Insufficient data for meaningful answer, so here are some pictures instead

5 megapixels, RIM. That's all I'm asking. Samsung's already working on *12*, and they've already released an 8 with HD video recording. Blah blah best at e-mail blah enterprise service blah. I'm just saying. Sometimes we like to snap pictures while we do our e-mail kung-fu, and sometimes we like to share those pictures with the Internet, and sometimes the Internet appreciates it when said pictures don't look all washed-out and sub-standard.

From front to back: barren inhospitable desert landscape, a city of enough money to make Solomon blush, gorgeous mountains of Ye Olde Underwater Times, and snow. I love this city so fucking much.

The left eye is a freckle, and the rest was drawn in by TheNoah. I spent the rest of that night staring at my palm like an idiot and smiling like an even bigger idiot.

I took this picture to prove a point and win a bet. The product is not a "cup o' noodles"; the product is noodles. What kind of noodles? CUP noodles, that's what kind. Cup Noodles, friends. Unless you're in Japan, in which case it's Cup Noodle.

V. Sattui, Napa Valley. Yep, that's a bottle of Freixenet Nevada Brut inside a Trader Joe's bread bag. Because we are classy, classy people. Almost as classy as Lady GaGa, but not quite. One can only dream.


Headaches and worthless insomnia

    Samuel had leaned his elbows on the table and his hands covered his eyes and his forehead. "I want to think," he said. "Damn you, I want to think. I'll want to take this off alone where I can pick it apart and see. Maybe you've tumbled a world for me. And I don't know what I can build in my world's place."
    Lee said softly, "Couldn't a world be built around accepted truth? Couldn't some pains and insanities be rooted out if the causes were known?"
    "I don't know, damn you. You've disturbed my pretty universe. You've taken a contentious game and made an answer of it. Let me alone– let me think! Your damned bitch is having pups in my brain already…"

    ("East of Eden", John Steinbeck)

What are you passionate about? To what lengths would you go in order to achieve what you believe in? What would you sacrifice? Would you be willing to give up your life? The life of another? The lives of hundreds, thousands– billions? What are you passionate about, and why? Really think about it: why? Why does it matter? Why does it matter to you, and why should it matter to others?

TheNoah says we don't have to have reasons for everything, that we can be passionate about and love things without a specific why… but I don't know. When the means to your end involve the extinction of an entire species, it seems to me you'd better have a damned good explanation ready to back up your stance.

Also chocolate-covered grasshoppers to represent the locusts, with baby bottles of cab to represent the Red Sea. Passover Baskets: not for pansies. Or kids, apparently.

We spent the better portion of a gorgeous, sunny Easter Zombie Christmas Sunday in Napa, which was fitting, you know, because Jesus had that whole water-into-wine thing, and Napa is renowned for, uh, turning grapes into wine using water to grow grapes to be turned into wine (ta-da!). Also Jesus was held up by a cross. And Napa wineries have wooden structures sort of shaped like crosses that hold up the vines. Yeah.

Anyway, the ironic bit was how I got and finished being drunk all before we even got within the Napa Valley limits. That 808 drink I mentioned in the last post? TheNoah paid for it and I felt guilty for not drinking more than two bitter-faced sips after I opened it, so I stuck it in the fridge and then carried it out to the car with me Sunday morning, thinking I don't know what. Open-container laws and what-have-you. And then I set it on the floor and got out to rummage through the trunk for something and it spilled (TheNoah swears I jostled it; I adamantly blame a shift in the gravitational axis for causing the bottle to knock itself over), but by the time it was rescued, it was still at least half-full. And in a moment of frazzled irritation, I just downed what was left.

I'd only been awake for about two hours and it had been at least 14 hours since I'd last eaten. And I think it had been over a month since I'd had anything else alcoholic (ever the lush, I know).

Cue: drunk on Zombie Christmas Sunday. Before noon.

But did I mention the weather was beautiful? We took the top off his car and stopped by Trader Joe's and bought cheeses, Spanish Champagne-style wine, a loaf of artisan bread, strawberries and dark chocolate. Basically, I was only a scarf-wrapped-around-my-head away from us being a scene in a 1940s film.

And Napa was, as everyone says, lovely. We secured a spot on a grassy, tree-dotted lawn at V. Sattui and ate and drank and watched cute kids dressed up in festive Sunday attire run around and play (we decided we're going to start making Passover baskets, with little chocolate baby Moseses to represent the basket in which he was sent down the river and discovered) and it was a perfect, perfect introduction to the valley. I'm pretty sure it would get a stamp of Zombie Jesus approval, no problem.

A sign of something when my non-writing boyfriend updates his site more often than I update mine

Some words on 808 [1]:

1. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to my 8th grade health class, but apparently I was listening on they day we covered depressants and stimulants and for whatever reason, I have since clung fervently to this idea that you are not supposed to mix the two, EVER. Bad idea. Bad! Bad, bad idea. So I've always been a little hesitant about Vodka Red Bulls and Irish coffees. Not that that's stopped me from drinking them, but even still, the wariness exists. Hence, I'm likewise a little suspicious of this alcoholic beverage infused with caffeine and guarana.

2. But again, not suspicious enough to not try it. I tried it. It tastes like shit. I realize I say this about 97% of all things alcoholic that I imbue, but I passed it by le petit-ami TheNoah, who thinks 97% of all things alcoholic is great, and even he made a face.

3. At first, I didn't want to drink it because it was nearing midnight and I didn't want to not be able to fall asleep tonight, which– if the caffeine worked like it's supposed to (97% of the time, caffeinated beverages don't do crap for improving my energy levels)– would possibly happen. But then a half-hour later, I realized I was really, really tired but still had things I wanted to get done, so suddenly the caffeine infusion was sounding pretty promising– except now I had the alcohol to contend with, as alcohol tends to put me to sleep (oh, let's say 97% of the time). So this drink has become a total crapshoot (and a slightly unpalatable one at that).

4. Totally unrelated, but whoever was responsible for letting the copy for this story go live (and to the front page, no less) can just go to hell [2]:

Picture 4
Picture 2
"Polar bear mauling", "polar bear attacked", "saved her life"– really accurate perspective, there, you know? Especially if by "mauling" they meant "invasion of territory", by "attacked" they meant "defended", and accidentally wrote "life" when they meant to write "from her own stupidity". This woman scaled a fence and leapt into the compound DURING FEEDING TIME, and all the article highlights is polar bear violence? Whatever happened to personal accountability? Since polar bears can't be sued, the blame will probably be directed to the zoo, either for keeping vicious animals that pose theats to public safety or for not posting clear and highly-visible signs that people should not be climbing the fence and into the polar bear compound. During feeding time. I cannot emphasize this enough. The woman was not only posing a threat to the bears' territory, but because she committed this ludicrous act during feeding time, she also posed a threat to their food supply.

I can't help but feel like that polar bear should be commended. They're on display at the zoo so people can see how these exotic creatures live in their (simulated) natural habitat, right? Well, now everyone knows. If you ever see a polar bear in the wild and it's about to eat, don't make a mad dash for it and be getting all up in its business.

[1] I can't find a website or product site for this thing anywhere– we picked it up in some nondescript convenience store in the Mission. The bottle reads: "Imported French Cognac, Premium vodka, apple liqueur with caffeine & guarana. 808 Apple Amp, 10% alc by vol".

[2] As the friend who notified us of this story put it: "How is this news? How is this breaking news??"

A lot of little nothings that are not in any way about April 1st

Last Saturday, Noah and I were driving behind this car and we were all turning left onto St. Rose and I watched in horror as it accidentally turned to the left of the concrete median (so, into the wrong direction of traffic). St. Rose is a state route that's something like ten miles wide, and it was at night, and there was no traffic going in either direction at the time, so it's kind of understandable that someone could make that mistake, but all the same, I was panicking for him [1]. St. Rose is also a state route that has a speed limit of 55, which means everyone goes at least 70, and I kept thinking this was a horrible fiery death in the making, and Noah had to listen to me anxiously call out to that car: no, no, you're going the wrong way, come back! Because wouldn't that be the standard instinct? To get your car onto the right side of the road ASAP? Especially on roads where there's only a center lane and not a median? Except there *was* a median and you can easily blow a tire trying to jump one of those babies, but the thing is– this guy, with the lights of cars in the distance gradually approaching him, instead did something that I thought was fairly brilliant at the time: he flipped a U. And I know it's not rocket science and a lot of you are probably thinking, yeah, duh, I would have done the same thing, but would you? Really? Before even considering jumping the median? In the face of oncoming traffic pummeling toward you at 70 MPH, 113 km/hr if you're in Canada or Europe or the rest of the world that unitedly uses the metric system? I don't believe you, but whatever, maybe now you really will.


A long time ago, Noah asked me which music gets me pumped. I didn't have an answer for him at the time (I'm bad at questions like that when put on the spot, but give me six months to a year and one day I'll randomly get back to you with an answer), but tonight, I could safely say that  Death Cab, Ima Robot, Ludacris and Missy Elliot are all pretty solid answers for me. And maybe Aquabats, NOFX, Offspring and Black Eyed Peas. I like the energy of techno but strangely mostly listen to it to relax and zone out.


I got hazed tonight at lindy. It was one of those "The Ring" deals, something so terrible that it had to be passed on, and since I hadn't shown up to the venue in months, my turn was due. Probably there was also a little schadenfreude thrown into that, too. Man.

Oh, also:

NO GIVING UNSOLICITED DANCE ADVICE ON A SOCIAL DANCE FLOOR. Why is it the ones who do not obey this widely-accepted and practiced rule are also typically the ones who have no business trying to teach anyone how to dance?


What *doesn't* butter improve? Other than cholesterol and your ability to meet your weight-loss goal? Seriously.

[1] Not sure why I thought it was a guy driving. Typically when a driver is being a dick, I assign male status, and when a driver is being wishy-washy or absent-minded, I assign female status. Way to propogate stereotypes, I know.