For those of you interested, here is the countdown:
August 24th, 2010 at 5pm.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Glow
I promise everyone an explanation regarding the absence of the Plague for several weeks - the long post is in the works, I promise. But it is taking too long to write, and I fear that my glow shall subside as the week runs up, so I want to make a record of it here, so I will never forget. I might need it again someday, and it's something I want to carry with me.
Future self, who is reading this right now, probably clutching a bottle of DiSaronno, swearing, tear-soaked, and smoking a clove, I want you to remember that it IS possible to feel appreciated, wanted, valued, loved, respected, beautiful, desired, fun, talented, and above all, special to someone no matter what is going on in your lives, and no matter how short of a time you know you have to be together. Future-self, you hear this? I know you're probably reading this Plague entry right now because you've made yet another bad decision or pulled a crazy-bitch on someone that you wish you hadn't and are self-medicating your regrets in the usual fashion of drinking, crying, and going online to re-read all the Plague entries where you pissed on someone because it's funny and it makes you feel better. Whatever bullshit mess you've gotten into this time, I hope you came to this entry first. I hope you remember that party where you made that Good Decision (well, actually, it was two good decisions because the second one was not bringing that Burger King mask home with you). But especially remember the one really Good Decision. You know, that one.
I hope you remember that he sneaked in with you despite the 5 drunk assholes crashed out all over your living room floor and in the bar. Remember that your apartment was an utter shithole - a culmination of a month of being overworked and the loss of motivation to keep the place looking good for yourself because you never had company over - remember being embarrassed after the fact because you discovered later that his place is a million times cleaner than yours. Remember that he admitted later that he didn't care that your apartment was a pile of festering ass because he was in a really good mood when he came over and so the next time he showed up, he wasn't shocked. Remember that if a guy like that can keep his place beautiful and clean, that you can clean for yourself, because you deserve to not live in a hovel of gross. Remember how nice it felt when you actually did get off your ass and clean the place (not just for the movers who were coming in a few days, but because you thought he might be coming over after band practice on Wednesday night, and the place HAD to be nice because you wanted to show him you COULD be clean). Remember that it felt good even when you ended up going over to his place anyway. Clean your shit, Future-self. Keep it clean. For you - not just when guests are around to impress. It's nice, trust me. Past-self is sitting here right now in a cleaned apartment and it's awesome.
Remember to clean, but more importantly, remember to be kind. You were kind to him, and he appreciated it and he even said so. He told you you were so sweet and affectionate and wondered why you didn't have a million boyfriends. Keep in mind, Self, that you are usually an asshole to people because you don't want them to hurt you, but remember that this is what happens when you are kind. If you are kind and you are yourself, nothing but good can come of it. As of right now, he still thinks you are sweet and good. Don't piss on that - just remember how much it made him smile.
Oh, yeah, by the way, remember that smile too. Did you forget? Go find some pictures because it will make you glow. It's the one that he smiles when he forgets that he doesn't like the way his face looks when he does. Remember how much you made him smile in the two weeks you got to spend together. Not because you tried either - remember that it just came naturally, because you were you, and he thought you were really awesome - even with the asian and giant boobs aside. That's why he spent all of Sunday cuddling with you after staying over - it had been a long time since he'd done that with anyone. Remember that really sweet episode of the Simpsons you watched - the one where Moe falls in love with a midget. Incidentally, that was good Homer Simpson advice too: "if someone could love you like that, it means that someone else will again someday." Cartoon wisdom at its finest. Also recall that you HADN'T in fact seen every episode of South Park there was to see, and he picked a good one. Oh, I'm sorry, the answer is "NAGGERS". Genius. Recall that you both liked the same shows, and all you had to do was ask a question and not be afraid to admit your love of South Park.
Remember that the first thing he did when he went into your bedroom was sit down at your workshop and say "Oh wow! You have two sewing machines!" Wasn't it great that he wasn't lying about liking to sew, either? He really did make his own pants and they were really fucking cool. Remember the terry cloth stripes on the jeans? The BDU transplant? The animal pants? The fact that he knows what jersey knit is and that he can properly use a zigzag stitch on his machine? Remember when you were lying in bed really late that one night and you both came up with the idea of a terry cloth tuxedo and said it at the exact same time? I hope you help him make that... and that you follow up on your promise of teaching him how to work with patterns. Remember, the girl will be named Terry Cloth, and the twins will be named Terrence and Philip.
Recall how you discovered you both shared the same sense of chivalry: he offered to go pee on someone who was probably vomiting in your bathroom that first night he showed up and those 5 drunks were sleeping in your living room. He liked your sense of humor. You shared vomiting stories in bed that night. His are almost better than yours. Almost. Nothing will ever beat that time at The Field (well, I hope for your sake that you, Future-self, have not managed to top that).
Remember how despite all your poop jokes and your vomit jokes, he still couldn't get enough of you. Remember how awesome and intense it was every time. Remember that look on his face, remember his lips, his hands, everything about him. Remember he got you to stop hating facial hair. Remember that he thanked you for reminding him that was what sex was supposed to feel like. Remember that you felt the same way. It really is that much better when you really like someone... though it doesn't hurt when that someone is absolutely smoking hot. And a talented musician. And funny. And honest. And kind. And so much more. Remember that he was worth driving to and parking in Somerville for. Worth taking the walk of shame at 6:30 in the morning as you watched him speed past in a cab on the way to South Station on an early assignment for work, wishing all the while for just a few more serene hours of sleeping in his arms beneath a soft grey sheet in his air conditioned room. I hope you saved all those text messages he sent, always right after you kissed each other goodbye, or after hanging up the phone after saying goodnight. I hope you remember that "kiss" is really spelled "Kisssssssssss!" (though I bet that's easier to type on a phone with a QWERTY keypad). Remember that he would always call you when he said he would - remember you talked for hours on the phone like it was nothing. Remember how he quoted Cartman at you in unexpected ways.
Remember that his hair gave you hair envy, because his hair kicks ass... and he's not afraid to change it up all the time... and make ample use of product. You should remember that it's okay to do the same. He inspired you to go for it and make your whole head of hair nuclear red like you've always wanted to. Man you looked hot. It sure took long enough, didn't it? Aren't you glad you did it though? Hope you haven't forgetten how to dye hair fabulously - he's counting on it next time he goes out there to see you. And aren't you glad that you bought that awesome club shirt with the velvet burnout wings to wear to his show, even though it was overpriced? The hair and the shirt - that combo was irresistible. You should go for the back-tattoo you have always wanted also, if you have the chance. He likes it - it'll give him something to look at when... you know. Sometimes you deserve to look as good as you feel. I hope you still have that shirt, even if your hair isn't nuclear red, Future-self. He thought you were really cute, even before you thought you were.
Blackberry liked him too. She knows what's good for you, by the way. Remember you caught her spooned up on him after you got out of bed to tard farm all the drunkards out of your living room that morning? That hussy! Blackberry needs to get her own. He loved your cat too, by the way - remember she shared her mousie with him and they played fetch? That was so cute.
Remember he was good to your cat, good to your mind, your body, and your soul. Even though he knew you were leaving for Arizona in less than 2 weeks. No regrets. Only honesty, openness, and kindness. If you can find that once, just like Homer Simpson said, you can find it again. Remember that.
And if you are really still feeling like shit after reading and remembering all the good things about these past two amazing weeks, go into your "pictures" folder and look at the photo "Happy Monday, Kim.jpg" and think about underwear gnomes and Step 2. That'll make you smile. There, see? You're on your way to a cold shower already.
Remember these past two weeks, okay? Remember what it feels like to feel wonderful.
XOXOX,
Past-Self Who Learned What It Felt Like to Glow
P.S. And if he says he's coming out your way, make sure you remind him that it's Tucson, AZ, and not Austin, TX, or you'll have to drive over and pick his ass up.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Future self, who is reading this right now, probably clutching a bottle of DiSaronno, swearing, tear-soaked, and smoking a clove, I want you to remember that it IS possible to feel appreciated, wanted, valued, loved, respected, beautiful, desired, fun, talented, and above all, special to someone no matter what is going on in your lives, and no matter how short of a time you know you have to be together. Future-self, you hear this? I know you're probably reading this Plague entry right now because you've made yet another bad decision or pulled a crazy-bitch on someone that you wish you hadn't and are self-medicating your regrets in the usual fashion of drinking, crying, and going online to re-read all the Plague entries where you pissed on someone because it's funny and it makes you feel better. Whatever bullshit mess you've gotten into this time, I hope you came to this entry first. I hope you remember that party where you made that Good Decision (well, actually, it was two good decisions because the second one was not bringing that Burger King mask home with you). But especially remember the one really Good Decision. You know, that one.
I hope you remember that he sneaked in with you despite the 5 drunk assholes crashed out all over your living room floor and in the bar. Remember that your apartment was an utter shithole - a culmination of a month of being overworked and the loss of motivation to keep the place looking good for yourself because you never had company over - remember being embarrassed after the fact because you discovered later that his place is a million times cleaner than yours. Remember that he admitted later that he didn't care that your apartment was a pile of festering ass because he was in a really good mood when he came over and so the next time he showed up, he wasn't shocked. Remember that if a guy like that can keep his place beautiful and clean, that you can clean for yourself, because you deserve to not live in a hovel of gross. Remember how nice it felt when you actually did get off your ass and clean the place (not just for the movers who were coming in a few days, but because you thought he might be coming over after band practice on Wednesday night, and the place HAD to be nice because you wanted to show him you COULD be clean). Remember that it felt good even when you ended up going over to his place anyway. Clean your shit, Future-self. Keep it clean. For you - not just when guests are around to impress. It's nice, trust me. Past-self is sitting here right now in a cleaned apartment and it's awesome.
Remember to clean, but more importantly, remember to be kind. You were kind to him, and he appreciated it and he even said so. He told you you were so sweet and affectionate and wondered why you didn't have a million boyfriends. Keep in mind, Self, that you are usually an asshole to people because you don't want them to hurt you, but remember that this is what happens when you are kind. If you are kind and you are yourself, nothing but good can come of it. As of right now, he still thinks you are sweet and good. Don't piss on that - just remember how much it made him smile.
Oh, yeah, by the way, remember that smile too. Did you forget? Go find some pictures because it will make you glow. It's the one that he smiles when he forgets that he doesn't like the way his face looks when he does. Remember how much you made him smile in the two weeks you got to spend together. Not because you tried either - remember that it just came naturally, because you were you, and he thought you were really awesome - even with the asian and giant boobs aside. That's why he spent all of Sunday cuddling with you after staying over - it had been a long time since he'd done that with anyone. Remember that really sweet episode of the Simpsons you watched - the one where Moe falls in love with a midget. Incidentally, that was good Homer Simpson advice too: "if someone could love you like that, it means that someone else will again someday." Cartoon wisdom at its finest. Also recall that you HADN'T in fact seen every episode of South Park there was to see, and he picked a good one. Oh, I'm sorry, the answer is "NAGGERS". Genius. Recall that you both liked the same shows, and all you had to do was ask a question and not be afraid to admit your love of South Park.
Remember that the first thing he did when he went into your bedroom was sit down at your workshop and say "Oh wow! You have two sewing machines!" Wasn't it great that he wasn't lying about liking to sew, either? He really did make his own pants and they were really fucking cool. Remember the terry cloth stripes on the jeans? The BDU transplant? The animal pants? The fact that he knows what jersey knit is and that he can properly use a zigzag stitch on his machine? Remember when you were lying in bed really late that one night and you both came up with the idea of a terry cloth tuxedo and said it at the exact same time? I hope you help him make that... and that you follow up on your promise of teaching him how to work with patterns. Remember, the girl will be named Terry Cloth, and the twins will be named Terrence and Philip.
Recall how you discovered you both shared the same sense of chivalry: he offered to go pee on someone who was probably vomiting in your bathroom that first night he showed up and those 5 drunks were sleeping in your living room. He liked your sense of humor. You shared vomiting stories in bed that night. His are almost better than yours. Almost. Nothing will ever beat that time at The Field (well, I hope for your sake that you, Future-self, have not managed to top that).
Remember how despite all your poop jokes and your vomit jokes, he still couldn't get enough of you. Remember how awesome and intense it was every time. Remember that look on his face, remember his lips, his hands, everything about him. Remember he got you to stop hating facial hair. Remember that he thanked you for reminding him that was what sex was supposed to feel like. Remember that you felt the same way. It really is that much better when you really like someone... though it doesn't hurt when that someone is absolutely smoking hot. And a talented musician. And funny. And honest. And kind. And so much more. Remember that he was worth driving to and parking in Somerville for. Worth taking the walk of shame at 6:30 in the morning as you watched him speed past in a cab on the way to South Station on an early assignment for work, wishing all the while for just a few more serene hours of sleeping in his arms beneath a soft grey sheet in his air conditioned room. I hope you saved all those text messages he sent, always right after you kissed each other goodbye, or after hanging up the phone after saying goodnight. I hope you remember that "kiss" is really spelled "Kisssssssssss!" (though I bet that's easier to type on a phone with a QWERTY keypad). Remember that he would always call you when he said he would - remember you talked for hours on the phone like it was nothing. Remember how he quoted Cartman at you in unexpected ways.
Remember that his hair gave you hair envy, because his hair kicks ass... and he's not afraid to change it up all the time... and make ample use of product. You should remember that it's okay to do the same. He inspired you to go for it and make your whole head of hair nuclear red like you've always wanted to. Man you looked hot. It sure took long enough, didn't it? Aren't you glad you did it though? Hope you haven't forgetten how to dye hair fabulously - he's counting on it next time he goes out there to see you. And aren't you glad that you bought that awesome club shirt with the velvet burnout wings to wear to his show, even though it was overpriced? The hair and the shirt - that combo was irresistible. You should go for the back-tattoo you have always wanted also, if you have the chance. He likes it - it'll give him something to look at when... you know. Sometimes you deserve to look as good as you feel. I hope you still have that shirt, even if your hair isn't nuclear red, Future-self. He thought you were really cute, even before you thought you were.
Blackberry liked him too. She knows what's good for you, by the way. Remember you caught her spooned up on him after you got out of bed to tard farm all the drunkards out of your living room that morning? That hussy! Blackberry needs to get her own. He loved your cat too, by the way - remember she shared her mousie with him and they played fetch? That was so cute.
Remember he was good to your cat, good to your mind, your body, and your soul. Even though he knew you were leaving for Arizona in less than 2 weeks. No regrets. Only honesty, openness, and kindness. If you can find that once, just like Homer Simpson said, you can find it again. Remember that.
And if you are really still feeling like shit after reading and remembering all the good things about these past two amazing weeks, go into your "pictures" folder and look at the photo "Happy Monday, Kim.jpg" and think about underwear gnomes and Step 2. That'll make you smile. There, see? You're on your way to a cold shower already.
Remember these past two weeks, okay? Remember what it feels like to feel wonderful.
XOXOX,
Past-Self Who Learned What It Felt Like to Glow
P.S. And if he says he's coming out your way, make sure you remind him that it's Tucson, AZ, and not Austin, TX, or you'll have to drive over and pick his ass up.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
About Fudge
I know, I know. I said the Plague would be down for a couple of weeks while I completed my background check (so the word "poo" wouldn't somehow appear in my permanent record), but I just had to share what I saw at the water cooler a moment ago.
As I was filling up my cup of water, I looked on the counter and saw this paper plate covered in a mash of soft brown substance, with white and red bits sparsely distributed throughout, all partially covered in a mishmash of plastic-wrap with a spoon sticking out. I did a double-take and realized it was actually a plate of fudge: marshmallow-cranberry fudge. Really mangled fudge that had been sitting, as it turns out, just close enough to the coffee machine such that the emanated heat from the warming was enough to partially melt the surface and give it that sweaty sheen.
This was the most unappetizing, questionable pile of free food I have encountered to date at my current company - it was dubious enough that even *I* wouldn't eat it, and that's saying something, because I consume free sandwiches that contain mayonnaise even when they have been left out for 4 hours. I was shocked and amazed. I couldn't help pointing and laughing. Everyone who walked by came to see what was going on... which consequently devolved into all kinds of immature laughter and comments, followed by a fudge-eating dare. Man, just when I thought all the fun was gone from this office, they had to go and pull a fudgy on me. I will miss these people and this place.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
As I was filling up my cup of water, I looked on the counter and saw this paper plate covered in a mash of soft brown substance, with white and red bits sparsely distributed throughout, all partially covered in a mishmash of plastic-wrap with a spoon sticking out. I did a double-take and realized it was actually a plate of fudge: marshmallow-cranberry fudge. Really mangled fudge that had been sitting, as it turns out, just close enough to the coffee machine such that the emanated heat from the warming was enough to partially melt the surface and give it that sweaty sheen.
This was the most unappetizing, questionable pile of free food I have encountered to date at my current company - it was dubious enough that even *I* wouldn't eat it, and that's saying something, because I consume free sandwiches that contain mayonnaise even when they have been left out for 4 hours. I was shocked and amazed. I couldn't help pointing and laughing. Everyone who walked by came to see what was going on... which consequently devolved into all kinds of immature laughter and comments, followed by a fudge-eating dare. Man, just when I thought all the fun was gone from this office, they had to go and pull a fudgy on me. I will miss these people and this place.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
PSA: The BPL Will Temporarily Be Unavailable
Dearest Readers,
The Plague will be going through a short period of inaccessibility, but never fear, it'll be back as soon as I finish up with my paperwork.
Cheers to all, and see you in a couple of weeks when I return victoriously!
Further bulletins as events warrant.
The Plague will be going through a short period of inaccessibility, but never fear, it'll be back as soon as I finish up with my paperwork.
Cheers to all, and see you in a couple of weeks when I return victoriously!
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Friday, June 12, 2009
I Have Found My Next Hobby
I have often longed for that sense of domestic productivity that my friends Gwen and Paige seem to get from creating beautiful quilts as wedding gifts and baby shower gifts. These girls are from MIT, so when I say that the geometric designs on their quilts are impressive, you understand what I mean. While I have always found the geometric design aspect of quilting to be an intellectually stimulating challenge, the final product itself never truly caught my interest enough to make me want to pursue the craft any further.
That is... until now.
Today I was inspired by a blog post made by one of my friends' coworkers about quilting and fabric choice. The only thing I can say after reading it is that I see the world of quilting in a completely different way - it is such an amazing art form and I am glad that I can now appreciate it in all its glory. Many people quilt for a cause: some people quilt for hope, others to create a collection of memories from their lives. My quilt will be a tribute to the city I love best: San Francisco.
Witness my fabric swatch of choice:
Good gravy! I didn't even KNOW that they made fabric prints like that until this morning. Thank you www.equilter.com! Don't you think that would just be lovely with a border of this?:
And maybe a little bit of this thrown in the mix?:
Oh and let's not forget about the cowboys while we're at it:
I am so excited. When I own my own home, all my houseguests will have the privilege of sleeping underneath the beefcake quilt.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
That is... until now.
Today I was inspired by a blog post made by one of my friends' coworkers about quilting and fabric choice. The only thing I can say after reading it is that I see the world of quilting in a completely different way - it is such an amazing art form and I am glad that I can now appreciate it in all its glory. Many people quilt for a cause: some people quilt for hope, others to create a collection of memories from their lives. My quilt will be a tribute to the city I love best: San Francisco.
Witness my fabric swatch of choice:
Good gravy! I didn't even KNOW that they made fabric prints like that until this morning. Thank you www.equilter.com! Don't you think that would just be lovely with a border of this?:
And maybe a little bit of this thrown in the mix?:
Oh and let's not forget about the cowboys while we're at it:
I am so excited. When I own my own home, all my houseguests will have the privilege of sleeping underneath the beefcake quilt.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Why Yes, Indeed, I Am Awesome. Thanks For Noticing!
I realize that this is the culmination of staying in on a Friday night by myself and watching "Hair Show" on the CW (starring Mo'Nique as a sassy hairdresser from Baltimore who competes in a Hollywood hair show for the $50,000 prize in order to escape the IRS, and featuring a stirring performance by Gina Torres of Cleopatra 2525 and Firefly fame) whilst epoxying my fingers together (and everything else in sight). But allow me to toot my own horn here since god knows I don't have anyone else to toot it for me. I am awesome like toast and kaya. That is how awesome I am.
But first, to gain some perspective and get a little humbling action out of the way, let's go down the list of things that I failed to do today:
1) Failed to replace my beloved MAC gel eyeliner after losing my last pot of my favorite (and now discontinued) shade of gunmetal grey while staying in Tiff and Mike's tent at the CT renfaire.
2) Failed to find a new job in California or Arizona.
3) Failed to purchase a swimsuit that fit after trying on at least 13 one-piecers and two-piecers at that hoity-toity swimsuit store in the Burlyman mall. You would think that a store that charges those kinds of prices would stock cup sizes larger than a DD, but you, like me, would be sorely mistaken.
But the one thing I did not fail to do was INVENT AND BUILD A REALLY BRILLIANT MODULAR SOLUTION FOR FLAMMA AETERNA'S LED HOOP.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever, that beautiful LED hoop that you saw featured in the previous post is now available in a 100% modular form. What does that mean? It means that you can now purchase removable strings of LEDs in every color combination your heart desires, and switch them in and out of your hoop by simply plugging in the power module and stuffing it into the end of the hoop before closing it up. Gone are the days of being stuck with buyer's regret once you're sick of the color scheme you chose and realize that you have to buy an entire brand new hoop if you want to see something different. If you, like me, are ADD about colors and are intimidated by overabundance of choice, you have GOT to go with the Flamma Aeterna modular LED hoop. No other company out there offers a modular LED driver solution, nor the flexibility, versatility, quality, and love that goes into this beautiful LED hoop. Don't *you* want to be that cool kid that says "my hoop was built by a hot chick who makes robots. Who made *your* hoop?"
Now featuring 4, 6, and 8 LEDs per section (for a total of 12, 18, and 24 LEDs respectively), this is hands-down the best investment for the hooper that wants to have it all. The new Flamma power module features a sturdy, small internal switch (to keep it safe from the wear and tear of everyday hooping), and requires a single AA battery (regular or rechargeable) to power all of your LEDs,with a CR123 solution in the works OR A Li-ion CR123 for even more gorgeous bright colors! Clocked at over 4 hours of straight runtime per AA battery and over 3 hours per CR123, this thing will satisfy even the most rabid of hoopers, and for a limited time only, if you order now, your hoop is guaranteed to be made with love by my own two hands.
I want to state again for the record how awesome I am for figuring out how to rig up this modular power control unit without the use of ANY custom-machined or custom-fabricated parts. It's amazing what dedicating that half hour you would normally spend loafing off at your desk to good hard thinking can do. It produces brilliant ideas like "using copper tape with conductive adhesive" and "semi-thick cardboard acts an awful lot like FR4 if you stiffen up one side with hot glue." Holy butt, let me tell you how awesome cardboard is. STICK THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT, ADVANCED CIRCUITS! I just made my own PCB! What's more, I can even say I recycled this evening because I re-used the box that my MAC eyeliner came in. OH YES that's right, the prototype of the Flamma Aeterna modular power control unit includes a product by MAC. That's how you know it was made by a GIRL.
Oh man, I feel so good right now. I am positively exploding with that same manly engineer pride that the mechanical engineers at the office do when they talk about their new car mods or the catapult they're going to build out of garage door springs. Yeah baby, check out this modularity. I know, it's hot. It's okay to stare. Take a good long look. Oh yeah.
...
Mmm... that was so good, I think I might need to go smoke a clove. Then maybe a glass of amaretto and milk, followed by a good long snooze (spooned up against my sexy new module... yeah, baby, I'm a sensitive type, I like a good cuddle). Hmm... I wonder if I can get the diSaronno bottle open with my thumb still glued to my finger.
Further (AWESOME) bulletins as events warrant.
But first, to gain some perspective and get a little humbling action out of the way, let's go down the list of things that I failed to do today:
1) Failed to replace my beloved MAC gel eyeliner after losing my last pot of my favorite (and now discontinued) shade of gunmetal grey while staying in Tiff and Mike's tent at the CT renfaire.
2) Failed to find a new job in California or Arizona.
3) Failed to purchase a swimsuit that fit after trying on at least 13 one-piecers and two-piecers at that hoity-toity swimsuit store in the Burlyman mall. You would think that a store that charges those kinds of prices would stock cup sizes larger than a DD, but you, like me, would be sorely mistaken.
But the one thing I did not fail to do was INVENT AND BUILD A REALLY BRILLIANT MODULAR SOLUTION FOR FLAMMA AETERNA'S LED HOOP.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever, that beautiful LED hoop that you saw featured in the previous post is now available in a 100% modular form. What does that mean? It means that you can now purchase removable strings of LEDs in every color combination your heart desires, and switch them in and out of your hoop by simply plugging in the power module and stuffing it into the end of the hoop before closing it up. Gone are the days of being stuck with buyer's regret once you're sick of the color scheme you chose and realize that you have to buy an entire brand new hoop if you want to see something different. If you, like me, are ADD about colors and are intimidated by overabundance of choice, you have GOT to go with the Flamma Aeterna modular LED hoop. No other company out there offers a modular LED driver solution, nor the flexibility, versatility, quality, and love that goes into this beautiful LED hoop. Don't *you* want to be that cool kid that says "my hoop was built by a hot chick who makes robots. Who made *your* hoop?"
Now featuring 4, 6, and 8 LEDs per section (for a total of 12, 18, and 24 LEDs respectively), this is hands-down the best investment for the hooper that wants to have it all. The new Flamma power module features a sturdy, small internal switch (to keep it safe from the wear and tear of everyday hooping), and requires a single AA battery (regular or rechargeable) to power all of your LEDs,
I want to state again for the record how awesome I am for figuring out how to rig up this modular power control unit without the use of ANY custom-machined or custom-fabricated parts. It's amazing what dedicating that half hour you would normally spend loafing off at your desk to good hard thinking can do. It produces brilliant ideas like "using copper tape with conductive adhesive" and "semi-thick cardboard acts an awful lot like FR4 if you stiffen up one side with hot glue." Holy butt, let me tell you how awesome cardboard is. STICK THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT, ADVANCED CIRCUITS! I just made my own PCB! What's more, I can even say I recycled this evening because I re-used the box that my MAC eyeliner came in. OH YES that's right, the prototype of the Flamma Aeterna modular power control unit includes a product by MAC. That's how you know it was made by a GIRL.
Oh man, I feel so good right now. I am positively exploding with that same manly engineer pride that the mechanical engineers at the office do when they talk about their new car mods or the catapult they're going to build out of garage door springs. Yeah baby, check out this modularity. I know, it's hot. It's okay to stare. Take a good long look. Oh yeah.
...
Mmm... that was so good, I think I might need to go smoke a clove. Then maybe a glass of amaretto and milk, followed by a good long snooze (spooned up against my sexy new module... yeah, baby, I'm a sensitive type, I like a good cuddle). Hmm... I wonder if I can get the diSaronno bottle open with my thumb still glued to my finger.
Further (AWESOME) bulletins as events warrant.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Big News: A Bundle of Joy is on the Way
Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make!
I would like to present my beautiful new baby - the Flamma Aeterna LED hoop, v1.0. The product of months of solder, sweat, and tears, is now available for pre-order at a special discount price of as low as $130 for early adopters.
The official announcement can be found here, along with this gorgeous portrait of my bright little guy:
Seriously, CHECK THAT OUT. That's 9 LEDs (okay it's actually 11 because that's a photo of the prototype, and the blue section actually has 5 LEDs in it instead of 3 because I wanted to prove out some color-change LED options, but the red and green sections are only 3 LEDs apiece). Have you ever seen a 9 LED hoop that bright? That is not a trick of Photoshop my friends, that's a hearty helping of AWESOME right there. That's really what it looks like. Look at this 12 LED hoop made by some other dude and compare:
Comparatively, that thing couldn't light squat, and it averages more LEDs per section. Moreover, it is FILLED with watch batteries! For every 2 LEDs on that hoop, there are 3 watch batteries and 1 switch. Battery replacement alone would make you go broke! But my beautiful new baby is powered by one single 3V lithium CR123 (a camera battery) and will give you hours of sweet sweet LED lovin' in a single go.
This thing is no rinky-dink raver toy my friends, this is serious business. I had a fuse blow out one night a couple weeks ago due to shoddy 100-year-old electrical wiring. It blacked out my entire apartment and the basement downstairs (what kind of asshat electrician wires two whole floors of a house to one circuit breaker anyhow?). So, what did I do? Did I fumble around in the dark, banging my shins against all kinds of furniture, groping through drawers for some woefully inadequate flashlight? Nope. I flipped the switch on my Flamma LED hoop and took it downstairs to reset the breaker box. This thing not only lit up my apartment, I TRUSTED it to adequately light my way down the basement stairs of ankle-busting doom (the same demonic stairs that destroyed my ankle 2 days before Fall Wildfire 2008). That's how bright this thing is.
Matthew was right, we should totally do a luminous flux per dollar calculation on this thing. But until we do, take my word that you are getting some major LED lovin' for your buck.
And right now, as if you weren't already getting a great deal on quality LED stuff, you can pick your own custom LED color combination, and the custom work fee is rolled right into the price! That's right, since we are just starting to ramp up production, you can own a hoop that has been lovingly made by my own two hands, with all-custom LEDs, optimized for maximum brightness and battery life. People, it's an LED toy designed by professional electrical engineers who make robots and missiles for a living! If this thing does not rock your world, I want you to personally write to me and bitch about it - put it right here in the Plague! I am inviting YOU to become part of the design process, so you can make MY hoop rock YOUR world. So GO GET YOUR ASS EQUIPPED and tell me what you think! Buying one now means you are directly supporting the design endeavor to make this thing rock even harder later. And believe me, you'll wanna see the upgrades I'm making. Don't worry, they're all backwards-compatible.
As if all of the above weren't endorsement enough, take what you will from my personal experience - I am totally planning on having one of these around in my performance kit at all times, even though my other fire acts are comparatively far more entertaining than anything I could do with the hoop. Why? Well, in addition to being a nice hoop to practice and learn with, this hoop is GREAT at parties and pretty much DRUNK-PROOF. You know what I mean. We've all been there at one point or another: you bust out your toys for an impromptu fire show at somebody else's bonfire, and as soon as you're done, there is always That Guy (or Girl) that is absolutely fuh-trashed who won't stop saying "OOH, I WANNA TRY". And though you know someone is going to end up in the burn ward if you hand them some poi, you can always feel comfortable with handing them the Flamma hoop, because it's harmless, shiny, and a TON of fun in the hands of Mr. Sped. As with all toys that I design for other people, this model has been field-tested and proven to survive the rigors of my drunk and clumsy friends. Highly recommended - I give it two beers up.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
I would like to present my beautiful new baby - the Flamma Aeterna LED hoop, v1.0. The product of months of solder, sweat, and tears, is now available for pre-order at a special discount price of as low as $130 for early adopters.
The official announcement can be found here, along with this gorgeous portrait of my bright little guy:
Seriously, CHECK THAT OUT. That's 9 LEDs (okay it's actually 11 because that's a photo of the prototype, and the blue section actually has 5 LEDs in it instead of 3 because I wanted to prove out some color-change LED options, but the red and green sections are only 3 LEDs apiece). Have you ever seen a 9 LED hoop that bright? That is not a trick of Photoshop my friends, that's a hearty helping of AWESOME right there. That's really what it looks like. Look at this 12 LED hoop made by some other dude and compare:
Comparatively, that thing couldn't light squat, and it averages more LEDs per section. Moreover, it is FILLED with watch batteries! For every 2 LEDs on that hoop, there are 3 watch batteries and 1 switch. Battery replacement alone would make you go broke! But my beautiful new baby is powered by one single 3V lithium CR123 (a camera battery) and will give you hours of sweet sweet LED lovin' in a single go.
This thing is no rinky-dink raver toy my friends, this is serious business. I had a fuse blow out one night a couple weeks ago due to shoddy 100-year-old electrical wiring. It blacked out my entire apartment and the basement downstairs (what kind of asshat electrician wires two whole floors of a house to one circuit breaker anyhow?). So, what did I do? Did I fumble around in the dark, banging my shins against all kinds of furniture, groping through drawers for some woefully inadequate flashlight? Nope. I flipped the switch on my Flamma LED hoop and took it downstairs to reset the breaker box. This thing not only lit up my apartment, I TRUSTED it to adequately light my way down the basement stairs of ankle-busting doom (the same demonic stairs that destroyed my ankle 2 days before Fall Wildfire 2008). That's how bright this thing is.
Matthew was right, we should totally do a luminous flux per dollar calculation on this thing. But until we do, take my word that you are getting some major LED lovin' for your buck.
And right now, as if you weren't already getting a great deal on quality LED stuff, you can pick your own custom LED color combination, and the custom work fee is rolled right into the price! That's right, since we are just starting to ramp up production, you can own a hoop that has been lovingly made by my own two hands, with all-custom LEDs, optimized for maximum brightness and battery life. People, it's an LED toy designed by professional electrical engineers who make robots and missiles for a living! If this thing does not rock your world, I want you to personally write to me and bitch about it - put it right here in the Plague! I am inviting YOU to become part of the design process, so you can make MY hoop rock YOUR world. So GO GET YOUR ASS EQUIPPED and tell me what you think! Buying one now means you are directly supporting the design endeavor to make this thing rock even harder later. And believe me, you'll wanna see the upgrades I'm making. Don't worry, they're all backwards-compatible.
As if all of the above weren't endorsement enough, take what you will from my personal experience - I am totally planning on having one of these around in my performance kit at all times, even though my other fire acts are comparatively far more entertaining than anything I could do with the hoop. Why? Well, in addition to being a nice hoop to practice and learn with, this hoop is GREAT at parties and pretty much DRUNK-PROOF. You know what I mean. We've all been there at one point or another: you bust out your toys for an impromptu fire show at somebody else's bonfire, and as soon as you're done, there is always That Guy (or Girl) that is absolutely fuh-trashed who won't stop saying "OOH, I WANNA TRY". And though you know someone is going to end up in the burn ward if you hand them some poi, you can always feel comfortable with handing them the Flamma hoop, because it's harmless, shiny, and a TON of fun in the hands of Mr. Sped. As with all toys that I design for other people, this model has been field-tested and proven to survive the rigors of my drunk and clumsy friends. Highly recommended - I give it two beers up.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wearin' It On My Sleeve...
Why yes, some of you might leap to the conclusion that I'm referring to my heart, and that this is about to be another sad contemplative entry about loving things I can't have. Well, you folks would be wrong. This entry is about the other thing I talk about here on the Plague.
This morning I woke up feeling groggy and a tad under the weather. As a result I paid very little attention to the clothes I pulled on as I got dressed. I picked up my new purple shirt off the clean laundry pile on the floor and put it on (the laundry pipeline inverted itself this month - leaving piles of clean unfolded laundry on the floor such that I could continue to load my hamper with the dirties). I then proceeded to the bathroom and began to brush my teeth. There I noticed a familiar terrible smell. It rated 20 Hobos on the Hobo Power Scale of Bad Smells. I kept catching whiffs of it here and there, but I just could not locate the smell. Concerned that I was somehow afflicted with the worst case of morning breath ever, I brushed furiously until my gums bled. The smell somehow remained.
I lifted the shower curtains and shook out the bathmat in search of the elusive source, but my efforts yielded nothing. As I left the bathroom I sniffled and reflexively lifted my wrist to my nose, only to realize that the smell was emanating from my right arm. It was my shirt. And it had seeped into the skin on my wrist.
I returned to my bedroom and examined the spot from which I had lifted the shirt and, unsurprised, found the sizeable nugget of cat turd upon which my purple shirt had been resting for who-knows-how-long. My wrist hasn't felt clean since this discovery, despite vigorous scrubbing with antibacterial soap.
And that was what happened to me before I'd even put my contact lenses in today. How was *your* Friday morning?
Further bulletins as events warrant.
This morning I woke up feeling groggy and a tad under the weather. As a result I paid very little attention to the clothes I pulled on as I got dressed. I picked up my new purple shirt off the clean laundry pile on the floor and put it on (the laundry pipeline inverted itself this month - leaving piles of clean unfolded laundry on the floor such that I could continue to load my hamper with the dirties). I then proceeded to the bathroom and began to brush my teeth. There I noticed a familiar terrible smell. It rated 20 Hobos on the Hobo Power Scale of Bad Smells. I kept catching whiffs of it here and there, but I just could not locate the smell. Concerned that I was somehow afflicted with the worst case of morning breath ever, I brushed furiously until my gums bled. The smell somehow remained.
I lifted the shower curtains and shook out the bathmat in search of the elusive source, but my efforts yielded nothing. As I left the bathroom I sniffled and reflexively lifted my wrist to my nose, only to realize that the smell was emanating from my right arm. It was my shirt. And it had seeped into the skin on my wrist.
I returned to my bedroom and examined the spot from which I had lifted the shirt and, unsurprised, found the sizeable nugget of cat turd upon which my purple shirt had been resting for who-knows-how-long. My wrist hasn't felt clean since this discovery, despite vigorous scrubbing with antibacterial soap.
And that was what happened to me before I'd even put my contact lenses in today. How was *your* Friday morning?
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A Post-St. Guinness Day Letter
Dear That Guy,
I let you crash at my place after St. Guinness Day because I drove all the way to Watertown to pick your ass up just so you could hang out with Ben and Jen instead of staying at home, and I didn't want to cart your ass all the way back at 2 am afterwards. I told you to help yourself to the leftover shepherd's pie and eggs in my fridge for breakfast and let you stay there as long as you wanted after I left for work because I trusted you to find your own way out. And what did you do?!
When I came home from work I found you'd stolen my cloves and ashed into the empty bottle of my very last beer (which I so courteously let you have before going to bed), THUS MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE TO RECYCLE AND STINKING UP THE HOUSE BECAUSE YOU LEFT IT RIGHT THERE IN THE GODDAMN LIVING ROOM. Dude, you KNOW I bought a closed ashtray for just such occasions. YOU LIVED HERE. You know where it was kept! I even said it was okay to smoke cloves in the house because occasionally *I* need a clove to alleviate stress too! BUT YOU NEED TO SMOKE YOUR OWN GODDAMN CLOVES, YOU BROKE ASS DJARUM-STEALING BUM. And go get the damn ashtray that's right by the sink, 20 steps from where you were probably sitting and ashing into that goddamn beer. Do you know how bad ashes and old beer smell when they've been marinating all day long?! We are not at a Tiff and Mike party, thank you very much, we dispose of used tobacco in the PROPER receptacle because we are in no danger of overflow here (and if it turns out we are because you smoked ALL my cloves in one go, well, we will have some REAL problems here).
Speaking of REAL PROBLEMS, let me address the SECOND little gift you left behind. Oh yes, I FOUND A SHIT STREAK ON MY TOILET SEAT. Left side, halfway down between cheek and thigh. I could understand a little post-Guinness projectile action on the back of the bowl, but we are talking about THE SEAT, man, THE SEAT! That's just not right. Do we have issues here?! How do you even GET shit on the edge of the seat? Were you pooping crooked or something?! Was it coming out so fast that in your haste to reach the bathroom, you sat down wrong? Did your anus somehow migrate out to the left side of you since we stopped dating? Or maybe it's because your new girlfriend got angry one night and ripped you a new one for smoking all her cloves and leaving a mess behind, and that's why you have trouble using the can. You know what? Doesn't matter. That's the ONLY explanation I could find solace in as I scrubbed my can free of your caked-on skeet. I gotta tell ya man, the moral of that story is that you need to stop stealing cloves.
In conclusion, screw you with a pine cone covered in goat cheese. I'm so glad you don't live here anymore.
Most Sincerely,
-Me
Further bulletins as events warrant.
I let you crash at my place after St. Guinness Day because I drove all the way to Watertown to pick your ass up just so you could hang out with Ben and Jen instead of staying at home, and I didn't want to cart your ass all the way back at 2 am afterwards. I told you to help yourself to the leftover shepherd's pie and eggs in my fridge for breakfast and let you stay there as long as you wanted after I left for work because I trusted you to find your own way out. And what did you do?!
When I came home from work I found you'd stolen my cloves and ashed into the empty bottle of my very last beer (which I so courteously let you have before going to bed), THUS MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE TO RECYCLE AND STINKING UP THE HOUSE BECAUSE YOU LEFT IT RIGHT THERE IN THE GODDAMN LIVING ROOM. Dude, you KNOW I bought a closed ashtray for just such occasions. YOU LIVED HERE. You know where it was kept! I even said it was okay to smoke cloves in the house because occasionally *I* need a clove to alleviate stress too! BUT YOU NEED TO SMOKE YOUR OWN GODDAMN CLOVES, YOU BROKE ASS DJARUM-STEALING BUM. And go get the damn ashtray that's right by the sink, 20 steps from where you were probably sitting and ashing into that goddamn beer. Do you know how bad ashes and old beer smell when they've been marinating all day long?! We are not at a Tiff and Mike party, thank you very much, we dispose of used tobacco in the PROPER receptacle because we are in no danger of overflow here (and if it turns out we are because you smoked ALL my cloves in one go, well, we will have some REAL problems here).
Speaking of REAL PROBLEMS, let me address the SECOND little gift you left behind. Oh yes, I FOUND A SHIT STREAK ON MY TOILET SEAT. Left side, halfway down between cheek and thigh. I could understand a little post-Guinness projectile action on the back of the bowl, but we are talking about THE SEAT, man, THE SEAT! That's just not right. Do we have issues here?! How do you even GET shit on the edge of the seat? Were you pooping crooked or something?! Was it coming out so fast that in your haste to reach the bathroom, you sat down wrong? Did your anus somehow migrate out to the left side of you since we stopped dating? Or maybe it's because your new girlfriend got angry one night and ripped you a new one for smoking all her cloves and leaving a mess behind, and that's why you have trouble using the can. You know what? Doesn't matter. That's the ONLY explanation I could find solace in as I scrubbed my can free of your caked-on skeet. I gotta tell ya man, the moral of that story is that you need to stop stealing cloves.
In conclusion, screw you with a pine cone covered in goat cheese. I'm so glad you don't live here anymore.
Most Sincerely,
-Me
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
And the Results Are In...
The winner of the Best Benny-Hillified Video Contest... is declared a tie.
Congratulations to the illustrious Mr. Lohse for his brilliant submission "I Am Sasha Fierce-Hill", an exercise in absurdity of the highest degree and incredible feats of gyration. Booty-tacular.
Click here to view "I am Sasha Fierce-Hill"
Congratulations also to the impeccable Mr. Fogg for his inspired creation "Saving Private Hill", a commendable tribute piece to the events of WWII. We at the Bubonic Plague Luncheonette salute you!
Click here to view "Saving Private Hill"
A round of applause for our pair of winners. Rest assured that they both will, indeed, get what they deserve. Thanks again to all the participants of this contest: I definitely appreciated each of your videos in their own right and their ability to brighten my mornings at work.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Congratulations to the illustrious Mr. Lohse for his brilliant submission "I Am Sasha Fierce-Hill", an exercise in absurdity of the highest degree and incredible feats of gyration. Booty-tacular.
Click here to view "I am Sasha Fierce-Hill"
Congratulations also to the impeccable Mr. Fogg for his inspired creation "Saving Private Hill", a commendable tribute piece to the events of WWII. We at the Bubonic Plague Luncheonette salute you!
Click here to view "Saving Private Hill"
A round of applause for our pair of winners. Rest assured that they both will, indeed, get what they deserve. Thanks again to all the participants of this contest: I definitely appreciated each of your videos in their own right and their ability to brighten my mornings at work.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Classical Music
For those of you who feel that every mediocre video found on the web could greatly benefit from the addition of the Yakety Sax soundtrack, I suggest the Benny Hillifier Youtube application.
Simply type in the youtube.com url, and enjoy the instantaneous audio improvement to your grainy, pixellated media experience!
Edit: I am officially announcing a contest for the best Benny Hillified video. Contestants, post your links by clicking on the Comments section at the bottom of this entry. Entries must be received by Feb 1. Winner will receive a lovingly-handmade cake of questionable shape and accolades from their peers.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Simply type in the youtube.com url, and enjoy the instantaneous audio improvement to your grainy, pixellated media experience!
Edit: I am officially announcing a contest for the best Benny Hillified video. Contestants, post your links by clicking on the Comments section at the bottom of this entry. Entries must be received by Feb 1. Winner will receive a lovingly-handmade cake of questionable shape and accolades from their peers.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Monday, January 12, 2009
It Hits the Fan
I don't think I wrote resolutions for 2008, since my only goal at the time was to somehow manage to throw Tom out of the house. Though I did manage to succeed, I still haven't gotten rid of all of his stuff or recuperated any of my monetary losses, so I suppose at some level I was a failure in that respect. I'd give myself a 85% (roughly a B+) for that accomplishment. Not too impressive in the grand scheme of things, but there lies the problem with aiming low: even if you accomplish 100% of the things you set out to do, still kinda feels like you won the Special Olympics.
So this year, I've decided to take a different tactic and instead aim high. I'm setting up an intimidating list of goals and I figure that if I can accomplish 85% of this list, I'll be able to say I've done something worth writing about. So here goes:
1) Live truly independently - otherwise known as the Steph mantra: "bitch, be cool." This is something of a broad overarching theme for the rest of my goals for this upcoming year, since it became clear upon reviewing my behavior over the last year that I have not yet truly learned how to embrace living on my own. Finances and career-wise, it wasn't really a problem. It's more that I found myself flying in a holding pattern: always waiting for... someone, or something to happen to me, so that I could change my life to respond. Even though I haven't had anyone to share my life with for an entire year now, it's taken me as long to realize that I have still been living my life as though I am waiting for something or someone to tell me what I need to do next. Maybe it's a reflex built in from years of always answering to someone else: I stayed in MA after college because Jerrod wanted me to, I learned how to earn enough money to support two because Tom needed me to. The only time I ever defied the wishes of people that I loved was when I decided to go to college far away from home - to date, it is one of the toughest things I have ever done. Even then, although I knew that I was doing something that my family did not like, they still gave me their love and support and reassured me they approved of my decision. Were it not for their open reassurance that things were going to be okay, I probably would have turned down the degree from MIT in order to spare my family the hurt of my going far away. It seems that such a great part of my happiness is derived from making other people happy, and having spent so long living that way, it's a little unfamiliar to make life changes without having anyone to confer with. At times, I admit to feeling lost and prone to indecision when I don't have someone reassure me that I'm doing the right thing. A little while back, the HR department made the entire office take a Myers-Briggs test, and I came out as an ENFJ (hint: not your typical engineering type. I'll have more to say about this in another post). Although I cannot say I agree with everything that is said in that assessment, I do think that I need to pay special attention to what they have to say about the importance of ENFJs practicing spending time alone in order to become aware of their own needs. So this year, I will practice being aware of my decision-making process, and understand whether I am making a decision based on what I need, or what people that I care about need. I also want to make a point of being able to step back and realize that my life has importance regardless of whether I matter to the people I want to matter to or not. Last October, I found myself in a really bad way when I hit a real snag in a budding relationship with someone that I care very deeply about. He said some things to me that I found really hurtful, and he couldn't find it in him to tell me anything reassuring that I could hold on to and bring myself back to a healthy equilibrium and try to move forward. That really caused me to go on a downward spiral - all of my subsequent actions and behavior were less than stellar because they were based on feelings of insecurity, and those actions consequently spawned more insecurity that I'd screwed things up worse with every step that I tried to take. I couldn't do anything and feel good about it because I thought I didn't matter in his life and he didn't care about me anymore and it was all my fault. I balled up and I crashed because his approval meant so much to me, and the fact that he couldn't reassure me that he still felt any positive feelings at all about me put me so off-kilter that I couldn't recover. It wasn't until earlier this month that I really began to understand that he just doesn't talk much in general - to anyone at all - and a byproduct of that behavior is that he rarely (if ever) expresses any kind of positive affirmation to anyone. In other words: I got wrapped around my own axle over something that I really shouldn't have taken so personally from the start. I need to stop taking other people's actions so personally, as hard as it might be to remove myself from external context. In addition to making me miserable because it drives me to see the worst intentions in other people's actions, it also turns me into the thing that I find most unattractive in the world: a person that needs someone else in order to be happy. Around November 2007, I wrote a post about finding neediness unattractive (though in that particular case it was "someone else being so incompetent at basic survival skills that I needed to take care of everything for them"), but am I really so different if I need the approval of someone else in order to feel good about myself and go on? Being on the receiving end of that kind of attention can't really be all that good either. I can't imagine that anyone wants to feel the pressure of someone else's world falling apart without their approval - it's a lose-lose situation. It's such a fine line to walk to make room for the people who matter in your life without building your world around them... I need to learn to catch myself when I fall on the wrong side of that line - preferably before I ruin everything in the process of flailing wildly to regain balance.
2) Dance more - much less daunting than the first task. Ballet at least 1 time a week in Porter, no matter how lousy the driving conditions or how tired I feel after a day of dealing with my arsch-hut coworkers. After trying out that Pilates DVD I got for Christmas and finding out that every standing move they do in Pilates is poached from classical ballet and given a new name, I might as well go to a class where it's all strung together in a tastefully choreographed manner instead of just grunting along with the television while Denise Austin spouts out cheery words of repetitive encouragement. Ballroom dancing as well - it's about time I learned how to follow, so I'm not the one awkwardly towing my partner around next time one of my friends gets married and I have to get up and do a courtesy dance with an usher because I didn't bring a date (man, that's so awkward). Besides, it looks like it could be fun.
3) Learn at least one new fire toy - in addition to improving my skills with poi, torches, and fans. After some consideration, I think this year's new toy will be the fire hoop, which means that I will probably just bite the bullet and buy the practice hoop from Hooping Harmony that I've had my eye on, and possibly mod it later to be compatible with fire spokes from Flamma Aeterna (which looks like it involves some careful measuring, time on the drill press, and half a dozen helicoils of the appropriate diameter). Now that my busted-ass ankle has nearly healed (only 12 weeks AFTER the whole pre-Fall Wildfire debacle), leg pain is no longer an excuse for not following through. Also on the list of things to do in this category: retrofit my fans to be properly weighted towards the wicks, or just get/build new ones; completing the CarbonX dress and other apparel; design, document, and build a fire toy gear bag.
4) Pay more attention to music - when I went home this past Christmas, I spent a lot of time playing all of my old sheet music on mom's grand piano. I didn't know how much I missed playing an instrument until I re-discovered how relaxing that was. This year, I will do some research and I will get a keyboard. As of yet, I don't have any requirements beyond headphone compatibility (so as not to annoy the neighbors with late-night playing), and perhaps midi-output compatibility (in case I ever want to write and compose). Beyond that, it needs to be something apartment-sized. I think it will go in the corner of the living room once I get rid of Tom's DVDs and the bookshelf full of mediocre books.
5) Create a website - I think it's finally time to organize and consolidate my web presence all into one place. It'll give me the opportunity to learn my way around more advanced HTML, Java, and a variety of other languages and web applications that are out there that I have been meaning to become more familiar with. I have to brainstorm ideas as to how to organize the content in a way that is relevant to visitors, but I think I will want to use it as a tool to better display my fashion design portfolio and facilitate my (currently word-of-mouth) custom clothing business. I'll convert my old desktop computer into a server - it's served as nothing but an expensive doorstop for the last 3 years anyhow.
6) Learn VHDL - I have been exploring the job market and testing the waters to see if it is a viable option for me to move, and the one thing I have learned is that I am nowhere near as marketable today compared with my peers as I was 3 years ago when I was fresh out of college. Why? Well, there are actually a number of reasons having to do with the fact that no one wants an EE with 3 years of experience right now, but one of the other reasons is because I don't know Verilog or VHDL. FPGAs are everywhere, and if I want to continue working with embedded technologies and PCB design for cutting edge systems, I need to keep up. Since college, I've considered myself highly impaired when it comes to interfacing any kind of hardware with software, but it's time I stop accepting that as "the way things are," and start taking responsibility for my own professional development. If I want the freedom to go wherever I want and be assured that I'll have a job, I need to make myself more marketable.
7) Improve my Mandarin and Cantonese (and if I'm really good, a little Hokkien too) - I haven't been nearly as dedicated to my learning as I should be. I had a goal to eventually learn how to read and write simplified chinese characters, and so far I have been pretty poor at putting it into practice. A little pinyin here and there does not constitute a proper learning challenge, so I need to be more disciplined and maybe work with flash cards. I think improving my listening comprehension will be a much easier task thanks to all the free soap operas on mysoju.com (that soap about the Hong Kong cake shop was so good).
8) Travel - originally this wasn't on my "list of things to do in 2009" but it jumped off the "would be nice" list recently after I spent a bit of time listening to a number of really interesting stories about seeing different parts of the world. I realized that having adventures within driving distance is all well and good, but having adventures and learning about other cultures makes you a far more interesting person overall. I used to envy people who had time for overseas travel, and I thought it was a really big deal because it seemed so daunting (it's something I never felt comfortable doing alone, but never had anyone to do it with), but it really is time that I stop being intimidated by how much effort it "seems" to take to travel, pick a place, and just go see it - regardless of whether or not I have someone to do it with.
9) Make the effort to see people that I love - this goes along similar lines as my "travel" goal, since I am far away from some people that I care about. I spent 9 months away from my family last year, and I think I unwittingly caused myself to be very depressed by staying away from them for so long. I claimed that I cared and wanted to be part of their lives more, but planning for travel always seemed like such a pain in the ass that I avoided it because the spontaneous part of me was averse to the idea of "planning" fun. Unfortunately, I have begun to realize that the restrictions of scheduling in people's lives demand planning ahead - I shouldn't take it personally when people can't spend time with me because they are busy when I suddenly want to make plans. People can't be flying in a holding pattern waiting for me to want to see them... it's unhealthy (see goal #1). Planning isn't as big a deal as I think it is. I keep saying things like "I wish I could spend more time with you" - but rather than wishing and bitching and griping about it, I should act on it. Whenever I find myself wishing I could be there with my mom and my brother, I will book a plane ticket and I will make plans. Rather than feeling insecure because I don't know when I will see Matthew again, I will take the initiative to make plans and let him be the one to reject me if that is what he finds in his heart; because nothing is worse than waiting for the phone call that might never come. I will spend the time, the effort, and the money - if these people are worth it to me, I need to stop saying so and start doing. No more regrets about the things I haven't done - from now on I only want to regret things that I have done and wished that I hadn't.
10) Get Organized - the desk, the workshop, the cabinet full of brewing equipment, the pile of documents I need to keep track of. It all has a general place in the apartment, but that is simply not enough. While it's a step up from last year, where everything was piled up around Tom's piles of crap, the general areas need more definite organization. The workshop needs a major overhaul - a couple of storage devices with little drawers. The cloth in bags and drawers needs to be put on "bolts" a la Paige's impressive cloth storage solution. The desk needs to have its drawers cleaned out and the files gone through to dispose of old expired documents (how far back does one typically archive bills and bank statements, anyhow?). If there isn't enough room in the file drawer, I will purchase a file cabinet to suit my archival needs. I will have a better mail-sorting system so the mail does not pile up on my kitchen counter, taking up valuable cooking space. THROW OUT/SELL/CRAIGSLIST MORE CRAP. This year's goal is to cut down on owning extraneous stuff. Also on this year's list of goals: get rid of all of Tom's things in the basement. Set a deadline on which he has to get it out of the basement, be firm about it, and if he misses the deadline, go through the pile and keep or sell anything of value to recuperate monetary losses. If needed, I will seek out moral support from other people to make sure that I stick to this goal and not fall back on being too nice.
11) Make more aggressive financial growth - CDs are nice, and they are safe. But I am still young and have time to be more aggressive. I think I need to play a more active role in maintaining my finances. Up until now, I have sat on a portfolio of long-term stocks and only actively dealt in CDs and savings accounts. I see people around me day-trading and using the crappy economy to their advantage - I admire their ambition and I think that I should follow their example, or at the very least become more educated in ways to improve my financial growth (if nothing else, more money will open up more opportunities to pursue some of the goals I've listed).
12) Revisit my old art supplies - I finished a small watercolor painting last December as a present for someone (a present I almost didn't give, I was so nervous about it)... I forgot what it was like to express my feelings on paper. I often find myself wanting to tell people "you are beautiful, amazing, and inspiring" but a lot of times words really fall flat, and they're not always prone to get the reaction you are looking for out of the people you tell them to because they sound cheesy and contrite (especially since I'm no wordsmith or poet). With artwork though... if you do it right, you can express that feeling all over the paper and get it out there, while still keeping the words to yourself.
13) Embrace all the the good stuff there is about being Asian - while continuing to stay away from the bad stuff (like irrational Cantonese logic). For the longest time I distanced myself from everything that had to do with my heritage because I was so irritated with all the bad things that I associated with some of my more unbearable relatives (there is nothing quite like people who listen to ultra-conservative talk radio and *believe* it out of fear). Now I'm realizing that I took all the good stuff for granted - things like cakes from Bengawan Solo, Hong Kong diner food, squid snacks, cheap clothes, Chinese television (period dramas!), and so many of the other distinct things that were part of my childhood - I want to revisit them all. Some of it is just the little things, like breaking down and finally accepting that I have to go to a Chinese salon to get my hair cut after years of botched hairdos at American salons (I've always wanted to have long beautiful, uniform-length hair like my non-Asian friends, but I've finally come to accept that I have to get it done in pointy Asian-hair layers, or it will just stick to my head like a nasty greasy headful of Prell). But some of it is also a reaction to losing more family members over the years - I realize that if I don't save the things that they have left behind (like my grandmother's recipes, or my uncle's knotwork), they will be forgotten and lost to the world... and being forgotten scares me - I don't wish it on anyone, especially people that I love.
So there it is. In conclusion, 85% of this list, and I'll be all set for 2009. No more "winning the Special Olympics" for me.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
So this year, I've decided to take a different tactic and instead aim high. I'm setting up an intimidating list of goals and I figure that if I can accomplish 85% of this list, I'll be able to say I've done something worth writing about. So here goes:
1) Live truly independently - otherwise known as the Steph mantra: "bitch, be cool." This is something of a broad overarching theme for the rest of my goals for this upcoming year, since it became clear upon reviewing my behavior over the last year that I have not yet truly learned how to embrace living on my own. Finances and career-wise, it wasn't really a problem. It's more that I found myself flying in a holding pattern: always waiting for... someone, or something to happen to me, so that I could change my life to respond. Even though I haven't had anyone to share my life with for an entire year now, it's taken me as long to realize that I have still been living my life as though I am waiting for something or someone to tell me what I need to do next. Maybe it's a reflex built in from years of always answering to someone else: I stayed in MA after college because Jerrod wanted me to, I learned how to earn enough money to support two because Tom needed me to. The only time I ever defied the wishes of people that I loved was when I decided to go to college far away from home - to date, it is one of the toughest things I have ever done. Even then, although I knew that I was doing something that my family did not like, they still gave me their love and support and reassured me they approved of my decision. Were it not for their open reassurance that things were going to be okay, I probably would have turned down the degree from MIT in order to spare my family the hurt of my going far away. It seems that such a great part of my happiness is derived from making other people happy, and having spent so long living that way, it's a little unfamiliar to make life changes without having anyone to confer with. At times, I admit to feeling lost and prone to indecision when I don't have someone reassure me that I'm doing the right thing. A little while back, the HR department made the entire office take a Myers-Briggs test, and I came out as an ENFJ (hint: not your typical engineering type. I'll have more to say about this in another post). Although I cannot say I agree with everything that is said in that assessment, I do think that I need to pay special attention to what they have to say about the importance of ENFJs practicing spending time alone in order to become aware of their own needs. So this year, I will practice being aware of my decision-making process, and understand whether I am making a decision based on what I need, or what people that I care about need. I also want to make a point of being able to step back and realize that my life has importance regardless of whether I matter to the people I want to matter to or not. Last October, I found myself in a really bad way when I hit a real snag in a budding relationship with someone that I care very deeply about. He said some things to me that I found really hurtful, and he couldn't find it in him to tell me anything reassuring that I could hold on to and bring myself back to a healthy equilibrium and try to move forward. That really caused me to go on a downward spiral - all of my subsequent actions and behavior were less than stellar because they were based on feelings of insecurity, and those actions consequently spawned more insecurity that I'd screwed things up worse with every step that I tried to take. I couldn't do anything and feel good about it because I thought I didn't matter in his life and he didn't care about me anymore and it was all my fault. I balled up and I crashed because his approval meant so much to me, and the fact that he couldn't reassure me that he still felt any positive feelings at all about me put me so off-kilter that I couldn't recover. It wasn't until earlier this month that I really began to understand that he just doesn't talk much in general - to anyone at all - and a byproduct of that behavior is that he rarely (if ever) expresses any kind of positive affirmation to anyone. In other words: I got wrapped around my own axle over something that I really shouldn't have taken so personally from the start. I need to stop taking other people's actions so personally, as hard as it might be to remove myself from external context. In addition to making me miserable because it drives me to see the worst intentions in other people's actions, it also turns me into the thing that I find most unattractive in the world: a person that needs someone else in order to be happy. Around November 2007, I wrote a post about finding neediness unattractive (though in that particular case it was "someone else being so incompetent at basic survival skills that I needed to take care of everything for them"), but am I really so different if I need the approval of someone else in order to feel good about myself and go on? Being on the receiving end of that kind of attention can't really be all that good either. I can't imagine that anyone wants to feel the pressure of someone else's world falling apart without their approval - it's a lose-lose situation. It's such a fine line to walk to make room for the people who matter in your life without building your world around them... I need to learn to catch myself when I fall on the wrong side of that line - preferably before I ruin everything in the process of flailing wildly to regain balance.
2) Dance more - much less daunting than the first task. Ballet at least 1 time a week in Porter, no matter how lousy the driving conditions or how tired I feel after a day of dealing with my arsch-hut coworkers. After trying out that Pilates DVD I got for Christmas and finding out that every standing move they do in Pilates is poached from classical ballet and given a new name, I might as well go to a class where it's all strung together in a tastefully choreographed manner instead of just grunting along with the television while Denise Austin spouts out cheery words of repetitive encouragement. Ballroom dancing as well - it's about time I learned how to follow, so I'm not the one awkwardly towing my partner around next time one of my friends gets married and I have to get up and do a courtesy dance with an usher because I didn't bring a date (man, that's so awkward). Besides, it looks like it could be fun.
3) Learn at least one new fire toy - in addition to improving my skills with poi, torches, and fans. After some consideration, I think this year's new toy will be the fire hoop, which means that I will probably just bite the bullet and buy the practice hoop from Hooping Harmony that I've had my eye on, and possibly mod it later to be compatible with fire spokes from Flamma Aeterna (which looks like it involves some careful measuring, time on the drill press, and half a dozen helicoils of the appropriate diameter). Now that my busted-ass ankle has nearly healed (only 12 weeks AFTER the whole pre-Fall Wildfire debacle), leg pain is no longer an excuse for not following through. Also on the list of things to do in this category: retrofit my fans to be properly weighted towards the wicks, or just get/build new ones; completing the CarbonX dress and other apparel; design, document, and build a fire toy gear bag.
4) Pay more attention to music - when I went home this past Christmas, I spent a lot of time playing all of my old sheet music on mom's grand piano. I didn't know how much I missed playing an instrument until I re-discovered how relaxing that was. This year, I will do some research and I will get a keyboard. As of yet, I don't have any requirements beyond headphone compatibility (so as not to annoy the neighbors with late-night playing), and perhaps midi-output compatibility (in case I ever want to write and compose). Beyond that, it needs to be something apartment-sized. I think it will go in the corner of the living room once I get rid of Tom's DVDs and the bookshelf full of mediocre books.
5) Create a website - I think it's finally time to organize and consolidate my web presence all into one place. It'll give me the opportunity to learn my way around more advanced HTML, Java, and a variety of other languages and web applications that are out there that I have been meaning to become more familiar with. I have to brainstorm ideas as to how to organize the content in a way that is relevant to visitors, but I think I will want to use it as a tool to better display my fashion design portfolio and facilitate my (currently word-of-mouth) custom clothing business. I'll convert my old desktop computer into a server - it's served as nothing but an expensive doorstop for the last 3 years anyhow.
6) Learn VHDL - I have been exploring the job market and testing the waters to see if it is a viable option for me to move, and the one thing I have learned is that I am nowhere near as marketable today compared with my peers as I was 3 years ago when I was fresh out of college. Why? Well, there are actually a number of reasons having to do with the fact that no one wants an EE with 3 years of experience right now, but one of the other reasons is because I don't know Verilog or VHDL. FPGAs are everywhere, and if I want to continue working with embedded technologies and PCB design for cutting edge systems, I need to keep up. Since college, I've considered myself highly impaired when it comes to interfacing any kind of hardware with software, but it's time I stop accepting that as "the way things are," and start taking responsibility for my own professional development. If I want the freedom to go wherever I want and be assured that I'll have a job, I need to make myself more marketable.
7) Improve my Mandarin and Cantonese (and if I'm really good, a little Hokkien too) - I haven't been nearly as dedicated to my learning as I should be. I had a goal to eventually learn how to read and write simplified chinese characters, and so far I have been pretty poor at putting it into practice. A little pinyin here and there does not constitute a proper learning challenge, so I need to be more disciplined and maybe work with flash cards. I think improving my listening comprehension will be a much easier task thanks to all the free soap operas on mysoju.com (that soap about the Hong Kong cake shop was so good).
8) Travel - originally this wasn't on my "list of things to do in 2009" but it jumped off the "would be nice" list recently after I spent a bit of time listening to a number of really interesting stories about seeing different parts of the world. I realized that having adventures within driving distance is all well and good, but having adventures and learning about other cultures makes you a far more interesting person overall. I used to envy people who had time for overseas travel, and I thought it was a really big deal because it seemed so daunting (it's something I never felt comfortable doing alone, but never had anyone to do it with), but it really is time that I stop being intimidated by how much effort it "seems" to take to travel, pick a place, and just go see it - regardless of whether or not I have someone to do it with.
9) Make the effort to see people that I love - this goes along similar lines as my "travel" goal, since I am far away from some people that I care about. I spent 9 months away from my family last year, and I think I unwittingly caused myself to be very depressed by staying away from them for so long. I claimed that I cared and wanted to be part of their lives more, but planning for travel always seemed like such a pain in the ass that I avoided it because the spontaneous part of me was averse to the idea of "planning" fun. Unfortunately, I have begun to realize that the restrictions of scheduling in people's lives demand planning ahead - I shouldn't take it personally when people can't spend time with me because they are busy when I suddenly want to make plans. People can't be flying in a holding pattern waiting for me to want to see them... it's unhealthy (see goal #1). Planning isn't as big a deal as I think it is. I keep saying things like "I wish I could spend more time with you" - but rather than wishing and bitching and griping about it, I should act on it. Whenever I find myself wishing I could be there with my mom and my brother, I will book a plane ticket and I will make plans. Rather than feeling insecure because I don't know when I will see Matthew again, I will take the initiative to make plans and let him be the one to reject me if that is what he finds in his heart; because nothing is worse than waiting for the phone call that might never come. I will spend the time, the effort, and the money - if these people are worth it to me, I need to stop saying so and start doing. No more regrets about the things I haven't done - from now on I only want to regret things that I have done and wished that I hadn't.
10) Get Organized - the desk, the workshop, the cabinet full of brewing equipment, the pile of documents I need to keep track of. It all has a general place in the apartment, but that is simply not enough. While it's a step up from last year, where everything was piled up around Tom's piles of crap, the general areas need more definite organization. The workshop needs a major overhaul - a couple of storage devices with little drawers. The cloth in bags and drawers needs to be put on "bolts" a la Paige's impressive cloth storage solution. The desk needs to have its drawers cleaned out and the files gone through to dispose of old expired documents (how far back does one typically archive bills and bank statements, anyhow?). If there isn't enough room in the file drawer, I will purchase a file cabinet to suit my archival needs. I will have a better mail-sorting system so the mail does not pile up on my kitchen counter, taking up valuable cooking space. THROW OUT/SELL/CRAIGSLIST MORE CRAP. This year's goal is to cut down on owning extraneous stuff. Also on this year's list of goals: get rid of all of Tom's things in the basement. Set a deadline on which he has to get it out of the basement, be firm about it, and if he misses the deadline, go through the pile and keep or sell anything of value to recuperate monetary losses. If needed, I will seek out moral support from other people to make sure that I stick to this goal and not fall back on being too nice.
11) Make more aggressive financial growth - CDs are nice, and they are safe. But I am still young and have time to be more aggressive. I think I need to play a more active role in maintaining my finances. Up until now, I have sat on a portfolio of long-term stocks and only actively dealt in CDs and savings accounts. I see people around me day-trading and using the crappy economy to their advantage - I admire their ambition and I think that I should follow their example, or at the very least become more educated in ways to improve my financial growth (if nothing else, more money will open up more opportunities to pursue some of the goals I've listed).
12) Revisit my old art supplies - I finished a small watercolor painting last December as a present for someone (a present I almost didn't give, I was so nervous about it)... I forgot what it was like to express my feelings on paper. I often find myself wanting to tell people "you are beautiful, amazing, and inspiring" but a lot of times words really fall flat, and they're not always prone to get the reaction you are looking for out of the people you tell them to because they sound cheesy and contrite (especially since I'm no wordsmith or poet). With artwork though... if you do it right, you can express that feeling all over the paper and get it out there, while still keeping the words to yourself.
13) Embrace all the the good stuff there is about being Asian - while continuing to stay away from the bad stuff (like irrational Cantonese logic). For the longest time I distanced myself from everything that had to do with my heritage because I was so irritated with all the bad things that I associated with some of my more unbearable relatives (there is nothing quite like people who listen to ultra-conservative talk radio and *believe* it out of fear). Now I'm realizing that I took all the good stuff for granted - things like cakes from Bengawan Solo, Hong Kong diner food, squid snacks, cheap clothes, Chinese television (period dramas!), and so many of the other distinct things that were part of my childhood - I want to revisit them all. Some of it is just the little things, like breaking down and finally accepting that I have to go to a Chinese salon to get my hair cut after years of botched hairdos at American salons (I've always wanted to have long beautiful, uniform-length hair like my non-Asian friends, but I've finally come to accept that I have to get it done in pointy Asian-hair layers, or it will just stick to my head like a nasty greasy headful of Prell). But some of it is also a reaction to losing more family members over the years - I realize that if I don't save the things that they have left behind (like my grandmother's recipes, or my uncle's knotwork), they will be forgotten and lost to the world... and being forgotten scares me - I don't wish it on anyone, especially people that I love.
So there it is. In conclusion, 85% of this list, and I'll be all set for 2009. No more "winning the Special Olympics" for me.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Monday, January 05, 2009
On the First Day of Christmas, My True Love...
Christmas was pretty pared down from the normal pomp and circumstance and inundation of gifts this year, due to the untimely death of my grandfather only one week prior. Under the stresses of travel and whatnot, my mother simply didn't have the time to go all-out with the decorating the house and the tree. The simplicity was nice, in a way. There weren't a lot of gifts and guilt going around, and instead we focused on spending quality time with one another doing truly enjoyable activities for the better part of the week (in our case, it was eating squid snacks while watching Hong Kong soap operas in our pajamas). I wish all vacations could be so relaxing.
On Christmas morning, my brother, mother, and I gathered around the "tree" (which in actuality was a pine branch stuck in a pot that my brother had purchased from the "trimmings" pile at the Boy Scout tree lot for a whopping $5 - it was a truly ghetto-Christmas), and we took stock of our gifts. I got 3 small things and a red envelope this year - more than enough to be happy. One of the small things was a children's storybook we ran across whilst in the local Chinese bookstore several days before.
My mother knew that I'd been collecting Chinese children's fairytales to practice my reading, and though this one book in particular was in Taiwanese Pinyin and English (which unfortunately meant I couldn't really use it to learn my Mandarin pinyin), she found the title much too tempting to pass up. It was one in a series along with other children's fairytales like Cinderella, the 3 Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, and the like. Only this one was called "The Fragrant Smell."
Here's an excerpt from this precious little gem (click to enlarge the text to a readable size):
It's one of those "special" Chinese fairytales that somehow loses its charm in translation... or something. In any case, it's no wonder so few Chinese-American kids these days seem to know the tale of The Little Boy Who Sold Perfumed Farts.
Anyhow. You'd think this gift would be a story in and of itself, but this is the Bubonic Plague Luncheonette, and I am Ubernerd. Of course it gets better.
Flash forward a week to the first time I ever meet M's parents. I was a nervous wreck; I wanted so badly to make a good first impression. I agonized for hours over what kind of gifts to bring before deciding on a selection of Chinese pastries. After all, nothing says "Hi, I'm the girl who adores your son and would really love to date him, but I don't know how he feels about me. Say, maybe you could help me out with a little insight on that" like fresh lotus cakes and red bean pies from the Sheng Kee bakery lovingly hand-packed in a bright red box with imperial yellow tissue folded carefully inside. Martha Stewart would have approved.
Suffice to say, my efforts were not altogether lost. His mother and father turned out to be warm, lovely, and genuinely interesting folks with a love of learning about new cultures. I really enjoyed talking with them, and I dare say they probably did not find my company altogether loathsome. In fact, dinner conversation on the second night came around to a discussion of a young Taiwanese relative of theirs possibly coming to the States for a visit to work on his English, their concerns regarding the associated challenges they would have with communication and difference in culture, and perhaps would I be able to provide any cultural insight into the matter?
So, you know how in those adventure games you pick up an item and you carry it along with you until you *know* it's just the right time to use them?
Best. Re-gift. Ever.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
On Christmas morning, my brother, mother, and I gathered around the "tree" (which in actuality was a pine branch stuck in a pot that my brother had purchased from the "trimmings" pile at the Boy Scout tree lot for a whopping $5 - it was a truly ghetto-Christmas), and we took stock of our gifts. I got 3 small things and a red envelope this year - more than enough to be happy. One of the small things was a children's storybook we ran across whilst in the local Chinese bookstore several days before.
My mother knew that I'd been collecting Chinese children's fairytales to practice my reading, and though this one book in particular was in Taiwanese Pinyin and English (which unfortunately meant I couldn't really use it to learn my Mandarin pinyin), she found the title much too tempting to pass up. It was one in a series along with other children's fairytales like Cinderella, the 3 Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, and the like. Only this one was called "The Fragrant Smell."
Here's an excerpt from this precious little gem (click to enlarge the text to a readable size):
It's one of those "special" Chinese fairytales that somehow loses its charm in translation... or something. In any case, it's no wonder so few Chinese-American kids these days seem to know the tale of The Little Boy Who Sold Perfumed Farts.
Anyhow. You'd think this gift would be a story in and of itself, but this is the Bubonic Plague Luncheonette, and I am Ubernerd. Of course it gets better.
Flash forward a week to the first time I ever meet M's parents. I was a nervous wreck; I wanted so badly to make a good first impression. I agonized for hours over what kind of gifts to bring before deciding on a selection of Chinese pastries. After all, nothing says "Hi, I'm the girl who adores your son and would really love to date him, but I don't know how he feels about me. Say, maybe you could help me out with a little insight on that" like fresh lotus cakes and red bean pies from the Sheng Kee bakery lovingly hand-packed in a bright red box with imperial yellow tissue folded carefully inside. Martha Stewart would have approved.
Suffice to say, my efforts were not altogether lost. His mother and father turned out to be warm, lovely, and genuinely interesting folks with a love of learning about new cultures. I really enjoyed talking with them, and I dare say they probably did not find my company altogether loathsome. In fact, dinner conversation on the second night came around to a discussion of a young Taiwanese relative of theirs possibly coming to the States for a visit to work on his English, their concerns regarding the associated challenges they would have with communication and difference in culture, and perhaps would I be able to provide any cultural insight into the matter?
So, you know how in those adventure games you pick up an item and you carry it along with you until you *know* it's just the right time to use them?
Best. Re-gift. Ever.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Intricacies of Building a Bonfire
To put it succinctly, October has been a Month. I've done things this month that I wouldn't have even thought myself capable of doing going into it. I've experienced new joys and highs for the very first time, and I've also cried more than enough tears to last me well into the next year. I've gone from being able to barely put a torch in my mouth, to being a bona fide Piehole-Fire Artiste. I have had the rocks in my life turn to sand and slip through my fingers, casting me into some kind of merciless unknown, and causing me to question every belief I've built my world around. And that's just BETWEEN all the things I have scheduled on my official calendar of events!
The other day I celebrated International Brown Smear Day. For those of you who don't know, it falls on October 27th, according to my Ghetto Calendar Mini* (though I suspect I may have merely made up this holiday some months back in order to correspond with the chocolate stain I accidentally made on the page whilst drawing all the wobbly lines that make up the "grid"). My coworkers tell me I should just break down and go buy myself a real calendar already, but I personally enjoy having incidental holidays that correspond with food stains and my inability to count or draw a straight line (I got a whole extra week last October according to my 2007 Ghetto Calendar. It was great!).
It seems that while creating said calendar in my previous happier state, I also wrote down a (now rather painful) reminder that today is Matthew's birthday. As I look at the little, nearly-rectangular box filled with my clumsy handwriting, it feels as though my calendar's laughing at me. Reminding me that this time last year I'd gleefully awaited his reaction to the package that I'd sent him containing what I thought was this awesome thoughtful gift (a recipe book for modern sushi catering to those who are landlocked or unable to easily get sashimi-grade fish as easily as us lucky coastal residents) - feeling really happy that I'd gotten him something that he liked so much and that was so useful and theme-appropriate since he was having a sushi party to celebrate... it was just nothing but good times, growing positive energy, and inner smiles. It felt a lot like starting a bonfire in the rain. You know that moment when you're cold and damp, the wind is blowing and the rain is coming down, and you're trying to start a fire out of wet wood, a splash of white gas, and a couple sticks of dry kindling; when the limp little piece of cardboard you put in the pile manages to start the kindling, despite all odds, you realize that there's something inherently good, amazing, and special about what you've done, what you have, and what it could eventually be, and you can't help but smile from the inside. That's what it felt like last year.
This year? Today? It feels like I'm standing in the rain again, tending that same fire, trying to readjust all the stuff that I've thrown into it (both good wood and bad - it's all that I had), because it's not getting any bigger, shit is collapsing, and it seems like all I'm doing is making it worse because I don't know which way the wind is blowing. It's a constant dance to sustain the fire as it is, and has become more exhausting than it is warm or comforting. It's only a matter of time before I can do no more, and the fire will die - the only reason it got as large as it did was partly luck and partly my moving the larger pieces of wood around and watching for the fire to respond. And while I can't say I've ever been taught the proper way to maintain a fire... I know this is not it.
It's amazing what kind of metaphors you can think of when you're absorbed in a task. Last weekend at Legends was a complete and utter clusterfuck. I won't get into the gritty details, but in order to cover for an enormous mistake on management's behalf, I took responsibility for building a bonfire in the pouring rain in order to make sure that major events that players were counting on could take place - it was a job that needed to be done, and everyone else seemed to be afflicted with a case of rectal-cranial press-fit. I was on my own.
I made a fire so big I could see Udo's tent from the center of the merc camp. It was part luck, part believing there was something good that could come from all the work that I put in, and whole lot of perseverance and determination to do what I thought was the right thing no matter how much the world was working against me. I went through the dance, I threw in the only wood I had - both good and bad - posts, plywood, a desk drawer. Everything I had, I gave to the flames, and in doing so, I came to realize how sad my life has become; that its major themes can be condensed into a single metaphor revolving around building a fire in trying conditions and daring to hope despite the odds and everything else that tells me I am doing a stupid, illogical thing.
It has been a long time since I felt the intense loneliness that I felt the night I made that bonfire. That loneliness continues to punctuate my everyday life - I pull away from those that tell me to leave the fire alone, and just let it disappear. They tell me it has no meaning, does no good, that it is trivial, insignificant, and I am foolish and destructive to keep it in my life. There is no one else who will help me, who will reassure or keep my hope and my faith in this fire alive. And as each day goes by, the more I tend this fire, the more unsure of myself I become. I have stopped even trying to explain to people why I continue to do what I do - it seems that the more I explain, the more I alienate myself from everyone else. Everyone watching me asks me the same things: "why are you doing this? Why is this even worth it to you? What is the point? What makes you even think that that what you're doing is helping the fire? You can't even reap the benefits of being around this fire right now. You didn't promise anyone you would keep this fire going - and there's no guarantee that this fire won't just go out - there's nothing that says the fire has to keep going for you. Why don't you just find something else to do that's easier and less exhausting than taking care of a fire in the rain and wind? I wouldn't ever want to try doing it - it's too much trouble."
I don't even know what to say anymore. The only thing I can say is: he is the ember that turned to a flame that brought a fire to my life when I only had the cold, the wind, and the rain. He is my fire in the rain. Most people will never know what that means. But perhaps those who do know might better understand why it is that I am doing what I am doing, no matter how terrifying and foolish it may be.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
____
* For those of you who don't know the story, I had a brilliant idea last year when I thought to myself "man, I am busy this month. I have so many commitments and people keep asking me to make more. How the heck am I going to keep them all straight so I can plan? I know, I'll just take a piece of paper and draw out a grid here, and make a spreadsheet of all the days that I am busy this month! Genius! I wonder why no one's ever thought of this befo... oh my god, I just re-invented the calendar. Arrrrrgh." Yes folks, that's MIT engineering for you.
To commemorate my brilliant re-invention of the calendar, I make a new page every month, and tack it to my cubicle wall. It's a reminder to me that before I try to invent a solution for a problem from scratch, I should always check to make sure there isn't already a good existing solution first. Thus, the Ghetto Calendar. What I do to make them is take an 11 x 17 sheet of paper with an outdated but classified schematic printed on it (which means I can't recycle it), and I hand-draw a crappy-looking grid out on the back. I then write down the right hand side in a fat blue sharpie "GHETTO CALENDAR [Month, Year]" and then I write down all my plans. When I only have an 8.5 x 11 sheet, it's called a Ghetto Calendar Mini.
The other day I celebrated International Brown Smear Day. For those of you who don't know, it falls on October 27th, according to my Ghetto Calendar Mini* (though I suspect I may have merely made up this holiday some months back in order to correspond with the chocolate stain I accidentally made on the page whilst drawing all the wobbly lines that make up the "grid"). My coworkers tell me I should just break down and go buy myself a real calendar already, but I personally enjoy having incidental holidays that correspond with food stains and my inability to count or draw a straight line (I got a whole extra week last October according to my 2007 Ghetto Calendar. It was great!).
It seems that while creating said calendar in my previous happier state, I also wrote down a (now rather painful) reminder that today is Matthew's birthday. As I look at the little, nearly-rectangular box filled with my clumsy handwriting, it feels as though my calendar's laughing at me. Reminding me that this time last year I'd gleefully awaited his reaction to the package that I'd sent him containing what I thought was this awesome thoughtful gift (a recipe book for modern sushi catering to those who are landlocked or unable to easily get sashimi-grade fish as easily as us lucky coastal residents) - feeling really happy that I'd gotten him something that he liked so much and that was so useful and theme-appropriate since he was having a sushi party to celebrate... it was just nothing but good times, growing positive energy, and inner smiles. It felt a lot like starting a bonfire in the rain. You know that moment when you're cold and damp, the wind is blowing and the rain is coming down, and you're trying to start a fire out of wet wood, a splash of white gas, and a couple sticks of dry kindling; when the limp little piece of cardboard you put in the pile manages to start the kindling, despite all odds, you realize that there's something inherently good, amazing, and special about what you've done, what you have, and what it could eventually be, and you can't help but smile from the inside. That's what it felt like last year.
This year? Today? It feels like I'm standing in the rain again, tending that same fire, trying to readjust all the stuff that I've thrown into it (both good wood and bad - it's all that I had), because it's not getting any bigger, shit is collapsing, and it seems like all I'm doing is making it worse because I don't know which way the wind is blowing. It's a constant dance to sustain the fire as it is, and has become more exhausting than it is warm or comforting. It's only a matter of time before I can do no more, and the fire will die - the only reason it got as large as it did was partly luck and partly my moving the larger pieces of wood around and watching for the fire to respond. And while I can't say I've ever been taught the proper way to maintain a fire... I know this is not it.
It's amazing what kind of metaphors you can think of when you're absorbed in a task. Last weekend at Legends was a complete and utter clusterfuck. I won't get into the gritty details, but in order to cover for an enormous mistake on management's behalf, I took responsibility for building a bonfire in the pouring rain in order to make sure that major events that players were counting on could take place - it was a job that needed to be done, and everyone else seemed to be afflicted with a case of rectal-cranial press-fit. I was on my own.
I made a fire so big I could see Udo's tent from the center of the merc camp. It was part luck, part believing there was something good that could come from all the work that I put in, and whole lot of perseverance and determination to do what I thought was the right thing no matter how much the world was working against me. I went through the dance, I threw in the only wood I had - both good and bad - posts, plywood, a desk drawer. Everything I had, I gave to the flames, and in doing so, I came to realize how sad my life has become; that its major themes can be condensed into a single metaphor revolving around building a fire in trying conditions and daring to hope despite the odds and everything else that tells me I am doing a stupid, illogical thing.
It has been a long time since I felt the intense loneliness that I felt the night I made that bonfire. That loneliness continues to punctuate my everyday life - I pull away from those that tell me to leave the fire alone, and just let it disappear. They tell me it has no meaning, does no good, that it is trivial, insignificant, and I am foolish and destructive to keep it in my life. There is no one else who will help me, who will reassure or keep my hope and my faith in this fire alive. And as each day goes by, the more I tend this fire, the more unsure of myself I become. I have stopped even trying to explain to people why I continue to do what I do - it seems that the more I explain, the more I alienate myself from everyone else. Everyone watching me asks me the same things: "why are you doing this? Why is this even worth it to you? What is the point? What makes you even think that that what you're doing is helping the fire? You can't even reap the benefits of being around this fire right now. You didn't promise anyone you would keep this fire going - and there's no guarantee that this fire won't just go out - there's nothing that says the fire has to keep going for you. Why don't you just find something else to do that's easier and less exhausting than taking care of a fire in the rain and wind? I wouldn't ever want to try doing it - it's too much trouble."
I don't even know what to say anymore. The only thing I can say is: he is the ember that turned to a flame that brought a fire to my life when I only had the cold, the wind, and the rain. He is my fire in the rain. Most people will never know what that means. But perhaps those who do know might better understand why it is that I am doing what I am doing, no matter how terrifying and foolish it may be.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
____
* For those of you who don't know the story, I had a brilliant idea last year when I thought to myself "man, I am busy this month. I have so many commitments and people keep asking me to make more. How the heck am I going to keep them all straight so I can plan? I know, I'll just take a piece of paper and draw out a grid here, and make a spreadsheet of all the days that I am busy this month! Genius! I wonder why no one's ever thought of this befo... oh my god, I just re-invented the calendar. Arrrrrgh." Yes folks, that's MIT engineering for you.
To commemorate my brilliant re-invention of the calendar, I make a new page every month, and tack it to my cubicle wall. It's a reminder to me that before I try to invent a solution for a problem from scratch, I should always check to make sure there isn't already a good existing solution first. Thus, the Ghetto Calendar. What I do to make them is take an 11 x 17 sheet of paper with an outdated but classified schematic printed on it (which means I can't recycle it), and I hand-draw a crappy-looking grid out on the back. I then write down the right hand side in a fat blue sharpie "GHETTO CALENDAR [Month, Year]" and then I write down all my plans. When I only have an 8.5 x 11 sheet, it's called a Ghetto Calendar Mini.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I Have Bad Gas.
Here's a little story in the grand scheme of things that's light enough to be a tasty snack; definitely not too heavy, as seems to be the case with the remainder of all things in my life as of late.
I can't even begin to elaborate on the heartbreak that I am experiencing on so many different levels - family, friends, the light in my life grows dimmer and farther out of my reach: perhaps soon to be gone completely out of my life just as quickly as he came into it. Who knows? All magnificent things burn bright, only to burn out and fade away.
Instead, I will write about bad gas.
The other day I went into the CVS to pick up my monthly prescription. This was nothing out of the ordinary. However, this month, in addition to the usual purchase of cat treats and my pink pills, I was on the lookout for activated charcoal tablets.
You see, I have been doing a lot of fire eating lately - both performances and practice, and I had been told at this past Wildfire (which is a whole other story in and of itself) that perhaps the best thing a fire-eating performer can do for themselves to remove the white gas toxins from their body, is to take an activated charcoal tablet once they reach a certain level/volume of performing (this is especially relevant since I have been developing my repertoire of vapor tricks).
So there I was in the CVS pondering the natural supplements aisle. I had been told that charcoal tablets were easily found in any health food store, and yet there were no charcoal tablets to be seen. The holistic remedy display at the CVS was organized alphabetically, and then again grouped by remedy type: immunity boosting, hormonal therapy, etc. etc. Being unfamiliar with the exact function that activated charcoal tablets served in the holistic supplement world, I logically deduced from my dusty old banks of medical knowledge (ie whatever I learned from writing Hurl + Swirl's Hospital Mayhem Game) that it probably had something to do with detoxification (since charcoal is traditionally used in a stomach pump). Looking in the detox section, however, there were still no tablets to be seen. Finally, I had to ask. The clerk at the prescription counter very helpfully told me "oh it's in aisle 8, over near the antacids," to which I replied "oh cool, thanks!"
I looked and looked at the antacids, but I could not find the charcoal tabs. I looked for a good 5 minutes until I spied a bright pink box that my eyes had somehow avoided the first 20 passes over that shelf. There it was, on the Pepto-pink box in big bubble letters: Charco-Caps - NATURAL HOLISTIC REMEDY FOR FLATULENCE AND BAD GAS.
Awesome. What a discreet little piece of packaging. I took a box and thought to myself "I'll just carry it around with the back side facing out." No dice there, of course. Those Charco-guys thought of everything when it came to making the most embarrassing product packaging possible: on the back in big black letters read "WARNING: MAY CAUSE TEMPORARY DISCOLORATION OF STOOLS." Nice.
Going up to the counter to pay, I realized that the guys at CVS must think I am one of the grossest persons in the world: the only things I ever buy there are birth control pills, tampons, cat treats, and now apparently FART PILLS. One time I bought a tube of Monistat. I mean, the only thing I could do to make it worse at this point is by rounding it all out nicely with a water and vinegar douche. I thought at first I might try to explain, but in truth how contrived does it sound when you say to the clerk "oh, actually I'm taking these charcoal pills for detox purposes because I'm a fire eater." After some contemplation, I figured it's just not worth it, and I just paid for my fart pills and left, with as much of my dignity as I could manage intact.
So let that be a lesson to you fire-eaters out there. If you want to buy yourself some charcoal tabs, you have to pay the price.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
I can't even begin to elaborate on the heartbreak that I am experiencing on so many different levels - family, friends, the light in my life grows dimmer and farther out of my reach: perhaps soon to be gone completely out of my life just as quickly as he came into it. Who knows? All magnificent things burn bright, only to burn out and fade away.
Instead, I will write about bad gas.
The other day I went into the CVS to pick up my monthly prescription. This was nothing out of the ordinary. However, this month, in addition to the usual purchase of cat treats and my pink pills, I was on the lookout for activated charcoal tablets.
You see, I have been doing a lot of fire eating lately - both performances and practice, and I had been told at this past Wildfire (which is a whole other story in and of itself) that perhaps the best thing a fire-eating performer can do for themselves to remove the white gas toxins from their body, is to take an activated charcoal tablet once they reach a certain level/volume of performing (this is especially relevant since I have been developing my repertoire of vapor tricks).
So there I was in the CVS pondering the natural supplements aisle. I had been told that charcoal tablets were easily found in any health food store, and yet there were no charcoal tablets to be seen. The holistic remedy display at the CVS was organized alphabetically, and then again grouped by remedy type: immunity boosting, hormonal therapy, etc. etc. Being unfamiliar with the exact function that activated charcoal tablets served in the holistic supplement world, I logically deduced from my dusty old banks of medical knowledge (ie whatever I learned from writing Hurl + Swirl's Hospital Mayhem Game) that it probably had something to do with detoxification (since charcoal is traditionally used in a stomach pump). Looking in the detox section, however, there were still no tablets to be seen. Finally, I had to ask. The clerk at the prescription counter very helpfully told me "oh it's in aisle 8, over near the antacids," to which I replied "oh cool, thanks!"
I looked and looked at the antacids, but I could not find the charcoal tabs. I looked for a good 5 minutes until I spied a bright pink box that my eyes had somehow avoided the first 20 passes over that shelf. There it was, on the Pepto-pink box in big bubble letters: Charco-Caps - NATURAL HOLISTIC REMEDY FOR FLATULENCE AND BAD GAS.
Awesome. What a discreet little piece of packaging. I took a box and thought to myself "I'll just carry it around with the back side facing out." No dice there, of course. Those Charco-guys thought of everything when it came to making the most embarrassing product packaging possible: on the back in big black letters read "WARNING: MAY CAUSE TEMPORARY DISCOLORATION OF STOOLS." Nice.
Going up to the counter to pay, I realized that the guys at CVS must think I am one of the grossest persons in the world: the only things I ever buy there are birth control pills, tampons, cat treats, and now apparently FART PILLS. One time I bought a tube of Monistat. I mean, the only thing I could do to make it worse at this point is by rounding it all out nicely with a water and vinegar douche. I thought at first I might try to explain, but in truth how contrived does it sound when you say to the clerk "oh, actually I'm taking these charcoal pills for detox purposes because I'm a fire eater." After some contemplation, I figured it's just not worth it, and I just paid for my fart pills and left, with as much of my dignity as I could manage intact.
So let that be a lesson to you fire-eaters out there. If you want to buy yourself some charcoal tabs, you have to pay the price.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Leading the Forefront of Deliciousness
My dear readers, you simply must try these chips:
Be sure you get a huge mouthful on your first bite. Then let me know what you think of them in the comments section. :)
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Be sure you get a huge mouthful on your first bite. Then let me know what you think of them in the comments section. :)
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Sausage is Sausage
I'm amazed at the sheer volume of crap writing I can produce late at night when given a little cold medicine and a general direction. It bothers me how bimodal the stuff in the Plague is, though lately it's been pretty lopsided in terms of balancing out the emo-bullshit with the humor.
Enough is enough. It's high time I add a little awesome back into this thing to make it worth reading... because apparently, none of you lazy boobs clicked on the Rabbit Poo video link that I put up a couple weeks ago. That was a brilliant video - for shame that none of you commented on such a golden find.
I bought lunch from the vending machine just now. Let me tell you just how badly that is going. First off, I decided to mix things up a little bit my forgoing the safe option of the ham 'n cheese Hot Pocket because I saw a package that said "sausage and biscuits - 2 pack" for the same price and I was curious. I'd been wondering about it for the past month and a half, and that *should* have indicated to a normal person that maybe there was a reason why no one else had bought the sausage and biscuits - 2 pack. But not me. I love sausage. Every once in a while I forgo my primarily chicken & fish intake and indulge in a little junk meat because it just tastes so damn good (and let's face it folks, breakfast sausage is slummin' in the meat world). Besides, I was already buying lunch from a vending machine, might as well go all the way and try something new. This purchase wasn't exactly unfounded - at the last building we had a frozen-foods vending machine and the sausage egg 'n cheese biscuits were unexpectedly delicious.
I did however regret my purchase as soon as I pulled it out of the tray though. First of all, these sausage biscuits looked a whole lot bigger in the vending machine - these little buggers were awfully shriveled and small in person. They also lacked egg and cheese, which was disappointing but not a huge surprise for $1.75. The kicker though, were the microwaving instructions, which were vague at best. Step 1: Thaw biscuits completely. Step 2: Remove from wrapper. Step 3: microwave 2 biscuits at high power for 30 seconds. Biscuits should be wrapped in a napkin.
Naturally I thought step 1 implied shoving these things in the microwave and hitting "auto-defrost", except that step 2 implied that the wrapper wasn't microwaveable. What am I supposed to do with these things then? Sit on them? I don't know. I ended up removing them from their wrapper and defrosting them for a minute, which was probably a mistake because I skipped the napkin part for step 2, which was apparently crucial in the microwaving process. This omission turned the biscuits into sponges, and then to styrofoam during step 3.
In terms of taste, the sausage tastes like a cross-section of a dachshund and I think I just saw pink on the inside despite the package advertising that everything is "fully cooked." I feel as though I'm dissatisfied enough to demand my money back, although I don't know how to return the product now that I've eaten it all (I was HUNGRY, okay?)... no wait nevermind, I do - I suddenly have to go to the bathroom right now.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Enough is enough. It's high time I add a little awesome back into this thing to make it worth reading... because apparently, none of you lazy boobs clicked on the Rabbit Poo video link that I put up a couple weeks ago. That was a brilliant video - for shame that none of you commented on such a golden find.
I bought lunch from the vending machine just now. Let me tell you just how badly that is going. First off, I decided to mix things up a little bit my forgoing the safe option of the ham 'n cheese Hot Pocket because I saw a package that said "sausage and biscuits - 2 pack" for the same price and I was curious. I'd been wondering about it for the past month and a half, and that *should* have indicated to a normal person that maybe there was a reason why no one else had bought the sausage and biscuits - 2 pack. But not me. I love sausage. Every once in a while I forgo my primarily chicken & fish intake and indulge in a little junk meat because it just tastes so damn good (and let's face it folks, breakfast sausage is slummin' in the meat world). Besides, I was already buying lunch from a vending machine, might as well go all the way and try something new. This purchase wasn't exactly unfounded - at the last building we had a frozen-foods vending machine and the sausage egg 'n cheese biscuits were unexpectedly delicious.
I did however regret my purchase as soon as I pulled it out of the tray though. First of all, these sausage biscuits looked a whole lot bigger in the vending machine - these little buggers were awfully shriveled and small in person. They also lacked egg and cheese, which was disappointing but not a huge surprise for $1.75. The kicker though, were the microwaving instructions, which were vague at best. Step 1: Thaw biscuits completely. Step 2: Remove from wrapper. Step 3: microwave 2 biscuits at high power for 30 seconds. Biscuits should be wrapped in a napkin.
Naturally I thought step 1 implied shoving these things in the microwave and hitting "auto-defrost", except that step 2 implied that the wrapper wasn't microwaveable. What am I supposed to do with these things then? Sit on them? I don't know. I ended up removing them from their wrapper and defrosting them for a minute, which was probably a mistake because I skipped the napkin part for step 2, which was apparently crucial in the microwaving process. This omission turned the biscuits into sponges, and then to styrofoam during step 3.
In terms of taste, the sausage tastes like a cross-section of a dachshund and I think I just saw pink on the inside despite the package advertising that everything is "fully cooked." I feel as though I'm dissatisfied enough to demand my money back, although I don't know how to return the product now that I've eaten it all (I was HUNGRY, okay?)... no wait nevermind, I do - I suddenly have to go to the bathroom right now.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Some Good Ol' Bitching and Griping
No good deed ever goes unpunished, let me tell you.
Last weekend, in the wake of a really terrible week culminating in the kitteh scaring the shit out of me with a false medical alarm (she threaded herself through the handle of a Teavana bag some time while I was at work and panicked when she got stuck, much like a seagull in a plastic six-pack holder, and tore ass around the house, scattering Jen's expensive birthday tea everywhere in a grand chai-splosion of epic house-perfuming proportions. All in all pretty funny, except that I was afraid she'd eaten some and gotten poisoned - but fortunately for all, she is fine), I felt an incredible need for human company. For the last couple of months, I have been immersed in various projects and have turned down a good number of social gatherings in favor of getting things done. Only now, I have begun to realize the ramifications of falling out of touch with one's friends: mainly, they all move on without you. Needless to say, upon realizing this fact, I was overcome with a profound sadness that only comes from discovering that you have been forgotten and left behind; in a way, your friendship made obsolete. It's a good thing I wasn't born an iPod, otherwise who knows what kind of horrible emotional trauma I would suffer the moment a better piece of technology from the iCult came out to replace me? I think I've written about this once before, but I suppose it only goes to show just how much I haven't changed - I am still terrified of being forgotten and easily replaced.
So this past weekend - determined to define a use for myself and to justify my existence, I went out of my way to re-establish contact with some of the people that I have purposely distanced myself from, and in a way refresh a little confidence in the fact that my friendship is still worth something. I hopped into my little asian-mobile (newly furnished with a dangly tassled mirror-fob - a thoughtful gift which garnered me even more asian-cred in the Super 88 parking lot than just my poor parking skills alone), and created my own little PeePod Delivery service by bringing asian groceries and homemade chicken-vegetable soup to a very sick Tom, who was festering at home alone. I proceeded to stay for several hours to heckle a truly abysmal SciFi channel rendition of Arabian Nights, despite his repeated warnings that I might get sick as well. I believe I used the all-condemning phrase "I'll be just fine."
So of course here I am several days later, suffering from whatever leprosy Tom had over the weekend, and let me tell you - nothing is worse than blowing your nose and temporarily losing hearing in one ear. It does nothing for the Best of Depeche Mode no matter how loud you blast it through your earbuds at the office. And the general facial leaking and uncontrollable sneezing? Terrible. I would not highly recommend this cold. I don't know if I should go into any more graphic details, but let's just say that the crowning jewel of this particular illness is the occasional accompaniment of loose bowels and bad gas. Soup farts: I'm lovin' it.
However, despite the general grossness and the fever, being in the company of a close friend was well worth it. I have since realized that my descent into crankiness and emotional instability as of late has been a result of my honestly missing close human company - not even in a sexual way, but mainly companionship in general. As I am sure some of you will bewail drawbacks of falling back onto the company of an ex, I too have made myself very aware of the potential to fall back into some bad habits, and I am treading carefully down this path in fear that I might once again be retarded (but folks, grant me this: I am at least wearing my tard-helmet this time and I am being careful with training wheels). The one thing I do know is that I tried very firmly distancing myself from him, and it didn't really feel so good. It was a little bit like cutting off my own arm - I found myself missing the comfort of someone that I could talk to in an extremely honest manner; someone that I didn't have to worry about offending or trying to impress. Whatever miserable history we might have, I really just miss one of my best friends - I mean, let's face it, if you're a person who enjoys conversation that is in highly questionable taste, you're not going to have a lot of close friends who can tolerate that, let alone enjoy it and contribute (ah Steve, if only you lived less than 2 hours away). So when you do find 'em, you really want to hang on to the ones that you have.
I find myself questioning whether this is a reaction to the fact that I am feeling a little unloved - or, well, I suppose it's more of a feeling like I'm hanging on to nothing, though I'm supposed to have it on good faith that there might be something there.
Actually at this point, since I'm already putting it all out there, I might as well aim right for the electric third rail, and not just piss in the general vicinity here: I feel like I'm losing my grip on my rationality with respect to Matthew and that inconvenient expanse of land that prevents me from hopping in my car and driving over to him and saying this all in person.
What the hell is the matter now? you might ask. Didn't you just spend lots of time with this guy and go tromping through a graveyard together? Isn't there a Cruxshadows song about that?
In reverse order, the answers are "no", "yes", and "I am a girl and therefore afflicted with the same selective amnesia that plagues every member of my gender." Every now and then, I need to be reminded that I'm worth something and I am well-liked by those who matter to me. It makes me a needy asshole, just like every other cranky broad out there. I used to hate it and try to force myself to dissociate that part of my personality with the rest of me, mainly because of how much the men I've been with have belittled the concept of neediness and have pushed me away whenever I have asked for a little affirmation, but now I've just come to hate it and be aware and accept it as a necessary evil part of my maintenance and care: basically, just like soap and tampons. Is it abnormal to try and deny neediness? Or are most of the men I've been with worthless douchebags (this is entirely plausible - I have reliable confirmation that at least one of them is a donut-punching waste of air, but hey, who am I to complain? He's the one who babies a car that also aptly describes the size of his wang and has a girlfriend with an Adam's apple). You tell me.
Regardless - the point is that right now, I'm having a hard time hanging on. I'm having a hard time continuing to believe that there is something worth working towards and putting in the effort to see where it will go... mainly because I feel like I've hit a wall in terms of getting any kind of insight into him. Normally I feel as though I am fairly able to read people, but he really is a black box. I can't get him to share any of his thoughts or feelings freely - it's a constant game of question-and-answer, and coming up with questions (clever, inquisitive, or otherwise) can get exhausting! Conversation never flows freely, and I always feel like I am over-sharing (and not even in the Tales of Restroom Destruction way either!), though it may just be that I need to calm down and accept that he's just a private type who doesn't share, and doesn't do the small-talk thing either. I've got to admit that I haven't dealt with that type often, and being unable to elicit any kind of heartfelt response in any way (good or bad: I can't even offend him!) can get a good bit discouraging - especially if you're busting out your grade A material there (okay, I guess in this case, I've tried to mix it up with some grade C pedestrian conversation starters since my grade A material is something very few people get excited about - see above about close friends and their appreciation for the gross). Kind of makes you feel forgotten, or more accurately, insignificant (ohh, see how I came full-circle there? Man, it's so awesome when my incoherent rambling comes all the way back around to making sense). And really, when you start getting the feeling that you don't really matter to someone the same way they matter to you - it's probably time to think about packing up shop. There's nothing more awkward than opening up to someone and being unable to get them to do the same - "I do not understand you Scott Thomas. But if you do not wish to talk to me, then I do not wish to talk to you." I feel like all signs indicate that I should be backing away from this - I would read this behavior from the average person as a negative reaction to the attention I'm directing towards them, and the polite thing to do would be to drop the issue altogether, n'est-ce pas?
Yet there are other actions that imply the opposite - am I supposed to take for granted that actions speak louder than words? Not a day goes by when I don't get a message from him asking how I am - it is one of the best parts of my work day, it can turn a total krappenfest of a day around; and I have grown so accustomed to it that I feel as if my morning is incomplete if I don't hear from him. He consults me for input on designs and details for his business... then again, that's something you can ask any friend - it's nothing assumed to be special. He called on my birthday... then again, I have low expectations - no one I've been with has been big on birthdays (it's a good excuse for forgetting or just being cheap) - and my friends threw me a poo-party this past year, so I now have a hard time attributing anything romantic to birthdays anymore. The big one, of course, is that he came all the way out to the shitty-side of the US to see me. That's big right? That must mean something right? I don't know - you tell me. He'd never been to the east coast before, and I offered to show him around. There's no strings attached to that - no more so than what any good friend would offer. I tried to ask, but I really got little more than an obfuscated answer - something to the effect of "I came out here to see you. I do care about you." I'm not sure what it is I am looking for, but that still doesn't really put it over the tipping point one way or the other for me. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the way I had to pry it out of him with questions that made me feel increasingly awkward as I asked. That's never a good sign - if you have to ask, chances are the answer's not what you want to hear. And yet, at this point, the only thing I want to hear is yea or nay. I'm tired of dangling in an indefinite state. As Dave so eloquently put it, "maybe it's time to shit or get off the pot."
Definitions and labels can be an uncomfortable thing. Especially at this time when I'm stuck over here and he's stuck over there. It's not a logical thing to put a label on something so premature - we've spent a total of maybe 10 days in person together, and the jump from spending no time at all to being together 24 hours a day for 5 days is huge. Neither is representative of what ideally either of us would be looking for, though anything different is simply not feasible with the distance, and that really makes it difficult to gently ramp up the amount of time spent together should we grow more comfortable with one another. The only change we can hope for is the long-shot chance that there is an intellectually challenging job out here that would pay him what he is worth, and that he would deign to move all the way out to this piss-ass coast to be a little closer to me. I can't ask him for that - I hate Massachusetts so much that I wouldn't move out here for me, but even aside from that, I couldn't ask anyone to do that for me no matter how much I want it. That decision has to come from him - though making that decision would definitely clear things up one way or the other. Right now we're working on his resume, so perhaps that action speaks louder than the rest.
I'll see him again in another few weeks, though it is unlikely anything will change. He's coming for Wildfire, and the festival seems to be the foremost priority on his mind (and why not? It's Wildfire, after all! Plus, when you shell out $400 to fly in for a festival, you probably want to get your money's worth!). In fact, we're going to be heading up extra early in order for him to make business contacts and get to know the coordinators for the festival. I can't say that that's the way I really want to be spending the night before the festival, but what am I supposed to say that I haven't already said? "No one will be there. Who are we going to hang out with? Actually, I kinda prefer my memory-foam mattress over my crappy sleeping bag on the ground, and no, sleeping in a cabin with a bunch of other random people I don't really know is actually LESS appealing than sleeping by myself in my tent on the ground." Do I really want to be the cranky bitch that says "no, I'm not driving us there an extra day ahead of time just so we can spend an extra night hanging out with a few hippies" after he's forked over the airfare? Not really, though perhaps that action speaks louder than any facetious reassuring words I might have pried out of him the last time we were together. He's picked hanging out with hippies over spending an extra night with me, and maybe that should be the decision that I go by from this point forward. It's kind of hard to assume you're special when an evening with a bunch of strangers is considered more appealing. Maybe this whole past year was just an elaborate lead-up to score a free ride from the airport to the festival (awful, and yet I could totally respect him for being cunning in terms of saving money since I'm cheap and asian like that). Man that sure sounds bitchy... I don't know what the right answer to this is. Logically, you can't ask or expect a person to act in a way that you want when you can't define what it is - except by what it isn't. I'm of the mind to just shitcan any more hopes and expectations at this point, and resign myself to a long weekend of finding amusement on my own, since most of you know by now that my tolerance for hippies is kind of low. I love them for about 2.5 days at a time, maximum (which is conveniently the span of 1 Wildfire or local music festival - but at the end of day 2.5, it's *definitely* time for me to go home before I succumb to fits of Chakra Constipation). Thankfully though, a good bottle of wine seems to temporarily soothe those symptoms in a pinch - guess I'll be bringing a lot of that along this time around (wine that is - not Preparation-H, just in case anyone was reading into that poorly-crafted ass-metaphor). I don't have anything against specific hippies - it's mostly that I have a difficult time dealing with ADD that is more rampant than my own, and I don't really feel all that comfortable spending large amounts of time with people that I have little to nothing in common with. See above about forced conversation being taxing... and believe me some of that conversation will be forced. Fun fact! Did you know that some hippies don't completely read a poll before answering? It's true. In fact, it was from this very application that the Hurr scale of quantification was developed. The response "I once wore a pirate costume made out of leather and Duvetyne" rates a 3 out of 5 Hurrs on the Hurr scale (if this doesn't make sense, say each Hurr out loud and you will get a better idea). As a matter of fact, since I trust you readers to be a less Hurr-rich sample space, why don't you go answer my new poll to the right? If you choose "Other", you need to click the "Comment" link to this post and write in your suggestion. I trust you now. Don't let me down.
Sweetheart, are you reading this? Hippies, man. Hippies. You broke my heart.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Last weekend, in the wake of a really terrible week culminating in the kitteh scaring the shit out of me with a false medical alarm (she threaded herself through the handle of a Teavana bag some time while I was at work and panicked when she got stuck, much like a seagull in a plastic six-pack holder, and tore ass around the house, scattering Jen's expensive birthday tea everywhere in a grand chai-splosion of epic house-perfuming proportions. All in all pretty funny, except that I was afraid she'd eaten some and gotten poisoned - but fortunately for all, she is fine), I felt an incredible need for human company. For the last couple of months, I have been immersed in various projects and have turned down a good number of social gatherings in favor of getting things done. Only now, I have begun to realize the ramifications of falling out of touch with one's friends: mainly, they all move on without you. Needless to say, upon realizing this fact, I was overcome with a profound sadness that only comes from discovering that you have been forgotten and left behind; in a way, your friendship made obsolete. It's a good thing I wasn't born an iPod, otherwise who knows what kind of horrible emotional trauma I would suffer the moment a better piece of technology from the iCult came out to replace me? I think I've written about this once before, but I suppose it only goes to show just how much I haven't changed - I am still terrified of being forgotten and easily replaced.
So this past weekend - determined to define a use for myself and to justify my existence, I went out of my way to re-establish contact with some of the people that I have purposely distanced myself from, and in a way refresh a little confidence in the fact that my friendship is still worth something. I hopped into my little asian-mobile (newly furnished with a dangly tassled mirror-fob - a thoughtful gift which garnered me even more asian-cred in the Super 88 parking lot than just my poor parking skills alone), and created my own little PeePod Delivery service by bringing asian groceries and homemade chicken-vegetable soup to a very sick Tom, who was festering at home alone. I proceeded to stay for several hours to heckle a truly abysmal SciFi channel rendition of Arabian Nights, despite his repeated warnings that I might get sick as well. I believe I used the all-condemning phrase "I'll be just fine."
So of course here I am several days later, suffering from whatever leprosy Tom had over the weekend, and let me tell you - nothing is worse than blowing your nose and temporarily losing hearing in one ear. It does nothing for the Best of Depeche Mode no matter how loud you blast it through your earbuds at the office. And the general facial leaking and uncontrollable sneezing? Terrible. I would not highly recommend this cold. I don't know if I should go into any more graphic details, but let's just say that the crowning jewel of this particular illness is the occasional accompaniment of loose bowels and bad gas. Soup farts: I'm lovin' it.
However, despite the general grossness and the fever, being in the company of a close friend was well worth it. I have since realized that my descent into crankiness and emotional instability as of late has been a result of my honestly missing close human company - not even in a sexual way, but mainly companionship in general. As I am sure some of you will bewail drawbacks of falling back onto the company of an ex, I too have made myself very aware of the potential to fall back into some bad habits, and I am treading carefully down this path in fear that I might once again be retarded (but folks, grant me this: I am at least wearing my tard-helmet this time and I am being careful with training wheels). The one thing I do know is that I tried very firmly distancing myself from him, and it didn't really feel so good. It was a little bit like cutting off my own arm - I found myself missing the comfort of someone that I could talk to in an extremely honest manner; someone that I didn't have to worry about offending or trying to impress. Whatever miserable history we might have, I really just miss one of my best friends - I mean, let's face it, if you're a person who enjoys conversation that is in highly questionable taste, you're not going to have a lot of close friends who can tolerate that, let alone enjoy it and contribute (ah Steve, if only you lived less than 2 hours away). So when you do find 'em, you really want to hang on to the ones that you have.
I find myself questioning whether this is a reaction to the fact that I am feeling a little unloved - or, well, I suppose it's more of a feeling like I'm hanging on to nothing, though I'm supposed to have it on good faith that there might be something there.
Actually at this point, since I'm already putting it all out there, I might as well aim right for the electric third rail, and not just piss in the general vicinity here: I feel like I'm losing my grip on my rationality with respect to Matthew and that inconvenient expanse of land that prevents me from hopping in my car and driving over to him and saying this all in person.
What the hell is the matter now? you might ask. Didn't you just spend lots of time with this guy and go tromping through a graveyard together? Isn't there a Cruxshadows song about that?
In reverse order, the answers are "no", "yes", and "I am a girl and therefore afflicted with the same selective amnesia that plagues every member of my gender." Every now and then, I need to be reminded that I'm worth something and I am well-liked by those who matter to me. It makes me a needy asshole, just like every other cranky broad out there. I used to hate it and try to force myself to dissociate that part of my personality with the rest of me, mainly because of how much the men I've been with have belittled the concept of neediness and have pushed me away whenever I have asked for a little affirmation, but now I've just come to hate it and be aware and accept it as a necessary evil part of my maintenance and care: basically, just like soap and tampons. Is it abnormal to try and deny neediness? Or are most of the men I've been with worthless douchebags (this is entirely plausible - I have reliable confirmation that at least one of them is a donut-punching waste of air, but hey, who am I to complain? He's the one who babies a car that also aptly describes the size of his wang and has a girlfriend with an Adam's apple). You tell me.
Regardless - the point is that right now, I'm having a hard time hanging on. I'm having a hard time continuing to believe that there is something worth working towards and putting in the effort to see where it will go... mainly because I feel like I've hit a wall in terms of getting any kind of insight into him. Normally I feel as though I am fairly able to read people, but he really is a black box. I can't get him to share any of his thoughts or feelings freely - it's a constant game of question-and-answer, and coming up with questions (clever, inquisitive, or otherwise) can get exhausting! Conversation never flows freely, and I always feel like I am over-sharing (and not even in the Tales of Restroom Destruction way either!), though it may just be that I need to calm down and accept that he's just a private type who doesn't share, and doesn't do the small-talk thing either. I've got to admit that I haven't dealt with that type often, and being unable to elicit any kind of heartfelt response in any way (good or bad: I can't even offend him!) can get a good bit discouraging - especially if you're busting out your grade A material there (okay, I guess in this case, I've tried to mix it up with some grade C pedestrian conversation starters since my grade A material is something very few people get excited about - see above about close friends and their appreciation for the gross). Kind of makes you feel forgotten, or more accurately, insignificant (ohh, see how I came full-circle there? Man, it's so awesome when my incoherent rambling comes all the way back around to making sense). And really, when you start getting the feeling that you don't really matter to someone the same way they matter to you - it's probably time to think about packing up shop. There's nothing more awkward than opening up to someone and being unable to get them to do the same - "I do not understand you Scott Thomas. But if you do not wish to talk to me, then I do not wish to talk to you." I feel like all signs indicate that I should be backing away from this - I would read this behavior from the average person as a negative reaction to the attention I'm directing towards them, and the polite thing to do would be to drop the issue altogether, n'est-ce pas?
Yet there are other actions that imply the opposite - am I supposed to take for granted that actions speak louder than words? Not a day goes by when I don't get a message from him asking how I am - it is one of the best parts of my work day, it can turn a total krappenfest of a day around; and I have grown so accustomed to it that I feel as if my morning is incomplete if I don't hear from him. He consults me for input on designs and details for his business... then again, that's something you can ask any friend - it's nothing assumed to be special. He called on my birthday... then again, I have low expectations - no one I've been with has been big on birthdays (it's a good excuse for forgetting or just being cheap) - and my friends threw me a poo-party this past year, so I now have a hard time attributing anything romantic to birthdays anymore. The big one, of course, is that he came all the way out to the shitty-side of the US to see me. That's big right? That must mean something right? I don't know - you tell me. He'd never been to the east coast before, and I offered to show him around. There's no strings attached to that - no more so than what any good friend would offer. I tried to ask, but I really got little more than an obfuscated answer - something to the effect of "I came out here to see you. I do care about you." I'm not sure what it is I am looking for, but that still doesn't really put it over the tipping point one way or the other for me. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the way I had to pry it out of him with questions that made me feel increasingly awkward as I asked. That's never a good sign - if you have to ask, chances are the answer's not what you want to hear. And yet, at this point, the only thing I want to hear is yea or nay. I'm tired of dangling in an indefinite state. As Dave so eloquently put it, "maybe it's time to shit or get off the pot."
Definitions and labels can be an uncomfortable thing. Especially at this time when I'm stuck over here and he's stuck over there. It's not a logical thing to put a label on something so premature - we've spent a total of maybe 10 days in person together, and the jump from spending no time at all to being together 24 hours a day for 5 days is huge. Neither is representative of what ideally either of us would be looking for, though anything different is simply not feasible with the distance, and that really makes it difficult to gently ramp up the amount of time spent together should we grow more comfortable with one another. The only change we can hope for is the long-shot chance that there is an intellectually challenging job out here that would pay him what he is worth, and that he would deign to move all the way out to this piss-ass coast to be a little closer to me. I can't ask him for that - I hate Massachusetts so much that I wouldn't move out here for me, but even aside from that, I couldn't ask anyone to do that for me no matter how much I want it. That decision has to come from him - though making that decision would definitely clear things up one way or the other. Right now we're working on his resume, so perhaps that action speaks louder than the rest.
I'll see him again in another few weeks, though it is unlikely anything will change. He's coming for Wildfire, and the festival seems to be the foremost priority on his mind (and why not? It's Wildfire, after all! Plus, when you shell out $400 to fly in for a festival, you probably want to get your money's worth!). In fact, we're going to be heading up extra early in order for him to make business contacts and get to know the coordinators for the festival. I can't say that that's the way I really want to be spending the night before the festival, but what am I supposed to say that I haven't already said? "No one will be there. Who are we going to hang out with? Actually, I kinda prefer my memory-foam mattress over my crappy sleeping bag on the ground, and no, sleeping in a cabin with a bunch of other random people I don't really know is actually LESS appealing than sleeping by myself in my tent on the ground." Do I really want to be the cranky bitch that says "no, I'm not driving us there an extra day ahead of time just so we can spend an extra night hanging out with a few hippies" after he's forked over the airfare? Not really, though perhaps that action speaks louder than any facetious reassuring words I might have pried out of him the last time we were together. He's picked hanging out with hippies over spending an extra night with me, and maybe that should be the decision that I go by from this point forward. It's kind of hard to assume you're special when an evening with a bunch of strangers is considered more appealing. Maybe this whole past year was just an elaborate lead-up to score a free ride from the airport to the festival (awful, and yet I could totally respect him for being cunning in terms of saving money since I'm cheap and asian like that). Man that sure sounds bitchy... I don't know what the right answer to this is. Logically, you can't ask or expect a person to act in a way that you want when you can't define what it is - except by what it isn't. I'm of the mind to just shitcan any more hopes and expectations at this point, and resign myself to a long weekend of finding amusement on my own, since most of you know by now that my tolerance for hippies is kind of low. I love them for about 2.5 days at a time, maximum (which is conveniently the span of 1 Wildfire or local music festival - but at the end of day 2.5, it's *definitely* time for me to go home before I succumb to fits of Chakra Constipation). Thankfully though, a good bottle of wine seems to temporarily soothe those symptoms in a pinch - guess I'll be bringing a lot of that along this time around (wine that is - not Preparation-H, just in case anyone was reading into that poorly-crafted ass-metaphor). I don't have anything against specific hippies - it's mostly that I have a difficult time dealing with ADD that is more rampant than my own, and I don't really feel all that comfortable spending large amounts of time with people that I have little to nothing in common with. See above about forced conversation being taxing... and believe me some of that conversation will be forced. Fun fact! Did you know that some hippies don't completely read a poll before answering? It's true. In fact, it was from this very application that the Hurr scale of quantification was developed. The response "I once wore a pirate costume made out of leather and Duvetyne" rates a 3 out of 5 Hurrs on the Hurr scale (if this doesn't make sense, say each Hurr out loud and you will get a better idea). As a matter of fact, since I trust you readers to be a less Hurr-rich sample space, why don't you go answer my new poll to the right? If you choose "Other", you need to click the "Comment" link to this post and write in your suggestion. I trust you now. Don't let me down.
Sweetheart, are you reading this? Hippies, man. Hippies. You broke my heart.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
"BEST THING EVERRRRRR"
I was inconsolably sad Monday night. Everything around my house reminded me that he had just been there only hours ago, but was now well on his way home, 2000 miles away. It seemed that nothing could possibly cheer me up. Until I saw this.
I'm not sure how my brother knew that I would need it, but that video was indeed, as his email title advertised, the "BEST THING EVERRRRR". For the first and only time that evening I smiled, and then laughed. And for a moment I was able to forget how much quieter the house was now that it was just the butt-cat and me. For that moment, it was just quiet enough to fall asleep. And so, I crawled between my sheets, enveloped by a softness still smelling faintly like him, and dreamed vividly of rapid-fire rabbit crap and prune-smeared lips. I woke a little colder and still alone, the last traces of his scent already fading. But I knew it would somehow be okay. Poo makes everything okay.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
I'm not sure how my brother knew that I would need it, but that video was indeed, as his email title advertised, the "BEST THING EVERRRRR". For the first and only time that evening I smiled, and then laughed. And for a moment I was able to forget how much quieter the house was now that it was just the butt-cat and me. For that moment, it was just quiet enough to fall asleep. And so, I crawled between my sheets, enveloped by a softness still smelling faintly like him, and dreamed vividly of rapid-fire rabbit crap and prune-smeared lips. I woke a little colder and still alone, the last traces of his scent already fading. But I knew it would somehow be okay. Poo makes everything okay.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Where Do You Find a Smiling Goth?
At a cemetery, of course.
(No lie, in the two dozen or so pictures I have from this past weekend this is the only one in which we were both smiling)
Further bulletins as events warrant.
 |
| From The Bubonic Plague Luncheonette |
(No lie, in the two dozen or so pictures I have from this past weekend this is the only one in which we were both smiling)
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Hot Fudge Sunday
I am nothing, if not productive these days, and since this past Sunday was my birthday, I felt that there was no better way to celebrate than to kick my productivity into full gear and enter my 25th year with an entirely made-over apartment. Therefore as a present to myself, I purchased the most effective, space-age-looking vacuuming apparatus that I could afford (at a steep discount thanks to my asian cheapness, I might add), and I finally completed my furniture-staining project after 3 long years of procrastination. However, while my birthday plans primarily revolved around home improvement and decoration, my cat seemed to have a different agenda in mind.
For my birthday, Blackberry gave me a special birthday-turd. It was super stinky and ultra-fresh. Right there on my bedroom floor at the foot of my bed. I stepped in it and it was soft, so I could definitely tell. She seemed very pleased with her gift. I thought to myself "Oho! It is my birthday so I will clean the living jesus out of this place while I have the armoire out of the way." So I got my spiffy and intimidating new vacuum cleaner and I started to clean. Whilst pushing the vacuum vigorously, I accidentally ran over the cat turd in the bedroom, and I heard a "schlooop" noise. Suddenly everything began to smell terrible.
"UHHHH?? What's going on?" I thought, because I was still trying to figure out this new piece of equipment. The smell started getting worse and so I put the vacuum upright and clicked it into place, which (as I figured out) redirected the flow of air from the bottom of the vacuum right up through the handle (because it detaches and turns into a mini hand vac). This turned out to be a bad move because basically, it caused the vacuum to aim the stank-air RIGHT INTO MY FACE. I was horrified. I turned the thing off and went to go eject the canister because I figured that's where the cat turd ended up, and much to my surprise, the canister was REALLY WARM. I guess one of the features of the Dyson cyclone technology is that the empty canister doubles as the heat sink for the motor that produces the massive vacuuming power; so basically, I was cooking up a hot fresh cat poop omelette first thing in the morning. Upon further examination and subsequent emptying of the canister, I found that there was not a single whole turd, but a powdery mist of turd particles that had been ground up in the fine metal mesh of the inner filter as the turd was going around in the cyclone. So, in the span of less than 24 hours of owning the thing, I have coated the inside of my BRAND NEW vacuum cleaner in the smell of concentrated ass. I can't vacuum now without filling the room with the odor of hot litterbox and ionized air; and I really hope to god that this smell goes away when the cat crap dries out and eventually flakes away over time. Otherwise, I'm going to have the Dyson Nobody Wants.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
For my birthday, Blackberry gave me a special birthday-turd. It was super stinky and ultra-fresh. Right there on my bedroom floor at the foot of my bed. I stepped in it and it was soft, so I could definitely tell. She seemed very pleased with her gift. I thought to myself "Oho! It is my birthday so I will clean the living jesus out of this place while I have the armoire out of the way." So I got my spiffy and intimidating new vacuum cleaner and I started to clean. Whilst pushing the vacuum vigorously, I accidentally ran over the cat turd in the bedroom, and I heard a "schlooop" noise. Suddenly everything began to smell terrible.
"UHHHH?? What's going on?" I thought, because I was still trying to figure out this new piece of equipment. The smell started getting worse and so I put the vacuum upright and clicked it into place, which (as I figured out) redirected the flow of air from the bottom of the vacuum right up through the handle (because it detaches and turns into a mini hand vac). This turned out to be a bad move because basically, it caused the vacuum to aim the stank-air RIGHT INTO MY FACE. I was horrified. I turned the thing off and went to go eject the canister because I figured that's where the cat turd ended up, and much to my surprise, the canister was REALLY WARM. I guess one of the features of the Dyson cyclone technology is that the empty canister doubles as the heat sink for the motor that produces the massive vacuuming power; so basically, I was cooking up a hot fresh cat poop omelette first thing in the morning. Upon further examination and subsequent emptying of the canister, I found that there was not a single whole turd, but a powdery mist of turd particles that had been ground up in the fine metal mesh of the inner filter as the turd was going around in the cyclone. So, in the span of less than 24 hours of owning the thing, I have coated the inside of my BRAND NEW vacuum cleaner in the smell of concentrated ass. I can't vacuum now without filling the room with the odor of hot litterbox and ionized air; and I really hope to god that this smell goes away when the cat crap dries out and eventually flakes away over time. Otherwise, I'm going to have the Dyson Nobody Wants.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Reading Is Good For You
And as they say, reading good writing is better. Therefore, I have added a new link to my sidebar to some more quality reading; it's my brother's journal, which in my professional opinion is some undeniably funny ass shit. Please note his latest stories regarding the trials of major declaration at UC Berkeley. Read up. They include some of the best things I have ever heard, including "I should have said something like 'I want to buy a hooker and sit on her face. HER FACE. SIT ON HER FACE AS IF IT WERE A CUSHION.'"
10 times funnier than Tucker Max. No lie. He really is the Ang Who Got All the Writing Talent.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
10 times funnier than Tucker Max. No lie. He really is the Ang Who Got All the Writing Talent.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Let Me Tell You About My Grocery Bill
The other weekend, as I was driving the illustrious Ranson and myself over to Camp Marshall to staff for Legends, I was inspired by my good friend to stop at the Big Y to make a few purchases that he determined would be necessary for infecting the game with our particular brand of humor.
Thus I arrived at the campsite with a giant paper bag containing the following items: 5 boxes of Instant Pudding mix (3 of which were "chocolate", 2 of which were "pistachio, with nuts"), 1 bag of butterscotch chips, 1 giant bag of Tootsie Roll "Midgies", 1 box of Pillsbury milk chocolate brownie mix, and a single can of corn. I'm sure all of you know where this is going. Over the course of the weekend we were able to find a use for every item in said bag save that one lonely can of corn (which we decided against pouring into the giant pool of water in the epic waterfall adventure module after we were begged to go fix the leaks at 1 in the morning. Despite the confidence we might have had in our structural engineering, nothing is worse than being covered in a deluge of detergent-water and corn niblets in the event of a catastrophic plywood failure). Here is what we did with the items:
Sun-Ripened New Galen Mixed Field Browns - There's nothing better than a big bowl of cold pudding after running around all afternoon chasing "monsters" wearing rubber masks. Surely, we figured that an offer of "complimentary desserts" would be received well by our players and staff alike. Thus was born my new favorite pudding dessert: 3 heaping tablespoons of chocolate pudding mixed coarsely with 2 generous dollops of pistachio pudding (with nuts). Add butterscotch chips to the mix, give it a final stir, and voila! A delicious dessert with the aesthetic appeal of a bad bout with Mexican food. I personally had 5 bowls of the stuff because we were sadly unable to give a way a single freebie.
Tootsie-decor - Little-known fact: if you can't afford to buy Fimo, Sculpey, or any of those other expensive brands of modeling clay, Tootsie rolls microwaved for 5 seconds on high power make an excellent substitute. The only drawback is that they come in limited colors: mainly a rich nutty brown. However, unlike Fimo and Sculpey, Tootsie-decor is indeed edible, and there's no need to bake to harden your creations. By the end of the weekend, I'd managed to craft a Venus DiMilo from a handful of brown, and was respectfully dubbed "Poop-casso" by my ever-so-clever peers. Tootsies are excellent for adding that final touch of roleplay realism to that grilled cheese sandwich or bowl of burnt stew; after all, nothing says "the tavern apologizes for the rat infestation" like a tiny collection of brown dots delicately perched atop tuna on a hoagie bun.
Field Pies - Really, there's no need to explain this one. The only precaution I would note for aspiring dessert artists is that Pillsbury milk chocolate brownie mix is absolutely vile, and adding a hearty spoonful of Turkish coffee grounds and butterscotch chips doesn't make it any better. In fact, the fine-ground nature of the coffee causes it to burn, right around the cooking temperature for the brownie pile. I would highly recommend spending the extra 75 cents and purchasing a higher quality brand of mix for your "field pie".
All in all, we got a lot of mileage out of that one single bag of groceries. The only problem now, is that we need to somehow justify our misbehavior with the baked goods in order to get reimbursed...
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Thus I arrived at the campsite with a giant paper bag containing the following items: 5 boxes of Instant Pudding mix (3 of which were "chocolate", 2 of which were "pistachio, with nuts"), 1 bag of butterscotch chips, 1 giant bag of Tootsie Roll "Midgies", 1 box of Pillsbury milk chocolate brownie mix, and a single can of corn. I'm sure all of you know where this is going. Over the course of the weekend we were able to find a use for every item in said bag save that one lonely can of corn (which we decided against pouring into the giant pool of water in the epic waterfall adventure module after we were begged to go fix the leaks at 1 in the morning. Despite the confidence we might have had in our structural engineering, nothing is worse than being covered in a deluge of detergent-water and corn niblets in the event of a catastrophic plywood failure). Here is what we did with the items:
Sun-Ripened New Galen Mixed Field Browns - There's nothing better than a big bowl of cold pudding after running around all afternoon chasing "monsters" wearing rubber masks. Surely, we figured that an offer of "complimentary desserts" would be received well by our players and staff alike. Thus was born my new favorite pudding dessert: 3 heaping tablespoons of chocolate pudding mixed coarsely with 2 generous dollops of pistachio pudding (with nuts). Add butterscotch chips to the mix, give it a final stir, and voila! A delicious dessert with the aesthetic appeal of a bad bout with Mexican food. I personally had 5 bowls of the stuff because we were sadly unable to give a way a single freebie.
Tootsie-decor - Little-known fact: if you can't afford to buy Fimo, Sculpey, or any of those other expensive brands of modeling clay, Tootsie rolls microwaved for 5 seconds on high power make an excellent substitute. The only drawback is that they come in limited colors: mainly a rich nutty brown. However, unlike Fimo and Sculpey, Tootsie-decor is indeed edible, and there's no need to bake to harden your creations. By the end of the weekend, I'd managed to craft a Venus DiMilo from a handful of brown, and was respectfully dubbed "Poop-casso" by my ever-so-clever peers. Tootsies are excellent for adding that final touch of roleplay realism to that grilled cheese sandwich or bowl of burnt stew; after all, nothing says "the tavern apologizes for the rat infestation" like a tiny collection of brown dots delicately perched atop tuna on a hoagie bun.
Field Pies - Really, there's no need to explain this one. The only precaution I would note for aspiring dessert artists is that Pillsbury milk chocolate brownie mix is absolutely vile, and adding a hearty spoonful of Turkish coffee grounds and butterscotch chips doesn't make it any better. In fact, the fine-ground nature of the coffee causes it to burn, right around the cooking temperature for the brownie pile. I would highly recommend spending the extra 75 cents and purchasing a higher quality brand of mix for your "field pie".
All in all, we got a lot of mileage out of that one single bag of groceries. The only problem now, is that we need to somehow justify our misbehavior with the baked goods in order to get reimbursed...
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Tastes Better Than Yo Mama
[Recently edited to fix broken links]
Most of you readers are familiar with my recipe collection on the Utter Chaos wiki, The Ghetto Gourmet (soon to be coming to a Tastebook near you! Recently, one of my lovely friends (whom I had yet to inflict my "classy" recipe webpage upon) pointed me towards a link to the single most hilarious cooking show I have seen in my young life: Cookin' With Coolio.
Strange coincidence? Perhaps. Maybe I just give off that certain je ne sais quoi that makes people think "ghetto-fabulous." Whatever it was, I laughed so hard that the software engineer one cubicle over from me got worried (until he saw the video for himself, that is).
And now I share the link with you, my dear readers. Click on the link above to get to my favorite episode, "Fork Steak and Ghettalian Garlic Bread", and for your convenience, I've also parked it on the sidebar with the rest of my "quality" links. Cookin' with Coolio is updated every Wednesday, and if any one of you ever wins an autographed bell pepper, I want to see it. Shaka zulu, baby!
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Most of you readers are familiar with my recipe collection on the Utter Chaos wiki, The Ghetto Gourmet (soon to be coming to a Tastebook near you! Recently, one of my lovely friends (whom I had yet to inflict my "classy" recipe webpage upon) pointed me towards a link to the single most hilarious cooking show I have seen in my young life: Cookin' With Coolio.
Strange coincidence? Perhaps. Maybe I just give off that certain je ne sais quoi that makes people think "ghetto-fabulous." Whatever it was, I laughed so hard that the software engineer one cubicle over from me got worried (until he saw the video for himself, that is).
And now I share the link with you, my dear readers. Click on the link above to get to my favorite episode, "Fork Steak and Ghettalian Garlic Bread", and for your convenience, I've also parked it on the sidebar with the rest of my "quality" links. Cookin' with Coolio is updated every Wednesday, and if any one of you ever wins an autographed bell pepper, I want to see it. Shaka zulu, baby!
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Friday, April 04, 2008
"All I really want is to throw foul things at you. IS THAT SO WRONG?"
There are days when I am eternally grateful for the existence of my little brother; almost everything that comes out of his mouth has the capability to warm my heart and cheer me right the fuck up even when I am irrationally saddened by issues which he has no control over or ability to relate and assist with. Witness, above, he has given me an inspiring title with which to write my (fairly minor) troubles away!
In truth, there hasn't been a lot lately that's been able to stir my general ire ever since Von Butternuts moved out (well, to be more accurate, it was more like "dumped me because I told him to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and then got himself kicked out after several months when I got fed up with his utter ineptitude at finding another place to live/person to mooch off, his unwillingness to pay rent or clean up after himself, and his general irresponsible assholery"). Details aside, it matters not, as the upshot of that Jerry Springer-worthy saga is that I suddenly find myself with a good bit more time and money on my hands - and really, no one can complain about that! Beyond the time and money, I have the added bonus of finally having privacy again - something which thrills me to absolutely no end! Here is but a partial listing (that will no doubt grow as I get more and more creative) of things that I have done with my newfound privacy:
Using the can with the door open - What a thrill that was! You have not known TRUE CONVENIENCE until you have rolled out of bed first thing in the morning (guts roiling from having eaten prison-quality tacos right before going to bed) and destroyed your restroom without worrying about subjecting anyone to your colonic symphonia's rendition of TacoBell's Cannon in D (and the smell of the subsequent Mexplosion therein). The additional bonus of using the can with the door open being that the smell has plenty of area to dissipate, and you don't even have to worry about stinking up the toothbrush with your fart particles. For the win!
Bringing food wherever I want - No, I don't mean "crackers in my bed." I mean finally being able to eat my goddamn dinner whenever and wherever I want without having to hear Tom make a BFD (big fucking deal) about the fact that he "can't stand the sound of people eating unless he's eating too." Truthfully, the bitching was more annoying than having to eat at the table one room away, but thankfully, I DON'T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH EITHER ANYMORE. And let me tell you, nothing beats a giant sloppy plate of spaghetti and red sauce while watching a Tarantino marathon.
Making smoothies first thing in the morning - Did you know they taste even better if you make them while striding around your house naked? It's true. The naked factor makes everything better.
Not having to "do as I say" - I think this goes with the "bringing food and drink wherever I want" activity, but in general, if there's anyone who had the right to void the warranty on my $1800 mattress, it should have been ME and not Tom with one of his faggy Italian espresso drinks. Unfortunately, most people seem to abide by the "monkey see, monkey do" behavioral model, which means that up until recently, any rule that I wanted people to abide by (despite half of these rules being made out of necessity due to other people's lack of common sense), I had to subject myself to as well. Thankfully, no more! Which means I can (at last) keep my bottle of amaretto by my bed.
Dancing/Practicing poi and fans indoors - The bar room is big, it's got lovely hardwood floors, it's close to the alcohol... so why can't I have at it every once in a while? Really, the ideal thing would be if I had a handsome ballroom dance partner who could teach me a few steps in the privacy of my own home without passing judgment, but as it is, Mr. Mop is good enough at watching and stifling his laughter, and sometimes he brings along his friend Mr. Poop-Scoop as his wingman.
Taking long-ass phone calls wherever I feel like it - There's nothing so nice as being able to take a phone call whenever, wherever, and however long you feel inclined. Especially when it's that phone call from a cute boy that comes on a lazy Saturday morning while he's just started running his weekend errands and called because he just wanted to talk and see how you were doing. Yeah. That phone call. Not having to explain why you were on the phone for more than 10 minutes, and why you sounded nervous and definitely non-cranky (to the point of being almost borderline cute) just adds to the fact that one phone call can make my entire day.
Stinking up the house with funky Chinese cooking - I'm a little garbage disposal. Everybody in my family knows how much I love salted-fish-fried-rice and all the other Chinese peasant-foods (except for chicken feet). Man, is it nice to be able to make all those dishes without having to listen to someone else bitch about the smell. No longer do I have to wait to have my "revenge fishbowling" (retaliation for when asshole housemates fishbowl my house with the smell of cheap weed cut with with tarragon because their dealer was particularly cunning) - now I can fume up the house whenever I damn well want!
Tea and porn - At first I was somewhat dubious... who settles down to a relaxing evening of Earl Grey and DP? But on a whim I tried it, and you know what? Having that nice cup of tea really does class up an evening of otherwise low-quality, grainy, pixellated entertainment. Next time I'm even planning to make cucumber sandwiches to go with it. In-deed.
In conclusion, I AM quite enjoying my time right now... I think I really only have one minor complaint. But as Steve once said, "if the only thing you have to complain about is that you miss Matthew, then life is pretty good."
Further bulletins as events warrant.
In truth, there hasn't been a lot lately that's been able to stir my general ire ever since Von Butternuts moved out (well, to be more accurate, it was more like "dumped me because I told him to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and then got himself kicked out after several months when I got fed up with his utter ineptitude at finding another place to live/person to mooch off, his unwillingness to pay rent or clean up after himself, and his general irresponsible assholery"). Details aside, it matters not, as the upshot of that Jerry Springer-worthy saga is that I suddenly find myself with a good bit more time and money on my hands - and really, no one can complain about that! Beyond the time and money, I have the added bonus of finally having privacy again - something which thrills me to absolutely no end! Here is but a partial listing (that will no doubt grow as I get more and more creative) of things that I have done with my newfound privacy:
Using the can with the door open - What a thrill that was! You have not known TRUE CONVENIENCE until you have rolled out of bed first thing in the morning (guts roiling from having eaten prison-quality tacos right before going to bed) and destroyed your restroom without worrying about subjecting anyone to your colonic symphonia's rendition of TacoBell's Cannon in D (and the smell of the subsequent Mexplosion therein). The additional bonus of using the can with the door open being that the smell has plenty of area to dissipate, and you don't even have to worry about stinking up the toothbrush with your fart particles. For the win!
Bringing food wherever I want - No, I don't mean "crackers in my bed." I mean finally being able to eat my goddamn dinner whenever and wherever I want without having to hear Tom make a BFD (big fucking deal) about the fact that he "can't stand the sound of people eating unless he's eating too." Truthfully, the bitching was more annoying than having to eat at the table one room away, but thankfully, I DON'T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH EITHER ANYMORE. And let me tell you, nothing beats a giant sloppy plate of spaghetti and red sauce while watching a Tarantino marathon.
Making smoothies first thing in the morning - Did you know they taste even better if you make them while striding around your house naked? It's true. The naked factor makes everything better.
Not having to "do as I say" - I think this goes with the "bringing food and drink wherever I want" activity, but in general, if there's anyone who had the right to void the warranty on my $1800 mattress, it should have been ME and not Tom with one of his faggy Italian espresso drinks. Unfortunately, most people seem to abide by the "monkey see, monkey do" behavioral model, which means that up until recently, any rule that I wanted people to abide by (despite half of these rules being made out of necessity due to other people's lack of common sense), I had to subject myself to as well. Thankfully, no more! Which means I can (at last) keep my bottle of amaretto by my bed.
Dancing/Practicing poi and fans indoors - The bar room is big, it's got lovely hardwood floors, it's close to the alcohol... so why can't I have at it every once in a while? Really, the ideal thing would be if I had a handsome ballroom dance partner who could teach me a few steps in the privacy of my own home without passing judgment, but as it is, Mr. Mop is good enough at watching and stifling his laughter, and sometimes he brings along his friend Mr. Poop-Scoop as his wingman.
Taking long-ass phone calls wherever I feel like it - There's nothing so nice as being able to take a phone call whenever, wherever, and however long you feel inclined. Especially when it's that phone call from a cute boy that comes on a lazy Saturday morning while he's just started running his weekend errands and called because he just wanted to talk and see how you were doing. Yeah. That phone call. Not having to explain why you were on the phone for more than 10 minutes, and why you sounded nervous and definitely non-cranky (to the point of being almost borderline cute) just adds to the fact that one phone call can make my entire day.
Stinking up the house with funky Chinese cooking - I'm a little garbage disposal. Everybody in my family knows how much I love salted-fish-fried-rice and all the other Chinese peasant-foods (except for chicken feet). Man, is it nice to be able to make all those dishes without having to listen to someone else bitch about the smell. No longer do I have to wait to have my "revenge fishbowling" (retaliation for when asshole housemates fishbowl my house with the smell of cheap weed cut with with tarragon because their dealer was particularly cunning) - now I can fume up the house whenever I damn well want!
Tea and porn - At first I was somewhat dubious... who settles down to a relaxing evening of Earl Grey and DP? But on a whim I tried it, and you know what? Having that nice cup of tea really does class up an evening of otherwise low-quality, grainy, pixellated entertainment. Next time I'm even planning to make cucumber sandwiches to go with it. In-deed.
In conclusion, I AM quite enjoying my time right now... I think I really only have one minor complaint. But as Steve once said, "if the only thing you have to complain about is that you miss Matthew, then life is pretty good."
Further bulletins as events warrant.
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