Summer's over already?

I walked outside my house today to get in the car and go to work and all I saw was white. "The hell?" You'd think it was winter or something. Sheesh.

I still haven't pulled my coat out of the closet, because, you know, if I break down and wear a coat then I'm admitting that it's really winter. And I'm not ready to admit that yet. Maybe sometime in January.

Today's the last day of work before our Christmas break, and I'm really sleepy and kind of cold and very bored already at 11am. But I'm just getting through the day because when I walk out the door this afternoon I don't have to come back until January 5th. I'm really looking forward to this time off.

I'll be spending a few days at my parents' house this week and I'm bringing the boys with me. This will be their first trip outside the house since the day I brought them home, so I'm excited about that. I'm wondering how they'll react to the car ride and how they'll be at my parents' house with the dog around. Of course, they'll be safe in their cage the whole time, but there will be so many new smells and sounds and different faces peeking in at them and it will be a very enriching and life-changing adventure for them, I'm sure. Like going away to summer camp or college or something. Maybe they'll be grumpy and resentful when we go back home, because their world has expanded beyond the kitchen table and my looming face and now their old familiar life feels small and cramped and limited.

Oh well, they'll probably forget all about it if I give them a few new strips of paper towel.

Wherever you turn, Bob's always watching.

Happy Friday!

I found this amazing video clip a while ago, and if you haven't seen it, it's really worth it. It just makes me happy every time I see it. Just click on the link and then watch the "Dancing 2008" clip. And have your speakers on, because the music is good, too.*

It's just nice to know, with all the divisiveness and conflict in the world today, that there are still some things that are universal.

Click here.

*I promise, with all my heart, this isn't one of those trick videos that will scare you. I know it sounds like I'm setting you up for that, but I'm not.

A Matter of Taste

My friend Jason posted this meme on his blog and I thought it was cool. I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to trying new foods, so it was fun to fill this out. I encourage you all to do the same! Heidi, Susan, Heather?

The Food Tasting Meme

Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions. Bold all the items you've eaten. Cross out any items that you would never consider eating (or eating again). (Note: I used yellow font on the foods I'd tried, because the bold doesn't show up very well on my background.)

Venison
Nettle tea
Huevos rancheros
Steak tartare
Crocodile (does alligator count?)
Black pudding (I couldn't eat anything made with coagulated blood)
Cheese fondue
Carp
Borscht (yummy with sour cream!)
Baba ghanoush
Calamari
Pho
PB&J sandwich
Aloo gobi
Hot dog from a street cart
Epoisses
Black truffle (I really want to try this sometime)
Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
Steamed pork buns
Pistachio ice cream
Heirloom tomatoes
Fresh wild berries
Foie gras
Rice and beans
Brawn, or head cheese (head cheese...even the name is disgusting)
Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper (jalapenos are too hot for me...I'm such a wimp)
Dulce de leche
Oysters
Baklava
Bagna cauda
Wasabi peas
Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
Salted lassi
Sauerkraut
Root beer float
Cognac with a fat cigar
Clotted cream tea
Vodka jelly
Gumbo
Oxtail
Curried goat
Whole insects (no no no no no. Well, maybe if they were breaded and deep-fried, then served with some kind of dipping sauce)
Phaal (again, spicy wimp here)
Goat's milk (remember when we had that goat that lived in the front yard that time?)
Malt whisky from a bottle worth $120 or more
Fugu
Chicken tikka masala
Eel
Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
Sea urchin
Prickly pear
Umeboshi
Abalone
Paneer (I have a recipe to make this, and I want to do it sometime)
McDonald's Big Mac Meal
Spaetzle
Dirty gin martini
Beer above 8% ABV
Poutine
Carob chips (remember stinky beans, and the big carob craze in the 80s?)
S'mores
Sweetbreads (if someone slipped it into my meal and I didn't know, then maybe.)
Kaolin
Currywurst
Durian (yay Cambodia! It wasn't as stinky as people made it seem)
Frog's Legs
Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
Haggis (gross)
Fried plantain
Chitterlings or andouillette
Gazpacho
Caviar and blini (never tried blinis, but the caviar was just salty)
Louche absinthe
Gjetost or brunost
Roadkill (puhlease)
Baijiu
Hostess Fruit Pie
Snail (I would probably gag if I tried them)
Lapsang souchong (closest I've come is hot buttered tea from House of Tibet)
Bellini
Tom yum
Eggs Benedict (my favorite breakfast!)
Pocky
Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
Kobe beef
Hare (I saw this on the cooking channel and the raw meat was dark, like a big chunk of liver, but I might try a bite depending on how it was cooked)
Goulash
Flowers
Horse (...)
Criollo chocolate
Spam
Soft shell crab
Rose harissa
Catfish (tried it, but the texture was reminiscent of what I think bug texture would be)
Mole poblano
Bagel and lox
Lobster Thermidor
Polenta
Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
Snake

The Food Tasting Meme

Virtual Reality Playdate

I had an interesting dream last night. I dreamt that I was playing with Alice, and we were having the best time. She was the same age as she is in real life, and looked exactly like she looks in all of the pictures on Susan's blog, but she could talk in perfect sentences. It was so fun! We were swimming and then lying around on the lounge chairs, and she was talking up a storm. I can't remember everything she said, but one thing she said was, "I miss Gobi." And I was like, "Who's Gobi?" And she put her hand to her heart and said, very melodramatically, "One of my very best friends from long ago, but your mom threw him away." !?!?!? Funny. Bizarre.

Most people don't know it, but sometimes you really can fly.

Long Time No Write

It's been forever since I posted anything, but here I am again. The last month or so has been pretty crazy in some ways, and pretty uneventful in others.

I've had to travel a little bit for work lately, and that's been a new experience. I went to Los Angeles one week and then to Boston the next, and by the time I got back from Boston I was really tired of taxis and hotel rooms and airports. But it was fun to hang out with our client J and the people from the publishing company in New York. J and I totally bonded, which was cool. He told me we'd be best friends if I lived in New Jersey. Mostly because we shared our lust for the same hot guy in the focus group in LA, and because we both think Andy Roddick is sexy. And because we both like Project Runway. And Thai food.

In other news, my rats are getting huge. So are their balls. If human males had balls equally proportional to rat males' balls, you'd see guys walking around with two basketballs in their pants. Literally. Seems uncomfortable to me.

I've also gotten sucked into watching the Olympics. I've been taping it each night and then watching it later so I can FF through commercials. I love watching shows that way. SO much easier and takes less time, too. Michael Phelps is awesome. I hate that the Chinese are winning so many medals—they're going to be all smug from now on. And there's something in the water in Jamaica that makes people faaaaast.

I admit it, I watch the sporting events like people watch Nascar. I really want to see errors. I get a little bored when it's one perfect routine or perfect dive after another. I perk up a little and get more interested when someone falls or trips, or there's a false start. Or when people get disqualified. I do feel bad for them, but it definitely ups the entertainment factor of the show.

Okay, I'm a horrible person.

Anyway, things have been all right lately, and I can't believe the summer is almost over. And today's my Mom's birthday. Happy birthday, Mom! :)

When the nest is empty, every night is date night.

What You Don't Know Can Kill You

Sidebar ad on my email sign-in page today:

The Simple Mistake That Could Cost Your Life

And of course, if you don't tune in to Eyewitness News on channel 5, you'll never know what it is, and you could DIE. (cue screeching violins from Psycho)

What is it with all the fearmongering on the local news? Every commercial I see for the news lately is some kind of ominous teaser about dangerous medications, home repair horror stories, deadly insect invasions, or how your next-door neighbors are most likely plotting to kill you.

Is it any wonder that people are so depressed by the news anymore?

When I was young, I got my paranoia and fear from the back-of-the-toilet copy of the Reader's Digest. That's where I learned all about the symptoms of every major disease, including some very rare ones. I also learned the signs for a heart attack and glaucoma. I also learned that any time you go out to sea on a small boat, you're probably going to be lost and have to drink your own urine and fight off sharks at some point.

Finding out that there were so many things to be afraid of was just one huge, vicious cycle. It opened me up to the possibility that there were all kinds of other things—diseases and military weapons and natural disasters—that I might not currently know about, that could kill me. In my young life, I already had enough anxiety over cancer, heart attacks, house fires, dogs, and thunderstorms. I didn't know if I could handle any more.

I kept thinking that knowledge—information—would relieve my fears. But the information just kept getting worse and worse. This was one big, scary world and no one was safe.

Now I'm old and those scary things still exist, as well as a whole crop of new scary things we didn't even imagine in the late half of the 20th century. But somehow, I'm finally okay with that. Things don't scare me much anymore. Sure, I'm concerned about things, but that pounding, gut-wrenching panic isn't there.

I guess I look at it like this: It's just life, and no one gets out alive.

Obey gravity—it's the law.

Living in a Fantasy

I recently found some episodes of Fantasy Island on the On Demand channel, and I watched a couple. I remember when I was a kid, Saturday night was a big deal because we'd watch The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. I had a big crush on Mr. Roark, and my favorite episodes were the ones where he had to fight against the devil or other various forces of evil.

The episodes I watched recently were still good. They're 100% processed Cheez Whiz, but in a good way. And Mr. Roark is still sexy-powerful. In one episode, he had to resist the attacks of a 300-year-old ghost who was in love with him. The ghost kept possessing the body of a woman (played by Tina Louise), so of course there were lots of opportunities for him to grab her while she convulsed back and forth in a low-cut gown. But he resisted the evil (and the ghost's attempts to make out with him), and finally the ghost was at peace. Roark is superbad in that way.

One weird thing: The way they treated Tattoo was really out of sync with today's PC attitude. No surprise there. The characters often referred to his tiny size, and it seemed like the role could be played by a talking monkey or an old-school robot. I'm not at all saying he's a talking monkey or a robot...but his character is used in much the same way. He's comic relief, and always gets the "Oh, that crazy Tattoo" head shake and indulgent smile.

I wish I could find old episodes of The Love Boat. That was a good one, too. I had a huge crush on Gopher. He was so awkward with the ladiesss.

We're too sexy for 2008.

A Little Bit of This and That

A few random things on my mind today:

My house is clean. It's such a great feeling. Heather came over last night and made it look great. Now I'm committed to keeping it nice longer than I normally do. It's funny, when my place is clean, it affects all different kinds of things in my life. I feel more "together," and I feel much more motivated to do things that are good for me. Weird how it's all connected like that. It's such a dramatic difference.

The ratties are settling in well. I cleaned their cage for the first time last night. I can't believe I've only had them a week—it feels longer, although not in a bad way. They're feeling more and more comfortable with me every day, as we're getting to know each other. They've grown a lot even in one week. And they're really entertaining and cute and fun, and I don't at all regret my decision to get them.

I've seen some good movies lately. I'm an On Demand fan, and I watch most of my movies that way. Recently I've seen:

Stardust—I'd heard how great this movie was, but in the beginning I was actually a little bored. It's pretty much your standard fairy tale kind of story, without much more. About halfway through, the story started to grow on me, and by the end I really liked it and even got a little teary-eyed. Seeing Robert De Niro as a gay pirate and dancing around in women's clothing, though...that was just embarrassing to watch.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?—this was actually in the free section. It was directed by Sydney Pollack in 1969 and stars Jane Fonda. It has nothing to do with horses, and it's about a dance marathon during the Depression era. It was fascinating, painful, shocking, and wonderful all at once.

Carlito's Way—another free movie. I love Pacino movies, and this is a classic. Made me want to start going around and calling everyone "mang," as in, "How's it going, mang?" And it finally gave context to the famous line, "Say hello to my leetle friend." ((EDIT: Okay, the "leetle friend" line is actually from Scarface, which I also saw recently on On Demand. Thanks, Jason!))

The Nines—I hadn't heard of this movie or seen previews, but I like Ryan Reynolds so I checked it out. It was GOOD. Hard to explain, but it deals with three different storylines and characters, all played by Reynolds, and then they converge in a really cool way at the end.

Juno—Loved loved loved it. What an amazing character. The dialogue is funny and really stylized, and the story is just crazy enough to keep me riveted, and I loved how there was still a lot of warmth and "realness" in it. I love how this girl actually had parents who cared about her and were trying to help her through this rough time, even though they were mad at her for getting pregnant. And I loved the wrap-up, and who ends up with the baby. It was perfect. And Michael Cera...I don't even know how to express how amazing he is and how perfectly he does that awkward teenage boy thing.

I've read some good books lately. I finished Lay of the Land by Richard Ford, and it was beautiful. I also recently read The Optimist's Daughter by Eudora Welty. It was a quick read, and I loved the characterization. I think it could make a wonderful movie. I just started The Hours by Michael Cunningham last night, and I'm already engrossed.

I learned the Cities and Knights version of Settlers of Catan. It's really fun. Actually, more fun than the classic game. I'm teaching it to my friends at lunch today. Thanks, Raylyn!

Happy birthday to my sister Cathi! I love you and am happy you're part of my life. :)

Admit it, I'm adorable.

TGI (almost) F

This week it's been fun getting to know my little rat buddies, Chet and Javier. They're virtually identical in looks, but oh-so-different in personality. Here's a quick reference guide:

Chet: If he were human, he'd be the popular, football-jock party dude. He's outgoing and active, an intrepid explorer, and always the first to do something scary. He's an instigator and loves getting Javier riled up into epic three-story wrestling matches.

Javier: If he were human, he'd be the quiet, sensitive brother who has an eclectic (and somewhat pretentious) taste in music. He only deigns to do something once Chet has fully explored it and declared it "awesome." He's not very active on his own, but is more of a philosopher type.

I'll get some pictures of them in their new home later and post them.

On a completely unrelated note, I was wondering the other day if Susan or Bobby had updated their blog and I thought (literally), "I wonder what's up with Boozy and Sobbin." It made me laugh, and even more so when I realized what a great country song title that would be.

Cloris enjoyed her menthols until she started growing facial hair.

Monday, Monday

I'm picking up my pet rats tonight, finally. I'm really excited but I'm nervous, too. It's a big commitment, something to take care of. I know it pales in comparison to having a newborn baby (like Heidi and James) or even a lovable puppy, but it's still more responsibility and obligation than I've had in a long time.

But that's part of why I wanted to get these little rats. If I'm ever going to commit to something—or someone, for that matter—I need to start practicing so I don't hyperventilate at the mere thought of being needed.

I've gone out of my way in my adult life to make sure I'm not needed by anyone or anything. I flake out just enough to keep people wary of fully relying on me. But at the end of that road lies ... well, not much. Not much of what I really think I do want in my life, at least eventually.

I'm currently reading Lay of the Land by Richard Ford, and I'm loving it. It's the third in a series of books about Frank Bascombe, middle-aged and wondering what it's All About. Ford is a master in capturing that feeling of examining a life half lived, wondering if it's ever enough, or if you're even justified in hoping for more for yourself or the world. It's not pessimistic, but it's realistic enough that I really identify with it. Good things happen, but so do bad things. And no one is either fully good or thoroughly evil. The other books in the series, The Sportswriter and Independence Day, are just as filled with authenticity and earnest introspection. I highly recommend them.

It's Monday and it's dark and gray outside. But two little rats might just be the spot of warmth I'm looking for.

Sometimes Allen would gaze off into the horizon and wonder Why.

Here Comes the Sun

I'm in a really good mood today. It's surprising to me, because it's a Monday and I stayed up late last night, and I'm so sleepy and I have a headache that isn't really going away.

I think it's the weather. I've suspected for a while that I'm greatly affected by the weather, and today is such a beautiful day and it's warm and bright, and suddenly everything feels possible and positive and manageable. I'm looking forward to plans this weekend and even IM'd a friend to make additional plans to get together for brunch and a movie on Sunday.

So yeah. Seasonal affective disorder, anyone?

Heather came over on Saturday and helped me organize my front room. We made a lot of progress, and she's going to come over the next few Saturdays to work with me on the other rooms of my house. I've let things pile up and physical clutter makes me feel cluttered mentally, too. And I'm ready for a change.

I'm even starting to think about an exercise plan, now that the sunnier days will leave me a little more room in my head for other things.

And I want to start writing my novel again, and get my bike fixed and ride around town, and learn how to refinish wood furniture and work on my kitchen table, and make healthy meals every night at home, and ...

I know, I know.

But honestly, it's just nice to feel like doing anything again.

The failure wasn't in their choice of neckwear, but in the tread burn it eventually gave them.

The Boys Are Getting Bigger

I got new pictures of my rats the other day, and here they are! They've grown so much and they're cuter than ever. I'm still thinking of names, and am still open to considering your suggestions, if you have any.

The breeder said they opened their eyes Monday and Tuesday of this week, and now they're running around crazily like little toddlers. I can't wait to get them on Mother's Day weekend.

Your fingers smell like Cheetos!

Ready, set, go!

Brothers don't shake hands, brothers gotta hug!

Would You Like Some Barbecue Sauce With That Crow?

Okay, I hate it when I have to eat my words. But in this case, it's worth it.

I recently wrote a rant about my "dark night of the blogger's soul" (to use my friend Jason's words) and said the following:

I've been thinking about getting a pet rat ... But I don't want this blog to become a daily recitation of what my pet rat did and how funny it was when he fell off the chair, and how cute he is when he stands on his hind legs and sniffs the air. It's fun to hear about my nieces and nephews in those ways, because they're people I love and care about. But no one wants to hear about a rat. Not even me.

But I've had a change of heart. Here's what did it:

I found my little ratties! I found them on Craigslist today and they're already reserved for me. Furthermore, I'll be getting weekly photo updates so I can see how they're growing.

Here's what the breeder said about them:

They were born on April 8th. Right now they look like they're going to be agouti (which is dark brown mixed with black and silver hairs). Both boys are almost identical, except one is slightly bigger. They might change appearance as they grow older. They're both very pretty and healthy-looking. I'm positive they are going to have very friendly personalities. Their mother is an exceptionally friendly and easygoing rat. The boys will make excellent companions.

And here's the interesting thing: I'm surprised by HOW excited I am about getting them. I knew I wanted a rat, and thought it would be fun, but I'm actually sort of embarrassed by how giggly and goofy I get when I think about them. I kept looking at the pictures all afternoon. Here are the other ones:

They're ready for their closeup, Mr. DeMille.

Happiness is a warm butt in your face.
(Which ones are mine? Obviously the most studly ones.)

I haven't named them yet, because I don't want to jinx the whole thing. They're not really mine yet, so I have to consider them still sort of "in the womb," so to speak. But I'm thinking of names now, and welcome suggestions.

So, I'm telling you right now, I have to face up to the fact that this blog just might have an occasional—or even frequent—"it was so cute when..." entry.

And as of this afternoon, I'm completely okay with that.

It's Snowing Outside.

I saw this on Susan's and Heidi's blogs, so I decided to do it too. Here's what you do: Search for a picture on Google (or Yahoo!) Images in each category. Post an image from the first page of results.

Age on my next birthday:


I. Can't. Believe. It.

A place I'd love to visit:

India. One of these days, definitely.

One of my favorite places:

Yellowstone Park. A surreal, alien landscape right in the middle of an incredible forest.

One (really two) of my favorite things:

Laughing. And baby animals. (And baby animals laughing.)

One of my favorite foods:

Burgers. No contest.

My favorite flower:

Passion fruit blossom. I discovered these on a walk around my neighborhood in Venice, California, and couldn't believe how intricate and detailed they were. I loved the feathery purple fringe around the center. Which brings me to the next category...

My favorite color:

Purple. And not just because it was Donny Osmond's favorite, either. (Though that helped.)

The city I live in:

Salt Lake City, Utah.

Name of a past pet:

Poochie. (When I did the search, I hoped Homer Simpson's short-lived Itchy and Scratchy character would show up, and he was the first result!)

A nickname I've had:

Erin the Red Baron.

My first job:

Dry cleaning counter girl at Seville Cleaners in Santee, California. Cathi had it first, then Kristin, then me and Denise Huff. It was like the 5th ward job to have, and it was the first place I got high (from machine fumes). I just thought that unloading the machine was so funny.

My hope for 2008:

Happiness. Vague, I know. I'm still trying to define what would make me happy, so I'll have to get back to you on that.

The Blog in the Mirror

I'm conflicted by this whole blog thing. I've started blogs before, and then let them lapse into stale antiquity from neglect.

Maybe I just need a journal. I don't have a cute kid to blog about, and my life is pretty uneventful so it's not like I need an online forum to keep everyone abreast of my many comings-and-goings-about-town. And I definitely don't need one more place in my life to rant about things that make me crazy.

So then I'm just left with commenting on things that strike me as unusual, or commenting on other people's blog entries that I find entertaining. It becomes a spiral of commentary on someone else's commentary on someone else's commentary and, after a while, gets so diluted there's no point to remembering the original commentary.

I've been thinking about getting a pet rat, mostly because I'm allergic to cats and freaked out by the all-consuming neediness of dogs. And rats actually respond to their owners, and can bond and be affectionate like cats and dogs. But I don't want this blog to become a daily recitation of what my pet rat did and how funny it was when he fell off the chair, and how cute he is when he stands on his hind legs and sniffs the air. It's fun to hear about my nieces and nephews in those ways, because they're people I love and care about. But no one wants to hear about a rat. Not even me.

So this blog...well, I don't know what to do about it. I like being able to communicate with people once in a while, but I probably wouldn't be able to write anything intensely personal or meaningful, and the idea of just having a place to write sardonic commentary on random things doesn't seem that interesting to me lately.

So here's what I'm wondering:
1) Why do you blog?
2) Do you have different blogs for different audiences (i.e., a more personal site vs. a hobby site)
3) Do you think my main problem in blogging is just not having much of a life to talk about?

Thank you in advance for your input.

Food snacks for post-millennials?

I always thought it was strange that some movie theaters in Utah sold dill pickles at the concession stand, but here's something even weirder: pickle-juice popsicles.

Sure, pickle juice isn't new. Throughout history it played a major role in the childhood game of "I Dare You to Drink Whatever I Find in the Fridge and Mix Up in a Cup," from suburban homes of middle America to ramshackle yurts on the windswept plains of outer Mongolia.

But popsicles? For a yummy treat? I don't get it. Okay, okay, I know there're people out there who love pickles and who might even drink pickle juice from time to time. But let's face it, there are people out there who eat paste or dirt—or other non-edibles—but we smack it out of their hands (if they're kids) or treat them for a mental condition instead of capitalizing on their unfortunate predilection with a new line of Paste-a-roonies® or Tastee Mudd (now 98% Pesticide Free!).

I'd write this idea off as going the way of the tequila lollipop with the worm in it—you know, where people buy them as joke gifts or eat them on a dare—but the website says they're marketing pickle-sicles to schools. For kids.

Apparently pickle juice is good for you. And, according to the website, "almost sugar free." Huh.

I guess, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe pickle-juice popsicles aren't that odd. I mean, we live in a nation where Clamato is a real product.

Chuck hoped his fresh new 'do would help him with the ladies.

It didn't.

Feliz Cumpleanos, Glee klee ker Kaburtstag, Gratchu layday mayday hoggen

In my random wandering through blogland, I came upon the coolest entry about childhood birthday cakes. It made me remember some of the highlights and not-so-highlights of birthday celebrations past, which are presented below for your entertainment:

Highlight: The best birthday cake I ever had was my Leslie cake. I think it was my fifth birthday (you know, the party where I got to invite friends), and Leslie Lindgren was my on-again-off-again boytoy. He was a blond Adonis, overly affectionate and unashamed of our love. The cake was a masterpiece, a two-layer pile of frosting emblazoned with a big pink head with blond hair and blue eyes. It was a perfect likeness. Of course he was at the party, and I can't remember his reaction at seeing himself on the cake, but I can't think he minded. I mean, seriously, we used to play "marriage" in front of the house, walking somberly down the sidewalk to the corner where we would exchange vows and, sometimes, a hasty smooch.

Not-so-highlight: The most ghetto cake I ever had was on my 12th or 13th birthday. It was a simple family affair, and I had requested an angel food cake. Because we were going to put strawberry topping on it after it was cut, it was unfrosted and looked a little naked on the plate. We had run out of birthday candles—not surprising with everyone having birthdays willy-nilly around there—so we McGyvered a solution by spearing the cake with a foot-long fireplace match. "Sing fast, everyone, this baby's burnin like a mutha."

Most of my cakes were the typical frosted cake mix in a 9x13 pan. For some unknown reason, my parents were fond of taking the birthday picture at the very peak of the candle blow, so we have many, many photographs of us kids with bulging cheeks and eyes like crazed fanatics at a balloon factory.

Somewhere along the way, I think it was my mom who banned pictures of the candle blow. "Please, Jer, let me have one photo of my child looking normal." It's a wonder we didn't all end up at the Sevick Center.*

* The Sevick Center was a school for children with developmental disabilities. We used to sneak over the fence after hours because they had all the coolest playground equipment on spongy black mats instead of sand.

My eyebrow may say, "No, no, no," but my 'stache is saying, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Brain Games Keep You Young

In his 1893 treatise entitled Formative Yataghans of Optomaetria, the eminent scholar Ubaadah Czismadia posited that Athalassian cretacea were an integral canon in the diametrical philology of early “Naïve Realism,” so called because of its tenuous use of E.A. von Diltenschmiel’s Taenioidea Hypothesis. In later epochs, oligarchs such as Sangilak contravened in defence of the oft-cited Cillecroix-Ortule paradox, in which Dravidian expert Ermenegildo Smelah asserts that Albrecht Yohjalian’s whole context is irrevocably intangible. However, the 16th-century scroll has long been considered an atavistic subrepresentation of antilapsarianism. In terms of today’s redactionist thinking, do you agree?

When Question Mark was young, he wanted to be a period.

Tell Me What You Want to Hear

It's hard for me to be myself sometimes, because I'm not sure what that even means. I don't consciously pretend to be someone else or anything, it's more like I censor my words or my actions based on who I'm with at the time, or how well I know them.

I smile and say, "No problem," when inside my head I'm shooting imaginary darts tipped with green poison from my eyes while using every obscene gesture possible until my imaginary hands are paralyzed with exhaustion.

Here's me, being real. For just a few minutes.

* Today at lunch we played "If You Decided to Go Postal and Shoot Up the Office, Name the Three People You'd Kill." I had no problem coming up with my first target. At all. I'd pull the trigger with no qualms. The other two on my list were a little harder. You have to really hate someone to want to kill them, so my remaining choices ended up being the kind of people where I wouldn't hunt them down specifically, but if I saw them at the back of the pack running away from me down the hall, I'd definitely take a potshot or two.

* I don't like super-strong old-lady perfume. Someone here wears it. My nose is assaulted every time I walk to the restroom. My cube neighbor feels the same, and today he came back to his desk and said, "It doesn't smell like old-lady in here. It's funeral home. Like, dead people's makeup." I'm keeping that. DPM. A perfect description for so many things.

* I thought I was going to win today. But I didn't, and I was mad. When I said, "Good game everyone," I was really thinking, "Maybe I want to change my list of three people."

* In Spanish, the word Sudan means "they sweat." I think that's funny. It's really hot in Africa.

* Last night, while watching How it's Made, I kept giggling like a fourth grader every time the narrator said, "P.U. leather" (when describing the special materials they use in making goalie pads).

* I often do surveys online and I lie a lot, especially when my answers are making me seem lazy/unmotivated/loser-ish—or when I want to feel more successful in life than I really am.

Whew. Sometimes honesty feels good, even when it's bad.

Muskrat Susie's gone downhill since she started hitting the pipe.

In the spirit of being truly open and honest...

...I have to just put this out there: I'm a total geek.

Okay, the two people who (possibly) read this blog already know that, but here's further proof of the awful truth.

There's a billboard at the point of the mountain that I pass every day on the way to my parents' house. It's for Omniture, a company hiring computer engineers, and their billboards are presented sort of as a list of skillz their prospective applicants might have. Their attempts to be geek-chic and humorous are sometimes groan-inducing, but this one was just too much. It said:

Level 70 Night Elf
SQL Server Shaman
For the Horde!

My inner WoW geek was incensed. Everyone knows Night Elves are Alliance, not Horde. After rolling my eyes so hard my brain cramped, I went on to argue with the imaginary Omniture ad writer that technically, Shamans are a Horde class, but the only Alliance race that can be Shamans are Draenei, not Night Elves. And while a player can have multiple toons, including alts from each faction, not many would lead a list of accomplishments with their maxed-out Alliance alt and then say For the Horde!...Ever.

Sorry, but it just needed to be pointed out.

These Night Elves eat Shamans for breakfast.

We Don't Need Another Hero

Random fact: It stinks like soup in here today. And it's not lunchtime, so it feels highly inappropriate. You know what I mean about out-of-context smells, right?

*************************

I had a good talk with my friend Michele this weekend. I was telling her how hard it has been lately to get to work, and how much I just want to quit my job and forget about working in general and sleep all day.

I couldn't figure out what it was about work that made me want to avoid it so much. But as I was explaining it to Michele, I saw the situation a lot more clearly.

Here's the thing. I think I'm a decent writer, but I'm fairly new to advertising copywriting, where each word has to speak volumes and not only do you have to convey six different core messages within a headline, but you also have to impress the client with your wit, your intelligence, your tongue-in-cheek attitude and style.

Like this: Promote a broadband accessibility product for laptops, and you must convey clearly the concept of freeing yourself of the need for hotspots while also strongly depicting the ideas of Reliability, Mobile Connectivity, Increased Productivity, and Superior Network, while still retaining the thirtysomething hipster attitude of prospective consumers—and a sense of humor, to boot. And do it in a five-word headline (which must contain the tagline of the client company). Oh yeah, and we need about two dozen options by 1pm this afternoon.

Stressful.

But that's my job, and that's what I wanted, and that's what I get paid for. I'm just realizing that I don't do it as well as I thought I would, and when it comes to the team of copywriters on my account, I'm pretty much the underdog.

That's hard for me to admit. But there it is.

Here's what I should be thinking: Wow, what a great opportunity to learn and stretch my capabilities and grow as a writer. This is my chance to learn from the best, and to gain the skills to write tight, pristine copy for any situation. I'm so blessed and fortunate to be in this wonderful position.

Here's what I typically am thinking: Sheesh, I suck at this. I want to quit.

And now that I realize where my desire to quit is coming from, there's no way in the world that I'm going to quit. If I quit this job just because I wasn't instantly the star copywriter out of the gate, I'd always regret it. I'd always regret giving up on myself before I even had a chance to learn and grow and get better at this stuff.

It's humbling, and I don't like being mediocre at things. I told Michele, "I'm not used to being bad at things." But that's not expressly true. The real underlying truth is that I don't ever continue to do things I'm bad at, and I only pursue things I'm naturally good at.

But if I only ever do things I can excel at, then my world could start to become pretty limited. Which, in reality, it has.

So, although I sort of hate to admit it, I do have a new attitude about my job. I still don't like going, but I'm determined to get better at this type of writing and get to the point where I can feel proud of my work. I may not ever excel at ad copywriting, but for the first time in my life, I'm feeling like I could be okay with that.

Georgia, my therapist, asked me recently, "Why have to be the best all the time? What's wrong with just being you?"

That's a good question.

Sad, sad Vader.

Steal This Blog

Hi, I'm new here. And now for something about me and my day so far:

What I did: Played Settlers of Catan with lunch-club friends at work (and lost)

What I realized: I know every single word to Peter Cetera's You're the Inspiration. I mean, every word. Even down to the oooohhhh-ohhs. This somewhat alarms me.

What I sat through: A boring meeting about demand strategy. (Note to self: remember that content briefs are for technical projects, whereas demand briefs are more for conceptual work.)

Who I talked to: Finally told D at work that I'm sorry she has breast cancer. I've known for a while, but I became one of those people who doesn't really say anything about it just because they don't know what to say. But today I thought, WTF, even if it's the wrong thing to say, I need to acknowledge this is something she's going through. I don't think it was the wrong thing to say, in the end.

What I bought: A bunch of books on Amazon.com. My obsession, I admit it.

What I heard: "...and then I smeared the blood capsules all over my face." ~Boastful PA to semi-impressed receptionist

I think that's enough for now.

Furries. Christians. Christian furries?