I know, I'm slacking in my posting. It's because I've been crazy busy at work. I will get back to filling these pages with the drivel that runs through my head on a daily basis, but I gotta get back to work now. It is kind of nice, in a way, to feel (for once) like I'm actually earning my keep around here...

I’m realizing that I kind of lead a preemptive life. I have no idea if that makes any sense to you or not, so let me try to explain. I like explaining things.

I have this tendency to do things or get things way before I will need them. For example, I bought a pair of pants when I first went away to college that I think I wore twice during my entire college career. Now I wear them a couple of times a week to work. It took me three or four years to realize and appreciate the value of these pants. Another example: my uncle gave me a CD by Dar Williams a few years ago, thinking I might enjoy it. I listened to it once, kind of liked it, and put it on the shelf. This morning as I was getting ready for work, I thought to myself, “I’d like to listen to a female vocalist today at work, but I’m tired of these three discs…I have a Dar Williams disc!” So I brought it with me to work today and listened to it a couple of times and really enjoyed it.

And these aren’t the only instances of me doing things way in advance. It actually happens to me quite frequently. Which makes me wonder what things will I do today that I won’t realize the value of until much later?

Psst! Come here for a minute. I want to show you something. See this? This is the core of Kitty’s geekdom. The center from whence all of her geekiness comes. The seed from which all of her geekiness grows. Check this out.

So I call this radio station last night. I was stuck in traffic on my way home in the middle of a snowstorm and I was bored and “Southside” came on the radio. I love hearing Moby on the radio. I will stay tuned to a station no matter how bad the rest of the music is if they taunt me by saying “We’ve got some Moby, Creed, and Avril Lavigne on the way for you next,” or something to that effect. I will tolerate Creed if there is Moby on the way. But this particular radio station that I was listening to yesterday only plays “Southside” when they say they are going to play Moby. And yes, I do listen to this particular station regularly enough that I have noticed this. So me, being the bored, stupid idiot that I am, I decide to call the radio station and ask why this is. The DJ tried first to convince me that they do play other Moby songs, but he couldn’t recall any of their titles. When I said, “We are All Made of Stars,” he replied, “We played the hell out of that one.” I have not heard that song played on any of the radio stations in Chicago since last summer and even when it did get some airtime, it was not in the rotation nearly as much as some other songs. *cough*”Complicated”*cough* but I digress. So I keep kind of working this DJ and I ask him if I can put in a standing request for Moby songs other than “Southside.” I don’t have anything against “Southside,” but a girl likes a little variety every now and again. He replies that “Southside” was Moby’s most popular single. At this point, I just can’t help myself and I say, “But it’s not even his best.” The DJ replies, “Well, there’s a lot more that goes into it than that. It’s about what their record company wants us to play,” and he promptly thanked me for calling and hung up.

Because I’m sure V2 Records would hate it if this particular radio station played one of the singles off of Moby’s newest CD. Stupidfey radio stations trying to bring the newest, freshest music to the consumer. Don’t you just hate them?

This station will play “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel that came out in 1980-something, but they don’t play anything off of his new album. They will play “Southside” until even I don’t want to hear it anymore, but they won’t play “In This World.” They won’t even play “Porcelain,” “Natural Blues,” or “Bodyrock,” all of which were big hits for Moby off of the very same disc as “Southside.” Why is this?

I know I don’t understand the inner workings of record companies and the giant corporations that own 95% of the radio stations in this country. But I don’t understand why a radio station or a big company wouldn’t want to play new, good, inoffensive music? They’ll play Eminem every five minutes, bleeping out every other word, but they won’t play Bowie’s latest album? What’s with that?

I also know that I am making sweeping generalizations here. There are still a few good radio stations out there. We are very lucky to have at least one good station in Chicago that I find myself listening to more and more. I am so thankful that we have this station. But why can’t more stations be like this in more cities?

I had a thought.

A couple of people sent me an e-mail encouraging me to mail ½ cup of rice with the message “If your enemies are hungry, feed them. Romans 12:20” on it to the White House as a non-violent form of protest against the possible war in Iraq. Apparently this kind of tactic has been effective in the past. (If you have not yet received this e-mail and would like to participate in that particular protest, shoot me an e-mail and I'll send you the specifics.)

Along the same lines, I kind of want to start a non-violent protest against radio stations that don’t/aren’t allowed to play whatever they want to play. So I would recommend that everyone call your local radio stations and ask them to play “The Last DJ” by Tom Petty. It is a song about this exact issue and there is only one radio station in Chicago that plays it. I’d like to see this song played on every radio station throughout the country. I’d like to flood the request lines with calls for this song. I don’t know if it would work or not, and maybe I am being fantastically naïve, but I would like to think that if enough people started complaining about the state of your average consumer radio stations today, that maybe we’d get some decent music played. Or possibly even effect the state of the music industry today as a whole.

So humor me. Call your local radio stations and request “The Last DJ” by Tom Petty. Call all of your local radio stations and request this song. Let’s see what happens.

I planned on watching the State of the Union Address last night, but I didn't get the chance to. So I read it this morning online and found it to be rather unsettling. I don't think it is a good thing to be frightened by one's own President and constantly questioning his motives for things. I would go into greater detail, but I've been insanely busy all day and I really just want to go home now. I'll talk about this more later. And in the next Presidential election, I will vote for whoever is running against him.

Tempeh is my very good friend.

I'm becoming a guitar hermit. All I want to do is play. I go to work and think of lyrics. I come home and play before I eat. I play while I'm watching television. I play before I go to bed. I fall asleep thinking of chord progressions. I skip going out dancing so I can go home and practice. Is it doing me any good? I have no idea. The open mic didn't go so well last night. I was kind of thrown when I heard we could play three songs each -- I was expecting two. So I rethought my whole play list and I think that messed up my groove. Oh well. I think I'll try another open mic tomorrow. I'll never get any better at any of this unless I just keep doing it.

So if I seem anti-social for a while, please don't be offended. I'm trying very hard to be creative.

I need to stop watching that High School Reunion show. It reminds me of my friend who I should have been better to in high school. And then it makes me all nostalgic for what were the worst years of my life. There was a marathon on last night (the first three episodes) and it was bad enough that I pulled out my yearbook from my senior year and re-read the whole thing. All of the messages that people wrote in there. All of the stupid little comments written by the yearbook staff across the tops of the pages about how great these years are and what wonderful friends we’ve made. And I remember that as people would sign my yearbook and I would read their messages, I would scoff at them. “He doesn’t really mean that.” “She’s just saying that because she doesn’t want me to remember her as the witch she really is.” But last night as I was reading my yearbook messages, for some reason, the words that were written there got through to me. All of the people saying what a wonderful friend I was and what a great sense of humor I had. All the people telling me that our smart-kids-classes would have been unbearable had I not been there with my quotes and sarcastic remarks. For some reason, last night, I believed that I touched the lives of a few people in high school. There was one guy who wrote something along the lines of meeting me and knowing me was like walking down the beach and seeing all of these beautiful shells, but then finding one in particular that is multi-colored and semi-precious and how amazing it is to find that. And he was saying this to me in high school. When I was depressed and anti-social and felt like I wasn’t even worth the dirt I walked on. He could see that I was something special. Why couldn’t I?

I don’t like to dwell in the past. I don’t like to regret things. Everything that I have done in my life has brought me to this place that I am now and I really like where I am. I like who I am. I hung out with a friend from college on Saturday night and his brother and one of their friends and I was totally comfortable and made a really good first impression on these people without actually trying to. I’m proud of the fact that I am comfortable enough with being me that I don’t have to put on a front for anyone anymore. I think that’s really something special. But it irks me that I spent so much of my life loathing myself. Nobody should hate himself or herself that much. And who would I be now if I had known how great I was then? If that makes any sense. Would I be happier? Would I be healthier? Would I be an obnoxious, egotistical, arrogant bitch? Who knows. But today I am kind of regretting the fact that I wasted so much time and effort hating myself when really, there wasn’t any good reason to. I wasn’t pretty in high school, but I was smart and funny and good to my friends and creative. Other people could see those things, but I spent all of my time looking only into the mirror. It just makes me sad sometimes.

Okay, big construction vehicles. Things with cranes and hydraulics and buckets on them for digging and whatnot. The kinds of vehicles that you see sitting at a construction site for months on end, never moving. Yeah, I have a couple of questions about those vehicles.

Number one: how come you never see one of those being filled up at the gas station? They have to run on something, right? And since most of them have wheels and some sort of driving abilities, I would assume that they run on fuel of some sort, maybe diesel by the smell of them? And sometimes, a guy will be digging with one for a while and then get out to go do something else and then he’ll come back to dig some more. But the vehicle is running the whole time (you can tell by the motor humming). So how come you never see them run out of gas? How come you never see a guy with the little red gasoline container putting just enough gas in there to get him to the gas station to fill up? How come you never even see a fuel tanker come to the construction site to refuel said vehicles?

Number two: how come you never see one of those vehicles clean? They are always covered in dirt and mud and muck (which makes sense when you think about what they are used for), but you never see anyone out in his driveway washing one of those vehicles on the weekend. I’ve seen car washes and even truck washes for semis and stuff, but you never see a construction vehicle wash. Why is that?

Just wondering.

I went to a small gathering with some people from college last night. These were not necessarily the usual people I get together with when I say I’m getting together with people from college. I guess the easiest way to put it is that last night, I got together with the techies as opposed to the performers. I was both in college, so I knew people on both sides of the curtain. And I must say (if you will allow me a sweeping generalization) that the techies are a bit more balanced than the performers. So it wasn’t quite as nerve-wracking for me as it can sometimes be to see people from college. Don’t get me wrong, I love the performers, too. But as we all know (‘cuz I’ve talked about it before), visiting them is like visiting an entirely different universe. But I digress.

There was someone there last night who I was very much not expecting to see. I think I’ve mentioned a guy before who I never really dated, but went on a date or two with, who I’m sure I would have had amazing sex with if we had ever done that, but we never did. Yeah, he was there last night. And he looks great. And I found myself fantastically attracted to him, just like I used to be. It was weird. And for quite possibly the first time in my life, I felt the same way that Ally McBeal did when she found out Billy was married when I heard this guy say he will be moving in with his girlfriend of three years in just a few months. The arrow to the chest. And I’m not sure why. This guy and I never had a thing. We had a nice date. I haven’t seen him in probably three years and during that time, I’ve probably thought about him a total of six times. But it was, in a really odd way, disappointing to learn that he is spoken for, probably for the rest of his life. That whole, “Well, I guess I’ll never get a chance to find out what could have been” thing.

I don’t know. I’m not even sure why I’m writing about this. It was really good to see him last night and we did exchange contact information, so hopefully it won’t be another three years before I see him again. It was just odd for me to kind of mourn something that never was last night. Certainly not the evening I was expecting, but a nice evening in it’s own way.

I am now the very proud owner of a very beautiful, very blue Johnson guitar. And I can't wait to get home and play it! Do I stop at Guitar Center on my way home, or do I save that for a very special weekend trip?

I think we've settled on Blacktop Fields. Which is cool. I like that. And I'll be getting my new-to-me guitar today. Soon, actually. As soon as the UPS man shows up. UPS man, where art thou?

On a completely unrelated note, I've mentioned a guy in here before who writes really funny songs and one of them contains the line, "Goddamn, you're dumb." Imagine, if you will, that very same melody but replace the lyrics with, "Goddamn, I'm numb," and you now know what has been going through my head all morning. It is, once again, freezing in my office. I keep typing random stuff to keep the circulation going in my fingers. I am very much looking forward to lunch time because I brought pad Thai which needs to be heated. And for some reason, the heaters in our kitchen and the un-used conference room seem to be the only ones in the building working up to snuff. So I'll get to eat my nice warm lunch in a nice warm room. Yeah, it's gonna be an extended lunch hour.

Oh! One more thing! My friend in Boston and I are writing music together. Which I'm sure you already know 'cuz you visit all of my little links over in the margin there. Tee hee. Anyway, he's from Boston (currently), I'm from Chicago. We're working on a slew of songs including a sweet love song called Breathe You, a hard rock song that may be called Masochist and a few other songs ranging from bitter to angry to really sweet. In other words, take all the bands you really like, mush them together, and that's the sound we're kind of going for. But our own spin on it. Anyway, he's the musician and I'm the lyricist (with some crossover happening). And we need a name. Thus far, we are "Kitty and Todd." Which I'm really not diggin'. So we're looking for a good band name. He kind of likes "Sunday's Cadence" and I kind of like "Blacktop Fields." Maybe "Verbal Dysentery." But if you have any suggestions, please e-mail them to me and I'll share them with him and we'll see if any of them stick. And if we pick your suggestion, we'll thank you in the liner notes and maybe give you a free disc or something. I dunno. I haven't really talked to Todd about that part yet. But yeah! Send us a good band name!

Oh, and I would also like to say that I am very glad I didn't choose to go the American Idol route with my career. As nerve wracking as it was to sing in front of a room full of strangers on Monday night, I think it would have been that much worse if I had to sing somebody else's song and put out an "image" instead of just getting up there and being me. I like my music. I am, for the most part, proud of it. I may not be "marketable" in the usual pop music kind of way, but that doesn't make me any less of an artist. Danny Elfman wrote this open letter in 1990, defending artists who lack a formal artistic education. I take a lot of comfort in this letter because not only is it standing up for people like me, but it was written by one of my musical heroes. And I was again reminded of it as I watched Randy What's-His-Face vote no to a woman with a great voice and great presence, but who sang Fever, which made him wonder how they would be able to "package" her in today's pop music world.

It’s still January. Only January. It’s supposed to be cold in January, right? January is the middle of winter, so it’s supposed to be cold. At least in Chicago and other locations in the Northern Hemisphere. How nice that Mother Nature is doing her job and making it be really cold outside. Because it is January, after all, and it is supposed to be cold in January.

It is not, however, supposed to be cold inside in January, too. This is why we have lovely things like heaters and windows and doors and buildings and such. To protect us from the bitter cold. Cold so cold it hurts to breathe because the air freezes all your little nose hairs on it’s way in to your lungs. Cold so cold that nice, new cars don’t even want to start without a fight. Cold so cold that the lovely single pane glass windows like they have here in my office building do absolutely nothing to keep out the cold. I must say that some curtains would be nice. Or to not be sitting at the reception desk by the front door that keeps opening and closing would be nice. To be able to type without my fingers freezing off would be nice. Though it is kind of cool that my water has stayed exactly the same temperature that it was when I got it out of my refrigerator this morning. Cold water is good. Cold Kitty is not.

But it’s only January. For nine more days, it is January. After that, I expect a nice, general warming trend in the weather, got it?

So I get there at about twenty after seven last night. I was trying really hard not to call my friend in New York to tell her to tell me not to chicken out. I had been talking to a friend of mine over the weekend about various people’s social patterns and the fact that sometimes, if you want to meet people or you want to do things, you just have to go do them, regardless of whether or not you have someone to do it with. And when you get there, you’ll find people to talk to. That’s how humans work. We’re social beings. So I went and I went by myself. Because open mic nights are things I have wanted to do for a long time. And I debated leaving my guitar in the car and just watching since I wouldn’t have a cheering section, but I made myself bring in my guitar so that I would make sure I played. So what if I didn’t know anyone there? At least I would be able to get some honest feedback on my songs. And singing in front of a group of strangers is the thing that frightens me the most, so what better way to combat that fear than to just frickin’ do it? “Do one thing every day that scares you.” Because as we all know, Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias.

So I go. And I sign up. Slot number eight. And I look for a spot to sit. This really nice couple offered the other half of their table to me, so I gladly took and started working on some more lyrics for this other project I’m working on with my friend in Boston, just to pass the time so I’m not sitting there freaking out for a half an hour before the open mic starts. I keep having to remind myself to breathe. But I look around at the crowd a little bit and they look, for the most part, like really nice people. And this is the same open mic I went to last week, so I know that they are courteous and attentive while people are playing and whatnot. But still, I keep having to remind myself to breathe.

The open mic starts. There are eighteen performers, so in the interest of keeping the night at it’s planned two hours, each performer gets to do one song only. I decide to go with the one I know I’m comfortable playing in front of people -- Allowed. The performances start. There are some really talented people there. Some people who, for lack of a better term, play the hell out of their guitars. One man reads a scene from a play he’s working on. There are also a couple of tone-deaf people. I feel a little better, but as my turn gets closer and closer, I can feel my heartbeat throbbing in my shoulders and upper arms. My mouth starts to dry out. I keep having to remind myself to breathe.

The people sitting at my table, the nice couple who offered me a seat and then another woman who came out to watch in the hopes of playing next week, ask me what number I am. I tell them I’m eighth and I’m so nervous I’m shaking. Their automatic response is, “Well, you have three friends sitting right here.” I don’t think I will ever forget them saying that to me. What an amazing welcome into a new group of people. The fact that they smiled at me and said they would cheer for me, only having met me ten minutes beforehand was staggering somehow. I could suck, but they still were fully prepared to cheer me on. So I thank them for that. And I am going to go back next week to cheer for the woman who was just checking the place out last night.

But it came to be my turn. They called my name. I walked up to the front and asked that the second mic be placed so you could hear the guitar. I thought about saying, “My name is Kitty and I’m an open mic virgin, so please be gentle.” But somehow, it didn’t seem like the crowd for that. So I said, “I’m Kitty and this is called Allowed.” And I played my little song. I was so nervous! I could hear my own voice shaking. I tried making eye contact with people in the crowd, hoping that would calm me, but their stares weren’t very welcoming. So I looked over to the corner where I had been sitting and saw three smiling faces. Or I looked at the microphone so I could get lost in my own little world and maybe I could then remember to breathe. But I played it. And I finished it. And I got a couple of “Woo!”s when I was finished. I sat back down, all proud of myself that I had done it. Proud of myself for facing my fear head on and playing my little song in front of a room full of strangers. Baby steps towards conquering my fear completely.

And then strange things started to happen. The three people at my table all said I sounded great. They told me I have a lovely voice. They said they couldn’t hear my voice wavering at all – they said I sounded smooth and even. One woman sitting at the next table over leaned in and said, “That was really lovely.” A couple of people who walked past my table on their way out stopped to say, “You did a really great job.” I thanked each of them and tried not to smile too big for fear they might think I was a freak. But I was flying by this point. Not only did I play my little song for a room full of strangers, but they liked it, too. What are the chances of that?

So I watched the rest of the performances and finished my green tea. I determined that the better musicians perform later in the night. There were some really great performances. Some were just okay, but some were really great. And I kept chatting with the woman at my table who will be playing next week. She kept coming back to my performance, telling me things like she thinks what the judges are looking for are people who can both play and sing. Because some of the people who can play the hell out of a guitar have problems singing. And some people with pretty voices don’t play so well. But she said I could do both.

Oh, and the whole “judges” thing? This particular open mic is a contest. After everyone plays, the “judges” call up a few people who they think gave the best performances of the night and then let the audience determine the winner by applause. The prize is half of the money that is collected in a bucket that is passed around. The other half of the money goes towards the grand prize final competition at the end of six months. The pot last night was $22, which is, apparently, pretty good for this particular open mic.

The woman who will be playing next week asked me if I had another song prepared if I was called up for the “finals” (the top five, as it turned out to be) and I had to play again. I told her I did and managed not to say, “But I won’t get called up there.” There were a lot of talented musicians there. And this was my first shot ever at playing an open mic. And I didn’t have my cheering section with me to make me sound better than I’m sure I was. But I was flattered that she was thinking I did that well. To be considered an equal to some of the other people who played was, in and of itself, my own little success for the evening.

By the time the last woman played, my heart had returned to its normal pace and my palms were no longer sweating. I was having fun listening to local artists share their talents. I was enjoying my little foray into this new world. I had already made up my mind to go back next week and do this again with a different song. What better place to play my kind of music? And with one performance under my belt, they can only get easier, right?

So the emcee for the evening gets up and tells us all that the pot is $22 dollars this week and that since there were so many wonderful performances, they have selected five finalists, persons whose performances they felt really shone among the rest of them. Nobody has to play any more songs; the finalists just have to go up on stage again and the audience will applaud for whoever they want to win. They called my name. Me. Kitty. They called me up there as one of the top five performances of the night. Me with my little song played on a non-electric, borrowed guitar with my voice shaking the whole time. They called me up there as one of the top five. So I went up there. One woman chose not to go up because she didn’t want to put herself through the ego trauma of having people applaud for her performance. Which I can understand. I, personally, already felt like I had won just because I played. This part was a bonus. So I went. I was up there with three men, all of them great performers. The guy on my left played in the open mic finals last week. And they called out each of our names and the audience applauded for us. And if I am any sort of judge of the loudness of applause, I will say that I came in second place at the open mic night last night. While people were applauding for me, I made eye contact with a couple of them and this time, their eyes were full of joy and acceptance. Kind of a “Wow, you really played well. I truly enjoyed your song,” look. It was amazing. The guy all the way on the end took home the $22. I took home an almost overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction.

So I’ll be going back again next week. Possibly even with my brand spankin’ new-to-me blue guitar. I’ll probably play a different tune. And I may make the top performances again or I may not. Either way, I win. ‘Cuz I’m finally able to do something I have wanted to do for years. I think that’s worth more than $22 anyway, don’t you?

I don't know if I've written about this in the past or not, but even if I have, I think it's worth reiterating. I think Paul Simon's Graceland is one of the greatest albums ever made. If you don't have a copy yet, I highly recommend picking one up.

Okay, you buy a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner at the exact same time on the exact same day. Both bottles are exactly the same size, containing the exact same amount of stuff. You use a small dollop of shampoo every day and you use a small dollop of conditioner every day. You would think that using equal amounts from each bottle every day would mean that the bottles would last the same number of days, wouldn't you? Well, you'd be wrong. The conditioner always runs out first. Even if you lather, rinse, and repeat every day before you condition, the conditioner always runs out first. Why is this? And how come people haven't started complaining about this the way they complain about the eight-hot-dogs vs. twelve-hot-dog-bus scenario? The world may never know.

One more sunrise update:

This morning, there was a perfect cloud line behind the city that hit the John Hancock building at about the 60th floor. A perfect line of clouds, rising up from the horizon, and stopping at the 60th floor to reveal an otherwise cloudless sky. Like the tree line on a mountain, but with clouds. And then as the sun was rising, the very top of the cloud line turned that electric, blinding orangy-yellow that clouds turn when they are really thin and the sun is right behind them. It was really cool. It almost looked like a mountain range beyond the city, complete with snow covered mountain tops. For a brief moment, I got to see what Chicago would look like if it was transplanted somewhere that wasn't flat as a board as far as the eye can see. And I gotta say, it looked pretty good. How would one go about importing some mountains?

The Chinese government has blocked access to blog-type websites in China. Meaning all of those angst-ridden teenagers and disgruntled housewives and artistically repressed businessmen voicing opinions on sites just like this one have been silenced. I can’t imagine how devastated they must feel. I can’t imagine living in a country where I was not free to speak my mind. Much of the time, I feel like that is all I have – my thoughts and opinions and the right to express them. This is what keeps me from going totally insane. My heart goes out to each and every single person in the world whose voice is silenced for one reason or another. And despite the fact that we currently have a dimwit for a President, I am thankful today that I live in America where I am allowed to post on the Internet that our President is a dimwit.

There are those who say that life is an illusion. Like your fuckin’ neck!

No, seriously. There are those who say that there are an inordinate number of drug references on The Simpsons. If you sit and watch each episode, there are quite a few wherein somebody is stoned or tripping or something. Everything from the Guatemalan Insanity Peppers to the pure syrup Squishee.

I have a similar contention about my very own blog. Yes, that’s right, the very thing you are reading now. If you go back and read through the archives, you will find an inordinate number of days wherein there is some strange smell permeating the halls of my not-so-beloved office. Today it is primer. There was a big, icky, leaky hole in my neighbor’s wall that they have fixed and patched and are now painting. With primer. Which smells like nail polish remover and turpentine got drunk and gave birth to child and named that child Rank. So once again, I sit in my office getting high on paint fumes. At least it’s not quite as repugnant as last Friday when the pipes exploded again, spewing sewerage and roaches all over the office…

Women go to the gym to lose weight.
Men go to the gym to gain weight.

Discuss.

So I kind of want to start carrying little pieces of paper with me that say something along the lines of, “Learn how to park, numbnuts.” Because nobody in my neighborhood knows how to park. Yes, they are all parallel to the curb, and they don’t stick out too much. But if I may employ an example, take the person in my neighborhood that drives a Mini Cooper. This person will park said Mini Cooper, probably the smallest car available to the average American consumer, in a space big enough for two regular size cars. Right smack in the middle of the space. So that the only cars that could fit on either side of it would be two more Mini Coopers. I understand not wanting to have your car bumped – I have seen a lot of people taking full advantage of the fact that they are called “bumpers” when parallel parking. Admittedly, I tap another car every now and again, though I’m never moving more than about a mile an hour. But there is absolutely no need to have six feet in front of your car and six feet behind your car when you parallel park. That is just dumb and wasteful and inconsiderate of all of the other people who need to park in that general area as well. I live in a fairly residential area. You would think that I should be able to find a parking space within two blocks of my house if I come home late at night (as I am wont to do), particularly in the middle of winter when walking more than a couple of blocks in the middle of the night is not only potentially dangerous, but downright unpleasant as the wind is trying to rip your ears off your head. But due to the inconsideration of many, many drivers in my neighborhood, a parking space is a rarer commodity than a pair of Madonna’s underpants.

So I want to start carrying little pieces of paper that I can put on the windshields of people who park particularly badly so that maybe they will take a look around and realize that the world does not revolve around them. It’s all about consideration towards one’s neighbors. We all have to live here together; we might as well be nice to each other while we’re here.

I’m weird today. Moreso than usual. We’re not talking your usual fantasizing about a world that doesn’t exist, marching to the beat of my own drummer kind of weird. We’re talkin’ weird. And I’m not exactly sure why and I’m not exactly sure any of this is going to make sense to anyone reading this, but I’m going to ramble for a little bit anyway.

I went to an open mic night last night. It was the finals, meaning it was everyone who has won at the open mic night for the past six months. Or something like that. And I’m sitting there watching it thinking to myself, “I could do this.” There were obviously people there who are much more talented than I. Much more skilled with their instruments. But I have a better voice than some of those people. And some of the people with good voices were singing songs that I could have written. It was very cool, don’t get me wrong. There was a woman with a hammer dulcimer that was absolutely amazing. And a sort-of friend of mine was in the top three, so that was cool. There was some really amazing music being made last night and it gave me the feeling that my music should be up there, too. On display. For people to enjoy. ‘Cuz I think they might actually really like it.

So I’m buying a guitar off of a friend of mine. He wants an acoustic electric and only has an acoustic. So I’m buying his acoustic and he’s buying an acoustic electric. If the price on it wasn’t so amazing, I’d probably pass. Who buys a guitar without ever playing it? But it’s a steal and he guarantees me it’s a good guitar. And it’s blue. And I really can’t afford it right now, but he’s letting me buy it in installments, so I will have my very own brand new guitar within the next couple of weeks. So I, too, can go play at open mic nights. And so I can give back the guitar I am currently borrowing. I can’t wait to own my own guitar! I know it sounds silly. But to have my own guitar that I don’t have to worry about treating badly ‘cuz it’s my guitar to do with as I please. I can break strings. I can sand down the bridge if the action is too tough for me. I can buy my own strap and capo and case and stand for it. And someday down the road if I’m feeling really ambitious (and wealthy), I can look into souping it up and making it electric. It sounds really funny, but this guitar is calling to me from 500 miles away and I can’t wait to start playing it. So what if I have to live on peanut butter for a week?

I really don’t have any money right now. It is all claimed. This is the scary thing about only getting paid once a month. If you need extra cash, tough shit. You have to sell a kidney or something. There are all kinds of things coming up in the near future that I want to be a part of, from concerts to my family reunion to a trip to New York (that I have been wanting to take for a year now) to buying accessories for my new guitar to buying studio time to lay down an album to buying trash cans with lids on them so I don’t have to keep the garbage can in the bathtub anymore to buying one of those water dishes for Owen that recirculates the water so he doesn’t have to drink out of the toilet anymore to the workshop with my favorite dance instructor to just plain being social, that I’m really feeling that I just don’t have the money for. But I can’t miss out on these things. I can’t miss my friend coming to the United States for a week because he doesn’t come that often. I can’t miss my family reunion. I can’t not renew my license plates. When is my salary going to catch up to my life? I know it is something I brought on myself, but in three years I will be out of debt. But I can’t wait three years to live, you know? And it doesn’t help that rumors of no raises again this year have already begun to circulate. What if they raise my rent? I need another job.

I’m really excited that my favorite dance instructor is coming back to town. I am very much looking forward to hugging him and dancing with him. I know I sound like a sap when I say that, but I really am. I have missed my friend and I will be happy to see him.

I also feel like I’m playing matchmaker for a bunch of my friends. I know of a bunch of crushes going in a bunch of different directions and I’m doing my best to encourage the ones that seem plausible and so on and so forth. All the while talking myself out of my own crush. Why do I do that? Or perhaps the better question is, why don’t I develop crushes on men who are more suited to me so I don’t have to walk around saying, “But it would never work out?”

And here I am, sounding like a girl again. Sorry. I’ll stop that.

I went to a callback audition last night, too. I’m pretty sure I’m not in the show. But it was fun to go and prove to myself once again that I am a good performer. That directors and producers and such like me and appreciate my work. It’s encouraging. I have another audition this weekend that I hope goes well. This one, out of all of the stuff I have been auditioning for, sounds like the most fun. And I think it’s a paid thing, too. Wouldn’t that be nice? Kill the proverbial two birds. ‘Cuz we all know I wouldn’t kill a real bird. Me with my hippie ways.

I like being a hippie. For the record. I feel good being a hippie. And I’ve noticed that I haven’t really gotten sick this winter (knock on wood) like I usually do. I’m wondering if it is the herbivore-ism.

And I should go now because I do have work to do. But I’d much rather keep rambling. My mind is going way too fast for it’s own good. But to recap – I want my new guitar, I still have no love life, though I am living vicariously through my friends, I have great friends, and I’m wanting very much to kick start my career, be it my acting career or my musical one, but I need more money, and I like vegetables. Crap. Okay. I’m going to work now.

There is this house around the corner from where I live. There are quite a few houses around the corner from me, actually, but there is one house in particular that I am just absolutely in love with. It’s so pretty. They just redid the whole thing last summer and it looks like they converted it from a two-flat with a garden apartment into a single family home. What I have seen of it is really stunning. And it is on the market. It has been on the market since they finished it. There were two other houses on the same block that were redone about the same time and both of them sold fairly quickly. But this house is still on the market. Still unoccupied. Still calling to me to buy it. It’s like it’s waiting for me to be able to buy it. I so badly want to but I know that there is no way in hell I could afford it right now. It is just reason number 87 why I wish I had a million dollars in my back pocket right now.

*sigh*

I know I complain a lot about the fact that I have to get up at the proverbial butt-crack of dawn every day, but when faced with the alternative of missing out on sunrises like the one that happened this morning, I think I'll put up with the waking up early. It really was breathtaking. Colors I don't even have words for. I got in my car and didn't even let it warm up because I wanted to get to a better vantage point to see the sunrise before the colors were gone. But beauty like that only lasts for a minute or two. And I got to see it. Because I wake up way too frickin' early.

I know I write about this stuff too much. I'm just trying to enjoy being alive is all. The simple pleasures in life. I'm trying to take note of all of the beauty around me so I don't get too weighed down in all of the crap that goes on in this world. So if that means I write about beautiful sunrises for a while, please bear with me until summertime comes and the sun wakes up even earlier than I do.

So they are passing legislation in Chicago to ban smoking in restaurants and such. I don’t know if it extends to bars yet or not, but in my humble opinion, this is a step in the right direction. If you’ll pardon me, I’m going to be very politically incorrect for a moment.

Smokers annoy me. I have a lot of friends who smoke. I do not proselytize and try to get them to quit or anything. I often times find myself hanging out in the “smoking lounge” so that I can still be social with my friends, despite the fact that I detest going home reeking of cigarette smoke. But I do hate going home smelling like smoke. I hate my clothes reeking. I hate the smell in my hair. In some cases, I have been known to say, “Eh, it’s something you get used to.” I don’t like the fact that it is something I have gotten used to. I like going outside and breathing fresh, clean air. And then someone lights up a cigarette and my nose says, “Um, no, I don’t think so,” and I stop breathing. This is not a good thing.

And for the record, I have smoked for a couple of theatrical productions and a couple of times when I was really drunk. I don’t think I ever got high off of it (yes, I have inhaled) and I ended up feeling like crap the next day. Not to mention the stench, the horrible taste in my mouth, and the fact that even my fingers smelled from holding the cigarette. I don’t understand why on earth anyone would intentionally do this to him/herself? People who have quit smoking are thrilled that they can again taste food. And let’s not forget that it is kind of gross to kiss a smoker. Might as well lick an ashtray. Unless your partner is a smoker, too, in which case you probably can’t taste each other at all.

So if they want to ban smoking indoors in Chicago, I am all for that. Not like you didn’t know this already, but smoking is bad for you anyway. My surgeon friend contests that our friends would all stop smoking if they spent one day with her at work. It’s disgusting and deadly. That’s all there is to it. But I don’t think that banning smoking indoors in Chicago will stop anyone from smoking. People won’t quit because of that. I have friends who will get up three times in the course of a meal at a restaurant to go outside and smoke (which, in my opinion, is quite rude, but hey, I’m not in the throws of a very powerful addiction). They will continue to do that if it becomes illegal to smoke in restaurants. Every culture in the history of the world has found something to smoke and something to drink. Some law will not stop that kind of cultural momentum.

But it would be really nice to be able to go to a bar and come home smelling only of cheap beer.

I heard a little blurb on the radio this morning about hip huggers being bad for your health. Apparently, some women who wear hip huggers have been going to their doctors complaining of a tingling sensation in their hips. The doctors have concluded that the pants apply unnecessary pressure to the hips, causing a sort of carpal tunnel-like disease in the hip joints. When the women switched to baggy pants, the tingling went away. I couldn't help but chuckle.

Yay baggy pants!

There are few things in this world nicer than brand spankin’ new, fresh, clean contact lenses when you have been wearing the same pair for about two months. When they are the kind of contacts that you are supposed to wear for two weeks and throw away. Yeah, my eyes weren’t liking me too much there for a while. But sometimes you have to make choices – comfortable eyes or Christmas presents for the family. And I always have my glasses if it gets unbearable. But it was really nice to put in brand spankin’ new, fresh, clean contact lenses this morning.

And then I had a smoothie for breakfast made with orange juice, pineapple tidbits, and mango chunks. Aside from the word “chunks,” it sounds pretty tasty, no? Well, it was. Darn tasty.

And then one of my co-workers said to me, “Kitty, you’ve lost weight.” A couple of nights ago, another friend of mine told me my face looks thinner. So maybe the whole vegan diet plus a healthy amount of exercise thing is paying off. I know it is because my clothes fit better and I don’t have saddlebags anymore. But it is encouraging to have it be noticeable, you know?

And I had a task to perform for my boss this morning (the biggest of all of the big cheeses in my office) and I did it exactly right and really fast so he e-mailed me back saying I’m great.

So all of these really good things are happening to me lately. And again, there was an absolutely gorgeous sunrise this morning. I can’t really justify complaining about anything right now. I don’t even feel like complaining about it being cold outside. I have auditions coming up soon. I have great friends. I have the greatest family a person could ever hope for. I’m getting into really good physical shape. My favortie dance instructor is coming back to Chicago in about a month. I’m just happy. I will be purchasing an acoustic guitar in the very near future. Things are good. Things are looking up. And I am doing my very best to just enjoy it while I can. It’s going pretty well.

I remember I used to sob my eyes out when I would leave my cousin’s house in Wisconsin or my grandparent’s house in Minnesota. Something about leaving and not knowing when I would be able to see them again. Saying “good-bye” seemed like such a permanent thing. Maybe because I was at the mercy of my own parents to determine when I would travel again. But yeah, I used to have a really hard time saying “good-bye” to people who I loved.

“Good-bye” seems to have lost a lot of its permanence, though. I’m not complaining about that – I bank on the fact that “good-bye” is not permanent. A lot of the people who I really love live far away – San Francisco, Europe, New York, Boston, all over the place. And if I had to say “good-bye” to any of them permanently, I would be devastated. But I don’t. And I’m wondering when exactly it was that I figured out that “good-bye” is not forever. When did that feeling of, “Yeah, I’ll see you again someday,” become the norm?

Granted, I would prefer it that all of the people I loved were geographically close enough to me that I could hug them on a daily basis, but I know that wouldn’t happen. Not even in Kittyland. But as an example, I have a friend who moved across the country on Monday. I don’t know when I will see him again. I probably won’t call him much, nor he I, and I don’t think we have ever e-mailed each other. But I was not heartbroken to see him go. I was sad, yes, because he is my friend and I enjoy dancing with him and I won’t get to do that as often any more. But it was more of a “see you later” than a “good-bye.”

I like it that “good-bye” is not permanent. I take a lot of comfort in the fact that I have at least some control over who I see and who is a part of my life and who is not, you know? It is wonderful to know that you have the ability to surround yourself with wonderful people if you so choose.

Please pardon this momentary indulgence on my part: I sometimes wonder what I would say if I was being interviewed about a film I did or something. ‘Cuz you know those interviewers always want to know about your personal life. So I’m kind of hoping that when that question is asked, the interviewer says, “So, is there anyone special in your life?” so I can respond with, “I am surrounded by special people.” ‘Cuz it’s true. And it’s a nice way to dodge a bullet, huh? Hi, my name is Kitty and I’m a dork.

I don’t really have anything interesting to say today, so if you tuned in hoping for some wonderful words of wisdom from the mind of Miss Kitty, let me take a moment to apologize and tell you it is really not necessary to read today’s entry. Though if you really want a fun read, feel free to wander on back through my archives. Did you know I’ve been keeping this blog for eleven months? I’m almost at a year. A lot has happened in that year. So why not take today to play catch-up on all the entries you may have missed?

Don’t you love how I write like this is important stuff that people actually read? I know there are a couple of you out there who still read my drivel and I love you for that. Thank you.

I made vegan pad Thai last night and fed it to an omnivorous friend of mine. He said he liked it. I must say that I thought it was pretty tasty, too. And not bad for a first attempt. I learned a couple of little things, though. Like put the sauce on the noodles right away ‘cuz rice noodles are about a billion times stickier than your average everyday pasta and nobody likes sticky pad Thai noodles. And I need to find tamarind concentrate. All I could find was tamarind nectar, so I put in a little more than the recipe called for, assuming that the nectar is a kind of watered down concentrate, and now my pad Thai tastes a little too strongly of tamarind. Or at least I’m assuming it does. Tamarind is something completely new and foreign to me. But now I have an open can of tamarind nectar in my refrigerator (sans about a tablespoon and a half) that I’m not sure what to do with. I don’t know if I want to drink it or not ‘cuz the picture on the can of tamarind makes it look like I’m drinking vanilla extract. And as lovely as it smells, vanilla extract is NOT something you want to be drinking straight. If you’ve never tried straight vanilla extract, you’ll just have to take my word on that. But over all, I think it was a successful first attempt at pad Thai. We’ll see come lunchtime how well it stands up to the reheating test.

And I would also just like to point out that the sunrise this morning was particularly lovely. So much so that I actually said, “Wow,” out loud to myself in my car as I went over the Belmont overpass on Western. It was really pretty. And it reminded me once again just how much I love Chicago. Chicago has the best skyline. Ever.

So again, I apologize for my mundanity. If that’s a word. Mundaneness. I’ve been tired lately so I haven’t been doing very much that is very exciting. I’ll have to work on that.

So the Grammy nominations were announced this morning. Typically, I don’t pay that much attention to the Grammys because I don’t quite understand them. What is the difference between rap/R&B and rap/hip hop? There are so many categories, I get really confused. And then there are songs that seem to have come out last year but are nominated this year and the “Best New Artist” is sometimes given to someone who released his/her third album and so on and so forth. I don’t understand the Grammys. The music industry is foreign to me.

But I heard some of the nominations on the radio this morning on my way in to work and I must say that some of them made me really happy. Danny Elfman was nominated for his Spiderman score. Vanessa Carlton was nominated for a bunch of stuff, as was Norah Jones. Moby was even nominated for the song 18. I guess I was mostly impressed because these nominations did not seem to be based on radio airplay, but rather on *gasp* actual musical merit. Granted, a lot of it seems like it has to do with personal taste, but a lot of artists who I can respect and admire were nominated. Which made me really happy.

What pissed me off, though, was the radio announcers. Granted, I probably shouldn’t have been listening to the announcers on that particular station as I was hearing the nominations being read, but still. They kept commenting over the nominations so you couldn’t hear half of them. And then they started complaining about how silly a lot of the nominations were. They were indignant that Eminem only got three nominations. You know what? There are 101 categories at the Grammys. About six of them have to do with rap. If Eminem wants to branch out and start doing classical music or world music or country music, then sure, maybe he can get more nominations. But Eminem is not the be-all end-all of the music industry. He can only get nominated in the appropriate categories. This is not the Billboard Awards. This is the Grammys. And the announcers were ripping on Norah Jones and Vanessa Carlton. I’m sorry, maybe it is just me, but I am really happy about the fact that female singer/songwriters are nominated. Women writing songs more interesting than “I’m a Slave 4 U” and stuff. It does my heart good to see good music recognized.

I guess I should keep in mind, though, that awards are like hemorrhoids – in the end, every asshole gets one. *shrug* This is why I don't pay much attention to the Grammys.

You don't realize how many basic, every day movments require your neck until you pull one of the muscles in your neck and are greeted with pain in it's purest form every time you try to do anything.

Note to self: Stop imitating Emily in Dancing with Gaia when doing Tacky Annies.

I’ve been developing these really weird crushes lately. Which is kind of odd in and of itself because I didn’t really have a crush on anyone for a long time there. Well, except Moby, but I think a celebrity crush is a little different because it comes with the foreknowledge that nothing is going to come of it. It is a 100% safe crush.

But yeah, I’ve been developing a lot of these really weird crushes. And they’re weird not because of who they are on or because I’m having them in the first place, but because they are of a different nature than most crushes I have had in the past. They are not necessarily “I want to date you” crushes. They are not “I want to fuck your brains out” crushes. They are more like “I really want to know you” type crushes. Which is really odd. For a long time, I felt like I knew enough people. And now I want to know more of them. And in an intimate way, though not necessarily a physically intimate way, if that makes any sense. I’m meeting all of these people (mostly guys) who strike me as really interesting people (okay, all guys) who I would like to know on a very personal level. Who I would like to be able to converse openly with about everything and anything and nothing at all. All at the same time. And there is something different about each object of my crushes that makes me want to get to know him, be it his love of music or his sense of humor or his artistic eye. Okay, so yeah, in their own way, they are each artistic. And I would like to know them for that. And while I don’t think I would be opposed to making out with any of them, that’s not my ultimate goal, here. But how does one approach a guy one has just met, or a guy one has known for a long time and has recently found a common interest with, and say to him, “I’d like to get to know you” without having it sound like a cheesy pick up line?

I guess one could not worry about it and just go on having weird crushes.

I’d like to talk today about nudity on camera. In films. On the stage. And in a moment, I will tell you why we’re talking about it. But I want to give you my opinion on the subject first.

I am not a fan of gratuitous nudity. Often times, people are naked for no reason in film, other than to show naked people, like the one woman who runs in front of the screen in Airplane and shakes her boobs. Why is there a naked woman on the plane? Hell, we don’t even see her face, just her naked breasts. I know why it was done in that particular film, but I think you know what I’m getting at. I don’t think nudity is something that should be thrown into film randomly. Why not? Because often times it is done badly. But that being said, I am not opposed to nudity in film in general. I actually even have some pointers to make nudity in film/on stage work well for the cast, the director, and the audience.

First of all, if an actor is uncomfortable taking his/her clothes off on camera/on stage, find a different actor or cut the nudity completely. Don’t tell your actor that you will “work around it.” This makes the whole thing look forced and fake and chances are that your actor will still be uncomfortable being naked in front of the crew. And just like with bad Shakespeare, if your actor is uncomfortable with the fact that he/she is nude, the audience will be uncomfortable with having a nude actor in front of them. The audience gets caught up in, “Oh my god, he’s naked. He must be really cold. Look at how nervous he is!” and they are completely pulled out of the scene. I know it sounds harsh, but if the script you are doing requires nudity and your actor is not comfortable with that, find a different actor or do a different script.

Second, find a purpose for the nudity in your script. Don’t have people taking off their clothes for no real reason. If you must show someone bathing, okay, have him or her naked. If you are doing an artistic piece about the human form, okay, have him or her naked. If you’re making a film about the Kentucky Derby, keep your actors clothed. I don’t care how much fun it would be to have a nude crowd member at the Kentucky Derby, it’s not going to work for the audience. If the nudity itself is justifiable, your actors and your audience will be more comfortable with it.

And finally, make sure your crew is professional about it, too. If your actor is greeted on set by hoots and hollers from the crew, he/she will be made to feel uncomfortable which makes the audience uncomfortable. There should be no gawking. And when you are directing a nude actor or even chitchatting with a nude actor, look into his/her eyes just as you would if your actor was fully clothed.

Why am I talking about nudity on camera today? Because of the student film I shot over the weekend. I know, I know, your image of me is now probably totally shot. I have done nudity in film. A couple of times. In one instance, it was because my character was bathing. It was done tastefully and I was completely comfortable on set with my director and my DP. It was not a sexual thing and it was non-exploitative. The director and I talked about it and decided that it would be weird for this woman who lives in a house by herself and bathes as a means of comforting herself to wear a bathing suit into the bathtub. It was fine. I had no problem with it.

The film I did this past weekend was inspired by a man who airbrushes people. He began as an airbrush artist doing characatures and clothing and whatnot and became involved with a company that does shows at nightclubs and whatnot that involve women being painted and dancing or interacting with the crowd. The director of the film I just did loves this man’s work (he really is amazing) and wanted to showcase it in a medium more appropriate to the art than a nightclub. So she made an experimental film. It really is an interesting idea for a film. And it involved five women being painted from head to toe. I was one of them.

Yes, this film was mocking the human perception of sexuality. No, this film is non-exploitative. And believe me, when you have that much paint on you, you feel like you are clothed. People look at the designs on your body, not at your body, if that makes any sense. I spent two days wearing nothing but a thong and paint in a room full of probably twenty people, most of whom were men, and I was completely un-self-conscious. (Which is, in and of itself, a good thing in my book. We all know I’ve had body issues for way too long, so this was an amazing bit of body acceptance therapy for me.) And I have to say that this was probably one of the coolest experiences of my life. To have my body turned into such an amazing piece of art…it was like nothing I have ever done before. It really was like putting on a costume and becoming a different character. I can’t even really describe it. It was frickin’ cool. You’ll have to try it to find out what it is like.

But there was one woman who showed up to the set completely unprepared to have her breasts and buttocks exposed. How she missed the fact that that is essential to the film is beyond me, because that is pretty much the first thing the director said to me when I met her. But this one actress decided the morning of the first shoot that she would be too uncomfortable doing that. So she was not in the film. Which is fine – like I said, if you have an actor who is uncomfortable with it, find a different actor. Nobody should be forced to do anything they don’t want to do or to show anything they don’t want to show. What irritated me was that this particular actress started talking to another very impressionable actress and filled her head with all kinds of nonsense like having nudity on your resume will ruin your career and so on and so forth. We all tried talking to this impressionable actress to ease her mind. She asked me how I felt about it. I told her that I was a vessel for this man’s art and that I did not view the film as exploitative. I told her that I was, in a way, happy to be involved because I don’t have a perfect body, but I would be seen as a work of art anyway. One little step in my mission to alter the societal perception of what a woman should look like. I gave her my honest opinion of the director and the crew – they were all very professional people. The DP at one point said he wanted to be painted, too, because it looked so cool. But this impressionable actress decided that she was uncomfortable with it, too, so she did not participate in the film. Which is too bad. Because it was a lot of fun.

So I guess my point is this: if you are an actor and you are asked to do nudity on camera or on stage, think about it. Seriously. Honestly. Think about it. What kind of person is the director? What is the crew like? Does the nudity make sense to you? Are you comfortable with being nude in that context with those people? If any of these things don’t sit right with you, don’t do it. There will be other jobs and other opportunities. If you are okay with all of these things and you want to do the project, do the project. Nudity on your resume will not ruin your career. Making bad, uninformed choices will.

I’m shooting a student film this weekend that should be really interesting. I’m excited about it and think it will make for a really cool end product, but I don’t want to talk about it too much until after I’ve done it ‘cuz I’m afraid that will make me chicken out. All I’m saying is that it is like nothing I have done before and I hope it turns out well. And I’ll tell you all about it on Monday when it is too late for me to change my mind about the whole thing.

There are days when I really hate my job. I’m a monkey. I do what they tell me to do. Which would be fine. If people didn’t change everything that I do right after I do it. For example, one of my current projects is to schedule 32 meetings. Two individuals from an outside organization want to talk to 32 University persons for an hour each over four days. Okay. Fine. I have about six meetings left to schedule. So the outside organization calls me today and tells me that two of these meetings need to be moved. The two meetings each contain eight or nine participants (I’m not sure who is in which one, mind you, ‘cuz these two group meetings were not on my list of meetings to schedule) and they need to be moved to a time that has already been filled by someone else. A lot of these meetings are with doctors who still have to see patients and stuff, so their meeting time flexibility is not so great. Oh, and did I mention that the meetings are next week?

Or another project of mine is to distribute forms and checklists to, I dunno, about 70 departments here on campus so they can fill them out and return them to me. I distributed the forms and checklists back in October and told everyone that the due date was today. I told everyone that the checklists needed to come back to me so that they can be processed. Have I received all of the checklists (I don’t really need the forms, just the checklists – it’s like the Cliffs Notes version of the forms)? Not by a long shot. So I send out reminder e-mails (as I have been doing periodically since October) and I get all kinds of “But I sent my checklist to so-and-so ‘cuz I thought that is where it was supposed to go” e-mails back. Yes, that is why when I sent you the information originally, I made a point of including with the instructions a piece of paper that said, “Please return the checklists to ME.” ‘Cuz I wanted you to send them to somebody I’ve never heard of before. And I appreciate you waiting until now to tell me who it is that has the checklist so that I can run around at the last minute and talk to all kinds of people I’ve never heard of to try to get the checklists by yesterday. Thank you for your assistance on this project.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to start the year off bitching. It’s ‘cuz I’m at the reception desk for the second day in a row. I knew I would be, but I still don’t like it. I can’t get any real work done down here. And then to have to deal with stupid people…maybe I should make a New Years Resolution to be more tolerant of stupid people. I’d rather that people just stopped being so stupid.

I was talking to my friends over the past few days about geeks. And I don’t mean that in the “persons who bite the heads off of live chickens” sense of the word. I mean dorks. Geeks. Those persons who are not “cool,” by society’s definition of the word "cool." And I would like to say that yes, I am a geek. And yes, I am proud of the fact that I am a geek. I like being a geek. It’s really nice to not have to worry so much about what society thinks of me, anyway. And I have to say that all of my friends are geeks, too. I don’t think I have any non-geek friends. And to be honest, non-geeks scare me. Because really, all being a geek means is you are passionate about something. There are music geeks and science geeks and computer geeks and dance geeks and movie geeks and sound geeks and animal geeks and skater geeks and food geeks and you name it, there’s a geek for it. The geeks are the ones who throw themselves wholeheartedly into something regardless of what other people say about it. Geeks love something. Geeks believe in something. Geeks dedicate their lives to something. And to me, that is just about the most attractive quality a person can have. Well, maybe honesty is above that, but passionate people are attractive to me. And passionate people are, typically, by societal definitions, geeks.

So stand up and be proud of your geekdom. I am.

Oh, and for the record, eating isn't nearly so much fun when the entire inside of your mouth is burnt. Beware steaming hot green tea.

Ugh. Happy New Year, kids. I can’t believe it’s 2003. Feels like just yesterday that it was 2002. Wait a second…

I hope it was a safe and happy holiday for all of you. I had fun. I had friends in from out of town – some of my very favorite people. And there was much kissing to be done after midnight, so that was fun. Gotta do that once a year just to prove that I’m still a girl, right? Or something like that. I don’t know. It’s early in the year; my brain isn’t working yet.

I do have a new musical tidbit for you: check this guy out. Listen to a song or two. But not while you’re at work. Or if you are under 18. But if you are not at work and are over 18, take a listen. He’s pretty funny. Cute, too.

Speaking of music, I would just like to take a moment to say how much fun it is to make music with someone else. Yes, I love playing my guitar in my house for my cat, but when someone else picks up, I dunno, a bass guitar and starts playing along…fun things are created. The energy is wonderful. I love it. I would very highly recommend that you go out and make music with somebody in the near future. You will feel good afterwards, I promise you.

And speaking of things to do in the near future (hi, my name is Kitty and I know how to use segues), let’s talk about New Years Resolutions for a minute. I don’t know how the concept of a New Years Resolution came into being, exactly. I understand the theory behind it, what with a New Year starting and all. It is a fresh beginning. But why must we wait for the first of the year to get a fresh beginning? Anyway. New Years Resolutions. I don’t know that I really want to make any this year. Making a New Years Resolution, in my mind, implies that there is something about oneself that one doesn’t like and feels needs fixing. And as I mentioned in an earlier entry, I’m feeling pretty good right about now. This is the first holiday season in I don’t even know how long that I have not found myself painfully depressed. I am proud of myself for that.

A lot of New Years Resolutions have to do with living a healthier life. I’m already doing that. I guess I could resolve to cook more vegan food for myself more often since I got two wonderful vegan cookbooks for Christmas. But I am eating well. Really well. And I’m not eating too much. And the exercise thing, I’m doing that already, too. Working out and dancing. And I’m sleeping more than I used to. And drinking lots of water. Meaning I’m taking really good care of myself physically. Because I am finally in a place mentally to do that. I think it takes a certain love of oneself before one can truly take care of one’s physical self. In other words, you have to want to take care of yourself. And right now, I do. So I am. Which is wonderful except it deprives me of the “I’m going to eat better/less/take care of myself” New Years Resolution.

Then there are the Resolutions aimed at making the world a better place. In a small way, I feel like I kind of am ‘cuz I’m using animal-product free products and organic products wherever possible. I plan on voting in the next election. I feel like I can’t do a whole lot more in this arena than I already do ‘cuz I don’t have mountains of money to give to worthwhile causes. So for the time being, I am just going to hug my friends and family and let them know that I love them, I will be nice to strange people that I meet because there are enough jerks in the world already, and I will let Mother Earth know that I love her, too. She needs to be reminded of that every now and again. Hopefully somewhere along the way, someone will smile or laugh, too.

Speaking of which, I do have a little favor to ask. A long time ago, I wrote an entry encouraging people to use “Kitty says hi” in place of some other normal, everyday phrases like “hello” and so forth. When I wrote it, I thought it was kind of funny. But the more I think about it, the more I think it could be really cool if people actually did that. Or at the very least, if people said, “Kitty says hi” to someone you’ve never met before. Or when you first meet someone. So a conversation might go like this:

Friend of Kitty: Person A, I would like you to meet Person B.
Person A: Hello, Person B.
Person B: Nice to meet you, Person A.
Person A: By the way, Kitty says hi.
Person B: Thank you. And hi back to Kitty.

At which point, Person B can then go and tell Person C that Kitty says hi and so on and so on and so on. And eventually, I will be a household name. Or at the very least, I will run into someone I inadvertently said hi to somewhere. And who knows? We might become fast friends because of it. So next time you meet someone, say, “Kitty says hi” and encourage them to tell someone they meet that I say hi. And we’ll see how long it takes to get back to me, okay?

But back to the whole resolution thing. I feel content with where my life is right now, so I feel funny making Resolutions to lead my life in a better/different manner. So I’ll kind of set goals for myself for this year instead. I would like to do more with my music, both with my solo material and with the music I am collaborating on with a friend. I want to get back into acting stuff. It feels like it has been a while since I did anything, so I’m going on a couple of auditions in a week or so. And I want to work on not hating having a crush on someone. Or at least on not letting crushes turn me into a skittish little twit. It might make for a more productive, meaningful relationship if I am actually able to talk to my object of desire instead of running from him.

But that’s about it. I am going to continue living healthily. I am going to continue to be a good person, or at least as good of a person as I know how to be. I am going to try to keep pumping positive energy into the universe and I am going to continue to try to avoid adding negativity to the universe. I am going to try to just keep being me. But moreso. In a good way. And I’ll let you know in a year how it all worked out.