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

DUN DUN DUUUNNNN!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love this song.

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

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

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

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

Says the actor...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I feel like I should say something about the proposed partial-birth abortion ban that is in Congress right now, what with my becoming more political and so on and so forth, but I also feel like I should keep my mouth shut. But I’m not real good at that today, so here goes.

A partial-birth abortion sounds like a truly horrifying procedure for everyone involved. That being said, they are usually only performed when there are extenuating circumstances, i.e. the fetus is already dead, the fetus will die shortly after being born, to allow the pregnancy to go to term will permanently injure or kill the mother and the baby won’t live anyway, etc. The bill in Congress does not have in it a clause to make an exception to the ban on this procedure for medical necessity. Meaning that if a mother finds out her unborn child has hydrocephalus, there is no provision in the proposed bill to allow her to terminate the pregnancy and any doctor who agrees to perform the abortion for her could face up to two year in prison for ostensibly saving her life. This strikes me as wrong somehow.

I know that in a perfect world, all babies would be 100% healthy and would develop perfectly in the wombs of fit mothers who are prepared to love and support their children. But we don’t live in a perfect world. There are a million things that can go wrong with fetal development. Women get pregnant from being raped. Girls get pregnant from being raped. My point is that there is always an exception. There is always an extenuating circumstance that needs to be taken into consideration, which is why a flat ban on anything strikes me as a bad idea. Hell, even an outright gun ban – I think our military should be allowed to have guns. Maybe not machine guns capable of shooting through wrought iron, but pistols or rifles with bayonets on them. I think we would be a lot more hesitant to send our men and women off to war if we knew they would be fighting combat with bayonets as opposed to stealth technology. But I digress. There is always an exception to every rule and I am frightened and saddened to live in a country where those exceptions are not always acknowledged by the people in charge. Here’s hoping there is a regime change on the horizon.

So I think I have figured out exactly what it is that has had me in a funk for the past few days. Now I have to do something about it. I hate this part.

Michigan Avenue is a very interesting street.

Over the weekend, I was walking along one end of Michigan Avenue (well, not necessarily end. More of a section or area) where people only go when they want to buy things. Overpriced things. Things they will never actually use, but that will sit in their homes or places of business giving their owners a sense of posh-ness. Really, that’s all there is in that particular area of Michigan Avenue – stores. Stores selling everything anyone could ever possibly want and things that nobody ever really needs. I was there looking for a stuffed animal possum (case in point). It was kind of a trip.

And then last night, I was walking along another section of Michigan Avenue and it made me feel like a city dweller in that Euro-chic kind of a way. There I was, walking past the Art Institute and all of these various coffee shops and specialty stores, eating my apple, on my way to class. I felt very…trendy. But not in the icky way. Partially because I was wearing my glasses yesterday and I knew my hair was a mess and it’s really hard to feel icky trendy when you’re kind of feeling like a frump. But I felt very, I dunno, urban. Or something.

And then I saw him. I have no idea who he was, just that he was really cute. Light brown hair cut short. Denim jacket. Jeans. Funky sneakers that said, “I just jumped out of Trainspotting. Do you have any swag?” Carrying a black portfolio under one arm. Walking with purpose. Ears that stuck out just a little. He had an air of veganism about him, but that could have just been me. And we were walking in the same direction down Michigan Avenue; first him in front of me, then me in front of him for about three blocks. I had three opportunities at three different stoplights to say to him, “I don’t know if anyone has told you today or not, but you are a very attractive person,” and I didn’t take any of them. He even went into the same building as me. He took the elevator, I took the stairs. On the second floor (my destination), the elevator door was open and he was saying to the other passenger, “Yeah, five is where I’m going,” and he had a hint of an accent. Maybe Scottish, which would have made sense with the Trainspotting garb and the walk and the hair and the perfect skin. And that was it. That was the last I saw of the cute Scottish boy (who will, from this day forward be referred to as the cute Scottish boy). My friends in class gave me shit about him and about not talking to him when I had so many opportunities, but in all truth, I think its better this way. Now he can live in my imagination and be vegan and be artistic and sleep in a t-shirt and boxers and wake up all groggy until he gets his coffee and cigarette (though if he was a true vegan, he wouldn’t smoke because there is a pork by-product in cigarettes) and he has a mouth like a sailor and is short with his affections but is also my great good friend and a fantastic lover. If I actually met him, he could be a punk skinhead who tortures dogs for fun. I don’t know. But I kind of like the fantasy.

Is that weird? Do you ever do that? Build a fake life around someone you see walking down the street?

I would like to say for the record that I am not a stalker. I have never been and I never would be. We’ve been over this before. And if cute Scottish boy happens to be out there reading this right now, my apologies if anything I have said makes you uncomfortable. I’m just having a bit of fun, though I do find you to be very attractive. I don’t expect anything from you and I will not hassle you. But some part of you has now been incorporated into my imagination and once my imagination has you…well, there’s no telling what will happen in my head. I assure you, it will stay inside my head. I hope you have a lovely day and I wish you luck in your studies. Maybe I’ll see you again on Michigan Avenue and not talk to you.

If there was ever a day to be outside making music, it is today. It is warm and sunny and breezy and the trees are beautiful colors and there is a really wonderful feeling to the air. Today is a day to go outside and let your voice mingle with the sound of the leaves and float up through the clouds to some far away place where a stranger is suddenly reminded of the beauty that exists all around for no discernable reason. Today is a day to pump good things into the universe.

And I have to go to class tonight.

Admittedly, it makes me sad how little he knows me. I don’t think I am that hard to figure out. And especially in his case – everything that you believe in and hold dear, I believe the opposite. I don’t think it’s that hard. Well, maybe not everything, but a lot of the big things. And foisting your beliefs on me is not going to make me agree with you. If anything, it will only increase the rift between us.

I wonder how much of it is my fault. I know at least some of it is. I know there are things I don’t tell him, largely out of fear. The things that I do tell him about, I am judged very harshly on, which makes me hesitant to say more. And sometimes, I’m just at a loss. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know how to share my beliefs and feelings in a non-threatening way with him. I keep my tone low and even. I preface all of my statements with “I think” or “I feel” and they are still interpreted as attacks on his belief system. I don’t know what else to do.

I dunno. Maybe I’m just moody or PMSy or something. I know he loves me the best way he knows how. And I hope he knows that I love him the best way I know how. I just wish we were more in tune sometimes, you know?

Hate is such a strong word. In general, I don’t hate things. I think it is a destructive and self-indulgent emotion. I don’t even hate Fucknut. Well, I did, but only for about four days and then it passed. It just takes too much energy to hate. I’ve always said that indifference is much more painful to the target than hatred because hatred involves passion and still means that a lot of energy is focused on the target. Indifference is just a cold nothing. But to truly, truly hate something, one must spend a lot of time and energy focusing bad thoughts and bad karma at said target. And in most cases, it’s just not worth it.

But I hate the Florida Marlins, and I will for the rest of my life. I wish bad things on them. I hope that when they all got home, all of their dogs yakked on all of their carpets and leather sofas. I hope that they all suffer from bouts of impotence for the rest of their lives. I hope the Yankees kick their asses so hard they can’t take a dump until Christmas.

I know it is just baseball. I know it is just a game and in the grand scheme of things, it is really not important. I know that it is wasted energy to hate the Marlins. But they broke the hearts of millions of people over a silly game of baseball. Millions of people couldn’t sleep on Wednesday night. Millions of people didn’t feel like eating all day Thursday. Millions of people shed millions of tears and went to work like zombies the next day. Millions of people are depressed and useless because the Marlins missed the memo that this was the Cubs’ year to do something right. And we tried so hard to do something right this year. We tried so hard, which is why it hurts so badly. It hurt to drive past Wrigley yesterday. It hurt to see a guy wearing a Cubs jacket. It hurts to see all of the signs still in store windows reading “Next year is here!” and “Go Cubbies!” It hurts to know that the Cubs were so disappointed after losing on Wednesday that they wouldn’t even come out and wave to us, even though the entire ballpark was chanting “Cubbies! Cubbies! Cubbies!” while the Marlins flaunted their victory in front of thirty-nine thousand fans with broken hearts.

So for the pain and suffering that they have inflicted on millions of Cubs fans all over the country, I will hate the Florida Marlins for the rest of my life. May they spend the rest of their days reeking of donkey urine.

Okay, boys, you can do this. I’m serious. Stop laughing. It’s not over. You have the home field advantage. You have Wood on the mound. You have an entire city, hell, half of the country behind you. We all want you to go out there and play a good game of baseball. Preferably one that ends with a score of about 11-0 in your favor.

But in all truth, we love you. We always have. We always will. That is what being a Cubs fan is all about. We have loved you and followed you through 95 years of agonizing defeats; we will continue to follow you through 95 more. At least 95 more. So really, if you don’t win this game, we’ll be proud that you made it this far and that you put up a great fight. And we’ll still pack Wrigley Field next year and cheer our hearts out for you. Because you are the Chicago Cubs – the greatest baseball team in the world. Even if you never win.

So go out there and play a good game. Have fun. Relax. Do what you do best. You’ll do a great job. We have faith in you. And we’ll all have Marlin for dinner.

I listened to 18 on my way in to work this morning and it almost made me weep, which is oddly enough, exactly what I needed to feel today, though I’m not sure why. It is kind of an icky rainy day (that better clear up for the game tonight, gosh darn it) that makes you wish you could stay home and try out your fun new mugs that have these little contraptions that fit inside the mugs into which you can put your loose tea and then you just pour hot water into the mug and your tea steeps for you and then you take out the little contraption and you have your nice hot freshly brewed tea with minimal mess though you’d still have to venture out to get some loose tea because the only tea you have is still way too uptight for that kind of thing, thank you very much, but I’ve never been to a tea wedding so how frustrating would it be to have to wait for my tea to get married before I could enjoy some loose tea? Because as we all know from the bajillion pieces of spam we get every day, housetea gets really horny when it’s husbandtea is away and housetea is the best kind of loose tea because it’s not about commitment, it’s about tea and the pleasures associated with the consumption of tea and housetea is all about being consumed.

Man, how on earth did I go from being sad and dreary to tea porn in the same paragraph?

So a little bit of unpleasantness that I feel compelled to share with you this morning, if for no other reason than to dispel any beliefs you may have about my superhuman abilities. I am, after all, just a person.

So I wake up late this morning. Usually, I take the train to work on Mondays so then I can take the train to class and then home, but I woke up way late today, so I decided to drive in. Perhaps not the best choice, but at least it got me here at something resembling a decent hour. This is important to note because the unpleasantness occurred while I was driving. As in, had I taken the train, there would have been no unpleasantness and you all could have gone on forever thinking I should be the next Marvel Comics superhero. But alas, I must sully my own image in your eyes because of an act as seemingly benign as driving in to work today.

The expressway entrance that I use on my way in to work when I drive is a source of much frustration for me. It is a one-lane piece of road that drivers inevitably turn into a two-lane road, ostensibly making a big mess out of everything and delaying many many cars behind them from getting to their jobs in a timely fashion. I have gotten in the habit of driving right smack down the middle of the one lane to try to discourage people from pulling up next to me, forcing us to merge later on down the line. I’m not always successful, but it pisses me off that some people are so impatient that they would rather try to run you off the road than wait the extra three seconds behind you on a one lane road. Maybe it’s just me and yes it is something I should learn to deal with and just get over, but this entrance ramp pisses me off.

So this morning, I’m driving down the center of the lane and it looks as if I have succeeded in encouraging those behind me to realize that this is, in fact, a one-lane road and if we all just wait our turn like civilized persons, we will all get onto the expressway in a safe and timely fashion. Until Mr. SUV decides that he’s too cool for that. This guy in a white SUV comes flying up on the right hand side (which, to our European friends might not seem like a big deal, but passing on the right-hand shoulder in the United States is, I believe, illegal, or at the very least, frowned upon) and sits right next to my car. I stay close to the car in front of me, displaying the universally accepted language for, “Fuck off, you’re not getting in front of me,” just because I hate it when people do this. Mr. SUV does not back off. In fact, he starts inching closer and closer to my car as if to say, “I’m bigger than you, so if you don’t move, I’ll just run you off the road. I have no problem with that because I have a great lawyer who will argue that I had the right of way and you were interfering with my merging process and you’ll have to pay for the damage I inflicted upon my own vehicle.” So eventually, I let the rat bastard in. He did not signal. He did not even wave a thank you. He was chatting on his cell phone. So I gave him one of my fingers. The one which in some circles is considered offensive.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have given him a slightly less offensive finger. Mr. SUV presumably did not get to have morning sex with his wife or girlfriend and was therefore in a really pissy mood. He stopped his vehicle, told the person on the other end of his cell phone call to hang on, rolled down his window and proceeded to yell at me. Personally, I was more amused by this action than anything because yelling at someone who is in a vehicle with all of the windows rolled up and the radio on is, in fact, rather futile. I let him know that I could not hear him by playing my horn for him. He said his piece (and I’m sure then bragged about how he told off this crazy bitch who tried to cut him off on his way to work this morning to the person on the other end of his cell phone) and proceeded to crawl up the rest of the ramp before rocketing off onto the expressway.

Again, in retrospect, I kind of wish that I had gotten to talk to this particular man about my reasoning behind giving him the finger that I felt he deserved. I was not upset about him delaying my day by cutting in front of me. As we know, I was already late. What’s an extra minute? It was his rudeness. I drive a small vehicle. He drives an SUV (hence the name, Mr. SUV). First he intimidates and bullies me into letting him go in front of me by wielding his much larger vehicle and belligerent attitude. Not to mention the improper way in which he goes about getting around me. Then, by going in front of me, not only is he delaying my day (which isn’t really the issue as I passed him once we were on the expressway, but what if I had been in labor or something?), but he is obstructing my view with his mammoth vehicle (which I’m sure comes in handy when he is off-roading in the city). And to top it off, he does not use his turn indicators to notify surrounding vehicles of his intentions (probably couldn’t reach the switch what with one hand on his cell phone and all), nor he does offer a wave of thanks to show that he appreciates the fact that I gave in to his aggressiveness and just let him have his way (probably an only child). He was outright rude. And I hoped that by giving him a particular finger, he might stop to think about his actions and the way in which they effect the people around him. Well, he stopped, but I think self-examination might be a little bit beyond his grasp.

In summation, my bad for not wanting to give in to the socially accepted yet improper practice of passing on the right and bullying one’s way back into traffic. My bad for waking up late and driving in to work. And my bad for not using a different finger to communicate my dissatisfaction to this particular driver. But if we could all take a moment to consider our actions, especially when operating motor vehicles, maybe a lot of stupid accidents and whatnot could be avoided. Because in all truth, he cost himself more time than he would have had to spend if he had just played by the rules.

That’s all I’m sayin’.

So I started my tour of the Chicago City Park System today, right down the street from my house. I figured why not? It is absolutely gorgeous outside and there is no reason why I can't play outside in Chicago, too. So I went. It was fun. The people were supremely indifferent to my presence, but I had a good time anyway. I think it's good for me to play in public places like that. Helps me get over the playing in front of people thing. Gets me used to the absolute knowledge than people can hear me play. And nobody threw tomatoes at me, so I'm assuming I wasn't too horrible. And yes, there were a couple of picnics happening, so tomatoes were a very real possibility.

I consider it a good day when I get to use the word "moot" in regular conversation.

And one more random tidbit because it is painfully quiet here at work today and I need to keep my mind occupied somehow as I sit here at the front desk, for those of you in Chicago, WXRT's featured Friday artist today is David Bowie. So if you're sitting in your office and can turn on a radio, might I recommend WXRT. You're guaranteed to get some good tunes today.

So apparently, I am the kind of person who inspires people. It’s not something I would ever admit to, even if it was something I was readily aware of, but I guess in retrospect, it kind of makes sense. I remember a guy in college who dreamed of making movies, but declared business (or some such thing) as his major because it was safe and he would be able to make money at it. He eventually switched his major to film to pursue what he had always wanted to do and he told me on several occasions that he did it because of me. He saw the blind faith I had in myself to pursue theater even though I had no real background in theater (i.e. I wasn’t in any plays in high school) and was therefore inspired to a similar faith in himself. I always thought that was a really incredible compliment. And I have a couple of friends now who say they want to learn things or do things because they are things that I know or do and that look like so much fun. I don’t know how much follow through will happen on those things, but it is a really amazing feeling to have someone say to your face, “You have inspired me to do this.” I don’t know if anyone has ever said that to you or not, so you may just have to trust me. It is incredible.

So then one of my friends who has recently been inspired by me asked me in a kind of roundabout way who I am inspired by. I’ve been thinking about that for a couple of days and I think I have come to the conclusion that everybody, but not very many people inspire me. I know. That doesn’t make any sense. Yes it does. If you live in my head. Which fortunately for me, I do. Lemme ‘splain. No, there is too much. Lemme sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less a half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, and make our 'scape. After I kill Count Rugen. Sorry. I love that part. Anyway.

I am inspired by everyone who I meet in one way or another. The way they hold their coffee cup, the way they walk, the way they view life and the world around them, all of these things are fascinating to me. They make me reexamine the way I walk and the way I hold a coffee cup and the way I view life and the world around me. I am fascinated by the minutiae of human existence. I think it is all worth experiencing and knowing. Yes, it makes me sound like a crackpot sometimes because I notice things like my senior year chemistry teacher has the same hands as my mom or my one friend smokes like John Travolta or this one woman who dances in Chicago keeps her heart aimed above her partner’s head and I am assuming she must be difficult to lead because of that. I don’t know if other people notice these things, but I do and I’m glad that I do. They give me the ability to look at things from a million different perspectives and formulate educated opinions. I think.

But when it comes to people who make me want to learn a new skill or push myself beyond the limits of what I thought I could be, there are only a handful of those and as much as I’ve been trying to think of who they are, I can only come up with one who I know personally. Maybe two, but in my mind there is a difference between the two. One is a kind of learning partner; the other could almost be qualified as a muse. The others are artists of one sort or another of whom I only have peripheral or third party knowledge. Is that sad? Is that bad? Should I be inspired in that way by more people who I know personally, because I know a lot of really wonderful, incredible people? Will all of the people I know now be offended when they read this? Should I be actively seeking out more sources of inspiration? And probably the saddest of all the thoughts circulating through my head right now, is it worth pursuing relationships with people who don’t inspire me in this way? I think that is the only question I have an answer to right now – yes, it is worth it. There is always something to be learned from interpersonal relationships. But the rest of it…when I get stimulated, it’s almost frightening the stuff that comes out. Maybe it’s better for the sake of the rest of the world that my creative capacities are somewhat stunted.

Sweet jebus, I think I just saw my own head grow three sizes. I think I’m going to go read some comics now to kill off a few brain cells and feel normal again.

And thank you to those of you who have been inspired by me. I can’t think of a better compliment. I only hope that I can continue to live up to your expectations of me and I will do my best to do so.

Maybe the knowledge that I have that effect on people is what inspires me. Huh. Something to explore.

I'm going to be in a parade, too.

So I’m going to go to Europe. For real. I won this award at work that comes with a cash prize, so I’m feeling kind of rich right now and seeing as flying to Europe right now is dirt cheap, I’m going to go. I haven’t been in ten years, so I’m going to go. I’m going to see places I haven’t seen before. I’m going to stay with my dancer friend (who at least used to be) from Switzerland for a few days (but now he lives in Germany. That’s cool. I’d like to see Germany). I’m going to dance in England for a few days. I’m thinking about day/overnight trips to Paris and/or Dublin. My mind is awhirl with possibilities and I’m so excited about it, I can hardly see straight. It has been a long time since I have taken an extended vacation. It has been a long time since I have been able to monetarily splurge on something like this. And you know what? I deserve it. I have worked hard. No, I am not out of debt yet, but I am in good with my creditors and the end is in sight. I haven’t purchased anything besides necessities in a very very very long time and it is going to feel good to treat myself to some wonderful experiences.

Of course, I’ll come home wanting to move to Europe, but hey, some sacrifices have to be made. And yes, I will take my laptop with me so I can keep in touch with all of you while I am there. ‘Cuz I know I’m going to want to blog while I’m there. The trick will be balancing blog time with living time.

So then last night is kind of overkill. Verging on distasteful. Twelve to three? I mean, come one. Yes, it was fun to see the Cubbies come back and whoop the Marlins’ asses, but save some of the good stuff for later games when you’re really going to need it, huh, guys? I am glad they won, though. I feel much better than I did yesterday. And that one catch by I think it was Alou that turned into a double play – that’s the kind of thing that I like to see.

So here’s another thing that makes the Cubbies cooler than any other team. Most sports team names end with an “s.” I think there are only five or six professional sports teams that don’t have names ending in “s.” So whenever you write a sports team name, you have to do the apostrophe after the “s” to make it a possessive. Marlins’. Braves’. Astros’. And while grammatically this is all well and good, not everybody out there knows this rule of creating the possessive form of words that end in “s” and you get a lot of, “The Cubs kicked the Marlin’s asses.” Which irritates me to no end. Almost as much as people who “try and do” things. “I’m going to try and make it there, but if I don’t, please try and get me the handouts so I can try and keep up with the homework.” It’s “try to", goddamn it! “I’m going to try to make it there, but if I don’t, please try to get me the handouts so I can try to keep up with the homework.” Saying “try and” is repetitive. You can eliminate it from the sentence and it still makes perfect sense. “I’m going to make it there, but if I don’t please get me the handouts so I can keep up with the homework.” Granted, either form can be removed from the sentence, but to “try and do” something means you will do it. To “try to do” something means you will try. “And” and “to” are not synonyms. But I digress. With the Cubs, you can very easily differentiate between the plural and the possessive by switching to the familiar – Cubbies. Or maybe I’m just smoking crack. What? I’m happy that the Cubs are doing well. And it’s early. And I’m tired. And I really just wanted to bitch about the “and” vs. “to” thing for a little while. Lemme lone.

I think I’m going to be one of those people like Bono who always wears sunglasses. Daytime, nighttime, inside, outside, I’m always going to wear sunglasses. Why? Because these frigging contact lenses I have dry out my eyes something fierce and make it almost painful to be anywhere where air moves around my eyes. So I would not be wearing the sunglasses to be cool, I would be wearing them to act as a windshield. With fewer bug splatters.

You know, I respect the fact that everyone in our country (supposedly) has the right to his or her own opinion and has the ability to voice said opinion. I respect the fact that we get to elect our officials into office (the most recent Presidential election excepted). I do not respect anyone who voted for the Terminator in the California governor's race. Sure, I like him as an actor and I will continue to enjoy his action flicks for the rest of my life. Governing the state of California is nothing like making an action movie. Two completely different skill sets. And I'm sorry, but he's never even played a public official.

I guess the only comfort that can be taken in this whole situation is that they voted for him so now they have to live with their own decision. And when they start whining and complaining about the crap hole California has become, well, then the rest of us can just sit back with our popcorn and enjoy the show. I'm guessing it's going to be even more fantastical than Total Recall.

For a while there, I was feeling all groovy and urban about the fact that I now take the train to work two days a week. I’m saving gas, I’m saving money, I’m saving the environment, I’m losing twenty minutes of sleep and two hours of commute time every time I take the train.

I know, I should be proud of the fact that I am taking advantage of the wonderful public transportation system we have here in Chicago. But when it means I have to get up a half an hour earlier than usual (which turns into twenty minutes and I usually miss the train I really should be on and have to catch the next one) to stand on an el platform on a chilly October morning when it is supposed to get up into the mid-eighties by the middle of the day so I’m wearing a skirt with no pantyhose and debated with myself all morning about whether or not I should bring a jacket and I didn’t but as I’m standing there on the platform, I start to doubt that I made the wisest choice in the matter, I start to bargain with myself about whether or not I can spare the eight dollars to park downtown at school, environment be damned. Of course, I always opt for keeping my eight dollars, but the debate exists. Good thing this whole “school” thing is only for a year.

To be a Cubs fan is to relegate oneself to a life of disappointments. Every year, they get our hopes up and every year, they let us down. But we still love them more than we love our own mothers. Why is that? What is it about the Cubs that attracts the most loyal of fans? Do we love them because we are losers or are we losers because we love them?

It really is a bizarre phenomenon. Wrigley Field is always packed, no matter how badly the Cubs are doing. And even if we are second to last in the pennant race, we still have hope that we'll get there this year. What makes Chicago northsiders so optimistic?

We lost tonight in eleven innings. It was a nailbiter of a game. Literally. I don't bite my nails, but I was chewing on them from the top of the eighth until I got in my car to go home. And yes, I almost cried. Why? This is only the first game of a seven game series. We could still win it. Prior is pitching tomorrow, and Wood the day after. It could happen. But I was devastated tonight. It's stupid. It is dumb to get so worked up over a baseball game, but I do. I've been a Cubs fan since before I could walk and I have been waiting for them to get to the World Series that whole time. I don't know which is worse -- to have a season well under 500 or to get to the playoffs and not the World Series. This is pretty heartbreaking.

I know its dumb. There are so many more important things going on in the world than baseball. But for right now, my team, my Cubbies, the boys I grew up with and who I have loved dearly my entire life are doing well. I want them to continue to do well. We, as Cub fans, need to win the 100th World Series to prove that we aren't completely hopeless. We'll happily go another 100 years without making it to the post season if we could just have this one. For us, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And for us, it means a lifetime of disappointments. Why do we do this to ourselves? Because Wrigley has ivy.

Okay, so fake meat products.

I know a lot of people who have problems with fake meat products and they cite this as a reason why vegetarians and vegans are crazy. “If you want something that looks and tastes like meat, eat meat,” they say. And to a certain extent, I agree with them. If you want to eat chicken nuggets, eat chicken nuggets. Chik’n is kind of strange and takes a while to get used to. Anyway.

I went to this one wonderful vegetarian Chinese restaurant in New York that served things like General Tso’s chicken, but it’s not chicken, it’s a soy substitute. That kind of thing. I tried of piece of this fake chicken and it was almost identical to the piece of fake calamari I tried a few minutes before. In this particular case, the substitute for calamari was a better substitute, I think, because calamari is supposed to be kind of smooth and rubbery. Chicken is not. But I digress.

With a few notable exceptions, fake meat products are weird. I love Gimmie Lean. I like Yves fake turkey slices. And in some cases, TVP in sloppy joes or chili is really yummy, but TVP isn’t really trying to be meat. But a lot of other fake meat products are just strange. The texture is off. Which got me thinking. Here was an entire restaurant making a business out of selling fake meat products to people. Almost every vegetarian or vegan restaurant I have been to sells fake meat products to people. Perhaps in an attempt to make omnivores feel comfortable there? Or to give their patrons the ability to say to their omnivorous friends, “Yeah, well, I had a burger for dinner tonight, too, with coleslaw and mashed potatoes?” I kind of want to say, you know what? You’re vegetarian. Celebrate the fact that you are vegetarian by not eating fake meat products. Make for yourself nutritionally balanced meals that don’t involve fake meat products. Or better yet, open a vegetarian restaurant that serves nutritionally sound meals that do not involve fake meat products, to show people how much variety and how much fun stuff vegetarians and vegans can eat without having to resort to pretending to be omnivorous. Isn’t that kind of the point of being vegetarian in the first place? Getting your nutrients from sources other than animal sources? So why do we like to pretend we’re eating animals? Why not do interesting things with grains, legumes, fruits, and vegetables that don’t involve pressing them into patties and adding artificial smoke flavor so you think you’re eating a grilled hamburger?

I know, I know, for a long time people though that all vegans and vegetarians ate was red beans, rice, and salad. I’m not advocating that we only eat red beans, rice, and salad. Because, as we all know, you don't win friends with salad. But for instance, my brother gave me a Mediterranean vegan cookbook for Christmas last year that has a million dishes in it that are completely vegan and don’t require fake meat products. Really yummy things, nutritionally balanced. If we look to ethnic foods, we will find a lot more vegetarian and vegan options that already exist there without having to put forth the extra effort. Why not explore that more?

I don’t know that I really have a point here except to say that I understand people who make fun of veggies eating fake meat products. I’d like to see more non-fake meat product options in veggie restaurants.

This rant brought to you by the letter E, the number 7, and the fact that I made some really yummy risotto last night.

So I may have to be a pescatarian for a week. But I'll only eat Marlins.

The train was eerily empty this morning. I’m not sure if it is because of Yom Kippur or if it is because too many people were out partying last night celebrating the greatest thing to happen to Cubs fans in ninety-five years (in case you live in a cave, the Cubs beat the Braves last night and took the series, three games to two, marking the first time since 1908 that the Cubs have won a post-season series), but there was nobody on the train. I kept having to ask myself, “Is it really Monday today, or could I have stayed in bed a few more hours to sleep off that third beer?” But sadly, it is Monday. I’m not a big fan of Mondays. I used to kind of like Mondays because some really great dancing happens on Mondays in Chicago, but now I really don’t like them. Why? Because I have class on Monday nights which cuts into my dancing time. Granted, class is over before dancing actually begins, but what with travel time and so on and so forth, on Mondays I leave my house before 7:00 in the morning and don’t get home until after 10:00 at night. That makes for a long day and I am usually tired by the time I get home and I have problems motivating myself to go out and dance. Which sucks because I miss dancing. But on days like today when I only got about three hours of sleep the night before (though I wouldn’t have traded going out last night for the world. It was really incredible to be a part of the mob in the intersection of Clark and Addison and then to go into the bars in Wrigleyville and sing “Go, Cubs, Go” a million times and drink with other Cubs fans and whatnot. Some random guy bought shots for half the bar, just to celebrate the win (yes, I was a benefactor of his generosity). And everybody was smiling at everybody else. Everyone was everyone else’s friend in Wrigleyville last night. It was really amazing), it’s a little bit hard to wake up and face a long, slow day at work (because it is Yom Kippur so a lot of people are not on campus today) in a nice, warm office and then a long slow night in class and then think about going out dancing afterwards. Call me a wus. Maybe I’m just getting old. But I’ll still poke you in the eye if you tell me I have a case of the Mondays.

I think I have officially run out of interesting things to say, so I'll just give you a random smattering of thoughts for today.

It is really nice to see the Cubs in the playoffs. I wish that Harry Carey was still around to see it, though. And whether or not they win today, they made it to the playoffs and they have played a season of really good baseball this year. They should be proud of that.

I like being a hippie. But I still don't feel like cooking.

I want to be a rockstar.

I love seeing old friends and knowing that they are doing well. I don't like seeing old friends and knowing that they are not doing well. It makes me sad to know that there are some destructive patterns that people fall into that they can't or choose not to get out of.

I hope I will get to talk to him again. I disagree with my one friend who says he still likes me, but I hope that I will get to see him and talk to him again. He's a good person.

I'm tired of wearing contacts that dry my eyes out so badly.

If you eat a superior salsa on an inferior chip, does it lessen the worth of the salsa? If you eat an inferior salsa on a superior chip, does it lessen the worth of the chip?

I think pickles need to take a more active role in the daily lives of American citizens. Citizens of the world, as a matter of fact.

I hope Arnold Schwartzenegger is not elected governor of California. I can't really support that emotion, I just have a gut feeling that he is not the best man for the job. I'd rather see him make more action movies than run a state.

Weekends when I have class aren't really weekends and they always make me want to call in sick on Monday so I get my two days off like the rest of the world does. I could use two days off. Maybe if I had two days off in a row, I would feel like cooking.

Thank you. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

I had dinner with my mom last night and as we were talking, I remembered a kind of interesting moment I had when I was in New York.

First of all, I know I’ve said it before, but I think it merits repetition – I love my mom. I am thankful every day for the relationship I have with her. She is one of the most wonderful people I know. It was really lovely to just sit with her for a few hours and talk and drink cherry wine and eat fried rice. Not many people that I know get to do things like that with their moms, so I feel really lucky that I do.

But we got talking about body image and eating issues and whatnot – she did the Atkins diet thing for a while and of course, I’m a vegan. For a while there, we couldn’t eat out together. But it reminded me that while I was in New York was the first time in a long time that I have felt really heavy. Maybe because I was staying with a tall, slender hostess, but I felt heavier than I have in a long time. So many of my eating issues and body image issues have simply left me in the past year. I eat when I’m hungry and I eat until I’m full. I don’t waste hours upon hours counting calories anymore. I don’t obsess about a pound or two. I’ve actually gotten to a point where I can look at myself in the mirror as I am getting dressed in the morning and think that I have a really nice shape. I look like a woman is supposed to. I have breasts. I have hips. I am not now, nor will I ever be a size two and that is okay with me. I have gotten to the point where I like the way I look. I’m not going to just let myself go now – I’m still going to work out and eat right and stuff, but because it makes me feel good, not because I think I need to lose weight.

But the strangeness in New York happened when two of my friends (on separate occasions) made comments about what they had already eaten that day and how much they were “allowed” to eat later because of it. Like they were counting calories or fat grams or protein/carbohydrate grams or something. And it struck me that that is not a part of my life anymore. I wasted years counting calories and it never did me any good. I wasted a lot of paper writing down everything that I ate and all it did was make me miserable and give me something else to hate myself for. And I’m done with it now.

No, I am not a scrawny vegan. I don’t know that I ever will be. But I have been released from the obsessive/compulsive battle with my weight that so many women (and men, too, for that matter) are still fighting. I feel for them because I have been there and I know how all consuming it can be. I’m just tired of it. I want to wear pants that are comfortable and if that means they have a bigger number on the tag, then so be it. I would rather be comfortable in my clothes (and therefore comfortable being myself) than spend twenty minutes trying to zip up my jeans in the morning and the entire day sucking in my stomach. It’s just not worth it.

So my question is why is Novocain not an illegal narcotic? My jaw was pumped full of the stuff about two and a half hours ago and I still can't feel half of my face. Granted, she gave me a lot of it because I had three cavities filled (check out my shiny, silvery mouth!), but seriously. I can't feel half of my face. From my cheekbone to my neckline, nose to ear. It's kind of cool in a way. I have to make a conscious effort to not bite my own tongue, though. And I'm kind of getting to that "okay, that's enough of that, thank you" stage of drug usage. But I can see a bunch of young kids shooting themselves in various body parts with Novocain just to see what it's like and then doing crazy things like, I don't know, branding each other and stuff. "Did that hurt?" "No, man, I couldn't feel a thing. They had to rush me to the hospital once we started to smell burning flesh, but it didn't hurt a bit. And then at the hospital, they gave me morphine. Score."

Anyway, I like my dentist, pusher of should-be-illegal drugs or no. She's cool and she does good work. I look forward to going back to see her again in six months.

I can hardly think of a lovlier sound to wake up to than the sound of one's radiators turning on. And despite my penchant for sarcasm, I am not being sarcastic in this case. I literally smiled and said, "Hi, radiators," this morning when I heard them turn on. Because for once, this means I won't have to hastle my landlords to turn on the heat. For once, I will be cozy in my little apartment when it's all nippy outside and stuff. Yay radiators.

And I have all of this food in my house to make things with (soup, risotto, etc.) and I have absolutely no desire to cook today. Drat it all.

I had one of those moments last night where I found myself thinking, "If I was a rock star, this would be my life." I didn't go to work yesterday and I didn't go today. I'm still kind of recovering. Mentally. So yesterday was a day of shopping and practicing my guitar (new song is called "Astoria Park" and it went over pretty well. It's short, but it's really fun and it makes people laugh) and just kind of taking it easy. And then I called up a bunch of friends and said, "Hey, you wanna go out?" and they all did. So we went out to what we thought was going to be an open mic, but turned into a night of watching the Cubs kick the Braves' behinds (Yay Cubbies!) followed by the five of us sitting in a corner of the bar jamming on our guitars and singing. It was fun. Nice and low key. I wasn't at all nervous about playing. And this random guy came over with a harmonica and started jamming with us when he could. And I thought to myself, "What a rockstar moment. To be sitting here with some friends, enjoying a beverage, playing my guitar in a bar. If I really was famous, this is the kind of thing my fans would kill to see and the media would be all over. But I'm not famous. Yet. So this is really nice."

So thank you to my friends who came out last night and made me feel like a rockstar. I'll see if I can comp you all in to my first big Chicago show.

Another song using the word "ass." Well, every rock star has to have a gimmick, right?

One day...

I love New York. I don’t really know what else to say about it. I love New York. I think that at some point in my life, I will need to live here for a little while. New York just feels good. It feels right. It feels like I belong here. It is really strange for me to feel that about a city that isn’t Chicago and I think in my heart of hearts, I’m still really very much in love with Chicago so I couldn’t leave it right now. And maybe it is the newness or the foreignness of New York that I am attracted to, but it really is a great town. There is so much here going on and to see and to do. And I like the people. I think I would fit in, minus my “fashion sense.” Though if I wait until I am rich and famous to come here, I can walk around dressed the way that I do and it will be my fashion statement. People will be like, “Oh, that’s just the way Kitty dresses.” And all will be good. I’ll spawn an entire generation of little girls who wear green corduroy pants and black t-shirts. It could be worse. At least I won’t be encouraging them to wear chaps with bikini tops or anything.

But I don’t feel like I need to do everything here and see everything and go everywhere while I am here. I’m happy to just be here. Emphasis on the be.

I played my guitar in both Central Park and Astoria Park. And yes, I got a few strange looks from people, but most people just kept going as if I was your ordinary, average, run of the mill crazy person. I want to be your ordinary, average, run of the mill crazy person in New York. Not necessarily the guy who walks through the subway station at four o’clock in the morning saying “fuck” a lot. But the kind who just likes to play and will play anywhere she has a chance to.

I don’t even really know what I am talking about anymore. I have had a wonderful time here. I will be sad to go home tomorrow. I wish I had gotten to see Moby at Teany the other day. I hope maybe he will be here today. I have enjoyed seeing friends who I haven’t seen in a while. I have been very happy to get to spend some quality one-on-one time with some of my friends. I have been happy to watch groups of swing dancers interacting. I have danced. I have enjoyed excellent music and good food. I have given three New Yorkers a copy of my demo disc and have very much enjoyed the accolades and enthusiasm that has accompanied the giving of the discs. I finished working on a song that has been kicking my ass for a long time and I got some ideas for another one. I have had a wonderful, wonderful couple of days and I am now very sad that it is coming to an end. I will be very happy to be home where the water pressure in the show is good and where my cat will curl up and go to sleep with me. But honestly, if my cat was here, I would stay a lot longer. I think I need to live in New York for a while. Hopefully while I am still young enough to enjoy it. I understand the intense provincialism that happens in New York now. It is a really good place to be. It feels like home.

So despite all of my current physical problems, I made it to New York without a hitch. I left my hitch at home. I might need it later, so I'm a little bit bummed about that. But anyway, I'm here. And the kind of weird thing is that as I was flying into the city last night, I got this strange feeling of, "Oh, I'm home." And then on the way to the home of my lovely hostess, everything was familiar, even though it has been a year and a half since I was last here. Kind of cool, kind of creepy.

Anyway, I have to venture out and find some guitar strings because my high E broke and I can't very well tour the New York City park system without a high E.

I will be in New York by the time I go to sleep tonight, whether my body likes it or not. So there.

I got a really amazing compliment from one of my directors last night. We were doing a practice run-through of Floss! for the new cast members and to be honest, my heart was really only half in it. I didn’t want to be at rehearsal. I wasn’t finished packing; I wasn’t ready to leave my house and not come back for five days yet, you know? So the first walk-through, I marked it. But by the time we were doing the actual run-through on which the directors were taking notes, I was fully in character and ready to go. Doing my part and making sure the new people knew where they were supposed to be and whatnot. And at the very end of the show, I was filling this one Beboian in on something and I almost forgot that I had a line to deliver downstage left, so I kind of bolted to my position, said my line, and went back to the new Beboian. The one director erupted in laughter. I don’t remember how I said the line. I’m not sure how it looked, but apparently, it was funny.

So we finish the show, come down off stage and the director says to me, “You’re really funny. When did that happen?” Now, in order for that to sound like a compliment, you first have to know that I play kind of the straight character in this group. So many of the rest of the Beboians are so crazy go nuts that I decided my character should be more reserved, quiet, and focused on the dance. And this very same director pulled me aside once in my first run and told me that he and the other director really liked the choice I had made – it offset the other characters nicely. So now to have him notice that such a character can be comedic…well, it was a big deal to me. Plus, he had this newfound look of respect in his eyes. Or it was all the wine, I don’t know. But two other times while he was giving notes, he mentioned things that I had been doing on stage and expounded on them to say that I was so uninhibited and true in my Beboian-ness that I was really funny. I wasn’t me. I was Hacamba. Which I guess makes sense because I don’t really remember doing anything funny. I was just trying to do a good show. Like Hacamba would.

So yeah, that felt good to get that kind of praise from that director. He’s not one to dole out compliments freely, so to get the “you were honest and true and had some really wonderful moments as a result of that” compliment is really amazing.

So I heard a rumor that it is Banned Book Month, or something, and in honor of Banned Book Month, someone sent my office a copy of a book called It's Perfectly Normal. I can understand why it was banned by conservative religious types -- it talks about everything kids might want to know about sex. It covers masturbation, birth control, sexual abuse, sexually transmitted diseases, sexual preferences, artificial insemination, you name it, it's in this book. There are illustrations that show that everyone's body is different. There are illustrations of sexual positions other than missionary with the man on top. There are illustrations of homosexual couples kissing, hugging, and holding hands. There are illustrations of interracial couples. There are pictures of old couples. This book has it all. And I, for one, would like to applaud the authors for taking on these topics in such a straightforward, candid manner. Their whole premise is the title of the book -- it's perfectly normal. This book tells kids that it is okay to masturbate. This book tells kids that it is okay to have sexual thoughts and feelings about persons of the same sex and persons of the opposite sex. This book encourages kids to talk to someone they trust about sexual abuse. I think in addition to having these conversations with my kids, I'm going to buy them this book. It certainly handles things much better than the books I had when I was younger.

So hats off to the authors of It's Perfectly Normal. Your book is in very good company on the Banned Book List and you should take it as a compliment that your work has been deemed worthy of banishment. I hope that one day, if I write a book, it gets banned, too.

Warning: Moment of Weakness Ahead

Because I bet you a dollar he's not thinking about me. Hell, I know he hasn't wondered where I am or how I'm doing once in the past three years. So why do I do this to myself? Why do I see him everywhere? Why can I feel him nearby? Am I that desperate to get back what I once thought I had? God damn, I'm pathetic sometimes. And no, I have not been drinking tonight. I'd probably be more coherent if I had been.

I think the moment has passed. I'll post about monkeys or something in the morning to offset this little outburst. Sorry.

I've been having all of these strange dreams and feelings about him lately. Like he's nearby or going to show up somewhere unexpectedly or something. I know I've had these feelings before, but they are unsettling. They make me wonder what I would do if I actually saw him again. Would we speak? Would it still be there? Or would he just walk on by? I'm guessing the latter. And as much as I hate to admit that, it makes me very sad. I hate to think of things as being over forever. I don't like that sense of permanence. I don't like the idea that I could never again experience what I once did. And no, it probably isn't smart of me to sit and listen to "Lost Cause" on repeat as I think about these things, but I never said I was smart all of the time.

It's almost a need to see him. I don't know why this happens from time to time, but it does. I know I've written about this crap before. Maybe a year ago? Maybe because it was getting around this time of year three years ago that I saw him last? Like revisiting someone's grave on the anniversary of their death. Something did die. Nothing tangible. But something did die. Sometimes I feel like a widow; sometimes I feel like a divorce (I don't know how to add an accent mark to the e in Blogger). And then I stop myself and tell myself that I am being overdramatic, that it was never that big of a deal. But it was to me.

I almost wish it would happen -- that I would see him somewhere randomly -- just to get it over with, you know? We're both in kind of the same business; chances are I will see him again before I die. I hope I survive it if I do.

I will be in New York in two days. And I can't even tell you how insanely happy that makes me.

I want to write a song that makes one person at my concert weep.
I want to write a song that makes an entire room full of people jump up and down.
I want to write songs that make people feel something. For such is the power and the joy of music. And such is the duty of the musician.

Everything is better with hummus. Except soggy carrots.

So two of my favorite musical artists have very different opinions on the whole file-sharing/downloading music for free issue and I myself am kind of torn.

On the one hand, Moby is of the opinion that he doesn’t care how people are getting his music, as long as they are listening to it. He is disgusted that they are now prosecuting 12 year old children for illegal downloads. He also is probably still living off of royalties from Play and now with his restaurant doing so well, I’m guessing he doesn’t have too many money issues.

On the other hand, we have Liz Phair who was recently on Bill Maher’s show saying that basically, it is stealing and those persons who illegally download music are ripping off the artists. And she is a single mother who has not put out an album in five years, and the last album she did put out didn’t do so well.

And I’m torn on the issue. I think as long as I am a wannabe musician, I will be torn on the whole thing. Right now, I want my music to be heard. I don’t care how people listen to it; I just want them to listen to it. If that means free concerts or people copying the demo discs I have given them or paying me $20 for a disc, then so be it. Actually, at this point, I would feel a little bit guilty charging people for my disc because it is just a demo and really, they are doing me a favor by partaking in my art (this goes back to the whole “does art have inherent value or is it only given value through sharing it with others” debate). But then again, I have a stupidfey day job that pays my bills and keeps me overfed and whatnot. If my sole source of income was my music, I might be pissed off at people getting it for free, too.

Where I am right now in my life, I would like to be idealistic about this and say that I don’t think downloading music should be punishable by law. If I buy a CD and copy it for a friend, that is not illegal. If I have music that nobody else does and I make it available to people (my friends, perhaps) via the internet, that is illegal. It’s a fine line and one that I think needs to be defined better or erased entirely. My mp3.com site was created so that friends of mine overseas could enjoy my music easily instead of me burning them a disc and trusting that whatever shipping company (not the one that uses a certain color in its advertisements as I am still convinced that they are the servants of Satan) I employ does not lose or damage the CD in transit. I want people to hear my music. People want to hear music in general. And I do not think that they should be punished for wanting to broaden their musical horizons on a limited budget.

Or maybe I’m just a dirty hippie.

If I could count on one hand the number of friendships I have that are based primarily on a mutual love and quoting ability of The Simpsons, I'd be a mutant with, like, 87 fingers.

I’m going to bitch for a minute because I can and because I feel like it.

My office is located on the first floor of a three and a half story building. So naturally, everyone assumes that the receptionist on the first floor is the receptionist for the entire building. And the kitchen on the first floor is the kitchen for the entire building. And everything on the first floor is for the entire building. NOT TRUE. Our receptionist is our receptionist. Our kitchen (and its contents) is ours. And while we do not mind other people using our conference rooms (if prior arrangements have been made), we should not have to staff/set up/clean up after their meetings. Think about it: you go a private place of business to use one of their rooms. If your meeting requires food, you make those arrangements. If your meeting requires tech support, you make those arrangements. If you need copies of handouts for your meeting, you make them ahead of time and bring them along. You don’t tell your guests to “help themselves” to the coffee in the kitchen. And as a guest, you don’t go barging into the kitchen to help yourself. I don’t care how many times you have been there before; you don’t go barging into someone else’s kitchen and take their food/beverages. Granted, rental spaces will often have things like food service and tech support available, but usually at an extra fee and arrangements have to be made prior to the start of the meeting. You don’t show up one minute before the meeting is to begin and say, “Can you set up the equipment for me?” I actually had this conversation this morning:

Meeting “organizer” (at 8:29, in reference to an 8:30 meeting): Do you have a minute to show me how to work all of your equipment in there?
Me (knowing that there is WAY more “equipment in there” than she will need): What do you need set up?
M”O”: I’m not sure, really. What do people usually use when they come in for meetings?
Me: They usually either bring a laptop or a disc and we turn on the LCD projector for them.
M”O”: She just needs to be able to see the screen.
Me: Is she bringing a laptop?
M”O”: I don’t think she is bringing a disc. She’s bringing those papers that you can look at on the wall.
Me: For an overhead projector?
M”O”: I think so. I talked to the other lady who sits out here [who has only been here for two years and sees you on a daily basis and you still don’t know her name?] and she said there was one in there.
Me: Well, let me check and see what there is.

So I go into the conference room to search for the most antiquated piece of equipment in there, I find it, and it takes me a minute to set it up. During which time, the meeting “organizer” asks if a specific co-worker of mine might know how to set it up. A co-worker of mine whose office is quite visible from where we are standing and at this time of the morning is quite empty. I reply as nicely as I can, “She’s not here yet this morning.” To which, the meeting “organizer” replies, “oh,” sounding very disheartened.

We all know that I need to develop a greater tolerance for stupid people. And I know that I need to not let it get to me when other people take advantage of this department and the things contained therein. It’s just irritating to start your day with stupid people hassling you about things that could have been taken care of well in advance. And the icing on the cake? They didn’t even use the overhead projector.

There are days when I love my job. This is not one of them.

I know some people who claim to be anti-social. They don't know anti-social. They still crave the attention of people. They like to be anti-social in public. Their idea of being anti-social is going to some crowded place and not talking to anyone. That's not anti-social. A true anti-social person doesn't go out. A true anti-social person doesn't even call his or her friends to see what's going on that they could miss out on.

I have decided that I am the second variety of anti-social.

So if you were a bird doctor (and no, I don't mean a vet, I mean the local doctor that pigeons take their children to when they get the sniffles), I bet the biggest complaint you would get is neck strain. Because take a look at how birds walk. That can't be good for the spine.

There are times when I wish I was brave enough to say to that random hot guy on the train or walking down the street, “You are a very attractive individual.” That’s it. Not ask him out on a date. Not exchange contact information. Just let him know that he is a very attractive person. I think that would make someone’s day to have a sort of cute girl come up to you completely unsolicited and give you a compliment like that. But then I second guess myself and I just keep walking.

There are times when I think I should drink more than I do. Do you remember about a year ago, I decided to give up drinking entirely? And what I found was that I dream more when I’m sober? Yeah, well, my dreams are getting really weird and kind of exhausting. So I wake up tired even though I know I got some good sleep (because if you get to REM sleep, that’s when you start dreaming, and that’s the kind of sleep you should be getting, right?). Like last night, for instance. In my dream, I was telling people about dreams I had in the past, but then I woke up wondering if I really had those other dreams, or if I just dreamt about having those dreams? Because those dreams seemed really real, too. A dweam wivin a dweam. Or something. What it amounts to is an overactive imagination and a hankering for a dream-catching machine so I can show people some of the crazy shit that goes on in my head when my head is left to its own devices. Or a need to drink more so I’ll stop dreaming and get some rest.

I’d like to give a little shout-out today to my Bostonian guy friend. Because he rocks.

I think we all know that I am bad at asking for help. Asking for help means relying on someone else to do something for you and relying on someone else to do something for you greatly increases the chances that you will be let down. So I tend to try to do everything by myself.

So my back was hurting really badly this weekend. I was walking around like I was eighty years old. It was very “not pretty,” as the kids say these days. I mentioned this in passing to my Bostonian guy friend as the reason I would probably not want to go out gallivanting all over town on Friday night and what does he do? He buys me heating pads. And rubs my back. And asks a friend of his for advice on things that he can do to help me. And he checks in with me all weekend on the intensity of my back pain. All without me asking.

The problem with never asking for help is that you forget just how nice it is to have someone help you with something. To have a friend who will not let you down. I was kind of blown away by his level of concern for me this weekend and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This is just one of the infinite number of reasons why I love my Bostonian guy friend. If you do not know him, you are missing out on knowing a truly fine human being. Thank you, honey, for being so wonderful. Thanks for being you.

Please forgive me if I am a little less than jovial today. I am in really horrible pain. Physical pain. Mental anguish I can deal with, but physical pain can reduce me to a little puddle of sad and pathetic. Mental pain is something I can work through on my own because usually it is something I created in my own head, so I can just work through it and sort things out. Physical pain I can’t deal with by myself. I can’t massage my back in the way I am guessing it needs to be massaged just because I am not a contortionist. Though, even if I was a contortionist, I probably wouldn’t be able to massage my back the way I am guessing it needs to be massaged because movement hurts. Bending. Twisting. Walking. All of it hurts.

This is not fun. This is not right. My screaming back keeps me awake at night. Time to pump myself full of pain killers.

Happy birthday to Moby.

I know he doesn’t read this and that’s fine, but I’m going to say happy birthday anyway. Yes, I have given up on my dream of one day marrying him. No, I’m not as super crazy obsessed with him as people once thought I was. Yes, I still take great comfort in the fact that someone like Moby exists in the world. Yes, I will still bend over backwards (though maybe not today as my back is once again killing me and I’m not sure why) to see him live in concert. Yes, I really hope I get to see him when I’m in New York in a couple of weeks and I hope that if I do see him, I have the courage to talk to him. Yes, I still think that we could be great friends if given the opportunity. But if that opportunity never comes, I will still listen to his music. I will still read his journal entries as they are a great source of comfort to me. As a matter of fact, I think that’s what I’ll do today. It’s been a while since I went back and re-read some of his old stuff. And since it is his birthday today, may I suggest that the rest of you pop on over to his site and read some of what he has to say if you haven’t already. I am almost positive that even if you don’t develop an appreciation for him as a person, you will at the very least understand why I hold him in such high regard.

Happy birthday, Moby. And thanks for everything you do.

Moose. Mousse. Mouse. Explain.

Whenever something really bad happens, people prepare themselves in case that same exact really bad thing happens again. I found myself thinking on the train this morning about the blackout on the East Coast and about how people who lived through that now carry flashlights with them. And how many people on the train with me this morning had a flashlight with them “just in case.” And how many more would start carrying flashlights with them “just in case” if they were stuck in the subway during a blackout and had to climb out through the tunnels like some New Yorkers did. It seems perfectly rational to prepare oneself in the event that some catastrophic event happens again.

The thing is, the chances of that same exact thing happening again are really slim. And not necessarily because you are prepared for it, but because really big catastrophic events don’t occur all that often. Since the invention of electricity, how many times has the entire Eastern Seaboard (and then some) been without power for over 24 hours? Once. And I can guarantee you that nobody will ever fly another plane into the World Trade Center because the World Trade Center doesn’t exist anymore. Sure, you hear about the random person who has been struck by lightening seventeen times, but even that’s very rare.

I guess what I’m getting at is wouldn’t it make more sense to prepare ourselves for things that haven’t happened yet? Stampeding hippos or something? That hasn’t happened in a major metropolitan area. How do we know what to do in case large herds of hippos go running through the windows on the ground floor of the Daley Center?

We don’t know. And we can’t know. We can’t anticipate every situation before it happens, so we have two choices: 1) worry about everything or 2) worry about nothing. Me personally, I’d rather not spend my life worrying about things that could happen someday but most likely won’t than drive myself nuts trying to guard myself against every possible thing that could ever possibly happen, no matter how probable it is that said thing won’t happen. Things happen. You fail a test. You hurt someone’s feelings. You get into a car accident. A loved one dies. And you take a minute, absorb what happened, figure out how to handle it, and move on. I can’t spend all of my time worrying about the future because I don’t know what the future has in store for me (or, in some cases, if the future even has anything in store for anyone or if it is all random chance). That’s what’s fun about the future. The best I can do is worry about it when it happens and try to react to it in a calm, logical, safe manner that will not cause further harm to myself or anyone else. And in the meantime, I’ll keep dreaming about that cake in my fridge.

And here we go into that time of year when I start waking up before the sun does. Actually, this morning, it was a pretty close call. I don't think either of us wanted to get out of bed. But we both did and hopefully we'll have something to show for it. I forgot my cake at home, though, which I'm kind of upset about. It was going to be my dinner. I had dinner with a friend last night at a lovely vegetarian restaurant and I bought a piece of their vegan chocolate mousse cake to take home with me that I was going to have for dinner tonight before class. But I forgot it at home. In my fridge. In it's little box. Waiting to be eaten. Crying out, "Kitty, why hast thou forsaken me?" I have not forsaken thou, my piece of vegan chocolate mousse cake. I will eat you when I get home tonight, all tired and stressed out and in need of something to cheer my broken spirit. You shall be that something and I shall be eternally grateful to you.

But yeah, the daylight hours are getting shorter. Which also means I'm going to have to start wearing pantyhose again. Woo hoo. Or buy more pants. Woo hoo. I hate shopping.

I just got my hair cut with a straight razor. Yeah, baby.

I know this is really wrong of me to talk about, but I'm going to anyway.

So the other day, I'm actually reading the subject headings of some of the spam I have received, and there is one that says something along the lines of "Watch this horny teenager fuck a horse for free!" Maybe it was because I had been talking about this comedian with a friend of mine just a couple of days before who says the most random sentence he has ever heard is, "If it wasn't for my horse, I would never have spent that year at college," or maybe I was just that bored, but I decided to read the body of this e-mail. Because seriously, who fucks horses? And who lets people film them fucking horses? And who lets people film them fucking horses and then puts that up on the internet? I know who is watching it for free -- really bored and horny people. But who makes that stuff in the first place?

I've still kind of been trying to figure out the logistics of such a manuver in the first place. And what did they have to do to the horse to get him to agree/stay relatively still. I didn't actually watch the video (despite the fact that it was free and would fall into that category of "things I thought I'd never see") and it is quite possible that all of my questions would have been answered had I simply watched the eight minute video. Eight minutes of a girl fucking a horse.

People are weird.

You know how they have obedience school for dogs? Do they have bug-catching school for cats? 'Cuz I think Owen could use some help.

Okay, here’s something mundane that pisses me off because it is quarter after two in the afternoon and I am trying desperately not to fall asleep at my desk – automatic flush toilets. I understand the need for automatic flush toilets, I really do. Sometimes, restrooms that are not as technologically advanced can get pretty…uninviting. But automatic flush toilets are not a good option. I don’t know if it is a problem with the sensors or what, but they don’t work the way they should. In the midst of my very long day at class on Saturday, I had to use an automatic flush toilet several times and during every single visit, the toilet decided to flush while I was still seated upon it. If I wanted a bidet, I’d go to Europe or some big fancy hotel in New York. One time, it flushed just as I was moving to sit down. And god forbid, one should have to adjust one’s seating position on the toilet – a move that surely guarantees a pre-emptive flush.

So for all of you toilet inventors out there, would you please work on the sensors on your automatic toilets? Perhaps make them weight sensitive? Thanks. I’m just trying to help save water is all.

I don’t understand the fear of being alone. And by “alone” I mean “not in a romantic relationship.” I can understand the fear of never speaking to another human being again for the rest of your life, though admittedly, having this blog lessens that fear for me, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about people who are so afraid of being single that they will remain in bad relationships much longer than they should.

I know that from a societal perspective, men are not encouraged to form deep, meaningful friendships with other men and that men are often defined by their partners and their partner’s friends. So maybe men feel differently about this than I do – if they don’t have a romantic partner, they don’t have any social interaction whatsoever. Which goes back to the fear of never talking to anyone ever again. I guess. But that is so seldom the case. You find these attractive, intelligent men in relationships with clingy, needy women and you think to yourself, “He could do so much better. Why isn’t he doing so much better?” And then you talk to him and find out that he is scared of women and he is happy enough to be with the one he is with because at least it means he has plans for Friday night. That, to me, is very sad.

Maybe I’m just lucky to have so many friends. Maybe I’m lucky to have enough outside interests that I am forced to interact with people on a regular basis. Or maybe there really is something wrong with me that I don’t crave romantic involvement so much that I will settle for less than what I deserve just so that I don’t have to be alone. But I don’t understand it. I honestly don’t. I wish I did so that I could help some of these people get over that fear. Being single can be really fun. I know there are merits to having a relationship, too, but I think that alone time is really important. If for no other reason, so that you will get to know yourself well enough to know what it is you really want out of a relationship. Because once you know that, it is much easier to find and much easier to avoid the relationships that are not fulfilling.

My, but I’m preachy today. Sorry about that.

Is anyone else bothered by the fact that our President is asking for eighty-seven billion dollars to rebuild Iraq? And that at least sixty-six billion of that will be available for military type purposes? Granted, I’m just a peon who makes almost nothing for a living, so I can’t really comprehend eighty-seven billion anythings, but that seems like an awful lot of dollars to me. Especially considering the huge budget cuts every state has had to endure for the past two or three years. If we have eighty-seven billion dollars sitting around waiting to be used, why not fund schools? Or healthcare programs? Or fix roads or something? Why send that eighty-seven billion dollars overseas when there are so many things here at home that could really use it?

Okay, maybe I’m being selfish. Sorry about that. I know the Iraqi and Afghani people need our assistance. But here’s a novel idea – don’t fund the building of their armies. Wasn’t our very own technology, sold to Iraqis and Afghanis oh so many years ago, that came back to bite us in the ass just two short years ago? How about this: why not set up a new, democratic Iraq that doesn’t have an army? Or that is not allowed to build an army for X number of years? Is it Hong Kong that is not allowed to have an army, but if they are ever attacked, it is up to Great Britain to defend them or something like that? Maybe I dreamt that scenario, but I think that could be a novel approach to the whole rebuilding of Iraq and Afghanistan thing. Because think about it. It would cost a whole hell of a lot less than eighty-seven billion dollars to rebuild those countries if we weren’t building their armies. It would lower the chances of military strikes by Iraq and Afghanistan on either the United States or other countries. It would reduce the need for intelligence forces in Iraq and Afghanistan. And it might just make it that much harder for a new dictator with delusions of grandeur to take control of the blossoming democracy. And then, say, in fifty years or whatever, when democracy is in full swing and has become the “norm,” then they can start to build their own army. Have provisions in their Constitution as to how that army is to be built. And let them build it themselves – no fair sharing technology only to have it used against us someday, right? And no fair making the families of those slain in combat finance the construction of the very army that took their loved ones.

Call me naïve, call me stupid, call me selfish. I can’t wait for the next Presidential election. People have made jokes for years about how if we had a female President, she might be a little trigger happy for a few days every month when she’s feeling moody. I think, though, at this point, that I would happily take that chance over the possibility of keeping a paranoid lunatic in the White House. Please start researching your candidates now so that when the time comes, we can get an intelligent person into the office of Leader of the Free World. This living in fear thing has gone on long enough.

A lot of the glamour of being a movie star is lost when one takes the subway to the premiere.

It was fun, though. The audience laughed. They asked questions at the end of the whole ordeal. It was a sell-out crowd. And some of my friends were there, so that was cool. And then when it was over, we left and got drinks. Very non-Hollywood, but fun in it's own way anyway.

Now I get to look forward to the next one wherein I have a lot more screen time. That one, I'm going to totally glam up for.

Yeah, if I was a big truck on a mission to retrieve a dumpster left over after a three day roofing project that had lot of pretty lights and horns that go "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" really loud, I, too, would make sure to do my job at QUARTER TO SIX ON A SATURDAY MORNING. Wouldn't want to disturb the flow of traffic later in the day.

I wonder if there is any way to definitively figure out what percentage of the population of the world is gay and what percentage of the population of the world is straight. I know people who seem to think that being gay is a fad or cool or whatever or they think the gay population is growing and I wonder if that is really the case, or if it is a matter of the population has always been this size, we just didn’t know about it until recently, you know? I’m really just curious.

Like, could someone devise a test that would be administered anonymously to every person on this planet in such a fashion that nobody would lie on the test, and it would be able to say who was gay, who was straight and who didn’t fit into either one of those categories? Simple, straightforward questions like, “Are you turned on by men?” and “Are you turned on by women?” and “Are you a man or a woman?” or something like that. And people would have to answer them honestly. It would be a way to find out who the closet cases are, and who the people are who are out there pretending to be gay. Because in all truth, my guess would be that most people fit into the “none of the above” category. That nebulous land where you have, at one point or another in your life, found yourself sexually attracted to a person who is the opposite gender from what you are usually attracted to. I think most people are just afraid to admit things like that for fear people will think their sexual orientation is other than what they say it is.

Either that, or I would bet that the gay population and the straight population are pretty even in numbers. And I would bet that if you could go back and administer said test throughout history, you would find those percentages to be pretty constant. Why do I think this? In high school, one of my teachers brought in a book of newspaper headlines from some Podunk town from the 1890s. His point was that things were just as screwed up back then as they are now – there were stories about missing children and rapes and murders and stuff, just like the ones that fill the newspapers today. He was showing us that there really weren’t any “good old days.” If anything, perhaps we are just more paranoid now than we used to be. I would tend to think that a similar theory could be applied to sexual orientation. It’s not that there are more homosexuals walking around than ever before, they’re just not afraid to say it like they used to be.

So what’s my point with all of this? It’s nothing new. It’s not a big deal. Let’s just all go get a cup of coffee and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.

How Geeky Can One Girl Get
Chapter 64

So Mix Tape is premiering tomorrow night. I’m excited. But perhaps more exciting for me is that this one is actually getting some press coverage. Sure, they are just little tidbits in a couple of newspapers, but we got press coverage. This is no longer a film that Only I Know About.

And the really fun thing about some of the press coverage is that I’m mentioned in it. Not by name, but I am “the ex-girlfriend” who is mentioned in a couple of the articles. Meaning the people who saw the film remember the relationship between my ex-boyfriend and I. And they liked us.

The problem with indie film is that post-production takes such a long time. You put in all of this work to shoot the film, but the payoff doesn’t come until much, much later. Well, here comes the payoff for this film and I’m having a blast. And yes, I know it is distasteful to boast, but I never claimed to be a woman of taste. I’m going to enjoy my thirty-seven seconds of fame, thank you very much.

I'm going to do really well in school.

I was walking to the train station last night and there was a man with a shopping cart walking just slightly in front of me. I am assuming by the way he was dressed and by the contents of his shopping cart that he was homeless, but I could be wrong. But I found myself wishing that I was brave enough to talk to him because the collection of stuff that he had in his shopping cart was kind of interesting. There wasn’t a whole lot in there – a few cans, some papers, an empty cigarette box. I wanted to ask him how he decided which things to pick up and which ones not to. I can understand collecting empty cans because in some places, you can still recycle them for money. Paper, too. But an empty cigarette box?

When one becomes homeless, can one find, like, a mentor to show one the ropes? Like, these are prime locations for collecting empty cans, or this place has a shower you can use, or if you’re really nice to the people at this bagel shop, they might give you a day old bagel when they close. That kind of thing. I don’t know that I would last as a homeless person. In a really bizarre way, I have respect for those who can do it.

I know that I am a cold person. And I don’t mean that in the “harsh, unfeeling” sense of the word, I mean I get cold easily. Physically. I have a low body temperature. Which explains my love of warm weather and thick sweaters and lots of blankets on my bed. I hate being cold.

That being said, I know that I like things warmer than most people do.

That being said, I firmly believe no matter what your body temperature, that there is absolutely no reason to have the air conditioning on when it is in the mid-seventies outside. Most people set their air conditioners in the mid-seventies. Why waste that energy cooling a room down to the temperature it wants to be anyway? Why not open the window and enjoy the sunshine and the breeze? Call me a hippie, but I prefer fresh air to re-circulated air any day of the week.

That, and I’m tired of freezing my ass off at work.

School starts today. What if I turn out to be dumb? What if I’m wearing the wrong shoes and all the other people in my class make fun of me for it for the next year? What if I talk too much in class? What if I don’t talk enough in class? What if I pass out from exhaustion in class? What if I turn in my homework late? What if I get a bad grade? What if my backpack breaks? What if the bookstore doesn’t have the books I need? What if I spend three hours in a room freezing my ass so badly that I can’t concentrate? Or perhaps worse than any of that, what if I really enjoy myself?

I think my New Years resolution this year should be to be less responsible. Because in all honesty, being responsible sucks. I woke up this morning convinced that I shouldn't even get out of bed, but I knew that one of my co-workers was going to be out today, so I dragged myself in. And lo and behold, it is only quarter after eight and my suspicions have already been confirmed. I should not have gotten out of bed this morning. Stupidfey twisted sense of responsibility.

I think the first thing that bothered me about soy milk is that it comes in a cardboard box. Because seriously, we all know what happens to cardboard when it gets wet. It's not pretty. So how could they package milk in a cardboard box?

I'm glad I got over that one.