More than meets the I

http://www.newscientist.com/channel/info-tech/dn8383.html

Yesssss. You love it.

Well, it finally bothered to dip below 80 degrees here in the land o' the painfully bright sun, glory be. It's a pleasantly brisk 40ish, or at least it was when I was struggling to balance my coffee, my laptop, my purse, and a week's worth of mail and get in the door to work this morning. (It's coffee from home and a very small purse, for those of you who are suddenly wondering if I've gone completely high-maintenance. No THANK you. Scottsdale isn't affecting me that much!) I don't really understand why people think the dryness of Arizona is such a boon, though. All it means to me is that my hair is fuzzy, I'm prone to nosebleeds, and I have to put lotion on my asscheeks or else I won't be fit to join polite society. Because I spend so much time in polite society. :-D

It was a beautiful Thanksgiving four days or so. Wonderful food, wonderful family, wonderful friends. Friday night found me at a karaoke bar, alternately singing and having a spirited literary discussion on Stranger in a Strange Land, shouting salient points over the pseudo-Glitterati and their microphones. Saturday was Dickens breakfast -- I forget how much fun my singin' folks are, even if a lot of them are entirely too religious. Managed to have some good Heidi time despite a terrible environment Saturday night.

Sunday was haul-out-all-the-giant-tubs-of-Christmas-shit day. Mom and I listened to Mannheim Steamroller (yes, it's terribly cheesy, but damn if it ain't Christmas without it) and set up the little village, with the little people three times the size of the doors to the houses. :-D It's rather poignant this year because it's the first time in several years when I'm home for the entire holiday season, and beyond that, we all know it's probably the last. I imagine I'll be around for Xmas for several years to come, but as for being around for the decorating and the light-hanging and the shopping and all that ... well, we're enjoying it while we can.

Mom always laughs so much more around Christmastime. That's what makes it special for me. Between caroling and working and being obligated to buy gifts for everyone despite a sadly wheezing bank account, it's a lot less fun than it should be ... but then I make Mom giggle with a cheesy joke or a gingerbread man clothed only in a thong, and it's all worth it. I love you, Mom. Merry Christmas. It's good to be home.

Google wants him! Took their damn sweet time getting back to him, but they've made a job offer! Huzzah!

I've never been so completely happy for another human being.

I figured it out. *blush* Thanks, y'all; yes, Allan, you can call me your protégé and thanks for the advice; Cliff, put that squirmy tentacled thing away *grin*; and who is this secret sin feller? Anyway, hooray, all is as it should be. :-D

Okay -- if any of you have been attempting to leave comments, I figured out why it wasn't working, and now you can. I think. I wondered why NO ONE WAS COMMENTING EVER. Oops. But yeah ... if you've left any, I haven't gotten a damn one of them. That sucks.

In other news, I am having the most beautiful of days ... and I hope you are all doing the same. I am filled with warm and fuzzy. Here's to friendships that never seem to gasp their last, really freakin' delicious stuffing, and love (taste it again for the first time).

I wish I had made this up. I didn't, but happy Thanksgiving anyway!

The truth about Chuck Norris:

Chuck's tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

Rather than being born like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.

A man once asked Chuck Norris if his real name is "Charles". Chuck Norris did not respond, he simply stared at him until he exploded.

Chuck Norris's girlfriend once asked him how much wood a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. He then shouted, "HOW DARE YOU RHYME IN THE PRESENCE OF CHUCK NORRIS!" and ripped out her throat. Holding his girlfriend's bloody throat in his hand he bellowed, "Don't f*ck with Chuck!" Two years and five months later he realized the irony of this statement and laughed so hard that anyone within a hundred mile radius of the blast went deaf.

Chuck Norris was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of "beard". Jesus wore it proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Chuck omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of roundhouse kick related deaths.

To prove it isn't that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.

The original theme song to the Transformers was actually "Chuck Norris--more than meets the eye, Chuck Norris--robot in disguise," and starred Chuck Norris as a Texas Ranger who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too much awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

Chuck Norris once shot a German plane down with his finger, by yelling, "Bang!"

Chuck Norris lives by only one rule: No Asian Chicks.

The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.

After much debate, President Truman decided to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima rather than the alternative of sending Chuck Norris. His reasoning? It was more "humane".

Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

Chuck Norris found out about Conan O'Brien's lever that shows clips from "Walker: Texas Ranger" and is working on a way to make it show clips of Norris having sex with Conan's wife.

Chuck Norris once went to a frat party, and proceeded to roundhouse every popped collar in sight. He then drank three kegs and sh*t on their floor, just because he's Chuck Norris.

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death.

Chuck Norris punched a woman in the ovary when she didn't give him exact change.

Chuck Norris frequently signs up for beginner karate classes, just so he can "accidentally" beat the sh*t out of little kids.

One of the greatest cover-ups of the last century was the fact that Hitler did not commit suicide in his bunker, but was in fact tea-bagged to death by Chuck Norris.

Hellen Keller's favorite color is Chuck Norris.

Chuck Norris doesnt see dead people. He makes people dead.

Chuck Norris once tried to sue Burger King after they refused to put razor wire in his Whopper Jr., insisting that that actually is "his" way.

When Chuck Norris's wife burned the turkey one Thanksgiving, Chuck said, "Don't worry about it honey," and went into his backyard. He came back five minutes later with a live turkey, ate it whole, and when he threw it up a few seconds later it was fully cooked and came with cranberry sauce. When his wife asked him how he had done it, he gave her a roundhouse kick to the face and said, "Never question Chuck Norris."

Sometimes I think I'm a fucked-up little girl. For your perusal, last night's dreams:

Part 1. I was apparently the leader of some sort of Resistance camp out in the woods. I am unclear as to whether we were the good guys or the bad guys. A rival group showed up and their ringleader, an old guy with gray hair, was pointing a gun at me. I managed to wrestle the gun away from him, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman start running away. I coldly aimed at her and shot; I watched the bullet travel through the air and sink its way into her ankle, thus immobilizing her. The man whose gun I had stolen started laughing at me, and I pointed the gun back at him and fired, and nothing but dirty water came out; I realized the gun was just an old faucet that had been wrenched from a sink somewhere. He chided me for focusing on trivial details when I should have kept my attention on the matter at hand. At another point a different woman was sitting at a picnic table pointing a gun at me, and I bared my chest to her and bade her "Shoot!" When she did not, I climbed up on the table in front of her and commanded her to shoot me again. She chickened out. A bit more skirmish, and then Christopher Lee, the actor (um, Count Dooku or however you spell it from the Star Wars movies; the bad guy wizard in Lord of the Rings although I can't remember his name, Daddy from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), popped in through one of the doors and started saying hello to all the people he knew (which did not include me) and I realized it had all been a scene from a movie. Felt real when I was shooting people and demanding to be shot, though.

Part 2. I was finding my way through an apartment complex looking to go visit Karen, my old friend Wynter's mother. The path was linear but long, with a large fountain in the middle. Along the way I met my old cat Homer, and then before I ever got to Karen's room I got snagged into a job interview with some well-dressed gay guy; I don't know what for. [Note: The real Karen passed away last year.]

To clarify some things:
1. Part 2 is not the interesting half of the dream.
2. I really was tough and courageous! I didn't know I was making a movie! Honest!


In other news, my Katya had her first for real belly dance performance last week, and here are pictures from it. Go and gaze upon her fabulousness because I love her, and you should too. :)
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AaM2rRizZOXug
Eventually I'll have pictures of me belly dancing, too. I hope.


In closing, I am thankful for you, because I love you, whoever you happen to be. :) May you joyously consume lots of food on what may be the closest-to-altruistic holiday we Americans have.

Vive le Resistance!

http://www.javaview.de/games/PaMinesweeper.html

3D Minesweeper! Verily, it rocketh much!

Oh, Scottsdale. Land of all that is snooty, fake, and overpriced. Yesterday I had a lovely three-hour singing gig on stage at Kierland Commons, that shopping center I am often known to call the "quintessence of Scottsdale" because, well, it is. Kierland contains ridiculous stores full of ridiculous things that wouldn't know a two-digit price tag if it bit them in the designer ass.

I donned me now my gay apparel (no, no, not the fetish gear, that was later) and made my way to this cesspool of bling, this vortex of undersized dogs and oversized wedding rings, this mall chock-full of wannabe Paris Hiltons. We stood on a two-foot stage and sang for three hours nearly straight, with a couple of brief breaks here and there, in fucking eighty degree weather. Did I mention my caroling outfit consists of an underskirt, an overskirt made of wool, a knee-length coat trimmed in fur, a dickie, a bonnet, and a goddamn muff, and all of this goes over pants and a t-shirt? Did I mention I had to stand and sing for THREE HOURS IN EIGHTY DEGREE WEATHER IN THIS SHIT? Goddamn Phoenix. It's pushing December and it is comfortable tank top weather. One could almost yearn for Chicago. ... almost.

Anyway. We had an excellent vantage point to view all of the Snotsdale patrons from our little stage. I tell you, I have never seen such overwhelming tans, such blindingly white teeth, so many giant fake boobs complete with bionic nipples. What is it about this place? And the pregnancy! Left, right, and center, breeders everywhere! Toddlers tumbling out of the hypertasteful woodwork! At least 60% of the women wandering around Kierland are pregnant at any given time, as far as I can tell. This number may be conservative since I'm estimating based merely on the giant, burgeoning bellies passing in front of my hoop skirt; it doesn't take into account the other zygotic snobs-in-formation.

I have got to get out of this horribly sparkling dystopia. What if it's seeping into me against my will? What if one day I wake up and say "Gee, I'd like to have the word 'Bebe' written in rhinestones on my ass?" What if my teeth are being whitened while I sleep? Jesus fuck, what if I'm already pregnant?! Three hours in Kierland could have done it! ACK! I think I'll go get an abortion just in case. While I can still get one that's not performed with a wire coat hanger in a back alley; thank you, Messrs. Bush, Alito, et al. *grumble*

Well, I suppose I had another chunk of my 15 minutes of fame this morning. The TV gig went well; sorry I didn't post details like I said I would but I didn't know what was happening until it had pretty much already happened. We got there at 7am and promptly stood around for over an hour, then they placed us in front of microphones and occasionally bade us "SING!" Somehow all four of us managed to forget the words to "Deck the Halls" at different intervals; thank goodness it wasn't all at once. Cameras do silly things to people. All in all, I think it went well; I'll have to wait until I get to see it to make final judgment, though. It's fun to be out singing again; I'd forgotten how much I loved it in all its cheesy glory. I like having an element of magic to our performances -- like we're not real people to the folks that see us perform, but something out of a story, a little piece of magic harmonizing in front of them for a brief while before mysteriously disappearing when the hour is up.

I took out my tongue piercing this morning, in related news. Last night when we went and sang in Sedona I realized a) it was still there, b) people can probably see it when I sing, and c) my boss, Mary, would fucking KILL me if she knew I was out performing with it. Now, wandering around a neighborhood in the dark in Sedona is one thing, but being on TV, in costume, with a TONGUE PIERCING!? Yes, I would be a deceased little caroler in a short amount of time. So this morning I pulled it out of my tongue and stood there contemplating how long I could leave it out before it would be a problem to reinsert it. And then I got to wondering if I wanted to reinsert it. And lo and behold, my tongue is made virgin anew! Well -- not quite, that will take a day or two, but I decided that belonged to a prior period of my life that's done now. It's part of this whole growing up thing somehow.

And now I can touch my nose with the tip of my tongue easily again. Yay!

Hello lovers of jiggling femininity, for your viewing enjoyment:
http://www.internetdj.com/watch_video.php?op=watch&mediaid=15298

Baaaaaarely safe for work. *grin* Credit and kudos to Jojo for that one.

In other news, things are beautiful today. Yesterday I did the migraine thing again; second, possibly third time it had ever happened to me, but thankfully THIS time when I went blind in my right eye (always the right, hmm) I knew what it was and didn't go rushing to the hospital. And this time I didn't forget how to talk, yay! I spent the afternoon dozing in my darkened bedroom and in the evening Cliff bought me soup and sat with me under the nearly-full moon. Dear, sweet Cliff.

All right, here it is, folks. Coming clean time. I'm very much in love with Cliff -- the guy whose link you see off to the side there. The boy with whom I had several failed attempts at dating in the past when I was younger and bitchier and dumber. The man who now, after nearly three years of zero contact, as far as I can tell has eradicated every annoyance I had with him and who surprisingly, humblingly, is still willing to love me back. I have kept these feelings quasi-secret for a month or two now ... okay, not that secret, but still. I don't have the option of giving in to these feelings at this point. Cliff is still somewhat unfortunately attached, and I don't really want to interfere. Of course I already have, some, but ... *sigh*

I know what you're thinking, especially if you are one of the "yous" who happened to know us when we attempted to date before. All I can offer you are some time-honored clichés. We are different, older, wiser. We have surprising -- and surprisingly compatible -- new characteristics that have emerged during our long separation. We each have better ideas of what we want. We have thoroughly learned from past mistakes. I, to break away from the "we" trap, have a clearer picture of what I want, have a stronger sense of what's right, have developed the ability to say things like "No;" "I want this;" "I have a problem with that." I know how to be independent. My self-esteem is stable whether or not someone happens to be pining for me somewhere.

And none of this matters yet, because even when he extricates himself from the girlfriend situation (yes, it's probably going to be soon, and actually it has very little to do with me) he's not going to be leaping into my waiting arms, by my choice as well as his. We're all 98% sure Google's going to hire him, and then he'll be off to SF, leaving me behind for a while. Yes, I'm thinking about going out there too, but it's not going to be at least until the first of the year. I don't know that I'm done with my singlehood yet. It changes the feeling, of course, when I'm dreaming wistfully of a future with someone ... but the fact remains. He, too, needs some time to himself to reset following a year-plus-long relationship. So ... there it is. I just wanted to get these feelings off my chest.

It is sweet to contemplate the future with someone who has been such a major part of my past, somehow. Even if we both have a lot of mistakes under our belts, it's beautiful to think that I might grow old with someone I grew up with. Ah, listen to me. What a goofy, smitten girl.

There's a lot more to this story as you might guess but I had to vent. Thank goodness for blogging. ... Heh, a month ago, I might have shot myself for saying that. Ah well.

"I wish I could go back to college / Life was so simple back then ..."

Have you listened to "Avenue Q" yet? You have to have heard of it, especially if you know me. Well, if you don't know it, you really owe it to yourself to go pick it up and listen to such cheerful songs as "The Internet is for Porn," "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," "If You Were Gay," etc. Generally "Avenue Q" is good for a laugh, but the song I quoted above, despite goofy lyrics, has the power to make me burst into tears on a regular basis. What? It's poignant! :)

I happened to go back to college yesterday. Chad and I finally got to realize our dream of our big Day in Tempe, and it was everything we hoped it could be and more. It amazed me how I've been gone for 2.5 years and once I walked back onto campus it felt like I'd just been attending there regularly as little as a month ago. We walked the entire campus, seeing shadows of younger selves at every turn. An 18ish Jeannette went zipping by me on her rollerblades, hurrying to make it to Human Sexual Behavior while attempting to avoid the crowds of people rushing in every other direction. I ran into her sitting at the fountains by the business buildings, awash with youthful trials and tribulations, attempting to find peace in the sounds of rushing water. (That peace is still to be found there, thankfully.) A 22ish Jeannette waved to me from the Philomathian bench, a frequent lighting-place of senior year. I thought I saw 20ish Jeannette peeking out at me from an upstairs room at Irish Hall, although it was hard to tell because they've put in gates barring entry to the area since I was there. These Jeannettes-of-yore permeated the entire campus, and it was often overwhelming.

I haven't had so much beauty packed into one day in a long while. Chad and I walked and talked for hours and hours, trading nostalgias, tapping into the "feel" of the campus -- it might have a couple of new buildings, but ASU really hasn't changed. We took off our shoes and sat in the sun in the Secret Garden (which is apparently the "Telepathy Garden," heh) and felt transported to somewhere not of this world. We discussed love and life by the fountains and we giggled at silly things in Urban Outfitters and Fascinations; we snacked on chocolate cake and coffee at Wildflower Bread Company and smelled the books of Changing Hands. And, at the end of the day, we looked at each other with surprise and said "Hello, friend, I love you." Beautiful.

"But if I were to go back to college, think what a loser I'd be ... I'd walk through the quad, and think 'Oh, my God -- These kids are so much younger than me.'"

That's true, too.

Spoken with the proper awful "Transylvanian" accent, of course.

For a good time, call:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2005/10/31handey.html

Cause I saw her perform for the first time tonight ... sweet belly-rollin' Christ! Holy double scimitars, Batman! Wonderful, divine, breath-defying Ava. Let it be known that someday, SOMEDAY, I will be at least half that good. *grin*

Also, the ever-fabulous Jojo has pointed me to a delicious new website: www.girlsarepretty.com. It's not what you think. Go check it out; if you're sitting here reading this you probably have nothing better to do anyway and would I steer you wrong? :-D

Tomorrow is Tempe day with Chad; it will probably be worth posting on -- same bat-time, same bat-channel and all that. :) G'night folks.

www.avafleming.com

(go look at the pictures)

See why? I have the distinct privilege of being able to study with this goddess every Saturday morning. I want to BE her. Seriously, and this is not a news flash, this whole thing has taken over my brain. It's the greatest thing I've ever done. My posture is better, my self-confidence has jumped, not to mention the fact that my tummy is, ahem, rather sexier than it used to be and my assflab has gone away. I want to do it for a living -- I want to perform it and teach it and have Ava's magic trick of making it look like she is made of water when she is on stage.

I know I've come a long way in the not-quite-year it's been since I started this venture (and found my beautiful Katya because of it). Has it only been a year? But, I'm really ready to kick it up a notch ... private lessons, actual performing, etc. Maybe San Francisco will be the big push, if I end up heading that way.

So many questions -- it's certainly high time to pick a direction and run with it, eh? Soon, soon, soon ...

Hello loyal caffeine addicts,

Today on one of my favorite websites (Geek Press) there was a link to a sadly erroneous article on "coffee chemistry" -- the author of the article had apparently not done thorough enough research on his factoids, not to mention the fact that the article contains little that could be called "chemistry" anyway.

First, the link:
http://www.livescience.com/othernews/051108_coffee_chemistry.html

And now, excerpts from my letter to Paul Hsieh:

Dear Paul,

...

I have beef with one of today's postings: the chemistry of great coffee. To give you some background, I have worked in various coffee shops, including Starbucks, for roughly eight years of my life. I have a great deal of knowledge on the subjects of coffee and tea and found this article to be poorly researched and often fallacious.

The glaring mistakes I found are as follows:

"Caffeine content goes up as the water spends more time in contact with the grounds. Espresso brewing takes 25 seconds. Other methods take several minutes. Darker roasts also yield more caffeine."

It is a common fallacy that darker roasts of coffee yield more caffeine; however, the truth is quite the opposite. Caffeine is burned off in the roasting process, so all the poor people who drink French Roast in order to give themselves more of a jolt are suffering needlessly. Also, it is erroneous to make blanket statements about caffeine content, due to wild variation between coffee species, origins, roasting, and of course the preparation style. Though espresso brewing takes less time, there is a much higher grounds-to-water ratio than that of regular coffee. As far as the caffeine content going up the more time the water spends in the grounds, that is generally true. However, if coffee is anything like tea (and I'm not entirely sure on this but I would be willing to bet) then the caffeine is one of the first elements that is released into the water upon brewing, so I don't know that it would make much difference to the end result.

From Wikipedia:
Coffee, brewed (drip) - 4 to 20 mg/floz (130 to 680 mg/litre) (40 to 170 mg/5 floz)
Coffee, decaffeinated - 0.4 to 0.6 mg/floz (13 to 20 mg/litre)
Coffee, instant - 4 to 12 mg/floz (130 to 400 mg/litre)
Espresso Arabica - ~40 mg/floz (1.36 g/litre)
Espresso Robusta - ~100 mg/floz (3.4 g/litre)

"Longer roasting yields more body. But that also decreases acidity, the tingly taste on your tongue."

This is not really true. The author may be confusing body with the richer taste of dark-roasted coffees. The body of coffee is much more influenced by the coffee in question's region of origin than the roasting it undergoes. For instance, Indonesian coffees such as Sumatra have a very heavy body and low acidity, whereas coffees from South America like Colombian tend to be very light-bodied and brightly acidic.

Also of note: Starbucks, in addition to what the author has mentioned, nitrogen-flushes the bags their coffee is stored in, which keeps the coffee fresher much longer as it gets rid of the harmful oxygen. Also, true "aficionados" of coffee generally do not grind their coffee until they are preparing their cup for the morning -- coffee stays much fresher in whole bean form.

Here are the two Wikipedia links I was using to supplement my knowledge:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caffeine
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coffee
I hope you have found this informative. Thanks!

Jeannette Cook



Now, if only my degree in Classical Studies would come in as handy.

I just got a call from one of the boss-types at my caroling group, the Dickens Carolers, with whom I have been warbling off and on since high school when I took the bosses' son (a freshman) with me (a senior) to Homecoming. Well, after a two-year hiatus, I'm back in action, hamming it up hoop-skirt style for the old folks and the lil' chillens!

Mary and Sal, Dickens Carolers owners: "Welcome back, Jeannette; we've missed you! So, we think we'll bump you up to soprano which we know you haven't sung in five or more years, and on top of that we'll put you on Channel 3 news at 7am next week. Okay see ya later!"
Jeannette: *swallow*

The last time I did anything like this, I was on the Beth and Bill show on 99.9 FM *thinks* in 2000 maybe? And this time it's not just voice, now I get all of me on TV. I know it will be brief but I'm still nervous. It's quite a compliment, though, that my illustrious employers still think I'm up to the task after two years off. I don't even have my costume yet, and they've packed next weekend with the Channel 3 gig as well as an hour singing in Sedona and then three hours truckin' around Kierland Commons. Hooray, Christmas season. See y'all in January.

(I don't know all the details yet ... I'll post when I do, in case anyone wants to catch it. Wish me luck!)

Thank goodness, because I hate semiotics that lose their flavor ten minutes in. :)

http://downlode.org/etext/wipp/

Really interesting stuff. Check it out!

Today is a good day. Today I am filled to the brim with warm and fuzzy feelings; today I am in love with so many people I can't even count them all and I love it. I am -- dare I say it? -- blessed. Yes, blessed! I have so many dear, close friends, friends of the donate-a-kidney calibre, friends that tolerated me during puberty and friends that have only known me with five tattoos and everything in between. I am often amazed at the intensity of love I feel for so many people, and awed and humbled at the knowledge that it's thoroughly reciprocated. Today I am making sure that everyone knows I do NOT take it for granted.

It occurs to me, though, that if my evil twin from another dimension showed up and claimed renal failure, she could make a damn good profit in the black-market kidney industry ... maybe I should put some sort of plan in place. Okay, y'all, if I start acting ill and virginal at the same time, take out the carotids, okay? :) Thanks, over and out.

I love Google! I should really be creeped out by the ads I receive whenever I read my e-mail, but honestly, it's become a fun game for me to read them and try to guess what could possibly be in the missive I'm about to read that would prompt such an ad. Like "Get yer Omaha steaks!" attached to an e-mail from vegetarian Chad. :) (They are not always particularly accurate, but they ARE often trés amusing.)

Technology of the future is so great! Today, Google offered me "Free Baby Samples." YAY!! ... uh, like what? Do I get a baby foot on a keychain? Do I get to see skin swatches so I can choose the color I like? Maybe they're banking on the fact that once I get my hands on that sweet little pinky finger I'll have to have the whole thing. Thank God I found this site before I actually decided to have kids! Oh, and for the record, as far as I can tell the only thing that prompted this in my letter from Chad was the fact that he addressed me as "baby." *shakes head*

In other news, I've discovered (thanks Cliffle) as of last night one of the best games in the world, entitled "Apples to Apples." This was a source of much hilarity, and sober hilarity at that! It's a simple game with infinite amusing possibilities: each player is dealt a hand of random nouns, and then has to choose from that hand the perfect noun to match the adjective someone has placed down. Then, that someone must pick the best answer, and whoever laid it down gets that point. "Huh?" you say. An example:

"What do I think is" -- chooses card -- "fuzzy?"

Possible answers:
"Antarctica"
"Friction"
"Adolf Hitler"
"My love life"

And of course, the clear winner here would be Hitler.




Oh! Almost forgot -- in case you want samples of babies for yourself.
Free Baby Samples
Attention New & Expectant Parents Free products, samples & coupons!
www.babiesonline.com

Heh, you thought I was kidding.

I am actively trying to new-and-improve myself. Of course, to anyone that's talked to me in the last few months or so, this is not news, is it? But just in the past short while I've been thinking a lot about what I am and what I want to be (Bernadette Peters from "History of the World, Part 1" leaps into my head at this point: "YES no no no no no no YES no no no no no no...").

What's happening to me? Something radical happened to my brain when I hit 25. I feel so ... old. Not old like "ACK! A WRINKLE, I MUST DIE; " old in a good way, in a maturer way, in a way that says "Now I am of an age wherein I can really take over the world if I so choose, an age wherein I deserve respect, an age where I can leave behind the silliness of my youth and embrace the wisdom that comes with ... uh, the late 20s." Okay, so it doesn't necessarily make a lot of sense, but this strange suddenly-I'm-an-adult feeling is very real to me. And how did I celebrate it? By moving back in with my parents. *grumble* Living with my parents of course has been extremely deleterious to my ego, but it's probably pretty obvious that my ego could stand to be taken down a peg or two anyway.

So, please forgive the narcissistic introspecting here; I'm really just trying to work out the clearest pathway to this new superme I feel like I should -- and can -- be. And of course, anyone that needs to be thanked for helping me with these realizations, you know who you are, and I thank you.

Good things:
1. I have recently remembered that I have a pretty decent brain. I've been reading up on all the sciency stuff that I used to enjoy so much, and have realized that there's a lot I've missed, but I'm doing my best to catch back up. I'm also remembering that I have a ... what do you call it ... spiritual-type side? again, have been doing my Reiki more, have been trying to remember what it's like not to view the world 100% cynically. It's hard, but I'm making some progress.
2. I am more self-confident about my body than I have ever been before, due to belly dancing and such.
3. On the heels of that, I have realized that I no longer need to use my sexuality to get people to like me. (Okay! Okay! I never needed to! But I did, and now I won't. So there.)

This one gets its own paragraph. It's one of the most recent realizations. Last Halloween I bared most of myself and put rollerskates on my feet and called it a costume ... the last time I dressed up for the holiday, I wore a Victoria's Secret nightgown, sans underwear, stuck a pair of wings on my back and called it a costume ... did the same thing a few years before that ... etc., etc., etc. One of the only Halloweens I can remember wherein I did NOT slut it up was a few years back when I delved into our closet and went as Vince. Ironically, this Halloween theme includes my childhood -- my parents made me dress up as Dolly Parton, with excessive balloons tucked up under my shirt, at the tender age of ... 8? 10? Somewhere around there. And then another year somewhen around then, I was a hula girl, with two halves of a coconut strapped to my still-concave chest. And that's just Halloween! Okay, I don't normally run around with 82% of my body exposed, but my shirts all say "look at my chest when I'm talking to you" even if only one of them actually has the words printed on it. (Well, I lost that shirt a while ago. But for illustrative purposes I'll leave that in.)

So, no more of that. I don't want it to be a surprise when I turn out to be smart or funny. I don't want any more creepy guys I've never met begging to take pictures of me. *shudder* I don't want to give Heidi that kind of ammunition against me; she's got plenty. *grin* I don't need that kind of affirmation anymore, and I don't want to appear like I do.

Things still needing to be worked upon (abridged):
1. I still seem to have this need to be attached, or be in love, or something. Yes I'm still single, breaking my record every day; no, nothing more has been happening with my 2.5 night stand, but I just seem to have this need to be loving and lovéd. Am I still not quite comfortable in my own skin? Is this need to be loved an extension of the sex thing? Do I need the affirmation of someone pining for me like I until recently needed the affirmation of men staring at my ass? I mean, I suppose this is not uncommon, and it's also something that's been in place since I discovered the opposite sex ... but this one is tough for me to work through.
2. I don't do enough of the things I love for my own sake. Case in point, my violin -- dammit, I used to be good, really good, and now I barely pick up the thing three times a year. It's depressing! And yet, I just always have reasons not to do it. This is also very hard for me to overcome; been trying for years now.
3. I'm afraid to break out of my comfort zones. It's why I've worked at so many fucking coffee shops (never again!!). It's why I spend so much time sitting on my couch (when I have a couch to sit on). I'm afraid of a lot, actually. It's very strange; most of the time I really do feel like I can take on the world, stop a bullet, save the planet -- and yet I'm often afraid to leave my front door. What is wrong with this picture?
4. Still have no idea what to do with my life. *sigh*
5. I'm still short. :) (Nah -- chalk that back up on the good side.)

It will come in time, right? Right? I'll figure this all out and then I really will be SuperJeannette? Butterfly of steel? I feel like I've made a lot of progress, but of course I still have a ways to go; don't we all? I don't expect to ever be perfect. I'll settle for "awesome." :)

Okay, all previous entries, now all in one place. Yay!

And in honor of Halloween ... Current mood: pleased
Here you go, folks, "bone eating snot flowers" for your viewing pleasure. :-D
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/4354286.stm
What, you think I'm kidding?

Octopodes, the lost comic playwright of Athens (not really) Current mood: contemplative
So yesterday I saw this bumper sticker on a Chevy something or other that said "I *heart* My Wife." I found it touching that someone would *heart* their wife enough to proclaim it on their car; how often do you see that? I realize it was probably more Christian than I'm really comfortable with but the sentiment was sweet. I also saw someone wearing an "I *heart* Target" pin and decided that I would wear it if it were on a T-shirt. 'Course, I was in Target at the time, so it wasn't that surprising. :)
My weekend contained several soul-ticklingly great things. This list contains:
1. Octopus2. Genmaicha3. Spiders-minus-one4. Che GuevARRRRRRRa!5. Cliff's evil twin6. "Claire"7. Crimping8. Bunny raves9. Baby Hugh Jackman10. Coffee and conversation with lots of super people
There's just something about having a large percentage of your favorite people in one place, y'know? Especially when some of them have just met and they seem to be getting along famously. Hooray!
But, I have decided that next Halloween I will NOT dress up as something that causes me to shiver uncontrollably in 75 degree weather because it only covers 23% of my body. It should not involve my tits hanging out all over the place, I think, or an inability to wear underwear. A mattress maybe? The idea of "juice box" is pretty brilliant, I think, but unfortunately my ex Vince already did that. Hmm, any thoughts? It was fun being Rollergirl this year (mainly because it was a great excuse to ride roller skates again) but in reflecting on pictures I think it was a bit over the top. Back in high school, I used to run around in shorts in the winter and short skirts and the like -- showing off my legs like they were God's gift to sidewalks, you know? And one day, I saw a photo of myself wherein I was sitting in front of a group of my friends, wearing a sundress that I had tossed back in order to exposed most of my leg up to my armpit. I was utterly revulsed by the sheer ego pouring vomitously forth from that picture, and since that moment (age 17, eight years ago) I can count on two hands the number of times I've worn shorts or short things in public. Summer, winter, my legs pretty much haven't been exposed since. Don't believe me? *blinds you with corpsey-whiteness* Kinda had one of those moments today too, upon seeing pictures of my Halloween costume from this year. Maybe it's time to show off some other merits, eh? *grows up a little*
Oh, and go see "Mirrormask." It was singularly the most visually impressive movie I have ever seen. Breathtakingly beautiful. Do it. Right now. :)
Happy Halloween!

I miss the good old days of Karaoke. ... :- Current mood: enthralled
Back three years ago, the Vine had good karaoke.

“Har, har!” you are saying. “Good karaoke! What an amusing joke you have just made!” Yeah, you’re right.

But anyway, I went to the Vine once (twice?) three years ago or so, and it was one of the most fun experiences in memory, although granted my memory of that evening is quite clouded by Hefeweizen (sp?) and Guiness. Vince and I were in the budding-love stage (not to mention the budding-open-relationship stage). The room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with college-aged revelers and a few old-timers, and everyone was happily roaring along to “Margaritaville” and the “Love Boat” theme. I was wearing my “talk nerdy to me” shirt, which was an unfortunate shade of pink. At some point during the evening the aforementioned Hefeweizen ended up dousing my front; I was drunk enough to gigglingly rediscover this every few minutes as my head lolled back toward my chest. During the course of the evening I drank, sang, drank, French-kissed five different people from my boyfriend’s lap, drank, sang again, and finally stumbled out to the car belonging to the designated driver. It was grand old good times.

Last night, well, the people certainly weren’t packed in like sardines. In fact, most of the tables were empty. We impatiently waited for the karaoking to begin, until Rachel, fed up, demanded that the emcee guy go kick things off. He sang something-or-other, I sang my usual Madonna, Rachel sang…

Oh god, you who read this and all those you know or might meet, you must not die until you have heard the voice of Rachel Williford. It is richness incarnate; it is burgundy satin; it is deep dark chocolate with caramel ribbons. She is a Siren; she is a modern-day Orpheus. She sang the Fugees’ “Killing Me Softly,” and damn, if I wasn’t already in love with her, I would have swooned on the spot. If only the crowd I had remembered from before were there to swoon with me.

But, all in all, had some song, some pool, and some fun afterward; not bad at all, really. Anyone know of any better karaoke bars? Rachel n’ I got some more singing to do.

Will wonders never cease... Current mood: giggly
Wikipedia is the greatest invention in the world.
Here, for all your geektastic viewing pleasure:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_your_base
And yesterday, as it was one of the featured articles on the main page, I learned all about strap-on dildos.

*giggle*

Reflections on some of the slimiest people in the world. Current mood: infuriated
I remember the pleasant, mellow days of my childhood. Things were simpler then -- I could still overpower my brother in a wrestling match, my food, clothes, schooling expenses, miscellany and errata were all 100% funded by my parents, and we could get the mail once a week and get away with it. I would oh-so-jauntily inform my parents I was going to get the mail (our mailbox is all the way up the street and around the corner), and on the return trip I would scour every piece of paper fearfully, looking for that one poorly printed envelope that potentially contained my doom. Though I didn't have particularly bad grades (most of the time), I lived in perpetual fear of my teachers, who of course had nothing better to do than to giggle maliciously at the thought of informing my parents of what a terrible person I am. "Needs improvement," they would choose from their pre-set list gleefully , cackling and tapping their fingertips together." "Is NOT a pleasure to have in class." "Smells." Though I only ever received one poor midterm report, I lived in constant fear of them all the way up through college. I am not convinced that at some point, Mrs. Schirm, my sixth grade English teacher, isn't going to wake up one morning and say "Hey! That Jeannette needed improvement!" and dash off a letter to my poor, unsuspecting parents.

In any case, I digress. The point was, for several happy years my family was able to get the mail once a week with no real consequences. All that, however, has changed in the last year or two. You see, my grandmother is no longer in possession of her faculties. She doesn't remember her son, my father. She doesn't remember me. She resides happily, blankly in a very nice home in Ohio run by the first gay man my father has ever liked. My parents have taken over her day-to-day necessities; bills, house upkeep, etc., and as part of the deal we now receive her mail at our house.
Some backstory is needed here, too. You see, Grandma was in the habit of supporting several charities -- and I use the term loosely. Out of the goodness of her heart? Oh no, no no! "Why do all these people keep asking me for money?" she would ask, semi-rhetorically. And here's the kicker -- "Maybe if I send them some, they'll leave me alone." I think we can all see the logic to that statement. This went on for years and years, to the tune of thousands of dollars. She sent a check back in every single return envelope that was provided to her. The more she sent back, the more people got wind of the silly old bat with the infinite checking account, and so it went on.

Now all of these slimy, sleazy, underhanded letters come to us, often ten or more a day. "We urgently need YOUR HELP to stop Red China!" "Give a MERRY CHRISTMAS to a Seriously Wounded Freedom Fighter!" "Only YOU can prevent forest fires!" Here, for your viewing pleasure, some samples of these letters.
1)
Dear Fellow American,
I've enclosed a nickel in the hope that you will give me a few minutes of your time. ... In a little bit I'll tell you how I lost both of my legs and received severe burns over most of my body. But first, I want to ask you to take 2-3 minutes and help some severely wounded your Marines, soldiers, sailors and airmen who really need your help this Christmas season.
2) (from someone who is supposed to be in prison)
Dear Friend,
I hope with all my heart that you will read this letter. Because right now, hope is the only thing keeping me alive. ... If I can be sent to prison for doing my job, then sooner or later every police officer in this nation will be behind bars. Won't you please help me clear my name and get home to my son by supporting [Law Enforcement Legal Defense Fund] today?

The underlining, the bold lettering, the italics! The "handwritten" notes, the "personal" highlighting! The guilt, the guilt, the guilt! "I spent more money than I can afford to give you this special Airmail return envelope because I knew it wouldn't be wasted on you; please send your contribution today." Who are these people? How can these predators sleep at night? Explain to me how they have any right to use "nonprofit" stamps! It is disgusting, through and through. Thank goodness for recycling, I suppose. I really wonder how anyone can get sucked in by these poorly written pieces of bullshit, until I remember that the reason I'm seeing them is because a member of my family bought them hook, line, and sinker. Isn't this against some law somewhere?

I need to stop reading these for "amusement," because all they do is piss me off.

Yes, TV sucks, but it has its moments.
For lunch today my 16-year-old brother drove us in his new pickup truck (a harrowing experience) to one of Mom's and my usual spots for lunch, a sports bar entitled K O'Donnell's. In keeping with their mucho manly sports theme, they were broadcasting Tyra Banks' talk show on their 15 or so TVs. There was no sound, of course, but at one point I looked up at the TV closest to our heads, and it was showing a woman sadly looking at a cake full of candles. It zoomed in on the cake, and the cake, brightly blazing, said:

"We weren't meant to be."

Whoa.

Why would you take a quiz to find out if you're a good kisser? Current mood: peaceful
Seriously, some of these ads on this site are ridiculous. Anyway.

This weekend was one of the most gloriously beautiful chunks of time I've had in a while. A recap:
Saturday night I got to go to a fancy schmancy real live "wine and dine" dinner with my darling buddy Rachel. We got to get dressed up, and due to Rachel's press status we were sat next to the guest of honor, a handsome "winesitter" named Ivo, from Napa Valley. There was the most interesting contrast of couples there. First, there was the woman who had unceremoniously and inappropriately plunked herself down in between her sour-faced husband and aforementioned handsome wine guy. Due to the jazz band sitting about three feet from our table, who were doing their best to play quietly but a trumpet can only be so quiet, we were free to gaily laugh about her drunken advances on poor Ivo (although we probably could have done it anyway had it been dead silent!). Advances such as "How old are you?" (safe enough, right?), "did they bring you here because you're so handsome?" (hmm...) and my personal favorite:

-- wait for it --

"Do you like to fuck?"

Honestly, who in their right mind (which she obviously wasn't; who knows how much alcohol etc. she had in her system) would think that was all right? It was fairly apparent that she and her husband had at least some degree of openness to their relationship, because he seemed perfectly fine with the fact that she was trying to leap into Ivo's drawers. Ah, glorious entertainment. Ivo took it well (between the jazz band and his Croatian accent, he was free to pretend he didn't understand her as much as he liked). In contrast, the other people were a lovely couple in their 50s or so, who were charming in every way. At one point the restaurant owner (a delicious little man from Egypt named Mark) encouraged them to get up and dance, and despite the complete lack of dance floor, they fox trotted their way between the tables, with bright smiles and perfect form. It was beautiful to see love in action after so many years. It gives me hope. :)

On the way to and from dinner, Rachel and I were blasting "Rent" at the top of our lungs together for the first time in five or so years. I love you, Rachel. It's nice to have you back.

Though I missed out on a costume party, I think I probably had a better time wining, dining, and afterward spending time with Cliff and Morgan, more of my favorite people in the world. (Although I was falling asleep the whole time due to the wining.) (Not whining.) And yesterday, I got to spend an evening with Cliffle again. Too much? I don't know. After years and years of him being my old tree or particular bit of the jungle gym, to which I could run and shout "safe!" until I wanted to leap away again and sprint back out into the tumultuous crowd, it's nice to be discovering Cliff qua Cliff for possibly the first time. He's pretty neat. You should get to know him. :)

Back to the daily grind, then...

New car and general amazement Current mood: geeky
Blogging! I'm blogging! Holy crap!

Sorry, everybody.

Anyway. So, as my very first blog entry ever *suppresses small shudder*, I have a new '06 5-speed Corolla. Score one for girls who can drive stick! And for the other half of my subject title, I am generally amazed that Rachel finally managed to talk me into getting on here. It's HER fault, everybody!

Heh, like the number of people reading this is anywhere close to "everybody." :-D

So, a new blog-type-thing for a new, grownupper me. First orders of business: bringing over previous blogs from silly old myspace, and figuring out how this thingy works. More later. :)