So I got a smidge more good news last night. One of the other films I shot a long, long time ago (October 2000) in a galaxy far, far away (Roscoe Village) is nearing completion. Mix Tape, it all of it’s wonderful, rough cut glory, has been submitted to both Sundance and Slamdance and will be submitted to a few more film festivals in the near future. This is not saying that it will be shown at either of those film festivals, but considering I waited almost a year before I even heard whether or not the rough cut was progressing, this is good news in my book. The director told me he could put together a clip reel of my scenes if I wanted them for my demo reel, but I told him I would rather wait until the sound design is done and whatnot. I’ve waited two years for that footage, I can wait another couple of months, right?

But one of the other really nice things that the director said was that my scenes were his favorite parts of the movie. He was really impressed with my performance and even went so far as to say it was almost too bad that I’m not in it more. So that was encouraging. Maybe when the folks at Sundance are watching the rough cut to see if they should show it at the festival, they won’t disregard my performance completely. What good that would do me, I have no idea, but we all know I live in a dream world already, right? I got good news, so I’m going to keep dreaming.

Happy Halloween!!!

I love Halloween. It is, by far, my favorite holiday. Always has been. Dressing up in clothes that only your id will allow you to wear. Trick or treating. The parties, the candy, the downright fun of it all. I don’t know if my love for Halloween inspired my studies in costume design or the other way around, but I love Halloween.

The only bad part about Halloween as an adult is you can’t really dress up and celebrate at work. I did wear all black today and I put in my vampire fangs, but it’s not quite the same as going to school as Scooby-Doo or an ice cream soda, ya know? The whole vampire look is easy for me, what with my glaringly pasty white skin and all. They should start casting me in vampire movies ‘cuz they’d save a lot of money on white make up. But yeah, as an adult, unless Halloween falls on a weekend, the actual day of Halloween is kind of a let down. I went to a party this past weekend (I was a bowling pin. People thought I was a sperm.) And since that is over, I kind of feel like Halloween is over, ya know? Hence the vampire fangs today – to try to keep me in the spirit of things. And I may have to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas tonight. I love that movie. And you can watch it October through December and it will still be seasonally appropriate. I’m kind of sad: whenever I want to listen to Christmas music, I pull out my Nightmare soundtrack. C’est la vie.

But have a very safe, very fun, and very happy Halloween!

I have always thought of myself as a very visual person. I like looking at things. It is easy for me to recall visual memories. And if I see someone do something, chances are, I can do it too.

But lately, I’ve been really taking note of my other senses. The various sounds that I like (men’s wingtips on gravel is one of the best ones), the smells in my life, different flavors, different textures. And I’m really astounded at how well my senses work. They are always taking something in and analyzing and categorizing it. How wonderful to be so aware of the world around me!

Though it has also rekindled a desire in me to experience a sensory deprivation tank. I’ve never done that before and I’m kind of curious about what happens when my senses have no smells or sights or sounds or textures to analyze anymore. Considering how well they work, how far will they go to find or create stimuli?

Sorry. I’ll have something more interesting to talk about later. Maybe after lunch. My tummy is starting to make grumbly noises.

Eh, what the hell. I have no shame. Let’s talk about breasts for a minute.

This topic was brought to my attention at a Halloween party I went to over the weekend whereat I was told many times by many different people that I have nice breasts. My reply is, “Thank you, I grew them myself.” Which usually gets a laugh and the topic is then changed. Because what an odd thing to compliment. “My, what lovely fat glands you have on your chest. May I touch them?” “No.” *smack*

I’m sorry, this is one of those things I have never understood despite my efforts to get my little, female, heterosexual mind around it. I do not understand the male fascination with breasts. Sure, they’re nice to look at, but so is a lovely sunset or a brand new jar of peanut butter. These things do not make men lose their train of thought and start drooling upon first sight. Well, the peanut butter might inspire drool, but only if he’s really hungry. What is it about breasts? Is it because men know how pleasurable it can be for a woman to have her breasts touched? Then why don’t men drool at the sight of the inside of a woman’s elbow or at a woman’s ear lobe? Are men mesmerized by breasts because of some psychological desire to return to the safety of his mother’s bosom where he was once nursed? Then why aren’t more women struck dumb at the sight of a nice rack? Granted, I am making sweeping generalizations here as most homosexual men probably look at breasts with apathy and lesbians are probably drawn to them in the same way as heterosexual men. Or not. I don’t know. I am neither a homosexual man nor a homosexual woman. So if anyone reading this is offended by my sweeping generalizations and would like to set me straight, please do so. But I do think that it is safe to say that at least among the people I know, men are more fascinated by breasts than women. And I’m not exactly sure why this is.

And what exactly constitutes a “nice rack?” Is it size? Is it perkiness? Symmetry? Placement on the chest? And what is it that then inspires a woman whose breasts are not particularly large to go have surgery to make them larger? Why is our sense of femininity wrapped up in our mammary glands? It would seem to me that if they are functional, that’s all that really matters. Silly me, I’m thinking logically again. And as a woman with average sized breasts (they don’t hinder my movement, but it doesn’t take a microscope to see them, either), maybe I will never understand the desire to alter one’s breasts ‘cuz I’m happy with what I have. So maybe I should just keep my mouth shut on the whole issue before I make myself look like an even bigger idiot than I already have. An idiot with nice breasts. Just what every man wants.

I have two things to talk about today, actually. One of them is kind of benign and simple, the other is kind of silly and personal, yet serious, if that makes any sense. So I'll get the simple, benign one out of the way first and if I'm not feeling too stupid about talking about the other one, I'll post that one later. But if you only get one entry from me today, it's because I have deemed the other topic inappropriate for discussion in a public forum. And you can sit all day and think about what it could have been (though I doubt you'll guess it) and come to your own conclusions and start your own discussions because that's what life is all about anyway, isn't it? Believing what you want to believe and questioning things and talking about things?

But I digress.

My first topic for today is a simple amendment to an earlier entry wherein I proposed that rock and roll music is dead. Not rock music, mind you, but rock and roll. Today, I would like to amend this statement by asserting that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are a rock and roll band. And I thank them for being one. Their music is interesting and varied and doesn't have an overwhelming snare drum or a lead singer who just shouts. So thank you to the Red Hot Chili Peppers for continuing the rock and roll tradition. Though isn't it interesting that they are most often classified as an "alternative rock" band? Alternative to what? Boring, formulaic music? Okay, then, I like alternative music.

And before I stick my foot further into my mouth, I am going to stop typing. Now.

If you have not yet seen Bowling for Columbine, I would ask that you please do so at your earliest convenience.

Thank you.

Sorry, they're German. Which may be even better. I love listening to German. It's such a sexy language. Probably because it isn't a romance language, you know? There is somthing about romance languages that a million people love but I don't. Yes, they are pretty and flowy sounding. Maybe it is because I feel like I sound like an idiot trying to talk like that. And let's face it, I will never be able to pass for a Spanish or Italian woman. And I'm not snooty enough to be French. French really irritates me because you don't pronounce it. And you kind of have to squinch up your face to pronounce the three letters per word that you do pronounce. You have a mouth for speaking! Open it! Use your jaw! It's okay! But German...with the hacking and the "sch"s and stuff. I could pass for German. It's a throaty language and I have too much phlegm pretty much all the time, so I think I would sound good speaking German. I wish I knew more German. I can count to ten, say some nasty words, tell everyone I am a jelly donut (thanks, JFK!), and say, "This is my space," "Please," and "Thank you," but that's about it. I've been wanting to learn German for a while now. I should get on that.

Okay, I’ve been happy and hunky dory for long enough. It is time for a full on bitch session. Ready? Here we go.

The thing that I really don’t like about my job is that I am the office peon. I do what nobody else wants to do. Why? Because I don’t have a job description. Or the closest thing I have to a job description is a verbal agreement to take on “Other Tasks as Assigned.” My entire job is “Other Tasks as Assigned.” A lot of them are pretty regular tasks that I don’t really mind doing because they don’t require a whole lot of brain power and they are things that need to get done by someone, so at least I can fool myself into thinking I’m helping. One of these tasks is to cover the front desk when our receptionist isn't here -- for an hour and a half (or an hour and fifteen minutes, depending on when I get here) in the morning until she gets here and for a half an hour while she has lunch. Okay, fine. I’m the back up receptionist. But this also means that I am the one stuck at the front desk when our receptionist is out sick or on vacation.

Let me take a moment to say that I hate being the receptionist. More than I hate being cold. I would rather spend the rest of my life listening to nothing but John Tesh and Yanni than be the receptionist.

So this morning, our receptionist called in sick. Happy happy joy joy. I get to sit up front all day. Woo hoo. But you know what? I’ve been in enough of a good mood lately that I was kind of prepared to deal with this. I’m caught up on most of my work, so I’m not thrilled about being stuck up here all day, but I can handle it.

Then I find out there is a site visit going on here today.

We have a very technologically advanced conference room, so people want to come check it out all of the time. Great. Good publicity for the University. But I hate site visit days. More than I hate being the back up receptionist. Why? Because there are about a dozen or so people running around the office asking questions, talking loudly, and in general, getting in the way of the rest of the work that needs to get done in this office. They don’t take into account that standing in a clump around the reception desk talking loudly is an annoyance to the people who have to work here, particularly the receptionist. Who is, today, me. I need to be able to answer the phone and hear what the person on the other end of the line is saying. I need to be able to get up from the desk and go to the copier or the printer or the bathroom. And no, you may not use my phone ‘cuz it is my job to answer it if it rings and I can’t answer it if you’re using it.

At least the people today have accents. I think they are Australian. Which is a good thing.

But I shouldn’t complain. The show went pretty well last night even though there was no blood. And I’m looking forward to a weekend of catching up on all of the crap I haven’t been able to do recently (like scrub my bathtub) because of the show and my, um, other nocturnal activities. I do still feel pretty good. I’ll just be really happy when today is over. Or as soon as I can get my hands on some Advil…

Today’s Lesson: How to Get Strange Looks From People

When a person asks you in the course of normal conversation or as a form of greeting, “How are you?” respond by saying, “I got blood in my eye.” Strange looks will ensue.

There are a couple of things to look out for, however, when using this line. It is actually helpful if you did get blood in your eye. Preferably fake blood, as real blood would imply a serious bodily injury while fake blood just hurts like a son of a bitch. The inclusion of some sort of blood prior to making this statement will give your eye the nice, puffy redness you need in order to be able to pull this line off without looking like a complete moron. Though how you go about getting the blood in your eye could make you look like quite enough of a moron that pride may no longer factor into the equation. Also, before using this line, make sure you are using it on people who you don’t want to talk to for very long, as it will inevitably encourage them to encourage you to go rinse your eye

“I got blood in my eye.” Keeping conversations short since 2002. Join us next week as we explore the ever popular, "I seem to have misplaced my pants."

I think I’ve been listening to too much Bowie recently because I’m about to step back up on my little soapbox here and talk about the state of the music industry.

I propose that rock and roll music is dead.

Bear with me for a minute here while I define my terms.

Rock music still exists and is thriving. Rock music consists of loud guitars, louder drums, and a singer who yells as much as he/she sings. These songs are rather formulaic in their chord structure and lyric patterns. They are hard sounding and inspire those listening to them to bob their heads up and down on the downbeat of the music and/or pump their fists in the air.

Rock and roll music has complex sounds to it. There are guitars and drums involved, but oftentimes there are other instruments involved as well, particularly on the percussion/synthesizer front. The combination of multiple instruments is blended nicely so that no one instrument is overbearing in the song unless it is during a specific solo or something along those lines. The lyrics are sometimes nonsensical but everyone listening to them knows exactly what the singer is saying. People listening to rock and roll music are often inspired to not only bob their heads, but also to “groove.”

I know, it is a very minor distinction, but if you listen to Bowie or the Stones or some good old classic rock and roll and then listen to Creed or Disturbed or Linkin Park, you’ll see what I mean. It is the same with neo-swing music versus big band music. Yes, you can dance to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy (and I have. On many occasions. I love Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and I’m not ashamed to admit that), but listen to BBVD and then listen to Benny Goodman. Or Louis Armstrong. Or Glen Miller. Yeah, I know Louis Armstrong isn’t really big band music, but the principle holds the same. The current versions of these classic music forms have too much percussion in them. And often times not even very interesting percussion. I’m not saying that today’s rock drummers are not talented people, quite the contrary. They are very talented people. I couldn’t play a drum set. But drummers back in the day did interesting things rhythmically without throwing off the rest of the band. In the early days of lindy hop, a really good drummer would pick up on a dancer’s footwork and mirror it in his own drumming.

But I digress.

So what is wrong with the state of music today? We’re obsessed with drums, but more as a means of keeping tempo than as musical instruments. We need another rock and roll type revolution. Rock and roll has become so watered down in its attempts to be so hardcore that it all sounds the same and it has lost its roll. Do I have a solution to this problem? No. I’m just a kid who’s been listening to too much Bowie and is finding something lacking in the music on the radio when the CD is over. And this could all just be me. It is, in fact, my opinion and my opinion only. But it makes me sad that very little of the music on popular radio stations moves people the way that classic rock and roll did. I miss rock and roll. Music should inspire people to more than anger or apathetic head bobbing. But again, that’s just me and until I have a solution, I should probably keep my uninformed mouth shut.

*stepping down off soapbox*

So last night was opening night of my show. We had some technical difficulties, as in, we had no sound cues and no blood hose, but I think for the most part, it went okay. Our twelve audience members really seemed to enjoy themselves. We even got a few laughs in the right places. So that was cool. And I am very glad to have one show under my belt, you know? Because I do get stage fright. Pretty badly. My heart starts racing and my mouth dries out. Apparently, I hide it well, but I do get it. That’s why I love acting

I really do love acting. I love going to the theater and putting on make-up and costumes and putting on a show for people. It is so satisfying in this really selfish way. It is a rush and it makes me feel good about myself and I dunno. I just love doing it. If I can spend the rest of my life acting, I will die a happy woman. When I was in high school, we had an assignment wherein we had to write a letter to ourselves from the future. So when I was about seventeen, I wrote a letter to myself on my thirtieth birthday. And in that letter, I tell myself that even though the professional acting thing never really panned out, I’m still involved in community theater and I am fantastically happy doing that. And I think I would be. Ultimately, I would like to be able to make a living acting, but even if I can’t…I don’t think acting is something I will ever give up. I love it too much.

And I got to talk to one of my fellow actors last night while she was in a drunken stupor. Which was kind of fun. I like getting drunk with people for the first time. She told me that I am the kind of actor that she seeks out in order to learn from. She kept praising my professionalism and the way I really seem to have my shit together. I had never been told by another actor that I am an inspiration to other actors, that I could make them want to better themselves within their craft. I was kind of blown away by that and I didn’t really have anywhere to hide or another topic of conversation to switch to so I said thank you and blushed a little, I’m sure. I guess it goes back to the whole perception thing again. I know I was a nervous wreck as soon as the curtain went up. She said she never would have guessed. *shrug* It felt really wonderful to receive that kind of accolade from another person in my beloved profession, you know? Like I'm not wasting my time on some silly pipe dream, you know?

So yeah, I’d say it was a good night.

So I finally got some sleep last night and may I just say that it was WONDERFUL. Or, as we say in my family, WOOOOOOOOOOOOON-derful. Yes, we are a strange bunch.

I don’t know how I used to do it. I would go out almost every night of the week, stay out until the wee hours of the morning, and function on about three hours of sleep a night. Yeah, I’d crash on Wednesday nights to make up for it, but I could do six days in a row of little to no sleep. Now I can barely do five. I’m getting old. That’s all there is to it. I was wondering not too long ago what it was like to get old and realize one day that you can’t do all of the things you used to be able to do. Well, I’m learning. It is sad to not be able to function on three hours of sleep a night. Though I must say, it felt really good to just pass out last night. If growing older just means I need more sleep, I think I could live with that.

Maybe that’s what death is. Maybe human beings aren’t really designed to be awake and doing things. We think we only need eight hours of sleep a night or something, but really, we’re only designed to stay awake for, like, an hour a day. So every day of our lives, we are missing out on fifteen or so hours of sleep that we desperately need. And after eighty or ninety years of that, we really need to catch up, so we die. And once we’re caught up on sleep, we are reborn as a new baby who starts the cycle of sleep deprivation all over again.

Life. The great cycle of sleep deprivation.

I’m sure that somewhere, some religious figure is rolling his or her eyes back into his or her head right now.

So the whole waking up before it is light outside thing is kind of hard, but there is one really nice thing about it. I get to see the sun rise. And today’s was a particularly lovely sunrise. I would go so far as to call it breathtaking, too. And not just because I’m still in a really good mood. It really was pretty – all of these shades of pink and purple and red that you don’t see in the sky very often. So yeah, it sucks that I had to get up early after a really long weekend with very little sleep, but the sunrise was really lovely, so I guess I can forgive the suckage.

Have you ever had one of those days where you’re just plain in a good mood? Even though you only got three hours of sleep? Even though you got dragged into a very long boring meeting you didn’t think you were going to have to be in first thing in the morning? Even though you woke up later than you wanted to and you didn’t have breakfast? Yeah, I know, I’m weird. But I’m in a good mood today. And I know exactly why I’m in a good mood and part of me wants to run around screaming “I’m in a good mood!” but part of me doesn’t want to talk about it for fear that that will kill it. And I know that I’m being really vague and I understand how annoying it is to have someone say, “Oh, I have something interesting to say, but I can’t tell you what it is!” but I can’t tell you what it is. I’m opting for silence on this one. And I know I’m probably going to get a slew of indignant e-mails and instant messages from people wanting to know the source of my good mood, but I’m not talking about it today. Maybe later. Ain’t I a bitch?

I love being busy and productive at work, I really do. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like I actually deserve my measley little paycheck.

On the downside ('cuz as we all know, Kitty likes to focus on the downside of things, at least in her blog entries because she finds her blog entries to be much more interesting and engaging when she is complaining about something rather than happy with her life and the world around her which she noticed on her way in to work this morning was particularly beautiful in that foggy/gray fall morning kind of way when you're really glad the heater in your car works because otherwise your fingers would be frozen to the steering wheel and you'd never be able to leave your car and you'd be stuck car dancing for the rest of your life and it would be really hard to prevent your muscles from atrophying while you were stuck in there and it would probably hinder your social life to be stuck to the interior of your vehicle but thankfully your heater works so you don't have to worry about any of that nonsense), being busy and productive kind of fries my brain so I don't really have any wonderful little witicisms to share with you today. I have a busy weekend ahead of me full of fun people, good music, and lot of driving. Good music. I get to see Sander again tonight. I know I've talked about him before, but his shows are just so darn good. I can't help but be excited. And I'm taking a friend with me tonight who has never seen Sander before, so I get to de-Sander-flower him tonight. I hope it goes well. I'm assuming that if we get out of there with our ears, we're doing okay.

And I may get to de-RockyHorror-virginize another friend this weekend, too. That should be fun. I haven't been to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in a long time. And I still maintain that I have to play Columbia somewhere before I die. Though I probably won't do the whole costume bit this weekend 'cuz it's really cold outside and there isn't heat in my building yet and the thought of running around in a small, sparkly bustierre (which I totally just slaughtered the spelling of. Please forgive me), fishnets and shorts isn't all that appealing. I'm the sort that likes to be warm. But I'll go and enjoy the show in jeans or something. Jeans and too much eyeliner should do the trick.

So all in all, I think we've determine that my brain isn't working and that we want more heat, not less.

Thank you.

Oh! And apparently I was wrong about the etymology of the word "shit." It has real origins in Latin and Germanic words that have something to do with separation (as in the separation of waste matter from one's body) or something like that. I would like to thank my friend who loves to debunk my fantasy world for pointing that out to me. Love you. *smooch*

This does not mean, however, that I am going to stop living in my fantasy world where "shit" is an acronym 'cuz as was determined yesterday, conjugating acronyms is much more amusing than conjugating actual words and I'm all about amusement.

I have a sort of a confession to make. It is kind of personal, but one of those things I feel strangely compelled to share with you all.

Last night, I made my first foray into the world of sado-masochism. And it was tasty.

Two days ago at lunch, I burned the entire inside of my mouth on some really tasty chili. I could not stay mad at the chili, though, ‘cuz it’s really good chili, but I hate that feeling when the roof of your mouth is burned so you sit there and lick it all day, hoping that somehow, if you get enough saliva on the burn, it will stop hurting and heal faster. Has anyone ever done a study on the healing power of saliva?

So anyway, last night, I ate really salty chips and medium spicy salsa while the roof of my mouth was still aching from the chili incident. The pain was excruciating. So why did I do it? Because the chips and salsa were really tasty! Mmm…chips and salsa…

What, you thought my first foray into the world of sado-masochism was going to be some sort of sexual confession? You don’t know me too well, do you?

Tee hee.

Probably the best expression I have ever heard for describing exactly how crappy one can feel from time to time is “I feel like a pig shat in my head.” Could be because I really like the word “shat.” Especially considering that I believe that the origins of the word “shit” come from an acronym that was stamped on bags of manure that were to be shipped by boat. Apparently, manure that is ready for transport is dry. However, if it gets wet during the shipping process, the fermentation process can begin, large amounts of methane gas are produced, and if anyone goes into the shipping hold with a lantern, the ship never reaches its destination, if you know what I mean. So they would stamp S.H.I.T. on bags of manure meaning “ship high in transit” and the nickname just stuck. So to then conjugate an acronym amuses me.

I could be wrong about the etymology of the word “shit,” but “shat” still amuses me.

So back to the pig shitting in my head. That is approximately how I felt last night. Though since I have only really heard this phrase used to describe a hangover and my feeling of crappyness was more a result of seasonal allergies (I think. I hope. I pray.), I’m thinking that I should instead describe my feeling of crappyness by saying I had a transfusion of pig phlegm into my face just beneath my eyes.

So I didn’t go out last night and I went to bed early. Can you blame me?

Eep! It's almost the end of the day for me here and I haven't posted anything. See what happens when they give me actual work to do? Sheesh. What are they thinkin'?

Though it is kind of a good thing because I don't have all that much to talk about. I did a lot this weekend, but it wasn't necessarily the kind of stuff that makes you sit and re-think your entire view on life. I saw my family. I danced with friends. I dined with a friend at the Chicago Diner which is always lovely. If I was rich, I'd eat there every day. One day...

The one interesting thing that happened this weekend is I had a political discussion with my dad. I guess that could be considered one good thing to come out of my paying attention to the news and formulating an opinion (though I'm still kind of nervous about having one) -- it gave me something to talk about with my dad. And while his political views and my political views don't necessarily line up in perfect little rows like ducks or soybeans, we were able to have a really nice, adult discussion. I don't get to do that very much with my dad, so that was nice.

And now I must get back to the grind. Such is the life of a peon. One day, though...one day...

A friend sent me a link to an article in Time magazine. It is an interesting article. I don't know if I feel better after reading it or not, but it does present some things that I hadn't thought about before, so I would say it is worth reading.

And I still don't want to go to war.

So, as I mentioned earlier, my contact lens ripped and I had to take it out. And to avoid giving myself an excruciating headache that would no doubt worsen as the day progressed, I took out and disposed of my other contact lens as well. My eyes aren’t really that bad – I can still see things, just not with their usual clarity. Which struck me as in interesting metaphor, by the way, for my state of mind. Wanting to complain about the state of the world but self-conscious of doing so for fear of things I say today coming back to bite me in the ass later. Maybe if I just keep saying that I am only stating my opinions, which are based on very few facts, the damage won’t be so great. Or maybe when I get home and put on my glasses or a new pair of contact lenses and get my vision back, everything else will become clearer, too.

Or not.

But it feels weird to look at the world through fuzzy colored glasses. Like I’m removed from everything somehow. And my lack of things to do at work isn’t helping much. What am I doing? I'm reading Moby’s journal again. Why? To make myself feel better. Is it working? Yes. Suprisingly, it is helping quite a bit. It is really refreshing to see that one can still live a normal, healthy, balanced life with political views. I hate politics. I hate being involved in them, be they on a national scale or within my local swing scene. Politics are silly and frustrating to me because they so often involve referring to a group of people in the broadest terms instead of looking at each individual on a person-by-person basis. I think the world should be looked at on more of an individual level and then we might all stop and see that essentially, we all want the same things and it really isn’t so horrible to let other people live happy lives. I was driving around the other day and I started laughing in my car because I really do love people. The guy scarfing down a piece of pizza while waiting for a train. I could just imagine how good that pizza tasted to him – maybe he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and when that crust hit his lips, he knew his stomach would stop making those weird growly noises. That is one of the best feelings there is and I got to watch a guy enjoy that. Or the couple walking down the street holding hands. Both thankful that they have a hand that can hold the hand of the person they love. And when you stop and realize that there are people all over the world grabbing slices of pizza or bowls of noodles or a falafel sammich or whatever before getting on a train or going to school or work or home to be with their loved ones, it’s really hard to take sides in a political debate that requires you to not like the falafel eater but love the pizza guy. So I try to stay out of politics as best I can, but with the state of the country today being what it is, it is hard to avoid and I feel like I’m being sucked into something really unsavory because I am formulating an opinion. So it is nice for me to read about a man who is artistic and who travels and who gets enormous amounts of pleasure from sitting on his roof in the sunshine, sharing Tofu Pups with friends who also has political views. They don’t seem to have overwhelmed him. Sure, they are a part of who he is, but he’s not your classic, slimy politician. He’s a guy with opinions. Which is refreshing and comforting to me somehow. And now I’m just rambling, so I’m going to stop writing and go back to reading.

I so wish I had no idea what was going on in the news because truth be told, I’m getting scared. This legislation allowing the government to use military force on Iraq scares me. I don’t think it is a good idea. I may be totally uninformed, but it still sounds like a bad idea to me. If we have a President who is so gung-ho about going to war, whatever his reasons (oil interests, to boost his popularity in the polls or get more of his buddies elected into office), at what point is he going to cave and say, “Okay, they have agreed to do what we want so military force is unnecessary?” Will he do that? Or will he seek out every excuse he can find to bomb the hell out of Iraq? We already know that he isn’t the smartest man to ever reside in the White House – his IQ has been measured at a mere 91. Hell, mine is in the 120s or 130s. Why aren’t I calling the shots? Jimmy Carter just won the Nobel Peace Prize for his ongoing efforts around the globe. Why isn’t he calling the shots? Why has our country been reduced to passing legislation saying we can go in and overthrow current Iraqi leaders and set up our own military government over there if we can’t work things out diplomatically? How did we get here? I am kind of wishing now that I had been paying more attention along the way because it just doesn’t make any sense to me. Are we, as a country, trying to get the rest of the world to hate us? You know what? This isn’t the music industry. Conflict on this scale will not sell more records and get our name out there and up the rest of the world’s interest in the United States. "All press is good press" does not apply in this case. This is not a game. If we succeed in getting the rest of the world to hate us, not only will that lead to massive loss of human life, both American and non, but it will influence our trade agreements and whatnot and prices will go up and so on and so forth and our economy will suffer an even worse blow than it already has. If you’re going to pick a fight somewhere, Mr. Bush, pick one you know you can win. Pick one that will enhance your reputation. Or at the very least, pick one that all of our allies are behind, too.

I’m sorry, I know I’m rambling and not making much sense and I’m sure I sound silly and ignorant. Admittedly, I don’t fully understand the situation. I can’t get my mind around the idea that it is the responsibility of the United States to police the entire world. I can see stepping in in the case of the woman who was sentenced to be stoned to death for having a child out of wedlock. I can see stepping in to help resolve a conflict when we are asked to do so. I can’t understand asking for legislation allowing the US military to set up a government in Iraq after Iraq has been overthrown when the rest of the world is hesitant about using military force in the first place. When did the United States decide to take over the planet? When did Bush become Supreme Ruler Over All? Shouldn’t he be worried about things going on in his own country as opposed to picking fights overseas that could conceivably lead to World War Three and the further destruction of his own country that is already floundering? If someone can explain this whole situation to me in a manner that makes sense, I am more than happy to listen. But from the limited information I have, I just don’t get it. So please forgive my ignorant ramblings – my writing today is ten times worse than usual because not only am I emotional, but my contact lens ripped while it was still in my eye at work so I had to take it out and throw it away and I didn’t bring my glasses so the screen is a little fuzzy. All I know is that I’m getting scared. I got in my car to go home from work yesterday and almost started crying listening to David Bowie’s Heroes. And I’ve been listening to Moby’s 18 a lot lately, too, to try to calm myself. Maybe that’s what we should do – have Bush and Hussein listen to 18 together in the hopes that it will chill them out enough to behave like adults and work out their problems peacefully.

Or, I’m going to go bury my head in the sand and hope that this is all over soon.

Dear Mr. Bush,

I do not want to go to war.

I am one small American citizen who is not well read on the issues in the Middle East, but the thought of going to war makes me really nervous. I understand that Iraq may have some really scary weapons in their arsenal right now and yes, that does make me nervous. But you know what the quickest way to find out what they have in their aresenal and how willing they are to use those weapons on America is? Declare war. My guess is that if we declare war on Iraq, we will get to find out first hand, on our own soil, exactly what kind of weapons and exactly how many of those weapons Iraq has. And that, to me, is the most terrifying thought of all.

So while I do not know all of the ins and outs of the entire situation, I would just like to say that I think all-out warfare is a bad idea. But that could just be me.

Thank you.
Kitty

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you’re just like, “If I can only make it through this week…?” Not that this week has been particularly hard or bad or anything. It’s just been kind of blah and I am pretty much convinced that next week will be much more fun and interesting. I get to go through a haunted house with a friend of mine and I’ll be going to Indiana to see another friend of mine on one of my patented whirlwind road trips. And then I go into tech for my show and then the show opens and then I get my weekends back and…you get the idea.

So yeah, I’m ready for this week to be over. I know I shouldn’t be antsy for the future. It is best to live neither in the future, nor in the past, but in the present moment. But the present moment involves me being at work, which is seldom fun. And while I am not the one going crazy in my office, I feel bad for the woman who is going crazy. But I keep asking if there is anything I can do to help her out and she’s not giving me much to do. I do what she gives me quickly and well, but the assignments are silly and far between. And I don’t know. I just have that feeling like something good is about to happen and I’m eager to find out what it is.

And on a completely random note, I was wearing this skirt yesterday that will now be known as the “sexy librarian skirt” because I feel like a sexy librarian when I wear it and I fit it to myself last week when I was making it and yesterday it was too big for me. Meaning I am slimming down. I don’t want to use the term “losing weight” because I don’t know that I am losing weight – I have not been on a scale in four months or so and I’d like to keep it that way. But I think this exercise program I am on is working because my clothes are fitting a bit better than they were and my gargantuan ass is getting a little bit smaller and more nicely shaped. So that’s a good thing. I feel good. In general, I feel good. Good and excited and anxious for whatever it is that is about to start to start. I really need to work on being patient.

I watched my cat learn how to drink from the bathroom sink faucet last night. It was dripping a little bit, so that caught his attention. And then there was this elaborate dance between Owen and the drops of water as he tried to capture them without soaking the rest of his head in the process. I think his preferred method of drinking from the faucet is to stick his paw in the stream of water just long enough to catch a drop and then lick the drop from his paw. I also think it is safe to see I have not seen anything cuter in a very very very long time.

Though this does bring up an interesting question: if Owen can learn how to drink from the bathroom faucet by catching drops of water on his paw and licking them off, why can he not learn that me bopping him on the nose when he is digging for Q-Tips in the garbage can means he shouldn’t be digging in the garbage can in the first place? Selective memory or outright stubbornness? You decide.

They were talking about flirtation on the radio this morning. Apparently someone conducted a study on women’s flirtation with men in social situations. The basic results of the study concluded that a woman will flirt with a man upon first meeting him regardless of whether or not she finds him attractive. Signs of flirtation were described as hair flipping, fidgeting with clothing, that kind of thing. Women will do these things when they first meet a man and after a few minutes, if she is not attracted to him, she will then start displaying signs of disinterest – folding her arms and whatnot.

Now, the male DJ was complaining about this and asking why it is that women would do such a thing. Why would we show interest in a man we really weren’t interested in only to “shoot him down” later? The women on the show kept saying it was because women are polite and that there is a difference between being polite and flirting. I disagree with this. And if you’ll wait a moment while I hit “enter,” I will spend the next paragraph or so explaining my theories on flirting.

Flirting is a good, natural, healthy form of communication between people. Flirtation can happen between a man and a woman, between two men, between two women, or in large groups of assorted genders. Flirtation is not an invitation to sexual interaction. If you look up the etymology of “flirt” in a dictionary, you will learn that it really means “to interact with another in such a way as to make the other person like you.” Or something to that effect. The language in dictionaries is much fancier than that, but you get the point. Flirting is trying to get someone else to like you. That is it. The sexual undertones came into the picture much later. And seeing as humans are social creatures and most of us are looking for love in some form, it would make sense that in the majority of our interactions, there is at least a small degree of flirtation. There is nothing wrong with that.

But let’s take the woman being introduced to a man in a bar situation and look at it for a moment. We, as women, have been taught our entire lives to not judge a book by its cover. We are taught to give people the benefit of the doubt, or at the very least to hear what they have to say before we dismiss them. So when a woman is in a bar, being introduced to a man, on a subconscious level, she is thinking, “Is this him? Is this the one?” regardless of whether or not she finds him physically attractive. Every man you meet is a potential soul mate. The same way that men want to sleep with every woman they meet – it is a subconscious drive to spread his genetic material to as many mates as possible in the hopes of producing offspring who will survive and be stronger than all of the others. (Southside just came on the radio and distracted me for a second, so I apologize for the awkwardness of that sentence.) But you get what I’m saying – these are natural, primal instincts to try to further our own species. Now, within a few minutes of talking to said gentleman at the bar, a woman can usually determine if he is someone she would like to talk to further or if he is definitely not “the one.” But for those first few minutes when she is still unsure, she wants to present herself to him in the most appealing manner possible just in case he happens to be “the one.” So she flirts. When she figures out that he is not “the one” or even a contender, she stops flirting. I would not define this as “leading a guy on only to shoot him down later.” This is a normal interaction between two people who know absolutely nothing about one another. And I bet that if they did a study wherein they watched men meeting women for the first time, the results would be approximately the same.

That being said, how you doin’? *wink*

They turned on the heat in my office building! Woo hoo! Thank you, heating guy!

Now if only we could get the front door to work...

And then there was a wedding on Sunday. No, this will not be another “what does Kitty want her wedding to be like?” entry. I found myself thinking completely different thoughts at this wedding than I have at other weddings in the past. Which may be saying something in and of itself – weddings are becoming old hat to me or something. I’ve been to way too many of them in the past two years.

Marriage is pretty cool. When it works. When it is a union of two people who are 100% committed to one another. I can’t help but grin when the words “husband” and “wife” are used in the ceremony because I know those words hold a special meaning for the persons involved. I’ve had some interesting discussions about marriage in the past and I guess what marriage is to me is that commitment. The commitment between two people to share their lives – the good, the bad, the beautiful, the horrible – with one another with the intention of enhancing the other’s life as well as one’s own life in the process. I don’t know if that makes any sense or not. But I find myself hoping that I find someone someday with whom I can share that level of commitment. And I understand why some people are able to be so calm at their own weddings – if that commitment already exists, the actual wedding is just a formality. A show for the family and friends. I can think of nothing more comforting than having to put on one of those shows but having a man to whom I was totally committed standing right by my side through the entire ordeal. That has to be an amazing feeling.

I’m not sure what my point is, really, with this entry. Maybe that I do hope to get married one day. Maybe that I understand why people do it. But I still maintain that a commitment on par with marriage can exist without the ceremony and that that is the kind of relationship I hope to find one day.

Okay, I’m not making any sense, so I’ll stop now.

I went to a party on Saturday night with my old theater friends from college. They live about an hour away from me, so I don’t see them very often. That, and we’re all really busy people. But once a year, I make it a point to go to one of their parties, get my round of hugs, get my “I miss you! We should get together and do something!”s and then go home.

I love these people. I really really do. They are good people and they feel like home to me in a way. They were there during a very developmental time in my life and it is always wonderful to see them because they accept me anyway. I remember a time when I thought one of them was my soul mate. I still love him dearly, psychotic freak that he is. It was so good to see him. But these gatherings are mildly disappointing in that I don’t really get to talk to anyone. Like at a family reunion or something. There are so many people running around and so many, “So, what have you been up to?”s that you can’t really re-connect with anyone. The vast majority of conversation has to stay at the surface level and one of the things I miss about these people is the one on one conversations. They are an interesting, intelligent bunch and we used to talk about great things. I miss that.

I did get to talk to one guy who I hadn’t really talked to all that much in the past and that was nice. I’m hoping we stay in touch, but I somehow doubt it. Which brings me to the other reason why it is hard to hang out with these people sometimes.

I know when I go to see them that that isn’t my real life. Getting messed up on various substances, doing the whole “starving artist” thing, living with 8,000,000 other people because you always need to have someone around, these things have never been me. I’m…I don’t know. I’m more balanced than that or I’m just not there. If I ever had a stage like that in my life, it has passed now. I don’t feel the need to spend my life drunk or stoned. I have sacrificed some of my artistic integrity so that I can have a roof over my head and food to eat. I love living by myself. So when I go to these yearly parties, it is kind of like visiting the Twilight Zone for an evening. I have a great time, don’t get me wrong, but it is a suspension of what I believe my reality to be and I am usually relieved to leave and return to my life. I like my life. But while I am there, I am told again and again that I am missed and I am welcome to come back any time and so on and so forth. So when I come home, I send e-mails and make phone calls inviting these people who supposedly care so much about me to participate in my life and I never get any replies. Phone calls remain unreturned. E-mails go out into the vacuum. So for me, these parties are a suspension of reality that is full of wonderful wonderful things that disappear as soon as I get in my car to go home. I don’t know that I’m ready to give up these parties yet, but I do kind of wonder how much longer I am going to put myself through that.

There was also a guy at this particular party who I want to apologize to. I know he doesn’t read my blog – I don’t think he even knows it exists. But I do want him to know that I am sorry. I try to live my life not regretting anything, but in his case, I will make an exception. I hurt him and I know that and take full responsibility for it and hurting him is the one thing in my life that I truly do regret. He is a great person and he did not deserve to be treated the way I treated him. We didn’t speak at the party. There was a kind of nod when he and his wife came in, but we did not talk all night. That just isn’t the kind of environment where you can settle weirdness, you know? But I hope he knows that I am happy for him, that he found a beautiful woman who loves him dearly and that I am sorry for hurting him.

Okay, long weekend means multiple blog entries. So bear with me. Some will be interesting, some not so much. Or they could all be frightfully dull, who knows. But there will be a couple of them dealing with a couple of different topics. And this is the first one.

I saw Red Dragon on Friday night. Wow. For a kid who grew up never watching a horror movie because she was too scared, I really have developed a taste for suspense/horror/thrillers. And this was a good one. Excellent performances from some of my favorite actors. And the director got the gore factor down. Meaning, he understands that things are scarier if you don’t actually see them. It was brilliant. So much better than Hannibal. So yeah, my first blog entry is just going to be a short one encouraging you all to go see Red Dragon because it is worth seeing. Unless you are like me as a small child and don’t like horror movies. In which case, you shouldn’t see this film ‘cuz you’ll have nightmares for a long long time.

Okay, one more weird gushy entry about my little song that I love so much. We watched the video at lunch today at work and all of my co-workers were blown away by it, too. We watched it about five times and they started singing along with it. I couldn’t stop grinning.

I don’t understand it. I listen to the song and hear a very honest and simple little song that I wrote back in April. Other people listen to it and fall in love. I guess it is that whole perception thing again and I am thrilled and amazed and flattered by the whole thing. People I have never even met before like it. It’s amazing to me. It’s amazing to me to think that I created something that I thought would never be shared with anyone but that people really seem to enjoy. I have no idea how I did it. But as of this point, I have been compared to Lisa Loeb, Janis Joplin, and Eva Cassidy. I was called “angelic” today. And to think – I grew up thinking I had a terrible voice that nobody would ever want to listen to. It’s amazing to me. I find myself wondering if I should tell the person who inspired me to write this song that he inspired it, you know? Or if I should tell the people listening to it where it comes from. I know you’re getting sick of hearing me talk about it, but I can’t get over it. I am so thrilled that people like my song. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy that makes me. My co-worker down the hall was listening to it on her computer and singing along. I have friends who find themselves singing it in the shower. I can’t even tell you how cool that is. I have a perma-grin stuck on my face.

Okay, I’m stopping now. No more entries about my little song.

Some Iraqi official suggested that Saddam Hussein and George Bush have a duel. Like in the old days – ten paces, then draw. The media seems to be frantically trying to figure out if said official was joking or not. I can just see this actually taking place, though, but as Mr. Bush is taking his ten paces, Saddam is right behind him taking ten paces backwards so they are still face to face when they turn around and Mr. Bush gets a pie in the face or something. Yeah, I was a clown in rehearsal last weekend, what’s your point?

Regardless of whether or not it was a joke, I have to agree that it is an interesting proposition. It’s easy to say, “They’re not following the rules, so let’s declare war” when it isn’t your own life on the line. Maybe having a duel would make Bush stop and think for a minute about what it is that he is asking of his country and of the UN and make him analyze whether or not a full military strike really is the only option or not. Maybe it will take off the “war brings a country out of recession” blinders for a minute. Or maybe not. I don’t know. It is an interesting commentary on what Iraq thinks of the whole situation. We are being laughed at, and rightfully so.

But if it did happen and Bush lost, at least we wouldn’t have to worry about him being placed into a second term in office.

It is so amazing outside today, I’m really disappointed that I have to be at work. Yes, it is dark and grey (grey vs. gray -- what's the difference?) and drizzly and humid, but it feels like the first day of spring. The first day that you venture out of your house without a coat on after months and months of coat-gloves-scarf-hat combinations. The air is windy and electric and feels like something exciting is about to happen, though not necessarily exciting in the good way. I love days like this.

Well, I didn’t make the finals. Oh well. I kind of knew that I wouldn’t. I mostly knew that I wouldn’t. But I still like to live in my little dream world, you know? I sometimes wish I could live there all of the time, but then I remember that if I did, the nice men in white coats with giant butterfly nets would haul me away and I wouldn’t be able to play with my cat anymore. Do they serve vegan meals in an institution?

So yeah, I’m a little bit disappointed. Who wouldn’t be? But as my one friend so aptly pointed out, I probably would have to have had a lot more booty shakin’ in the video to make the final round, judging by the music played on that particular radio station. In my little dream world, those things aren’t factored into the judging process. But I knew going in that my little song was probably not the kind of song they would want to play on that station, but I wanted to enter anyway so I did. And I have received so much love and support and so many words of encouragement from so many people, some of whom I have never even met, that I didn’t take this as an “Oh my god, I suck, my song sucks, I’m never performing in public again” kind of disappointment. It is more of a “This is just a bump in the road. Now I have to spruce up this song and put an album together” kind of disappointment. Which is a good thing. ‘Specially since I met and worked with exactly the right person to help me put an album together when I was putting this video together. “Networking” is such a horrible word, but I got to do a lot of it on the making of this video and I now know that music is something that I can do. Whether or not it is the kind of music that gets played on the radio. As I told my friend on the phone last night, not making it to the final round actually does wonders for my career as an underground musician. I wouldn’t want to hit the spotlight too soon. Not until I have a decent fan base who can say they were there from the beginning, anyway, and then get pissed at the people who only own my fourth album and call themselves my fans.

See, there I go into the little dream world again. It’s so nice there. It’s sunny and warm and I don’t have to worry about skin cancer and I don’t have to wake up before the sun does. *sigh*

I know I’ve said it before and I will probably say it again, but one of the nicest sounds I can think of is a thunderstorm while you are sleeping. The far away crash of thunder, the gentle patter of the raindrops on your roof or windowsill, or even on the street outside. These are such soothing sounds to me. I love thunderstorms when I am curled up in bed.

I know I haven’t talked about this before and I probably won’t talk about it again, but one of the foulest sounds I can think of is a car alarm. I don’t fully understand why people still have car alarms since nobody pays attention to them when they go off. But a car alarm that goes off multiple times in the middle of the night is one of those things that I think justifies throwing bricks out your window at the offending vehicle. I have also thought about leaving nasty notes on the windshield of offending vehicles for the owners to find in the morning saying something like, “You are a nuisance in this neighborhood. Take responsibility for the noise pollution you create and turn off your car alarm when you hear it waking up the rest of the residents of this area in the middle of the night. Some of us have to wake up way too early to have to deal with your shit.” I have, of course, never left such a note, but I have thought about it.

So last night I was awakened by a huge flash of lightening followed almost instantly by an almost deafening crash of thunder. Followed by a chorus of car alarms. Not only were these particular car alarms annoying me with their very existence, but they ruined a perfectly lovely thunderstorm for me in the process. Maybe I should go buy several "The Clubs" and throw those out my window at the offending vehicles from now on as an alternative method of car security and as a way to shut the damn things off in the first place.

Or not. ‘Cuz that would probably land me in jail. And while I bet you don’t have to listen to car alarms during rainstorms while you are in jail, you probably have to deal with the sirens and stuff that would be equally annoying. That, and I’d hate to have to pee in my bedroom without a door, you know? Not to make light of how horrible serving jail time can be, but I think that would be my biggest qualm with life in prison – peeing without a door. Yes, I am strange.

One really nice thing about living alone is that you know that everything you pull out of the drain in your bathtub is yours.

Though one odd thing I have noticed lately is how linty I am. When I clean the little trap thingy out in my bathtub, there is just as much lint in there as there is hair. And it is usually blue. Where on earth is that coming from? How am I producing lots of blue lint? It's worst right after I work out, too. Do I sweat blue lint?

Hi, my name is Kitty, and today I'll be reading for the role of Grover's cousin. Thank you very much.

I was talking to a friend of mine a smidgen today about the differences between perceptions and physical reality. For example, the way that a person carries him or herself can make him or her seem bigger or smaller than he or she actually is. Or how a person’s attitude can make him or her more or less attractive to others. That kind of thing. Which then makes me wonder why it is that if perceptions are so important, why do we pour so much time and effort and money into our physical reality?

The simple answer is that we are trying to trick other people into perceiving us as things that we want to be. If I were to decorate my house lavishly and wear designer clothes and fix my hair and make up every morning, people might think I was a wealthy, important person. Someone to be feared or kissed up to. I have a tendency to think, though, that people would be able to see right through that façade by the way I carry myself and act towards other people. So why not spend my time and energy being me? Since people are going to find out who that is anyway.

I wonder when that notion of playing with other people’s perceptions first came into play. You see evidence of it in literature going way way way back, but when did it start? Who was it who first thought to him or herself, “I may not have a new loincloth to wear this year, but if I change the one I have a little bit, everyone else will think it’s new and they will think I am a successful hunter and I will get to take from this year’s kill first?” And if I were to go back in time to change one event in history, would I go back and hit that person?

The world may never know.

I was thinking the other day about growing older. Not growing up. I feel like I have done a lot of my growing up already – I live in my own apartment, I own a car, I have a salaried job, I handle my relationships with other people pretty well, that kind of thing. I’m talking about growing old. I look at my grandmothers and see that their hands don’t work the way they once did. My one grandmother needs a walker to get around. And I wonder when that starts to happen.

I can’t really picture myself as an old lady. I have no idea what I am going to look like. But I do know that when I start to get wrinkles, I will wear them with pride. And when my hair starts to turn gray, I will let it. My great aunts have this beautiful, soft, silvery hair and if mine turns out anything like that, I will be stunning. I have one uncle who says I look like one of my great aunts, so I keep trying to picture myself looking like her when I get older, but it doesn’t work for me. I have a smaller, rounder nose. Will that change? Will I be the skinny, frail-looking old lady, or will the Minnesotan metabolism kick in and fill me out like a cow? And how long will my body work the way I want it to? Will I still be dancing when I’m 85?

The things that I do picture for my life as an old lady bring me great happiness. I see myself living somewhere peaceful and quiet. I see myself with grandchildren, though I do have some trouble picturing my husband and children. Can’t I just skip a generation and have grandkids? Tee hee. I’m kidding. I look forward to having kids some day and treasuring every moment of their childhoods. But I do picture myself living alone when I am a little old lady. And still sewing or knitting. Still surrounded by people who love me and whom I love. Still able to do a lot of things on my own.

Old age is a strange beast. So many people are so frightened by it that they will go to extreme lengths to try to postpone or avoid it. I wonder if that is what makes their old age so miserable. If I am ready to grow old with dignity, will that make my old age dignified? Granted, I am doing things now that should help ensure that I can still walk by myself and open jars of pickles and whatnot sixty years from now (wow, I can’t even fathom sixty years – that’s over twice as long as I have already lived. I can’t imagine having three full lifetimes, you know?), but who knows? I could have a stroke at 45 and lose all of my muscle strength during recovery and I might never be able to get it back.

The word “crone” was used to describe an old, wise woman a long time ago. Somehow, this term got sort of a bad reputation and it became an insult to be called a crone. There is a movement now to re-embrace the term and celebrate women who are old and wise. Maybe by the time I am a crone, it will be considered a good thing. Though, even if it isn’t, I’m looking forward to my crone years, whatever they may be.