September 2003 Archives

You are a sick mofo.

My first impression of pharmaceutical production is that it is very clean. Food production I thought was pretty clean because, well, it's food. Not, like, oil and shit. But drugs are even cleaner. I guess they should be. I would hope they are. And then you remember that those are active ingredients puffing in the air and on the floor there (in small quantities, mind you). People seem to particularly enjoy running the allergy medication. The anti-depressant we ran today makes some people feel a little happier and some people feel a little sleepy. And the system is so much smaller. And quieter.

I tried staying up all night last night so I could get used to doing so. I mostly caught up on blog reading. Come 5 a.m. I was exhausted.

I have a whole bunch of bloggy bits in the queue, but catching up on several days of blog reading in my first attempt at staying up overnight to acclimate myself to my new work schedule has left me too damn tired to further process them for your reading pleasure. So go read this week's Cul-de-Sac instead. Now with logo!

I'm tired of pushing, pulling, ripping, tearing, and screwing/plugging in things.

You can tell a boy lives here. I'm told that he cleaned it up pretty good. Aside from getting the carpets cleaned, he put some things away. It's such a boy house. Heavy on electronics, light on... um... taste. He bought this house from some little old lady and most of the furniture and the artwork on the walls came with it. I walked in the door and as I looked around I thought "Projects!" (as in "things to do," not "ghe-heh-heh-to-ho-ho"). Once I get settled, the first order of business will be lighting. Higher wattage. Better fixtures. Something will eventually have to be done about this wallpaper. Oy, the wallpaper. And window treatments.

But it's nice. Pretty spacious. I have the downstairs to myself. Bedroom, bathroom, and a den-type room.

Friday was my 1 Year Blogiversary. Tuesday it will be a year since I officially moved back home. I only know that because I blogged about it. I took a look back at last September and it seems the more things change, the more they stay the same. I still crack myself up.

I am one tired muthafucka.

I made it to Minnesota all in one piece. As did all my stuff. I think it's all intact. I haven't started to unpack any of it yet.

I can't believe I made it all the way up here in the usual amount of time. That trailer didn't slow me down at all. And I can't believe I made it all the way up here without a speeding ticket (which means I made it 6 months without another infraction).

I found the house without incident. It took me a few several many tries to get the trailer backed up to the garage. The driveway is sloped and I heard some horrible creaking squeaking noises as I moved back and forth up and down it. I was so paranoid the trailer was gonna come off the hitch or pick the back of the car up or something. But nothing flipped over or broke. A whole lot of neighbors slowed down to gawk as they drove by.

I had asked some friends to help me unload, but I hadn't heard back from anybody, so I kinda hoped that some people would just show up. I had wanted to get to the house a little before they did so I could decide where I wanted to put things. I scoped out the joint, and started to move boxes. And kept moving them and kept moving them and when it got to be 30 minutes after I asked people to show up (and 90 minutes after I started unloading), I figured nobody was gonna come. So I just kept going, and managed to get everything but the entertainment center by myself. I'm kind of glad that nobody showed up, because I was feeling less than social. And I wasn't obligated to buy anybody dinner.

Just when I was about to ask the neighbor to help me, one friend called and said he was on his way over. It seemed strange to him that no one else had showed up, but he didn't see anything weird about how he napped all afternoon after his soccer game and forgot what time I had told him on the message I left him at noon. He helped with the entertainment center and then very kindly took me to get something to eat so I didn't have to drive with the trailer.

This is so obviously a guy's house. I'll talk more about the house later. I'm gonna go raid Roommate's bathroom for some drugs for this headache.

I know my parents mean well and would like to be of assistance, but if they would just back off and let me do what I need to do, that would be supremely fucking helpful. If you cannot figure out on your own that you just need to pick up a box (any box) and put it somewhere in the trailer (anywhere), then just don't bother. And do not tell me to go to bed when I obviously still have things to do.

I will have the biggest grin on my face when I pull out of here in the morning. I also anticipate extreme fatigue. How did it get to be 2:00 already?

I will be driving all day tomorrow today. You can amuse yourself with those little polls on the right there (not my best work, but I'm tired and uninspired). Have a good day and a good weekend and I'll hit you back from the other side of Lake Michigan.

24 hours 'til Madison.
44 hours 'til Minneapolis.

The Venomous Letter of the Day is C.

C is for Critter's Mom. Hi, Alexia! She's been having a rough time of late so go show her some love.

C is for Car driving, when it's not something you do often.

C is for Caterwauling.

C is for Cookies. Made of meat. Disgustilicious!

C is for Craving.

I'm going to pick my trailer up from U-Haul in an hour. And my tummy is doing flip-flops. I don't think it has anything to do with the fact that I still haven't cleaned or packed anything.

I didn't think I'd have anyone to help me carry heavy stuff, but my dad's coming home earlier than expected. We're gonna go clear everything out of my storage unit and bring back the couple of things that my folks will keep that we were just leaving in there because we could. I didn't think I'd be able to get in there until later and that I'd have to go back tomorrow when the office opened to clean it and close it out.

I'm thinking/hoping that I'll have plenty of space, so I'm sort of just waiting to see the trailer get filled up with furniture and boxes and then I'll throw my remaining clothes and papers and electronics into boxes and duffles and those can go in the back of my truck.

I'll have to go through and do some more throwing away and paring down of stuff after I move since I didn't bother to do it beforehand. I find this process easier when unpacking. It's easy to just throw things in a box and go, but when you have to take them out and decide where to put them, that's when I'm more likely to say forget it and toss it.

I should probably get dressed.

Jesse is running a contest. If you can correctly guess just how badly the Detroit Tigers will finish, you can win a copy of Paul Krugman's latest book (or another book of equivalent price if you really don't want that one).

I'm in some serious lust, y'all. I'm confident that it's a passing phase. I wish it would pass already; my shit is on fire. I'll be pretty busy the next couple of days to think much about it so maybe it'll simmer down a bit. Except I'll be spending all damn day Friday in the car. That's nothing but time to think about it. I'm not fixating. GrrrRRRR.

I just downloaded iChatStatus from Version Tracker. So now you can see in iChat what I'm listening to on iTunes. I have no idea if you can see this from AIM.

Hey, it entertains me.

(Thanks, Dave!)

The letter of the day is D, so sayeth Kate.

D is for Dennis. As in Dennis Prager, who says it's a marriage gap, not a gender gap. (via Moe)

D is for Disaster (almost).

D is for Dereliction of Duty. The aftermath.

D is for Dooce's Daughter!

Banned in Russia: the immoral activities of currency.

I want this to be my new voicemail message.

Anyone who can identify the reference will get... something. I don't know what. We can negotiate.

I went out with my Ann Arbor friends for the last time last night. We went to Arbor Brewing Company (because it's an iDine restaurant). I had good food (Jerk Burger) and good beer (the porter). I had a good time with good company. I like it when my various groups of friends meet and get along.

We walked by to check out some potential new office space for my friends' company, and lo and behold several of their employees were out goofing off and were in the parking lot doing the same thing we were. But that meant I got to see Jim one last time, so that was good.

And then we were walking past my car, a last round of hugs were dispensed, and my friends continued on down the street without me. It was disconcerting and rather anti-climatic. And damned if I didn't get the sniffles on the way home. That 40-minute drive can go by really quickly, or it can seem like a lifetime. This time it was a long one.

So I will miss them. I will think of them as I drive through Ann Arbor for the last time in a while on Friday. I will continue to think of them frequently thereafter. I can't imagine how unbearable my year here would have been without them.

That said, I am more than ready to move along. Is it Friday yet?

WE NEED A CHIMPANZEE ADOPTION STREET TEAM

Reply to: media@prim8.org
Date: 2003-09-23, 2:08PM

http://www.prim8.org

The Prim8 Fund is now forming a STREET TEAM to help get the word out about the protection of the last of the GREAT APES.

We need volunteers to send out press releases and promote the Prim8 Fund web site.

http://www.prim8.org

I is for Identity Blogging. If you still haven't read through Prometheus 6's collection on the subject, you should. Or start here and follow the links.

I is for intergalactic. China's about ready to send people into space.

I is for immigrant. As in the Immigrant Workers Freedom Ride. Folks are getting on a bus and riding around the country to learn about undocumented immigrants and labor issues in the United States.

I is for internet. The real tragedy of Hurricane Isabel.

I is for Irish. Leprechaun hurling: yay or nay?

I is for international. The EU makes it easier for unmarried or same-sex partners to travel and live in Europe.

Brought to you by the letter Electric and the number Venom.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [The P6 Collection]

Here ya go, Lauren.

What It Means To Be White

We all know by now that I'm biracial. Half black, half white. I thought about trying to answer these questions as they are. As if I'm white. And it's not possible. Because I never think of myself as white. I think of myself as half white, too, ya know. Sometimes. If the questions were about being black, it might be easier, but only a little. Mostly I just think of myself as being mixed (or swirl). Because, as I believe Halle Berry said her mom told her, you look black and the world's gonna treat you that way. I see brown skin in the mirror. Most times, people can't even tell by looking that I'm mixed. I don't think. It's not like people ask. So my answers come more from the standpoint of what it's like to be biracial. Neither black nor white.

Even though I hated every minute of every chemistry class I ever took (and there where many), I love the more folklore-ish stuff like this. See what potion you are, and tell me what you get when you mix with me.

(via Stupid Evil Bastard)

Kevin at Wizbang has this week's Bonvire of the Vanities up. The antithesis of Carnival of the Vanities, it's sort of a This Week In Suckitude collection. I think more of my stuff falls in this category. I ought to submit for the next one.

Kat has arrived safely in Tokyo for her year of study abroad and she's gotten around to blogging about her first few days.

UPDATE: Seems there's an access problem with Kat's archives, so just go to her main page and start reading.

David Strain and Val Prieto are now taking submissions for Sudden Fiction: Short Stories by Bloggers. They're both excellent writers themselves. The reading promises to be good, but only if you submit something to be read. Don't be shy!

I wasn't even trying to play.

*strut*

K is for komikal. Miss Alli from Television Without Pity talks about the Emmys.

K is for Kazoofus!

K is for Kung-Log, which I use to publish this blog. K is also for Kung-Tunes, which I use to publish my iTunes playlist over there on the left. Two very awesome programs for Mac users.

Kate has more Ks, if you're so inklined.

I came across the The Hengiest Biscuit World Record Attempt (via Nth of Pril via Kate). It's an attempt to see which cookie/biscuit/snack product makes the best replica of Stonehenge.

All that fun with food reminded me of the Bunny Survival Tests. The purpose of the tests:

To determine specific weaknesses and/or strengths possessed by "Marshmallow Bunnies"

The tests include Laser Exposure Endurance, Slow Application of Heat, Flame Tolerance, Electrocution, Oxygen Deprivation, and Radiation Tolerance.

Naturally, after all that, the Bunnies Strike Back.

I'm not convinced I could do a nude beach. I don't think I can just have my hooha all out like that. I wouldn't rule it out, though. I should add that to my List Of Things To Do. Maybe a topless beach. Maybe.

I can skinny dip. I've streaked before (in the dark of night, amongst shrubbery). But those are more covert.

It's fall, my favorite season, and now I'm thinking about the beach. I'm thinking of Puerto Rico. I'm thinking of Cathedral Cove in New Zealand (which is not topless per se). Actually at this moment I'm thinking of the lovely rain coming down outside, but I was thinking about the beach last night.

I don't even like that word, nude. But nekkid beach doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

I think it would depend on the company. If folks are inclined to do it, I'd do it, too. But I wouldn't instigate it. But maybe I'd rather do it without a crowd of my friends around. And how crowded is this beach, anyway? Hmmm. Yes, I won't rule it out. Who's with me? I promise not to stare at your bits (much).

This week's Cul-de-Sac is up. This is Kelley's weekly collection of postings from around her neck of the blogging woods. There's a little bit of everything and an FAQ for those new to the Sac, so browse to your heart's content. If you look real hard, you can even find me.

No, I did not wait up for it. What are you talking about? And I don't know what gave you the idea that I'm even more intrigued by Kelley since she sang for me. Preposterous! "Sac" is fun to say. So much potential for evil. Sac. Sac. Heh.

I mentioned before that the subject of black bloggers is going around. It's morphed into more of a "blogging and identity" discussion. As an offshoot of that ms lauren at feministe has written an essay entitled Whiteness, As I Know It. The idea here is that if black people can explain what it is to be black, can white people do the same? It's long, but it's good. Really good. That is one smart woman.

UPDATE: I'm moving this back up top because I feel really strongly that these should be read. I'm adding aldahlia's essay. It's every bit as interesting as ms lauren's.

Interestingly, the more I read, the more people seem to say that their economic status had a bigger impact on their identity. I've heard it proposed that using socioeconomic status is a better way to ensure "diversity" on college campuses than using race.

John Kusch has a blow by blow account of the difference between homosexuals and fundamentalist Christians. There's some further commentary so you should check the whole post for coherence. Here's the meaty part:

Once upon a time...

Come November, mobile phone numbers will be portable, meaning you can keep your same number even if you switch carriers. And thus the advertising has begun.

Fortunately my contract with Sprint PCS is up in November. I'd like to switch service, but I'm not really inclined to buy a new phone since my current one is only a little over a year old. Sprint PCS has a great price for a national plan, but only if you don't need a lot of anytime minutes. And I swear, no matter where I've lived, I always get the worst reception in my own house or apartment.

According to that article the cell phone market in the U.S. is saturated. 154 million people (54% ) have cell phones, and those that don't have bad credit.

Much less advertised (I hadn't heard of it until now) is the ability to transfer a phone number from a landline to a mobile phone, and vice versa (though the latter seems unlikely to occur much). So not only are the wireless companies being forced to compete more amongst themselves, they also have to compete with the traditional phone companies. (Though let's not forget that some of those wired companies own some of those wireless companies.)

But there's a hangup on how local phone numbers are assigned. The area code and prefix you get from a wired company is very tightly determined by your geography. Not so with wireless. Each wired and wireless company has an allotment of numbers they can give out.

The issue, which both landline and wireless carriers have asked the FCC ( news -web sites ) to clarify, is whether local phone companies must also hand over a landline number to a cellular company that doesn't already have similar numbers from the same rate center.

I didn't think this was such a big deal. But, as/if the wireless market grows, I expect one day I'll hear "We're sorry, we no longer have any Minnesota phone numbers left. We'll have to assign you one from North Dakota."

I was at a party yesterday and one of the attendees had an unfortunate case of cameltoe. Not that I was looking, but as I was sitting and she was standing it was right at eye level. I couldn't bring myself to take a picture.

Now that I've discovered chai, I don't think I'll ever order go into a coffee shop and a latte again.

I just made myself a cup of coffee, and since we're out of flavored creamer, I dumped in a packet of Equal, two spoons of Nesquik, and two spoons of powdered creamer. It's just not right.

The only other way to do it is to put alcohol in it.

I already put it on my license plate, but you can get your own WWXD gear from this girl if you're so inclined.

O is for oh shit. Which is the first thing that came out of my mouth when I saw this, followed by a snort.

O is for Oregon. Beating Michigan. *sigh*

O is for oral exam. Notes on a lecture and informal interview with General Wesley Clark at a recent appearance in Iowa.

And now I can't get those Oh! Oxygen commercials out of my head.

Over here is where you can find some mo' O.

Jane made me a button! So here it is for those of you that do the button thing. Thanks, Jane!

I also now have an RSS posts and comments feed. This means it refreshes when there are comments or trackbacks on a post (as opposed to just new or revised posts).

No production of The Sound of Music will ever, EVER be better than the original movie. Not possible.

That's my favoritest movie ever. This seems to surprise people. And I can't believe that there are people that haven't seen it. Actually, I can believe that boys might skip it. But the girls? 'Sup widdat? I {heart} Julie Andrews.

Z is for Zeus. Because I would like to throw a thunderbolt down on anyone who could let this happen.

Okay, Z was hard to do. But there are more.

"I blew my nose and meat came out."

--Me

To have your dentist or your gynecologist be named Dr. Beaver?

Who has a bottle of Canadian Club Whiskey in their pocket? I already hate Osten. I also want to slap Madam Scoutmaster, but they'd be stupid not to keep her around for a while.

My chief resources for this season of Survivor are gonna be Television Without Pity and Reality Blurred (a reality tv weblog). The former is hilarious and the latter is chock full of information.

I know some folks out there use some variety of Mozilla browser. My question is what's the difference between Mozilla, Firebird, and Camino? Why would I choose one over the other, since they all seem to operate mostly the same?

Just curious. I primarily use Safari, and I fire up Camino when I have cookie problems with Safari. But you can never have too many browsers.

I got an email via a personals site from this girl. It was short and a bit lacking in the grammar and spelling department. I looked at her profile, decided I wasn't all that interested, but wasn't inspired to blow her off right at that moment, so I left it.

30 hours later I get "Did you get my last message?" I sure did, and now I sure as hell am not inclined to write you back. I proceed to forget about it.

5 days later (yesterday), I get "LOOK AT MY PROFILE IF INTERESTED HIT ME UP AT [email removed to protect her rude, impatient ass]"

That's right. In all caps. And she didn't even read my profile real carefully because I clearly stated that I am not interested in anybody's children. And she has children living with her.

*sigh*

So I should probably write her back, but now I don't know what to say. Since she dropped the email address is it now safe for her to assume that if I don't reply I'm not interested?

... today is Talk Like A Pirate Day. Truthfully, I don't have it in me to participate. But you should feel free to go right ahead.

Two words: guest blogging.

W is for the WB. Where my favoritest hot mama, Lucy Lawless, is joining the cast of Tarzan (a show that I would normally never watch, but now I'm gonna have to).

W is for WWII. My beloved former-Michigan-goalie Marty Turco has posted the lowest NHL goals-against average since and just signed himself a new three-year deal with the Dallas Stars.

W is for waggish. As the Television Without Pity reviews of tonight's Survivor: Pearl Islands are sure to be.

W is for Wiggaz.

W is for Wearable Vegetables. I bought a few t-shirts from them at their booth in the French Market in New Orleans, and then I saw one of their "shiitake happens" apron on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

Go to Kate's for more Ws. Woot!

I've been wanting to record some audio for y'all, so I was thinking about AudBlog and then I had signed up for Voicemonkey. But I figured there had to be a way I could just record on this computer, so I went hunting and finally came across an article which mentioned (waaaay down at the bottom) a nice little freebie called Audio In. And then I played with it some and realized the files are of pretty decent quality and thus hella huge. So back to Voicemonkey we go.

Listen to me!

P.S. I loathe the sound of my own voice. It's much better from inside my head.

If Kennedy even comes close to being the new co-host on The View, a strongly worded letter is on it's way to ABC. But I see Alex McLeod (the pre-Paige Davis Trading Spaces host and useless Joe Millionaire eyesore) is on the schedule.

I take it back. Kennedy is actually pretty good.

They'll never let another black chick do it. Star Jones was bristling the two days that Angela Russell was auditioning because a black (skinnier, prettier) chick was at the table.

Why should I waste my time being the voice of queer multicultural America when I can provide such scintillating conversation as this?

On my drive home from Minnesota last Friday, I caught an episode of This American Life on Chicago Public Radio. The show was about pen pals. Most intriguing was "the story of a ten-year-old girl from small town Michigan named Sarah York, and how she became pen pals with a man who was considered an enemy of the United States, a dictator, a drug trafficker, and a murderer: Manuel Noriega."

Entitled Who Put the "Pistol" in "Epistolary"?, the segment starts with an innocent letter to Panama asking about Noriega's hat and ends with the aftermath of Sarah's sensationalized visit to Panama after months of correspondence. [listen] (starts at about 5:45, 41 minutes long)

It's still Tuesday Wednesday in Hawaii, right?

G is for green. Which our cities are not. Is this news?

G is for Glenn. I'm fascinated.

G is for 'gina. Celebrate!

G is for Generes As in, Ellen De. And her new talk show which is enjoyable, but only if you already liked Ellen.

G is for Guster. Because they're my favorite band and I like to pimp them at every possible opportunity.

G is for George. Clinton. For co-vice-president.

G is for girls. Playing basketball, selling out arenas, and winning championships.

Bear with me, I'm trying to tie multiple subjects together here. These were all gonna be separate posts, but they're all loosely related, so they're all going in together.

I'm gonna be up all damn night. *sigh*

Your eyesight and good judgement are needed. Is it or isn't it? I think it is.

This is just wrong.

Don't look. I'm serious. Don't do it.

UPDATE: Quote of the Day:

There were 99 Smurfs and one Smurfette. Think about that. By the time she was 30, when she let loose a quiff, it must have sounded like Scatman Crothers after a six pack.

--dong resin