Everybody else is doing it, why can't I? Several diarists/bloggers have posted year-end retrospectives today, so in the spirit of shamelessly stealing a good idea, here you go:

January:
I recover from a luxurious two week vacation. I start my second semester at school and decide to take only one class. I take up knitting and make it through a few classes before giving up because I’ve got too much else going on.

February:
My grandfather dies and Cory gets an awful case of strep throat which means he can’t go to the funeral in Turlock. I drive down with my brother instead. It is a very, very cold day.

We go to see Sleater-Kinney and I start a months-long obsession with Lolita.

The nightclub fire tragedy in Rhode Island means I work a 14-hour day. When I finally get home that night I am too tired to go out with the rest of the gang to a great/scary dive bar. It will be just one of many missed social opportunities this year.

March:
I buy a new car and on the very same day Amanda Davis dies. These two things will now forever be oddly linked in my brain.
Oh yeah, and the U.S. goes to war.

April:
I enjoy my status as one of the top Google searches for Meg White Boobs. I interview Rachel Weisz who is not very nice. We attend a memorial reading for Amanda and the basketball playoffs start.

May:
John Cusack pisses me off. I go to my to first Kings game and my playoffs obsession continues. I also finish my class with an A and the comforting knowledge that I can put Lolita to rest for a while.

June:
Liz Phair pisses me off. I start an independent study class that I won’t finish until December and read the new Harry Potter book in a 14.5-hour marathon. I interview Pamela Anderson, but Jeremy Sisto stands me up - which is a real insult after having to sit through Wrong Turn. Punk.

Cory rubs elbows with Mike Bibby in the magazine section at Virgin Records.

America’s Next Top Model becomes my new best friend.

July:
A trip to the Grand Canyon has to be cancelled after my cat gets sick and we need to spend a lot of money at the vet -- and a lot of time giving her medicine.

I become hooked on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and HBO’s Project Greenlight and watch a lot of TV.

August:
We go to the Playboy Mansion and get drunk making fun of the bunnies.

I watch the entire Tim McGraw: Driven VH-1 special.

Cory and The Haints play four shows at the True Love.

I start my third semester of grad school and become a recluse once more.

September:
I get a camera phone. We go to Michelle & Richard’s wedding in Monterey and have a blast helping them celebrate a wonderful day.
Both Johnny Cash and John Ritter die.

October:
We go to St. Louis to see the Ghoulies open for Chuck Berry and I’m treated like a potential terrorist at the airport. Elliot Smith dies, Arnold is elected governor of California and I think about having a nervous breakdown.

The new Kings season starts and for Cory’s birthday we go see George Jones in Reno.

On the first cold day of the year we turn on our heater and shut it off after about an hour because it’s emitting a really strong gas odor. Later that night I wake up about 2 a.m. and realize we’d only turned it down –the house reeks of gas again. Sleepily, I shut it off. A few days later a heating repair guy tells us that because of a crappy roof repair job that contractors did this summer, one of our vents is clogged and when we turn on the heater it fills our house with carbon monoxide. That lovely scent of gas turns out to be a life-saving side effect. We’re thrilled to learn that we were thisclose to dying.

November:
Tom and Rachel’s wedding in Monterey is too beautiful for words. I have way too much work and school stuff, fret a lot about my writing and become super-obsessed with Marilynne Robinson's Housekeeping and don’t blog very much.

December:
I decide to try and blog every day for the month as part of Holidailies and am surprised that a) not only do I do it -- but b) I actually enjoy the effort.

I wrap up my third and hardest semester at Mills by finishing two term papers, one short story and several assignments. I finally finish the independent study that I started in June.

Christmas hangs over me like a heavy, suffocating avalanche. Once again I contemplate a nervous breakdown. I bake more cookies, candies and breads than can possibly be consumed by friends and family and their friends and family.

I finally dig the new Shins record.

Cory’s grandmother dies.

I consider asking Cory if we can run away from home when the next holiday season comes around.

Cory plays his first show with Baby Grand.

I swear off New Year’s resolutions and try to enjoy the moments of peace that are few and far between.

Well, I'm still standing by my resolution to swear off resolutions but that doesn't mean I can't make lists of things for 2004:

• read more Philip K. Dick


• grow a tomato plant


• figure out the evils of dangling modifiers once and for all


• bake a pie - a good pie


• less talk, more rock

That should do it. The rest of the year will be the usual: school, work, school, work, friends, family, school, work. Hopefully I will graduate next December. Hopefully the job will continue to go well. Hopefully I will not go insane.

I think this will by my 2004 mantra: I will not go insane. I will not go insane. I will not go insane.

Speaking of not going insane, starting right now I am off work until Jan. 5 - that's only five days, but it's five glorious, mostly obligation-free days. I actually hope that it does storm tomorrow (but not as bad as it did yesterday) because I'd like to have the chance to sit in my pajamas on the couch with the cats and sip hot black coffee and read the paper and look out the window and feel grateful for the when and where and why. I haven't had enough of feeling grateful lately. Rather, I've been short-tempered and ill-natured and tired and wanting to run away. People are grating on my nerves, I'm getting odd phone calls from faraway people and strange little details are bedeviling me.

I just want to peek through the blinds and marvel at the way the wet yellow leaves brighten up an otherwise rainy, windy day. I want to feel warm and content and in the right place at the right time.

I'm too tired to be cohesive/coherent/whatever today, so instead, just a few random links and thoughts:

• The New York Times's Most E-mailed Stories of 2003


• Michael Chabon on Amanda Davis in the New York Times magazine (free registration required)


• In case of emergency: make rum balls


• Rainy days and Mondays get me down - at least today they do


• Pitchfork picks its Top 50 of 2003 - only 11 of which I actually liked. I feel rather unhip/cynical/curious


• John Ashcroft and Paris Hilton order a lot of pizza - from the Houston Chronicle, by way of Metafilter.


• I miss a lot of people these days


• Words to avoid in 2004, as ordered by Low Culture and Gawker. Take careful notes please - though I admit it will be hard for me to drop all of my Queer Eye references.


• If you ask me, 2004 can't get here soon enough

Cory wants me to write about my brother today because we just got home from our Christmas brunch at my mom's house and Stephen was in rare form. But I don't even know where to begin so instead I'll just offer you a few prime quotes:

• When inquiring about two ceramic figurines at my mom's house:
  Steve: "What's with the two Jewish kids by the TV?"
  My mom: "They're not Jewish, they're Catholic choir kids. See - they're wearing choir robes.
  Steve: Whatever, same thing, same kind of religion.


• On why it would be difficult to for someone to start at a job at his place of employment:
  "You have to start at the bottom, it's not just about stuffing down Ho-Ho's and sipping Starbucks like I do at my job.


• On reproducing:
  I don't want kids man, they're just money pits.


• On playing with his friend's one-year-old son:
  This kid's going to be a ball player and I'm going to be the drunk uncle at Little League.


• On playing with his other friend's two-and-half-year daughter:
  As soon as she's potty-trained I'm going to baby-sit her - you know, take her to the mall. It'll be a whole new angle for working chicks.

We didn't get home from the City last night until nearly 4 a.m. after returning from Baby Grand's debut show with the new lineup at Thee Parkside. The show was fun - it was cool to hear whole versions of songs I've mostly heard in bits and pieces via Cory's guitar as he practices - but I'm really looking forward to the Old I show on Wednesday night.

As we left Jeff & Rochelle's house to return to our car, their lawn crunched with ice and our windshield looked as if someone had frosted it with a thick layer of frozen marzipan. Cold. Damn, damn cold.

We had a contest to see who could sleep in the latest and I know that, even before checking in with Sandra, Jeff or Rochelle, that I lost that one. Still, I made a pretty good dent in the day, not getting out of bed until 1 p.m. and not getting dressed until 2:30 p.m.

The rest of the day has been spent grocery shopping and working on an end-of-the-year comp that I'm putting together. To be fair, Cory has done most of the work on the comp. OK, he's done all of the work except song selection, picture selection and the gathering of music. It's been an afternoon-long project for him and I now owe him enormously. I'll have to think of a way to work it off in a way that does not completely exhaust me or break me financially.

And the house is still a wreck what with presents and cards strewn everywhere. Progress is being made, however slowly, though. Today I cleaned out much of the refrigerator and tossed newspapers and magazines and thought about places to put everything.

Hopefully by the time New Year's Eve comes around we will be back to normal. Whatever that is, of course.

So the truth of the matter is that I'm in a crappy mood today - post Christmas/post sugar high? I don't know, all I know is that 7:30 a.m. came way too damn early and as I didn't get coffee into my system until 9:30, those first two hours of being awake were rough and I've never really found my footing today. I'm not even in the mood to whine - which is really saying something.

I just want to sleep. I want naps. I want hard, heavy sleep. I want freaky dreams and drooling on my pillow and creases on my face. I want to sleep so hard and so long that when I wake up I'll never want to sleep again.

Is that too much to ask?

The presents are unwrapped, everything is all over the house and it's freezing cold outside. We still have one more Christmas - with my mother and brothers on Sunday - but for the most part, Holiday 2003 is now winding down into the quiet. We visited with Cory's family, watched the Kings' game, ate too much food, opened presents and made another trip out to see the lights and enjoyed not being rushed or stressed out about anything.

Peach aprioct brandy, courtesy of Cory's sister, made the lights seem extra sparkly.

I have to work tomorrow - something that never seems right when you've been raised on having two weeks off from school at the holidays - but it should be calm and slow (hopefully) and I can get various things done and feel accomplished but not worn out.

And that feeling will be highly welcomed around here. I am so ready for the post-holiday comedown. For the quiet. For the calm. For the just being. Which is why January is - behind December and then November, of course - is one of my favorite times of the year. Bring on the wintery white stillness of the new year. I am ready.

I am trying very hard to maintain my sense of the Christmas spirit despite the fact that a certain company royally screwed up a gift order. The only saving grace is that this present does not need to be given until Sunday. If it had to be given today or tomorrow I think I would have crawled into bed and cried - after screaming on the phone of course - because just minutes before I discovered the screw-up, I'd been feeling that exhausted type of relief that comes from using every last bit of emotional wherewithal and my body ached in that way it does after you've tensed up all of your muscles right before impact during an auto crash. It's been a too-short, very busy December. But, as it is, I will deal with them on Friday and tonight I will enjoy the show here and be happy to see friends and try to concentrate on things that do not involve commerce or lines or teeth-gritting.

Happy Holidays to you and yours.

I finally got it together: My top 10 CDs of 2003, the top runners-up and my favorite singles:




1. Grandaddy - Sumday.
   Sorry, I tried to be more original than this, but once again Grandaddy tops my list. On the surface "Sumday" sounds a lot like a 'typical' Grandaddy record, but repeated listenings revealed an album that was infinitely sweeter than anything the band had ever produced. And in 2003, sweetness was greatly needed and appreciated.


2. Frank Black - Show Me Your Tears
   A harrowing yet amazing break-up record that made me want to check out all those Frank Black records I haven't kept up with and, of course, dig out my Pixies records once again.


3. Jet- Get Born
   Great Aussie rock'n'roll that confirmed my enduring love for the genre.


4. Peaches - Fatherfucker
   It took me awhile to get Peaches, but about the time I was finally digging Teaches of Peaches, this album came out and I was hooked.


5. Broken Social Scene - You Forgot it In People
   Whacked out, all over the place, strange and ultimately, very beautiful


6. Rachels - Systems/ Layers
   The album I'd been waiting for from them. Absolutely gorgeous


7. Death Cab for Cutie - Transatlanticism
   Once again, I'm being predictable, but Ben Gibbard writes songs that are like novels in miniature


8. Belle & Sebastian- Dear Catastrophe Waitress
   I thought I was over Belle & Sebastian but this lovely, yet fun record reaffirmed my faith in Nick Drake-ish twee pop bands.


9. Gillian Welch - Soul Journey
   I know a lot of people really really love her previous records but I think this is the one where she came of age.


10. Pernice Brothers - Yours, Mine and Ours
    More perfect pop from Joe Pernice
    

Other contendors:

• The Shins: Chutes Too Narrow


• Junior Senior - D-d-don't Stop the Beat


• Trailer Bride - Hope is a Thing with Feathers


• Wanda Jackson - Heart Trouble


• Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Fever to Tell


• The Kills - Keep On Your Mean Side


• Northern State - Dying in Stereo


• Oranges Band - All Around


• James William Hindle - Prospect Park


• The Sleepy Jackson - Lovers

Favorite singles:

• Junior Senior - Move Your Feet


• Outkast -Hey Ya!


• Peaches & Iggy Pop - Kick It


• Peaches & Pink - Oh My God


• Jet - Rollover DJ


• Death Cab For Cutie - The Sound of Settling


• Grandaddy - The Go in the Go For It


• The Strokes -12:51 am


• Pernice Brothers - Baby in Two


• Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps

Sometimes I wonder about people in this town. Warning, not for the squeamish.

Well my plans for a stress-free semester break are officially over. I'd been planning to catch up on at least two or three books that I've had for awhile but, because of school, haven't had time to read. That free-wheeling idea was squashed like a bug on Friday when I got an e-mail regarding next semester's fiction workshop.

The e-mail gave us our reading list (almost all Gertrude Stein) and while "it is not necessary or desired" that we read all the books by the time school starts (I should hope freaking not, there are 10 books on the list and only one month left of break), we should "classify" the books by style and our own perceived order of easy-to-hard. We do have to read, by the first day of class, something that's out of print and costs a gazillion dollars which probably means that the instructor has put it on reserve at the library which means a trip to Oakland when I had so not planned on setting eyes on that place until check-in on Jan. 16.

I'm really disappointed in this academic turn of events. While I am the geek who asked the instructor for the reading list the week after we registered, I wanted it simply as an option. I didn't want to think about things I had to do before school starts. Having to do it takes all the fun out of overachieving. I'd planned on reading some of the shorter Stein pieces, but I'd also planned on reading some other books. I'd even planned on not reading. I'd planned on television and maybe some arts and craftsy things. I'd planned on doing nothing. But now, as soon as the holidays are over, it's back to planning on making plans. School plans. Reading plans. Thinking plans. Blah.

---

Update: The gazillion dollar out of print book is NOT on reserve at the library, but somebody has a copy at her house in Oakland and we can come "check it out" between 10 a.m and 1 p.m., Tuesday-Thursday. Oh...sure, I've got nothing else to do.

Last night, as we readied to leave Cory's grandmother's house in Woodland, we got a call from his mother to let us know that his other grandmother, her mom, had suffered another stroke that day. Things are not looking well for Grandma Dean and so we made the short drive over to her house to say what will probably be our goodbyes.

She recognized us when we came in the door and even said hello, but there's little else she can do. And there's little anyone else can do and so we gave her kisses and squeezed her hand and then finally left.

It rained most of the way home to Sacramento and yet the sky still had that frosty December glow and we tried to talk about how pretty it all looked.

...And now, in the time that it's taken me to write the above, we got the call from Cory's mom and Grandma Dean just passed away. The memorial service won't be until after Christmas and until then we'll go on as usual, celebrating and trying to remember why we put so much effort into all the activities that come about this time of year.

Later tonight we'll go drive around town looking at Christmas lights and listening to the Johnny Cash Christmas CD with Jeff and Rochelle and I will try very hard to breathe in the small moments of quiet and be grateful for the occasion.

I keep meaning to write up my Favorite CDs of 2003 but right now that requires too much effort - and because I never like to pass up a chance to be bitter - here's the short list for the most disappointing albums of the year:

• Liz Phair: s/t No really guys, forget Peaches, I'm still hot


• Elvis Costello: North Somebody please break his heart again


• Shelby Lynne: Identity Crisis The name says it all

just a click away

I was really beginning to think that this would be the day that I would not blog. This would be my free pass, my screw it, I can't deal with it day. And it is, in a way, that kind of day. I am so tired. So goddamned exhaused that not only does my head ache with a dull throb but my vision is getting blurry and my thoughts are bleeding together so that I do not know which thing relates to what.
And, really, the fun and games are just beginning. Tonight was marathon baking. Tomorrow marks the start of the many family Christmas activities, plus maybe some stuff with friends. Then there is more baking and activities with friends on Sunday. In addition to working every day except Thursday, next week is: Monday, more family perhaps. Tuesday, birthday. Wed., Christmas Eve show at the True Love. Thursday, more family. Friday, Baby Grand show in SF. Saturday, birthday parties (not mine). Sunday, a holiday party.
I know you are tired of my holiday laundry lists, but honestly , it's the only thing on my brain right now. I'm gone from being obsessive over school (straight A's by the way) to being breathing, eating and sleeping the holidays. I don't blame you if you have to click away now, just to preserve your own sanity (or prevent a premature death from boredom). Really, it's OK.

It's an old article, but then again it's never too late for rock'n'roll...Robert Christgau writes about Jon Langford, one of my favorite musician/artists, for The Village Voice.

I'm, once again, having one of those what was I thinking moments, re: Holidailies....but, I'll stop complaining now and, chin up, get down to business. last night Cory & I did some Extreme Christmas Shopping. And by extreme I do not mean we shopped like mad fiends and got amazing amounts of gifts bought in an incredibly short period of time. What I mean is that we visited two stores that seemed to be extreme opposites of one another.

First was the always lovely, tempting Williams-Sonoma where the clerks fawn over you like Greek slaves and, if you thought to take off your shoes, would probably think nothing of giving a little foot massage to your aching feet. They've got amazing stuff in that store and every few minutes I found myself touching yet another bright, shiny expensive toy and whispering someday as smiling employees hovered by encouragingly and offered cups of hot, mulled cider.

Then, it was on to Bed, Bath and Beyond...which will now and forever be known as the House of Wrong. While it's easy to waste time in that place - and they do have some half-way decent stuff, they also have some very very evil things and, I believe, none of their employees are used to monosyllabic communication. Despite the House of Wrong's vast array of cheap stuff, I don't know if I can go back there again...at least not until post-Christmas when the Santa egg whisks and musical Christmas Carol pigs are gone.

Post-shopping, it was Queer Eye and iced Kahlua with cream, which despite Cory's regret that he'd decided to make us cold drinks instead of hot ones, were very very good and made up for all things bad in the world. That and getting TWO hours worth of Queer Eye, what with the silly "making of the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" video. I do love my Fab Five. I think they are my favorite thing about 2003 - top of the list, baby, top of the list.

damn straight

Hipsters are Annoying

Our house is beginning to feel just a little bit like Christmas. No decorations up yet, but there are presents and rolls of wrapping paper in the closets, holiday cards waiting to be displayed and a growing array of baked goods. I've spent the last three nights baking and I'm not anywhere close to being finished. Breads, cookies, candies....if I didn't have so much guilt about all the tasting I "need" to do to ensure quality, then this would be a blast.

Actually, the sad part is that I burnt the roof of my mouth the other day and I can't really taste anything - but not that this lack of sensation stops me from trying.

Tonight there will be more shopping and hopefully a chance to watch last night's episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and maybe a nice holiday nightcap of cocoa and Kahlua...it's these kinds of things that keep me going right now.

Hmmm, I wonder if this is a clue to that Danny Secretion-related, would-be blog entry that I was trying to remember.

And, trying to be upbeat for once, things I'm enjoying right now: new Kingsbury Manx record, having my car back from the shop and the lovely, frosty glow of December mornings.

P.S. Oh look, the comments system seems to be working again. Hint. Hint.

P.S.S. No surprises here, I am just a fast accident waiting to happen. Via Different Kitchen and Coolfer:

rachel spins tunes as DJ Brisk Accident Get your dj name @ Quiz Me

As part of this week's Black List, Black Table writer Jennie Dorris bemoans having a birthday near Christmas:

I have a birthday on December 21. Yeah, go ahead and do what all my friends do, which is wince and go, "Man, I bet everybody gets you the combo-gift." Then they promptly send a package with a Christmas-Birthday gift. Furthermore, a birthday on the 21st guarantees you a day with no friends around -- finals are over or people have taken off work to go home for the holidays. The 21st is also the solstice, meaning my birthday is the shortest day of the goddamned year. I don't even normally get an astrological sign -- I have to jump between two since I'm on the cusp. Finally, this year decided to top the whole damn thing off by landing the 21st on a Sunday. A Sunday, for god's sake. You can't even buy booze in Colorado on Sundays. A boozeless Sunday with leftover friends and combo-gifts -- bring it on, 24.

Well, Jennie, I'll see you your Dec. 21 and raise you another couple of days to Dec. 23. Try having a birthday that's two days before Christmas and then come talk to me. (And for you poor fools that have birthdays on the 24th or the 25th, well then I'll respectfully shut my mouth and bow down in your presence -- and to your lack of presents). Not only do I often get the ol' Christmas-birthday gift comment/combo, but I consider myself lucky when that happens. Most people forget my birthday all together. Friends, relatives, co-workers.

But, you know, whatever...the older I get the less it means to me and the people who mean the most to me usually come through when Dec. 23 rolls around. Cory, my mom, my good friends. In fact, my friend Sandra just surprised me with an early birthday present - this kick-ass Hard Candy Hot Box with Midnight Cowboy eyeshadow. Which rocks, because as you might remember, mine just met up with the big bathroom floor in the sky. Cory's mother and grandmother also both remembered my birthday early.

So yeah, I guess that's the kind of stuff that counts and I'm going to stop pouting now. (By the way, this isn't about gifts, it's just about people remembering). It's been going on like this for damn near 34 years, it's time to get over it. Besides if people keep forgetting my birthday I think that means I don't have to get any older.


Speaking of holidays and presents, the New Yorker has given us all a nice little gift with "Let it Snow" , a new David Sedaris story. (Via sam-i-am, who doesn't even celebrate Christmas so stop asking her about it already.)
Enjoy.

I am not feeling too well right now. I think it's a combination of a lingering cold, too much junk food last night (during the Survivor finale) and not enough sleep. But that said, I am actually very happy because I just found out that I got an A on my summer school independent study paper and an A in the course. And yes, this is true, it took me until December to finish the damn paper that I should have finished in August. But since the course was technically on my fall transcript none of that matters and I am quite happy with my grade. So, one grade back and three more to find out about.
If I can stop sneezing and/or stop feeling queasy then tonight's plans will include baking and reading. And that's it. As usual, it would seem, I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. I'm sorry.

Last night Bobby J. told me "you better blog this"...but that was sometime after 1 a.m. and I'd had one vodka w/ cranberry juice and two beers (liquor before beer -- in the clear?) and anyway, I'm pretty sure the blog-worthy event had something to do with Danny Secretion but that's all I can tell you. Which is pretty frustrating; because I'm pretty sure that at the time (post-1 a.m., post-drinks), whatever it was that had just happened did seem very blog-worthy-- I hate losing a good blog topic. But when I woke up this morning the only thing I could remember was: Bobby. Blog. Danny Secretion.
Oh yeah, and that I'd massacred Olivia Newton John's "You're the One that I Want" during karaoke. But we shall now close the door on that incident and speak of it no longer.

Oh god, I'm, like 12 because this made me laugh. Over at the Women in Comfortable Shoes blog, it's a candidate for the "worst/best typo" in the world, courtesy of the the Feb. 24, 1991, edition of The (Shreveport) Times Sunday Magazine. (via Holidailies).

Ah, day 13 of my New Blogging Life. Frankly, I'm surprised I've managed to make it this far with the whole updating-everyday-thing. But now that I'm almost halfway through it suddenly seems feasible (famous last words said the evil little voice in my head), especially since my semester ended on Thursday and I have my life back for six weeks.
It's a little hard for me to believe that I only have two semesters left in my MFA program. It's weird to think that I hadn't even started school when I started this blog. It's strange to think that at some point I will hand over approximately a 100 pages of fiction and, hopefully, they'll hand back some sort of piece of paper and then that will be that and honestly I don't really know if I'll feel any more confident about my writing. I guess, if anything, I'll be more sure of all those things I'm doing wrong.
Anyhoo....Today I was supposed to go shopping with Laura but I've seem to come down with some lovely hybrid of that cold/flu that's going around. My body can't decide with which affliction it wants to go --but, it assures me, it's working on it. In any case, after sleeping in until 1:30 p.m. I had to get up because I decided my head was going to hurt just as much in bed as it would on the couch. Sometimes, when you're feeling sick, you just have to get up and try and do normal things because you get tired of it just being you and your sickly body in bed. You start to suspect that the illness has become something circular - that there's no possible way you'll feel better if you remain between the sheets, unshowered and rank and headachy, so you get up and deal with it. But then once you're up you think longingly, once again, of the bed.
Bed. Couch. Bed. Couch. It's a toss-up really.

I came here with the intention to gush about how great it is to shop for the holidays via the Internet but then an order I was trying to place disappeared into the soul-sucking nether regions of cyberspace and I am no longer feeling very gushy. Instead it feels as if my eyes are about to drop right out of my head and there is a hot, achy feeling in my temple and I'm cold and I haven't eaten yet and my comments system STILL isn't working but I'm too tired to deal with it so bah humbug (what exactly IS a humbug anyway?) and now I've just read that Ashton Kucher is supposedly putting the kibosh on Punk'd....maybe he's just punk'ng us? Oh please Santa, how else can I feel good about myself if I can't laugh at the expense of rich, young and beautiful celebrities?

Holy crapola I'm in a lousy mood this morning...other than the obvious--my hair looks like shit, my favorite cashmere sweater has a new, tiny hole at the collar and my glittery Urban Decay Midnight Cowboy eyeshadow shattered all over the bathroom floor--- I can't really tell you why. Oh yeah, despite our best efforts we barely got any holiday shopping last night and now there's only two weeks until it's got to all be figured out and wrapped up in shiny bows. Our strike-outs didn't help my mood much.

But, now for the silver linings: today's my last class for the semester (which means I am done, done, DONE until Jan. 21) and I just booked three nights for Cory & I at the Bide-A-Wee Inns & Cottages in Pacific Grove for Jan. 16-19--a way for us to celebrate the sixth anniversary of our first date with a completely no-stress, obligation free mini-vacation.

Hello sanity, I think it's time for us to become reacquainted.

I'm really not liking The Simple Life. And I'm not sure which I like least: the fact that it's so staged (because, you know, I always bring my bikini and suntan lotion to work the first day on the job, or any day for that matter) or that it's staged in a way to make these girls look so utterly stupid and bitchy.
Dont' get me wrong, I'm sure they are pretty dumb in many respects and yes, they probably are very bitchy in many circumstances. But honestly I don't think they're quite as dumb and bitchy as the show makes them out to be. Do I really believe that they're so clueless about taxes? Or banks? They're rich, not dead.

Unlike Newlyweds or The Osbournes (which definitely have staged moments but do a much better job of disguising them), this show just reeks of set-ups and whispered cues coming from stage left. As such it totally takes any joy out of watching because any moments of "reality" are far and few between and are usually happening sort of behind the action (i.e, Paris wiping the young kid's snotty nose, etc.) As I watched last night's episode and saw Paris & Nicole acting like idiots in their Sonic Cherry Limeaid Soda outfits I couldn't even laugh. It was just stupid and I felt embarrassed for everyone involved. And the fact that the producers think I'm dumb enough to think it's funny and not realize that it's all been scripted (at least scripted to the degree of: hey, act really obnoxious, OK?), well that just makes me feel insulted.

And really, when I'm watching trashy reality TV, I don't need any extra reminders that I should be offended.

via him:


You're a Post-Punk. You know 70s punk was cool, but
it was mostly just a stepping stone for the
greater intellectualism of what would come
after. The 80s were amazing. You quite possibly
have huge hair, and may wear lots of black.
Snare drums need reverb. Lots and lots of
reverb.


You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize.
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The Least Essential Albums of 2003, per The Onion. Man, why didn't somone tell me about the The Acoustic Coffee House Presents: A Female Tribute To Creed before?

With my birthday exactly two weeks away, i'm officially pushing 34. Or more accurately, it's pushing me. In fact I think it's got a stiletto heel planted firmly in my ass.
Yeah, it kinda hurts.
Just a little though.
There's a part of me that's ambivalent about aging - I have no choice in the matter, so why worry about it? But the other, perhaps more truthful part of me, dreads it. And not just for the surface reasons--the changes in my skin, the gray hair, the aching bones--but for all I've yet to accomplish in my life.
The list of Things I Have Not Done is miles long. I can only hope that I live as long as my mother's mother -- who will celebrate her 80th birthday the same day I celebrate my 34th-- and that there will be plenty more time for me to procrastinate and, hopefully (eventually) accomplish.
In the meantime, I've decided to swear off New Year's Resolutions. They're pointless.
Self-improvement isn't pointless, but that January list is. Instead I'll just work on one day at a time and continue to keep my mini-lists ("you live for lists", the spouse told me recently) and occasionally cross items off while I try to ignore the little emerging crows' feets around my eyes and the new silver hairs amid the brown and all the new and amazing ways in which my joints seem to ache in time to the weather.
Not really much else I can do.

Please add to the ever-growing things that are Just. Plain. Wrong.:
Giant parrots singing do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight.
Yeah that would be Cory's mom's parrot, Buddy.
Creepy. He's got a nice voice though.
Back to work today with the help of lots of coffee.
Slept for crap last night again, thanks to the cat.
Sure, most people would probably boot the kitty -and I have in the past. But then I feel mean when I think of her all cold and alone in the front room. So what do I do? I bundle myself up in a sweatshirt, grab the quilt from the linen cabinet and head out to the couch for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. It's not bad actually, we have the best couch for sleeping, ever. Sometimes the spouse and I quibble over who gets to use it for a nap. This morning Sophie actually followed me out to the living room, but was quiet, choosing to sleep above my head on the arm of the couch. She's an odd duck, that cat.

Tired. Really tired today. And not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. It’s not that I have anything against work. I like my job fine. I’m just suddenly exhausted and wanting to crawl into bed and not get back out until January. But, that’s not the way it goes. Yesterday I ran errands and shopped and got soaked by torrential rain. Last night I had to work and then we topped that off with a visit to Old I. This morning I tried to sleep in but my damned neurotic cat wouldn’t let me (Note to Sophie: Yes you do have food; no you won't starve if you can see the bottom of your dish). Thus, up it was and I read some of the paper and took a walk and then a shower and now I’ve just finished a draft of my term paper revision and in a few hours we’re going up to Cory’s mom’s house to help decorate their tree and tomorrow is work and I think we have plans every night this week except for Thursday and that night I have class and then there’s next weekend, which is already almost completely booked up. Whew. And so there you go. Did I say that I love December? No, really, I do. I just think I need a nap. So, a nap it is. At least there are still a few small nap-worthy holes left in my schedule.

Well, I may not be able to clear my house the way I'd like to but this morning I was able to clear my head with a brisk walk to and around McKinley Park. And now I feel much better. I'm not sure why. Is it that it's Saturday and I have some non-stressful errands to run--a reason to get out of the house (that doesn't involve school or work), a chance to enjoy the fresh, damp air and the bright yellow leaves?
Who knows, but right now I'm sitting here, typing, sipping hot coffee and feeling OK despite the fact that my house is in the exact same condition that it was yesterday when I wrote my entry.
Yeah, maybe I've just having mood swings. Wouldn't be the first time.
We watched the game last night and even though it was a tense nailbiter with a disappointing conclusion, the fact is that it was still a tense nailbiter - i.e, a good game - and I think that helped too. Sometimes, when you're dealing with internal feelings of suffocation and irritation and general crumminess it just feels good to yell at someone who won't yell back or get mad.
That said, I must extend a formal apology to my cats for scaring the bejesus out of them everytime the Kings scored or missed. For all intents and purposes this apology is retroactive to the beginning of the NBA season and will extend through the remainder of games.

P.S. My comments system is not working properly. Comment notices are not showing up and, in some cases, the comments themselves are not appearing. If you can recommend a better system than Ennotation, please let me know.

Not that you asked, but I'm in kind of a crummy mood today (crummy - now there's a word...my mother's word to be exact. That's her way of swearing).
I slept in this morning - a present to myself for turning in that term paper yesterday - and then got up with some tasks in mind. Specificially I still needed to finish cleaning out my bedroom closet and then start on the front room closet.
Normally these kinds of things make me feel pretty good - out with the old, clear out the clutter, blah blah, blah - but today it seemed that no matter how much I threw out (and I threw out a lot) there was still Way. Too. Much. Stuff.
I don't know if it's truly that I own too much crap or if it's just that we live in a pretty small place or if, perhaps, it's a combination of these two factors. Either way, it's a bit overwhelming with the holidays approaching and the thought of more stuff entering this house.
Which, in turn, makes me think of the kind of things I'm going to buy people for Christmas and I hope I'm not getting them things that are going to fill them with a suffocating, cluttered sense of dread. A sense of oh here's just one more thing I don't need and that will take up space. Now, before I really sound horrible--I'm not thinking that the gifts I'm going to get this year are going to be crummy space hogs. I'm just overwhelmed by a lack of space and a lack of time to really dig in deep and clean everything from top to bottom and, perhaps I guess, a lack of an objective sense that would tell me: no, you really don't need/want that....
That's all. Other than that things are just peachy.
Maybe I just need another week off from work.

Well, I've just finished my term paper--all 17 pages of it--and my right hand wrist is aching. Yay carpal tunnel syndrome! Actually that's not usually much of a problem for me (or when it is, I usually feel it in the right side of my right hand)...but today, whoo...But yeah, 17 pages on housing images/symbols in contemporary literature with a focus on the similarities between Jean Rhys' Wide Sargasso Sea and Marilynne Robinson's Housekeeping.
I know you're just overwhelmed with fascination.
Sarcasm aside, I am actually fascinated with this subject. I have a recurring dream about a house I lived in as a child and, as I've thought about incorporating parts of this dream and its associated reality into a short story, I actually enjoyed diving into the critical analysis of what houses represent in regards to feminine subjectivity and the patriarchal hierarchy.
Yes, I just used the term patriarchal hierarchy. Please don't hold it against me.
That said, my wrist really really hurts and my vision is blurry and I still have to get dressed and drive this paper down to Oakland.

To be truthful, today is not a good writing day and so, only three days into December, I am already thinking what, were you crazy when you signed up for Holidailies?!.
Seriously, up to my neck in a term paper and still recovering from a rough night at school in which my ego was severely battered and bruised, well, I just don’t have much there there today. Instead I just want to curl up on the couch and sleep beneath the opened window as the sunshine pours in and the sounds of Tortoise float through the air and my cat nestles into that hollowed space behind my curled-up legs.
That’s all. That’s all I want.

Is it so wrong that I think Anderson Cooper is so damn hot?
How about Dan Rather?

I know, I know...I'm a sick girl.

Dan Rather is my main love. I first fell for him (and hard) at the onset of the Gulf War when, during a marathon news cast Rather looked up to observe Walter Cronkite slinking by and commented: "There's Walter Conkrite - must be a war going on."
In the years since, although I'm not an avid network news watcher (I prefer the endless loop of CNN Headline news), I've always made a point to tuning into Dan during times of war and mayhem - because frankly he can always be counted on to say something outrageously, inappropriately and hilariously goofy ("if, if, IF," he sniped during one analyst's take on the 2000 election brouhaha, "And if a frog had sidepockets he'd carry a handgun").
He's also just plain sexy. Maybe it's that he's a fellow Texan. Maybe it's that he's unabashedly liberal. Maybe it's that he's not afraid to cry on national TV. Maybe it's that he's just effortlessly cool - R.E.M even wrote a song about him! Maybe it's that he's (cough) edgy in that you never know when I'm going to go completely off the deep end sort of way...all I know is that Dan Rather can read off the teleprompter to me any time he wants. I really hope that the reports (requires free registration) that CBS wants to retire him soon are greatly exaggerated

Now...about Anderson Cooper. Even though he's part of the CNN crew, I've only caught his show a handful of times, but really I've got to change that. He's smart, witty and, as he proved during a recent primary debate among top Democratic contenders, he can hold his own among both politicians and the riff-raff. And, at age 36, with prematurely gray hair and piercing eyes, he's sexy in a young Harrison Ford sort of way. Seems like CNN thinks so too--and People magazine, they named him one of their sexiest people in 2002--this Washington Post column (requires free registration) from media analyst Howard Kurtz explains how CNN hopes that Cooper, the son of fashion designer Gloria Vanderbilt (!), will be the hip new face that lures in younger viewers.

I'm probably not the demographic they're thinking of (then again, neither is he), but I'll tune in anyway and enjoy their efforts.

Oh wait...I think I'm objectifying these two serious, hardworking professionals? Sorry.

Well, we survived the Thanksgiving extravaganza at my grandmother's house. I guess it wasn't too bad this year. There were only 13 of us - about half (the "adults") sat at the adult table and the other half (us "kids") sat at the cousins' table. Thirty-three years old and I'm still sitting at the cousins' table...and really I wouldn't have it any other way. The adult table is, judging by the overheard conversations, still bor-ing.

Anyway, the dinner was decent. I made a mushroom and cashew turrine for Cory and I, and the relatives kept the vegetarian jokes to a minimum. Everyone seemed to like my lemon and garlic green beans, or at least lied sincerely and I got to see my mother for more than a few minutes, hang out with my cousin Serena and tease my brother.


The four-day weekend was a nice break from the craziness of the last few months. On Friday, we alternated between being lazy and cleaning and both activities felt very very good. At point, I had the chance to get out of the house for a few minutes and, during my short journey (to get coffee), I marveled at the joy of the day. The air felt clean and wet on my cheek; the sky was gray--a perfect backdrop for the gorgeous reds and yellows of the leaves--and there was a palpable sense of excitement and cheer imbuing everything. I saw several Christmas trees strapped down to cars--a sight that made me both happy and jealous. We can't have a decent-sized tree in our house because the space is so small and, with the cats around it's just a sure formula for disaster. Nonetheless, we do have a box or two of holiday decorations to drag out and hopefully we'll get the lights up and the stockings in place sooner rather than later.

That's right, I'm a Christmas geek. Actually I'm more of a December geek. I'm the December monster that you fear - I stop short only of wearing red and green appliqued sweaters and light-up earrings. This is my favorite month of the year. Even though I inevitably become stressed out due to all the holiday obligations, I enjoy the feeling of seasonal joy (however manufactured) and the Christmas music (so shoot me) and baking cookies and the scent of hot chocolate and spiced apple cider and the way everything seems to sparkle and glow on a frosty December evening. I also like the anticipation of January (my second favorite month of the year) -- the symbolic building up to something new, the eagerly awaited fresh slate, the promised quiet still of a month that requires nothing more than the faith that everybody deserves the opportunity to start over.

So yeah, Happy December to all of you.