America's Playground is closed

I started writing this post in my head, while I was getting dressed. I was running late and it was one of those mornings where I was late because I couldn’t fully talk myself into calling in sick. I was getting dressed and I knew I was going to wear brown gaucho pants and brown sandals. Because I was late, I thought “I shouldn’t take the time to switch out my purse,” which would mean I would be carrying my black Coach bag with a brown-centric outfit and I started writing the post in my head as a plea for people not to rush to judgment. I hate when people wear all brown clothing and shoes and carry a black purse, and I was about to become this person. The post was going to be full of self-loathing and sadness that I was reduced to carrying the black bag.

In the end, my words were so effective and my self-esteem so shattered, I took the extra 3 minutes and swapped out my purse, opting for my brown Kenneth Cole. I am a vain and wicked person.

It would appear that the groups’ attempt at spontaneity was squashed by the high price of Vegas travel. As the group as a whole starts to earn more money, we have all become conspicuous consumers. Our love for high end consumer goods has made us all less liquid than we should be. So, no trip. Sigh. I will just have to settle for Oklahoma.

P.S. When I was 10 years old, I actually thought I came up with the Lost Wages slogan. I probably read it on a fanny pack, internalized it and then tried to claim it as my own. My father had to let me down real gentle like.

This cocktail is bound for those showgirls

I just wanted everyone to know, well mostly Villi, that Gina Gershon was one of the backup dancers in the Patti Labelle video for New Attitude.



She is resplendent with her “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” ultra 80s haircut. I love Gina Gershon and love when she pops up in the most obscure places, like VH1 classic.

So jury duty is finally over. We finished deliberation today and turned in our decision. About 5 of my fellow jurors complimented me on both my ability to articulate and ability to remember details. In fact, it was the suggestion of 3 of the jurors that I go to law school, for which I demurely thanked them. While I was thinking how totally fucking awesome I am.

On Tuesday, I was ready to come home and say all sorts of nasty things about the jury process, but now, I am happy that I did it and I even forgive some of the faults of the other jurors, as I assume they had to do with me as well.

And, on the plus side, I only have to work one day this week.

They're running the viper in reverse

I was unable to channel my inner Pauly Shore and get out of jury duty successfully. I am not permitted, by order of the guy to talk about the case specifically. I can say, generally, that it was the most boring 8 hours of my life. I sat on a jury like 8 years ago, when I was 18 or 19, and the defendant didn't have an attorney. He made a ton of procedural errors and I tried to keep my supreme annoyance about his wasting my time out of my mind when returning a guilty verdict; I probably failed.

And this is just part of why I am so ill-recommended for jury duty. I spent the whole day mentally finishing the sentences of the witnesses and the attorneys. During the recess, I felt nothing but contempt and annoyance for my fellow jurors, and I realized, at about 10 AM, that I would totally preferred going to work this week. Too late.

I just watched the season finale of Weeds. It was obviously building for the cliffhangers, so the dialogue was a lot weaker than normal. Isabelle, however, provided a truly hilarious scene referring to Lord Voldemort. I laughed for 2 straight minutes. I don't seem to be able to write in detail right now and I am going to attribute that to my extremely long day. That said, it's time for bed.

You musn't forget how much light you bring

I was trying to start a post about the mosquito ringtone that only kids can hear and I wanted to use a song lyric for the title that talked about getting older. I chose a line from Tracy Bonham's Shine and then realized the beginning of this song would make a kick ass ring tone. Then, I started to think about all the people I gave my great Amelie ringtones to and I started to wonder about why I try to please people that I don't even really like. All in all, thinking about ringtones is making me deeply contemplative and a little sad about my life.

Anyhow, here is a link to the mosquito ring tone so you can see how old and crappy your hearing is. I was able to hear it without problem, but two of the guys I work with (younger than me I might add [and why would I say I might add, because I already did add it])could not hear it. I felt pretty young and vibrant at that point, ignoring the ache in my back and the creaking in my knees.

Peace!

Parasite bent on devouring its host

I totally remembered what I was going to post about yesterday, but then forgot. I just got a CD in the mail from the lovely Jenny Owen Youngs who's wonderful song "Fuck Was I" was on Weeds and totally caught my attention. Included with my CD was a pin, a sticker (which I would stick on my trapper keeper if I had one), and a nice little thank you on my paypal receipt. When I purchased a CD from Bonfire Madigan, again I received two pins, a handmade CD case cover and a nice note on the receipt. I love buying CDs from independent artists. They are always so grateful; they always include some little personal touch and you know they are stuffing envelopes and sewing CD cases in their spare time.

So, when does it become okay to steal music? I don't think there is a definite rule for this; it seems more organic. Like a baby bird just knows when to fly, I trust my instincts for when an artist is bloated, awful, and rich enough for me to justify stealing their music.

Tackable Surface

It was only as I was eating cold oatmeal and checking back over the site for grammar errors, spelling errors, and sin of pride, did I realize that it had almost been a month since I last posted to the site. I felt very guilty, since I always get annoyed when people don't update their blogs daily. I had an idea of something to write about last night, but I had forgotten it by the time I woke up this morning.

When I got into work, I didn't feel like working, so I carefully unpacked the Campbell's Chunky Soup I brought for lunch this week, and the oatmeal and cherry flavored sparkling water. Then, despite having a mountain of enhancement requests to sort, I went through the spam folder for my inbox to make sure nothing was incorrectly labeled as spam. I noticed all these similar subjuct lines-

Momentous note. You must to read.
Momentous message. You should to read.
Significant letter. You have to read.
Significant letter. You should to read.
Serious message. You should to read.
Significant letter. You must to read.

I've always wondered how spam generators choose subjects and body text that allure people into opening them. There seem to be trends to Spam subjects, like "Significant letter. You have to read" is the hot, new subject and everyone is trying to get on board with their knockoffs.

This is a shitty post, but I am going to submit it anyway, because it is better than nothing and it lets Yella know that I am at least trying.

Good thing my gun was not properly calibrated

Last night was another rollicking good time. It started earlier than our normal weekend parties and actually commenced with an actual meal together. Normally, we skip those niceties and go straight for the drinking. I only had two patron margaritas, which were tasty and good with my tacos. Some others, like Dave, had much, much more to drink. The 8 of us, though, had a good time playing DOA, Tekken, Guitar Hero and Mission Confidential.

This same group of people was gathered back in April for Ethan's first birthday and we had a conversation about asians being good at math. Liem, John, Anna, and Andrea, all Asian, asked about us whiteys and what we were good at. I remarked that I "excel at imperialism." This remark received a pretty good chuckle. Today, while reading a few more pages in "The People's History of the United States," I came across a quote from political scientist John Burgess (1844-1931) that actually states that whites were "particularly endowed with the capacity for establishing national states...the are entrusted with the mission of conducting the political civilization of the modern world."

I was shocked to find something I said with equal parts sarcasm, wit, and liberal guilt was actually someone's belief system. Three cheers for western expansion.

Cruella DeVille

I'm beginning to suspect that the man who pressure washes the sidewalks in front of my building isnÂ’t actually employed by anyone; he just enjoys pressure washing. I just find it hard to believe that they would order the sidewalks to be washed every day. Do sidewalks really get that dirty, and more importantly, does anyone really care? I know full grown people, albeit stinky ones, that take less baths than the sidewalks in front of my building. And given my building's inability to keep an elevator functional or match the carpet and tile, I just don't buy it that they care that much about the sidewalks.

I know that after X weeks with no post, a post about sidewalks seems random, but I decided to lead with this story and follow it up with my feel good story about a fireman and a lawnmower.

There is a fire station about five blocks from my house. It sits on a corner lot with a big lawn, some trees and a flower bed. The firemen (I haven't seen any women) do all of the lawn maintenance themselves. I find it both adorable and kind of hot to see them out there in their matching shirts and slacks pulling weeds, watering flowers and mowing the lawn. Normally, it is a group project, with four or five guys out doing yardwork. Yesterday, though, it was just one very young looking fireman pushing the lawnmower at like 8AM (poor firehouse neighbors). I was watching him criss-cross the lawn and then, all of a sudden, he bolted off toward the firehouse, leaving the lawnmower running. Three minutes later, I heard the sirens and had to pull over to let the fire engine pass. I knew I could have a free lawnmower if I turned around right then.

Speaking of firehouses, we were discussing strange city/state laws that are still on the books, and apparently, Dalmatians do not have to be on a leash in San Francisco as a token of the city's appreciation of their service during the fire of 1906. That is why I chose the title Cruella DeVille for the rant, since I was going to be talking about Dalmatians. Plus, I wanted to take the time to mind or remind everyone that I almost ran over her and her daughter...in cold blood.

Since we are talking about fire stations, Dalmatians, and movie stars, I'm going to paste in a relevant passage from the movie State and Main.

Joseph Turner White: Ever wonder why the Dalmatian's the symbol of the firehouse?
Ann Black: First organized fire department was on the border of Dalmatia and Sardinia in the year 642.
Joseph Turner White: That's why the Dalmatian?
Ann Black: It was either that, or a sardine.

Feathers and down

I’ve had a rough weekend; one spent contemplating life and death and hearing aids. I’ve thought about loneliness and ugliness and all the other conditions of life that make people feel lonely and ugly. I kept thinking about these things and I would almost start to write about them, but then it was time for my steroid or my antibiotic and all I wanted to do was crawl under a down comforter (get it? down, as in sad) but then even that joke fails because I am allergic to goose down and that is what my bout with my body is all about – allergies, and I can’t seem to laugh about it.

I’m allergic to my house and to my dogs. I’m allergic to my car and my kitchen and the bed that I sleep in. My life is, apparently, one big allergen, causing all sorts of chronic pressure and pain in my head until my body’s only response is to close ranks around my acoustic nerve until I can’t hear anything. Sitting in the doctor’s office on Friday night, watching the doctor watching me and telling me he “wants to see how the muscles in my face move” just in case I was showing signs of a stroke. I left the office, my hand bandaged from where they gave me an IV and read the doctor’s notes. I called my mom and tried to not to cry as I told her, matter of factly, what they doctor had said. Follow up with an emergent care provider if you experience: headaches, fever, facial drooping, pain behind the ear, or other worrisome symptoms. I just thought my body had disowned me - writing me out of the will and cutting my face out of all the family pictures, but it seems more sinister than that after this weekend.

You just pissed off the wrong mongoloid

Drinks on Friday and Saturday, per usual, were lots of fun (supplying the rant title). You’d be surprised, though, at how much joy an $8 mullet wig can add to the night’s festivities.

Not a whole lot new in my life. I did get summoned for federal jury duty, which one of my co-workers likened to probation. Starting September 29th through November 3rd, I have to call in every Friday and see if I have jury duty the following Monday. Knowing my luck, I will get assigned to some giant tax evasion case and end up doing jury duty through the end of the year or something awful. Denver Federal Court does handle Utah’s federal crimes, so I guess if I was really unlucky, I could get called for the Warren Jeffs’ trial. I’m sure I could summon enough irrational hatred towards fundamentalist Mormons to get excused from that trial. Especially since you know his creepy followers will be there harassing and threatening people and possibly dressing up like native-americans and ambushing jurors. See, the simple fact that I know about the Mountain Meadows Massacre should exclude me from service.

My ear is still humming and hissing and it doesn’t appear to be clearing up. It is a little worrisome, since my hearing is so very important to me. I can’t count all the times a day that I listen to stuff. To lose that ability, or continue on my annoying trend of yelling ‘what’ after everything, would be most frustrating and sad.