
“You’ve got a love like semtex. Bring it to me.” What is it with me and moving lately? It’s an affliction, and the only cure is groovy little tunes like this one. By the way, semtex is a highly malleable plastic explosive. Just thought I’d save you the time. Oh my God, is this chorus fun to sing along with. “You make the floor move in all of my hallways.”

12. The Hussy’s – We Expected
“We expected great things from you, but you let us down.” Saturday morning love song to all those people who grew up, moved on, and left you sitting in the same place you've always been. An indie pop tribute to Catcher Holden’s lament that “certain things should just stay as they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.”

13. Travis – Love Will Come Through
“Don’t look da- da- da- down…” It’s midnight. Windows down. 72 degrees. This is the song you need with you in the car on some deserted street. Trust me. Now put your hand out that window and let it ride.

14. The Wildlife – Burning Plastic Man
“…Don’t want nothin’ to do with you.” This is an odd duck of a duet. It creates and invites a certain indescribable mood. Not sad nor happy, loved nor scorned. Simmering, but not too slowly. Just electronic undercurrent with acoustic embellishment and slow-flowing vocals, thick as honey.

15. Barenaked Ladies – Maybe You’re Right
“It was often talked about. It was often raised. But nothing was ever done about it.” My favorite number on their newest album. Dripping with regret and building with every line, until it finally crescendos and leaves you thinking of every moment that you could have done differently, every word you would have taken back. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re right, maybe you’re right but I don’t think so.”

16. The Killers – Sam’s Town
“Have you ever seen the lights?” Living a quarter of a mile from Las Vegas Blvd at age seven made me feel that no other town in the world could feel more like home. Then I grew up and realized that many, many places were infinitely better, more creatively-embracing, and happier than Vegas. …Our hometown boys, though, they make me wish I had never peeked over that wall. With every thing that Vegas isn’t… it’s still home. “Nobody ever had a dream ‘round here, but I don’t really mind that it’s starting to get to me.”

Kearny Controversy

2007-02-01T22:29:00.000-08:00

Kearny Controversy

Have you heard the one about the public school teacher preaching his religious beliefs to students as if they were a legitimate part of a history class, and then, to present the issue to school administrators, a student records the proselytizing teacher only to have the school board ban tape recorders in classes?

Oh, that it were a joke.

Take a listen to the audio from this story. The fact that the teacher, Mr. Paszkiewicz, has not been fired scares me more than I have words for.

And even so, the following paragraph from a site called Kearny On The Web is even more spirit-crushing:

At the January meeting, David Paszkiewicz supporters outnumbered the Matthew LaClair supporters. Several speakers spoke passionately about David Paszkiewicz with statements to the effect that he was a great teacher, a role model for children and young adults, and a Christian pastor who is passionate about his faith. Several of the speakers stated that David Paszkiewicz was being "persecuted" because he exercised his 1st Amendment right to speak.

The fact that the school board has moved to ban tape recorders signals the fact that there is an urgent problem with education in Kearny, New Jersey. Can you imagine what might be happening in the "Bible Belt?" How many students are sitting in classes turned pulpits who haven't thought to bring in a recorder?

Like riding a bike... or uhh... bowling...

2007-01-22T22:22:00.000-08:00

144.
The proof is in the number, people. It may not seem much to someone with talent at the thing, but bowling a 144 to me is proof.

See, if I can break 100 and even exceed it by a fair amount, when I haven't toppled a pin in 11 months, then there's hope left yet for other pieces of oneself left stranded on the side of living's long road. I guess I'm kind of counting on it.

2007-01-22T00:34:00.000-08:00

Yep.

Quote time.

2007-01-17T20:11:00.001-08:00

"When fascism comes to America,
it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross."
- Sinclair Lewis -

By the way...

2006-11-27T00:38:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving can now officially kiss my ass.

Nothing can make a person feel more alone than ever than being surrounded by family.

I'm sure you realize...

2006-11-27T00:36:00.000-08:00

I've pretty much given up.
I feel too many naked eyes staring.
So I'm going to keep everything in here.
Bottled up tight and repressed.
What could go wrong?

100 words: Graveyard.

2006-10-19T22:02:00.000-07:00

Waking traumatizes him like birth, I think as he frowns and immediately shakes his head in confusion, asking nonsensically for "the receipts." I repeat the time, banking on the inherent anchoring power of numbers. He'll repeat back a labored "seven o'clock?" and I'll lean on the doorframe, edging the dark, waiting for him to rejoin reality. The hours separate us, his graveyard life rippling the silence of the afternoon house, and we'll pass each other for moments between his work and my rest, just long enough to not let us forget. "Seven o'clock?" he asks, and I say, "It's time."

Wow. People live like this?

2006-09-22T18:23:00.000-07:00

I was feeling bad the other day about how cluttered my hall closet is...

...but now I'm not so concerned.

Tempus fugit.

2006-09-18T22:39:00.000-07:00

Under my nighstand at the moment are two text books from a Latin class I took in college. I've decided that it's time for my brain to start pulling its weight again, and what better way to wake it up to that fact than to kick it in the teeth with the cold steel of Latin-toed boots.

At the time I took the class, I was honestly only trying to fill the last semester of my four-semester foreign language requirement (I had, by that point, Espanol'd myself dry and was steering clear of Middle English like the plague.) So frankly, my heart just wasn't in it. I passed of course (B, for those keeping score at home), but really only because the professor had clearly been teaching Latin long enough to know that there were many more 'me's out there, just looking to fill a quota. During our final exam, he allowed everyone to bring their Latin dictionaries. No joke.

So I've wrestled the texts from the cardboard boxes in which they've been residing since then to say, "Hey brain cells, remember what thought tastes like?" And they're all like, "Whaa? What's that word? Are we at the Olive Garden?" And I'm all like, "Yeah, open up wide, bitches."

Clearly, I have maturing yet to do.

And at 26, I will not lay myself down to age and die without change. There will be no more stunting, no more resting on dusty laurels. As the beer bottle label I saw last night stated... "Carpe diem, vita brevis."

Which I believe translates to, "Waste not your tuition money."

surroundings and circumstance.

2006-09-16T21:15:00.000-07:00

At the moment, I'm alone. But early tonight I was surrounded by twenty-plus family, and I felt alone. And then some days, it can just be three or four people, and that's all you need.

(I'm wordless these days.)

But you get my point.

Notice

2006-09-10T09:18:00.000-07:00

To sleep again and pick up where it left off. I contemplated closing my eyes and slipping back again, hoping I would slide in at the end of my last sentence, still cool and calm and everything I know I can be, in a world not my own but still comfortable, still surprisingly easy... even still.

But instead I got up and brushed my teeth.

Exactly.

2006-08-19T23:34:00.000-07:00

When you were young...

2006-08-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

You could have been anyone.

What a disappoinment.

I am...

2006-08-13T14:52:00.000-07:00

lost

losing

exhausted by boredom

pacing the creases in the floor, looking for a sliver of light

tired of it

thinking maybe

maybe just a little fed up

a dime a dozen girl

...and it's time it stopped.

Wasting my little bit of time.

2006-07-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

This night's post is brought to you by clowns. Grown men in wigs and makeup paying far too much attention to children.

Anyway. Thought it was time for another installment of...

AT THE MOMENT

Time: 9:30pm
Hearing: Nous Non Plus. Wacky French pop/rock.
Thinking: This chair is worthless.
Drinking: Carbonated water, caramel color, aspartame, and phosphoric acid. Weeee!
Deep Dark Confession: Well... no. Not tonight.
Feeling Deep Down In My Murky Depths: Pensive and appeased. Yeah, at the same time. I'm talented.
Postponing: Attempting real photography out of sheer fear of rejection.
I Will Amount To: Nothing, if I continue like this.
Hooked On: Down On The River By The Sugar Plant by Mike Doughty
Slowly Ingesting: Children Playing Before A Statue Of Hercules by David Sedaris
Last Favorite Moment In Time: Watching a hawk float on a hot, slow southern wind, just playing with flight like a toy.

Electric joy.

2006-07-25T00:08:00.000-07:00

My sexy little MINI requires premium gasoline. That's about $3.30/gallon lately, every time I fill up. And while that happens for me definitely less often than the SUV drivers I regularly goad, it still stings.

The release of Who Killed The Electric Car? has gotten me thinking. Why can't I have an electric car? There has to be someone out there making them, if even on a boutique-sized scale. Some light searching online turns up things like Zap! Cars, makers of the adorably tiny (but still fossil-fueled) Smart Car. They also make several other eco-friendly electric vehicles like the ironically named Zap Intimidator, which is anything but. Electric, small... and has a top speed of 25 miles per hour.

Is this really all the electric car world has to offer anymore? Does a person who's willing to shell out the cash for freedom from the pump really have to settle for a golf cart equivalent?

Not anymore.

Meet my next car (barring the $80,000 price tag I'm convinced they're going to slap on it): Tesla Motors' Roadster, a 0 to 60 in 4 seconds thing of all-electric beauty. Running only on lithium ion batteries that require charging after 250 miles of driving, it smokes my MINI (and plenty of other cars) hands down.

Did I mention never having to buy gas again? The only thing better that I can imagine would be if my refrigerator started grocery shopping for me.

I'm accepting donations now for the Buy-Jenny-A-Tesla-Roadster Fund. Let's get to work people; these puppies go on sale early next year.

2006-07-23T00:44:00.000-07:00

Mine is the story of a girl who's lived a life she can't remember.

2006-07-20T21:42:00.000-07:00

Drunkpenguin.com finally has an older, disapproving sibling site. My name dot com. It's a bit of a portfolio for my photo work... Alright, it's basically just my photoblog hopped up on self-righteous gray tones, but still, let's just use "portfolio." (Plus, I had a domain name laying around just waiting to be used.)

Feel free to browse. Many of my favorite pieces are available for hanging on your wall. ...

You say tomato, I say tomahto. You say commercial sell-out, I say wage-slave escapee.

Have at it.

The annual shaming.

2006-06-30T21:11:00.000-07:00

2006-06-30T21:04:00.000-07:00

Champagne, champagne...

Excuse #14.

2006-06-21T21:42:00.000-07:00

In very many, real ways, I don't write here anymore because too many people I see every day know that this exists. And that right there is what you call... a sticky situation.

So no, I'm not going to droll on about my mundane aversion to work. I'm not going to sob into the keyboard as is my wont. And I'm not going to muse on the obscene nature of our absurd government... because there are too many people doing that already.

No...

What I offer you, is this.

How do you afford all this travel?
I saved up at my job for a few years and then quit. That’s the simple answer.

What I should be doing instead of sitting here. Every night.

The Evolution of Dance

2006-05-20T22:50:00.000-07:00

How do you say "Oh well" in Hawaiian?

2006-05-19T22:58:00.000-07:00

I've neglected any sense of duty I had toward the poor little drunk penguin. And you've heard it before, but I blame work.

For instance, I've got a huge life event on my recent memory plate to serve up, but I'm too tired to even tell you about it. I'm a lazy ass. A married, keeping-my-own-damn-last-name-and-don't-give-me-that-look, adventure-starved, island-loving lazy ass.

I'll gladly get back to boring you properly once someone ~~gives me piles and piles of money~~ offers me a grant. Honest.

For a little later, pictures... eventually.
For now, Kauai: absolutely the tastiest thing on Earth.

2006-04-27T16:06:00.000-07:00

10 days.
Not another thought in my head.

There but for the greed of God...

2006-03-18T22:25:00.000-08:00

Photo: Pinkbelt

Oh Jenny.
Let me live inside your skin.
Just for a day.

Just to see how the world looks as it looks at art.

Too old to drive.

2006-03-17T16:47:00.000-08:00

The only major accident I've ever been in happened three months after getting my very first car. Going 27 mph down a wide residential street on a cool, clear day, and out from a side street comes a 92 year old man, driving a rusting Buick and under the assumption that stop signs had nothing to do with him. The front of my car slammed into his passenger side door before I even had time to brake. And later, before the police came, as I stood spitting obscenities in this weird, half-sob of a voice ("My car {choke} My new FUCKING car!"), the 92 year old sat shaking his head and muttering, "Oh, oh, it's okay. I've done this before. They can fix that."

The people in power, all those 70 year-olds in suits with red and blue ties, would have seen the situation and said, "We should enact stricter legislation governing 16 year old drivers!" No one ever wants to admit that they're the problem.

But the problem, as anyone who's been trapped behind a crawling Cadillac with a perpetually blinking left-turn signal for ten miles or been cut off at an intersection by a white wig peeking over the steering wheel, is the aging hoards of boomers and their parents.

They are simply too old to drive.

Nation-wide laws need to be in effect right now, mandating that every person over 65 be tested every 2 years before renewing a drivers license. And I'm not saying give them an eye exam and pat them along, clutching a card. I'm saying put them in a car with a live person to witness just how far along their dementia is and whether or not they'll be likely to mow down a sidewalk of farmer's market customers in the near future. Every 2 years. Hawaii should be commended for being one of the only states so far to take this kind of stance.

It'll be a shame when the nothing that's happening here on the mainland turns into a nightmare on every freeway.

Post-Obvious.

2006-03-15T21:08:00.000-08:00

I never update.

Me. Home of the Contradictory Yearnings!

2006-02-26T20:06:00.000-08:00

So here's me being a tool.

While in Chicago, Tony and I tagged along with Jimmy (the local) to the Double Door, home on several occasions to the sweet sounds of the Pumpkins [See photobooth Evidence A to left]. The place was divey, smoky, and dirty... and very cool. We were lucky enough to catch a decent band, Helicopters (think Death Cab and Postal Service getting frisky with each other), and we vowed on our return to Vegas to scout similar locales for weekend lounging.

It's a Sunday night, our common "Saturday night", as neither of us work on Mondays, and I'm reading bar reviews online (first sign of total tool). I've come across several glowing reviews of the Double Down Saloon, and well, the description on their website says it all:

Double Down Saloon has been described as interplanetary abstract. Urban decay. The Anti-Vegas. A clubhouse for the lunatic fringe.

DRINK * SMOKE * GAMBLE
WE NEVER CLOSE

Pool Tables. Pinball. Asteroids. Blondes, bums, hipsters, goth chicks, bohemians, punks, rockabilly greasers and regular joes. Touring bands and Hollywood types kicking back away from the tourists. Always expect the unexpected.

I'm at once thinking, "This is it!" and "I'm scared."

I've never been one of those hipsters, easy in a self-confident, fuck-you glare, able to drop obscure band names and mingle with any crowd. I wear polo shirts and listen to Rilo Kiley. And yet I'm drawn to the idea of this. ...My sad little wallflower-self yearning for something better, something dirty. Maybe we'll go.

More likely, we'll end up at Buffalo Wild Wings. Again.
Someone slap me.

Transport-ation.

2006-02-14T11:36:00.000-08:00

I survived flight.
With only just a few tears and hesitations.

Chicago is another world. Another crowded, jumbled, slightly dirty, rich, intense, invigorating world. It makes Vegas feel like the place where your soul goes to die.

We were perusing shelves of first editions and rare books inside a tucked-away bookstore in an alley near Northwestern University when I overheard a bit of conversation that pretty much sums up the feeling Chicago gave me.

A short brown-haired girl in black frame glasses, orange and green scarf, and a plaid skirt grazing knee-high stockings walks past me toward the philosophy section with a boy in tow, his hair slightly mussed as if he'd just rolled out of his dorm room, wearing a tweed jacket, corduroys, and three days of stubble.

Girl (half-laughing and dragging the boy): I found more exciting volumes for your edification. Come here.
Boy (addressing another boy behind him while stepping over a stack of history tomes): Heh, okay. Let's go see what the punchline is.

I was floored. Who uses "edification" in daily conversation?

More, with visual aids, later.

Air born.

2006-02-09T10:02:00.000-08:00

Just over six hours and counting until I climb into a metal tube and rise thousands of miles above the ground.

Before you start telling me...

Flying is fun!
Hundreds of flights land safely everyday.
You're much more likely to die in an automobile accident.

...I've heard it.
And yeah, I'm sure that's all very true, but I'm also sure the nervous fliers on flight 587 heard the same thing.

Instructions in the event of my death:

1) You'll know I'm dead if I fail to post here on the 14th upon my return, or if you've noticed a bit more burning rubble on the news than usual, or if you're my family and have begun wondering why I haven't called.

2) If the above conditions apply, please...

a) Family: Take care of my cats. Do NOT take them to a shelter. I will pull a serious poltergeist on your asses.

b) Friends: Feel free to canonize me. You know, praise me all you want and just ignore the fact that I ever had ANY bad qualities. In death, everyone is perfect. Oh oh, and get a good band to play at my funeral.

c) Enemies: Enjoy.

3) Someone please call work for me and let them know I won’t be in.

Okay, I think that about covers it.
Either I'll see ya later... or I won't.

You know you're from Vegas if...

2006-02-03T21:03:00.000-08:00

Lifted and modified from elsewhere online, and mostly true.

1. You have no idea what a scarf does but think it looks good.
2. You know how to get to any casino on the strip without taking Las Vegas Blvd.
3. You can now predict where construction signs will be misleadingly placed.
4. You accept the fact that stop signs and red lights mean very little to tourists.
5. You become nocturnal between the months of April to October.
6. You know the seasons: Really hot, 2 weeks of nice, not so hot, 2 weeks of nice.
7. When you go to different cities, you're amazed things aren't open after 9 pm.
8. It doesn't faze you to see slot machines in grocery stores.
9. You have no idea how a lottery works.
10. What the hell is last call?
11. Your most prized possession as a Nevadan is your blue and white license plate.
12. You know the spaghetti bowl has nothing to do with food and you want nothing to do with it.
13. You know never to merge right when driving north on I-15; it'll just end anyway.
14. You think a well-organized pile of rocks can be a nice lawn.
15. Snowfall only happens on TV.
16. The term Lake Las Vegas doesn't seem problematic in the slightest.
17. You need to walk through a casino to see a movie.
18. You can spot a tourist from 3 miles away.
19. Limos are an everyday sighting.
30. You laugh at people taking pictures in front of the welcome sign.
31. You don't own an umbrella.
32. Sixty degrees is cold enough to wear a jacket.
33. You can wear shorts in the winter.
34. You get bored in the Entertainment Capital of the World.
35. You've never had to pay for parking.
36. You are outraged to pay more than 9.99 for prime rib and a lobster tail.
37. You've forgotten what rain looks like.

105 days to go.

2006-01-22T01:17:00.000-08:00

Deep Dark Confession #2

2006-01-18T08:54:00.000-08:00

This morning as I drove to work, I dug my nails into my steering wheel and said aloud to the cold air, "Maybe if I yanked the wheel and slammed into a ditch someone would suggest a permanent break from work."

Later this morning, I had to stay my hands from scratching deep lines into my face.

I can taste the frustration and anger and desperation at the back of my throat, slinking up like snake, swallowing me from the inside while hissing at me to open my eyes and bite down on the skin. Another day, another week, another month, more skin to peel away until nothing is left but bone and hate.

~~I may end up hurting myself unless I regain that elusive myth of sanity.~~
My head hurts.

Mortal terror.

2006-01-13T23:27:00.000-08:00

I haven't flown since I was two.

Today, Friday the 13th, I purchased tickets on a 2000 mile nonstop flight.

I feel nauseous.

The Devil is one cool cat.

2006-01-12T18:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, so Alito is smooth-talking, unflappable, and rational.

Does anyone else think he smells of death and evil?
Or is that just me?

Resolved.

2006-01-01T10:47:00.000-08:00

I don't acknowledge New Year's Eve, but I can still participate in the national New Year pasttime of disappointing oneself. Let's put that frustratingly depressing 2005 behind us and get on with the good...

Resolutions.

I'm going to stop playing dumb for the benefit of those around me. I've nearly convinced myself that I'm as stupid as I act, and that just won't do.
The ubiquitous: Get as close to fitting into my high school prom dress as possible. ...A girl can dream.
Marry the man I love and not be stressed out about it. I will not worry about the trivialities of a wedding ceremony. I will simply enjoy the day.
I will stop ignoring the world, and attempt to reenter into a dialogue with it, now matter how dejected and despondent that makes me feel.
2006: The year I stop caring about what other people think.

Yeah, that list is doomed.

Today's Lesson

2005-12-31T01:18:00.000-08:00

All I really wanted was a daddy-daughter dance.

Maybe a Hawaiian beach will make up for it.

2005-12-28T22:40:00.000-08:00

Yawn.

Santa Christ.

2005-12-24T08:39:00.000-08:00

Not to be the secular downer at this party, but...

Doesn't it seem sometimes that we perpetuate this Santa Claus myth so that kids get innoculated to the idea that there's no great giver coming from the sky to hand us everything we ever wanted... just so long as we've been good?

Are we just preparing them for the even bigger letdown?

Anyway, Merry Christmas Eve everybody!

I'll be here all week.

2005-12-20T20:23:00.000-08:00

Two nuns, a penguin, a man with a parrot on his shoulder, and a giraffe walk into a bar. The bartender says, "What is this, some kinda joke?"