Okay, so I have an idea for a business. More of a service industry than a business, but I think it could work. It would be designed to help people stop smoking. Now, as we all know, one of the major obstacles in helping people stop smoking is the oral fixation. It is for this reason that a lot of people gain weight when they try to quit smoking -- they feel the need to keep their mouths occupied all the time. However, people can make out for hours without smoking, no problem. So the persons employed by my business would accompany smokers throughout their day, ready to kiss them whenever the urge for a cigarette hits. There would be a careful screening process for clientele as I would want to protect my employees to the best of my ability. But think about it -- give even the most adamant, hard-core smoker a choice between smoking and making out with someone and I will bet you that 95% of them will choose making out. And if that make out partner was available until such time as the nicotine cravings subsided...well, it seems to me we have a recipe for success on our hands.

Minus the fact that I could probably get busted for solicitation. Oh well. Nobody's perfect.

Happy New Year, kids. Please, whatever you do, have fun and be safe.

I don't even think I could describe it if I wanted to. I'm not sure I want to. It was very personal and very strange and wow. I'm hyped up like I'm on crack now. I have no idea where I went, but I didn't stay in that tank. I'm not sure I went somewhere external, though, I think it was an internal journey. And in a way, they knocked on the tank at exactly the right time and in a way, I wish I had another half hour in there. It was...wow. You can't tell someone else what it is like; you just have to try it for yourself. Which I will. Many times, I hope.

The massage was nice, too. I became very aware of my body and the fact that it is curvy where it is supposed to be and actually rather proportional. I found myself thinking that I have a great body. Which was odd. And that thought has passed now. I have things I should be doing -- research and stuff -- but I honestly don't think I can. I don't think I can keep a thought in my head long enough to concentrate on that. I have no idea what to do right now, except end this blog. Happy new year, kids.

I'm sorry, but I have to subject you to some very distasteful gushing for a minute. As we all know, I am a Moby fan. And every once in a while, he doesn't post a journal entry for a day or two, but then I go back to his site a few days later and find several yummy tidbits of Moby goodness waiting for me to read. Well, one of these "once in a whiles" happened today -- there were about eight new entries for me to read. And while some of them were political in nature (which I don't mind, they just don't make me chortle anywhere near as much as the non-political ones do), there were a couple that were absolutely charming. A holiday poem. And some thoughts on bowling. And they made me smile. I can't even tell you how happy it makes me to know that Moby exists. And yes, I know how sad and semi-psychotic sounding that statement is, but he is a credit to the human race. As is anyone who can bring smiles to the faces of millions of strangers. So thank you, Moby, for once again making my day. And if I have not yet convinced you, my faithful readers, to go read his journal entries, please do so. They really are worth checking out, even if you don't buy into all of his ideologies.

I have no interesting, pithy comments to make today. None. I spent lots of time doing nothing with my five days off from work. And truth be told, I could use another five days off of work to do more nothing. Or perhaps some something. I should clean out my closets. Purge my house of some clutter. Decide once and for all that I do not need to keep the 87 t-shirts I got from giving blood in college, especially since they, to this day, have never been worn.

I'm not coming in to work tomorrow. I'm going to get a massage and spend some time in a sensory deprivation tank. I'm so excited. I'm sure I'll have lots to write about after that so you won't have to listen to me prattle on about housecleaning. Fascinating stuff, isn't it? Housecleaning? Speaking of which, does anyone know of a good, preferably environmentally friendly way to clean the burners on one's stove? Assuming one did not have the forethought to line them wth foil before boiling too many potatoes in a too small pot, that is. Thanks.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to encourage you all to go see Big Fish. It really is just a sweet movie. I was teary-eyed at the end. I was laughing out loud at a couple of places in the middle. It was...charming. Go see it. You'll like it.

And if any of you happen to know Tim Burton and you happen to be talking to him one day about unknown actresses, if you wouldn't mind singing my praises for a minute, it would be most appreciated. You can even mention the fact that I have the round face, big eyes, porcelain skin thing going for me that he seems to find so attractive in his leading actresses. And the fact that I would do just about anything he asked me to for the opportunity to be in one of his films. But try not to make me sound desperate, okay? Thanks.

So blowing my nose has become, on average, a seven-tissue ordeal. Yet strangely enough, I feel like I am on the mend.

Another Christmas come and gone. And I survivied. Yes, that is saying a lot.

I think I figured out what it is that bugs me about church services, though. At least the ones at the churches I have been to. Nobody really seems into it. There are places in the service where the congregation is supposed to pray in unison or respond to something the minister/pastor/preacher is saying and you get a room full of people, speaking in an almost perfect monotone saying things like, "You are the giver of life [pause for three seconds] and the creator of all things good [pause for three seconds] and for this [pause for three seconds] we are eternally grateful." But nobody sounds grateful. Not even a little grateful. They all sound like they were just told their uncle's cousin died and they don't quite know how to take it. Same thing goes for the minister/pastor/preacher. I don't know if he/she/they get so caught up in trying to sound sincere that they lose all emotion from their voices or what, but I've listened to so many dull sermons full of so many "dramatic pauses" it's really sad. No wonder I don't buy into that stuff -- the people trying to sell it to me don't seem to buy it either.

That, and all the music is so freakin' slow. Yes, "Silent Night" is a slow song, but it shouldn't take three minutes to sing the first two lines, you know what I'm sayin'?

But I hope the rest of you had a lovely Christmas. I enjoyed my time with my family, though I am glad to be home again, in my little corner of the world. And now it is time to think about getting messed up on New Year's Eve.

It occurred to me yesterday at approximately 3:34 that it is the holiday season. Of course, I come to this realization when it is really kind of too late to take full advantage of it. Oh well. I went to a really nice holiday party last night and made a new friend. And today I get to spend time with my family. I hope. Assuming Grandma came home from the hospital.

And now it is time to make some really rank tea that comes highly recommended for cold-fighting (from Moby), watch my cat play with my breakfast (this cereal that looked yummy but turned out to be just awful), and wrap the rest of my gifts. Perhaps I will watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, too. That always puts me in a holiday mood.

So I went to an open mic last night and didn't play. Which was kind of nice because I didn't have to worry about my impending performance and because the cute guy who runs the thing said, "Kitty, why didn't you sign up?" Made me feel...good. But I sat and listened to everyone else play and I wrote in my paper journal. "You have a paper journal, too?" you are asking. Yes, I do. Not everything that goes through my head is suitable for the general public. But I was writing some stuff last night that I do think I want to post in here because it was a sort of a manifestation exercise. I have heard of instances time and time again where someone vocalizes or writes down what he or she wants, very specifically, and then ends up finding it shortly thereafter. I'm guessing it is because the act of vocalizing it or writing it down focuses one's energies on one's goals. Or because vocalizing or writing down one's goals wakes one up to what one's goals actually are so that when the opportunities come knocking, one is more apt to recognize them as opportunities and take advantage of them.

So recently I've been thinking about what I want in a boyfriend/life partner type person. I think a lot of it is brought on by the reappearance of fucknut and my increasing realizations that he really isn't what I am looking for. I deserve better and I want more. Some of it is communicative and emotional, some of it is common courtesy. So I decided last night to start making a list of the things I am looking for in a life partner and I feel compelled to share them with you. Maybe just so that I see them again and stay focused on them. This is by no means a complete list and it is open to amendment at a later date. These are just the things I came up with in my two and a half hours at the coffee shop last night.

I'd like to be with a guy who shaves his head. Or at the very least has the confidence to do so if he doesn't.
I'd like to be with a guy who looks at me when he's talking to me. Looks me in the eye.
I'd like to be with a guy who is artistic with good cause to be. Someone who can really sing. Or really paint. Or who acts so beautifully it makes me cry.
I'd like to be with a guy who understands that it is the time we spend together that is important, regardless of what we do with that time.
I'd like to be with a guy who is not materialistic, but has one thing that he will splurge on like musical instruments or video games.
I'd like to be with a guy who understands the value of comfortable shoes and clothes and the importance of being comfortable in his own skin.
I'd like to be with a guy who isn't afraid of interpersonal communication, be it positive or negative, happy or sad.
I'd like to be with a guy who will take the time to really ask people how they are and take the time to really listen to the answer.
I'd like to be with a guy who will make an ass out of himself in public.
I'd like to be with a guy who doesn't pass judgment on people who are different from him.
I'd like to be with a guy who has an in insatiable thirst for knowledge.
I'd like to be with a guy who eats vegan food not to humor me but because he likes it.
I'd like to be with a guy who eats.
I'd like to be with a guy who not only understands my need for time by myself but who needs his own time, too, and values it.
I'd like to be with a guy whose touch makes me feel safe.
I'd like to be with a guy who will call me on it when I'm full of shit without making me feel like I'm two inches tall, will talk to me about it, and forgive me for it.
I'd like to be with a guy who will talk to me.
I'd like to be with a guy who will totally geek out about something.
I'd like to be with a guy who instinctively knows when to hold my hand and when to let me do my own thing.
I'd like to be with a guy who does one thing better than anyone else in the world.
I'd like to be with a guy who thinks I do one thing better than anyone else in the world.
I'd like to be with a guy who laughs openly, freely, honestly, and often.
I'd like to be with a guy who has his own friends.
I'd like to be with a guy who knows when to be serious and when to kid around.
I'd like to be with a guy who can keep up with me in a battle of wits and a battle of words.
I'd like to be with a guy with the rhythm, confidence, and creativity to really dance.
I'd like to be with a guy who appreciates the wonder with which a small child views the world because to some extent, he sees the world that way, too.
I'd like to be with a guy who cleans up after himself.
I'd like to be with a guy who calls for no real reason, but not every day.
I'd like to be with a guy who would do drugs if he had the time but he doesn't so he doesn't.
I'd like to be with a guy who believes that in general, people are good.
I'd like to be with a guy who kisses me so that I can feel it in my toes.
I'd like to be with a guy who can just go nuts sometimes.
I'd like to be with a guy who believes in something.
I'd like to be with a guy who is actively trying to make the future brighter.
I'd like to be with a guy who doesn't think that commitment or marriage is a death sentence or a condemnation to a life of misery as it seems to be for so many people around us.
I'd like to be with a guy who believes in himself, believes in me, and believes in us.
I'd like to be with a guy who knows what errogenous zones are and how to use them.
I'd like to be with a guy who has a lot of errogenous zones.
I'd like to be with a guy who is a generous tipper.
I'd like to be with a guy who loves me anyway.
I'd like to be with a guy who will go see a live band he's never heard before.
I'd like to be with a guy who has learned from the experiences in his life.
I'd like to be with a guy who finds beauty in unlikely places.

And I'm sure I could go on and on for hours, but that's all I wrote down last night. And I think it's a good starting place.

So I'd like to propose a new idea for a Christmas tradition. Everyone is always talking about how great it is to let your loved ones know at Christmas how much you love them. Which is fine and good, but by the same token, I try to let my loved ones know how much I love them as often as I can. I don't need Christmas to do so, you know? (Granted, I'm not perfect and the holiday is a nice reminder to write or call those people who live a little farther away, but I think you understand what I'm getting at.) So why not take Christmas as an opportunity to just spread around good karma? Which is where my idea comes in.

Next person you see walking down the street, or perhaps in your apartment building, ask them what they want for Christmas. And assuming it is something you can get for them, give it to them. Even if you have to make arrangments to both be walking down the same street at the same time three days from now or whatever in order to do the hand-off. But yeah, give a present to an absolute stranger and let them know that they are a part of the world. You never know what kind of joy you might bring into their lives.

I am sure that somewhere in the world right now someone is suffering from dehydration. Dehydration is a terrible, terrible thing. And I, for one, would like to put an end to it. So I hereby offer my extra phlegm to anyone in the world who is suffering from dehydration and would really just like to be able to sniffle just once. Honestly, my body is producing enough phlegm for approximately 67 people and I don't think it is very fair for me to be keeping it all to myself. So this afternoon, I am going to visit my local hospital and see if they have a mechanism for harvesting my extra phlegm to send to poor dehydrated persons in the nether regions of this great planet. We all must do our part to ease the suffering in this world.

I was talking to a girl friend of mine the other night and she mentioned that she was on a new diet. Seeing as she is always on one diet or another, I decided to ask what one this was to see if she was once again being completely unhealthy about her eating choices. She's doing the South Beach diet and started telling me about it as if she was selling it to me. Saying things like, "It would be really hard for you because the first two weeks, you don't eat any grains," and things like that. And I found myself sitting there honestly thinking, "I'm not interested in going on the South Beach diet. My dieting days are behind me and I'm happy with the way I eat now." It was really weird. I know I've been talking about this stuff for a long time, but still, the little voice pops up in my head from time to time saying, "You should eat less because your ass is huge," or something like that. I occasionally wonder if there are any vegan-friendly weight loss options out there. But not this time. I'm done with it. I look like what I look like. I take care of myself, I eat well, I get exercise. I am not a stick and to be perfectly honest, I think I would be miserable as a stick.

It was just a weird moment for me is all. To have finally completely adopted one of the things I have been trying so hard to change for so long. And boy, does it feel good.

For the record, my mother doesn't hate homoeopathy. She's actually been using it herself as of late.

And also for the record, the cold remedy, immune booster, and tea I purchased from my apothecary yesterday seem to be doing the trick. I'm feeling better. And the really nice thing (if you'll allow me to be overly graphic for a second) is that I'm not peeing fluorescent yellow. You know how sometimes when you take a vitamin supplement or something, your urine is fluorescent yellow because of the over abundance of minerals in it? Yeah, that hasn't happened. Which leads me to believe (in addition to the fact that I'm feeling better) that my body is actually absorbing the two pills every two hours and three pills every three hours that I am pumping into it. Hooray for alternative medical options!

I like being a hippie. I like it that I have an apothecary at my disposal for when I am sick. Somehow, it makes sense to me to pump my body full of herbs and vitamins when I get sick as opposed to pumping it full of synthetic chemicals. I've spent many many years taking over the counter drugs like Sudafed and whatnot that don't really seem to cure the problem, they just postpone the symptoms. I'm ready for medicines that fix things. And even though I have to take two of one kind of pill every two hours and three of another pill every three hours, it's kind of nice to feel like I'm getting what I need while I drink my tea and rest. Maybe homoeopathy is all psychosomatic, but if it works, who cares how it works, right? I think I'd like to do some more studying of homoeopathy. Read up a bit, that kind of thing. Which I'm sure will amuse my mother to no end seeing as she was raised a homoeopath and hated it (just because it made her different from the other kids). So to watch her daughter going back to it...I'd be amused. Then again, I'm sick, so I am very easily amused right now.

So I watched our President's interview with Diane Sawyer last night. At least I think it was Diane Sawyer. And I watched most of it, but not all of it because I had to get to rehearsal. And let me just say that I was crying in my car on the way to rehearsal because I can't believe that man is allowed to leave his house in the morning, much less run the most powerful nation in the world. He didn't answer any of her questions. He would banter for a second while you could see him going through a list of memorized responses in his head until he found the closest to appropriate one to spew forth, and usually when the spewage began, it was in direct contradiction to the little bit of banter that had escaped. He is not a good speaker. He is a hypocrite and a liar. He was asked, "What would it take for you to admit that there are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq?" and he responded by saying, "You can ask the question as many times as you want; I made the right decision for America." Yes, the right decision that has gotten thousands of American soldiers, Iraqi soldiers, and Iraqi civilians killed. At the beginning of this whole "war" bit, he was saying it would be a swift operation and we would meet with little to no opposition. Now he is saying the war on terror will be a very long struggle. He was asked, "What about Bin Laden? Are we close to catching him?" Bush's response: "I don't know." I swear, there were six or seven questions in a row to which his answers were either "I don't know" or some form of "That's not my job." He says that the world is a safer place now that Hussein is no longer in power because Hussein was an evil dictator who would not listen to his own people. And by his own admission, Bush does not read the newspapers because he doesn't want to get the editorialized version of the news. He just wants to know what's going on without all of the opinions. He doesn't read anything by his critics because what good would it do for him to read that? Um, hi? That's called "listening to your people." You know, that thing you don't do that Hussein is a terrible leader because he doesn't do either. He sounded like Brittany Spears or something, avoiding her press because it just depresses her. Except Brittany Spears is not a public servant installed into office under the guises of being the person chosen to represent the nation to the rest of the world. I would say that the editorials are important things for the President to be aware of. He should know how his people feel about things. And he should be willing to answer our questions to the best of his ability. Hell, I would have been happier with him saying, "I cannot release that information because I cannot breach that confidentiality," than having him say, "I don't know." Though having him try to protect some confidentiality would be kind of funny at this point, too.

I'm sorry. I hate being political. I hate having to write entries like this. I hate that I get so worked up about this now. I hate that I have to pay such close attention to what is going on in my country. I loved being ignorant of the issues and I loved thinking that one President was just as good as any other President. Because in all honesty, there are a lot of things that I love about America, including the fact that I am allowed to publish crap like this on the internet. But this is something that has become important to me because I don't like the way our current President is treating the country that I love. I don't like how he is representing me to the rest of the world. And I really don't like it that he refuses to acknowledge that I don't like the way he is doing things.

This is something important for you, my beloved readers, to start thinking about. Those of you who live in the United States, anyway. As one of my instructors said in class a couple of weeks ago, "there has been more done to destroy the Constitution in the past three years that in the two-hundred-some-odd years previous." And we owe that destruction to the man currently in office. In just under a year, we will have a chance to remove him from office and elect someone who will not misrepresent the majority interests or abuse our natural resources or destroy our school systems and programs to take care of our elderly. If you care at all about the place where you live and the place your children will grow up, you will vote next November. You will pick yourself up off the couch and go vote. You will call your office and tell them you will be ten minutes late to work because you have to vote on your way in. You will make it to your voting location by whatever means possible and you will cast your vote to make sure the country you live in is one that you can be proud of. You will research your candidates and make an informed decision and let that decision be known by simply going out and voting on the second Tuesday of next November. You have no reason to not go vote and there is a lot at stake here. So please, exercise the rights that you have left and vote in the next Presidential election.

And please accept my apology for ranting. I know it's distasteful and dull to read, but this is important to me. Thank you.

You know, I find myself getting increasingly irritated with people who accuse artists of selling out and things like that. What brought this on, you may ask? I was talking to someone yesterday who said she no longer liked Madonna because Madonna isn't who she used to be. And I just about went off on this girl. Her point was that Madonna used to be all tough and ready to take over the world and now she acts all self-righteous and is into the Kabala and whatnot and therefore, she doesn't like Madonna anymore. While I agree that everyone has the right to his or her own opinion and moreover, has the right to express his or her opinion, I think that this is a courtesy that we should extend to famous people, too. I remember old interviews with Madonna wherein she said things like her goal in life was to take over the world and I remember kind of chuckling at her and thinking what a silly goal. And me personally, I'm happy for her that she has found things that bring her peace, whatever they may be. She's not hurting anyone. And honestly, she's a mom now. She has two kids, she's been married and divorced, she is in her forties. Do we really expect her to be the same person she was when she was twenty? Do we really expect her to be making the same kind of art? Because I'll tell you right now, if she hadn't adapted and changed and grown over the last twenty years, she wouldn't have a career anymore. She would be a washed-up has-been and we would all be pitying her for her narrow-minded worldview and her lack of ability to keep up with the world.

Same thing with Moby. Yes, he was one of the originators of techno music as it is known today. Yes, he has done amazing things for the techno genre. But he is a more ambient electronic musician now -- not so much techno. Yeah, he gets a great driving bass line or thumping beat every now and again, but he, as a person, has mellowed out a lot and so has his music. Does that lessen his worth as a human being? Does that make his art less valid? No. It just makes it different.

Same with Liz Phair. She just put out her second album on a major label. For that simple fact, we can't really call her an indie music queen anymore. We should stop expecting her to be one.

I'm sorry, it's just frustrating for me to see people passing judgment on artists for changing their styles or growing up as people. I've been thinking for the past couple of weeks that the problem with writing a song everybody likes is that everybody then wants you to play it. I have written stuff in the past that people really enjoy that really really meant something to me when I wrote it, but isn't so present in my life anymore. And people still want to hear those songs (which makes me fantastically happy), but it feels different to me to play them now. They mean something else. And I would hate to think that I would have to spend the rest of my life playing "That's What You Get" just so people wouldn't accuse me of selling out. My life changes, therefore my art changes. Simple as that. If you want to say you prefer my early work to my later work, fine. That is a valid statement. But please stop accusing artists of selling out or giving up on their fans or whatever because they try something new. Picasso didn't paint the same way his entire career. Neither did Greco. "But every time I try to do something new, all they want is 1973."

I'm not exactly sure what point I'm trying to make here. Maybe to please not throw out the artist with the artwork. Art is a very subjective, very personal thing and you are allowed to feel any way you want about it. I guess I would just ask that you really experience the art before passing judgment on it, though. And yeah, to not stop experiencing one artist's work because of one bad experience. Everyone deserves another chance.

So they found Saddam Hussein. Now what?

Honestly, I have no idea what to think about the whole thing. I don't doubt that it is him that they found. I also don't doubt that a deal was cut somewhere for him to let himself be found, even if it is just the $25 million dollar reward going to someone who is actually one of Hussein's cohorts and who will use the money to free him or to start a new terrible regime in Iraq. Men hiding out in spider holes just aren't miraculously "found." Is this part of Bush's reelection strategy?

I would really like to believe that the American public is smart enough to see the damaged that Mr. Bush has done to this country in the past four years and to not overlook that just because a secondary bad guy who we were looking for let himself be found. Because really, let's think about this. It was bin Laden who attacked the Twin Towers two years ago, right? It was bin Laden who turned Afghanistan into such a horrible place to live. It was Saddam Hussein (terrible dictator that he is) who hasn't really seemed to do anything against the United States, or the United Nations for that matter, in a long time. And we captured him. Yes, he is an evil man, don't get me wrong. Yes, he deserves to be punished for the things that he has done, though in what manner, I don't know. Death is not a fit punishment for him. Neither is torture. Perhaps confinement in a room fit for Hannibal Lecter until the day that he dies, but even that seems...not quite right. I don't know. How does one punish true evil? True evil will not ever feel remorse and nothing that true evil can do will make up for what true evil has done. But I digress.

My point is, we caught the wrong guy. Yes, we still caught a bad guy, but not the one I think we should have been looking for. Not the one we should have gone to war against. Yes, it is a military victory of sorts, but it would be like conquering Uruguay during World War II. Yay, we beat Uruguay, but the real battle is happening elsewhere. The real wrongdoers are not in Uruguay, you know?

It is just very unsatisfying to me to know that Hussein has been captured. I am afraid of what they will do to him and/or what repercussions will follow that. I am afraid of what his capture will do for Bush's campaign momentum. Please remember, Bush was not elected the first time around. He took our country from a record surplus to a record deficit in two years. He is an enemy to our environment. He is an enemy to our schools and our senior citizens. Please don't vote for him just because he did something his daddy couldn't do. That is not a good reason to put him back in office for four more years.

So I saw The Lion King last night. The theatrical production, not the movie. And I have to say it has the best production design. EVER. Seriously. I don't know how another stage show could even hope to look cooler than The Lion King. Acting-wise, it was okay. The music was incredible, even though I couldn't understand the lyrics half of the time (even when they were singing in English). But the spectacle of the whole thing...it's not often that I see a production wherein I can't figure out how something is done. I was dazzled and amazed by some of the things they did up there. I want to know how they did that, and yet I don't. And even the things I could figure out, I want to be able to duplicate because they were so frickin' cool. Meaning if you have not yet seen The Lion King on stage, please go do so. You will consider it money well spent, I guarantee you.

I know in my head that it is the holiday season, but it really doesn't feel like it. The smidgeon of snow we have gotten the past couple of days helps a little, but it still doesn't feel much like holiday time to me. Maybe because I haven't had a bazillion holiday parties to go to. I don't know if it is because people have finally gotten the hint that I'm not exactly full of "holiday cheer," and decided to not invite me or it people just aren't having parties this year, but there is a surprising lack of them. I'm not really complaining, just remarking. I only have a couple of gifts to buy and some family stuff to do on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. It's very low stress. Which is weird. Nice, but weird.

I am looking forward to having a month with no classes, though. I'm going to do an open mic every week while I can. And perhaps go out dancing again. I miss swing dancing.

No more watching TV for me. I've seen too many things recently involving weddings. Including the "wedding of the decade" -- one where the persons involved will have to tell their children one day that they met on a strange reality dating show.

But it got me thinking about my wedding. Assuming I have one. And the whole tradition of "giving the bride away." It's kind of out dated these days as so many women go off and live on their own before they get married. It made sense back in the days of dowries and girls getting married at 16 and stuff like that, but now?

However, the traditional side of me (yes, I have one that pokes its sickeningly sweet little pink face out every now and again) would kind of like to be given away by both of my parents at my wedding. To have both of them walk me down the aisle and bless my union with my life partner. However, this is the problem with divorced parents -- how awkward would that be to walk in between my parents down the aisle. Not that they're mean to each other or that they would be. I just don't know when the last time they talked was and I don't know how weird it would be to put them in that situation for the first time they see each other in years, you know?

I'm thinking about things too much. Things I shouldn't even be thinking about. I'm sure that if I said to my parents, "I would like both of you to give me away," they would oblige. My parents are good like that. I should probably worry about finding someone worth marrying, first, huh?

It's really sad that we live in such a litigious society. Says the girl studying to be a paralegal. But it's true. As Americans, we feel it is our right to blame anyone and everyone else if something ever goes wrong. And we also feel that whoever is to blame should have to pay for their mistake for the rest of their life. What a cruel, vindictive bunch we are.

I was getting my laundry out of the building next door (where the washer and dryer are) and I heard someone coming in the front door. So I waited a minute for whoever it was to be able to go upstairs before I opened the door from the basement, mostly to make sure I wasn't going to smack the person in the face with the basement door. But I guess I didn't wait long enough because when I opened the door, there was a guy there with his dog. The dog got excited and bit my shoe. That's it. She just got a mouth full of shoe. And the guy would not stop apologizing. From my perspective, it was no big deal -- she got excited by some stranger coming out of the basement, she probably smelled my cat, so she bit my shoe. But it occurred to me afterwards that he was probably apologizing so profusely so as to avoid a future lawsuit. He doesn't know I'm not the lawsuit type. He doesn't know I'm not going to take this to court and try to have his dog put to sleep. Honestly, it was a case of a dog being a dog. She got excited. I kept telling the guy, "It's all good. No problem. She just got my shoe. Don't worry about it," and he kept apologizing and trying to make sure I was okay. I dunno. It just got me thinking. I mean, I know we have a lot of laws in place to try to prevent us from just being human, but I think it's really unfair to expect other animals to not be themselves, either. Dogs get excited and they bite. Or they pee. Depending on the dog. Cats get excited and spray things or run away. Elephants get excited and crush things. I heard recently about a person who grew up with my uncle who was crushed by an elephant while visiting her child in the Peace Corps in Africa. Honestly, how often do you hear about someone being crushed to death by an elephant? And how often is it someone your family knows? But getting back to where I started -- I think it is sad that this poor guy's first thought was, "Uh oh, is this lady going to sue me and try to kill my dog?" As a society, I would like to see everyone take a step back, take a deep breath, maybe even get high or something and just relax for a little while. So many little things that we get so worked up over are really not worth getting worked up about in the first place. And just think about how much happier and less stressful our lives would be if we let go of the little crap. I know, I know, I worry about a lot of little crap. But I don't sue other people about it. I just drive myself nuts. But I think you know what I'm getting at. I hope so. I'm not sure what I'm getting at anymore. That second glass of wine with dinner is starting to do it's thing. And such a lovely thing it is, too.

Again with the reasons why I love Moby. It's shameless of me, I know. I can't help it though. He makes me smile.

I went and bought myself some music yesterday. My intention was to get the new Moby DVD so I can watch him being silly and make myself smile even bigger. But the DVD was on the same shelf as the rest of his CDs. CDs of his that I don't have yet but feel that I should own if I am truly going to call myself a fan. So not only did I get the DVD and it's accompanying B-sides disc, but I got two other Moby discs, too. And one by the Red House Painters, as they come very highly recommended to me by a friend of mine and because I didn't want to look like a total idiot buying only Moby CDs. I was thinking that this way, maybe the clerk would think I had a friend or relative who liked Moby and I was buying said friend or relative a bunch of Moby stuff for Christmas, being all uninformed about the artist, buying his first and last CDs at the same time, and I threw in the one Red House Painters disc for myself as a special present for my obvious generosity towards my friend or family member. Alas, I am just a greedy, selfish pig, buying four bright, shiny new CDs for my own listening enjoyment. Shameful, I know.

But it got me thinking about CDs. I only really buy them if I can listen to the whole thing (save one or two tracks) straight through. I've never been a person who buys a disc for one song. The one or two times I did that, I ended up hating the rest of the disc and feeling gyped out of my hard-earned $15. But if there is an artist who I really love (and want to support even though said artist probably only gets about a dollar from me purchasing his or her disc) or a disc that I can listen to all the way through or something that comes very highly recommended to me by a friend of mine, I will go out and pick up the disc. There is something so satisfying about peeling off the plastic wrap, pulling the sticker off the top of the disc in one piece, and taking out the liner notes and reading them as you listen to the new sounds filling your ears. Which brings me to liner notes and my recommendation to all record companies/recording artists out there -- make them interesting. I know you have a million people to thank and give credit to where credit is due and so on and so forth. But give me something. I don't know who T-Bone McRay is and why you are thanking him. Give me lyrics or something. A dirty limerick. Which brings me back to reasons why I love Moby -- he puts essays and things inside his liner notes. And we've already decided that I love the way he writes and I love the way his mind works so to add to the joys of unwrapping a bright, shiny new CD and enjoying the beautiful new sounds, I get a lovely little slice of a brilliant man's mind. Stimulation for mind, body, and spirit. But not in a liquid form.

I have Suzy Derkins' haircut.

And my right eye won't stop watering. It's actually a great excuse to hide in my office at work: "Gee, I'd love to sit at the front desk, but I keep crying and that scares people away." I like scaring people away.

I have been invaded and violated and I don't like it one bit. By germs. Teeny, tiny microscopic germs, just trying to get by, just trying to make their way in the world, just trying to take over my body and turn it into a giant snot-producing machine. Because germs eat snot. That's what they do. They love snot -- the texture, the flavor, the color. Man, I'm making myself sick just typing about it.

Side note: it takes a lot to get me to blow my nose. As much as I believe in stopping to smell the flowers (or Christmas tree lots), I do not like things to enter or exit my body by way of my nose. It just feels icky. If I may be so bold as to make this statement, I would like to say that the holes in my nose are for the passage of air into and out of my body and for air passage only. I will not put drugs up my nose -- I don't even like nasal spray -- and I hate blowing my nose. It just feels gross. And then you're all icky and drippy and you have to wash your face and hands and if you're dumb enough to look at the Kleenex after you blow, then you feel the need to vomit and just in general, I do not find blowing my nose to be a pleasant experience. But I blew my nose this morning because there was so much crap in there. And it all came out into three separate Kleenexes. It was really gross. But I am now, once again, plugged up to the point where I might have to break down and blow my nose again. I'm debating whether I should do that before lunch or afterwards.

But yeah, I'm sick. I don't like being sick. I sit here feeling like Cletus, the slack-jawed yokel because I have to breathe through my mouth. And I've been taking this Canadian Thera-Flu type stuff (which is, by the way, not completely unpleasant. Its actually quite nice. Like drinking warm, slightly syrupy lemonade) that doesn't really do a whole lot except make your throat feel nice for the moment it is seared by the hot liquid and about a half an hour after you finish drinking it, you are hit with a tiredness you have not experienced since you were three years old and spent the entire day running, literally running, around the zoo. It's not just a physical tired that makes you want to shut your eyes. Its like a switch in your brain gets thrown to the "off" position and you can't really think anymore. So you sit there like Cletus, the slack-jawed yokel, staring at your computer screen thinking, "I have a lot to do today. Like blow my nose. But the Kleenex is all the way over there. I wonder if I sniffle enough, if that would help. Eep, there went some down my throat. Oh well. At least it's not in my nose anymore."

And before you sit and yell at me and tell me I should have gotten a flu shot, let me just tell you that everyone I know who got a flu shot is sick, too. So there, Western Medicine. And be glad if you haven't been invaded and violated. These germs may be little, but they're nasty little buggers.

So I have a Wizard of Oz related question: Where does the red brick road lead?

Don't get me wrong, there is still sadness involved because something I had wanted for so long has now changed and I can't want it anymore. I am mourning the loss of a dream and that is never easy. But it is not the end of the story -- just an end to one chapter of the story. So it is a productive sadness as opposed to a depressing sadness. But it is still a sadness, so please bear with me if I'm a little slow for a little while.

So I got some answers. Not the ones I hoped I would get in my heart of hearts, but I got some. And I feel kind of peaceful now. It feels really good. For the first time in a long time, I have some sort of idea how to react and how to handle myself. That irritating thing that I had put up on the shelf and determined would never be resolved has a new spin on it. Not the worst case scenario, not the best case scenario, but somewhere in between. And I think I can put a bunch of it away -- case closed -- which is a huge burden lifted off of my shoulders. It isn't completely fixed and it isn't completely right, but it is on the way to...I don't know. Being okay. Really okay.

And who knows? Maybe this roadblock in my personal life beginning to crumble will open me up to the possibility of finding someone else who is capable of giving me back everything I have to give him. Maybe I won't be blind to him when I find him now. No guarantees, but it is a possibility.

Thank you, fucknut, for finally helping me understand what's going on in your head so I can straighten out what's going on in my heart. Here's hoping we both find what we're looking for.

So it's time for another installment of things that Kitty loves.

My cat. Really. I know I talk about him a lot, but he never ceases to amaze me. The fact that he is a being of another species and he relies on me for everything and he trusts me to take care of him. I love it that he misses me when I'm at work. I love the conversations we have that really only exist in my head ("Meow." "Hi, baby. You got any big plans for today?" "Meow." "Yeah? Well make sure you pick up afterwards." "Meow.") I love it that he wants to be in the same room as me 99% of the time. I love it that he is comfortable enough in my house to sleep here. I love it when he eats the food I give him. I love it when he fights me to get attention. I think he is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and even though it took us a while to get used to each other, I am so thankful he is in my life. Yes, I'm a sap.

I love it that they are using "In This World" by Moby in the ads for a television broadcast of The Wizard of Oz. Two of my favorite things put together.

I love it that I live by myself. I can have my pants half-way off before I get to the bathroom. I can let the dishes sit in the sink for three days before I wash them if I want to.

I love it that I have a couch to fall asleep on. Believe it or not, one of the biggest things that I missed when I went away to college was a couch to fall asleep on. There is something really wonderful about falling asleep in your own space, but not your own bed, and waking up at two in the morning to go to bed. If this is something you have never experienced, you will have no idea what I'm talking about, but if you have ever fallen asleep on your own couch (or even someone else's couch), you know of the wonderful feeling of which I speak.

I love it that I can pick up my guitar any time I want to and make music. Regardless of the quality of the music, it is so satisfying to be able to pick up my guitar (not a borrowed one) and fuck around with it in whatever manner I want. If I break a string, so what. If I play something that sounds like ass, so what. If I mess around with it long enough, I know I'll get something good out of it. That is a wonderful feeling.

I love the sound of my radiators turning on.

I'm sorry for being kind of sappy. I'm trying really hard to not lose it in a lot of respects. Maybe it would be good for me to lose it, but I honestly don't have time for that. So I'm trying to focus on the good and just not think about all of the other crap. I need a break from it. Call it denial, call it sad, call it pathetic, I don't care. Ooo, and there's the Wizard of Oz commercial again. It makes me happy. I don't think there is anything wrong with finding joy in simple things. And I don't think there is anything wrong with trying to find joy during a difficult time in one's life. So I'm going to watch my cat for a little while (even though he's not really doing anything -- he's still fascinating to watch) and go to sleep. And if the gods are smiling on me, I'll have a Moby dream. Or at the very least, I won't feel sick when it's time to go to work in the morning. Tomorrow is Friday after all. One more day and I'm free for two. That, too, is a wonderful feeling.

It is supposed to snow tonight and in a really weird way, I'm looking forward to that. I know it will make the morning commute a bitch, but snow is so pretty. And I could use some pretty in my life right now. I love going out walking in the snow when everything is quite and covered in white. The world all of a sudden seems okay again when it is covered in snow. Mind you, if I lived in a place that had snow all of the time, I probably wouldn't feel the same way about it. But to go out walking in the snow...I think I could get a lot of stuff figured out to a peaceful resolution. And that's all I'm looking for right now is a peaceful resolution to the little wars in my head. They've been turning me into a bitter, grumpy person as of late and I don't like being bitter and grumpy. Either one by itself, okay, because a funny grump is entertaining, as is a jolly bitter person. But both together -- no thank you. I need to get back to loving people in general and myself in particular -- myself and my current station in life. And for some strange reason, I think some snow would help.

Though please not a blizzard. Just an inch or two, thanks.

So here's a fashion tidbit that I think they need to bring back. (And I am warning you, my sexually charged readers, that yes, I know you are going to snicker when I say this, but no, I don't mean it that way.) They need to bring back the muff. (snicker, snicker) For those of you who only know this particular word as a synonym for a part of the female anatomy, let me fill you in on the other meaning. Also a noun, a muff is a cylindrical piece of fabric, usually fur, usually lined (though I bet you could make a really nice muff out of that polar fleece stuff that is so popular these days -- that would be really nice), and usually insulated/filled with something warm so that you can stick you hands in either end of the cylinder and your hands will stay warm. Sort of a precursor to gloves. And kind of like a Chinese finger trap, but for your whole hand and without the trapping feature. Ladies used to wear muffs back in the seventeen or eighteen hundreds when capes were also all the rage. I think it would be fun to bring back the cape, too, but that's another entry. But really, I think muffs are a great idea. Sure, they make things like driving and opening doors a challenge, but if you are walking a great distance with something cumbersome to carry, you can just hug the item to your chest, slip your hands into the muff, hold your own hands, and you will be nice and toasty warm on your cold winter's journey without dropping your precious cargo. Hell, half the time I'm walking around, I slip one hand into the other arm's sleeve to act as a pseudo muff. And just think about all the fun colors and patterns and bits of embroidery the cheap chain trendy clothing stores could make muffs in. They're sitting on a wintertime fashion land mine and they're not doing anything about it. For shame.

Today is a great day. A truly great day.

Why?

Because I was finally finally finally able to burn Liz Phair's internet only EP "comeandgetit" to a disc so I can now listen to it in my car. I can't even tell you how happy this makes me. I know. I'm a dork. But a happy dork.

Asian food. Asian cuisine. Good stuff, that. I would like to offer you a few tips to make your Asian cuisine experience more enjoyable.*

First of all, Asian cuisine must be eaten out of the little white origami-looking box that it is delivered in. There will be no "plates" or "bowls" or "paper towels thrown across your lap." That's what the little boxes are for -- to eat out of. And while we're on the subject of the little white boxes that Asian cuisine comes in, I would like to put out there that all of these little boxes should be held together with an adhesive of some sort, or the over-crimping of the seams -- NOT with staples. Stapling the boxes means you can't put the box in the microwave to reheat leftovers (see rule number three), thus requiring a "plate" or a "bowl" or a "paper towel to be thrown across your lap," which goes against rule number one of Asian cuisine consumption. Likewise, no matter how full the little box is stuffed, it should not be stapled shut. That's just a pain in the ass.

Secondly, Asian cuisine must be consumed with chopsticks or plastic utensils. None of this "good silverware" crap for Asian cuisine. You either eat it off of wood or plastic. Tastes better that way.

Thirdly, Asian cuisine is actually better once it has been reheated. When enjoying a meal of Asian cuisine, make sure you have enough time to get the food, put it in the refrigerator for a few hours to cool off, then reheat it in your microwave before eating it. The fats and stuff congeal really nicely during refrigeration and the flavors are more condensed. Mmm...condensed...

And finally, Asian cuisine is best consumed with about thirty other people around. They may be sharing in the cuisine or off doing their own thing, but Asian cuisine is not a solitary food. If you are forced to eat Asian cuisine by yourself, please make sure you at least have a television nearby on which to watch a big MGM musical picture from 1934 (or thereabouts).

Thank you. And I wish you many happy evenings of Asian cuisine consumption!

*My apologies to any members of the Asian community who are offended by this post. I was trying to be funny. I should know by now that one can't try to be funny -- one always fails. Kind of like trying to be sexy. Anyway. My apologies. Egg roll?

See, I don't want to be a corporate schill. I sit and listen to all of the things that I will be responsible for once I have my nice little certificate and truth be told, I don't want to be responsible for any of that shit. I want to be responsible for showing up at the set on time, maybe bringing my own costume piece, and knowing my lines and my character so well I can do her in my sleep. Which sounds really wrong, but just bear with me. You know what I'm getting at.

And besides all of the moral reasons why I don't want to be a corporate schill, I don't want to be a corporate schill because PANTYHOSE ARE THE MOST EVIL THINGS EVER INVENTED, FOLLOWED CLOSELY BY HIGH HEEL SHOES. Says the woman now sitting on her couch in ripped flannel pants. My feet are killing me.

Rant over.

Thank you for your time.

Place yourself, if you will, in a John Hughes movie, circa 1982. One starring John Cusack doing what John Cusack got famous for -- being a doofy romantic lead, chasing after a woman he could never have. So anyway, as the movie goes along, a connection forms between Mr. Cusack and the woman, but then she does something to screw it up. So badly that Mr. Cusack has to go for a long walk on a winter's night, searching in vain for some sort of answers. And as he rounds one last corner, there stands the woman, remorse in her eyes. With a simple look, they both know what it is that she has to say and a tear wells up in her eye. And Mr. Cusack says, "If you kissed me right now, I wouldn't feel a thing." She kisses him. He retorts, "No, really. My face is frozen. I can't feel anything." She bursts out in laughter, relieved that he has seen fit to forgive her and they kiss again as the camera floats up and away to let us know that they will spend many, many happy years together and the credits begin to roll.

Good ending, huh? I shoulda been a screenwriter twenty years ago.

And it's really hard to say goodbye to someone who doesn't answer the phone.

So I really like my little video for Hamburg. Granted, it was all shot with my little digital camera, so it actually looks better if you watch it small, but I like it. As soon as I find a place to host it, I'll let you know and we can discuss the theory/theme of the video. It really does make me happy and I'd be interested to see what other people see in it.

So I want to know why dreams in movies are always so topical? Is it because the characters are under such extreme pressure that all their minds can focus on is the situation at hand? Because I, personally, find that my dreams get even more bizarre and random when I am stressed. It takes two or three weeks of repetitive motion to infiltrate my dreams.

I watched a bunch of movies yesterday -- 28 Days Later, A Mighty Wind (finally, I know), and Terminator 3. I know I said yesterday was going to be homework day, but it turned into movie day/Hamburg video day. Yes, I have a rough cut of the video for Hamburg done. I kind of dig it. Or at least I did last night. We'll see if I still like it this morning. But anyway, the guy in 28 Days Later has a dream that he is abandoned again. In Terminator 2, Sarah Conner dreams of nuclear holocaust. In Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, he dreams of horrible things happening to his bicycle. And it's not too hard to figure out what their dreams mean in relation to the events going on in their real lives. Is it because the writers are trying to make a point? Do they think that the audience is so dumb that if Pee-Wee were to, say, dream of getting his legs amputated, that we wouldn't realize that it all symbolizes the way he feels about having his bicycle stolen? In my experience, that is how dreams work. They find the root issue and apply it to the most opposite situation they can find and that is what you dream about.

That being said, I had a really really lovely Moby dream last night. There were five or six of us just hanging out, having some food, chatting. I got to talk to Moby for a little while like he was a good friend of mine -- meaning critiquing the Christmas lights he had hanging up around his ceiling. And when it was time to go, I got a big hug from him and he asked if I'd like to record some stuff with him sometime. I did a very good job of remaining calm and offering him a copy of my demo CD so he could see what stuff I've done in the past, all the while doing cartwheels in my heart. And it felt good to just be with Moby, you know? I needed a dream like that. Thanks, brain/heart.

So I've been feeling like shit recently. Really shitty. Mostly because of the whole fucknut situation. I remember why I started calling him fucknut in the first place. I go back and forth between my eyes welling up with tears and thinking to myself, "Fuck it. You're better than this. It's not worth it." Besides, I'm too tired to deal with it today.

So I'm going to talk about something that makes me really happy. Working.

*gasp*

I know. I did just see all of you gasp in horror at my little declaration that I like working, but it's true. I have had things to do for the last couple of days. Lots of things to do. Important things (i.e. not just photocopying). Interesting things. And I like it. I like being busy. That is what has bothered me about this job all along -- in just about every other aspect of my life, I stay busy. Other people's jaws drop when they hear about all of the things that I do, but I know that I function best when I have too much to do. I get a strange sense of calm and focus when I have a huge "to-do" list. If there is only one thing on my list, it'll never get done. So I've really enjoyed being productive for the last couple of days. I hope this is indicative of things to come in my job. Yes, it will mean less crusing the net, but I do too much of that anyway. I'd rather feel like I'm earning my paycheck.

And in addition to enjoying myself at work, I am going to buy myself a couple of little presents today. SOCKS!!!!! HOORAY FOR NEW SOCKS!!!! How stupid is it that I am excited about getting new socks? But I am. And I am going to get rid of the old ones that used to be white but are now gray and look like they are going to fall apart any second. I'm going to buy TWO PACKAGES OF SOCKS!!! I know. I'm going all out. And you know what else I'm going to get? The icing on the cake? I'm going to get Moby's new DVD. I know it will bring a smile to my face. We could all use more of those.

I was watching people at the various train stations today on my way home from class and something occurred to me. Something that I think it is safe to say crosses gender, age, race, and culture lines. Something that can probably be attributed to every person on the planet. Or at the very least, the vast majority of us. We all want to be loved. We all want to be safe. We don't like being lied to or played with. Simple as that. It all comes down to love and trust. That is all anyone wants from anyone else. So why are love and security so hard to come by?

I think that if we all make a pact, right now, to love someone else and to not lie to anybody some really amazing things could happen. If nothing else, we'd all be a lot happier. And who knows what could happen in this world if we were all happy. We could get over all the wars and petty fighting and bullshit and clean up our environment and whatnot.

I'm all for it. I am going to love people. And I'm not going to lie to people or play with their emotions. There. That was easy, wasn't it?

Though I will be the first to admit that I am not perfect, so I might need a kick in the pants every now and again, okay? Thanks.

Oh, a couple other happy tidbits.

Moby's new DVD is now available. I plan on picking up a copy very soon. I suggest you do, too. If for no other reason then because it has the cutest video ever made on it -- the video for "In This World." You will get misty eyed and go, "Awww..." It is that cute.

I looked at the label inside the boots I am wearing today and discovered that they are made from entirely synthetic materials. While this might not sound like anything particularly exciting, it does mean that I do not have to replace my already vegan friendly boots. And it also means I can wear these boots anytime I want to and be completly guilt-free. So I've been spending some time this morning trying to decide which aspect of my personality is more important to me -- the vegan part or the "I'm a girl who never wears heels" part. Because these boots have a little heel on them. They are still kind of ass-kicking boots, but girly ass-kicking boots and if I can get over the "wearing heels" bit, they could become my regular, everyday wearing shoes. I'll have to see how they look with the cords, though. But at least in the meantime, until I replace my other leather shoes with vegan friendly shoes, I can wear these boots and feel good about my life choices.

I have, as of late, been frequenting this semi-fast-food joint near school so that I can get a salad made fresh for me before I go to class. It's hard to sit through three hours of lecture on an empty stomach and as much as I don't want to visit a semi-fast-food joint, it is one of the only places in the area I can go to find something compatible with my eating habits that doesn't cost $67. The thing that amuses me, though, is that when I walk in and order by saying either, "I'll have a veggie salad, please" or "Could I get a salad that is just all of your vegetables?" the clerk invariably asks, "Do you want cheese on that?" Cheese is not a vegetable. Just like cinnamon is not a mint. Don't they teach the food pyramid anymore? How is that people are so confused about what various foods are?

I saw Liz Phair again last night. I hope that one day, I can be even one-tenth as cool as her. And I don't mean that in the derogatory way that people sometimes use that phrase. She is so incredible. She has really gotten comfortable with being on stage and with herself and her music and her music is so vital and poignant. I feel so inadequate.

Somehow last night's show was different for me, though. I'm guessing it is because fucknut was there. He is the one who introduced me to her music in the first place, oh so many years ago and for a very long time, I wished that I could see one of her shows with him. And now I have. Huh. I'm not sure what to do now. It's almost like getting some weird sort of closure with a part of my life, though what part, I'm not sure. The part that wanted to sing all of those songs to him maybe? "You've never been a waste of my time/it's never been a drag." "I can't believe you had a life before me/I can't believe they let you run around free/just putting your body wherever it seemed like a good idea." "And I never met a man I was so crazy about/it kind of has become an obsession to me/I hate him all the time but I still get off/when he knocks me down and he orders me around and it loosens me up and I can't get enough and I'd pay to spend the night with him some more." "It's been so long since you've been a friend to me/seems like I dreamed and now I'm waking up to daylight/what happened? When did you let go of me?/I miss you so badly." Or with the part of my life that remembers all of the discussions we had about her music, dissecting the lyrics, while eating pizza outside on a cold fall day or sitting in his car waiting for it to warm up with his fingers shoved into the vents to thaw them out. I don't know. It was wonderful and it was strange and something ended last night, but I'm not sure what.

I also came to the realization last night that the only way I am going to figure any of this shit out is to talk to fucknut about it. Nobody else knows him the way he does, right? Especially not my friends (the wonderful, beautiful, supportive people that they are). So as nice as it would be to be able to talk this all out with one of my friends who I know loves me and will still love me after I am reduced to a wretched, sobbing puddle of girl, that's not going to rectify the situation. It's time for the Battle Royale. Me versus fucknut. Three rounds. No holds barred. Hearts and souls on the line. Winner takes all. Wish me luck!

(If you're looking for a tip, the Vegas odds makers are giving me 3:1.)

So maybe it doesn't have to be the death of me. Maybe I can just enjoy it while it lasts, not try to make it anything more than it is, and then say goodbye to it when it goes away. Maybe that is exactly what I need. Or maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to enjoy myself.

Either way, as my Bostonian guy friend said, I do have you, my faithful readers, to help keep me sane. And for that I thank you.

And the phone rang. And I went. To be done with it once and for all. But it did not end. It picked up right where it left off. It felt good. It felt normal. It felt calm and right and it made my stomach feel better. It is far from over. And when it does finally end, I will be completely destroyed. But there's nothing I can do about that now.

So I come home to a message on my answering machine...

I'm too tired for this shit.

I think one of the most interesting things about writing music and sharing it with people is the things those people pick up on within the song. Which lyrics hit them. I'd always wondered if my songs were quotable and I have learned that in some instances, they are. And it's kind of cool to see which lines are deemed quotable. "Our lives were meant to just barely touch." "You're not the one the Reaper's coming for." That kind of thing.

Yes, I am a dork. I just think it's kind of cool.

I like being vegan. I really do. I had been feeling kind of weird about it for a couple of days there, probably because it was Halloween and I have so many fond memories of the sugar shock that comes with Halloween, plus I didn't really have any fun food in my house so I was living on soy dogs and not-very-crisp apples and stuff and I was looking wistfully at the pizza and things that my friends were eating. But I really do like being vegan.

I followed a link on Bostonian Guy Friend's blog to a PETA flash animation called "The Meatrix." It's a nice little piece of propaganda designed to tell people about the horrors of factory farms. It's not as bad as some of the stuff PETA produces. I have to say that while I really like the theories behind PETA (who can argue with treating animals humanely?), I don't necessarily like all of their methods. Telling people "You're wrong. You're bad. You're evil," will only make those people defensive and unreceptive. But there is a lot of stuff on the PETA website that is very positive, like the recipe choices and whatnot and the vegetarian starter kit. I was reading that stuff this morning and it made me feel pretty good about myself.

One of my friends remarked a couple of weeks ago that she had been describing me to another friend of hers who turned up her nose when she heard I was vegan. My friend stood up in my defense and said that I am not one of those pushy vegans who tries to convert everybody and the other friend was floored. I like being the kind of vegan that I am. Unobtrusive. And truth be told, I think I have gotten more of my friends to try vegan or vegetarian foods than I would have if I sent them all on guilt trips. Hell, even my theater friend who is a hard-core junk food junkie likes vegan chocolate. I think that if PETA or any other organization really wants to convert the entire world to a vegetarian diet, all they really have to do is show everyone how good vegetarian food is in a non-threatening manner.

That being said, I'm still not out on a mission to convert anyone and I will still go with my theater friend through a drive through every now and again so he can get what he likes to eat before I go home and get what I like to eat. But I'm not going to be partaking in any of the drive through food any time soon. I like being vegan.

So, um, how does one rise to the level of department manager without keeping copies of one's own work product? Just curious. I mean, if it is in attempt to switch to a paperless society, then that's fine, but what about all of the work one does then on one's computer? Does one not save anything? Is that a space issue? Because that's what floppy discs and zip discs and CDs and DVDs are for. So one can store large amounts of information in a relatively small amount of space. I dunno. It boggles the mind. Fortunately, I get to work in close contact with a person like this, so I get so experience the inanity first hand and study it.

And now for a list of things that make me happy because I really am sad and hurting today and I need to think about things that make me happy.

Moby -- he has a new DVD coming out next week that I will be able to pick up and enjoy. I just watched the trailer for the DVD online and it already made me smile. What would make me even happier would be a Moby concert, but a DVD will do nicely, too. There's live concert footage on there.

Napping with my cat -- he'll hug my arm sometimes when we nap together and I think it is just about the sweetest thing in the world. He seems a lot happier now that I've mellowed out about the whole "being in the kitchen" thing and that's good.

The sun is shining and it's really windy outside. There is something fun about sunny, blustery days.

It is Wednesday which means I don't have class tomorrow.

I saw the final installment of The Matrix last night and I think I get it.

Even though my hair is kind of unruly right now, it is getting longer. Yay.

Yeah, those are some things that make me happy. Focus on those and I'll be okay.

Day seven: no call.

And I want to ask why. I want to know. Are you afraid? Of what? You don't have anything to lose. You already lost me. What do you want? And why can't you leave me alone? Why can't I let go of you?

So of course when I go to see The Matrix, I'm hyper sensitive to the love stuff in it. "Love is a human emotion." "Love is a word." And then something about the connection that we associate with the word love and the fact that we will do anything for that connection. That's exactly what it was. It was an undescribable connection that I have not found with anyone else and I miss it. I am aware every day of the fact that I don't have that connection in my life. I do love people and I know that I am loved by people. But not like that. And that is a drug -- first one's free, after that you have to pay for it.

I'm sorry. I'm sounding jaded and cynical. Perhaps because I am jaded and cynical. I hoped my phone would ring. I honestly did. If for no other reason because I want to know why. I want to know what's going on. But my phone has not rung and it is not going to. And I have to be okay with that. I have no other choice in the matter. I have done what I can do. The rest is up to fate or whimsy or chance or whatever you want to call it. There is nothing more that I can do except move on. And so I will. Or at least I will try. Fortunately for me, I have enough good in my life that moving on shouldn't be too hard. Shouldn't be.

Day six: no call.

My honorary brother thinks I should stop counting and just forget about it. In my heart of hearts, I know he's right. But in my heart of hearts, I don't know if I can do that. I know I've spent a lot of time talking very logically in a nice even tone about the whole thing and just in general giving everyone the impression that I am mature and intelligent and logical about it. I'm good at doling out advice about just these situations. As a matter of fact, when I was talking with my honorary brother tonight, he was giving me the same exact advice I had been giving him just a few short months ago. But it's not that easy. It was never a logical situation. Hell, if it had been at all logical, there would have been no situation in the first place. It had nothing to do with thinking and everything to do with feeling. Completely unexplanable, except maybe in weepy chick music type songs. Which is probably why I write so many of those -- I can't let people see that I'm really just a stupid weepy puddle of girl, but I can let it out in my songs. I'm not supposed to be this weak. I'm not supposed to be affected like this. But I am. And as logical as I would like to sound about the whole thing, it feels like nothing else ever has. It was everything I ever wanted. Everything. All wrapped up in one fucked up little package. And that was okay. And when it went away, I felt like I was missing an arm or something. Now it's like somebody has showed up at my door and said, "Oh, hello. I've got your arm. Would you like it back? Maybe?" How can I say no? I know that I regrew my arm to some extent, but it just doesn't feel like the old one did. And yes, I know that for whatever it's worth, the old one might not feel like the old one anymore. But I want to know. I want to know that it doesn't fit anymore. I don't want to speculate. I want to mourn it once and for all and be done with it. So I can go back to being logical and doling out useful advice to other people and holding them while they cry (thank you, by the way). It is much easier for me to do that for others than have them do it for me, so wouldn't it be nice if there was no reason why they should have to do that for me?

I'm not making any sense now. I should just forget about it. I should get rid of it. I should get on with my life like I had been doing. But the number one thing I always tell everyone in situations like this is that you can't "should" yourself. You just have to do what feels best. None of this feels good. But the closest I can do right now to actually feeling good is to wait another two days, until the week is up, and then begin my mourning process. I hope I have it in me to mourn this again. For good this time.

And there was a day and it was known as day five and it passed without consequence.

Well, in one respect anyway. In another, my event finished up and I couldn't be happier. It's not that I don't enjoy dancing anymore, it's just not my life. I do other things, too, you know? So I'm glad that I don't have to be thinking about this all of the time any more. And I'm not going to do it again next year. This was it. My last hurrah at planning a lindy exchange. And for the most part, I think it went pretty well. So today, the day is mine and I'm going to go delete a bunch of e-mails. I'll check in again tonight to tell you how day six (today) goes.

Day four: no call.

But at least I have a jar of pickles to call my very own. And apparently I have big breasts. I always thought they were kind of average, but apparently, they are big. Who knew. I'm going to have another pickle.

Day three: No call.

So for the longest time, I have been keeping the door between my kitchen and my living room shut because my cat likes to go into the kitchen and break things. But the fun part about it is that the door doesn't close well by itself, so I have to wedge a folded-up piece of paper in there to get it to stay closed. This is how smart my cat is: he learned that he could knock the piece of paper out of the door, thus opening the door and allowing himself entrance into the kitchen to break stuff. Except he hasn't been breaking stuff. Yes, he knocks the occasional thing off the counter, but he's been much tamer than he had been in the past. And I've decided that even if something gets broken from time to time, so what? It's not worth getting all worked up over. And if there are paw prints on the counter, well, that's why I bought my eco-friendly orange cleanser in the first place, isn't it? So now we're both getting used to leaving the kitchen door open. And my little monkey head has the run of the entire house. I think that makes him happy.

Thank you to Sander Kleinenberg for playing exactly what my soul needed to hear. For a moment there, it didn't matter that none of my friends showed up. It didn't matter that we are now at the conclusion (well, past the conclusion) of day two and I still have not received a phone call. It didn't matter that everyone else in the club thought I was nuts because what girl goes to a place like that by herself and starts dancing alone in the middle of the dance floor? For a moment, I was the Guy in Orange. It didn't matter who was around me. The music was controlling me, moving me, making me feel things I haven't felt in a while. I almost had my cry tonight, just because the music was that good. So many people are so quick to discount techno music for one reason or another. It really is an art form that takes a long time to master. And when it is done well, it can take you on a journey you never imagined music could. You know what struck me about the music tonight? Techno is a universal language. It is all about sounds and rhythms coming together to produce emotions. Sander Kleinenberg is from Holland; I'm from the northwest suburbs of Chicago. We don't even speak the same language. But we both feel it when the music is about to hit, and when it does, we both have to jump. It is a release that is readily available to anyone who is willing to listen for a few minutes. Completely safe. Non-toxic. Semi-addictive. Pretty good exercise.

I know I'm rambling. It's late and I'm tired and yes, I did have a beer earlier, so it really is time for bed. I'll tell you tomorrow about how smart my cat is as a sort of front to keep you occupied while I quietly go nuts over the lack of a phone call in my life right now. But thank you, Sander, for making that all go away for a little while. I needed that very badly. Thank you.

I think a week is perfectly reasonable. And I am perfectly prepared to be a basket case for the next week, especially if it means that after this next week, I can forget about it completely. Get rid of that little thing in the back of my imagination that pictures everything working out okay in the end and substitute it with a different image of what "okay" is. Be strong if I ever get another "sun flare" again. Say no. I'm not saying this week will be easy for me, but it is something I am ready for. I have a lot going on to keep me from just sitting by my phone, so I should be okay. And this could be exactly the kind of closure that I need to put the whole issue on a shelf and never have to revisit it again.

I wish it was next week.

And I'm apologizing right now to all of you for the proliferation of "stupid puddle of girl" blog entries that I have been posting as of late and will probably continue to post for the next week. I know they're not very entertaining to read and I know some of you are even worried about me. I will be fine. I will survive. I always do. I'm just going to be boring for a week. Sorry about that.

Day one: No call.

Are we surprised? No. Are we going to keep a countdown until next Wednesday? Yes. Why? We need to feel like we are doing something, even if it is just venting into the nothingness that is the internet. Because if we don't do that, we'll sit and think and try once again to make ourselves cry and then we'll get frustrated once again with our inability to cry and we'll feel even worse.

Aren't we glad we're posting instead? Yes.

I use a lot of sentence fragments in my blogs. Sorry about that.

Eep. Lots of stuff going on today.

I'm getting this award at work today. A merit award. And to be honest, I'm not sure that I deserve it. Yes, when there is work to be done, I do it and I do it fast and I do it well. But I know how much down time I have and what I do with my down time. Sometimes I feel like I'm just barely squeaking by around here. But they really like me and they like the work I do and I thank my nominator and all of the people who wrote letters of support for my nomination. I think my problem with it is that there is a sizable cash award involved. If it was just a certificate or something, no biggie. But they're giving me money. More money. To sit on my ass half the time and wait for something interesting to happen. But the committee decided that they wanted to give it to me, so who am I to turn it down, right? It means I get to visit my friends in Europe, so that's a good thing.

And I found out today that Moby is releasing a new DVD on November 17 that is jam packed with all kinds of yummy Moby goodness, some of which you can preview online. So I did. And I was reminded once again exactly why I love and respect that man so much. He has a fantastic sense of humor. And then on the same day, he talks about the political state of our country. Not to mention the amazing music that he makes. I really would like to encourage more people to try to experience Moby outside of the context of his albums, be it by watching the funny tidbits on his DVDs or reading his journal entries. He really is a credit to the human race.

And today is d-day. As of today, I can expect a phone call to not happen. And I think that I have decided to give the phone call one week to not happen before I stop waiting for it to not happen. If that makes any sense. It's actually not supposed to make sense to you, but it makes sense to me. I have to keep telling myself that the phone call isn't going to come so I don't get too worked up about it when it doesn't. And one week from today, I will stop thinking about it entirely. Because seriously, what's the point? Why sit and beat myself up over it? I was fine with no phone calls months ago, why should it bother me now if I don't get one? Right? Yeah, I'll just keep telling myself that.

So I'm starting to get geeked for my event this weekend. How can I tell? I have had dreams about it two nights in a row. Not necessarily good dreams, but I've dreamt about my event two nights in a row. Yes, I am a dork.

I'm geeked for Thursday, too. I know I've said it before and I will probably say it again, but Sander Kleinenberg is my favorite techno-ish DJ. And he's spinning on Thursday night. What a perfect kick-off to my weekend! Why is it only Tuesday?

At least my Gilmore Girls are on tonight. That makes me happy.

And I promise I'll be more coherent and exciting soon. I can only really focus on simple, immediate pleasures right now. Thinking too far ahead just gets me into trouble.

It's almost here. My stupid event will be over with and I won't have to think about it anymore. That, in and of itself, is a really great thought. Kind of. I will be thrilled to not have to worry about my event anymore, but it will free up all kinds of time for thinking about other things. And most of you can guess exactly what I will be thinking about. The worst part is the waiting, you know? Something could happen on Wednesday or it could happen next week or next month or next year -- I don't know. And the question becomes, "how long do I wait before I give up entirely?" Though I still suppose there is a slight chance that I won't have to wait at all. Which would make me happy for several reasons. First of all, I hate waiting. Especially for things with no ETA, you know? Secondly, I'll be able to get this whole thing out of the way and not think about it anymore. (Are you also noticing a trend towards me not wanting to think? I have nothing against thinking or thought processes in general; I just have a lot of things on my mind that I wish were off my mind already, if that makes sense.) And third, I'll be able to get past this numbness and apathy that seem to have overtaken my body as a sort of mechanism for dealing with all of the unknowns in this particular situation. It's like I've gone into a state of shock and at this point, anything could happen to me and I'd be ready for it. And by "ready for it" I mean "it would just bounce off me and leave me completely unphased." I'm not in a very phasable state right now. And I like being phased. It's how I know I'm alive. So yeah, keep your fingers crossed for me that it all goes down on Wednesday. Monday at the latest. If I have to wait a whole lot longer than that, I'm going to go nucking futs.

Oh, and fourth, if it happens on Wednesday, you won't have to read any more bitchy, whiny blog entries like this one anymore. So there is something in it for you, too.

I keep meaning to tell you about this 'cuz I think it's kind of funny, but I keep forgetting. The other day on the train, I whacked my knee, my right knee, against the seat in front of me and it kind of hurt. So when I got home that night, I took a look at my knee to see if there was a bruise. And there was. ON MY LEFT KNEE. I have no idea where that bruise came from. My right knee, the "injured" knee, looked fine, but my left knee was sprouting a little bruise.

Further evidence that I am put together wrong.

And just for the record, I have some really, truly wonderful friends. You guys know who you are. I thank you and I love you.

I know I’ve said it before and I will probably say it again, but I love Halloween. Best holiday ever. There’s just something fun about a holiday that celebrates the id and that doesn’t require presents and cards and warm fuzzy sentiments. Plus, it’s fun to get to wear my vampire fangs to work and watch my co-workers discover them one by one.

But I’m kind of out of it this year. I think I’m still in kind of a daze from yesterday. I think if I could have a good cry about it, I would be okay, you know? I just need to break down and completely wig out for a minute and then I’ll be able to regain my composure and get on with my life. But I haven’t been able to do that. Even in talking to my friends, I have to let them know that logically, I know what to do, so I haven’t really been able to freak out. And if I was going to freak out any day of the year, today would be the day to do it, right?

So I’m trying to get into the spirit of the day but I’m really just tired. Happy Halloween, kids. Eat lots of candy since I’m not going to.

I can’t stop staring at it. I guess I keep wishing it would go away. I keep thinking that maybe this time when I go to look, it won’t be there and my life as I have known it for the past, I don’t know, year? two years? will be exactly the way it was when I woke up this morning. So I go look and it’s still there. And I want to dissect it and figure out what it all means but I know that to do so will drive me crazy, as if sitting here not dissecting it isn’t already driving me crazy. And this stupid song of mine keeps running through my head and its really not helping. It’s not worth sinking that much time and energy and thought into because it really isn’t going to amount to anything. But I can’t stop looking at it. I’m still trying to convince myself that it is real. Because seriously, how are you supposed to react when something you have always wanted but never thought you would see shows up at your door?

On jumping turnstiles/fences/short walls:

If you find yourself faced with a turnstile/fence/short wall that looks to you like it requires jumping as opposed to circumventing, stop and think to yourself, "If I was a monkey and somebody was filming me jumping this turnstile/fence/short wall, would said videographer then e-mail the short movie of me jumping this turnstile/fence/short wall to all of his or her co-workers with the subject line 'Your Laugh for Today?'" If the answer to this question is "yes," go through/around the turnstile/fence/short wall.

Holy fuck. I can't stop shaking...

I would like (you would, would you?), if I may (you may NOT) to talk for a moment today about carbohydrates.

DUN DUN DUUUNNNN!!!

I know, "carbohydrates" is a dirty word nowadays and that is exactly what I want to talk about. It makes me sad that our culture has become so anti-carbohydrate because there are a lot of really wonderful carbs out there waiting to be eaten. And I’m not even talking about pure sugar – I’m talking whole grains and fruits and nuts and soy. You know, the foods that come with vitamins and minerals in them. But thanks to the bastardization of a diet plan that was developed to help morbidly obese cardiac patients loose enough weight quickly so that they wouldn’t die under the knife, we now have low-carb mayonnaise and low-carb cookies and low-carb pasta. Come on, people this is ridiculous.

Yes, Americans consume a lot of carbohydrates. That is because Americans consume a lot of food. Period. We, as a culture, eat a lot. And eating too much of anything (except maybe celery or iceberg lettuce) will make you gain weight. When I was growing up, it was fat that made you fat, so nobody was supposed to eat any fat. Now its carbs, so nobody is supposed to eat any carbs. You know what? The only blanket statement that you can make about food is that too much of it is a bad thing. That’s it. You try to break it down any more than that, and you get into problem areas. If you eat nothing but protein, you’re missing out on some essential vitamins and minerals. If you eat nothing but vegetables, you’re missing out on essential fatty acids. If you eat nothing but carbs, you are missing out on essential proteins. See how it works? See why a balanced diet is the best option?

And yes, I know that all of this sounds particularly funny coming from a woman who eats no animal products or byproducts. The point of my little dietary experiment here, though, is I am trying to still get all of the nutrients I need, but from non-animal sources. I have not eliminated fat from my diet. I have not eliminated carbohydrates. I have not eliminated protein. I think you get the idea.

So I guess my point is this: we, as a culture, need to stop blaming outside influences for our collective obesity. It is not the fault of carbohydrates, or of fats. It is because we eat too much. Eat a moderate amount of everything and you’ll be just fine.

Next, I’ll tackle the media and how it warps what we think we are supposed to look like – women and men alike.

And the award for Best Usage of the Word Bronchi in a Song goes to the Crash Test Dummies for "Afternoons and Coffeespoons."

I love this song.

You remember how Daffy Duck used to go nuts in those old cartoons? He’d bounce around all over the place, screaming and just generally causing a ruckus? Do you ever feel the need to do that? I do. Maybe when I get home tonight.

It’s all just stupid anal retentive things, like all of my inboxes are way too full. And my computer at work is making this buzzing noise that is really getting on my nerves. And I have to click on anything seventeen times before it registers that I clicked there. And no matter what I do to try to set preferences for anything on this computer, they don’t get saved. I know I’m getting a new computer at work soon – we all are (upgrades) – but this is turning into Chinese water torture. I never know when I open a blank e-mail what it is going to look like. I never know if Word will work. I never know if I will have access to all of the calendars that I did this morning. I never know where my personal folders ran off to. And to be perfectly frank, it’s driving me batty. Good thing I get to go home soon.

I just watched the Radio Music Awards. At the beginning of the show, they said that this was a show to celebrate the best music on the radio right now. Which is why I was thoroughly unimpressed with the show. Save the performance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Those guys played a song that was probably older than half of the nominees on the show and it was the best thing played all night. A handful of guys wearing suits rocking out playing their own instruments, singing a song they wrote that had real meaning for them -- it was incredible. And entertaining in a way because of the song "The Last DJ" which complains about the very state of the very radio stations that chose to honor him this evening with the Legend award.

I hope that one day, I am looked at as one of the artists whose works mean something and not as a flash in the pan, give 'em what they want right now artist. Music is a way of speaking to people. If you're saying someone else's words, what are you really saying to them?

Says the actor...

I haven't been getting nearly as much porn-related spam as I used to and I can't decide if I should be upset about that or not.

So, how distasteful is it that the vast majority of the still pictures I have been taking in the days since Ray joined my twisted little family have been of my cat? I can't help it, though. He's just so darn cute.

I'm also quite enjoying the movie taking feature on the camera. Fun possibilities run though my head. Mwahaha. (Not a very big evil laugh because it's not really an evil endeavor. But a little one because it feels a little evil. Or maybe that's the Halloween talking.)

So I have a new family member living in my quaint little house now. His name is Ray. I think. That’s the vibe that I’m getting from him so far, but we’ll see. His true name might be revealed to me later. Elfy is kind of a fun name, too, but perhaps a smidge too obvious, as Ray is, indeed, a Canon digital Elph camera. He is so cute. And so fun to play with. And so easy to use. And so light. I can (and do) carry him around with me in my pocket. I have a feeling I am going to become one of those annoying people who is always taking pictures of stuff. So far, I haven’t taken many of really interesting stuff except for my cat and dance practice last night. I’m really enjoying being back in dance practice. And what is really nice about it is that the troupe leader keeps telling me what a great job I’m doing (which I incidentally spelled “goind” the first time around. Normally, I don’t like to point out my little bouts of typing too fast or dyslexia, but that one struck me as funny somehow. Perhaps more of a Spoonerism than a bout of dyslexia (‘cuz I don’t even know if I am dyslexic), but still kind of funny. To me anyway). It’s nice to hear that I still know how to dance, even though I don’t do it very much anymore.

But yeah, pretty soon I’m going to have to stop telling people that I live by myself. I live with Owen and Simon and Ray and Charlene and Nigel. Six of us in a one-bedroom. But we all get along so it’s all good. And we have fun. And now I’m thinking I am going to have to actually start my website so I can post some of the pictures I’m taking with Ray. Not that they’re good, but perhaps it would be interesting to see the world as I do. I feel the need to document the world around me all of a sudden (maybe because I can), though not necessarily as it appears to everyone else. If that makes any sense. Eh, I’ll take some photos and show them to you and then you’ll know what I mean. Or not. Some things only make sense to me. I know this. I’m okay with this. I’m rambling now and should probably stop, even though you all already know I’m crazy. Is it lunchtime yet?

I’ve been working on the concept of blame recently and how we, as Americans, feel the need to place blame somewhere for anything that goes wrong. Maybe it’s a human need to place blame, not just one specific to this culture. And maybe this was all sparked by the talks about negligence we’ve been having in my paralegal classes. But whatever the reason, the concept of blame is an interesting one and one that I am trying to get away from. (Not to say I won’t still hold a grudge against the umpire for calling that third strike in game seven, but nobody’s perfect, right?)

Things go wrong. Take the fire in a downtown building in Chicago last week. Six people died, trapped in a locked stairwell. Six people who should not have died. But six people who were probably made aware of the locking mechanism on the stairwell doors when it was installed and who were probably behind the idea of locking mechanisms on the stairwell doors because such mechanisms would help keep them safe from terrorism or some such thing. And now the families of those six people want to blame the door lock manufacturers or installers or the fire department or somebody for the loss of their loved ones. I can understand the hurt. I can understand the confusion. I can’t condone the need to place blame and that makes me feel heartless.

The fire department did their job the best they could. The entire building did not go up in flames, which is a good thing. And hundreds of people got out of the building no problem, or with only minor injuries – another good thing. There were six casualties. Bad thing. So we’re all going to focus on the bad thing and pass new laws and regulations to try to prevent this kind of thing from happening again. You know what? That is the same exact reason why those locks were installed on the doors in the first place – to try to prevent some terrible catastrophe from happening ever again.

I don’t know really what it is that I am trying to say here. Maybe that in this particular instance, if we are looking for someone to blame, we should blame ourselves for being so paranoid. Bad things happen. To good people. To people who don’t deserve bad things. That doesn’t stop the bad things from happening, and some attempts to stop those bad things will only make other, worse things happen. That’s the way life is. I do think it is important to learn from our mistakes, but I also think that too much finger-pointing gets in the way of the learning process, if you know what I mean. Maybe what we need to do as a society is figure out a better way to deal with tragedy and death so we aren’t so antsy to find someone to blame.

That being said, my condolences to the families and friends of the six people who died in that fire.