How 'bout this? Or that?

Current mood: a mite peckish

Unless I have an actual craving, I've always had a difficult time deciding what to eat. I am one of those cupboard and refrigerator lingerers. I like to open the door and admire my stockpiling handiwork, taking in all the possibilities as I contemplate what I can make/snatch/shove into my face. It drove my mother crazy and to this day, as I do my fridge dance, I can hear her shouting in my mind's ear to "close that door before ALL THE FOOD IS SPOILED. SPOILED!!!!." Do we ever really outgrow that bratty "nah nah nah nah nah" feeling? Some days I really love being an "adult." Ugh, some day verrrry soon I'm going to have to take the air quotes off that. As if the air quotes themselves don't give away my age...

Hey!!! (indignant)

Currently: goosebumpy

Okay, so a twin bed for two is...cozy, but manageable, except when someone (not me) is stealing the blankets!!!

Fear in a box

Current mood: Horror movie commercials are scary!!!!!! Now those we can ban!!!

Okay, enough with the I-wish-I-was-still-justified-by-actually-being-teenaged angst. How about some superfluff.

In one of my public health books, there was a discussion about how consumers of large quantities of TV (i.e., old people), particularly of the local news channels and such, are disproportionately afraid that they will suffer from violent acts. (Yes, there is science to explain the crazed paranoia that goes by the name of "mom.") I sort of feel the same way, except, rather than fearing conventional street violence (unless I'm on a Law & Order kick), the TV ramps up my fear of the more unlikely threats. For example, I fear:

A bug could burrow into my brain via my ear. Babysitter + earwig story + actually seeing it (dramatically reenacted) on TV = lifelong trauma. Thanks, show.

I could be sleeping with a person that turns out to be related to me. Accidental incest, ew. Ew. EW!!!!

Little children are evil. Not annoying evil, but eeeeevil evil. I'M GOING TO KILL YOU AND DRAG YOU THROUGH HELLFIRES evil.

I will wake up in the middle of an operation. Uh, no, not cool.

Vampire! Behind me!

Being buried alive is a common occurrence, and not for ransom, or someone's dramatic rescue, or as main plot point. Someone just drops me in a hole and walks away - the oubliette fear.

If I ever get into a fight, the other person will cut open/squish my eyeball. Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!

There will be falling off of a cliff-type structure and my near-savior's hand is strong but sweaty and I slip, slowly, agonizingly, finger-by-finger from his/her grip, and then plunge, poignantly yet artistically, to my death on the [it so doesn't matter what's at the bottom 'cause it's the fall that kills ya, not the rocks] below.

I will be eaten alive by tigers escaped from the zoo or wild dogs or zombies. Owie.

And so on and so forth. Yay TV!!

Quantification

Current mood: wondering

How do you quantify hurt?

How about betrayal?

What makes a particular act more or less hurtful than another? At what point does the willful act of inflicting hurt become unacceptable? How do you know where to draw the line for granting forgiveness? Should there even be a line? Christians don't believe that there should be ever be a line in the sand past which forgiveness can't be at least considered. Of course, New Testamenters don't believe in revenge or karma, either. Clearly, I've left behind many of the ideals of my childhood.

Neither does the culture of family allow for such a breaking point. In theory, the ties of family and obligation bind beyond all reason and far past the point of rage and despair. "No matter what, family first" would be a good motto for the group I'm most familiar with - Asian, Christian, immigrant parents with ABC children.

The web of lines connecting duty, love, and self-preservation have held me in suspension all of my life. Sometimes the conflicts between what I've been raised to believe and what I feel in my head and heart have driven me deep into confused self-loathing. At times, I've wanted to give in; to finally surrender either my anger or my security, make a clean break, and move on and away from the past.

I've never been able to choose.

Part of my anger stems from the resentment that I have to choose. Logically, I know that we can't always get what we want. I know that my dreams of inter-relationship harmony (at least some of the time!) are simply not feasible. Ingrained personalities, views, and values prohibit the resolution that I seek. I know this, I really do. But knowing has never stopped me from wanting, and I have clung, some would say in an infantile and purposefully blind manner, to the hope that someday the situation would change for the better.

I think that I've had to believe this for my own sanity. Creature of mirth and tenderness, too easily hurt, too easy to love, dogmatic and loyal and absurd and determined am I. To have believed or acted otherwise was to admit to a darkness in myself and, by extension, those I love and ultimately, the world, that I was unwilling to contemplate. It's not a world that I wished to live in and, by refusing to acknowledge its existence, I hoped to create, Pollyanna-like, a little bit of the reality I needed to see.

Sadly, I now understand that even love and loyalty can be pushed beyond acceptance. There are shades of trust and once the relationship's final marker has been breached, it may be impossible to come back. After the chance for reconciliation has been lost, the wisest decision may be to close the door and leave conflict behind. Giving in may not be a failure, but the first step towards resolving pain. For me, this is actually new information. I'd never really considered that the path of lonely freedom was open to me.

However, though I can now bring myself to acknowledge this truth, I find that I am still unwilling to choose it. Whether through weakness or compassion or stupidity or sheer inertia, I guess the answer is that no, for me, the point past which forgiveness cannot be considered has not yet been reached. And all-gods-above-willing, it never will be. By choosing to tread the middle road attempting empathy and enduring patience (though some would say head-bashing-on-wall suckerhood), I am not a victim of, but willing party to (again with the suckerhood), my fate. I think that there is liberation in knowing that I could choose at any time to walk away and stop playing the game. From now on, that option will always be available. The fact that I choose not to exercise it brings me a modicum of peace and strength that is resolution enough.

For now.

Do I have to pick just one?

Currently: thinking deep, dark thoughts

Would you rather be:

A fat, ugly hag, who can't catch a man to save her life; or

A bitchy, commitment-phobic slut who hounds at men until they run away.

What if you could be both?

Or are you sensing the same contradiction that I did...

I know parents live in the world of self-exaggerated worry, but sometimes their perspective is not at all helpful.

In fact, I'm now of the school that thinks things like that shouldn't be said aloud at all, except in playful fun (you whore!!) or at an intervention.

This is what happens when I floss

Currently: subdued, resigned, grieving

This thing, (fuzzily rendered):

is my tooth. Granted, it's a formerly implanted crown, but still, teeth popping out of your mouth? So. Not. Normal. Or pleasant. I'm just lucky I wasn't standing over a drain - that little bugger cost me approximately 10 times more than any piece of jewelry that I own.

And yet, it was by far not the worst thing that happened last night. Suffice it to say, Pollyanna is dead or gone deep, deep into hibernation, and Niccolo reigns.

Game over.

Pull it in!

Currently: Sitting up verrry straight

This is how a normal human stands versus how I stand:

(pink lines indicate the natural tilt of of my spine and pelvis and my shaky drawing hand)

While this stance makes the most of my considerable rear assets, it's not exactly beneficial to the spine and creates a lot of lower back pain. When I walk or stand for any length of time, especially on hard surfaces, my entire skeleton protests - sometimes strongly. To compensate, I'm supposed to suck in my abs and tilt my midsection forward (chest and hips up and out. What am I, a personification of the Earth Mother?). Walking around with a constant pelvic thrust feels incredibly awkward to me, but from the outside, it just looks normal.

That's right - I have to do extra work to look normal. Surprised? No? Hmmmmm...

My kind of green beer also has bubbles

Is two years in a row of the same activity enough to create a tradition? I'm not really one for the conventional celebration of St. Patrick's Day (champagne is better than green beer, or really, any beer - but especially green beer. Vile!), but I could easily fall into this groove of eating fine, fine French food each 17th of March. Gallic is close to enough Gaelic, right?

Smartness

If one wishes to spend the evening drinking, dining, and shopping, it helps to bring a wallet.

Yay!

Currently: All is well in the world.

:)

Come home already! This can't possibly be entertaining for anyone else!

Conference calls, the bane of consulting. They eat up time, make my hand hurt (At what point in my career can I stop taking notes on gorram conference calls? When do I get a nice note-taker person?), and often accomplish little to absolutely nothing. I especially love that moment of silence on group calls, where nobody knows exactly who's in charge and supposed to be in the lead. You present information or ask a question and...[crickets] until you clear your throat and move on.

Yay! I finally got my tuition reimbursement for last semester! Am rich! Until the next bill is due...I do like that my net benefit (other than, um education) is getting all those scholarly books to add to my collection of big, heavy, totally-a-pain-to-move-or-even-store, nobody-really-looks-at-them-on-your-shelves-anyway textbooks.

Bah! I still do not know when I am traveling next. If I have to cancel my trip again, I think there will be a row of strangled people dotting the country, and one of them is definitely going to be me. The facilities all understand that I'm forced to be a complete flake, but it doesn't make the situation any less annoying.

I am not a fan of abrupt weather swings. Especially when they feature changes of greater than 10 degrees Fahrenheit. More than 20 degrees? I thought I left New England!! So I was annoyed by the heat (70s! Or very close!) on Tuesday, by the hot start and very cold end (it tricked me into not wearing a coat! Mean!!) yesterday, and by today's immoderate rainy chill.

Fruity oaty bars!!! Is playing constantly in my head. I watched the little extra on the DVD more times than I'd like to admit, and while it cracked my up every time, I wish it would leave my brain alone now. Not only is the song playing, but also the part of the cartoon where the girl is busting out of her blouse - bang! Heh.

Diary of--eh, missing people s*cks

Wow. Today, I accomplished virtually nothing at work. This is partially OK because I worked a ton this weekend and partially OK because I plan to work extra-diligently tomorrow, but mostly it's not OK because it's becoming a habit. I need to get my work done now, not defer it until tomorrow, or the weekend, or when magical leprechaun bunnies can complete it for me.

One of the sweet, sweet, tortures of leaving work late is the gently wafting smell of Indian food that assaults the senses as you leave the building. We're less than a block away from three more-than-decent Indian restaurants, so the aroma comes from all sides. Sometimes I really, really want to walk over and hold up (this would be accomplished with an imaginary weapon, I suppose, since I don’t keep a spare uzi in the bushes for this type of thing, more’s the pity) some customers for their dinner, the desire to EAT DELICIOUS CURRY NOW AND NO I CAN’T WAIT FOR MY OWN MEAL AND HOT DAMN!! I WANT A SAMOSA is that strong. Usually I scurry across the parking lot and drive off as fast as possible to leave temptation far behind, but I have been known, once or twice, to follow my nose and settle for takeout instead of a workout. Aaaaand now I'm hungry for Indian food. Great.

I have all this time at night that is not currently devoted to being on the phone. So much extra time! It turns out to be exactly one movie's worth of time, in fact. So I can say that The House of Flying Daggers is visually stunning, but otherwise a yawner (The twist! Is not that, er, twisty! And does not in fact make the film more interesting. Also, overly stylized fighting sequences are kind of boring at this point. But pretty, pretty scenery.) and that I Heart Huckabees is not adorable existential crisis strange, but annoying and weird and inane (without nearly enough pretty manflesh to make up for it) existential crisis strange.

I made my sis belly laugh tonight. Now, I'm a funny gal, but most of the time my particular brand of funny elicits snickers and giggles, rather than big, honking chortles. So to make a miserably pregnant girl, who was less than halfway through the night shift of a surgery rotation and already sounding more than slightly zombified, LOL was as decent an accomplishment as I could hope for today. Hmmm, perhaps I should be setting higher goals for myself.

Diary of a voice unheard, Day 4

Found my sunglasses. They are right where I thought they'd be, except I didn't look hard enough the first (5) time(s). No new, unscratchy glasses for me! For awhile, I hope.

My mighty bosom seeks to be free of society's confines and is always trying to escape and run free, perhaps to make friends with celebrity bosoms? Anyhow, they won a major battle today as there was a twist and an unfortunate turn and they finally defeateth the brassiere. Snap, [no crackle], and pop - another one bites the dust. Stupid underwire should be made of wire, not plastic.

I'm either a brilliant genius, or a guilt-ridden dupe of my own making. I decided to try TJ's pink grapefruit juice the other day. The adventure in this act stems from my mild dislike of grapefruit. I got it because I was out of juice, it was on sale, and I didn't feel like making an extra run to another grocery store. The juice itself is okay. Chock full of grapefruity goodness, I'd imagine, if one was a fan. That, however, I am not. But! And this is a big but!! (snerk) The first sip is quite decent - bursting with fruit flavor, high in sweetness, and low in the bitterness that characterizes my main dislike of grapefruit. It's the subsequent sips that really bring out the flavor notes of discord (and note, again, this is about my preference, not an indictment of the taste of grapefruit in general). Thus, the answer it to limit my intake! I take a small sip whenever I feel the need to be knocked over by some liquid sweet tarts, and have an external force that ensures the apportioning of my consumption! So, if I ordinarily consume one bottle of juice per week, and the decreased uptake results in one bottle lasting two weeks, without my feeling a need to supplement my juice consumption by other means, then I am saving >1000 calories per week! This is a good thing, yes? Or have I traveled a little too far down the path of eating "things that are good or better for you even though you don't actually like them." I can't tell anymore.

Goodbye for now, Joss. As long as Firefly and Serenity were out there, waiting for me, it didn't matter quite so much that Buffy and Angel (eh, much more Buffy than Angel) would never rise again. The buzz was that I'd like or love them and I was confident that the buzz was right. I'd put off the viewing for ages, because having them available and unwatched was almost a talisman of great entertainment to come. I was hoping to wait until there was some further body of work available, so then I could hold that out as the carrot-in-hand. I only surrendered when the greater good (we never could agree at the movie store and I was tired of aimlessly wandering about the shelves) demanded that the ultimate sacrifice be made. And now that my Firefly virginity is well and truly gone (I had really kept myself well shielded from knowledge about the series. I didn't even know what it was about until actually watching it!), I have to say that I'm sad, almost depressed. No more Joss for a great long while, and almost certainly no more adventures of the Serenity crew. I enjoyed the movie soooooo much! The TV series were great, but the final few episodes were notable weaker than the earlier offerings, so I was looking forward to the movie (which was essentially, season 2's worth of story arc) without too much of a sense of loss. However, now that the ride is over, people (characters I know, but SAD!) are dead, the recaps are read (TWOP's Jacob did an amazing job of the movie recap), and the movie wasn't overly successful in terms of cashy money, I think the end is no longer seriously nigh, but is, in fact, finally here. I'm going to watch it again soon with the commentary on and check out the fruity oaty bar easter egg, but then it's over. Maybe it's time to trade in one of my last remaining non-nerdhood cards and look into the comic books. Canonical Firefly and Buffy might be good, even if they're not enacted by my beloved actors... (sniff.)

Diary of a voice unheard, Day 3

The sun was shining excruciatingly bright as I drove in to work. An hour later makes a huge difference in the angle of inclination, i.e., right into my eyes, and I couldn't find my sunglasses anywhere! I had them yesterday as I was driving around and now I fear I've left them in store in the eggplant patch, or perhaps among the apples. I was forever losing sunglasses, back in the day, so having kept this pair for a couple of years already seems like a miracle. I haven't quite given up hope, but it's not looking good...on the other hand, I never expect sunglasses to last, so I don't take care of them, and this pair was all scratched and way past its prime. It wouldn't be terrible if it were time to start anew. The trouble is that I dislike how most sunglasses sit on my face, so it might be awhile before I find another acceptable pair. I miss my purple glasses. So cool! So good on my face! So very high school!

Email was all fracked up at work - again. At least this time it's telling me that my messages are undeliverable (what do you mean I don't have permission to send email, you idiot box!! SMACK!), unlike past weeks where the black internet cosmos would eat my incoming and outcoming mail without letting anyone know. It is tres difficile to work without email. Half of the people I work with are offsite! Offsite really doesn't work without instant document communication! At least none of it is my fault, which is little comfort when everywhere, the lines of responsibility are breaking down (Where is that report! I asked for it yesterday! Well, um, I never got that request - my computer ate it. Sorry. Not!).

My Samoas vary from day to day in how much they scream out to be eaten. It would probably be easier if I put them away where I can't see them, but it's almost a delicious bit of torture to look at the luscious pictures and not get to eat them. Behold! Self control! My mango slices aren't bad, if you pretend they are not fruit at all but weird, fibrous candy. Then they fill a sweet craving nicely, but with vitamins! A few, anyway. I tried to eat an apple today. I had gotten some Cameos at the store that looked large and beautiful (should have known something was up - they're never that big!!!), but had a strange, faintly chemical smell and aftertaste. I took an extra few bites just to make sure. Ewwwwwwww!! So that's how my fruit happens in the winter. Blech.

On Mondays (particularly in the winter), the gym is full of guilty weekenders, so my favorite class is always packed to the brim (incidentally, this is the class that the gym uses to tally it's "average interest in kickboxing," which is big-time bullshit because it has so many factors going for it making it not at all average that I hardly know where to start, but this is the reason they've been cutting all my favored classes o' kicking that-are-not-on-Monday-and-so-have-less-attendees-duh and I hates them, hates them! Stupid gym managers!!). I can never get there early, because hello! It's Monday night at the gym, so there's never parking until the totally packed 6PM class lets out anyway, and therefore I always show up a tad bit late, which the instructor never fails to notice. Of course, it probably doesn't help that I flourish my arrival with a grin and wave. I've been going to this class for years and it never ceases to kick my booty, even if, by now, I could probably do the routines in my sleep. The point being, I never get in till it's full, so I generally have to stand near the front, where others are too shy to go. However, if possible, I like to station myself in the back. In any aerobic class, but particularly one in which there is a lot of footwork, people tend to move up. Unless you sight yourself along two walls and make a conscious effort to stay in place, you will move from your original spot. When you imagine ~100 girls and a couple guys) in close quarters kicking (and sometimes people kick the opposite direction of everyone else, god help them) madly, you begin to see the problem. Thus, being in the back is most desirable so I can let people in front walk away and leave me in relative peace. Too bad this is hardly ever the case - I spend most Mondays looking concernedly over my shoulder at the high-stepping newbie (they are always right in back of me) who busy trying to follow along and is clearly not noticing how close her foot is coming to my head. Hey, extra stress is good, right?! Probably burns more calories.

I wish I hadn't started watching 24 in real time, because I can't tell if the disappointment stems from the long wait between episodes or generally poor and repetitive storytelling. It's been quite dull, actually, which, no matter how recycled (and absurd!) the plot or wooden the actors, I've never felt about the previous seasons. Thus, I am leaning towards, "Jack! Do something that is not torture! Or looking 'concerned.' Even the velvet is losing interest for me!" Who would've thunk it??!!

I actually managed to bring work home and work on it. A marvel, really. There was definitely satisfaction in the air as I turned the last page. Heavy editing and fact-checking is tedious, but damn, I am good! Or other people are kind of careless. I don't see why it can't be both!

I have discovered that the library is an excellent source for cookbooks. The only thing better would be if they had a reduced-rate, rent-to-own program. I hauled home (10 pounds!! at least!) The Silver Spoon last night, and that, along with Marcella constitutes my very own Italian cookbook cage fight! Fight! Fight! Whose eggplant is the best, huh? HUH??? Gimme a yee and a haw! Next up, I'm gonna have some Julia on Julia action. Since reading My Life in France, I really, really want to run out and buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking. However, I'm not really sure that I want all those fancy recipes, especially when she's written many simpler, but supposedly equally good (in a different way), cookbooks since. So, if I gather her works together and let them duke it out, all I have do is stand back and walk away with the winner. Sweet!!!

Diary of a voice unheard, Day 2

To do:

Take out the trash
Attend to the mail
Finish and post report
Begin paper review
Call sis
Gym
See Julia
Read Julia
Baigain bharta – retrieve ingredients and cook
Pick up meds
Gas up car
At least pick up about the house, if not actually clean

Not bad, not bad. Tomorrow I will run around at the gym with extreme vigorous...nous...ity to make up for my lazy weekend.

Working at home is difficult, as there are many, many distraction available. On the upside, if I can force myself to procrastinate by doing chores instead of entertaining myself, it can be an extremely productive exercise overall.

I spent a lot of the day bopping about the house. Turned on His High Purpleness in an attempt to listen to some of those CDs relegated to the bottom of the pile and found that dance-age could not be denied. Bop, bop, pop that hip! 1-2-and twirl! 4-5-and jump! Dancing in the house gives one a freedom to jump around and flail that is not easily found elsewhere. Or maybe my experiences at Zhumba are catching on in real life. Either way, fun!

Read Julia Child’s My Life in France. Even though I’ve never particularly cared for autobiography, this was good, though short on actual recipes. She is an interesting (and tall! Six foot two!) figure that lived a relatable and yet exotic life. It doesn’t have the modern snap and edginess that characterized Heat, the last food experience narrative I read; her voice is the more the mellow calm of a maestro that knows her worth. Even though she’s telling the tale of her learning years, she’s looking back from the vantage point of peerless success, which gives a purpose and surety to even those early, meandering years. Lucky girl.

Watched Being Julia. Annette Bening really is quite marvelous (also, beautiful!) and her character was so deliciously scheming! She successfully revenged herself in high dramatic fashion, as mere plebeian mortals could never hope to do. Today was a much more successful attempt at entertainment. Perhaps I unconsciously selected better material because I knew I better deserved it - this time I was actually taking breaks from being productive.

Ugh, the mangoes that I so hopefully read as both unsulphured and unsweetened were actually sweetened. Thanks, mental transposition - instead of the tangy mango flavor, all I got was some vaguely fruitlike aftertaste once the blast of sugar faded away. Ick! and sadness. Pesky prefix details.

I didn't get around to making the eggplant, though I did have quite a run about town gathering ingredients. The little Indian store was a haven of mysterious and sneeze-inducing, spicy smells. I felt really out of place, as all the young people in the store were extremely tall and thin and well-dressed (do you really need to wear stilettos to pick up a movie?), whereas I, being short, plump, and besweated, was sticking out, painfully thumblike. It was good fun looking at all the spice packets and curry sauces - I found the ginger-garlic paste I needed and picked up a few curries to try. Enjoyed looking at the rainbow of really fresh-looking lentils. None of the small, dusty Goya stuff, here! They had ground coriander, but sold it by the pound, which is not the way to buy new spices. Ducked into H Mart to pick up some veg, but got caught in the Sunday night register jam. Ugh, I thought I was shopping late enough, but I guess I'm not the only one still on standard time! Naturally, they didn't have coriander at all, but did have lots and lots of Maggi spice. What is that stuff, anyway? Shoppers finally had the perfect-sized bottle and for only a dollar! Lovely! Since I was in the international aisle, I picked up some yuca starch and of course, an entire basket full of other "necessities" (chicks, ducks, and bunnies!!! Get 'em while you can!). By the time I got home, it was already after 10. Though on my body clock it was only 9, and thus an eminently reasonable time to cook, the bharta would have taken too long to make. So instead, I made yuca bread. It really is the simplest of recipes and doesn't take hardly any time to bake. Whisk, whisk, whisk and the batter was ready. Mindful of last time when the given proportions resulted in barely tolerable salty rolls, I cut the salt in half. This time I didn't use the same cheese, which was apparently where the extra sodium in the last batch was hiding, so of course, these rolls were ridiculously undersalted!!! Bother. I supposed undersalting is better than oversalting, but it's hard to salt bread and rolls. It's really much better if the perfect balance is already baked inside. Bah! The texture came out just right, though. I, the noneater of bread, simply adore these rolls because they are so tasty and more importantly, gloriously chewy. Chew, chew, and smile.

I will have much trouble sleeping tonight. Though I can't deny that having the sun out until 7 o'clock was pleasant (and weird), tonight is going to be hard, and tomorrow morning, sheer torture. Maybe I'll just go in at noon.

Diary (not dairy, as first written) of a voice unheard, Day 1

Today was a day of sheer indulgence. True, I’m still feeling a mite poorly and my recent bout with illness makes me want to baby myself tenderly to stave off another TKO round, but really, I was very, very lazy. Saturday is such a wonderful day, rife with possibilities for goofing off and restful fantasies. Even if there is a lot of work to be done, the alluring promise of Sunday…I can do that on Sunday…lurks in the mind and is able to overcome all but the most purposeful of intent. I had intended to do many things today - soak up some precious vitamin D, work up a sweat, restock on victuals, finish on my report, swing by the office, start making the week’s worth of food, clean, clean, clean…and yes, I accomplished a lot today. However, most of it wasn’t exactly productive, so much as somewhat vain attempts at quality entertainment. Number of books read: 2; number of good books read: 0. Labyrinth (I am tired of silly Grail stories. Thanks a lot, Dan Brown.) and Step on a Crack (Oh, James Patterson, you used to be good! Or maybe it’s that I was a lot younger when I first started reading you and have since outgrown your stilted, simplistic writing. I wonder which it is?) did not exactly fall into the realm of satisfying literature. Number of movies watched: 2; number of good movies watched: 0.85. Bewitched made me bemoan Nikki Kidman and Will Ferrell, but In Good Company was good drama, though not actually funny (disappointing in something billed as a comedy).

I did manage to get some cooking done…used up some straggler veggies and whipped up a batch of somewhat healthful loaded pasta. Classic, procrastinating me - the cod chowder I’ve been meaning to make all of this bitterly cold week finally became reality amidst mid fifty-degree temps and vigorous sunshine…which I experienced not at all firsthand, but only through my windows. Some days, even if I want to go outside, sheer inertia keeps me locked indoors and draped over various pieces of furniture. As is my wont, I finally ventured out only after the sun was well down (what is that about me? I do this all the time! I LOVE the sunshiny outdoors and yet sometimes, on a perfectly beautiful and absolutely responsibility-free day, I let it…pass me by. Why, why, why?) to make a TJ’s run. Picked up some dried mangoes; not the chili mangoes that I’ve been reading about, as those sound a touch exotic for me. They’re unsulphured and unsweetened, so hopefully they’ll turn out at least somewhat like my old-timey favorite Chinatown mangoes, the Key mangoes in the green and white package that I never found after the 80s. Got some pretty brussel sprouts as well… seems I’m going full on into winter cooking mode just as we’re leaving (please!) the cold behind. I made last week’s family binge pig-out entries into the food book. We’re coming up on the last pages of the red book and I have to decide soon whether to continue the habit into a second volume, or to let the documentation bug fade away. Did heaps of dishes and prepped a run in the dish non-just-a-dryer. It takes forever to fill that thing up unless I’m consciously trying. These days, I’m trying to remember to use it more, in anticipation of future practices.

I talked to my dad for a long while. Spoke for a moment to the baby, who was too d*mn happy to fob me off on the nearest parent – I guess constant have-you-got-a-job-yet-quizzing gets wearisome. This family thing is depressing us all, though I’m glad that at least the majority grasps the seriousness of the situation. I truly hope we can come out the other side intact, rather than estranged. That’s a possibility that I’ve long contemplated, but have never wanted to face. Poor dad, body sick and heartsick at the same time. His life isn’t easy right now. I wish I could help, but the girlbaby is right – my unrealistically hopeful/volatile temper mix tends to lead to unfortunate explosions that muck up the situation and make things worse. I am the worst negotiator in the world, because I’ve never learned how to make others see my side and tend to get defensive and screechy when I fail. Sigh. In order to sweeten the conversation, I revealed golden tidbits about my personal life. Ba was surprised, gratified, interested, and lecturous. Timing is everything, because I thought it was kind of sweet, albeit misguided. Parents really can’t change their spots this late in the game.

I thought a lot about working. I looked over at my pile several times, absolutely intending to go over and start pecking at my charts and graphs. Somehow, mediocre film and fiction always barred the way. Tomorrow I will have no such luxury and must drill down to the nitty gritty of government work. Oh, delight of my own lazymaking.

I am not looking forward to Spring Forward. HATE!! Spring forward. A lot.

dreamin'

Recently, I've been having a lot of vivid, exciting, and mildly to extraordinarily disturbing dreams. I only recall fragments when I wake up, hours before my alarm, heart pounding and legs kicking. The other night I was an experienced sky diver on a mission. I enthusiastically prepared to jump, apparently to go and...rescue something? someone?... and was all business as usual. I actually felt like I knew what I was doing. Cool! Less cool - I woke before we jumped. Totally uncool - I actually felt nauseous from the turbulence hitting the small plane.

Often, the same "sets" appear in many of my dreams. I've been dreaming about these operatic theater house stairs for years. These dreams prominently feature dark wood, red velvet, running up and down the stairs, and a sense of dread and foreboding. Something bad always happens during these dreams - I can never remember exactly what, but I always wake up with an aftertaste of fear. These are not good nights and I wake to find myself tired and emotionally drained. I wonder what is going on in my head - I have a recurring fear of...the opera?

A few nights ago, I dreamed that I was being chased by a T-Rex, which cracked out of its life-sized model display at the museum into "reality." Somehow, the monster chased us (with quite a few narrower-than-I'd like escapes) into a world-afflicted-by-plague, must-separate-the-contaminated (of which I was one)-type situation. It was very upsetting, because I kept missing the boats to the notleper colony, and was marked for extermination. They were hunting me down in an amusement park - think of the children!

There've been a lot of chase dreams in the past few weeks. I wonder what I'm stressed about, exactly? Everything might not be roses, but I don't have too many specific worries hounding my conscious mind at the moment, so I wonder why my unconscious is so upset...

If these movie dreams involved less of my imminent death, I think I might enjoy them.

Accepted

I got into Virginia Tech today. For the fourth time. Last (early) December when I sent in the application as an existing student, I was told that the change of status acceptance was merely a formality and would turn around quickly enough for me to participate in the January session. Even if, somehow, the committee did not approve my application in the nick of time, I was assured that something would be worked out so I could elect to take classes this semester.

I've been hopelessly locked out of registration for the past 4 months.

Three cheers for bureaucracy!

Movie round up

Lately, I've been checking a lot of older movies out of the library. What have I learned? That many, many movies are not worth the time it takes to watch them, even if they're free. Sadness. Maybe it's time to go back to the classics. Impressions:

Alfie - I'm glad Alfie ends up alone; he deserves it. We dislike Alfie intensely. I'm not sure that's what TPTB intended... Jude Law looks skeevy and not at all hot.

Born into brothels - Sad, thoughtful, some searing images, ultimately depressing 'cause it's real. The documentarian means well, but sometimes you want to smack her for her western superiority.

Capote - Hey, this was good, but I didn't really like it. I can see how it was well done and why PSH won the Oscar for this portrayal, but I didn't actually like the characters or enjoy the story.

Cellular - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I'm laughing because they'll make a movie out of anything these days, not because it's funny or interesting. These cops are beyond even caricatures of eeeeeeeeevil.

Derailed - Not terrible, actually, which surprised me. Jennifer Aniston somehow managed not to suck the life out of this one and she is kind of really pretty sometimes; also, Clive Owen gets to be moderately baddass, which is always fun.

Elizabethtown - OMG, I kept watching this, wondering how it could possibly get stupider, but it just kept sinking lower and lower, down into the depths of non entertainment. Absolutely painful to watch. Orlando was NOT pretty and sometimes, Kiki Dunst makes me sad and doubt my love for her :(

Finding Neverland - Sweet and richly imagined. Johnny Depp is great and for once, not crazy or boring. A "nice" movie that is both entertaining and interesting. A teensy bit precious, but still fun.

Friends with money - Meh "portrait" of f*cked-up, yet uninteresting people. Boring and not deeply meaningful, as was perhaps intended.

Good Night and Good Luck - This was amazing. Wonderful. Too short. Taut story and fantastic portrayals of great characters/people. Highly recommended.

Marie Antoinette - SFC really needs to incorporate plot into her style of direction. I think it would vastly improve her movies, which sadly lack a purposeful storyline. Other than that, meh, the dresses were pretty. Oh, and *SPOILER ALERT* it doesn't end the way you think it will! But it still isn't good enough to merit watching to find out why! And I actually LURVE Kiki Dunst!

Prime - Not quite what I thought, but still not particularly entertaining. A bit sad, actually.

Proof - I haven't even seen A Beautiful Mind but even I know that this is a total ripoff, except with the genders reversed. I hate to say it (not really), but Gwyneth does not quite look/act the part of the crazed genius convincingly.

Running with Scissors - Please take those scissors and KILL ME NOW. This was uncomfortable and difficult to watch, but not in an interesting way. It was not searingly insightful into the human psyche, blackly humorous, or an endearing portrait of lost souls. It was just sad and awful and who thought this story would make a good movie and who was stupid enough to advertise it as a comedy, huh? WHO?

Troy - Eh, manflesh. This movie didn't move me in anyway, even to lust, which I think was a sadly wasted opportunity. CGI is not necessarily a friend to those wishing to make "epic" movies. Good for lots o' death.

Water - Terribly depressing, pretty imagery, hopeful ending, and extremely interesting premise. Those poor widows, they may as well have performed the suttee; they might have been better off...

Wedding crashers - bleah and ahhh!!! Swear words! Boobies! Apparently it's been a while since I ventured past PG-13 land. I did not enjoy this nearly as much as other folks have seemed to. Lowbrow is OK if there's some development and intelligence to some of the jokes; that's all I ask...

They were good

I ate the Hamantashen. They were fun to make and more fun to eat (I am a big fan of the less orthodox fillings, such as berry jams and preserves, and especially nutella). I decided that holiday vs. holiday = break for me, and, much like a St. Patrick's-celebrating, meat-eatin' Catholic person, I could properly celebrate Purim and add a day of cookie abstinence further on down the line. I will pick a day in which I have the the opportunity to eat something delicious and verboten, with scrumptious-looking cookies or beautiful cakes are begging me to eat them, and righteously deny myself by eating custard instead.

Poor me ;-)

Bad!

Current mood: righteous annoyance

Sometimes, it's actually difficult to stop myself from keying this car.

(license plate blacked out to protect the anonymity of a jerk)

Oh, it's parked like that all the time, not just when there's snow on the ground. Also, our lot is usually full by mid day. Dude! Get over yourself! Your car isn't that nice and it's just begging to be defaced.

Lent 2006

Into every year, a little Lenten excitement must fall. This is something I wrote last spring (only slightly adapted) when I was journaling, not to myself, but in letter (email, actually) form to someone who is well and long gone from my life:

THIS IS HYSTERICAL. So, I called today to confirm our Citronelle dinner rezzies this Friday. Done, no problem, right? Except I recall that Friday, besides being St. Patrick’s day, is also a Friday in Lent – and [my dining partner] is a fairly observant Catholic. So I point this out to her, wondering if she had noticed (since she OKed the reservations in the first place and there are lots of seafood options for French food). Actually, she hadn’t, so she freaked. But then! I saw in the Post [two days before the dining event] an article talking about the quaint tradition of giving Catholics in certain parishes a dispensation from the non-meat-eating Friday thing for celebrating Saint Patrick’s day…and [the parish where we were both living at the time] was mentioned in the article.

So I got all hopeful and Googley and I found this in an online copy of The Catholic Herald:

***************
February 13, 2006

Dear Brothers and Sister in Christ,

Although Roman Catholics over the age of 14 are obliged to abstain from eating meat on the Fridays of Lent, Catholics of the Diocese of [where we were living] are dispensed from this obligation on March 17, 2006, in observance of Saint Patrick’s Day as long as they choose another day during the week of March 13-18 to abstain.

Faithfully in Christ, Most Reverend Bishop of [where we were living]
**************

Woohoo! I would make a wicked awesome Catholic! Behold, I am an awesome researcher! I love the word awesome! I love you St. Patrick!!!