Saturday, July 30, 2005

My lucky day

I have my LSAT class starting today. I am spending a ton of $ and at least 4 hours of my Saturday to get all smart (SMRT) about the LSATs. I had a disappointing run with the test the first time I took it- not catastrophic, but disappointing. This had better work. Or I'll be very unhappy.

And on a happy note, yesterday I found out that a dork is a whale penis. It all comes clear suddenly. I still love the word.

And now I must go and get ready for my class, and watch F1 qualifying on the Tivo.

Oh- and remind me to tell you about the Hemingway who lived in Missoula and Bozeman- that's another interesting one.

Friday, July 29, 2005

The Romanian- 1

A friend of mine reminded me of the first Romanian I ever met. She was a sad, odd woman.

She was a friend of my sister in law's from art school back east. She showed up in Missoula shortly before we moved to Arizona. She was staying with them, and kind of meandering around town. She bought a cheap old bike and a swim pass from the University. She would stop by my apartment on her way home from the pool, and we would talk.

She was a very tall girl, with a large moon-like face and huge brown eyes. Her mouth was very poochy and her eyebrows were bushy. She wasn't what I would call pretty- but she was interesting looking. My friend says that she smelled. I don't remember.

She was an artist- I bought one of her large paintings, and have it in storage now (no place large enough to put it). Her video piece was quite arty, and unwatchable. I could never figure out whether or not she was really good, or just really driven.

Her story was sad, though. Seems that while in NYC she had had a psychotic break during a manic ephisode, and broke a bunch of windows on one of the major streets. She was hospitalized and put on lithium to control the severe bipolar illness. It really changed her, apparently. She was quite odd when it came to relationships. She was intense. She fell in love very quickly and hard. She fell for a friend of Spouse's right away. He was also a twisted puppy, and appeared to like her quite a lot. I remember her cooking dinner for us all one night. Over the dessert of grapes and white wine (with lithium?), she said to him, "Krriss, Krriss, I want to know your soul." I knew then that something was a tad off. They had known each other for about 4 days at that point- and she was fixated. In another 3 days, he was trying to get tips from us on how to end it.

Luckily we moved away before it all got ugly. And it did get very ugly, indeed. Last we heard, she had moved to Canada, gotten married, and was living there. I have no idea where she is now. I hope that she's still taking care of herself and not as crazy anymore.

More about the dead

I was thinking some more about the highway crosses/shrines of MT. It seems like an extension, really, of the cemetary concept. I never really got cemetaries as a kid. They were fun to play in- and get creeped out. The scariest one was in the Helena valley- I guess that I have a couple of relatives there- my Dad took me there once to see them. I could never find them, so I don't remember who they were. But it is the cemetary with the huge mausoleum built by Thomas Cruise (the same guy who built the Helena Cathedral, and a large castle-like mansion on the West side). What creeped me out were the holes in front of the gravestones. They were drilled by gophers, I think. And they scared the crap out of me.

Later I saw Carrie, and about died of fright in the end (the hand scene). It took me back to the holes in the cemetary. I wondered when I was little if they were put there so that the dead could talk to us through them. I walked quickly past them- I didn't want to hear their voices.

I have a fixation for cemetaries now. I really enjoy pretty ones with lots of trees and very old graves. I like to try and put together a mental picture of the families. In High School we jumped the fence into the cemetary next to the school during art classes to draw. It was just so quiet and such a mental distance from the school.

Interestingly enough, my Mother and Stepfather actually own a cemetary. It's the old Potter's field in the Helena Valley. It was part of his ranch, and can't be developed with the rest of the land. I got to see the chart of the graves once- it was interesting. I have never walked out there- it was where the cattle grazed, and that's a trecherous undertaking if there ever was one. I'm a little scared of being in the same area as a bunch of cattle. They are large in person, and don't seem very friendly.

Personally, I don't want to be planted in the ground. Never, never, never. I would much prefer to fertilize a garden (in ash form, of course, silly), or wash down a creek in Western MT. The idea of being in a box still creeps me out.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

The morbid and the dead

One of the things I dislike extremely about driving in MT is the white crosses. For those of you whose states don't have them, or who haven't visited, imagine the following:

You're driving along enjoying the view. And along the highway, are dozens of little metal white crosses. They mark where someone (or in the case of multiple crosses on a horizontal post more than one) died in a highway accident. There are places in MT where they are crazy thick. Gallatin Canyon is one of these. Around the Silos Bar outside of Townsend is another (we counted 12 of them in a 3 mile radius).

These things have always bothered me. Some service organization maintains and puts them up. Some families have turned them into ad hoc memorials. I think it's nasty. I don't like the idea of the place where I breathed my last in a violent way as being where I'm remembered. And then there's the iconography of the cross. They don't put up Stars of David for Jews. They don't put up crescents for Muslims. Nope. All get the cross treatment. I find that really offensive in a way. It's like baptizing dead people.

So if you're ever in the neighborhood, and you see plenty of these things, remember, it's a scary stretch of highway. If there's a bar nearby, you'll understand even more.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Our crawlspace

We've got a strange apartment. Basically it's the basement of a large house. Part of the living room abutts a storage unit that goes under the rest of the house. It's an old house, with lots of odd little features- like the crawl space that is open to the great outdoors and the like. We just found out that the garage is getting torn down as it was built partially on the neighbor's land, and doesn't have the requisite setbacks. Bummer.

But our storage space is an oddity unto itself. There is an old window back there that was merely filled in with insulation. No serious construction was applied. Which, given other character-filled "features" of this place shouldn't surprise me in the least. What is a surprise is how often the neighbor cats dig their way through the insulation and into our storage space. We hear them, and evict them promptly. But it makes me wonder what happens while we sleep. Or while we're gone. Will they invite other cats over for a large party with our boxed junk?

I just keep reminding myself that it's just not my house. Then I don't care about the lack of level lines, extra holes in the wall, leaks in the bathroom, crazy placement of light fixtures, etc.


I'm just not going to complain too loudly about this one. Just softly.

Spouse has a new two-wheeled girlfriend. She is a vintage cafe racer. He loves her very much. It is still in the Honeymoon period- and she keeps spraining her ankle so that he will pay attention to her. I am actually pleased that he has something fun to do, what with the end of worrying about my unemployment and all. But it gets a little extreme on occasion.

I've warned him that she'll bring him heartache in the end. And that his loyal wife still needs to be kept in shoes and bon bons. I suspect, however, that he's filtering that last part out. He has the siren song of the open road in his ears.

Plus the Miata is in the shop being fixed after the birthday ruckus. They gave him a Ford Taurus (which I accurately predicted)- teal (which I also accurately predicted). And with this sex on wheels machine at his disposal, I can hardly blame him for fixating on something with a bit of intact thrill factor.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Another from the cast of characters

When in Grad School in Missoula I had a friend named Hal. Hal was an oddity. He was a large man. He wasn't an attractive man. But he was horribly kind.

He was studying Medieval European History, as I remember. He was in his early 40s, and had a daughter. He wore wire-rimmed glasses in very poor repair, and had long stringy hair in a braid. He often wore baseball caps to cover the bald spot in front. He also didn't wash much, and was very smelly. He smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and had yellowed, long nails. His teeth were yellow. And they kept falling out. He would show up for seminars with one more gap in his mouth. I kept waiting for someone to ask him about it, but none of us dared. He was a sharp intellect, with a very dry wit.

He lived in a rented room downtown in the Eagles Building with a bunch of other single guys. They shared a bathroom per floor. I always imagined him as having a room full of moldering books stacked in teetering piles, empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, a stray tooth or two and plates of rotting food. He could put away pitchers of beer by himself at an amazing rate. All whilst prattling on about primary sources.

I heard later from a mutual friend that in his 20s he had been in Central America doing things for money that he wouldn't talk about very often. Kind of a soldier of fortune scenario. I heard that his teeth were damaged then. I do wonder whatever became of him. He didn't seem overtly tortured, just quietly so. I wonder if he's still in Missoula, having graduated to an apartment in the Wilma building, where he feeds the pidgeons on the window sill and looks out at the Clark Fork River in the evenings. And builds himself a shrine on the mantle using his remaining teeth.

Reading review

If you get a chance, and want to read something great (and aren't already borrowing my copy of it), spend the cash and pick up the new book, The Historian. It's wonderful. I really loved it. All about tracking vampires via research in rare books and literary sources across Eastern Europe (during the Cold War), Turkey and England. Fun, fun, fun. I'm so jealous that she pulled this out of her bag of tricks for her first novel that I could spit. But then I weigh that it took her 10 years, and figure that she's deserving. I heard that she got a $2 million advance. Beeitch.

Blackberry pickin

There's a wall of blackberries across the street. And we're picking when we can. Why? Well, because. It's not quite as thrilling as huckleberries (no bears, cold weather or very small berries). But it's fun.

Otherwise, not much happened today- except for day 2 of work, which went well. On the way in, I was behind a guy in a car- he was playing with his hair a lot while looking in the rear-view mirror. He kept fluffing it. I really wanted to shout,"Yes, you're a very pretty girl, Mary." But my window was up. I'll save that one for a rainy day.

At lunch I was wandering around towards Borders (no, the new F1 magazine wasn't in, dammit), and a crazy lady talked to me. I really should say that she either was talking to me, or her cane. I really couldn't tell. But it was ok, since she didn't seem to expect a response.

I think I'm going to enjoy working downtown. I am seeing a whole new world (cue the Disney track) It's new and exciting... chock full of corporate wonks, crazy people and just people in general. I'm digging it so far.

Monday, July 25, 2005

New job- recap

After 10 or so months of looking, I had my first day at work. Now I'll be up front and state that I will not be blogging about work. I think it's bad form, and I don't want to get fired. And since I'm working for a bank, it's probably an even worse idea.

But I will say that I like the people quite a bit, and it feels good to learn some new things. And I'm bloody tired. That whole 8 hour stint without a good nap or movie in the middle is rough. I've gotten soft. I'm sure that the kitties are a little traumatized by the neglect, but I haven't asked them.

I'll write more tomorrow- I'm just tired as hell and need to not be at a computer for a while.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Eddies in the world

A rhetorical question- why are there so many Fast Eddies out there?

I have also run across his more twisted cousin- Crazy Eddy.

I met Crazy Eddy first. He lived in the dorm Freshman year. He was from Kallispell, and was seriously twisted. I kind of liked the guy- in a strictly platonic sense- he was funny as hell. I think he spent most of his youth running amok in the woods. He had that kind of mountain man/not well socialized where girls were concerned vibe. His college career came to an abrubt halt the first weekend before winter quarter. There was a party in his room. He was tanked. I walked in and he tossed something at me. I grabbed it out of the air, and started to shake. I knew what it was, but asked him, "Eddy, what is this?" He replied, "It's Jedomite." (He liked the name Jed for some reason, and carved it on desks across campus.) It was a stick of dynamite wrapped in plastic. I made him promise to put it in his desk and leave it there. Evidently he didn't remember his promise, because the FBI showed up the next day. He and the boy from the farm who brought it into the dorm were expelled. It was really quite dramatic. The last I heard, Crazy Eddy had joined the Army.

Fast Eddy was of a different ilk entirely. As unpolished as Crazy Eddy was, Fast Eddy was a booty call. I met him my Junior year, when a friend insisted that I accompany her to a Sigma Nu rush party. I didn't want her to go alone, so we went. I had a rule at those things- never, never get drunk and don't leave anyone behind. As things worked out, I didn't get drunk. But Fast Eddy was watching me from across the room. He invited me up to the chapter room (where they store the paddles and trophies- I'm not making any assumptions as to the proper use of either), and we made out. I wouldn't take it very far, and he got disgusted and we went back to the party. Then he denied that we ever met. Quite the gentleman, no? It got interesting when the friend I came with returned to the house a few days later. She was ripe for the picking, and spent the night with Fast Eddy. He came to the dorm for a repeat performance. Then he dumped her and never spoke to her again. She was silly enough to be surprised.

Whenever I smelled a nimbus cloud of Polo on the elevator, I knew that Fast Eddy was in the dorm. My guess is that he is an alcoholic who cheats on his wife.

So why Fast Eddy? And why Crazy Eddy? Why does Eddy get paired with adjectives so frequently? There was a Fast Eddy the other night on Reno 911. I don't think it was for the same reason.

Nate and the concrete plate

Last night our friend Nate's band played at the Rainbow Bar in the U District. They are called 8 Track Mind (there are 8 members). They are a combo of hip hop, jazz, blues, etc. They are wonderful. I only wish the smoke hadn't caused a coughing fit- I could've stayed longer. These guys are going places- they've been on a 6 week tour of the Northwest. They are amazing. I'm just impressed at the musical talent I know from Bozeman. I hope they all venture our way, so I can go and be a "friend of the band" without showing my tits.

Check out their site-

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Final story for the day

The Mad Hatter.

His name was Nick. He lived with his mother and crazy wife in a house right by the Orange Street bridge (he's not there anymore). He was a fixture of the place. He wore different hats with accessories depending on some internal calendar. One day he was a smelly explorer, with pith helmet and matching khakis. The next he had his top hat on and his stick.

He would go to the Top Hat and shoot imaginary arrows at people until he annoyed one of the surlier drunks and got beaten. He would wander around the streets at closing time and sing to people staggering home.

One day, I was working in a jewelry store downtown and he came in. He was in explorer mode, and very ripe smelling. He had a stack of photos that he wanted to sell. He said that they were worth millions. Each picture was a random shot of something on the street. He said that he had captured time in each one, and that they would never be repeated. He had a point.

He also told me about the painting he had done. It was in the window of the leather shop a couple of doors down. He was disgruntled by the lack of security. It was worth $100 million dollars, and belonged in the Smithsonian. But he wanted to share. It was of swirling waves and a pirate ship.

He painted a mural on the side of the bridge by his house. He landscaped a seaside scene in front of the mural of the ocean. It was creepy and lovely at the same time. It was totally daft.

His life was sad. He had been in the hospital at Warm Springs. That's where he met the wife. His mother received disability checks for all of them, and that's how they lived. She came into the store and returned a ring he had purchased for the wife once. They didn't have enough for heat in the winter, and she was ashamed.

I have no idea where he is anymore. I kind of hope that he lives near the ocean.

Second story

I lived in a place called the Sacajawea Lodge. It was an old pre-WWI brick place with 13 apartments in it. Mine was one of the smallest, but it was on the second floor. There were the usual assortment of students living there- the best was the German exchange student next door whose name reminded me of Augustus Gloop (I won't share, since it wouldn't be nice). He was kind of loud when engaging in play with his pimply girlfriend. He listened to that insipid song about Vincent Van Gough a lot.

Anyhew- the landlady was a member of the largest landowning/realty family in Missoula. And a total crackpot. She had the large pine trees removed from the front yard of the place and proceeded to let the front yard become a weed nest. All while telling me about the improvements she was making to the place. The kicker was the day I got up and saw her in the front yard watering the weeds in her nightgown. This was on one of the busiest streets in town. She didn't live in the building either. She was talking to herself while she wandered around with the hose. Silly lady.

First story

Disclaimer- this one isn't officially mine- it's mine by marriage. So I'll claim it as my own and plant a flag on it and call it Mine.

There is a bar downtown called Charlie B's. Incidentally, both Spouse and I hung there A LOT in the years prior to meeting. I still can't figure out why we never met. Nevertheless, it was an odd place. I took my Mom and Stepdad there once- they were scared. But it wasn't really too bad- there were some derelicts there- but they left the college kids alone.

One night, Spouse (who for convenience I'll call K.) was playing pool. A man and his female companion came in. She was carrying a ratty little dog with a long chain. They took a table next to K's and she proceeded to laboriously wrap the long chain around Ray's chair. Ray took affront and yelled, "get the chain off of my fucking chair." She proceeded to laboriously remove the chain without saying a word. (Ray was kind of scary, so I can understand her reluctance to discuss it with him). She then sat on the floor with the dog cradled in her arms. The man she was with was in a jumpsuit. He approached the pool table and shouted incoherently at the players. He pulled a very large pipe wrench out of his back pocket and proceeded to hit himself in the head with it. Then he danced around and laughed. And hit himself in the head again. And danced around and laughed.
Finally, K and his friends finished their pool game, and the pipe wrench man was able to play.

This illustrates some key Missoula points. 1) there are a lot of really odd characters there. 2) people get used to them and don't really respond. and 3) the story is really funniest when K tells it- there is a lot of physical comedy involved.

But it did remind me of some kind of David Lynchian scenario.

Smells like feet

Ah Missoula. Home of my youth. Home of my MT heart. I canna help it. The name conjures up college years, summer days, the smell of the river (not too bad, really), general nostalgia.

Spouse quoted a friend of ours once, and it really sums up the zeitgeist of the place- "Missoula is the town that woke up with its brakes on. But that's ok, it wasn't going anywhere."

People go there, and they stick. Even if they leave, they return like the swallows of Capistrano.

I was born in Helena, but spent the first 3 years of my life in Missoula. I went there for school and lived there for another 12 years. It broke my heart into little shards when I left. I haven't been that berift about moving away from someplace before or since.

My sister lives there now. I wish I was there. But the economy sucks, it's expensive to live there, and I'm out of school.

I can't very easily pull apart my affection for the place- I've tried. I am pretty sure it contains an essential element of nostalgia for my youth along with affection for the place itself. It's also genetic. Both my parents feel similarly about the place, or so they've said. It's the first place I had ever lived where I felt like I belonged.

It's also a prime freak magnet. I've told the story of the monkey man and his creepy-crawlin ways. There are more. I'll share.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

We are all lucky

Woman blocked from selling Farrell sex tape

We are all lucky because it is Colin Farrell and not Will Farrell. Not that I don't find Will wonderful, but I never, ever, ever want to see his O face. Not Colin's either for that matter- but Will's would be scarier.

Crazy cat lady

The same friend who shared the horse story also made a comment about my fixation with cats (at least that's how I'm interpreting it- as a personal attack- or that's what the kitties tell me to think). Whatever. I suppose he could've been just sharing the love...


Not all animal hoarders are cat ladies, but most are. The typical person who gets caught with more pets than she can handle is a woman over the age of 60 who lives alone. Experts say there are a handful of animal-hoarding cases per 100,000 Americans each year, which translates to a few thousand incidents annually. The problem seems to be a global one: The Hoarding of Animals Research Consortium receives e-mails about animal hoarders in the Middle East, Asia, Europe, and Latin America.

Dooley Worth and Alan M. Beck conducted what may have been the first survey on the issue in New York City in 1981. They found that two-thirds of the obsessive collectors were women and that 70 percent were single. Cats and dogs were the most commonly stockpiled pets, and women were proportionally more likely than men to acquire cats. (Subsequent research has found that people do occasionally hoard farm animals, rabbits, horses, and birds, but not as often as cats and dogs.) Worth and Beck found that animal hoarders tended to be somewhat isolated, but this seemed to be the result—and not the cause—of their large pet collections.

(and in my defense- there are only 2 of them in my collection- the neighbor kitties don't count. Neither of them is dead. They don't crap on the bed (unless it's an accident, and I clean it up right away). And I've never had more than 3 at a time. Defensive much? I guess so.)

Sex farm

A source of mine sent me this article. All I can really say is that I love humanity some times. Just cuz it makes me laugh. (from the editor & publisher website)

When a Man Dies in a Sex Act with a Horse -- What's a Reporter to Do?

By Lesley Messer

Published: July 18, 2005 10:20 AM ET
NEW YORK How do you report a story about a man who dies while having sex with a horse? With a snigger? Or straight?

Last Friday, the Seattle Times got wind of an Associated Press item about a local man who died after having sex with a horse. "The sheriff's department didn't expect us to report it because it was too gruesome," said Jennifer Sullivan, the Seattle Times staff reporter who would eventually author two stories on the ordeal.

The AP story gave basic facts about the case. It mentioned that the man -- who died of internal bleeding from anal sex with the animal -- died after visiting a farm in nearby Enumclaw that attracted "a significant number of people" looking to engage in bestiality.

Therefore, Sullivan said, "We thought if there was more than one person participating in this, it needed to be reported."

In her first probe, Sullivan wrote that the farm was discussed in Internet chat rooms as a "destination" spot for people looking to have sex with animals. She reported that this prompted an investigation into whether the chickens, goats and sheep on the property had also been victimized.

"We tried to make it as tasteful as possible keeping out the cause of death. As a surprise, I had at least 70 emails from people and the vast majority wanted to know what killed this guy," she said. "So on the second day we had to be more specific."

Although she never reported the man's name, in her second article Sullivan did say that he was 45 years old and added that he died of acute peritonitis due to the perforation of the colon. But because Washington is one of 17 states that does not outlaw bestiality, having sex with a horse is not a crime and his death will not be investigated.

Perhaps the most lurid detail she added, however, was that when they searched the farm, police had found hundreds of hours of videotape showing men having sex with horses. Police are still making sure that sex was not forced on the smaller, weaker animals, thus constituting animal cruelty (which is a crime). Investigators are also checking to see if other crimes like child abuse or rape occurred on the premises.

When asked if the reporting was especially difficult due to the subject matter, Sullivan explained that she's been working on the crime and court beat for the past six years, three of which have been at the Times, and so is rarely shocked by anything anymore. The community of Enumclaw, however, was not braced for this type of scandal.

"People were very, very willing to talk but they almost thought of it as a joke. It was sort of surreal for a lot of people," she said. "I was surprised with how willing the relatives were to talk."

She said that the man's family -- whom she interviewed for the second story -- asked for anonymity, which the newspaper granted. They never suspected that he was involved in bestiality, and were surprised when they learned that he had purchased a thoroughbred stallion earlier in the year, apparently one of a pair he kept at the farm.

Sullivan also spoke with two neighbors -- a husband and wife -- near the farm who had no idea that this kind of activity had been going on. A few days ago, they were shown a tape of men having sex with horses -- one of which belonged to them.

"It was a really rural community," Sullivan explained. "They were pretty devastated."

But so far, despite the subject matter, public response has been positive, she said. She explained that out of the many emails she's received, only one has been negative. Most of them express sympathy to Sullivan for having to write such a horrific story and thank her for leaving out gratuitous aspects, or using phrases like "horsing around."

The two articles also have prompted a local senator to start drawing up a bill that would outlaw bestiality. Sullivan also reported the opinions of a local animal activist who also is calling for reform

Shooting fish in a barrel

I admit, when I was about 11 years old I liked Unicorns. And Pegasuses. I drew them in art class. I read about them in silly books by Piers Anthony. At the time, I kinda knew that it was dorky, but it was the natural extension from the books about horses that I got from the library. I went through my horsy girl period- and since we lived in town and didn't have any way to care for a horse, I got over it. I also discovered that the kids who did have horses put a lot of work into the whole endeavor- and I was too lazy for ballet lessons even.

When I found this site with unicorn poetry(via some other site, I don't remember- possibly Gawker), I winced. These (and I'm assuming a lot, I know) women haven't gotten over their Unicorn phase. And don't look like they ever will. Creativity is good and all, but wow. I guess I never identified that closely with unicorns. Or pegasuses.

Look into her eyes
what do you see?
Do you see you there,
or something so different?

She is not like you,
her soul is too pure.
She is one of them,
she's a unicorn.

Do you know,
what a unicorn is?
Do you know,
where they go to play?

She knows, look into
her all knowing eyes.
She has seen them play,
and she was seen them laugh.

She is a unicorn,
far different from you.
I am with her now,
because I'm one too.

Oh happy day!

I am gainfully employed. As soon as the background check is completed, I am gonna have a job. I'll be at Washington Mutual, boosting my banking experience. And it's all good. I liked the people who interviewed me quite a lot- and I think I can do a good job.

And it's our wedding anniversary today. 12 lovely years. Doesn't really feel like it's been that long, but it has.

And Lance looks like he's gonna win the Tour. Unless something really bad happens, that is.

And we saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last night, and I am pleased. Very Tim Burton, yes- but it fit the story rather well. He seems to really be drawn to the lost/alienated boy saga. It was cool to hear Roald Dahl's lyrics from the book put to Danny Elfman's music. But I did miss the original Veruca- she had moxie. The new Violet was Madonnaesque enough to really thrill me, though. And Augustus Gloop was missing his eyebrows- extra creepy!

We might just survive and thrive here. It is now more possible than ever. That's a strong sense of relief. I'm not sure though how the cats will respond to their abandonment. Will they lick bald patches on their tummies? Will they poop inappropriately in the shower? Will they continue to follow me around the house with imploring eyes (it's actually a combo of cute and creepy- trust me)? They seem to know something- they are both sitting staring at me. Oh right- they are hungry. Never mind.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Walking through the park and reminiscing

I hated that song. Really hated it. Part of the sappy side of the 70s. (alliteration- before noon, even!)

I was reading about the nanny vs. op-ed columnist wars yesterday. For some reason (about to come clear if you read on) the whole thing bugged the hell out of me. I don't really need to weigh in on who did the dumbest, nastiest thing in the battle- there's a good article on about it if you're really interested.

But for the record, I've only blogged about a former employer once- and that was with some very heavy soul-searching on my part. I believe that discretion- paranoia even- is smart with the internet. I try very hard to protect my friends and loved ones and their privacy. Not to mention myself. So I don't expect to ever start blogging about work. Or at work. Neither seems like a good move.

And now on to why the story bothered me so much. Back in the day- right around the time I graduated with my 2nd and 3rd degrees, I was a research assistant for a famous woman. She was very celebrated in a field I was associated with. I was told on numerous occasions how lucky I was to have my position. I kept my opinion of that to myself then. It was really hard, though. The whole situation still leaves a bitter afterglow.

She was a mess. Emotionally, physically and spiritually (If I may be so bold.) Her spouse had died a few months before I started, and she was having serious problems coping. One of her kids had moved home after a nasty divorce, bringing a couple of very screwed up small children into the mix. There was absolutely no sense of appropriate boundaries. Anywhere.

I was being paid a pittance (trust me- chump change given the woman's net worth- and since I opened her mail, I knew what that was), and expected to babysit her, her grandkids, clean up from parties (that of course, I wasn't invited to), and research (as well as wrap Christmas presents and ship them, go to the ATM for her and numerous other crappy stuff). At the time I knew that it was stupid, but I didn't see a good out. And I didn't want her mad at me- I thought she could do some serious damage.

I discovered the mindset that I had never seen in my life- that of having hired help who are inferior. And I was that help. It really cut me to the core. I had been an RA for a couple of other people in the past and never felt this kind of disdain directed towards me. It was ugly. She went on numerous trips, and I kept the home fires burning. Luckily Spouse became my excuse to escape in the evening and go home. He made the mistake of coming up to her house once, and we wound up putting in a 16 hour day when she corralled us into babysitting duties. I felt much put-upon. And I do admit to not having a very professional attitude about the whole thing- I wasn't prepared. I didn't know that kind of situation existed.

So finally, when I found a stack of pornographic photos of her kid's ex-spouse on the hallway floor, I had had enough. It was too fucking creepy. And she hadn't even acknowledged Christmas- with card, gift, bonus- nada. That probably hurt more than anything else. So I basically told her that I would need to get a job that paid more, as I had to repay student loans.

She hired a couple of new chumps, and life went on. I felt lucky to have escaped. She didn't even mention me in the acknowledgements of a book I helped write. I stand assured that she probably doesn't even remember my name. The bitch. Yeah- I'm still bitter. And I have sworn to myself a couple of things- I will NEVER treat anyone working for me or with me with that kind of selfish disregard. I will always respect their boundaries. And I will NEVER be the "hired help" for some rich self-indulgent person again. It was a horrible experience, and I learned. And I'm thankful that it's over.

So yes, I have broken a rule about blogging about employers past. But I feel better for it.

Monday, July 18, 2005

And here's my final thought for today

I was thinking about the ant and grasshopper story. For those of you who need a parable refresher course- the ant worked hard all the time, while the grasshopper played. When winter came, the ant was fine, and the grasshopper died of cold and not being prepared. I suppose I could draw the conclusion that the ant was part of the survivalist movement, but whatever.

I was thinking about how much ant and grasshopper (percentagewise) I and the people in my life are. Why was I doing this? I was trying to get to sleep, and these are the kinds of stupid things I do to achieve sleep.

I think I'm about 65% grasshopper. And Spouse is about 80% ant. Whether that's through actual proclivity or through actual necessity, I don't know. I just wanted to think about something inconsequential and stupid.

Eternally optimistic

Well, I thought that went very well. And that's not just the hard ciders that I had with lunch talkin. They were the kind of folks who I really enjoy working with. So, with fingers figuratively crossed, I await the call.

And in the meantime, I listen to Sophia Choi acting all disgusted when talking about some fool in Australia who got his nose bitten off in a bar fight over the movie Sin City. She's all, "Can you belive this?" And I'm all, "Babe, you make a living reading a teleprompter about those kind of things. It's your bread and butter- and editorializing isn't gonna make you sound any more erudite."

Ha ha. And now for another hard cider. I've earned it. (or so I'll say.) I'll go out on the deck, enjoy the fresh sea breezes and watch the young roofers next door. They aren't wearing shirts. This could be better entertainment than Sophia Choi any day. Not to mention the goofy guy she's on the CNN with at the moment.

(it's probably a really good thing we have no tonic, or the Sapphire in the freezer would suffer for my sins.)

Gotta brag

It was my Saturday of Harry Potter. I love him. I would marry him, but a) he isn't real, and b) I'm not Mary Kay Letournou, and marrying a 16 year old at my age is beyond creepy, and c) see a.

But I pre-ordered my copy online and should get it today (I had a gift certificate- thanks Andrea!). In the meantime, my lovely Spouse was at Target Saturday morning, and bought me a copy. He is wonderful. I gave the redundant copy (with love, mind you- and after reading Chapter 1) to our lovely friend. And then another special person in my life sent me another copy. (I'll not give details there, thank you.) So all is wonderful in my Harry Potter world. I just can't read any of it this morning- or I might miss my interview. And that would be bad. I have a good feeling about this one. Let's hope it is an accurate good feeling, and not just moderately good health.

CNN highlight

Best thing of the morning on CNN (I'm half listening as I read my morning blogs, etc.) -

They are planning on releasing a line of Napolean Dynamite action figures. I am wondering if they'll accurately portray that guy's package- you see, I hear that he's very impressive. I dunno for real, but I hear things.

One of them will be in prom regalia. One will be playing tetherball. And there are more, I guess but I wasn't paying very good attention at the start of the segment. I would suck as a reporter, I suspect.

Now I gotta go get ready for the job interview for this week. Send happy mojo my way, all! (Especially you, A.- congrats on the job, again!)

Saturday, July 16, 2005

It's a Defamerific day!

From their Hollywood Privacy Watch section:

· I saw Jay Leno at Pink’s Hot Dogs off Melrose yelling expletives (“Are you fucking nuts?”) at a teenager he found leaning against his car hood when leno returned from getting a dog. The kid apologized and Leno followed him for 20 yards screaming at him.

( I really wanna know what kind of car it was. Really. I would probably go batshit too if it was the right make and model.)

And another one from LA area kinksters

Also found on Gawker (I don't look for these myself, they find me- seriously- I have the wrong equipment to play with these bad boys- even if I wanted).

Does anyone want to come over and cuddle with me while we watch my videotape of Princess Diana's funeral? I also have extensive news footage of both the wreck in Paris and the weeping crowds in London. Then of course I have the entire funeral service itself, followed by the hearse's drive to her final resting place at Althorp. I'd love to watch this again while cuddling with a cute boy on the couch, eating popcorn and red vines, and maybe having a little JO fun if the chemistry is right. Send me a clear face pic and please be under 28. Thanks!

  • this is in or around Rancho Palos Verdes
  • no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Craig's List- where the big boys play

I cannot resist posting this one. It's amazing. And might make your head hurt. Via Defamer:

I have a simple request: Would someone like to come over to my place dressed in a long, beige trenchcoat, panama hat, and dark sunglasses, smoking a cigarette? When I open the door (I'll be wearing a polka-dotted dress and wiping my hands on an apron), you will be looking away. You will say, "Is the cake in the oven?" I will hang my head, fight back tears, and invite you in.

We shall move to the bedroom and I shall undress awkwardly, looking upset and ashamed. You will throw me up against the wall and I will scream "Maim me!" as you bite through my strand of cultured (but we'll pretend they're real) pearls, which will fall to the ground and scatter. You will think I've said "Mamie" (as in Eisenhower).

At this point, you will stroke my hair gently and become romantic and tender, renderng unto the First Lady the respect to which she is entitled. Slowly and carefully, you will rub your hand up my thigh. When you reach my genitalia and discover I am genetically male, you will fly into a rage and "rape" me (condoms and lube will be located in an antique snuff box at arm's length; please be discreet in procuring them).

Prior to climaxing, you will push me to the floor, remove your condom (again, discreetly), and ejaculate into my eyes. I will lie in a crumpled, sobbing heap at your feet, softly singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President." When your semen has dried my eyelashes together (this might take a while; I will have prepared a selection of cold cuts, assorted beverages, and glossy magazines for your entertainment), you will softly clean it out with a sponge dipped in warm milk.

You will hold me in your arms as we await the coming night. When (and whether?) we part again will be determined from that point.

Other than the above, I am not really looking for a specific "scene." Just a chill bro I can kick it with and see where things go.

  • this is in or around Los Angeles
  • no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Friday, July 15, 2005

Today is a good day

Not because I feel all that much better- still coughing too much, thank you. But the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie opens today. I've been obsessing about that one for months now. We will probably try to attend later this weekend. I am expecting a life-changing event. No seriously.

And The Wedding Crashers also opens. I have a thing for those boys- Old Scool made me laugh so hard I cried. I adored it. It is a perfect double feature along with Office Space.
I just must remember to pace myself. Weak as a kitten, and don't want to wind up all prostrate on the fainting couch n all.

Once more into the breach

It's time to think happy thoughts again- I have a hopefully final interview on Monday. I'll be sure to focus on the positive, and not give off that reek of desperation.

It's a good one too.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

My interview- this time it's personal

From Polly Prissy Pants comes the following:

Here are the instructions:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions -- each person's will be different.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So, let's play! Tally ho:

1. Seeing as you're from Seattle: Starbuck's - love or hate, or indifferent? Is the latte half-empty or half-full?

I'm new to the Seattle scene. Prior to about a month ago when I read that waiters/waitresses hated serving tea, I was a tea aficianado. And I was decaffed until about December. But now I drink coffee. And Tullys for me. Starbucks won't hire me, so I say fuck them. Unless they're reading this and reconsider the hiring thing. Then I'll be their bitch forever. And latte is always half-empty. The rest is milk.

2. What is your biggest fault? Answer the way you secretly wish you had been able to during that interview...

My biggest fault would probably lack of patience. I'm always looking for something to excite me, and move on once they get boring. And I am a silly optimist when it comes to thinking that things will be easy. Sometimes they are, but the job thing has kind of exposed the shortfall of that approach. And I get bitchy when people are slow. Driving in particular. Or in stores- or good God- art fairs. Women sauntering along with 20 foot wide strollers and fucking stopping- for no reason... I had better stop here- too many flaws- not enough time.

3. What is the strangest/most interesting thing you ever molded out of clay?

Clay is life. I did a series of pieces using porcelain that I devised a recipe for that were paper thin and looked kind of like flowers. It was the most demanding and fun thing ever. Until my glaze chemistry broke down and I opened a kiln at the end of the semester and found shards. The glaze had pulled the pieces apart. Luckily I had been successful earlier and had some pieces to show. But those were the best. I need a studio and some money to get rolling on those again someday.

4. If you had a clone, what would you do with it? Would you have sex with yourself?

I would send the clone on job interviews. That way I could blame someone else for not getting the job. And I don't swing that way, so no, I wouldn't have sex with my clone. I would teach her how to play cribbage (If I could remember how myself) and get good at it.

5. OK Miss Art History - if Mona Lisa could talk, what would she say??

STOP LOOKING AT ME!!! No- I think she would say, Leonardo, my darling, make me look pretty. It's hard to say whether or not it was a realistic or idealized portrayal of her. She might've had smallpox at some point and had the scariest skin possible. If so, then she was delighted with the results. I also don't know if this portrait was meant to snag her a spouse- if so, I hope it worked. I thought that there was still plenty of questions surrounding her identity, too- so I just dunno. She kind of gives me the creeps, though. I think it's the lack of eyebrows. And I think that Dan Brown is chock full of crap when it comes to the Da Vinci Code. I was disappointed in the ham fisted deneument of the book. But I think she would be pleased to be such a focus of attention after all of this time. And to be featured in a movie starring Tom Hanks.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Last night

About 2:30 I was watching a silly romance Pierce Brosnan/Julienne Moore movie. I would've written on the old bloggo, but had made a pact with myself to never blog when I should be sleeping (it's kind of like calling while drunk- bad news- I should keep some inhibitions intact).

Anyway, what seemed so riveting last night/this morning really wasn't, and I don't have much interesting to say today. Too tired. Gonna watch tivoed movies and nap.


Hockey is Back!!!

And whatever. I don't give a shit. Really. I was totally faking it. Cuz I just felt like jerking someone's chain a little.

I'm not sleeping worth shit and am getting a leetle testy. Poor spouse took this week off for vacation, and hasn't had much fun with his wife. No going to museums. He's going solo. Poor boy. Blame the flu. And blame Canada. Why? Because they love hockey. And I like circular logic. It comforts me.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

And finally, lest ye forget, MT is home to one of the world's largest nuclear arsenals. Here is one of them. I won't tell you where, but suffice it to say, this is not an uncommon sight thereabouts.

In Choteau you can buy Ice Cream- and dinosaurs! Seriously- who made that connection? It's either marketing genius, or just silly. And there are actually 2 Ice Cream parlors in Choteau. I don't quite get it.

On the road- the whitest clouds I've ever seen over the Beartooths.

Spouse's bike from childhood. Soon to be disassembled in our living room (I predict).

On our trip- near the deathcar incident. Definately back roads of MT- very, very off the beaten track. The spots are kamikaze bugs.

Roadtrip pictures. This guy is an antelope (for those of you not familiar) and can run like hell. My Dad says that they'll run themselves to death- just cuz they're kinda dumb.

Monday, July 11, 2005

And just for fun

My mother and step-father sat behind David Letterman at the rodeo a week ago. They were cool, and didn't say anything to him besides hi.

Mom said that he was very kind to his wife (?- did they actually get married?), and gentlemanly. She was impressed. I don't know what she expected, but she was impressed.

Anyhoo- celeb sighting of the week n all.

And furthermore

Part of my nostalgia tour 2005, I'm re-watching movies of my youth. Today is Blue Velvet. I gotta admit- I never made it all the way through the first and only time I attempted it before. The creepy atmosphere was too much for me, and I failed. Probably has a lot to do with being in Missoula, living in the Sacajawea Lodge at the time.

Or maybe I was just more of a wuss then. And Spouse saw it in High School. What a man he was! He was obsessed with Isabella Rosselini at the time, along with Louise Brooks. But he married a tall blond. I don't get it. But I'm sure as hell not complaining.

And he shares a birthday with David Lynch, and Federico Fellini. I share mine with Salman Rushdie. I love facts like that. Meaningless.

But yeah- Blue Velvet. Kyle was a pretty puppy. And overall, it's visually stunning.

Tomorrow I'm planning on watching The Young Poisoner's Handbook. Then I'll drift through The Story of Adele H. All in a good week's work.

Clowns to the left of me

Jokers to the right...

Here I am- stuck with a fuckwit who doesn't actually have auto insurance- hitting our cute little car- on my birthday- and making my lovely Spouse all aggrivated. Lucky for us our insurance agent is wonderful (until we see this reflected in our rates, despite their assurances otherwise- call me jaded). But you can betcha that when and if I see that cockknocker again, I'll be giving him a blistering earful of venom.

There. I feel much better now. Thank you. Have a nice day.

Gotta love famous murder weapons.


MEXICO CITY - One of history’s most infamous murder weapons, the icepick police believe was used to kill Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky, has resurfaced just weeks before the 65th anniversary of his assassination.

Tests to authenticate the weapon have been delayed by a dispute between the current owner, who may hope to sell it, and Trotsky’s grandson, who wants it for his museum — evidence of the ongoing struggle between socialist ideals and capitalism.

The icepick is in the hands of Ana Alicia Salas, whose father apparently removed it from an evidence room while serving as a secret police commander in the 1940s. She is considering selling the foot-long mountaineer’s icepick, but hasn’t decided on a price.

(I'll be surprised if it doesn't wind up in that infamous casino...the one that buys Virgin Mary sandwiches, et. al.)

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Hacking up a lung

Since I seem to have the flu, and can't stop coughing, I can't sleep in like I want.

And my mind is churning around in circles. All seemingly prompted by those stupid yearbooks. Burn them...maybe an exorcism of sorts. But I've learned to regret impulsive actions that have that air of finality.

I've been reflecting on my secret life as a teenager. I was a feral little thing with a veneer of respectability that I was finally able to cast off in college. It's really quite good that I never dabbled in drugs until graduate school (and then only pot- and only for a very short time)- or I would've been lost, I'm pretty sure. And I only drank on 3 occasions in high school.

But then there was the bad part of growing up in a smallish town. Boredom. What do you do if you don't drink or do drugs? What if you don't have a large circle of friends to hang with? Well, I drove a lot with the few friends that I had. I put tons of mileage on the truck I drove. And since my dad paid for the gas, it wasn't a problem.

And then there were the boys. I seriously thought that I could escape it all through one of them. And there were a couple of very benign relationships in those years. But also a couple of very malignant ones too. The worst almost killed me. (literally in a sense, and figuratively as well) And the best made me stronger. But at the core was boredom. I probably wouldn't have been so immersed in all of that garbage if there were more to do in that silly little town. And I'll admit that I didn't take full advantage of the activities provided by the school- I just learned yesterday that there was an actual Latin Club. Who knew? I tended towards the solitary pursuits for the most part (that introvert thing again).

If we were to play the "Which character of the Breakfast Club are you?" game, I would say - Ally Sheedy. Only I talked a lot. And laughed a lot. And found almost everything funny.

More, more, more

So last night Spouse and I were looking back in time. I had already plundered his home for his yearbooks ages ago. And now he had the opportunity to review mine. I will say this- for about a decade or so, all Montana children looked the same. I am older, and there were fewer mullets in mine, but the puffy 80s hair on the girls was pretty much universal.

I can't help but look back with a strange combination of sadness and envy. Sadness because I was such an unhappy thing at the time. And envy at the endless-seeming potential of that era in my life. I thought that I could do anything. Anything. And then I grew up. And learned that there are limits. And that this isn't necessarily a bad thing.

I also look at those pictures and wonder what became of some of them. Especially a few choice friends whose lives wandered away early on. I was a strange mixer back then. Drama, Art, Geeks and the stoner kids. I really didn't have much to do with the intellectuals- they were a little too into their alleged superiority. I really did like the stoner kids, though. At least the girls- most of the boys were kind of angry and edgy- and not very nice. But the girls were different. Damaged little things. I see that now. They were all going out with older guys who should've not gone there. And they all wanted salvation. One in particular was really great. But I didn't really pursue the friendship outside of school- her trajectory was sharply tilted downwards, and I didn't really want to go along for the ride. I do hope she's ok out there. It's a bad sign to be snorting Rush in study hall- and I picked up on that. But she was funny and sweet and sad.

We had an odd class. 5 of them died within the first year of graduation- several were suicides, and one was a homicide (according to some reports)/suicide (according to the police). And then one (a friend in Jr. high) died of brain cancer very young. And one drowned. I could've gone to my reunion and found out the rest of the stories, but I went to my sister's wedding instead. And was ok with that. The bitterness wore off so slowly- and bits are still there. I think I could handle it, but I don't really relish the thought of going back to where I was.

Spouse had several girls who wrote their numbers in his books. I didn't have that kind of thing going on. But there were entries that really illustrated that I was kind of a mystery to most of them. Probably because I was a combo of shy and extrovert. I would wear new wave regalia that made me stand out visually, but not really let anyone in to get to know me. I was terrified of rejection. And all of them. I wonder if I still am.

Friday, July 08, 2005

So last night

While we relaxed post drive (I think I picked up the flu on the trip- so feel a leetle icky), and watched last week's F1 Race, and recap of yesterday's Tour, I looked through my old High School yearbooks. It was the first time in over a decade that I've ventured there. I found them in the boxes of books I sorted through while at the ranch. (I'm proud of myself- I donated over 5 boxes to the library up there- I blame Scott for the inspiration.)

So it was odd seeing those faces. These people were my world. Some good, some rotten. And now some dead and some forgotten. I wonder if I would recognize any of them today. And vice versa. I must say that other than not having 80s puffy hair, and a few pounds on my frame, I don't look all that different (I think that not having kids has kept me pretty youthful). But I'm imagining that the guys that I thought were sooo hot back in the day might look rather nasty with extra poundage and less hair.

I spent time reading what was written in the books too. It made me kinda sad- I think that if I hadn't been such an angry, unhappy little wreck, I could've made better friends of some of those people. They were pretty nice. But at the time, I was very invested in the feeling of being the outsider. Thank God I didn't know about The Cure or The Smiths at that point- I probably would've been a Goth. And that would've been really rough.

It's just funny seeing all of those people who really, really mattered to me back in the day. I can't even remember many of them. Even past boyfriends. (some of those still make me shudder, though). I think that I was just too damned serious at too young of an age. Too intense. Too busy looking for someone to save me. Too lacking in the ability to not care.

No kitten for me.

The trip was also supposed to yield a new kitten. But when we got to the ranch, and saw the kittens, we discovered that they were the babies of Satan, himself. And the one that my Mom managed to pick up bit her in the hand, screamed, and ran away. We figure that we don't want that one. And then Mama Cat (who MUST be stopped) hid them. But that's ok. They were cute, but not appropriate for our little kitty tribe. Spouse was highly relieved not to have to drive from MT to Seattle with a kitten in the car. The weenie. I saw it as a potential adventure. After all, I am the one who had to drive the cats on the last two roadtrip/moves. 600-1500 miles of kitty goodness.

I'm back, and it was fun.

So now it rains. We got back last night after a pretty quick 10 hour drive. MT was good. We saw the new baby niece (love her very much- and appreciate that someone else in the family had first baby). We saw a very green state (unusual this time of year). Got to see a fireworks display in Billings bankrolled by the Montana Tavern Owner's Association (my family is part of that group- I was so proud)- and heard "Proud to be an American" - and tried not to giggle too hard about the whole stereotypical nature of it all.

It was good to get away from my job-free prison. And no, no good news yet on that front. I'm still waiting.

We did see something kind of nasty. We were driving the back roads from Billings to Helena (via Martinsdale on State Route 294, fyi) and saw a disturbing car wreck. We wouldn't have noticed the car on the other side of the road in the ditch on its top if there weren't 4 sheriff's cars there. And I knew that the Audi had at least one dead person in it- no one was trying to get someone out. That's a good indicator of that kind of thing. Spouse figured out the car type- the wheels. I didn't get a good look. Didn't want to see anything. But then we got the real confirmation that someone was good and dead. We passed the ambulance a bit later- dawdling along, without lights on. And that was that.

The next day at my Mother's ranch, we saw in the paper that a 22 year old guy from Clancy had wrecked his car at 4 AM the night before. We passed the scene around 10:30. So it took that long for them to discover the car. It made me very sad. I can only hope that he died quickly, and didn't suffer too much.

Friday, July 01, 2005

So screw em I say.

I haven't heard whether or not I got the temp job. Yeah. The temp job that I interviewed for. Whatever. So, since I obviously won't be starting a new job on Tuesday, I am going to MT. So there. And while I'm there, I will enjoy a new kitten, see my new niece, visit various wonderful relatives and friends, and road trip with Spouse. I always enjoy our road trips. With the sole exception of moving truck road trips- that's part of moving, which is never fun.

So we'll leave early tomorrow, and be gone until next week. I doubt that I'll be adding much here before I get back- Mom is on dialup. But I will have pictures!

Wing nuts on the wheel

So remember the car accident we had on my birthday? Yeah, so do I. Well, it seems that the whack job who hit us has recanted. Despite apologizing on the scene, and admitting that he didn't see us, and irrefutable physical evidence to the contrary, he is denying that he broadsided our lovely little convertable with his ugly old rustbucket truck. The fucker. So Spouse spent hours last night on Google sattelite maps making elaborate charts and diagrams that show that there is NO WAY that we could have been at fault. It's just not physically possible. Not with the current laws of physics firmly in place. And I haven't heard this wing nut denying those yet. But it could happen.

So what has happened to our claim? Well it goes to arbitration. Yup. The companies are going to discuss it amongst themselves. And I might get to talk to investigators. Lucky me. I'll be nice, I promise. But I'll be quite clear. The bozo hit our asses. On my birthday. I hope he has bad dreams and hears my screams in his sleep. I curse him thusly.

Still no news

I'm still waiting to hear about the job. And it's kind of making me cranky. I would really like to know- I've never had this happen with a temp agency before. It's goofy. Not only the interview (wha?) but the whole making me wait thing. Every temp job I've had in the past (and there have been plenty) was just assigned. You showed up. And did the job. And then it was over. And all was well in the world. But this is some heavy shit.

So we wait. Fuck them I say. I want to work, but I also want to be given at least 24 hours worth of warning that I have a job. Target is looking better and better every day!

Ok now I'm bummed

And no, it's not cuz Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck got married. Good for them. Whatever.

It's the Sandra Day O'Connor thing. It is really too bad. She's quite a person. And I've grown to really respect her. I think that one of the most admirable qualities about her career on the Supreme Court has been her insistence to actually cast her lot with whatever side she believed in, rather than being an empty-souled ideologue. She has integrity. And I might not agree with every decision that she made (eg. the election of 2000), but I do believe that she puts the Constitution first, and politics second on most things (with the exception of election 2000...sigh...).

The worst thing possible has happened, however. Not only is her husband sick- and I really do feel bad for her- that's really not good. But also, now our boneheaded President gets to choose a Supreme Court Justice. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Bet he'll choose a real corker. I thnk that we can look forward to some really nasty confirmation hearings. Y'all think that the current ones look nasty, just wait. I predict that he'll choose some right-wing wingnut with a serious anti-choice agenda. It'll only get ugly from there. And that makes me very sad. I hate what that man has done to our country- viz a viz the division of ideology. It really doesn't have to be that way. I am hoping that by the time the next election comes around, there'll be more incentive towards moderation. Yeah, and pigs will fly. But I can hope, no?