The Half-Blood Prince

Who is the Half-Blood Prince? Easy. I figured that out in the first quarter of the book.

What I still can't believe is how the dumb book ended.

I think this is definitely the best Harry Potter book yet. Up till now, Goblet Of Fire has been my favorite, and this one is as good, if not better - funny, witty, light-hearted even while dealing with the deadly issues of school, war, and teenagers in love. I read it in twelve hours, and loved it - except for the last two chapters.

How could she???

Stupid thing is, I think we all knew something like this was going to have to happen sooner or later. And if it had to had to happen, then it was done with all possible flair and grace. But I still can't believe it really ended like that...

Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince does indeed provide a lot of answers to things we've been wondering about for a while now. But it raises as many new questions, and leaves a lot of things up in the air.

Was the locket really destroyed, or is it still out there? Who is R.A.B.? (My guess is Regellus Black) Was that really McGonagall talking of closing Hogwarts? Is Snape still playing at some weird, two-sided game, or was what he did really real? Will Harry go back to Hogwarts for his last term, and if not, what's in store for him? And when are Ron and Hermione ever going to come to their senses and get together?? What happened to Dumbledore? - that couldn't have been real, it just couldn't. It was too easy, too simple - Dumbledore had to've known, figured out some double-trick - something, something, isn't what it seems. It can't be...

Ms. Rowling, you better write that next book fast! Please, please, I don't think I can wait another two and a half years.

This post is dedicated to Jessica, Lindsay, Monica Q. and Shari - all my fellow Harry Potter fanatics.

If I Had A Band

Here are some ideas for what I'd like to call my band if I had one,
and what the title of the first album might be:

Drowned Wednesday - Don't Kill Kenny

Poppaveda - Blue Pearls

1415 - Going On Seventeen

Rudgepot - Moments Of Dyslexia

And if I sang by myself:

Halaylah - Call Me Hal

Bump in the night

So it was about 12:30, and we were...not asleep, but headed there. We were all curled up in bed, talking, nonsense (he was tickling me, if you must know, and I was trying to get him to stop - no small feat, as I've discovered to my dismay, because he's much bigger than me.)

Suddenly there was a crash, that sounded like it came from downstairs. We sat up - instant Red Alert. There was no other noise, but he had to go check it out just the same. Me, I'd have stayed motionless for a good twenty minutes, then crept over and closed the bedroom door and hid under the covers the rest of the night. I'd have gone downstairs in the morning to see what was gone or destroyed.

But that's me. He, being the man, was heading downstairs to see what was what. He told me to get in the other room, out of sight and nearer to the phone, should it be needed. What he was gonna do, I don't think either of us knew. When my sister hears a strange noise, she sits at the top of the stairs with a handgun, which she is perfectly capable of firing, and firing well. We, on the other hand, don't have so much as a baseball bat in the apartment.

So he's downstairs, checking it out, and I'm upstairs, praying and shaking and trying not to cry. After what seemed like forever, he calls up to me, "it's o.k." and I go downstairs...and there's nothing. Nobody was there, and we couldn't find anything that had fallen or was out of place in any way. We checked the doors and windows, made sure everything was in fact locked up tight, and headed back up to bed, baffled. I was just wondering if such a loud crash could possibly have come from next door, when he discovered my curling iron, which had slipped off its hook on the wall and fallen onto the bathroom counter, causing the "crash" that sent us into an intruder-alert panic!

• Practice Drill: check



• To Do: buy a baseball bat

Genus V

Joseph Stalin Catskills Napoleon Bonaparte Afghanistan Soviet Union Hippocrates Solidarity Rembrandt Watergate Zoot Suit Leningrad Notre Dame Spotted Owl Mount. St. Helens Russia New York Reggae Audubon Mah-Jongg John F. Kennedy Miami Jefferson Davis Nostradamus Nelson Mandela Japan Madonna Vietnam The Boston Strangler Devil’s Island Australia Dodo South Vietnam Nile Eiffel Tower Wounded Knee Fax Franklin D. Roosevelt Catherine The Great Buddy Holly Mao Zedong Antarctica Scud The Pyramids Aaron Burr The Red Baron Cuba William Shakespeare Compact Disk The Challenger Loch Ness Tiny Tim The Whig Party Cleopatra The Falklands Exorcism Godzilla Mardi Gras Geronimo Elizabeth II Alcatraz The Great Auk Aswan Grenada Kent State Humphrey Bogart Phi Beta Kappa Mona Lisa Statue Of Liberty Benjamin Franklin Earth Day Amish Titanic Marie Curie Bastille Scotland Yard Rasputin Leonardo Da Vinci Marlene Dietrich Gemini Kentucky Derby John Wilkes Booth Ultrasound Christopher Columbus George Armstrong Custer Apollo Whales Bible Pyramids Malaria Babylon Geneva Martini Olympics Sing Sing 1776 Jesse James Cyrano De Bergerac Julius Caesar La Marseillaise John Belushi Polyester Ozone Catacombs Oscar Wilde Bazooka Cricket James Dean Shanghai French Revolution Hollywood First Amendment Ellis Island LSD Mohave Desert Casanova Croissant Hair Merry-Go-Round Charlie Chaplin

On The Road Again

Well, once again everything I own is packed in boxes, and the U-Haul is loaded up and ready to go.

I wonder, how many times have I moved since I started this weblog, fifteen months ago? Let's see...I was at Catalpa, then I went to Beaver Run, got kicked out of there (not bitter not bitter not bitter) went to Portrush, then here to NM, and now I'm moving back to my hometown. Back to Texas - yay!

So, four moves in a little over a year...five, if you count the hotel room where I "lived" for three days, after Beaver Run and before Portrush. It feels like more than that. And here's hoping this will be the last one, for a while anyway.

The Flying Fickle Finger of Fate

Do you have any idea what it's like to be obsessed with something for four years...and then to get it?

I'm not complaining - I'm not one of those who gets what they've always wanted, only to find they don't want it anymore. It's just a little hard to believe, that's all.

I keep expecting somebody to show up and tell me there's been a mistake - you don't just get what you want this easily.

Some middle-aged guy, short and balding, in a cheap brown suit with a clipboard.

"I'm sorry, there's been a slight mix-up...completely our fault...but you see, the 'Happily Ever After With The Man Of Your Dreams' prize package was actually won by a Mrs. Sarah Reide of Newark, New Jersey."

"Your name was drawn for our 'Chocolate Cheesecake Fantasia' prize, featuring a lifetime's supply of Godiva's Chocolate Cheesecake ice cream, which you registered for at a supermarket two years ago."

And then he looks down at his clipboard, fidgets a bit, and h-hems nervously.

"Unfortunately, they've stopped making that particular ice cream..."

No Onions!

I used to work at a sandwich shop. It was in a small town, and sometimes - to emphasize the importance of getting every order right - my boss used to say "There's two people in this town who, if they touch an onion, they die...and one of them is a doctor."

Um...how did they know? I mean it's not like, if I get around cats my eyes start itching, or if I eat avocados, I break out in a rash.

Same as ever

Kenny and I played mini-golf yesterday afternoon, and he beat me. Bad. Twice!

Afterwards, we went to grab something to eat, and we ended up sitting at the restaurant for about five hours. (Note: It was fast-food; we did not sit camped out at some poor server's table for that amount of time; that's a very, very bad thing to do, and I hope everyone who reads this understands that.) We talked and talked, and talked - about anything and everything, from family and growing up to politics and current events.

We used to do that all the time. We used to sit in his car all night and talk about everything until the sun came up. We played the soundtrack to Jurassic Park, over and over again.

So much has changed in the years since Kenny and I first met. We've gone our separate ways and come back, two or three times, and we've both traveled roads that we never would have imagined. We've come a long, long way from the people we were then...and I wonder sometimes if we've changed too much, if we've lost the common ground we once shared. That worry has lessened over the past three months, still it's comforting to know that some things haven't changed.

Episode III

We stood in line for 2 hours...and we were not the first ones in line, not even close.

As far as sheer volume of geeks, the line for the new Star Wars couldn't touch They Might Be Giants in concert. But there were people in costume, and we got to watch several light-saber duels while we waited for the doors to open.

Man, it was so worth it! The movie was great, as I'm sure everybody knows by now. And there was one spot where I almost ran away with myself. At some point in the middle of the thing, Palpatine said "I have good news..." and it was all I could do not to finish the line for him:
"I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance, by switching to Geico!!"

Sith Happens

Summer Reading List?

Jake has a Summer Reading List? That's so cool...why don't I have one?

I will mention, in my own intellectual defense, that I am currently reading Diary by Chuck Palahniuk, and it's intriguing and I have no idea what's really going on, though clearly something is, beneath the plot's surface. Steve Martin has another novella that I want to read, once I remember what it's called and go find it. And I've reserved my copy of the upcoming 6th Harry Potter book...but other than that I don't really have any summer reading lined up.

If anyone has any suggestions for things I ought to read, please let me know.

Or...perhaps I should say, anyone who knows my taste - though my curiosity is such that if a book is recommended to me, I will usually read it. My own favored authors include Nick Hornby, Peter S. Beagle, and Dave Barry...I also like Sherlock Holmes, short stories, Alex Cross and Alex Delaware mysteries, anecdotal essays (a la Dave Eggers, Kate Cohen, or even Maya Angelou), and usually any fiction that features an artist or musician as a main character.

And no, Cassie - I haven't yet read Wicked, but I haven't forgotten it. I just haven't found it yet.

Graduate

I was at a college graduation today, and this was the cover of the program: simple, tasteful, a photo of a graduate and pretty lettering...

I'm a little curious about the particular graduate in this photo, though. One can assume that the people who put together the program did one of two things: either found a model and dressed him up and took the photo themselves, or dug through some sample photos for a picture of a graduate - in which case somebody else, at some point in the past, found the model and dressed him up. The photo is clearly posed, and headless, so that the only information conveyed about the model is that he is a graduate.

But that's not quite the only information you get. Beyond the obviousness of race and gender, there's also the watch - to me, it looks like the watch of someone who is responsible, financially stable, already has a solid job, no nonsense, no Mickey Mouse logos or aviator-style bells and whistles or funky chunky leather band.

Then there are the bracelets - hand-knotted, the type usually given by friends or worn in honor of a particular cause or organization. There aren't enough of the bracelets, and they aren't flashy enough, to be trendy or faddish, so he's clearly wearing these for a reason. So the bracelets suggest to me that this graduate is socially conscious.

All in all, I can see how this model could look, to someone (such as a university faculty member or trustee) like a good, generic graduating student. Responsible, stable, socially aware...

...and married?

Holy Guacamole!

That was the headline for yesterday's newspaper. A kid was seen entering a junior high school with a suspicious-looking package; cops were called, everybody went on high alert, parents showed up, the school was partially evacuated...turns out it was a 30-inch burrito that the kid had made for an extra-credit project!

Here's the story.

Bee-Bop-A-Lula

So I was in A&W today, and the music they were playing was the old "popular standard" type stuff. It was a bit irritating at first, then I started realizing that it was part of the ambiance: old-fashioned diner, old-fashioned music. For just a moment I had a vision of what it might be like to live in a world where that music was contemporary - a kind of period film setting, where those songs were the ones you listened to every day, sang along with and waited to hear again.

Then it occurred to me that in a setting like that, you wouldn't necessarily hear the music every day. A&W started in 1910 - about a decade before gramophones, and in the early days of radio, when radios were used more for military communication than for in-home entertainment. In the days before WWI, people who wanted to hear music went to concerts or played it themselves.

When did music - recorded music, that is - start becoming part of our moment-to-moment lives the way it is now? After the Great War, when radio started becoming both more entertainment-based and more accessible...or during the 40s and 50s when a jukebox could be found in any diner? Or when Ed Sullivan began introducing the acts on TV and every girl over the age of ten had her Elvis albums?

I guess that's the comparison I've been looking for; the time when anybody could play their choice of music at anytime they wished to hear it. Record players. Then hi-fi, then boomboxes, CD players, and now Satellite Radio and Internet Jukeboxes.

I have to wonder what my grandmother would've said, back in 1955, if she could've seen how music would come to dominate our lives, and how constant our access to it would be. For example, as I'm typing this, I'm listening to Bob Dylan via the same computer on which I'm typing. With the aid of any one of several free- or paid-subscription programs, I can have any song I want to hear at my fingertips within moments - and then shuffle them all together! The song before 'Like A Rolling Stone' was by Pearl Jam; what the next one will be, I have no idea. Could be Marilyn Manson, could be Jewel. And in an hour or so, when it's time for me to go to work, I'll get in the car and choose between the local radio station (which plays almost as wide a variety as my own mix here) or any of the CDs in the 6-disc changer. When I get to work, at any given time I will have a choice of three songs to listen to: the music in the dining room, the "upbeat" music in the bar, or the local radio station again, which will be on in the kitchen.

Come to think of it, even the "popular standards" at today's A&W are piped in via a digital satellite system...but there was still an old-timey bubble-light jukebox in the dining room.

Pollyanna

"Get in a good mood! How hard is it just to decide to be in a good mood...and then be in a good mood???"

Something new every day

Here's what I've learned recently:

1. Today I learned about the sport of curling; how it's played, and how the scoring works. It's kind of interesting, once you sit down and watch it.

2. Yesterday, I learned what a coypu is: it's a chubby little rodent. If you took its head in one hand and its tail in the other and stretched it out, you might have an otter.

3. The day before that, I learned about the Boxer Rebellion, which took place in 1900 in China.

4. And a few days before that, I learned (finally!) the lyrics to the chorus of 'Scar Tissue.'

I've discovered that learning something new every day is really easy. For me, it's just a matter of admitting that I don't know something, taking the time to find out about it - usually a matter of minutes - or, heaven forbid, asking questions of someone who does know.

That's how I learned about curling. My boyfriend was watching it while we were eating breakfast. My first instinct was to roll my eyes and go find a book to read. See, I've become very secure in my ignorance; in recent years, my attitude has been that if I don't know about something, it must not be worth knowing about.

But Kenny knows about all kinds of stuff - weather systems, and obscure sports, and how things work and where things come from - and I think that's so cool! So instead of rolling my eyes because he was watching something that I didn't know anything about, and therefore had no interest in, I sat down and started watching with him. And it was interesting. And now I know something I didn't know yesterday.

I wonder what I'll learn tomorrow, that I don't know today.

Happy Obscurity

Why is it that some of us are so pleased to know about cool things that nobody else knows about? Is it just that whole anti-mainstream mentality?

Example: a while back, I got a ride home from a coworker, and her car stereo was blasting The Postal Service. I really liked it and said so, and she asked if I'd ever heard of them. When I said no, she turned to me and said "Thank you! You're so cool!"

Wait...I'm cool for not having heard of something??

But I knew what she meant. When people don't know about something that you are into, in reinforces your cutting-edge image (self-image though it may be). For instance, I have yet to meet anyone else who knows about the band Common Rotation - even at the concert (though to be fair, they were the opening act.) And even though they're not the greatest band, I still feel a little bit cooler for knowing who they are...so long as nobody else does.

I like it too, because it's like a secret code by which I can recognize members of my own little coterie. Like a quote from some obscure little 80's movie, that no one else gets, because almost no one else has seen or heard of the movie. Except me, and now this one other. It's exciting, like finding a long-lost relative. And then we get to be cool together.

I suppose, as someone who was excluded from everything all through high school, I get a charge now out of creating my own inner circles, and knowing what nobody else knows. At least I hope that's it...because the whole anti-mainstream thing is just a bit too obvious.

It's Just Lunch

I should've seen it coming, and in a way I did, but it wasn't what I expected. The attack was so subtle, and was delivered with such finesse, that I'm not even sure the third person at the table knew I was under attack. But she knew, and I knew, and I couldn't find a way to defend myself. So I just sat there and took it, and felt like a complete fool.

What did I expect? Courtesy, I suppose, because that was what I was prepared to offer. I've got to learn to quit expecting other people to play by my rules. And I guess I expected myself to be tougher than this - not to be so hurt by a bunch of words handed to me by one mean-spirited woman.

You wanna know what really ticks me off? I bought lunch! - I actually paid for that woman to sit across the table and belittle me.

If I Was A WHAT???

I'm sorry; maybe it's just me...but if Gwen Stefani is not a rich girl,
then I guess I need a better understanding of what "rich" is.

Not so fast, Hotshot

So I'm at work, and I walk by a guy who looks familiar. I'm curious to see if it really is who I think it is, so I walk by again, and he sees me. And he gets this look on his face - pure ego - she is so checkin' me out!

Actually, I wasn't. I get back to the kitchen and nudge one of the girls I was out with over the weekend. "Dude, that really annoying talkative guy from the other night is at table 27."

A Separate Peace

My boyfriend had to have knee surgery yesterday morning. The surgery was to be done in Lubbock (a couple hours' drive from here) and since the doctor wanted us at the hospital at 6am, we drove over the night before. And all that night, all I could think of was that stupid book.

Did you ever read that book in high school? The guy dies. He breaks his leg, and when the doctor goes to set the bone, a bit of bone marrow gets loose, gets into his bloodstream, and stops his heart. He dies. From a broken leg!

Okay, I know, I know, it's just a book. The guy had to die for the story to be what it was supposed to be. Plus, it was set during WW2, so sixty years of medical technology stand between what might have happened then, and what happens now. I saw the X-rays, I talked to the doctor myself; my rational brain knew that this was nothing more than a routine repair of a torn ligament, one of maybe four or five such procedures that the doctor had scheduled for that day. Nothing would go wrong. (And nothing did.)

But middle-of-the night fears are seldom rational. That was definitely the worst night's sleep I've ever had...and all because I read a book.

Adjustments

Yeah, so I've been in New Mexico for over a month now, and haven't bothered to write anything, almost since I got here. I haven't found myself with a lot of original or inspiring thoughts running around my brain lately. Just a dry spell...it happens; but in the meantime, while I'm waiting for inspiration to return, I can offer up some minor observations on life in a small town in the desert.

First of all, though it is unquestionably desert out here, I got to see my first good snowfall since last February. In Dallas, there's maybe one snowfall a year - the rest of the time it just ices. Last week here we got something like eight inches, and it was so cool! Then by the end of the week it was back to warm sunshiny spring.

Everyone asks me how I'm adjusting to life in a small town, and don't I miss Dallas? The answer is, pretty well and not really. The small-town life isn't that much of an adjustment; I've done it before. And along with life in a small town, I also get family life. It's smaller here, but the love of my life is here, along with his mom, his sister and brother-in-law, and a nephew and baby niece. And they've taken me in as one of their own. So I'm loving it. (Bada-ba-ba-baaa...) I do miss all my friends in Dallas. But the rest of it? Not as much as I thought I would.

I'm back to waitressing, which isn't so bad. People here don't know how to tip - Five bucks on a seventy-dollar tab isn't unusual - but we stay busy enough that I still do allright at the end of the day. And, unlike waitressing in Dallas, I'm not the oldest person there! Most of my coworkers are also in their thirties, and I don't feel like quite such a dinosaur loser for not having a better job at my age.

I've seen more movies since I've moved here than I did for the last six months I was in Dallas. But what really kills me here is the local radio station. They play some good stuff, and some new stuff, but mixed in with that you also hear the song from Titanic (wasn't that song banned in '99?), and the Mm-mm-mm-mm song by Crash Test Dummies, and my personal favorite, Lost In Your Eyes by Debbie Gibson - on a Saturday night! Indeed, one of the things I do miss about Dallas is The Edge.

But luckily, the computer still works here, and I can get The Edge on Internet streaming. And I just bought two books on Amazon.com that I've been trying to find for awhile. I can see that online shopping is going to be my salvation - wish I could order a Chipotle burrito online!

But on the whole, it's not such a bad life here. Not bad at all, in fact. And now, if you'll excuse me, my little nephew is awake, and I'm going to go watch the purple rainbow monkey with him on Cartoon Network.

Winks

There are certain skills that I just don't have, and I think winking is one of them. You know how some people can wink at you, just barely, and it's so cool and sexy? I can't do that. It always looks dumb when I do it, I end up squinching up half of my face. Not a huge loss, to be honest, because that little wink is so much more effective when it comes from a man. But still...

Another skill I don't have is the ability to raise one eyebrow at a time. I've always wanted to be able to do that, and always envied people who could. My eyebrows just aren't very expressive at all, and in my next life - or whatever life comes after this one - I want to have beautifully arched, movable eyebrows.

But there are things I can do! for example, I can say Supercalafragilisticexpialidocious backwards. And, now that I think about it, I can also sing 'Row Row Row Your Boat' backwards. (Thanks, Sarah!) And I can sing 'Love, Unrequited, Robs Me Of My Rest' along with Mandy Patinkin - and that's something you have to hear to be able to fully appreciate.

I can also type while watching TV. Not sure what we're watching right now, but it began with the discovery of an arm in a puddle of blood, and a lion on the other side of a door, chewing on what can only be assumed was the corresponding leg. It's either Medical Investigation or Third Watch - I never heard the final decision, and since I never watch either, it's all the same to me!

That's not dust, it's Enchantment

Well, whatever it is, it's making me sneeze.

New Mexico - The Land Of Enchantment. Or, as my mom sometimes calls it, the "Land of Manana." It's a weird place, both incredibly beautiful and incredibly ugly. Rich folks come here to play in the snow, and city folks dream of it as a place to get away from it all.

I can tell you it's roughly eight hours' drive from Dallas, and in a fourteen-foot U-Haul truck, that's about seven and a half hours too much.

The welcome I got at the end of the ride was nothing short of enchanting.

Making Progress

 

I wrote that, I guess about a year ago. I just found it in an old notebook as I was going through some of the clutter in my room. It sounds like something I would have written in a moment of either frustration or mocking self-criticism. But - however true it may have been then, I don't think it's true anymore - and that's what I like about it.

A moment of Zen

Today is the greatest day I've ever known...

Don't really know what made today so pleasant...I worked for most of the day. But I got to work with my friends and my job is interesting and fun, and I'm reading a book that I enjoy (a couple of them, actually) and this morning I rediscovered an old favorite album by James Taylor. I got some new pillows that I can already tell will soon be on my list of favorite things - a list that includes my three old women made of paper, my butterfly mobile, and my purple and white sarong, which I use as a throw (and of which I did a painting a couple years ago.) It was rainy today, but not cold, and on the bus on the way home I listened to some more songs that I really like. All in all, a very good day, even if there wasn't much to it. I'm feeling content, and very much at peace - quite an improvement from that whole me-vs.-me argument of the other night!

Me vs. Me

What is that?

What?

What's that on the ground? Is that what I think it is?

No. Don't. Don't mess with it, don't pick it u--

It is what I think it is!

Okay, fine. Now put it down.

It looks good, too. It's all fat & squishy.

No! You can't. You are insane to even be thinking about it, you know you can't do that.

Where can I put it? Not in the pockets, too easily found...besides it could start coming apart all in my pocket. But there's nowhere else... The inside pocket? - okay, that'll do. Till I get it home.

What are you doing??? What if somebody saw you pick that up? What if there are cops around? Just having that could get you in trouble!

Nobody saw me.

I cannot believe you're gonna take that to the house. What are you going to do with it?

Hide it. Put it in a ziplock bag, a little one if I can find one.

And then what? You're never gonna be able to use it.

I could, at the end of the week, then there wouldn't be any...oh, no wait. By then he'll be here, and he won't... Well, I'll just save it.

You're insane!

No, I'll just hold on to it, there's bound to be a time when no one will be around.

While you're here? Do you have any idea what will happen if you get caught??? Is it worth that?

Yeah, I better not. But after... all I need is a few hours. No one will ever know.

What if he finds out? You know what he said, do you want to take the chance that he'll go easy on you? Can you keep a secret like that from him? Forever?

I could tell him, ask him if he'd let me do it. It would only be just this once, after all...

Listen to yourself!!! Just this once? Do you really think you can do it just once, and never again? Because you know it's gonna be good - even if it's lousy, it'll be good. You have to throw it away.

But I want it!

No. It's not worth it. Look how stressed out you are, just from having it in your pocket. Throw it away, and all the scenarios go away.

I can't...I want it.  I'll save it - I'll hide it... I WANT IT!!!

No! Throw it away. Just drop it on the ground and keep walking, and it'll be over. Don't think about it. You know you're gonna have to do it. Reach into the pocket, find it...now crumple it up and drop it on the ground. Now walk awa--

That's okay, it's still in big chunks, I can come back later and still find it.

NO! Go back, step on it, and make sure it's all the way gone. DO IT! Now shuffle your foot across it, kick it over that way, and the rest of it over there. Okay, now it's gone. Now walk away.

I hate you.

If I Were A Crayon...

This is in response to my friend Jake's blog for today. He posted one of those questionnaire-style surveys, with about fifty questions that tell your reader all about you. He had some really great answers, too...but he seemed not to think anybody would read it or respond to it. It was a little much to put in the comments section of his blog, so I just responded here, in my own blog. I notice he left out a few questions, so I've left it that way. So here's more about me than anybody probably ever wanted to know...

1. First name? Stephanie

2. Were you named after anyone? Not that I know of

3. Do you wish on stars? Not so much anymore

4. When did you last cry? This afternoon, for about three seconds, when I was waiting for the bus in the cold and the rain, and my umbrella turned inside-out, and some lady in a minivan drove by and splashed me from head to toe. I was so mad, and so cold, I just lost it for a minute...

5. Do you like your handwriting?  Yes

6. What's your favorite lunchmeat? Roast beef...with lots of horseradish, or at least pickles & onions

7. What is your birthdate? 26 November, 19seventy-something

8. Your most embarrasing CD? The soundtrack to 'Once More, With Feeling' - the musical episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

9. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? I think so...I try to be the kind of person I'd want to have as a friend

18. Do you have a journal? You're reading it!

19. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Much more than I'd like

22. What are your nicknames? Just Steph - not really a nickname, just a shortened form

23. Would you bungee jump? I'd like to someday, but it would be hard

24. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Almost never

25. Do you think that you are strong? Yes...not as strong as some of the women I know, maybe, there are experiences I haven't had to go through, but I'm thankful for the strength I have

26. Favorite ice-cream flavor? Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake

28. Shoe size? 71/2 - 8

29. Red or pink? Red!

30. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? My self-centeredness, and self-destructive tendencies

31. Who do you miss most? Kenny

32. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? Not really. If anyone wants to though, they can send it to my email

33. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Grey cargo pants - no shoes, just socks

34. What are you listening to right now? Launchcast (Pearl Jam, Yellow Ledbetter)

35. Last thing you ate? Shells & cheese, and a handful of Reese's bites

36. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Razzmatazz

37. What is the weather like right now? Rainy and cold and yucky

38. Last person you talked to on the phone? Kenny's mother

39. First thing you notice about the opposite sex? His smile

40. Do you like the person that sent this to you? Yes, I do

42. Favorite drink? (See yesterday's entry)

43. Favorite sport? Anything non-competetive

44. Hair color? Various shades of blonde

45. Eye color? Blue

46. Do you wear contacts? I should, but I don't have any right now, so I'm blind

48. Favorite Food? Seafood!!

49. Last movie you watched? Don't totally remember...Bridget Jones 2? Napoleon Dynamite? Serendipity? Watched all those recently, but don't remember which one I watched last.

50. Favorite day of the year? August 8th

51. Scary movies, or happy endings? Happy endings, definitely

52. Summer or winter? Summer!

53. Hugs or kisses? Kisses

55. What is your favorite dessert? After much deliberation I hafta say, my mother's chocolate-cinnamon torte. I get shivers just thinking about it!

56. Who is most likely to respond? If any, I think I'll get comments from the people who usually read and/or comment on my blogs - Ang, Ken, Rand...and I hope Jake will at least see and appreciate

57. Who is least likely to respond? Anybody not mentioned above

58. Living arrangements? Six roommates, baby!

59. What books are you reading? Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius

60. What's on your mousepad? A calculator

62. What did you watch last night on TV? Nothing, but the night before was 'Desperate Housewives' and 'Huff'-!!

63. Favorite smells? Pier 1's Cranberry Citrus, and the smell of the grass growing as winter turns to spring.

64. Favorite sounds? This is kinda weird, but I love the sounds of the carwash near my house...the guys park and leave their car doors open and their stereos on, and you can hear three or four different rap songs competing with each other, and the sound of the traffic and the drive-thru next door, and the birds singing...it's very ghetto, but it reminds me of good things, like when I first moved into my house, and all the hustle and bustle of the city that I love.

65. Rolling Stones or Beatles? oh, Beatles all the way!

66. What's the furthest you've been from home? Chicago - farthest and furthest - I was a long way from home that summer.

67. Do you have a special talent? I can sing

Non-Alcoholic

I love this stuff. Love it, love it, love it!

Go Outside & Drive

I've been reading a lot of good stuff lately, like Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius, and it had me wanting to write something deep and important - something about my generation's apparent fear of anonymity, as displayed in all the various ways we've found to make our private lives as public as possible. (yes, like this weblog.)

But then I turned on my radio and it was Blues Traveler! An old favorite song, from my all-time favorite album, a song which anyone who isn't a fan won't have heard of, because most people aren't nearly as familiar with Blues Traveler as they ought to be. So, for everyone's enrichment, and because it happens to be very appropriate to my life at this moment, here's the song. The other stuff can wait.

Go Outside And Drive

I've really got to clean up my room, you know it's been so long since I've seen my floor. It's getting kind of scary, in fact I suspect that when I finally clear away, I won't know it anymore. And we'll have grown so far apart from those early days with a fresh new start. So in the end it won't matter at all, so why should I bother with the rise and the fall? So I quietly lay back down and watch TV.

But these are the things we tell ourselves,
eventual stories designed to amuse.
It's a game we play, and we play it well.
In fact we're so damn good that we try to lose,
so we can keep hiding, so we can survive,
and keep on believing someday we'll go outside and drive.

I have resolved not to leave my house till my floor comes back and my room is clean. So I'm really kind of glad that my TV's here, while I concoct my plan to fulfill my dream. Now won't that be wonderful when I'll finally be done? I just can't wait for it, then I'll start to have fun! It's getting hard lately to concentrate, all my appointments canceled cause I'm horribly late. You know, I think I need a prison in order to dream of being free.

But these are the things we tell ourselves,
eventual stories designed to amuse.
It's a game we play, and we play it well.
In fact we're so damn good that we try to lose,
so we can keep hiding, so we can survive,
and keep on believing someday we'll go outside and drive.

Now weeks have gone by and my room's not done, in fact I could say that it's gotten much worse. Old Chinese food and ravioli cans amongst the crumpled letters, the mood's quite perverse. But I got a new TV with a remote control. Styrofoam and instructions fill that hole where I once cleared a path, where I once blazed a trail to the bathroom, but I fear that a nail is buried there now, and I step very rarely and try not to get out of bed.

You know, tomorrow I'll get up and I'll walk out that door, and life will return to the way that it was. But I think I'm getting sick, I better give it a day. It mustn't be the flu, but it usually does. So I'll sit right here till I'm old and gray, I need my rest, after all I'm wasting away. And I just saw a cockroach crawl out of my sneaker. I think he's biding his time till I get somewhat weaker.

Things could still work out for me as long as I'm not...dead.

But these are the things we tell ourselves,
eventual stories designed to amuse.
It's a game we play, and we play it well.
In fact we're so damn good that we try to lose,
so we can keep hiding, so we can survive,
and keep on believing someday we'll go outside and drive.
We're gonna go outside and drive!
I'm still alive!
Is it sunny or is it raining? I wonder if it's light outside?
What's it like outside?

"Twenty-Two!"

Time was, at my job, about two-thirds of the staff was female, and it wasn't at all unusual to have a shift with only one or two guys on the floor. The one or two guys then inevitably became objects of ridicule and derision - we girls worked well together, got everything done, and saw no need to flub things up by adding a couple of Y-chromosomes to the mix. The boys were for the weekend shifts (when everything is more chaotic anyway) and for after-hours socializing, that's all.

Now they're everywhere! Thursday night in the kitchen, it's like the Godfather - they have secret handshakes, and code words, it's a whole brotherhood.

One thing that kills me, they have this "babe alert" system: one of the guys walks into the kitchen and calls out a table number, seemingly at random - that means that there's a hot girl at that table, and over the course of the next five minutes or so, every guy on the shift will find some reason to go by that table and check her out. It's hysterical.

Girls don't do that. If we see a man worthy of a double-take, we may or may not share it with, at most, one or two friends. We are much less likely to say something if he's with a girl who could be a significant other; and chances are, at least one girl will disagree and there will be a "you don't think he's cute?" discussion. The guys aren't like that. They don't care about type, don't care if she's with someone - if she's cute, she's cute, and they ogle indiscriminately.

I know there are proven psychological reasons for the different ways we behave - the whole Mars/Venus thing. I just find it amusing. I love the guys I work with! I don't get it, don't understand 'em at all, but they crack me up.

Learning from Amy

When I was in college, one of my good friends was blind. Her name was Amy Gray. I remember one time, somebody asked her who she thought were some of the most good-looking guys on campus.

I loved her answers. She thought about it for a while, and then named about five guys. And a couple of them were indeed thought to be quite good-looking by most of the female students. But Amy named some of the kindest, funniest, and most interesting men we knew - even though the average girl wouldn't have considered all of them very handsome.

When we asked her why she picked the people she did, she said it was a combination of things. How other people talked about them, and how they talked about themselves. She told us a person's voice, obviously can be attractive all in itself, the tone, the timbre, the way someone speaks, the words they choose. But a voice can also convey confidence or lack of it, humor, attitude, boredom or enthusiasm, a smile or a frown. And she judged by how generally well-liked the various men were that she knew - if a lot of people want to spend time with this man, then he must be pretty attractive.

I still remember three or four of the names on Amy's list. And it's much easier for me to remember them than the names of the guys that were considered handsome by more conventional standards.

Angela's Birthday

I went out last night with about a dozen people, one of whom (Angela) is a good friend of mine, and four of the others I’d met once or twice before. Now that’s not usually my scene – I don’t always do well in a crowd of people who don’t already know and love me – but I had a fantastic time! My girl Ang has some very cool friends.

So here are just a few of the highlights:

• There was a small but intense debate on the merits, and methods, of pickle-juice drinkers.



• The sister-in-law...was she for real?



• Kenneth ("Raise your hand if you like Kenneth!") has a new red couch, so he now has someplace to sit while playing video games.



• The "handsome stranger" from out-of-town kinda reminded me of Justin from Blue October.



• On the drive from the restaurant to the comedy club, we were assaulted by not one, but two flying doughnuts!



• There was a whole story-time episode about a girl named Mary*, a Slow Roosevelt concert, and a white thong...but I can't tell the rest of that story for fear of death and torture, at the hands of a bunch of big guys called Sonny.



• First Chair, Low Brass and the Flag Corps (Band Dorks RULE!!)



• I still didn't get an answer to my cocktail question.

Evil Zombie Lion

In the plains of Africa, in a tiny village whose name had never been pronounced by an English tongue, there was a shaman who lived in a mud-brown hut. But this shaman was no wise and benevolent healer; his heart was wicked, and he served a destructive spirit far older than the village or the plains, or any of the tongues that had ever tried to give it a name.

This spirit at times took a familiar form, the form of a great lion. When the priest had a special petition, he would surround himself with strange objects and sweet smoke, and perform his incantations, and then by night he would make a certain mark on the door of one of the village huts, and the lion would come and carry his sacrifice away. And the villagers never knew what was behind these disappearances, and they trusted their priest to keep them safe.

   

One year, among the many that passed unchangingly in the little village, a great hunter came through the plains, a European, in search of trophies that would bring him glory and fame. As one of his hunts brought him to the fields near the village, he sighted the greatest, grandest lion he had yet seen. Sure that this would be the most glorious trophy of all, he brought up his gun and sent a bullet through the heart of the animal, whose spirit was the consort of the wicked shaman.

At once, a howling wind swept over the plain. When the fury had passed, the hunter lay dead. The lion he had killed was nowhere to be seen.

That night, the same mighty wind swept through the village, leaving devastation in its wake. When the sun rose, not one of the villagers’ huts was left standing, and of all the inhabitants of the village, the priest was the only one left alive to witness the ruin.

In the desolate light of dawn, in the grip of terror such as he had never known before, the shaman went to the tree that had once stood tall outside his door and now lay blasted and broken on the ground. From the tree, he took a piece of wood and began to carve it into the shape of a lion. When the image was formed, the priest began to pray. For three days he chanted, entreating the spirit of chaos that was his master, to return and commune with him once more.

On the third night, at the same hour that the wind had swept through the village, the carved image awoke. Its blind wooden eyes looked into the face of the wicked shaman, and in that moment, the wind began again.

Many months later, a pair of traders from the East made their way across the African plains in search of rare and valuable treasures to carry back to their homeland. During their travels, they found the ruins of a village. No houses were standing, nothing remained intact, and they were preparing to leave, when they saw a small statue, a carved image of a lion. This statue was the only thing in the entire ruin that was not broken, and the travelers wrapped it and put it in their pack to take away with them.

When the traders reached their ship, they put their packs and their merchandise into the cargo hold, and retired to their cabin to sleep, as they began the long journey back to the Indonesian bazaars where their goods would be sold. That night, the wind blew fierce, sending shudders through the boards of the ship and chilling the bones of its passengers. Nobody ever saw the two traders after that night; when the ship reached harbor, they were not among the crowd of weary passengers coming ashore. Their packs were found, still in the cargo hold, and in the cabin that had been theirs was a small carved statue of a lion, with great staring eyes.

Goodbye, Alison

You know, almost worse than the feeling of being set up, is the confusion of not knowing who to trust anymore.

It's been almost a year since I wrote about Alison*, and we haven't seen much of one another lately, but I've always considered her to be one of my old, true friends. Now, in light of some recent events, I don't know...

There's a pretty ugly situation afoot right now: theft, cover-ups, conspiracy, possible destruction of evidence, lies, betrayal - the kind of stuff you'd expect to find in a Presidential campaign, right here in River City. And I'm part of it; I didn't do anything, but I could have a hard time proving that.

What's almost as bad is that, knowing as I do that I'm innocent, I have to start looking more closely at the people I've always trusted...and one of the first on the list is Alison. And that calls into question a whole list of other people and things. Like Alison's old boyfriend, who was (is?) also a good friend of mine. And like the real reason I don't live in that house anymore.

It helps a little to remember that, whatever anybody did, it wasn't intended to hurt me. It's just my bad luck that I'm the one left holding the bag.

I'm willing to do whatever I have to do, to convince the people that matter that I didn't do anything wrong. But I'm not willing to take the fall for anybody and everybody who acted dishonestly in this situation. I can't afford to take that fall. It could happen anyway, though. The evidence is all circumstantial, but it looks very bad, and I'm scared.

Yes Virginia, innocent people do go to the chair, and trusting the wrong person can cost you everything you've got. In a perfect world, it wouldn't be like that - but this obviously isn't a perfect world.

For a much more poignant view of another side of the same die, click here.

Froggie

My froggie he am a queer bird
Him ain't got no tail almost hardly
Him run when him jump
When him jump him fall down
Cause him ain't got no tail almost hardly

Frustrated

How do you convince someone they're awesome when they just won't see it?

Somebody did it for me - actually, a couple of somebodies - a few years ago. I wish I knew what it was they said that finally clicked. Maybe it wasn't anything that was said, maybe it was just that even when I hated myself, they still wanted to be with me, and they cared enough about me to put up with all my issues and insecurities. I'm sure there was more to it than that, but I think that was where it started, for me. (And to both of those somebodies: thank you.)

Now I wish I could do the same for my friend.

I wish I could bottle it for you, or just snap my fingers and make it all make sense for you. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.

Do you honestly not realize how beautiful you are, and that if he doesn't see it he's blind (not to mention a complete idiot???)

Kumbayah

I'm toasting miniature marshmallows over a candle. With an icepick! It's fun.

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Uh-oh

"If you feed it, it'll grow," I said...

I've got to start learning to heed my own advice.