Like a voodoo lady, shakin’ that stick and driving you crazy

I’ll be in the Annex until Jan. 2 3 4 (I mean it this time).

Weekend-in-Review, i.e. pictures, upon return.

2007 is going to be a beautiful year for me, and I mean that with every ounce of sincerity imaginable. I hope it brings good things to you and yours, as well.

See you next year!


The double-deuce would like to leave you with some quotes before taking a bow

JILL: Hello hello hello, it’s always hello.

JACK: You are the most wonderful woman at this party.

JILL: And then good-bye good-bye.

JACK: You have a light that surrounds you.

JILL: Everytime I hear the word "hello" it’s like a magic incantation. An open sesame.

JACK: Hello, I say to her.

JILL: Abracadabra.

JACK: My name is Jack.

JILL: And I expect a whole new universe to open up in front of me, full of joy.

JACK: Hello hello.

JILL: And then good-bye good-bye.

-"English Made Simple," David Ives

"Human language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, when all the time we are longing to move the stars to pity."
    -Gustave Flaubert

"Out here [on the ocean], there isn’t day and night and then a new day. Instead, there are degrees of light and dark, merging and changing. It’s like one long stream of time unfolding in front of you, all around you. There isn’t really a yesterday or a day before, which is weird, because then what is tomorrow? And what is last week or last year? And if there is no yesterday or last year– or ten years ago– then it must all be now, one huge big present thing.

"This makes me feel very strange, as if I could say, "Now I am four," and by saying so, I could be four again. But that can’t be. Not really. Can it?"
    -"The Wanderer," Sharon Creech

"The sea is an immense desert in which man is never alone, for he feels life surrounding him on all sides."
    -"20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," Jules Verne

"Many are convinced that mechanical time does not exist… They wear watches on their wrists, but only as ornaments or as courtesies to those who would give timepieces as gifts. They do not keep clocks in their houses. Instead, they listen to their heartbeats. They feel the rhythms of their moods and desires. Such people eat when they are hungry, go to their jobs at the millinery or the chemist’s whenever they wake from their sleep, make love all hours of the day. Such people laugh at the thought of mechanical time. They know that time moves in fits and starts. They know that time struggles forward with a weight on its back when they are rushing an injured child to the hospital or bearing the gaze of a neighbor wronged. And they know that time darts across the field of vision when they are eating well with friends or receiving praise or lying in the arms of a secret lover."
    -"Einstein’s Dreams," Alan Lightman

"Without risk, there is no faith."
    -Soren Kierkegaard

"Faith has to do with things that are not seen, and hope with things that are not at hand."
    -St. Thomas Aquinas

"Most people have learned to live in the moment. The argument goes that if the past has uncertain effect on the present, there is no need to dwell on the past. And if the present has little effect on the future, present actions need not be weighed for their consequence. Rather, each act is an island in time, to be judged on its own. Families comfort a dying uncle not because of a likely inheritance, but because he is loved at that moment… It is a world of impulse. It is a world of sincerity. It is a world in which every word spoken speaks just to that moment, every glance given has only one meaning, each touch has no past or no future, each kiss is a kiss of immediacy."
    -"Einstein’s Dreams," Alan Lightman

Ho ho hoisin sauce!

Hey now. Don’t– no, don’t you give me that look. You know *perfectly* well where I’ve been all week.

Merry Christmas! [1] This year, Santa brought me my period four days early and a bladder infection. What a swell guy!

I’ve been keeping busy by making doggie gift baskets for my dog-owning friends:



Anyway. I have to go deliver presents (and finish putting together some of them), and then later tonight I’m going to Fado to listen to the boys play. If you’re around, stop on by and say hello! I’ll be the one in the corner, yelling requests for She Wants Revenge, or maybe "The Weight," by The Band, and downing glass after glass of fucking cranberry juice.

[1] As far as I’m concerned, people can get all huffy and offended over "Christmas" when "Christmas" goes back to being actually *about* a particular denomination.

Find this site via a pseudo-business card? Scroll down! The bottom half of this entry is for you.

Yes, there were bits of glass everywhere (even in the air vents) from the smashed-in side window. And yes, the glove compartment and the two other storage spaces in the front of the car were ransacked.

But from those three compartments, only two things were missing: the remote, and the faceplate case, for the stereo.

I don’t know how *not* to be grateful that whoever broke into my car was so consise and efficient about it all, that the stereo was removed so cleanly and without damage to anything else within the car. He (as I perpetuate the social stereotype here) even was thoughtful enough to remove the central sound plug– the one whose absence last time required an additional week’s wait at the shop– and leave it behind in the cupholder. That one little act makes me wont to believe he had tried the door handle first, and had only broken in the window as a final resort. That he had been a little regretful about making such a mess with the window– and that, had it not been a matter of time, had there not been the risk of getting caught by lingering too long, he would have put all the papers and miscellany back into the compartments before taking off.

As before, I just keep thinking back to this poem, though this time of its central theme of quiet, if not stunned, gratitude:

…Thank you
for knowing what you were here for,
for tending to your business without rage.

It was probably too dark for him to notice what poor condition my lavender Dooney purse (the only irrelevant item that was taken) was in, else he would have realized that it was hardly worth taking. It could never be regifted, and it would cost more than what I paid for it to have the dirt and scented-oil stains removed. There wasn’t even anything of value in there, though I am thoroughly humiliated by the fact that my silver business-card case was in that purse. Because inside that case, as a joke, I’d put some of my Internet cards, which were a joke in themselves.

It pains me to think that he opened that case and saw those cards, believed I had made and printed them in all seriousness, and now thinks I must be one hell of a narcissistic and egotistical broad.

But then, it also gives me hope that he’ll follow the URL at the bottom and find this entry and will thereby know that should the holiday spirit stir something within his heart, I would be much obliged if he could somehow return my weather- and circumstance-beaten purse, which is honestly in such terrible condition and not even easily identified as a Dooney & Bourke item that I cannot fathom how it would be worth anything to anyone (even Goodwill wouldn’t accept it for resale). Because D&B doesn’t make that style of purse anymore, and it has great sentimental value to me.

Though, if the purse is a no-go, maybe just that charm tied to one of the side rings? It’s a keepsake from my very dear trip to San Jose last January and again, I’m hard-pressed to think it has any monetary value. My CDs, which were grossly ignored, even the ones still in their original cases (except for the one in the CD player, which could only have been ejected with the car turned on, so no hard feelings about it being taken– again, there’s that sneaking suspicion that had he been able to, he would have removed it and left it in the car– although it *would* have to be the Eddie Izzard album I’d not yet backed up to my hard drive), and those could at least have been traded in at a used music store. Those at least could have been worth something. I don’t think my Monokuro Boo cell phone charm is.

And, see? I can even provide stealthy suggestions as to how to execute the return: throw it in a bag (I need hardly remind you to wear gloves while doing this, because you are seasoned at what you do, hardly a foolish amateur), plastic or paper, wrap it up tight to make the entre package as condensed– and thereby aerodynamic– as possible (perhaps secure it with tape?), and then in the middle of the night (you know how to travel in this neighborhood unnoticed, as you have already proven), quickly hurl the package out your window as you stealthily drive by. It could land in the driveway, or if you’d like to boast your aim and pitching abilities, try throwing it at the front door– or even somewhere in the front "lawn" of desert landscaping would be fine.

If not for Christmas, then perhaps for my birthday later this month? It would mean the world to me to have those two things back.

Also, I do wish you’d taken the roll of wintergreen mints that were in the cupholder. I’ve been trying to pawn them off to people for a week now– how was I to know they weren’t sugar-free at the time? And I eat only sugar-free mints. But it seems such a waste to throw the whole roll away, now.

And– though, how could you have known?– to be perfectly honest, I wish you’d broken in the driver’s side window, as the film on that side desperately needed to be replaced anyway.

Furthermore, in the aftermath of vacuuming up the glass, my car hasn’t been so meticulously clean in a very long time, so I suppose you’re to be given credit for that, as well. I can almost hear one of my ex-boyfriends sighing heavily to himself– "So *this* is what it takes to get her to clean the inside of her car!"

As for the stereo– did you notice the tiny bits of gum on the right navigation button? Those weren’t there because I’m a disgusting slob; they’re there because that button chattered like a motherfucker whenever the car was in motion, and those miniscule bits of gum absorbed the car’s vibrations enough to get it to shut the hell up. Just FYI.

Anyway. The purse-and-charm thing. Think about it? Maybe? Please? I suppose you could even just chuck it over the back wall (remember: second house in from the corner), but don’t throw it too hard, as then it might land in the pool. Though if it were well-sealed in a plastic bag, maybe that wouldn’t be an issue.

For all you regular readers, I’ll be in the Annex the rest of this week.

A fever I can’t sweat out

Anti-fever, rather [1]. At nearly three full degrees below what’s normal and average, my body temp has left me a grumpy, grumpy girl. I’ve been well enough this past week to be up and about, discounting the sporadic bouts of dizziness and fatigue and general irritability– which is to say, then, I’ve been well enough to forget that I am actually not well at all. Wearing flip-flops outside hasn’t much helped, either, I suppose.

I’ve slept on and off all day today, trying to buck the hell up for this coming weekend, which more or less begins, really, in about six hours. Committing the ultimate personal sacrifice, I’ve taken to wearing socks– thick, fuzzy socks!– and my constant bedfellow is a heating pad set to high, all in an effort to give my fucking metabolism a sharp jab in the ribs. Speed it up already, my internal organs are seething, can’t you see we’re about to start forming icicles here?

I guess my only prescription is… *less* cowbell?

Motherfucker. I got out of bed just to write this (well worth the effort, too, no?), and I’m already spent.

Oh! But: the webmaster from this French general-links site e-mailed me yesterday to ask if I would do a link exchange between my site and his. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted; the e-mail was written in French. I have no idea why he thought such a link exchange would be beneficial to either party, but more than that, I have no idea what prompted his discovery of this site to begin with. I mean, it’s not like I *use* French here on a regular basis, or even, really, on an irregular basis. The only thing I can think of is, I mentioned Pink Martini’s "Sympathique" over in the Annex, and in that same entry I used a French phrase (two. words.), and then someone left a comment in French. Which wasn’t even so much "leaving a comment" as it was just quoting a line for the song.

I haven’t replied to that e-mail yet because I don’t know what to say, nor in what language to say it. Je m’excuse, monsieur, mais nous– c’est-a-dire, mes lecteurs et moi– ne comprenons pas tres bien le francais, en generalement. En verite, je parle, et ecris, francais comme une vache espagnole. Comme vous pouvez voir, il ne me plait pas du tout d’utiliser des marques d’accent. Mais! La souris est sous la table, le chat est sur la chaise, et le singe est sur la branche! Et voila! Avez un bon weekend.

(I wouldn’t bother attempting to run that through a translation bot, by the way. I’m too lazy to do accent mark keystrokes.)

Mmmmrrrghhhh. BED.

[1] It’s not a bug, nothing contagious, just another physical defect. I could use some re-wiring, or at least a firmware upgrade. To say nothing of a partial hardware and housing replacement.

Food: Local grocer’s bakeries and CHEESE

Actually, cheese first.

Did you people KNOW about this all along? This "Creme de Brie" made by Alouette?


And if you did, why didn’t you tell me? I mean, sure, okay, it’s not the best-quality brie out there, and it certainly isn’t St. Andre cheese (which Albertsons has the audacity to NOT EVEN CARRY), but– buh– beh– ::indignant, huffy breaths::

It’s rindless brie! Rindless! As in, sans rind! Do you realize how significantly this cuts down on the effort involved in enjoying crackers and brie? And how equally significantly it increases the speed at which I can consume, and thereby enjoy, said crackers and brie? It’s not rocket science, Oh People of the Internet. And yet you’ve been keeping me in the dark about this for who knows how long. Did you not *see* "Little Black Book," Oh Internet? Do you not remember that "omission is betrayal"?

Whatever. Let’s move on to the bakeries while I nurse my breaking, breaking heart.


Continue reading

We English majors love our symbolism

L: If I weren’t already, I would totally convert to Christianity *just* to be able to celebrate and honor that ornament.


["Baby, It’s Cold Outside" is playing]

C: That’s so shady. "Say, what’s in this drink?" A roofie.


I painted different types of pie, because I like pie. I’m not that super enthusiastic about *eating* pie, but I like baking, and looking at, and apparently painting pie.


Or, in this case, pi. Math: it’s delicious!

R: Wait, is that… okay, please don’t tell me you actually drew the symbol for pi..?
L: Hi, I’m the one who made an emoticon jack-o-lantern, remember?
R: That is true.

Flickr set here.

I am shvitzing, sinhors

I feel all kinds of grumpy.

Everything hurts.

I have a bruise by my left elbow and I don’t have a clue where, or when, it’s from.

I’m wearing two layers of thermallyesque clothing, including socks (SOCKS!). I’ve prepped the bed with 20 lbs. of down comforters and blankets. (50 to 1 tomorrow morning, everything, including the clothes, will be kicked off and to the floor; goddamn fickle internal body temperature.)

Hey! You know what was fun? That time last year when my body temp hovered around 97 degrees and wouldn’t budge for two weeks! Ha ha!

Oh, wait, did I say "fun"? Damn. I meant god-awful.

Filler Friday: “Things Said Last Weekend”

[pointing to a helicopter]
M: Hey! A whirly-bird!


M: So after we get to… where are we going again? Santa… Michelle? It’s a girl’s name… wait… Santa La Brea?


[Pacific Beach]

L: I’m cold! And tired! And that makes me angry! Brr! and Grr!
L: Oh! I bet that’s how it got named! They were trying to come up with a name for it, and someone walked into the room and he was cold and angry! "Brr! Grr!"
A: O-kay. You’re not allowed to talk anymore.
L: Hey, [other L]! I found out how the burger got its name!!
A: NO.
L: Or Gerber? Someone was mad and then cold?
A: Yeah, no more talking for you.

Very abbreviated Flickr set (my lazy ass was *not* all about hauling that camera kit everywhere).

You’re thinking to yourself, “Oh, I know what this is really about,” but you’d be wrong

When Tequila Mockingbird went offline a year ago (the most recent post, from 11/20, was taken from her archives), I remember feeling such a horrible sense of loss. I had read every entry she’d ever published, and so much of what she had written had struck a chord deep within me– she wrote beautifully, and her writing spoke volumes to me.

There was some anxiety involved– there would never be another blog like hers. No one else would tell the kinds of stories she told, in the way that she told them. No one else would have a voice like hers that carried across this voiceless medium. And I was completely powerless to change the situation. I could plead, hundreds of others could plead, for her to come back, to write again, to reclaim her cherished place on the Internet if only for a little while longer– but what would be the point? Even if she listened to us, even if she acquiesced, her heart wouldn’t be in it. She didn’t want to write anymore. You can’t change a person’s heart.

When it first became clear that she wasn’t going to come back, I remember casting around helplessly, looking for other blogs and websites to fill the ache her absence left, and finding some sites that pleased, that entertained– sites that were really very lovely and well-maintained, but that simply didn’t enthrall me the way TM had. I enjoyed them, certainly, but there wasn’t that spark, that instant connection.

I’m not good at blog-browsing. Really, the only way I stumble across new ones are if they turn up in a relevant search query or if they’re referenced in blogs I already read. Or, sometimes, the blogs find *me.* And sometimes it’s awkward because I feel like, if they’re going to link to me, I’m obliged to link back to them even though the admiration and fan-dom isn’t mutual. But that’s the way of life, isn’t it? Feelings aren’t always reciprocated, for better or for worse.

But what I was trying to say– where I was trying to go with all of this– is, my online reading experience still lives, still thrives, despite TM taking itself out of the picture. And no, there hasn’t been another blog like it, but I’ve found a handful of blogs which are of the same caliber (if not higher) in their own rights. And of course, they’ve existed all this time, they’ve existed for ages prior to my discovering them– so maybe it is all about timing. I don’t know.