I practice pretty good dental hygiene. I brush at least twice a day and use mouthwash once a day. Sure, I should probably floss more, but my teeth are in pretty good shape. That being said, I have a question. Why is it that the more I take care of my teeth before I go to sleep at night, the worse my mouth tastes in the morning?

Seriously, if I don't brush before bed, my mouth tastes the way it did when I went to sleep. If I brush, but don't use mouthwash, my mouth tastes kind of funky in the morning and the first thing I want to do when I get up is to brush. If I brush and floss and use mouthwash before bed, I wake up feeling like a dead raccoon slept in my mouth. It's really gross. Why is that? You'd think it would be the other way around. Or, are all of the dental hygiene products they are selling us actually counter-productive? They rot away our teeth so that we'll have to buy more products to save our teeth and so on and so forth. A giant conspiracy to promote fluoride usage.

Eh, I'm not going to stop brushing, either way. I'm just wondering.

Well how 'bout that? It was all just PMS.

I don't think men fully understand just how horrible PMS can be. And yes, I know that this is WAY more than any of you want or need to know about me, but fuck it, I'm going to write it anyway. See, I never used to get PMS. Or if I did, I was already too depressed to notice any real mood swings or anything. But since I became vegan, there are other physical indicators, too, so I know I can blame my feelings of inadequacy on hormones.

I do know that men have mood cycles, too. So if you happen to be a guy reading this, wishing he could empathize with exactly how miserable PMS can be, let me paint a picture for you. And you ladies out there reading this are welcome to throw in any, "You go, sister!" or "I hear ya!" type comments you feel are apprpriate. Though you might want to adjust your internal volume control first if you are reading this at work or the people down the hall might look at you funny.

Anyway, imagine, if you will, a very small man with very large, rough hands living in your lower abdomen. Not quite where your stomach is, nor where your intestines are, but close enough to both that any sort of discomfort in that area could be mistaken for the digestion of that three bean burrito you ate last night. Now, this very small man with very large hands clamps his hands onto the lining of your organs (stomach or intestines) and begins pulling. Very slowly. Like when you peel a Band-Aid off hair by hair. He is separating the lining of your stomach or intestines from the rest of the organ and he takes about 24 hours to do this. And because of the location of the particular pain, you feel like you need to visit the rest room with a full stack of magazines, but when you try that, nothing happens. Because it's not constipation. It's your innerds being ripped up and digested. And then you get to bleed uncontrollably from a very sensitive area for anywhere from three to seven days and all the while, you have to keep up this image like nothing's wrong. Like you're not in such incredible amounts of pain that all you can fathom doing is curling up on your couch (but when you actually try that, it makes the pain worse). Like your body is functioning in a perfectly normal non-bodily-function-having sort of way. And then let's see how nice and pleasant you are.

So yeah, I was pissy and bitter because my innerds were on the way out. It will happen again soon. But today I am realizing that I really am blessed in a lot of ways. The little, important ways. I make friends easily and it takes a lot for us to fall apart. I have enough food to eat. I have enough blankets when it is cold outside at night. I am intelligent and respected and capable. And I apologize that you all have to go on this roller coaster with me on a monthly basis. Give it another twenty or twenty-five years and I'll be all good.

And now that I have my daily ranting out of the way, I can talk about something sad.

I keep getting e-mail updates about my grandmother's health and what they boil down to is that she is not doing well. She wants to make it to the Fourth of July, but after that, I'm guessing she'll be gone in a matter of weeks. And yes, this is the same grandmother whose 90th birthday party I went to two years ago.

I don't know what to do with these health updates. There's nothing I can do for her. There really isn't anything anyone else can do for her, either. She's just old. Her body is worn out. It is hard and sad to read these updates all of the time and know that she's just kind of wasting away up there. She's too tired to talk on the phone and I don't know how well her eyesight is or I'd send her more letters. I do write and send pictures and things. And when I was up there two years ago, I told her that I love her. In a way, I feel like I've already mourned her -- I thought that trip two years ago would be the last time that I would see her. So now my dad wants us to go up there for the Fourth of July to say good bye one last time and I know I should, but I don't know that I want to. And I feel like I'm really in the wrong for not wanting to go. She's my grandmother and I love her; I should look forward to seeing her. But it's hard to see someone you love deteriorating. And it's really hard to say good bye to someone who is still alive, you know? How do you approach that? "Well, since I'm never going to see you again (for real this time), let me just remind you that I do love you and always will, and say hi to Grandpa for me." It's just weird. Am I wrong?

I think I have some time before I have to decide whether or not I'm going in July. And oh, look. I have some work to do in the meantime...

This whole thing about John Kerry's military record is getting annoying, and I'll tell you why.

John Kerry went to Vietnam. He served there for over a year and was awarded a Silver Star and three Purple Hearts.

George W. Bush never left the United States during his time in the military. He failed to show up for a required medical exam and then went missing for eight months before deciding to run for office.

And George W. Bush is questioning Kerry's military record.

Am I the only one who thinks this is ludicrous?

Seriously, even if we look at Kerry's military record in the least favorable light (i.e. one of his Purple Hearts was undeserved because his wounds weren't serious enough), he served. He went over there. He rescued one of his fellow soldiers. And he was wounded three times. Regardless of the extent of his injuries, he was wounded three times. Bam! Shrapnel. Put me back out there. Bam! Shrapnel. Put me back out there. Bam! Shrapnel. Time to go home, Mr. Kerry. Okay. As opposed to Mr. Bush who didn't even show up for his physical exam. Don't believe me? Both of their military records (aside from some classified things) are available online. Go take a look. If I have the story completely bass-ackwards, please tell me. If you can find proof that it was, in fact, Mr. Bush who was repeatedly decorated for combat duty and Mr. Kerry who went AWOL, I will retract this statement and issue an apology to Mr. Bush.

Really, Mr. Bush, if you need to attack Mr. Kerry about something to make yourself feel better, pick something that doesn't expose you for the raging hypocrite you really are. Why don't you tell us how you're going to fix this terrible mess you've made instead of attacking your opponent's credibility? We'd at least be able to respect you then.

Okay, I'd like to propose a new world-wide holiday. We'd call it World Gun Day. And on this day, everyone who owns a gun (including militia) would celebrate the fact that they own a gun by throwing their guns into giant vats of molten steel. "But won't that destroy the guns?" you are probably asking? Yes. It will. But if you love something, you should set it free. So set your guns free by dropping them in large vats of molten steel. And if everyone did it, we wouldn't have to worry about someone else then sneaking up behind us and taking power. We'd all be equally gun-less. We could go back to the good old days when the militia was armed with nothing but bayonets and their own smarts and whoever had the most smarts won. Because honestly, I think we would be a lot more hesitant about fighting each other to the death if the death was right up in our faces like that. Maybe we'd all work a little harder to live around each other, not on top of one another.

Just a thought.

I'd never before bought tickets to a game on the day of, but now that I know I can, I'm thinking that I should more often. Take better advantage of the fact that I live in this amazing city. Wrigley Field is within walking distance of my house -- why shouldn't I go to several games a year?

And Wrigley is so wonderful because time just...stops for a little while. I took my theater friend with me today (he'd never been) and he noticed it, too. For three hours, you're not thinking about relationship stuff or work or school or what you have to get at the grocery store. You're just there, watching a baseball game. And the crowd is right there with you, watching the game. Everyone is there to have a good time. You are surrounded by 38,000 kindred spirits. The kind that you don't have to tell each other you're on the same page, but you smile and pass their money and hot dogs back and forth along the rows to one another, no questions asked. It is a little green world adventure in the middle of the city.

And to top it all off, the Cubs won today. Swept their series against the Mets. I am a Cubs fan and have been since I was born, and I will always love them, no matter if they are winning or losing. But it is so nice to see them winning for once. It's like vindication after years and years of energy being pumped into a black hole. If only everything would eventually pay off like that.

I love Wrigley Field.

I painted my nails last night. Pink. I thought about cutting them all off to accomodate my guitar playing, but instead decided I should paint them and as the only colors of nail polish I have left in my house are pink and black, I opted for pink. And I have to say, they look darn good.

Maybe this whole "being a girl" thing isn't so terrible...

Happy Earth Day, kids. Make sure you give Mother Nature a kiss and tell her how beautiful she is. Not like you shouldn't tell her all the time, but today especially.

Unexpected usage of the word "pie" will almost always get a laugh.

You've heard about the current scare in the porn industry, yes? That one male and one female porn star tested positive for HIV. Beside the fact that they are no longer allowed to, um, perform, the sixty persons they performed with in between their last negative test and this positive one are banned from performing until the results of their blood tests come back. Now think about this for a moment, if you will.

Let's say you're a porn star. Industry standard mandates that you get tested every three weeks. So every three weeks, you have a couple of days of nervousness, wondering if you are clean or not. But you've been doing this for a long time and you know everybody you work with, so after a while, it's no biggie. Go in, they take some blood, you get a call a few days later saying you are A-OK. And you get an opportunity to work with someone new one day, so you do, and it's a fun shoot and everything is hunky dorey and then you find out that that new person has just tested positive for HIV. Now your two or three days of waiting are two or three days filled with the possible terror that you could die because of your job. And not something quick and painless, but something long and drawn out and very painful, not just from a physical perspective, but everyone is going to look at you differently now. You used to be the porn star who proved that you can make a respectable living in the adult film industry. Now you are a statistic. What does that do to you?

Or, on the other side of the coin, let's take the cliche porn star and look at what this does to her. She moved to LA from some podunk town in Wisconsin to be a movie star, but things just haven't been working out the way she wanted them to. Until one day, she is offered a part in an adult film. She has no money for rent, but this film will keep her in her place, with food to eat, even, for the next two months. So she does the film. She hates every minute of it, but hey, you do what you have to in order to survive, right? And then she finds out that her costar has tested positive for HIV. Suddenly, putting a roof over her head has quite possibly cost her her life. How does she tell her family about this? Especially since they didn't want her going to LA in the first place? How does she go home and ask for help?

Granted, I'm being overly dramatic here. People can live a long time with HIV and can still do a lot of the things that everyone else does. But there still isn't a cure for it. And it's still a really icky way to go. And despite the steps that have been taken to educate people about HIV and how it is transmitted and stuff, there are still a lot of stigmas attached to it. For every person you find who will hug you and kiss you, you'll find one who finds it necessary to call you names in public. It can't be easy. And to think that you could get it from your job like that. Yes, porn stars run that risk, but I'm sure they're all thinking, "Yeah, but I know these people. I won't get it." How sad to think that they might.

I think it is time for another installment of "Things that make me happy." I've been getting kind of bitter and jaded recently, what with not wanting to be on this path I'm on in my life right now, and I think I need to be able to look at a list of things that are bringing me joy right now, even if they are silly.

Sugar snap peas. I remember picking them fresh off the vine in the garden in my backyard when I was a kid. It was always the highlight of my summer. And just recently, I have decided that I should keep some around and accessible because I really do love sugar snap peas.

Stanley's produce. I don't know the official name of the place, but it is a fruit and vegetable store here in Chicago that really has wonderful things. So much of it is organic, too, and all very reasonably priced. Which means I have rediscovered the joys of roasted vegetables. Honestly, take some olive oil and balsamic vinegar, throw in some garlic, onion, basil, oregano, salt and pepper. Chop up whatever veggies suit your fancy -- carrots, peppers, parsnips, potatoes, etc. -- and coat them lightly in your oil/vinegar mixture. Roast them at 350 for about an hour. If you do more delicate veggies like mushrooms, they may only take twenty minutes or so. But still, you never know how wonderful veggies can be until you have roasted them. Serve them over a bed of some lettuce you've never tried before. Red dandelion is really yummy. And trust me, you feel good when you eat roasted vegetables.

Fundraising for the Avon Walk. This whole fundraising for a good cause thing is something I'm actually pretty good at. Who would have thunk it, huh? But it is a lot of fun and I feel like I'm actively doing something to improve the world around me.

The Cubs. I grew up watching and listening to Chicago Cubs baseball. I kind of got away from it a little bit for a while there, but I've always loved the Cubs. Always kept track of how they were doing. And this year, I'm kind of nutsy about it. I listen to games at work. I've got my schedule up on the wall so I can mark off wins and losses. I'm thinking one of these weekends when they are in town, I'm going to go to the ballpark early and see if I can get tickets, just on a whim. I really love baseball.

Music. My own and other people's. I'm really proud of the new little song I wrote. It is probably the most "rock 'n roll" of anything I've written and I feel kind of badass when I play it. And I think that even though my music collection isn't necessarily huge, that I have managed to surround myself with really good music that I really enjoy and that makes me feel good. Music has so many wonderful healing properties. It's good for your soul.

Dutch. I am very much enjoying learning the Dutch language, or at least trying to. I found some online Dutch grammar lessons, so I think my pronunciation is improving because I understand the words and vowel sounds and things a little better. And I like the word "Englutch" as a descriptor for the language I'm kind of speaking right now to my cat -- some English, some Dutch. I like it better than "Dutlish," anyway.

Warmer weather. It's nice to out for training walks and not have to thaw out my nose when they are over. And while I have to coat my body in sunscreen before I go outside, at least I know I am getting my vitamin D. Plus, Owen loves it when I can open the windows for him.

Walking. I started out doing it as training for the Avon Walk and was reminded of how nice it is to get places under your own power and how much more of the city you get to see when you walk it. And it means I'm driving less, so I'm saving money on gas and reducing my contribution to the air pollution problem. It's good thinking time, too. Though honestly, if I didn't keep myself busy with things like school and fundraising and writing music and whatnot, I'm pretty sure I could think myself into being schitzophrenic. So it's a good thing that I stay busy.

Quality time in my apartment. Now that I have cleaned and reorganized some, I enjoy being at home. I like where I live.

Yeah, so those are some of the good things in my life right now. I know there are more (i.e. family and friends), but I need to remind myself of the little, immediately accessible things from time to time.

They have those little sensor thingies on cars now that let you know when you are getting close to the cars on opposite sides of you while parallel parking. While I think they are super groovy, I would like someone to invent a similar product for people. I would go so far as to say 95% of the population has no awareness of themself in space. Yes, they are aware of the fact that they have arms and legs and stuff, but they have no idea where those appendages are in relation to anything surrounding them. For example:

I went to see Sander spin this weekend. I love watching him spin. He picks such great records and he really loves what he does. His smile lights up the whole room. It really is a joy to watch him work. However, the venue where he spun on Friday night was the worst club I think I have ever been to. Geographically, it was laid out to make the sound suck ass. And it was filled with meterosexuals and the women who love them. Everywhere I looked, there were a million guys wearing khaki pants and button-down Oxford shirts, properly zujed at the sleeves, unbuttoned to about nipple depth, with WAY too much product in their hair. And they all had the attitude that everyone there -- not just the women, but everyone there -- should fall in love with them on sight and if they didn't, they weren't worth spitting on. And then the women -- mini-skirts with pink bows, tiny tops that you can't wear a bra with, pastel eye shadow and sparkly lip gloss, bopping back and forth ever so gently in the hopes that some guy will see them shake their petite little ass and want a piece of that because these boys are so dreamy! (Sorry, I got a little carried away there.) I felt like a total outcast because I was clothed. But anyway, I focused on Sander and danced my little heart out because I really do love it when he spins and I tried not to pay attention to the people around me. Which eventually proved to be impossible. It wasn't so much the neverending stream of people walking from the bar at one end of the room to the bar at the other end of the room by way of the middle of the dance floor. And it wasn't so much the guy with porn star sunglasses who slammed into my shoulder and proceeded to unbutton his shirt completely so he could stand where fucknut was dancing, all the time saying, "My bad, man." It was the guy who insisted on dancing with both hands in the air with such abandon that he whacked me in the head. Twice. And the girl wearing stiletto heels who decided it would be a good idea to get on her friend's back and do a donkey kick. Into my thigh.

I understand that often times, when people go to concerts such as this, they are in an altered state of mind. That's fine. But in such crowded conditions, I don't care how fucked up you are, pay attention to where your limbs are and please try to make sure that they are not trying to overtake a bit of space already occupied by another person's eye.

Maybe if people were equipped with proximity sensors, this would cease to be an issue.

I'm kind of trying to take steps towards being a girl. Or, more girly than I have been in the past umpteen years. For example, today, after my five mile training walk and trip to the organic fruit and vegetable store, I took a shower and put on shorts. Yup, you heard me. Shorts. I've spent the entire day in shorts. Barefoot, too. Granted, I haven't left my house, but I think it is a step in the right direction. The only question becomes will I still like myself when I'm a girl? I guess if I don't, I can always go back to my corduroy pants.

Is it possible that that is all there is? And if so, how sad is that?

I think it is sort of a requirement that if you have a strange name, you have to become famous in some sense. If it is a weird last name, then it is okay for just one person in your family to become famous, but someone has to. Why? So you don't have to spend your whole life explaning to people how your name should be pronounced. "Hi, my name is Mark Grudzielanek." "What?" "Grudzielanek." "What?" "Smith." No, if you're famous, you tell one interview or television station or something how to pronounce your name and they tell everyone else for you. It's a convenience, really.

So if you find yourself the proud owner of a particularly odd name, just get famous. People will stop bugging you about it.

So Sander Kleinenberg is spinning tomorrow night. I, of course, plan on going after my Bowling for Boobs gig. And, silly me, I just remembered that Sander is...ready for this?...drum roll please...DUTCH! Yup, born and raised in Holland. How stupid would I look trying to speak to him in Dutch? "Ik houd van de manier u verslagen spint." "Dank u. Spreekt u het Nederlands?" "Nr, meer ik wil leren." And voila, I'm an idiot. Why? For trying my Dutch unannounced on some total stranger who also happens to be the recipient of countless international awards for his work. Does that look like I'm hitting on him? Yes. Am I? Not necessarily. I wouldn't be opposed to hitting on Sander Kleinenberg, but that wouldn't be my intention. It's not every day I run into somebody who speaks Dutch and whenever I learn a new language, I always get this sneaking suspicion that they are teaching me the wrong words. So I'd like to try out my Dutch on someone to see if he gives me a really weird look or if he actually understands what I am saying. And to say to him, "I love the way you spin records," seems pretty harmless, yes? I could just be a fan. Granted, I'll probably chicken out, but regardless, Sander is spinning tomorrow which makes me insanely happy. And he's Dutch. I knew I liked him for a reason.

Happy birthday today to fucknut and Owen. Or as they say in Holland, gelukwensen mit uw verjaardag.

I'm so proud of myself. I picked up a younger man last night.

So I'm walking to class, right, and as I'm crossing the street, I see a guy standing on the corner wearing a Moby t-shirt. So as I get close enough, I say in a very off-handed, casual manner, "I like your shirt. Moby's cool." And we ended up walking about four blocks together (city blocks, mind you), talking about music and stuff. He's a sophomore at the university where I work, which I'm guessing would make him about 19. Maybe 20. And it was good conversation -- not too serious, not too frivolous. And at the end of the walk when he had to go do what it was he was out walking to do, he introduced himself to me. I always take that as a good sign when the other party feels the need to introduce him/herself. I started the conversation and now he would like to make sure we know who the other person is. We didn't exchange any contact information or anything, but I was all proud of myself for talking to a stranger, for kinda picking up a younger guy, and for being cool enough that I think he had a little crush on me by the time we parted ways. Yes, I am sad and goofy like that, but I was proud of myself. So there.

I always get this strange fear after I create something that it will be the last thing I create. I remember even after I wrote my first song, thinking to myself, "Wow, I've created something and I'm spent. I'll never write another song again. 'That's What You Get' will be my contribution to the world of music." Because when you make something, when you create something artistic, your entire mind and heart and body and spirit go into the creation of it. It is a release of everything you have inside you at that particular moment in time and frankly, it's exhausting. You're spent. And you think (or at least I do) that you won't be able to do it again, or that if you do, it won't be as good.

But what I have come to realize is that I will create more things. I am an artist in my own right. I will do more plays, I will do more films, I will write more songs, I will try yet again to draw a picture that doesn't look like something my almost-one-year-old honorary nephew spit up. As good as I am at math and science, and as much as personality tests and whatnot try to tell me that I should be an accountant or something like that, I am an artist. I create. I feel the need to, so I do it. And I have surrounded myself with enough tools that I can create whenever I need to. Wow, I just started a sentence with a conjunction and ended it with a preposistion. I should be fired for that. But it's my style! That's how I write! I'm an artist so I can do that!

The song I wrote last night was running through my head all morning on the train. I don't think I'm done with it yet, and the more I work on it, the more I like it. I think my theater friend will like it too, because it kind of does but kind of doesn't sound like the rest of my stuff. And I'm kind of proud of myself (in a really weird way) because it utilizes a boatload of bar chords. Power chords, if you will. And it is kind of bitter, kind of uplifting. I intend it to be a power song, so power chords are appropriate, I think. I'm excited for people to hear this one. When I'm done with it.

I'm sure I looked like an idiot, buying an eight dollar package of guitar strings with a credit card. I felt like I should apologize to the guy -- "I don't get paid until Friday and I'm desperate to play." But I didn't. I just bought my strings and went on about my day. And it's a good thing, too, because I think I finished a song. I can't decide yet what the title should be. My working title was "Not a Girl," but now I almost want to call it "Man of the Year." Yeah, kind of a switch, I know, but since when do my titles ever make sense?

And I think I have some new readers. Or, if you're not new, at least I just found out about you recently. So hello. Welcome. Feel free to poke around in the archives and visit some of the neat little things linked over on the side there. Especially the Avon Walk stuff.

Ugh, long day. Lots to say and not much time to say it, so I'll just leave you with these two little tidbits for right now.

1. As per usual, the universe provides. Thanks.
2. Everyone in the world would be much happier if they ate more vegetables. Veggies just make everything better.
3. I love the Chicago Cubs.

Okay, that was three things, but I'm feeling better today than I have been a while. Interesting developments over the weekend that I will tell you about later when I have more time. I've bumped up my raw/straight vegetable consumption and it makes me feel good. As does baseball. And as we all know, win or lose, the Cubs are the best team in baseball. You don't fall in love with a team or a ballpark the way Cubs fan love the Cubs and love Wrigley Field. I'm glad the season is officially open. Regardless of their record, I plan on watching/listening to a bunch of games this year.

So yeah, life is okay as long as there are vegetables, baseball, and faith in the universe involved. Fortunately I have all three today.

I think what we all need to remember is that the Presidency is a job, just like any other job, except your job review comes around every four years instead of every year. And if you have not performed your job well, you should be fired. You should not be given another four years to continue to do a bad job.

If you were the CEO of a company, and you plunged that company into a record deficit, you would be fired. If you were the CEO of a company who made choices that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of your employees, you would be fired. If you were a CEO who made choices that would result in your office building no longer having a good ventilation system or clean running water, you would be fired. If you were a CEO who refused to listen to what your Board of Directors was telling you, you would be fired. The man currently holding the title of the President of the United States has done all of those things and more. He has plunged our country into a record deficit. He has made choices that have resulted in the deaths of hundreds of Americans and thousands of Iraqis. He is pushing for legislation that rapes our environment and will ensure that our grandchildren won't have beautiful national forests to visit when they go on vacation with their families. He has publicly stated that he doesn't care what the people say because they don't know what is best for the country because they don't have all of the information, yet he refuses to give us even a hint as to what kind of information we are lacking. And his job review is coming up in November. It's high time he was fired. He has wreaked so much havoc upon our Constitution in the last three and a half years, why the hell should we give him another four to pervert it further? It's as simple as that.

I feel the need to clarify.

I wrote an entry the other day, I thought, about my frustration with the fact that because I am so unhappy with so many other things in my life right now, the old thoughts I used to have about my physical appearance started creeping back into my head. It seems, however, that I actually wrote an entry about the need to go on a diet. This was not my intention. I have received several e-mails from you, my beloved readers, offering diet advice. And while I love to hear from you, my beloved readers, that's not what that entry was supposed to be about. It was an admission of the fact that my mental resolve is somewhat weakened right now because there are a lot of things in my life that I wish were different, i.e. my job, etc. I don't want to go on a diet. I don't want to become obsessive about working out. And even thinking about my weight turns me into a bitter, cranky, depressed person. So I don't want to think about it. I don't want it to even be an issue. It's the same as if I were to rail on how ridiculous it is that our current government wants to ban gay marriage. In such an entry, I would not be saying that I want to marry another woman, just that I think the politics are goofy. I don't want to diet; I think my own thought processes are goofy. Dig?

So thank you all for your concern. Thank you for the little reminders that you think I look great, but that you are there if I want/need dieting advice. I don't. I want it to not be an issue, so I am going to work on loving myself no matter what my pant size is. And I honestly believe that if I don't think about it, I'll be fine. The human body is an amazing thing that takes care of itself really well.

I, to this day, don't understand why they call it Good Friday. I understand that Jesus died for our sins and whatnot, but especially after seeing The Passion of the Christ, I have a really hard time seeing what is so good about this particular Friday. They were really cruel to him. By which I am not intending to place blame on one particular group of people or another, but rather on the specific people who beat him and whatnot. I don't know if you've seen Mel's film or not, but it's pretty gruesome and the guys doing the whipping and whatnot are being really cruel to Jesus. That's all I'm saying with that. And because of that, I have a hard time seeing why this should be called Good Friday. Black Friday, maybe. Or Red Friday. Yeah, his destiny was sort of fulfilled, but it was a really horrid destiny. The good stuff doesn't really happen until Sunday.

Yes, I realize I am sounding ignorant in the ways of religion. Maybe because I am. But I will say that I have noticed that historically, we seem to have really nice weather on Good Friday. Proof or coincidence, I don't know. Either way, I hope you all get to go outside and enjoy this lovely Friday that commemorates some really horrible things that happened a long time ago.

I had a really horrible thought yesterday. I thought I should go on a diet.

I know, I know, I've been going on and on for the longest time about how I think I look good and stuff. And about how it shouldn't matter that I'm not built like a lollipop, it's about talent and how much you love people and how much they love you and all that rot. But I had a moment of weakness and thought I should try to lose some weight. Honestly, it wouldn't kill me. Then again, the few pounds it wouldn't kill me to lose won't kill me if I keep them, either.

I'll tell you what sparked the whole thing, though. I heard about a role in a film that I want. I have not yet seen the script, but it is by a director/writer who I worked with before and I really like the way he writes. And preliminary reports say that this script is better than the last one I worked with him on. And the lead female is...drum roll please...a rock star. Yeah, I heard about this while I had my guitar slung around my neck. I made very loud "ahem" type sounds in the direction of the guy telling me about the script (who is tight with the writer/director and who also worked on the last film I worked on with this writer/director) and he said he has been trying to sell me to the writer/director for this role for the last six months. And part of me says I have this in the bag. I've worked with him before. He knows what I can do. He knows I will give this role everything I have and he knows I can do it standing on my head with one hand tied behind my back. Plus, I am a rock star. I have a fourteen track demo CD that I can give him, I'm working on about five or six new songs (I need to learn to take pen and paper with me when I'm walking or a little tape recorder or something because I keep coming up with lyrics and melodies that I half-forget by the time I get home to my guitar. I am at least able to retain the basic premise for most of the songs, it would just be easier if I recorded my ideas from the get-go instead of trying to recreate them, you know?), any of which could be turned into rock songs with the right producer. Well, not any of them, but enough of them that he could use them in this film and not have to worry so much about buying rights and stuff. Plus, if he used my music in his film -- exposure for me! Yay! Assuming this film is completed in a timely fashion. But I digress. This would be a great role for me and I am 95% sure I could get it. That 5% is comprised of the two wild-card factors that are so undisputable that if I don't have them locked, I won't get the role. First is my chemistry with the lead male. It is a romantic comedy, so I have to work well with the lead male. Granted, if they really really loved me in this role, they might cast him accordingly instead of the other way around, but I think that's kind of stretching it. And let's face it, if I don't mesh with the lead male, there's really nothing I can do about that. And the other factor is my physical appearance. If they don't think I look like a rock star, oh well. Which is what brought me to the weight loss thing. I have a nice face with fantastic big eyes. Hair can be styled, but ever since I discovered a blow dryer, I have that nice, straight bob type thing going on. It's a sassy cut. It could work for a rocker. Or I could grow it out longer and look like Liz Phair or something. Tee hee. And I have really nice legs. Very shapely. A great rack. It's the middle section that is a problem. I'm not a stick and a lot of the rock stars out there are, let's face it, twiggy. So I was thinking that if I dropped some weight, the only real thing I would have to worry about as far as getting this role or not would be my chemistry with the lead guy.

But thinking that I needed to keep track of every calorie I injested, even just for one day, turned me into this horrible, bitter, grumpy, angry person. I spent way too much time doing that in my youth and it made me miserable. And, I think, one of the things that makes me so charming is the fact that I am comfortable with who I am. There are so many other things in my life that are frustrating me right now; why on earth would I actively pursue something knowing it is going to make me miserable? I don't need that right now.

Granted, I probably eat too many peanut butter filled pretzels from Trader Joe's. Because they are laced with crack. So tasty. Okay, I can cut back on that. And it wouldn't kill me to eat more veggies. But I'm not going to count calories or fat grams or carbohydrate grams or anything else like that. I'm going to continue to eat when I am hungry and I am going to continue getting exercise. And I just might e-mail that writer/director to let him know that I am interested in at least seeing the script. But I'm not going to subject myself to a starvation diet in the hopes that I might one day get a role. I'm done with that phase of my life.

Welcome to Miss Kitty's Wonderful World of Bitterness!

Please keep in mind as you read the following entry that it is not directed at anyone in particular, but more a result of this pseudo crisis of faith I am currently experiencing. Should you have any doubts or concerns, my dear readers, may I invite you to peruse the archives section of this journal, specifically entries from approximately one year ago. You will see that I have a pseudo crisis of faith just about yearly in the spring. And I always come out of them okay, just like I will this year. So now, if you are ready for a little bitterness, read on!

It is kind of sad that we live in a culture that celebrates absolute stupidity. By which I mean take a look around at the number of people who are famous for being dumb. Are these people you would trust your children with? Hell, your children could probably teach these people a thing or two. And before you all berate me for being overly judgmental, let me put the disclaimer on here that I have never met any of these people personally, so I am unaware of the charming, redeeming qualities that they undoubtedly possess. However, their images in the media protray them as idiots. Don't believe me? Don't see it? Watch the Newlyweds. Pick up a copy of the Bushisms day-by-day calendar. The sheer ignorance displayed by these people in the media is sickening, and what is even more irritating is that we, as a culture, love these stupid people. We love seeing men get hit in the nuts. We thrive on home videos of people falling down. What is it about stupidity that is so appealing? Why the hell are there so many reality TV shows?

Yes, I am being bitter, ranty, and judgmental. Part of it is in fun. Part of it is to blow off some steam. I see a lot of very intelligent, talented people around me who just can't make it work for one reason or another. And then I turn on the television and see morons trying to sell me dish detergent and it makes me sad. I'm sorry, but it does. I don't know if it was ever this way, but if it was, I'd like to go back to a time wherein intelligence, creativity, oration, and talent were celebrated instead of idiocy.

Or maybe I've just lost my sense of humor.

Work is, admittedly, much easier to stomach when I have things to do. We've finally met regarding the website I started designing for my office over a year ago. And now that I have some suggestions for things to do with it, I can actually start doing them. It's cool. Sort of exercises my creative side.

But I need to get out of here. I'm ready to move on to the next installment of my life. One wherein I am happy as a productive member of society, not a paper-pusher. I heard about another film that I would be perfect for the lead in and I'm tempted to e-mail the director (who I have worked with before) and let him know that I would do the film in an instant. Without having seen the script (only heard about it), I will do the film. If he wants me to. Keep your fingers crossed for me, would ya? I'm coming up on four years at this job and I said that if I make it to five, I'm jumping off the roof.

You know what else is good for the soul? Baseball. I never realize how much I miss baseball until I get the chance to watch a game again. I watched some spring training last night and it was so good to see my Cubbies in action. To watch them get through eight batters in the first inning, to start off with a nice lead. To watch them get tired as the game progresses. It will be nice to watch an actual game where someone like Maddux is allowed to pitch more than three innings. Where everybody is putting everything they have into the game. And I have to admit, in a really strange way, it did my heart a lot of good to see Maddux back in a Cubs uniform. And it is nice to know that he's still got it.

Hooray for baseball season. Though it is kind of scary that I am beginning to understand Ken Burns...

I think one of my favorite series of scenes in movie history is the series of scenes in Harold and Maude wherein Harold learns to play the banjo. It all starts with Maude saying, "Everybody should be able to make some music -- that's the cosmic dance," and she hands him a banjo and sets him to playing a few simple chords. By the end, boy and banjo are inseparable. And it is so true.

I played my guitar a lot last night. It is one of those things that kind of comes in spurts -- sometimes I'll play an hour every day for two weeks, then I won't pick the thing up for a month. I'm on an upswing of playing, I think. I came up with a couple of chord progressions that I want to play with some more to turn them into actual songs. And I'm learning a few new cover songs so the next time I get a chance to play out, I can play something people are currently hearing on the radio and perhaps they will sing along. But there is something so wonderful about making music. It truly heals your soul.

Go out and get yourself an instrument. Even if it is just a tambourine or a harmonica. I don't think there is anything more important that you could spend money on for yourself than a way to make music. It feeds your mind and soul and keeps you healthy. I wonder if there have ever been any medical studies done on musicians versus non-musicians to determine who is healthier or at higher risk for certain diseases. Probably not as a lot of musicians pump their bodies full of foreign substances that end up killing them. But I think it could be an interesting study. Apparently listening to music while you work out will make you smarter. Imagine all of the other curative properties music might have. Maybe that is why Keith Richards is still alive.

Watch out. I'm gonna be girlie for a minute.

For those people who think that shampoo is shampoo is shampoo, I would like to offer up proof that this is, in fact, not the case. I have found what I believe to be the best shampoo in the world.

I've used this shampoo before -- it was actually the first vegan shampoo I tried. But then, sadly, the store where I purchased it lost contact with their distributor and I was forced to try other vegan shampoos. And while those other shampoos were fine, I missed my first vegan shampoo. So every once in a while, I go online and look around for it. It's not easy to find, but I finally found it and ordered some. A couple of bottles so I won't run out for a while. And lemme tell you, the difference between my hair today and my hair yesterday is amazing. It doesn't look all that different -- still shiny and stuff. But when you run your fingers through it, you are convinced that this is what hair should feel like. Light, soft, smooth. It felt good yesterday, too, but this is a pretty remarkable difference. I've always known that I have great hair. I was actually upset once when I didn't get a role in college because this other chick supposedly had better hair than I and there is some line in the show about what great hair she has so that's what they based their decision on. Even though she couldn't act her way out of a box. But anyway. I digress. I have great hair, and a lot of it. But using this particular shampoo, well, I feel almost invincible, my hair is so good. I wish I could do commercials for this company, I like their product so much. All organic, completely vegan friendly, smells really nice, does things to your hair you didn't know a shampoo could do. If you have the means, I highly recommed picking up a bottle. Or two. It looks like they are on sale today. And get the matching conditioner, too. It's really lovely.