Another day

The bombings in London today reminded me how vulnerable we truly are, but more to the point, how appalling the behavior of one person to another can be. I look at the carnage, the twisted carcass of metal, and wonder, "how on earth could any human being do this to another human being?" It's a purely rhetorical question, because there's no answer out there that would satisfy me on any level.

The bombings certainly got the world's attention. Striking at London, that romantic and ancient city on the Thames, once the greatest city in western civilization, and the capital of an empire where the sun never sank below the horizon. It came on the day after the announcement London would host the 2012 Olympics, it came on the morning Tony Blair, that poor embattled prime minister, was going to chair some meetings at the G8. There's no question Al-Qaeda -- or this European version of it --has some sense of timing.

The bombings in London and elsewhere -- how can we forget this many people (40) and more die every day due to suicide bombings in Iraq? -- convince me that the 'war on terror' is not winnable. That's not pessimism, but reality. It's impossible to fight people who have no fear of death, who have no ethical bounds or conscience and who seem to have nothing better to do with their time than dream up increasingly innovative ways to kill the maximum number of people.

Somewhere along the line, we ticked someone off and these are the consequences. It doesn't matter if we go into Iraq and Afghanistan or Palestine and say, "We're here to help." It doesn't matter just how much purple ink you make available, how many jobs women can now hold, or that a country is no longer under the rule of despotic and cruel men. What matters is there are people out there who find it easier to hate and kill than to be productive and energetic to further themselves and their own in this world. The tragedy of that mindset has been clearly shown to all of us --from Bali to New York City, from London to Kashmir.

It never ends.

Link of the day: British reaction to the bombings

Yoga yogi

I came into yoga class today and instead of the usual "hello," I got, "That was YOUR foot!" Lest you think this is the new way people greet each other in Sweat Sock City, let me back up seven days. At the last class I attended -- I go to yoga every Tuesday after work -- a photographer from Sweat Sock City Chronicle was there taking pictures for an article on the studio and its owner. He took our names, and then spent 45 minutes taking our pictures. I managed to tune him out most of the time, even when he was sitting RIGHT AT THE EDGE OF MY MAT, as I'd forgotten my hair band, and my hair was in my face about 85 percent of the time (see downward dog pose).

After he left, we kind of mused about what the pictures would look like, and was it really a good idea to give this guy permission to slap pictures of our sweaty selves all over a newspaper with a circulation of 3 million? Anyway, I had my uncle on Sweat Sock City Chronicle watch, as the photographer had told us there would be a pictoral spread to go with the story. My uncle never said anything about seeing the spread in the newspaper, so I assumed it hadn't run until I got to yoga today and was greeted with, "That was YOUR foot!"

Turns out, out of all the 80 gazillion pictures taken that day, pretty much the ONLY picture the newspaper published was my size 8 Wide un-pedicured foot. From the way my foot is angled in the picture, I assume it was Warrior One pose, which is an infinitely cooler pose than JUST MY FOOT. At least the photographer had the kindness to at least leave in a bit of my yoga pants (just the part covering my shin) and of course, my lime green yoga mat -- which is how the identification was actually made (that and I would have recognized my bony toes, complete with peeling pink nailpolish anywhere).

The worst thing is, the picture doesn't add anything to the story and it's so very boring, considering all the other photographs that could have run instead. No back bends, no Eagle pose, no Cobra -- just to name a few of the poses we did during the 45 minutes the photographer was there. I can't see how a picture of MY FOOT would inspire anyone to come to yoga class (most likely, it would scare people away -- "I'm not going to any class that has THAT FOOT enrolled!").

That being said, I couldn't find a picture of my foot on Sweat Sock City Chronicle's homepage, so if my uncle has saved the paper and I can find a scanner, maybe I'll post it here for you all to see. I mean, THREE MILLION PEOPLE have seen my disembodied foot; I totally would feel AWFUL if you guys couldn't share in my foot's grand debut in the newspaper.

p.s. Any Sweat Sock City residents reading this blog, if you have Sunday's Small Business edition, check there for The Foot (tm) and if possible, I'd like a copy, scanned, if you could please. Mucho gracias.

Shout out

I have SO much to talk about, starting from my reaction to W's speech (which I was going to post on Thursday evening if it hadn't been for my ISP's decision to suddenly CONSOLDIATE without telling anyone) and then my reaction to O'Connor's decision to retire (YIKES!), and then the All-American women's final at Wimbeldon which just completely rocked in every way and since I love underdog stories, it was SO much fun to watch two underdogs play some awesome, awesome tennis. Congrats to both Lindsey Davenport and Venus Williams for giving us a three-hour slug fest, three sets, with a 9-7 (Williams) score in the third set. Now that is how a championship should be played.

But mostly, I just want to know what's up with people STILL thinking all these year's that Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA is a patriotic song. Poor Bruce. He writes a song about a guy going to Vietnam and just having a hard time, but he sings the words SO incoherently, all anyone can understand are the lyrics 'Born in the USA'. The upbeat tune doesn't help either; if you can't understand anything but 'Born in the USA' set to an really rocking tune, then it's not so complicated to understand why Ronald Reagan used the song for campaigning purposes. But still, Local Radio Station (tm), knock it off your 'Patriotic Weekend' playlist.

Where in the blogosphere is Seema?

Just a quick head's up to all that I may not be online as much this week, as I have a writing deadline for July 1 and I'm nowhere near where I need to be. So, I'm giving myself a kick in the pants and cutting myself off from IM and blogging unless I'm able to meet my editing/rewriting goals each night (rough draft done, I just need to go through and fix it all). I still owe tons of email -- I'm sorry if you're one of the people I owe, I've just been swamped lately -- but I'll be away for the holiday weekend. I will try to catch up when I return. Things should be a little less hectic next week (I hope).

Corrections

In the below post, I misspelled Senator Clinton's name -- it should be Hillary -- and there are several typos. I apologize but for some reason, blogger won't let me post my corrected (and enhanced) version of the post.

Guess who's coming to dinner?

The other day I was asked to fill out a 'Get to know you' profile, and one of the questions was, "Who would you invite to your fantasy dinner?" This question is particularly dangerous, I think, or maybe I read way too much into it, because I think it tells a lot about who you are, what you believe in, what you like and enjoy. In the past, my answers would have been Jane Austen, Henry VIII, and even Tom Cruise, but it's time to move on and diversify from the first two and I'm afraid of ending up in a smackdown over the history of psychiatric drugs with the last. I was also concerned that my choices would reveal my left-leaning tendencies, and here in Red State Central, that's not something I like to reveal.

In the end, it came down to a reality-check. If I was holding a dinner party, what type of guests would I like? Intelligence, humorous, articulated, witty, talkative, poised, sophisticated, accomplished were the adjectives that topped my list. I'd also insert a profanity filter in there too, but with at least two of my chosen guests, I don't think that's possible. I also wanted a balance of male versus female, though in retrospect, I didn't do a good job with the ages. I think all of my picks are age 40 and above, and it was only after I picked my guests that I realized I should have included Michelle Kwan as one of my choices.

First on my list, and liable to incur the wrath of many, was Hillary Clinton. I picked Hillary because I find her fascinating. I'm amazed that so many people take so much time to activately hate her and I don't know why. I actually asked Righteous Right Winger at Very Big Publishing Company why he had a thing against Hillary, and his answer was, "Well, if you don't know..." Well, I don't know and I'd love to hear from Hillary why she thinks -- in an answer other than 'vast right wing conspiracy' -- why people dislike her. I don't know about Hillary as a person, but as a role-model, I appreciate her intelligence, her ambition, her desire, her drive, and her hard work. Laura Bush was the perfect first lady post-9/11 -- warm, comforting, maternal -- but it's Hillary who really excites me and makes me say, "I want to do that."

Second, I chose David Duchovny, of "X-Files" fame. This choice surprised me, but once his name flashed into my head, it made perfect sense. He's a smart guy, a good writer, nice to look at, and very funny. He can sometimes be a jerk, but if I had him sitting at my dinner table and playing by my rules, I'd ask him about how he wrote and directed several episodes of "The X-Files," what his process was in terms of coming up with ideas and navigating his way through the scripwriting process. I'd ask him what he found difficult, what he found helpful and what he'd do all over again. Then I'd ask him whether he'd tried his hand at the fanfiction -- maybe he's writing as FoxyGirl? The truth is out there, and there's no place like dinner to dig it up.

Third on my list was Jon Stewart. Jon Stewart totally cracks me up and I love that he's equal opportunity when it comes to making fun of politicians. I might be a lefty and voted for Kerry, but I thought it was pretty darn funny when Stewart aired the video of Kerry making a super long and slow statement about the death of Arafat. I think Stewart said something along the lines of, "Who knew Kerry had taken his campaign to Palestine?" I think we take politics way too seriously and Stewart's approach in highlighting the absurd behavior from both parties is a delight. I'd ask him what he really thinks about the Bush administration, the war, John Kerry, and because Hillary Clinton is sitting right there, I'd ask Stewart what he thought her chances in 2008 were. And while we're at it, I'd probably inquire as to Stewart's take on Tom Cruise, but maybe that's a better question for my next and last guest.

I chose Oprah Winfrey kind of out of desperation. Don't get me wrong. I like Oprah, but I don't love her like some people do. I enjoy her show and I think she has some good things to offer, and I wish she'd bring back her Book Club. That being said, I chose her because she's warm, articulate, and intelligent, and she'd had a lot going on in her life and somehow, she managed to persevere and rise above everything. That's admirable to me. I'd ask her how she got the motivation to train for a marathon and how she did it. Then I want to know more about the Hermes store incident, the best tip she ever got from her never-ending parade of experts, which celebrity is the most genuine, and oh yes, the question on everyone's mind: is TomKat for real and does she believe we really need to free Katie?

There you have it. My fantasy dinner. Now the question is, who is going to do the cooking?

Link of the Day: Watch clips of Jon Stewart on the 'Daily Show' here.

Forecast: Flying pigs

I never thought the day would come when I'd agree with Justice Scalia on anything, but today's decision about property seizure for private development just seems... wrong. I'm sure there must be specific guidelines under how property can be taken and how it should be compensated for, but still, it doesn't seem right.

Pret-a-porter

How is it that I have a closet that's the size of some houses filled with clothes and I still have nothing to wear? This morning, I literally tried on EVERYTHING in my closet and was unhappy with everything. This skirt made my hips look too wide, this shirt had lost its shape, these pants needed ironing, this dress had deodrant marks on it, this skirt was too short, this blouse needed to be sent to the dry cleaner's already and so on so forth.

I'm very attached to my things, which means I never, ever get rid of anything that might still fit. I have clothes from high school and I swear, somewhere I have a pair of turquoise blue shorts and a purple t-shirt from middle school (and yes, I did wear those two together). The end result is a closet full of clothing that is starting to look old and faded, somewhat out of style, and perpetually wrinkly. I know I should go out and start getting some new things. My last major clothing shopping spree was two years ago, when I picked up a couple of blouses and some pants. Add to the fact that I'm cheap and let my dry cleaning JUST PILE UP and I hate ironing so half of my clothes are wrinkled -- well, you see the problem.

If I wasn't so cheap, I'd hire myself both a laundry service and a fashion consultant. The laundry service would take care of the dry cleaning, laundry and ironing and the fashion consultant would make sure I never left the house again wearing white socks and black shoes.

Colonel Mustard, in the library with the candlestick

I thought I'd explain the gun reference in yesterday's post. I can't remember where I heard/read it, but essentially there's a saying out there that "if you put a gun over the mantle in the first act, you'd better shoot it by the third." This statement is especially applicable in the short story form, where real estate is at a premium and every detail has to contribute to the overall story and move the plot and characters forwards. You can maybe fudge it a little in a novella or novel, but loose ends stick out in a short story and need to be dealt with before the words 'the end'.

Lather, rinse, repeat

jemima asked for some condescension tonight, and so I offered up, "SHOOT THE DAMN GUN AND WRITE ANOTHER STORY!" (And for Chekov flavor, you can add either a nyet or a da at the end of the phrase). Bonus points to anyone who understands the 'gun' reference; it is writing-related and good advice too.

The obligatory propaganda post

The media is only just now up and running with the Downing Street Memo, which is amazing when you think about ALL OF THE POLITICIANS WE COULD HAVE BROUGHT DOWN WITH THIS MEMO. Though, to be quite frank, I haven't read the actual document -- only excerpts the media has been doling out over the last month, but even so, it doesn't look so good for either Blair or Bush -- but what do they care? They got re-elected anyway and we the American people are way too interested in a runaway bride ($500,000!) to actually care whether the president might have lied to us. Next!

In other news, I'm struggling through "All the President's Men" -- the Watergate story as written by Bernstein and Woodward. I never actually understood Watergate and now that we know who Deep Throat is, I figured I should read this book that's been sitting on my bookshelf for years and years. Still, it's awfully hard slogging through -- for journalists, Woodward and Bernstein are kind of dodgy writers -- and every time H.R. Haldeman's name comes up, I remember Dave Foley's SNL version of him cackling with 'Nixon' over the secret tapes and all gravity of the situation is lost.

Geek tech

If you need to temporarily use an SMTP server that is not your ISP's, port 2525 is one way to get around any filtering/blocking your ISP might be doing. Now that I've figured that out, I should be getting emails out to people over the next couple of days (a bunch of emails in my 'unsent mail' folder just went out a few minutes ago). I apologize for the delay and reiterate my love for port 2525.

Who says you can never go home again?

Very Big Publishing Company and I have been engaged in a spat for the last 10 days. You see, it took a Very Long Time (tm) for VBPC to realize I had left the company. For two or three months after I left, I was still receiving information on health benefits and the subscription to one of VBPC's most popular publications (which, btw, I was glad about). The thing that got me all het up was when VBPC sent me a letter informing me I still had active accounts with them. I ignored the letter for quite a while because you see, I was under the impression -- given my last conversation with VBPC -- that all my accounts were closed. A couple weeks ago, I found the letter again while cleaning and noting the June 20th expiration date on it, I thought, Hmmm, I should probably figure out what that's all about. So I called VBPC's outsourced HR department and the conversation went something like this:

Me: You sent me a letter about open accounts?

VBPC: I need your PIN to tell you about the letter we sent you

Me: I don't have a PIN. I left the company in December. I have shredded every non-tax related document regarding VBPC.

VBPC: Well, I can't tell you anything without a PIN

Me: Can you at least tell me if this letter is something I have to worry about or is it just another administrative boondoggle?

VBPC: I need your PIN.

Flash forward 10 days; VBPC has allegedly sent me my former PIN via snail snail mail. Somehow VBPC has always managed to find the slowest possible way of communicating to employees. Hence, I didn't get my benefits package until more than six months *after* I joined the company.

Me: You guys were supposed to have sent me my PIN and it hasn't come yet. Can you at least tell me what's going on?

VBPC: Please give me your PIN

Me: I just *told* you...

VBPC: Okay, give me the following identifying information.

Me: ::gives identifying information::

VBPC: Ah, okay, that allows me to see your account. Yes, you have money with us still.

Me: I cashed out of those back in February. I'm no longer with the company. Where is this money coming from?

VBPC: We made a deposit to your account in March.

Me: ::headdesk:: I left the company in December

VBPC: Well, if you don't make arrangements for this money RIGHT NOW, we're going to tax you into oblivion

Me: Okay, don't do that, I don't like that idea. What do I need to do?

VBPC: I need your PIN

Me: ::headdesk::

Despite having verified my identity completely, VBPC refused to initiate a transaction without that four digit number (which, btw, is completely random and I never remembered it even when I was working there). Anyway, to make a long story short, I came home frantically and checked my mail. Still no PIN number. I was resigning myself to the inevitable: come Monday morning, Uncle Sam would get a huge chunk of money that I didn't even know I had in the first place. So I got online and fiddled around with logging into VBPC's HR site and on my second try, managed to log in, and was thus able to save my newly found windfall from Uncle Sam's greedy clutches. Who says you can't guess randomly at four-digit numbers and succeed? Powerball, here I come!

On writing

From the writer, Robert A. Heinlein:

Rule #1: You must write.

Rule #2: You must finish what you write.

Rule #3: You must never rewrite (unless to editorial demand, and then only if you agree)

Rule #4: You must mail what you finish.

Rule #5: You must keep the story in the mail until someone buys it.

Dean Wesley Smith explains:

#1 kills those who think they want to be a writer but just can never find the time.

#2 kills those writers who are so afraid of having anything finished.

#3 kills everyone because of the huge myth that rewriting is critical. (Myth fostered by universities and people who can't write a saleable word).

#4 kills every writer with any kind of fear.

#5 kills every writer who thinks that someone else's opinion is more important than their own.

Link of the day

Lamest Edit Wars on Wikipedia. I especially like the entry for 'exploding whales' and the discussion on petrol vs gasoline is priceless. Go forth and boggle.

Also, I'm way, way behind on emails and comments, so if I owe you, I apologize. RL has kept me mostly offline and I'm going to try to catch up this week, but no promises.

Road Karma

I'm always amused when people pass me on the road home from work. It's a bumpy, pot-hole mess -- like most roads here in Sweat Sock City are and any day now, I know I'm gonna find some Mini Cooper just plugging up one of those pot holes and then a huge Metro bus is going to roll right over it and that'll be both the end of the Mini Cooper AND the pot hole. Anyway, despite the obvious Mini Cooper sized pot-holes, people like to pretend the road home is the Indy 500 or something.

Today, this woman in a blue mini van got impatient with the Metro bus -- road rule number one, do not MESS with the Metro bus, the driver can't see you -- and decided to cut me off so she could get to wherever it was she was getting to faster. Luckily for me, I was playing 'avoid the pothole' game -- which, actually, now that I think about it, it's definitely like 'Frogger', you know, that video game from the 80s? -- and so I was going slow enough to avoid planting the front of my car in her blue mini van rear end. And as if to make a point to the Metro bus, Blue Mini Van woman revved up and stepped on the gas.

I'd have been more impressed if a) she'd been driving a hummer (a mini van is just not that intimidating), b) if she didn't have a lei having from her rear view mirror (again, so not intimidating) and c) if she hadn't revved up just fast enough to get to the red light 5 seconds before both me and the Metro bus.

Times like this, I really just want to stick out my tongue and say, "Na na na goo goo."

True confessions

When I was 10 years old, I developed my first actor crush. I fell hard, oh so hard, for Tom Cruise. Even at 10, I recognized the power of a twinkle in the eye, a dimple at the edge of pouty lips, and nicely tanned six pack -- lightly glazed with non-smelly perspiration, of course (at least, in my fantasy world). It didn't matter to me he was short, because he was and would always be several inches taller than me. Thanks to Tom Cruise, I developed a lasting appreciation for beach volleyball* and leather jackets, and oh those Navy dress whites.

I stood in line to see "Jerry Maguire" for three hours on opening night, because heaven forbid I wait 24 hours to see my One True Crush. FG gave me a poster book of Tom pictures for my birthday. When Tom and Nicole announced their divorce, KC immediately emailed me and said, "Tom's free! Time to make your move!" By now you're all probably thinking I'm pathetic, but at some point -- maybe around "Vanilla Sky"? -- Tom started to lose his sheen, for no particular reason other than I was no longer 10 years old, and reality and fantasy are two very distinct things and it's hard work crushing on an actor when you actually know nothing about them except, Wow, CUTE SMILE. When I see those pictures of him jumping up and down on Oprah's couch, I think: how could I have possibly crushed on someone so freakin' weird?

LoTD: Free Katie!

* Top Gun's beach volleyball scene has got to be one of the best scenes ever. Boys of Summer indeed.

Challenge

I'm not necessarily a fan of writing 'gimmicks' because there are times when the style overpowers the substance of the story or rather, takes the place of a plot. I do think, however, changing things up and trying something new every now and then to get a fresh idea of character, or setting or plot. So with that in mind, here are some 'gimmicks' I've tried in the past. Note, these are fanfics as my original stories are no longer available online:

• Pronoun-only story -- this was atrociously hard to do and thank goodness I had one male character and one female, because I didn't use their names a single time during the course of the story. This is not a challenge I'd repeat.
  
• The 'backwards story' -- Start at the ending and work your way to the beginning. Now this was a lot of fun to write, but very difficult as well. The story has to be able to flow in both directions, and the ending -- which is essentially the beginning -- has to hold the truth the rest of the story has been building up to. This is a technique I'd like to try again.
  
• The second person -- This is one I see a lot of, and while I've moved away from the second person as a form of storytelling, I think it can be very effective in certain situations -- when the narrator wants to put distance between himself and the events going on in the story. Once you get over the weirdness of the perspective, it's a pretty straight-forward device.
  
• First person, present tense -- I was once told that writing first person/present tense was a big 'no no' and should never, ever be attempted unless your name was, say, Hemmingway. But I've never met a writing no no I didn't want to challenge, and so I had a go at it and had a great time writing this. I'm not so fond of present tense anymore, but I do still like the first person a lot.
  
• Alternating first person narrative -- Two different narrators, first person, present tense. This was a lazy way of getting into two and then later, four, characters' heads. This way, I was able to shift geography, time spans, and character emotions without giving the reader whip-lash. At least, that's what I hope I accomplished!
  
• Spam Poem -- Like all of you, I get a ridiculous amount of spam, and I figured I'd put it to good use. Every line in this poem is honest to God taken from a spam letter I actually received. I might have fiddled a bit with a couple of words, but nothing major -- I tried to preserve the beauty of the original spam (g). I'm sure some of you may recognize some of the lines included.
  
• Imitating a famous author's 'voice' -- This is another one that I tried, and don't have any intention of doing again. I enjoy Jane Austen and have read all of her novels several times, but even so, I found this incredibly difficult -- Austen is Austen for a reason. Still, it was fun and a challenge to imitate another author quite frequently gets you to focus on details and nuances that otherwise you might have missed.
  
• The 100-word story -- I'm not terribly fond of drabbles, because they seem to be everywhere, but it's a good writing excercise. How much 'story' can you fit into just 100 words? Writing 100 words is easy; making it make sense and have a beginning, middle and end is a lot harder.
  
• Lori's Evil Challenge -- Because it's well-known among the Mod Squaders that I love, love challenges, Lori gave me this one: write a story in which one character's dialogue has to be taken completely from a song. That's right, somehow one person has to speak in lyrics, the other person can talk normally, and oh my gosh, somehow it all has to make sense. It was evil, but I did it, not once, but twice, and there are a bunch of other Lori's Evil Challenge stories floating around.

I've answered a lot of other challenges over the years, but many of them have to do with song lyrics or Shakespeare or incorporate this element into a story or are less strange than the ones I pointed out above. I've also heard of 'all dialogue' challenges, though I've never tried it myself; hmmm, maybe that should be next on my list? So, what about you? What's the best (most evil?) challenge you've ever come across? Original fic challenges, if you've done them, count as well.

Have you written today?

There's nothing like fresh condescension to warm the heart, especially when one is 23 days away from a deadline and without motivation or story ideas -- in which case it's condescension mixed with salt and rubbed DEEP DEEP into the wound. Have you people no heart?

To be fair, if I were giving myself advice on breaking free from writer's block, I'd also condescend to myself and say, "Just write. Treat it like a job. 'War and Peace' wasn't written in a day." But I don't want to write like it's a job -- I've already got one of those from 8 to 5. What I want is some fun and dang it, I've already bribed the muse with chocolate and margaritas and she still won't come home. That's just WRONG, yo.

In the meantime, here are Writer's Digest's Thirty Hot Markets. Just because I'm not writing doesn't mean you guys shouldn't.

This entry was beta-read by jemima, who also believes in the muse

Living out-loud

A few years back, when I was still working at Very Big Insurance Company, I came in to work after being away for a few days and greeted my co-worker -- let's call her Polly -- with the usual, "How are you?" Polly and I, by the way, were never on great terms to begin with and I tried to keep my interactions with her as terse as possible for that very reason. So I expected that day she would say her usual, "I'm fine, you?" And then I would say I was fine and we'd move on with the day. Except that particular day, she said, "I'm getting a divorce." I stopped flat in my six-inch heels and I swear, my mouth was stuck in an O-shape for about five minutes.

"I'm sorry?" I said when I managed to get my jaw to work again.

"Don't be," Polly said, "I'm doing great." And her lips curled up into a smile, and then there was a little bit of tooth, and some crinkles at the edges of her eyes.

Over the next few weeks, Polly underwent this massive transformation. She got highlights, lost weight, bought a new wardrobe, and was thoroughly enjoying herself. At one point, she bought herself a huge bouquet of roses and put them on her desk "because I deserve them" and she didn't mean it in a pity party sort of way either.

Polly's behavior threw me. For some reason, I was under the impression that when one was divorcing, it was supposed to a be 'traumatic hide under the bedcovers and eat chocolate all day and wail on the phone to sympathetic girlfriends' experience until the pieces of one's heart managed to stitch themselves back into place.

Losing someone you care deeply about is never easy, but whatever other differences Polly and I had, I always admired how she allowed herself to only feel sorry for herself for about 30 seconds and then she got up and involved in her own personal renaissance. Bedcovers and chocolates sound comforting, but I know now that going out is the way to get past the hurt, disappointment and guilt. After all, if you're out having a good time, there's no time to dwell on what might have been.

Want a job?

Seen in the local job listings:

Social Butterfly

Are you great with people? How would you like to be compensated for it? International Company expanding operations World Wide. Seeking individuals with a great work ethic and ability to work directly with customers. Must be fun, outgoing, and confident. Strong people skills and communications skills a must! Management or Sales background a plus! No Telemarketing, No cubicles, Open/Fun work environment! Training and Travel available! Send your Resume and put your people skills to work for you today!

I sense 'sales' written all over this one, but it's got the catchiest title I've ever seen.

Link of the day: The Blogger Life Cycle

The old dog learns a new trick

I've talked about my paper problem before, but in the interests of not grossing anyone out, I neglected to mention that the 'problems' also extended to clothes and dishes. There was a point in my life, oh about two months ago, when I had clothes covering nearly every available surface, including and especially the bathroom floor, and dirty dishes on the kitchen counter top, in the sink, and the dishwasher could be a toss-up. Today, I'm happy to report, I have cured myself of all three problems. There are no clothes on the floor -- not counting the duffle from this morning's aborted attempt at a 'hot' yoga class -- and the only dishes in the sink are the bowl and spoon from my snack of just a few minutes ago.

I had read somewhere that it takes 21 days to break an old habit and begin a new one. I had twenty-nine years worth of habit to break here (though I have to say, the dishes are very recent). I also had to break the mindset that when you live alone, it's okay to let things slide. There were so many nights, for no good reason, when I'd just leave stuff out because there was no one here to care. If my shoes were cluttering up the hallway, then that was fine -- no one was going to trip over them except for me. So I started simply -- I made it a rule and wrote it down: YOU CANNOT GO TO BED UNLESS ALL THE DISHES ARE PUT AWAY, THE CLOTHES ARE FOLDED OR HUNG UP, AND THE PAPER EITHER FILED OR SHREDDED OR THROWN AWAY.

Amazingly, once I started thinking that way, things started to get put away. I also made a rule that I would start paying bills the day they came, not a few days before they were due. That way I could get rid of the paper quickly and not have it build up and I wouldn't be sitting there wondering if I'd paid a bill not or stressing over whether I was late. I also started throwing away the junk mail right at the mailbox; the complex provides a trash can right there so there was no reason for me to bring the grocery flyers etc., up to my apartment.

Once I got used to having a clean apartment -- let me tell you, it's a joy to not step over clothes everywhere or coming into a kitchen full of dirty dishes -- that just became a habit with me. Now it seems weird if there are more than a couple of dishes in the sink and my dining table is virtually free of everything except what should be on that table -- placements, candlesticks and centerpiece. Of course, now I have a new problem: I can never find anything to write on.

Road rules

I was explaining my driving rules to my dad over the weekend, and they go something like this:

• I never drive behind a bus, truck or any vehicle pulling a boat (or anything else, for that matter) if I can help it
  
  
• I try my best to avoid driving behind any car with any of the following bumper stickers: W '04 or 'The Path to Hell is Lined with Liberals' etc. I have nothing against people supporting their candidate -- I just don't want to have to drive with that big old W '04 sticker in my face the entire time. Go ahead, you can call me a sore loser. By the same token, I don't like to drive behind anyone who has more than one 'Support our troops' sticker on their car; does having more than one sticker automatically make one more patriotic?*
  
  
• I like to drive friendly, so if someone needs to merge into traffic or make a turn or something, I usually let them go (bumper stickers, btw, play no part in this rule; everyone deserves a break during their day, especially while on the road). The only exception is if they are driving a gratuitously large vehicle, in which case, I feel a deep-seated primal need to assert my small car rights into the mix and show Gratuitously Large Vehicles that I'm not afraid of their hulking monstrosities. When I say gratuitously large vehicle I mean: Hummers**, Ford F-150s (and anything larger than that), Escalades, Excursions and Expeditions.
  
  
• On highways, I like to drive in the center lane if there is one. That way I'm not in the way of the maniacs who don't understand traffic doesn't move here in Sweat Sock City and wanting to go 70 miles an hour doesn't automatically make traffic go that fast and also, I'm out of the way of merging traffic.
  
  
• I try to use my blinkers at all times. Every now and then I forget. I'm sorry.
  
  
• I drive with the mind-set that getting there safely is better than getting there fast and because I stress out about getting late or lost, I usually end up leaving earlier than necessary -- especially if it's somewhere I've never been -- in order to have plenty of time to get lost and still not be late. Of course, this creates situations when I'm just way, way too early.
  

* The 'Support our Troops' ribbons irk me incredibly, and I can't completely articulate why that is. It's not that I don't don't support our troops, but I don't feel the need to advertise my patriotism to the world on the rear-end of my car. And while the ribbons only mention the troops, I can't help but think putting one on my car is also a tacit endorsement of the reason why they're over there and that's an impression I simply do not want to give.

**I don't know what it's like in other parts of the country, but in my neck of the woods and especially in my ultra-rich, ultra high class neighborhood, Hummers are the status cars these days and there are an amazing amount of them just driving around, threatening to overrun us small car drivers. I know things aren't great here in Sweat Sock City, but seriously, it's not downtown Baghdad. You don't need to drive a tank to go to Target!

Thanks

I wanted to thank everyone who left a comment in this post. I enjoyed reading your comments and was also happy to see some familiar and new names in the comments. The reason I asked the question in the first place was pure curiosity. Unless you're my mother -- who has a contractual obligation to read and love this blog -- I was curious as to what brought people back time and time again. Left-leaning as this blog is, it's not a political one, and I'm not into the raunchy or the four-letter words as some blogs are, and the chances of a grand revelation or insight into a scandal being posted here are practically nil. Plus, it's nice to know who's reading and I'd like to know something about you guys too (So, really, if you have something to share, don't feel shy!).

So thanks again for the lovely comments. It was nice to hear from you, and I appreciate the time you take to read and respond.

Also, some of you may be interested, but there's a whole new edition of the blog war playing out here. It's a war in search of a cause, but give us time; we'll come up with something. For those of you who don't know what the blog war is all about, it's a rather silly round-robin that allows some of the Mod Squad to go meta on fandom or writing or whatever else is going on. It's a lot of fun for us, and I hope those of you who tune in enjoy it as much as we do.

Le weekend

My holiday weekend was incredibly busy, hence no bloggity. I had plenty of cute niece cuddle time, and I went to see "The Producers" -- which is hilarious, even without Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick -- and also hung out with one of my cousins for a while. And then there was The Wedding (tm). My friend, A, got married on Sunday, and Friday night, she had a traditional mehndi night. Mehndi is the art of decorating oneself with henna -- and I say oneself because pretty much the henna goes anywhere you want it to go. I got both of my palms done, but some people did their feet, or wrists or upper arm. Backs of the hands were fair game as well.

The henna, which is mixed into a texture similar to mud, is squeezed onto your favored body part with a cone (similar to what you'd use to decorate a cake). The result is a ridged-design of mud, that is hardened with sugar and lemon water. However, once the henna has been put on, it's there for the long haul -- anywhere from four to 12 hours (the latter, in my case). The longer you wait to take it off, incidentally, the richer and deeper the color is.

The last time I got this done was more than a decade ago, and I think I had it done well after dinner and just before bed. This time, I had my hands done around 7:30 and dinner hadn't been served yet. By the time I figured my conumdrum out, it was too late. The mehndi lady had my money and I had beautifully decorated, albeit useless, hands. There's something seriously weird about having to be spoon-fed dinner, and then having to ask someone to scratch the back of your neck (we won't even talk about the drama of getting ready for bed, which, btw, included a very sketchy un-recommended for you by 9 out of 10 eye doctors, contact lense removal procedure).

In addition to not being able to buckle my own seatbelt or even unbutton my own pants, I went to sleep with plastic grocery bags wrapped around my hands. During the night, the bags -- which are so not breathable -- get wet with perspiration, and then there's the gritty mud on your hands; I could feel the henna flaking off and mixing with the water and every time I moved my hands, water sloshed all over the bag. I had no idea my hands could sweat so much. It's an understatement to say it was rather difficult to sleep.

First thing in the morning, I stumbled down the stairs, plastic bag coated hands outstretched in front of me Frankenstein-style. "Take it off," I whimpered. My mother used a butter knife to scrape off the dried henna and then a mixture of vegetable oil and water. It was a rather strange experience, but the results, as you can see, were well-worth the trauma:


Click for larger image

Marketing

Question like these are always fraught with peril because you never know if people are actually going to answer and then it's all embarassing when no one actually does. That being said, I'd love to know who you (the reader) are and why you read this blog. You can respond anonymously, if you'd like. I'm just curious. At the very least, do say hi:-) -- I'd love to hear from you.

The top of the world

I honestly had no idea about this when I posted yesterday's entry re climbing Mt. Everest, but today, I learned that Ed Viesturs has accomplished the feat of climbing the 14 8,000-meter peaks without supplemental oxygen. Annapurna was his last peak and you can read his hiking log here or if you're looking for a quicker read, go here. The fact Viesturs did it without oxygen is really amazing, since at that height, hypoxia sets in and most people lose the ability to think clearly, not to mention a whole host of other problems -- dehydration, exhaustion, frostbite.

Viesturs, along with Aracelli Segarra, was a star of the Everest IMAX movie, which happened to film during the 1996 disaster in which eight climbers died. Along with the movie -- which provides beautiful visuals of the mountain -- I also highly recommend Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air, which details that fateful trek up the flanks of an unforgiving peak and how exactly it could happen so many people could die in a single die. It's also an eye-opener as to how Everest isn't just something you climb; it's also something you suffer and to do it, you have to really, really want it.

Since both Viesturs and Segarra were on Everest filming the IMAX movie (both summitted, btw) during the '96 tragedy, they are mentioned in Krakauer's book, and Viesturs plays a key role in the rescue operations. Segarra, I should mention, caught my eye during the beginning of the movie, when she was shown dangling off a cliff -- without ropes. I remember thinking, "You go, girl."

As unforgiving as Everest and Annapurna are, K-2 is apparently an equal beast. Segarra's personal website is unclear as to whether this attempt was successful. BTW, Segarra's site has some gorgeous, gorgeous photography of the mountains and is well-worth going through.

People do some really, really cool things.

Fantasy #823,425

No, I'm not going to tell you what the other 823,424 fantasies are -- okay, maybe someday, but not today -- but today, at lunch, the words just slipped out of my mouth: "I want to hike Mt. Everest." And then, getting a grip, I amended, "Well, just up to base camp. I'm not into that whole thin air scene."

Time for tofu!

I'm really starting to love tofu like no one's business. I think tofu has, unfairly, a bad reputation because it's so easy to mess it up. Trust me -- I have exploded/bounced/burned/smashed tofu all over. If there is a way to kill tofu, I have done it. However, after many experimentations, I have finally, finally gotten it right. Here's a quick and easy way to cook tofu:

First, buy a package of extra firm tofu. You will need to drain the tofu very well. If you don't drain it, it won't soak up the marinade, and it will snap/crackle/pop in the skillet.

I dump the water out of the tofu first, and then I usually wrap the block in a clean paper towel, put it in a bowl, and then find the heaviest can/jar in my pantry -- usually an unopened jar of tomato sauce -- and put it on top of the tofu. Drain again. Flip block of tofu over, and put the jar of tomato sauce on top of it again.

When the tofu is dry enough, you can either cube it or cut it into slices. I prefer to cube it because it's quicker to cook in the skillet and doesn't require as much flipping, but that's just a preference thing.

Seema's Marinade

6-10 teaspoons soy sauce
1-2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 teaspoon sugar
2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar

I also alternately add -- depending on what I have on hand -- ginger or garlic. For herbs, I add a pinch of parsley, bayleaves and oregano.

Mix the marinade very well. It helps to split it in two -- add a little to the bottom of a bowl, dump in the tofu, and then drizzle the rest of the marinade on top of it. I usually put it in a glass bowl with a cover; that way, I can shake up the tofu and make sure it gets well coated with the marinade. Cover it up and put it in the refrigerator to sit for at least an hour.

Add a teaspoon of olive oil to a skillet, throw in the marinated tofu, and if you want, you can add more soy sauce. Sautee until hot and/or browned. Serve immediately.

Everything's pretty approximate, but it's a super easy way to make tofu and quick dinner idea. I think today's dinner -- tofu and mixed vegetables with butter -- took all of 5 minutes to throw together (I marinated the tofu last night) but it tastes pretty darn good.

IKEA!

The thing about living in the buckle of the Bible Belt is that everyone goes to church on Sunday mornings and leaves the interstates and stores to us heathens. No traffic or crowds is heaven for me, especially since I consider shopping at IKEA a rather hellish experience. All that cheery yellow and blue is just a facade to lull you into a sense of security before you get marched all over two stories worth of stuff, hoping not to get trampled by the families who all seem to come equipped with 10 children under the age of two. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.

Then there's the weird policy of how you can't take the carts out into the parking lot and somehow, you have to drive your car to the side of the building to pick up your stuff after you buy it. The ideal situation is that you bring someone and then one person waits with the stuff while the other brings the car around. As I said to a friend this morning, IKEA is so not Noah's Ark; shoppers don't always come two by two.

Because I got to IKEA before all the mega-churches in the area let out, I was able to grab a spot right near the front of the building, near the unloading dock. That way I figured I'd be able to cart my boxes -- a coffee table, a lamp, and a couple of others things -- to my car without worrying about leaving the stuff unattended. Inside, it was an absolute joy to walk around because I was pretty much one of the only people in the store. I still was mildly annoyed by the fact you have to wander the upstairs football field sized floor before they'll let you go downstairs, which is not only where you can pick up all your flat boxes, but also where all the cool, useless, cheap deco stuff is. I mean, who wouldn't love a series of frosted glass vases that have no purpose at all but to just fit together?

The good thing about today's purchases is that they were for my brother, so I don't have to assemble a darn thing for myself. I did splurge on a cactus garden thingy because I've wanted a centerpiece for my dining room table for a while now and my local grocery store falls short with the fresh flowers. My other plants -- on a side table in the dining room -- are doing very well and so I felt very emboldened to buy more. Wish me luck. For those of you who think cacti are hard to kill, well, you've never met my black thumb.

99% perspiration

I did some brainstorming this week and some outlining, both things I don't ordinarily do in the course of writing. I'm definitely one of those "let's throw some words up and see what sticks" type writers. That's not to say I'm completely loosey-goosey with the process -- I usually have some idea of what I want to see happen or how I want characters to develop. I just don't like doing the up front work and I've always felt my best stories are the ones that wrote themselves.

I took the more analytical approach this week because I wanted to see if I could break out of my writer's block, plus the conventional wisdom of "just write, make it good later" just wasn't working for me. I'd write a couple of paragraphs and just give up because I wasn't into the story or even the writing. Going in with a plan, I thought, might make me more disciplined about the process and not just rely on the 'muse' to get me going.

'Analytical' helped me think about what I was doing, but it didn't 'solve' the ultimate problem -- which is that my muse has up and left me. Some people will object to the term 'muse', saying that writing is hard work, and not just something that happens. I think there will always be humps in the road, when writing is harder than usual, and you just have to work through that. But I've got to call the inspiration and energy to actually write something. I want to give a name to that thing that seems to dictate the words I type. It's not just one thing, but it's a combination of things, and I would say there are plenty of writers -- me included -- who would say the muse is very real and present in their writing.

Napoleon's Battle Plan

My favorite piece of dialogue in "Sports Night" comes from the ep, "Napoleon's Battle Plan"*:

Casey: Technically, I have a plan.
Dan: What's the plan?
Casey: It's Napoleon's plan.
Dan: Who's Napoleon?
Casey: A 19th century French emperor.
Dan: You're cracking wise with me now?
Casey: Yes.
Dan: Thanks.
Casey: He had a two-part plan.
Dan: What was it?
Casey: First we show up, then we see what happens.
Dan: That was his plan?
Casey: Yeah.
Dan: Against the Russian army?
Casey: Yeah.
Dan: First we show up, then we see what happens.
Casey: Yeah.
Dan: Almost hard to believe he lost.

My approach to life is pretty much that -- I show up and see what happens, and usually stuff goes my way. Lately, the plan hasn't been working so well, so it's time to switch strategies. That's the hard part and I've been doing things way out of my comfort zone, which can be stressful too. Someone told me that it takes 21 straight days of doing something for it to become a habit. I know instinctively what I need to do, it's just hard to break free of years and years of ingrained habit -- 21 days seems like an awfully long time to create a habit, especially when you're a person who loves insta-results like me. Still, it's one foot ahead of the other, making it one step closer to the person I want to be and the life I want to be living.

Dan: You have no plan.
Casey: I have a plan.
Dan: First you show up. Then you see what happens.
Casey: It worked for Napoleon.
Dan: No, it didn't work for Napoleon. Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo and died in exile on the isle of Elba.
Casey: Actually, he was murdered on Elba. It's just one of many things I know that most people don't.

* Entire transcript here. I love the Internet.

Occam's Razor

Tonight's auto class was held at a transmission repair shop on the south side of town, about five or six miles away. There were several cars up on lifts, wheels removed, when we went into the garage. In the back, there was a technician rebuilding a transmission. "The transmission is from the white Honda you saw out in the garage," the owner, Chuck, told us. I thought it was pretty cool and complicated looking and I have a whole new appreciation for the complexity of that thing that controls whether you can go or not and just how fast that 'go' is. I had no idea transmissions were made up of lots of metal rings with teeth and that there were these large blocks of metal mazes that held the whole thing together.

Back in the garage, another girl and I went to inspect the white Honda. We were both interested in locating the drive belt, and with the car propped up so nicely and the wheels removed, it was a great opportunity for us. Chuck even gave us a flashlight so we could see better. We were so pleased with ourselves when we located the engine and the drive belts. Then one of the guys came by to see what we were doing.

"What's the matter with the car?" he asked.

"Well," I said, "it's complicated, but mainly, the transmission's missing."

Kneejerk reaction

I feel weirdly protective of the media these days, and it irks me when I see news outlets falling all over themselves to eat one of their own. Maybe it's the 'been there, done that, bought the t-shirt' mentality that keeps me as one of the few people who still thinks the journalists are mostly the good guys and just want to tell us what's going on. Maybe it's because I spent 18 months dealing with 'unnamed sources' because without those anonymous sources, I would have never gotten my stories. Then there are deadlines, and the fact that you're damned if you do and damned if you don't; you do the best you can, hand it in before deadline and cross your fingers. Only in the news business is no feedback a very, very good thing.

What pisses me off are the people have people who have never ever written a story in their life -- and if I haven't made it clear, bloggers are not journalists thankyouverymuch -- or chased a lead or conducted an interview saying how a news story ought to be put together. You have people saying, "Stop printing stories about insurgents and things will get better" or "Stop printing something that could potentially make someone somewhere really pissed off." Geez, from now on, I say we just print stories about Britney's baby, runaway brides, and some second rate singer's innuendo. If you don't know what's going on in the world, it can't incite you into starting a riot. Sounds like a winning solution to me.

Newsweek's very bad awful day

As most of you have heard by now, Newsweek messed up. Big time. Here's their side of the story. Newsweek is my favorite magazine, so it hurts me to see them being taken to task, considering just how well they usually report and how they write in a way that's accessible and interesting. That being said, mistakes happen and sources can be wrong, and 9.9 times out of 10, no one dies. That being said, I don't think it's possible to hold Newsweek responsible for the deaths of 15 people. A friend pointed out perhaps Newsweek should have double double-checked the story, given the tensions in the Middle East. Possibly, probably. Here's the thing: once the information was out there, whether accurate or not, Newsweek could not know how it would be used.

To me, that's the crux of the matter. Anyone who says Newsweek is responsible for upping the ante on the anti-American sentiment is just deluding themselves. We pretty much put a nail in that coffin when we went in and took over a country. The insurgents in Iraq show us every day just how much they don't like us (or anyone who stands with us*). And then there's the human element -- someone used the story to incite a crowd to action. Newsweek wasn't there fanning the flames or encouraging people to riot; someone else twisted those words to suit their own purposes, and voila, 15 people are dead.

In a way, this is very similar to how President Bush twisted words and got people to support the war in Iraq by 'linking' Saddam to Al-Qaeda and 9/11 and made claims of WMDs -- all not true. Yet no one is blaming Bush or asking him to retract those 'stories' and thousands and thousands have died.

Sloppy journalism happens every day, because there's no such thing as a perfect human being. I bet there are people over at Newsweek who are going to be feeling sick to their stomachs for a really, really long time. The thing with journalism though, you go into every day, every deadline knowing there's a huge possibility you'll make a mistake, and that you'll have to retract what you've reported. That's the nature of the beast. So yes, what happened was horrible: Newsweek made a mistake that will tarnish its reputation for a very long time. But news articles don't kill people; people kill people.

* I use the term 'us' very loosely as I do not in any way support the war in Iraq; my support starts and ends with the US troops and my desire to bring them home as soon as possible.

Upgrades, schmupgrades

Definition: Take the old bugs out, put new ones in

I hate software upgrades. Hate them with a passion because no matter what you do, something's gonna get knackered up and then not only did you have to spend the time downloading the damn thing, then you got to figure out how to get everything to work again once the update is in.

My least favorite update is my firewall and I always procrastinate when it comes to updating that. Firewall update invariably means nothing works properly and the installation is annoying because they don't give you an option as to whether you want to restart your computer or not, especially if you're like me and edging closer to bedtime and all you wanted to do was make a quick check of your email. But ZoneAlarm doesn't make it easy, no no no, not after an update. Here's a quick run down of all the stuff that just goes bananas after an update.

My FTP dies which means I can no longer update my website if the firewall is up. My web-based email accounts just surrender to ZoneAlarm, though gmail, bless its searching soul, has started offering helpful "Third Party Software Interference" tips. For some reasons, CSS-based sites go nuts, pictures on cute baby blogs disappear, and meanwhile, ZoneAlarm is sitting there all pretty and proud of itself saying, "We just blocked another pop-up. Lollipop?"

I'm too exasperated to deal with Zone Alarm today, so I turned it off, and turned the Windows Firewall on instead. How's that for a turnabout in events? Microsoft instead of third party software. Times like this, I'm going with the dude who lets me check my email. Thank you, Bill!

Update

I just realized I haven't posted here in a while, but it hasn't been for lack of trying. Blogger has been very cranky for the last week and just refused to load for me. Anyway, I updated the side bar; go visit The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster and if you need a pass to get out of work to see the movie, Geek Squad has you covered.

Spring cleaning

Typical advice this time of year is to double-check the batteries in your smoke detector. Luckily for me, every time I go into the kitchen, the smoke alarm goes off, and so I know my batteries are definitely working. What I didn't check until recently, and I would highly recommend to all of you to double-check, is the State of the Spare Tire. My spare tire, which has been sitting happily in the back of my car for the six and a half years was pretty much flat. So, as part of your spring cleaning, please check your spare tire and make sure it has air in it. There's nothing worse than getting a flat in the middle of nowhere and realizing your spare is useless.

Chatty Cathy

On a day that's not today, I will tell you all about my tire-changing fiasco. Rather, I want to focus on my classmate in auto repair -- let's call her 'Cathy' because I don't actually know her name. Cathy and I met last week when she sat down next to me. She seemed nice, but then oh, for the love of Tom DeLay, she didn't shut up for the entire class. I was amazed, because I didn't think anyone could talk more than me, but at least I shut up when someone I've paid money to to teach me is speaking. Finally, as politely as I could, I indicated the teacher and Cathy got the hint and was quiet for the rest of the class.

Yesterday, Cathy decided not to embark on the antics scheduled (which is how she didn't have a tire-changing fiasco that kept her at class well past 10:30 pm). Instead, she decided to watch me and she was not entirely helpful, but I could pretty much just tune her out because I had to exert my full energy towards jumping up and down on top of the lug wrench in order get the lug nuts loose. At one point, I got up, and Cathy slapped me on the butt. I was kind of like, "Huh?" But I didn't say anything, thinking she really had just wanted my attention and she missed my arm.

And then she did it again. And then a third time.

And really, people, there's no polite way to tell someone to stop slapping your butt. Especially if you're not entirely sure if the butt slapping is just a manifestation of super bad aim. Plus, I didn't know if it had suddenly gotten hip to randomly slap people you didn't know so well on the butt. Also, there are some strange customs here in Sweat Sock City; maybe this was one of them. In the end, I resolved the issue by just not standing next to Cathy. After all, if anyone's gonna be slapping my butt, I'd better know their name.

Two things I learned this week

1. First, the iron works better if you a) put water in it and b) actually turn it on -- just plugging it in doesn't get you anywhere.

2. Clamping your ear with a straightening iron set on the highest possible setting will wake you up faster than two cups of Starbucks, but will not actually take out the curve of your ear.

Job bob

Anyone who has ever spent more than 5 minutes looking for a job knows about the euphoria that follows right after you send an application in. Then comes the waiting and the wondering -- will they call? will they email? how will I manage an interview without my boss knowing? what will I wear? -- and every now and then, you allow yourself indulge in a flight of fantasy: gainful employment.

As you get older, you get more hardened to the reality. It takes something like 50 applications just to get a nibble and just because you've got your foot in the door, it doesn't mean you're going to get the job. It just means you're one of a bunch of people who managed to pass the basic requirement. But if this is your first job search, when you first sending stuff out, then I can see how easy it is to forgo reality and hang out in that rose-colored world where everyone has a job they love, and didn't have to work particularly hard to get it.

That's why I'm not sure I understand why people are jumping all over poor Krystal Grow, who was overeager and overenthusiastic about the possibility of getting an internship over at Spin Magazine. She wrote about her rejection here. The fact that she was brave enough to talk about her hubris, to acknowledge that she was hasty, and that wanting something doesn't always translate into a homerun on your first time up at bat. But from the reaction, you'd think Krystal had done something terribly wrong -- kind of around the same magnitude as declaring war on another country under false pretenses, let's say -- rather than just suffering from a severe case of overconfidence.

I guess all those 'critics' started their job searches jaded and cynical from the get go and didn't have to grow into "the eggs ain't even laid, let alone hatched" mentality like some of us have. Even so, is it really so hard to muster up some compassion? Or provide some encouraging words or support to someone who is just getting started on a rather stressful process? As a friend mentioned to me recently, it seems like panning things or people seems the 'in' thing to do these days. I'll stay uncool, thanks.

Finicky muse

The thing is, when you get a great story idea, or a snippet of dialogue in your head, you've got to write it down right then or it's gone. This whole thing about being an adult -- taking out the trash, doing the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, cleaning up the stove after dinner has exploded all over the range -- kind of cramps the whole writing style.

I don't think, however, that sitting home and staring at my computer is the right way to go. I've found that when I have time on my hands, I write hardly anything at all. It's when I'm super busy and really should be doing things like wiping down the fridge or mopping floors that I think, "Wow, that's a great story idea," but I never actually sit down and write my story idea down until I'm done being an adult. By then the magic is gone and the characters are cranky because I made them wait.

But at least the kitchen is clean...

Auto for the people

As I said earlier, I'm taking an auto class, and it seems I've gotten in over my head. I'm not particularly interested in replacing my own shocks and struts, but I do appreciate knowing the difference between a brake shoe and a brake pad. What ideally I'd like to see in an auto class is the following:

* What repairs ought to happen when -- ie will my water pump automatically die at 60,000 miles or is that just an urban legend?
* What parts look like and where they are located on a vehicle
* What repairs are "Must do NOW, do not pass go, do not collect $200 -- do it NOW"
* How to diagnosis general complaints without automatically deferring to the mechanic
* How much approximately a repair ought to cost
* Trusted mechanics in the area
* Mechanics in the area who must be avoided at all costs

Incidentally, the instructor of the class noted that if you can't get to the oil filter easily, you probably shouldn't buy that car. I think that's good advice if you're planning on spending a Saturday afternoon changing your oil; for the rest of us, I think a course in the above would be a lot more helpful.

Interesting reading

Thomas Frank, who wrote "What's the Matter with Kansas?", has an interesting new article called "What's the Matter with Liberals?". It's thoughtful reading and I highly recommend it.

The backlash narrative is more powerful than mere facts, and according to this central mythology conservatives are always hardworking patriots who love their country and are persecuted for it, while liberals, who are either high-born weaklings or eggheads hypnotized by some fancy idea, are always ready to sell their nation out at a moment's notice.

And in response to all those montages and music videos of the John Kerry-John Edwards 'love fest', here's the site responsible for the 'marriage' of George and Abdullah.

Tech stuff

I've updated my side bar with a link to Uma's website. Kid's like 15 days old and she already has her own website. Some of us had to wait a couple of decades to get a website. Sheesh, kids these days.

The blog email updates haven't been going out. I'll reset the service again today, but I'm thinking about discontinuing it all together since it has been less than reliable. I'll let you know for sure if I do discontinue the email though.

Hee hee

The burrito lover in me got a kick out of this. There's nothing like eating a burrito the size of your head, yo, but a 30-inch burrito is positively monsterous.

See the S car go

The management, namely yours truly, apologizes for the lack of bloggity lately, mostly due to an attack of RL and second, because I hurt my shoulder and back last week doing something not too interesting (use your imagination; I guarantee you, it will be more exotic than reality) and typing really, really hurt. But now I'm back, in mostly pristine condition, which is more than I can say about my car.

My car is at about 55,000 miles right now, which is pretty good for a car I bought in December of 1998. But that also means I'm 5,000 miles short of that magical number when my car allegedly is going to just disintegrate into a pile of spark plugs and timing belts and radiator fluid. Every time I go to the mechanic, he has this uncanny ability to just reduce me to a pile of goo (similar to what you might see beneath a car leaking radiator fluid, incidentally). He points out things, very casually, and says, "You're going to have to think about getting those OGEIJOIU done and by the way, that's gonna cost you $200 and while we're changing that, your factory manual says you should probably get FUEDNLIJ done too, and that'll be about $500."

The last trip to the mechanic was to get my car inspected. My car failed. For the first time ever. I ended up having to get new brake pads and windshield wipers -- minor things, incidentally -- but along the way, two different mechanics at two different shops managed to just completely unnerve me with a list of stuff that was going wrong. I was thinking the whole time, "I bought a Japanese car specifically so I wouldn't have to deal with misbehaving calipers or ornery water pumps." I went home and had a nervous breakdown and then I decided I needed to get me to an automotive class.

So I'm taking a class on Wednesday nights for the next month or so. The first class was yesterday (the 'survival' or 'basics' class was several weeks ago). The teacher passed around a shock absorber and said, "This is really easy to replace." The thing weighed as much as I do; there was no way I was replacing my own shock absorber. Then he's going on and on about changing your own oil, about replacing your own brake pads, about unscrewing bolts and replacing struts -- the list goes on and on. To hear him talk, my entire car is held together with just two bolts; no wonder the thing is going to just fall apart at 60,000 miles.

This coming class, we're supposed to work on our own cars. He gave us a list of tools we should have, including something called a spark plug socket. He also had an order list if we wanted to buy tools in preparation for the class. I was thinking of multiple uses for say, a hammer, which would make the purchase of a hammer worthwhile, but a spark plug socket? Let's be realistic. The chances of me climbing under my own car and changing out a strut is statistically nil. And you people know how I am in the kitchen and when it comes to assembling furniture, well, you know how that turns out. And this guy wants me to remove the wheels of my car and work on the brake system? Um, no?

Bad TV, good TV

Some say watching television can make you smarter because of increased plot complexity (don't ask me what else was in the article; my eyes glazed over around page 3 and I had to find something less deep to read. Conclusion: I need to watch more television).

But really what makes me happy is the Parents' Television Council putting the worst examples on television online for easy access. Thanks, PTC! Now I know where to find the good stuff! (I especially love the warning on the media player: WARNING: Graphic Content!!! Do NOT push play if you don't want to see the explicit video!!!). My current fave show, "Without a Trace", makes the list twice, but it boggles my mind that "CSI" (the original, not the knock-offs) doesn't make the list at all, nor does anything aired in 2005. I feel let down.

And while we're going on with Bad Stuff Your Parents shwouldn't Approve Of, here's a list of banned/challenged books.

Don't say I don't point you to the good stuff now.

Behind the door, my life will be

Saturday turned out to be a spectacularly awesome day in a complete and unexpected way. I love days when you head out, the sky above is clear blue, and there is a brisk breeze to take the edge off the heat. I love that moment when you look at your watch and realize that it's nearly dinner time and you've been out and about since before lunch and you and yours still have the energy to keep going. It was like everything came together perfectly -- good company, good weather, and good food. A girl could not ask for anything else.

Kerfuffles

There's apparently a name for this thing I'm going through: quarterlife crisis. The last time I had a crisis, I got sucked into fandom. Now, I'm not so much into fandom anymore, but I'm always amused when I find RL mimicking fandom. Now I'm just waiting for the RPF/RPS to show up because where there's fire, there's got to be RST.

It all started with an extremely fawning article of Ann Coulter, which then caused people to go ballistic that Time magazine would even consider putting Coulter on its cover. Honestly, I take more issue with the completely freaky picture of Coulter on the cover; parents, cover your children's eyes for fear they be blinded by the skinny blonde's 10-mile long legs! Anyway, for the brief version of the current kerfuffle, go here, while Salon has an article about the article here. If you like to see the whole thing unfolding in real time, there's a list of links here (I plead injured shoulder as my response for not re-inventing the wheel).

Man. Never thought I'd see the day when I'd put Ann Coulter's name in my blog as I think she's a nut job. And to be fair, I think Michael Moore is kind of crazy too, but as far as I know, Moore has never suggested killing journalists or converting Muslims or other making other inflammatory remarks. I've heard conservatives say Coulter is just trying to be funny or trying to get people's attention with her rhetoric. It's hard to take a pro-life stance seriously when comments about wishing it was the NY Times office that was blown up instead of Oklahoma City's Murrah building are considered funny.

Daunting

I went to my first meeting of the French club last night. I had to bribe myself with chocolate cake to go, because I tend to talk myself out of things, but in this case, the meeting was at one of my favorite faux French bakeries with a chocolate cake to die for and if I ended up just embarassing myself all over the place, AT LEAST I HAD CAKE.

I got to the meeting a few minutes before 8, because I'm anal-retentive that way, but that also meant I had to skulk around the bakery looking for the French club. You would think it would be easy to find a bunch of Francophones in a bakery in the middle of Red State USA, but amazingly, no, it's not. So I ended up grabbing the local free newspaper and kind of stood around, pretending to read the weekend listings. Having a newspaper or other literary prop when going to a restaurant/bakery/deli by yourself makes you look a little less dorky.

In the end, I finally went up to the cashier next to the dessert section and asked if he knew where the Francophones were. He was actually really nice and told me the French people met outside and newsflash, I wasn't the only one roaming the bakery looking for them. Nice!Cashier actually ended up corralling a bunch of us lost souls and we then thanked him by standing in front of his station, blocking the entrance for other paying customers, and possibly driving Nice!Cashier nuts by repeatedly saying to each other, "Bon soir! Je m'appelle..." and asking each other to "Repetez, s'il vous plait." To his credit, Nice!Cashier didn't make us move and when I went to order my slice of chocolate cake, he even cut me a slice from a freshly baked cake. Now that's la bonne vie.

Choose life

"Que dit la loi? Tu ne tueras pas! Comment le dit-elle? En tuant!" -- Victor Hugo

My aversion to the death penalty is no secret, primarily because of the very real possibility of an innocent man being put to death. Since 1973, 119 death row inmates in the US have been found innocent. Some would say it's worth killing an innocent person or hundred to 'teach a lesson', but I'm not one of them. I'm much more in favor of locking these people up and throwing away the key. In fact, I'm very happy Scott Peterson will be spending the rest of his natural life in prison, so he can never, ever be free to forget what he did to his wife and child.

The US is one of only a handful of countries that still has legal executions. In 2004, the US ranked fourth in the number of executions -- behind China (3,400), Iran (159) and Vietnam (64). The US at 59 was still considerably ahead of Saudi Arabia (33) in number of executions and until recently, the US was one of only six countries, including Yemen and our good friend Saudia Arabia, that executed juveniles. These are not facts -- or company -- to be proud of.

There is a Pope

The election was so short and sweet I missed the web-cams of the smoke signals. I'll let the Catholics debate Ratzinger is good for their religion. Me, I'm just happy to get on with my non-Catholic life.

The best thing

I love baby snuggling, the way she curls up right against me, one fist in her mouth, and the other flat against my chest, and her head tucked between my chin and my shoulder. And even though she's so small, she's warm and solid, and her eyes are open and wide, alert and looking around -- like a big question mark etched on her face. Really, there's no better moment in the entire world.

Blog rerun

Every now and then, I have a blog rerun. Not consciously, like the Valentine's Day one (which I forgot this year), but because I do -- believe it or not -- run out of things to say. The entry that was supposed to go here felt curiously familiar; only the wording was slightly different and I was thinking, "Whoa, I'm redundant in text as well as in spoken word." It was a humbling epiphany, let me tell you.

This blog is more than four years old. That's practically medieval in blog years, so it's no surprise I've started to repeat myself, especially as over the years I've gotten smarter about the blogging thing. No work, no super personal details or stories, and very few mentions of friends -- it kind of limits the playing field to explosions either in politics or the kitchen. Lately, I haven't been cooking that much, relying on Amy's frozen dinners, which are decidedly non-burnable/explosive and I've got nothing when it comes to politics; the country's managed to stay together for over 200 years through some weird stuff. It'll get through this 'weird stuff' too.

Baby baby

While we're all sitting around for Baby G to make an appearance (she's taking her own sweet time, if you ask me), check out A Roshanda By Any Other Name and where do names come from anyway?

Good eats

I had tapas for dinner, which is possibly the most perfect way to eat a meal. Tapas is the Spanish style of eating many small plates of appetizers over a long period of time, and if you are in Spain, you start at 10 or 11 o'clock at night. We being in the United States started around 6:30 or so and went into 9, amassing about 5 or 6 plates and finishing up with a luscious dessert of tres leches cake -- which is possibly the most sinful and delicious treat around.

I first had tapas in Madrid a couple years back. We went from restaurant to restaurant, drinking sangria, and eating whatever the restaurant's speciality was, whether it be marinated mushrooms or tortilla -- the Spanish version is a thick omlet with potatoes. I felt the heat in my face and the lightness in my head as the sangria took hold, and then there was the rush of people around me as we walked out into the night, heading to the next culinary adventure. It was, in a word, perfect.

Another 'hair-rising' post

My God-given eyebrows and I parted ways during my freshman year of college. Before I went to college, I had thick, wayward eyebrows that curled and went every which direction, and practically came to the tops of my eye sockets. I didn't think much of them until I went to college, and my roommate -- let's call her A -- showed up with beautiful, arched and well-mannered eyebrows. I was amazed. Naturally, I did what any intelligent woman would do -- I invested in a pair of tweezers and plucked the living daylights out of my God-given eyebrows.

The end result was uneven, extra thin, kind of freaky eyebrows. During that time, I was also wearing glasses, so the freakishness of the eyebrows weren't quite so obvious on first sight. A suggested once I should probably go to a salon and get them professionally done. This was a news flash; as far as I knew, salons were only to get your hair cut and your lip waxed. I had no idea they did eyebrows too.

The summer between my freshman and sophomore years was pretty traumatic. I was making the decision to switch my major and also to switch universities. I had transfer admission to UVA and I was ready to pack my bags and head south, bad eyebrows and all. It was also the summer I decided to get contact lenses, which is also a trauma, though one that's easy to get over. Getting contact lenses was a revelation. My eye doctor told me the world would be brighter and I should consider wearing sunglasses. Considering this was Vermont, where sunlight existed for like 5 percent of the time, I didn't actually take him seriously.

That was before I stepped outside and I could see the world in a clear and unadultered way, and for the first time in eight years, I had peripheral vision. That was way cool. And added benefit was when I went into a building, I didn't have to worry about glasses fogging up. And oh, when it rained -- which it so often did in the Happy Valley -- I didn't have to dream about little windshield wipers for my glasses.

I didn't end up going to UVA. A week before I was supposed to move down there, I backed out. I had already withdrawn from UMASS, so you can imagine the emotional upheaval there. Was I ever going back to school? Meanwhile, A and her beautiful eyebrows had found another roommate, and I was stuck in this weird limbo, though one I could see very clearly for the first time in years.

Thanks to the never ending bureaucracy at UMASS though, the administration had never processed my withdrawal and I ended up going back to UMASS with a new haircut, new eyebrows and new lenses. It was almost as if that summer I had decided to get rid of the dorky me with the long hair and the big glasses and start looking more like a sophisticated co-ed (actually, I'm still working on the 'sophisticated', but at least no one mistakes me for being 12 anymore).

Every now and then, I miss that girl, the one who didn't care about her bushy eyebrows, who never felt self-conscious about wearing glasses and whose favorite hairstyle was a single braid down the back. I'm torn between the way people think women should look and the way I feel comfortable. Once, when I was boarding the PVTA bus, I saw the driver hadn't shaved her legs. At an outlet store recently, the cashier hadn't waxed her upper lip. Most people would snicker, but my first thought has always been "You go, girl."

The stuff of heroes

This is probably the greatest escape story of all time. Set during World War II and against all odd, 76 POWs escaped. How they did it is just amazing. I won't give away the ending to the story here, but it's a riveting read.

A question of 'fairness'

If it wasn't for Michelle Malkin, I would have never known about the new Zogby International poll showing overwhelming support for not removing Terri Schiavo's feeding tube. I couldn't find mention of this poll on any of the Alphabet networks, and when I looked for mentions of it on google news, I could only find the poll in Christian/pro-life publications. Even Zogby himself didn't have the poll on his site; he merely reproduced the article written by LifeNews in its entirety (you can read it here) so it's impossible to know what Zogby's motives and methods for this poll are and whether in truth, the questions are designed to test reaction to the Terri Schiavo case.

Malkin used the LifeNews' reporter's own words in characterizing this as a 'fairer' poll, and this is where I take exception. It's ridiculous to read these questions and not see them as poorly worded, using inflammatory language, and having an unavoidable bias that can only prompt one answer. It reminds me of the time I received a survey from [insert political party of choice here] and one question asked was, "Do you support education initiatives?" Well, yes. Mind you, the question didn't ask specifics, but rather a general overview question; no doubt, [political party of choice] was overwhelmed with the response to that question -- how much do you want to bet nearly everyone said yes?

The problem with questions like that is they lead respondents to a conclusion desired by the researcher herself and are not truly indicative of what the respondent actually feels. Zogby's questions are a perfect example of this. To wit:

If a disabled person is not terminally ill, not in a coma, and not being kept alive on life support, and they have no written directive, should or should they not be denied food and water.

The word 'disabled' is the first red flag in this question, the first answer as to the question of bias. 'Disabled' means many, many things to many different people, covering the range from chronic back pain to persistent vegatative states. It is impossible to answer this question 'no' without considering the wide gauntlet of definition; most sane and caring people are going to disagree with this statement (though, I would argue that the issue in this case was not so much a question of disability but rather who should make decisions for a patients and whether Congress overstepped its bounds; ask those questions and you'll get a very different answer).

Second, while the question isn't necessarily double-barreled, there is no reason to make the reader run through a maze of 'should or should they not'; in my opinion, that's bad question writing, especially when you can start a question with the word "Should..." and continue from there. The respondent is also forced to consider several factors all in the same sentence: not terminally ill, not in a coma, not being kept alive on life support, and have no written directive.

This poses a research problem as we don't know what factor is more important to the respondent than the other, what tipped their viewpoint into the 'no' column, not to mention the confusion the respondent faces in dealing with such a complex question. And indeed, without direct mention of Terri Schiavo within the question, I find it hard-pressed to apply the results of this study to her situation.

Going on to the next question: When there is conflicting evidence on whether or not a patient would want to be on a feeding tube, should elected officials order that a feeding tube be removed or should they order that it remain in place?

I don't know what it is with Zogby and his penchant for asking two questions in one. A good pollster would not do that. In addition, a definition of who 'elected officials' are is missing. Judges, such as the brutally vilified Judge Greer, can be elected. Tom DeLay, God bless his ethically misplaced soul, is an elected officials, as is Bill Frist. Once again, the question relies on the respondent to draw her own conclusions and definitions. 'Conflicting evidence' also assumes parties are conflicted and an independent source has not made an assessment. This question, however, is not quite as preposterous as the previous one, but again, with direct mention of Terri Schiavo, it's not easy to apply the results of this question to her case.

I'm not saying polls are without bias; polls do have a certain amount of bias and in any report, that bias is noted at the end and a margin of error is given to account for that bias. However, without a margin of error figure, what/who the sample population was, or even the original questions or context of the poll, I'm left with only the questions LifeNews has reiterated and from those, the word 'fair' is not the proper adjective to use in describing this particular survey.

Incidentally, Zogby had a new poll out on my favorite congressperson, Tom DeLay, yesterday; you can read it here, but note Zogby gives the sample population figures and demographics. Also note this line: But nearly 69 percent of people in the poll, including substantial majorities of Democrats and Republicans, said they opposed the government's intervention in the long-standing family battle. I'm just waiting for LifeNews' take on that.

Hair be dragons

I neglected to mention that I got my annual hair cut last week. Every year around this time, I do a massive chop of the hair in anticipation of the summer heat. The problem is, it's currently too short for a pony-tail and it refuses, REFUSES, to cooperate with my hair iron. If someone took a scalding hot iron to me, I'd straighten right out, but my hair is stubborn that way. It keeps curling and you'd think it'd at least have the consideration to curl in the same direction, but it doesn't, and the end result is hair that goes in every which way and cannot be tamed by any number of bobby pins, clips or rubber bands. The end result is I wake up looking as if someone had plopped a haystack on top of my head and even ministrations with the comb get it to look something like a deflated and lopsided Afro.

I tell you all this because I just watched "The Bachelor." I don't usually watch that show, but dinner was later than usual (slight disaster with rice and rice cooker -- long story and slightly embarrasing) so when I plopped down, "The Bachelor" was the only thing on (I don't have cable). There's something rather weird about 25 women competing for one guy who thinks nothing of making out with all of them. But that's another quibble for another day. My major beef with the episode was the hair. How do those women have such great hair? Even when given only five minutes to get ready, their hair springs to attention, as if all those blond-highlighted strands are proud graduates of Hair Boot Camp. Good hair and the opportunity to make a fool of yourself on television (I mean, c'mon, who wears a bikini to a first date?) -- it just doesn't seem right somehow.

Random fact: Apparently it was Jane Pauley who popularized the expression 'bad hair day'.

Take me out to the ballgame

So last night I went to see an exhibition game between the Home Team and a Midwestern team. When I told Florida Girl my plans, she laughed hysterically and said, "You're gonna be stuck in the game for five hours and you're never, ever gonna get to leave." I can't wait to call her and tell her how wrong she is. Her reaction reminded me of the time I broke my finger while in grad school. I called my parents up to break the news and my dad's reaction was, "You broke your finger playing basketball? But you don't play basketball." Well, whatever basketball playing I was doing got cut short by the broken finger; now I just mourn my broken dreams of becoming the first sub-6 footer in the WNBA.

That being said, yesterday's game was so cool, mostly for the mere fact I was watching from a suite. The previous year, I'd gone to see the Cubs with Old Ossbay, and while I got a great look at Sammy Sosa's back, I couldn't tell what else was going on. In this game, we were right behind home plate and I could see the entire diamond and all the action. Plus, the waiter in the suite was super nice and answered all of my stupid questions without dumping my Diet Coke refills in my lap. And the cookies! The giant cookies filled with chocolate chips and as big as my head! I'd watch the Home Team lose all over again as long as those cookies are around.

Cooking Shortcuts with Seema, guest starring Florida Girl

FG: So, I discovered a new, easy way to make crepes.

Me: Yeah?

FG: You take Bisquick, use water instead of milk, one egg instead of two, and add sugar. And then you put it in a pan and cook it all up.

Me: It might be easier to go to France and get them.

What's the DeLay?

Okay, so why is Tom DeLay still in power? As the days go by, Tom DeLay is starting to look and sound more and more insane. Now he's throwing a temper tantrum. Could we buy him a one-way ticket back to Texas already?

Weird

The 'deathwatch' that has taken over the media is alternately fascinating and ghoulish. Terri Schiavo had barely passed away before attention switched to the failing health of the Pope. For the latter, the news media was falling all over itself today, with CNN declaring around noon that the Pope had passed away, and then retracting. Just as CNN retracted, Yahoo! came out with the same story, and then retracted. Also in failing health -- but without the minute by minute updates -- is Prince Rainier of Monaco.