Friday, March 29, 2002

Waiting Games



Yeah, it's been a while since I last posted. I've been recovering from celebrating my birthday. Really, I have. It took me nearly three weeks. You believe me, right?

Damn. Didn't think so.

Actually, the birthday celebration was rather subdued this year, but was quite drawn out. Zappagirl took me to see Beauty and the Beast at the IMAX, where we laughed and cried and sang along (to ourselves - unlike the girl behind us who recited the entire movie word for word). It was great to see one of the Disney masterpieces on the big (REALLY BIG) screen again, since their animation department has been churning out major crap lately. I'm currently biding my time 'til the IMAX adaptation of The Lion King is released next year.

After the movie, Rosencrantz joined us for dinner at Kaldi's. Mmm. And they didn't screw up my order this year. (She also invited me to the Neil Gaiman lecture at Northern Kentucky University, which was fabulous. He read the first five chapters of his upcoming book, and now I'm stuck waiting until the end of June to find out what happens next.)

I hosted a small movie night/Oscars soiree the other night, but the damn thing was so long that everyone left before the show was over and I fell asleep on the couch in the middle of it. I missed Cirque du Soleil's performance and Randy Newman's acceptance speech, but I was awake in time to see Halle Berry sob her heart out. Aw. Go Halle. (And Gwyneth? Cameron? Please look in the mirror before you leave the house from now on. Sheesh.)

No one has stepped up to report a missing kitten, so I suppose that Kismet is officially mine now. She and Ma Huang are getting along fine, and she is in the midst of a ton of trips to the vet. She got spayed on Monday, and is sporting a little stitched-up incision on her now-shaved belly. Poor thing. She looks ridiculous.

Zappagirl and I have been doing karaoke on Friday nights at a bar near her house. We brought the house down with our rendition of "It's Raining Men" (complete with choreography!), and Zappagirl dueted with our pizza delivery guy to the Human League's "Don't You Want Me." It's amazing what a few beers will do.

But besides all of these fun-filled activities, I've been doing a lot of waiting.

I waited for a while for some investment money to settle so I wouldn't have to resort to living in my car. It finally came through, and I celebrated with a small spending spree at Best Buy. I still have yet to decide if I like the new Eels album, but Bob Mould's latest release is growing on me slowly. (Bob's playing around with electronica, and it's downright weird. Black Sheets of Rain this ain't.) I am also now hopelessly addicted to Grim Fandango, but I'm tired of wandering around trying to figure out what to do with a turkey baster full of hookah water. But at least I'm amusing myself by reading bad poetry to dead beatniks at the Blue Casket. (And yes, I know this game is ancient. It was ten bucks in the bargain software section. It was an impulse buy. Shut up.)

I'm anxiously waiting for the Kevin Smith lecture at the University of Cincinnati next month. Silent Bob speaks!

I'm waiting for the 10th anniversary party at the Warehouse (which I refuse to link to because their website is embarrassingly still under construction after a freakin' year), which at this point is being billed as "an 80s rave." Music for the old folks! Which little black dress should I wear?

I waited for the IRS to call me back about possible employment. See, I figured it would be a great place to work temporarily while I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life, so I sent in my resume and took the placement test in January. I got my scores back in February, sent in the necessary forms, and waited for them to call me. And waited. And waited. And waited. They finally called two weeks ago to offer me a thirty day position... on third shift. I waited six weeks for this? Feh.

The good news is I had an interview today (or yesterday, by the time this gets posted). I don't want to jinx myself by saying where it was, but it was with an organization that I previously worked for, and is very close to my heart. I think the interview went well in retrospect, but when I was sitting in the meeting room with the department director, his assistant, and my prospective supervisor, I wasn't so sure. My brain was hurling insults at me every time I opened my mouth.

"You've had too much coffee, you know. Enthusiam is one thing, but you're bordering on psychotic."

"Did you know you stutter when you talk? That's really professional."

"That was quite possibly the dumbest answer I've ever heard to that question. Have you never interviewed for a job before?"

"Computer proficient. Um, whatever. Surfing the internet, e-mailing Roger Mexico at odd hours on Saturday night, and occasionally updating your blog does not equal computer proficient."

"Hope they don't notice the seam on the back of your shoe is splitting."

But I smiled and listened to the director explain the directions that the department was headed and told my brain to shut the hell up. I tried to be as polite and professional as possible, and tried to figure out if "Well, we have some other applicants to interview," meant "We like you, but we obviously can't hire you on the spot," or "We hate you. Please go away now."

So now I'm back to sitting by my phone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for a job offer or a polite rejection. While I'm waiting, I'm crossing my fingers and saying prayers and lighting candles and offering up large sacrifices to the Employment gods.

And playing Grim Fandango. I know that hookah water fits somewhere.

Sunday, March 10, 2002

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised



Television: chewing gum for the eyes
- Frank Lloyd Wright


Oh, television. What a cruel mistress you are.

I'll be the first to admit that most of your programming is sheer and utter crap. Most sitcoms these days are sadly lacking in humor, newsmagazines have become too sensationalistic, and reality shows seem to be rapidly eating away at the primetime schedule like a pixelated cancer.

My old standby shows have suffered in quality. ER lost its edge several seasons ago, I found myself throwing things at the screen when Mulder and Scully kissed on the season finale of The X Files last year, and more than one episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer this season has left me muttering "Whatever."

And even when I do find something to hold my interest, The Powers That Be see fit to cancel it. Futurama? Pre-empted umpteen times for football games, then sent to the scrap heap so Fox could make more room for such quality programming as The Glutton Bowl and Celebrity Boxing. Grosse Pointe? Possibly too meta for the idiots at the WB, who didn't feel like shelling out the extra bucks for Buffy, but renewed Nikki and gave Bob Saget another sitcom. Profit? Gone so fast I didn't have time to set my VCR for a single episode.

Don't even get me started on Cupid. That show rocked, and you sent Jeremy Piven packing to play second banana to John Cusack forever. And we never even got to find out if he really was the god of love, or if he was just nuttier than a Payday bar.

Days are filled with infomercials and reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and nights with VIP and Kevin "Don't Call Me Hercules" Sorbo playing space cowboy on Andromeda. Eeee-vil.

There are times when I think that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have the right idea, and that I'd be better off sans television. (And perhaps to drive home this point, the TV/VCR combo in my bedroom doesn't seem to be working. No more late nights falling asleep to Conan O'Brien, I guess.)

But just when I've given up all hope, small miracles happen on the small screen.

First off, Angel has un-jumped the shark. I was ready to stick a fork (or stake, if you will) in my Monday night viewing habits, and suddenly the show ceases to suck (no pun intended). Now as long as the baby really is gone into an alternate dimension and I never have to hear David Boreanaz do the worst Irish accent ever, I might make it to the end of the season without declaring war on Mutant Enemy.

Second - Smallville. Yes, I rolled my eyes when I saw this on the schedule. Teenaged Clark Kent, in My So-Called Superpowers? With Bo Duke as his dad? How wrong I was. I've started checking my watch during Buffy, waiting to switch over from the shoddy reception on UPN to the Lexalicious goodness on the WB. For these two reasons alone, I can overlook the rest of the WB's lineup. Even Dawson's Creek.

And HBO is seriously making me rethink my anti-cable sentiments. I'm more than intrigued by the premise of Six Feet Under, and their recent acquisitions of theatrical productions that I've been wanting to see is making me quite happy. Again, I'm finding myself trying to find someone with pay channels, this time to get my hands on a tape of The Laramie Project. (Hopefully, they will release it on video, as they did with Wit.)

But the biggest surprise of all has come from MTV, of all places. After all but doing away with music videos to bring the viewing audience yet another season of bickering roommates on The Real World, someone finally smoked the good crack and came up with the funniest idea for a television show ever: a reality-based comedy about a nice normal American family called The Osbournes. Yes, we're talking life at Chez Ozzy. Watch Ozzy have problems figuring out the remote control and veg out on the History Channel! Watch wife Sharon scream at the movers as they unpack boxes marked "Devil Heads" and "Dead Things!" Watch kids Kelly and Jack bicker like normal teenagers over who drops Daddy's name more to get into clubs! Watch the MTV censor have an aneurysm from bleeping out every third word!

You can't make up stuff like that. And as surreal as this all sounds (regrettably, I haven't seen the show yet), it's getting good buzz on the Television Without Pity forums, a community not known for going easy on mediocre television shows. Between the recap of the first episode and the fact that they're using Pat Boone's cover of "Crazy Train" for the opening credits, I'm dying to see this show. Forget Survivor and The West Wing. I want to see a heavy metal icon swig Diet Coke, watch himself on Jay Leno, and bitch at his kids. Now that's quality programming.

(And I've figured out what was wrong with the TV in my bedroom. The power failure we suffered earlier tonight knocked it out, but the problem was fixed by simply unplugging it and plugging it back into the outlet. Whatever. Of course, I wish I'd figured this out before the syndicated episode of Buffy was over. Although maybe since it was the infamously crappy "Bad Eggs" episode, a non-functioning TV may have been a blessing in disguise.)

Thursday, March 07, 2002

Wild Kingdom



Sometimes my life is a little odd. This week has been a good example.

I had headed over to Zappagirl's house Monday night to watch movies. Both of us were dragging a bit and we were discussing making a pot of coffee before we ordered a pizza to nosh on while we watched Con Air. And then Zappagirl opened her mail, and started jumping up and down like she'd won the lottery.

"Omigod! Omigod! Look what I got!"

She was holding a paper doll cutout, brightly colored and laminated. Accompanying him was a letter explaining that his name was Flat Stanley, he was vacationing from Virginia, and she was supposed to show him the sights of Cincinnati.

Since Zappagirl and I are overgrown kids, we took the project to heart. Within an hour, Flat Stanley had a blog, an email address, and was en route to Best Buy in search off a digital camera. Yup, Zappagirl's cousin is so getting an A on this project.

Zappagirl had the next day off, so we decided to take Flat Stanley to the zoo. After having lunch with my mother (who works there), we trekked off in search of animal adventure. And a few hours later, we had 60 or so pictures of various animals and a few quite laughable stories...

- We discovered we could stick Flat Stanley to exhibit glass long enough to take a picture if he was moistened first. As a result, we have pictures of him swimming with the penguins, getting mauled by a Siberian lynx, and watching the manatees have lunch. I'm sure the keepers are wondering why the glass was so smeary, but...

- Peacocks are not bright. (We already knew this, but...) After watching a male display his impressive tail for a quite uninterested female for at least 20 minutes, we felt the need to tell him quite loudly, "Dude! Give it up! She doesn't want you!"

- Spring was most definitely in the air. We must have interrupted something at the white cheeked gibbon display, because the male came over, pressed his hands against the glass, and bared his teeth in a threatening manner until we left. The male Siberian lynx simply sprayed everything in sight. But the weirdest discovery was when we reached the Nocturnal House and realized that while we were observing the vampire bats (and chanting "Drink the blood! Drink the blood!" like a couple of idiots), that two of the bats were having sex. Eww. But it was like a trainwreck. We were riveted, especially when the male... um... finished and then moved on to the next available female. It was like bat porno. I felt dirty.

- It's more than a little startling when a polar bear appears out of nowhere and swims right at you while you're at the underwater observation window. Both Zappagirl and I screamed when his giant paws hit the glass right at our eye level. Yikes.

We left as the zoo was closing, and took the back roads on the way home to avoid rush hour traffic. At an intersection near Zappagirl's house, we came upon a kitten cowering in the roadway. To avoid hitting her, we stopped the car, in hopes that she would get out of the street. The kitten had other ideas, and decided hiding under the car would be a better plan. So we turned on the flashers, hopped out of the car and tried to coax the kitten out from underneath the car. Eventually Zappagirl was able to grab the scruff of her neck and pull her out, and handed her over to me so I could hold her while we checked nearby houses for possible owners. No one in the neighborhood recognized her or claimed her, so we continued on to the nearby vet.

Meanwhile, this adorable little kitten was purring her head off and I was turning into a puddle of feline-loving goo in the passenger seat.

The vet hadn't received any reports of a missing kitten either, but did a quick visual check on her, and verified that she looked healthy and parasite free. We made an appointment to get a full checkup, and the kitten came home with me.

I'd been thinking about getting a second cat anyway. I feel bad leaving Ma Huang alone when I'm out, and cats do better when they have someone to play with. I'd already considered taking one of the kittens from the new litter at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's house, but Life apparently had other plans for me.

At this point, Ma Huang and Kismet (that's what she told me her name was, and I found it quite fitting) are curious about each other, but more than a little wary. Much hissing has ensued over the last two days. The growling, for the most part, has stopped. There have only been two physical altercations, which consisted of one taking a swat at the other, then both of them running off in opposite directions with severe cases of poofy tail. Yesterday, Ma Huang spent the entire day in my bedroom, while Kismet stayed in the living room. Today they're both roaming free, but giving each other plenty of room. (As I type this, Ma Huang is curled up and sleeping on my futon, while Kismet is stretched out and snoozing underneath the futon.) I'm sure things are going to work out, but it's going to take a little time to adjust.

This was not what I had planned for the week. I'm just looking upon her as an early birthday gift from the universe.

Monday, March 04, 2002

Tooting My Own Horn



Carolyn Burnham: Uh, who's car is that out front?
Lester Burnham: Mine. 1970 Pontiac Firebird. The car I've always wanted and now I have it. I rule!

- American Beauty



One of the things I've noticed about myself in the last 8-9 months is that I have a really difficult time taking a compliment. Actually, I've known it a lot longer, as most of my friends and family will attest. I usually tend to blush and dismiss whatever has been said about me with a Jon Stewart-esque self depricating remark.

And I know that a lot of that has to do with my low self image. There are a lot of times I have a hard time seeing anything good in myself. I look at myself in the mirror and notice that I'm getting older, my roots are showing, the bags under my eyes are more like matched dark grey Samsonite steamer trunks, my hair really needs a trim (even though it's not fully grown out to where I want it), I'm getting a bit flabby. I see someone who still hasn't decided what she wants to be when she grows up, someone who still spends her weekends alone watching syndicated episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer while tossing back a few Rolling Rocks. I see someone who is just fooling herself with the whole writing thing, a loser who has squandered the best years of her life, a nobody that missed her window of opportunity.

(Sorry. That paragraph wasn't meant to be that long. But that's what happens. I notice one crappy thing about myself, and the floodwalls break and I end up on the couch binging on Girl Scout Cookies thinking I'm a big sucky loser.)

Granted, it's not always like that. There are some days when I just feel particularly good about myself or I'm wearing an outfit that I consider flattering, and I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in a mirror or glass door and just smile to myself. Because, damn, I rock.

I know I'm not alone in the "I look/feel like a big piece of crap" moments, but it's made it harder for me to believe other people when they say something nice to me. Both Rosencrantz and Roger Mexico have pointed this out to me, and I'm slowly but surely trying to fight back, to consciously tell myself how cool I am.

I'm not saying that I'm trying to develop an overblown ego here. But having a normal sized one would be a good thing.

This very problem has been discussed at length on one of the bulletin board systems that I frequent, and a few of the forum members have started threads to post things they like about themselves. I've been reading along, and hearing other people recognize good things within themselves is very empowering. As a result, I've started a bit of a personal ritual: every day, I must find one thing about myself that I like.

After a few days of feeling rather low, I've decided to compile a few of the things on my list and post them to reinforce them in my head. Call it an exercise in self esteem. Some of the items I've listed are silly little things from the shallow end of the ego pool, some are deeper in subject and importance. None of you folks reading have to buy any of this.

(But I do highly recommend this little exercise. I actually took a compliment at my Writers' Group meeting the other night, and didn't crawl under the table in embarassment.)


    I like the fact that I'm tall. Lately I've been trying to hold my head up, and stand up just a bit straighter (thanks in part to Rosencrantz's newfound focus upon her posture).

    I like the fact that I actually weigh what my driver's license says I weigh, and that I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to not be obsessed with being a size 4.

    I like the fact that I've found a hair color that finally suits me and looks relatively natural. After ranging from Bozo orange to entirely-too-dark auburn, it's nice to not have to stand in the hair color aisle trying to figure out which box of chemicals will make me happy for the next month or so.

    I like playing aunt to my nieces. I may not be around as much I'd like to be, but when Allison wants to play with Aunt Myo, or when Amanda starts grinning wildly at me, it just melts my heart.

    I like the fact that my mom called me yesterday to tell me about how well she did in her Venture Out! program on Friday, and that she taught me not to be afraid of challenges. (Now we know where I got the skydiving thing from, huh?)

    I like being able to include family members in my circle of friends.

    I like that my hair is starting to reach the point where I can do more with it than wish it would grow out of the "in between" phase. After almost 20 years of wearing my hair short, it's strange to be shopping for scrunchies and headbands for the first time. I feel like I'm playing catch-up, learning how different styles can change my appearance. (I am completely in love with the curl enhancement I'm getting from the gel I'm using right now.)

    I like the way that I look in my stretch jeans, as well as a skirt. Because I have nice legs, dammit.

    I like the fact that my eyes are an indecisive color. (And today they're green! Yay!)

    I like that I still, on occasion, get carded for beer. That UDF clerk had no idea how excited I was when he made me run back to my car to get my ID.

    I like the fact that people's cats seem to like me, and that my friends trust me enough with their feline companions to keep an eye on them.

    I like the fact that I'm intelligent, and am consistently trying to put my knowledge to the test. I like the fact that I'm always reading, whether it be a book about feminist spirituality or the daily news. I like the fact that I am trying to keep myself more informed of the world around me, through both current events and my own personal experiences.

    I like the fact that I am, at heart, eight years old, and have a closet full of clothes from the Warner Bros. Studio Store. It's really hard to take yourself too seriously when you're wearing Looney Toons overalls.

    I like the fact that I've been trying to take a bit better care of myself. I've cut back on the coffee and the smoking, and have been habitually making breakfast smoothies (yummy fruit/plain yogurt/soy protein concoctions), as well as taking my vitamins. No more lying to the nurses at my doctor's office about whether I'm getting my RDA of calcium.

    I like the fact that I'm learning to knit. I'm nowhere close as good or as fast as Zappagirl, but I think I did a pretty good job on Roger Mexico's Christmas socks.

    I like the fact that I am a halfway decent writer when I set my mind to it, whether it be poetry or prose, fiction or non-fiction. Granted, I'm not preparing my Pulitzer acceptance speech just yet, but I've kicked around who I'd want to invite to the party I'm going to throw if I ever get published.

    I like the fact that I've been doing things just for me lately, rather than acting the way other people would have me act. Sometimes those people don't have my best interests in mind, and saying no is an important and essential step.

    I like the fact that I'm becoming more open with my emotions, and have become more honest with myself and others. (Roger Mexico and I were talking/emailing about this the other night, and a lot of it is due to him. If you're reading out there, thanks for everything.)

    I like the fact that I can look downright gorgeous when I want to, that I can feel comfortable and confident dressed up or in jeans and a sweater. I like the fact that I've realized it's not just a matter of makeup or the right label. (Although when I've taken the time to visit the altar of Max Factor, I'm smokin', baby. Oh yeah.)

    I like the fact that I am a font of useless pop culture knowledge, and can be a human Entertainment Weekly at times. It's made me the unstoppable force that am when it comes to trivia games. (Some people play too much Diablo. I throw things at the television when Jeopardy! contestants miss easy questions, and I have exhausted the question categories on most volumes of You Don't Know Jack. Fear me.)

    I like the fact that I'm finally starting to accept my singing voice, and am trying to work on my stage fright. Even if it is through alcohol driven karaoke renditions of Cowboy Junkies and 10,000 Maniacs songs. (Haven't decided what song is next in my repertoire. I'm still eyeing the Fiona Apple, though.)

    I like the fact that I am finally able to not only recognize the things in my life that have held me back, but am finally starting to be able to confront them. Some still send me hiding under the covers, but not as much as they used to.

    I like the fact that I have a small group of people around me (both in the real world and the virtual one) that I can call my friends; people who like me for who I am. Thanks to all of you, whether we've met or not.

    I like the fact that I am starting to feel secure enough about myself (for the moment, at least) to actually make this list, and make it public. There's no way I would have been able to do this three months ago.



OK. That's all of the self congratulating I can take for now. I can only run around the apartment proclaiming myself to be an amazing sexy self-aware super genius for so long before I start to wonder what my neighbors might think.