10 bags packing

A year ago today

2010-05-28T18:24:00.003-03:00

A year ago today, I woke up to find my dog lying on the bedroom floor, dead.

It was the day after Kyle's birthday. We'd gotten home from a family trip to Florida the evening before, on a Wednesday, in time for his weekly band practice. The trip had been relaxing, the journey home less so. My dad had underestimated the time it would take us to get to the airport. We ran through the airport and dashed through the security; sacrificing my water bottle to the TSA in the process. Moments later, an escalator began to gnaw away on the laces of my still-untied shoe, which Kyle had to yank to secure its freedom.

As it turned out, the flight was delayed, and so we sat for an hour in the airport Chili's. We sat and ate stale tortilla chips, washing them down with overpriced drinks.

When we arrived in Columbus, we headed to my mom's house to pick Sollie up. He'd spent the week at her home. We got him into the van; I dropped Kyle and the dog off at our dingy home, a rental, and headed out to Dairy Queen to get an ice cream cake for Kyle's birthday. A few minutes later, Kyle was on the phone. Did your mom mention anything wrong with Sollie? he asked. He's acting sort of strange. I called my mom, who said no. I told Kyle, It might be an ear infection. (He had many an ear infection, thanks to his moisture-loving floppy ears.) I'll bring him to the vet in the morning.

Band practice began, but it didn't last long. Our house suffered a brownout, with half its electricity--including the space in which Kyle practiced--out. So we sat out on the porch that muggy night, Sollie pacing and panting. It felt like a storm was coming, and out of everything he feared--our cat, Rosa; the toaster oven; small children--Sollie feared storms the most. More than once, his terror during a thunderstorm had prompted him to jump the chain-link fence at my mother's home, blind panic driving him across busy streets blocks away. And his worry had only worsened over time. My mom's beagle, Sukha, seemed to provide him some comfort during storms, but it had gotten to the point where even a heavy wind would find him hiding under the closest available person. His trembling would often wake me in the middle of the night, a harbinger of a storm that had not yet arrived.

Shortly before bedtime, around midnight, the power came back on and we decamped to our bedroom. I tried to coax Sollie into our bed--his preferred position was to lie between Kyle and I, his lanky limbs splayed for optimal bed-hogging--but he refused to stay there for long, instead opting for the floor.

In retrospect, I should have known that something was horribly, terribly wrong. Instead, I set my alarm for 7 a.m., when the vet would be open for business.

When I woke that morning, his body was stiff, his torso swollen. We would later learn he had died of bloat, his stomach flipped and twisted inside of him, lack of oxygen slowly killing the organ tissue and, by extension, him.

Sollie died a year ago today and I still am overwhelmed with grief and guilt. I wish I'd known about bloat, which can kill dogs that are, by all appearances, healthy. I wish I'd known that he was seriously ill. I wish that he could have been in bed with us, instead of alone on a hardwood floor.

Sollie loved snuggling. He loved sitting next to me on the couch, his heavy head draped on my shoulder. He loved bedtime--though he usually waited for me before heading up to bed, if I stayed up too late, he'd sigh and head up on his own. He loved walks. He loved the tortilla chips guests at our house parties would smuggle to him. He loved cottage cheese--the sound of a plastic container was enough to bring him running to the kitchen. He loved ear rubs, and would let out a low moan if one was done just right. He loved plush toys with a squeaker inside, and would squeak them on end, to Kyle's annoyance and my amusement. He had a creepy smile that he only showed when he was really excited to see someone. (The first time I saw it, I thought he was going to attack me.) Though he had a reputation for impeccable manners--one of his many nicknames was Mr. Perfect--in the last year, he'd taken to greeting me when I came home by jumping up to put his paws on my shoulders before giving my face one great big lick.

I wasn't Sollie's original owner. Credit for his good manners and training goes to my friend Nate, his original owner and my roommate during my days in San Diego. It was that Sollie--who had playfully gnawed on my ears with his sharp puppy teeth when he was younger--became my greatest source of comfort as I spiraled into depression and loneliness out on the West Coast. Even when I headed back home, to Ohio, Sollie was there, a bony, non-stuffed animal for me to snuggle with. As cheesy as it is to say, he never failed to live up to his name, Solace. But for all the comfort he gave me through the years, I'm left feeling like I never gave him comfort when he needed it most.

A year ago today, I woke up to find my dog lying on the bedroom floor, dead. I miss him so much.

That time of year again

2010-02-15T01:09:00.006-04:00

(About my annual blog post: Twitter seems to better suit my A.D.D., which is why I don't come 'round these parts too often, but it's probably good for the soul to sit back and reflect every once in a while, no?)

Kyle and I spent our Valenversary this year filling our gullets with comfort food via trips to Tip-Top, Dirty Frank's, Pistacia Vera and The Dube; sharing a Holiday Inn with a swarm (flock? school?) of biker dudes and biker ladies; and mucking about Columbus' finer big box stores in search of kitchen organization tools.

Ah yes. Because we bought a house. Bought it Oct. 30, Moving Day was Dec. 6, Get All of The Rest of Our Shit Out of There Day was Dec. 31 (because what better way to spend New Year's eve then by sweeping--while weeping--at 9:30 p.m. that night?). Jan. 1 was No, Seriously, Let's Get That Lamp and That Chair Out of the Old House Day, and we've been at our new house ever since. Seventy-five percent of the time, I manage to give people the correct address for the new place. Homeownership is lovely, for the most part, except for when I look into my bank statements and find that 90 percent of my income is going straight to Lowe's.

Last year had its highlights--the aforementioned home purchase, the celebration of our one-year wedding anniversary--but mostly it was one of intense heartbreak. Sollie died, suddenly, awfully and on Kyle's birthday, and just thinking about him and how much I still miss him makes me ache. Not in a metaphorical way--my muscles tense up and my bones hurt in the way the arm I broke as a kid hurts before a spring storm. I miss that damn dog so much.

So, yeah, there's that.

And then there's the job stuff, and well, let's just say I am fond of the people I work with and am happy to be working with them; in the interest of personal preservation I'll stay mum on the rest.

Yeah.

But to leave this post on a similarly sentimental note to the previous post, I would be remiss if I didn't talk--or, more accurately, gush--about Kyle. He has been tremendous through the madness of the last 365 days. He is a strong, kind, honest and fundamentally good person, and is a source of measureless comfort and support. Each day I am with him--even the days where we inevitably work each others' last nerve--I feel my love for him grow and our relationship strengthen. It is a joy to be his partner.

I know it's gross

2009-02-13T09:09:00.003-04:00

but I really, really, really love my husband. And today's our seven-year (dating) anniversary*. (You're still allowed to celebrate such things once you get married, right?)

Truth be told, I am not so great at the wordsmithing when it comes to matters of the heart, but man, this guy is just the best. He is a man of integrity, a talented musician, a loyal friend, a gentle soul and a possessor of one sly sense of humor. And have I mentioned his beard? The beard is great.

Bee's knees. That's him.

Anyway, I may threaten him with murder on a regular basis, but I can't imagine my life without him in it. (So tremble in fear no more, honey!)

*Actually, I argue it's actually tomorrow, but Kyle is an unstoppable force in this dispute. Plus, hey, TWO days of romantic presents in a row! Can't complain about that.

I swear I will return to regular posting soon

2009-01-24T18:15:00.002-04:00

But until then, enjoy this, the most amazing news story ever*. (I am SO JEALOUS of the reporter on this 'un.)

*Don't believe me? Here's a hint. It includes talk of "Butt Hole Road."

My dad wants me to get fired

2009-01-20T13:37:00.003-04:00

E-mail from my dad: Yipee! Can’t believe it’s real. Hey – toke ‘em if ya got ‘em!

Thank you, Jungle Jim's

2009-01-14T21:52:00.002-04:00

The taste is ... meh ... but the design of this bottle is so much awesome in a small glass package.

Tears were shed

2009-01-03T12:51:00.002-04:00

If you ever want to go on a road trip with me, there's something you should know: I can't drive stick.

Oh, I tried once: I was sixteen, and, on the day in question, I was running errands with my dad. We were in a Kohl's parking lot when I felt my blood sugar plummet. I asked if we could get a soda somewhere. Sure, said my dad, but why don't you try driving first? I'm sure there have worse suggestions made then this. I mean, someone had to pitch the concept of Crystal Pepsi, right? But this one had to be up there. Still, I clambered into the Taurus' driver's seat, started her up, and then eased into reverse, slowly backing out into the lane from our parking spot.

At least that was the plan. In reality, I started the engine, moved into reverse, and, panicked about how quickly the car seemed to be moving in the crowded parking lot, hit the brakes. Only, it wasn't the brakes I was hitting, but the gas. FUCK! I yelled, slamming on the not-brakes-but-actually-accelerator again. FUCK! I repeated myself, again hitting what was proving to be the wrong pedal. One last FUCK! escaped my lips before my dad calmly reached over and took the keys out of the ignition. My lesson was over, and, 14 years later, I haven't attempted to repeat it.

All of that should have served as fair warning for me yesterday as I tried to learn just how a person (in my case, me) is supposed to insert and remove contact lenses. I knew it wasn't going to be the easiest lesson. I mean, I have a bit of a thing about eyes. I was never one of those kids who turned their eyelids inside out, and ever since the third grade, when the tip of my pencil broke and it flew into my eye, I have made it a practice to try to keep things out of my eyes, rather than put things in. So, until yesterday, I'd never so much as attempted touching my eye, and here I was, being required by a medical professional (Donnell, my optician for the day) to do it over and over. Ick. Ick. Ick.

If that wasn't hard enough, my appointment was scheduled at 4:20 (heh, heh) p.m. on the Friday of what was proving to be a exhausting week, which itself was on the tail end of another exhausting week. My energy, already at a near-all-time low, was in a freefall when I entered my eye doctor's office. And Donnell, who, it must be said, scheduled my appointment in the first place, didn't seem too happy to have me there either. After confirming around the office that he was the only person there who could do the "teach," he instructed me to wash my hands and meet him at a small station set up in the back of the office.

And so, for the next 1 1/2 hours, we worked at it. Staring at my own reflection in the mirror for that length of time started to make me feel crazy, as I noticed every clogged pore, every errant hair, and a hairdo that was beginning to resemble Cameron Diaz's infamous 'do in There Something About Mary as I reached over my head to grab my eyelid and pull it taut, pushing my bangs skyward in the process. All the while, Donnell noted some challenges: You need to actually touch your eyes to do this. You aren't going to be able to push the contact through your lashes, so you're going to have to open your eyes. You have small eyes so you're really going to have to pull on your eyelashes to keep them open, he said, giving my battered self-esteem another kick in the shins.

Eventually, I got it.

Sort of.

I managed to get the lenses in on my own, but taking them out was yet another challenge. Finally, I popped it one out. It was a fluke, to be sure, but Donnell, taking a not-so-surreptitious look at his watch, was ready to go. After making sure I could insert the lens again, he sent me on my way. My instructions were to wear them for four hours Friday, six or so Saturday and 8-14 on Sunday.

Let me take a moment here to say that my dad tried contacts for the first time a few years ago, and, in an incident that will live in family lore, found himself at the ER, in need of professional help to remove his contacts. Perhaps I should not have mocked him so much for that. Because four hours after I'd had the lenses inserted, I made my first attempts to remove the contacts and quickly discovered I just couldn't do it. Three hours after that, after I punched and kicked our bathroom wall in frustration, after I sent Kyle to my mom's to get a light-up mirror and after Kyle tried to yank the contacts out himself, an effort that led to both of us crumbling into hysterics, I gave my dad a call. Do you still have that suction cup thingy that the ER people used to take out your contacts? I asked. He did not. But, he said, he'd figured out some techniques that he could help me with.

So, that's how I ended up at 11 p.m. last night with Kyle shining a flashlight in my face as my dad hovered over me and plucked the contacts from my eyes. Kyle suggested I give up on this contacts thing altogether. I said I would schedule another "teach" at the eye doctor's. My dad suggested I try again today. And so, against my better wisdom, I'm gonna do just that. But I think I'll have a soda first.

2009: good so far

2009-01-02T12:17:00.003-04:00

My catchphrase of the year is the o-so-clever "doin' fine in 2009," which is my way of saying that I am cautiously optimistic about this year. It's day 2 of 2009, and so far, so good, but considering I'm employed at a struggling company in an industry that appears to be in a death spiral, it is best to be cautious about just about everything. So cautious I will be.

Anyway, NYE 2008 was spent in the best possible way: with friends (although, sigh, not all of them. Why can't everyone I love live in the same city as me? Why don't people realize that they should base all of their life decisions around how they will impact ME?? I mean, c'mon already!), my hubby (who also falls into the "friend" category, happily enough, but who deserves special recognition) and with a 7-year-old girl serving as bartender. No, really. I heard she made great mixed drinks, if a bit too strong. I was on a champers-only bender, so I did not avail myself of her services, however.

So, yes, it was a night that was spent drinking champagne (that, for once, cost more than $4.99--I'm getting classy in my old age), sitting in a smoky room* and debating the merits of using vintage items and thereby contributing to their inevitable ruin, vs. preserving them for others to enjoy in the future**, and watching our hosts take belts of tequila before setting off rather impressive fireworks. No one lost a finger in the revelry, so I consider it a success. And, because I was wise enough to guzzle some water pre-passing-out--and during periodic incidences of wakefulness throughout the night--I managed to do be hangover-free on Jan. 1. My, how I've grown--it must be because I'm 30, AKA old, now. But as long as it means I don't spend the day with my head in the toilet, praying for the sweet, sweet relief of death, that's fine by me.

Later in the day, the hubby and I headed to Dayton, to spend Christmas part Infinity with his mom and brother's family. (Depending on how you count it, we had, at minimum, seven (!!!) family Christmas get-togethers this season. Crikey.) Good times were had by all. A personal highlight was when my 4-year-old niece, Sophie, asked me for a ride on my shoulders. I wasn't sure if I could do it (I realized I'd never given someone a shoulder-ride before), but I gave it a go, and we made several rounds around the first floor before I put her down. I then attempted to convince her that she should reciprocate and give me a ride. At first she argued against it: "You're too big," but agreed to try, and wouldn't let go of the leg I'd wrapped around her shoulder until I convinced her that in all actuality, were she to try, I'd smash her like a bug.

As you imagine, that--along with the kids trying on the fake moustaches we bought them -- made my ovaries ache more than a little. Later though, trying to sleep last night, I dreamed of leaving my 8-year-old nephew by himself at the beach while I ran errands and of foolishly bringing our cat to a department store changing room (where she promptly ran away), so I'm pretty sure my subconscious is sending me a message about the wisdom of that at this point in my life.

Up next: I head out to the eye doctor's this afternoon for a "teach" on how to insert, wear and remove contacts. I'm pretty sure this whole thing will end in tears (I imagine my optometrist will be weeping in frustration by the end), but hey, I really want a spend a Halloween where I can be _____, not _____-with-glasses. Perhaps the dream will live in 2009.

*Ahem.
**My philosophy is that these items were meant to be used, and it sort of denies them their, I dunno, significance if we just use them as art objects alone. That said, if something I love is nearing falling-apart-ness, I will stop using it so that I can extend its life.

So, where was I?

2009-01-02T12:16:00.000-04:00

That's right: I'm back, bishes.

FUUUUUUUCK

2008-04-28T23:54:00.002-03:00

Yep, that's about it.

Worst witness evar

2008-04-16T09:21:00.003-03:00

So, I'd left a press conference and was on my way to Target yesterday afternoon, fully immersed in a world of gangsta rap (Thank you, Office Space soundtrack), and waiting for a break in traffic so I could turn left from the street into the store parking lot. And then, as Ice Cube rapped about carjackings, it happened.

A semi was coming the other direction, and was taking a right into the parking lot. And then ... the traffic lights heaved up before sagging down to their earlier position. Holy shit. The semi had hit the pole, and for a second, I wondered if it was all going to come crashing down on me.

It didn't. Yay.

The truck driver hesitated for a second before continuing on to make his delivery to Kroger. I carefully made my left turn into the lot, chatted with a fellow witness, and followed her into Target, where we told a store manager what had happened. Only ... once he confirmed it wasn't a Target truck and that the incident had happened on city property, he really didn't give a damn about the gigantor dent left in the potentially fragile pole. Ooops.

So, yeah, if you are committing a crime, it is totally no problem to have me around. I will never be able to identify you in a lineup and I will wait forever to call the police. You're welcome.

Not hating, just saying

2008-04-13T15:01:00.003-03:00

Hee.

In other news, the cat bit the dog today. And even though he could probably fit her entire head in his mouth, no problem, he just sat there, staring straight ahead. He is the Gandhi of the canine world.

Also, I had B.O.

2008-04-10T10:51:00.002-03:00

The scene: Monday night, mid-council meeting. I'm waiting for a TV reporter to finish interviewing a city department director, so I can have my turn. He finishes, and it's go-time for your intrepid girl reporter. The director starts by embracing me around my waist. [Side note -- I have had untold numbers of sources, man and woman alike, hug me. Am I being too nice to them? Is it because of my wee stature? Luckily, I don't mind hugs, but still. Weird. Almost as weird as the time I accidentally exchanged a high-five with a school superintendent.] He's standing really close to me, like, leaning in, and I am forced to admit to him that I have dragon breath after sucking down, like, a pot of coffee during the day. Crud. And then at the end, he goes for the handshake, and I have to apologize to him because my hands are covered in cold, slick sweat.

Wow. No wonder people wanna give me a hug. What's not to love about stinky breath and clammy hands?

OHIO STATE!!!

2008-04-09T14:16:00.001-03:00

The Dangers of Being a Television News Reporter, via Gawker.

Police report of the week

2008-04-07T01:29:00.003-03:00

This time, there are two winners:

Police officers were dispatched to a grocery store in the 1600 block of [Redacted] Road at about 5:20 p.m. April 5 on the report of a drunk man urinating inside the business. Officers arrived and found the man inside the store's loss prevention office, where he was taken, according to a witness, after he was found urinating on bread, ruining more than $200 worth of the foodstuff. The suspect was arrested by police, charged with public urination and transported to jail.

A 24-year old man in the 1600 block of [Redacted] Avenue told police that someone shot out one of his apartment windows April 4. In addition to the $350 in damage to the window, the man reported injury to his mini-blinds, worth $100, and to a painting of Martin Luther King, Jr., worth $250. [Note -- this happened on the anniversary of MLK's assassination. Bizarre, no?]

Fuck you, Skybus!!

2008-04-04T22:34:00.002-03:00

I was fortunate enough to check my e-mail about 20 minutes ago, just in time to get the news that Skybus is shutting down at day's end. Awesome. Good thing Kyle and I weren't planning on, like, using it to attend his sister's wedding in New Orleans, right?

Oh, wait. We totally were.

So, 15 minutes -- and a tremendous spike in my blood pressure -- later, I've booked new tickets. God love ya, Priceline. The new tickets are pricier -- $204 apiece, instead of $80 -- but at least we won't have to rent a car this way, so we're not so much in the hole. I just pity the poor souls due to fly tomorrow -- or my fellow passengers who actually have social lives. Gooooo me being lame!

Underwire bras = evil

2008-04-04T21:59:00.002-03:00

The Teet and I were just having a conversation the evils of underwire bras, like, yesterday. And then I read this today. Yikes.

More conversation on the hateful bra here.

There's also a Wray, Colorado

2008-03-21T16:24:00.001-03:00

School arranges morning-after pills for girls of 14 after end-of-term party descends into drunken orgy

Mark

2008-03-20T22:40:00.003-03:00

Well, The Teet pretty much said it.

I hadn't seen Mark in a while -- most of what I knew of his life in the last year or was what I heard through the grapevine -- but he'd left me a voice mail a few months back, when I was, er, trying to figure out job stuff. As was his way, the message was embarrassingly complimentary and friendly. Mark was the kind of person who could be overwhelming with his gregariousness. He loved telling a story -- either by bending someone's ear or putting pen to paper -- and he could be equal parts engaging and exhausting, his energy especially remarkable for someone more than 10 years my senior, working two jobs and parenting a teenage daughter.

When I think of Mark, I think of riding in his car with him to lunch, the empty soda cans rattling their way back and forth across the dashboard. I think of his non-stop intensity, the way he seemed to put his whole body into smoking a cigarette. I think of how fondly he talked about his daughter, and the affection I saw between them at his going-away party way back when. They seemed more like teenaged friends than parent and child.

I'd left by the time he made it to our office Monday, and even if I had been there, there's a good chance we wouldn't have exchanged much more than a passing hello, as I'm sort of a horrible grouch most Mondays. Still, I regret missing the opportunity.

Mark Major, I wish you could have found what you were looking for.

Oh, the places I'll go!

2008-03-16T18:25:00.005-03:00

The Visited States map, via The Farrago. I still have to hit the Carolinas and Alaska, and then I'll have made it to all of the states (although, I have to say, in some cases I was just driving through or switching flights -- I hope to have actual visits to more of these places soon. Man, I (I keep trying to put a heart in here, but the 'puter won't let me) travelin'.

I'm totally normal, except for my small teeth

2008-03-04T18:22:00.003-04:00

Obama
Originally uploaded by 10bagspacking

This went up in our neighbors' yard over the weekend. The sign reads:

Hey, if you are wondering why this OBAMA sign is handmade, it's because someone keeps stealing our sign! You can steal our sign, but you can't steal our vote ... [something I can't make out] Florida in 2000. Vote for HOPE. Vote for CHANGE. (And leave our sign alone.)

Anyway, I appreciate the spirit in which the sign was made -- and, I swear, I haven't stolen their signs -- but, with much hemming and hawing, I ended up voting for Hillary. It was not an easy choice: I was arguing the matter back-and-forth with myself while driving to my polling location, and even when it finally came time to cast my vote. When I saw that Kucinich was on there, I nearly cast my ballot for him, in all honesty. But then I touched the screen for Hillary, my vote neatly recorded on the machine's paper scroll. Only ... then I wasn't so sure about it. So then I Obama. OVERVOTE! Whoops. The computer told me I'd have to un-choose her before I could vote for someone else. So I did. And then, when the time came to confirm my vote, I wavered again. Was I just giving in to peer pressure? I mean, yeah, the woman thing was one of the reasons why I've had a soft spot for her, but I like her health care plan better than Barack's, even though I have more respect for his stance on the war. Crap. Moreover, I want people to see that there is support for her ideas (again, that health care thing to me is HUGE), and that she's not fading away.

So, I changed my vote again. Hillary it was.

I have to say that I'm falling neatly in line with most of my fellow Ohioans, who -- according to a poll I saw on the Dispatch website yesterday but can't locate right now -- are voting for Hillary but think Obama will win the nomination and are OK with that. In some respects, truthfully, I sort of hope he wins over her, although in such a scenario, I would like her as his running mate. I like the optimism and energy he brings to all of this ... anyway, I'm going back to my waffling again. Must stop.

In other, non-election news, my mouth has *finally* stopped hurting, after days of steady aching following the creation of my temporary crown Saturday. Apparently, my problem is that I have small teeth (Hey, I'm short, I have a small head, this is to be expected), which makes the proceedure more painful. I have no idea, really, but that's what Kyle said, and he has a degree in that stuff. Crud. So, I'm now really conscious of my teeth, even if the New York Times thinks it could be part of the "advance guard of human evolution, at least in dentition" -- uh, just ignore the part about the story being written in 1988.

Could it be?

2008-03-03T16:00:00.002-04:00

Yes, there is such a thing as HappyJournalist.com. It is, as one might imagine, nowhere near as popular or incisive as AngryJournalist.com.

Gawker has a good post-by-post analysis on the differences between the two sites.

This, so far, is my favorite HappyJournalist quote:

I’m happy that my company gave me a boatload of money to retire from the profession I love and will now pay the new employees half or less of what we got. I’m happy that this site will receive many fewer comments than AngryJournalist.com.

When the power goes out at work

2008-03-03T15:19:00.003-04:00

I end up working from home, which is not all bad -- I mean, hey, how often do I get to watch marathons of Tori & Dean: Inn Love? Er, a lot, actually -- but there is one challenge. The cat's all-abiding love for the laptop. Specifically, she loves climbing on the keyboard while I'm trying to type. And this is what happens when she does.

Dear Snow,

2008-02-27T15:27:00.000-04:00

Enough already!

Best,
J

Yesssss

2008-02-22T14:33:00.000-04:00

The small private conference room in our office that is generally reserved for telephone interviews with prospective employers (if you’re any number of my former co-workers) or paying off your traffic tickets, so the county will remove the two bench warrants filed against you (if you’re me). Today, I was walking by when I noticed that the lights were off – always a good sign of a juicy happening – and there was someone talking inside. The only words I could catch (before I was caught lingering outside) were “dirty-ass ho.” Beautiful.

In other good news, Kyle just called me and told me that one of his employers has agreed to finish my root canal for free, basically. He’s going to take what the insurance company is offering for both steps of the process (fitting me for a cap, giving me a temporary cap and then a permenant one) and nothing more, which is, like, totally rad, considering I am, as always, Brokey McBrokerson.

Next up: wisdom tooth removal! Woo hoo!

This makes me so happy

2008-02-20T16:24:00.003-04:00

This is one of the three freakin' adorable mascots for the Vancouver 2010 Olympics. Is it wrong to want to go to the Olympics just so I can see them in person? Love. There are some cute games on the event Web site, too. I think, at the very least, I'm gonna have to get a comemorative pin or somethin'.

And last night, I bought a new print. How lovely is this? And I get buttons with it, too.

More good news: I have had issues with my car for months now, and last night I brought it in for the dealer repair guy to have another look. Every other time I've done this, he's basically told me that I'm crazy, that everything's been fixed. This time, the voice mail he left on my phone was something like this: "Hey, just looked at your car, and, well, we're replacing the transmission ... [me, inwardly: SHIT!!] ... and it's covered by your warranty [sigh of relief]. I'll call you when it's done." Then, a few hours later, another message: "Hey, the car's all fixed, and as we were fixing it, the check engine light went on. It was your thermostat ... [ARGH!!] ... but it's covered under warranty, so we've replaced that, too."

Aaaah. I feel better now.

Things I don't want to hear at 7:30 a.m.

2008-02-20T14:50:00.001-04:00

"Uh, I think the cat peed on your clothes."

Sigh.

And then there's this

2008-02-19T16:58:00.002-04:00

Which both of my (semi-bitterly divorced, but politically aligned) parents have sent me in the last few days: We bruise our daughters when we bash Hillary Clinton.

Recently, I learned that some airport shops are selling a "Hillary nutcracker." She has a smile on her face and metal spikes between her thighs. I don't worry about the candidate, who has learned how to handle such misogyny, but I do dwell on the young girls who might catch a horrifying glimpse of those steel jaws and decide that no woman should invite such vitriol.

Dreading March 4

2008-02-19T15:59:00.004-04:00

For the first time I can remember, I don't know which Presidential candidate I will be voting for in the primary. And man, it is making me crazy. I just took one of those online quizzes where you can answer questions to see which candidate best suits you, and Hillary and Barack frickin' came in tied! Ack!

Annnnd ... I just took another poll, and it looks like my winning candidate is ... Mike Gravel, probably only because Kucinich is no longer a choice. Yeah, that's how I roll.

OK, another site has Obama matching me at 85 percent, tied (natch) with Kucinich, and followed by Hillary at 83 percent. In other words, too close to count.

[Edited to add: And the fucking USA Today poll has me with Kucinich first, Gravel second and McCain third. Perfect.]

Ugh. Rebecca Traister had an essay in Salon a couple of days before Super Tuesday that, well, it's like she has tapped into every single feeling I have had about this race. I had a hard time picking out the parts that most spoke to me, because, well, it all does, but here are some excerpts:

I think, every day, of what it would feel like to vote for Barack Obama. I can feel the pull of Obama-mania, how thrilling it would be to see the country come alive with excitement for a young person, someone with fresh ideas, a man beholden to few in Washington, a candidate who has lived around the world, who does not seem to take a cowboy approach to foreign policy, who has forsaken big business opportunities in order to address the problems of the working class. I think also that, in the United States, race (especially when combined with class) remains a more formidable barrier to professional, political and economic success than gender. Hillary Clinton may have a harder time getting elected than Obama because, frankly, Obama can be comfortably looked at as an exceptional black man, not as a harbinger of what's to come, whereas Hillary will stand in for all those pushy broads coming to take your jobs, college admissions letters and seats in Congress. If Hillary's success is less exceptional, does she deserve my vote as much as Barack?

. . .

And then I think of how, when I was 9, my dad took me into the voting booth so that I could pull the lever for the first female vice president, and how he told me that he hoped that in my lifetime I would have the opportunity to vote for a woman at the top of the ticket. And I think about the fact that this is it -- my chance to pull that lever for her, so that I can do it again come November.

. . .

There is shame in voting for Hillary Clinton, make no mistake -- pulling a lever for someone who voted for Iraq and proposed anti-flag-burning legislation provokes its own brand of self-loathing. When I think about doing the deed, I consider the fact that she's brilliant, that she's competent, that she knows her shit inside and out, that she's battle-tested, tough as nails, and that she wipes the floor with Obama in the debates. She provides a steel-solid track record, he a nimbus of vague hope.

. . .

But here is the honest part: Hillary Clinton is a woman. And so am I. And my president doesn't have to look like me, any more than she has to be a person I want to have a beer with, but I can't pretend that it doesn't mean something, something really important, that we've never had one who looked like me before.

Can’t it ever lede without bleeding? Ever? Ever ever?

2008-02-18T16:03:00.002-04:00

AngryJournalist.com is my new favorite thing on the internet.

A sampling:

Angry Journalist #185:
I’m pissed that community journalism is dying and being bought out by bullshit companies who don’t care about grass roots reporting and the important position it holds in small town America.

Angry Journalist #245:
I just want to punch someone

Angry Journalist #276:
Editors who tell you to “dumb down” the writing, not trusting the reader’s intelligence. The public who doesn’t give a shit about what’s going on around them. AP style, nut grafs, and ledes. The lack of balls in writing style. The large MSM outlets who skew the news and make community journalists look like assholes. The lack of truth in journalism. The fact that politicians try to make themselves look good in the press, rather than give the truth, and we have to take it as is. The fact that the state I live in has one reporter opening a month, we have a popular journalism major at a state university, and dozens apply to each job that comes up. What are the rest of the kids doing? The fact that I can’t pay off my debts as a community journalist, and in fact only create more. The fact that if I ever want to move up in this field I have to give out blow jobs. The fact that writing shitty stories over irregular hours makes me so numb I can’t bear to sit and write fiction during my time off. The fact that I am considering a trade job to get out of this field I worked so hard to get into. The fact that I love the concept of the news, but hate the way it is done, and am disillusioned by how I am told to do it. The fact that papers look to hire journalists with online and multimedia skills, but only take paper packet applications. The fact we have to write the same amount of stories we always have AND do more multimedia on top of it. The fact that there is never enough time to really spend out in the public chatting with the people who matter most — the readers. Shall I continue?

Angry Journalist #293:
I should have gone to refrigeration school.

(Via Gawker)

Meredith, for the win

2008-02-18T15:33:00.002-04:00

It's snowing fairly heavily right now, and has been since I got here at 8:20 a.m. It was 60 degrees yesterday; today the high is expected to be about 20 or so degrees.

And it just thundered.

Meredith: "Why are we living The Day After Tomorrow?"

Now with 10 percent fewer brain cells!!

2008-02-18T00:56:00.002-04:00

This weekend has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride. The highs: the continuation of Kyle and my Valenversery, good food, getting in some exercise, spending time with my mom and friends. The lows: bickering with Kyle over stuff so pointless that I can no longer recall anything we fought about, eating *way* too much rich food and misplacing -- I hope! -- my iPod.

But perhaps the most exciting moment happened Saturday afternoon shortly after our workout. My muscles were starting to tighten up, and I decided that the best thing would be a long, hot bath. So, with Kyle out shoe-shopping, I got the bath started and shortly thereafter noticed that the water was much, much too hot. I needed to add cold water, and impatient being that I am, I hopped in and used my feet to swish it all around.

That might have been a mistake.

I was facing the wall on the long side of the tub when ... it started to move. Or rather, I started to move, as my feet sled forward and my body catapulted backwards. It all happened quickly, but as I fell straight back, I had enough time to think "Huh--I'm finally going to know what it's like to be knocked unconscious." With my knees hanging over the edge of the tub, my elbow hit the floor and my head slammed into the wall. FUUUUUCK! For a second, I wondered if Kyle would find me there on the floor, naked and bleeding. I wondered if I had a concussion. Genius that I am, I held two fingers in front of me to see if I had double-vision. My already-poor eyesight seemed no worse for wear. And so I gingerly climbed back into the tub, bathed and then tended to the scabs forming on my elbow and leg. Apart from those cuts, I haven't seen any lasting effects, except, uh, tonight at tennis, I didn't have my own racquet, so I borrowed the club's. Aaaand when tennis was over, I walked out with it. Whoops. I think my memory might have taken a hit.

There will be blood

2008-02-13T00:25:00.003-04:00

After years (eep!) of procrastination, I finally went to the dentist yesterday. It was a trip I dreaded not so much because of the dentist himself (he's a pretty genial guy) or the inevitably painful tooth-scraping, but because of the visit's impact on my wallet. The verdict, after a protracted scaling that left my gums bleeding and raw? One cavity, which will be filled next week. Oh, and I still have to get my root canal finished and my wisdom teeth removed. Man, my wallet's already hurting in anticipation.

Anyway, the dentist. I have this ongoing joke about how nothing in his office has changed since 1972. Several of the walls are wood-paneled, and one exam room has a sepia-toned photographic mural of a nature scene. And then yesterday, I saw what's pictured above: Tons of back issues of Soap Opera Digest.

Oh, and a children's book on West Germany. Wow. I always thought I was a bit of an exaggerator about the place, but, yeah. There it is.

Anyhoo, my gums were tender last night and this morning, and when I woke up at 7 a.m., I decided to take a Tylenol PM and go back to sleep. That may have been a mistake. When I woke up four hours later, I decided I should probably go to work. Only I couldn't find my glasses. So, I watched some Martha Stewart, caught up on my e-mail and then started what would be a two-hour search. Dammit. Do you know how hard it is to find glasses when you need them to find anything? It is quite difficult.

After moving the bed, stripping it, wrestling with dust bunnies and finding our lost DVD remote, I finally found my specs, which were on the floor on Kyle's side of the bed, caught in a tangle of wires. Argh. I put them on, and headed to the office. Everything was pretty uneventful there, except I finally gave in and started playing this, which is both terribly addictive and allows me to think my laziness is doing some good in the world. So, yeah, that's pretty rad, although I have a feeling my productivity is going to plummet. But hey, starving people will get rice!

Wiener Poopie

2008-02-06T17:48:00.001-04:00

I have no words for how amazing this is. (Via Dooce)

Can we talk about my shoes?

2008-02-04T16:07:00.001-04:00

Let's.

OK, so I have been coming apart at the seams since my beloved Pro-Keds came apart at the seams (quite literally, sadly). After two-plus years of solid use, they just started disintegrating, and no amount of Shoe Goo could keep them together. I loved these shoes. They were like Chuck Taylors, but with actual arch support and a more substantial sole. They were a staple of my wardrobe, and with their loss, my ability to dress myself for work declined significantly. To make matters worse, when I attempted to find a proper replacement, I learned that the line had been purchased by Rocawear. And y'know, as much as I used to love to don hip-hop clothes as a kid, the thought of wearing logo-emblazoned shoes like this makes me cry. So I've been looking for something to take their place. I wanted comfy black shoes that I could wear to work (I interpret our office dress code very loosely), wear out and not hear my footsies cry in pain afterward.

My plan for the weekend was to find brown pants. My favorite pair, as I said a few days ago, were destroyed by an uncapped permanent marker left in my pocket and I needed a new pair for my work uniform. I headed to Old Navy to try and find the dream pants. No dice. As much as I love Old Navy, it all went down in a manner that I am accustomed to at this store. One pair of pants was so tight that no waist extender in the world would would help. When I went up a size, however, the pants were so big and baggy that I could pull them down even when properly zipped and buttoned. So, no dice.

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, shoes.

Anyway, Kyle had asked me to grab some Method all-purpose pink grapefruit-scented household cleaner at Target (seriously, he wants to make babies with that shit) while I was out pants-shopping. Um, you want me to go to Target? Hells yeah! Guilt-free consumerism, here I come.

And it was there that I found them. Target now carries fabric Converse One-Stars. Do you know how difficult it is to find cute, non-leather shoes? Very. The adult shoes were $29.99, but nearby, and looking remarkably similar (and by "similar," I mean, "the same") was a kiddie version for $19.99.

Check it out: Adults. Kids.

OK, are you back? Good. So, I decided to try an experiment. Would my size 6.5-7 tootsies fit in kiddie shoes? Oh, yes. Yes they would.

I'm wearing my new kicks now. I don't love them as much as those Pro-Keds (now collecting dust bunnies under the bed, as I can't yet bear to throw them out), but hell, they were cheap and reasonably stylish and not made of dead cows. And now I'm eyeing a pair in bubblegum pink.

Crybaby

2008-02-04T14:32:00.000-04:00

Those who have known me for any length of time might have already heard this story, but forgive me for repeating myself for a moment. When I was in the third grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. B, who I, for some period, thought was the bee's knees. The reason was simple: she had traveled the world with her husband, and would tell us great stories about schools in other countries, about the proper way to wrap a sari and about her true hair color: her hair was naturally near-black like mine, but she had long kept it a yellowy bottle blond. I was enchanted with her stories and her frank talk. Up to a point.

That point came midway through the year when Mrs. B, as brittle as her suicide-blonde hair, mocked me in front of the class for my poor penmanship. Embarrassed, I stopped emulating my dad's scrawl and mimicked my mother's girlish hand instead. But Mrs. B wasn't done. Later in the year, I broke my arm and midway through the healing process, I was due for a doctor's appointment to check my progress. Instead of riding the bus that day, my dad was due to pick me up at school. But there was a problem: under our school policy, the only way to not be put on the bus was to have a parental note or phone call alerting our teacher to the change. My dad had been too rushed to give me the note, and promised to call the school secretary. Later, he would tell me the message must not have been passed on, but in retrospect, I tend to think he just forgot. But I am meandering off-topic here. Anyway.

So, near the end of the day, I told Mrs. B that my dad was supposed to pick me up. She told me she hadn't heard anything of the like, and that I would have to ride the bus home, per usual. Now that freaked me the fuck out. You see, my dad has a notoriously bad temper (one of my early childhood memories is of him making Trish, a family friend, cry) and I was worried about what would happen when he arrived at my school and I wasn't there. I (barely) held back my tears as my brain worried over what I should do. And then it happened. A kindly student teacher looked over, saw that I was upset, and asked me what was wrong. And then the floodgates unleashed. She clucked sympathetically as I explained, through tears, the situation.

And then Mrs. B noticed me. From across the room, she shouted, "Why are you crying, crybaby?" Which is sort of an answer and a question all wrapped up in one, y'know? And just plain mean, to boot. So, yeah, imagine my surprise -- and delight -- this morning when I heard the local news broadcast about a woman who'd been attacked by bed bugs while on vacation in Cincy. It was her. And then I set to googling her. And that's when I found this, which included comments such as [Mrs. B] was the worst professor I have had at OSU. She was unprofessional as she just complained to us and never actually taught ...

And let me tell you, the 9-year-old in me couldn't be more pleased with this development.

This might be my favorite movie review ever

2008-01-31T15:02:00.000-04:00

On Meet the Spartans:

This was the worst movie I've ever seen, so bad that I hesitate to label it a "movie" and thus reflect shame upon the entire medium of film. Friedberg and Seltzer do not practice the same craft as P.T. Anderson, David Cronenberg, Michael Bay, Kevin Costner, the Zucker Brothers, the Wayans Brothers, Uwe Boll, any dad who takes shaky home movies on a camping trip, or a bear who turns on a video camera by accident while trying to eat it. They are not filmmakers. They are evildoers, charlatans, symbols of Western civilization's decline under the weight of too many pop culture references.

Oh. Shit.

2008-01-30T00:50:00.000-04:00

So, Kyle has what I had earlier in the month -- the "death flu," as he's taken to calling it. Last night, I stayed up with him 'till 4 a.m., rubbing his shoulders and listening to him moan about achy bones and such. It was no biggie, after all, I worked 13.5 hours that day and was still revved up from a late-night council meeting. That, and wide awake after looking up scary nutritional info on some of my fast-food choices. Like, those small onion rings at Burger King? They're a relatively not-so-terrible 140 calories. That "zesty sauce" offered by the employee at the window to go with said onion rings? Uh, that was 150 calories. Shit. But I digress.

Anyway, my plan after that late night was to sleep late today. That didn't quite work out as planned. I woke up around 9 a.m., rolled over, and ... sniffed. I smelled something that smelled suspiciously like cat poop. And then I turned my head a little bit more and saw it. It looked like a Twix bar. But it was not a delicious chocolatey treat. The cat had shat on our white, 700-thread-count sheets just inches from my face. Shit. Shit. Shit.

So, I hauled myself out of the bed, pried the (thankfully) solid poo off the fabric, stripped the bed, remade it and went back to sleep for a couple of hours. I lazed around after that and stayed in bed until past noon. I needed to haul my carcass out of bed for a scheduled lunch meeting, and just as I was about to leave, I noticed it. The cat had vomited -- twice! -- on my nice vintage couch. SHIT. And we were out of paper towels. And all but a drizzle of pet stain remover. I sprayed what I could and used some Jersey Mike's napkins stashed in a kitchen drawer to do what I could before I left for the lunch. Lunch was good -- happily, it involved no shit- or vomit-related incidents.

Later, there was a meeting, more Kyle-related care-taking, some cabbage soup-eating, TV-watching and internet-surfing. Happily, there was no more shitting.

Oh, and an update: I just discovered that I destroyed my favorite brown pants yesterday when I accidentally left a permanent marker uncapped in my pocket. Sheeeeit.

Hillary Clinton = Tracy Flick?

2008-01-28T15:42:00.001-04:00

The evidence is pretty damning, huh?

Quirky? I'll give ya quirky

2008-01-24T00:43:00.000-04:00

Maybe. I have a hard time distinguishing what is quirky from what is regular. But here goes (I hope you're happy, Teet). Here are six of my quirks:

1.) I like to sort of disassemble Twix and Three Musketeers bars as I eat them. Namely, with a Twix, I like to peel off the chocolatey layers before then gnawing off the caramel layer and, finally the cookie. It's similar with a Three Musketeers bar: first goes the chocolate outside, then the cloud-like nougaty innards.

2.) I won an NFL alumni scholarship for scholar-athletes for my freshman year of college, thanks to my high school academic prowess and my time on the tennis courts. This had nothing to do with my beloved guidance counselor being married to an ex-NFL player, obviously.

3.) Home keys? What are they? I cannot type properly. I never took typing, home ec or shop in middle school because I was allowed to take art instead, and and I never took it in high school because the teacher was a heinous biznatch. This may have been a mistake.

4.) My highest-paying job per-hour remains my time tutoring kids for the SAT. Who knew a test I took on a Saturday morning my junior year of high school would have a more beneficial impact on my career than would my college diploma?

5.) In middle school, my music of choice was gangsta rap. I owned two Oakland Raiders shirts. And an ankh necklace. They were rad. West Coast for life!

6.) When my hands are cold at home, I will stick them in the dog or cat's legpits to warm them. I am not proud of this. Nor are the animals.

Oh, and since I'm not convinced that more than two people read this, I will forgo the tagging. Unless you are indeed reading this and have not yet replied, in which case

Tag. You're it.

Oh, and there's this

2008-01-16T23:37:00.000-04:00

Ahem.

103.3

2008-01-16T23:00:00.000-04:00

That was my temperature Sunday night after I woozily dragged myself out of the steaming hot bathtub. Said bathtub had been the only thing stopping me from being overcome with violent shivers, but perhaps poaching myself in the tub wasn't the best idea, ever. Once my core temperature had settled down, it registered a less hospital emergency-room worthy 102 degrees, according to my semi-reliable Kroger brand thermometer. I shivered and shook and tossed and turned Sunday, and by Monday, it was irrefutable: my seven-month not-getting-sick streak was over. And then Tuesday, it got worse. My voice was little more than a strained whisper. I couldn't breathe properly when I tried -- and failed -- to sleep, and when I gazed in the mirror, thinking that perhaps I'd spot a swollen tonsil, I noticed that my uvula was resting on my tongue. Troubling.

So, yeah, I went to the doctor's office the next day. A strep test came up negative, but my temperature was still strong at 102, so it was time for drugs. Nothing fun, just some antibiotics in case I actually *do* have strep, and some Tamiflu to hopefully shorten the course of my treatment if it was indeed flu I was afflicted with. So far, so good: I slept better last night (although the double dose of Tylenol PM didn't hurt, either) and my uvula seems to have returned to its normal size. I'm still hacking up globby, gelatinous pieces of goo from my lungs, but sometimes I can almost talk like a normal person, so, yeah, things seem to be improving. My dad brought me soup and Orangina (oooh, and some cough syrup with codeine) earlier tonight, and the plan is to veg out to some Law & Order and let the healing begin. I guess I'll truly know that everything is back to normal when Kyle and I can share the same bed (he's been sleeping in the guest room to stay away from my cooties, and so I can toss and turn at will). Someday.

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

2008-01-12T17:00:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure the kitty has asthma. Do they make cat-sized CPAPs? In any regard, the sound of her wheezing snore is loud enough to be heard over the whir of the laptop and the television.

In other cat-related news, Rosa (when she's not snoring into the couch cushions) has discovered that the laptop is the lurve of her life. Whenever I'm tip-tapping away on it while reclined on the couch, Rosa will do her damnedest to make her way from a perch on my stomach to a seat directly on the keyboard. It's annoying, but it has honed my ability to touch-type. Anyhoodle, today I was, as the kids call it, "surfing the 'net" when I noticed Miss Kitty, who was pressed up against my side, staring at the screen. And then I tried an experiment. Rosa loves chasing the light of a laser pointer. Would she do the same for the cursor?

Oh, yes. Yes she would. So, I spent a goodly chunk of my afternoon moving the cursor around the screen and watching Rosa periodically attempting to smash it under her paw. Good times.

In other news ... I, uh, am totally satisfied with my life, my finances, my job? HAHAHA! Early April Fool's!

Um, probably the highlights of this week were, on Thursday, getting a tour of the outer reaches of our office's warehouse area, where we saw vats of ink, towering stacks of rolled newsprint and the Rube Goldberg-esque contraption that prints our publications. Pretty neat-o. Oh, and the coffee vending machine was giving out free drinks for some reason, so I got a tongue-searing cup of hot chocolate. Yum. Yesterday (also known as Friday), I went out with coworkers, a former coworker and a soon-to-be-former coworker. We drank, ate Mexican fusion food and played a rousing game of "Would you rather ... ?" The less said about that, the better.

Oh, and I did some wedding stuff last weekend. After I finish this o-so-exciting entry, I will head over here for an update.

I swear, original content's a comin'

2008-01-07T14:30:00.000-04:00

But until then, I again must raid the Gawker media empire (this time for my favorite, Jezebel) with this.

May all of 2008 be like this

2008-01-02T13:03:00.001-04:00

Today started off rough -- I slipped and fell on the snow, my engagement ring flew off my finger, hit the cement and rolled into the white, white snow -- but has steadily improved. After just over an hour of searching and sifting snow in the kitchen sink, I found the ring, and then I came to work and discovered this on The Internets. Things are starting to look up.

Hmmm ... and today is Wednesday. I'm not sure what's up with that time stamp.

And now I fixed it! (But I'm still just talking to myself.)

The kicker to the kicker

2007-12-20T01:42:00.000-04:00

Kyle and I arrived home from New Orleans at 2:30 a.m. today, slept for a scant few hours and then headed to work (him) and worked on Christmas gifts (me). When I hopped into my car around 10 a.m., I was greeted by an engine that choked, sputtered and jerked as I drove. I promptly took it to the dealer, teeth clenched in anxiety the whole way. I dropped the damn thing off, borrowed Kyle's car, and a few hours later, got the verdict: I was in need of $650 worth of maintenance and repairs. It was little comfort to have the service guy tell me that it was nothing I'd done, just routine work. Which, ya know, is awesome, considering I'm still paying the $1,000 bill for car repairs I incurred over the summer. Bleeeeegh. Time to check the going rates for organs on the black market.

The kicker

2007-12-14T11:49:00.000-04:00

There was some sort of screwup in payroll, so we might not get paid until Monday, instead of today. I have $20 in my checking account, I'm leaving this evening for Louisiana, and, wait ... I feel like there is maybe some sort of holiday coming up that involves spending money on stuff?

In other words: FUUUUUUUCK.

Scrooged!!

2007-12-08T18:30:00.001-04:00

No raise until September 2008.

I guess the jelly of the month club would've been too generous

2007-12-03T13:06:00.000-04:00

Or, "Seriously, my job has morphed from Office Space to National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation."

I'm still on jury duty, but have so far had the fortune of not getting called for seating so far today (a story about the trial I was on last week is forthcoming).

Anyhoodle, the current state of affairs provided me time to check in with work, as I did just a couple of minutes ago. It was then when I opened one gem of an e-mail from one of The Powers That Be. To wit: Instead of having a review (and, hopefully, raise) at the beginning of the year, we're to have it on the anniversary of our employment. Only ... mine was in September, and I have yet to have the review or see any of the desperately needed cash. Oh, and as to that (paltry, but still needed) holiday bonus? They don't do that sort of thing. Instead, we've been told, we can be eligible for a program that pays out bonuses to select employees for outstanding performances if -- and only if -- the company exceeds expected revenue for the month.

It's called "Lightning Strikes."

Um, I think I have an idea of the liklihood of actually landing one of these.

You got served!!

2007-11-27T21:50:00.000-04:00

Or rather, I did. With jury duty.

My coworker Pam said she served the full two-week term without getting called for voire dire (fancy Latin meaning, roughly, "jury selection") once. I was called for it before noon yesterday, my first day. And despite being number 22 of the group of 24 called (the first 12 are automatically seated for questioning, and then if they get the boot, the back 12 serve as replacements), I'm on the thing as an alternate. So much for the hours of Veronica Mars-watching I had planned for my time.

Anyhoodle, jury instructions and such pretty much prevent me from sharing anything more, although I will say this: The $2.80 veggie burger served in the Ben Franklin Cafeteria (Seriously. Ol' Ben would be so proud if he knew) on the 16th floor of the courthouse is not as bad as one might think.

Commercial Interruption

2007-11-13T12:00:00.000-04:00

OK, I will stop harping on the writers' strike for a moment ...

So, Kyle is promoting a big show tonight featuring one of his all-time music heroes, Eric Bachmann. And while it is sure to be awesome (Bachmann, performing for several years as Crooked Fingers, and before that, as a member of the seminal indie band Archers of Loaf, has this gravely voice that digs down under listeners' skin until it pierces their hearts, an experience that is much more pleasant than one might think. And, oh yeah, he does the best Prince cover I've ever heard.), I think we both are pretty anxious about it. You see, Kyle's put down a pretty big guarantee on this thing, meaning he needs about 50 people to come to this show, a daunting goal considering a.) It's Tuesday, b.) The cover is $12.

But perhaps the scarier thought is that Eric and another bandmate might be spending the night at our house. And that possibility has prompted a cleaning frenzy over here at Friendship Village. There has been sweeping, dusting, de-cluttering, dishes-doing, animal hair removal, and shortly, fridge-cleaning and a total household vacuuming in our effort to trick him into thinking that we don't live in filth. And by "we," I mostly mean "me," as anyone who has checked out my desk at work can attest.

So, anyway, as part of the cleaning madness, I decided to clean that daggone mesh screen in the hood of the stove, even though I totally know it is one of those things that only I would notice. Man, was that thing nast-tay. It was brown, like the brown of an acorn, of milk chocolate, of certain types of poo. And, also thanks to years of neglect, it was rubber cement-sticky. I decided to let my fingers do the walking, and used dear ol' Google to find a cure for the gross. Happily, I quickly found a site that had what I was looking for: A number of postings on different screen-cleaning techniques. Most suggested the use of harsh chemicals, which, although I am no fan of such things, I would have totally employed, had that not required I make a trip to the store to buy 'em.

Because, duh, I am lazy.

So, after a brief -- and failed -- experiment trying to bake the grease off in the oven, I tried another suggestion, and I soaked the thing in a mixture of OxyClean and hot water in our kitchen sink. Man, I have no idea what was in that shit, but it worked amazingly well. The water bubbled and fizzed and turned ever more brown as the screen came clean. Within 30 minutes -- and with no scrubbing -- it was was a shiny silver color and no longer sticky to the touch. Magic.

So, yeah, my new plan for life involves scrubbing down every surface with the stuff, including my own skin. I can only imagine the wonders it will bring.

Why They Fight

2007-11-08T16:16:00.001-04:00

More on the reasoning behind the writers' strike.

The Office is Closed

2007-11-08T11:36:00.001-04:00

What I've been doing

2007-11-07T01:42:00.001-04:00

Post butt-surgery
Originally uploaded by 10bagspacking

Sorry for being lame and quiet 'n' all. I'm here, at work (at 12:30 a.m.) on election night, which should mark the apex of my lameness.

Meaning tomorrow, I should be un-lame, right? Here's hoping.

A quick story:

OK, so a good portion of my night tonight was spent waiting -- SO MUCH WAITING! -- for elected officials to climb out of their fancy hotel rooms and into the fancy hotel ballroom to celebrate being reelected. I was supposed to leave, to return to work and write my story, by 9:30 p.m. By about 9:15 p.m., I started getting nervous, and began pestering every city staffer I knew to see if they would help me connect with my office-seekers.

No dice.

They finally showed their faces at 10 p.m., said a few things about a city full of optimism and such, thanked a laundry list of supporters, etc. Meanwhile, it was 10:30 p.m. Shit.

I had to get out of there.

So, I busted ass, ran to the parking garage, got my car out and sped down the city streets, going nearly 50 mph in a 35 mph zone. At a certain point, as I zoomed under traffic light as it turned red, I began to think I should maybe slow down.

At almost the exact moment that thought made its way through my caffeine- and carb-addled mind, I noticed a car stopped at the light I was approaching. More precisely, I noticed the police car stopped at the light I was approaching.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I slowly pulled up alongside the car. A light flashed in my peripheral vision. It was the driver, trying to get my attention. He motioned for me to roll down my window. I did it.

"Are your headlights on?" he asked.

Uhhh ... Happily, they were, at least according to my dashboard.

"Yep, they should be -- do I have a headlight out?" I asked.

The lights were on, but looked dim, he said. That's probably because I have a cheap Korean car, I replied.

To that, he made a confused sidelong look at me and his fellow officer, and then, as the light changed, let me go.

Whew.

The end.

End times

2007-10-30T17:39:00.000-03:00

I am too exhausted to come up with anything clever to write (and I'm afraid if I continue to beg everyone I know for the 'sweet, sweet relief of death' people might start worring about me), I will give you a sampling of the best police reports I looked at this week. Summaries are by me, with info from the police department:

A 39-year-old woman told police she was working at a health care facility in the 1000 block of Kingsmill Parkway at about 7 p.m. Friday
when a client became enraged after finding out there was ketchup on his hamburger, according to police reports.
The victim and a witness told police that the suspect "went off," flipping a table over and damaging the kitchen of the business by throwing glass bottles and jars.
The victim said that during the melee, the suspect threw a glass jar of jelly at her, hitting her in the ribs and injuring her, before threatening,"I'll kick your ass."
Damage to the kitchen was estimated at $200.

A 55-year-old man told police that around 11:45 a.m. Oct. 21 a man -- who had already been ordered by a judge to stay away -- came to his house, in the 4900 block of Sienna Lane and repeatedly taunted and harassed him.
The victim said the suspect stopped his vehicle in front of his house and yelled at him to come out on the front porch.
The victim, who is terminally ill, said the suspect also yelled, "You're not dying, are you? Yeah, you are."

A 22-year-old man told police he was standing outside of a business in the 1000 block of Morse Road at about 2:45 a.m. Saturday and smoking a cigar with a friend when "100 Asians" came out and jumped him, causing $300 in damage to his vehicle.

A woman called police Oct. 24 to report her 18-month-old child had been bitten by another child at a day care center in the 4500 block of Heaton Road the previous day.
She said she contacted police after she discovered that the child who had bitten her child, leaving a bruise, was that of one of the school's instructors.
The woman said that the instructor told her that the victim was bothering her son and deserved to be bitten, and said that she wanted to file charges against the staffer.
The responding officer told the woman that the assault occurred between two 18-month-old children, and that the instructor was not present during the biting.

A woman living in the 4700 block of Beaucroft Court told police that around 5 a.m. Monday she saw her ex-boyfriend in her driveway, using a hose to pour water into her car's gas tank. She said she told the suspect to leave the property and he ran away. Another victim at the residence reported having two driver's side tires flattened that morning and said that two weeks prior to the recent incident, the vehicles belonging to the first victim and her new boyfriend had almost all of their tires flattened. The current boyfriend said the ex-boyfriend has also sent him threatening voice mails and text messages, even though he had changed his phone number. In all, the cars had about $1,800 in damages, the victims reported.

A 33-year-old woman told police that she went Sunday to a function for her daughter at a church in the 4200 block of Morse Road, and that while in her car at around 12:45 p.m. she was approached by her ex-husband's girlfriend, whom she does not get along with.
The victim said she got out of the car and began arguing with the girlfriend when the girlfriend punched her in the head.
The victim said she then kicked the suspect, the pair began fighting and ended up struggling on the ground until separated by their pastor.

In other news: I received a jury summons Saturday. I plan on reenacting Pauly Shore's opus Jury Duty beginning the Monday after Thanksgiving. It's sure to be good times.

For Mandy

2007-10-17T02:21:00.002-03:00

Hanging out at the Gentle Meadows Alpaca Farm.

I know this is old news, but

2007-10-16T03:19:00.001-03:00

I freakin' love this SNL digital skit. When it was first released, I vowed that I would watch this daily to ensure that my days started off right. I've since unintentionally reneged on that promise to myself, and I think now is the time to bring it back. I could use a daily dose of goofy bad assery, y'know?

Smash my head on the punk rock

2007-10-16T02:44:00.000-03:00

Ah, insomnia. How I've missed you, my dear friend. I mean, sure, I've spent many a sleep deprived night, but for me to be awake now -- 1:40 a.m. early Tuesday, after getting up at 4:45 a.m. Monday, after going to bed at 1:30 a.m. Monday -- is quite the trick.

I am so proud.

So yeah, it's been a while. Sorry 'bout that. I sometimes forget that anyone other than me looks at this thing. Not that the last month hasn't been eventful: we traveled to Ithica, NY, for our friends' wedding, a trip that also included an opportunity to visit the Farm Sanctuary (and for me to take a related guilt trip regarding the inconsistencies in the philosophy backing my ovo-lacto-vegetarianism), I took a trip with friends to an alpaca farm in Pataskala, I kicked all of Kyle's kin's asses in a rousing game of miniature golf at Udders & Putters this past weekend (nothing like beating a 7-year-old to make me feel good), I compared my career trajectory to that of my friends and found myself coming up short, I once again thought about that nagging presence of that daggone ex-pal and wished I could, as everyone has begged me, just let it go, for cripe's sake, I stuck my finger up Sollie's butt at least once a day to give him the medicine he needs in lieu of the surgery I can't quite afford (and which will likely remain unattainable for the foreseeable future, given that the powers that be have eliminated in-house freelancing at work), I cleaned house, did laundry, started tennis lessons again, read a book about the modern American wedding industry that led me to feel that any way we choose to celebrate our union will be a massively materialistic event, I did some vanity googling, I reinvigorated my addiction to online Boggle and, thanks to Anne and Clark, developed a new addiction to computer mahjongg. Oh, and tonight, I drank one-third of a bottle of cheap white wine in hopes that it might lead me to sleep. You can see how well that worked.

Yeah.

Oh, and I drank somewhere around eight cups of coffee today. But I'm sure that has nothing to do with anything, right?

Right.

So, yeah, my apologies to all two of you reading this here thing. My hope is to become less frenzied ... someday.

Batting a thousand

2007-09-12T18:10:00.001-03:00

Today is my six-year anniversary at this job. I just attempted to look in the archives, to see how many stories I had in there, and the system maxed out at 1,000. In April, 2005. You can do the math on how many stories I've written during my tenure based on that -- I'd rather not.

At least I have Lil Mama to comfort me.

It's that day again

2007-09-12T01:02:00.000-03:00

Six years later, it is easy to make offhanded jokes about Sept. 11., and you can count me among the guilty in that regard. It was a terrible, terrible day followed by yet more terrible days, and I find the only way to cope with such sheer awfulness is to try to find some levity. Anyway, I am going to try and go against my nature for a moment in order to remember someone who was lost that day.

Shortly before Sept. 11, John Willett, my dad's friend and a classmate in the MBA program they'd both recently graduated, took a job with Cantor Fitzgerald (a company that would lose 658 of its employees in the attacks). I heard lots of stories about John from my dad, but only met him once, when the two picked me up at the airport. I remember joining with my dad in teasing him about a fellow classmate he had a crush on. She was cute, he was smitten and he had been convinced to do her work for her. Ah, boys. It's hard to believe I'm the same age he was when he died. Anyway, this is what my dad wrote about him in the days following:

John was a good guy, a hard worker, had brilliant business sense. He was funny and reveled in his bizarre - and sometimes bad - tastes. Most importantly, he remained idealistic to the core. He lost a job and career in politics because he decided to blow the whistle on corruption in Missouri. He lost many weeks and weekends when he could have been studying or putting a new career together because he continuously had to return to Missouri and testify against the bad guys.

It’s a shame to lose him.

Everything you've heard about the Lifetime network is true

2007-09-11T11:05:00.000-03:00

Saturday, I watched a made-for-TV Lifetime movie (Too Young to Be a Dad, which was totally Canadian-riffic) that was so estrogen-packed, I started my period a week early. Wowsers.

Here's what an Amazon reviewer had to say about the movie (which is packaged with the surely-awesome, Mom at Sixteen:

[Matt] is an [honor student]-or should I say-a "DISHONORABLE" student-who without thinking, goes to bed with a classmate named [Francesca Howell] (played just as terribly by Katie Stuart), and gets her pregnant. He should've been arressted for statutory rape, and for stealing a pregnancy test kit from a drug store. He did realize he'd have to pay for his consequences. Later he and [Francesca] did sign an agreement to put up their baby up for adoption after it was born. The adoption wouldn't be final for six months. When the baby-a girl-was born, [Matt] wanted to see it and hold it. When he did, he decided to keep the baby. It was a stupid idea on his part, for he'd have to take on all the responsibilities of raising the baby all by his stupid self.
This movie was about doing the wrong thing.

Boy am I red in the face

2007-08-30T21:41:00.000-03:00

Um, so I went to the dermatologist today. The verdict on the newest lumpy rash spreading its way across my face and arms?

Not psorosis. Poison ivy.

There goes my pride in not being allergic to it -- apparently, either I've gotten lucky these last few decades by not encountering the plant, or I've developed an allergy in recent years. The "good news" was that with regular applications of cortisone cream, my face will clear up. In two weeks. My arms, the dermatologist said, would take longer. Damn. I'm gonna give the prescription meds a try, though, before I try the advice from the coworkers, which was to scratch the sores open and then apply hairspray to the wound (David) or straight bleach (Lyndsey). Uh, thanks, guys?

An update

2007-08-30T10:19:00.000-03:00

Last night's dream: I'm going to check out the venue where our wedding might be held. I get there, and I realize I'm confused -- it's the day of my wedding, only I'm not at all prepared for it.

Shit.

Maybe this will help

2007-08-29T11:44:00.001-03:00

I've had bad stress dreams every night this week. But the thing is, not only do they cause me to wake up each morning in a funk -- I end up feeling embarrassed relating them, because they're all so goshdarned trite. The one I had this morning was no different. I dreamed that I was living with my mom and in school. I had a final coming up the next day, and I really wanted to study for it (I was behind three books in the required reading) but my mom made me clean the house instead, despite my arguments against it. Finally, when I was all done cleaning, she admitted that she was wrong, but it was too late -- I only had an hour before my exam, and nowhere near enough time to do what I needed to do. And then I woke up. Sigh. Other dreams this week have involved missing a plane and chasing after a small child.

Oh, and I appear to have developed The Rash again. This time it's centered on my face. Awesome.

Maybe this video will make me feel better. I could use some concentrated doses of cuteness.

U.S. Americans

2007-08-27T14:55:00.001-03:00

Holy crap. I don't mean to just post video content on here -- words will be forthcoming, I swear! -- but this was just amazing. Never have I been so proud to be a U.S. American.

Things you probably don't know about me

2007-08-16T15:56:00.001-03:00

I love old-timey gospel music. This song -- Down By The Riverside -- has been a favorite since my hippie camp days, while Sister Rosetta Tharpe has been a newer discovery. Good stuff.

Bangs Bash '07

2007-08-15T09:46:00.000-03:00

Before I left for Lyndsey's birthday party, Kyle had but one small request of me: Don't shoot yourself. Not his usual pre-party advice -- typically, most of his admonitions surround my ability to go from zero to hungover in 60 seconds flat -- but an appropriate reminder, nonetheless, given that I once told a college interviewer that the word best used to describe me was "clumsy." Still, I could not be stopped. I was goin' shootin'.

Let's get this out of the way: I am a hypocrite. I am no fan of guns, which I think are too easy to get in this country. But, hey, I -- and many others -- have been a big ball of stress the last few weeks, and blowing off some steam via target practice seemed like just the thing to do. So I set out for the party, late (of course), and worried that the quickly setting sun would put the kibosh on all of my plans.

Don't let Lyndsey fool you: Bangs is really far away. It took me more than an hour to make my way up to the Teters' Knox County homestead, driving north through Columbus' upper reaches and then east, through the strip malls of Sunbury and the quaint core of Centerburg. Finally, as dusk began to set in, I arrived.

There were already some partygoers set up in the field behind the Teter house, using a paper plate as target practice. I half-ran up to them, eager to take a shot before the sun went down. Lin, our gunman (so to speak) of the evening generously obliged, showing me the proper way to hold a shotgun, load it and fire it. Remember what I said earlier about guns? Lin is a shining example of a responsible gun owner. He didn't allow anyone to drink before shooting, and gave really great, thoughtful instruction to all of us. Thanks to help from my awesome teacher, I proved to be not a terrible shot, all things considered. I hit that paper plate target, and then the next morning, I managed to hit all of the targets (fire-singed beer cans from the night before).

As it turned out, the shooting didn't even end up being close to the most dangerous activity of the night. That particular honor went to our visit to the House of Nightmares.

The House of Nightmares, about a quarter-mile down the road from the Teters, is, I was told, a former poorhouse-cum-Christian college-cum-haunted house of the professional variety. The hulking Gothic-style building served as a haunted house as recently as Halloween 2006, before it was closed for structural reasons. Being the mature young men and women we are, me, Lin, Lyndsey, Brett and Nikki headed out in the wee hours of Saturday morning to check the place out. We quickly gained entry -- a back door was wide open -- and then walked in, past spray-painted murals and a kitchen redone to look like a murder scene, with red paint spattering the walls.

Brett was the adventurous one, and persuaded us to climb up first one set of stairs and then another, the piles of animal poo of indeterminate origins growing larger as we went. It didn't take long to determine what the source of the feces was. First a high-pitched squeal and then -- Bats! -- someone shouted, and I crouched to the ground, my increasing proximity to the poop be damned. Rabies avoided -- at least for the moment -- we continued on, ducking periodically to avoid the dive-bombing bats. Brett moved on ahead of us, guided by the light of his cell phone, eventually calling us to check out the scene he'd happened upon.

Peering through a doorway, he motioned us over. It quickly became clear what the building's structural issues were. Several of the floors had collapsed on each other, starting right at the threshold. There was a 50-foot drop from where we stood to the first floor, where the pile of rubble, broken beams and plaster, lay. Forget the guns, this was dangerous.

Lesser people would have turned around. Heck, smarter people would have turned around. Did we? Of course not. Brett eyed a ladder hanging from a trapdoor ceiling and continued upward, into the building's attic, and Lin and Lyndsey followed, with me reluctantly bringing up the rear and with Nikki watching from below. In the attic was yet another trapdoor ladder, which Brett quickly climbed, followed again by Lin and Lyndsey after he announced he'd made it to the roof. This time I stayed behind, hunching my shoulders to avoid the bats flying above.

Somehow, everyone managed to not topple off the roof, cave the building in or get us arrested, and we made our way back to the Teters' place, where we drank one last nerve-calming drink by the light of a bonfire and then curled up in our tents, the nylon protecting us from the cool summer night.

More pictures of the weekend's adventures are here and here.

(Above hoto stolen from Lin)

Christian the Lion - Reunion!

2007-08-14T14:42:00.001-03:00

Someday Rosa will love us like this.

Busy day

2007-08-13T18:39:00.000-03:00

I added a buncha pictures today ... the remaining Japan ones, ones from the fair and, of course, ones from Friday night's Bangs Blast 2007 (more details on that later). You should check them out.

Blowing off some steam

2007-08-12T22:40:00.001-03:00

This was Friday.

How hot is it?

2007-08-09T02:45:00.000-03:00

It's so hot that the adhesive from the tape holding up my Woody Guthrie poster gave up the good fight tonight, ever so slowly melting away from the wall.

On the up side, it's hot enough that all my bread is automatically toasted, thereby cutting 30 seconds from my typical morning routine.

H-O-T-T

2007-08-07T21:55:00.001-03:00

For those of you wondering -- and, I mean, who isn't? -- it is hot right now in our house. Like, surface-of-the-sun-hot. In-the-center-of-a-volcano-hot. Frying-the-egg-that-is-my-brain-hot.

Sollie and Rosa have taken to splaying out on our hardwood floors in an attempt to cool down. Myself, I've been binging on Pop Ice (you know, those ultra-cheap frozen tubes of brightly colored goo that are so divorced from the reality of fruit, that it makes more sense, when asked for which flavor you prefer to say "purple, please!" than "grape!"). It is quite delicious, but we've eaten nearly all of the 100 frozen treats our box came with in less than a month and I am quickly becoming convinced that I've replaced the blood in my veins with corn syrup and food coloring.

Anyway, the one window fan we have downstairs cuts the muggy air only fractionally, and I am finding myself rethinking the necessity of central air in these hot hot hot summer days. Presently, the only a/c in this house are the window units chugging along in our upstairs bedrooms, and I've been trying to convince myself that, in itself, is a luxury (which I guess is the case, if I think about things *too* much, so let's avoid that line of thought).

As a kid, my parents had only two window units for our house. One went in their room, the other in my sister's. I'm not sure why my lil' sis got the other a/c, seeing as how she had the ceiling fan my room lacked, but I would imagine it had something to do with the agreement my mom and I struck: I didn't have to clean my bedroom, as long as I kept the door shut. So, yes, on summer nights, my parents and my sister would open their bedroom doors to (theoretically) cool all of the upstairs rooms, but I spent most nights in a tangle of sweat-dampened sheets. And that is when my youthful DIY-er spirit presented itself: The freezer is cold, ergo anything placed in the freezer will get cold, I reasoned. And so each night, I would strip my pillowcases off my pillows and set them in the freezer. The shock of the ice-cold cotton is only a brief pleasure, but man, it ruled.

And so, tonight, I am going to freeze me some pillowcases. Heck, at this point, the ol' slumber party trick of the bra in the freezer sounds pretty daggone good, too. We'll just hafta see how much stuff I can stuff in there.

In the D.I.Y spirit of this blog

2007-07-31T17:15:00.001-03:00

I present to you a snippet of WikiHow's instructions on How to Panhandle:

1. Swallow your pride. Most people find it difficult to quietly beg for money from friends or relatives; it’s even harder to beg from complete strangers where everybody can see you. Still, you’re going to have to suck it up and be humble. If you've already exhausted the alternatives (see Tips) and begging is your last resort, it may help to keep in mind that in many countries, begging does not hold the stigma it does in most of the Western World, and in some places asking for alms is considered an honorable profession, such as with Hindu sadhus who pursue begging for spiritual reasons.

This is the part (aka Two Long Islands later)

2007-07-28T01:08:00.000-03:00

Where the crying begins anew.

Good thing the alkyhol has hobbled my dexterity, as there is so much I would like to say, but can't.

The beatings will continue until morale improves

2007-07-27T22:00:00.000-03:00

So, yeah, my thoughts on this thing are as such: While this blog began as a way to share all the ever-lovin' deets on our trip to Japan (and I still have stuff to add in that regard), I had some thoughts about eventually turning this into a crafty gig, alongside another blog (to be described later). Indeed, that is still the plan -- with some minor alterations. I *still* have some words and pictures to share about the that trip, and I *still* plan on putting my crafty efforts on this here thing, but I can't go further without acknowledging this: the last 48 hours have been simply awful.

Our company was sold shortly before I left, and the consequences of that sale started to shake out while I was halfway around the world. Yesterday, the other shoe dropped. I got to work late Thursday, delayed by a press conference and a stop to buy band-aids for the oozing sores left behind after I scratched at the bug bites covering my arms, legs and torso. Anyway. I watched as our boss appeared to escort one of our part-timers out the door. And there was whispering ... lots of worried looks and muffled talk around the ol' workplace. When all was said and done, I had a lot fewer coworkers than I had when the day began. The coworker with the cute shoes and the cuter dog? Gone. As was the grandmotherly receptionist with whom I've exchanged the same daily patter with for years, the photographer with the short gym shorts, the verbose sports writer and many more ... They were redundant. There were meetings. Then they were gone.

There's more I could say, more I would like to say, but I need to keep Sollie in kibble and myself in Tofutti Cuties, so I'll stop for now and just say that I haven't cried this much in a long time -- and I'm one of the luckier ones.

So let's try something a little bit lighter, shall we? Here's a blog entry I should have written, well, almost two months to the day, now. Remember that ferris wheel ride? Welp, I left out some details. Most of you have probably heard them by now, but for the latecomers, a story:

Did I talk about how tall that ferris wheel was? It was tall, very tall, and I was nervous to ride it. Fortunately for me, Kyle appeared even more nervous, even though we were there at his insistence. Mike had me convinced that we should skip it altogether and head to a tall building in a livelier part of town, but Kyle protested, puppy dog eyes and all, and we agreed to the original plan of riding it, one he had set on the long drive from the Osaka airport to Ichinomiya, its lights setting off a glow in the nighttime sky.

So yeah, we three clambered into the glass enclosure of the ferris wheel car together, Kyle and I on one side and Mike on another. The windows were etched with line drawings of different sights we could see from the sky -- a mountain here, an Santa Maria replica ship there (don't ask me why). A recorded voice, speaking Japanese and English in turns, described our view. All the while, Kyle glanced over his shoulder, his back to the wheel's axis. He's freaking out about the height and he wants to know when we get to the top, so he knows the worst is over, I explained to Mike. But then when we got to the top, Kyle turned to me and smile, his tight grin forming a perfect U-shape. Jenny, I wanted to know: will you marry me? Me being me, I had to fight the compulsion to make a joke, and kept it simple: Yes.

There's more of course, tremblyness and teary eyes and a moment of Wait. What the fuck just happened? running through my head, but I've already written so much, your tender eyes are probably sore with strain. Anyway, this leads me to what I mentioned at the beginning of this entry. You can now find my (at present limited) wedding and marriage-related blatherings at nochickendance.blogspot.com.

The Long Goodbye

2007-05-24T20:23:00.000-03:00

My long goodbye will have to be short. We're leaving in a few minutes for the train that will take us to Kansai Airport, and it feels like I've only just arrived here a short time ago. I mean, I just learned how to add pictures to the blog last night, for goodness sake!

Anyway, much thanks to Mike and Colleen for introducing us to their unfailingly awesome friends and gorgeous adopted home. You two really were the hosts with the mosts.

Also much thanks must go to Kyle, a patient travel partner who helped make this an incredibly fun and memorable trip. (And who kept me from spending these last few nights sans wallet sleeping on the streets!)

Okey, doke, gotta run. I'll continue to post trip stuff after I return home.

Ame-mura the Beautiful

2007-05-22T21:04:00.000-03:00

Wow, the days are beginning to escape me! Later in the day Tuesday, we spent the evening in Ame-mura, or "American Village." We didn't find patriotic t-shirts or anything there, but what we did find was a slice of youth cuture. There were lots of trendy shops and a pretty awesome Used Kids-esque record store. The prices at the store were, well, pricey, but I managed to find a sale rack of 7" records. For 300 yen (less than $3) we picked up 10 singles in all. Rad. Dinner found us at a nearby Subway restaurant (I wasn't foolin' about Kyle being desparate for American food), and then we made our way home. (An aside: I can't imagine how many miles we've walked on this trip, but "a shit-ton" seems to be a fair description. Good thing, as my main food of late has been chocolate and egg-salad sandwiches.)

Once we got back to our hotel, we checked the selection of free videos we could borrow from extensive selection of B-movie options and started on the evening's featured film: Ghost Dad. It was not as good as you remember, even if you remember that the critics ranked it "top" in their lists of the worst movies of 1990, as the IMDB later revealed.

Wednesday, we went for a ride on what is billed (depending on which sign you read) as either The Biggest or One of the Biggest Ferris Wheels in the World. While I sort of doubt its claims of world supremacy, it was pretty freakin' tall -- enough to make me feel sort of shaky, even though the cars were enclosed in glass. The ride was sort of deserted -- I think we were the only ones on the daggone thing, although business appeared to be picking up as we were leaving.

Afterward, we went to gaze in the windows of Greens, a vegetarian restaurant Mike said was likely closed, since Wednesdays are a typical day off for many businesses. I insisted on torturing myself by checking it out, though, and I was rewarded for my efforts -- the place was open, and for less than 800 yen, we could have a vegetarian buffet! It was rad, as I have really been hurting for veggies on this trip (as Colleen said when we were in Kyoto, "I'm tired of eating shit food!" i.e. the fast-food and convenience store food we all started eating sometime after spending $50 per couple for small plates of Mexican food, which is a rare find in Japan. But I digress.)

Ah ... so, at Greens, we found fresh, non-iceburg lettuce salad, pasta with beans, delicious bread and rice -- heaven. Then we headed back to our hotel, where in the lobby, they were watching Ghost Dad. For reals. Maybe now is a good time for a word about this hotel. Apparently this and other hotels in the region used to cater to day-laborers, but since the economy here has soured, they started reaching out to 20-something travelers. The price for a room is beyond-reasonable for a U.S. hotel, nevermind a Japanese place -- it is costing us about 3,000 yen a night apiece, and includes free internet and coffee, free videos, air-conditioned rooms with VCRs and mini-fridges ... in all, pretty amazing. And this place isn't even the cheapest spot around -- next door, a room can be rented for 1,500 yen for rooms on the lower level (less than $15) down to 1,000 yen at the top (we're guessing there aren't any elevators in the five-story building). Anyhoo, we have what appears to be some day-laborers here, but mostly foreigners, a pretty even number of whom are traveling or are in search of work. For those who are looking for work, this place becomes like a dorm, I think, and many of them hang out in the lobby all the time -- hence, the Ghost Dad incident. We're going to see later if we can repeat the phenomenon, although last night's flick pick, Airheads, would probably be even more challenging to convince people to watch.

So far today, Thursday, we've done some more wandering around department stores and through the city's streets. There's some good people-watching here, for sure, and checking out all the Engrish is pretty fun, too. I think I should be able to post some more pictures in a bit.

(Oh, and there are more new pics on the Flickr page)

Konichiwa Osaka!

2007-05-22T04:59:00.000-03:00

After several days in Kyoto, Colleen split from us yesterday and headed home, leaving us once again to Mike's care. :( Without her as our culinary voice of reason, we ended up at a Wendy's. Not too bad -- Kyle was very adventurous, food-wise, at the start of this trip, but after an unfortunate convenience-store dinner of a mystery meat sandwich and meat－flavored Doritos, he's become a bit more particular about what he consumes.

Anyway, Kyoto was a blur of overwhelmingly beautiful shrines, ranging from "Thousand-armed" Buddhas to a seemingly unending procession of orange gates (and spiders that had made their homes in the gates, eep!). One of my favorite stops wasn't　ａ　ｓｈｒｉｎｅ　ａｔ　ａｌｌ，ｔｈｏｕｇｈ　（ｍｙ　ａｐｏｌｏｇｉｅｓ　ｉｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｆｏｎｔ’ｓ　ｇｏｎｅ　ａｌｌ　ｗｏｎｋｙ　－－　Ｉ　ｃａｎ’ｔ　ｆｉｇｕｒｅ　ｏｕｔ　ｔｈｉｓｃｕｒｓｅｄ　ｉｎｔｅｒｎａｔｉｏｎａｌ　ｋｅｙｂｏａｒｄ [hopefully this all works now]），　ｂｕｔ　ａ　ｐｅａｃｅ　ｍｕｓｅｕｍ　ａｆｆｉｌｉａｔｅｄ　ｗｉｔｈ　ａ　ｌｏｃａｌ　ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ．　Ｉｔ　ｗａｓ　ｐｒｅｔｔｙ　ｉｎｔｅｒｅｓｔｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｓｅｅ　ａ　ｐｅｒｓｐｅｃｔｉｖｅ　ｏｎ　ｗａｒ，　ＷＷＩＩ　ａｎｄ　ｃｕｒｒｅｎｔ　-ｄａｙ　ｍａｔｔｅｒｓ　ｏｕｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　Ｕ．Ｓ．　

Ｗｅ　ｓｐｅｎｔ　ａ　ｇｏｏｄ　ｄｅａｌ　ｏｆ　ｔｏｄａｙ　ｉｎ　Ｎａｒａ，　ｈｏｍｅ　ｔｏ　ａ　ｇｉｎｏｒｍｏｕｓ　ｗｏｏｄｅｎ　ｓｈｒｉｎｅ　ｃｒａｍｍｅｄ　ｗｉｔｈ　Ｊａｐａｎｅｓｅ　ｓｃｈｏｏｌｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ　ｐｒａｃｔｉｃｉｎｇ　ｔｈｅｉｒ　Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ　ｂｙ　ｓｈｏｕｔｉｎｇ　 "Ｈｅｌｌｏ！"　ａｔ　ｕｓ　（ｈｏｗａｎｎｏｙｉｎｇ　ｉｔｍｕｓｔ　ｂｅ　ｔｏ　ｂｅ，　ｌｉｋｅ，　Ｆｒｅｎｃｈ, ａｎｄ　ｈａｖｅ　ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ　ａｓｓｕｍｅ　ｙｏｕ’ｒｅ　Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ）　ａｎｄａ　ｒｉｄｉｃｕｌｏｕｓ　ｎｕｍｂｅｒ　ｏｆ　ｓｍａｌｌ　ｔａｍｅ　ｄｅｅｒ．　Ｔｈｅ　ｄｅｅｒ　ｗｅｒｅ　ｓｕｐｅｒ－ｋａｗａｉｉ，　ｉｆｍｏｒｅ　ｔｈａｎ　ａ　ｂｉｔ　ｐｕｓｈｙ　－－　ｗｅ　ｗａｔｃｈｅｄ　ｏｎｅ　ｔｒｙ　ｔｏ　ｓｔｅａｌｔｈｅｌｕｎｃｈｆｒｏｍ a 　ｓｃｈｏｏｌｂｏｙ’ｓ　ｌａｐ．　Ｌａｔｅｒ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ａｆｔｅｒｎｏｏｎ，　ｗｅｂｏａｒｄｅｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｒａｉｎ　ｆｏｒ　Ｏｓａｋａ．　Ｉｔ　ｗａｓ　ａｒｏｕｎｄｔｈｅｎ　ｔｈａｔ　ｔｈｉｎｇｓ　ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｇｏ　ｗｒｏｎｇ，　ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈＩ　ｗｏｕｌｄｎ’ｔ　ｒｅａｌｉｚｅ　ｉｔ　ｕｎｔｉｌ　ｌａｔｅｒ．　Ａｎｙｗａｙ，　Ｉ　ｂｏｕｇｈｔ　ｍｙｔｒａｉｎ　ｔｉｃｋｅｔ，　ｓｈｏｖｅｄ　ｍｙ　ｗａｌｌｅｔ　ｉｎ　ｍｙ　ｐｏｃｋｅｔ　ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅｎ　ｒａｎ　ｗｉｔｈ　Ｍｉｋｅ　ａｎｄ　Ｋｙｌｅ　ｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｒａｉｎ．　Ａ　２０－ｍｉｎｕｔｅ　ｒｉｄｅ　ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ　ｌｕｓｈ，　ｕｎｄｕｌａｔｉｎｇ　ｓｃｅｎｅｒｙ　ａｎｄ　ｗｅ　ｗｅｒｅ　ｈｅｒｅ，　ｉｎ　Ｏｓａｋａ．　Ｗｅ　ｇｏt 　ｏｕｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｒａｉｎ　ｓｔａｔｉｏｎ　ｔｏ　ｓｅｅ　ｔｗｏ　ｍｅｎ　ｙｅｌｌｉｎｇ　ａｔ　ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ　ｍａｎ　ｏｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｇｒｏｕｎｄ．　Ｆｒｏｍ　ｗｈａｔ　Ｍｉｋｅ　ｃｏｕｌｄ　ａｓｃｅｒｔａｉｎ，　ｉｔ　ａｐｐｅａｒｅｄ　ｔｈａｔ　ｔｈｅｙ　ｗｅｒｅ　ａｃｃｕｓｉｎｇ　ｈｉｍ　ｏｆ　ｓｔｅａｌｉｎｇ, 　ａｎｄ　ｗａｎｔｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｌｏｏｋ　ｉｎ　ｈｉｓ　ｐｏｃｋｅｔｓ．　Ｍｉｋｅ　ｈａｄ　ｗａｒｎｅｄ　ｕｓ　ｏｕｒ　ｈｏｔｅｌ　ｗａｓ　ｉｎ　ａ　ｇｒｉｔｔｉｅｒ　ａｒｅａ　ｔｈａｎ　ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ　ｗｅ’ｄ　ｓｅｅｎ　ｓｏ　ｆａｒ (at this point, 　ｅｖｅｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｉｇ　ｃｉｔｉｅｓ　ｈａｖｅ　ｂｅｅｎ　ａｍａｚｉｎｇｌｙ　ｃｌｅａｎ），　ｂｕｔ　ｅｖｅｎ　ｈｅ　ｓａｉｄ　ｈｅ　ｈａｄｎ’ｔ　ｓｅｅｎ　ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｔｈａｔ　ｈｅｒｅ．　Ａｎｙｈｏｏ，　ｗｅ　ｗｅｎｔ　ｔｏ　ｐａｙｆｏｒ　ｏｕｒ　ｈｏｔｅｌ　ｒｏｏｍ，　ａｎｄ　ｉｔ　ｗａｓ　ｔｈｅｒｅ　ｔｈａｔ　Ｉ　ｄｉｓｃｏｖｅｒｅｄ　ｍｙ　ｗａｌｌｅｔ　ｗａｓ　ｍｉｓｓｉｎｇ．　：（

Ｄｏｎ’ｔ　ｆｒｅａｋ　ｏｕｔ，　Ｍｏｍ　ａｎｄ　Ｄａｄ　－－　Ｉ’ｖｅ　ｇｏｔ　ｉｔ　ｕｎｄｅｒ　ｃｏｎｔｒｏｌ．

Ｆｒｏｍ　ｗｈａｔ　Ｉ　ｃａｎ　ｔｅｌｌ，　ｉｔ　ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ　ｆｅｌｌ　ｏｕｔ　ｗｈｅｎ　Ｉ　ｗａｓ　ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ　ｆｏｒ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｒａｉｎ．　Ｉｔ　ｓｕｃｋｓ　ｔｏ　ｈａｖｅ　ｌｏｓｔ　ｉｔ，　ｂｕｔ　ａｌｌ　ｔｈｉｎｇｓ　ｃｏｎｓｉｄｅｒｅｄ，　ｉｔ’ｓ　ｎｏｔ　ｅｖｅｎ　ｃｌｏｓｅ　ｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　ｗｏｒｓｔ　ｔｈｉｎｇ　Ｉ　ｃｏｕｌｄ　ｈａｖｅ　ｌｏｓｔ. Ｉ　ｈａｄ　ｎｏｗｈｅｒｅ　ｎｅａｒ　ａｓ　ｍｕｃｈ　ｃａｓｈ　ａｓ　Ｉ　ｈａｄ　ｂｅｅｎ　ｃａｒｒｙｉｎｇ　ｅａｒｌｉｅｒ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｒｉｐ，　ｆｏｒ　ｏｎｅ，ａｎｄ　Ｉ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｈａｖｅ　ｂｅｅｎ　ｗａｙ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｂｕｍｍｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｈａｖｅ　ｌｏｓｔ　ｍｙ　ｃａｍｅｒａ　, oｒ　ｅｖｅｎ　ｍｙ　ｃａｍｅｒａ’ｓ　ｍｅｍｏｒｙ　ｃａｒｄ．　Ｆｏｒ　ｎｏｗ，　Ｋｙｌｅ　ｗｉｌｌ　ｂｅ　ｍｙ　ｓｕｇａｒ　ｄａｄｄｙ，　Ｃｏｌｌｅｅｎ’ｓ　ｃａｎｃｅｌｉｎｇ　ｍｙ　ＡＴＭ　ｃａｒｄｓ，　ａｎｄ　ｗｈｅｎ　Ｉ　ｇｅｔ　ｈｏｍｅ，　Ｉ　ｗｉｌｌ　ｊｕｓｔ　ｈａｖｅ　ｔｏ　ｄｅａｌ　ｗｉｔｈ　ｔｈｅ　ａｎｎｏｙａｎｃｅ　ｏｆ　ｇｏｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　ＤＭＶ, ｒｅｐｌａｃｉｎｇ　ｔｈｅ　ｃａｒｄｓ，　ｅｔｃ．　Ｔｈｅ　ｍｏｓｔ　ｌｏｎｇ－ｔｅｒｍ　ｉｍｐａｃｔ　ｗｉｌｌ　ｂｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｌｏｓｓ　ｏｆ　ｍｙ　ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔ　ＩＤ，　ａｎｄ　Ｉ’ｖｅ　ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ　ｂｅｅｎ　ｍｉｌｋｉｎｇ　ｔｈａｔ　ｐａｒｔｉｃｕｌａｒ　ｄｉｓｃｏｕｎｔ　ｌｏｎｇ　ｅｎｏｕｇｈ．

Ｓｏ　ｙｅａｈ，　ｔｈａｔ’ｓ　ｔｈａｔ．　Ｏｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｒｅｓｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ａｇｅｎｄａ　ｆｏｒ　ｔｏｄａｙ：　ｇｏｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　 "Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ" ｓｅｃｔｉｏｎ　ｏｆ　ｔｏｗｎ　－－　"Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ，" 　ｉｎ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｃａｓｅ，　ｓｔａｎｄｉｎｇ　ｆｏｒ　"ｙｏｕｔｈ" 　-- ａｎｄ　ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ　ｔａｋｉｎｇ　ａ　ｎａｐ　ｕｎｄｅｒ　ｔｈｅ　ｗａｌｌ－ｍｏｕｎｔｅｄ　ａｉｒ-ｃｏｎｄｉｔｉｏｎｅｒ　（ａｆｔｅｒ　ａ　ｃｈｉｌｌｙ　ｓｔａｒｔ　ｔｏ　ｏｕｒ　ｔｒｉｐ，　ｔｈｅ　ｌａｓｔ　ｃｏｕｐｌｅ　ｏｆ　ｄａｙｓ　ｈａｖｅ　ｂｅｅｎ　ｈｏｔｈｏｔｈｏｔ)．　Ｎｏｗ　ｔｈａｔ　Ｉ　ｈａｖｅ　ｒｅｇｕｌａｒ　ａｃｃｅｓｓ　ｔｏ　ａ　ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒ　（ｉｆ　ｎｏｔ　ａ　ｒｅｇｕｌａｒ　ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒ　ｋｅｙｂｏａｒｄ）ｆｏｒ　ａ　ｆｅｗ　ｄａｙｓ，　Ｉ　ｗｉｌｌ　ｔｒｙ　ｔｏ　ｐｏｓｔ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｒｅｇｕｌａｒｌｙ　ａｎｄ　ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ　ａｄｄ　ａ　ｆｅｗ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｐｉｃｔｕｒｅｓ．

Thanks for your patience!

2007-05-18T16:24:00.000-03:00

Hey dudes, I finally got off my duff and got some of my pictures onto Flickr. They can be found (in no particular order, especially the rainbow photo, which was taken in Columbus) at: www.flickr.com/photos/10bagspacking/

On kawaii and kancho

2007-05-18T13:44:00.000-03:00

Oooof. Sorry the last post was so long! I'll try to be more concise.

Anyhoo, Thursday was another day of the kiddies, as Colleen (off of work because it's time for midterms at her school and she doesn't have any tests for the kiddos), Kyle and I joined Mike for his lessons at a local elementary school. But before we left the apartment, he had a warning: watch out for kancho. What is it?, you might wonder -- It's sort of an extreme wedgie, and apparently the kids love giving it, adult or no. Basically, to kancho you, a kid will clasp his hands together, stick out his first fingers and then try to shove them up your butt. For reals. I took care to walk holding my purse behind me, to serve as a make-do kancho shield, but as it turned out, even though the kids appeared to have injested five Red Bulls apiece, no attempts were made on our posteriors. That was probably aided in no small part by our decision to forgo lunch in the school cafeteria and the resulting playground time (during which many of the kids ride unicycles, apparently -- wow!) in favor of McDonald's. No, really. Mike wanted to try the shrimp fillet, and I was just excited about the thought of ice cream, as Kyle and I have been fighting nasty head colds since our arrival. McDonald's, was, well, McDonald's -- you have to give them credit for consistency, even if I was left scraping bacon bits off of my salad.

After lunch, we returned to the school and for more lessons -- we helped them with introductions, the alphabet, days of the week and a card matching game. The kids were super-kawaii -- cute -- during the games, settling any dispute with a spirited match of Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Later in the day, we headed to Colleen and Mike's favorite bar/eatery in Ichinomiya, where the proprietor, a guy in his mid-30s with surfer-feathered red hair and baggy cargo pants, mixed us drinks and made us dinner -- a huge salad, two kinds of pizza (including one with asparagus and eggplant, yum), two kinds of pasta, and for dessert, homemade mango gelato. The mango, he said, came from a friend -- and indeed, it must've been a very good friend, as, he told us, one mango costs about $100 in Japan. Ouch.

A good dinner deserves a good TV show, and we returned home to watch a copy of this week's episode of Lost. Yay for the internets.

We were fairly slow getting up this morning, Friday, but eventually headed out to Himeji, to see its famous castle, which is on the world registry of historic places (or something like that -- I can't remember the exact wording). But first -- and this seems to be the theme of this trip -- we headed out for food, finally opting for a homemade udon shop. As we ate, we watched the cook quickly roll out the udon batter and then use a special knife to chop it into uniform strips before rinsing the noodles in the sink. Yum.

Next up was the castle itself, a prime tourist destination. The castle -- which dates back to the 1600s and which was rebuilt in the mid-1950s -- was gorgeous. We toured the grounds before going up six flights of ever more-steep stairs, checking out historical artifacts along the way. We'd been required to remove our shoes on entering the structure, but the steps of thousands of people making this trip before us meant the wooden stairs had been worn smooth, leaving no danger of splinters. The top of the castle provided a panoramic view of the city and was a nice reminder of how modern life and history can co-exist.

After the castle, we headed out to a small park for some Japanese-style fair food. Kyle and Colleen shared some takoyaki (batter balls with diced octopus inside), while I opted for mochi (a sticky rice cake) on a stick. We did some shopping and then it was time for the main event -- Kyle and Mike's show at Cafe Ease.

Kyle was pretty nervous, but sounded great -- the cafe was small, but had a relatively powerful and clear sound system. His pop culture references and puns didn't quite connect with the Japanese audience, but elicited some laughs from the expats in the crowd. And Mike, welp, anyone who can seguey from Mims' "This is Why I'm Hot" to a cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart" wins my undying affection. The Japanese acts -- whose names my overly tired brain is forgetting -- were also great, particularly the headlining act, which combined lilting lyrics with flute, sax and melodica. And again, we had an overly gracious host in the bar's proprietor, who gave me my berry liquer drink for free, among other things. I told Colleen and Mike that I was happy to be friends with such awesome people as them, because it meant they have ridiculously kind friends, too. (Hope that makes sense -- it's 2:30 a.m. here now. ;) )

Speaking of which, I should go -- we're getting up early tomorrow to head out to Kyoto. From there, we will visit Nara, after that is Osaka and finally, home. Not sure how much internet access (if any) I will have, but I will post something if I'm able. (And will try tomorrow morning to post some pictures, although I'm not making any promises!)

Ohayo!

2007-05-15T21:02:00.000-03:00

Ah, time -- and jet lag -- is trampling over my hopes of doing a daily blog post! Let's see if I can catch up.

Tuesday, after watching the sumo meet (and Dawson's Creek, during the foreign television hour) we headed to the nearest "mall" -- similar to a multi-level grocery store and a department store combined. I was in search of cute Japanese fabric as well as the finest items the 100 yen store could provide me, including, I hoped, some fresh socks and undies. I was successful on all accounts, buying some gifts for others and two pairs of underwear (pickins' were limited, as I needed something that would cover my chubby, non-Japanese butt). I put on the first pair Tuesday night, and they were comfy, in a boy shorts sort of way. Wednesday's pair was a whole 'nother story. The I was just about rip the tag off the pale blue cotton undies when I noticed the tag had what looked like a large oversized raindrop on it, with the phrase "Irretention Shorts" on it. Below that, in smaller print was a French phrase. Now, I'm no Francophone, but "culotte d'incontinence" reads the same in pretty much any language, I think. I touched the crotch and it gave a plasticy crackle. I'd bought myself obaasan underwear!

Also Tuesday, when I wasn't busying myself buying grandma underwear, I was taking part in "American Conversation Hour" with some adult students of Mike's. The night's students were Tamako, Kobayashi and the Yamadas, who owned the preschool where we met and who made us dinner. The meal was composed of these savory, egg-and-batter concoctions with veggies and fish cake that Colleen said roughly translated as "as you like it," udon noodles with basically the same flavoring, sushi with mayonaise (which is actually quite delicious -- mayo is a big condiment here, after soy sauce) and, for dessert, a yummy strawberry custard-like dish made from tofu. Not a bad dinner, although I an unintentional bite of tuna and the taste of bonito powder confirmed for me that I am not meant to be a fish-eater. Tamako, the preschool's cook, said she was shy, but was probably the biggest talker of the group and spoke the most English, showing us cell phone photos of some of the crafts she's made, and teaching us how to say "oishiso,""it looks delicious." After some beeru, Mr. Yamada, already proving himself to be a bit of a character, got even more animated, getting up from the floor to teach us some puns (the particulars of which escape me right now, oops).

Jet lag appeared to catch up with me Wednesday, as I woke up just as the sky was beginning to grow light, the birds' chirping not yet quieted by the white noise of traffic. It was just before 5 a.m., and there was no way I was going back to sleep. So I went on a walk, up the hill behind their apartment, past a small graveyard and near the stadium that hosted a sports festival last year, and then down around the residential area to Ichinomiya's small commercial area. Colleen and Mike are the only foreigners in this side of town, so my walking attracted some attention, which made me feel shy, particularly since I was so tired that I couldn't remember how to say "good morning!" (which, duh, is "Ohayo!, pronounced the same as our dear Buckeye State).

Just as common as the rice patties out here are small shrines tucked into the landscape, befitting for a town whose name translates as "first shrine." Many of the statues inside them are wearing fabric bibs (I'm not sure why, I keep forgetting to ask) and have food placed out in front. The plants are beginning to bloom here, although the trees -- with the exception of the sakura, or cherry blossom, which peaked in April -- have yet to flower, a sight Mike and Colleen say is particularly lovely.

Late Wednesday morning, our luggage arrived and I was able to finally take a shower. The bathroom here is separated into two rooms, the toilet in one and the shower/tub in another. The warmlet, which I mentioned before, is proving to be a favorite of mine, and applicance I've found nearly everwhere. The seat heats up when you sit down, which in my opinion, is genius. The model Colleen and Mike have in their compact bathroom actually has the sink tied into the toilet tank, so when you flush (turning the knob a different direction, depending on whether it's a "big flush" or a little one), a faucet allows you to use fresh water from the tank. Pretty neat. But back to the shower.

The room housing the shower is probably sixteen square feet or so and includes a small sink, a narrow but deep recessed metal tub, a tiled floor with a drain and a showerhead hanging on the wall, on the edge of the tub. The idea is that a tall person can stand in the metal tub to shower, while a shorter person can just shower without getting inside of it, Colleen explained to Kyle and me. The shower was great -- perfect pressure, warm -- it was hard to get out. If I had one like it in Columbus, my hygeine might improve by leaps and bounds!

After we were dressed and ready, Mike took us to Joyfull, a sit-down restaurant with "American"-style food as well as the big draw, a soup and drink bar. On the menu were foods such as spaghetti with bacon strips and fried egg, but I opted for something a bit more tame: a salad with tofu and what was basically scrambled eggs with soy sauce and other flavorings. Mike told us that Joyfull has a bad reputation as being a place where the microwave is the main cooking tool, and while Kyle's chicken skewer lent creedence to that belief, the delicious fried root dish Mike ordered for us proved the microwave isn't the only weapon in the restaurant's arsenal. While I opted out of the soup bar, I was thrilled by the drink bar, which gave me a chance to check out some of the sodas I'd been curious about. First up was a melon drink, which despite its unholy green glow, was actually not too strong-tasting, reminding me of Midori liquer. An orange soda was a bit of a letdown, with a pretty weak taste, but White Water proved to be my favorite. Living up to its name the drink was a milky white, but tasted like cream soda. Yum.

Next up was a trip to Monkey Park, in a nearby town. After paying the entrance and a pit stop at the park restroom ("pit stop" being fairly literal, as this was my first time using the traditional, pit-style toilet) we climbed up a steep trail to where we would encounter the monkeys. While the monkeys are wild, they congregate in one particular place on the hill, because an area for them to play on ropes, spinning wheels and the such has been built, and more importantly, there is an enclosed place for visitors to feed them. We saw a rare golden monkey hanging out on a rooftop as well as, from afar, a tiny baby monkey, which was pretty much the cutest thing I've ever seen.

After a few "oh, shit!" moments involving the monkeys running precariously close to us, we entered what Tamako and Kobayashi had termed the "human zoo," (the people are inside the cage, and the monkeys are on the outside). I bought a can of monkey food for 100 yen and then dropped the pellets in a small trough accessible to the monkeys through the fencing. A particularly aggressive female monkey ate most of the food -- I understood why none of her fellow monkeys tangled with her when I ended up on the receiving end of her aggression; I made the mistake of making prolonged eye contact with her, and she screamed and threw herself against the cage, making me happy I'd already made a trip to the bathroom.

After leaving Monkey Park, we headed to the Yamadas' preschool -- a miscommunication involving me wanting to take photographs at dinner the night before had led to an invitation to take pictures the next day -- and Mike, at six-foot-something, was clearly a crowd-pleaser, with the children using him as a jungle gym, lining up to climb on him. Shortly after we arrived, Tamako greeted us with a surprise: small cookies she made to look like each of us. It was an incredibly touching and sweet surprise.

Later in the evening, we headed to the home of Osaki, a woman who has been a mentor and friend to Colleen since her arrival. Her home was gorgeous, and unsurprisingly so -- the same company who built the castle we'd visited also built her house -- and was filled with cozy nooks behind sliding doors, as well as art and crafts from her travels around the world. Dinner was amazing. Osaki had set aside vegetarian versions of the meal for me, which was a tremendous kindness -- and included miso with lightly fried tofu, tempura, edamame, pickled onions, and for everyone else, roasted salmon. After dinner, Mike, Kyle and I watched television -- a special about the Mall of America, which appeared to have been taped somewhere in the late 1990s/early 2000s, while Osaki and Colleen readied themselves to host a traditional tea ceremony.

The ceremony was held in a room set aside especially for that purpose, and Osaki showed me the proper way to enter, crawling and bowing before contemplating a scroll and vase of flowers and finally coming to rest on a mat. The ceremony is hard to describe, as each move required remarkable precision, but basically Kyle, Mike and I sat on the floor while Osaki took Colleen (and, at times, us) through the paces, giving us sweets, balls of sticky rice filled with red bean paste and wrapped in leaves, before we drank the tea, green tea Colleen made by whipping the tea powder with hot water using a bamboo whisk. Despite the caffeinated tea, Kyle and I were dragging by the end and we headed home, on our way to sweet, sweet sleep.

In keeping with the tradition of being a step behind in writing this thing, the update on Thursday's activities will come later. ;)

Gomennasi

2007-05-15T02:50:00.000-03:00

Before we left, co-worker Jen told me gomennasi, or, "so sorry," would be a phrase worth knowing, as we'd inevitably find ourselves making mistakes left and right in Japan. Welp, I haven't had opportunity to use it since our arrival last night, when we were on the receiving of several "so sorrys."

We were in Osaka. Our bags, said the man who greeted us at the entrance to the baggage claim area, were ... somewhere else. And they still are somewhere ... else. Where they are remains unclear.*

And I, I smell, thanks to a.) using hippie deodorant b.) last showering Saturday (today is, er, Tuesday, although I did leap ahead by a day thanks to the magic of time zones, making me *slightly* less disgusting than the timeline would imply) c.) hiking twice already today in Haga, a nearby town, where we saw a waterfall, and a castle, two snakes and an unbelievably clear, blue stream.

Anyway.

Japan so far -- and Ichinomiya, the town Colleen and Mike live in, is amazing. I would show you pictures, but the card reader is in my luggage, which is ... you get the idea. We made the three-hour drive last night in the dark, so it wasn't until this morning that we got a good look around. Flying on a pole outside of our bedroom window -- and throughout the village, we later discovered, are fish-shaped windsocks, one for each child in a family. The houses are small and close together, perched on the edge of narrow winding roads, and many with small rice patties along side them, the first green sprigs of the rice plants beginning to poke out. Mountains, lush with trees, surround the village. The trees, Mike, our tour guide while Colleen worked, were actually planted post-World War II as part of the reconstruction effort and are beginning to tumble in their old age.

Colleen and Mike's apartment is small and reportedly overrun with what Mike has named the "mold monster," - humidity is quite the problem here, apparently -- but it is, just like the brand of their television, Precious. Downstairs is their small kitchen, with a dorm-sized fridge and equally wee (and pastel-colored) food processor and coffee maker. The stove range has two burners, with the oven, slightly larger than a toaster, separate. Also separate are the toilet and the shower/tub rooms, of which I will get into greater detail later.

But now you must excuse me -- I have sumo to watch. Later: a recap on the visit to Seattle and our near-missed flight, the Honolulu airport and the "warmlet."

*Ah, Mike got a call while I was writing this! Our suitcases are here! And by "here" I mean, "here, in Japan," but they will be here at the apartment by tomorrow afternoon. Clean underwear might be more than a dream after all.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2007-05-10T16:02:00.000-03:00

Okay, the bags are packed, the work is ... well, not yet finished, meaning I will be writing things out by hand and then re-writing when I arrive in Seattle at midnight tonight (my three-day detour to the other side of the world), but still ... I'm on my way.

Over and out,
Jaydubs

Testing, testing ... Is this thing on?

2007-05-06T11:26:00.000-03:00

Okey-doke, this is just a test spin here, while I tweak the colors and such. But after I'm done with all of that annoying fiddling, what you will find here is the epic tale of a woman, her man and their journey into The Future, aka Japanland. We leave a week from today. I know -- you're already riveted, I can tell.