NaNo 2005: The Wrap-up

Aw, crap. I did it again, didn't I? I completely let time get away from me and almost didn't get a post up for the entire month of December.

(Actually, I'd been planning to do a year end wrap-up after the holidays, but I got a nudging reminder from a reader that I'd left the results of the NaNoWriMo thing up in the air. So consider this a brief update until I get all ponderous and melancholy about my life next week.)

I finished NaNoWriMo again this year, crossing the finish line at 50,949 words on the morning of November 25th. Miraculously, the story doesn't completely suck. It's still in need of some major editing; some scenes need to be fleshed out towards the end, and some tangents need to be expanded upon. The "John Hughes movie" gimmick needs some polishing. But all in all, I'm pleased with the results. (I'm also pleased with the fact that I resisted and didn't do grievous bodily harm to my antagonist. There was a particular chapter where I completely loathed him to the point of having to walk away from the keyboard. It's a miracle that his next appearance in the story didn't conclude with something like this:

I smiled at him, reaching behind the sofa to retrieve the flamethrower I'd left back there for just such an occasion. "After all this time, I'd hoped you would have some sort of respect for my feelings," I remarked, checking the settings on the weapon. "But I guess I always saw things the way I wanted them to be rather than the way they actually were."

The color drained from his face. "Can't we talk about this?" he asked nervously, carefully setting his wine glass down on the coffee table.

I shook my head. "What's the use? I can't remember the last time you were honest with me."

I pulled the trigger and watched as the flames engulfed the recliner. Damn. That was going to come out of my security deposit.

Doesn't really have that cheeky chick lit feel to it, does it?

So, yeah. The evil ex character lives. I not only spared his life, I actually gave him a chance at redemption in the last scene. I'm a hopeless sap.

In addition to contending with evil ex-boyfriend characters and plotlines that jumped back and forth between present day and 1987, I kind of ended up as the de facto Municipal Liaison for the Cincinnati area. Our official ML had asked back in October if I could cover for her while she was out of the country for a week or so in mid-November. She organized the Kick-Off party the weekend before Halloween, and then... well, I don't know. She dropped off the face of the earth. Her last post to her online journal was on November 2nd, she disappeared from the NaNo forums, she didn't reply to any of my emails. In despeartion, I randomly selected a coffee house for the Saturday meeting. And the Tuesday meeting. And the following Saturday's meeting... And the Midway Day party... And you can see where this is going, huh? (It's now almost a month later, and I still haven't heard a thing from her. She posted a few times to her journal, and both I and another NaNo writer made "welcome back" comments to no response. Oh well.)

Somewhere over the course of many drinks at the Thank God It's Over party at the Dubliner, a vote was taken by the other NaNos and I was elected the new ML. I was not present for this coup; I was in the bathroom at the time. (Hmm. I see a new motto for next year. It's not as good as "I only signed up for the parties!" though.)

At one point I stopped writing to make a seed beed necklace. Hey, it was integral to the plot. Calling it method writing.

I'm in the process of compiling the soundtrack this week. I have to hunt down a few songs that I currently only have on vinyl or never got around to buying. Who knew I would need Anthrax's cover of "Bring tha Noise" at this point in my life? So it's off to the iTunes Music Store with me, I suppose. Hopefully that will inspire me to actually edit this year....

This year's NaNo was brought to you by Chock Full O' Nuts, Gallo Café Zinfandel, Sampoerna Xtras, Smithwick's, the Highland Coffee House, Rhapsody New Wave Radio, and WOXY Vintage.

NaNoWriMo Update, Day 11

Ah, November. The best of times, the worst of times. The time to drag every bad cliché and plot idea out of storage and throw them against the metaphorical wall in hopes that something will stick long enough to drag 50,000 words out of it.

After last year's experiment ("let's start with no plot whatsoever!"), I decided to do a little planning. I scribbled down a few pages of notes, doled out a few name changes to protect the innocent, and... fell asleep on the couch at 11:30 pm on October 31st, resulting in me missing the starting gun at 12:01 am. Oh well.

I'm writing chick lit this year. I find this funny because I can count the number of chick lit novels I've actually read on one hand. (Two of them have the name Bridget Jones in the title, and the other one involves haircuts named Betty and a Tiny Wooden Hand.)

So here we are, one third of the month in. How am I doing?

I have unexpectedly become the surrogate Municipal Liason for the Cincinnati writers (along with bardiphouka, another of the seasoned NaNo vets). It seems that Steph, our actual ML, had a trip planned to Jordan in the middle of the month. As far as we can tell, some last minute emergencies blew up in her face, and she went missing in action around November 2nd. It hasn't been much work - planning which coffee house to meet at, monitoring the forums and answering any questions that crop up - but it's just enough to distract me from writing as much as I should be.

(And yes, I am anxiously watching the world news, since the suicide bombings occurred the day after she and her boyfriend were due to arrive in Jordan. I don't know if they were staying in Amman, and I don't think they were staying in any of the affected hotels, but it's the not knowing that's driving me crazy.)

Our group has been relatively quiet and antisocial, with the exception of a group of us that had already been hanging out together before this year's NaNo. We've had a few new faces show up at write-ins, though. I know everyone has their own way of going about completing their novel, but part of the fun is meeting other people sharing in the overcaffeinated insanity.

When I haven't been out blowing money on bottomless cups off coffee around town, I've been working at home, fueled by caffeine and the Magic Red Wine. The combination seems to be working well.

Also adding to the word count is an steady stream of WOXY Vintage Radio and Rhapsody New Wave Radio. Much of my novel deals with flashbacks to the late 80s - early 90s, so I've been listening to music that keeps me in the right frame of mind. (It's so much easier to write about a nightclub in 1991 when you're listening to Front 242 or Depeche Mode rather than Green Day or Fiona Apple.)

I'm not having to research as many weird things as I did last year, although I did have to hunt down a few songs by The Birthday Party, Wayne Newton and Anthrax w/ Public Enemy for inspiration in certain scenes. Oh, and I've had to look up a few album releases dates to make sure my characters aren't dancing to a song that had not yet been recorded. (I'm a stickler for continuity on the weirdest things. I think I've changed Potential Love Interest Guy's job three times in twenty pages, but I spent a good fifteen minutes figuring out which album Jesus and Mary Chain album included "Head On" and when it was released.)

Unexpected things have happened in the course of writing. One of my characters went crazy on me for a scene with no explanation. (She went from being the happy-go-lucky encouraging best friend to paranoid freak in the period of a few days.) That kind of threw me off track for a day or two. The creepy and annoying character decided he wanted another scene or two, which will actually work well with an upcoming scene. A dream sequence involving vampires, bloody Marys, and "Billy, Don't Be a Hero" appeared out of thin air. And most suprising of all, the throwaway gimmick of my main character comparing her life to the worst John Hughes movie ever is still managing to hold together somewhat.

Things could be better. I had hoped to be at least halfway done by this point. I'm close (current count: 23,677 words), and since I'm a few days ahead on my word count, it gives me a little room to slack. (Like, for instance, tomorrow night when the write-in will probably be followed by dinner and drinks.)

But most importantly, the story itself doesn't suck too badly. And that, my friends, is a major accomplishment for me during NaNoWriMo.

19 days to go. Keep your fingers crossed.

Playing Dress-Up

Decisions, decisions...

I have two Halloween parties to go to this weekend, and I cannot decide on a costume (or costumes) for them. The first one is Friday night with zappagirl and memnochlv, and the second one is the annual NaNoWriMo Kick Off dinner and drinks silliness at Claddagh.

Here are the ideas I'm considering:

- an iPod ad. I won't be able to "silhouette" my head, but the rest would be easy enough. Multiple layers of black clothes + Antoinette = instant costume. Wonder if I can get someone to walk around behind me with a bright solid-colored background?

- Velma from Scooby Doo. I did this one last year. So negative points for originality, but triple word score for already having the costume, down to the glasses and a plush Scooby Doo purse.

- random medieval wench. (Kind of like this, but my bodice is black, the underskirt is burgundy, and the overskirt is a moss green.) Since we got rained out for the last weekend of the Ren fest, it would give me one more opportunity to wear my garb for the year. Unfortunately, the bodice might make sitting in a crowded booth at Claddagh a bit uncomfortable, and negotiating the skirts in the bathroom after a few beers is always an adventure.

- random saloon girl. This one is questionable, since I'm not sure if this costume still fits. (It looks a little bit like this, but mine is purple and a little fancier.) I wore it for an "Everyday is Halloween" party when I was bartending at the Warehouse. The granny boots that go with it make my feet hurt after a while, but that may have had something to do with standing on concrete slinging beers for 5 - 6 hours.

- random witch costume. This was the year I was recuperating from my broken ankle, so I wanted something no muss, no fuss. I had gone to a theme party (Come as Your Favorite Superhero) earlier in the month as Gimp Girl; my super power was putting on my boot. (Indeed, it was the first time I'd managed to get my boot on over my very swollen FrankenAnkle.) Unfortunately, I doubted that Gimp Girl was going to work at the annual Warehouse shindig, so in an act of desperation, I stopped at my local grocery store and bought a purple and black witch hat (mine does not have the attached fake hair), matching tights, and a sparkly purple star wand (because I'm a good witch) and added them to a black velvet dress I had hanging in the closet and a pair of sturdy boots. Ta-daaaa!

- Willow Rosenberg, BTVS, Season 2, Episode 14 ("Innocence"). This was a completely coincidental costume. Several years ago, I worked at the Warner Brother Studio Store in Kenwood. Much of my paycheck went back to the store. (This explains why I sometimes dress like the world's largest 7 year old.) One of the outfits I bought was a pair of brown corduroy overalls with a zipper mouthed Taz on the front pocket, and a striped multi-colored shirt to match. Imagine my suprise when my outfit showed up in an episode of Buffy one Tuesday night. It's an obscure costume selection, but I already have it and it's comfy. (Rocket launcher not included.)

Comments? Thoughts? Suggestions?

Life and How to Write It

Before I begin... happy birthday, Phil! I owe you a beer the next time I see you.

It's official: I'm doing NaNoWriMo yet again. Apparently I have a masochistic streak that manifests itself as a need to try to write 50,000 words of absolute crap in a ridiculously short amount of time. (It's not as easy as it sounds, really.)

This will be my fifth year participating, and hopefully will result in my second "win" in a row. (There's no such thing as a loss, since there really are no prizes except a pretty purple bar on your profile and access to a downloadable certificate and winner icon. Even if you "lose" and finish the month with only 500 words written, it's 500 more words than you'd written before. We're writers; we can rationalize anything.)

The first year I bit off more than I could chew. I attempted to write the Great Amercian Novel, complete with framing stories and different fonts to represent my main character's levels of consciousness. I made pages of color-coded preliminary notes, wrote out plot points on well organized 3 x 5 cards, and proceeded to crash and burn in a pool of tears and red wine at about 20,000 words.

(First lesson learned: Don't try to write the Big Novel. Also, don't write about a main character having a nervous breakdown when your own sanity is hanging by a thread. Yeah, it wasn't pretty.)

Year two: I decided to write a road trip novel with touches of science fiction ingrained in the plot, using some of the same characters from the Big Novel. After 20,000 words, I found myself mired along with my characters in a small Nebraska town that didn't exist on any map, unsure of how to get out.

Year three: I decided to "cheat" and go back to work on the Nebraska story. I wrote some good stuff, spent entirely too much time plotting out a game of Scrabble between the main characters (every word related to the plot, so I had to reconstruct it for accuracy). On a dare, I attempted to write a sex scene, which was going along fine until my characters decided they'd rather talk about prophetic dreams instead. (No, I don't know what's wrong with them either. They're stupid. That's why they're still stuck in Nebraska.) And then I started openly ripping off The Stand... yeah, didn't win that year either.

But I am rather proud of my Scrabble game. And the karaoke scene was fun to write.

Year four: Taking the advice of one of my fellow writers at the Meet and Greet, I sent my Nebraska characters on a much needed vacation and started fresh with a new set of characters (that admittedly bore a striking resemblance to the previous ones). As I had no idea what to write about, I just started making things up. I ended up with a gigantic mess of a plot involving generations of psychic Irish women, chick lit angst, side trips to Hocking Hills State Park, yellow teapots, shadowy villans that all looked suspiciously like Agent Smith from The Matrix, and a narrator that kept jumping in (a la Lemony Snicket) and apologizing for how stupid everything was turning out. This gigantic mess, however, broke the 50,000 word mark, resulting in me running around the apartment drunkenly yelling "WHOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOO!" at a late hour in the evening. (I'm sure my neighbors loved me for that.)

I discovered the secret, you see. Coffee is a given, of course. But, at least for me, the secret to getting the words to come out? CHEAP RED WINE.

So here we are at year five. I'm starting to stock up on wine and coffee. I'm getting the house in order so I have as little to think about housekeeping-wise as possible. And I've been kicking around plot ideas. I pondered the idea of writing a sequel to last year's fiasco. I thought about combining some ideas from some short stories that I wrote back in the late 80s/early 90s. (If I knew you back then, chances are you ended up as a character in one of my stories. Doubly so if I dated you for longer than 10 minutes.)

And after much thinking and brainstorming last night, I am happy to announce that I HAVE A PLOT.

This year there will be no framing stories, no narrating cats. My main character will not be pursued by men in dark suits, will not be able to read minds and roll pencils across the table with her thoughts, and will not be looking for secret entrances in caves located in parks I've never been to. SHE WILL NOT GO INSANE AND NAME ALL OF THE BONES IN HER HAND WHILE LISTENING TO BEN FOLDS FIVE. (Don't ask. That was a weird chapter.)

This year will be straight chick lit. As things stand now, it will end up being a much-less-funny version of Pamie's Why Girls are Weird. (I could never write anything as funny as Tiny Wooden Hand.) As usual, a lot of the plot will be semi-autobiographical, but the main character will hopefully be much more interesting and well adjusted than me. (And hopefully not too much of a Mary Sue.) I will be stealing a few scenes from the old 80s short stories, as flashbacks are involved. An old character is being revived and dusted off.

There will be a happy ending.

And contrary to what I'd said a few weeks ago to a fellow NaNovelist, no one is going to die. At least, I don't have any plans to kill anyone off. (That was just me being bitter and working through some internal issues.)

And for now... that's all I feel comfortable in revealing. I'm still working things out in my head, trying to figure out how to squeeze 50,000 coherent words out of this without pulling the author-as-intrusive-character thing again.

And plans may change. I may be back to writing about angsty psychic redheads by the 10th.

The Top Five Reasons Why There's No MPMF Recap Yet

I see you out there, impatiently tapping your foot. "Where's the Midpoint Music Festival recap you promised us, Myo?"

(Yes, I know that no one is waited with bated breath for my musings on Midpoint. Yes, I know that I can count my readers on my fingers. Being delusional is fun sometimes!)

Anyway, I can explain...

5. I decided to restructure the recap. Rather than writing three separate daily blow-by-blow accounts, I decided to write one concise post. (Well, as concise as I am able to manage. If brevity is the soul of wit, I'm probably the most witless person ever.) As this involves condensing 40 pages of notes into a few thousand semi-clever words, it's a pretty formidable task and it may take some time.


4. I'm tired. The week of Midpoint was also one of my department's biggest educational special events, and it's one of the few times I actually get out of the office. So rather than taking phone calls in the office, I found myself standing outside the Gallery giving directions to Wolf Woods and the train station. I got to work the learning cart at Manatee Springs one day, which was nice since I'd not yet seen our new manatees. Of course, the area where I was stationed was actually around the corner from the manatees, so I only saw then as I walked past the tank when I reported for duty.

(Side note about Manatee Springs: If you're in the building for an extended period of time, the music will drive you insane. Take one soothing new-agey song that sounds like it was taken off the most generic meditation/relaxation CD ever. Make sure that it's about five minutes long, but consists of nothing more the same 10-second musical phrase repeated over and over with an tiny variation every once in a while. Add a slight calypso feel with some steel drums. Play the same song on an infinite loop. Trust me on this; two hours of listening to the Coral Reefer Band on Valium is more than enough.)

Running from venue to venue at Midpoint took a lot out of me as well. It got to the point that shows at Jekyll and Hydes became low priority because they involved climbing a lot of stairs. By Sunday morning, my back and leg muscles ran up the white flag, and I spent the entire day on the couch clutching a bottle of ibuprofen. I didn't even have the energy to remove the shrink wrap from the mountain of CDs I had bought/received at the shows.


3. I've been rearranging the furniture. My parents moved this past week into a new condo around the corner from the old place, and had extra furniture looking for a home. As I am the queen of hand-me-down furniture, I happily accepted their offer of a recliner couch and matching recliner chair and a queen-sized bed. Of course, this meant getting rid of the Scary 70s Sectional from Hell and moving the futon into the living room (where it would be used as a couch for the very first time), so the MyoParents came over Monday night and MyoMom helped me carry the sectional and my non-functioning TV to the curb for trash day. We also moved the futon into the living room so we wouldn't have to do it in the morning when the moving truck arrived, and I ran out to Target for a new vacuum (one that actually works - what a concept!) and curtains that would match the quilt for the new bed.

The movers were supposed to arrive around 10:00, after moving all of my parents stuff to the new place. They didn't arrive until 2:00, and had forgotten the bedframe. (The MyoParents brought it over Friday night and helped me assemble it.) As a result of all of this, my apartment actually looking like it has a grown-up living in it. I'm not sure who this grown-up is, but I hope she doesn't take up too much space.


2. I spent most of the weekend at Chez Zappa. Shortly after my parents left, I headed over to hang out with Zappagirl and Memnochlv. Much coffee, wine, and silliness ensued. Zappagirl had invited a few folks over the next afternoon for a knit-in, and against all better judgement I decided to give knitting yet another try. Mind you, I haven't completed a project since I made the socks for Roger Mexico. The bag? Done, felted, but no straps. The scarf I started a few years ago? Finished about five inches of it before I got frustrated and shoved it in a drawer. The mohair tam that Zappagirl wanted me to do as practice for reading a pattern. Never ever cast the yarn on the needles. But since I am the ultimate lemming, I bought three skeins of black and multi-colored variegated yarn, found a relatively easy pattern on the internet, and started making yet another scarf. If I actually manage to complete it before next winter, I have a pattern for a hat that I might attempt as well. (Given my motivation, attention span, patience, and manual dexterity... I don't recommend holding your breath on ever seeing this hat and scarf combo.)


1. Did I mention I was tired? As with all weekends spent hanging out with Zappagirl and Memnoch, sleep was not a high priority and I got very little of it over the weekend. When I realized that I was having problems counting to two while working on the scarf and kept making really stupid mistakes, I took it as a sign that I was too exhausted to do anything productive, and went home to watch Desperate Housewives. I managed to hold my eyes open, but I'm really not sure how much of it I actually comprehended.

And despite being über-tired, I still had trouble sleeping last night. The only reason why I'm actually conscious at the moment is the two large cups of coffee I've had this morning. I'm heading upstairs in a few minutes to make more, as I am supposed to go see Serenity tonight with Delorda and Yzavela, and it would probably be rude of me to snore during the movie.

So yeah, it's been a wacky week. Recap coming soon, I swear.

MPMF 2005 Mania: The Pre-plan

Less than 20 hours until the first bands take the stage at Midpoint Music Festival 2005. I've worked out a preliminary schedule of bands and artists that piqued my interest while listening to audio samples on the electronic press kits. This list will probably change, as I still haven't had the chance to read through all of the band blurbs in CityBeat. I've also included way too many bands (40 in three nights), and there's always the possibility that I will run into someone who drags me to see their buddy's band. But on the good side, more bands = less time in each venue = less time to sit on my butt and drink beer = more money to spend on CDs.

But for now, this is the plan. And yes, I did draw out a map of the bars in the Main Street district to minimize walking time and maximize music time. How lame is that?

Thursday

9:00
The Green Room - Japps
late nite drivers - Club Dream
David Levin - Coopers on Main

10:00
Reidnoise - Jekyll & Hyde's 2nd Floor
entheos - Neon's Upstairs
Jayne Sachs Band - Neon's Courtyard

11:00
pale beneath the blue - Neon's Upstairs
ashwednesday - The Exchange
Philosopher's Stone - Courtyard Cafe

12:00
for algernon - Coopers on Main
Ric Hordinski - Neon's Upstairs


Friday

9:00
Soular - Jefferson Hall
Two Turntables and a Saxophone - Jekyll & Hyde's 2nd Floor
Schooley Station - The Exchange

10:00
Fairmount Girls - Club Dream
Hungry Lucy - Jekyll & Hyde's 2nd Floor
Kohai - Jefferson Hall
bulletproof charm - Neon's Courtyard

11:00
Bel Auburn - Jefferson Hall
Emily Strand and the Town - Jekyll & Hyde's 3rd Floor
(in)camera - Alchemize Upstairs

12:00
Noctaluca - Jefferson Hall
Brian Deer - Neon's
Buckra - Red Cheetah

1:00
Aether - Japps
The Spectacular Fantastic - Alchemize
Adam Evil and the Outside Royalty - Alchemize Upstairs


Saturday

9:00
Unfinished Thought - Club Dream
Moonshot Radio - Jekyll & Hyde's 3rd Floor

10:00
Cinema Star - Neon's
(another random band to be added later)

11:00
Infinite Number of Sounds - Club Dream
The Times -Courtyard Cafe

12:00
FLUTTR EFFECT - Club Dream
ism - Japps
The Oggs - Jekyll and Hyde's 3rd Floor
Never the Nines - Neon's
The Samurai Seven - Neon's Courtyard
The Newbees - Neon's Upstairs

(Yes, I know I have listed 6 bands in one time slot. Delusional? Yep.)

1:00
Oval Opus - Jefferson Hall
Lovely Crash - Japps


I've got my walking shoes and notebook set out for tomorrow evening. The VCR is already set to record CSI:. And I'm already clockwatching... 19 hours, 19 minutes, and I can forget about my job for a while and pretend to be the World's Worst Music Critic.

Fifteen for Friday

Since I am currently not in a position to access Rhapsody (i.e., I'm at work, and my computer has no sound card), today's playlist comes to you courtesy of Antoinette, my iPod. Apparently she's feeling a bit eclectic today...

Flann O'Brien - Fluttr
The Gift - INXS
Insomnia - Jason Ludwig
One Step Inside Doesn't Mean You Understand - The Notwist
Bullet the Blue Sky - Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine
You Are - Hungry Lucy
Myxomatosis (Judge, Jury, and Executioner) - Radiohead
Bubblegum Bandit - Buckra
Schadenfreude - Avenue Q Original Broadway Cast
Bop Gun (One Nation) - George Clinton (featuring Ice Cube)
The Hypocrite - Ryan Downe
Selective memory - eels
Book of Destiny (Legal Remix) - Infinite Number of Sounds
Marching Bands of Manhattan - Death Cab for Cutie
The Meeting - Hamell on Trial

It appears that Antoinette is looking forward to Midpoint Music Festival, seeing as how one third of the songs on this playlist are from artists I saw last year (and probably will see again this year - I still need to pick up the new Infinite Number of Sounds CD). Admittedly, I'm looking forward to it as well; last year was entirely too much fun, despite the fact that it drained all of the money out of my wallet. Recaps will be forthcoming, and a 2005 MyoMix will hopefully follow soon after.

I haven't finalized my schedule for any of the evenings, and I'll be hopping around from bar to bar much of the weekend (too many good bands... not enough time), but if anyone has any suggestions of must-see bands or wants to catch up with me, just let me know. Or just look for me down there. I'll be the girl on Main Street drinking a Christian Moerlein.

Oh wait, that doesn't really narrow it down too well, does it?

Howdy, Neighbor!

I got new neighbors today.

Now, this isn't big news. People move in, people move out. It's the way of an ever-changing world. But in my building, it's an occasion.

I live in a four-family apartment building. When I moved in, I was the only non-related person in the building. My mother had heard about the apartment from a co-worker in her office when she still worked at the Zoo. Co-worker's mother was the landlady of the building, and had an immediate vacancy on a one-bedroom in Norwood. Landlady also has a son working at the Zoo (in Wings of Wonder, our bird exhibit), and actually had worked my desk years before. (She works in the office of a parochial school now.)

Despite my reluctance to move back into Norwood (In my head, it seemed like I was taking a step backward and admitting defeat... no, it doesn't make sense, but it did at that point in my life, and sometimes still does. I'm still making peace with much of my past.), I was about through with the bohemian Clifton life. Everyone I knew had moved out - Paisley1974 and Mark had moved to New Orleans (sending good thoughts in your direction, BTW... take care!), Roger Mexico had moved on to Small Eastern PA College Town, Mike Dangers was considering getting out, and my strangely eclectic neighbors were starting to become less eclectic and more... I hesitate to use the word "redneck" as I never really knew them, but it certainly wasn't the same mix of foreign grad students, gay (and gay-friendly) liberals, and nonjudgmental folks with liberal views and crappy credit. Break-ins were becoming more frequent. Memos from the resident managers about hate speech showed up on tenants' doors. After the eight billionth time I'd walked out to my car to find the window broken and my car stereo missing, I'd had enough. Enough to put aside my prejudice against myself and agree to look at an apartment in Norwood.

The apartment was old, a shotgun setup, with a non-functioning fireplace in the living room. (Complete creepy aside here: I Googled "shotgun apartment" to make sure I was using the term correctly, and the first result was a website for finding apartments in NOLA. Ugh. Sorry. Trying to avoid a depressing rant on the last week. Forget I mentioned it.) It was cheaper than the Clifton apartment. (Well, until the heating costs for an apartment with big windows and no insulation were factored in. Doesn't matter. Despite the horrible draft on my couch in the winter, I still love my giant windows.) The landlady was easygoing and likable. I signed the lease that evening, and moved in right after Thanksgiving. (I was invited to the house dinner in case I didn't have anywhere else to go.)

My landlady's sisters lived downstairs from me, across the hall from Landlady. Across the hall from me was Landlady's other daughter and her two children, Quiet Young Teen Daughter and Belligerent Older Teen Boy. Everyone in the building had dogs, which confused my kitties to no end. (The Clifton apartment, to my knowledge, only had one dog, owned by the resident managers. Most of us had cats, except for the guy next door who shall always be known as Ferret Boy.)

There was another resident in the Family apartments: the estranged (I think? I really don't want to know the details) ex-husband of Landlady's Daughter and father of the Teens. He lived in the basement for some reason, in a corner sectioned off with sheets on clotheslines à la It Happened One Night. I realized his presence one Thursday night when I was doing laundry and noticed that I could hear ER much clearer than I should have been able to through the floor. From that point he became The Man in the Basement. He seems to be an OK guy, and I try to do my laundry at a decent hour. Weird, but I'm no example of normality myself. Who am I to question things?

Belligerent Older Teen Boy was the only problem I really had. Most of the time, he was just surly and simmering. Sometimes the simmering boiled over into loud cursing at whoever in his apartment was pissing him off. I would be enjoying a quiet night in with a movie from Netflix and my quirky art house movie or foreign film would suddenly be interrupted by "FUCK! GODDAMMIT! I HATE LIVING HERE! I JUST WANNA FUCKIN' LEAVE!" I would roll my eyes and turn the sound up louder or focus harder on the subtitles. Ah, the joys of apartment living. Not as weird as hearing Ferret Boy singing country music in the shower while I was in the bath. It was annoying but sporadic. He mowed the lawn and took out the trash cans. I figured he'd either move out eventually or get some anger management or a Xanax prescription. I'm sure I was pretty intolerable in my rebellious years, but my immediate family was the only one who had to suffer through it.

Beside BOTB, my neighbors have been wonderful folks. When I broke my ankle, they all left their phone numbers with me, just in case I needed something from the grocery or a pack of smokes. (Everyone in my building smokes with the exception of Teen Girl and Man in the Basement, but I don't think any of them would've had the first clue where to buy cloves.) On Halloween, we all gather on the steps downstairs with candy for the kids and cigarettes for ourselves and spend half the night visiting with our neighbors. We stop by the funeral home across the street to get the good candy (they buy an array of full-sized candy bars, but make the kids actually go into the lobby and take their candy from the open coffin with a dummy inside) and chit-chat with the guys while their dogs play in the front yard. We gossip with the housewives down the street. We ooh and aah over every single kid's costume and hand out entirely too much candy. (Trick-or-Treaters are still a novelty to me. Before I moved here, I never got them, so I'm making up for over a decade of cavities and sugar buzzes.)

For the most part, I guess I'm not a good neighbor. I'm one of those "she was quiet; she kept to herself" tenants. I try to keep it down when I'm up at odd hours. I occasionally have friends over (not enough), and I'm sure my neighbors are confused by the wide range of people that stop by. (I'm sure the Oscar party caused no end of gossip: women in formal attire, men with long hair, small children, and a late-arriving guy dressed in all black, and eyebrow piercing and possibly eyeliner. Quite a change from my very clean cut suburban family members that stop by from time to time, and probably not what my good straight-laced Catholic neighbors were expecting on a Sunday night.)

A few months ago, the sisters moved out. I'm not sure what the circumstances were, but I gathered that they were tired of the 24/7 family thing. Landlady's Daughter and the Teens moved downstairs, and the apartment across the hall from me was renovated. Aside from occasional blockage of the back landing by carpet scraps, ladders, and cleaning supplies, it didn't really affect me all that much. I just shrugged, moved the ladder blocking my door, and hoped that the new neighbors wouldn't be friends of BOTB.

So anyway (after this incredibly long and tedious exposition), my new neighbors moved in earlier today, with the help of a small army of friends. As far as I can tell, it's a couple (married? unmarried?) in their twenties. The guy is skinny with glasses, the girl appears older. Apparently their lease didn't include garage space (as five out of six bays are in use, and the last one is still full of junk), and their four-door sedan is parked out front. The car, incidentally, has a large spoiler on the back. Not a factory spoiler - it's one of those garage jobs that looks like it was assembled in a high school metal shop. It's too early to make a judgment on these folks. They've only been here for twelve hours, but so far the only noise I've heard is the crack of a beer when I was picking up my mail. (I'm assuming it was a beer, since they were probably rewarding their friends with moving-party-payoffs of pizza and beer. Hell, that's all I ever asked when I helped friends move. I'm cheap like that.)

I'm sure I'll eventually run into these folks in the hall. I'm wondering how I'll introduce myself. "Hi! I'm Myo! I live across the hall from you. I'm overcaffeinated and I smoke funny cigarettes. I listen to weird music - anything from Broadway show tunes to punk rock - but I'll try to keep it down. I talk to my cats. I talk back to the TV. I sometimes keep weird hours due to insomnia, but again, I'll try to be quiet. You might hear a click-clacking from my apartment; that's me on my computer. I may laugh out loud when I'm doing this. You may hear any variation of languages coming from my apartment as well; I like foreign films. (I also like culty movies, and you might hear me reciting dialogue. That happens with Kevin Smith films a lot.) Some of my friends that stop by might look a little funny to you. Deal with it; they're nice people. And if I grunt unintelligibly at you in the mornings, don't take it personally. I'm pre-verbal until 9:00. Later if I've got a day off.

"Oh, and please excuse anything I do in November. Things get a little weird around here in November. Welcome to the neighborhood!"

I don't know if that would be a comforting greeting or if it would scare the shit out of them. Mr. Rogers I am not.

Melancholy Midnight Music

OK, so I decided to give the playlist blogging tool on Rhapsody a try, but it doesn't seem to be working all that well for me. I've posted this playlist to Playlist Central if anyone would care to give it a listen. (It's listed under myopic in the Theme/Holiday genre, with the title "Melancholy Midnight Music".)

Hopefully this should link to it as well.

(For those of you without Rhapsody, I've listed the songs below if you would like to seek them out yourself.)

1. Manchild - Eels
2. Things Behind The Sun - Nick Drake
3. Mission Street - Vienna Teng
4. Selfless, Cold And Composed - Ben Folds Five
5. Bottle Up And Explode! - Elliott Smith
6. That's Just What You Are - Aimee Mann
7. New Slang - The Shins
8. 1000 Oceans - Tori Amos
9. The Shining - Badly Drawn Boy
10. Let Down - Christopher O'Riley
11. Like A Radio - Over The Rhine
12. Bittersweet - Big Head Todd & The Monsters
13. I Feel Possessed - Crowded House
14. I Know - Fiona Apple
15. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
16. Protection - Massive Attack
17. Waiting To Be - Josh Clayton Felt
18. I Wish I Never Saw The Sunshine - Beth Orton
19. Along The Way - Bob Mould
20. Stop Your Crying - Spiritualized

Can you tell I've been moody lately?

The Obligatory Vacation Recap - The Missing Friday Entry!

(I’m sure that, as it is now August, anyone who was interested what I did on my summer vacation has either given up on getting the missing Friday recap or has already heard it from me firsthand. But seeing as how I just found a printed copy of it on my desk at work – proof that I actually did write it! – I figured I’d post it for anyone who hadn’t heard the story of me having a panic attack in Hell’s Kitchen. Enjoy!)

We got a late start on Friday (no, really?) and decided to break the cardinal rule of traveling in New York (i.e., DON’T DRIVE). It was decided that it would be cheaper for us to park the car in the city than take the train (which it was), and in that way our time in Manhattan wouldn’t be as limited. (The last train to Tarrytown was at 1:00 am, which is a tad early when you’re in The City That Never Sleeps.)

We briefly got lost in the Bronx (note: I have now been lost in three out of five boroughs! Go me!)while looking for somewhere near a subway stop where we could park the car and not pay an arm and a leg. No dice, so we got back on the Henry Hudson Parkway, headed into Manhattan.

(I suppose now would be a good time to admit that I’m a very nervous passenger in unfamiliar territory. Driving in New York City makes me nervous; always has. Suffice to say that the next hour or so spent driving around Hell’s Kitchen in search of a place to park resulted in lots of nervous whimpering sounds from the back seat. And a lot of chain smoking.)

Having finally found a place to park the car, we went in search of immediate needs: alcohol, food, and a bathroom (not necessarily in that order). We stopped for dinner at Matt’s Grill, the first of many serendipitous choices of the weekend. Good food, good wine, and a perfectly mixed Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. (Yes, I had a cocktail in addition to the wine. Did I mention the panic attacks and the meeping sounds coming from the back seat?) We took turns stepping out to the Bloomberg Lounge for a smoke while watching the news report about a helicopter that had crashed into the East River, with camerawork from… another helicopter. Creepy.

(It was around this point where the two recurring themes – well, besides the “we got a late start” thing – emerged: the unending search for McLeary’s and the non-stop quoting of Team America: World Police. Well, just one line, really: MATT DAMON!)

We wandered around aimlessly for a while, cutting through Times Square and stopping for a map check and a very odd bathroom break in Bryant Park. While I was being accosted by a Brooklyn-accented bleached blonde (carrying a cell phone that had the theme from Sex and the City as a ringtone) about the Channel 11 news (she was fixated on it and was asking every woman in the bathroom if we watched it, but never mentioned why she wanted to know), Memnoch was trying to figure out why someone was mixing drinks in the men’s room.

There was still a little time to kill before Avenue Q, so we stopped in at Garvey’s Irish Pub, located next to the theater. (I’ve since found out that it was part of the Milford PlazaHotel, which was on the other side. Huh.) It wasn’t McLeary’s, but we were getting closer. Memnoch headed off to the bathroom to change into slightly dressier pants while zappagirl and I made ourselves pretty over a few pints.

Avenue Q rocked. Best puppet musical ever. Charming and crass, heartwarming and sweet with infinitely hummable songs. I could go on and on about it, but I don’t want to spoil anything for folks who haven’t seen it. After loading ourselves down with merchandise and getting autographs at the stage door, we returned to ambling around the city.

As we were passing through Times Square to catch a subway to the Bowery so we could scope out where we were headed the next night for the Richard Cheese show, we received a call that the wayward kitty had been found. There was much rejoicing in front on the TKTS booth – it was our own little New Years Eve in June.

By this point, we had decided that we were on the eating and drinking – but mostly drinking – tour of the city, and Zappagirl recalled a bar that her brother had taken her to. After unsuccessfully searching for it (we were in the wrong borough – oops), we randomly selected a small neighborhood pub in Soho called Toad Hall. Again, good choice – friendly staff and patrons, reasonable prices, and good music (provided by the bartender’s donated iPod channeled through the stereo). Memnoch chatted with one of our fellow drinkers, who recommended a few bars that might fit into our search for McLeary’s.

(Somewhere in the course of our wanderings – did I mention we were on the drinking tour? - we stumbled across a band playing in the Union Square subway station, part of the Music Under New York program. I happily dropped a dollar in the open guitar case, and made a mental note to check out the website when I got home. Susan Cagle, y’all. She rocks.)

Somewhere around 5:30 in the morning, we decided to call it a night. The sun was coming up as we pulled out of the parking garage and started the drive back. We said our farewells to the city (for that evening, at least) by rolling down our windows and cranking The Beastie Boys' “An Open Letter to New York” and happily singing along.

The (Much Delayed) Obligatory Vacation Recap, Part 2

(I have no idea what happened to my post about Friday. I swear I wrote one. It had eight bajillion links! Where did it go? OK, I'll reassemble it and repost it. Until then, here's the end of the story... sorry.)

Saturday:

Once again, we got a late start. (I'm sure you're all shocked by this... SHOCKED!) We re-evaluated our plans (again the three-hour tour got pushed to the wayside simply because it would suck up three hours of our very busy schedule) and set off for the parking garage in Hell's Kitchen that we'd used the night before. (Because we knew where we were going, I did not completely freak out as I had done the day before. Hooray!)

First on the agenda: lunch (again at the dining concourse) and the New York Transit Museum Gallery Annex at Grand Central. There was an exhibit of the history of New York transportation in film. Fascinating. I honestly could have stayed in there all day, but we had too busy an agenda to spend the entire day watching clips of King Kong and Saturday Night Fever. Onward!

Our next stop took us to the Museum of Sex, where I was tempted to buy something just so I could have a T shirt or coffee mug that loudly proclaimed MoSex. (My practical side won out, and I decided against it. I do have the online store bookmarked in case I change my mind, though. Heh.) In addition to the permanent collection, there were two temporary exhibits, one focusing on the history of the male nude and another on the history of the stag film. Educational and titillating!

(I said titillating. Hee. I'm twelve.)

It was getting close to time for the Richard Cheese show at the Bowery Ballroom, so we cut through Little Italy, thinking we could find something to eat along the way. This proved a bit more difficult than one would expect. While Mulberry Street is closed to traffic on weekends and is jam-packed with restaurants, the vast majority of them are sidewalk cafes. We finally found a place with carry-out (which, as far as I can tell, was The Italian Food Center) and grabbed some calzones and stromboli (Zappagirl and Memnochlv raved about both).

Tummies no longer rumbling, we headed over to the Bowery Ballroom for the Richard Cheese show. (Amusing note: the music that was being played before the band took the stage? All original versions of songs that they cover. At first we thought it was a coincidence, but after the fourth or fifth song in a row... and when given the opportunity to sing along with "Baby Got Back," who's complaining?) The show was fabulous: if this turns out to be an extended farewell tour, I highly recommend making the trek to see them. (Completely shallow side note for the ladies: Frank Feta, the new drummer, is way cute. Memnoch pointed this out, by the way.)

After the show, the band retired to the downstairs lounge for a meet and greet, where Zappagirl engaged Gordon Brie in a discussion on French composers. (Lounge Against the Machine has some musical cred - the aforementioned Mr. Brie was preparing for his Masters performance. And the boy can dance!)

Putting the neverending quest for McLeary's on pause for a bit, we stopped at Winebar in East Village, based on a review Zappagirl had read in the Village Voice. Yummy wine (the name of which seems to be escaping all of us), but we unfortunately arrived as they were closing up. We polished off our bottle and continued up 2nd Avenue in search of beer-flavored beer.

There were three bars rights next to each other further up the street that had been recommended to us the previous night at Toad Hall. With time becoming a factor at this point, we closed our eyes and pointed, and started at The Thirsty Scholar. It was OK, but the lack of Bass Ale (my summer brew of choice... until the next stop, that is... but I'll get to that in a moment) was disheartening. I sipped at my Bud Light and almost spit it back up; sometimes my body has a hard time adjusting between wine and beer and rebels on the first drink or two.

And then the weirdness started. (As if it wasn't weird enough already.) A girl approached our group and asked if we knew where any nearby gay bars might be. Apparently this girl was looking for a bar to take her friend Matt to and thought we looked like we were in the know. After explaining that we were tourists and could recommend a few in Cincinnati, Matt joined in the conversation. It's probably a good thing we were unable to help with recommendations, as Matt had probably had enough fun for one evening. Due to the inebriation, there was also some confusion over my companions' sexual preferences: at first he suspected Zappagirl to be either bisexual or a lesbian. He then went on about what a cute couple Zappagirl and Memnoch were for several drunken minutes, then asked Memnoch, "So you're gay, right?" Wow. Brain cells were dying right and left.

(No speculations were made towards my sexual proclivities. Either I'm obviously and unquestionably straight or he was so drunk that he was unaware that there was a third person there.)

We headed next door to Ryan's Irish Pub, where I asked Memnoch to order me a Bass while I made a pit stop. I returned to find a pint in front of me. "They were out of Bass," Memnoch informed me. "But the bartender said this was better."

I glanced over at the bartender. Hello salty goodness! Pretty. Pretty. Prettyprettypretty... whee! And a thick Irish brogue to match. He could've served me a flat Old Milwaukee and told me it was the best beer ever and I would've believed him. (The beer - Smithwick's Ale - was quite good. It's apparently a relatively new import, though, so it might be hard to find, but I highly recommend it.)

Unfortunately, it was closing time (and I was pretty exhausted at this point), so we headed off to catch the subway back to the car. As we waited (and I tried to mentally will the giant blister on my heel to stop hurting), Zappagirl and I had a Motown singalong with an older African-American gentleman waiting on his train. He may or may not have been drunk, but who cares when it's 5 am on a Sunday morning, you've been up all night, and there's nothing else to do but wait on the subway to take you back to your car before the sun comes up? Singing a medly of Temptations and Four Tops songs sounds like a good way to pass the time. (It took my mind off my aching feet for a few minutes too!)

Zappabro was up when we finally made it home. (He had a golf game in the morning.) I'm sure he probably was shaking his head in disbelief, but I was too focused on crashing (and taking off my boots) to notice....

Sunday (I'll make this brief, as it's been over month since we've been back, and most people have probably grown disinterested at this point):

For the most part, we did nothing. The nonstop silliness of the previous two days had taken their toll, and we pretty much hung around Zappabro's house doing nothing. I made some progress on the book I was reading. We headed into the city that evening for dinner and drinks at The Ginger Man (hooray for numerous beers on tap - I was thrilled to find that they had Yuengling, as I had been craving it for two years), then headed over to Stout to watch Detroit get their asses kicked in one of the NBA Finals games. (Sorry about that, Zappabro.) We were also treated to the Zappasibs dancing like complete morons before we left. Hee.

Monday:

Time to head home... but Memnoch and I decided we needed to make a side trip to New Jersey for the Kevin Smith pilgrimage. First stop: Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash in Red Bank, where we spent entirely too much money and spotted Walt Flanagan ("Tell 'em, Steve-Dave!") before he headed of on his break. I am now the proud owner of a Clerks - The Animated Series lunchbox, a Randal Graves inaction figure (to keep my Dante company), and a T shirt proclaiming "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"

After a pitstop for cheesecake and coffee and a sidetrip to the local 7-11 to change the fuses in Zappagirl's dashboard (apparently running several major appliances off the cigarette lighter had blown the existing one; go figure), we headed for Leonardo to the Quick Stop and RST Video (which fittingly was not open) and amused ourselves by taking pictures of Memnoch and me doing our best Silent Bob imitations, loitering outside in a trenchcoat smoking cigarettes. (We did not deal drugs while were there. As we were lacking a boombox, we also did not bust a move. We did, however, go into the store and buy porn, but did not ask to use the bathroom with the good toilet paper.)

(My mother is scratching her head at the moment, wondering why we would ask to use the bathroom at the Quick Stop and why we felt the need to buy a porn magazine. Those of you who have seen Clerks will understand.)

Raj, the gentleman manning the counter while we were there, rolled his eyes. We asked him if he got a lot of Askewniverse tourists. "All the time," he answered wearily. (And he was right. Another couple stopped by with a camera while we were digging in the trunk for the trenchcoat.)

Giggling like idiots, we got back in the car... and realized we didn't know how to get back to the expressway. (The one we needed was on the other side of NJ. Whoever unwittingly allowed us use of their wi-fi, thank you!) We found our bearings (after a side trip to Dunkin Donuts a short time later... mmmm, iced vanilla latte...) and started the long drive home. Zappagirl, trooper that she is, drove the entire way while Memnoch and I watched the in-flight movie (Beavis and Butthead Do America - we pulled over at the Welcome Station after crossing the Pennsylvania/Ohio border so we all could watch the Rob Zombie hallucination scene.)

We finally made it back to Zappagirl's house around 7:00 am, went inside and scolded the wayward kitty (yeah, it was harsh - petpetpet "Don't you ever do that again!" petpetpet).

All of this reprimanding of felines made me realize how much I missed my own furry beasts (who am I kidding? I'd been missing them the whole time!), so I tossed my luggage back in my car (missing the iPod already - but I've taken care of that...) and headed for home. The kids were thrilled to see me, and followed me around the house obsessively.

And then I slept. For like two days. Vacations are exhausting.

The Obligatory Vacation Recap, Part 1

(This has been written for some time; I've been back for a week. It's just been a matter of getting time to code and post it. I'm a slacker. Sorry.)

Scene one: So much for Plan A...

(Wednesday morning)

I'm officially on vacation, off to NYC to see Richard Cheese and Avenue Q with Zappagirl and Memnoch. The plan was to leave at an obscene hour of the morning and possibly make it into the city in time to see Hamell on Trial at Satalla.

So much for that bright idea. It's almost 10:30 am, and I'm still sitting in the floor playing around on the as-yet-unpacked laptop.

Maybe it wasn't such a smart idea, going to a concert (VNV Nation at the Madison) the night before we were supposed to leave. Oh well. We had a good time and I actually managed to get more than four hours of sleep, which is helpful when one is driving.

Hopefully more to come... I believe that our living arrangements for the next few days might involve dial-up. (Perhaps we will seek out an internet cafe. Yeah, like we're going to have time for that.) At any rate, a recap of the silliness will be forthcoming....

Scene Two: Greetings from beautiful Tarrytown, NY!

(Thursday afternoon)

After dragging our feet considerably yesterday, we have finally arrived in New York. (We didn't manage to get on the road until 3:00 pm, and crossed the Tappan Zee sometime around 2:15 am. Not bad, considering the construction and the eight billion potty breaks.)

I'm currently on the back deck of Zappabro's house, searching for a club that we can go to tonight. (Hooray for laptops and "borrowed" wi-fi!) It looks like we may have found one near Union Square that might be interesting.... the music format tonight is listed as "70s, 80s, Brit-pop, new wave, glam and electro." And it appears to be no cover - bonus!

We're getting ready to catch a train into the city... more later, I'm sure.

Scene Three: All dressed up, no place to go

(late Thursday night)

Zappagirl, Memnoch, Zappagirl's cousin and I spent the day walking around the city, with Zappabro playing tour guide, pointing out good restaurants and whatnot. We had decided to go to the newly remodeled Museum of Modern Art, which made me quite happy, as it was one of the things I'd always wanted to do while in New York. We only managed to see the exhibits on the fourth and fifth floors before they closed, but it was fabulous.

We stopped and had lunch in the dining concourse at Grand Central Station, since we were starving when we got off the train and it was convenient. Zappagirl and Memnoch opted for Indian food, while I grabbed a slice of pizza from Two Boots. I got the Big Maybelle - marinated chicken, pepperoni, and fresh garlic on a white pie. Yum!

We stopped by the Best Buy in Chelsea in search of a new car stereo for Zappabro, only to find they only carried satellite radios. Silly tourists! Why would they have car stereos in a city where almost everyone uses public transportation? And if they did have a car stereo department, where would they put the install bays? Duh.

At this point, we parted ways with Zappabro and Zappacousin, as they had tickets to see Blue Man Group. We stopped for dinner at The Cottage, a Chinese restaurant nearby. Good, but not great. We all three ordered spicy dishes, and only Memnoch's ended up being anywhere close to spicy. (Perhaps since he asked for it to be really, really spicy about 800 times when ordering.) Oh well.

We headed back to Tarrytown to get ready to go out. The house is within walking distance of the train station, which is good. It's all uphill coming back, which is bad. We also took a wrong turn and walked an extra couple of blocks (still uphill), which was just stupid of us.

We were pretty much ready to go when we received a call from Memnoch's mom. She was checking in on Zappagirl's cats and one of them got out while she was taking laundry out to the car. Needless to say, Zappagirl is beside herself and the night out was cancelled.

Fingers crossed for good news on the wayward kitty....

The Oldies Station

Ah, Memorial Day weekend.

Usually I don't mind working on holidays. The building is relatively quiet, the phone doesn't ring more than three or four times, and usually the head honchos of the department have opted not to come in, thereby reducing the chances that they might demand a ridiculously complicated report with an unmeetable deadline.

Today, however, is different. While I'm still alone in the office and the phones are blissfully silent, there's one thing nagging at me and making me wish I was elsewhere, something that I can do nothing about: I am missing the top 100 of the Modern Rock 500 right now.

Some of you may recall me waxing nostalgic about the loss of 97X last year. When it returned to the airwaves (the internet ones, at least) a generation of music lovers breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, due to the lapse of time between the closing of the FM-broadcasted station and the securing of funding for the internet-only station, Memorial Day weekend had come and gone and for the first time in several years, there was no soundtrack for the holiday.

(For those of you not familiar with the Modern Rock 500, it was pretty much what it sounds like - a countdown of the 500 most influential alternative rock songs. The list was ridiculously eclectic, by no means objective, and highly debatable. It was fun to find out where your favorite songs placed and argue why they should have been higher on the countdown, whether relatively new songs should have placed in the higher echelons of the chart, and whether "How Soon is Now?" would once again be ranked at #1. It pretty much served as the background for my Memorial Day weekends for years, no matter what I was doing.)

Imagine my surprise when I came across an article in the local paper announcing that not only was the Modern Rock 500 being revived, it would be used to highlight the grand unveiling of a second station in the WOXY family: WOXY Vintage. The website defines it as "the first new 24/7 streaming channel from WOXY.com dedicated to the history of Modern Rock, Alternative and Punk music. You'll hear nearly 30 years of adventurous, innovative and influential music from The Velvet Underground, The Clash, Talking Heads, The Smiths, Depeche Mode and much more. Consider it your Modern Rock primer."

This is just further proof that I am now officially over the hill. First the looming thoughts of my 20 year reunion (which I have decided to attend, just for a laugh), then the nostalgic silliness of the 80s prom last month, and now an oldies station devoted exclusively to my tastes. (While I like the regular WOXY programming, I find myself out of the loop on the newer bands. And because I'm old and cranky, I find myself wishing they would play more stuff that I knew and liked.)

Here's an example of the whiplash-inducing eclecticness of the new station (taken from a timeslot when the Modern Rock 500 was not going on):
1:30am Veruca Salt - Shutterbug
1:26am XTC - Generals And Majors
1:22am The Cure - Doing The Unstuck
1:18am The Pretenders - The Wait
1:16am The Ramones - I Wanna Be Sedated
1:12am The B-52s - Legal Tender
1:06am The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead
1:03am The Cranberries - Free To Decide
1:00am The Dead Milkmen - Bitchin' Camaro
12:57am The Velvet Underground - Satellite Of Love

*sigh* Why doesn't my computer at work have a sound card? Why don't we have wi-fi here? (Yes, I brought my laptop in with me just in case. No dice.) Why am I torturing myself by monitoring the "last 10 songs spun" list so I can see what I'm missing? (They started off today's portion of the 500 with "I Don't Like Mondays" at #100. Damn, how appropriate.) Should "Seven Nation Army" be in the top 100, ranking higher than "Bizarre Love Triangle"? And what will be #1 this year?

Points to ponder. Until then, you kids get off my lawn!

Bitter - Sweeeeeeeeet

Apparently someone was listening to my angsty rant yesterday....

I had a meeting today with the office manager. At first, I was a little concerned (OK, a lot concerned) that it was going to be some sort of disciplinary meetng regarding my psychotic break yesterday. My job is very stressful and taxing during the spring months, and while I do try to remain as calm as possible while on the clock, the whole vacation fiasco was the breaking point. I was pissed off, and the entire department knew it. (Staying until 9:00 pm hadn't helped my mood either. As of last night, I'd already put in 12 hours of unpaid overtime. The only thing that had kept me from going completely postal was the fact that CSI: was a rerun, so my time off the clock wasn't interfering with my Grissom love.)

As it turns out, my little freak-out had made it obvious to the directors of the department that I was the only person whose job couldn't be covered for a week by anyone else (except my supervisor, who will be leading an expedition of teachers in Trinidad). All of the other support staff members are able to cover each other's desks for lunches and holidays, but because I am on a different floor, I have missed out on the cross-training fun. (Some of the folks upstairs know how to take the basic information for a school trip, but have no idea how to actually enter it into the system.) Since they've been talking about cross-training all of the registrars for nearly three years, they decided this would be as good enough a time as any. I went through my now-very-outdated job description with the office manager and explained some of the finer points of the outline I'd written way back in 2002. While "booking a school field trip" sounds pretty straightforward, there are a lot of details and nuances to this seemingly simple task. I explained the differences between day care summer camps (which we do handle) and YMCA summer camps (which we used to handle, but no longer do). I explained the fact that animal demonstrations have to be entered on three separate calendars in addition to the registration system. I explained the home school policies and the short-notice emails. I explained the room reservation system, and the Room Setup Report of Redundancy.

I think I made her brain explode.

The good news is the vacation appears to be back on. The less-busy registrar willl be covering my desk in my absence, and will be trained to do pretty much everything that would come up.

The bad news? I'll be cross-training her during the busiest time of the year, when all three phone lines are ringing and IMBD packets need to be assembled and sent out and half of the known universe is wandering through my lobby. Oh yeah, and I volunteered to write a detailed manual of all of my duties this weekend. (It's already 15 pages long, and I've only covered the basic procedures.) And we still haven't addressed the fact that I'm working a buttload of hours that I'm not geting paid for and getting charged for a lunch break that I'm not able to take.

I'll tackle those issues later. For now, I'm content in the knowledge that I will be in New York in June to see Richard Cheese (and possibly Avenue Q if we can swing the tickets).

I'm also thrilled that the office manager also thinks that the Room Setup Report of Redundancy is pointless, and will back my in my ongoing fight to get the stupid thing taken off my plate.

Oh, and my supervisor has ordered me to take a lunch when my friends drop by the office on Monday.

Sometimes the squeaky wheel does get the grease. And I plan to bask in the glory of that platitude for the next few minutes.

Bitterness in My Lunchbox

I don't like to complain about my job here, but there are some days that the stress and the stupidity gets to be too much and I just have to vent.

This is one of those days.

Last night, Zappagirl and I were making sketchy plans to go to New York in June to see Richard Cheese on his farewell tour. I was also kicking around a sidetrip to visit Roger Mexico while I was in the general vicinity. I mentioned it to my supervisor when I came in this morning; I figured two month's notice would be more than adequate.

As it turns out, I probably won't be able to go. My supervisor will be in Trinidad that week.

This is not the first time this has happened. It seems whenever I plan to take a day off, I am either told I cannot do so or it is a huge inconvenience to everyone in the office. (One would have thought the world was ending when I was out of the office for an hour to go to the doctor.) I cannot take any vacation time from mid-August through October or from March through May, since those are the busy seasons in our office. For the most part, I cannot take any time during Christmas and New Years, since everyone else is taking time off. (They have seniority and out-of-town guests, which takes a priority over my single-with-cats-family-in-town life.) To take any time over the summer requires a ton of extra work for me, since I will probably have to find and train someone to cover my summer camp position (the director of my department decided that I should handle the pickups in the parking lot since "I'm not all that busy" in the summer) as well as finding and training someone to cover my desk. Everyone else in this department can just pick up and go whenever they feel like it. Most of them don't even change their voice mail message or put on their out-of-office assistant in Outlook.

I am currently sitting on almost five weeks of PTO time that I am not allowed to take. It seems the only time I am allowed to be out of the office is for major surgery or for bereavement leave. As I type this, all of the other women in the office are having a bridal shower luncheon at Uno's, which I was not able to attend because of the amount of work on my desk. (I very rarely get to have lunch here, and when I do it's at my desk, eaten in between phone calls and directing visitors to our building. I still have to claim my daily lunch break on my time sheet, though.)

In addition to the vacation issue, my status was switched from salaried to hourly last year when the overtime laws changed. I was told that this would not make that much of a difference, and really, it hasn't. I still work the same number of hours (at this point, 45 - 50 hours a week). I still get paid the same amount of money. Unfortunately, this amount reflects on my paycheck as 37.5 hours of work. I am only allowed to claim overtime when it has been previously authorized by the director of my department, which of course it never is. I may be in the office until 7:30 every night and take work home with me, but my time sheet still reads 9:00 - 5:00, with a half hour deducted for lunch. And due to the extra hours put in at the office, I essentially cannot make any social plans until after 9:00 pm, when it's too late to do much of anything. I've had to cancel plans, doctor's appointments, and classes because I would still be sitting at my desk when the sun went down.

I am not able to leave work on my desk for the next day, as my duties are time sensitive. Confirmations have to go out in a timely manner, room reservations get sent in at the last minute. Sometimes I am expected to produce new reports with little or no forewarning. I was given 45 minutes notice to pull together a report for a meeting yesterday. A meeting that had been on the books for two weeks. A meeting that went on for 2 1/2 hours - that's 1/3 of my day, or at least what I get paid for - and served no purpose whatsoever. A meeting where the office manger loudly announced to the entire staff that she didn't have year-end totals for one of my programs, despite the fact that I had sent in my year-end summary in January in addition to my monthly reports and a six-year summary. A meeting where they brought in yet another consultant from an outside company that unveiled a strategic planning model that doesn't really work with determining anything in our department, but is still due on Friday morning. (I managed to complete the requested report, and tried to give it to the office manager at the start of the meeting. She told me she didn't need it. Gee, thanks for letting me rush around for no reason whatsoever! I dumped it on her desk anyway, along with three highlighted spreadsheets relating to the report and an additional copy of the year-end summary from January.)

Of course, it's probably for the best that I am not able to take any time off. When I am away from my desk, whether it be for an hour or a few days, things have a tendency to not get done or (even worse) get done wrong. For example, one of the volunteers in my office set up a botanical tour for a school group while I was out of the office for my grandmother's funeral. She pencilled in the group on the tour schedule, but left it off the school's paperwork and didn't call the horticulture department to arrange for guides. I discovered the tour by mistake and dropped everything to make sure that things got covered. (I asked the volunteer about it. her response? "I must have forgotten it. Oh well." Oh well? Oh well won't cut it when 35 third graders show up expecting a tour on plant adaptations, which no one in this office is able to give!) I spend my time covering for other people, fixing their mistakes, and still managing to be the one who takes the blame for their errors. I cover for housekeeping when they don't have time to come in and set up our rooms. I cover for co-workers that don't feel the need to show up for work until 9:45 or 10:00 and leave almost every day at 4:30. (This particular employee is also the first person to say how incredibly busy she is, although most of the time she's goofing off at her desk. She has actually told me that she receives so many emails that she doesn't have time to read them - even the ones that pertain to her job, but she forwards more junk email to her friends than anyone I know. She tells me that I shouldn't worry about the things that go wrong in the department, despite the fact that some of them are due to her laissez-faire attitude towards her position. I don't know. I guess my priorities are misdirected.)

I went to another office building the other day to run copies, and asked a co-worker to watch my phone. Apparently he watched it ring while he browsed online personal ads, because I returned to three voice mails and no proof of anything that had he had actually done anything enough to fulfil his promise to man the office. (I suppose he figures that having a Y chromosome was what I meant by "manning the office.")

And when things don't get done correctly in this office, it is always my fault, even if I had nothing to do with the situation. In the eyes of the powers that be, I am essentially incompetent, poorly organized, and a whiner. (Never mind the fact that I can and do often answer questions about other people's programs because the operator misdirected the call, can pull up information about class visits that occured before I started working here, and have made several suggestions to make things run more efficiently and improve communication in both my department and the entire zoo. These suggestions prove that I'm a troublemaker and not a team player.)

I'm not asking for a memorial to be built in honor of the crap I put up with here. All I want is to be fairly compensated for the amount of work that I do, to be able to claim the time that I put in here. It's rather frustrating when I am usually one of the first ones here in the morning and almost always the last one to leave at night. (Most of the time, I'm the only "day" employee on grounds; the only other staff is the Nocturnal Adventures staff and the Nightwatch guys.)

And I want a vacation. One that doesn't involve me going under the knife or losing a family member.

How to Waste a Sunny Sunday Afternoon

I purchased a new DVD player on Saturday night.

In a way, it was an impulse buy. I'd really only gone to Meijer to get Q-Tips and a few other much needed toiletries, but I started impulse shopping a little bit while I was there. My favorite cheap wine was on sale, and I decided it had been much too long since I'd had a breakfast that consisted of more than a Diet Coke and a few Girl Scout Cookies to wash down the daily handful of sundry vitamins and supplements. I decided to take advantage of the fact that I actually had a half gallon of milk in my refrigerator that hadn't yet gone bad, and tossed some hash browns, bacon, and orange juice into my cart to go with the scrambled eggs I planned on making the next morning.

I window shopped longingly in the coffeemaker aisle and the vacuum cleaner display. (My coffeemaker works just fine, but it would be wonderful to have one with a timer. After all, flipping that little switch in the morning takes so much effort when your eyes are still adjusting to the cruel light of day. As for the vacuum, my current model has gone on strike against the layer of cat and human hair in my apartment. I'm sure the cats shed more than I do, but mine is much longer and brighter and therefore more visible. I'd probably be better off running a giant lint brush across the carpet.) Bathroom accessories that don't match the color scheme... pretty candleabras that I have no place for... and the video aisle.

I'd been talking about hooking up a cheap DVD player to the ancient TV/VCR in my bedroom for ages. Most of my good movies are on DVD, and my VHS collection has been showing its age as of late. (Well, I probably should run the head cleaner more often, but the wear and tear has started to show on my videotapes.) And after coming across a halfway decent player for less than 50 bucks, I decided to bite the bullet and move on to the checkout lane.

(I kicked around the idea of getting a wireless phone jack for the bedroom, but decided against it. My phone only rings with real calls - ones that aren't wrong numbers or telemarketers asking my opinions on Martha Stewart - three times a week on average, so I found myself unable to rationalize blowing $70.00 on the hookup and the phone. Less than $50.00 for the opportunity to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or a few episodes of Wonderfalls on a Saturday morning when I didn't feel like getting out of bed? See, that's a justifiable expense.)

I went home and unpacked my purchases, the contents of the DVD box strewn across the futon. Remote. Batteries. Three cables. One for S-Video - don't need that one. Yellow tipped cable for video. Audio cables tipped in red and white. AC cord. I moved the dresser away from the wall and plugged the AC cord into the surge protector. Yellow cable goes there, and the red and white cables go... uh oh.

There was only one audio input on the back of my television.

After consulting with Zappagirl, I confirmed my suspicions that I needed a Y cable or adaptor of some sort. So after my large breakfast on Sunday morning, I decided to take in an afternoon showing of The Incredibles and set out in search of my hookup.

I headed for the Tri-County Best Buy, hoping to kill two birds with one stone. Roger Mexico had given me a good review on the director's cut of Donnie Darko, and Meijer didn't have it on Saturday night. I found it on sale, browsed the DVD section for a bit, and headed over to the audio department.

After perusing the cable selections, I came to the conclusion that they didn't have what I was looking for. Well, they did, but I couldn't justify spending $20.00 to hook up a $42.97 DVD player to an 11-year-old TV. A sales associate walked past and offered his assistance. I explained my situation, and waved the red and white cord in his face to punctuate my plight.

He gave me the sympatheic and understanding "aw, the little girl doesn't understand the manly man technology" smile and pulled a bag from the pegboard. I thanked him and headed off to the checkout lane, a bit confused that I hadn't spotted that particular cable.

While waiting in the checkout line, I examined the cable that the all-knowing blueshirt had given me. It was an RCA cable; it was a Y cable. It also was a 2-pronged jack to mini-jack cable, which would've been great if I was trying to connect my DVD player to my Discman. I returned the cable to the pegboard, grabbed a pack of AAA batteries (since the cats had managed to lose the included batteries while I was talking about cable woes to Zappagirl), and paid for my copy of Donnie Darko. (Which was on sale for $19.99 this week. Score!)

I headed over to the mall in search of a Radio Shack. For some reason, I had a vague recollection of one somewhere there, but it seemed to be gone (if it had ever existed in the first place). Maybe it had vacated to make room for the Hot Topic or something. At any rate, it was nowhere to be found on the directory. I headed on to the Circuit City. (I have no brand loyalty, especially after being given the wrong cable by someone who gets paid to know better.)

Circuit City had the $20.00 cord, and none of the red shirts seemed to be interested in helping me. I made a break for the door and headed across the street to the H.H. Gregg, where I found a $30.00 cable and no one that even acknowledged my existance. Three strikes, not counting the non-existant Radio Shack. Yer out, Tri-County.

I tried to call Zappagirl on her cel phone, hoping she could point me in the direction of the closest Radio Shack, and got her voice mail. Damn. I glanced the time on my cel phone: 5:30. If I booked it back to Norwood, I could make it to the Radio Shack in Surrey Square before it closed.

I made it to Norwood by 5:50, and headed straight to the audio accessories wall at the Radio Shack. I found an adaptor that looked like it might work, and held it up to the wires I'd been carrying around in my pocket all day. It looked right, but I didn't want to make any mistakes. I took it up to the counter for a second opinion.

The salesclerk at the register confirmed that the adaptor would fit my cable, and asked why I needed it. I explained the single audio input on my TV, and he shook his head before I'd finished my thought.

"You don't need this," he remarked. "If your TV is mono, just hook up the white cable. You don't need the red one."

Seeing as how he would be losing a sale (a small one, but 4 bucks is 4 bucks) with his advice, I decided he was being honest and went home empty-handed. Sure enough, the white cord was all I needed, and I now have a DVD player (and another remote) in my bedroom.

So, yeah, it was a wasted afternoon, but it had a happy ending. If only it hadn't been an unseasonably sunny day while I was driving fruitlessly around from store to store, my anger fueled by the White Zombie and Smashing Pumpkins selections on the radio. If only I hadn't been overdressed while I was running my errands. (The coat I was wearing was much too heavy, but it was easier to wear it than to carry it over my arm, making the pockets that contained my wallet and cel phone and keys even more difficult to rummage around in.)

I have a new DVD player. And it's supposed to snow tomorrow. So much for taking advantage of the nice weather.

The Should'ves

In the event that I didn't send out this invitation to those who are in the neighborhod and might be interested...

OK, the Oscars are pretty much lackluster this year. I personally blame it on the lack of hobbits.

However, the annual Oscars party will proceed as usual... with a few changes.

You are cordially invited to the Should'ves: the annual celebration of movies that should've received more attention from the Academy, but for some reason didn't.

The party will commence around 3:00 on Sunday, February 27th at Myo's place. We will be screening movies that were for the most part ignored by the fine folks at AMPAS. A cut-throat game of Scene It will probably break out as well...

This is where you come in. If you saw a movie that was ignored or underrepresented in the Oscar noms this year (and is available on DVD), please feel free to nominate it (with your RSVP) for viewing at the Should'ves. I will do my best to obtain it for screening. (If too many movies are nominated, viewing will be determined upon general consensus of those present. If you have a copy of your nominated movie, let me know so I won't have to try to rent it at Blockbuster. Yeah, I'm cheap like that.)

As usual, I will be making enough food to feed a third world country, but feel free to bring anything if you'd like. And yes, I'll be making the evil cheeseball. BYOB.

Tacky formal is encouraged, but not required. Just be comfortable.

If you have cat allergies, please be aware that I have two very social kitties who have shed on every inch of my apartment.

For those who are interested, the actual awards ceremony will be shown in its dubious glory, mostly so we can ridicule horrible outfits and tedious acceptance speeches.

There will be a contest for Oscar predictions... pick your winners and see if the Academy agrees! There's a $20 Best Buy gift card at stake! (Disclaimer: Ballots will be available at the Should'ves party. Winners must attend to participate, but not be present during the actual awards ceremony. Good god, do you really think I would subject anyone to the whole damn show against their will?)

Food, fun, and fabulous prizes... RSVP by replying to this email. (Directions to Chez Myo will be available to those who need them!)

Hope to see you all on the 27th!

State of Non-Union

Despite my attempts to not make this a political blog, I once again found myself watching last night's State of the Union address with a drink in my hand to dull the pain of constantly beating my head against the wall and an open WordPad window in which to type my comments. By the end of the speech, I had been reduced to making angry guttural noises at the television and saved the notes to edit later, choosing to regain my sanity by watching a few episodes of Wonderfalls.

Today, in looking over my notes and other reponses across the internet, I have found that most of my work had been done for me. Peter Begala pretty much matched my comments, point by point. Dana Stevens at Slate caught the dogtag incident and commented on it. Fred Kaplan echoed my concerns about the Iraqi exit strategy and the "as you stand for your own liberty, America stands with you" comment towards the people of Iran. I'm not the only one who is still frustrated about Bush's issues with proper enunciation; Timothy Noah commented on the mispronunciation of "social security." (Although I should have given up by this point, I'm still hung up on the whole "nuclear" thing.) And of course, the good folks at This is Not Over have continued to comment on the state of things in our fair country since November.

So here are a few things upon which I would like to comment:

"As a new Congress gathers, all of us in the elected branches of government share a great privilege: we have been placed in office by the votes of the people we serve."

Or at least the 51% who voted for him. The final count was 60,608,582 vs. 57,288,974. And remember, 60.7% of the eligible voters participated. And how many more were unregistered? W seems to forget he won with the smallest margin of victory for a sitting president in U.S. history in terms of the percentage of the popular vote. (Bush received 2.5% more than Kerry; the closest previous margin won by a sitting President was 3.2% for Woodrow Wilson in 1916.) In terms of absolute number of popular votes, his victory margin (approximately 3 million votes) was the smallest of any sitting President since Harry S. Truman in 1948. I would hardly consider this a mandate, although he has referred to it as such. I suppose I should order one of those trendy awareness bracelets to remind Bush of this, but I can't decide if I want a blue one or a black one.

"Over the next several months, on issue after issue, let us do what Americans have always done, and build a better world for our children and grandchildren."

And apparently that better world we're leaving consists of a giant debt: Senator Harry Reid estimated it as a "birth tax" of $36,000 per child. Or perhaps this is the world he was talking about.

Honestly, what color is the sky in W's world?

"Now we must demand better results from our high schools, so every high school diploma is a ticket to success. We will help an additional 200,000 workers to get training for a better career, by reforming our job training system and strengthening America's community colleges. And we will make it easier for Americans to afford a college education, by increasing the size of Pell Grants."

But if a high school diploma is a ticket to success, then why would we need to go to community college? What about the people that already have degrees (in some cases more than one degree) that watched their jobs get outsourced to another country? Are they supposed to go back to school again, but this time to a trade school? And about those Pell Grants... do I understand this correctly: you're increasing the size of the Pell Grants, but less people will be eligible once they change the eligibility guidelines?

"To make our economy stronger and more productive, we must make health care more affordable, and give families greater access to good coverage, and more control over their health decisions."

Well, unless those decisions have anything to do with reproductive rights.

"To keep our economy growing, we also need reliable supplies of affordable, environmentally responsible energy."

Funny that he's not mentioning drilling in Alaska when he's touting his new energy plan.

"It is time for an immigration policy that permits temporary guest workers to fill jobs Americans will not take, that rejects amnesty, that tells us who is entering and leaving our country, and that closes the border to drug dealers and terrorists."

Perhaps if the pay were comensurate with the hours worked and the working conditions, some Americans would be willing to take the jobs. But I guess we're going to be too busy taking classes at community college. What kind of rights will these "guest workers" have? Are we creating a special new type of second class citizen that will be allowed to work the crappy jobs for crappy wages but have next to no rights otherwise?

I'm not going to comment on the Social Security portion of his speech. Others have covered it much more succintly than I ever could have. I'm rather fond of Senator Reid's referral to the program as "social security roulette" and am quite happy that he brought up the $2 trillion price tag attached to this program. Guess Bush lost that notecard, huh?

I never ever want to hear the words "culture of life" ever again. I don't appreciate the code talk. I didn't appreciate it during the debates, and it's even more offensive now that the media has whipped out their decoder rings and is sharing the code with us.

"Because one of the deepest values of our country is compassion, we must never turn away from any citizen who feels isolated from the opportunities of America."

Note that this was the lead-in to the discussion of faith-based initiatives and community groups. So how does this offer of compassion apply to those who don't subscribe to the beliefs of those faith-based initiatives or community groups? Single parents? Atheists, agnostics, or non-Christians? Women with unwanted pregnancies? Gay, lesbian, or transgendered citizens? I'm concerned about the amount of help that would be offered, when there's an outcry over something as basic as two children of same-sex parents being enrolled in a Catholic school kindergarten.

"Our third responsibility to future generations is to leave them an America that is safe from danger, and protected by peace. We will pass along to our children all the freedoms we enjoy -- and chief among them is freedom from fear."

Now I realize that this was his big sweeping introduction into the subject of homeland security and the war on terror, but I'm a little disturbed by this statement when this administration has functioned mostly on keeping us in a state of fear, most of it unfounded fear. Earlier in this very speech, Bush outlined the projected failure of Social Security to scare us into adopting the PRA plan. He's been touting his proposed marriage amendment as a way to protect the sanctity of the "sacred institution" of marriage. Protection from whom? I've asked this before, but how is allowing two people who love each other to form a legal bond damaging the "sanctity" of marriage? (In related news, did you know that the approval of Issue 1 in Ohio now makes it OK for an unmarried man to beat the crap out of his girlfriend without the repercussions of domestic violence charges, because domestic violence only applies to married couples? In the immortal words of Chrissie Hynde, "Hey, oh, way to go, Ohio.")

Color coded terror alerts. Duct tape and plastic dropcloths. Weapons of mass destruction. Imminent threats. How is this fearmongering doing anything but keeping the country on edge, making it easier to pass the legislation the administration wants?

And yes, I was moved by the reports of the first free elections in Iraq. Who wasn't? But our armed forces were still sent there under false pretenses. Is lying about something OK if the end results are favorable? Do the ends justify the means? Does this give the administration free reign to misinform the nation about whatever they see fit, and we should just cross our fingers and hope that things turn out for the best?

And while we're on the subject of the Iraqi elections, the members of the House that dyed their fingers to emulate the Iraqis who voted left a bad taste in my mouth. In my opinion, taking a meaningful symbol and cheapening it like that is akin to last year's protests of Kid Rock wearing the American flag as a poncho during the halftime show at the Super Bowl.

It's going to be a long four years. How much time is left, again?